#but damn once alex realized he could front

[dragon-of-grandeur]

You know something else I don't understand? Why do people fakeclaim systems who can switch effortlessly?

You can practice switching. It's a skill. One that's very useful for learning to work as a cohesive unit. Some people are better or faster at learning skills. Just because you don't know how to use a tool, doesn't mean the tool does not exist.

[oscpstri]

not my team | formula fun

ft. hadjar, leclerc, albon, lawson, colapinto x fem journalist!reader

formula 1 drivers know the drill: when you're given a pen and merch, you sign it. but would they still sign it if it wasn't their merch?

INCLUDES: profanity, idk man its just cute, short bcs tiktok style duh

NOTE: got this from vcarb admin giving isack an inter jersey during the finals. didn't include all the drivers because too many, just went with the first vcarb vid i saw and based it off that.

( formula fun | mics up )

★ ISACK HADJAR

You run up from behind Isack— phone recording in one hand and the other clutching onto a white shirt and a marker.

"Isack!" you call out. He walks slower when he hears your voice, turning just in time to see you next to him. His smile appears even larger when he notices the phone in your hand, already knowing that you were probably up to no good.

You stick the shirt and marker out to him, nodding once. "Could you sign this please?"

"Sure." He takes the shirt from your hands, opening the marker with ease. Until—

"This—" He stops in his tracks, making you giggle from behind the camera. He makes eye contact with the phone then to you comically, dramatically dropping the shirt and the marker.

He picks it back up after a few seconds, holding it up to the camera. The color of the shirt definitely resembled VCARB team gear which was why the rookie didn't question further. But when he actually looked at the shirt, the silver arrow of the Mercedes logo smacked him right in the face.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asks in his thick accent, not even bothering to look at the device anymore and just asking you straight up. You laugh even harder at this, not able to look at the Frenchman directly in the eyes.

"Woops?"

★ CHARLES LECLERC

Charles was notorious for signing things that he didn't need to. Just give him a marker and something else and he'll be so caught off guard that you wonder how he hasn't accidentally signed a marriage contract yet.

So when you saw him at the Ferrari hospitality during media day signing a box-load of hats, you knew it was the perfect time to strike.

He was almost done with autographing the signature red Ferrari hats and you were off to the side, ready with your phone already recording in one hand and a driver's hat in the other. As he was down to his final one, you quickly walk up to him.

"Charles, could you sign this for me?" You ask, immediately placing the hat in front of him. And just like you thought he would, he signed it without thinking and only then realized the odd color of the driver's hat once he lifted his marker up.

He freezes in his seat, eyes scanning the papaya colored hat and the number 81 embroidered on the brim. He looks up at you with wide eyes, blinking comically like he was a kid that just got caught stealing candy.

He remains quiet as you take the hat from his hands, looking at it impressively with a smile. "Thanks!"

He buries his face in his hands, chuckling in disbelief. He looks back at you after a few seconds, mouth still carrying a smile like he couldn't accept the fact that you had just tricked him like that.

"I can't believe you just did that." You smile at him, laughing at his reaction.

"I have an Oscar Piastri hat signed by his father. Wow, this one's gonna sell."

★ ALEX ALBON

Alex immediately clocks you walking up to him as he made his way down the paddock. A grin appears on his face as he practically side-eyes you, already anticipating the worst.

"Could you sign this for me?"

You stick the hat and marker out for Alex to sign, urging him to take it. He only looks at it with a knowing look on his face. Damn Alex Albon and being chronically online.

"You've seen this before haven't you?"

He nods at your question, a giggle leaving his mouth as you groan in exasperation. He still takes the hat and marker anyway, popping the cap off and signing on the brim of the hat.

"Charles told me about what you did. Hilarious by the way." Alex gives you the marker and the hat back, still smiling ear to ear.

"Thanks." You look at the autographed Mercedes hat then back at Alex. "I'll give this back to George. Say his idol signed it for him."

Alex nods once at this before looking back up with a shimmer in his eyes. "Or you could give it to Lando."

You look at the man like he just solved world hunger. A grin broke out on your face as the both of you nod in agreement.

"I should have you help me out more on these pranks."

★ LIAM LAWSON

"Oh god." Liam groans as he sees you walk up to him, phone held up as you recorded the interaction. "What do you want?"

You look at him with faux sadness, sticking your bottom lip out dramatically. "I'm hurt."

Liam tilts his head at this, shaking his head in disbelief at your antics.

"Sign this for me, will you?" You toss him the team shirt, marker following suit. He catches it effortlessly, going to remove the cap from the marker.

You catch his eyebrows furrowing at the color of the shirt before he finally lays it flat on the table. He sees the familiar logo of his senior team and his shoulders drop, hand falling onto his lap as he looks at you with a flat stare. You swore his expression screamed: "I'm not paid enough for this."

"This isn't even my team." He nods his head towards the shirt. You zoom the camera in to the Red Bull logo before zooming back out to capture the New Zealander's face.

You feign innocence, shrugging like you didn't know any better. "Red Bull, Racing Bulls. Tomato, tomahto. Same same."

Liam continues to look at you in exasperation, a smile of disbelief on his face. He was absolutely done with your pranks. You bite back your smile, eyes still carrying a mischievous glint.

"Wait. You are Max Verstappen, right?"

★ FRANCO COLAPINTO

You couldn't really sneak up on Franco, because as soon as he saw you, he immediately lit up and started yapping away. He never even noticed the phone you held up, nor the hat and marker you had in your hand.

"And did you know that—"

"Franco," you cut him off. "Could you sign this?"

He quickly glances at the things in your hand before taking them without a question. He continues on what he was talking about, not taking his eyes off of you while his hands pop off the cap of the marker. He seems to find the brim of the hat immediately, marker making contact with the surface. But before he could continue on signing, he instinctively looks down and only then notices the black hat he was holding.

His hand immediately retracts, blinking and staring at the hat like it would somehow tell him why this was all happening. He then looks back up at you with his eyebrows furrowed, a confused look on his face.

"This is... Haas?"

You laugh at his confusion. The poor guy still didn't get it until you told him, his concern going away as he then joined in and laughed with you.

"But I— There's a dot on it from the marker." He shows you the crime scene, a tiny white dot from the marker was left on the brim where he initially made contact. It wasn't noticeable and you definitely didn't mind. He did though.

"Don't worry. It's mine."

He looks up at you with knit eyebrows, a worried expression on his face. "Are you sure? I can get you a brand new one."

You shake your head at his offer, putting your hand out so you could take back your things. "It's fine, Franco."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." You chuckle at his worry, reassuring him that it was fine.

"I'm still getting you a new one."

Sure enough, Franco came up to you in the paddock next week with a fresh Haas hat— the exact same one as your crash test dummy. Except this time, it was signed by the driver who actually owned the number on it.

[auroralwriting]

home

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

spencer gets shot, and you don't know who you need to forgive: him, or yourself.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: no use of y/n, spencer gets shot, season 9, blood and violence, criminal minds type violence, negative self thoughts, angsty but it turns fluffy, spencer's drug addiction is discussed, best friends to lovers

The ringing in your ears overwhelmed you. Shots were firing all around, and you didn't know what to do. You'd never been in a shoot-out before, and you felt panicked.

Spencer was beside you, hidden behind the car door as he fired some shots. You watched as an officer in front of you was shot.

You knew it was the worst idea to go out there, but the man could be alive. Your legs moved before you realized it, and you were attempting to drag the officer's body. Spencer and Alex both yelled for you, running out to grab you. Right as Alex grabbed your arm, Spencer pushed you closer to her, which was very out of character for him.

It was then you heard another bullet rip through skin.

The sound that came from Spencer was one you couldn't quite describe, but could never forget. Immediately, you noticed the blood seeping from his neck of all places.

"Spencer!" Your voice was broken and loud as you yelled, grabbing onto him. Derek made a jump, helping you and Alex move him behind the car again.

"No, no," Alex muttered, putting pressure on Spencer's neck. "Look at me, okay? Don't close your eyes,"

You sat behind her, shaking your head as tears freely flowed down your cheeks. "Oh my god, oh my god," You repeated, shock flooding your system.

"Ethan, look at me! Ethan!"

For a moment, you didn't realize who Blake was talking to, until you saw Spencer's shut eyes. "Spencer, Spencer wake up." You crawled over, shaking his shoulder. "Please, I need you, I need you with me forever. You're my best-- Alex, why is there so much blood?"

You helped Alex stop the bleeding, but it was so much. After what felt like years, the paramedics arrived. You and Alex fought to ride with him, and somehow, they let both of you. The woman held you to her side as she urged you to look away, but the sight of Spencer's dying body never left your eyes. Were you even blinking? Breathing? It didn't feel like it.

Spencer was rushed to surgery immediately. You didn't even get to say goodbye when you and Alex were sent to the waiting room. The two of you didn't speak for a while, until an hour or so later.

"Who's Ethan?"

Alex turned to you, "Ethan was my son."

"He passed?" You asked.

"When he was nine. I begged him to look at me." Alex bit her lip as you squeezed your eyes shut. "I don't know if I can do this anymore."

You reached for her hand, which she took. "I don't blame you." You admitted, looking over to her with teary eyes. "Do what your heart tells you to, Alex. Don't let us determine what you're happy doing."

Alex gave your hand a squeeze as the silence took over once more as you waited. Penelope sent word that she was on her way, and you hoped it would be soon. Her cheerful demeanor was what you needed.

Finally, the doctor came to tell you Spencer had narrowly avoided death. You felt a breath release, one you didn't know you were holding. The man lead you both to Spencer's room.

Your first thought was about how peaceful he looked. Then, the panic set in when you saw the IV in his arm. "What medications will he be given?" You quickly asked before the doctor could leave the room.

The doctor listed a couple of medications when one caught your attention, "...Gabapentin, Hydromorphone--"

"Stop, what are those? Opioids?" You questioned.

"Uh, yes. Both are in the dilaudid family--"

You shook your head, "He can't have those. He had a drug addiction to dilaudid. Give him something else."

The doctor gave you a hesitant look, "Agent, those are what we recommend--"

"I don't give a damn, what else can you give him?" You demanded, crossing your arms.

"Uh, Morphine would be the most basic and cover the most ground." The doctor sheepishly responded.

With an exasperated look, you said, "Then write that down. That's what he'll be getting. Monitor the doses, too. I don't want to risk a relapse. If you have any questions, I'm his second emergency contact. First is Aaron Hotchner, he can attest--"

"It's really alright, miss." The doctor said, slowly stepping back. "We took note. I'll see to it that it is followed."

The doctor left and Alex chuckled, "You scared him."

"Good," You replied, sitting down next to Spencer. Alex took the other side as you carefully took his hand. "It's my fault, you know."

Alex's brows furrowed, "What?"

"It's my fault he got shot." You repeated, pinching the bridge of your nose tightly as you squeezed your eyes shut. "I was to his right. He pushed me out of the way. My head is just where his shoulder is, and he bent down to push me. It was meant to be a headshot, Alex."

Softly, Alex grabbed your hand across Spencer's body. "Sweetheart, that doesn't make it your fault. You couldn't have controlled Spencer's actions."

With a sniffle, you tearfully looked up to Alex. "Alex, please be with him when he wakes up. He's my best friend, and I failed him. I- I just can't."

Alex wanted to argue you, to tell you that you were exactly what Spencer needed when he woke up, but she also took into account your needs, too. "Alright," she sighed. "But please, come back after to see him, alright?"

"Yeah," You nodded, biting your lip.

Remembering the moment Spencer got shot was like it was from another lifetime, even if it was just from a few mere hours ago. You remembered exactly what you did, but looking back, it felt like you replayed every moment you'd ever had with the genius. Every lingering touch, every time he made your heart swirl. You would've never gotten to kiss him, or tell him you liked him. It was too much for your heart to bare.

Penelope showed up later on, setting up some Doctor Who action figures for Spencer to see when he woke up. The sight of it made you sick. Knowing he would need to see something good when he opened his eyes was too much, too soon. You excused yourself, leaving the room in a hurry as you left the hospital.

For a while, you sat in the black SUV provided by the police. You just needed space, air to breathe. After some calming breaths, you decided to get Spencer some flowers to cheer up his dull room.

The florist was only fifteen minutes away, so that's where you headed. When you walked in, the woman behind the counter noticed who you were. Small towns talk.

"I don't know anything," She said with a sigh, "You'll find better luck--" Her voice paused when she saw the look in your eyes. "You ain't here to question me, are you?"

You cleared your throat, "My uh, partner-- teammate, he got shot. I wanted to just get him flowers, I guess. Maybe this is too weird," You'd muttered the last part to yourself, turning around to leave.

"No! No, wait." The woman called as you turned back around. "You like this teammate of yours?"

You nodded, "Yeah."

"You like him more than that?" She raised a brow.

With a hot face, you nodded. "I do."

"I always know. I got just the thing for you, sweetie. Just give me five minutes to prepare it." The woman rushed into the back, and you hesitantly took a seat in a small chair. After those five minutes, she came back out with a gorgeous pink floral arrangement. "Put this together especially for you."

Reaching for your wallet, you mustered the best smile you could. "Thank you so much. How much do I owe you?"

"No charge, sweetie." The woman held her hand up in denial. "You work a hard job. I'm a mother, I know the look of love and heartbreak on a young woman's face. You tell him how you feel, alright? That's the charge."

Your eyes watered as you took the flowers from her. "Thank you, ma'am. You're too kind."

"Says the girl getting the boy she loves flowers after he got hurt." The lady smiled back.

After driving back to the hospital, you hit the fourth floor button and took the grueling trip up. You realized you'd left your phone in the room. Hopefully nothing too important happened.

As you walked up to Spencer's room, you heard his voice, but it was filled with panic. "Garcia, he has a gun!"

Your body moved before your brain as you ran in, grabbing the first person you didn't know. The male nurse, who you assumed was not a nurse, threw you back against the wall as you took note of the gun in the back of his belt. You reached for it, but felt the bottom of it crash into your forehead. He'd gotten it before you had. As you fell to the floor, you heard Penelope shout for help when you saw Spencer's bag, the one that had his gun.

Right as the unsub turned around, you grabbed it and shot him right in the chest. He fell to the floor as you realized you'd been clutching the flowers. Laying down, you let them fall out of your grasp as Derek appeared, grabbing the unsub.

"Oh, my ray of sunshine!" Penelope yelled as she helped you up "You're bleeding! Let's get you a nurse- a real one."

As she pulled you out of the room, you'd just caught a glance at Spencer who was watching you leave with an unreadable expression on his face.

You sucked in a sharp breath of pain as the nurse finished stitching up your forehead. A good sized gash was left from the bottom of the gun, and your shoulder was already developing a bruise on the blade. “Sweets, are you sure you’re okay?” Penelope carefully asked, squeezing your hand as the nurse grabbed the rest of her tools and left you both alone in the small waiting area.

“Yeah, Pen. I’ll be okay.” You nodded. Playing with your fingers, you cleared your throat. “How’s Spencer?”

“He’s okay. Up and talking, the Morphine is doing him well. He’s not in too much pain.” Penelope replied, giving your hand another squeeze. “He was thankful it was Morphine.”

With a nod, you continued, “Was Alex with him when he woke up?”

“We both were,” Penelope bit her lip, “but he still asked for you.”

“I just couldn’t be there,” A sigh escaped your lips as you rubbed a hand over your cheek. “It should’ve—”

Penelope raised her eyebrows, “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. It shouldn’t have been anybody. This is not your fault, I won’t let you believe it.”

A throb emitted from your forehead, “When do we leave? I just want to go home.”

“Spencer’s being airlifted there. We leave right when he does, in about thirty minutes. JJ packed all your things and brought them to the jet for you.” Penelope softly smiled. You made a mental note to thank JJ for doing that for you. “You know you’re going to have to talk to him, right?”

“I don’t want to think about it, Pen.” You shook your head as much as the pain would allow. “I just want to go to sleep.”

Penelope nodded softly, taking your hand and guiding you to the car to go to the jet.

Two days later, and you were still at home in your apartment. Your forehead only got worst with a huge bruise around the stitches. That wasn’t to mention the pain radiating from your left shoulder, either. You felt so bad for not seeing Spencer while he was awake in the hospital, but even now, the thought made you sick to your stomach. Seeing him in pain, in the hospital gown, the beeping of the machines, it was all just too much to bear. It was worse knowing that should’ve been you.

You were sat in your sofa, a half-melted bag of peas on your forehead when you heard the doorbell ring. Slowly, you got up off the couch-- much to your dismay-- and approached the door, reaching for the knob and twisting it.

Spencer standing outside the door, holding a similar flower arrangement to the one you'd gotten him, was not what you expected.

"Reid," You softly said, his last name feeling odd on your tongue. He was never Reid to you. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see how you were doing. Morgan, uh, told me you got knocked around pretty good." Spencer eyed your forehead, making you feel like a tiny specimen under a microscope. You allowed your hair to fall over it, covering the large, disgusting mark.

Biting your lip, you nodded. "I'm alright." After a moment, you came to your senses, "Uh, come on in. Sorry if it's messy."

"I think I'll live," Spencer chuckled, making your blood run cold at his words. You lead him inside, and even if he'd been in your apartment a numerous amount of times, it felt different now.

Spencer sat on the other end of your sofa. You pressed yourself to the arm, giving plenty of space between the both of you. "Are you in pain?"

"No, not really." Spencer hummed as he pondered your question. "But swallowing sometimes feels different."

"Ah," You casually replied as you went to pick at your nails. You stopped yourself-- don't give Spencer any of your tells. "I'm glad you're okay."

"I wish you would've came to see me sooner." Spencer admitted. "I missed you. I thought you would've been there when I woke up."

Guilt crept into your gut as you replied, "I was out getting you flowers."

"For three hours?"

Spencer's comment clocked you. "Spencer," You rubbed your neck, head slinging down to stare at your lap. "I couldn't be there."

"Why?" Spencer breathlessly asked, his eyes pleading for an answer.

He felt so alone when he opened his eyes and you weren't there. Sure, Alex and Penelope both were, but he was searching for you the whole time. You were his rock, you had been for the last three years. Sure, at first he took a while to warm up to you. Two months, twenty-three days, seventeen hours, and sixteen minutes, to be precise. The moment you both connected, however, it was like you and Spencer were attached at the hip. You had always been there for him. Why weren't you there for him now? It tore down Spencer to know you weren't there, but he was also concerned for your well-being as well.

"That shot was meant for me, Spencer." Your voice was cold as you spoke, a small quiver when you said it was for yourself. "We both know that would've been a headshot."

"You're mad that I saved your life?" Spencer didn't want to become angry, but he did feel frustrated at your lack of understanding.

You huffed, standing up quickly, "I'm mad that you hurt yourself for me, Spencer! You almost died, what would I have done if you died?"

"Says you," Spencer retorted, a small look of bewilderment on his face. "I couldn't live with myself if you died."

The air was thick in the room as you paced while Spencer watched. "Oh, so getting yourself shot was the answer. You scared Alex half to death, and I've never seen Derek cry before this! Don't even mention JJ going dead silent on us."

"Is this about them, or is this about us?" Spencer questioned, crossing his arms.

"This is about-- agh!" As you threw your arms out in distress, pain radiated through your shoulder blade. Your face scrunched in pain as Spencer quickly jolted to your side.

He softly took your arm, "Hey, hey. Let's just sit down, okay? Do you need more ice? Or, a better ice pack?" Spencer helped you sit down, and he grabbed your ankles to pop them up on the small ottoman in front of the couch.

"Better one would be nice," you muttered. "M' still mad at you."

"That's okay," Spencer's voice became more distant as he walked into your kitchen. "I guess I'd be mad, too. If I was in your situation, I mean."

You hummed, "Damn right."

Spencer chuckled as he made his way back into the living room. He gently pushed your hair out of your face, cringing at the huge bruise. You held onto the ice bag as he helped you sit forward. He could see the bruise that made its way up from your shoulder blade. It fell just above the hemline of your shirt, and the mere size made him sigh softly. "He really got you, huh?"

"He was Derek sized," you chuckled bitterly. "Plus, I was trying to save your flowers."

"Well, the vase was broken, but I kept the flowers." Spencer softly laughed beside you.

Your eyes twinkled as you looked to him, "You did?"

"Of course I did," Spencer nodded, "It was the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"Wow," Your tone was joking as you continued, "That's a really low bar. Gotta raise it, somehow."

Spencer softly took your hand in his. Every time he touched you, it reminded you of how much he trusted and cared for you; so much so that he allowed physical intimacy with you.

"I couldn't see you like that," You whispered, just loud enough for Spencer to hear. "It hurt me so much, to know I couldn't help you more. I-I couldn't- I-"

Shushes softly spewed from Spencer's mouth. "Hey, it's okay." He soothed, rubbing circles over your knuckles with his thumb. "I'm not mad at you. I was just sad you weren't there, but I understand."

"I can't live without you, Spencer Reid." You admitted, locking eyes with him.

Spencer softly spoke your name, and you noticed how his eyes flicked from your eyes, to your lips, and back to your eyes. "I can't live without you, either." Spencer echoed, another hand softly meeting your cheek. "Please tell me if I'm reading this wrong."

"You're not," you whispered. "promise."

You both sat there for a moment, reeling in each other's presences, your life forces. Finally, the tension got to be too strong. You leaned yourself closer to Spencer, ghosting your lips over his slightly-chapped ones. You gave him a moment to back out, to tell you that you read it wrong--

and he kissed you.

It wasn't a hard, fiery kiss. It was one that was soft, sweet, like a shining body of water, or the sound of laughter. His lips molded into yours like a missing puzzle piece. Spencer's hands moved to hold your face so strongly, yet so gentle like he was afraid to drop one of Rossi's expensive china pieces.

As you pulled back, Spencer's breath softly hit your face, a peppermint smell softly brushing your lips. "Is that why you were so upset?" Spencer breathlessly asked.

"Yeah," you nodded, "I think so."

"You think?" Spencer half-smiled.

"I think so." You pondered for a moment. "Wanna prove me right?"

Spencer chuckled, pushing his nose to nose your own. "More than anything."

Your lips collided again, but you pulled back with confusion. “How did you know I liked you?”

“Pink flowers,” Spencer scratched the back of his neck, “They’re known for symbolizing crushes, romantic feelings. Your whole arrangement was all pink tulips, roses, carnations.” You eyed Spencer’s for you— it was all pink. “I guess your florist knew better than you did.”

You chuckled, “I guess she did. I like yours, too.” Spencer’s eyes fell to his bouquet and he blushed. “Oh, don’t get shy on me now, kiss me again you sweet genius boy.”

Spencer smiled, happily leaning in for another kiss.

It was then you realized why you were so upset before; you couldn't lose your home.

[ambiguous-avery]

Quiet Hours

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 1525

Summary: You knew Dean loved you. It was in all the big, grandiose moments. The times he would throw himself between you and danger. It was in all the stolen moments between motel sheets, in all the whispered promises. But most of all, it was in the quiet moments. When it was just you and Dean existing in each other's orbits.

Tags/Warnings: Pure tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: Finally, some Dean content for you lovelies!! I have been on such a Sam kick with my series, but now that that has ended, I have a backlog of Dean stuff to give you all! This is my submission for @zepskies’ 5k follower event! Again, congrats to you, Alex! I requested a gif, and she gave me this lovely one. Title is from the song “Quiet Hours” by Letdown.

Dean Winchester never half-assed anything.

He didn’t just walk through a bar. He prowled. Chin held high, boots heavy, confidence radiating off of him like heat off a blacktop in the middle of a Colorado desert. When he ordered a drink, it was with intent. When he drove, it was with purpose. When he hunted, he did it like there was no tomorrow. And sometimes – no, most times – you were afraid that was exactly how he lived too.

Like tomorrow was never guaranteed, so what was the point in saving anything for later?

But if you had learned anything about Dean, he wasn’t reckless. Not really. He just burned so brightly that it felt like recklessness. He committed to things and people full throttle. If there was a monster, he killed it. If there was a mission, he finished it. If there was a threat to someone he loved? God help whatever was in his path.

All that to say that Dean didn’t do things halfway. Not ever.

You noticed it the first time he kissed you. You’d expected it to be rough. Heated. Fast. Maybe even a little desperate. Something that matched the intensity of the way he lived his life. But it hadn’t been like that. It hadn’t even been close.

He kissed you like he had all the time in the world. One hand cupped your jaw like you were something precious that he couldn’t afford losing. The other curled around your waist like he already knew how well you’d fit against him. His lips moved slowly. Reverently. Like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth just in case the world ended the next day.

It was the first time you suspected that there might have been more to Dean Winchester than just bravado and bad habits.

And the moment you realized that he loved you happened about two months after you had first hooked up with him. A vampire hunt in Arizona gone sideways. You had been careless, and he found you bleeding, pissed off, and too damn proud to have asked for backup. You were already down on one knee, dizzy from the blood loss. You hadn’t even heard him coming. There was just a blur of plaid and rage, a flash of his machete, and the sound of bodies falling around you.

He didn’t yell at you. Not at first. Not until after he had dragged you back to the Impala and deposited you in the front bench. You remembered the tension in his jaw. You remembered the way the steering wheel creaked under his grip. He didn’t look at you once the entire drive back to the motel. And then, the second the door closed behind the both of you, he snapped.

“You don’t get to be reckless with your life,” he had said, voice shaking. And you had blinked at him, confused and bleeding.

“What?”

“You think this is just a fling? You think I’m here for fun? I’m in this. With you. All in. You get that?” And you were pretty sure that that was the first time you had ever seen Dean afraid.

Not of monsters. Not of dying. But of losing you.

Now, months later, you were curled up in bed beside him, caught somewhere between half-asleep and half-listening to the low hum of the tv that neither of you were actually watching. The motel room was quiet otherwise, and you briefly wondered if Dean was still awake.

He was.

You could tell without looking. You could feel it in the way he was still. Too still. When Dean slept, he sprawled out. Arms loose, legs tangled with yours, the weight of him heavy and warm like a personal heater. But currently? He was tense. Coiled. Like he was waiting for something to strike. Or like he was holding something in. So you opened your eyes to find him already watching you.

The hard lines of his face were softened by the bedside lamp that was still on, and his expression was unreadable, wavering between distant and vulnerable. You recognized the look. You had seen it before. This was the kind of look he had right before he told you something important. Right before he let you in, one guarded inch at a time. You had learned to treasure these moments.

“Dean?” you whispered, fingers brushing his arm. He swallowed. His eyes flicked down to your hand then back up. Then, in a voice so quiet and soft that you almost missed it,

“Marry me.”

The words landed with all the subtlety of a bullet to the chest. Your jaw went slack. Your heart stopped. Then it started again, hard and fast like a kick drum against your ribs.

“What?” The word came out strangled. Dean looked away. His jaw tightened like he was bracing himself for rejection.

“I said… marry me.” You propped yourself up on one elbow. He met your gaze, and you could see every thought in his head going to war with whatever he was feeling. The two of you shared a charged look before he blinked and turned away, eyes turning up towards the ceiling. And then it hit you.

Dean was terrified.

Not of the idea of being tied down. Not of committing to someone in a way that people would consider permanent. Not of the ring or the ceremony or the promises.

He was terrified of your answer. Because this was something that he wanted. Something that he didn’t think he deserved.

“Dean,” you breathed, reaching out for him. Your fingertips grazed his stubbled jaw, gently coaxing his face to turn to you again. His eyes – those impossibly green ones that had seen too much loss in the world – were wide with vulnerability that you were sure you had only seen a handful of other times. He flinched. Not from your touch, but like the effort of holding everything he was feeling back was physically paining him.

“I know I can’t give you the life you deserve,” he said. “I can’t promise safety. Or stability. Or a house with a stupid white picket fence. I don’t even know where we’ll be next week, let alone ten years from now.” His voice trembled as he spoke. You were quiet. Of all the things you had learned about Dean, these moments where he was willing to give a voice to the things he was feeling were far and few between.

“I don’t have money. I don’t have a plan. I don’t know if I’ll even live long enough to grow old with you. But I love you. And I wanna try. I wanna give you everything that I possibly can. Even if it isn’t much.”

There was nothing cocky in his expression. No bravado. No unwavering confidence. Just fear. Just hope. Just love. You sat up fully and cupped his face in both of your hands. He leaned into your touch like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment.

“I never wanted the picket fence,” you whispered. “I’ve only ever wanted you.” He let out a shaky breath.

“You sure?” he asked quietly. “You sure that this– that I’m enough?”

You kissed him. Not to shut him up. Not to distract him. But because there were no words you could string together that could say ‘yes’ the way that your kiss could. He kissed you back with the same reverence as the very first kiss you shared, but there was something new beneath it. Relief. Gratitude. A quiet joy that threatened to overflow. When you pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours, eyes still closed for a moment more, like he was afraid that he was going to wake up from a dream if he opened them too soon.

“Is that a yes?” he murmured against your lips, and you could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was small. Shy almost. Disbelieving.

“That’s a hell yes,” you replied. The smile that broke across his face made his eyes crinkle at the corners, and you could visibly see the tension fall away from his shoulders.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer until you were practically laying on top of him, your foreheads touching as your breaths mingled in the space between you. This close, you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. The tiny scar above his eyebrow. The freckles that scattered across his nose like constellations.

He pulled you down to him, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheek, your jaw. Any part that he could reach. You could tell in the way his hands trembled that there was a part of him that couldn’t believe it. But he still held you like you were a promise he intended to keep.

And in the circle of his arms, you knew without a doubt that you didn’t need the picket fence. You didn’t need the two-point-five kids. You didn’t need the whole apple pie life. Not if you had him.

Dean Winchester never half-assed anything.

And he sure as hell wasn’t going to start with love.

---

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Dean taglist: @jollyhunter @aylacavebear @globetrotter28 @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @maddie0101 @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind @kiddieclaws @mostlymarvelgirl @rurwu @imalapdog @losers-clvb @zyra-7 @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @alexfms97 @jbear750 @tinysnacklefan @chevroletdean @pisces-celeste @springflwer07

Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!

[caprisunnydays]

Stardew Valley x Reader Bachelor Headcanons

Alex

Before you and Alex got together, you probably became long time friends

He was def like "damn they hot" but then when it became more than just that he was like "DAMN THEY'RE HOT"

It's been a bit since he's felt those silly little butterflies, it genuinely makes him nervous

Que him leaning against a wall like "Hey bbg" but he's sweating bullets

After his confession, he feels much better, and the nervous air that only you could really pick up on has disappeared

Very PDA, arm is always around you, probably not in the back pocket but if he's tipsy enough then boom it appears

Insists on going in the mines with you but saw a slime and wanted to dip so bad but you protected him <3

"Heh...I totally wasn't scared. Don't worry babe I'll protect you" nah boy

He feels his heart melt every time he sees you and Evelyn baking together, or her just acting like your grandma

Even George has become a grandpa figure, giving advice with alex or general things

Alex is secretly insecure about himself, but with you, he finds room to grow as a person and find that those worries are unwarranted

Though he doesn't say it often, you make him feel seen, and he truly appreciates that

Elliot

(Personal fav right now so I'm about to go OFF)

If you picked romance for his book he's imagining you both as the main characters

Not a complete parallel because he's like "can't be creepy" but a teensy bit

Speaking of "can't be creepy" he has written multiple sonnets about you since realizing his feelings

Unlike some of the other bachelors, he embraces his feelings more, using his passion to inspire his writing and other endeavors

Heavy on the gifts and courting stuff

Gives you love poems at least once a week he has so many piled up but he doesn't wanna go overboard

Says the sappiest things all the time with this love struck look in his eyes

PRETTIEST MANNNNN

Words of affirmation kinda guy, he's poetic like that

Leah pokes at him for being a simp but mans could not care less he's proud

Picks out pretty sea shells that wash up on the shore and gives them to you, and they're always intact!

Big fan of the flower dance and looks forward to getting to dance with you in front of the entire town! maybe your worst nightmare but he's just happy to show you off (and his dancing skills lol)

Speaking of which, mans is gonna teach you how to waltz and a bunch of other old timey dances

At some point he WILL show up in the pouring rain to profess his love, or give you flowers, or both

You're like "Elliot we're literally dating was this necessary and he's like "OF COURSE MY DEAR"

He'd love heartstopper

Harvey

Insert too sweet by Hozier

Silly little doctor guy tries to avoid you but can't help but be drawn to you

He sees you running around doing your daily tasks, and just watches you from afar from the window of the doctor's office

Maru notices and tells you to come in sometime cuz her boss ain't gonna get nowhere by himself

When you start coming in more often he can feel himself die of embarrassment when he fails to make interesting conversation

Is very worried about your health though and fusses when you pass out in the mines/street

He gets even more adamant about you taking care of yourself once he's confessed

Way less nervous though!

Looks at you with adoration eyes when you do anything

Tipsy Harvey is a cute Harvey because he starts spilling his guts on how often he thinks of you

Whenever you're not busy with work he appreciates you stopping by the office, just to talk about both of your days

He yaps to everyone about you btw

Doesn't mean to but when someone brings you up he's like "oh yes me and my partner love to-" or "my partner loves-" etc etc

I used to not be a fan but he's such a sweetiepie

Sam

"I just love a guy who plays guitar <3" - u @Sam

That's it

I JEST

Originally he's like "hey come and hang out with me, Sebastian, and Abigail"

Then you start coming over and it's just you both alone

He's not creepy about it, just wants to spend time with you one on one

Loves showing you the songs he works on and if you want he'll show you how to play guitar too!

He's also happy with how well you get along with Jodi, always trying to get you both to bond, it makes him feel nice that you feel like you're apart of the family

Once y'all are together he does sneak you in anytime he gets the chance

He'll text you like "come over" You : I've gotta be up at 6am Him : "PLZPLZPLZPLZ-"

OG golden retriever bf

You both go shopping at Joja at 3am for fun and goof off

Or go run around in the forest taking aesthetically pleasing pintrest photos

Sebastian

You can't tell me he's not an arctic monkeys kinda guy so insert R U Mine? By Arctic Monkeys

It took him time to warm up to you

When he did you became one of the few people he could hang out with after a long day of socializing and not feel drained around

I can see him doing things that aren't always super platonic and thinking he wants to do them because

"Platonically" holding your hand, cuddling, etc

At town events he stands all close to you, complaining about how much he hates it, but showing disappointment when you mention leaving

Everyone's like are y'all dating and he goes NO way too fast

When you both finally ARE together though he's actually much less affectionate and public, but it doubles when you're in the comfort of his basement room

Finds the most joy in keeping you trapped in his bed with him until noon when you say you should be working on your farm

Especially in the colder months, then you can also share his mom's pumpkin soup

He's almost catlike with his affection

Another guy you run around and take aesthetically pleasing pintrest photos with, but his are more grunge esk

"Accidentally" leaves his hoodies at your place but he likes seeing you in em

I imagine that the characters have those closets filled with the same outfit, so when you try and give him his stuff back he goes "nah" and whips out his 100th hoodie

Shane

PACK IT UP SAVIOUR COMPLEX I mean what who said that

After you rescue him from the depths of his depressive alcoholism, he feels guilty for having feelings for you

Part of it is because he's like "fuck do I actually like them or is it just cuz they basically saved my life" and partly because it feels painfully stereotypical

Not a lot changes, though he is a lot more open to you then he is with other people, even with Marnie

Helps out with your chickens when he has free time

Talks to them about his problems and once you almost walked in on him ranting about his feelings for you (bro was shook)

But once he's confessed, well, he's still insecure about some things, but accepts your help with stride

Jealous easily, but tries not to show it

Acts of service kinda guy, so if you need him to run an errand while you're swamped with farm work? He's on it

Pulls up to your farm with a bunch of snacks and a bag full of movies for you to pick from

He sets it up while you take a shower to wash all the grime and dirt off from a days work so you can just come and cozy up on the couch with him

You're also basically besties with Jas, such a sweet girl, always asks you to play jump rope with her

You both go "say no to drugs" to her l o l

Marnie is also now your bestie so even when she's not working you can get stuff from the shop #WIN

I loooooove stardew valley it's so cool so great

[gunnerfc]

Ours | Jenni Hermoso x Reader x Alexia Putellas (18+) [Tuesday]

Summary: Your girlfriends don’t like how comfortable guys are when it comes to flirting with you but you use it to your advantage to make them jealous

Warnings: bottom reader, top jenni and alexia, strap use (r receiving), strap sucking/throat fucking (& gagging), oral (jenni receiving), jealousy, r being called “good girl,”  “bebita,” “whore”, r calling jenni “mommy” and alexia “daddy”, alexia spits in reader’s mouth lol, hair pulling, some drinking, spanking

WC: 2.6k

AN: I didn’t specify which teammates in this fic so this could either be while out with the Spain team or it could be when Jenni played for Barça!

Night After Night masterlist

You giggled as you leaned against the bar, your breathing labored from the dancing. You were out with the team celebrating a big win and you haven’t left the dance floor since you stepped foot in the club. The loud music blared around the packed club, bodies pressed tightly against each other as they danced. It was nice to let go for an evening before jumping back into football.

You signaled for the bartender, quickly ordering your drink before turning to rest your back against the bar. Your eyes landed on the small group of your teammates still sitting down, your focus landing on your girlfriends immediately. You, Jenni, and Alexia have been together for a few years now after the three of you hooked up during a break. You loved being with both of them and couldn’t see yourself with anyone else.

You were pulled from your thoughts when your drink was placed next to you and you quickly turned to thank the bartender. You hummed when you took a sip, the alcohol burning slightly as it went down your throat. You didn’t drink often but you figured why not after the win. You sat your drink down after finishing it just as the space next to you became occupied. 

“You come here often,” a male voice shouted over the loud music catching you by surprise. He wasn’t unattractive but given that he wasn’t either of your girlfriends, he wasn’t your type.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the generic line and offered a polite smile, “Yeah,” you yelled back, trying to keep the conversation quick. But you quickly realized it wasn’t going to be when he slid closer to you, as he leaned his side against the bar. 

“Damn, I can’t believe I never saw you before. I definitely would have remembered you,” he smirked in a way he thought was attractive but actually wasn’t. You took a deep sigh but before you could respond, the stranger was speaking again.

“You here with anyone? Wanna dance,” he tried to flirt, but his inability to see you were visibly uninterested made you groan to yourself.

“Actually, I am,” you politely smiled once more, your eyes drifting back to where your girlfriends were sitting. Your eyes widened slightly when you found them both glaring at your current interaction. They never were ones to hide their jealousy. 

An idea popped into your head when you remembered how they both turned down sex to focus on the big game, leaving you high and dry to pleasure yourself. You smirked as you turned back to the man at the bar, a mischievous glint in your eye.

“But, I don’t think they’ll mind if we have one dance,” you tried to flirt back but it didn’t sound flirtatious at all, not that the stranger could tell the difference. He shared your smirk before offering you a hand, pulling you to the dance floor just as the music changed to something more sensual.

Jenni and Alexia sat with their jaws clenched and arms crossed as your back became flushed with the man’s front, swaying to the beat of the music. They knew you were doing it on purpose as they watched you throw glances their way every so often.

“Y/n looks like she’s having fun,” they heard from the table, though they were too focused on you to care who said it. Alexia’s fists clenched under the table when the man leaned his mouth to your neck, seemingly leaving kisses on your skin.

Alexia was the first to break as she stood up, cursing as she did so. Jenni was quick to follow the midfielder, her angry levels rising with each step they took toward you. Alexia reached her hand out to pull you away from the man you were dancing with, surprising both of you in the process.

“Woah, what’s your problem,” the man, whose name you still didn’t know, growled. Neither Alexia nor Jenni responded, instead sending him a harsh glare as they pulled you to the exit. 

He didn’t bother chasing after you, deciding he could find someone else to dance with. You tried your best to hide your smile as your girlfriends pushed you toward the car. Jenni was silent as she opened the back door, her focus on anything but you as Alexia put you in the backseat. Normally, two of you would sit in the back while the third drove, but tonight they left you in the backseat by yourself. 

You squeezed your legs together to offer some relief to the growing need between your thighs. The car ride was deadly silent, the car filled with tension that you knew would result in them having their way with you. You swallowed lightly when you arrived back at your shared apartment and your girlfriends pulled you from the car. 

The silence was starting to get to you as neither of them spoke the entire elevator ride up. Your breathing picked up when the doors opened to your floor and the three of you made your way down the long hallway. Jenni took her time unlocking the front door, purposely drawing things out to have you squirming.

Jenni pushed the door open before you were pushed inside, Alexia’s hand hitting your ass to move you. You bit back a moan at the feeling of her large hands on your body but quickly entered the apartment, your desire growing rapidly. You shoved your shoes off to make things easier but groaned softly when both Alexia and Jenni took their time removing their shoes and jackets. 

“Bedroom, now,” was the first thing Alexia said since you left the club, her jaw locked as she nodded her head in the direction of the bedroom. “And your clothes off by the time we get there,” Jenni finished, her voice more commanding than Alexia’s.

You quickly nodded your head and took off to the bedroom, stripping your clothes the second you were through the door. You threw them to the floor aimlessly and sat on the edge of the bed as you waited for the two of them to join you. You could feel how wet you were as your thighs flexed impatiently. Alexia joined you first, hands carrying bottles of water for you later.

Her eyes shamelessly raked over your body as she sat the bottles down on the dresser in front of the bed. You looked up at her with arousal clouding your vision as you waited for her to touch you. The midfielder raised a hand to move your hair behind your ear before moving to grip your jaw. Your chest moved a bit faster than normal at her touch, your legs tensing ever harder as you grew even wetter.

“You’ve been bad tonight, bebita,” her low voice sent shivers down your spine as she let go of your jaw with a harsh shove. 

Jenni joined you just as Alexia took a step back, her eyes doing the same as Alexia’s. They were back to giving you the silent treatment as they shed their clothes, throwing them to join yours on the floor. Your eyes flicked back and forth between them as you checked them out, licking your lips as you took in their muscles. You watched as they made a beeline to the nightstand to pull out two of the bigger straps they had. Your body jerked subconsciously at the thought of them fucking you with them.

“Hands and knees, whore,” Jenni ordered, “your head facing the end of the bed,” she pointed with a raised eyebrow. 

You listened to her words as you rushed into the position they wanted you in. Your hands rested right on the edge of the bed as you waited for them to do anything to make you cum. You tried your best to watch them harness the toy around them from the angle you were in but it was no use. Your breath hitched when you were face to face with the large strap on attached to Alexia’s hips. 

You felt the bed dip behind you as Jenni joined you, her hands running along your back before stopping on your hips. “You’re already so wet and we haven't even touched you. It’s not from him is it, bebita,” Jenni mocked from behind you when she ran the tip of the strap on through your folds. 

You moaned at the feeling before shaking your head. “Answer her properly,” Alexia fumed as she grabbed your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

You gulped softly before a small “No Mommy” fell from your lips. Jenni smirked at the lowness of your voice, knowing you were already regretting dancing with the stranger. Without warning, the forward pushed the toy attached to her hips into you until her body was flush with yours. You gasped loudly at the feeling, your hips pushing back against her as best as they could.

Jenni’s tight grip on your hips kept you from moving how you wanted and she stayed buried deep in you without moving for a moment. You whined softly when she refused to move but your whining was cut short when Alexia’s strap was pushed into your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks as you breathed out from your nose that was practically touching Alexia’s abdomen. 

Neither of them moved to give you a moment to adjust to the sizes, they might been upset with you but they wouldn't do anything to hurt you. You moved your head back slightly to suck on the toy in your mouth to show you were good, a small gagging noise escaping you. 

They both took that as a sign to start moving. Jenni pulled out of you slightly before roughly pushing back in, her hips hitting your body with a small slap. Her grip on your hips tightened as her speed picked up, the strap on that was buried within you hitting deep. 

Alexia pulled out of your throat slightly before thrusting it back in, causing you to gag around the toy. Your eyes watered slightly at the feeling but you took it in stride as you held on tightly to the cover beneath your hands. The midfielder's tight hold on your hair kept you where she wanted as she thrust her hips forward. 

Being fucked from both ends like this had your head spinning as they both roughly thrust into you. Jenni's strap on roughly hit that familiar spot inside you, earning what sounded like a moan, though with Alexia's strap in your mouth, it sounded muffled. The sounds of your gagging mixed with the lewd sounds of Jenni fucking you echoed around the room making both of them fuck you harder. 

You could feel yourself closer to letting go as Jenni railed into you from behind and she knew it based on the way you were pushing against her. “Do you wanna cum, bebita,” Alexia sarcastically chuckled above you as her hips snapped forward. You did your best to nod, another muffled moan fell from your mouth. 

Alexia’s strap was roughly pulled from your mouth, earning a small cough as she tilted your head up. You had tears threatening to spill from your eyes and saliva coating your lips when your eyes met hers, earning a big smirk from the midfielder. “I said, do you wanna cum,” she mocked with a raised eyebrow.

“Y-yes, daddy! Wanna cum so bad, please,” you cried as Jenni’s hips snapped against yours. A loud moan fell freely from your mouth this time as your head hung and your arms wobbled. 

“You’re such whore,” Alexia laughed sarcastically as she lifted your head with the grip she had on your hair. She ran her thumb along your bottom lip before pushing the digit into your mouth for you to suck. Before you could really comply, she pulled her thumb from your mouth but forced your mouth open. 

She leaned down some before spitting in your mouth, “swallow,” she ordered and you quickly listened. She smirked to herself at how well you listened before her lips were on yours, easily winning dominance over you. You did your best to maintain the kiss but with Jenni roughly fucking you, it was hard to not moan.

“Be a good girl and cum,” Jenni demanded from behind you as her hips stuttered slightly as she watched you make out with Alexia. It didn’t take long before you pulled out of the kiss and a loud whiny moan fell from your lips as you came on her strap. Jenni’s hips didn’t stop as she fucked you through your orgasm, pulling you closer to a second before pulling out.

You whined at the loss of contact from both of them and you were pulled to sit up on your knees. Jenni turned your head to lock lips with you, her tongue entering your mouth to explore as her hands ran up the front of your body. You moaned into the kiss when her hands groped your breasts, pulling at your hardened nipples before she broke the kiss.

Jenni quickly unharnessed the toy around her waist that was now covered in your cum and threw it to the floor. She made herself comfortable against the pillows at the head of the bed as her legs spread. “Be a good little whore and make mommy cum,” she said with a shaky breath, fucking you brought her close to an orgasm. 

You listened as you turned to lay between her thighs, your hands hooking around them as you licked slowly up her dripping folds. The forward’s head fell back as she tangled her hands in your hair, her hips rolling against your face as you kept your mouth on her. You felt Alexia’s large hands grab your hips, pulling your lower half up to rest on your knees as she ran a finger through your still soaked cunt. 

You moaned into Jenni, sending vibrations coursing through her body and earning a low groan from her. You moaned again when you felt Alexia thrust her strap into you until she bottomed out. She didn’t waste any time before her hips were snapping against yours, once again hitting that familiar spot. You sucked harshly on Jenni’s sensitive clit as Alexia’s hand slapped your ass, the sound of her hand hitting your skin filling the room.

You kept your movements steady as Alexia fucked you and occasionally spanking you, the room feeling hotter than ever. Jenni’s hips rolled up and faltered as she was close to letting go, your mouth and chin soaked with her cum. You toppled over the edge when Alexia landed a particularly rough spank to your ass and you moaned loudly into Jenni’s core, bringing her over the edge with you. 

Alexia pulled her strap from you before she took it off and threw it to join Jenni’s on the floor. Jenni let go of your hair as she stared up at the ceiling as she tried to catch her breath. You were once again pulled up to rest on your weak knees as Alexia’s lips were on yours once again. The midfielder moaned at the taste of Jenni on your lips before she pulled back to reach for one of the bottles of water behind her.

“Drink up, bebita. We aren't done with you, yet,” she smirked as she handed you the bottle.

You took a few sips before handing it back to her and let your girlfriends guide you into whatever position they wanted you in. You might have regretted dancing with the guy at the club at first but as your girlfriends made you cum multiple times that night, you were glad you did it. Even if it meant you were sore and could hardly walk the next morning.

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

EXFIL -07 | Pairing: Captain Price x Sgt!Reader

Her eyes snap open, her head spinning. Her body feels heavy, disoriented. She takes in her surroundings, squinting through the dim light, but all she sees is blackness—a room so dark, the air itself seems suffocating. Panic floods her chest, and she instinctively tugs at her restraints. Her wrists are bound, her body stuck to the cold metal of the chair, the ropes digging into her skin. Her breath hitches, rapid, as she shifts her shoulders, trying to break free.

She can’t move.

The only sound is her own shallow breathing, loud and frantic in her ears. The world feels like it’s spinning out of control. Where am I?

Suddenly, she hears movement. Footsteps, one after the other, from the corners of the room. Figures emerge from the shadows, ghostly shapes in the gloom.

Price. Soap. Ghost. Gaz.

They all stand at different points in the room, their silhouettes haunting her in the dim light. She can’t tell how long she’s been here—48 hours? More? It doesn’t matter now. Her stomach twists. What do they want from me?

Her heart races when she sees him. Price. Standing right in front of her. His eyes cold, unreadable, like nothing has changed between them, like he isn’t the man she once tried so hard to understand. She tries to back away, even though she knows it’s futile. The chair scrapes against the floor, but she can’t escape. Her body is trapped. Her voice is smothered by the gag in her mouth.

No...

She struggles against her restraints, but it’s hopeless. The gag muffles her screams as her mind races. Price stares at her, his gaze unwavering. She’s stuck. Helpless.

Soap steps forward, his voice a low rumble in the silence. “You thought you could pull this off? You think you could just walk away, leave us all behind?”

What have I done?

Her body shakes with adrenaline, but she’s too far gone now. They know. They know everything. And as the minutes tick by, her mind begins to crack.

Then, the lights flicker to life, and the harsh glow blinds her for a second. She feels her heart lurch in her chest as a screen flickers to life in front of her. The footage starts—Alex—his familiar face appears on the monitor. The camera angle shifts, showing Alex stepping into the safehouse. He’s alive.

He’s alive.

Her pulse pounds in her throat, but as she watches the footage play out, a sick realization sinks in. Price, Ghost, Soap—they all know. They know where Alex is, and they know what she’s done.

A sickening thought claws at her chest. They’re going to kill him.

Her heart drops to her stomach. She struggles harder against the ropes, trying to shout through the gag, but her voice is still muffled, useless. The feeling of dread deepens as Price approaches her. His hands move deliberately as he yanks the gag from her mouth, his grip like iron on her chin.

She gasps, frantic, desperate for air. “No, you can’t—please.”

Price’s voice is dark and low. “You thought this was just a little game, didn’t you? We gave you the benefit of the doubt. But now, we have to have a civil discussion.” His fingers tighten on her jaw. “And you’re going to answer my questions. Or I’ll put a bullet in your head right here and now.”

Her breath hitches. “You—you can’t do this. You can’t—”

“I can,” Price interrupts, voice dangerously calm. “And you’re going to tell me everything. Every damn thing you’ve been hiding.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but his hand slaps across her face with brutal force, cutting off the words. She stumbles in the chair, dizzy from the blow, her mind whirling.

“Tell us where he is,” Soap demands, his eyes burning with anger. “Where is he, huh?”

Price steps back, watching her like a predator. “Get her up,” he commands, and Ghost and Gaz move quickly, yanking her to her feet. Her body is weak, battered from the last few days. Her head spins, her limbs feel like they’re made of lead.

They drag her outside, the chill of the air biting at her skin as they throw her to the ground. She doesn’t even have the energy to fight back. Her bruised body trembles as they force her to kneel in front of a water basin, the clear water reflecting the moonlight.

No, please. Don’t do this.

They shove her face down into the water. The cold hits her skin first, then the water floods her lungs. She gasps, trying to breathe, but she’s drowning—choking, sputtering, her body writhing in desperation. The pressure on her chest is unbearable. She can feel the cold creeping into her bones, and every instinct screams at her to survive.

“Where’s Alex?” Ghost growls, his hand on her back, pushing her deeper into the water.

Her mind races. She can’t breathe. She’s suffocating.

“Please,” she gasps, barely able to speak. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything.”

They pull her out of the water, her body shaking violently, water dripping from her hair and clothes. She can barely focus, her thoughts clouded with fear, her chest still burning from the lack of air.

“Talk,” Price commands, his voice thick with authority.

She stammers out the information, her mind unraveling with each word. She tells them everything she’s done—everything she knows about the leak, the plan, Alex. Her heart races with each confession, hoping that maybe, just maybe, they’ll forgive her. But their faces are unreadable.

Her knees hit the ground hard, skin splitting on gravel, blood mixing with the muddy earth. She chokes, coughing up water and bile, her body trembling violently from the cold, from the pain, from everything. Her clothes cling to her, soaked, filthy. Every breath is a sob.

Price stands over her. His shadow swallows her whole.

She lifts her head, barely able to hold it up. Blood trickles from her lip. Her voice is cracked, ruined. “Don’t kill him,” she rasps.

No one speaks.

She drags herself forward, clawing at the dirt like a broken animal, until she’s close enough to wrap her arms around Price’s legs. She presses her face to his thigh, her voice muffled against his pants.

“I’ll give you whatever you want.” Her fingers curl around his knees. “Please. I’ll stay. I’ll be yours. Just let him go. Please.”

His jaw tightens. He doesn’t move.

She presses her forehead to his knee like a prayer, her body trembling. “I’ll never leave again. I’ll do anything you say. I’ll kneel, I’ll crawl, I’ll be quiet. You can keep me. Lock me up. Just let him go.”

Price looks down at her like she’s something pitiful. Something already gone.

“You’re begging,” he says flatly.

She nods, eyes wide and soaked with tears. “Yes. I’m begging you.”

“Why should I believe a word you say?”

“Because I loved you!” she screams, the words torn from her like they’re killing her. “I loved you, and I chose you. I chose you over everything. And I—I would’ve kept choosing you if you hadn’t buried me alive.”

There’s a flash in his eyes—recognition, regret, rage. It’s gone just as fast.

She shifts on her knees, crawling closer, like a supplicant at the altar. Her hands slide up his thighs, not out of seduction but complete surrender. “Take it out on me. Not him. Let him go and you can break me any way you want. Just don’t kill him.”

He stares down at her.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” she whispers. “Me—on my knees. Helpless. Yours.”

He exhales slowly. His voice is ice.

“You were always mine. That was never the problem.”

Her eyes shine. “Then let me prove it.”

Price reaches for the sidearm. She flinches but doesn’t run. Doesn’t plead again. She just closes her eyes, whispering, “Just don’t tell him. Don’t tell him what I did.”

There’s a pause. For a moment, it feels like the world stops spinning.

Then—

Bang.

The breeze was gentle. Almost mocking.

She lay still on the grass, the blood beneath her soaking into the dirt like the earth itself wanted to swallow her sins. Her body was twisted in that final, crumpled shape — head turned just enough that her open eyes caught the dawn light.

Price stood a few feet away, the weight of the pistol still heavy in his hand.

No one spoke.

Soap was staring at her. Not with pity. Not with anger. Just that blank, shell-shocked stare that soldiers wear when they’ve crossed another line they can’t uncross.

Ghost muttered something under his breath and turned away.

Gaz kept his distance.

Price exhaled slowly and stepped toward her. The grass crunched under his boots. He crouched beside her, not like a man grieving, but like a man checking for gear.

Her side holster was empty. She hadn’t even tried to go for it.

He reached into her pocket and pulled out the matchbook.

Same brand she used since their first date. He flicked it open. Just two left.

He took one, struck it.

Lit his cigar.

Held the flame for a second longer than he needed to, watching it burn down to his fingertips before letting it die.

The second match, he left tucked inside her hand.

“You wanted out,” he said lowly, voice barely above a whisper. “Now you are.”

He stood.

“Burn the site,” he told Ghost.

They walked away as the wind picked up.

The grass swayed.

She didn’t.

FIN.

[rustyzebra]

Steaming Up The Windows

Emily Prentiss x Reader

Smut MDNI!

Posted on A03

2k+ words

Gif by @storiesofsvu

How would you and the CM woman of your choice keep warm while being stuck in the BAU van during a snowstorm?

(Working on the other lovely women currently. They'll slowly be added. Each will have the same prompt but different outcomes. JJ, Elle, Alex and Tara on the way.)

(Thank you to @storiesofsvu and @whiteberryx for helping me with the ideas)

The group was hot on the unsubs case. The last piece of evidence was found, and you left for the unsubs residence and workplace. Emily and you were on the way to his residence. You both vested up and grabbed your winter coats.

It was early January; the snow was whipped around in a frenzy. The weather statement today said it would drop well below freezing in the early hours of the evening. Even so, there was still a psychopath to catch.

The snowstorm that was said to hit the city was in full force. Emily drove as quickly as she could, trying not to spin out. Eventually, arriving at the residence, you call Hotch, letting him know you came. You both scoped his place out, thoroughly checking every room, only to find the place empty.

"Clear!" You both called out. You called Hotch, letting him know the unsub wasn't here. That was until Emily heard an engine revving outside. Emily and you bolted out the door to your van.

"Hotch, the unsub is on the move; we have eyes on him now!" Emily says as she buckles up quickly. You hop in the seat next to Emily and buckle up, readying your gun if needed.

You tell Hotch the direction the unsub is going while tailing him.

"Fuck, the weather is too bad! I wouldn't be able to get a clean shot of the tires!" You say as Emily starts to close into the Unsub. Emily drove nearly alongside the unsub, trying to ram him off the road. Emily almost had him until the van hit something under a snowbank. You both felt some tires pop as you spun out.

You hear the unsub get away as the van finally stops spinning.

"You ok?" Emily says as she tries to catch her breath.

"Y...Yeah, I'm good." You could feel the adrenaline coursing through your body.

You called Hotch, letting him know what happened. You don't know exactly where you are since the unsub lived remotely. Hotch said the unsub could be on his way to one location they found. Most likely, the ones he's using to hold the women hostage. He was on his way there with Rossi and Reid.

You hung up the phone and sighed.

"Looks like we're stuck here until they can find us." I groan in exasperation.

"I'm sure they'll catch that bastard. Now I want to see the damage." Emily hops out and walks around the car. Once she's done scouting the car, she returns, slightly shivering.

"Damn, it's cold out there." She says while rubbing her hands together. "Looks like we hit a whole lot of discarded barbed wire. Three of our tires are done for." Emily sighs.

"Are you serious? Shit." I lean back in the front seat.

A few hours later, we received a call saying they had caught the guy. They got Penelope to ping our location, but it'll take a while before help could come. The storm was getting worse.

"Hotch, are you kidding? We're stuck in this van until morning?" Emily said in disbelief.

Unfortunately, Hotch was right. The storm made any kind of travel or driving nearly impossible. We'd have to wait out the storm until morning.

"Hotch said there should be at least a blanket in the trunk." You said just after hanging up. You leave the van to check and grab the "blanket." Walking back to the front and getting in, you unfold it only to realize it was only big enough to cover one person's lap.

"Blanket, my ass," Emily says while rolling her eyes.

A few more hours go by, and the temperature starts dropping. You begin to shiver now and then. Emily looks over to see you trying to curl up with that laughable excuse of a blanket.

"Hop in the backseat; we can stay warmer if we sit together," Emily says as she crawls over the center console to get to the back, waiting for you to join her. You crawl back with her and sit beside her, trying to share the small blanket as best as possible.

You feel Emily pull you closer by your waist, and a jolt of electricity shoots through your spine. She left her arm there, still wrapped tightly around your waist. You've had your fair share of bickering and closeness, but never this close.

Eventually giving in to the warmth, you lean your head to lay on her shoulder. Emily was nice and warm; it eventually lulled you to sleep. A couple hours later, you wake up colder than before. Your eyes flutter open; the sky outside is dark.

There is a weight on your head; looking up, you see Emily's head resting on top of yours. A blush grows on your face. You pull the blanket up higher, trying to keep the warmth in. Doing so, you feel Emily shift and mumble.

"Are you still cold?" Emily whispers in a gravelly voice.

Your breath hitches; you've never heard Emily sound like this. The only thing you could muster was a nod. Emily pulled away for a second to unzip her jacket and wrap one side around you. Pulling you closer, you were now nearly sitting on her lap.

"Emily, you'll get cold," I say softly.

"Then you'll just have to stay closer to me." Emily raises an eyebrow with a slight smirk.

She beckons you to sit closer to wrap her coat around you. Sitting in her lap facing her, trying to suck in as much warmth as possible.

"Better?" You hear her words rumble from her chest.

Nodding your head as you lay it back on her shoulder.

"What time is it?" You mutter against her shirt.

Emily pauses for a moment while checking her phone. It's the early hours of the morning already.

"About 2 am. Unfortunately, we still have plenty of time before they come for us." Emily subconsciously starts rubbing your back.

"Try to get some sleep," Emily says while leaning her head back on top of yours.

Trying your best to drift back off to sleep, you couldn't. Your eyes refused to stay closed; you were far too cold to sleep. Nuzzling in closer in the crook of Emily's neck, you breathe in her scent. She always smelt good.

"Can't sleep." Mumbling against the skin of her neck.

You could have sworn Emily shivered, not from the cold but because of your lips gently grazing against her skin. Shifting on your knees, you were starting to get slightly uncomfortable, one of your knees slotted between Emily's thighs, finally finding a comfortable position. You place your weight down only for Emily to shift positions simultaneously.

Her thigh puts the right amount of pressure at the apex of your thighs. A whimper accidentally slips out. You freeze with your eyes wide, praying she didn't hear it. A moment went by, and you thought maybe she didn't listen to you, that was until her hands found your hips.

Your head shot up, eyes meeting hers. Her eyebrow is raised with a wide smirk on her lips.

"What was that?" Emily teased.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You looked out the rear window.

The hands on your hips pulled you down onto her thigh again; this time, the whimper slipped out on purpose. Emily leans in close to your ear.

"I may know of a way to help keep us both warm." Her hot breath against the cold shell of my ear sent shivers down the spine. All you could manage was a gulp.

"I don't want to force you, only if you want to," Emily says softly while moving your chin to look her in the eyes.

You thought for a moment. You did have feelings for Emily, but you never thought it would go past platonic. You knew taking this step meant the possibility of never returning to the way things were between you both.

"I... I am pretty cold." You say softly.

Emily chuckles softly before replying.

"I can see that. But if you want anything, I need consent, sweetheart."

Blushing softly, you hide your head in her neck. It's a little embarrassing to speak your mind. You eventually worked up the courage to tell Emily what you wanted.

"I want this… Emily." I mumble against the skin of her neck.

"So cute. You don't have to be so shy around me." Emily pulls my face up to look at her.

"There you are." She says softly. "Now, while looking at me this time. Are you sure you want this? You can back down, and it'll be like nothing happened."

You nod softly again. "I want this Em." You lean in and place a chaste kiss on her lips.

Emily was taken slightly aback by your bold move. She wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you closer as you wrap your arms around her neck, effectively deepening the kiss.

Emily's warm lips trailed down your jaw; you tried your best to keep quiet.

"Let out all the pretty noises you want, sweetheart; it's just us two here." Emily punctuates her sentence with a nip to the underside of your jaw. The moan that slipped past your lips was like music to Emily's ears.

"Just like that, sweetheart." Emily husks in between kisses.

"Fuck, you don't know how long I've been waiting for this." She continues as she trails kisses further down, slowly unzipping your jacket.

"Em" You bite your lip as you say her name.

"Just relax, sweet girl. Let me take care of you." Emily gently laid you back and straddled on top of you as best as she could. Your jacket was fully unzipped, and she placed her hands on the exposed bits of skin on your waist.

"Fuck, Em. Your hands are freezing." You hiss.

"Then warm them up for me." Emily raises her eyebrow and smirks.

Emily's hands move higher up while under your shirt. They run over your covered breasts, squeezing and massaging on top of your bra. More lewd sounds left your lips, and Emily continued. You feel her slip a hand under your bra, her fingertips ghosting across your erect nipples.

"Oh? Well, what do we have here?" Emily muses to herself, her smirk widening. Her fingers came in contact with a bit of metal.

"You know I never pictured you with nipple piercings," Emily says mostly to herself as she continues rubbing them.

"S..so you've pictured this before?" You tried to be snarky, but it came out more of a pitiful whine.

Emily's eyes darken as she leans in close to your ear.

"Of course, how could I not when you always look so…" Emily leans in to nip your ear. "So adorable. Just begging to be ruined."

You gulp at Emily's words. You've wanted this for just as long.

"I bet if I were to trail my fingers down, I'd see just how much you've wanted this too, huh?" Emily teases a finger at the hem of your pants.

Emily once again asked for consent. She waits for you to give her the go-ahead before she unbutton and unzips your pants. She gently slides a hand down underneath your panties. You let out a hiss as Emily's cold finger runs through your folds. She pulls out her hand to show you how wet you are already for her.

"Look at that. It looks like you want this; it's so naughty to be this wet for your coworker, hmmm?~" Emily teases.

She places her fingers in front of your mouth.

"That's my good girl. You're taking my fingers so well already, and I haven't even touched that pretty little cunt of yours yet." Emily mused while your tongue continued to swirl around her fingers.

"Suck." That was all Emily needed to say before she shoved her slick, covered fingers into your mouth.

Swirling your tongue around them as you taste yourself. A muffled moan leaves your lips.

Emily pulled her fingers out of her mouth and had you pull your pants down a little for easier access so you don't get as cold as completely stripping.

"Ready, sweetheart?" Emily asks again.

You nod and feel her fingers slowly sink into you. A moan leaves your body as she crooks her fingers up.

"Emily, p..please." You writhe against her fingers as they begin to pump in and out.

"Please, what?" Emily teased.

"Please .. harder." You say with a pant.

"Naughty girl," Emily whispers as she quickens her pace.

Her fingers work nimbly inside of you. Every time she crooks her fingers in a beckoning motion, you see stars.

"Em, I'm s..so close." You whimper into your hand."

"You want to cum, Sweetheart? You want to be my good girl and cum all over my fingers?" Emily husks in between thrusts.

Your eyes roll back at one intense flick at your clit, and your back arches off the car seat. Emily leans in close and kisses your jaw as your release closes in.

"Come on, be my good girl. Cum for me."

That was all you needed to hear before the coil in your stomach snapped and your climax washed over you. A loud moan ripped from your throat as your body felt on fire. Emily kept gently thrusting her fingers until you finished coming down from your high.

She gently pulls out of you as you try to catch your breath. Emily places her fingers in her mouth; a soft moan leaves her lips. She helps you get dressed again and pulls you close to her.

"Once we leave this damn broken-down car, I will fuck you properly," Emily whispers into your ear.

You can't help the whimper that left your lips.

"And I have to return the favour." You said cheekily.

"There will be plenty of time for that too." Emily's nuzzles against your neck.

You grab your dying phone to check the time. It was nearly 4 am. You sigh happily when you see a missed text from Hotch saying they were coming for you in a couple of hours now that the storm has died down.

"They'll be here in a couple of hours." You mumbled softly.

"Perfect, enough time for a nap." Emily chuckles against your neck.

"You better keep your promise, Em." You whisper.

"Oh, I don't go back on a promise." Emily placed a gentle kiss on your neck.

You chuckle and close your eyes. Falling asleep until you got the call that your team was close.

Pulling apart, you both go back to the front seats. You both were finally going home to your nice, warm beds. Well, one of your beds.

[h8thuc]

F1 × Stranger things rambling

@shieldofiron <- All credits to them for the idea

Steve Harrington grew up with garages bigger than most people's houses. Sleek, glistening cars lined up like trophies, the pride and joy of a man who was rarely ever home. Harrington Sr.—the world knew him as Alessandro “Alex” Harrington, the Italian racing legend. To Steve, he was a ghost. A phantom who called once in a month and always smelled of gasoline and distant lands when he did show up. Steve hated the cars at first. Endless rows, all polished to perfection, because his dad cares more about those than his own kid. He just wanted a shred of attention, but no. He hated how they took his dad away, how his mom would sit in front of the TV late at night with a glass of wine, staring at the screen where his dad was flashing a megawatt smile, champagne spraying everywhere. She’d always turn it off before the interviews, muttering something about "arrogant bastards."

Steve learned that being angry didn’t get him anything. The yelling matches and slammed doors when his dad was home only echoed back at him, empty and hollow. After he got older his mom went with his dad to the races, told him something about being closer to his dad but Steve heard enough screaming matches to know that his mom only went so that Alex wouldnt find someone younger and leave her. So, by high school, he just wanted something—recognition, validation, a flicker of acknowledgment that he existed. He became King Steve because being someone was better than being nobody. But even the crown of Hawkins felt like a hollow victory.

Fast forward: Ten years later. Steve grows up, and he’s, like, fine, but also not fine. He’s the guy everyone expects to coast through life because of his dad’s name, but no one realizes he actually worked his ass off to get where he is because he had to prove he wasn’t just "Alex Harrington’s son." And suddenly he’s on the F1 circuit. He’s fast. He’s really fast. And, surprise, he’s good at it. Better than good. Found something between tracks and rubber that isnt just bullshit or hollow promises.

‐---------

Billy Hargrove hadn’t thought about Steve Harrington in years. Not the rich kid with the perfect hair, not the way he’d strutted around like he owned the world. No, Billy had been too busy surviving—scraping by in auto shops and side gigs, living out of his Camaro or staying at Susans place after she broke things off with Neil. Billy and Maxs relationship was....tolerable. Billy sees Steve’s face plastered on a TV screen one random night in a bar. He’s mid-sip of a shitty beer, and suddenly there’s Harrington, all slicked-back hair and sharp jawline, stepping out of his car in a race suit that fits a little too well. He doesn’t even realize he’s gripping his beer so hard it’s about to shatter because all he can think is, No way. No. Freaking. Way. That’s King Steve. When he stumbled across a job listing for F1 mechanics—his first thought was, Yeah, right. But the paycheck? That caught his eye. And besides, Billy knew cars. He could strip an engine in his sleep, rebuild it better than new. He’d prove himself.

He didn’t expect to see Steve Harrington on his first day. The first time they actually see each other again, it’s something. Steve turns around mid-conversation, sees Billy standing there with a wrench slung over his shoulder, and his brain just blue-screens. Meanwhile, Billy’s over here acting all smug like, Oh, did I catch you off guard, Harrington?

(Still need to think about how much the upside down build into, maybe Harrington has some phantom pain after the Demo bats)

( Steve either went to his dads old Team or a newer one [would love for him to be in ferrari])

(Billy could either work in steves Team or in a rival one and he improves the car so Harrington needs to fight for the wins -> plant your feet)

Ferrari vs redbull -> (damn kind of want maybe do a modern au bc i need my babygirls Max and Charles people 😭🫰)

[tj-dragonblade]

[Fic] With Every Nerve Alive

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: E Word Count: 4623 Tags: Human AU, Mechanic Hob, Rich Guy Dream, brief appearance by Matthew, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, class dynamics, as a kink perhaps, sweat is sexy, so is automotive grease apparently, scent kink, detailed sexual fantasies, Dream of the Endless is intense and unhinged, questionable lube choices, within a fantasy don't worry, no one's really getting fingered with engine grease, sugar daddy-sugar baby fantasies, glass sex toys

Notes: Prequel/bookend to Customer Service. I realized that Hot Mechanic Hob needed Dream's pov to get the full effect, so this happened. Also fills my @dreamlingbingo square C1, 'Sugar Baby', a couple thousand words in. Title taken from Turbo Lover by Judas Priest

Summary: Dream Atelíotes is merely seeking car repairs from a reputable shop; he was not expecting to get punched in the libido by the most beautiful mechanic he could have imagined.

On AO3

~ "Alright, and what're we lookin' at her for?"

"The clutch. Is not operating as expected; I fear I may have damaged it. Somehow."

Dream is grateful that the stout American behind the counter at Matthew's Motor Repairs does not pass any obvious judgement on this damning statement.

"Well, that definitely needs checking, then," he says instead, punching in notes on his computer terminal. "Hob'll be runnin' things for the next couple of weeks, lemme see when he can fit your girl in." He turns toward the half-open door that leads to the garage and yells.

"Hey Hob!"

"Yeah! Just a tic—"

"He'll definitely be able to find the problem and fix you up," the American is saying, but Dream pays him little mind, thinking ahead to schedules and obligations; the Porsche is not his primary means of transportation regardless. It had been a gift from Alex that he'd kept after the breakup, primarily out of spite. He will say, when asked, that he drives it for fun, but truthfully the manual transmission does not come easily to him and the car suffers for it. He is considering selling it, perhaps once the satisfaction of knowing how Alex seethes to see him with it has worn down—

"What's up?"

Dream spares a glance for the man who's just entered through the doorway to the garage, and promptly loses his breath.

—Exquisite—

The man is beautiful, average height and slim sturdy build, dressed in grimy coveralls that are split just enough at the zip to glimpse the collar of a plain white tee beneath. There is a sheen of sweat on his forehead and when he wipes at it, still with a wrench in hand, he leaves a faint smudge of black grease behind. His hair is dark, longish, tied up in a messy bun on the back of his head with wisps straying loose about his face attractively. His eyes and his smile are warm, strong nose and chin, a few days' worth of beard growth giving him a wonderfully soft-rugged cast that sets Dream's mouth to watering.

The coverall sleeves are rolled and twisted up to his elbows; the forearms exposed are liberally covered with dark hair, skin a warm sunkissed golden brown beneath, shapely and corded with the strength that comes of manual labor, of hefting tires and torquing wrenches. Dream considers, quite despite himself, how those hands might fit around his waist, his hips; how easily this man might lift or manhandle him about in bed, and the heat that has risen in his loins stirs approvingly.

"Mr. Atelíotes here's got clutch troubles with his Porsche," the American is saying. "Think you'll have time to check it out?"

"Not right away, I'm afraid. How soon would you be needing her back?" the mechanic asks, directly to Dream, and oh, the full focus of that gaze is divine.

"I am in no hurry," he manages to reply, voice only marginally dipping down toward sultry. He is here to see about car repairs, not to flirt with the hot mechanic in front of an audience. He is an adult. He is well-versed in exercising all manner of self control.

The mechanic smiles, like a ray of sunshine, and Dream's self-control is tested.

"Okay then, I can probably get you looked at and fixed up toward the end of next week, if that works for you? Thursday or Friday, let's say." He slips the wrench that he's still holding into a pocket on his coveralls, drawing Dream's attention to the lower half of his body, how the zipper on the coveralls goes all the way down underneath, and he firmly corrals and muzzles the thoughts that arise. Later. Let him finish his business here before he embarrasses himself.

"Next week is just fine," he agrees.

"Excellent," the mechanic says, beaming brightly, and Dream's mouth goes dry.

He is so unfairly beautiful.

The mechanic is talking now to the American who is entering Dream's work order and Dream drinks in the sight of him greedily, committing every detail to memory—the brush of silver at his temples, the crows' feet blooming at the corners of his eyes with every smile, the dimple in his chin just visible as a darkening of the scruff that adorns his jaw so beautifully. His arm flexes prettily as he points to the screen with a black-stained fingertip and his voice is strong yet soft and warm like honey; Dream sneaks a glance at his backside when he turns to the printer and finds the suggestion of shapeliness beneath the loose fit of the coveralls. Dream imagines, helplessly, buttocks and strong thighs covered in hair to match those exposed forearms, and barely stifles a whimper.

This man is absolutely exquisite, and Dream wants him.

Badly.

"Alright, Mr. Atelíotes, let me get your signature here," the mechanic says cheerfully, oblivious to the tempest he has stirred within Dream as he hands him the printed work order and a pen.

Dream makes certain that their fingers brush as he takes it, noting the smudge of fingerprints left on the paper by the other.

He glances at the mechanic's name on the form as he signs. Hob Gadling. He tucks the name safely into the vault of his mind, hoarding it for later use.

"Give me a call on Thursday next week, we'll see where we're at," Hob Gadling is saying, handing him a business card and leaving another grey-black thumbprint on the corner of the white cardstock. Dream immediately thinks of such fingerprints against the pristine paleness of his own skin and swallows thickly.

"Thursday," he repeats. "I will call then, thank you." It is Monday, currently; a week and a half is quite reasonable for routine car repairs in a reputable shop, he is given to understand, and Matthew's Motor Repairs is consistently rated with four and five stars online. He is confident that he has chosen well, especially when Hob Gadling smiles brightly while bidding him good day.

It is a good day indeed, for having met such a stunningly beautiful man.

~

He takes a cab home to Kensington, trying very hard to put his thoughts in order and focus on the week ahead, on his business meetings and the client proposal he's expecting on Friday. But his mind is full of brown eyes and warm smiles, hairy forearms and grease-stained hands, and his entire body finds these thoughts far more appealing than those of his day-to-day mundanities.

Hob Gadling lingers in his mind persistently, a siren call warming his blood and distracting him at the slightest provocation. Late afternoon finds him abandoning his office and retreating to his rooms, surrendering to the thoughts that have plagued him since his visit to Matthew's Motor Repairs this morning.

Hob Gadling—

He imagines how the smell of the shop might cling to the man, oils and gasoline and the sweat of his labor, intoxicating and inviting should Dream nuzzle in close. He imagines those hands with their black-stained fingertips, their work-roughened texture, sliding over his body. How might they feel against his skin, his chest, his thighs? On his tongue? He imagines the hungry light that might fill Hob Gadling's eyes, if Dream were to take those skilled fingers into his mouth and hold his gaze while sucking on them, tonguing lovingly at every crack and callous. He imagines those fingers dark all over with a thick layer of fresh grease, the mechanic holding them up with a smirk like a promise, turning Dream to lay on the bonnet of his car—or perhaps bending him over a stack of tires there in the garage, yes—and pushing those fingers inside him, deep and insistent and perfect while his other hand holds Dream down at the small of his back. Automotive lubricant is perhaps not sanitary or otherwise suitable for sexual use, but the heat-of-the-moment urgency of the idea appeals all the same.

He groans aloud at the thought of being fingered with the thick warm grease, the slide and drag and the way Hob Gadling's fingers would curve and press exactly right until Dream was shaking apart with pleasure, scrabbling at the rubber tread of the tires he's bent over. He imagines Hob Gadling murmuring complimentary filth above him—"You look so pretty with my fingers up your arse; bet you'd look even prettier speared on my prick"—as he comes and comes and comes.

Of course he wishes to have the mechanic's cock as well. He is certain it is full and glorious, a beautiful specimen that would fill him perfectly, touch every sweet spot within him and set him alight. He wants it in his hands, in his mouth, in his arse; he wants it any way he can have it.

He desperately wants to get fucked by Hob Gadling in his garage amongst his work, by Hob Gadling strong and sweaty and dirty in his element, vigorous and virile.

The car would perhaps be most comfortable for lying on his back, the better to see Hob Gadling's gorgeous face while taking his cock. He himself would be stark naked and the mechanic still in his coveralls, unzipped all the way to let his prick out. Dream imagines him naked beneath the grimy clothing; Dream envisions chest hair to match what was seen on his gorgeous arms. Dream imagines those arms sliding up along the bonnet beside him, bringing his legs with them until Dream is nearly folded double and breathless with the sweet pressure of the mechanic's dick inside him, pistoning deep and perfect.

Would Hob Gadling pick him up, like so much inventory to be moved about the shop? Would Hob Gadling fuck him standing upright, holding him as if he weighed nothing? He fantasizes about the strength in those forearms and biceps, of the way they would flex and hold, Dream's knees hooked in his elbows and those broad hands gripping his hips as the mechanic would bounce Dream up and down on his prick, Dream clinging around his neck and jack-knifed beautifully in his powerful arms.

He comes at the thought, face down on his knees in his bed with a toy vibrating steadily against his prostate as he strokes himself over the edge, and the orgasm is so intense that he loses all sense of space and time for a moment. The toy is still buzzing merrily when he comes back to himself and he fumbles for the remote beside him, turning it off without yet removing it. He rolls over, brings his messy hand to his face and licks. He wonders what difference he might taste between Hob Gadling and himself, imagines that he is licking Hob Gadling's spend from his hand instead of his own, imagines how those dark eyes and that lovely mouth would smile to see him do so, slow and lascivious.

He turns the toy back on.

His fantasies continue as the days progress. He imagines taking Hob Gadling into his mouth, tasting the sweat and the musk of him after working all day in the garage; he imagines lavishing his tongue all over the length of him, sucking and swallowing and milking him dry. He imagines Hob Gadling's work-roughened hands in his hair, combing through it, clenching tight as he spends into Dream's eager mouth.

He imagines Hob Gadling on his back on the low wheeled board that mechanics use for sliding beneath cars—he does not know its proper name, but he imagines opening Hob Gadling's coveralls while he is laid out on this board and riding him like a prize stallion there on the shop floor with the scent of his work and his sweat all around. He imagines the blackened smears Hob Gadling's hands might leave on him, on his hips, his waist, his arse.

He imagines Hob Gadling bending him over the bonnet of his Porsche, fucking him hard and fast and absolutely without mercy until he is screaming his pleasure, until he is so loud that the mechanic will cover his mouth to muffle the noise and simply fuck him harder still. He wants it, aches for it, imagines Hob Gadling's hands planted firm on his arse, squeezing, spreading him open for his pounding cock, leaving dirty smudges on both cheeks as they careen into orgasm together—

Dream comes under the warm cascade of his own rainfall shower, one hand braced against the sleek tiles while the other grips his pulsing cock tightly. He draws great gasping breaths of the humid air, mind barreling on even as his climax peaks and begins to subside. His mechanic in the shower with him after all of that, sudsy and slippery-wet beneath the spray, shedding the grease and grime of his workplace; his mechanic, pulling him in for a kiss, smelling now of soap more than sweat. The idea appeals, on more than one level, and will not be dislodged even as he dries and dresses for bed. He falls asleep at last to the thought of a scrubbed-clean Hob Gadling on his knees beneath the gently-pouring water, freshly-shampooed hair swept sleek and dripping back from his face and his smiling mouth wrapped around Dream's cock.

He wakes to the sun streaming in his window and lies alone in his spacious bed with drowsy thoughts of being kissed awake, of Hob Gadling's stubbled face and warm lips nuzzling against his cheek, of calloused hands with black-stained nailbeds petting down his sides and grasping his hips. Of Hob Gadling's strong shapely arms pulling him close, Hob Gadling's chest hair tickling his nose, Hob Gadling's heartbeat strong and steady beneath his ear.

He thinks of Hob Gadling following him about the kitchen as he fixes breakfast, imagines his mechanic in a borrowed robe that hits him mid-thigh and doesn't quite close over his chest. He does not currently own such a robe, but that does not matter to the fantasy. He imagines Hob Gadling draped warmly over his back in this too-small robe while he cooks, nuzzling kisses into the nape of his neck, purring about how he wants Dream for breakfast while dragging his calloused fingertips up the insides of Dream's bare thighs. Because of course Dream has merely thrown on a long shirt to cook for his lover, and of course his mechanic cannot keep his hands to himself, and of course Dream would like to be fucked over the kitchen worktop before breakfast.

It is a daring fantasy, this stranger in his home, infusing sex and affection into his daily routines, and Dream wants it with an intensity that is frightening.

He spins himself broader fantasies as the days become a week, of showing up to his mother's summer gala with Hob Gadling on his arm, a mere mechanic brought to an Atelíotes event. He dreams of engaging in increasingly indecent public displays with him where all the high society patrons would see, embarassing Mummy Dearest and igniting gossip that would haunt her for years. He would reward Hob Gadling handsomely for his part in the scandal, sexually, financially, both if he should like. Or perhaps he might offer Hob Gadling gifts and incentives without petty family business mixed in, lavish rewards simply for his affections and sexual attentions. The term 'sugar baby' is very much in line with his thoughts, if not entirely accurate; he is only forty himself and his mechanic had appeared to be in his mid-thirties at least. But that feeds into his story; Hob Gadling is well into adulthood and working in trade labor. Perhaps he never had the chance to go to university; perhaps he had grown up poor. Perhaps he might like to undertake a course of study now, if Dream were to offer to pay for such a thing, in thanks for how well-fucked his mechanic would keep him?

Perhaps he might gift Hob Gadling a luxury car like his Porsche, in return for the sexual services he should like to be provided. Perhaps he might buy him tailored suits, expensive clothes in the latest fashions. He is undeniably drawn to the grimy working-class vision that had been branded on his memory when dropping off his car, sweaty and grease-smeared and glowing with life, but he also imagines how stunning his mechanic might look cleaned up and dressed to the nines. Dream would like to wine and dine him at the finest restaurants in London, put him into a limousine after, open his perfectly-tailored trousers and sample his cock on the drive home. To Dream's home, of course, where he would take Hob Gadling to bed and offer up his body for his mechanic's use—which would be delightfully merciless, given how Dream had primed and teased and denied him with his mouth in the car.

Perhaps he might take Hob Gadling away with him on holiday, show him all manner of foreign destinations he would never have seen on his own; at each of them Hob Gadling would fuck him, in sumptuous hotel beds or private beach cabanas or the gleaming toilet stalls of michelin-starred restaurants, with every bit of skill and enthusiasm at his disposal—delighted to be Dream's kept man and eager to show his gratitude for all that Dream could provide.

Dream groans, dragging one hand down across his mouth and arched throat while the other works swiftly over his cock, writhing on his bed with his shirt undone and his trousers open. He is achingly hard, leaking steadily into every rapid stroke; he hasn't even bothered undressing, so caught up in the feverish fantasies of the money and favors he might lavish on this man who consumes his thoughts, of how thoroughly he could expect to be railed and ravished and seen to in return—

Orgasm overtakes him quite suddenly, leaves him gasping and breathless and wrecked, and still he craves more. His fantasies are delectable, but his appetite is insatiable.

He desperately wants the real thing.

~

It is Thursday of the next week at last and Dream, fueled by his fading ability to recall the precise brown of Hob Gadling's eyes or the way his cheeks crease up when he smiles, does not call Matthew's Motor Repairs to check on the status of his Porsche as instructed. Instead, he drives out, excusing the trip to himself by visiting a local bookseller first and picking up several selections to add to his personal library. He does not linger overlong among the shelves, however; today he is consumed with much more pressing distractions.

He must see Hob Gadling again, if only for a moment.

When he enters the shop, there is no one at the counter up front and the door to the garage is ajar, raucous music drifting faintly through. "Hello?" he calls, but receives no reply.

It is a warm day outside and quite warm inside as well; Dream imagines how sweaty Hob Gadling must be, to be performing physical labor under these conditions. Such thoughts do nothing to calm or cool him.

After only a moment's hesitation, he rounds the counter and passes through the doorway, at which point he can hear Hob Gadling's voice singing along—"You don't have a clue/If you did you'd find yourself/Doin' the same thing too!"—beneath the music, passably on-key no less.

Yet another appealing feature to this man; it is simply unfair. Dream draws himself up, heart beating harder, and ventures around the large sink and cleanup station until he can see his Porsche, up on ramps, and—

And legs sticking out from beneath the side of it on one of those rolling boards, Hob Gadling's legs no doubt, spread wide like an invitation.

Dream stops abruptly, heat pouring into his belly; he takes a deep breath of the warm stuffy air, the machine-and-metal smell of the garage doing nothing to calm his libido. He stares, helplessly, at the work boots and coveralls, at where they stretch across Hob Gadling's crotch, affording frustratingly little suggestion of what lies beneath. And just above that, he can see that the coveralls are unzipped, not quite far enough to expose underwear but enough that Dream is treated to a glimpse of warm golden-brown belly and the dip of his navel, the dark sweep of hair above and below it.

—Mouthwatering—

It is with tremendous effort that Dream corrals his thoughts, steps forward again, closes the space between them and clears his throat to announce his presence. He nudges one booted foot with his own, not entirely meaning to do so but somehow unable to resist.

"Bloody—" The mechanic scoots out from beneath the car and Dream's knees go weak; he is grateful they do not give out altogether.

Hob Gadling is indeed shirtless beneath his open coveralls, displaying a chest far more gloriously hairy than Dream had imagined, a pelt thick and dark and alluring. He wants to touch, to comb his fingers through and rub his face against it, to lick the trail of hair that leads down to where the parted zipper comes back together. There is a visible sheen of sweat on his skin and Dream would lick that off as well; Hob is smudged with grease in various smears across his torso and forearms and Dream can hardly think for the rushing of blood in his ears, the swelling of want in the pit of his stomach. He drags his eyes back up to Hob's face, trying to school the ravenous hunger from his own gaze; he does not think he is overly successful in that regard but there is discernible heat in the warm brown eyes that meet him, and it is difficult to care about dignity, propriety, with reality unfolding so near to the fantasies that have carried him through the last ten days.

He stutters through some explanation for his presence, barely aware of his own words, barely registering the rundown he is given in return, watching hungrily as Hob climbs to his feet. His car will be finished tomorrow. He will have reason to see Hob again tomorrow. But right now he is unraveling, his self control a tenuous and threadbare thing barely within his grasp. He is watching Hob's mouth as he speaks, captivated, obsessed with the warm color of it flashing among the dark scruff of Hob's beard, and Dream wants to taste. His mouth, his skin, his cock, which is surely as magnificent as the rest of him—Dream cannot bear the thought of leaving without confirming his certainties, but it is one thing to revel in fantasy alone in his bed and quite another to actually act on it when faced with the man before him—

"Is there something else I can do for you today, Mr. Atelíotes?"

Hob Gadling is looking at him, hip cocked and coveralls alluringly open, smile just this side of invitational; there is the strong suggestion of interest and an implied offer in that warm tone and Dream's resolve, such as it is, crumbles.

He reaches. He touches. He speaks his want and follows with a flirtatious tease to mitigate his intensity, is met by teasing agreement in return, but when his mechanic mentions cleaning up first he absolutely cannot agree.

"No. As you are now, please." He steps closer, directly into Hob's space, a week and a half of fantasies clamoring in his mind as the scent of the man wafts into his nose—oil and grease, warm metal, sweat and a faint trace of citrus and a hint of some pleasantly masculine deodorant; Dream's mouth waters, and his prick throbs.

His mechanic hesitates. "I'm kind of filthy though?"

There is a tinge of shame beneath the words, and Dream. Will not have it.

"I am aware, yes," he purrs, seizing the open lapels of the grimy coveralls, and kisses Hob Gadling with ten days' worth of anticipation and want.

~

Dream is coasting on an adrenaline and endorphin high as he drives home, afterwards. He acted. He spoke directly of what he wanted. And he got it. He had spent ten days nursing fantasy and now he has experienced a delightful sliver of the reality of Hob Gadling.

And tomorrow, he will experience more.

Sleep does not come easily that night, keyed up and aroused as he is, but he manages at last. He wakes later than usual the next morning; he eats a light brunch, the excitement in his stomach counterproductive to the task, and makes sure to drink more water than usual. Thoughts of Hob fill his mind, arousing, distracting, enticing; he recalls with a sharp thrill the taste of Hob's pleasure on his tongue, and he is eager to be on his way to their appointment.

But there are things he must do to prepare, first.

He takes an enema, then shaves and showers, lathering everywhere with his sweetest-smelling soap, determined to be the polar opposite of what he lusts for in Hob. He strives for the cleanest prettiest and freshest he can get, the better to be taken and sullied and dirtied by his mechanic; Hob had seemed quite pleased with that dynamic yesterday and Dream is eager to repeat it with Hob's cock in his arse this time.

To that end, he employs a favorite dildo once he is clean and dry, lubing himself carefully and working himself open on the toy, mind blazing with thoughts of Hob all the while. He knows, now, the size and the shape (and the taste!) of Hob's prick, and he is giddy with the anticipation of having it inside him. He is salivating over how Hob compares to the dildo, how Hob will fill him just that much better, what filthy things Hob might say while taking his time over long slow thrusts, how good it will feel when Hob finally rails him without mercy—

He must force himself to stop, hard and panting as he withdraws the toy from his body. He sorts through his glass plugs quickly, finding the one he wants and fitting it carefully inside himself. It's broad enough to stretch him just a little more, perfectly flared to fit just right inside and out, short enough that he can bend and sit without discomfort. It's a beautiful tease, as a matter of fact, keeping him keyed up and aroused as he dresses himself, making him squirm just a little with every step as he gathers his condoms and his pocket-sized bottle of lube and his phone wallet and water, and leaves the house.

He composes himself over the two blocks he walks to the busier streets where he can hail a cab, steeling himself to normalcy in both movement and appearance while pleasure sings in his veins with every subtle shift of the toy within him. He is half-hard, hidden well enough by the loose cut of his slacks, and works to keep his thoughts from heating any further until he has reached his destination.

The cab drops him outside of Matthew's Motor Repairs and he pays, distracted and breathless with anticipation. Hob is there, inside, and Dream is certain that Hob is just as eager as he is for their rendezvous.

He hopes that Hob is just as eager.

Closed for walk-ins due to special circumstances, reads the hand-written sign taped to the glass of the shop door. Ring if you have an appointment.

Dream's heart plummets for half a second, until he remembers their parting conversation yesterday about appointments and showing up and fitting in. This sign is for him, surely, a blatant invitation.

He takes a breath to calm the excited pounding of his heart, squirms surreptitiously on the toy inside him, and rings the bell.

= Started: 5/15/24 Drafted: 7/27/24 Posted: 7/29/24

[aliaology]

STAY DONE

SUMMARY: you know you and alex should break up, but you’re too in love with him to stay done.

PAIRING: alexander holtz x fem!reader

WARNINGS: semi-toxic (?) relationship, slight cheating, blood

EXTRA: i know alex (most likely) wouldn’t actually cheat, but its just for the fic! my boy needs more about him done. also THIS SUCKS LMFAOO im a lil rusty. BASED ON A SONG.

the look in your eyes even after he yells at you was something truly remarkable, incredible even. the awe-struck gaze your eyes held as the boy in front of you angrily spoke. his anger may not have been directed at you, but he was definitely taking it out on you.

his narrowed eyes and irritated tone as he went on and on about his hockey game made your stomach twist and knot. the feeling only going away as he punches one of the picture frames, causing the glass to shatter and the frame to fall to the floor.

your awe-struck gaze was no more, and was now filled with worried as he walked into the bedroom, mumbling curses under his breath. you let out a sigh as you grabbed the broom from the closet. you swept the broken glass up and removed the picture from the frame. it was a picture of you and him when you visited italy.

you gave the picture a sad look before placing it on the counter and throwing the frame into the trash bag, along with the broken glass. after putting the broom back, you walked into your shared room, alex sitting on the side of the bed with his head in his hands. blood dripped from his knuckles and down his hands.

you walked into the bathroom, grabbing a few bandages and alcohol wipes. kneeling down in front of him, you removed his hands from his face, gently.

“i think you played well tonight, alex.” you spoke softly. grabbing an alcohol wipe, you carefully wiped up the blood and the wound, causing him to hiss in pain.

“can’t say much when i was only on the ice for like five minutes. i make one mistake and lindy fucking benches me.” he spoke angrily.

you gently wrapped his hand. “i think you should talk to them about being traded.” you told.

alex scoffed out a laughed. you gave him a look. “im being serious, alex. this team is messing you up— you know you deserve better.”

alex sighed, “ill think about it, alright?”

you nodded and stood up, placing a small kiss on his cheek before bringing everything back into the bathroom, and throwing out the bloody wipes.

you huffed out a breath, knowing how idiotic you looked in front of your friends. you told yourself you would be taking a break from alex, that you would give yourself space, find yourself.

you needed it, especially after finding out he was hitting up other girls. hearing this— you stayed cordial, but honestly, you wish you went off on him. you wish you didn’t stay calm.

but thats the thing with alex, as you stand here calling him, you realize you can’t stay done with him. he was a constant need in your life, he was the sun and you revolved around him.

“hello?” his voice sounded through your phone.

you let out a shaky breath. you stood on the sidewalk, your little black dress keeping almost nothing warm. you held your large coat close to you.

“can you come get me? please?” you asked.

you could hear a deep breath escape his lips before he talked. “where are you?” he questioned. you could hear the sound of clothes rustling, then the sound of his keys jangling.

“outside of the bar on hawkins.” you told, shivering slightly.

“jesus christ baby— outside? seriously? are you by yourself?” he asked.

“yeah.” you muttered into the phone.

you could hear him swear under his breath, the sound of his car door opening and shutting rang through your ears. “get inside that damn bar, wait near the doors.” he demanded.

you hastily obeyed and stood inside, right next to the doors. he stayed on the phone with you the entire time, letting you know when he was close.

once he got there, and you hung up, getting into his car, he gave you an irritated look.

“dont you ever do that again— you hear me? do you know how dangerous it is? standing out there by yourself in the middle of the night?” he spoke.

his tone was harsh, but he clearly was worried, at least you hoped. “im sorry”

he sighed. “dont apologize. lets just, lets get to the apartment.”

you nodded and titled your head against the window, watching the lights as you passed them. you hated the feeling of not being able to be the bigger person and leave.

alex was your best friend, but your enemy. he loved you and hated you. you loved him, and loved him, and hated him. but there was no one else you wanted to wake up to. no one else you wanted to go to bed with.

you just couldn’t stay done with him.

im unable to tag everyone!

TAGS: @slaythehousebootsdown13 , @lxnceclercs , @honethatty12 , @outrunangelss , @absolutelyhugh3s , @hockeyboysarehot , @lovinbarzal , @shadowsndaisies , @um-mads , @bqbylon , @whoreforthehughesbrothers , @Robloxlover2007 , @p3nislawd , @alexx-stancati , @queenmendes , @-eedwardss , @if-my-heart-bleeds , @love-like-woaah , @freds-slut , @sleepybesson , @love4lando , @equallyshaw , @bellstwd , @ivy-34 , @slafgoalskybaby , @hischierxx , @dancerbailey3 , @jackhughesily , @cstads-blog , @ru-kru , @sbrn0905 , @love4ldr , @loveforaugust

[charliegyrth]

Alex Gets Soft - Part 13

Our Friends Come to Visit

Read Part 12 here.

That Sunday was the day I hid his scale in the back of the closet. We both agreed it was better if he didn’t know where it was. The low number had bummed him out so much, while the rest of the day had been nothing but bliss.

After Alex’s sleep eating, he went to the bathroom and asked if I’d like to try topping him again.

I wanted that more than anything, but I could barely move after the workout. Any lovemaking would have to wait. Instead, he gave me an enthusiastic blow job, a little thank-you for pulling him out of his funk.

We lounged around for a few hours after that, which was mostly an excuse for more belly rubs. Then our friends Terry and Rob surprised us with a visit. They were used to seeing Alex shirtless around the house. (Terry had always referred it as “The Ab Show.”) But they weren’t used to Alex’s new body.

Rob didn’t say anything, but Terry (the bitchier of the two) took one look at his bulging belly and said, “Damn! What happened to you?”

Alex’s face reddened with embarrassment, which was what he wanted. “Just trying something new. Wanna touch it?”

Rob looked away.

“Do we want to touch your beer gut?” Terry asked. “Hell no.”

At the word “beer gut,” Alex’s hands shot to his crotch and he quickly sat down before they could notice his instant erection. They definitely did.

The guys joined him in the living room and waited for an explanation. I went into the kitchen to grab some chips and dip.

Alex enjoyed the awkward silence, so he didn’t say anything.

Terry, positively horrified that Alex had chosen to ruin his perfect body, just came right out and asked, “So are you gainers now?”

I went back in and placed the snacks on the table. Right in front of Alex, of course. I knew he’d find a way to show off in front of our guests. “He is, I guess. I’m definitely not.”

Terry looked me up and down. “You sure about that?”

Once again, I looked down at my body. Still no belly.

Alex started munching on chips, each one piled high with dip. “He’s just a bit pumped from the gym.”

“It looks good,” Rob said, his first words since we’d ushered them inside.

“I’m only up a pound,” Alex admitted, steering the conversation back toward him.

“Three pounds,” I corrected him.

Terry crossed his arms over his chest. (He was the type of guy who judged everyone under the excuse of being "helpful.") “Well, if the scale only says three pounds, then that means that your muscles are turning to fat. Muscle tissue weighs more.”

“I still have all my muscles,” Alex said confidently. “I just added a belly to it.”

Terry leaned across the table and squeezed his upper arm. His fingers sank into flesh. “You sure about that?”

Alex’s eyes widened. This was the moment he realized that he was getting softer than he wanted, not just bigger.

I had to defuse the situation.

“Nice try, Terry. But he’s not gonna fall for it.”

“Yeah!” Alex said, reassured.

Terry started to argue, but Rob pulled him back to his seat. “There’s nothing wrong with being a gainer. The world needs more bears, anyway.”

“Thank you,” Alex said.

After that, we moved on to other topics. Rob started talking about their son again, and all the supposedly cute things that he did. I wasn’t interested, and I could tell that Alex wanted to feel the sting of a few more insults from Terry. But I knew that if the conversation curved back toward Alex’s changing body, there was the risk that he might realize that Terry was right. That he was getting soft, not solid.

Throughout the conversation, Terry kept glancing disapprovingly at Alex’s torso, and Rob kept nudging him because of it.

Otherwise, it was a pretty typical visit from our friends. They droned on and on about their family life and asked us zero questions in return.

They stayed just long enough for Alex to finish the bag of chips all by himself. Almost half the dip remained, so he started eating that with his hands, his eyes locked on Terry the whole time. That was the moment our guests decided to leave. They hadn’t even busted out the photos from their trip to Cancun, which was the whole reason they’d visited.

Alex stayed on the couch, licking dip off his greedy hands, while I walked the two men to the door. Terry thanked me curtly and left.

Rob paused at the threshold, glanced over at my boyfriend, and then whispered in my ear, “I totally get it, Jake.”

Then he was gone.

When I got back to the couch, Alex wasn’t smiling under the smears of dip.

“You okay?”

“Do you think Terry was right?”

“About what?”

“About losing my muscles. Getting flabby?”

“He never said that.” I wiped his cheeks with a napkin. “And no, I don’t believe that. You have your muscles, and you’re just building on top of them. See?” I drummed along his belly. “If you ask me, I think Terry’s just jealous. Rob seems more interested in your body type than his.”

I felt conflicted. On one hand, I knew that I’d calmed Alex’s nervous. I’d told him what he wanted to hear and he believed me. But on the other hand, I was lying to him. His meager three-pound gain was definitely the result of some of his muscle mass transforming into fat. And worse, I could see the softening all over him.

“You’re right,” he said. “You know, I haven’t eaten a solid meal all day. Just snacks.”

“I’ll heat up some lasagna.”

Read Part 14 here. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 You can also read all 22 parts of Alex Gets Soft in one ebook (with a bonus story). And you can find all my stories here.

[erebus-6]

Repost on main

F1 × Stranger things rambling

shieldofiron <- All credits to them for the idea

Steve Harrington grew up with garages bigger than most people's houses. Sleek, glistening cars lined up like trophies, the pride and joy of a man who was rarely ever home. Harrington Sr.—the world knew him as Alessandro “Alex” Harrington, the Italian racing legend. To Steve, he was a ghost. A phantom who called once in a month and always smelled of gasoline and distant lands when he did show up. Steve hated the cars at first. Endless rows, all polished to perfection, because his dad cares more about those than his own kid. He just wanted a shred of attention, but no. He hated how they took his dad away, how his mom would sit in front of the TV late at night with a glass of wine, staring at the screen where his dad was flashing a megawatt smile, champagne spraying everywhere. She’d always turn it off before the interviews, muttering something about "arrogant bastards."

Steve learned that being angry didn’t get him anything. The yelling matches and slammed doors when his dad was home only echoed back at him, empty and hollow. After he got older his mom went with his dad to the races, told him something about being closer to his dad but Steve heard enough screaming matches to know that his mom only went so that Alex wouldnt find someone younger and leave her. So, by high school, he just wanted something—recognition, validation, a flicker of acknowledgment that he existed. He became King Steve because being someone was better than being nobody. But even the crown of Hawkins felt like a hollow victory.

Fast forward: Ten years later. Steve grows up, and he’s, like, fine, but also not fine. He’s the guy everyone expects to coast through life because of his dad’s name, but no one realizes he actually worked his ass off to get where he is because he had to prove he wasn’t just "Alex Harrington’s son." And suddenly he’s on the F1 circuit. He’s fast. He’s really fast. And, surprise, he’s good at it. Better than good. Found something between tracks and rubber that isnt just bullshit or hollow promises.

‐---------

Billy Hargrove hadn’t thought about Steve Harrington in years. Not the rich kid with the perfect hair, not the way he’d strutted around like he owned the world. No, Billy had been too busy surviving—scraping by in auto shops and side gigs, living out of his Camaro or staying at Susans place after she broke things off with Neil. Billy and Maxs relationship was....tolerable. Billy sees Steve’s face plastered on a TV screen one random night in a bar. He’s mid-sip of a shitty beer, and suddenly there’s Harrington, all slicked-back hair and sharp jawline, stepping out of his car in a race suit that fits a little too well. He doesn’t even realize he’s gripping his beer so hard it’s about to shatter because all he can think is, No way. No. Freaking. Way. That’s King Steve. When he stumbled across a job listing for F1 mechanics—his first thought was, Yeah, right. But the paycheck? That caught his eye. And besides, Billy knew cars. He could strip an engine in his sleep, rebuild it better than new. He’d prove himself.

He didn’t expect to see Steve Harrington on his first day. The first time they actually see each other again, it’s something. Steve turns around mid-conversation, sees Billy standing there with a wrench slung over his shoulder, and his brain just blue-screens. Meanwhile, Billy’s over here acting all smug like, Oh, did I catch you off guard, Harrington?

(Still need to think about how much the upside down build into, maybe Harrington has some phantom pain after the Demo bats)

( Steve either went to his dads old Team or a newer one [would love for him to be in ferrari])

(Billy could either work in steves Team or in a rival one and he improves the car so Harrington needs to fight for the wins -> plant your feet)

Ferrari vs redbull -> (damn kind of want maybe do a modern au bc i need my babygirls Max and Charles people 😭🫰)

#F1 x Stranger Things#steve harrington#harringrove fic#billy hargrove#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#formula 1#Harringrove#f1 team

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

I'm Here To Say I'm Sorry

John "Soap" MacTavish X Simon "Ghost" Riley

Thick as thieves he’d called them once before, a simple joke that had seemed to stick better than any glue out there.

a/n: thank you to everyone who read part one! this is the second part(and most likely final)to You'll Never Learn, I aim to hurt everyone with angst and this part is no different, hope you enjoy!

It had been a little over two weeks since Simon had exploded on Johnny, saying things he never should have let escape his mouth. At first, he half expected things to go back to normal once he apologized to the Scot. He’d nearly gotten down on his knees, ready to beg and plead for Johnny to forgive him. Instead, he took Johnny to one of the empty offices and apologized, telling him that he didn’t mean anything of what he said.

Johnny just stared back at him, eyes unblinking before he nodded, heading out of the office and down to his own room. 

Simon barely slept more than two hours that night, unable to get over what he’d said to Johnny during what should’ve been a normal day. All Simon had to do was get through his pile of paperwork and he’d be able to spend the rest of the day alongside Johnny. Instead, he was ruining whatever relationship they had.

Johnny didn’t talk much, if at all, since the blowup from Simon. Another reminder of what he wasn’t allowed to have. His mouth stayed closed unless absolutely necessary, if Price was talking to him about an upcoming mission he would respond with the answer his superior needed.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Gaz couldn’t stand not being able to talk with Johnny, they’d grown to become best friends in the years they worked together, and seeing how much Johnny had shut down? It damn near broke his heart.

Gaz had spent most of his time working alongside Price, which wasn’t bad since the older man knew when to crack a joke or two, but seeing his best friend so miserable? It was eating at his heart. Whatever that Simon had said to him hadn’t been just a passing argument, this was an insecurity that Simon knew about. Shit, he would need to get Kate involved with this mess if Simon couldn’t figure things out.

Johnny wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at the wall opposite of him, his hands clasped loosely atop the table in front of him. Price had given a quick rundown of their next mission, telling Johnny that he’d be able to sit this one out since it was a simple recon. It would be Gaz, and Roach heading out for a few days before heading back.

While he’d normally jump at the chance to have a few days off, to lay in bed with nothing more than a pair of boxers on as he slept, the thought had his stomach turning. Could he handle being around Simon any longer? After what he’d said to him? 

The apology he’d given him felt forced, almost like Simon wasn’t sorry he’d lashed out on him after so long. Maybe he’d been too blinded by love to realize that Simon was exactly like everyone else, that Johnny didn’t deserve happiness in his life. He’d grown up with a family that couldn’t stand to be around him, and his friends always got on his case whenever he talked too much.

Maybe he could put in a request for a transfer, save his team the pain of having to deal with someone they couldn’t stand to be around anymore. There was Farah, and Alex, he’d be able to disarm any bombs for them. Or, maybe he could send a message to Alejandro and Rudy, see if they had room for one more person.

It’d been so long since he’d seen them, it would do him some good to get away from the awful weather in the UK anyway. Even if he despised the cold, it wasn’t healthy to stay somewhere to mentally draining. A place that held nothing but bad memories from the time he was born.

Maybe…maybe he could find somewhere he felt he belonged.

Gaz headed down to Johnny’s room, knocking briefly as he waited for the other man to open the door. He’d just come back from his recon mission and had plenty of gossip he wanted to discuss with him. After a few moments he knocked again, waiting to see if Johnny hadn’t heard him for the first time.

Brow furrowing he opened the door slowly, glancing around the room as he noticed how sterile everything felt. It was almost too clean in a sense, the way the sheets were tucked in tighter than any of them ever did. As he walked inside, noticing how empty the room was, a folded card on the table caught his attention. Now, Gaz was never one to snoop through other people’s things, but when his best friend was nowhere to be found? He was going to damn well snoop around.

His throat tightened as he read through the note inside once, twice, three times before it suddenly dawned on him.

Johnny was gone, having left when he was out of the country with Roach on that last mission.

Gaz was horrified to find out that Johnny had left, slipping through their fingers before any of them could properly notice. What the hell was he going to possibly tell Price? Or even Kate?! Maybe they’d already known, and couldn’t tell Kyle until he came back safely, but why keep this information away from him? It felt like a dirty secret that only he wasn’t allowed to know about, like they’d all taken part in the lie.

Storming out of Johnny’s old room down to Price’s office he slammed the door open, stomping over to the older man’s desk and slamming down the card.

“Care to explain, sir?” Kyle was seething, shoulders rising and falling harshly as he stared down at his Captain, a man he would never speak down to before.

“I’m sorry, Kyle. I had meant to tell you when you got back, but Kate and I were in a meeting together and didn’t have a chance to catch you first.” It was the truth, as much as it sounded like a lie, Price knew how close the two were.

Thick as thieves he’d called them once before, a simple joke that had seemed to stick better than any glue out there. Price wasn’t sure when things had begun to change, when Johnny suddenly wanted to leave. He couldn’t force the other man to stay, not when he was adamant on leaving, that he felt almost trapped being around them. It hurt, he would admit, hearing that Johnny didn’t want to be around any of them anymore.

They were his men, Johnny, Simon, and Kyle. He’d always felt a need to protect them, and having one of his best men come to him saying he felt trapped? He felt as if he’d failed as a captain, and hadn't seen the warning signs sooner.

“Where’d he go?” Kyle frowned, plopping down into the chair behind him.

The legs creaked loudly beneath his weight, years of use echoing inside the small room as Price slowly took the card into his hands.

“He went to see Ale and Rudy, and said he might think about coming back if he begins to miss us at all.” Price’s smile was sad, the lines around his eyes seeming almost deeper from the last time Kyle had seen him.

A shudder ran down Kyle’s back, he was down with Ale and Rudy? There was no way he’d willingly come home, not without a fight.

“I understand, did he say why?” He crossed his arms slowly, grip loose as he stared at the card in Price’s hands.

“Said he couldn’t stand to be an annoying nuisance any longer.” Price’s eyes flickered over to Kyle, as if questioning the other man.

Kyle’s jaw dropped open in shock, never once had any of them ever made Johnny feel like he was a nuisance, they were best friends! They were-.

“Ghost!” Kyle was up and out of his chair before Price could catch up to what was happening.

The younger man quickly made his way down to the mess hall, tearing through the door as his eyes landed on the, much bigger, lieutenant.

“Get the fuck over here! You ungrateful asshole!” Kyle threw himself at Simon, landing a solid punch to the left side of his face, knuckles connecting harshly with his jaw.

The other soldiers made space, not wanting to end up on the other end of the angry Sergeants fists, lest they come out with bloody lips and black eyes. It wasn’t the first time they’d witnessed Sergeant Garrick put a soldier in their place, but it was the first time they’d seen it happen to their Lieutenant.

“Gaz!” Price’s voice echoed throughout the mess hall as he ran over to grab Kyle, pulling him from where he’d been beating Simon senseless.

“Let go of me!” Kyle thrashed harshly in his arms, doing his best to break free and go after Simon once more.

“We’re going down to my office, now!” Price motioned for one of the privates to grab Simon, dragging Kyle down to his office and dropping him into a chair.

It took two privates to bring Simon down, doing their best to set him down into one of the chairs as he slumped over himself. The scent of blood was thick in the air, Kyle’s knuckles torn and bloody, Simon’s face bearing the brunt of his punches.

Price pinched the bridge of his nose, glancing between Kyle and Simon. There was more to the story he was sure, but right now he was doing his best not to throttle either of them.

“Alright, talk.” Leaning back against the desk, arms crossed over his chest, Price let his eyes land on Kyle.

“I went to go and find Johnny to talk with him, and found the card I’d given you earlier.” Kyle’s expression was neutral, unreadable as Price stared at him for a few more moments.

“Okay. Simon?” Price turned to face him, waiting to see what he would say about the situation.

“You already know what happened, why relay that again?” Simon rolled up the mask before sliding it off and tossing it onto the floor.

His lip was split, the cut opening once more as blood dribbled down his chin. His right eye was nearly swollen shut, the skin around it turning a harsh blue. Simon had endured worse, having been shot at least twice before.

This was different, though, having one of your teammates beat your face in wasn’t something he did often. 

God, he needed Johnny by his side even more now.

Johnny felt renewed as he stared out the window of his hotel room.

It’d been a nice change to get away from the shit with Simon and stretching his wings, if you could even call it that. Whatever, that didn’t matter right now. 

“Hey, you doing alright?” Rudy plopped down beside him, having let himself into Johnny’s room.

“Yeah, just thinkin’ about the team.” Johnny had felt horrible about leaving so abruptly, not even giving Kyle a chance to say goodbye before he was hopping on a plane.

Kate had been understanding, offering her condolences as she signed the paperwork Johnny needed to take his extended leave. He wasn’t allowed to go on any ‘serious’ missions, lest he get in trouble with the Mexican government, no need getting thrown into jail. Ale or Rudy would bail him out, he was sure about that, but it was still best not to get on their bad side.

“I’m sure they’ve been thinking about you as well.” Rudy nudged his shoulder with his own, Johnny swaying slightly from the affection.

He smiled sadly, lips barely pulling up as he sighed lowly, gaze flickering back out towards the landscape in front of him. His entire life he’d always wondered what was wrong with him, why wasn’t he like all the other kids? Why did he go out of his way to annoy everyone that was within earshot of him? To become nothing more than a burden that would never be anything but, a weight that held other people down when they needed to flourish. Throat tightening, Johnny could feel the heartbreak slowly sinking in once more, how harsh Simon’s words had been.

Had he truly hated being around Johnny from the beginning, only suffering through his annoying tales to sleep with him? It seemed that way, considering Johnny would rarely speak before Simon told him it was alright.

And then he just couldn’t stop himself, blabbering away like he was a child again with a new fascination with something he’d seen earlier in the day. He’d begun to think about different math equations to keep himself occupied, to simply not talk.

“Soap?” Alejandro’s voice echoed inside the room as he stepped through the doorway, breaking Johnny out of his thoughts.

“I told you, you can call me Johnny.” He turned to face the other man, back popping loudly in the otherwise silent room.

“Force of habit.” He chuckled, feet carrying him closer to where Rudy sat near Johnny.

Johnny smiled sadly, he knew how hard it was to break a habit you’ve had for longer than most of the population. Code names kept people safe, it’s why he never referred to Roach, Simon, Price, or Kyle by their actual names. They were his friends, the last thing he ever wanted was for them to feel that their lives were in danger.

“I know, it's hard to break a habit you’ve known for so long.” Johnny merely shrugged, pulling in a deep lungful of air before letting it slip through his lips.

Ale glanced between Rudy and Johnny, almost as if he was unsure whether to tell Johnny the news he’d received just before stopping by. He knew the Scot deserved to know what had happened, that he would be beside himself if he didn’t find out. On the other hand, he was afraid of how exactly he would react. People did scary things when in distress, and this was nothing different.

“I came by because Captain Price had given me a call just a few minutes ago.” Ale’s expression was somber, lips pulled into a tight frown.

Johnny’s eyes widened as the color drained from his face, the blood pounding in his ears as the words slowly sunk in. If Price was calling him it would mean nothing good, he promised to give Johnny some space to decompress until he was ready to come back.

“Wh-what did he say?” He was terrified of the answer, body blocking out all other sounds except for Ale’s voice.

“Ghost had been caught in enemy gunfire, he’s alive, but he’s been placed into a medically induced coma until further notice.” Ale placed a hand onto his shoulder gently, gripping the firm muscle to help ground him.

Johnny’s mind began to spiral as his thoughts were filled with Simon dying when he wasn’t there. He wasn’t there to protect him, to make sure he lived, it was all his fault. His hands shook as he slowly reached up to grip the sides of his skull, the scar on his temple a reminder of how fragile life could be. He’d nearly been killed on that mission, the bullet grazing his skin instead of burrowing into his skull.

“I can arrange a flight, if you’d like to go back.” Alejandro and Rudy both knew that Johnny wouldn’t stay a moment longer than necessary. Not if it meant getting back to see Simon.

Johnny ran on autopilot as Ale arranged a flight back home, muttering promises that he would relay any news regarding Simon once he landed. He could hardly focus on the flight even as the plane hit a bout of turbulence hard enough to nearly knock him off his seat. Without blinking he grabbed his seatbelt, planting himself back into the uncomfortable seat and buckling in. The scent of blood filled his mind as he could do nothing but picture Simon lifeless.

“If I ever catch ye with anotha’ boy!” Johnny covered his head as his father brought the belt down even harder against his back, the leather striking his bare skin.

He’d been caught kissing one of the boys from school, having recently discovered he liked boys and girls. Unfortunately his father had come home without seeming to make a single sound, the boy, Lee, had run off the moment he’d seen the older man’s red face.

Johnny could hardly move after his father had finished beating him, his back covered in bright red welts as he let his mother tend to the skin. She didn’t like that he liked boys, he wasn’t surprised by that, but she knew he needed someone at that moment.

It took Johnny nearly ten years to come out, safely away from his family that could no longer do any harm to him. No more beatings from his father for embracing his sexuality and enjoying the partners he took home.

Johnny snapped out of his mind, head whipping up as the plane began its slow descent, the pilot alerting him they would be landing within minutes. Simon had never made him feel uncomfortable being himself, even if most of the world looked down on him for things he couldn’t control.

“Better be alive, Simon. I’ll find you in the afterlife and kill you m’self.” Johnny muttered under his breath, unbuckling himself as the plane came to a full stop on the runway.

The pilot waited for the okay to deplane, signaling Johnny before heading out to meet with the flight crew. Price’s voice echoed as Johnny grabbed his things, his breath hitching high in this throat.

No, Simon was going to be just fine, grab your bags and meet with your Captain before doing something irrational. 

Nodding slowly, Johnny grabbed his duffel bag and walked off the plane, eyes locking on Price, and Kate who were making their way towards him. Shit, this wasn’t how he was hoping their reunion was going to go.

“Laswell, Price.” Johnny nodded to both, hoisting his bag up onto his shoulder.

“Johnny, good to see you.” Price’s smile was soft, it reminded him of a quokka for some reason.

“I needed the vacation more than I realized, I guess.” He smiled sadly, looking over at Kate who’s expression was somber.

Kate gently took his shoulder, turning him towards the base and heading over with Price following close behind.

His heart pounded harshly in his chest with each step, worry clouding his mind as a thousand different scenarios played through on loop. What if Simon was more injured than they’d let on? What if he decided that he truly hated being around him? What if he had amnesia and didn’t even know who Johnny was anymore?

“Hey, is it okay if we come in?” Kate’s voice was muffled, barely a whisper as Johnny did his best not to have a panic attack in the hallway.

“C’mon in, got nothing better to do.” Simon’s gruff voice cut through like a hot knife through butter.

Kate didn’t waste a second before pulling Johnny inside along with her, nearly shoving him over to Simon’s beside as she stayed close to Price. 

God, it almost felt like an intervention at this rate, like they were two kids who needed to kiss and make up. Was that the right analogy for this situation? Two kids who’d been caught misbehaving and needed to make up? Or was it something more serious than that?

“Johnny.” Surprise was thick in Simon’s tone, his eyes wide as he stared back at him.

It almost surprised him to see Simon without any kind of mask on, just casually lying in a hospital bed as if he hadn’t been shot on the field.

“How could you be so stupid?! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” Johnny couldn’t control the tone of his voice, the fear that had built during the flight turning into anger suddenly. “You had me worried sick! Thinkin’ you were going to be dead before I even got here!” Johnny glared down at Simon, shoulders rising and falling harshly with each breath.

Simon could only stare, unsure if it would be appropriate to respond to Johnny’s intense words. It had truly been an accident due to his own negligence, the enemy had caught Simon’s blindside and managed to get a shot in. It was just a flesh wound, nothing for Johnny to be fretting over.

“I’m sorry.” Simon whispered, eyes locked onto the way Johnny’s eyes began to well up with tears. 

This was the last thing he wanted, he’d never wanted to make Johnny cry, but he couldn’t stop screwing up their relationship. The blow up had been entirely his fault, having dealt with the new recruits earlier in the day that caused his poor attitude, and then taking it out on Johnny. He didn’t deserve Simon’s anger, didn’t deserve to hear the hateful things he spewed.

“You’re lucky I love you.” Johnny sniffed, arms crossed over his chest as he looked away from Simon, almost afraid of the other man’s reaction to his words.

The words slowly began to sink in, a smile pulling up his lips as he watched Johnny do his best to act nonchalant about the situation.

“Yeah? You love me?” Simon scooted himself up carefully, doing his best not to pull on the stitches.

“Shut up, you big oaf.” Johnny still refused to look over at him, staring out of the only window in the room.

Kate quietly stepped out, shutting the door almost silently to give the pair some time alone to work through their issues finally. The less paperwork she had to do because of them, the better.

“I am sorry, Johnny. I didn’t mean to lash out at you that day, Price had me training the new recruits and one of them nearly shot one of the others by being reckless.” Simon held out his arms, gesturing for Johnny to come into his embrace.

Johnny didn’t waste a single second, quickly making his way over and carefully wrapping his arms around Simon, burying his face into the other man’s chest. Simon’s hands stroked along his back slowly, soothing him the way he’d been so desperate to for weeks.

“Don’t leave again, okay?” Simon pressed a kiss to his temple, keeping him close.

“Don’t get shot again and we have a deal.” Johnny’s eyes slipped closed as he laid against him, body fully relaxed.

Simon chuckled lowly, hands gently stilling on his back for a moment before resuming once more. 

He’d keep that promise, no matter what it took.

tags: @gaylemonshark

[am0ralexis]

Don’t You Dare -Part Two- (smut) ❤️‍🔥

You barely made it through the front door before Alex had you against the wall.

Not gently.

Not even a little.

Your back hit the hallway with a muffled thud, and then his mouth was on your neck, hot, open, angry.

“Alex, ” you breathed, but he didn’t let you finish.

“Don’t,” he said, voice like gravel, teeth grazing your pulse point. “Don’t say it was a game.”

You swallowed hard.

He wasn’t yelling. He didn’t need to.

Every inch of his body was coiled tight, vibrating with the kind of possessive fury that didn’t show up in raised voices, it showed up in clenched jaws, in bruising hands, in the way he was breathing like he’d just run a marathon through hell.

“You sat on his lap.” His hand slipped under your shirt, dragging rough palms over your ribs. “You let him touch you.”

“Babe, ”

His hand gripped your jaw, tilting your head so you were forced to look at him.

“You let him put his hands on you.”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Because you had. You sat there, half-laughing, half-burning, letting Rubén’s hands settle on your hips while Alex watched. And yeah, you saw the way his eyes darkened. You just didn’t realize what it would cost you.

His hand slid down to your waistband. Tugged it open with one sharp flick.

“I warned you,” he said.

Your breath hitched.

“I told you I was watching.”

And then?

He dropped to his knees.

Right there in the hallway.

He yanked your jeans down in one swift pull, dragging them over your thighs like he didn’t even care if the seams ripped.

You gasped as cool air hit your skin, but Alex didn’t hesitate.

He pressed his mouth to the inside of your thigh, kissed once, then bit, hard, enough to leave a mark.

You grabbed his hair. “Alex-”

He looked up, eyes dangerous.

“You gonna let anyone else touch you like that again?”

You shook your head fast. “No.”

“Say it.”

Your throat was dry. “No. No one else. Just you.”

“Damn right,” he muttered, and then he dove between your legs like he was starving.

His tongue was merciless.

No build-up, no teasing, just pure, focused pressure, like he was punishing you with pleasure. You moaned so loud your knees buckled. He grabbed your thighs, held you up, mouth working you over with practiced vengeance.

“Alex, fuck-”

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t let up.

Not when you gasped. Not when you whined. Not even when your legs started to shake.

You came fast, too fast, and he didn’t stop then either.

He dragged it out.

You were gripping the wall like it was the only thing keeping you standing, sobbing his name, trying to hold back another one.

He pulled back for just a second.

“You still thinking about him?”

Your head fell back. “No, God, no.”

He growled, “Good.”

Then made you come again.

And again.

And again.

Until your voice was hoarse and your legs gave out, and the only name you could even remember was his.

—

You ended up on the bed, eventually.

Barely dressed. Barely conscious.

Alex sat back on his heels, flushed and glaring down at you like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to fuck you again or lecture you until sunrise.

You reached for him, tugged him closer.

“Baby,” you whispered, voice scratchy. “Still mad?”

He exhaled hard.

Then leaned down and kissed your collarbone, soft this time.

“I’m not mad,” he murmured. “I just don’t like sharing.”

You smiled. “Didn’t sound like you were sharing when you had me crying against the wall five minutes ago.”

He smirked.

Then shoved your legs open again.

“Good,” he said. “Let’s make sure you remember why you never should.”

—

It’s a Saturday night.

The tequila’s cheap, the music’s loud, and Rubén’s back on your couch like he owns the place, laughing at his own joke while Alex refills your drinks with an eye twitch that says he’s already regretting this.

Missa couldn’t make it.

Sebas bailed last minute.

So it’s just the three of you now.

You, your boyfriend, and the tall, cocky menace who keeps calling you princesa and smirking like he knows exactly how hot he is.

And you?

You’re tipsy.

Warm. Fuzzy. Feeling cute in your tiny top and tiny skirt and watching Alex not watch you, which only makes you want to provoke him more.

“I still don’t forgive you for choosing Rainbow Road over Coconut Mall,” you say to Rubén, swirling your drink.

Rubén gasps. “You’re breaking my heart, hermosa.”

“You’ll live.”

He leans closer. “Barely.”

Alex slams his cup down a little too hard. “You flirting with my girl again?”

Rubén grins without missing a beat. “I flirt with everyone. She’s just the only one who’s hot enough to flirt back.”

You try to hide your smile.

Alex glares at both of you. “I’m literally right here.”

Rubén shrugs. “Yeah. And I’m still recovering from last time. Didn’t know you were gonna bite.”

“I didn’t bite,” Alex mutters, clearly lying.

You laugh into your drink. “He definitely bit.”

Rubén howls. “Dios mío, you kinky little bastard.”

You kick your feet up on the couch, lounging sideways, head half in Alex’s lap, legs dangling into Rubén’s.

The drinks keep coming.

The music gets louder.

At some point, you’re all laughing at a TikTok, and Rubén reaches out, touches your ankle, and says:

“Come sit on my lap again, princesa. For old time’s sake.”

You freeze.

Alex goes still.

The room shifts.

Rubén raises his hands immediately, like he knows what he just did.

“I’m kidding, bro. Chill.”

But you?

You’re already tipsy and glowing with bad decisions.

You glance at Alex.

He’s staring you down. Hard.

Jaw clenched. Hand fisted in the fabric of his hoodie.

You bite your lip.

“Maybe I will.”

“Don’t,” Alex says instantly, voice dark.

But your drink is warm in your chest and Rubén’s grinning again and you just… want to see what happens.

So you stand up.

Walk over.

And drop yourself into Rubén’s lap like it’s nothing.

His hands go up in surrender again. “Hey, yo no hice nada, she came to me, man-”

Alex’s chair screeches back.

You don’t even get a full second to process before he’s in front of you, eyes dark, mouth tight, breathing hard.

“Get. The fuck. Off his lap.”

You blink at him slowly. “You’re really gonna get mad again? It’s just a joke-”

“I’m not fucking joking.”

His hands curl into fists.

Rubén laughs awkwardly, trying to defuse. “Hey, hey. We’re just messing around-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Alex snaps without looking at him. “Don’t touch her again.”

Rubén lifts both arms, cautious now. “Okay. Okay. Relax, bro.”

Alex reaches forward, grabs you by the waist, and pulls you off Rubén like you weigh nothing.

You gasp, stumbling, but he’s already got you pressed against him, back to his chest, arms wrapped around you in a full-body grip.

His voice is low and rough in your ear:

“You wanna act like you’re his? Fine. I’ll remind you who really owns you.”

You feel his hips against your ass.

You feel how hard he is already.

The air leaves your lungs.

Rubén’s eyes widen. “Hijo de puta, bro, maybe take that to the bedroom-”

“Turn around,” Alex growls. “Or I’ll give you a fucking show.”

You bite your lip, heat rushing through you.

Rubén laughs, raising both arms again. “Okay, okay, I’m going to the kitchen. Don’t murder me.”

As soon as he’s gone, Alex turns you around.

Hands tight on your hips.

Eyes burning.

“You think this is a game?” he hisses.

“I-I didn’t mean-”

“Yes, you did. You wanted me to see that. Wanted to see if I’d get jealous again.”

He backs you into the hallway wall.

Déjà vu.

His mouth grazes your ear. “You want me to show you exactly what happens when you pull shit like that again?”

You shudder. “Yeah.”

“Say it.”

“I want you to show me.”

He grabs your chin.

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “Say that.”

You whisper, breath shaking, “I’m yours.”

His mouth crashes into yours.

[blackcat-mors13]

i was watching charlos edits as one does and red by ts popped into my head and i just couldn’t help but think that that’s such a perfect song for a charlos edit, particularly from like the perspective of charles, but i couldn’t find any edits and its been four weeks and IT HAS NOT LEFT MY DAMN BRAIN!!!!

i’m going proper mad, and i have absolutely no technological skill, so editing is out of the question but my useless adhd brain has decided to hyperfixate and now i can’t sleep and it’s 6:41 AM

anyway, if someone has seen one, please link it, and you can have all my future grandchildren (obv i mean my future cat’s future kittens)

this is how it goes in my head by the way:

loving him is like driving a new Maserati down a dead end street

(carlos driving charles to the paddock, everyone knows the video)

faster than the wind, passionate as sin, ending so suddenly

(them driving their f1 cars side by side vibes but also in my mind, it’s when carlos told his race engineer to tell charles to come closer so they celebrate together)

(for ‘ending so suddenly’ it’s carlos driving the williams car for post season testing)

loving him is like trying to change your mind

once you're already flying through the free fall

like the colors in autumn, so bright, just before they lose it all

(all this is just charles staring homoerotically at carlos, hella fucking baby girl)

losing him was blue, like I'd never known

(how is this song so perfect, it literally references red and blue, but yeah this is carlos in williams blue, laughing, talking with other people vibes, almost like charles is watching)(i was kinda thinking him and alex faffing about to really hammer it in)

missing him was dark gray, all alone

(clip of them going passed each other in the paddock, i know there’s one but i can’t find it)

forgetting him was like trying to know

somebody you never met

(the clips of them nowadays that obviously don’t hit the same, particularly earlier clips from this year)

but loving him was red

loving him was red

(flashback to them doing challenges for ferrari, being gay af, the sacred texts basically)

touching him was like realizing all you ever wanted

(charles falling into carlos every five seconds during the ferrari challenges or when he was just tugging on carlos’ hair trying to direct him for the blindfolded monza lap)(which was gayer than the gayest of gay sex imo)

was right there in front of you

(charles staring at carlos (gay))(the breakfast video, or when carlos is taping charles’ hand to the sim for the gay ass blindfold track thing idk, there are so many)

memorizing him was as easy as knowing all the words

to your old favorite song

(them fighting and singing during the c2 song challenges)(2021 particularly)

fighting with him was like trying to solve a crossword

and realizing there's no right answer

(any of the challenges but jenga is a favorite)

regretting him was like wishing you never found out

that love could be that strong

(the way charles looked at him in the car before carlos gives him the stuffed chili)

the rest is repetitive but we have enough content for the whole song really and i LOVE the bridge.

anyway, this is what’s been playing in my head 24/7 so yeah