#uh this sounded much more interesting in my head

[landopoet]

clandestine.

pairing coworker!lando x intern!reader

warnings implications of sex, dirty talk

synopsis your hot one night stand from the other night turns out to be not only a famous racer, but also your coworker.

author’s note heavily inspired by the dynamic MerDer have in grey’s anatomy… some conversations were recycled from the show. also! special thanks to @clovermoters for being my proofreader and biggest support with all my fics <3 love u. enjoy!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Hey, psst, wake up.”

It’s already bright and sunny outside, the curtains doing absolutely nothing from stopping the sunlight from blinding you. The curly-haired, absolute beauty of a man sleeping soundly next to you, however, seems to not be bothered by it at all.

He only opens his eyes when you rip the covers off of him and get out of bed, panicking to collect your clothes from your own bedroom floor. “C’mon, you have to go.”

“Huh, why?” He turns over to lay on his back, not at all bothered by his goodies being on full display. Not that you didn’t get an eye-ful of them last night, anyway.

You stand up straight and give him an annoyed grumble. “I’ve my first day of work today and I’ll be damned if I let a man be the reason I’m late for it.”

He leans up on his elbows, watching with half-lidded eyes as you bend down to pick up your shirt. “Let’s not forget that this man was making you scream last night.”

“Whatever.” You grumble again. “Just go.”

The stranger shrugs and gets up, immediately finding his clothes and tugging on his boxers. “What’s the new job?”

“Photography intern.” A hiss leaves your lips as you brush your fingers through your hair, no time to actually find a hairbrush. Maybe a claw clip could do the job for today. “Paid, before you ask.”

“I wasn’t going to.” The sound of a belt being buckled draws your attention back to him. Your eyes drift upwards, following his happy trail up to his abdomen. The man, proud and egotistical, watches as you ogle.

“I never caught your name,” you finally peel your eyes away from his chest and look at his green eyes.

He bites back a smirk and extends a hand towards you. “Lando.”

Lando’s big hand embraces yours, sending a shiver down your spine that you were far too familiar with for the past eighteen hours. “Y/n.”

He watches as you tightly clutch the sheets to your chest, hiding yourself from him, as if he hadn’t explored every inch of your body just a few hours prior. “Last night was-“

“You should go.” You reiterate, a little rude but it gets Lando that much more interested in how quickly your mood changes. “Please.”

Lando gives you a tight-lipped nod before gathering the last of his stuff, keys to a McLaren jingling in his palm as he waves to you by the door. “I’ll see you around.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

With just a few minutes to spare, you enter the meeting room and you’re met with six other people, all dressed in bright orange shirts with black details. “Morning,” you smile and take a seat at the large table.

Your supervisor, a woman with narrow and threatening eyes, watches you for a few seconds before turning her attention back to the board. She explains what you’ll be doing at McLaren and what your main concerns should be. Easy.

That is until you’re following an employee around with your camera tightly clutched in hand and you see him. He’s standing by the elevator, looking down at his phone and you’re panicking. You turn on your heel and walk the other way, but the employee you’ve been shadowing calls out for you.

“Y/n, where the hell are you going?”

Lando’s head shoots up at the mention of your name and he watches as your eyes flicker between the other person and him. He gives you a small smile and shakes his head. “Incredible,” he mumbles to himself.

You turn back around, bottom lip between your teeth and you clutch your camera closer to your chest. “Uh, I was, uhm… Bathroom.”

“You just went.” Lexi, the brown-haired employee, cocks her head to the side, evidently confused. You sigh, realising that there was no way to avoid Lando and that you’d have to speak to him eventually anyway.

“Right, sorry.” You nod and make your way back to her. And, unluckily for you, she’s already standing next to Lando, making small talk. You notice her tucking her hair behind her ear, a sign of her being very into Lando, and you roll your eyes.

She turns to you, “this is my intern.”

You awkwardly raise a hand and give him one wave, a less-than-pleased smile on your face. “Lovely to meet you, I’ve heard great things.”

“As have I,” Lando smiles at you with amusement stitched into every crevice of his face. Lexi gives you both a weird look before her phone rings and she rolls her eyes.

“I’ve got to go, Y/N, go upstairs and take a left to office 203. I need you to upload the pictures from your camera to the hard drive on the table,” you nod at her instructions and watch as her whole demeanor changes when she turns to Lando. “I’ll see you around, bye, Lan.”

The man next to you gives her a wink and she lets out a noise that sounds something like a mix between a giggle and a gasp. An eye-roll seems to be your go-to expression whenever you’re near Lando.

The two of you watch as she runs off with her phone in hand, something clearly more important taking her away from her responsibilities. The elevator dings and Lando gestures for you to go first. Once you step in, you’re trying your best to look everywhere but at him, despite your body practically gravitating towards the man.

He’s the first to break the silence. “You could’ve told me you were interning at McLaren.”

“You could’ve told me you worked at McLaren.” You bite your lip to hide how uncomfortable you are.

“The car wasn’t enough of a hint?” Lando turns to you as a small laugh leaves his lips. Fuck, his lips. You haven’t been able to get him out of your head and thoughts of kissing him have been clouding your mind all day. It’s infuriating how much of an effect he has on you without even doing anything. “When do you get off? I’d like to grab a bite after work, if you’re interested.”

You sigh and rub your eyes. “Do you fuck every young woman you work with?”

Your eyes finally find his and you watch as he frowns, confused. “Excuse me?”

“Lexi. Have you slept with her, too?” You knit your arms together and wonder when the hell this elevator stops so you could leave. The lack of air in the confined space made you that much more upset.

His pretty, soft and pink lips pull into a smirk. “Are you implying that I’m some kind of a whore?”

“If the boot fits, wear it.” You hiss and the elevator door dings open. Lando watches as you storm off, the smirk never leaving his face.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The first few days of your internship went by well.

You managed to steer clear of Lando’s path, the only time you ever interacted with him being for pictures and in the company of other staff. Despite being so confident in shutting him down a few days ago, you couldn’t deny feeling… something.

Still, that something was highly unprofessional and had very slim chances of actually working out, considering your schedules.

You’re only interning at McLaren for a few months, hoping to add to your portfolio, before you open up your own photography studio. It’s been a dream of yours since you were little and you’ve already achieved so much, you couldn’t let that dream go even if McLaren offered you a full-time job.

The elevator dings at your floor and you step out, trying to focus up and get on with a new work day. Lexi said you could make yourself comfortable in one of the meeting rooms on the second floor, as there weren’t many offices available at that time.

So, room 304 has become your own little office.

You’ve put up some of your stuff on the large table, like a succulent and some stationary. It’s organised, neat, yet still has a touch of you to it. You’ve found that this office has become a sort of safe haven, guaranteeing you as little contact with Lando as possible.

Except, when you open the door to your office, Lando’s sitting in the chair and spinning in it like a child.

“Oh, fuck.” A gasp escapes your lips as you clutch your chest, feeling the rapid pace of your heart. “What the hell? What are you doing here?”

Lando’s head whips around to look at you and he smiles that same annoying smile that gets your blood rushing. “Oh, hey. Lex told me I’d find you here.”

“Find me here?” You ask as you make your way over to the table and set your bag down. “Are you stalking me, Norris?”

The curly-haired man starts spinning in the chair again, closely examining the cat figurine he plucked right off of your cozy side of the table. “Ah, yes, because I have nothing better to do than to stalk you.”

“I’m starting to believe that’s true.” You roll your eyes, taking a seat at the laptop you’ve just taken out of your bag. “What do you want?”

“You.” He says, absentmindedly, as he’s looking up at the ceiling and you hate that your eyes automatically gravitate to his neck. Lando clears his throat and sits up straight. “The photos you took of me a few days ago. I want to post them to my Instagram and I was wondering if you could send a few over to me.”

Silly of you to think that he’d come bother you because he simply wanted to bother you. Sure, the banter and persistence of the devilishly handsome man annoyed you to your core, but you couldn’t deny that you liked it. There’s something about how wrong this is that feels so right.

Lando watched as you typed away on your laptop. “I assume you have my email already.”

“Yep,” you nodded. “I’ll edit them and send them over.”

“Alright, thanks.” He stands up and makes his way to the door. Before he opens it, he turns back to you and, with a playful smirk, asks, “dinner’s still a no-go?”

“I’m not going to dinner with you, Lando.” You wave him off. “Now leave, please. I've got work to do.”

“See you later, boss.” He hums as the door shuts behind him and you put your head in your hands.

“For both of our sake, I wish you didn’t.” You whisper under your breath before composing yourself and continuing your photo editing.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The elevator dings at the ground floor.

“So,” Lexi says as you both enter the elevator. Lexi is the type of girl who tells it as it is, no bullshit, no sugarcoating, pure honesty. So, when she gives you a look— the look, —you wonder what you’ve done now. “What’s with you and Norris?”

“Wha-“ You choke on air. “Me and- and who? What, sorry?” Lexi has to hide her amusement as you fumble over your words. “I don’t- There’s not… No, nothing.”

The brunette in front of you just shakes her head with a laugh. “Right, so he looks at you like he’s seen you naked for absolutely no reason, then?”

Once again, you can’t seem to get any words out so you just look at her. A blank stare straight into her brown, intimidating eyes.

Lexi crosses her arms over her chest and fully turns to you. “Listen, I know you know I like him. I also know there’s something between you two.” She says in a tone you can’t seem to read. “So, please, tell me everything so I could live vicariously through you.”

“Oh, uh,” you’re surprised. “I thought you’d be more upset.”

“I’m upset that you’re not telling me anything,” she rolls her eyes. “Where’d you meet?”

“Bar,” you answer, instantly. “Last weekend.”

Lexi nods. “What was he wearing?”

“White button-up and black dress pants.”

“Fuck, I bet he looked so good.”

“He did.”

You tell her how he was the one to initiate any sort of contact with you other than eyeing each other from across the bar. You tell her how gentle he was, not only when speaking to you but also when he was casually touching you. Lexi listened intently, smiling along with you as you recalled every detail.

Well, almost every detail. There’s parts of that night you wished to keep between yourself and your bedsheets on late nights.

You can’t deny that you want him. Badly. So badly that you might be hallucinating him every time you’re not looking at Lexi.

“Hey, girls.”

This time, much to your surprise, you weren’t hallucinating. Lando was standing right in front of the open elevator door, looking as irresistible as you remembered.

“Hey,” Lexi looks at you for a second, a cheeky smile on her lips as she makes her way out of the elevator. “Y/N, remember what I asked you to do? Can you bring it down to me later?”

You look at the girl and she gives you a wink Lando couldn’t see. “Uh, yeah. I got it.” Lexi, despite being the scariest person in the whole building when you first met her, has proven herself to be a girls’ girl. She smiles at you two as the doors close, and it’s just you and Lando in a confined space, again.

The curly-haired man turns to you, an annoyingly charming smile playing on his lips. “Not talking to me, are we?”

The way he leaned in as he asked the question drove you crazy— his face was right there, right where you could just turn and… kiss him.

Lando doesn’t have time to process what’s happening before your lips are on his and you’re taking his breath away for the tenth time in the same day. First, it was you wearing your hair down that had him take a second to catch his breath. Next, it was the way you spoke to him and the way you tried to pretend like you didn’t want him at all, yet couldn’t resist smiling when he flirted with you. And now this.

He feels heaven on earth when your fingers find the base of his neck and you play with his hair, getting lost in the curls as his hands find your jaw. He lures you in closer and closer, and he’d mould you two into one being if he could.

You feel his hands travel to your waist and he pulls you in, groaning into your mouth at the memory of you around him.

Just as he’s about to tease his hands up your shirt, the elevator dings.

The two of you, like deer in headlights, pause for a mere millisecond before pulling away and practicing launching yourselves to opposite sides of the elevator. You pat down your hair and Lando straightens his shirt, and you don’t speak a word to him as you step out the elevator, making a beeline to your office.

Lando follows closely behind you, amused, intrigued, needy. He needs more of you, a mere kiss in the elevator doing nothing to suffice his fix of you.

You take a seat at your desk, pretending to do work even though all you can think of is locking the door and fulfilling every fantasy in your mind right now. It doesn’t help that he’s stood in the doorway, hands crossed over his chest as he just watches you.

It takes ten minutes before you finish your pretend work and pull the USB out of your laptop. Lando’s eyes are glued to you, like you’re the only person in the world.

When you’re in front of him, waiting for him to move so you could take your fake work to Lexi, he finally breaks the silence. “Is that gonna happen again? ‘Cause if so, I need to bring breath mints.” He nods his head towards you, a small smirk on his lips. “Put a condom in my wallet,” Lando says in a hushed tone, clearly teasing you for what happened back in the elevator.

You roll your eyes and laugh at him. “Move, Norris.”

“Oh, so it’s Norris now.” He moves out your way so you can get out of the room, yet he still trails closely behind you. When you’re at the elevator again, he just watches you get in, eyes narrowed at you in a way only *he could look at you.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You whisper-yell as you press the ground floor button.

Lando cocks his head to the side. “Like what?”

You sigh and drop your shoulders, “like you’ve seen me naked.”

The last thing you see before the doors close is the rise of Lando’s shoulders and another annoying yet devilishly handsome smirk on his face.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Lando catches you in the elevator the next morning.

He’s as smug as can be and you try your best not to look at him too long. Your hope of surviving this elevator ride dies when he opens his mouth. “So,” he begins. It’s clear that he has nothing to say and that he’s only speaking so he’d talk to you.

“If you have something to say, just say it.” You mumble, a little harsh but you can’t be bothered to put yourself in a good mood that day. You got called up to a meeting with your supervisor and a few others, Lexi and Lando included.

“I don’t have anything to say,” he muses, watching as your face contorts into all sorts of micro expressions. “Do you have something to say?”

“Yes. No.” You look at him and then back to the numbers above the elevator door. “I don’t know.” You pinch the bridge of your nose before turning your head back to him. “You know what? Fine.”

Lando looks at you, like you’ve lost your mind. “Fine?”

You turn to face him with your whole body, arms crossed across your chest and disappointment painting your face. “Fine, I’ll go out to dinner with you.”

He turns to face the door, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Cool.”

“Cool.”

The door opens and you speed off, for the millionth time in the past week. It’s not good for your self-control, and recently declared celibacy, to be near Lando so much. The only reason you’ve decided you’re celibate now is because of that… incident in the elevator. Though you’re sure Lando didn’t mind it at all, but you did.

It was highly inappropriate to be making out with your coworker, at work. Oh, god. What if there’s cameras in the elevator? What if that’s what this meeting is about? You began to worry that you’d be having your first meeting with HR about something you knew would come up.

When you open the meeting room door, Lexi’s already sat next to your supervisor, Eliza. She gave you a small smile and a wave, and you gave her a nervous grimace in return.

Lando, being the annoying coworker that he is, sat next to you. As if you hadn’t already had enough suspicions from Lexi, who didn’t actually seem to mind.

The meeting lasts an hour and Eliza doesn’t get to the reason why you’re there until the very end. “Sorry, why was I called here then? I’m just a photography intern, I don’t think I have anything to do with the race weekend in Italy.”

“Oh, right.” Eliza hummed, pulling out a staff paddock pass for you. “You’re coming with us.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you take the plastic card and lanyard from Eliza’s hands. “Excuse me?” A whole weekend with not only McLaren, but also Lando. Oh, god.

The curly-haired man sitting next to you laughs silently, before leaning in closer to you. “So that’s dinner in Italy, then?”

[evieismol]

Big Bend - Chapter Eight

Word count: 938

Cw: cursing

Previous

Easton's pov

“Hey! So, I hear we’re finally on the same planet again!” Larissa said, her familiar face appearing on my phone screen. It had been years since I’d seen the human I’d initially met when she and her friends had become stranded on Aphirial in person, but we’d kept in touch with regular video calls and text messages. 

 I laughed. “We are!”

“How are you liking Earth? And how is it being the one that’s the wrong size this time?” She asked, giving me a wry smile at the last part. 

“Well, the days are definitely a lot shorter here,” I said. “I feel like as soon as I fall asleep it’s time to get up. I guess it was the opposite for you guys - waiting for me to wake up or get back from work or whatever must have felt like it was taking forever.”

“Yeah, it was weird. At least we got to sleep in pretty much always, though, so we might have won on that front.” 

“I wish that was the case for me,” I murmured, then shook my head, forcing myself to brighten my tone. “It’s been good overall though! The people here are really nice too.” 

“That’s good! Made new friends to replace us yet?” Larissa joked. 

“As if,” I said. “Speaking of which, is Kyle around?” 

Larissa shook her head. “He got called into work today. I know, lame.”

Larissa and Kyle had become roommates when they’d returned to Earth, settling in the coastal city of Los Angeles. The third human who’d been stranded, Ruby, had also kept closely in touch with them, though her job as a travelling nurse meant that catch ups were more frequently than not over facetime. Much like ours - I hadn’t seen any of the three humans in person since they’d left Aphiria. 

“Damn. Well, tell him I said hi!” I said. 

“I will! So, what’re your coworkers like?”

 “They really are all nice. My supervisor, John, is very, like, upbeat. I swear he must live off of coffee or something. I’m pretty sure one of them is kind of terrified of me. Or dislikes me. Or maybe both, I’m not really sure, but I’ve been trying to be like, extra friendly? I mean, not that I blame him, given the whole giant thing.

Uh, I’m not the only non human working here though. One of my other coworkers - Angie, she’s cool - convinced her best friend Penelope to come work out here, and she’s a vampire.”

“A vampire, that’s neat,” Larissa said. “I haven’t actually met very many.”

“She seems pretty chill. She’s like, very extroverted. Oh, and her roommate Zoey seems cool too.” I wasn’t totally sure why I felt like I needed to sound casual mentioning Zoey, or why I was hit with the immediate urge to talk more about Zoey. Regardless, I found myself recounting Zoey and I’s first meeting, rambling about how she’d seemed remarkably unconcerned to run into a giant in the middle of the night. Surprised, but not actually scared, even once I’d let slip that I was from Aphiria.

That then turned into rambling about how cool her outfits also were - a colorful mix of crochet, tie dye, and chunky jewelry when she wasn’t at work. And then that turned into mentioning how radiant her smile was, and it was at about that time that I noticed the knowing look on Larissa's face. I faltered. 

“Uh, yeah. So she's nice. Like everyone else. They're all nice.” 

“Sounds like you might think she's a little bit nicer than everyone else?” Larissa asked teasingly. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” I was not good at playing dumb. 

“Sure,” Larissa said, drawing the word out. “I can't wait to tell Kyle and Ruby that you have a crush.” She said the last part of her sentence in a sing-songy tone. 

“I do not! Can't I just appreciate someone's fashion sense?” 

“And ‘radiant smile’?”

I felt like face palming. 

Why did I say that? 

“Objectively speaking.” I tried again. “She just has a nice smile.” 

“Uh huh. I think I got like, a sentence about everyone else there and an entire monologue about her, so you're not fooling anyone.” 

“I don't have-I'm not interested-I don't like her like that. Besides, she's-she's a human.” I stammered. 

“What, us humans aren't good enough for you?” 

"No! No, I didn't mean it like that, I fully think humans are equal to aphirials-of course-that just came out wrong." If I'd felt flustered before, it was now a thousand times worse. 

"Hm, I dunno, you said that awfully fast," Larissa teased. 

"I just meant like - I don't have a crush on her-" I ignored the look Larissa gave me and continued, "but even if I did, there'd be like...a kind of concerning power imbalance? If I did like a human, which I don't, I wouldn't want them to feel pressured into anything or something because I'm, well," I gestured at myself.

"Half the humans I meet - actually, probably more like 70% of the humans I meet, are at least a little scared of me already. And what if I told a human that I theoretically had a crush on that I felt that way and then they didn't feel the same way but felt like they couldn't say that and-and there's just a lot of potential problems there," I ended lamely. 

Larissa and I were both silent for a moment. 

"...You've put a lot of thought into the subject for someone who doesn't have a crush on a human," Larissa said finally. 

I sighed. 

Fuck.

[solargeist]

despite my previous post, I don’t know how to handle when people talk abt things I don’t know or understand bc I focus too hard on my own reactions so I don’t accidentally offend them bc there’s only so many times you can say “oh really?” before you sound sarcastic ‼️💥

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you leave megumi with your husband so you can make them breakfast. you quickly realise that that might have backfired.

wc. around 1.3k

tags. dad!toji x wife!female reader. fluff. reader gets called ‘mama’ by both toji & megumi. half beta read.

“ow, careful there, brat.”

your husband’s deep voice echoes from within the bathroom. you’ve left megumi in his care this morning so you’d be able to make breakfast in peace. toji was all grumpy about it, since he had to wake up early when he had no work, but eventually agreed to your proposal.

you hum your favorite song while frying eggs. the sizzling in the pan did help avert your attention from toji’s grunts of annoyance somewhere in the distance, though only for a couple seconds. your hear your child’s laughter slip between the noises of aggravation. it piques your interest.

“one more time and i’m putting y’r ass in time out,” toji’s deep voice sounds muffled. he sounds rather serious about whatever is bothering him.

you turn the stove off and walk towards the hallway, standing at the doorframe as you look in the direction of the bathroom. you tilt your head and try your best to pick up on snippets of the conversation between your husband and son.

the sound of bottles dropping on the floor is the first thing that allows you to guess that megumi’s acting up. you know how mischievous your little toddler can get, especially at his age. toji isn’t one to gentle parent his kid—he tries to, of course, but sometimes he can’t help but be a bit rough.

“megumi fushiguro.”

you raise your eyebrows as toji uses your child’s full name. he rarely does, only when he’s really upset or about to lose his marbles. you decide to see what was going on for yourself. you walk towards the bathroom, cleaning your hands against the material of your apron. you knock once before pushing the door open.

you stick your head through the little gap, ready to identify the cause of the commotion. the first thing you notice is the chaos on the floor; bottles, tubes, toothbrushes, and all other kinds of products lay cluttered on the bathroom tiles.

your eyes then land on your husband’s broad and scarred back, “hey, honey. did something hap—”

your voice trails off once toji turns around, revealing the jaw dropping scene. nearly his entire face is covered in loads of shaving cream and even his black hair hasn’t escaped the soft foam.

the bathroom counter is completely wet, and the water runs down the edges in small drops. the culprit of this entire scene is sitting right on that same counter, clapping his dirty hands together that were smeared with toji’s shaving cream.

you blink and walk towards the two. you can’t possibly be mad at the sight, finding toji’s situation more funny than worrisome. You try to act serious and clear your throat, “uh, yeah. so what’s happened here?”

your husband rolls his eyes and nods his head at the little boy in front of him, who’s giggling and kicking his legs. toji tries to wipe the shaving cream from his nose, attempting to get it out of his hair as well, “i tried to be a good dad and include him in my morning routine, that’s what.”

the man clicks his tongue as he now realises how dumb of a mistake that was, “gave him the opportunity to put some shaving foam on my jaw ‘n the brat totally blew it. started attackin’ me with the stuff.”

toji grumbles. he wipes away the foam that got on the mirror afterwards. it’s nearly gotten everywhere. he lightly nudges megumi’s forehead with a scoff, “never again, y’hear? the little shit can’t sit still for even one second.”

that explains the stuff on the floor. you know that megumi could grow bored easily if he isn’t the centre of attention. he’d start doing anything to be the focus of his parents. toji probably didn’t pay him much mind, wanting to get his morning routine over with.

“language, honey.” you sigh and look down at megumi who’s still reaching his messy hands up to his dad.

toji huffs and leans back, not giving the little boy a chance to put more shaving cream on his face. he’s learnt his lesson; kids do not understand it when you tell them to ‘only put a little bit’.

megumi whines and threatens to throw a tantrum. you notice that immediately and try to keep his mind off things by picking him up. you turn on the faucet and try to wash his little hands, “c’mon. give mama your hands.”

the little boy shakes his head furiously, squirming in your embrace in attempt to get away. you sigh and grab his little wrists gently. you lower him to the sink, trying your best to wash away the shaving cream as the first step of solving this grande mess.

“no, mama!” megumi is stubborn as he voices his complains. toji watches from a distance whilst he struggles to clean the overload of shaving cream from his face.

you make the mistake of letting go of your child’s wrists to grab a washcloth. megumi takes his chance and pats his messy hands against your face, leaving you no space to process what he’s doing.

your mind takes a second before you realise what’s happening, “hey! quit it, ‘gumi.”

you try to grab ahold of megumi’s tiny hands again, but they move too fast for you. plus, he’s pretty skilled at avoiding yours. you can feel the foam slowly cover your entire face; from your jaw and cheeks, to your nose and forehead.

it was inevitable at this point.

“toji, do something,” you grunt and struggle to contain the energetic toddler in your arms. you take a peek at your husband and find him grinning at the predicament you’ve gotten yourself in.

toji simply shrugs and enjoys the fact that you’re experiencing exactly what he had experienced just moments ago. seeing you struggle to contain your disobedient child only proves that his parenting skills are not the problem in this situation, your toddler is.

“ye did that to y’rself, mama.” toji hums in amusement. he leans against the wall, the blue towel now loosely hanging off head after he’s given up on getting the foam out of his hair, “now y’know what i’m talkin’ about. he’s a lil’ monster.”

megumi squeals in victory after he’s gotten both his parents covered in shaving cream. you want to say something to your child, but you’re at a loss for words. even now, you cannot bring yourself to be mad at him. he’s just a kid who’s having fun with his parents.

“i made mama pretty! hehe.” megumi grins and encourages you to look in the mirror. he points at your reflection and awaits the words of confirmation. his blue eyes look up at you, nearly sparkling with joy, admiring how pretty he’s made you look with that white foam all over your face.

toji joins in on the fun. he comes to stand behind you, looking at you through the mirror. he snickers, already forgotten about his irritations that occurred in the first place. he nods in approval at megumi’s words, “gotta agree, son. y’r mama looks much prettier like this.”

your husband’s teasing comment adds fuel to the fire. though again, you cannot bring yourself to be upset at the situation.

you look at the reflection in the dirty mirror. you all may appear disheveled due to the foamy mess on your bodies—and yet even at that moment—the only thing you actually manage to see is a happy family of three.

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 25th. tom — anal sex / sexual punishment.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: basically how i see a tom riddle punishment playing out. biblical tom of sorts. so self assured its impossible to piss him off so you go to lengths some may consider extreme but…eh. he knows you’re his.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, UNI hogwarts (obvs but just a reminder) reader and tom have an…interesting dynamic, toxic but also not toxic because it works for them, anal sex (obvs), sexual punishment, brief fingering, copious amounts of dirty talk, i once again utilize my favourite place in the school (the library).

"Tom—"

With a hand raised, he cuts you off. "Don't."

You blink. Swallow. Blink again. He's mad—oh, yes, he's mad—more than you've ever seen him and you once watched Abraxas Malfoy knock over his potion during a heavily-weighted exam.

That, in currency to this, is pennies.

You breathe in, try again. "Look, I can explain—"

He doesn't let you. Within a second his wand is out and with a flick of his wrist the room shifts to static—the glimmer from the silencing charm he just cast settles over your corner of the library, and you feel your fingers go numb—

"Why'd you stop?" He cocks his head, brow raised. His jaw is tight, the tension there burning into the space between you. His fingers flex. You can feel how much he's holding back. "If there's an explanation, by all means. I'd love to hear it."

Right—yeah, an explanation. That should help. Certainly, the man staring at you like he has bullets for eyes and knives for fingers will understand—he'll be completely calm once you explain to him you kissed someone else in retribution—because you wanted to get back at him.

"Well, I—" you push up from the desk, desperate to feel bigger, to level with him somehow. Tom thrives in this—having the upper hand, knowing all he has to do is stare at you, all stillness and quiet fury. He knows you hate it, that you'll spiral under it until you break and present him your neck on a silver platter. Until you hand him the knife and beg him to cut. "We had that argument, and I thought—I thought, maybe—you didn't—"

He moves closer. The air thickens. You're too focused on the fire in his eyes to acknowledge the sound of his wand clattering onto the desk—

"You thought?" His voice is something almost bored, like this is a trivial exercise for him—you can barely hear him over the roar of your pulse in your throat.

"—that you didn't want me anymore!"

You force the words out in a desperate rush, and the silence that follows feels like a goddamn canyon—you're just staring at each other, scowling in the wake of what you just said because you both know how utterly foolish it sounds. The only person Tom Riddle has and will ever allow himself to be vulnerable in front of—and you thought he'd leave after a silly argument.

No. You never thought that for a second.

And so, you try to save yourself. "Tom—I-I'm sorry, okay? I'm so sorry, I know I fucked up—but, it's not just me—I mean, you could have communicated better—"

He takes another step toward you, nodding along as if he's humoring you. "Right."

You step back—you don't mean to but the depleted space between you feels dangerous and your body reacts before you can stop it.

"Maybe—maybe we can learn from this? Right? A lesson for—for us both?" You keep talking. You don't know why, but you do. "And, maybe you could, uh, learn to talk about your feelings better?"

You wince as his eyebrows shoot up, mocking you without saying a word. Tom Riddle, talking about his fucking feelings? Right.

"I mean—you're just—" you hesitate because you know you're digging your own grave, yet he's still staring, daring you to finish. "—you're just so hard to read, you know?"

Another bored nod, another step closer. "Of course."

You swallow, stumbling back—of course Tom knows he's hard to read, that's the point. Every word out of your mouth is a wasted effort, a desperate attempt to reason with someone who's beyond it. Your ass collides with the desk behind you, boxing you in—and suddenly, he's there, right in front of you, all of his typical Tom intensity pouring into the limited space between you.

His breath brushes against your cheek, close enough that his lips could meet yours. But you know they won't. He'd never make it that easy. You can't tell if it's fear or something more wicked that twists in your chest. Dread, excitement—God, maybe both—

"You tried to provoke me."

Your throat tightens around a swallow. He isn’t asking.

"Maybe."

He doesn't blink. "You tried to see if I'd care."

You open your mouth, only to close it just as quickly. What can you say that he doesn't already know? You're as transparent as glass to him, and even that is a goddamn understatement. All you offer is a slow nod, unsure but weighted—he wasn't looking for an answer, he was looking for submission.

"And you thought, maybe, that I would come to you. That I would react. That l'd be angry." His fingers brush up your cheek, slipping into your hair with the kind of intimacy that feels out of place given the circumstances. And, inevitably, when the pull comes biting at your scalp, it's a burn you enjoy more than you should. "Were you hoping I'd punish you?"

"Well—I-"

"You know, don't you," he tugs your hair again to quiet you. Every question he's asking is rhetorical. "You know that trying to provoke me is dangerous."

You nod, fast. "I know."

"You know that I don't like to be provoked."

"I know, I know, I-"

"Shh." His lips brush over your neck, just once—a soft, fleeting thing that promises everything and nothing at once. You can't help the way you lean into him. "You're just making this worse for yourself. No more talking."

You choke on your stupid ego, but force a nod. You asked for this. You won't fight him on it. Not here. Not now.

"Good." He hums, and you feel your heart dance, stomach leap at the barest flicker of approval in his tone. His breath skates over your jaw, and you try not to shake. "You want to show me how sorry you are, don't you?"

You nod again.

"Good." He tugs at your bottom lip and something curls at the corners of his own that doesn't quite qualify as a smile. "Turn around."

With your heart on the floor beneath your feet, you nod for a final time before doing as he asked. You find that turning is a difficult task, though not due to resistance—your body just won't cooperate—a mess of weak knees and shallow breaths and tingling skin. You do it, though, with his hand on your hip, guiding you, directing you, pushing you over the desk until you're bent at the waist, positioned just how he wants.

It's merely a moment before you feel him pressed against your back, feel his belt buckle digging into your ass—

"What do you think I should do to you?" His breath grazes the nape of your neck and reflexively, you arch into him—his hands slide up your thighs, hips, finding your waist and the band of your skirt—he tugs at your zipper, you remain quiet. You know he doesn't want you to answer. "I'm sure you had your hopes. Your assumptions."

Tom Riddle, you've determined, is a torturous lover—a slow hand, a tease until you're in tears from the overstimulation. A sort of devotee to fulfilling your needs while simultaneously tempering his own. He's so very restrained, in everything he does—not fervent, not right away, anyway—

"Maybe you hoped I'd degrade you. Remind you of your place." He tugs down the zipper, letting the fabric fall to the ground at your feet—you shudder and pull your lips tight, willing yourself to stay silent as the cool air hits you. Tom's hand roams over one of your asscheeks, pawing lazily before tapping his palm against it. “Maybe you wanted me to make you feel it."

—he only rushes—he's only careless when he's angry.

And god, he's angry now.

"Maybe." You force the reply through the sting he left on your skin. It's past midnight—quiet is everything but you two, and you're almost certain he locked the door behind him on the way in. You let your head bow, eyes fixed on the wood under your palms. "Maybe I do."

"Of course you do. You've never been subtle." His foot nudges yours further apart, his fingers trailing up your thigh, finding the damp ache between your legs. Your breath catches but you hold still, biting your tongue as he teases—digits gliding through your slit, swirling your clit. "I know you thought about it."

"About what?" You try, though the question barely gets out before his other hand smacks the thick of your ass again, harder this time. "Shit—"

"About what I'd do to you." The hand on your clit shifts to smooth over the sting, rubbing slow, while the other works the buckle of his belt. "Tell me what you wanted."

"I—" you pause, steadying, gathering yourself. You know you have to give him something, but it's hard to think when he's like this. "I—I wanted you to be...careless."

"Careless." He says it like he's savouring it, rolling it over his tongue like candy. It's not a word that suits him; you're not convinced he even knows how. "You want me to be rough—to be selfish. Like you were."

The moment his belt is loose you feel those slender fingers dip back into your slit, two of them pushing inside your cunt without warning, stretching you open as his trousers slip down his thighs— he grunts low, a sound that cuts into the quiet as his cock springs free and he presses it against you, unoccupied hand slipping back into your hair, pulling you up until you're flush with him.

"Yes." You're not sure who sounds more hollow for it—your voice for asking, his for granting it. "I want that. I deserve it. Please. Please—"

"Please. It's always please with you," he mocks, the words a hiss that burn your cheeks. "Yet, I don't get to be selfish like you, do I? I still have to show restraint."

"I mean—oh—fu—" you choke as his lips find your neck, muttering something against your skin before you feel the sudden cool slip of a lubing charm coating your asshole and cunt. "Tom-"

"Despite what you might believe, I've never had much in the way of patience," he breathes, a confession almost, something deeper—something that feels like it costs him. "Not when it comes to you."

"Tom—" you fucking gasp his name as he pulls his fingers from your cunt—only to drag them higher until they find your asshole. Despite his haste he's still at ease, massaging, pressing one finger against it until you let him in. He sinks slowly, curling slightly, and your thighs shake—lungs deflate. "Oh—oh, fuck, Tom—it's been—"

"A while, hasn't it?" He finishes, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his finger sliding all the way in. "So tight for me. So—tight—"

"Tom—" a repetition of the last one, his name spilling from you like it’s the only goddamn word you know how to say. "Please, Tom. Oh god—"

"Shhh." He shushes, but it's not to quiet you; you know that. He's savouring this. He slips in a second finger, stretching you wider, working you open, and you're biting your lip to keep from crying out. "This isn't about you."

"You—" your voice breaks on another gasp, hands clutching at the desk. "—you think this is punishment."

"Partially." His muses as his fingers scissor, filling you with the most delicious ache. You're so slick, arousal running down your thighs, and that—oh no, that does not escape his notice. "Look at you, dripping for me. And yet,"

"Oh god." The realization crashes over you—it’s punishment as in orgasm denial. "That's—that's not—"

"Not fair?" There's a smirk in his voice, and though he doesn't say it, you hear the word that lingers beneath it: pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. He pulls his fingers out and you whine, feeling empty for half a second before the head of his cock glides against your slit, gathering your juices before finding its way up to the throbbing ring of muscle. "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to be selfish?"

"I just—" words scatter, useless, because you're trembling, breathing hard, and then he's pressing in, slow enough to save you pain but fevered enough to make you feel him. "Oh—oh—"

"Oh fuck." He says it breathless, as if it's an agony to fit himself inside of you. "Oh yes."

And it is an agony—for both of you, though for very different reasons. Tom is huge, and even on a good day, it's a struggle to take him. He's so deep, filling you in ways you'd forgot were possible. You struggle to hold yourself upright—legs visibly shaking, teeth gritting. He sinks all the way in, and in your mind, you can almost see the look on his face, the way his lashes flutter, the way his head tips back—

"Ah—“ he groans, a rough sound that's followed by a huff and a slight roll of his hips, like he's holding back, like he can't bring himself to move just yet. He yanks you up against him by your hair. "That's fucking tight, isn't it? This must be hell for you."

He's not wrong, it is. But it's hellish for Tom too, the type of hell the two of you inflict on eachother that is as fucking addicting as it is anything else—

"Just—" you manage to bite out breathlessly, but it's a struggle to make the words. "Move—"

"Make me," he grits, jerking your head to the side until your foreheads press together. "Convince me to use you. Tell me how badly you want it. How much of a whore you are for it."

Merlin help you, you moan at his words. It's that thing inside you—the needy, desperate part that's dying at his feet. You don't know what it is or why it's there; it just is, and it's greedy. It's not something you'd give into normally—your ego is far too big to give him the satisfaction of begging, not aloud—never in words that he could use against you later—but in these moments, you both learn to make exceptions.

"Dear god, Tom—please, just use me-" you push your hips back against him, one of his hands slide up your stomach, cupping your tits. "Please, l'm—I'm a pathetic, begging whore for you. God, I know you're pissed—I feel it—just take it out on me—l want it—"

He moans—a soft, almost gentle sound—and you know you've struck a nerve, the part of him that's equally as weak in the moment—the part of him that makes it all too easy for things to spiral like this.

"Goddamn you." Something inside him snaps, something that's been frayed, just waiting for a pull—and you've pulled it now, and oh you want, no, you need him to make you pay for it, to make it hurt. "You just—you always-"

He grunts, cutting himself off and in a way, it's almost like he's thanking you because you're giving him an outlet, something to take it out on. You test each other, push and pull and let the other break, because, at the end of the day, it always comes down to this. The two of you. Like this.

A sharp inhale, and he starts to thrust.

"Fuck!" it's all you manage, it's all you can manage, because it—just like that—feels the way you wanted it to feel but it also feels so much more intense, so intense that your brain can't keep up. "Oh god—oh fuck-"

"Fucking hell," he spits, like you're the worst thing in his world and the best thing all at once, and somehow, that makes perfect sense. He lets go of your hair, and you slump forward onto the desk, elbows barely holding you up as his hand smacks your ass, fingers spreading you apart. "So—so tight—“

You're a shuddering mess, helpless to it; all you can do is remember to breathe through it.

"That's it." Another smack to your ass, thrusts quick and deep. "Fuck. The things you drive me to do."

You know him so well—and he knows you just as damn well, and that's the point, isn't it? That's what this is all about. You're the perfect mix of wrong, a match that burns too hot it hurts but the ache makes him feel alive.

"I want to cum—" your neglected clit is begging for it, you’re fucking begging for it. "Tom please—"

At that, he laughs and it's mean and it's condescending and you love—God—how you love it and want it and can't get enough of it. His hips snap forward a little bit rougher and you lose a bit more of your sanity—

"You think you deserve to come, after what you did?" Another smack to your ass.

You don't know how to answer, and he doesn't wait for one anyway. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you—everything is so calculated and calculated and calculated. You've never once seen him falter, and you don't expect to see it now. You don't know if you'd survive it if you did.

"No." He answers for you. "You don't."

His fingers trace around your thigh, grazing your mound and finding your needy clit, your sopping slit, gliding through it—you moan louder than you should as he gathers your slick on his fingers, humming at what he finds there before retreating—bringing them up to your mouth.

"Open."

You open your mouth and he feeds you your need—the result of his selfishness. You love him for what he is and you love him for what he isn’t too. How he tries to be both, only when you ask.

"Taste that?" It's a whisper, something he's telling you.

You sob around his fingers as he fucks your ass deep—he pulls them out to let you respond. You nod. "Yes."

"Taste how much you want this?"

"Yes." A pathetic moan. The perfect response.

"Good girl." He presses the words into your hair, the back of your neck, along your spine. He sucks in a breath as he fucks like he needs it just to speak. "You're going to remember this the next time you think about doing something just to spite me, I hope you know that."

Of course you will. He knows it, you know it—there's no doubt in your mind that you'll remember this the next time you toy with his patience; the next time you give him a reason to discipline you again. And what's worse is: you'll do it anyway.

It's a battle you two will fight for eternity.

But you don't get a chance to respond, not that you'd have one anyways—because his hand is on your throat and his lips are at your ear and he's sucking in air through his teeth and then—

"I'm going to cum." He whispers and you hear the pain in it. "Fuck."

You shiver in reply; a whine of a whimper coming from the back of your throat. “Tom—“

"Shh." He shushes you with his free hand, gripping your jaw as his thrusts turn sloppy, erratic. "Fucking take it.”

God—you’ll take it. Of course you will. You asked for this, drove him to this point. You're both sick, but this is the kind that doesn't have a cure.

One of his hands moves to his own hair, tugging at the back of his head; it's the only hint you've had this whole time of how much he's affected by this, how much it's driven him mad. He's doing his best to keep control, to maintain composure and make sure you feel it—but it's the way his hand squeezes your hip when he lets go of your throat that gives him away.

It gives in to what he's been repressing.

"Ohhh—fuck—yes—" and then you feel it, feel him, hot and sticky and warm, filling your ass and holding you there until he’s finished. His body collapses against the back of yours, hips slow rolling until he's drained—until you’ve taken all of him, all of his anger and frustration and restraint along with it. He’s sweaty, exhausted, spent—forehead pressed to your hair. "You feel that?"

"You know I do." You're not allowed to sound so smug, not while you're in the position you're in, but you are. It’s why he loves you. "That's what you were looking for."

"No, that's what you were looking for." He nips your ear, and you hear the smile in his voice when he bites down on it and murmurs a, "and that's why you're my favourite," into it.

"And you mine, Tommy."

[whoreforsexymen]

Hidden In Plain Sight | Viktor

Pairings: Viktor x GN!Reader

Pronouns: None used for reader 🤍

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked!

Word Count: 2.5k

Tags: Blowjob, Unknown/Unintentional Voyeurism

Summary: You aren’t going to let a conversation stop you from relieving your lover of his frustrations.

Notes: Heyyy!! So. I’m working on requests. But this idea popped into my head when I was rewatching S1 to prepare for S2!!

This is based on S1 E5, the conversation Viktor has with Sky Young. I loved the idea that, since Viktor was so clearly uninterested in her, I should make the reason for the uninterest be you. 🥵🤍 Enjoy, my loves.

I SWEAR PT. 2 of The Cuck Fic is COMING SOON!!!!

Viktor threw his hands to his sides in a sharp, exaggerated motion, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back against the top of it as he tried to counteract the heaviness that had settled over him. The weight of his thoughts was more palpable than any tangible burden. His eyes drifted briefly to the clutter of papers scattered on the desk, but nothing held his focus for long.

Viktor’s mind drifted, momentarily pulling him away from the weight of his work. He wondered where you were, why you weren’t here with him now. In moments like this, when the pressure of it all became too much, he often needed you to hold him, to ground him in a way only you could. He could almost feel the comfort of your presence, the warmth of your touch, and it left a deep ache in him. It wasn’t just the physical relief he craved—it was the calm, the quiet reassurance that you always provided. Without you there, the room felt colder, emptier.

He exhaled sharply, a deep sigh that seemed to carry more than just exhaustion. The silence of the room hung in the air, thick and unyielding, until it was broken by a soft, almost hesitant voice from behind him.

“It’s beautiful.”

Viktor tensed up at the sudden intrusive voice.

The words felt distant, like they belonged to another world entirely, one that wasn’t caught in the weight of Viktor’s own spiraling thoughts. He didn’t need to look to know who it was—he could picture her there, standing a little too close, her voice trembling at the edges.

Sky. Always Sky.

Viktor didn’t turn. There was no need to. She had said enough with those few words. He inhaled again, slower this time, trying to keep his “irritation” from surfacing.

He sighed, the sound low and heavy.

“I can’t figure out why it’s not working���” Viktor muttered, his voice flat, as he rubbed his hands over his face, trying to maintain a simple composure. It wasn’t just “frustration”—there was something else lurking beneath it. Something quieter that gnawed at the edges of his mind.

“You will…” Sky’s voice was soft, almost soothing, as though she had said those words a thousand times before, to herself or to him, or perhaps to both. Viktor didn’t acknowledge the comment, his gaze still fixed on “nothing” as he looked down into his lap.

Sky shifted, an anxious movement that Viktor could feel even without seeing it. He imagined her wringing her hands, pushing her glasses up her nose, trying to find the right thing to say.

“Are you… headed home soon?” Her voice was tinged with hope, though it faltered as she continued, as if she already knew the answer.

“I thought we could walk together…”

Her words hung there, like a delicate thread pulling at the edge of his attention. But Viktor wasn’t interested. He didn’t hate her, but his mind was somewhere else—too far away to grasp her meaning.

He almost rolled his eyes, but he stifled it. Instead, he answered with an aloofness that was more instinct than deliberate cruelty.

“I’m, uh… probably going to sleep here tonight,” he said, his voice distant, distracted. The words were a gentle deflection, but the disinterest was clear. His fingers tapped absently on the desk, the motion more automatic than purposeful.

Sky’s voice softened, like a fading echo.

“Again? You know there’s always tomorrow, right?” The words stung, though she tried to mask it with a forced cheer. Viktor didn’t respond right away, but he knew what she was trying to do.

“Goodnight, Miss Young,” he said, his tone a little more clipped now, though he didn’t intend for it to sound harsh. He didn’t need to look at her to know she was still there, standing in the doorway, hoping for something—anything—that would make him look at her the way she looked at him. But he didn’t.

She hesitated for a moment, her presence lingering in the room like a shadow, before she stepped back. The silence stretched on in her absence, but Viktor remained frozen in place, his thoughts elsewhere, far away from the quiet, expectant gaze he knew she had been offering.

With a soft exhale, Sky left. And the room was quiet once more.

As the door clicked shut behind her, replacing the silence, Viktor let out a long breath, as though he had been holding every one of the previous ones far too long.

The room fell into an uneasy stillness, broken only by the mechanical hum of surrounding equipment, his own steady breathing, and the faint sound of wet, sloppy, suckling.

He looks down into his lap once more, where you were, your head bobbing between his legs like a buoy in water.

Viktor felt his stomach churn at the sight of it, a wave of pleasure pooling inside him. A low, involuntary groan slipped from his lips, the sound escaping after he’d spent too long stifling it.

It was deep, slow, and rich, a reflex of the sensation that tightened in his chest and spread through his body. His breath hitched slightly as the pleasure took control, a warmth spreading through him as he fought to stay composed in case anyone else were to pop into the room.

Your lips were wrapped tightly around his needy cock, maintaining a seal around it as you sucked and licked at it.

Viktor, truthfully, hadn’t been frustrated at all during his exchange with his assistant.

In fact, he had been struggling to conceal the pleasure slowly building within him—pleasure he had worked hard to keep hidden from Sky.

Earlier, you had offered to help ease his tensions, but Viktor had turned you down, citing the risk of someone walking by at any moment. You couldn’t deny he had a point—-which felt ironic, now. But you weren’t one to be easily deterred.

You couldn’t help but pity Viktor, watching him struggle with the frustration that clung to him like a second skin. The weight of his work seemed to suffocate him—trying to stabilize and control the intricate combinations of runes for the new version of Hextech he and Jayce had launched. The constant pressure, the endless tinkering and problem-solving, had a way of wearing him down.

No matter how often you reminded him how brilliant, how capable, how wonderful he was, it never seemed to quiet that relentless inner voice of doubt. He always carried that burden, that self-imposed expectation of perfection, even when he had already accomplished so much.

You knew there was only one real way to relieve his aggravation apart from the simpler comforts you’d provide.

And so, as Viktor bent over his work, eyes fixed on the sprawling notes before him, you slipped under his desk. He didn’t notice at first, too lost in his thoughts, as you moved quietly and carefully, prowling and crawling to him like a tiger stalking a gazelle.

What you didn’t realize, though, was that Sky had arrived and was now looming behind Viktor in the annoyingly often way she did. The chair Viktor occupied, wide and heavy, combined with you on your knees, faithfully hid you from her eyes. Leaving Sky unaware of your proximity, just as Viktor remained blissfully unaware of her presence.

Your hands were beyond eager as they worked to unbutton his clothes, the fabric of his pants slipping easily beneath your fingers. You could feel him tense, stiff as a statue as you pulled his cock out right after she had said her first sentence.

You knew Viktor was stunned, and it amused you to imagine the expression on his face as he tried to conceal what was happening outside of Sky’s awareness.

You only had to wait, feeling the tension in him shift, his body responding to your touch in ways he was trying hard to ignore, while also trying desperately hard to maintain an unsuspecting tone as he talked.

You had begun lapping, sucking, and hollowing out your cheeks to accommodate his size and length. You greedily slid down until his cock reached the back of your throat, almost laughing at the sound of the sharp inhale that garnered from him.

A part of you almost wished Sky could see you—see how easily you could reduce this man to a babbling mess, unlike anyone else. It wasn’t as if you and he were some secret, hidden item, but maybe if she knew, really knew, what you often did to him, and how he crumbled, she’d finally back off.

Maybe then, and only then, would she relinquish her pathetic attempts to encroach on what was yours. The thought of her realizing that she’d never compare, never measure up to the desire Viktor had for you, gave you a twisted air of satisfaction.

You heavily considered the idea.

Your amusement remained bold, even as Viktor’s attention finally drifted down to where you were hidden beneath his desk. It was almost as if he had sensed your devious train of thought.

He shot you a look, one that said more than words ever could. There was a trace of minor disappointment in the way his brow furrowed, confusion flickering in his eyes as he tried to reconcile what was happening beneath the table with the ongoing conversation. But beneath it all, you saw the unmistakably familiar glimmer of pleasure, one he couldn’t quite suppress, despite his attempt to maintain control.

It was a mix of surprise and something deeper, something he didn’t always allow himself to acknowledge. His eyes lingered just long enough for you to sense it, the tension between his desire to focus on his work and the undeniable pull of the moment.

Several painstakingly long moments passed before Viktor finally managed to rid the room of the unwanted third presence. As Sky exited, Viktor released a deep, almost aching sigh—one that resonated with a relief so intense, it sent a shiver of arousal down your spine. The tension that had been weighing on him seemed to melt away in an instant, and the air between you thickened with the shift in his attitude.

Without hesitation, his hand slipped into your hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as he gently tugged you closer. His gaze met yours, dark and heavy, as though he had been waiting for this moment, for the silence to settle between you both. The way he looked at you now was unmistakable, that mix of pleasure and need, the kind of intensity that made your pulse quicken.

“You really need to learn patience, my love.” He breathes, his other hand coming up to caress your cheek as he uses his grip on your hair to help guide your movement.

He hisses as he pushes your head down far enough to lightly rut his cock into the very back of your throat.

“What if she had seen you?” He asks, not really expecting a reply considering your current state.

You hum lightly as he slowly but surely flicks his hips up into your mouth, gagging around him as he did so. Viktor’s string of moans in response to your gags were filthy, needy, and whiny. You always drove him crazy, and this was no exception.

“Mmf…” he groans, biting his lip as a last ditch effort to keep himself from moaning too loud—-quickening the pace with which he began bobbing your head to meet his tiny thrusts.

“Mmm.. like that, my love.” He instructs softly—reassuring that the new way you had started licking up and down the length of his cock was simply divine.

Viktor was cursing himself inside due to the speed at which his orgasm was approaching. You’d barely been down there six minutes when he recognized the familiar tightening in his stomach nearing the edge of snapping.

“My love, I— I’m going to—“ he tried to warn you before his hot cum began spewing onto the inner walls of your mouth. It shot directly into the back of your throat, splattering off the tissues and trickling down your esophagus. The tepid, viscous substance slid further and further down as you swallowed around his twitching cock.

Viktor had cum with the unholiest of moans leaping out of his throat to invade your ears. It sent an unforgiving wave of arousal through you, singeing your skin and shocking your bones. He had gripped your face with an automatic force, pushing you down as far as you could possibly go, his eyes clamping shut as the thick strings of cum practically drowned you on land.

You gagged against the mindless way he jerked his hips into your mouth as he chased his orgasm seemingly halfway to your stomach.

Viktor practically whimpered at the sensation of you mercilessly swallowing around him—-now sensitive beyond measure from the sheer might of his climax. You had been correct—-he really needed that—arguably more than anything else.

When the pressure in your throat became unbearable, you squeezed his leg, silently pleading for him to loosen his grip.

Viktor’s eyes snapped open, the clarity that followed his release allowing him to regain his focus. He immediately uncoupled his hands from your head.

“I—I’m sorry, my love… I guess I got carried away,” he muttered, his voice tinged with sheepish regret.

You gasped as you pulled away, strands of saliva trailing down your chin in a delicate cascade—-like a miniature waterfall against your skin.

You hum softly in response to his apology, the hum dancing along the edge of a gentle laugh.

“Guess I did, too,” you murmur, wiping your mouth clean as you meet his gaze with silent affection.

Viktor gently cups your face once more, his thumb sweeping over the apple of your cheek as a soft smile tugs at his lips.

“Thank you…” he whispers, his voice rich with adoration, gratitude, and love for you. He tilts his head, aligning it with yours as his intent becomes clear.

He presses his lips to yours in a tender, silent show of his affection. Viktor shudders as a result of tasting himself all over your lips and tongue. The fact that you had eagerly swallowed every last drop sent a jolt through him, making his hair stand on end—-as it always did. He was downright obsessed with your greedy thirst for his cock and his seed.

The passion and tenderness with which Viktor kisses you never fail to set your heart racing, the gentle yet intense pressure of his lips stirring a swarm of butterflies in your stomach.

After several tender, passionate moments, your lips still lingering in a dance of their own, Viktor pulls away, his mind swirling with the renewed flames of longing sparked by what just transpired.

“My love… Why don’t we move… on top of the table?” he suggests, a playful gleam lighting up his eyes as he gazes into yours once more.

At his suggestion, you feel the butterflies in your stomach morph into something far more intense—fighter jets soaring through the cavern of your core. You meet his playful gaze with one of eager anticipation.

You nod, shifting to rise from your knees.

“I’ll lock the door,” you mutter softly.

[mariasont]

What if I put an insane little idea in your head and let it bounce around? Mid seasons (7/8 ish?) Spencer with a kinnda sorta fangirl? She just started at the BAU and it’s not that she’s weird about him but she does have like 3 of his papers memorized down to the letter and she “possibly quoted him on her college application essay” (it’s the literal conclusion).

Like she’s just this little ball of excitement and he has no clue what to do when the team is like “ask her out for the love of god and stop making heart eyes when she lets you nerd out”

Sorry if this makes no sense it’s 2:30 in the morning

FANGIRL - S.R

a/n: AHHHHH BECAUSE WHAT IF I JUST SMOOCHED YOU

loved, loved, LOVED this idea and writing it! you are amazing <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: reader being a fangirl for reid because WHO WOULDNT BE UGH

wc: 1.2k

"Dr. Reid, hi, it's such an honor. I'm the new agent."

You give him your name, hand extended out to him, bouncing off the balls of your feet. There was a badge pinned to your shirt, the clip attached to it gleaming in the fluorescent light, which despite its usual severity, seemed to soften around you.

Spencer comes to a standstill, his coffee suspended mid-sip, documents wrinkled in his hands as he assesses you. You are pretty. exceedingly so, but he's having trouble processing it, his mind still shrouded in the remnants of sleep. 

He blinks away his surprise. "Nice to meet you. Hotch must've briefed you about the team, I assume?"

He adjusted the heap of papers to under his arm, freeing his hand to meet yours. The softness he encountered prompted a momentary pause, awakening a sudden urge to not let go. However, he promptly set aside the thought, releasing your hand with a concealed hesitation. 

You fiddled with your earlobe, you shot him a sheepish smile. "Yeah, Hotch did, but I already knew a bit about you. I've always been a fan of your work. I mean, not like a fan per se, because that would be weird, right? But I've read all your papers, and they're just... they're brilliant, honestly."

Spencer was clearly caught off guard, his brows leaping upwards as he surveyed you. You weren't lying--that much was clear to him. He could see it in the way you met his eyes with an enthusiasm so bright it was nearly blinding.

"My work? You're actually familiar with it?"

A soft giggle bubbled from you, a sweet sound that seemed to momentarily leave him winded. He placed his coffee on the desk, leaning back slightly. 

"Oh, definitely. Your research on chemical composition analysis in narcotics? I've read it so many times I could probably recite it in my sleep."

He considered the possibility of you exaggerating. He took great pride in his work and (without sounding too cocky) he was well aware of its significance and contribution to his field. However, there's a difference between knowing your work is recognized and encountering someone who has internalized it to such a degree--especially someone like you. He suddenly felt a touch of self-consciousness.

"I'm sorry, that was too much, right? I promised I'd play it cool, and then I saw you and... well, it's all just really surreal," you said before gesturing vaguely towards the bullpen. "Anyway, I'm going to go, uh, find my desk."

You hurried away before he could refute your words, head bowed. He felt like an ass.

The day threw him off balance. His contributions to the team lacked their usual insight, his mental gears turning more slowly. And for some inexplicable reason, he found himself preoccupied with thoughts of you. He attempted to rationalize it as a reaction to your interest in his work, a level of admiration that was a rare find. Unlike the formal niceties from others, your excitement about his work, about him, stood out.

He tried to latch onto Hotch's deductions about the unsub, willing his intellect to snap to attention and offer up a decent theory. However, a glance in your direction derailed his efforts. You were bent over the desk, your hands animatedly navigating through the papers. He was happy to see your enthusiasm was there despite his lack thereof earlier.

"Based on the geographic profiling and the choice of victims, it looks like the unsub has a background in urban planning."

Emily nods, "Good theory. What led you to that?"

He watches the anxious flicker in your eyes, glancing towards him, hands clasped together as you incline your head his way.

"Actually, I read about a similar case in Dr. Reid's paper on The Spatial Patterns of Serial Offenses." It strikes him then--he hasn't yet invited you to use his first name, adding another tick to the ever-growing list of ways he feels he's been inadvertently discourteous. "The clustering of crime scenes near arterial routes suggests the offender leverages the urban grid to facilitate escape and avoid detection. Embarrassingly enough, that was the topic of my college application essay."

Spencer was momentarily speechless (not something that happened often), his mind racing through the physiological response to shock--catecholamine release, vagal tone alterations, even transient arrhythmias--mirroring the way his heart seemed to skip a beat. You really did have his work memorized.

"That's, uh, right," he said, his voice gaining momentum. "By leveraging the urban grid, the offender not only evades capture but also creates a psychological terrain of control."

Hotch nodded in agreement, turning your attention to a series of photographs.

Before Spencer even looked her way, he could sense Garcia's stare, and as he turned, she prodded him with her elbow, smirking. "Seems like she's quite the match for you, doesn't she?"

"Huh? What? No, I mean--she's my coworker, and besides, she's much younger." Spencer was quite sure he sounded anything but convincing.

Garcia raises an eyebrow, shaking her head. "I meant in terms of smarts, but oookay, Spencer."

She walked out with a bounce in that definitely hadn't been there earlier, and Spencer was left with a red face.

He had every intention of pulling you aside, to apologize for earlier, to reassure that he didn't find you odd or weird, and to admit that he was genuinely flattered. But it appeared that every time he had a chance to make it to your desk, you had vanished, or were in deep conversation with JJ, or inside Hotch's office.

It was a relentless cycle that persisted until the end of the day, when everyone began to leave--except for you, who remained still firmly planted at your desk, fervently jotting notes into your notebook.

Absorbed in your work, you didn't notice his approach until he cleared his throat.

"Hey," he said softly.

Startled, you flinched, prompting him to immediately feel like shit. Strike three. You laughed off the shock when you realized it was him, moving your notebook aside, offering him your undivided attention.

"Sorry, Dr. Reid, hi! How's it going? Is there something I can do for you?"

"I thought I'd see if you needed help with anything, and you can call me Spencer, if you want." He glanced at his watch. "Are you still working?"

You pushed a piece of hair from your face and nodded towards the formidable pile of forms. 

"Spencer, okay," you said, like you were testing it out, "and just sorting through a mountain of onboarding paperwork."

He nodded, hesitating slightly before speaking. "Listen, I need to apologize for earlier."

You tilted your head. "What for?"

"I think I wasn't as welcoming as I intended to be."

"That's okay, I know I was a bit intense."

He shook his head. "No, you weren't. It's just... It's rare that my work gets much attention. I'm happy you appreciated it. If there's a specific topic that you're more interested in, maybe I could explain more about it sometime?"

You glanced down at your hands, trying to hide the smile that was blooming there. You weren't successful. When you looked back up, Spencer felt a little bit awestruck by your eyes, the flecks of color that he could now see clearly.

"I'd love that. Maybe over coffee?" you suggested.

"Yeah, sure." He could feel the heat rushing up his neck. 

He reluctantly parted ways, leaving you to your paperwork, and as he approached the elevator, Penelope was there.

"You know, sugar, maybe I did mean quite the match in a romantic way. So, are you going to ask her out, or shall I play Cupid?"

He blushed. "I think she might have just beat me to it."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @m-indkiller @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles

join my taglist here!

[strangersteddierthings]

Eddie blinks. Once. Twice. And a third time for good measure. The scene before him doesn't change. Steve Harrington stands off to the side of the lunch table, behind Jeff and Frankie who have both gone still as statues like they think if they don't move, King Steve won't see them.

"Uh, what?" Eddie finds himself saying, against his own will. He heard Harrington the first time, doesn't need or want him to repeat himself, but his disbelief seems to have won out against his grudge for all jocks and his indifference to Steve Harrington in particular.

Harrington's face pinches, like he's three seconds away from rolling his eyes. He doesn't do that, though, which Eddie will give him one brownie point for. "I asked if you had a minute to talk." Eddie's taking away his brownie point because Steve 'asks' in a way that sounds more like a demand.

Hearing the question and or demand a second time doesn't lower Eddie's hackles, but it does pique his curiosity. He drums his fingers atop his lunchbox, thinking it over. He wishes he could say he's pretending to think about it before he tells Harrington to fuck off, but the truth is he actually is thinking about it.

What could Harrington possibly have to say to him? They very much do not run in the same circles. Eddie only talks business at the picnic table past the edge of the woods out back and everyone who buys from him knows that. They share several classes, since they're both seniors, but everyone knows Eddie's on a track to not graduate (again) so he can't possibly be coming to discuss Mrs. Click's homework assignment.

"Sure. Should we go elsewhere or...?" Eddie trails off, lifting a hand to wave in a circle in Steve's direction, questioning.

Steve looks over his shoulder, back towards the side of the cafeteria taken up by the 'popular' crowd. When Steve turns his face back, he looks- well, kind of sad for a moment before it's smoothed over with indifference.

Interesting.

"No. It's probably good that the rest of your friends hear it anyway," Steve answers.

Jeff's eyebrows rise to his hairline, and Frankie frowns as his eyebrows raise at the same time, showing an expression of interest. Eddie's got no idea what Gareth's face is doing because Eddie can't see him unless he wants to turn his face away, but he's certain it's probably a glare of some sort.

Eddie leans back in his chair, wiggling like he's getting extra comfortable before he says, "Well, alright Harrington. Shoot."

"I'm graduating this year, so I just wanted to give you a heads up for next year. I tried to curb the bullying, but I know it still happened. So, since I'm not going to be here to watch out for that, you're gonna wanna up your," Steve gestures to all of Eddie, "everything."

He knew Steve curbed the bullying a bit, heard the confirmation of that last year from Jason Carver and Tommy Hagan, when he'd stepped in to save Gareth. Or rather, Gareth had come flying in to save him and then Eddie had to save Gareth- well, the details don't matter really.

"My everything?" Eddie asks, more confused than angry. He thinks he should be angry. Harrington has all but outright said he doesn't think Eddie's going to graduate with him, after all. But no. The main emotion now is confusion.

"Yeah. Your, y'know, freakinesss or whatever. Be more of it."

"Be more of a freak?" It's fascinating, that Harrington just keeps talking like he thinks anyone at this table care for his opinion.

"Yeah!" Harrington says, cheery like he thinks that Eddie's agreed with him somehow, complete with a stupid snap of his fingers that turns into a finger gun pointed at Eddie. "You've already got this like unapproachable mad dog kind of look about you, most of the JV team is already scared of you. Just like, up that a bit more and they'll probably steer clear of you and your friends." Then Harrington frowns deep, looking around the table of nerds and dorks before looking down at the top of Gareth's head to add, "well. Except probably curly here. No offense, but you seem an easy target."

"Fuck off," Gareth growls, because of everyone at the table, Gareth does have the most bite. (Most bark goes to Eddie himself). Eddie's more prone to run from a problem than engage in it, unlike Gareth, who he's had to pull off of a few people this year.

"Or not," Harrington retracts his previous statement and Eddie will grant the man another brownie point, which brings the total up to one.

"Good to know my reputation precedes me," Eddie grins, wild and a bit manic.

Harrington is unphased. "Yeah! Do that more. I think it really freaks Jason out and he's most likely to take the captain slot next year, so if you get him afraid of you, the rest of the team'll fall in line and leave you alone too. I think he's super religious, so like, lean into the satanic panic thing people are up in arms about and next year will be a breeze. And-"

Eddie lifts a hand, a motion for Harrington to stop talking. It surprised him a little that Harrington does. Even more interesting. "Stop me if I'm wrong here, Harrington, but are you suggesting that I become the bully?"

Harrington's mouth opens and closes a few times before his face pinches again. Instead of looking like he's going to roll his eyes and be bitchy, Harrington looks confused and then like he's deep in thought. An uncomfortable amount of awkward silence falls over there table, but it's just when Eddie's about to break that silence that Harrington finally speaks. "No. I'm saying just like, be you but bigger. Like, you don't even gotta look in the team's direction. If you're just more of a freak than you usually are, they'll steer clear without the bullying."

"You sure know how to compliment a guy," Eddie deadpans. He's not even upset that Steve's called him a freak. He's spent the majority of his high school career cultivating that outlook. He wasn't just a freak, he was The Freak.

Now a look crosses Harrington's face. One Eddie's not sure he's interpreting correctly. If he had to take a guess, he'd say the look was calculating, knowing, in a way that Eddie doesn't think Harrington could actually achieve. Then it's gone, replaced with the bitchy, eye-rolling look Eddie's used to seeing, and Harrington says, "I haven't said anything untrue."

Hmm. The most interesting thing yet. Eddie might not be graduating (again) but he's not dumb. He didn't survive this far in his life, with a father like his, without learning to read people. He wasn't as good as he wanted to be at reading people last year, but he's definitely good enough know to think that, maybe, just maybe, Harrington also knows a thing or two about cultivating a public perception. Making sure people only see a certain side of you.

"Alright," is what Eddie answers, "I'll take what you've said under advisement."

"Uh. Okay," Harrington says before he just walks away. Conversation over.

"Well," Jeff says, "that was strange."

"Very," Eddie agrees as he watches Harrington walk away, tracking him until the cafeteria door slams shut behind him when he exits.

Eddie has always wanted to up the ante, so to speak. Jump on a cafeteria table and rant about capitalism and organized sports. He never has before but next year seems like a great time to try.

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Mommy Dearest (Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Parent/teacher evening isn't meant to make you want to get to know your student's mother better, but Mrs Harkness is force of nature and you're weak under the force of her flirting.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol consumption

Tags: @sasheemo @buttercandy16 @chlondykebar @midnight-lestrange @babybeeelle @dontsblameme

You glanced up from your class list, a smile painted on your face, the fatigue you were feeling pressing against the back of your eyes. One more interview and then you were done for the night. You just had to make it through and then you could go home and curl up in bed, sleeping until well into the morning of your Saturday.

Mrs Scratch was not a parent you’d had much to do with. Nicky was, for the most part, a delight. You hadn’t had to call home or chase down a parent to share concerns. Hell, you hadn’t ever had to send the kid home sick. He was your easiest student, and as such, you’d had no reason to meet with his parents.

Unlike plenty of the other kids in your class.

So when the knock sounded on your door, your final meeting for the night, you looked up with interest. Your smile was brittle, hiding how tired you were, but still, the curiosity curled like a purring cat in your chest.

Mrs Scratch didn’t bother waiting for you to call for her to enter, strutting through your door and immediately making your mouth grow dry. Shooting to your feet, your hand knocked the water bottle from your desk. The loud clatter rang in your ears and you felt your cheeks heat, eyes widening. Ducking down, you scrabbled for it, doing your best to take a deep breath in and calm your racing heart.

Popping back up, red lips were pulled into an amused smirk, blue eyes twinkling as she watched you stand up straight. You let your eyes sweep over her, that same sense of breathlessness removing all thoughts from your head. Purple dress pants highlighting long legs, a white shirt open at the collar, one hand resting in her pocket, heeled boots putting her just taller than you, it would be easy to believe Mrs Scratch was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen.

“Hi, sorry about that. I’m a total klutz,” you said, placing the bottle back on your desk out of reach when you sat back down.

“Don’t worry about it, hon,” she said, her voice a low register that had goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Scratch,” you said, holding a hand out to her.

“Harkness,” she said as her palm slid along yours.

“Sorry?”

You were so distracted by the feeling of her warm skin against yours you weren’t sure you’d understand what she was saying.

“My surname is Harkness, not Scratch,” she said.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” you said, your cheeks heating again.

“Don’t worry about it, hon. You’re not the first,” she said with a small laugh.

Her hand squeezed yours before she let you go. What was wrong with you? You’d never been like this around one of your student’s parents. Something had to be going wrong. It couldn’t just be that she was gorgeous. Although she was. Fuck, you were still standing and she was staring at you and you knew you were meant to be doing something but staring into her face you couldn’t figure out what it was. Her lips pulled up into a smile again.

“Should we get started?” she asked.

“Yes!” You cringed at how loud your voice came out, “unless we’re waiting for… Nicky’s other parent?”

Your eyes darted down to see if she had a wedding ring. Her left hand was still in her pocket, giving you no indication. Not that it should matter. She was a parent, not a woman you were trying to pick up at a bar.

“No, no one else. I’m afraid it’s just me and Nicky,” she laughed.

“Oh, great.” You cringed again, “uh… have a seat.”

You fell into your own seat as she much more gracefully lowered into hers. You stared across at her, cataloguing her features, wondering what she’d look like in the morning sunlight. Shaking your head, you looked down at your notes.

“Right, Nicky…” You tried to gather your thoughts, “he’s a great kid. Super engaged, always willing to help other students, doesn’t cause me any trouble. He’s a delight to have in class.”

“Oh god,” she laughed, “if I have to read that one more time on his report cards I’m going to have to wonder if he’s mine at all.”

“You weren’t?” you asked, but just from the tilt of her lips you knew she was nothing but trouble.

“I spent more time in detention than in class,” she said, those blue eyes twinkling.

“Naughty girl,” you said then immediately choked on your own spit.

Your eyes widened and your cheeks were hot enough to fry and egg on. Her lips pulled up into a smirk and she lent back in her seat.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, “that was so inappropriate. It’s been a long day but that’s no excuse.”

“Don’t worry about it, hon,” she said, but her eyes were trailing over you in a way that had you shivering.

“Look, I have no concerns about Nicky. He’s tracking well and seems happy so unless you have any questions…” you trailed off with a small shrug, “you should be very proud of him.”

“Oh I am.” Her grin turned from something that had your skin aflame to one full of pride, “he’s the greatest thing I’ve done with my life.”

“It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Harkness,” you said, raising from your chair.

She grasped your hand again, her skin still so warm against yours. Her touch lingered, those eyes burning where they landed on you. Your lips parted and for the first time in a long time you felt out of control.

And then her hand was back at her side and she was sweeping out of the room. Standing behind your desk, you stared after her, long after the doorway emptied. You shook your head, sinking back into your chair.

Mrs Harkness was a tornado that could so easily tear your life apart.

Saturday night a couple of weeks later found you sitting at a bar, nursing a cocktail, doing your best to push the enigmatic woman from your mind. You’d been thinking about her too much since that parent teacher interview. She came to you in dreams, leaving you wanting, gasping, a throbbing between your legs.

You’d begun hanging around in the morning and afternoon, hoping to see her when she picked up Nicky. All you wanted was a glimpse, hoping that your memory was overblowing her beauty. You’d been tired, exhausted, it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility that you’d been in an altered mental state and she wasn’t as captivating as you’d found her. If you could just see her, you might be able to stop thinking about her so much. You just needed the proof to put your obsession to rest.

Or, perhaps, what you needed was to find someone else. Hence why you were at the bar, alone, on a Saturday night when you could have been at home doing anything else more enjoyable than putting yourself out there. It was not going well if your single nursed cocktail was anything to go by.

A warm shoulder brushed against yours as someone settled into the stool beside yours. You didn’t bother sparing them a glance. Staring at the bottom of your glass, having had no success, you were in the middle of considering going home. You hadn’t so much as approached a woman, each one compared to Mrs Harkness and each one found wanting.

Yeah, you were so fucked.

Sighing, you pushed the glass away from you, half drunk and not worth your time. You’d get more from going home and indulging in your fantasies than sitting here, dejected and alone.

“I’m concerned about ordering a drink if the way you’re looking at yours is anything to go by. It looks like it’s personally offended you.”

You stiffened. That voice, so familiar, couldn’t have followed you to this bar. There was no chance that of all the bars you could visit, she would happened to stumble in to the very one you’d chosen. Turning your head, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Mrs Harkness had found you.

“Oh, uh.” You felt yourself begin to slip off your stool, “no, it’s fine.”

Righting yourself, you reached out to the glass again, taking a drink from it just to prove it. Lips pulled up into a smirk as blue eyes darkened, focusing on your mouth. You shivered, inhaling sharply. Your cocktail burned as it went down the wrong way and you coughed, not able to stop yourself, tears blurring your vision.

A warm hand landed on your back, rubbing a soothing circle into your back. Pressing a hand to your face, mortified, you tried to take a few deep breaths. It was typical that the first time you saw the object of your desires you ended up choking on your drink. Something about her turned your brain to mush and you stopped being able to function like a person.

“Deep breath, hon,” she murmured, close to you to be heard over the sound of the bar, “there you go.”

“Sorry,” you gasped.

“No need to apologise to me. It’s not my drink you’re giving such a shocking review,” she said, an undercurrent of laughter in her voice.

You brushed the tears away, the mortification of the moment making you wonder if you could make the ground swallow you up with just a thought. Her hand was still between your shoulder blades, resting against your bare skin exposed by the cute top you’d thrown on in the hopes of snagging someone’s attention. You found yourself leaning into her touch, not able to stop yourself.

“It’s not as bad as I’m making it seem,” you managed to say.

“That’s a relief,” she said, “although you’ve been nursing it for a while.”

“I have?”

She hummed, drawing closer to you. You froze, surrounded by her. Long fingers plucked the glass from your grip, swirling the liquid inside. She took a slow drink from it, maintaining eye contact with you. Your lips parted, mouth growing dry, watching her with such a strong sense of yearning you felt like someone had grasped your heart and given it a sharp tug.

“So is this where I can expect to find my son’s teacher every Saturday night?” she asked, placing the glass down.

You shook your head, still not able to form words. Not when her palm was burning into your skin and her perfume was invading your nose. She was everywhere, overwhelming you so easily you weren’t sure she was even aware she was doing it. Her lips pulled up into a smirk.

“Just looking for a place to drink?” she asked.

“I guess,” you said, voice small.

“Or were you hoping to meet someone?”

She raised her eyebrow and your skin heated. You wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment, on the brink of it already. Her fingertips trailed over your spine until her hand was on the small of your back before sliding around your waist.

“The question is, were you looking for a single night of abandon or something longer term?” she asked, her voice husky, making you shiver. There was no way she wouldn’t notice with how close she was.

“I…” You didn’t have words for this exact scenario.

“You…?” she prompted.

Oh god, she was so close. You could see all the colours in her eyes. You could feel her breath against your skin. You could kiss her if you only lent forward a few inches.

“Tell me,” she hummed, “what are the ethical implications of seeing one of your students’ parents?”

Your breath stuttered in your chest. That was not something you thought she would be asking you. It was meant to be a one sided feeling, your going crazy over a parent, not reciprocated and getting your heart racing and your hope building. You found yourself leaning towards her.

“I suppose as long as it doesn’t affect the student… it shouldn’t matter,” you said.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” she said.

“You were?” There was that hope again.

“I must admit I left our meeting feeling rather enamoured with you. When I saw you sitting here alone, it felt like divine intervention,” she said.

“Oh,” was all you managed to come up with.

“Of course, if you’re uninterested…”

She moved back from you.

“No.” Your hand landed on hers, holding her in place.

Blue eyes turned to you and the twinkle was unmistakable. She knew what she was doing, and she was doing it well.

“I am,” you said, “interested, that is.”

She considered you a moment, gaze sweeping over you. Trembling, you let her look, almost displaying yourself for her. When the blue of her eyes darkened, a rush of heat went through you. Her eyes lingered on the cleavage you had on display. Your back arched, offering yourself to her. The low chuckle she gave only made your fingers tighten on her hand.

“Shall we find somewhere more private?” she asked, voice low and dangerous, making promises of what was to come.

“Yes,” you said, already standing.

Her hand on the small of your back guided you through the crowd, directing you to the exit. You went easily, willing to follow her anywhere if it meant you could taste her. You wanted to feel her skin against yours, to know what her weight in your lap felt like, to hear the noises she would make when you were knuckles deep in her. You’d been thinking about it so much since your meeting with her, exactly what it would be like to have her.

Her hand slid to your hip as the cold air nipped at your skin. Without the crowd you could take a deep breath in, focused on the way her warmth bled through to you. Following her around the corner, the hand on your hip guided you until your back was pressed to the rough bricks of the building. She stepped into your personal space, her other hand resting beside your waist, caging you in.

“You’ve been driving me crazy for weeks now,” she murmured, lips brushing over the skin of your jaw as she lent forward, breath ghosting over your skin, “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.”

“You haven’t?” you asked in a whisper, itching to touch her.

“Is that really so surprising, hon? When everything about you makes me want to sink my teeth into you?” she asked, a low growl against your ear.

“Then go ahead and do it.”

You grasped her face, dragging her into a searing kiss. Your fingers buried themselves in the hair at the nape of her neck as her tongue licked along your lower lip. You whimpered, pressing closer to her, kissing her deeper. Her teeth sunk in, doing what she’d threatened, making you moan, muffled in her mouth.

With the hand on your hip, she pinned you against the wall, growling when you dragged her closer. Your fingers in her hair were tugging, wanting her pressed against you, wanting no amount of space between the two of you, wanting her skin against yours. She tasted like whiskey, turning your heady hazy.

When you’d spent all those hours fantasising about her, it had never been like this. This was intense, burning through you, leaving you desperate and gasping, wanting more, needing her in ways you’d never felt before. No one had made you feel so out of control. You certainly hadn’t expected to like that feeling so much.

No one had made you want to submit to them so quickly.

You gasped as her lips travelled down your throat, head tipping back against the brick wall. Her tongue on you skin was turning you dizzy.

“Mrs Harkness,” you gasped.

“Agatha,” she murmured into your skin.

“What?” Your fingers tightened in her hair.

“My name. I think we’re a bit past such formalities,” she replied before her teeth sunk into your skin.

The noise you made was embarrassing, needy and desperate and whining. But the noise she made had you pressing your thighs together, the deep throbbing stealing your breath. Your fingers scrabbled against her back, trying to pull her closer, not sure that was possible, but needing her so much you thought you’d combust if you didn’t have her.

Her lips landed back on yours, muffling your mewling. One of her legs slipped between yours. You were gasping into her mouth, hips pressing down against her thigh, seeking out the friction you so desperately wanted.

A loud ringing startled you. She nipped at your lower lip before drawing away. Her hand went to the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out her phone, a look of concern flashing over her face.

“Kate, what’s wrong?” she asked the moment she accepted the call.

She listened for a moment before she sighed, eyes closing for a moment.

“I’ll be right there,” she said, “tell him I’ll be home soon.”

She hung up with a deep sigh before turning to look at you. You weren’t sure what she saw, but she reached out, thumb running along your lower lip, eyes darkening once again.

“I’m so sorry, hon, but that was my baby sitter. Nicky is sick and wants me to come home,” she said.

“Of course you’ve got to go,” you said, not even thinking about it. Her son needed her.

“I should have known you’d understand,” she said, voice soft, almost fond, “can I take you out some time? Somewhere nicer than this alley?”

“Yes,” you said, so fast there was no playing it cool.

She chuckled, leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to your lips.

“I’ll call you,” she said.

You fell back against the wall, watching her walk away from you. Those jeans were doing good work, and even with the cold water of her sick son, you wanted to get your hands on her ass in them. She glanced over her shoulder, finding you still watching. The wink she shot in your direction had your heart skipping a beat.

Agatha Harkness was definitely going to tear your life apart and you were going to enjoy every second of it.

[wonderjanga]

Warfare

You see, Marvel’s mentioned the Wisdom of Solomon before. The JL never really thought much about it. As a result, the JL just thinks Marvel has all these… interesting ideas but just never says anything about them. Though, there are a couple times the ideas are actually voiced. (They don’t know Billy is just parroting whatever Solomon or occasionally another God with tell him)

Like the time Batman and Marvel got stranded on a planet that was stuck in the middle of war. They were promised

Rebel Leader: “Do either of you have any ideas to bring to the table?”

Batman: “No. Marvel?”

Marvel: “Huh? Oh uh… well I could magic a plague into the water near them. You said they’re using it for their water source, right? Then, when they’re weak, we can go around and take them out.” *sounds hesitant*

Batman: “Hmm… That could be a good idea, but what sort of plague are we talking about?”

Marvel: “Cholera.”

Batman: “What.”

Marvel: “Cholera.”

Batman: “Marvel, that’s fatal.”

Marvel: “Oh.”

Batman: “Yeah.”

*silence*

Marvel: “Well, if we’re quick, it we can get to them before they die.”

Batman: *stares for a bit, holding back a sigh* “We don’t even know if Cholera will affect their biology the same way it does humans.”

Rebel Leader: “What is this Cholera?”

Batman: “It’s a deadly waterborne disease.”

Rebel Leader: “I see… And you’re unsure whether it will work with our physiology… might I propose a different disease?”

So yes, biological warfare, that’s our first thing. Batman proceeded to spend a lot of time convincing the Rebel Leader not to nearly kill an entire group of people with their version of Cholera.

Then there was the time Bruce and Marvel were working together and got held up in a shootout at a lab.

Marvel: *looking at the various chemicals in the lab* “Gosh, I remember my first exposure to chlorine gas.” *getting nostalgic* (He’s from the 1940s in this one, guys)

Batman: “You’ve been exposed to chlorine gas?”

Marvel: “Yeah, and let me tell you, those dang Nazis were horrified when it didn’t work on me. Don’t worry though, we’re gonna be making mustard gas instead.”

Batman: “Captain, we are not doing that.”

Marvel: “Why? We have all the available ingredients.”

Batman: “Marvel.” *puts a hand on his shoulder* “Mustard gas can be fatal.”

Marvel: “Oh.”

Batman: “Yeah.”

*silence*

Marvel: “My bad.”

*more silence*

Batman: “Is this why you always let others plan?”

Marvel: “Are you gonna look at me weird if I say yes?”

Batman: “Hn.” (Translation: Yes, but it won’t be visible through my cowl)

This incident checks chemical warfare off the list. Bruce is now concerned as to why most of Marvel’s ideas are either nearly fatal or just fatal.

Then there was the time Marvel went undercover with Bruce Wayne, not Batman for whatever reason. They then got attacked by pirates while on a ship trying to gather information about some supervillain.

Bruce and Marvel: *taken cover under a table while the pirates fire cannon balls at them*

Bruce: “Any ideas?” *peaks over the cover only for a cannonball to whiz right past his head*

Marvel: “I think I have one. So here’s what I’m thinking. I take out their mast, steal all their oars, and then push them out to sea and let them drift wherever.

Bruce: “That’s… Intense. Wouldn’t they starve if you just let them drift?”

Marvel: “I guess. If they’re not saved, I mean.”

Bruce: *stares with the most deadpan face* “How about I come up with a plan instead?”

Marvel: “You got it boss.”

And last but not least, the physical warfare.

By the way, Billy doesn’t know Bruce is the Bat. No, no, no, he just thinks the guy is someone Batman wants him to work with. He was a little surprised to see the dude act all brooding like Mr. Batman when he had heard from others that he was a party boy. Oh well, not his business. Meanwhile, Bruce doesn’t know Marvel thinks he’s just interacting with a capable civilian.

That last part was inspired by @helps-the-writing-brain-go’s reblog of this post. Thanks for letting me write with your idea :)

[gojoux]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐇𝐈𝐌 “𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃?”

Gojo. Geto. Sukuna. Nanami. Choso. Toji. Megumi. Itadori. Yuta. Inumaki.

◈ — 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

His eyes would light up and a wide grin appeared on his face. “Baby, it would hurt me if we’re not getting married.” He gives you many pecks on your face as he holds you close in his embrace. He’s actually already planning on how he’d propose to you. He’d be giddy at the thought and start pampering you. “I love you soo, sooo much!” as he kisses you with smooching sounds.

◈ — 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

“Of course we can. I’d be a fool if I refused to marry you.” He’d give you that gentle smile of his as he placed a hand on your cheek and caressed your skin with his thumb. “I will marry you, I promise you that.” In his head, he’s thinking of what would your wedding be like, and the thought of you being by his side in an important ceremony makes him happy.

◈ — 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

A sly smile appears on his face, “What an interesting question, my dear.” He wraps his arm over your shoulder to hold you closer to him and presses a kiss on top of your head. “Why would we not get married? I can’t let you go.” He’ll grab your chin with his other hand to make you look at him straight in the eyes. “No other man will ever marry you except me.”

◈ — 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

“Yes,” he answers with no hesitation, yet his face remains the same so you’re kind of confused about what he’s actually thinking. “I don’t see why not, love. Marriage is a serious commitment, another proof of our love for one another, and I can’t imagine building a future with anyone other than you.” He already has the ring, he just needs to find the right moment.

◈ — 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎

His eyes widen in surprise, he just can’t believe someone would want to marry him, and that someone is you, his love. “You want to marry me?” He asks to make sure if you’re certain. He knows he can’t give you much besides himself. When you assure him, he’ll be so happy like it’s a dream. He vows to himself to take care of you for the rest of his life.

◈ — 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

He’d look at you with his usual cool-headed gaze, “That’s a hard request that goes beyond my interests. But if you ask me, I would say ‘yes’.” He answers as it is. For him, marrying you would be easy, but he may not feel like it at the moment, but he also changes his mind easily just for you. He’d rather have you near him and make it official rather than never see you again.

◈ — 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈

He’d never thought much about it, he always assumed he’d end up alone, so it took him a while to answer your question. “There is something about being with you. It makes me feel like I can be comfortable and happy with someone. So, yes, I’d love to marry you.” He looks away shyly but he’s honest with his words. He’d think about it for a long time.

◈ — 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈

“Wait, you’re really asking me to marry you?” He points at himself as he stares at you. Don’t get him wrong, he’s actually very happy, just surprised. “Hell yeah! I want to marry you. You'd make my dreams come true. I'd be honored to be your husband!” He lets out a happy laugh and starts suggesting many places to go on your honeymoon.

◈ — 𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀

You made this boy beyond delighted by just asking him that. “Oh, yes, yes, of course. We can get married!” He nods eagerly. He’s passionate about love, and he’s just glad that you’re on the same page with him that you wanted to get married. He’ll ask what you want your wedding to be like, and all that. He hasn’t bought a ring to propose to you yet, so he’s rather panicky about it.

◈ — 𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈 🍙

He’s between happy and surprised that it’s making him even more speechless. He nods immediately like he’s going to break his neck and gives you two thumbs up of approval, “Shake, shake!” He’ll treat you like you’re already married, showering you with kisses as he hugs you tight. He’ll keep bringing the topic up, he just wants to marry you as soon as possible.

Uh, helloow, it's been a while 👉👈

[dearhargrove]

sweet

summary you got a new perfume and your boyfriend can't get enough of it (and you).

word count 422

a/n first post in a looooong time... so sorry for ghosting like that lol. this popped into my head so I did a Lil blurb for him because I've been obsessed since July. bare with me. hoping this will bring me back into writing again..!

You feel him before you see him.

His arms wrap around your waist, palms sliding over your hip bones to rest just under your navel. Next is his chin on your shoulder, hair tickling the side of your face.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he murmurs into your jaw, pressing a light kiss there after. You smile softly, dropping your hands from the lore book you'd been looking at for more research on the new case. “Dean,” you say as an acknowledgment of his presence.

“Watcha doin’?” He asks, nosing along your jaw, fingers mindlessly stroking along your skin, pushing their way under your soft cotton shirt to feel bare skin. “Researching for the new case,” you reply, glancing down at him and only seeing his hair, his head tilted down too much.

“Uh huh.”

He doesn't bother to sound interested, instead focusing on nosing at your skin and touching you where he could. “You smell different,” he states, sounding distracted. His fingers still and you feel the cold tip of his nose push into the skin under your ear more firmly. “This a sweet scent, baby.”

His voice is quiet and the words almost slurred together in concentration as he tries working out what you'd changed.

“It's a new perfume.” you simply explain. It makes him hum but he doesn't relent, nose pressed into your neck with seemingly no qualms of pulling back.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.”

It's a gentle command and you do so easily, leaning back into the bookcase and tilting your head at him. “What is it?”

His eyes are hooded and his pupils bigger than normal, hands sliding back to your hips. “Why d'you smell so good?”

He almost sounds offended and it makes you chuckle, your hand lifting to rest on his shoulder and moving to the back of his neck as he moves closer again. “It's just a new perfume I bought a few days ago. What's got your panties in a twist?”

You tilt your head up to get a look at his expression but he's almost glaring at your neck, only huffing in acknowledgement before tapping the underside or your chin and pushing his nose back to your throat, arms looping around your waist.

“I take it I chose a good perfume?”

He makes a noise deep in his throat that borders on sounding needy and leaves a chaste kiss on your pulse point. “Damn right you did. ‘s awesome.”

[iamgonnagetyouback]

remus lupin x reader where the boys mess with the letter he wrote for you

The Marauders’ dormitory was unusually quiet. Remus Lupin had taken advantage of the rare moment of solitude to scribble down his thoughts. With a slightly trembling hand, he folded the letter, sealed it with his initials, and placed it on his desk.

A soft smile played on his lips as he glanced at it before heading down to the common room to check where you were.

Enter James, Sirius, and Peter.

James pushed the door open with a flourish, Sirius following close behind with a yawn with Peter hanging on his arm.

“Ah, our humble abode,” Sirius declared. “The sanctuary of secrets and—wait, what’s this?” His sharp eyes caught sight of the neatly folded parchment sitting suspiciously on Remus’s desk.

Peter padded over to it. “Looks important…” He picked it up, squinting at the handwriting. His face lit up like a Christmas tree. “It’s a love letter!”

“A love letter?” James perked up, lunging to snatch the parchment from Peter’s hands. He scanned the opening lines, his grin spreading wider with each word. “‘Dear Y/N…’ Oh, this is good.”

“Is it sappy?” Sirius asked, already leaning over James’s shoulder.

“Beyond sappy,” James said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “But.... not sappy enough.”

Peter gasped. “We should… enhance it.”

Sirius clapped his hands together. “Boys, fetch a quill. It’s time for Operation Padfoot-Potter-Pettigrew Poetics.”

James grinned and whipped out his wand, charming the nearest quill to mimic Remus’s handwriting. “Let’s see… what would Moony say if he were a complete sap?”

Sirius smirked. “How about, ‘Your smile could melt a dementor’s heart’?”

“Oh, good one!” James added it in, snickering. “And, ‘I dream of your hair—it’s like silk spun by angels.’”

Peter pitched in, “Don’t forget, ‘Your laugh is the melody of my soul.’”

“Wait, wait!” Sirius cut in. “‘If I were a werewolf’—ha!—‘I’d howl at the moon just to get a glimpse of you.’”

They erupted into laughter, their sides practically splitting and when they were halfway through adding “Your eyes rival the stars” the sound of footsteps on the stairs froze them all in place.

“Moony’s coming!” Sirius hissed.

The three Marauders scrambled. James slammed the letter shut and shoved it back on the desk. Sirius collapsed onto Remus’s bed, holding a book upside down. Peter, in a panic, began juggling socks.

The door creaked open, and Remus stepped in, his eyes narrowing immediately at the sight of his three best friends.

“…What are you all doing?” he asked suspiciously.

“Reading,” Sirius said, holding the upside-down book closer to his face. "Very interesting book in fact. You should try it, Moony."

"Sure, Sirius." Remus nodded as he gave him a smirk, "Hey, do tell me later if the book was more interesting upside down?"

Sirius's face turned red as he gave a thumbs up, "You got it, mate."

Remus chuckled as he his attention was diverted by a sock falling on his foot. He turned to look at Peter confusingly who gave him a sheepish smile.

“Practicing my dexterity,” He said, dropping a sock on his head.

“Just existing,” James added with a bright smile. “Why? What are you doing?”

Remus’s eyes darted to his desk, where the letter sat innocently. He picked it up, his brows furrowing slightly. “Were you—?”

“Us? Never!” James said, his tone as exaggerated as his grin. “Anyway, we’ve got Quidditch practice. See you later!” He grabbed Sirius and Peter, dragging them out as quickly as possible.

With the letter tucked in his pocket, Remus found you in your favorite corner of the common room, nose buried in a book. His nerves kicked into high gear as he handed you the letter.

“I, uh… wrote this for you,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

You smiled, taking the parchment. “Thanks, Remus.” You unfolded it, your eyes scanning the words.

The initial sweetness made your heart flutter: “Dear Y/N, I’ve wanted to tell you for ages how much you mean to me…”

But then…

“Your beauty is so radiant it could blind a Basilisk.” “If I were stranded on a deserted island, I’d only need your smile to survive.” “I’d duel a hundred Dementors just to hear you say my name.”

Your shoulders shook. A laugh bubbled out, then another, until you were laughing so hard tears prickled your eyes.

Remus’s face paled. “W-What? What’s wrong? Is it bad? Too much? Not enough?”

You could barely catch your breath as you held the letter out to him, pointing at the overly saccharine additions. “Did… did you actually write this?”

His eyes widened in horror. “No! I—I mean, not that! They must’ve—Sirius! James! Peter!” He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “They got to it.”

You couldn’t stop laughing, your cheeks aching. “I think it’s adorable.”

“You’re laughing at me,” he said, his tone half-whiny, half-embarrassed.

“I’m not laughing at you,” you said between giggles. “I’m laughing because it’s sweet. And because I know how much you actually care.”

His hands slowly dropped, his cheeks still red. “You… do?”

“Of course I do.” You stepped closer, your smile softening. “And for the record, I think you’re pretty incredible too.”

His breath hitched. “You do?”

Before his nerves could ruin the moment, you closed the gap, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It was sweet, warm, and perfect, and when you pulled back, his dazed expression made you giggle again.

“Best letter I’ve ever received,” you teased, and he couldn’t help but laugh too.

[lovebugism]

eddie x shy!reader , she asks him on a date by giving him tickets to a concert and he thinks its a joke til she walks away feeling rejected & he realizes she’s like dead serious & goes up to her

thanks for your request! i sorta broke my own heart with this one — the one where eddie rejects you and immediately regrets it (shy!reader, hurt/comfort, 2.6k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

Robin tells you that he’s nice. She says he won’t turn you down because he loves Mötley Crüe too much and he’s called you pretty too many times. Robin Buckley is many things — a dork, a polyglot, and your best friend, to name a few — but she’s never been a liar.

She wouldn’t lead you to the slaughter that way. She wouldn’t just let you get your heart broken. More than anything, though, she knows Eddie far better than you do — partly because she’s actually able to talk to him.

So despite your lingering worry, you swallow her words like a shot of vodka and maneuver helplessly through the bustling crowd of the Hawkins High lunchroom.

Eddie Munson sits alone at the Hellfire Club table — the smallest one in the very back corner by the large square window. 

Instead of eating a real meal (even though the hamburgers might be horse meat instead of cow), the boy eats crumbled-up pretzels from a worn ziplock bag. He pinches them into his mouth blindly because his chocolate syrup gaze is trained on the well-loved book folded in his left hand. 

J.R.R Tolkien’s, The Hobbit.

It makes you smile softly to yourself. You hope one day you’ll have the courage to tell him you’ve read that book so many times you could recite it in your sleep. You hope that day comes soon.

“Eddie?” you call softly to him when you reach his table. Your sweaty fingers fidget with the concert tickets you clutch between them.

He just thinks he hears his name at first. It’s barely audible over the sounds of muddled chatter in the cafeteria. He glances up from his book, not expecting anyone to be there, and gaping when he finds you standing in front of him. 

His cinnamon eyes go wide. The boy blinks owlishly at you once, then flits his eyes behind you like he’s expecting to see someone there. When he doesn’t, he blinks at you again. 

“Hi…” you waver with a trembling smile.

Eddie grins back, still obviously confused. “…Hi?”

“I, uh… I don’t know if you heard, but— well, obviously you heard, that’s… that’s stupid,” you laugh at yourself, shaking your head with your eyes squeezed shut. You’re already stumbling all over yourself, and you haven’t even managed a full sentence yet.

“Mötley Crüe is coming to Indianapolis in a few days, and a friend of mine was selling tickets, so I bought them. For us. Potentially. You know, if you wanted to… to go… With me.”

Your offer lingers and hangs in the air between the two of you.

A smile quirks at the right side of Eddie’s pink mouth. It isn’t a kind one, though. It looks more cynical than anything else.

His head juts back. He’s almost peering at you from the corner of his eye as though you were some suspicious thing he needed to analyze. A laugh sputters from his lips. “Did Buckley put you up to this? Is that what this is?”

Your faltering smile fades entirely. Your features crumble in disappointment.

This worse he could say is no, Robin had told you. 

You hadn’t prepared yourself for this.

“…What?” you wonder, voice fragile like a wilting flower petal.

Eddie chuckles to himself. He sets the book down to give you his full attention, though you’re not sure you want it anymore. “You know, I knew she was upset about me trying to set her up with Vickie and all, but this is a… whole new low.”

“Vickie…?” you murmur through a tightening throat, brows pinched in confusion. “I don’t understand—”

“Look, sweetheart… Tell Robin that this was a real funny joke, but I’m not interested, alright?”

Your chest aches with an empty feeling. You think your heart might be breaking. “J—Joke?”

“—Actually, tell her that this was very not metal of her, and that I will get my vengeance,” Eddie says with a sardonic laugh deeply rooted in his chest. His smile looks almost like he pities you as he shakes his head, eyes twinkling with pessimism. “I’m sorry she sent you to do her dirty work, but… You should probably go now. This is, you know, the Hellfire Club table and everything, so…”

You swallow thickly, then nod.

Eddie doesn’t want you here. Eddie doesn’t want you at all.

“I’m— I’m sorry if I…” The words get caught in your throat. You clear it and blink back burning tears. “I was just… I thought that maybe—”

“Eddie!” a boyish voice calls from across the cafeteria, only halfway drowned out through all the noise. A group of guys in Hellfire shirts walk towards the table.

You take that as your cue to leave. You don’t want to burst into tears in front of your crush and all of his friends.

“I’m sorry,” is all you manage to choke out before turning on your heel and walking away.

He’d been smiling up until that point — like it was all a big joke to him — because it was. 

The girl he’s been fawning over since junior year comes out of nowhere with tickets to see one of his favorite bands? That was the kind of shit he dreamt about — the kind of plan only someone as vicious as Robin Buckley could concoct to hurt his feelings. And after spending so many years being the brunt of bullies, Eddie was tired of being embarrassed.

And at first, he thought you were just a really good actor. You did look almost genuinely confused when he’d snuffed out the plan so quickly. But those wide, glassy eyes you looked at him with — he doesn’t know if a person can fake that sort of heartbreak. That looked real.

Eddie had been close to commending himself for not letting Robin win. He thought he was a genius for not allowing Buckley to use you against him. Now he knows he’s the same dumbass he's always been.

“Hey, man…” Gareth wavers as he sits at his designated seat adjacent to Eddie’s. The boy’s forlorn and faraway gaze doesn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the club. They all share looks of confusion, but the sandy-haired boy is the only one brave enough to speak up. “You okay?”

Eddie keeps his gaze trained on your figure as you maneuver through the crowd. Robin looks happy for you when you reach her, but the puppy-like excitement washes away when she notices how sad you are. 

He feels like someone’s shoved a knife between his ribcage. He wonders if this is what a broken heart feels like.

“I think I screwed up,” he answers, laughing cynically at himself. “Like, big time.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, right?” Dustin jokes before popping a fry into his mouth. He laughs, but no one else joins him. “…Right?”

Eddie glares at the boy.

He cowers. “…Kidding. I was kidding.”

—————

He stews over it all day — your offer and what he said to you and how sad you looked after he said it. 

He pictures your pinched brows and big, glassy eyes and his chest starts to burn a little. Everyone always thought he was some raging asshole just because he had crazy hair and a crazier taste in music. Now he feels like they were sort of right about him. 

Whatever chance he had with you has surely turned to dust by now. It wouldn’t surprise him after he shrugged you off like he did. But after waging a nearly four-hour war in his mind between lunch and dismissal, he knows he has to make sure. 

He has to know if he’s ruined things entirely or if there’s a glimmer of hope he can hang onto.

He comes to you at the end of the day, dripping in metaphorical blood from the mental carnage he’d endured. He stood across the hall from you for five whole minutes as he tried to come up with something to say. He walks to your locker empty-handed and just blurts, “I thought you were joking,” like a total idiot.

Through the muddled conversation in the bustling hallway, you hadn’t heard him coming. You didn’t know he was there at all until he was right next to you. Seeing someone so suddenly close to you makes you flinch — hard.

And it’s not totally Eddie’s fault. You’re jumpy and too easily frightened at times, but he can’t help but feel like he’s messing things up more than he already has.

“Oh…” you deflate with a sigh, eyes still wide and swimming with something he can’t quite place. You look like you’re almost relieved to see him. Almost. 

“Sorry— shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to…” The boy stumbles over his words, then trails off when they don’t come out the way he wants. He shakes his head and finds it in himself to smile. It’s bitter, though, filled with self-abhorrence. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

With one hand still clutching the door of your locker, and the other gripping a stack of textbooks, you peer at him through your lashes. “I know. It’s okay. I just— I wasn’t expecting it…”

He grimaces. “Sorry…”

“’S okay,” you repeat.

“I, um, I only came in so hot ‘cause I wanted to apologize— you know, for earlier. In the lunch room,” he stammers and puts his fidgeting hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He tries to laugh, but it comes out more as an insincere puff of air. “Honestly, I thought you were joking.”

Your brows pinch. “Joking? Why would I—”

“I sorta locked Robin and Vickie in the old chemistry room in the east wing a few days ago,” he confesses, bouncing his shoulders. “Just because I know they both like each other and everything, and I thought maybe they’d finally admit it if they were alone together.”

“Okay…?” 

“Well, they didn’t. And Robin was pissed. So I thought she was using you to get back at me.”

“Using me?” you echo.

“Yeah. ‘Cause I’ve kinda been into you since junior year and everything,” he admits with a nonchalant shrug. The corner of his rosy mouth quirks into a half-smile. “It’s, like, the one card Robin could use against me that would actually hurt, you know? If she did try to get me back.”

Your heart swells so much it hurts, almost — the same kind of hurt you'd felt in the lunch room earlier. It feels fiery, like someone’s taken a match to your ribcage and lit your heart aglow. But it’s different now. This is a good hurt, a happy hurt.

“Really?” you squint at him, your voice high and light. Your lips twitch like you want to smile, but you don’t let yourself — lest this all turns out to be some kind of elaborate dream. Or a joke.

“Since we had Mr. Kaminsky’s together, yeah,” Eddie affirms with a slow, confident nod. His chocolate eyes flit up to the water-stained ceiling. “Let’s see… We were learning about reproduction, and Tommy Hagan made some stupid joke about using you as a real-life model instead of the pictures in the textbook—”

“I remember,” you nod, trying not to shudder at the memory that still haunts you. 

“And I told him that he was making it real obvious that he’s never seen an actual vagina before and that the one in the textbook looked a lot like his mom’s,” the boy recalls with a soft laugh. “And you looked over at me, and you smiled, and I… have been a goner ever since.”

He looks down at you again, all sheepish like he isn’t gluing your broken heart back together again. His chocolate eyes twinkle in a way you’ve never seen before. They sparkle in their softness. You have to look away before it turns you into a puddle at his feet. 

You smile widely into your locker, pursing it off to the side in attempts to conceal its brightness. 

“No one’s ever stuck up for me like that before,” you confess quietly after a few moments, peeking at him from the corner of your eye. “I’m pretty sure I gushed to Robin about it for days.”

“Yeah?” Eddie hums. He can feel his hopes getting too high.

“Yeah. I told her all about the pretty boy in the back of the room that finally got Tommy H. to leave me alone.”

“Oh… You think he’s pretty, huh?” the boy teases despite his pink cheeks.

You nod — made much braver by his previous admission — though you still have a little trouble looking him in the eye. You drag a notebook from your locker as you tell him, “I think he’s very pretty.”

“Well, I have it on good authority that the boy you think is pretty is super sorry for being such an asshole to you earlier,” Eddie murmurs, his nose scrunched and head tilted. “And that he’d really love to go to that concert with you— if you haven’t found some other schmuck to go with you, that is.”

Your eyes light up like a Christmas tree as you beam at him. No one’s ever looked at him that way before now.

“I’d like that,” you nod, then shrug. “I don’t think I’d wanna go with anyone else, anyway…”

“So, it’s a date?” Eddie asks, just to make sure. His raised brows disappear behind his fluffy bangs. His chin tilts to his chest as he smiles hopefully down at you.

You nod, and repeat it more softly than the loudmouth boy. “It’s a date.”

Eddie can feel himself grinning like an idiot. His cheeks ache with how wide he’s beaming at you, but he's too lovesick to stop. Like squinting into the sun, smiling every time he looks at you is muscle memory by now. 

And what did a freak like him ever do to deserve a date with the freakin’ sun?

[yelenasdiary]

Little Spidey

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Spider-Woman! Reader

Summary: After coming home from a long mission, you struggle to accept a little shift in your relationships. 

Angst, Comfort, Fluff

Warnings: Brief mentions depression & loneliness | 1.3K

AC: Wrote this for my good friend, @scarletwidowblackwitch ! so sorry it took me forever to get this one out for you! I hope you enjoy! x 

Your apartment was quiet while you lay in bed staring at the roof, usually your roommates, Peter and Kate would be making so much noise that a sleep in was almost non-existent in the small apartment. The time on your phone reading, 10:16am reminded you just how hungry you were. After getting home rather late last night, sliding through the door without making a sound, careful not to wake your roommates, you took a shower and fell as the second your head hit the pillow. 

You wandered into the kitchen, the two friends of yours leaving it how they normally did. Their breakfast dishes in the sink, crumbs from the cereal box on the countertop along with some small droplets of milk. You shook your head with a soft, amused smile on your lips as you reached for a wash cloth to clean up after them. 

After breakfast, you showered and gave your suit a quick steam before you picked up your phone, the weather was beautiful today, the sun kissing the city of New York with its warm touch made you think about a nice catch up with you a friend or two in Central Park. You called Wanda first, knowing just how much she loved getting a latte and some fresh air but your call went to voice mail, maybe she was on a mission you thought. 

Next you tried your roommate, Kate but no answer then you tried your luck with Peter. 

“Hey, Y/n, what’s up?” The young adult happily asked. 

“I just wanted to know if you were busy? Thought we could grab a smoothie and hang out?” You replied. 

“Wait, when did you get back? I thought you were still on that big job?”

“Uh, last night. I didn’t want to wake you or Kate, so I was pretty quiet” you lightly chuckled. 

“Welcome back! I would hang out today but Tony’s got me doing training in this new suit he made me, can we do a rain check?” He questioned with doubt in his voice. 

“Of course, let me know whenever you’re free” you did your best to sound unbothered before Peter said he’d text you before hanging up the line. You let out a light sigh before you checked the Avengers app that Tony created to keep up with who was on missions and to no surprise, Natasha was on a mission, Bucky was on a mission, Steve was with Bucky, Sam was booked for training, Tony was with Peter and Kate was with Clint on someday training trip. With that information, you tossed your phone on your freshly made bed and decided to go to the gym for an hour or so. 

As the days went by, you couldn’t help the negative thoughts that dawned on you. Almost everybody had returned from their missions and were staying at the compound to catch up on mission reports. You joined them all at the compound but the quietness that you woke up too days before still lingered. You wondered if you were annoying those around you, your text messages went unread, or you only got short replies back. Plans to catch up went abandoned leaving you alone while your insecurities dawned on you. 

A week has floated by you while you did your best to keep yourself distracted from the loneliness that crept into the apartment, your roommates barely coming home for more than a nights sleep. The apartment still quiet over your favorite playlist that played in the background, nothing on the streaming apps seemed interesting enough to keep the silence from becoming louder at night. Rubbish from your favorite almost overflowing the bin in the kitchen reminding you to take it out in the morning. 

You were getting yourself ready for bed when you heard a knock at the door, you couldn’t help but sigh lightly thinking it was probably the elderly neighbor with some gossip of yet another delinquent hanging around, suspiciously. You opened the door only to be met with the familiar green eyes and locks of red hair that you had missed dearly. 

“Y/n! you’re back?!” Beamed Natasha as her eyes lit up, “nobody told me you were back, and I lost my freaking phone” she adds. 

You give her a weak smile, knowing she probably wasn’t even here to see you in the first place. “I guess everybody has been busy, are you here to see Kate or Peter?” You asked causing Nat to frown slightly. “I needed to speak to Kate about something, but I don’t care about that, it can wait” she replied, giving you a soft smile, “my detka is home” she added. 

The pet name getting the better of you as you felt your cheeks get warm. Natasha wrapped her arms around you and gently pulled you in for a hug, “I missed you so much” she said in an almost whisper. You felt yourself practically melt into her hold, missing the way her arms always felt like home. Her dark rose scented perfume leaving its mark on your clothing, a smell you forgot just how much you missed. 

“Why don’t you come stay at mine tonight?” Your girlfriend asked, pulling back to look you in the eyes ones more. Her highly trained skills to read people never failed her when it came to you, she saw past the weak smile and the sadness in your eyes no matter how much you thought you were good at hiding. “I don’t know, I don’t wanna be a burden” you confessed to the widow. 

“A burden? Honey, you could never be a burden. Besides we both know I have the best fluff blankets” She says, gently cupping your face before planting a soft kiss on your lips, “and maybe you can tell me what’s got my little Spidey so down” she adds. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle ever so lightly at the nickname, “are you sure?” You asked, needing reassurance. 

“Detka, if you think I’m leaving you alone, think again” she smirks.

“Let me go pack my overnight bag, come in” you smile softly as she walks in, closing the door behind her. 

“Why don’t you pack a little more than just one bag?” The widow suggested. 

You stopped in your tracks halfway down the hall, turning to face her once more, “Nat, I can’t just leave without telling Peter and Kate” you reply, “Rent is due next week, it wouldn’t be fair” 

Natasha shrugged, “I’ll cover it and I think they would understand but if you’re not ready for that step it’s okay, I can wait” 

You took a moment to think about her idea, you wanted nothing more to be able to spend more time with your girlfriend, especially after being away from her for so long but the guilt of leaving your roommates so suddenly dawned on you. “I would love too but I really, really don’t want to be a burden on you just because I’ve had a few lousy days” 

Natasha, walking towards you reached out to hold your hand, “it’s not a burden to spend your life with somebody you care about. Change can be scary, but we all need it. Peter and Kate can find another roommate if they want, they’ll be okay. I really just want to share everything moment with you” she says, looking into your eyes while silence filled the room for you to think a little more. 

“I guess I could talk to Kate and Peter tomorrow” 

“That’s my little Spidey” Natasha smiles, “now you’ll be able to hear me complain about my cooking every night” she adds with a playful wink causing you to chuckle once more. 

“Don’t worry Romanoff, I won’t let you burn the house down” you reply as she wraps her arms around you once more, “oh come on, the kitchen caught on fire once” she says, rolling her eyes. 

“Once is more than enough” you smile before her lips find yours again.

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[its-avalon-08]

Could you write a story where the reader is an F1 reporter who gets along well with everyone? She’s a close friend, and everyone considers her like a “sister” (or maybe even more for some… I don’t know, let me be delulu here!) and when she gets pregnant, they all become super protective and take extra care of her. For example, if she’s struggling with the heat, they make sure she’s comfortable. Thank you!

golden child of the paddock (all drivers)

✦ pairing - all drivers x female!reader (platonic), carlos sainz x female!driver (non platonic)

✦ genre - protective drivers, romance

The first time Y/N stepped into the F1 paddock as a young, starry-eyed reporter, she felt a blend of excitement and nerves. She was new to the sport, young, and a little out of her depth, but she knew her passion for racing and her natural curiosity would be enough to keep her going. Still, when she looked around at the towering motorhomes, the thrumming of engines, and the throng of seasoned journalists, it was hard not to feel like she was in over her head.

"First day on the job?" a voice came from her side. She turned to see none other than Daniel Ricciardo, grinning with that trademark mischievous smile. He’d noticed her as she was nervously adjusting her press badge.

"Uh, yeah," she admitted, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "Guess it's pretty obvious."

Daniel laughed and gave her a friendly nudge. "You’ll be fine. Just stick around us drivers; we’re way more fun than those old journos anyway."

Just then, a few other drivers came over, drawn by the new face in the crowd. Lando Norris was quick to introduce himself, already full of playful questions.

"So, Y/N, are you here to keep an eye on me?" he teased, giving her a wink. "Because, let’s be honest, I’m the only interesting one on the grid."

"Right," Y/N said, unable to help the laugh that escaped. "I’ll try to keep my focus on you, Lando."

Max Verstappen raised an eyebrow with a smirk. "Good luck with that. But hey, if you ever want the real story, you know who to ask."

Y/N quickly felt herself relaxing as the drivers bantered with her, making her feel more at home. Soon, the entire paddock was buzzing with news of the young, friendly reporter. And the drivers? Well, they seemed determined to keep her close.

Over the next few weeks, Y/N found herself almost part of the F1 family. She’d interview the drivers in the press pen, and somehow, every single one of them found a way to add a bit of personal advice or a subtle check-in.

"Did you eat today?" Lewis Hamilton asked her once, holding out an extra protein bar during a post-practice interview.

"Oh, I… yeah, I grabbed something earlier," she stammered, a little caught off guard.

He nodded, handing her the bar anyway. "You’re going to need the energy. Trust me. This job doesn’t slow down."

Even Sebastian Vettel would occasionally pause to check in on her. Once, he found her frowning at her notes during a practice session. "Don’t worry too much about getting every detail perfect, Y/N," he said kindly. "You’re doing great. Just be yourself—that’s what people connect with."

"Thanks, Seb," she said, feeling a bit of relief wash over her. "I guess I’m just… I don’t want to mess up."

Seb gave her a reassuring smile. "You won’t. Just remember, we’re all here to help if you need it."

Then, there was Carlos Sainz. Unlike the others, his way of protecting her was a bit more… personal. The first time she interviewed him, he was warm and polite, but as the weeks passed, his demeanor shifted ever so slightly. He’d always look at her with this glint in his eye, his smile lingering a second longer than necessary.

"Amor," he greeted her one morning, his Spanish accent adding a warmth to the word that made her cheeks heat up. "You’re looking stressed. Are they working you too hard?"

She blinked, feeling a little flustered. "Carlos, I’m fine, really. Just part of the job."

Carlos tilted his head, giving her a small, teasing smile. "Maybe. But if you need a break, you let me know, sí? Can’t have you running around too much."

The way he looked at her, the gentle tone of his voice, and the pet names—amor, cariño—all of it made her feel a little thrill each time they spoke.

As the season continued, it became clear to everyone in the paddock that Y/N was something special. Not just another reporter but someone who cared about them, respected them, and brought a certain brightness with her wherever she went. And as they got closer, the drivers each took on their own version of ‘big brother’ with her.

One afternoon, she was struggling with some heavy equipment when Pierre Gasly spotted her and practically sprinted over.

"Whoa, whoa, no way, Y/N. We’re not doing this," he said, taking the bag off her shoulder. "You’re not carrying anything if we’re around, okay?"

"Pierre, I can handle it, seriously," she tried to argue, but Pierre just shook his head.

"Not happening. You’re stuck with all of us now, so get used to it."

She had barely gotten over Pierre’s chivalrous intervention when she felt someone tap her shoulder. Turning around, she found Charles Leclerc standing with a concerned frown.

"Y/N, I saw you trip on the stairs earlier. You didn’t hurt yourself, right?"

She laughed, brushing it off. "I’m fine, Charles. Just a little stumble."

He crossed his arms, clearly not convinced. "Alright, well, just… watch your step, okay?"

Everywhere she went, there seemed to be a driver looking out for her. They’d bring her water bottles when it was hot, extra snacks when she looked tired, and Carlos, of course, was always there to check on her, calling her mi vida and making sure she never felt alone.

One evening, after a particularly long day, Carlos found her sitting on a low wall by the track, staring out over the circuit, lost in thought.

"Mind if I join you, cariño?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Not at all," she smiled as he sat beside her.

They sat in companionable silence for a while before Carlos spoke. "You know, everyone here thinks of you as a sister."

Y/N laughed. "Yeah, I’ve noticed. I can’t even carry my own things anymore!"

Carlos chuckled, his fingers brushing her arm. "It’s because we care about you. And some of us…" He paused, his gaze turning serious. "Some of us more than others."

Her heart skipped a beat as she looked at him. "Carlos…"

He gave her a shy smile, something rare for the usually confident driver. "I just want you to know, Y/N. You’re not alone here."

She nodded, a soft blush spreading across her cheeks. "I know. Thanks, Carlos."

Just then, Max passed by, smirking. "Hey, Carlos, not hogging Y/N, are we?"

Carlos shot him a look. "Can’t a man have a moment, Max?"

Max grinned, winking at Y/N. "Don’t worry, Y/N. If he’s bothering you, just let us know."

As Max walked off, Carlos rolled his eyes, but his hand found hers, squeezing gently. "They’ll never leave you alone now, mi amor. Better get used to us all."

Y/N smiled, looking out over the track, feeling for the first time that she truly belonged. Surrounded by a family of drivers, each one ready to support, protect, and care for her, she knew this would be the beginning of something wonderful.

--

It was the last night of the race weekend, and the paddock was almost deserted. Only a few lights remained on, casting a soft glow over the empty garages and tents. Y/N lingered by the trackside, her heart racing in her chest. She had made up her mind—she couldn’t keep pretending she didn’t feel anything for Carlos. But she didn’t think she’d be standing here, ready to confess her feelings in such a big way.

"You got this, Y/N," Lando said, giving her a little nudge of encouragement. The rest of the drivers had banded together, helping her plot the perfect confession for the man who had her heart.

"But what if he… I don’t know, laughs?" Y/N wrung her hands nervously, feeling her cheeks flush. "What if he doesn’t feel the same way?"

"Then he’s an idiot," Pierre chimed in with a grin, his arm around her shoulder. "But trust me, he’s not that dumb. I mean, he calls you cariño every day. I’m pretty sure he’s already halfway in love with you."

Sebastian, who had come along to witness the moment, chuckled. "You’ve grown up so fast, Y/N. Look at you—confessing your feelings like a true professional."

"Just… be yourself," Charles added, giving her an encouraging smile. "Carlos would be lucky to have you."

"Really?" she whispered, looking at her friends with wide eyes. They all nodded emphatically, giving her the strength she needed to take the leap.

As she waited, Y/N glanced back at her team of ‘brothers,’ who were hiding in the shadows with poorly concealed excitement. George and Alex were practically bouncing on their toes, and even Max was grinning.

Finally, she saw Carlos walking towards her, his hair still a little messy from the day, his eyes bright despite the late hour. "Y/N?" he asked, his brows raised in surprise. "What’s going on?"

She took a deep breath, willing herself not to lose her nerve. "Carlos, there’s something I need to tell you. And, um… please just listen, okay? Don’t say anything until I’m finished."

Carlos’s smile softened as he nodded. "Of course, mi vida."

"Right, okay…" She took another breath, staring at the ground, feeling her heart pounding against her ribs. "So, ever since I started here, you’ve… you’ve been one of the best parts of my job. The way you tease me, how you’re always looking out for me, calling me all those sweet names…" She laughed, slightly embarrassed. "At first, I thought it was just you being nice. But then… I realized it’s more than that for me. I… I really like you, Carlos. A lot."

There was a soft gasp from somewhere behind her, probably Lando, but Y/N kept her eyes on Carlos, who looked utterly stunned.

"I just couldn’t go on pretending I didn’t feel this way," she continued, her voice trembling. "And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I just… I needed you to know."

Carlos took a step closer, his gaze intense, and she could see a flicker of emotion in his eyes that made her heart swell. "Y/N," he murmured, reaching for her hands. "You have no idea how much I wanted to hear you say that. I was so sure… so sure you only saw me as a friend."

Her cheeks flushed a deep red. "Carlos, I’ve had the biggest crush on you for months. You call me cariño, amor—it’s impossible not to fall for you."

He laughed softly, pulling her closer. "Well, in that case, let me say it properly." His voice softened, his gaze never leaving hers. "Te quiero, Y/N. I want you, too."

A mix of squeals and cheers erupted from the shadows as the other drivers stepped out, clapping and wiping away mock tears.

"Finally!" Daniel shouted, throwing his hands up dramatically. "Our little Y/N is all grown up!"

George pretended to dab at his eyes. "I’m not crying… it’s just… allergies."

Pierre gave her an affectionate grin, giving Carlos a nod of approval. "You better take care of her, Sainz."

Carlos laughed, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her into his side. "Don’t worry. I’ll treat her like the queen she deserves to be."

Max crossed his arms, his smile warm. "Good answer, mate. We’ve been waiting for this moment forever."

Y/N looked around at her friends, her cheeks sore from smiling. "Thank you, all of you. I couldn’t have done it without you."

Sebastian raised a pretend glass, grinning. "To Y/N and Carlos. And to all the big brothers who made this night possible."

Lando cleared his throat, looking almost sentimental as he pulled her into a quick hug. "We’re really happy for you, Y/N. But remember, if Carlos gives you any trouble, we’ll be right here."

Carlos chuckled, looking down at her with a playful smirk. "I think I have more to worry about than you do, cariño. With all these guys watching out for you, I’ll have to be on my best behavior."

"And that," Y/N said, squeezing his hand, "is exactly how I want it."

Surrounded by her friends—her family—she felt an overwhelming wave of happiness wash over her. As she looked up at Carlos, the rest of the world faded away, leaving only the warmth of his gaze and the knowledge that she was exactly where she belonged.

--

A few years down the road, Y/N had cemented her place as the paddock’s heart and soul. Fans adored her interviews, and the teams always lit up when she was around. Being married to Carlos only added to the love everyone felt for her, and for Carlos, it made him proud—and fiercely protective.

The first few months of her pregnancy, however, had been kept tightly under wraps. Only she and Carlos knew, and they were still basking in the news in secret. But now, as she tried to hide her growing morning sickness and Carlos’s over-attentive concern, things were getting harder to keep quiet.

One morning in the paddock, Max Verstappen happened to pass by and saw Y/N doubled over, looking pale as she sat on a crate outside the Red Bull garage.

"Hey, Y/N, you okay?" Max asked, concerned, immediately handing her his water bottle. "You don’t look too great."

Y/N tried to wave him off with a weak smile. "Oh, it’s nothing, Max, I just… I think it was something I ate."

"Something you ate?" he repeated, narrowing his eyes. "You’ve been saying that a lot lately."

"Just bad luck, I guess," she said, but the nausea hit her again, and she had to lean over to steady herself.

Max’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped as he pieced it together. "No way. No way. Y/N—are you…"

Y/N’s face flushed, but she couldn’t deny it, her weak smile giving her away.

"Oh my god." Max’s mouth fell open as he processed it. "Carlos got you pregnant?!"

“Shh!” Y/N whispered, glancing around in a panic. "Max, keep it down! We’re not telling people yet!"

Max clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes filling with tears. "Oh my god. Y/N, you’re pregnant." He blinked rapidly, his lips quivering as he tried to hold it together. "You’re gonna have a little Sainz?"

She bit her lip and nodded, smiling softly. “Yes. But you can’t tell anyone yet.”

Max was silent for a moment, his eyes shimmering. Then he let out a choked laugh and pulled her into a gentle hug, whispering, “I’m so happy for you. You’re gonna be the best mom, Y/N. I can already see it.”

Y/N laughed as he let her go, but not before he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Stop crying, Max,” she teased. “You’re making me want to cry, too!”

“I can’t help it,” he sniffled, looking sheepish. “This is huge! And now I have to protect you and the baby?”

“You don’t have to,” she laughed, but Max was already shaking his head.

“No, no, you don’t understand. I’m not letting you lift a finger,” he said, his face suddenly serious. “And I’m making sure Carlos does the same. You’ll have every single driver looking out for you.”

Just then, Carlos approached, his brow furrowing as he saw Max wiping at his eyes. “Max, what’s going on?”

Max pointed a stern finger at Carlos. “You, Sainz, have one job. You better take care of her and the little one. Or else…”

Carlos raised his hands, amused but wary. “I am taking care of her, Verstappen. Trust me.”

“No, not enough!” Max argued, his voice almost panicked. “She was just sitting here, pale as a ghost, and you weren’t even around!”

Y/N stifled a laugh, but Carlos just smirked, nodding in understanding. “Alright, alright, I’ll keep an even closer eye on her. Promise.”

Max softened a bit, but he wasn’t letting up. “Good. Because if anything happens to Y/N or the baby, anything, you’re answering to me. And Lando, and Pierre, and basically every guy in this paddock who cares about her.”

“Max, I think Carlos knows what he’s doing,” Y/N said, a smile playing on her lips.

Max looked between them, then grinned, his face softening. “Fine, but I’m still watching you both.” He took a deep breath, then pulled her into another hug. “I’m so, so happy for you, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Max,” she whispered, hugging him back. “I think we’ll need you and the others looking out for us.”

Carlos wrapped an arm around her shoulder, giving Max a nod of gratitude. “Gracias, amigo. She’ll have all the protection she needs.”

“Good.” Max wiped his eyes one last time, giving them both a fierce nod. “Because we’re all family. And now… we’re growing.”

--

The Singapore Grand Prix was notorious for its blistering heat, and this year was no exception. The sweltering air clung to everyone, and for Y/N, who was visibly and heavily pregnant, it was nearly unbearable. But duty called, and the FIA insisted that she continue her scheduled interviews.

As she was setting up for another interview, the heat making her dizzy, she heard a familiar voice behind her. “Y/N, what are you doing here?” Lewis Hamilton approached her with a look of disbelief, glancing at her with concern. “You should be sitting in an air-conditioned room right now, not out here in this heat.”

“Lewis, it’s fine,” she said with a weak smile, though she was struggling. “It’s just a few interviews.”

Before he could respond, Max and Oscar joined them, both looking equally shocked.

“Are they out of their minds?” Max muttered, his face turning red with anger. “You shouldn’t be out here like this!”

“Seriously, Y/N,” Oscar added, frowning. “This isn’t safe. You’re not a machine.”

Y/N tried to brush them off, but she felt another wave of dizziness hit her. She steadied herself, but Charles had already noticed, his eyes narrowing. “That’s it,” he said firmly. “This is ridiculous. They can’t make you do this.”

“It’s okay, really—” she began, but the drivers were not having it.

Lewis crossed his arms, looking around with a sharp glare. “Who do we need to talk to? This isn’t happening, not today.”

As if on cue, a member of the FIA walked over, clipboard in hand. “Y/N, are we ready for the next interview?”

Max stepped in front of her before she could answer, his voice low and menacing. “She’s not doing any more interviews. Send someone else.”

The official frowned, clearly taken aback. “Excuse me? This is her job—”

“Yeah, and her job shouldn’t put her or her baby in danger,” Charles interjected angrily. “She’s done for the day.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “Get someone else. This isn’t up for discussion.”

The FIA official looked bewildered, glancing at Y/N, but Lewis shot him a glare that would have stopped anyone in their tracks. “You have plenty of other reporters. Don’t make us get security involved.”

Seeing no way around it, the official nodded reluctantly. “Fine. She can go. But this will be reported.”

The drivers didn’t care; they were already surrounding Y/N protectively, guiding her towards the paddock lounge.

“Thank you, guys,” she murmured, touched by their concern. “But I can handle this, really—”

“No way,” Max cut her off, shaking his head. “Carlos would kill us if we let you stay out there in this heat.”

As they led her to the lounge, Carlos appeared, having just gotten word of what happened. His expression was a mix of relief and anger as he approached the group. “Qué demonios? Y/N, why didn’t you call me?”

Y/N shrugged, looking sheepish. “I didn’t want to bother you…”

Carlos looked ready to explode, turning to the FIA official who had followed them, probably to try and salvage the situation. “You made her work out there, in this heat, while she’s pregnant? Are you insane?”

The official held up his hands defensively. “We were just following standard protocol—”

“To hell with your protocol!” Carlos shouted, his face flushed with anger. “She’s carrying our child, and you’re risking her health for some interviews?”

“Mr. Sainz, please calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Carlos snapped, switching to rapid Spanish that the official clearly didn’t understand, though the tone left no doubts about what he was saying. “This is unacceptable. Inaceptable!”

“Carlos, you’re going to get fined,” Lewis warned quietly, though he was smirking a little, clearly pleased to see someone giving the FIA a piece of their mind.

“Fine me, I don’t care,” Carlos shot back. “It’ll be worth every cent if it means they treat her properly.”

The official quickly left, muttering something about reporting this to higher-ups, but the drivers didn’t care. They were all clustered around Y/N, making sure she was comfortable as they brought her a cold towel and water.

As soon as she was settled in, Max crouched beside her, giving her a warm but firm look. “From now on, you call us if they try to make you do anything stupid again, alright?”

Y/N chuckled, touched by their fierce protectiveness. “I promise.”

Carlos sat beside her, still fuming, but his hand gently rested on her stomach, protective and calming. “If they pull anything like this again, they’ll have to deal with all of us,” he said, his tone softer but no less serious.

That night, news of Carlos’s outburst—and his subsequent fine—spread like wildfire across social media. Fans took to Twitter, trending hashtags like #ProtectY/N and #JusticeForY/N. Clips of the drivers banding together to protect her from the heat circulated, and the internet quickly turned it into a rallying cry against the FIA’s treatment of Y/N.

@F1Fanatic: "Carlos got fined for standing up for his pregnant wife, and I’m here for it. #ProtectY/N 💪🔥"

@PaddockPrincess: "Seeing all the drivers look out for Y/N is the purest thing ever. She deserves all the love 🥹❤️ #FamilyGoals #ProtectY/N"

@F1Daily: "We all knew Carlos was protective, but the way he went off on the FIA? ICONIC. #JusticeForY/N"

Y/N couldn’t help but smile as she scrolled through the support from fans, all of whom felt like an extended family. With Carlos by her side, and a whole paddock of brothers watching over her, she knew she and her baby would be safe, no matter what.