#when she looked at that old woman and was like 'you're so beautiful' I WAS IN TEARS

[hcneymooners]

⋆ i was young and sweet, and then something happened.

truck driver!sevika x female!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you're back home after burning out your new york dreams. mississippi has been waiting for you and comes with the old and new—including the delivery driver that frequents your mother's boutique.

cw: truck driver!sevika, female!reader, age gap, older woman/younger woman, reader is in her twenties, modern!au, unresolved sexual tension, slow burn, strangers to lovers, returning to the hometown you worked to escape from, complex mother daughter relationships, non-sexual intimacy, mentions of grief and loss of a loved one, open (but very positive) ending.

notes: i hate this, just a bit. but please, please tell me what you think. send long asks, even. i love them. i love you.

It's the rat that skitters over your foot that sends you home.

You'd just climbed out of the endless well that is the New York subway, steadfastly avoiding eye contact with the man rocking back and forth right outside the stairwell. You feel a sense of shame as you refuse to look at him, a horrible aching feeling that speaks to you losing sight of your roots and where you came from.

Your most recently created playlist was blasting—aptly titled "songs that are what's wrong with me"—when you'd felt it. A heavy brush against your ankle and across the top of your foot. You looked down, almost in slow motion, and watched as the plump body of a well-fed city rat finished its travel across the top of your square-toe black flats.

You resist the urge to scream, cautious of seeming just as crazy as the man you keep refusing to look at. You hear him laugh and it makes you press your lips together until there are only two thin lines on your face. You contemplate dragging your heels out of your bag but you still have at least three blocks to go and you're tired and so sick of it all.

A billboard flashes across from you as you turn the corner: a woman's bright face with bleach-white teeth advertising a new aesthetic clinic that just opened approximately two streets away from where you live. You feel insane.

You open your phone and buy the plane ticket.

On the plane ride home, you dream of Talladega County. 

You haven’t been in years. The last time was when your mother took you on a “girls’ trip” where she told you that she didn’t love your father anymore, that she was leaving him. You had started crying, begging to go home because you could feel somewhere deep in your gut that he’d be gone by the time you came home. She told you he wouldn’t, promised you. 

You stared into her face, her features shadowed by the halo of the sun behind her head. She was tanned and beautiful—and everything you believed in. You’d calmed down, called him to tell him you loved him. He had said it back, his voice weary. 

He was gone when you got home, somewhere out in the thickets of Alabama where you had been only moments ago. 

In the dream, you stand in the fold in a tiny triangle bikini. It’s blue, but sometimes pink, and you have long black wet hair streaking all over you. Behind you, there's a field and dilapidated shacks—or maybe they’re houses only broken down by shame and time. 

In front of you hovers a buck with tall antlers. He's come and found you, pushes forward until his face is against your stomach and your upper body is in between his antlers like a sun. It's only this close that you can see the other antlers trapped on top of his, dripping blood off the bone. 

He's killed something. One of his own, maybe he’s gutted you. You begin to twirl in a circle as he herds you, Ethel Cain's throaty vocals invading you spiritually through your wired headphones until you settle your chin on a shotgun (when did that appear?) and look back at the buck. 

But beyond him now. Someone is looking at you. Come to me. You don’t know which of you is asking, including the animal.

When you land, you text your mother about your dream. She tells you to go see her psychic, that you can drive there straight after she picks you up. You’re not here yet? You text her. She doesn’t respond. You don’t check her location. You were never one for seeking answers. 

Welcome to Mississippi, the flight attendant tells you as you step out of the door. Her voice is chipper and bright, someone who clearly doesn’t see anything past the palm trees and pale Marlboro Lights. Thank you, you respond, for getting me here. You wonder if it's a little too intense to say thank you in this manner to someone who hasn’t talked to you for the entire flight.

But her eyes soften and maybe she sees something, maybe she knows that in your blood runs the waters of the Gulf Coast. Her mouth parts and out comes, welcome home.

🪽♱

Your mother is waiting outside baggage claim, leaning against her faded blue Cadillac—the one your grandmother always said would be the death of her. Her hair is different now, lighter where it used to be the same shade as yours, cut in a bob that frames her face and makes her look younger than her fifty-three years. You feel a sense of irritation at the change in color as if she’s taken something away from you. As much as she could annoy you, you loved that the resemblance between you used to be uncanny. 

When she sees you, she straightens, takes one last puff of her bubblegum pink vape before tucking it into her denim shorts’ pocket, and bounces on the tips of her white sandals. You can see slight redness along her brow this close to her, and needle marks from where she’s gotten her “preventative” Botox. It’s only a matter of time before she starts suggesting you join the club. 

"Look what the Gulf dragged in," she says, arms outstretched.

You let her sweep you into a hug, her perfume a perplexing mix of caramel and cinnamon. Maybe it’s the tightness of her hug, the silent admission that she missed you (because you never spoke about your feelings to one another) that causes your face to crumple and your body to shake. Your mother coos, the sound throaty from years of smoking, and rocks you back and forth. You’re blubbering about that fucking rat in New York, but she just knows you need this. 

Somehow, she gets you into the car and stuffs a stick of celery into your mouth, depositing a tiny tub of ranch and breaded chili wings into your lap. The drive from Gulfport to Bay St. Louis takes you along the coast, windows down despite the July heat. Salt air whips your hair around your face as you stare out at the water. It's different here—softer somehow than the aggressive Atlantic you'd grown accustomed to. The Gulf looks like it's breathing, with gentle rises and falls that match the rhythm of your chest.

"Angels is doing well," your mother says, referring to the boutique as if it's a third person in the car. You nod to show your listening, your front teeth break apart the body of another piece of celery. "Tourist season's good this year. The snowbirds are spending money."

You nod, watching pastel-colored houses roll by, their wrought iron balconies and weathered shutters telling stories of hurricanes survived and summer loves forgotten. Spanish moss hangs from live oaks like old women's hair, swaying in the breeze off the water.

"Shit, we need to stop for gas. I knew I should’ve filled her up before leaving," your mother announces, turning into a station that looks like it hasn't changed since 1975. The sign—Silver Cove Gas & Grocery—flickers in the late afternoon sun, neon just beginning to glow against the darkening sky. "Get me a Diet Coke, would you? And whatever you want." Yeah, you think, on my card.

As you step out of the car, the humidity wraps around you like a blanket, familiar in its weight. The feeling makes you think of your childhood best friend Ella, a broad-shouldered girl who used to come up behind you and hug you with a quarter of her true strength. Last time you checked (you’re always checking) she was a professional athlete, free from this town. 

The concrete beneath your feet is warm, and for a moment, you stand still, feeling the heat rise through the soles of your worn down ballet flats. It's nothing like New York pavement, which always feels cold somehow, even in summer. Maybe this is what makes you unlock your phone, find Ella’s Instagram, and send her a message. She probably won’t even see it, given she’s verified and has over two million followers. 

The bell above the door chimes as you enter, and the cashier—a teenager with braces and freckles—nods in recognition. "You're Nina’s girl," she says. Not a question. It doesn’t need to be. You have her face.

You're picking up your mother's Diet Coke from the cooler, and grabbing a Cola Lacaye for yourself, when you hear it—the deep rumble of a diesel engine pulling into the lot. Through the window plastered with faded beer advertisements and fishing tournament flyers, you see it: a massive black truck, clean despite the dusty roads, commanding the space around it like it owns the whole town. Maybe it does. It’s been a long time since you were back anyway. 

The driver's door opens, and a pair of heavy boots hit the ground first. Then legs in well-loved jeans, and finally, her—tall, with arms corded with muscle and dark hair pulled back in a short, practical braid. A scar runs down one side of her face, but it doesn't diminish her beauty; instead, it feels like a warning. This woman has survived things you can't imagine.

She walks steadily toward the store, and as she reaches for the door, your eyes meet through the glass. For a second, neither of you moves. Something passes between you—recognition, maybe, though you've never seen her before. Or perhaps it's just that you both seem out of place here, returned to a world that's both familiar and foreign.

The bell chimes again, and she's inside, the small space suddenly feeling smaller. She nods to the cashier—"Evening, Annie"—and heads straight for the cooler where you're still standing, Diet Coke clutched forgotten in your hand.

"Excuse me," she says, her voice lower than you expected, rougher. When you don't move immediately, one corner of her mouth quirks up. "Unless you're planning to buy all of those."

You step aside and say, “I was thinking about it.” 

She smiles fully as you continue watching as she reaches for a Diet Coke of her own and a package of cream-filled cookies in a blue wrapper. As she moves past you toward the counter, you catch a whiff of diesel and something sweeter—maybe vanilla, maybe just the sea.

"You're new," she says over her shoulder.

"I'm home," you correct her, surprising yourself with how right it feels to say it.

She smiles again, and this time you smile back. You stand in line behind her, your mind following the thick lines of her back as she reaches for her wallet and counts out some bills. Soon enough, she’s finished, and you pay for your own things before slipping out the door. Your mother waves giddily from the driver’s seat and you laugh a little, slightly touched at how glad she is to see you over and over again.

“You’re Nina’s daughter?” that gravelly voice asks and you turn your head to look over your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you say, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

“Your mom’s shop just got added to my delivery route. I see her every Thursday evening,” the woman says. “Guess I’ll be seeing you too.”

“Um, guess so,” you push out, your chest warming at the way she’s gazing down at you. She’s taller by a few inches, but the inches matter. You’re used to being the tallest around. 

She eyes you for a minute longer before making her way back to her truck. You watch until she’s back in the cab, then walk quickly to the Cadillac. As you slide in, your mother presses a kiss to your temple in thanks for her Diet Coke. 

“I see you’ve met Sevika,” she comments. “Strange little woman.”

“Little is not the word I would use to describe her.”

Your phone vibrates with a notification and you check it. It’s a rather sweet response to your Instagram DM. Hey, wow! This was a pleasant surprise. I’m doing great, how are you? You still look the same.

Sorry? You type back without thinking.

Lolll, don’t apologize. It’s not a bad thing. You always had a timeless face. 

Maybe you aren’t forgettable. At the same time you receive the message, your mother laughs.

🪽♱

"Absolutely not," your mother says, setting down her wine glass firmly on the kitchen counter. "You're supposed to be resting, [Name]."

You tilt your head, watching the condensation gather on her glass. The kitchen is the same as you remember—blue and white tiles with little anchors, ceiling fan that clicks when it spins too fast, the refrigerator covered in magnets from places neither of you have actually been.

"I need something to do, Mom. I didn't come back to sit around and count the ceiling tiles."

"What you need is to recover. Work is what made you break down and come back in the first place."

You sigh, picking at the label on your beer bottle. "That was different. That was sixty-hour weeks with a boss who thought weekends were a suggestion." You look up at her. "I’m afraid despite my best attempts, I’ve been corporate-pilled. I will collapse without any work. Just let me take the opening shift. You know you hate mornings anyway."

She narrows her eyes, looking so much like you it's unsettling. "Only mornings?"

"Only mornings," you agree. "I'll have the place ready when you come in at noon. Or one."

Her eyes narrow at the extra hour you’ve added on, but she looks away as she considers.

"Fine," she relents. "But if I see those little crease lines between your eyebrows coming back, I'm firing you."

“Harsh,” you quip, but you squeeze her shoulder as you get up to begin washing the dishes.

Angels by the Sea sits at the corner of Harbor Drive and Magnolia Street, a converted Victorian house painted the palest shade of pink, like the inside of a seashell. The sign—written in your great-aunt’s handwriting and preserved all these years—hangs from wrought iron brackets above the porch. Two white rocking chairs flank the entrance, inviting passersby to sit and watch the Gulf waters in the distance. You think they shouldn’t sit down. People tend to get stuck here. 

You unlock the front door at 8:15, earlier than necessary, but there's something about the morning light filtering through the stained glass transoms that feels sacred. Inside, the boutique is a carefully curated treasure trove: whitewashed wooden floors, antique display cases salvaged from a New Orleans department store, and clothes hanging from driftwood racks your grandfather made decades ago. 

Nothing has really changed and the way the store seems to be waiting for you lances through your chest like a harpoon.

The inventory is eclectic—sundresses in gauzy fabrics, handmade jewelry from local artisans, vintage-inspired swimwear, and the salt scrubs your mother makes in her kitchen. Everything smells faintly of spice and sea salt.

You feel the urge to break down again, but you refrain. Instead, you slide off your converse and socks, let your bare feet rake in the unswept gravel from travelers’ boots as you flip the sign to "Open" and turn on the small record player behind the counter. You sort through the stack of vinyl until you find it—A dusty handmade pink vinyl, titled “Unreleased.” As the needle drops and "Dust Bowl (Demo)" fills the space, you can't help but sway, your hips finding the rhythm naturally.

Ethel’s rich voice singing about blood-stained blondes feels right for this moment—this return to something that feels like yourself. You let your arms drift above your head, spin once in the empty shop, bare feet sliding across the whitewashed floors. No one's watching, and there's a freedom in dancing without worrying about looking graceful or composed. 

You twirl and twirl until you stop with a hand clutching over your stomach, dashing madly to the small employee restroom in the back to vomit into the rusted sink. You scrub it for the next twenty minutes with bleach, humming along as the record still spins. For the first time since stepping off the plane, you feel your shoulders drop. 

Your outfit today—a simple white spaghetti-strap tank and low-rise jeans you found in your old closet—feels like a revelation after years of pencil skirts and blazers. You'd forgotten what it feels like to have your collarbones exposed to the air, to feel fabric that moves with you rather than constrains.

When the song ends, you're slightly breathless and barely smiling. You can't remember the last time you danced in New York—maybe at some corporate happy hour where movement was performative rather than joyful. You try not to think about it for too long, lest the sadness finds you again. 

The morning passes quietly—a few early tourists browse without buying, a regular picks up a special order perfume, and you rearrange a display of sea glass earrings, picking a few out in between to try on. It's mindless work, but it's yours, and there's something satisfying about the way your hands remember how to tie the perfect bow on the pale green gift boxes.

The bell above the door chimes just before eleven, and you look up from the sales ledger you've been updating.

"We don't usually get deliveries until—" The words die in your throat when you see who's standing in the doorway.

Sevika fills the frame, a clipboard in one hand and a small package tucked under her arm. Today, her hair is loose around her shoulders, dark waves that catch the sunlight streaming through the windows. She's wearing a faded black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing more of those arms that seem designed for gripping steering wheels and lifting heavy things. You notice one of them is a prosthetic, and your gaze caresses it, tracking the graffiti-like doodles alongside it. It’s as if she’s allowed a child to paint all over it.

"Usually Thursdays, I know," she says, the corner of her mouth lifting. "Had to reroute today. Accident on the causeway." Her eyes move from your face to take in the rest of you, lingering for a moment on the strip of skin visible between your tank top and jeans. "Nina usually signs for these."

"Mom’s still in bed," you reply, moving toward the counter. "I'm covering mornings while I’m around."

She nods, crossing to you and laying the clipboard down. "Signature on the bottom line." As you sign, she glances around the shop. "Nice place. Never been inside before."

"Seriously? You deliver here every week."

"To the loading dock in back," she clarifies. "Never through the front door."

You hand back the clipboard and accept the package, your fingers brushing hers in the exchange. Her skin is warm and slightly rough.

“God, that’s awful. When I was younger, we used to give the drivers something sweet for the road, sometimes savory.”

“Yeah, well,” Sevika sighs. “People got creepier, meaner. Women got wiser. I’m fine without a treat if that means my customers feel safer.”

Your eyes soften minutely at that, and she notes the way you look down, your lashes brushing your cheek gently as if not to spook yourself.

"You settling back in okay?" she asks, and there's something in her tone that suggests genuine interest rather than small talk.

"It's... an adjustment," you admit. "But this helps." You gesture around the boutique. "It's quiet here."

"Too quiet for some," she says. "That why you left in the first place?"

The question is direct, almost intrusive, but she asks it without judgment. Just curiosity.

"Partly," you say, surprised at your own honesty. "I wanted to see what else was out there. Had dreams for a big life."

"And did you? See what else was out there?"

You think about the rat, the subway, the billboard with the too-white teeth. "I saw enough. Then life got…too big."

She nods as if this makes perfect sense to her. "Well." She taps her clipboard against her thigh. "Guess I'll be seeing you mornings now instead of your mother."

"Guess so."

She turns to leave but pauses at the door. "You know, there’s nothing wrong with trying something and it no longer being what you want."

"I wish someone told me that before now," you say quietly.

"I’m saying it now." Her eyes flick down to your outfit and back up. "Have a good day…"

“[Name],” you supply.

“[Name],” she repeats. “You seem like a sweet girl. Those big places? They tend to lure you in, then swallow you up. From the looks of it, you gave it all you got. And in some ways, you won the fight. You made it back home.”

Before you can respond, she's gone, the bell announcing her departure as clearly as it did her arrival. Through the window, you watch her walk back to her truck, the confident stride of someone who knows exactly who she is and where she's going. Maybe she could keep you on the path.

You look down at yourself—at the simple clothes that feel more like you than anything you've worn in years—and breathe in. Maybe she’s right. Maybe you didn’t fail. Maybe this was the true mission.

Or maybe, you think as you watch Sevika's truck pull away, there was no mission. Only the decisions you made. 

🪽♱

It continues the same way for a while.

You see her in the mornings, and when you do, you talk more. Spend less time inside of yourself. The days bleed into one another like watercolors on damp paper—pink sunrises giving way to white-hot afternoons, then purple dusks that settle over the Gulf like a bruise. Through it all, Sevika arrives with the steadiness of tides, her presence an anchor in your drifting days.You feel more alive, less like a child with their face toward the wall.

You start collecting moments like shards of glass: the way morning light catches in the joints of her prosthetic. How she smells like motor oil and salt air and something sweeter underneath. The low rumble of her laugh when you say something unexpectedly sharp. You hoard them, these fragments, turning them over in your mind at night while ceiling fans spin shadows across your childhood bedroom. Sometimes you start crying, not understanding why its so difficult to allow yourself to want this.

There's something almost holy in the ritual of her arrival—the bell above the door, the heavy tread of her boots, the weight of her gaze finding yours across the shop. You're twenty-something and already tired of a world that promised more than it gave. She's forty-something—maybe you should ask—and somehow both weathered and unwavering, like the cypress trees that survive hurricane after hurricane.

You learn she lives out past the old lighthouse in a boathouse painted midnight blue. You ask her if she’s lonely. She takes a long sip of her Diet Coke, looks at you for a second too long, then says no. That the prosthetic came after an accident offshore—something with machinery and poor timing and the sort of pain that changes a person forever. That she keeps a three-legged cat named Commander who sleeps on her chest at night. That she has nightmares about drowning despite knowing how to swim since before she could walk.

You learn about her makeshift family, about Jinx and the way she and Sevika sort of fell together after some job they’d done in the military had blown out. We were mercenaries, she lets slip and you raise a brow in surprise. Are you supposed to be telling me that? You ask. Nope, she says, popping the ‘p’. You laugh.

She talks about Isha, the little runaway they found rooting around in their shed. Isha, who they adopted. Isha who got sick. Isha’s who’s gone. 

“Jinx didn’t take it well,” Sevika says and you hold her hand. “She left, went somewhere. Called me to tell me she couldn’t come back. Told me—told me loved me. Took on some job and…”

You know what she’s about to say next, and you brace for it. You still flinch.

“Blew up. That’s what they said. I think she gave herself a way out.”

You tear up but manage to tell her about your dad. She strokes your back as you cry about the way he left, about how he’s well and alive and newly married. How the two of you are Facebook friends but never speak.

She learns about your failed escape, about the way New York chewed you up and left you hollow. About how sometimes you wake with your heart racing, convinced you're back in that cramped apartment with the subway rattling your windows. About the recurring dream of the buck with blood-soaked antlers, how he's started appearing with Sevika's face, her dark eyes watching you from between points of bone.

It's a Thursday in late July when something breaks open between you. The air hangs heavy with coming rain, pressing against windows like something desperate to get in. You've spent the day rearranging displays, moving in slow circles to music that feels like church—Ethel's voice coating the empty shop in honey and ash.

The day has stretched too long, customers sparse in the gathering storm. You're supposed to be closing, but instead you're dancing alone, barefoot on whitewashed floors, arms raised toward the ceiling fan as if in supplication. "American Teenager" fills the space, and you're spinning with your eyes closed when the bell chimes.

You stop mid-turn, eyes flying open to find Sevika standing in the doorway, rain-damp and beautiful in her severity. Water clings to her eyelashes and the sharp line of her jaw. Behind her, lightning splits the sky, illuminating her silhouette in electric blue.

"You're late," you say, breathless from dancing or from the sight of her, you can't tell which.

"Roads are flooding." Her eyes track over you—bare feet, tiny jean shorts, hair wild from spinning. Something in her gaze feels like hands on skin. "Should've been closed an hour ago."

"I got lost in it," you admit, gesturing vaguely to the record player, to yourself, to the empty shop that feels suddenly too full with her in it.

She crosses to you, boots leaving wet prints on the floor. Places a small package on the counter, but doesn't pull away. "You’re always lost in it, honey" she says, voice lower than usual.

"Yeah. I think it’s my way of staying alive." The words slip out, heavy with meaning you didn't intend but don't regret. Her eyebrows furrow, but she doesn’t respond. 

Thunder crashes outside, close enough to rattle the windows. The lights flicker once, twice, then go out completely. In the sudden darkness, all you can hear is the rain, the needle skipping on the record, and Sevika's breathing, closer than you expected.

"You can say," you whisper, the words a prayer in the dark. "The streets will be underwater."

Her silence stretches long enough that you think she'll refuse. Then her hand finds yours in the darkness, flesh against flesh, warm and rough with calluses. Foolishly, you think of asking her to go swimming.

"I'll stay," she says, and the words feel like a covenant.

You find candles in the storage room, arrange them in a circle on the floor. In their glow, Sevika looks carved from shadow and stone, all sharp angles and dark depth. You bring out the emergency bottle of bourbon your mother keeps behind the counter, two little shot glasses because there are no proper glasses. Your dad got them from when he’d served back in Vietnam.

"To all the light going out," you toast, and she echoes it, eyes never leaving yours as you both drink.

The bourbon burns sweet down your throat. Outside, the world drowns, but in here, you're closer to floating.

"Tell me," she says after a while, voice rough with liquor and something else, "what are you running from? Really?"

You stare into your cup, watching amber liquid catch candlelight. "I’m not sure. I guess mainly the feeling that I've already used up all my chances," you admit. "That I'm in my twenties and already failed at the only thing I tried to be."

"And what's that?"

"Someone who matters. Someone who left a mark." You look up at her, finding her closer than before, drawn into your orbit through some gravity you don't understand. "I thought New York would make me real. Instead, it made me into a ghost. Everyone could see right through me."

She reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek, tucking hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness. Her prosthetic catches the candlelight, metal warmed to gold.

"I think a lot of New York is faking it. You’re real, and it’s hard to recognize the disingenuous when you only ever are real," she says, and the words feel like truth.

You feel something fall away inside of you, and you put down your glass before leaning forward. When her lips find yours, it's like breaking the surface after too long underneath a lake. You gasp against her mouth, hands reaching to hold yourself in the solid reality of her—fingers digging into her shoulders, sliding into her rain-damp hair.

She kisses like she does everything else: with absolute certainty, with a focus that makes the world still. Her prosthetic arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer until you're nearly in her lap, the heat of her body burning through your thin tee.

"I've been watching you," she confesses against your throat, words pressed into skin like secrets. "Since that first day."

“Me too,” you murmur. “I watched you get in your car.”

It’s an intimate confession, and the candles gutter around you, wax pooling on the floor like offerings. Outside, the storm rages, but it's nothing compared to what’s been building inside of you. Your limbs are heavy with exhaustion, so you shift until you lie beside her on the floor, your head on her chest, listening to the steady drum of her heart.

"Are you ever going to stop driving?" you ask, voice small in the vastness of night.

Her fingers trace constellations on your bare shoulder, connecting beauty marks like stops on a roadmap. “I don’t know if I could.”

You close your eyes, breathing in the scent of her—rain and metal and skin. “Would you take me with you?”

She says nothing, and then,

“I’m not sure, baby. Will you ever be happy right where you are?”

🪽♱

Eventually, your mother asks you about her. Well, she more so asks you what’s wrong. 

You weren’t aware something was wrong with you, and tell her as much. She gives you a look as she sucks a cloud of apple from her pen.

"I'm not stupid," she says, exhaling sweet vapor that curls around her face like morning mist over the bayou. "You've been floating around this house like someone cut your anchor. One minute you're singing in the shower, the next you're staring at the wall like it's showing you visions."

“Maybe they are.” She lets out a dry laugh, and you was more time picking at a loose thread on the couch—the same floral pattern that's been there since you were fifteen, though faded now where the sun hits it through the blinds. "It's nothing."

"It's that Sevika lady." Not a question. Your mother has always seen through you like water, clear enough to count the stones at the bottom.

"I don't know what we are," you admit finally, the words tumbling out like shells from a broken net. "I don’t know what I’m doing. I always know what I’m doing, Mama.”

Your mother shifts and brings you to lay your head against her chest. You close your eyes and sink inside of her skin to the best of your ability.

“She's rooted here but always moving. I came back home because I couldn't survive out there, but I don't know if I can stay forever either."

Your mother sets her vape down, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear the way she used to when you had night terrors. "Baby, there's a difference between running away and moving forward. One's about fear, the other's about growth."

The ceiling fan clicks above you, marking seconds with metallic persistence. Outside, cicadas scream their summer chorus.

"When your daddy left," she continues, eyes fixed on something beyond the window, something maybe years away, "I thought I'd never breathe right again. But then I realized I'd been holding my breath our whole goddamn marriage."

Her accent slurs around the admission, and you think about Sevika's truck disappearing down lightly flooded roads, about her callused hands on your skin in candlelight. About her question: Will you ever be happy right where you are?—that's been haunting you like a malevolent spirit.

"I think I could be happy with her," you whisper, more to yourself than to your mother. "Maybe even without her. But I don't know if it's fair to either of us that I’m unsure."

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table. Sevika's name appears—no contact photo, just her name in plain text. Delivery tonight. Meet me at Silver after your shift?

Your mother watches your face change as you read it, catches the slight upturn of your lips you can't control. "Go," she says with a sigh that's half exasperation, half fondness. "Figure it out. But remember, staying isn't the same as giving up."

You stand, watching the smoke haze around her face as she blinks up at you. It forms a murky halo around her head, so you bend and kiss her cheek. You stay there for a minute, tilting your head so that your cheeks press together and share their warmth. This close, you swear you can hear her pulse. You hope she never dies. 

“I love you, Mama,” you whisper, like its some great secret. In a way it is.

She says nothing, only kisses your temple and cradles your head. You know what she’s thinking.

🪽♱

Silver Cove glows neon against the twilight sky when you pull in, your mother's Cadillac purring beneath you. The same teenager mans the register, barely looking up from her phone as the bell announces your arrival. You still tell her hello and call her by name to let her know that you see her. You grab a Diet Coke from the cooler and add a package of the cream-filled cookies you've seen Sevika buy before and a Mountain Dew.

When you step outside, her truck is there, massive and gleaming under the fluorescent lights. She leans against the hood, arms crossed, waiting. In the harsh overhead light, the scar on her face looks deeper, the lines around her eyes more pronounced. Sometimes you forget she carries a whole life before you in her bones—years of things you'll never touch or understand.

"Thought maybe you wouldn't come," she says as you approach, voice graveled with something that might be hope.

You hand her a Diet Coke, fingers brushing hers in the exchange. "Why would you think that?”

She smiles for some reason. You continue.

“I've been thinking about what you asked me. During the storm."

She takes a long sip, eyes never leaving yours over the rim of the bottle. "And?"

"I don't know if I'll ever be completely happy anywhere," you admit. "New York was crushing me, but sometimes I still wake up missing the noise. The possibility. I don’t think this could be my life forever. It couldn’t sustain me."

The night air wraps around you both, thick with moisture and the scent of gasoline. A moth batters itself against the nearest light, desperate for something that could destroy it.

"I'm not asking you to stay forever, honey," Sevika says finally. "Just asking if you can be present while you're here."

You step closer, until you can see the flex of muscle in her jaw, the pulse at her throat. "What if here doesn't have to mean one place? What if it just means wherever we both are?"

Something shifts in her expression—surprise, maybe, or recognition. She sets her drink on the hood of the truck and reaches for you, prosthetic arm cool against your skin as she draws you between her legs.

"I have routes that go to Mobile, to New Orleans. Sometimes farther," she says, her breath warm against your temple. "Doesn't mean I don't come back."

"I could go with you sometimes," you suggest, fingers tracing the tattoos that wind up her flesh arm. "See places without having to leave for good. Or you could find me halfway. Like a long-term scavenger hunt."

She laughs, the sound vibrating through your shared space. "Never thought about it like that. Being alone for so long…staying or going were the only options I saw."

“Me too,” you tell her.

Above you, stars punch through the darkening sky, more visible here than they ever were in New York. You think about constellations—how stars can be millions of miles apart but still form a picture when viewed from the right angle. You think about how scientists have heard black holes sing. Sometimes, your heart feels like a black hole. Sometimes, you sing.

"I'm scared," you confess, forehead pressed to her collarbone. "Of getting it wrong again."

Her hand—her real one—tangles in your hair, holds the back of your head like something sacred. "Getting what wrong?"

"Life. Love. Whatever this is. My daddy was a carpenter. I don’t do well without a plan, a blueprint."

Sevika tilts your face up with gentle pressure, studies you with eyes that have seen oceans rise and machinery fall. "There's no wrong way to build a life that lets you breathe, baby."

When she kisses you this time, it feels different from the thunder-charged intensity of the boutique floor. It feels like an option, a detour, rather than an escape. Like coming home to a place you're still building.

"So what now?" you ask against her lips, tasting hints of her soda and what feels like mint.

"Now…we could get in my truck and drive somewhere. It could be down the coast, could be to my place. Could be just around the block until we figure out the next step." Her prosthetic arm traces your spine, sending shivers despite the summer heat. "I'm not promising forever. Just promising to keep showing up as long as you want me to."

You think about what your mother said—about staying versus giving up. About the difference between running away and moving forward. About how sometimes growth means finding new ways to be rooted.

"I can work with that," you say, and it feels like the truest thing you've said since coming home. “But I don’t want to leave my mom just yet. We need each other right now.”

Sevika lifts you easily, sets you in the passenger seat of her truck with a gentleness that belies her strength. As she rounds the hood to the driver's side, you watch her move through the gauzy light of Silver Cove—solid and certain and somehow yours, at least for now.

The engine rumbles to life beneath you, vibrating up through your bones like a second pulse. Through the windshield, the Gulf Coast stretches dark and infinite, full of places you might go, places you might return to.

"Ready?" Sevika asks, hand on the gearshift, waiting for your answer before putting the truck in drive.

You reach across the console, lace your fingers through hers—flesh against flesh, blood against blood.

"Yeah," you say, and as the truck pulls away from Silver Cove, you feel something inside you flatline—not with the finality of death, but with the quiet understanding of choice. “Take me home, please.”

© hcneymooners.

⚚ wife tag: @s-4pphics

[zepskies]

Here are some of my favorites! (A revamp of my old rec list.) They will span Tumblr, Ao3, and FF.net, as I did a lot of my early reading/writing on other platforms.

Keep in mind, I probably like several fics from each of these authors, but I'm featuring one or two that I very much enjoyed.

SUPERNATURAL FIC RECS

[OS] = One-Shot || [S] = Series || [HC] = Headcanon

Dean Winchester x Reader or OFC:

Stories are Dean x Reader unless noted OFC.

✦ Alisha Ashton

Clear the Area - [S | Excellent 4-part series!] This is the story of you and Dean, and how he manages to slip past your defenses. Written so that you can put yourself in the OC's shoes. Sorta set end S8. Slightly AU in the fact that Dean, Sam, Castiel, Kevin, and YOU all live in the MOL Bunker. Everyone is healthy. Cas is still an adorably clueless angel with zero tact.

✦ @luci-in-trenchcoats

Feral [S] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) Feral is an Alpha’s most dangerous state. Pure raw instinct. A killing machine with no thought. Only an Alpha under extreme duress can submit to their feral side and they rarely can come back out of it. It takes highly specialized rehabilitation to even have a chance at working. When a feral Alpha comes into the reader’s low level rehab facility one night, she knows he’s a dead man walking. But he doesn’t deserve to die and a split second decision to help him escape before that can happen will put them both on the run. He’s no ordinary Alpha though. He’s Dean Winchester. The boy who went missing all those years ago. The boy that made everyone realize no one was safe from the Alpha black market. The man that could destroy them both with one wrong move…

Headcanon: How They Meet Their Plus Size Girlfriend (Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy, and Russell Shaw included)

✦ @deanbrainrotwritings

Wild Flower [OS] Dean gets hit by a spell when fighting a witch and assumes it was harmless or ineffective. He was wrong, but at least he wasn’t dead. He’s a woman now. 

✦ @waynes-multiverse

Creature of the Night [OS] When her car breaks down on a dark lonely road, she is lucky a handsome stranger takes her in. Grateful, she is willing to do anything to repay his kindness.

Headcanon: Valentine's Day (Dean Winchester // Soldier Boy // Beau Arlen // Russell Shaw – Edition) How would your favorite men surprise you for Valentine's Day?

Headcanon: Gettin’ Down and Dirty with Dean Smutty headcanons with Dean...

✦ @rizlowwritessortof

Take a Shot [OS] Let’s face it, his henley looks good on both of you…

Late Night Show [OS] You’re spending a little down time at Bobby’s when HE shows up with his brother. You try to ignore those old feelings for him, but when you accidentally walk in on him pleasuring himself, all bets are off. 

Lost in You [OS] A casual flirtation leads to a violent encounter, and Dean’s reaction is a little more than you expected.

That’s How It Should Be [OS] (Sheriff!Dean x Reader) Sheriff Dean Winchester/Reader have to escape, quick - but Dean won’t let being on horseback stand in the way of showing a lady a good time…

✦ @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

The First Time Series [S] Even though he's a lot older than she is, and more experienced in every possible sense, Y/N finds herself incredibly attracted to Dean Winchester. Amazingly, one day she starts to think that maybe the attraction isn't all one-sided.

The Dangers of Hope [S | Endverse!Dean] When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

It's All For You [OS] After a hunt gone wrong, all Y/N wants is to make Dean feel better. Will he let her?

Things Learned and Unlearned [S] Y/N has spent her life trying to outrun her mother's reputation. When she meets the rich and successful playboy, Dean Winchester, how quickly can he get her to stop running?

✦ Lindsey D. Perez

Say I'm Beautiful [OS] You're feeling a little self conscious about your weight so Dean decides to show you how sexy you are. Dean x Reader Warning: negative body image, swearing Rated M for smut so go forth with caution.

✦ @ejlovespie

It Ain't About Pity [OS] (Dean x Plus-Size!Reader) Dean Winchester has eyes for the reader. She has no idea. When he finally figures out why she’s been dieting, he isn’t pleased. 

✦ kittenofdoomage

More to Love [OS] (Alpha!Dean x Plus-Size Omega!Reader) Reader is a hunter, and an Omega, an unusual combination. She’s always been mocked for her size, so she keeps to herself but a case Garth persuades her to take ends up with a confrontation she never saw coming.

Never Spoken, Always Said [OS] He doesn’t say the words much but he shows her every day.

Taste [S] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) The reader is pregnant with Dean's baby. Spanning the first year or so, we join them as they discover new things about each other.

✦ @impala-dreamer

A Simple Kinda Man Dean’s a pretty simple man. He likes the things he likes and you can rarely get him to change his mind about it. 

Like Heaven (Dean x Curvy!Reader) Y/N’s request might throw him off for a second, but he’s never going to deny her, not when it feels so good in her arms…

✦ @justagirlinafandomworld

Remind Me [OS] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) There was no escaping what happened to you. There wasn’t a magical number of days in which you would simply get over it either. It happened and you had to live with it. But your alpha would never leave you to work through it alone.

Delicate Dean made you feel things no one else ever had. But is it a good idea to see this through?

The Fallout (Alpha!Dean x Beta!Reader) [S] When Sam meets his true Omega, you fear your time with the Winchesters is fated to end. Before they can hurt you, you decide to distance yourself. But Dean isn’t willing to let you get away so easy.

✦ @spnbabe67

Girls, Girls, Girls [OS - Part of a Series] (Dean x OFC) While on a witch hunt Dean gets hit with a spell. Later at the hotel, Dean feels the effects of the spell and Tori has to help him through it.

✦ @chevroletdean

NSFT Alphabet [Dean Winchester] [HC]

Masturbation [Dean Winchester] [HC]

✦ @thatonewriter15

Unspoken [OS] How many reasons are there to love Dean Winchester...?

✦ @iprobablyshipit91

Twenty Minutes or Less [OS] Dean raises an eyebrow at you, cocky smile firmly in place. "I bet I could get you there in twenty minutes or less.”

Magical Blooms [OS] After all, there was a flurry of customers walk through the doors to Magical Blooms each and every day, and quite a number of these were regulars. Just because one of those regulars was an undeniably gorgeous man that flirted shamelessly...

✦ @jawritter

Feral (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) [S] True mates don't exist, at least that's what everyone tells you. It's nothing but a childish, fairytale notion to believe that such a person exists. Someone that is made just for you, your person. Who knew they were so wrong…

✦ @marvelfanfn2187a113

Here For You (Dean x Little Sister!Reader) [OS] You help Dean through a couple different kinds of pain.

✦ @deanwinchesterswitch

The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas [S] Dean’s holiday spirit is nowhere to be found. Fed up with his Grinch-like behavior, Nicole is determined to open his heart again to the wonders of the world around them and help him find joy in the Christmas season.

✦ @spnexploration

Collared [S] Sam and Dean save a woman from where she has been held as a slave by a witch. But things turn dark whenever they try to take her magic collar off, leaving them with a slave to look after and a curse to break.

✦ @kaleldobrev

Old Man [OS - Part of a Series] Dean never had a problem with the age gap between you two; not until now any way.

✦ @deanwritings

Friends with Benefits [S] After walking in on Y/N following a fun encounter, Dean and Y/N decide it would be beneficial and much easier to use each other for their needs. But can they keep it just about sex?

✦ @waywardxwords

Safe [OS] You had hoped to get in and out when you heard what town the next hunt was in. Unfortunately, you can’t outrun your past. You, also, can’t outrun those old feelings--panic, anxiety and fear. You had hoped you’d never have to share this part of your life with Dean, but things don’t always work out the way we had hoped.

Witches [OS] While hunting a witch, you accidentally stumble upon her collection of sex pollen. 

✦ @acreativelydifferentlove

Carry On [S] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) You’re an Omega in a small rural town. When your father’s gambling and drinking leaves him with a debt he can’t afford to pay, he offers you to a group of Alphas. Dean Winchester is an Alpha desperately trying to escape his past and pain. Can you save each other?

You're Home [S] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) After years away at college, you have finally returned to your home town. In order to settle back into the community, you have to seek permission from the Head Alpha. What happens when you see his son for the first time since presenting as an Omega?

✦ @deanwanddamons

Helping Hand [OS] Dean is tired after a hunt, so asks Sammy to drive Baby. You and Dean cuddle up in the back seat.

✦ @mind-empty-just-fictional-people

Love Language [OS] You’ve never said it, neither has he…is that weird?

✦ @pink-sparkly-witch

The Widow [S] Sam and Y/N are happily married, but everything changes after a fatal car accident leaves her a widow. The Winchester motto: “Family Don’t End with Blood,” takes on a whole new meaning for Y/N as she navigates her new normal with the help of her brother-in-law, Dean. But what no one can tell her is what happens when she falls in love again.  

✦ shirleypositive72

While They Dance On A Pin (Jane Series 5) [OS - Part of a Series] (Dean x OFC) Sam, Dean, and Jane have been on the road almost constantly since Dean's return from Hell. They're finding Seals, finding danger, finding out each other's secrets. But it's what they find when they open the door to one more motel room that sends Dean back into his darkest moments. An OC's experience of episode 4x16, On the Head of a Pin.

✦ BeccabooO1O

She's My Cherry Pie [OS] Dean was drunk. So terribly drunk. And it was hilarious. Just some karaoke!Dean (aka the best Dean of them all).

✦ @pamwritessometimes

Roots in My Dreamland [OS] Dean encounters a mysterious forest spirit who’s an enigma.

✦ @supernotnatural2005

Sexual Encounters with Dean Winchester - Edging Exploring new kinks with Dean. How far can you push him before he breaks?

Happy Accidents (Dean x Plus-Size!Reader) You haven't seen the Winchester's in over a year, but the case you're working has you scratching your head, and who better to call than some old friends. However, insecurities arise as well as the reprise of a long time crush. Little do you know, it's reciprocated.

✦ @ambiguous-avery

When He Slides In And says “Fuck, I missed you.” After a hookup with the (in)famous Dean Winchester, you figured that would be the end of it. Too bad you could never seem to get him out of your mind. People always told you that you got attached too easily. And they were right. You were just another notch in his belt. He couldn’t possibly remember you...

✦ @bettystonewell

To You I Belong [S] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) Dean isn’t looking for a mate. Not only does he think he doesn’t deserve one, but the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain’t real. He still has free will, and saving you from monsters is just another part of the job.

Another Notch on His Belt [OS] Every little part of him is holding onto every little piece of her, and any other woman he’s been lucky enough to escape his life with. Even if it’s only for the night - or - Dean replaces intimacy with sex.

✦ @lamentationsofalonelypotato

It's Not a Big Deal [S] (Dean x Reader x Soldier Boy/Ben love triangle) Dean's in for a rude awakening when he finds out exactly what you did when you got stranded in another universe.

Dean Winchester x Lisa Braeden:

✦ adventuresinposting

Damages [S] Ben is in a car accident causing a fractured skull. Consequentially he remembers Dean. Ben tries to find Dean, who is now a retired hunter after losing Sam in a final battle. This is the story of Dean finding something and someone to replace the hole in his life left by Sam.

✦ FaithDaria

One Step at a Time [OS] The Winchester way of life changes, and Dean adjusts accordingly.

✦ bloodmagik

A Dad By Any Other Name [OS] Ben is sick and Dean stays home with him while Lisa is at work. Lisa learns something about Dean's relationship with Ben.

Sam Winchester x Reader or OFC:

Stories are Sam x Reader unless noted OFC.

✦ Avrilando

While You Were Sleeping - [S] (Sam x OFC) A seriously injured unconscious man is in the hospital Rachel volunteers. With no idea who he is and if anyone is looking for him, Rachel decides to keep him company while he's sleeping. With The Eyes of a Loving Man [S] (Sequel to While You Were Sleeping) Continuing through Sam and Rachel's relationship with all the highs and lows of dating a hunter. Mostly a collection of oneshots and some connecting stories.

✦ Lindsey D. Perez

It's Your Birthday [OS] The Winchester's find out it's your birthday and insist on celebrating with lots of alcohol. Sam introduces you to body shots and things get heated. 

If You Give a Moose a Muffin [OS] ...he'll want kisses to go with it.

✦ ALoversDream

All of Me [OS] (Sam x Plus-Sized!Reader) Request where the reader (even thought she's usually pretty confident) is slightly insecure about her looks, and because she's plus-size. It ends in fluffy weight smut.

✦ BeccabooO1O

Could Have Told You That One, Winchester [OS] Imagine sitting one Sam's lap while you two are researching. She was reading one of the books about mythology for the Winchester's current case when she heard a frustrated groan from across the table. Sam Winchester had his laptop in front of him and various books of lore scattered around it.

✦ @princessmisery666

Samnesia [S] (Sam x OFC) Brooke is a calming distraction from the chaotic mess of Sam’s life. When a hunt keeps them separated for over a month, Sam returns to find she no longer remembers him. The need to find out what happened while he was gone sends Sam on a case that will change the course of his life. What he discovers along the way will change the way he looks at love.

✦ @ohsc

Delicate [OS] Sam being intimate with an inexperienced reader.

**I will keep adding to this list as I read and explore! Please reblog the fics you read and let these amazing authors know what you thought of their work. 💜

I have several more stories favorited on my FF.net account. (Beware if you try to read any of the stories I wrote there though. Some of those are old as hell and not to my current standard. 🤣)

Dean Winchester AU Fic Rec List

Original SPN Fic Rec List

Supernatural Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[halliejaade]

Edelweiss

Joaquín Torres x Female Reader (Chapter One)

Disclaimer: Since there isn't much of a backstory for him, this is kind of setting up a background for both him AND you, plus, I gave him a little sister. I thought the dynamic would be fun to explore and could add to the story in a good way. :) Also, I just came up with a name for their mom because I wasn't sure if she's been spoken about canonically.

Synopsis: The seed of love once planted during your childhood with Joaquín never had the chance to bloom due to the weight of circumstance. Years later, you find yourself still totally and completely in love; but perhaps, after all this time, that love will finally be allowed to bloom.

Moving to Miami is as exciting as disorienting.

It had been incredibly hard; leaving all of your friends behind. But your father simply couldn't pass up the job offer that he had been given.

Being only twelve years old meant that you didn't pay any mind to the house your parents had bought. You did pay attention, however, to the fact that this neighborhood actually had other kids. Back home, there were only older folk, who wanted absolutely nothing to do with eager-to-face-the -world children.

It also helped that there was a beach only a few miles from this house.

You stepped onto the front lawn and observed your new home. The possibilities seemed endless; a sprawling front yard, perfect for the game of tag, a sidewalk just waiting to be drawn on with colorful chalk, and a huge tree sat in the backyard, beckoning you to climb it.

You were helping your father unpack boxes from the moving truck, relishing in the pride laced into his tone when you lifted a particular heavy box with ease. You set it on the curb, wobbling slightly as you noticed the neighbors that were chatting away with your mother.

A beautiful woman stood beside a gentle looking man, her hand hooked in the crook of his elbow, a smile splayed across her face. Between them, a young boy and even younger girl stood; the splitting image of both of their parents.

"Honey, introduce yourself," Your mother encourages softly.

You smile bashfully, fingers moving to grasp at your mother's long skirt. Bowing your head, you introduce yourself. When you peek back up, the boy is watching you carefully.

He catches your gaze, and smiles softly, dimpled cheeks becoming an instant comfort for you.

"I'm Joaquín," The boy says proudly, "And this is my little sister, Maria." He swings an arm over her shoulders.

Joaquín grins then, and it's so bright, that it makes you think that maybe he's the sun incarnate. In fact, you're almost positive that he is.

"Would you like to show Y/n around the neighborhood?" Their mother, Cecelia, asked quietly. Joaquín nodded enthusiastically.

You realized rather quickly that Joaquín didn't do anything half-heartedly. He didn't do anything without complete and utter certainty, and that apparently included becoming friends with you.

The little neighborhood you had moved into was safe. Kids could be seen wandering about the streets without supervision, because that's how secure everyone felt in their little community. You could turn a corner and be sure to see a familiar face.

You followed close behind Joaquín and Maria, rolling the sleeves of your shirt up your arms as rays of sunlight bit at your skin.

"We can stop by Max's and get a cold soda, if you'd like one," Joaquín says.

"I don't have any money."

"That's okay. Max always gives us our drinks for free!"

Maria, who had been quiet up until then, laughed loudly. "Yeah, but that's 'coz you annoy him. He doesn't want to deal with you."

In a few years, you'll look back on this moment and only have fond thoughts about it; the moment you met you're two greatest friends. Joaquín, who was always quick to say what was on his mind, always so ready to speak up about the things he believed in. And Maria, who was soft-spoken, always choosing to spill her thoughts on paper rather than from her mouth.

A cluster of businesses stood proudly in your neighborhood, all small, locally owned. In the middle, a group of men were attempting to set up what looked to be a fireworks display. Joaquín looked over his shoulder at you and then pointed toward the square.

"When it gets closer to Christmas, they'll put up a massive tree. It's pretty sweet! But one year, a hawk flew into it and knocked off one of the big bulbs. It hit Gloria in the head. Knocked her out, but it was kind of funny. She was fine, by the way. Well. Not really, 'coz she's kind of crazy, so I think it might have made her crazier-"

You were about to interrupt him and ask who Gloria was, but you didn't have to.

Maria jammed an elbow into her brother's ribcage, "Shut up."

A woman, who could have only been Gloria, based on the fear that emanated from the Torres siblings, was walking across the street. Right at you.

"Oh no, she looks like she's on a mission. Let's make a break for it," Joaquín whispered, beginning to turn in the opposite direction, toward the pharmacy.

"Hey, wait!" Gloria called. "I want to meet the newest addition!"

Joaquín grimaced. "Can you run fast?"

You shrugged. You weren't sure what fast was to him.

"Sorry, Gloria! Maria's real sick, you probably shouldn't get too close." And then he clapped Maria on the back. Maria bent at the waist, coughing loudly. Joaquín turned around and made a show of pointing at his little sister. "See! Nasty cough. Wouldn't want you catching that. We have to get her medicine, anyway."

The three of you took off running then, though Maria was still coughing wildly. "What is the matter with you?!"

Joaquín only giggled.

Even though you didn't really need to go into the pharmacy, you did anyway. The old metal sign hanging from the awning sighed loudly as the wind caught it, and you couldn't help but admire it for a moment. It was old, a testament to how long some of these businesses had stood in this little square for. The bell above the door chimed as the three of you stepped through, the elderly man behind the pharmaceutical desk greeting you all with a friendly smile.

You had only just moved to Miami, and already you felt like you belonged. That's just how it was there. It could get frustrating, not having much privacy, but you always knew you had people in your corner.

A month passes. Friendship festers.

Turns out, Maria did have a bit of a rebellious side to her. Though it only presented itself once she got comfortable with you.

The whole thing had been her idea.

Once July hit, the temperature spiked, and the days were often scorching. Playing outside was a no-go, with the weatherman warning of too high temperatures. Lazing around the house proved to be a hard task for a couple of twelve-year-olds, so you had to get creative.

It's how you find yourself climbing the tall fence running the perimeter of the Miami Shores Country Club swimming pool with Joaquín and Maria.

Joaquín climbed up with ease, lifting himself up and settling down on the top before reaching down to help you and Maria up.

You spent the day floating around the pool together, rummaging through your pockets once the sun got to be a little too hot for loose change so you could buy ice cream from the little concession stand. By the time you left, (that's how you all chose to tell the story; the real version was that you got caught and were kicked out), there was melted popsicle dripping down your fingers, and your hair smelled like chlorine, but you couldn't have been happier if you tried.

It was getting dark by the time you were finally heading home, so you wouldn't have come across it if it weren't for Joaquín getting distracted and crashing his bike. He had landed in a woody area, the thick grass breaking his fall. You and Maria quickly dismounted your bicycles and hurried after him. He had already gotten up and climbed through the brush. You weren't sure what you were expecting to find on the other side, but it certainly wasn't a massive meadow that you were expecting. It was as if the rows and rows of wildflowers were endless.

Without warning, you took off into the field, causing a swarm of fireflies to burst from the flowers. It looked like the stars were falling from the sky.

You caught one of the fireflies, and gently cupping it in the palms of your hands, you made a wish. You wished to always have these friends, to always have the security of the Torres siblings next door.

Joaquín wanted to keep catching bugs, and had been prepared to set some ground rules for a game (not that he ever really followed the rules back then), when you turned, and said the last thing he had ever expected.

"Come dance with me, guys!"

Heat burned Joaquín's cheeks. "Ah, I don't know...go ahead and dance, Maria. I think I'll just hang back here and look for bugs."

He wasn't sure why he felt so embarassed about it.

"Whatever, boys suck anyway," His sister announced as she brushed past.

The next few minutes were some of the worst that he'd ever endured in his short lifetime. He watched, partially in amusement, but mostly in horror, as Maria stepped all over your toes, as she apologized over and over again every time she did so. Finally, he got frustrated with having to watch you grimace and try to cover it up with a smile every time your toes got stepped on. He shoved off of the tree that he had been leaning on, and told Maria to watch and learn.

"Wait, where did you learn how to dance?" You asked, placing a hand on Joaquín's shoulder.

"Oh, our cousin got married last summer, so our Ma taught us."

There was a moment of silence, of pure joy as Joaquín twirled you slowly, and then...

You were so sure that you were going to have to break up a fight once the look of realization passed across Joaquín's usually passive face. Even more so once Maria laughed smugly at him.

Joaquín swore to never fall for one of his sister's deceptions ever again.

Another month passes, the gravitational pull grows stronger.

Daisy, your younger cousin, flew down with her mother to spend the remainder of the summer with you. It was a tradition you had back home, for your aunt and cousin to come and stay with you for one month out of the summer. You were excited that even though the location was different, that the tradition wasn't ending. You liked Joaquín and Maria, loved them even, but you were happy to have a familiar face around.

Joaquín had recently gotten into heroes, and nearly every day, at the crack of dawn, he'd drag you, Daisy and Maria to the meadow down the street to play a game of heroes with him. Though, on this particular day, only you were able to go.

Thankfully, you had proven to be just about up for anything, so when he asked you the night before if you still wanted to go, you quickly agreed. The next morning, he found you waiting on your front porch steps for him, and then you took off running for that meadow that had become a safe haven for your little trio.

The crack of a broken branch echoed through the muggy August air as you leapt from one tree to the next. Normally you'd be the sidekick in Joaquín's story, but now that Maria and Daisy were both at home, someone had to play the villain.

"That was sick, Y/n!" Joaquín broke character for just a moment, a shocked laugh escaping from his chest. "But please be careful."

You laughed wildly, feeling the freedom of air as you swung yourself from the branch and landed in front of Joaquín.

"This is fun. I want to be the villain every time!"

His mouth twisted down into a little frown, "But I like you being my sidekick."

"I do think we make a good team," You replied thoughtfully.

"Wait, really-"

He was cut off as a raindrop splattered along the ridge of his nose. You looked up, and took note of the angry gray clouds that were rolling in.

There weren't many things that frightened you.

Storms were one of the few things that did.

Not many people would've noticed that it wasn't just concern that danced in your eyes, but a deep-rooted fear as well. But Joaquín did. He always noticed things about you that no one else did.

"Hey, let's get home, yeah?" He commanded quietly, grabbing your hand. You stood in place, like a frightened fawn that hasn't quite learned how to leave its mother's side yet.

He realized then, that he would have to do anything he could to get you to move, that this was his chance to get a jumpstart on being a hero.

"Hey, rainboots," He said playfully, nudging your bright green boot with the toe of his sneaker. "Race you home? Winner gets the loser's dessert for the next week."

Now that caught your attention. Your mothers had grown close quickly and had implemented dinner's together three times a week. They collaborated on both dinner and dessert, but the dessert was always the best part of the meal.

Even though it was technically supposed to be a race, you didn't let go of Joaquín's hand when you took off into the rain.

He was quicker than you, but the both of you knew that he was going to say that you won the race.

You were only halfway home, when a crack of thunder tore through the sky. It wailed deafeningly loud, the ground shaking beneath your feet in response. Dense raindrops smacked at the tops of your heads as you ran down the street. You could barely hear over the roaring thunder, could barely see through the thick curtain of rain, but you weren't scared anymore. You couldn't feel anything but calm.

You just couldn't find it in yourself to be afraid when sunshine was running just a few steps ahead of you.

Summer descends, Autumn howling at its heels.

School was right around the corner, the dread finally settling in at the prospect of (forced) early mornings, homework, and shorter days. Daisy was due to go back home the next day, and then the following week, you'd start school with Joaquín and Maria.

You were spending the day with Joaquín, sipping sweet tea on the front porch as you played a game of cards. Daisy was down on the sidewalk, near the street. She was trying to catch a toad, and splashing around in the puddle's leftover from the rainstorm the previous night. The two of you were hidden from sight, so you didn't know what was about to happen until it was too late.

Joaquín always thought that it would be extremely difficult to envision you as an angry person. You were just so kind to every person you came across. You would sing to honeybees, even as everyone else was running away screaming. If Maria (or Daisy) dropped their ice cream cone on the sidewalk, the first person to offer theirs up would be you. Strangers would gawk at your sometimes unruly behavior, and would sometimes frown upon your boisterous laughter, but you'd just grin at them in response.

He came to a realization that day, though.

There was a boy who lived in your neighborhood. He liked to pick on people, but only if they were smaller than him and couldn't really fight back. He hadn't ever gotten brave enough to try anything with you guys, since he was always outnumbered. But he hadn't seen you or Joaquín up on the porch that day.

Neither of you realized what was happening until Daisy screamed. You watched in horror, as Beau shoved Daisy. She teetered back on her heels before losing her balance completely, her elbows skidding across the pavement as she landed. Her cries sent the both of you to your feet. Joaquín was the first to make it down to the sidewalk, his anger propelling him forward.

Joaquín was only inches from Beau, his hand reaching out to grab at him, when a blur flew past.

He slowed to a stop, watching in utter amazement as you gathered the back of Beau's shirt into your hands and yanked him back as hard as you could. Beau scowled as he turned, ready to strike. But then he saw you standing there, and laughter bubbled up in his chest, up and up, until it burst from his mouth, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He lunged at you, his fist raised as if he was about to hit you. Joaquín took a step forward as you took a step back.

Beau smirked. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He tugged a piece of your hair, before turning on his heel.

You tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned back around, you smiled innocently up at him, and rocked back on your heels.

Your smile dropped.

"You forgot something."

And then you swung your fist into his nose.

It was at that moment that Joaquín realized that, yes, you were kind, and friendly, and often went out of your way to help others, even if it meant you got slighted in the end.

You were also fiercely protective.

A year passes.

Middle school came, and while schools changed and so did the students, you and Joaquín remained the best of friends.

You fell in love with art, and ballet. Joaquín joined various sports, intent on becoming strong so that he could protect and provide for his loved ones.

The two of you were really finding yourselves. It was beautiful.

Two years pass, then three.

The shift happens when your world suddenly turns on its axis.

Everyone called it the Blip. You called it the worst, yet most defining five years of your life.

It was odd, how your parents had been there and then suddenly...they just weren't. Maria, and Joaquín's father were gone too. But both he and his mom were safe, still in that house next door.

His mom had practically begged you to stay with them, but you couldn't bring yourself to. You couldn't bear the thought that your parents might show up again, that they might only appear just long enough that you'd miss them if you were out of the house. So you stayed, even as the echoes of what once was haunted you.

Home went from love and laughter and so much fun with your parents to the kind of quiet that was capable of driving someone mad.

Joaquín, however, was determined to redefine what home meant to you.

Having a bedroom across from yours had its perks, one of them being that he could very easily cross the tree that connected your bedrooms whenever he pleased. He had been doing it before the blip, when the two of you decided one night that it would be fun to have your own way of communicating. One flicker of your bedroom light meant 'lets watch the stars together', two flickers meant 'i'm bored, let's talk', and three meant 'sos come over as quickly as you can'.

So it wasn't necessarily strange for him to come over at all hours of the night, but it was different when the blip happened. It became less fun, and felt more like something you both needed.

It isn't a surprise for you when you hear that familiar knocking on your bedroom window at half past midnight. You call out softly, telling him to come in. What you are surprised about, is the tinge of nervousness you feel when he climbs through the window, moonlight washing over him.

You pull your covers up and around your shoulders, as if that could protect you from the newfound feeling.

"Are you cold?"

No.

"Yes," You reply.

Joaquín nods in understanding, and motions for you to scoot over in your bed. It shouldn't be strange, this had been the routine for a long while. But when he settles in beside you, face set in a peaceful expression, it gives you butterflies so badly that you think you might vomit.

"You okay?" He asks softly.

You only nod, too afraid that if you open your mouth that you'll say something stupid.

Joaquín shifts closer.

You're unsure of how and when this happened. You're unsure of when he became so...handsome. Somehow, it's only now occurring to you how much space he takes up in your bed, how broad his shoulders are when he rolls onto his side to look at you.

"Rain boots," He whispers, "Tell me what's wrong?"

Unable to look him in the eye, you roll over and stare at the blindingly red numbers on your alarm clock. "Just miss my parents."

It's not a lie.

You expect him to do what he always does. You expect him to offer some advice, to tell a joke so that you smile, you expect him to poke at your sides until you have no choice but to erupt with laughter.

You don't expect him to shift closer to you, an arm reaching out to drape over your waist. You don't expect the warmth of his breath against your neck. His chest presses to your back, and you have to stop yourself from dying right then and there. Tentatively, he slides his hand into yours, before he squeezes three times.

"Close your eyes, boots. I'll be right here when you wake up, okay? I'm not going anywhere. Not ever."

You do as he says, trying to get your breath back to its normal rhythm.

"Goodnight, Y/n."

"Night, Joaquín," You breathe.

The last thing you remember thinking, before sleep finally claims you, is that Joaquín's heart is beating in tandem with yours.

Two more years.

Joaquín always knew that you were destined for things far greater than you could have ever possibly imagined. It was apparent to him from the very beginning.

Growing up next to you had plenty of perks; one of them being that you had the ability to keep Maria entertained unlike anything else ever had. You had always managed to come up with fantastical scenarios, assigning the siblings their roles as you acted them out. From a young age, the world had been your stage.

You never seemed to mind that not everyone wanted to attend the show, you were always so unendingly free.

So it's absolutely no surprise to him that you seem so comfortable on a real stage.

You just...belong there.

The stage lights are bright, but not nearly as much as you are. You're radiant, a cosmic entity.

"This is beautiful," His mom announces quietly as she takes in the venue. After the blip, after everything was said and done, you decided not to waste any more time and accepted your offer into Julliard.

It had been difficult, moving away from home after everyone you loved came back. But if the blip had taught you anything, it was that life was short, and you wanted to make the most of it when you could. And now, here you were.

You'd always dreamt of performing in The Nutcracker. You weren't supposed to tell anyone when you found out, but you couldn't keep it from Joaquín that you'd gotten the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy. And to think, after all your hard work, you were performing with the New York City Ballet!

"She is so beautiful," Joaquín agrees.

"Not to diminish her, because she is very beautiful-but I said the venue was beautiful."

Joaquín looks to the side, at your mother's and at Maria. "That's what I said, too."

Maria snickers, and rolls her program up before smacking her brother with it. "That is definitely not what you just said, you dork."

He hates to admit it, but she's right. She was right all those years ago in that meadow when you were so excited to dance with them. She was right to trick him into dancing with you. Even when Maria was gone, he could almost feel her eyes on him any time he laid with you at night. He could almost feel the way she'd say, "Make a move you big dummy!"

But he was afraid.

He was afraid that he would put his heart on the line for nothing. He was afraid, because he was leaving in less than a week for the Air Force.

But mostly, he was afraid that he would get hurt, or worse, and that he would totally and completely break your heart.

So he kept quiet about it, though it was almost physically painful for him.

During curtain call, you take your final bows, and Joaquín can't help but leap from his seat. The entire audience follows suit, and he sees the way that your eyes light up. He sees the tears (that he knows are happy) that gather on your waterline. He sees, because out of everyone in the audience, you look for him.

And, damn it, if that doesn't make him want to drop to his knees and tell you right then and there how truly and completely he adores you.

But he's leaving, and you'll be here, dancing. He's leaving, and he'll be in dangerous situations that he'll be sure to not divulge with you. He's leaving, and you'll be here, safe and sound. So he keeps his mouth shut for a while longer.

Afterwards, you take them out to your favorite sushi spot. You're ecstatic, practically glowing. You had taken your hair down and taken the makeup off, but you couldn't have been more beautiful if you tried.

"This is insane," You gush, squeezing your mom's hand as you press the button on the crosswalk. "I can't believe this is my life right now!"

"Rain boots."

You glance at your greatest friend, the boy who isn't as much of a boy as he is a man now. "Joaquín."

I love you.

But he can't say it yet.

"I'm so proud of you."

You smile softly, and wrap your hands around one of his biceps before crossing the street as a group. He thinks that's all you're going to answer with, that this is where it ends. But right before you walk into the restaurant, you lean your head against his shoulder, and although you say it quietly, he hears you loud and clear.

"I'm proud of you, too."

Annnnd chapter one finished❤️ I'll get more into the plot of TFAWTS/CABNW, but I wanted to set up the back story and allow you guys to get a feel of the dynamic. (:

[lexosaurus]

So glad I decided to watch the Barbie Movie while walking on my treadmill at home vs watching it while on the bike/stairs at the gym today because holy shit ya girl was SOBBING

[bunny-jpeg]

thinking about older brother’s best friend!max who takes little innocent virgin you home after you got too drunk at a party. you trust him so much and he’s sooo dreamy but you can’t figure out how you ended up in his lap with his fingers up your miniskirt, other hand locked around your neck and skimpy lace thong stuffed in your mouth. but you don’t want to annoy him when he’s finally paying attention to you, so you furiously nod and drool when he tells you to be his good girl, his stupid little slut, and bullies his big, aching cock into your pussy. it’s soo wet and sticky but it doesn’t matter cause maxie promised he was wearing a condom…right? Right?

thank you so much for sending this to me! this is a crazy ass prompt and i love it. thank you so much! and for the people at home, send me your shit! i love insane prompts to write! give them to me, i need to write! i went with the tried and trued method of a leclerc!reader so add a little extra zest to it. i changed a few things around so i hope that's okay, all the pieces are still there just a few tweaks!! i hope you enjoy <3

max verstappen

cw: smut/pwp, leclerc!reader, drunk sex, dubious consent, lying, unprotected sex, size difference/kink, crybaby!reader, dark-ish fic, missionary position, fingering, (slight) choking, (technical) virgin!reader, filth(!!!)

"thank you so much for doing this. i told her not to go out tonight because i was out of town and couldn't get her if she needed help. you're a big help, mate. i owe you." charles' voice was clear on the other end of the phone.

max was grabbing his keys, "you owe me nothing, charles. i'm happy to help. wasn't up to much else tonight." he got his shoes on and headed out the door, "i'll let you know when i get her." then hung up the phone.

he got in his car and drove to the club you were supposed to be. max had known you for about as long as he had known charles, you were the curious little thing that liked being around your brother. you were close in age, but max hadn't seen you in years.

charles said that university had prevented you from ever really hanging around as much as you used to. which was a shame because max always thought you were cute, even if you were a little bit a cry baby.

he pulled up to the address of where you were supposed to be and got out of the car. it was late into the evening and there were a few people outside. the sight of him turned a few heads and some whispers. but he had to pick you out of the crowd.

he leaned against the car and did the tried and true method of finding a leclerc. he cupped his hands around his mouth and said, "hey! leclerc!"

and then as it had worked a million times with charles over the years, your voice rang out, "holy shit, max! what are you doing here?" and you got out of the crowd in front of the club.

that was when max's heart stopped.

he remembered you in your high school uniform and baggy t-shirts with various bands on them. he remembered when you had braces and that bad haircut in tenth year. but, now, are a twenty-something year old woman, you were beautiful.

you practically stumbled over to him, you tripped over the curb and against his chest. but you clung to the front of his t-shirt, "oh my god, it's you!" you howled laughter, "where's charlie?"

max steadied you back on your feet and looked over you to see the other people who were murmuring. he looked down at you, his hands still on your shoulders, "i'm going to take you back to my place tonight." even though charles said to bring you back to his place, there would be a slight detour.

plus, what if something happened? max needed to protect you, or at least he had self appointed himself with the role.

"god, i haven't seen you in like what, five years? still got those chubby cheeks though." you giggled drunkenly as you pinched at his face.

max could feel the heat rise in his face, didn't help that your plump breasts were pressed against him and he got a good view of your cleavage. he said to you, "c'mon, let's get out of here." he gave you a smile, "i think we're turning too many heads."

you nodded innocently before max helped you into the car. even going as far as to buckle to you in and closing the door. as he rounded the car he exhaled deeply, this was not what he was expecting.

you looked at him and giggled, "holy shit, it's actually you. why are you picking me up? i called charlie?"

max sighed and buckled himself in, he patted your knee, "how much have you had to drink? your brother is out of the country for most of the summer break."

a few seconds ticked by before you made an 'o' shape with your mouth, you snapped your fingers and pointed to max, "i was supposed to call lorenzo!"

max's eyebrows knitted together, "how much have you had to drink?"

you shrugged, "i don't know. there was this nice guy who kept buying me drinks and he was like super nice. but then, my friends kinda got me away from him and told me to call my brother and i said, 'which one?', because you know. i have three brothers and i don't very well want arthur to see me THIS drunk so i called charles... but i wasn't supposed to call charles, i was supposed to call lorenzo."

max wanted to kiss you really badly at that moment. and when he squeezed your thigh for reassurance, you moaned. then max's brain went silent for a moment.

you looked at each other and you felt the heat rise in your cheeks as you said, "sorry.... over sensitive." you licked your lips, "you can still hold my thigh if you want."

this was going to be a long night, and max wanted to see how deep this could go. after all, you both had about five years to make up.

"i hate being this drunk." you whined, as you padded across his home. you were out of the skimpy dress you wore to the club, much to max's pleasure. you looked better in no bra, one of his t-shirts and his socks that you pulled as high as they could go, "i wish i could stop being drunk the moment i got home."

he was on the couch, a glass of water and some tylonel was on the table. he patted his thigh and suggested, "i think i know something that can help." his brain had been trying to think of a clever way to get you closer to him, but you were too easy.

"water and rest?" you asked as you got closer to him. your arms across your chest.

he leaned back into the sofa a little and said, "no. why don't you come here to find out?" he could tell in the slight wave of your stance that you were still quite drunk. he chuckled as he watched you come over to him, were all leclercs curious like cats?

you perched yourself on his thigh and he pulled you into his lap. being so close to you made his cock throb in his jeans. you yelped and admitted, "i'm a virgin!"

"what?"

you looked at him so innocently it almost broke the driver's brain in half. you had your hands up near your face and your bottom lip was wobbling, "i've... i've never had sex before. i mean... i technically let a guy finger me." you swallowed, not knowing why you were admitting this, "but.. but he didn't even make me cum, i lied to him and faked it."

max's hungry gaze remained on you, "so... so no one's actually... had sex with you."

you looked like you were going to cry. you were in your twenties and a virgin (he wasn't going to acknowledge the curl of jealousy in his gut at the thought of some loser at your school poorly trying to finger you). that had all the lights going off in max's brain.

leclerc's little sister was a virgin, drunk and on the verge of tears in max's condo. shivering like a leaf. max never thought of himself in terms of animals, but at moment he felt like a big scary lion. and you a poor little deer. the signature leclerc doe eyes only added to his point.

"it's alright." he said, "how about this, you let me finger you properly. i don't think your technical first time should've been spent with you faking an orgasm."

you had to admit, you had feelings for max. when you were younger and your brother would race him, you'd follow him around afterwards asking about max. it annoyed the hell out of your brother.

even the guy who fingered you was almost an exact fit to max, the blond-brown hair, blue eyes and a big nose. but it didn't quite cut it. max had been the subject of your fantasies for years now.

you blushed, "i mean... i don't want to force you or anything. i don't want it to be a pity fuck."

he laughed and curled a strong arm around you, "no, no, not you. to make you cum would be an honour." catch more flies with honey than vinegar. catch the pretty sister of a fellow driver with soft words.

he got your panties off with a little help and put them in your mouth. the sight of your mouth full of your lacy thong made all the blood in his body pool into his cock. he brushed your cheek and chuckled at your lack of resistance, "aw, does someone like to be roughed up? i bet you're just so used to everyone treating you like glass. the only daughter." he cupped your pussy with his wide hand, "how would charles feel about this? or lorenzo? they'd have my head." he kissed at your neck.

you whined, liquor swam in your head still as you squirmed a little, "don't talk about my brothers while you're fingering me." you tried to say around the panties in your mouth.

max grazed his fingers across your pussy, "alright, alright." his breath was hot in your ear as his other hand came and was placed around your throat. he shuddered a little, oh you were just a perfect fit weren't you?

now max really had to make sure that you weren't going to run off to your private university and fooled around with other boys.

maybe a baby would have to do.

he held you close to him by the throat and played with your pussy. soon he sank two digits into you and you whined around the panties in your mouth. you felt a hot flash go through you.

this was totally different, you felt the pleasure bloom in your gut as he roughly fingered you. you held onto his wrists, but remained pressed to him as he occasionally rubbed his clothed erection against your backside.

"oh, you're beautiful." he said softly, "you are so painfully beautiful. i'm surprised you haven't made yourself a whore at school. why? scared that your brothers would kill whoever touched their sister?" he kissed your cheek as he heard your whimper.

your body felt loose and your brain felt like it was working overtime. it was beyond adorable, the little cry baby with tears in her eyes. don't worry, max will make it all better.

"but you don't want anyone else, do you? you wanna be my good girl? you know so little about sex, poor thing. but don't worry, i'll make you a nice little whore for my cock." he pressed on your throat a little harder as he really started to work his fingers inside of you.

you didn't know what to think, everything around you felt oppressive but the liquor and lust short-wired your brain. you nodded and tried to speak around the fabric in your mouth, but it all came out like a jumbled mess.

max could feel the heat rise in his body, his cock grew more stiff. he liked the sight of this. you in his clothes, letting him explore your body. you were untouched territory. all for max's taking.

you wanted to cover your face from the embarrassment of being finger-fucked by your crush. but max squeezed your throat a little tighter.

"don't hide yourself from me, i want to see it all." he pressed a hard kiss onto your shoulder and watched your shudder. your pussy clenched around his fingers which only spurred him to keep bullying them into you.

you whined something around the panties in your mouth and max continued his kisses. you felt amazing on him. he hissed against your back as you hit your climax and whined loudly. you coated his entire hand in your wetness.

max moved you by your neck and kissed you on the cheek, he said, "good girl. see, orgasms aren't that hard." he let go of your throat and took the panties out of your mouth.

you were panting heavily as you said, "holy shit." your heart was hammering and you felt hot all over. you felt his arms around you waist and his mouth in your ear.

"we're not done yet." he said.

before you knew it, you were on max's bed. the shirt you had borrowed was on the floor and your bra was right next to it. when max took off your socks, you whined and he pressed all his weight on top of you. leaving one sock left on you.

he was naked on top of you, his cheeks were pink and he felt hot all over. you could see your eye bug out a little from the sight of his naked body. he pulled away soon after and grabbed you by the hips then rubbed his hard cock against your slick pussy.

"i wish your brother brought you to the track more." he chuckled as he continued to rub up against you, "you would've been so cute hanging around, you were always so curious. but, i don't know if i could contain myself if you were around often."

you blushed, "oh c'mon, stop it, max. you're going to kill me!"

max was over you, "i would never do that. i like you very much alive. you're perfect. i think it would be the best strategy your brother ever did if he had you around the paddock. i'd have to fight off every other driver to get to you."

you admitted, "i'd only want you, max."

max grinned, "is that why you're letting me take your virginity? giving yourself over to me? i bet a part of you wished i showed up, maybe that was all the plan for you." he pressed the tip of his cock up against your entrance, "someone has a crush." he was teasing, but the look on your face showed that he had you all figured out.

you squeaked, "i do! i'm sorry! i've had one for years!" you looked like you were going to cry again.

max almost came from the sight before him, he swallowed to keep himself together as he reached for your face with one hand and looked into your eyes, "you like me."

in your inebriated state you replied, "more like love you."

he chuckled, "really now? after all the times i beat your brother, you had all these feelings for me." he pressed his chest up against you, as he guided his cock into your slick slit.

you clutched onto his shoulders and tried not too tense up too much. this was a wet dream come true. you croaked, "i've always have."

"well, aren't i lucky." he said as he kissed you gently, "taking the virginity of the most beautiful woman i've ever seen." he was a snug fit in you but, he peppered your cheeks with kisses to help relax you. thankfully you were painfully wet.

he felt a curl of possession in his gut. like he needed to have you by his side. it wouldn't be hard to convince charles to let the two of you date, even if he was protective of you. he knew that max was a good man, he'd be a loving, caring boyfriend. maybe even an eventual husband.

he moved his hips slowly, not to push too much on you at once. you were still painfully drunk, all of these were admissions under intoxication. the consent of the situation was murky at best, but the way you looked at he pushed his cock into you excited him.

"do you want this?" he asked.

you nodded, your gaze unfocused, "of course. why, why would you ask that?" you really were so cute. your brain was polluted with liquor and pleasure, maybe he should've put you to bed before this all got out of hand.

but in all fairness, max was a little too far gone. he always held feelings for you, he was just better at covering them up. but, as he thrusted into you, your legs around his waist as he rutted against you. it was like the little flame from his youth came alive into an inferno.

oh, this was the woman he was meant to marry.

he kissed you once more, and picked up the pace. he held your sides, feeling your warmth against him as he felt the intense feelings bloom in your chest. call him an obsessive freak, but he should've known all those years ago.

stupid teen max, look what was right in front of him! you two could've been married by now. had a family and everything. but as he was balls deep inside of you, he believed everything happened for a reason.

you were now in his arms, under him as he moved against you. the blunt end of his cock, hit against the beginning of your cervix. a promise of what was to come. that you'd get nice and pregnant by him.

by the time he was finished with you, you were going to be at least five percent dutch if not more, you two had a whole week together. this was just the start. you two lazily made out.

the lust throbbed in your head as the liquor still coursed through your system. your mouth felt dry but you couldn't do much else but lie under him. his kisses were domineering and strong. his cock was buried up inside of you like it belonged there.

he believed that you two were two halves of a same whole. he wish he had gotten a glimpse of you sooner. seen how much you matured, he melted a little at the feeling of you. beyond perfect for him.

the pleasure was getting to your head, even in your intoxicated state. you clung to him like a life line as he moved against you. your sweet noises and that your eyes were barely open.

"beautiful." he said, "and all mine."

you swallowed, "you're wearing a condom, right?"

he staggered in his pace for a moment, but he gave you best media smile as he lied through his teeth, "of course, can't have any accidents." he kissed you once more. and you just melted into it so easily.

you then let out a sweet noise as you felt orgasm grip you. you panted heavily as the lust flooded your brain. you held onto him tightly as he continued to move against you. this all felt like a dream, and the noises you made as you came had max panting heavily.

"please."

"i need you." you said with tears in your eyes. the orgasm has torn through you and you were left a sputtering, hot mess under him.

he continued to rut against you, his pace was erratic as he moved against you. his heart raced at the sight of you. he was fully gone for you, he wanted you. tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. he wanted his cock buried in your sweet pussy.

it was fine, obviously there was a connection. he just had to seal the deal, and with a few more strokes of his cock. he was putting all of his weight on top of him. he finished inside of you and you made a small pathetic noise.

"fuck." he groaned.

you whined, "please, max."

when he pulled away, he wasn't away long. he soon pulled you in for a searing hot kiss while he let his cock stay inside of you for a moment longer. to feel the closeness. you were a lucky girl, you were now max's newest obsession.

he licked the bead of sweat off your neck, his cock twitched inside of you. perfect.

he curled up beside you soon after, his grip on you was possessive at the least and obsessive at the most. he felt like a lion with prey between its jaws, not biting hard enough to kill it. but just to keep it still. you were a sweet little thing in his arms.

maybe it was smart for you not to be around the track as much because of school, because if max had gotten a glimpse of the little crybaby leclerc all grown up, you two would've already been married by now.

but don't worry, be a good girl and you'll have a pretty ring in your future. the thoughts pooled in max's gut and made his softening cock twitch a little.

before he could go another round with you, you were fast asleep next to him. your soft snoring could be felt in his chest. he may have had to a little lying and manipulating before, but he wasn't going to fuck that sweet cunt while you were asleep.

he wasn't a monster. but that didn't mean he got out of your sleepy grasp and grabbed his phone from his jeans pocket to take some photos. not to share of course, he doesn't share. they'll be for his personal collection when you eventually go limping back to your brother.

come morning you were wrapped up in max's arms. you woke up with a throbbing headache and the sun that came through the window made you want to die. when you tried to wiggle in his grasp, he held on tighter.

he kissed you on the back of the neck, "good morning."

the sound of his low voice was like a shock to your system as you woke up quicker. you looked over your shoulder at him and swallowed. last night was barely pieced together. but you were naked next to him under the covers with one of his cats scratching at the door demanding breakfast.

when you tried to pull away he only pulled you back to him. your back against his broad chest. he said, "you're not getting away that easily." he rested his head on your shoulder, his arms around you tightened.

"what happened last night?" you croaked.

"ah don't worry. just tell your brother your safe and sound. you can stay here until he gets back home." he rubbed his cock up against your behind, "a woman like you shouldn't be alone in a city like this. lots of bad men out there that could hurt you."

"but not you?" you felt something bloom in your chest. the familiar pang from your youth.

he kissed your jaw and said, "of course. i'll always keep you safe." as if his cum wasn't dried to your inner thigh. but don't worry, he'll freshen it up once that pesky headache of yours is gone. after all, your sweet older brother was gone for another week.

-

"you know." charles said sometime later, he was in max's drivers room picking at the food on the table, "i feel like i should kill you for fucking my sister."

max was seated across from him, one leg over the other. he smirked, "and what's stopping you?"

charles shrugged, "i don't have to hear her talk about you all the time. i mean, at least i can vouch for you. you are practically family, better than some random guy that she met at school." he looked at his fellow driver, "will not forgive you for getting her pregnant though. and outside of marriage too. you should've heard our mother when she told her." he rubbed his forehead.

max chuckled, "well that'll be dealt with after the season. it feels wrong scheduling it between races. she deserves a lovely wedding."

"good, good. and i better see my nephew! we live in the same city, you better not lock her away!" charles shook his finger at max.

max laughed, "don't worry don't worry. but i cannot promise that he race for monaco when he grows up." then winked at his fellow driver (and future brother in law).

in the end, max hobbled together a narrative of the night you spent together. which led to a week together, which led to you getting pregnant by him. no one could've suspected that he could ever hurt a hair on your head. he was too in love with you, almost to an obsessive degree. he took your virginity and now you were taking his last name. <3

[lylian333]

~Yandere emperor x reader~

warning: read at your own risk, traumatizing, dark historical shits, noncon, force, many misunderstandings,sexual harrest , angst ,age gap, everything here is quite insane, historical au, he's fucking crazy, killing, insults, English is not my first langue(if there's any warning I didn't put, tell me)

words:2180

(this is not my art I found it on Pinterest, and in the comment section it's said that it was made by AI so💀)

~~

Princess (y/n) Laurier has been best friends with Princess Alyssa Everett since you both were just 6 years old. You both have many things in common, such as interests, opinions, and much more.

You both would usually hang out around each other's kingdom; you don't have any issues with her except with her father, Emperor Edward Everett. He was the hottest, most handsome man you have ever met, and you still do now.

You have had a huge crush on him that felt like butterflies inside your stomach since the day you met him, but he always has that emotionless face and rarely smiles unless at his wife, your best friend's mother. You know this from Princess Alyssa; she would complain about how cold and serious he is.

You still ignore those and try getting to know him, but he just looks annoyed or just straight-up ignores you, but you ignore it and still continue liking him. Not only that, you're not the only one; it's obvious that everyone that has met him, females and even males, all drool for him.

You still have some sense in you, and you also have to respect the Everett queen and Princess Alyssa since she is your best friend. You can't just let some love ruin the relationship you both had. You can't. She is like a sister to you. She helps you when you're confused; she protects and defends you when you were getting laughed at; she is there when you needed someone the most. It's not worth losing a relationship like this, and so your liking toward his father slowly dies down.

But things change when you grow up and start having features and curves and in the end, you become a gorgeous woman, many people are jealous of you even Princess Alyssa confesses to you about it and some desperately want you. You reject all of them since none of them are worthy of you, and you're disinterested in them.

Your intense gaze and soft complexion, with your structured face and striking presence, are on par with an iconic beauty, paired with the warmth and softness in your expression, which are very delicate. You would struggle to not look at yourself when there is a mirror.

You still have some feelings toward Emperor Edward, but you manage to hide it and be able to not think about him when talking to him.

The worst thing that could have happened was that the Queen of Everett died from childbirth while trying to give birth to the heir to the throne, but it went to a disaster. It was devastating news to hear from everyone.

The emperor was absolutely devastated and even despised the child. From that moment on he would never talk to anyone unless it was part of a duty, but other than that he would ignore the servant's advisers and even his own kids, which left Princess Alyssa depressed since she had to bear her mother's death, her father's coldness, and the baby boy that her mother lost her life to.

That week she came crying to you when you came to visit her and attended the funeral of the Everett Queen death. You decide to stay at Everett Palace for a few months before going back to Laurier Kingdom.

You promised Princess Alyssa that you'd take care of her and her baby brother, and so you did. After all, back at your kingdom and your family, you have 6 siblings, plus you, and you are the third eldest, which makes you the middle You have experience with babies after the experience of you sibling that you swear are more naughtyer when you take care of them.

In those months of staying, Emperor noticed that you had to take care of the baby boy and Princess Alyass when he found you singing a lullaby for them to fall asleep.

At that moment something in him awoke, something dark, horrible, and disgusting. He knew this was wrong, but who was there to stop him? Not even himself could do that.

From that moment on, he would try getting close to you and getting to know you better; by that, he would call you into his office or into his chamber. When talking, he would get close to you, too close, to the point that he's invading your personal space by burying his face in your hair, breathing in that sweet, gentle scent, or sucking and biting your earlobe.

You knew this was wrong. You both knew this was wrong, but you guys still continued. Your brain keeps telling you to stop and that this is your best friend's father, but your gut tells you to continue. For your best friend Princess Alyssa's sake.

At one of those meetings, you confess to him that you don't want to continue these "meetings" to respect your best friend Alyssa and her baby brother Prince James.

But when he hears that you swear you could feel the air getting tense and his face looks tense as well, and with clenched fists, he looks like he could kill someone that might have been you or others.

He then pushes you onto his office desk and forcefully rips your clothes off. All you can remember that day was just horror, pure fucking horror. It haunts your dreams, memories, and everything that you see that can somehow be related to the day you and he were together.

The cherry on top is Emperor Endward sends an arranged marriage to your kingdom between you both; you pray that your parents would reject this offer, but no. Instead, they accept it and send you a letter telling you the reasons that this could help our kingdom very much and this could give you a better future and more, but all you care about is that you're trapped with him. They also added in that they would be unable to see because of the distance of the two kingdoms and that it is time to set you free.

Oh, how you wish it were true to let you spread your wings and have your own freedom.

You hated everything, mostly yourself. You hated yourself for not being more alert and not telling anyone, not even your own family or close ones; you—you can't even describe the feeling that you're feeling at that point. You quite literally were disgusted by yourself.

You cry all day long to the point where Princess Alyssa hears it and finds you, and you vomit out all the things that happened while still crying. You wish the earth could just eat you whole, make you disappear from the earth, from this world, from this life.

You keep pressuring yourself that this is your fault for days till your hair has a few strands of white hair that you have noticed.

The wedding was within the week, and you both got married and wed. That very day and night of the "honeymoon," he slams you against the bed carelessly and forcibly spears open your legs with his hand while another pins both your head on top of your head.

You whisper near your ear,True to be told, I have actually noticed that since you were just a little girl, you always had a crush on me, so technically you wanted this to happen, so don't cry like last time, dear."

Your eyes go wide when you hear that he actually noticed. He knows that you have no words—absolutely no words.

That night was as horrible and traumatizing as the night you both had together. Princess Alyssa personally tries to help you escape; even after the marriage, she still supports you, even knowing the fact you are technically her stepmother.

But she accepted you, and you were quite stunned at how she handled the situation. Even though it was like hell, she still helped, whether by holding you while you were crying or whatever she was still there. It felt like she was starting to take care of you instead of you taking care of her like how you first promised.

In one of the many attempts of you trying to escape and her helping you with it, you both were caught, and Emperor Edward decided to punish you by isolating you and sentencing Princess Alyssa to be beheaded, his own daughter.

And you were forbidden to give her any visits after the situation. You didn't get the chance to even give her the last hug or talk or anything, not even a goodbye. You even threatened to kill yourself if he didn't allow you to see her, but he just laughs at you and tells the guards to throw you inside a dungeon where there's nothing, not even a window, so you have to rely on the fire outside.

Just like that, she's gone forever. You cry for days and refuse to eat, sleep, or even drink. The king himself has to personally force-feed you so that you don't die. You even scream and beat him as hard as you can in rage whenever you see him, but he just stands there, not unbothered. You might as well think that he doesn't even care or feel anything anymore, no remorse, no nothing, just disgusting lovesick eyes looking at you.

"I just can't get enough of you, love~"

Your life goes on until you have had enough, like enough one more year of this. You seriously don't think you want to be reincarnated into another life. You desperately want to feel things instead of being trapped in the shared chamber all day long, only allowed to go out to the garden for 1 hour to get fresh air with a few ladies in waiting and your own trusted servants near you to keep being aware of you and make sure you're not doing anything harmful to yourself or escaping.

You came up with the stupidest and most shameful idea. You decide to frame yourself for cheating on Emperor Edward and confess to him that you cheated. Making up fake clues for others to notice and gossip about, but the emperor refuses to believe it, so you told him personally.

"I cheated on you, Edward."

"You must be joking, dear. How would you even be able to do that, hm?"

but you just keep repeating the sentence, "I cheated on you."

This makes him overthink and triggers him, and he ends up struggling with you to death in the process. You still keep repeating the sentence, which forces him to grip your neck even harder till you are no longer breathing—not even a single movement, just soulless eyes staring straight.

When he realized that it was too late and there was no turning back, he let go of your neck, and you collapsed onto the ground, dead. He kneeled down next to you; finally, at this moment, he felt guilty for everything. He reflected on the things he had done to you, the amount of damage. Why didn't he think about this earlier? Maybe that could help him.

No, it's your fault for cheating on him. How dare you filthy women cheat on an emperor that has done everything for her sake? To this day he still blames you, but part of him does regret not caring what you felt and thought. He only treated you like a toy, a glass doll that would easily be broken. But he just couldn't help but love you with all his might, even if it meant hurting you.

He tried to keep your body from decomposing and rotting and would soak you in water to slow down the decomposing. He even went mad and brought you to the throne room for events, dressed you properly, stuffed you with cotton to keep you looking more alive, and said to others, "My wife is doing well; look at her, she's such a sleepy head; look at her sleeping, hehe…"

Sadly, eventually, he had no other choice but to finally bury you because your body was decomposing and smelling really bad. At the funeral, he gives a speech on how she was in his life and how he can't believe she died before him from 'sickness' and oh how sad he was and how he saw her glowing up into an elegant woman and more.

Prince James also gave a speech about how you try helping out, that he always sees her as a mother figure, and how (y/n) has always tried her best. He was innocent in all of these; as well, he even balled his eyes out when he found out that you died.

At the very last moment of seeing your face, he cupped your cheek one last time.

"Oh, how much I will miss you oh how I wish that I could go with you as well, but it's fine you don't need to worry love In my will, when I die, I'm going to be buried right next to you." He says that while chuckling while feeling remorse.

~~

omg, there are so many things I want to comment on but erm yeah this is how it is??? it could have been worse

[coldfanbou]

Kinkcember 30: Exhibitionism

Welp, this is the final one. Momo is high and mighty as she commands everyone's attention.

Length: 2.2K

Momo X Mreader

“What you need is a change of scenery.” Your friend babbled on. “Sex is sex, but changing things can make it a whole lot better. Like, imagine a whole bunch of people watching you.”

“Or a whole lot worse.” You retort, ignoring the second part.

“Oh, come on. Let’s try something new. I know a place.” 

“Oh, don’t tell me-”

“Just once, I’m sure you’ll love it. Everyone can fuck everyone.” You look into your friend's eyes, knowing exactly what she was after. You had started this conversation to figure out your problems, and Sana had quickly found a way to try and get you to join her on something she wanted to do. “All I’m saying is you might be able to find someone who’ll get you off. There’s this woman there. She’s an absolute goddess; I hear that everyone watches her finger herself because she’s so choosy with her partners.”

“Is that supposed to entice me?” 

“...yes,” Sana eeps out. “Come on, just once. We go in, have some fun, get out, and then you’re back on track.”

“You just want to fuck as many people as possible, don’t you,” You know her goal. You know what Sana’s been dying to try. She just doesn’t have the gall to walk in alone.

“Okay, yes, but I’m sure you’ll, at the very least, get something that might help you out of it. Exhibitionism is fun, and this place is the best for it.” You sigh and reluctantly agree; you didn’t have much to lose. You let Sana do all the hard work of setting up your little trip and followed her along, snaking through the city and small side streets until you finally reached the place. 

Sana knocked on the door, and from the outside, it looked like an old warehouse. You couldn’t help but imagine what could possibly be inside that Sana was so excited about. Your attention was returned to Sana as she bounced from foot to foot. She grabbed your hand and dragged you through the door. “This is going to be great.” Sana chirped as you reached the end of the hall. “Okay, the guy said to strip here.”

“What?”

“Strip here; everyone is naked inside. Just go along with it.” You wanted to curse out Sana badly, but you let it go for the moment and undress with her doing the same. You place your clothes in a bag and hand them to an attendant who marks you both with a number. “This is so you can get your clothes when you're done,” Sana says before pushing forward and opening the door that led to the main room. 

Inside was something much more elaborate than you’d expected. The room had bars on either side of the room, small tables decorating the edges where people were talking, and fucking like it was normal to have sex in front of strangers. As your eyes moved toward the center, you noticed the different levels. Beds were placed on a platform where plenty of people were having their fun. At the center of it all was a single bed raised higher than the rest. As Sana had heard, there was a woman masturbating as she watched everyone else. Many tried to meet her gaze as she turned her head toward the entrance. “That’s her,” Sana whispers, nudging your shoulder. “Well, I hope you have fun. I’ll see you later.” Sana says with a giggle as she walks toward the bare, swaying her hips in hopes of attracting attention. As you turn from Sana back to the woman, you see her staring at you. She stops fingering herself and moves off her bed. Cocking her head to the side, she begins to grin and levels herself. She motions for you to come to her. You look around, unsure if she actually meant you, but when you look back, she nods her head. As you walk toward the center, you hear the other’s whispers. You gather from them that the woman’s name was Momo. You keep your eyes on her, looking over her full figure. She was undoubtedly beautiful, and her large mounds, small waist, and wide hips completed the package.

“C’mon here, big boy.” She says as you get closer, beckoning you. Momo’s finger slowly curls, licking her lips as she keeps her eyes on you. Her other hand moves gradually around her lower lips, tracing them as you approach her. You stare at the lustful woman before you; her legs are slick with her juices, almost gleaming under the room’s lights.  You slowly move up the steps to her bed, keeping your eyes on her at all times while she does the same to you. Momo already knew all eyes were on her; they always were, even when everyone else was having their fun. 

As you approached Momo, she took steps back, letting her legs touch the bed frame. Finally close enough to touch her, Momo extended her arm, running it down your chest. She kept you at that arm's length away. Her eyes going over your body, her smirk growing a little wider. “Oh, you’ll do just fine,” Momo said softly as she used her nails, running them over your stomach until she wrapped her hand around your cock. “I’ll get this thing nice and hard in just a second.” Momo took a step toward you, pressing her ample bust against your chest. You felt her nipples drag along your body as Momo pushed her chest out. You let out a small grunt as Momo rubs the tip of your cock with her thumb, moving it at an agonizingly slow pace. She would go back and forth over the center before circling the head. “Do you like that, baby?” She asks with an almost innocent look, but her smirk quickly returns. She feels your cock growing in her hands. She breaks her eye contact, glancing down to look at your cock before pulling you toward the bed. She lets you go briefly, laying herself on the bed. 

You stand there staring at the beautiful woman get comfortable, watching as Momo moves her legs outwards, a single hand moving along her wet pink slit. “Well? Are you going to make a move?” Momo asks, her other hand moving to her nipple. She pinches her nipple, sucking in a breath before repeating herself. “Are you going to fuck me or not?” She emphasizes her question by spreading her lips apart. You climb onto the bed, crawling over Momo, who smiles at you. She reaches out for you, bringing you in for a kiss, her soft lips melding with yours. “Too slow,” she whispers into your ear before rolling over so she’s on top.  “I’ll be the one in charge,” Momo says before playfully slapping your cheek. Shaking her head to let her dark hair move away from her face, Momo glances around the room, happy to see all eyes on her. She gives the people a small wave before returning her focus to you. 

Momo rises slowly, grabbing your cock and placing it between her folds. She rocks her hips back and forth, coating your cock with her nectar. You groan, feeling the heat from her cunt as she grinds against you. Momo moans softly, her signature smirk on her face as she massages her breasts, forcing you to watch as she flicks her nipples with her fingers. “Relax a little,” She says as she watches you squirm under her. Momo raises her hips once more, her own desires growing. She aligns your cock with her slit, rubbing the head between her folds before sinking onto it slowly. You throw your head back and moan as Momo’s wall wraps around you, gripping your shaft tightly.

Momo groans, still smiling, as she places her hands on your chest and begins to move. She rises slowly, leaving the head inside her before dropping back down on your cock. “Oh, fuck,” she moans, feeling the head of your cock hit her womb. “That’s it,” Momo says to herself as she moves along your shaft, slamming herself down so she can feel your cock impaling her. The lustful woman looks down at you, “I was right about you,” she says softly as she picks up the pace. Momo leans back, letting the people take in the sight of her body as she rides you. She lets them glimpse at her bouncing breasts for a moment before grabbing you by the wrist and bringing your hands to her chest. Your hands mold the soft flesh as you squeeze her tits. 

You can barely think as Momo bounces on your cock; moans flow out of you as the beautiful woman. She continues to drop her full weight on you, getting every inch inside her. Momo’s moans grow louder as time goes on. She reaches between her legs, playing with her clit as she stops to grind on your cock, swiveling her hips. You feel her walls tightening around you. “Oh, I’m going to cum,” Momo moans. She rides you again, bouncing herself on your cock at a slow pace, reveling in the pleasure flowing through her body. Feeling your cock begin to throb inside her, Momo leans over you. “You can let it all out inside me. I want to feel all that hot cum inside me.” Her sultry voice would push you over the edge, but there was more. Momo moves your hands from her tits down to her ass. “Go ahead, fuck me. I know you’re dying to fuck me like an animal.” Your hands dig into her flesh, and you begin to thrust into Momo’s tight cunt. You wouldn’t last long anyway, so you would take full advantage of her wishes. 

Momo throws her head back and rocks her hips as you drive your cock deep into her cunt, slamming yourself against her cervix. Momo’s moans grow louder, turning into cries of pleasure. It drew everyone’s attention, and that drove Momo over the edge; having all eyes on her as she came only made it hit her harder. She arched her back, her eyes rolling into the back of her head and tongue wagging as she came on your cock while you came inside her. Momo was on cloud nine as the waves of pleasure crashed over her. She felt all eyes on her; she felt your cum being pumped into her womb. Her entire body was tingling. The moment you came, you held her against your cock, keeping it inside her as you dropped every bit of cum inside her. Momo stayed in her position for what felt like forever. Slowly, she dragged her body forward. Placing her hands on either side of your head, she leaned down and kissed your forehead. 

“Oh, what a good boy. I knew you were the one.” Momo lifts your hands from her body and slowly rises, your cum dripping out of her cunt as she slowly backs away.  “You did such a good job; let me get you all cleaned up.” Between your legs, Momo drags her tongue along your shaft, collecting every drop of cum and tasting herself on your cock. Momo wraps her hand around your cock, pausing for a moment to consider something. After that second, Momo presses her lips against the head before swallowing it. Her lips form a tight seal around your shaft as she bobs her head, taking more in each time she goes down. She’s quickly at the base of your cock, lashing at it with her tongue as she gathers every drop of your baby batter. Momo smirks as she hears you moan her name. Inching back up to the tip, she keeps her hand on your shaft. Once you’re out of her mouth, she strokes your shaft. 

You watch as Momo moves closer, placing your cock between her breasts. With a slight chuckle, Momo jokes, “I have to leave it squeaky clean; this is going to be my favorite toy.” She presses her soft mounds together, trapping your cock between them as she moves them along your shaft. You squirm, the pleasure is greater than before, and you are still sensitive from your climax.

“Momo, I’m going to cum,” you groan, trying to warn her. 

“Go ahead and paint this pretty face. Someone here is bound to beg to clean me up.” Momo says as she continues to work over your cock. She goes as far as lapping at the tip when it peeks over her mounds. Soon enough, you cum, painting the young woman’s face and chest with your semen. Momo hums in approval as your cock goes limp between her tits. “Good boy. Now, get yourself home and come back any time you want me to take care of you.” You nod along, too tired to argue or think of doing anything else. 

Momo lets you go. She lies in her bed with a blissful smile, calling for someone to clean her. As you head to the entrance, you look over your shoulder to see a flock of women throwing themselves at the beautiful woman, each eager to clean her. 

Getting home, you lay in bed, thinking about Momo. Your phone buzzes with a text from Sana, “So the experience was good, right? Think you’ll want to go back?” You consider the question before replying that you think you would go back for Momo.

[spidercat2099]

Nanami single dad au

Fluff-ish, Nanami’s sweet as hell in this

The blond man in the office always kept to himself. He was a hard worker and hardly talked to any of the other coworkers unless it was necessary. That's why, when you asked him out, he was in utter shock. Why would you want to go out with him out of all people? He asked himself.

He didn't say no though. His eyebrows raised and he asked you to clarify that you were actually asking him out.

"It's alright if you don't want to-" You began, but he cut you off quickly.

"No, no." His hands waved you down. "I'm..." He thought for a bit before speaking again. "I'm free Friday night. How does 7:30 sound?" He asked.

"I would like that." You responded, a slight smile tugging on your lips as you were excited he accepted. You were already picking out your clothes and looking for a new makeup look to impress him.

...

You'd been out with Kento for a couple of months already. It seemed like things were going well until he put on a serious face and cleared his throat.

"Miss y/n, I have to be honest with you on something." he began to say.

Your heart began to beat quickly from anticipation. You were worried it would be something bad. "Go ahead." You nod.

"I've enjoyed spending time with you, but it has been selfish of me to keep this going without telling you the truth." It seemed like he felt really guilty as he looked down at his clasped hands on the table. But if he enjoyed time with you, what could be wrong?

"I... I have a kid." He said as he looked up at you through his glasses.

Your eyes widened. You hadn't really expected him to be a father. "A... a kid?" You blink.

"I assume you wouldn't have known that before you even asked me out. I understand it's not a situation any woman would be willing to jump into. So, I wouldn't fault you for deciding to not go out with me again."

You begin to think, was there a sign you missed? Was it obvious? Wait... does he have a wife? You snap out of your thoughts. "And your wife?" you asked, not realizing how blunt you sounded.

His face shot up at the blunt question. "She... she passed away..." He looked away, now having a solemn look on his face. "Like I said, I understand if you don't want to continue-"

"Do you have pictures?" you asked leaning forward a bit. His eyebrows raised in the middle.

"Pictures?" He asked.

"O-Of the kid... how old are they?" His hand hesitantly pulled out his phone. He wasn't sure what this meant.

"His name's Yuji. He's 3 years old. He's a troublemaker but he's a good kid." He looked through his photo app for that album he had of Yuji. You could tell he was proud to have him as he showed you the pictures, telling you the backstory of each.

If you didn't already have a fat crush on this man, you definitely did now. The way he smiled at his kid was too cute.

When he finished showing you the pictures, he set his phone down and sighed. "I... appreciate you being this kind to me. But as I said, I don't expect you to want to jump into this situation. You're a young beautiful girl who I'm sure will find a man who doesn't have someone else's kid. It's a big burden-"

"Kento..." You cut him off. You didn't want to hear him be so somber on his "situation". Especially when you think about how proud he is of his kid and how hard he must work for him.

"I... I like you a lot. You having a kid isn't some kind of burden. We're both adults."

"I know that, I just don't want you to force yourself into a role you're not ready for just because you want to be with me."

"You're not forcing me to do anything." you grab his hand. "I'm deciding I still want to go out with you."

"You... you are?" He seemed touched but also in disbelief. You nod. You always knew how to surprise him. He wanted to believe it. That you were different, maybe that you were even the one that he was meant to be with. You were perfect. That's why he hadn't told you sooner, he wanted to hold on to that fantasy a bit longer. But he knew he still had to be realistic. After all, you could change your mind at any point.

Later that night, he drove you home. He opened the car door for you as you stepped out. He leaned onto the car slightly as he looked at you. "You're a very lovely lady, y/n..."

You smiled, getting closer to him as you adjusted his already neat tie. "And you're a very lovely gentleman, Kento." Your hand then flattened against his chest as your eyes made their way up to his. His head was tilted looking down at you.

Slowly, you came closer and his hand came up to rest on your waist. Your lips slowly join together with his. For a second, you pull back, just to join them again but with a bit more passion. Your hand made its way to the base of his neck as he pulled you closer. It was getting harder to leave it as just a kiss goodbye.

You wanted him. And you wanted him bad. Your breaths mingled together as your heads tilted every so often to deepen the kiss. Hid hand couldn't help but make it's way down your waist, close enough to grab your-

Beep, beep.

His phone rang and he pulled it out. He breathed heavily as he read the message. "That's... the babysitter." He explained before putting it away. "I'm sorry. I have to go." His eyebrows tilted up in the middle, feeling guilty once again for cutting things so short.

You breathe out. "It's... it's alright. Don't worry about it." You step back a bit to allow him to leave. He wasn't sure but he knew it could very well be the last time you both go out, regardless of what you said. You could've just been trying to be nice and just let him down easy later or decided to ghost him. And he didn't like that this was how the night had to end.

...

Things had gone normally for the next few weeks. You'd talk to him whenever you could at work, spend breaks together, and go out on the weekends. It seemed like things were going well.

Then, one day. He saw you at your desk while some guy leaned over it and spoke to you. He looked like he was closer to your age. And he had you laughing.

Kento wasn't a jealous person, but for some reason, he felt a pang in his heart. Like you could be taken from him at any moment and his fantasy would go down the drain. Especially when he though that's what you deserved. A guy your age who you could decide to have a family with.

Instead of walking over to say hi to you like usual, he just passed by to go to his own desk. You hadn't even noticed, since you'd been busy talking to the other guy.

Later in the day, Kento heard your voice call to him. He looked up from his computer to see you standing next to him. "Hey..." He said with a soft smile.

"Hey... I know we usually go out on Friday's but I'll have to cancel today." His heart had that same feeling again. Could it be that you realized you'd be better off without him? That the other guy was better? Maybe you'd decided to go out with him instead.

"Oh..." He said, his eyes looking away from you now. That's the one thing he always looked forward to after work.

"It's not anything serious, I just-" Then your watch began to ring. You had a meeting to go to, just sparing a minute to talk to Kento. "Sorry, I'll talk to you after the shift, okay?" You said as you left.

Kento wanted to tell you he was leaving early. The daycare only had a half day today. Of course, you wouldn't have known that. You don't have a kid, you wouldn't keep track of when schools are open. So he decided to text it to you, seeing as he won't see you that day at all. He'd have to wait until you texted him back, or until Monday to see you again.

But you never did. Not that day. Not the rest of the weekend. Was he right? You were ghosting him? Were you that type of girl?

...

On Sunday, he went to the grocery store with Yuji. It was raining, but they were in desperate need of food. So he just zipped up Yuji in a cute yellow jacket, carrying him in one arm as his other hand carried an umbrella over both of them.

It wasn't anything special as he walked around the store with Youji's hand holding his. Except, he couldn't stop thinking of you and what you were doing. Why you hadn't responded to any of his texts. He'd read a can and slowly get distracted by those thoughts until Yuji pulled on his hand because he got bored of that aisle.

After long enough, he picked up Yuji again, the other hand full of groceries and the umbrella. As he turned he saw... you.

He froze for a second, unsure if it was his imagination. You didn't live on this side of town, why would you be at the grocery store here?

"Papa, are you gonna move?" Yuji asked, poking Kento's face. "Y-Yeah, we'll go home."

When you heard that familiar voice, you looked up. His eyes widened as he realized it was truly you. You were wet, with nothing but a sweater on to protect you from the rain. No umbrella, no jacket. Just the awning of the store you stood under.

"Kento?" You called out. Yuji looked at you too, unsure of what was going on. Why was it so quiet? He just wanted to go home.

"Who's that?" He asked, pointing in your direction. "She's... a friend from work." You weren't fond of that response, but you knew how careful Kento had to be when the relationship hadn't even been established yet.

You were endeared by Yuji. He was even cuter in person. "Oh my God is that Yuji?" you got closer pinching his chubby cheeks gently. "Aren't you the most adorable thing ever?" Yuji definitely enjoyed the attention. He was giggling a lot.

"He likes you..." Kento said as he looked at his son's expression. "What are you doing on this side of town? You don't live near here." He couldn't help but feel curious.

"I left my phone at the office and the boss said I'd only be able to pick it up today. Halfway through walking here, it started to pour, can you believe that?" Your eyebrows furrowed as you frowned.

"Bad luck, huh?" he said, trying to keep it light although he was slightly upset with you.

"Don't get me started." You looked at him with a frustrated expression, but it also felt aimed at him for some reason? But he couldn't tell why you'd be upset with him.

You held your own arms to keep yourself warm again as you turned your body away from him. "My house isn't too far from here, we should get you out of this rain." He moved his umbrella so you'd be under it too.

"Fine." Although you were upset, you couldn't deny you were freezing, and the office was still a long walk from here.

The walk home was quiet and Yuji had fallen asleep in Kento's arm. As he grabbed his key and began to unlock the door, he began to say "I would've invited you here on better circumstances, but-"

"It's fine." You said, not bothering to sweeten up your tone.

He took that as a sign that you were upset and didn't push any further. He led you in. "I'll be back in a second, I'll just go put Yuji down."

You stood by the door, sopping wet. You didn't sit down, as to not wet his couch.

He came back with some clothes in his hand, presumably for you to change into. He chuckled lightly as he looked at your usually perfectly styled hair frizzing up into curls. "Curly hair?" he asked as his hand picked up a strand an grazed it. It was funny to him that you two had been seeing each other for a while and he didn't know until now.

You turn away, your hair falling from his grasp.

"Miss y/n, I can't help but feel you're upset with me."

"Why wouldn't I be upset?" You said as you looked up at him.

"I don't know. You haven't told me. If anything I'm the one who should be upset with you." His own eyebrows furrowed at your hostility.

"Upset with me? You blew me off on Friday." You defend.

"Blew you off? You said you were busy."

"I meant when I was going to explain why I was busy. I waited for you but you didn't show. Next thing I know, the boss tells me you left early and you didn't even bother telling me?"

"I did. I texted you. Several times actually, and you didn't respond to any of them. I understand I told you that you're not obligated to continue going out with me but I had at least expected you to tell me." His eyebrows tilted upward again. You could tell he was just upset but hurt too.

"That's not it at all! I was not ghosting you if that's what you think." You defend quickly.

"You... weren't? Then why didn't you send a text back?" He asked, his shoulders relaxing just a bit.

"My phone had broken at the office and I wanted to go get it fixed on Friday, that's why I said I couldn't go on the date with you." You explained.

"That's why... you didn't get my message..." He realized. His hand runs through his hair in relief. You hadn't changed your mind.

"Why would you think I'd ghost you?" You asked, crossing your arms. Just a bit shaky from the cold.

"You're freezing, miss y/n. You should go take a shower and change." He lightly guided you to the bathroom.

"Kento, wait. You have to say why you thought that." You turned around to face him when you got into the bathroom. You didn't want him to get away with that. Did he really think you'd do that to him? He thinks you're the type of person to do that after a while of dating?

He sighed putting the clothes on the counter and leaning on the doorframe. "We can discuss it after you shower, okay? I don't want you soaking wet and freezing, you'll catch a cold." His thumb came up to your cheek to lightly caress it. "Please?"

Your cheeks tinged pink and your heart raced. You were still a bit upset but you couldn't help but be touched by him caring for you like that. "Fine," you mumbled, slowly closing the door and starting the shower.

...

You come out of the bathroom, practically swimming in his big clothes. He waited for you on the couch, reading a book in his comfy clothes as well. He looked up at you. "Too big?" He asked, holding back a smile. It was a bit attractive seeing you in his clothes like that.

You scoff, also holding back a smile. "Only cause you're too big." You walked over to sit next to him, not too close. You bit your cheek as you continued to hold your grudge. "So?" You asked, glancing at him. Hinting for him to explain now.

He sighed. "It's not anything against you, y/n. I just... haven't had the best experience with these things. Usually, women run at the first hint of me having a kid. That's why I gave up dating for a while. And when I saw you with that guy, I thought you might've changed your mind..."

You raise an eyebrow. "That guy?" You had to recollect your memories to figure out what he was talking about.

"On Friday. He was by your desk and making you laugh and everything. I thought you realized you'd be better off with someone like him."

"You thought I ditched you for him?" You asked, a bit in disbelief. Sure, maybe a different girl would've but... you were head over heels in love with Kento. Some random guy wasn't gonna change that. "That guy... has nothing on you, Kento." You admit. Your hand reached for his. "I told you, I like you a whole lot..." your eyes move from your hand to his face. "Do I not say it enough?"

"Well..." his ears began to heat up. You said it more than enough. "I just thought since we haven't established anything yet, you'd still look for other options. After all that would be fair."

"Are you looking for other options?" you ask.

He shakes his head slowly.

"The only reason there isn't anything established is because you haven't asked for me to establish it." You explain.

"Would... you want that?" he asked, his hand tightening its grip on yours a bit. You nod in a way that says 'duh'. He was usually a smart man, hell, he was the best employee in the company, but for some reason, he always second-guessed himself with this relationship.

He got up, not saying a word as he left. You were left a bit confused, you weren't sure where he went or if he was coming back.

But he came back quickly. He had a bouquet of roses in his hand and a box. Your eyes were wide. "This was meant for last Friday. Unless you'd like me to wait until next Friday. We're not out or well dressed so maybe it's not the best-"

You cut him off again. "What's that for?" You asked, looking at the things in his hand. He sat down next to you. "I was going to ask if you wanted to... be my girlfriend?" He asked. He placed the flowers on the table and handed you the box. "It's a necklace."

You were in shock. You really missed out on a great proposal just cause your phone broke? "Kento, you're so sweet. Of course, I would."

You placed the necklace next to the flowers, kissing him immediately. "I'll... do it again on Friday..." He said between your kisses. You didn't care. All you cared about was him. "New flowers... dinner... I'll ask again... make it special..."

...

You were nestled into Kento's arm as you both watched a movie. Kento fell asleep first. So he didn't notice when Yuji came out of his room searching for him. He dragged his blanket on the floor as he rubbed his eye.

Without a word, he crawled into the space between you both, nuzzling into Kento as he placed his own blanket on himself. You couldn't help but feel this sweet moment was exactly how your life was meant to be.

[hcneymooners]

⋆ do you love me enough that i may be weak with you?

caitlyn x morally ambiguous!fem!reader x ambessa. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you are in competition with caitlyn for ambessa’s attention. you will follow her, to whatever end. no one draws you in like ambessa does. or so you tell yourself, even as caitlyn's lingering gaze makes your heart stutter. she’s almost desperate to be friends, but you don’t trust that girl by any means. to entertain her is to enable weakness. but, then again, have you ever truly been strong?

cw: a lot wow. age gap, older woman/younger woman, you're the youngest but in your twenties, canon divergence au, toxic relationships, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, power dynamics, impact play, body worship, dirty talk, bdsm dynamics, sub!reader, brat!reader, dom!caitlyn, dom!ambessa, voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, tribbing, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, face-riding, slightly dub-con in some parts, kissing, so much kissing, non-sexual intimacy, shower sex, hate sex (but is it really), sexual punishment, implied mental health issues, implied manipulation, you are all up to no good, polyam but is it really we'll see, caitbessa is not in love but they use each other, slight violence (fighting, training, & reader is hurt though not by caitbessa.), enemies to lover, rivals to lovers, slightly dark but not too much, guys i even wrote this properly no lowercase.

wc: 10.03k

soundtrack: give up - fka twigs, careless - fka twigs ft. daniel ceaser, holy terrain - fka twins, your girl - lana del rey (unreleased), & oh my angel - bertha tilman. order is intentional.

notes: this was supposed to be 7k. i need to be locked up. dedicated especially to @megalomaniacz for being the beautiful mind behind the caitbessa note that started it all. definitely one of my favorite things i've ever written.

A COIN’S FIRST SIDE. — CAITLYN.

​​You do not understand her incessant need to look at you.

The day has broken dark and cold. Your body aches with the rigor of being destroyed and depleted timelessly by Ambessa's experienced hands. It is only the three of you in the early morning - you, Caitlyn with her delicate bones wrapped perfectly in binding and sequestered underneath her uniform of buttery, dusky leather, and Ambessa with her arms bare, her face exposed by the careful braiding of her hair that reveals every subtle shift of expression.

It is this, over and over, until your body shudders into collapse. Yet—minute victory or sudden death—Caitlyn must look at you. Even when it's her turn, with her arched back pressed hard into the textured bamboo of the mat, her face crushed against the hollow of Ambessa's palm, she is looking at you. Those eyes, relentless and searching, track your every movement. It drives you utterly insane.

The weight of her gaze feels like another opponent entirely, separate from Ambessa's ruthless instruction. You tell yourself it's determination that keeps you standing, keeps you coming back day after day to this dance of dominance and submission. But there's something else, something in the way Caitlyn's breath catches when Ambessa's fingers ghost over that perfectly formed bruise on her collarbone—the one you gave her yesterday. Something in the way Ambessa's eyes darken when she notices you noticing.

You leave it. You cannot think of it.

Yet it follows you from the training grounds, through the winding corridors where shadows pool like old bruises. Back to the quarters you share with her, where even the air feels thick with unspoken things. It follows you. 

Caitlyn's presence fills every corner of the space you're forced to call home, from the precise way she arranges her rifle components to the lingering scent of gunpowder and leather that clings to her sheets. You are aware of that incessant staring, of the way her eyes rove over your naked chest; your small breasts are cupped dutifully in your hands as you unwrap yourself with a harsh breath.

Teacup tits, she'd called them when she’d once had you pinned against the wooden floor. It had been a day without mats; a day of endless testing. She had leaned in close, teeth gleaming like jewels as she held your stomach down with her hips. She had been sitting on you, and you had floundered then froze at the comments. You didn’t know she could be so brazen, so dirty-mouthed. This follows you too.

You've learned to move around her—around each other—in careful orbit. You are like twin moons, two violent girls with cheeks pressed against each other in the night, caught in some larger gravity - Ambessa's gravity - never touching but always aware. Always watching. 

The way she strips her gloves off finger by finger after training makes your teeth clench. You tell yourself it's irritation, not fascination when she unwinds the bindings from her own chest with methodical precision. Tell yourself you don't notice how the morning's wounds are already blooming across her shoulders, masterpieces in indigo and blue that match the ones Ambessa left on you last week—it doesn’t make it less true.

And Ambessa—sometimes you catch Ambessa watching too. The way her eyes linger on Caitlyn's throat, on the marks her own hands left there. It sparks something warm and dangerous in your gut - not envy, you insist. Never envy. Just hunger, the same hunger that drives you to push harder, to prove yourself worthy of Ambessa's attention, maybe both of your intentions. To prove you're stronger than whatever weakness Caitlyn stirs in you with her endless watching.

But later the envy cannot help but be itself, and you retch into your hands and sink from the vibrations of your anger. You do not trust her. You’ve seen her with that girl, the reckless pink-haired one, and she knows that you’ve seen her. But you are keeping this secret for reasons you don’t understand.

And in the dead of night, when sleep eludes you, you hear Caitlyn's breathing change rhythm across the room. You wonder if she lies awake thinking of the way Ambessa's fingers traced that lesion on her hip today, the one that matched the shape of your knuckles perfectly. Wonder if she knows you're awake too, caught in this web of wanting that none of you dare name. 

🕸

She is desperate for you, in a way that you do not understand. It is easier when she is quiet about it. 

There is an evening where she is loud—where everything is loud—and it rattles you. There is an incessant buzzing, maybe cicadas, and in the beginning, you are enjoying it because it reminds you of home and the way your feet fall into wet earth in the heart of the warm season. But then slowly, you begin to lose your mind and the buzzing is in your teeth and you now feel slightly detached from the world and your body is nothing but heat and you are almost lapping at the screen between the open dormitory window and the world and—

You crawl out of bed. You wear nothing but a sleep shirt two sizes too big, the chest open so that your sweat-laden skin gleams like a body of water. It belongs to Ambessa but it was your father's first until she swallowed your homeland and stole you away. You took it back and she said nothing. Maybe she was impressed with the voracity with which you bit and scratched her in the dark, massive cave of her bedroom.

So, yes, you crawl out of bed. You are swamped in ivory fabric and you drag your feet as you roam the halls. There is movement and it scares you, but you muzzle your mouth with your hand so that your scream dies between your teeth. It's only another guard. You keep moving.

Now, you are in the kitchen. You rummage through spaces until your fingers alight on the thick sphere of a pomegranate. You yank and now it is yours; hard and red in your hands. You turn, and she's there.

Caitlyn moves like water in the dark, all fluid grace even in her own sleep clothes. Her eyes catch the moonlight streaming through the high windows, turning them to pale fire. You clutch the pomegranate tighter, your nails breaking the skin. Juice runs down your wrist.

"Let me," she says, and she's closer now, close enough that you can see the light sheen of sweat on her collarbones. It satisfies you that she is warm too, that she is touchable. Her fingers brush yours as she takes the fruit, and you let her only because you're transfixed by the way she reaches for the small cheese knife on the counter, the way she tests its edge with her thumb. You hope for blood but there is none.

You don't remember moving, but suddenly you're against each other, a dance of hands and breath and barely-contained violence. She pushes, you pull. You spin her toward the table, but she turns it, uses your momentum to send you both sprawling across its surface. Your back cracks against the stone like a bone. Her face crumples momentarily at the sound of your pain, but then she is herself again. The pomegranate rolls away, forgotten until it isn't.

You think of another table, a wooden one from when you were younger. You think of hiding beneath the heavy oak with her, your breaths shallow and hushed as you press close to her side. You were younger then, small enough to fit between her knees, your hands gripping hers like a lifeline. Above, Ambessa’s boots thundered across the floor, her sharp commands reverberating through the room.

“Where are you?” she’d barked, voice like a stone through a window.

But Caitlyn had only grinned, leaning in to whisper, “Don’t breathe."

It's different now. You no longer fit.

She lands on top of you when you hit the floor, pinning you with her hips. The knife glints in her hand, but she just smiles, that same smile from the training mat, the one that makes your stomach clench with disgust and desi—no. She reaches for the pomegranate, and you watch, breathless, as she begins to peel it with delicate precision.

"I'll show you how," she murmurs, and then she's leaning down, pressing her mouth to yours with bruising force. Her teeth catch your lip, and you taste copper, sharp, and sweet like pomegranate juice. When she pulls back, your blood is dark on her mouth, and she licks it away like it's nothing, like this is nothing, continuing to peel the fruit with steady hands.

You buck your hips and she sets the knife down, next to your wrists where your veins gather and bulge like snakes. She holds you down with her core, and you can feel the heat between her legs. There is a moment where you freeze, and she smiles with delight. You buck again and she slams you back down, using a hand around your throat to keep you beneath her like a lamb. Her other hand comes up—the knife, you think in fear—and loiters against herself. Then it moves down, quick and smooth, to raise her slip of a nightgown and bare her creamy thighs. She shifts so that she is atop your stomach, and pushes the shirt up until it’s beneath your breasts. 

She isn’t wearing undergarments, or maybe she is. Maybe they are just thin. Either way, you can feel her against the skin of your belly, warm and weeping. You still aren’t moving, but you are slicking in return. You want to bite her, dig until she releases some sort of sound. 

Then there is a sound - a sharp intake of breath - and you both turn. 

Ambessa stands in the doorway, her expression unreadable in the darkness. For a moment, she watches, her head tilted like she's solving a puzzle. You look back at Caitlyn—who seems unrepentant about her half-nakedness. You put it together, the idea that they have seen one another like this before. The envy is riotous. You ache to kiss Caitlyn again if only to vomit in her mouth. 

It’s as if she knows and so she leans in, holds the side of your head as she feeds you pomegranate seeds from the cavern of her own mouth. Eventually, she is no longer feeding, only taking. She presses harder and harder until you let out a yelp of discomfort. It feels, if you aren’t mistaken, like a claim. 

Ambessa gazes at the two of you for a moment longer, then she turns away. Her footsteps echo down the hall, leaving you with the taste of blood and fruit and Caitlyn's smile against your mouth. 

You regain your strength; you throw her off. 

🕸

You don't sleep. 

Your body vibrates with fury, with want, with the phantom press of her against your stomach. The dawn breaks grey and sullen through the window, and when you dress for training, you notice Caitlyn watching you again. But it's different now - you see the tremor in her hands, the way she swallows when you bend to lace your boots.

The training grounds are empty. No Ambessa. The message is as clear as a blade against the skin, and you want to scream. Instead, you strip and step into the shower block, letting scalding water pound against your shoulders. You hear the door open, close. Her footsteps on the tile.

"Don't," you say, but your voice lacks conviction. You're too tired to maintain the walls between you.

"You think she's punishing us." Caitlyn's voice is closer now. You hear fabric hitting the floor. "She's not. She's giving us space."

You turn, ready to snarl, but the sight of her stops you. She's different in daylight - less predator, more girl. There are shadows under her eyes that match your own. Water beads on her collarbone where last night's sweat had gleamed.

“Get away from me.” She doesn’t. You try again. “Space for what?” 

The question comes out raw.

She steps under the spray with you, and you don't stop her. You watch the way the water falls over her, the spread of the moisture against her staunch skin. She is so angular, so prismatic. You feel as if the world refracts off of her. The water is running cold, so her breasts are erect and straining toward you. You think of drinking from them, more the effort of it, of the space between them where your mouth would fit.

"For this," she says but doesn't touch you. "For whatever this is. I'm tired of watching you pretend you don't feel it too."

"You don't know what I feel."

“I think you are a lonely creature.”

The heat between you evaporates like ash against the wind. Your mouth twists, and she steps toward you. She understands she has misrepresented herself and her intentions. You feel a familiar prickling. Tears. 

“Is this how you see me? A cowardly animal?” Your voice is flat, and she balks with her hands flexing nervously against her thighs.

“No. No. I only meant—if anything we are both animals. We have been trained as such at least.”

“You aren’t making this better for yourself,” you say, turning away. “And you don’t know me in any way.”

"I know you taste like pomegranates." 

You turn back to look at her, incredulous. “I had just eaten one, you little fool.”

“I know you let me kiss you before you threw me off.” Her smile is small, almost sad. “I know you've been keeping my secret about Vi.”

The name hits like a slap. You rise to the bait. 

"Why her?"

"Why Ambessa?"

You have no answer for that. The water runs between you, and for once, you let yourself really look at her. At the desperation in her eyes, the way she’s holding herself like she's afraid you'll bolt. Maybe you've both been hungry for the same thing all along.

Still, it eats at you. This odd way she is pretending to be meek and mild. She is soft in the same ways you are, with the same dips in her hips and calluses along her palm. You think of the panther-like movements of her muscles as she readies a shot. 

Something gathers underneath your tongue, and suddenly you are wailing. Loud and long. You rush at her, but she is waiting for you. She dips, and rams into your stomach as she flips you onto the tile. Though she is fighting back, she’s careful with you. Your head is cupped by her limber fingers as she sends you down. 

You kick and catch your foot on her side. With a gasp, she’s down too, but a hand still manages to grip at the fine bones of your ankle and yank. It hurts, and you make a terrible noise. She releases you as if you’ve burned her, and you twist to get out from underneath her. 

You’re on your belly now, flopping like a fish, but she makes you stay. She wrestles you up so that your back is bent as you press against her chest. You feel her fingers crawl like spider legs down your chest. She fondles, gropes, your tits. She is starved and erratic, pinching your nipples until they are standing on their own. 

Your skin is slippery with soap, so Caitlyn digs her nails in for grip. Then the action stops and her hand descends into the apex of your thighs. You try to jerk, try to send her off but she knows this now. She is understanding. That’s even worse.

She holds you, exactly as you need, and gets two fingers inside of your cunt. She curves them, tries to pull you inside out. You let out another noise, but it is less terrible. She works at you until you cannot remember language, only a deep animalistic noise of ‘uh uh uh’, a rhythm. Her thumb swipes against your clit and you’re there, the pleasure like a blinding fire.

You still try to leave her; you try to crawl. She rolls you over and bullies herself in between your legs until she can place her cheek along your heaving stomach. You begin to cry. You’re unsure why, but maybe Caitlyn knows because she only strokes your inner thigh to soothe you. She looks up at you, hair black with water.

“It can be like this, always. You only need to—”

You shove her and scramble back until you’re sitting on your own. She still watches you, cheek to the tile now.

“No conditions,” she says, reworking her words. “Only us.”

You close your eyes and see pink. You open them and think of your general.

“There will always be her.”

Neither of you knows which woman you’re speaking of.

A COIN’S SECOND SIDE. — AMBESSA.

Sleep does not come that night either. You only try because when there is no session to distract it, your body aches for a bed.

You lie awake, counting the beats between Caitlyn's breaths across the room, replaying the way her cheek pressed against your belly, her lips ghosting over skin as she spoke. The way she looked at you like you were something both precious and perilous, desired and dangerous all at once. Your body still aches from her attention.

A sound draws you from your thoughts - the soft click of your dormitory door. Through barely-opened eyes, you watch Caitlyn rise like a phantom, pulling on a robe. She doesn't look back as she slips out. 

Your feet are moving before your mind catches up.

You follow her through corridors you know by heart, the same path you took for that damned pomegranate. But she goes deeper, down halls you've never dared explore. When she stops at a familiar door—Ambessa's door—your heart clenches.

They speak in whispers you can't quite catch, but you see the way Ambessa's hand cups Caitlyn's face, the way Caitlyn leans into it like a cat being stroked. Your stomach twists violently. But then:

"She's ready," Caitlyn says, just loud enough, still soft. "She just doesn't know it yet."

Ambessa's laugh is low, rich like honey. "Oh, little one. She's been ready since I took her. We're just waiting for her to admit it."

You don't stay to hear more. But in the morning, when the summons comes—delivered by a guard who won't meet your eyes—you know they were expecting this too. They've been moving you like a piece on a board, and only now do you see the game.

You go anyway. You always do.

You press your lips together to avoid commenting on the way they stand separately like this will erase what you overheard yesterday. Ambessa stands at the center of the room, her presence devouring the light. It bends around her, as though the universe itself cannot decide whether to confront or flee her. Caitlyn is there too, poised and watchful, her gaze darting toward you and away again.

You look at her with an apathy you designed to get you through burning cities and crumbling countries. You wear your mother’s jewelry today: a septum ring with delicate chains of gold stretching across your cheeks, glinting over your ears. Ambessa’s eyes catch on it, a flicker of distaste passing over her face. Your fingers twitch, but you don’t remove it.

Caitlyn moves toward you, her steps tentative. You step back, forcing her to stop and speak first. Always assume power. This is what they have taught you.

“Do you find it fun,” you ask, head tilting, “to be careless with me?”

Caitlyn halts, her expression caught between guilt and something softer. Regret, maybe. This may be your delusion. Ambessa remains impassive, her gaze fixed on you with an unsettling intensity.

“Little one,” she begins, the shared nickname making you flinch. “You should be grateful. I’ve only eased you into a better space. This insipid competition for my attention is draining. I need my best soldiers to remain the best, to work with one another fluently.”

“You’ve been awful to me,” you say, your voice directed at Ambessa but your eyes locked on Caitlyn.

The mask you wear shifts, and you let your anger surface. 

“Do not call me her name. I’m nothing like her.”

Ambessa’s expression betrays a flicker of disagreement, but she inclines her head, a mockery of deference. “As you wish, little one. What do you think, Cait? Do you agree?”

The nickname hits like a physical blow. Ambessa smiles wickedly. Cait. You used to call her that, back when you were little girls, not yet twisted. You saw her as some kind of beautiful flower, one that had learned to tremble tall amongst the trees.

“You could have spoken to me,” you say finally, your voice sharper now. “You didn’t need this...elaborate scheme of seduction.”

“Love is a good enforcer,” Ambessa says, her tone rich with amusement.

“You wouldn’t know love if it spat in your face,” you snap.

The room freezes. Caitlyn stiffens, but Ambessa’s expression darkens, her presence swelling like a storm. You meet her gaze, unflinching.

“Get out,” she says, her voice quiet but deadly.

Caitlyn hesitates, her body angling toward you as though to shield you. Her hands twitch, almost childlike in their uncertainty. “She’s only angry. Let me—”

“Get out,” Ambessa repeats, her tone slicing through the air.

Caitlyn turns to you, desperation softening her features. “Listen to me,” she murmurs, stepping closer. “I meant it. All of it. With you. I only—”

You think of the evening before. Your throat works until you have something to say; your hand moves before you can think, shoving her back. The memory of her warmth lingers on your palm like a curse. You try to lose it. 

“Get out,” you whisper. 

She stumbles, her expression crumpling into something fragile. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay cold, and distant. Caitlyn hesitates for a heartbeat longer, but then she turns to leave. 

“You always try so hard to be good,” you push out. 

She pauses, remains facing away from you.

“I meant it,” she says again. “With you.”

She goes, the door clicking shut behind her.

Ambessa doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. The silence between you is a battlefield, and you know you are primed to lose.

“Do you want to have me to yourself, or do you only wish to be my favorite?”

The question surprises you. However, you shouldn’t be surprised by anything Ambessa does. Her voice is calm, and measured, but it holds a challenge. There waits a quiet dare for you to step into the space she’s carved out for you.  

Your throat tightens, words lodging there like a trap. You hate the way your body reacts to her—the warmth that spreads under your skin, the treacherous pull of her presence. It disgusts you. It thrills you. You feel weak.

“I don’t want either,” you say, though the answer feels thin. A lie.  

Ambessa’s mouth curves into something sharp, more predator than a smile. “Liar.”  

Your hands clench at your sides. “I refuse to play this game, least of all with you.”  

“Oh, but you are, little one.” She takes a step closer, the sound of her boots deliberate, echoing in the cavernous space between you. “You’ve been playing since the day you first looked at me with that fire in your eyes. When I took you away.”

She clarifies as if you can’t quite recall. It grates at your nerves.

“You hate me, and yet you can’t help but ache for me. Do you think I haven’t noticed?”  

Your pulse quickens, the air between you crackling with tension. You hold her gaze, refusing to look away, even as heat rises in your cheeks.  

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you say, but the words lack conviction.  

Ambessa tilts her head, her gaze dragging over you in a way that feels invasive, consuming. “I don’t need to flatter myself. I see you. At first, I thought you might take after me in a way meant to replace your mother.”

She reaches forward, fingers the cold along the ridge of your cheekbones. 

“I see the way you tremble when I’m near, the way your apathy tastes so much like desire,” she continues.

She steps closer, and you step back instinctively, your spine meeting the cold stone wall behind you. You hate how small you feel under her gaze, how she makes the air around you feel heavier, suffocating.  

“You’ve used me,” you bite out, your voice shaking but firm. “You’ve used Caitlyn, too. You pit us against each other like we’re pawns on your board. Is that all we are to you?”  

Ambessa’s expression doesn’t falter, but something flickers in her eyes, something unreadable. “You’re more than that, but useful as pawns when it’s needed. Both of you. But you’re still mine.”  

Her hand moves, slow and deliberate, until her fingers brush your jaw. The touch is barely there, a whisper against your skin, but it sets every nerve alight.  

“You hate it so much when we touch you,” she says softly, her voice a low rumble. “But it’s that hate that keeps you sharp. That’s why I keep you close. Why we—I— can’t let you go.”  

You want to pull away, to spit something venomous, to remind her that you’re not some plaything for her amusement. But you don’t move. You don’t speak. You can’t.  

“Caitlyn wants your approval,” Ambessa continues, her thumb grazing the corner of your mouth now. “She craves it. But you... you want something deeper, don’t you? Something darker.”  

You flinch.

“I want nothing from you.”  

Ambessa leans in, her breath warm against your ear. “Then why are you still here?”  

“Because you summoned me.”  

“Because you wanted to come,” she counters, her voice soft but unyielding.  

You try to defend yourself, but she’s moved past this now. Instead, her hands come to the bend of your hips and lift you with an easy effort that makes your legs widen around the bulk of her body. With quick steps she moves you to the chaise just off to the side of the room, sitting you on top of it. The world is blurring; she is moving too quickly for you to dispute.

Ambessa’s hands are firm as she strips you bare and traces the shape of you. Like Caitlyn—or maybe Caitlyn, like her—she cups a tit in her large hand and squeezes. This version of it is more painful, different from its softer sister movement in the shower. 

She leans forward, opens her mouth, and swallows that loose circle of fat. You arch into the heat of her lips, moan low and reedy as she suckles at your nipple. Her teeth trap bits of skin between them, marking you purposefully. She pulls off and takes your other breast inside of her again to be teased and tainted by her bruises.

You rock gently, chasing the feeling. This time when Ambessa’s mouth leaves you, she presses your tits together and appraises them. 

“She said this was one of her favorite parts of you.” When she finds your confused gaze, Ambessa smiles. “Cait.”

You tense at that, and she chuckles. The sound infuriates you. Still, you do nothing as she sinks lower, her breath approaching the swollen pearl of your clit. Without a word she latches on to you, lapping idly at you as if you aren’t already dripping down her chin. She holds you as your body stutters, pleasure arcing through you like thousands of arrows. 

Ambessa is measured in this too. She sucks your folds into her mouth, laps at you carefully as she grips your ass. She makes you ride her, clit bumping against her strong nose as you follow her instruction. She draws back from you once, only to spread you apart and spit crudely into your cunt. She watches it travel down your slit, slicking you with her saliva, then she spits again and pushes it in with a finger.

Before she continues she glances at you and gives you another order.

“Say her name.”

You say nothing, mind racing. She slaps your ass, hard.

“Say her name. As you used to.”

You understand now. Again, you ride her tongue but when your mouth opens it is not her name that you say.

“Cait,” you moan, legs falling open even wider.

Ambessa adjusts you, slings your legs over her wide shoulders as she consumes you. She shakes her head, burying herself in your cunt as she leads you over the edge. Over and over, she laps at you until you’re panting hard like you would when sparring. This is sparring in another form.

“Oh, fuck,” you whisper. “Oh, fuck. Fuuuuck, Cait. Please.”

“Mmhmm,” Ambessa hums over your clit, and that’s the end of it for you.

You let out a sharp, shrill scream and attempt to bow over yourself with the strength of your orgasms. Ambessa refuses to let you, forcing you back and keeping your legs spread so that she can watch your cunt flutter wildly as you cum. 

“There you go,” she murmurs.

“Yeah,” you answer, dazed and nonsensical.

Your pussy spasms, pink and oozing juices like a wound. Your thighs strain with the stretch of remaining open. You think of the shower floor.

“Caitlyn,” you gaps. You can’t stop pulsing. “Yes. Fuck, Cait.”

There’s a thud outside, against the door as if someone has fallen.

Ambessa removes her hands. The silence stretches between you, taut and electric. Finally, you find your voice, though it’s hoarse and trembling. 

“If you think I’ll ever belong to you, you’re wrong.”  

Ambessa’s smile returns, wicked and knowing. 

“You are brave, but you already do, little one. You just haven’t admitted it yet. What do you think we speak of waiting for?”

The absence of her touch feels colder than it should. She steps back, giving you space, but her gaze remains heavy on you, a reminder that you are never truly free of her.  

“Go,” she says, her tone dismissive. “Think about what you want. And when you’re ready to admit it, you know where to find me.”  

You don’t wait for her to say more. You rise and make to leave, hands grappling over your clothes. You feel discombobulated like a puppet with its strings cut. You only manage to slide your shirt back over your head and it dusts the tops of your thighs.

Ambessa only watches your struggle. You hate her. You want her. You don’t know where one feeling ends and the other begins.  

You tug the door open and step back as Caitlyn spills back against the floor, hand still between her thighs and shining with her own pleasure. Her chest is heaving, her skin pink with the rush of lust and physical exertion. Her legs splay beneath her like a doll’s. 

She pulls her fingers out with a wet ‘schleck’ and tucks them into her mouth, cheeks hollowing as she looks up at you—unashamed. You say nothing, only bend down and tug her fingers from her mouth. You put them in your own.

THE COIN, FACE DOWN. — CAITBESSA.

The dormitory is devoid of you. Caitlyn is unsurprised.  

You are unused to being touched. You don’t know how to be wanted. 

Still, she worries. More accurately, she spirals. The ache of your absence gnaws at her in the quiet moments, like a phantom limb she can’t stop reaching for. She doesn’t know where you’ve gone. 

Ambessa is losing herself too, albeit in a different way. Caitlyn wonders if she has ever truly lost something before.  

The world continues to turn. They train, a familiar ritual that feels increasingly hollow. Their strikes are sharper now, their parries more reckless. Ambessa’s movements carry an edge Caitlyn hasn’t seen before, a fury barely leashed. She fights like she’s trying to exorcise something, and Caitlyn is often the target of that rage.  

A blow to her stomach knocks the wind out of her. A strike to her face nearly cracks her jaw. Caitlyn knows better than to show weakness, so she grits her teeth and pushes back, delivering her own brutality in return. She delivers as well as she receives. 

She kicks Ambessa in the mouth once, the impact jarring up the toned meat of her leg. The older woman’s lip splits, blood dripping down her chin, but she doesn’t flinch. In response, Ambessa hurls Caitlyn into the corner of the room. She skids across the mat, hitting the wall with enough force to rattle her bones.

Ambessa isn’t looking at her, stays crouched on the mat with her hand pressed to her mouth. Caitlyn struggles upward, sliding to rest against the wall. The fight had been nothing more than an outlet, and Caitlyn, nothing more than a tool.  Caitlyn struggles to her feet, leaning heavily against the wall. The guards in the room avoid looking at them, the air too charged, too dangerous. 

Something simmers in Caitlyn’s stomach, a volatile mixture of anger, frustration, and something softer she doesn’t want to name. She refuses to puncture it, afraid of what might spill out. She is already suffering enough, diseased with the spores of her affection for you. 

And Ambessa.  

The thought churns in her mind, dark and poisonous. Ambessa has become an obsession she doesn’t want to admit to, a shadow that looms too large since that moment in the room. Caitlyn hates her, resents her, envies her. She knows what you taste like, what you’d like. She too has been inside you. Caitlyn now has nothing; they are disgustingly equal.

 But beneath it all, she respects her. And that’s what makes it worse.  

When Caitlyn finally speaks, her voice is strained, biting. “Do you always break your toys this quickly, or am I just special?”  

Ambessa’s gaze finally lifts, sharp and cutting. She wipes the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand and smiles, a malignant curve that doesn’t reach her eyes.  

“Special?” she echoes, rising to her full height. “You think too highly of yourself, Cait. You’re simply better than most.”  

The nickname grates, a reminder of the intimacy they share now—unwanted, unavoidable, tangled in you. Caitlyn clenches her fists. “Don’t call me that.”  

Ambessa takes a step closer, her presence suffocating, magnetic. “You’ve been insufferable since she left,” she says, voice low and dangerous. “Do you think I don’t see it? You miss her like a dog misses its master.”  

“And you don’t?” Caitlyn fires back, the words cutting deeper than she intended.  

Ambessa’s expression darkens, and for a moment, Caitlyn wonders if she’s gone too far. But then the older woman smirks, cruel and knowing. 

“I miss her,” Ambessa admits, her tone a blade. “But not like you do. You ache for her because she is a twin to your pain, a foil to my approval. I ache for her because she belongs to me.”  

The words twist in Caitlyn’s chest, sharp and unbearable. “She doesn’t belong to anyone,” she snaps.  

Ambessa chuckles a low, bitter sound. “You’re wrong. [Name] belongs to both of us, and that’s why you hate me.”

Caitlyn’s breath catches, and she doesn’t deny it.  

Without you, they writhe like snakes, their weight pulling them into collision after collision. The mouth of the snake swallows the tail. The hatred between them is palpable, a toxic undercurrent that fuels their every interaction. And yet, when the nights grow long and the ache of your absence becomes unbearable, they find themselves drawn together.  

It’s not love, not even close. It’s desperation, a way to drown the pit you’ve left behind. Their intimacy is suffocating, a visceral reminder of everything they can’t have. 

When Caitlyn’s nails dig into Ambessa’s back, it’s not out of affection but frustration. When Ambessa’s teeth scrape Caitlyn’s collarbone, it’s not passion but punishment. They use each other because they can’t have you. After all, the emptiness you left is too much to bear alone.  

It’s never enough, no matter how fierce. Because they don’t want each other.

They want you.

Still, they try.

🕸

Again, the shower. 

They’re slightly cruel to one another. It fuels the high. 

Caitlyn snaps back to the moment as Ambessa needles a nail into the mottled skin beneath her shoulder blade, where a bruise sits thick and spreading. She hisses in pain, tits pressing further against Ambessa’s own. There are three thick fingers in her pussy and they fuck her in the way she needs. 

Despite the embarrassment, she lets her head fall onto Ambessa’s wide shoulders as she chases her orgasm. Her cunt is like water, dribbling down Ambessa’s wrist as she carves Caitlyn out. Again, a nail presses into the bruise. 

The motion is harsher this time around and Caitlyn cries out, throwing her head back so that her hair brushes the middle of her spine. Ambessa continues to toy with this patch of marred skin, teeth clamping on the wide skin of Caitlyn’s neck as the younger woman twists and shudders around her. 

“Good fucking girl,” Ambessa mutters, fucking her faster.

Caitlyn bounces to meet her, slamming herself down until her belly tightens and roars. Ambessa lifts her further, suctions her mouth around one of her perky tits, and digs deeper into the pink tight nature of her. Caitlyn roots a hand in her hair and slides the other down her body to collect pieces of that foamy, white ring gathering around Ambessa’s hand.

Slick with herself, she rubs tight, quick circles around Ambessa’s clit. The older woman’s cunt is large, folds heavy and leaking. Caitlyn feels her tremble and she moves faster, breath coming fast as the spray of the water slides down the crack of her ass.

With a muffled grunt, Ambessa cums. As she does, she bites deeply into the meager flesh of Caitlyn’s collarbone. Caitlyn whites out, eyes rolling back briefly so that she’s swaying and focusing on a blurred ceiling. Their orgasms warp and connect; they refuse to stop touching one another as if it will keep reality at bay.

The comedown is almost irritating, and in a frenzy, Caitlyn clutches Ambessa to her chest. This does nothing. 

She kisses Ambessa feverishly, practically mauling her, because the echo of your cunt is on her lips. Ambessa holds her, returns the kiss, then breaks it. 

“No matter how hard we try, she is not here.”

Caitlyn closes her eyes and her face pinches in pain.

“And where is she? Gone, and you are doing nothing to find her.” 

This close, Caitlyn can see Ambessa’s face twitch and melt into something revealing. Something rocks through her at the sight and she detangles their bodies.

“You cannot find her.”

The statement is accusatory, so much so that Ambessa surrenders and turns away. She shuts off the water; Caitlyn remains shivering. 

THE COIN, POCKETED. — YOU.

Your mouth tastes like metal and smoke. The streets of Zaun pulse beneath your feet, virulent and alive, and you can barely remember how many days it's been since you left them. Since you left her. Them.

You've gotten yourself into trouble - the kind Ambessa would have prevented, the kind Caitlyn would have shot through. Blood trickles down your side from where the knife caught you, and your vision swims with chemical fumes and exhaustion. You don't know where you're going anymore, just that you're going.

The world tilts sideways. You stumble and catch yourself against a wall slick with condensation. A familiar laugh echoes from somewhere above - it stops your heart, then starts it again too fast. You know that laugh.

When you look up, they're there on one of the suspended walkways - Caitlyn and that pink-haired girl, Vi. They haven't seen you yet. Vi has her hand on Caitlyn's waist, casual, proprietary. Something in you breaks and mends and breaks again.

Then Caitlyn turns her head, and her eyes find yours like they always have. The world stops. You try to run—you always try to run—but your legs give out. You thud to the ground. Mind heavy. Heart heavy. 

You hate her more than anything else in the world. You wish that was true.

You hear the clatter of boots on metal as she descends, and then she's there, gathering you up as if she hadn’t been entangled a moment before. She hooks a hand into your hair, and claws you into looking at her as she squeezes your face hard. Something inside of you understands that the action isn’t intentional, not this time.

She bends, hair falling from her hurried bun, and swallows you—grime and all. Her kiss tastes devastating and strains with relief, and you're too weak to fight it anymore. You push back, this time into her, and force her to hold you. She squeezes you tighter, moaning almost obscenely as she relapses and languishes in your feel, in your taste. 

Here is her sweet girl. Her sweet fucking girl. 

“Cait,” you moan.

She pulls away and strokes your baby hairs away from your forehead as you let out a feeble, wounded noise.

"Vi," she says, not looking away from your face, "help me. I need to get her back to Ambessa."

"This is your runaway?" Vi's voice is rough, knowing. "The one you've been tearing yourself up over?"

Caitlyn's hands tighten on your arms. "It's important for the mission that we-"

"Save it, Cupcake." Vi's laugh is different now, sadder. "I know what love looks like on you."

That training, that beloved animal comes back in full force, and Caitlyn looks up from beneath her lashes. Her face contorts and it’s the strangest she’s ever seemed to Vi. She reaches up, hooks a hand around Vi’s jaw, and drags her down. 

“Get it together, Violet. This is not your moment.”

Vi blinks at her, equal parts disturbed and titulated. Caitlyn lets her go, places that same hand on the peek of skin between the hem of your shirt and your linen pants. Why would you ever wear linen when running away? She looks back up again, traces Vi’s expression—analyzes it.

“I can love you both. I’ve done it before.”

Vi's laugh catches in her throat. You watch through half-lidded eyes as something passes between them— understanding, maybe. Or resignation. Your blood is making patterns on the ground.

"Fine," Vi says, and then she's lifting you like you weigh nothing, careful of your wound. "But if this gets me killed, I'm haunting you both."

“If she dies because of our procrastinating, I’ll do something worse than haunting,” Caitlyn snaps.

Caitlyn's hand doesn't leave your skin as you move through the undercity. You drift in and out of consciousness, catching fragments: Vi muttering about shortcuts, Caitlyn's fingers pressing against your pulse, the way they work together like they've done this before. They probably have.

"Stay with me," Caitlyn keeps saying, and you're not sure if she means now or forever. Maybe both. 

You think of Ambessa waiting, of how her hands will feel on your skin again, of how she'll look at you like you're something wild she's finally caught. You think of Caitlyn's desperation in the shower, that fucking shower and it’s cold water—of her mouth against your stomach. Of how they both break you apart and put you back together wrong.

"She's burning up," Vi says somewhere above you. Her voice sounds almost gentle.

"We're close." Caitlyn's voice shakes. "The extraction point is-"

"I know where it is." A pause. "You really love her that much?"

"More than is safe."

You want to tell her that nothing about any of you has ever been safe. Instead, you let the darkness drag you into its arms.

When you wake, you're in Ambessa's chambers. The sheets smell like her - lime and mango and earth. Caitlyn is curled against your side, her breath evening out against your neck. And there, in the doorway, Ambessa stands watching you both with hunger in her eyes.

"Welcome home, little one," she says, and steps inside.

THE COIN, MELTED INTO GOLD — CAITLYN & YOU & AMBESSA & YOU &.

Ambessa moves like smoke in the water. 

The room holds its breath as she approaches, and you feel Caitlyn's arm tighten across your middle—not protective, possessive. They don't look at each other. They never do. Their hunger is only for you.

"Did you think you could run from us?" Ambessa's voice is silk over steel, very careful in the moment. She sits on the edge of the bed, and the mattress dips with her weight. Her hand finds your ankle, thumb pressing into the hollow where your pulse beats rabbit-quick. "From me?"

You try to answer, but Caitlyn's mouth is suddenly on your neck, wet and wanting. She bites down, marking you, claiming you and Ambessa's grip tightens in response. They're going to tear you apart.

You realize, distantly, that you want them to.

"She's hurt," Caitlyn murmurs against your skin, but her teeth don't gentle. "We should-"

"We should punish her," Ambessa cuts in, and your body betrays you with a shiver. Her hand slides higher, past your knee. It makes you realize that you’re in nothing but a simple pair of baby blue cotton panties and a skimpy bra. Your tits spill out at the bottom. "Shouldn't we?"

Caitlyn makes a sound like drowning. Her fingers find the hem of your shirt and ghost over the bandaged wound at your side. "Yes," she breathes, and you feel yourself sinking, sinking. "But she's ours to punish."

"Ours," Ambessa agrees, and the word feels jagged.

You're losing yourself in them. A thought floats up through your hazy mind: that they refuse to acknowledge each other even as they work in tandem to break you down, to unmake you piece by piece. Their synchronized destruction should be beautiful to watch if you can remember how to open your eyes.

"Look at me," Ambessa commands and your body obeys before your mind can catch up. Her hand cups your jaw, thumb pressing against your lower lip. "She trembles so prettily for us, doesn't she?"

Caitlyn's answer is to drag her nails down your spine, making you arch into the touch. The pain blooms like ink in water, spreading out until you can't tell where it ends and pleasure begins. You're caught between them - Ambessa's unyielding strength and Caitlyn's desperate need - and you're not sure you want to escape.

"Tell us why you ran," Caitlyn whispers, but it's not really a question. Her fingers trace the edges of your bandages again, a reminder of what your foolish escape attempt cost you. "Tell us what you thought you'd find out there.”

"Freedom," you manage to gasp, and Ambessa's laugh is dark honey, sticky-sweet, and dangerous.

"Oh, little one." Her grip tightens, not quite painful. Not yet. "You're only free when I allow it."

She speaks only of herself, but you know the notion pertains to both of them. You know they're right. You've always known and it leaves something bitter in your mouth.  That's why you ran - not to escape them, but to make them chase you. To prove they would. To ensure they'd punish you when they caught you.

And now they have.

"Please," you breathe, though you're not sure what you're begging for. More? Mercy? Neither?

"Please what?" Caitlyn's voice has gone rough with her aching. Her teeth find your shoulder again, and you shudder. "Use your words."

But Ambessa's hand is sliding into your hair now, pulling your head back to expose your throat. "No," she says, and you can hear the smile in her voice. "I don't think she gets to speak anymore tonight. I think she’ll bore me with her useless whining.”

The whimper that escapes you makes them both pause, just for a moment. Just long enough for you to feel their satisfaction ripple through the air like heat waves. You might die this way, you’re realizing. They may build you up one final time, only to slit your throat at the time of climax.

Ambessa is practically stone with her tempered fury, and Caitlyn is antsy with her need. You never realized how much you riled them in the same manner they did you. Ambessa goes on to say more, filling the silence with something sick and cruel but Caitlyn has had enough now. 

She lurches up, rolls you over so that she sits atop just like the night she first kissed you. The night where it all burst. There’s a moment where she has a hand on your chest, pushing down as if resuscitating you. You don’t understand it until you look down and see the way the pressure makes your breasts surge and spurt from underneath your bra. She pushes again and again and again until you’re taking halting, broken sips of air. Over and over, your tits spill until she grows crazed and snaps the fabric off of you.

Ambessa only watches, though you notice her thighs spreading. She looks soft, her hair unbraided and haloing her face. She wears nothing but a silk yellow robe which displays her figure lovingly. Your cunt grows warm, tender.

Catilyn taps your cheek, brings you back to her. You can’t remember if the button-down she wears is yours or Ambessa’s. Maybe both. You wince at her weight on your stomach and she moves up and over your face. 

There’s no time to prepare for the way she comes down on you, her groan thunderous as her pussy settles on your parted mouth. You fall into line, give her what she wants.

Still, you are to be punished, so she sits for a long while. Just smothers you. Occasionally she grinds, filling your nose with her musk. You can feel her soft curls around your lips, and you arch up as if to crawl inside of her skin. This gets her to move, a slow rocking that amps up as you settle into making out with her pouring pussy. 

You kiss her here, over and over, dragging your tongue into the affair until she’s riding you. Your tongue slips in and Caitlyn quivers with a whimper as she rides your face harder. You bring a hand up to hold her, to prevent her from slipping but she smacks it away. 

“No,” she pants. “No—oh, fuck me. Holy shiiiit.” She bounces liberally, selfishly. “No touching.”

Caitlyn leans forward, supporting herself as she fucks down on you with fervor. You’re so distracted with getting her to fill your throat with her pleasure that you mistakenly lose focus on where Ambessa is. Which is why the press of her cunt against your own absolutely blindsides you.

She’s climbed atop the bed during the desperate coupling between you and Caitlyn, removing your panties so that your pussy winks at her voraciously. True to her nature she decides to take, to conquer you. You grip Caitlyn tightly, so tightly that she squeals and cums at the pain. 

You forget to let go, buck wildly as she creams over your nose and chin. It settles on you like sugar; she takes a long finger and dips it in—soft and sweet. You suckle at the pad of it, taking the digit into your mouth and moaning around it as Ambessa slides your cunts together. 

You can’t tell if you are one body or three or three-in-one. You feel enmeshed in the both of them. Your blood is theirs; your cunt is theirs. Maybe it is less togetherness and more possession. Ambessa groans deeply as you gush against her, the squelch both loud and quiet. Caitlyn is now off to this side—this you know. She has her other fingers playing with herself, shifts down to let them puncture her. 

She shoves another finger into your mouth and you gag, let her hit the back of your throat. Drool is coalescing and running over them. The sight makes Ambessa open you further, and hold you down as she slides your clits together over and over—harder and harder.

Your babbling makes the both of them smile, dark curves tinged with their sadistic pleasure. Again, the possession. Ambessa shoves Caitlyn aside and crawls over you to hook her thicker digits into your mouth. She drags you, your head lolling, as she reaches down and rubs your clit.

You scream, silent with your mouth open wide as you cum. This is not enough. It is never enough. She is back on you, like a lioness on a gazelle. Her pussy swallows yours, and Ambessa forgets you as she leads herself to that approaching golden horizon.

When she crests, she falls on you and you do nothing but accept her weight. You lay there, do this for what feels like years, until Caitlyn weasels behind you. Then you do it again.

🕸

You wake with a start, disoriented by the weight pinning you to the bed. Caitlyn's arm drapes loosely over your waist, her fingers curled like she’d been holding you even in sleep. Ambessa’s warmth radiates from behind you, her breath slow and even. The sheets smell of sweat and sandalwood, of something heady and unnamed.

The sheet clings to your skin almost oppressively, a reminder of last night’s twist of limbs and pleasure. You slide out from between them, careful not to disturb their slumber. Ambessa stirs slightly, her arm shifting, and you hesitate. Caitlyn murmurs something unintelligible, and you freeze. When neither of them wakes, you slip free.

You take Caitlyn’s robe from the chair by the bed, pulling it around your shoulders. The fabric is sheer, nearly useless, but it smells of her. You step onto the balcony, and the cool morning air kisses your skin. The horizon is painted in hues of gold and rose, the sun stretching its fingers across the sky.

You lean against the railing, the chill of the metal biting into your palms. The fortress sprawls below and blends into the distant city, a patchwork of shadows and light. For a moment, it feels like you’re the only person in the world. But the ache in your chest reminds you that isn’t true. 

You are loved. You are wanted. And it terrifies you.

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to make sense of the ache in your chest. The robe clings to you, and the light hits your body in a way that feels exposing, even with no one watching.

A soft sound pulls your attention, and Caitlyn steps out onto the balcony, her hair a tumble of dark waves over her shoulders. She’s still half-asleep, her bare feet silent on the stone. When she sits beside you, the space between you feels both unbearable and necessary.

"Couldn't sleep, baby?" she murmurs, her voice rasping in the quiet.

You shake your head, eyes fixed on the horizon. You ignore the goosebumps that rise at the pet name.

 "I don’t know what to do with so much love," you say finally, your voice trembling. "From you. From her. It’s… too much."

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she reaches out, her fingers brushing your forearm. You flinch, and she pulls back, pain flickering across her face. 

"Baby," she says softly, and the word lands like a stone in your chest. "I will undo this. I will make your living easier."

You exhale sharply, the sound halfway to a laugh.  “Will I always have to share you?” you ask. 

You don’t look at her. 

Caitlyn hesitates, then glances toward the bed where Ambessa shifts, her hand moving as if searching for you in her sleep. You glance over instinctively, the motion so natural it betrays you.

“I could ask you the same,” she says finally. Her tone is steady, but there’s a thread of something deeper woven through it—something sharp and sad. Your gaze flickers to her, then back to the bed behind you. Ambessa shifts again, her brow furrowing, and you instinctively turn to her. The action is so ingrained, that you don’t realize what you’ve done until Caitlyn speaks again.

“She pulls at you,” Caitlyn says, not unkindly. “I see it.”

You want to deny it, but the words stick in your throat. Instead, you say, “And you don’t?”

Her lips curve into a wry smile. “I pull at you too. But she’s… something else.”

You swallow hard, the weight of her words settling over you. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The city stirs below, oblivious to the ache of your small world.

INTERLUDE: THE LIONESS, WITH THE COIN IN HER MOUTH. 

Ambessa lies still in the bed, her breathing measured and even, but her mind sharp and alert. She hears the murmur of voices from the balcony, the quiet cadence of Caitlyn's voice mingling with yours, a soft harmony in the cool morning air. 

Her eyes remain closed, yet her thoughts stray to the image of you wrapped in Caitlyn’s robe, the rosy light of dawn casting faint halos around your figures. She imagines the tension in your body as Caitlyn reaches for you, the way you’d shift, hesitant, but never pulling away entirely. It’s a dynamic Ambessa understands all too well: the push and pull, the magnetic sway you hold over both of them.

You’re the thread that binds, fragile yet unbreakable. It’s maddening. It’s beautiful.  

Ambessa shifts slightly, her fingers brushing the cool sheets where you once lay. The absence is temporary—she knows this. But the way you linger in her mind is something she can’t easily reconcile. She has always been a woman of precision, of control. Yet you are beginning to undo her in ways she cannot name, cannot stop, that she believed herself too old for.

Through the door left ajar, your voice carries faintly. When you and Caitlyn return, Ambessa will let you come to her. For now, she waits, her lips curving faintly, as if in a private, unspoken promise.  

“You’ll come back to me,” she murmurs under her breath, a whisper carried only by the stillness of the room.  

And outside, the sun climbs higher, gilding the world in its light.

RE: THE COIN, MELTED INTO GOLD — CAITLYN & YOU & AMBESSA & YOU &.

Caitlyn leans back, her eyes tracing your face. "We grew up together," she begins, her voice softer now. "Trained together. They taught us to kill, to win, to survive. But you…" She pauses, swallowing hard. "You were always my half. I can’t promise much, but when the pendulum swings, I will choose you to save. Every time."

Her words settle heavy in the space between you. You lean your head against her shoulder, letting the warmth of her presence ease the sharp edges of your doubt.

Caitlyn tilts her head, resting her cheek against your hair. "You’re half of me," she murmurs.

From inside, Ambessa’s voice calls softly, "Come back to bed."

Caitlyn shifts, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, then your nose, and finally your lips. It’s a lingering kiss, tender and unhurried as if she’s trying to pour every unsaid word into you.

"You’re my girl," she whispers against your mouth. "I love you, baby."

The declarations are so soft you almost think you’ve imagined them. But the look in her eyes tells you otherwise.

Ambessa calls again, her voice low and expectant. Caitlyn straightens, her hand falling away from yours. She glances at the door, then back at you. She stands, offering her hand to you. 

"Come," she says simply.

You hesitate, the ache in your chest a living thing. But you take her hand.

The sun exposes as it further moves toward its high point, casting the balcony in streaky light, but you feel no warmth. Only the quiet weight of something you can’t name, pressing into the spaces between your ribs.

And behind you, the world goes on turning.

“Come,” Caitlyn says again, her tone gentle but firm.

You go.

© hcneymooners.

⚚ wives taglist: @s-4pphics

⚚ special taglist: @blackdykegirlblogger @bibi-e @hell0-ki55y @suibiaan-l @astarcalledtala @iluvwomensm @whuppincream @rottngrl3 @16novvs @sillygirl-lol @petalsnhoney @simmplerussiangirl @ambessaswifey @ambessas-doll @marvelwomenarehot0 @baeumonde @abbyslvrrr @sevslefthand @milfshotss @sevikas-whore @poteitalouca @foreverdolled @azteriarizz @helaenabugmom @p3arlier @depressedqueersocialists @iliterallyhavenoideawhattosay @rios-st4rs

[cherryxbooo]

You’re my ideal type

Summary: A video from a year ago of Oscar talking about his ideal type went viral, making his fans wonder why he chose his girlfriend. This leaves y/n with a lot of questions herself.

Note: First time writing for Oscar! I kinda went with the flow. Let me know what you think! 😌

Reader x Oscar Piastri

Genre: fluff/angst

It was a beautiful, sunny day in Monaco. I was out with two of my friends, enjoying brunch together and soaking up the good vibes.

We spent hours talking, laughing, and joking around—overall, it was a fantastic time.

Afterward, we decided to go for a stroll. That’s when we stumbled upon a gorgeous spot with an incredible view. For girls, that can only mean one thing: a photo session. And, of course, we took full advantage.

We snapped countless pictures of each other—exactly what I needed. I’d been wanting to update my Instagram feed, and I knew Oscar would appreciate a few of these too. A win-win situation if you ask me.

Hours later, we decided to head home. Parting ways was bittersweet, but we all had things to do.

When I finally arrived at the place Oscar and I shared, I immediately went inside, feeling my social battery completely drained.

I glanced at the clock and sighed. There were still a few hours to go before Oscar would be home. Feeling a little bored, I decided to tackle some household chores to pass the time.

Eventually, I finished everything and switched to full-on "bed rotting" mode. As I scrolled mindlessly on my phone, I remembered the stunning photos we’d taken earlier.

Sitting up, I started going through them, carefully picking out the best ones to upload to Instagram.

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yourusername Days like these ☀️💐

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oscarpiastri Pretties girl ❤️ by author

alexandrasaintmleux Gorgeous ❣️

yourusername Says you 💋

f1_dailylvr81 She's so girly coded love it 💅

fashionistaformula I can't be the only one thinking about that one interview of Oscar?

paistryln481 You're not alone, every time I see her I keep thinking about it

foryoutt16 Wait what? I'm lost, what happened?

cocosainzyy55 @foryoutt16 An old interview of Oscar when he was still in F2 resurfaced and he was talking about his ideal type and the description he gave matches nothing to his current girlfriend. People are suddenly bringing this up again, wondering why he didn't choose his ideal type.

foryoutt16 Oh damn that's rough...

The comments and likes flooded in, as they always did. Sometimes, I forgot that I was dating an F1 driver—it came with its own kind of spotlight.

But as I scrolled through the comments under my post, a few things caught my attention.

One comment in particular stood out: something about an old interview of Oscar.

Confused and curious, I decided to look it up. Little did I know, I was about to regret it...

My stomach twisted into knots as I watched the video, realization sinking in. Oscar described his ideal woman, and her characteristics were unlike ones I possessed. I felt a wave of insecurities and doubts wash over me, each word a reminder of how I didn't fit the bill for his ideal partner.

My heart sank with every word he spoke, describing his ideal woman's qualities - and every one felt like another reminder of how far off the mark I was.

I couldn't help but wonder, "Why did he choose me?" His words stung, and I questioned whether he settled for less than his ideal because he didn't have better options.

On cue, as if the universe was playing a cruel joke, Oscar returned home and called out my name. His voice echoed through the hallway, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning inside me. I hesitated, a mix of fear and confusion gripping me, as I debated whether to face him with this newfound knowledge.

He entered the room with a warm smile, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. He greeted me with a gentle kiss on the forehead before starting to speak in sweet words.

"Hey babe, how was your day?" he asked, completely unaware of the recent discovery I made.

I forced a smile, trying to hide the turmoil inside as I replied, "It was fine," my voice trying to mask the disappointment and insecurity that bubbled up.

The words left my lips, sounding hollow compared to the usual warmth in my tone.

Oscar sensed the hint of falsity in my fake smile. His observant nature picked up on the subtle cues of my distress, and he recognized that something was off. Yet, instead of immediately asking about it, he chose to hold off, observing to see if I would bring it up.

Oscar wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. He kissed my temple gently, his touch providing a temporary sense of comfort.

He knew something was bothering me and chose not to press, offering a moment of respite instead. "Do you want takeout?" he asked, his voice filled with tenderness.

I replied softly, trying to match his tenderness, "Sounds good." Despite my conflicting emotions, I didn't want to dampen the mood by revealing my insecurities.

"Takeout sounds great," I said, attempting to sound cheerful.

Oscar reluctantly let go of me, reaching for the phone to place the takeout order. In his absence, I seized the opportunity to sneak a look in the mirror, as well as to search for pictures of Oscar's ideal type.

I scoured the internet, comparing every aspect of my appearance to the images of his ideal woman. The comparison fueled my insecurities, amplifying the feeling of not measuring up.

My tears threatened to spill as I stood there, comparing myself to Oscar's ideal, but before they could, I heard Oscar's voice calling out.

"Y/n baby, the food will be here in twenty minutes," he informed me. I swiftly wiped away the tears before responding, attempting to hide the vulnerability in my voice, "Okay, thanks for letting me know."

Splashing my face with water to compose myself, hoping to hide any traces of my tears and distress. With determination, I dried my face and returned to the room where Oscar was, trying to mask my vulnerability.

After the food came, we ate together. I was quiet, it was mainly Oscar talking which was odd because normally it was always me talking and he would listen. We were currently cuddled up together after eating

Despite our cozy cuddle on the couch, my mind was preoccupied with worries. Thoughts like "What if he leaves me?" and "What if I'm not good enough?" consumed me.

Oscar noticed my distraction and asked if I was alright, concern in his voice. I replied, "Just tired," and although he didn't fully believe it, he decided not to push further.

Oscar spoke up once more, his voice soft and reassuring. "Y/n?" he began, his eyes searching mine.

"You know I love you, right? If there's anything bothering you, you know you can tell me," he emphasized, his tone filled with patience and support.

I nodded, attempting to hide the depth of my worries and insecurities. "Yeah, I know. I love you too," I responded, trying to sound reassuring.

The words felt heavy, knowing the weight of my unspoken fears.

A few weeks had passed since that moment of insecurity, and I had been avoiding Oscar, even though we lived together. I had made excuses to skip every Grand Prix , claiming I was too busy with work.

Yet, here I was, facing the mirror on the morning of a home race, feeling utterly unprepared. The interview weighed heavily on my mind, and I wasn't in the right state to face it.

Standing in front of my reflection, I looked at myself, thoughts of my inadequacy resurfacing.

Oscar entered the room, his gaze settling on me. He positioned himself behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my head.

His presence brought both comfort and nerves as I stood in front of the mirror, still grappling with my insecurities.

He spoke softly, his compliment genuine and sweet. "I didn't know it was possible to be this pretty. You look amazing love," he murmured, his voice filled with affection.

I stepped away from him, the compliment not offering the comfort it usually would. My actions were distant, as if I was subconsciously putting up a barrier.

"Thanks," I responded distantly, my tone devoid of the warmth that usually accompanied my words.

The fear of his departure and my sense of inadequacy still lingered in my heart, casting a shadow over the moment.

Oscar seemed puzzled by my distant behavior, his confusion evident. Seeing right through my attempt to avoid him, he asked gently,

"Baby, did I do something wrong? Why are you avoiding me?"

His voice was tinged with concern, his eyes filled with hurt at my distance.

I quickly responded, trying to change the subject. "No, you did nothing wrong. Uhm, shouldn't you leave for the race?"

Oscar looked at me, his gaze lingering on me before reluctantly letting it go.

"Wait, weren't you coming with me?" he questioned, his tone hinting at his confusion.

I responded with a slightly busted attitude, "Oh, uhm, I'm not done getting ready yet. I'll come later, though."

It was a lie, and Oscar seemed to sense that something was off.

Despite the passing time, he decided to focus on his own preparations while stealing a moment to kiss my forehead before leaving.

I took a moment to muster my courage, realizing that Oscar didn't deserve being pushed away because of my insecurities.

With a deep breath, I prepared myself to face the day and attend the race, pushing through the weight of my doubts.

As the hours flew by, I found myself standing in the garage, watching from afar, torn between my worries and the desire to support him.

After awhile I decided to go to the restroom since I still had some time before the race started.

As I was walking, I heard voices behind me, and my name being mentioned caught my attention.

I stopped to listen—not that I meant to eavesdrop, but hearing my name made it impossible not to.

From what I could tell, these girls were likely McLaren fangirls. Well duh after all, they were dressed in papaya colors.

Girl 1: "It's crazy that Oscar is still dating y/n. She doesn't even fit his ideal type."

Girl 2: "I know, right? Like, she's not even close."

Girl 3: "Yeah, he must be leading her on or something."

Girl 4: "Or maybe she's in it for the fame and money."

Girl 5: "Oh, definitely. There's no other reason she would be with him."

The girls' laughter echoed in my ears, each comment like a punch to my heart.

Girl 2: "Seriously, you'd think he could do better than her."

Girl 1: "Yeah, she's not even that attractive compared to the other girls he's dated before."

Girl 3: "I bet he'll realize soon that he could get someone way better."

Girl 4: "Well, if the fame and money aren't enough, then he's definitely settling."

I couldn't bear to listen any longer, my tears streaming as I fled to the restroom, seeking solace to hide my distress.

Time slipped away as I stayed there, isolated, wrestling with my tormenting thoughts and self-doubts.

Meanwhile, the McLaren garage buzzed with pre-race energy, but Oscar couldn’t focus. His eyes darted around the paddock, scanning for any sign of you.

Anxiety churned in his gut as he spotted his teammate leaning casually against a workbench.

“Lando!” Oscar called, walking over briskly.

Lando glanced up, eyebrows raised. “What’s up, mate?”

Oscar hesitated before blurting out, “Have you seen Y/N anywhere?”

Lando frowned, clearly puzzled. “No, mate, haven’t seen her. Matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve seen her around for the last few races. Is everything okay?”

Oscar sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, mate. She’s been so distant lately, and I have no idea what I’ve done to upset her.”

Lando’s expression softened, a mix of pity and thoughtfulness. “Could it maybe have to do with that video that went viral again?”

Oscar blinked, confused. “What video? That old F2 interview of mine? That was years ago! I was just joking in most of it anyway.”

Lando shrugged, giving him a pointed look. “Mate, you might want to check the comments under her recent Instagram post. I think that’s your answer.”

With a sympathetic pat on the back, Lando turned and walked off, leaving Oscar alone with his thoughts.

He pulled out his phone, his fingers quickly navigating to your profile. The comments under your latest post hit him like a brick.

“Oh no,” Oscar muttered, his stomach sinking. “No wonder she’s been distant…”

He mentally kicked himself, remembering that dumb interview where he’d been too cocky for his own good.

“I didn’t even mean half the stuff I said,” he whispered to himself, cringing at the memory.

Before he could search for you and explain himself, a crew member called his name, dragging him toward the car for pre-race preparations.

“Great timing,” he muttered under his breath. But he made a promise to himself: as soon as this race was over, he’d find you and make things right.

Meanwhile, back to you, the restroom break had taken longer than expected. The initial plan to kill time before the race started had backfired; now, a dull ache was forming in my head, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease creeping up on me.

I leaned against the sink for a moment, taking a deep breath. “This is ridiculous,” I muttered to myself, but the discomfort wasn’t going away.

Deciding it was best not to push myself, I pulled out my phone and quickly typed a message to Oscar:

Not feeling great. Heading back home. Don’t worry about me.

I hesitated before hitting send. He’d probably be confused or even concerned, but the last thing I wanted was to worry him.

With a sigh, I hit send and slipped my phone back into my bag.

As I stepped out of the restroom and headed for the exit, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt.

On the way, I also let Oscar's manager know I left, just in case he didn't check his phone.

I knew Oscar would notice my absence, but today, it felt easier to retreat than to stay and face everything swirling in my mind.

Little did I know, Oscar was already worrying.

The race had ended, with Oscar clinching a solid P4, just behind Lando. Though pleased with his result, his mind was elsewhere.

He wanted nothing more than to see you, to feel your arms around him, and hear you tell him how proud you were—just like old times.

But as he scanned the crowd, his hope began to waver. You weren’t there.

His manager noticed Oscar’s distracted gaze and approached him. “Looking for Y/N?” the manager asked gently.

“She left you a message. Said she wasn’t feeling well and headed home.”

Oscar’s jaw tightened, his heart sinking. You hadn’t told him the truth.

A mix of frustration and hurt bubbled to the surface. Without a word, he decided to skip the team celebrations and headed straight home.

When Oscar arrived, he didn’t waste a second. Dropping his bag by the door, he called out loudly—his voice sharper than usual.

“Y/N!”

You were downstairs in no time, a soft smile on your face.

“Oh, hey, Osc! You’re back early. How was the race?” I asked sweetly, trying to act normal.

But Oscar wasn’t having it. His expression was hard as he stared at you.

“You would’ve known if you didn’t leave,” he said, his voice laced with frustration.

Guilt washed over me, and you stammered, “I’m sorry, Osc. I wasn’t feeling well—”

“Cut the crap, Y/N!” he interrupted, startling you. His voice was raised, something he rarely did.

“When are you going to finally admit the real reason you’ve been like this? Tell me! I’m sick of it!”

I flinched but couldn’t blame him. He deserved an explanation. At the same time, I’d had enough, too. My emotions spilled out, my voice breaking.

“How would you feel if people kept telling you that your partner is too good for you? That you’re not good enough, that you’re too ugly, not their type, only with them for the money?!”

Tears streamed down my face as you continued.

“And yes, it’s about that stupid interview of yours! I can’t help it, okay? Call me dumb, call me a crybaby, but this is too much!”

By now, I was full-on sobbing, unable to meet his gaze. But before I could crumble further, I felt his arms wrap around me, pulling me close.

His voice was soft now, gentle. “Why didn’t you tell me, baby? I could’ve helped. We’re a team, remember?”

I sniffled, my voice trembling as I replied, “Those were your words, Oscar. I can’t take them back or change them.”

He sighed, his hand running soothingly up and down your back. “Babe, that interview was years ago. I was joking around the entire time. If you’d watched the whole thing, you’d see that.”

I shook my head, unsure, but he leaned back just enough to look at me.

“Since when is my favorite color pink?” he teased, a small laugh escaping him.

Despite yourself, you let out a small laugh, too.

“That's better,” he said, smiling.

“Listen to me. Everything I said in that interview wasn’t true. I was 18, tired, and didn’t even want to be there. I was just trolling to get it over with.”

I laughed again at his confession, finally meeting his eyes.

“There’s that pretty smile,” he said, his tone softer now. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that, but next time, talk to me, okay?”

I nodded, wiping your tears. “I will. I’m sorry for doubting you… for pushing you away.”

He smiled warmly, leaning in to peck your lips a few times.

“It’s okay, love. I get why you did it. But don’t you ever doubt yourself again, yeah? You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. If anyone doesn’t deserve someone, it’s me. How did I get so lucky, huh?”

He cupped your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek before pulling you into a long, passionate kiss. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“Don’t you ever doubt yourself,” he whispered. “You’re my ideal type. Always.”

I laughed softly. “Alright, alright, I get it.”

Suddenly, Oscar scooped me up into his arms, bridal style, making me squeal.

“Osc! What the hell are you doing? Put me down!”

He grinned, shaking his head as he headed toward the bedroom.

“Nope. Let me show my gorgeous girl how much I love her.”

And let’s just say, the night ended perfectly. From that moment on, I never doubted his love for me ever again.

oscarpiastri posted on Instagram!

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oscarpiastri An amazing race to finish off the week. A big thank you to the entire team and the fans. Also a big thank you to my beautiful girlfriend for being the best support.

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yourusername So so proud of you Osc!!! Love you! 🩷

oscarpiastri Love you too pretty!

landonorris Well done mate 🙌 extra support is always great!

oscarpiastri Thanks man! You're right especially if she's just my type 😉

yourusername 🤭 ❤️ by author

lalalandnorris4you Oscar really gagged all of you haters purr 💅

frvrformulaonestan1 This is the cutest thing ever brb I'm going to cry 🥹

notyourfan481 Bro Oscar you don't have to lie we all know this ain't you

osclvy/n Girl stfu he isn't going to notice you ffs 🙄

lovelypeachlan4 You thought you did sum? Get out 👉🚪

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yourusername A little recap of last week 🤍

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yourbffuser Looking like a snack 😋😍🥵

yourusername Love ya 💋🫦

oscarpiastri Gorgeous 😍

yourusername Love youu Osc 🥰

alexandrasaintmleux So so so pretty 😘

yourusername Says you beautiful 😉💕

lv4motorsports81 She's so pretty omd

manyyynorriz She's gorgeous, don't know what people were on about 🤨

banananorrispiastry81 🤢

nothingthelessnorris4 And you did this for what ☠️

piastrybakerlvr Move on he isn't going to notice you 🥱

lvlynorrisss4 Yet your comment didn't make any change to this world... Grow up 🤦‍♀️

The end

[rosenclaws]

Can you write about flat!reader x any Logan, where she is insecure of basically having no tits (like me) so she wants to keep a shirt on during sex and stuff and Logan notices and stuff lol

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI, fem!reader, dirty talk, mirror sex, doggy style, creampie, insecurity, the reader says self deprecating things about themselves, light choking, breast play

a/n: YES YES, I'm flat as fuck and I am super self conscious about them. These mfs look like mosquito bites on god. (I hate them so much bro just let me get some work done PLZ) Anyways Im doing this with Worst Logan bc I love him. Anyways.

Sometimes it was hard dating a man like Logan. It wasn't hard to love him, no not at all. Even with the baggage he claimed to have come with, it wasn't hard to deal with the nightmares or the moments of deep loathing and insecurity. You loved him and because of that being able to help him through it all was easy.

What was hard was dating a man who was over 200 years old and looked like a Greek fucking god.

The first time you ever saw Logan without his shirt was when you were visiting Wade. Logan walked out in nothing but pajama pants. You shamelessly eye-fucked the man before you. He was ripped. Strong arms, a six pack, big thighs, and a handsome face. Even after you started dating and managed to get him on a diet that was more than whiskey and cigars he was still unbelievably hot. You should feel lucky to have a man like that worship you and you love and appreciate him to death. The problem is that you felt like you couldn't compare.

Logan loves you and you know he does but when you're looking in the mirror you can't help but notice you're lacking in one specific area. Your boobs. You were flat and the world seemed to never let you forget it.

Cute tops you could never wear because your chest couldn't keep them up. Jokes about being flat as a board. You couldn't even hold them in your hands. You hated them. Logan never said anything about them but you were always too afraid to bring it up.

So you sat in this limbo of deep insecurity.

"Sweetheart? You still in there?" Logans muffled voice comes from behind the bathroom door.

Shit you didn't mean to be here for so long. A shower had turned into staring at the mirror. You covered them in your hands, pushing them together and huffing when they just looked sad. The events from earlier in the night replaying over in your head.

Ever since Logan showed up in the universe he had garnered some attention. The Wolverine was hard to hide. People would point and whisper whenever they saw him. Gossip about who he was and why he was here. It was all pointless to Logan. Still in the bathroom of the bar you managed to catch a conversation.

Two beautiful women talking about your boyfriend and how badly they wanted him. Talking about flirting with him and taking him home. It just hurt a little. Sure Logan could care less about anyone's advances but yours but they had truly gotten into your head.

Would Logan want someone who had...better assets?

Would he want a woman who's breasts he could hold, squeeze, rest his head on? It was silly but they were the one thing that you honestly just didn't like about yourself so it was hard to think logically about it.

"I'm coming in." Logan's voice calls again. You curse quietly as you scramble to get a shirt on. The last thing you wanted was for him to see you like this. Logan's eyes shamelessly look you up and down as he enters the bathroom. A small smirk growing on his lips as he leans against the door. You bite your lip as you look down towards the counter.

"Sorry, I just wanted to take an extra long shower." You lie, smiling at Logan.

He hums and pushes off the door. He comes to stand behind you, his arms snaking around your waist. You were dressed in nothing but a shirt and underwear and Logan liked it. A lot.

"Should've joined you. Could have helped get your back." Logan purrs, his growing bulge pressing against your back.

“Oh please we’d still be in the shower if you had joined me.” You tease, slipping out of his grip. Logan furrows his brows as he follows you like a puppy to bed.

"You say that like it's a bad thing sweetheart."

As you lay on the bed Logan crawls in-between your legs, resting his head on your stomach. He purrs as you reach and run your fingers through his hair, scratching his head in all the spots you know he loves.

"Not a bad thing honey, but our water bill isn't a fan." Logan gets up on his knees, a devilish smirk appearing on his lips as his hands snake up your legs.

"Fuck the water bill, If I want to fuck my gorgeous girlfriend I will." You giggle as he dips his head down. The scruff of his beard tickles your skin as he nibbles on your thighs.

"Fuck baby, I can't get enough of you." He kneels between your legs and his hands slip up your body. The moment his hands go under your shirt you flinch. You didn't mean to flinch but you did. It was a small movement but it was there and Logan felt it immediately.

"What's wrong?" He asks as he takes his hands away.

"Nothing." You smile and reach up to pull him closer but he doesn't budge. Curse his super strength. He gives you a look and you sigh.

"It's nothing Logan, it's stupid and small."

"Sweetheart you gotta talk to me," Logan huffs. He's been working on this whole, communication thing and while he's not known for his empathy he can clearly see there's something bothering you.

"I just..." He looks at you again and you fall back into the pillows.

"Its these!" You say pointing to your chest.

"Huh?" "They're small and stupid and I hate them!" You lift your shirt up and huff in frustration. Logan's eyes widen as he stares at your bare chest. A stupid smile forming on his lips.

"I'm not seeing the problem." You put your shirt down and he pouts.

"I'm serious Logan. They're small and flat and...and..." You struggle to find the words as Logan just chuckles.

"So what?"

"It's not funny!" You snap and Logan's face morphs into concern.

"I just, I wish they were bigger is all. I mean sometimes I see other women and...It's hard sometimes." You curl into yourself, your arms covering your chest protectively. It felt silly to bring up right now but the thoughts wouldn't go away.

"Hey, look at me sweetheart." Logan coos. He lays next to you. Gently snaking his arm around your waist to pull you closer.

"Please?" Reluctantly you turn your body to face his.

"There's my pretty girl." He tilts your chin up to meet his eyes.

"Look I'm not the best at this but I can tell you one thing. You're fucking perfect." He leans in and kisses your neck gently. Your eyes flutter close as he gently rolls on top of you.

"You are beautiful, gorgeous, hot. I could go on and on sweetheart." His hand slips up your shirt and you let him slowly peel it off you. He grins as his lips move down to your chest. His thumb comes to play with one of your breasts while he latches onto the other.

"Logan..." You moan as he teases you like he loves to do.

"I know you hate them but I fucking love them. I could spend hours playing with them, looking at them, sucking on them if you let me." You bite your lip at his dirty words. The insecurities being pushed out Logan's hands.

"I don't care how big they are, what the look like. Because they're attached to my girl and I love my girl." Logan reaches down and rips your panties off of your body. You gasp in surprise as he takes your legs and spreads them.

"Feel how fucking hard you make me." He groans as he grinds his cock against your body.

"Get on your knees baby." You don't hesitate to listen. You get on your knees and face the headboard but Logan has other plans.

"No, I want you to watch your pretty tits as I fuck you." He growls in your ear as he moves you to face the mirror on the wall.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head at his gruff voice. Fuck he's hot. You're practically dripping onto the sheets already and Logan plans on taking full advantage of that. Slowly he slides his cock into your cunt, taking his sweet time as he stretches you out.

"So good, taking me raw." He says with a smirk. He wraps his hand around your neck to help support you as your legs shake at the feeling.

"I know baby, almost there just a little bit more." He praises.

You nod furiously, wanting to take all of him no matter what. When he fully bottoms out you let out a small cry. He shushes you softly, pressing kisses to your cheek as you get used to the stretch.

"Feel alright sweetheart?" Logan asks and you nod. Slowly he moves his hips, soaking up every whine that falls from your lips.

"Fuck, you're just made for me aren't you pretty girl." You can't take your eyes off of the mirror.

It's pure and utter filth. You're disheveled, tears pooling in your eyes, Logan's hand is still wrapped around your neck. You look fucking hot. You can see his muscles flexing with each devastating thrust. The look of pure desire on his face as he fucks you.

"Logan please I'm gonna come." Your hips start to move to meet his thrusts.

Logan growls as he grabs onto your hips and pushes you into the mattress. All you can do is watch yourself take it as he fucks the life out of you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as Logan breaks you apart. Your body feels fuzzy as your orgasm washes over you. Logan lets out a loud groan as his hips slam into you and stay there as he comes.

"Fuck...Look at you." Logan sits back, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you up. You hum as your head falls onto his chest. A tired smile on your face.

"So fucking perfect." Logan hums.

"Right sweetheart?" You mumble something unintelligible and Logan taps your face.

"I want to hear it." You shiver at the intensity of his voice.

"I'm perfect." Logan tilts your head up.

"All of you?" He asks.

"All of me." You repeat after him.

"Good," He kisses your temple.

You sigh as Logan starts to massage your shoulders. The insecurities have been washed away, only bliss left in its wake. Logan couldn't comprehend your dislike for your body, he saw you and only saw the best.

But if you needed a reminder every now and then, he would be happy to give it to you.

[prettyvacanttt]

Also last night trying to get super drunk at the amigo for my mommy's birthday why the fuck was I the only one who got carded when out of all 5 of us who ordered booze I most definitely do not look the youngest

[alloftheimaginesblog]

intoxicating {benedict bridgerton}

plot: you're an old family friend of the bridgertons', benedict hasn't seen you in years and when he does, boy does he fall fast.

character: benedict bridgerton x plus size female reader

note: i'm back bitchessss :)

You wrung your hands nervously in your lap as you waited for the carriage to stop. A gloved hand took yours, "Do not fret, my darling," your mama said, voice as sweet as honey, "they are old friends, you need not worry."

"I know, mama," you said forcing a quick smile, "I wonder if they will recognise me, it has been quite an age since we last met."

She rolled her eyes with a teasing smile, "Of course they will. You and Colin still keep in regular contact, hm?" You nodded. You and Colin had been the best of friends growing up, Violet Bridgerton had always teased maybe the two of you would grow up to fall in love but you were just friends, that is all. You and Daphne had been close too, with her just two years behind you, she was like the sister you never had. "And Daphne, of course... Perhaps Benedict will be there." She hadn't forgotten your crush on the elder Bridgerton brother.

Despite yourself, your cheeks felt hot and you quickly ducked your head trying to not show your mama your embarrassment, "Mama, hush." She laughed knowingly.

It had been years since you had last set eyes on any of the Bridgerton family and yet, Benedict still had a hold on you. You were a few years younger than him but growing up beside the Bridgertons', you couldn't help the crush that formed. And now, almost a decade since you had last seen any of them, he still had some sort of control over you.

"That was all but a childhood crush," you frowned, "I do not still like Benedict Bridgerton."

Oh but how wrong you were.

The carriage stilled and a moment later, the door swung open and you were looking out towards the Bridgerton house, the home you used to run around the halls of.

Oh dear lord.

Music and chatter filled the hall as people flocked inside. Tonight, the Bridgertons' were throwing a ball in honour of the late Lord Bridgerton as this is what would be his anniversary. You and your Mama had been invited and after just moving back to London, you jumped at the chance to reconnect with old friends.

Almost immediately, your mama was whisked away by Lady Danbury, "Go," your mama encouraged, "find your old friends. Have fun." You did not want her to go. If anything, you wanted to latch onto her the whole time. Being here, in uncertainty, filled you with dread and anxiety. You watched her go before you tentatively stepped further into the hall, looking around trying to catch a glimpse of a familiar face. Then, you saw him.

Benedict Bridgerton.

He was older, of course he was, he would be eight and twenty now with you four years behind. His dark hair was tousled to absolute perfection, his eyes glinting in the light as he laughed with some men you looked very similar - Colin and it must've been Anthony. They were all so extraordinarily handsome; same dark hair and same sharp jawline. Seeing Benedict sent a flurry of butterflies into your stomach. He was so handsome, so effortlessly charming; one smile and you were gone. All at once, you felt like you were thirteen again giggling and blushing at the mere sight of him.

It was then a squeal sounded from beside you, "(y/n)!" And you were enveloped in a warm hug. It was Daphne, you realised and eased into the hug, "Oh, (y/n), it is simply delightful to see you again!" When she pulled away, you could appreciate how she had grown up into a beautiful young woman.

"Daphne," you beamed, "you are... Look at you!" You hugged her tightly again, "It is so wonderful to be back."

After your hellos, Daphne linked arms with you and began to walk with you, "I heard from my Mama that you met your match with a certain Duke of Hastings." At the mention of her new husband, Daphne's face split into a wide grin.

"Oh, we have so much to catch up on, (y/n)!"

It had been an hour or so since you had arrived at the Bridgerton Ball and you and Daphne had stood in the corner of the room catching up on any and all life events over the course of the last decade. You may have still written to each other every month but it was different getting to explore such events in person. She was wed to the Duke of Hastings which meant she was a Duchess, "Oh, you shall have to come and visit us. It is just so grand!" She clutched your hand and smiled so wide and you could feel her happiness radiating from her being.

"How rare it is," you mused, "a love match." You had always hoped it would happen to you but it just did not. A marriage was not your first priority at the minute but you did always hope for a love match as rare as they were.

"It was not always going to be one. At first we drove each other mad but soon, it developed and now..." She looked down at her lemonade with a wide smile, "and..." Her eyes shifted ensuring no one else was watching and when she finally landed back on you, her eyes were aglow with excitement, "we have a secret." Her left hand fell to her stomach and it took everything in you to not scream with excitement for her.

"Oh, Daphne!" You beamed, hugging her tightly, "What wonderful news!"

"You must not tell anyone, it is only my mother and Simon that know. I have not yet told my siblings."

"I swear, your secret is safe with me."

It was then you felt a tap on the shoulder, "Mi'lady, I do believe that after this many years of not seeing each other, you do owe me a dance." His voice was deeper now but still familiar, still warm like honey.

"Colin!" You turned and found him opening his arms to you which you moved into happily. A little much for being in public but neither of you cared. The Bridgertons' didn't exactly like following rules anyway. He was taller with that same dark hair as his brothers and that chiselled jawline. When he pulled back it was then you could appreciate the beauty of time. He, too, was handsome and his eyes were still so kind, something that was rare these days. When he extended his hand, you gladly accepted his invitation to dance.

Daphne moved to find her elder brothers as Colin whisked you onto the dance floor. Benedict welcomed Daphne over with a wide smile and went to take a drink from his champagne when he suddenly stilled, eyes focused on something - or rather someone. "Something troubling you?" Daphne nudged him though she already had a feeling she knew what he was about to ask.

He lowered his drink, "Who is that delectable thing that Colin is dancing with and how in the world did he ever manage to get her to agree to dance with him?"

Daphne laughed slightly, "Why, brother, do you not recognise her? Perhaps you should take a closer look." Benedict squinted. You and Colin were laughing, your smile wide and happy as you threw your head back. You were exquisite and then it clicked.

"(y/n) (y/l/n)."

"Oh," Anthony nodded, "so it is. My, how she has really grown up, mm brother?" He nudged Benedict's side with a knowing smirk. Anthony knew fine well what his brother would be thinking and feeling at the mere sight of you. You were gorgeous and you were exactly Benedict's type.

Benedict swallowed. When you were growing up, with him being four years older, he just thought you were some annoying kid who would blush every time he spoke to you. He remembered that you and Colin were best friends, always together causing chaos and Benedict had participated sometimes but other than that, he kept his distance. He was four years older and when you were children, that seemed like two different worlds. However now was different. You were an adult, four and twenty to his eight and twenty, that was barely anything.

Anthony was right. You had filled out and grown into yourself. Before when you were timid and shy, you now were confident and proud. You did not care that you and Colin kept forgetting steps and kept trodding on the other's toes because you were so caught up in the moment of being reunited. Your cheeks rosy and warm, lips plump and red, eyes glittering in the candlelight... You had filled out perfectly with curves in exactly the right places, full and soft. Benedict swallowed and briefly closed his eyes before he made his decision.

"Excuse me," he said as he drained the remnants of his glass and thrust the champagne flute hastily in Anthony's direction. Anthony smirked, taking it and placing it onto a nearby waiter's tray. He and Daphne watched him weave his way through the crowd to stop beside you and Colin.

"May I cut in?" He asked.

Startled, you looked at him, face immediately heating up as you realised who was asking to dance with you. Benedict's eyes bore into your own, he never once looked to his younger brother and instead focused all of his attention on you. It made you nervous. You looked to Colin who rolled his eyes, "You know it is rather rude to interrupt a dance, brother. The dance is just about to end-"

"I did not ask you, Colin." Your eyes moved from Colin to Benedict who repeated his question though his tone was softer when he spoke to you, "May I cut in?"

The confidence he had seen in you moments previous seemed to vanish. He smirked knowing that he made you nervous. Words were lost and all you could do was nod. Colin rolled his eyes again, "She is all yours, Ben." He dropped your hands and Benedict picked them back up again, never breaking eye contact with you.

Your heart hammered hard in your chest as you and Benedict began to dance. The music ended and yet, here the two of you were still dancing on a dancefloor that was beginning to clear. Yes, the next song would start in a few minutes but this... this was improper. This was considered impolite to a lot of people; scandalous. From your left, you could see your mama standing with Lady Bridgerton, Violet, and they were... smiling? They did not seem to be angered by yours and Benedict's continuing dance, instead they looked happy? Around you, you could feel the eyes on you and you could practically hear the gossip being shared around the room. Daphne had filled you in about Lady Whistledown and you knew that you would definitely be featured in tomorrow's issue. You were certainly making a lasting impression. Benedict could see that confidence falter and his words broke you out of your thoughts, "Ignore it, ignore them all... Look at me, focus on me." You took a breath and met his eyes again and oddly enough, instead of feeling nervous or embarrassed, a calmness washed over you when you looked at him, "There," he smiled, "Better?"

You nodded, "Better."

"When did you return to London? Was it France you were?"

"Day before yesterday," you said, "Yes, we moved to France. My father had business but my family could move back since my father's work brought him back here. We were able to move back into our old home."

Benedict smiled, "The one with the cherry trees outside and apple trees in the back, yes?" You nodded, "How long has it been since you left?"

"A long time," you laughed slightly, "Around ten years."

"Are you glad to be back?" He asked. He seemed to move with such skill and ease, dancing came naturally to him whereas it took you years of practice to be able to do a good waltz.

"You know, you ask a lot of questions," you teased making Benedict smile, "Yes, I am. It is nice to be back home and lovely to be back with old friends."

Benedict nodded, "So you are not missing anyone from back in France then?"

Smirking, you asked, "Is this your way of asking if I am wed or to be wed or even as much as being courted, Benedict?"

The older Bridgerton boy laughed, "Clearly I was not as discreet as I wanted to be." The violinists began to pick up signalling the second dance was starting and the dancefloor began to fill with people again. Benedict switched dancing styles with ease and a smile.

"To answer your question, no. Friends, yes, but nothing more than mere friends."

"Really?" The corners of his mouth turned upwards, "I must say, that surprises me greatly."

Your eyebrow quirked, "And why is that, Lord Bridgerton?"

"Look at you," he lowered his head so that he was now only mere inches from you, "absolutely divine." Once again, your heart began to thud as your whole body grew heated, "Forgive me for overstepping but you are the most beautiful woman in this place, in the whole Ton. You are simply intoxicating."

You couldn't look at him, too flustered to do anything except let out a giggle which only furthered your embarrassment. It was like you were a girl again, giggling and blushing. Benedict's hand let go of yours as he placed his thumb and index finger on your chin, tilting your head upwards to look at him in the eyes, "Do not hide," he whispered. The two of you slowed and then stilled in the middle of the dance floor, "You need not hide from me."

You couldn't help it but your eyes fleeted to his lips. You had grown up wanting nothing more than to be noticed by him and now, here you were. He had finally noticed you.

Then all at once, all of a sudden it dawned on you where you were and what was happening. You cleared your throat, taking a step away from Benedict and dropping away from his touch, "Lord Bridgerton," you said, curtseying and once again hiding your face from him, "I think we have perhaps overstayed our welcome on the dance floor."

With haste, you turned and left the dance floor. Benedict didn't follow, not yet. He had moved too fast, went too far. Clearing his throat, he forced a smile to some gossiping onlookers before he went to find his brothers.

You had not stayed long at the Bridgerton Ball after that, finding your heart wouldn't stop racing and your mind wouldn't stop replaying what had happened. You hadn't wanted to leave so soon but after hearing an unpleasant comment from a rather unpleasant girl, you found your mama, made your excuses and the two of you made your way home.

"Poor girl does not even realise that Lord Bridgerton was only dancing with her out of sheer pity. How on Earth could he ever truly be with someone that looks like that? He was merely pitying her, clearly."

The comment had not stopped repeating in your mind extinguishing the burning hope that Benedict's eyes set alight the moment he looked into yours. How stupid of you to think even for a moment that he had finally noticed you after all this time? How stupid of you to hope that he could feel for you the way that you felt for him? How stupid.

And then Lady Whistledown had something to say about it as well. Daphne and Colin had told you about Lady Whistledown in their letters but you never actually expected to feature in one of the issues!

It seems as though, dear reader, a certain Bridgerton man may be off the market soon enough. An old friend returned to the Ton, (y/n) (y/l/n), and it seems that she made quite the impression on the eligible bachelor. They seemed rather taken with each other that they continued to dance despite the song ending... rather impolite and improper if you ask me, dear reader. However, the dance ended rather abruptly with (y/n) leaving Lord Bridgerton on the dance floor in the middle of a dance. All we know about (y/n) (y/l/n) so far is that she likes to break rules and cause scenes and is this the impression she wants to make? If so, then perhaps she is a good fit for Lord Bridgerton after all. Only time will tell.

You had spent the last few days hiding in the safety of your bedroom. Your mama had tried to coax you out for an early morning promenade but you had declined. Although Lady Whistledown's writing was not at all bad - for she had certainly said worse of others before - you had not wanted to create a scene or cause such a stir. You were horrified at your actions; being improper and impolite on your first night back into society and then with Benedict. You had let him fool you and the reality of that crushed you so heavily. For one small moment, you had let yourself be fooled.

Your mama burst into your room with your handmaidens rushing to keep up with her, "Get dressed, (y/n), we are going out."

"Mama, I do not feel well, I cannot-"

"I know what happened with Benedict has left you embarrassed but I assure you, my darling, Violet was not mad at all. She and I laughed about it, reminiscing about ourselves breaking the rules with our significant others. The ball was for her late husband and you and Benedict reminded her of him... I would say that means you left a good impression."

You rolled your eyes, falling back onto your pillows, "I simply cannot show my face ever again, mama. We have to go back to France."

She laughed loudly, "All because of this? Do not be so silly, child," she perched on the edge of your bed, "My darling, it will pass. Lady Whistledown is already onto new topics, the rest of the Ton will be too. You cannot hide away forever besides... we have been invited for dinner."

"Where?"

She faltered, "It is with the Bridgertons'." Before you could refuse, your mama cut over you, "Violet wanted to extend an invite to welcome us back home, that is all. It would be rude to not attend."

"But he will be there, mama!"

"Why are you so against seeing him again?" She asked curiously, "From where I stood it looked like the two of you were getting along perhaps a bit too well." You bit your lip and looked at your hands. Your mama frowned, "(y/n)?"

"I got caught up in the moment and I let myself hope that it could turn into something but then..." Your mama gestured for you to continue, "A girl made a comment and it made me realise that Lord Bridgerton would never go for a woman like me. I am simply not enough." Tears burned in your eyes and that dark feeling of shame burned strong in your stomach.

"My darling girl," your mama crooned, scooting closer to hold your hands, "I saw the way that man looked at you and that was not a man with bad intentions. After you left, he looked crestfallen and sulked all night. A man who would be wanting to make a fool of you would have gone to his friends and laughed and drank but no... Violet told me that he in fact left shortly after we did, returned to his chambers for the night. That is a man with the intentions of fooling you."

"But I am not enough for him, mama."

She held your hands so tight, eyes boring into your own, "Yes, you are. You are everything and more and if not for him then you will be for someone else. You are worthy and deserving of love and respect, my darling, so do not dare settle for less."

The two of you spent another few minutes with your mama praising you and helping you to realise that what the girl had said was pure jealousy and not true. You felt better, not fixed but better. You felt well enough to accept Lady Bridgerton's invitation of dinner despite the nerves that bubbled in your stomach.

Once again, you found yourself nervously waiting in the carriage to go to the Bridgerton home though this time was entirely different. You were not nervous to see your friends, no, you were terrified of seeing Benedict. You took a breath, stilling your hands and trying your best to calm your heartrate.

"We have arrived," your mama said as the carriage slowed then stopped. The door swung open a moment later, "Relax," she whispered into your ear as you walked to the door, "you look gorgeous." You did, in all fairness. You were wearing one of the dresses your father had made for you from France, the fabrics were rich and soft and the colour made your eyes shine. You looked divine.

Here we go.

Lady Bridgerton greeted you at the door with a wide smile and a warm hug, "Welcome," she greeted kindly, "come, let us go to the dining room."

You followed closely behind and let Lady Bridgerton lead you to the dining room, "It is just as I remember," you smiled fondly, admiring the paintings that adorned the wall, "how lovely."

Lady Bridgerton led you into the one of the living areas, "I must apologise, dinner is running a little behind schedule but it should not take too much longer. (y/n), Daphne is in the library if you would like to be with her until dinner is ready?"

Thankful that you hadn't laid eyes on Benedict yet, you nodded and wandered the halls. It was like muscle memory, you remembered exactly where you had to go and which way to turn and it wasn't long before you were shutting the door behind you seeing Daphne smile up at you.

"I am so glad to see you!" She said with a welcoming hug, "I was worried that you would not attend after..."

"After me running from your ball and disappearing from society for a few days?"

Daphne smiled sympathetically, "What happened?"

"I danced with him - Benedict - and I... God, Daphne, I felt like a child again. I was giggling and blushing and he seemed genuinely interested."

"So what on Earth happened for you to run out?"

You groaned, "He was saying all of the right things and I thought for a moment he might feel the same and I panicked... Your mama must hate me, I have been so improper. I got caught up in-"

Daphne placed a reassuring hand on your arm, "(y/n), calm down. My mama actually was rather happy to see you and Benedict dancing and breaking the rules. As was your mama. I overheard them talking and laughing saying how it reminded them of themselves when they were younger. You need not fret."

"That is what my mama said but I-"

"I said, calm," Daphne said with a laugh, "It will be fine, I assure you. Though I do have a question... why did you flee from Benedict? From what you are telling me, it seems like you still have feelings so why run if he is seemingly showing similar signs of want? Why have you been absent from society for a few days?"

You shook your head, "It is stupid but... Daphne, look at me." Daphne frowned, "I am not small nor am I petite like you and the other girls. I am larger, there is more to me than normal."

"I am not understanding."

"Benedict has always been so desirable, so handsome and charming whilst I... I have never been noticed. I have always been in the shadows. It cannot be true that Benedict would even for one second would notice me, it simply cannot be true." You looked to Daphne who was looking past you, looking at the doorframe and when you followed her gaze, your heart sank. Benedict.

"Sister, do you think you could give us the room?" Benedict asked softly.

"I shall leave you two for a few minutes but I will stand outside the door and will alert if there happens to be anyone coming." She squeezed your hand on the way past and gave a nod to her brother. Benedict only stepped forwards when the door was shut behind her.

He approached carefully and slowly as though you were a skittish kitten and he was trying to not scare you, "How could you say those things about yourself?" He sounded genuinely wounded by your words as though he actually cared.

"Why are you here, Lord Bridgerton?" Your voice was colder than you intended but he knew that it was you putting your guard up. You were afraid of being hurt so he did not mind if it meant you were colder to him. He would get you to trust him.

Benedict scoffed slightly, "This is my house too, you know, Lady (y/l/n)." Had you not been so terrified you would've laughed at his pettiness to give you your title, "I was also searching for you. I wanted to see you before dinner."

"You found me. I am well. You may go."

"You cannot dismiss me from my own home, (y/n)."

"I can try."

Benedict sucked a deep breath in through his nose, "Why are you fighting against me? Why are you so angry?" He swallowed, "Did I... Did I overstep or offend you the other night at the ball? If I did, I must extend my sincerest apologies-"

You looked at him and you wanted to cry. He meant it so sincerely. You could see in his eyes how deeply sorry he was if he had offended you and it broke your walls. You shook your head, "It was not you, Benedict." Your voice quivered pitifully, "I... I let myself get wrapped up in a fantasy and I panicked."

"What fantasy?"

It was now or never, "The fantasy where you finally saw me, finally noticed me; finally felt for me. I am sure you must have known I had the biggest crush on you when I was a child and it seems that it is still here. While we danced, I let myself belief you would maybe perhaps feel the same. I was stupid and childish and other people noticed too."

"Whatever do you mean?" His expression was unreadable but his voice was soft, "What people?"

"As I was leaving... Some girl made a comment about you dancing with me out of pity; that you would not be genuinely interested in me, you were just pitying me. Look at me, Benedict, and then look at you..."

Benedict frowned, "Do you believe that?"

"I..." Your mouth opened and then snapped shut when you saw his gaze, "I had hoped it not be true."

He took a step towards you and you found yourself rather hot and breathless like all of the air was being sucked out of the air, "(y/n), I never saw you when you were younger, I was older and thought nothing more of you than my sister's friend, I admit that to be true... But now... You are divine, you are intoxicating, (y/n). You are driving me insane! You are beautiful - your body, your face, your smile; but you are far more than that." He laughed loudly before rubbing a hand over his face, "You have consumed me. I have spent the last three days in society waiting for you, searching for you; needing to see you again. I have no been able to stop thinking about you; your laugh, your lips, the way we danced... I have pestered Colin trying to make him give me some of your letters so that I may hear your voice in my head, smell the faint smell of your perfume..." He breathed deeply and you hadn't realised but now, your chests were pressed together and you were staring up at him completely helpless. You felt like this was all a dream, surely you would wake up in few moments and this would all be a figment of your imagination... But no, here you were with Benedict Bridgerton professing his love to you.

"I..." He swallowed hard, "I do not wish to take something of yours that does not belong to me but if you want it, if you want me then I will be yours so completely and wholly." His blue eyes bore into yours, "I will be yours if you want me."

His admission had your heart racing and your cheeks were on fire, "I-I have been yours for a decade, Benedict. Always just yours."

Benedict's face split into a wide grin and then your eyes were fluttering shut as he leaned down and kissed you. Your first ever kiss shared with the boy you had loved from being a child. It was then Daphne wrapped her knuckles on the door and you and Benedict were snapped apart both slightly flushed and breathless. Daphne opened the door and let herself in, "Mama's coming, Ben."

Benedict pressed a kiss to your hand, "There is no point in waiting, I suppose," he shrugged, "What say you to marrying me? I apolgise it is not romantic in the slightest or planned out but why wait? You waited a long enough time." Daphne squealed and your jaw dropped, "You have a few seconds before my mother bursts through that door, (y/n)... What is your answer?" He teased with a grin, "Take a leap of faith with me or run away again? What is your choice?"

All you could do was nod and at that moment, the door swung open to reveal Violet Bridgerton, "Dinner is- what is wrong?"

"Mother, get the champagne!" Benedict grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders and twisting you to face his mother, "We are to be wed!"

You winced in anticipation, expecting Violet's reaction to be angry but instead, she gasped and grinned before rushing to you both to hug you tightly. When she pulled away, her eyes were filling with tears, "Oh, my loves," she crooned as she caressed both of your cheeks, "Welcome to the family, (y/n)... Let us go celebrate, hm?"

[captainreecejames]

Fired by a... wag? || my ex is a footballer lh44

summary mercedes admin gets fired?

pairing lewis hamilton x reader faceclaim bruna marquezine

warnings curisng, google translate for multiple different languages

notes the much anticipated part 2 to lewis hamilton my ex is a footballer, also i couldn't resist at the end so if brocedes talk to eachother this season just know i predict the future

twitter ---------

ynusername posted--------

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc and others

ynusername first 3 are canadian gp and the last is lewis catching me off guard as I'm on the phone

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username1 I just know she's on the phone with toto complaining about the admin ↳ username2 the power she holds >>>

roscoelovescoco moms protectings dad ❤️ by ynusername

username3 lewis confirming that yn was yelling at toto via roscoe's instagram, not what I was expecting.

username4 god she is actually the most stunning woman in the world

lewishamilton meu anjo ↳ ynusername eu te amo

username5 the aura in the first picture, unmatched ↳ username6 yeah, but she's also just really fucking hot ↳ username5 lewishamilton can you fight ↳ lewishamilton yes ↳ username6 LOLOLOL

carmenmmundt linda!!! ↳ ynusername no you

username7 why does she look like kendall jenner in the last photo

username8 fan's creating beef between lewis and george meanwhile their wags are calling each other beautiful ↳ username9 the guys leave it on the track, why would carmen and YN need to bring it up on instagram comments

twitter -------

ynusername posted--------

liked by carmenmmundt, georgerussell63 and others

ynusername lewis I know I've only known you for a few months and you've accomplished so much before but to see you on the podium knowing how much work you put into this is awe inspiring. Hope you always know how loved you are

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lewishamilton I love you yn

lewishamilton these last two months have been amazing and your support through this time means so much to me. I wouldn't want to be here without you

username10 bro i can barely get a text back after 2 months and they're over here telling each other they love you

username11 don't you guys think it's a little fast ↳ username12 don't you think it's none of your business

username13 I know she sent the sabotage email, she really is ride or die for him.

alexandrasaintmleux can't wait to have you in the ferrari garage next year! ❤️ by charles_leclerc ↳ username14 CHARLES WHEN SILVIA SEES THIS YOU ARE GETTING YOUR PHONE TAKEN AWAY ↳ ynusername eu te amo alex

ynusername posted--------

liked by mercedesamgf1, roscoelovescoco and others

ynusername to see you finally on that top step of the podium in Brazil, lewis I don't think you understand how much I love and cherish you. With this season almost done I am so grateful for everything that brought me you and I can't wait to start out next chapter together.

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sebastianvettel congrats you two ❤️ by ynusername, lewishamilton

charles_leclerc congrats happy couple ❤️ by ynusername, lewishamilton

username20 I'm fucking screaming, what???

username21 imagine a year ago you told yn fans that she'd be engaged, we would have said thank go kylian got his head out of his ass ↳ username22 bro it hasn't even been a year since they broke up ↳ username21 yn knew what she wanted

useranme23 lewis really bagged himself a baddie

mercedesamgf1 congratulations to both! hope admin gets an invite to the party ↳ ynusername of course you do adminuser, you're a gem ↳ adminuser omg love you so much yn

scuderiaferrari can't wait to see yn ln-hamilton in the garage next year ↳ username24 ferrari just rubbing it in that they get the goat next year, have to respect the hustle

scuderiaferrari yn do we also get an invite ↳ ynusername stay on my good side babe ↳ scuderiaferrari we promise to always have amarena gelato in stock ↳ ynusername sold 😍😘

username25 further proof that yn got the old mercedes admin fired because why are the admin's getting invited to the wedding??

maxverstappen1 gefeliciteerd voor jullie allebei ❤️ by lewishamilton, ynusername

pierregasly félicitations à toi ❤️ by lewishamilton, ynusername

valterribottas happy couple !!! ↳ ynusername valterri, it's yn. thank you! 💞 ↳ valterribottas 🙄🙄

georgerussell63 congratulations lewis and yn! ↳ carmenmmundt we love you ❤️ by ynusername, lewishamilton

fernandoalo_oficial felicidades a los dos ❤️ by ynusername, lewishamilton

nicorosberg congratulations yn and lewis! much love to you both ❤️ by ynusername, lewishamilton ↳ lewishamilton thanks nico ↳ username26 NICO???! ↳ username27 ENGAGEMENT SO GOOD IT GOT BROCEDES BACK TOGETHER

[bubbleggum444]

—❝S∪GAƦ, Y𝓔S P𝐿EASE!❞

contents jason todd x fem!reader, bride/wifey!reader au, tooth rotting fluff (+ a teeny tiny bit of angst), songfic (bc i'm high-key a sucker for them), 2k+ wc. synopsis jason marrying the love of his life—you :)

[I'm hurting, baby, I'm broken down. I need your lovin', lovin', I need it now.]

The man Jason used to be before he met her and the man standing at the altar now were two entirely different people. Before, he was hardened, broken, convinced he was beyond saving. After the resurrection, he had been nothing more than a shell of himself—no longer the sweet, happy Robin. But then she came into his life, and piece by piece, she put him back together. Every time she was near, she picked up his shattered remains, healing him in ways he never thought possible. She became the guardian angel his 15-year-old self had desperately needed.

Now, standing at the altar, waiting for her, Jason felt something foreign yet familiar—hope.

[When I'm without ya, I'm something weak. You got me beggin', beggin', I'm on my knees.]

The weight of the moment pressed down on him. Everyone’s eyes were on him—it was expected, of course, he was the groom. But Jason had never liked being in the spotlight. His heart pounded against his ribs, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He wasn’t nervous about marrying her—that was the one thing he was sure of—but the anticipation, the sheer magnitude of what was about to happen, sent his nerves into overdrive.

Then, the music changed. A hush fell over the room.

And as Jason lifted his head, his breath caught in his throat.

There she was.

Walking toward him, down the long white aisle, looking every bit like the angel she had always been to him. His knees nearly buckled. Was it the nerves? Or was it the sight of her—the woman who would soon be his wife?

Both. It was both. And for her, Jason would go to his knees all over again.

[I don't wanna be needing your love. I just wanna be deep in your love.]

The Jason before her had been defensive, guarded, unwilling to let anyone in. No matter how sweet she was, he had fought against needing her—whether because he felt too broken, too unworthy, or simply too afraid to be vulnerable.

But as she walked toward him now, memories of her flooded his mind.

The first time they met—her tumbling into him, muddy and scraped up from roller-skating straight into his path. Jason had barely had time to register what had happened before he was on his knees, making sure she was okay.

Their first date—her in a sundress that made her glow like the sun itself, laughing as she compared them to mismatched socks. "We're like a perfect pair!" she'd said. He hadn't known if it was the way she made imperfection seem beautiful or the way she so easily called them a couple, but his knees had felt weak even then.

Jason had once told himself he didn't want to need her love. But he had missed the memo—his heart had already been deep in her love from the first moment he saw her. And for the first time since his resurrection, Jason Todd didn’t mind needing someone else.

[And it's killing me when you're away, ooh, baby.]

As she reached him, he took her hands in his, steadying both her and himself. Another memory surfaced.

Jason, exhausted, dragging himself home after another brutal night of crime-fighting. His body ached, his mind was drained, and his soul felt heavier than ever. But when he opened the door to his apartment, warmth wrapped around him like a long-lost embrace.

The fire crackled softly in the dim room, the smell of roasted beef lingering in the air. And then, there she was. Smiling at him, eyes full of love. A moment later, she was in his arms.

"I got off early from nursing school," she had said, as if those simple words weren’t everything.

But they were everything.

Jason had never realized just how much he needed her—how much he hated being away from her—until that moment.

[Cause I don't really care where you are. I just wanna be there where you are.]

Now, in the present, Jason’s cold hands enveloped hers, his world narrowing to just her. The nervousness, the crowd, the weight of all the eyes watching—it all disappeared.

And then, finally, his lips met hers. A kiss filled with love, devotion, and every spoken and unspoken vow in his heart.

It didn’t matter where they were—in his tiny apartment, feeding ducks by the river, ice skating (and failing miserably), or lost in a crowd larger than Gotham itself.

Jason didn’t care.

As long as he was wherever she was, that was enough.

➽──────────────❥

© — ggυɱi '25

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated

ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼ .ᐟ

[ddejavvu]

I can’t stop thinking about being a suspect in a case and being interviewed by Hotch 😭 like being so nervous and him taking it as like “??? are you even gonna try hiding it??” and you’re not gonna be honest and be like “i’m not nervous because i’m guilty i’m nervous BC YOURE A HOT OLD MAN” because this is a serious case and serious situation so it’s just Hotch trying to coax it out of you, you being all flustered looking suspicious but actually like needy for this man, and the team who caught on like “oh wait no. shes just attracted to him. why do we have hot people on the team?”

SSA Hotchner's scrutinizing gaze studies your weak posture, your fidgeting fingers, your spotty eye contact, and he muses, "You're not very good at controlling your body language."

"What?" You look at him, eyes wide and round and full of nerves. You've never been questioned before, not even by a low level security officer, much less an FBI Agent. You suppose that's making you nervous, yes, but what's really wringing you out is the fact that the one they sent to your interrogation room is just plain hot.

He's gorgeous, all sharp features that are always angled towards you, and dark eyes you'd expect of a criminal, not its captor. His suit is crisp and his voice is low; he's the pinnacle of professionalism and he's making you squirm with his undivided, discerning attention.

"You're nervous," He accuses, and you let out a soft huff in the back of your throat.

Who wouldn't be?

"You're fidgeting, you can't look me in the eyes, you lean away from me," He lists, leaning forwards in his chair to watch you repel like a magnet, your back pressing into the metal bars behind you as he proves his point.

"I'd think someone with the criminal expertise to commit six murders without witnesses would have a better handle on their outward appearance."

"I'd think so, too," You manage, not without stammering, "Agent- Agent Hotchner, I- I'm not-"

"You're not guilty? You're the closest thing we have to a suspect," He doesn't let your stuttering deter him, leaning ever-closer until you're flattened against the back of your chair and he's still advancing. He rises from his seat, inching closer and closer as he continues, "You miraculously discovered the body at an odd hour of the night when you had no business being at the scene of the crime, you called it in, you told the police you knew nothing, you're telling me you know nothing, but still," He's inches away from you now, and every nerve in your body is aflame with mortification at the very unhelpful fantasies rushing through your head as he pins you to the chair.

"-You insist on your innocence, but I don't think you're innocent at all. I think you're trying to toy with us, but we don't play games, you won't win. Understand?" His dark eyes bore into your own and you're painfully attracted to them, biting the inside of your cheek to stop from begging him to back away before you lose control and surge forward to kiss him. He refuses to blink, but you're doing it enough for the both of you, lashes rapidly fluttering as you try calming your pounding heart. He watches you for one, two, three, four, five seconds, expecting a hurried confession at any moment, but the door clicks open before you can stammer something humiliating.

"Hotch," It's a dark-haired woman, and god, does the FBI recruit people based on attractiveness? She's stunning and she turns her beautiful eyes on you in sympathy, "Back off, Hotch. She's innocent."

He narrows his eyes at her almost imperceptibly, turning away from you, "You found the unsub?"

"No," She admits, "But it's not her. Okay? I just know."

"You just- Agent Prentiss," Agent Hotchner stands straight, "That's not protocol."

"I know," She gushes, but she strides confidently through the room to ease you upright and out of your chair, "Just- let me handle this, okay? Come on, honey, we'll talk somewhere private."

Agent Hotchner lets her take you away, and he must trust her, even if he's watching her with narrowed eyes. Maybe this is some interrogation tactic, maybe the woman leading you by the shoulder through the precinct is the good cop, and he was the bad one.

She leads you past a cluster of people all leaning against desks or hunching over files, and a slim blonde woman shoots you a knowing smile. What she knows, you're not sure, but you wish so badly that it were comforting.

The woman walking with you leads you straight to the front door, taking your purse from where they'd confiscated it earlier and handing it back to you.

"You're free to go," She smiles at you, eyes nothing but kind, "I'll tell him you proved your innocence."

"But- what," Your fingers are almost too limp to keep your bag in their grip, "I don't understand-"

"I do," She grins, "He's handsome, I get it. He tends to forget that."

Your cheeks sear with flames that you wish would turn you to ash right then and there, so that you could be carried away on the breeze and not have to answer for your embarrassing instincts.

"Don't worry about it," She laughs, clearly sympathetic to your panic, "Trust me, you're not the first person that's squirmed in their seat under the intense gaze of Aaron Hotchner. He's a smart man, but never smart enough to figure out when someone likes him. You're free to go, honey," She repeats, reaching out to squeeze your arm, "And if you ever get dragged into an investigation again - which I hope you don't," She grins, "I wish you a very ugly investigator."