#the yearning the tension the wanting the pulling away

[risingoftime]

I need a fic about Bo from sinners fastttttt😛😛😛😛😛

CHOW'S CORNER MARKET | BO CHOW X F!READER

SYNOPSIS: Returning to your hometown in the South, you see that a lot has changed, but many people have stayed the same. Bo Chow was one of them. Still behind the counter, still wearing that same unreadable expression, still Mei’s daddy… only now, you were old enough to notice how good he looked when he leaned back in that creaky stool, arms folded, eyes trailing just a little too long.

CONTAINS: 18+ mdni, age gap (reader is his daughter's friend), kissing, explicit sexual content, PDA, forbidden love, hard core yearning, widower bo chow, dry humping, Bo is a munch, public sex, oral, p in v.

A/N: i got you babe!! ;)

You never meant to return to this town, let alone set foot in the Chow’s grocery store. The bell above the door hadn’t even finished ringing when you saw him behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, cigarette tucked behind one ear. He hadn’t changed much. Still wore that tired smirk like he knew something about you that you wished he didn’t.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, not looking up immediately. “That’s what you always said, right? Said you’d burn if you stayed.”

You rolled your eyes in response. The past you was very theatrical, anything I opposed felt like the end of the world. You stepped past the fresh peaches. They smelled like summer spent on your Nana's porch, sippin' sugar water. “And yet here I am. Guess I didn’t burn fast enough.”

He finally looked at you. It wasn’t the first time you’d caught Bo staring at you, too long, back when you used to trail behind his daughter like a shadow. You were only a couple of years older than Mei, but those five years felt like lifetimes when you turned twenty-three and started noticing how Bo’s eyes followed you, carefully.

“You here for something?” he asked, voice low, half a joke and half serious. Bo Chow wasn't the type to play around, and sure as hell wasn’t one to beat around the bush. He didn’t blink as he looked you over. He waited as if he already knew the answer but wanted to hear you say it anyway.

You swallowed. The air inside the store felt humid, even though the fan whirred lazily overhead. “I came for peaches, and I plan on making a pie,” you said, picking one up. "But maybe you got something sweeter behind the counter.”

Bo stepped around it, wiped his hands on a towel. “Still got that charm in your voice,” he said, now close enough that you could feel the heat of him. His eyes dropped to your lips, lingered. “Bet you still know how to use it, too.”

“Learned it from watching you,” you replied.

Like candle wax down a spine, the tension burned slowly, teasing every nerve.

“You were just a youngin' back then,” he muttered, like he was trying to convince himself.

“And now?” you asked. “What do you see now, Bo?”

His gaze dropped to your mouth. And stayed there. “I see trouble,” he said. But he didn’t step away. Bo stood close, his fingers ghosting over the towel in his hands like he needed something to ground himself. You could hear the hum of the fridge behind you, the slow churn of old machinery and old feelings. Then, without thinking, you reached out.

Two fingers under his chin, tilting his face toward yours. A quiet challenge in your eyes. “If you see trouble, why aren’t you running?”

“Because I never could.” His jaw flexed under your touch.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. Bo wasn’t the gentle type. It was rough with restraint, the kind of kiss that tasted like heat and hunger and years of not now bottled into a single breath. His hand gripped the back of your neck, pulling you in like gravity had finally given him permission to fall. Your back hit the counter, knocking a jar of honey loose. Neither of you noticed.

Your fingers fisted the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, mouths clashing like an argument long overdue. His lips were chapped, his stubble scraped against your skin, and when his tongue slid against yours, it felt like salvation disguised as sin.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” he growled against your lips.

“But you are,” you whispered, tasting guilt and citrus.

Bo’s hand slid down your waist, gripping your hip. His forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard, trying to regain control but failing.

Outside, a car door slammed. You both froze. Reality slipped in like a cold wind through a cracked window. His chest rose and fell. Yours did the same.

“You need to go,” he said, voice low and tight.

But neither of you moved. Because no matter how far you ran, this small-town store always brought you back to the same place with lips swollen, bruised, and hearts just stupid enough to try again.

Mei’s friend.

That should’ve been enough to stop him. Had been, for years. Yet now, you stood there, lips parted, breath catching, and he felt it again, the sharp pull low in his gut.

Bo remembered you when you were younger, full of questions and quick wit, always hanging around the shop afterwith the other youth, stealing pickled plums and grinning like she owned the world. But now? You weren’t that girl anymore. And he wasn’t a man built for restraint.

Your fingers were still in his shirt, waist pressed flush against the counter. You weren't going to pull away, you were waiting and baiting his response.

His hand drifted without permission up your thigh, over your curves. He wanted to curse himself for how easily his body betrayed him. Because God, she was warm. And she made him feel alive in a way nothing had in years. Not since Grace died and the world's weight settled into his bones and stayed there.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” he repeated, brushing his nose against hers, not quite kissing her again.

She smiled, slow and knowing. “And yet here I am. How often will you tell me what I should or shouldn't do?”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I do.” Your voice was soft. “You’re the one pretending you don’t want it.”

Bo swore under his breath. His forehead hit hers again, harder this time. But when she confidently kissed him again, he let her. Let the whole world burn down around them. Because maybe he didn’t want to be good anymore.

Your fingers slid from his shirt to the nape of his neck, and just like that, he caved.

“Hold on,” he muttered against her lips. “Come on.”

Your eyes were already tracking him as he grabbed the keys off the hook and locked the store before closing all the blinds. The heavy metal clanged shut behind them, locking out the rest of the world and locking them in.

He backed her against the wall between sacks of jasmine rice and crates of long-forgotten sweets.

“You sure about this?” he asked, even as his hands were already sliding beneath the hem of your dress.

Your answer came in the form of curling your leg around his hip, pulling him into the space where only desire existed.

“You waited long enough, Bo,” you whispered, your voice thick with lust.“We both did.”

He lifted her like it was muscle memory. He’d dreamed of this too many times, not knowing how to do it by heart. Your back hit the wall. Bo buried his face in your neck.

“God forgive me,” he breathed.

When you moaned his name against his ear, he didn’t stop. In that moment, the woman, this girl who used to trail around with Mei like a shadow, had become a force of nature. And for once, Bo Chow let himself fall.

You grinded against Bo Chow's hard dick, already knowing the rhythm he hadn’t yet given you. His mouth found the hollow of your throat, tongue tracing the beat of your pulse as he pinned you to the wall.

“Bo, please!” You gasped as you searched for any friction he could give you and Bo felt it like a match to dry kindling. His hand slid up your back, fingers splaying wide, remembering the shape of your spine, the softness of skin he wasn’t supposed to touch.

“You feel that?” he growled into her neck. “How long you been waiting for this?”

“Long enough,” she said, breathless. “Long enough to know I don’t want you gentle.”

Bo pushed you harder against the wall, grinding his hips into yours with a slow roll that had your head dropping back, lips parted, eyes half-lidded with need. Your hands were under his shirt now, nails raking across his chest like she wanted to leave proof. Wanted to mark him. Own him.

She bit his bottom lip when he kissed her again, really kissed her this time, and he responded by sliding his hand between them, under her waistband, finding her already wet for him.

“Shit,” he muttered, fingers slipping through heat. “You’re soaked through your panties.”

She arched into his touch, shameless. “Told you. I’ve been thinking about this for years.”

A wave of pure, unfiltered longing surged through him, gripping his heart with an intensity that took him by surprise. She had no idea what kind of thoughts he’d buried just to survive around her. What kind of guilt lived in his chest every time she smiled too sweet or leaned too close.

And now? Now he had you underneath him, splayed across the desk.

“Hold on,” he said, voice rough and low.

Bo carried you across the store to the old desk in the corner, swept thereceipts off with one arm, laid you down like something sacred.

Then he dropped to his knees. Your breath caught.

“I thought you didn’t want gentle,” he smirked, kissing the inside of her thigh.

“I don’t,”

“Good.”

Bo Chow was done pretending. Tonight, he was going to taste every part of you that he'd denied himself for far too long. Bo took hold of your hips and dragged you to the edge with slow precision. He didn't break eye contact as he descended lower and lifted your dress to reveal your wet panties that stuck to your skin. Squirming under his gaze, breath stuttered when Bo kissed the creases when your thighs met your core.

The first stroke of Bo’s tongue had you grasping at the desk, a lewd whimper slipped loose from your mouth. You desperately thrust your hips to put more of your pussy in his mouth.

“You have such a perfect pussy” Bo rasped, low and rough. You tasted better than he imagined. His tongue worked slow at first, savoring. Drawing circles, teasing the sensitive parts until you trembled around his shoulders.

“Right there… that feels so good” Your voice cracked, and that was all the encouragement Bo needed.

Bo gripped you tighter and devoured you like a man starved. You arched, cursed, and even cried out with your body trembling with every flick and suck of his mouth. His name spilled from you like worship.

When he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them to hit you G spot, your back left the table.

“That’s it,” he whined against her. “Let me have it.”

You came hard with your mouth open, and hands in his hair. Bo didn’t stop until you were twitching, breathless, wrecked.

When he finally rose, mouth glistening, chest heaving, your eyes met his. He leaned over you, pressed his forehead to yours, voice dark with promise.

He didn’t undress her, he roughly twisted her over, bent her bare chest against the cool wood of the desk, slid his pants just low enough, and guided himself into her with one steady, brutal thrust.

They both gasped. You were hot, tight, and still pulsing from before.

Bo planted himself deeper and deeper in you. The desk creaked under the beat. Your hand reached back to clutch his lower back, pulling him to drill into your insides, and he gave it to you. Every inch, every groan, every ounce of frustration and want he’d bottled up for years.

When he came, it was a full body surrender. He collapsed against her, both of them panting, and slick with sweat.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

And then, quietly, you asked, “What now?”

Bo didn’t have the answer.

[cheriedivine]

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫

chapter I | next

꩜ synopsis: you’re best friends. just best friends. except when she lingers a little too long at your door. except when she calls you her favorite, and it doesn’t feel like a joke. except when her fingers graze yours and neither of you pull away. except when you start to wonder if she’s wondering, too…

꩜ Pairing: Ellie Williams x fem reader (no use of y/n)

꩜ CW: swearing, weed, creepy guy, slightly suggestive, tension (if u squint).

꩜ WC: 4.9K

꩜ A/N: okayyy soooo, i’m starting a new series, it will be a slow burn so bear with me. Im excited for this and all the yearning to come woohooooo! just your typical loser lesbians who are best friends and there’s tension but they don’t know it yet alright…

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How can we tell something is complicated? Is it because the easy way isn’t available — or because we crave the possibility of more?

Life is full of complex things like the human brain or death or love. Especially love.

The line between love and codependency is blurry, if it even exists. Do we cling to the people we love because we need them — or because we don’t know who we are without them?

Still, love is more than need. It's more than survival.

Of course the easy way is not to feel.

But then again — what’s the point of life without love?

Without being consumed by it? Without being absorbed?

Ellie always felt like love wasn’t meant for her. Yeah sure she had been in a few relationships in the past, casual summer flings, but nothing that got too serious. The moment someone wanted to put a label on her she was out the door.

Maybe she was doomed from the start, sentenced to suffer in loneliness for the rest of her life. Maybe it was karma for all the shit her ancestors had done.

Or maybe... she was just twenty-one, and spiraling.

But then she met you.

Her best friend. Her whole world.

You brought sunshine into her life like it was nothing. Like it was easy.

She smiled more. Went out more. God — she even made stupid jokes just to hear you laugh. Saying you made Ellie’s life better was an understatement.

How it started?

It was a casual Thursday. Ellie was tired — the kind of tired that settled deep in her bones. She’d been up since 5 a.m., chasing the sunrise for an early shoot, and stayed late at the studio the night before, hunched over rolls of film, watching images slowly come to life. Now, all she could think about was the couple she’d photographed that morning — mid-twenties, freshly engaged, smiling like they had the rest of their lives mapped out. Some people had it all figured out, she thought. Settled. Steady. Meanwhile, she was here — at her usual breakfast spot, an old fashioned diner, squinting at her laptop, scrolling through photo edits with aching eyes. Her camera bag sat beside her on the booth seat, worn and stickered to hell — Savage Starlight, Sleater-Kinney, a faded rainbow sticker that had started peeling at the corners.

She yawned into her tea, hood up, headphones loosely slung around her neck, when someone placed a plate down in front of her. chocolate chip pancakes, soft scrambled eggs and bacon — her usual.

Ellie blinked up, and you were standing there, wiping your hands on a dish towel tucked into your apron. Your eyes flicked toward the camera case.

“Savage Starlight,” you nodded at the sticker. “God-tier taste.”

Ellie froze for a second, then smirked. “You read that?”

“Duh,” you said like it was obvious. “Issue 8 ruined me emotionally for weeks.”

That pulled a laugh out of her, the first real one she’d had all morning. “Same. Still not over that ending.”

You smiled, shifting your weight to one foot, clearly not in a rush to leave. “Cool camera, by the way.”

“Thanks, she’s my baby” she said, suddenly aware of how wrecked she must look — messy bun barely held up, camera strap indenting her neck. “—I’m Ellie, by the way.” She stuck her hand out, immediately second-guessing it.

Was that too old-fashioned? Joel really was rubbing off on her.

“I know. I take your order every other Thursday.” you said, shaking her hand.

She blinked, embarrassed. “Right. Sorry. Early mornings kinda melt my brain.”

“No worries,” you grinned, and Ellie noticed the little pin on your apron — a tiny, pixelated spaceship with your name on it, stupid stupid stupid. she thought to herself for not noticing it earlier.

And since that moment, something shifted. It wasn’t anything loud or life-altering, not some cheesy movie moment with music swelling in the background. But it was something. A small click, like a puzzle piece sliding into place.

Ellie became obsessed with you, in a way that she needed to be around you or her day wouldn’t be complete, she needed to hear your voice, your laugh, you calling her stupid for a dad joke she made, she just needed you, her best friend.

From then on, Ellie started showing up more often — not just on Thursdays anymore. Sometimes it was Tuesdays. Sometimes Saturdays, right before the lunch rush. She claimed it was for the pancakes, and not the terrible service (she earned herself a playful smack on the head for that). She’d sit at her usual corner booth, camera bag by her side, flipping through photo previews on her laptop, waiting for your shift to end.

Ellie would usually show up with the latest issue of Savage Starlight, sliding it across the counter like some sort of sacred offering. It became an inside joke — your “weekly trade deal,” she'd say. In return, you’d draw ridiculous little faces into her pancakes with extra chocolate chips — crooked grins, wonky eyes, sometimes a very unflattering interpretation of Joel. She thought it was hilarious.

You’d complain about the usual chaos — rude customers, shit tips, kids treating the floor like their personal warzone. Ellie would listen between mouthfuls of bacon, eyes gleaming.

“Sounds like you need a cig break,” she’d propose, already halfway out of the booth.

And that’s how most of your breaks ended up — at the back of the diner, sharing a cigarette with your best friend, the smoke curling into lazy spirals between your fingers. Who would’ve thought the best thing to come out of this job would be the quiet girl who used to sit in the corner booth alone, camera gear spilling across the table and making it a logistical nightmare to serve her food?

You ducked behind the counter, catching your co-worker scribbling down an order on a pad.

“Taking five,” you whispered into her ear, already slipping off your apron and tossing it over the stool.

Ellie was waiting by the door, cigarette hanging from her lips, hands in her pockets, grinning like an idiot. Moments like these, quiet, in company of you, were the highlight of her day.

The metal door creaked behind you as you stepped out into the alley, greeted by the smell of old grease, cigarette smoke, and freedom.

“You have no idea how much I despise this uniform,” you groaned, tugging at the stiff collar of your work shirt like it personally offended you. “Why do they make us wear these stupid skirts and hats?”

Ellie chuckled, flicking the lighter and shielding the flame with her hand. “You look cute, very… militant barista chic”

You gave her a flat look. “It’s a literal open invitation for creepy dudes to stare”

“In that case I’ll beat them to death with my camera tripod” she said around the cigarette, grinning as she passed it to you. “I would like to see you try honestly.”

You took a drag, leaning your back against the brick wall, bumping your shoulder into hers lightly. “I’m just saying, Hooters uniform has more coverage than this… thing.”

Ellie nodded solemnly. “Oh yeah? Are you a Hooters expert now?”

You snorted, passing the cigarette back. “Certainly more than you. I wish I could just spend time with you in your stinky little studio instead of serving Ice lattes to Karens”

Ellie blinked, a flicker of something crossing her face — but she masked it quickly with a laugh. “Obviously. I’m way prettier.”

“Thats certainly one way to put it.”

“Rude.”

You both stood there for a while in comfortable silence, trading the cigarette and small complaints about the day, until your five minutes were definitely more like ten and your co-worker cracked open the back door to glare at you.

Ellie just winked and mouthed bitch. She checked her phone, winced, then let out a dramatic sigh like the world was ending. “Shit. I’ve got a shoot in twenty minutes.”

You blew out a stream of smoke. “Ugh, fine. Go be artsy and productive or whatever.”

“I will. Gotta make the girls look ethereal in a field of flowers or something,” she joked, already stubbing the cigarette out on the wall and stuffing it into an empty Altoids tin she kept just for that purpose.

You rolled your eyes. “Tell them to pose like they're not better looking than me or I’m gonna have a problem.”

Ellie gave you a look, smirking as she slung her camera bag over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’re the muse.”

You flushed but covered it with a sarcastic bow. “Obviously. Anyway, I’m stuck in hell for two more hours, but I’ll text you after. You still down for the movies tonight?”

“Dina threatened me if I bail. Jesse’s picking the movie, though, so get ready to watch something with car chases and unnecessary explosions.”

You groaned. “He has the worst taste. I swear if it’s another Fast and Furious sequel I’m leaving.”

Ellie laughed and started backing down the alley, walking backwards. “You say that every time and yet you stay. For the family.”

You threw your apron at her. She dodged it.

“Text me when you're done,” she called out before disappearing around the corner, entering her beat up truck.

Back inside, the rest of your shift crawled by in a blur of clinking mugs, whiny toddlers, and low-tip customers — but it was easier to survive knowing you had a movie night waiting, with your best friends, and Ellie sitting next to you in the dark, probably whispering dumb commentary in your ear the whole time.

You smiled to yourself as you cleared a table. Just two more hours.

The field was nice. Golden-hour kind of nice — warm light slicing through the tall grass. Ellie adjusted the settings on her camera, peeking through the viewfinder at the group of girls twirling in their flowy pastel dresses, laughing like they were in a Greta Gerwig film.

“Alright, ladies, pretend you like each other!” she called out, grinning.

They laughed and did that overly-exaggerated cutesy pose thing, arms slung around each other, a couple fake-kissing cheeks. Ellie snapped the shots effortlessly, stepping around them with practiced ease. Her brain clicked into auto-pilot when she was shooting — light, angles, timing — the rest of the world faded.

Except for one of them.

Cat.

Bridesmaid number three. Mid-20s, pretty, clearly knew it — and knew how to work a camera. She'd been giving Ellie a look since they started, the kind with too much eye contact and a little too much lower lip biting.

"Should I hold the bouquet like this?" Cat asked sweetly, lifting it chest-level and tilting her head just enough to make it obvious.

Ellie didn’t skip a beat, snapping the shot. “Sure…unless you’re auditioning for a rom-com in which case, maybe tilt it a little more—yeah, that’s the angle. Nailed it.”

The girls laughed and whooped like they were in a music video.

Cat winked at her. “You’re kinda funny, camera girl.”

Ellie smirked but didn’t look up from her camera. “Only kinda?”

The flirting kept bouncing like that for a bit — harmless, surface-level, the way Ellie always played it when she wasn’t invested, just bored. She never let it get too deep, not like with you. After wrapping the shoot and handing off her card to the bride, Ellie was stuffing her camera into her bag when Cat came up to her, twirling a piece of her hair between her fingers like she practiced that in the mirror.

“Hey,” she said, kind of sing-songy. “You should give me your number. You know, in case I wanna book you for something… personal.”

Ellie bit back a grin, already zipping her bag. “Oh, totally. Here—”

She grabbed a pen from her tote and scribbled a number on the back of a coffee receipt. Not hers, obviously. Some random number she made up.

Cat took it, all flirty and hopeful, and Ellie gave her a small salute before heading toward her truck.

As soon as she was out of sight, she cracked up to herself, shaking her head.

“Yeah, good luck with that one.”

She wasn’t mean. Just... not interested. Not in Cat. Not in anyone lately.

Only person she actually wanted to hear from was probably just clocking out of that stupid diner, peeling off that stupid uniform and texting her with some dumb meme or a rant about someone leaving syrup on the counter.

She checked her phone.

No text yet.

She leaned against the side of her truck, thumb tapping lazily against the metal, waiting. Like clockwork, her phone buzzed in her back pocket. A text from you.

It was a photo—your middle finger proudly raised beside your diner uniform, crumpled and defeated on your bed. “im out. pick me up at 6?”

Ellie chuckled, typing back: “Only if ur wearing the uniform.”

Your response came quick: middle finger emoji.

Still grinning, she climbed into her truck and headed to her studio (which, technically, was also her apartment—but calling it the studio made it feel a little more like she had her shit together). She was planning on washing off the day and changing into something comfortable for movie night at Dina’s.

Meanwhile, back at your place, you kicked off your shoes the second you walked in. Your roommate wasn’t home—probably still stuck at work—so you shot her a quick text letting her know you’d be out late. You peeled off your uniform, and threw on your robe before texting Ellie again: “home. picking me up at 6 still right?”

You stepped into the shower, determined to scrub off the smell of burnt bacon and sticky syrup, letting the steam pull the exhaustion out of your bones. Afterward, you got caught up scrolling on your phone, time slipping past unnoticed… until there was a sharp knock on your door.

“Shit,” you muttered. Then louder: “HOLD ON, I’M COMING!”

Still wrapped in your towel, you darted to the front door and flung it open. Ellie blinked, caught off guard. Her eyes flicked over your towel-wrapped frame a second too long, before she quickly covered her grin with a hand, trying (and failing) to play it cool.

“I am so, so sorry,” you said, pulling the towel tighter around yourself, suddenly feeling too exposed. too self conscious. “I got distracted and totally lost track of time.”

Ellie raised her eyebrows, but her voice stayed teasing. “You sure you’re not trying to seduce me?”

You rolled your eyes. “Ten minutes. Swear.”

You vanished down the hallway. Ellie flopped onto the couch, pulling out her phone and texting the group chat: running late but grabbing snacks first. don’t start without us.

She shifted to get more comfortable—and caught a glimpse through the crack in your bedroom door. Two inches. Practically nothing. Not on purpose… right?

You were slipping on a hoodie, back turned, still in just your bra and pants. Ellie’s face flushed instantly. She snapped her head away like the door had personally scolded her. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered, burying her face in her hands. “Fuckin’ creep.”

Before her spiraling could get worse, you emerged from your room, hoodie on, tugging on your shoes.

“Okay,” you said, grabbing your keys and swinging the door open. “Let’s go.”

Ellie followed, still flustered, and absolutely not ready to unpack any of what just happened.

The sky was starting to turn soft and purple as Ellie pulled out of your complex’s parking lot, her tattooed arm flexing, hand grasping lazily on the wheel, the other fiddling with the volume knob. Some old indie playlist was shuffling through the speakers—Ellie music, as you called it. You leaned back in your seat, hair still a little damp from the shower, hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over your hands.

“So?” you said, glancing at her. “How was the rest of your very glamorous day?”

Ellie let out a snort. “Oh, you know. Just got aggressively flirted with by someone named Cat.”

Your head turned so fast it nearly cracked. “Cat?”

“Bridesmaid number three. Said I looked like I’d be good with a camera and my hands.” Ellie smirked.

You groaned, but came out more like a failed laugh. “Ew. Who says that?”

“She did. With full confidence. Honestly? Kinda impressive.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Tell me you didn’t flirt back.”

“I mean, a little. For the bit.”

You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. “You’re shameless.”

“Hey—she asked for my number, I panicked and gave her Joel’s landline. So I think I redeemed myself.”

That made you burst out laughing, and gave you a weird sense of relief. “Oh my god, imagine her calling and Joel picking up.”

“‘Hello, Miller residence.’ And then just click.”

You were still giggling when you turned toward the window. “You’re evil.”

Ellie looked over at you for a second too long, a crooked smile tugging at her mouth. “You’re just jealous.”

You scoffed. “Jealous of Cat? Please. I wear a dumb visor and serve bacon to men named Dennis who tip in nickels.”

“That’s hot.”

You rolled your eyes. “My shift was hell. I had a kid throw a hashbrown at me and scream because I gave him the wrong syrup. Like. What syrup could he possibly need at age four? It’s all just sugar.”

“Future criminal behavior,” Ellie said. “I would’ve drop-kicked him.”

“Oh believe me, I considered it. But then I remembered I’m trying not to go to jail this year.”

“Personal growth,” she nodded solemnly.

There was a comfortable silence after that. The kind that didn’t feel like it needed to be filled. The kind you only got with someone who knew you well enough to not need noise. But still, Ellie spoke again, a little quieter this time.

“Hey,” she said, eyes on the road, voice soft. “We still have to get those snacks.”

You turned your head, smiling without really meaning to. “7-Eleven stop?.”

“7-Eleven it is.”

The buzz of fluorescent lights and the faint hum of the refrigerator coolers welcomed you as the door to the 7-Eleven swung open with a mechanical chime. Ellie held it open for you with a sarcastic bow. “After you.”

You rolled your eyes smiling. “Wow. So chivalrous. All for a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.”

“What can I say?” she shrugged, grabbing a plastic basket. “I’m a provider.”

You split up for a second—Ellie going straight to the drinks section while you scanned the candy aisle, already filling your arms with too many options. Gummy worms. A Kit Kat. Those sour blue raspberry straws Ellie claimed she hated but somehow always ended up buying.

You were just about to decide between a regular-sized Snickers or the obnoxiously large King Size when a voice behind you broke the silence.

“Damn,” the guy said, eyeing you up like you were on sale. “If I was your man, I’d never let you out the house looking that good.”

You didn’t even turn to look at him at first, just dropped a pack of sour candy into your basket.

“If you were my man,” you said, glancing over with a tight smile, “I’d move states and change my name.”

He scoffed. “Damn, you don’t gotta be a bitch about it—”

“—And you gotta be stupid enough to not take a hint” Ellie appeared behind you, sliding an arm around your shoulders with a lazy grin, completely playing into the moment.

The guy blinked, probably about to say something else, until Ellie looked at him, really looked at him and whatever speech he had left drained from his face. He turned and walked off without another word.

“You find the sour blue raspberry straws?” she asked casually, like nothing had happened.

You nodded, leaning into her like it was muscle memory. “Yep.”

Something always shifted in Ellie when guys like that got too close. She didn’t make a scene, didn’t have to, but her jaw would clench just a little, her voice would drop, and suddenly she wasn’t just your best friend. She was your shield, your protector. And no one got to talk to you like that when she was around.

Once he was out of earshot, you burst out laughing, nearly dropping your armful of snacks. “Babe is new”

“It felt right,” Ellie said, grinning. “And also hilarious. You should’ve seen his face.”

You were still laughing as you dumped your haul on the counter. “Thanks for the save, my prince charming.”

“Anytime,” she said, tossing a couple of sodas beside your loot. “Protecting you from weird dudes is in my contract.”

“Oh yeah?” you raised a brow. “Where’s this contract?”

“In my head,” she said.

You shook your head, still smiling. “We should make it a real thing. Ellie Williams: official candy mule and creepy guy repellant.”

“I prefer the term bodyguard,” she said, pulling out her wallet. “But yeah. Works for me.”

Dina’s apartment smelled like buttery popcorn, weed, and that vaguely sweet candle she always left burning on her windowsill—something with a name like Midnight Fig or Velvet Moon. The TV was already on when you walked in, credits of some old romcom playing, Jesse sitting cross-legged on the floor, halfway through a bag of gummy worms.

“You’re late,” Dina called from the kitchen, not even looking up as she stirred something in a pot. “Movie night rule number one: punctuality. Rule number two: bring snacks. Did you guys bring snacks?”

“We were on time,” Ellie said, kicking the door closed behind her. “But somebody forgot I was picking them up.”

You shot her a look. “I was in the shower. I told you to pick me up at six, not barge in at six.”

“Oh my god,” Jesse muttered. “Just make out already.”

“Shut up,” both you and Ellie snapped at the same time. Jesse loved to poke the bear when it came to you two, claiming it was funny how flustered you both got.

That only made him grin wider.

You dropped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, pulling a throw blanket over your legs and tossing a bag of hot cheeto chips onto the coffee table. “There. Snacks.”

Ellie flopped down beside you, her thigh barely brushing yours. Not enough to say anything, not enough to move away—but enough to notice. She leaned back, hands behind her head.

“So,” Dina said, walking over with a bowl of something that looked suspiciously like boxed mac and cheese. “Ellie, how’d your shoot go? You flirt with any bridesmaids?”

You groaned. “Don’t encourage her.”

Ellie smirked. “Told you already. Bridesmaid number three. She winked at me and called me ‘camera girl.’”

Dina wheezed. “Wait. Wait. Did she give you her number?”

“She asked for mine,” Ellie corrected, proudly. “I gave her Joel’s landline.”

“Are you trying to get disowned?” Jesse asked, taking a handful of popcorn.

“I’m trying to avoid drama with a woman named Cat,” Ellie said, dead serious.

You shook your head, “You’re impossible.”

Dina squinted between you two, then looked at Jesse. “Tell me they’re not already dating.”

“Not yet,” Jesse said, popping a gummy into his mouth. “But they will be. I give it, like, three months. Maybe two if there’s a karaoke night.”

You threw a pillow at his head. Ellie snorted and leaned closer, her arm grazing yours again.

“Anyway,” Dina said, tossing a remote into Jesse’s lap, “are we watching Jennifer’s Body or are we letting Jesse pick another sad man movie again?”

“Jennifer’s Body,” you and Ellie said at the same time.

And just like that, the night rolled on—warm, loud, stupid. Full of bad jokes, half-eaten snacks, and shared glances neither of you really knew how to deal with yet.

Not tension, exactly. Not yet. But something.

The movie had long since faded into background noise, replaced by gossip and stolen bites of popcorn. Jesse and Ellie kept chucking snacks at each other like overgrown children, until Dina groaned from the armchair, "You idiots are cleaning all this shit up. Y’all are like toddlers when you're together."

They both laughed, Jesse flinging a pillow in her direction, which, of course, kicked off a full-on war. You were winning—striking Ellie with a pillow like your life depended on it—until she fought back three times harder, knocking you onto the couch and sending the whole group into hysterics.

This was your group. The best friends you ever had.

You’d all met not long after you and Ellie did. Jesse and Ellie were practically siblings, bonded since childhood, while you’d known Dina since high school—trauma-bonded over shitty exes and academic burnout. She knew you like the palm of her handl You definitely were an incredibly different group of humans, but it’s what made things more genuine with y’all.

You and Ellie had a secret running bet about Jesse and Dina. After one drunken party makeout they swore never happened, they’d been in full denial mode, sneaking glances and pretending it meant nothing.

Ellie bet $20 and a month of free rides that they'd never admit it. You, being the romantic, countered with a month of free pancakes and $10 that they would.

(Not that they needed to know about it.)

A blunt or two made its way around, leaving everyone pleasantly buzzed, limbs heavy, laughter echoing off the walls. Jesse and Ellie were laid out flat on the floor. You sprawled on the couch with Dina nestled between your legs, her back to your chest. It was warm, hazy, perfect.

You glanced at your phone—2:57 a.m. Saturday. No work tomorrow, thank god. You’d definitely get fired for showing up this stoned.

Your fingers idly played with Dina’s hair while she giggled at nothing. Jesse and Ellie were arguing about something in the background, their voices fuzzy through the weed fog. Eventually, Dina stretched and yawned, announcing she was going to bed.

“If anyone’s crashing, cool. Just don’t open the windows and don’t trip balls in my apartment,” she mumbled.

Jesse followed behind, only to get a very loud, “GET OUT OF MY ROOM, I’M NOT HIGH ENOUGH FOR THIS.” He retreated to the guest room in defeat.

Ellie dropped down on the couch next to you, head tipped back, eyes glossy.

"You don't have an early photoshoot with your kittycat tomorrow?" you teased, glancing at her sideways.

"You wish. I might as well just cave and give her my real number," she said with a lazy grin.

“And forget about me?” you said, bumping her shoulder.

"You know I would never."

"Oh, I know. Im just fucking with you" you smirked.

“Oh yeah?,” she shrugged, grin widening. “I think you would like that.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Your favorite one.”

“I think that’s why we’re best friends.”

“Yeah, you’re my best-best-best-friend-ever-in-the-world,” she said, slurring it like a spell. “But shh, don’t tell Jesse. Sensitive guy.”

She held a finger to her lips like she was sharing an FBI top-secret, you laughed, shaking your head.

Shortly after that, you dozed off on the couch, your head resting on her shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. She could smell your shampoo, faintly sweet, and the ever-present scent of maple syrup that always clung to you no matter what. Like it was just… yours. Branded in her brain.

Your thigh was warm against hers, and yeah—it wasn’t weird. You were always like this. Close. Safe.

But then Ellie’s mind flicked back to your apartment. That two-inch crack in the door. The sliver of skin, the bra strap, your back. She’d looked. Not on purpose—but she’d looked. The weed was fucking with her head.

Her chest tightened. Was that weird? Creepy?

But best friends think about stuff like that sometimes… right? Like, it wasn’t a big deal to know your friend was hot, and protecting her from creepy guys knowing you’d treat her so much better In a normal, totally non-weird, completely platonic way. Right?

She tilted her head slightly, watching you breathe, peaceful and soft beside her. Her brain finally quieted.

You were her best friend.

And that would always be enough.

Right?

[another-fantasy-world]

Divine Possession

→ gods!AgathaRio x mortal!fem!reader

word count ~ 5.8k

summary: In a world where gods still walk unseen among mortals, you, a devout follower of the Goddess of Death suddenly found yourself pulled into another God’s embrace. Sparked by their past memories and spiteful rivalry, the Goddess of Lost and Forbidden Magic retaliates in the most haunting ways. Their presence always surrounded you, subtle and obsessive, blurring the line between worship and possession. As memories resurface and divine tension ignites, you must choose whether to break free, or surrender to the dark, intoxicating love of the goddesses who have always claimed you as theirs.

authors note: writing this was a fever dream. i thought about this idea while breaking down and it has haunted me ever since. i think i thought too much ideas and just smooshed it down into the fic, i sincerely apologize for the shitty transitions and rough flow.

content warning(s): blasphemous writing, unhealthy dynamics, implied dubcon, implied mind control, implied death, loss of control, shitty writing, non-canon compliance, shitty characterization. i mean it. i feel like this is really shitty-

tags: @saphiccarma

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All your life, you were taught that gods were dangerous.

Don’t insult them.

Don’t anger them.

Don’t draw their attention.

You listened. Everyone did. Like many in your village, you chose one god to worship.

Just one. Always just one.

Because to love more than one was an invitation to disaster. For Gods are obsessive creatures and catastrophes may happen when Gods fight over mortals. The old stories warned of it; of jealous gods, obsessive gods, divine tempers igniting mortal wars.

That’s what the legends said, anyway.

And gods never fight over someone like you.

Or so you believed.

How naive you were.

Well, it wasn’t as if the Goddess of Death would ever fight for someone like you.

You didn’t worship her for protection. You didn’t beg her to save you.

You worshipped her for the after.

While others feared death, or chased it with fanatical devotion, you offered something simpler. Gentler.

You never sacrificed bodies.

You offered silence.

You tended her temple’s edges like a gardener in mourning: clearing blood from the altar, straightening the candles, watering the wildflowers that grew, trimming the overgrown vines where no priest dared look.

You believed, deep down, that even Death longed for peace.

That she didn’t want to be worshipped with more death.

That she, too, remembered, perhaps even yearned for life.

That's what you believe in.

You were humble. Careful.

As much as you longed to meet your goddess, you had no desire to meet her early.

So you wandered. Never staying in one place too long.

But no matter how far you strayed, you always seemed to find her again, another temple, another altar, another quiet place to kneel and light a candle no one else would touch.

Your feet wandered, but your heart never did.

But on one such journey, something changed.

You found her shrine, old, forgotten, weather-worn and crumbling beneath ivy and time. It stood in the clearing of a forest no one remembered the name of. The villagers had whispered of strange things happening in those woods, of voices that didn’t echo, of shadows that lingered too long.

It wasn’t marked. No sigils, no name. Just a stone figure inside the crumbling walls, half-swallowed by moss and time, arms outstretched like she was still waiting.

You should’ve turned away. You shouldn’t have stopped. But something about the silence pulled you in. It was too still. Too patient. It wasn’t hollow, it was… watching.

She was watching.

Whoever she was, she'd been waiting a long, long time.

You told yourself it was just pity. That’s why you cleaned the dust from the old altar, picked up the shards of shattered offerings. Why you brushed the dust from her face, cleared the leaves, righted a toppled candle holder, lit a flame that burned violet for a second too long, flickered too slowly to be natural. You didn’t know her name. Only that something once lived here.

And apparently, something still did.

Things started to feel… wrong.

Not dangerous. Not yet. But wrong.

People started looking at you too quickly, then looking away faster, like they’d seen something they weren’t supposed to.

When you prayed at Lady Rio’s temple, the air around you felt charged, like the calm before a monsoon. A weight behind your spine, the prickle of static in the air, like the storm had grown curious.

There was always a weight behind you. A hush. The kind of silence that hums.

And when you were alone, you felt it.

Something stepping into your shadow.

A breath that wasn’t yours.

When you turned, there was nothing.

But then the glimpses started.

A woman with a face like twilight and eyes like secrets. Sometimes in the corner of your vision. Sometimes in your dreams. Always watching. She never speaks. Not at first. But you see her. She makes her presence known; bold and unapologetic.

Unseen, high above in the rafters of Rio’s temple, something ancient flickered into being; robes of storm clouds and nightfall, hair unbound and free, eyes like the space between stars.

“She’s mine, you know,” came a voice like laughter wrapped in silk, low and decadent

Rio lay sprawled across her obsidian throne, like a feline lying in wait, cheek resting in her palm as she smiled.

“She was never yours, darling. She just pitied you.”

Agatha’s eyes narrowed. “And yet I’m the one she lit a candle for.”

“Because you looked pathetic,” Rio purred.

“Dusty little thing rotting in a graveyard shrine. Honestly, I should thank her for dragging you back into existence.” Rio continued, laying back with a wide smirk, further provoking the other Goddess.

The walls trembled softly.

“Careful, Death. You might bore her to death before I can properly haunt her.”

“She already sees me.”

“She feels me.”

“She worshiped me first, you're clinging to her like a leech.”

Their standoff rippled like storm clouds colliding, but down below, you only shivered and pulled your cloak tighter. You looked up to the sky to see if it's going to rain, but instead you felt a shiver down your spine.

The sky felt wrong, you swear you saw flashes of violet and green yet when you blinked it was gone. You sighed tiredly, perhaps the journey was tiring you out.

No. Something was definitely so wrong.

At first, it was only sensations.

The smell of something burning when there is no fire was lit around you. The sound of a lullaby you didn’t know the words to curling at the edges of your dreams. You’d wake with ash on your fingertips, petals in your hair. One morning, you found a bloom tucked behind your ear; black as ink, soft as moth wings. You knew you hadn’t put it there.

Then came the whispers.

Not words. Just sound, like breath over your shoulder, like thunder murmuring too far away to fear. Sometimes it felt like laughter. Sometimes like someone was calling your name… but something swallowed it before it finished.

You tried to ignore it.

You tried to focus on your rites, tried to pray as you always had. But Rio’s temple grew colder. Her altars no longer bloomed for you like they used to. In fact, some gardens had mysterious flowers growing. Lavender, Clematis, Verbena and Aster. All violet flowers started peeking through. The candles flickered toward violet before settling into white. The shadows around her statues deepened. You knelt before her, heart bowed in devotion, and still felt like you were being watched by someone else entirely. You felt like something was pulling at your soul.

You didn’t know that far above, curled lazily on her throne of bone and obsidian, Rio watched with narrowed eyes.

“She’s pulling your prayers away from me,” she said aloud, though no one else could hear her.

Agatha materialized out of shadow, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeves. “You should’ve cleaned up better. You left her room to wonder.”

“She chose me.”

Agatha smirked, circling the throne like a storm ready to strike. “Oh, my love. Mortals are fickle beings. She’s curious. And I’m so very good at being interesting.”

“And when she burns under your touch? When you unravel her like you do everything you love?”

“She won’t fear me.”

“She should.”

Back in the waking world, you felt like you were living between two dreams. Between lightning and silence. You no longer knew who the offerings belonged to, flowers would wither at Rio's altar only for you to dream about flowers blooming in the forgotten altar you once cleaned. You’d close your eyes in a prayer to Rio and see violet flame behind your eyelids.

You felt as if someone was stealing your reverence and claiming it as theirs.

You started talking aloud. Not because you expected a reply, but because it made you feel less watched.

Sometimes, the shadows did respond.

One night, as you sat by your campfire, you whispered thanks to whatever unseen force had guided you through the storm earlier that day.

The wind shifted. The flames danced violet for just a moment.

“You’re welcome,” something whispered, something too close.

You didn’t sleep that night. In fact, you barely did.

And when you did sleep, you woke up in strange positions.

Once with your arms outstretched in prayer, though you didn’t remember kneeling. Another time with your back arched in a way that left you sore for days, like something had tried to puppeteer your body mid-dream.

You no longer dreamed of silence. Now, you dreamt of fire and cold, of stone temples cracking under violet lightning, of footsteps echoing in twin rhythms behind you. You spoke in your sleep. You murmured names you didn’t know.

You started hearing them when you were awake.

Not clearly. Not completely. But when you entered Rio’s temple , the air bent with sound. Voices like thunder underwater. Rio’s presence came with a teasing chill, curling around your shoulders like a lover’s shawl. The other god’s came like pressure behind your ribs, heat crawling down your spine.

One day, while lighting Rio’s candles, you felt something trace your jaw.

You dropped the match and whipped your head around, yet you saw nothing but shadows.

You looked down and noticed something that made you swallow with nervousness.

The flame didn’t go out.

Another time, as you walked past a mirror in an inn, your reflection paused a second longer than you did. The face behind yours, just for a flicker, wasn’t your own.

You stumbled back. Blinked. It was gone.

But the feeling remained: you were not alone. You were being watched, touched, wanted.

You then forced yourself to believe this. This feeling isn't normal. You don't chalk it up to coincidences anymore. You don't gaslight yourself anymore.

You needed answers, so you sought answers in the way mortals do when gods refuse to speak plainly: books.

You found yourself in the back halls of a hidden library, one that shouldn’t have been open that late, nestled deep in a town whose name already slipped your mind. Dust clung to your sleeves, cobwebs stretched like veins between the shelves. The candlelight you held flickered with every breath you took.

And then… a sound.

A thud behind you.

You turned. A book.

It had not been there a moment before.

There was no title. No author. No markings on its worn leather cover. Just a pulsing warmth, like something inside it still breathed.

Your fingers hesitated above the binding, but you opened it anyway.

The script inside was… wrong. Angular and fluid at once. Symbols that shifted when you weren’t looking directly at them. But as your eyes moved over the text, comprehension unfurled in your mind like a forgotten melody.

And the name burned itself into your thoughts.

Agatha.

It echoed like a bell through your ribs. A name that didn’t belong to Lady Rio. A name you had never heard, and yet it sank into your bones like it had always been waiting for you to speak it.

You snapped the book shut.

It disappeared the moment your hands left it, vanished into thin air like it had never existed.

But the knowledge remained.

Behind the veil of divinity, tensions rise just as they have been these past months.

“You're circling her like a starving dog,” Rio hissed, perched atop her throne of black marble and bone, one leg crossed with lazy elegance.

“She pities you. That’s all this is.”

Agatha’s smirk was slow, curling like smoke.

“And yet she whispered my name in her sleep.”

“She only learned your name because you haunt her dreams.”

Agatha took a step closer. The shadows around Rio’s throne twitched.

“She dreams of me because I left an impression. When was the last time she even offered you more than silence?”

“I don’t need her voice to know I own her heart…” Rio said, rising now, her presence flooding the space like velvet death. “...She belongs to me.”

“And yet she's slipping through your fingers,” Agatha growled, “And now she’s looking at me.”

“You just want to be worshiped. You want her to fill that hole where your relevance used to be.”

Agatha’s laugh was breathy and sharp, bitter with memory.

“At least I don’t keep her at arm’s length like a fragile doll on a shelf.”

“I keep her safe from monsters like you.” Rio spat back, sitting up on her throne, her posture akin to that of an agitated cat.

“You keep her lonely. You’re afraid she’ll love me more.”

“I know she will, if you twist her mind the way you twist everything else.”

Agatha was in her space now, toe to toe, violet magic humming at her fingertips.

Their magic crackled in the air, violet storms clashing with shadows laced in bone-white flame. Their lips were inches apart, their hatred wound so tightly it trembled with the promise of something else.

“Say it,” Agatha whispered.

“Say what?”

“That you can’t stand the way she looks at me.”

“I can’t stand that you make her tremble.”

“Then do something about it.”

And Rio did.

She shoved Agatha back against the wall of the realm with godly force, lips crashing against hers like a curse. Agatha clawed at her in return, sparks flying from her fingertips, bodies colliding in divine fury. Their mouths moved like war, like desperation, like worship and hatred had melted together.

Hands gripped hips. Teeth scraped skin. Magic flared, twisted, fused. They dragged each other to the ground, pulling and biting and gasping like two storms mating mid-air, thunder screaming in their blood.

It wasn’t love. Not yet.

It was too much history for love. Too much anger. Too many nights of yearning alone in different corners of the void.

But it was honest.

And when it ended, when they finally collapsed together on the floor of the realm, tangled in each other, breathless and shining with the aftermath, they didn’t speak. They just lay there.

Agatha’s fingers traced idle circles on Rio’s thigh. Rio’s cheek rested against Agatha’s bare shoulder, pretending not to enjoy the warmth.

It was… peaceful.

Until the veil trembled.

Their eyes snapped open.

They sat up together, slowly, as if hearing the same song carried on the wind.

A prayer.

Your voice.

Soft, trembling, but clear.

You spoke Agatha’s name aloud for the first time.

And then, Rio’s.

You offered them both a flame. You called both of them.

Agatha went still. Rio’s mouth parted slightly in disbelief.

“She knows me,” Agatha whispered.

“She chose me,” Rio murmured.

“No,” Agatha said, eyes wide with something terrified and divine, “she chose us.”

For a breathless moment, neither of them moved.

You, on the other hand, were breathless. Upon learning of the other God who haunted your dreams, You ran.

The sky above swirled in hues not yet born, clouds cracking with color that should not exist. You pushed forward anyway, until Rio’s temple towered before you, its spires piercing the night, its gates open with quiet welcome.

You stepped inside, breathless. The air inside was heavy, reverent.

You knelt at the altar like you always did.

You lit the candles like you always did.

But then, with a heart thundering like a traitor in your chest, you reached for a second candle.

Your hand hovered.

To speak the name of another god within a consecrated temple was blasphemy. You knew that. Every bone in your body screamed caution.

And yet… you whispered.

“Agatha.”

The flame sprang to life before you even touched the wick.

It burned deep violet.

You waited for the walls to tremble. For Rio’s wrath to crash down around you. But nothing came. Only silence.

Then… warmth.

From behind the veil, a rush of divine presence. Two forces, colliding in joy and disbelief. You felt it like sunlight breaking through a storm.

“Lady Agatha… Lady Rio…”

Your voice trembled, but you continued. You mumbled apologies, you mumbled thanks, you even cried yourself dry.

The moment you spoke, the air in the temple shifted. Every candle flared. The stones beneath your knees pulsed with energy. You felt their eyes, one heavy like storm clouds, the other cold and endless as the grave.

And for the moment, both were satisfied.

Time passed and the heat you felt around you as well as the shiver that settled in your bones disappeared, it was then replaced by a gentle warmth that seeped into your soul. As if comforting your very existence.

The stares you get when you enter the towns disappear. You fail to find more of Agatha's shrine. You fail to find more information, aside from her name. So you carry a small altar for her in your bag. You carved a small statue for her and Rio and brought them everywhere, setting them on the table in every inn or tavern to rest in, and when you needed to camp out, you set them up on a tree stump, or on the ground beside your makeshift bed.

You still felt their eyes on you, yet it made you feel safe. Animals began interacting with you, particularly bunnies. You began to wonder if Agatha is the Goddess of Bunnies, or animals.

When you thought of that, the trees waved with the sudden air, sending through it a sound like a boisterous laugh. Your eyes snapped to the makeshift altar for them both, witnessing first hand how Rio's candle danced as if she was laughing and how Agatha's candle flickered wildly, as if offended.

You quickly offer an apology before moving on.

The days had grown softer.

Not quieter, no, the presence of two goddesses at your back made silence a rare luxury, but softer. Warmer. You had become a thread sewn tightly between them. Every time you prayed, one answered. Sometimes both. And though you could not see them with your eyes, you felt them.

Rio in the shadows that cooled your skin as you walked beneath the sun.

Agatha in the sparks that danced at your fingertips when you lit candles that should’ve stayed cold.

You had been claimed.

You didn’t know what that truly meant yet, only that you woke up feeling watched but not alone. You felt cherished.

And today, the temple was quiet.

You wandered its halls with a broom in one hand and your thoughts in the other. The inner sanctum, where only the high priests were allowed, had recently been opened to you, though no one could say why, or even argue against it. They only stared when you passed, bowed a little too low, whispered your name like it was something sacred.

In that sanctum, you sighed in slight annoyance. You preferred it when you were a shadow. A cleaning shadow perhaps, but still. Just as you were wiping the walls, you noticed something behind a cracked panel of the wall.

It was at that moment wherein you found it.

A scroll, tucked between stones as if hidden in shame or desperation. Wrapped in velvet long faded, sealed with wax marked by an unfamiliar sigil; a triangle spiraled inwards, swallowing itself, absorbing, stealing.

Your fingers trembled as you unrolled it.

It was written in that same strange, shifting script you saw in the book that had revealed Agatha’s name to you. But this time, you understood it more clearly, like her power had taken root in your bones and begun translating the world for you.

"Agatha. Goddess of Forbidden Flame, of Magic Lost to Time.”

“She bore the stars in her blood and defied the divine order.”

“She who loved Death and was exiled for it."

You stopped breathing.

Your eyes flicked to the next line, burned, smudged, but still legible:

"When Death loved her back, the world trembled."

Behind you, the air cooled.

“Nosy little thing,” came a voice behind you; low, silken, lazy.

You turned slowly.

Agatha leaned against the stone doorframe, arms crossed, amusement dancing in her starlight eyes.

“Should’ve hidden it better,” you murmured, voice shaking just a little.

“She didn’t hide it,” Rio replied, stepping in from the other side like a shadow stitched to your thoughts. “I did.”

There was no anger in her voice. Only memory.

You looked between them. You should've fallen to your knees, yet you found yourself unable to

“You two were…” You hesitated.

“You were lovers.”

Agatha’s eyes flicked to Rio’s. Rio held her gaze, unreadable.

“We were more,” Agatha said finally, voice raw with something old.

“We were the beginning of the end. The natural order of things and the divine order of all things.”

“The gods didn’t like that,” Rio added, moving close to you, her hand brushing your arm, grounding you.

“They feared what might happen if Death and Ancient Magic stopped obeying the rules” Agatha said.

“So they pried us apart, took advantage of my weakness. they buried me. Erased me. And left her alone.”

You turned to her slowly. “But I found you.”

Agatha smiled, something fragile flickering behind her usual sharpness.

“You lit my shrine, you woke me up, breathed me a new life” she whispered.

“And you searched for me, remembered me.”

You stepped forward, between them, and for a moment,just a moment,they both looked at you like you were the bridge between what was and what could be.

You reached for their hands.

Agatha’s was warm, tingling with power like static in the air.

Rio’s was cold, steady, anchoring.

They twined their fingers around yours like they’d been waiting.

And in that quiet room filled with ancient secrets and the crackle of something forbidden, you felt the weight of their bond settle around you like a crown.

The three of you remained quiet, words cease to have importance in this moment where their hands clutch your own like their lifeline.

You stayed like that for a few moments until they felt faint, their existence fading into the night. No more words were said, only quiet understanding that you were theirs. And you wanted nothing more than that.

There wasn't a grand spectacle about it. Rio didn't send a prophecy to her high priests about treating you better, nor did she do anything to put you in the spotlight. You went on with your life, as normal as it can be with two goddesses watching your every move.

After that meeting you had with them, something shifted once again.

They began seeing you more. They began descending into the mortal plane just for you.

Something whispered in you that this isn't normal, but that thought vanished before you could fully acknowledge it.

One time, You had fallen ill somewhere between towns, curled up beneath a tree with a fever, too weak to light a fire. You remembered shivering, calling out softly, half in prayer, half in delirium. You didn’t even say a name. You just whispered, “Please.”

The next thing you knew, warmth enveloped you. Not heat from a fire, but something more subtle, like a hand pressed to your cheek, like someone tucking a blanket around your soul. You heard a voice humming low, too far away to make out, but the melody stayed with you when you woke.

There were two things beside you: a bowl of warm broth, still steaming and a single violet flower tucked beneath your head like a pillow.

The next day, you felt better. You travelled until you reached a village. It was a feast day in the village, and they left a plate at your door, set delicately, reverently. You hadn’t told them where you’d be, you haven't even settled down yet, but they’d found you anyway.

The food was familiar. Your favorites. Berries you hadn’t tasted since childhood, roasted roots the way your mother used to make, still steaming.

Tucked beneath the napkin: a note, written in two hands.

One sharp and slanted: “Eat. You forget to care for yourself.”

The other, more fluid: “We remember what you love, even when you do not.”

That night, two figures stood beneath the tree outside your window. They never should've come in. But you left the window open.

You were exhausted after the long walk, and you just collapsed on the bed, still a little sick. You didn’t think they’d follow, but they did. Who were they to resist the temptation you gave them after all?

“I’ll take the floor,” you said upon noticing their arrival, since the inn only had one bed, you refused to let your goddesses be uncomfortable with you.

Agatha’s scoff was soft.

“No, you won’t.”

Rio simply lifted the blankets.

“Lie in the middle, dove.”

You did.

One of them was fire, the other ice. But together, they wrapped around you like divinity, one arm draped over your waist, the other fingers brushing your collarbone, as though grounding themselves in your warmth.

You fell asleep like that.

And though neither slept, they remained there, watching, breathing, anchoring themselves to you like twin moons around a single sun.

The next morning, the plate was gone, and in its place, a single white lily bound in a ribbon scorched at the edge.

Moments like that kept happening. You would be cleaning Rio's temple and Agatha would appear beside you, dressed in what Rio's priests would wear, she kept you company until you had to leave. You would be in a random forest and Rio would pop out of nowhere dressing in a forest green robe, holding a bunch of flowers tied crudely with twine. You swore you saw a flicker of skeleton beneath her robe which made her smirk.

They would pop out of the shadows in the most unexpected moments, their eyes would never leave your form, and their hands never cease to lay claim on you.

Years pass with this dynamic of yours. Unusual, and divine. Yet you have gotten used to it. You even started cooking three meals in case they descend to eat with you. You started paying more for inns, getting a bigger bed for when they join you while you sleep.

What you have with the two Gods isn't conventional. Hell, if the priests knew, you'd be burned for blasphemy. Yet you're content. Just being with them. They're enough, and when there's just the three of you, you feel complete.

Until the peace was once again shattered unceremoniously.

It began with a whisper.

Not a sound, no, deeper than that. A tremor in your bones. A pulse that wasn’t your own.

You were in the garden of Rio’s temple, tending to violets that bloomed under moonlight, when the air changed. It wasn’t Rio. It wasn’t Agatha.

It was too smooth.

Too perfect.

Too new.

Your fingers stilled in the soil. Your breath hitched.

Then came the pressure, like someone brushing too close behind you. A voice, not in your ears, but in your blood:

"You don’t belong to them, little one."

You flinched.

"They will consume you. Break you. I can give you more."

"Worship me."

The seduction in the voice was oily, sweet. Like honey turned bitter.

You stepped back, heart racing.

And then the world shifted

Beyond the veil, across the divine plane, the gods felt it.

The Witch was awake.

Death was in love.

And a mortal bound them both.

They feared what it meant.

Two of the oldest, most feared goddesses tethered by a single mortal, who now knew their names.

One god tried to intervene. Curious. Arrogant. She sent down an echo of himself: golden, warm, coaxing. She offered power, immortality, and freedom.

But Agatha felt it first.

And Rio followed.

There were no grand declarations. No heavenly trumpets.

Only silence, and then ruin.

Agatha appeared like an unraveling spell, barefoot in the heart of the divine court. Her eyes burned with violet fire, ancient sigils swirling in her cloak. She smiled with teeth that remembered betrayal.

Rio came quietly, a shadow trailing beside the end of time. Her footsteps turned divine marble to obsidian. She spoke no words. She didn’t need to.

The court stilled. Even the winds dared not howl.

The god who dared lure you stood tall at first. Cloaked in celestial gold. But as Agatha raised her hand, the stars around her flickered, dimmed, and died.

She spoke only once:

“Mine.”

And then she struck.

Not with fire or thunder, but with the quiet, devastating finality of forgotten magic.

The god crumbled, first her pride, then her form, stripped of light and voice, unmade and scattered across the ether.

Rio laid a single hand over the place her throne had once stood.

Everything under it rotted.

Not destroyed. Not ended. Preserved, a warning.

The pantheon did not interfere.

They watched.

And they trembled.

Because they understood:

Agatha and Rio were not Gods.

Not rulers.

Not ascended.

They were a threat. They can never be bound by rules.

A sleeping storm that stirred only when challenged. A balance no god dared tip again.

On Earth, you felt it like thunder rolling under your skin.

The wind howled once. The bells of Rio’s temple rang on their own. The air turned thick and reverent.

And then… they came.

Agatha, swirling in dark silk and dusklight. Her eyes no longer hidden behind dreams, she looked at you like you were the spell that summoned her back into being.

Rio, calm and quiet, but the space around her bent like the world had to make room for her presence.

They didn’t kneel.

They didn’t demand.

They simply… looked at you.

You didn’t know what you were supposed to do. So you did what your soul whispered:

You lit a candle.

You whispered both their names.

And in the space between heartbeats, you felt them press into your world, not as gods to be worshipped,

but as powers too old to name, too dangerous to lose.

Agatha stepped forward, brushing a thumb across your cheek.

“They tried to take you.”

Rio’s voice was soft. “They won’t try again.”

You nodded, not knowing what you’d become, but sensing it all the same.

And the gods, far above, in their broken thrones,

watched the mortal girl between Death and Arcane,

and said nothing.

Because the next time they speak her name,

it might be their last.

Yet the Gods offered one last act of rebellion. They made you remember.

Something snapped in you, like rope that wound too tight. Silence then wrapped around the temple as your eyes glazed over.

The silence was heavy like a storm long held at bay. The kind of quiet that made your thoughts feel too loud.

You stood in front of the altar, the moonlight casting silver on the black marble. The scent of lavender still clung to your skin, a gift from Rio. The warmth in your bones still hummed from Agatha’s protective spell, cast after she caught you shivering hours ago.

So much care. So much gentleness.

And yet,

It wasn’t normal.

“I remember now.”

You gripped the edge of the table, the satin sheets crumple beneath your grip

“You’ve been… playing with my mind.”

Your voice didn’t tremble. Not this time.

Behind you, a soft exhale. Fabric shifting.

“You weren’t supposed to remember yet,” Rio said.

Agatha appeared in the reflection behind you. Her expression unreadable. Beautiful. Dangerous.

“We didn’t take your will,” she murmured. “Only softened the edges. Gave you time to love us properly.”

“I trusted you.”

“You still can.”

You turned.

“How can I?”

Agatha stood with her arms loose at her sides, like a flame resisting the urge to spread. Rio stepped forward but kept her distance, reverent in her restraint.

“I was afraid,” you said. “I thought I was going mad. Waking up in places I didn’t remember walking to. Hearing your voices in my dreams. Always feeling safe, but never knowing why. Like a glorified plaything. A toy for your amusement.”

Rio’s gaze flickered. Agatha looked almost… mournful.

“You were unraveling,” Rio said. “We had to protect what was ours.”

“And am I yours?” you asked, voice low. “Because I don’t remember ever agreeing to something.”

Agatha stepped closer. Slowly. Like approaching a wild animal. “No,” she whispered. “But we prayed you would.”

“And if I hadn’t?”

Rio didn’t blink. “We would’ve waited another lifetime. I'm sure I can pull some…strings.”

The silence broke something in you. Not because you were afraid anymore, but because you finally understood.

The kindness. The attention.

The way no one else dared touch you in the temples. The way your pain was always soothed before you could cry out.

They had shaped your life like sculptors in the dark.

And yet…

You weren’t broken.

You stepped into the space between them.

You looked Agatha in the eyes, then Rio.

Gods. Monsters. Lovers.

“You should’ve let me remember sooner,” you whispered.

Agatha reached out, almost afraid to touch you. “Will you leave us?”

You shook your head. “No. I think… I think I wanted to love you from the start.”

Rio closed the last inch of space, her hand brushing yours.

“Then let us stop beating around the bush.” She laughed softly at her own joke, but her voice had gone low, velveted with want.

Agatha leaned in, her breath warm against your ear. “And let us worship you properly.”

Your nod was quiet. Absolute.

This time, it wasn’t because they willed it.

It was because you did.

Their mouths were on you in the next breath, Agatha’s lips hungry against your throat, Rio’s hands ghosting over your hips like a stormcloud choosing where to break. You gasped, caught between them, your body already humming like a divining rod between gods.

Agatha’s fingers threaded through your hair as she tilted your head, baring your neck. She kissed you like a spell; deep, consuming, slow. The burning of the mark she placed on you was quickly forgotten as you moaned into her, and Rio answered by slipping behind you, her palm trailing up your abdomen, undoing the bindings of your robes with a reverence that bordered on cruelty.

“Look at you,” Rio whispered, her voice hoarse, fingers gliding over your bare skin. “Still so soft. Still ours.”

Agatha broke the kiss just long enough to breathe, “I’ve waited centuries to taste you like this.”

And you let them. Let them mark you with lips and tongues, hands and heat. Let them press you down to the temple floor as your breath turned ragged and their names fell from your lips like prayer.

You didn’t know whose mouth was on your chest, whose fingers curled inside you, only that it burned, divine and primal all at once, like something sinister being carved into something holy.

You arched, trembling, as pleasure wracked through you in waves. Agatha’s voice coaxed you through it, dark and full of longing. “That’s it, dove. Let go. Let us have you.”

Rio bit into your shoulder, not enough to hurt, but enough to stake her claim, her own mark settled into your skin. Her voice was wind and hunger. “You were always meant to belong to us.”

And you did.

Body and breath.

Blood and bone.

When they finally pulled you into their arms, tangled and bare and shaking, the stars outside the temple shifted,

as if even the sky had been waiting for this.

[rookamell]

Ignore me I need to yell for a second about the almost kiss because I just watched it again and I might have gone a little crazy with the screenshots

Ok so we have Lucanis sauntering over acting suave. Because he is.

But then look how genuinely Happy he is to be there too! Look at how he's looking at Rook! Look at how much he likes them!!

^she has never been more in love btw. He makes her stupid. The wall lean has put her into a catatonic state.

Then obviously there's the look at Rook's lips. I do find it interesting that this happens After Rook touches him so it's not the touch that makes him hesitate. The touch only spurs him on.

Bonus I caught the face scrunch

And then look how close they get!!! I didn't even notice they got this close!!

Devastating. His eyes are still closed when he pulls away. He wanted to kiss them so fucking bad. I have very many thoughts on what might have happened here but I'm saving them for the fic. This screenshot made me take psychic damage.

Like look how much effort it takes him to pull away. He Knows he's hurting Rook. But also this has to happen, because he's not ready. I do always wonder if he's like... taking it upon himself to try and protect Rook from themselves a little bit too? 'At least I know I'm doing it' -> Rook might like me but they don't know exactly what they're signing up for so I have to pull back for both our sakes rn. Also I don't think Spite had anything to do with this. All the other times Spite said/did something it was a lot more jarring. I could be wrong tho that's just my interpretation. It's even worse when you compare how happy he just was! And he's not letting himself have that happiness!! Lucanis!!!

Homocide

Double homocide

[foxy-eva]

Drunk on You

Summary: Spencer is completely and utterly infatuated with you

Request: Pussy drunk Spencer where it’s the first time they sleep together and he’s completely obsessed with being inside her and eating her out (initially requested to @imagining-in-the-margins) 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut 

Content Warning: (18+, minors DNI) heavy kissing, handjob, fingering, oral (fem receiving), protected penetrative sex, slight overstimulation

Word Count: 2.2k

Masterlist

Maybe it was a bit cliché to invite Spencer into your apartment for coffee after your date. The ulterior motive was obvious but there was no elegant way of telling him what you really wanted. He didn’t seem to mind when he accepted your offer with a grin on his face. 

The tension between the two of you was palpable once you stepped through your door. The warm amber of Spencer’s irises shone even brighter under the lighting of your living room. It was mesmerizing to look at him, so much so that you quickly forgot about the coffee. 

Spencer couldn’t care less. It was obvious that he knew a hot beverage wasn’t exactly what you craved right then. The way he licked his lips as he looked at you gave away that he was longing for something else, too. 

Stepping closer, you left barely any space between the two of you. The warmth he radiated penetrated your skin and spread through your body. You breathed in his scent, a pleasant mix of his cologne and laundry detergent. 

“So,” you teased as you leaned closer. “Are you gonna kiss me now or what?” 

“Gladly,” he chuckled. 

To your surprise, he took his time with you. His fingers found your jaw, gently brushing along your skin before slightly tilting your head. His other hand made contact with your waist to pull you even closer. Then, unhurriedly and with a precise motion, he finally leaned in to close the distance. 

Once your mouths made contact there was no more holding back, though. His lips were soft yet demanding and he didn’t waste any time to deepen the kiss. Tasting you broke any resistance Spencer had and he couldn’t keep up his demeanor anymore. 

His fingertips dug into your waist before you felt them trembling against your body. His tongue brushed over yours as if you had finally granted him the first taste of water after a life-long drought. When your hands found the nape of his neck to playfully tug at his curls, he unabashedly moaned against your lips. 

Spencer was desperate to make you his and he had no intention of hiding that from you. His lips only left yours to gasp for air before kissing you some more. When you wanted to lean back to look at him, he chased your mouth and immediately closed the distance again.

His enthusiasm made you smile into the kiss and he noticed. That was when he finally slowed down, leaving a few more feather-light pecks on your mouth before leaning back. 

“Sorry,” he awkwardly laughed. “I’ve been waiting so long to do this.” 

“Don't apologize,” you breathed. “I like how eager you are.” 

To prove your words, you took his hand in yours to lead him into your bedroom. Spencer wasn’t the only one who had been waiting too long for this to finally happen. You had no intention of acting shy with him when it was clear how much the both of you yearned for each other’s nearness. 

Right beside your bed you came to a halt and turned to him. Patiently he watched as you undid the buttons of his dress shirt and brushed the fabric over his shoulders. Once the shirt dropped to the floor, your hands wandered along the waistband of his pants. 

Your eyes followed the movements of your fingers and you couldn’t ignore the outline of his hardness straining against his trousers. You looked at the man in front of you and found him staring at you with the utmost adoration in his eyes. 

“Can I touch you?” You asked and he nodded. 

Your palm carefully made contact with his clothed cock and a sigh immediately escaped Spencer’s throat. He leaned into your touch and twitched against the fabric of his confines. You decided to free him as you undid his pants and slowly pulled them down together with his underwear. 

As you took your time to admire the beauty of your lover, you completely forgot your surroundings. Only Spencer’s hand brushing along your arm brought you back to reality. You locked eyes with him again and felt your cheeks heating up. 

“You’re so handsome,” you mumbled. 

His hand found the fabric of your shirt and tugged on it as he cooed, “I want to see you, too.”

Together you got rid of the remaining pieces of clothing until both of you were completely bare. You lay down on the mattress to continue kissing without any barriers between your bodies. 

Spencer hovered over you when he began kissing down your neck. He left sweet pecks on your skin before biting down on your pulse point, drawing a whine from your lips. To soothe the angry skin, he carefully licked along it before moving further down your body. 

“You smell so good,” he groaned as he kissed your breasts. “I can’t get enough of you.” 

He took one of your hardened peaks into his mouth while his hand found the other, teasing it with his fingers until you couldn’t hold back your moans. When he heard your hymn of praise, he hummed into your skin. 

Hungry lips found one another once more. “You are marvelous,” Spencer mumbled into the kiss. 

While he was distracted with his mouth on yours, a curious hand made its way down his body to wrap around his erection. It made him whimper against your lips. Your fingers brushed over velvety skin until they found the weeping tip to spread his arousal over it. 

“Fuck!” he hissed as he looked down his body to watch your hand caressing him. 

“Do you like that?” you teased as you kept stroking him a little harder. 

His hand found your wrist to stop your movements. “Yeah, a little too much,” he confessed and his words made you smile. 

You let go of him and watched as his fingertips danced along your chest and down your stomach until they reached their destination between your legs. Tentatively, he let one finger glide along your slit before spreading your folds apart. When he found you already dripping with desire, he groaned, “So wet for me.” 

He collected your dew on his fingertips and dragged it along your folds before circling your most sensitive spot. The sounds of your pleasure only spurred him further on, caressing you some more before he breached your entrance with two digits, finding little resistance from your body. 

Spencer kissed along your neck as he curled his fingers inside you, pressing against a spot that made you light-headed and let your walls flutter around him. He seemed to relish feeling your body like this, taking his time to explore your core before settling on a steady pace. It didn’t take long for you to dance along the edge of euphoria. 

His lips brushed along your ear as he whispered, “I can’t wait to fuck you.” 

That was all it took for your undoing. Spencer groaned as he felt you pulsing around his fingers, your entire body writhing as you found relief. You were still panting when he withdrew his fingers, making you whine at the loss of contact. 

With a playful smirk spread over his face, he brought his hand to his mouth to lick your release from his fingers, savoring the taste of your cunt on his tongue. 

“You taste so good,” he breathed before moving down your body. “I need more.”

Before he could settle down between your thighs, you grabbed his shoulders. The feeling of being empty was overwhelming and you yearned to be filled out by him. Even though the prospect of having his mouth on you was exciting, it was not what you needed then. 

“I need you inside me now,” you whimpered. “Please, Spencer.” 

He kneeled between your legs when he chuckled, “How could I say no to that?” 

Hurriedly and with little grace you reached over to your nightstand to get a condom from the drawer. Spencer didn’t waste any more time when he took the wrapper from your hands to put the condom on. As he leaned over you, you watched him closing his eyes for a moment before he aligned his cock at your entrance. 

Then, after locking eyes with you, he began pushing his hips against yours. He hissed a curse at the sensation of slowly stretching you open one inch at the time. When he dared to look down between your bodies, he got so overwhelmed at the sight of his cock entering you that he almost came on the spot. 

Quickly, he averted his sight to get his composure back. Your walls fluttered around him and you felt him twitch in response. Once he had filled you up to the hilt, he took a moment to feel your heartbeat deep inside you. 

“Spencer,” you whined as you began rocking your hips against his. “Please!” 

He didn’t mean to tease you or test your patience. He just wanted to fully savor this moment. Feeling you tightly wrapped around him made his head spin. He felt inebriated when he began moving and started to think you had cast some kind of spell on him. 

“You feel so good,” he breathed when he began moving. “So tight for me.” 

Pure magic was the only explanation for what you made him feel. Spencer struggled to wrap his head around the fact that this was reality. Nothing else mattered other than being right there with you, making you his as he fucked you against the mattress. 

“Harder!” you cried and Spencer obliged. 

It proved to be a mistake, though. As he watched you quiver underneath him, the bedframe shaking with his forceful thrusts, he struggled to delay his downfall. Feeling you getting even tighter around him made it impossible to not fully indulge in this sensation. 

With his whole body trembling, he tried but failed to slow himself down. Desperation was written over his face as he attempted to prolong the feeling of being inside you. Of course you noticed it, too. Seeing him fall apart on top of you as pleasure overcame him was exhilarating and you had no intention of slowing him down.  

“Come for me,” you murmured and Spencer’s eyes widened at your words. 

Then, with a particularly hard thrust, he did. Trembling and groaning, the built-up tension was released as his climax washed over him. 

Before you had a chance to wrap your arms around him to welcome him inside your embrace, he pulled out of you and quickly moved down your body. With your head still spinning, it took you several seconds to realize what he was doing. 

Only when you felt his tongue glide through your folds did you comprehend that he had found his new home between your legs. 

“Oh fuck, Spencer!” You hissed at the feeling of his mouth caressing your sensitive center. 

Like a man starved he collected your honeyed wetness on his tongue, moaning into your skin as he tasted your heady aroma. The vibrations he created sent shockwaves through your body, prompting you to buck your hips against his face.

Seemingly unfazed by your reaction, he wrapped his arms around your legs to keep you in place as he continued pleasuring you with his tongue and mouth. 

“So good,” he whispered against your heat. 

Despite his effort to hold you securely against his mouth, you were sure you might start floating at any moment. Two of his fingers found their way into you, adding more pressure and bringing you closer to your undoing. 

It only took a few more seconds until ecstasy overcame you. Your thighs trembled as you rode out your high, rocking gently against Spencer’s face. He didn't let go of you, though. Almost in a trance-like state he kept caressing you, licking up your release as you writhed underneath him. 

Your chest was heaving when you looked at him, eyes closed and half of his face buried between your legs. Spencer didn't even consider stopping, not when you tasted so heavenly, even more so after you came. Drunk on your taste and scent, he would have been more than happy to spend the rest of his night right there. 

It became too overwhelming for you, though. The constant stimulation was too much to bear and almost became uncomfortable, so your hands found his curls to pull on them. “Enough,” you murmured.

In an instant, he removed his mouth from your core to litter your inner thighs with little kisses. Then he looked up at you, a wicked grin painted on his glistening face. He wiped himself clean with the back of his hand before plopping down beside you. 

“Sorry, uh…” he muttered. “I got a little carried away.” 

You placed a kiss on his lips, noticing your own scent still lingered on them. 

“I’m not complaining,” you purred. “I just need a little break. We can continue later.” 

The glimmer in his eyes at your words must have been akin to someone witnessing a miracle. Content with the prospect of doing all of this again, he wrapped you into his arms. 

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings

[st4rfckerz]

clark’s too cautious

Clark gripped your waist tightly, pulling you flush against him as you straddled his lap. The closeness between you was electric, each kiss growing deeper and more urgent, leaving you breathless. His lips moved against yours with an intensity that made your pulse race, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own. A deep groan escaped Clark's throat as your hips ground against his, sending a chill through his body. His own hips bucked instinctively, seeking more friction, more contact. His hands roamed your body, sliding under your shirt to caress the smooth skin of your back.

Clark's breath hitched as your lips trailed along his neck and jawline, your pelvis rolling against his in a tantalizing rhythm. His grip on you tightened, fingers digging into your skin as he guided your movements, urging you to grind deeper against him. His brain was scattered. He knew he should stop— knew this was quickly slipping past the line where he could think clearly, but the feel of you, the way your fingers tangled in his hair and your body pressed so perfectly against his, made it impossible to pull away.

“Tell me to stop,” Clark whispered hoarsely, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. His chest rose and fell unevenly, his resolve faltering with every kiss, even as a voice in the back of his mind whispered that he should let go. He was acutely aware of his own power, the potential to cause harm if he lost control.

“No,” you breathe out, your lips brushing against his. “I don't want you to stop.” Your words ignited a fire within him, but the thought of hurting you was unbearable.

“I don't want to hurt you,” he murmured. Despite his words, his hips bucked upwards, seeking more of your touch, more of the sweet friction that threatened to drive him mad.

“You won’t, I’ll be okay.” you tangle your fingers through the small curlycues on the back of his neck. “I can take it.”

He pulled back and his eyes bore into yours, searching for any hint of hesitation or fear. Finding none, he crushed his lips against yours in a searing kiss, pouring all of his pent-up yearning into the embrace.

With trembling hands, you removed your shorts, revealing the smooth expanse of your skin. Clark followed suit, shedding his pants and boxers in a frenzied rush. Clark's eyes widened as he took in the sight of you, perched in his lap once again, your skin glowing in the dim light. His hands trembled as they slid up your thighs, his touch gentle despite the intensity of his arousal.

Leaning forward, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth with a hunger that bordered on desperation. His hands wrapped around your torso, pulling you impossibly closer.

A shudder ran through his body as you positioned him at your slick folds, the heat of your cunt enveloping him. With a slow, deliberate motion, you sank down onto him, taking him deep inside you. A guttural moan escaped his lips, his fingers digging into your hips as he fought to maintain control.

Clark's eyes fluttered closed as he felt you adjust to his size, the tight heat of your body enveloping him like a vice. He remained still, giving you time to acclimate to the sensation.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his voice strained with concern. “Tell me if it's too much.”

“So big Clark,” you whined. Slowly, you began to move, your hips rising and falling in a sensual rhythm. Clark's hands gripped your hips, guiding you as you found your pace, the tension building between you with each passing moment. His head fell back against the pillow, a low groan escaping his lips as he reveled in the feeling of your body moving against his.

Clark's hips rose to meet yours, his movements careful and controlled despite the overwhelming urge to lose himself in the moment. His hands slid up your body, caressing your curves as he marveled at the sight of you above him. But as much as you were enjoying taking the lead, you could feel your legs burning already. As your movements slowed, Clark wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you close. With a surge of strength, he began to thrust up into you, his hips driving forward with a force that left you breathless.

“I've got you,” he growled, his voice low and intense. “Just hold on. I'll make it good for you.” His hands gripped your hips, guiding you as he set a relentless pace. His strength was immense, his body a coiled spring of power that threatened to overwhelm you. His hips slammed against yours, driving you deeper onto him with each powerful thrust.

Your body went limp in Clark's arms, your mind consumed by the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. The world narrowed down to the feeling of him inside you, his cock jackhammering inside you at a relentless rhythm.

“Close,” you managed to slur, your words barely audible over the sound of your ragged breathing. “So close.”

“I know,” Clark panted, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own orgasm. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his body tensing as he reached his peak. The sensation of your walls clenching around him, milking him for all he was worth, sent him over the edge, his cum spilling into you in hot, pulsing waves. At the same moment, you cried out, your body trembling in ecstasy as you came undone.

You remained in Clark's arms, your body molded against his as you both caught your breath. His heartbeat gradually slowed, the rapid thrum of excitement giving way to a steady, soothing rhythm.

[moonlightwritingf1]

First Time | LN4

❤︎ summary ━━━━━━━ Lando finds out Y/N is a virgin.

❤︎ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

❤︎ word count ━━━━━━━ 5.3k

❤︎ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, unprotected sex, p in v, oral sex (f receiving)

Based on this request.

Friday night settled over London with a quiet hush, the city lights flickering in the distance and the occasional sound of cars passing below Y/n’s apartment building. Although the night was still and cool, a charged warmth filled the cozy living room. She sat on the edge of her couch, legs tucked beneath her, trying to focus on the movie playing on the TV screen. But it was impossible. Not when Lando Norris was sitting just inches away from her, his presence like a magnet pulling at every nerve in her body.

It had been two months since they’d officially started dating, and yet, the tension between them still crackled like a live wire. Every glance, every brush of skin, every shared laugh—it all felt charged with something unspoken. Something waiting to burst free.

Lando leaned back into the cushions, one arm casually draped behind her. His fingers traced lazy patterns along the fabric of the couch, dangerously close to brushing against her shoulder. She could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the faint hint of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him. It made her stomach twist in the best possible way.

Lando studied Y/N’s features in silence, his gaze lingering as if he were trying to decipher a puzzle. He noticed the subtle tension around her eyes, the delicate way her lashes fluttered as she blinked, and the gentle parting of her lips with each soft breath. The slight flush on her cheeks hinted at something more—nerves, maybe, or a thought she wasn’t sharing.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle, as if afraid to break whatever spell she seemed to be under. “You doing okay? You seem a little distracted.” 

Y/n swallowed. “I’m fine,” she replied quickly. She noticed her own voice sounded defensive. “Just… I was thinking about work. It was a long week.”

He nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I know the feeling. Meetings, calls, deadlines… not as glamorous as I used to think a normal nine-to-five would be.” A teasing spark lit his eyes. “At least you’re off the clock now,” he added, his lips curving into a soft smile.

Y/n found herself smiling despite her nerves. There was something about his tone—soft and playful at once—that disarmed her. This was why she had let him in, despite all her reservations. His earnestness, the puppy-like devotion in his gaze. He was so unlike the rumors—so unlike how she once imagined him to be.

She stood up abruptly, the need to put a little distance between them overwhelming her for a moment. “Want some tea? I can put the kettle on,” she offered, forcing herself to sound casual.

A small frown tugged at Lando’s brows, but he quickly covered it with a smile. “Sure, I’d love some.”

While she busied herself in the kitchen, Lando took a moment to look around her apartment. It was modest—comfortable and intimate, with personal touches here and there: books carefully arranged on a shelf, a photograph of her parents near the TV, soft throw blankets on the sofa. He couldn’t help picturing how often she might curl up under those blankets, reading a novel after a long day. He yearned to be there during those quiet moments, to share them with her, to make her life a little less lonely.

The clink of the kettle switching off caught his attention. Y/n returned shortly, two mugs of steaming tea in hand. She handed one to him and then sat back down on the couch, leaving only a cushion’s width of space between them. The delicate scent of chamomile filled the air.

“Thank you,” he murmured, taking a slow sip. “You’re too good to me.”

“Trust me,” she said with a small laugh, “I’m not. You just make it so easy to want to do something for you, seeing as you’re always doing things for me.”

Y/n’s mind wandered briefly to the memory of him sending her all those gifts—flowers, perfumes, expensive clothes that made her squeak in shock when she saw the price tags. She had been torn between excitement and embarrassment, but also a bit of suspicion. There was this question that kept haunting her: Could Lando be serious? She needed more than sweet gestures and pretty words. She needed true depth, true commitment. And if he wasn’t that kind of man, she’d rather know now than be hurt later.

Lando watched her expression shift, as if lost in thought. Ever perceptive, he set his mug down. “Y/n,” he said, voice quieter this time, “I can see it in your eyes that something’s bothering you. Is it us… or something else?”

She offered him a tentative smile. “I’m just… still adjusting to us, I think. It’s overwhelming sometimes.”

He couldn’t hide the relief that seemed to soften his features. “I understand,” he said, reaching out and gingerly placing a hand on her knee. “I know I might come on strong, but you have to believe me—I’m in this. No matter what.”

She placed her hand over his. His words chipped away at some of her armor, and she felt a stirring of warmth that had little to do with the tea. “Thank you,” she whispered, letting her thumb brush over his knuckles.

Time felt suspended. The city noises outside turned into nothing but a faint backdrop. In the hush of her living room, the only sounds were their breath, their quiet laughter, and the hum of electricity in the background.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to lighter topics: a fun memory from Lando’s last race weekend in Europe, a comedic mishap at Y/n’s office that had everyone trying to fix a computer glitch that turned out to be user error. The atmosphere grew playful again, but a current of tension remained, rolling through the space between them like a gathering storm.

They inched closer until their shoulders touched. Lando placed a finger beneath her chin, guiding her gaze to meet his. His voice was a whisper in the stillness. “You have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

Y/n’s lips parted, a bashful chuckle escaping her. “You’re just saying that.”

“No,” he murmured, leaning in, close enough to brush her ear with his breath, “I’m not.”

And then he kissed her. Gentle at first, almost reverent, as if he were savoring the feel of her lips. She responded softly, her heart fluttering. The warmth of his mouth against hers turned every cell in her body alive.

His hands drifted from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer so that no space remained between them. She could feel his heartbeat thrumming against her own. Every time their lips parted, he whispered her name, as though it were a plea and a prayer all at once.

The kiss deepened. His hand went up, tangling in her hair, and a soft moan she couldn’t restrain slipped from her lips. Sensations flooded her: his warmth, his scent—a mix of clean soap and the faintest cologne—his unwavering focus on her and only her.

It wasn’t long before the passion of their kisses caused them both to shift. Lando’s palm skated gently over her waist and up toward her ribs. His lips traveled along her jawline, down her neck, tasting the soft skin there. She clutched at the fabric of his hoodie, eyelids fluttering shut.

The moment felt too perfect, too intense. A fierce desire blossomed in her chest, and she had to remind herself to breathe. She could feel Lando’s heart racing, or maybe it was her own.

His mouth found hers again, deeper, hungrier this time. When she felt his right hand cup her breast over her sweater, an unexpected jolt of panic mingled with excitement. The swirl of emotions—desire, fear, anticipation—was suddenly overwhelming.

She let out a quiet gasp and quickly placed her hand over his, stopping him in the motion. It wasn’t intentional, the way her body stiffened, the way her breath caught in her throat. Instantly, Lando pulled back, eyes wide and full of concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice low and rough from the heat of the moment. “Did…did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”

Y/n drew in a shaky breath, her cheeks burning, unsure how to explain. She felt her entire face glow with a complex mix of longing and worry. “Lando…” she began, biting her lower lip. She slid her hand into his for a moment, a silent reassurance that she wasn’t rejecting him, but the intensity. “I just…maybe we’re moving too fast right now.”

He nodded, pulling away a little more to give her space. “It’s okay,” he whispered, gently brushing the back of his fingers against her cheek. “We can slow down, I promise. I don’t ever want you to feel rushed.”

She looked down, her hands twisting in her lap. A fresh wave of nerves welled up in her chest—but this time it wasn’t just about caution, it was about her own decision, a burgeoning sense that maybe she was ready to take this leap with him. She’d been holding onto her secret for so long that it almost felt easier to keep the status quo. Yet tonight, something had shifted inside her. She had been convincing herself that her wariness was purely about trust, about not wanting to rush. But if she was honest with herself—truly honest—she wanted him, more than she’d ever wanted anyone.

“There’s… actually something else,” she said in a voice so soft he had to lean in to hear her.

His eyes filled with anxiety. “Talk to me, love. Please.”

She swallowed. “I’m…still a virgin.”

For a moment, the air left the room. Lando stared at her, silently processing, a flicker of genuine shock crossing his face. He exhaled slowly, as though trying to collect his thoughts. “You’re…a virgin?” he repeated quietly, the disbelief evident in his tone. “Wow, I—I’m sorry,” he quickly added, holding up his hands as though in surrender. “I don’t mean that in a bad way, it’s just… I’m surprised.”

She nodded stiffly, her gaze fixed on the space between their knees. “I know we’re the same age. I know how it sounds. You probably had…way more experiences than I ever have.” She tensed, voicing the insecurity that had haunted her for months. “I just, I never met someone I trusted enough. Or maybe I was too busy convincing myself I didn’t need it… didn’t need them.”

Lando, still coming to grips with her revelation, took her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. “Hey,” he said softly, “look at me.”

Reluctantly, she raised her eyes to meet his gaze. And what she saw wasn’t judgment or disinterest—it was gentleness, acceptance… and maybe even awe.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said, voice trembling with raw honesty. “I know that couldn’t have been easy.” He lifted his free hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “And please don’t feel embarrassed about it.”

She let out a shaky breath, tears threatening to form. “I thought you’d think it’s weird,” she confessed. “You’re so… experienced. You’ve had so many women and—”

“Let’s not talk about them,” he interrupted gently. A slight sadness flickered across his face, as though all the old choices he’d made suddenly seemed trivial or even shameful. “They don’t matter. You do.” He swallowed, trying to steady his voice. “And I don’t want you to feel any pressure from me.”

She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. “Lando, this is… important. But I—” She paused, feeling that swirl of fear in her stomach again. It was now or never. “I think… I’m ready. To be with you,” she admitted, voice barely audible. It was the first time she had truly spoken the words aloud. The admission sent a flush of heat through her entire body.

His eyes widened at her confession. “You’re… ready?” he echoed, as if carefully testing the meaning of those words. Hesitation and tenderness mingled in his expression. “Are you absolutely sure? I don’t want you to do this if you’re not one hundred percent.”

She swallowed, nodding. “I’m sure,” she whispered. A small laugh escaped her, colored by nervousness. “I can’t believe I just said that. But… yes. I—I want this, with you.”

Relief, joy, and something deeper flooded Lando’s features. He reached for her hands again, clasping them between his own. “We don’t have to rush,” he said, though the excitement in his voice was clear. “Just because you’re ready doesn’t mean—”

“It’s my choice,” she interjected softly. “I trust you. And it’s taken me a while to let myself feel this way, but… the truth is, I’m tired of being scared. Of holding onto my hang-ups. I want to share this with you.”

Lando exhaled, a million emotions running across his face—gratitude, longing, protectiveness. “Y/n,” he said, voice thick. “I promise I’ll be gentle. I promise I’ll take care of you.”

She offered him a trembling smile. “I know you will.”

He stood then, carefully pulling her to her feet. They stood close, the fabric of their clothes brushing against each other. Lando dipped his head so that his eyes were level with hers. He could see the mix of courage and trepidation in her gaze.

“Do you want to move to your room?” he asked, the question laced with quiet anticipation.

She nodded, sliding her hand into his. They walked slowly toward the short hallway that led to her bedroom. Every step brought a new spike of adrenaline and longing. The overhead lights were off, leaving only the faint glow from a small lamp on her bedside table. The walls were painted in calming, muted colors—soft grays and blues. The bed itself was made neatly, a plush duvet folded at the end.

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest. A whirlwind of thoughts chased each other through her mind: He’s here, he wants me, I want him, I’m ready, no turning back… Yet overshadowing all of it was a sense of quiet determination. She had chosen him. After all the months of hesitation, she was certain.

When they reached the bedside, she paused, turning to face Lando. The uncertainty still flickered in her eyes, but it didn’t come from doubt in him—rather, it came from the enormity of the moment. Her first time. Something she had guarded for so long.

He noticed. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders and bent to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. “We’ll go slow,” he murmured, the warmth of his breath tickling her skin.

She nodded, inhaling deeply. “Slow,” she repeated, as if the word itself were a grounding tether.

Carefully, they leaned in for another kiss. This one was warm and tentative, a promise rather than an urgent demand. Lando’s hands drifted to her waist, and Y/n reciprocated, sliding her arms around his neck. The heat between them was more controlled now, more intentional, and yet somehow even more intense. She felt safe—reassured by the unspoken vow in every gentle touch.

After a while, their kisses grew deeper, more confident. He guided her backward until her legs met the edge of the bed. They sank down together, lips never losing contact. Soft gasps and hushed whispers began weaving an intimate tapestry of sound around them. Even the hum of passing cars seemed distant, as though the outside world had fallen away and left them in a private universe.

The warmth of their kisses lingered, slow and deliberate, as Lando hovered above her on the bed. His lips moved from her mouth to her jawline, trailing soft, featherlight kisses down the column of her neck. Every touch was a promise, every sigh a silent reassurance. Y/n’s breath hitched when his tongue flicked against her pulse point, sending shivers cascading down her spine. Her hands tangled in his hair, holding him close, her fingers trembling with anticipation.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her skin, his voice low and rough with desire. His lips continued their journey downward, skimming over her collarbone before settling at the hollow of her throat. He paused for a moment, his breath warm against her flushed skin, and then gently tugged at the hem of her sweater.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, his eyes locking onto hers, dark with arousal but still filled with tenderness.

She nodded, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lando’s hands slid beneath the fabric, his fingertips brushing against her waist as he slowly lifted the sweater over her head. The cool air kissed her skin, and she shivered—not from the temperature, but from the way he looked at her. His gaze was reverent, almost worshipful, as he took in the sight of her bare torso. His eyes lingered on the curve of her breasts, encased in delicate lace, and a soft groan escaped his lips.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, his hands already moving to cup her through her bra. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, drawing a sharp gasp from her. She arched into his touch, her body betraying how much she craved him.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to the slope of her breast, just above the edge of the lace. His kisses were slow and exploratory, each one sending jolts of pleasure radiating through her. When his fingers fumbled with the clasp of her bra, she reached behind her to help him, her hands shaking slightly. The bra fell away, and his breath caught as he took her in completely.

“Y/n…” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. “You’re stunning.”

His hands caressed her breasts, his palms sliding over the soft flesh before his mouth followed. He captured one nipple between his lips, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak while his hand teased the other. Y/n gasped, her back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure coursed through her. Her moans spilled freely now, no longer restrained, and each one seemed to spur him on. 

“L-Lando,” she whimpered, her nails digging into his shoulders. “That feels… so good.”

He responded by sinking his teeth gently into her nipple, eliciting a sharp cry from her. His hands squeezed her breasts together, his lips moving back and forth between them, leaving her a trembling, moaning mess beneath him. He worshipped her like this, his touch and his words making her feel cherished, adored.

“Lando,” she whimpered, her hands clutching at his shoulders. “Please…”

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Please what, love?” he teased, his fingers pinching her nipples lightly, making her gasp again.

She shook her head, unable to form the words. He laughed softly, kissing her lips briefly before sitting back on his heels. His hands drifted to the waistband of her leggings, his thumbs hooking under the elastic. “Can I take these off too?” he asked, his voice gentle but laced with anticipation.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. But… take your top off too.”

His grin was irresistible as he tugged his hoodie over his head, revealing the toned planes of his chest. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. He was breathtakingly handsome, his muscles defined but not overly bulky, his skin smooth and warm.

He returned to her, his hands sliding her leggings down her legs slowly, peeling the fabric away inch by inch. She lifted her hips to help him, her heart pounding as she lay before him in nothing but her underwear. His gaze lingered on her, heat and adoration burning in his eyes.

“God, you’re stunning,” he said, his voice rough with want. He knelt between her legs, his hands resting on her thighs. “Are you sure about this? We can stop anytime.”

She nodded, her voice steadier than she expected. “I’m sure.”

Lando leaned down, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. She gasped, her hands gripping the sheets as his lips traveled higher, closer to the apex of her thighs. He nuzzled the thin fabric of her underwear, his breath hot against her already soaked core.

“So fucking wet,” he murmured, his voice dripping with desire. He kissed her through the fabric, dragging his tongue over her clit in a slow, teasing motion. She cried out, her hips lifting instinctively toward him.

“Lando!” she gasped, her thighs trembling as he continued to tease her, his lips and tongue driving her wild. He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down her spine.

“Patience, baby,” he purred, his hands sliding her underwear down her legs. He tossed them aside, settling back between her thighs. For a moment, he just looked at her, his expression reverent. “Fuck, Y/N. You have such a pretty pussy.”

Her face burned, but before she could say anything, his tongue was on her, lapping at her folds with long, slow strokes. She moaned loudly, her head falling back against the pillows as pleasure shot through her.

Lando devoured her like a man starved, his tongue circling her clit, dipping inside her, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from her body. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, her hands fisting the sheets as she writhed beneath him.

“Oh my God, Lando,” she whimpered, her thighs shaking. “That feels so good…”

He groaned against her, the vibrations making her cry out. He slipped a finger inside her, curling it just right against her walls as his tongue continued its relentless assault. She swore she saw stars, her entire body tensing as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter within her. Just when she thought she might scream, he pulled back, his lips glistening and his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Do you really want this?” he asked, his voice ragged. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

She nodded, her eyes glazed with need. “Yes, I’m ready. I want you, Lando. All of you.”

He nodded, his breath hitching as he reached for the waistband of his trousers. In one swift motion, he stripped them off, along with his boxers, leaving himself completely bare. Y/N’s eyes widened as she took him in—hard and flushed, his length straining toward her.

He settled between her legs, his weight pressing her into the mattress as he leaned down to kiss her. “I’ll go slow,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Tell me if it hurts.”

She nodded, her heart swelling with affection for him. “Okay,” she whispered.

He pressed forward slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he was fully sheathed inside her. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as she adjusted to the unfamiliar sensation. It hurt, but it wasn’t unbearable—and mixed with the pain was an overwhelming sense of closeness, of being connected to him in the most intimate way possible.

“You’re incredible,” he breathed, staying still to give her time. “How do you feel?”

“Full,” she admitted with a shaky laugh. “But… good. Really good.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her softly. “You’re doing so well, love,” he murmured against her lips. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

Lando began to move, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate thrusts. Each glide of his length inside her was met with a soft gasp from Y/n, her body still adjusting to the unfamiliar fullness. He kept his pace gentle, rhythmic, almost teasing, as if he wanted to savor every second of this moment with her. His eyes never left hers, searching for any sign of discomfort—but all he found was desire, trust, and a growing need.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. “So fucking perfect.”

She whimpered in response, her hands sliding from his shoulders to his chest, where she could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Her own heart raced in tandem, her breath coming in shallow bursts as arousal coiled tighter and tighter in her core. She arched instinctively, her hips rising to meet his next thrust, and Lando groaned low in his throat at the sensation.

“Lando…” she breathed, her voice trembling. “It’s… it’s so much.”

He paused, concern flickering across his face. “Too much?” he asked, his tone laced with worry. “Do you want me to stop?”

She shook her head quickly, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “No… no, don’t stop. It’s just… overwhelming. In a good way.” Her fingers traced the muscles of his chest, marveling at the way they flexed with every movement. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

The relief in his expression was palpable. He leaned down to kiss her again, his lips slow and sweet, before whispering against her mouth, “Then let me show you how good it can be.”

His thrusts grew slightly firmer, the rhythm steady but unhurried. Y/n’s moans grew louder, each one sending a jolt of pleasure straight to Lando’s cock. He ground into her deeper with every push, angling his hips so that he brushed against a spot inside her that made her gasp and clutch at him desperately.

“There…” she whimpered, her nails lightly scratching his back. “Right there, Lando… please…”

A groan rumbled in his chest as he obeyed, focusing on that spot with relentless precision. Her reactions were intoxicating—every sigh, every shiver, every desperate plea only fueled his own need. But he refused to rush, determined to make this first time unforgettable for her.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes dark with adoration. “Watching you like this… hearing you… it’s driving me insane.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she met his gaze with equal intensity, her eyes clouded with passion and something deeper—something that made his chest ache with emotion.

“Touch me,” she begged softly, her hand sliding down to guide his. “Please…”

Without hesitation, Lando reached between them, his fingers finding her swollen clit with practiced ease. He circled the sensitive nub gently, watching as her entire body jerked in response. Her moans turned into breathless cries, her hips rocking against his hand and his cock in a frenzied rhythm.

“Fuck, Lando—oh god—” she gasped, her back arching off the bed. “I’m… I’m close…”

“Let go, love,” he urged, his voice thick with passion. “Come for me.”

The combination of his hand and his cock pushed her over the edge. She cried out his name as waves of pleasure crashed over her, her inner walls clamping down around him in a vice-like grip. Lando groaned loudly, his thrusts faltering as her climax overwhelmed him. He clenched his jaw, fighting to hold on just a little longer—to give her every last drop of pleasure she deserved.

When her tremors finally subsided, she looked up at him with dazed, unfocused eyes. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. She was utterly breathtaking.

Still buried deep inside her, Lando kissed her again, his lips tender and reverent. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Absolutely fucking incredible.”

Y/n smiled shyly, her legs wrapping around his waist as she pulled him closer. “Don’t stop,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Not yet…”

He nodded, his own arousal still burning hot and urgent, but tempered now by the reverence he felt for her. He resumed his slow, deep thrusts, each one deliberate, each one meant to draw out every ounce of pleasure she could take. Her soft moans filled the room, a melody that made his chest ache with something deeper than desire—something tender, something sacred.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmured, his voice rough but laced with adoration. His hands cradled her hips as though she were fragile, precious. “Anything, love… just tell me.”

Her fingers brushed through his hair, her touch featherlight yet electric. “You,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Just you.”

Those two words shattered him. Not in the way of losing control, but in the way of surrender—to her, to this moment, to the depth of what they were sharing. He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling, their hearts beating in sync. His pace quickened, not out of urgency, but out of a need to give her everything he had, to make her feel how much she meant to him.

Her body arched beneath him, her moans growing louder, more desperate. Her hands roamed over his back, not clawing, but caressing, as if she wanted to memorize every inch of him. She clung to him, not out of desperation, but out of a need to be as close as possible, to erase any space between them.

“Y/n…” His voice was strained, but it wasn’t just from the physical strain. It was from the weight of what he felt for her, the intensity of it threatening to spill over. “I’m not gonna last much longer…”

She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as another wave of pleasure began to crest. “Neither—“ she managed, her voice breaking. “Oh god, Lando—“

He felt her tighten around him again, her climax crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her cry was raw, unfiltered, and it echoed through the room, a sound that would forever be etched into his memory. Her nails dug into his skin, not to hurt, but to anchor herself as she rode out the blissful aftershocks.

That was all it took for him. With a final, shuddering thrust, he spilled himself inside her, his release tearing through him with a force that left him breathless. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his ragged breaths hot against her skin as he whispered her name over and over, like a prayer, like a vow.

For several long moments, neither of them moved. Their bodies remained tangled together, sweat-slicked and spent, but closer than they’d ever been. Gradually, the haze of pleasure began to fade, replaced by a bone-deep satisfaction and an overwhelming sense of closeness that went beyond the physical.

Lando was the first to stir, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone before pulling back to look at her. His heart swelled at the sight of her—flushed, disheveled, and utterly spent, but smiling up at him with such tenderness that it nearly brought tears to his eyes.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his voice husky but filled with genuine concern. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing gently over her skin.

She laughed quietly, the sound warm and content. Her fingers trailed along his jawline, tracing the curve of his face as though committing it to memory. “Like I just discovered heaven,” she admitted, her smile widening. “And you?”

He grinned, leaning down to capture her lips in a lingering kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes held hers, dark and full of emotion. “Like the luckiest man alive,” he murmured, his voice thick with sincerity. “Because I get to call you mine.”

Her smile softened, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She reached up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, her touch achingly gentle. “You already had me,” she whispered. “Long before tonight.”

His throat tightened, and he kissed her again, slower this time, pouring every unspoken word into it. When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet stillness of the room.

“I love you,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. They weren’t planned, but they were true—so true it hurt.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she just stared at him, her eyes wide and searching. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face, brighter than anything he’d ever seen. “I love you too,” she whispered back, her voice steady despite the tears pooling in her eyes.

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her as though he never wanted to let go. And in that moment, with her head resting on his chest and her heartbeat echoing his own, he knew—this was where he belonged. With her. Always.

[saetoshis]

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ LET'S PLAY A GAME | kny headcanons

⋆୨୧˚ WITH: sanemi ; giyuu ; tengen ; kyojuro ; obanai

⋆୨୧˚ SUMMARY: how much do they like to tease you?

⋆୨୧˚ MATURE CONTENT WARNINGS:

fem reader, teasing/begging, pet names [pretty girl, baby], orgasm control, mentions of dacryphilia, mentions of restraint/bondage, MDNI

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ SANEMI: 10/10

sanemi lives to see you yearning for his touch. he just can't get enough of your little whines and pleads for his hands on you, and the way you paw at the bulge in his pants so desperately makes his every muscle tense up in anticipation - but his favorite part is seeing just how far he can push you.

"what's that, pretty girl? you want what?" sanemi sneers, knowing fully well what you just said but he just can't help playing dumb to see how sexually frustrated you can get. he kneels over where you're laying, a hand palming the bulge in his pants nonchalantly. "this? this what you want? hm?"

"yes, please, seriously," you whine out between heaved breaths, your flushed aura making you hot and a bit irritated from how much he's withholding you. your fingers flit over your panties, finding your clit in an attempt to appease the high tension building in your body. "can't take it anymore... please, just give it to me."

"well, since you asked so nicely," sanemi jeers as he slips his pants just beyond his hips, his cock pressing against your twitching, achy clit. he lets out little grunted breaths as he rocks his hips, head catching against your sensitive nerves again and again. he can see the dissent on your face when you realize he's not slipping in anytime soon.

"what's that look, huh?" sanemi feigns innocence, adoring the way you pout and whine at him, begging so desperately to be filled up the way you want to. he sneers between a tantalizing smile, "beg me a few more times n' i'll think about it."

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ GIYUU: 3/10

giyuu doesn't instinctively lean towards withholding himself from you, and he's never really thought about the idea of seeing you beg for him. he's not too keen with the notion of beating around the bush, as it were - and yet, all it takes is your demeanor all needy and pliable in his lap with pleads falling from your lips for his mind to wander.

"can't help it, just so horny..." you mutter through little panted breaths, letting your hips grind and roll against his clothed cock in tandem with the rise and fall of your chest. you feel giyuu's fingers flit against your thighs as his eyes wander across your frame, all until he pulls away, unusually. your eyes flicker up at his expression, and all you can pronounce is a little, "huh?"

"wanna see you do it yourself," giyuu murmurs under his breath, his pants feeling stiffer underneath where you're sitting so prettily for him. he wants to fuck you - bad, but right now he wants to see how far he can take it before you fall apart into pieces. with a little push of his hips up against you, he leers, "i know you want to."

you feel a sliver of tingles down your spine at the change in his demeanor, and your hips almost start rutting on their own. every time you make eye contact with him, you're met with a stern gaze - who would've known this side of him could turn you on so much? your voice comes out in a whimper as you let your now-wet panties grind against his bulge, "i'll do anything if you just touch me, please. fuck me- hah, can't take it."

maybe it's the way you finally look so desperate, so messy, flushed, and shuddering on his lap that causes him to finally give in - and when he does, you're really in for it.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ TENGEN: 11/10

tengen lives to see you a whining, teary-eyed mess just for him. he'll do anything to see you shudder, to feel you getting wetter from just one look, to even hear your pleads become more and more broken and whimpered. he just can't help but enjoy it even when you hop on top of him in attempt to get back at him.

"what's this, huh?" tengen sneers as he watches the little determined look on your face as you sink down onto his cock, refusing to move in efforts to give him a taste of his own medicine. he lets out a little chuckle at the way you cross your arms all serious and tough-like. he lets his hands glide along your hips, "really...? is this a punishment or something?"

"mhm," you hum with a nod, trying to ignore the fact that the head of his cock is poking up right against that spot that makes your knees weaken. you keep your resolve, occasionally grinding your hips to see how he reacts - maybe he'll jolt, let out a little moan - but he doesn't, and you start to feel a little discouraged. you drag your hands along his chest and his abs, pressing kisses against his neck in a desperate attempt.

"feels good, doesn't it? my cock all pushed inside you like this," tengen murmurs against your ear, his voice sending a shudder down your spine and you tighten around him just enough for him to know he's affecting you. his hands caress your waist, your back, your hips - he knows it's working, and that's pissing you off even more. "you can lemme have just a little, can't you, baby?"

it only takes a few more sickly sweet whispers from tengen's lips for him to have you bouncing on his lap, mind boggled as slick smothers messily around his shaft. maybe next time you'll try something different to tease him with.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ KYOJURO: 7/10

kyojuro oftentimes likes to give you what you want, as you properly deserve - although, the same can't always be said for him in bed. it's like a switch flips, and all he can desire and cultivate are those little whiny moans pleading for him to just 'keep going, don't stop.'

"don't stop what?" kyojuro murmurs with a little smirk on his face and slick covering his fingers and palm. his thumb nudges your clit ever so gently, his fingers finding their way to his tongue to clean off the mess that you've already made of them. he watches your hips jolt in desperation, and he chuckles softly in that innocent manner he always does. "need it that much, do you?"

you let out a little groan of dissent, rocking your hips in an attempt to get his thumb to circle your clit a little faster - just at least a little. he sees the way your muscles shudder in anticipation, and maybe he feels he's been a bit mean. with a little murmur of 'this what you want? here?' and his fist around his cock, he finally presses between your walls with a stifled grunt, "that's it, isn't it? right there..."

"yes, yes, fu- yes," you practically whimper, feeling elation coursing through your every nerve as he rocks his hips slowly, intentionally. each press of his cock fills the hilt of your cunt and you can feel your sanity draining each time he ruts forwards. faster, then faster, even faster still, your consciousness fades just as fast as your orgasm builds. "f-feels so good, fuck."

kyojuro lets out a chuckled sneer as he caresses your cheek, hips rocking hard against yours. "feels better after being patient, doesn't it? maybe i'll have to tease you more often."

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ OBANAI: 6/10

teasing manifests for obanai as more of a power play than anything else. his whims aren't always consistent; sometimes he'll make you touch yourself without his help at all, other times he'll keep your hands restrained so there's no way you could even help yourself if you wanted to. but this time, it's a bit different.

"shh, shh... what did i say? wait," obanai murmurs lowly as his fingers curl intentionally against that spot that makes you feel like you're falling apart at the seams. his other hand finds your clit, circling it in tandem with each press of his fingers inside of you. you shudder desperately beneath him, voice coming out in hitched mews. obanai repeats himself, "no cumming 'til i say so."

you nod your head in obedience weakly, finding it harder and harder to fight the jolts of pleasure wracking your limbs. each aching curl of his digits makes your whole spine tingle, and you use all of your strength to hold back. that is, until he swaps his fingers for the hard cock in his fist. "please..."

"please, what? i told you," obanai lets out a hitched breath as he slips himself between your walls, finding your saccharine, desperate pussy an immediate relief for the unforgiving throb in his cock. he pushes your thighs apart and watches you shiver, curling over you broodingly, "no cumming 'til i say so."

you hold onto your sanity for dear life, but the wet smacks and lewd moans filling the room are enough for you to teeter over the edge of oblivion. you're lucky that obanai is right there with you, gripping your waist and fucking into you with a wanton need - it seems this time you'll just barely make it in time.

SAETOSHIS 2024. do not copy/repost.

tagging: @suyacho

[driverlando]

✧.* SECRETLY YOURS

synopsis - you sneak around with Oscar, your brothers best friend.

before you continue: this is a Norris!reader fic and is smutty so mdni. if you enjoyed pls reblog and give me a follow :)

The thrill of sneaking around with Oscar Piastri was as intoxicating as the man himself.

He was always so composed and reserved in public, but behind closed doors, he was a force to be reckoned with. You had known Oscar for a while through your brother, Lando, and the bond you had formed with the Australian driver was unlike anything you had ever experienced.

Your secret relationship had been a whirlwind of stolen glances, hidden touches, and whispered promises. The paddock had become your playground, each secluded corner a potential rendezvous spot. The adrenaline of keeping your relationship under wraps only added to the excitement, and you found yourself constantly yearning for those private moments with Oscar.

It was late one night after a long day of practice sessions and meetings. The paddock was quiet, most people having retired to their hotel rooms. You and Oscar had managed to slip away unnoticed, making your way to a secluded area behind the garages. The air was thick with tension and anticipation, your heart pounding in your chest as you followed Oscar into the shadows.

Oscar glanced around to make sure you were alone before pulling you into his arms. The kiss he pressed to your lips was urgent and demanding, his hands roaming over your body with a possessiveness that left you breathless.

“Are you sure no one saw us?” you whispered, your voice trembling with excitement.

Oscar smirked, his eyes dark with desire. “Positive,” he replied, his voice a low growl. “Now, let’s make the most of our time.”

He backed you against the wall, his hands gripping your waist as he captured your lips in another searing kiss. The thrill of being caught only heightened your arousal, and you melted into his touch, your hands tangling in his hair.

Oscar’s lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. His hands moved to your hips, lifting you slightly as he pressed himself against you. The feel of his arousal against your thigh sent a shiver of anticipation through you, and you moaned softly, your body arching into his touch.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with raw desire. “Thinking about you.”

“Me too,” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “I need you, Oscar.”

He groaned at your words, his hands moving to unzip your pants with practiced ease. He pushed them down your hips, followed quickly by your underwear. The cool air against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat of Oscar’s touch, and you shivered in anticipation.

Oscar knelt before you, his eyes locked onto yours as he spread your legs. The intensity of his gaze made your breath hitch, and you felt a rush of arousal flood through you. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your inner thigh, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

“Keep quiet,” he murmured, his voice a husky command. “We don’t want anyone to hear.”

You nodded, biting your lip to stifle a moan as he pressed a kiss to your core. The first touch of his tongue sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you had to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out. Oscar’s hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he worked you over with a skill that left you breathless.

The sensation was overwhelming, and you found yourself struggling to keep quiet as Oscar’s tongue drove you to the edge. He moved with purpose, his every touch designed to bring you pleasure. The tension in your body coiled tighter and tighter, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you unraveled completely.

“Oscar,” you gasped, your voice a desperate plea. “Please, I’m so close.”

Oscar looked up at you, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “Not yet,” he said, his voice firm. “I want to hear you beg.”

You whimpered, the need in your body almost too much to bear. “Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire. “Please, I need to come.”

A satisfied smile curved his lips, and he redoubled his efforts, his tongue and fingers driving you to the brink of pleasure. The tension in your body snapped, and you came with a shuddering gasp, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm.

But Oscar didn’t stop. He continued his relentless assault, pushing you into a state of overstimulation that left you writhing against the wall. The pleasure was almost too intense, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your climax.

“Hold on,” Oscar commanded, his voice a dark caress. “We’re not done yet.”

He stood, his hands moving to unbuckle his pants with a speed that made your head spin. He freed himself, the sight of his arousal sending another wave of desire through you. He turned you around, pressing your hands against the wall as he positioned himself behind you.

“Hold on tight,” he murmured, his voice thick with anticipation.

You nodded, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he entered you with a powerful thrust. The sensation was overwhelming, and you moaned softly, your fingers gripping the wall for support.

Oscar set a brutal pace, his hands gripping your hips as he drove into you with a mix of passion and control. The intensity of his movements left you breathless, the pleasure building with each powerful thrust.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice a rough whisper. “So perfect.”

You could only moan in response, the pleasure too intense to form coherent words. Oscar’s hands moved to grip your thighs, lifting you slightly to deepen the angle. The new position sent you spiraling closer to the edge, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you came again.

“Oscar, I’m going to—”

“Do it,” he commanded, his voice a dark growl. “Come for me.”

His words sent you over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your climax. Oscar followed you, his own release a shuddering exhalation as he buried himself in you.

For a moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through your bodies. Oscar pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his touch tender and reassuring.

“We should get back,” he murmured, his voice a soft promise. “Before anyone notices we’re gone.”

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. “Yeah, we should.”

Oscar helped you dress, his touch gentle and affectionate. The adrenaline of the moment slowly gave way to a sense of calm and contentment, and you knew that this was just the beginning of something incredible.

As you slipped back into the paddock, the thrill of your secret still fresh in your mind, you couldn’t help but smile.

[peachidin]

Crawlin' back to you

Maybe I’m too busy being yours, to fall for someone new.

Poe Dameron x f!reader

Rated M- 5.7k

Divider by @/saradika

tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, use of nickname "Blue" for reader, strong language, physical fight (not with MMC), cheating (not by MMC or FMC), rival pilots, unprotected piv, cream pie, praise kink, yearning Poe, ass smacking, hair pulling, we love a reader in charge!

Authors Note: Hello! As I was writing this story, "We could be together, if you wanted to" has gained some traction, so thank you all for liking my work! This idea of a yearning and pining Poe hit me, so I had to make it happen. For context, in this story there are three squadrons with order importance, Black squad, Red Squadron and Blue Squadron. Black and Red squad work on high importance missions and are ranked 'higher' than Blue Squad, which leads you, dear reader, to the story! I hope you enjoy "Crawlin back to you" as it is spicier than the others, and I hope to update "On the run (with you)" soon! As usual, I haven't reread this, I just post and hope for the best. I hope you enjoy!

Thank you!

It was only meant to be a one time thing. 

A one time thing a month ago.

You gasp as Poe’s lips attach to yours with fervor, his tongue sliding parting your lips as his hands roam underneath your long sleeve. Your legs wrap around his waist tightly, making it oh so easy to arch yourself against the growing hardness in his pants as presses you harder into the wall of his room.

Allegedly, Poe Dameron never spent the night more than once with a lover. 

This was the third time this week you've met. 

He pulls back, gasping for air before his lips attach to your neck, licking and sucking that sweet spot below your ear so harshly you almost came on the spot. 

“Poe, wait-” 

He pulls back immediately, his lust darkened eyes meeting yours eagerly. “What is it, baby?” He hums, rubbing his thumbs on the soft skin of your thighs as he waits for, honestly, anything you want.

You smile, shaking your head as your hands thread through the soft curls on his head. This was a dangerous game, you realized. He was someone you couldn't have, no matter how addictive he was.

“I have a flight maneuver early tomorrow, I should head back to my room.” You reply back, letting your fingers drift towards the hot skin of his neck one final team before lowering them  to his chest, patting it gently. His hands gave you one last squeeze before he lowered you to the floor, taking a few seconds to pull your shirt down to where it normally sat. 

He was sweet.

It was dangerous.

Poe smiles softly, almost bashfully, “Wouldn't want you to miss out on sleep.” He agrees, but his hand still lingers on your waist. One word and you could have another night of pleasure.

You nod, gently stepping away from him and gathering your pants from off the floor, quickly stepping into them as you move around his room to collect your few belongings. “I promise I didn't come here just for this, I swear I had an actual question-” You begin to ramble, suddenly feeling the need to explain yourself, why you showed up so late. 

Maker, you have never acted like this before.

Poe shakes his head, moving to sit on his bed as he watches you move through his space. “It’s fine, I’m always glad to be of service to you.” He grins good naturedly, not a trace of sarcasm escaping him. You pause in front of him, mouth opening to say anything to relieve this tension between you both. 

You come up empty.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then.” You say softly, giving him a small wave, as if this man were just some regular pilot and not the man who gave you back to back orgasms just the night before. Poe chuckles softly, his head dropping forward before he begins to stand up, joining your side as you both move towards the door. 

“Sure, Blue.” He responds softly, and you can feel his hand lingering on the small of your back as you step out of his room, the sensation burning into your skin as his touch so often did. You turn around to face him, to try and explain the visit again, but his eyes are already locked onto yours and stealing any words you could have formed from your mouth. The air between you was thick, electricity striking your body with every noise coming from around you in the living quarters. Poe bites his lip as he raises a hand to your face as if to cup your cheek, the motion so quick you barely had time to close your eyes before a small flick hits the end of your noise.

You let out a shocked gasp as he laughs.“Be safe tomorrow, okay? Don't do anything stupid like you usually do when you get stressed.” The bedroom door slides to a close before your eyes even open again. A huff of irritation leaves your lips at his childishness, but you can't help the smile on your face as you take the long walk back to your own quarters. Even within your living space, there was no tie to the man. His room is filled with posters and plans strewn about his floors. The thick smell of cologne that almost seemed to hover like its own atmosphere. His room was so like him, warm, well lived, and well loved. Your room was bare boned. A bed and desk. Stacks of files for missions and maps coordinating future attacks organized by dates on your dining table. Straightlaced and to the point. This was who you both were. Two entities that orbited around one another but never should have met.

This was how it should have stayed.

The admired Black Squadron leader.

The calculated Blue Squadron leader.

The Blue Squadron was only a few achievements short of being on equal par with your fellow Squadrons. Poe and the Black Squadron were the primary team for any rebellion led missions, Red following as second in command. Today was your first chance of the year to prove to the general your squad was more than capable of handling complex missions, to be given the same opportunities as the Black and Red Squadrons. Your team was ready, you had been practicing for months now, and you felt it was now or never to prove to the rebellion what an asset Blue Squadron is.

And you blew it.

It was a standard attack formation, one you had prepped for so many times before. One you could do in your sleep. Your fingers moved robotically as you adjusted your coordinates, your team flying perfectly behind you. Your hand skims over the edge of the tiller, and before you realize it, your mind is drawn back into a memory of the other night.

Poe lying beneath you, his chest heaving as he bites his knuckles, your hand squeezing at his length with nervousness as you tried to sink yourself down onto him. “You couldnt mess this up if you tried, baby.” He had said to you, his hand resting on the back of your neck as you moved hesitantly against him. 

“I don't know, he didn't think I was good at this-” Your words are cut off as his lips sear into yours, his hand threading through your hair to crush your face to his. Your muffled gasp is replaced by a small moan as he sheaths himself into you, already hitting that sweet spot with ease.

“I dont give a fuck what he thought, youre perfect, Blue.” He had hissed, bucking his hips up harshly to draw out another whimper from you.”Say it.” Poe demands, gripping your hips as he plows into you from below, your hands holding onto his shoulders tightly as you nod.

“I’m perfect,” You whisper, trying to muffle your cries against his neck as the sound of your skin connecting reverberated through his quarters. Poe moans in encouragement and you have the desire to bottle up that sound for yourself. 

“Fuck yes, y-your perfect baby, so perfect for me-” He gasps, his thrusts becoming sloppy as his breath begins to come out in shorter spurts. Poe leans forward, pressing hot kisses along your chest, biting into the soft flesh of your breasts. You cry out louder, your climax nearing at a rapid pace as he pounds into you.

“P-Poe, please-”

“Please what baby, where do you want me?”

Another thrust has your vision darkening, a buzz sounding in your ear as he fucks into you harder. It was stupid. This wasn't meant to happen again. Not after the first time. But you were always a sucker for complexities. You brush your lips against his jaw, kissing messily along his skin before whispering into his ear.

“I want you to finish in me, I want you to be the first.”

If Poe wasn't gone before, he was now. His thrusts grew harsher, his fingers bruising your hips as he slams into you, mumbling incoherently. “Fuck, you want me to cum in you so bad, my perfect girl-” He groans, moving one of his hands to your slick folds to rub hard and fast against you. A sharp scream leaves your throat and you topple against his chest, your body pulsing around him tightly as you reach your orgasm. You can feel the last few thrusts before hot spurts coat your insides, Poe whimpering as his head falls against your shoulder, his back heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You tilt your head back. Your eyes glazed over with satisfaction as you both ride out your high together. You let out a little laugh and his hand quickly smacks your ass, Poe’s muffled voice coming from below you.

“I’m sensitive, you sadist.” He growls, and now you can't help the tumble of laughter pouring out from you. Poe lifted his head to glare up at you, but in that moment, your smile was so bright he couldn't help but chuckle along with you.

You shake the memory from your head, your squadron already approaching the final bend sooner than you anticipated.

“Focus, Blue, focus.” You whisper to yourself, watching your squad carefully as you begin your turn. It was sharp, but even a rookie could get through this, and you soar through it with ease. Next was more difficult, but you had practiced, you knew the formation like the back of your hand by now. You carefully lock your X-wing in, breathing out slowly as you wait for the harsher turn. The mind was always so fickle, that's why you preferred equations and plans. You could feel yourself slipping back into that same memory, a heat pooling in your lower belly. Then you hear that maker's damned voice once more.

“One more baby, give me one more.-”

“My sweet girl, taking me so perfectly-”

“I could stay in you forever-”

A hard jolt shoved you deeper into your seat, your X-wing began losing altitude. Your squad's voices blaring through your comms, overwhelming your mind as you tried to straighten your ship. 

“Squad leader-”

“You’ve been hit!”

“Land now-”

And as if your ego couldn't take enough of it, that same voice from your mind rings out, but this time unfortunately through your headset like the others.

“What the hell are you doing, Blue?!”

Your teeth grind together as you pull yourself back into place, barely registering the sound of the flight tower calling your squadron back to base. Everyone was down there. Everyone had seen. 

Cold sweat began to drip down your neck as you carefully took the time to land your X-wing, mechanics quickly running over to assess the damage to the outside exterior. You huff as you climb down the ladder, shaking your hair out of your hemet and relishing in the open air as you struggle to take deep breaths. You can hear your crew clambering to get to you, and you can hear their questions already.

What happened?

What happened?

What happened?

“Blue, what happened?”

Your eyes snap up to meet those soft brown ones you had come to know so well. Poe was gripping your shoulders tightly, his fingers digging into you whether he noticed or not. Your relief at seeing him was short lived as you remembered just why you crashed. 

“I’m fine, Dameron.” You snap, shaking his hands off of you. Poe looks at you first with worry, then agitation. 

“Obviously you're not fine, Blue. You could do this course in your sleep and you crashed!” He hisses, clenching his hands at his side. You frown, and begin to respond before another set of hands grip your shoulder. You only needed one look at Poe's glowering face to know who it was. One you had done so well at avoiding until now.

Red One.

Poe's second in command.

“Hey, what happened up there? You okay?” He asks quickly, his eyes raking over your appearance.You force a smile, brushing him off with ease. 

“Honest mistake, I was-” Your eyes flickered to Poes before returning to the helmet in your hand, “I was just distracted was all.” 

Red One was born on a planet near yours, the commonality making you both acquaintances in flight school. You both studied vigorously, and desired high marks, yet somehow both of you were always beaten by the one named Poe Dameron. The three of you grew and eventually joined the rebellion, him and Dameron taking over the Black and Red Squadron while you were assigned Blue. Despite the large amount of rebellion members, it was easy for you to drift back to him, the reassurance of something familiar in your life. While Poe was off gallivanting with his squadron across the galaxy, you both worked together on unit tactics. It wasn't long before you both began to reach for one another, quick meaningless acts of pleasure when it was needed. It was easy for it to mean nothing to you, because you both knew this wasn't forever, but at least you had one another.

It worked then.

Until Poe came around again. 

Poe was always smart, but he was also warm, and charismatic. People were drawn to him like the sun, wanting a chance to feel that splendor for themselves. Despite the fact everyone wanted to be around him, after a recent 5 month journey he had decided to follow only you around aimlessly. 

“Dameron, don't you have someone else to bother?” You muttered, clutching new plans from the general tightly to your chest. Poe walked behind you with a grin, his hands carelessly tucked into his jacket pockets as he kept up with you.

“When was it a rule that I couldn't spend time with a fellow squadron leader?” He retorts, gently nudging your shoulder with his own. You let out an exhausted sigh, rounding the hallway corner into the row of living quarters right before yours. Maybe you thought you could evade him, you weren't sure, but what you didn't expect was the door nearest you to slide open with a smooth hiss, giving you a clear look into the room. You stop so abruptly Poe barely had time to avoid colliding with your back. 

“What the fuck, Blue-” He complains before glancing down to your face. Your eyes stared blankly into the room, one you had become very familiar with over the years.

Red One’s, now occupied by the pilot himself and a mechanic you recognized from the Droid depot, clothes littering the floor as they cling to each other near the door. Red One's eyes widen and he curses, fumbling around to slip back into his flight suit. 

Now normally, Poe would make a sly comment, or laugh off the awkwardness with ease. But he couldn't. Not when he saw the expression you were making. Despite his games and jokes, he knew you well. Poes fist tightened as he stalked into the room, shoving Red One back a step. “Now, why the fuck would you do this?” He growls darkly, his brown eyes darkening with rage. You weren't sure if you have ever seen Poe like this, not even after a failed mission. Poe never resorted to violence. Never.

You move quickly, stumbling forward to grab onto his arm, tugging him back. “It's fine Poe, it's not that serious-”

“Not that serious? He had the best damn pilot in the rebellion and it wasn't serious to him?” His words make you pause, heat rushing to your cheeks as you tighten your hand on Poe's arm, giving him one last tug. 

“Blue, I can explain-”

“It's fine Red, we're going now.” You respond calmly, carefully dragging Poe out of the room until the door can slide shut. Poe tugs you along swiftly moving down hall after hall until you recognize the path to your own living space. Your hand was still on Poe’s arm, and you could feel his body shaking underneath. 

“Poe, it’s fine-” 

“How long were you two together?” He asks, his tone softer now than it was previously. You glanced up at him, his brown eyes soft once more as they bore down into your own. You blink quickly, thinking of just how many months it had been. 

“Since our first mission to Nevarro.” You answer honestly, and you don't know what to think about the string of curses that leave his lips. “Why does it matter, Poe? It was just a fling-”

“Was it just a fling to you?” He asks suddenly, his gaze hot and piercing. You try to answer, to conjure up some response, but all you can do is shake your head. “We both got what he wanted, and I'm actually surprised he waited this long to find someone else.”

 The look of anger that flashes across his face has your brows furrowing, unsure of why it bothered him so deeply. You open your mouth to speak again before Poe lets out a deep sigh, turning to face you fully as his back rests against the metal wall. His hand reaches up slowly, gently touching the soft skin of your cheek. 

“Still, are you okay?” He asks in a gravelled tone, continuing to stroke your skin with small movements. His touch was far different from Reds, you quickly realized. Red touched you briskly, his hand roaming over your body as if you would disappear. 

Poe touched you with reverence. He kept his movements small, keeping contact with your skin as if you were his center of gravity. “He's an idiot, Blue, you can do so much better than him. He can't even coordinate a landing path to Jakku without using a droid.” A surprised laugh tumbles past your lips, pleasing Poe as he stares down at you. 

“And you can't fly a straight shot to Crait even if you tried.” You shoot back, a smile still tugging at your lips. Poe’s eyes soften as you laugh before him, your usual icy exterior melting away to that young pilot he once knew so many years ago. He takes a breath, biting his lip before he speaks in a soft whisper. “I would have made you my second, if it was my choice.”

You can't control the deep flush that rush to your cheeks as you hear him. “Red is a good second in command, I still have a lot to learn-”

“You think I don't know who drafts our tactile formations? I could practically see you solving the broken flight patterns while reading them.” His voice grows more firm, demanding you to accept his praise. “I can only be a good leader with someone like you supporting me, and I'm sorry they don't realize it yet.” 

You don't cry. You don’t even cry as Poe leans in closer to you, his hand cupping your cheek as he coos words of praise to you in the dimly lit hallway. Red never acknowledged the work you did, smooth talking his way into putting his name on the plans alongside yours. You would shrug it off, under the impression if one Squadron succeeds surely the other would too. This never changed even when he began to take more missions farther out into the galaxy, while you and your squad stayed back, waiting for the chance to chart your own paths.

The truth now laid out so plainly in front of you.

You had been used.

What did you want? Had you wanted Red to choose you? Only you? Did you ever even think you would have options?

Your hands tighten into fists, sharp pain shooting through your hands. Poe pulls back with a lazy smile on his face, but it quickly falters as he sees the scowl etched onto your face. “Hey what's wrong Blue, did I overstep? I’m sorry-”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Poe's mouth hangs open as your words hit his ears, sending palpitations straight to his chest. “You want me to…”

“I want you to fuck me, yes.”

Poe can't help but chuckle as he shakes his head, his hand covering his face as he inhales deeply. “You don't want that, Blue, you're just mad and understandably so-”

“I am choosing this, Poe Dameron, I am choosing you to make me feel something. I know it's just a one time thing with you, I want one night”

Well, now this was an interesting statement. 

This he could work with. 

Poe tries to quell the smile tugging at his lips as he leans back, knocking his fingers on the cool metal wall as if it could cool down the heat racing through him. “Just one? I'm afraid you'll end up wanting more, Blue.” He murmurs, taking the chance to glance back down at you. Your eyes meet his, fiery and unwavering. Maker, you meant it. Poe tried to stifle the groan threatening to spill out of him.

“One night, I just want one night.” You promise, stepping in even closer to him. With one deep breath, your chest would rub against his, and you tried to ignore the shaky breaths emitting from the man before you. 

“But I want to set some ground rules first.” You say in a soft voice, moving your hand so it begins to trail up his arm. Poe can only nod as he stared down at you, captivated by your movements. 

“This happens in your room, I don't need you making a mess of my space.” Poe can't help the snort that leaves his mouth, but he nods his head anyways. “Two, I want to be in charge.” You were proud of how little your voice wavered as you spoke, “I get to decide how this goes.” 

Your words make Poe's jaw twitch. How often did you get what you wanted with Red?

“I promise I will be your devoted servant.” He agrees, reaching for your hand and pulling it to his lips, placing a slow and sensual kiss on your pulse. 

Maker, this was going to be harder than you thought. 

“This is a one time thing, we don’t acknowledge it after, and we dont let it change our working relationship.” 

Poe's throat only constricts a little before he nods, “Of course.” He drops your hand gently, waiting for you.

Now Poes stares at you with a burning look in his gaze, his jaw clenched as he stares between you and Red One. 

“Distracted? Blue, you could have hurt yourself.” He hisses, running a hand through his hair in an irritated manner. You frown, noticing the crowd gathering around you all now. 

“It was a mistake, a stupid one, but I’m fine-”

“Maybe if you weren't so busy sleeping with our Squad leader you wouldn't have messed up.” The insult stabs through your chest. You turn slowly to face Red One, a grim look on his face as he sighs before continuing, “I really thought you were smarter than this Blue, you really couldn't wait for me to explain what happened before you just moved on to the next available guy who would fuck you-”

You honestly aren't sure who moved first. One minute your hearing began to ring, your heart thundering in your chest, and then here you were, standing over a bleeding Red. Your fist felt like it was on fire but honestly, you didn't care. Then you feel Poe’s arms wrap around your waist, tugging you back as people begin to shout, surging in to watch the scene. 

“All those years I spent underneath you were absolute shit compared to what Poe’s made me feel in one month-” You spit out, years of rage boiling over as you watch Red sit up, his hand shakily touching the blood pouring out of his nose. “And I hope you can prove you know how to draft a mission plan because I’m going first thing tomorrow to get your name removed from all of my work, my work.” You seeth, tugging against Poe's grip one last time. You can feel his face near yours, his nose gently running along your cheek as he squeezes your arms gently. “Let's get out of here, Blue.” He whispers, and you nod, giving Red one last glare before moving through the parting crowd. You swear you can almost hear cheers as you and Poe enter the flight squads quarters, shutting yourself off from the rest of the world. 

You feel yourself enter a room, and you finally feel the world unblurring as you realize Poe brought you back to your own quarters. You can feel him gently pull at your clothes, removing your flight suit with great care, reaching into your drawers to find some comfortable clothes he slips onto your body without an ounce of alternative means. A sudden hiss leaves your lips as he bumps his hand against your injured one, and he quickly moves you to your bed. He curses before you, kneeling between your legs as he tentatively grabs your hand, assessing the broken skin on your knuckles. 

“Shit baby, you got him good.” He smiles, taking a clean rage and gently dabbing at the bloodied wounds. You wince and he immediately pulls back, waiting for you to let him continue. 

“I shouldn't have hit him,” you mumble, biting your lip as he hits another painful spot, “I’ll probably get written up.” 

Poe snorts, shaking his head. “I dont it won't be any worse than what he's gonna get. Plagiarizing plans? Falsifying records? He's lucky if the general even lets him get drinks for us.” You can't help the laugh that tumbles out of your throat, nodding along to his words. He quickly wraps your hand in a simple bandage, just tight enough to keep your hand from throbbing. You meet Poe’s gaze as he looks up at you, crouched between your legs with a serene look on his face. 

“What?” you ask softly, gripping your sheets with your other hand. Poe just shakes his head, “So, I've given you a better month than he could in years?” 

You groan as you drop your head to his shoulder, embarrassment flooding your senses. “I didn't mean to say that in front of everyone.” Poe just laughs, letting his hands run up and along your thighs. 

“It was pretty hot to see you claim me in front of everyone like that, baby.” He smiles, gently using his hands to lift your face so he can look at you. You flush brightly, your eyes unable to look anywhere else but his gaze. “Im sorry, I'm sure that was uncomfortable for you-”

 Poe shakes his head, his nose brushing along yours. “You still don't get it, huh?” Before you can speak again he pushes the two of you up and back, laying you down onto your bed as he hovers over you. “I want to be yours, Blue, I think in some way I always have been.” He says softly, intertwining your hands together as he presses them beside your head. “I've slept with people, yes, but none could get you off my mind.” His lips gently trail down your neck, biting and kissing at your skin. You gasp, your body reacting so easily for him. “You were always there, since flight school, in my mind, always competing with me. Then I leave, and I come back to tell you-” He carefully slips his hand under the edge of your shirt, feeling your skin with a gentle touch. 

As if he can't believe this is still happening.

“I come back and see you look at him like that, and I would have supported you baby I would have, but-” He hisses as your body arches against him, brushing together as heat begins to flood your body. “Lucky for me he was an idiot.” Is all Poe can say as you crash your lips to his, gripping his jaw tightly as you angle him in closer to deepen the kiss. “Fuck, I can only ever think about you Blue-” He gasps as your hand trails in between you, running your fingers along the seams of his length. “I only want to think about you, I want to be yours forever-” He rambles on, your hand moving rhythmically against him as you listen to him beg. His words fill your chest as he speaks, so plainly yet undoubtedly true. 

“Poe?” You say softly, watching as his eyes open to find yours, dark and glazed over with lust, but his attention undivided. You smile softly, only slowing your movements ever so slightly as you take a breath to speak. “I'm yours.” You whisper softly, your smile widening as you see his eyes begin to water. You gasp as you tugged up, pressed against his chest as he buries his face into your neck, holding you impossibly tight. 

“Fuck, Blue, I almost didn’t last when I heard you say that.” Poe grumbles, and you laugh loudly as your hands pull his hips to yours. 

“We're just getting started, Dameron, I can't have you tapping out so early.” You grin, letting your hands snake up the bros expanse of his back to caress his head. An idea strikes you as you hold on to one another, your hands running along the carved muscles of his body. 

“Poe?” You ask softly, turning your head to look at him as he pulls back slightly from your neck. “Can we try something?” 

His smile is lethal. 

“How do you want me, baby?”

You carefully pull back from his embrace, eyeing him playfully as you turn onto your hands and knees, movings towards the headboard with a sway to your hips, Poe’s eyes practically glow with desire, and you feel his hand run along your spine, gripping your hips dangerously before you grab onto the headboard, arching yourself against him. You can feel his chest contracting behind you, his hands moving to your hips instinctively. You loved this, feeling so crowded by his body and scent.

Poe wasted no time in shucking down your pants, tilting your head to meet his lips in a fiery kiss as the cool air of your room blows against your exposed lower body. You reach a hand behind you, finding the edge to his pants and working to pull them down, releasing his cock between the both of you. 

With a practiced precision, Poe sheathes himself into you, a satisfied gasp leaving your lips. You can already feel the headboard creaking under your grasp, but you don't care.

“Shit, baby, I'm not gonna last long-” He pants, kissing your neck while giving you another small thrust. He leaves one hand on your waist as the other snakes to your slick folds, teasing you gently as you let out another moan. “I don’t care, just fuck me Poe, please-” You whine out, pushing yourself against him with need. You gasp as you feel a sharp slap to your clit, only making you infinitely wetter. 

“I’m going to take my time fucking my girl.” He growls, and pulls you in for another thrust. Your face turns towards the board, hot pants of air escaping you as he thrust into you from below, perfectly hitting that spot within you that makes your toes curl with pleasure. He leans forward, wrapping a hand over yours as he fucks you into the headboard, his other hand tightening on your hip as he slams into you.

“My beautiful girl, so wet for me. Do you like making me so hungry for you? Driving me wild seeing you so lost in pleasure? Absolutely drenching my cock?” His words almost send you over the edge alone, only capable of giving him a choked sob in reply. 

He fucks into you mercilessly, grinding himself against you with every thrust, his own orgasm approaching as quickly as yours. “Fuck, baby, you were made for me, never gonna let you go-” You feel him shake as he begins to unload into you, his hand rubbing tirelessly over your clit and quickly sending you over the edge into your own pleasure. 

“Fuck!”  You cry out, shaking as he continues to thrust into you, emptying himself entirely. The room is filled with pants as you both lean against each other, your hands trembling as you use the headboard to hold yourself up. You feel so impossibly full. You shift gently, feeling his body tense behind you as his head rests in the crook of your neck. 

“Still with me, Dameron?” You smile, turning your head to gently press a kiss to his temple. You can feel him smile against your skin, placing his own soft kiss on your shoulder. “Always, baby.” He whispers back softly, lifting his head to gaze at you with pure adoration. You eventually separate, slinking down into your bed wrapped in each other's embrace. Any other clothes were shed, the need for urgency long behind you both as you tak in these moments of being utterly at peace. 

You rest your head on his chest, your eyes drifting close as you listen to the steady beat of his heart. “Poe?” you ask softly, running your hand along his sternum. You can feel him shift, knowing he was looking down at you.

“Yeah, sweet girl?” He asks gently, running a hand through your hair and you swear you are in heaven. 

“When did you realize you liked me? You…we, we’ve just been together for so long and I never realized.” You ask, turning your head up to look at him easier. Poe smiles, so easy and carefree, and just shrugs. 

“Maybe always?” 

You swat at his chest, a chuckle rumbling in him as he grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your pulse. “Be serious!” You scold, but the smile on your face tells him all he needs to know.

“I am serious. It was always you.”

Your smile only grows softer as you listen to him, your hand continuing to rub small circles onto his skin. “I’m sorry I took so long to realize it.” You whisper to him, reaching up to rub his jaw. Poe grins and moves over you, flipping you both until he rests on top of you. He surges forward,  kissing you as if you had all the time in this world. You both stay close, his nose brushing against yours as you gaze into each other's eyes. Poe speaks, whispering into your ear, and you know he means it.

“I would have waited forever for you”

[spencessocks]

through the silence

summary: bucky struggles with his inner demons and fear of hurting you, keeping you at a distance with his whiskey and self-doubt.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3k

warnings: angsty sad bucky with a little bit of a drinking problem, happy ending

you fiddled with the lock, hands full with bags from the grocery store. the door swung open, he‘s sitting on the couch, seemingly zoning out before turning his head to you as he sees you walk inside, his gaze grumpy as usual.

"hi, buck." you said with a sigh.

after his pardon, you'd thought that it would all be a fresh start. he had been home for months, but the weight of the past never left him. his court-mandated therapy had maybe helped somewhat, but whiskey was what helped dull the edges, numbing the guilt and the nightmares.

the serum running through his veins made it hard for him to ever truly be drunk, but it wasn't for a lack of trying.

he nods silently as a greeting before taking another sip from his whiskey bottle, his eyes narrowing into a curious look as he gives you a once-over. he watches you from the couch for a moment, his eyes following you as you entered the kitchen. he couldn’t help but glance at the grocery bag you had set down.

“..whatcha got there?“

your eyes met his as you looked up at him.

"if you want more whiskey, you're out of luck." you quipped.

bucky let out a soft huff of annoyance at your blunt comment. he leaned back on the couch, his gaze shifting to the television instead.

“was just trying to make conversation, that's all.“

you let out a small 'mhm'. you couldn't help it. it seemed like every exchange you shared nowadays was some passive-aggressive back-and-forth, a dance between anger and frustration. you sighed, pulling out the groceries and setting them on the counter, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach. it was getting harder to reach him, to find the man beneath the silence and whiskey haze.

it wasn't always like this, you remembered when he first came home—how he tried, at least for a little while. he went to therapy, tried to keep a routine, even let himself smile every now and then. but that didn’t last. the weight of it all was too much, and he started retreating, piece by piece, until all that was left was this—Bucky Barnes, slumped on the couch, a bottle in hand, eyes empty.

it all had happened gradually. you had, in some ways, gotten used to this life. some days were harder than others, but you had largely given up trying to get through to him.

you wanted to help him—you really did—but the truth was, you didn’t know how. you had tried everything: patience, encouragement, giving him space, then not giving him space. nothing worked. every time you reached out, it felt like grasping at smoke, like trying to hold onto someone who had already decided to let go.

and maybe that was the worst part—you didn’t know if he even wanted your help. if he wanted to get better. if he wanted you around at all.

you were struggling too, though you never said it out loud. the weight of it all—watching him disappear into himself, the nights spent lying awake, wishing for things to be different and yearning for the past. it was exhausting.

so you stopped saying much of anything.

every conversation led to nowhere. empty words, half-hearted replies, moments that used to mean something, now stretched thin with tension. you missed him—even if he was right there.

but you stayed despite it all. you pathetically clung on to the moments you shared that weren't drenched in silence or awkwardness. like the nights when, despite everything, he still pulled you close.

there were times, in the quiet of the dark, when he would reach for you, almost instinctively. his arm would wrap around your waist, his fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt like he was afraid you’d slip away. he never said much, but you felt it—the way his breathing evened out when you traced circles on his back, the way his body relaxed against yours, like you were the only thing grounding him.

every nightmare he had, you were right there by his side. it was just routine now. you knew the exact things to say and do to bring him the comfort he so badly needed.

some mornings, if you were lucky, you’d wake up with his head buried in the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your skin, his hold just a little tighter, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. and then there were the rare days when he’d find you in the kitchen, his arms sneaking around your waist, pressing a sleepy kiss to your shoulder, mumbling something about how beautiful you were.

those moments kept you tethered to him, to the hope that maybe, somewhere beneath the weight he carried, the bucky you loved was still there.

bucky’s eyes were back to the television, but it was clear he wasn’t really watching it. the silence between you hung heavy, filled with all the things neither of you knew how to say. you turned around, packing away the groceries, and you could feel the weight of his stare on your back.

bucky let out a sigh, his voice low as he spoke again. “you know, it’s been a while since you’ve even tried to talk to me.”

you froze, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter, feeling a sudden tightness in your chest. you wanted to say something, to turn around and face him. but you couldn't. did he really think that things were fine?

you were worn down emotionally. it had been a while since you had tried to talk about things, and you felt pressure rising in your chest. you didn't know if you wanted to shout or cry. you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. you could feel it building inside you, the way it twisted your insides, the frustration that threatened to spill over. you didn’t want to snap at him, didn’t want this to end in a round of hurt feelings, but you were so tired, so damn tired of pretending that everything was okay when it wasn’t.

"i don’t know how, bucky," you said, your voice bearly above a whisper. "i don’t know how much longer i can keep doing this."

you couldn't face him in this moment. you didn't want to see the look on his face. a moment of silence passed between you, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air.

a soft thud echoed through the room, the bottle of whiskey now on the coffee table. you heard footsteps approching the kitchen island.

"what are you saying?" he exclaimed, his voice cautious.

your heart felt heavy, weighed down by the truth you could no longer keep to yourself. you still couldn’t face him. you couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes, afraid that if you did, the dam inside you would break. you weren’t sure if you were ready for that, or if you could even handle it. you weren't good at things like this.

“i don’t know, that i'm tired,” you whispered, your hands gripping the counter harder.

“i’m not just tired, bucky. i’m... i’m exhausted. mentally, emotionally... you can’t keep pushing me away like this and expect me to stay strong. i’m trying—i really am—but i don’t know how much longer i can keep pretending like i'm okay when i'm not."

your head hung low as you tried to maintain your composure. you slowly turned around to face him, your hands trembling slightly.

you could see his posture stiffen, the way his eyes shifted, guilty and conflicted. he opened his mouth to say something, but the words escaped him. you averted your gaze, unable to keep your eyes on his.

"i don’t want to leave. i don’t want to walk away from you, but i can’t keep losing myself in this—in us. i can’t keep putting on a brave face when every part of me feels like i'm drowning. i just don’t know how to keep going like this.” you had put it all out there, wiping a tear that you hadn’t realized had fallen.

you wanted to feel like you weren’t alone in this, like he would hear you and see you, but you weren’t sure if he would. you weren’t sure if anything would ever change. and that was the most painful, terrifying part—the possibility that time wouldn't heal this.

you tried not to think about it. losing him. the love you felt for him, you knew that would never go away—you'd live the rest of your life wishing things had been different.

finally, his voice broke through the quiet, rough and hesitant. “i didn’t mean for it to be like this," he said, his words slow, almost unsure. "i didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re... alone in this. i know I’ve been pushing you away.”

"but i don’t know how to fix it. i don’t know how to be... the guy you need me to be, not when I can barely stand myself.” he sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

your breath hitched in your throat, suprised at the vulnerability he was suddenly presenting you.

“i just—i'm scared, okay? scared that i'll make it worse, that i’ll drag you down with me.”

there was an ache in his words, a deep and raw honesty that you hadn’t heard in so long.

you stood still for a moment, letting his words settle in the space between you. his honesty hit you hard, more than you expected, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t just angry or frustrated. you felt a sadness—because you knew he didn’t want to be like this. you just couldn’t seem to find a way out of the mess you both were tangled in.

you finally met his eyes. your heart twisted at the vulnerability there, the way he seemed to shrink under the weight of it all. god, how did you get here?

“i…” you paused, swallowing the lump in your throat, fighting the wave of emotion that threatened to break through. “i’m scared too.”

“i’m scared that i'm losing you. sometimes i feel like i already have. i tried so hard, and i couldn't reach you. and i don’t know how to keep going like this, with this distance between us.”

you wiped your hand across your eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay, despite some of them having already escaped. “i don’t know how to help you when you won’t let me in, when you push me away like i'm... like i’m just a part of the mess you’re trying to escape.” your voice cracked at the end of your sentence, you looked away—taking a deep breath to compose yourself.

“but I’m not going anywhere, bucky. i’m here, and i'm trying to understand, even when it feels impossible. i just… i need you to meet me halfway. i can’t fix this alone.”

Bucky’s gaze softened, his eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of blame and something deeper—something almost like relief. relief that even after everything, you still were extending him an olive branch.

he wandered around to the other side of the kitchen island seperating you, now at your side.

your hands were softly clutching the edge of the counter, searching for comfort.

bucky stood there for a moment, just close enough that you could feel the heat of his presence, but far enough that the space between you still felt heavy. the quiet in the room stretched on, thick with unspoken words, as if he was gathering the courage to say something. then, without warning, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours, tentative, like he wasn’t sure whether you would pull away.

you didn’t.

he sighed, an abysmal, worn-out sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep within him.

“i'm sorry,” he murmured, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “i didn’t mean to push you away. i didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re not enough.” he paused, his thumb brushing lightly over your hand, the movement barely perceptible. “i’ve got these thoughts, these... memories that i can’t get rid of. they don’t stop. and sometimes, i’m afraid that one day, they’ll take over, and i’ll lose control. i know i was deprogrammed, i know he's gone, but the fear—it's still there. deep down, it’s still there."

he paused, swallowing hard, the weight of his admission sinking in. “i keep thinking that one day, i’m gonna snap, and i’ll hurt you. you’re the best thing that’s happened to me, i feel so undeserving of you. you’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything good in this messed up world, and i... i don’t know how to be the man you deserve. i don’t know how to be the person you see when you look at me."

you breathed his name softly, "bucky..." your voice unsure, a mix of compassion and concern threading through each syllable.

he shook his head, running his free hand over his face as if trying to erase the doubts he couldn’t shake. "i’ve done horrible things. things i’ll never be able to make up for, no matter how hard I try. you know that. even now, i feel like i’m still that same broken soldier, still capable of hurting the people i love. you don’t deserve someone like me."

his words came out with such quiet devastation that it made your chest tighten even further. you could see how much he was struggling with the weight of his past, how it felt like a shadow he couldn’t escape, no matter how much time had passed.

"i look at you, and i see all the love and kindness you’ve given me, and i just—i feel like I’m not enough, like i’ll never be enough."

you felt an overwhelming mix of empathy and frustration swirling inside you. you loved him so much, more than he could ever know, and yet here he was, convinced that he wasn’t worthy of you. it hurt, but what hurt even more was that he couldn’t see it—that you had chosen him, not just once, but every single day. through every struggle, every painful argument, you had stayed.

"you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to act like you know what’s best for me, like my feelings don’t matter. i love you, bucky. i chose you. not because you’re perfect, not because i expect you to be someone you’re not, but because i see you. you. and i want you, just as you are."

you turned your body towards him, your eyes now staring up at him intently.

"you keep saying you’re scared of hurting me, but don’t you see? this—pushing me away, shutting me out like i'm not capable of helping you carry your burdens—that hurts more than anything else ever could." you exhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. "i don’t need you to be perfect. i just need you to let me in."

you gripped his hand tightly in yours. bucky’s breath hitched as he stared down at you, his adam’s apple bobbing with the force of the emotions he was trying to hold back. his fingers twitched in your grip, and for a second, you thought he might pull away.

his chest rose and fell with a shaky breath, his blue eyes flickering back and forth into your intense stare. he was searching—maybe for reassurance, maybe for proof that you really meant every word. “i don’t know what to do.” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper, his eyes leaving yours as he stared off into the kitchen.

"let me in. that's your only choice if you want me to stay." you said, practically a demand.

bucky swallowed hard before his gaze finally met yours again. there was hesitation there, fear still lingering in the depths of his tired eyes, but there was something else, too—something softer, something that looked a little like hope.

he exhaled, shaky and uncertain, but then he gave a small nod. “okay,” he murmured. “i'll try.”

relief flooded through you, and you reached for his hand again, giving it a firm squeeze. “that’s all I need,” you said gently. “just try.”

bucky looked down at your joined hands for a moment, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin before he let out a quiet, almost self-deprecating chuckle. “guess that means i should probably start by putting down the damn bottle, huh?”

a small smile tugged at your lips despite the heavy conversation. “wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

without another word, bucky turned, walking back toward the couch where his nearly empty whiskey bottle sat on the coffee table. he hesitated only briefly before reaching for it, lifting it just enough to stare at the amber liquid inside. then, with a deep breath, he stood up straighter and walked toward the kitchen sink.

you watched as he uncapped it, his fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle before tilting it over the drain. the scent of whiskey filled the air as the liquid splashed against the metal, swirling away until nothing was left.

bucky set the empty bottle down with a quiet clink, then looked back at you. his expression was unreadable for a moment before he nodded, hands on his hips, as if trying to convince himself of his own decision. “there. that’s a start, right?”

you stepped closer, pressing your forehead softly against his shoulder, your fingers curling gently around his waist. “yeah,” you whispered. “that’s a start.”

he lifted his arms and wrapped them around you, pulling you into his chest. it wasn’t desperate or suffocating—it was sweet, careful. you melted into him.

he buried his face against your hair, his breath warm against your skin. “thank you, doll.” he murmured, so soft you barely heard it.

you squeezed him a little tighter, your fingers pressing into his back. “always.”

[formula-ghost]

Wildflower (OP81 x fem!reader x LN4)

Chapter 5

SUMMARY: In the aftermath of your outing with Lando, tensions are raised, worlds fall apart, and resistance gives way to what you’ve always truly wanted. 

WORD COUNT: 11.2k

WARNINGS: Lando is SO EVIL!! I’m sorry to all my Lando girlies. Mention of horrible family dynamics. Reader dissociates during sexual contact (could potentially be triggering). Slow burn yearning. Unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT PLEASE), oral and fingering (fem receiving), p in v. 

TAGLIST: @at-a-rax-ia @henna006 @linnygirl09 @cassielikereading @judelina @supertrashbread @fastandcurious16 @widow-cevans  @czennieszn @irisesinthegarden @wierdflowerpower @sweetwh0re @reginalaufeyson-holmes @honethatty12 @suns3treading @obxstiles @mimiastroos @mrs-reeves-17 @milkysoop @amalialeclerc @starksztony @llando4norris @ginsengi @angxlzinthesky @1-queenofpotatoes-1 @makanirock05 @htpssgavi @lilypat @ameliaalvarez06 @scriptedinkbyxim

A/N: The long awaited chapter! For some reason this one was SUCH a struggle plus I had midterms and I got sick in the middle of writing it, so I’m just glad it’s done. I hope it’s still good though <3 I’m thinking probably one or two more chapters of this until it’s over, and then probably the Franco x Alpine social media manager au which will only be like 2 parts before I launch into my next series! A lot of exciting stuff planned. 

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 6

The rooftop bar in Monaco was gorgeous, though not as beautiful as the view from your balcony back home. 

The air was full of soft chattering conversations, the sound of plates and champagne flutes clinking, and the purr of expensive engines down on the streets. The sounds of Monte-Carlo had become like background static to you at this point. 

Even the air was fragrant with expensive perfume and cologne, mixed with the sweet smells of dinner plates and the soft aroma of the bouquet of flowers that Lando had brought for you.

He had pulled out all the gentlemanly stops: flowers, a romantic dinner, and, as you could tell by the way his eyes snaked up and down your body, a night that would end up far beyond this stuffy Monaco restaurant. 

“You look amazing,” he said, leaning down to whisper in your ear as the waiter led you to your table. “Is all this for me?”

A few weeks ago and the comment would have you blushing, a playful smile on your lips. Now it just made your stomach churn. 

“I clean up nice,” you joked, sliding into your seat and turning your head away from Lando and towards the view.

“No kidding,” he said, leaning his hand across the table to touch yours. You froze, letting him do it. “I don’t know what’s the better view.”

“That was bad, even for you,” you laughed, hoping that the banter could calm your nerves. He began to softly rub his thumb up and down the side of your hand.

“You’re smiling, though.”

When the waiter came by to take your order, you were thankful for the excuse to pull back your hand, though you weren’t as nervous anymore. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. You missed being touched.

It wasn’t like Oscar ever held your hand anymore.

You could feel his presence, even though you knew he was back in your apartment doing…well, God knows what. 

“I was surprised you made it,” Lando said. “I thought for a second there, you were going to stand me up.”

“Really?”

“He’s not happy about you being here, is he?”

You pursed your lips. “You know how he is.”

“I do. And I really am glad you made it.”

All at once, it felt like you saw right through him. You heard what was unsaid. Lando wanted you to revel at the thought of disobeying Oscar, to spite him by being here.

The problem was, the only person that you wanted to spite by being here was yourself. 

“Why are you doing this, Lando?”

“Doing what?”

The waiter returned with your wine, and he tapped your glass to say cheers. It felt like a mockery. 

“You don’t like me.”

“Who said that?” He sipped at his drink, his eyes never leaving you. “Oscar? You think he’s the authority on how to treat a woman?”

“Well, I’m not a Portuguese model, for one,” you scoffed, taking a sip of your own drink. “But do you really think that it’s not entirely obvious what you’re doing?” 

He smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, love.” His smile, once like a bolt of lightning in your stomach, felt like a slap in the face. 

“You’re trying to drive me and Oscar apart.” You could hear Oscar’s own words coming out of your mouth.

“I’m trying to show you that you deserve better than him. And, besides, I don’t think I need to do much on that front. Oscar’s already fucked it up himself, hasn’t he?”

“He told me everything you said to Lily, and about me.”

“And yet, you’re still here, aren’t you?”

You used to think that you and Lando were on the same playing field, like two masters at a game of chess. Now you knew you were always just a pawn. 

“Why?” you echoed. “I know you don’t like me, you’re not really interested in me at all. So why are you doing this?”

Lando turned his head to gaze at the view, and you could see the cogs in his head churning, trying to figure out his next move. Maybe you had surprised him, after all. 

“Truthfully? I want Oscar to lose.”

“So is this, what, your attempt at psychological warfare?” you laughed. 

“You make it sound so harsh,” he said, his smile returning. “I’m just pointing out the truth.”

“The truth?”

“He used you, YN. Lily left him because he couldn’t be loyal. He fucked you for a couple weeks to get over it. Then he wants to talk about how much he loves you? He just doesn’t want to go to bed alone.”

“You’re one to talk. You have a new girl on your arm every night.”

“I don’t claim to be a gentleman.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “But you like that, don’t you?”

The waiter arrived with your food, and you were thankful for the space that it gave you. But even as you savored the admittedly great food, you couldn’t help but think that Lando might be right. 

It made your stomach churn, to think of a version of Oscar that didn’t love you. You wanted nothing more than to believe that confession he had made, in the heat of your argument, that he had truly been in love with you for years but had made mistake after mistake after—

“You’ve gone quiet,” Lando said.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

He knew the answer. You looked up to meet his eyes, his gaze fixed on you. He was just…sitting there, as if he hadn’t just opened your mind and destroyed everything you thought to be true in only a few sentences.

And all at once, you hated him. 

“What do you think he’s doing, back at your apartment?”

“Probably sleeping,” you answered, your voice gone quiet.

“If he really cared about you, would he be asleep right now?”

“He warned me—”

“I’m sure he did.”

“I’m grown. I made my own decision to come here. He can’t tell me what to do.”

Lando just hummed. “You must not trust him, then.”

“Of course I trust him,” you replied. That was a lie. You still struggled to trust him most days.

“Then why are you here, YN? You interrogated me, let me interrogate you.”

“I don’t know.” You fiddled with your fork, your appetite long gone. 

“Yes, you do.” Lando leaned in again and reached for your hand. “And so do I.”

“Then tell me.”

“You don’t trust Oscar. You were in love with him for years, and you were always there for him when no one else was. But he didn’t want you, he wanted Lily. He couldn’t get rid of you though, because he needed you there for when things inevitably went bad. And that’s exactly what happened, didn’t it? You were never his first choice. He used you.”

“That’s…that’s not what happened at all.” Tears were threatening to form in your eyes.

Lando just continued. “And you? Sweet girl, all you ever wanted was to be loved. You’re so used to being second choice. Even your parents didn’t want you.”

“No, that’s not—”

“That’s why Oscar’s mum took you in, right? She took pity on you. But Oscar could never be with the girl that his family pitied.”

You stared at him, incredulous. You were torn between slapping him or crying, or both. 

“How do you know any of this?” you said. 

“He told me.”

He went back to eating. You felt like you were going to throw up. 

Lando insisted on ordering dessert. When it arrived—whatever it was, your head was spinning a bit too much to be sure—he fed you bites of it, gently guiding the spoon to your mouth. You ate in silence.

“Contrary to what he might tell you, YN, I’m not a bad guy. I’m not a liar.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“No, I don’t lie. I don’t need to. I just tell people the messy truth that they don’t like to hear.”

“You don’t love me, though. You don’t even know me. You try to act like you’re so much better than Oscar, but you don’t love me either.”

The last word hung on your lips. Oscar loved you. He had to. But did he? Or was Lando right?

“You’re right, I haven’t known you as long as he has. But I see you.” He brought the spoon to your mouth for the final bite. 

I see you. No. It couldn’t be true.

“And,” he chuckled, “I guarantee I can fuck you better than he can.”

Lando gestured to the waiter to come back, and he paid the bill before walking you down to his car. 

“Wanna go for a ride?” 

You didn’t know why you got in that car. You didn’t know why you didn’t push his hand away when he rested it on your thigh as he drove through the narrow streets of Monte-Carlo. You didn’t know why you let him kiss you when he pushed you against the wall in the elevator, meeting your lips with a frenzied need. 

He led you into his apartment, where he wordlessly pushed you down on his bed. Your body was beneath him, but your mind was somewhere else. The balcony, back at your apartment, overlooking the water. You were sitting there with a cup of tea, and inside, Oscar was asleep in the early morning hours as you watched the sun rise.

You closed your eyes, hearing the rustle of fabric as Lando unbuttoned his shirt. You weren’t on the balcony anymore. You were in your childhood neighbourhood, across from Oscar’s house, driving your little motorized car.

Lando’s lips returned to your neck, his hands wandering all over you, reaching down the front of your dress. 

You were in Oscar’s childhood bedroom, looking into his eyes as he touched you for the first time. You were scared. So was he. But you trusted each other. 

Before Lando’s hand could go any further, you opened your eyes.

“Stop,” you said, your voice wavering.

Lando pulled back, “What?”

You looked around. At some point, your dress had come off. You were so far away from your mind that you didn’t remember. 

“I don’t want to do this,” you said. 

Lando made a face. “Really?” he asked, his voice annoyed.

“I want to go home.” You were on the edge of tears again.

“Okay,” he said, sitting up and handing you your dress.

You dressed quickly and gathered your things that had been thrown around the room. There was no apology, no attempt to talk about it, no fanfare. Just a simple okay and a clear expression of indifference. 

You booked it out of the apartment complex, desperate to get home. 

When you did, the sun was already down, and you thanked God that Monaco was so small. You opened the door quietly, hearing Oscar’s soft snores in your room.

Oscar. 

You sank in the bed next to his form, so warm and familiar, and he felt like home. Just the thought of it made you want to cry, but no tears found you. You felt numb.

You curled up next to him and scooted back to be as close to him as you could without waking him—at least, that’s what you wanted, to be held in silence, to forget any of this had ever happened. 

“YN?” he asked, his voice groggy. “What time is it?”

“Too fucking late,” you whispered. “Go back to bed.”

It was no use. He grabbed his phone on the nightstand, checked the time, and sighed. He laid back down next to you, but the soft scene had been shattered.

“You smell like him,” he said, the reverberations of his speech echoing against your skin.

“I’m sorry.” You sniffled, trying to hold back tears.

“Shit, are you crying? Did he…?” Oscar propped himself up on his elbow, but you buried your head in your arms. 

“I made him stop,” you muttered. 

“I’ll fucking kill him.”

“No,” you said. “Just… hold me. Please.”

Oscar couldn’t argue with the quiet desperation in your voice, lowering himself finally to wrap his arm around you. He pressed a soft, chaste kiss to the back of your neck.

“How much longer are we going to do this?” he murmured against your skin. 

“I can go sleep on the couch, if you want,” you answered.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

You couldn’t face him, though you spoke anyway. “Is this beyond saving?” you asked.

“Us? No.”

“He said things…We were just going to get dinner. Even after I left, I didn’t really want to go. I don’t know why I kept ignoring my intuition, because I knew something was wrong.” The pillow beneath you was stained with tears.

You continued, “We mostly talked about you. I mean, we almost always talk about you. I can’t even remember what he said exactly, but he… he started talking about my parents.”

“Your parents?” Oscar echoed.

“Yeah. Saying that even they didn’t want me, that no one wanted me. It sounds so stupid when I say it aloud, but…it hurt. He said everyone just took pity on me and I’m always the second choice. Even to you. Or, I guess, especially to you.”

Oscar was silent at first, until he asked, “Do you really believe that?” 

“It’s hard not to.” 

“What more could I do, for you to believe that I love you?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” You reached down to where his arm rested around your middle and intertwined your fingers with his. “I don’t know.”

With nothing else to be said, you both drifted back to sleep. 

To your surprise, in the morning, Oscar didn’t bring up your conversation from the previous night. The next day was uneventful too. 

And as days turned to weeks, the best you could guess was that Oscar had…given up. 

It wasn’t like he had abandoned you. When he was in Monaco, neither of you sacrificed to take the couch anymore, spending each night entangled with the other. And on the road, everywhere from Spain to Silverstone, you somehow always made your way to his hotel room to spend the night. 

He hadn’t touched you, though. At least, not in the way you so desperately wanted—no, needed—nothing more than a careful arm around the middle, pulling you close to him at night, or the occasional peck on the back of the neck after a particularly bad race weekend. 

And Lando? Nothing. No calls, no texts, no flirty comments on the sly. It was as if you had never existed to him. You avoided him like the plague at races. And for the most part, he let you.

Well, for the most part.

Weeks later, you assumed your usual spot next to Oscar as he walked through the paddock, snapping photos of him through all the commotion. In these quiet moments, it was just you, your camera, and him; the rest of the world blurred into the background and all that mattered was capturing the perfect snapshot of this man you loved.

But no one could ignore the words of the commentators that flooded the ears of anyone who walked past the paddock.

“Well, we are gearing up for a Hungarian Grand Prix to remember! Only a year ago, who can forget how Oscar Piastri secured his first Grand Prix win here as a result of some controversial team orders? Now, it seems like controversy is still on the table as he battles with his teammate for the World Driver’s Championship…”

Oscar scowled.

“Ignore them,” you said, snapping a photo of his frown. “You’re gonna win, and you’re gonna do it right.”

“Hey, nothing’s wrong with papaya rules,” said a voice behind you. You spun to see Lando’s face, and your stomach sank.

“Just came by to wish my teammate good luck,” he said, putting on a fake smile for the commentators who watched above.

Oscar gave Lando an empty handshake, doing his best to keep his cool in front of all the journalists.

“Anyone with eyes can see that this championship battle has ruffled some feathers. These once friendly teammates are now ice cold, though they clearly have an admirable respect for each other despite it all…” The commentators droned on. 

“Oh, YN, by the way, you left your jacket at my house.” Lando said, turning his gaze to you.

“Keep it,” Oscar answered, protectively putting his hand on your shoulder. You leaned into the touch, feeling safe with him.

“I just figured YN can come by and grab it—”

“It’s fine,” you said, cutting him off. 

Lando leaned in, and you felt Oscar’s grip on you tighten. “You really gonna let him tell you what to do?” he whispered.

“Let’s go, YN,” Oscar instructed, and you turned and left without a word.

The rest of the weekend was full of these same games. Lando approaching you innocuously, always in the most public of spaces, as if he didn’t know the nervousness that he inspired within you. He played the innocent role as if he believed it himself.

He even winked at you before he got into his car for qualifying. You wanted to puke.

Oscar didn’t get pole. Lando did. None of the other stats mattered. 

The two McLaren drivers were neck and neck, even getting ahead of Max Verstappen, who’s Redbull car had proved to be useless this season. Every point, every millisecond, mattered. And Lando was winning. 

You did your job as usual, taking photos as Oscar hopped out of the car and sulked his way into the garage. Your lunch threatened to reappear when you felt a familiar tap on your shoulder. 

“Hey, YN—”

You walked away, but he followed.

“YN!” Lando called, jogging after you. “Wait!”

“Go away, Lando.”

“Just give a second, will you?” 

You walked faster, insistent on making it to the now emptying McLaren garage. 

“YN, when am I going to see you again?”

“Never,” you answered, not even turning to look at him. You finally made it back to the garage, but you kept walking back into the hallways of drivers rooms. You were determined to make it back to Oscar, but your oasis was swiftly destroyed.

Lando grabbed your shoulder and pushed you back into a corner. Your face went pale, and all breath left your body.

“You sure about that?” he asked, a sickening smirk across his face.

“Leave me alone,” you whimpered.

He leaned in, whispering in your ear, and the touch made you squirm. “You left your jacket at my place in Monaco. Which means you need to come back and get it, yeah? Maybe spend the night…”

He was yanked away by your saving grace: Oscar.

“Get the fuck away from her! What is wrong with you?” he yelled, grabbing Lando by the collar of his race suit and pulling him off you. 

You took advantage of the space and ran off to Oscar’s driver room, terrified. You felt like you wanted to jump out of your skin. 

“If you don’t leave her alone—”

“What are you gonna do about it, huh?” Lando taunted. He huffed. 

“Just leave her alone,” Oscar repeated, breathless. What could he do about it, realistically? He let Lando go, dropping him into the wall.

“What do you even want?” Oscar asked, his voice shaking in anger. “You never wanted her in the first place. You just wanted to win, and you are. So why not leave her alone and be done with it?”

Lando smirked. “I am winning, huh?”

“Is that all you really care about?” Oscar asked. He lowered his voice, knowing you were hiding in his driver’s room, pressing your ear to the door to listen in. “If I…if I stop trying, will you leave her alone?”

“Stop trying?”

“If I give up the championship, will you promise to never go near YN again?”

Lando chuckled incredulously. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Oscar said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t know what it’s like to love someone that strongly.”

“This isn’t a shitty romcom, Oscar. If you don’t perform, you’ll get cut in an instant.”

“I’m willing to take that risk.”

Lando took a step towards Oscar. “Say I agree. What makes you think I’ll keep my word?”

“I’d just have to trust you,” Oscar said, his voice still low but firm and full of warning. 

“If you’re willing to give it up that easily, why are you here? What’s to stop me from ruining your entire career?” the Brit taunted. 

“Like I said,” Oscar explained, looking down on his teammate, “I love her. She’s worth it.”

“Not that much.”

“Yes, that much.”

Lando laughed. “You’ve gone soft. You’re no fun.”

“Do we have a deal?” Oscar asked.

Lando looked aside, weighing his options in his head. “Let me think on it.”

Both men knew the answer then and there. This wasn’t over. But if it kept Lando away from you for a while, Oscar would take your place in the back and forth. He could handle it. 

The short-lived peace made its way back to Oscar’s hotel room that night, where he wrapped an arm around you, as natural as turning the lights off and pulling the covers up to your chin. He held you close, relishing the feeling of your chest rising and falling under his arm that you interlocked with your own.

He closed his eyes, steadying his own breathing as he held you like his life depended on it.

“What did you say to Lando in the hallway?” you asked, your voice a scarce whisper in the dark room.

“Nothing,” Oscar answered. 

“I could hear you all talking. I just couldn’t make out the words.”

“Don’t worry about it. He won’t be bothering you anymore,” Oscar said, though he knew it was a lie. He ran his thumb up and down the smooth surface of your knuckles, soothing himself as much as you.

“You know, I got a job offer last week,” you said. Oscar stopped. His breath hitched. You continued, “Doing social media for some French fitness influencer. Seems like a pretty decent gig.”

“Are you going to take it?”

“I’m not sure. I’m waiting to hear back from some other positions.”

“And when you do?”

The question hung thick in the air. All talk of you leaving had fizzled out long ago, though you hadn’t stopped looking, still scared of that thought that lingered in the back of your mind, convincing you that you couldn’t trust the life that Oscar had carved out for you.

“I don’t know. It might do me some good to get away from all this.”

“You’d get lonely.”

You gave a small huff of a laugh. “I’d manage.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, pulling you closer. “I’d get lonely.”

“I’m sure you’d manage, too.”

“How’s the pay?”

“Not as good as Piastri incorporated,” you joked, a small across your face.

“That’s right,” he joked back. “Gotta pay my best worker well.”

“It’s not exactly the most professional environment, I must admit.”

‘Would you prefer a cubicle at the back of the paddock?”

You had missed this, the gentle banter that constituted your friendship with Oscar. It would be normal, were you not wrapped up in his arms right now.

You laughed at his joke, but Oscar continued, “Unfortunately, I can’t accept your resignation.”

“I don’t need you to.”

“You won’t get a good review out of me. I’ll tell everyone about your unprofessional behavior.” Oscar sat up, winking at you. “So close with the boss, hm?”

“You wish,” you taunted, grabbing a pillow and putting it between you and him.

“No!” he cried out, giggling as he grabbed the pillow and threw it across the room. You wrestled with the other bedding, grasping for layers and laughing in the mess you were swiftly creating.

But the moment ended too soon, as Oscar leaned over you and pinned you down, his chest heaving from the play fighting, his eyes locked on yours. Your gaze had darkened now, seeing his bare chest rising and falling above you, where all he had to do was reach down and bring his lips to yours for everything to change in an instant.

He pulled away, and you wanted to whimper. You imagined reaching up, slipping your fingers through the soft stands of his hair and pulling him back down to you, letting yourself get consumed by him once more.

And judging by the growing hardness pressing against your leg, he was imagining it too.

“I should go, erm, take a shower,” he said, breaking the moment before you could dwell on it any further. 

It didn’t matter. As you heard the water turn on and the rustling of his clothes, you wondered where Oscar’s hands must be wandering.

You could get up and walk into the bathroom, dropping your own clothes on the floor next to his. He could pin you against the wall of the shower and kiss up and down your neck, nipping into the sensitive skin, leaving dark marks to show the world that you’d always been his.

You took a deep breath. The shame came in waves. 

When Oscar got out of the shower, you were gone, having decided to spend the night in your own room for the first time in God knows how long. The bed was still warm, the covers still imprinted by your form.

He turned over and passed the night with a restless kind of sleep.

And yet, you turned up in the paddock the next morning as if nothing had happened. 

Oscar saw you from across the garage, and he let out a nervous breath seeing you chatting with one of the other photographers. You were here, safe. He didn’t like how anxious he was, not having you by his side at night and into the morning.

“Saw your girl show up alone this morning. You really trust me, huh?” Lando said, standing beside Oscar as they both weighed in for the Grand Prix.

“She’s grown. And so are you.”

“You really are a new man, aren’t you, Oscar? Love has changed you,” Lando said, patting Oscar on the back.

“Don’t push it.”

“But it’s so fun!” he said, smiling to himself. “I don’t think I’m gonna stop. Cause what are you gonna do about it?”

“Run you off the track,” Oscar said, his natural flatness giving the warning a cold chill.

“I’m sure you will,” Lando laughed.

Oscar hadn’t even planned to do it. But as he watched you out of the corner of his eye, he knew something had to be done. Lando was only keeping his distance, for now. 

When it came down to it, what could he do to protect you? Would he really have to give it all up?

He would. In an instant, only for you.

The thought raced in his mind as fast as the car he now sat himself into, preparing for the Grand Prix that would start any minute now. His eyes glanced at you, on the edge of the track, camera pointed towards him as usual. Yes, he’d do it for you. Only you. 

At the front of the pact, Lando turned to face you, knowing Oscar was in eyeshot. And he winked at you. Fucking winked, like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing, like everyone couldn’t see how the blood drained from your face and you awkwardly shuffled back to the McLaren garage just to be out of eyeshot of that man who had the nerve to treat you like a pawn in a game he didn’t even care to win. 

Oscar knew what he had to do. And when you heard the famous words in your ears just the same as all the countless race starts you’d seen—lights out and away we go!—he just prayed that you’d understand why he had to do it.

Oscar’s reflexes had never worked so fast as he booked it down the middle, the mere millisecond the lights went out. It was like his mind and body had split; he was moving by pure instinct, racing ahead towards his teammate who led the pack down the first straight. 

But even as he made his way to the front, he didn’t try to overtake. No, he wasn’t here to win. If Oscar was going down, Lando would go down with him. He turned and pushed his teammate off the track and into the barrier into the first turn.

It all happened so quickly that you couldn’t process it; the sound of rough metallic clashing, tires screeching, the crowd hushed as smoke and debris sprang into the air.

On one side, Oscar’s voice crackled through the radio. “I’m okay,” he assured. “Shit, I think I lost control of the steering…”

On the other, those who could hear Lando were not as soothed. “That fucker just ran me off the track! Did you see that? This is ridiculous!”

The garage was in a frenzy, mechanics scrambling to bring in both of the cars for repair after a rare double DNF. You knew the boys would be swept up in media interviews, calls to the stewards, and late meetings in the garage. It didn’t stop you from rushing forward with the crowd of everyone else, camera at the ready, snapping photos of Oscar as he ruffled his hair and began the walk of shame back to the garage. 

You still followed him back to his driver’s room, chasing the precious minutes before he’d be out of your grasp for the rest of the evening.

“Oscar!”

“I’m okay, YN,” he assured you, turning around to embrace you. His hands on your hips felt familiar, like home, like hope. He pressed his forehead to yours, exhaling as the adrenaline left him. 

“Are you really?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I lost control—”

“I’m not the FIA, Oscar.”

He chuckled. You continued, “I know better. You didn’t lose control of the steering. Why in God’s name would you run him off track?”

“I did what I had to do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it, yeah?”

“Oscar—”

“Shh,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder now. “Stay in my room tonight? I don’t like you sleeping alone.”

You swallowed, scared of the acknowledgement of your closeness. “Oscar…”

“I have to get to the stewards. I’ll see you back at the hotel, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What the actual fuck was that?” The Brit’s voice reverberated through the tin walls of the meeting room, his anger palpable. 

“I lost—”

“Bullshit!”

“Lando, lower your voice,” Zak Brown commanded, leaning back in his chair at the head of the table. “Oscar, do you wanna walk us through what happened?”

Oscar resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not quite sure. I was trying to overtake, I lost control of the steering, then I spun out.”

“Well it looks like you ran into me,” Lando snided. “Or are you really that bad at controlling your own car?”

“Oscar wouldn’t run you off the track,” Zak interjected. “That’s not how we do things here.”

“Oh yeah, papaya rules?” Lando jeered, laughing to himself. “Yeah, right. Look at the footage. He rammed into me. The stewards will handle it.”

“Tensions are high right now, but let's not get carried away with allegations. Right now we need to focus on the team. You know Ferrari is catching up to us, and we still can’t eliminate Max.”

“Hard to do that when my own teammate is trying to run me into a fucking wall,” Lando muttered. 

“That’s enough,” Zak said, his voice unusually stern. “The mechanics are looking at the car, and the stewards are looking at the footage. If there’s a mechanical issue, they’ll find it. And if we have to take any penalties, we’ll deal with it. But all this infighting needs to stop. We all have the same goals here.”

“Do we?” Oscar asked, breaking his silence.

“Of course we do,” Zac said. “Why wouldn’t we?”

Oscar shrugged. “We both want to win. And some people are willing to do anything.” He looked up and locked eyes with Lando across the table. 

“We want to win,” Zac said, turning his head to both drivers. “We, as in, McLaren. But we don’t put one driver down to help the other win. You all know this. You both drive fair.”

“Of course,” Oscar said. Lando was seething, unable to keep up the charade for much longer. 

“I’ve got to get to the stewards. Stay here, both of you, and behave,” he warned, as if scolding children. But the second he closed the door behind him, Lando broke. 

“You fucked up, Piastri. You think he didn’t see right through that?”

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t care about winning anymore. I just want you to lose.”

Lando laughed. “I don’t buy that for one second.”

“You really think this is still about racing? You’re trying to destroy my entire life! You lied to Lily, you nearly killed me in Imola, and now you’re harassing YN. If you want to go low, I’ll go lower,” Oscar hissed. 

“You really don’t want to do that,” Lando said. “You think you’re beating me at my own game, but you haven’t seen anything.”

“Do your worst,” Oscar said, shrugging. “At this point, I don’t care. Because I know that more than anything else, you want to win. And if I go down, I’m bringing you down with me.”

By the time Oscar made it back to the hotel, you were nearly asleep. The day wore heavily on your shoulders, slumping you down into the bed with ease, though you wanted to be awake to talk to him when he got back.

You drifted in and out of consciousness, your breaths steadying as you heard his footsteps cross the floor softly in an effort not to wake you. 

“Osc…” you whispered, your voice hoarse from exhaustion. “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” he responded. “I’ll be to bed in a minute, go back to sleep.”

“I wanted to see you,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “Make sure you’re okay.”

“I am,” he said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple. The gesture was gentle and natural, as if the feeling of his lips on your skin wasn’t heavy with the weight of months of uncried tears and fears that still paralyzed you both. “Don’t worry about me. Get some rest.”

But his kiss, tender as it was, had sent a wave of warm electricity through you. Sleep was far from you now. Oscar crossed the room towards the bathroom, and again your thoughts drifted to darker places, remembering the solidity of his body against yours months ago. Your need for him was becoming indescribable. 

Why didn’t you just give in? He was right; you wanted each other, that was undeniable. What else could be done about it, besides letting the need take over, drowning in him until all you could breathe in was the warmth of his skin, the smell of his cologne, the gentle breaths he exhaled in the quiet dark of your love?

Still, you felt paralyzed. And when he came back into the room, clad in only his underwear, and snaked under the covers next to you, you couldn’t do it. In your mind, you crawled on top of him, steadying your hands on the slopes of his broad shoulders, and kissed him until you couldn’t breathe; in reality, you just turned to look at him, your eyes bold with a restrained wanting. 

“I told you to go back to sleep, YN,” he whispered, moving your hair out of your face to see you clearly. 

“Did you really run into him? Like, on purpose?”

“Are you wearing a wire?” Oscar joked, a small bunny-toothed grin stretching across his face.

“I’m hardly wearing anything,” you responded, ignoring the blush that rushed to your companion’s cheeks at the thought. “And neither are you. But seriously, why did you do that?”

You had left Oscar in a no-win situation: to acknowledge the enticing lack of clothing between you two, or the still muddled details of his crash. He chose the latter.

“I…did what I had to do. And he knows I’ll do it again.”

“You’re being cryptic,” you said. 

Oscar took a deep breath, contemplating whether or not to tell you. “I didn’t want it to get this far,” he began. “But after all the shit he put you through, I had to do something. When he followed you in the garage, I tried to talk to him. I thought if this is all just about winning, then if I let him win he’d leave us alone.”

“You…”

“I offered to give up, let him win. He wouldn’t agree to it.”

“Oscar!”

“What?” he asked.

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because you being safe is more important than any championship.”

“Don’t say that,” you scolded. “And don’t you dare give anything up for me.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is your dream. This is everything you’ve worked for.”

“What about your dreams, YN? What about everything you wanted that you gave up for me?”

“You were the only thing I ever wanted,” you whispered, as tears threatened to form in your eyes. “To be your friend, to be by your side when you win.”

“Well, you’re worth giving it up for.”

“No, don’t—”

“YN—”

You both sat up, and the space between you was infinitely small. Oscar looked to your lips, then his eyes met yours, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you. And you wanted it more than anything. 

“If you had done that,” you said, breaking the tension, “if you had really given up, I would have left you.”

He reached his hand out to your waist, carefully reaching under the loose tank top you wore, meeting your skin. His touch was warm and sent shivers under your spine. Again, his eyes went to rest on your lips, tracing every curve. “No you wouldn’t,” he said. 

“Yes, I would,” you replied, your voice more forceful.

“No, you wouldn’t,” he whispered. His free hand had come to rest on your jawline, his thumb tracing up and down the side of your face. “You love me too much.”

“You’d be miserable without racing.” Your voice was beginning to shake.

“Maybe. But I’d get over it.”

You inhaled sharply, suddenly overcome with anxiety and a thick sense of dread. This was all you had wanted; you and Oscar, nothing but atoms of air separating your bodies. But now that you were here, you felt a lump in your throat suffocating you.

Oscar could sense it too. He pulled back slightly. “He wouldn’t let me,” he said, his voice soft. “And then he winked at you. I had to show him that I wouldn’t let him get away with any of this.”

“That’s immature,” you said. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“I was more hurt when he ran into me first, if you’ve forgotten.” Though he had moved away, his eyes still couldn’t help but glancing at your lips. “I’m just showing him that he can’t get away with all of this.”

“And what happens when one of you gets seriously hurt? I can’t lose you, Oscar.”

“You won’t.” His hand lowered to your hip and stayed there, tracing small circles into your skin. “I don’t care about winning anymore, but he does. He can’t run me off track without sacrificing points.”

“I don’t like this,” you said. Your voice was still shaking, though with a different kind of fear now. 

“I know,” he whispered. 

The closeness was too much. You felt like you were going to puke. “I guess I should go to my own room, let you get some rest.”

“If you want,” he said, his voice soft with a gentle and innocent wanting. “I won’t stop you. But you can stay.”

“I just—”

“YN,” he cut you off, “why are you so nervous? It’s just me.”

“I know.”

“I’m not going to do anything that you don’t want.”

“I know,” you echoed. You felt like a broken record. “Just…get some rest. It’s been a long day.”

“Okay,” he said. “Goodnight, YN.”

You didn’t respond as you crossed the room, opened the door, and went to your own hotel room. 

A few days later, you felt your heart drop as you checked your phone for the first time in hours.

You had been on a grueling flight back to Australia with Oscar, where you were meant to spend the summer break with his family. Upon arriving at the empty Piastri family home, you took your phone off airplane mode, and what you saw took all the blood away from your face. 

“House is ours for the night,” Oscar explained as he began unpacking his suitcase. “Mum doesn’t get back from her trip until tomorrow night, but of course she didn’t tell—”

“Oscar.”

“What?” he said, looking at you, you sat on the edge of his bed, phone clutched in hand, shaking.

“Have you checked your socials today?”

“Isn’t that what I pay you for?” he joked, cracking a smile. You didn’t look back at him, and he quickly dropped the banter. “Wait, what’s wrong?”

You silently handed him the phone. On the screen was a gossip page, and a carousel of images of you and Lando.

Talking on track, out in Monaco, in his car. Oscar wanted to puke. But as he scrolled, it got even worse. The face that still haunted his dreams, though he’d never admit it aloud anymore: Lily.

Mess at McLaren! Fans have noticed tensions between McLaren drivers Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris, but according to a close source within McLaren, things are worse than anyone could have imagined. Our source says that Piastri and long time girlfriend, Lily Zneimer, have been broken up for months, which explains her absence at nearly every Grand Prix this season. Piastri quickly moved on with long time friend and social media manager YN LN, but recently, YN has been seen in close quarters with his teammate Lando Norris. Will we be seeing a new wag soon, or more drama between the drivers? 

The comments were even worse.

Wait, why did Oscar and Lily break up? They were so endgame!

↪️Our source told us that Lily was not a fan of how close Oscar and YN were! They have been friends since they were children, but fans have been speculating for a while that there’s something deeper there. 

YN is such a homewrecker oh my God. I always felt off about her. 

↪️Exactly. Like not only did she break up Oscar and Lily, but then she’s going for Lando now! Like girl GO AWAY EWWW

That pic of YN outside Lando’s condo? Look at her dress. Compared to the pic from the restaurant, it’s clear she took that off. There’s no way they didn’t hook up. 

Okay but how have Oscar and Lily been broken up since March but none of us noticed?

↪️Lily has always been super private, which makes sense considering her ex and his “girl best friend” were always flaunting how close they are. You all remember that photo he deleted after the Australian GP? I feel so bad for her. 

↪️Oh if I was Lily I’d be pissed. You steal my man and then you leave him for his teammate? The audacity of YN!

He couldn’t read any more. But when he looked up, he couldn’t stand what he saw, either. You, unable to keep the tears back, your mind racing faster than a Formula 1 car.

“I’m ruined,” you said. “I’ve gotten emails from HR, the PR people at McLaren… I’m gonna lose my job.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“Oscar, why would he do this?”

“Because he’s mad at me. And he knows the way to hurt me is through you. This is…his payback, I guess, for the crash.” As Oscar said those words, the truth dawned on him—this was his fault. 

“What do I even do?” you asked, and Oscar grabbed your shaking hands and held them in his own.

“Hey, we’ll figure it out after the break. I’ll make sure you don’t lose your job.”

“The entire internet thinks I’m a homewrecking whore.”

“No,” he said. “Just a small group of people who have nothing better to do than meddle in the personal lives of F1 drivers.”

“Are they wrong, though?”

“Don’t even entertain that idea. I’ll reach out to legal and see what they can do. This has got to be breaking Monaco privacy laws.”

“Oscar—”

“It’s gonna be okay, YN. I promise you.”

“Oscar,” you said, repeating his name, but this time quieter, more weighted. “Maybe this is a sign.”

“What?”

“I’ve been going back and forth about leaving for too long. Maybe this is it. I mean, how am I going to come back from this?”

“Are you serious? You just want to give up?” Oscar asked. His voice was tinged with anger.

“You, of all people, can’t lecture me about giving up,” you responded.

“Shit, you’re right, but I’ll tell you the same thing you told me. I won’t let you do it.”

“If I really wanted to leave, you’d make me stay? How would you manage that?” Your voice dripped in venom, and something more, something that sent a shiver down Oscar’s spine, an invitation to push.

“I’d figure it out,” he said, unsure of how far to go. “Just promise me you won’t give up immediately. At least try. Don’t let him win this easily.”

“I’m not competitive like you all,” you said, turning your head away. Suddenly, Oscar’s gaze felt too heavy for you to bear. 

“You said all you ever wanted was to be here with me. Are you gonna let him take that from you?” he asked.

You didn’t respond. Oscar moved towards you. “We’ll do this together. We’ll get through this. I promise. Will you promise me?”

Still, you were silent. 

“YN? Do you promise?” 

“Can you give me a minute?” you asked, though you didn’t wait for a response when you left the bedroom and made your way out onto the back porch.

In the distance, you heard the familiar and comforting sound of the neighborhood you had grown up in, and you let it lull you to a steady pace of breathing, in and out. 

You knew Oscar was right. You couldn’t give up this easily and let Lando take everything away from you. But you wanted so badly to indulge that instinct to run. 

You remembered what Oscar had said, nights before, when you had scolded him about his own desire to give in. He had said you were worth it, and the thought scared you. 

You had always been the one to do things for him, not the other way around. You had molded your entire future based on his dreams, until eventually they became your own. Now, all you wanted was him, but even when he was close enough to touch, you couldn’t take it. Why? What held you back from everything you had ever wanted, your entire life?

“YN,” Oscar called, closing the sliding door behind him. “I’m sorry. I was a little harsh.”

“It’s alright,” you said, as he sat next to you, his muscled arms straining against the fabric of his shirt. 

He bit his lip, unsure of exactly what to say. 

“You were right, though,” you said. “I shouldn’t give up. Neither of us should.”

“Do you really want to leave?” he asked, though the both of you were too nervous to look at the other. 

“I don’t know,” you answered. 

“I don’t know what I was on about, when I said I wouldn’t let you leave. I mean, I want you here. I won’t lie to you about that. But if you want to go…” his voice trailed off, unable to even comprehend what he’d do. 

“If I left, would you go back to Lily?”

“I— what? What does she have to do with any of this?”

“She has everything to do with this.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She left you because of me. And the entire reason I ever entertained Lando was because of her.”

“And now you want to leave because of her. Because you’ll never feel right about it, is that it?”

It shouldn’t shock you that Oscar knew you so well. Still, you kept your mouth shut, biting your lip.

“You were here before all of it,” he said. “Before Lando, before Lily, before racing, even. If being here is what you want, then you deserve it more than any of them.”

He moved to face you, his hand dangerously close to yours.

“So no, I wouldn’t go back to Lily.”

“Because she wouldn’t have you, or because you don’t want to be with her anymore?”

“YN, seriously?”

“What?”

“A few days ago I was about to give up my entire racing career for you. You really think I’d go back to her?”

The absurdity of what you’d implied dawned over you. 

“I…I’m sorry. I’m not thinking right.”

“I’m not upset. I just…” Oscar’s voice faded. You shivered in the cold air as night approached, evidenced by the stunning sunset that painted the Australian sky of his backyard. “Let’s go inside,” Oscar suggested, “You’re shivering.”

You wordlessly followed him back inside, but stopped before you got into his room. 

It had been a long time since you and Oscar had been alone in his room. The last time…well, it must have been the night that you lost your virginity. It almost felt like, to cross that threshold again would be to give up the fight that you had so strongly waged in your head. 

But isn’t that what you wanted?

Oscar, none the wiser, continued unpacking his clothes. 

You walked away, going to the kitchen to prepare food for dinner. 

It was odd, being in Oscar’s childhood home—and really, yours too—alone with him. All that was on your mind was the last time you were alone, in this place, a similar tension thick in the air, that ever-present fear that one of you would have to leave. It seemed that not much had changed. 

Oscar could tell that you were distracted, but he assumed the elephant in the room was your newly destroyed reputation, which he truthfully had no idea how he was going to fix. He’d figure it out. At least, that’s what he told himself. He’d figure anything out of it meant keeping you next to him every night, waking up with your arms around him. 

Though, recently, you had taken to sleeping alone. All this talk of leaving terrified him. He had once been so sure that you’d never leave him, that you’d always be there. The love and friendship you shared was strong enough to withstand anything—years of long distance, a relationship, his rise to stardom within Formula 1—but now, everything was as fragile as glass, able to be destroyed with just the tiniest bit of force.

He was scared. 

That fear returned when night fully came, and it was time to sleep. You were both exhausted from the insanity of the day. You had turned off your phone just to enjoy the silence of the home you grew up in. 

The episode of whatever random show you had been watching was over. The house was quiet, save for the creaking of the home’s bones, and the soft patter of rain outside. 

Despite your reservations, you had found yourself resting your head on Oscar’s shoulder, half asleep. He could feel his eyelids heavying too, but he didn’t want to disrupt the scene, the sweet presence of your closeness that could be gone any day now. 

“I should probably go to bed,” you said, your voice hoarse. Oscar hummed in response, unsure of what to say. He had a feeling that his words would just make the situation worse.

You stared at the ceiling of the Piastri family guest room, a familiar sight. Getting ready for bed had meant turning your phone back on for your alarm in the morning, and you had been inundated with a flood of nasty messages, worried texts, and concerning emails. You ignored them all. 

You felt like the ceiling was going to grow a set of eyes and start staring back at you, at this rate. Your insomnia in the past year was getting to you. 

Your gaze switched to your surroundings; the nondescript guest room, that was basically your childhood home. You had never decorated it, despite Nicole’s insistence that the room was yours to fill. You never felt like you deserved it. Someone else would eventually need to be there, someone more important than the girl from the troubled family across the cul de sac. 

And that was the root of all of this, wasn’t it? You were… you. The neighbour girl. The unofficial extra daughter. The best friend who was more like blood. The one who was always there, but in the background, never in the front; you wanted to be unnoticed, unknown. 

But it couldn’t be that way forever. Either you’d fully fade away, or you’d stay here forever, cemented in this family that had taken you in when no one else would. As much as you’d like to fight it, this place, this room, these people, they were your home. 

You should have been lulled to sleep by the droning of the ceiling fan or the gentle static of the rain outside that was now picking up to a stronger storm. But all you could think about was him. Oscar. Was he sleeping? Or was his mind running circles around itself, just like yours?

You picked up your phone to check the time. Nearly 3 in the morning. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d snuck into Oscar’s room in the early hours before the light of dawn. 

Down the hall, his door was ajar, as if he was expecting, or maybe hoping, you’d come by. You slid in silently and closed the door behind you. 

Oscar’s eyes glanced up to you, following your form as you assumed your place in the bed next to him. He could have turned away—you could have too—but instead you all curved to face each other, your eyes perfectly aligned, no words needed to express what you all knew to be true. 

Time had run out. You could no longer run from this, from him. And now you were back where it all began. 

You just held each other’s gaze for a moment, letting the silence speak all the words you knew couldn’t be said. Finally, Oscar broke the tension.

“YN,” he whispered, “I love you so much that it hurts.” You could hear the pain in his voice, the choked syllables that held back a flood’s worth of tears. “And I’m so fucking sorry about all of this. You deserve so much better.”

You didn’t respond, even as tears threatened their way forwards.

He continued, “You deserve someone who will always put you first. You deserve to go discover your dreams and make them happen, and you deserve someone who will be there to support you every second of the way. I’m so sorry I haven’t been that person. But God, I want to be.”

You whispered his name into the quiet between his words, but nothing could stop the flood that fell from his lips.

“If you want to go and find that person, find that dream, then do it. I want you to be happy more than I want you to be mine. But I can’t let you go without telling you how much I wish it could have been me.”

“Oscar,” you said, your voice more forceful this time, but he persisted.

“YN, I love you. I am in love with you. And I’m so sorry that I didn’t treat you better. I’m so sorry that I ruined what could have been so beautiful.”

“Oscar,” you repeated, cutting him off, “Kiss me.”

“What?” he asked, propping himself up on one elbow to look down on you. 

“I said, kiss me.”

“But—”

“Oscar. I am asking you to kiss me.”

“You…you want me to?”

“Do you not want to?”

“No, I mean yes, I just—”

You could let him babble any more, so you took action into your own hands, sitting up to meet him, pressing your lips to his in a chaste and gentle kiss that felt like a tsunami coming to rest in the pit of your stomach. 

“Do you remember the last time we were here? Alone in your room?” you whispered against his lips, and he nodded. “I was so scared, then. But I trusted you. We trusted each other.”

“YN,” he exhaled, his voice breathy with need, “I’m afraid you’re going to leave me.”

“Don’t think about that. We’re here, right now. It’s just us.”

“It’s just us,” he repeated, his hands beginning to wander. And it was true. Here there was no Lando, no Lily, no Formula 1, nothing but you and the man you loved, your bodies intertwined, your chests heaving with desire.

“Oscar.”

“Yeah?”

“Do it again,” you commanded.

“Huh?”

“Kiss me again,” you said, a smile forming on your lips. 

“I don’t—” You kissed him again, savoring his familiar taste, the way your lips fit so perfectly with his.

He pulled away. “We can’t. You said we can’t.” 

“You really want to stop?” you asked. 

“But you said—”

“Oscar,” you said, his name like a prayer on your lips. “Please. I want this. I need it.”

He was quiet then, for a moment, upon hearing your confession of desire. You were scared for a moment that he might reject you. 

“Tell me what to do,” he whispered in your ear. “Show me how you want it. I’ll be gentle.”

You moved his tentative hands to your waist, and he pulled you closer, holding you against him, where you were near enough to feel his blood pulse through his veins. Your heart was beating fast, the feeling of him both foreign and familiar.

He reached one hand up into your hair, gently pulling your head to the side to press his lips to your neck, and you let out a whimper at the soft touch. You rested your hands against his bare chest, relishing the feeling of his heart beat and his breath that was rapidly increasing. His want was devouring him, but he touched you like you were something fragile and breakable. 

“You don’t have to be this gentle with me,” you said with a breathy voice. “I won’t break.”

“No, you’re too precious,” he said, a temporary reprieve from his lips exploring every inch of your neck. He looked up and delicately ran the back of his hand along the soft skin of your cheek. “You’re so soft and warm. I want to savor you. God, I missed this.”

You grabbed his chin and brought his lips back to yours, unable to resist him any longer. Your tongues explored each other’s mouths, re-mapping every inch that had been forgotten, and you moaned into him, softly grinding into his lap. You needed more of him. 

“You taste like heaven. God, you’ll be the fucking death of me, YN.”

You could already feel a wetness pooling in your panties, and your hitched breath at his praise made you all the more ready. “I need you,” you whimpered. “I need you inside of me, filling me up—”

“Oh,” he moaned, “don’t do this to me, YN. I won’t last.”

“Undress me,” you told him, and he complied, tossing your pajamas aside until you were left in nothing but your panties, which were already stained with a wet spot, evidence of how badly you needed him. 

His hands smoothed over the expanse of your chest, groping at the soft flesh and leaning down to take one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. 

You exhaled, shivering, unused to such a gentle touch from your lover. You couldn’t help but want more of him; rougher, harder, faster. But he took his time with you, worshipping your body, committing every inch of skin to memory as if, at any second, you’d be gone. 

Oscar got down from the bed onto his knees before you, staring up at you with a lustful yet innocent adoration. He gently pawed at the softness of your thighs, spreading them open and he pulled you to the edge of the bed. The thin, soaked fabric of your panties was the only barrier between him and the fullness of your body, and he quickly pulled them off, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thighs as his eyes met your wet slit. 

“I want to make you cum on my tongue,” he said, one hand groping your left thigh as he kissed your right. He looked so beautiful, bowed before you, worshipping between your legs. 

“Please,” you begged. You were already quivering with anticipation, and he’d barely even touched you. 

“I love you,” he murmured into your skin, soft enough that you could barely understand him. Even with the muffled words, you could feel the sweet sentiment as he held your legs open and flattened his tongue to like a stripe from your opening to your clit, ending with his lips gently pressed to the bundle of nerves. 

You let out a sinful sound at the feeling, tensing up your thighs around his face as he ate you out like a starved man, savoring every bit of wetness he could lick up. Your hands instinctively found his hair as you leaned back, quivering at the feeling of his tongue swirling around your clit. One hand held your hip firmly in place, preventing you from squirming, while the other skillfully pumped two fingers in and out of you.

“O-Oscar…” you moaned, close to the edge.

He stopped. “You okay?”

“Don’t stop, please,” you begged, throwing your head back in pleasure as he fingered you faster, his mouth sucking on your clit. You squealed, letting out a high pitched whine as you came undone, fulfilling his wish. He licked up every drop of you, steadying you by holding your legs in his strong arms as they shook from the intensity of your climax. 

His name fell from your lips again and again, and he got back on the bed, laying you out beneath him. Your hair sprawled in a halo against the pillows, and he sat up above you, admiring the sight of you, desperate with wanting before him. 

“Oscar, please,” you begged. “I need you.”

He leaned down to kiss your neck again, whispering in your ear, “You need me?”

“Need you inside of me,” you echoed.

“No,” he said, taking off his own last layers until both of you were fully bare, “I need you. Need you wrapped around me. Need to stretch you out, fill you up.”

There were no words left with which to beg him, and your doe eyes staring at him were all he needed to take you fully. He let out a low groan as he sank into you, your velvety insides gripping him so perfectly. The sweet burn of him taking you was heavenly. 

“It’s always been you, YN,” he moaned as he fucked into you, slow but deep strokes making you see stars. “I’ve always wanted you. I always needed you—fuck. Love isn’t a strong enough word for what I feel for you.”

You reached for the muscles of his back, feeling them straining with every thrust as he held back from ruining you. He wanted to last, to fuck you slow and gentle, but he couldn’t help the lust that only grew hearing your sweet sounds, breathy in his ear.

You needed him closer. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper into you, and all you could hear was the obscene sounds of your wetness and Oscar groaning into your mouth as he brought his lips to yours again. His hand rested on your waist as he pushed as far as he could into you, resting for a moment. 

“You feel so fucking good. I’m not gonna last.”

“Don’t stop,” you whined.

“But I wanna take my time with you,” he whispered against your skin. 

“We have all night,” you teased. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhaled, his breath shaky as he pounded into you, and you squealed. You had both run out of words, too enraptured with the bliss of the other’s body against your own, becoming one again after so long. You had finally given in, and it felt too fucking good. Your brain shut off, only able to think about your own impending climax as he rutted into you, bringing you both closer and closer to the edge.

“My perfect girl. Oh, God, I’m so close. I love you—fuck, I’m gonna…” You stretched down his back as he gave one last, violent thrust into you before spilling his seed inside of you, moaning obscenely into your ear. He reached down and roughly rubbed at your sensitive clit until you came too, the empty home now full of the unrestrained sounds of your pleasure.

He held you there as you both steadied your breath, and as the static in your ears grew quiet, all you could hear was his breathing and yours, indistinguishable in the aftermath of your lovemaking. He gently kissed you, crading your face in his hands like you were a gentle, precious thing.

“I love you,” he murmured over and over through his shaky breaths. “I love you so much.”

You couldn’t bask in the afterglow, though, as your logic swiftly came back to you. “Oscar, did you finish inside of me?”

Your lover just hummed in response. “Oscar,” you said, your voice more urgent now, “I’m not on birth control.”

He was snapped out of his reverie. “You’re not? YN, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was just caught up in the moment—”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even mean to—”

You laughed out of the sheer absurdity of it all. “Of course this would happen to us. I am so fucking stupid…”

“Don’t say that,” he murmured, resuming his affection by bringing his lips back to your cheek. “Isn’t this what Plan B is for?” 

You exhaled sharply, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll just take the pill. I’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”

“Hey,” he said, turning your face to look at him. “It will be fine. I promise. I’m here for you no matter what.”

You exhaled again, this time an attempt at a real release of tension. 

“Breathe with me,” he said, and you took a few deep breaths in unison as he snuggled next to you, tracing patterns on the exposed skin of your stomach to calm you. It worked, and feeling the warmth of his bare skin against your own brought you to a sense of peace.

“It’s gonna be okay. I’m here,” he repeated, lulling you into something like sleep. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, letting him hold you as exhaustion finally took hold. 

[the-fiction-witch]

Forgive Me

Media - EPIC The Musical Saga Character - Prince Telemachus Of Ithaca Couple - Telemachus X Reader Reader - Y/n (Palace Handmaiden) Rating - 18+ Word Count - 1575

(Telemachus' Art by GIGI)

Telemachus walked through the vibrant palace gardens, he yearned for a moment of solitude amid the chaos that consumed his home. The air was full of the scent of blooming roses and jasmine, while the sun cast dappled shadows through the leaves of the ancient trees. He had left Argos, his loyal hound, to guard his mother’s chambers like a devoted sentinel. And he made sure the corridors were secured by the guards he trusted most. Though he was constantly uneasy when out of sight of the suitors he knew he had to take a moment even briefly just to clear his foggy mind.

As he strolled along the stone path, each step leading him farther from the tension of the palace, his restless mind began to find solace in a soft, lilting song carried on the breeze. The melody seemed almost ethereal, it weaved through the air like a delicate rope, to drag Telemachus in.

Without realizing it, a contented hum escaped his lips, and brought momentary silence to the storm of thoughts racing through his head. It felt as though the song, imbued with a kind of magic, had a soothing effect, if only for a fleeting moment.

Guided by this unseen force, Telemachus moved forward. The gentle song beckoned him onward.

Finally, he emerged into a small clearing, where the enchanting singer awaited him.

It was one of the garden falls, water tumbled from a statue that turned a vase down into a waiting pond surrounded by rocks, often the water from these falls was often used to water the gardens, and used by many servants to bathe if the palace baths were too crowded.

There he found the maiden, Y/n. She was one of his mother’s handmaidens, he’d often seen her helping to do his mother’s hair and other such things, He had often tried to strike up a conversation with her… but had always found himself unable to find anything to say to her beyond.

‘It uhh is a uhh… warm… warm day we’re having…’

But she stood barefoot on the rocks, leaning into the water to wash her hair. Her long hair was dark and heavy from all the water as she ran her hands through it singing softly to herself. Her figure was shrouded in the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the leaves.

Telemachus however didn’t want to be spotted and called out for potentially watching her. So he darted behind the plants hiding himself there for a moment. It was likely not the best idea… but it was the first one to arrive in his mind at the time.

Her song still made him feel warm and cosy, unable to make himself stop listening as she sang. He tried to catch another glance at her but as he poked his head out enough to see, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

Y/n tugged at the tie of her dress, she loosened it and tossed it off her shoulders, and the fabric settled on the grass. Her skin was exposed to the sun, water from her hair ran down her body, her breasts bounced slightly as the dress fell away, her thighs slightly open with her pussy on display.

Telemachus immediately gulped at the sight of her, unable to rip his eyes away. His heart began to race. His body grew tense. And his cock grew hard and perky making a tent of his robes below his waist.

She continued to sing, as she began to wash under the water. Her hands scrubbed across her body, cleaning away the sweat from the day.

His hands pulled hard on the hem of his robes desperately trying to resist his urge to touch himself as he watched her. A small whine escaping his lips,

As she washed, her body seemed to glitter in the water, her nipples hardened, and her pussy softly glistened.

Telemachus couldn’t resist any longer, and flicked up the cloth that concealed him. His hard cock stood up to attention, he wrapped his hand around himself and began to stroke barely even blinking not wanting to miss a single second of her. He tried desperately not to whine, or at least not to make any noise too loud to bring attention to himself. But as he got closer he found it impossible to stay quiet as he felt his orgasm aproch… “Ughh-” He whined,

Y/n gasped her head snapping fast in his direction making eye contact, her face red, her hands coming to conceal herself as best she could.

He considered just turning and bolting, she hadn’t seen him, she didn’t know it was him. But he feared just the sight she did see was enough for him to be discovered later. He forced his robe down trying to hide his still throbbing cock as he stepped into view. “I-I Forgive me… Y/n.” he pleaded,

“P-Prince Telemachus!” she gasped, “I- I’m sorry I-”

“Why are you apologizing?” He asked, “I- it was I who…” he trailed off as he came closer,

“What are you doing here, my prince?”

“I… I… I have no right to be here Y/n, I cannot justify what I’ve done. But you… you’re so beautiful, and I, I couldn’t help myself. I know it’s wrong but… could you forgive me?”

“You… You think I’m beautiful?” she blushed,

“Beyond the gods.” He nodded, “Y/n when I look at you, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, I know I shouldn’t have watched you, but I can’t hold back my feelings. In my mind… in my dreams I spend every night holding you in my arms and kissing your soft lips.” he explained, “Y/n I desire you beyond measure.”

She blushed hard and softly giggled, her hands moving behind her back allowing him to look, “I- I could never have imagined you’d have desired me.”

“Do… do you think, there is ever a chance you too might…” he trailed off again stepping closer,

Y/n giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders, her head tilting to the side invitingly, She happily rubbed her nose against his.

“O-Y/n…” Telemachus gasped as he all but fell into her, his arm wrapped around her waist his hand on her right hip, his other hand on the back of her head twisting his fingers into her wet hair. Bringing his lips to her own.

She happily kissed back tightening her hands around his neck and twisting her fingers into his hair as their kisses deepened.

He felt his cock throbbing between them growing more and more desperate with every kiss, but he knew he couldn’t hold back a single second. He pushed her down against the rocks,

Y/n’s back against the rocks, her hair falling into the water, with Telemachus settled between her thighs his clothes flicked up once more, the head of his cock pressing softly against her stomach as they pulled back from their kisses and took a gasp.

“Y/n… Please… Tell me you want this too?” He asked pressing small kisses to her neck,

“Yes, My Prince.” She cooed as she shifted her hips up moving her hand down to guide his cock down from her stomach to brush against her pussy lips,

He groaned and without hesitation thrust deep filling her in one stroke, “Ughhh! Y/n!” He moaned at the soft warmth of her pussy,

She threw her head back as she clenched around him, “Ahhh! Telemachus!” she moaned her hands settling on his stomach as his thrusts began.

“Ahhh… fuc-” He cursed getting faster and faster as he was close to the edge from his earlier touching, “Forgive me…I … I can’t Last-” he tried to speak but it was too late as the rush flooded through his body like a wave, curling his toes and making his eyes roll back. “Ughhhhhghhrrr…” he moaned animalistic, as his seed filled her.

Y/n gasped looking up at him, her body trembling from the sensation that now dripped out of her,

“Forgive me Y/n…” He gasped,

“There is no need to apologize,” she smiled up at him,

“I can hardly leave you like this,” he whispered against her neck, “My sweet girl,” He cooed his hand sliding down her body feeling her tremble below him, her body clenching and pulsing around his softened cock. He pulled out slowly and let his hand replace himself his fingers diving inside her, and his thumb gently brushing her clit,

She moaned pulling him down into a kiss, desperately squirming against him.

Telemachus sped his hand up, gliding in the moisture of her arousal that coated his fingers. Her moans fueled his every movement, Getting faster and faster.

Y/n broke their kiss and screamed as she threw her head back against the rocks, as she squirted down his hand and her body shook as she clenched around his fingers.

He moved his hand to slow and finally pulled away as he smiled smugly down at her.

“Th-Thank you, My prince.” she gasped,

“You have no need to thank me, Y/n.” He told her rubbing his nose on hers, “I have never felt so much pleasure before.”

“Me either.” she nodded,

“Humm… Would you… want to do so again?

“Very much Telemachus.” she nodded, “So long as you wish to…”

“Ohh. I wish too. Very very much.” he smirked,

“Perhaps tonight? Your chambers?” She suggested,

“Umm tonight, and every night to come, my sweet Y/n,” he whispered leaning down to kiss her once more.

[hivemuthur]

i have a request for some ✨emotional, pinning smut✨ for viktor x female!reader based on “Crush” by Cigarettes After Sex

like viktor getting so flustered while watching her try on clothes (“i want to watch you as you’re trying on your clothes, and now you’re all i think about when i’m alone”) and him being just so down bad for the reader

and the sexual tension between them is *palpable*

just some good ol friends to lovers pinning, resolved with some smut

please and thank you, i love your writing 🥺🥺🥺🙏🙏🙏🙏

Hi Anon! I loved this request so much you have no idea!

Skin

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! lots of yearning, poor Viktor :v

author’s note: It's exactly what is says in the request. I listened to a lot of Cigarettes After Sex for this and when it began to annoy me switched to Grimes and remembered she had some good stuff going on in 2012, hence her song Skin will fit this as well if you read with music in the background :) @rennethen beta read!

word count: 2,4K

—

Viktor is trying to figure out a way to sink further into your armchair, have it swallow him whole—legs, arms, fingers, every single strand of his hair—before he disintegrates into a puddle. He had no idea it was going to be this bad when you said, "Can we just rest instead of studying for once?"

Sure, he could rest. He’s tried resting before. What could go so especially wrong? Other than, say, you deciding to organise your wardrobe on a whim while he’s trying to read. And then, when he finally gives up on reading—because it is physically impossible to keep his eyes anywhere but on glimpses of you dressing and undressing, tossing clothes around—another thing that could happen is you parading around in a T-shirt long enough to hide your underwear, but not long enough to hide your legs. And it’s just for a moment, just to change a song or take a sip of your tea, but it’s enough for him to sink so deep into the chair that he can feel the springs digging into his ass.

Or, say, you stepping out of the wardrobe in an appallingly microscopic mini skirt, asking, "Is this too short? Am I too old to wear things this short?"

Yes, it’s too goddamn short.

"Hmm, maybe a little?" he offers, trying so hard to make it look like you’ve just interrupted his reading. The same sentence, for about the fifteenth time—but he really is reading. So, just a glimpse. Just one look at your thighs, where they inevitably end and something else begins, and the skirt is so, so short he can almost—

"A little too short, or I’m a little too old?" you chuckle, and—God forsake you—you turn, and your ass cheeks peek from underneath, and now he knows you’re wearing a pair of white knickers. Just plain old cotton, but what it does to him. There is almost no chair left for him to squeeze himself into.

"Uh… both?" he offers weakly, not really knowing what he is saying, and you shoot him a look of mock offense.

"Forgive me, clothes are far from my areas of expertise," Viktor says, finding his voice—and finding some strength to look away and focus on the sentence he’s been trying to read forever. And the voice he’s found is nowhere near dignified enough for him to look you in the eye. It’s exasperated and breathy in a way that makes you pause for a moment before you shrug and retreat to the wardrobe, and he can breathe again.

"Expertise or not, you must have an opinion on something, Viktor," your chant reaches him as you shuffle between hangers, pulling out the next number to reconsider—a dress this time.

"Must I? I will remind you, I was lured into a trap with the promise of a study date, which somehow turned into a fashion show." Viktor mutters, shifting in the armchair—his stomach muscles actually ache from being flexed the whole time. All the forced breaths, all the cramps in his lower belly, are giving him such a hard time.

"Trapped? Excuse me, are you being physically restrained?" you ask, stepping out, your arms folded on your chest, having no idea that he actually is. Having no idea that his legs wouldn’t work, that if he were to stand up and leave, he’d have to crawl out instead.

"I am," he states bravely. "Weighed down by the sheer gravity of this experience." And you smile, thinking that he jests, but he really doesn’t.

Viktor looks at you in your silly dress, his face burning even hotter, lids heavy from all the warmth pooling inside him. He swallows, and you mistake the struggle for restraint as mockery.

"Oh, sod off," you cackle at the look on his face and step back inside, deciding you’ll keep the dress. "You're free to study if you want, you poor soul."

"Thank you, merciful creature," Viktor grits through his teeth, now carefully studying the letters in that one goddamn sentence he’s been trying to read for the past half hour. He’s never felt less free to do anything.

Finally, he admits defeat and puts the book aside. He takes a sip of his tea—now cold—and thank God for something cold in his mouth, because his tongue is a piece of burning coal. Stretching his legs in front of the chair, he surrenders to this slow, exquisite torture: watching you try on skin after skin, none of them particularly vulgar or filthy, but the sheer thought of you being nearly naked just a wall away makes something writhe inside him. Once in a while, he catches vignettes—an arm, a bra strap, a thigh, a little bit of bum as you lean over to pick something up.

And he would have done something a long time ago, but you are such good friends. It would be a real pity to complicate things. So he bears it—all of it. Every accidental touch, every fleeting glance, and allows himself to wonder sometimes, when your face dusts pink around him, if it's really his doing or just circumstantial evidence. If your pupils dilating at his lousy compliments mean something, or if you simply like to be praised. If you invite him over for his exceptional conversational skills. And if yes, he wonders how disappointed you must be today, as all he’s given you are quiet grunts and chuckles to cover how close he is to being absolutely ruined.

His skin is still burning when you step out again, this time wearing just a long sweater, and even that does something to him. You lean over him to press next on the music player, and Viktor catches a whiff of your scent, forcing his eyes not to roll back. He fails, so keeps them clamped shut.

"Is this also undergoing the purge?" he asks, clutching at straws, desperate to redirect his thoughts to any other thing in the universe but your skin under his fingers.

"I don’t know, you tell me." You pause mid-rise, face suddenly close to his. He blinks slowly, and you make nothing of it. His pupils are blown wide, lips parted, but you make nothing of it—just wait for him to reply.

"You must have an opinion," you press, and it feels like you are pressing on his chest, forcing the answer out of him.

"I like the sweater," Viktor whispers, taking the sleeve hem between his fingers. His skin brushes yours. "I like all of your clothes, actually." A confession finally escapes him, voice barely there as something sparks between the contact. And suddenly, you're no longer talking about clothes.

You glance at his eyelashes—long and dark, boyish and shy as his eyes move between two points: your wrist and his fingers.

"This one… is nice," he swallows, accent cutting his words into whispers. He can’t help it. He indulges—just once—in the light brush of his thumb across your wrist, where the skin is so thin he can feel the stutter of your heartbeat.

And you are aware of what’s happening in your chest. But you feel less embarrassed once you spot the similar rhythm pulsing through the vein on Viktor’s neck. And you tell yourself you are only checking if his heart is beating equally fast to yours, not staring. You tell yourself that while staring at the column of his throat and imagining how your tongue would fit in there. How Viktor would lean his head back and sigh if you pressed your lips to this tiny point where his heart echoed.

With you frozen, hovering over him, Viktor doesn’t exactly indulge further—but his hand moves outside of the jurisdiction of his will, fingers wrapping around your wrist. Once his suspicion is confirmed, though, he moves with intent. His fingers slip beneath the sleeve, caressing your forearm before sliding back down, memorising the shape of your knuckles. Your hands are so cold against his, burning, but it’s not the hottest thing you’ve felt yet.

Gently, carefully, he lifts your hand and holds it close to his mouth, palm facing him. His lips barely press against your wrist, and you exhale, your breath visible in the movement of his hair. Still frozen, you close your eyes as Viktor’s mouth travels up your palm, your nails grazing beneath his ear, goosebumps rising along his neck in response. Your fingertips catch on the plush of his lips before he sucks them into his mouth—his tongue hot, hotter than even his touch, swirling over your index finger. You can feel the edge of his teeth against your skin, and your forehead presses against his as you pathetically moan out his name.

The moment the silence is broken, he stops, and it takes everything in you not to whine. He chuckles out a nervous sound but doesn’t let go of your hand.

You decide you owe him the next move. Slowly—so painfully slowly—you shift in front of him, sinking onto your knees on either side of his thighs, still hovering just above him as you weigh the moment, wondering if shoving your fingers into his mouth was enough of an invitation.

Viktor’s hands answer for him. They slide up your legs, thumbs hooking over your hips to press you down onto him, and he groans at the contact. He squeezes, despite himself, looking drunk on the sensation of your core pressing against his, both of you sinking into the tight embrace of the chair. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, and Viktor gasps, „Oh, God.” His eyes remain closed.

Your fingers on his scalp are almost enough to have him undone, as his hips buck up and you follow his cry with a less dignified, “Oh, fuck,” catching on his lips.

"Please say something," a plea escapes him on an exhale, eyes still hooded, as if opening them could shatter the moment.

Instead, you press your lips to his—a light, hesitant touch at first. Viktor startles, and for a moment, you both just breathe into each other’s mouths. Then, as if something clicks into place in his mind, Viktor moves his tongue. Licks your upper lip, tentative, before his hands slide up your sides—one wrapping around your waist, the other gripping your neck as he pulls you deeper into the kiss.

His mouth claims yours, firm, almost bruising, and he catches up on breathing through his nose. Thumb stretches out your cheek and when you part, it’s only for an inch. He finally looks at you and you whisper, “Something.”

Faces close to each other, foreheads touching, you wordlessly reach for his belt and Viktor’s eyes follow the movement of your fingers. You tug on his pants to slide them down his hips and take in the vision of his cock, outlined in his boxer briefs, throbbing and leaking, a patch of wet cotton sticking to the head.

He grabs your hips, slides them over himself and you both moan as your wet underwear meets his. Hands everywhere on you, under your sweater, on your ass, as if Viktor can’t decide where he wants to touch you the most. His lips find your neck and your spine arches, your cunt pressing firmer on his cock. You feel his breath coming in hot pants with each movement, his tongue swiping along your neck, lips sucking hickeys into your skin.

He tugs at your jumper and with no words said, you lift your arms to help him rid you of it and do the same with his layers, baring his chest. You kiss his clavicle, and Viktor can’t help but whimper at the feeling of your hot mouth against him.

His fingers hover over your back, a silent question about your bra but before you can nod or say anything, you undo it with one flick and Viktor’s lips are on you immediately. On your breasts, on your nipples, just frantically licking and nipping before his tongue travels back up, tracing a slick line through your sternum, your neck, chin and lands back in your mouth.

He pushes you closer to him, your chests meet, and you sigh at the feeling of his heartbeat next to yours. You kiss him and between kisses Viktor breathes, “God, you are so wet.”

“You are so wet too,” you reply, and he chuckles. You rub against each other, your hips rolling on top of his and he hides his face in your neck, forcing himself not to come before you. You wrap your arms back around him, mouth hanging open against his forehead, his hair tickling your face. One, two more rolls of your hips, two more rubs against his clothed cock and you come twitching, pressing his face into your throat, with a force that could snap his neck, and he both feels the moan vibrating in your larynx and hears it ringing in his ears.

Not letting you go, he ruts into you, sliding his cock between your sore, swollen lips, soon to join you with your name falling from his mouth in a quiet broken whimper, muffled with a bite on your neck and you can feel the wetness spreading between your legs, hot and sticky as your underwear merges into one mess of cum. You both breathe heavily, stay embraced before looking at each other.

When Viktor shivers beneath you, you suddenly remember that you might be crushing him and wince, asking “Am I hurting your leg?”

“No, God, no,” he mutters into the pool between your collar bones and his breath is still so warm. His palm is splayed on the nape of your neck, heavy and firm, other encircles your waist. You comb his hair away from his forehead and look at him firmly. “So… fashions shows. Not so bad in the end, huh?”

He cackles, caught off guard. “Not so bad, no,” he muses, looking you deep in the eyes. Spent, happy, cheeks pink and hair tussled, he looks so pretty it takes everything in you to not smooch him in another kiss. “I might want to frequent those more often,” he says bashfully, and you smile.

“Oh, there is a lot to be seen. I haven’t even begun with the underwear drawer,” you whisper against his lips and kiss him softly and to Viktor it’s abundantly clear, that he will have to crawl out of here were he ever going to leave.

[shybluebirdninja]

Breeding Fever

Summary: Logan's primal instincts kick in as he reveals his desire to breed you, mixing human and mutant blood in a heated sex.

Pairing            : Logan Howlett x Fem!Human-Reader

Note                : smut, breeding-kink, rough sex

The night air was thick with tension, an electric hum that thrummed between you and Logan. In the dim light of the cabin, shadows danced along the walls, and the smell of woodsmoke mingled with something much more primal.

Logan leaned against the rough-hewn table, muscles coiling under his flannel shirt, a dark gleam in his eyes that spoke of hunger—not just for the food cooking on the stove but for something deeper, something raw and untamed.

“Damn, you look good tonight,” he rumbled, his voice low, the gravelly tone sending shivers down your spine. You caught the flicker of his gaze, lingering just a beat longer on your curves before he snapped back to your eyes. “Like you were made for me, just the way I like it.”

The heat rose in your cheeks, and you shifted, the air crackling between you. “Is that so? What exactly do you like?” you asked, your voice teasing, playful, but your heart raced with anticipation.

He pushed off the table, closing the space between you in an instant, his breath warm against your skin. “Oh, you know. A little bit of fire, a little bit of chaos.” His eyes darkened, and you felt the weight of his gaze. “I want to see just how much fire you’ve got in you.”

His words ignited something deep within, a primal yearning that bubbled to the surface. “What do you want from me?” you breathed, feeling the heat radiate off him.

With a wicked grin, Logan leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I want to breed you. Mix this human blood with my mutant blood.” Each word dripped with desire, the command in his voice sending shivers down your spine. “I want to see you carry my kids, all five of them, hot and heavy with my blood in you.”

Your breath hitched, the thought spinning in your mind. It wasn’t just a fantasy; it was a raw, animalistic truth.

“Five? You think I can handle that?” you teased, trying to mask the sudden rush of excitement coursing through your veins.

“Hell yeah, I know you can.” He pulled back just enough to lock eyes with you, the intensity palpable. “You’re strong. I need a mate who can keep up with me. You’re perfect for this.”

With that, Logan pressed closer, his hands finding your waist, fingers digging into your flesh possessively. “Let me show you,” he growled, and before you knew it, he had you pinned against the wall.

The cabin felt smaller, the air thicker as he lowered his mouth to your neck, hot breath ghosting over your skin. “Just imagine it,” he murmured, lips trailing fire along your collarbone. “Little ones running around, all wild like me, with your spirit. God, that thought gets me hard.”

You gasped, the heat pooling in your core as he continued his assault on your senses, his hands roaming freely over your body. “What if I want it now?” you asked, the challenge rolling off your tongue.

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” Logan growled, lifting you effortlessly and tossing you onto the table, the surface rough beneath you. “I’m gonna make you scream my name, babe. Let’s see just how loud you can get.”

Your heart raced, and you couldn’t help but grin, feeling utterly alive under his fierce gaze. “You think you can handle me?”

“Handle you? I’m gonna own you.” He didn’t waste a second before diving in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that left no room for doubt. It was rough, hungry, and as his tongue slid against yours, you felt the world slip away, leaving only the two of you.

As he pulled back, panting, Logan’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “I want to feel you wrapped around me, every damn inch of you.”

With that, he was on you again, hands gripping your thighs as he spread your legs apart, his mouth trailing down your vagina. The heat of his breath made you squirm, anticipation building as he took his time exploring every inch of your clit.

“You taste like heaven,” he growled, eyes dark and wild. “I could get lost between your legs, babe. But tonight? I’ve got plans for you.”

The thrill of his words sent a shiver through you, and you arched your back, craving more. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’m gonna fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before,” he said, voice thick with desire. “And when I’m done, you’ll be begging for more.”

With that, he slid inside you in one powerful thrust, stretching you wide. You gasped, the sensation overwhelming as he filled you completely. “God, Logan,” you moaned, the pleasure overwhelming as he began to move, powerful and commanding.

“Yeah, that’s it. Let me hear you, babe. Let me know how good I feel.” Each thrust was deep, hitting places inside you that made your vision blur, your nails digging into his back as you pulled him closer.

“Just like that,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your entire being. “You’re mine, remember that. Mine to breed. Mine to fill with my kids.”

The thought sent a rush of heat coursing through you, and you felt your body tighten around him, drawing him in deeper. “Logan, I—”

“Shh, don’t think too much. Just feel.” He picked up the pace, his hips snapping against yours, the table creaking under the pressure. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure racing through you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter.

“More, I need more,” you begged, craving the release that felt so close yet so far.

“Then scream for me, babe. Let everyone know who you belong to.”

With a growl, he drove deeper, his hands gripping your hips to keep you in place, the world around you fading into nothing but pure, unadulterated pleasure. As he pushed you closer and closer to the edge, you felt the tension snap, a wave of bliss crashing over you.

“Logan!” you cried, the name spilling from your lips as you surrendered to the overwhelming ecstasy.

“Yeah, that’s it, babe. Let it all go. I want to feel you fall apart for me.”

As your body shook with the intensity of your release, Logan followed soon after, filling you with his hot cum completely, claiming you in a way that sent waves of pleasure coursing through both of you.

Breathless and spent, you collapsed against the table, a satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “So, how many do you think we can handle?”

Logan’s grin was wicked, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Oh, I’m thinking five, at least. But we can always go for more.”

With a chuckle, you settled into his embrace, heart racing at the thought of what was to come. “Just keep the fire burning.”

“Trust me, babe. This is just the beginning.”

[delilahsturniolo]

— ୨୧ signs . . . c.s

in which . . . you and chris’s relationship is hanging on it’s last thread, you struggle to find a sign of love and sincerity within your relationship with chris.

warnings . . . angst, relationship tension, kissing scene and description, straddling, emotional conflict, slightlyyyy suggestive.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

SO CLOSE TO WHAT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #8

the city hums around you, neon lights bleeding into the wet pavement as rain taps against the windshield. the car is warm, but there’s a chill between you and chris—one that’s been lingering for weeks, maybe even longer. you sit in the passenger seat, arms wrapped around yourself, staring at the red light ahead even though you’re not moving. chris is gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles pale, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

“you’re shutting me out again,” chris says, voice quieter than you expected. you swallow, eyes still fixed ahead. “i’m not.” he exhales, a rough, tired sound. “you do this every time. the second something feels too real, you pull away.” that makes you turn to him. his jaw is tight, brows furrowed, eyes dark with something that looks too much like pain. you hate that you put it there. “it’s not that simple,” you whisper.

“it is.” he looks at you then, really looks at you. “i love you.” your stomach clenches, because you want to believe him. you do. but there’s something inside you that keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. for him to wake up one day and realize you’re too much. “then why,” you whisper, voice shaking, “does it feel like i’m constantly waiting for a sign?” chris’s fingers flex against the wheel. “a sign for what?”

“a sign that this is real. that you won’t leave.”

the air in the car shifts, heavier now, thicker with words left unsaid. he reaches for your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles. warmth floods through you at the touch, familiar yet still electric. “you don’t need a sign,” he murmurs. “i’m right here. i’ve always been here.”

your eyes burn, but you blink hard. “for how long?”

his breath stutters, his grip on your hand tightening. “i don’t know what else to do,” chris admits, and there’s something so raw in his voice it nearly undoes you. “i tell you i love you. i show up. i choose you every single day. what more do you need?” your heart is a chaotic mess inside your chest, because he’s right. he’s always been right. it’s not him you’re afraid of. it’s yourself.

“i need to believe it, chris.” you whisper. chris cups your face then, tilting your chin so you have no choice but to meet his eyes. “then believe it, y/n.” and just like that, something inside you breaks. not in a painful way, but in the way a storm finally breaks after days of tension in the air.

you surge forward, closing the space between you, crashing your lips against his. chris inhales sharply, surprised, but only for a second before he’s kissing you back, like he’s been waiting for this, like he’s been waiting for you, yearning for you. chris’s hands tangle in your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he deepens the kiss, pulling you closer. your seatbelt is still on, a frustrating barrier, but his hands fumble for it, unbuckling it in one swift motion before pulling you effortlessly onto his lap, as if he’s done this before.

you straddle chris, your hands finding his face, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw as his lips move with yours—urgent, desperate, like he’s trying to kiss away every doubt you’ve ever had. his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, and you part for him, letting him in, melting against him as his hands slide down your back, gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

the rain pounds harder against the car, but neither of you care. the windows fog up, the air thick with heat and want. your fingers trail down his neck, his chest, feeling the way his heart races beneath your touch. chris groans softly into your mouth, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine, pooling heat low in your stomach.

his hands explore your body desperately, sliding under your sweater, fingertips grazing your bare skin, setting fire to every nerve they touch. you gasp against his lips, and he takes the opportunity to tilt your head, kissing you deeper, slower, making you feel every second of it.

time blurs, minutes slipping away as you get lost in him, in the way he holds you, kisses you, worships you with his hands and lips. it’s only when you both pull away, breathless, foreheads pressed together, that reality settles back in. chris’s thumb traces your bottom lip, swollen from kissing, and his eyes search yours, dark and full of something you can’t quite name. “don’t run from this,” he murmurs. “don’t run from me, from us. please.”

you exhale shakily, resting your forehead against his, running your hands along his chest. and for the first time, you don’t think you will. maybe, just maybe, this was the sign you’d been waiting for all along.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

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