#when i said i was having a bad 2 weeks i was NOT counting for it to last the ENTIRE TWO WEEKS >:(((((

[drrobbysbabygirl]

2 Hands

A/N: It's finished! It’s already been posted to ao3, which I’ll make a separate post about. I had SO much writing this, and I hope y’all enjoy it as much I do!

Word count: 9.8k (It got a bit out of hand)

Warnings: Masturbation, faginal fingering, vaginal sex, oral sex (f!receiving), creampie. I think that’s it, but let me know if I missed anything! ASFAB!reader, reader is 25-35, has hair, and is described as shorter and smaller than Robby.

It all started with a brush of his hand over yours, as cliche as it sounds. It was a quick thing, his large hand over yours in the middle of intubating a patient whose airway was blocked by blood. It wasn't something you put too much thought into until later, when you were home in your empty apartment, sunk low into your bathtub, stroking over the spot he had touched. Robby was touchy; it was well known within the Pitt. He’d squeeze a shoulder, gently touch a hip to get past, or hover with a hand on your lower back for stabilization when guiding a tricky procedure. It wasn't the first time one of his large hands had touched you, nor was it the first time it had fanned the flames of desire low in your belly. But it was the first time he had looked at you and not through you while doing it. It was there and gone in an instant. 

As a third-year resident, you had been giving orders to the interns hanging near the patient, demanding more space and orders for propofol and ketamine for sedation. You couldn’t see, but you had done more intubations than you could count and knew you could do it. However, the patient's blood pressure tanked, and Robby grew irritated and snapped at you to move. You had a stubborn streak a mile wide and were confident in your abilities, but you also knew when to ask for help. 

You had shaken your head. “I just need help, but I can do it,” you said tensely.

Then, before you could blink, Robby was beside you, his warm hand on yours, helping you guide the tube down the blocked airway. After the tube was placed and you were pushing more meds, you had caught Robby looking at you from the corner of your eye. He didn’t say a word; he just looked you in the eye before walking out to assist with another patient. 

Two patients later, Robby had found you. “You could have cowered and let me do it instead, but you knew you could do it, and you asked for help when you needed it, good job,” he had said, brushing his fingers over your arm. You had shivered, and he noticed, letting his fingers linger just a second longer than he should have, his eyes open and gleaming with something you couldn’t put your finger on.

Then, you were fresh out of the bath, lying in bed, imagining where else those hands could go. It wasn’t something you made a habit of; it was bad enough that you thought about him nonstop during the daylight hours, at work, nonetheless. The last thing you wanted was for your…infatuation with your attending to reach a level you couldn’t handle. But as your hand slid down your body, the only thing you could think of was how Robby’s large hands would feel on you, how hard he’d grip your thighs, or how big they’d look on your breasts, and especially how they would look between your thighs. You threw your head back as you pictured it, circling your clit with a soft moan. Your breath came out in short pants as you imagined just how full two of his fingers would make you feel, or how his larger frame would loom over you. You rubbed faster and slipped a finger inside yourself, gasping as you thought about how deep his voice would get, and how deep he'd bury himself inside of you when he finally sank inside your velvet heat. You cried out into your empty apartment, the thought of Robby’s large hands roaming your body and the deep rasp of his voice as he praised you just enough to send you over the edge. You didn’t make a habit of it, but sometimes the temptation was too great to ignore.

The next time, you didn’t think anything of it. It was weeks later, the ED was at a lull, and you had been catching up on charting, your fingers practically dancing over the computer keys. Every once in a while, you would look down and scribble a note into your small notebook. Eventually, your pen stopped working and wouldn't work again, despite your scribbling in the margins. “Dana, can you toss me a pen?” you asked the older woman. Engrossed in her own charting, she had replied absentmindedly, “Yeah, just give me one sec.” 

Robby, who had been leaning against the nurse's station, piped up. “Here, take mine, I have more in my locker,” he said. When you hesitated (pens were personal around the ED), Robby had taken his pen out of his scrub top pocket and physically put it in your hand, letting his hand linger momentarily, all while staring you in the eyes. You glanced down at your lap, uncommonly shy, and when you glanced up, he had still been staring at you, a look in his big eyes that tugged at your heart. You ripped your eyes away, cheeks pink, but before your thoughts could stray too far into not-safe-for-work thoughts, the ambulance bay had opened, and a seizing patient was wheeled in. Robby had tossed a glance at you, and before you blinked, the two of you were over to the woman, going through the checklist to stop the seizing. 

The time after that, your suspicions were confirmed. It had been six p.m., two hours before you were both scheduled to be off, which meant at least two hours before you actually went home. You had a massive headache and knew you were dehydrated. Your monogrammed cup had long been left behind at a different station, and you had just been ready to go home and crawl into bed. 

“You look like you need this,” Robby had said, materializing out of thin air, your cup in his hand. 

“Jesus,” you said, throwing your hand over your heart. “If you do that again, you may be down a resident,” you joked tiredly. 

Robby had laughed, and your cheeks heated up. You liked it when he laughed, and enjoyed it even more when it was you causing it. “Well, I’ll be more careful next time, I definitely can’t afford to lose the staff I have, especially one of my best residents,” he said, the corner of his mouth tipping up.

“I’d be careful, praise like that could go to my head and inflate my ego,” you quipped. 

Robby tilted his head to the right thoughtfully, slowly reaching out with his long fingers to touch the inside of your knee. You had swallowed heavily, your eyes never leaving his as his fingers stayed there for three long seconds, and then another, and another. “Maybe it should, you deserve every bit you get,” he said honestly. 

You swallowed hard, your cheeks heating up once again, and you watched as his eyes tracked the movement of your throat. He moved half an inch closer, and you nearly gasped when his whole hand enveloped your knee. You had stared up at him, water long forgotten, but then you were ripped out of your reverie by Trinity yelling across the ED for Robby. Robby’s hand had fallen away like something had burned him, but the look he threw over his shoulder was enough to make your cheeks heat up again. 

By somewhere around the eleventh time, and many months later, you had started to play along and would intentionally seek out his touch. You’d pass by him, ghosting your fingers over his hip, or brush your fingers over his when you passed him something in the break room on the rare chances you got to eat. Occasionally, you would be brave and place your smaller hand on his if he stayed still long enough and no one was paying attention. The most memorable occasion happened on a cloudy day in June, after you had worn his patience thin. 

You had been sassing him all day, bantering back and forth like always. At one point, though, he must have gotten tired of it and snipped at you. You had been surprised, but didn’t let it outwardly show. This thing between you may have grown, but you were still first and foremost a professional. So, you finished what you had been doing, swiftly threw your gloves away, sarcastically patted his shoulder, and walked out of the room without a second glance. 

Later, after he had finished with that patient, he found you tucked in a corner at a portable workstation. You had been pretending to work for the better part of twenty minutes, glancing at him across the room, when you worked up the nerve. You had jumped slightly at the touch of his hand against your hip, and he made a soft sound of reassurance. He pretended to look over your shoulder, like he was consulting on what you had been working on. 

“Did I upset you?” he had asked, his voice hushed but earnest. You didn’t immediately respond, body tense. You were upset but didn’t want him to know it immediately. Some groveling would do him good. He leaned closer. “I know you hear me, I can practically feel your pulse through your scrubs,” he had commented, squeezing your hip gently. 

You had shaken your head. “No, I’m fine,” you said curtly. You knew it was ridiculous to be upset about something as small as Robby getting pissy at you. Robby snapped at most people at some point throughout the day; you just happened to have drawn the short stick for the day. 

“I know you better than that by now, whether you realize it or not. I see the way you look at me; look at my hands,” he had said, giving another slight squeeze to get his point across before continuing. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I’ll try not to let it happen again,” he assured you. Your spine was ramrod straight, and you had felt the tension radiating from him behind you. He went to pull his hand away, and you could see his panicked, shuddered expression from the corner of your eye. Before he could pull away, you had reached behind you and wrapped your small fingers around his wrist, keeping it in place.

You slowly let your body relax, the thought of him entirely pulling away from you more than enough to encourage your mind to slow down. “You didn’t read this wrong,” you had assured, already aware of where his brain went. 

“I didn’t,” he asked, voice small. “Because you can tell me to fuck off right now and I swear to god I’ll never touch you again,” he swore. 

“No,” you said, dropping your hand as someone walked by, “you didn’t,” you finished. 

“Good.”

Robby had wrapped his long fingers around the curve of your hip, squeezed with his whole hand, pulled away, and walked off, his calm exterior back in place like he had never lost it. 

After that, it turned into a game: How many times could you get his hands on you in one shift without it being glaringly obvious? It turns out there were quite a few; you just had to be more subtle about it. But, much to your frustration, it never evolved into anything more than the brief touches. You were wary of making a firmer move, even though you had somewhat of a confirmation that Robby felt something for you, he was still your superior. Over the months his eyes had gotten softer towards you, but he still had a guarded aura around him, like he was afraid you would change your mind and tell him to fuck off at any moment. You had no intention of doing that, but your frustration was starting to reach its peak. 

When your best friend, Dr. Samira Mohan, slid up next to you, you had been looking up at the board, scanning for a new case, and occasionally glancing at Robby across the room. “So, has that happened yet?” she said casually.

Your eyes had instantly snapped away from Robby to glance at her, and your cheeks heated when she raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow at you. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” you hummed.

She smirked, and you glanced across the room reflexively, just to find Robby already staring at you. You forced yourself to turn towards Samira, whose smirk had grown. “So?” 

“No. Apparently, he’s determined to drive me insane,” you sighed. 

“You should be straightforward. Invite him out for drinks, or if you’re feeling saucy, just invite him back to your place,” Samira had said, shrugging. 

It was your turn to smirk. “Is that how you got Abbot?” you asked slyly. 

Her cheeks had pinked, but she smiled. “That is exactly how I got Abbot,” she responded. 

“Robby is a bit different than Abbot, in lots of ways. I think he’s a bit worried I’ll change my mind, which is ridiculous because we haven't even done anything for me to change my mind about,” you grumbled. 

“Dr. Robby is more reserved, maybe, but he’s still a man. I would just use that, bend over in front of him, or something,” she had said, eyes focused on the board. 

You laughed. Samira was nothing but direct. It was something that you appreciated about her. “I think I’ll wait just a bit longer, I’m sure I’ll think of something, or who knows, maybe he’ll surprise me,” you said. 

Samira had looked doubtful about your approach, but your conversation was cut short when Robby called her to assist with a patient. 

It all came to a head exactly a month after your conversation with Samira, and four days before you, half the residents, a handful of interns, and most of the attendings were due to be in Boston for a fundraiser gala. 

All the months of touching, of longing for Robby’s hands on you, led to now. 

“Sir, I’m going to need you to calm down,” you said firmly, attempting to shine your pen light into the man’s eyes. 

“I’m not calming down, you need to calm down,” your patient jerked away as he shouted, slurring his words. 

He was drunk, so much so that his buddies decided to drop him off outside the ambulance bay, unconscious, for Dana to find on a smoke break.   

Now, he was wide awake, and pissed. 

“Are you in any pain…” you asked, glancing at his chart, “Mr. Wade?”

“No,” he snapped, rubbing at his arms aggressively. “Get these fucking bugs off me,” he complained loudly, scratching at his arms.

“Bugs?” You said, slightly alarmed. The last thing you needed this week was another lice treatment. It was only Wednesday, and once was enough. You glanced down, but his arms were bug-free, and a quick glance at the rest of him told you so was the rest of his body. 

“Yeah, bugs! Jesus fuck lady use your eyes,” he said agressivly, now scratching at his arms so hard blood was starting to appear from unhealed scabs. 

“Perlah, get me fifty of Benadryl and two of Lorazepam,” you called to the Filipino nurse. Alcohol induuced hallucinations were common, especially the closer it got to summer. 

“On it,” she said, walking away. 

“Okay, sir, I am so sorry about those bugs. I’m going to get something to help you calm down and take care of the bugs,” you said, trying to soothe the larger man. 

“I told you, I am fucking calm,” Mr. Wade yelled, attemptig to rise from the gurney. 

You placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to ease him back down, but that made him angrier. “Get your hands off me dammit, fuck, they are everywhere,” he exclaimed, now wobily standing on his feet. You heard Perlah’s tennis shoes across the room, and a quick yell for security. 

“Sir, please sit back, do-” 

The larger man cut you off by screaming. “Get them off! Get them off! 

“Sir, I’m just trying-” Once again, he cut you off, only this time, he used his weight against you, and pushed into you. 

The world went sideways, and you felt the thunk of your head against the linoleum. You had just enough time to cry out in pain before Robby was above you, cradling your head in his hands. 

“Don't move,” he said, voice uncharacteristically soft. 

“It hurts,” you groaned.

“I need Neuro down here, and order an MRI, no contrast,” Robby barked. You heard the shuffling of feet and Mr. Wade being hauled away. 

“How bad does it hurt, one to ten?” Robby asked, shifting so that your head was cradled in his lap. 

“Three,” you said, grimacing. 

“Don’t bullshit me right now,” Robby said seriously, a shadow passing over his face. 

“Five, final answer,” you groaned again. 

“Okay, okay, we can work with a five, he said, running his hand over the crown of your head. His lips twitched when you pushed your head further into his hand. “Any blurry vision or spotting?” He asked. 

“No, Dr. Robby,” you told him, cheeks heating up. He looked at you like you were going to disappear, and you could see the desperation lurking in his deep brown eyes. 

“Robby, they are here to take her up to the MRI,” Dana said, resting a hand on the older man’s shoulder. 

Robby closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Okay, come on, sweetheart, I’ll be here when you get back,” he said gently, helping you up off the floor into a wheelchair. 

Your heart fluttered at the nickname. Inconspicuous touching was one thing, but him calling you a term of endearment in front of other people was entirely different.

“I can walk, I’m fine,” you tried to assure your attending. 

Robby shook his head. “Nope, you fell and hit your head for Christ’s sake, you could have a concussion. Sit your ass down, and we’ll talk when your neuro work up and MRI is done,” he said, placing a hand on his hip. 

You sighed and let the medical assistant wheel you away. You knew a losing battle when you saw one. 

Later, after being cleared by neuro and being assured that you did not have a concussion, you walked back into the ED.

Samira found you first. “Well, I said get his attention, but I didn’t think you'd go that big,” she laughed and nudged your shoulder with hers. 

You giggled and rolled your eyes. “I can promise that was not the plan, but I guess it worked,” you told her.

“Oh yeah, it worked for sure,” she said, nodding in the direction Robby was approaching. You sucked a breath in at the instense look on his handsome face. “Good luck,” Samira sang before walking away. 

“You didn’t come and get me,” Robby stated as he stopped before you. 

“I’m fine, no concussion. Neuro even said I could stay for the rest of my shift,” you told him. 

He made a sound of disbelief. “Absolutely not,” he said. 

You ground your teeth together. You should have guessed he’d be this way. The way he had looked at you when he held your head in his hands…something changed for him. You could see it in his expression now. 

“Neuro said-” He held a hand up.

“I don't care what Neuro said; I’m your attending, and you need rest,” he said. 

“Is that your professional opinion?” you asked tersely. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, took his glasses off, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I mean it, go home, and don’t come back tomorrow. I’ll see you Friday when we fly to Boston,” he said, eyes burning.

“Dr. Robby,” you said, attempting to regain control of the conversation. 

“Home,” he said, voice raised. 

Your whole body was tense, even when he deflated and reached out to touch your elbow gently. “Please, go home. Rest, it’s going to be a long weekend,” he told you, rubbing gentle circles into your elbow. 

It took everything you had to pull away from him. You snatched your arm to your body, and his eyes widened. “Hey, I-”

“I’ll see you Friday, Dr. Robby,” you told him before walking away. 

You drove home in silence, and once home, you mechanically removed your scrubs, showered, and crawled into bed. It wasn't even six. You fell face forward into your pillow and screamed. Damn Robby and his big brown eyes. You knew he sent you home because he cared, but it still upset you. You really were fine. Really. You only closed your eyes because your pillow was so soft. 

Hours later, your doorbell ringing woke you up. You blinked awake and slipped on your slippers. The doorbell rang again. “I’m coming,” you called. Door-to-door salesmen were the worst in your neighborhood. 

“I’m not interested in what-” Your mouth snapped shut when you saw Robby standing on your porch, a bag of takeout in his hand. 

“Dr. Robby,” you said primly. 

“Sweetheart,” he said gently, eyes fond. 

“Oh, we are back to sweetheart?” you asked. 

Robby grimaced. “I was an ass, but god honey, you scared the hell out me,” he told you, eyes shining. 

You felt the tension bleed out of you. “At least you see me now,” you joked weakly. 

Robby shook his head. “I’ve always seen you. Always. I-” he cut himself off, pinching his nose in frustration. I got you some food, it's just some soup, but you didn’t eat anything today, so…” he trailed off, offering you the bag.

Your stomach flipped at his observation. “Do you want to come in?” you asked hesitantly. 

Robby shook his head jerkily. “No, I shouldn’t, can’t actually, I uh, I have to get home, but I’ll see you Friday,” he said, stepping back. 

“Oh. Okay, um. Bye,” you said, closing the door as he turned away. 

Once inside, you opened the food container to find warm matzo ball soup. You smiled and brought it into your room to eat. After you ate, it didn’t take long for you to fall back asleep, a smile on your face. 

The next day passed in a blur, as you used the unexpected day off to run errands. You picked up your two formal dresses early, made a last-minute hair appointment, and even had time to get your nails done. By the time you got home, you were exhausted. You might not have had a concussion, but the excitement of the previous day, plus the anticipation of Robby seeing you in your gowns, was enough to have you going to bed early.

Friday came early. Your phone rang on your bedside table, and you blindly picked it up. “You're packed and ready, right?” Samira questioned. 

“Samira, it is,” you checked the time, “it is seven A.M. Our flight isn’t until one,” you groaned.

“Right, but I wanted to check on you,” your friend told you.

You smiled. “I’m okay. Robby came by after he got off yesterday and brought me food,” you told her. 

“Oh my god, shut up,” Samira responded.

“Yeah, don’t get any funny ideas, though. He didn’t stay,” you said. 

“Oh, I’m not worried. I know what your dresses look like, he doesn’t,” she said confidently.

You laughed. You and Samira had gone shopping almost immediately after getting your invitations to the gala. 

“If you wait until Saturday night, I’ll split the pool with you,” she said kindly. 

“The pool,” you exclaimed, laughing. 

“Oh yeah, did I not tell you? It's up to about five hundred dollars,” she explained. 

“Oh my god, who has bets in?” you wondered, still giggling. You genuinely thought you and Robby had been better at hiding whatever was happening between you. 

“Like, everyone. Trinity bet on tomorrow, in the bathroom. I think Jack bet on tonight, but on the balcony or something like that,” Samira said gleefully. 

“Abbot bet,” you gasped in between giggles. 

“Oh yeah, he was the one who created it,” she told you. You heard murmuring in the background of the call. “He says no pressure, by the way,” she informed. 

“I’m hanging up now, I’ll see you both in a few hours, you responded. 

After arriving at the airport, you slid onto a bar stool and ordered a drink while waiting for boarding. 

“Nervous flyer?” Robby asked, sliding onto the stool beside you. 

Your heart rate spiked, glancing at his fingers as he flagged down a waiter. 

“Scotch, neat,” he told the man. 

It had only been two days since you had seen him, but you had missed him. Robby glanced at you, and your cheeks heated at being caught watching him.

“No, I thought I’d just wind down a bit, it’s going to be a long weekend, after all,” you said, echoing his earlier words. 

“Ah, not a bad choice,” he responded, bringing his glass to his lips. 

“What about you, Dr. Robby, are you a nervous flyer?” you asked, looking into his eyes as you sipped your drink. 

The older man shook his head. “No, not at all. But I think you can call me Robby now, sweetheart. After all these months seeing you watch my hands the way you do, I have a strong hunch it’s what you call me in that pretty head of yours anyway,” he said casually, taking another sip of his scotch. 

You sucked a sharp breath in and he smirked. “Well then, Robby, I’ll see you on the plane,” you said, tossing the rest of the drink back as Samira and Abbot approached. 

“Just the person I wanted to see,” you told your friend, reaching out to link your arm with hers. “I have to use the ladies' room,” you said, looking Samira in the eyes. 

Her eyes sparkled, glancing from your face to Robby’s. “Oh, perfect, me too, we’ll see you guys later,” she said, steering you away from the older men.

“Oh my god, Mira, he’s trying to drive me insane,” you gasped the second the two of you stepped into the ladies' room. 

She giggled. “Hopefully, Jack will talk some sense into him,” she said, looking into the large mirror to fix a stray hair.

“God, I can only hope so, because I’m telling you, he started this thing, he can finish it,” you said. 

“Oh, it will be finished,” your friend paused to wiggle her eyebrows, “by the end of the weekend, of that I’m sure. Like I said, I know what those dresses look like,” she said. 

You rolled your eyes and grabbed her hand. “Come on, I think it’s almost time to board,” you said, dragging her out of the restroom.

You noticed Robby had an empty seat beside him as you boarded, but you just brushed your hand on his shoulder as you passed. You and Samira went for two empty seats a few rows ahead. The two hours passed quickly. It had been a while since you and Samira had uninterrupted time to talk, and it was nice to catch up with her. You didn’t see Robby again until you arrived at the hotel. He was just putting his key card into his door slot when you got off the elevator. He paused and watched as you rolled your suitcase down the hallway, stopping a few doors from where he stood. 

He watched you for a moment, multiple emotions flitting across his face as you stood there and stared back.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, Robby,” you said, slipping inside your room. 

You sighed happily as you walked in. The hospital was too cheap to hire more nurses, but obviously not too cheap to put all the doctors in a nice hotel. You carefully unpacked your things and hung up your two evening dresses in the closet. 

You laid on the bed, sighing as the cool sheets touch your skin. You glanced at your watch, deciding that you had enough time for a quick bath. 

You had just wrapped a fluffy towel around your body when your phone lit up with a text from Samira letting you know she, Cassie, Trinity, and Mel were coming to your room to get ready. You had just enough time to slip into your robe before a loud knock sounded on your door. You opened the door, and all four women filtered in, their intermingling conversations filling the ample space in your room. 

“Okay!” Samira clapped. “We have two and a half hours to get ready. I,” she paused, pointing to her travel makeup case, “will be in charge of makeup, Cassie is in charge of hair, Trinity is in charge of the tunes, and Mel will assist with hair,”  she finished. 

“And me,” you asked your best friend. 

“You, my gorgeous friend, are in charge of raiding the minibar. If the hospital is dumb enough to pay for a bunch of stressed-out doctors to relax for a weekend, that’s on them,” Samira said, shrugging. 

Cassie laughed. “We are here to bag donors, actually,” she said. 

Samira waved her hand. “Samantics,” she said as she opened up her makeup case. 

Trinity turned the music on, and Cassie got her hair tools plugged in.

You turned to the mini bar, and felt Mel come up next to you. “Do they have juice in there? I don’t really drink,” she explained. 

You smiled and pulled out a bottle of sparkling grape juice. “Even better,” you told her. She smiled, and you smiled back.

“Do you think you could do my hair in a twist?” you asked as you poured the drinks. 

“Oh, definitely, I can do most basic styles, my sister loves it when I play with her hair, so I have learned all sorts of tricks,” Mel explained as she sipped her drink. 

“I love that,” you told Mel. 

Two hours quickly passed, and you thought the five of you looked radiant by the time jewelry was being put on. 

Trinity was wearing a red, tight fitting dress with a corset top and a small slit in the bottom, Mel was wearing a soft lilac colored dress that had small sleeves, and she had curled her hair. Cassie had straightened her hair and was wearing a deep emerald floor-length gown with a tasteful cut-out in the back. Samira’s dress was a deep, jewel-toned purple with a bust that went straight across. 

You stepped out of the bathroom, and Trinity whistled. You were wearing a deep navy, floor-length gown. It had a deep neckline, and it fit you perfectly.  “Damn, is it too late to change my bet,” Trinity wondered. 

“Yes!” Cassie said emphatically. 

You glanced at the older woman, and she shrugged. “It is,” she said. 

“Mel, did you bet?” you asked, giggling.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But I think Frank did. Oh, I was going to meet him downstairs to look at the garden,” she said, grabbing her bag. 

“I actually brought Mateo as my plus one, and he’s waiting in our room,” Cassie confessed. 

The other two women made similar comments, Trinity saying that she wanted to find Yolanda, and Samira saying she wanted to ‘show Jack something’ before they went downstairs. Your friends trailed out of your room, and Samira turned to face you, the door propped open with her black heel. “You gonna be okay? I can go find Robby and smack some sense into him, bets be damned,” she said, eyes sparkling.

“No, I’m going to go ahead and head to the ballroom. I think I need something to calm my nerves, just a bit,” you laughed.

Samira nodded and paused, looking you in the eye. “You’re going to knock him dead,” she assured you before letting the door shut behind her. 

You smiled and turned to look at the floor-length mirror against the wall, smoothing over your dress once more before walking out the door, your wristlet tucked under your arm. 

“Fuck,” you heard. 

You turned to find Robby staring at you. Even a few feet away, you could see how his eyes darkened. He was wearing a simple, fitted black suit that hugged him in all the right ways. 

You smiled and made your way to the elevator, Robby close behind you. You pressed the ballroom button, and Robby stood next to you. “You look, fuck, you look gorgeous, sweetheart,” the older man rasped, hand rubbing as his flushed neck. 

You tracked the movement of his hand with your eyes, and he smirked just as the elevator doors opened. You both stepped into the empty elevator, standing side by side, and you watched his expression in the mirrored walls as you reached your pinky out just enough to trace over his larger one. 

Robby made a slight noise in his throat before surprising you by grabbing your hand and threading his fingers through yours, his grip firm. “You have no idea, no idea, how much self-control it is taking for me not to press you up against the wall of this elevator,” the older man said, eyes staring into your soul through your reflection. 

You sucked a breath in, pulse fluttering wildly as you stared at your intwined hands. His hand practically swallowed yours. 

“I read an article once that said letting yourself lose control in a contained environment can be good for self-development.” 

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days? Self-development?” he asked, eyebrow raised. 

Your cheeks heated up. “It’s a real article, I could send it to you sometime,” you said, aiming for casual. You rubbed your thumb against the taller man’s hand, and he made a low sound. 

Before he could respond, the elevator opened. You both stepped out, hands still intertwined. He glanced at you. His jaw was clenched, and he was looking at you like he wanted to eat you. He took a deep breath, dropped your hand, and walked away, but not before you noticed the slight tremble in his hands. 

Later, after multiple flutes of champagne and more schmoozing than you had anticipated, a younger donor approached you. He looked younger than Robby, though not by much, and had kind eyes. “Would you like to dance?” he asked. 

Your eyes scanned the room, and when you didn’t spot a particular doctor to come to rescue, you smiled and accepted the stranger’s outstretched hand. “I’d love to,” you told him. 

He kept his hands in the appropriate spots, and you talked as you danced. He told you he was from the area, that he was an attending, and that he specialized in cardiac surgery. In return, you told him your hometown, that you were a third-year resident, and that you planned on specializing in emergency medicine. 

Pleasant conversation flowed until the song ended, and then you excused yourself to get a glass of water. Samira found you at one of the small tables in the room. “I don’t know what you did, but Robby looks like he’s about to lose it,” she said conspiratorially. 

“Huh? I thought he went back up to his room. I haven’t seen him in an hour,” you told your friend. 

She shook her head. “Nope. He’s been down here the whole time, see,” she said, pointing over to a shadowy corner where Robby was talking to an older woman in a mauve dress. 

You looked over and felt your knees go weak at the way he was looking at you. His eyes glinted in the ballroom's low light, and his jaw was clenched. His hands were balled into loose fists, and you could see them twitching occasionally. 

“I danced with a potential donor, but it was all very PG,” you assured your friend when you saw the look on her face. 

“Well, I guess that was enough to make the green monster come alive in Robby. Look alive,” she said before slipping away. Just as the live band was getting ready to play a new song, you looked up and saw Robby making his way across the room. 

It was the second to last song of the night, and Robby practically swept you into his arms. “Dance with me,” he demanded, voice low. You nodded rapidly and let your hands fall into position just as he wrapped a firm hand around your waist. “Having fun,” the older man asked, voice laced with double meaning. 

You ignored his jealousy and fluttered your eyelashes at him. “I am, Robby, are you?” you asked innocently. 

“Oh yeah, lots. Meeting up with old acquaintances, enjoying the free champagne, watching you look for me while another man’s hands were on you, all hallmarks of a great evening,” he said. 

“I thought you left, but I’m glad you didn’t,” you confessed, squeezing his hand lightly. Some of the fire in his eyes died down at your confession. 

“I wouldn’t have left without telling you, sweetheart,” the older man said as he spun you around. 

“Good, I was hoping to get at least one dance out of you before the night was over,” you admitted. 

“Do my hands feel better than his?” Robby asked as he squeezed your hip. 

“Robby,” you gasped as he pulled you closer. 

“Answer me, sweetheart,” he told you. 

“Yes, a thousand times better, I only ever want your hands on me,” you groaned. 

“Damn straight,” he said before pulling you in for a kiss. 

You gasped, and he gripped you harder, letting his big hands fan over your hips. 

He seemed to possess you, mind, body, and spirit, and you let out a tiny moan when he pulled away.

“I know our friends are going to a bar, but I suggest you go up to bed and go to sleep for the night, because the second you step out of this ballroom, there is a very strong possibility that I won’t be able to control myself,” he growled. 

Your breath came out quicker, and you let yourself lean into him. “What if I don’t want you to control yourself?” you asked, voice low. 

He shook his head. “Because I promised Gloria two full nights of ass kissing, and God only knows we need whatever resources she is going to send the ED’s way if I fulfill that promise,” he explained, eyes never leaving yours. 

“Well then, in that case,” you said, pulling away, “ I’ll just take care of myself.”

Before you could entirely pull away, he pulled you flush against him, and you could feel the outline of him pressed against your hip. “You just love testing my patience, don’t you?” he groaned into your hair. 

“It’s quickly becoming one of my favorite pastimes, yes,” you quipped. He groaned again and pressed a single kiss to the space below your ear. 

“Go, sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, releasing you. 

You grabbed his hand, placed a chaste kiss on his palm, and walked away. 

When you got to your room, you fell back on the plush bed and squealed. “Holy shit,” you said into the empty room. It took way less time to undo the evening's preparation than it did to do them, and soon you slipped under the cool sheets. You knew you’d be too wound up to sleep, but it didn’t hurt to try. Right before you closed your eyes, you pulled your phone out and sent Robby the article you had referred to earlier in the night, in the elevator. 

The next morning, it was your turn to wake Samira up. 

“Wha?” She mumbled. 

“Good morning to you, too!” You laughed. 

“Too early,” she complained. 

“What, did Abbot keep you up all night?” you asked. 

“Something like that. I made him come twice last night,” she said, voice smug. 

“She did not need to know that,” you heard Abbot complain. 

“That’s actually pretty impressive, on account of him being an old man,” you teased. 

You heard him mumble something. “He said, just wait, you’ll understand,” she giggled. 

Your face heated up just thinking about Robby. “The girls want to go shopping,” you told her, attempting to change the subject. 

“Don’t think you are out of talking about whatever happened last night. I can be ready in fifteen,” she told you. 

Later, after a nice breakfast and a pit stop at a cute coffee house, the five of you wandered around the shopping district. 

“Jack told me about a lingerie shop I wanted to stop by. It’s supposedly higher-end stuff, but well worth it,” Samira said, switching her armful of bags to her other arm. 

“I could use some new panties,” Mel agreed. 

Trinity made a face. “Mel, you know I love you, but please just say underwear,” she said. 

“Panties is not a bad word,” Mel responded, glancing at Trinity when the younger woman made another face. 

“I think that sounds great, it’s been a while since I’ve splurged on myself,” Cassie interjected. 

“And you need something for Robby,” Samira said, pointing the group in the right direction. 

“You guys are horrible,” you said, a smile on your face. “I don't even know if anything is going to happen,” you said, trying to tamp down the excitement of the thought of Robby seeing you undressed. 

“Please, we all saw that kiss last night,” Trinity said, sipping her iced coffee. 

“It was a nice kiss,” Mel said kindly. 

“It was a nice kiss, thank you, Mel. And it was just a kiss,” you told your friend ass you walked into the small shop. 

“I’ll believe that only if the pool goes uncollected,” Samira said seriously. 

“Hello ladies,” the shop attendant said, smiling. “Are you looking for anything in particular?” she asked. 

“Yes!” Cassie said. “Our friend here needs something that will blow her man's mind. Her older man,” she emphasized. 

“I see,” the woman said brightly. 

“I just want something nice,” you shrugged, cheeks warm from your friend’s encouragement. “My dress is a deep wine color, if that helps,” you supplied. 

“It does, I have a few sets in mind. Ladies, my associate Angela will help you while I help your friend here,” the woman said. 

Thirty minutes later, you stepped out of the secluded changing room, cheeks pink as your friends whistled at you. There was no such thing as modesty with ER doctors. A jet black teddy clung to your body, with a single thin ribbon settled between your cheeks. 

“Girl, if you don't buy that and send that man a picture, I’m going to do it for you,” Trinity threatened. 

“You could always send him that one, but buy a different one to surprise him,” Mel suggested. 

“Ooh, send him three different ones, so then it’s really a surprise,” Cassie said, sipping her coffee. 

“Oh, that’s good too,” Mel agreed, nodding. 

Samira held out the next set for you to try on with a smirk. 

“That might give him a heart attack before I get to kiss him again,” you joked as you slipped the teddy off behind the curtain. (but not before taking a picture).

“He’s surrounded by doctors,” he’ll be fine,” Cassie said, giggling. 

You stepped back out, feeling more confident as your friends cheered. You wore a sheer, white lace suit with matching thigh highs and garters attached.

“Oh, that one is beautiful,” Mel said, her cheeks matching yours. 

“If that doesn’t make him lose his mind, I don't know what will,” Trinity agreed.

“One more,” Samira sang, dangling the hanger at you. 

You snapped a nice picture before shimmying into the next one, a deep red slip that had lace detailing on the breasts and a slit through the delicate chiffon. 

“That one is great, but it’s up to you,” Samira said. 

You nodded and slipped back into the booth to snap a quick picture and change back into your clothes.

“We have enough time to get lunch before we head back to get ready,” Mel pointed out as the five of you walked out of the shop, arms even more weighed down with bags. 

“Good, I’m starving,” Trinity said, groaning. 

You: Attachment: three photos

You watched as the three bubbles appeared and then disappeared. 

Samira laughed at her phone from across the table. “Jack said he dropped his phone,” she said.

You smiled. 

Robby: What the fuck is that

You: I tried a few things on, do you not like them?

The bubbles appeared and then disappeared. Then, repeated the process. 

 Robby’s name flashed across your screen a few seconds later, signaling a call. 

“Shit, he’s calling,” you said, standing up. 

“Go! You better answer that thing,” Cassie told you with a grin.

You rushed to the bathroom and stuffed yourself in a stall before hitting the answer button. 

“Hello?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Sweetheart,” Robby groaned. 

“Hi,” you said softly. 

“Hi? That’s all I get after you show me how pretty you are all wrapped up in lace,” he asked. 

You laughed, but he continued. “You wear one of those tonight, and I guarantee my hand will end up making a necklace around your throat,” he growled.

“Robby,” you gasped, a flash of heat going through you at his words. 

“Babygirl, I can promise you, when I get my hands on you tonight, they aren’t leaving your body until you are begging me to stop,” he promised darkly. 

“Oh my god,” you whimpered. 

“Now, back to lunch. I’m going to take care of a little problem that you created. I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart,” he said before hanging up. 

You cursed and let your head fall back against the stall. How did a few innocent touches end up with your attending spewing filth at you over the phone? You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You sighed and rubbed your thighs together briefly before returning to your friends.

Hours later, after going through the hair and makeup process once again, the five of you were ready. Mel had already left to find Langdon and looked beautiful in her soft pink, floor-length halter dress. Cassie had left not long after, her long black dress trailing after her. 

Samira was putting the finishing touches on your makeup as Trinity quickly straightened her hair. 

“I know we have been teasing,” your best friend started, brushing lipstick over your lips. “But whatever happens, or doesn’t, it’s clear to everyone that Robby cares for you,” she said, pulling back. She looked radiant in a light green mermaid dress. Jack Abbot was a lucky man. 

“True,” Trinity agreed. “Even though I’m salty about not winning, you guys are obviously over the moon about each other,” she said, setting the straightener down. She stunned in a royal blue dress with a slit in the side, very similar to her dress the night before.

You checked yourself over one last time, fixing a stray hair as you looked over your wine-red gown. It had a soft neckline and a slit in the thigh. 

“Should we walk down together? I think the attendings are already down there,” Samira said as she grabbed her purse off the bed.

“Absolutely, " you said, taking hold of Trinity’s hand. The younger girl smiled and rolled her eyes fondly. 

Once in the ballroom, Trinity made a beeline for Yolanda, while you and Samira went to the open bar. 

“Two glasses of Merlot,” you told the bartender. 

“You think I might have to give Jack mouth-to-mouth when he sees the thong I bought?” your friend said, smirking into her wine glass. 

“It’s in the realm of possibility,” you laughed as you searched the large room for Robby. You spotted him before he spotted you. He and Abbot were both in deep conversation with a group of donors, and you admired how animated he was. He was laughing and waving his hand in the air, clearly in the middle of a story. 

You sipped your wine as you watched him, and then, as if sensing your eyes on him, he looked up. He stopped midsentence before catching himself and resuming his conversation, glancing at you occasionally as he spoke. 

An older woman approached you, and you lost track of Robby as you talked. The music started, and you were pulled into a dance with a much older gentleman, whom you delighted with stories from the ER. The night went on much the same, and you kept a genuine smile on your face as you talked and danced with prospective donors. You were having fun at the hospital's expense, but securing the funding your department desperately needed was still important. You caught Robby’s eyes from across the room once more as he danced with a donor, who was obliviously chattering away at him while he stared at you. His eyes were heavy, and you could see the fire in them as he danced. 

You snatched a flute of champagne from a passing tray, mouth suddenly dry. 

The song ended, and you felt yourself going to him, as if drawn by a magnet. 

He caught you by the hips as you fell into him. 

“I’ve been watching you, sweetheart,” he murmured into your ear as the next slow song started. 

“Yeah?” You asked breathily. 

“I’ve been so damn hard all night, watching you be so good and talking to everyone, I’ve seen the way the others have been looking at you. Have you felt their eyes on you?” he asked as he dipped you. 

You whimpered at his praise. “No, I’ve only been watching you,” you confessed like a prayer. 

Robby’s mouth twitched, and he pulled you closer. “I can’t stop thinking about how wide your eyes are going to get when I finally get my hands on you,” he whispered roughly into your ear. 

You moaned softly, and he squeezed your hip. “I think it’s time for us to go, don’t you think?” he asked, eyes full of desire. 

You nodded your head as the music came to a stop. He grabbed your hand and practically swept you off your feet, leading the two of you to the bathrooms.

He crowded you into the empty bathroom, hands already squeezing your hips. 

“What about Gloria?” you asked with a gasp. 

“Fuck Gloria, Jack can handle the donors, he owes me one,” Robby said as he tangled his hand in hair. He gently pulled your neck back to attach his lips, and you groaned as he sucked a mark into the tender flesh. 

“Robby, please, don’t make me wait,” you begged. 

The older man moaned lowly and pressed himself against you, moaning again when his cock made contact with your hip. “I’m done waiting, sweetheart. Watching you tonight made me lightheaded, and I barely had a single sip of alcohol. Fuck,” he groaned, hand tugging at your hip, trying desperately to bring you closer.

“Please, I want to touch you,” you whined. 

“Not here,” he said, pulling away. You whined at the loss of contact, and he took your smaller hand in his. “The first time I get my mouth on you is not going to be in a bathroom, no matter how nice it is,” he said, pulling your body back against him. 

“Take me to bed, Dr. Robby,” you said, looking up at him.  

Robby shuddered. “That has no business being that sexy,” he said, sticking his head out of the bathroom, hand never leaving yours. 

“Come on, if I don't have you naked under me in the next ten minutes, I might not be able to be held responsible for what happens,” the older man said, tugging you along to the elevator.  

Once safely behind the elevator doors, Robby pressed you into the wall and gently peeled away the strap of your dress, revealing the white lace that lay underneath. 

“Goddamn babygirl, you’re trying to kill me,” he said, pulling your dress down further to wrap two think fingers around a nipple, causing you to cry out.  

“Robby!”

He pulled back to look into the eyes. “When I have my mouth on you, or you’re in my bed, it’s Michael. Let me hear you say my name, pretty girl,” he said, pinching. 

“Michael,” you groaned as he attached his mouth to your other nipple. 

“That’s it, let me hear you,” he encouraged against your skin. 

Just as you cried out, the elevator came to a halt, and Robby quickly covered you back up. You stepped out first and wrapped a finger around two of his thicker ones, leading him to his room. He fumbled for the key card before inserting it and shoving you inside the room, lips on yours. 

“I could kiss you for hours, sweet girl,” he moaned into your mouth. 

“Just kiss me?” You asked as you pulled his tie off. 

“I’m going to do more than kiss you, of that I can assure you,” he said darkly as he rid himself of his jacket and undershirt. 

“Turn around,” he murmured. You did as he said, and he slowly pulled the zipper down the back of the dress, his breaths coming out in harsh pants. Your dress fell to the floor, and just like that, his hands were finally on you. 

He ripped the panties right off your body, and you cried out in surprise. 

“Those were new,” you gasped as he pressed you against the bed.

“I’ll by you another set, shit, I’ll by you four,” he said as he attached his lips to your skin. 

“You want to know why I didn’t come in when I brought you dinner?” he asked, running his hands along your body. 

“Why,” You whimpered as he sucked a mark onto your breast. 

“Because I knew the second I got my hands on you, I’d never want to take them off,” he said, rubbing his beard against your sensitive skin. His hand went lower, and your fingers gripped his bare shoulders as he ghosted his fingers over your core. 

“I need, fuck, I need,” you whimpered as the older man ran his fingers along theoutside of your lips. 

“Tell me, tell me what you need, honey. I’ll give you anything you want,” Robby cooed against your lips as he stroked your core. 

“You, your fingers. Your fucking pants off,” you cried in frustration, tugging at the older man’s dress pants. He breifly pressed his thumb to your clit and you cursed as he pulled away, divesting himself of his pants, underwhere, and sock. 

He crawled back onto the bed and propped himself up so he was eye level with your pussy. 

“Fuck I can’t wait to taste you,” he groaned as he threw one of your egs over his shoulders. The very next second, his tongue was pressing into you. His big hands held you open as he tasted your slick. 

“Michael,” you gasped, hand flying to hold onto his hair. Robby groaned into you and slid one long finger into you. 

“You taste so fucking good honey, you’re doing so good for me,” he praised. 

“Fuck, fuck,” you screamed, arching into his mouth.

Before you could catch your breath, he slid another finger, causing you to moan at the stretch. 

“More,” you begged, pleading. 

“So fucking greedy for me,” he growled as he slid a third finger inside of you. “Come on, sweetheart, just give me one and I’ll give you what you want,” Robby said into your skin. He curved his fingers just right, and you arched off the bed, mouth shaped in an O as you silently screamed. 

His lips were instantly on yours, and you gasped into his mouth at the taste of yourself on his lips. 

“You’re doing so good for me, baby girl, you think you’re ready for me?” he asked, teasing his tip over your entrance. 

“I need it,” you panted, hair stuck to your forehead with sweat. 

He leaned down and kissed you one more time before pushing in as gently as he could.

“So big,” you gasped into his shoulder.

“Shh, just breathe, baby, you can take it,” he soothed. 

After what felt like forever, he bottomed out, and you gasped, walls fluttering. 

“Fuck, I need-” You felt his whole body twitch. “I need just a second,” he groaned. 

You whined and wiggled your hips. 

“Michael, please,” you begged, tears forming at your waterline. 

He cursed, and his hips reflexively twitched against yours.

“I’m not going to last if you keep doing that,” he warned. 

You clenched around him, and he huffed out a laugh before pulling almost all the way out, before quickly pressing back in.

“Fuck! Please, more. Michael, I need more,” you gasped as the tears fell. 

“Shh, I have you, baby, just let go and feel,” he said before setting a brutal pace. 

You cried out as the tip of his cock hit that spongey spot inside you. 

Robby didn’t let up, groaning when you scratched down his back. 

He pulled your leg up to rest against his hip, and you screamed at the change in angle. 

“I feel so full, oh my god,” you whimpered..

“You’re taking me so fucking well honey, fuck, you should see yourself. Next time I’m fucking you in front of the mirror so you can see how pretty you are when you fall apart,” Robby mumbled, almost to himself. 

“Michael, I’m close,” you gasped, clutching his arms. 

“I love you, fuck do I love you” he gasped, snapping his hips.

“Michael,” you said, eyes wide and full of emotion as you fell apart under him.

“Come on, sweetheart, come for me, let me feel you squeeze me,” he begged, eyes desperate. 

“I’m so close,” you whimpered. Robby leaned down, pressed his lips to yours, and gently wrapped his hand around your throat, applying just the slightest pressure. 

You saw white as your orgasm tore through you, and Robby groaned loudly, hips stilling as he spilled into you. The older man fell forward, landing next to you. You shivered, and he pulled you closer, arranging you so your head was on his chest. He wrapped his arm around you, and you relaxed into his embrace. You both lay there, catching your breath and basking in the afterglow. 

“Did you mean it?” you asked softly, some time later,

He turned to look at you, and you grimaced at the sticky feeling between your legs. 

“I did, and you don’t have to.”

“I love you, too,” you said, cutting him off with a kiss. 

He melted against you and pulled you closer. “I’m so glad,” he confessed against your lips. 

“Will you shower with me?” you asked, looking into his eyes.

“Of course, let’s get cleaned up, sweetheart,” he said, helping you stand, gently laughing when your legs didn’t hold you. 

“I have you, honey, come on,” he said before scooping you up into his strong arms. 

The next morning, as you and Robby boarded the plane, you made eye contact with Abbot and slightly nodded at him. He smirked and whispered to Samira, who stood up from her seat to loudly annouceto the plane, “Jack won the pool, suck it losers!”

Half the plane groaned while Robby simultaneously looked at you with confusion. “What pool? These fuckers bet on us?!”

[softtdaisy]

scars become stars / Aaron Hotchner

summary. when Hotch gets tired of hating his body, he calls you, the escort he questioned for his last case, to help him

words count. 2 975

what to expect. mention of Foyet's attack and allusion that it's a SA, mention of his scars, 18+ MDNI oral male receiving

a/n. thank you insomnia i wanted to write this story so bad I got to imagine it all in my head, this is so sad and hot like??? but I'm happy the way it turned out I think so here it is 🩷

Aaron Hotchner series masterlist | criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

“Room 509, 9 p.m.”

Your boss’ messages had always been very simple, almost cryptic. And it got worse after the FBI sent the BAU over for a case. One of the girls was missing, kidnapped by some psycho but thankfully saved by the team.

The past week had just been a reminder that what you were doing was far from being safe, no matter the amount of security measures your boss kept adding. But you also had to be as secret as possible to not get caught one day by one of these -hot- agents.

When you entered the lobby, nobody was there except for the guy at the reception. Not a surprise, it was one of the few hotels in town that was used for…professional meetings.

“He’s here.” Jason—was it Jason? Or maybe John?—said, handing you the key.

The process was always the same. The client arrived before, got the key, and went to the room to wait for you. It gave them a moment to think and leave before you arrived—you couldn’t imagine the number of men who freaked out before even seeing you. And then, it was your moment. Around ten minutes after them.

In the elevator, you played the same game every time. Trying to guess your client's appearance. His age, his ethnicity, his height, and sometimes his kinks when you were in the higher floors.

But tonight, nothing could have prepared you for what you saw.

“Agent Hotchner?”

There he was. The man that led the interrogation a few weeks ago. The very same man: dark hair, more messy than the last time, dark grey suit with the jacket resting on the bed, a white shirt underneath, and a navy blue tie with little dots still around his neck. Sitting on the bed, his large hands on his thighs and his head barely up, like he was insecure at your sight. That was the only changing point from your memory.

The agent Hotchner you met was far from being insecure. He was the man in the room. You remembered it perfectly. That type of confidence always did something to you.

“This isn’t a trap,” was the first thing he said. 

And when he finally looked at you, he added, “And you can call me Aaron.”

You laughed, very briefly. “What a reassuring first thing to say.” You sat next to him on the bed. The long coat you were wearing, one that hid the outfit you chose—a short black dress that wouldn’t be embarrassing in case you got a problem—opened on your legs. And you didn’t miss the way Hotch Aaron’s eyes went down on your body. At least, this seemed to confirm this wasn’t a trap and that man was indeed interested in you.

But he stayed in silence. His head was still facing the floor. Still playing with his hands. And he didn’t seem to care that you took this moment of peace to look at him, to analyze him. The mole on his cheek, the few hairs of his beard growing back, the little grey in his hair and beard, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, the dark circles under his eyes. 

You were so close that it felt almost unreal to look at Aaron Hotchner like that. He wasn’t the chief of the BAU right here, right now. He was a client, sure. But admiring him, he was a painting. A, obviously, very sad and broken painting.

“Listen,” you started. You sighed very briefly before bringing one of your hands on his. How little did it look on top of his. Your fingers could almost slip in between his fingers. “As much as I don’t mind being paid for doing nothing, would you like to tell me why we are here? In this room.”

Silence. Again.

Then Aaron got up and started walking in the room. It wasn’t an unusual habit. Most clients, especially when it was their first time, seemed to need this walk to accept what was happening. And well, a walk said a lot about someone. And there you could see the glimpse of the agent you’ve met. No matter how unsure he might be about the situation, his steps were confident. That was a man of power.

Then he turned to you. “Nothing will leave this room.” 

This wasn’t a question. This was an order, you guessed.

You moved your hands up. “Professional secret,” you replied with a smirk. You always found it funny that you were using the same excuse as lawyers, doctors, or therapists. 

Aaron nodded. But he kept his mouth shut, his lips tightened even to not say a thing. And so you got up too and walked to him, slowly. Almost like he was a deer in the headlights. “The moment you and I leave this room, I will forget everything that has happened here.”

You smiled as his eyes followed every movement of yours, from your walk to the way you stopped right in front of him. From the way you opened one single button of your coat to the way your hand moved to his arm. 

“Everything?” he asked.

“Well, almost everything,” you whispered, letting your fingers run all along his arm. “It’s hard to forget about a man like you, Agent Hotchner,” you emphasized in his name. Trying to make him understand that Aaron would stay in this room and only Hotch would stay in your mind after this. 

This seemed to convince him. After a last sigh, you heard him say, “I almost died two years ago.” 

This was clearly not what you expected.

Your hands slowly moved to his tie while he continued. “He stabbed me. Nine times.” You felt every word he said, almost like he was feeling the knife going under his skin again. You only kept one hand on his tie, undoing it, while the other rested on his chest to calm his heart—or at least tried.

“They healed,” he continued, looking at the way your fingers danced around the tissue of his tie. “But they’re still there. And I didn’t think about them much. After my ex-wife died, I couldn’t care less about what these wounds might make me look like.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmured while the tie fell on the floor in silence. Everything was very silent with Aaron. Even the little shrug he gave you to say it’s ok. It wasn’t. It won’t ever be. But it wasn’t the point of the night.

“But I went on a date two or three weeks ago.” You ignored the little pinching in your heart at the idea that a woman got to touch that man. Not his wife—you couldn’t be jealous of a wife, especially not a dead wife. But another woman. You shouldn’t even be jealous of a woman, actually. 

“Everything went well until the moment we went to her place. When she kissed me, I knew what was coming. And suddenly, the idea of showing… I can’t show this to anyone.” His voice fell low at the end of his sentence. There was his insecurity.

You undid the first button of his shirt. “What do you want me to do, Aaron?” This was a genuine question. One you had to ask every client. But this one felt…different. He wasn’t looking for a one-night fuck, for a night with a stranger to have fun and change his life. You could clearly see that Aaron needed something more from you. 

Something you weren’t sure you could give him, to be honest.

And when he stayed silent another time, you wondered if he had profiled you through this and knew you weren’t sure about this either. 

“Hey.” You moved your hand to his face, cupping his cheek, while your other hand was caressing the little triangle of skin from his chest you could access. “Again, I can live with being paid for doing nothing. But I refuse to get paid for forcing you to do something. This can stop right now, Aaron, if you…”

“Help me love myself again.” 

If he still sounded insecure, you noticed the little bossy tone in his voice. He asked, Yes. He ordered, somehow. But mostly, he begged for you to do something. 

“Ok,” you simply said when your fingers went down on the next button and the next one. Until you started to see the healed scars on his chest. Until you could actually count them. You had to stop midway, fighting the sickness of imagining what this man went through. You could see how down they were going, where they were leading you.

But that wasn’t the point. You could show Aaron how sad you felt about his body when your mission was to make him feel better.

So you put your thoughts away in a little bubble inside your head. A bubble that won’t explode until later when Aaron won’t be right in front of you.

Something you were used to doing depending on the client. Except this time it wasn’t about your own feelings, but to protect his.

Softly, your lips met the first scar in a gentle kiss that lasted seconds. You gave it another one while your hand was finishing unbuttoning the shirt. Soon you felt the tissue opening, and your fingers had all the space to travel on his skin when your mouth was going down on the second scar.

“It’s a shame this body isn’t loved properly,” you whispered, looking up at Aaron. Your lips were still on the second scars, your fingers drawing invisible shapes on his skin. You saw how his eyes were barely open, just like his mouth. Living the moment, immersing himself in the appreciation you were trying to give him. 

“Hmm” was all he was able to reply. But the way his hand slowly moved to your hair when you went further, meeting another scar. 

You followed the same process the whole way down every scar. Kissing one, caressing the skin around the past one to not hurt him or create an unpleasant feeling but to keep the appreciation alive even without your lips on it.

If Aaron wasn’t speaking, the little moan that kept escaping his mouth was the only approval you needed. And maybe the way his fingers were now tangled in your hair, pulling them from time to time, was a good indicator too.

But then there was only one scar left.

You knew; you counted them.

You knew; you could almost see it.

It was mostly hidden by his pants, and maybe that was the worst part. The story these scars were telling. The placement, the number, the last one. 

In any other situation, you wouldn’t have done that. Not when the client already gave his approval before—and in this case, more than once. But still, on your knees in front of Aaron, with his eyes closed, waiting for the following kiss, you couldn’t just continue like it was nothing.

“Are you still sure?” You asked him, your hand on the buckle of his belt. 

At first, he didn’t answer. He tilted his head back, enough to rest it against the wall. He moved his hand to rest it on yours. You thought he would move it away or maybe help you to unbuckle it. But his thumb caressed your hand.

“You can go on,” he whispered.

So you did. The belt was open, the zip undone, the pants on the floor, and the boxer just barely down so you could access the scars—the more you had to lower it, the more you felt sick.

But again, you didn’t show anything. Instead, your lips fell on the last remaining scars. The one waiting for you. The one that Aaron needed you to heal the most. 

Because it wasn’t much about the scars on his chest. He found them awful and ugly. He hated that they were there. He hated that during the summer, he had to deal with looks on it when he was on holiday with his son. He hated that it was a reminder every single day of what he'd been through.

But this one. He knew why it was there. It wasn’t just a stab. It was more. That son of a bitch told it himself. If Hotch didn’t consider himself a SA survivor, he knew he was checking all the boxes.

When he felt your mouth on the scar, the whole world went silent. Not that there were many sounds. But Aaron could hear everything: the cars outside, the tick-tock of the clock on the wall, even the very low voices of the people in the next room.

Now, he couldn’t hear anything. Anything but the wet noises of your lips on his damaged skin. How, this time, your hands weren’t lost higher on his chest, but you were caressing his back. Your fingers going further and further, bringing his boxers with you as your kisses kept going lower too. 

You knew what you were doing.

He knew what you were saying.

That the scars didn’t destroy the desire you had for him. 

Him, agent Hotchner, the man who led the interrogation in that small room and that gave you an authority kink you didn’t even know you had.

Him, Aaron Hotchner, the man who decided to call an escort—you—to help him.

Him, Aaron, the man who melted under your touches and your kisses.

Your lips stayed on his scar longer than on the other ones while you helped his boxer slide along his long and muscular legs.

But once the coast was clear, your lips went lower too. Kissing his thighs, little by little, until you arrived at his inner thighs. Until your lips had no other choice but to meet his thick cock, waiting for you—for your kisses and your touches too. 

One last look. One. Just one. To be sure. 

Aaron was biting his lip so hard you wondered how it wasn’t bleeding already. Made you wonder for how long this man hadn’t been touched.

And maybe that little, very brief pause lasted too long—you thought it was a second, but maybe one second too many for him—but now his two hands were on your hair. And he had a very great pleasure guiding you closer to his cock. Again.

So with this approval, you finally took him in your mouth. And the loud moan that he let out, the loudest since he came in this room, was the confirmation this was all he needed. 

He felt everything: your tongue playing around his veins, his tip hitting the back of your throat, your fingers sinking into his thighs. He felt these things. Yet, everything felt like a distant dream. A fantasy that couldn’t be real.

Yet, when he opened his eyes, there you were. Still on your knees in front of you, your glossy eyes rolling at the pressure he put in your mouth and spit running down your chin. You were real. And you were making him feel real.

As he expected, he didn’t last longer around your lips.

And he was grateful there was a chair right next to him because he would have fallen on the floor in a second. 

It took him a moment to get everything in order in his head. But he looked back at you; you were still there. Sitting on the floor, your arm going on your mouth to get rid of what he left on you. “Thank you,” he muttered with all the sincerity in the world. 

Maybe he wasn’t healed yet, but he truly felt better. Because not once did he see a glimpse of disgust in your eyes when you were on him. And he had seen it in many people, even those who weren’t intimate with him. But not you. 

When you opened your mouth to speak, he expected you to say something like, That’s my job. 

Not “You look beautiful, Aaron.” 

He watched as you got up again simply to do the four steps that separated you from him.

He watched as you sat on his lap and put a hand on his neck to caress the base of his hair. 

“Don’t ever let anyone make you think otherwise, ok? These scars, they are there; they won’t leave. And I'm sorry about that. But they don’t make you less of a man.” 

You let a single finger go down each of them, from the first one to the bottom one you gave more attention to.

“And if someone ever makes you feel like they make you less pretty, less…human. Send them to me; I’ve learned a few tricks to protect myself.”

Aaron laughed, bringing a hand to your waist to keep you against him. “Not sure it’s a thing to say to an FBI agent.” 

“Or you can come back,” you added with a smile. “This room will always be open for you.”

He looked at you in silence, the same goddamn silence that kept following him everywhere—hotel room, home, his bedroom. But this time, just to appreciate the view of this beautiful woman, who got to see many people on their knees for her, offering him, out of anybody, to come back. When he didn’t even give you any pleasure. 

“I thought you said you would forget about me when I leave.” 

“I said, I can forget about Aaron if I want to.” You corrected him. “And one of your agents said that the brain is a wonderful tool when it comes to memory.” 

He smiled at this because he remembered Spencer saying that to one of your colleagues who said she needed help to memorize her client. 

“So who knows, maybe I can find a locked drawer for you in case you come back.” 

Tag List: @kiwriteswords @monzabee @raysmayhem-72 @kajjaka @pastelpinkflowerlife (if you want to be in it, ask me and I’ll be happy to add you x)

[millerskitty]

Running If You Call My Name

❥ dbf!joel / f!reader x joel miller

❥ (18+) nsfw

❥ reader insert

❥ medium burn, no outbreak au. some timelines are changed to fit the story.

dividers by @/saradika !

warnings: jealousy, angst, smut, and smut. oh and smut. unprotected sex, a tiny sense of cheating, mr steal yo girl type beat

word count: 2k

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5

Chapter 6

Caleb was elated when you’d accepted his invitation to join him and some of his friends for another night at the country music dance hall. You were hesitant at first, but ultimately decided you needed to dust off your cowgirl boots having spent a week slumped after your incident with Joel last month.

You tried something different with your hair and chose to wear a jean miniskirt and a cowgirl corset top along with your boots. You even busted out your cowgirl hat to complete the look. You were satisfied when you looked in the mirror. You knew Caleb wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself. Self care was important to you and it was the key to bouncing back from any slump. You had just needed a reminder that you were a bad bitch.

When Caleb picked you up he reacted exactly how you’d expected him to. He playfully whistled and made you spin around for him. He handed you a couple of Jell-O shots that his sister, Maya, had made for the group to pregame with.

You had tried to pace yourself when you got to the bar, but everyone was so giddy and rowdy, hastily putting shot after shot into your hand. You excused yourself to the ladies room to take a breather and reapply your lipstick. The restroom was decked out in Dolly Parton murals and quotes, which made it the perfect place to take a selfie. You uploaded it to social media and tucked your phone into your purse before turning to leave.

You struggled to find your balance as you returned to the bar, the music vibrated throughout your body. Caleb grabbed you from behind and you spun around to face him. He leaned down and kissed you, wet and messy. You pulled back and reached up to wipe your lipstick off of his mouth. He grinned, he was tipsy, alright.

You barely had time to register who was calling your name when Maya grabbed your wrist and dragged you out to the dancefloor. Any Man of Mine had started playing and she pushed you in line and you danced with her. You were all giggles, but nailing each step to your surprise. You were swept away, buzzing and floating on cloud nine. It was exactly the night you needed. You looked over to Caleb who was watching from the bar. He grinned wide, raising his eyebrows before using his thumb to point at the cowboy beside him.

You felt the blood drain from your face when said cowboy turned to face you, tipping his head in your direction. Joel was sitting there beside Caleb, a glass of whiskey in his hand and a smile forming across his lips. You had no choice but to hide your outrage and keep dancing to avoid causing a scene. The last thing you wanted to add to your life was a night of humiliation.

When the song was over, you made your way straight to Joel, asking him to step outside, very politely excusing yourself from Caleb’s group. He downed the glass of whiskey as you nearly dragged him away.

“Sure thing, cowgirl.” Joel was buzzing.

You looked back one last time, Caleb appeared confused, maybe concerned by you leaving. He was dragged to the dancefloor as Joel followed you out to the parking lot.

“Truck’s over there,” Joel pointed towards the back of the dance hall.

When you reached his truck, he opened the door and sat in the driver’s seat, facing you as you stood beside the open door.

“What are you doing here, Joel?” You hissed.

“Pfft, I’ve been coming here since you weren’t even old enough to get in.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

“But why tonight? Why were you sitting beside Caleb like you’re buddies or something?”

“S’not my fault the guy recognized me, he invited me over. I was content just watching you prance around and put those other girls to shame from my dark little corner of the joint.”

Your cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. “You should have left when you saw us.”

“And give up the chance to live vicariously through your guy? No way.” Joel said with a sparkle in his eye.

“Joel. I’m-” You huffed, “I’m not fucking doing this with you.”

“Yes, you are. You’re already out here with me.” He said, grinning.

“You know what I mean.”

“Tell me he kisses you better than me.”

“Joel.”

“Tell me, and then I’ll leave you alone. No more jokes, no more of this. Just tell me that he does it better.”

“I can’t.” You shook your head in disbelief.

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t believe you’re doing this AGAIN!” You said, turning to leave, when he lurched forward and snared you with his arms.

You went limp, letting him pull you in. All that damn fight inside of you just evaporated at his touch. It was an anomaly that needed to be studied. Sighing, you turned to face him.

“Does he kiss you better than I do?” He asked, just inches away from your face. His breath smelled like whiskey and menthols.

“I dunno, I forgot what yours felt like.”

Without missing a beat, Joel pulled you in closer, his hands finding their place on your hips as his lips crashed onto yours. You should have walked away, gone back inside with your party. But you didn’t. You kissed him back hungrily, taking your hat off and tossing it into his passenger seat along with your purse.

Joel leaned back into his old pickup and pulled you in with him, closing the door behind you, barely breaking the kiss. You were half sitting on him and he corrected that by pulling you on top of him fully. Your center was pressed right against his and you felt it. Your head was spinning. Your heart, body and brain had finally agreed on something. You knew without a doubt that he wanted you.

Your tongue explored his mouth with a slight element of anger, knowing that you hadn’t been crazy. You wanted to smack him, to tell him off and to make him apologize, but your resolve to do so was as solid as a puddle of water. You settled for the best kiss of your life and the aching pulse in between your thighs.

“Joel.” You whined when he pulled you harder against him by your hips. He rocked you back and forth until you picked up the rhythm and did it yourself.

The friction of his member straining through his jeans against you was electrifying. Your skirt allowed almost direct contact with your needy core. His hands lifted from your hips and he held onto your hands, leaning back against the seat and watching you ride him through your clothes. You looked down at Joel, his lips were parted as he stared right back up at you.

Driven by pure lust, you leaned down and claimed his mouth with yours again, moaning into it. He released your hands and his large fingers found their way up into your top, leaving goosebumps on the sensitive flesh there. You didn’t care about a thing in the world outside of that moment.

“Have mercy.” Joel said, stripping it off of your shoulders.

You were grateful for the dark, but your eyes adjusted, helping you see him clearly enough to read his expressions. The only source of light was a distant lamp post and the glow of the radio in the truck. The truck was slightly rocking with your movements.

Joel leaned forward, catching one of your nipples with his mouth, sucking and nibbling. You moaned at the sensation, unable to prevent your hips from bucking forward in response.

“Joel.” You breathed.

“Yeah, baby?”

”I need you. Now. Please.” You whimpered.

Without hesitation, Joel reached between you, unbuckling his jeans and freeing his member from its confines. Your jaw dropped at the sight of it springing forward. You lifted your hips up and he ran the blunt tip of it over your clit through your underwear, sending electricity throughout your entire body.

You’d imagined this scenario many times before, but you hadn’t been able to predict just how good it would feel when he pulled your underwear aside and breached you with his cock. You cried out as he pulled you down onto his length. When he finally bottomed out you were fuller than you’d ever been in your life.

“Fuck, so wet for me.” Joel said, grabbing a handful of your ass. Your skirt had ridden up around your waist. “Is all this for me?” He asked, fully retreating from your warmth.

“Y-“ You didn’t have the chance to respond before he fully slid back into you, making you cry out again. You trembled as he set a steady pace, rocking you back and forth to meet his movements.

“Use your words, darlin’” A smile crept onto his lips.

You couldn’t register his smugness, you were trying to keep your eyes from rolling back into your head. Your pleasure was mounting, the pressure at your core was threatening to erupt.

“Can’t.” You panted. “No. Words.”

“Good girl.” He grunted, picking up the pace. You were teetering on the edge of something unimaginable. You looked down at the place where you were joined. Pressure was building and had you on the verge of tears. He felt like he belonged there. Your walls fluttered around him. “That’s it, give it to me, baby. Ladies first.”

His praise sent you tumbling right over that edge. You came crashing down, leaning forward onto his chest as you rode out your first orgasm. The first one you’d ever had on Joel’s cock. Pleasure bloomed, intensified by the steady rhythm of Joel pounding into the part of you that wanted to clench down. Joel stopped a moment and you felt him twitch against your walls.

“One more, baby. At the same time. I won’t until you do.” He said breathlessly.

You nodded, kissing him as he continued to fuck you, his deep strokes driving you crazy. The sound of his skin slapping yours was heinous. You were sure the truck was rocking right along with you. Your breasts bounced as you placed your hands on his chest and fucked him back.

Joel grunted, his grip on your hips tightened, spurring you on. It wasn’t long before you toppled over the edge once more. “Joel, please” you whimpered.

“Give it to me, darlin.” He groaned, slamming up into you, hitting the soft spot inside you that took your breath away. “You’re all fuckin’ mine.”

He shuddered as he held your hips down against him and emptied himself inside of you. You shattered around him, milking every drop from his twitching cock. You were blissed out, slumped forward and resting on his chest.

“Just forget it ever happened, my ass.” You chuckled, earning a smack on your ass from Joel.

You giggled as he pulled out of you and your laughter quickly became whimpers at the loss. “S���what I thought” he smirked.

He looked at you, awestruck. “Let's go home, baby.”

He shifted your underwear back over your tender flesh and helped you move over into the passenger seat and started up the truck. The AC cooled the thin sheen of sweat on your body, sending chills down your spine as Joel pulled out of the parking lot.

You fixed your top, pulling your phone out of your purse. “Hey. Seeing my neighbor home - he’s had too much to drink. Sorry for disappearing.” You texted Caleb.

You grabbed a cigarette from the pack in Joel’s cup holder, lighting it between your lips and then passed it to him as he drove. He smiled, gazing at you lovingly. It was almost too good to be true.

tag list: @foxin5billion

[legacygirlingreen]

Cracks in his Armor || Captain Rex x OFC! Mae

May01st Day 2: Devotion Armor

Author's Note: Second day of @may01st! Continuing on with these short glimpses of them. I did swap one of the prompts for day 2. If you are new to their story, they exist within @leenathegreengirl's PabuAU, Tagged below I have my masterlist where their story is listed in order, as well as the previous section. Art, as always is by @leenathegreengirl. The events referenced in this section, were actually from a flashback written for clonexocweek2025, which can be read HERE. Anyhow, enjoy day two💙

Summary: Rex spends some time cleaning up his armor, and realizes that he and Mae share more history than he originally thought...

Word Count: 3.4 k+

Warnings: a kiss I think? Nothing crazy

Rating: SFW (with some kissing)

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Rex was neglecting it—and he knew it. Every day he remained on the island, every sunrise that came without a mission briefing, only deepened the gnawing guilt in his chest. He should’ve returned to the field by now. Gregor was probably having a laugh at his expense, ribbing while Howzer subtly slipped deeper into the role Rex was supposed to occupy. With every passing day, their leadership grew louder, steadier. The movement was no longer waiting on him—it was evolving without him. And this setback, this injury that should’ve been just a detour, felt more and more like a turning point he hadn’t meant to take.

But it wasn’t just the injury that had derailed him. It was what had come after.

He told himself he needed to get back—because it was true. He had brothers out there who counted on him. A cause that still burned in his bones. But the idea of leaving Mae was like trying to pry himself from something warm and alive. Something real.

Returning to the field meant no more quiet mornings with her pressed against his side. No more slow, lingering touches or half-asleep murmurs that made him feel human instead of just a soldier. No more stolen glances across a kitchen or the way she smirked before handing him a plate of something hot and homemade. It meant trading tenderness for tension. Comfort for chaos.

He’d grown soft, maybe. Too domestic. But maybe for the first time, he understood what peace could feel like—and it terrified him just as much as it tempted him. Because how do you choose between the people you were born to protect... and the person who makes you want to stop running into the fray?

Rex dragged a hand over the stubble on his jaw, the bristles rough beneath his calloused fingers. He’d need to shave soon. The itch alone was bad enough, but wearing facial hair beneath that Maker-forsaken helmet? Miserable. He’d always kept it clean before—military discipline, personal preference, necessity. But lately... he’d let it go. Weeks now. Ever since she’d smiled at him across the porch one lazy morning and said she liked the way it looked on him. He hadn’t said much back, just grunted and looked away, but the words stayed with him longer than they should’ve.

And so the stubble stayed, too—like a quiet rebellion against the life he was supposed to return to. A symbol of everything he was pretending could be real, even when he knew better. A mark of softness that didn’t belong on a soldier.

The others would say he was slipping. Maybe they were right. But what did that say about him—that a soft bed, a steady voice, and the weight of someone’s hand in his own could undo years of programming? He wasn’t sure whether to be ashamed or grateful. Maybe both. Maybe that was the worst of it. 

He knew the others would be happy for him. If he asked, they’d all encourage him to stay. Forget it all. That he earned a chance to be happy. But something in it all felt not quite ready to let go. He would. One day he’d stop. But he wasn’t ready for it now. Mae knew it.

Mae never asked him to stay. That would’ve been easier. It would’ve given him something to push against. Maybe even an excuse for him to tell himself if he did stay. She just waited. Not for him to choose her—but for him to decide what he wanted. Without her interference. 

And Rex didn’t know the answer to that anymore.

Rex stood still, staring down at the pieces of his armor scattered across the floor. The sight of it unassembled, inert, felt almost foreign—like looking at the shell of someone he used to be. That armor had been part of him for so long it was hard to remember where he ended and the plastoid began. It had shielded him, shaped him, scarred him. In the thick of war, it was as essential as breath. He’d bled in it. Slept in it. Watched brothers die wearing the same. It wasn’t just gear—it was history, etched in carbon scoring and burn marks. And seeing it now, reduced to a pile of cold, lifeless plates, felt like standing over a grave.

He couldn’t bring himself to put it back on. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The memories came uninvited, curling through the quiet like smoke. He remembered when it had all still felt new—when fresh armor meant something. Back then, they'd gather together with paint-stained gloves and laughter lingering in the air, passing around cans of blue. A shared ritual, a quiet rebellion. They made that armor theirs. Personalized it. Humanized it. It was how they carved out identity in a system designed to make them the same.

Rex had kept his simple—no excess, no flash. His rank had always spoken loud enough. But the blue… the blue was a bond. A tie to the men he led. A way to mark himself as part of something bigger, even when the weight of command threatened to isolate him. And then there were the Jaig Eyes. Few earned them. Fewer still remained to wear them. A symbol of valor. A reminder of those he fought for, and the ones who never made it home.

Mae had asked about them once.

It was after that evening on the beach—laughing, racing each other along the shoreline like they were younger and freer than they were in reality. When they got back to her place, they soon felt the warmth of cheap whiskey. He’d set the helmet down on her table until she retrieved it. She traced the Jaig Eyes with her finger, gentle, curious. “What do these mean?” she’d asked, voice soft with respect.

And he told her. No bravado, no romanticized tale. Just the truth. What they stood for. Who they were for. She listened, nodded, and quietly told him he’d earned them a hundred times over—then changed the subject. That was Mae. Always knowing when to lean in, and when to let something breathe.

And that’s how she found him now. The door eased open behind him, the quiet click of it almost drowned by the sound of his own thoughts. He didn’t turn. Just kept staring at the armor like it might vanish if he willed it hard enough.

Mae said nothing at first.

She stood there, watching him—not the soldier, not the symbol, but the man. The man who once carried the weight of an army on his shoulders. And now couldn’t quite bring himself to pick it up again.

“Looks like it could use a cleanup,” she said gently, her voice threading through the silence like sunlight through storm clouds. She stepped closer, then knelt beside him without waiting for permission, fingers brushing over one of the arm bracers. It was scratched, scorched, the paint dull with age and wear. Dirt clung to the edges. Dried blood had crusted into the seams—most of it his. Maybe not all.

She didn’t flinch.

“Yeah,” he murmured, staring at it like it belonged to someone else. “It needs it.”

Mae set the piece down with care, like it was something sacred. “Need some help?” she asked, her eyes lifting to meet his.

Rex hesitated. The instinct to brush her off came first—reflex, muscle memory. He didn’t need help. He was trained not to. But the truth didn’t sit so easily anymore.

“Need?” he echoed, voice quiet. “No.”

A beat passed. Then he looked at her—really looked—and let the armor of habit fall away just a little.

“But I’d appreciate it,” he added, softer this time. “If you want to.”

Mae smiled—subtle, not triumphant, not expecting more than that small opening. She nodded and rolled up her sleeves, reaching for a rag without another word.

And just like that, they began.

No ceremony, no grand gestures. Just two people, side by side on the floor, the weight of history laid out in front of them—piece by piece. They worked in silence at first, careful and deliberate, wiping away grime and blood and ash, as though cleaning the past might somehow make it easier to carry. Maybe that’s what they were really doing—sorting through what to hold onto and what to finally let go.

At some point, Mae rose wordlessly and disappeared into the other room. When she returned, it was with a half-drunk bottle of wine in one hand and two mismatched glasses in the other. She sat down beside him again like she’d never left and poured without asking.

The wine helped. So did the silence softening between them. What had begun steeped in heaviness, tension, and quiet grief began to shift—bit by bit—into something lighter. Not weightless, but easier. That was Mae’s gift. She had this quiet magic to her, the kind that didn't erase darkness but made it bearable. Something about the way she existed in his orbit dulled the sharper edges of his past. She didn’t try to fix it. She just stayed.

“That’s what you did?” she said suddenly, her voice laced with playful disbelief as she picked up one of the gauntlets. “You took perfectly functional, regulation-grade armor... and welded scraps of your old set onto it?”

He smirked faintly, catching the way streaks of blue paint now adorned her hands and forearms. The sight was oddly grounding—like his past and present had met in some soft, unexpected way.

“Call me sentimental,” he replied with a shrug, eyes returning to the bracer. “I wanted to keep a piece of it.”

Mae let out a laugh, pointing her paint-covered brush at him like an accusation. “Sentimental,” she repeated, mock-scolding. “You do realize I fought tooth and nail to get you boys an upgrade that actually fit your bodies—and this is what you do with it?”

Rex blinked, caught off guard. “Wait… what?” He wasn’t sure of the logistics of how the armor change came about during the war. Nor did he have the time to question it either. Simply accepting it, slightly modifying and then going back into the blaster fire. 

Her tone turned a touch more thoughtful as she leaned back on her hands, eyes drifting slightly as she recalled. “It was after Ryloth. I’d just been dismissed—barely out of surgery, arm still in a sling. I was halfway out the door when the Council intercepted me. Wanted intel on Cham and the resistance. They were planning another landing, and I was the last person who'd had contact with him.”

She paused mid-sentence, wine glass dangling loosely between her fingers. Her gaze unfocused, caught somewhere far off in a memory that seemed to rise slowly, unbidden, like a wave she hadn't expected. Her lips parted like she might continue, but no words came. Whatever she was remembering, it had settled over her heavy. And maybe it hurt more than she thought it would.

Rex tilted his head slightly, watching her. “I get it,” he offered, voice low and a little uncertain. “We never touched down on Ryloth ourselves… but our General broke the blockade. That was a mess.”

He tried to piece it together—the battle logs, the comms traffic, the long stretches of deployment that all blurred into one another. So many worlds, so many fights. It was hard to distinguish one from the next anymore. But Ryloth—that had stood out. The chaos. The urgency. The pressure of saving a world already half lost. Plus the continued separatists pushing on the planet. He’d heard from Howzer how bad it continued to be after his General had been moved elsewhere.

“They rushed me out,” Mae said finally, voice softer now, more composed. “Shoved me onto a medical transport before I could even sit upright. I was still bleeding when they told me the RAR was disbanded but I’d be meeting with General Kenobi’s forces to report on Cham and the others. I barely made it ten steps off that ship before I started yelling at someone.”

She gave a breathy laugh, almost embarrassed, but there was pride in it too. “I was furious. I’d just been dismissed, barely conscious, and the first thing I see is a Commander standing there like I’m some kind of delicate flower.”

Then something shifted in Rex’s expression. A flicker of realization passed through his eyes, sharpening with memory.

“Wait…” he said slowly, leaning forward, the puzzle pieces sliding into place. “You’re—Cody’s little Spitfire?”

Mae blinked, her brow furrowed. “His what now?”

Rex actually laughed—short, disbelieving. “That’s what he called you. It was after that encounter. I heard it over the coms, all the boys said a tiny woman with a busted arm and murder in her eyes had given everyone—including Mace Windu—an earful.”

Her expression was a mix of disbelief and delight. “You're serious?”

“Oh, dead serious. I teased him about it for weeks. Told him it sounded like he was smitten the way he’d looked at you while leaving.” Rex smirked. “We didn’t get many women out in the field—especially not ones who weren’t Jedi. So when someone like you showed up, storming in like that… yeah, I assumed it meant something else.”

Mae’s lips parted, surprised. “And he told you what I did?”

Rex nodded. “Told me you chewed through half the Council and rewrote half the tactical assessment on your way out, tossing the files and then leaving.”

Mae gave a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Maker. That sounds about right.”

Rex stared at her, somewhere between amused and stunned. “You’re telling me you’re the reason my armor finally stopped cutting into my collarbone?”

She grinned. “You're welcome.”

He shook his head, half laughing. “I wore that armor for years and never knew.”

“Well,” Mae said with a wink, raising her glass, “now you do.”

There was a pause—comfortable now, laced with the shared wonder of a connection they hadn’t known they almost made.

“Wait,” she said, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Does that mean…”

“We almost crossed paths,” Rex finished for her, a warm grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Yeah. Looks like we did.”

He leaned back slightly, the memory sharpening in his mind now—the frantic energy of the hangar bay, the brief glimpse of a slim, red-haired figure limping up a ramp. At the time, he’d barely noticed. Just another moment in the rush of war. A slight piece of ammunition against Cody. But now?

Now it felt like fate playing its long game.

He shook his head with a quiet laugh. “Maker, all this time I thought I met you on Pabu. Turns out, I nearly met you years ago. Just missed it.”

Mae looked at him for a long, lingering moment, her gaze soft, almost reverent—like she was seeing something in him she’d always believed was there. Something solid. Something worth waiting for. “Seems like we were bound to find each other eventually,” she murmured, the faintest smile touching her lips.

Rex didn’t look away. Her words settled into him like sunlight on old wounds—gentle, warm, unexpected. He felt it down to the marrow. All the years, the close calls, the seconds they’d nearly crossed paths... and now here they were, kneeling over pieces of his past like it was something sacred.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low, rough with more than just time. “Seems like we were.”

He leaned in before he could second-guess it—driven not by impulse, but something deeper. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, warm and flushed from the wine, but also from the weight of everything shared between them. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch or pull away—just closed her eyes for a breath, as if committing the moment to memory.

And then, quietly, Rex went back to work—picking up a brush, dabbing it into the paint, resuming the small, careful strokes along the edges of his chest plate. The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t empty.

It was full.

Full of the past, and everything he hadn’t known. And then a question surfaced—quiet but persistent.

He set the brush down, fingers resting lightly on the armor as he turned to her again.

“Why did you do it?” he asked, brow furrowing slightly. “Back then. The armor. All of it. You didn’t owe us anything.”

Mae tilted her head, eyes tracing the lines of his face. She didn’t answer right away. And when she did, it wasn’t flippant or coy. It was honest.

“Because you should never have been treated like you were disposable,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “None of you were. But they treated you like numbers—like assets, not men. And I couldn’t stand it.” Suddenly that fire lit long ago burned again. 

“Armor that didn’t account for your frames, your movements, your needs—I lost it. I’d already started asking Keeli’s men what they needed, what could actually help them stay alive. Formality didn’t last long on Ryloth. We were fighting just to breathe. Everyone cut the nonsense fast. They gave me real insight—things the Kaminoans never bothered to ask. I’m still not convinced those cloners understood human anatomy at all.” she scoffed. 

Her eyes didn’t leave his, even as her voice caught slightly. “I saw what you all gave. What you lost. And no one was fighting for you. Not really. So I did. Not because I was ordered to, not because anyone told me to—but because you deserved better. You all did. Besides, if I was getting tossed aside, what did I have to lose?”

His whole life had been firefights and battle plans, sacrifice and survival. He had never once paused to think about who might’ve been fighting for him while he was out there bleeding for the Republic. He didn’t know there had even been someone who cared enough to raise their voice when it would’ve been easier to disappear.

And Mae had done it. Quietly. Fiercely. Unseen. Unthanked. But not forgotten. Not anymore.

A hazy memory stirred in the far corner of his mind—just a flicker, a blur of red hair and defiance, a woman standing tall even while injured. He’d barely noticed her then, one of a hundred moments before the next firefight. But now it came into focus. Now, he saw her.

“I didn’t know,” Rex said, his voice barely above a whisper, rough with something he didn’t quite have words for. “All this time… I didn’t know what you did for us.”

Mae reached across the space between them, fingers smudged with blue paint as they gently brushed across his knuckles.  “Well,” she said with a small, crooked smile, “I guess it paid off… if you’re here now.”

Rex stared at her hand over his, paint-smudged and warm, grounding him in a way that nothing else ever had—not command, not duty, not even victory. Her smile was quiet, a little bashful, but it carried the weight of something true. Something earned.

He turned his palm slowly, lacing their fingers together. His hand, calloused and scarred, dwarfed hers, but she didn’t flinch. She never had.

“I’m here,” he said, more to himself than anything. The words felt strange on his tongue—like he was still trying to believe them. “After everything… I made it here.”

Rex looked up at her then, really looked. There was a gentleness in her eyes that unraveled him. Not pity. Not awe. Just this quiet, unwavering belief in him—as a man, not a soldier. As someone worthy of peace. Of love. Someone she’d grown to love in this new, exciting shift they’d experienced.

It was more disarming than any battlefield.

“You made our lives so much better,” he said, voice thick. “You did that and I didn’t even know your name.”

Her eyes shimmered, just a little, and he swore his chest tightened at the sight of it.

“I don’t know how I got this lucky,” he said, voice quieter now. “After everything… to end up here. With you. That’s something I never thought I’d have.”

He leaned in again, brushing his lips against her forehead in a kiss that lingered.

“I just… I’m so thankful for you, Mae,” he whispered into her skin. Her arms came around his waist, pulling him close, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself be held—not like a soldier, not like a symbol—but like a man who deserved to be loved.

And the armor? It could wait for another day.

[chuluoyi]

my boyfriend will kick your ass !

- fushiguro megumi x reader

it's a date gone wrong when you get into an argument with your aloof boyfriend. but will he save you when it counts?

genre/warnings: tw. street harassment, catcalling. hurt/comfort, arguments and reconciliation, protective!megumi and fluff !

note: i miss my emo boi :(

general masterlist

“Stay back!”

This is an utter plot twist. When you came out of your apartment today, all dolled up and ready to go on a date with your boyfriend, you never imagined you’d end up cornered by two creeps in a deserted alley.

“Easy, girl,” one of the guys in front of you cackled, lips curling into an unsettling sneer. “We’re just trying to get to know you better!”

“Listen— My boyfriend is super scary, you know!” you barked, willing yourself not to shake. “Now you better not come any closer or else—!”

“Or else what?” the other creep mocked with a snort. You gripped your umbrella—now your makeshift weapon—tightly, pointing it at him as a threat.

“Or else my boyfriend will be here in any minute and he’ll kick your ass!”

It was a partly a lie you hoped sounded convincing, because how could Megumi suddenly show up and find you in this dingy alleyway... right after both of you had a petty disagreement in the middle of Shibuya's shopping district?

Oh lord, how you regretted raising your voice and running away from him earlier.

"You are late!" you scolded him heatedly as he yawned, showing up twenty minutes later than your agreed time. "Can't you at least text me beforehand? I'll match your time if you do!"

Megumi sighed, fixing you with a blank stare as he scratched his head. "My bad. I overslept. I rushed here so didn't think of it."

It was so easy for him to say, and you would've understood if it was the first time, but you had noticed this pattern over the past two weeks. Whenever you asked him out for dates, his face always soured, and he didn't bother to be on time. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was reluctantly agreeing.

And by this point, you thought you knew better and that was really it.

Finally, you blurted out the burning accusation: "You never realize it, but it shows, you know? You never seem happy when we go out together."

He exhaled in exasperation, green eyes darkening at you. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly that."

It seemed he had run out of patience. Standing your ground, you braced for his next words. But the glare he sent your way and the words he spat pierced your tender heart more than you thought—

"You're always nagging. Can't you stop being annoying just once? What a pain."

Perhaps he was right, you were annoying him all this time and dealing with you was a pain. You could imagine it if you were in his place, but you couldn't handle the very implication that you had done so, and you screamed at his face:

"So be it then! Fushiguro, you are the worst!"

—and ran off with tears in your eyes, deserting him altogether.

You knew you weren’t exactly a model of maturity, but in your defense, it stung deeply that he saw you as annoying and a pain. What girlfriend wouldn’t be hurt by that?

Anyhow, you loitered near the Shibuya station afterwards, and at first you heard some catcalls you didn't really pay mind to. But when those two guys started whistling and edging closer, it hit you—you were their target.

You quickened your pace, turning down several corners, only to find yourself trapped in a dead end. Just how much worse could your day get?

"Aha, the girl says she has a boyfriend!" Creep #1 snickered, turning to Creep #2 with a smirk, before pretending to scan the area. "But I don’t see him?"

"Miss, I swear we’re not up to any trouble," Creep #2 chimed in, his eyes gleaming with a predatory delight. "Won’t you be our friend? You’re too pretty to be alone—this is Shibuya, after all!" he said, eyeing your legs and whistled. "And ooh, have I told you that skirt suits you well?"

These guys were straight-up perverts!

"Get lost!" you yelled, your fingers trembling as you swung the umbrella at him when he tried to close the distance. "Can’t you just leave me alone?!"

You were at your wits' end, and it was clear this situation wasn’t going to improve with them still blocking your way. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart, and decided to do the only thing you could.

In hindsight, a stupid move—

You barreled towards the two of them with your umbrella—managing to push past them. For a moment, you thought you had a chance and ran as fast as you could—

"Ack!" —until you tripped and crashed on the ground.

You rose and immediately winced, looking down at the site where it hurt the most. Oh, you had scrapped your knees badly.

"Ahh, miss! Don't be too hasty~!" you heard the second guy's sing-song voice, and you really wanted to cry. Why did this have to happen to you?

"Don't come c-closer!" you stammered, backing away as they approached. Your whole body shook, desperately trying to think of ways to save yourself. "Or— I'll scream!"

"Whoa, whoa, wait just a minute! Why don't you just—"

You really thought you would scream, until suddenly the familiar scent of mint filled your sense and a strong arm pulled you from behind, and a broad back shielded your view from them—

"What do you need from her?" Megumi's voice boomed, his eyes glaring at the two men who had been harassing you. His breathing was ragged, as if he had run all the way here. "Fuck off."

At that moment, you couldn't help clutching his sleeve, hiding behind him further as you kept trembling. Megumi sensed it, and turned over to have a look over you—

You looked disheveled, spooked, and his eyes widened when he saw the blood trailing down both of your knees.

"Hey man, your girlfriend practically asked for it! Just look how she is dressed—"

Before you could process what was happening, Megumi had yanked the man by his collar and thrown a punch at him. You yelped and immediately got a hold of his arm to stop him further. "Megumi!"

The other guy quickly caught his friend, who spat out a string of curses, his lips bloodied from the punch.

"Fuck. Off." Megumi glowered at them, and they finally got the message, scurrying away in hurry. The moment they did, he faced you again and you finally let out a sob, throwing yourself into him. His body was warm, his heart pounding hard— yet it meant reassurance for you.

"Are you okay...?" his voice was noticeably softer as he wrapped his arms around you and returned the hug. "Did they touch you—?"

Megumi froze when he felt his chest dampen with your tears and heard your sniffles, your figure shaking like a leaf in his embrace. A wave of guilt washed over him, realizing how scared you must have been. Instinctively, he held you tighter.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry," he muttered, his breath warm against your ear. It was as if there was an invincible knife that twisted his chest when it dawned on him what you just got into. "I'm here now, okay? You're safe now."

If it weren’t for his harsh words earlier, you wouldn’t have run off. He kept shushing you, his own heart breaking at the turn of events.

And when you nodded against him, he knew he had to make it up to you somehow.

Later, Megumi tended to your minor injury while crouching down before you, as you sat on a bench near the convenience store where he had picked up the first aid kit.

Your eyes were swollen, your outfit was dirtied, but you ignored the curious looks from passersby. Still shaken, you kept your gaze fixed on your lap.

You recoiled when the disinfectant touched your torn skin, tears welling up again in your eyes. "Ow..."

"It'll hurt just a bit," Megumi looked up at you worriedly, seeing you struggling to hold back tears. He gently blew air on your wound. "It’ll be over soon."

Megumi noticed how you were uncharacteristically quiet. Between the two of you, you were the chatty one and he was the silent listener. But now, you were completely silent, and he knew it was definitely not a good sign.

And so he thought it was a good time to finally explain himself. With a sigh, he began. "I... was on back-to-back missions last week."

You glanced at him, both surprised and confused.

“I was so burnt out— that’s why I’ve been oversleeping lately. Sorry for not meeting you on time.” Megumi applied the ointment to your knees, and you stiffened from the sting. He blew air on them again to ease the discomfort.

"You never told me," you pointed out.

“Yeah, uh, sorry...” he winced. “It’s so... lame. I’ve been exhausted for a week straight whereas Itadori bounces back so easily. Stupid, I know.”

"You... didn't tell me because you don't want to look uncool?"

As soon as you worded it that way, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Megumi remained silent, looking down, and you knew that his silence was a definite yes.

Totally stupid. But exactly how Fushiguro Megumi was always wired. A part of you was exasperated, but also forgave him for it.

When he met your gaze again, he finally saw the light returning to your eyes. It was a relief to him, so he let out a small sigh and put on a strained smile.

"How did you find me anyway?" you asked quietly.

"You didn't pick up my calls. I was worried. And then I ran around until I heard your voice." His eyes narrowed into a frown. "Did they do anything to you?"

You shook your head, and Megumi let out the breath he had been holding, gripping your right hand in his. "I’m glad."

You brushed away the trace of tears on your cheeks as he finished applying band-aids to your knees, awkwardly fiddling with your fingers.

"Sorry for being annoying," you mumbled softly, not meeting his eyes, feeling yourself so small all of a sudden. "Will totally happen again though."

"You..." Unwittingly, he cracked a smile at your blatant remark. "Just... don’t run off again, dummy. Do it where I can see you."

He ruffled your hair gently, then intertwined your fingers with his. "And sorry... for getting mad at you too."

Your cheeks felt warm, so you looked away, puckering your lips together. "...I'm hurt. You have to make it up to me."

He hummed, the beginnings of a smile on his face. "Let's go have that shaved ice you’ve been craving then."

“Huh? You remembered! But you don’t like them?”

“You like that kind of sugar dump, don’t you?”

Hand-in-hand, both of you traversed the Shibuya shopping district together. Your eyes were still puffy, but you were smiling and talking his ears off again just like you always did.

“I told those pricks my boyfriend will definitely kick their asses,” you giggled to yourself, swinging your joined hands in joy. “And you really did~”

“What are you talking about…?”

Sometimes you were beyond his comprehension. Sometimes you were also cute beyond comparison.

And Megumi thought... he liked you the best this way.

[ilovolderman]

Friday Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You end up sitting next to Bucky in a casual team dinner.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, flirting, light language, water war (because who can resist a splash battle?)

A/N: this is part 4 of "You Said What?", just some fluff in a universe where you and Bucky secretly date. It can be read on its own and doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3. im loving writing about these two so thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

It’s one of those rare nights at the compound, no missions, no briefings, no surprise alien invasions. Just a Friday. Just dinner. And, somehow, Steve decided it’d be nice if the whole team ate together like one big weird family.

The long table is already half full when you show up a few minutes late, sliding into the only empty seat left, next to Bucky, obviously by coincidence. Totally random. Totally not planned. Totally a miracle.

“Hey,” you murmur, your knee bumping his under the table. You don’t move it.

“Hey,” he says back, low and warm, like it’s just for you. His knee nudges yours in return, the tiniest pressure that somehow makes your chest feel full.

Dinner is loud. Sam’s in the middle of a dramatic story involving a rooftop and a rogue pizza slice, gesturing so wildly he nearly knocks over his drink twice. Wanda is laughing so hard she’s wheezing. Clint and Natasha are arguing about spice levels in the curry. Tony ordered five different desserts “just in case,” and even Vision looks mildly amused.

It’s chaotic. It’s weirdly cozy. And it’s perfect.

Meanwhile, Bucky quietly slides the breadbasket your way before you even ask. Passes you a napkin when you drop yours. Leans over and murmurs a dumb joke under his breath just to make you laugh. And when you both reach for the same dish, your fingers brush—and linger. Neither of you moves.

You glance at him. He’s already looking at you like you’re the best thing he’s seen all night.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whisper, biting your lip.

“Like what?” he asks, faking innocence.

“Like you’re thinking about kissing me at a table full of Avengers.”

He leans in, voice low. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Your breath catches. You blink, trying not to let it show. “Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t kick you under this table.”

“I’d still kiss you.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smirks. “Yeah. But I’m your problem.”

You’re in the middle of pretending to care about Steve and Nat’s back-and-forth on training strategies when your phone buzzes in your lap.

[bucky]: come to the kitchen. 5 mins. say you forgot the hot sauce.

You bite your lip to keep from grinning. He sees it and smiles with just one side of his mouth.

A few minutes later, you slide your chair back, muttering something about needing Sriracha. No one blinks. They're all too busy arguing over which dessert to try first.

You slip into the kitchen.

And there he is. Leaning against the counter, arms crossed, eyes already on you. Like he wasn’t just sitting beside you five minutes ago.

“I’m starting to think I’m more addicted to seeing you than caffeine,” he says, that soft smile tugging at his lips.

You walk right into his arms. He smells like clean laundry and something you can’t place—something that’s just him.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“Tell that to Sam,” he mutters. “He said I’ve been grumpy all week. I was just missing this.”

His fingers brush your cheek, his thumb grazing the curve of your jaw. You lean up and kiss him—quick, soft, sweet. The kind of kiss that says I wish we had more time.

And then you steal another.

And another.

He groans, resting his forehead against yours. “Okay. One more, and then I’m walking back in there like nothing happened.”

You smirk. “You have lipstick on your mouth.”

“Dammit.”

When you both return, the table’s still buzzing, still full of warmth and noise and people who feel like home. Bucky catches your eye as you pass him the dessert like it’s nothing.

But you know. And he knows. And your heart is doing somersaults when Bucky leans in again.

“You’ve got whipped cream on your lip.”

You freeze. Glance at him, wary. “Do I?”

He nods solemnly and you wipe your mouth with a napkin. “Better?”

He tilts his head, eyes sparkling. “Not really. Might need to check later.”

You kick him under the table.

Dinner winds down slowly, plates are half-empty, dessert is more whipped cream than anything else, and everyone’s full in that way that makes you too lazy to move.

Tony’s talking about building a pizza oven on the roof. Clint is inexplicably napping in his chair. Wanda’s stealing bites off Sam’s plate while pretending not to. And you?

Your face hurts from smiling, your stomach’s full, but you still offer to clean up.

“I’ll do the dishes,” you say, already sliding your chair back.

A second later, Bucky glances your way. “I’ll help.”

“Seriously?” Sam teases. “Since when do you volunteer?”

“Since now,” Bucky says coolly, already following you into the kitchen.

You roll your eyes, but your heart is racing.

The kitchen is quieter than the dining room, where the others are still laughing, picking at desserts, arguing over who cheated in charades last week. In here, it’s just you, the soft clink of dishes, and Bucky—close behind you.

You roll up your sleeves and start running the water, pretending your hands aren’t slightly shaking. “You don’t actually have to help, you know.”

“I know,” he says, leaning a hip against the counter beside you. “But I want to.”

You glance at him sidelong. “You hate doing dishes.”

He shrugs. “I’ve done worse.”

You snort, handing him a dish towel. The two of you fall into a rhythm quiet, easy. You wash, he dries. Occasionally your arms brush, and each time it’s like a tiny electric pulse zips up your spine. You tell yourself not to overthink it. You fail.

“You were quiet at dinner,” you say, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn bit of lasagna like it personally offended you. “Well. Except for all the flirting.”

Bucky doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is low. “I like watching everyone like that. Laughing. Being...normal.” He pauses. “I like watching you.”

You freeze, dish half-submerged in sudsy water. Slowly, you turn to look at him. “That supposed to be smooth?”

He grins, shameless. “Did it work?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because he’s looking at you again—that way he does, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and worse, that he means every bit of it. Your heart is somewhere in your throat.

“Bucky,” you say, unsure what comes next.

But then he sets the dish towel down. Steps a little closer. And when you don’t move he reaches up and brushes a wet strand of hair from your cheek.

“You gonna kick me under the sink,” he murmurs, “or are you finally gonna let me kiss you?”

Your breath catches. “There are at least three Avengers in earshot.”

“Then I’ll be quick.”

And he is. But somehow it still feels slow, like the whole world holds its breath for you, just for this. It’s not desperate. It’s not showy. It’s just real. When he pulls back, you blink up at him, dazed. “You call that quick?”

He grins, a little smug. “Told you I’ve done worse.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too. “You missed a spot,” you say, tossing him a still-dripping plate.

He catches it one-handed, totally unfazed. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You bump your hip into his, reaching for a fresh towel. “I tolerate it.”

There’s a beat of silence before he adds, “You know, I kinda like this.”

“The dishes?”

“No. This.” He gestures between you. “You. Me. Elbow-deep in soap. Feels… nice.”

You reach over and flick a bubble at him.

He blinks, deadpan. “Did you just—”

You do it again, giggling. He retaliates by flicking water at your face. You shriek. He laughs.

“What, you can handle HYDRA but not a splash of water?” he teases.

You grab the sprayer.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I dare.”

There’s a short-lived, extremely wet battle that ends with Bucky shielding himself with a dish towel and you both breathless from laughter, leaning against the counter like you’ve run a marathon.

“I think we’re officially banned from post-dinner cleanup now,” you say, still giggling.

“Worth it.”

There’s a pause. He looks at you, hair a little damp, cheeks pink from laughing. And then he leans in again, just because he can. Just because you’re both still smiling.

When he pulls back, he murmurs, “Think we can sneak off to dry off somewhere quieter?”

You grin. “Only if you promise not to start a water war in the hallway.”

“No promises.” But you link your pinky with his anyway.

And that’s when it happens. A very deliberate throat-clear from the doorway. You both freeze like guilty teenagers. Natasha’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, one brow raised like she’s watching a soap opera. “You two done playing splashy-splash, or should I get you floaties?”

Bucky groans softly, his head thudding against the cabinet door behind him. You try to hide behind the dish towel. It doesn’t work.

Natasha steps further into the room, clearly savoring this. “Didn’t know dishwashing came with a swim option.”

“We were just—” you start.

“—cleaning,” Bucky finishes, not even trying to sound convincing.

“Mhm,” Natasha hums, giving you both the kind of look that could peel paint. “You know, for two people trying so hard to look casual, you’re not very good at it.”

Before you can respond, there’s a loud clink from the doorway. Steve steps in, completely unbothered. Holding a slice of pie on a plate like it’s the most important thing in the world.

 “Is everything okay here?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything more. Instead, she shoots you one last look, a knowing glint in her eye. “Alright, alright. Carry on with your... dishes.” She turns, heading toward the door, but not before adding with a teasing smile, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Steve watches her leave, clearly lost in his pie-induced bliss. “What’s her deal?”

You and Bucky exchange an amused look before Bucky mutters, “You really don’t want to know.”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, probably not.”

And just like that, the moment passes. Natasha's suspicion lingers in the air for only a second longer before Steve’s back to his pie, you’re back to drying dishes, and Bucky’s smile is a little too smug for anyone’s good.

next part

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (1/2) | forgetting their birthday

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @holycastles) : pretending to forget their birthday but actually having a huge surprise for them planned

୨ৎ : genre : romantic comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 3719

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : god FORBID you forget one of their birthdays... i fear everyone but verstappen and piastri might overreact a tEEEEENY bit...

ʚ・max verstappen

you knew max didn’t love big birthday celebrations. he wasn’t exactly the cake and balloons type. but still, he deserved something special. and if you had to fake forgetting the day just to throw him off? so be it.

it started that morning. he came into the kitchen, hair sticking up on one side, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. you were already at the stove, flipping pancakes like it was any other tuesday.

“morning,” he mumbled.

you glanced back over your shoulder. “morning.”

that was it. no ‘happy birthday.’ no mention of it at all.

you saw the subtle twitch of confusion in his brows, but he didn’t say anything. just grabbed a mug and poured himself some coffee.

you didn’t feel bad. okay, you felt a little bad. but it would be worth it.

by the time afternoon rolled around, max was quieter than usual. he’d disappeared into the simulator room for a couple hours, re-emerging only to plop onto the couch and scroll aimlessly on his phone.

“everything okay?” you asked, settling beside him.

he shrugged. “yeah. just… thought today might feel different.”

you leaned your head on his shoulder. “tuesdays are weird like that.”

he didn’t answer.

but when you stood up a bit later and said, “i’m just running out to grab some groceries, be back in an hour,” and kissed the top of his head, he nodded, not suspecting a thing.

what he didn’t know was that the "groceries" were actually a mad dash to finalize the surprise party you’d been planning for weeks. all his closest friends were already at the venue. there were red bull-themed decorations, his favorite food, drinks, and even a mini go-kart course set up just for him.

when you texted him an hour later, “hey, can you come meet me at this address? i need help carrying stuff,” he didn’t hesitate.

he pulled into the lot, looking around curiously. then walked inside.

and everyone yelled, “surprise!”

max blinked. for a second, you saw that classic verstappen processing face, the one he made when someone overtook him unexpectedly. then he turned to you.

“you little liar,” he said, breaking into a grin.

you shrugged. “thought tuesdays were weird like that.”

he pulled you into a hug so tight your feet almost left the ground.

“i really thought you forgot,” he murmured into your hair. “i was trying not to be upset.”

“i know,” you said, pulling back to smile up at him. “that’s how i knew it would work.”

max kissed you, soft and slow and a little overwhelmed.

“simply lovely,” he whispered.

and it was.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

you figured lewis wouldn’t throw a fit if you forgot his birthday. he wasn’t that type. but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt him.

and that’s what made the plan a little risky.

the morning of, you played it cool. real cool. too cool.

“morning,” you said, breezing past him in the kitchen as he fed roscoe.

he looked up with a sleepy smile. “morning, love.”

you kissed his cheek, grabbed a banana, and scrolled through your phone. no ‘happy birthday.’ no card. not even a cheeky joke.

you saw the faint change in his expression. his smile dipped, just slightly. like he wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to be disappointed.

but he didn’t say anything. just nodded and went back to scratching roscoe behind the ears.

you left the house an hour later, saying you had errands to run. lewis stayed behind, probably expecting you’d come back with cake or something. but you didn’t. at least, not right away.

the rest of the day, he barely said a word. he worked out, took roscoe for a walk, sat out on the balcony with a tea. every now and then he checked his phone, like he was expecting someone, maybe you, to send a text. a call. anything.

nothing came.

you got home just before sunset, acting casual as ever. “you hungry? i was thinking we could order thai tonight.”

lewis looked at you, finally speaking after what felt like hours. “you didn’t… have anything else planned today?”

you tilted your head. “should i have?”

that hurt flickered in his eyes. he hid it well. but you noticed it, because you always noticed him.

he nodded slowly. “nah. just wondering.”

you stepped closer, and before he could pull further into himself, you said, “actually… yeah. i do have something planned. but i need you to come with me.”

he raised an eyebrow.

you handed him a hoodie. “put this on. we’ve got somewhere to be.”

the drive was quiet, but you saw the gears turning in his head. he was curious now. hopeful, maybe.

when you pulled up to the small venue you’d rented for the night, he looked confused.

until he walked inside.

there was soft music playing. his closest friends, family, and team were all there. dim lights, candles, vegan food lined up buffet-style, and roscoe’s favorite treats in little bowls around the room.

photos of lewis through the years played on a loop on a big screen. gp wins. childhood go-karts. that time he dressed up as batman for halloween. all of it.

he turned to you, eyes wide.

“you didn’t forget?”

you shook your head, stepping closer, arms wrapping around his waist. “how could i forget? you just had to let me lie a little first.”

he pulled you close, forehead pressing to yours, that quiet smile finally breaking through.

“you got me,” he whispered.

“i always do.”

lewis kissed you like he’d been holding his breath all day. and maybe he had.

later that night, after the crowd thinned and it was just the two of you swaying in the soft light, he said it again.

“i really thought you forgot.”

“i know,” you murmured. “and i’m sorry for letting you think that.”

he looked at you for a long moment, thumb brushing over your cheek.

“this… this was perfect.”

and you could tell he meant it.

ʚ・george russell

you knew george would make a thing out of it.

the man had a flair for dramatics. you loved that about him. but it also meant pretending to forget his birthday was going to be a test of your own acting skills.

you woke up early on purpose, slipped out of bed before he opened his eyes, and left a post-it on the mirror that said, “went out to run errands, be back later x.”

no ‘happy birthday.’ no breakfast in bed. not even a cheeky wink.

the silence from your end was deafening.

by the time you returned home mid-afternoon, george was sitting on the couch like a man freshly betrayed. wrapped in a blanket, arms crossed, tv playing some mindless nature documentary that he was definitely not watching.

you dropped your keys on the counter and glanced over. “hey. everything alright?”

he didn’t move. “oh, splendid. never better. just enjoying the slow decay of time.”

you bit your cheek to stop from laughing. “cool. i got almond milk, by the way.”

“oh, fantastic. we can toast to that instead of, i don’t know, birthdays or being alive another year.”

you blinked. “was it someone’s birthday today?”

he whipped his head around, lips parting like you’d slapped him.

“i cannot believe this,” he said, standing up and letting the blanket fall like a cape. “you’ve forgotten. i’m going to spiral. i’m going to become a menace to society. this is your villain origin story.”

“i think you’ll survive,” you said, barely holding it together.

he threw a hand to his forehead. “i wore the nice socks today. the ones with the tiny stars on them. i thought we’d at least go out.”

you walked over to him, leaned in, and kissed his cheek. “get dressed, drama queen. we’ve got somewhere to be.”

george paused. “wait. what?”

“no more questions. just put on something that won’t wrinkle when you sit down.”

still confused but too intrigued to argue, he changed into something sharp, because of course he did, and let you drag him into the car.

you drove for about twenty minutes before pulling into a private racetrack on the outskirts of town. george stared.

“you didn’t.”

“oh, i did.”

there was a single vintage aston martin waiting on the tarmac. helmet. keys. and a sign that read “happy birthday, t-pose king.”

he looked at you with the most ridiculous expression of glee and disbelief. “you made me think you forgot. you let me sit there in existential crisis mode, wrapped in fleece, contemplating my place in the universe.”

you nodded, smirking. “and now you get to race a car that costs more than both our kidneys combined. so… you're welcome?”

george burst out laughing. “this is evil. i love it.”

he pulled you into a hug, rocking you side to side like a goof. “you are insufferable. i was actually about to text my mum.”

“and say what?”

“that you were a monster. but now i take it all back.”

you handed him the keys and grinned. “happy birthday, george.”

he kissed your forehead and gave you the most dramatic bow he could manage. “best gift ever. even if you did emotionally traumatize me first.”

“adds character.”

and with that, he took off toward the car, already shouting something about lap times and not crashing it.

you just shook your head and laughed.

he’d never let you live it down — and honestly, you didn’t mind one bit.

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos wasn’t the type to make a fuss.

he didn’t expect fireworks or a giant party. but a little something? a kiss, a card, maybe even just a soft “happy birthday, amor” in the morning? that didn’t seem like too much.

so when he woke up to an empty apartment and a quiet kitchen, he frowned.

you were already gone. no message, no balloons, no surprise breakfast. just a sticky note near the coffee machine that said “be back later <3.”

that was it?

at first, he tried to reason with himself. maybe you were planning something. maybe he was overthinking. he went through his normal routine — showered, made coffee, and replied to dozens of “happy birthday” texts from friends and family.

but with every hour that passed and nothing came from you, the more that quiet little sting in his chest grew.

you didn’t call. you didn’t text anything special. just a casual “need anything from the store?” and a “don’t forget to hydrate.”

hydrate? on his birthday?

carlos wasn’t mad. not exactly. just… disappointed. the kind that sat heavy in his chest and made everything feel a little dull.

by the time you got home that evening, he was sunk into the couch, arms folded and mouth pulled into that very specific pout he swore wasn’t a pout.

you walked in like everything was normal, bags in hand, smile in place. “hey. you okay?”

he didn’t look at you. “fine.”

he was not fine.

you sat beside him, and he barely shifted. “you sure?”

he shrugged, voice low. “i just thought maybe today would be a little different.”

and there it was. not angry. just honest. soft, but it hit you like a punch.

“i didn’t forget,” you said gently.

he turned his head, eyes meeting yours. he didn’t say anything, but his expression asked all the questions he couldn’t put into words.

“come with me,” you said, standing up. “just trust me.”

carlos followed. quiet, still wearing that guarded expression, like he didn’t want to hope just yet. like hoping would make it worse if he was wrong.

you drove for a while, and he didn’t ask where. he just stared out the window, wondering if he had overreacted. maybe he had. maybe he hadn’t. but it still kind of hurt.

and then you pulled up to the beach.

he recognized it immediately — the quiet spot just outside the city. no tourists, no noise, just the waves and a little stretch of sand. it was the place he told you once reminded him of summer nights in mallorca.

when he stepped out and saw the setup, he froze.

there were candles tucked into the sand. a low table, set for two, his favorite food already waiting. soft string lights swaying in the breeze. a bottle of wine. a tiny chocolate cake with “feliz cumple, mi campeón” written on top.

his chest actually ached a little.

you stepped beside him. “i wanted it to be private. just us. i thought you’d like that.”

carlos stared at you, overwhelmed in that quiet way only he could be. he ran a hand through his hair and shook his head with a small laugh.

“you really let me sulk all day.”

“i didn’t think you’d get that sad.”

“i had a full sadness, cariño,” he said, grinning now. “i almost went for a drive just to feel something.”

you laughed and leaned into him, arms slipping around his waist. “happy birthday, carlos.”

he kissed your forehead, arms wrapping tightly around you. the kind of hug that said thank you and i missed you and you know me better than i know myself.

“don’t think i didn’t notice the silence,” he whispered. “you were evil for that.”

“but you love me.”

he rested his chin on your head. “unfortunately for me,” he said, smiling, “yes. i really do.”

ʚ・charles leclerc

you didn’t mean to emotionally destroy charles. but, to be fair, you also kind of did.

because pretending to forget his birthday seemed like a harmless little prank. he was dramatic anyway. he overreacted if the grocery store ran out of his favorite chocolate mousse. he once said “this is betrayal” because you changed the netflix profile photo without telling him.

so yeah, forgetting his birthday?

he would be insufferable. but it would be hilarious.

and it was.

it all started when you woke up and kissed his cheek, said “don’t forget to take out the recycling,” and walked away. no “happy birthday.” no breakfast in bed. no gift.

charles blinked at the ceiling for a full five minutes like he was processing a national tragedy.

by mid-morning, he was fully spiraling. you ignored his very obvious attempts to fish for attention — him humming happy birthday under his breath, sighing deeply while scrolling through birthday messages, and dramatically opening and closing drawers just to see if you’d hidden something.

nothing.

at noon, he facetimed arthur and told him, loudly, “yes, it’s been a very lonely birthday, merci.”

you were in the other room.

by the time 4 p.m. hit, he was flopped across the bed like a man who had lost everything. face down. motionless.

you peeked in. “charles? you good?”

he didn’t lift his head. “i have been disrespected.”

you laughed. “come on. you’re being dramatic.”

“i am a monegasque man. i feel things.”

you rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “put on something nice.”

he finally lifted his head. “why?”

“just do it. i’m taking you out.”

he narrowed his eyes. “out where?”

you shrugged. “it’s a surprise.”

he sighed, loud and exaggerated, but he got up. grumbling. mumbling something about emotional wounds. but he followed you anyway.

you drove up the hillside to one of his favorite spots overlooking monaco. he liked it because it was quiet. and because the view reminded him of home in a way that didn’t involve flashing cameras or team meetings.

when he got out of the car and saw the little table set up, the candles flickering, the box of pastries from his favorite bakery, and the tiny red-and-white checkered flag stuck in the cake… he froze.

“you didn’t forget?”

you grinned. “of course i didn’t forget.”

his mouth fell open like you’d told him you were actually a secret agent. he turned around in a slow, dramatic circle.

“you let me mourn. i was mourning.”

“yeah, i saw that.”

“i told arthur i was emotionally abandoned. you made me lie to my own brother.”

you handed him a fork. “eat your cake, romeo.”

charles laughed, stepping closer and pulling you into the tightest hug you’d ever gotten from him.

“you’re terrible,” he whispered.

“but?”

he kissed your forehead. “but i love you. even if you are a little monster.”

you smirked. “happy birthday, drama king.”

“never do this to me again,” he said, full pout back in place. “i aged five years today. emotionally.”

ʚ・lando norris

you didn’t actually forget lando’s birthday.

you just didn’t say anything right away.

why? because watching your boyfriend slowly unravel in quiet confusion while trying so hard to act like he doesn’t care? prime entertainment. especially when it’s lando and you know his first response to emotional distress is going live on twitch like a victorian child playing the piano in a thunderstorm.

you left him a kiss on the cheek that morning. said something casual like, “i’ve got errands today, might be gone for a while.” no happy birthday, no gifts, no hints.

he blinked. “okay… cool.”

then you walked out.

lando sat there for a while. fully dressed in his comfy hoodie, expecting a “surprise!” to pop out from the bedroom or kitchen or shower. nothing. the apartment was silent.

he gave it an hour. then opened twitch.

“yo,” he mumbled into the mic. “what’s up, guys.”

chat immediately popped off:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KING!!!

WHERE’S Y/N??

ISN’T IT DATE NIGHT??

YOU STREAMING ON YOUR BIRTHDAY?

BE FR, ARE YOU OK

lando forced a smile. “yeah… nothing planned today. just thought i’d chill with you guys instead.”

he sipped his red bull dramatically. “no big deal or anything. just a regular day. like any other. i’m not sad.”

he absolutely sounded sad.

even his “poggers” had less energy than usual.

at one point he read a message and went, “no no, she didn’t forget, i don’t think… i mean, probably not. right?”

silence.

he died in-game two seconds later.

an hour into the stream, he looked directly into the camera and said, “if anyone asks, i’m emotionally strong. like… very mentally resilient. super fine.”

right on cue, your voice came from the door behind him: “hey, lan?”

he turned around so fast he nearly fell out of his chair. “yeah?”

you peeked in. “can you come downstairs real quick?”

“what for?”

you shrugged. “just come on.”

lando hesitated, told chat “brb maybe she finally remembered i exist” and followed you downstairs.

waiting outside was a surprise birthday setup on the rooftop deck of your building. pizza, cake, his favorite snacks, party lights, a mini projector set up to play shrek 2 (because of course), and all his closest friends quietly waiting with party hats on.

he blinked. then laughed. then rubbed his face like he was overwhelmed but also completely relieved.

“you’re evil,” he said, pulling you into a hug.

“you were really about to stream all night, huh?��

“i was playing the long game. guilt stream.”

“happy birthday, twitch boy.”

he looked around at everything, grinning like an idiot. “okay yeah. worth the emotional damage. ten out of ten.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

you weren’t actually going to forget oscar’s birthday.

please. you’d had the whole thing planned for weeks. the idea was simple: pretend to forget, act super casual all day, then hit him with a surprise dinner, a stack of his favorite snacks, and a handmade card that said “happy birthday, nerd <3” in glitter glue.

classic. easy. foolproof.

except there was one flaw in the plan: oscar literally didn’t care.

the day started normally. you woke up, kissed his cheek, got out of bed like it was just any other morning. no mention of birthdays, no presents, not even a wink.

he just stretched and went, “do we have any cereal left?”

you expected some reaction. a confused glance. maybe a suspicious squint. but nope. he poured cereal, sat at the table, and started talking about tire degradation in the australian grand prix like it was a normal tuesday in april.

you were still waiting for the shift. for the "heh… you forgot something?" moment. it never came.

by lunchtime, you started to panic.

you casually said, “nothing special going on today?”

he looked up from his sandwich. “nah. not really.”

no sarcasm. no hint of drama. just full, honest indifference.

that’s when it hit you: he actually didn’t care that you hadn’t said anything. not even a little.

and that made you spiral.

“oh absolutely not,” you whispered to yourself, already grabbing your bag.

by the time oscar finished his sim session, the apartment was unrecognizable.

the lights were dimmed. candles were everywhere. a blanket fort was in the living room, fairy lights tangled in the sheets. on the table: pizza, garlic bread, a mini chocolate cake, and a birthday card shaped like a tire that said “p1 in being born.”

he blinked. “uh.”

you appeared from behind the couch, slightly out of breath and holding a party hat. “sit down. we’re celebrating your birth. no arguments.”

oscar raised an eyebrow. “i thought you forgot.”

“that was part of the plan. but then i realized you didn’t even care, and that was way worse.”

“i really didn’t,” he said honestly. “it’s just not a big—”

you shoved garlic bread in his mouth. “it is. you’re my favorite person and you were born today and that is a top-tier event.”

oscar slowly chewed. then smiled a little. “this is ridiculous.”

“you deserve ridiculous.”

he sat down, pulled the party hat over his hair with zero resistance, and looked around at the chaos.

“i seriously didn’t expect this.”

you nudged the cake closer to him. “good. i wanted to catch you off guard. you never let people do stuff for you.”

he paused. “yeah. i guess i don’t.”

you sat beside him. “well, too bad. today’s not about what you think you need. it’s about me forcing love upon you in the form of carbohydrates.”

he let out a quiet laugh, eyes soft as he looked over at you.

“thank you,” he said. “really.”

you smiled. “happy birthday, oscar.”

and for a guy who “didn’t care,” he looked suspiciously close to being emotional.

but he just picked up a slice of pizza and said, “do i at least get to pick the movie?”

“absolutely, birthday boy.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[hyperfixiation-station]

Behind Enemy Lines Pt.1

CW: Torture, Canon-typical violence, talk of derealization, disassociation Summary: You were a friendly medic, captured years ago and held prisoner, forced to do do the bidding of your captors. Years later, a man by the name of Ghost is dragged in and changes the trajectory of your life. A/N: I had severe ADHD, and i am unmedicated rn, and it makes it really hard to work on things unless I get the hyperfocused drive for it, so I'm sorry I'm so bad at making the other parts to my fics. Know that I will never abandon them. it just might take me a while. idea part 2

You fought back, at first. Way back when you first got captured, taken from your base camp and dragged through miles and miles of harsh terrain, blindfolded and bound. A medic you were, yes. But your team had trained you with the best of them. You spent the whole time trying to escape, kicking and screaming until they bound your legs and gagged you. You spent the first month of captivity refusing to talk to them, hissing and spitting and pretending their punches didn’t hurt. But it didn't take you long to realize it was better to cooperate, or to at least be civil. Civility got you less broken bones, less pain, more rations, more sleep. Cooperation didn’t come till later, when you finally realized your team wasn't coming for youthey were dead but you didn't know that.

Surprisingly, the whole mouth-getting-sewn-shut didn't happen till a couple years in... they were torturing someone, a man who said he had kids and a wife at home, whose only wish was that they left something recognizable of him so they could get some closure. You begged them to stop. Begged them to stop when his wounds became too numerous to count, too much for you to handle. Begged because you started to care for him as he told you about his son and daughter, how they want him home for Christmas(You didn't have the heart to tell him Christmas was 6 days ago) Told them that he would die no matter what you did if they continued. Well, they didn't stop, and he did die... and you found yourself ringing in the new year by being strapped to a table.

“We warned you to stop talking with him.” They said as they clamped the metal shut over your forehead and chin, holding you in place. “We told you to not get attached, but since you can’t seem to do it on your own, we’ll help you.” The feeding tube came 2 weeks later, shoved up your nose when they realized you were starving...they couldn't lose their favorite medic of course.

You stopped paying attention to the passage of time after that, spent most of your days drifting in and out of reality, moving through the motions with a practiced ease. And it would have remained that way, if it wasn’t for a man in a skull mask with a team- a family- looking for him. 

Your first introduction to him ended up with you getting a broken nose. Per usual, you were shoved into the cell, medical kit in hand, ready to fix up whatever damage your captors had done the their poor prisoner.

The mask he had been wearing when you saw him dragged in was gone, and he had a gash that went all the way through his cheek that would need stitching up. You pull out your equipment, moving slowly towards his bleeding face. 

he headbutted you the moment you got close enough for him to reach, and the crunch of bone and the gush of warm blood followed, not that you noticed. You were still in that dreamlike state, not quite tether to reality in the way you should be. You barely noticed when they tranqued him, and the only reason you didn't finish his stitches is because you passed out too(it’s hard to breathe through a bloody, broken nose)

The next time you approach more carefully, but he’s no trouble. Mostly because they left him completely strapped to the table this time. Today was a rare day, a time when you  could actually feel your feet on the ground rather than just see them. You feel bad as you wipe him down, your eyes flicking over the myriad of scars on his body. What’s one more you think to yourself as you get to work stitching a stab wound to his thigh. Just barely missed the artery here…that could have been bad news. Okay tie it off and- there we go. I think the only other thing that need to- oh, is he…talking to me? I should probably pay attention to that.

“-here?” His voice is gravely, though you suppose yours would be too after being tortured. He stares at you expectantly, and you shrug. You don’t know what he said, and even if you did, you couldn’t answer. You just move to his wrist, snapping the bone back in place. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t make an actual sound, which surprises you. But you don’t dwell on it, wrapping a bandage around his arm and moving to exit the room. 

“Y’ no’ g’nna lemme off?” His voice sounds, “they said y’ would.” You spin around, staring at him. You're not stupid. And even if your…bosses had said that, you still wouldn’t do it. Being trapped in a room with a man who is at least a foot taller than you and looks like he could kill a man with his glare? No thank you. 

You take a step back, heading towards the door. The man lets out a sound you would barely qualify as a laugh. “Sm’rt then.” He says to himself, “No’ gonna be that easy.” 

The next time you go in, you can't help but wonder what they want from this man. By now they usually would have killed him off. Oh well, not your job to wonder. You clean him up, splinting the fingers they had broke when he talks to you again.

"why don't y' let me die?" He says, voice just as gravely as before, "Put me outa m' misery?" You don't respond, just keep taping his hand. IT's something you ad asked yourself, right at the beginning. It would be kinder for you to just let your patients die. But you couldn't do it. Partially because you were punished anytime someone died before your captors wanted them to, but also because you were a medic. YOu were there to heal. You couldn't stomach letting someone die by your hand.

"Answer me!" The man snarls, bringing you back to the present, "For god's sake y' never talk, fuckin' mute." You don't respond, of course. Just finish your task and leave him to his thoughts.

He’s angrier after that time, you’ve noticed. The few times you're actually present, he’s fighting you. Usually not with words, but he bucks and doesn’t hold still. He’s tried to grab your medical supplies countless times, and one time you actually had to be pulled out because he jerked his arm while you were stitching him and somehow managed to drive the needle into your own hand. The few times he does actually yell at you, you’re usually not paying attention. You can catch words like “Dishonorable”  and “Disgraceful”. You aren’t entirely sure of the context of the words, but you can guess. You’ve treated enough prisoners who think that you are the world's worst human being, a blight to the medical field, to guess what he's trying to tell you. 

It's funny though, this man so full of hate. Because, for the first time in goodness knows how long, your feet are on the ground, and your head is level. Something about this man, his angry, uncrushed demeanor, even after weeks of torture, stirs emotion in you that you can’t quite identify. And maybe you should be grateful, thankful your head is on right, but you're not. You so desperately want to go back to that place of apathy and detachment, where your emotions weren’t so strong, were the pains of mishealed bones and poorly healed scars didn’t plague your waking moments. 

Or maybe it wasn’t the man- The Ghost, as you found out he was called. Maybe it was the fact that something in the air had changed. The air was electric, charged with tension so thick you could feel it even alone in your cot. They were watching you, you could tell. Could feel their eyes tracking your movements in a way they hadn’t since first giving you freedom to move around. 

You're not sure why. It’s not like you have anyone to go home to. You were an only child, and your parents had died long before you reached 18. All you had was your team, a team that had seemingly abandoned you. So why would you leave? There was nowhere to go. And yet they watched you. Was it because you were becoming more aware, more grounded then you had been in a long while? Was it the man, Ghost, who had them on edge? 

The answer came two days later. You were in Ghost's cell again, desperately packing gauze into a gaping hole on his side. You don’t know what had happened, but for the first time in years you were dragged from your cell, your captors muttering under their breath in a language you still didn’t understand as they thrust you into his cell. Blood was everywhere. Your best guess was that Ghost had been struggling and an instrument had slipped and gouged out a hole in his side. So here you are, packing gauze into the wound as you try to figure out what to do to keep him alive with your rudimentary supplies. 

You pack another piece of gauze in just as the door goes flying open. Men, dressed in black, wearing the same mask Ghost was, come bursting in. 

“Get back!” The one in the front yells at you, gun pointed in your face. You shake your head, hands pressed against Ghost’s wound. 

“Now!” You make a protesting noise, trying to gesture with your chin. The man looks down, eyes widening. 

“Aw shit- are you the medic?” You nod almost desperately. The man looks at you again, staring at your hands. They are shaking, pressed against the wound as you try to keep Ghost from bleeding out. 

“Fix him.” The man snaps. You shake your head and look up at the man, trying to communicate that you need more supplies. 

“Use your words.” The man gabs the gun at you, indicating he wants you to get on with it. You stomp your foot, shaking your head again. 

“What, what's that supposed..…you can’t speak, can you?” You nod, glad he finally got it. The man groans, lowering his gun.

“You’re coming with us, but you make one wrong move, and I mean one, I will put a bullet through your brain before you can even speak. Got it?” He gestures to the other two men with him, and together you lift Ghost up, carrying him out to safety.

A/N- anyways, here's part one. Sorry if it disappoints anyone

tags, sorry if i missed any:

@redzluvvesage @just-a-harmless-potato-05  @vesna-the-spring @princess312 @norsehorseofcourse-blog @bonniperinktrance @soggywafflezz  @littlebunie @sirbonesly @havoc973 @mommymilkers0526 @thegreyjoyed @pinkiliciousgunp0int @poopoobuttsy @darcellethedreamer @kamote-kuneho

[jamminvroomvroom]

as sick as it sounds, i loved you first. 2

LN x fem!leclerc reader

PART 2 OF 2 -> read part 1 linked HERE!

here we go again guys, you know the drill! follows directly on from part 1 because of the silly word count :(

warnings: warnings: 18+!! minors GO AWAY! smut, angst, fluff, kinda enemies to lovers? kinda? r is charles sister oop, miscommunication, both of them are down bad for eachother but they are also extremely dumb! breeding kink, size kink, pain kink (if u squint), unprotected p in v (don’t be silly!)

part 2: 6.1k words

8. i have you.

“you never told me why.” lando blurts.

the sun is setting outside, the pair of you sprawled out over your hotel bed. he’d been in your room for a few hours, tangled with you between the linen sheets. it’s thursday in brazil, and he’d made a beeline for your hotel room after media day wrapped up. he couldn’t explain the anxiety he felt, pooling thickly in the pit of his belly, but it subsided as soon as he saw your pretty face, peeking through the crack in your door.

he’d stayed after, a habit that had been developing of late, when you were both at home in monaco, but it was unusual on a race weekend. you’d pulled out your laptop to do some work, and chucked the remote at him, telling him to put something on netflix. he’d just smiled and obliged, more than willing to stay with you.

“told you ‘why’ what?” you look up from your laptop, confused.

“why you haven’t really been with anyone else.” his voice is small, scared he’s overstepping but he figures he’s seen you naked one too many times to get shy.

“oh.”

you stare off into the dim light of the room for a second, collecting your thoughts, reliving it all.

“you don’t need to tell me, sorry if that was weird-“

“no, uh, it’s fine. it’s a bit tragic really, embarrassing.” you start. “there was a guy, a couple of years ago. he was on my course at uni. he was perfect, flowers on my doorstep once a week, romantic dinners overlooking the harbour.” you reminisce, smiling sadly. “we went on a few dates and he was selling it all perfectly, it was like he was telling me everything i wanted to hear. i trusted him, so i slept with him. it was my first time.” your breath hitches. “next thing i know, he’s telling everyone that will listen that he’s best friends with charles leclerc and that he’s fucked an f1 drivers sister. and, you know, monaco is small. charles and arthur beat the shit out of him.” you laugh, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, which are now glossed over with fresh, stinging tears.

lando slides closer to you, tentatively wrapping an arm over your shoulder.

“it’s always been hard, you know? people trying to get close to me so that they could get close to charles. all my life, it’s been the same shit. i just wanted someone to want me for me, just once.”

you’re crying now, and lando wants to die for causing it.

“hey, ‘m so sorry, honey. i shouldn’t have asked.” he shushes you, pulling you close. he kisses the top of your head gently, and you snuggle further into him.

“no, it’s okay. wanted you to know. that’s why i like this. us.” it comes out just above a whisper.

“that’s why i like us too.” he murmurs. you look up at him, scanning his face.

“what’s your story? charles said something to me once about a bad breakup.” you ask softly. lando sighs.

“she wanted the lifestyle more than she wanted me.” he shrugs.

“i’m sorry.”

“don’t be. i’m better off.” i have you, he wants to add.

“i like the fact that we can’t hurt eachother that way.” you breathe, voicing the sentiment that you’ve both shared since the very first time you were together.

“i like it too, honey. more than you know.”

-

9. ache.

a weight lifts off of him in vegas.

brazil had been a shit show, one that he wanted to forget. one that left him awake for two days avoiding your calls, until you snapped him out of it by showing up at his place anyway, and giving him the best head of his fucking life. he’d slept like a damn baby after that.

he had a week off, after, which he spent in your bed more than his own, and then he was promptly off to nevada, awaiting your arrival a few days later and fixated on clawing something back after brazil, even if it was just pride.

well, that fixation didn’t amount to much, but at least you were there, somewhere, watching and waiting. charles is a wreck, though, storming away from parc ferme, which means you’ll be with him, instead of with lando. he feels selfish at the way it stings.

he’s exhausted when he leaves the track, dead on his feet in the elevator up to his room. he can’t bring himself to join max or george and celebrate. he’ll make it up to both of them another time. his phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, recognising your contact. he doesn’t even fight the smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth.

packed something special for you. you gonna come find out what?

he’s in love with you. has been for a while.

the attention you pay to him for himl, the way you tease him and laugh with him and let him lose himself in unravelling you. your quick wit, mesmerising eyes, the way you switch languages when he scrambles your brain and you can’t think hard enough to keep speaking english. he’s a goner, and he knows it.

he doesn’t bother replying, just makes a beeline for your room. he’s spent enough time in it already this weekend to make it there without much thought. you’d even left him a keycard, which he retrieves with nimble fingers from his wallet, letting himself into your suite.

he calls your name, rounding the corner and he could die right there, just at the sight of you.

you’re lamplit, knelt on the middle of your bed, wrapped in nothing but intricate, baby pink lace.

“my god.” he pants, jaw dropped. you’re ethereal, gorgeous, a delicate gift wrapped up just for him to open.

“do you like it?” your eyes are wide, daunted.

“what the fuck did i do to deserve you?” he stalks to the end of the bed, shrugging off his jacket, his hoodie, until he’s left in a white vest and team joggers. he kneels down at the foot of the bed, ready to crawl over you. “i love it.”

you flush, grinning sweetly as he crawls over you, pushing you back into the mattress.

“you did this all for me?” lando asks, stroking over a lacy bra strap.

“thought you deserved it.” you purr, but your facade slips for just a minute. “is this okay? never done this before.” you glance up at him with round, doe eyes that make him swallow hard, melting further into you.

“‘s perfect.” he promises. “you’re so perfect.”

lando kisses you softly, his warm skin pressing into yours. you moan quietly into his mouth, holding him close. he thumbs over the lace adorning your bust, stroking it. you squirm every time he brushes your skin.

“wanna be on top. wanna try it.” you pant into his mouth, watching closely as he groans, eyes fluttering as he imagines the sight.

“only if you keep this on.” he bargains, flipping the pair of you over.

you sit up on his lap, smoothing your hands over his chest as his find your hips. he steadies you, playing with the band of your panties, tracing over the pattern.

“can’t believe you did this all for me.” lando coos, taking the opportunity to take it all in, you, flustered and breathtaking, straddling him. dressed up all for him, all his.

“you deserve it.”

“do you think you’re ready for me? lemme see.” his hand skates between your thighs, pressing the pads of his fingers against the crotch of your underwear. he applies pressure against the wet patch that he feels, licking his lips. “were you thinking about me when you were getting all dressed up? thinking about how i’d touch you?”

“yeah,” you nod frantically, grinding down on his fingers. “wanted you all day but i wanted to be good for you.” you pout. you’re gonna kill him, he thinks.

“always good for me.” he applies more pressure, toying with your clit through the lace, the sensation making you quiver, bucking your hips.

“just want you inside of me, lando. i’m ready.” you plead, palming over his sweats. your hand travels further, finding his between your legs. you tug your underwear to the side, and he feels just how wet you are for him.

“you sure, baby?”

there he goes again. baby. your tummy twists.

“yeah, lan, i want it to hurt a little.” you sound so sweet for him and it shreds the rest of his self restraint.

lando sits up just enough to rip off his vest, taps your thigh so that you lift up for a second, long enough for him to shrug off his sweats. when he’s bare, he paws at your hips, helping you to adjust. your fingers wrap around his length and he jolts, mouth falling open as you swipe the head of him through your slit. you sink down, taking just the tip, but it feels like the first time all over again, the angle creating delicious pressure that burns through your pelvis. your eyes squeeze shut and he swirls his fingers over your sides.

“take it easy for me, love.” lando urges, looking up at you with concern.

“i like it. promise.” you choke out, eyes rolling back at the pleasure, the burn.

you continue to slide down on him, sinking further and further until you’re flush against his pelvis. you roll your hips experimentally, your clit brushing against the thatch of hair at his base and you squirm, sensitive.

“want me to help?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“wanna do this for you.” you pant, rocking your hips against his.

the angle is brutal, so intoxicatingly good, and you can already feel yourself leaking all over him. you build up a rhythm, slow and steady, watching the ripple of his abs everytime you sink back down on him, the way his curls fan over his forehead, the veins in his arms bulging as he grips at your waist tighter and tighter.

“you look so pretty, baby, taking me like this.” lando sighs, helping you pick up the pace. you cry out, leaning backwards, fingers gripping his firm thighs.

“it’s so good, you feel so good.” you whine, arching your back.

he’s entranced by the way your breasts bounce, fighting against the skimpy bra and he sinks his teeth into his plush bottom lip, eyeing you hungrily. one hand leaves your waist and travels to the cups of your bra, tugging so harshly that you hear the threads break. he frees your tits, watching in delight as they fall out of the lace confines.

“you’re so sexy, honey, look so beautiful. you’re all mine, aren’t you? this is all for me, right?” lando’s eyes roll back in his head when he feels the way you clamp down around him at his words. he’s gonna fill you up, he thinks, mark you as his from the inside out.

“yeah, lan, all yours.” you slur, fighting the urge to cum. “‘m all yours.”

he can see that you’re tiring, the ache setting in, so he pulls you forward, until you’re chest to chest, wrapped up his his thick arms.

“i’ve got you, baby.” he swears, holding you close as he rolls his hips, fucking up into you.

it’s all too much like this, the constant pressure on your clit, the head of his cock tapping against your cervix, the thrumming of his heart, the cold sweat of his chest peaking your nipples. you let out a strangled cry of his name, and you see white, your nerve endings overstimulated and fried. all you can hear is his voice, pulling your through it and out the other side.

“did so good for me, baby, such a good girl. took it all so well, love.”

you’re limp on top of him, a dead weight curled around him like a life force. there’s nothing that could make him move you, and wouldn’t let you go unless you asked. you lay there in silence, your mixed release leaking out of you. your heart rate steadies, about as much as it can with him around, and you feel yourself blinking away sleep, exhausted. lando notices, of course he does.

“let’s clean up.” he suggests, sitting up carefully with you on his lap.

“carry me?” you request sleepily, a lazy smile painting your face.

“as you wish.” he jokes, bowing his head.

your legs wrap around his waist as he shuffles off of the bed, and he walks to the bathroom, setting you down on the marble sink top. he leans into the shower, adjusting the temperature and turning the water on. he lets it heat up and turns back to you. no words are exchanged as he peels your ruined panties off, as he unhooks your bra and drops its all onto the counter. he tugs you off of the side, guiding your under the stream of water, the warmth making you relax into him. he’s more than happy to prop you up.

“my legs ache.” you giggle, resting your cheek against his shoulder.

“was it worth it?”

“definitely.”

“good.”

he cleans you, massaging soap into your skin, and washing it off. you stay close while he does the same for himself, passing him different products as you clean up together. it’s quiet, nothing needs to be said, and you wonder if this is what life with him would be like. domestic and easy.

“stay.” you let yourself ask, croaking the request out into the silence. you’re both drying off, and he’s gathering he’s clothes.

“i thought you’d want me to go.” he looks like a deer in headlights. cute.*

“stay.” your repeat, and this time it sounds like a plea. he slides his boxers on.

“okay.”

he’s like a furnace under the covers and you can’t help but curl into his side, legs wrapping around eachothers. there’s no going back from this, you fear. he’s thinking the same thing. you kiss his chest as you fall asleep, just a quick press of your lips to his pec, but it makes him hot all over. if the lights were still on, you’d see him blushing. he returns the favour with careful peck to your hairline. you both nuzzle impossibly closer.

“has it ever been like that for you?” you whisper into the darkness. you hear the change in his breathing.

the question is loaded; have you ever felt like this before? was that just sex to you? what are we? what is this? do you want me how i want you?

“never.” it’s barely a whisper

you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

-

when you wake up, he stirs, bronzed arms tightening around you.

“go back to sleep.” he grumbles, pulling your back to his chest.

“i need to catch my flight.” you reply, turning around to face him.

you’re stunned when you see him smushed into the pillow, lips pouty, eye lashes fluttering to clear away sleep. he looks so pretty in the morning light, and you wish you’d asked him to stay the night sooner.

“just fly with me.” lando mutters. you freeze.

“lan, you know i can’t do that. what would that look like?”

“who cares?” he half shrugs behind you, and you wriggle away, sit up in bed.

“uh, me? i care, lando. i can’t be seen flying around with some other driver, do you know how much that would complicate things?”

“some other driver.” he huffs. that gets his attention, and he sits up. “what so we can sneak around, and you’ll let me fuck you, but being on an airplane together is crossing the line?” he grunts sarcastically. you narrow your eyes at him.

“don’t say it like that.” you scold.

“how should i say it, then? i thought maybe this meant something more to you.” he’s standing from the bed now, hurt thick in his voice, and you panic, reaching out for him, but he’s finding his clothes.

“it does! it does mean something to me but… lando, i can’t put charles in that position. i can’t put myself in that position.” you reason weakly, standing and rapidly moving towards him. you pull him to face you, holding onto his shoulders. “don’t go, please.” you whisper, cupping his cheek.

he stares down at you, dejected, a wounded animal, and pushes your hands off of him.

“i, uh. i care about you. a lot. too much, i think. i can’t go through this again, and you can’t hurt your brother. so…” he breathes shakily.

“so?” you plead, shaking your head. “don’t do this, we can…”

“i’m not gonna be ‘some other driver’, honey. ‘m sorry.”

“lando-“

“its okay. this was good while it lasted, and i know you’re gonna find what you’re looking for, without all of the, uh,” he gestures around blindly. “the complications.”

“don’t go.” you whisper, catching his hand. tears pool in the corners of your eyes, distorting him.

“go catch your flight.” he smiles sadly, finally dressed, and then he’s gone.

you stand frozen, taking stock of whatever the fuck just happened.

i care about you.

good while it lasted.

you’re gonna find what you’re looking for.

complications.

you choke out a sob, stumble backwards onto the foot of your bed when it hits you.

you’d already found what you were looking for, and now, he was gone.

-

you’re supposed to go straight to qatar with charles, but you beg him to get you a flight home instead.

he can hear that you’ve been crying, and tells you that he’ll kill anyone that you need him to. you promise it’s fine, through even more tears, tell him that you’ll fill him in when he’s got a minute to breathe.

the ticket lands in your inbox and you flee. you spend the twelve hour flight watching love actually, crying into a glass of wine, and wondering if you should get gracie abrams’ lyrics tattooed on your forehead.

i love you, i’m sorry would be quite fitting right about now.

when you land, you don’t even go home, making a beeline for alex and charles’ apartment instead. when alex lets you in, confused to see your face, leo does laps around your feet. you drop your bags and fall into her arms, sob until your throat is raw and your eyes are bloodshot.

“i fucked up.” you wail, breathing hard.

“lando?” she asks, tentative. she has a knowing look, and your eyes nearly fall out of your head.

“what? how did you-“

“well let’s just say that we saw the DM he sent you, and arthur was actually sat opposite me when you said you were with him.” she admits. you gasp.

“does charles… does he…?”

“oh, sweetie, charles knows nothing. although he did ask me what shoe size you wear after coming to your place a few weeks back. he said something about a pair of birkenstocks that looked huge compared to your other shoes, and i told him that was just the style.” she snorts, and you slap your hand over your forehead.

“oh, jesus.” you whine, hiding your face in your hands.

“wanna tell me what happened?”

“i don’t even know, he asked me to fly with him and then i said it would complicate things, that i couldn’t been seen with, quote on quote, ‘some other driver.’” you sigh.

“some other driver? oh, girl.”

“yep.”

“were you guys dating…? or?”

“no! lately things had been a bit more,” you pause, gathering your thoughts. “intimate? i don’t know. i definitely have feelings for him.”

alex looks at you sympathetically, strokes your knee soothingly.

“have you told him that?”

“no, i didn’t know how and now he’s done with me.” you wince, a fresh wave of tears pricking your eyes.

“maybe not, sweetie, maybe you if you told him how you felt, he’d understand. is charles what you’re worried about?”

“charles, the fans, all of it.” you whimper.

“the fans can be, well, intense, but take it from me, if lando’s worth it, none of that matters. is he worth it?”

you pause, weighing it all up. the way he’d been with you, so gentle and caring, considerate and interested in you. he’d made you feel safe and satisfied, and everytime you caught him looking at you, you felt that first initial spark all over again. you could laugh with him, push and tease and not just be charles leclerc’s little sister. you look forward to seeing him, feeling him, speaking to him. all of this together feels heavy, but you want to bear it.

“he is.” you whisper, looking at alex nervously. “oh, god, what do i do?”

“i think there’s a paddock pass with your name on it that you should make use of.” she tells you, wrapping you in a tight hug. “and if charles has a problem, tell him he has to go through me.”

-

10. pizza and pasta.

max fewtrell sips his coffee in the hotel lobby, waiting for keegan to join him. it’s hot in qatar, dry and bright, ornate.

his phone buzzes.

message request from: yourusername

HI SORRY ARE YOU IN QATAR????

he probably looks like a cartoon character, eyes bulging out of his skull.

another message comes through.

this sounds insane and i’m sorry that this is like, the first time we’ve ever spoken, but i need a huge favour. like a really really huge favour.

max scratches the back of his head, pulling a face at his phone. baffled wouldn’t even begin to cover how he feels.

he picks up his phone, and opens the messages.

-

lando over exerts himself keeping away from you. the sprint race had been a breeze compared to staying away, out of your reach. it hurts like hell, but it’s a necessary evil for both your sakes.

he wants to sleep, do nothing else but collapse onto his mattress, phone silenced and curtains drawn as tightly shut as they can go. he unlocks the door to his hotel room. the light flashes green, and he relaxes, finally. until, he doesn’t.

there’s a faint sound coming from down the short corridor that separates his front door from his sleeping area. it’s not max, he’s just left him outside his own hotel room, and it’s not keegan, either, for the same reason. he wonders if he has another stalker, braces himself and picks up the first thing he can find. a shoe. useless, he thinks.

lando creeps down the corridor, poised and ready, jumps out of his skin when you round the corner before he can get there. you yelp, bracing yourself against the wall.

“what the fuck, i thought you were a murderer!” lando huffs, throwing his head back.

somehow, the sight of you is worse than any murderer could ever be.

“putain! god, i’m so sorry! so sorry!” you squeak.

“how did you get in here?”

“funny story,” you tilt your head to the side, trying to look harmless. “max let me in.”

“verstappen?” lando asks, face twisting with confusion.

“no, idiot. fewtrell.” you reply, duh-like. “i can go, i know this is crazy and weird and a total violation, but i had to talk to you.” your voice softens and lando seems to finally relax. he’ll kill max later.

“this is batshit, actually, but i respect the grind.” lando shrugs. “what do you want?” he sounds harsher than intended, closed off, but you suppose you deserve it.

“i’m sorry about what happened last weekend.” you inhale shakily. “i… i care about you a lot, too, and i have done for a while but i was too scared to say it. i realised as soon as you left that i never ever wanna hurt you like that. never want you to feel like i don’t lo- care about you… like that.” you catch yourself, not ready to say certain words. he gets the gist.

“i don’t wanna be some hookup anymore. it was fine at first, when i thought that’s all i could have from you, but i know that it’s not. i want you.” lando states, his words poignant. “whatever pace you need, whatever you want from me, i wanna give it to you.”

the space between you dissipates.

“i saw you, you know, watching me from your garage all those months ago, like you were trying place me.” your voice is barely above a whisper. “admittedly, i kinda wanted to punch you for ruining that dress, but i also, really really secretly thought you were cute.”

“well, if we’re being honest, i really wanted to fuck you the first time i saw you.” he jokes crudely, and you slap his chest. “in my defence, i was blackout drunk.”

“asshole.” you mutter. you’re so close now that his nose bumps yours.

“i think you like it.” he whispers.

“yeah, i really do.”

your lips meet his urgently, homecoming. it’s been too long since you’ve had him in your hands, touched him and felt him breathe against you. the kiss is passionate, frantic, and you know you’re in love with him. you’re certain.

-

an hour later, you’re tucked into bed with him, a movie that you’re not paying attention to playing idly on the tv. pizza crusts lay on a plate, the leftovers of your impromptu dinner date.

you’ve covered your degree, how he got into racing, what you do for work, who you’re friends are, family dynamics.

you learn that his favourite colour actually is yellow, and he learns that you’re favourite drink is red wine. he prefers pizza, you prefer pasta. you like flat whites, and he doesn’t like coffee at all.

“after abu dhabi, i’ll take you on a real date. i promise.” he sounds excited as he says it, and you melt into his side.

“oh yeah?” you ask, looking up at him, your cheeks smushed against his shoulder. he tucks your hair behind your ear, thumb stroking your cheek tenderly. he just hums in response, gazing down at you.

“gonna talk to your brothers as well.” he murmurs, dipping down to peck your lips.

“not just yet.” you whisper. he furrows his eyebrows.

“why?” he doesn’t sound upset, maybe a little deflated.

“i wanna enjoy this a bit longer, at least go on a real date before, you know, they kill you.” you keep your tone serious, holding it together well. he bursts out laughing, squeezing you closer.

“and here i was worried that you were ashamed of me.” he’s grinning toothily, boyish and pure, and you kiss him again, deeper.

“never.” you coo.

-

11. daylight.

abu dhabi is a distant memory by the time you get back to monaco. you were happy for your brother and your boyfriend.

yeah, that’s what you get to call him now.

your first date had been effortless and yet so intricately perfect, lando planning it down to the last detail. flowers delivered to you the morning of, picking you up at the door, telling you just how beautiful you looked. your table had been waiting for you, candlelit, dressed immaculately. a bottle of red wine served as the centrepiece, your favourite kind. swoon.

he orders pizza, you order pasta. halfway through, you switch plates.

you wake up the next morning in his arms, content and satiated, still bare from the night before. your phone is buzzing, stirring your both out of your deep sleep. you ignore it.

“c’mere.” he begs, breath fanning out across your neck and you wriggle backwards, further into his arms. your naked skin moulds with his, and you can feel him, ready and waiting against the curve of your ass. he’s still half asleep, and so are you, but you spread your legs just enough for him to swipe himself through your folds and slip right in.

you groan at the stretch, he shushes you soothingly, clinging to your frame. everything is so warm and heightened.

“so ready for me.” he whispers, kissing over your shoulder, hips making the most minimal, languid thrusts that make you dizzy.

“want you like this every morning.” you purr, hiking your top leg up even further. he’s basically on top of you now, his body half covering yours.

lando drags your hips back to meet his, breathing heavily against the back of your neck.

“anytime you want me ‘m here. ‘m yours.” lando mutters, eyes rolling back in his head when you clench around him. lewd sounds are exchanged between your lazy bodies, so worked up, two powder kegs desperate to explode.

it happens in waves, powerful orgasms washing over your bodies like the sunlight through the curtains. it’s bright and warm and leaves you buzzing underneath him, electrified.

“good morning.” you smirk, rolling over to face him.

he’s already sunk back down into the mattress, a satisfied grin on his face, eyelashes dusting the tops of his cheeks where his eyes have fallen shut. he looks angelic, and if it wasn’t for his devious ways, you’d hail him a saint.

“very good morning, baby.” lando pants, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“you look so pretty.” you breathe, raking your nails through his hair. he groans, shivers of pleasure radiating through his scalp and down his back.

“not as pretty as you.” he surges forward, pinning you to the bed, the pair of you a hazy mess of limbs and laughter, so wrapped up in eachother. he’s peppering you with kisses, all over you face and your chest, further and further down your body.

round two is about to commence, and you’re more than excited, ready to welcome him back between your thighs, when you both here a loud, repetitive thud coming from faraway. lando pulls back, trying to pinpoint the sound.

“is that the door?” he says to himself. “sorry, baby. need to get that.” he frowns apologetically. you sigh, waving your hand in understanding, watching as he grabs a robe.

-

charles nearly chokes on air and fury when he gets the all caps message from arthur, followed by one from lorenzo, then his publicist.

arthur: HAVE YOU SEEN TWITTER? i don’t know if i should laugh or cry

enzo: be nice to her, don’t be a little bitch

publicist: Charles, we will need to address this news immediately and conclude whether the photos are out of context or not. Meeting scheduled on the shared calendar.

first question: what fucking photos? did someone catch him picking his nose in public?

second question: who does he need to be nice too?

third question: can he not go five fucking minutes without some impending media crisis?

he opens twitter and doesn’t need to look hard, because there on his screen is a picture taken the night before of his precious baby sister, and there is lando fucking norris with his tongue down her throat.

alex asks him where he’s going, watching him storm out keys in hand. he doesn’t respond with anything but a growl and a mutter of your name. alex’s eyes go wide, reached for her phone.

to: your number

girl he knows! idk how but he KNOWS!

for once in your life PICK UP THE PHONE

JESUS OKAY i just saw twitter…

OKAY im tracking charles location rn and looks like he’s near lando’s?

MISS LECLERC PLEASE! HELLO?????

it was nice knowing you babe.

-

you pick up your phone as lando leaves the room, scrolling absentmindedly through your notifications. your interest peaks, however, when you see about a million texts from alex, and even more missed call. in fact, you have literally thousands of notifications, and your blood runs cold.

you’d been so careful last night, surely it hadn’t leaked. your blood runs cold when you open your text chain with alex. the aggressive knocking on the door suddenly makes harrowing sense and you spring from the mattress just in time to hear the front door click.

“is she here?” you hear charles bellow, voice laced thickly with anger.

“uh… who?” lando tries, he really does, but he’s not a good liar. you wince, grabbing anything to cover your dignity: lando’s sweats and a t-shirt. you scramble out of the bedroom, sliding down the corridor from the sheer speed you’re moving at.

“fucking hell.” charles sighs, wincing at the sight of you. “of all the people on the planet, you pick my rival? you pick him?” charles barks at you. you close your eyes, focusing on your breathing as your chest constricts. “i told you. i specifically told you not to mess around with him, and c’mon, i don’t ask you for much.” charles throws his hands out in frustration.

“charles, listen to me,” you keep your voice calm and steady. “we’re not messing around, we… we’re together.” you confirm, watching his jaw tick.

“together? with him? do you know how many girls probably think they’re in a relationship with him? half of the portuguese modelling industry is linked to him.” charles laughs incredulously, disgusted. your eyes narrow, watching lando crumble into a million pieces in your peripheral.

“don’t you dare ruin this for me! and how can you come into his house and speak to him that way? my god, charles, you don’t get it, do you? i can never be happy with anyone because of you! everyone, everyone, uses me to get to you and, god, i finally found someone who cares about me and couldn’t give less of a shit about who you are and you don’t approve? shall i stay single and lonely and in your shadow forever? should i go for some greasy hedge fund legacy who wants to fuck any leclerc he can get his hands on? huh? i’m sorry if you don’t approve, truly, i am, but you will not have a say in this.”

charles stays silent, as does lando, the only sound in the hallway being your heavy breathing, a symptom of your monologue. you feel the ghost of lando’s touch on your waist, soothing you from your outburst, and you lean into his touch, looking up at him. his eyes are reassuring, the only source of comfort.

charles watches intently, the silent communication between you both, and it knocks him for six. ultimately, he wants you to be happy, but it begs the question: can lando make you happy? the way you truly deserve? he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, lets out a muttered string of expletives.

“will you look after her?” he stares daggers at lando, watches the way the brit straightens up.

“i will.” lando nods firmly, eyes sincere.

“and you won’t hurt her? you won’t fuck her around?” charles looks like he’s desperately pleading, but his voice is commanding, no margin for error.

“i promise.”

“and you’ll make her happy?”

“i’d do anything for her.”

your head snaps towards lando, the tears you’d been holding back finally breaking the dam. charles watches closely, steps backwards towards the door. there isn’t space for him here right now.

“okay. i- okay.” you watch the way charles backs down, and he finally meets your eyes again. “ma chére, je suis désolé.” he tells you solemnly. you nod, lips in a thin, hard line. you can feel lando nudge you forward.

“come here, loser.” you groan, opening your arms for your brother. charles meets you half way, squeezes you tight. he gently kisses your forehead and turns to leave, not before shooting lando a look that says ‘i’m watching you.’

you turn back to your newfound boyfriend, tears still falling, but you pay them no mind.

“well done, baby.” he affirms, thumbing away your tears.

“i love you, lando.” you whisper, threading your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck. “thank you.” his eyes glaze over, total adoration swirling in the pools of green.

“so glad you said that because i absolutely love you too.” he laughs, hauling you in for a kiss. it’s a mess of tears and laughter and a weird sense of serenity.

“you might wanna call your publicist. pictures of last night leaked.” you mumble against his lips.

“at least we don’t have to sneak around anymore.” he shrugs. “i’ll call later. got things to do.” he picks you up effortlessly, throwing you over his shoulder. you squeal, and he teasingly slaps your ass.

you catch sight of the apartment as he walks you through it, and you think about the first time you saw it, under the cover of darkness, covert and clandestine.

you much prefer it in the light of day.

you prefer lando in the light of day, too.

yourusername and landonorris just posted on instagram:

liked by: francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux, oscarpiastri and others.

yourusername: oops!

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-

thank god that’s over lmfao - thank you for reading!!

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[kjclfaller]

why did being sick for 3 days make me go thru an existential crisis ☠️

[hyunjincanraptoo]

Love you better- H.JS

So, LATAM Jisung did something to my heart and I had to write something for him 🫠 I was supposed to also post uno and chill part 2 today but I accidentally fell asleep during the afternoon and since it's already late, I won't be able to finish it. Good thing I have a long holiday and only come back to uni on Thursday so wait for a lot of updates during the following days (including an Easter special fic 🤭). Nari, if you see this, please don't freak out 😚

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: smut, bros code breaking

Alexa, play Friends With Your Ex by Landon Barker

It all started the night you left Chan.

Not in a dramatic, Hollywoodian explosion. No screaming, no shattered plates, just silence. A final, tired “okay”, and the soft click of a door that didn’t reopen.

You didn’t know where to go, so you walked. It didn’t take long for your phone to buzz.

Hannie: you okay?

That was all it took.

He met you at that 24 hour diner which served bad coffee and greasy bacon slices. Han slid the booth across from you like it wasn’t the middle of the night, like you hadn’t just broken up with his best friend.

He didn’t pry, didn’t ask you why it ended, or if you were okay. He just sat there, gave you his hoodie when you started shivering and let you cry into a plate of pancakes.

And since then, he kept showing up.

You’d text each other more. Stupid jokes bloomed into real conversations. He helped you move boxes out of Chan’s place without asking questions. He made you laugh when no one else could. He gave you rides home late at night because ‘it’s not safe for you to walk'. But he never pushed or crossed a line— he just was there for you, in case you needed it.

Until the night everything changed.

You were sitting in his car parked in some random parking lot. Raindrops tapped against the windows, music playing low. You were wearing his hoodie again and this time, your knees were pulled up in the seat, chin resting on top of them.

“I don’t get it”, you murmured, staring at the blur of city lights outside, “How he just… stopped loving me”

Chan had always been a good man. A kind man. But he was never there. Always at the studio, always putting your relationship last. You didn’t break up with him because you stopped loving him— you did it because he forgot how to love you back.

Han exhaled softly, glancing at you from the driver’s seat, “I don’t think he stopped loving you”, he said quietly, “I think… he just didn’t know how to love you the way you needed”.

That made your chest tighten. You turned toward him, realizing there’s something heavy in his gaze— something he’d been trying not to say for weeks.

“Han…”

He leaned in just a little. Not enough to kiss you, just enough for you to feel the heat.

“I shouldn’t want this”, he said quietly, eyes flicking to your mouth.

“Yeah… you shouldn’t”

“But I do”

You don’t remember who leaned in first. Maybe it was him, maybe it was you. But suddenly, your mouths met like you’ve been starving, like every night he held back, rushed to the surface all at once. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb gently brushing your cheek and suddenly you were kissing him hard.

Messy. Desperate. The car windows started to fog with your breath, your bodies twisting in the cramped front seat. Your legs slid over his lap and his hands grabbed your waist as he tried to stop himself— but he couldn't.

“He never touched you like this, did he?”, he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

“That’s so wrong”, you whispered, but you were already pulling his hoodie off.

“Then why does it feel this good? Why aren’t you stopping me, huh?”, he groaned, voice rough as his lips found your collarbone.

Because the truth was— you were not just kissing Han. You were kissing every stolen glance. Every accidental touch. Every night you wished someone saw you the way he always did.

It was messy, forbidden— everything you were not supposed to want.

But in that moment with Han’s hands under your shirt and his voice whispering your name like you owned him— you finally felt wanted again.

“You’re still not stopping me”, Han breathed, voice hoarse against your skin.

He was right, you weren’t. You should. But your fingers were already tangled in the hem of his shirt, already tugging it up, palms sliding over the warm lines of his stomach as you straddled him in the driver’s seat.

Your breath hitched when your hands traced over his inked skin— his tattoos, surprisingly familiar, mapped out across his muscles.

“God”, you whispered, brushing your fingertips over just under his ribs, “These always drove me crazy”.

Han let out a low groan, eyes closing as he leaned into your touch, “You’ve barely seen them” he said, voice rough.

“I saw enough”, you whispered, lips ghosting over his neck, “I just didn’t let myself want to. It had been three long weeks, you know”

His hands found your hips like instinct when you grinded down on his lap, head falling back against the headrest. “Fuck”, he groaned.

You kissed him again, your teeth clashing slightly. He moaned into your mouth like he didn’t care that this was sinful. Bros code? He barely remembered it existed.

His hands were everywhere— trailing up your thighs, gripping your hips, sliding under your shirt until he gripped your bare waist like he needed to hold on or he’d have lost himself completely.

“We can’t do this, Yn… Tell me to stop”, he said suddenly, breath shaking.

But your reply was a soft, “Don’t stop”, whispered into the curve of his neck. You didn’t want him to stop, not when he touched you like that.

You rolled your hips over his lap slowly and he let out the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard from him.

Han’s hands gripped you tighter, his jaw clenched. “Jesus”, he muttered, kissing down your jaw, “You’ve been in my head for weeks. Every time you looked at me like you needed me… I couldn’t think straight”

You whimpered as he slid his hand under your bra, gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples. He pulled your shirt up, just enough to kiss the curve of your chest, hot and desperate, leaving a purple stain there. Even though it was sloppy and frantic, it made you cry out his name.

“Hannie…”

That definitely did something to him. His eyes flicked up, then he pulled you back in for another kiss— this time deeper, filthier, full of tongue and need and everything he’d been holding back.

You could feel how hard he was beneath you, straining in his jeans, as you rocked down again, dragging a soft whine from his throat.

“You keep doing that and I’m not gonna last”, he growled.

“I don’t want you to last”, you whispered, “I just want you to”

He let out a harsh exhale, more like a curse, then leaned forward. “Backseat”, he muttered, eyes dark with lust, “Now”.

You crawled over, and he followed right behind, pulling the door shut with one hand and dragging your hips into his lap again. This time, it was faster, hungrier. He slid your panties down your thighs without fully undressing you, and the thrill of it made your pulse race.

His fingers slid between your legs, and he cursed under his breath. “Damn, you’re soaked”

You arched into his touch, head falling back. “This is so bad”, you pant, “So, so… ah… wrong”

“Then why…”, he murmured, kissing the corner of your lips as he sank two fingers inside you without any warnings, “Does it feel so fucking good?”

You gasped, grinding down against his hand, and he watched you unravel, like he was trying to memorize every twitch, every moan, every part of you.

He fucked you with his fingers slow at first, curling them just right, until your hips were jerking and your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Let me make you forget him”, he whispered.

And god, you did. You fell apart in his lap with his name on your lips, and when you came down, trembling and breathless, he already got his jeans undone, already guiding you on him with a look that said: ‘Please, just this once, let me have you’.

You took him teasingly slow. As you sank down on him, your fingers clutched the back of the seat, lips parted in shock at how good it felt— how right it felt even when it shouldn’t.

His hands held your hips, anchoring you as you started to move.

The car rocked, the windows fogged and the world outside disappeared.

All that was left was Han— his body, his voice, his mouth. The desperate gasps, and whispered curses.

“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart…. better than I ever imagined”, he groaned, head falling back.

That made you pause, “You… imagined this before?”

With eyes closed shut, he nodded, breath shaky, chest rising and falling fast. “Every time something went wrong”, he whispered, voice wrecked. “Every time he ignored your feelings cause he was at the studio. Every time you showed up glowing in a new dress and he barely looked at you before saying you looked pretty cause he had a deadline”

A choked sound escaped him— half groan, half confession— as he thrusted into you again. “Fuck… every time I thought, ‘I could be better for her. I could actually make her happy’ “.

Your eyes stung. From the overwhelming pleasure but also from him. From the way he was baring himself to you in a way no one else ever has.

You blinked, lashes heavy with tears, a lump forming in your throat. And then you kissed him. Hard. Deep. With everything— every buried feeling, every confused moment over the past few weeks.

You kissed him like he was the only thing that made sense in the middle of the wreckage you’d been walking through. And he kissed you back like he’d been waiting years. Like this was a secret he was finally allowed to speak.

His thrusts started to lose rhythm, stuttering, desperate, like he was chasing the edge just as hard as you were. The windows were completely fogged now, your skins slick with sweat, your hands gripping his shoulders like they’re the only solid thing left in the world.

You were so close it hurt, each grind sending heat spiraling low in your belly, pressure curling tight until you gasped, eyes wide and unfocused.

“Fuck, I’m…” you started, but he cut you off.

“I know, me too, just come with me”

And when he reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face, all while looking at you like you were the whole sky, that was what tipped you over. Your body tensed, then unraveled all at once— hot and shuddering, pleasure crashing over you in waves so strong you almost forgot to breathe.

He followed with a low moan of your name, hands gripping your hips as he came, pulling you down hard against him one last time.

Everything went silent, save for the sound of your panting breaths and the soft hum of the car engine.

You were still wrapped around him when he murmured, “I meant it, you know”

You blinked, heart still racing, “What?”

“All of it”, he said, voice low. “I know it is still soon, but I could be better for you. I want to be. I want to make you happy”

Your chest tightened. No one had ever said something like that after sex. Not to you, not like that.

You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his, and whispered, “You already are”

Han smiled, lazily and crooked, and then he added, “Also… you definitely ruined my backseat forever”

You laughed, breathless and full of something bright and warm and real. “Worth it, tho” you say.

“Guess we’ll just have to use the front seat next time”, he grinned.

You laughed harder this time, still tangled together, still flushed and bare and glowing. And then, you realized:

You might be completely fucked up

But maybe… you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

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[redeemingvillains]

the new girl (pt.2) - mattheo riddle

summary: you come to find that keeping your situationship with mattheo a secret is harder than you anticipated.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: suggestive content, 18+, please read responsibly my dears.

a/n: dedicated to the brilliant person who thought mattheo should be italian. i am kissing you.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ part one here

Mattheo’s lips glided over your neck, alternating in a pattern of kissing and sucking that had your eyes fluttering closed as his hands wandered over your body.

“How long are we going to keep this a secret, bella?” he murmured against you without ceasing.

“Mmm, why? Aren’t you having fun?” you responded coyly, your own hands moving to untuck his shirt, to run your fingers over the firmness of his abs.

His body was electric for you and his mind wiped completely at the sensation of your touch as he pulled back to take in the vision of you, pinned against the wall, the way your heavily lidded eyes met his, unwavering, and the way you subtly pouted at the loss of contact, if only for a second before he kissed you hungrily.

“F’course I’m having fun” he mumbled against you. “But I wouldn’t mind taking you to my room every once and awhile, as nice as these accommodations are” he said, referring to the broom closet you were squeezed into.

“I got here three weeks ago and I’ve spent nearly every day since like… this” you said breathlessly as his hands wound into your hair, kissing you deeper.

“So?” he said, in the briefest pause.

“So I don’t want people to draw conclusions… I don’t want to get a reputation.”

“And what reputation would that be cara mia, hmm?” he asked as his hands wound down your body.

“That you have good taste?” he prompted, his fingers dancing over the waistline of your skirt.

“That you like a bad boy?” he continued, his voice huskier as his hand slipped beneath your skirt and you could feel the cool metal of his ringed fingers against the inside of your thigh.

Your body shuddered in response. I don’t want people to think I’m…easy you thought, even though you knew you’d never done anything like this with anyone else, but there was something about Mattheo was simply irresistible, eclipsing your every waking thought and you had a sneaking suspicion he felt the same way.

“Maybe we wait—” you started as his fingers brushed against you, exactly where you wanted them and your breath hitched “—a little while longer” you whispered.”

“Whatever you say, principessa” he said before losing himself in you.

Mattheo was so fucking smitten with you he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He loved the thrill of your current… arrangement… how exhilarating it was trying to rile you up and keep you quiet at the same time as you snuck into broom closets, abandoned bathrooms and the deepest corner of the restricted section of the library to be together. You swore to him over and over again that this was totally out of character for you, that you never did anything like this before, and that drove him even crazier, knowing that he brought out a side of you that simply couldn’t get enough of him, especially because he felt the same way.

But despite the heady cloud of lust and adoration that seemed to carry him throughout his day, he couldn’t forget the words his friends had said about you that occasionally echoed in his subconscious.

 “She’s all anyone can talk about”

“I would take a bludger straight to the head for just a taste of that”

His palms curled into fists at the memory until he flexed and released them. His friends knew better than to run their mouths like that now, but he was quickly finding that only left him with the rest of the school to deal with.

In potions he could hear Cedric Diggory and Michael Corner talking about you, how hot you were, debating again if it was true that you had dated professional quidditch players, a question that kept resurfacing in a way that was beginning to bother him. He turned around to glare at them but when they caught his eye, he realized he had nothing to say and no reason to stop them, so instead he had to sit through the rest of the class nearly shaking with fury at their comments.

Then it was his teammates in the locker room before quidditch practice, placing bets on who would be the lucky guy to get with you first. He slammed his locker closed and stormed onto the field.

But it all came to a head when he passed you in the corridor, you breezed by each other, each surrounded by your group of friends and enough students that the burning gaze you exchanged with one another went completely unnoticed, even though he picked up the way you subtly bit your bottom lip at him, a tell he’d come to know as you being incredibly turned on. It took every ounce of his willpower not to throw you over his shoulder right there as you passed by but then a voice reverberated in the hall.

“YN! YN!” it shouted and he turned to see Seamus Finnegan yell at you as you passed him by.

“Want to see my wand, beautiful? It’s solid oak and 12 inches long!” His comment was met with a host of laughs and jeers from other Gryffindors and you rolled your eyes in a way that made it seem like this sort of thing happened to you all the time. Mattheo’s blood was boiling and he realized he was creating a commotion all his own by the way he was standing still and staring at you in the crowded thruway, his face grimaced and the tic on his jaw evident. Your cheeks flushed at the look of fury on his face until one of your girlfriends pulled you away.

That night in the library, you traced your fingers over the ridges of his bruised and battered knuckles before your eyes flickered to his, doe-like and innocent as you batted your eyelashes at him.

“What happened?” you whispered.

“S’nothing” he said, gently pulling his hand from your grasp and moving to cup your face, desperate to touch you, to kiss you.

“Doesn’t look like nothing” you pressed.  

He shook his head, blowing the comment off and moving closer to you until you said, “And what might Mr. Finnegan look like at the moment?”

“Like he’s taking a good, long, fucking nap in the infirmary with a pair of black eyes” Mattheo said, his voice low and rough.

And before you could comment, he added, “And I don’t want to spend another minute with you hearing another bloke’s name on those lips” as he kissed you firmly, seductively and grasped your face in his hands.

And then you were awash with him again, adrift in the sensation you’d come to crave from him, dripping with an air of possessiveness that had you coming apart faster than you had any time before.

You rode the high of Mattheo knocking someone out in your honor for days. The perfect combination of the way he lavished you and equally had such a capacity for violence excited you, thrilled you.

Your mind was drifting in and out of thoughts of him as you re-applied your lipgloss in the bathroom when you heard Pansy Parkinson and Astoria Greengrass chatting a few sinks over.

“Are Nicole and Mattheo still hooking up?” Astoria asked, catching your attention.

“She said he’s been ghosting her” Pansy replied. “Why, you want in on that?” she joked.

“Can’t say I haven’t thought about it, haven’t you? You heard what she said about him.”

“Gods yes” Pansy agreed. “Maybe send him a little pic, you know he can’t resist that.”

They brushed by you and you realized your hands were shaking as you gripped the sink in front of you so tightly your knuckles were white.

That night Mattheo noticed something decidedly different about you, the way you twirled your tongue with his, the way you ran your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck and sent shivers up his spine, like you were trying to tell him something without words, until finally your hands were on his belt and you pulled back from his lips for just a moment.

“Maybe this doesn’t have to be a secret anymore?” you said quietly.

His heart leapt in his chest, whether at the precarious position of your fingers at the present moment or the words you’d said, he wasn’t entirely sure.

“I’m not complaining, but why the sudden change of heart?” he asked.

You pouted and fidgeted and he realized there was no facial expression you could make that didn’t make him want to do absolutely sinful things to you as he kissed your pouted lips, turning them into a smile.

“Hang on. This doesn’t have anything to do with Nicole and Astoria getting expelled today, does it?" he said, a smirk blossoming on his lips in revelation. "I heard they had a bag of weed and a load of enchanted quills in their rooms.”   

Your eyes glinted as they flickered to his and you tugged him closer to you by his belt, softly biting your bottom lip as you shrugged halfheartedly, daring him to say more.

I fucking love this girl he thought clearly.

“If me spending every night on my knees for you wasn’t clear, cara mia, I am absolutely mental over you. And I’d love nothing more than for every girl in this school to know it, to know that I’m yours. Va bene?”

“Molto bene” you said, drawing the words out against his lips as you enveloped them, the sound of his native language coming from you demolishing him as he pulled you tightly against his chest.

@kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @elsie-bells @hisparentsgallerryy @the-sylver-dragon @r-a-c-h-e-l @noodleboyluke @slutfordpr

[mywritersmind]

hellooooooo! I read yell and flight and let me tell u I was HOOKED. I cannot get fran off my mind the way this man is!!! It’s driving me wild and it’s barely been abt a week or two seeing him all over my socials👩🏻‍🦯‍➡️ I was wondering if you are still taking reqs obviously for fran? I know deep down in my bones that this man is so clingy like physically so maybe like him hugging the reader a lot like alot all the time, like long cuddle sessions just talking abt life?

xxxxxxx thx in advance

SEVEN TIMES WHEN FRANCO COULDN'T KEEP HIS HANDS TO HIMSELF - FC43

listen up : no warnings just some kissing!! this is cute so i hope you enjoy <3 franco x girlfriend!reader

word count : 1249

⋆｡‧˚⋆

When I first started dating Franco, it was obvious that his love language was physical touch. Back then however, I didn’t know how much he depended on it.

⋆༺

1. I’ve never been more excited for Franco than I was at that first race in Monza. As soon as I could, I ran to him.

He was still in his race suit, grinning that stupid smile that I so love. He was sweaty and gross and I couldn’t be happier.

“Corazón…” He wrapped his arms around me, resting his head on my shoulder even as I jumped up and down.

“I’m so proud of you!” I pulled him tighter, his curls brushing my face. “That was so sick!” I pushed him back to move my hands while I spoke but his hand stayed on my waist.

He let me recount his own race back to him as he just stared at me dreamily, “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He laughed and pulled me in again, kissing me this time.

People cheered and whistled as I smiled against Franco’s lips. He kept that same hand on me all day, holding me close as if the two hours he was racing for was time lost for us.

He never cared who was watching, as long as I was in his arms, nothing else mattered.

⋆༺

2. “Let’s stay here.” He mumbled into my skin, laying completely on top of me with his face on my stomach.

I laughed, running my hands through his hair, “We have to go Fran… You were the one who said we would!” He frowned up at me when I took my hands from his hair.

I slipped my hands back through his waves and he smiled happily again, wrapping his arms tighter around my waist.

I look at his arms flexing against me, “Darling…”

He frowned up at me again, making me laugh and having to physically push him off of me, “Ay no…” He groaned as I stood, smoothing out my skirt.

“Come on!” I had to walk out the door just to get Franco out of the room.

⋆༺

3. We were at a charity gala and I felt like a genuine magnet. A magnet that only attracts Franco's hands. I smirked at him, “Like what you see?” I spun around in my red dress that hit right before my black heels, his hands staying on me as I turned around.

His gaze dragged up my body, nodding silently. Franco is never silent. He gave my waist a little squeeze before kissing my cheek and pulling me into his side.

The whole night, the only time he left my side was when I went to the restroom. He was waiting with drinks when I got back, I can’t help but smile at his stupid face that looks way too happy to be buying things for me.

We ended up talking to Lando and his date, she was definitely a model and honestly I don’t know if he even knew her name. When the girl left, Lando eyed us both, “You’re making me look bad!” He ran his hand through his curls as I rested my head on Franco’s shoulder.

“Not my fault that you don’t like your date!” Franco argued and Lando pulled his lips into a thin line.

“I like her just fine! You two are just disgustingly affectionate.”

⋆༺

4. “I’m just having a hard time, Franco!” I sat on the couch, my head in my hands. We’d been fighting like this for an hour and getting nowhere.

He paced in front of me, turning to me and placing his hand on my chin so I would look up.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered as tears ran down my face, sinking to his knees, “I’m so sorry… I know you though. You can get through this.” His hands moved up the outside of my thighs, holding me tight like he always does.

⋆༺

5. I could practically feel Franco’s gaze burning a hole into the man across from me’s head.

He started over to us as soon as he saw the man take a step closer. He cleared his throat, placing his hand on the small of my back as he smiled at the man.

Franco leaned closer to me and the man left in an instant. I smiled softly at him, raising a brow, “Possessive, much?”

He sipped his drink, “With you? Always.”

⋆༺

6. “You look delicious.” I laugh out loud as he says it in my ear, I turn and swat his chest. The club music was loud and the lights were even brighter.

“Franco.” He knows he’s gotten to me, a smirk prominently on his face as he takes my hand in his and pulls me gently out of the crowd.

We make it to the bathroom, one stall, before Franco has his hands on my ass and his mouth on mine. “Needy.” I mumbled into his mouth.

“No shit, have you seen yourself?” I laughed as he pushed me up against the wall, his hand slipping below the hem of my blue dress.

He slips his tongue in my mouth, cupping my face and holding onto my waist tightly. I sometimes forget he’s an actual athlete until he brings his strength into the bedroom. Or in this case… the club bathroom.

⋆༺

7. Franco sat between my legs, my hands in his hair as he intently listened to the football match that was playing.

He's talking about some of the players but I'm busy braiding his hair which is quite hard given the length.

He moved his hands away from his water bottle that he was fidgeting with, playing them on my ankles and making me shiver. His touch is effortless and sometimes I think he doesn’t even realize because he was definitely focused on the game.

His hands slid upwards, brushing over my calf then back down. He repeated this for five minutes until I finished with his partially braided hair.

The game was still playing as he slid his fingers up my legs once more, making me shiver. He didn’t even realize until I pushed my hands over his and his head leaned back to look at me.

He smiled and kissed my hand, turning around and kneeling in front of me.

I watched his muscles move as he extended his arms to wrap around my waist. He looked up at me, his green eyes shining while his hair looked like a mess. “Are you excited for today?” We were in his drivers room, his suit unzipped.

“Yes. Because you’re here.” His hand rubbed against my face softly, like he wanted to memorize every part of me.

“Do you get nervous?”

“Of course. I don’t want to mess up when you’re were.” I frowned at his words, caressing his neck.

“I don’t care what you do, love… as long as you’re safe.” He sighed and laid his head on my knees.

“You that worried?” I nodded. “I don’t want you to be.”

“Well I’m your girlfriend and it’s my job because you chose a job where your life is in danger every weekend.” He laughed at my sarcastic tone, shaking his head and kissing my knee.

“I like that you care. But I promise you corazón, you cannot get rid of me that easily.” He kissed me softly, I kissed him back.

[kingkat12]

pornography (eric draven x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, foul language, groping/fondling, dry-humping lol, mentions of substance abuse

summary: when you finally talk to Eric Draven in rehab, it doesn't take long before you get drawn together by a force stronger than anything you have ever encountered. it doesn’t help the situation that you eventually find out Eric has been drawing pictures of you… nude

word count: 2,337 PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

a/n: this is for all the girlies like me that just came home from watching The Crow and got their mind blown by how hot Bill was in it... holy fuck. had to write this blurb because I am so shaken up, I can't feel my face. enjoy!! there will be more parts hihi...

"I fucking hate pink," 

I couldn't believe that was the first thing I said to him-- the dark and broody stranger I had been eyeing through my first few weeks in rehab. He stared back at me, confusion swimming in his big green eyes, probably pondering why I had sat down next to him in the cafeteria. "Pardon?"

"It's a little ridiculous," I tried, watching as he put down his cutlery, pushing his food away as he gave me his full attention. Tugging at my pink sweater, which we were all wearing, I let out a nervous chuckle. "Whose idea was it to put a lot of addicts in pink, anyway?"

My eyes darted down to his hands as I waited for his answer-- they were huge up close, and completely covered in tattoos. I hadn't noticed them from afar; I had only noticed the ones peeking through the top of his shirt when he would pass me by in the hall, or the big eye he had on his chest that I had seen while passing by his room. I knew it wasn't nice to peek into his room while he was changing, but I was quite frankly starved of any male contact-- any girl would go crazy in here. 

He eventually shrugged, giving me the answer I least expected; "I guess pink is supposed to be a calming colour. It's not that bad," I watched as the corners of his mouth tugged upwards, giving away hints of amusement. "Aren't you girls supposed to like pink?"

"Maybe," I mumbled, nudging food around on my plate with my fork. "I just don't like to wear it. It doesn't suit me."

The handsome stranger didn't seem to agree, another shrug following accompanied by a shy laugh. "I can't figure out whether you're being sincere or searching for compliments,"

This was most definitely not how I wanted to come off. I straightened up, resting my elbows against the table as I cleared my throat. "I'm just trying to make conversation,"

"... Why?"

"Because you've been staring at me almost as much as I've been staring at you," I put down my fork, hoping he didn't see how nervous I was. In truth, he had been staring-- it wasn't all purely one-sided. I had caught him staring at me in the courtyard, on my way to the shower, and I had also caught him lingering outside my room several times. He would usually leave when I came out, disappearing down the hall with speed I wouldn't even dream to catch up with. 

He finally gave in to a smirk, nodding to himself as he lowered his head. "Sorry," It was clear that he hadn't thought he'd be called out like this. However, something told me he wasn't too upset about being caught either. 

"Don't be," I said, feeling my anxiety ripping through my veins. Why was I indulging? "I just--"

It was at this moment that a guard appeared behind him, yanking him away from the table with a harshness that made me gasp. I clasped my hand over my mouth, watching as he barely reacted to the brutality. 

"Guys and girls eat separately!" the guard yelled at me, slamming his fist down on the table. 

My eyes widened, looking back at the handsome stranger. "But I-- I was the one who sat down here, he didn't do anything!" I protested, watching as the guard grabbed him and led him away. Groaning, I ran my hands through my hair, frustrated with the rules at this place. Why was it so fucking strict?

I eventually looked up just in time to see that the man had managed to turn around, smirking my way; "I'm Eric!" he said, holding back a laugh as he was shoved along the cafeteria for everyone to see.

Despite the horror washing over me for getting him in trouble, I managed to croak out my name as well. It seemed that he appreciated that I had at least tried to stick up for him-- What was it that I had just started?

My question would be answered a lot quicker than I had expected. 

A few days passed, and more looks and stares were exchanged. I was dying to talk to Eric again. I knew I hadn't been sent to rehab to make friends or get feelings for someone, but something was gnawing at me to talk to him again. I wanted to be around him constantly; what was happening to me? I recognized this feeling-- it was the same feeling I got when I really, really craved something... Fuck, how I missed drugs. Maybe Eric was turning into a substitute?

It wasn't often that the door to Eric's room was open, but today it was. I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't taken the extra lap around the institute as usual, hoping to get a glimpse of him through the small window in his door. But today, I didn't have to get on my tippytoes to get a look-- there he was, picking up several drawings that had been scattered around the floor. His room looked like a mess, completely unlike how I was used to seeing it through the tiny window. This looked like the result of one of those raids that the prison guards sometimes did when they suspected there were hidden drugs in a patient's room. 

I felt sorry for him; I knew how horrible it could feel to have someone rip through all your stuff. But as I bent down and picked up a few drawings that were at my feet, my lips parted in surprise.

It seemed I wasn't the only one caught off guard; Eric noticed me standing in his doorway, letting out a relieved sigh as he watched me inspect his drawings. He called out my name, leaning against the wall as he sized me up and scanned me, crossing his arms over his chest. 

I cleared my throat; "Is this... me?" I held up the first drawing of the bunch. It was a sketch of me sitting in the courtyard, and I was sure that it was me-- I suppose it was my shock asking for confirmation. 

Eric snickered, kicking off the wall. "Yeah... Sorry,"

"Stop saying sorry," I shuffled through the drawings, finding he had drawn me in multiple settings, and it was clear that I had been watched the few weeks I'd been here. "These are beautiful, Eric... I guess I'm honoured--" My words trailed off as I finally approached the last drawing. Was that...?

He didn't even try to take it away from me. Eric sighed, looking away as his cheeks flushed a light pink, similar to our uniforms. 

Judging by his reaction, I had a feeling he wasn't so against me seeing this. It was a sketch of me, after all-- nude. 

I had to swallow rather hard for anything to go down. I couldn't pinpoint why I wasn't absolutely horrified at this.  "So... this is what you've been up to in here, huh?" There was no stopping the smirk that spread across my lips, holding back a flustered giggle. "This is next-level pervy, do you know that?"

It didn't take long before Eric's big hands ripped the drawings out of my hands, turning away as he shook his head. "Every artist needs a muse, no?"

"A muse? How can I be your muse if we don't know each other?"

"That's not how it works," he mumbled, throwing away the drawings into a heap on the bed. "Your beauty is all I need to get inspired."

This was enough to shock me into silence. I inhaled a sharp breath, stepping into Eric's room despite knowing it was forbidden. "So now you think I'm beautiful?"

Eric hummed, finally turning to meet my eyes. "It hasn't been the biggest secret, has it?" There was something playful about him, shameless, as though it didn't matter to him that I had just found his handmade porn. "It gets a little lonely in here, I guess. These drawings just... run out of me like water. Can't control it."

There was something so unimaginably tantalizing about Eric. Everything about him made me want to jump him then and there-- was it maybe the result of my withdrawals that were turning my brain into further mush? In a normal setting, this would have creeped me out to infinity and beyond, but knowing this was coming from the man I had been lusting after from afar for several weeks made me excuse it in a heartbeat. 

I had no idea what possessed me to close the door to his room and lock it, knowing the repercussions could be severe if we were caught. But Eric didn't seem to mind; his green eyes widened, watching my every move like a hawk.

"It was really pretty and all... The drawing, I mean," I said, inching closer to where he had sat down on the bed. "But would you maybe want some inspiration for the next one?"

Eric's plush, pink lips parted, eyes rounding out in surprise. Despite his shock, his big hands reached out for me as I came closer, and he pulled me in between his legs. I could feel him caressing my back through my shirt, holding me with the utmost gentle touch. "I'll take all I can get," he murmured, looking up at me through his brows, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. 

I let out a giggle as he pressed his lips against my stomach through my shirt, enjoying the intense feeling of someone against my skin again after all this time. Eric pulled away, glancing at the door before slowly trailing his fingers under my shirt, testing the waters. 

It didn't take long before that wasn't enough for him-- my breath hitched as Eric grabbed my waist, pulling me down with him on the bed. I barely had time to think before the euphoric feeling of being kissed engulfed me. Our lips met in an open, soft kiss, almost as though we were scared to break the other if we were too needy or harsh. As I straddled him, I felt his hands tugging at my shirt, dipping back under the fabric once more. His fingers gently ghosted over my lower back, eventually ending up trailing small circles with his thumbs along the underside of my bra. 

If I hadn't been so starved of any human contact in here, I would've never jumped the opportunity like this. But none of us knew how long we had until the guards would bust us, and it only fueled the adrenaline pumping through our veins. Our kisses became desperate, hungry, and I let out a whimper against his lips as he took the liberty of cupping my chest, feeling me up to his heart's delight. I knew I had been waiting for this moment since the first time I saw him, and I wasn't about to let it slip through my fingers-- I decided to let him do whatever he wanted to me, no matter what. 

I could feel Eric's cock twitch beneath me, clearly aroused. It was also at this moment that he made me sit up, tugging my shirt off of me before laying back down to scan me. Was he memorizing my body for his next sketch? It wasn't every night that I had a handsome stranger beneath me like this, so I allowed him to trail his hands up and down my body, lips parting in delight. "Fuck... Yeah, this will do," he murmured, pupils dilating at the sight before him whether he wanted them to or not.

"You sure?" I asked, giggling to myself. My hands rested against his broad chest, letting out a sigh of delight; God, he was sexy. As I shifted in his lap, Eric's breath hitched as I seemingly sat down in the exact right spot. Almost as though he was possessed by instinct for a moment, he grabbed my hips, rocking me against him through the fabric of our clothes. 

Who would've thought I'd be dry-humping this stranger and enjoy it so much? My hands gripped his shirt, a quiet moan spilling past my lips-- I had forgotten this feeling. This was mostly something I did when I was a teenager, before I figured out how to have proper sex with my high school boyfriend. But it felt so damn fucking good, desperate; it didn't take long before I leaned back down, capturing his plush lips in another kiss. 

I craved him like water. I wanted him against me, in me, for him to take me in every possible position ever-- a deep, dark part of me knew I would be insatiable from now on. 

But our moment of ecstasy was interrupted when a guard started banging his fist against the door, his muffled yells barely registering through my arousal. Despite my dazed state, it didn't take me long to drape my shirt back on, climbing off Eric with wobbly knees. "Shit," I mumbled, turning to him with wide eyes. "I'm screwed. We're screwed."

Everything about him was so damn beautiful. The kiss-swollen lips definitely didn't help how gorgeous I thought he looked right now. Despite the situation, knowing we were in deep shit, Eric let out a soft chuckle; "I don't think you're screwed enough, actually. We'll get to that another time," 

My eyes widened as I gave into a light giggle. There was no way this was happening-- had my naughty rehab dreams come true? The guard banging against the door was drowned out by the incessant ringing in my ears that festered through my mind as Eric leaned down to kiss me one last time; "I hope to see you around, if they don't kill us,"

"Yeah," I breathed, only now realizing how tall he was as I looked up to meet his gaze. This man was towering over me. Holy shit. "Can't wait to see your next masterpiece."

I couldn't wait. I really couldn't.

(a/n: PART 2, PART 3 here!! enjoy<33)

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Dirty Laundry

Summary: Life with two toddlers has taken a toll on your sex life for the past few weeks, but after a surprisingly calm morning, you and Javi find a creative solution to solve your problem.

Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also, who am I to say?) vaginal fingering, paise kink, a breeding kink so dangerous that you may get pregnant just from reading, creampie, cum play, a loud washer and dryer, no actual laundry accomplished, domestic girl dad Javi, you'll always be famous

A/N: idk who unlocked my cell while I was ovulating, but once again I have escaped, and once again, we're makin' babies. I think I've convinced myself I don't know how to write anything else, and for that, I am genuinely sorry. If wanting to give Javier Peña a football team worth of kids is a crime, then lock me up and throw away the goddamn key 🤠

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

For as much as you loved your daughters, it was safe to say that for the past two weeks, your pair of rambunctious toddlers had been doing very little for your sex life. 

Your 4 year old Lucy had been going through a phase of having nightmares every night, and somehow ending up in you and Javi’s bed no matter what you tried. That, combined with trying to potty train your 2 year old, Elliot, (who was nowhere close to being the breeze her older sister it was when it came to the matter), on top of preschool, work, and life in general, you and Javi had barely gotten so much as a kiss in, let alone some quality time together. 

It had been your hope to start trying for baby number three, but after 2 months of negative pregnancy tests and another month of complete chaos, despite your best intentions, “trying” had very much taken a backseat in your mental to-do list.  

But this morning when you woke up, it was almost as if a wave of calm had washed over your house to reset the state of disarray you had been in the past few weeks- Both girls had slept through the night in their own beds, had woken up in good spirits, Elliot asked to use the bathroom multiple times, and both had been happy to play in the living room together quietly as you worked on catching up on some much needed laundry. 

So calm, in fact, that Javi was almost worried when he came downstairs for work to hear near silence, apart from the occasional giggles from the girls as they arranged their Fisher Price Little People in their Play Barn and the washer running in the background. 

“Hi Daddy!” Lucy cooed, toddling over to her dad, wrapping her arms around his waist as Elliot quickly followed behind, perching on his leg like a koala. 

“Buenos días, niñas. (Good morning, girls).” Javi grinned, squatting down to kiss the wild, sleepy curls of his daughters’ heads, still slightly confused by the tranquil state of the house. “Where’s Momma?” 

“Washing stinky socks.” Lucy giggled, pinching her nose and scrunching her face, pretending to have smelled something bad. 

“Yeah, stinky socks.” Elliot echoed, sticking out her tongue. 

“Oh yeah? Is it because my pollitas (little chickens) have stinky, smelly feet?” Javi teased, wrapping his arms around the girls, pulling them close to his chest as he tickled their sides, the three erupting in laughter and giggles. 

“What’s goin’ on out here, huh?” You grinned, stepping out of the laundry room with your arms playfully crossed against your chest to see your husband and daughters in a tickle tackle pile on the living room floor. 

“Daddy said we have stinky feet! Daddy’s got stinky feet, not me and Elliot.” Lucy protested. 

“I think you and Daddy both have stinky feet, Lucy Lu, and your dirty laundry proves it.” You smiled, watching Javi give one last big kiss to each of the girls before pushing up off the floor with a grunt, making his way over to you. “Good morning, Mr. Stinky Feet.” 

“Hey, c’mon now. I can’t have you all gangin’ up on me.” Javi pouted through his smirk, wrapping his arm around your waist as his lips softly met yours, his words sweet and low as they danced against your skin. “Good morning, Hermosa.” 

His kiss lingered just long enough to send butterflies swirling through your stomach, biting down on your lip to try and keep your heart beating any faster than it already was. You stood there for another moment, eyes locking with his as the grip around your waist tightened just subtly enough to hint his mind was in the same place as yours. 

You were finding a way to finally have sex this morning. 

You could feel the arousal already beginning to pool in your core, swallowing hard as Javi tilted his head and raised his eyebrows at you while his hand slid further down your waist towards your ass, trying to devise a plan for the two of you to be alone long enough to do what you had both been so desperately craving these past few weeks. 

As you turned your head back over your shoulder in search of ideas, a devilish grin spread across your face, looking back to Javi to gently tug on the maroon tie dangling from his neck, twisting the end through your fingers. 

“I think I really need help with the laundry before you leave for work.” You mewled, leaning in to press another kiss to his plush lips, followed by another on his cheek and neck, Javi letting a soft groan rumble in his chest. 

“Oh Fuck, baby. What do we do about the girls?” He asked quietly, trying his best to keep his composure as the dark brown of his eyes grew hungrier with want. 

“Snack and a movie? There’s already a baby monitor out in the living room, and if we put on “The Little Mermaid”, it should buy us enough time.” You nodded in reassurance of your own idea, already growing antsy with anticipation. 

“God, I love you.” Javi smirked, giving you one more kiss and a firm squeeze of your ass before breaking away towards the kitchen so you could execute your plan. 

“Hey girls?” you called, making your way towards the living room where they were back to playing, “Daddy needs to help Mommy with some, um- laundry. So if we put on “The Little Mermaid”, can you show us what big girls you are and let you watch the movie all by yourselves?” You asked, doing your best to play up your request. 

“Yes, yes, yes!” Elliot squealed, clapping and stomping her feet. “Wittle Mermaid!” 

“Okay, go get your blankets and sit on the couch and Daddy’s gonna bring you a snack to watch the movie with.” 

“Yay! Movie time, movie time!” Lucy shrieked as the girls ran to go grab their things, plopping themselves on to the respective corners of the couch. While you searched for the VHS in the entertainment center, Javi returned from the kitchen with two much bigger than needed bowls of Teddy Grahams, turning on the TV as you pushed the tape into the receiver and pressed play. 

With the bright blue Disney logo appearing across the screen and your daughters both happily snuggled with their snacks on the sofa, you and Javi gave each other the silent nod of approval, slowly backing away towards the laundry room while the girls sat in content and entranced silence. 

After one last peek, you carefully closed and locked the laundry room door behind you, quickly followed by turning on both the washing machine and the dryer, trying to do yourself any favors you could by drowning out any suspicious sounds.  

“Good?” Javi asked once more for reassurance, feeling his slacks get tighter and tighter around his crotch by the second as he waited for your response. 

Without a single word, your lips were crashing into his, a messy dance of tongues and teeth ensuing between you as your bodies bumped against the laundry room counter, limbs tangled together in a frantic race to remove clothes. 

“Fuck, I missed you. Missed this.” Javi groaned, helping you slide your top over your head and unclip your bra as he nipped at your neck, pushing your back against the dryer and caging your body under him. 

“I know, baby, me t-too.” You whimpered, reaching out to undo Javi’s belt buckle, shoving his pants down to his thighs, followed by his boxers, freeing his cock as it slapped against the dark hairs on the happy trail of his stomach. “Missed having your big dick inside me.” 

“Fuck.” Javi swore under his breath as you reached out to stroke him, swiping your thumb over his weeping tip to rub the precum up and down his shaft as he shoved your the waistband of your pants and underwear down your hips just far enough to let them fall to the floor around your ankles. 

As much as you both desperately wanted to take your time, worshiping every inch of each other’s bodies until you had nothing left to give, you knew time was not on your side. After a few more strokes, you pulled back, letting Javi snake his hand against your body to slide between your legs, the slightest graze of his fingertips already making you shutter with need. 

At this point, even after the few weeks it had been without Javi inside you, you were wet enough that you could have taken him without any warm up, your core dripping with your arousal to the point it was smearing the inside of your thighs with its shiny coating. But even with your cunt soaking wet and time working against you, Javi couldn’t help but drag his fingers through your folds, curling to push up into your tight hole and prod against your g-spot. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so wet. This all for me, Momma? Missed me fillin’ you up with my cock? Missed me fucking you full of my cum, huh baby?” Javi growled, his words shooting straight to your cunt, making you clamp down tighter around his fingers and your clit throb with intensity.  

It had been a minute since baby making had been at the forefront of your mind, but his question set off something animalistic in the both of you, knowing that right now could give you a chance at baby number three that you had been wishing for. 

“Y-yes, Javi, fuck- want you to fill me up, baby. Want you to fill me up until you fuck a baby into me.” 

It was then that Javi couldn’t have been more thankful that you had turned on the washer and dryer to try and drown out your noise, because the groan he let escape from his parted lips was much louder than he intended. 

But then again, there were few things in this world that turned him on more than you begging him to knock you up, so what did he expect? 

Scooping his arms under your thighs, Javi hoisted you on top of the dryer, your ass hitting the cold, vibrating metal with a thud as your lips collided again with desperate ferocity, muffled moans escaping from your mouths. 

“Dirty fuckin’ girl. Want me to knock you up again, Momma? Give you another baby?” Javi smirked, reaching to line his cock up with your entrance, swiping his tip through your folds to collect your slick and coat it along his length before he pushed inside you, sinking deeper and deeper until he bottomed out, hips flush with yours. 

Words couldn’t describe how much you had missed the sweet stretch and sting of Javi’s fullness, each inch of him feeling better than the last, sobbing out as his tip kissed your cervix, all inhibitions of self-composure completely tossed out the window. Still sunk deep in your cunt, Javi’s hand shot over your mouth, stifling your cries in his palm. 

“Shhhhhh, I know, Osita. You gotta keep quiet though, baby.” 

You nodded frantically in compliance, Javi’s hand dropping to grip around your waist as you tried to catch your breath. “M-move, Javi, please.” Your whimpering request borderlining pathetic with how badly you needed him. 

“You promise you’re gonna be a good girl and keep quiet?” 

“Mhmmmm. I promise, baby, please.” 

With that, Javi’s hips began to snap, dragging his cock in and out of you at a dangerous pace, coating the walls with the sounds of the wet sounds of your cunt and slapping skin, muffled by the washer and dryer. 

“Oh my God, Javi. Fuck. Fuck, you feel so good.” You whined, locking your legs behind the small of Javi’s back, keeping him as close to you as possible as he fucked in and out of you. You draped your arms around his shoulders, fingers burying themselves in the dark curls at the nape of his neck. 

The closeness had the hairs at the base of his cock rubbing deliciously against your clit, adding to the tension beginning to build at the base of your spine, both of you knowing it wouldn’t take long to get where you needed to go after weeks without being able to have each other like this. 

Javi could feel it too, his balls beginning to tense with each pump, using every ounce of self control to keep from preemptively spilling into you, his hands digging into the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, holding on to you like his life depended on it. 

“Jesus, Fuck- Fuck, I missed this tight little pussy so much. Gonna cum so deep inside you. So deep it’s gotta fucking take. God, you’re so fucking sexy when you’re pregnant. I swear I’ll give you as many babies as you want, Hermosa.” Javi babbled, biting down on his lip as he pounded into you, reaching one of his hands down to circle at your wet, puffy clit, aching to be relieved from all the built up tension. 

At this point, you were so drunk on pleasure that you could barely remember your own name, feeling your orgasm begin to build through every inch of your body in a way that had you seeing stars, digging your fingernails into Javi’s shoulders and burying your face in the crook of his neck to keep from crying out his name, forcing yourself to whisper incoherent sweet nothings against his skin. 

“P-please, Javi. F-fill me up. Oh shit- Fuck, baby, I’m so close.” 

Javi’s thrusts became sloppier and more erratic, fingers rubbing your clit with the perfect amount of pressure to coax your orgasm out of you before he followed suit, gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow in intense concentration. 

“That’s it, baby. Cum all over me. Soak my fucking cock before I fuck you full of me and knock you up. C’mon, Momma.” 

Suddenly, your orgasm crashed through you, lighting your body up like a goddamn Christmas tree, every inch of your body radiating with bliss as you clamped down around Javi’s cock, biting down on his shoulder as you came to try and stifle your cries. 

Javi was only moments behind you, letting out a low grunt with the final sutter of his hips as he came, coating your walls with his warm spend, fucking it into with every ounce he had left until he had milked himself dry. 

Your bodies collapsed into each other, rising and falling in sync with heavy breaths like you had just finished the last mile of a marathon and collapsed at the finish line, damp and sticky with your sweat. 

As much as Javi didn’t want to pull out, he could feel his cock beginning to soften and the mixture of your spend leaking from your hole. Refusing to let a drop go to waste, he pulled out of you, a groan rumbling low in his chest as he wrapped his hand around his length, dragging his tip up through your folds and collecting the cum that had been dripping out. Taking the wet mess he had gathered with his cock, he pushed himself back into you, slowly thrusting in and out of you, a devilish smirk spreading across his face at the absolutely obscene sound coming from between your legs. 

“Promise me,” Javi gulped between pants, finally pulling out of you again, “Promise we never go this long without having sex again. Holy Fuck.” 

“Promise.” You couldn’t help but giggle in agreement, coming down from your blissed out high. “God, that was the longest two weeks ever. Don’t know why we didn’t think of this sooner.” 

“Because we’ve been sleep deprived and exhausted, and our little monstros (monsters) have been giving us a run for our money.” Javi chuckled, reaching behind you to grab a towel from the cabinet above the dryer, quickly rinsing it in the sink before wiping you up and helping you find all of your clothes. 

“Are we crazy for wanting another one?” You asked, looking down at your stomach, thinking about the ramifications of what you had just done. 

“Maybe. But you drive me so fucking crazy, we may end up with 10 before you know it.” 

“Javi! Dear lord, we are not having 10 kids, you psycho.” You laughed, playfully slapping your husband on the shoulder. 

“Stop being so hot and I’ll stop knockin’ you up.” Javi smirked, raising his eyebrows at you as you rolled your eyes at him knowing damn well you’d have a whole army of his kids if he really wanted. 

“You’re ridiculous, I hope you know that. Alright, you need to get your ass to work and I need to feed the gremlins before I drop Lucy off at preschool. Let’s go, cowboy.” You grinned, playfully smacking Javi on the ass, giving him a quick kiss as you made your way towards the door. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Osita. I gotta remember to call my dad on the way into work.” 

“Call your dad? Why?” 

“To see if Abuelo can take the girls this weekend so you and I can catch up on a lot of laundry.” 

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@purpleprincess75

[tootiecakes234]

Katsuki “asking” you to move in with him

You were almost back home when you got a call from your boyfriend. He didn’t even greet you when you answered.

“Where are you?”, he grunted into his phone.

“Well hello to you too handsome.”

“Yea, yea… where are you? I’m at your place to pick you up and ya ain’t here.”

“Heh… maybe if I knew you were coming over I would’ve been home. Why didn’t you text me and let me know. I don’t have any clothes packed or anything.”you informed him.

He does this all the time. Just comes over to your house and tells you that you’re coming back to his place with him. So very demanding.

“You have a dresser full of clothes in my room, your toothbrush and all your toiletries… what do ya need to pack?”

“Ya got me there. I’m almost there. I got stuff to drop off then we can leave.”

When you get through the door Katsuki is digging through your fridge.

“Why do you never have groceries in your house?” He questions you.

“Because I’m never here sir. They always go bad because I have a needy boyfriend that wants me at his house 25/8.”, the sarcasm drips out of your voice as you head to drop off the things you had bought.

“ Tch…. Needy. Please. You’re the one always complaining that we don’t spend enough time together.” He states.

“This is true.” You shrug your shoulders. “Anyways I’m ready. Let’s hit it.

“It’d be easier to spend time together if you just moved in with me” he mentions all causally as you guys head out to his car. You pause a little and look at him a little baffled.

You and Katsuki had been dating for about 8 months but you didn’t know he felt that seriously. Maybe he was just joking, so you shake it off and continue on like he didn’t say it.

The next thing you know you’re at his house getting ready for bed.

Kats comes to the bathroom and leans against the counter while you’re in the middle of doing your skincare.

“Do you wanna say something?” You ask because he’s just sitting there staring at you.

“Do you not wanna live with me cuz you could’ve just said that when I mentioned it earlier instead of fucking ignoring me.” He asked it harshly but you could hear the vulnerability in his voice. Like he didn’t want to bring it up but it was bugging him bad enough that he had to say something.

“I- uh…”

Apparently you were taking too long.

“Just forget it.” His eyes fell from yours and he started moving away towards his room. “Are we watching the next episode of that stupid show of yours? If not-“

“I didn’t think you were serious Kat.” And you reach your hand out to catch his arm before he can leave.

“I thought you were joking or something. Also it wasn’t a question so I didn’t know you were waiting on an answer babe.” There’s a small grin pulling at your lips when he looks at you again.

“Why the hell would I joke about that? And it was obviously a question…. So answer it dammit.”, his brows were furrowed and he was scowling a little.

Poor nervous boy.

You reach both of your arms up and wrap them around his neck. Then you lean in and press a kiss to his pouting lips.

“Katsuki Bakugo *kiss* I would absolutely *kiss* love *kiss* to move in with you *kiss*”

His arms have wrapped around you waist pulling you tighter to him.

“About damn time. I’ll have people come over to pack your shit tomorrow.” And this time he leans in to give his a deep kiss. His tongue reaching out to invade your mouth.

When he pulls back you’re all twinkle eyed and dopey in love. It takes a second for reality to catch up to you.

“Tomorrow?? Kats I have a lease and I don’t want movers breaking and throwing my things around. I’m gonna need at least a week or two. And I’m gonna have to pay-“

“I’ll pay for the lease break and you have til this weekend. If ya don’t want movers I’ll get our shitty friends to come over and help. Ain’t waiting no two weeks.”

“This weekend? It’s Wednesday. That only gives me 2 days!” You reason.

“Yea and I don’t wanna give you that so count your blessings princess. And I’m done arguing about this.” He sweeps you up bridal style and carries you to bed. Then He dumps you down onto it.

“Now how about we start christening your new place,” he says while hovering over you with a sexy smirk playing at his lips.

Hmmmm….. and just like that you forgot why it was you weren’t moving in tomorrow. He could be so very convincing when he wanted to be.

Katsuki Masterlist