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thexsilentxwordsmith · 1 month ago

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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Virgin!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: A training mission puts you and the lieutenant Simon Riley in close quarters. That wouldn't be too bad except there might be some desires shared between you, lingering in the background, and after getting pinned beneath him in a pivotal moment, maybe those desires comes flooding to the surface in a big way. Too bad you have a secret that needs to be revealed.

Word Count: 5.4 k

Warnings:

From the ask HERE (forever ago now someone asked about a virgin!reader with Simon and I finally finished it!)

Part 2 Here

The old, abandoned factory creaks and groans as the amber light of the late afternoon fills the space. Captain Price waits for the last of the straggling members of his task force to make their way over from the transport vehicles and line up before him. The delay makes you impatient and you look around you to see who it is holding everything up, but that is immediately abandoned as the person your eyes end up making contact with are those of the skull-masked lieutenant who is standing only a few feet behind you.

Suddenly you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. Why is he standing so close?

Not that you’re trying to read patterns that aren’t there, but you swear that that hulking military officer has been in your bubble more and more lately. Could this just be an intimidation tactic… or possibly something m… No, you aren’t even going to allow yourself to entertain such a ridiculous idea. Sure, there might have been a time where it almost seemed like there was something there between the pair of you, but that time had long since passed after you decided that someone as seasoned as the lieutenant couldn’t possibly want to get involved with someone as inexperienced as you.

Quickly you break eye contact and turn your body back around, but it doesn’t feel fast enough and that fills you with anxiety; you don’t need him thinking your look means something more than it does. His presence is just a surprise, that’s all… at least that’s what you keep trying to convince yourself of, repeating the phrase in your head until your heart rate slows.

Behind you, Lt. Riley watches you fidget with your hands while you keep your head plastered unnaturally straight ahead. He’s grateful for his choice in attire as his balaclava perfectly hides the smirk that is now on his lips as he silently chuckles to himself. You were quick, but not quick enough that he wasn’t able to catch the heat that had risen in your cheeks as you hurriedly turned away from his sight.

Those coffee-colored eyes linger on the back of your head as he recalls all the times in the past couple of weeks the same thing has happened, when he’s caught you off-guard by being nearer than you expected. It had started by accident, just being at the right place at the right time, but once he saw the flush in your cheeks as that nervous smile filled out your mouth he found himself interested in making it happen again and again. Now it’s become a game and even though he knows he shouldn’t, he likes how flustered you get just being under his silent gaze.

Just a bit of innocent fun, that’s all, he thinks to himself, not letting himself even entertain that it might not be so innocent at this point.

You just make it so easy for him to mess with; it’s not like he has to have some ulterior motive behind his actions, right? He had already made his decision to not allow to get involved with a bastard like him, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy making you nervous with barely any effort.

The loud sound of a throat being cleared brings the lieutenant’s attention back into the present. The last of the members have finally gathered around and the captain moves back to the front of the group ready to speak. Lt. Riley makes one last move and takes a few steps closer towards your back to watch you tense to his presence which causes certain intrusive thoughts to suddenly creep up to the surface of his mind, making it harder to pay attention to what the captain is talking about.

“Rules are simple,” Captain Price says in his usual firm, authoritative voice as he hands a stack of blue velcro patches to the closest member, beckoning him to pass them around. “Each of ya take a patch. You must wear it on your shoulder and it must be visible at all times. Once the word is given, the timer starts. You have ten minutes to prepare your initial hiding point before being let loose.”

The stack of patches gets handed to you and you take yours before passing them back to the lieutenant with a slight tremble in your hand as your gloved fingers brush past one another. You curse yourself at how pathetic you’re being about this; you want to prove yourself with this training and there is only one person that you worry about: the lieutenant. If you can’t pull yourself together, you may be out of this before it even begins.

“After that, a gunshot will signal that the game has begun,” Price continues after a brief pause. “You’ll have till 2100 hours ta gather as many of your fellow team members patches as you can however ya see fit. Don’t make me regret this by injuring each other. Keep it safe, but do what ya must ta get your marks.”

There is heat near the side of your face, but you don’t turn to face it. Instead, you catch yourself holding your breath to stand as still as possible as the lieutenant’s gruff voice is now in your ear. “Good luck, little mouse,” he says before moving back.

You struggle to regain your composure again as Price’s voice cuts back in. “Your ten minutes starts…now.”

And just like that everyone takes off in different directions, plotting as they move, concocting strategies that they hope will get them a win. You clamber your way to the outside of the building at first, but once you catch sight of a few others that also seem to have had the same idea, you suddenly feel too exposed to stay and cautiously make your way back inside.

The sun sits lower towards the horizon as you make it to the top floor of the building, up a back stairwell. You risk diverting your eye line on your surroundings to check the watch on your wrist; it’s been a good hour and a half since you’ve seen another soul, but you don’t feel safe in the slightest. Just because you don’t have visuals on any movement, doesn’t mean that there’s no one there. Years of experience and training have taught you to stay on constant high alert no matter the circumstances. Even though you are apparently all alone, you try to slow down your movements to reduce any unnecessary noise and yet even with how carefully you advance through the area, even the sound of your heartbeat seems to echo off the walls.

The thrill of being on high alert makes your limbs tingle, but you can’t afford to slack, not when every person on this team is at the top of their game and if you want to come out on top you’re going to have to push yourself harder.

You come to yet another corner and you pause to listen before slowly peeking around it. There’s nothing but empty space waiting for you in the next room and you take a couple steps out into it, ready to clear the area more thoroughly, when everything comes crashing down as you are grabbed, pulled around the wall, and slammed into it. Your eyes focus on the person pushing into you and your breath catches in your throat as you realize who is staring back at you– it is none other than the masked lieutenant himself.

The decaying wall behind you gives slightly under the pressure as Lt. Riley pins you against it by your shoulders, using his wide forearm to bear down on your sternum to keep you contained while also keeping one of his hands free to use. “Well, well, well, seems I caught a little mouse creepin’ ‘bout,” he mocks and you can hear the cocky, self-satisfaction brewing in his tone. “Gotta be more fuckin’ careful than that, luv. You’re not as quiet nor as stealthy as ya think ya are. Been tailin’ ya for a while, just waitin’ for the perfect moment ta move in.”

You struggle against his arm, but it does little good. There’s too much of him and not enough of you.

“How did you even hear me?” you ask. “I barely breathed.”

He chuckles in that deep, bassy voice. “Ya should fuckin’ know nothin’ gets past me.”

Those dark eyes from within his skull mask look down to find the bright blue patch at the top of your arm as you continue to struggle to unsuccessfully wriggle from his grasp. His hand reaches to the patch on your bicep to rip it off and claim his prize, but before he can grab it you react by kicking at his shin with the heel of your boot which makes him stumble back just enough that you are able to wriggle your way from under the pressure of his arm.

You take a quick step to pivot so you can run off and you almost get away, but his recovery is too quick. Striking out his foot he trips you so that you tumble to the ground; now he can keep you better subdued.

Quickly you try to roll to your side so you can get yourself back up, but he is already on top of you, pushing you back down so that you lay supine as he swings a thick thigh over your lap. You’re pinned under him and with the bulk of that 6’4” military man on top of you there is no chance you’ll get lucky enough to escape again.

It’s over for you.

That dark gaze stares back down with you as he works to regain his composure, his chest heaving up and down laboriously with each strained breath that he intakes to recover from the sudden rush of adrenaline through his veins.

"Not fuckin’ quick enough, little mouse," he pants. “Did ya fuckin' think ya could get away from me?”

Once more his hand reaches for the patch on your arm, this time without any worry that he won’t get it. “Best hold still,” he says, that gravelly tone lower after the noisiness of the tussle as to not draw any unwanted company before he can get himself up and out of the area.

Lt. Riley still has more hunting to do and being detected already isn’t going to help.

Even as the velcro starts to pry apart, you still decide to give your last bit of effort and squirm in his gasp, not ready to admit defeat even in the face of the inevitable. “You’re not gettin’ away, luv,” he says as the distinct sound of velcro ripping away from itself echoes across the bare walls that conceal you both.

“If you think I’m gonna give up without a fight, you’re dead fucking wrong, lieutenant,” you say through gritted teeth as you twist your shoulders, but to no avail.

“Feisty thing,” he picks, slapping your patch just below his on his vest. “Lotta good it did ya.”

Secured on his person, he looks back down. “Now, what am I gonna do with ya?” he questions with a chuckle.

You scowl up at him as you lay there panting through your own rush of adrenaline. Is it all from the struggle, though? As you continue to look up at him from your position on your back, you aren’t so sure anymore. You can feel something changing in the atmosphere between you both, the charging of the atoms around your bodies as you stare back up into the intimidating masked face of your lieutenant as he towers over top of you, his wide thighs resting against the sides of your waist.

Catching his eyes, you notice something wash over his gaze: instead of that determined, steady gaze, he peers down at you with a look that makes your heart skip a beat.

And for good reason. There is only one thought going through Lt. Riley’s head now: Fuck, you look good on your back.

You flush hot all over, drawn into the intensity in his eyes. It’s intoxicating to be under that coffee-colored gaze, being the only person who has his full attention. Lost in that revelry it takes you a minute, but that's when you feel it: the outline of something hard poking you through the crotch of his pants.

Is that what you think it is? Oh fuck, he’s getting hard. You should stop, right? But you don’t want to and for some reason he isn’t stopping you. At least he wasn’t, but now your gloved hand is in his as he brings up off of him and towards his mouth.

And yet…

You watch on wide eyed as he pulls up the lip of his mask up and situates it to rest over the bridge of his nose, exposing the lower half of his face. Grabbing the cuff of your glove between his teeth he rips the fabric up to expose the delicate skin of your palm. He spits the fabric from his mouth, tossing it aside before bringing your hand back down and placing it over the bulge growing near the zipper of his pants.

"Ya feel that, little mouse? How hard I am?" he asks as he presses your hand into the stiff peak. "That's what you fuckin' do ta me."

Your breath catches in your chest as your heartbeat thuds violently against your ribs. The feel of a distinct pulse now rhythmically thumps against your palm, making the heat in your face rise until your cheeks feel swollen and on fire and your mind goes static.

What do you do? What do you want to do?

Suddenly, as if piloted by instinct alone, you begin to move your hand up and down over the swell and he can't help the deep groan that escapes through his lips. The bassy sound causes a throbbing between your closed thighs, an ache that suddenly gathers in the pit of your stomach. You continue to slowly rub along the mound, enjoying the way his cock leaps at your touch as it grows even more stiff.

Silence fills the space around you as the lieutenant reciprocates your action by rolling his hips into your hand, grinding against the warm surface of your palm in a motion that fills your head with a need to see him actually take you. Desperately you squirm beneath him to clench your thighs together tighter to relieve the building pressure and he senses your movement.

"Is it achin'?" he questions quietly, his voice husky with his need. “Do ya need somethin’ ta take the edge off?”

It takes you a few seconds for your brain to comprehend the question, but when you do you can only nod your head in response as your mouth suddenly feels too dry to create sounds.

The lieutenant sits still for a moment, head cocked to one side and then the other. It looks as if he is listening for something, but other than the sound of the beat in your ears and his panted breaths there is nothing. You are both all alone, secluded in this remote section of the large building, as the shadows grow ever longer with the incoming night. The last he had seen the rest of the team they were nowhere near this area.

There’s no one to interrupt what is rapidly unfolding between you, but he knows that could change in an instant. He needs to be fast.

Turning his attention fully back to you, he pauses. This is a terrible fucking idea, but the way you look pinned beneath him, your hand stroking over his hard cock, that doe eyed, begging look that you keep giving him, it's too much to handle. Simon Riley is a man of restraint, but at this moment all the training he has endured to reach this point in his career fails him.

All that suppressed desire comes bubbling to the surface like a tidal wave. Lost in the heat of the moment he cannot deny his attraction anymore than he can deny the air trying desperately to enter his lungs to calm him, but failing.

“Fuckin’ hell, ya don’t know how bad I need ya,” he says in a groan that nearly stops your heart.

A haze clouds your mind that you drunkenly watch through as your superior leans down into you, the bulk of his weight compressing your chest as his hungry lips immediately steal your mouth with such deadly force that it feels as if the pair of yours are magnetized and he can’t keep them from being violently drawn together. The feeling is unfamiliar and overwhelmingly intense, knocking the wind from your lungs while filling you full of his contagious desire.

Pinned beneath him into the broken flooring and at his mercy, you are falling apart as your head swirls with an ecstasy you have never felt before. It is true that your lips had caressed others before his, but not like this, never like this, and it awakens something in you… something instinctual.

In that moment, you give yourself over to that feral side of yourself, the one that had always been hiding under the surface, but never allowed to come into the light. Everywhere he touches comes alive and the further he goes up under your clothes, pulling up layers to glide his hands along your curves, the more your body desperately craves.

Your movements are hesitant, but exploratory, greedily digging up under his tactical vest covering his torso to get to the burning, sweat-slick flesh lying beneath. A patch of short, soft hair meets your fingertips as you get up through the bottom of his shirt and make contact with his lower abdomen. His skin feels like it’s on fire under your palms and you moan into his mouth as your hands study the contours of his hips and stomach through touch alone.

Fuck, he can’t wait; this needs to happen now before someone comes to ruin this.

“Gotta make it quick,” he pants as he hastily reaches between your bodies and rips down the zipper on his pants. “Are ya wet?”

The sound hits your ears and suddenly it all becomes too real. This is really happening. And though you don’t want him to stop, there is a secret that is burning a hole in your chest that you can’t hide away anymore.

Lt. Riley can feel you suddenly go rigid under him and pauses his movements to prop himself up by his arms so that he can look into your face. He stares into your eyes, panting through his need. “Ya alright?” he asks.

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth to nervously pick at the skin with your teeth as you hesitate to respond. Anxiety has its grip in you at the thought of what you are about to admit, but you know that you are going to have to speak up because you are out of your element now and he is going to know it soon enough.

“I- I’m…I mean, I- I haven’t ever…done something like this,” you stammer out the confession, admitting the embarrassing information while you suddenly avoid his gaze.

His brow furrows under the pulled up mask. “Ya mean where ya can get caught?” he asks to clarify as he doesn’t understand. “We’ll be quick.”

You shake your head. It’s worse than that, you think to yourself. “I…” you take a breath and your stomach drops, “I’m still a virgin.”

The realization of your words washes over the lieutenant like cold water. It never would have occurred to him that you had no experience in that area, but even so he isn’t judging. You probably have your reasons and that is fine, all he cares about is what he does right now. This isn’t the time or place to give you an experience that intense that you’ve never had before. He wants to be able to take his time and make it a memory you won’t ever forget and that isn’t going to happen on the dirty floor of this derelict building.

He begins to move back. “Please…don’t stop…” you beg as you reach out for him, but Lt. Riley is already sitting himself upright and zipping himself back up.

Those big brown eyes look down at you and he shakes his head. “Not like this,” he says. “This ain’t how your first time’s gonna be.”

Throwing his leg over your body, he moves off from on top of you and kneels besides your legs. Your hands instantly move up to your face and you frustratedly cover your eyes in a vain attempt to calm the storm of hormones raging inside, thinking that all of this buildup is going nowhere all because you couldn’t just keep your mouth shut.

You keep your face concealed while waiting to hear the fading crunch from the soles of his boots as he leaves, but the sound never comes. From the blackness behind your palms you feel something tugging at the clothing near your belly button and quickly you remove your hands and open your eyes to see your lieutenant leaning over top of you, his tactical vest removed and set on the floor as he hurriedly begins undoing the belt on your pants..

“We ain’t got much time left, but I can’t leave ya fuckin’ empty handed,” he grunts with a smirk as he finally frees the buckle from itself. “Won’t take your virginity ‘ere, never said I wouldn’t make ya come. Gotta finish what I started. Ya want that, little mouse?”

You don’t say a word, just stare while he works, but that won’t do. Lt. Riley isn’t going to take anything that isn’t explicitly given to him and unless he can hear you say it out loud that you want him to give you a parting gift, he isn’t going to continue.

“ ‘less ya want me ta stop,” he says as he removes his hands from your waist.

Immediately you sit up just enough to grab at his wrists and secure his hands back onto you right at the fastener on your pants. “Don’t you fucking dare,” you breathe the words in an angered huff. “I want it, please.”

Lt. Riley smirks. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises.

Those long fingers draw the waistband of your pants together to unhook the button, quickly ripping down the tab of the zipper before he is sliding the dense clothing off your hips and down the length of your legs. “Need these fuckin’ things outta my way then,” he says as he bunches the pants legs up at the top of your boots.

Time is of the essence and he has to choose his actions carefully, wasting time taking off everything is too risky; just the essentials will have to do. As soon as he gets your pants low enough, he crosses his arms over his torso and quickly rips up his shirt off his body and throws it on top of his vest.

“Can’t risk gettin’ anything on me, don’t need them fuckin’ nosey bastards gettin’ curious,” he answers the curiosity in your cocked brow from the question that you haven’t asked. “This’ll be our secret, yeah?”

You can’t complain, as soon as that shirt is up over his head you get an eyeful of absolute perfection in the form of bulky muscles that line his thick torso covered in a mouthwatering bit of hair that leads down into the top of his pants. From the way his clothes always hugged his body, you knew that man was big, but fuck seeing it in person is a whole other story. And now you desperately need to feel that girthy torso spreading your thighs wide as the throbbing that was just poking against you fills you full.

Not wasting another second he slips your legs over his head to wear them draped around his shoulders like a necklace as he slides his body in on his hands and knees so that his face is close to the panties still covering your pussy; one last impediment to his goal. Hooking his fingers into the crotch of the small swath of fabric cloaking your cunt, he pulls it out of his way and his breath hitches at the sight.

It’s better than he could have imagined. Immediately he meets those soft, pillowy lips with his as he places a few tender kisses to them and already the contact has you squirming over his features.

Goddamn, you have a pussy he could lose himself in.

Pulling his hand in, he spreads your lips with his fingers to find your clit through them. "Let's see how good ya taste, little mouse," he groans before he locks his lips around you and his tongue slithers its way from between his lips to find its mark.

The moment the tip of his tongue makes contact with your clit you see stars and your back arches off the ground. Touching yourself was one thing, you know your own body, but having the control given to someone else with the experience to know just how to do it, makes you instantly weak.

With a hand gripped into your hip he takes you like he owns you and you've never felt more desired before. Over and over his tongue laps between the lips of your pussy, rolling over that sensitive nub with skill and precision. This is what he has craved all this time, to make you come undone, and several times his eyes dart up to catch a glimpse of your face as you lose yourself in the sensation of it all.

Your honey fills his mouth and dances along his taste buds as he buries his face into you even further, not caring about the cloth still sitting on his face. If your scent melts into the fibers then it will only serve as a reminder of what happened here. Everything outside of your thighs gets forgotten as his lips lock around that nub and he sucks it into his mouth and you buck wildly over his features, the heels of your boots digging into his back that only makes him moan at the delicious sting.

Is this what it’s like to be craved by another? Fuck, you could get addicted to this. All that desire being unleashed in the way he devours mixed with the excitement from being taken by the lieutenant and the risk of being so exposed like this has your orgasm rapidly approaching faster than you thought possible.

“Ahh, getting… close,” you murmur out, struggling to keep your voice low.

"Tha's it," he grunts as he surfaces for a quick inhale of air from between your lips, "come for me. Cum on my fuckin’ tongue, little mouse."

His large hand spreads out across your pelvis to push it down as he nuzzles the tip of his nose against your clit so that his tongue can strike up inside that dripping hole. Your juices mix with his saliva and dribble down his chin and out from the corners of his mouth to pool on the ground beneath you both, but he doesn't slow.

He keeps the pace of his movements steady, making sure that nothing breaks his focus so that he can keep up the tempo. You’re gonna come for him, it’s the only thing he wants now; he desperately needs his head to be crushed between these beautiful thighs.

Suffocate me, sweetheart, he demands silently.

You whimper behind closed lips in an attempt to keep the noise down, but it is getting harder and harder to hold it in. The warmth in your belly is gathering quicker now to match the pulsing down between your legs. Just a little more and the wave of heat will flood your limbs violently. Reaching down, your fingertips dig into the muscles in his shoulders and he groans deliciously into your pussy.

You’re so close.

Then you feel the tensing and all at once you fall silent as that tightness snaps with an explosion that makes your body go rigid with a severe arch in your spine. You dig the back of your head into the concrete with your eyes shut as your thighs forcefully clamp together and you moan deep in your throat. Waves of hot pleasure course through you until your limbs tingle and yet that agile tongue of your superior continues to stroke you through it all as you squeeze his head like a vice.

Lt. Riley can’t see, he can’t hear, all he has is the throbbing of your cunt to keep him going. And fuck is that enough.

Time is forgotten as you ride out your pleasure to the very end and just when you think you can’t take anymore of that overwhelming sensation, the feeling begins to die down and you can relax and release your captive.

A coated and messy lieutenant emerges from between your legs with a smile plastered to his mouth that still wears you around it. “Ya did so fuckin’ good for me,” he praises as he uses the back of his hand to wipe away the cum and saliva from around his lips.

Your legs are carefully moved from his shoulders and lowered to the ground and without a word, those strong hands are pulling them back up. “Lift your hips for me, tha’s it,” he says as he finishes bringing them back and up and rebuckles them even though you hadn’t asked.

Only once you’re situated does he redress himself and then offers you his hand to help you back up to your unsteady feet. “C’mere,” he grunts as he pulls you tight to him and leans down to kiss your lips and you can taste yourself off his.

Still in a daze you rub your hand absentmindedly over your stolen patch stuck to the front of his and the lieutenant laughs into your mouth, thinking you are trying to take back what he got fair and square. “Oh no, I’m still keepin’ this, luv,” he says. “We’ll call it a consolation prize for what I just gave ya.” The lieutenant kisses you one last time.

“And ya know, the offer stands if ya still want me ta fix that other thing,” he says. “I’ll make sure ta do it right.”

With that he leaves you to finish composing yourself so you can walk back to the meeting point to wait for the rest of the team to finish the exercise. Your mind is still reeling a couple hours later with thoughts as you try to process everything even as the team loads into the transport vehicles to make the way back to base. Your sight continues to dart over to Lt. Riley’s form sitting down at the end opposite you, wondering what you’re going to do.

Do you take him up on his offer or do you let this be a one time thing?

At the other end, the lieutenant watches you from the corner of his vision as your eyes keep jumping back to him. Your scent is woven into the fibers of his mask even as it still lingers on his lips and the stubble around his chin and every time he breathes his heart races a little more. Will you decide to let him have you again and even go further? He won’t let his need get the better of him yet, but as the short journey ends and everyone begins to file out of the vehicles, he heads back to his room hoping that you’ll take him up on his offer.

The night is getting on fast when out of the silence there it is. Knock, knock, knock. Quick, soft, timid right on the lieutenant’s door. He gets up from his bed, heart beginning to pound as he reaches for the lock.

More silence follows until the lock clicks and the door opens to reveal you standing there. The lieutenant meets your gaze, but soon your attention is drawn to the pair of old sweats that cling low on his hips and the lack of shirt that leaves his chest bare. He looks you up and down and chuckles as if he’s been expecting this.

“It’s late, little mouse,” he greets you before moving to the side, a gesture clearly meant for you to come in.

The door quietly shut behind you before being locked. No sense in leaving it undone, you won’t be leaving before the sun rises.

506 notes · View notes

gotta-winwin · 3 months ago

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i (almost) do | s.c

⭐ starring: choi seungcheol 💌 genre: angst | wc: 1.5k 💬 preview: at 12 years old on the playground, you traded plastic wedding rings with Choi Seungcheol, the boy who sat in front of you in class. he slid the ring onto your ring finger, a teasing smile on his face. 15 years later, you watch as he slides a real wedding band on her finger.

cw/tw: angst, marriage, being the other woman (kinda?), seungcheol being an impatient lil fucker, childhood lovers to strangers, multiple proposals.

🪽fic rating: pg ☁️ masterlist & a/n: here’s the promised fic from our svt x what could’ve been poll! couprangs, you guys are insane (mwah ily) this idea was first born in the depth of my chats with @gyubakeries and @studioeisa…this is for you, choi seungcheol, and your immensely sufferable face :3 (and the biggest thanks to ally @lovetaroandtaemin for the banner!)

now playing: i (almost) do by taylor swift

this is a special from the svt x what could’ve been event -> click here to read svt x what was (@studioeisa) and svt x what is (@gyubakeries) :)

Choi Seungcheol’s fiance looked suspiciously similar to you.

Perhaps it was just your delusion talking, but the similarities were simply too difficult to ignore.

The way she always sat with her right leg propped up on her left. The way her lips curled into a smile, hiding the insecurity of her teeth she had carried with her since childhood. Even her hair fell the same over her shoulders, the strap of her bra never sitting properly on the crook. She ran her hands across Seungcheol’s arms in a beat that matched how yours once did.

“It’s uncanny.” Joshua murmured into your ear at the wedding rehearsal. “It’s like he ordered her from the y/n factory because he knew he couldn’t have you.”

You fake a smile. You feel bad for her. After all, if everyone could see the resemblance she could too. Yet you couldn’t help but resent her anyway. Because even if you had been here first, it was still her at the altar. Her in his sweatshirt. Her in his bed. Her as the mother of his children.

She looks and acts exactly like you. The only difference is the wedding band that sits nicely on her ring finger and the aching void that is on yours.

”Choi Seungcheol!”

He runs past you towards the open field, a soccer ball in his arms. The smile he looks back at you with is full of warmth and open admiration.

You forget how long you sit on the wet grass to watch him play.

His sweaty arms envelope you in a hug. You are both far too young to understand love, yet it surrounds the two of you anyways. The teachers see it and they smile with understanding. Your classmates see it even if they don’t know what it is yet.

“Let’s get slurpees from the gas station after school.” Seungcheol walks you back to class. “My mom gave me ten bucks today.”

You nod. You know you’re staring at him with the sappiest look on your face. You can feel the awkward stares of others in the hallway. But love doesn’t feel embarrassing when you’re being loved by Seungcheol.

”You’re embarrassing me!” His fiance chides him through laughter.

He has his hands on her waist, spinning her across the dance floor.

You look at his face and watches as his eyes fucking glow. They glow in a way that never happened when he looked at you. It stings. Joshua brings you another drink and you swallow it down.

The wedding photos are sent to your group chat a week after the actual event. You open them first thing in the morning and nearly choke on your own spit. Without your glasses on, the image is blurry and she looks just like you.

You hate it.

If Seungcheol had married a girl the complete opposite of you, you could’ve chalked it up to the fact that you just weren’t his type. But the fact that she was you— the only acceptable conclusion was that Seungcheol loved you, he did. He just didn’t want to choose you. Not in any way that actually counted.

You stare at your ring finger and pretend you don’t feel the urge to chop that shit off.

He proposes for the first time in the middle of July at six years old.

“Let’s get married when we’re 30.”

You frown, because the age 30 seems eons away. “Why 30?”

”My parents got married at 30.” He pauses. “I think?”

“30 is old.” You counter, swinging your legs in boredom. “Why can’t we get married now?”

”Well, you need to be much taller to get married. I think. All married people are much taller.” Seungcheol had always been much smarter than you.

“How tall do you need to be?” You think about how tall your parents are and your frown grows. “What if you’re old and not tall enough?”

The question stumps Seungcheol. “I don’t know.”

You stand up and press your back against the wall of your bedroom. “Measure me. How tall do I have to be?”

He presses his hand against the wall, on top of your head. “Much taller.” Picking up a piece of chalk, he climbs onto your bed and draws a straight line a couple feet above you. “This tall.”

You stare at the line on the wall of your childhood bedroom, now faded and barely visible. You let out a wet laugh because Seungcheol had drawn the line impossibly tall and you were still nowhere near the line.

“Y/N.”

The way he says your name is familiar, easy. A tongue that had spent years perfecting a few syllables that made up a cherished noun.

“Seungcheol.”

The way you say his name is hesitant, as if your brain had short circuited trying to pronounce it. You pretend not to see the flinch at his own name coming from your lips.

“You know I hate when people use my government name.”

It’s true. His friends call him S.Coups. His parents call him son. “It’s your name isn’t it?” You say. “What else am I supposed to call you?”

”You used to call me Cheol.”

“Your fiance calls you that.”

He winces and you let out a quiet, defeated sigh.

The both of you had learned in fourth grade that names had power. It was in some stupid English novel your teacher had forced you to read in class— entirely boring and useless, yet the sentiment had always stayed.

“Goodbye, Seungcheol.”

He watches as you leave.

You take the power he holds over you away. You revoke his claim on your heart. You refuse to call him anything other than his government name ever again.

He proposes the second time over winter break at 15 years old.

“Our parents think we’re going to get married when we’re older.”

You laugh because you’ve heard it from your parents multiple times over the course of the last six years. ”I know.”

”Do you think we will?” Seungcheol no longer looked like the little boy you had grown up with since kindergarten. He looks different and so do you.

“If you don’t make me mad before we’re 30, yes.”

He looks offended. “I would never.”

Seungcheol could never imagine making you mad or being the reason for your tears.

“I want one of those fancy weddings.” He comments, picturing the scene. “With all our friends— somewhere in the middle of August. Right after my birthday.”

“Me too.” You lay next to him, looking up at the ceiling of his room. His ceilings are still decorated with the solar system from his youth. “With a big cake, big decorations, a DJ, and I want my veil to reach the floor.”

You can see the wedding day so perfectly in your mind, and when you turn to look at him looking at you— you know he can see it so clearly too.

Seungcheol gets married on a farm at 27 because his fiance wanted to. There were no elaborate cakes, big decorations or a DJ. Her veil was modest and fell neatly on her shoulders. It lacked most of his high school friends. It was in February.

You return to your empty apartment after a long day of work and you can almost see the visible trails of energy Seungcheol had left behind.

Perhaps you were slowly going insane from the loneliness, but your apartment carried wisps of gold, flowing through the air and gathering dust on your couch.

You feel the sudden urge to run to him. You almost do.

Instead, you pour yourself a cup of warm tea and curl up on your one seater couch. You welcome the loneliness in and invite it to stay for a while.

Joshua tells you Seungcheol and his fiance had just moved into their marital home. You imagine it’s homey and illuminated with a thousand warm lights. You imagine she cooks for him in their giant kitchen and he hugs her coming home from work. You imagine they sleep on the same side of the bed.

You fight each wave of yearning towards him, each urge to knock on his door begging for answers. For another chance. For him to leave the carbon copy of you. You want to run to him. You almost do, but you don’t.

He proposes for the last time in the middle of a snowstorm at 25.

“Let’s get married.” It’s less of a proposal and more of a beg. “Fuck the idea of 30. I want you to be my wife now.”

Yet you know you’re not ready. Deep down he knows it too. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” He’s angry, frustrated. You can tell. You always do.

You look away. “I want to finish my degree before I get married, Cheol. You know this. You know what they say about women who get married and still try to pursue law.”

You look back and he’s on his knees. “Marry me.” He says again. “You can do both.”

“You know I can’t. We said 30, Cheol. Please.” It’s your turn to beg, as you sink down to meet him at his level, your knees scraping the wooden floor of your shared apartment. “Wait for me. Please.” You hold his face in the palms of your hands.

He nods, but you can tell from the way he gets up silently that you’ve betrayed him. That somehow putting you first had burned him.

So Cheol gets married at 27 with you in the audience. He doesn’t wait for you. You get your degree a year later.

494 notes · View notes

scuderiahoney · 2 years ago

Text

Be Brave

Oscar Piastri x reader

Masterlist

Summary: You’re a teacher, and someone’s had the brilliant idea to send your class full of 5 year olds to the McLaren Technology Centre. Chaos ensues. Oscar’s there to help.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: none

a/n: this is not the angst I threatened or the fic from the dialogue poll I did, but a secret third thing: a request I finally got the motivation to finish after seeing cute pics of Oscar with kids. Enjoy!

In hindsight, whoever’s idea it was to bring a classroom of five year olds to the McLaren Technology Centre- an active car factory- has definitely never stepped foot in a classroom full of five years olds. You’re lucky- your students are quite well behaved, and you’ve got plenty of parent chaperones with you. It turns out that about half your class’ families seem to be McLaren fans. Half your students had showed up today in bright orange- papaya, one of them had corrected you. You’re not complaining- it makes them easier to spot.

The field trip has been fun. The kids are thrilled about everything. It’s just. Tiny hands, tiny humans, wandering through an active car factory? You’re on edge the whole time. You’re constantly scanning the class, counting to make sure you haven’t lost any students as the tour guide tries to explain mechanical engineering in words that 5 year olds will understand.

You breathe a mild sigh of relief when they bring you into a large, open conference room. They’re going to have someone come speak to the kids in a few minutes. While you have the chance, and a closed room with enough people to guard the exits, you stand in front of your class and tell them to go wild. Seventeen five year olds begin to run around the room. One 5 year old clings to your hand in the quietest corner of the room.

Sammy. He’s a quiet kid, not one for the chaos. He’s stuck to your side the whole morning, staring at everything with big eyes and jumping at all the loud noises. You relate to him more than you’d like to admit. Somehow, the quiet kid turned into a teacher. It seems almost hard to believe looking back, how painfully shy you were.

Sammy tugs on your hand and points at a large mural on one of the walls. “Who’s that?” He asks.

The room you’re in has the two current drivers plastered on the walls, larger than life. You look where he’s pointing and smile.

“That’s Oscar Piastri,” you say, extending the syllables for him.

“Os-car Pi-as-tri,” he sounds out. “That’s my dad’s favorite driver.”

You smile. “Wanna know a secret?” He nods, and so you whisper loudly. “He’s my favorite too.”

Sammy giggles. “Oscar Piastri.”

“He says it better than most of the broadcasters, I think,” says someone behind you.

You turn and come face to face with none other than Oscar Piastri. You hope your shock isn’t too obvious, and you try to control your wide eyes. They’d said someone from the team was going to come talk to your kids- you hadn’t expected it to be one of the drivers. You smile politely as you feel Sammy step behind your legs.

“Hi. Sorry about the…” you wave your hand in the general direction of the children running around behind you. “If they didn’t get some excercise they were never going to make it through the rest of the day.”

“No worries,” Oscar says, smiling brightly. He looks at Sammy where he’s hiding behind you. “Not this guy, though?”

“No, Sammy here is very well behaved and polite,” you say proudly, before whispering, “and quite shy.”

Oscar nods in understanding. His face has gone soft. You weren’t lying when you said he was your favorite, and it only increases with the way he looks at the five year old so fondly. You think maybe Oscar understands Sammy all too well. You turn over your shoulder to look at the little boy.

“Sammy, should we practice being big and brave and introducing ourselves?” You ask. He frowns slightly but nods anyways. “We’ll do it together, okay?”

He nods again and steps out from behind your legs. You stand up straight, and he follows suit. Then you stick your hand out to shake Oscar’s as you introduce yourself.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” he says, repeating your name back to you. “I’m Oscar.”

Sammy takes a tentative step forward and sticks his tiny hand out. You drop back just a bit and pull your phone from your pocket, giving Oscar a questioning glance and making a camera sort of motion with your hands. He nods eagerly before he crouches down to Sammy’s level.

“My name is Samuel,” he says, as he shakes Oscar’s hand. “But you can call me Sammy.”

You hide an endeared laugh behind your hand and snap a picture of the two of them. You know his parents will be thrilled.

“Hi, Sammy,” Oscar says sweetly. “My name is Oscar. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“You’re my dad’s favorite driver,” Sammy says. “And my teacher’s favorite driver. So I think you’re my favorite, too. Os-car Pi-as-tri.”

You stare down at him with wide eyes, suddenly feeling betrayed by your favorite student. Your face grows warm, but Oscar just laughs lightly and smiles up at you.

“Is that so?” He says, turning back to Sammy. “I’m honored.”

He stands back up, and Sammy goes back to clinging to your side. There’s a bright smile on Oscar’s face. You know yours matches it.

“So, are you our guest speaker?” You ask, trying to will your face to cool down.

He nods eagerly, eyes darting around the room, watching kids run everywhere. One of them bumps into the back of your legs and squeaks out a quick apology before running away again. He laughs lightly, hiding it behind his hand.

“Hopefully Lando and I can keep them entertained,” he says.

“Oh, they’ll be fine, they’ll sit quietly when I ask them to,” you say.

He gives you an uncertain look, a soft smirk on his lips. You laugh, hoping it’s not painfully obvious how taken you are with him. He’s been your favorite driver because of his level head and dry humor, but standing in front of him you can’t help but notice how cute he is. Before he can say anything in response and challenge your ability to control your class, Lando comes stumbling into the room.

“Okay, now this is my kinda school trip,” he says, an impressed grin on his lips. He elbows Oscar. “This was me as a kid.”

Oscar gestures towards Sammy, still tucked against your leg. “This was me, I think.”

Lando laughs and nods. He tilts his head at you, and you stick your hand out once again and introduce yourself. Sammy follows suit. Lando bends to shake the five year olds hand, giving both you and him an impressed smile.

“Sammy’s working on being big and brave and introducing himself,” Oscar says.

“Well he’s doing a great job,” Lando says with an approving nod.

“He’s got a great teacher,” Oscar says, grinning at you.

With that, your face grows hot again. You clear your throat and turn over your shoulder to look at the class. They’re beginning to slow just slightly. Perfect timing.

You clap your hands, and each of them skids to a stop, turning to look at you. “Okay, friends! Come sit up here, we have some very special guest speakers.”

The children all make their way to the front of the room, sitting down on the carpet in a semicircle. Even Sammy wanders away, taking a seat near the back. You turn back to Oscar and Lando, who both have impressed looks on their faces.

“I think we need you to run our meetings,” Oscar says, brows raised.

“Oh, if you give them permission to go crazy consistently when they need it, they’ll listen when you tell them it’s time to be calm,” you say with a shrug. “My mum was a teacher, too, she taught me that.”

“Yeah, if Zak let me be a menace before meetings I’d have a lot easier time sitting through them,” Lando agrees. “Alright, you little muppets!”

He steps in front of the class. Oscar gives you an exasperated smile, like you’re both sharing a moment of understanding. Maybe Lando’s still a 5 year old at heart. You laugh and step back with the chaperones to watch them speak as Oscar follows Lando’s lead. It’s fun to watch. You realize they couldn’t have picked better speakers.

Some of the kids recognize the drivers, but even the ones who don’t are enamored once they find out that these guys drive race cars for a living. You snap lots of pictures of your students staring up at them with wide grins. Lando continues to call them muppets, earning laughs each time. Oscar gets down on their level and uses a little model of the car to explain the aerodynamics. They give a horrible demonstration of slipstream, with Lando pretending to drive and Oscar pretending to be the air. Then, at the end, they open it up for questions. Eighteen tiny hands fly up into the air.

“Do you speed when you drive a normal car?” One of them asks.

“Never,” Lando lies.

“D’you ever fight with other drivers?” Another student asks.

“We try to leave what happens in the race on the track,” Oscar answers. “We’re all quite nice to each other outside of the races, actually.”

Lando shrugs and shakes his hand from side to side. A few of the kids catch on and laugh.

Sammy is sitting in the back of the group, his hand raised. He’s not waving it around, not bouncing up and down. But you watch Oscar scan the group, see him spot the tiny hand anyways.

“Sammy,” he calls out. “What’s your question?”

Sammy looks shocked to have been called on, but he clears his throat and speaks up. “What’s your favorite color?”

The grin that breaks across Oscar’s face is endearing. Lando smiles, too, presses his hand to his chest. You wait for the canned answer- papaya, you think.

“Mine’s bright green,” Lando says.

Oscar nods. “Mine is blue. What’s yours?”

“Mine is blue too,” Sammy answers.

“Good taste.” Oscar says. He exchanges a grin with you. You smile proudly at Sammy, so happy to see him step out of his shell just a bit.

The next student who gets called on says, “my mum told me to ask if you’re single,” and you clap your hands and walk towards the front.

“Okay, friends, I think Oscar and Lando have given us enough of their time,” you say. “Can we all say a big thank you?”

A chorus of little voices calls out varying forms of thank you. One of them screams it, and Lando winces. Oscar’s cheeks are pink, probably from the student asking about his relationship status. Is it bad that you almost wanted him to answer? You’re being ridiculous, you know. But his flushed face is cute, and you can’t help but smile at him.

You shake their hands one more time before they leave. “Thanks again. You’ve really just made their days.”

“We were happy to,” Oscar says.

“Yeah, you’ve got a good group of kids,” Lando agrees.

“And they’ve got a good teacher,” Oscar repeats his earlier comment.

You laugh, feeling your face grow hot. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

Oscar goes to say something else, but someone leans in through the door and calls out to him and Lando. He smiles sheepishly as Lando urges him towards the exit, tugging on his shirt.

“It was nice meeting you!” Oscar calls out before he disappears through the doors.

You turn back to your class and refocus. It’s time to move on to lunch, which is always the worst part of any field trip. Someone comes by to bring your group to the cafeteria. Your field trip worst nightmare- a large, open room full of people. You make sure all the chaperones are set with their groups and head off.

It goes fine. At first. You get the kids settled at tables and do a quick head count. Everyone’s there. They provide lunch for the kids, so you help to hand them out to everyone. Eighteen five year olds sit quietly, eat sandwiches and drink juice. You breath a little sigh of relief.

Then the kids all decide they need to go to the bathroom. You split them up, send them with chaperones in groups. You stay back at the tables with the ones who say they don’t need to go, knowing full well that in ten minutes they’ll be whining for the restroom. You clean up spilled apple juice and eat half your lunch. The bathroom groups come back one by one. Seventeen five year olds sit down at the tables.

And no, that can’t be right. You count again. Seventeen. One more time- seventeen. There’s an empty seat. You turn to the nearest chaperone, who also has a panicked look on his face.

“Sammy,” he says, eyes wide. “He was in my bathroom group, I swore he came back with us-“

You can’t panic. You turn to the nearest McLaren employee and tell them the situation. The look on her face tells you she’s going to panic, so you take control of the situation. You ask her to get everyone on the lookout for him, to page him over the speakers. Then you turn to your class.

“Friends,” you say, loudly. “Has anyone seen Sammy?”

Casey, one of the louder boys, raises his hand. “He stopped to tie his shoes when we were coming back.”

You could strangle the parent for not noticing, for not keeping an eye on the kids, but you don’t have time for that. At the very least, you have a starting point. You delegate a couple chaperones to stay with the kids in the cafeteria, and enlist a couple others to help you look. Panic is itching at the back of your brain, but you keep it tamped down. You’ll find him, and then you’ll freak out about it.

You split up, wandering the halls and asking everyone if they’ve seen a shy five year old with dark hair. They all tell you no, but that they’ll keep their eyes peeled. You check around corners, behind doors, in conference rooms and offices. You think you accidentally interrupt what was likely a very important meeting, though when you explain you’re looking for a missing child the men in suits all seem to understand.

The longer it goes on, the more sick to your stomach you feel. It’s Sammy. He got separated from his group and probably panicked just like you want to do now. He could be anywhere. He’s tiny, he could be hiding somewhere you’d never even think to look. His parents are going to kill you-

Oscar calls your name. It’s probably odd that you already recognize his voice, but you don’t have time to worry about that. You turn to look at him, and relief washes over you. He’s standing at the end of the hallway, his hand holding onto Sammy’s. You want to march down the hallway to them, but instead you collapse against one of the walls and press your hand to your mouth. Oscar pulls him towards you.

“I found him wandering in the hallway upstairs,” Oscar says. “He said he got lost.”

You nod, crouching down to Sammy’s level. He hides behind Oscar’s legs slightly.

“You’re not in trouble,” you say. “It’s okay. You found a helper, right? We always say that, look for the helpers. It’s okay! But next time you stop to tie your shoe-“ Oscar muffles a laugh behind his hand at that. “-you tell a grown up, okay?”

Sammy nods solemnly. You stand back up.

“Thank you,” you say to Oscar. “I owe you one, big time.”

“No worries,” he says, shrugging. “Knew you must be freaking out, so.”

You reach for Sammy’s hand and head for the cafeteria. To your surprise, Oscar follows. You’re not complaining.

“I’ve only been teaching for a year,” you explain, though you doubt he cares. The nervous energy needs to go somewhere, you suppose. “And I still feel brand new, you know? And school trips- don’t even get me started.”

Oscar laughs. “But field trips were the best part of school.”

“I lost a five year old in a car factory,” you say dryly. “Field trips are much less fun as a teacher.”

Oscar nods in understanding, trying and failing to hide his laughter. You come into view of the cafeteria and start counting heads. There are seventeen other 5 year olds still sitting at the tables. Sammy joins them, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Oscar does too. You pull out your phone and call the other chaperoned who went off to look, and tell them to head back to the cafeteria. With any luck, you might still be able to finish the tour.

“He’s a good kid,” Oscar says fondly, and you smile.

“He’s my favorite,” you admit. “I was a shy kid, too.”

Oscar leaves soon after that with a soft smile and an even softer goodbye. You wish he was the one leading the tour, but you know that would never happen. You’re lucky enough to have had the chance to meet him. He’s the same age as you, and he’s a world famous racecar driver. He’s probably already forgotten your name.

The rest of the tour is uneventful. None of your students wander off, and all of them are well behaved. They spot photos of Oscar and Lando in the halls and point excitedly at them, calling out their names. Finally, you’re brought out onto the lawn near the lake, and you give the kids a few minutes to play in the grass. You have the strong urge to lay down on the lawn and let them run until they all pass out. They have boundless energy, but you’re exhausted.

Someone nudges your arm lightly. You turn, expecting it to be a kid or a chaperone, but you come face to face with Oscar again.

“Oh god, did I lose another one?” You ask frantically.

He laughs. “No, no! Just came by to say goodbye.”

“Oh,” you say in understanding. “Thanks again, you know, for finding Sammy and for talking to the kids. I don’t think they’re gonna stop talking about this for ages.”

Oscar’s cheeks are flushed. “I’m glad they had a good time.”

You nod. “I did too, even with all the chaos. You have a really cool job, you know?”

He shrugs. “Not as important as yours. Tiny minds, shaping the future, you know.”

You let out a puff of air. “Sometimes it feels like I’m just struggling to keep the tiny humans alive, let alone teach them anything.”

He’s staring at you with this warm look on his face. You like his smile. There’s something comforting about it.

“Nah, I see the way they look at you. And Sammy introduced himself, you taught him that,” Oscar says. “That’s way more important than shapes or letters.”

Your face grows even hotter. “Thanks, Oscar.”

You see the bus pulling up the road out of the corner of your eye. About time to round the kids up. You turn towards your class, who are running around on the grass.

“Well, I’ve got to get them rounded up to go back, so unless you want to get mobbed by tiny humans you might want to make a run for it,” you say. “They’re distracted now, but they’ve been talking about you all afternoon.”

Oscar laughs brightly. “Yeah. I’ll head out. Um- d’you maybe-“ he pauses, and when you turn to him he shakes his head. “Sorry. Maybe I need to go back to school. Just. Have a good rest of your day. It was lovely meeting you.”

“You too,” you say warmly. “Thanks again.”

He disappears and you watch him go. You wonder what he was going to say- it sounded an awful lot like a question. But he’s gone now, and you’ll probably never see him again, so you try and let it go. By the time you get your class back to the school, it’s almost time for pickup. They’re all half asleep at their desks, absolutely worn out. Parents come by one by one to pick them up, and when Sammy’s dad shows up, you pull him aside and explain everything, the worst feeling in your stomach.

He laughs and shakes his head. “He does that to us all the time. We’ll be on a walk and he just- stops. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

Sammy wanders over as you’re still processing the fact that his dad isn’t mad. “Guess who I met?” He says, staring up at his dad with a wide grin.

“Who?” His dad asks.

“Os-car Pi-as-tri,” Sammy says.

“That’s actually true,” you chime in. “I have the pictures to prove it.”

His dad looks at you with wide eyes. “If you’d have led with that, I wouldn’t have even heard you when you said he got lost.”

Despite what Sammy’s dad said, you toss and turn all night. Thankfully, it’s a Friday, so you don’t have to teach the next day. Every time you close your eyes you think of seventeen tiny heads, and one missing, and you feel sick to your stomach again. When you finally do fall asleep, you dream of children disappearing and warm brown eyes paired with an Australian accent. You spend the weekend trying to get your mind off of all of it.

On Monday, Sammy’s mother brings him into the classroom earlier than normal. You’re still turning on the lights and straightening things when they come in. He’s holding a little bouquet of flowers, and your heart melts.

“Sammy wanted to apologize for getting lost,” his mother says. “We know you must’ve been very worried.”

You let out a breath. “Thank you, Sammy.”

He nods, and you take the flowers from him. Then he scurries away to the play area.

“It’s okay,” his mother says. “Peter said you were really beating yourself up over it.”

You shrug. “It’s my worst fear, you know? I hate school trips.”

She laughs. “You know, he really likes you. We were worried, with how quiet he is, that he’d hate school. But you make it fun for him. So thank you.”

You smile, unsure of what to say in response other than, “thank you.”

You turn to your desk to find a vase or a cup for the bouquet, and that’s when you see the other flowers. A mix of white peonies and white roses and greenery, with little orange flowers stuck between all of them. You stop in your tracks. Behind you, Sammy’s mother laughs.

“Got a secret admirer?”

You shake your head uncertainly. You’re not sure how anyone even got flowers into your classroom this early on a Monday. But there they are, sitting proud and pretty. There’s a note tucked into the stems with your name on it, and so you pull the little envelope out and open it.

Hi,

I hope you had a lovely time at the MTC. I really enjoyed meeting you. I’d love to take you out for dinner sometime. Hope this isn’t too forward,

Oscar

His number is written below. You let out a squeak. You can tell she wants to look over your shoulder or ask who it’s from, but she bites her tongue. Sammy’s your favorite student, and his parents are up there, too. But this feels like too much to share with a parent, so you shove the note in your pocket.

“Just a friend,” you lie.

“How sweet,” she says, nodding. “Well, I’d better be off. I’ll take Sammy out to the playground. We just wanted to stop in and chat.”

“Thank you,” you say, turning to her with a smile. “And sorry. Again.”

She gives you an amused smile. “It’s okay.”

You carry the note around in your pocket with you the whole day, unsure of what to do about it. Of course, all your students notice the flowers, and they tell all their friends at lunch, who then tell all their teachers. Suddenly everyone seems to need to borrow something from you, sticking their heads into your classroom and just then noticing the flowers. How pretty! Beautiful! Who are they from? You tell them all the same thing. A friend. It’s only when your favorite coworker, Maggie, comes into your classroom later that you finally tell someone.

The kids have all gone home for the day, and you’re cleaning up the last bits of paper from your class activity. She walks in and beelines for the bouquet on the desk.

“Okay, I have a theory,” she says.

“And what’s that?” You ask.

“Orange flowers,” she says. “Someone from your trip on Friday.”

“Papaya,” you correct softly.

“Huh?”

“They call it papaya, not orange,” you say. She gives you a look, one brow raised. “I know. I…”

You dig the envelope out of your pocket and throw it to her. She opens it and gasps, sinking down in your desk chair. She must reread it five times, letting out giddy noises.

“So when are you getting dinner?” She asks.

“I haven’t texted him yet,” you admit.

She stares at you with wide eyes. “He’s your favorite driver and he gave you his number and you didn’t text him?”

“That’s the thing though, Mags,” you say with a sigh. You lean against one of the desks. “He’s an F1 driver. I’m… me.”

“Yeah, and he liked you enough to send flowers to your classroom.”

“It’s not that, it’s…” you shrug. “Those guys date supermodels and actresses and pro athletes. I’m… a teacher.”

“Babe, if you don’t text him you’ll regret it,” she says. “Big time. Just give him a shot.”

You take your flowers home with you, placing them carefully in the passenger seat of your car. You set them on your kitchen counter. They oddly feel like they belong there, like that’s what the room has been missing, though you didn’t know it before. And as you sit there and eat dinner, you take out your phone and type in a new number.

…..

It takes a while for your schedules to line up, but when they finally do, you find that Oscar’s a fun person to go on a date with. Fun might be an understatement, actually. You’ve never had a better time on a date.

You’ve been texting since the day he sent you the flowers, back and forth trying to coordinate a date at first. And then it turned into little funny texts, photos of things throughout your days that made you both smile. You update him on your class, he tells you what chaos Lando’s been causing. He sends memes, and you send him ones back. By the time you actually see him in person again, it’s like you already know him.

You’d been worried that a date with someone like him was going to be a fancy restaurant that you would feel out of place at. But he suggests a little hole in the wall pub that he says is his favorite, and you eagerly agree. You meet him there in a casual outfit, jeans and a cute sweater. He’s dressed in jeans and a sweater too, his hair adorably messy. He has that same warm smile on his face.

The two of you sit and order, and any awkwardness you’d expected just isn’t there. It’s like you’re two old friends, already comfortable with each other. He jokes with you, and you match his dry humor step for step. He’s the only person you’ve ever been on a date with who doesn’t seem to bore of your stories about 5 year olds. His knee knocks against yours under the table, and you don’t pull away. You find yourself leaning closer, actually. You’re longing to reach across the table, to feel his skin against yours.

You look around later and realize it’s been quite a while since the two of you sat down. The restaurant is starting to empty out. Oscar seems to notice the same, and reluctantly asks for the bill, refusing when you try to pay for your own. You both stand up from the table and head for the door. You stop just outside, breathing in the cool night air.

He nods towards a nearby park. “Wanna take a walk?”

You definitely aren’t ready to say goodbye, so you agree. He sees you shiver slightly, and within seconds he drapes his jacket over your shoulders. It’s warm, like him, and it smells like him too. You smile bashfully up at him as you shove your arms through the sleeves. When your hand pops out, he wastes no time in linking your fingers together. You bite back a gasp.

His hand is warm against yours. It sends a shiver up your spine. You hold on tight to him and hope your palm isn’t sweaty.

He turns to look at you. “I had a really good time tonight.”

You smile. “Me too.”

“I was thinking, wondering I guess,” he says, “If you’d maybe want to do this again?”

You slow to a stop under a streetlight. He follows suit. You press your eyes shut.

“Oscar, I… I had a really good time. And I really like you,” you tell him. “But you’re world famous and I’m just me. I just don’t know…”

He squeezes your hand. “We can take it slow.”

You sigh and open your eyes to look at him. The fluorescent light shines off his fluffy hair and his cheekbones. He has a hopeful look in his eye that you’d hate to rid him of.

“You make me feel grounded,” he says. Your heart twists in your chest. “You have since that day at the MTC. You’ve just got this calming presence. And I think you’re funny, and pretty, and- yeah.”

“You think I’m pretty?” You tease.

He blushes. “Shut up.”

It’s scary, really, to think about. You want to try but he’s a bit intimidating, no matter how well you get along. And the attention that will come from dating him is even scarier. But you think of Sammy, hiding behind your legs, and how you’re trying to teach your students to be big and brave, and how you should try that, too.

You laugh and squeeze his hand. “I think you’re pretty too,” you admit, just to watch his cheeks grow redder. A sheepish smile crosses his lips, and he rolls his eyes playfully. “And kind, and funny. So yeah. We should do this again.”

“Cool,” Oscar says.

“Cool,” you agree.

Then he kisses you under the streetlamp, his hand still linked with yours. And yeah, you could get used to this.

…..

Two months later, when Sammy comes into class, he points an excited finger at you.

“I saw you on TV!” He squeaks.

You laugh. “Did you?”

He nods assertively. “My mum said I was probably wrong, but I know it was you. You were holding hands with Os-car Pi-as-tri.”

You laugh and put a finger to your lips. He takes the hint, but he laughs the whole way to his seat. You think it might be time to talk to Oscar about going public with your relationship. After all, if the five year olds are catching on, the adults will be soon, too.

When your students find out, they beg you to take them to a race. You think back to the McLaren field trip and decide you’re never, ever taking eighteen 5 year olds anywhere near a race track. That would be bad for everyone’s health. But when Sammy shows up as a grid kid at the next British Grand Prix, that’s all on Oscar. It’s definitely not because he’s your favorite student.

Okay, maybe it is.

a/n: my lovely 🐈❤️‍🩹 anon sent me a photo of Oscar with a grid kid & said: Oscar and Sammy. Please look at this photo I screamed over it. can imagine teacher!reader standing off to the side trying not to cry over how cute Oscar is tbh. anyways thanks for reading!!

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan

#Oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri oneshot #oscar piastri fanfic #Oscar piastri fluff #formula one fluff #formula 1 fluff #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula one x reader #formual one oneshot #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #honeywrites #op81

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sugarlywhispers · 2 months ago

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b.katsuki + quirkless!gf gets attacked by villians

☆— fem reader, suggestive -not completely smut but something similar- emotional sexual tension(?) idk, man🙈

☆—a/n; so, in between the new fic that's draining my mind lately lol i have finished this little piece i have had in my draft for A WHILE🤭 i wanted to make it part of the Fuckin' Marry Me Series, however i liked the way it went like this, so i'm not gonna change it. you're free to decide if you want to imagine it in that world tho😉

Bakugou Katsuki is… surprised. Very much so.

He honestly thinks he has never been this surprised before.

There you are, looking tough and proud and brave –so fucking hot if he has anything to say about it. When you shouldn't.

Don't get him fucking wrong, he does believe that women can be brave and all. Fuck, there are a bunch of Heroes that are women who are fearless and deadly. The prime example of that is Mirko, his third favorite hero after All Might and Jeanist. But if his experience with civilians, mostly women, has taught him something, it’s that they aren’t so… strong, mentally and emotionally, after the incident happens. And this is not him fucking judging, fuck you. This is more statistics. And commonly, women would be ones going through a harsh fucking breakdown if they had gone through what you just did.

Here's what happened.

You and Bakugou had been together for almost a year already and it had been… fucking magical.

Yes, he will fucking describe it like that because, damn, you had shown him how good it feels to be loved and cherished, and fuck, he isn't a fucking coward, he will admit that he is head over heels in love with you. You both had been so enraptured inside a bubble of love, cutesy bullshit and all annoyingly gorgeous pink, that Bakugou really didn't see the big fucking storm coming.

His day began as hectic as any other day at his agency. But it was close to the afternoon, while he was revising a new case outside the city with Deku that he received that phone video call. It was from an unknown number. Normally, he would ignore it. But he accepted it this time, don’t ask him why.

The image that appeared on his phone's screen made him mad –real mad– and completely terrified at the same time.

You were kneeling on a dirty floor, tied up, hands and legs behind your back, tape over your mouth. You looked angry, with tears streaming down your face and sweaty. That infuriated Katsuki even more.

"If you want her back, you know what to do Dynamight," a fucking distorted voice said before ending the call.

It didn't take much for him and Deku to find the fucking bastards, hiding in an old abandoned factory not so far from the city. To summarize it, they were stupid brats beginning their careers as villains, now, of course, continuing it in jail. Dynamight had captured others from the same group when they attacked a technology corporation, so they wanted their stupid little friends free. That's why they kidnapped you.

The biggest fucking mistake they could ever have done.

After that, while you were being treated by the nursing team, Dynamight and Deku were watching the camera records around the place and at the entrance of the factory, and they were… impressed. They were watching how you gave them hell in trying to make you cooperate and enter the factory. You were kicking, screaming, scratching, insulting them with a colorful language that not even Katsuki knew you were able to speak. Even though you were Quirkless, damn, you did give them a fight. It was even clearer when you kicked one of them in the balls so hard that both heroes heard the painful kick.

Fucking ouch!

So, back to the present, he is very surprised as he looks at you entering the apartment with your head held high. Not one tear, no breakdown, no fear in your eyes. Just annoyance. You still sigh because it's been a hell of a tiring day.

"Do you… Do you need my help to…" He can't finish the sentence. What he means is if you need help to bathe or shower. You said on the car ride back home that you were going to get one as soon as you crossed the entrance door to the apartment.

It's not like he hasn't seen you naked already, you have had lots of fun already together, but he knows that during these events people tend to prefer privacy. Isolation even. But when he asked you in the car if you needed to be alone, you said you wanted him to stay with you.

So he is gonna stay the night… and all nights you ask of him.

"I'm fine, Katsuki," you smile, so bright and so cute it's a harsh contrast to how messed up you look with your hair tangled, some cuts over your face, and some parts of your clothes torn.

It hurts his heart seeing you like this. A constant pressure over his chest he can't soothe away, no matter how many times he repeats in his head that you are safe.

He looks down at his hands as he says, "I'm sorry."

"What for?" You chuckle gently as you walk closer to him and grab one of his hands, fingers interlacing with his. "If I remember correctly, you saved me."

He exhales a small sarcastic snort through his nose, "The reason they fuckin’ got you in the first place was because of me."

You shake your head, still smiling and looking at him like he's the most perfect man on earth, which Katsuki knows he isn't.

You're looking into each other's eyes when you say, "You think I didn't know what I was getting myself into when I accepted that first date?"

Bakugou Katsuki is out of words. He doesn't know how to answer back, because the only thing he wants to do is kiss you so strongly it might hurt you. Hug you so strongly that it may combine both bodies into one. So he stays still, holding back his need for you, while you stand on your tiptoes and kiss his cheek before walking towards the bathroom. He takes a deep breath. Fuck. He loves you so fucking much its driving him insane.

He was going to talk to you, to make you see how dangerous it actually was to be with him. He was going to convince you to break up, for your safety. Fuck! If he had been two minutes late today, he doesn't want to think of what could have happened.

But he can’t. Bakugou Katsuki is such a selfish bastard that he can’t tell you to break up with him. He wants you. He needs you. Katsuki fucking loves you so much he can’t breathe without you. So he won’t.

Katsuki shuts his eyes.

This never should have happened. He should’ve seen it coming, yet he didn’t, and that scares him to death.

The thought of losing you makes his chest ache like it’s splitting open.

So he makes a silent vow, a determined promise: Never again.

He’ll train harder. Watch closer. Be better. Protect you from everything and everyone.

No matter what it costs him, he’ll keep you safe.

Because you’re his entire world. Because he loves you with every fiber of his being, and he’s never giving up on you. Not to fear. Not to fate. Not to anyone.

He is so concentrated stirring the soup in the oven a couple of hours later, he doesn't hear you when you enter the kitchen. He realizes you're there when he sees you jump to sit over the counter through the peripheral vision of his eyes.

"That smells good," you comment, a soft and delicate curve of your mouth in the form of a smile that makes him go weak on the knees for you, as you move back and forth with your little bare feet. You're so freaking cute he wants to bite you.

He smirks when he finally sees how you're dressed. It's one of his t-shirts that are so big on you it functions more as a dress. He wonders if there's something else underneath. Or not. This last idea makes him hungry, and not specifically for food.

That's also when he notices the purple and reddish marks on the inside of your thighs and along your legs. He feels his blood boil like the soup he's done cooking. He should have killed those bastards.

Katsuki takes a deep breath before turning off the oven and walking til he's standing between your open legs. Your eyebrows are up, kind of surprised by the sudden proximity, but it is not unwelcome.

He doesn't say anything as he starts to drop down to the floor until he's kneeling, eyes still locked on yours. His mouth then starts a slow and gentle path from your shin, pecking your skin as he ascends to the inner side of your knee, coincidentally kissing around each mark this dreadful day has left on you. Always softly, doing his best in never putting too much pressure to make it hurt again, but enough for you to understand that he is sorry you got each and every one of them.

Your breathing quickens, eyes never leaving his face. A face that shows how concentrated he is now in his task, with his eyes closed as his mouth climbs towards your inner thighs. A small noise, almost like a breathed moan, leaves your mouth when his tongue touches your skin.

His breath brushes against your skin, warm and reverent, and the sound of it nearly undoes you. His hands, calloused but careful, anchor themselves at your hips as his lips reach the tender flesh of your inner thigh. There’s a tremble in his touch, but not from hesitation. You recognize it immediately. It’s restraint. Every part of him is tensed, like he is being extremely conscious of every move of his. You know then, he doesn’t want to scare you away, and that thought warms your heart.

“Katsuki…” Your voice is a breath, half plea, half warning, but he just shakes his head against you.

“I know, Firefly,” he murmurs, the rumble of his voice caresses your skin, softened by guilt and affection. “I know you’re hurt. I’m not gonna push. But let me take care of you, please…”

Bakugou Katsuki never begs. But he does. For you, only for you.

He leans in again kissing the spot just above the last bruise, and then another, slow and deliberate, as if he’s memorizing every mark this day has etched into your body. Every kiss is an apology, every breath he draws is laced with the fury he holds back. Not at you, never at you. But at the world that dared touch you like this.

You reach for him, threading your fingers through his messy hair, grounding both of you. He exhales, a low sound that vibrates against your thigh, as his eyes close for a moment. Enjoying your touch. Like your touch is all he needs to survive.

When he finally looks up, red eyes meeting yours, the heat there is unmistakable. But so is the tenderness, the love that rarely expresses out loud, yet it’s unquestionable that he feels for you.

“You tell me when to stop,” he says, voice thick. “I’ll go slow. I’ll stop. I’ll just hold you. Whatever you need me to. But I need to show you… Need you to feel it. That you’re still here, that I’ve got you.”

And with that, he travels back up your body, peppering kisses along the way until he’s hovering over you, foreheads touching, breath mingling. His hand cradles your cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath your eye, and for a long moment, all he does is look at you. Eyes so focused on you, you can feel the burn, but his body still.

“Let me make you feel safe again, Firefly…”

#mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #mha bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #mha bakugou x reader #mha smut #bnha smut #bakugou katsuki x midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugou katsuki smut

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sinofwriting · 2 years ago

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Private Professor - Max Verstappen

Words: 5,576 Summary: For years and years, Max has claimed that he has a girlfriend, but no one has ever met her and he refuses to talk about her with the media. And it’s far easier to believe that he’s lying when no proof of a girl exists. Note(s)/Warning(s): Small Age Gap (Reader is nearly two years younger), Some Angst, Mostly Fluff, Jos Verstappen. Thank you so much to the anon that requested this! I had a lot of fun writing it!

Masterlist | Support Me!

At fourteen and sixteen, their relationship is all blood rushing to their cheeks, fluttering hands, kisses that last too long and not long enough, panting breaths, and hickeys below shirt collars. It’s whispers of forever, of I’ll take you here and there. That house will be ours one day. Whatever you want, you’ll have. I’ll be on break, you’ll come home and I’ll be waiting. You’ll follow me everywhere and I’ll do the same.

It’s promises they don’t realize they shouldn’t be making but do. It’s sweet nothings and petty fights that last a day before they’re back in each other’s arms. It’s pretending not to notice how his dad watches him amused as he walks calmly out of the door before sprinting over to her house and sneaking into her bedroom. It’s her parents pretending not to hear the thud of him falling into her bedroom and the light giggles their daughter makes.

At fourteen and sixteen, their relationship changes. It’s no longer seeing each other when he doesn’t have a race or training and is home, no Red Bull duties to be done. It’s long phone calls, texts, snapchat streaks, learning how to video call. It’s carrying two power banks with them everywhere and Max buying them both expensive phone cases that charge their phones. It’s falling asleep on the phone while the other is just beginning their day. He attends classes with her, while she listens to him train. He goes to red bull meetings and pretends not to have the light sound of breathing in his ears from her falling asleep while studying or doing her homework.

Fifteen and seventeen, brings them peace. She’s still studying like a mad woman at Harvard of all places, but he’s got an F1 seat of all things. He’s in F1. He suddenly has more things to do but more free time. When he’s not racing or at the factory or doing weird press things that make him want to rip his hair out, Jos is putting him on a plane to America, to her. And he soaks up all the time with her he can, despite it being filled with her studying, attending classes, and forcing actual food down her throat which her parents both thank him for.

It also brings the stupidest thing in the world; the doubt and disbelief that he has a girlfriend.

Carlos is the first to bring it up upon seeing his home screen that’s just all black, not even the default that iphone has.

“No girlfriend?”

Max frowns at him, pocketing his phone and sending a glance over to where his father is standing and talking to his race engineer. “What?”

“Your home screen, it’s all black. You don’t have a girlfriend?” Carlos is teasing, joking. The whole paddock already knows that Jos Verstappen wouldn’t let his son have a girlfriend, not now when he’s got an F1 seat. Such a thing would be a distraction and Max isn’t allowed those. Max isn’t allowed friends on the grid either. Carlos wonders though how much the last part is just a Jos thing.

“I do.” Then he says her name, all soft and sweet in a way Carlos never thought Max could be. It’s nearly enough for him to believe Max, but then he catches a glimpse of Jos and shakes his head, clapping the seventeen year old on the back.

He is the first to not believe Max, but far from the last. It’s Daniel next, Christian, Esteban, Pierre, Sebastian, Lando, every interviewer that asks.

It doesn’t matter because at seventeen and nineteen, she gets her second degree and begins the nightmare of getting her doctorates in education and history. And he picks out a ring before making his father hide it away. And instead of him constantly flying to her, she’s flying to him. Hiding out in his Monaco apartment, turning his living room into a disaster zone as she spreads her things around to study.

The mess drives him crazy, but he doesn’t move anything no matter how much his hands itch to do so, instead just pressing a kiss to the top of her head before pressing himself in between her and the couch. Grinning when she sends him a look, a clear don’t be a distraction, before giving him a kiss.

His days in Monaco when she’s there are spent in the living room after training, playing fifa or watching some documentary for one of her classes with her, and poking at her lightly because he doesn’t know shit about history but he’s still able to remember countries quicker than her.

They turn eighteen and twenty and nearly get married when her family goes on vacation to Vegas, dragging the two along despite them not being able gamble, which is the only reason her parents had chosen Vegas. The only thing that stops them from getting married is him not being a US citizen and her visa just being for school. It’s a fucking wakeup call for him and he can’t help but pester her about places in Monaco to live.

She entertains it for all of five minutes before she’s cupping his face and kissing him. When she pulls back, she’s shaking her head. “As long as it has you and four bedrooms, I don’t care.”

“Four?”

“We’ll need our own offices and a guest room.”

It’s barely anything for the real estate agent to work with but he doesn’t care. He wants something that’s at least four bedrooms, two baths, a decent kitchen, and a view. She liked the Monaco sunrise and sunset and he planned on letting her be able to see it anytime they stayed in Monaco.

His agent gets back to him in a week and he ignores the look on Daniel’s face when he comes over for the first time. Ignores the jokes about it being too big for one person just like Daniel ignores him saying that he has a girlfriend.

“If you had one, I’d have seen a picture of her mate. The whole world would.”

Max still remembers the way his jaw had twitched at the thing everyone said. That if he had a girlfriend, they’d have seen a picture of her, that he’d be showing her off every second, have her at the races, been seen with her. When Max had made it abundantly clear that the worst part of driving was the media, the fame. So why would he ever subject someone he loves to that when they both weren’t ready for that?

Because they weren’t. He wasn’t ready for another part of his life, one of the most important parts, to be something for everyone to look at and dissect. And she wasn’t ready for it either. Not when she was doing so much studying. She barely felt like she had time for him, which he denied and hated vehemently, she didn’t have time for the online vitriol of being a girlfriend to a high profile athlete. And she didn’t need to be harassed as she attended classes and studies groups and such if someone recognized her and didn’t like that she was with him.

Not showing any pictures or videos of her was also easy for him. It wasn’t because he didn’t have any, he had hundreds. But they were pictures and videos of her, only meant for him. Not because they were dirty in nature, though some were, but because how she was in them was something only she allowed him to see. It was photos of her with a finger pressed to her top lip as she glared at her books, videos of her sitting on something too tall for her feet to touch the ground and letting them swing. It was her smiling at him, all fond, shy and in love.

It was them wrapped up in each other’s arms and love. Her in between his legs or the other way around. Her sitting on his lap as Vic stole his phone to video them laughing and exchanging kisses. Her giggles as she tries not to fall asleep as reads her books to him over facetime. It’s her in her purest form and he doesn’t want the people in his life who are so quick and sure to not believe him to get to see that.

Nineteen and twenty-one, she officially co-owns their place in Monaco and he starts scouting out property in Belgium and land in France that’s somewhat close to the principality he lives in. It was too early to start building a house to live in forever, not when they weren’t sure what they wanted to live in forever with their kids, but it wasn’t too early to buy the land for it.

It also leads to their biggest fight in years.

“Max!” Her nails are digging into her arms. “I’m not saying that. I’m saying that I want to help, that I can pay. I have money!”

“And you don’t need to!” He’s yelling as well, face red with anger. “I’ve got money too! You don’t need to pay for shit when I can.”

She shakes her head. “Really? Is that how it’s always going to be? I won’t ever get to pay for anything? Just have a salary and trust fund wasting away.” She scoffs, giving another shake of her head. “Is it about being the breadwinner? Because don’t worry Max, I’m well aware that you’ll always have more money than me. Doesn’t mean I can’t contribute to our life.”

“Fuck.” He murmurs seeing the tears brimming in her eyes but not falling, the hurt in her words. “It’s not about that at all. It’s not about being the breadwinner.”

“Then what is it about?” Her voice is high pitched. “You won’t let me pay for a single thing! I can’t buy groceries without you slipping money back into my wallet. I can’t help pay the bills and now you won’t let me help buy the land that will have our house on it. What is it about Max?”

“You’re mine.” Her eyes widened at his quiet but firm tone. “You’re my girlfriend, the love of my life. One day my wife and the mother of my children.” He runs his tongue over his teeth, feeling words and feelings he’s only ever really let come out during sex or when they’re both so drunk they barely remember anything the next day. “I want to pay for everything because it’s providing for you, it’s making sure you’re eating, sleeping somewhere safe, getting the best, most accommodating flights. It’s knowing that I’m providing for my family.”

“Max,” she breathes out, arms falling away from her chest and then she’s moving closer, resting a hand over his racing heart. “You want to provide for me?”

He nods.

“For our future kids?”

“Yes.”

“So do I. So, we’re going to work on this. You want to buy the land, you can.” He looks at her distrusting, because this didn’t sound like working on it. “But, I get to pay for groceries when I go out for them, without you paying me back. I get to pay for netflix because I use it more and spotify.” She adds.

He frowns at her. “I don’t like it.”

“Too bad and I’m not done. In return, you get to pay the bills, put gas in the car for me,” he grins at that.

“Pay for my flights and we are going to open a joint account to put an equal amount of money in every month. For things like vacations, anniversary dinners, and the kids. Because it’s important that I get to help provide for them too. And when we build that house together, I want to pay at least half of the contracting fee. I’ll let you pay for the rest.”

“I want to pay for any of the kids’ interests. Like art, ballet or karting.”

“No deal.” She shakes her head and he’s frowning again. “You can pay for all the karting, it will mean more. But I want it out of the shared account for the other things. Unless,” she pauses.

“Unless,” he encourages.

“If any of them decides to go to university early like me, I want to pay fully for it.”

“No.” It’s quick and now she’s frowning as well. “It’s our children and their education. Shared account.”

“Their first degree.”

He shakes his head. “And if it’s their only degree?”

Her brows press together, it was a good point. Just because they decided to go to university early like her didn’t mean they’d go for more than one degree. “First year.”

His eyes narrow as he looks at her, but he nods. “First year. But only of the first degree.”

“First degree only.” She agrees.

It’s quiet between them before Max lets his face soften, lips twisting slightly into a smile. “Are we done fighting?”

She laughs, but nods. “Yeah. We’re done fighting.”

“Thank god.” He breathes, pulling her into his arms and burying his face into the crook of her neck. “Let’s not do that again.”

“Not anytime soon at least.”

“I love you.” He murmurs.

“I love you too.”

Twenty and twenty-two has their families asking when exactly they’re getting married, wondering why there isn’t a ring on her finger and their only saving grace is their time spent in Monaco together away from them all. But when it gets to be too much as pressure builds as she tries to finish her doctorate in education while still working on her doctorate for history, it’s Jos that steps in for her and Max.

The three of them shared a complicated relationship. She could never like him for the parent he was to Max growing up. From the near abuse he hurled at him when he failed, the pressure he put on a child, the leaving him in a foreign country for a few hours when he wasn’t even a teenager more than once. But she did love him, because Max loved him and in his own way he loved Max and he showed that with his support of their relationship when everyone expected for him to have a problem with it, label it as a distraction. And now as a few years had passed and Max was comfortable in his F1 seat, he was Max’s fiercest defender, unwilling to back down, but would if Max told him too. And he was her fiercest defender as well. Glaring at jokes about her not needing a degree with the money Max made, not forcing her to join on trips when she was busy with school or questioning her support of Max because she didn’t attend races.

So, neither Max or her are surprised when Jos steps in when her grandparents are trying to back them into a corner as to why she doesn’t have a ring on her finger and how they have a number for a wedding planner and she should really give her a call, when all they want is to get breakfast before retreating to their room so she can resume her studies while Max hovers around her while going over his own work.

She hadn’t been thrilled at first when she learned that Jos would join them on the trip, knowing that Sophie wouldn’t be there, but now she was grateful and she made sure to squeeze his shoulder before leaving the kitchen and scheduled a nice quiet dinner for herself, Max and Jos as thanks.

The media becomes relentless when they’re twenty-two and twenty-four and Max wins his first championship. Because there is no girlfriend in sight despite the now champions thanks for her support and love. They tear Max apart for creating a fake girlfriend that has no name or face, call him unloveable with his fake championship. Some tear her apart as well, calling her gold digger, selfish, undeserving, fans of Max and the sport do as well.

It was supposed to be a happy moment for him, one of if not the best in his life, but it’s tainted, ruined, and as soon as he’s home with her in Monaco, all she can do is hold him and pretend that the texts from his friends begging him to go out and get laid don’t make her cry later in the shower.

Despite the texts and a bold one from Daniel about hiring him a prostitute, she forces Max to go out, to celebrate with the drivers in Monaco, to get drunk and have fun, and forget what the media is saying about him.

“I’m coming back if one of them even hints at a prostitute.” He tells her and she laughs, but she knows that he’s serious. He’s never even once considered cheating on her and one of their first serious fights had been about her trying to convince him and herself that she’d be okay if he got lonely while he was traveling and needed someone. He hadn’t believed it for a second and it had been one of the few times he had been so pissed at her that he couldn’t even stomach to look at her.

“Am I making a mistake, mom?” She asks, barely five minutes later, not even bothering saying hi when her mom greets her over the phone.

“No.”

Her mom’s voice is firm and has her blinking away tears. “But,”

“No.” Her mom cuts her off. “Sweetheart, I can’t even begin to try and understand Max and yours relationship. But this, this privacy that you two have, that’s not a mistake. It’s rough right now and it will be. And it will come back later when you two do decide to be public, but it’s not a mistake. You two both made the difficult, heartbreaking, mature decision to keep it private for both of yours sake.”

“I know.” She whispers, wiping away tears.

“You both still need privacy and there is no shame in that. Max isn’t ready and neither are you. As far as I’m concerned the only mistake you two have made is still not being married with a baby on the way.”

“Mom.” She groans and her mom laughs.

“I know, I know. Just remember that despite the seven or so years you’ve been together, that you two are still young, still doing so much growing.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

When Max arrives home hours later, drunkenly stumbling around and into bed, she’s not surprised by the smell of liquor clinging to him or the drunken murmurings he’s pressing to her skin. She is surprised by the deep inhale he takes and the splutter that makes her turn to face him.

Eyes a little blurry from sleep and wine, she makes out squinted eyes, flushed face, and a frown.

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re drunk.” She replies, curling closer to him.

“You’ve been crying.”

“Yeah.”

He slips an arm around her, pulling her closer. “We’re going to feel like shit when we wake up.”

“Yeah.”

He chuckles, brushing lips over her forehead. “That bad?”

“That bad.” She nods.

At twenty-three and twenty-four, the itch that Max has had since he was nineteen, one that’s grown worse and worse as the years have gone by, is too persistent and he takes a quick trip to his fathers house the day after she turns twenty-three and returns with a ring and the promises they made at fourteen and sixteen, promising them all over again, as she stares at him with a smile and teary eyes.

“I’d be stupid to not want to marry you Max.” She tells him when he slips the ring on her finger, breathing a sigh of relief when it goes on, fitting perfectly.

“You’re going to marry me.”

She nods, giggling at his blown pupils and silly grin. “Yes, I am.”

It seems stupid to be so giggly and flustered about it, so love sick, when they’ve talked about it so much. About getting married, about houses, kids, life after racing and teaching. But it’s different with the ring on her finger. Not more real or tangible. Just more.

“I know I proposed early.”

She shakes her head, wrapping her arms around his neck and his arms eagerly wrap around her waist. “It’s perfect. I know we talked and had plans, but this is perfect. Besides, I’ve got news of my own that’s early.”

“Oh?” Max’s eyebrow raises and he knows it’s not possible, not really with her religious use of the birth control shot and the way they mainly use condoms, more for convenience than anything else, but his eyes drift down to her abdomen that’s exposed. There’s no difference, but he can imagine what it would look like, he can also imagine what it will look like in a few hours.

“Not that.” Her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth. “I got an email about my viva exam.”

“Your viva? But you haven’t submitted your thesis yet.”

“Actually,”

“Stop.” He lifts a hand to press it against her mouth. “You submitted your thesis already? You completed it?”

She nods, her laughter muffled by his hand and he drops it.

“Well, what did it say? The email.”

“Once I get to the ceremony, I will officially hold a doctorate in education and history.”

He kisses her before she can say anything else.

“Unbelievable my love, unbelievable. Two doctorates by twenty-three.” He shakes his head, smiling wide.

“You know what that means right?”

He shakes his head again, unable to think of anything. Too overcome with his proudness and love for her.

“I’ll have my position at Harvard right after the ceremony.”

Blue eyes widen.

“And they agreed to let me teach a mix schedule for all of 2022, but when the official school year starts for 2023, I’ll just be teaching digital.”

Twenty-three and twenty-five has them weathering the media storm once again as Max wins his second world championship. It’s worse this time. Not because he says more than he did last time about her or says her name or slips up and calls her his fiancee and not girlfriend like they agreed to. But because this championship no one can deny is his and she’s still not there. Too busy in a different continent with the start of the school year as she teaches by herself for the first time since earning both her doctorates.

It’s also not as bad this time, because some of his friends do think that he’s seeing someone, not the girlfriend of years, or even really a girlfriend, but just some random girl that understands he’s too busy for an actual relationship and willing to put up with him spouting to the media and everyone else that he’s in a committed relationship. She doesn’t have time to focus on the media and fans that believe she exists, she barely did last year, but this year she really doesn’t.

“You know,” she says five days after he’s won his championship and they are in the house they have stayed in for the past two years when she has to be at Harvard and he wants to join her. “Around this time next year, we’ll be public.”

His face does a weird contortion at the thought. There was a giddiness to the idea, to the thought, but also dread.

“That means,” she continues when Max doesn’t say anything. “That you have ample time to figure out how you want to tell people.”

“How I want to?”

“Yeah. This is your world, your friends, colleagues, nightmares,” she adds and they both laugh. “You can decide how exactly you want to get back at them for not believing you.”

“I’m not going to be cruel.”

“No.” She lifts her hand and lets her pointer finger trace over his lips. “You’ve never been a cruel person, Max. But you can be a menace.”

His eyes light up at that. “Oh. And you don’t care?”

She shakes her head, “This is all you and I’m more than happy to be along for the ride.”

She is twenty-four and he has just turned twenty-six when he decides to enact his plan that he came up with so many months ago.

He had made a reservation for a private hall in Monaco months ago, hired a party planner to take care of the finer details, but sorted himself out the place and the food and drinks that would be served. And the day after he turns twenty-six, he picks up the large stack of enveloped invitations he had made and carefully packs them in his suitcase for Qatar. He was winning the championship there and he’d be damned if he didn’t make an already memorable weekend even better.

It’s the first time in a decade she has traveled with him to a race to actually watch the race and not just be there at the hotel to support him as she studies and he can’t help the smugness and happiness that radiates off him when he shows up to the track for the first day.

He’s got his backpack over his shoulder, but the invitations are already in his hands, ready to be passed out.

“Max!” Charles greets when he arrives in the driver’s debrief room. All twenty of them, plus reserves, team principals, and Daniel sitting and standing around as they wait for the FIA representative to get here. He looks down at his watch, noting that it will at least another ten minutes, before his eyes flicker to a member of the Red Bull staff that’s standing against a wall, but just like he asked, they’ve got a camera in their hands and there’s another one standing leaning against the opposite wall, also with a camera.

“Charles. Safe flight?”

“Always. What do you have there?”

“Ooh,” Daniel chimes in, moving closer and looking at the envelopes in his hands. “What do you have there?”

He smirks and he can see Daniel’s grin flatter at the sight for a brief second. “Invitations.” He says, before tossing or passing them around to the different drivers and Christian. He nearly avoids giving Lando one just to be a shit but Toto isn’t there to give it too and it wouldn’t be the same to give it to a different team principal jokingly.

“What is it for?” Carlos asks, eyeing the dark envelope like a lot of the other drivers are, suspiciously.

He shrugs, eyebrows raising when he sees the way Lando is feeling the envelope. “Mate, I’m not giving you money.”

Lando frowns, before ripping it open. “You’ve got more than enough to spare.”

Seeing Lando open his, has the rest of them following suit.

“Dear friends of Max Verstappen,” George reads out and the wording earns a few snorts but he continues. “You are invited to celebrate at the” he pauses squinting at the french on the page.

“The Salle des Étoiles” Charles says.

“Cheers, mate. You’re invited to celebrate on the 8th of November at 4pm.” His eyebrows furrow. “Celebrate what?”

Max watches from the corner of his eye as Christian flips the invitation over and nearly chokes.

“Your engagement?”

“Your what?”

“Engaged?”

“Impossible.”

“Lies.”

The whole room is filled with denial and panic and Max just smiles, nearly laughing when Logan thrusts his invitation into James’ hands and asks the team principal if it’s true.

“Max, you aren’t engaged, right? Like that was a fuck up with the print place?” Daniel is nearly pleading, begging, and Max would feel sorry, but for the past ten years he’s been telling people he isn’t single, and sure he’s never shared many details, but they all refused to believe or even consider it.

He ignores him, instead looking at the room in large. “You’ll meet her tomorrow. She’s very excited about it.” And as if he planned it, the FIA official walks into the room and no one can question him.

When the meeting is over he manages to avoid all of them except for Christian, who nearly drags him into a private room.

“Is this real?”

Max raises an eyebrow at the way he’s waving around the invitation but nods. “Yes.”

“You’re really engaged.”

“Yes, Christian. I am.”

The older man stares at him, not blinking before sighing and running a hand over his face. “Is she pregnant?”

“What?”

“The girl you’ve been sleeping with recently. Is she pregnant, is that what this is about? Because you don’t have to marry her.”

“No one is pregnant.” He reassures, not even able to find any anger for Christian and his assumption.

The older man sighs again before sitting down and slumping in the chair.

“You’ve had a girlfriend since you were sixteen.” There’s regret, guilt, and sorrow in his voice.

“Yes.”

“And I never believed you.”

He shrugs, it had hurt yes, but he had always understood Christian’s disbelief in it over anyone else’s. “No.”

Christian nods. “And I owe you both an apology for that. I should have believed you Max.”

“Thank you.”

“But really, ten years and you’ve just put a ring on it?”

Max groans, rolling his eyes. “You sound like our families.”

They are twenty-four and twenty-six when Max wins his third championship, with the sprint race of all things, and the whole world watches as he’s enveloped by his team before he’s tugging off his helmet and kissing the unfamiliar girl that’s between Christian and Jos, shielded from the rough crowd of Red Bull mechanics, crew, and such. They are twenty-four and twenty-six when everyone finds out that Max had been telling the truth the whole time.

Just about a month later, she eases into the spot between Max and the arm of the couch, eagerly tucking herself closer to him when he drapes an arm over her shoulders.

“You alright?”

She nods, “Yeah, Vic and Tom finally left.”

Max snorts, “It only took them thirty minutes.”

“A record for them.” She grins, before looking at the other people surrounding them, or rather Max. She wasn’t surprised that Max had taken to quickly grabbing a few people and secluding themselves in a corner. She was a bit surprised by the people however.

Charles and Daniel which isn’t too surprising, but there’s the three rookies of the season, Liam, Oscar, and Logan, as well, a little surprising, but nothing compared to the two Mercedes drivers also in front of her.

“You aren’t trying to get Lewis to play paddle are you?”

Lewis laughs, shaking his head. “I get enough of competing with him on the track. There’s no convincing me there.”

“It’s fun, Lewis.” Charles says. “You should join. George, you too. Make it Mercedes versus,” he pauses, eyebrows scrunching together as he tries to think of something to call himself and Max.

“Lestappen.” She offers, inching away a bit when Max pinches her side.

Charles doesn’t notice the pinch, just smiles at her, before looking at the two British drivers. “Yes! Mercedes versus Lestappen.” His eyebrows then furrow. “What is Lestappen?”

“Mate, you don’t want to know.” Liam tells him.

Logan chuckles, “I don’t know. Either he finds out now or he finds out when he googles it later.”

“Googles it.” George murmurs, mocking the American accent that Logan has. “Bloody Americans.”

“Yeah, yeah, tea and crumpets.” Logan waves off Georges mocking with a grin as he looks at Charles.

“It’s what people call you and Max, a nickname you could say for when you two are together.” She tells him before Logan can say anything.

“Oh,” he frowns, considering. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“It’s not.” She assures.

Before anyone can say anything else, someone joins their group, eyes focusing on her.

“Dr. Y/L/N, congratulations on your engagement.”

She looks at the older man in surprise before quickly standing to shake his hand. “Toto, a pleasure to see you again. And please you don’t need to call me doctor.”

Toto smiles, tilting his head forwards, conceding as she sits back down.

“Doctor?” Daniel questions, eyes flitting between her and the Mercedes team principal, not sure of what to make of the interaction, though Max seems perfectly fine with it.

She presses her lips together and she can feel Max move a bit closer as Toto’s eyes narrow at Max. “Yes.” She tells Daniel and the rest. “I managed to get both of my doctorates last year.”

A few jaws drop and Lewis whistles. “And I thought you were just a teacher.”

Toto’s looking at her now, with narrowed eyes and she sighs.

It would be just her luck that despite having just met the man once, that one time had resulted in a long conversation after he gave his guest lecture at Harvard.

“You told them you’re a teacher.”

“I told them I teach.” She corrects. “Let’s not make a big deal out of it.”

“I want to make a big deal out of it.” Max mumbles and she sends him a pleading look.

But Max doesn’t give in, instead he turns to the rest of them. “She’s a professor at Harvard. She got both her doctorates at twenty-three and quickly was signed on as professor.”

“So, what you’re saying,” Oscar starts, breaking the silence that has fallen over the group. “Is that she is way too smart for you?”

Max laughs, eyes crinkling and body bending forward from the force of it. “Without a doubt, mate. Without a doubt.”

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #sins fics

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nathaslosthershit · 1 year ago

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Lie Detector (Teen Dad!OP81 AU)

(Part of the Teen Dad!Oscar AU) Summary: Oscar does a lie detector test and Lando learns some tough pills to swallow.

“So, our first media video for McLaren since the big news came out, right Oscar?” Lando said.

“Yep.” Oscar weakly responded. When McLaren asked him to do the lie detector test again, hoping to poke fun at the recent events, he was weary. He knew his team wouldn’t do anything to hurt him or his family, and it would probably be great from a PR perspective, but he was already tired of constantly answering questions.

“Or should I call you Daddy Osc now?”

“Please never call me that.”

“So, we are doing a lie detector to try and expose all secrets the two of us may be hiding, like an entire family for example.” Lando, of course, knew about Oscar’s kids before he was exposed, but he still loved the opportunity to poke fun at him for it, even if he totally understood why Oscar did what he did.

“This time, we are using a heavy duty lie detector, with actual wires and someone to tell whether we are for sure telling the truth, instead of a toy that shocks us at random.” Oscar continued, ignoring Lando’s comment.

The words ‘Oscar tells the truth’ flashed on the screen till a wired up Oscar appeared behind the desk.

“Okay Oscar, starting off easy. Is your name Oscar Jack Piastri?” Lando was giddy as he asked, really excited to get information out of his teammate.

“Yes.” was all he responded. Truth.

“Are you originally from Australia?”

“Yep.” Truth. This was easier than he had thought, but looking in Lando’s eyes, he could see the glint of mischievousness in them.

“Are you a daddy?”

“I am a father, yes. I don’t like the look in your eyes when you call me that.” Truth.

“Do you have any other kids you are hiding?”

“No more than the two.” Truth.

“Am I their favorite uncle?” Lando knew he had it in the bag. The Piastri twins loved him and how much he spoiled them. Their parents? Not so much. Oscar’s fiancee had time and time again argued with the amount of toys Lando would get them at random.

He did begin to sweat a little as Oscar took a little longer to answer the question. He didn’t know how to break the news to him.

“...Yes.” Lie.

“What! Oscar? You said I was their favorite!”

“Lando, Logan has been in their life since they were born. He established himself as the cool uncle. When I let him babysit, I always return home to them eating way too much ice cream. To be fair, I think he has trained them like Pavlov’s dogs to associate him with treats so now they get way too excited and jumpy when they see him.” Oscar explained.

“This is stupid anyway I don’t care.” Lando mumbled, caring very much that he wasn’t the favorite. “Moving on, I don’t have any more questions so I guess it is my turn.”

After the video had been filmed, Oscar and Lando walked back over to the meeting room that the Piastri twins and their mother had been given to hang out in while they filmed. On the walk over, Lando interrogated his teammate even more.

“I cannot believe that I am not the cool uncle! I have never not been the cool uncle. Mila thinks I am cool, how do your kids not?”

“Lando, they are three, it is nothing personal. They love the toys you get them and they are always asking for you when they come to the factory. Logan just has seniority over you and has been the cool uncle forever, it is hard to dethrone him after a year.” Oscar said this hoping that it would stop Lando from spoiling them tenfold.

If anything it just made him even more motivated to overthrow Logan.

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri and 472,264 others

landonorris logansargeant I will become the cool uncle

oscarpiastri lando please. No more toys we don't have the room

logansargeant In your dreams old man.

#f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando x reader

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dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling · 5 months ago

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How about how will the toys react to the reader Who is a Singer and writes music for a Career and how they loved to hear them sing when they are outside playing and singing lullaby's to help them sleep.☺️💙🧡💛❤️ Oh and dancing together as well~ UwU💜✨

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Player in Safe Haven who can sing

★ When you first started your career, it was hard to find good work without much experience. That's what led you to working in the playtime factory. You would mostly compose background music for various projects, think ads and promotional material.

★ You consider yourself half-decent at singing. Sadly, that can't really help you in most of the factory. As you run, hide and try not to get killed by what remains of the tortured children, the thought of singing never crosses your mind.

★ After falling asleep in the Safe Haven and wakening up 10 hours later, you try to make yourself useful. Poppy's idea sounds like trash, so instead you take time to meet everyone. One thing led to another, and you ended up teaching the smaller toys some old nursery rhymes.

★ In the Safe Haven, most of the children adore your songs. Singing along when they know the words and listening carefully when you teach them a new tune. The Player even makes up some new songs, just for them.

★ Poppy can't help but find the while situation silly, but she still shows the toys how to waltz along. Despite the clumsy yet earnest attempts at dancing, everyone seemed to be having fun.

★ The Player finds that Doey has a soft spot for lullabies. When he's feeling restless, you can get him to calm down by sitting next to him and singing a gentle song. Its calming and makes him feel like he can trust you.

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime x player #poppy playtime headcanon #poppy playtime fanfic #ppt x reader #ppt x player #doey #poppy #player poppy playtime #ppt player #poppy x player #doey x player

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pityroadart · 8 months ago

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Here's my piece for the @mcspirkevents Big Bang! I was paired with the excellent @twinkboimler and their fic Jim Kirk's Guide to Delivering the Goods, which you can find here (E, AOS McSpirk, 60k)

Summer just started, and Jim is bored out of his mind. The courses he needs to take aren’t being offered until the second half of the summer, so he has an entire month to bother his roommate Bones. At Bones’ suggestion to get a job, Jim fixes up a motorbike and starts making deliveries to people in town, including a cute Vulcan professor named Spock. But when Jim is beaten up while making a delivery, it’s Spock who delivers Jim back to the apartment he shares with Bones. After the meet-cute from hell, Spock and Bones start dating… and so do Jim and Spock. With neither roommate aware they’re both dating the same man, there’s only so long that things can go well for them before the other shoe finally drops.

Also as part of my Big Bang offerings, I made a fic playlist (below) — partly a love letter to McSpirk, partly a love letter to myself and Fletcher's overlapping music taste.

Thank you again to Fletcher @twinkboimler for working on this project with me, it's been an absolute joy!

Until the Birds Return on Spotify

Tracks and choice lyrics below the cut (contains vague spoilers):

Astronaut | Future Crib

I wanna be an astronaut Fly into space I wanna see Mars from Venus I wanna go to that place And if you come with me They'll be room in my ship I'll take you up there with me It can be just you and me

Afraid of Heights | boygenius

I never rode a motorcycle I never smoked a cigarette I wanna live a vibrant life But I wanna die a boring death

Day by Day | Old Sea Brigade

Time and time again, I think I'm falling through space And I wake up in my bed just sweating in sheets

... Then I think of you growing old and it breaks my heart

Factories | Autoheart

When you found my body by the lake You wasn't sure if I was still alive

You and Your Friend | Snake River Conspiracy

Must we go run through our lives with our eyes closed To the loving happiness that we can share I think I'm in love with you and your friend

My Gal, My Guy | Darlingside

My (guy) he's the bluest ocean, (he) Waits under the bluest sky for me I belong to (him) When I'm in the water

Santa Fe | Autoheart

Heaven sent You were like a present I should not have kept A sticker on your forehead saying 'breakable And I broke you bad

Coat on a Hook | The National

Two days, we're still not talking You're the opposite of an open book Come back for me

Top to Toe | Fenne Lily

So I'm changing all my days To make your nights It's just not right

Pigeon Song | Patrick Wolf

Now the pigeons gather 'round my feeding hand And we talk 'til the evening fades I have learnt how it goes What you wait for never shows And what you least wanted, holds you down like a stone

Hornets | The National

But I don't wanna leave And I don't wanna hide I just don't wanna run Into you tonight

Tea, Milk & Honey | Oh Pep!

If you stick with me, I'll make sure your time is all right If you don't understand where I am now, it's better if we leave it

The Spiritual | Jukebox the Ghost

We might have kissed a bit too soon I could feel what was coming and I didn't mean to hurry you I just knew that time would find our fingers linked, through and through Forgive me, I'm human too

Bike Dream | Rostam

Two boys, one to kiss your neck And one to bring you breakfast Get you out of bed

Don't Go | Yazoo

Can't stop now Don't you know I ain't never gonna let you go

Jenny | The Mountain Goats

I hopped on back of the bike, wrapped my arms around you I sank my face into your hair And then I inhaled as deeply as I possibly could You were sweet and delicious as the warm desert air And you pointed your headlamp toward the horizon We were the one thing in the galaxy God didn't have his eyes on 900 cc's of raw whining power, no outstanding warrants for my arrest

Old Old Fashioned | Josh Ritter (Frightened Rabbit cover)

Oh let's get old fashioned Back to how things used to be If I get old, old fashioned Would you get old, old fashioned with me?

#mcspirk big bang 2024 #mcspirk #aos mcspirk #aos spock #spock #my art #my trek art #watercolour

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s-awturn · 9 months ago

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For As Long As It Takes || TW

summary: Y/N had always known what it was like to live with transient people in her life, so since she became a single mother, her main goal was to prevent her daughter from having to deal with people coming in and out of her life frequently. Dealing with a divorce is never easy, especially after sharing over a decade with someone, so the last thing Toto wanted, it was dealing with a new relationship, but life had new plans, both for him and Y/N.

Or where Toto waits five years for Y/N to accept him into her life.

cw: superficiality, a little anguish, a lot of cuteness, Toto completely surrendered, cute kid, media persecution, mention of hoax.

a/n: I know I owe Toto content 😩 and you can blame Carlos Sainz for that, but we finally have something here to soothe your needy hearts. There will be nothing suggestive here, but I know you'll like it (you better like it, understand?)

‘Darling, you're the one I want / And paper rings, and picture frames, and dirty dreams / Oh, you're the one I want’

Five years before...

When they met, Toto was going through a difficult divorce and her daughter had just turned one year old, and even though Toto was not inclined to enter into a new relationship. But there was no room for him to make a choice, when he saw her in the garden of Lewis's large summer house, playing with her daughter and the pilot's nephews, Toto saw his convictions fall to the ground. He spent a few seconds looking at you, who was smiling and playing with the children with great familiarity.

He asked Lewis who she was, and the pilot laughed, because Toto couldn't take his eyes off where she were.

"She's Y/N, she's my parents' neighbor, we've been friends for years" the Brit said, hiding his face behind a glass of peach tea "are you interested in her?"

"What are you talking about? I was just curious... I've never seen her at your parties or anything like that" he quickly dodged. There was no room in his life for anything other than his children or his job, he definitely didn't need another relationship. Lewis agreed, even if he didn't believe his friend's words, it was obvious that Toto was interested in Y/N; the pilot knew that Toto's marriage to Susie had been in crisis for over a year, so much so that Toto spent much more time at the factory or in a London apartment than at home with his wife. Toto had been living just for work for a long time.

Later that day, Y/N was sitting in a rocking chair by the lake, humming a lullaby while her baby napped on her lap, her daughter slowly fell asleep, enjoying every second of her mother's sweet voice, and Toto watched this from the balcony of the house, taken by the tenderness that the vision conveyed. As much as he wanted to deny it, something strange was emerging within him.

Y/N got up carefully so as not to wake the sleeping baby in her arms and gave a little jump when she found Toto there, she didn't expect to have an audience.

"Sorry for scaring you, I didn't mean to" he whispered so as not to wake the baby, he hadn't handled babies this small since Jack, and it had been a long time since then.

"It's okay, I just didn't expect anyone to be here, everyone is busy with the karaoke championship inside..." She replied, climbing the steps of the porch staircase.

"Better to go through the kitchen, there's less noise there and you won't wake your daughter," he suggested, indicating the place, the Austrian's perceptive eyes never leaving her face.

"Really? I should have known Sebastian and Fernando would make a show of it," she snaps, heading for the back entrance of the house and Toto, who had been following her at a polite distance, opened the door for her. S/N realized that Toto was right, there was less noise in the kitchen and living room, Sebastian was ruining another ABBA song "That's a shame, I won't be hearing Dancing Queen for a while now," she said, making Toto laugh behind her.

Toto remained in the kitchen, trying to understand what he was doing, he had no intention of getting involved with anyone, he really didn't need to get into another relationship while dealing with the end of the previous one. Toto was lost in thought when S/N approached, with a baby monitor in hand, he offered her a large glass of orange juice and the two listened to the horror show that Fernando and Sebastian were putting on in the living room of the house.

"Since when have you known Lewis? This is the first time I've seen you at one of his meetings," Toto inquired, trying not to sound too curious.

"We've been friends since I was a kid, he's a few years older than me, but that didn't stop me from being friends with him, especially because my dad was his go-kart mechanic" she replied, swirling the glass of juice to melt the ice cubes. "We became friends organically and spent a lot of time at each other's houses, I spent a few months with them when my parents had to return to America when I was a teenager."

Toto nodded, looking at her from the corner of his eye, Y/N stared at the baby monitor, even though she was present in the conversation, her senses were focused on the device, monitoring her daughter's sleep. Little by little, the conversation between them gained new topics, Toto really appreciated how S/N could move from one conversation to another very naturally. She was an intelligent and witty woman, making acidic and humorous comments whenever she could.

"And what is the name of the sleeping ladybug?"

He appreciated the genuine, loving smile that appeared on Y/N's face, letting her know how much she loved the baby.

"Agnes, I know it's silly and I'm not even religious, but my daughter was born at midnight, exactly when the day dedicated to Saint Agnes began. I interpreted it as a sign and named her that..."

"It's a beautiful name, the symbolism behind it is strong... Saint Agnes is the patron saint of what?" He questioned, it was obvious how much S/N loved talking about her daughter.

"of chastity, gardeners, young women, grooms, rape victims and virgins" she replied and finally took her eyes off the baby monitor. The tenderness with which she spoke of her daughter made Toto's heart twist in a strange way, Y/N was stirring Toto's already very compromised interior in ways he didn't know.

"You chose well"

"Isn't it? I think so too."

The two talked a lot more for the next couple of hours, Y/N did her best to dissect Toto until he was transparent to her eyes and he allowed it. There was something about her that made Toto spill everything that was on his mind, it was as if she had made him drink truth serum and wanted to know everything.

"Separations are not easy, how is your child coping?"

"Jack's doing well, as much as he can, I guess..." Toto murmured, running his index finger along the pattern of the granite counter. "Susie and I were honest with him, and Jack took it well, he himself said that he would rather Susie and I remain friends than fight like mortal enemies"

"That's good, it makes it less painful for him and God knows it sucks to see our children suffer," Y/N said thoughtfully. "And how are you with all this?"

"Honestly? At first I was a mess, I loved Susie a lot and but that love turned into friendship and we didn't know how to deal with it" he confessed "I'm still processing it, but it still sucks"

"The worst advice you'll hear today, you'll get over it, you'll survive, think that you were mature and dealt with it the right way" she said, there was bitterness in Y/N's voice and This took Toto by surprise "you could come out more hurt, Jack could come out destroyed"

"You're right, again," he replied and they both laughed, listening to Lewis try to stop Felipe, Sebastian and Fernando from singing as a trio.

Three years before...

“Torger, I told you I didn’t need it.” She looked at the huge dollhouse Agnes was playing with, the girl used the incredibly pink rooms as hiding places in a general headquarters. She created scenarios full of emotion and adventure with the Barbies, instructing Jack how he should move the dolls, making Y/N smile.

“It was no big deal, schatzi, I thought she would love a new hiding place for her spy Barbies,” he said, crossing his arms as he watched the little girl playing with Jack. “and I was right, apparently.”

“You spoil her too much, that’s not right,” she scolded him, making Toto raise his hands in surrender. “So much spoiling is detrimental to her education, and you know that, after all you have three children!”

“This is the last time, I promise”

“You said that the last two times, why should I believe you now, Wolff?” she arched her eyebrow, giving him the famous ‘mother look’, eliciting a spontaneous laugh from him, but Toto raised his little finger as he placed his left hand over his heart.

“I’m serious, schatzi, I won’t give Agnes any more gifts without any special occasion, I promise.” he said solemnly, making the woman roll her eyes before link your little finger with his.

“This is your last chance, Wolff, or I'll make you eat that pumpkin puree you hate” she threatened him and Toto grimaced, he really hated pumpkin puree.

“Urgh, no need to tell me twice,” he assured, “and how are things at work after your promotion?” he asked, keeping his eyes on Jack and Agnes playing. It was a pleasant surprise to discover that the two children loved each other at first sight, even though the age difference between them was very large, Jack and Agnes became friends the first moment they saw each other and played together whenever Toto took the boy to visit Y/N and Agnes.

“Obviously I have twice as much work now, but I can work from home and spend more time with my little bee, so I don't mind the extra work if it gives me more time with her," she said, smiling. "I've been waiting for this for three years, so obviously I'm happy.”

“That’s great, schatzi, I know how important it is for you to follow the growth of the sleeping ladybug.” He noted. “If you’re working from home right now, maybe you could join me for a run or two, the team appreciates and misses you both.”

“Toto... “I’m still paying off the apartment and I can’t get into debt like that right now,” she said, rubbing her hands on her jeans. “And don’t even think about offering to pay for it all, I wouldn’t accept.”

“What’s the point of having so much money if you can’t spend it on friends?” he said softly, “money that will stay here after I’m dead, so that I can enjoy it to the best of my ability while I am alive.”

“Anyway, I can’t accept it,” she insisted, not wanting to give in.

“Don't be stubborn, Y/N, you know that the money I spend doesn't make me miss it, nor will it make me poor tomorrow, you deserve some rest time sometimes, you are an exceptional mother, a splendid professional. And it will be good for Agnes too.”

She bit her lip, hating how Toto could hit sore points with well-articulated arguments. She hated it when he was the team boss. For better or worse, Agnes had come to love Formula One and loved watching the races with her. Y/N had set a goal that she would take the girl to see a race at the racetrack as soon as she could, but the apartment payments didn't seem to be decreasing, she hadn't received her pay yet after the promotion, so thinking about any other kind of expense was almost absurd.Toto never seemed willing to pay for things for her and Y/N was aware of his feelings for her, and for this reason she always felt reluctant to accept anything from him, she didn't want Toto to think that she was using his feelings for her own benefit.

"Please, you are important to me, I want to share with you and Agnes one of the best things I have, which is working with Formula One, and you love racing... Come on Y/N, accept my invitation" He cried out, holding her hands. “Try it once, if it’s uncomfortable for you or Agnes, I’ll send the jet to bring them right away,” he whispered the promise, watching her slowly soften.

“Torger...”

“Come on, honey, I know you’ll like it, trust me”

“Sure, we will, but we won’t go to races far from here, Toto.”

“What do you think of Spielberg and Spa?”

“I can’t believe you managed to get her, I’ve been trying since my time at McLaren, but she’s always said no,” Lewis said, teaching Agnes how to play with Roscoe, the bulldog lay on his back to receive petting from the girl.

“I almost begged for the intercession of some saint, you have no idea how hard it was,” Toto replied, placing the cap on Jack’s head. “You told me she was stubborn, but I hadn't imagined it was so much”

“She is, I thought I told you”

“Do I need to let you know that I’m still here?” she asked Jack, the boy shrugged in confusion.

The little boy approached Y/N and asked, "There's a box of Legos in my dad's office, can I take Agnes with me?"

Y/N smiled “sure, if she wants, but do you promise you’ll take care of her while you’re there?”

“Yep, I can! I’ll ask Jess to stay with us there.” He smiled, the same way Toto did that made her heart soften. Jack nudged Agnes gently, asking if she wanted to play with Legos. The girl's eyes lit up at the mention of the toy, she gave Roscoe one last pat before skipping after Jack, who was holding her little hand.

“I’ll appreciate it if you stop talking about me in the third person, you idiots,” she scolded, slapping both of their shoulders. Lewis muttered a curse and Toto laughed. “Now, I want to know if anyone is willing to show me the pitlane, I always saw it on TV and now that I'm here in person, I want to see everything”

“Sure, I'll take you schatzi, Lewis will have a debriefing with his mechanics and engineers to align the strategy for the last free practice session” Toto said, seeing the Briton snort before agree with a reluctant nod. “We'll be back in forty minutes, let Jess know if anything changes.”

“Sure, sure, as long as you two don’t hide in a dark alley and end up losing track of time...” he suggested, entering the small meeting room, where the team was already waiting for him, without hearing Toto and Y/N's insults.

Toto made a point of walking with Y/N throughout the pitlane, introducing her to whoever she wanted to meet, the Austrian contained his jealousy when he saw her acting like a groupie with Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz. But it was worth it, she was happy and that's what mattered.

“I didn’t know you were a Ferrari girl...” he tried to sound nonchalant, but Y/N laughed, noticing the jealousy bubbling beneath his polite disguise. Toto was not as discreet as he thought.

“I like Formula One because of my father, and he’s been obsessed with Ferrari since the Alain Prost era, I ended up inheriting his love for the Tifosi team,” she explained, crossing her hands behind her back. unable to hide her smile.

“Any chance you could become a Mercedes girl?”

“If Lewis tried to take me to the German side of Formula One and couldn't, you're not the one who's going to succeed.” Y/N gave a playful smile, seeing Toto close his eyes, but smile.

He made sure to take her to the paddock shop and get her and Agnes some souvenirs — all Ferrari, even though he really wanted to replace the prancing horse with the three-pointed star.

“I hate to admit it, but you look great in red. Damn,” he said, placing the cap on her, admiring her wide smile. Although to Toto, she was beautiful anyway.

“Listen up Toto, I’m beautiful no matter what. I mean, is that any way to compliment me?” she said, laughing all the while letting her ego grow a little.

Toto wanted so much to kiss her there, Y/N was radiant under the mild sun of Spielberg. Without the worry lines, the frown, she seemed even more stunning in his eyes. Only God and himself knew how hard he was trying not to kiss her, but Toto would respect her limits, he would make Y/N want to kiss him too, Toto hoped, fervently hoped that she would reciprocate his feelings, so he would wait.

He would wait for her however long it took.

One year before...

“You shouldn’t have given in to Agnes’ blackmail, I know you’ve been very busy with your work and Red Bull has been a thorn in your side… Really Toto, you didn’t have to come… And you even brought his kids along! They certainly had better things to do...”

Toto clicked his tongue, dismissing her concern. He pointed to Rosa, Benedict, Jack, and Agnes gathered in a corner of the school theater.

“I would never miss Agnes’ first play, Y/N, and that’s not up for discussion, and as for the kids, they insisted so much on coming, they love Agnes as much as I do, I didn't even insist, they themselves said they would come”

Her heart gave a huge jump inside her chest, Y/N could bet that if there wasn't a sternum there, Toto could see how much her heart was racing. For some time now she had noticed that her feelings towards Toto were changing, the way he was always around, the way Toto made a point of being her support in difficult times, she could no longer ignore that imagining life without Toto was almost absurd, the idea of moving away from him was ridiculous. Not that that would happen, Y/N did not intend to be away from him.

“Thank you for coming, Torcer, it’s important for both of us to have you all here”

It wasn't long before Agnes waved at you and ran backstage, then Rosa, Benedict and Jack returned to their seats, she didn't expect to get along so well with Toto's children, but to her — pleasant — surprise, Toto's heirs adored her, came to her house whenever they could, and included Agnes in whatever activities they were doing in London.

“She looks so cute! I can’t wait to see her in the bee costume!” Rosa said, clapping her hands, eager for the play to begin.

Benedict agreed with a murmur, “I thought she would be nervous, but the ladybug is quite calm.”

Y/N smiled, she felt so happy to know that her daughter was loved, cared for by people who, in theory, shouldn't even know of her existence.

She clutched Toto's hand tightly, anxious as the lights dimmed and the curtains parted, revealing the carefully painted stage, Agnes and her classmates in their places. The girl was not the protagonist, but he stood out, drawing laughter from the audience when he made some clearly improvised jokes. Y/N couldn't hold back the tears of pure pride, Agnes didn't show any nervousness, the stages seemed to be her natural habitat and she moved elegantly in front of the audience.

Toto slid his thumb across the back of Y/N's hand, without taking his eyes off the stage, he wasn't even paying attention to the other children, the businessman's eyes were fixed on Y/N's daughter. It was clear how much Toto loved Agnes and how much he cared for her.

“She's perfect, isn't she?” he said softly to Y/N, watching her nod as she cried silently, unable to stop smiling. Toto finally understood what had made him fall madly in love with Y/N since the first time he saw her: Y/N was overflowing with love, unconditionally and sincerely and ever since, he wished he could be enveloped, blessed by the love she emanated so strongly without realizing it.

“Yes, she is”

The rest of the play was filled with tears, laughter, and pride intertwined with genuine love. Y/N understood that there was no way to push Toto away, Wolff loved Agnes as if she were his blood, Toto loved her, he could no longer deny that Toto had become so deeply embedded in their lives that there was no way to pull him out.

“Toto!!” Agnes came running to them, she had already taken off her costume, but she still had makeup on, simply the cutest thing in the world. Y/N's heart pounded as she saw Toto pick up Agnes and throw her into the air, making the little girl laugh out loud "You really came to see me!!"

“I would never miss your first piece, little bee,” he said, leading her to the middle of the circle where Y/N, Jack, Rosa, Benedict and the Hamiltons were. “You were perfect up there, weren’t you scared?”

“Nope, I knew you would be here with mommy, so I looked to you guys whenever I felt scared” she confessed, blushing under the bee makeup. Y/N picked up the girl and kissed her non-stop, until Agnes laughed out loud, nestled in her mother's embrace. “My makeup, mommy!”

“You’re still beautiful, little bee! I’m so proud of you, you were the most beautiful in the play!”

It wasn't long before Agnes jumped off Y/N's lap and went to receive congratulations from Lewis and his relatives, and Y/N was wrapped in Toto's arms, feeling his soft kiss on her hair. .

“When are you two going to start dating?” Rosa asked, seeing them both blush.

Despite the blush on his cheeks, Toto was undeterred. “Whenever Y/N wants, and no matter how long it takes, I will wait.”

Y/N lost the rhythm of her heartbeat, her eyes wide and her mouth open, she didn't expect Toto to confess — if that wasn't a confession of feelings, then she was going crazy — in front of her children. Jack clapped excitedly, Rosa and Benedict smiled knowingly. Everyone who really mattered seemed to support their union, she just had to agree.

She stammered, not knowing exactly what to say and Toto smiled, sliding his thumb along the curve of her cheek “Take your time, Y/N, I’ve waited my whole life to find you, waiting for the rest of my life for you is a privilege”

Without thinking much, she wrapped her fingers in his shirt and kissed him, taking Toto by surprise, the children made a sound of disgust and moved away.

“You don’t have to wait, Toto. We’re on time,” she murmured as she pulled away, watching him smile before kissing her again.

Weeks after the play...

Y/N was surprised by Jack coming to tell her that Susie wanted to talk to her. The boy said that his mother was trying to contact Y/N, but her phone was listed as unreachable. Since the beginning of her official relationship with Toto, Y/N had been persecuted by the media, being labeled as a lover and home wrecker, several gossip tabloids, aggressive fans and other news sources claiming that she had been the pivot in the end of the relationship of one of the most beloved couples in the paddock. Since then she had blocked all calls from unknown numbers and avoided talking to strangers about her relationship with Toto. Not that she cared about other people's opinions, those who really mattered agreed and that was enough.

She entered the café that Susie had suggested and found the blonde at a table in the distance, Toto's ex-wife was absorbed in a book and didn't see her arrive.

“Sorry I’m late, the traffic was crazy,” he explained, putting his coat on the chair before sitting down. Susie gave a knowing smile and called the waiter over.

“Don’t worry, I should have suggested a quieter time...” she said and the two ordered, making small talk to break the awkward atmosphere. The waiter took their orders, They both ate in uncomfortable silence and Susie finally introduced the subject. “I was one of the first people to know about Toto’s interest in you.”

“I figured so, you and Toto spent a lot of time together... It was only natural that you ended up friends after the breakup...”

“I'm grateful that you understand and even if you do, I want to emphasize that I don't have any romantic feelings for him, and that brings me to the reason that brought us here” the blonde placed the cup on the table and looked at Y/N. “I don’t intend to get in the way of your relationship, I’m happy that Toto has finally found what he’s always been looking for and for you too, obviously.”

Y/N was not surprised by Susie's behavior, Toto had said several times that his ex-wife was noble and fair. She expected Susie to behave that way, like a true lady.

“I should say you’re lucky to have him in your life, but I suspect Toto is the luckiest one in the whole thing,” she said with a half smile. “I wish we could get along, our children adore each other and I don't want to take Jack away from Agnes, I suppose you feel the same way”

“Yes, you’re right, they really like each other and I love Jack, he’s a sweet boy and I would be devastated if I couldn’t have him around, so of course Susie, I think it’s great if we can get along.”

“Excellent! Jack talks so much about you and Agnes that I’ve been curious for years, and I understand, at least in part, why he seems to like you so much...” Susie said, causing Y/N to blush and widen her eyes.

“Uh, well, he also said amazing things about you and also made me very curious to meet you, it’s easy to see where his sympathy came from.” She said, as if telling a secret and they both laughed.

They spent hours talking and ordering more coffee, finding more common ground than they expected, neither of them considered the idea of ending up forming a bond, but at the end of that meeting, Susie and Y/N could expect that a friendship was blossoming.

When he arrived home, he found Agnes, Jack, Rosa and Benedict playing Twister in the middle of the living room while Toto worked at the kitchen table. In all the time she lived in that apartment, she never found the space small, after all it was just her and Agnes almost always, alone, however with Toto and the children staying with them — Y/N would never allow them to stay in a hotel, claiming she would be offended if they didn't —, The apartment seemed really small, but she didn't mind. She loved bumping into the kids or Toto. They made her house feel even more like home.

“Mommy!” Agnes broke free from the knot they had formed in the game, knocking the other three over without noticing and ran into Y/N’s arms “Do you want to play Twister with us?”

“Agnes?!” Jack yelled seconds before he was buried by Rosa and Benedict, making the older brothers laugh at him. The three of them stood up, rubbing their arms and legs that were sore from the game and Jack went with Agnes, curious to know what had happened at the meeting with Susie.

“I doubt I can play Twister as well as you guys, so next time, little bee,” Y/N replied, patting Agnes’ cheeks before ruffling Jack’s blond hair. “Susie is great, I hope she can have lunch with us sometime,” she said, feeling Toto’s searching gaze on her.

“How about you guys go take a shower so we can go out to dinner?” Toto suggested, joining the group in the middle of the room, he heard the excited screams of the children, fighting over who would enter the bathroom first, only when the doors closed did Toto turn to Y/N “how it was?"

“Susie is amazing, I didn’t lie about that, we get along well, I know she’s important to you and of course, to Jack... I can say that she and I are friends”

Toto breathed a sigh of relief, he didn't expect the two to end up fighting, but he was afraid that their personalities would end up clashing, both Susie and Y/N were temperamental...

“I’m glad you understood each other, family gatherings are going to be busy from now on,” he commented, wrapping his arms around the woman’s waist and he made a point of kissing every inch of her face, making Y/N laugh. It didn't take long for Y/N to lift her face and allow Toto to kiss her however he wanted, calm that there was someone who wouldn't leave her, who wouldn't be temporary. Toto had earned his place in her and Agnes' hearts with patience, he persevered until he finally managed to stay.

“Thank you for staying, Toto...” she tried to continue, but Toto kissed her again.

“It’s not something that needs thanking, schatzi,” he murmured, cupping her cheeks, “I’ve already made it clear that I’ll wait for you for as long as it takes, no matter what.”

Y/N felt her heart expand with all the feeling Toto poured over her, the certainty of his words digging deep into her soul, intertwining the calm and hope of finally having someone in your life, someone to hold on to when things weren't firm under your feet. Someone to take care of your heart.

#Spotify #taylor swift songfic #toto wolff x reader #f1 imagine #f1 #toto wolff x fem!reader #romance #strangers to friends to lovers #Lewis Hamilton's special appearance

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yvesssssssss · 3 months ago

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hi hi!! love your fanfics a lot!

i have a request, how would the nagumo, shishiba, gaku and shin react when they have to kill their s/o? would they actually do it or defend them? maybe even run away together? 🤭 likee, they find out she’s actually an enemy but didnt know she betrayed the organization for them? i would love how this goes, please take your time writing it and take a lot of rest you need! 🤍

The ones worth dying for

(nagumo, shishiba, gaku, shin)

Feel like i could've done better with this😭 but i hope you like it!!

Nagumo yoichi

They give him the mission with a smile.

“She’s betrayed the Order,” the handler says casually. “We need her gone, Nagumo.”

He flips through the file. Target details. Last known location.

Your name. Your face. The smile you gave him just three nights ago when you crawled into his lap with sleepy eyes and whispered “Don’t die tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure,” he says brightly, shutting the folder. “Easy.”

He walks out of the room whistling.

And vanishes off the grid.

He finds you in an abandoned metro station. You’ve already been hurt.

He crouches next to you, a grin painted on like always.

“You know, sweetheart,” he says, brushing blood from your face, “if you were gonna start betraying people, you could’ve given me a heads-up. I’d have worn my good shoes.”

“I didn’t betray you,” you whisper, choked. “I gave them classified intel to protect you. I didn’t think they’d find out—”

“I knew,” he says. “I knew the second you started deleting reports and lying about your whereabouts. I just didn’t care.”

You blink. “You… didn’t?”

“Of course not. I don’t fall in love just to lose you to paperwork.”

The Order sends more agents. They never return.

Nagumo disappears with you that night—laughing, bleeding, free.

He’s still smiling when he turns to you in the getaway car.

“You’re mine now,” he says. “Hope you weren’t planning on dying on me anytime soon.”

Shishiba

He’s silent as they assign the mission.

“Target: Y/N. Confirmed traitor. Eliminate on sight.”

His jaw tightens, but he nods once. No one dares say more.

The hammer feels heavy when he carries it toward your last known location. The same hammer you once traced with your fingers, teasing him: “You ever gonna name this thing?”

Now he has to choose between it and you.

When he finds you, you don’t run. You’re crouched beside a ruined outpost, wounds raw, gaze tired.

“I figured it’d be you,” you say quietly. “I told myself… if it was anyone, I’d want it to be you.”

He stands still.

You continue, softer, “I didn’t betray you. I just couldn’t keep killing for people who wanted you dead.”

Shishiba exhales slowly. “Dumbass.”

You look up, startled.

“You should’ve just told me. We could’ve left together.”

He slams the hammer down—not at you, but through the ground beside you, cracking the stone. His other hand reaches out to pull you to your feet.

“Come on,” he mutters. “I’m not gonna lose someone else to this sh*t.”

When the clean-up squad arrives, there’s no trace of you—or him.

Only a smashed comm and a hammer mark through the wall.

Gaku

Gaku laughs.

Then he stops laughing when he sees the evidence. Intel leaks. Tracker pings. Your voice distorted in comms.

But when he finds you—cornered in the old factory, blood at your lips—you don’t deny it.

“I gave them fake info,” you say, breath shaking. “To buy you time. I didn’t think it’d trace back—”

He grabs you by the collar and slams you into the wall.

“You lied to me,” he hisses.

You don’t cry. You don’t beg.

“I lied to everyone except you,” you murmur. “I did it so they wouldn’t go after you. So you wouldn’t end up another dead body in their files.”

Gaku’s expression twists. His hand is still at your collar… but his grip softens.

“…You’re really stupid,” he mumbles.

Then he pulls you close and hides his face in your neck.

“I’m gonna kill them,” he says. “All of them.”

They never find you. Never find him.

But they find the words “TRY AGAIN.” carved into the wall, scrawled in blood.

Shin asakura

He doesn’t need to be told. He hears it.

“She’s a traitor. Get rid of her.”

“I wonder if he’ll actually do it.”

“Poor kid. Must be hard being psychic.”

He’s already moving before they finish speaking.

When he finds you, you're sitting in the rain. No umbrella. Just waiting.

“I knew you’d come,” you say.

“You knew they wanted me to kill you?”

“I knew you’d hear it before anyone else said it.”

He walks toward you, fists clenched.

“I don’t believe it,” he says.

“I leaked intel, Shin.”

“For me,” he growls. “You did it for me. I read your mind before I even got here.”

You flinch.

“I read the part where you thought, ‘If I die, maybe he’ll live.’” His voice cracks.

He drops to his knees and wraps his arms around you like a shield.

“They think I’m weak because I care about people,” he whispers into your neck. “But I’ll show them what weakness really looks like. When you take away the one thing keeping me sane.”

They never hear from Shin again.

But someone keeps anonymously dropping dead around HQ—every person who signed your kill order.

Taglist: @shenwi @astronomyloveraster @yokaistirfry @shineinouzen15 @cjafjatkstke @starizzm @imightgoinsane @ilovewhattatops @takenbyacircle @istillremembermissamericana @elorajelaaa

Hey lovelies! Just a heads up—if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist, now's the time to let me know! I don't want to flood anyone's inbox unnecessarily. 🫶

Drop a comment or send me an ask if you'd like to be added/removed!

Thank you all so much for being here! You all are the best!🫶🫶

#sakamoto days shin asakura #sakamoto days gaku #sakamoto days shishiba #sakamoto days nagumo yoichi #shin #shin asakura #sakadays #sakamoto days #nagumo sakamoto days #sakamoto days nagumo #nagumo x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

Text

Mercy No More 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, possible violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your misplaced kindness brings a dangerous man to your door.

Characters: Thomas Shelby

Note: a less popular character so I'll just post whenever.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"There's a man in the backyard."

The statement is matter-of-fact, not a hint of distress in your sister's tone as she informs you of the trespass. You wipe your forehead as you turn away from the porridge on the stove. You frown.

"A man... how? Who?" You wonder.

She shrugs, "he couldn't say."

You near her with a glower, "Anna, could you say less?"

"He's face down. He could be dead," she says. "Like old Chester."

"Is he old like Chester?" You go to the backdoor, slipping in a glob of mud. "Anna, your shoes."

"I was distracted. By the dead man."

You tilt your head wryly, "yes, you're brain does seem to be working madly to unravel the riddle."

You slip into your shoes, leaving the laces loose. You turn and go out into the yard. Sure enough, you see the man on the ground. He does look to be lifeless, though you can't be sure.

You glance back at Anna. She gives a coy grin, "I went and got water, I'm not dealing with him."

You sigh. Your father's already at the factory. It's only the two of you and it took enough arguing to get her to bring in a bucket of rain water.

The muck sucks on your soles. The man's face is smeared with mud and his hate rests next to his head. His limbs are askew in all directions. You hear him breathing as he blows bubbles into the slop.

"He's alive," you peek over your shoulder. You're talking to the door. Anna's back hiding behind the brick.

You cautiously bend and jab the man's shoulder, "sir, sir," you poke with each word, "hullo, you're sleeping in the dirt. Sir!"

You shake him. He doesn't stir. You reach across and grab his hat. A sharp pain sears in your thumb. You let the hat drop and look at the sliced pad of your finger. Rats.

Then the damp cold seeps through your stockings. The realisation trickles down your spine. Your eyes search out the sharp edge sewn into the hat. He's one of them.

You turn and march back to the door. You keep your injured hand aloft and let yourself in with other. You stomp into the kitchen and snatch up a cloth. You press it around your throbbing thumb.

"Sister, your shoes," Anna chides drolly.

You huff. She doesn't bother to ask if you're well. You hiss and grit your teeth.

"Get father's rye," you demand.

"Bit early, innit?" She snickers.

"Anna," you sneer.

She drags herself away from the table and takes out a dark bottle. She pulls free the cork and you grab it. You pour it over your thumb, shaking over the sink. You quickly cover the gash again.

"What's happened? He have a knife?" She asks.

"Anna," you face her, your heart top turns. "That man... has blades in his hat."

"Blades in his hat. Well, that's rather foolish." You stare at her and she blinks wide. "A blinder? Out here?"

You nod.

"What do we do?"

"Now it's we?" You challenge.

"It's not good, is it?"

You shrug.

"We could leave him there. Let him wake up."

"Yes, we could. But s'pose he wakes up and thinks we did leave him there. To drown in the mud," you tut. "But the alternative..."

"Wake him up?"

"He's not doing that," you clutch your hand.

"We can't carry him."

"We're going to have to," you say.

"And when he does come to, what then? He could hurt us."

"He might but I know where father keeps the pistol," you say.

"Do you know how to shoot it?"

"No."

"And wouldn't that be worse? To kill one of 'em?"

"Better than being killed," you look around. "Anna, I don't know any better than you."

"How..." she glances at the wall.

"You get one side, I'll get the other?" You suggest.

"How'd he even get there?"

"Now you're asking questions."

"Well, I thought he was a drunk or some'in."

"Oh, no doubt he is," you scoff. You wrap the cloth around your finger, securing it as best you can. You teethe your lip and dip your chin. "Right then."

You take the lead. Anna drags her feet. You go out into the yard. You near the man. He snores now.

You lift up his hat carefully and tuck it into your apron. You step around him as Anna reluctantly hovers some distance away.

"You get that arm." You point.

She whimpers but comes closer. You take his right arm and she flinches away as she reaches for his other. You grunt and grind your teeth as you try to lift him. Your sister whines, "he's too big."

"Anna, put some guff into it," you demand. "Christ be risen."

You manage to get him upright. Sort of. He hangs between you and your sister. You stagger to face him toward the house.

"I'm too weak."

"Stop, just move," you hike the man up as hold his hand over your shoulder, his arm draped around your neck. "Onward."

Your steps are teetering and uneven, lurching as the man threatens to bowl you both over. You haul him crookedly up the stairs, breathless, sweating, aching. His toes catch on the threshold and you all crash to the floor.

Your elbow pangs and your knee burns. You roll over and push the man's arm off you. Anna snivels as she crawls away from him.

"Now what?" She pulls a splinter from her hand.

"Well, he's inside," you get up, panting, and bend his legs enough to close the door. "Put a blanket over him."

"He's just gonna... lay there?"

"Better than the mud." You utter and step back, exhausted.

"What about when Da gets home?"

You give her a look, "let's pray he wakes up first."

🚬

You stir your porridge as the back of the man's head is visible just through the doorway. Anna won't sit still as she cradles her bowl and paces. Your thumb is pulsing with each bend.

The man's hat sits on the table. You did your best to wipe the mud off. You wiggle your foot, as restless as your sister but reluctant to show it.

You rinse your bowl and she gives you hers half-finished. You tisk. "Wasteful."

"Pardon me, my insides are splitting like twigs," she hisses.

You dump her bowl in the bin and wash away the oats. Anna tends to avoid things. She's always been that way. You can hardly blame her, there isn't very much worth facing in this world. Still, some things just must be done.

"Go on then, go to your room," you bid her. "I'll keep an eye on him."

"Are you certain?" She asks.

"Not truly but no use you tittering around," you shoo her with your fingers.

She makes no fuss in doing just that. Your dread mounts as you're left alone. She wouldn't be much help as it were, but are you any more formidable? Especially with a man like that?

You carry on, tidying, going through your usual toil, anything to busy yourself until your father returns. You sit and wring out the clothes by hand over a bucket and toss them in the basket to go on the line. You focus on the work, made more difficult by your tender thumb. Your joints ache from the effort, your forearms and the cuffs of your sleeves soaked through.

"Eh, Polly," the gritty voice has you sat upright. "Bring me a cuppa."

You stare at the man. He's not moving still. Just the rise and fall of his breath. He groans.

"Polly, ain't I your favourite?" He rasps and laughs, wincing at the effort.

He sucks in a deep breath and drags a hand over the floor. He pushes himself up with one arm and his head bobbles. He looks around, his nose like a beak. He gets one foot flat, still hunched, then the other. He stands and staggers, catching himself on the wall. He grunts and turns his head. He sees you before the bucket of soapy water and linen.

"You're not Pol," he limps in. "You got any tea?"

You stare at him and drop the shirt in the tub. He's entirely too calm waking up in a strange house. You stand stiffly.

"Whisky?" He hobbles past you and opens the cupboard.

"Sir," you back up. "This isn't-- we don't got much." You cross your arms and keep the chair between you. "You were out in the mud. We only brought you in to dry off."

"We?" He takes out a tin of flour.

"Hm, um, yes, the neighbour helped me," you lie.

"Aye, they did? Ya have a good laugh then? Over my drunk arse?" He accuses as he shuts the cabinet.

"No, sir. It was only--"

He moves towards you and you stumble out of his path. He swipes up his hat and pulls it on.

"Well, give ya some advice," he points at you. "You and that nosy neighbour, keep your mouths shut, eh? Don't be cheeping around with the hens."

"Sir, no, we wouldn't--"

"Know ya wouldn't." He looks around with a sneer, "it's a shithole but I'm sure you don' wan' it it in ashes."

He trips on the leg of the chair. You react without thinking. You grab his arm and the other side of the chair. He sways but stays on his feet.

You swallow as he looks at you. You shudder. "You wanted tea?"

His lips thin. There's a glimmer of shame in his irises. He maneuvers to sit on the wooden seat. He sighs and rubs his hips.

"Ole bullet casing's acting up again," he snarls. "German rubbish."

You go to the stove and put the kettle on the burner. You light it and step away. He bends forward to hold his head.

"Like I said, not much round, but I've got some bones. I could make ya broth," you offer.

He shakes and grumbles. It's not a clear answer. You grab the pork bones and put them in a pot. Your only shield is to do those things you know how to.

You brew the tea and bring it to him. He sits up and watches you set it down. He scrapes the chair closer to the table. He squints at your hand.

"Cut yerself?" He wonders.

"It'll heal up," you assure him and hide your hand behind you. He scratches the side of his head below his hat.

"Razor's cut deep," he remarks.

"They do," you affirm.

"Sorry then," he reaches for the cup. "I'll just get meself straight and be off."

"Very well, sir," you agree and grab the basket of clothes. "I'll be hanging these."

He takes a cautious sip and drones again. He wipes the moisture from his blond mustache with the side of his finger.

You leave him and go out into the yard. You unfurl the garments and pin them in place with the pegs. The gloomy sky won't dry them quickly. You go down the line as you hear Mary hollering at her husband. You've never heard her speak without yelling.

You finish and leave the basket at the door. The man has his head on the table. You go to check the broth. It bubbles but smells good enough. He groans.

You serve him a bowl with a butt of bread. He sits up with a tremour. He doesn't say a word as he draws himself in to the table and dips the rye in the broth. He eats without a care to the dribble down his chin.

He gives a contented hum when he's done. He looks up and smiles. You follow his gaze past you. You turn to see Anna before she disappears behind the doorframe.

"Well, hello, birdie," he growls.

"All done, sir," you take the empty bowl.

He refocuses on you, "didn't mention another of ya."

"She's shy," you insist as you take the dish to the sink.

"Mmm, well," he clucks. "Shy ones are sweet."

"Sir," you approach him again.

"Eh, I know what I said," he stands with an effort that makes him croak. "Yer a good woman. Won't be no bother 'round here. I'll make sure of it."

You nod as he heads for the back door. You follow him and stand in the frame as he stiffly struts to the gate. You frown. There never was any bother before him.

#thomas shelby #dark thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #arthur shelby #dark!thomas shelby #peaky blinders #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series

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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 4 months ago

Text

Task master II, or: Don't let me in with no intention to keep me

(Dean Winchester x female reader)

Summary You and Dean finally get some time on your own during a case and you revive an old game. But this time he gets to tell you what to do. CWs: Dean calls the shots (or thinks he does). Semi public stuff. More orgasms than you can count (that's a dare). Some feels at the end. 18+, 10k words

Task master series masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

You and Dean haven’t had a moment to yourselves and you’re about ready to climb the walls.

It’s torture, actual torture, having him this close and not getting to touch him, not getting to kiss him. You want his skin under your fingers, his lips on yours, his fingers…

You take a deep breath. This has been happening a lot. You look at him or think about him and your thoughts run away from you. It happened before too, but now that you’ve been with him, now that you know what it’s like, what he can do... Well, it’s just a little more than you can take.

You think about that night in the Impala every day. And he’s right there. He has been a ridiculous flirt, teasing you, giving you looks that make you think steam is about to come out of your ears. Dean Winchester is a tease and you had no idea.

Work has been crazy, cases popping up all over. You are constantly on the road, and when you get back to your motel, you are so exhausted that you barely manage to close the door behind you before falling asleep. There’s little moments, throughout the day, where you get to steal a little bit of Dean:

He’s suddenly behind you, puts one hand on your hip and presses his mouth to the back of your neck and then a second later Sam walks in or you need to leave and he has to let go. You look at him for long stretches of time, over a dead body in the morgue (not hot) or while you’re digging up a corpse (equally not hot), and he looks back at you and it’s like there’s electricity shooting back and forth between you two.

Once you are walking down the hallway of an abandoned factory and he’s suddenly in your space, pressing you against the wall, kissing you deeply, his hand squeezing your breast and you moan into his mouth. And then an asshole vampire jumps out of nowhere, interrupting you.

You’re not a violent person, but you chop that thing’s head off like you’re Rambo.

And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, you get a day to yourselves. Sam’s pretty beaten down from your last case and you park him at Bobby’s. He’s a little concussion-y and has a sprained ankle. You convince him to stay, sit the next one out. Dean is genuinely worried about his brother, and you are too, but you also know he will be fine, and that this might be the chance to finally have Dean to yourself for a little bit. You might go to hell for the level of horniness required for this thinking, but you can’t seem to care.

Dean Dean Dean, goes your brain.

And then, suddenly, you are on the road again. Dean is driving, you are in the passenger seat. Some sexy classic rock is playing and Dean’s hand lands on your knee. You look over at him. He looks gorgeous, sunlight streaming in, he’s nodding along to the song. You want him right then and there, but you hold off. You want more of him this time. All of him.

You get to your motel, which Dean picked out and you notice is a little bit nicer than usually, and immediately need to get ready to interview a witness. So you’re still rushing, but at least you don’t have to hide the hungry stares you throw each other. Dean’s in the bathroom and when he comes out, you’re just buttoning your blouse, tugging it into the waistband of the skirt of your FBI agent get-up. He freezes in place, stares at you.

“Holy shit,” he says, looking you up and down. “I just wanna bend you over something right now.”

It’s evil of him to say it, seeing as you’re on the clock. It also makes the best shiver in the world run through you. You purse your lips. “Patience, young one,” you say and Dean grins.

The witness you’re there to question is old money, and you whistle as you pull up in their driveway. The house is huge, has pillars framing the main entrance. They’re pillar-level-rich.

You go to the door and ring the bell, Dean standing next to you. He looks you up and down, his hands in the pockets of his pants.

“What?” you say with a grin.

“Nothin’,” he replies, grinning as well. Just then the door opens, and an older woman with coiffed hair lets you in. You identify yourselves as agents Nicks and Buckingham and you’re let in, the woman telling you she’s the assistant to mister rich guy, and that she’ll find him for you. Then she leads you and Dean to a small office nearby and disappears.

You stand around for a second, looking at some of the certificates that are up on the walls. Suddenly you feel Dean behind you. You gasp lightly when he pulls you back against himself. “Dean,” you chuckle, “they could come back any second.”

“Don’t care,” he says, his voice so close to your ear that you need to close your eyes, “I can’t take one more minute of not touching you.”

You need to take a deep breath when you feel his hand snake up your leg, pressing up your skirt a little. You want to protest, you really do, but it’s sort of impossible. Knowing that Dean is as desperate for you as you are for him makes your head spin.

His hand is traveling up your thigh and then he’s pressing his fingers against you. You twitch at the sudden contact, push yourself back against him. He starts gently rubbing you through your underwear. You bite your lips but a small whimper escapes you anyway, and you lean your head back so it lands on his shoulder.

The hand that’s still around you pulls you closer. You move one hand to your back, between your bodies, finding his crotch, start massaging him. Dean grunts into your ear.

Then you hear footsteps, and the few seconds of warning you get before the door to the office opens are just enough for Dean to let go of you, push down your skirt. You’re smoothing it down as well and he quickly takes a few steps away from you. Just then the old money guy enters. He wrinkles his brow. That probably wasn’t very subtle.

You and Dean are both a little breathless during the first questions you ask him. Dean’s sort of fidgeting around, and you’re pretty sure he has to hide the beginnings of an erection. You’re not faring much better, your pussy sensitive when you sit down and cross your legs, making you flinch.

Twenty minutes later, you’re walking back to the car. “Lunch?” Dean asks, as he’s opening his door. Lunch is probably the last thing on your mind, but then you realize how hungry you are. So you nod, and then get in.

There’s a little bar in town, kind of musky and dark, but then you’re not picky. You sit down, look at the menu and order. When the waiter leaves, you look at Dean over the table, and he’s looking back at you, elbows on the wood. “So,” you say, trying to hide a smile, “quickie in the bathroom?”

Dean chuckles. “Very tempting,” he says, but then he shakes his head. “But I wanna take my time with you.”

You scoff. “Dean,” you say, “if you say things like that you are making it much, much harder for me to not jump you.” He chuckles again. “Sorry about that.”

Then a noise distracts you, and you’re looking to the side. It’s just some patrons laughing, but you see something else that catches your eye. It’s a pool table.

You grin, a plan forming in your mind, then you look back to Dean. “Little game while we wait for the food?” He looks over, sees the pool table, nods. “Maybe I get to tell you what to do again,” you suggest, raising your eyebrows at him.

Dean huffs at that. “That would be fun.”

So you get up, go to the pool table. Dean quickly sets up and you start playing. This is where your plan comes in. Dean knows you’re good at pool, so you can’t outright lose. You play just good enough for him to get competitive, seeing the exact moment he starts taking the game seriously. His eyebrows go down a little, his beautiful lips purse. Now he’s focused, doesn’t want to lose. Which is exactly where you want him.

You play well, and then you mess up a few deciding shots. Dean might notice you’re losing on purpose if he wasn’t so invested now. And just like that, he wins. You make a face, wiggle a little. “It’s this tight skirt,” you say in a complain-y tone. “Don’t have any room to move.” You look up at him. “Guess now you get to tell me what to do,” you say, your voice innocent.

Dean’s face lights up. He’s been so focused on winning that he forgot what the price was. He chuckles. “Oh, this is going to be good,” he says. You couldn’t agree more.

Your food arrives and you sit back down. While you eat, Dean runs through a few joke scenarios of things he could have you do – dance the Macarena on the bar, order the spicy wings that the menu advertises are “as hot as the devil’s rear”, which is an interesting way to try to sell something. He has his fun, the ideas staying un-sexual for now.

You finish your food, and Dean looks at the menu over the bar. “You want some desert?” he asks. “I could go for some pie.” The fact that Dean could go for some pie just means that he’s breathing.

You think, then shake your head. “Nah,” you say, “I think I should cut back. This skirt used to be a little less tight.” You look away from the menu at Dean and see that he is watching you.

“What?” you ask. Just then the waiter comes over, asking you if you want anything else.

“Two pieces of pie,” Dean orders. “One blueberry, one key lime.” He says it pointing at himself first, then at you, remembering your favorite. And then, with a boyish grin, he adds: “And lots of whipped cream on both.”

The waiter leaves, and you look at Dean a little dumbfounded. “What are you doing?” you ask, slightly amused.

“My first official act as task master,” he says, linking his hands on the table in front of him, looking proud as hell of himself.

“Well,” you say, “it’s nice to see that you’re using your powers for good.” He nods in agreement.

The pies arrive. Dean digs into his, occupied for now. You try yours. It’s really good, better than pie from some hole-in-the-wall joint should be. You take another bite, this one with lots of cream. The tartness combined with the sweetness is delicious, and you wonder why you ever wanted to deny yourself this. You make a little mmh and Dean’s eyes snap up.

“Sorry,” you say, the hand that’s not holding the fork covering your mouth a little as you lick some of the cream out of the corner of your mouth. “It’s just really good.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean says, looking at your lips. “Let me try it.” You begin to spear a piece with your fork, but then Dean speaks up. “No, not with the fork,” he says. “Use your finger.”

Your breath hitches. You look up from your plate at his face. He looks hungry, even though you’ve just eaten.

“Don’t make me say the task master thing,” Dean says, but his voice is low. He doesn’t have to. You’re more than happy to oblige. You put down your fork, then run your finger over the top of the pie in front of you. You get mostly cream and some of the top layer, but you know this isn’t really a taste test.

You reach out your arm, setting your elbow on the table and Dean leans forward a little. He wraps his hand around your wrist, almost as if to steady you, and then licks the cream off the top of your finger. The whole time, he doesn’t break eye contact. You bite your lip and press your thighs together. Holy hell.

When he’s done, he gives your finger tip a sweet little kiss, then leans back, brings one arm over the back of the bench. “Delicious,” he says, still holding your gaze.

You slowly bring your hand back and without really thinking about it, you put the finger Dean just had in his mouth into yours. There’s still specks of cream on it, and now specks of Dean. You close your lips around it and slowly pull it out, moaning a little, at the taste, but also at Dean’s face. He’s breathing a little heavier, staring at you.

When you’re done, you grin at him. He shakes his head, unbelieving. “I love pie,” he says, and you chuckle. You congratulate yourself on your masterful plan.

Next is the sheriff’s office, and then the morgue. Depending on what you find there, the graveyard may be next. You get to the sheriff’s office after a short drive, Dean’s hand not leaving your knee for a second of it. The sheriff is an older man with a mustache so impressive that you wouldn’t be surprised to find out he's related to Tom Selleck.

He’s forthcoming, excited to help the FBI which isn’t always the case. But he probably thinks you’re Mulder and Scully, except without the aliens of course, so that helps. He needs to get you some files, so he leaves you alone in his office for a while.

You’re both sitting down in front of his desk and just as you wonder if Dean will use this chance to play some more, you hear him speak up.

“You see that?” he asks, and you look at where he is nodding, which is towards the left side of the sheriff’s desk. You look for a second and then see what he must mean – it’s little alien figurine. Maybe your inkling that he’s an X Files fan isn’t so far fetched.

“Steal it,” Dean says, his voice giddy. You frown at him.

“Dean, no,” you say. “He probably got that from his kid or something.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Come on,” he says.

“What if it has sentimental value?” you ask, genuinely.

“Well, it’s either that,” Dean says, voice a little piqued, “or you need to go to the bathroom and make yourself come.”

The way he says it makes it clear to you that it’s a bluff. He wants you to steal that figure, because he thinks there is no way you will do the other thing.

Well, he can think again.

You stand up, smooth down your skirt. “Fine,” you say, and it takes Dean a second to understand what you mean. Then his face almost goes slack in shock.

Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, you think, but you just give Dean your sweetest smile, and then walk out of the office.

The restroom is on the other side of the hallway. You go into the ladies’. You check under the doors that no one else is there, then go into the stall at the end.

You could just stand here for a while and go back, you realize then. You don’t actually have to do it. You could even pinch your cheeks and your chest a little, pull up your skirt, make it look like you did it. But the thing is, you want to do it. Knowing that Dean is sitting just a room away, thinking about you, probably imagining what you’re doing makes you horny as hell, which is a nice change from the base level horniness you have been feeling around Dean forever now.

Fuck it, you think. You look around. The toilets are clean, and it might mean that just not a lot of women work here, which does raise your chances of no one walking in. You decide to simply lean against the tiled wall, pressing your lower body out a bit. You tug your skirt up high.

If you want to get away with this, this is going to be a solely lower body experience, so your hands stay away from your breast. Instead you run them up and down your thighs, and immediately you’re imagining Dean doing it. Imaging him kneeling in front of you, still in his suit but with the jacket taken off.

Oh yeah, you think. This will be easy.

You close your eyes, keeping one ear open for any potential intruders. You don’t waste much time on pleasantries, knowing that you can’t stay in here forever without it seeming weird. You hand slips into the top of your panties, the fit somewhat tight between the skirt around your hips and the waistband of your underwear. You’ve dealt with worse.

You start touching yourself, not a lot of preamble. You know how to touch yourself but it’s imagining Dean being there that gets you going. He’s not on his knees anymore, but he’s sitting in a chair in front of you. You’re also not in the bathroom, it’s a nice room, plush and rich. And Dean is sitting there, and he says he won’t touch you until you make yourself come.

You hear a little sound escape you. You imagine his face, his eyes slightly narrowed at you, his lips parted just a little bit. The way he’s sitting there, legs spread a little wider, his hand going to the bulge in his pants. His eyes never leave you, though, they stay on you. He tells you how good you’re doing, and how much you are turning him on. How much he wants to come over there and fuck you.

You hear your own panting and realize it’s real, it’s actually you, in the bathroom, but you don’t want to think about the bathroom. You want to think about Dean getting up now, walking towards you. And then, because you want to and need to speed things up, you think about what he said earlier today.

I just wanna bend you over something right now.

Your rhythm increases as you imagine it, imagine him pushing your upper body down on something that might be a desk. Imagine hearing his breathing in your ear and a low grunt as he enters you. Imagine him starting to drive hard into you immediately.

You come and you press your free hand over your mouth to stop any sounds from escaping you. You get your breathing to level out. You sigh as your hand leaves your panties. That was fun but you want more immediately.

You give yourself another minute, then unlock your stall. You quickly walk to the sinks, wash your hands, check yourself in the mirror. You’re a little flushed you notice, as you brush your hair back behind your ears, but you think it should be okay. You nod at yourself in the mirror, feel a grin building on you. You can’t wait to see Dean’s face.

You don’t have to wait long, since when you walk out of the restroom, he’s standing there with the sheriff. “There you are,” the sheriff says, giving you a sympathetic look. “Upset stomach?” he asks, pitifully.

You shoot Dean a look, meant to be one of annoyance because he could have come up with something a little classier, but you don’t get that far. The way he looks at you, looks over your body. You realize he probably thought you weren’t going to do it, were going to pretend you did it, or only say it to rile him up. You guess he can tell he was wrong.

So you smile at the sheriff instead. “Yeah, all good now,” you reply. “Your partner and I were just finishing up,” he says, motioning to Dean, which breaks him out of his staring.

“Yes," Dean says, back in the character of the slightly aloof FBI agent. “Looks like it might not be out type of thing after all.”

There are two reason he might say this: The first one is that he’s figured it out, the FBI cover is no longer needed and you’re about to salt and burn some corpses. The second one, and you don’t dare to hope that it’s that, is that it’s genuinely not your type of thing, which would mean…

Which would mean no work. It would mean you and Dean would have as much time to yourself as you are comfortable lying to Bobby and Sam about how long it took to figure out that this case was a dead end. You really hope it’s reason two. If you were the praying type, you’d pray now, although you’re not so sure how that would go over with what you just did in the bathroom behind you. What you’re still hoping to do.

“Alright,” you say to the sheriff, “looks like we’re gonna get out of your hair.” He actually looks a little disappointed, but after some pleasantries, you and Dean start walking down the hallway to the main exit.

“Please tell me this really isn’t one for us,” you whisper. Dean can hear you because he is walking so damn close to you you could share a pair of shoes. His hand is also on your lower back. Very much on the borderline of perceived professionalism, but you’re both beyond caring.

“Really not one of ours,” Dean says. “They arrested some drunk teens last night. I mean, the pentagram had six sides. Six! People aren’t even trying anymore.”

You chuckle, then you reach the exit. You parked on the opposite side of the small parking lot, so you walk there, both of you taking large steps. Dean comes over to your side, opens your door for you and you get in. Then he walks over to his side, gets in, but instead of starting the engine he looks at you.

“Dean, come on,” you say. “What are you waiting for?”

Dean is looking at your face, and then his eyes wander down to your lap. “Did you really do it?” he asks, and his voice is low.

“What the task master says, goes, right?” you reply. Dean’s eyes go up to your face again, and he grins. He scoots closer to you on the bench, one arm going on the back of the bench behind you, the other he lays on your thigh.

“Can I?” he asks, and you’re not sure what he’s asking, but the answer is yes either way. His hand on your thigh runs up and inwards on your leg until he reaches your sex. He closes his eyes for a second when he realizes how warm you are, and how wet.

“What did you think about while you did it?” he asks, his eyes opening again and looking at you.

“You,” you reply, looking into his eyes. Dean’s lips fall open, and the arm behind you pulls you in, his hand holding the back of your head. He kisses you, deeply, his tongue almost immediately pressing against your lips. You part them, and just as you can taste him, his hand between your legs starts moving against you.

You have to let go of his tongue because a moan makes its way up your throat. He doesn’t let you go far, capturing you again with his lips. His rhythm on your clit is picking up just a bit. He’s rubbing you through your panties, which you’re pretty sure are on the way to soak town, USA.

You’re still sensitive, but it only makes his touching feel more intense. Your mouths separate, and Dean leans in so he can reach your ear. He kisses below it once, then he whispers to you.

“I wish I could have seen you,” he says. “Seen you making yourself come in that bathroom, thinking of me, knowing anyone could walk in at any second. I wish I could have walked in, and just watched you.”

You want to tell him that that’s exactly what you imagined, but you can’t seem to locate your voice right then. Your breathing is going faster, the pleasure in you building.

You find your voice again after a minute. “I wanted you in there with me, Dean,” you say and it comes out panting. “Wanted you, ugh, yes, yes, w—wanted you to come in and fuck me.”

Dean groans into your ear, his pressure on you intensifying. “Yeah?” he says, his voice sounding a little strained as well. “And what would you have wanted me to do to you?”

You want to tell him but your orgasm is approaching rapidly. You suddenly need to keep your hands busy, so your one hand goes to your breast, trying to locate your nipple through your clothes, the other wraps around Dean’s neck. You rock yourself against his hand as much as you can, your release so close you can taste it.

“Fuck, Dean, y—you’re gonna make me come,” you gasp. He picks up his pace, his mouth going down to your jaw and sucking there. You head falls back, desperate, needy sounds leaving you and then you’re coming, bucking against Dean, clenching your thighs together. “Yes, yes, yes,” you pant through it, your eyes squeezed tightly shut.

When it’s over you need a moment to blink your eyes open. Your body is still buzzing when you hear Dean’s voice next to you.

“Darlin’,” he says, landing a gentle kiss on your cheek. “I need my hand back.”

You realize then that you’re till holding him between your legs. You give a light chuckle, still not all the way back, as you relax your thighs and let him slip free.

“Why would you need that?” you say, trying to be funny.

“Because,” Dean says, removing his arm from the bench behind you, turning from you to face the steering wheel. He starts the engine, and the vibrations of the car make your gasp a little. “Because I need to drive us to the motel so I can fuck you stupid.”

The drive to the motel isn’t long but every second of it feels like half an eternity. Dean’s hand is back on your knee, which is sweet, but barely alleviates the tension of where it should rather be. Dean’s a little out of sorts, and he keeps looking at you, a small half-grin never leaving his face.

Finally you get there. With the skirt and, well, the coming, it takes you two seconds longer to get out of the car than it usually would, and Dean uses these two seconds to come over to your side, reach his hand out so you can take it.

“I had no idea you could be such a gentleman,” you tease him, half-heartedly, because the truth is you love it a little. He chuckles. “Only for the special ones.”

You walk together to the motel room, close to each other, and you both start fumbling with your keys early. You’re just a little bit quicker than Dean, so you’re the one unlocking the door. It’s made exponentially harder with how close Dean is standing behind you, his one hand going from your lower back to your ass.

Finally the lock clicks open. You manage to just pull the key out and then you need to turn around to Dean, throwing one arm around his neck. You kiss him, and he immediately wraps both arms around you, pulling you close, while at the same time pushing you backwards, into the room.

You manage to walk a few feet in and Dean actually remembers to throw shut the door behind him, one hand leaving you for a few seconds. It’s too long. Every second he isn’t touching you is too long.

His hands are back on you, rubbing down your sides to your hips, pulling you against him.

“Fuck,” he says, when you part for a second to catch your breath. “I want you so bad.”

You swallow and then, with the self-control of a Buddhist monk, push your flat palm against his chest.

“I need two minutes,” you say, realizing you’re panting. You lean your head back a little, and Dean looks at your lips. He could say no, use his task master powers, but he doesn’t. He squeezes your hip where he’s holding it, nods. You peck him on the lips once more.

“Okay,” he says, returning the kiss. “Don’t be too long.”

You quickly walk into the bathroom. You pee, then look at yourself in the mirror. You’re about to push up your breasts in your bra a little, when you have another idea. Your reflection grins at you.

You come out of the bathroom and Dean is sitting on the end of the bed, waiting for you. He looks a little bored. Well, he does until he sees you. He sits up, his hands falling on his legs. He takes a deep breath. You send a thank you to your past self for going to the effort of doing this.

Dean hasn’t seen your underwear, because when you were getting changed earlier, he was in the bathroom and when he was making you come in the car, he was doing it blindly. So it’s a nice surprise, to say the least.

It’s dark red, the bottom a thong and the bra is doing everything it needs to be doing. You find yourself wishing you had heels, but your FBI get-up doesn’t provide that, too much chasing and ass kicking required on the job. But next time. Next time. There will be a lot of next times, you realize.

You watch Dean swallow as his eyes roam over your body. “You are so goddamn gorgeous,” he says. Of all the things he’s said and done to you, it shouldn’t make you blush, but it does. He smiles at that. And then he says: “TM says, come over here.”

You chuckle. “TM, huh?” He shrugs. “’S shorter.”

The way he’s sitting there reminds you so much of what you were imagining earlier. So you think for one second and then you lower yourself and get on your hand and knees, then start crawling towards Dean.

He takes a sharp breath through his teeth. Your eyes don’t leave his. His chest is rising and falling and he looks wonderful. You reach him, and raise your hands to his knees, then run them up his thighs, the back down again. His breathing is picking up as he stares at you. Without breaking eye contact, your hands wander to his his jacket, and you slowly push it off him.

“Why don’t we get you a little bit more comfortable, task master?” you say. Dean grins, helps you by shrugging out of the jacket. When it’s off him, he tosses it to the side. Then your hands go to the waistband of his pants. “Or a lot more comfortable,” you say.

Dean looks down at where your hands are opening his fly, lets you do whatever you want to do. You pull down the zipper and then your hand wanders in and you find him. You take a shuddery breath as your hand wraps around his cock and you pull it out. He’s halfway there so you hold him and move your hand up and down him once, slowly.

Dean groans, leans his head back. “Fuck,” escapes him. You move a little closer to him, and when he notices your movement he looks down, opens his legs a little wider.

You lower your head while still holding him, and run your tongue along the underside of his shaft to the head, where you whirl your tongue around. Dean’s hands on his thighs clench into fists. You do it again, this time collecting some spit in your mouth before which you spread on him. When you reach his head again, you flatten your tongue and press it to the sensitive spot just below it.

Dean hisses, one hand going up to wrap itself into the hair at the base of your neck. “Jesus Christ,” he gasps, “I’ve been waiting for this.”

You grin, your ego stroked both by the admission as well as the slightly destroyed state he is already in. Dean’s a sex god but you sure have him unravel pretty fast.

You wet your lips, and then slowly take his cockhead into your mouth, very gently sucking on it and then, going a little bit lower, taking more of him into your mouth. You hum at the taste of him, your pussy clenching around nothing. The vibrations of your hum make Dean’s cock twitch in your mouth, so you do it again. You feel his hand on the back of your neck shake a little.

You run your lips up and then down him again, taking a little more of him in. You do it again, going a little lower, holding there for a second, and then go back up, releasing with a small pop.

“You taste amazing, Dean,” you say, a little breathless not yourself. Since you’re kneeling, you don’t need to steady yourself, so one of your hands finds its way to your pussy, lightly pressing at it, the other to Dean’s balls, caressing them gently. They’re a little difficult to reach since he’s still wearing pants so soon you move that hand back to his cock, pumping him a little while your mouth goes back over the top of him.

Dean is now gently rocking towards your mouth, breathing out through his nose in what you think is a bid to control himself. He looks beautiful, you see when you look up, his eyes half shut, his eyebrows pulled together, his lips parted.

He sees you looking at him just as you let him fall from your mouth again, and before you know what he's planning, he gently tugs you up by where he’s holding you by your neck. You lean up, and he brings your face in to kiss you, kiss you deeply. You return the kiss, desperate with how he’s touching you, moving you. You moan into his mouth.

He breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t let you go far. When he talks, he’s whispering into your mouth. “I would love to come in your beautiful mouth,” he says, and another moan escapes you, “but I have more planned for you.” He kisses you again, then says: “Get on the bed. Lie on your back.”

You kiss him again, and his free hand goes up to your jaw, cups it and for a second you’re both lost in the kiss. Then you pull back and push yourself up by Dean’s knees. He lets go of you, but not really, since he lets his hands follow your body as you stand up. You have a hard time letting go of him too, so what happens is that you’re holding hands as you walk around the bed, letting go only when the distance become too far. It’s sweet and makes your heart thump a little.

You climb on the bed quickly, lay yourself down on your back in the middle of it, pushing one pillow out of the way and pulling another in so that your head is resting comfortably. Dean has stood up as well, has turned around and is looking down at you. Your breath caches when you see him.

It’s easy to forget how tall he is since he’s constantly hanging out with Sam, but it’s even more obvious now. He looks almost imposing. And then he takes his tie off, loosening it by pulling it away from him and it nearly makes you blind with lust.

You pull up your legs a little, spreading them. Dean grins at that, and then he’s unbuttoning his shirt and it’s just a little more than you can handle.

“Dean,” you say, and it comes out desperate, because, well, you’re desperate for him. His grin widens.

“It’s okay, darling. Touch yourself. I’ll be right there.” And the way he says it plus the pet name has your hand flying to your pussy. You move it into your underwear and start touching yourself, your body sensitive due to the arousal, so you start slowly.

“Yes, sir,” you say and it’s supposed to be a joke, but it does things to you and Dean stops what he’s doing for a second, which is pull off his shirt.

“Shit,” he says, eyebrows raised. “I think I liked that.”

It makes you laugh and a flood of love runs through you. The way he makes everything feel so nice and floaty. He smiles at your laughter and then his shirt is off, but he’s still got a white t-shirt underneath, and it’s just nothing but endless layers with this damn family, but luckily he pulls it off himself then.

You notice, as he pulls down his suit pants, that he’s tucked himself back into his boxers. You can see him there and you stare at the tent while you continue touching yourself. Then his pants are off, he’s kicked his socks and shoes away and there he is.

“Dean,” you say, your voice a little stuttery, “really need you over here.” He grins and then comes to you. He likes being needed.

He climbs on the bed and comes up to you. He leans over you, keeping himself up with his arms on either side of you, and kisses you. You push yourself up, trying to reach as much of him as possible, but he’s pulling away too soon. One hand goes up to one of your breasts, cups it, his thumb running over the fabric, once, twice, until he’s sure he knows where your nipple is. Then he runs little circles around it and it makes a little shock run through your body.

He seems satisfied with that reaction, so he moves his hand further down, running it over your ribs, over your hip, his thumb brushing the soft skin of your belly. Then he leans back, sits up and is just watching your hand move inside your thong, gently massaging your thigh. After a little bit of this his eyes wander up to your face.

“How close are you?” he asks, his voice so soft. You have to swallow.

“Pretty close,” you say, your own voice shaking. Dean nods.

“Let me take a closer look,” he says, and then his hands are moving to your hips and he’s pulling down your underwear. You lift your butt up a little so he can pull it off you. He drops it somewhere in the bed and then goes back to looking at you, so you keep touching yourself, his eyes making your skin burn in the best way possible.

He runs one hand down the back of your thigh, slightly scratching and you moan at that, his other hand just resting on your hip, as if he’s steadying you.

“Dean,” you moan again, and your free hand reaches out to him. He leans forward a little bit and you can reach his face, your hand cupping his cheek, and he presses his face against your palm, his eyes not leaving you.

It’s such an intimate and chaste gesture, like something out of a Jane Austen novel. The sweetness of it combined with Dean’s and your own touching is bringing you to the edge quickly.

“Mmmh,” you go, and then say: “I’m gonna come again.” Dean nods against your hand.

“I want you to,” he says.

You bite your lip before you can speak. “But I want you inside me, Dean,” you say. Dean smiles, and it’s not his usual playboy grin, it’s something sweet, something secret that you’ve rarely ever seen before.

“I will be,” he says, “don’t worry. But I want this to last.” It’s a sort of sob that escapes you then. You are so horny for this man, but your heart is so horny for him too. It’s a stupid thought and you kind of want to share it with Dean, but the pleasure in you is building, building, building and you don’t think you can, or want to, hold off.

“Oh God,” you moan, and your body is arching up. Dean’s hand goes off your hip and instead cups your hand on his face.

“Say my name when you come,” he says, so quiet that you almost don’t hear it. Then your orgasm hits you, and you throw your head back into the pillow, chest rising up, your entire body tensing. You can’t say anything for a second and then you say his name, over and over until your body is shaking, your back is back on the bed and you're gasping for air as if you just ran for your life.

After a few seconds, you blink your eyes open. It’s hard work, but you are rewarded with the sight of Dean watching you, looking at your face. It flusters you a little and Dean must notice, because he says: “I’ve never seen anyone who looks as beautiful as you when you come.”

You scoff a little, slowly regaining your senses. “Yeah, if you've got a fetish for how people look when they stub their little toes.” It breaks Dean out of his trance a little bit, and he chuckles. Then he leans over you, on his elbows this time so he can be closer. His nose is just touching yours.

“TM says it’s beautiful,” he says in a low voice. You can’t help but grin. “Well,” you reply, “if TM says so.”

He nods, his nose rubbing against yours. “Hey, I don’t make the rules.”

He kisses you, and it’s gentle and slow and only lips and it makes you feel like you’re melting.

When he raises his head, he looks at you, and you can tell a plan is forming in his brain.

“What?” you say, raising your eyebrows.

“I wanna try something,” he says, then corrects himself. “Task master says we’re gonna try something.”

You frown. “Try something? Like an experiment?” Dean thinks for a second.

“Kind of,” he says, and then he’s moving down your body, leaving full-mouthed kisses in his path.

“Where are you gonna t—” you start and then his mouth is on your pussy and your entire body twitches at the sudden contact. So, that answers your question.

You raise your head, look down at him. “Don’t do anything weird, Dean,” you say, “my pussy’s not a chemistry set.”

He brings up his head and chuckles. “If it was,” he responds, “I might have made it through high school.”

You lay your head back on the pillow. “Education’s very close to my heart,” you say.

Dean chuckles, but he’s on you again already. This time he goes slower, getting you used to his mouth on you, gently licking at you until you’re pushing yourself towards him. Then his hands are by your hips, near your ass, and he adjusts you a little so that he can reach you better.

Then he’s back on you, his beautiful, plush lips closing around your clit and a moment later, you feel two fingers of his nudge against you. You want to tell him that that’s not much of an experiment, that you’ve done this before, but just then he presses into you, finds your g-spot like it’s got a GPS attached to it.

You push your head back into the pillow, your comment forgotten. He’s sucking on your clit and pressing against your g-spot, rubbing it without ever letting up the pressure. You’re halfway to your next orgasm before you know it. Jesus H. Christ, how is he doing this to you?

You grab at his head, the stimulation so intense it’s almost painful, but still you want more of him, and you press him against yourself, trying not to suffocate him, because that would be a damn shame.

Dean doesn’t seem to mind, his pressure on you increasing impossibly and you feel every muscle in your body tense, one hand staying on his head but the other going to the edge of the pillow under your head, because you need to grab something, but it’s not enough, so you sort of grip Dean’s hair as well, and it’s just long enough for it.

“Yes, yes, fuck, yes, don’t stop,” you pant, and you’re pretty sure not all of it comes out as actual words, but you don’t care.

Your next orgasms hits your like a bag of bricks, your stomach muscles contracting so hard it actually hurts. The sounds you make are…

Well, let’s just say you’ve never made them before. You will again, but you haven’t so far.

Just as the feeling starts dying down the tiniest bit and you think Dean is about to pull away, you realize that he’s till going, still rubbing your inside, still sucking on your clit. You’re about to protest, because you can’t possibly keep going when suddenly a strange warmness builds in you, no, a heat, like Dean’s rubbing has set you on fire.

He presses his fingers further up and your stomach flips for a second, your body almost forcing you to pull away but then you notice that Dean’s other hand is around your thigh, steadying you.

Then a new feeling comes in, and you can’t place it. It feels good, but strange, and you realize that it feels like you need to pee. You almost panic for a second, but the feeling’s not strong enough to break through your arousal, so you just kind of stutter, and then you notice you are grinding down on Dean’s face, basically humping it and then it hits you.

You’re pretty sure you scream, but you can’t be sure. You’re not there for a second, your body flooded with pure bliss. You distantly feel something wet run down from your pussy to your ass cheeks but its too far away for you to care.

Your head has lifted off the pillow when your orgasm – or whatever the hell that was – started, and now it falls back. Your breaths are sobs because there’s not enough air in your lungs. You lie there like a rag doll, body a little twitchy, breathing heavily.

You don’t notice Dean crawling over you until his lips are on your cheek, your temple, placing the sweetest kisses on them.

“Ssh,” he says, caressing your cheek, and you could cry. You take a deep, deep breath and it allows you to open your eyes, at least halfway.

“Dean,” you say, and he says: “I’m here. I’m here, baby.”

You blindly grab for him, pull him against you, your coordination shot, not even sure which part of him you want and then you realized it’s all of him.

He holds you against him, keeps stroking you, repeating “it’s okay, I’m here,” over and over.

God, you’re in love with him and you want to tell him, but this isn’t the right time, you think. You don’t even know what this thing you have is, it if has a name, if you want it to have a name. You don’t even know if he feels the same way.

You cup his face and look at him. He looks back at you, doesn’t turn away, doesn’t joke.

“Was that too much?” he asks, his voice low, only meant for you. “I thought it would be a fun experiment to see if I could get you to do it, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

You shake your head. “It was perfect,” you say. Then he kisses you, and you’ve never been touched as softly, as gently, as carefully.

You lie there like that for a while, kissing, nuzzling your faces against each other. Then Dean moves a little because his arm is falling asleep and you feel his erection against your thigh. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t mean for you to feel it, but it’s pretty unmistakable. It must be getting uncomfortable but he hasn’t said anything.

You pull his face close to yours, kiss him. Then you move away just an inch and you grin at him.

“Anything the task master wants to do about that big ass bulge down there?” you ask, your voice a little playful. Dean gins as well.

“I can just, you know," he starts, trying to hint at you and when you frown cause you’re not sure what he means, he concludes: “You know, rub one out. If you’re too tired.” You shake your head.

“Yeah, no,” you say, “not happening.”

You kiss him again, and then you press your nose against his cheek.

“How would the task master like to fuck me?” you ask. Dean groans, brings his lips back to yours, and your kisses are getting a little more heated, a little more intense. He brings his mouth to your ear.

“I want you to ride me,” he says and you have to bite your lip because it might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. Dean notices, keeps going.

“I want you so sit on my cock, decide exactly how fast you want to go, how hard you want me to fuck you.” Jiminy Cricket, how is he getting you going again? How is he wringing all this from your body?

“And then I want to watch you come again,” he says, and that’s enough of that.

You push back his shoulders and he happily plops down with his back on the mattress. You sit up, and without much preamble you start tugging at his boxers, pull them off him with his assistance. You notice the wet spot on the bed under you and grin to yourself.

As you make your way back up Dean’s body, you make a pit stop at his dick. He’s fully erect and when you run your lips along him, he twitches, Dean sucking in air through his teeth.

“Goddamn,” you say, “I can’t wait to have this beautiful cock inside me.” He grabs your arm then, pulls you up to him. He pulls you down to kiss him while his other hand goes for your leg, drags it over himself so you’re straddling him.

You quickly reach behind you back, undo your bra and let it drop next to the bed. Dean is staring at you, then kisses you again, one hand going to your breast and gently stroking you nipple.

“Fuck,” he pants when your lips leave his since you’re sitting up, “I need to be inside of you.”

His hand goes to the nightstand where you see he’s deposited a couple of condoms strategically, probably while you were in the bathroom. He grabs one and is just about to tear the foil, when your hand lands on his. He looks up at you, confused.

“I want to feel you,” you say, and he is stunned for a second. You can see his mind running through the process. “But…” he says.

“I’ve got an IUD,” you interrupt him. “And I’m safe.” Dean nods. “Me too.”

You smile, run your hands over his chest. “Then let me feel you,” you say.

Dean thinks about it for one more second, then he tosses the foil packet back on the nightstand, using his now free hands to grab your hips.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done it without a rubber,” he says, grinning a little bashfully, “so it might take me like two seconds.” You chuckle.

“Guess we’ll have to build up your sensitivity,” you reply. Something goes over Dean’s face, and he’s pulling you down to him, chest to chest, and kisses you again.

“I like that plan,” he whispers against your lips. You peck him once more, then sit up again.

You push yourself up using your purchase on Dean’s chest. He holds on to one of your thighs, with the other helps by lining up his cock to your entrance. You’re about so sink down, when he says: “Look at me.”

You do, make eye contact. You grin. “Yes, TM,” and then you are sinking down on him.

You are so wet that there is almost no resistance, but still you go slow, because the look on Dean’s face is something you want to commit to memory. He presses his head into the pillow, obviously has a hard time keeping his eyes open, but he does. You sink lower and he feels perfect. Dean seems to think the same, because he says it.

And then you’re flush with him. Your breathing has gone all wonky so you try to calm it, regulate it. While you’re doing that, Dean’s hand go up to your breasts, massaging them, gently pinching your nipples. It makes you sigh, clench down on him. He closes his eyes for a second.

“Fuck,” he says, “I can feel all of you.” You can feel all of him too, and you involuntarily move your hips a little.

“Ready?” you ask Dean, and you have to grin at how destroyed he already looks. He nods, lets his hands fall from your breasts to your waist.

“Task master says go,” he jokes, but you both know you are so far past that.

You start moving your hips slowly, grinding more than anything, little circles. Dean's grip on your waist immediately intensifies, his breathing picking up, so you widen the circles just a little. It’s pushing him against all the right spots inside of you, and you need to remind yourself to control your breathing again.

“Dean,” you moan and his thumb on your waist caresses you. “I know,” he says. You start going up and down a little as well, and the combination makes you roll your head back, moan desperately. It’s not enough to make you come, but just exploring the sensations he causes, enjoy the fact that he is inside you is more than enough for your right then.

“God, your cock feels so fucking good,” you say. It’s pretty porn-y, maybe a little over the top, but it’s the truth. His cock does feel fucking good.

In response, Dean starts rocking up into you, meeting your movements with his own thrusts. It makes him hit parts of you he hasn’t hit yet, and you moan again, your eyes falling shut and your lips parting.

“Shit,” Dean says, his voice almost shaky, “I don’t know how long I can keep this up, you’re driving me crazy.” You look down at him then, and your breathing is going fast.

“I don’t want you to hold back, Dean,” you say, your own voice shaky. “Wanna feel you come inside me.”

Dean grabs your hands and pulls you forward then. He holds you up enough that you gently land on his chest, but then he wraps his arms around you. His lips go to your neck and he is holding your upper body, making it possible for him to drive harder into you.

You’re the one on top, but he’s fucking you.

The sharper angle presses your clit against Dean’s pelvis, giving you extra stimulation, and also makes his cock hit your g-spot. Your one hand grabs the hair at the top of his head for something to hold on to and he grunts at that, into your neck.

His movements are getting faster and you’re happy to just take it, to just have him drive you forward again. Your eyes roll back and a chant of ah and yes and fuck and his name leaves you on every thrust. You stutter into another orgasm, the sound that leaves you a desperate whine and you can feel yourself tensing around him.

Dean stops kissing your neck, instead pushing his face against it, one arm around your back and one hand back at the base of your neck, in your hair, and his movements lose all rhythm for a few thrusts and then he holds himself deep in you, the most beautiful whimpers falling from his mouth, as he comes inside you.

You feel the warmth of his come spread through you and you sigh at it. You let go of his hair, instead gently run your fingernails along his hairline. You keep doing it just because it feels good to be touching him while you come down, but when you stop for a second Dean tugs at you.

“Please don’t stop doing that,” he mumbles against your neck.

Not task master says, but please. So of course you don’t stop. You keep doing it as you both slow your breathing, recover from the absolute intensity of what you just experienced.

You can feel Dean take a deep breath against you, and it's your signal to push yourself up a little, give him room to breathe. He looks up at you, his eyes lidded, his lips parted. He doesn't let you go far. He pulls you back and kisses you, You give in, because what the hell else are you supposed to do?

After what feels like an eternity his hand in your hair loosens, and he strokes the back of your neck instead. He pulls back and looks at you. You can't read his expression. You see him swallow.

"You okay?" you ask, your thumb caressing his cheek. He nods, but doesn't answer. Then he clears his throat, but his voice still comes out cracked. "That was incredible." You grin. "Incredible doesn't cover it," you reply. He grins a little too. "No, it doesn't."

You tug at his shoulder a little. "Shower?" you ask. He nods. "Yeah."

You carefully climb off him, Dean helping you, his arms supporting you. He gets up with a grunt, doesn't let go of your hand when you walk to the bathroom together. You turn on the shower water, since Dean still seems a little out of it. You are too, but you've never seen him like this, so you're happy to take the lead.

When the temperature is nice, you drag him in behind you, pull him close so the water can run over both of you. You cup his face with both of your hands. "Dean," you say, "are you sure you're okay?"

Instead of replying he kisses you. You hold his face and when he pulls back you don't let go. You're still not sure what's up with him, so you decide to busy yourself.

Your hand goes to the motel body wash mounted on the wall. You squeeze a generous helping into your hands, rub them together and then start running them over Dean's shoulders, up his neck, then down his chest. He flinches for a second, but he doesn't stop you. You bring your hands over his shoulders to his back and soap him up there, and because he's so close you kiss his cheek. He smiles at that, and he seems a little more himself.

His arms wrap around you then and he pulls you close. You continue rubbing his back, move your arms under his to reach him better. You press your fingers against him, intensifying the pressure a little, essentially massaging him. His face is against the side of your head and you hear him sigh. You pull back after a while, get more body wash, clean his sides. Once most of the body wash is done, you gently wash his penis, careful of his sensitivity.

Then you're done, and before either of you say anything, Dean goes for the body wash as well. He starts on your hips, making slow soapy circles up your body. Then your back and same as you he uses to chance to kiss you, but on your lips. You wrap your arms around his neck while he strokes your body.

When he pulls back, he cleans his hands under the water, then gently rubs your vulva, his fingers making a v-shape to clean you. He looks into your eyes while he does.

When he's done with that, he goes for the motel shampoo. It's not the shampoo you would usually use, yours still in your bag in the bedroom, but you don't care in that moment. He turns you around, massages it into your hair, scratching your scalp. You close your eyes at the sensation. He makes you lean your head back a little when he's done so he can help wash it out.

Remembering how much he liked the head scratches earlier, you do the same to him. He's too tall for you to be super efficient, so you do it mostly blind. You build up a lot of foam on his head, and it makes you laugh as you blow some away. He grins, then pushes his head under the water stream. You help him rinse it all out.

The motel towels aren''t the best but you both don't mind. You dry yourselves, then Dean slips on one of the robes while you go for your actual PJs, an oversized t-shirt and panties. Dean leads you back into the bedroom and as you're sitting down on the bed, he sees that the motel has room service. He waves the menu at you and you grin.

You order a ridiculous amount of food, even for Dean Winchester standards. It takes nearly an hour to arrive, but you spend the time lounging in bed, watching TV. Kissing. There's a knock on the door and Dean goes to open it, tips the guy who brought it.

The food's nothing to write home about but it might as well be a 5-star meal. You eat a fry and it's heaven, especially when you take another one and shove it in Dean's face. He takes it, then bites your finger. You pull your hand back, giggle, lick the salt off. If the you from yesterday could see you like this you'd think you're being an idiot. Whatever. The you from yesterday didn't know something like this could happen.

A little later, the left-overs piled on a plate outside your room, you fall asleep. Dean's lying on his back, and half of your body is draped over his. You snuggle up to him and he runs his arms over your back. You're out like a light within a few minutes.

You wake up hours later, not sure what woke you. It's dark in the room and you feel Dean move beside you. You're still in the position you were in when you went to sleep.

You sigh and look up at Dean's face, and see him just blinking awake. You're not sure who woke who, but it doesn't matter to you when you wiggle against him, getting yourself closer to him.

Dean's hand goes up to your face, caressing you gently. You look up at him and he's looking at you. You can barely see his face in the darkness, but even in the little light you have you know his face well enough to fill in the blanks, so it feels like you're seeing him.

Dean breathes in. "I love you," he says, quietly.

You can't help but stare at him. You've been wanting to say it all day, and you can't believe he did it first.

It's too early, you think. It's just this crazy day, you think. What if he takes it back tomorrow, you think.

None of it matters. "I love you too," you say.

You can more sense than see Dean smile. He kisses your forehead. Then you both go back to sleep.

You don't leave your motel room for another two days. By the end of the second day, when you get in the Impala and drive back, the I love you's haven't dried up. They come to you both as naturally as breathing.

#supernatural #spn #fanfic #dean winchester #fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #sorry's fics

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