#and how would I know without getting them?

[madamechrissy]

Worst Behavior

Art in the center by Houhai673 on lofter

pairings- stepbrother! Sukuna x f! Reader & Toji x f! reader

summary - Sukuna’s dad married your mom while you were in high school, and you hated each other on sight. He endlessly picked on and tortured you. So much so that he became a fucking YouTube sensation from prank videos starring you! You come back home for summer break after a bad breakup, and of course annoying ass Sukuna is there, with his stupid smirk, ready to pick on you again, only to be derailed when he sees you're going out with his old friend Toji for a date. Turns out, Sukuna has had it bad for you for a long time, and making you hate him was the only way to guarantee you stay far away, but can he keep up the act?

content/warnings - MDNI, tw- stepcest, lots of pining, kinda one-sided lol, Sukuna is an asshole to you, reader hates him. Enemies to ????- ton of sexual tension, jealous ass Sukuna. This chap- fingering, squirting, a little bit of degradation, jealousy, unspoken feelings, pining, sexual tension, MORE panty stealing lol??? Sukuna being a WHOLE mf yandere, he's lwk psycho and toxic, Toji being hot- wc - 6.9k

<<<part one

part two

“What’re you even doing in here?” You tug back a bit, but he just drags you back down, and soon you find yourself completely straddling him right over one of his big ass thighs in the middle of the night.

Your heart races as he runs his thumb across the mark Toji left, humming softly as his red eyes hone in on the spot, his other hand right on your hip. When you involuntarily whine out, you bite your lip and curse, you can’t let him think you like this! You don’t like it, do you?

“Sukuna, are you fucking drunk?” You whisper, remembering both of your fucking parents across the hall, he exhales, his breath ghosting over your breasts, making your nipples press against your bra, glaringly apparent. You don’t want to admit how good his hand feels on you, nor the sweet ache between your thighs.

“Am I drunk…” he sighs, feeling your heat right on him, pressing his thigh up harder to watch the effects on your pretty face, furious that someone touched you.

He’s always mad when you date, when you get new boyfriends, he can’t ever say it, so instead he just scares the shit out of them without you knowing. But Toji sure as hell wasn’t one to be scared off by him, and he didn’t even wanna know how far it went with you both, if he knew Toji, he probably went as far as you would let him.

“Why do you care if he touched me?” Your question barely registers, still staring at the giant bruise forming on your neck, his fingers pressing on it until you gasp.

“Did you cum?”

“Sukuna!?” You smack him right in the face, honestly making him leak pre, he’s already hard from your cunt on him, the stinging of his cheek and your little scowl makes it worse. “The fuck?”

“Fucking brat,” he grips your wrist then, brutal and tough, you’re trembling at the sensation, the pricking pain of his grip, hand enwrapping it now. “Ya like smacking me, don’t ya?”

“Your face is extremely smackable.” You jerk back your wrist, tits bouncing in that bra, he doesn’t bother to hide the way it affects him, slipping his fingers down your bare tummy then, making it tremble when you feel the roughness of his fingers.

“So, did you cum?” He asks again, voice deep and incomprehensible, scowling right at you now.

“You need to know? Yes, I did. Your friend has thick fingers.” He exhales, and before you can think, he’s got you lifted up on your knees, fingers brushing you over your panties. “Ah!”

“Slutty little brat,” he huffs, slipping two fingers underneath your waistband, feeling the drooling wetness pour as he barely brushes your slit with the backs of them now. “Why are ya so fucking wet still then?”

“C-came s’much,” you’re rocking your hips, fingers pressing against his chest now, as if to shove him away, but your body is not listening. Your eyelashes flutter shut just a bit while he smirks up at you like the asshole he is. “What’re you doing!?”

“Gonna see how slutty you are, step sis-”

“I swear to god!” You smack him again, but you don’t move your body away, no you spread your thighs, letting him slip two calloused fingertips up and down you, from your hole to your clit. “You’re a freak.”

“I’m a freak, huh?” You nod again, glaring, acting like you’re not dying to have them inside you, but he knows you’re full of it, as your cunt soaks him with just his stupid fingertip.

“Messy little thing I bet, tch.” He’s shoved the panties aside now, sliding two in deep, curling them to the knuckle, you scream out, before he uses his free hand to cover your mouth, raising a slutty ass eyebrow - why is all of Sukuna slutty!? “Want your mom and my dad to hear you scream?”

“F-fuck you, don’t want you,” you’re mumbling against his palm, spreading your thighs fucking wider, as you feel him pressing that spongy spot, pressing up and down over and over. He hits this delicious fucking pressure, you can hardly stand how good it feels, the pleasure spreading through your body. “Don’t want you.”

“Sure ya don’t, but your slutty cunt does. Smack me again, huh? Watch what happens,” he’s whispering those words as he looks up at you, his eyes dark in the dim lights that just your little strand above your bed holds, flashing as he pumps them in. “Bet I make you soak your bed.”

“You’re so annoying and… fuck you… and…” You’re screaming into your own palm this time, as he uses his ring finger and his middle, making lewd fucking squelching noises, over and over, up and down. It’s too much pressure, you jerk away then, and he sits up, tugging you back.

“Ah- ah, don’t run from it,” fuck can he stop talking like that!? Could your cunt stop liking it so much? “I just wanna know how much my slutty step-sister cums.”

“Don’t call me it, freak, you’re- i’m gonna pee, stop!?” You’re hissing the words as his fingers go quicker, cunt gushing down them, down his palms to his wrist, when you hear it - fucking footsteps echoing outside your door, shadows moving across underneath where light shines through.

“Never cum forreal then, huh?” You’re panicking then, but Sukuna is smirking like the shithead he is, fingers not stopping despite the clear presence of one of your parents out there.

“You’re so s-stupid.”

“Can hear your messy cunt across the street, probably woke ‘em up.” You almost slap him again, but you don’t want to make noise, instead leaning forward, biting the shit out of his neck, sinking your teeth into his skin. He hisses at it, tensing, his fingers halting for a moment. “God, ya think that hurts? You’re so pathetic.”

“I hate you,” you’re grinding against them, cunt pulsing and gripping his fingers as you hear the water running, cursing internally at the situation he has put you in. “Get out of my r-room.”

“I like your bed, it’s comfy,” you’re laying across him as he’s relentless, you feel it starting, so intense you wanna stop it, biting his neck again to muffle your cries, while his free hand yanks at your hair. “Cum, now.”

“No!”

“Now.” You bury your face, shaking your head again. “Stubborn fucking brat, do it now.”

“Fuck you, hate your fingers - hah liked Toji’s better- ah!” He’s done then, he leans back and angles his fingers just so, and hits so deep you’re shattering, cumming so hard you barely muffle it with two hands.

You’re squirting down his fingers, he moans softly at the feeling, the sight he can barely make out as he pulls back, looking down and seeing his hand coated as your eyes rolled back. You’re gushing everywhere, he didn’t even expect it from you, almost cumming from the sight, swallowing nervously and allowing one moment where he didn’t talk shit.

He never thought he’d get to touch you.

“F-fuck…” You’re tightening up now that you’ve released, cunt gripping him and sucking him, making him wonder just how good you’d feel around his cock, he eases them out then, eyeing you under his pink lashes.

“Made you a fucking wreck, look at you, aw.” You’re scowling but you’re shaking violently from it, whining as you’re now empty, he puts them right in his mouth, sucking you off them then, his cheeks hollowing.

“You’re nasty, I swear to god Sukuna.” He chuckles now, yanking your hair so hard you gasp, your slick all over his lips.

“Calling me nasty huh, when you’ve got your cunt all over me? All over your bed too, couldn’t help yourself?”

“Shut up,” he’s right next to your lips, threatening to close the distance, you feel the cool air of your room hit your bare cunt, feel the mess you made. “Doesn’t mean shit.”

“No? Did you squirt for him too?” You look away, making him tug your hair even harder. “Asked ya a question.”

“Shut up.” He’s chuckling, infuriating you to no end, sighing as he looks down at your lips now, brushing his saliva coated thumb across them.

“Couldn’t hold back, could you, bet you’re still drooling out of that little hole,” you shake your head, as much as you can with his firm hold, as he exhales, the breath hurting your bitten lips. “Seems like Toji didn’t get you off enough, not when you made that much of a mess.”

You shove at him now, when he presses your back on the bed, flipping your positions. You suck in a breath when he tilts his head, running a hand down your body slowly. “What’re you doing? Thought I was a gremlin, huh?”

“You are, and a mean little brat too, short stuff.”

You pinch his nipple now, making him glare down at you, jaw clenching. “Yeah, roided out giant.”

“You’re talking a lot of shit for a girl who just pissed on me.”

“I did not!?” He covers your mouth with a palm again, torturing you with his other hand brushing your panties back over, soaked and sticky. You grip his wrist, brows lowering in a scowl.

God he wants to tell you you’re gorgeous, that you’re so sexy he can’t get his fucking mind off you, that your taste is so good he wants to bury himself against your perfect cunt. But he can’t just say that, can he? Be vulnerable when he finally gets a chance to see you like this, feel you like this, he can only smirk down at you and taunt you into a pretty furious glare.

“Why don’t you stop me?” He whispers, husky and lewd in your ear as he leans down, rubbing your soaked, sticky panties against your cunt.

“Shut up.” You’re arching your hips, hating him more and more with every touch, every breath.

“Loved cumming for me, bet you played with your pussy thinking about it.”

You scoff now, shoving at him, his stupid heavy weight feeling far too good. “Hah, you fucking wish, I never have.”

He exhales, his breath ghosting across your collarbones, as he eyes your tits in your lacy bra. “Yeah I don’t believe it, saw the way you looked at me when we first fucking met.”

‘This is Sukuna,’ your mom was introducing him to you, you’re exhausted from finals now, yawning from an all nighter, when you see him.

He’s stupid tall, well over six feet, so tall your head falls back to catch sight of him, with insane red eyes and a face that is far too attractive. His lips are parted, eyes wide when he first meets you, you’re literally in a big sweater and some shorts half asleep as your first introduction.

He looks a lot like his dad, and you two have gotten along well so far, of course you miss your dad, but a long time has passed and you want mom to be happy. But you’ve heard about his son, he’s a little older, in the college you’re going to next year, he honestly is hot as fuck, but you shove all that down. You clear your throat, looking down at your feet now, nervous.

‘What’s up,’ he manages, eyeing you intensely, the way you shift your hips, how you tug on your sweater nervously. ‘You’re fucking short.’

You gasp, glaring then. ‘Everyone must be short to you, jolly pink giant.’

‘What now, brat!?’ his fists clench, as you raise a brow, and your mom sighs.

‘You two are going to be family soon, maybe you could try the introductions again?’ you crush that hope when you run upstairs, and slam the door.

You can’t stand that boy.

The memories hit, of being told a stranger was now family, of being so enamored with his looks you were shy, only to inevitably learn the asshole your ‘stepbrother’ was. That was the beginning of the two of you hating each other, the pranks started coming along a few months later.

You hate him, remember?

It doesn’t matter if he’s got your cunt pulsing around nothing, it doesn’t matter if you are thinking of licking yourself off his lips. You can’t fucking do that, you can’t and shouldn’t want it, especially with them in earshot from you two. His teeth sink into the soft flesh of your breast then, you’re gasping out at it, tugging at his hair, his huge hands squeezing your ribcage.

“What’re you doing,” he pulls up then, eyes unreadable in the dark, lips leaving trails of saliva when he pulls back. “Gonna leave a mark.”

“Good, I’ll add to your collection.” You smack at his head now, he just grins and nips the spot again.

“Weirdo.”

“Freak.”

“Me!? Whore.”

“Slut.”

“Ugh!” You’re biting back another moan when he sucks your flesh into his hot mouth, and you're lost, hands entwined in his silky pink locks.

“Fuck…” it's his turn to lose it, to rut his leaky cock against your mattress, as he grips a tit in his hand, squishing it. “Would ruin you.”

“Ruin me, yeah whatever. Sukuna you’re so full of yourself,” you bite back a moan, wishing he didn’t feel so good on you. “So you can use your fingers, what’s it matter? Go away before you bruise me.”

“I’ll leave a better mark than him,” he’s pulling back again and you see it, a blossoming bruise forming across your skin, his white teeth flashing. “Much better, will last for weeks.”

“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?” He tugs your bra down, lips capturing your nipple now, you let out a squeak he chuckles at.

“Ya sound like a dumb hentai ad when you moan.”

“Oh I am so done.” You shove the big ass man until he rolls, falling on your floor and cursing, you tug the blanket up — embarrassingly covered in dark spots from your cum — leaning over to watch him curse, all six foot five of that man sprawled along your carpet.

You laugh so hard you snort.

He stands then, quickly leaning over you and gripping your chin, cutting off your laughter so quickly, your heart pounds in your chest, you can hear the blood rushing in your ears when he leans so low. You struggle to find that hatred, those years of anger at him in that moment, when you just want him to kiss you.

“You’re an annoying little brat, ya know that? Should make you cum till you’re covered in tears,” he’s swiping his thumbs over your cheeks, your lips part with desire at the words. “Till you can’t move, can’t sit, can’t fucking walk anymore.”

You say nothing then, because you’d be fucking lying if you acted like you didn’t want exactly what he was whispering. Your eyes shoot up to his, the ruby ring the only remnants of his red color with his pupils blown out.

“Why would you want to? With me, a fucking gremlin, a stupid brat, huh?”

He pauses, swallowing, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, you two hear the door to your parents room shut, echoing with a resounding thud, and he pulls away finally. He walks over to the door, carefully opening it and peering out, he looks at you with an unreadable expression before he just leaves with no word.

What the fuck was that!?

You sit up then, taking off your bra and ruined panties, tossing them in the hamper and walking over to your dresser, snatching out a big shirt you stole from Sukuna years ago to sleep in. You look at yourself in the mirror for a moment, trying to fucking process just what happened with him, before shoving it down, feeling awful about it.

You can’t feel that way, you have to forget whatever it was, whatever he did to make you cum harder than you ever have. And how it would have just taken another couple of touches on your body and you’d have fucked him right in your bed, Sukuna of all people!?

The fan overhead does nothing to cool you down, a thin sheen of sweat sticky on your brow, when you eye something on your bed in confusion. Black panties you had on earlier, you pick them up as you’re about to make your now messy bed, then look in horror when you see it.

Did Sukuna cum in your panties!?

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

*****

Breakfast is as awkward as you can imagine, he’s already done a prank on you when you walked out of your room this morning, laughing like a dick when you try to snatch his phone up. You haven’t been on his stupid channel in some time which has been pretty nice, but here he is, torturing you after the asshole decided to jerk off with your used panties?

You can’t say anything, your parents have friends over already, it’s supposed to be a pool party for the holiday and everyone’s here. Family, their friends, some of your friends and Sukuna’s start showing up too, and god if he’s not even more obnoxious around them. Your girlfriends are fawning over Sukuna like they always do, when you all are dressed in your bathing suits and everyone starts grilling out.

You could almost enjoy it, almost have fun if it wasn’t for the fact that Sukuna made you squirt last night, and every time he raises a slutty eyebrow it’s like he remembers it. Every smirk and flick of his tongue on his lips damn near confirms it, while he’s shirtless in swim trunks, his stupid chiseled body glistening with some oil your friends slathered on him.

Fucker loves the attention, pretentious ass.

The doorbell rings when you’ve run inside to grab beers and seltzers to bring em out to the cooler for everyone, you set down the heavy packs with a huff, opening the door and then smiling when you see Toji. He’s got trunks slung over his forearm, those glossy lips tugged up at the corner as he leans against the doorway.

“Hey doll, I’m late as shit.”

“It’s fine Toji, I haven’t even gotten in the pool yet!” You lean up and kiss his cheek then, feeling the stubble brush your lips.

“Tease,” you giggle and he kisses your lips instead, a hand on the bare skin of the small of your back. “You look so hot in this, fuck.”

“Thank you, I didn’t know if it looked okay,” you pull back to tug at it a bit, and his mossy green eyes slip down your body. “Sukuna said I look like a gremlin like usual.”

“Sure he did.” He scoffs and rolls his eyes, stepping inside and eyeing over your shoulder. “Want help with those?”

“Yes please.” You feel bad suddenly, knowing Sukuna had been knuckles deep inside you last night, when you really wanna get to know Toji. He’s so stupid and fucks everything up constantly, far even for him.

Forget it all.

Toji lifts em then, bringing both cases out for you, Sukuna really has the audacity to glare at him, just earning Toji’s smirk when he finally introduces himself to your mom, she is friendly as she always is. Sukuna’s dad is not as friendly, he may be much nicer than his son, but you see where Sukuna got all the attitude from, but Toji literally gives no fucks.

He smirks right at everyone, wrapping an arm around you then, you can feel Sukuna’s eyes just burning holes in your back when you’re pressed against him. “I gotta go change real quick.”

“Sounds good.” You peck at his lips this time, a quick nervous one with so many eyes on you two, it’s not like you’ve ever had a boyfriend very long with Sukuna torturing and scaring them all away.

“He’s hot!” Your friend comes up to you and says, you giggle and nod.

“Surrounded by hot men, let me be you,” your other friend is pouting, looking over at Sukuna. You shake your head. “Oh you know he is. You just can’t say it.”

“He’s gross and a dick. No thanks.”

“You’re gross too, brat.” You jump then, how’d he get so close so fast!?

“Yeah, well not as gross as you, creep.” You shove at him then, when the asshole drags your ass in the pool. You rise up and sputter as he throws back his head and laughs, the cold ass pool chills your skin, goosebumps raising. “I hate you!”

“Yeah, whiny ass brat, I know.”

“Don’t laugh!” You scowl at all of them, they hide their giggles, but even your parents are holding back a laugh. “Help me out.”

“Oh, fine.” He bends down, reaching a hand when you snatch his wrist up and tug his ass in too. He’s sputtering just like you did, big thick ass floundering so hilarious you die laughing.

“Hah! How’d that feel, dick!?” You shove at him under the water now when he hauls you up in the air and throws you across the fucking pool like you’re a volleyball. “Ugh!”

“How’d that feel, brat?” He taunts, soon everyone is just laughing at the two of you, deciding to all hop in aside from your step dad who’s grilling, and your mom sipping a beer and laughing still at you.

“You’re such a jerk.” You mumble when he steps closer, you’re shivering still as the cold water rushes over your skin, hair in strings from how wet it got.

You’re beautiful.

He hates that he thinks that way about you, that you’re the only person he’s thought that singular word for, when he just threw said girl across a damn pool, and all he can see is how the sun illuminates your pretty skin. How it glows under the soft light, the way your eyelashes are spiky and dripping water. He wishes it was just those pretty titties bouncing up and not more.

He swallows as you scowl, like you always do. It’s not as if he’s given you any reason not to do so, aside from that pretty fucked out look he can’t get off his mind last night. The way he desperately sucked your juices that remained sticky on his fingers and jerked it again to you, only to see Toji with his arm around you and want to fucking cut his hand off.

Sukuna has always been this way for you, but it gets worse, and the problem is he doesn’t feel guilty, not for wanting you when he met you already grown up. He doesn’t feel whatever ‘family’ shit his dad wants him to because you’re not really, but he already knows how awful you feel. The way you have avoided him all day, not like he helped pranking you this morning.

How else can Sukuna even show his affection? Aside from just being a dick all the time, aside from taunting you and tossing you in pools? It’s not like it’s returned, he’s not even sure if last night was real, you actually letting him touch your perfect body, the one so close he feels the heat of it even under the cold water undulating around your pretty tits.

“What are you looking at?” You demand, with your bratty voice that just makes his dick harder, crossing your arms under your tits.

“Just that you look like a drowned rat.” He smirks and lies - not telling you that he finds you the most beautiful thing in existense, that your friends don’t have shit on you, that literally no one does.

He can’t say it, it makes it worse, what even could happen if he did? It’s not like you don’t have years of hating him behind your belt, and now you clearly found someone even he can’t scare away. The thoughts of you being with someone else makes him sick, he wants your cunt to remember his shape.

He looks down now, the mark he left just barely apparent where your little bikini top slipped down too much, precariously trying to bare a perk nipple. You look down then, swallowing audibly as he salivates damn near. It takes everything not to make a public spectacle and bring your body against him, grip one of those pretty tits and swipe a thumb over that mark.

You tug your top to further cover it, blushing furiously. “What’s wrong, huh? Something bothering ya?” 

“Nothing at all, was a mosquito bite. I hate mosquitos, such pests.” His scowl makes you smile that much bigger, when you eye Toji climbing in, your friends hone in on him this time, whispering about how big he is so loud he can even hear. He’s chuckling when he steps up, you turn away from Sukuna to head across the other side of the pool when he tugs on your wrist. “What?”

He leans low, lips against your ear now. “New nickname instead of gremlin or short stuff.”

“What’s that?” You glare at him as he grins.

“Waterfall.”

“Oh I can’t stand you!” You yank your wrist as he chuckles like the infuriating jerk he is, instead going over to Toji who hands you a drink. “I need one, thank you.”

“Mmm, no problem doll. I think your mom likes me.” He waves at her now, you smile.

“She does!”

“Sukuna’s dad always thought I was getting him in trouble,” he’s known Sukuna way longer than you, since they were in middle school. Toji takes a sip of his beer then, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “It’s nonsense.”

“But you were trouble! I’ve heard stories.” His lips quirk, that scar stretching just a bit as he looks down at you, standing dangerously close.

“What’ve you heard hmm?” he’s leaning against the pool wall, the scents of the grilled food start flooding your senses now. Your tummy rumbles, making him laugh just a bit. “Hungry?”

“I didn’t eat breakfast because stupid ass Sukuna pranked me.” He snorts a bit at that, drinking some more as you eye Sukuna’s dad flipping the burgers. At this point your grandma is pretty drunk, shouting your name across the pool, you smile and wave back at her.

“So what did you hear?” He waves at your grandma too, making you laugh.

“That you two were breaking into your teacher’s room after school, and taking shit. Oh and you all released like a hundred chickens at once?”

“That was end of the year pranks, it was all Sukuna. I got dragged into it.”

“Uh huh sure.” He brushes back a little bit of your hair, drying from the warm sun, before brushing a finger across your cheek.

“You think I’m the bad influence here, doll?”

“I think it was a team effort.”

“Hmm…” he trails off, and eyes Sukuna, staring at the two of you for just a moment with an unreadable expression, before he’s back to talking with his friends. “I guess we both were little shits, but he’s still one.”

“You can say that again.” You peek back at Sukuna, who flips you off, earning a middle finger right back.

“You two are so close y’know.”

“We are so close.” Your words are teasing, but the memories hit again, the memories you would rather keep completely under lock for the rest of your damn life, refusing to acknowledge they exist.

The cook-out goes on, your grandma at some point is being just a menace, she’s flirting with people you kinda love that for her. Your aunt is stoned off her ass, getting yelled at for smoking a blunt by your mom, it’s a typical get together. Sukuna is throwing a foot ball around the yard with a bunch of your little cousins, and something about that gives you pause.

Big ass jerk Sukuna, smiling and tossing a football with kids is arguably adorable, he played extremely well in college, so well you thought he may go pro, but you suppose youtube made him rich so he just went with that. You don’t know as much about him as you suppose you should.

How can a man be so fucking infuriating, really?

As everyone starts to leave, Toji is getting changed, dragging you into the bathroom when he opens the door and you’re about to get changed yourself. You giggle when he does, he lifts you up like nothing and sits you on the sink, your hands grip his strong shoulders when he plants a kiss on you, you still smell the scent of chlorine from the pool and the mix of the coconut scent of the sunblock.

Your body is all jello from the pool and the heat, the perfect feeling for getting kissed by him. You lose yourself in it for a bit, quiet smacks of hungry lips, his hands gripping your waist. He pulls back a bit and presses you closer, you’re blushing when you feel him under his shorts.

“Another date, what ya think doll?”

“I’d love one.” He smirks and kisses you again, a little more hungry, and to be honest you have very little experience thanks to your annoying fucking ‘step-brother’, so you’re a little nervous as your hand trails down his chest.

“Ya gonna jerk me off in your parents bathroom? Really?” He’s taunting you, and you pout now.

“No, now that you said it that way!”

“Shit, no, bring it back.” He’s tugging your hand back down as you giggle just a bit, curiously touching his thickness - and fuck he’s thick. You bite your lip and he kisses you again, rutting his cock against your hand, just the thin material of those gray shorts as a barrier. “Fuck…”

“Mnh…” You’re crying out into his lips when he’s running his fingers down your breasts, tugging at your bikini top.

That’s when you really panic.

What if he saw Sukuna’s stupid fucking mark!?

You two aren’t exclusive or dating yet, but still! And imagine explaining - oh yeah, my dickhead stepbrother fingered me last night! Oh and he came in my panties, it’s all very silly hehe! - Yeah no.

Now you have time to think about it, when the door knob twists, and you pull your top up a little nervous, blushing. “Use the other bathroom!”

“Just get out brat.” You scowl now, hearing his voice, and Toji’s cock twitches in your hand, you realize you’re still stroking it.

“Go to one of the others!?”

“Then I’ll drip through the house.”

“Oh god.” Toji chuckles and you about could hear a fucking pin drop.

“Is that Toji in there?”

“No! That was me.”

“Out, now.” You’re so irritated, you’re twenty one not a fucking baby anymore, Toji helps you down and opens the door then, to a furious Sukuna, just an inch taller than Toji and a half inch broader maybe. “What are you doing in there?”

“I was helping her unhook her bathing suit, calm down buddy,” he pats Sukuna on the shoulder with an easy grin, looking back at you. “I’ll call you about that date, I’m gonna head home.”

“Sounds good Toji,” you smile and give him another kiss as he walks off, leaving Sukuna glaring even more intensely, like he’s gonna fucking actually kill you. “Sukuna, I'm not a baby.”

“Tch, are you serious?”

“Yes, I am. I am tired of you acting like some big brother, you’re not, okay?” You shove him now, and that’s when he’s locked himself in the bathroom with you, making you gasp, reaching around to grab the knob, only to be turned and pressed against the counter, facing the mirror.

His big arms, lined with thick black tattoos wrap you then, his hair is this dusky rose color from the dampness still on the thick strands, huge hands slipping around your body, taking you over. Your head falls back, eyes meeting his and narrowing, he’s tugging that bikini top down until your breasts spill, bouncing just so for his vision, and you feel it - his hardness on the small of your back.

Momentarily frozen, you finally gather yourself, pushing at his stupidly strong arms to get them off you, just making your tits jiggle more. He grabs one, thumb brushing over your bruise, you ignore the wetness between your thighs, the memories of last night flooding your stupid brain.

“Sukuna, the fuck?” He leans lower, gently plucking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, his breaths hot against your cheek as your heart races.

“You fucking him, huh?”

“What’s it matter if I am? What do you care, panty thief.”

“I didn’t steal them, tch,” he squishes a breast in his huge ass hand, rough and calloused, hurting so good you want more. You arch without meaning too, earning his exhale, while he studies that spot in the mirror hungrily, thumb pressing it to make it hurt even more. “You left them on the floor, you’re messy. Your cunt and your room.”

“You’re such a pervert, why were you in there!?”

“You probably liked what I did, huh? Freaky little slut…” You’re done for when he finds you, toxic ass Sukuna feeling your slick cunt over his fingers, rubbing and groaning softly, barely a breath, tickling the shell of your ear.

“You call me a slut? Look at you,” your head falls back against his hard chest, hips moving up and down. “Can’t stop touching me, why? You don’t even… mnh… find me… attractive…”

“Hah, you’re fucking stupid too,” he rubs your slick bottoms, feeling the sticky arousal pool and drip. “What are you so wet for, him?”

“Yes, him, finally gonna - ah - get some without you blocking me, you f-fucking psycho…” you wish you weren’t close from him rubbing you over your soaking wet bikini, wish you didn’t love him licking the side of your neck. Wished his stupid smile wasn’t so attractive in that mirror.

“You wanna fuck Toji so bad, huh?” You moan into your palm now, the other hand braced on the polished marble of the sink, eyes fluttering shut as he presses that material up between your lips. “Asked ya a question.”

“Y-yes I do. Don’t want you.” You yank his hand off then, before you go too far, but he just slips his fingers in your mouth instead. You suck on them without fighting it at first, as he watches your lips wrap them, leaking hot sticky precum against your sun warmed skin. “Fuck off Sukuna.”

“Such a liar, you’ve always been.”

“Me!? You.” You turn now, shoving him back, just making him bend at the waist and lean low, thumb brushing your lips. “What's been your problem since you came back? Some new form of torturing me?”

“You torture me, constantly.” You blink in confusion shaking your head then, as his eyes are so bright red they’re hard to look at. He cups your face, it feels so small in his big hands then, as your breath catches.

“How do I torture you?” Your voice is a hushed whisper, your tits are hastily shoved in your top, while you realize he’s just seen all of you again. You’re shoving him harder, but he doesn’t move. “Answer me, how have I ever? You’re the bully.”

“You’re right, I’m the bully,” you are so confused by him then, he sees it on your pretty face.

You don’t even know the torture you’ve put him through all these years, can hardly be with someone because of you, the times he has, he’s just thought of you or pictured you. Being too beautiful, too fucking perfect, smell too good, feel too good, fuck he even loves your voice. He loves your writing he’s found snooping pathetic in your room, he loves how sweet you are to everyone but him.

He loves how mean you are to him.

“You really don’t know shit about me, huh?” You blink in confusion again, tilting your head, he’s too close, his hands are on your face, yours are wrapping his thick wrists.

It’s too intimate.

More intimate than his fingers inside you, to look into his eyes like this, not mocking or taunting, but so serious as they study your face, as they dart all around your face. You bite at your trembling lip, unsure of just what to say in that moment, unsure of everything you know. 

Why do his hands feel so good? Why does the way he’s looking at you destroy you?

“You just hate me, huh?” You swallow nervously, looking down. “Look at me, brat, look at me when you tell me.”

“You have been horrible to me since the first day we met, how did you expect me to like you?”

“Right,” he pulls back then, letting you catch your breath, his fists clenched at his sides now. “Of course that’s what you think.”

“You’re confusing, hitting some fucking quarter life crisis?” You expect a smirk, a chuckle, a scowl, not the tensing of his jaw, not the way he’s looking down at you right now. “I’m not a slut, either.”

“No?”

“I’m a virgin, you dumb ass.” He falters now, swallowing nervously.

“You’re a what?”

“Make fun of that too, hard to fuck when your jerk ‘step brother’ threatens every man you like just to make you miserable.”

To think he could have you first makes his cock throb then, it’s toxic and horrible, and if Sukuna was a good person he’d feel terrible. But all he can think of now is how badly he wants to be your first, fuck your only, have you cumming so good you pass out, but he’d keep going. Nothing could stop him once he finally got you, when he finally busted in your pretty cunt.

He’d put so many kids in you, you’d never leave him.

He’d feel bad about that too, if he had a conscience, but when it comes to you, Sukuna is so obsessed he doesn’t care. He’s had cameras in your room before, he’s jerked it to fuzzy dark videos with hints of your tits. His collection of your things is so ridiculous, you’d probably be shocked where all your little things went, locked in a box under his childhood bed.

He should feel bad, but how can he? How can he keep going, and not have you, not mark every part of your body?”

“Nothing mean to say about it?” You ask now, trembling with his study, so intense it’s hard to breathe, the vulnerability of admitting that fact makes you nauseous.

Why is he just staring!?

“Say something, something mean. I’m a loser or whatever.” You’re damn near begging him to, but he doesn’t, instead he almost tenderly dances those fingers across each cheek, down the sides of your neck, watching you tremble under his touch.

He exhales in that moment, the movement tantalizing in its slowness, drinking in your scent, remembering your taste. He hears your quick, skipped breaths, sees the way your lips part as you feel his touch. You’re surrounding his every sense, clouding his mind further and further, while those fingers brush the gentle slope of your bare shoulders achingly slow.

“Sukuna, say something.��� You need it, an insult, a dick comment, something to return the normalcy of your relationship.

But he doesn’t.

“You’re just gonna stare at me?” You shove at him, of course he doesn’t move, he just sighs, leaning too low, towering over you.

“No loser touched you huh?”

“No, because of you, idiot.” He smiles just a bit, making you even more curious that it’s his response. “What would you give a fuck for?”

“You’re right, I don’t care.” He walks right out of that bathroom, and you scowl at the door, before splashing your face with cold water that runs from the faucet, then sinking on the floor, hugging your knees.

What the fuck was he up to, some elaborate prank!? Or was there something you’re missing? It can’t be that he… feels anything. It’s a joke, you convince yourself of it, maybe you’re gaslighting yourself, but you can’t allow it to be any sort of truth, and sort of reality.

Fuck Sukuna.

*****

Sukuna’s got another pair of your panties, he doesn’t think you’ll miss them from the hamper, cursing at how much he hates you as he strokes his cock again that night. Why do you make him pathetic!?

‘Oh, ya think I’ll take it easy your first time, hah - that’s real cute’ Sukuna’s picturing it, his sooty pink lashes shut, as he lays in his bed and jerks his cock, whimpering as he runs his thumb over his tip, picturing taking you, fuck he’d have you cum on his face so much he’d drown.

Then he’d have you begging and pleading, only to fuck into you, take your virginity, make sure you would never want anyone but him. He can’t do it, he’s already going too far, being so fucking disrespectful and horrible, but he’s jerking it faster to the fantasy, of making you not hate him, of having you fucked out and whining, gasping and drooling.

‘Gonna ruin you, fuck up your insides, yeah?’ He can’t stop it, the obsession with you, but instead of you sleeping peacefully, you find your thoughts drifting to him as you toss and turn in your bed.

You can’t want him.

You shouldn’t want him.

You don’t want him.

Right?

tagsss- @sukubusss @quinny23 @flowerymenendez @valleydolli @gradmacoco @lolliibunny @chosolover32 @tiredasiandaughter @nanam1nz @sukunabish @valentinegab3 @heichouaack @throwmethroughawindow @mizuwki @omkookie @lemonadesforsale @dannaya @maybe-a-bi-witch @fl4weriesworld @karvokr @pillkits @yummycastiel @fl4weriesworld @kitty-yaps @kitassecretgf @deathrye @musiclover2119 @goldenfawnwriting @sttaejoon-blog @lil-cinn @keiiate @sageosimps @paradisestarfishh @ohohostinkyyyyy @blitziwitch @b0nez9 @sukunaforlife @mihauh @gojodickbig @ashlantismorning @erenspersonalwh0re @uncertainlyours @t4ters @msniks @lnette04 @salemsays66 @chxngminji @poopooindamouf @hellovanie

[gay-dorito-dust]

saja boys flirting with manager!reader that just does not give a shit and only focuses on their job ?

‘Do you wanna touch my abs?’ Abby said as you were taking to social media to gauge the reactions of Saja Boy’s latest album, thankfully and expectedly the reactions were overwhelmingly positive, a job well done you guessed but it didn’t take much to gain traction when your grouped with conventionally attractive men with voices of angels.

‘I know you secretly do-‘

‘I don’t actually.’ You cut him off with a sharp, tight smile, hoping to be the point across that you were working and didn’t want to be bothered by senseless and meaningless flirting, it was unprofessional and you worked hard enough to get where you were without the unwanted flirting. ‘Besides don’t you have prentice that you should be at right now, we’ve got a video to put out after all.’ You add as you walked away from him, head firmly in your phone where you kept all your schedules and important information to keep this group within the public eye.

Abby only pouts as you walked away, crossing his arms. ‘Everything that breaths wants to touch my abs.’ He tells himself before going to practice like you said, you were certainly something if his flexing didn’t have much of an effect over you.

Romance was close as you overuse the meet and greet, so much so that he might as well have been pressed against you, watching you closely in hopes you’d notice and be rid of the furrow in your brows and the clench in your jaw. He even went to reach out and brush a finger against your cheek, only for your hand to come up and grab him by the wrist.

‘I better have something on my face for you to be doing that.’ You told him as your furrowed gaze was now directly on him, not the way that Romance would’ve liked but he’s got your attention regardless, so he guessed he got what he wanted in the end.

Romance smiled. ‘And what if you didn’t?’

You frowned. ‘Then learn to keep your hands to yourself, you’re too touchy and it’s distracting.’ You tell him as you drop his wrist as he leans in close to you, smirking.

‘I distract you huh?’ He says, completely ignoring the rest of what you had just said, much to your dismay as you groaned about how you couldn’t have been Huntrix’s manager instead, at least they wouldn’t be trying to flirt with you every second of every day. You loved the boys, you really did but they seemed to act as though you could be easily swayed as their fans, which wasn’t true, and completely forgetting that you were their manager half of the time.

‘From doing my job.’ You corrected him. ‘Now take that flirtatious energy and aim it towards the fans that are about to burst through those doors yeah?’ You concluded as Romance could only sigh, vowing to try again another time when you least expect it.

Baby happened to be your favourite band member of Saja Boys. He didn’t bother you as much as the rest of them did, kept himself occupied with spicy foods, or watching videos while indulging in some sweets he got from the nearby convenience store.

However that didn’t mean he was scott free from having moments where he would disrupt your day by whatever means he could. And right now he was sitting with his feet kicked up onto your lap, sucking on a lollipop, acting like he had nowhere better to be.

‘Can I help you?’ You asked as you looked over at him.

He pulls the lollipop out of his mouth and replied, ‘nope,’ before putting the lollipop back into his mouth. You looked at him unamused as you push his feet from your lap, only for Baby to put his feet back on your lap, smirking at your clear dislike of your current position. ‘Then why are you not chugging spicy sauce on a talk show or just in general?’ You asked, hating his lack of transparency in favour of being this nonchalant individual.

‘Am I not allowed to hang out with you?’ Baby asked, raising his brow as though you were scrutinising you for his active choice to be here with you then his band mates. ‘Is it truly a sin to be here with my utterly gorgeous manager?’

‘It is when all you’re going to do is flirt with me the entire time and certainly not when I’m working, so yeah it’ll be a no for me.’ You stated as you once again shoved his feet off of your lap and stood up and walked out of the room, tablet in hand.

Jinu came to you after you were bothered by the rest of the group, late in the night as you were finally getting ready for bed, but felt yourself unable to sleep and instead go out on the apartment balcony that over looked the city.

That’s when he comes to stand close by, your elbows touching ever so briefly, but it felt a lot like you were closer than you actually was. ‘Tired?’ He asked as he watched you rub at the dark bags under your eyes and taking in your overall exhausted body language.

‘It’s the price I pay for keeping you guys in the public zeitgeist.’ You replied, eyes remaining on the city and its billboards that you were certain promoting your boys and their newest song. ‘And a price well paid for too, you’re dominating the charts and becoming more and more popular by the day.’ You add as you finally look over at him, only to see him firmly looking at you with a softness that you weren’t sure you saw before, at least as far as you were aware.

‘That’s all in thanks to your hard work, we just look good and sing.’ Jinu says as his eyes shift from you to the city then back to you again, his hands twitching as though he wanted to hold yours but was holding himself back from doing so. ‘You deserve all the praise for getting us where we are. You’re exceptional.’ He concludes.

You puffed your chest in pride, not aware that he may or may not have been flirting with you, instead finally being recognised for all your hard work and dedication to the group and their ever growing popularity. ‘I am exceptional aren’t I?’ You rhetorically asked.

‘Yes you are.’ Jinu replied, watching you as you beam with pride as a smile graced his lips. ‘Charming and charismatic too.’ He piles up the compliments that seemingly went over your head, or were intentionally being dismissed by you as you patted him on the shoulder and said. ‘Welp! We better get some sleep as we’ve got a big day ahead of us to prepare for and I’ve got a schedule to keep and don’t feel like wasting time trying to wake one of you up because you didn’t rest properly.’

And with that you left Jinu on the balcony as you went to bed, switching off your light and everything as Jinu was left wondering if that had just happened.

Mystery hovered over you like an over protective guard dog. He was attentive, silent but ready to start barking at things he thought were intruding on his territory.

He might as well have been sat on your lap at this point when you were gauging what would keep the fans attention, looking on social media if there was anything that they wanted to see from Saja Boys, and keeping tract of the fact that they were to go on a show in a couple of hours where they’d have to eat chicken wings dipped in hot sauce that got gradually hotter while talking about how they came together amongst other things.

Mystery nudged your side to get your attention. Nothing.

He nudged your side again. Nothing, you were glued to your phone.

Mystery huffs and puts himself between you and your phone by shoving his head into your lap, acting like that of an overgrown dog that didn’t understand that he was too old to be sitting on your lap anymore. You huffed this time and looked at him as he looked back at you, small smile upon his lips as his plan ahd worked to his advantage, yet you were only significantly behind on your work and weren't up for any distractions from anyone in the slightest.

'Yes?' you asked, only for Mystery to put your free hand upon his head, his silent plea for you to run your fingers through his hair, unfortunately for him you weren't in the mood to that today as you hated to be off schedule even if it was by a milisecond.

You removed your hand from his head, making him pout at your lack of touch, tilting his head to the side as if to ask what you were doing. 'i can't today i need to get back on schedule, seen as how half of you seemed to have forgotten that you're meant to be on a press tour. we need to be puncutual abovr anything else.' You tell him as your attention is brought back to the tablet.

Mystery didn't like that all that much, hating your lack of attention, snatched the tablet from your hand and ran away with it, much to your dismay as you took our your phone and sighed. 'I swear he acts more dog then anything, love him, but at least i can hopefully get work done now i'm alone.'

Meanwhile poor mystery was waiting for you to come after him like he thought you would for thirty minutes before remembering that you could easily have done your work from a phone or a laptop within your vicinity, he returned the tablet shortly afterwards.

[monicahar]

bark like you want it...?

in which you jokingly treat them like a pet.

characters; phainon, mydeimos, anaxagoras

— gender neutral reader, established relationships, fluff, sugestive at anaxa's part, need ts after the hellscape the current amphoreus is in andddd hi yes im back with a kinda fun idea and uhhhh yeah sleep pronto (*ﾟ▽ﾟ)ﾉ

It was supposed to be all fun and games. you'd say 'sit' and you'd expect him to raise a brow or two before whining about how you're treating him rudely. instead and very much contrary, the next second, PHAINON is immediately sat without question.

"well, you told me to sit!" is his meek excuse, turning red just as fast when you doubled over and laughed for a minute straight.

you think it's weird and cute. he thinks it's betrayal.

"is it so bad that i want to please you?" he says weakly whilst patting down his attire upon as he stood up straight, still burning up in sheer embarrassment. it's truly a sight to see someone as proud as him get shy. "as if it's my fault..."

you disregard his mutterings as you finally calm your giggles down, "to that extent, though? what if i asked you to bark? hm?"

phainon displays a waver in confidence, constructing his words carefully and said, "well, i'd do anything for you," he then slides you a sidelong look, one that's clearly not impressed. "even if it's something like... barking and sitting on command."

it looked like it pained him to say the last part.

still, you're unable to keep the corners of your lips at bay, genuinely elated at his response.

but unfortunately for him, there always has to be a catch when it comes to your very-easy-to-tease boyfriend...

so you let your lashes flutter, watching carefully as his smile grows a tad wary at your shift in demeanor.

"phainon... you sure you're not into this?"

the future leader of the chrysos heirs — your cute little snowy, explodes into another burst of red, looking as scandalized as you expected.

"wha — what is that supposed to mean?!"

his pouty expression makes him look like a kicked puppy now that you think more about it — of which reminds you the way he begs for attention and kisses, is eager to please, also likes your praise, and often sulks in a corner whenever you don’t... like a puppy.

the resemblance is almost uncanny. how amusing.

"maybe you were a dog in your past life,"

"..."

"..."

"...um, are you going to elaborate?"

you simply smile in return.

MYDEI stares like you'd slapped him across the face when you tell him to roll over.

"what?" you prod further when he doesn't say anything in response, "you shy or something?"

a glint appears in his eyes and you already know what he's going to say next.

"there's no such thing in the kremnoan langua —"

"mydei," you stare back, rid of all humor. he stares back, equally fiery. "roll. over."

you can practically see all the stages of grief flash in his eyes within mere seconds, weighing his options against you. you inspect your nails in an attempt to hide your anticipation. mydei is a wildcard if anything.

would he pretend he didn’t hear anything? probable. would he be mean about it? probable too. would he actually go along with it? pfft, yeah, and pigs would start falling from the sky —

to your most and utter horror, he starts lowering himself to the ground.

you shriek and stop him from continuing any further by grabbing a hold of his shoulders. (drool...) "hey, hey! i was kidding, you freak!"

"who are you calling a freak?" he snaps, not looking very intimidating as he's already kneeling down on one knee before you. "and i'm just following as you told me, am i not?"

"y-yeah but..."

he stands up, half-heartedly glaring you down. "i set aside my pride for your antics and you halt me. why?"

"it's more like why were you about to go along with something that's obviously said in jest..."

"hm. aglaea told me that you would often have weird tendencies and commands," he shrugs your hand off of his shoulder, "and that i should obey them without question if i want a... happy you. something ridiculous like that."

your jaw hangs open. mydei akwardly closes it shut. "you... you consult aglaea about... me?"

he gives you a weird look, "relationships, to be more exact. and why wouldn't i? you're a lot of work."

you deflate, "that's mean, mydei."

the proud chrysos heir shifts his footing, frowning at the air like it wronged him. his words are strained yet truthful, "i just... want to make you happy. that is all."

oh my.

you couldn't hold it any longer and proceed to jump him, whilst pigs do start falling from the sky.

it's pretty much established that ANAXA would yoink you out of the room should you decide to pull that on him during one of his lectures. in front of his students? yeah, you're grounded whether you liked it not.

though, it'd be a completely different story outside such settings...

currently sifting through scrolls sprawled out on his desk was the man of the hour himself, and having decided to accompany him in your free time — your boredom had long kicked in before the idea popped into your mind.

you approach him quietly, before placing your hand on top his head.

"who's a good boy?"

his gaze does not waver from the surface of his desk, but you do catch his contemplative expression freezing for a short moment.

"if you wanted a chalk to your face, you could've just said so."

how romantic. you really can't go a day without your loving boyfriend.

you beam at him, pretending like he hadn’t just threatened you with his 'teaching' gun tool. "that's not very good of you, anaxa. want me to punish you?"

"i believe you're acting up because you haven't gotten plentiful rest. be a dear and go back to your room, will you?"

"you want me gone?" you playfully pout up at him, finally earning his attention as he directs his gaze towards you — a brow raised. "you're being reallyyy bad, right now. i can't believe you'd kick me out just like that."

a sigh escapes anaxa. his singular eye opens to stare you down. you subconsciously gulp down your nerves. did you provoke him too much?

"unprofessional conduct by reffering to me casually during work hours, petting me like some dog and threatening to punish me... pranks like these shall not be tolerated." his eye twinkles in something akin to amusement, "i'll take care of you later."

the tension reaches a stalemate.

your brain short-circuits.

"uh, what do you mean by —"

"you know i dislike it when people ask questions they already know the answer to," as cryptic as ever, he spares you one last glance before returning his attention down to the scrolls laid upon his desk.

heeding his warning of sorts, you depart and stand outside his office — unmoving.

you seem to have brought upon yourself another day of being... unable to walk.

3.4 is taking forever...

[luna-azzurra]

When a character is pretending to be someone they’re not

Pretending isn’t just lying, no, it’s becoming a version of yourself that feels easier to manage (easier to love, or control, or survive inside.) It’s a mask that starts out as protection and slowly becomes a second skin. One that’s hard to take off, even when you want to.

✦ They mirror the people around them without meaning to. Their laugh, their phrasing, the way they sit, it all shifts depending on who they’re with. Like they’re constantly adjusting, matching the energy in the room, trying to be what they think people want.

✦ They’re vague when things get personal, and not because they’re secretive, but because they don’t know anymore. Ask them their favorite song, and they’ll pause too long. Ask about their past, and their answers are half-finished, polished at the edges, like they’ve been told too many times to keep it clean.

✦  They over-prepare for conversations. They run through the dialogue in their head ahead of time. Rehearse their jokes, their exits, their answers. Everything feels a little scripted, like they’re playing the role of “themselves” instead of just… being.

✦ They always look put-together, maybe almost too much. Their clothes, their hair, their whole vibe is carefully chosen. But there’s a difference between style and armor, and this is armor. A version of themselves they’ve curated, down to the last thread.

✦ They panic when the script slips. Catch them off guard, and it shows... like, they freeze and fumble. The real stuff, feels dangerous. Being authentic means being vulnerable, and they’ve learned the hard way how risky that is.

✦ They shift depending on the room. One version of them at home, another at school, another with friends, like flipping channels. It’s not manipulation, no guys, it’s muscle memory, and they’ve learned to survive by adapting, and now they can’t stop.

✦ They touch their face or hair when they’re uncomfortable, like they’re checking to make sure the mask is still in place. A nervous habit that’s half-grounding, half-ritual, as if letting their guard down even physically would let everything else fall apart, too.

✦ Their smile is always photo-ready. Perfect, pretty, practiced...But there’s something in the eyes that doesn’t match, like they’re smiling at you, not with you. Like they’ve learned what people want to see, and they’ve gotten very good at giving it.

✦  If someone tells them, “I like the real you,” they go quiet. Not because they’re shy, but because deep down, they don’t know who the “real” version even is anymore. They want to believe there’s someone underneath it all, they just don’t know how to find them.

[polarspaz]

Was not prepared for the sudden, overwhelming obsession with Vaderkin and Luke to return this quick, but oh boy did it hit me like semi truck last night.

I CANNOT get ENOUGH of it. So the first pic if of course from the LukeandVader AU, but the second one is a new one I thought of called Renew AU

Basically, only a few months after the events of The Dark Side Strikes Back, Luke is captured by one of Sideous's Inquisitors and taken to a remote facility on the Outer Rim for a secret experiment.

Vader quickly catches wind of this and heads there immediately, blasting his way through the base, not caring how angry Sideous will be at him for doing so, knowing how much danger his son is in.

He finds Luke alive, but chained to some strange altar with advance technology pulsing around it. He has no idea what the hell the machinery is it for, all he cares about is getting Luke out of there fast as possible.

Of course the two banter at one another, especially when Luke realizes Vader is rescuing him, his relief flooding the force like a wave, which surprises Vader greatly as they settle into an uneasy truce.

The chains seem to resist to bend under the will of the Force, so Vader is forced to use his metal hands the break them loose from his son's form, but it's too later, the machine activates and they're both seized by a violent, twisted energy.

For a moment all they feel is pain, Vader doubly so as he feels wires and tubes rip themselves from his body as the foreign machine explodes and sparks around them, and then nothing.

When they both regain consciousness, they both realize they've been de aged by almost 10-12 years, thankfully their are memories intact and Vader's lungs and body have healed, but his metal limbs remain, and Luke is now stuck in the body of a small, defenseless young boy.

After a long talk they both agree Luke is too vulnerable to go back the Rebellion and Vader can't go back to the Empire without endangering Luke, so their only solution is to go on the run until they can find a way to get Luke back to his original age.

((They find a way, but it takes like 5 years for Luke to grow back into his twenties. They have to do this slowly with a mixture of medicine and the force because if they try and age Luke too fast is body would go into shock and die.))

((Luke quickly realizes his is essentially holding the leash of the galaxies most dangerous monster. His father would fight anyone or anything for him, and Luke is both overwhelmed and deeply touched by this fact.))

((Luke still has his memories but he still is affected by his tiny bodies hormones. He's physically weak, cries easily, and instinctively seeks comfort from his father, much to his embarrassment.))

((Vader is having a rough time. He's trying his best to behave for Luke, but he feels like he's wearing another man's skin. He can't look at his face in the mirror and usually covers his lower face with a cloth or scarf, as he can't stand how expressive his face can get it either.))

((Somehow I'm gonna drag Obi-Wan's ass back from the dead to deal with this bullshit too, but I'll figure that out later!))

[scarletmika]

So It Goes : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Bradshaw!Reader

Summary: From the moment you laid eyes on Bob Floyd, you were head over heels, and he was too. Your overprotective brother, though, was making it increasingly harder for either of you to make a move. Maybe it's time you defy his wishes.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI, SMUT (unprotected p in v, oral f. receiving, dirty talk, praise, multiple orgasms, might be a slight hint of a breeding kink in there, kinda takes place in a public setting, aftercare!), porn with a LOT of plot, fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers, brother's best friend trope, language, female reader, alcohol consumption, reader works at a vet clinic, kinda a slow-burn, there is ONE "killing myself" joke in here, lightly edited so I apologize for any mistakes!

Word Count: 19,944 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

You hated Bradley’s Bronco.

Well, hate was a strong word; it was just…outdated. The seats were cramped, there was barely any room for you to hang your feet up on the dash, and the stereo system was also way too old for your liking. The lack of Apple Maps compatibility, or just Bluetooth in general, had gotten you and your older brother in trouble many times when it came to directions. He also loved driving without the top on, which part of you believed he did specifically because he knew it annoyed you to no end, but you had learned to deal with the roaring wind in your ears.

Honestly, you didn’t have too much of an issue with the vehicle until times like this: driving almost three hours north, further into California, with the wind constantly beating your face and your brother’s music blaring. Bryan Adams’ classic hit, Summer of ‘69, was blaring through the old stereo, but it was also the third time you had heard the song since you hit the road. Three times was enough to have you reaching forward to manually switch the song.

“Absolutely not,” Bradley’s hand left the steering wheel for just a moment to slap at yours. You recoiled with a scoff, kicking your feet up onto the little dashboard space you had, and pulled out your phone instead. “Dude-! What have I told you about feet on my dashboard?”

“You fucked Jamie Pierce in these front seats in college,” you shot back at him, not missing the sideways glare he shot you for the comment. “This dash has seen worse than my feet.”

“A hot girl’s tits and my sister’s dirty ass sneakers are two different things, back on the floor chickie,”

He didn’t care for the indignant groan you let out, just reached over to swat at your leg before you finally threw your feet back on the floor of the passenger side with a huff.

“This is abuse, I’m telling Mav,”

“It’s not abuse, but we both know you’re his favorite and he’ll side with you anyway,” Bradley shot back as you locked eyes with your brother, knowing smirks on both of your faces. Mav really did let you get away with a lot. Bradley only shook his head with a laugh, keeping straight at the intersection before you, Big Bear Lake finally in your view in the late afternoon sun.

The song switched: Higher by Creed. Bradley didn’t waste a second in singing along, shoving one hand in front of your face like a pretend microphone to get you to join in. You only shoved him away with another laugh, digging your phone out of the back pocket of your shorts as it buzzed.

“Mick says hit the gas before Hangman breaks down the door to the cabin,” your brother rolled his eyes at the update from your friends. “Told them that I think we’re ten minutes out.”

“We are,” Bradley cleared his throat performatively, straightening up in his seat as he glanced over at you with a semi-stern look in his eyes. “Which means it’s time we lay down the ground rules for this trip.”

Ah. You were wondering how long this would take, for your brother to go full ‘brother mode’ on you and ‘lay down the law’ for your extended trip to the lake. You let out an exaggerated sigh, one that got you another look shot your way.

“This is your birthday trip, Roo. Do we really need to do this?”

“I’m your older brother, I make the rules-”

“Older by, like, two and a half years–give me a break!” you laughed incredulously, turning your head to watch the trees passing on your side of the car.

“Still older. Rule one: I know my squad are your friends too, but if anyone makes any comments toward you, you are to tell me immediately,”

Yeah, as if that would happen. It had been almost exactly a year since you had met Bradley’s squad: The Dagger Squad, the elite squadron formed at North Island under the command of your godfather, Pete Mitchell. It was right around Bradley’s birthday the year before that they’d been made a permanent squad. He’d called you immediately and convinced you to move back home to California with him, since you had stayed close to your college after graduating.

It wasn’t a hard decision to come home. You and Bradley…you were all each other had left, besides Maverick. There were also an abundance of vet clinics in the country, it wasn’t hard to find a new place to work. So, you flew in to go apartment hunting in San Diego on Bradley’s birthday, and met the entire squad. Meeting that crew of pilots was the easiest thing you had ever done. They accepted you with open arms, brought you in as if you were one of them, calling you their ‘Baby Roo’ or sometimes stealing Bradley’s own little nickname of ‘Chick.’ You were family to them; no one was going to be making any comments toward you.

“Highly unlikely, but go on,”

“Rule two: never be alone with Jake Seresin-”

“Bradley, you don’t even need to make that a rule; I do that of my own volition. Get on with it,”

“Rule three, the most important one of them all: keep your eyes and your hands to yourself and off of Bob,”

Ah, Bob Floyd. You saw that rule coming from a mile away. The only one of that entire squad, your group of friends, that you didn’t look at like extended family, like long-lost cousins, or more siblings. The moment you had walked into the hard deck and locked eyes with those deep, blue eyes hidden behind those dorky little glasses, you knew you were fucked.

“Bradley-”

“That means no eye-fucking him, chickie,” Bradley cut in, not allowing you to speak. You only sank lower into your seat with a sigh, knowing this was going to go on for a while. “Don’t be cuddling up next to him on the couch, don’t try sneaking off with him, don’t be ogling him when you think no one is looking, don’t make those little heart-eyes, for the love of god don’t wear those stupidly tiny bikinis…”

Your phone buzzed, a saving grace to save you from having to listen to your brother’s rant (that happened once a month at this rate). Opening your texts, you expected another message from Natasha or Mickey that Hangman had gotten impatient and broken down the door of your rented cabin.

A smile crossed your lips involuntarily the second you saw his name: Bobby. The rush of butterflies that flew through your stomach and into your chest, making your body feel weightless, as if you were floating in the clouds from a silly little text. That’s what Bob Floyd did to you, and he barely had to try.

Another flight of butterflies through your chest, almost begging to be let out and set free. Your smile only grew as you looked at his contact photo, just picturing him. His glasses probably slipping down the bridge of his nose, that little smile formed by those lips you spent way too many nights thinking about, and looking at. You wondered how he was dressed right now, if he was dressed down in a white t-shirt that would hug his biceps in a way that would almost have you drooling.

“-DUDE! You’re doing the heart-eyes shit right now–oh my god, he fucking texted you, didn’t he–knock it off!” Bradley reached over as you came up to a stop sign, grabbing your arm and getting a quick look at your screen before you could pull your phone away fully. “ARE THOSE HEARTS BY HIS NAME?”

“You have a heart by your name, too! So does Natasha!” you argued back, settling back into your seat with your phone back in your pocket. Bradley’s two hands returned to the steering wheel, and you let out a sigh as you saw the white knuckle grip he had. “Bradley, you treat me as if I’m not a grown woman. I’ve dated men, I’ve fucked men…what’s your problem with me having a crush on Bob?”

“Because he’s my best friend,”

Here you both went again, around in circles on the same argument you had been having since the night you met Bob Floyd. 

You liked Bob…hell, at this rate, you were verging on the edge of saying you loved him. His laugh, his ability to get snarky when timing called for it, the way he was an absolute gentleman and opened every door for you, even brought you lunch at work some days when he had the time. You weren’t blind, either: he liked you, too. Neither of you ever said it out loud, but it was obvious. The constant brushing of hands when walking, the lingering stares, the way you always chose seats next to one another in a room, you both made your feelings evident without needing to say it. But there was Bradley, ever the over-protective older brother, standing in the way of things for an entire year with the simple excuse of ‘he’s my best friend’ every time. And sadly, neither you nor Bob wanted to anger him.

“Bradley, you would think that you’d be happy I chose Bob of all people. He’s, like, the perfect gentleman compared to most military men,” you shot back at him with a shake of your head. “I could’ve fallen for Jake-”

“Okay, first off, don’t even joke about you and Hangman. I don’t need that mental image,” he gagged at the thought, shuddering in his seat, as he turned down the road that led to the cabin. “Second, don’t even use the word love. Just…we aren’t going there. Bob is my best friend, and that just breaks so many sibling codes. You want to fight me on this topic when we get home, fine, but not for this trip.”

You didn’t get another word in before the Bronco pulled into the multi-car driveway of the cabin. You could make out Jake’s car and Natasha’s, meaning that the group was all here based on the earlier plans made for carpooling. You could see them, too, just barely up ahead, crowded around the electronically locked front door that only Bradley had the code to get into since he’d booked the place.

He was silent as he unbuckled himself, but when his glance turned to you, your gaze was formed into a glare and set on him as you practically threw the seatbelt off of you and threw the passenger door open.

“This conversation isn’t fucking over, Bradley,”

“Finally!” it was Hangman who called out from his place by the front door, waving over Bradley before he could comment back to you. “The fucking Bradshaw Bronco stopped moving at a snail’s pace, I see. You take the fucking scenic route? Come open the door so Reuben can get the grill going!”

You shook your head at the antics of your friends, laughing lightly under your breath as Bradley shook his own head and jogged over to get the cabin you’d be calling home for almost two weeks unlocked.

With him occupied, you moved around to the trunk, popping open the door and reaching in toward the back to grab both of your suitcases that had flown further back than you had placed them when loading. The door of the trunk was cutting into the skin of your thighs as you reached back into the trunk, when a hand suddenly curled around your waist. Fingertips barely brushed the exposed skin between the top of your shorts and your shirt as an arm reached past you to grab the suitcases. Despite the butterflies once again beating against your ribcage, you cursed the fact that your hormone-addled brain had the veins of Bob Floyd’s arm fucking memorized.

“I got them,” he’d mumbled out with a short laugh, tugging the suitcases to the edge of the trunk where you could fully reach them now. You spun, jumping up to sit on the open trunk bed so that you could fully look up at Bob. His smile grew the second you locked eyes, the hint of a red flush visible in his cheeks, but that hand didn’t stray from your waist. Instead, his thumb drew a small shape into your bare skin, and the heat that bloomed from his touch travelled through your body in an instant. “Hi.”

“Hi, Bobby,” you hated the fact that you were giggling like a little schoolgirl. He was barely touching you, had just said ‘hi’ of all things, and you were putty in his hands. “I told Bradley to step on it, heard a certain WSO missed me.”

“Yeah, we both know i-if you told him I said that, he’d have you halfway back to San Diego by now,” Bob joked, his hand leaving your waist to lug the suitcases from the trunk down onto the driveway at his feet. Your eyes followed every movement. The way his biceps strained against the sleeves of that ‘U.S. Navy’ t-shirt he wore, or the way his veins seemed more prominent from lifting what you knew was your heavy suitcase. Nothing was able to stop your depraved mind from even trailing your gaze to his ass for half a second.

“True,” you gave him a tiny grin as he leaned against the suitcases, looking back to you now with that softness in his eyes that you knew was reserved just for you. “I missed you, too, you know.”

Flustering Bob Floyd was one of your favorite pastimes, and it was just so easy. An easy brush of your fingers against his own, his arm, sometimes right across his chest if you could get close enough without Bradley breathing down your neck. Those simple little touches brought that delicious red hue to his neck and his cheeks, even the tips of his ears, if you really got him going. Words were the easiest, even the most simple of compliments from you got to him.

You had flustered him now with that simple admission: I missed you, too. Granted, you had just seen him the night before at a team dinner with Maverick in celebration of Bradley’s birthday, since the older pilot wouldn’t be joining you on the trip, but you missed him nonetheless. He had sat directly across from you that night at Penny’s dining room table, and every time you glanced up, his eyes were already on you, even if they looked away with a sheepish grin the second you caught him. The game of chicken with your gazes was interrupted by the swift kick that Bradley had landed to your shin with his foot from his seat beside Bob, followed by the piece of garlic bread you threw at his face that had Maverick mumbling about how ‘you two were why he never had kids’ as the entire squad laughed.

“I-I just saw you last night,” Bob was shaking his head, teeth biting just barely into his bottom lip as he looked up at you. His hands were tucked into the front pockets of his shorts as he rocked back and forth, a nervous tick you had picked up on of his.

“No–you don’t get to turn this around on me, Floyd!” he laughed at your teasing as you jumped back to your feet, standing now before him as you tilted your head to look up at him fully. His eyes only left yours for a moment to trail along your index finger, pointed right into his chest. “I have the text message proof that you said you missed me first.”

You could tell he was biting back another laugh, his lips curled into a cheeky smile that was tinged with adoration, just like your own was. A cord of tension hung in the air between you both. Not an uncomfortable one, just an ever-present one. It was hanging by its last thread, looking between you both to see who would snap first and finally cut it, but neither of you moved, just locked in your own little bubble together as if the rest of the world didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, not when you were with Bob, the only man who ever had your heart ready to leap out of your throat with nothing but a smile.

That was, until Bradley himself broke your bubble. His sun-kissed hand came in, almost out of nowhere, swatting at your hand until it hung back by your side. The pilot’s other arm wrapped around Bob’s neck, and you could tell by the slight wince in Bob’s face that Bradley was tugging him in just a tad bit harder than he needed to be.

“Ah, it’s so nice to see my best friend and my sister getting along…such platonic friends,” your eyeroll was instant as your brother exaggerated his delivery of each of those key words. His smile was tight, teeth gritted, as he shot you a look in his eyes that read ‘what the fuck did we JUST talk about.’ “Bob, help me bring the bags in, please. Coyote has the grill going, and we need to do inventory before we make a run to the store.”

Bob obliged your brother, just as he always did. Of course you two were stuck in an endless ‘will they, won’t they’ loop with one another: Bob refused to cross Bradley’s boundaries, and you were a firm boundary that had been drawn since day one.

They stalked off as Bob sent you one last look over his shoulder, and you could barely make out the slight tinge of disappointment in them. Hangman blocked your view of your favorite Navyman, falling into step behind them. He casted a glance your way, mouthing a quick ‘cock-blocked’ your way that got him a mock laugh and a middle finger.

“I’m not sure what Bradley would rather let go of first…this damn Bronco or his obession with keeping you and baby-on-board from fucking,” Mickey’s comment drew a laugh mixed with a groan from you as Natasha’ slung her arm around your shoulder, giving you a place to rest your head as Mickey leaned on the car door in front of you.

“Neither, because he’s a stubborn and over-protective dick,”

“It’s just because he loves you,” Nat tried to remind you, leaning her own head against yours. “You’re rooming with me, by the way.”

“Ah, which means Bradley put you on cock-blocking duty during the night-”

“Have no fear, baby Roo, because I had an idea earlier,”

Your eyebrow immediately shot up at Mickey’s comment, his face full of pure delight and excitement as if he’d thought of the most brilliant plan in the world.

“Mick, last time you told me you had an idea, you ended up driving Reuben and me halfway to Sacramento before realizing you put the directions in wrong-”

“NO–that’s besides the point!” he interjected as you and Nat laughed at him, his cheeks burning at the memory he wanted to forget. “Look, I know you don’t want to anger your brother, and I know Bob doesn’t want to piss his best friend off, so you’ve respected Bradley’s wishes…for the most part. All you’re really doing, though, is driving us all insane. So, I’m going to make it my goal to get you and Bob as much alone time as I can.”

“Bob and I have been alone together plenty,” you shot back, feeling the rumble of Natasha’s body as she laughed at your statement. “He’s been to my apartment, he’s visited me at work, we’ve gotten dinner. If he hasn’t thrown caution and Bradley’s threats to the wind yet, what makes you think he will now?”

“A peaceful, tranquil, romantic lake? I don’t know, chickie, but you’re just as capable of saying ‘fuck it’ and making a move. Aren’t you tired of not being able to call him yours?”

You hated to admit it, but maybe Mickey had a point. The lake was beautiful, the house was beautiful, and if your best friend really could manage to distract your brother as much as he said he could…maybe that cord of tension could finally be snapped.

You were sick of not calling Bob Floyd yours.

❤︎

Your first night in the cabin was eventful, though it always was with the Dagger Squad. Coyote was an excellent cook, and the steaks and burgers he had managed to cook up were to die for. Payback and Fanboy had volunteered to make the food run to the local supermarket, coming back with what felt like the entire liquor aisle. It only took four drinks mixed by Hangman, who you suspected was mixing you doubles, before Bradley had carried your drunk ass off to bed for the night.

Not even a hangover stopped you from waking up at the crack of dawn the next morning, though, not that you wanted to be up. Your phone was showing it was only 5:30 in the morning, but given how quickly you had passed out the night before, you weren’t surprised. So, with one of Bradley’s old t-shirts tossed over your body, bare legs freezing in the cool California morning, you’d trudged as quietly past the sleeping Natasha in your bed and through the otherwise quiet cabin.

It gave you time to truly admire the cabin your brother had chosen. A fully open concept layout, the living room, dining room, and kitchen essentially mixed into one. A gorgeous a-frame shape, outlined in exposed wooden beams, with a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that bathed the entire home in the faint light of the sun just barely peaking over the horizon and glinting over the lake. Truly picturesque…and romantic, as Mickey had called it.

You’d been afforded just a few minutes of silence in the kitchen, just a single warm light over the stove turned on, as you dug through the now fully stocked pantry and fridge to grab everything you could: pancake mix, butter, eggs, sausage, bacon, bread, the entire works to feed an entire crew of Navy fighter pilots.

“You’re not a morning person,”

You almost didn’t recognize Bob’s voice this early in the morning–or was this still considered the night? It was lower, lower than you had ever heard it before, and raspy in that way that most voices were when you’ve just been pulled from sleep. The sound itself sent a shot of heat through your veins and your lower body. No one’s voice was allowed to sound that hot–it should be criminal for a voice in general to be that hot.

He was leaning against the island counter, a sleepy little smile on his lips. His ‘Dagger Squad’ t-shirt hung from his frame, a funny gift you’d given the entire group for Christmas the year before. You watched with your own little smile as he rubbed at his eyes from under his glasses, which were sitting just slightly tilted on the bridge of his nose, and as he ran his hand then through his hair to try and flatten it out. 

It was almost inevitable the way your eyes trailed downward, though, as he stretched. That navy blue shirt rode up just slightly, letting your eyes feast upon the sight that was Bob’s well-concealed abs and defined V-line that ran beneath the edge of his boxers. You hated the way your mouth almost dropped open at the sight as you ogled him like he was a museum sculpture, modeled to perfection. It took every ounce of willpower in your body to not eye up the bulge in his boxers, either.

You caught his own eyes as they, too, traveled along your body wordlessly. Over Bradley’s oversized t-shirt that was just barely covering your ass–which was already barely concealed by your black, lace panties–and down the expanse of your bare legs. Even in the dim light of the kitchen, you could tell there was a blush coating his cheeks as he tried to look anywhere but at you, but you knew you were sporting a similar red on your cheeks.

“I’m not, but I crashed so early last night I couldn’t sleep anymore. But last I checked, you aren’t a morning person either,” you shot back at him, turning back to the counter before you and rifling through the ingredients, reaching over to flip on the stovetop and arrange your pans. Anything to not think about the work of art that was Bob Floyd. “Except for work, that is.”

“T-That’s true. Guess I forgot to turn my work alarm off, though, because it went off a few minutes ago. Rooming with Fanboy and Payback, and I didn’t want to wake them, so I just came out here,”

With your back still turned to Bob, you smirked slightly to yourself. You could only assume that Bob’s alarm being on was no accident, and reminded yourself to give Mickey a sly ‘thank you’ later for his ingenious plan.

“Lord knows those two will be cranky if you wake them up this early,” you shared a laugh as you glanced back at Bob, nodding him over. “Since you’re up, come help me.”

He obliged, coming to stand right by your side at the countertop. The kitchen wasn’t small by any means, but Bob had placed himself directly at your side, edges of your arms just barely brushing one another, as you moved ingredients around before you both.

“Breakfast for the squad?”

“I typically do this on Bradley’s birthday. At least, when we’ve been in the same city over the years. If I’m already up, though, I might as well do it today instead of getting up early again on his actual birthday,” you explained as Bob held the glass bowl in front of you so that you could mix together the pancake mix with just a few cups of water. “It was a tradition our mom started when we were really little. I always got a cookie cake with a fun design, and Bradley always got breakfast.”

There was silence in the kitchen for a moment, just the quiet little hum of the gas stove as it heated the pans. Suddenly, Bob’s arm found its way around your shoulders, tugging you into his side with a press of his lips to your hairline.

“She’d be really proud of you two,”

Leave it to Bob Floyd to have you choked up before it was even 6 in the morning. Neither you nor Bradley talked about your mother often; it was still a touchy subject, but the squad knew the story. Bob must have seen it; the tension in your shoulders, the slight hint of melancholy that trickled into your tone at the memory. Bob knew you too well, better than anyone besides maybe your own brother.

When the guy at the Hard Deck months ago was flirting with you until you were ready to punch him, it was Bob who came to your rescue, noticing your discomfort from a mile away. The day you’d lost a patient, a young stray dog your coworker had found abandoned on the side of the road, and came into the Hard Deck after as if everything was fine. Bob had pulled you outside, simply took you in his arms, and let you weep without even needing to know what happened. At Maverick’s birthday party at his shared home with Penny, it was Bob who took your hand gingerly in his with a squeeze when you saw the photo hanging on the wall of your father. 

Bob Floyd could read you like an open book. You weren’t sure if you had left the pages open for him to read, or if he just truly knew you that well.

You let yourself lean into the feeling of him for a moment, wrapped up in the warmth and the way his arm felt like it belonged around your shoulders and that lingering heat from his kiss to your skin, before you dug your finger into his side until he laughed, swatting you away as you wore matching grins.

“Hey-!”

“No making me sad,” he only laughed again as you waved your spatula threateningly in his direction, his hand gently moving it out of his face. “There will be no sadness in my kitchen!”

“Oh, my apologies, your highness,” he gave a mock bow that had you rolling your eyes, even as your lips quirked up at the sight, before he fell into place beside you at the stove to lay the sausage and bacon in a pan while you flipped pancakes. “We ever tell you about the time Hangman tried to make us breakfast?”

“Hangman, doing something nice for you guys?” you teased, flipping the pancakes on the pan in front of you before piling them onto the plate next to you on the counter. “You probably didn’t tell me because it didn’t happen.”

“We would’ve been better off if it didn’t happen, actually,” Bob laughed out, reaching around you to grab another packet of bacon from the counter, his hand just barely grazing along your arm as a shiver shot down your spine. “He has t-this belgian waffle maker in his kitchen, right? But he’s never used it, it was a gift from his sister. So I had to teach him how to use the thing. He gets it flipped, until I realized that he used two cups of mix…and 6 cups of water.”

“Wait, hold on, 6 cups of water-?”

“Runniest waffles you’ve ever seen,” Bob explained, dumping the cooked sausage and bacon onto the plate next to him at the stove. “The mix came pouring out of the sides of the machine. I’m telling him to flip it back, but he’s not listening and instead hits the damn thing so hard it gets jammed. Suddenly, t-the thing is smoking and burning the batter inside and the fire alarm is blaring. Had to evacuate the entire apartment complex because of it.”

You threw your head back laughing for a moment, just picturing the absolute chaos that was probably happening in that kitchen that day. Bob laughed with you, leaning into your side until your arms were pressed right against one another.

“This is why, anytime I’ve cooked around him, I tell him to stay out of my kitchen,” Bob was still laughing. You watched him for a moment, gaze flickering to the bowl of mix beside you, before back to him as your lips quirked into a smirk. “At least none of you started a food fight…not like I’m going to.”

“Like you’re going-”

Bob didn’t get to finish his sentence before your hand, slathered in pancake mix, ran across the lower half of his face. You were conscious of his glasses, you always were.

His eyes were wide as he turned to stare at you. Your non-mix covered hand instead covered your mouth, trying to conceal the cascade of giggles that were endlessly pouring out of you at the sight of him. His shock was gone not long after seeing you laugh, his batter covered lips spreading into a grin of his own as he reached for the glass bowl himself.

“...alright, war it is,”

Your shriek was still concealed by your own hand as you darted around the island counter behind you, using it as a barrier between yourself and Bob. He was laughing uncontrollably, hand covered in mix that was dripping down onto the wooden floor beneath your feet, and you felt yourself stuck there for a moment, reveling in the domesticity of the situation.

So many of your dreams had been of moments like this. There was one, once, just like this where you and Bob chased one another around the kitchen in the dim refrigerator light. There had been another dream, the same setting as before, but instead you were dancing in his arms as “The Way You Look Tonight” played off one of your phones in the distance. Late night drives, stargazing nights on the beach, dinner dates in restaurants by the shoreline. Many of the dreams were you, curled up in his arms on a couch as some movie played aimlessly in the background. Those dreams always took a turn, from innocent to downright filthy, as those large hands you’d spent too many late nights getting yourself off to the thought of would drift up your calves, your thighs, and then finally touch you right where you wished he would.

The middle of a food fight–one you had initiated–was the worst place to daydream about the man in front of you. Suddenly, Bob wasn’t in front of you, but at your side. Another playful shriek left your lips, this time not muddled by your hand, as Bob’s arms encircled your waist and spun you around. Pinned against his body and the fridge, your laughter never stopped as Bob’s hand covered in pancake batter ran over your face, from your forehead to your chin as the tasteless batter seeped past your lips and across your tongue.

“I concede, you win this war,” your giggles had turned soft. Both of your hands were wiping at your eyes, trying to keep stray bits of batter from sneaking their way into your eyes. Bob laughed with you, his hand still covered in batter trying to help, but ultimately just making the situation worse than it already was.

“No longer certain that one ever does win a war, I am,” Bob’s comment came under his breath, but he was close enough that you heard it loud and clear. Even through the batter smeared on his face, you could see the red seeping into his cheeks as you deadpanned at him.

“Robert, did you seriously just quote Star Wars to me?”

“I-I’d prefer if we pretended I didn’t just do that,” he shook his head, laughing at himself as a smile grew across your face. “Kind of embarrassed that I did.”

Your laughter mixed with his as you wiped at the batter on Bob’s face, clearing it from his skin. His gaze was trained on you, watching your every movement, as you cleared what you could from his skin. You could feel the sharp intake of breath he had the second your fingers ghosted over his lips, swiping the mixture from his skin, as Mickey’s voice played in the back of your head.

Aren’t you tired of not being able to call him yours

Bob’s breath audibly hitched again as you leaned up, lips brushing over his skin and against the corner of his mouth as your hand cupped his pancake mix covered cheek. You could almost feel the burn in his skin as, with a shot of confidence only found in the dead of night, your tongue poked out to rid his pale skin of the batter streaked along his face.

The hold of his hand, gripped onto your hip, grew tighter as you were suddenly made aware of it. Bradley’s old t-shirt had ridden up, exposing the expanse of your skin to Bob’s hand. The large appendage engulfed your hip, fingers pressing into you and leaving behind a trail of heat as his thumb drew circles into your skin, catching on the string of fabric that barely separated your body from his.

The bulge you tried not to look at before was making itself very known right now, pressed into the skin of your thigh in the close proximity you had found yourself in with Bob. As you pulled your lips from his skin, you had to force yourself to swallow the lump that had formed in your throat as your brain grappled with the sheer size of what was pressing against you now.

“Well…you’re lucky you’re cute,” the second you pulled back enough to look in Bob’s eyes, heat shot down to your core. Feral, hungry, you weren’t sure what the look was that was dancing across those blue irises. You could feel his groan in your own skin as his grip on your hip tightened, his teeth biting into his bottom lip.

“Y-You can’t do that. You can’t look at me like that,”

“Like what?”

“Like you like me,”

“I do…and I know that you know that. Just like I know that you like me, too,” you breathed out as your fingers danced along his jawline lightly. “So I’m just left wondering why you don’t do something about it.”

His dilated pupils stayed locked on you for a moment, teeth still sunken into his bottom lip, before his eyes cast a glance toward the direction of the living room. As if waiting for someone to appear. A sigh left his lips as he leaned forward, resting his head against the fridge behind you as his breath ghosted just over the shell of your ear. Your hand trailed down from his jaw, resting now over his chest. His heartbeat was quickened, you could feel the rhythmic beat beneath your hand, and you knew your’s matched his.

“Because there’s someone in the other room that will kill me if I do,”

“Maybe, but it’s really not fair if he controls our lives,” it took a moment for you to speak, dancing on the edge of pushing yourself over that line and making the leap you’d been too afraid to make for so long now. “It only matters if we’re happy, right?”

Bob moved back to his original position, his forehead just barely grazing yours as you looked down. Those dilated eyes behind those beautiful glasses darted between your lips, your eyes, and then finally back down to your lips, before an easy smile spread across his lips. His hand on your bare waist tightened, and a flurry of butterflies shot through your stomach and into your chest.

“You’re right-”

“Hot DAMN is that bacon I smell?”

The moment was shattered in an instant. Bob’s hand left your waist, space put between you both as he leaned against the island counter, leaving your back pressed against the fridge. A deep sigh left your body, almost emanating from your bones and soul itself, as you looked to the ceiling and cursed whatever forces were keeping you and this man apart.

Of course, it was Jake Seresin that rounded the corner into the kitchen. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes glancing between your pancake covered face, to Bob’s pancake covered face and his terrible attempt at hiding his boner from his teammate. His signature smirk, the one he shot both the ladies and every time he was ready to be a smartass, crossed his lips in an instant.

“Whoa there, didn’t know I was interrupting something. If you want to bring food into the bedroom, might I suggest actually trying that out in a bedroom next time?”

The glare you shot him was downright murderous as Jake only laughed. Bob retreated back to the stove, clearing the rest of the food onto plates with his back turned as Jake shoved you out of the way of the fridge with his hip to get himself a drink.

“Hangman, have I mentioned that I fucking hate you?”

“No, right now you should love me for keeping you two from playing hide the zucchini in the middle of the kitchen,” you could hear the short laugh that snuck past Bob’s lips at the comment, and you couldn’t help the quirk in your own lips at the comment. Hangman just shot you a wink as he passed by you. “Especially when your brother is going to walk in here any second now.”

“...oh,”

“Yeah, oh. Never say I hang you people out to dry ever again, I just kept this entire trip from imploding,”

❤︎

“Wait…so you two finally almost kissed?”

“Don’t ignore that almost part, Nat, that’s the most annoying part,”

Bradley had filled your first two days at the lakehouse with a packed itinerary. An entire day on your own private stretch of beach, followed by another dinner on the grill courtesy of Coyote’s masterful grill skills. The second day he never let you leave the water, crowding you all onto the boat that came with the house and dragging you out onto the lake.

“I just have to say, I’ve been doing the best I can,” Mickey chimed in, throwing his hands up in a surrender motion. “Your brother’s meticulous schedule has made it almost impossible to get you and Bob time alone.”

You huffed out a laugh, turning the page of your book. Your brother had, finally, allowed you all a day of nothing planned, and you had chosen to spend most of the afternoon lounging on the top floor balcony seating area with a good book. Perfect views of the water, the boats, the trees, and nothing but a beautiful breeze and plenty of sun.

“It’s okay, it’s still appreciated,” Natasha and Mickey were seated around the outdoor table with you, curled up on their own respective patio chairs. You’d claimed the couch, tucking your legs up under you on the cushion and letting the crochet cover-up over the top of your bikini set drape around your legs. “It’s annoying, but…I don’t know, something feels different now. Like that moment changed something. Turning his alarm on was a nice touch, though, Mick, I have to give you props there.”

“You turned that on?” Natasha shot Mickey an incredulous look, reaching over to whack him on the shoulder as he dramatically acted as if she’d really wounded him. “I’ve been making fun of him the last two days for that, Fanboy!”

“I woke up to go pee and heard little chickie over there in the kitchen,” Mickey tried to defend himself. “So, with Bradley fast asleep, I used Bob’s passcode and then set his alarm. Ingenious idea, if I do say so myself!”

You glance up from your book, eyebrows raised in question as you looked at your best friend.

“You know Bob’s password?”

“Most of us do,” it was Nat who chimed in this time, a smirk on her face as she took a sip of her drink. “It’s Bradley’s birthday.”

It was impossible to hold back the laugh that you let out at that statement.

“I’m sorry, you’re telling me that Bob’s passcode is my brother’s birthday-”

“Yeah, because it’s the day you two met,”

That…you weren’t expecting that. Mickey’s simple statement had you pausing, racking your brain for something to say. You weren’t able to speak before your best friends were hunched over, grabbing at one another’s arms as they laughed so loudly you were surprised the entire lake couldn’t hear you three.

“Jesus, Mick, I think you broke her with that!” Natasha’s laughter wouldn’t stop as she wiped at the stray tear that managed to spill in her laughter. Mickey simply picked up his water, trying to drink it through his own laughter.

“Did you see the way her brain literally stopped working? I think she started buffering the second her skin turned as red as a damn tomato!”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re both fucking comedians,” you shot back at them, grabbing one of the chips on your plate from the patio table and tossing it in their direction.

There was a yell from somewhere downstairs that sounded like Reuben, telling the two of them to hurry up. He’d, somehow, coerced the two of them into joining him for an hour trip back into the heart of San Bernardino to go to the local mall. He claimed he just wanted to look around, but you had a sneaking suspicion Payback had managed to forget to buy Bradley a birthday present for the following day’s celebration.

“Alright, enjoy your book, baby Roo,” you huffed out a fake laugh, shooting your smiling friends a middle finger that they waved off. “And just know: we weren’t kidding. That really is why that’s Bob’s passcode.”

That thought floated through your head, even as you tried to relax in the warm California sun and read your book. It brought a smile to your face, one that you couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard you tried. Instead, you tried to just focus on the romance playing out in your book.

The couple were dancing together at a wedding, albeit not traditionally given the man’s medical condition. She talked about how in any other timeline, he would’ve never noticed her. He agrees, but says it’s because he used to be ‘such an arse’ and she laughs and agrees with him. Then, he gets a look on his face that she can’t stop staring at, and he tells her that she is the only thing that makes him want to get up in the morning. The most blatant confession of ‘I love you’ without having to say the words.

“Thought you told me that was a sad book?”

Ripped out of the moment, you glance up from your book to Bob Floyd himself. He was leaning against the back of your patio couch, blocking the sun from your eyes, and smiling down at you in his swim trunks and University of Montana t-shirt. You gave him an unimpressed look, but smiled nonetheless at just the sight of him.

“It is, but it’s still beautiful. And one of my favorite books,”

“You just reread it last month, didn’t you?”

“Well, now you just sound like a stalker, Floyd,” he laughed, standing up straight to let you situate yourself against the corner of the couch, bookmark tucked into your pages and book discarded to the other end of the couch. You eyed his outfit for a moment. “Where’s Brad dragging you boys off to?”

“Back out on the lake,” he nodded his head over the railing as you turned to look, seeing your brother working with Hangman and Coyote to get the boat ready to head back out onto the water. “Saw you sitting up here, t-thought I’d come check on you.”

“Always the gentleman,”

Bob smiled at that, leaning back down against the back of the couch so that he was just slightly closer to you now than before.

“Work hasn’t called to pester you yet?”

“I had a quick text from Taylor this morning, there was an older cat that she had some concerns about-” your eyes lit up as you snapped your fingers, pointing to Bob with an excited grin on your lips. “Oh! I never got to give you an update on the kittens the other day!”

“The feral ones some lady brought in?” he asked as you nodded.

“Healthy mom, seemed like she was once a housecat that either got abandoned or escaped. But seven healthy little kittens that we gave off to one of our foster families we usually work with,” your grin turned into a smirk. “And guess what? Six boys and one girl!”

Bob stared at you for just a moment, doing the math in his head, before hanging his head with a dramatic sigh.

“Chickie, don’t tell me-”

“There were two brothers that kept fighting with one another, so they obviously had to be named Rooster and Hangman,” Bob’s laughter was contagious, his entire body shaking as he looked up at you with a hint of amusement in his eyes as you hand settled on his forearm over the edge of the couch. “Hangman had a little bit of a shadow always following him, ready to back him up, so that obviously was Coyote. Two of the other brothers were like two peas in a pod, so they were easily Fanboy and Payback. The lone girl? Every time she made her presence known, the boys stopped fighting, so even if Phoenix weren’t the only girl in your squad, that little girl would’ve gotten her name from her.”

“And the last kitten?” Bob asked.

“Oh, he was my favorite. A perfect little angel,” your grin grew as your hand left Bob’s arm. His eyes followed your movements, locked in as your finger traced the edges of his glasses, barely skimming over the skin of his cheeks as you went. “The strangest little markings, like two big, black circles around his eyes, as if he were wearing glasses. It just made sense that we named that little angel Bob.”

Your hand fell back down, resting on top of Bob’s forearm again as you smiled sheepishly toward him. His own grin only grew, his other hand landing on top of yours with a squeeze.

“W-Was he cute?”

“Easily the cutest one of the bunch,” you replied with ease. “Possibly the cutest kitten I’ve ever seen.”

Bob laughed again, his hand engulfing yours with another affectionate squeeze that had your heart feelings as if it was tying itself in knots.

“Are you still talking about the kittens here?”

“Hm, maybe, who knows-”

“BOB! Get your ass down here!”

You rolled your eyes. Even when your brother didn’t realize he was being a cockblock, he was. Though if he knew he was interrupting a moment, he’d probably jump up and click his heels together like a lucky little leprechaun.

Bob chuckled at your brother’s insistence. Your eyes never left him as he hesitated for just a moment, before squeezing your hand one again and leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. The second his lips made contact with your skin, your eyes shut in just pure bliss as that familiar flutter erupted in your chest as you leaned into the feeling that was gone all too soon.

“I SAW THAT FLOYD!”

You both shared a laugh before Bob was gone off the deck in an instant, and you immediately missed his presence. When you dared to turn around and look toward the dock, your brother was shooting you a glare that you happily gave him the middle finger for, while Hangman and Coyote were making kissy faces and many lewd gestures in your direction from behind his back the entire time.

That little kiss weighed heavily on you the rest of the day. That cord of tension in your chest, the one tying you to Bob, was on the verge of snapping. You weren’t sure how much more of it you could take.

Since Payback, Fanboy, and Phoenix had already been in the city, Bradley had tasked them with bringing back pizza as he proclaimed a movie night in the living room on the giant flatscreen. They’d obliged, walking through the door of the house hours later with a stack of pizza boxes almost half the size of Phoenix herself.

“The Hangover? Seriously, Rooster, that’s so basic,” Jake complained with a groan from his place on one end of the sectional, plate of pizza and a beer in his hands as everyone took their places around the living room. “Thought you had better taste?”

“It’s my birthday trip, Bagman, I get to pick the movie,” Bradley shot back, settling down on the loveseat next to the sectional sofa with Phoenix, taking his plate from her as he queued up the movie on Netflix. “Not all of us want to watch chick flicks or 2000s romance movies all the time, I get enough of that with chickie.”

You shot him a fake laugh from across the room, ducking out of the kitchen with your own plate of pizza and beer. Bradley nodded toward the wall next to you before you could get too far, and you took the hint, flipping the light switch to plunge the living room into darkness. The only light now was the setting sun and the moon creeping into the sky from the windows.

“I’m not a chick flick guy,” Hangman scoffed, waving off Bradley’s comment as Payback settled on the couch next to him.

“Dude,” Bradley shot him an unimpressed look. “I caught you crying over Bridget Jones’s Diary, like, three weeks ago. Don’t even try it.”

There was a chorus of laughter through the room as Hangman mumbled something that nobody caught. You rounded the couch, falling into the open space on the opposite end of the section beside Bob, stretching out your legs on the chaise before you.

Coyote and Fanboy entered the room last just as Bradley started the movie. While Javy took the open space on the floor near Hangman’s end to use the couch as a cushion, Mickey stole the pillow out from behind your back, plopping it down right where your legs were as he shot a smirk at you.

“Mind moving your legs so I can lie down?” you shot him an incredulous look, until he gave both you and Bob an overexaggerated wink. 

Ah, another ploy by him.

Bradley always locked into movies hard whenever they were on, which worked in your favor at this moment. You curled your legs into your chest, allowing Mickey to lie across the chaise with another wink in your direction. The second you glanced at Bob, he lifted the blanket across his lap with a tiny smile, and you lay your legs out across his lap without hesitation.

The sun set, plunging the room into true darkness, just 20 minutes into the movie. Coyote had volunteered to do the clean up, clearing the plates and bottles from around the room while Jake and Bradley argued over who was the best character in this movie.

With hands now free, you tucked yourself further under the blanket that Bob had laid out across you both. Bob too tucked his hands under the warmth of the blanket, but they hovered there for just a moment, until his brain seemed to make up his mind and they rested against the skin of your own legs.

The movie was an afterthought in your mind at that moment, even as your eyes stayed locked on the screen. Every thought that ran through your head was about Bob’s hands. Their size, the way they engulfed your skin, and spread heat through every inch of their touch. The soft circles he drew into your knee, sending a small shiver straight through your bones that was complemented by the heat of his touch.

You couldn’t help but let your mind drift further, wondering what that delicious heat of his hands would feel like if they just drifted further up your legs. If they splayed out across your thighs, fingertips digging into your flesh like they had dug into your hip so early in the morning in the kitchen. What it would feel like for his featherlight touch to drift up the inner portion of your thigh, to graze over the edge of your sleep shorts to the spot you had dreamed about feeling him touch. Where you’d dreamed of the pleasure he could bring you from just one little touch to the most sensitive part of your skin.

Bob’s gaze turned to you in the dark of the room, and you looked back at him. Another shiver shot up your spine, goosebumps coating your skin, and you weren’t sure if it was from the chill of the air conditioning in the room or from that soft, adoring look Bob Floyd had every time he looked at you. He could feel the goosebumps under his own hands; you knew he could. His teeth bit into his bottom lip in contemplation, and action you couldn’t look away from, before his eyes flickered to Bradley, still engrossed in the movie.

In the shroud of darkness in that living room, spurred by Bradley’s inability to look away from his movie of choice, Bob’s hands left your legs. His arm wound around your waist, tugging you closer until you were sitting directly in his lap, legs curled up beside him. Your arms wound their own way around his shoulders, linking together at the nape of his neck as your fingers twirled through the strands of hair, tickling the skin there. Your eyes drifted to Bradley, who was still oblivious, as Bob draped the blanket further over both of you. His hands settled against you, one splayed across your hip while the other found its home on your thigh, sending heat just a short distance straight to your core as those thoughts filtered through your head once again.

Bob’s head leaned toward yours, his nose and the edge of his glasses just barely grazing along the edge of your hairline. You glanced at Mickey, who was looking back at you both with a triumphant grin. Even Hangman was giving you a thumbs-up from down the couch, which was met with your middle finger once more from behind Bob’s head. From the small rumble in the couch from his laughter, you knew he could see it even in the darkness.

Bob pressed another kiss into the side of your head, and you melted.

The movie was long forgotten to you the second you let your head rest in the space between Bob’s shoulder and his neck, your nose and lips brushing against his skin as you inhaled the scent of his cologne that you knew all too well: cypress and bayberry, the perfect sweet but earthy scent. You’d helped him pick the cologne out months ago. The second you said you liked the smell of it, Bob was at the counter purchasing it without ever smelling it for himself.

In Bob’s arms, wrapped in the heat of him and listening to the gentle beating of his pulse that could’ve lulled you to sleep, you realized there was no other place you wanted to be. You also were about ready to chew your over-protective brother out for keeping you from this man as long as he had.

❤︎

“I hope you all know I AM judging these presents and there will be an official ranking from best to worst after,”

The sun had just disappeared beyond the horizon on Bradley’s birthday, a day full of non-stop celebration. Hangman had been the one to wake up early that morning and make breakfast, almost burning the lodge down. When Bob met your eyes with an ‘I told you so’ look across the room as he and Coyote opened every window to fan out the smoke from the stove pans, you couldn’t help but break down into laughter. Another afternoon spent on the boat, followed by a fancy dinner in the nearby town, had all wound down to now.

Mickey had drug the firepit out of the lodge’s garage, situating it on the private stretch of beach belonging to the home. The teal Adirondack chairs littering the sand were situated in a circle around the fire Mickey had put himself in charge of attending to, and everyone had settled in. 

Your chair was placed directly next to Bradley’s, a request by him so that you could inspect each of the gifts placed at his side with him.

“Well, I say we go with the best gift first, which is obviously mine,” Jake said, sitting across the fire pit and gesturing toward the comically large green bag placed at Bradley’s feet. “It’s the one that’s quite large, just saying.”

“Compensating much?” Natasha snuck in her comment from her chair beside him, getting a cloud of sand kicked up into her lap that she happily kicked back at him.

You shook your head at their little spat, sipping on your beer as you pulled your feet up onto the chair. The lake breeze floated through the early night, providing a perfect contrast for the heat that still lingered in the air. Your arms sat wrapped around your knees as your glance found Bob’s, like it always did. He was sitting directly across from you, the orange glow of the flashes accenting his face and painting it in beautiful shades that reflected off his glasses. He shot you a tiny smile, and you hated the way even something so little had such an effect on you.

“Jake, seriously dude?” Bradley’s voice sounded done with Hangman, even as he was trying to conceal his laughter. Your gaze snapped back over to your brother as he held a very tiny bag that sat within the larger bag, reaching inside to pull out a circular, almost rubber-like object. “Is this a gag gift–did you seriously buy me a fucking cock ring?”

The group erupted into laughter. Bob and Natasha both almost tipped backward in their chairs from laughing so hard. Javy was pacing the sand, waving his hands in the air, and just repeating ‘nah, I’m done’ over and over again. Mickey was busy patting Reuban’s back as he coughed into the sand, having spit out his beer and choked on the air that rushed into his lungs. You simply covered your mouth, trying to contain your laughter while you could barely look in your brother’s direction. Jake just sat with a smug look on his face.

“You haven’t gotten any action in a while, thought this could…spice things up for your right hand,” he shot him a wink with that damn heart-breaking smirk on his lips. “Your real gift is, I told Maverick I’ll do all your paperwork for the next few weeks, so…you’re welcome.”

“Yeah, such a sweet gift that’s for sure going at the bottom of the list…next!”

Bradley took his time opening every gift that sat by his side. Natasha had played it safe, just a few new pairs of button-ups that she joked would ‘never stay buttoned up’ and a new pair of aviators. Fanboy and Coyote had joined together to get Bradley a brand new golf club set, one that poor Mickey had to run off to get from the garage so it wouldn’t have ruined the surprise.

Payback’s gift bag had some books that your brother had been wanting to read for a while, along with another bottle of the cologne he typically wore. He’d forgotten to take the price tag off the bag, though, so when you shot him a look and he avoided your gaze with a fake whistle, you knew you were correct about why he suddenly wanted to run into town the day before.

“Little chickie’s gift comes in an envelope,” Bradley announced to the group, proudly showing off the little letter envelope in his hand before tearing into it to get to the card. “As my sister, I’m immediately expecting great things from you and will judge this gift harshly.”

You just watched from behind your beer bottle, using it to mask your smirk as Bradley flipped the card open, and his mouth dropped in an instant.

“Holy shit…”

“Don’t leave us hanging, Rooster! What is it?”

“Suspense is killing us, dude!”

“Los Angeles Chargers tickets?” Bradley turned to you with wide eyes, and a laugh tumbled from your lips at the look on his face.

“I know you’ve been dying to go for a while, so I figured I’d be the world’s greatest sister. 50-yard line, home team side, down in the 100 section,”

Bradley was at your side in a second, leaning down over the side of the chair to wrap you in a hug, rustling your hair and pressing a kiss to the side of your head before you shoved him off with a laugh.

“Quick question,” Hangman chimed in from across the beach. “Do those tickets come with a ‘must take Baby Roo’ stipulation, or…?”

“Bagman, I’m taking Mav to this game before I’m taking you,” Bradley shot back as another round of laughter echoed through the group. He picked up the final bag by his chair, a light blue in color, and pointed across the fire toward Bob. “You’re up, Bobby! Let’s see if you can beat little chickie.”

Your eyes found Bob again, head resting against your hand, and you just watched. Watching him was one of your favorite things. The little quirk in his lips when he smiled, those expressive blue eyes that were always blown wide like a baby deer. Even watching him now, as he seemed to watch Bradley nervously, your thoughts drifted back to all those little moments.

The feel of his hand on your waist. The gentleness that he touched you with, subconsciously knowing he had permission to but still walking the line until you gave him the go-ahead. That soft look in his eyes, that one he seemed to have reserved only for you. The second you’d locked eyes in the Hard Deck that day, you knew you were a goner, but somewhere along the way…you weren’t sure when it became love, but it did.

Loving him quietly was killing you.

“Sis…”

Bradley’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. All eyes were trained on you, and Bob’s nervous smile was turned in your direction now. You whipped around to face Bradley, a stray tear falling down his cheek that had you jumping out of your seat within a second. But then, he turned the picture frame in his hands around, and your breath caught.

You’d only ever seen Nick Bradshaw, your father, in photos. He’d passed away while you were still a little bun in the oven, and there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t give in this world to meet him. But you knew what he looked like; you carried a photo of him with you everywhere. That light brown hair that looked almost blonde in certain lights, those big, brown eyes that were the same color as the chocolate bars you loved so much. He was almost always in a Hawaiian shirt, buttons undone, when he wasn’t in his flight suit. You knew where Bradley got it from.

Carole Bradshaw, on the other hand, you knew her like the back of your hand. That light blonde hair and bangs she’d sported her entire life, barely ever letting her hair grow past your shoulders. She let it grow that long just once when you were in middle school, and complained about it every day. Those pale blue eyes, such a stark contrast to your father’s darker ones, always looked down on you in pure adoration and affection. She loved color just as much as your father, you swore every dress in her closet was colorful and patterned.

One gone before you even graced the world, and one gone too soon. You never got to have a photo with them both, never got to stand beside your father for homecoming, prom, or graduation photos. Bradley had so many photos from when he was little with your father, but he always said how he wished you were in them, too. He never spoke it out loud, but you know he wished that his father was beside him in his own prom pictures, or holding his high school diploma with him.

But now, in the frame in Bradley’s hand, you both had what you never did. What you had always wanted.

The picture of you and Bradley had been taken two months ago, another night out at the Hard Deck. Natasha had taken it, while Bob had convinced you to put on Bradley’s Hawaiian shirt. He had stood behind Natasha, positioning you and your brother against the Hard Deck’s patio railing, the ocean and sunset the perfect backdrop.

This was that photo, but different. Wrapped around your other side was your father, light brown hair, deep chocolate eyes, mustache that matched Bradley’s, and his very own Hawaiian shirt to match the one on your shoulders. His arm lay around your shoulders, hugging you to him as your other arm was wrapped around your brother. Your mother stood at Bradley’s side, just as you always remembered her. Blonde hair hitting just below her ears, bangs styled to perfection, soft smile on her lips, and hands wrapped around Bradley’s arm as the colorful plaid pattern of her dress stuck out.

The perfect family photo you had never had, taken as if their ghosts had been beside you that night, posing along with you.

“Y-You both just always talk about them, about how you miss them. How you wished you had a photo like this,” Bob chimed in from across the fire pit, a slight stutter to his words, and he cleared his throat. “I found someone who kind of specializes in things like this…thought it was time you guys finally had a Bradshaw family photo.”

You couldn’t take your eyes off your parents, even as Bradley moved the photo into your hand completely, his feet moving through the sand. That black frame was hugged tightly to your chest as you looked up, seeing Bradley hugging Bob to him tightly, patting him on the back over and over as he mumbled something to him.

Bob’s gaze caught yours, and all you could muster was a watery smile as you looked at him, letting a single tear slip past your defenses. His eyes seemed to soften upon seeing that, mouthing something along the lines of ‘you’re okay’ in your direction.

“Well, I think we all know who’s at the top of Bradley’s gift tier list…”

Hangman’s comment didn’t matter, nor did the laughter of your friends. All that mattered to you was the frame in your hands, and the man who had so graciously thought of it and gifted it to not just your brother, but to you.

You weren’t sure when you quite fell in love with Bob Floyd, but in this moment, you knew there was no man in this world you could ever love more.

That thought stuck with you as the night wore on. The fire was put out, the chairs left buried in the sand, all as the moon rose higher into the sky. Most of the team huddled in the game room, conversing about something Maverick had texted them earlier in the day, and laying out the plans for the hike around the lake trails that would begin the following morning while engaged in an intense game of pool. Bob wasn’t with them, though, off somewhere else in the house.

You were alone in your shared room with Natasha, sorting through both of your piles of dirty clothing so that you could throw them in the wash the following morning. Those thoughts wouldn’t leave your mind, of Bob and the love that was bursting out of your chest at the seams, as you mindlessly sorted through the clothing. There were three quick raps on the doorframe, and you tilted your head up to see Mickey leaning against it with a grin.

“Convinced your brother we needed more alcohol,” he informed you. “There’s a 24-hour store in the little town down the road where we had dinner, so we’re going to run out and grab some stuff. Might be done in 20, maybe 30 minutes…”

You simply gave him a nod as he trailed off, turning your attention back to the clothing in front of you.

“Sounds good, be safe,”

He hummed in response, going quiet for just a moment.

“I know you, chickie. I know what’s going on in your head. I’m taking your brother out of the house for half an hour,” you glanced back at him again just as he was disappearing around the corner with a smirk and a wink. “Bob’s in the hot tub, if you’re not too busy with your dirty laundry.”

His words hung there in the air as your gaze flickered over to your suitcase. Sitting right on top was one of the bikinis you had yet to wear: a tinier, black string one, much more suitable for tanning than swimming. But Mickey’s words hung in your head, the softness of Bob’s stare was burned into your memory, and those butterflies were beating against your ribcage.

Moments later, there was a towel wrapped around your body as you padded out into the quiet living room. The overhead lights were off, just the light of the TV and the one above the stove in the kitchen illuminated the area. You could hear your friends off down the hallway, laughing in the game room, but your mind was set on your destination.

The lower-level patio door was already cracked open, letting the cool nighttime breeze flow into the house as you stepped into the doorway. The moon shone down over the lake, but your gaze was too busy admiring the man resting in the hot tub in the corner of the patio.

The patio light was off, leaving just the blue shine from the lights in the water to reflect back on Bob. For once, his shirt was off, half of his torso buried in the steaming water. His head hung back against the edge of the circular tub, resting his eyes and occasionally wiping at the steam that fogged his glasses. That blue light illuminated him, every inch of his body, and highlighted every dip and crevice along his collarbone that your eyes trailed along as if they were a map. He looked so beautiful, so peaceful in this light with just the faint sound of the hot tub's jets ringing through the air.

“Have room for another?”

Bob’s head shot up, mouth falling open just slightly as he reached for his towel hanging off the side of the tub, wiping the fog from his glasses. He relaxed just a bit at the sight of you, lips pulling into a soft grin.

“Always,”

Your eyes never left his as you let the towel fall, tossing it off to the other side of the patio to the hammock swinging in the gentle breeze. Bob’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and you could see his eyes trail down your body. Over your neck, your collarbone, down the valley of your breasts in the bathing suit that did nothing for modesty, down your hips to the strings just barely hanging on at the sides, before back up to your eyes.

Neither of your gazes moved as you settled into the hot tub across from him, the heat of the water warming your skin in seconds. It was barely meant for two people, your knees brushing in the middle as you took your seat. Bob’s legs instantly parted, allowing yours to slot in between his own as you were caged between them. Only then, soaking in the steaming water, did you let your gaze trail away from him and out to the lake, to the shadows of the pine trees in the distance. That blue light illuminated you both, now, and it only seemed to make his blue eyes shine even brighter.

“That gift…felt more like a gift for both of us than just one for Bradley,”

You could hear his soft laughter, the way it stumbled slightly with the nerves running through him.

“It was too good an idea. D-Did…you like it?”

Your gaze found his again, voice low in the quiet night.

“I loved it,”

That cord of tension was back, tugging between you both in the most unbearable way. It almost hurt, how close yet how far Bob seemed at that moment. So, you toed your foot along that line, just barely dipping it across as you spoke again.

“You want to play a game?”

Bob quirked his head, like a puppy trying to understand its owner. Then, he nodded.

“Sure, why not?”

“The yes or no game,” you responded. “We ask each other questions, simple ones. Answer yes, or answer no. That’s all.”

“Sounds…e-easy enough,”

“Good,” you took a deep breath, before shoving yourself fully over that invisible, mental line that had been drawn between you. “Do you like me?”

Bob didn’t seem shocked by the question. It’s like he already knew the second you settled into the water that the line between you both was gone, was blurred. He ran his hands over his thighs, taking in a deep breath, before giving you a small nod.

“Yes…and I think you know that. Do you…like me?”

“Yes, and I know that you know that,” he huffed out a short laugh at that, enough to bring a smile to his lips that had one growing on your own. “Do you want to follow my brother’s rules?”

“God no,” Bob laughed again, as if saying the words was finally releasing the tension from his shoulders that had been hanging there heavily for months. “Do you?”

“No. Never wanted to in the first place,” you gave a little shrug, stretching your arms out along the edge of the tub on either side of you as you watched him, that cord of tension hanging by the barest of threads. “So…why are you still doing what he says?”

Bob paused for a moment, just watching you, but that smile slipped into a tiny smirk.

“That…wasn’t a yes or no question,”

“Well, yes or no is going to get up about as far as the last year of hopeless pining and sneaky glances have gotten us, so forgive me,” 

There was another shared laugh between you both before you fell into silence. Comfortable, but heavy, the weight of your words and the conversation at hand hanging in the air. Bob rolled his neck around, before taking in a deep breath as he found his words.

“Because…you’re Baby Roo, and he’s my best friend,” Bob gave a shrug, his hand drawing little circles in the water as he watched the water swirl around. “You walked into the bar that day, and I thought…fuck, I-I think the girl of my dreams just walked in. Then you talked, you joked like you’d known us for years, and sassed Hangman back with ease, and I knew I was so incredibly fucked. But he’d given us the talk upward of four times that week that you were off limits, that not a single one of us was allowed to make a move, no matter what.”

“He gave me the same talk, too,” you responded, giving him a tiny shrug of your own with a short laugh. “Told me all of you were off limits because you were his best friends. But I still walked into that bar and fell for you without even realizing I had.”

“You’re all he has, though. You’re the last thing he has, the most precious thing in the world to him. I couldn’t defy him like that,” Bob continued, letting out another laugh and running his soaked hand over the bottom of his face as he glanced at the ceiling, before looking back at you. “You are…the embodiment of sunshine. I-I could listen to you talk for hours and never get bored, because I never get tired of just being around you like I do others. You invade every one of my waking thoughts, every one of my dreams, and I can’t even pretend that I try to make them go away because I want them there. I get to have you in those thoughts when I know I shouldn’t, when I promised my best friend I wouldn’t look at you that way. But then you smile at me, you call me late at night and say you just want to hear my voice…and I can’t bring myself to push you away because, selfishly, I don’t want to. I can’t.”

You stared at him. There was nothing you could do in that moment, not when it was all finally out in the open. Your chest was tightened up into a knot, your stomach in your throat, but you also knew there was nothing but pure love shining through your eyes as you looked at him across the water.

Bob waited quietly, looking as if he were holding his breath. You could see his hands gripping onto his seat beneath the water, as he waited for you to speak.

“He’s all I have left, too. That’s why I’ve always listened to him, why I-I’ve always trusted him,” you leaned forward, hands dipping under the water to rest on your own seat as you gave him the smallest smile you could muster, nerves shining through as you stumbled over your words. “I might be his little sister, but I-I’m not a little girl. He can’t dictate my life forever, especially not when…not when it’s keeping me away from the man I’m so hopelessly in love with.”

That word hung in the air: love. The weight of it crashed over you, and you could see it crash over Bob in real time. The way his eyes widened just a fraction more in shock, before that shock dissipated into more of a disbelief. Then, you could physically see the way his pupils dilated, the way his eyes almost seemed to darken, as a flash of something new washed over them.

The hot water sloshed around the tub as Bob surged forward, invading your space. You sat still, letting it happen, as his arm wound its way around your waist and simply tugged. A small noise tumbled from your lips, something akin to a gasp, before Bob settled back into his seat on the far end of the tub. The hot water splashed up your torso as you instinctively spread your legs, letting them settle on either side of his waist.

The water began to calm, the little ripples and waves dying down, as you both sat there for a moment. Bob’s large, calloused hand splayed across your hip, fingers just barely toying with the string of your bikini bottoms, before they traveled downward, fingertips inching their way over the edges of your ass with a firm grip. Your hands left the water, trailing up the expanse of his bare chest that you took a moment to admire in the dim blue lighting. They settled on his broad shoulders, water dripping down his collarbones and back down into the pool of water you were submerged in. Bob’s other hand didn’t waste a second, cupping your jaw, thumb running over your lips with such intentionality that a shiver shot down your spine even in the heat of the water.

“I’ve been in love with you since the moment you stepped into the Hard Deck,” his voice was low, soft, but there was a giddiness to it. It was even present in his smile, in his eyes as they trailed over every inch of you. “And if you don’t stop me right now…I’m going to do something that’s going to piss off your brother-”

“Piss him off, please,”

He didn’t need to be told again. His hand tugged, the one now fully cupping your ass pulled until you were fully seated across his lap, and Bob Floyd’s lips met yours. You sank into the feeling, and there was only one word moving through your mind: finally.

He kissed you with so much love and devotion woven into the very fabric of his movements. Every drag of his lips pressed in firmer, hotter, as if it was a brand against your own lips. Leaving his mark so that you’d never be able to forget the way he loved you.

“I love you,” Bob had all but moaned out, tongue just barely peeking past your lips as yours met back with him, hands sliding into his hair with a tug that had another moan tumbling from his lips. “Fuck–I love you–I’ve dreamt about this. So, so, so many times, baby.”

“I-I’ve dreamt about it too,” a sigh of pleasure tumbled past your lips as Bob’s lips left yours, a flash of heat through your skin at that simple little pet name. They trailed to your cheek, to your jaw, and down your neck in a trail of heat and saliva. Your hands in his hair held tighter, nails scratching against his scalp as Bob let out a groan against your pulse point, leaving a searing kiss over your neck. “Tell me…tell me what you dream about.”

The hand enveloping your ass pressed down hard, firmer, pushing your core directly against the bulge waiting for you, just you, in Bob’s lap. Another moan of pure ecstasy fell from your lips as the hand on your jaw quickly woven into your hair, tugging over so slightly. You didn’t hesitate to roll your hips after the initial contact, a shared moan falling between you both in the quiet of the patio as your barely covered core dragged itself over the bulge of his hardened shaft. Your breath quickened the second you did, holding onto Bob as if your life depended on it, as you felt the sheer size of him beneath you, a flood of arousal coursing through every inch of you.

“I-I’ve dreamt of this,” his words were breathy against your skin, hot, wet kisses still trailing up and down your neck, and down to your collarbone. His hand left your hair, trailing down your spine as he bit into the hollow of your neck, leaving a soothing kiss along the mark moments later. “You right–fuck–right here, falling apart. Ruining me. God, I-I was ruined the moment I met you.”

“So was I,” it felt like you had been deprived of all of the oxygen in your body, your words barely audible at the moment. One hand left Bob’s hair, trailing down his chest, over the toned abdomen he so expertly hid. You let your nails leave a trail over the defined lines of his abs. You felt his breath hitch against your collarbone, his kiss frozen in place, as your nails ghosted down the deep V-line that ran beneath his swim trunks, dipping just below the waistband. “Most of my dreams d-don’t have me on top, though. That’s usually you, ruining me for any other man for hours on end until I’m begging you to stop…even though I don’t really want you to.”

Bob’s head flicked up, glasses fogged, nose trailing over your side of your neck, up your jaw, before just barely nudging against yours. His lips were just a breath away from yours when you finally dipped your hand beneath the waistband of those swim trunks and held him in your hand.

God, you could feel how swollen he was just from this, and there was only maybe a third of him sitting in your hand. Not even the heat of the water could compare to the heat of him, of the way the skin of his throbbing, thick cock burned into your hand. Bob shakily exhaled, his lips barely ghosting over yours as your thumb just barely brushed over the head. His member twitched in your hand, his hips rutting up into your hand to feel you move, as his lips caught yours in a searing kiss that had you moaning into his mouth. His lips alone swallowed the sound, his teeth just barely grazing your bottom lip as the hand cupping your ass tugged your forward once more, dragging your core back along the bulge in his swim trunks.

“Fucking hell,” Bob groaned out, your hand still gripping him with a light squeeze. “Tell me this is real and Phoenix didn’t kill us in the air and send me to heaven.”

His words tore a laugh out of you, your hand sliding out of his trunks and back up his body until it rested against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm brought a tiny grin to your lips. Bob tugged you in again, forehead resting against yours, as those bright blue eyes shone with unconditional love when they looked at you.

“This is real, I promise. Late, but real,” he laughed with you that time, leaning in to steal yet another kiss from your lips, a flutter cascading through you at that sweet, timid, loving press of his lips to your own. “If Phoenix accidentally killed you now, I’d probably kill her in retaliation.”

“That’s fine, because Phoenix is thinking about just ending it herself given whatever the fuck she just had to walk in on,”

The third voice on the patio drew a yelp out of you. Bob tensed as you both jumped away from one another back to opposite ends of the hot tub as if the other person were on fire and you couldn’t get away fast enough. Your head whipped around to Phoenix leaning in the sliding glass doorway, a hand shielding her eyes from the sight of the two of you.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you muttered, running your hands down your face as you glanced at Bob. Messy hair, swollen kiss-bitten lips, and eyes as wide as saucers as he stumbled over his words.

“P-Phoenix, that uh–uh-that wasn’t-”

“Save it, Floyd,” she cut in, her voice clearly exasperated as she still kept her hand up so she didn’t have to look at either of you. “Look, I’ve been rooting for you to two say fuck it to Bradley’s bullshit but–this is a PATIO! Any one of us could’ve walked out here, my god! You couldn’t find a more private place to try and fuck each other?”

“Nat!” you groaned with a bit of a shout, seeing Bob out of the corner of your eyes shake his head, cheeks flushing an even darker red than before. You dragged yourself out of the water, stepping onto the wooden patio and walking past Natasha to wrap yourself in your towel, finally catching her eye. “The fuck did you even come out here for?”

“Mickey told me to come check on you two, see if the raging sexual tension had finally broken,” Nat finally dropped her hand now that you were wrapped in your towel. Bob was stumbling out of the hot tub himself at the other end of the deck, drying himself off with his own towel. “He and Bradley just pulled into the driveway, so you’re welcome. My god, imagine if he had walked out here instead to see you two well on your way to a homerun-”

You shoved past Natasha, cheeks flaring red at her laughter, her attention now turning to congratulating Bob on ‘making a move’ while you focused on getting into the shower before Bradley walked in to question why you and Bob were alone in a hot tub together.

Your brother was none the wiser to what had occurred the rest of the night, too engaged in his game of pool with the others over another round of beers to even think about it.

Then, there was you, lying in bed beside a fast-asleep Natasha, very much unable to not think about the hot tub. About every drag of Bob’s hands across your skin, at the heated trailing of his lips along your neck, at that cock you were desperate to feel pressing inside you-

Jesus Christ, you needed to sleep. You flipped onto your side with a sigh, grabbing your phone; 1 a.m., and you still couldn’t sleep. A soft groan tumbled from your lips as you flopped back onto your back again, before a foot from the other side of the bed reached out and kicked your shin under the covers.

“Chickie, I have been able to feel you tossing and turning for, like, two hours,” Natasha’s voice was muffled by her pillow as she, too, groaned. “Just go the fuck to sleep.”

“I can’t, that’s the problem!” you huffed in exasperation, running a hand down your face. “I keep thinking about the fucking hot tub, and Bob’s hands, and his lips, and his fucking big ass di-”

The fighter pilot was up on her knees in seconds, grabbing her pillow in her hands and whacking you with it multiple times as you held your hands up in defense, begging her to stop. When she finally did, the glare she fixed on you was illuminated by the streaks of moonlight pouring through the blinds.

“I do not want to hear about Bob’s genitalia, dude. Good on you for finally saying fuck it to Bradley’s stupid rules and getting your guy, but I don’t need to hear the play by play of your hot tub fondle session,”

“Okay, but like, it’s true. They always say it’s the quiet ones that have the big dicks-”

Natasha’s groan cut you off again as she flopped back onto the bed, head buried into her pillow.

“I am drunk and exhausted. Go have wet dreams over my back-seater by the lake or something, not right beside me, for god’s sake,”

Well, it wasn’t a terrible idea.

In just one of Bradley’s t-shirts and a pair of panties, just as you had been days ago in the kitchen, you found yourself not long later standing by the lake in the dead of night. The patio light was off, every light within the house was off, leaving the private beach to be illuminated by nothing but the moon. The sand was cool beneath your feet, those tiny little grains pushing into every crevice that they could. Gentle waves from the lake lapped at the tips of your toes, soaking the sand before you before it retreated once more, just to repeat the cycle. 

A quiet night. Lines of pine trees separated your private home from your neighbors, leaving you well and truly alone in the peacefulness. The perfect place to think, to let your thoughts roam to the man you had been hopelessly in love with for so long.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

There Bob stood as you whipped around, a gentle breeze billowing the large sleeves of your t-shirt just slightly. The moon reflected off his glasses, casting a small sheen of light over his eyes. His own t-shirt hung loosely from his body, barely covering the top of those dark blue boxers that hung around his hips. Your eyes couldn’t help but dart down to them, now knowing what lay beneath. When your eyes met his again, you could feel the heat in them as that same heat rushed through you.

“Was hard to,” your voice was breathy, soft as if not to disturb the peacefulness of the night. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Glad I wasn’t alone in that,” a small laugh tumbled from Bob’s lips as he spoke.

That cord of tension had already broken when his lips touched yours for the first time, when his calloused hands had caressed every inch of your body, when your own had pushed past the waistband of his swim trunks into the land of no return. It was back, now, but heavier. It hung in the air between you both again, but different this time. It wasn’t so much tension anymore as it was pure hunger, pure need for a feeling your body craved.

Your hand toyed with the edge of your shirt as you spoke before you could stop yourself to think.

“I think…I’m going to go for a swim,”

Bob’s lips quirked up, eyebrow shooting up just slightly.

“In that?”

You tugged the shirt over your head without another word, discarding it to the sides somewhere in the sand. The hitch in Bob’s breath was audible even from where you stood, his lips parting as they soaked in every inch of your bare chest and torso on display for him. Without ever looking away from his gaze, you leaned forward, slipping the lace panties that clung to your hips down your legs at an agonizing pace, before they joined your shirt in the sand.

Bob shifted in place, and you could visibly see the bulge in his pants grow and harden just from the sight of you: bare, standing before him in the quietest hours of the night.

“Don’t need clothes to swim, not on your own private beach,” you gave him a small smirk, taking small steps backward and further into the cool lake water waiting for you, and beckoned him with a single motion of your finger. “Want to join me?”

“Y-Yeah…yeah, I do,”

The water was cooler in the night, sending a shiver up your spine and coating your skin in a layer of goosebumps. It rested right below your breasts by the time Bob had thrown his own shirt in a pile by your own, and his boxers joined it seconds later.

Fuck. He was big.

You had already felt it before, but seeing it with your own eyes was something else entirely, something that soaked your core without ever having to be touched. Thick and flushed, the head just a few shades darker than the rest of him, one large vein visible from where it ran down the side of his length that you could only imagine was pulsing.

Before you knew it, he was standing before you in the water, towering over you just slightly. The waterline sat somewhere along his abdomen, and you could see the goosebumps running along his own skin. You flicked your gaze from his collarbone to his eyes, still partially shrouded by the glint of moonlight across his glasses.

He took a step closer, invading your space, as the heat that radiated off his body seeped into your own skin and warmed you in the cold water. It was almost as if, on instinct, guided by something deep inside yourself, your arms wrapped around his shoulders to rest your hands across the nape of his neck as his own found their rightful place around your waist and tugged until your bare body was flush against him.

Bob didn’t give you a second to think about it before his lips were back on yours.

The kiss was heavier than your first kiss, his lips parted, and his tongue traced along the edge of your own until you parted for him without a second thought. His touch sent cascades of pure want and need through your very being, every little moan that slipped past those beautiful pink lips accentuated with the softest confessions of ‘I love you’ that you’d ever heard. That alone had you pressing further into him, carding your fingers into his hair and tugging, sucking his bottom lip between your teeth with a gentle nip at them. It was rewarded with another groan that emanated from somewhere deep within him, the grip around your waist firmer than it was just a moment before. Bob’s lips travelled to your ear for just a moment, hot breath ghosting over the shell of it, as he whispered.

“Jump,”

You obeyed. You’d obey anything he told you to do at this moment. His hands caught your thighs, slotting your legs around his midsection as your ankles locked around his back. Bob’s lips found yours again, head tilted just barely to the side as his mouth all but devoured your own, and the two large, calloused hands that had found their way to the curves of your ass tugged your body against him as hard as he could.

A gasp, a choked moan, even a mewl, whatever the unholy noise was that tumbled from your lips and was swallowed by Bob’s own mouth was unknown the second his flushed cock was settled between your folds. The heat of it alone was enough to soak you again as it throbbed against you in need. You could feel it physically twitch against you as Bob’s hips ground into your core just slightly.

With a hand still locked into his hair, you raked your nails against his scalp and ground your own hips against him.

You could feel every inch of him. The ridge right around the flushed head of his cock, the pulsing vein that ran up the side, you felt every bit of him as you rolled your hips back and forth over him, breath escaping your lungs in stuttering breaths. Bob choked on his own breath, pulling away from your lips with a thin trail of saliva connecting you before his lips locked to the side of your neck, biting into the kiss with a groan. He held you impossibly close to him as your hips ground against him, seeking any minuscule form of friction that they could as the water sloshed around your bodies, creating tiny waves of its own.

“Fucking h-hell,” Bob groaned against you, fingers digging into the skin of your ass so tightly you were sure his hands would be marked into your skin for days to come. “Baby–fuck–if you keep doing that I-I’m not going to last very long.”

“What a shame,” you choked out a laugh mixed with a moan of your own as the head of his cock caught just slightly over your opening, before gliding upward again. Tugging his head toward you, you bit just barely into his earlobe as you spoke. “I was hoping you’d at least be fucking me when you came.”

A small shriek flew past your lips as Bob turned you both on his heel in seconds, marching you up the sand bank and out of the water. He stumbled just slightly in the water, almost dunking you both back under, as shared laughter echoed through the quiet night and soft apologies were muttered from his lips.

With a gentleness that you could only ever expect from a man like Bob Floyd, he laid you back against the sand, the waves lapping just barely up around your thighs. On instinct, your legs parted, letting Bob settle between them like he belonged, his upper arms caging your head as he looked down at you with a passion that was anything but gentle.

You were pretty sure you clenched around absolutely nothing. It was sinful how soaked you were for this man when he’d barely touched you. At least, hadn’t touched you with intention.

Another kiss was placed against your lips, softer but still so full of love that another high-pitched and broken moan left your lips. Those plump, kiss-bitten lips trailed down your jaw, your neck, and over the valley between your breasts. A shaky breath left your throat as his fingertips just barely ghosted over the edges of your breast, skating right past your nipples that were already stiffened from the cold and arousal that flooded through you, before his lips languidly continued south. Over every inch of skin, a gentle kiss placed above your belly button and then a matching one below it, before they continued their journey south.

Bob’s hands found the bare expanse of your thighs, parting your legs further apart. You held your breath without even realizing it as he placed intentional kisses along the sensitive skin, before he hovered just where you wanted him most. You watched him as he simply stared, admired. A breathy chuckle left his lips, his hot breath just barely ghosting over your lower lips as you clenched once more.

“God…you’re the most beautiful thing this world has ever created. I’ve dreamed of seeing you like this,” he rasped out, need blown eyes looking up at you through his eyelashes, a thin sheen of fog coating his glasses. “Let me touch you…let me make you feel good.”

“Please…please, Bob, please touch me,”

He took your words to heart, tongue flattening as he dove in, licking one stripe directly up your core as your breath stuttered out of your lips.

“Darling–fuck–you taste like heaven,”

With one last groan, Bob buried himself in your folds. Eager, breath hot, lips drenched in the arousal that dripped and coated you. Whimpers fell from your mouth with every flick of his tongue right against your clit, every lap of his tongue through your folds and down to your opening as he dipped inside for just a second. He put every ounce of himself into it, tongue and lips buried in your core as if he were a starving man and you were a four-course meal spread out before him.

One of your hands curled in his hair, the other trying to find something to grip onto in the sand as the grains moved through your fingers, as those long, slender fingers you stared at way too many times prodded right at your opening. You cried out into the night, no care in the world for the volume of your voice, as his fingers pressed into you, stretching your walls as they curled against the spot you needed them most. Your back arched, and one of Bob’s free hands was quick to leave your thigh in order to press against your abdomen, holding you down onto the sand as the waves lapped cold water up your ankles.

“Bob–oh my god–Bob, please, don’t stop!” you mewled, breath leaving you in heavy gasps as your grip in his hair tightened, his groan reverberating against your core.

“I won’t,” you could barely hear him over your own cries and shattered moans. “I won’t. Let go, baby, I-I got you.”

He devoured you, tongue lapping at every bit of your juices that flowed from you in a consistent gush. His fingers never stopped, curling against that spot as they moved back and forth, your walls constricting around him as that ball of heat coiled tightly and tighter in your lower abdomen. You tried to lift your hips to get closer, but Bob held you firmly to the sand and somehow drove himself even deeper, practically drowning himself in you.

“B-Bob-!”

A single, desperate cry of his name was all the warning he needed. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking and lapping at the bud and ravishing it with every ounce of attention he could give it, his fingers still curling deliciously against that spot as you cried out.

That coil inside of you snapped, a shattered moan leaving you, as your body pulled taut against him.

You were left in a haze, one where you were only able to repeat his name over and over again like a prayer. His fingers slipped from you, his hands finding themselves back against your inner thighs as they massaged little circles into your skin as the stars slowly faded from your vision, the tension in your body releasing as your muscles relaxed. Bob lapped just one last time at your opening with a hum that you could feel against your lips, before leaving one last gentle kiss to the most sensitive part of you that was still pulsing with need.

He was hovering above you when you finally peeled your eyes open. Through half-lidded eyes, you watched as he wiped at the fog that coated his glasses, but your eyes were locked to his lips. So red, so swollen, coated just like his chin in a sheen of your own arousal. He saw you then, watching him, and leaned in to kiss you with a soft lip on his lips. You mirrored it, a giggle bubbling out of you and into his mouth as he laughed with you, the aftertaste of your own slick seeping past your lips.

“You okay?” he whispered against your lips with a final peck, pulling back to see you fully. One of his hands came to cup your cheek, and you leaned into the feeling with a blissful, giddy look stretched across your face.

“Never better. It really is always the quiet ones that can absolutely ruin you, isn’t it?”

One small laugh shot out of Bob at that as he wiped at the beads of sweat rolling down the side of your face. God, he looked down at you so tenderly, so lovingly that it almost hurt. You weren’t sure what you did to deserve this man.

“I love you,” it was whispered against your lips as he leaned down for another kiss. Whispered into your skin like a promise. “I don’t think I could love you more than I do right now. But I know, come tomorrow, I somehow will.”

Even when he’d completely ruined you, Bob Floyd still managed to make your heart beat so erratically in your chest that you feared it would stop beating altogether.

That moment hung there for a minute as your body fully came down from the pleasure, as the heat left your body and allowed the cool night breeze to settle over you once more.

But even if the physical heat had left your body, the heat inside of you didn’t. Every moment you looked into those blue eyes, so full of love, it only grew hotter and hotter. You finally moved one leg, wrapping it around Bob’s waist and tugging him into you, letting your core meet with the incredibly stiff cock that you’d been dying to feel now for months. Bob sucked in a breath at the contact, and you could physically see the way his pupils dilated again.

“A-Aren’t you sensitive-”

“I don’t care,” you practically begged, hand curling back into his hair with another little tug. “P-Please, Bob, I don’t care. I need you, I’ve needed you for months. Please.”

“Shit–okay, okay,” Bob nodded along to every word you said, hand gripping the back of your neck once again as he pressed another passionate kiss to your lips that had you bucking your hips against him. “Fuck–okay, m-message heard. I…I don’t have a condom-”

“I don’t care,” you whined, watching as Bob let out a breathless laugh, tugging on his hair once again. “I’m on the pill, I don’t care.”

“Darling, i-it’s not safe-”

“Then that’s tomorrow’s problem,” you begged him, desperately. You knew you looked like an absolute mess. Dripping in lake water and sweat, remnants of make-up you hadn’t washed off probably streaked down your cheeks, pupils blown so wide in bliss that you were probably barely aware of just how much you were begging this man. “I need you to fuck me–I need to feel you–just, please, fuck me. If you knock me up, then we can just blame Bradley for driving us this far into fucking insanity.”

You weren’t sure which part of what you said it was that broke him, but you could guess. The way that Bob’s gaze got heavier, his breath catching, and his grip growing even tighter on your skin. Another bruising kiss was placed against your lips before his hands were on your legs, wrapping them around his waist, before he took his cock in his own hand and lined himself up with your core without another word and pressed forward.

God, the stretch burned, but in the best way. Your body gave almost no fight to him, still soaked to the core from the need you’d carried for this man for months. Your hands wrapped under his arms, resting against his back as you held him close, fingernails digging into his skin. Bob’s forehead dropped to your shoulder as he leaned in, biting at your skin just barely with every inch of him that sank into you.

“P-Perfect,” Bob’s moan was so broken as his lips trailed up to your throat, resting right over your pulse point. He was wrecked, as wrecked as you were, as your walls fluttered around him and drew another moan from him. “So beyond fucking perfect. So warm–so tight–all mine. Only mine.”

“Always yours…”

He bottomed out the second you spoke, your words cut off by your own gasp at the feeling. Bob’s hips sat flush against yours, sweat clinging to your skin and his own. Every inch of his cock was buried in you to the hilt, and you could feel the way it throbbed and twitched inside of you, the way that Bob’s own body shook at the overwhelming feeling. Your walls clenched around him, breath caught in your throat as your nails dug into his back again, so overwhelmed by the feel of him.

Better than anything you’d ever dreamed of.

Bob’s head left your neck, and he hovered over you for just a moment, as both of your bodies adjusted to the feel of the other. But as you looked at him, at the love that poured out of his gaze, it didn’t feel like adjusting. It felt like a welcome home, like the rejoining of two things that were always meant to be.

He dipped down, lips enveloping yours in a messy and heated kiss, as he pulled himself out of you just to dive back in.

And, fuck, you were a goner. You keened with every delicious drag of him against your walls, swallowing every grunt that poured from his mouth as his hips pistoned into you time and time again. A steady pace, one that had heat blooming through every inch of your skin and a flush crawling up your body. 

He’d drive into you, hold himself there, and drag himself out so slowly it was almost like torture. He’d repeat it again, and again, and again until your nails would dig into his back hard enough to pull a low groan from him. Then, the pace would change, hips his driving into you in shorter, faster strokes. All the while, his lips never left yours, saliva dripping between your plump, red lips as every wonton moan that left you echoed into the night.

“You take me so well,” his words were whispered in praise against your skin, lips trailing over your cheek to your ear, groaning directly into it as he drove into you faster until you were another mewling mess under him. “God–made for me–so perfect, so beautiful. So tight, so warm. Squeezing me, taking me so fucking well. God, you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Bob–please–fuck me,” the feeling was overwhelming, tears almost pricking at the corners of your eyes as you held onto him, the sound of his hips snapping into yours mixing with the sound of your cried. “Harder–deeper–fuck me, p-please just fuck me.”

Bob’s head buried itself back in your neck as he did just that. His hips pistoned into you at the fastest pace his body could maintain, his hips driving into you so hard you could already feel the ache in your bones. Your nails raked scratches down his back, cries echoing in his ear as you could only find it in yourself to repeat his name over and over again like a mantra. Every thrust built that coil of heat inside of you, the thread begging to snap with every drag of his cock against your walls, with every squelching sound of your arousal pooling between you.

Your release came without warning, his body having shifted yours up just slightly enough that his hips were driving into you at a new angle, pushing him deeper than he’d been before. The second his hips had snapped into you, that spring coiling inside of you snapped, your eyes fluttering shut as the ripple of pleasure flowed through you. Your body clenched around him, his cock still slamming into you again and again as you sobbed out a moan into the night.

Even as it subsided, Bob didn’t stop, searching for his own release. Despite the ache between your legs, the rush of sensitivity in your core, you refused to stop until he’d found salvation. Your hand wound its way into his sweat-soaked hair, nose brushing the side of his head from where it was buried into your neck, as you held him close.

“Cum for me,” you’d choked out the words, barely a whisper. “Ruin me.”

It only took another three rolls of his hips against your’s before he bottomed out, nestled as deep within you as he could be, before Bob finally choked out a moan of his own and let go. You could feel him throb, feel it as he twitched, warmth flooding your insides and pooling inside of you. All you could do was hold him, eyes trained on the stars above through half-lidded eyes as you lay there together, panting and gasping.

Bob finally lifted his head, hovering above you. Your shaky hand reached for his glasses, wiping at the fog that coated them, letting you see the dazed look that had crossed his eyes. His lips quirked into a smile, a blissful one, that you mirrored instantly.

Not a single word was spoken as he pressed the softest of pecks to your lips, then another, and another. And when it had all subsided, when your breathing had finally returned to normal, Bob finally dragged himself out of you. He was quick to kiss away the wince in your brow the second your body was empty of him, adjusting to the feeling. Another kiss was pressed to your temple, your nose, your cheek, and you knew that smile on your face was never going to leave.

“Hold on,” he whispered, unlocking your legs from his waist in order to rise to his feet. “I got you.”

You didn’t fight back. Bob pulled you to your feet, hands on your hips, steadying you as that ache in your hips and thighs threatened to pull you back to the ground. Bob’s arms were quick to swing your legs up, cradling you against him as he stepped back into the lake. Your head never left his chest, letting his steady heartbeat almost lull you to sleep in his arms as he submerged you both in the water, ridding your bodies of the sand that had invaded every crevice. All the while his hands never stopped massaging little circles into your skin.

He carried you back up the beach, grabbing your bundles of clothing from the ground and bunching them up in his hand, before he placed you gently against the stairs going up to the patio. Your head leaned against the railing as his lips rested gently against the side of your head, promising to be right back.

You could only smile to yourself in the moments he was gone, replaying every moment from the night you knew you’d never forget in your head like a movie.

The sliding glass door opened softly before Bob appeared before you again. He was drier than he was moments prior, kneeling on the steps in front of you now in a new pair of boxers. He draped a towel around your shoulders, letting you snuggle into the warmth and run it over your soaked skin before taking the water bottle he so gently held out to you with an appreciative grin.

“So,” your voice was slightly hoarse when you finally spoke, chugging a good bit of the water before offering him the rest. He accepted, one hand resting on your knee with light patterns being drawn into your skin by his fingertips. “In all those dreams you’ve had of us, was our first time ever on a lakeside beach?”

“Absolutely not,” Bob responded with a laugh, tossing the empty water bottle up onto the patio somewhere. “But I wouldn’t have traded it for the world. It…it was perfect.”

You rung the last bit of water you could from your hair with the towel, tossing it up over the railing to dry before leaning forward, cupping Bob’s cheek in your hand to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

“It was perfect because it was with you,” you weren’t sure you’d ever get tired of that giddy smile on his lips. 

Bob reached behind you, slipping one of his own t-shirts over your body now that you were dry, before taking the spot beside you on the stairs. You leaned into his side without hesitation, his arm settling in its place around your shoulders as he pressed another kiss to your temple.

“I love you,”

You let those words really wrap around you, let yourself really feel them, as you looked up at the stars and moon glittering against the lake.

“I love you, too…now, what do you say we go pass out on the couch and give Bradley a coronary at seven in the morning?”

Bob’s laughter echoed through the night.

“Well, if you aren’t going to be the death of me…guess your brother gets that honor in the morning,”

[colouredbyd]

About You

james potter x reader

synopsis: in a world where soulmates see color only when they meet, james potter has always lived in vivid hues without knowing why. the girl who once lit up his world in childhood vanished, leaving only fragments of memory behind. years later, when she returns, tangled memories and aching hearts reveal a truth he’s longed for — that everything has always been about you.

cw: soulmate au, reader is adopted, childhood friends to lovers, getting hit by a ball, kissing, dual point of view, extensive james pov, james deeply in love, reader adopted by a french family, reader is a transfer student to hogwarts, background wolfstar elements, mild emotional intensity, some angst, slow-burn romance, no major triggers, fluff fluff fluff!

w/c: 5.8k

request: here!

a/n: based on the song About You by The 1975. i’m genuinely so proud of this, and will be rereading it till i get the ick <3

masterlist

James Potter believed he had no soulmate. For many reasons.

The idea that the universe could conjure one singular person who was perfect for him sounded, frankly, implausible. 

Wasn’t a person meant to decide their own fate? The very notion bristled against his nature, too neat, too scripted, too convenient. 

James had never liked being told how things ought to be, how paths were meant to wind, or whom he was meant to love. 

He thought of the way the world spun with infinite variables, endless choices, each step shaping the next in ways no prophecy could predict. 

What if he didn’t like his soulmate? Worse, what if they didn’t like him? 

The thought sat sharp-edged and unwelcome in the quiet corners of his mind. He did not dwell on it, as a rule.

Still, it was difficult to escape the idea entirely. All his life, he had heard the stories, told over dinners, late-night fires, quiet moments between his parents. 

Tales of that first breathless instant when color had bled into the world, so rich it left them dazed. 

His father would speak of the impossible green of his mother’s eyes, the startling red of her lips. His mother would smile, eyes soft with memory, describing the gold in his father’s hair beneath the sun. 

James would listen, curious but strangely distant from it all, as they told him how the world had split wide and new when they met, how they could still remember the exact moment the grey had vanished.

There was something beautiful in it, he supposed. Something that stirred at the edge of longing. But beneath that was a quieter, sharper thing — fear, perhaps.

 A worry that his story would not unfold in such a fairytale manner, that the universe might be cruel, or careless, or simply indifferent.

And yet, for all those tangled doubts and questions, none were his strongest reason for disbelief.

In a world where people are born to see only black and white, where the first meeting of a soulmate floods the eye with color, James had known with mounting certainty that he did not have one. 

Because for as long as he could remember, he had seen the world in color.

He remembered it as a child, dashing barefoot through the echoing halls of Potter Manor, the tapestries a riot of gold and crimson, the gardens spilling green across the summer air. 

He remembered color at the village markets, the bright bustle of stalls, the striped awnings swaying in the wind. 

And most of all, he remembered color from the orphanage, of all places, a rather grey and drafty stone building that somehow still flickered to life whenever he visited.

Euphemia Potter had a heart wide as the sky. Though she came from a pure-blood family, she had never cared for the stuffy ideas that often clung to such lineage. 

She would say, in her usual firm and breezy way, that the world had more than enough coldness in it already. 

And so it had been her habit, even after marriage and motherhood, to visit the local orphanage with baskets of sweets, books, blankets. 

She brought James with her, of course.

“You should make friends everywhere you can,” she would tell him. “That is what magic is for.”

James had not needed convincing. A boy of seven with boundless curiosity and a great deal too much energy, he had thought the visits a grand adventure. 

The halls of the orphanage were a new playground, full of new faces, new games, new scrapes to be had.

And though his memory, even now, was a rather hopeless mess of scattered images and blurred hours — he had been seven, after all, with the attention span of a gnat — there was one thing he remembered clearly. 

One certain girl.

She had bickered with him from the very first moment. It seemed to be her sport, her purpose in life, to contradict everything he said. 

If he claimed the sky was blue, she would argue that it was grey. 

If he ran to the swings, she would beat him there and call him slow. 

If he tried to charm her with sweets from his mother’s basket, she would sniff at them and declare them probably poisoned.

And yet, for all her stubbornness, for all her sharp tongue and quicker wit, something about her had altered James’s world, tilted it on its axis.

He could remember the exact shade of her hair beneath the sun, the color of her laugh (yes, it had seemed to have color, or perhaps that was only how he had felt about it), the bright flash of her eyes when she grinned at him in triumph after a particularly vicious game of tag.

She had been, if he was honest, the closest James had ever come to finding love. 

Not that he had known it at the time. It had been a stupid thing. A childish thing. A crush from when he was seven, foolish and fleeting. 

But sometimes, in quiet moments, the memory would drift back.

And then, as quickly as she had appeared, she had vanished.

One day, she simply was not there.

James had asked his mother, bewildered and frowning. “Where did she go?”

Euphemia had smiled, soft and knowing. “She was adopted, love.”

Adopted. Off into some other life, some other world. Gone.

And so, James had decided, with the certainty only a small boy could possess: he was doomed. Utterly doomed. Never to find love again.

A ridiculous thought, of course. A dramatic one. 

But even now, if one asked James Potter about soulmates, he would shrug and say with a crooked grin that the matter was simple: he had missed his chance at seven years old, and the universe had long since given up on him.

Which was all fine by him, really.

Absolutely fine.

Or so he told himself.

Still, doomed or not, James had other things to think about. Seventh year would not make itself easy. N.E.W.T.s, Quidditch, Prefect duties he mostly ignored. 

The castle was louder this year, more crowded with couples now that so many had found their soulmates. 

Everywhere he looked it seemed someone was falling into place — eyes brighter, hands clasped in the corridors, laughter a little too soft for comfort. 

Even Sirius and Remus had settled, the two of them inseparable these days, perfectly content in their own easy orbit.

James had long since stopped teasing them for it. It was hard to begrudge your best mates something so clearly right. 

No one in their year was surprised when Sirius stopped chasing girls and started sitting closer to Remus by the fire, heads bent together over a book, fingers sometimes laced beneath the table. 

The two of them had found what the rest were still hoping for.

And James — well. He had no use for hoping. The universe had forgotten him, or worse, chosen to leave him out of the story altogether. 

And honestly, it was fine. Absolutely fine. He was not the type to pine for something that would never be.

He did not even think of it again. Not until one crisp October afternoon, when fate  chose to remind him that the universe had its own plans after all.

It had been a long practice. The Gryffindor team had spent hours drilling plays beneath a sky streaked pale with autumn clouds. 

By the time James finally touched down on the pitch, the sun was slanting low behind the towers, painting everything in gold.

James touched down first, broom tucked beneath one arm, hair a windswept mess, sweat clinging to the nape of his neck. 

A few paces behind, Sirius landed with a grin, spinning his broom lazily through one hand. 

They had lingered after the rest of the team had gone in — a habit of James’s, these days. Some hours just did not want to end.

Remus was waiting at the edge of the stands, book tucked beneath one arm, watching them with quiet amusement. 

He was never one for flying — though he had a good eye for plays — and often brought some battered novel to keep himself occupied during long practices.

By now the pitch had mostly emptied. A few stragglers remained at the far end, gathering gear, trailing off toward the castle. 

James caught a worn quaffle from the basket and tossed it from hand to hand as they crossed the grass. 

“Remus says you nearly knocked their new Chaser off her broom earlier,” Sirius said, slinging an arm over James’s shoulder. “Show-off.”

“She wasn’t watching her line,” James replied easily, giving the quaffle another spin. 

“Besides, the only thing I knocked was that shot past you, mate.”

Sirius laughed, but before he could retort, James wound back and sent the quaffle arcing lazily into the air. 

The throw was wide, idle, more habit than thought, the sort of casual motion born from years of play.

“Oi, careful with that,” Sirius called, shielding his eyes from the sun.

But already the quaffle was sailing out across the pitch, farther than James had meant, the angle off. 

It spun in a slow arc toward the edge of the stands — and straight into an unsuspecting figure who had just rounded the corner.

There was a faint cry, a stumble — and then you went down hard, knees hitting the damp earth where the grass was still slick from the rain the night before. 

A sharp splash of mud streaked your skirt, the quaffle rolling uselessly to a stop in the grass beside you.

Brilliant. Your first week at this school and already you were on your knees in the dirt.

And then a shadow fell across you.

“I’m so sorry—” he began, dropping into a crouch, reaching for your hand.

You looked up, ready to snap, and the words caught somewhere between your chest and throat.

The boy standing before you was tall, broad-shouldered beneath the loose fall of his Quidditch robes. 

His skin was tanned deep by long hours beneath the sun, warm against the crisp October light. 

Curls of dark brown hair framed his face, damp from practice, a little tousled at the edges. And his eyes—

You faltered.

His eyes were something else entirely. A colour so fierce and rich it stopped your breath, as though the world had narrowed to that single glance. 

He crouched swiftly, one strong hand reaching out. His fingers curled around yours, firm and steady, as he helped you upright.

The instant his palm touched yours, the air shifted. 

A spark, low and bright, lit beneath your skin. The faintest hum, dizzy and disorienting, curled through your chest. Every inch of you seemed to prickle with heat.

Your breath stilled.

And then you saw it in him. The subtle gasp, the way his mouth parted in some small sound. 

His eyes widened, sharp with something between recognition and alarm. His grip faltered.

He jerked his hand back as though burned, stumbling a half-step away, chest rising fast beneath his robes. 

He stared at you, gaze bright and bewildered, lips parted, no words finding their way out.

Then, without a word, he spun sharply on his heel, boots slipping slightly in the wet grass as he fled across the pitch.

You stood frozen, one hand half-raised where he had left it, heart beating so loud you were certain it would echo through the field. Your skin still hummed faintly, breath caught and uneven.

You blinked after his retreating form, brows drawing together.

“What in Merlin’s—?”

His friend, who was standing far behind him, frowned. “Prongs?”

But the boy was gone, disappearing fast beyond the edge of the stands. After a beat, the two of them exchanged a glance and hurried after him.

You were left sitting in the damp grass, heart racing so loudly you were certain the whole pitch could hear it. 

“What a complete weirdo,” you muttered aloud, though your voice shook faintly. 

You pressed your palms to your knees, trying to catch your breath.

The earth spun quietly beneath you.

“There you are!”

You glanced up. Lily Evans was making her way toward you, copper hair glinting in the sun, Mary Macdonald trailing close behind. Both girls looked concerned.

“We saw what happened,” Lily said, crouching beside you. “Are you alright? That looked like a nasty fall.”

“I’m fine,” you answered, though your heart was still pounding. “It was just—surprising.”

Mary smiled. “That’s one way to start the afternoon.”

Lily offered her hand to help you up. You took it gratefully, brushing damp earth from your knees.

“Honestly,” Lily continued, shaking her head, “some of these Quidditch boys have no aim at all.”

You forced a small laugh. “It seems so.”

Lily gave you a warm look. “Come on. Let’s get you back inside.”

You fell into step with them as they made their way toward the castle, grateful, as always, for their easy company. 

Transferring to Hogwarts for your final year had been an ordeal, a whirlwind decision after your adoptive family’s move from France. 

Beauxbatons had been your home for six years, all grace and polished magic. 

Hogwarts was wild and sprawling by comparison, full of shifting staircases and unruly ghosts and students who had known each other forever.

It was rare to transfer so late. You knew the whispers that followed you through the halls. 

A seventh-year newcomer was no small curiosity.

But Lily had been kind from the first. So had Mary. Their friendship had been a soft, steady thing amidst the strangeness, helping you find your footing in this unfamiliar place.

Still, even now, there were moments when it felt as though you did not quite belong.

“I still feel a bit lost,” you admitted quietly. “All of it is so different here.”

“It’ll settle in,” Lily promised. “Give it time.”

Mary grinned. “Just watch out for stray quaffles.”

You managed a real laugh then, though your thoughts kept circling back. Not to the fall. Not even to the crowd that had stared.

But to him.

The boy with eyes like burnished gold, who had looked at you as though the world itself had cracked open.

And fled. What a coward—who even gets scared from girls?

Lily glanced at you with a gentle smile, her eyes bright despite the chill in the air. “You’ve handled the fall better than most first years.”

Mary nudged your arm playfully.

“Yeah, and that mud really brings out your fille mystérieuse aesthetic.”

You rolled your eyes, though a reluctant smile tugged at your lips.

“If fille mystérieuse means ‘walking disaster,’ then sure. I’m nailing it.”

Mary grinned, “I still can’t believe you transferred here this late. Must be quite the change from Beauxbatons.”

You shrugged, folding your arms against the cool air. 

“It’s... different. Beauxbatons is more... polished, orderly. Hogwarts feels like a wild storm — unpredictable and sprawling.”

Lily nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose that makes sense. But it’s home, in its own way. You’ll find your place.”

“Do you miss it? France?” Mary asked quietly.

You hesitated, looking down at your boots. “Sometimes. The way things were there. The certainty.”

Lily’s voice softened. “We all feel a bit adrift sometimes. Especially here, where everything is old and layered with so many stories.”

You looked up, catching their eyes. “Thanks. You both have been... a lifeline.”

Mary smiled warmly. “That’s what friends are for.”

The conversation drifted then, from classes to teachers to the upcoming exams. 

The castle buzzed around you with the usual hum of students rushing between lessons, laughter echoing in the high ceilings.

And slowly, your attention began to wander, the words around you blurring into background noise.

That’s when you saw him.

He was standing farther down the corridor now, leaning casually against a stone pillar. 

The sunlight caught in his curls, highlighting the rich brown and the damp sheen from practice. His skin, lightly tanned, seemed to glow faintly in the afternoon light.

But it was his eyes that rooted you in place — steady, unflinching, as if he were watching something rare and fragile.

You blinked, startled by the intensity of his gaze.

“Do you see that?” you murmured, nodding toward him.

Mary’s eyes followed your gesture, a grin tugging at her lips. “He’s staring like you’re some miracle.”

You folded your arms, lips tightening. “What’s up with that idiot bastard? Can’t he find anything better to do than gawking like I’m some kind of freak?”

Lily laughed softly. “You’d think someone from Beauxbatons would handle that sort of attention with a bit more grace.”

You rolled your eyes, a wry smile breaking through. “Grace isn’t exactly what I’m feeling.”

Mary chuckled. “Don’t mind him. That’s James Potter.”

You frowned, the name slipping somewhere into your memory. “James Potter...?”

Lily nodded. “Gryffindor’s Seeker. A bit of a troublemaker, but talented.”

“And his friends,” Mary added, “Sirius Black — his best mate, always at his side — and Remus Lupin, who’s been close to both for years.”

Your mind swirled with those names, distant echoes you’d heard but never quite understood. 

You glanced back at James, still watching you without shame or hesitation.

The conversation with Lily and Mary faded into the background as you watched James, his figure etched against the stone pillar, his eyes still locked on you with that strange intensity.

There was something about him that tugged at the edges of your memory — a distant echo, a faint pulse beneath the surface of thought — but no matter how hard you tried, you could not place it.

It was as if a name was just beyond reach, a face blurred by time and distance. 

You scoured your mind for clues, for fragments of some forgotten chapter, but all you found was a quiet ache of familiarity you couldn’t name.

You swallowed the feeling, telling yourself it was just the oddness of being new here, the disorienting swirl of so many unfamiliar faces and names.

With a sigh, you shifted your weight and turned toward the exit, ready to leave the corridor and the boy who unsettled you so deeply.

Mary and Lily fell into step beside you, their easy chatter picking up once more, but before you could take more than a few steps, a voice called out your name.

“Y/N.”

You stopped in your tracks, heart suddenly pounding as you spun around.

James was running toward you, his expression a mixture of hope and something more vulnerable. 

Closer now, the fading light revealed a faint scar above his right eyebrow—a thin, pale line that caught your eye instantly.

And in that moment, the memories came flooding back with unrelenting clarity.

The muddy courtyard of the orphanage, sun-warmed stones beneath your hands. 

The days when he was just a boy with dark curls, tanned skin, and laughter that rang out loud and clear.

How his mother, Euphemia, would visit the orphanage and bring him along, her wide heart pulling children from shadow into light.

You remembered the afternoons spent teasing and bickering, how stubborn he was, how fiercely alive.

And then the sharp sting of a broken branch — your misjudged swing, the cry of pain, the apology whispered breathlessly as you pressed your hand to his brow.

The scar you had given him was etched deep, a mark of childhood recklessness and unspoken connection.

Your breath caught.

He was the boy from your past — the boy who had shifted your world on its axis before disappearing into the unknown.

“James,” you whispered, the name tasting strange and familiar on your tongue.

He smiled, a little sheepish, but his eyes shone with relief.

“I never thought I’d see you again.”

For a second, the world hung still.

Your name trembled between you, spoken softly, almost reverently. His voice, warm with memory and something far deeper, seemed to echo through your chest.

And then, without thought, without hesitation, you moved.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, the recognition swelling so suddenly within you that it left you breathless.

 “James Potter!”

You crossed the space between you, heart racing, arms rising as though guided by something older than memory.

You embraced him, your arms winding around his neck, pressing close with the full, unguarded joy of seeing someone long lost to time.

James stood frozen for a single, fragile instant. His breath caught in his throat, eyes wide with disbelief, as if the entire universe had shifted beneath his feet. 

He had imagined this moment before, of course. 

Countless times in quiet hours, in stray, half-formed thoughts that never quite dared to hope. But no imagining had prepared him for this. 

For the way you felt in his arms, for the press of your cheek against his shoulder, for the soft scent of lavender and rain-soaked grass clinging to you.

Slowly, his arms rose and wrapped around you, unsure at first, almost hesitant, as though he feared one wrong movement might break the spell. 

But the warmth of you was too real, too vivid, and something in him unfurled in that moment. 

He held you closer, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real — like if he loosened his grip for even a second, you might vanish again. 

His heart pounded hard enough to hurt, a wild, desperate rhythm that had only ever belonged to you. 

It wasn’t just relief blooming in his chest. It was recognition. It was longing curling inward like a second heartbeat, something older than memory, louder than logic.     

Everything in him was reaching — every thread of muscle and magic and soul stretching toward you, as if his very existence had been stitched together wrong without you in it. 

He didn’t just want you close. He needed it, like air in his lungs, like light in a place that had gone too long without warmth. 

And in that moment, with you wrapped in his arms, the noise of the world faded. It didn’t matter where you had been, how long it had taken, or how much had been lost. 

You were here. You had always been his. And everything inside him knew it.

You pulled back after a long, trembling breath, your cheeks flushed, a bright smile curving your lips.

“Sorry,” you said, voice breathless, eyes shining. “I—”

James found his voice, rough and low, though his heart still beat wildly beneath his ribs. “It is all right,” he managed. 

“It is more than all right.”

Around you, the corridor seemed to dim and still, as if the castle itself had withdrawn, leaving only the two of you in this suspended moment. 

Lily and Mary shared a glance behind you, a quiet understanding passing between them. With a soft word and a small smile, they slipped away into the flow of students, leaving behind a silence that was somehow heavier.

James could not look away from you. 

He traced the lines of your face as though seeing them for the first time, though some part of him had carried the memory of them all these years. 

The curve of your mouth, the shape of your eyes, the light that seemed to radiate from within you. 

The years had only deepened what was already beautiful.

His voice was softer when he spoke again, touched with something you could not name. “Where have you been all this time?”

You drew in a breath, eyes flicking away for a moment as you gathered the words, unsure where to begin. 

“I was adopted,” you said quietly. 

“A family from France. It was… very sudden. I remember Euphemia told me the day before it happened. One moment I was there, with you and the others… and then I was gone.”

James’s brow furrowed, something aching flickering in his gaze. “I remember,” he said softly. 

“Mum told me you’d been adopted. I thought—” He hesitated. “I thought you might still be nearby. I kept hoping.”

Your heart gave an odd little lurch at that, though you pressed on. “They moved not long after. To Provence. 1They were kind, truly, but it was all so new, and I suppose… I lost touch with everything from before. I spent the next six years at Beauxbatons.”

A faint smile touched your lips, though it carried a hint of wistfulness. “It was… beautiful there. Graceful, in its own way. Very different. But I always wondered about this place.”

James could only listen, rapt, as though your voice alone could anchor him to this moment.

“And then,” you continued, “this summer, they decided to return. My adoptive father was offered a position here, something in the Ministry. They thought it would be good for me too, to finish school here before… well, before whatever comes next.”

You let out a soft breath, lifting your gaze back to his. “And so, here I am. Quite unexpected.”

James shook his head, a slow, incredulous smile growing at the corners of his mouth. “Not unexpected,” he said, voice low and sure. “Fate, maybe.”

Something about the way he said it sent a ripple through you, warm and unsteady.

He studied you openly, drinking in every change, every new grace in your bearing, every familiar spark that still lived in your eyes.

“You have grown…” His voice caught, but he pressed on. “Beautifully. I nearly did not recognise you at first.”

You tilted your head, a glint of humour dancing beneath your words. 

“So I was not beautiful before?”

Colour flushed his cheeks instantly, his composure slipping. “No— no, that is not— you were— you have always—” He broke off with a helpless little laugh, raking a hand through his damp curls.

You laughed too, the sound light, lilting between you. “I am teasing, James.”

Relief washed across his face, though the warmth in his eyes only deepened.

You let your gaze travel over him for a moment, noting how the years had reshaped him. 

Gone was the boy who used to trail after you in the orphanage courtyard, all gangly limbs and stubborn defiance.

Now he stood taller, broader, with a presence that seemed to fill the corridor. The glasses remained, but behind them his eyes gleamed brighter than you remembered, full of something vivid and unspoken.

“You have grown quite well yourself,” you said softly. “You used to be shorter than me. I remember quite clearly.”

That drew a breathless, boyish laugh from him, the kind that caught in his throat. “Well,” he managed, “I could not let you stay taller forever.”

For a beat, neither of you moved. The moment stretched between you, a quiet, humming thing, as though the air itself was charged with something neither of you fully understood.

And James Potter, who had once been certain he would never know what it felt like to belong to someone, found himself standing before you, heart laid bare, and wondered how he had ever imagined anything else.

After that day, something began to change between you and James Potter, though the nature of that change unfolded with such quiet certainty that it seemed almost inevitable, as though it had been written long before either of you could comprehend it.

He began to appear more often in the spaces between your days — not merely by chance, but with a certain quiet deliberation, as though drawn to your orbit without fully understanding why. 

After lessons, he would be there at the foot of the stairs or by the classroom door, offering a bright smile and some casual remark that seemed to disguise the hope in his eyes.

In the corridors between lectures, he would fall into step beside you, his presence easy and unforced, the conversation flowing in a manner that was both comfortable and new.

Before long, you began to notice him elsewhere. 

In the library, beneath the high arches of the south wing, where he would pass by your table with an idle glance.

On the way to meals, where he would hold a place for you without being asked, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. 

In the common room, where his voice would grow softer when he spoke to you, his laughter somehow warmer.

It had been years since you had seen him last, and though your memories of the orphanage remained fragmented — blurred impressions of sunlit courtyards, laughter on wind-stirred afternoons, a stubborn boy with a scar on his brow and a fierce glint in his gaze — there was something about him that stirred an unspoken familiarity. 

He felt, even now, like the sun itself: so warm and so constant that no matter how long you had wandered or how far you had been carried by the tides of life, you would always know the shape of that light. 

It was impossible to outrun the sun, after all. One might seek shadows or turn away, but sooner or later, its warmth would find you again.

And so it was with James Potter.

You also grew closer still to Lily and Mary, their friendship becoming a steady anchor in this new place. 

The three of you would linger over long breakfasts in the Great Hall, take quiet walks beneath the changing leaves, or while away late evenings in the common room .

The Marauders too, in their own way, welcomed you into their fold. 

Remus, with his quiet wisdom and perceptive gaze, would offer thoughtful conversation and a gentle kind of understanding that needed no words. 

Sirius, bright and sharp-edged, carried his loyalty with an intensity that was impossible to miss. 

Aand beneath his teasing smiles there was a depth you came to value more with each passing day. 

It was on one such afternoon that you found yourself with James beneath the willow by the lake.

The great tree swayed above you, its long branches drifting in the breeze like the threads of some ancient tapestry. 

The grass beneath was cool, the earth soft, and from your place beneath the canopy. The castle seemed distant, its towers half-lost in the glow of the descending sun.

Books lay forgotten at your side, your conversation having long since drifted away from studies. 

After some time, James shifted slightly where he sat, drawing one knee beneath him as though bracing himself. 

He glanced toward you, and there was a seriousness in his gaze that stilled the air between you, a question that had long been waiting for the right moment.

When he spoke, his voice was lower than usual, touched with something softer, more deliberate.

“May I ask you something?”

You turned toward him, curiosity flickering beneath the surface of your calm. “Of course.”

He hesitated only a heartbeat, his amber gaze searching yours with a quiet intensity.

[please, please, please play About You by The 1975, here!! it will change up the entire scene <3]

“Have you,” he asked, his words careful now, as though they carried more weight than he could explain, “have you found your soulmate?”

“No, I haven’t.” You whispered.

Something about the look in his eyes made your breath catch, though you did not quite understand why.

You turned your head slightly toward him, voice quiet, curious.

“Have you found yours?” you asked softly. “Your soulmate.”

His breath seemed caught in his chest, his shoulders taut, as though your question had shifted something vast within him.

And then at last, he spoke, voice low, but the truth of it rang through you all the same.

“I have,” he said.

The words struck harder than they should have, sharp and sudden. 

You flinched inwardly, though you tried to mask it. 

Your heart, for reasons you could not quite understand, seemed to stutter painfully in your chest. 

Of course he had. Of course. By this age, nearly everyone had. It had been foolish of you to even wonder otherwise. 

A tightness rose in your throat. You glanced away, pushing quickly to your feet, fingers trembling faintly at your sides. 

The sudden need to put distance between yourself and him felt overwhelming.

“I… I should go,” you murmured, already beginning to step back, voice unsteady despite your efforts to remain composed. 

“I have— I should not be here.”

But before you could take another step, James surged forward, his hand catching yours.

You tried instinctively to pull away, to keep the ache in your chest from spilling over, but he held fast.

“Wait—” he said, his voice rough with something raw and vulnerable. “You asked if I’d found mine. And I told you yes.”

You froze, your heart thundering.

James swallowed, his gaze pinned to yours, his fingers trembling where they held your wrist.

“I always wondered why I could see colors when I never met my soulmate. Why I felt everything so deeply when no one was meant for me. Why everyone else had to wait to meet their soulmate till they saw color.”

He laughed, but it was hollow.

“I thought maybe the universe made a mistake. That maybe I was broken. I spent years thinking I was born wrong, that I was the only one who got left out of the magic.”

His thumb brushed lightly against your knuckles.

“But then you came along. And suddenly everything made sense. All that time I spent aching, waiting, wondering — it was for you”

You stared at him, breath caught.

James took a breath like it was the first one that hadn’t hurt in years.

“It’s always been about you.”

And before the ache in your chest could even become a word, he kissed you.

His mouth found yours with a hunger that stole the breath from your lungs, a heat that seemed to burn through every inch of you. 

The contact sent a rush of sensation through your body, sharp and bright, as though the very air had turned electric. 

You gasped softly into the kiss, the shock of it leaving you dizzy, helpless beneath the weight of the moment. 

His lips moved over yours with aching purpose, gentle at first, then deepening, as though something vast and unspoken had broken free in him at last.

Your fingers curled unconsciously into the fabric of his robes, holding on as though the earth itself had shifted beneath you. 

You could feel the heat of him through every layer, the taut strength of his arms braced around you.

And still the kiss went on — searing, consuming — until at last, breathless and trembling, you tore your mouth from his, gasping for air.

You stared up at him, wide-eyed, chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm. 

James hovered above you, one hand still cradling your head, the other pressed to the earth beside you. 

His gaze was blazing, the amber darkened with something fierce and undeniable.

“You are my soulmate,” he said, voice thick with something unshakable. “You always have been.”

The words wrapped around you like a thread pulled tight, tugging at something buried deep beneath your ribs.

“James,” you breathed, your voice trembled. “I thought you would forget me.”

His eyes didn’t waver. His hand tightened gently around yours.

“Do you think I have forgotten about you?” he asked, quiet but fierce, like the very idea was an insult to the stars.

You let out a soft, shaky laugh, one that didn’t quite hide the ache underneath. “I forgot a lot of things,” you said, watching him like he might disappear.

“But do you know what I never forgot?”

His brows furrowed, gaze locked to yours. “What?”

You lifted your hand, slow and hesitant, and reached up to brush your fingers gently across the arch of his brow.

“This scar,” you whispered. “Right here.”

His lips parted in surprise, a breath of laughter slipping out. “You gave me that,” he said, eyes lighting with memory.

“We were playing near the garden wall behind the orphanage. You hit me with a stick and then cried harder than I did.”

“I was dramatic,” you said, smiling now.

“You still are.”

Your smile wavered, softening into something more fragile. “There’s a lot I forgot about you, James. But somehow… there’s something about you that even now, when I can’t remember everything — it’s the same smile, same eyes, and the same damn scar that made my heart surrender.”

He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at you like you’d stitched the air back into his lungs.

Then, with a quiet, aching tenderness, he leaned closer, pressing his forehead to yours, breath warm between you.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’ve got the entire time in the world to remember each other.”

You laughed as he pressed another warm kiss into your lips. 

“My mother will lose her mind,” he said with a soft laugh. 

“She will be beside herself when she sees you. I have to write her the moment we leave this tree. She will not forgive me if I wait even an hour.”

That drew a true, another bright laugh from you.

You curled closer, head resting lightly against his shoulder, your heart steady now in a way it had never been.

And for James Potter—who had spent so many years quietly mistrusting the universe, doubting that such fragile, luminous things as soulmates could truly exist beyond storybooks and hopeful hearts — this was the moment everything changed. 

Beneath the ancient sweep of the willow, with you nestled close and your fingers tangled in his, James held you like something sacred. 

Your breath moved gently at his shoulder. The taste of your kiss still lingered on his lips, and all the old fears melted away like mist beneath the morning sun.

Because how could he doubt any longer? 

How could he deny the truth when every thread of his life, every unseen choice and twist of fate, had led him here.

To you, the girl who once lit his world with color before he even knew he’d been living in grey, the only soul whose presence could turn the air to gold and make the light itself feel like it was made just for you.

In this moment, James Potter finally believed in fate, not as some cold hand that ruled from above, but as a force that, against all odds, had placed you in his path again.

Because it had always been you.

Every turn, every heartbeat, and every breath he took without knowing why.

All of it had been about you.

[yasministration]

snobby slytherin princess - sirius black

summary: there's something about a snobby slytherin princess that sirius black cannot resist. so when you get into an argument with rabastan lestrange and let it slip that sirius black would have a better chance at marrying you, the boy springs into action. wc: 0.8k cw: public argument, pureblood stuff

Behind the perfect poise and manners all of the sacred 28 had been taught lay a beast of impatience and sass, every pureblood child being pushed to their limits. The marauders hadn’t been expecting to watch a showdown between two pureblooded slytherins on their way to the great hall for lunch, the silence between them a tell-tale of how double potions had gone. But their boredom had been noticed by some higher power, and by some miracle, they ended up two mere meters from you as you strode away from the great hall, a very obviously panicked Lestrange following behind you.

He was calling after you, breaking into a run to catch up with your pace as he pleaded “Don't be so stubborn! Can we please just talk!?” All air was sucked out of the hallway as you came to an abrupt halt, right next to the three boys and Lily, spinning around to face Rabastan.

“You want to talk? Okay, talk!”

Rabastan spluttered, at a loss for words. You scoffed, “Or do you just want me to talk so you can figure out what you did wrong and apologise for it?” Sirius made an impressed sound, but Rabastan was so busy trying to climb out of the grave he dug himself that he didn’t even notice. But it was hopeless; he had crossed the line and had veered into the dangerous terrain of your honest opinions.

“Rabastan, I am not marrying you. Go cry to daddy about it. He’ll have another wife lined up for you by tomorrow night.”

If the marauders weren’t already frozen with shock, they would be now. They had matching expressions on their faces, jaws slack, eyes wide. Sirius, as much as he loved listening to pureblood drama, had no idea about your engagement. Or, your arrangement, should he say.

“But I don’t want another wife, I want you.” It was a desperate attempt, but Rabastan trusted his acting skills. Rabastan’s father would kill him if he knew his son’s behaviour drove the perfect suitor away. Luckily for you, you saw right through him.

You doubled over, a loud laugh escape you, eyes still filled with rage. “No, you don’t! Oh my god! I’d have chosen your brother if I knew how disgusting you were!” Rabastan stumbled back from the force of your words, as though you had struck him. His brother? He didn’t know you or your parents had been given options. He thought his parents had decided to guide you towards the better Lestrange brother — him. He didn’t know that his parents wanted you to marry either one of them.

Shit, he really messed up.

Rabastan stepped closer to you, eyes pleading. He didn’t care how much more he humiliated himself in front of his rivals, he just had to avoid humiliating himself in front of his father. “Just give me one chance, just one.” Your eyes followed the movement of his hand, reaching out to hold yours. Laughing uncomfortably, you reached down with your free hand to remove Rabastan’s hold from you.

“You already had one chance. What, did you think this engagement was actually secured?”

Tilting your head to the side, you held Rabastan’s eye contact, as though challenging him to say another word to you. When he said nothing, you nodded, adding as the final straw “Even Black stands a better chance at this point.”

Rabastan laughed coldly, his innocent front now forgotten as he said “Yeah, Regulus two years younger stands a better chance. Sure.” You smiled sweetly at Rabastan, shaking your head. “No, Rab. Not Regulus.”

You heard Rabastan’s breath hitch in an embarrassing gasp as you spun around on your heels and continued down the hall — but not without catching Sirius Black’s eye first. He was fixing his posture, rolling his shoulders back and clearing his throat. He felt his cheeks go hot at your comment, head turning to follow your disappearing figure.

“Shit, there’s just something I love about a snobby slytherin princess.” His friends’ heads shot towards him, Lily’s face shocked whereas Remus and James both held amused smirks. But just as he stepped aside to follow you down the hallway, two more women made their presences known.

Rabastan turned to face Narcissa and Pandora, throwing his head back as he said “I messed up so bad.” The two women didn’t spare him another glance as they strutted past him. “Yes, you did Lestrange.” Narcissa called out, quickly followed by Pandora’s comment of “And daddy won’t get you a new wife with that attitude!”

“Cissy, you think I can bag her?” Yelled Sirius to his cousin, who very briefly turned her attention to him, shrugging her shoulders. “You know she does quite like a rebel.”

And then, “Not a disrespectful scumbag, Rabastan.”

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes, @juliet-f017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @why-am-i-like-this18, @theoraekenslover, @animalcrossingshameless, @azure-drag0ness, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @matcha-kitty13, @thenasoneshots, @cakiebleh, @slytherin-princess-x, @daydreamandforget, @bxuzi, @dlljdhsh, @5sospenguinqueen, @aouoo, @spider-girl , @fandomhoe101, @user010380, @simp-for-fiction, @selenewowww, @paytonluvxx

[ssahotchnerr]

Begging and pleading for reader hosting a dinner for the team since they just finished a rough case. No one knows her and Hotch are together, but start getting suspicious when he just?? Knows where everything is in the apartment?? Like he’s been there before??

right at home

i loveee a classic the-team-is-finding-out 🤭 cw; fem bau!reader, established relationship, mentions of food and drinking, fluff <3 wc; 1k

Sometimes, a little team bonding was the only thing needed to recover from a tough week.

After a brutal case that left everyone with a bad taste in their mouth, you jumped at the opportunity to host a gathering at your apartment. It was clear no one wanted to go home just yet; the darkness of the case hung over your heads and made the idea of being alone so soon unbearably daunting.

It wasn't anything extravagant, coming straight from the jet; ordering delivery from a local cafe - a slight, healthier alternative to  the usual takeout consumed on cases. Forgoing formal seating at your kitchen table and instead crowding on the carpet around your coffee table, a movie playing in the background, offered a casual and comfy atmosphere.

Sitting next to Aaron, you wished you could lean over and rest your head against his shoulder. Just for a second. Just long enough to breathe out some of the weight clinging to your ribs. You were glad the team was comforted by being together, but all you needed was Aaron. Only him and then you would be able to put this case in the past.

Plus, it's been a few days since you’d been physically affectionate. Long days in the precinct and out in the field made finding a private moment impossible, and with the team unaware of your relationship, it was impractical to do so much as hold his hand without being behind a closed door.

Little did they know, his overnight bag lay discreetly in your bedroom.

As if he could hear your thoughts, his eyes found yours, a gentleness to them as he silently checked in. Your own eyes briefly softened, relaying that you were fine.

"I'm so happy you all made it home to me unharmed and all in one piece." Penelope commented, her eyes flashing with relief. "Thank good gracious that's over."

"You and us both baby girl," Derek answered, dipping a veggie in some dressing. But as condiments with a thin consistency often did, it dripped off his piece of celery and onto the carpet before he could bring it to his mouth.

He grimaced, an apology in his eyes as they shot to yours. "Shit, I'm sorry mamas."

You waved it off, bringing your knees up to your chest and hugging them. "No worries. Nothing a bit of carpet cleaner can't fix."

"I got it." Aaron didn't hesitate, scrambling up and heading to your hall closet.

The quiet hum of conversation continued on. But after a moment, JJ’s expression shifted; a flash of confusion appearing so abruptly, it was impossible to miss.

How did Hotch know where you kept your cleaning supplies?

"JJ?" Emily asked, her wine glass pausing at her lips. "Something wrong?"

"No." She tentatively shook her head, but her eyes stayed on you, searching your face as if trying to read the things you weren’t saying.

And you weren't saying much. Oblivious to JJ's stare, you weren't acting out of the ordinary at all - taking a sip of your drink, eyes flickering back and forth amongst the conversation. But as Aaron re-entered the room, your face lit up the smallest amount. He handed the carpet scrubber to Morgan, and reclaimed his spot next to you.

You looked relaxed, happy.

Aaron did as well. Too relaxed and too happy, as if he felt at home.

JJ did, however, nudge Emily with an elbow. One that read: start paying attention.

"Morgan, make sure you-"

"I know how to clean a carpet, Hotch." Derek bantered quickly, causing a smile to tug on the ends of Aaron's lips, cheekily looking in your direction as a laugh escaped you. Satisfaction pulled onto his face.

Emily's eyebrows rose. Oh.

The next instance that brought questioning, you all had congregated to the kitchen - another round of drinks for some. As Emily distributed the wine, Aaron took it upon himself to help you rinse off dishes and put them away. Handling it in advance, and saving the two of you time later.

As far as the rest of the team was aware, this was the first time you’d had any of them over. Usually, everybody would meet at Dave's house (mansion, he would correct) or eat out at one of the many establishments populating DC.

But Aaron acted with practiced ease. He didn't ask you where something belonged, no lost expressions filled his face as he tried to determine where something maybe belonged. He just knew.

Spencer's eyes followed him, weighing all the variables. Sure, your dishes were in the closest cupboard to your sink; logically that made sense. Rather convenient, a quick and easy unload, especially given at your height. Was it common sense, or prior knowledge?

But what did he know? Genius or not, he’d never been good at reading subtle cues like those.

Aaron's hand even brushed the small of your back as he passed - something that could've easily been dismissed as a casual, friendly gesture - the kind people make when squeezing by. But there was a quiet familiarity to it, a natural ease, as if he'd done it countless times before.

-

"Are you heading out too?" Dave asked Aaron, his eyes narrowing at him in suspicion. It had gotten late, and everyone had begun streaming out - grabbing coats and tossing goodbyes left and right.

Meanwhile, Aaron lingered quietly in the background, his shoulder pressed lazily against the wall with his arms loosely folded. There was no urgency in his posture - just a calm stillness, as if he had all the time in the world and nowhere in particular to be.

"Why wouldn't I?" Aaron feigned confusion, suddenly debating putting his shoes on to make it more believable.

But he was soon distracted by you - giggling wildly as Penelope refused to release you from her tipsy embrace. Your laughter echoed through the room, unbothered and bright, as JJ - her ride home - attempted to unlatch her from you. Aaron's lips lifted in an almost-there smile.

"Mhm." That answered that. Dave smirked, a wise and knowing glint in his eyes. "Hope you two have a good night."

[athenalvss]

WHAT DID YOU BUY? (Bruce Wayne!)

Summary: there is a problem in the surveillance system and Bruce isn't responding to the league's messages, so they go looking for him at Wayne Manor.

pairing: Bruce wayne x wife!reader

note: idk I liked the idea of bruce's wife being a bombshell, I'm seriously thinking about doing some sort of series on this topic

open request - Bruce wayne masterlist

"You know, I don't think he's in trouble," Hal said, arms crossed, staring at the enormous gate of Wayne Manor. "Maybe one of his kids knocked something over on the computer and made a mess."

"Exactly!" Barry exclaimed, pointing at him as if he'd just solved a mystery. "And here we are, ringing the bell like two idiots."

There was strange interference in the global surveillance system. The Tower's sensors indicated a jammed signal coming directly from the Batcomputer. Diana was the first to send Bruce a direct message, one, two, three times. No response.

"It's weird" she had said.

"It's Bruce Wayne" Hal replied. "Weird is normal."

So they decided to act. Better safe than sorry. In less than a minute, they were in Gotham, standing at the entrance to the mansion.

"And Alfred?" Hal asked, ringing the bell again. "He always opens quickly."

"Maybe he's on vacation? Seeing the Caribbean?" Barry offered. Hal glared at him.

Diana, standing with her arms crossed, said nothing. Her expression was serene but alert.

Soft footsteps echoed behind the door until it opened, was this heaven?

You opened the door. You were barefoot, wearing a black silk robe loosely tied at the waist, the fine fabric leaving little to the imagination. Your hair was loose, a little messy compared to how they usually see you, and it fell over your shoulders. Your eyes were a little glossy, as were your lips, and you had that soft voice they'd already known... but never so closely.

"Is something wrong?" you asked, tilting your head slightly, as if the sight of two League members at your door wasn't at all strange.

It took Hal three seconds to blink. Barry made a sound that didn't sound human. Diana, thankfully, took back control. "Is Bruce available? There was a glitch in the Batcomputer signal. We're trying to contact him."

"Ah... yeah, I guess," you said, reaching up to straighten your robe, which clearly didn't help anyone's concentration. "I was using the Batcomputer... Bruce wanted to get me a present, and the computer there is really fast. Luckily, I was able to buy the lingerie I wanted."

Barry rolled his eyes at the ceiling as if that would save him. Hal blinked twice. Nothing changed. You were still there. In that robe. In that voice. With that damn confidence that made everything feel even worse. How could you talk about lingerie shopping in front of them so casually?

"And you shut down the system?" Diana asked, with the calmness of someone already accustomed to these situations.

"Maybe" you acknowledged with a half smile, lowering your gaze for just a second. "I'm not a big fan of Bruce's operating system. I shut everything down, and well... apparently I blocked an entire global surveillance network."

"And Bruce?" Diana asked, just as calmly.

"He went back to sleep" you replied. "He was up late... work stuff. You guys understand."

"Work, for sure" Hal repeated, without thinking.

You raised an eyebrow. "What else would we do until late, Hal?"

Hal opened his mouth to reply, but Barry jabbed him with an elbow so hard he nearly knocked him off balance. “Nothing! Nothing! You were probably working. You guys… do that. Work. A lot. All the time,” Barry said, his smile strained, his ears red to the roots.

Diana sighed with a hint of resignation and began to enter the house without waiting for further authorization. "We better check quickly. We don't want to interrupt... Bruce's rest."

"Oh, don't worry," you said sweetly as you moved away from the door frame. "He doesn't sleep much."

Just then, Bruce appeared at the top of the stairs. Shirtless. Hair all messed up. And a glare straight at Barry and Hal. "What are you doing here?"

“We thought you were in danger,” Barry said, seeming to evaporate.

Bruce stepped down slowly, crossing his arms. "I'm not in danger. What's in danger is your continued presence in this house."

You giggled, walking casually toward him. You stopped beside him and smoothed his hair, not caring about any witnesses.

"Sorry, love, I opened the door for you. I thought it was Alfred."

Diana, flawless as ever, continued, “The Batcomputer showed a signal of interference. You weren’t responding. We came to make sure you were okay.”

Bruce took another step down. His eyes slid toward you. “Was that you?”

"I'm sorry, love. I accidentally locked everything" you said, your voice so sweet any other man on the planet would have melted.

"So you've decided, what did you buy?" Bruce asked, before his brain could intercept the impulse.

You turned your head slowly, with a lethal smile. "Lingerie. Do you want to see?"

Bruce simply raised an eyebrow. “Jordan, Allen. Three seconds.”

"We're leaving now!" Hal said, pushing Barry toward the door with a desperation unworthy of a Green Lantern.

"Thank you for your hospitality! Sorry for existing!" Barry said, tripping over a rug.

The door slammed shut. The echoes in the hallway hadn't yet died away when Bruce let out a deep sigh, tired but clearly resigned to his fate.

You laughed softly, and before you could say anything, he had already taken you by the waist and lifted you up in his arms with that naturalness that always left you breathless. "Shall we go back to bed, Mr. Wayne?"

"Not until you show me what you ordered from Paris, Mrs. Wayne."

[madamechrissy]

Just Friends!?

-Art in the banner from nek0zuu_ on X-

Pairings- Former Nerd! Gojo and popular F! reader

Summary - Satoru Gojo was the biggest nerd EVER in high school with you, next door neighbors, study buddies, you were the best friends in the world. Never having the courage to ask you -the 'popular girl' out- you never knew he felt for you. He ended up leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- getting famous with a modeling career, and lost touch with everyone from his old life. While you're working the family pub to help out your parents, years later, he finally comes back to visit, just to have you making his drink. Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin. You feel he's so accomplished now, and you're just a small town girl, but little do you know, you've never left his mind.

Warnings - Nerdjo turned famous and cocky, but he's still just a Nerdjo deep down hehe- this chap- explicit sex, shower sex, oral ( f receiving) lots of fluff, lots of emotions, mentions of past angst, an INSANE breed kink (reader and Toru hehe) cumplay, sweet whipped Satoru, they're so in lovvve.- WC- 7.8k

Based on the 2005 Rom com Just Friends - part of @indiewritesxoxo's Friday night flicks! 🌙 Taglist closed! -Comments/rbs appreciated <3

<<<Part Seven - Masterlist - Playlist- Part Nine>>> (soon)

Part Eight

You’ve never been on a plane.

You’ve driven everywhere, even out of state you’d get a car rental and just cruise, but Satoru has you on a plane in first class, headed to Hollywood. You’re so nervous, heart racing as you think of seeing him again, as you think of being in his arms. It’s only been a couple weeks, but a couple weeks feels like forever when it has been eight years without him.

The plane ride goes smoothly, despite your anxiety, a couple airport bottles may have been necessary for how panicked you were at first, so you may or may not be a little buzzed when you get off the plane. You step into the airport and the overwhelming amount of people surround you, you’re momentarily disoriented at just how many, walking past and rushing off.

You eye your phone then, before a big sign catches your attention, a dark haired man with glasses holding up your name on a huge sign. You giggle just a bit and walk over then, he smiles at you. “That would be me!”

“Perfect, I’m Ijichi. Mr. Gojo is waiting in the limo, he didn’t want to overwhelm you with too much attention if he came out.” You nod in understanding, certainly the paparazzi would be all over him. “Right this way, Miss.”

You follow him out, and through all of the rest of the enormous airport, the chaos makes you just a little dizzy. You can still feel the nerves even as you walk out into the much different climate than back home. It’s warm and sunny, there’s a dry heat you’ve never really felt entering your lungs as you inhale and exhale, shutting your eyes at how good it feels when Ijichi reaches a black limo.

The door opens and Satoru rushes out of the car, surprising you when he scoops you up in his arms, wearing some round Gucci shades and a big grin. You giggle and let him pick you up, twirling you like you’re a little feather in his strong hold, slamming his lips down. That’s when the tears well up, mixed with the laughter, how badly you missed this.

How can you miss something you didn’t have before so vividly? Now it feels the perfect and only place to be, his arms, clinging so tightly to him. He’s whispering your name over and over when cameras start flashing, you hear the clicks and feel eyes on the two of you then, not just paparazzi either, it’s random people gossiping.

“Satoru, baby they’re all watching…” You murmur then, and he glares at them for a moment, setting you down.

“Mr. Gojo, weren't you supposed to hide in the limo?”

“I got too excited,” he’s pouting as he looks down at you, cupping your face, you feel his eyes are only on you, feel the warmth of his touch as you grip his wrist gently. “Fuck I missed you.”

“I missed you more, um… are you okay with them seeing me?” He frowns a bit, caressing your jaw line tenderly, and it’s really just you two, nothing else at that very moment.

“I should ask you, I’d love everyone to know I have the prettiest fucking girl in the world.”

“You go on too much!”

“Wanna bet?” You’re giggling again even as he swipes your tears, and his bright, brilliant eyes look at you so lovingly.

“You hype me up a lot you know.”

“As I should,” he kisses you again, right as people are wondering who you are outside of LAX, you feel the warmth of the sun shining down as he tugs you closer. “Should give ‘em a show.”

“Oh gosh!”

“Blushing, cute.”

“You’re ridiculous!” He’s chuckling again, slipping back on his shades and then gesturing for you to climb in as Ijichi puts up your luggage in the trunk.

When Satoru’s back with you, he’s pressing your back against the seat, leaning on top and kissing every inch he can find, your face, your throat, your chest, all while you giggle breathlessly. You gasp when he’s at the base of your neck, his plush lips brushing on sensitive skin, god he missed you so much it takes everything not to fuck you right here.

He’s sure you want a shower, to relax a bit from a long flight with two layovers, so he holds back just a bit, keeping the touches teasing and sweet. Your lips are pliant under his, parting as his tongue slips through the seam, and he tastes your sweetness again.

“Mochi has nothing on you.”

“You’re too much!” You’re grinning against his lips now, and he sighs, leaning up to look down at you for a moment, before kissing you again.

“Hmm, wait… is that tequila!?” He’s lapping at your lips as if it’s an inspection, you burst out into more laughter.

“Maybe! Maybe I’m a little tipsy. Just this much.” You put your thumb and finger together, grinning now, he can’t help but laugh with you, infectious as ever, studying your precious face and wondering how he ever went without it.

“You’re good and drunk, I can’t take advantage of you.”

“Not even, take all the advantage.” You’re kissing across his neck, hands slipping over his dress shirt, feeling the luxurious material as it ripples across his muscles, eliciting a soft whine from his throat.

“Fuck,” he’s throbbing under his slacks now, pressing against your heat and feeling your body arch, hips pressing for more of him. “You need water bottles or something, you're gonna get dehydrated that soaking wet.”

“Oh!” He’s smirking, sitting you up then, tugging you right against his side as he leans over and snatches a bottle up. “Do you just typically ride in a limo?”

“Yeah, long legs you know.” You roll your eyes as he spreads them wide, shoving one on you.

“You are like ninety percent leg.” You take the cool water, sipping it and sighing as it hits, cooling you off just a bit, Satoru nudges you further, before you kick back at him, and he tugs you to him again.

“Fuck, I missed you so much,” he’s softer now, the teasing gone as he cups your face, the condensation from the water pressing against your palm and dampening his dress shirt just a bit. Your heart races, the emotions mixing with the exhaustion, you haven’t slept in days in anticipation. “I don’t know how I went that long without seeing you to begin with.”

“I always missed you.” Your words break him, the sincerity and sweetness, and he swallows down the guilt once more.

He could have had this.

He could have had you in his arms, in his life, but you quickly shut off his thoughts with another kiss. “Hey, Satoru…”

“Yeah?” His voice is soft, you feel it then, his longing for something that cannot be, even if he doesn’t say it.

“We don’t know what would have happened, if we confessed our feelings then, we’ve grown a lot now, and we’re different in ways. I think everything happens for a reason, okay? So don’t look back on the past, we can’t change it. Focus on this right here.” You kiss him again, pulling back to look up at him, he sighs then.

“You’re all wise and shit huh?” You smile and wiggle your brows. “You’re right, there’s no sense in it. But to think I could have had you in my life…”

“I’m in your life right now, Toru.” The little nickname always breaks him, always melts him for you even more.

“Drink your water,” he presses a kiss on your forehead. “You little drunk.”

“Am not!” But you’re doing as he says, you are so thirsty, soon you’re resting your head on his chest as you two drive through the LA traffic, he’s got an arm wrapped around you as you yawn. “I don’t want to sleep as soon as I see you!”

“Take a nap, we have an hour before we’ll get home.”

Home, the words make your heart race, how he says it so easily, as if you’ll instantly be a part of that for him. The love you’ve always had makes the ease of this so perfect, a new relationship shouldn’t feel like this, nothing could ever really feel like this, like your home is in the arms of the boy you’ve always loved. Your eyes drift shut even as you fight it.

“I got a guitar you know,” you smile against his chest, inhaling his scent as he tugs you closer. “I am trying to remember how to play it.”

“I’m excited, I’ll get serenaded by the Satoru Gojo huh?”

“You’re very special, it's exclusive.” You’re resting more and more, until he hears it - a light little snore, and he knows you’re zonked out from your trip. Affection claws at his throat, mixing with his own exhaustion, while he strokes back your hair gently.

He’s been so busy this week, he worked to clear as much time as he could with you, but even so he has events. He’ll have you right by his side for them all, which he can’t wait to have you there, not being lonely and plastering on a trademark look for every camera and every interviewer. No, he’ll have you, all dolled up in one of the fancy dresses he bought you.

You soon find out he went overboard, as you all eventually take the elevator up to Satoru’s fancy penthouse overlooking the oceanside, it’s stunning and spotless as he gives you a little tour of it and you notice he’s already got half his closet filled with beautiful gowns. There are stacks of fancy shoe brands you cannot even pronounce but you’ve seen in magazines.

“Satoru! I said a couple dresses, holy fuck…” You’re brushing your fingers along one now, black sequined with a slit all the way up, you flush as you think how much leg that will show. “I’m more of a jean or legging girl you know.”

“Oh, I know, it’ll make it even hotter to dress you up,” he’s got his arms wrapped around you, tugging your back against him, lips trailing along your temple. “Like you’re my little doll, huh?”

“Mnh…” You’re lost as he presses hot kisses on the side of your neck, gasping at the sensation, his closet is as big as your room back home, organized by color and brand, a mirror between the shelves that shows your disheveled state. “Your doll?”

“Would you like that? Be my pretty little doll,” your eyes shut for a moment as your body reacts to his nearness, to his touch, igniting heat in your tummy that spreads at his whispered words. “No thoughts in your head, just for me to dress you up and fuck you like you’re a toy?”

“God,” you’re done for, his words bringing filthy pictures as his hand splays over your tummy, long fingers spread across it, the knot tightening with how badly you want him inside you. “You’re insane.”

“You really haven’t seen anything yet, sweetheart.” Your chin is turned, and he kisses you deeply, tongue delving inside your mouth again.

“I need a shower, I’m sweaty Toru.”

“Like I care?” You giggle again, but he pulls back, sighing. “I figured you would want to wash up. Go put your things up here and I’ll get it started, okay?”

“Yes, thank you!” He kisses you once more as you start placing the few outfits and things you brought with you, he’s got a whole empty drawer as if he was waiting for you and cleared it out.

You hear the water running, walking out to smell sweet fragrant steam, following it until you get into one of his bathrooms, it’s all polished cream marble and immaculate, some waterfall shower with three heads, two on either side and one overhead. You blink in surprise at it, before studying a now shirtless Satoru, his body is so perfect it makes you ache more.

“This shower is insane,” you shut the door and slip off your own shirt, just wearing a bra, they bounce gently when you do, making Satoru exhale, his cock throbbing as he sees the body he’s been missing so fucking bad. You brush your hair over one shoulder, turning then. “Can you help me?”

He runs over there like an eager teenager, you both laugh at it, at experienced supermodel Satoru Gojo’s hands trembling with anticipation, as he unclasps the bra nervously. He slips it down your shoulders until it falls to the floor, turning you and running his slender fingers over the marks the bra left, as if he could soothe them away for you.

“Don’t wear one here, please?” His pout is enough to do you in.

“Not at all?”

“Not at all, my one thing I’ll ask. Well…” he eases down your jean shorts, then slips your panties down, his breath hot on you as steam fills the room, swirling around you two, your thighs trembling, cunt pulsing around nothing at his avid attention. “Two things.”

“What’s the other thing, hmm?” Your fingers card through his silky white locks carefully, nails gentle on his scalp, while he presses a kiss to your thigh.

“No panties here either.” He eyes you under those snowy lashes, on his knees like he worships you, it’s a heady feeling, the way his huge hands grip your thighs, the way his lips caress your hip.

“I can do that for you, only here though,” he grins against your skin, you feel the lines of his pretty white teeth as he does, before he stands, towering over you and cupping your face. “I want you in there with me, please?”

“You think there’s a world where I wasn’t going to take a shower with you?”

Soon Satoru is leading you in, and the hot water starts pounding against your skin, soothing the soreness of the flight right away. He’s gently running a sudsy washcloth all over your body, inch by inch, relishing and putting attention into every little bit he can see. Your head falls back against the warmed tiles as he starts massaging his hands, feeling the fragrant bubbles and your soft, slick skin.

“This is perfect, it’s well worth any flight.” He smiles at that, lips quirking up at the corner while he continues, now his thumbs brush your nipples, you gasp.

“Sensitive?” He teases, you nod then, looking up at him, the water has made his silvery locks long and slick, you brush them back, biting your lip when he brushes them again. “Asked ya a question, sweetheart.”

“They are sensitive, feels s’good though, mmm!” He’s got them between his thumb and forefingers now, twisting just a bit and making the need unbearable, you gasp out at it.

“Imagine when I get you pregnant,” his words fuck what’s left of your dumb brain then, his eyes flashing with some feral hunger that makes them almost hard to look into. “They’re gonna be so full.”

“Fuck, you’re talking like that?” You’re dragging him down for a kiss, trying to tiptoe and nearly slipping, he grabs you and keeps you steady, his other hand slipping down to cup your ass cheek. “God, don’t even talk like that to me.”

“Why, you got a breed kink?” You’re burying your face against his chest, slick from the body wash, and he chuckles at you then, you feel the vibrations against your body as you whine out. “You do? Don’t be shy, I wanna know all about it.”

“I’ve never… acted on it… mnh…” Satoru turns you then, leaning down as you brace your hands against the wall, pressing closer to him when he slips his fingers between your soppy folds, you’re whining out at it.

“Tell me, what do you think about, hmm?” He’s taunting you, his other hand gripping yours as the water cascades over you both.

“I want babies in me,” your whisper ends him, his cock throbbing and leaking precum as he runs his finger over your clit in little circles. You’re gasping out at the sensations, him pressing up more, it’s twitching against his fingers, cunt leaking out of your hole. “Ah!”

“You want babies in you, what a little freak my sweet girl is, tsk,” he’s taunting you, fingers entwining, his teeth sinking into your neck as he leans over you, the water pounding against his muscled back, heating his skin until it’s a blushing red. “You want my babies inside you?”

“Only yours, only ever yours.” You’re arching for more, his teasing fingers just dipping in your hole, that grips his fingertip like she wants to suck it so greedily inside of her.

“You want me to throw out that fucking birth control?”

“Oh, Toru…”

“You do, huh?” He’s lost in his madness, you two know it’s nonsense for now, but his words end you, picturing it vividly. “I’ll put so much cum in you it’ll never work anyway.”

“Ngh, please do it - ah!” Satoru’s got you spun back so quickly you’re dizzy, the mix of the heat of the shower and his hard body overtaking all your senses. He’s leaned down, kissing your lips, his big hands taking your body over, your waist, your hips, slipping even lower.

“Thought you were a good girl,” he’s taunting you, but you couldn’t care less, when he lifts you like it’s nothing, pressing you against the wall, your thighs against his narrow hips. “You want all of my cum, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, I want it.” He’s moaning, hoarse sounds from his throat, his tip aligning itself with your hole, pressing inside - the most delicious pressure, stretching your tight ring of muscles when he pulls back and thrusts his hips. You choke on your moan, while he just looks at you, hungry and fucking insane, hands sinking into your thighs.

“Want me to fill this perfect cunt till you can’t walk without dripping?” You nod weakly, he’s sinking deeper in your slick walls, which pulse and slip down his veiny length. Your cunt tries to accommodate him, but he’s so thick, that leaky tip hitting just your spot, until you’re shattering already, cumming so hard you can’t think. “Ya that easy, we just started.”

“Shh,” you’re kissing him, aftershocks rocking you, the release so good you’re already fucked out in moments. “Want you.”

“I want you, pregnant with milk pouring from your nipples.” Satoru’s trying to end you, your eyes shooting up to his as he braces you on the wall, one hand gripping a slick breast and squishing. You’re cries echo in the shower, bouncing right off the walls to fill his ears, a sound he never wants to stop fucking hearing. “That’s it, you’re so easy when I bring it up.”

“J-jerk…” He’s smiling against your neck when he buries his face against it, bottoming out as deep as he can go, making you so full you feel him everywhere, in your stomach, hitting every spot you have with his mean tip. “M’gonna cum again,”

“Again, god you’re slutty for me,” he’s lost inside you, talking all the shit he can when he’s just trying to desperately not cum, not bust this early, but the way your cunt is milking him for all it’s worth. He’s pulling back, hands back on your ass, dragging your cunt closer, just making it more sensitive. “You’re trying to get me to cum, aren’t you brat?”

“Me? N-no,” you tighten just a bit, earning his cute glare, when he starts pounding into your cunt, you’re gripping his shoulders, nails pressing in, as he fucks you so hard it hurts - the pain perfect, heady and addictive.

“God I would keep you pregnant,” he’s huffing those words under his breath, your lower back bruising against the wall as he presses you harder, head lowering to rest his forehead on yours as he holds you up. “Use you, like my little doll, just to fill with cum over and over.”

“Ngh!” How many kinks is he trying to hit!? You’re gasping and clinging to his back, fingers slipping as he holds you up, pulling you off the wall. “Toru I’m gonna fall, s-stop!”

“Think I don’t got you, sweetheart?” He’s dragging your cunt down, using you, you’re not even able to move, his hands on your ass guiding you up and down as your head falls to the side, slick hair dripping down across your shoulder. He’s devouring your neck as his thick cock shoves in so deep, your cries making his cock twitch, making him sensitive.

You’re whining out his name, while he holds you like that, and you’re shivering, goosebumps rising as the pleasure builds, until you feel like you’re going to break. “Mnh! Fuck…”

“That’s it, cum again,” he’s pressing you back on the wall, eyes looking down into yours. “Want me to use you don’t you? Till I bust inside, fill you up?”

All you can do is nod in jerky motions, and Satoru’s filthy with it, his strokes mean as they slam your cervix over and over. He’s whispering your name over and over, you’re clinging to him, fingers slipping, thighs threatening to lock up, but he doesn’t let you fall, he’s lost as you are, rhythm faster and faster as your cunt gushes around him, head falling back for his teeth and mouth to mark you.

You’re kissing him as he presses you against the tiles, as the water drips and cascades off his face to yours, and your lips move over each other, until you feel him slow, and thicken. He thickens so much, so deep inside you, stretching you out as his tip is against your cervix, and his hands leave marks against your thighs. You’re crying out in his mouth, gasping as he pumps hot cum inside you.

“Toru!” He moans, kissing you messy, saliva dripping as white hot ropes shoot up inside you.

“That’s it, take all my cum, huh?” You’re nodding desperately, thighs shaking with the effort, as he moans low in your ear, resting his head against the shower wall as he fills you. “God I missed this.”

“M-me too, mmm, me too.” The kisses are messier as he eases out, he gently washes you after, careful as you’re sore just a bit from having him inside you again.

“Beat her up.”

“Toru!”

“Sorry, she’s cute.” He presses a kiss on her and chuckles after the shower is done and he’s drying you off. “Let me dry your hair.”

Satoru works carefully then, bringing you back to thoughts of when he’d curl or straighten your hair before a competition. To when he’d help you do your makeup because you were hopeless at it, and his hand was always so steady and precise. The thoughts fill you with warmth as you swipe some of the steam off the mirror, bringing him into view.

He has a towel loose around his narrow hips, yours is carefully tucked around your breasts, it’s so domestic, it’s so perfect. A comfort you think you could only feel with him, even after the time and distance, he shows you that affection, the sweet way he slathers some fancy oil in your hair, how he massages some other fancy lotion against your skin.

“You use all this?”

“I get a lot of free things when I do commercials or ads, I have a stupid collection. You can take anything you want, though I don’t think I wanna remember you have to leave after a few days.” You hear it, the sadness in his voice, before he clears his throat and tugs you against him, pressing the soft terry cloth against his chest. “Let’s not think of it at all.”

“Let’s not, let’s enjoy.”

Laying in Satoru Gojo’s fancy ass bed, in his huge immaculate room, it feels as cozy as his childhood room did, because he is there. He’s holding you close to him, an arm wrapped around your waist, hand gripping your tit, you giggle at it, tugging it a little lower, for him to bite your shoulder playfully and scooch it back.

“I waited how long to grab these? Better let me.”

“You’re silly, y’know that?” You turn your head and he just grins, squishing it again and making you laugh.

“The first pair of titties I noticed.”

“Oh whatever!”

“Think I’m lying? Don’t you remember the tissues, the lotion, the-”

“Oh god. Not a poster girl or model?”

“Nah fuck that, nicest pair right here.” He squishes your other one now, you exhale and arch against him at the sensations. “They’ll get so big when you’re-”

“Fuck this.” You’re on him before he can blink, and you do not get any rest until the sun rises and filters through the blinds.

***** 

“Relax, you look fucking beautiful.” Satoru’s grinning at you the next evening as you two sit in the limo, right in front of the event. He is looking like a million bucks in his dark blue suit, elaborate lace designs embedded in the lapels, matching just a few shades of his blue eyes.

His big hand holds yours, he feels how sweaty it is, how shaky as you tremble just a bit, looking out at the limo then, your heart pounding in your chest. “I know you think I’m beautiful-”

“I will put this off and bend you over my knee,” he tugs you to him, a hand precariously on your thigh, scowl on his handsome features. “I’ll beat that pretty ass so hard if you say one more thing.”

“Satoru, you’re a model. I am not a model.”

“No, because I’d be too jealous to ever let anyone see your pretty fucking body, huh?” You’re a blushing mess, as he does look at you like you’re the prettiest thing in the world.

That’s when it all hits.

Satoru always looked at you like that, maybe not as intense, maybe not as bold as he is now, but he always eyed you with that devotion. The memories all start to cascade together, bits and pieces - a memory of going to your middle school dance together in eighth grade.

‘You’re the prettiest girl here,’ he’d been so cute with his fully buttoned dress shirt and bowtie, grinning with his braces on full display as he twirled you on the floor.

‘And you’re the cutest boy!’ he’d blushed, full pink, his eyes directly on your face, and when a boy asked to dance, the little pout he gave made sure you turned it down.

‘You can dance with other people, it’s okay.’

‘No, it’s our night.’

That memory is as vivid as the others, all falling together and showing the glaring conclusion - Satoru Gojo had always been in love with you. It’s exactly as he said, and you’d been oblivious to it, now just quiet as your eyes fill with tears, he frowns in concern, his brows drawing together, fingers caressing your cheek with the utmost care, eliciting another memory.

“Sweetheart, if you’re not ready, I can put this off.”

“No… it’s not that.” He swipes a tear, glittery with the mascara dripping from your lashes, while you remember again, a night at a party where you’d been far too intoxicated back in high school, when he’d eyed you with that look.

‘Satoru, dance with me!’ you’d been slurring your words a bit, wrapping your arms around his neck, seeing him flustered.

‘No, I hate dancing, you know.’

‘Not with me!’ you’re pouting as you stood outside the blaring loud party at someone’s house, you both didn’t even know, but Satoru always got dragged along with your dumb ideas. ‘Please!’

‘We’re in their yard, silly,’ he pecked a kiss on your head then, looking at you with an unreadable expression, sighing as his fingers hovered over your cheek, but never touched it.

‘Satoru has anyone told you, you’re really hot?’

‘Yeah, you did. You’re really drunk huh?’

‘Hmm, maybe,’ you’d leaned up, eyes fluttering shut, and Satoru would have died to kiss you, if he knew you were sober. ‘Hmph!’

‘You’re going home with me, c’mon.’ you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder as he drove you home, but you remembered it - how he looked at you.

“Sweets, what’s wrong?” He asks then, and you realize you’re in a full throw of tears, remembering his caring, remembering the way he just listened, how he was always there.

Until he wasn’t.

“Satoru, if I appreciated you more, would you have stayed?” He glares now, lips parted, shaking his head at you, you grip his wrist while he cups your face, sniffling more now. “Be honest.”

“You appreciated me, god you were the best person in the world. You really think that’s why?” His voice is hushed, while you look back out at the window, hearing the flash of the cameras, the announcements, echoing in the confines of the limousine, before looking back at him.

“You always loved me.” He exhales then, swallowing, nodding his head imperceptibly. “And I didn’t know.”

“To be fair, I was as oblivious as you, remember?” You nod then, while he brushes back just a bit of your carefully curled hair. “I didn’t leave because you didn’t appreciate me. I left because I didn’t love myself.”

“Oh, Toru…”

“Shh, gonna cry off all that makeup.” He’s gentle as he tries to fix the smudges, smiling at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners a bit. “I wasn’t okay with who I was, I wanted to be… perfect. And now I am by all standards ‘perfect’ but baby, it wasn’t shit without you, okay?”

You’re done then, kissing him furiously, as you pour everything into it, he gets lost right with you, lips pressing over yours over and over, breaths heavy and scattered, his hands sliding over those delicate sequins. “I don’t want to go home.”

“I don’t want you to, fuck… ever.” He’s kissing you softer now, pulling back as he eyes the window then. “But will you really feel home here?”

“I want to keep trying, and see if I can. I just know I have a lot to… take care of if  I do that first.”

“Then we’ll figure it out, anything okay? If you fucking hate this event, we’ll figure out something. If you love it, then we’ll go to every one you want. I want you, more than anything.” You kiss him again, he’s tugging you closer, every memory of you two drifting in his mind now too.

“You always loved me, and I always loved you.”

“Always, sweetheart. Since I met you. Who wouldn’t?”

“Who wouldn’t love you?” He sucks a breath in, his hand slipping up the bare skin of your thigh, watching your face flush, your eyes dilate.

“We’re not gonna make it out of the car if you keep lookin’ at me like that, I’ll put a baby in you here.”

“Toru don’t say it, you know what it does to me now!” You’re whining and he smirks now.

“Soaking wet?”

“Hush!”

“You’re so easy f’me,” he’s kissing your lower lip, lapping across it with his tongue as your lips part, your hands tugging at the lapels of his jacket. “I should have fucked you before, could drip cum on the red carpet.”

“You’re ridiculous, stop it,” but you’re wetter now, and he knows it, his teasing smile replacing the emotional one he had earlier.

“Ya really want me to stop, sweets?” You exhale, shaking your head as he slips it higher, finding you over the delicate lace of the panties he bought you, groaning. “You are soaked, you wanna be pregnant so bad.”

“We will never m-make it if you keep touching me.” He swipes his finger closer, as another courtesy rap on the door sounds, you pull away a bit, when he swipes your glistening arousal on his lips, making them even glossier, your tummy tenses, breaths caught in your throat at the sight.

“Should I tell them my new secret to glossy lips?” He kisses you again, spreading your flavor along your mouth, you’re whining out softly when he finally pulls back. “Let’s knock 'em all dead, yeah?”

“Let’s do it.” He’s grinning, so brilliant, and you try to focus on him then, as the cameras hone in on you, lights glittering off the sequins while Satoru keeps a hand at the small of your back.

“It’s so many people,” you murmur, looking everywhere, it’s loud and insane with the sheer amount of people walking, the attention on you makes you anxious. You used to cheer and competitions would also have you in a cold sweat, he’d always hype you up. “Satoru…”

“I’m here baby,” he tugs you against his side, you feel his reassuring arm wrap as he looks at the cameras ahead. “Just look at me.”

You do that, and he eyes you and smiles, when a couple interviewers start shouting his name. “Should you go?”

“We’ll go,” he’s holding your hand as you two walk over, and then more interviewers run up, overwhelming you as you look down at your glittery heels, but Satoru holds your hand even tighter. “One question each.”

“Are you two together?” One asks, and you look up at Satoru, focusing on his cute little smile as he winks at you.

“We are together.”

There’s a clamoring, and people are leaving other interviews to get a shot at a question of the elusive Satoru and his new girlfriend. The attention is just too much, you’re not sure how he handles it all, but the way he commands them with just enough friendliness, but still holds back himself from them is impressive.

That Satoru is all yours.

“How long have you known each other?”

“Hmm,” he taps his chin, eyes narrowing. “Let’s see… over eighteen years ago we met.”

“How has she been a secret?”

“She lives back home. For now.” He’s winking again, you let him command them, answering their questions until he sighs a bit. “Okay, yes she’s my girl, but this is boring and I’m ready for the show. One more question.”

“Is it serious?” One of the girls asked, and Satoru holds your hand to his lips, giving your knuckles a little kiss as he eyes you.

“It’s very serious. I’m afraid I’m permanently off the market.” He says, to the murmurs and gasps of everyone around.

The warmth spreads, as you realize how devoted he is openly, making you fall impossibly deeper, the love spreading an expanse of your lifetime but still growing with every moment. As he looks into your eyes, you see it too, the apprehension, but the love shining so brightly, nervous maybe that he said it, but you’re reassuring him with a smile, a little nod, until he exhales and grins.

“May we ask you a question?” You look at an interviewer then, nodding shyly, Satoru tenses when she opens her mouth.

“How do you feel about his career, with all these models and now he’ll have co stars? Are you ever stressed about how you’ll fit in his life?”

The words hurt, and suddenly you feel every bit of your prior apprehension, Satoru scoffs. “She knows she’s the only girl for me.”

“I can answer, it’s okay,” you smile up at him again, and he nods a bit, as you look back at the interviewer, the lights still bombarding you. “I would never worry, it’s his career, but also I know what we have, and it’s irreplaceable.”

He leans close, murmuring - ‘good girl’ in your ear, you flush under his praise meant just for you as they keep chatting and throwing out questions, but he’s already leading you away. The closer to the red ropes, the more lively, but the less cameras, as you two walk hand in hand.

“My feet are killing me already,” you whisper, only for him to pick you up in his arms. “You don’t have to!”

“Shh, let me carry you,” he’s pressing a kiss on your head as everyone is oohing and ahhing, you snuggle against his neck, sore feet finally feeling better as you relish in his devotion. “You’ll get used to the heels.”

“Really? I want to just wear some tennis shoes next time.”

“I love you but no, not on the red carpet. Fashion faux pas.”

“I see, you take this serious.”

“Hmm,” he’s raising a brow as he eases you down into the theater, slipping across his body, and he kisses you right in front of a room full of stars. “Let’s enjoy the show.”

*****

The next couple days are a whirlwind, so many things he’s packed in, even at lunch people snap photos from outside the windows, but Satoru seems oblivious to it, just happy to be there with you. You go see the stars on Hollywood boulevard, you put your hands against your favorite stars and he takes a photo.

He’s got you and him together as his instagram picture, it has an insane amount of likes and comments, you’re reading them as you lay on the soft carpet of his floor, ankles crossed as he takes out his new guitar. “Satoru, they’re insane - I wanna suck his dick - wow.”

“They all want to, it’s true.” He has a shameless grin, you giggle, sipping the wine he’d poured. “Only you get to though.”

It’s so similar to that night in his room.

The nostalgia hits, but so does one thing, you miss home - and not just home, you miss him being home. You swallow it down, the fact that you’re not sure you fit in out here, because no matter what you want him to follow his dreams, and you want to be by your side. You all still have time to figure this out, even if you have to leave in a couple days.

That ache of missing him happens before you have to go, like your heart and body is already anticipating it. You push it down, looking at another comment. “This guy says I have nice tits, what?”

“He what now?” Satoru snatches your phone up, glaring. “Oh fuck no.”

You’re giggling as he types a mean, nasty ass response to him, then to many others who said anything. “Toru!”

“Don’t ‘Toru’ me, tch, the fuck they think they have a chance? Never.” He has to have the phone physically taken and put up, eyes lit up with anger when you straddle his lap, cupping his face.

“No one can have me, ever.”

“Fuck,” he kisses you then, deep and desperate, the hunger that’s always there ignites, the constant need for him in every fucking way, every position, every rythm, a neverending madness. “Fuck the guitar, wanna put cum in you again.”

“No no, I wanna hear! Please!”

“Don’t you pout at me,” he sighs though. “You’re too cute. Fine, go sit before I fuck you so hard you can’t walk.”

“Oh god, maybe not,” he’s chuckling as you slip off, going to grab your wine and sitting with your legs crossed. “I’m ready!”

“All right, it’s the one I played in school, but I’m rusty.” He holds the guitar now, on his lap, a light tan acoustic that his fingers gently begin to strum the frets, and his gaze locks on you. “I wrote that song for you.”

“You composed that song for me? You never told me.” You’re swallowing now, as you scooch closer, a hand on his thigh over the soft pajama pants littered with little white kittens.

Everything in that moment feels so perfect, you never want to leave.

“I never told you, I never sang the words to you,” he’s blushing like the boy he was back then, nervous you can tell, when you reassure him with a nod and smile. “All right then, here it goes.”

Satoru’s melody fills the room, as he starts playing the familiar rhythm, it’s a little off key in places, but you instantly remember it. Remember studying as he played - Satoru was so smart he never studied. You had to try pretty hard for your grades, and he helped you all the time, answering questions as he played that guitar with those long fingers.

You’re suddenly that girl, but also now a woman, both of them sitting and looking at the boy they love, as you now realize it’s meant for you, when his lips form those words. You almost can hardly contain yourself, the longing to stay and the dread of leaving falling back, to just enjoy this moment, in how much you adore him, how much you love this moment.

The words are for you, they’re only for you, spilling from his lips in a soft little husky pitch, and before you can comprehend your tears have spilled across your cheeks in glittery streaks. As Satoru sings the words he only sang on his own, practicing over and over in front of the mirror, too afraid to ever play them, too afraid to sing them out loud.

They mirror the poem in the year book, the mirror everything he’s never said, as he sings about your smile, as he sings about his heart. You’re a mess to the point his fingers falter, but you shake your head. “No, keep going please.”

Satoru finishes the song and he has just enough time to put it aside when you’ve knocked him to the ground, wrapping your arms around him, he chuckles a bit, stroking your back gently. “Would I have gotten this response then?”

“Yes, I  would’ve been your first.” He chuckles again, as you pull back. “I’m such a crybaby.”

“You are… and you are the first that has ever mattered. Okay?” You nod quickly, kissing him again, until he’s hungrily kissing down your body, you’re on your back as he does, your gasps fueling him. “Fucking perfect.”

“Love you, mnh don’t wanna - ah - miss you again,” he exhales, breath tickling your tummy as he leans up, silvery hair falling over his brow. “I don’t want it to ever end.”

“It won’t baby,” he’s kissing lower, spreading your thighs, you’re gasping when his tongue slips up your slit, and he moans. “I never want this taste out of my mouth.”

“Please…” He’s groaning against your hot, eager cunt, tongue swirling and flicking your clit, as two fingers curl in your messy cunt. “Ah! Oh god… mnh!”

He’s devouring your cunt hungrily, losing himself in your wetness pouring, in your taste as he eyes you under those lashes, his long fingers pressing into your hips to drag you closer. He’s working you so good, curling his fingers in your soppy little hole as his mouth latches on your clit, and he sucks the tiny, twitchy nub into his hot and eager mouth.

You’re screaming out, so fucking thankful you can - the quietness of playing in your childhood houses did not do his sexy moans or your cries justice. You’re closer and closer, feeling the coil tighten and then release, until the pleasure shoots through your body, and you’re convulsing around his thick fingers, clear arousal pouring into his mouth which he slurps up, fucking obscene.

“That’s it, make me a mess baby,” he’s dragging you back against his mouth, lapping every drop up as more starts dripping, then leaning up and slamming your thighs to your chest, pressing you into the floor. “Can’t make it to the bed.”

“Then fuck me on the floor, ah!”

Satoru needs no more invitation, he’s hastily tugged those pajamas down, precum dripping on your pretty cunt as he slips his tip between your folds, feeling how fucking perfect you are. He doesn’t give it inch by inch, no he bottoms out in one thrust, making you so full so fast, you’re screaming out, fingers gripping the plush carpet underneath.

“Mnh, it’s so much!”

“Take it f’me, all my cum hmm? Gonna fill you so much…” you’re cumming so quick it’d be embarassing if he didn’t love it, if he wasn’t lifting your thighs and fucking into you deeper, harder, strokes mean and messy, loud with the slapping of his skin against yours. “Perfect, fuck you’re perfect.”

“Toru! Please,” you don’t even know what the fuck you’re begging for, until he finds your clit, hugging your legs with his other arm, and you’re shattering underneath him again. “Ngh, there, yes please! L-love you!”

“I fucking love you, I’ll love you round with me, huh?” You nod eagerly, your cunt greedy as she milks him when he does bust after fucking you harder, faster, until you’re both broken. You’re cumming from his hot white ropes filling you. He’s cursing stuttering as his weight presses on you, heavy and so perfect, smushing your thighs up even higher, until he’s slamming his cum against your cervix.

“Want it, want it all.” He’s moaning, pulling out and watching your little hole twitch and wink at him, as white milky cum pours out.

“Wasting it, tsk,” he fingers it right back inside you, smirking at you with dilated eyes when you’re wriggling under him, cunt so sensitive. “Don’t you want it all?”

“All of it. Mmm, I can take it.” He’s inside you again and again, it’s like the two of you can’t stop, until you’re so sore it’s hard to move, and he’s hugging you against him in the bed.

“Don’t ever go, please.” He’s pouting against your neck, you’re so fucked out it’s hard to think, you look back at him, and he caresses your face.

“I will try to see if I can start to… figure out what to do. But Satoru, I don’t know if I fit in here?”

“You will, god everyone thought you were a star,” you’re smiling shyly, sleepy eyes dozing off, while he presses little kisses on your head. “It’ll be so lonely if you go please…”

“Toru…” You’re kissing him again, turning until you’re facing him, and he tugs you against him closely, sighing shakily.

“I shouldn’t put so much pressure.”

“No, no, I don’t want to be lonely without you either,” you’re kissing him gently, feeling sleep tug at you as the desire to stay awake and be with him every second you can fights it. “We will figure something out. I know it.”

“We will. I’ll lock you in chains to the bed-”

“Wait now.”

He’s smiling abashedly, but your eyes narrow. “You think I really would!?”

“I don’t know, you look devious!” He’s tickling you then, it’s all too perfect, every bit of this night, as the two of you try to be in the moment, but also dread the moment you’ll have to part, wondering just how the fuck you’ll make it work.

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[whytheylosttheirminds]

make this place your home - r.c.

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!reader

summary: Rafe has been begging you to move in with him, but when you finally show him the place your heart belongs to, he realizes he'd do anything to make you happy.

content: fluff, angst, a drizzle of spice, semi-canon obx if you were to eliminate some pretty important things lol

cw: mentions of blood and injury, suggestive comments, closed-door romance, mentions of abusive parents (Luke)

note: my contribution to @zyafics mrga campaign <3

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“Don’t open your eyes yet!” 

“I’m gonna trip over something and fall on my ass. Or run into something. This is The Cut, who knows what junk is just lying around. I’m gonna get tetris or some shit.”

You laughed out loud. Rafe nearly opened his eyes to figure out why.

“See, now you’re laughing at me, you better not be doing some dumb shit to me for a Tiktok,” he warned.

“Oh my god, you’re such a baby, calm down,” you chuckled. “I’m laughing because you’re cute. It’s tetanus, not tetris.”

He should feel embarrassed, but the sound of your laugh and of you calling him cute calmed every muscle in his body. You were a balm that went straight to his agitated heart.

You were the only one who could disarm him when he got irritated like this. You told him once that you don’t take his bad moods personally because you can see them for what they are - he’s not angry, he’s anxious. He realized then that you’re the only person who’d ever really understood him, that you might understand him better than he understands himself. 

It’s why his shoulders relax now, it’s why he can take a deep breath. There was no one else in the world who could convince him to let them drive his boat while he’s blindfolded or walk through the tall, marshy grass without knowing where he was going. Only you.

“Can I open my eyes now?” He asked.

“We’re not there yet,” you shook your head, hand still on his arm to lead him closer to your surprise. “You can go one more minute without seeing where you’re going.”

“Maybe, but I don’t know if I can go another minute without seeing you,” he flirted.

You smiled, tempted to rip the blindfold off him and forget all about the surprise. Too bad for him you already knew all his tricks.

“Nice try, Cameron.”

As you got closer, your stomach twisted. Maybe this was stupid. After all, wouldn’t it be underwhelming to Rafe after all he’s seen? This place meant so much to you, you didn’t know if you could handle any criticism from him. You considered turning around, but you’d already made such a big deal out of this, how would you explain it to him?

“Okay, this is a good spot, I guess,” you said, your voice shaking with trepidation.

“You good?” Rafe asked. Of course he could tell your mood shifted without even looking at you.

“Yeah, I think, just open your eyes.” At this point you just wanted to get his inevitable disappointment over with.

Slowly, Rafe opened his eyes. He blinked a few times to adjust to the blinding Carolina sunlight before finally sizing up your big reveal.

It was your house, the one he’d been to a hundred times before - sneaking into your window so your brother wouldn’t hear, showing up in the night to investigate when you “heard a noise,” defending you from Luke when he got violent. Except, this wasn’t the same house. It was bigger, for one. And slightly bigger, with new walls, new roof, and a big, hand painted flag in your brother’s handwriting: “Poguelandia.” 

It wasn’t much, but it was your dream come true. In your eyes, you may as well have been standing in front of a magic castle. As you watched Rafe’s expression stay completely unchanged you realized that to him, it probably still looked like some shitty shack on The Cut. You wished you never brought him here.

“This is what you guys have been working on this whole time?” He asked, still looking at the house and not at you.

“Yeah, I mean, and the store,” you gestured to the dock behind you where you and your friends had built yourselves a small business. Another thing that would surely seem pathetic compared to what Rafe was used to.

“It’s nice, I like it,” Rafe said.

“No it’s okay, you don’t have to lie,” you said, voice small. You started to turn to leave. “I shouldn’t have made such a big deal out of it, let’s just go-”

“Hey, woah, woah,” Rafe interrupted you gently.

He approached you from behind, arms twisting around your waist, forcing you to turn back and look at your home. He had to duck down to slot his chin into your shoulder, swaying you both gently.

“If I had to come all this way, I think I at least deserve the grand tour, don’t I?” he mumbled into your ear.

Your smile returned, you nuzzled your cheek into his, heart swelling.

“I guess, if you insist,” you said with a cheeky grin.

“I do,” he nodded, tickling your neck with his buzzed hair. He tilted his head down to place a sloppy kiss into the crook of your shoulder. “I’m especially looking forward to seeing your bedroom.”

“You mean the one I share with your sister?” 

He groaned, “why do you torture me like this?”

“Because it’s fun.” You twisted away from his hold and slid your hand down his arm to interlock your fingers with his.

Rafe followed you onto the porch. You paused at the front door for dramatic effect.

“Hello MTV, welcome to my crib!”

Rafe smiled as you cracked up at your own joke, but his momentary joy turned sour when you opened the door and revealed an unwelcome sight on the other side; the Pogues.

The lively discussion that had been filling your shared living room stopped dead in its tracks. The room turned cold. Six icy stares were aimed in your boyfriend’s direction.

You understood why they disliked him so much. He didn’t put much effort into changing their minds. But he’d changed yours. And though you’d tried for years not to, you loved him. Neither of you had said it yet, but you knew it was true, at least for you. 

There had been countless arguments between you and your brother and the shared friends that were basically family about Rafe. Countless fights you’d stopped between JJ and Rafe, countless nights begging Rafe just to try a little harder, begging JJ just to give him a chance. They both cared for you enough not to kill each other, but it was a reluctant ceasefire. A fragile peace you were always vigilant to protect. A truce that could be broken at any moment. You prayed this wasn’t that moment.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you guys were home,” you explained. The six pogues shared concerned glances with each other, something unsaid that you felt had nothing to do with you walking in with their least favorite person. “What’s going on?”

Kie stood, shot a brief but blazing glare towards Rafe, and handed you a piece of paper. You read it carefully, your eyebrows creased in confusion that was slowly morphing into great concern. Rafe read over your shoulder.

It was an official warning from the Kildare City Council. The land you were standing on and the home you’d built would be rezoned. They were taking Poguelandia.

“What the hell?” You shouted. “Can they actually do this?”

“Looks like they already are,” John B confirmed.

“No, no. There has to be something we can -”

“There’s not!” JJ stood from his seat at the far end of the room. 

You could see it all over his face, the anger that was always lying just beneath the surface starting to make its way to the top. Everyone thought of JJ as a happy-go-lucky, silly, mischievous kid. And he was all those things, but he was something else, something only you really saw; a hurt kid who never healed. 

“There’s never something we can do,” JJ continued, stalking slowly toward you, but keeping his eyes locked on Rafe the whole time. “Not when Kooks are involved. They always win.”

“Back up, Maybank,” Rafe snarled, looking down at JJ, who’d gotten close enough to break the barrier of Rafe’s personal space. 

You stepped between them instinctually, a move you’d made a hundred times before. 

“Stop.” You put a gentle hand on JJ’s chest to back him up, but he didn’t budge. “This isn’t his fault, J.”

“How do we know that, huh?” JJ finally tore his eyes off Rafe to look at you. “How do we know he’s not behind it somehow? Trying to steal our land for another bougie ass development project. You can’t trust these people, sis. How many times do we have to get screwed by them before you realize it?”

You and your brother looked at each other for a long time. The rest of the room watched as the two of you seemed to have a conversation none of them could hear; the unspoken language of siblings who’d been to hell and back together.

After a long moment, you turned your gaze toward Rafe.

“Do- do you know anything about this?” You asked him hesitantly. 

His face fell. A series of emotions flashed across his features so quickly, you were sure you were the only one in the room who caught them all; surprise, betrayal, hurt, anger, and finally, back to his go-to: detached stoicism.

“That’s really what you think of me? That I’d do something like this?” His tone was even, his voice far away even though you were inches apart.

You knew you’d hurt him by even entertaining the idea that he’d betray you like this. But this ground was shaky, and you had been screwed over by Kooks your entire life. The trust you put in him did not come easy, and sometimes it wavered, even though he’d never given it any reason to.

Rafe’s jaw clenched when you didn’t answer. He nodded once, his lips twisting into the kind of smile that had absolutely no joy behind it. 

“Unbelievable.” He muttered.

He took one last searing look around the room, twelve hateful eyes met him, and he didn’t look at your watery ones before turning and storming out of the house, the newly installed screen door banging shut behind him.

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Your knees were tucked all the way to your chest, your chin resting on them as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to manufacture any sort of comfort. It wasn’t working.

The zone change notice sat on the bed in front of you. You read it over and over, as though if you just wanted it badly enough, the words would change into something less devastating. 

You were going to lose your home. You’d probably lost the love of your life, before you could even tell him he was the love of your life. Your brother was one step from completely falling over the edge, the rocky path toward destruction that you’d pulled him back from your whole lives getting steeper by the minute. A few hours ago you were excitedly cleaning this room so you could show Rafe. How could so much change in so little time?

A knock at the door pulled you from your spiraling thoughts.

“Come in,” you said quietly.

The door creaked slightly despite it being brand new. Sarah tiptoed into the room gently, searching you for any signs of distress.

“Sar, you don’t have to knock to come into your own room,” you told her.

“I know, I just thought maybe you needed some space.”

You shook your head and scooted over on the bed to make space for her. She took your invitation with a smile and settled in next to you.

“So…how’s your day going?” She asked in a singy-songy voice.

You both erupted in bittersweet laughter.

“Oh y’know, I’ve had better.”

She nudged your arm with her elbow.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, you know.” She assured you.

“Is it though? I mean really, Sar, is it?” No laughter hung in the air now. “I mean, what if I just lost my home and my boyfriend? Or worse, what if I just lost my home to my boyfriend.”

“You really think Rafe would’ve done something like this?” She asked.

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want to. You heard him though, when I asked him about it, he didn’t deny it.”

Sarah sighed, a deep exhale that usually signaled she was about to say something she didn’t want to.

“What?” You prodded. 

“Look, I’m not my brother’s biggest fan, you know that,” she began.

“Um yes, you’ve made that very clear,” you chuckled, thinking of all the times Sarah had warned you not to get involved with Rafe. 

“But, just this one time, I’m going to…” She paused dramatically, her eyes screwed shut with reluctance. “...defend him.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Be honest, how hard was that for you to say?” You teased.

“I’m holding back vomit right now,” she laughed.

“Well then defend him quickly before you yack on my bed.”

“Okay, I just,” she paused to consider her words carefully. “I know you know Rafe really well. I mean you’re the only one he’s ever really let in, so you probably know him better than anyone. But I’ve known him longer than anyone. I’ve seen every version of him. I knew Rafe before he met you, and now I know him after he met you, and believe me when I tell you, those two are not the same guy. As cliche as it sounds, you changed him.”

You sat in silence, letting the words settle over you, surprised by how emotional they were making you. You willed the tears forming in your eyes not to fall.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a dick,” Sarah added. You were grateful for a reason to laugh before you started crying. “But he’s not the same. There was a time where I’d say ‘absolutely, Rafe definitely did this just to screw us over,’ but not anymore. Not since he fell in love with you.”

You looked up in surprise, the tears at your lash line threatening to finally spill over.

“You think he loves me?”

“Girl, be so for real. That man has never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. Believe me, he’s yours.”

Your heart skipped, and the tears finally fell. You rose from the bed so suddenly, Sarah almost fell back onto the mattress. You didn’t know what had taken over you, just that you needed to go, now. Everything in you was being pulled toward him, like sand being dragged back out to sea by the tide. If you spent one more minute of your life without him knowing what you were so certain of now, you might not make it.

Sarah smiled at you, she read it all over your face.

“Go!” She urged.

“Love you!” You shouted over your shoulder as you raced out of your bedroom.

“Love you too, you freak,” she smiled to herself, knowing you were already long gone.

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Where could he have gone? Your mind flipped through all the possibilities as you ran across the lawn toward the dock. JJ would probably be pissed that you took The Snapper without asking first, but didn’t even care about that right now. You just needed to find Rafe.

You didn’t have to search for long.

As soon as your feet hit the wooden dock, they stopped in their tracks.

At the end of the pier sat Rafe’s boat bobbing in the water. The long figure of your boyfriend leaned over the bow. You watched with a big, bright smile as he untied the line, then retied it, then untied it, and retied it once more. He was clearly having a silent disagreement with himself. All that mattered to you was that he hadn’t left.

You approached slowly, avoiding the planks in the dock you knew would creak and give away your presence. The closer you got to him, the faster your heart beat. The words you were dying to say sat perched at the end of your tongue, you knew they wouldn’t be able to hang on much longer. 

Half way through untying the boat again, Rafe stopped and sighed.

“Need a push?” You said.

His eyes shot up to yours, startled. Tension filled his shoulders as he took you in, his shock quickly fading to something softer, yet still unsure.

“That depends,” he squinted in the sun to see you better. 

God, he was gorgeous. You could not let him get away.

“Depends on what?” You played along.

“If my girlfriend will forgive me for being a dismissive prick,” he said.

You forced your lips not to twist into a smile, pretending to consider his words.

“I think she might. If you forgive her first,” you said.

His eyes softened, lips twitching. You were both failing not to smile at each other now. 

Rafe finally tied up the boat for good, hopping up onto the dock. You admired every movement of his body as it drew closer to yours. When he reached you, he placed his hands on your waist, your arms drawing up to wrap around his neck, stretching up on your tiptoes to get as close to him as possible.

“She has nothing to apologize for. The only home she’s ever known is being threatened. She’s just scared. I get that.”

Every word fanned over you like a soft summer breeze. Your heart warmed, impossibly full despite all the anxieties today had brought. He just got you, he understood without you having to say it. This must be the closest two people can get to making magic, you thought.

“Thank you,” you let your head fall forward to rest on his chest. He kissed the top of your head.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he whispered into your hair.

You looked back up at him, shaking your head. 

“How is everything gonna be okay, Rafe? What if there really is nothing we can do? I mean, who’s even behind this?”

Rafe didn’t answer, but one name popped into his mind. Even with his suspicions, he didn’t know if he could help you. Helplessness was the feeling he despised more than any other, especially when it came to you.

“I don’t know,” he said, his heart breaking at the despairing look on your face. “But you’ve still got me. You could always move into the condo with me, like I’ve been begging you for months.”

“Can I bring my friends with me?” You scrunched up your nose, hoping he’d find you cute enough to say yes.

“I love you, but there’s no way in hell…”

A bolt of lightning shot through you, goosebumps erupting over your entire body. Did he really just say…?

He instantly read the shock on your face, but there was no look of regret on his.

“What? Haven’t I said I love you before?” 

“Umm, no, I think I would’ve remembered that!” You couldn’t help the big, goofy grin taking over your whole face.

“Oh, well that’s weird,” he shrugged, his hands sliding from your waist to your lower back, wrapping his strong arms around you and lifting you off your feet. “Because I do love you, so fucking much.” 

You yelped as he lifted you into the air, head falling back in laughter as he almost tumbled you both off the dock in his effort to sweep you off your feet.

You looked down at him and he lowered you slowly, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, arms still wrapped around each other like you’d never let go. You stood there embracing for a long time, so long that the sun was starting to set, casting a golden shimmer across the water. 

Finally you said, “I never gave you the grand tour.”

“And I was really looking forward to seeing your crib,” he teased, his lips brushing against the skin of your neck when he talked.

“Well, c’mon then.” You grabbed his hand, leading him back toward the house, both of you buzzing with the excitement that there was something much better than a tour waiting for you inside.

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“...And this is John B and JJ’s room,” you opened the door only a crack, afraid to unleash the stench that permanently filled the space. “They insisted on getting bunk beds even though they’re, like, forty. And Pope insisted on having his own room because, as he said, ‘JJ is a walking biohazard.’ Which is…fair.”

Rafe was just watching you with adoration as you showed him around the house. He was barely looking at the rooms you were showing him because he was so focused on the way you glowed with joy. It was true that he wanted you to move to Bayline with him, it was his life’s goal to get you there, actually, but he had to admit that you seemed like you really belonged here. He’d never seen you look more at home. 

“And this is our gallery wall.” You gestured to the display of framed photographs hanging in the upstairs hallway.

Rafe surveyed them dutifully with his hands tucked politely behind his back, like an old man in an art museum. Most of the photographs were of you and the pogues at various times in your life. Out fishing in the marsh, riding dirt bikes, post-surf at the beach. You admired the way Rafe was looking so intently and resisting the urge to grimace at so many photos of you with his once sworn enemies.

He explored the wall, eyes lingering on any photo of you a little longer than the rest. The hall continued to lead down toward your bedroom. At the very end, in a high corner, just above a series of photo booth pictures you’d taken with Sarah and Kie last summer, hung a delicate circular frame featuring a worn-out picture almost too small to see. Rafe leaned in for a better look.

In the photo, which was a tad faded and clearly taken several years ago, was a young guy, probably about 30, holding two young kids on his lap. The slightly bigger one, a boy, held up a trout he’d just caught, flashing a toothless grin. The little girl beamed at the man holding her.

It took Rafe a moment, but when he felt your weight shift next to him uncomfortably, he put it all together. The photo was you, JJ, and Luke. Probably the only one you had. And despite everything Luke had put you through, you’d hung it on the wall to see everyday.

Rafe turned to you, you were looking down at your feet, toes digging anxiously into the rug. His heart ached. If anyone knew what it was like to have a complicated relationship with their father, it was him. The fact that you’d still given Luke some dignity in this house he almost destroyed so many times said so much about you, and reminded him why he loved you so much.

“You wanna show me your room now?” He asked gently.

You looked up at him with glassy eyes and a small smile, “yeah.”

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The door clicked closed softly. Rafe took in the room, immediately identifying which bed was yours and which bed (the messy, half-made one) was his sister’s.

“Sarah doesn’t spend much time in here,” you admitted.

“No?” He asked, keeping his eyes off of you, the closed door suddenly adding a nervous energy to the room he wasn’t expecting.

“She mainly sleeps with John B.” Rafe grimaced, you hurried to reassure him. “Like, in his bed I mean, or his bunk I guess. Not, like sleep with him sleep with him, although I’m sure there’s plenty of that -”

“I’m literally begging you to stop talking,” he said, his eyes finding the ceiling, no doubt trying to erase the mental picture you just created for him.

“Sorry,” you chuckled.

Rafe wandered around the room some more, taking in all your decorations. He never understood why someone could collect so many knick-knacks that seemed to be worth nothing, but there was something endearing about it that drew him to you even more. Just another in a long line of things that would annoy him with someone else, but enchanted him with you.

As your time alone in the room dragged on, the air became tenser. You felt yourself watching him, but unable to move, back pressed up against the door, frozen in anticipation. 

You and Rafe had been alone together before - and you had been together before - but something had shifted out on that dock. Something that you knew you couldn’t take back, and didn’t want to. In fact, you only wanted to solidify it more.

“Rafe,” you said softly, finally pulling his attention away from your decor.

He looked up at you expectantly, like he had been waiting for you to give him permission to. He didn’t respond, just walked slowly toward you, his eyes on yours the whole way. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” you said, trying to laugh to break the tension, though the sound came out more like a hiccup.

“Has something changed?” He wondered aloud.

“Yeah, I guess it has.” You chewed on your bottom lip. “Because today I realized two important things.”

“What two things?” He asked, surprised, and a little alarmed, by your answer.

“The first is that this is my home, and that in a way, it will always be my home. And yet at the same time, I also realized that you’re my future, and I love you.”

Rafe’s smile spread slowly, like he was taking in each word one at a time. His blue eyes sparkled - like actually sparkled - with joy. Maybe you were imagining it, but it didn’t matter, you just wanted him to keep looking at you like that.

“Oh you love me, huh?” His voice was low and dangerous, he stepped closer until he was towering over you.

“Yeah, haven’t I said that before?” You echoed his words from earlier back to him.

He just shook his head at you, tucking his tongue in the corner of his cheek to try and tame his smile. His hands found your waist like they were made to fit there. His voice carried down to your very core as he leaned in.

“You know you can’t take it back now, right?” 

“Why would I take it back? I mean it, Rafe, with everything I have. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

And he showed you. His body enveloping yours as he backed you up against the door and kissed you deeply. A whole new energy between you now, your need and your affection for each other stronger than ever. 

Before you could get carried away, footsteps on the stairs reminded you of a very crucial step of bringing your boyfriend home. 

“Wait, hold on.” You pulled away from Rafe and he frowned. His disappointment was so cute you were tempted to kiss the pout right off of him, but first you rummaged through a drawer in you and Sarah’s shared dresser.

“What is that?” Rafe asked when you pulled out a conch shell glued to a piece of twine.

“Just a little system Sarah and I have.” You winked at him, opening the door just a crack to hang the shell from the doorknob.

“Do I want to know?” Rafe asked.

“I don’t know, do you want to talk more about your sister’s love life, or work on ours?” You bit back your smile when he cringed at your words, suddenly realizing Sarah’s use for the shell with a shudder.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he said, before scooping you up and carrying you over his shoulder, just to drop you on the bed with a bounce.

“Yes, I am,” you smiled up at him.

And he showed you, over and over, just how lucky you were.

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It was different this time, more passionate, more intense, more everything. And when he held you after, whispering more I love you’s into your hair, and neck, and the side of your face, you knew it must’ve felt the same for him, too.

You laid tucked into his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders so he could intertwine his fingers with yours as you both stared up at the ceiling in pure bliss.

You sighed a happy, airy sigh and nuzzled closer to him.

“You know I just mean for now, right?” You said.

He twisted his neck at what must’ve been an uncomfortable angle to try and see your face.

“You just love me for now?” He asked, incredulous.

“No, no!” You couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, no, that’s not what I meant. I meant to say, this is just my home for now.”

“Oh, okay,” he rested his head back onto the pillow. “That’s better, I guess.”

You sat up, shuffling through the sheets so you could see him. You brought your legs up and sat criss cross on the bed next to him. Rafe lazily reached out a hand to tuck your hair behind your ear as he waited for the words he knew you were trying to formulate. He loved that you thought so hard before speaking, always determined to say what you mean. You loved that he waited to hear what you had to say, a patience he reserved almost exclusively for you.

“I know it must seem weird,” you began, “that I’m so attached to a place with so many bad memories. And I know you want me to live with you, and I want that too, eventually. But you have to understand, for so much of my life, it was just me and JJ. It was just us in this house. Even though a lot of it was us hiding from Luke or fending for ourselves when he didn’t come home for days at a time, there are good memories hidden in all the bad ones. Like, at the bottom of the stairs, there’s a spot where JJ and I accidentally ran our sled into the wall when we were stair-surfing. We covered it with chewed bubblegum and colored it in with marker, and Luke never noticed. Or in the kitchen, there’s tally marks under the countertop where we used to keep track of how many beers Luke had so we knew when it was time to go to John B’s for the night. And on the old dock, where our store is now, we made each other a pinky promise that someday we’d grow up and make something of ourselves and buy this house right out from under him. And we did it! And now, they’re just going to, what, take it away? Punish us for rising above the low expectations that they set for us? We were hurt here, yeah. But we also survived here. We did it together. I can’t leave that, or him, not now, not yet.”

Rafe drank in your words, and when tears came, he didn’t wipe them away or tell you to stop crying, he just let them fall. Let you feel what you needed to feel. His hand stayed firmly rested on your leg, there to hold only if you wanted it.

Through sobs you finally said, “this is our home, Rafe. We’re gonna lose our home.”

He’d heard enough. He stood from the bed quickly, pulling on his khakis and polo wordlessly.

“Where are you going?” 

Rafe turned to look at you, saw the worry in your eyes and leaned over your bed so his face was level with yours. You would have been frightened by the steel in his eyes if you weren’t so excited by it.

“You asked me how it was going to be okay, right?” He said, voice low and tinged with danger. 

You just nodded, unsure what to make of this sudden change in demeanor. 

“It’s going to be okay because I’m going to make it okay.”

With that he stood and stalked toward the door, stopping to look at you one more time.

“Get some sleep, yeah? I’ll be back in a bit.”

You didn’t bother to ask where he was going, you knew he wasn’t going to tell you. When he had a plan like this, there was no slowing him down. Usually, his plans were self-serving. He was a strategist, like his father. Only now, it seemed, you were the beneficiary of his plot, and you weren’t sure what to expect.

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It sure as hell wasn’t the doorbell ringing at two in the morning. 

It had started to storm and the thunder was rumbling through the house. It took a few rings before you could even hear the doorbell over the sound of the rain. Sarah lay on one side of you, Kie on the other, Cleo at the foot of the bed. They’d come to comfort you after Rafe left and you all cried yourself to sleep talking about the future of Poguelandia.

You accidentally kicked Cleo when you got up, who then kicked Sarah, who reached over and hit Kie in the arm as if it was her fault. Everyone was awake now.

“Noise. Bad. Make it stop,” Sarah grumbled into her pillow. 

“Hit me again and I’ll make you stop breathing,” Kie said, her threat a little deflated considering she made it with her eyes still closed.

The doorbell rang out again, in rapid succession this time, causing everyone to groan and cover their ears.

“Who the hell rings the doorbell at 2 a.m.?” Sarah whined.

“If it’s those goddamn Jehovah’s Witnesses again, I’m gonna shove their little pamphlet down their throats,” Cleo said.

“I’ll get it,” you said through a yawn.

“Wait, you’re gonna go alone?” Kie grabbed your hand to pull you back.

“What if you get murdered?” Sarah said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

Kie and Sarah both climbed out of bed with you, but Cleo didn’t budge.

“If you get murdered let me know,” she said, pulling the blankets tighter around her. “I will avenge you.”

Kie rolled her eyes and pulled the blankets off Cleo, Sarah grabbed her hand to drag her from the bed.

“You’re coming with us, babe,” Sarah said over Cleo’s protests. “And bring your knife.”

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Lightning struck somewhere across the marsh at the exact second the door flew open. You and all three girls, wrapped in your blankets and holding various kitchen utensils, screamed at the sight on the other side. A dark figure of a man stood on the front porch, too far from the light for anyone to make out his identity. Cleo stepped in front of you all with her knife wielded.

“Hey! You better show yourself or get lost,” she shouted at the figure. 

As the man slowly made his way into the flickering porch light, you realized you recognized the broad curve of those shoulders, the slope of that neck.

“Rafe,” you whispered.

Just as you identified him, the porch light swept across his face, and all four of you gasped. 

The same places on his face you’d laid gentle kisses just a few hours ago were now black and blue, except in the places they were bloody. And he wasn’t walking slowly toward the light, he was limping, barely able to stand. He leaned against the door frame, holding his right hand in his left, his knuckles were raw and wounded. 

“Rafe!” You repeated, pushing past your friends to get to him. You tried to support his weight but you couldn’t manage it alone. Sarah came to his other side to help catch him as he stumbled forward.

Kie, however, took a defensive step backward, her arms crossed over her chest. Cleo kept her knife raised.

“Think you can put down the knife now, babe,” Sarah told her.

“You never know,” Cleo said, narrowing her eyes at Rafe.

“Cleo, look at him,” you scolded. 

She gave Rafe a once over, finally determining he wasn’t a threat in this state.

“Let’s get him on the couch,” you told Sarah. “Quickly, before he falls.”

Cleo stepped away to allow you to walk Rafe further into the living room. Kie created more distance between herself and your bloodied house guest. You searched her face quickly, it was a mixture of alarm and defensiveness. You could see the decision as it was being made, you tried to stop her but you were too late.

“Kie, wait!” 

But she was already running up the stairs, surely to wake the boys. There was no version of these circumstances that would be made better by your half-awake, hotheaded brother.

You and Sarah finally got Rafe on the couch. He leaned forward, grimacing in pain as he propped his head in his hands. You knelt in front of him, trying to find his eyes with yours.

“Rafe, baby, what happened? Are you okay? Please talk to me.”

You placed your hands on his legs, rubbing soothing circles, begging him to fill the silence with an explanation. You looked at Sarah with pure panic in your eyes, she looked back with concern. Whether it was for you or for her brother, you weren’t sure.

“Rafe, it’s okay, whatever it is, you can tell us,” she encouraged him.

You’d never been more thankful for your best friend. You knew how much it took for her to offer him comfort like that.

You reached up to cup Rafe’s cheek in your hand, touching gently so as to not worsen his pain.

“Please, baby, what happened?”

He finally looked at you, and your heart skipped a beat. You thought maybe he was going to confess something terrible, or else cry out in agony. But instead, he just smiled that soft, sleepy half-smile of his and placed his hand over top of yours, caressing your skin with his thumb.

“I made it okay,” he whispered to you.

Before you could react, footsteps thundered down the stairs behind you, the fury of their descent louder than the storm outside.

“What the hell is going on?” JJ bellowed.

“What are you doing here, Cameron?” Pope followed up.

John B rushed to Sarah’s side, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Everything okay?” He asked the both of you.

“I don’t know,” you shook your head, rising to sit next to Rafe on the couch, slipping your hand into his. The sight only enraged JJ further.

“You have ten seconds to explain yourself and stop bleeding on our fucking couch, Rafe.” JJ barked.

“Jay, can’t you see he’s obviously hurt?” You snapped at your brother.

“Looks more like he did the hurting,” JJ replied.

“You don’t know that! You always assume the worst!” You yelled.

“Because he is the worst!” JJ yelled right back.

You stood in anger, ready to fight your own brother in defense of the man at your side. But Rafe grabbed your hand and pulled you back towards him, not lifting his head as he held you in place. His other hand reached into his back pocket, pulling out a piece of paper that had been folded to protect it from the rain.

Rafe looked up finally, but not at you, at JJ. He extended his arm to offer JJ the piece of paper. 

JJ tiptoed over as if Rafe had somehow booby trapped the floorboards between them. You rolled your eyes at his dramatics.

With all eyes on him, and no sound but the storm outside, JJ unfolded the piece of paper. He read it for a long time. Like, a really long time. The little sister in you had to bite back a joke about his intellect, and you met eyes with Pope to see he was holding back the same comment. Even in this incredibly adult moment, you were kids together.

Finally, JJ looked up from the paper. Staring incredulously at Rafe.

“Is this for real?” JJ asked him, eyebrows raised.

Rafe just nodded, the movement causing the cut on his lip to open, making him wince in pain. You sat down beside him again, watching him anxiously for signs that he was hurt elsewhere. 

JJ just stared at the two of you for a moment before turning and leaving the room, dropping the piece of paper on the coffee table as he left. Pope and John B went to it immediately to read what had caused JJ to storm out, but you didn’t even care at this point, all that mattered was Rafe being okay, you needed him to be okay.

Except, JJ hadn’t stormed out. He had only gone to the kitchen, from which he was now returning, a bottle of whiskey and a bag of frozen peas in hand. He offered both to Rafe, Rafe opted for the whiskey. He twisted open the cap and took a sip, wincing as it went down.

You grabbed the peas from your brother, holding them up to Rafe’s black eye. He flinched at the contact but settled after a minute. JJ watched as Rafe placed his hand on your leg gratefully and handed back the bottle of whiskey.

“What’s the bourbon for? Drowning our sorrows?” Cleo asked.

“No,” John B said, he and Pope looking up from the paper with disbelieving grins. “Celebrating.”

“What does it say?” Kie asked, stepping further into the room, though she continued to eye Rafe like he was a wild animal that could go feral at any minute.

“We got the land back. They’re not rezoning,” Pope explained. “We’re keeping Poguelandia.”

The room froze for a minute, then erupted in a burst of hoots and hollers. Finally, the storm had some noise to compete with. The others hugged and cheered. Sarah rose from the couch and threw herself into John B’s arms.

“How’d you do it, man?” John B asked Rafe.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rafe said, squeezing your leg three times. “I just took care of it, okay?”

He sounded aggressive, like he always did when addressing these six people, but you saw this for what it really was - a peace offering. A grand gesture. A declaration of his love for you. He gave you your home back, he gave you everything. 

As the others continued to celebrate, the volume in the house reaching new heights as they passed around the bottle of whiskey and toasted Poguelandia, you leaned into Rafe, your chin tucked into his shoulder so you could whisper something in his ear.

He smiled at your words, raising his arm to wrap around your shoulders and curling you toward him so he could bring his lips to your temple.

“I love you, too.”

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a/n: had to come out of retirement for this one, missed my boy too much. and holy shit did I have fun writing for rafey again. also this is as canon as I'll write Rafe lol

oh, and what did rafe have to do to get Poguelandia back? That stays between me and him xoxo

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Imagine Joel taking your virginity

Pairing: Jackson!Joel x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist

WC: 5.4k

Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, porn with no plot, unspecified but big age gap, oral (m!receiving), virginity loss, unprotected piv, thigh riding, daddy kink, baby-talking, young and innocent reader, creampie, condescending joel, terms like baby girl, sweet little girl etc.

Even thought this part is a standalone, you might want to read a previous part: Joel teaches you how to go down on him.

Today was just another quiet afternoon in Jackson, you’d been heading back from the greenhouse, you weren’t paying much attention to your surroundings, too focused trying to brush the dirt off your knees, until you saw them…

Joel was outside the stables, half-laughing about something with a woman, gray in her hair, deep lines around her eyes from a life lived outdoors, she looked about the same age as Joel. She was standing close to him, not too close, nothing inappropriate, nothing that would give you the right to get pissed, but the kind of close that felt natural.

You stopped walking without meaning to, and you watched as she touched his arm and laughed. They looked right together, and it hit you like a sucker punch, the breath caught in your lungs and wouldn’t let go. Maybe because you’d never look right with Joel next to you, at least not in the way people expect a couple to look. People didn’t assume you two were together, hell, you’d even been mistaken for father and daughter more than once whenever someone new showed up in Jackson.

You turned away, heading back home before you could watch more. You felt so small, so young, like some little kid playing grown-up. You weren’t enough, not for him, not when he could talk for hours with a woman who remembered the same pre-outbreak songs, who didn’t need Joel to teach her how to shoot, or how to suck him off, a woman who could take all of him, not just the tip.

You didn’t realize how much time had passed after you reached your house until you heard the door open, footsteps crossing the threshold. Joel’s voice followed a second later, light and casual.

“Hey, darlin’. You home already?”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t get the words out of your mouth. You felt so insignificant, who were you trying to fool? There would come a day, because of course there would, when Joel would get tired of playing house with a little girl pretending to be a woman.

Joel walked into the bedroom, you didn’t look up, you were staring hard at the floor, fists clenched in your lap. He paused in the doorway, sensing the shift in the air instantly.

“Hey.” His voice softened. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head.

“C’mon now,” he said gently, stepping closer. “I know when something’s up, sweetheart.”

You finally glanced up, and the moment your eyes met his, everything cracked.

“I saw you,” you said quietly. “With her. That woman.”

Joel blinked, confused. “Who?”

“Her. Outside the stables.”

His brow furrowed. “Oh, you mean Carmen?”

You nodded once, the name sounded even worse spoken aloud.

Joel crouched in front of you. “What about her?”

You let the silence hang for a second too long, he caught it, could see it on your face. What were you supposed to say? He hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t cheated or anything like that.

“Goddammit,” he murmured. “My baby’s got herself twisted up, huh?”

“She’s your age,” you whispered. “She laughs with you. She gets your stories. She probably remembers music on the radio. And—and—I feel like a stupid little girl. You’re a man. You’ve lived this whole life. I don’t even… I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, I just pretend, and you’re just—You’re Joel. You don’t need me.”

“You really are just a dumb little thing, huh?” Your breath caught, he wasn’t cruel when he said it, just… exasperated, deeply, lovingly exasperated “Little dumb baby.”

Your breath was shallow, tears stung your eyes, but you didn’t want to cry, not in front of him. Joel didn’t say anything at first, just reached for your hands, gently unclenching them.

“I’m gonna say this once,” he said, voice low. “And I want you to hear me, alright?”

You nodded, barely.

“You’re my baby. You're soft, and sweet, and so fuckin’ easy to wreck I can barely keep my hands off you. You look at me like I’m good, even when I ain’t. And yeah, baby, I like that you need me. I like teachin’ you. I like when you look up at me all scared and excited, askin’ me to show you things no one ever has.”

He pulled your hands to his chest, right over his heart.

“I want you. I choose you. Every single goddamn day.”

Your throat closed, he sounded sincere, and you really wanted to believe him

“You know what I see when I look at you?” he asked. “I see someone who makes me laugh when I forget how. Someone who touches me like I matter. You know how long it’s been since I’ve felt that? I feel alive, baby. I feel like a man again. Not a ghost.”

You looked at him, really looked, and saw how wrecked he was now, how deeply this was hitting him too.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours. “You’re not a phase. You’re not pretendin’. And you’re sure as hell not some kid to me, you’re my girl.”

“I just… I know I’m not what you’re used to. I’m not older. I don’t know how to do stuff. I had to ask you to show me how to… suck you, and then I couldn’t even take you, not really. Just the tip.” your voice cracked on that. “You’ve waited so long already and it’s not fair—”

“Stop.”

You blinked, his voice was quiet, but it had teeth. Joel pushed himself up slowly, sitting beside you on the bed, and looked down at you like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You think I don’t want this?” he asked, voice low and gravel-deep. “You think I’d rather be off with some older, experienced woman who could deep throat me and ride me into the goddamn sunset?”

He shook his head, almost laughing, but there was no humor in it.

“You think I give a single shit that you don’t know what you’re doin’? Sweetheart, I like teachin’ you. I like that you’ve never done this before. I like bein’ the first cock you take. I like that I get to be gentle with you. Take my time. Watch you fall apart under me.” He leaned down, bracing himself over you, hand sliding to your cheek. “You think I’m sufferin’ ‘cause I only had the tip inside you? Baby girl, that was the best fuckin’ orgasm I’ve had in years.”

Your breath caught.

“You were clenchin’ around me so tight, I damn near came the second I pushed in. And you were so sweet—so good—lookin’ up at me all wide-eyed, sayin’ please, Joel, please just the tip, like you didn’t know you were ruinin’ me.”

You looked away, a bit embarrassed by the memory, but is hand gently brought your face back to his.

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for,” he said, softly this time. “You think I want someone who’s had twenty dicks in her mouth and five up her pussy?”

Your eyes widened, Joel was always so blunt, you let out a startled laugh, he grinned, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip.

“I want you, baby. I want this tight, shy little thing that don’t even know how sweet her own mouth feels until I show her. I want the girl who looks up at me while she’s suckin’ and asks, am I doin’ good, Joel? like it don’t drive me fuckin’ insane.”

You nodded against him, voice small. “I just… I want to be enough for you.”

Joel pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up. You were so clueless, Joel thought, how couldn’t you see how much he loved how soft and innocent you were? How you were all he’d ever wanted? Your sweetness made both his heart ache and his cock throb.

“You are enough. You’re fuckin’ perfect for me.”

You searched his face, the lines, the grey at his temples, the quiet sadness behind his eyes, and all you saw there was truth.

“Even if I need you to teach me everything?” You whispered.

“Especially that,” he murmured. “’Cause I’m gonna teach you right. Teach you slow. You’re gonna learn everything from me, and only me."

“Joel... I wanna try again,” you said, and your voice came out soft, but sure. “With my mouth.”

Joel stilled, his eyes darkened slow, oh, the things you did to him, hearing you say those filthy things with that sweet, innocent mouth of yours. He smiled, slow, crooked, filthy.

“You mean suckin’ my cock?” he asked, all teasing drawl and patronizing sweetness.

You nodded. “Yeah. I want to.”

Joel’s hand slid higher on your thigh. “You askin’ real nice, baby girl.”

You leaned closer, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Please, Joel. I wanna make you feel good. Wanna do it right this time.”

He groaned, low and sharp, hand flexing on your skin.

“Alright, then, but only cause you want to, not because you feel like you need to prove somethin’,” he muttered. “Go ahead. Show me what you remember.”

He shifted back on the bed and unzipped his jeans with one hand, tugging them low enough to free his cock, already half-hard, thick, and flushed. You sat up on your knees between his legs, suddenly so aware of how big he looked like this, broad and spread out, just waiting.

Your hand wrapped around the base of him, he twitched in your palm, and you leaned down slowly, licking a soft stripe up the underside like he’d shown you before.

Joel exhaled sharp through his nose. “Thassit. Just like that, baby.”

“Hi there,” you said softly with his cock on your hand.

Joel huffed a laugh, low and almost incredulous. “You talkin’ to my cock now?”

“Maybe,” you said to Joel, before focusing your eyes back to his cock. “Hello again,” you said sweetly, leaning in to kiss the head. “Missed me?”

His breath was already hitching, you took it as a good sign and did it again, this time licking the head in slow, teasing circles, letting your tongue slip under the ridge.

“Look at you. Such a good boy. Getting all big and strong for me.”

Joel groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus. You’re one of a kind, baby girl.”

You batted your lashes up at him. “You like it.”

“I love it,” he muttered, eyes fixed on your mouth as you gave another teasing lick up the underside. “Love my silly baby girl talkin’ nonsense while she plays with her food.”

You giggled and leaned in, rubbing your cheek affectionately against his cock like it was a plush toy. And then you leaned down and kissed it with over-the-top reverence, soft little “muah” sounds, little nose nuzzles. You really liked his cock, sure, it was the only one you’d ever seen in person, so you didn’t exactly have a reference point, but still… if you had to guess? It was the kind of cock a woman would want

He gave you that slow, dangerous smirk. “You gonna make out with him right in front of me, baby?”

You nodded solemnly. “Don’t be jealous, daddy. He deserves love too.”

Joel groaned like he was in pain, throwing his head back on the pillow. “Christ, you’re such a goddamn brat.”

You were driving him absolutely insane, on your knees, looking like a sweet little angel who’d fallen from heaven, your innocent little face nuzzling all over his cock, rubbing your cheek against it, pressing soft kisses… He wanted so badly to grab your hair, shove his cock down your throat and hold you there as he emptied his balls.

You kept flicking your tongue over his tip over and over again, watching as it began to leak more

“I’m your brat.”

“Damn right you are,” he said roughly, running a hand through your hair. “My sweet dumb baby. Givin’ daddy a heart attack every time she opens her mouth.”

“He missed me,” you whispered, tongue tracing around his tip. “He loves my mouth, doesn’t he?”

Joel’s voice dropped, rough and sweet and low. “Yeah, baby. He does. You got the best fuckin’ mouth. He wants you drooling all over him, don’t he?”

“Mhm.” You licked a fat stripe up the underside, then wrapped your lips around the head, making Joel moan, loud and unfiltered.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. “You been practicin’ in your dreams or somethin’, baby girl?”

You smiled against him. “Just been thinkin’ about it,” you whispered. “Thinkin’ about makin’ you feel good.”

“Better just be that,” Joel groaned, “and not you practicin’ on any of those boys from round town.”

“Jooeeel,” you giggled, sweet and teasing, “you know I don’t want anyone else but daddy.”

He growled, and you let your lips close around the tip and sucked, hollowing your cheeks, going slow, shallow, just the tip, in and out, working your hand at the base to match like he'd taught you last time.

“Atta girl,” Joel groaned. “That’s it. Look at you. My good girl. My perfect little cockslut.” Joel’s hand came to rest on the back of your head, not pushing, just resting.

“Jesus, baby. You’re learnin’. Makin’ daddy feel so good…”

You moaned around him, and he twitched in your mouth, the vibrations were just adding to the intense pleasure you were already giving him.

“Fuck—yeah, do that again. Moan on it. Shit.”

You moaned and took him a little deeper, your throat felt tight, but you were determined, wanting to prove him you were a big girl, one that could take his entire cock in your mouth. You pulled back after you ran out of breath, and sucked softly on the tip, letting spit drip and smear down your fist.

He groaned loud. “Look at you,” he panted. “Look at this fuckin’ mouth, takin’ my cock so sweet. You were made for this, baby girl.”

You got bolder by his compliments, and licked down to the base and back up again. Let the head rest on your tongue and gazed up at him, eyes wide and wet, mouth full.

“Oh fuck, baby—don’t look at me like that, I swear to God—”

“You like that?” You asked, lips glossy with spit. “You like watchin’ me do it?”

“I love watchin’ you do it,” he growled. “You’re so good, baby. S’good for me. This mouth’s made for suckin’ daddy’s cock.”

You whimpered, and he caught your face in both hands, gently guiding you down again, rocking his hips just a little. He needed it, yes, he loved the gentle flicks of your tongue, the toying with his tip, but right now he needed to hit the back of your throat.

“You take what I give you,” he murmured. “Little bit deeper now. That’s it. Just like that. My good girl. Take him all the way. Show him how much you love him.”

You worked him with your mouth and hand together, taking breaks to lick, to suck, to breathe—and each time you paused, he praised you, whispered filth like you were doing him the biggest favor in the world.

“Goddamn, baby, you’re so pretty like this… pretty mouth full of me…”

“Yeah, just like that, take your time… fuck, I ain’t gonna last…”

“You feel how hard I am for you? You know what you do to me, baby girl?”

You sucked him harder, hand twisting at the base, Joel groaned, full-bodied and deep. “Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. “Ain’t gonna last another minute with you takin’ it like that.”

You whimpered around him, thighs squeezing together. Just his moans and those bold, filthy compliments were enough to get you wet and aching.

“Aw, baby’s gettin’ wet just suckin’ cock, huh? Poor little thing. Gonna need me later?”

You nodded, still bobbing, spit running down your chin. You pulled off just enough to murmur:

“He’s gettin’ twitchy.”

Joel grunted. “Yeah? You feel him startin’ to cum?”

“Warn me, daddy,” you said around him. “But I’m not stoppin’.”

You smiled and sucked him back into your mouth, sucking deep, and you didn’t let go until he was shaking, grunting, hips stuttering.

“F-Fuck… baby—daddy’s cummin’, he’s cummin’—fuck, right now—” Joel groaned, voice rough and desperate, his hips jerking up into you as the pleasure overtook him.

He came down your throat, hot and thick and salty, you liked the taste of it more than you did last time. You swallowed around him, let him ride it out in your mouth, his hands cradling the back of your head, thumbs stroking your cheeks like you were precious.

When you finally pulled off, he was panting, staring down at you like he didn’t know what hit him.

“Holy fuck, baby…”

You smiled, wiped the corner of your mouth. “Did I do good?”

Joel laughed, breathless. “You did perfect.” It was only the second time you’d sucked him, and you’d already outrun every other woman who’d ever been in his life.

He pulled you up onto his lap, arms tight around you. His thigh shifted beneath you, solid and warm, and you didn’t realize you were grinding down against it until he did.

“Ohh,” he said lowly, voice nearly a growl. “There she goes.”

You froze, a little ashamed by the fact that you were so horny you hadn’t even realized you were unconsciously humping his thigh, but Joel leaned in, lips brushing your cheek. “Don’t stop now, sweetheart. Keep ridin' me like that.”

Your eyes fluttered. “On… on your thigh?”

He nodded slowly, letting his hand drag up the curve of your back. “Mhm. That’s it. That’s what a sweet, shy girl like you needs. Nothin’ too scary. Just daddy’s thigh to start.”

“Joel,” you whispered, embarrassed and overwhelmed and aching so bad.

“S’just like dancin’, baby,” he cooed. “You know how to move your hips, don’t you?”

You nodded shyly, lashes still wet from sucking him, clutching at his shoulders. He adjusted your legs so you were straddling one thick, muscled thigh, your knees braced on either side of his, making you feel the corded muscle shift under you.

“Try movin’,” Joel whispered, voice all honeyed patience. “Rock your hips on me. Just a little to begin with. Just rub your sweet lil’ pussy on my thigh. Pretend it’s my cock if you want.”

You hesitated, but then rolled your hips forward, slowly dragging your clothed pussy over the ridge of his thigh, the friction made you gasp and clutch your fingers on his shirt.

“There we go,” Joel cooed. “See? That feel good? That’s what I’m gonna teach you to do all on your own. Go slow at first. Just lil’ rocks, baby.”

“Oh…”

“Atta girl. You’re doin’ so good. S’just like that.”

You moved again, the soft cotton of your panties growing damper with every pass. Joel watched you like a starving man, eyes hooded, hands staying right at your hips, guiding your movements.

Your breath came quicker as your clit caught on the firm pressure beneath you. The friction was perfect through your panties, rough enough to spark pleasure but safe enough not to scare you.

“Feel good, baby?”

You whimpered. “Y-yeah.”

“You ridin’ me now, aren’t you?” he asked softly. “Even if it’s just my thigh. So desperate to be a big girl, you just had to feel it, huh?”

You nodded, moving again, this time more confidently, moaning under your breath as the pressure hit just right.

“Aw, my poor baby,” he whispered, mock sympathy dripping from every word. “Look at you grindin’ all over me like you need it to breathe.”

Your cheeks burned, you buried your face in his neck as your hips rocked faster. “Feels so good, daddy…”

“I know it does. This is what happens when you trust me to teach you. I’ll show you everythin’, baby. Start you slow… get you used to it.”

You moaned into his skin, your clit catching just right on his thigh.

“Bet you’re gettin’ your pretty panties all wet, huh?”

You whimpered again in response.

“Yeah, I can feel it,” he growled. “Soakin’ through. You keep goin’, baby girl. Use me. Rub that little pussy right on me ‘til you cum.”

“God, Joel, it—feels so good—”

He nodded, hand sliding up your back. “I know it does, sweetheart. That’s your little pussy learnin’ how to get off. Keep goin’ for me

“Joel—”

“You need to cum,” he said, gently but firmly. “You need it, don’t you?”

“I—I think so—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he crooned. “Think real hard. Wanna cum for me, don’t you?”

You nodded desperately, now chasing every movement of your hips, the pressure was building and building, your clit throbbing against the strength of his thigh. He let you do your thing, just watched you unravel slowly, whispering praise like poison in your ear.

“That’s it. Just like that. Look at you—so sweet and dumb, so fuckin’ precious. Bet if I let you cum like this, you’ll be beggin’ me to show you what ridin’ my cock feels like next, huh?”

“I think—I think I’m gonna—Joel—”

You cried out, back arching, your thighs shaking as the orgasm hit. It was hot and dizzying and so much stronger than you expected just from grinding him, but you’d never done anything like this, never been talked through it like this, handled like this. You kept rocking even through it, drawn-out and needy, until Joel’s hands stilled you.

“Shh. That’s it. That’s enough, baby. I got you.”

Joel held you close through it, murmuring praise into your hair, arms wrapped around you like you were something breakable. When your breath finally slowed and your hips stilled, you whispered, “Joel…”

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip. “Yeah, baby?”

You swallowed, voice small. “I think I’m ready.”

He stilled, blinking, breathing harder now.

“Yeah?” he said after a second, thumb still pressed to your mouth. “You sure, sweetheart? Don’t say it if you’re not. I can wait. I’ll fuckin’ wait forever for you.”

You nodded. “I want it to be you.”

Even though that orgasm had been mind-blowing, your body was still craving more. You were a little scared, but you knew Joel loved you, and that he’d take such good care of you in every step of the way.

Joel let out a shaky, wrecked sound and leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, your lips. He kissed you like you’d given him something holy. He felt so honored to be the one, the only one, to take that part of you. To be the first cock to stretch you open, to fill you up completely.

“Alright,” he rasped. “Alright, baby girl. We’ll go slow. Real slow. I got you.”

He laid you spread open on the bed, softly, like you were made out of glass. He kissed down your chest, your stomach, your thighs, murmuring as he went.

“I just…” You swallowed, cheeks burning. “I’m nervous. I don’t know what it’s gonna feel like.”

Joel exhaled softly, his voice dropped low.

“S’a stretch, baby. First time always is. You might hurt some. But I’ll be right here the whole time. I’ll help you through it. You just gotta listen to me, yeah?”

You nodded.

“Gonna be s’good for me,” he breathed. “You’ve been s’good for me already, haven’t you? Lettin’ me teach you. Lettin’ me touch you. And now you’re gonna let me take you all the way. That what you want, baby? Want daddy to take your little virgin pussy?”

Your thighs trembled. “Y-Yeah.”

Joel pulled back just long enough to wrap his hand around himself, hard, and heavy, all over again.

“Look at this cock, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You really think you’re ready for all this?”

Your eyes flicked to his cock, shy but sure, it was all you needed right now. “I want it.”

He groaned, moving between your thighs again. “Alright. Gonna give you just a little first, okay? Gotta stretch you open slow, baby. I ain’t lettin’ you hurt.”

His fingers stroked through your folds, slick and ready, spreading you for him, and then you felt the broad head of his cock, warm and insistent, pressing right at your entrance.

“Deep breath,” Joel said, his voice like velvet. “Just the tip first, like last time. Let daddy in.”

You exhaled, and he took that moment to push forward, just barely, just enough to breach you. You gasped, your whole body tightened around him instinctively, but Joel was already soothing you, already leaning over you with kisses and murmurs and praise.

You gasped—your hands flew to his arms, nails digging in. “Joel—oh—wait—”

“Shh, shh,” he soothed. “I know, baby. I know. It’s a lot. Daddy’s so sorry.”

He leaned down and kissed your forehead. You were shaking, even if he wasn’t moving.

he whispered. “Too much?”

You shook your head quickly. “Just… hurts more than I thought.”

“I know, baby. I know it hurts. Just breathe f’me. You’re doin’ great.”

You tried to breathe through it, feeling the dull burn of being opened by something too big, too thick, but still, you wanted it, you wanted him.

“Shhh, baby, that’s it. You’re doin’ so good. Tight little thing, ain’t you? Gonna suck me in so sweet. I knew you’d be tight, but fuck—you’re squeezin’ me like you never wanna let go.”

You let out a shaky laugh that turned into a cry as he gave another slow push.

“It’s a lot, huh?” he whispered against your ear. “Big cock stretchin’ you for the first time. Feels full, don’t it?”

You nodded, jaw trembling. “So full.”

“Too much?”

“No. Keep going, daddy.”

His breath hitched. “Jesus. You’re so fuckin’ brave, baby girl.”

And then finally—finally—he was all the way in, buried to the hilt, making you gasp again. Joel froze, holding you tightly, his whole body shaking above yours.

“Christ,” he groaned. “You took all of me. First time and you’re takin’ me so goddamn deep. That pussy was made for me. You feel that?”

You could only nod. Tears prickled the corners of your eyes. Joel looked down, utterly wrecked by the sight of your pussy swallowing him whole, of that tight little hole stretched around him.

You could feel everything, every twitch, every throb, every part of him stretching you open in ways you’d never imagined. It hurt, he was so big, and your body was struggling to take it, but you knew the pain would fade, your just needed to give your body a minute to stretch, to get used to him, and once it passed, the good part would come.

Joel rocked gently, barely moving, just letting your body adjust. You whimpered at the pressure, at the fullness, at the intensity of it all.

Joel just babied you. “Such a sweet girl. So fuckin’ brave. You lettin’ me be your first, baby? Makin’ me feel honored.”

“Don’t move yet,” you whispered. “Just… stay.”

“I ain’t movin’,” Joel said. “You tell me when. This pussy belongs to you until you give me permission.”

Your heart ached by how sweet he was, you wrapped your arms around his neck, held on, breathed, and slowly, the pain dulled, the sting turned to heat, the fullness turned to need, you needed more, you desperatly needed friction.

“Okay,” you whispered. “You can move now.”

Joel pulled back, just a little, and then rolled his hips forward, slow and steady. And again, and again. Each stroke made you gasp, made you cling to his shoulders, the feeling of him sliding deep, hot and heavy and perfect, dragging against every tender, untouched nerve inside you.

Every thrust was shallow, slow, careful, but it still made your thighs tremble. The pain was a shadow now, replaced with a tight, delicious ache and something filthy blooming low in your belly.

“Good girl,” he kept whispering. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good. I knew you would. This sweet little pussy was just waitin’ for me, wasn’t it?”

You moaned so loud your throat felt sore. You would’ve been so embarrassed if you hadn’t been so completely lost in the overwhelming, electric pleasure coursing through your body.

He was trying to hold back, trying to stay gentle, because he knew how important a first time was, and you were his baby, you deserved for it to be nothing but soft and sweet. But in the back of his mind, he was already tasting the future, already imagining how he’d have you in all fours soon, when your body was ready to take more. He’d be rough then, fucking you deep and hard, just like he knew you’d want it once you got a real taste of him. But not now. Not yet.

“You wanted this cock,” he murmured. “You needed it. Wanted daddy to teach you how to take it. Fuck—look at you, baby girl, takin’ every inch. Buryin’ my cock all the way in this perfect fuckin’ pussy.”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks, not quite from pain anymore, but from how full and overwhelmed you were. Joel kissed them away, he started to move faster, the heat built with every slow thrust, every slick grind of his hips against yours, and then his hand slid between you, thumb circling your clit in time with his thrusts.

You arched under him, sobbing louder now, overwhelmed and shaking from how deep he was. It felt like he was in your stomach, stretching places you didn’t even know could feel pleasure.

“J-Joel, it’s so much,” you whimpered. “I—didn’t know it could feel like this.”

He groaned low, voice thick and wrecked.

“That’s right, baby. That’s me all the way up in there,” he murmured, pressing his palm flat against your lower belly, feeling the bulge where his cock reached so deep it made your eyes roll back.

“That’s it,” he grunted. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock. Want this little pussy to milk me dry. Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Y-Yes—yes—Joel—”

You didn’t even have to try, the tip of his cock found that perfect spot inside you, that sweet, aching place you didn’t even know could feel that good, and the moment he hit it you saw stars, and then he hit it again… and again… and again.

You came hard, it was all so new, so perfect. You clenched around him, voice breaking, and the spasms of your cunt made Joel snap. His thrusts got rougher, deeper, his hips stuttering as he groaned your name over and over again.

“I’m gonna cum—fuck—gonna fill you up, baby girl, give you every fuckin’ drop—mine, you hear me? This pussy’s mine.”

He spilled inside you, grinding deep, holding you to him as you both fell apart. You clung to him, trembling, panting, tears still slipping down your cheeks. It was strange, so strange, a sudden heat blooming inside you, you swore you could feel his thick and warm seed being spilled inside you, and then sliding back out, dripping from your sore, used hole, slick and messy between your thighs. You whimpered at the sensation, so sensitive now that even the slow trickle of it made you twitch.

“You did so good,” he whispered. “So goddamn good. You’re mine now, baby. Every part of you.”

Afterward, Joel gave a few slow, shallow thrusts to push his cum deeper inside you before going completely soft. Even as he pulled out with a low groan, he watched the last of his seed slowly drip from your hole.

“Fuck… look at that, baby,” he rasped, his voice still thick with lust and awe. “Can’t even keep it in. I filled you that good.”

You could barely speak, barely breathe. All you could do was lay there and feel his release leaking out of you in hot waves.

“Daddy made a mess in you,” he murmured, his thumb gently playing with the warm slickness, spreading it over your folds and making you flinch from the sudden sensitivity. “D’you want me to clean you up, baby?”

“Mmm, can I stay like this, daddy?” you whispered. “I wanna feel you inside me.”

It felt… nice. Comforting, even. Being this marked by him. Joel just nodded, he didn’t move away from you, he just stroked your face, your hair, kissed your cheeks and whispered how good you’d done, how proud he was, how much he loved you.

And even though your body ached, your legs were still trembling, and your thighs were sticky with him, you felt safer than you ever had in your life.

He kissed your face, your hair, your lips. You were still crying a little.

“You did so good, baby girl,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ good f’me. I’m so proud of you.”

You held onto him, safe in his arms, and whispered.

“…I love you.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time. “I love you too, sweetheart. More than I ever thought I could.”

A/N: This definitely ended up being much longer than I intended, especially for pure porn without plot, lol

I’m so happy to see how much you liked the previous part I posted🥹 I immediately started writing this other one, and I hope you enjoy it just as much. If you do, please consider showing some support, it would mean the world to me🩷🩷

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[i-like-loserz]

breedable

pairing: husband!san x reader

cw: explicit (18+), raging breeding-kink, unprotected sex (no condom, yes other contraceptives), needy/whiny!san, cuteness/sexiness aggression (^^look AT THOSE ADORABLE PICS), not dub-con because you're not actually forcing san to have a child - its just a fantasy and san respects the responsible day dreaming -- oh, and this is NOT beta-read.

wc: 1.6k

note: reverse breeding kink turns my mind into a slushie

masterlist

---

you have a special type of aggression when it comes to your husband.

while there's the usual cuteness aggression that makes you want to pinch his cheeks and tickle him until he's a giggling mess -- or the alternative "awe-infused-aggression," that makes you want to crawl all over him and worship his body (because he's built like a god) -- but this special aggression is a mix of the two.

you call it the "i-need-to-pass-on-his-genes-with-mine" or the breeding-aggression. you see his perfect, docile face -- the cute way his brows scrunch together whenever he's feeling too much, the way his chiseled abs clench as he holds himself back -- and it sets a fire in your horny soul.

typically, when one describes a breeding kink, it involves someone wanting to impregnate the other person in an act of love and possession. of course, the other person is wholeheartedly egging them on because they, too, want to carry their baby.

in this case, however, you work hard to fuck him to get you pregnant.

you may wonder, "is that not exactly the same thing as a normal breeding kink?," which will be responded with a, "no, because san is a smart boy and he doesn't want a child at the moment -- that is, not until you're both done achieving your dreams and settled into a family-friendly environment."

san is the sensible one in the relationship, while you play the role of a feral cat in heat. he always insists on a condom or some birth control while you immediately embrace your inner horny demon and cannot go a week without begging him to fill you up like a boston cream donut.

you often think he's just playing the role of the timid damsel, begging for mercy before getting thoroughly ravished because he always ends up giving in.

at first, this obsession started with an accidental and harmless mistake.

you forgot to get condoms.

neither of you realized it until you stuck your hand into the bedside drawer, only to come up empty handed.

san, the sweetheart he is, offered to run to the store to get some. but before he could leave, you pulled him back and convinced him that one time without it wouldn't hurt. you can always take the morning after pill. right?

and you thought that was that.

but once you saw the way his cute lashes fluttered as he entered you, eyes shiny from how lost he was in the pleasure -- maybe something clicked for you. maybe.

and maybe, when you felt how his body shivered, finally feeling your warmth without any barriers, and how his cock throbbed within you, you knew this would turn into an addiction.

a dangerous one.

then when he came inside, painting your walls in his warmth before pulling out to reveal his sloppy mess, your brain chemistry became altered in a way that would change the course of desires for the rest of your life.

and then, pushing his love back in so affectionately with his fingers, eyes glazed over in awe and hunger, you knew something changed within him as well -- as much as he'd deny it. he already started to get hard again from seeing how he dripped from your perfect cunt.

and so, after that fateful night, you tried to hold back, knowing that taking the morning-after pill often wasn't healthy (and, of course, you and san weren't ready for kids yet).

this didn't stop you from imagining how his cum would feel if there wasn't a barrier between you every time you fucked. or how pretty he'd be as your baby daddy, claiming you as his own as he gives you the perfect little family.

ok, and fine, maybe you 'forgot' to buy condoms a few more times after that. and maybe you made it a habit to make him cum a few times before fucking him so he'd be a little less attentive to the missing condoms just so you can feel him gushing out of you once more.

but that's neither here nor there.

...

ok, so, maybe it was here.

and there.

here, in the house -- on the couch during movie night, on the bed in the morning, on the kitchen counter when you saw him in that cute little frilly apron he borrowed from you, in the shower when he got back from the gym.

and there, outside the house -- messily in the car(s), in a tight dressing room, spontaneously in a lake, in a utility closet at his work (don't ask) -- so you had to find a sustainable solution quickly.

it finally got to the point where you made a doctor's appointment to get on birth control because you knew you wouldn't be able to hold yourself back anymore. the pull-out method wasn't going to work for long, and you knew san was struggling to deny your whiny begs to be filled.

now, you can say whatever you want and he'll be the obedient husband that he is.

---

"cum in me, sannie..." you whisper in his ear, rolling your hips and perfectly arching your back so you can press your hot body against his. "don't you want to make me a mommy?"

you admire how his cute face scrunches up as you speed up on top of him. he's flushed a pretty scarlet, from his chiseled chest to his cheeks -- a product of your merciless teasing and edging from earlier in the evening.

"b-baby," he meets your motions smoothly, eyes squeezed shut as his body struggles to bear with the sensations of your soft heat wrapped around him. "fuck, i-i'm..."

"...you're...?" you ask, mockingly. you lightly rake your nails against the back of his neck. the action never fails to make him shiver and buck against you. you let out a short gasp as the feeling of him suddenly fully thrusting into you nearly knocks the air out of you. he's hitting that sweet sweet spot inside of you now -- and it's making you almost as delirious as the man under you.

"p-please..."

"c'mon, hubby, i wanna feel it dripping out of me," you sigh dreamily. your lips barely brush over his neck as you speak, "then you can shove it back in and make sure it keeps, right~"

"yes, yes, anything--" he mumbles, head tilted back in ecstasy. his large hands grip around your waist, guiding your body like a glorified cock sleeve, up and down his cock just right. you swear you're starting to see white spots in your vision as he continues to use your body.

you love it when he's like this. tunnel visioned and desperate to reach that explosive feeling of stuffing you full of his cum. your eyes roll back as he continues to nudge against that soft spot inside of you.

"u-uh, san..." a familiar and addictive exhilarating heat blooms from your core and proliferates through every nerve in your body before you even realize it. you bite your lip to keep you from drooling as your body starts to shake in his hold.

the shockwave of pleasure makes you clench around him, making you impossibly tight around him as he continues to thrust into you.

"fuck," he groans at the feeling of you fluttering around him. he struggles to keep up his pace as he gives into his pleasure. you can feel his abs clench against you as his hips begin to stutter to meet yours. "take it, baby. i need you to t-take it all for me."

"give it to me. i need it."

he pulls your body down and gives one last punishing snap of his hips to press himself deep inside of you as he finishes with a broken moan.

as he cums inside of you, his body trembles, overwhelmed by his orgasm, the press of your perfect body against his, the heated air surrounding the two of you, and the panted breath leaving your precious lips.

his arms wrap around you, holding you close, as he nuzzles his face against your neck, pressing soft and sweet kisses to your sticky skin.

as you both start to calm down, san lifts his face from the crook of your neck to look up at you.

"baby?" he gently brushes some hair from your face so he can get a good look at your flushed expression, "i think i'm ready." he has such a cute little smile on his face as he stares up at you with adoring eyes.

"ready?" you ask, still trying to come down from the pleasure infused fog that has settled over your mind.

"i think we should start baby-making, for real."

a silence sits in between you as you stare at him in disbelief. you weren't expecting your sensible and responsible husband to suddenly propose such a life altering idea to you.

you're suddenly pulled out from your warm post-orgasm deliriousness.

"...san. are you sure?"

he looks down at your connected bodies, at your baby-less stomach and the sticky mess that's now dripping onto his thighs. and then you feel him twitch inside of you.

oh.

"i-- yeah."

not convincing.

(at least not in the state you're in)

"yeah, no." you shake your head, fully aware of his wandering thoughts. "let's talk about this when we're fully clothed, okay."

who knew you'd be promoted to be the sensible one?

[bunni-v1]

I just saw the teasing, but shy / brat taming story. Can I request kinda similar but kinda opposite, MC who is shy and likes to tease but is actually a good girl? 🧡

I personally like to tease, I love seeing them start to lose it because they start to get so turned on but they know they can't do anything about it. (Not in an angry way tho, if that makes sense?) But I'm also very much a good girl, while I very slightly might test boundaries, I live to please. I don't see many stories for us good girls, (also pillow princess stories are quite rare) so if you feel comfortable, I would love to see this version also. 😄

Such a Good Girl~

Necessary marc tag: @cilomarc

🍓I saw this and IMMEDIATELY started brainstorming. Other than when I was writing Cookie Run, this is the fastest I've gotten to a request. Now, It might've taken me a little longer than I wanted to get it done... but shut up. Now I'm not sure how loyal I was to the prompt, I kinda just... got lost while writing. Still, I do hope that it's what you were looking for my love <3

TW: Brat tamer Zayne & Sylus; Mean Xavier; Oral Receiving (Rafayel) & Giving (Caleb); Use of "Good Girl"; BLATANT Caleb favoritism; Grammar Errors

Info: NSFW; Zayne, Xavier, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb x Reader (separate); Short drabbles

Total Word Count: 6.2k words (individual count listed with character)

MDNI

ZAYNE (1.2k Words)

You don't even remember what you did to get yourself in the position in the first place. Well, you do, but you felt too lightheaded to think about it now. Zayne had you pressed close to his chest, head resting on his shoulder, and dick nice and snug inside your tight little hole. There was a pressure deep in your stomach that couldn't be relieved without movement, but he refused you the option, hands stilling your hips when they wiggled even a fraction.

Maybe, coming into Zayne's office during work hours in his favorite skirt wasn't the greatest idea you'd had. He was only so patient, especially when it came to you and your teasing. He let you play dumb for a little while, because it made you happy, and it's not like he didn't enjoy seeing the soft curve of your ass in the tight fabric as you waltzed around. It was almost cute the way you played dumb, like you didn't notice the way his eyes trailed after you and his pen stilled occasionally to observe you.

It was only meant to be a cute little game between the two of you, one you didn't expect to yield the results it did. But when he beckoned you over, pulling you between his legs by your hips, your fate was sealed. He had his usual calm expression, but his eyes were alight with need, drinking you in with each rove over your curves. The hands on your hips slid down to your thighs, then back up again, feeling the expanse of soft flesh as if it were his personal comfort.

His eyes find yours when he finally speaks, "Is there a reason you chose this skirt today?"

A little smile crawls up your face, almost shyly, "I thought you might like it."

His eyebrows raised in acknowledgement, lifting his chin just slightly in affirmation. His fingers pull you closer by the backs of your thighs, drumming up and up until they rest atop your butt. It's not a science to tell that he's very pleased with your answer, no need for a rigorous degree to read him, he spells it out for you without needing to be asked.

"I do," he hums, kneading your cheeks in his hands, "Were you hoping for a reward?"

Direct and to the point as always, you couldn't hide from him. There was no attempt with the way you flustered, eyes flitting around nervously while you nodded your answer. Far too cute, if you asked him. He tapped your bottom, and like a trained dog, you looked back at him with fluttering lashes.

"If you can be nice and patient, I'll give you what you want," he hums, tilting his head so the light catches in his eyes just so, "You can do that for me, can't you?"

And that's how you'd ended up throwing your legs on either side of him and curling into his neck like a lifeline. You'd cock warmed him before, it wasn't a challenge to sit still and let him work. The stagnant pleasure was something you had come to enjoy, an intimacy that set butterflies free in your stomach every time he offered for you to do it. What was difficult to deal with, though, was the tension in built in your head.

You knew how your night would end, obviously. The issue lay in not knowing when Zayne believed the reward awaiting you was earned. You were always his good girl; you knew you were so well behaved, he told you all the time. There was simply no measure that could properly count when you had behaved well enough for your treat. That was up to Zayne to decide, and it could span from minutes to hours of waiting. That was the fun of it, though.

He would tap his fingers along your sides when the time was getting closer. Physical affection and comfort pick up, as a little warning. You think it's mostly subconscious, more for himself than it was for you. Fingers slide up and down your spine, kisses pressed to the side of your face in reassurance, or arms pulling you just a little closer.

Your nerves jitter in excitement when he sets his pen down, the soft shuffle of papers being moved out of the way, the most exciting sound in the world. Gentle hands pull your face into view, stroking over your warm cheeks as an apology for making you wait so long. You smile at him, leaning into his hands, craving that skin-to-skin contact more than you'd realized.

"You want to move, don't you?" He asks, though it comes out as more of a statement.

Adamantly, your head bobs up and down, "Yes, Sir."

He hums, copying your nodding, "Go ahead then, you've earned it."

Not needing to be told twice, you use his shoulders as leverage to bounce yourself up and down in his lap. Slow and steady motions to start, dragging his length along your walls, taking in each inch of pleasure with delight. All the while, he watches you, making sure you behave like you're meant to. Both of you know you will, you'd never do anything to purposely upset him, but the thought of him watching for little slip-ups gets the heat boiling beneath your skin.

His hands rest on your hips, not helping, just resting patiently. Just in case. You try not to think too hard about it, focusing in on the task you were given. Taking in the comforting feeling of him buried deep inside you, dragging along your walls like he was made to be there. The pleasant squelching sounds filling up his normally quiet office, encouraging you to keep going even though your legs start to burn.

His head leans back, getting more comfortable in his chair, content just watching you use him. His hands squeeze in patterned intervals to further encourage you to chase your high. Quiet, watchful, and entirely taken with you. The flush on his cheeks was more than enough to signal that you were performing exactly as he wanted; there was no need to vocally pronounce it when he made it so obvious to you. Heated gaze committing every little shift in expression to memory, utterly obsessed with the way you fall apart so obediently.

And fall apart you do, movements quickly becoming sloppy. It's too difficult to raise your hips in the same motion over and over, so you've taken to rolling them instead. Your orgasm is quickly building, coiling up your spine and fuzzing up your brain deliciously. You can't cum without permission, though. You don't want to misbehave and face punishment. Luckily, Zayne knows you too well, sensing your need from the way your hips seem to stutter and how you clench in uneven patterns now.

One hand cradles your chin between loving fingers, tilting your face toward his. Those sinful green eyes glimmer with knowing, looking over your flushed face like reading a report. The smallest smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, head tilting to the side in a teasing motion.

"You want to cum?" He hums expectantly, and when you nod he continues, "Go on then, be good, cum for me."

And like magic, like your body has been trained to listen, that coil springs and snaps pleasure through your body. Your orgasm draws a long, low moan from your lips, your body falling forward against his shoulder. Despite the way it tingles from the intensity of the pleasure curling along every nerve, you feel the unmistakable gentle rub of practiced hands along your spine. Coaxing your body to relax into him, easing the heat encasing you just enough to keep you lucid.

Your reward for being so good for him.

XAVIER (1.2k Words)

Xavier loves the way you like to play with him - it's cute how you tentatively poke at him, then hide away the second he questions you. It's a little game he likes to play with you: play dumb and see how far you'll let yourself get before you self-correct your behavior. He doesn't even have to do anything; you give yourself up for him every single time with a flutter of your lashes and a pout.

Just like today, you were testing your limits again, and he was happily playing oblivious. It started with some poking to his cheek and his side, annoying, but nothing he wasn't used to. The way you lit up when he hummed in acknowledgement set a chill down his spine. You didn't stop there, eventually letting your cute little innocent poking evolve into firm grasps. Nowhere too risqué, on his arms or holding his waist as though that was where your hands belonged.

He'd slid his hand over yours at that point, quietly warning you that he was on to you. Not to negate, just to tell, a reminder of who was in charge of whom. You took it as an invitation and worked yourself up to more teasing touches. Featherlight as your hand grazed over his chest and above his thighs, still too good to push further than that. Your intention was clear without needing to go further, though, and it brought Xavier great excitement to see how you shrank back from giving in to your wants.

You didn't have to worry about it, and you knew that fact. Xavier was ready to hand it over to you on a silver platter, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It came when your fingers strayed just a little too high up his thigh, not intentionally, but the perfect excuse to grab them firmly. Bringing the hand to his lips, kissing their tips with such devotion, you nearly forget that he'd caught you in the act. Those pretty blue puppy dog eyes darken slightly when he gazes at you, intent clear as day in their sparkle.

"You've been quite playful today, starlight," He mumbles against your skin, "Are you hoping for something from me?"

You fluster immediately, just like he expected you to, because you're so scared of being bad for him. You hate it when he's mad, so you nod obediently. His other hand tilts your head gently, as if it's a suggestion of movement rather than a command. You listen regardless, moving your face as he likes, swallowing when his thumb grazes over your lip. He watches your tongue dart out after it, like you were trying to get a taste of what he left behind. That makes him more of a mess than he'd be willing to admit, breath shaking with his next exhale.

"Don't worry about telling me," He says, moving forward in a swift motion, pressing you to the couch cushions easily, "I already know what you need, just behave and I'll give it to you, okay?"

Another helpless nod, and he is hovering over you like a predator who'd just caught his prey. Sliding your clothes out of his way, not bothering to take anything off fully, far too preoccupied to care about such a trivial matter now. He only makes sure you're wet enough before he pushes inside your tight heat. It takes all his self-control not to moan out loud, mouth finding your neck to distract his brain with a different task for the moment.

He laves at the skin there, soft tongue sending shivers down your spine as it runs along the sensitive spots he's able to find like second nature. He works his way up to the shell of your ear, nipping and kissing along your jaw, buying time for your world to stop spinning before he sends it out of orbit again. You can feel the satisfied smirk against your ear, whining when the ghost of his teeth nibble along it.

"You're already so wet, you took me with no problem," He whispers, wiggling against you for emphasis, "You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you? How naughty, here I thought you were so well behaved."

You tug at his shirt, letting out an annoyed whine. Insistent, defiant, denying the idea that you had misbehaved. You hadn't, after all, he let you do all of it after all. He smiles, pulling back to look at your angry little pout.

"No?" He hums, and you confirm with a nod, "You think you're a good girl?"

You agree, vigorously nodding your head so hard he worries you might give yourself whiplash. Your angry pout makes him want to kiss you stupid, but he holds back on that. Only good girls get that treatment, and he wasn't so sure you'd earned the title yet. Instead, he presses his face close, just a hair's width away. Refusing to kiss you, but allowing you to desire it enough that he can see the need on your face.

"Why don't you prove it, then," He asks, rolling his hips once, "if you cum for me, maybe I'll reconsider my judgment."

With that, he begins his movements, sending your head spinning yet again with the pace he sets. Never one to waste time when he had you laid out so openly beneath him, he pistons himself into your wet heat at a steady but quick rhythm. Each drag manages to hit each spot against your spongy walls perfectly, getting you dizzy within moments of him starting. Your grip on his shirt tightens, using the fabric as a means of bracing yourself against the warmth spreading across your body.

It doesn't do anything for how quickly he manages to get you babbling, knowing your body better than you do. Those deep blue eyes watching you submit yourself willingly, knowing well that you would before he started. You always behaved so well for him; he just liked making you work for his praise. The angry expressions as you fought his accusations off, making him stupidly hot and bothered. Making the way your face absolutely scrunched up and losing itself to the heat of the moment all the more satisfying.

It doesn't take you long to reach your peak, not with how easily he works your body like this. Knowing exactly how to move his hips for you, like it was instinct to get you to fall apart on him. You cry out his name, fingers balling the fabric of his shirt like it would help you somehow. Cute, cute, cute sings inside his head, over and over, like he was losing his mind. He sees the moment the invisible thread in you snaps, and feels it as you grip around him as though trying to drag him down with you.

Instinctively, he comes down to kiss you, giving you your just rewards for being so good for him. The gentle reprieve he gives you makes it all worth it, though.

Mumbling against your moans his soft praises, "Good girl, keep going, give me all you can."

RAFAYEL (1k Words)

The only thing in the world Rafayel likes more than you is your attention. Knowing you're looking at him, having the awareness that you are encapsulated by him makes him happier than he'd be willing to admit to you. Something about the reassurance that you are there, and that you find him as mesmerizing as he does you, helps to calm his raging heart. Quells the burning fire of his yearning to a low simmer, no longer consuming him whole, but warming him from the cold of memories that still haunt him.

That attention of yours was addicting, and you were simply unaware of the effect you had on him. Which is why he felt as though he'd been going through withdrawals all day, a notable lack of your eyes on him driving him nuts. Yes, you were busy and he was oh so understanding of that... but he could only take so much. It was getting to be unfair at this point.

First, you wouldn't let him pull you back into the sheets, scolding him about 'work' and 'responsibility'. You sounded like Thomas, but he didn't complain too much that time, content to watch you get ready; the show was compensation enough. Then, audaciously, you refused to send him any pictures. Wouldn't even amuse the lighthearted flirting, too busy running around being a hero to pause for him. What made it all worse, when you got home, you were 'too tired' and 'just wanted to eat and nap'.

Fine, okay, whatever. He'll make you a tasty, nutrient-full meal and cuddle you on the couch while you talked about your day. He doesn't bring it up again, wouldn't push you when you seem so genuinely exhausted. He can go without for you, he did it for hundreds of years, what's a day?

It's fine until you start to get restless, wiggling about this way and that and pressing into him very intentionally. It clicks when you glance over your shoulder, pouting expectantly. You'd tortured him on purpose, how mean.

He pulls you back, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a smug satisfaction. The ends of his hair tickle your cheek when he pulls you into a deep and insistent kiss, not allowing you the time to catch up. He goes until you're dizzy, wiping away the string of saliva connecting you with that familiar playful smile of his, then it drops.

Annoyance, and that pout you hate to love stare you down, "Tell me, Cutie, were you intent on torturing both of us today?"

You shake your head, ready to deny him, but it catches in your throat. He nudges your nose admonishingly, almost daring you to say no. You'd played your mean little game, and he obeyed your rules, it was time for his reward; And he would be getting it. No matter what.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, "I didn't think I'd get this far."

He huffs, like he doesn't believe you, tracing your lip with his thumb.

"Talk is useless. Why don't you show me how sorry you are?" He rumbles out, eyes darkening in his desire.

You drop to your knees like you were being mind-controlled, freeing him from the confines of his pants. He stands at attention, proud and aching for your pretty lips to wrap around him. It makes you feel worse for playing hard to get all day, knowing how he must've been so needy this whole time. Those observant eyes watch you with hardly restrained excitement, twinkling down at you encouragingly.

You slide your thumb over the tip, spreading the pearly pre over it. There's an obscene amount of it, proof of how long he'd been keeping himself together, dripping down your hand. Absent-mindedly, you lean down to lick it up from where it slides down your wrist, following it back to the source. Salty and a little bitter, you ignore the taste for the sheer satisfaction of making him feel good.

You lick up what you spread around, popping the tip in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it. He curses your name like it were sin itself. Sensitive and desperate. You use it as motivation to take him in, inch by inch, until your throat tickles, then you pull back. Wrapping what you couldn't fit in your mouth with your hand, beginning languid motions back and forth. Sucking, swirling, pleasing him just how you know he likes.

You want to make it up to him, feeling so bad for teasing him the way you did. You really didn't mean any harm, but from how he was throbbing along your tongue, you know you did. Using your mouth to make it up to him was the least you could do. Apologizing with each hum you send along his shaft, sending your sorry directly through his nervous system.

A hand runs through your hair, scratching your scalp soothingly in reward. Not that you've earned it, but he can't be too mean when you're just so good for him. The prettiest sight he's ever seen, lips wrapped around him while you desperately try to keep eye contact between the fluttering of your lashes. All your attention was his now, and he was happy to hog it all unashamedly, just like you were to suck him off for hours.

He thought about letting you, he thinks you may even deserve the way your knees would sting after the fact, but he can't help but be weak for you. Not when he had a lot more he wanted to get done tonight. The gentlest tug is all it takes for you to pop off him, swallowing up air as though you'd been drowning. He smiles, wiping a little bit of spit running down your chin. His messy little masterpiece.

"You can take all of it, can't you?" He asks, and you nod in a daze, licking your lips.

He allows you to take him again, helping you take more and more down your throat until he's settled there like it's where he belongs. You breathe through your nose, face scrunched up in concentration, trying so hard to make it up to him. It's so charming, making his heart race and sending the blood right back to his dick.

It's not enough, though; he needs you to look at him.

"Cutie," he hums, and you look up at him, glassy-eyed and desperate for approval. He smirks, "Such a good, obedient girl for me, I think I can forgive you this once if you keep it up."

SYLUS (1.2k Words)

Sylus was a very busy man, something you knew intimately after being with him for so long. Frequently, he was off somewhere in the N109 Zone doing something that you were safer turning a blind eye to than asking about. You'd spend weeks at a time without seeing him, alone in your apartment as you worry needlessly about his well-being. He always came back in perfect condition, smirking at you as though your worry was some pointless thing, teasing you for how much you care.

Being with him was difficult, but ultimately worth it in the long run. The way he took care of you far outweighed the periods where you could not physically have him with you. Though... sexually... You felt your resolve waver just a bit.

You found yourself very pent up in the weeks that he was gone, and there was only so much your fingers or toys could do to satiate the heat that boiled in your tummy. Pictures and videos of your previous times together helped, but also made it worse at the same time. You just wanted him: his warmth, his touch, his taste. Devastatingly addictive, and you felt strung out without him at your side.

You'd send him pictures and videos, hoping he'd return the favor when he gets the chance. Sometimes he'd call you and talk you through it, cooing at you as though you were an insatiable kitty and not his very needy partner. Naturally, given your human nature, you can only handle so long before you start feeling petty.

Normally, you wouldn't deprive yourself when he comes home to you, whispering syrupy sweet words into your ear. Not this time. No, you wanted him to have a taste of how frustrated you would get. Since he seemed to find it oh so funny when you got all needy, let's see how he liked it.

You forgot how patient he was.

He could reasonably wait several millennia, and you were finding that out the hard way. He was a stone wall of impartialness; nothing could shake him, and within a week, you felt your resolve rapidly crumbling. He knew this, of course, he always knew. Yet, he let you play your game without a peep. It only made you more infuriated, need burning in your stomach every time you looked at him, trapped in a prison of your design.

You give in a week and three days into your little facade, frustrated and pent up, and by Astra needing him to do anything for you. He looks up at you like he was expecting your arrival at his office door. You're not aware of the cute little pout on your face, nor the way you nervously fiddle with the hems of his oversized shirt sleeves. And, goodness, he questions himself on how he could possibly hold out for so long when you're just so radiant.

You stop short of his desk, positioning yourself with arms crossed as you glare at him. He regards you with a tilt of his head, leaning back in his chair like a king on his throne. It's not meant to be intimidating, but it sends a chill up your spine. Fuck he was unfairly sexy, wasn't he? How could you purposely ignore him for some stupid petty pride?

You take a deep breath, sighing out your apology, "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?" He hums, amusement thickening his voice.

"For avoiding you," you continue, stepping forward like owning up to it, "I was just..."

"Frustrated?" He finishes for you.

In a ridiculously smooth movement, he stands, walks to your side, and gently guides you to his couch. You are lying down across his lap, head propped up by a pillow against the arm, looking up at him with wonder. A large hand rests on your thigh, sliding your skirt to pool around your waist as you prop your knees up. Fingers stop just short of the apex of your thigh, tapping patiently along the soft skin there instead.

"It must be so difficult, being without me for so long," he purrs, "I can only imagine so, since you thought to play such a silly game with me."

You frown, resisting the urge to clench your thighs, "I just wanted you to feel how frustrated I was."

"You think I don't miss you when I'm away?" He scoffs, rolling his eyes like it was an offensive thought.

"Not as much as I miss you," you spit back.

He releases a huff of a laugh, squeezing your thigh, and you realize too late you've fallen into his trap, "Oh really? I suppose not, then. Tell me, though, what exactly do you do when you miss me?"

He knows what you do, of course, and he takes great pleasure in the videos you send. That does not stop him from quickly dipping his fingers into your underwear, finding the wetness pooling there pleasing, "Do you touch yourself like this?"

His fingers, long and slender and precise, swirl over your clit in practiced motions. The movements seem sloppy, but it's far from unintentional. He's mocking you, discarding his usual smoothness for how he imagines your fingers might play with the needy bud.  It's annoyingly accurate, which is why you melt so easily. You missed his touch so badly, unable to move your fingers in the same way he can, far less precise and sure of yourself.

You nod, swallowing hard, "I can't touch myself like you do."

"Poor little kitten," he soothes, mercifully correcting his motions to the tight circles you missed, "Don't worry, I'm here now. I'll touch you as much as you want."

Flimsily, you grab his tie, giving it a gentle tug, "Kiss me, please."

He doesn't waste any time in giving in to your commands, lips finding yours in a slow and passionate kiss that gets you sighing. You had missed him so badly, you were so needy, and now he was kissing you like you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. Your little game was stupid anyway, the pettiness melting to make way for your desire to please and be pleased.

You moan into his mouth when his fingers dip into your heat, dragging along your walls, reaching far deeper than you could've dreamed. He's skilled with his movements, curling them along the most sensitive spots he'd taken time to memorize. Somehow, knowing your body better than you do. Which is why it's no surprise you cum quickly, orgasm coming without warning and leaving you breathless against his lips.

He's muttering your praises, 'very good', 'that's it', 'perfect', and it only makes you more hazy. How he could be so sweet to you after you were so stupid was beyond you, but you didn't want him to stop. He doesn't, intrinsically knowing what you need without voicing it, and soon you are working through your second consecutive orgasm. Then your third, until you are finally coming down from your high with his steadfast praises ringing through your mind.

"Thank you," you mumble.

"Thank you," He answers, pressing a soft kiss to your nose.

CALEB (1.6k Words)

You didn't mean to tease him, honestly. It was innocent. It was always something innocent... until it wasn't. Until you managed to push enough that he decided it wasn't, because there was no way he was rock hard over some harmless little antics of yours. Or, maybe it was the fact that it was so innocent that got him so hot and bothered.

As much as he loathes to admit it, he gets a kick out of defiling you. You call it a kink, he calls it human nature (only for him, though, forbid another man thinks about the things he does.) Regardless, you tease him without meaning to all the time. The comfortableness you feel with each other allows your walls to come down, and unintentionally make something else of his rise. It was a good thing to be so comfortable with your partner, after all, you'd insist. Not realizing what seeing you in nothing but his oversized t-shirt did to his mind.

It drove him wild the way your completely harmless antics managed to 'wake him up' so to speak. He felt like a helpless virgin, which... he sort of was before you, but he figured he'd grow out of that phase eventually. Feels like it only got worse with time, and yet he wouldn't trade it for the world. Content to spend the rest of his days blue balling himself so long as he gets to live that sweet domestic bliss with you.

Currently, you are in the kitchen, working on the breakfast you'd insisted on making for him. Sweet as it was, Caleb was never really one to accept your acts of service without a fight, preferring to be the provider. It was a fight to get him to sit down and relax for once; one of his scarce days off should be spent decompressing, letting you treat him for once. He sat on the couch watching the news for all of ten minutes before he got annoyed and wandered to the kitchen.

He knew better than to get in your space, so he leaned against the doorframe, watching you with a glower. It softens when you send a smirk over your shoulder, brushing off his pouting effortlessly as you glide around his kitchen. It was too cute a sight to stay mad, anyway. His old t-shirt - the one he got from his high school honors program that he couldn't fit into anymore - hardly covers your ass, giving him just the smallest glimpse of your panties each time you reached up or shifted just right.

You shift from foot to foot as you work on the pancakes - apple cinnamon, his own recipe, of course. Hair pulled away so he could see the evidence of your late-night activities peek from just beneath the collar of his shirt. If that wasn't enough to send him into a catatonic state of domesticity, you would look at him every few moments, like you were waiting for him to do something. Sultry little pout tossed over your shoulder, gliding over his bare chest, just over the dick print in his grey sweats, then turning around like you weren't being the biggest tease in the world.

Normally, Caleb would let it slide. Normally, he'd roll off your teasing with a bright smile and a halfhearted scolding. Normally, he had somewhere to be in the morning, so he couldn't afford to give in. Today was not a normal day. Today was a rest day, and what better way to rest than indulging in all the desires he'd purposefully pushed off until now?

He cages you between his arms when you look away, moving a fluffy pancake to the plate set next to you. They looked perfect; you'd followed his recipe exactly. Too bad he wasn't craving pancakes right now, and judging from the way you giggle when his lips graze your shoulder, you weren't either.

"Feeling hungry?" You laugh, reaching a hand back to scratch the base of his skull like he was an overgrown mutt.

One of his hands slides to turn off the stove, then wraps around your hip, pressing you back into his crotch. You feel how hungry he is, poking at your buttocks through the minimal layers of clothing both of you are wearing. Open-mouthed kisses across all exposed flesh he could reach further incriminate him, urging you to give in.

"Starving," he groans.

"Well then," you hum, turning to face him - he doesn't leave your skin for a moment, moving with you, "dig in."

He moans, lifting you up to the counter with a swift heft, spreading you out pretty for him. His lips trace down the fabric of his shirt while his fingers inch it up over your hips, humming satisfied when they find skin to ravish again. He makes a fast trail to your clothed entrance, pressing his nose to the wet fabric and taking a deep whiff. Another groan grumbles out of his chest, and in another moment, he's licking along the slick staining the fabric.

You both moan at the sensation, Caleb's muffled by you and you by your hand. He tugs you closer, tossing your legs over his shoulders, surrounding himself with your thighs. No escape, not that he had any intention of leaving. He looks up at you, smiling when he notices how you try to hide, eyes darting around the room like that would help you.

Gently, he takes the hand covering your mouth, settling it firmly on his head. He doesn't let go of your wrist until you weave the soft locks through your fingers, scratching at his scalp just like you had earlier. You get an encouraging little smile for it, a soft kiss pressed to your thigh as a reward. His other hand tucking your panties to the side, revealing your hot sticky cunt to him. You clench reflexively when he licks his lips, amethyst eyes finding yours again as he spreads your lips.

Slowly, deliberately, without breaking eye contact, he leans down and kisses your clit. Your mouth falls open because that might just be the hottest thing you've ever seen in your life. You think you might need a million pictures of the way he looks at you as his lips pucker against the sensitive bud. Unfortunately, you don't get to stare at it for too long, as Caleb is as insatiable as he is in love with you. Eyes falling closed as he brings his tongue across your folds, lapping the juices there up like a thirsty dog.

Your fingers curl tightly into his scalp at the sensation, pressing him closer with a pathetic noise. Somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, addicting to a man like Caleb. His mouth dips down to your entrance, a loud slurping ringing in your ears as he drinks up the juices that leaked out from your needy hole. Tongue working in steady rolls, still not quite experienced, but moving exactly like you needed him to. Your clit does not go neglected, nose nudging against it with his eager movements. His head bobbing excitedly with each shameless slurp, and he really does remind you of a dog like this.

When his tongue plunges as deep as he can get it, you whine out his name, thighs clenching around his head. It slides in far too easily, like it was made to be there, which certainly does something for his ego. You lock your feet behind his back, trying to roll your hips into his uneven rhythm with little success. Not that he needed the help, you were already tumbling over the edge when you lifted your hips the first time. Fucking yourself against his face, elongating your orgasm for as long as he allows you to. And he allows you to for a while, long enough that he's able to force a second one out of you in your frenzy.

Only when you slam your head against the cupboard does he force himself back, concern overpowering his need to eat you out until you can't speak. You whine at him, trying to force him back down, but he isn't having it as he checks you over. He laughs at you when he decides that you're fine, pinching your cheek like you were a petulant child and not his very overstimulated, needy girlfriend.

"You want more? You already came twice, pips." He laughs, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead.

Instead of responding, you press your foot to his hard on, taking great satisfaction at the way he hisses. He catches you by your ankle, tugging your legs open so he can stand between them again. You pull him into a heated kiss, scooting dangerously close to the edge of the counter so you can press into him. You feel his resolve crack instantly, kissing you back like you were the very oxygen he needed to breathe.

"I need you inside, please," you murmur into the desperate dance of lips on lips.

Without argument, he tugs himself out of his sweats, pressing himself against your heat, "Since you've been so good, I think I can be nice, just this once."

You gasp as the tip slides between your folds, lubricating himself up with a few thrusts, then sliding into your desperate hole with little resistance. The stretch is accompanied by low whispers in your ear, cooing and coaxing you, "Goooood girl, that's right, you take it so well," and "Breathe, princess, I've got you."

By the time you're done with each other, the pancakes are freezing cold, and Caleb decides it's time to start lunch instead. He's cooking this time.

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Epilogue

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, time jumps, slice of life.

Notes — There are no words, really. I hope you cherish all of the tiny, specific details I added here. I spent a lot of time on it. Yes, I will possibly write some additional snapshots/oneshots of their future.

2025

Autism, Womanhood, and the Mechanics of Belonging by Amelia Norris

Autism presents itself in females in many ways.

Sometimes invisibly. Often misdiagnosed. Frequently misunderstood.

In me, it’s always looked like this: a difficulty with eye contact. An inability to read the curve of someone’s mouth or the sharp edges hidden beneath their tone. I learned early how to catalogue expressions the way other girls my age collected dolls — not for fun, but for function. A survival skill. A flash of teeth? Friendly. Or hostile. Or forced. Raised eyebrows? Surprise. Maybe judgment. Maybe not.

Memorising made things manageable. Predictable. Less scary.

Sarcasm took longer. I still miss it, sometimes. I can design a suspension system from scratch, but I’ll still turn to my husband after a conversation and ask, “Was that a joke?”

It used to bother me. It doesn’t anymore.

Touch has always been strange, too. I don’t like uninvited contact. Hugs feel like puzzles with warped edges — familiar in theory, but always a little off. It’s not dislike. It’s friction between my nervous system and the world. I used to think that meant something was wrong with me.

I was wrong.

I’m not broken. I’m just calibrated differently.

And then there’s the focus.

When I was a child, it was Formula 1. Not the drivers, not the glamour — the systems. The telemetry. The pit stop choreography. The physics. The math hidden inside motion. While other kids learned to swim, I was memorising tyre degradation patterns. While girls my age planned birthday parties, I was building aerodynamic models from cereal boxes.

I didn’t understand how to be part of the world I’d been born into.

But I always understood how cars moved through it.

That obsession became a career — eventually. But not right away.

My father, Zak Brown, became the CEO of McLaren Racing. I thought that would be an advantage. I was wrong again. He loved me, but he didn’t know how to take me seriously. I brought ideas. He catalogued them without thought. I handed him data. He passed it off to other people without remembering I’d written it.

He didn’t mean to hurt me — but he did. In a hundred careless ways. 

Enough to make me leave.

I was already seeing Lando, quietly. It was early. Tentative. I was cautious because I didn’t always understand people. He was cautious because he was getting advice, loud, well-meaning advice, not to date the boss’s daughter.

He disappeared on me for a while. And I didn’t understand why.

I remember thinking: I must have done something wrong and not realised it.

But I hadn’t.

Eventually, he came back. Explained. Apologised. We learned each other slowly, and not always easily — but deeply.

Around the same time, I left McLaren. I took a job at Red Bull. Not for revenge. For recognition.

Max Verstappen didn’t care who my father was. He cared that I understood race pace like a second language. We won two championships together.

And in the meantime — Lando and I kept finding our way back to each other. Every time, more solid than before.

Eventually, I came back to papaya. But on my terms. Not as Zak’s daughter. As a lead engineer. With Oscar by my side and Lando in a car I had helped design, shaped precisely to fit his hands, his shoulders, his driving style.

Then I had my daughter. Ada.

And the hyper-focus I’ve carried my whole life shifted again — narrowed, but deepened.

It’s still data. Still equations and airflow and lap deltas. But it’s also Lando, who stopped having to ask to touch me years ago. Who doesn’t need explanations but still listens when I give them.

It’s Ada — glorious, curious, sticky. Who throws glitter onto my schematics and insists I help her fix the broken boosters on her cardboard spaceship with grunts and wife, pleading eyes.

It’s both of them.

And the quiet, terrifying vastness of being truly understood.

My autism didn’t vanish when I became a wife. It didn’t soften when I became a mother. I am still who I have always been: meticulous, sensitive, blunt. I still script my voicemails. I still shut down when I’m overstimulated. I still have meltdowns. I still need more sleep than most people and can’t fucntion in rooms with flickering lights.

But I’ve grown. I’ve adapted. I’ve made peace not just with structure, but with chaos. With change. With soft interruptions. With a life I never thought I’d be able to build.

I’ve created a life where I don’t have to perform.

I just get to be.

And for the first time, I’m letting people see me. All of me.

Which is why I’m writing this.

Because I know I’m not the only one.

Because somewhere, there’s a teenage girl memorising lap times and scared she doesn’t belong in a world that moves too loud, too fast, too unclearly.

Because I wish I’d known sooner that I wasn’t alone.

Today, I’m proud to announce the launch of NeuroDrive — a foundation dedicated to mentoring, supporting, and funding autistic young women pursuing careers in motorsport.

We’ll be offering scholarships. Internships. Mentorship. Resources. Community.

From engineering to analytics to logistics to aero to comms — every role that makes this sport move.

I want these girls to know that their focus is a gift.

Their precision is power.

Their minds are brilliant.

I want them to know they don’t need to hide.

There’s room for them here. There’s room for all of us.

And they belong — fully, loudly, exactly as they are — in motorsport.

With hope, Amelia Norris

—

Amelia sat back from her laptop screen.

She hadn’t meant to write it all in one frantic breath. It had just… unfurled. A loose thread tugged gently free at the edge of the day, unraveling steadily until it wove itself into something whole.

She stared at the last line. Her hands hovered over the keyboard, then lowered to her lap. She exhaled.

Behind her, the wooden floor creaked softly.

A moment later, familiar arms wrapped gently around her waist — warm, unhurried. Lando pressed a kiss just behind her ear, right in that small, quiet space that always made her flinch less than anywhere else.

“She’s asleep,” Lando murmured, voice low and amused. “Finally. Made me sing the rocket song. Twice. And do the hand movements.”

Amelia huffed a small, warm laugh but didn’t turn. “You hate the hand movements.”

“I hate them passionately,” he said, bending slightly to press a kiss to the space just behind her ear. “But she likes them. And I happen to love her enough to tolerate them.”

She could feel him smiling against her skin.

The sea air had slipped in through the open balcony doors behind them, warm and salt-tinged, carrying the gentle hum of nighttime Monaco. 

Lando’s arms slid comfortably around her waist. He rested his chin on her shoulder and peered at the screen. “Let me read it?” He asked after a pause.

“You already know all of it,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” he replied, nudging her temple with his nose. “But I like hearing it in your words.”

She didn’t answer, not with words anyway. She just leaned into him, letting her body relax in increments. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment longer before dropping quietly to her lap. Her pulse, which had been buzzing all evening, finally slowed. The cursor blinked in the corner of the screen — steady, patient, waiting.

She would post the piece eventually. Maybe not tonight. But soon. She’d promised the women helping her build NeuroDrive that the launch would be personal, rooted in something real — something true. And this essay… it was all of that. Raw and oddly fragile. But hers.

Behind them, the linen curtains shifted in the breeze.

“I think she likes it here,” Lando murmured, after a few minutes had passed in quiet. “Monaco.”

Amelia blinked, surfacing. “Ada?”

“Yeah. I had her out on the balcony earlier. She liked the sun.”

“She gets that from you,” Amelia said, dry as ever.

He laughed softly. “She does like the heat. More than I expected.”

“She likes everything here,” Amelia admitted, watching the night settle over the marina. “The boats. The water. Max’s cats.”

“She said ‘cat’ three times yesterday,” Lando said proudly.

“She’s five months old, Lando. It was probably just gas.”

“No,” he insisted. “She looked right at Jimmy and said it. Loudly.”

“Well, Jimmy did bite her toy rocket.” She said, her lips twitching at the memory of her daughter’s appalled face as the cat attacked her beloved stuffy. 

Lando huffed a laugh. “Valid reaction.”

They both fell quiet again, lulled by the rhythm of the moment. Amelia let her gaze drift across the open-plan living space of their Monaco apartment; all soft neutrals and clean angles, intentionally simple. 

This was Ada’s first real stretch of time here. The first time Monaco would ever feel like home to their daughter, not just a temporary stop between England and wherever Lando was racing next. Amelia had worried about that — the splitness of things. Of belonging to multiple places but never fully resting in one. But Ada, with all her glittering confidence and stubborn joy, didn’t seem to mind.

“She doesn’t mind the change,” Amelia said quietly. “She just… adapts. Quicker than I do.”

“You’ve been adapting longer,” Lando said simply. “She’s still new. You had to learn the hard way.”

“I’m still learning,” Amelia admitted.

He brushed his lips against her cheek, slow and careful. “I love how your mind works,” he said. “I loved it when I didn’t understand it, and I love it even more now that I do.”

She swallowed. Her throat felt tight in the familiar, unwieldy way that happened when someone saw her too clearly. “It’s almost done,” she said, nodding toward the document. “Just a few more edits. Then I’ll post it. The site’s ready. The social channels are scheduled. The first mentorship emails go out next week.”

He squeezed her waist gently. “You built a whole new system, baby.”

“I built a team,” she said, glancing at the screen. “It’s not just going to be mine.”

He nodded. “You’re going to change lives, baby.”

“Hopefully not just change them,” she said. “Build them. Design them. Like a car.”

He grinned into her hair. “You and your car metaphors.”

“I don’t use them that often.” She frowned. 

“Mm. You’re right. Only four times a day.”

He was teasing her. The lopsided smile, squinty eyes and tiny red splotches on his cheekbones told her so. 

She rolled her eyes but leaned back into him anyway. Lando’s arms around her. Ada safe and sleeping. The sea just a five minute drive from their inner-city apartment. 

It didn’t matter that the cursor was still blinking on her screen.

She’d found her place in the world; or built it, piece by piece.

And she was going to help other girls do the same.

—

@/NeuroDriveOrg Today, we’re launching NeuroDrive: a charity organisation formed to empower autistic women in motorsport — because brilliance comes in many forms, and it’s time we celebrate every one of them. Find out more and discover how to get involved by clicking the link below. #NeuroDriveLaunch 

Replies:

@/f1_galaxy

OMG AMELIA???? This is so crazy but I’m so here for it!! #NeuroDriveLaunch

@/racecarrebel

Autistic and a gearhead? That’s me lol. Signing up right now!

@/sarcasticengineer

wait so I can geek out about torque and not pretend i get social cues? literally a dream 

@/cartoonkid420

*gif of a car drifting sideways* When you realize your fave F1 engineer is actually a real-life superhero  #NeuroDriveLaunch

@/chillaxbro

Amelia Norris (CEO) IKTR

@/maxverman

Yk honestly big ups to @/AmeliaNorris for making this happen. What a woman. 

@/indylewis

This being the first post I see when I open this app after my diagnosis review? CINEMA. 

@/f1mobtality

BEAUTIFUL. INCREDIBLE. AMAZING. BREATHTAKING. #NeuroDriveLaunch

@/notlewisbutclose LEWIS ON THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS? IKTR MY KING 

@/LewisHamilton Proud to see and have a hand in making initiatives like NeuroDrive happen. It’s about time that we start making strides to pave the way for real diversity in motorsport. Change is coming, and it’s about time. #NeuroDriveLaunch

@/landostrollfan99 PLS I KNOW LANDO IS CRASHING OUT BC HE’S SO PROUD OF HIS WIFEY RN 

@/NeuroDriveOrg Thank you everyone for all the love! Our virtual mentorship program opens next week; sign up to be part of the first cohort! Over 18’s can sign up themselves, but anyone younger must have parental consent. Thanks, Amelia. 

@/AnnieAnalyst

My mom has been a hardcore motorsport fan for decades. She’s on the spectrum. She’s found such joy in watching Amelia Norris take the F1 world by storm over the past eight years. I know that she’s going to be so happy about this. Can’t wait to tell her. 

@/samliverygoat

This is sick. I’m a guy, but my sister is eight and autistic and wants to be a mechanic. I’m gonna tell my mum about this and get her signed up. Big ups your wife @/LandoNorris 

—

Lando woke slowly, the Monaco morning sun spilling in through gauzy curtains and casting pale gold across their bedroom. The room was still, quiet in that delicate way that meant someone had been awake for a while already.

He blinked, then turned toward the warm shape beside him; and stopped, his breath catching slightly at the sight.

Amelia was sitting upright against the headboard, hair pulled into a messy knot, one arm curled around Ada who was nestled into her chest, half-asleep and nursing. Her other hand held her phone, screen dimmed low. She was speaking quietly — not in a cooing baby voice, but in her normal cadence, clipped and slightly analytical.

“…recognises familiar people, understands simple instructions, imitates gestures, like clapping or waving; well, I’ve literally never seen you wave unless it’s to say goodbye to your own socks.” She frowned.

Lando smiled into his pillow, eyes still half-closed.

Amelia glanced down at Ada, who blinked up at her with wide eyes and a dribble of milk on her chin.

“That’s fine. You’re spatially efficient already.”

“Are we reading milestone checklists?” Lando’s voice was thick with sleep, rough-edged and fond.

Amelia didn’t jump, didn’t even look away from her screen. “It’s her birthday. I thought I should make sure she’s not developmentally behind.”

“She’s licking your elbow,” he pointed out.

“Which is not on the list,” she sighed. 

Lando scooted closer, propping himself up on one elbow to see them both better. Ada detached with a soft sigh, then yawned, full-bodied and squeaky. Amelia adjusted her shirt without ceremony and let Ada rest against her, one hand gently stroking her hair.

“She’s perfect,” he said, leaning over to kiss the crown of Ada’s head, then Amelia’s shoulder. “Milestones or not.”

Amelia hesitated. “She’s not pointing at things. That’s apparently a big one.”

“She screamed at Max’s cats until they moved out of her way, does that count?”

Amelia hummed in thought. “I suppose we could classify that as assertive communication.”

They sat like that for a minute, wrapped in the warm hush of early light and baby breaths. Monaco in June was hazy and beautiful, a perfect little jewel box of a day already unfolding around them.

“Do you think she knows it’s her birthday?” Lando asked, voice still low.

“No,” Amelia said simply. “Probably not. But we do.” She glanced down at their daughter again, something unreadable, almost too tender, flickering behind her eyes. “I know it’s been a year since I stopped being one version of myself and started being another.”

Lando’s hand found hers where it rested on Ada’s tiny back. “Yeah, baby?”

Amelia tilted her head, considering. “Maybe. I feel… broader. Like I can stretch in more directions now.”

He smiled. “You’re perfect.”

Ada, half-asleep, made a soft gurgling sound and grabbed Amelia’s Lando necklace in one surprisingly strong fist.

Lando leaned in again, voice warmer now. “Happy birthday, sweet little pea,” he whispered to Ada, then kissed Amelia’s jaw. “And happy birth-day to you.”

Amelia made a face. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is,” he insisted. “You did all the work. You should get recognition too.”

“I suppose.” She considered it for a minute. “Does that mean I should congratulate you on the anniversary of her conception?”

She was being serious — which was why he just smiled instead of laughing the way he desperately wanted to. “If you want to, baby.” 

She nodded and catalogued that away in the small corner of her brain that contained a long list of dates that mattered most to her. 

She think about it like this: dates she will never forget. Not because she wrote them down, but because they’re carved into the soft machinery of who she is. 

October 9th — Her mother’s birthday. 

November 7th – Her father’s birthday. 

December 12th, 2021 – Max’s first championship win. 

July 5th, 2022 — Her wedding day. 

July 2nd, 2023 – Oscar’s first Grand Prix start. 

May 5th, 2024 – The day Lando won his first race. 

June 30th, 2024 – The day Ada was born. 

She’s always catalogued things.

It made the world digestible.

But those dates don’t need charts or colour codes.

They live in her like heat. Like heartbeat. Like gravity.

Later, there would be cake. Balloons. Chaos. Max will appear with sacks full of wrapped gifts. Ada will probably eat something that she isn’t supposed to. 

Lando takes Ada into his arms and lifts her above his head, blowing a bubble at her with his lips. 

She drools sleepily, and Amelia winces when milky bile spills from her mouth. 

Yeah. Not a good idea to jostle a well-fed baby. 

Lando made a face and then used his t-shirt to wipe their little girls’ lip clean. 

She stared at him. 

And at their small, wondrous girl. 

A year old. 

—

Seventeen Years Later

The sky was brightening in soft lavender layers over the marina. Monaco looked almost quiet for once — like it was holding its breath.

Ada sat cross-legged on the bedroom floor, her back pressed to the base of her mother’s old desk. The drawer had stuck for years, warped with sea air, but today it had slid open easily. Like it had been waiting for her.

Inside: one neatly folded sheet of thick paper. Her name was written in the corner in her mum’s handwriting. Clean, sharp letters. 

She unfolded it carefully, even though part of her already knew what kind of letter this would be. Not sentimental. Not flowery. Not emotional in the ways people expected. But honest. 

My beautiful Ada,

I’m writing this on your first birthday.

You’re asleep right now — finally — with vanilla frosting in your hair and a purple sock on one foot and not the other. Your daddy’s asleep too, mouth open, curled around the giraffe that Maxie gave you today. I should be sleeping. But I’m here, writing this. That probably says a lot.

I don’t know who you’ll be yet. Not really.

Maybe you’ll love numbers the way I do. Maybe you’ll throw yourself into art, or animals, or flight, or noise. Maybe you’ll carry the softness your father wears so easily. Maybe you’ll burn hot like me and never quite know how to dim it.

Or maybe, hopefully, you’ll be entirely your own: unshaped by us, unafraid of being too much or not enough.

All I know is this: whoever you are, whoever you become, I will love you without condition and without needing to fully understand.

Because understanding is not a prerequisite for love. It never has been.

I want to get everything right. I won’t. I already know that.

But I promise I will try. Fiercely. Unrelentingly.

I will learn what you need from me, over and over again, as you change and grow and outpace me. I will listen — even when I don’t know what to say. I will ask you what you need, and believe you the first time.

Love isn’t easy for me in the way it is for your daddy. I don’t always say the right thing, or give affection in the way people expect. But please know: I love you with everything I have. In every way I know how.

It may not always look loud or obvious. But it will be real. And it will never leave you.

I will always be in your corner. 

Even if I’m quiet.

Even if I’m late.

Even if I’m gone.

Always.

— Mum

The letter smelled faintly of ink and something older; lavender, maybe, or the ghost of her mum’s favourite perfume. Ada folded it carefully along the worn creases and slid it back into its envelope, fingers tracing the edge before getting up and going back to her bedroom, tucking it inside the drawer of her nightstand.

The light from the marina hadn’t reached this side of the house yet, but the sea breeze had — soft and salt-laced through the open windows. Ada padded barefoot across the wooden floor, familiar as the lines on her own palm, and moved quietly into the hallway.

The balcony door was already ajar.

Her mother was there, as she always was on mornings like this — perched in her usual chair, legs tucked under her body, a latte cradled in both hands. Her hair was scraped back in a low twist, pale in the early morning light, and she hadn’t noticed Ada yet.

Amelia was humming. Softly. Tunelessly. A little stim she’d done for as long as Ada could remember.

Ada hesitated in the doorway, just for a moment.

Then she stepped forward, slow and quiet. Climbed into her mother’s lap without a word, curling against her like she was still small enough to belong there.

Amelia stilled for half a breath. Then she shifted, just slightly — letting her daughter fit against her without comment or tension. One hand settled over Ada’s spine. The other stayed wrapped around the ceramic heat of her cup.

She didn’t ask questions.

She didn’t need to.

Instead, she kept humming. A low, constant thread of sound that vibrated in Ada’s ribs as she pressed her cheek to her mother’s shoulder.

They watched the sun climb over the harbour. The light came in slow and sure, brushing over the rooftops and catching on the water in amber fragments.

Amelia didn’t speak. She just held her daughter. One hand stroking the same pattern — left shoulder to elbow, up and back again.

And Ada breathed. Steady. Whole.

She was older now; too big, probably, to sit in her small statured mum’s lap like this. But not today. Not just yet.

In her mother’s arms, she was still allowed to be small.

Still allowed to be quiet.

Still allowed to simply be.

And Amelia, in the language she had always known best, presence over words, held her through it.

As the light shifted across the sea, the only sound between them was the soft hiss of foam against porcelain. The familiar hum. The heartbeat of love — silent, constant, and entirely understood.

— 

2025

It was impossible to sum up the 2025 season in any cohesive way. 

There were days she felt like she was balancing on the tip of a needle. 

Her car was perfect. That much was undeniable. For the first time since she’d begun clawing her way through every door that had once been locked to her, the machine under her boys wasn’t just competitive — it was untouchable. Fast on every compound. Nimble in the wet. Ferocious in the hands of a driver who knew how to take it to the edge.

And she had two of them. Two.

Oscar and Lando.

Her driver. Her husband.

It would have made a weaker team combust.

But McLaren hadn’t combusted. Not yet, anyway. Not under her watch.

Oscar had grown into himself in ways that still caught her off guard — all lean control and precision, carrying the ice-veined patience of someone who had watched others take what he knew he was capable of. He drove like someone with nothing left to prove and everything still to take.

And Lando... Lando had grown, too.

There were days he was still impossibly frustrating — still too harsh on himself, too reactive on the radio, still hurt in ways she couldn’t always patch. But he was stronger now. Calmer. Faster. And he trusted her. Not blindly, not because he loved her — but because he believed in her. Her mind. Her leadership. Her.

Every race had been a coin toss. Oscar or Lando. Lando or Oscar. Strategy calls had to be clinical. Unbiased. And every week she made them with the knowledge that whatever she chose could cost someone she loved the chance at something immortal.

She wouldn’t let herself flinch.

Not when the margins were this razor-thin.

Not when the car was finally everything she’d spent her life trying to build.

When the upgrades landed and they locked out the front row, she didn’t smile. She just stared at the data until the lines blurred, heart thudding, and told herself she’d allow joy when it was over.

When they took each other out in Silverstone; barely a racing incident, but brutal nonetheless, she didn’t speak to anyone for two hours. Just shut herself in the sim office and breathed through the silence until the tightness left her hands.

When they went 1-2 in Singapore, swapping fastest laps down to the final sector, she didn’t even hear the cheers. She just watched the replay of the overtake again. And again. And again.

Precision. Patience. Courage.

They had everything. And they were hers — in the only ways that mattered in this arena. Oscar, her driver. Lando, her husband. Both brilliant. Both stubborn. Both driving the car she had finally, finally perfected. 

In the garage, she never played favourites.

In the dark, she ached with the weight of both of them.

Now, the season was nearly over. One race to go. One title on the line. Between them.

And Amelia?

She felt something not quite like calm. Not quite like pride.

Something vaster.

She didn’t know who would win. She truly didn’t. She wasn’t even sure if she had a preference. Her love for Lando, loud and chaotic, as real as gravity, lived beside her fierce loyalty to Oscar, who had never once asked her to earn his trust, only to maintain it.

She loved them differently. But she loved them both.

And whatever the final points tally read, whatever flag waved first in Abu Dhabi, it would not change what she’d built. What they’d built. A machine so complete, so purely competitive, that the only person who could beat it was someone inside of it.

That, she thought, was the mark of something enduring.

And in the quiet before the finale, Amelia allowed herself a breath of pride so deep it nearly broke her open.

It wasn’t about the trophy anymore.

It was about the fact that the world had doubted her. Them. 

And now they couldn’t look away.

—

2026

Amelia had been keeping a spreadsheet. Of course she had.

A private one — just a simple, tucked-away Google Sheet with six columns: Developmental milestone, Average age, Ada’s age, Observed behaviour, Paediatricians’ notes, and Feelings (which she almost always left blank).

She updated it weekly. Sometimes daily. Just in case.

And she knew, clinically, that speech development wasn’t one-size-fits-all. That some children talked at eight months and others waited until twenty. That it was normal, even healthy, for some toddlers to take their time.

But normal never did much to soothe her.

Especially not when the silence had started to feel louder than it should.

Ada babbled — just not much. She gestured, pointed, tugged their hands, grunted with specific frustration when her needs weren’t met. She understood them. That wasn’t in question. But her lips hadn’t shaped a word yet. Not one.

At twenty-two months, Amelia was trying not to spiral. But her spreadsheet had too many empty cells. Too many quiet mornings.

“Maybe she just doesn’t have anything she feels like saying yet,” Lando said one night, rolling onto his side to face her in bed. Ada had gone down late and Amelia had spent the evening researching speech therapy assessments and second-language interference. 

“She should have at least one word by now,” Amelia muttered, eyes on her screen.

“She’s got plenty. She just hasn’t said them out loud.” Lando reached out, nudged the laptop closed. “She’s fine. You know she’s fine.”

Amelia sighed. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

She wanted to believe him. She really did.

—

The next afternoon, Ada was with them in the garage — tucked into her earmuffs and her tiniest McLaren hoodie, perched in her playpen while Amelia ran final aero checks on a new floor configuration. Lando had stopped by between simulator sessions and was now crouched beside Ada, offering her a padded torque wrench like it was a teddy bear.

Amelia looked up from her laptop, distracted by a little squeal.

Ada had pressed both palms against the concrete floor. And a smudge of oil had made its way across her hand.

She looked at it, then at Lando, wide-eyed.

Then she scrunched up her nose, a perfect mirror of her mother’s expression, and said, clearly and without hesitation, “Yucky.”

Lando blinked. Froze. Then looked up at Amelia, stunned.

“Did you—? Did she just—?”

Amelia’s heart felt like it missed a step. Her head jerked up so fast she hit the underside of the wing she’d been crouched under.

“Ow—shit—”

Lando was already lifting Ada out of the playpen, laughing in disbelief, oil smudge and all.

“Say it again,” he coaxed gently. “Yucky? Yucky, bug?”

Ada just beamed at him and smacked his cheek with her dirty little hand, leaving a streak behind. “Yucky,” she declared again, giggling like she knew exactly what she’d done.

Amelia didn’t know whether to cry or pass out.

She walked over in a daze, eyes locked on her daughter. “She said it. She actually said—”

“Yeah,” Lando said, grinning. “You heard it too, right? I’m not making this up?”

“No,” Amelia said, soft and stunned. “I heard it.”

Then she reached for Ada without hesitation. Let her daughter press her messy little face into her neck and pat her collarbone with smudged fingers.

Yucky.

It wasn’t what she expected.

But it was perfect. 

—

2027

Grid kid.

Ada Norris was a grid kid.

Not the official kind, with a lanyard and uniform and carefully timed steps. She wasn’t old enough for any of that. She wasn’t even tall enough to reach the front wing of her father’s car without climbing onto someone’s knee.

But she was there — always. Like a mascot, a comet, a little bit of joy wrapped in neon.

At three years old, Ada had developed a sense of style entirely her own. This week, it was neon pink. Head to toe. From the glittery bucket hat she refused to remove, to her sparkly tulle tutu layered over orange papaya leggings, to the pink Crocs decorated with star-shaped charms.

She stuck out like a sore thumb against the rest of the paddock; all matte branding and fireproof greys. But nobody dared to comment.

She was Ada.

Everyone knew Ada.

She’d grown up within the walls of paddocks. Learned to walk behind the McLaren hospitality motorhome in Hungary. Her first solid food had been a biscuit stolen off Oscar’s pre-race snack plate. Her mini paddock-pass gave her access to every team’s motorhome, just in case she got lost and needed a soft place to land.

By now, she knew the names of every mechanic, every engineer, and every race director on the rotating FIA schedule. She greeted them all by name. Correctly. And she remembered who liked what kind of sweets.

The media barely saw her. That was a conscious boundary. Amelia — razor-sharp, unbothered by PR expectations — had drawn the line early and made it immovable. No up-close photos of Ada’s face. No intrusive questions. If Ada wanted to be public someday, that would be her choice — not something sold for a headline before she could spell her name.

But within the paddock itself, Ada was a fixture. A streak of colour and mischief. Fiercely protected. Fiercely loved.

And she had routines. Rituals, really.

One of them involved storming onto the grid like she owned it (Amelia walked slowly behind), pushing past engineers and camera rigs, and beelining toward two very important people.

The first: her uncle.

“Ducky!”

Oscar turned the moment he heard her voice, already crouching down with open arms. He was in his race suit, grinning like he hadn’t just been pacing with nerves ten seconds earlier.

“Oi,” he said, “that’s not my name, trouble.”

“But it’s what Mummy calls you!” Ada argued, already climbing into his lap like a koala. “I remember!”

“She’s got you there, mate,” Lando called from a few feet away, amusement curling through his voice.

Oscar rolled his eyes but leaned forward for his good luck kiss. Ada planted a dramatic one on his cheek, complete with a mwah sound effect, then hopped off and marched across the grid to Lando.

Her daddy.

He crouched before she even reached him. She barrelled into his arms with the enthusiasm of a girl who had never once doubted she would be caught.

“You ready, Ada Bug?” he asked as he scooped her up.

“Ready!” she chirped.

“Gonna give me a boost?”

She nodded solemnly, then leaned forward to kiss him right on the tip of the nose — her signature move. Soft, sticky-lipped from the fruit pouch she'd insisted on finishing on the way in. Then she whispered, very seriously, “Be fast. And be smart. Love you, Daddy.”

Amelia, standing just behind them, caught Lando’s expression shift; just a fraction. A sudden, raw quiet behind his eyes. He pulled Ada closer, briefly, wordlessly. Pressed his nose into her hair.

Then, carefully, he passed her back to Amelia.

Amelia took her easily — muscle memory now — resting Ada against her hip like a second heartbeat. She adjusted the strap of her crossbody bag with her free hand and took a long sip of her iced coffee.

“Drive fast,” she said evenly, meeting Lando’s eyes.

He smirked faintly, already turning back toward his car.

“Be safe,” she added.

He nodded once, familiar rhythm.

And then, casually, almost too casually, she added, “I’m pregnant.”

He froze. One step from the car. “What?”

“I’m pregnant,” she repeated, softer this time. No smile, no build-up — just fact, like announcing the weather.

They hadn’t expected it. Not exactly. They’d been trying for a few months, hopeful but guarded. Amelia had been tracking everything — methodical as ever — but refusing to let herself get too wrapped up in the outcomes. Lando had taken a more gentle approach. Faith over control. He’d just kept telling her, It’ll happen when it happens. We’re already a family.

And now it was happening.

For a heartbeat, Lando didn’t move.

Then he turned fully — slow, like gravity had stopped working — and blinked at her.

Ada, oblivious, was babbling about how she wanted to wave the checkered flag today and if Max’s cats could come to the garage next time.

But Lando only stared at Amelia.

“Oh,” he breathed, voice cracking wide open. “Holy shit.”

Amelia’s mouth tilted upward. Barely.

He was already in his race suit, just minutes from lights out, about to hurtle into one of the most competitive qualifying sessions of the season — but suddenly, he looked younger. Dazed. Entirely undone.

His hands hovered in the air like he wanted to reach for her — didn’t know where to begin.

And Amelia, ever precise, ever composed, leaned in and kissed him. Quick. Solid. Grounding.

“We’ll be fine,” she murmured against his lips. “We always are.”

“Another baby?” he whispered, reverent.

She nodded.

Lando let out a breath. One hand came up to his chest like he needed to physically hold it all in — the awe, the fear, the quiet wonder of it.

Then his comm crackled: “Two minutes to final call.”

He blinked. Straightened. Looked at his wife. Then at his daughter. Then back again.

“Okay,” he said, drawing in one last steadying breath. “Right. Fast. Clever. Safe.”

“Love you,” Amelia told him.

“Love you,” he echoed, already stepping toward Will, adrenaline and awe carrying him forward.

Ada tugged gently on Amelia’s shirt.

“Mummy?”

“Yes?”

“Can I go and tell Maxie you’re gonna have a baby?” she asked, eyes wide and serious.

Amelia bit back a laugh and turned them toward the edge of the grid. Her mum was already waiting near Lando’s garage to take over babysitting duty.

“Not yet. Your daddy drives better with adrenaline,” she said, adjusting Ada’s ponytail with one hand, “but your Uncle Maxie gets distracted. We’ll tell Maxie another time, okay?”

“When?” Ada asked, frowning a little.

“I think… we’ll tell him next week. At the wedding.”

Ada’s face lit up. “I can’t wait to wear my pretty dress, Mummy!”

Amelia kissed her forehead, pulling her a little closer as they weaved between team personnel.

“I know, baby,” she said softly. “You’re going to look beautiful.”

—

202X 

He did it.

The air was electric. No — it was charged, like the world itself had paused mid-spin to catch its breath.

Lando stood on the top step of the podium, champagne in one hand, heart in his throat. There were tears in his eyes — real ones, wild and stinging, completely unfiltered. His face was flushed, soaked from the spray, but his grin was a thing of pure, stunned wonder.

He’d done it.

World Champion.

A cheer rolled across the circuit like thunder. The fireworks lit up the sky behind him in great booming waves, streaks of orange and silver and gold — and below, just past the glittering wall of photographers, she was there.

Amelia.

The crowd blurred. The moment blurred. But she didn’t.

She stood at the base of the podium steps, her hair tousled from wind and chaos, arms crossed tightly across her chest like if she didn’t hold herself together she might simply combust. Her eyes were glassy. Her face unreadable — until it wasn’t.

Until he stepped down and reached for her.

Until she moved without hesitation.

He caught her with the kind of ease that didn’t need choreography — years of knowing her weight, her stillness, her everything. His arms wrapped around her middle, and before she could say a word, he spun her. Under the lights. Under the fireworks. Under the full, beating heart of a decade in the making.

Her laugh cracked open the noise. Her legs curled up instinctively. Her hands dug into the back of his fire suit.

She said his name, just once. No title. No superlatives. No team radio.

Just him.

Lando.

He set her down slowly, like she was fragile, like the moment might shatter if he moved too fast — but she leaned forward and kissed him, hard, on the corner of his mouth, where the champagne had pooled and the smile wouldn’t quite leave.

The world spun again.

And somewhere, behind it all, Ada was being passed from Oscar to George to Max to Amelia’s mother, hands raised above the crowd as she screamed, “Daddy, daddy, daddy!”

@/f1

Lando Norris is the 202X Formula One World Champion.

What a season. What a finish. What a moment. 🧡👑 #WDC #LandoNorris #F1

@/mclaren

No words. Just joy.

Congratulations, Lando. You’ve earned every second of this.

And yes — that podium was everything. No, we’re not crying, you’re crying. 🧡🧡🧡

@/formulawivesclub

There is NOTHING more powerful than a man who wins the WDC and immediately spins his wife under literal fireworks. Iconic. Romantic. Cinematic. I am unwell. 😭😭😭

#WifeOfTheChampion #AmeliaNorris #PowerCouple

@/uncleducky44

the most magical WDC celebration this sport has seen in decades. maybe forever. PAPAYA ON TOP

@/maxverstappen1

*photo of Ada asleep on his shoulder post-podium, wearing her dad’s cap*

she said she had to stay up to see the champion. i think she made it to the fireworks. ❤️

— 

202X

Final lap.

The sun was setting in streaks of copper and violet. Floodlights cast the track in electric brilliance, shadows long and sharp. And the world was holding its breath.

Oscar Piastri led by six seconds.

Not enough to coast. Not when Lando was behind him.

Not when the championship hung in the balance — years of sweat and heartbreak and razor-wire precision culminating in this.

From the pit wall, Amelia’s voice came through steady and clear.

“Final sector. No traffic. You’re clear. Bring it home, Ducky.”

No theatrics. No screaming. Just her voice, the one constant he’d had for the entirety of his F1 career. Focused. Fierce. Full of something rare and warm and undiluted: belief.

“Copy,” Oscar said, breath hitching.

And then, in the most un-Oscar voice imaginable — thick with feeling, stripped raw, “…I don’t think I’m breathing.”

She laughed. A beautiful, cracked little sound. The comms team didn’t mute it. No one could. “Please breathe.”

He crossed the line a moment later. P1.

The fireworks hit the sky immediately; red and gold and brilliant. The pitman and garages erupted. McLaren, orange-clad and screaming, split open with euphoria.

And then Amelia’s voice again; louder this time, breaking apart at the edges: “Oscar Piastri. You are a Formula One World Champion.”

Silence.

Oscar didn’t reply. He just let out one long, disbelieving breath, and you could hear the hitched sound of someone trying not to cry and failing anyway. “We did it, Amelia.”

“You did it,” she corrected.

“No,” he said, firm now. Fierce. “We did. All of it. Every lap. You’re the best engineer and best friend I could’ve ever wished for. God, I love you so much.”

The audio went everywhere. Uploaded by the team, by fans, by rival engineers who had no choice but to respect it.

Two minutes of radio. Intimate. Impossible.

It was the most-streamed F1 clip of the year.

Because there he was — Oscar, still barely in his mid-twenties, helmet resting on the halo of his car, chest heaving as the gravity of it sank in.

And there she was; Amelia, halfway to the pit barrier, shoving her headset at a stunned junior engineer, sprinting.

He met her halfway. 

She didn’t usually hug. But she did then. Tight and wordless. Face buried in his chest. Years of partnership and pride wrapped into that single, silent second.

And when they pulled apart, he knocked his forehead against hers, grinning like a boy again. “Told you I’d win it.”

“I never doubted you.”

—

The footage of the podium showed Amelia next to the team, arms crossed, blinking hard. Oscar had to compose himself twice during the anthem. And when he raised the trophy, he pointed straight at her.

No words.

Just… pride. 

—

2028 

It started with coffee.

Not just any coffee — her coffee. The specific roast she loved from that tiny roastery near Lake Como. Brewed in silence while she slept in. No baby monitor, no toddler noise, no midnight feeding schedules. Just the steady hush of morning, and Lando moving through the kitchen like a man on a mission.

Amelia stirred around 9:00 a.m. — a luxury in itself.

There was a note on the pillow next to her.

Happy anniversary, baby. Today is yours. We’re doing it your way. Uncle Ducky has both of our babies today. Yes, willingly. Yes, I’m sure. No, you don’t need to check in on them.

Come downstairs when you’re ready. I’ve got step one waiting for you.

Love you forever,

— Lando

She blinked. Then smiled. Then got up without rushing — another gift.

When she padded downstairs, wrapped in one of his old t-shirts, she found him barefoot in the kitchen with a table set for two, sunlight spilling through the open balcony doors.

"Happy anniversary," he said softly, crossing to her with a hand on her cheek and a kiss that lingered. "Sit. Eat."

There were croissants from her favourite bakery in town. Raspberries and whipped butter. Her coffee, perfect. And Lando — already looking at her like the day was made.

“The kids?” She asked eventually, narrowing her eyes.

“Totally fine. They always are with Oscar. He made me promise not to call unless someone was bleeding. He said that you deserve a proper day off.”

“I don’t need a day off from my children,” she muttered, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “But it’ll be nice to be able to kiss you without tripping over one of them.” 

“Exactly,” Lando said.

Breakfast faded into a walk — hand-in-hand along the coast, slow and sun-warmed. No schedule. No pushing. Just the faint hush of waves licking the edges of Monaco and the occasional squeeze of Lando’s fingers in hers.

They didn't talk much, and that was deliberate.

Afterward, instead of a spa or anything tactile, he drove her twenty minutes out to their favourite low-key golf course — a hidden gem tucked against the edge of a hill, quiet in the off-season.

It had started a few years ago, this habit of hers. Her golf-ball collection was ever-growing, each one labeled and tucked into a little wooden tray above the fireplace. A more serious, tactile comfort that had slowly morphed into a silly, sentimental thing. 

Lando had never once questioned the golf ball. Not in the beginning, not in the middle. 

He just brought her to find the next one.

They played nine holes. She beat him on five.

He whined. She smirked. It was perfect.

She picked out a new ball from the pro shop (green) and tucked it into her coat pocket. 

“You’ll label that one later?” Lando asked, swinging her hand between them as they walked back to the car.

“Yeah,” she replied. “It's Ada’s favourite colour.” 

“This week.” He said. 

She smiled fondly. “Yeah. This week.” 

—

Lunch came after.

A rooftop place they both loved but hadn’t been to since before Ada was born. White tablecloths, soda on ice. Her favourite risotto, his ridiculous stack of truffle fries, two hours of soft conversation without a single interruption from a baby monitor or a toddler needing to pee.

No baby wipes in her bag. No cutting food into tiny, manageable pieces.

Just them.

—

The sun was setting when they got back to their place.

Amelia kicked off her shoes by the door and reached for her hair tie. Lando caught her hand before she could disappear upstairs.

“One more thing,” he said, almost shy. “Come with me.”

They climbed to the top-floor balcony; her favourite spot in the house. There, waiting: a blanket. Two glasses of wine. A bowl of green olives (Amelia’s vice). And a tiny projector already humming against the far wall.

She raised an eyebrow.

Lando pressed play.

Clips started to roll. Grainy little moments he’d stitched together over months — Ada’s first steps down the hallway at the MTC, the hospital selfie when Amelia had delivered their second baby (Lando’s eyes red from crying, Amelia’s thumb still smudged with blood), lazy footage of her asleep on the couch with both kids curled up on her chest.

Her laugh in the background of a hundred quiet seconds. The clink of teacups. The sound of a little voice calling, “Mummy, look!”

Then his voice — low, warm, recorded late at night from the quiet corner of their bed, “I’m so in love with this life.” 

Amelia said nothing. She was biting her lip a little too hard.

Lando didn’t push. He just shifted behind her on the blanket, pulling her gently between his legs and wrapping his arms around her waist — not too tight, just enough to say I’m here.

“You always make things perfect for everyone else,” he said into her shoulder. “So I wanted to make one perfect day for you.”

She swallowed once. Then leaned her weight back into him, just a fraction — a silent thank-you.

The sun dipped lower.

The stars began to nudge through.

And finally, softly, “Thank you,” she whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Impossible, I think.” She admitted, truthfully. 

Lando smiled into her hair and didn’t let go.

—

Later that night, Oscar sent a photo of Ada fast asleep on a pile of couch cushions in the middle of his flat, a cereal box half-open in the background.

Amelia texted back a blurry photo of her and Lando curled up on the balcony under a blanket, the projector still casting shadows across the wall.

Perfect day complete.

—

2030

The meltdown crept in slowly.

It always did.

Amelia had been trying to hold it back for hours — maybe days, if she was honest. The world had gotten too loud again. Too bright. Too many textures and demands and interruptions.

The fridge was humming wrong. Ada had spilled orange juice and then cried when her leggings got wet. The baby had been colicky all night. Lando was out doing media. Someone had moved the coffee mugs and none of them were in the right order.

She was standing in the kitchen, clutching the edge of the countertop so hard her knuckles were white, when it all finally crashed down on her. 

Her chest seized. Her eyes blurred. The sound in her ears turned to static.

Everything felt wrong. Too much. All at once.

And she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

She slid to the floor, knees curling up, hands covering her ears. Her breathing shortened. She rocked back and forth. Tears leaked out — not from sadness, but from pure sensory overload.

Across the room, Ada, six years old, in a T-shirt covered in glitter paint and crumbs, froze where she stood.

For one long moment, she just watched.

Not afraid.

Just... thinking.

Then, without a word, she turned on her heel and sprinted down the hallway.

She found her daddy in the bedroom, changing the baby’s nappy. He’d only come home a few minutes ago. Her little hand tugged at the hem of his shirt urgently.

“Daddy,” she whispered, breathless. “Mummy needs you.”

Lando paused. His head whipped up instantly. “What’s wrong, little-pea?”

“She’s on the floor. She’s crying with her hands on her ears. She’s not talking.”

Lando’s jaw jumped, but he kept his cool and handed Ada her baby brother. “Stay here, okay? You hold him and don’t move. I’ll go help Mummy.”

—

Amelia was still in the same spot, crumpled in front of the dishwasher, the noise of the appliance now too sharp, like claws dragging through her skull.

Lando knelt slowly beside her. Not touching. Not speaking yet. Just breathing in sync.

A beat passed.

Then two.

“I’m here,” he said quietly.

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

“I knew the dishwasher was making a weird noise,” he added gently, knowing exactly what she was hearing. “I’ll call someone to fix it tomorrow.”

Her shoulders twitched.

Still too much.

He sat down properly beside her, close but not touching, and began counting out loud.

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five…”

The rhythm gave her something to hold on to.

He kept going. Soft. Steady.

“…twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

When he finally reached forty, her hands lowered. Just a little. Her breathing slowed.

Lando waited.

And when her eyes finally fluttered open — puffy, red-rimmed, exhausted — he reached out with one hand, offering it but not insisting.

She took it.

No words, just pressure — fingers threading through his, grounding herself.

“I hate this,” she rasped, barely audible. “I was fine. I should’ve been—”

“Nope,” he said. “No rules. No shoulds. You just were. And now you’re here. That’s all that matters.”

Amelia blinked. Let out a breath that stuttered on the way out.

From the doorway, a soft voice, “Mummy?”

They both turned. Ada was peeking in, barefoot and clutching the baby monitor against her chest.

“I put the baby in his chair,” she said proudly. “And I put my light-up shoes away so they won’t hurt your eyes.”

Lando smiled faintly. Amelia just blinked again, overwhelmed by the careful compassion of a six-year-old.

Ada padded over, crouched carefully beside her mum, and offered a tiny, glittery toy dinosaur — the kind she usually kept in her backpack for comfort.

“You can hold this if it helps,” she said seriously. “Sometimes it helps me.”

Amelia took it with shaking fingers.

Then, finally, finally, she opened her arms.

Ada climbed into her lap.

And Lando wrapped them both up in his arms, squeezing tight. 

—

Later that night, when things were quiet again and the world had shrunk back to something manageable, Amelia whispered into the crook of Lando’s neck, “She went and got you. She knew.”

Lando kissed her hair. “She always knows,” he said. “She’s yours.”

Amelia smiled, small and raw. “No. She’s ours.”

— 

2033

They were sitting under the shade of an umbrella, barefoot and sun-drowsy, watching their children build increasingly complicated sandcastles twenty feet away. Ada had her arms bossily crossed, giving instructions like a forewoman. Her little brother — all curls and slightly sunburnt cheeks despite the copious layers of SPF50 — was digging trenches with his hands. 

Lando passed Amelia a cold can of peach iced tea.

She took it, absently, eyes on their kids.

Lando leaned back on his elbows, sighing. “Is it Thursday or Friday?”

Amelia didn’t answer immediately. Her sunglasses were halfway down her nose. Her hair was damp at the ends from her swim. “Friday,” she murmured. “Pretty sure.”

He nodded, squinting toward the sun. “Days have been blurring. If it’s Friday, it’s already the twelfth.”

He was right. The days had all started to melt together. Long mornings. Naps tangled in hotel sheets. Late dinners with sticky fingers and endless laughter.

Amelia sat up a little. Not sharply — but enough to catch her husbands attention. “Oh,” she said, very quietly.

Lando stared at her. “What, baby?”

She furrowed her brow. Like she was doing mental arithmetic. Calendar math. Gut instinct. “I’m… late.”

He blinked.

“…Like, how late?”

“Four days?” She said it more like a question. “Maybe five. I didn’t notice. With travel and the kids and— I don’t know.”

Lando sat up straighter, heartbeat suddenly louder in his ears.

They looked at each other.

Neither of them moved.

Down by the water, Ada shrieked with delight. “Mummy! We made a castle for the sea princess!”

Amelia waved back, mechanically, then turned back to Lando. “I didn’t bring a test.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Should we go find a pharmacy?”

She hesitated. Then shook her head. “No. Not yet.” She reached for his hand, threading her fingers between his, palm warm. “Let’s just sit. Just for a minute. I want to stay here a little longer, before everything changes again.”

His grip tightened on hers. “Is that okay?”

Amelia nodded. “I’m happy. Just… surprised.”

Lando exhaled, gaze flicking back to their children. Ada was crowning her sandcastle with a plastic fork she’d found. Their son was diligently filling a bucket with sea foam.

“I think we’re gonna be outnumbered,” he said softly.

“I think we already are,” Amelia murmured, smiling faintly. “But that’s exactly what we wanted, isn’t it? Three of them. A couple of years apart. It’s perfect.” 

And they sat there. Under the umbrella, hand in hand, watching the beginning of their forever shift again.

The ocean kept talking, its waves crashing against the rocks at the other end of the beach.

So did Ada — ever the chatter-box. 

Amelia smiled. “Three is a good number.” 

“Three of them. Two of us. Five total.” He murmured. “We’re missing four.” 

“No we’re not.” She whispered. “You’re right here.” 

He blinked, then he leaned in and kissed her. 

—

2034

Ada slammed the front door shut with the theatrical force only a ten-year-old could manage.

“Mummy!” She yelled before she was even properly out of her shoes. “Mummy, I have to tell you something very important!”

Amelia looked up from the kitchen table, where she was re-assembling a snapped pencil sharpener and ignoring the half-eaten apple Ada had left on the kitchen bench to rot that morning.

“In here,” she called calmly.

Ada thundered in, socks half-falling off, her backpack barely zipped. Her cheeks were pink. Her plaits were lopsided.

“I’m in love,” she declared.

Amelia blinked once. “You’re what?”

Ada flopped dramatically into the chair opposite her. “I’m in love, Mummy. With a boy in my class. His name is Ethan and he wears Spider-Man socks and he let me use his sparkly blue gel pen for colouring even though he really likes it. He said I was clever.”

Amelia stared at her daughter for a long beat.

Then, she said plainly, “You’re ten.”

Ada sighed. “Yes, mummy. I know that.”

There was a pause.

From the hallway, the sound of keys jingling, the front door opening again.

Lando’s voice: “Where are my girls?”

“In the kitchen!” Ada called sweetly. And then, switching gears with dizzying emotional agility, she leaned in and whispered to her mum: “Don’t tell Daddy. He’ll make it weird.”

Amelia frowned. “I don’t lie to your dad. You know that.” 

Ada just sighed because yeah, she did know that.

Lando appeared in the doorway a moment later, freshly back from sim training. “Why do I feel like I just walked in on a crime?”

Ada beamed. “No crime! Just secrets!”

“Oh, cool, that’s comforting,” he deadpanned, kissing the top of her head. Then he gave Amelia a suspicious side-eye. “What’s happening?”

“Well,” Amelia said, “your daughter thinks that she’s in love.”

Lando’s eyebrows shot up. “I leave her at that school for six hours—”

“Daddy!” Ada groaned, flinging her arms dramatically over her face.

“—and now she’s in love?” He leaned over her chair, mock-serious. “Who is he? What does he do? What are his qualifications?”

“He’s ten!” Ada squeaked.

“That’s not a qualification,” Lando said, faux-grave.

Amelia was biting back a smile now, watching them.

“Daddy,” Ada said solemnly, peeking at him through her fingers, “his name is Ethan, and he gave me the good gel pen. The sparkly one. That’s basically marriage.”

Lando clutched his heart. “God help me. Wait until I tell Max about this.”

“I knew you’d make it weird,” Ada whined.

“I am weird, Bug,” he replied, scooping her up despite her protests. “That’s your legacy.”

He spun her around like she weighed nothing. 

Amelia smiled as she watched them. 

But when Ada caught her eyes mid-giggle, cheeks flushed, safe and loved and full of her first little crush, Amelia just smiled at her.

And Ada smiled right back.

—

Nine Years Later

She doesn’t marry Ethan.

Of course she doesn’t.

He moves to Devon at the end of Year 6, and she forgets the way his name made her stomach flutter by the time she’s twelve.

The next crush is taller. The next one after that plays guitar.

None of them stick. None of them feel right.

But she never says anything. Because… she’s Ada Norris.

And Ada Norris grew up being known. Watched. Treasured.

She keeps the sacred things close to her chest.

Until one day, fourteen years after her dramatic kitchen confession, she finds herself in the back of the paddock in Monaco, barefoot and suntanned, her hair in a braid, with a camera slung over her shoulder and dust on her jeans.

She’s nineteen.

She’s laughing.

And in front of her, sitting on a pile of stacked tyres, grazed knees tucked up under his arms and ice cream dripping down his wrist, is him.

Ayrton Verstappen.

One year younger than her.

A lifetime of familiarity.

She’s known him since before either of them could talk properly.

They played tag between hospitality units. Swapped Pokémon cards in Red Bull’s simulator room.

He once peed in her toy car. She once cut his hair with nail scissors because she thought it would make him less ugly. 

She never thought about marrying him.

Not seriously.

Not until she did.

It doesn’t happen all at once.

It’s the way he listens. The way he gets it — the legacy, the pressure, the strange ache of being a paddock kid with a famous surname and the expectation to become someone.

It’s the way he defends her when people assume too much.

It’s the way he doesn’t flinch when she stim-rambles or tells him she needs exactly ten minutes of silence.

It’s the way he waits — patient, steady, eyes bluer than any sky she’s ever seen.

She’s Ada Norris.

And someday soon, someday when the dust settles, and the stars line up just right, she’ll be Ada Verstappen.

And damn… it does have a nice ring to it.

—

2035

Amelia sat in the doorway of Sienna’s nursery, back pressed to the frame, coffee cooling in her hands. The house was quiet — unusually so. Ezra was napping. Ada was at school. Lando had taken a rare moment to go for a run.

And Sienna… Sienna was asleep. Peacefully. A soft halo of curls pressed into her muslin blanket, one fist curled beneath her chin like she’d already begun dreaming of something secret and important.

Amelia watched her, and breathed.

Three children.

Ada, her first, her fiercest, had taught her what love felt like when it broke you open.

Ezra had come quieter. A gentle soul with his father’s smile and a knack for slipping into people’s arms like he’d always belonged there.

And now… Sienna.

Her last. Her littlest.

Her loudest silence.

Almost entirely deaf. Diagnosed at three weeks old.

Amelia hadn’t cried — not then. Not when the results came in. Not even when the specialists had spoken gently about cochlear implants and early language support and accessibility.

She’d just… stilled. Absorbed. Pivoted.

It wasn’t grief.

Not exactly.

It was adjustment. Recalibration. Learning a new language — not just in signs, but in patience. In pace. In how to prepare for a life she didn’t know how to predict.

Sienna would be fine.

Better than fine. She had her father’s stubbornness and her mother’s ability to see patterns in chaos. 

She had a sister who’d already started practicing fingerspelling at the dinner table, and a brother who kissed her ear every time she blinked up at him. She had grandparents, uncles, a paddock full of honorary aunties and mechanics and engineers ready to build her whatever she needed.

She had love. The whole, complex, unshakable kind.

Still, this baby, this challenge, this gift, it had made Amelia stretch in ways she hadn’t before.

And there, on the floor, in the hush of a warm afternoon, she finally let herself feel it all. The fear. The wonder. The sheer magnitude of how much she loved these children — all three of them. So differently. So fully. So irreversibly.

Sienna shifted in her sleep.

Amelia didn’t move.

Just smiled. Tired. Whole.

“Okay,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “We’ll figure it out together.”

And they would.

They always did.

—

2038

The garden behind their Monaco home wasn’t large, but it was theirs.

The sea glittered just beyond the hedges, and the sunlight slanted golden through the lemon trees. There were chairs set out in uneven rows, a makeshift arch wrapped in white linen and fresh lavender. No press. No guest list politics. Just the people who mattered — their parents, their siblings, a few of their closest friends, and the three children who had rewritten their lives in the best possible ways.

Ada was fourteen and refused to wear anything but the pink dress she’d picked herself. Ezra, five, clung to Oscar’s leg until Lando knelt and whispered something that made him laugh. And Sienna — three and a half, curls pinned back with daisy clips, cochlear implant nestled behind one ear — was already signing “cake” to anyone who made eye contact.

Amelia stood barefoot in the grass, holding her bouquet with one hand and Sienna’s palm with the other.

Her dress wasn’t new. She’d pulled it from the back of the closet — the pale ivory one she’d worn to a gala years ago, the one Lando had stared at like he’d forgotten how to speak. Soft and silky against her skin, it still felt like him.

Lando met her halfway up the path, smiling like he always had.

“Hi,” he said, taking Sienna’s hand too. “You look beautiful.”

“You look sunburnt,” Amelia replied, then softened. “But handsome.”

Beneath the lazy sway of the breeze and the quiet murmur of waves, Lando took both her hands and said, “I’d marry you a thousand times in a thousand different lives. But I’m really glad I got this one. With you. With them. With all of it.”

Amelia, ever spare with her words, just said, “You’re the love of my life, Lando Norris.”

Later, while the kids played under the fairy lights, Max and Pietra poured champagne, and Oscar stole cake straight from the platter, Lando found her standing off to the side, heels dangling from one hand.

He wrapped an arm around her waist. Kissed the top of her head.

“That felt special,” he murmured.

“It did,” she said.

Because it only confirmed what they already knew. 

They had each other. They had their home. 

And their love had only deepened with the quiet weight of time.

The rest — as always — was just radio silence.