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pucksandpower · 24 days ago

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Empires and Emperors

Toto Wolff x Cadillac team principal!Reader

Summary: the old adage says “don’t mix business with pleasure,” but Formula 1 requires pushing boundaries … both on the track and off of it

Warnings: mentions of a career-ending crash

The Bahrain sun is merciless, already scorching the tarmac at ten in the morning. Camera crews buzz like flies, microphones aimed at anyone in team gear, but the paddock doesn’t truly snap to attention until the Cadillac garage doors roll up and you step out — aviators low, Americano in hand, ponytail like a loaded weapon.

You don’t flinch when the press crush starts.

You barely blink.

Toto watches from the Mercedes garage with the faint smirk of a man who’s seen every variety of hype crash and burn. But this … this is different.

“Christ,” mutters a race engineer, watching the growing commotion. “She’s not even driving.”

Toto hums. “That’s the point.”

You stride past Sky Sports, nod at a reporter who tries to corral you into an impromptu hit. You say, “Sorry, I’m not caffeinated enough to be charming yet,” without breaking pace. They laugh. You don’t.

Your white Cadillac team shirt is immaculately crisp, tucked into tailored black trousers that mean business. Your name is embroidered over your heart like a signature. There's something terrifying about how calm you look. You pass McLaren, Ferrari, Red Bull. Eyes track you like hawks. You’re not even trying to cause a scene, you're just unapologetically here.

By the time you reach the team principals’ press conference, the seats are mostly filled. Toto’s already on stage, seated with Christian, Fred, and Andrea. You take the last chair, perfectly on time, and thank the moderator like you're doing him a favor.

“Welcome, Y/N,” the moderator says, clearly over-eager. “Exciting moment for Cadillac today. First day of testing. First American-led team since Haas. How does it feel?”

You lean into the mic, flick your gaze across the room — sizing it up.

“It feels like everyone wants to see if we crash or combust. I plan on disappointing them.”

A ripple of laughter. Christian chuckles like he’s amused, but Toto watches your fingers tap idly on the desk, left ring to index, again and again. A tic? A tell?

Fred leans forward. “A lot of buzz around your car. You think it’s ready?”

You arch a brow. “I think our car’s been ready since before you all started noticing it.”

Toto finally speaks. “Strong words for a car that hasn’t run a lap.”

You look at him. Really look. The moment hangs.

“I’ve seen plenty of cars run laps and still not show up when it counts.”

Christian makes a low, “Oof.”

Toto tilts his head, amused. “Hopefully your strategy is better than your temper.”

“My strategy,” you say sweetly, “is to keep everyone guessing. Starting with you.”

Laughter, again. Louder this time. Cameras flash.

Your phone buzzes in your lap. A text from your PR Officer.

Calm down. You’re going to give the FIA a stroke.

You ignore it.

The questions move on. Andrea is saying something about wind tunnel data. Christian’s lobbing vague insults at the cost cap. But you’re still aware of Toto. He doesn’t look at you anymore, but you can feel his attention like static.

The press conference ends. Everyone stands. There's the shuffle of paper, the awkward murmurs of media trying to corner principals before they vanish. You take your time. You’re about to walk off when-

“I take it you’re not planning to make many friends in here,” Toto says, low enough that only you hear.

You don’t smile. “I’ve got a team. That’s enough.”

He nods once. “Mm. Must be nice.”

You blink. The look in his eyes is fleeting, but something sharp lives behind it. You know it when you see it — resignation, maybe. Or regret.

“I don’t do politics,” you say. “Not anymore.”

“Then you’re in the wrong sport.”

You smirk. “I’m not here to fit in, Toto.”

He doesn’t flinch at the name. Most people don’t say it like that — like a challenge.

“Clearly,” he says, dry as sand. Then, with a glance at your lanyard, “You ever think about going back?”

The flashback hits like a punch.

A wall of flame. A split-second decision to pit. Your engineer shouting too late. The impact sharp enough to rattle your soul. The sound of carbon shattering. The way silence follows trauma like an old friend.

And after: the meetings where they called you difficult, aggressive, uncooperative. When you pushed back, you were “a liability.” Not marketable enough. Not compliant enough.

You left IndyCar with trophies and screws in your shoulder. You left knowing you’d never crawl back.

“Not even if it paid double,” you say.

He nods. “Fair.”

You pause. “You actually care?”

He shrugs. “I’ve been watching motorsport long enough to know when someone gets chewed up.”

You look at him differently, then. Not soft, not grateful. Just ... seeing him, maybe for the first time.

“You think I’ll get chewed up here?” You ask.

“No,” he says, turning. “I think you’ll bite back.”

You watch him walk off, all precise posture and tailored black. An engineer falls into step beside him, murmuring something. He answers without looking back.

“She’s going to be trouble,” Toto says. His voice is just loud enough for the words to carry.

The engineer frowns. “What, like — media trouble?”

Toto’s mouth curves. “No.” Then, quieter, with a smile that’s almost fond, “The interesting kind.”

***

The FIA meeting room smells like stale coffee, over-conditioned air, and the permanent tension of eleven egos shoved into one overlit box. There’s a bowl of untouched almonds in the center of the table. You wonder if they were here yesterday. Or last season.

You’re seated between Andrea and Christian, who are both smiling like diplomats but vibrating with the low-level condescension of men who are used to being the most interesting person in the room.

“Let’s talk about your diffuser,” Christian starts, as if the word diffuser is a veiled insult. “Interesting interpretation of the regulations.”

You don’t look at him. “Everything we’ve done is legal.”

“Legal’s not the same as sporting,” Andrea chimes in. “There’s a spirit to these things.”

“Oh, please.” You finally turn. “The spirit of the sport died the day you all decided performance was negotiable and politics were a KPI.”

That earns a few raised brows. You glance at Fred, who just shrugs like he’s too old to pretend any of this isn’t performative.

“The FIA cleared our design. If you have an issue with it, file a protest,” you add, sipping from the coffee you brought in yourself because the FIA’s is undrinkable. “Or better yet, copy it like you usually do.”

Christian lets out a short laugh, more amused than offended. “You’re not interested in playing nice, are you?”

“I’m interested in winning. I don’t know what you all are doing here.”

Andrea leans back. “You’re new. That’s fine. But you’ll learn — this isn’t just about the car. It’s about relationships.”

You glance around the room. “Funny. I thought it was about racing.”

Toto hasn’t said a word. He’s across from you, fingers interlaced, watching with the infuriating patience of someone who’s not here to win the argument, he’s here to win the war. You meet his gaze once. It’s unreadable. Then he looks away.

The meeting drones on. Brake ducts. Tire allocations. Something-something sustainability. Everyone has opinions, none of them productive. You say less as the hour drags. You’re learning the rhythm of this room — the pauses, the fake outrages, the knowing glances exchanged over your head.

At the end, as everyone rises and starts gathering notes they won’t read again, Toto approaches.

“Coffee?” He says, tone almost offhand. “Neutral ground.”

You raise a brow. “Why? You bored of watching me set fires in here?”

He doesn’t smile. “Just curious what you’re actually trying to burn down.”

You should say no. You don’t.

***

The paddock lounge is quiet when you arrive twenty minutes later. Cool-toned, clean lines, suspiciously good espresso. There’s an understated confidence in the way everything is exactly where it should be. Nothing flashy. Just efficient.

Toto’s already seated at a small table in the back, a steaming cup in front of him. No assistants. No PR. Just him, white shirt rolled at the forearms, reading something on his phone with that same unsettling stillness.

You slide into the seat across from him.

“Still neutral?” You ask.

He sets the phone down. “That depends on how you define neutral.”

“I define it as: no offers, no threats, no press leaks.”

He nods. “Then yes.”

A pause.

You take in the lounge. The screens showing pit lane footage, the muted international voices from a side room, the slow drip of espresso behind the bar. Controlled. Precise. Familiar, if you squint.

“You remind me of Penske,” you say, almost to yourself.

Toto lifts a brow. “In what way?”

“Quiet until it matters. Never without a plan. Likes to watch before you strike.”

He folds his hands. “You’ve studied me?”

You shrug. “I study everyone. Occupational hazard.”

“I’ve studied you, too.”

You lean back. “That sounds ominous.”

“I don’t mean it to be.” He pauses. “You were fast. In Indy. Efficient. Cut through the noise.”

You laugh once. “They said I was difficult. That I didn’t smile enough.”

“They say that about anyone who doesn’t need approval.”

You don’t say anything to that. Not yet.

The coffee arrives, and you both thank the lounge staff at the same time — reflexive, polite. You clock it. He does, too.

“So,” he says, resting one arm on the table. “What’s the endgame, really? Visibility? Disruption? A Netflix arc?”

You blink once, slowly. “You think I came here to be an influencer?”

“I think you came here knowing exactly how much attention your appointment would cause.”

“Of course I did,” you say. “But that’s not the end game. That’s just the noise.”

“Then what’s the signal?”

You study him. His eyes are sharp, sure. Not cruel, but relentless. There’s no wasted motion in the way he speaks, listens. You don’t hate it. You recognize it.

“The signal is innovation,” you say finally. “The car, the structure, the tech we’re developing — Cadillac didn’t join to sell more SUVs. We came because the sport needs a hard reset.”

He doesn’t flinch. “And you think you’re the one to do it.”

“No,” you say. “I know I’m the one who’s not afraid to try.”

Silence, but not heavy. Just considered.

Then he leans forward a little. “You don’t recognize tradition.”

You tilt your head. “And you don’t recognize innovation unless it’s wearing silver.”

He smiles, just barely. “That’s not true.”

“Oh? You didn’t try to bury the DAS system in regs the second someone else used it?”

“It wasn’t safe.”

“It wasn’t only yours anymore,” you say, sipping your coffee. “There’s a difference.”

He chuckles softly. “You’re not wrong.”

“Of course I’m not.”

Another pause. You watch people come and go behind the glass — engineers, interns, drivers. Nobody interrupts you. They all know better. This is what you came for. The real meetings never happen in FIA rooms. They happen like this — two people sitting across a table, pretending not to size each other up.

Toto finally speaks. “You could’ve joined any team. Taken an advisory role. Sat back. Why Cadillac? Why a full team principal position with a rookie team and a target the size of a billboard?”

You stir your coffee. “Because I’m tired of fixing other people’s broken systems. I want to build something from scratch. Something that doesn’t need politics to survive.”

“You think that’s possible here?”

You meet his gaze. “Not yet. But it will be. Eventually. Maybe not this season. Maybe not for a few. But it’s coming.”

“You’re going to get hit hard.”

You nod. “I’ve been hit harder.”

A flicker of something moves across his face — approval? Curiosity? You’re not sure.

“You were right about one thing,” you add. “I don’t care about fitting in. But I do care about impact.”

He nods slowly. “Then I suggest you learn how to play the long game.”

“Oh, I’m playing it. But not with the same pieces as you.”

He stands. Not abruptly. Not coldly. Just … finished.

You rise, too.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you say.

He inclines his head. “Thanks for not flipping the table.”

“Yet.”

That earns a real laugh, short and clean.

You pause at the door, glance back. “By the way — your wind tunnel data’s off by 0.2 percent. Rear aero.”

He raises a brow. “How do you know that?”

You wink. “I read.”

Then you’re gone.

***

Back in the Cadillac garage, your lead engineer looks up from the pit wall.

“How was your playdate?”

You throw your headset down gently. “Exactly what I expected.”

He grins. “And?”

You shake your head. “He’s testing me.”

“Did you pass?”

“No idea,” you say. “But I think he did.”

The sun is lower now, but still sharp. You can feel the paddock humming again, whispers curling around your name, your car, your meetings. You let them talk.

Toto watches from across the way as you rejoin your team.

“She’s good,” says Shov, standing beside him now.

Toto doesn’t answer immediately. He watches as you lean in to talk with a mechanic, one hand on the front wing, completely in control of the chaos you’ve created.

“She’s dangerous,” Toto says.

He doesn’t sound worried. Not even a little.

He sounds … intrigued.

***

The Melbourne circuit is a festival of chaos and sunscreen. Fans draped in American flags chant CA-DIL-LAC like they’re tailgating a college football game, not watching a brand-new F1 team fumble its way through its first real Sunday.

You knew this race would be hard. You planned for it, trained for it, told everyone — including yourself — that the only goal was to finish clean.

But watching both your drivers sink like stones after Lap 15 is a different kind of pain.

The car looks fast on Fridays. Hell, it is fast in qualifying. Top ten for both drivers. You’d been calm on the pit wall then, headset snug against your ears, fingers steady on the tablet. You even let yourself believe it might hold.

But now, with ten laps to go, you’re crouched low beside the wall, headset slung around your neck like dead weight, watching the times drop sector by sector. The Caddy’s chewing through tires like they’re made of tissue paper. The balance is off. There’s understeer in the mid-speed corners. One driver is already radioing in frustration, the other’s silent. You hate the silence more.

“Y/N?” Your lead strategist calls, voice tinny in your earpiece. “We could try offsetting the stint, pit now and pray for a safety car-”

“No,” you say.

“It could-”

“No.”

He goes quiet. Everyone always goes quiet when you use that voice. The one you used in IndyCar when you were flying at 220 mph and someone told you to back off. The one that means: I’ll take the blame, but I’m not gambling just to gamble.

You don't speak for the rest of the race.

The checkered flag drops. P13 and P15. No points. You don’t move.

Eventually, the garage begins to wind down, packing gear, muttering half-hearted debriefs. You remove your headset. Stand. Leave the garage without a word.

You walk until you’re behind the pit wall again, away from the paddock, from the PR handlers and tech directors and sponsor-friendly excuses. You crouch low, same as during the race, elbows on knees, eyes on the empty straight like it might still hold some kind of answer.

It doesn’t.

Footsteps crunch softly behind you. You don’t look up.

Toto doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, looking out at the track beside you like he owns the whole place. Maybe he does.

Finally, his voice cuts through the still air.

“You don’t trust your engineers.”

You exhale through your nose. Not laughter, not quite. “That’s the problem, huh?”

He nods once. “One of them.”

You stand, slowly. Turn toward him. Your face is unreadable, but your eyes … your eyes are flint.

“I don’t trust anyone yet.”

He doesn’t flinch. He just studies you. Like a problem worth solving.

You cross your arms, lean your shoulder against the pit wall. “You think I don’t want to trust them? You think I enjoy second-guessing every call from the box, every predictive model that tells me what I should do while I watch my drivers skid through corners like amateurs?”

“No,” Toto says. “I think you were trained not to.”

That silences you. Just for a moment.

Then, voice low, “I was trained to win. In a world that didn’t expect me to survive, let alone lead.”

Toto nods. “And now?”

“Now I’m trying to lead a team that still thinks leadership means shouting louder than the telemetry.”

“You hired them.”

“I hired who was willing to jump off a cliff with me. Some of them are good. Some are bluffing. And I don’t have time to wait and see which is which when every second on track costs us ten in the media.”

Toto studies your face. You hate that he can see through you. Even more than that, you hate that you don’t want to hide.

“You miss being in the car,” he says.

The admission sits heavy in your chest, like a truth you didn’t mean to bring to the surface. You don’t answer.

“You think if you were driving, you’d have made up the time.”

Now you look at him. “I know I would’ve.”

“You would’ve overdriven it,” he says. “Tried to outmuscle the problem. It’s not the same up here.”

“I know it’s not the same.” The words come out sharp, bitter. “You think I haven’t figured that out every day since I handed my race suit to a kid half my age and told him to go make headlines?”

Toto doesn’t push. He just waits. You hate that, too.

You pace a few steps, then stop. The paddock is quieter now. The race over, the noise receding. Just the hum of logistics and engines cooling down. You’re too wired to sit, too angry to leave.

“You know what it is?” You say finally. “It’s not just the car. Or the engineers. It’s that I still see everything. Every line, every brake point, every corner entry. And I see where it’s going wrong in real time, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“You can do something about it,” Toto says. “But not everything.”

You glance at him. “That sounds suspiciously like advice.”

He smirks. “Just an observation.”

“You like doing that. Observing.”

“People reveal themselves when they’re losing.”

“And what have I revealed?”

He’s quiet for a beat too long.

“That you care more than you let on.”

You scoff. “That’s not a revelation.”

Toto shrugs. “Maybe not to you.”

A long silence stretches between you. Then you ask, almost idly, “Do you remember your first real loss as a team principal?”

He nods. “Nürburgring. 2013. We lost a front wing in Turn 2. Strategy failed. P9 and DNF.”

“And what did you do after?”

“I rebuilt the strategy department from the ground up. And hired someone who knew how to say no to me.”

You nod slowly. “Smart.”

“Painful,” he corrects. “But necessary.”

You glance down at your hands. They’re steady. They weren’t earlier, mid-race. You’d clenched the tablet so hard you left marks on the casing.

“Everyone told me to hire safe,” you say. “Experienced. People who’d been in the paddock for a decade.”

“Why didn’t you?”

You meet his eyes. “Because those people helped build the system I want to break.”

Toto’s expression shifts — something between surprise and admiration.

“And yet,” he says, “you still chose to play in the system.”

“I’m not here to burn it down. I’m here to prove it can be better.”

“And if it can’t?”

You hesitate.

“Then at least I’ll go out knowing I tried.”

There’s something raw in your voice now. Not broken. Just exposed. Toto sees it. That unrelenting belief in what this could be if you just had enough time, enough patience, enough people who gave a damn. But beneath it is the fear you don’t say aloud.

The fear that they won’t follow you.

Or worse, that they will and it still won’t be enough.

“You’re not going to get many more races like this,” Toto says, voice low. “Where no one expects anything. Where you can fail quietly.”

You nod. “I know.”

“So use them.”

You glance at him, a flicker of something like gratitude in your eyes, but it’s gone in an instant.

“Thanks for the unsolicited coaching.”

He smirks. “You’re welcome.”

You both linger in the quiet a moment longer.

Then he turns to go, footsteps slow and deliberate. Just before he disappears back toward the Mercedes motorhome, he calls over his shoulder —

“Get some sleep. You’ll need it before Jeddah.”

You don’t answer. Just stare out at the track a moment longer.

The silence feels like failure. But beneath it, if you listen closely, there’s something else.

Resolve.

Because the difference between a broken team and a building one is just time.

And you’re not done yet.

***

The invitation arrives sealed in creamy card stock, embossed with the gold FIA crest as if that somehow softens the blow. You stare at it for a full minute before tossing it onto your desk like it’s radioactive.

“Absolutely not,” you tell your assistant without looking up.

“They said attendance is strongly encouraged.”

“So is hydration. Doesn’t mean I go to Dasani’s Christmas party.”

But hours later, after three different calls, two sponsor nudges, and one not-so-subtle email from an FIA board member about “team visibility,” you find yourself pulling on a sleek navy dress and walking into a dimly lit ballroom in London filled with too much money and too little sincerity.

The lighting is designed to make executives look interesting. It fails.

Waiters drift by with expensive wine and tiny hors d’oeuvres no one knows how to eat. Conversations bloom and die in corners. You scan the room. Everyone is here. Christian, already holding court like he’s emceeing his own eulogy. Andrea, pretending not to look bored. Zak, laughing too loudly.

You steel yourself. You can do this. Smile. Shake hands. Laugh politely at someone’s joke about American engineering.

Then you see the place card at your assigned seat and feel your stomach drop.

Y/N Y/L/N … right next to Toto Wolff.

“Of course,” you mutter under your breath, sliding into the chair just as he arrives, tall and too composed, dressed in black like he’s attending a private funeral for the concept of relaxation.

He sits with the grace of someone who’s done this too many times. “Evening.”

You nod. “They ran out of neutral corners?”

“I requested the seat.”

You blink. “Did you.”

“I was curious if you’d still try to escape halfway through the salad course.”

“That depends. Is the salad course edible?”

The corners of his mouth twitch, and just like that, the chill between you begins to thaw.

The dinner begins with toasts from people you don’t care about, celebrating values they don’t uphold. “Innovation.” “Excellence.” “Legacy.” You sip wine through the speeches and feel your spine calcify.

Toto leans in, voice low. “Do you think they rehearse those?”

“Oh, for sure,” you whisper. “Some poor intern had to time that speech to match the fireworks on the highlight reel.”

He chuckles softly, and you hate that it warms something in you.

By the second course, the wine is flowing freely and the table’s conversations splinter off. You swirl your glass, lean back, and eye him.

“So what made you request the seat, really? Curiosity? Strategy? Morbid fascination?”

He shrugs. “You interest me.”

“That’s vague.”

“So are you.”

You look away. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like you think we’re similar.”

“We are.”

You snort. “You think you’re like me?”

“I think we both don’t sleep,” he says, without missing a beat. “I think we both control more than we show. And I think we’ve both lost something that changed the shape of everything after.”

You go still.

He doesn’t push. Just sips his wine and looks out over the room.

You let the silence linger before asking, carefully, “What did you lose?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then, finally, “Control. In 2021. The final race.” A pause. “I thought we were prepared for every scenario. We weren’t.”

Your voice is quieter now. “How long did it take to come back from that?”

He thinks. “I’m not sure we have.”

You nod, slowly. “I remember watching it. I was halfway through rehab. Crutches, ice machine, full of pain meds. Screamed at the TV like it was a horror movie.”

His brow lifts. “Rehab?”

You glance down. This part you don’t talk about often.

“There was a crash. IndyCar. Mid-season. Rear suspension failure at speed. Hit the wall at 220. Didn’t wake up for three minutes.”

He says nothing. Doesn’t pity. Doesn’t interrupt.

You keep going.

“Broke my femur. Collapsed lung. Grade three concussion. They told me I’d walk with a limp. I told them I had a sponsor dinner in three weeks.” You smile faintly. “The sponsor was Cadillac.”

He’s watching you now with a different kind of intensity. Not evaluative. Something softer. Earnest.

“They brought me on after,” you say. “Not just as a driver, but as part of the R&D think tank. I couldn’t race, so I built. Helped design simulator feedback loops, performance modeling.” You pause. “Three months later, they offered me a job that didn’t involve a steering wheel.”

Toto is quiet for a long moment.

“And you said yes.”

“I said I’d think about it. Then my former team tried to pin the crash on me to cover the parts failure.” You laugh once, dry. “Suddenly, I didn’t feel so sentimental about staying a driver.”

He studies you. “So this wasn’t your dream.”

“No,” you say. “This was my decision.”

That lands between you like a stone in water. Heavy, slow, true.

You glance around. The dinner’s winding down. Someone’s giving a speech that no one is listening to. Laughter bubbles at another table. Glasses clink.

Toto leans in again. “Do you miss it?”

You nod. “Every day.”

“And would you go back?”

You take a breath. “If I thought it would change anything? No. I gave everything I had to a system that didn’t protect me. Now I want to build something that does.”

His gaze softens. “And you don’t trust anyone to help.”

You meet his eyes. “Would you?”

“No.”

You laugh. This time it’s real.

Something shifts in the space between you. The air feels quieter. The noise of the room fades. It’s not romantic — not yet — but it’s intimate. Honest.

You realize you’re still looking at him. And he’s still looking at you.

That’s your cue.

You stand, smooth your dress.

“Leaving already?” He asks.

“I hate long goodbyes.”

You don’t say goodbye.

You leave through the side entrance, past the press, into the cold London night. Your car’s parked by the curb, driver waiting.

You open the door, slide in, close it-

A knock on the window.

You blink. Lower it.

Toto.

“I’m walking,” he says. “But I figured I’d see you off.”

You look at him, uncertain.

“I meant what I said,” he adds.

“About what?”

“You don’t trust anyone-”

You open your mouth to argue.

“But I’d like to change that,” he finishes.

You stare at the hum for a second too long.

He doesn’t smile. Just waits.

And for once, you don’t know what to say.

The driver asks, “Shall we go, ma’am?”

You nod.

But you look back at Toto once more before the car pulls away.

And he’s still there. Still watching.

Like maybe, just maybe, you’re worth believing in.

***

The news breaks on a Tuesday. Always a Tuesday.

You’re mid-strategy call, marker pen in hand, sketching out a race-weekend plan across three whiteboards when someone clears their throat behind you.

“Y/N,” your assistant says, hesitant. “You might want to see this.”

You glance back, ready to wave it off. You hate interruptions. But then you see her expression — careful, cautious, like she’s delivering news about a death in the family.

“What is it?”

She hands you a tablet. You don’t recognize the site at first. Not motorsport. Not serious. But the headline is loud enough to punch through:

PADDOCK POWER COUPLE? F1 INSIDERS WHISPER ABOUT CADILLAC’S Y/L/N AND MERCEDES BOSS WOLFF

You scroll. The article is trash — pure speculation, stitched together with blurry photos from the FIA dinner in London and a conveniently timed sighting of you both walking near the paddock in Jeddah. But the tone drips with implication. Power imbalance. Bedroom politics. A sidebar wonders aloud if your rapid climb in F1 might have “benefitted” from “strategic alliances.”

You feel your stomach clench.

“Who leaked this?” You demand, voice cold.

“We’re still checking. But it’s … making rounds.”

The article’s already been picked up by a dozen smaller outlets. Social media’s chewing on it like raw meat. You know how fast this kind of thing spreads. Especially when you’re the only woman in the paddock running a team. Especially when the man in question happens to run Mercedes.

You head straight for the Mercedes hospitality.

Toto’s in a meeting when you arrive. You don’t wait. You walk straight in.

The room goes silent.

“Toto,” you say, curt. “Now.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Everyone out,” he says calmly.

The engineers file out quickly, eyes flicking between the two of you like they’re fleeing an earthquake.

Once the door shuts, you round on him.

“You leaked it.”

He doesn’t flinch. “Excuse me?”

“You think I wouldn’t notice the timing? The angle? It frames you like some kind of generous kingmaker and me like a fame-hungry idiot with good hair.”

“I don’t write gossip columns.”

“No, but you have people. And you like to control the story.”

He stands, slow and deliberate. He’s taller than you, but you don’t back down. Not even a millimeter.

“I don’t use people like that,” he says, voice low, tight. “Not even you.”

You blink. The sharpness of it cuts through your anger. But you don’t let it go yet.

“I’ve been here three races and already someone’s trying to rewrite my career into a tabloid plotline.”

“Yes,” he says. “Welcome to F1.”

That sets you off again. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not. I’m telling you that if I wanted to manipulate you, you wouldn’t know until you were already dancing to my music. And you’re not.”

You narrow your eyes. “Flattering. So you admit there’s a game being played.”

“There’s always a game being played.”

“And what’s yours?”

He meets your gaze, unwavering. “I don’t like what they’re saying about you. Not because of me. Because you’ve earned better.”

That stops you.

You step back, slightly. Your heartbeat’s too fast, your jaw tight. You hate how much the article got to you. How much it still matters what people think, even after everything you’ve survived.

He doesn’t press.

You leave without another word.

***

It’s nearly 9 p.m. when the truth comes out.

Your head of comms calls, voice tight.

“We traced the leak. It was your junior driver’s agent. The oldest one. He tipped off a reporter. Was trying to get him a reserve driver slot with Mercedes. Thought the buzz would make him more marketable.”

You stare at the floor of your office, fury blooming again — but now it’s cleaner, more directed. And shame colors the edges. You’d aimed at the wrong target.

“Did Mercedes bite?”

“No,” she says. “Toto shut it down personally.”

You hang up. Let the phone sit heavy in your lap.

Then you stand.

***

The paddock is quiet at night. Crews have mostly gone home. The media’s packed up. The motorhomes hum softly under security lights, like sleeping giants.

You find him in the Mercedes motorhome. Lights dim, one lamp glowing in the corner. He’s alone, reading something on his phone. A glass of wine at his elbow.

He looks up as you enter. Says nothing.

You cross the room and stop beside his table.

“You were right,” you say softly.

He tilts his head. “About which thing?”

You hesitate. “Not using people.”

He gestures to the empty seat. You sit.

“I’m sorry,” you say after a long pause. “I was angry. And humiliated. And I thought-”

“You thought I was like everyone else.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He takes a slow sip of wine, then sets the glass down.

“You said it yourself,” he murmurs. “You don’t trust anyone yet.”

You glance at him. There’s no judgment in his voice. Just fact. Like he’s holding it up, not to shame you, but to understand you better.

“Why did you shut it down?” You ask.

“Because I wouldn’t want someone like that on my team. And because … I care what they say about you. Even if you don’t care what they say about me.”

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“I didn’t say it was your fault.”

A long silence stretches between you. The kind that used to feel awkward, but now feels full — weighted, not empty.

You reach for the bottle between you and pour a second glass. He slides it toward you, fingertips brushing lightly against yours.

You don’t pull away.

Another beat passes.

You take a sip. Then ask, quietly, “Do you miss when it was simple?”

He chuckles. “It was never simple.”

“When you were still just … managing people and not empires.”

Toto leans back in his chair. “The first time I sat on the pit wall, I thought, this is it. This is the dream. Then I realized the dream was mostly budgeting spreadsheets and answering questions about tire strategy on live TV.”

You smile faintly. “Still. You’ve built something.”

“So have you.”

“Not yet.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

You look down, quiet again. The warmth of the wine lingers in your chest. So does his voice.

After a long stretch, you whisper, “Sometimes I feel like if I stop moving for one second, it’ll all fall apart.”

His voice softens. “And what if it doesn’t?”

You shake your head. “I can’t afford that kind of hope.”

A silence falls, but it’s not empty.

It’s full of everything unsaid.

You glance at his hand — resting on the table, fingers splayed. His other cradles the wine glass, but he isn’t drinking anymore. Just watching you.

He reaches out — lightly, deliberately — and his fingers brush yours. Just a whisper of contact.

You don’t pull away.

Not tonight.

There’s no kiss. No dramatic gesture. Just quiet. Contact. A kind of peace neither of you are used to.

He doesn’t say anything more.

And for once, neither do you.

***

The skies over Imola threaten rain all weekend, but never follow through. It’s worse than an actual storm — this looming, suspended tension that makes everyone twitchy, including you. Your engineers bicker over tire strategies, your drivers don’t trust the brake upgrades, and the data simulator is doing its best impression of a brick wall.

By the time Sunday arrives, you’ve slept four hours total in three nights and consumed more espresso than should legally be allowed.

But something clicks.

Maybe it’s the revised pit strategy. Maybe it’s the aggressive tire call on Lap 32. Maybe it’s just sheer, stubborn Cadillac will. Whatever it is, the car flies.

You don’t dare breathe during the final ten laps.

P3 is right there. Right in front of you.

When your lead driver crosses the line in fourth — just half a second off the podium — you swear the collective scream from your garage could level the surrounding trees.

It isn’t a trophy. But it’s proof.

Cadillac belongs.

You belong.

The moment feels … huge. Humbling. Everyone’s hugging. Someone pops a bottle of something probably not FIA-legal. Your driver tackles you in a sweaty embrace and you laugh for the first time in what feels like a month.

You stay late, long after the broadcast ends, surrounded by the people who have been pulling miracles from underfunded wings and sleepless nights. Mechanics. Data analysts. Your aero guy who hasn’t taken a full weekend off since Bahrain.

You’re still in the garage when the paddock starts emptying out. Your hair’s in a messy bun, race suit tied around your waist, black Cadillac t-shirt soaked with beer and effort.

You don’t notice Toto standing across the way, outside the Mercedes garage, arms folded, watching you.

He doesn’t interrupt. Just smiles to himself. Quiet. Almost proud.

You’re not his, he thinks. You belong to yourself.

And that’s so much better.

***

You stare at the hotel ceiling for thirty minutes before giving in.

You don’t want to be alone. Not tonight. Not with this weird ache in your chest that’s part adrenaline, part exhaustion, part something you can’t name.

You don’t even think about it. You just throw on a hoodie over your sleep shirt and walk down the hotel corridor barefoot, still slightly buzzed on the ghost of the race.

His door is ajar.

He opens it before you knock.

You blink. “Were you expecting someone?”

He leans on the doorframe, not smiling. Not serious. “Not exactly.”

You exhale. “Can I come in?”

He steps back. “Always.”

His suite is quiet. Low lighting. A decanter on the table, half-full. A few race notes open on a tablet, abandoned. He closes it as you walk in.

“Sorry. I should’ve — this was probably stupid.”

“You want to be alone but not alone,” he says, like he’s read this chapter before.

You nod. “Is that allowed?”

He tilts his head. “With me? Yes.”

You sit on the edge of the couch. He offers you a drink. You decline. He pours you water instead.

Silence stretches.

“So,” he says eventually. “P4.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I didn’t think we’d make it out of Q2 this weekend. Then the car just … worked.”

“It was aggressive,” he says. “Risky strategy.”

“I had to trust the numbers. And my gut.”

“Did it feel like being back in the car?”

You glance at him. “Exactly like that. Except worse. Because now I’m responsible for six hundred people and not just me.”

“Do you regret it?” He asks. “This life?”

You think about it.

“No,” you say. “But it’s lonelier than I thought it’d be.”

He doesn’t answer. Just sits next to you on the couch, not close enough to touch, but not far either.

You lean your head back.

“I used to think even the little wins would feel more final. Like they’d fix something. Or earn back everything I lost.”

“And now?”

“Now I think they’re just proof you survived long enough to try again.”

He nods. “That’s all this sport is. Trying again.”

You’re quiet.

And then, because it’s late and you’re exhausted and this version of the world feels gentler than the one outside, you ask, “What were you like before all this?”

He smiles faintly. “Angrier. Less patient. I thought I could control everything.”

“Bet that worked out well.”

“I crashed a GT3 car into a wall at Red Bull Ring once because I didn’t want to lose to a guy half my age. Broke three ribs. Didn’t tell anyone.”

You laugh. “Seriously?”

He nods. “Pain is a better teacher than pride.”

You watch him for a moment.

“There’s something I haven’t told anyone,” you say. “Not even my team.”

He looks at you, waiting.

“I still hear the crash sometimes. In my dreams. It’s never loud. Just … this sharp silence before everything shatters. I wake up before the impact.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just sits still.

“It’s not that I want to drive again,” you continue. “I just want to stop remembering.”

Toto’s voice is quiet. “That doesn’t go away. But it stops owning you.”

You look down at your hands.

“You know,” you say softly, “for someone so famously calculating, you’re weirdly good at this.”

“At what?”

“This. Being … human.”

He shrugs. “Takes practice.”

You don’t realize how close he’s sitting until your shoulders brush.

But he doesn’t make a move. Doesn’t touch you. Just sits with you.

You fall asleep like that. On the couch, legs tucked under you, head tilted back, listening to the sound of his quiet breathing beside you.

***

When you wake, it’s still dark.

You’re not on the couch anymore.

You’re in his bed. Still fully clothed. The covers pulled gently around you.

Toto’s on the couch now, asleep, arms folded, as if he’s been guarding something.

The ache in your chest is different this morning. Deeper.

You slide out of bed quietly. Pad over to him.

He stirs.

“You should’ve let me stay on the couch,” you whisper.

“I didn’t think you’d sleep like that.”

You hesitate.

“Thank you,” you say.

He nods. Doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t ask for anything.

And that’s somehow what unravels you most.

Because for the first time in a long time, someone wanted nothing from you except to let you rest.

And you have no idea what to do with that kind of kindness.

So you just stand there, caught in the early morning light and everything unsaid between you.

Not lovers. Not yet.

But something real.

And quietly — terrifyingly — you realize you don’t want to lose it.

***

Toto pulls away the next weekend.

No message. No follow-up. Nothing.

He nods at you in the paddock like you’re just another team principal. His smile is neutral, professional, precise. Mercedes posts their usual press photos — clean, sterile, branded to hell. Your name doesn’t pass his lips.

And you know what this is.

He’s building a wall.

You see it in the stiff set of his shoulders at the team principals' meeting in Spain. The clipped tone he uses when you pass him in the paddock in Montreal. You say “morning.” He says “yep.”

You want to punch something. Preferably him.

But instead, you bury yourself in upgrades. Your tech director calls it obsessive. Your engineers call it inspiring. You call it survival.

The new front wing design works in the wind tunnel. You burn through simulations like caffeine, throw out half the aero plan and rebuild it from scratch. Every sleepless night, every ignored text, every time you walk past Toto and feel nothing from him fuels you like gasoline.

You tell your team: Silverstone is ours. They believe you.

It starts raining during FP2.

You grin at the sky like it’s personal.

***

You don’t speak to Toto all weekend.

Not during track walks. Not during press conferences. Not even when your drivers both qualify in the top six and the entire paddock starts whispering that Cadillac might actually do it.

And then race day comes.

And you finally snap.

He’s in the pit lane before the race, talking to someone from Pirelli. You see him out of the corner of your eye as you’re checking tire pressures with your race engineer.

You don’t even think about it.

You march across the line.

“Hey.”

He turns. Sees you. Hesitates. “Y/N.”

You’re already furious. His voice — his face — ignites something in your chest that feels suspiciously like heartbreak but tastes like gasoline.

“I get it,” you say. “You pulled back. You’re scared. Fine. But at least have the spine to say it to my face.”

He glances around. The pit lane’s crowded, noisy, full of mechanics and techs and photographers. It doesn’t matter. You’re locked in.

“I’m not scared,” he says.

You step closer. “Then what is it? You changed overnight. One minute I wake up in your hotel room, and the next you’re acting like I’m a PR liability.”

“You’re not.”

“Then stop treating me like one.”

“I’m treating you like someone who terrifies me.”

That halts you.

You blink. “What?”

Toto runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. “You terrify me. Because you make me forget how much this job costs. How many knives are out. How easy it is to lose everything.”

“And?”

“And I like it. I like you. Too much.”

You stare at him.

“Then say it,” you demand.

“I just did.”

“No. Say the part where you let yourself want something. Say the part where you’re not a control freak running scared because someone finally sees you.”

“You don’t get it,” he says, voice low. “I can’t afford the distraction.”

“You think I can?” You snap. “You think I can afford to feel anything and still wake up every morning knowing the sport I bled for will never respect me the way it respects you?”

Toto’s jaw tightens.

“I see you,” you say, softer now. “Even when you hide. I still see you.”

He doesn’t answer.

Then the call comes over the loudspeaker. “Formation lap in thirty.”

You walk away first. No dramatic exit. Just one last glance.

His eyes are still on you.

***

The rain starts on Lap 23.

It’s light at first — enough to make the track glisten, not enough for inters. Half the grid hesitates. The other half spins.

Your radio explodes with chatter.

“Front’s going — too slick — should we box?”

Your lead driver’s voice is ragged with tension.

Your race engineer is mid-debate when you pull the headset off him and grab the mic yourself.

“Box now,” you say. “Full inters. Don’t argue.”

The pit crew isn’t ready. You scream at them through the rain.

“Get the tires! Now! Get the goddamn tires!”

It’s chaos. But somehow, your driver’s in and out faster than the Red Bull next to him. Two laps later, half the grid is pitting. The other half is aquaplaning off the track.

You take a deep breath.

“Tell him to defend like hell. We are not giving this away.”

***

Cadillac wins its first Grand Prix on Lap 52 of a rain-soaked Silverstone.

Your driver screams across the radio. Your garage erupts. Mechanics cry. Engineers kiss. Your comms chief sprints into your arms like a lunatic and you let her because right now you’ve done it.

You did it.

You lift the headset off, rain slicking down your arms.

The trophy is heavy and ridiculous. Champagne stings your eyes. The Star-Spangled Banner plays, and for a moment, the sound of thousands of people screaming drowns out everything else.

You scan the crowd from the podium.

Toto isn’t there.

You search for him anyway.

He’s already gone.

***

Back at the garage, they replay the race on the screens while your team takes selfies with the trophy. Someone made an edit out of your pit wall scream. You’re soaked and exhausted and still vibrating with adrenaline, but all you can think is he wasn’t even there.

Your assistant hands you a towel. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you lie.

“You sure?”

You look up at the sky. Rain’s easing now. The world smells like wet tarmac and victory.

“I’m not sure of anything,” you say. “But we won.”

She smiles. “That’s something.”

You nod.

But it’s not everything.

Not tonight.

***

It’s Friday. Spa. The garage smells like rubber and heat and stress, like it always does when qualifying’s creeping up and the sensors keep glitching. You’re elbow-deep in a conversation about tire deg curves when someone taps your shoulder.

You turn, expecting your race engineer or maybe a PR rep with bad news.

Instead, it’s Toto Wolff.

You blink.

He’s standing there in black Mercedes team kit, sunglasses hooked in his collar, eyes locked on yours like you’re the only person in the damn paddock.

You say, sharp as ever, “Lost, Wolff?”

“No.”

“You’re in enemy territory.”

“I’m aware.”

Your crew is watching from the corners of their eyes, pretending not to. Someone coughs awkwardly.

You nod toward the back. “Office.”

He follows you through the garage, past spare parts and laptops and the low hum of tension. Inside your office, you shut the door. The silence is sudden and thick.

You cross your arms. “What?”

Toto doesn’t sit. Doesn’t pace. Just stands in front of your desk like he’s about to confess to corporate espionage.

“I watched Silverstone,” he says.

You arch a brow. “Congratulations. You and seventy-five million others.”

“I watched you.”

Something in your stomach tenses.

He swallows. “I left because I was afraid. Of the distraction. Of what this could cost me. Of how easily you could undo me without even trying.”

You stay still.

He takes a step closer.

“But I’m tired of safety,” he says. “I’m tired of guarding everything I’ve built like it’s sacred when it’s already broken. You make me want to risk things I’ve spent over a decade protecting.”

You feel the breath leave your body.

“Toto,” you start.

“No,” he interrupts, voice low and serious and unmistakably yours. “Let me finish.”

You let him.

“I haven’t slept right since Imola. I think about you when I watch your pit wall react to strategy calls. I read your press conferences just to see if you mention me. I see you with your team, and I think this is what it’s supposed to look like. Not the polished machine I’ve kept running on habit and fear.”

You don’t move.

You can’t.

He steps even closer.

“And the worst part is, I don’t want to stop.”

You inhale, slow and sharp. “Then don’t.”

The kiss isn’t soft.

It’s not gentle or delicate or romantic in the storybook sense.

It’s need. Weeks of it. Months, maybe. Pinned under frustration and silence and professionalism.

His hands find your waist like they’ve been waiting to memorize it. Your fingers dig into his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll disappear again. His mouth is warm, urgent, a little desperate. Yours is no better.

You pull back once. Just enough to say, “Close the door properly.”

He does.

***

His suite smells like coffee and paper. His race notes are scattered across the desk. You don’t even get halfway to the bed before he’s kissing you again — slower this time, but no less hungry.

He doesn’t rush.

And neither do you.

Because if this is a bad decision, you’re going to make it the best bad decision either of you has ever had.

You undress him carefully. He does the same, unhurried, reverent. He touches your shoulder like it’s something holy. You run your hands down his spine like you want to remember how his body fits against yours.

The bed is large and too white, but he warms it like he’s made of fire.

The intimacy isn't in the sex itself — it’s in the way he kisses your throat afterward, in the way you curl into his chest without asking, in the way his hand finds yours under the covers like a reflex.

You fall asleep with your head on his shoulder.

He breathes evenly for the first time in months.

***

You wake to the smell of coffee.

His room is flooded with pale Belgian morning light. Your clothes are still scattered, but you don’t care. You find his white Mercedes button-up hanging over the back of a chair and shrug it on. The sleeves drown your hands. The collar smells like him — clean, expensive, slightly burned espresso.

You walk barefoot into the suite’s kitchen area.

He’s standing over a French press, eyebrows furrowed, as if he’s trying to solve an engineering problem with the water temperature.

He glances up. His expression softens the second he sees you.

“You’re stealing my shirt,” he says.

“It’s not stealing if you weren’t wearing it.”

He hands you a mug. “That’s not how shirts work.”

“It is now.”

You both sit at the table, quiet for a few beats. It’s domestic. Too domestic. You in his shirt, him sipping coffee in boxers and half-mussed hair.

You glance at him over the rim of your mug. “So. What now?”

He doesn’t pretend to misunderstand.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I’m not going to disappear again.”

You nod slowly.

“I’m still Cadillac,” you say.

“I know.”

“You’re still Mercedes.”

He nods. “Yes.”

“And this is … very stupid.”

“It’s the stupidest thing I’ve done in years.”

You grin. “Good. I hate being the only reckless one.”

He leans back, watching you. “I’m serious, Y/N. This won’t be simple.”

“I know.”

“There will be questions.”

“There always are.”

He watches you for a long moment. “You’re not scared?”

“I am,” you say honestly. “But I’ve been scared before. Didn’t stop me then either.”

He smiles.

You drink your coffee. The silence between you isn’t awkward anymore. It’s thick with possibility.

Eventually, you stand. “I should go. FP3 in a few.”

He stands too. “I’ll see you on track.”

You smirk. “Try not to stare too hard.”

“I’m not making any promises.”

You walk to the door. He follows.

Before you leave, he says, voice low, “I meant what I said. You make me want things I thought I buried.”

You kiss him one more time — just soft enough to make him curse under his breath.

“I’ll see you out there,” you say.

And then you walk back into the world, still wearing his shirt, heart beating faster than it ever did in a race car.

***

It starts with a headline.

Love in the Wolff Den: F1 Power Couple or Conflict of Interest?

Then come the blurry photos. Your hand on his chest. His fingers brushing your jaw. Grainy, flash-washed shots snapped from across a Stavelot hotel lobby that make everything look sleazier than it was.

It spreads like wildfire. Not just gossip sites, but major outlets — Sky, Motorsport, Bloomberg, for God’s sake. Everyone with a byline and an opinion suddenly thinks they understand what this is, what you are.

And then come the calls.

Not from your comms team. Not from PR.

From the board.

You’re standing in the middle of Cadillac’s race operations suite in Indiana when it comes in — your CFO, voice clipped, polite, fake. He phrases it delicately, like it’s your idea. Optics, you understand. Just a temporary step back, maybe for the rest of the season. Let things cool off. He uses the word “professionalism” three times in one sentence. You count.

“You’re asking me to sideline myself,” you say, tone dangerously calm. “Over a man.”

“It’s not that-”

“It is that.”

“There’s pressure. External. The headlines are framing it as a conflict. You’re both decision-makers. If this were a boardroom-”

“It’s not a boardroom. It’s a goddamn pit lane.”

He doesn’t argue. Which pisses you off more.

***

Toto’s phone doesn’t stop buzzing either.

He ignores it until it starts vibrating his desk.

Shaila barges in. “You need to respond.”

“I have,” he says, flipping through tire comp analysis. “I told them I wasn’t leaking strategy to my girlfriend over breakfast.”

She blinks. “You called her your girlfriend?”

He glances up. “That’s the word everyone else is using.”

“Okay,” she says carefully. “Well. The shareholders want a closed-door call. Today. They’re throwing around words like ‘governance’ and ‘interteam transparency.’”

He exhales through his nose. His jaw tightens.

“Tell them I’ll take the call after I finish reviewing the telemetry,” he says. “But if they suggest I pull back from managing the team over something that hasn’t affected a single race outcome, I’ll remind them that Ferrari and McLaren literally ran a married couple in engineering for five years.”

“Noted,” Shaila says, and walks out with the speed of someone who wants to live.

***

You don’t talk for three days.

Not because you’re angry at each other.

Because you’re both working.

Because the world is watching.

Because you’re trying — maybe futilely — to hold your ground.

You’re staring at a mockup of the new rear wing, not really seeing it, when Derek, your number two, comes into your office.

“You’re going to want to see this,” he says.

You look up. “Is it a fire?”

“Sort of.”

He turns the monitor toward you.

You squint.

It’s a live press conference. Mercedes-branded backdrop. Toto behind the mic.

Someone off-camera asks, “Toto, with recent rumors about your relationship with Cadillac’s team principal, how do you respond to those saying it presents a conflict of interest?”

He doesn’t even flinch.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that it’s interesting how quickly some people invoke ‘conflict of interest’ when a woman dares to take up space at the same table.”

Your breath catches.

“In this sport,” he continues, “we celebrate cutthroat negotiations. Aggressive contracts. Power plays. But the second a woman builds something formidable, people start calling it a threat.”

He’s calm. Surgical. But you can see the steel under his words.

“I have not compromised my team. She has not compromised hers. We are professionals. We are rivals. And if anyone believes the existence of mutual respect — or affection — between two team principals undermines the integrity of the championship, perhaps their issue isn’t with governance. It’s with equality.”

Someone tries to interrupt. He cuts them off with a single glance.

“And for the record,” he adds, “she’s done more in four months to shake this sport out of its stagnation than most of us have in ten years. I suggest we stop punishing her for succeeding.”

The clip ends.

Derek looks at you. “That was a choice.”

You stare at the screen for a long time.

Then you stand.

“Cancel my dinner with marketing,” you say. “And get me a driver to the hotel.”

***

It’s late. You don’t knock.

Toto opens the door like he’s been expecting you.

You step inside. Neither of you says anything for a beat.

He closes the door behind you. “I didn’t do it for a thank you.”

“Good,” you say. “Because you’re not getting one.”

A pause.

You look at him, all carefully unbuttoned collar and tired eyes, and say, quieter now, “But I saw it.”

“I meant it,” he says simply.

You sit down on the edge of the couch. Your hands are still curled into fists.

“You know I almost agreed to step back?” You admit. “Just for a second. I thought maybe it would make everything easier.”

“And then?”

You look up. “And then I realized I didn’t fight this hard to build something just to let them push me out the second I’m inconvenient.”

He watches you. “No. You didn’t.”

You swallow. “You didn’t have to speak up.”

“Yes,” he says, crossing to you, “I did.”

He kneels in front of you, hands resting on your knees.

“This sport chews people up,” he says. “It makes us choose between the parts of ourselves we care about most. But you … you make me remember why I cared in the first place.”

You study him. His face is open, unguarded in a way you don’t think he’s ever allowed himself to be on purpose.

You speak slowly. “We’re both trying to build empires.”

He nods. “Yes.”

“Let’s see if we can share one.”

His smile is small. Real. “God help Formula 1.”

You lean in.

This kiss is different.

It’s not born from tension or defiance. It’s something else. An alignment. A decision.

You don’t say you love him. Not yet.

But it’s there. In the way your hand rests on his cheek. In the way he kisses you like he’s found a home.

***

The next morning, a headline reads:

WOLFF AND Y/L/N: FORMULA 1’S NEW POWER COUPLE GOES PUBLIC

You sip your coffee and shrug.

Toto glances over. “You’re not going to throw your phone this time?”

You grin. “Depends. Did you leak it?”

He raises a brow. “Did you want me to leak it?”

You laugh.

And then the day begins.

Because empires don’t build themselves.

But maybe you don’t have to build them alone.

1K notes · View notes

littlelamy · 9 months ago

Text

random times when rafe wanted to please you

⭐️The First Time: It was a warm summer night, and the stars twinkled brightly over the Outer Banks. You and Rafe were at a bonfire, the sound of laughter and music echoing around you. As the night wore on and the crowd thinned, you found yourselves nestled together on a blanket, the heat of the fire illuminating his sharp features.

“Hey,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Can I show you something?”

Intrigued, you followed him a little ways away from the fire. Rafe pulled you into a secluded spot, his breath warm against your ear. “I want to taste you.”

Before you could process the words, he sank to his knees, his hands gripping your thighs. The excitement and anticipation shot through you as he leaned in, his mouth brushing against you. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, igniting something primal inside you. He teased you with his tongue, exploring with an eagerness that made you gasp. It was the first of many times, and you both knew it wouldn’t be the last.

⭐️After His Confession: It was a quiet night after a long day, the kind where you and Rafe were just lounging on the couch, a blanket thrown over your legs. The flickering light from the TV cast a warm glow around the room. Rafe turned to you, his gaze heavy with something unspoken.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked, a seriousness in his tone.

“Of course,” you replied, curious.

“I think about your clit a lot. Like…a lot,” he admitted, his cheeks slightly flushed.

You could feel heat creeping up your own neck as he continued, “It drives me crazy how much I want to taste you.”

Without waiting for a response, he slipped down to the floor in front of you. His fingers grazed your thighs, and with a soft gasp, you let him pull you closer. He pressed his mouth against you, the need evident in every movement. The way he worshipped your clit made you forget everything else, lost in the pleasure he gave.

⭐️After a Fight: You and Rafe had a heated argument earlier that day. The tension between you was thick, lingering like an unwelcome fog. But as night fell, something shifted. Rafe, his frustration still evident, pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing against yours.

“Damn it, I’m sorry,” he breathed between kisses, his hands moving down your body.

“Let me show you how sorry I am,” he whispered, lowering himself to his knees once more.

With an urgency that took your breath away, Rafe dove into your core, his mouth working you like it was the only thing that mattered. Each flick of his tongue melted away the earlier tension, replacing it with an overwhelming need. He lost himself in you, sucking on your pussy as if he were trying to make up for every harsh word exchanged earlier.

⭐️After an Impromptu Swim: You had gone for a late-night swim, the ocean waves crashing around you. Rafe had followed you, a playful gleam in his eyes. As you splashed around, the thrill of the night led to a sudden, passionate kiss.

“Let’s take this back to my place,” he suggested, a smirk on his lips.

Once you were in his room, Rafe wasted no time. He pushed you onto the bed, his eyes dark with desire. “I can’t wait any longer,” he murmured, kneeling between your legs.

The way he savored you that night was unlike any other, his mouth sucking on your bud as if he were starved. You writhed beneath him, lost in the sensations as he brought you to the brink of ecstasy time and time again.

⭐️ The Morning: After a night filled with passion, you woke up wrapped in Rafe’s arms, sunlight streaming through the window. He stirred beside you, a sleepy smile spreading across his face. “Good morning,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Good morning,” you replied, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

As the morning sun bathed the room in golden light, Rafe’s hand slipped down your body. “I was thinking…” he trailed off, a teasing smirk forming on his lips.

“Thinking about what?” you asked, your heart racing.

“About making you feel good,” he said, his voice low and sultry.

With that, he moved down your body, his mouth finding your clit. The gentle morning light made everything feel dreamlike as he worked you with a slow, deliberate intensity, drawing out every moment of pleasure. You couldn’t help but surrender to him, the world outside forgotten.

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mattsundaes · 1 year ago

Text

patience

soshiro hoshina x f!reader

It's more than a little difficult to hide your attraction to the Vice-Captain of the Third Division when you accidentally find yourself sparring with him in your pajamas in the middle of the night. Especially when he's wearing that goddamn shirt.

wc: 4k

c: 18+ ONLY, smut, slight power imbalance, semi-public sex, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), edging, unprotected p in v

“You get sloppy when you’re tired.”

A knee digs into the back of your own as you find yourself pinned face down on the training mats, the steady grip of a hand trapping both of your wrists against the small of your back. The vice-captain’s voice is tinged with amusement as he lets you go, easily dodging the kick you send his way as you roll in the opposite direction and jump to your feet, breathing hard.

“Fuck you,” you pant out, though there’s no real heat behind your words.

He raises an eyebrow.

“—Vice-Captain Hoshina,” you finish, offering him a patronizing smile.

Clicking his tongue against his teeth, Hoshina begins to circle you slowly, “Officer Furuhashi had to do seventy pushups last week for that, ya know.”

While he’s not wrong about your sloppy footwork, the late hour is hardly the top contender of blame for your piss-poor performance in this impromptu sparring match.

Rather, the real issue at hand is the workout shirt that Hoshina’s currently wearing, the black, skin-tight material leaving little to the imagination as it clings to his firm, defined abdomen.

Clad in nothing but your pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt, you had made the mistake of slowing down to peek into the slightly ajar door to the training room on your way back to the dorms, curious who was still awake at such a late hour. Your breath had hitched at the sight of the vice-captain working through a series of complex sword maneuvers by himself, mouth going dry as you found yourself mesmerized by the sight of his bare hands and arms—features normally obscured by his suit on the field—and that goddamn shirt.

Naturally, he’d spotted you lingering and cajoled you inside, mouth curving sideways in a smirk as he reminded you of a few glaring mistakes you’d made earlier during training with the squad.

Now, your level of exhaustion is a moot point when it’s all you can do to reign in the traitorous swell of desire building in your chest as the sleeves of his shirt dig into his biceps each and every time he moves. The muscle that keeps fighting against the high neck of his shirt isn’t helping, either.

This heady, insistent tug you feel toward him, this dizzying, smoldering attraction that has a penchant for clouding your better judgment—it’s nothing new. Your eyes developed this unfortunate habit of instinctually straying to the vice-captain the day he volunteered to give you a tour of the base when you transferred to the Third Division, a problem that only increased tenfold the first time you had a front row seat to his…competency in dual swordsmanship.

(It’s borderline embarrassing—the way even thinking about him wielding those blades sets your heart racing.)

You’ve learned to ignore it, despite the flirtatious undercurrent to each and every interaction you share.

And yet—sparring alone with him right now while the rest of the base sleeps, sweat dripping down your back as your skin burns all over with the ghost of his touch, seeing this stripped down version of one of the Defense Force’s most lethal weapons in a moment that feels far more intimate than it has any right to be…it’s difficult to remember why you should.

Hoshina uses his forearm to wipe the perspiration from his forehead, tongue darting out along his bottom lip, and a subtle shudder runs through you as you track the unconscious movement. Unfortunately, his keen eyes don’t miss the trajectory of your waning focus, and he takes advantage of the opening, the room quickly spinning as you find yourself on the floor beneath him once again.

This time, you’re lying on your back, both hands pinned above your head, his fingers incidentally laced with your own. Hoshina’s wide-eyed and panting, and you can tell you at least accomplished something—he clearly hadn’t been intending to hit the floor with you until your survival instincts kicked in enough to gracelessly drag him down on top of you.

As you go to pull free, you find something solid pressed between your legs, and it’s an effort in and of itself to stifle your gasp at the feeling that instantly curls hotly in your gut at the friction. Belatedly, you reorient yourself to find that you had hooked your left leg around his waist during the fall, and the firm wall of muscle that you’re two seconds from accidentally dry humping is his thigh that’s slotted between your legs.

Hoshina’s face sobers as he stares down at you, and you swear you feel his fingers flex minutely against your own, his expression now unreadable.

Seemingly continuing his earlier thought, he muses, “Well, I guess I get sloppy when I’m distracted.” Your heart thunders in your chest as you find yourself balancing precariously on the tightrope of what could very well be an incredibly bad decision.

If you were smart, you’d let this moment pass.

If you were smart, you’d tap out and tell him you’re going to bed, letting out the rest of your frustration with a hand between your legs, your soft, quiet moans muffled by the spray of the shower water or the layers of your duvet.

But the words are wrestling their way past your teeth before you can stop yourself as you ask, “What could possibly distract the vice-captain of the Third Division?”

He laughs under his breath, and for a wild moment, you think he’s about to kiss you when he leans in, but his lips skirt the shell of your ear instead as he murmurs, “You don’t normally wear this when we’re trainin’ with everyone else.”

Hoshina’s lower half nudges you slightly for emphasis, his hands still occupied by your own, and you belatedly realize—with embarrassment—that you’re the one now essentially holding them in the grip of your fingers. However, the thought is quickly replaced by another jolt of pleasure as the movement presses his thigh just a hair more firmly against the heat between your legs.

At the slight widening of his eyes, you also realize something else—that soft, little moan in your head wasn’t so silent after all.

He tilts his head and sighs, “You make this real difficult for me sometimes.”

You’re far too aware of every place your bodies are touching.

“What do I make difficult?” you ask carefully, surprising yourself with your boldness.

He regards you with a look like you should already know what he’s referring to. “Ignoring the things I think about when I’m around you.”

Your mouth goes dry, a polar opposite to the arousal now soaking into your panties. “Maybe you should stop ignoring them,” you whisper before you can think better of it.

Hoshina groans, fingers tightening around yours, eyes falling shut. “Don’t say that.”

Freeing one of your hands from their entanglement with his, you reach up, pushing his dark violet locks out of his face. “Why not?”

He leans in, mouth so close to yours you can feel the heat of his exhales as he murmurs, “Cause I might be the vice-captain of this division, but I’m not above fucking you right here on the floor.”

Heat sears insistently in your lower abdomen, and you shift just enough to press into him again. He audibly breathes out through his nose, and you tilt your head slightly askew as you stare up at him. “Are you asking me to beg, then?”

You’re suddenly very grateful to have unconsciously pulled the door shut behind you when you walked in, given that this training room can only be opened from the outside with an authorized key fob after hours.

Hoshina laughs a little incredulously under his breath, tongue curling against the inside of his cheek. “I’ll make you a deal.”

You raise a brow, imploring him to continue.

“We’ll forget about those pushups for that mouth of yours, but…” he trails off, one finger ghosting over your lips. “You don’t get to come until I say so.”

It’s instant—the way your brain briefly short circuits as you take in the full meaning of his words.

“I—what?”

He smirks. “You might be one of the most talented officers in this division, but your patience could really use some work.”

Well, he’s not wrong.

Smiling up at him sweetly, you shift so that your leg presses against the erection noticeably tented at the front of his pants. “Then teach me.”

You’re not prepared for it—the way all of the air leaves your lungs when Hoshina’s lips come crashing into yours. There’s no pretense to the way he claims your mouth, swallowing down the tiny little gasp that crawls up your throat, one hand cupping the side of your neck as the other reaches out to pin both of yours back to the floor. You push back a little, just for the thrill that arches down your spine when he tightens his grip, pinning you down even harder.

His tongue dances along the seam of your lips, thumb stroking the sensitive spot where your neck meets your jaw, and he groans a little when you part them, deepening the kiss. A blistering wave of arousal floods your veins as Hoshina does what can only be described as fucking his way into your mouth with his tongue, and you’re helpless to control how eagerly you take him in. Truthfully, you’ve never felt quite so turned on over the taste of someone else’s saliva, so desperate to feel the filthy, slick slide of their tongue and lips slotting and tangling with your own.

It takes you a minute to realize that you’ve started grinding against his thigh, but clearly he’s well aware, because as soon as you stop, he murmurs against your mouth, “Go ahead, keep going.”

Compiling without hesitation, you drag your clothed pussy down against the friction of his leg once more, and he bites down on your lip as you moan at the delicious sensation.

“Does that feel good?” he asks coyly.

You nod, losing any lingering senses of embarrassment over dry humping your vice-captain’s leg as you observe the way his pupils are blown wide with lust, gasping and panting as you rut against him even harder. Panties damp with arousal, you wouldn’t be surprised to find a wet spot forming against his pants, as you can already feel the surplus of sticky fluid dripping down your ass cheeks.

You could come like this.

“Stop.”

Freezing immediately at the tone of Hoshina’s voice, you open your half-lidded eyes to stare up at him, lips parted slightly.

“Didn’t say you could come yet,” he reminds you, expression tinged with amusement. “But show me how wet you are.”

He releases your hands, and you nearly whimper when he pulls his knee away, shifting to place his knees on either side of you. He slides both hands down your sides, stopping at your hips, and he trails two fingers along the waistband of your shorts, curling one of the short, loose strings around a digit before continuing his journey down your mound.

A hum of satisfaction leaves his lips as he feels the way your juices have soaked clear through the little cotton shorts. You whine in frustration when he drags a slow, deliberate circle over your swollen clit through the fabric, rocking your hips upward.

Hoshina looks like he wants to say something, possibly to chide you for your impatient behavior, but clearly the other thought in his head wins out when he slides his hand up the bottom of your shorts and hooks a finger in your underwear, tugging them aside.

Despite his teasing, the pressure of his fingers through your clothing is still nothing compared to the feather-light touch of his fingers drifting down the length of your slit.

“Fuck,” he murmurs softly in approval, sliding one digit into your wet hole.

Your pussy spasms at the sensation, and you moan for him, which only spurs him on further, earning you a second finger. The stretch still isn’t enough, and you buck your hips into his touch eagerly.

“How the fuck are you so wet,” he mutters, one hand slipping up your shirt to clutch your side as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the lewd, wet squelch contending with the rising volume of your moans.

It’s impressive—how close you are to coming already with just two of his fingers massaging your slick, tight walls, his thumb barely teasing over the bud of your throbbing clit. It’s nearly laughable compared to how long it took the last man who touched you to get you off.

“You look so pretty when you’re about to come,” Hoshina comments, curling his fingers inside of you, and you gasp.

He swiftly removes them, lips curling upward at the dismayed look on your face as you cant your hips upward into nothing, the wave of pleasure building inside of you unceremoniously crashing at the breakers before reaching the shore.

“Hoshina,” you whimper, not caring if it sounds a little pathetic as your chest heaves.

“I thought we were working on your patience,” he replies, before sticking your fingers in his mouth and licking your slick arousal clean off of them.

The warmth stirring inside of you turns molten, and your nipples feel achingly hard against the cotton fabric of your t-shirt. When he reaches down to cup your chin, your mouth falls open of its own volition, and you don’t hesitate to take his spit-soaked fingers between your lips instead.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes out as you suck on the digits, a thin trail of saliva escaping in the process and dribbling past your lips.

You reach up, threading your fingers into his hair, and you tug his mouth down toward yours. He strays off course, licking the spit from your chin and dragging his tongue across your lips.

He follows the curve of your jaw with his mouth, lips blazing a trail of kisses down the side of your neck until he begins to nip and suck at your collarbone while his hands slide down to ruck up your t-shirt. He seems pleased by your lack of a bra, eyes darkening at the sight of your plush breasts bared before him. His fingers are precise as they cup one, thumb slowly dragging across your peaked nipple before he leans in and laps at the supple, sensitive skin.

You arch upward into his touch, gasping out his name, and he groans, taking your peaked bud into his mouth. Despite the fact that you know he won’t let you finish, you reach between your legs anyway, keening as you dip two fingers into your empty, wet cunt while Hoshina turns his attention to filthily sucking on your other breast. Legs spreading wider against the cage of his own, you plunge a third finger in, and Hoshina makes a displeased sound, mouth abandoning your tits to trail down your stomach.

“D’you think of me when you touch yourself?” he asks with a hint of amusement in his voice, his hands gently pulling yours away from between your legs before sliding off your shorts and panties.

“Maybe,” you pant out, fingers now pressing down into the soft mats beneath you.

“Maybe?” he echoes, nose brushing against your clit.

He pauses, and you can feel the warm huff of air that hits your slit as you whimper a strangled “Yes” when he lazily begins to slide a single finger back into your needy cunt.

Another fresh thrill of arousal shudders through you as he calmly replies, “Good girl,” before he spreads your legs even wider and drags his tongue through your folds.

You blink back the spots from the bright ceiling lights that dance against your eyelids as your entire body arches upward off of the mats, the grip of his hands on the globes of your ass the only thing keeping you grounded as Hoshina groans lewdly at the taste of your pussy, lapping another broad, hungry stroke,

You’d do anything to come at this point, tears now pricking at the corners of your eyes as another blazing hot onslaught of pleasure trickles through your limbs, ruthlessly dragging you toward the edge.

He abruptly stops again, his lips covered in the slick sheen of your arousal when he looks up at you.

“Hoshina, please,” you whimper.

“Soshiro,” he exhales roughly, hips aligning with yours as he makes his way up your body to press a wet, filthy kiss to your lips.

“Soshiro,” you repeat a little breathlessly, and he kisses you again, more roughly this time.

You can feel his thick erection as it presses down against your naked mound through his pants, and there’s little you can do to hold back your urge to roll your hips upward, dragging your wet, naked heat along his shaft.

“Soshiro,” you say again, more desperately this time, and he groans, grinding back down against you with more fervor at the sound of his name on your lips.

Slipping a hand between your bodies, your fingers fumble with the button of his pants, and he’s quick to take over, making quick work of the zipper. He guides your hand to his dick, wrapping your fingers around its thick girth as he asks, “You wanna feel this inside of you?”

The mere suggestion makes your woefully empty walls clench, and you can feel a fresh dribble of arousal leak from you. Giving his cock a few experimental pumps, you nod feverishly.

“Put it in then,” he murmurs, and there’s something undeniably erotic about the way he lazily stares down at you, waiting.

You guide his shaft toward your slick cunt, rejoicing just a bit in the slight shudder that wracks through him as you rub the flushed, leaking head of his cock against your slippery folds, his precum mixing with the lubrication of your wet juices.

If you thought you were desperate to come on his fingers and tongue, the heady buzz of need that’s been steadily buzzing inside of you is nothing compared to the gushing flood of desperation at the feeling of Hoshina’s length splitting you open. You’re a little too tight for him, but it feels so good—the way he replaces your hand with his own to stuff his cock the rest of the way inside of you. Your cunt greedily clenches down on each inch until you’re suddenly empty again.

Hoshina—Soshiro—fucks like he fights: all teasing, taunting confidence. Every move he makes is pointed, purposeful. So you know he’s left you woefully empty now solely to bask in your frustrated reaction, just to hear your subsequent gasp of pleasure when he plunges back inside of you once more.

You’re so fucking sensitive right now, it’s ridiculous—white-hot bursts of pleasure ignite in your abdomen with every little push and drag of the shape of his cock against the plush, tight grip of your cunt.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he hisses, exhaling roughly as he pulls out of you entirely once more, firmly gripping the base of his cock like he’s just as close to coming as you are.

Leaning down, Hoshina drags his lips across yours in some messy approximation of a kiss, his breath hot against your cheek as his mouth veers off. Turning your head to the side, you nip at his bottom lip, and he molds his mouth to yours, tongue slipping into your mouth.

Your muscles tense with anticipation as you feel the heavy weight of his cock pressing against your cunt, your ass lifting off of the mat to chase the friction with brazen need. But Hoshina’s hand slips between your bodies, fingers wrapping around his shaft, and he positions himself lengthwise with your slit.

Any sounds of protest promptly die in your throat, only to be replaced by a wanton moan that Hoshina swallows down as he deepens the kiss while he begins to roll his hips, sliding his throbbing cock up and down through your drenched, sticky folds.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, fingers digging into his back as you writhe beneath him, nearly seeing stars each time the head of his dick catches against your sensitive, swollen clit.

There’s a thin line of spit between your lips as he breaks the kiss, watching you burn from the inside out with relentless, intoxicating tremors of pleasure.

“Not yet,” Hoshina murmurs, slowing the rocking of his hips as he lines himself with your quivering entrance once more. “When I make you come, it’ll be on my cock.”

When he buries himself inside of you this time, you choke out a sob, the ache between your thighs reaching a fever pitch as he stuffs your pussy full to the hilt. And you swear he must feel the way your cunt is gripping him—begging him to stay buried deep inside of you, to finally let you cream all over his cock—because he sounds wrecked as he roughly moans your name against your mouth.

One of his hands slides along your arm, fingertips lacing with yours as the other cups your breast, his thumb teasing your nipple.

“You feel so fucking good,” he exhales, eyes wide, his hair far more mussed than you’ve ever seen it on the battlefield.

Despite the protest of your trembling, tightly-wound limbs, you wrap your legs around his waist, keening as you use the heel of your foot to press him even deeper inside of you and pant out, “Harder.”

He doesn’t hesitate to oblige, his steady strokes turning rough when he begins to pound into you, a litany of curses tumbling from his lips as your tits shake with each snap of his hips.

You’re so fucking close—and you know he feels it, how fucking badly you want to give in to this torrential downpour of pleasure that’s threatening to drag you under.

“Come for me,” he finally commands in a sultry, gravelly tone that you’re certain will fucking haunt your wet dreams for years to come.

It’s not difficult to obey—not when your entire body has been reduced to a dripping, trembling, desperate coil of tension, slipping along the tightrope of a tauntingly close climax for far too long. Shockwaves of the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt grip every nerve ending from head to toe as your climax erupts, and Hoshina’s groan is downright filthy as he feels your pussy gush all over his cock.

“Shit,” he pants out, muscles tensing hard as you ride out your orgasm, eyes falling shut while your cunt spasms and contracts against his shaft. “Shit, shit.”

You’ve only just finished when he quickly pulls his cock from your quivering hole and groans loudly, barely giving his shaft half a stroke before ropes of hot, thick cum are spurting all over your bare chest, spilling all over your tits.

It’s quiet as he sits there kneeling between your spread legs, chest heaving just as hard as yours as you try to wrap your head around what the fuck just happened. Subtly, you reach down to pinch your thigh, not quite convinced your late night waltz to the kitchen wasn’t just the product of a fucked up dream.

Hoshina shrugs off his shirt, hardly giving you time to ogle what the hell he’s been hiding beneath there before he begins wiping his cum off of your chest. When he’s finished, he stands, and you slip back into your clothes as you watch him ball up his soiled shirt and grab his jacket.

He pulls you to your feet, and the way his hands slide down your sides to smooth down your wrinkled t-shirt is oddly intimate, his fingers straying lower to briefly toy with the hem of your shorts. Instead of putting on his jacket to make up for his lack of a shirt, he reaches around you to settle it over your shoulders, the familiar, dizzying scent that you’ve come to associate with him enveloping your senses.

–

And when you accidentally wear his jacket to training the next morning, you find what must be a spare key card to his room left nestled in one of the pockets.

There’s a coy smile on his lips when he spots you staring down at the white piece of plastic, shrugging before he returns his attention to the rest of the gathered officers.

#soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina soshiro #soshiro hoshina #kaiju no. 8 #dee writes

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anhedoniawrites · 6 months ago

Text

it’s not a date, we just kinda fuck around.

gif by @reidgif

june baby - victoria canal

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU Reader.

summary: the two youngest BAU agents go on a first date

genre: fluff💌

word count: 8.5k

warnings: no use of y/n, proofread, none! (this is all foreplay for the smut that’s coming)

masterlist!

You never thought Spencer Reid would actually work up the courage to ask you out. Yet here you were, standing in your apartment with only ten minutes to spare, staring at your closet like it held the answer to life itself. Nothing seemed good enough, and you still had no idea what to wear. If you’d had even the slightest inkling that this day would come, you would have pre-planned outfits for every possible scenario—a casual coffee shop, a romantic dinner, even an impromptu museum date. But you hadn’t, because as much as you’d daydreamed about it, you never thought it would happen.

Spencer Reid had always been a harmless work crush. Brilliant, kind, and charming in his uniquely awkward way, he was the type of man you admired from a distance, assuming he was far too shy—or uninterested—to make a move. Yet somehow, against all odds, you were, nervously getting ready to go on a date with him.

The memory of how it all unfolded still made you smile. You’d been in the work kitchen, fixing your usual afternoon coffee, when Spencer had wandered in with his signature blend of distracted focus and nervous energy. You glanced up as he approached, expecting nothing more than a quick hello and maybe some small talk about the latest case. Instead, he surprised you.

“Hi,” he said, his voice softer than usual, almost hesitant. He stood a little too close to the coffee pot, fiddling with the lid as if it held the courage he needed.

“Hey, Spencer,” you replied, smiling warmly.

They chatted about nothing in particular—books, coffee, the endless intricacies of caffeine preferences—until, without warning, he blurted out the question.

“Would you, um… would you ever want to get coffee together? Like, outside of work?”

Your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t a grand gesture or a sweeping declaration, but it was undeniably Spencer—quiet, earnest, and completely endearing. You’d barely managed to contain your excitement as you said yes, feeling like a teenager with a crush all over again.

Now, standing in your room, you glanced at the clock. Seven minutes. You grabbed a dress—something simple yet flattering—and slipped it on, your mind racing. You’d been waiting for this moment since the day you joined the team, and now that it was yours, you couldn’t help but wonder how the evening would go. Would he be his usual awkward self? Would he surprise you again with something bold and unexpected?

Whatever happened, you knew one thing: Spencer Reid had already managed to surprise you once.

Seven agonising minutes—each second stretched out like an eternity. The silence was suffocating, gnawing at you from the inside out, until the sudden knock at the door broke the tension. Your heart leapt in your chest. He was here. Spencer was finally here, and your nerves threatened to spill over.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, before opening the door with a forced smile. The sight of him standing there, his hands fidgeting nervously, only made your own anxiety rise. He looked just as uneasy, maybe even more so. His usually confident posture was slightly hunched, his eyes darting to the floor, avoiding yours for a moment before he met your gaze.

“Hey, Spence,” you greeted, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to sound calm.

“Hey, I- um…” Spencer hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His voice was soft, uncertain. He stepped forward, pulling a bouquet of lilies from behind his figure. The delicate white flowers were a perfect match for your taste, and you couldn’t help but smile, your nerves easing just a little. “These are for you.”

You felt a flutter in your chest, your smile widening. “Spence, you shouldn’t have,” you said, reaching out to take the bouquet, feeling a warmth in your fingertips as you touched the smooth, delicate petals. The scent of the lilies was intoxicating, and for a moment, you were lost in the fragrance.

He shifted awkwardly, his eyes darting around as if searching for something to say. “I, uh… I thought you’d like them.”

You stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. “You thought right. Come in, Spence.”

He followed you into your apartment, his presence oddly comforting despite the tension still hanging between them. You quickly moved toward the kitchen, trying to focus on something, anything, to distract yourself from the storm of emotions churning inside you.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. The apartment was far from pristine. The cluttered coffee table, the dishes piled up in the sink—it wasn’t the welcoming space you’d imagined showing him. “I’m so sorry the place is a mess,” you said, your cheeks warming with self-consciousness. You carefully set the lilies down on the counter, your hands trembling slightly as you arranged them.

Spencer’s eyes softened as he glanced around, a small, understanding smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “It’s fine,” he reassured you, his voice gentle. “You should see my place.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound soft and nervous. As you filled a vase with water, you thought back to the little things he had taught you, like how to properly cut the stems of flowers to help them last longer. You carefully angled the scissors and snipped each stem at a diagonal, the sound of the cut echoing in the quiet kitchen. You remembered him telling you that the angled cut would help the flowers drink better, and you did it now without thinking. The thought of him lingered in your mind as you worked, a smile playing on your lips.

The bouquet was finally settled in the vase, its elegant white petals standing out against the cool glass. You stepped back, admiring the flowers, but it was Spencer’s presence in the room that made everything feel just a little bit brighter.

“Much better. Thank you, Spence,” you said, your voice soft with appreciation as you glanced at the flowers on the kitchen counter. Their vibrant white petals stood out against the cool, clear glass of the vase, the room suddenly feeling a little warmer, a little brighter. You grabbed your bag from the chair, the familiar weight of it grounding you. You turned to face him, your nerves still fluttering, but your excitement growing as the moment approached.

“You ready?” you asked, your voice light but with an undercurrent of anticipation.

Spencer hesitated, his gaze flickering to the floor for a split second. He wasn’t sure if he was ever truly ready, especially not when it came to dates. His stomach twisted in knots, but that nervous energy was overshadowed by the excitement of being with you, of sharing a moment like this.

“Yeah, absolutely,” he replied, a nervous but genuine smile tugging at his lips.

With that, they were out the door, stepping into the crisp air of Washington. The city felt alive around them, the hum of the streets, the distant chatter of people, the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. They strolled side by side, both holding their coffee cups, yours an iced concoction with a splash of cream, his steaming hot with a swirl of cinnamon. He wasn’t usually one for aimless wandering, but as he looked over at you, he realized that this moment was worth it.

Your face, illuminated by the golden afternoon sun, was pure contentment. Your eyes sparkled as they took in the world around you, lighting up at every little thing. Whether it was a street performer, a stray cat lazily sunning itself, or the way the city skyline framed the horizon, you had a way of making the mundane seem magical. And he, well, he would do anything to keep seeing that smile on your face, to be the reason your eyes shone with that infectious joy.

As they passed a little street corner, your gaze drifted across the road, and your eyes lit up once again. There, nestled between a café and a bookstore, was a small record store with a neon sign flashing softly in the window.

“Can we go in?” you asked, your voice filled with excitement, your fingers already tugging gently at his sleeve.

Spencer followed your gaze, his heart doing a little flip at the eagerness in your voice. You had that effect on him—the way you made even the simplest moments feel special. “Of course,” he said with a smile, his voice soft but sincere. “Lead the way.”

And just like that, they crossed the street together, the world outside fading into the background as they stepped into the warmth of the record store. The air smelled faintly of old vinyl and coffee, and the soft hum of music played in the background, creating the perfect atmosphere for them to lose themselves in.

“Smell that?” you asked, your nose lifting to the air as you inhaled deeply, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “That’s the smell of the best way to listen to music.” The scent of aged vinyl, dust, and nostalgia filled the space, wrapping around them like a cozy blanket. You laughed at yourself, a light, airy sound that seemed to match the atmosphere of the record store perfectly. Spencer couldn’t help but join in, his laugh a little quieter but no less genuine, his eyes softening as he watched you.

“You spend too much time with Rossi,” Spencer teased, his fingers flicking through the rows of records, his gaze scanning the colourful covers. He was looking for something—anything—that caught his attention, but his mind was more on the way you lit up in places like this, surrounded by things you loved.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offence as you met his gaze, your hand pausing mid-air over a stack of albums. “I am offended by your words, Dr. Reid,” you replied, your tone playful, your eyes sparkling with a teasing edge.

Spencer smiled, the edges of his mouth curling up into something warmer as he continued flipping through the records, pretending to be serious. “You should be. That’s a direct quote from Rossi himself,” he said, holding up a record sleeve and giving it a quick glance before setting it back down.

Your laugh filled the space again, bright and free. You pulled another record from the shelf, this one with a faded cover you recognised from years ago. “Well, if I spend too much time with Rossi, then I guess I’m doomed to become a vinyl snob,” you joked, flipping the record over to check the tracklist. You ran your fingers over the edges of the sleeve, feeling the familiar grooves of the cover, the little imperfections that only came with time.

You glanced over at Spencer, watching him for a moment as he flipped through his own stack. There was something so easy about being with him here, in this small, dimly lit shop filled with memories and melodies. “I mean, how else are you supposed to listen to music?” you asked, raising an eyebrow dramatically as you glanced down at the album in your hands. Then, with a theatrical flair, you placed your free hand on your hip and tilted your head back, doing your best (and rather exaggerated) impersonation of Rossi. “It’s the only way to really appreciate it. The crackle, the warmth… it’s like you can feel the music,” you said, making a show of puffing out an imaginary cigar and letting the smoke trail into the air.

Spencer’s laughter was immediate, loud, and genuine, as he looked over at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh my God,” he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are way too good at that.”

You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself. “I’ve been practicing,” you said, striking a mock pose, your hand still poised as if holding the cigar, before you finally broke into another fit of laughter. Spencer couldn’t help but join you, his smile wide and full of affection. “Rossi would be proud,” he teased, his voice light, but there was a fondness in the way he looked at you.

You winked, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Well, if I’m ever in need of a new career, I think I’ve got this down.”

By the time you reached the end of your long search through the endless rows of records, you had carefully chosen a couple you were willing to splurge on. Cradling the records against your chest, you joined the line at the register, the buzz of the store humming around you.

When your turn came, you placed the records on the counter, chatting casually with the cashier as you fied through your bag for your wallet. Your voice was light, a touch distracted as your fingers rifled through your belongings.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer had stepped closer, the faintest hint of a mischievous smile on his lips. Without a word, he slipped his card onto the reader. The machine beeped, signalling the completed transaction just as you finally found your wallet and looked up.

Confused, your gaze darted between the cashier and Spencer, who was already sliding his card back into his wallet with an air of nonchalance.

“Spencer!” you gasped, stepping out of line with him as they headed toward the exit. You gave him that look—the one that said he didn’t have to do what he just did. Your lips parted to speak, but he beat you to it.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said softly, your voice laced with both gratitude and protest. Your hazel eyes darted to the floor for a moment before flicking back to him, catching the warm, self-assured look in his own. You didn’t like people spending money on you when you had plenty of your own. The records weren’t cheap, either.

Spencer, however, shrugged it off with a quiet confidence that surprised even himself. “I wanted to,” he replied simply. His voice was calm but firm, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a gentle smile. “I asked you to come out with me, didn’t I?”

You sighed, your protest melting into a small, affectionate smile as they stepped out into the crisp air. It was such a Spencer thing to do—thoughtful and kind, but completely unnecessary. Yet, as they walked side by side, you couldn’t deny the warmth his gesture left in your chest.

You glanced up at him, your eyes twinkling with a playful edge as you broke the silence. “You’re lucky I agreed,” you teased, a grin tugging at your lips.

Spencer chuckled softly, glancing down at you. “Oh, I know,” he said, his voice low but filled with humor. “Trust me, I’m very lucky.”

They continued to walk aimlessly, the crisp evening air brushing against their faces as they strolled. Spencer was mid-thought, caught up in some internal musing when your voice broke through.

“Oh my God, Chinatown, Spencer!” you exclaimed, your voice brimming with excitement, like a child spotting a candy store.

Your eyes lit up as they landed on the colourful archway marking the entrance to Chinatown. You couldn’t quite explain it, but Chinatowns had always been your favourite places to visit. Maybe it was the vibrant atmosphere, the intricate details of the buildings, or the way everyone seemed to know one another, creating a sense of community that felt warm and welcoming. You loved every bit of it.

Without realizing it, you grabbed Spencer’s hand and tugged him along with you, your excitement bubbling over. Your grip was firm but warm, and Spencer—despite the suddenness—didn’t resist. In fact, he found himself smiling as you led him toward the bustling street.

Your face glowed brighter than he’d ever seen as you took in the sight of the ornately decorated gate ahead, its vivid reds and golds shining under the string lights that crisscrossed above the street. He didn’t know if it was your enthusiasm or the way your joy seemed to radiate outward, but he was utterly mesmerized, trailing behind you like he was under a spell.

“We should get noodles—if you’re okay with that?” you asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Spencer blinked, realizing he’d been staring at you with a soft, almost dreamy expression. The way you looked at him then—like he was the best person in the world just for being here with you—made his heart skip.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied, his voice steady but his heart racing. Without thinking, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

Your cheeks flushed at the small gesture, and Spencer caught the faintest flicker of a smile as they continued walking hand in hand. The streets were alive with energy, from the scent of freshly steamed buns wafting from carts to the hum of chatter in the air.

Eventually, they stumbled upon a quaint bakery that led to an underground noodle bar tucked just below it. The combination was irresistible. As they waited for a table, your eyes lit up when you spotted cheese-filled mooncakes in the bakery display.

“I have to try one of these,” you said eagerly, placing your order while Spencer watched you with quiet amusement.

Moments later, you held the warm pastry in your hands, your face glowing with anticipation. “This is going to be the best cheese pull you’ve ever seen,” you declared, laughing with a childlike excitement that made Spencer’s chest tighten.

You took a bite, and as you pulled back, the melted cheese stretched from your mouth to the mooncake, just as you had promised. Your eyes widened with delight, and your laughter rang out, light and contagious.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh too, shaking his head in amazement. You were like a child in the best possible way, unguarded and full of joy.

“You were right,” he said, still chuckling. “That’s definitely the best cheese pull I’ve ever seen.”

Your grin widened, and for a moment, Spencer forgot about the bustling streets around them. All he could see was your—glowing, carefree, and absolutely captivating.

The waiter called out, “Sī bīn sài Ruì dé?” his tone polite and slightly accented as he scanned the small crowd in the restaurant’s waiting area. Spencer Reid’s head lifted, recognizing the sound of his name rendered in Mandarin. He gave a small, sheepish smile, adjusting his scarf as he turned to look at you.

You arched an amused brow, gesturing toward the waiter with a tilt of your head. “That’s you, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer nodded, his hand lightly brushing against your lower back as he led the way down the narrow staircase into the cozy, warmly lit restaurant below. The rich scent of soy sauce, garlic, and sesame oil wafted through the air, mingling with the quiet murmur of diners enjoying their meals.

The waiter guided them to a private booth tucked into the corner of the room, its dark wooden walls offering a sense of intimacy. Spencer gestured for you to slide in first, always the gentleman, before settling across from you.

The two opened their menus, the glossy pages filled with enticing photos and descriptions of diyous written in both Mandarin and English. Spencer scanned the list with the precision of someone cataloging data, while you took a more casual approach, letting your eyes linger on the pictures.

“What are you thinking of getting?” Spencer asked, glancing up at you. His hazel eyes held a mix of curiosity and hesitation, likely calculating the probabilities of making the wrong choice in an unfamiliar culinary landscape.

You smiled, leaning slightly over the menu to point at the dishes you had your eye on. “I was thinking Beef Noodle Soup and maybe a fried rice platter. If you wanted to share?”

Your suggestion was casual, but you knew Spencer well enough to recognise that sharing food might not be his first choice. The germaphobic tendencies you’d seen surface in the past made your offer feel like a gamble. If he declined, you’d simply adjust your order—no harm, no foul.

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the menu. “Sharing…” he began, his tone thoughtful. “It’s not usually my preference, but—” He paused, studying your face as though weighing the pros and cons of stepping out of his comfort zone. “I think I could make an exception. Just… no double-dipping,” he added with a faint smile, his attempt at humour not lost on you.

You chuckled softly, your shoulders relaxing. “Deal. I’ll even promise to use the serving spoon if it helps.”

His smile widened, the corners of his mouth quirking upward in a way that made your heart skip a beat. “That would be appreciated.”

As the waiter returned to take their order, Spencer let you take the lead, quietly observing your interactions. The way you spoke with ease, your smile lighting up the space between them, was something he never grew tired of.

After the waiter left, the two settled into conversation, the hum of the restaurant serving as a comforting backdrop. You caught him glancing at you from time to time, his expression soft and unguarded.

“Two Beef Noodle Soup and fried rice,” he mused after a moment. “Good choices. Did you know Beef Noodle Soup is considered a national dish in Taiwan? There’s even an annual festival where chefs compete to create the best version of it.”

Your eyes sparkled with interest. “I didn’t know that. How do you even know things like that off the top of your head?”

Spencer shrugged, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I read a lot.”

You laughed, leaning forward slightly. “Of course you do. But that’s one of the things I love about you, you know. You always have the most random, fascinating facts tucked away in that big brain of yours.”

His blush deepened, and he ducked his head slightly, fiddling with the edge of his napkin. “I’m glad you think so,” he murmured.

Their food arrived not long after, the diyous steaming and fragrant, the aroma instantly making your stomach rumble. You reached for your chopsticks, but before you could start serving yourself, Spencer gently took the plate from your side.

“Allow me,” he said, his tone soft but resolute, as though he had been planning this move.

You blinked in surprise, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Wow, chivalry isn’t dead after all. I was starting to wonder.”

Spencer shot you a mock-offended look as he carefully portioned out some of the sizzling stir-fry onto your plate. “Hey, I can be chivalrous. I just… don’t get much practice. Sharing food isn’t exactly in my top five skills.”

You laughed, nudging his arm. “You don’t say. Should I feel honoured or concerned?”

“Definitely honoured,” he replied, finishing your plate with an exaggerated flourish. “This is a rare occurrence. Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Oh, I’m definitely documenting this,” you teased, pulling out your phone and snapping a quick photo of him mid-serve. “The great Dr. Spencer Reid, putting others first. What’s next, you’re going to offer me the last bite?”

Spencer smirked as he served himself. “Let’s not get carried away.”

As they began eating, you picked up a particularly long noodle with your chopsticks and dangled it in front of your face. “Do you think this could double as a jump rope for ants?”

Spencer nearly choked on his bite of rice, laughing. “That is… an incredibly specific visual. Why ants? Why not, I don’t know, mice?”

“Too predictable,” you replied, twirling the noodle like you were considering its durability. “Ants have more finesse. They’d appreciate the artistry.”

“Ah, yes, the ant gymnast community,” Spencer said, adjusting his glasses and leaning forward as though about to deliver a lecture. “You know, ants can actually carry up to fifty times their body weight, so a noodle would be the perfect workout tool.”

You grinned, using your chopsticks to make the noodles “jump” across your plate. “You’re making my case for me. Ant Olympics, here we come.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Thank you,” you said brightly, slurping the noodle up with a playful flourish.

Spencer raised an eyebrow and then, without a word, picked up a dumpling with his chopsticks and held it in front of his mouth. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly serious. “If I were an ant, this would be like carrying a wrecking ball.”

You burst out laughing, nearly dropping your chopsticks. “You’re so weird!”

“Only because you bring it out of me,” he replied, popping the dumpling into his mouth with a small, triumphant smile.

They continued their meal, each taking turns to make the other laugh with increasingly absurd food-related jokes. Spencer even attempted to balance a broccoli floret on his nose, which ended with you snorting and him losing the floret mid-laugh.

By the time they finished, your sides ached from laughing, and Spencer looked more relaxed than you’d seen him in weeks. As he reached for the bill, you caught his hand and grinned.

“See? Sharing isn’t so bad,” you teased.

He smiled back, his eyes warm. “Only with you.”

Once they left Chinatown, the streets of Washington, D.C. buzzed with life, but Spencer and you were lost in their own little world, laughing uncontrollably over the events of the day. Every inside joke and playful jab sent them spiraling into fits of laughter, their shared energy a bright spot in the bustling city. For Spencer, the date had already been perfect, but he wasn’t ready for it to end just yet. He had one last plan to cap off the evening, though it wouldn’t come into play for hours. Until then, he just needed to keep you distracted.

You nudged him playfully as they strolled along. “Alright, something you never got to do as a kid but always wanted to,” you said, your tone suddenly serious despite the twinkle of curiosity in your eyes.

Spencer hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile creeping across his face. “I don’t know,” he began, his voice soft. “I’ve always liked reading books and spending time with my mom.” He glanced at you, embarrassed by how ordinary his answer sounded.

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, grounding him. “That’s sweet, Spence,” you said softly. “But come on, there’s gotta be something.”

He exhaled a small laugh, his gaze shifting to the pavement as he admitted, “Well, I always wanted to play Laser Tag.”

You stopped in your tracks, your hazel eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait. You’ve never played Laser Tag?”

Spencer shrugged, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. “I mean, no, not really. It just never came up.”

You were already shaking your head in mock horror. “That’s unacceptable. We’re fixing this right now.”

“It’s fine. We don’t have to—”

But you were already tugging him along with determined speed. “Nope. This is happening. You’re about to experience the childhood you missed out on, and it’s going to be amazing.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your enthusiasm, your energy was contagious. Before he knew it, they were standing at the counter of a nearby arcade, you grinning ear to ear as you requested two tickets for Laser Tag.

Spencer tried one last time to protest. “Really, you don’t have to do this—”

“Consider it my treat,” you interrupted, handing over your card to the cashier. “A thank-you for the best day I’ve had in a long time.”

The sincerity in your voice silenced his objections, and he felt his heart swell. As the cashier handed them their gear, you turned to him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Alright, Dr. Reid,” you teased, strapping on your vest. “Let’s see if all that genius-level intellect helps you out on the battlefield.”

Spencer laughed, shaking his head. “You’re going to regret this. I may not have played before, but I’m pretty sure I’m about to win.”

“Bold of you to assume,” you shot back with a smirk, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the arena.

As they stepped into the dimly lit room filled with neon lights and fog machines, Spencer felt an unexpected rush of excitement. You turned to him, your face illuminated by the glowing lights, and he couldn’t help but smile. Maybe he’d been missing out, but with you by his side, he was more than ready to make up for lost time.

The neon lights flickered, casting an otherworldly glow over the Laser Tag arena. Fog swirled around Spencer and you as they ducked behind barriers and navigated the maze-like layout. The sound of distant footsteps and laser beams zipping through the air made it feel like they’d stepped into a sci-fi movie.

Spencer crouched low, trying to strategize his next move, but your sudden battle cry made him jump. You darted out from behind a glowing pillar, your laughter echoing through the arena as you fired your laser, landing a direct hit on his vest.

“Gotcha!” you shouted triumphantly, your grin wide and uncontainable.

Spencer stumbled back in mock defeat, his hands raised. “Okay, okay, truce! I’m still learning!”

You rolled your eyes, playfully wagging a finger at him. “No mercy, Reid. You’re my bitch now.”

You turned to sprint away, but Spencer surprised you by diving behind a barrier and quickly firing back. The red lights on your vest lit up, signalling a hit.

“Ha! Who’s the genius now?” he teased, standing up with a victorious smirk.

You clutched your chest dramatically, pretending to be mortally wounded. “Betrayed… by my own date!” you gasped, collapsing onto a nearby barrier.

Spencer burst into laughter, his usually reserved demeanor completely melting away. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head as he helped your back up.

“And you love it,” you quipped, sticking your tongue out before taking off into the maze again.

The game continued, a back-and-forth of sneak attacks, exaggerated reactions, and endless laughter. Every hit was met with playful banter, and every moment felt like peeling back the layers of their guarded hearts. Spencer, who had always been so serious and calculated, found himself letting go, caught up in the pure, childlike joy of the moment.

At one point, they both ended up crouched behind the same barrier, breathless and laughing so hard their sides hurt. You leaned your head against his shoulder, your face flushed from running. “Okay, I admit it,” you said between giggles. “You’re pretty good for a first-timer.”

Spencer glanced at you, his hazel eyes sparkling in the dim light. “I had a good teacher,” he replied softly.

For a moment, the chaos around them faded. They were just two people, sitting side by side, finding solace in each other’s company.

You nudged him gently. “See? Childhood dream fulfilled. What’s next on your list?”

He chuckled, his gaze dropping to the glowing floor. “Honestly? I think this might be enough for one night.”

“Enough?” you teased. “We’ve barely scratched the surface! Next time, we’re doing bumper cars.”

Spencer laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I think I’m going to need a lot of next times with you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your expression softened, and you reached out to take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Then we’ll make that happen,” you promised.

As the game timer buzzed, signalling the end of their session, Spencer and you made their way out of the arena, still laughing and teasing each other. A leaderboard lit up on the screen near the exit, and Spencer froze, his eyes widening.

“No way,” he murmured, stepping closer to the display.

You leaned over his shoulder, squinting at the screen. Your jaw dropped when you saw his name at the top of the list. “You won?!” you exclaimed, grabbing his arm and shaking it excitedly. “Spencer Reid, first-time Laser Tag champion! I’m so proud of you!”

He turned to you, his grin almost bashful but undeniably proud. “Beginner’s luck, maybe?”

“Absolutely not,” you said, your face lighting up with genuine excitement. “You crushed it out there! I mean, I’m a little salty that you beat me, but still—you’re officially a Laser Tag legend.”

Spencer laughed, the sound bubbling out of him with pure joy. “A legend, huh? I’ll take it.”

You playfully bumped your shoulder against his. “You better. This is a big deal! You’ve got bragging rights now.”

As they stepped out of the arcade into the cool night air, you looped your arm through his, your energy still electric. “Okay, next time we’re teaming up. Imagine what we could do together!”

Spencer looked down at you, his heart warm and full. “I think we’d be unstoppable,” he said, his voice soft but confident.

As they walked down the busy streets, still laughing and recounting the best moments of the game, Spencer couldn’t help but feel like he’d won more than just Laser Tag. With you by his side, he’d found something he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing—a piece of joy, of freedom, of connection that made him feel whole again.

As they continued down the lively streets of D.C., Spencer’s smile lingered, a quiet sense of contentment radiating from him. You were still buzzing from the Laser Tag victory, your hand resting comfortably in his as they walked.

“Alright, Dr. Reid,” you said playfully, looking up at him. “What’s next on this magical mystery tour of a date? Because if it’s as fun as Laser Tag, I might actually burst from happiness.”

Spencer chuckled, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief. “Well,” he began, his voice soft but teasing, “I do have one more thing planned. But it’s a surprise.”

Your eyes widened with curiosity. “A surprise? Spencer Reid, you’re full of secrets tonight. What is it?”

He shook his head, his lips curving into a sly smile. “You’ll see. Just trust me.”

“Always,” you said with a grin, letting him guide you down a quieter street.

The hum of the city faded as they walked, replaced by a peaceful stillness. You tilted your head, trying to guess where he was taking you, but Spencer kept quiet, his excitement barely contained. Finally, they rounded a corner, and your breath caught as the grand façade of the National Gallery of Art came into view, illuminated beautifully against the night sky.

“Spencer,” you whispered, awe in your voice. “The art museum? It’s closed right now.”

He smiled, his fingers lacing tighter with yours. “Not for us.”

As if on cue, a side door to the museum opened, and a man in his mid-thirties stepped out, waving at Spencer.

“Dr. Reid!” the man called warmly. “Right on time.”

“Thanks, Jacob,” Spencer said, his voice full of gratitude. He turned to you, his expression soft. “Jacob’s a curator here. He agreed to stay late and let us in. Just us.”

Your jaw dropped as you looked between Spencer and Jacob. “You’re kidding. We get the whole museum to ourselves?”

Spencer nodded, his heart fluttering at the pure joy on your face. “I thought you might like it. I know how much you love art, and, well… I wanted to do something special for you.”

You blinked back a sudden wave of emotion, your chest tightening with affection. “Spencer, this is… this is incredible. Thank you.”

He smiled, a little shyly. “You’re worth it.”

Jacob opened the door wider, gesturing them inside. “Enjoy yourselves. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

As they stepped into the museum, the quiet echoed around them, amplifying the beauty of the vast, empty halls. The dim lighting highlighted the paintings and sculptures, making it feel like they’d stepped into another world.

You turned to Spencer, your eyes shining. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He ducked his head, his cheeks tinged pink. “I just wanted to give you something memorable. Something… magical.”

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. “You’ve done more than that, Spence. This is perfect.”

He smiled, his heart swelling at your words. “Come on,” he said softly, leading you toward the first exhibit. “Let’s explore.”

And together, hand in hand, they wandered through the museum, the art and the quiet intimacy of the moment weaving a memory neither of them would ever forget.

The museum was humour, the kind of quiet that invited reverence and reflection. Their footsteps echoed faintly as they moved through the halls, pausing here and there to admire a painting or sculpture. Spencer’s hand lingered at your lower back, a subtle gesture to guide you but also to stay close, as if the intimacy of the space demanded it.

They came to a room filled with sculptures, the soft lighting casting long shadows that danced on the walls. Your attention was immediately drawn to a particular piece—a sculpture of two women, one older, one younger, the younger standing on the shoulders of the older as if reaching for something just out of sight.

You stopped in your tracks, your breath catching slightly. Spencer noticed your stillness and took a step back, letting your take in the piece without interruption. Your expression shifted, your usual brightness giving way to something quieter, deeper.

After a few moments, he couldn’t help but break the silence, his voice soft so as not to disturb the moment. “How does it make you feel?”

You didn’t turn to him right away. Your eyes remained fixed on the sculpture, your hands loosely clasped in front of you. When you finally spoke, your voice was low but steady, carrying the weight of your thoughts.

“Seen,” you said simply, then paused as if to find the right words. “In a weird way. I don’t think I’d be who I am without my mother, and this piece proves it in a way. It makes me feel less alone too, like I’m not the only one who sees myself this way.”

Spencer tilted his head, his gaze flickering between you and the sculpture. He could see it now—the younger woman’s outstretched hands, the older one’s steadying stance. The balance between them spoke volumes about trust, sacrifice, and love.

“You feel like you’re standing on your shoulders,” he said softly, almost to himself.

You nodded, finally glancing at him. “Yeah. Every step I’ve taken has been because you let me stand on your foundation. Even when things weren’t perfect, you were still there, holding me up.” You smiled faintly, a bittersweet curve of your lips. “It’s nice to see it represented like this, you know? It’s like… someone else understands.”

Spencer took a small step closer, his voice gentle. “You’d be proud of you. I don’t think anyone could look at what you’ve built for yourself and feel anything less.”

You turned fully to face him now, your hazel eyes soft but shining. “Thank you, Spence. That means a lot.”

He gave you a small smile, his hands in his pockets as he glanced back at the sculpture. “It’s beautiful. Just like the way you see the world.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re such a charmer, you know that?”

“Not really,” he admitted with a small chuckle, “but I mean it.”

For a while longer, they stayed there, side by side, letting the sculpture’s quiet power wash over them. In that moment, it wasn’t just art—it was a connection, a shared understanding that went deeper.

The weight of the moment lifted as they moved on, wandering into another section of the museum. The air between them felt lighter now, a quiet understanding still lingering but giving way to the playful energy they always seemed to share.

It started with a chuckle from you, your hand covering your mouth as you stopped in front of a sculpture of a stern-looking man with an exaggeratedly large nose. “Okay, tell me that doesn’t look like Hotch when he’s annoyed,” you whispered, your eyes sparkling mischievously.

Spencer glanced at the sculpture and bit back a laugh. “It’s the eyebrows,” he said, nodding in agreement.

You gasped, pointing. “The eyebrows! Yes! It’s like he’s about to say, ‘Reid, stop overexplaining.’"

Spencer laughed, his face lighting up in a way that made your heart skip. “Okay, okay, but look at this one,” he said, leading you to a nearby bust of a man whose face was frozen in a hilariously exaggerated scowl. “Tell me that’s not Rossi after someone forgets to bring him coffee.”

You burst out laughing, clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. “Oh my God, it’s perfect!” you managed between giggles.

They moved from sculpture to sculpture, pointing out ridiculous expressions and coming up with stories for each one. Spencer, ever the genius, concocted elaborate backstories for the pieces, each one more absurd than the last.

“This one,” he said, gesturing to a marble figure of a man dramatically clutching his chest, “was probably just told that his favorite gelato shop ran out of pistachio.”

You doubled over laughing, your cheeks aching from smiling so much. “Stop, you’re going to get us kicked out!” you said, though your laughter made it clear you didn’t mean it.

“You’re the one who started it,” he teased, his grin wide and unrestrained.

They rounded a corner and found themselves in front of a statue of a cherub with a particularly mischievous expression. Spencer tilted his head. “This one’s definitely plotting something. Probably planning to steal cookies from the other cherubs.”

You wiped a tear from your eyes, still laughing. “You’re too good at this. Have you been secretly practicing?”

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. “What can I say? I’m a natural.”

As they continued exploring, their laughter echoed softly through the empty halls, their joy filling the quiet space. For a little while, they let themselves be kids again—carefree, silly, and completely immersed in the moment.

Spencer, usually so reserved and composed, felt freer than he had in years. And you, watching him let loose, felt your heart swell with happiness. It wasn’t just about the art or the laughter—it was about being together, sharing a moment that was uniquely theirs.

When they finally paused to catch their breath, leaning against a wall in between fits of giggles, Spencer looked at you with a soft smile. “This might be the most fun I’ve ever had in a museum.”

You grinned, your eyes shining. “I told you, you just needed the right partner in crime.”

He nodded, his expression warm. “I think I found them.”

And with that, they set off again, hand in hand, ready to see what other treasures—and laughs—the museum had to offer.

As they wandered back toward the grand central hall of the museum, the playful energy between them began to settle into something softer, quieter. The warm lighting of the space casts a golden glow over the room, highlighting the details of the sculptures and paintings around them. You paused by a large marble statue of a couple intertwined in an eternal embrace, your gaze lingering on the delicate way the sculptor had captured the curve of their hands and the tilt of their heads.

Spencer stopped beside you, his eyes following yours to the statue. He said nothing, but the air between them shifted, heavy with unspoken thoughts. The laughter from earlier seemed to hang in the distance, replaced by a gentle stillness.

You turned your head to look at him, your expression soft, your lips parted slightly as if you wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Spencer’s gaze flickered from the statue to you, his heart stuttering as he caught the way the golden light played on your features.

Neityour of them spoke. They didn’t need to.

Spencer’s hand reached out, slow and hesitant, his fingertips brushing against yours. The touch was featyour-light, but it sent a ripple through both of them, grounding them in the moment.

Your eyes searched his, questioning, yet trusting. He took a step closer, the space between them shrinking until it was almost nonexistent.

Your breath hitched, your heart racing as his face hovered close to yours. The world around them seemed to blur, the art and the quiet fading into the background as the only thing that mattered was him—his eyes, his presence, the warmth of him so close.

Spencer hesitated, his gaze flicking to your lips and back to your eyes, as if silently asking for permission. You gave him the faintest nod, your lips curving into a soft, encouraging smile.

It was painfully slow, the kind of moment that stretched on forever, but neither of them rushed it. Their foreheads brushed first, a tentative, intimate touch that sent shivers down your spine. His nose bumped yours lightly, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.

And then, finally, achingly, his lips met yours.

The kiss was soft, and unhurried, a perfect balance of tenderness and curiosity. His hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing your skin as if you were something fragile, something to be cherished You leaned into him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to steady yourself as your heart soared.

Time seemed to stop entirely. There was no overthinking, no second-guessing—just the quiet certainty that this was exactly where they were meant to be.

When they finally pulled back, their faces still close, neither of them spoke right away. Spencer’s eyes searched yours, his expression a mix of wonder and disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

You smiled softly, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “That felt… right,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Spencer nodded, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “It did,” he agreed, his voice equally quiet.

And as they stood there, bathed in the golden light of the museum, they both knew they’d just shared a moment they’d carry with them forever.

Hand in hand, they made their way back toward the main entrance of the museum, their fingers still entwined as they shared quiet smiles and the lingering warmth of the kiss. The halls, now empty of their playful laughter, seemed to hum with the remnants of the night’s magic, a soft kind of peace wrapping around them.

When they reached the front, they were met by Jacob, who was standing by the gift shop, a welcoming grin on his face.

“Did you two enjoy the private tour?” he asked, clearly amused by the soft glow in their expressions.

“It was perfect,” You replied, your voice light with contentment. “We couldn’t have asked for a better night.”

Spencer gave Jacob a small nod of thanks, and they made their way toward the gift shop. Of course, you, ever the curious soul, immediately started scanning the shelves, your eyes lighting up as you spotted a section of artist books and unique prints.

Spencer stood back a little, letting you take it all in. It was clear from the way you were absorbed in the display that you were in your element. Your fingers traced the spines of the books, your eyes lingering on the vibrant art, the words, and the stories behind them. It was a rare thing to see you so lost in admiration, and he couldn’t help but smile as he watched you, appreciating the way you connected with the world through art.

You picked up one of the books, flipping it open to the first page. “Spence,” you called softly, turning to him with a gentle smile. “Which artist was it who made that sculpture of the two women?”

Spencer walked over to you, his gaze following yours to the shelf where the artist’s work was displayed. He didn’t need to think twice. “Julie Rrap,” he replied.

You nodded, your fingers brushing the cover of the book titled Body Double. You seemed almost hesitant at first, as if deciding whether or not to pick it up. But then, with a quiet sense of reverence, you carefully opened the book and placed it in your hands, holding it close to your chest for a moment before glancing back at Spencer.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude. There was something in your eyes—something that said this moment meant more to you than you could express.

Spencer smiled warmly, his heart swelling a little. “I’m glad you like it.”

You ran your thumb along the edges of the book, your gaze still soft as you flipped through the pages, your eyes drinking in the art and the words. It was as if the world had slowed down again, and they were both wrapped in the quiet, intimate moment of shared appreciation.

“I think I’m going to get this,” you said, your voice thoughtful, almost to yourself. “It’s… I don’t know. It feels important.”

Spencer nodded, his gaze still on you as you carefully placed the book in your arms, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “It’s yours. You deserve it.”

Spencer reached into his pocket as they approached the counter, his hand finding yours once more, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He placed the book and a few other items you had picked out onto the counter. Jacob, who had been standing nearby, gave them both a knowing smile as he rang up the items.

“You two seem like you had a good time,” Jacob said, his tone light and friendly.

Spencer smiled, pulling out his wallet. “It was a perfect night, thanks to you.”

You turned to Jacob with a grateful expression, your eyes bright. “Thank you for letting us stay after hours. It really made the evening special.”

Jacob nodded, giving you a small wink. “Anytime. Glad you enjoyed it. You two have a good rest of the night.”

After Spencer finished paying, he gathered the items and handed them to you, who accepted them with a soft smile. “Thanks again,” you said, your voice warm.

With a final wave to Jacob, they left the gift shop and stepped into the cool night air. The city was quieter now, the streets bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. As they walked toward Spencer’s apartment, the evening felt like a perfect bookend to a day full of laughter, art, and unexpected moments of connection.

Spencer, his arm casually draped over your shoulder, pulled you closer as they walked. “So, what do you think? A quiet night in to wrap things up?” he asked, a playful note in his voice.

You smiled, your eyes glinting with excitement. “Sounds perfect.”

They continued down the sidewalk, their footsteps in sync, the world around them fading away as they looked forward to whatever came next—together.

thank you for reading!

please like & reblog if you enjoyed!

part two!

masterlist!

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froggiequarium · 2 months ago

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imagine non!mc reader being seen by the li's best friends ii

part i

imagine being dragged to mo's art studio by miss hunter, insisting you tag along to aid in rafayels search for new inspiration.

you dont really think he needs it after arriving and laying your eyes on the canvas, his newest masterpiece he's been working on the past couple of days, but you hear him rambling on & on to miss hunter about it missing something and that she must help him.

imagine sitting on a far end of the sofa, watching rafayel and miss hunter standing by the window, engaged in an animated conversation that you dont have the heart to keep up with.

the only thing you can hear is the waves crashing against the shore as your heart feels heavier and heavier in your chest at the sight. he's barely even spared you a glance this entire visit.

"animated, isn't he?"

you're startled from your thoughts, whipping your head around at the sudden voice.

"oh," you breathe out, hand coming up to your chest in an attempt to calm your rapidly beating heart.

his rich chuckle rings out beside you.

"sorry, i didn't mean to frighten you," he says, eyes softening the longer he stares at you before glancing off to the pair.

"you were dragged here again?"

you huff out a small breath.

"what gave it away?"

he sees the longing in your eyes— he would be blind not to— everytime this happens, when rafayel and miss hunter are lost in their own little world and you feel left out of it.

he's not sure if rafayel is that blind, or if he simply doesn't care.

but thomas was determined to show you that someone does.

"well, i was just about to drop by a café for a light lunch. would you care to join me?"

your gaze flits up to meet his eyes, and you feel your heart flutter at the look in them before moving down to his outstretched hand he's offering towards you.

between the look in his eyes and the hunger welling up in your stomach, you cant help but to take his hand in your hold.

even after helping you up from where you're sat, leading you out the door and outside, enveloped in the fresh air, he doesn't let go of your hand for a moment.

and he doesn't think he wants to. not anytime soon.

imagine being left to your own devices once again, having watched sylus take his impromptu leave from your place in the kitchen, sparing yet another curt wave and a short "dont wait up," before strolling out the door, donned in his black leather that made you involuntarily swoon.

you knew the reason without him having to say: another night spent with miss hunter—

and another night spent without you.

its been like this for a couple of weeks now, maybe you should be used to it. or maybe you dont want to be. maybe you're hoping, silently, that he'll extend the invite to you.

after all, she's your friend too.

but you're not sure "friends" is what they're calling each other.

before your thoughts can spiral further, a door bursts open nearby, followed by hurried footsteps.

"madame! madame!"

you blink, turning towards the pair that almost appear to be racing towards you, excitement clear in their movements. they lightly shove each other out of the way.

kieran beats luke by a second, stopping just short of you as luke stumbles behind him.

"hey, no fair!"

"you deserved that, now behave in front of the madame!"

"no way! madame, tell him to be nice!"

"WHAT?! i am nice!"

"madame, look what we found!"

"wait– you– no fair!"

you let out a light laugh at their back and forth, eyes shifting towards luke's phone he has pointed towards you.

you lean in, eyeing the photo.

"'crimson crow cake with buttercream frosting.' a cake? what's the occasion?"

you tilt your head in question, meeting luke's eyes (or, the masks' eyes), quickly glancing over to kieran for an answer as well.

"no reason," kieran shrugs.

"we just wanted to make it with you!" luke finishes the thought.

"can we?" kieran almost begs, falling to his knees with his hands clasped together.

"well..."

"PLEASE," luke chimes in, knees hitting the tile with a soft thud, hands clasped tight.

"you're the best baker we know!"

"you can always call a professional–"

"ITS NOT THE SAME!" luke cries.

"we want to bake with you, not have something made for us!"

"its the act that counts!"

"the thought," kieran corrects.

"same difference," luke counters.

this wasn't an uncommon occurrence. the twins, having also been left behind more often as sylus left on his excursions with miss hunter, were not blind. they caught sight of you lingering, staring at the door he left from for minutes after he'd already been gone, solemn look on your face.

even with how loyal they felt towards their boss, they couldn't help but ache for you. you, who had been there for them for as long as they could remember, you who patched them up after every mission gone awry, you who indulged in their pranks and nonsense–

you, who always, willingly, looked after them.

because of this, they took it upon themselves to spend time with you whenever they could, by either playing a game, watching a show or movie, or like right now, begging you to bake something with them (because they both seemed to have quite the sweet tooth, and a love for your treats).

you looked from one crow mask to the other, sighing softly in defeat.

"alright, why not?"

they simultaneously jumped up, cheering in triumph.

"sweet treats, sweet treats~" luke sang.

"crow cake~ crow cake~" kieran sang back.

"start getting the ingredients together, yea?"

"aye, aye!" they salute in unison, turning to the pantry to grab everything.

you grab some bowls and utensils, smiling to yourself.

the kitchen would undoubtedly turn into a mess of ingredients sprawled almost everywhere but the bowl it was supposed to be in, but the twins were never afraid to get their hands dirty if it meant seeing you smile for another day.

rest of the brainrot 4 the others before i make longer versions for everyone :x i considered making thomas divorced for this scenario buuut may not just 2 keep it simple.... for the twins ,i wrote it w a platonic relationship in mind so hopefully it still hits ok ? this batch was a bit difficult for some reason lolol

im surprised how much attention it received so quickly thank u for liking this idea as much as i do ! i have lots of ideas w a good mesh of angst n yearning n fluff i can't wait 2 share more thoughts :x

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #l&ds #lads imagine #lads angst #lads x reader #lnds x reader #l&ds x reader #lads thomas #lads luke #lads kieran #lads luke and kieran #thomas x reader #luke x reader #kieran x reader

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dollishmehrayan · 8 months ago

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# “MRS. WAYNE I THINK THIS IS FOR YOU!” ── .✦ ( bruce wayne wife headcannons )

a/n: this was request by a anon (here) so yeah but anyways I Lowkey used to be OBSESSED with like batmom stories but like I genuinely then lost all care for liking anything bruce wayne but this might just like help me (jason todd girly converts into a batmom Stan😭) tags: (bruce wayne x fem!reader)

CHAOTIC HEADCANNONS ── .✦

“No, Bruce. That’s Not a Normal Thing to Do.”

You frequently have to remind him that billionaire habits don’t translate to normal life.

Bruce: “I thought I’d buy out the café you like so you wouldn’t have to wait in line.”

You: “Bruce, we’re just getting lattes. Calm down.”

The expensive car Dilemma: He’s tried picking you up in one of his expensive cars once, and you’ve never let him live it down.

“Bruce, we’re not running a car dealership we’re going to Target.”

Tech Mishaps: Bruce likes to show off his gadgets, but they always malfunction around you. Once, the Batcomputer locked him out because you accidentally spilled coffee near it. You took a picture of his shocked face and made it your phone wallpaper for weeks.

The Disastrous Cooking Attempts: Bruce insists he can cook. The truth? Alfred banned him from the kitchen after he tried to “surprise” you with pancakes and set the stovetop on fire.

“I’m Batman, but I can’t handle pancake batter.”

OVERPROTECTIVE HUSBAND™ ── .✦

He’ll interrogate any new friends you bring around like they’re suspects in a heist.

Bruce, shaking someone’s hand firmly: “And what do you do for a living?”

You, glaring: “Bruce, they’re not applying to join the Justice League.”

GOSSIP FINAL BOSS ── .✦

He pretends not to care about gossip, but he secretly listens to you rant about gala drama. Sometimes, he’ll even chime in with hilariously accurate observations.

You: “That woman was glaring at me all night.”

Bruce: “Because she kept seeing her husband looking at you’re instagram posts. Trust me, Alfred told me.”

ROMANTIC HCS ── .✦

Constant Gentleman Mode: Bruce is always opening doors for you, carrying your bags, or pulling out your chair. You tease him about being old-fashioned, but it’s clear he loves taking care of you.

Private Dance Lessons in the Manor: When you’re stressed, Bruce will put on some music in the empty ballroom and sweep you into an impromptu dance. He’s a surprisingly good dancer, but the way he looks at you mid-spin? That’s what makes your heart race.

Personal Love Notes: Bruce doesn’t text much, but he leaves little handwritten notes around the house.

“Don’t forget, you’re the best part of my day.”

“Coffee’s ready downstairs. So is your husband, who can’t stop thinking about you.”

The ‘I’m Watching You’ Look: At galas, Bruce can’t stop staring at you. When you catch him, he gives that little smirk that says, Yeah, you caught me, but I’m not sorry.

Soft Batman Moments: Even in the Batcave, he has moments where he’s just your Bruce. When he sees you waiting up for him late at night, he’ll silently take off his cowl, walk over, and hold you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Protective, but Not Controlling: He worries, of course, but he respects your independence. If you’re ever in trouble, though, the Bat is out faster than you can blink. “No one touches my wife.”

Gift Giving Expert: He puts serious thought into gifts. One time, he recreated your childhood bedroom in the manor when you were feeling homesick. “I just wanted you to feel at home,” he said, completely nonchalant.

The Morning Ritual: He wakes up early to watch you sleep for a few minutes (in the least creepy way possible) because it’s his quiet reminder of how lucky he is. When you stir awake, he presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers, “Good morning, love.”

Subtle Public Affection: In public, his affection is subtle—hand on the small of your back, thumb grazing your hand, or an almost imperceptible wink across the room. But behind closed doors? He’s all cuddles and kisses.

Always Puts You First: Whether it’s cutting a patrol short to spend time with you or risking everything to keep you safe, Bruce’s priority will always be you. “The city can wait. You can’t.”

MIX OF CHAOS AND ROMANCE ── .✦

When Bruce tries to be romantic but Alfred bringing him back to reality: Bruce, holding your hand: “You’re the light in my dark world.”

Alfred, walking in: “Sir, you said that to the last woman, too. Shall I fetch your script?”

You once jokingly wore a bat-symbol T-shirt to tease him. Bruce didn’t say anything, but later that week, he wore a matching shirt that said, “I <3 My Wife.”

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batmom #wfa #batboys #dcu #batman x reader #batman #batfamily #batfam #dc #bruce wayne headcanon #bruce wayne imagine #dollish #batman utrh #dc comics #mrs wayne #wayne family adventures

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thedensworld · 3 months ago

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Practice Makes Perfect | K.Mg

Genre: fluff, dad au!, pregnancy au!, smut (mdni!)

Word Count: 5k

Summary: Practice makes perfect. Determined to be an amazing father for his child, Mingyu threw himself wholeheartedly into parenthood even before the baby was born.

Mingyu froze in place as he stared at the text on his phone. It was the middle of dance practice for the end-of-year performance, and sweat dripped down his temple as he tried to catch his breath during the short break. Reaching for his water bottle, he noticed an unread message from you. That was unusual—you hardly ever texted him. You’d once laughed and said it felt unnecessary since you saw each other so often.

Curiosity piqued, he unlocked his phone, expecting something casual, maybe a quick update or a question. Instead, his eyes widened as he read your words. His heart skipped a beat, and his hand flew to cover his mouth. A sharp, audible gasp escaped him, breaking the chatter and drawing the attention of the other members.

“What’s wrong?”

“Mingyu, are you okay?”

Seungkwan was the first to rush over, crouching down in front of him. Mingyu wordlessly handed his phone over, unable to speak. His legs felt like jelly, and he sank to the floor, his back against the wall as the weight of your message settled over him.

Seungkwan’s eyes scanned the screen, his brows furrowing before his mouth fell open. “No way,” he mumbled, disbelief laced in his voice. Then, louder, “Y/n is pregnant.”

The practice room erupted into chaos as gasps and cheers rang out in unison.

“What?!”

“No way, really?!”

“Congrats, man!”

The members swarmed around Mingyu, their excitement palpable. They clapped him on the back, ruffled his hair, and threw him into a whirlwind of congratulations. But Mingyu still sat frozen, his mind racing.

“Y/n’s pregnant…” he muttered to himself, his voice shaky but filled with awe. The reality of it hit him like a tidal wave, and suddenly, his lips curled into a dazed smile. His hands trembled as he took his phone back from Seungkwan, rereading the text as if to make sure he hadn’t imagined it.

“You’re gonna be a dad!” Soonyoung exclaimed, shaking Mingyu’s shoulders enthusiastically.

“Have you called her yet?” Jeonghan asked, already planning a celebratory dinner in his head.

“Let him process first,” Seungcheol said with a laugh, though even he couldn’t hide the proud grin tugging at his lips.

Mingyu finally looked up, his eyes glossy with emotion. “I’m… I’m going to be a dad,” he repeated, this time louder, as if saying it out loud would help him believe it.

“And you’re going to be a great one,” Joshua reassured him, his voice calm amidst the excitement.

The practice room turned into an impromptu celebration, with the members already making plans for baby gifts and teasing Mingyu about what kind of dad he’d be. But Mingyu was too busy typing a shaky reply to you, his heart overflowing with love and gratitude.

Mingyu didn’t waste a second after practice. The moment it ended, he grabbed his bag and practically sprinted out the door, ignoring the playful shouts from his bandmates. His mind raced the entire drive home, replaying your text over and over. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and by the time he reached the apartment, his heart was thudding so hard he could barely hear anything else.

The door clicked open, and he immediately spotted you curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone with a blanket draped over you. You looked up when you heard him, a smile spreading across your face as you started to sit up.

“Babe, you’re—”

Before you could finish, Mingyu crossed the room in long, determined strides and pulled you into his arms. His hug was so tight it felt like he was trying to fuse you into him. “Love,” he breathed, his voice trembling slightly as he buried his face in your shoulder.

“Mingyu,” you laughed softly, wrapping your arms around him. “I missed you too, but what’s going on?”

He leaned back just enough to look at you, his brows drawn together in the most exaggerated pout you’d ever seen. “Why did you have to drop the news like that, love? By text? You’re killing me here.”

You blinked at him, a small grin tugging at your lips. “I thought it’d be easier—”

“Easier?” He scoffed, his hands sliding down to grip your waist as he stared at you in disbelief. “Easier for who? I almost collapsed on the studio floor when I read it. I was this close to crying in front of the members.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, cupping his face. “I didn’t mean to shock you, babe. I just… didn’t know how to say it.”

“Say it?” he repeated, shaking his head as he leaned closer. “You tell me in person. You look me in the eyes, love, and tell me I’m going to be a dad. That’s how you say it.”

You bit your lip, feeling a little guilty now. “I know. I’m sorry, baby. I just got nervous.”

You held Mingyu's hands in yours, your fingers trembling slightly as you took a deep breath. Looking up into his eyes, you mustered the courage to speak, your voice soft but filled with emotion. “We’re having a child, Mingyu. You’re going to be a dad.”

Mingyu’s eyes widened, glistening with unshed tears as the weight of your words sank in. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just staring at you with pure awe. Then, with a tenderness that made your heart ache, he cradled your face in his large hands, his thumbs gently brushing over your cheeks.

“I’m so happy,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and comforting, before leaning down to capture yours in a soft, heartfelt kiss.

Tears started streaming down your cheeks, and you let out a shaky laugh as you wiped them away with the back of your hand. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you in person,” you said with a small pout, your voice breaking slightly. “I knew I’d cry like this.”

Mingyu let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his hands slid down to rest on your shoulders. “Love, if you think I’m not crying right now too, you’re wrong.”

You blinked, realizing his eyes were indeed glossy, a few stray tears slipping down his cheeks. It made your heart swell even more, knowing how deeply he felt about this.

“Babe,” you murmured, reaching up to wipe his tears with your thumb.

He smiled, leaning into your touch, his hands moving to rest gently on your stomach. “You’re carrying our baby. How could I not cry? This is the happiest moment of my life.”

Your pout melted into a soft smile, and you placed your hands over his, feeling the warmth of his touch. “You’re going to be an amazing dad, Mingyu. I just know it.”

“And you’re going to be the best mom,” he replied, his voice filled with conviction. He leaned down again, resting his forehead against yours as his hands stayed firmly in place over your stomach. “I’m going to take care of you both, love. You and our baby. Always.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and you felt a deep sense of security and love. In that moment, you knew this was only the beginning of something extraordinary—a journey you would face together, hand in hand, as a family.

Mingyu had always imagined this moment—the day you’d tell him you were carrying his child. For years, he’d dreamt of it, picturing how he would be the most attentive, loving husband, ready to spoil you and your little one with everything he had. Now that it was finally happening, the reality was even sweeter than his imagination.

The two of you had been married for years, and trying for a child had been a journey of hope, patience, and longing. When it finally happened, Mingyu was nothing short of ecstatic. This new chapter in your lives felt like a gift, a blessing that he was determined to cherish with every fiber of his being.

From the very next day, Mingyu slipped seamlessly into his role as the doting husband and soon-to-be dad. He started waking up earlier than you every morning, tiptoeing out of the bedroom to prepare breakfast. He’d make sure it was filled with all the nutrients you needed, carefully laying out the food and your pregnancy milk on the table before waking you up with a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Good morning, love,” he’d whisper, his voice laced with warmth. “Breakfast is ready, and so is your milk. You need to eat well for our baby, okay?”

Mingyu also developed a nightly ritual, one that you couldn’t help but find adorable. Before sleeping, he’d lean down, placing his hands gently on your stomach and speaking softly to your growing baby.

“Hey there, little one,” he’d say, his voice filled with tenderness. “Mom is going to sleep now, so be good, okay? Let her rest. I’ll take care of her, so don’t you worry.”

Sometimes, you’d catch him smiling to himself as he talked, his eyes sparkling with excitement and love. He would even sneak in little promises to the baby, like how he’d teach them how to cook or build the best pillow forts when they were older.

Mingyu also insisted on being by your side for every doctor’s appointment. He cleared his schedule without hesitation, making sure nothing would stop him from being there for you. During the visits, he’d sit beside you, his hand holding yours tightly as he listened intently to the doctor’s updates.

“Is this normal?” he’d ask, pointing at the ultrasound or a note in the medical chart. “What about her nutrition? Does she need more vitamins? How can I make sure she’s comfortable at home?”

His questions were endless, and you could see how serious he was about ensuring everything went smoothly. Though you sometimes teased him for being overly concerned, you couldn’t deny how much it warmed your heart to see how deeply he cared.

Mingyu’s excitement was contagious, filling your days with laughter and love. Whether it was reading parenting books together, shopping for baby clothes, or simply lying in bed and imagining the future, every moment felt magical with him by your side.

“I’ve waited so long for this, love,” he’d say, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple as you rested against his chest. “You and our baby mean everything to me. I promise to give you both the best life I can.”

One evening, Mingyu burst through the front door, his face lit up with excitement, holding a small pot in his hands. You were curled up on the couch, reading, but his dramatic entrance made you look up with curiosity.

“Love!” he called out enthusiastically, making his way over to you. “I have a plan!”

You raised an eyebrow, closing your book and setting it aside. “A plan?” you asked, eyeing the pot he was holding. “What’s this about?”

Grinning from ear to ear, Mingyu placed the pot on the coffee table. Inside was a tiny green sprout, barely poking out of the soil. “We’re going to raise this plant together,” he announced proudly.

You blinked, trying to process his sudden enthusiasm. “A plant?” you repeated, your lips twitching into a smile. “Why a plant?”

“It’s practice!” he explained, sitting beside you and taking your hands in his. “Before our baby arrives, we can use this little guy to learn how to take care of something together. Watering it, making sure it gets sunlight… it’s like a warm-up for parenting!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how serious he sounded. “Babe, you do realize a plant is not even close to the same as raising a child, right?”

“I know,” he said, undeterred, his excitement unwavering. “But it’s a start! Plus, I read somewhere that taking care of plants is good for relieving stress and boosting your mood. And with you carrying our baby, I thought it might be nice to have something green and alive around us.”

You tilted your head, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. “That’s actually really sweet,” you admitted, reaching out to touch the sprout’s leaves gently. “What kind of plant is it?”

“A money tree,” Mingyu said, his grin widening. “It’s supposed to bring good luck and positive energy. I figured we could use all the good vibes we can get for this next chapter.”

You chuckled, shaking your head at how thoughtful he was. “Alright, fine. Let’s raise this plant together.”

Mingyu’s face lit up as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. “That’s my girl,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Over the next few days, Mingyu was more serious about the plant than you could’ve imagined. He gave it a name—Lucky—and made sure it had the perfect spot by the window for sunlight. He even set reminders on his phone to water it on schedule.

“Lucky’s looking great today,” he’d say, inspecting the leaves like a proud dad.

You watched him with amusement, realizing how this little plant had somehow become a symbol of his excitement for fatherhood. “If you’re this attentive with a plant, I can’t even imagine how amazing you’ll be with our baby,” you told him one evening.

Mingyu looked at you, his eyes softening. “It’s because I have the best partner to do this with,” he said, pulling you close and resting a hand on your belly. “And soon, we’ll have the best little team member to join us.”

Lucky might’ve been just a plant, but it became a small reminder of how much love Mingyu already had for the life you were building together.

"No, love. The last time we did it, you got cramps," Mingyu said firmly, gently pulling himself away from your embrace even as your lips brushed against his neck, sending shivers down his spine. His hands rested lightly on your arms, his concern etched clearly on his face.

"Nothing will happen this time, I promise," you whispered, your breath warm against his skin, making it nearly impossible for him to resist. Your voice was soft but persuasive, and the way your lips lingered so teasingly made his resolve waver.

Mingyu let out a shaky sigh, his eyes flickering between worry and longing. "Love… you say that, but what if you get hurt again? You're carrying our baby. I can't risk anything." His voice was low, filled with a mix of tenderness and frustration as he tried to hold his ground.

You cupped his face, your eyes locking onto his with determination. "Babe, you're always so careful with me. But trust me, I'm okay. Nothing will happen."

He hesitated, the intensity of your gaze weighing heavily on him, and as he looked into your eyes, he saw the desire, need, and love mirrored in their depths. Mingyu sighed softly, surrendering to your request, even if it meant pushing past his own doubts. "Alright, but promise you'll tell me if anything's wrong."

A smile bloomed on your lips as you felt his arms wrap around you once more. "I promise, and thank you."

You leaned in for a deep, passionate kiss, your tongues entwining, and in that moment, everything else faded away, leaving just the two of you, connected in the most intimate way. "You're making it so hard for me, love," Mingyu whispered against your lips, his hands now gently roaming over your curves as he began to guide you back towards the comfort of the bed.

As you lay on the bed, your body gently rising with each breath, Mingyu moved behind you, his hands resting on your swollen stomach. He looked down at the tiny life growing within you and couldn't help but smile, a feeling of protectiveness surging through him.

"You're so beautiful, love," he whispered, his voice filled with admiration and love. You turned slightly to face him, a playful glint in your eye as you reached out for him.

"I want you, Mingyu. I need you," you said softly, your fingers trailing along his chest. Your body tingled with desire as you felt him responding to your touch, his heartbeat quickening, and the bulge in his pants growing more prominent.

He leaned in to kiss you, his lips soft against yours, but his tongue explored your mouth with urgency. He broke the kiss and trailed hot, wet kisses along your jawline and down your neck, nipping softly at your skin, causing you to arch your back and moan softly.

Mingyu began to undress you, his eyes never leaving your body, drinking in every curve and change. The sight of his love, pregnant and wanting him, was enough to set him on fire. He quickly stripped down, eager to be as close to you as possible.

Positioning himself behind you, he ran his hand over your bump and then down to your lower back. "How do you want this, love?" he asked, his breath hot on your ear, making shivers race down your spine.

You shifted onto your side, facing him, and patted the spot next to you on the bed. "Make me feel loved, baby," you whispered, your voice filled with desire.

He grinned and moved to lay next to you, his arm resting on the bed behind you as he pulled you close, your heads nearly touching. His hand began to gently massage your swollen breasts through the thin fabric of your nightgown. The sensation caused your nipples to stiffen, and you let out a soft moan.

Mingyu slid one hand down your side, under your gown, his fingers gently parting your thighs as he began to stroke the damp skin there. You bit your lip and leaned into his touch, your desire growing with each gentle caress.

Slowly, Mingyu lifted your gown over your stomach, revealing the lace of your panties. He brushed a finger along the wet fabric, teasing you before hooking it and slowly sliding it down your legs.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked again, his eyes filled with concern.

You nodded, your voice caught in the thick heat filling the room. "Yes, I want you," you breathed, wrapping your legs around his waist, urging him closer.

With gentle precision, Mingyu aligned himself at your entrance. He pressed in slowly, allowing your body to adjust, his pace unhurried and full of love. Once fully inside you, he began to move, his hips rocking gently at first, but picking up speed as your moans grew more insistent.

Your hands gripped the sheets as the pleasure built, your body responding to his rhythmic thrusts. The connection between the two of you was palpable, love and lust intertwined, driving you both higher.

As the climax approached, Mingyu whispered sweet nothings into your ear, his voice a balm to your soul even as the waves of ecstasy threatened to consume you. "You're mine, and I'm yours," he breathed against your skin.

With a cry of joy, you came undone, your body trembling as Mingyu followed moments later, filling you with his warmth. The two of you lay there, intertwined, the warmth of your shared passion enveloping you both as you basked in the afterglow.

"You’re so into me these days," Mingyu teased, a playful grin on his lips as he pulled you into a soft kiss. His warm hands gently caressed your six-months-swollen belly, his touch filled with love and care.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe it’s because you’re so irresistible, babe,” you replied, your voice dripping with mock sarcasm as you leaned into his touch.

He chuckled, the sound deep and comforting, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “I’m not complaining,” he murmured, his fingers tracing small, soothing circles over your belly. “It just makes me happy knowing you want me close all the time.”

“Well, don’t let it go to your head,” you said, your tone teasing but laced with affection. “It’s not just me. Someone else is pretty fond of you too.” You gestured to your belly, earning a wide grin from Mingyu as he leaned down to kiss it gently.

“Of course they are,” he said, his voice soft and full of adoration. “They know they’ve got the best dad in the world.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Confident much?”

“Just stating facts, love,” he replied cheekily, giving you a playful wink before sitting back.

Feeling bold, you slipped your arms around his neck and nuzzled close, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “How about we do it again, babe?”

Mingyu froze for a moment, his breath hitching at your words, but then he let out an awkward cough. “Uh… love, I’d really love to, but…”

You pulled back, narrowing your eyes at his suddenly flustered expression. “But what?”

He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, avoiding your gaze. “I haven’t watered Lucky today,” he mumbled, almost too quiet for you to hear.

You blinked at him, completely caught off guard. “You’re kidding, right? You’re turning me down because of a plant?”

“It’s not just a plant!” Mingyu protested, his voice rising in mock indignation. “Lucky is part of the family now. I have to make sure they’re taken care of too!”

You stared at him, a mix of disbelief and amusement spreading across your face. “Mingyu, Lucky doesn’t care if you’re late watering it by an hour. I, on the other hand, do care if my husband chooses a tree over me.”

Mingyu’s lips twitched as he tried not to laugh, but the look on your face was too much. He burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking. “Okay, okay, you’re right,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Lucky can wait. You’re my top priority.”

“Damn right I am,” you huffed, crossing your arms, though a smile was already tugging at your lips.

Mingyu leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “You know I can’t resist you, love,” he murmured, his voice warm. “But don’t blame me if Lucky looks a little sad tomorrow.”

You rolled your eyes again, finally giving in to his teasing. “Fine, I’ll forgive you. But you’re watering Lucky first thing in the morning.”

“Deal,” he said with a grin, pulling you closer into his arms. “Now, where were we?”

"No! Now, I'm not in the mood." you snapped, crossing your arms and turning away from Mingyu.

Mingyu stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his bottom lip jutting out in a dramatic pout as he watched you. You were sitting on the nursery room floor, your eight-month-pregnant belly making it slightly awkward for you to lean forward, but you were stubbornly twisting the screws to attach the crib legs.

"Love, please," Mingyu tried again, his voice soft but tinged with desperation. "I'll do it. You should be resting."

You didn't even glance at him, your focus entirely on the task at hand. "You had your chance," you muttered, twisting the screwdriver a bit more aggressively than necessary. "Twice. But you were too busy giving Lucky a pep talk."

Mingyu’s pout deepened. He shifted from one foot to the other, staring helplessly at you. "I wasn’t giving Lucky a pep talk. I was just making sure it knew I was proud of it for growing so well."

You paused, finally looking up at him, your expression deadpan. "So proud that you ignored me when I asked you to help?"

"I didn’t ignore you! I just—" Mingyu’s voice faltered, and he let out a sigh, stepping closer. "Love, I’m sorry. I just… I’m trying to be good at this dad thing."

"And I’m trying to make sure our baby doesn’t roll out of a half-finished crib because someone was busy with their plant," you shot back, though your tone had softened slightly.

"That’s not going to happen," Mingyu mumbled, crouching down beside you. "Please let me do it. Please. I promise I won’t get distracted again."

You held his gaze for a moment, then sighed, handing him the screwdriver. "Fine. But I’m watching. And if you talk to Lucky even once, I’m taking over again."

"Deal!" Mingyu’s face lit up with relief, and he immediately got to work, his hands moving with careful precision.

But not even a minute later, as he tightened a bolt, he whispered under his breath, "Lucky, wish me luck."

You shot him a glare. "Mingyu!"

"I’m kidding! I’m kidding!" he yelped, flashing you an apologetic grin. "Focus on the crib. Got it."

"Love, it's been six months since Lucky joined our little family. Learn to love it," Mingyu said with a gentle chuckle, carefully aligning the crib legs as he secured them, making sure each screw was tightened properly.

You stood beside him, arms crossed, watching his focused expression with a mix of affection and mild annoyance. "It keeps stealing my husband's attention from me. What do you expect?" you muttered, the faintest pout on your lips.

Mingyu paused, glancing up at you, his smile widening as amusement danced in his eyes. "You do realize that you'll get hate from plant lovers if you ever say that in public, love," he teased, turning his gaze back to the crib.

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile betrayed your sulking. "Well, maybe I should go on record. ‘My husband is obsessed with a plant,’" you quipped, earning a soft laugh from Mingyu.

"Obsessed is a strong word," he defended, wiping his hands on his sweatpants as he straightened up. "I just like making sure Lucky is happy and healthy. It's… calming."

"Calming for you. Frustrating for me," you countered, leaning against the wall. "Every time I ask for help, you’re too busy whispering sweet nothings to a tree."

Mingyu's eyes widened, a playful look of shock crossing his face. "Sweet nothings? Love, those are words of encouragement! Lucky needs positive energy to grow."

You couldn’t help but laugh, despite your best efforts to stay annoyed. "Oh, so the tree needs encouragement, but your pregnant wife has to practically beg for help?"

Mingyu quickly closed the gap between you, his large hands cupping your face gently. "Hey, that’s not fair. You know I’d choose you over Lucky any day." His thumbs brushed your cheeks, his warm gaze filled with affection. "And you know I’m only teasing, right? I’m here for you. Always."

You sighed, leaning into his touch, your irritation melting away. "You just know how to sweet-talk your way out of anything, don’t you?"

He grinned, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Only when it’s you, love."

You had just woken up from a brief three-hour sleep, your body heavy with exhaustion. Last night had been a test of patience—Minji, only three weeks old, had decided to shake the world awake with her cries, stubbornly refusing to sleep at three in the morning. You had spent the next three hours cradling her in your arms, humming soft lullabies until she finally surrendered to slumber.

Now, it was nine o’clock. You stepped out of your bedroom, the soft morning light spilling through the curtains, and the sight in the living room instantly melted your fatigue. Mingyu was sprawled on the couch, his head tilted awkwardly to one side, his mouth slightly open in a deep sleep. Minji lay peacefully on his chest, her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, a little drool pooling at the corner of her lips. Her gentle breathing rose and fell in perfect sync with Mingyu’s, a quiet, heartwarming rhythm.

A tender smile tugged at your lips. Careful not to wake either of them, you leaned down, gently lifting Minji from Mingyu’s chest. She stirred slightly but remained asleep, her tiny face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. With Minji safely cradled in one arm, you made your way to the kitchen, the cool tiles beneath your feet grounding you as you began preparing breakfast.

But just as you cracked an egg into the pan, a sudden, frantic shout echoed from the living room.

“Love!” Mingyu’s voice was filled with panic. “I thought I lost her!”

You turned, suppressing a laugh as you saw him sitting up on the couch, his eyes wide with fear, his hair an adorable mess. But the moment his gaze landed on you, relief washed over his face. He let out a sigh so dramatic you almost laughed.

“She’s right here, babe,” you teased, bouncing Minji gently in your arms. “Safe and sound with her very sleepy mommy.”

Mingyu dragged a hand through his hair, shaking his head with a sheepish smile. “You almost gave me a heart attack, love.”

“Me? You’re the one who fell asleep while on baby duty,” you teased, turning back to the stove. “But I have to admit… you two looked so adorable, I almost didn’t want to wake you.”

“Well, I couldn’t let you handle everything alone,” Mingyu mumbled, shuffling to the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. “You did the night shift, so I tried to give you some sleep.”

You leaned into his embrace, letting the warmth of his touch melt your remaining fatigue. “Looks like we both need some more sleep,” you whispered, glancing at the sleeping Minji in your arms.

“Yeah,” Mingyu chuckled softly. “But for now, let’s survive breakfast.”

After the breakfast, Mingyu stood by the window, the morning light casting a soft glow over his figure as he carefully poured water onto Lucky's vibrant green leaves. He smiled, watching the water drip and soak into the soil.

"You know what, Lucky?" he began, his voice a quiet murmur. "You're not enough." He chuckled, shaking his head as if the plant could somehow understand his confession. "People say practice makes perfect, but it turns out having a baby is a whole other level."

He tilted the watering can, letting a few more drops fall. "With you, it’s simple. Water you, give you sunlight, talk to you sometimes—easy. But Minji?" His voice softened, a gentle fondness filling his tone. "She has this tiny cry that could shatter my heart one moment and then turn into the sweetest smile that makes me forget I haven’t slept properly in days."

Mingyu sighed, leaning a bit closer to Lucky’s leaves as if sharing a secret. "I thought I was ready, you know? But every time she stirs, every time she cries, I get scared. Scared I won’t be enough, that I’ll mess up.”

A soft rustle of the leaves seemed to be Lucky’s silent reply. Mingyu chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "But maybe that’s just part of being a dad—always worried but trying your best."

He turned his gaze toward the couch, where you were swaying gently with Minji in your arms, humming a soft tune as you stirred the hot chocolate. His smile widened, and a warm glow filled his chest.

“And I guess as long as I have her,” he whispered to Lucky, “and you, I might just survive this dad thing.”

Just then, you looked at him, catching him in his quiet conversation with the plant. “Mingyu, are you confessing your dad struggles to a plant again?” you teased, a laugh in your voice.

He turned, feigning a scandalized look. “Excuse me, but Lucky is a great listener!”

“Maybe you should water yourself while you’re at it, Mr. Sleep-Deprived,” you joked, but your smile was filled with warmth.

Mingyu set the watering can down and crossed the room, wrapping his arms around you and Minji. “Nah, I get all the love and energy I need right here.”

You leaned into his embrace, Minji still sleeping soundly between you. “Smooth talker.”

“I learned from the best,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

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satorus-princess · 12 days ago

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cw (minors please dni): fem!reader, sub!gojo, super soft sex, riding, so much love, satoru cries but not in a sexy way (my vulnerable baby), honestly more cute than smutty

a/n: it kinda hurt my heart to write this <//3 (i lied about sugu being posted next this was very impromptu)

most of the time, yes, satoru does fuck hard and fast like it's the last time he'd ever be able to do it. releasing all of the built-up adrenaline, going feral on you.

but sometimes, he just needs to be taken care of. to feel appreciated. to feel something.

in between the sultry charges of intimacy, love creeps through and makes itself known. in the gentle rocks of your hips as you ride him so tenderly; in the way your fingers lace with his holding his hands and feeling him grip yours slightly tighter with each devoted clench of your sweet pussy; in the way you moan each other's names like a secret.

his beautiful, vulnerable orbs of emotion unobstructed by any blindfold or glasses, staring up at you like you're his solace, his heaven and earth, his reason to be alive.

soft locks of ivory are fanned out on the pillow and fall around his eyes as he lies back against the bed. pink, pretty lips parted as soft whimpers breathe out from between them.

“hah baby... y-you're so good to me,” he murmurs, detangling his fingers from yours to reach up and tuck your hair behind your ear, getting a better view of your face.

his heart races in his chest, pounding, never getting fatigued or stopping for a break. you're the air he breathes, after all. you see the way his eyes soften even more. he trails his hands down from your hair, to your shoulders, down the curve of your back and up. again, down your back and up.

you feel his fingers tremble against your goosebump-riddled skin.

“shh, just enjoy it. my pretty boy, you deserve to relax, to be pampered-- fuck... ‘s so good,” your moan cuts off the rest of your sentence when you sink your hips down on him and the curve of his leaking dick hits your sweet spot just right.

“you're so beautiful.”

“you're beautiful, too,” you smile, leaning down to kiss his cheek where a crystal jewel tumbles down it. his breath catches in his throat, choked with emotion.

he didn't even realise he was crying. but being treated like the most precious of china shatters him and heals something deep within him at the same time.

his arms, suddenly feeling weak, curl around your waist and pull you into his chest. you can feel the thudding of his heart against you, his stomach constricting with each delicate bounce of your hips, and hear his breathy moans in your ear as he embraces you tightly.

your hips don't relent. shallow thrusts, loving, reverent. neither of you are rushing to your peaks. the gradual build-up, the intimacy, the skin-to-skin all feel just as euphoric.

“take care of me, please.” the words come out hushed, like they were never even meant to be voiced, tasting foreign on his tongue. but with no sense of hesitation, you comply.

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cherrysinner · 3 months ago

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── GARDEN OF EVIL †

I - the date that wasn’t a date.

† pairing: crime boss!rafe x reader

† summary: reader's boyfriend owes notorious crime boss rafe cameron fifty thousand dollars and offers him reader in exchange for wiping his debts. rafe agrees, and tells reader that he has only one condition for keeping her alive.

† warnings / tags: dark themes, mentions of drugs

† author's note: this might become a series if you guys like it, so lmk your thoughts about it!

you watched the passing streetlights and the tall buildings, a song crackling on your boyfriend’s worn-out stereo. you bit down the wide smile threatening to take over your lips; liam had told you to get ready for an impromptu date night; you’d gotten your nails and hair done, picking out the nicest dress you own and spent an obscene amount of time on your makeup.

“babe, can’t you just tell me where we’re going?” you stuck your bottom lip out in a pout. the dark-haired man simply brushed you off, continuing to drive, “it’s a surprise.”

the two of you were in the expensive part of town, full of lavish hotels, expensive restaurants, gorgeous art galleries; an area you knew your boyfriend, whose idea of luxury was going out to olive garden, wouldn’t be able to afford. unless of course, it was a special occasion.

oh, he was definitely proposing.

liam paused the car in front of a large building, turning to you as you gazed up with wide eyes. you didn't have to be a genius to know that this place was expensive, with a capital E. "let’s go inside."

"liam, you know we don't have to go to a fancy place like this..." you mumbled as he led you through the lobby towards the elevator, a small smile still playing on your lips despite your words, "this must cost a fortune."

"don't worry about it." liam said in a slightly gruff voice, his hand tightly squeezing yours, the man tapping his foot against the marble floor of the hotel as his eyes strayed strictly on the screen that showed what floor the elevator was on. 3… 2… 1. ding! your boyfriend pulled you into the elevator by your hand, his urgency making your heart race in anticipation.

as the elevator ascended floor after floor, you could hear your heartbeat in your ears as you leaned into your boyfriend. when you reached the top floor and the elevator doors slid open, liam turned to you with a small smile, "alright, baby. close your eyes, and keep 'em closed until i tell you to open, okay?"

liam's fingers intertwined with yours as he tugged you out of the elevator, making you stumble slightly in your high heels in a way that made you let out a small yelp. with your eyes closed, you continued to be led down a hall smelling of flowers and chanel no 5. when you two stopped, liam let go of your hand and you could hear the beep of a door’s card reader.

your boyfriend's hand snaked onto your back as he led you through a door, hearing it close behind you. "alright, you can open your eyes now, babe." when you opened your eyes, you were met with the sight of a man in a fully black suit. he looked between you and liam with an amused look on his face.

"liam?" you asked with furrowed brows, turning to your boyfriend, your voice hesitant and unsure, "what's going on?"

"i'd like to know the same." the man said, crossing his arms.

"i, uh, i can't pay you, mr. cameron." liam said in an insecure tone. pay him? "but i can offer you her."

your eyes widened in shock, looking around as if trying to find another girl in the room that he could be referring to, "liam, what—"

your sentence was interrupted by the suited man bursting into laughter, shaking his head, "you owe me fifty-thousand dollars. and you think offering your bitch is gonna be good? you've got some balls, i'll tell you that."

"c'mon, you know i'm never gonna be able to get 50k."

"should've thought of that before you stole drugs from me, fucking idiot." your eyebrows furrowed in confusion when he uttered the word 'drugs'. the man tsked, shaking his head as he walked towards you two in tentative steps, his narrowed eyes so icy cold they caused a shiver to run down your spine, only focused on you. the man brought a finger to your chin and lifted it, tilting your head as he took in all the details about you. "she's pretty." the man said; but you knew it wasn't a compliment, but an observation, "what's your name, sweetheart?"

you told him your name in a shaky, stuttering voice, and he nodded, pursing his lips in thought, before turning to liam, "you can get 20k off and two weeks extra time in exchange for her."

"really?" liam asked, and although you couldn't turn your head enough to see his expression, you could tell from his voice that he was elated, "thank you, mr. cameron, thank-"

"leave." the man, mr. cameron, said in a cold tone, the hint of a smirk that had been lingering on his lips no longer there. without a word leaving his lips, you could hear liam stumble his way to the door and out of the hotel room. the man pulled his hand away from your chin, turning around to face the night sky, the only thing lighting it up being the high-rise buildings that went as far as the eye could see. you watched as he took hold of a carafe, pouring some of the amber liquid into a crystal glass.

"mr. cameron-"

"you can call me rafe." the man said in a gruff voice as he loosened the tie around his neck.

"rafe..." you mumbled under your breath, fiddling with one of the rings on your fingers, your heart beating against your chest like it was going to burst, "please, don't... hurt me..."

"hurt you?" rafe let out a scoff of a laugh as he shook his head and turned to face you again, slowly walking towards you. "well, sweetheart, if i'm not gonna hurt you, then who should i hurt, huh?" the way he was looking at you was so intense, you couldn't help but lower your head, staring down at the wine-red carpet. you felt his finger on your chin again as rafe forced your head up again, making you face him, "who should i hurt, sweetheart? maybe your little boyfriend?"

"l-liam...?" you mumble softly, chewing on the inside of your cheek, "why would you hurt him? he's... he's the one who owes you money."

"aww, that's cute. you actually think he's worth his word." rafe chuckled humorlessly as his hand trailed over the chain of your necklace, his touch causing the hairs on the back of your neck to rise, "that broke loser's not gonna pay me back. he never was. little liam's probably on his way to book the next flight out of the country."

"what's gonna happen to me...?" you mumbled, watching as the man took a swig out of the glass of whiskey he'd poured to himself before putting it aside.

"well that depends. i could let you go tomorrow morning, you could crawl back to liam and say that he has two more weeks of extra time..." rafe cocked his head to the side, "or you could stay. you're in luck that i happen to need a pretty girl like you at the moment."

"stay...?"

"aren't you mad? your little boyfriend sold you for a measly 20k."

"he just wanted to get out of debt, it's-"

"he sold you for twenty thousand dollars, knowing that i'd be able to do anything to you. knowing i could take advantage of you, use you as i wanted, torture you, kill you, without you being able to put up a fight." rafe scoffed out a laugh, and pulled his hand back in thought, "i should kill you. i can't have someone babbling about me to the cops. you're definitely the kind of girl to be naive enough to think that cops would be able to do anything to me."

you watched as he pulled out his cellphone and started to dial a number, "w-what are you doing...?" you asked in panic.

"oh, i don't like to kill pretty girls myself. feels like a waste." rafe tsked as he continued dialing, "i'm just gonna call one of my buddies. i'll make sure he gets it done quickly and as painlessly as possible."

just as he was about to press call, you put your hand on his muscular forearm, your eyes wide in panic as you swallowed, taking a deep breath. "fine. i'll... i'll stay."

"such an obedient girl already." rafe grinnned, throwing his phone onto the bed as his hand went to your cheek, stroking it as you bit your teeth together and clenched your jaw, "don't worry. i'll take care of your ex. and i'll take such good care of my new little wife."

"…wife?"

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purinfelix · 9 months ago

Note

Franco Colapinto, where his girlfriend gets jealous of his interviews, so she does everything to make him jealous in return.

a taste of his own medicine ⋆.ೃ࿔*･- franco colapinto

summary: you've had enough of your boyfriend's shameless flirting during interviews, and hatch a plan to get back at him for it w/c : 1.3k

a/n: AAAA this is such a cute idea anon - i wrote a good chunk of this a while ago but only just finished the last bit today, thank u for the req and i hope u enjoy !! <333

You wondered if your boyfriend could feel the stone-cold glare you were giving the back of his head from your spot in the VIP lounge - though if he could, he surely wasn't doing anything about it.

Initially, there hadn't been any problems with keeping your relationship secret - in fact, it had been your idea for a number of reasons. You just didn't consider yourself ready to be swarmed and scrutinised by the media or have the title of 'F1 wag' bestowed upon you. It didn't feel right, if anything it felt like a disservice to boil down your relationship with Franco to something so sensationalized. Keeping it private seemed the best decision, at least for the time being. But now, the longer you watched your boyfriend shamelessly flirt with anyone who crossed his path, the more you grew to regret this decision.

You weren't by any means a jealous person by nature, but something about the fact that no one but you had any problem with this situation - and only because they didn't know about your relationship - irritated you. If only you could figure out a way to make Franco feel the same way you were. Just at that moment, as if by fate, you spotted a young-looking boy in a race suit walking casually past the lounge. His carefree walk, curly brown hair and boyish smile - bingo.

"Hey there," you called out, hopping up from the chair you were sitting in and walking over to the boy.

"Oh, hello," he replied, seemingly taken aback by being addressed by you.

"Sorry, it's just that I'm a little new to all of this and," you look him up and down, "you look like you know what you're doing, do you think you could show me around?"

He laughs shyly, hand rubbing the back of his nape. "Well, I mean, alright then, I'm Ollie by the way."

"Lovely to meet you, Ollie." You offer a girly giggle which you try your best not to cringe at as you follow the boy, who begins to walk around the nearest garage.

He begins to explain things, the process of getting ready to drive, the roles of different team members and the physics of the car itself - all of which you could care less about, but you nod earnestly regardless. Along the way, you even offer any mechanic or engineer who seems your age a friendly smile, and even a wink if they're particularly good-looking.

It's just your luck too that all of this is happening just close enough to the media hubs where your boyfriend has been stuck all afternoon. You try your best not to look too often over at him, not wanting to give away the true intentions of this mini tour you're scored for yourself. He doesn't seem to share the same sentiment though, based off of how many times you've caught him stealing glances at you, his eye following watchfully as you laugh and tease your impromptu tour guide.

"And so every element of car design has the purpose of making it as fast as possible, either through aerodynamics or by making everything lightweight," he continues to explain excitedly, and even though you're starting to feel dizzy from all the nodding you give him a quick one.

"Oh, wow!" You say, and before you know it you've landed yourself in the perfect position - within both earshot and line of vision of your boyfriend who seems to be wrapping up one of his last interviews for the night. Now, for the cherry on top.

You watch as Franco finishes saying his goodbyes to the last of the media crew, his eyes now searching the paddock for you. Knowing that he's looking at you, you throw your head back in laughter at nothing in particular and bring a hand up to graze Ollie's upper arm. Though you have his back to him you know your boyfriend well enough that when you feel a hand on your own shoulder mere seconds later, you aren't too shocked.

"Oh, hello Franco," you hum, feigning innocence. "Ollie here was just showing me around and keeping me company, isn't he the sweetest?"

"Very sweet." He grins through gritted teeth, though his strengthening grip on your shoulder says otherwise.

"No problem, oh but hey I forgot to show you just one more th-"

"Thanks, kid, but my girlfriend and I have got to get going."

Trying not to make it too obvious on your face how pleased you were that your plan had worked, you thanked Ollie once more before you felt Franco's grip sliding down your arm and intertwining his fingers with yours. Desperately, he dragged you off and away from your tour guide - who had a slightly confused expression painted on his face as he watched the two of you disappear into the Williams garage. You were amazed by how quickly your boyfriend was walking as he pulled you into his driver's room, shutting the door behind you quickly.

"What was that?" he huffed immediately, not giving you a second to say anything. You only smiled in response, watching his normally calm expression morph into one of frustrated confusion.

"I told you, Ollie was showing me around, you were busy with your interviews anyways," you decide to keep up the act of innocence, though you can tell he's not buying it.

"Bullshit, what sort of showing around involves touching him."

"I didn't think you were watching, those reporters seemed to keep you pretty occupied," you say in a sing-songy tone, throwing yourself down on the couch in his room. You wait for him to respond - something equally sarcastic or quippy, but when you turn to look at him you see him staring at the wall in front of him, eyes furrowed in confusion. Slowly, the cogs in his mind seem to start working as his expression slowly changes into one of realisation.

"You were jealous," he breathes out, turning to you with eyes wide and brows raised.

"Oh pfft- I wouldn't say jealous, bored now that might be more accurate but-" You're interrupted by him taking a seat on the couch next to you, face now painted with a smug look.

"You didn't like that I was talking to so many reporters, did you?" His teasing tone is enough to make your heart race a little, though you try your best to keep calm.

"I'm pretty sure you were doing a little more than talking babe, you were flirting!"

He looks at you with a slightly offended expression, "flirting?" It's almost as if he's just realising what he was doing.

"Uhm, duh."

"Did it really look like that?" His brows curve up into a pleading expression, "I didn't mean to, I swear!" You let out a soft chuckle watching his apologetic expression.

"It's fine baby, just try to be a little less friendly next time - I think your PR team would appreciate it anyway." He nods, scooting a little closer so that he can lay his head on your shoulder. There's a beat of silence before he speaks again.

"You were jealous," he hums, almost as if he's talking to himself.

"Wh- so were you! Poor Ollie is probably terrified of you now!"

"Whatever, he's a big boy, he'll live," he sighs, reaching for your hand and intertwining it in his "Plus, don't act like you're any better using that kid to get back at me."

"Hey, I had to do something before you walked out of that media room with a second girlfriend," you crossed your arms in annoyance, refusing to even look at him.

"You're cute when you're jealous," he laughs, before turning to peck at your jawline. Before you can stop you're melting into his touch, bringing a hand up to brush his curly hair away from his face. It might be a weak apology to some, but to you - to be here with him, in the privacy of his driver's room, away from Ollie, the reporters, and the rest of the world - it's more than enough.

taglist: (reply/send me an ask if you'd like to be added!)

@spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @alelo23 @scill-a @multifan-idk

#franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto fanfic #franco colapinto fluff #franco colapinto oneshot #williams racing #williams f1 #formula one fanfic #formula one x reader #formula one fluff #formula one #purinfelix #jet writes ★#jet answers ✧

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wroetolando · 4 months ago

Text

𝙶𝚛𝚒𝚍 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 | 𝙼𝚅𝟷

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: max verstappen x reporter!reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where max and his reporter wife accidentally adopt five chaotic rookies and become the unofficial grid parents

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: sweet disposition - the temper trap

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: none!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The paddock was a hive of noise and motion as the sun began to dip over the circuit, golden rays catching the sweat on mechanics’ foreheads and the gleam of carbon-fiber wings. Post-race buzz hummed in the air—victory for some, frustration for others—but at the very center of it all stood the one woman who could command the attention of five energetic, half-exhausted rookies with nothing more than a look.

“You are not skipping cool down, I don’t care how much your legs hurt,” she said firmly, arms crossed as she stood just outside the Mercedes hospitality unit. “And Jack, stop trying to convince Gabriel to trade media slots with you.”

Jack Doohan blinked innocently. “Worth a try.”

Max, leaning a few feet away with his arms folded and an amused tilt to his lips, watched the scene with the same fondness someone might have when watching a cat try to wrangle five puppies. His wife—ever composed, ever commanding—had somehow become the gravitational center of the rookie pack, and Max had long since accepted his role as the silent co-pilot in their little operation.

“We need a whiteboard,” you muttered as Isack Hadjar arrived, hair still damp from his post-race shower. “I need a whiteboard. And a whistle.”

“You want a whistle?” Max asked.

“I want a bullhorn.”

Oliver Bearman arrived next, tugging off his cap and brushing sweat-damp curls back. “Are we doing interviews first or eating first? I swear I might pass out if—”

“You’ll eat after you give me one sentence that isn’t ‘the car felt good’ or ‘we take the positives,’” you cut in, tapping your iPad. “No bland quotes. I want actual thoughts.”

Gabriel Bortoleto offered him a protein bar from his pocket. “Here, you can survive five minutes.”

“You’ve had that in your pocket for two hours,” Oliver recoiled. “That’s like a biological weapon now.”

Kimi Antonelli, fresh from a P3 finish and visibly trying to act cooler than he felt, walked in just in time to see Oliver shoving the protein bar back at Gabriel like it was radioactive. “Children,” Kimi muttered under his breath.

Max straightened from the wall, clapping a hand lightly on Kimi’s shoulder. “Congrats, by the way. Good race.”

Kimi perked up at the rare praise from the four-time world champion, nodding once. “Thanks. Felt good after last weekend.”

Max didn’t say more, but the nod he returned carried weight—and Kimi caught it, posture squaring slightly.

You were already directing the boys into a loose circle outside the Red Bull hospitality tent, setting up for your impromptu group media debrief. The usual reporters had already swarmed them post-race, but yours was different—somewhere between an interview and a therapy session, half professional, half familiar. The boys trusted you. And Max… well, Max mostly observed, speaking when necessary, stepping in when the chaos got too loud or the mood shifted too dark.

Like now.

Isack had slumped onto the couch, jaw tight. He’d DNF’d—again. Three times in five races. The media had already started with the “overhyped” murmurs, and even though you hadn’t asked him to speak first, you noticed the way his leg bounced, eyes fixed on the floor.

You gave Max a look.

Without a word, he moved to sit beside the younger driver, not pressing, not announcing himself. Just… there. Solid. Real. Isack noticed, of course. Everyone did. It was rare for Max to show warmth like this outside the Red Bull bubble—but when he did, it hit hard.

“Tough race,” Max said simply.

Isack let out a breath. “Felt like I was driving blind. Car didn’t respond. Almost clipped the wall.”

“You didn’t.”

“But I might next time.”

“You won’t.”

There was no false encouragement in Max’s tone—just certainty. That unshakable Verstappen steel. Isack didn’t say anything, but his shoulders dropped a little, the tension leaking out.

You watched it happen, heart softening.

God, how had this become your life?

You—the paddock reporter who used to get mistaken for an intern. Max—the closed-off, stone-faced champion who’d once swore he’d never babysit rookies. And now here you both were: grid mum and dad, sitting on uncomfortable couches with five boys who had no idea how deeply they were cared for.

You cleared your throat. “Alright. Rapid-fire. Best moment of the race—go.”

“Overtaking Jack,” Gabriel said immediately.

“Hey!”

“Jack’s reaction, then,” Gabriel added.

Kimi smirked. “Probably my start. Got the jump on Piastri.”

“Oliver?”

“When I didn’t pass out from heat stroke on Lap 42.”

You nodded. “You hydrated?”

“Define hydrated.”

Max groaned. “You’re getting electrolytes now.”

“You sound like my physio.”

“I’m scarier than your physio.”

“He’s right,” you said. “He once threatened to throw Lando in a lake because he wouldn’t stretch properly.”

“It was a very shallow lake,” Max defended.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Two nights later, the paddock chaos traded its background of engine whines and pit lane screeches for the quieter hum of your home — though “quieter” was a stretch with five young drivers crammed into your kitchen like it was a race briefing gone feral.

“I’m telling you, the mushroom ones are not real tortellini,” Jack insisted, poking at a package of fresh pasta like it had personally offended him.

“They are,” you sighed, pushing him gently out of the way as you balanced two saucepans and a tray of garlic bread. “They’re gourmet.”

“Italians would riot,” Kimi muttered from the dining table, scrolling through his phone.

“Then they can come over and cook,” Max deadpanned from the stovetop, where he was fiercely focused on carbonara like it was an FIA directive.

“Do you actually know what you’re doing?” Oliver asked suspiciously, leaning over Max’s shoulder.

Max didn’t even look up. “I’ve watched like six Gordon Ramsay videos.”

“That’s not the same as cooking.”

“I beat two of you last week,” Max said, stirring the pasta. “You really want to test me on this, too?”

You hid your smile behind your wine glass. There was something inexplicably funny about watching your world-champion husband in sweatpants and socks, bickering with young adults over parmesan cheese.

And even funnier watching the rookies actually respect it.

Dinner, somehow, made it to the table in one piece — pasta, garlic bread, salad (which no one touched), and three types of fizzy drinks because “we’re not hydrating with water off-duty, Mum.”

Plates clinked. Conversation overlapped. Gabriel told a wild story about nearly missing a flight. Jack roasted Kimi for accidentally texting “love u” to his race engineer. Isack, now with a better result under his belt, looked lighter, laughing easily between bites.

It was loud. It was messy. It was perfect.

At one point, Max leaned back in his chair, just watching them. The dim kitchen lights caught in his hair, and his arm brushed against yours beneath the table.

“This is insane,” he murmured.

“This is our insane,” you whispered back.

Halfway through dessert (store-bought tiramisu because you were not a miracle worker), Oliver spotted the old Nintendo Switch docked to the TV.

“Oh hell yes,” he gasped. “Do you guys have Mario Kart?”

Max blinked. “Yeah, but—”

“I’m calling dibs on Yoshi,” Jack declared, jumping up.

“No fair! You always play Yoshi!” Isack protested.

You blinked. “Wait, you guys… actually want to play a game here?”

Gabriel grinned. “We’ve literally been waiting for an invite.”

Kimi, still cool as ever, shrugged. “Let them embarrass themselves.”

You stood with your empty plate. “Max hasn’t lost a Mario Kart game in five years. Good luck.”

“Five years?” Oliver echoed. “Challenge accepted.”

And just like that, a Mario Kart tournament was born.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Two hours, three arguments, and one broken Joy-Con later, the living room looked like a war zone.

Jack had screamed loud enough during one of the rounds that your neighbor’s dog had barked. Isack got so invested he’d physically ducked during a turn. Oliver tried to cheat by leaning over to press Gabriel’s buttons. Kimi sat straight-faced the entire time and still won twice. Without Max playing of course.

Max, of course, held his crown with quiet smugness, holding his controller like a weapon of war.

You sat curled up on the arm of the couch, watching it all unfold, your heart full.

Because they weren’t just rookies. They weren’t just kids with team uniforms and talent and pressure pressing against their ribs. They were yours in a way that no one outside this circle would ever really understand.

You remembered how scared Oliver had looked when he’d been called up mid-season. How Isack had cried quietly after his third crash. How Gabriel had pulled you aside after a brutal interview, asking, “Do I actually belong here?”

How Kimi — calm, quiet, composed — had once confessed during a late media day, “Sometimes I think I’m boring. Like I’ll never be more than a name.”

And you’d been there. Max, too. Quiet in different ways, but always present.

You looked over at Max now. He had his arm slung along the back of the couch, eyes focused on the screen but clearly aware of the way you were watching him.

“You’re soft,” you whispered.

He gave a low laugh. “Don’t say that in front of them. They’ll never let me live it down.”

You leaned in. “Too late. I already told Kimi you teared up during that baby penguin documentary.”

“You what—”

You pressed your fingers to your lips. “Shhh. Grid dad’s gotta keep his edge.”

From the floor, Oliver shouted, “Okay but seriously, can we do this every week?”

Jack added, “I’ll bring dessert next time!”

Isack: “I’m bringing my own controller. I don’t trust these ones.”

Kimi, dry as ever: “Just admit you suck.”

Gabriel, mouth full of more tiramisu: “This is better than half the sponsor events we do.”

Max gave you a look.

You smiled.

“Every week?” he repeated, voice low, wry.

You looped your arm through his. “Every week.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The door clicked shut on the last of them just before midnight, leaving behind only the echoes of footsteps, laughter, and a faint smell of burnt garlic bread.

You stood in the hallway, arms crossed, staring at the living room like it had personally betrayed you.

“Did Jack really spill soda on the couch again?” you asked, voice exhausted.

Max wandered in behind you, barefoot, rubbing the back of his neck. “At least he didn’t put the controller in the freezer this time.”

You blinked. “He what?”

“Long story.”

You groaned and collapsed onto the couch—carefully avoiding the suspiciously damp spot—and tossed your head back with a dramatic sigh. Max stood over you for a second, as if deciding whether to help clean or collapse next to you. Predictably, he picked the latter.

He sat with a grunt, thigh brushing yours. The room had settled into that warm, familiar silence that followed a day well spent—TV off, dishes drying, the chaos of earlier fading into the comfort of shared space.

“Do you ever wonder how the hell we got here?” you asked.

Max tilted his head toward you, brow raised. “Here as in… couch stained with soda and Mario Kart casualties?”

You gave him a dry look. “Here as in… being the unofficial grid parents to five emotionally chaotic, underfed children in motorsport.”

Max smirked and looked up at the ceiling. “Sometimes. But I think I’d miss it if it stopped.”

You fell quiet, surprised.

“I used to think I was done with caring about anything outside my races,” he added after a beat. “Media, the circus, the drama. But now…” He glanced sideways. “You care. So I guess I started caring too.”

Your throat tightened.

“You do more than care,” you said softly. “You show up. Even when it’s quiet. When they need something and don’t know how to ask for it.”

He looked at you for a long moment. “So do you.”

You leaned into him slightly, shoulder pressing to his.

There was a pause.

Then: “You think Oliver’s okay? He seemed distracted tonight.”

“Yeah,” Max said. “I caught him staring at his phone a lot. Could be pressure.”

“Or homesickness,” you said. “He mentioned something about his sister’s birthday.”

Max nodded. “I’ll talk to him at the track.”

You blinked. “You just volunteered for emotional labor.”

“I didn’t volunteer. I just said I’ll talk.”

“Which counts as—”

“Don’t.”

You grinned, sliding your hand into his. His palm was warm, calloused, familiar.

The two of you sat like that for a while. Just holding hands in a room that smelled like pasta and bad decisions, with a broken Joy-Con on the coffee table and your collective future somehow resting in the ability to balance mentorship, love, and motor racing chaos.

You hadn’t meant to become this. You hadn’t planned for the jokes about “grid mum and dad” to stick. But somewhere along the line—somewhere between media sessions and debriefs, late-night calls and race weekend dinners—it had turned real.

And despite all logic, it felt… right.

“I swear if Kimi calls me mum in public again, I’m walking into the ocean,” you muttered.

Max snorted. “I think he does it just to make you flinch.”

“I think he does everything just to make someone flinch.”

Silence again. Comfortable.

Then Max said, “You think they’re gonna be okay this season?”

You didn’t hesitate.

“They’ve got each other,” you said. “And they’ve got us.”

He nodded.

And that was it. That was the truth of it. The unspoken contract written in pasta dinners and post-race pep talks, quiet hallway chats and raucous living room tournaments. The family you never saw coming—but wouldn’t trade for anything.

Not even clean furniture.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The group chat was cursed.

You knew this the moment Jack renamed it “Grid Orphans Anonymous” and Kimi promptly changed it back to “Grid Children of Max & Mum.”

You groaned as the notification pinged at 2:12 a.m. on a race week.

Gabriel:

jack you absolute maniac you left your fireproofs in my hotel room

Jack:

I panicked! we swapped bags after the media thing remember???

also why is there a half-eaten protein bar in the pocket

Isack:

can we please just have one week without emergency?

Oliver:

guys max saw me spill my drink on the simulator

he didn’t say anything

just gave me the look

Kimi:

may God have mercy on your soul

You closed your phone and rolled over to Max, who was half-asleep and glaring at the ceiling like he could feel the idiocy through the walls.

“Tell me again why we let them have our numbers,” he mumbled.

“I don’t know,” you whispered, pulling the duvet up to your ears. “This is your fault. You made eye contact with Oliver once and now you’re legally his father.”

“They need a manager,” he muttered.

“They need a babysitter. A live-in one. With military training.”

Max exhaled. “I’m not old enough to be a dad.”

You rolled onto your side. “Max, you yelled at Gabriel for not bringing a jacket in the rain. And earlier today, you said the phrase, ‘You’ll catch a cold like that.’ You are thirty.”

He blinked into the darkness. “That’s not that old.”

“You also made Kimi take a nap before media day.”

“He was cranky!”

“Oh my God.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Two days later, at a sponsor event, it happened.

You were mid-conversation with a McLaren comms rep when you heard it—clear as day, across the crowd of journalists, VIPs, and crew.

“Hey, Dad, can I borrow your pen?”

Max visibly froze. The world slowed. Cameras clicked. PR reps turned.

Jack was holding out a Sharpie and looking at Max like nothing was wrong with the words he’d just said out loud, in front of dozens of people.

You slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing. Max turned so slowly you thought his neck might snap.

“Don’t—call me that,” he said through clenched teeth.

Jack blinked. “But you are?”

“I’m not your dad, Doohan.”

Jack grinned, unbothered. “Sure, dad.”

You wheezed behind a camera rig.

Later, Max hissed in your ear, “He’s dead. I’m removing him from the will.”

“You’re not even his real father!”

“Exactly!”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The final straw came at 7:04 AM on a blessedly rare day off.

The doorbell rang.

Twice.

Max, still shirtless and half-asleep, cracked the door open to find Oliver and Gabriel standing on your porch with smoothies and matching expressions of deep panic.

“…Why?” was all Max said.

“There’s a sponsor Q&A at nine,” Gabriel said. “They changed the location last night, and our hotel’s shuttle won’t get us there in time.”

Oliver held up a phone with the email. “We’re begging you. We didn’t know who else to call.”

Max looked like he aged ten years in five seconds. “Do I look like an Uber to you?”

You emerged in his hoodie and pajama shorts, took one look at the situation, and sighed like a saint.

“Get in the car,” you said. “No talking. If I don’t get coffee first, I’m leaving you in a parking lot.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Later that day, after the boys had been safely dropped off (with strict instructions not to text before 10 a.m.), Max and you sat in the Red Bull motorhome, sipping your respective drinks in complete silence.

Max finally spoke. “We could’ve had another cat.”

You snorted. “We have enough cats.”

“So?”

“I think you secretly like this.”

“I don’t.”

“You like being the dad.”

“I don’t.”

You leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth. “You do.”

He didn’t argue.

Just laced his fingers with yours under the table, silent and soft.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Somewhere across the paddock, five rookies sent the same text to the same chat:

Oliver:

race weekend dinner at yours again?

Gabriel:

i’ll bring snacks if Max promises not to cook

Kimi:

i’ll win mario kart again. just letting you all know.

Isack:

we should do a team quiz or smth. losers do pushups.

Jack:

do we think mum and dad will ever realize they adopted us

You smiled at the messages as they came in.

Max didn’t even look up from his phone.

“They’re coming for dinner again, aren’t they?”

You grinned. “Yup.”

He sighed. “Fine. But if Jack calls me ‘Dad’ again, I’m unplugging the Switch.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

#max verstappen #max vertsappen fic #mv1 x reader #mv1 #mv1 imagine #formula one #formula 1 #red bull racing #red bull f1 #red bull max #red bull gives you wings #wroetolando

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animamii · 6 months ago

Text

part trois of Toji's Valentine Suprise

contains smuttttt c;

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"You wearin' that anklet I gotcha?" Toji asks, spread out on the recliner. It's only been a few hours since this little impromptu reunion (aka him actually somehow breaking out of prison to see you). You sit on the loveseat, knees bent as your back rests on the arm. Looking like a disheveled mess, hair all sex ruffled, silk slip hanging off of one shoulder. Lips all plump and swollen, glossy and red. Fuckin' perfect in Toji's eyes.

"Uh huh," you stick your pedicured foot out, golden anklet dangling, the little 'TF' written in old english font making a light sound as it softly sways.

"Looks pretty on ya, knew that gold would complement your skin," he hums, grabbing your foot and kissing the top, eyes locked on yours. Your breath hitches for a quick second, you always got so enamored with Toji after he fucks you good. Still in your sex daze, your hands bunch the fabric of the silk slip, somehow growing needy again. Toji continues to look at the anklet, your foot in his grip. "White toes too? My favorite." His thumb brushes the gel polish before he kisses the tips of your toes. But oh, he doesn't stop there.

His scarred lip curls into mischievous smile as he opens his mouth, lips wrapping around a few of your toes. a soft gasp leaves your mouth, and you clutch onto your dress even tighter. Toji's gaze is intense, burning into yours, and you can't help but be drawn in by his raw, unadulterated desire. Your heart races as Toji's mouth closes around your toes, the sensation both strange and exhilarating. You can't help but arch your back slightly, a soft moan escaping your lips.

A deep, satisfied groan rumbles from Toji’s chest as he sucks lightly on your toes, his tongue flicking against the pads before he pulls back with a wet pop. His grip tightens around your ankle, holding you in place as he smirks up at you, watching the way your thighs press together, your lip caught between your teeth.

"What?" His voice is low, teasing. "Too much?" You shake your head, swallowing hard, but your breath is uneven, your body already responding. His thumb strokes over your ankle, grazing the delicate chain, and his smirk widens. "Yeah, that’s what I thought."

Slowly, he drags his lips along the curve of your foot, kissing up your ankle, your shin, taking his sweet time as he watches you squirm. You hate how easily he gets to you, how even the softest touch makes heat pool low in your belly. He knows exactly what he’s doing—knows how to wind you up, how to keep you right on the edge. It pisses you off, really.

You exhale shakily. "You’re so—"

"So what?" Toji murmurs, pressing a kiss to your knee before running his hands up your thighs, spreading them just slightly as he inches closer. "Good to you? Thought you knew that already, baby." He chuckles as he makes that oh so true assumption.

Your nails dig into the fabric of your slip, anticipation making your heart pound against your ribs. "You’re ridiculous," you mutter, cheeks burning red.

Toji chuckles, dark and low, as his hands slide higher. "And yet you still let me do whatever I want with you." His lips ghost over your inner thigh, his breath warm against your sensitive skin. "Ain’t that right?" You bite your lip, nodding without thinking.

"Good girl." His voice is pure satisfaction before he pulls you closer, eyes gleaming with something wicked. "Now, lemme really show you how much I missed you."

Toji’s hands grip your thighs, thumbs rubbing slow, lazy circles into your skin. He’s settled between your legs now, still lounging back like he’s got all the time in the world, like he didn’t just break out of prison to see you. The smug bastard knows exactly what he’s doing, keeping his touch featherlight, dragging out the moment until you’re squirming beneath his gaze.

"T-Toji—" Your breath catches as he kisses the inside of your thigh, lips soft against your overheated skin. He knows just where to kiss, which spots are the most sensitive. Where his open mouthed kisses should be placed precisely that will make you whimper.

"Mm?" He hums, acting like he doesn’t notice the way your fingers twitch against the silk of your slip, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you sane. "What’s wrong, baby? You gettin’ needy on me again?" You glare at him, but it’s weak, and he knows it.

Toji grins, his scarred lip curling up as he presses another kiss, a little higher this time. "Didn’t I just take care of you, huh? Thought that’d be enough to hold you over, but look at you." His hands squeeze your plush thighs, making heat pool in your stomach. "Lookin’ all pretty and desperate again."

You hate how much his teasing affects you, how easily he has you melting under his touch, wrapped around his finger. "You’re so—"

"So good to you?" He finishes for you once again like he wants you to say it, grinning when you huff out a frustrated breath. "Yeah, I know, baby. Ain’t my fault you got no self control when it comes to me."

You open your mouth to argue, but the second you do, his hands tighten, and he pulls you forward, dragging you to the edge of the loveseat with a yelp. Before you can protest, he tugs your legs over his shoulders, his smirk widening as you gasp.

"Relax," he murmurs, thumbs stroking the inside of your thighs. "I got you, baby. I always got you, right?"

Your heart pounds as his mouth gets closer, his breath hot against your skin. "Toji—"

"Shh," he soothes, pressing a lingering kiss over the anklet, right where his initials rest against your skin. "Gonna take my time with you, princess."

Toji’s grip is firm as he spreads your thighs wider, his hands rough against your soft skin. His breath fans over your already soaked panties, making your stomach clench in anticipation. He watches you, dark eyes gleaming, eating up every little twitch, every shaky breath you take. Ohhh how he missed this. How he missed you.

"Fuck, baby." His thumb brushes over the damp fabric, feeling the heat radiating from you. Pulling his thumb back, it's sticky with your arousal, which he licks off with a swipe of his tongue. "You're drippin’ already? Thought you said I was ridiculous—but look at you." He tuts, pressing a teasing kiss right where you need him most, making your hips jerk. Fuckin' tease. "You miss me that bad?"

"Toji—" Your voice is almost a whine, hands gripping the arm of the loveseat like it’ll stop the way your body responds to him so easily. But it’s useless. You always fall apart for him.

He chuckles, low and dark, fingers hooking into the thin fabric of your panties before tugging them down slowly, deliberately, letting the cool air graze over your bare skin. He groans at the sight of you, licking his lips. "Shit, baby. Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen."

Before you can respond, his mouth is on you. A sharp gasp rips from your lips as his tongue flicks over your clit, slow at first, teasing, just to watch you squirm. But Toji’s never been a patient man, and he wants you to come undone. His tongue moves expertly, with a distinct precision because he always knows exactly what he's doing, switching between broad strokes and tight circles, sucking at just the right moments. He knows your body best, knows just what to do to make you unravel. The obscene sounds of his mouth working against you only make it worse—make you needier.

"Fuck, Toji—" You arch, hands flying to his hair, fingers tangling in his dark strands, tugging. He groans at that, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you. Your sweet as candy voice always made him melt, made his heartstrings tug.

"That’s it, baby," he rasps between licks, voice dripping with satisfaction. "Pull my hair, ride my fuckin’ face. I want you to. I know you want to too."

You don’t need to be told twice. Your hips move on their own, grinding against his tongue as he groans, eating you like a starved man. His hands grip your thighs tighter, keeping you exactly where he wants you, dragging you even closer, like he can’t get enough. Guiding your hips, helping you fuck his face.

"T-Toji, I—" You feel the pressure building, that tight coil in your stomach about to snap. He knows it, too. He can feel it in the way your thighs shake, in the way your fingers grip his hair even tighter. Your heel digs into his back, forcing his face into your coochie, basically having him in a headlock.

"C’mon, baby," he coaxes, voice rough with his own need. "Gimme what I want. Let me taste you."

It’s the filthy desperation in his voice that sends you over the edge. Your body tenses before shattering, pleasure rolling through you in waves as Toji keeps going, licking and sucking you through it, groaning against you as he drinks it all in. When you finally go limp, breathless and trembling, he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, chin glistening with your slickness, smirking like he just won the fucking lottery.

"Told you, baby," he murmurs, pressing one last kiss to your overstimulated clit, making you whimper, your hips bucking. "I always take care of what’s mine."

Toji’s fingers trail over your trembling thighs, lazy and possessive, as you struggle to catch your breath. He’s still between your legs, lips glistening, gaze locked onto you like he’s debating whether to ruin you all over again. But his eyes drop lower—to your ankle, where that delicate gold chain rests against your skin, his initials catching in the dim light.

A slow, satisfied smirk spreads across his lips. "Knew that anklet would look good on you," he murmurs, fingers tracing over it, letting the tiny ‘TF’ pendant sway against your skin. "Y’know why I got this for you, huh doll?"

You swallow hard, body still buzzing from your orgasm, but Toji doesn’t like being ignored. His fingers slide up your calf, grip tightening just enough to make you focus.

"I asked you a question, princess."

"Toji..." Your voice is soft, breathless, and he loves it.

"C’mon," he coaxes, tilting his head, fingers playing with the charm. "Why do you think I put my name right there? Hmm?" His thumb presses against the anklet, dragging over your skin. Even an innocent touch like that has you tingling in all the right places, Like anything he does to you gives you that pleasure. "Right on this pretty lil’ ankle? You know what it means, don’tcha?"

Butterflies form inside your stomach at the implication, heat rushing through your veins. He watches the realization dawn on your face, the way you shift beneath his intense gaze, biting your lip.

"Say it," he urges, voice dipping into something darker, hungrier. You hesitate, and that will not do.

With a deep chuckle, Toji moves fast—grabbing your ankle, lifting your leg up over his shoulder, your body stretched out beneath him. His free hand slides up your thigh, his grip firm, possessive. The weight of him, the heat of him, makes your head spin.

"This lil’ thing?" He flicks the charm, letting it dangle. "It means you’re mine, baby. My girl. My name right here, sittin’ pretty on your ankle—so everyone knows exactly who the fuck you belong to."

You shudder, something needy stirring deep inside you. Toji always had a way of branding you without even trying. His touch, his voice, the way he owned every piece of you without question.

"You like that, huh?" His smirk widens as he leans in, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses up your calf, stopping right where the anklet rests. "Bet you think about me every time you see it. Every time you feel it brush against your skin." He kisses the charm, tongue flicking against the cool metal before his teeth scrape over it. Your breath stutters.

"T-Toji—"

"Mmm, that’s right, baby," he groans against your skin, his grip tightening. "Go on, say it. Say who you belong to."

You hesitate, brain still hazy, but then he bites just below your anklet, just enough to make you gasp—just enough to send a shock of pleasure straight to your core.

"Toji—fuck! I—"

"Yeah, you do, baby," he rasps, hot and breathy against your skin. "Say it."

Your nails dig into the cushions, your body on fire, already craving more. "I’m yours, Toji."

He lets out a dark, satisfied chuckle, teeth grazing your ankle one last time before he shifts, pressing you deeper into the loveseat, his weight heavy, suffocating in the best way.

"Damn right you are," he mutters, lips trailing down your neck, hands spreading your thighs again as he fits himself in the gap. "And now I’m gonna make sure you never forget it."

With two fingers he grabs the leftover slickness that was still coating your sex, and he uses it to lube up his cock like the sick man he is. You didn't even notice that he had pulled it out, only seeing as he pumps himself a few times. With a little plaat! he slaps your clit with his heavy length, making you jolt, your puffy clit still trying to recover from the overstimulation.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, watching the way you react to him. "So fuckin’ sensitive for me. You want it, huh?" His cock drags through your folds, the thick head nudging your entrance, teasing. "Say it."

Your breath hitches, hands gripping at his arms, nails digging into the muscle. "I want it, Toji. Please."

His smirk deepens, enjoying the desperation in your voice. "That’s my good girl." And with one slow, deliberate roll of his hips, he sinks into you, stretching you open inch by inch, making sure you feel every bit of him.

A strangled moan rips from your throat as he bottoms out, your walls fluttering around him. "Shit, baby. Always so tight for me," he grits out, eyes locked onto yours, watching the way your face contorts with pleasure.

He stills for a second, letting you adjust, but the way your body clenches around him has his control hanging by a thread. "You okay, princess?"

You nod frantically, fingers digging into his biceps. "Move, Toji. Please." Even through your hazy overstimulation, you were still such a needy needy girl for him.

That’s all he needs. His hips pull back before slamming forward, setting a deep, brutal pace that has your back arching off the loveseat. Each thrust pushes you further into the cushions, the force of it making your anklet jingle softly, like a taunting reminder of who you belong to.

"Listen to that," he rasps, his hand gripping your ankle again, lifting your leg higher. "That sound, baby—know what it means? Means I own this fuckin’ pussy." He looks at the anklet that is now next to his head, he smirks, "And this means I own you. Told ya this would be dangling over my shoulder soon." He flicks the charm in a cocky almost patronizing way, letting it sway back and forth, back and forth.

Your moans come faster, broken, desperate, and Toji eats it up, his pace only growing rougher. "Fuck, you take me so good," he groans, watching the way your body welcomes him, your slick coating his cock, making it easier for him to drive deeper. "No one else can have you like this. Only me. Say it."

"Only you, Toji!" You cry out, body trembling, nails raking down his back. Bottom lip jutted out, the cutest of needy pouts on your face. It makes Toji smile for a second, not smirk but smile. Even so fucked out you looked so cute. But then the way your walls squeeze around his thickness makes him go feral once more.

"That’s right, baby," he growls, leaning down, his lips ghosting over yours. "Mine. No matter what, no matter where I'm at. It's only mine." Your stomach clenches at his words, the possessiveness in his voice making your head spin. You barely manage a nod, overwhelmed by the way he’s filling you, owning you completely.

His lips crash into yours, swallowing your whimpers as he thrusts into you with deep, deliberate strokes. His grip on your ankle tightens, pressing it against his shoulder, the anklet dangling right beside his cheek, swinging in time with each snap of his hips. Toji groans, burying himself deeper, his cock dragging along that spot that has your toes curling. This turns you into a babbling, moaning mess. Toji can't help but let out a moaned-out chuckle, proud of your undoing that he caused.

His pace is ruthless now, hands gripping your hips, pulling you into every thrust. The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping, your breathy moans mixing with his low, guttural groans. The pressure in your core builds, unbearable, white-hot pleasure creeping up your spine.

"T-Toji—fuck, I—"

"I got you, baby," he grits out, sweat dripping down his temples as he keeps driving into you. "Let go. Show me who this pussy belongs to."

His fingers drop to your clit, rubbing tight, skilled circles, and that’s it—you shatter, pleasure ripping through you as you cry out his name, your body locking up before trembling beneath him.

Toji watches in awe—in that loving adoration he always does, drinking in the way your walls grip him—the way they flutter, your face twisted in pleasure—the pretty way your brow furrows and the way your eyes are glossy and glazed over, your anklet still swaying with every movement,. "Fuck, baby—gonna cum—"

He barely pulls out in time, pumping his thick length, ropes of hot cum spilling onto your stomach, your thighs. He groans your name, breath ragged, before collapsing against you, body heavy and warm.

For a moment, neither of you speak, just panting in the aftermath, bodies still buzzing. Then, Toji lifts his head, eyes flicking down to the mess he’s made of you—of your trembling thighs, the slick between them, the way his initials on that anklet stand out against your flushed skin.

A slow, satisfied smirk stretches across his lips. "Told you, baby." His fingers brush over the chain, still admiring his claim on you. "Looks even better when it’s right where it belongs."

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like the doctor ordered c; @livv-in-color

tags ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ @psoycy @yourname-exee @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @universallydepressed13 @cheolliehugs @xinarii @blendingcaramal @k-a-m232 @stainednailpolishremover

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livwritessometimes · 1 year ago

Text

Enough For You - Lando Norris

: Lando Norris x Reader

: All Y/n wanted was to be enough for Lando

: Series Masterlist

: Main Masterlist

: Author's Note - I had been so busy with work that this kept on getting delayed but anyways it's finally here! lmk what you think.

…

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👤: landonorris

Yourname: Running around the city with my favourite papaya boy (Osc yk it's always you he paid me to say that)! At this point I deserve an award for how many years I've put up with your antics <3

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oscarpiastri: Wow so this is what betrayal feels like (It's okay i know I'm your favourite, let little Lando Norris have his fun)

-> landonorris: i- bitch please I'm older than you

-> yourname: @/landonorris shhhh let the grown ups talk

*liked by oscarpiastri*

landonorris: oh please you love it!

-> yourname: do I now?

-> landonorris: 😏

-> User73: THIS SEXUAL TENSION AHHH!!!!!

-> User21: And then they say "we're just friends" ya just friends my ass

User93: Hmm so Lando spent his only day off during race week with y/n....interesting

Y/n waved as she watched Lando drive away from her doorstep. Today had been like a fever dream. When Lando called her, asking to spend time with her, Y/n was over the moon. It was like wishing for something and having it come true. As she entered the house, she got a text from Lando:

Lando 🧡: I had a lot fun! thanks for keeping me company today!

Smiling to herself, Y/n made her way into her bedroom. There at the vanity mirror was a photo of her and Lando from when they were 18 years old. It was the night they both went for a bonfire with some of their friends. It was also the first time Y/n realised that she was madly in love with Lando. She doesn't know if it was the melted marshmallow that he somehow managed to get in his hair or the fact that he noticed her getting cold amongst so many people at the bonfire and offered her his hoodie, a hoodie that she still wears to this date, but somehow, surrounded by friends, all Y/n could see was Lando, sitting on a wooden log, looking back at her from between the flames that rose from the wood.

As she got ready for the night Y/n got another text from Lando:

Lando 🧡: Just got home

Lando 🧡: Again thanks for today, everyone I called was busy or just didn't want to go. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there

And the bittersweet feeling was back again. For Y/n, Lando was the sun; he was the center of everything. There was not a day that went by without him not being on her mind - their impromptu coffee runs, their inside jokes, their stolen glances. Yet every time Y/n let herself believe that something was going to happen between them, she was always met with disappointment. It seemed like she was always a convenient option for Lando. Someone he'd come to when he had no one around but would easily disregard when he found someone more exciting. Y/n thinks about all those times she spent crying because she felt used. About the time when Lando threw her a birthday party and then proceeded to spend the entire night hitting on almost every girl present at the venue. The worst part is that Y/n wasn't even mad; instead, she was sad about the fact that she wasn't one of the girls. All she would ask for at every birthday wish, every 11:11, every rainbow she saw was for Lando to finally see her.

Y/n could feel herself get emotional, so she decided to browse through her phone, when she got a notification on Twitter.

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👤: landonorris

LN4Updates: Lando Norris in today's twitch stream!!

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User32: hmm ok let me quickly just go and bleach my entire head 🏃🏻‍♀️

User43: He does seem like he would like blondes more

-> User51: What do you mean?

-> User43: Idk blondes are prettier, they seem to have more fun and lando is the kinda guy that enjoys that ig

Yourname added to their story!

seen by carmenmmundt and 65,821 others

| User93 replied to your story

-> are you perhaps maybe idk just taking a wild guess here could be absolutely off dying your hair b****e??

One thing that Y/n was extremely grateful for in her friendship with Lando was being able to befriend George. Over the years, he had become like a brother to her, and because of George, she also got to know Carmen. She was like a breath of fresh air, and Y/n doesn't know how she would manage her life now without Carmen by her side. The moment they met, it was like they had known each other their whole lives. Carmen was always protective of Y/n. All those times that Y/n found herself crying over Lando, Carmen was always there with her, consoling her. She knows that Carmen wants the best for her and that she's disappointed that Y/n is dying her hair to make Lando like her more, but how can she not? The boy of your dreams likes blondes more, and she would do anything to make him like her. Looking up at the mirror, Y/n stared at her tied-up brunette locks. In the reflection, she caught sight of a book kept on top of her table. She let out a bitter chuckle, remembering the time Lando had posted that book and talked about how impressed he was with it. Like an idiot, Y/n got that book and read it word for word, in hopes that Lando would think that she is smart and that they have more in common than he might think. Instead, Lando barely even registered her comment about the book; he was more focused on the waitress who was taking their order.

liked by landonorris and 4,92,372 others

👤: yourname

whowhatwear: In this month's cover story, we uncover all the aspects of Y/n L/n's personality we don't get to see on the internet. From starting her modeling career to being heavily involved in Formula 1 ("I got into F1 because of a close friend of mine and since then I have done everything I can to support women in motorsports"), we discuss life struggles, personal growth and more in this month's cover at the link in our bio.

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Yourname: Thank you so much for having me!!! I can't wait for everyone to see this month's edition <3

*liked by whowhatwear*

User88: umm hello since when did you go BLONDEEEEE 👱🏻‍♀️

-> User02: I swearrr! i screamed so loud when I saw thisss

carmenmmundt: SO PROUD OF YOU!!!!!

*liked by Yourname*

-> Yourname: Ahhh thank you Carrr 💕

-> User66: I want what they have!

landonorris: You look absolutely breathtaking in this one @/yourname

*liked by Yourname*

User09: I feel like I have died and reached heaven <3

User69: Serve queen 👸🏼

landonorris: Can't takle my eyes off this post!!! Running to get the copy 🏃🏻💨

*liked by Yourname*

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👤: landonorris

yourname: Did someone say tanning season ☀️

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User88: And then they say "we're just friends"

-> User02: I swearrr

landonorris: Prettiest blonde I know

-> yourname: 🙈🙈

User93: @/landonorris whatever you're recording over there, we better get that clip or else

landonorris: The sun came out pretty good didn't it 🤭

-> yourname: It did! I wonder who the artist was

-> landonorris: Must be someone amazing, I mean mad skills right there 🔥

-> User43: HE DREW A SUN ON HER!!!!!!!

liked by yourname and 102,832 others

👤: team_quadrant, riabish

landonorris: SPEEDCO is out now on quadrant.gg check it out!!! Also watch me and ria slay

view all 85,925 comments

riabish: Letsgooo 🙌🏻

riabish: The best looking duo out there!!!

-> landonorris: you know it 😏

User62: you guys look soo goood togetherrrr

-> User55: ikrrr like date already!!

landonorris added to their story!

seen by User06 and 91,298 others

| User06 replied to your story

-> Love Party Boy!Lando 🍾

Lando quickly posted a story before he kept his phone back and continued to talk to the girl in front of him. George, Lando, Charles, and a couple of other drivers had decided to go clubbing before race week, and so here Lando was surrounded by friends, enjoying himself. So lost in his conversation, Lando did not notice three pairs of eyes on him. From afar, Y/n, Carmen, and George watched Lando interact with some blonde girl. The three of them had decided to come together for the club.

Y/n felt like laughing at her fate; no matter what she does, he still won't pay attention to her the way she wants him to. Even with her now blonde hair, he was still talking to someone else. Lando made his way towards the trio with the girl from earlier. "Hey, mate, how's it going?" he asked George before turning towards Carmen and saying, "Carmen! It's always a pleasure to see you. You look fabulous, by the way." Lando turned towards Y/n and gave her a nod before taking a sip from his drink, not bothering to say anything else.

"Good mate, don't you want to, say, compliment Y/n too?" George asked, having seen the look of hurt on Y/n's face when Lando didn't say anything about her. "Nah mate, yk it's just Y/n; she's not the compliment type," Lando said before laughing and throwing an arm around Y/n's shoulder.

Pain, hurt, and embarrassment. That's all Y/n felt under Lando's embrace. She could see the girl from earlier smirking at Y/n after Lando's comment. Suddenly she felt hot, the kind of hot that makes you want to disappear entirely. Carmen saw right through Y/n's fake smile after what Lando had just said. She knew Y/n needed a moment alone, away from this scene and, most importantly, away from Lando. "Y/n I wanted to go touch up my makeup. Would you accompany me to the restroom?" Carmen said and grabbed Y/n's hand, pulling her towards the restroom.

George and Lando went to the bar to get another drink when George said, "You know, that was kinda mean back there." Lando looked at George, confused. "What you said to Y/n," said George. Lando just shrugged and said, "Yk, how it is with me and her, we're always like this." "Do you know she likes you, like more than a friend?" George couldn't help himself; he knew he'd hear from Carmen and Y/n about this, but he just couldn't control himself. "What?" Lando looked at George, a little shocked. "Ya man, she does. Idk why you keep on chasing these meaningless girls when you have someone as amazing as Y/n by your side, and what for some hours of pleasure?" George said this before he took a sip of his drink and looked at Lando. "Why didn't she say anything?" George just shrugged at that. Lando's mind went back to all the interactions they've ever had, trying to piece together a moment that might confirm this theory that George had just blurted out.

Meanwhile, in the restroom, Carmen was trying to calm down Y/n "He's just stupid; don't listen to him. You know how many people have come up to try to talk to you today. Don't let him ruin your night," said Carmen. Y/n running hands through her hair, "Ya, but none of them were him, and now he just went ahead and embarrassed me in front of everyone like that." Taking a deep breath, Y/n said, "I think I want to go home. Ya, I'll see you tomorrow for the practice." With that, Y/n rushed out of the restroom and towards the exit.

Lando saw Y/n leave in a rush and followed her. "Y/n," "Y/n wait up." She heard Lando's voice but continued to make her way towards the exit to book a cab for herself. "Wait up, where are you going? And are you booking a cab? It's not safe to take a cab this late," Lando said as he caught up with her at the exit. "It's okay; I'll manage just fine. You can go back to the party now," Y/n replied bitterly before typing in her address. Just as she was about to confirm the cab, Lando took her phone from her hand. "WHAT?" Y/n said a little louder than she had intended to, making a few people look their way. "I'll drop you; please, let me," Lando said before he took her hand and led her to his car.

The journey was filled with silence; not a single word was exchanged between the two of them. Not even a single glance—well, not from Y/n at least—because Lando kept looking at her every few minutes or so. Growing tired of this weird air in the car, Y/n asked, "Do you want to say anything?" Lando just looked back at her without saying anything. "If not, then please stop looking at me again and again," Y/n said. "I can't help it; you look absolutely stunning," said Lando. Y/n scoffed at that comment before saying, "Oh, why the praise? I thought I wasn't the compliment type." Lando internally regrets saying that now. "Look, I know that you like me. George told me," Y/n felt her heart drop, waiting for Lando to continue, to tell her that he was not interested in her and that she could never be his type- "And I want to give this a try," said Lando, breaking her from her thoughts. "Whatt?" Y/n, not believing her ears, asked again. "What do you mean by you want to give this a chance?" Lando stopped the car at the traffic light before turning to look at Y/n. Taking a hold of her hand, he said, "I want to see where this goes. We have such great chemistry, and everyone else also seems to think the same. I want to give us a try." "So, what do you say, Y/n, L/n? Will you date me?" Lando looked at Y/n, expecting her to answer; what he didn't expect was for her to pull him in for a kiss. It was only when the car behind them started honking that they pulled away from each other. Lando drove Y/n back to her house. The car was filled with silence again, but this time, rather than tension, it was filled with this newfound excitement.

liked by yourname and 182,822 others

👤: Yourname

landonorris: Another week, Another race!! let's make the most of this one 🧡

view all 85,925 comments

User22: Ummmm so are you not gonna talk about how YOU'RE KISSING Y/N

User01: Ofc betrayed by my favourite driver 💔

Yourname: Let's get podium this week

*liked by landonorris*

-> mclaren: Yess let’s goooo 🏆

*liked by landonorris, Yourname*

liked by User22 and 101,282 others

👤: f1

Formula1Updates: Sebastian Vettel bids farewell to Formula 1. Lewis Hamilton organized a celebratory dinner in honor of the legendary Vettel. All drivers gather together with their wives/girlfriends to celebrate the fantastic journey of Seb. Here is a photo of all the drivers outside the restaurant. Click the link in the bio to learn more!

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User22: The end of an era!!!

Y/n looked around at all the people that had gathered here to celebrate Seb. She had not known him for that long, but when she needed him; he was there for her. It is funny how they first met; it was the race after Y/n's birthday, and Lando had invited her to the paddock as a way to make up to her for ignoring Y/n during her birthday party, which he threw. Y/n was so excited to spend time with him, but all that excitement died down when she got to know that Lando had also invited some of his other friends. Still, she tried to get along with everyone for Lando's sake but it was of no use. Lando barely exchanged a few words with her, instead he spent his entire time with his other friends, which included a bunch of models from Instagram. Y/n remembers how she had gone for a walk in hopes to make her self feel better when she ran into Seb. He just had a way with people, upon seeing her Seb immediately knew something was wrong and what was meant to be a quick 5 min walk to clear her mind turned into a 2 hour ranting session for Y/n. Rest is all history, since then Seb sort of took Y/n under his guidance, always giving her advise when she needed it.

Y/n felt someone stand next to her, and when she turned, she was face-to-face with the man of the evening himself. "Not getting bored, are you?" Seb asked Y/n while giving her a little nudge. "Of course not, just sad that I won't get to see you in the paddock anymore," Y/n said as she let out a sign. Gently pulling her in for a side hug, Seb said, "I see you got the guy!" This caused Y/n to turn her attention to Lando. There he was, the boy she had fallen in love with a long time ago, falling in love with her too. It was as if he could sense her gaze, because at that moment Lando turned to look at Y/n and smiled at her before going to talk to more people present at the party. "Yes, now you no longer have to listen to me mope over him, huh?" Y/n said as she smiled at Seb. "Just know that if he ever breaks your heart, I'll slash his tyres," Seb playfully threatened as he took a sip of his drink. Y/n laughed at his comment before excusing herself to go talk to Alexandra and Carmen.

After a while of chatting, Y/n started to wonder where Lando was. Making her way around the room, she saw him talking to some brunettes. So many people were invited that Y/n had no clue who most of them were. As she made her way towards Lando, she saw the girl raise her hand to fix his hair. Y/n could feel jealousy brewing in her. Quickly making her way towards him, she threw an arm around his waist and greeted him. "Hey, babe, where have you been? They are about to serve dinner; I thought I should come and get you," Y/n said as she looked at the girl in front of her. "Oh yeah, let's get going. I'll talk to you later, Luisa. It was lovely meeting you here, and again, you look amazing. Have a great night," Lando said as he wrapped his arm around Y/n and started walking towards the dining area with her. Y/n forced herself to smile; she told herself that it's okay; Lando is with her now. All these meaningless compliments to other girls are not going to do anything to change that. At the end of the day, she gets to go home with him, not them, and that's enough. Y/n knew there was no point in dwelling on this; it was not going to do her any good, and if she brought it up, it might cause a fight between them. So instead, Y/n turned her attention to the food in front of her and the people around her. Taking part in their conversation, so she could forget the thoughts plaguing her mind.

liked by landonorris and 76,730 others

👤: landonorris, carmenmmundt

yourname: Too many memories, too many people to tag! What a dinner it was Lewis! Gonna miss having Seb around 🫂

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sebastianvettel: Gonna miss terrorizing mclaren with you @/Yourname

*liked by Yourname*

-> mclaren: 😟

lewishamilton: Thank you Y/n <3 Really glad you we're able to make it

*liked by Yourname*

carmenmmundt: It's you and me against the world 💕

-> Yourname: Forever and ever 🤞🏻

*liked by carmenmmundt*

User68: Okay but way hasn't Lando commented???

liked by yourname and 120,732 others

👤: maxfewtrell, luisinhaoliveira99

landonorris: Had one of the best trips in Dubai!!! Can't wait to visit again 🌵

view all 82,032 comments

maxfewtrell: Best part was when you fell from the camel 😂

-> landonorris: what the hell mate!! you were supposed to keep that a secret

User01: Shirtless landooo 🤤

User48: Omgggg Lando and Luisa look so cuteeeee

-> User03: Dudee he has a gf why would you ship him with her??

-> User48: Honestly I think they look better together

Y/n felt hurt and disappointed. Boys trip! That's what Lando had said, so when she saw him post pictures with Luisa, she felt her heart sank. For a moment, Y/n was still ready to ignore this; maybe she was there at the same time, or maybe they did plan to go. Who cares? She trusts Lando, and that's all that should matter. But all the comments under his post talking about how he looks better with Luisa and how Lando and Y/n should have never gotten together made her question everything.

Unable to think straight, Y/n called Lando:

Lando: Hey, babe (he greeted cheerfully)

Y/n: (For a second, Y/n wanted to forget about all of this and just not make things worse between them) Hey Lan, How was the trip?

Lando: Oh, it was great. I had so much fun; the boys and I went on a safari and all too!! It was just amazing

Y/n: Oh, did the boys have fun?

Lando: Yes, it was honestly one of the best trips I've ever been on

Y/n: Why was Luisa with you guys? (Y/n went straight to the topic, tired of beating around the bush)

Lando: (hesitant) What do you mean, she came on the trip with us?

Y/n: You never told me she was also going. Why did she go anyway? I thought it was just an "all boys trip," or is Luisa one of the boys now?

Lando: What do you even mean? Of course not. Luisa came because I invited her. That day at Seb's dinner, we had such a good conversation that I asked her if she wanted to come with us. I mean, what's the big deal anyway?

Y/n: What's the big deal? The big deal is that you failed to mention to your girlfriend, who is still me, that you were going on a trip with another girl who, by the way, you met a couple of weeks ago. And now you're telling me you invited her?? Do you see why I am having a hard time trying to wrap my head around this?

Lando: Honestly, you're making a bigger deal than it actually is. Ya, so I invited her. It's not like I fucked her or anything, and forgive me if inviting a friend on a trip is a crime.

Y/n: A friend I'd still understand; she's not your friend Lando, and if anything, you should have asked me to come and not her!

Lando: Is that what the problem is—you're jealous I didn't invite you? Honestly, Y/n that's just pathetic, even for you. Your constant need to be around me 24/7 is so annoying sometimes. Do you ever think that maybe I invited Luisa because I can't stand this clingy behaviour of yours? But, of course, you'd never think about how you might be at fault here. I just feel like you can never be satisfied, like ever. Every time I talk to a girl, you have an issue. I mean, if it's such a huge issue, then let's just end things. That would make things a lot simpler for the both of us.

Y/n: No, wait, I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry if you felt like that. I had no idea that you were feeling like that. I swear, I don't have an issue with you interacting with other girls. It's just all these comments online that have been getting to me.

Lando: You know, they always say random things. People ship me with any beautiful girl they see me with, but that doesn't mean that it will come true. You should be so easy to control that even meaningless comments get to you.

Y/n: Ya, I'm sorry

Lando: It's okay. Now, what are you doing tonight? There is a party I want to attend, and I wanted to know if you'd like to come with me

Y/n: Oh, nothing, I'm free. Pick me up at 8?

Lando: You got it! Anyway, I should get going.

Y/n: Bye, I love yo-(Lando hung up before she could finish)

Signing to herself, Y/n opened her chat with Carmen

Y/n: Hey, sorry to inform you at the last minute, but something came up and I won't be able to make it tonight. (Y/n felt guilty about ditching Carmen on their movie night. She knew if she told her the real reason, Carmen would be extremely upset with Y/n, but more than that, angry at Lando)

Carmen 🤎: Is everything okay??

Y/n: Ya, ya, everything is fine. I just remembered this thing I had to complete that I forgot because I kept on procrastinating.

Carmen 🤎: Ofc you'd do that 🤦🏻‍♀️ How many times have I told you to use the planner I gave you? It would make life so much simpler for you

Y/n: Ikkkk I'll use it again next time!! I swear 🫶🏻

Carmen 🤎: Good 😌

Yourname added to their story!

seen by carmenmmundt and 73,028others

| carmenmmundt replied to your story

-> You're out partying again??

Yourname: Ya! Lando got invited to this club so now we're here patyinggg

| landonorris replied to your story

-> Where did you gooo?? come backkkkk i msisss youhhh

Yourname: are you drunk?? lol ok I'm omw to find you <3

liked by User82 and 81,728 others

👤: landonorris, luisinhaoliveira99

LN4Updates: Lando Norris and Luisinha Oliveira were spotted in the Mclaren vicinity. The two previously went on a trip together to Dubai. Fans on Twitter are convinced that these two are seeing each other and that Norris and Y/n L/n have broken up, but there is no confirmation from all the parties involved. From what we can gather, Norris and Oliveira seemed to have a friendly conversation. Some fans present at the race claim that they saw Norris being a little more affectionate towards Oliveira, but nothing can be said for certain. Is this the end of Norris and L/n, or is there more to the story?

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User20: NOO don't tell me they broke up!!!

User82: Honestly I kinda knew this was gonna happen. I mean Y/n is not really Lando's type. I was really surprised when they had announced they were dating

-> User08: Okay but who asked you for your opinion?? They are perfect

-> User77: I'd have to disagree. Lando and Luisa are more compatible you just don't want to accept the fact that lany/n are not that great

Y/n was fuming. She felt as if someone had slapped her right across the face. Even after letting Lando know about her concerns and reservations about him hanging out with Luisa, he went ahead and did it again. Was this the reason why Lando urged Y/n to take a break from the constant travelling? So that he could have Luisa in the paddock with him? Y/n was disgusted; she felt used and discarded. She changed everything about herself—her hair, the way she dresses, the way she talks—hell, she even started to go to his stupid parties with him to make him like her more. There is always a breaking point in everyone's life, and Y/n had reached that.

Y/n could feel hurt and anger taking over when she heard the front door of her house open. Lando was home from the race. Without wasting a second, Y/n barged into the living room, only to find Lando relaxing on the couch. "How dare you!" Y/n screamed at Lando. If she wasn't so mad, she would have laughed at Lando's confused expression. "What? What do you mean?" asked Lando. "Don't play dumb with me. I told you how I felt about her, and yet you still invited her to the paddock." Y/n could feel tears pricking her eyes. "What? Luisa? How many times do we have to go through this? At this point, I might as well date her. Because clearly, that's what you think I am doing anyway. You might as well make your wish come true," Lando finished. "I hate you, Lando Norris. I fucking hate you so much. I changed everything EVERYTHING for you. I wanted to be like all those girls you usually like. I changed the way I wear makeup; I changed my freaking hair color because you said you liked blondes more in a stupid stream." Y/n let out a shaky breath before continuing. "When you told me you wanted to give us a try, I was so happy. It felt like the universe had finally heard my prayers. I was so happy that I spent the entire night lying on my bed with a huge smile on my face. You know, I always feared that this would happen. I knew that you'd leave me the second you'd find someone more exciting," Y/n said as she wiped the tears streaming down her face. "I had no idea you felt like this," Lando said. For a second, he almost sounded genuine, like he finally saw how his actions had affected Y/n. "I'm sorry you felt that way," Lando said as he looked back at her. "It's a little too late for sorry now, Lando. You have done the damage," Y/n said. "I said I was sorry. Why can't that be enough for you? What do you want me to do? Stop talking to every girl I ever see." Lando said, getting frustrated with how things were going. "I should have known that this was just a waste of time. I would have had such an easy life if George hadn't opened his big mouth and blabbered about how my life would be much better if I just gave you a try and stopped chasing after meaningless pleasure. If only I had known that I was just choosing one meaningless pleasure over another," Lando said as he finally let his frustration take over. Y/n couldn't take it anymore. "Get out! Just get the hell out of my house. I don't want to see your face ever again. I regret the day I met you. I regret it with every fibre present in my body," Y/n said as she watched Lando leave her house, but not before slamming the front door shut.

Y/n broke down, sinking to the floor. She took her phone out to text Carmen.

landonorris added to their story!

seen by luisinhaoliveira99 and 91,298 others

| luisinhaoliveira99 replied to your story

-> ❤️‍🔥

liked by luisinhaoliveira99 and 100,789 others

👤: luisinhaoliveira99

landonorris: Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years 💕

view all 71,873 comments

User02: Wait does this mean that Lando and Y/n are no longer together??

-> User54: Did you not see the story Lando posted the other day?? I think that was enough to confirm that 💔

User98: He used lyrics from loverrr!!!! this boy is down bad

luisinhaoliveira99: Can we always be this close! Forever and ever <3

*liked by landonorris*

User82: I'm happy that he is happy but isn't this too soon? like he just broke up with Y/n. I mean the least we can do is wait for a month or something not just a few days!!!

-> User66: That's so true! I was thinking the same thing. I mean unless....This has been going on for a while! That's the only explanation cause why else would he jump into a new relationship so quickly??

-> User82: I mean it could be! Do you think this is why George unfollowed Lando??

Y/n saw Lando's post, confirming that he was with Luisa. Y/n hated that girl. She had everything Y/n could have wanted, and she didn't even have to change herself to get Lando's attention. Tired of feeling sorry for herself, Y/n made her way to her bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, all she could see was a part of her that she no longer liked. A pathetic part of her that tried everything just so she could get a boy to love her longer. Frustrated, she got into her car and drove to the salon she always goes to. It was about time she felt like her old self again, and the easiest step in that direction was getting rid of the sad blonde locks that covered her head.

Yourname added to their story!

seen by carmenmmundt and 65,821 others

| User93 replied to your story

-> Yessss the queen is backkkkk 👑

liked by User22 and 101,282 others

👤: Yourname, shawnmendes

F1Gossip: Bye bye Lando! Y/n L/n, the former girlfriend of Lando Norris, was spotted getting cozy with singer/songwriter Shawn Mendes. The two reportedly first met when they were doing a campaign together for Tommy Hilfiger. Ever since the announcement of Norris's new relationship, L/n has become radio silent. Apart from posting a single story and work-related content, L/n has left her fans guessing about what's been going on with her life. Neither Mendes nor L/n have commented on the paparazzi photos that captured them looking anything but friendly. Is there a new couple on the block or are they "Just Friends?" Stay tuned for more updates on this situation!

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User11: Ohhhh not the "Just friends" shadeeee 🫢

liked by Yourname and 143,086 others

👤: Yourname

shawnmendes: Nothing to see here, just me, my beautiful girlfriend, and our little baby 🦮

view all 121,872 comments

Yourname: The most perfect family I could have ever asked for <3

-> shawnmendes: ❤️

*liked by Yourname*

carmenmmundt: When do i get to meet the most handsome boy in the world???

-> georgerussell63: what do you mean? I just saw you

-> Yourname: 😀

-> shawnmendes: 😀

-> carmenmmundt: 😀

-> georgerussell63: 😌

georgerussell63: The baby in question is a grown ass dog that tried to chew my shoes the other day

-> Yourname: Your fault, should have just let him bite you instead 😒

-> georgerussell63: 😨

-> mercedesamgf1: please give us our George back safe and sound 🥺

User33: Omggggggg Y/n looks so hapyyyyyy and they have a doggggg together!!!! my hearttttt

liked by User22 and 68,028 others

👤: f1

AllthingsF1: Trouble in paradise? Lando Norris and Luisinha Oliveira were seen engaged in a heated argument right before today's qualifying. This comes at a time when Norris has been going through a rough patch these past few races; from constant crashes to DNFs, Norris can't seem to catch a break. Is this off-track drama affecting his performance, or is this simply a coincidence? Some also believe that this could also be the result of Y/n L/n announcing her new relationship. Could this be the downfall for Lando Norris, on and off track?

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liked by User22 and 101,282 others

👤: landonorris, mclaren

F1Tea: Lando Norris is out of the race again! After yet another crash, the chances of Norris and McLaren doing well in the championship seem to be decreasing, race by race. Many fans blame Norris for getting distracted and not performing at his best. Some believe that this poor performance is the result of issues Norris has been facing in his personal life. After his breakup with Luisinha Oliveira, Norris has not been coping that well. Norris also seemed to like a few tweets (now unliked) about his relationship with Y/n L/n. Norris broke up with L/n a few months ago, after which the two have not been in contact. He also immediately got together with Oliveira after their breakup. It's about time that Norris gets out of this slump he's been going through if he wants to hold on to his Formula 1 dream.

view all 65,029 comments

Y/n closed her phone when she heard the front door open, following which she heard a loud bark, and before she knew it, through came her little fur baby, ready to give her all the cuddles in the world. She looked up from her spot on the cough and saw Shawn enter the room holding up a bag of muffins. "Blueberry?" Y/n asked with a hint of excitement in her voice. "You know it! I saw it on my way back and knew how you were craving these. So I got a bunch of them," Shawn said as he kept the baked goods on the counter and made his way towards the couch. "What happened?" Shawn asked, noticing how Y/n looked a little distracted. "Nothing; I just got a text from Lando," Y/n said before looking back at Shawn. "Why? Did he say anything stupid? If so, let me know, because then he'll have to deal with me," Shawn said as he stroked Y/n's leg. "No, he just said he misses me. You know, if I hadn't met you and realized what being in an actual relationship is like, I actually would have gotten back with him," Y/n said as she petted their dog, who was exhausted and almost asleep after a morning run with his dad. "But I am glad that I found you. I have never felt more like myself than when I am with you. I just want to say that I love you so much and I love our little family," Y/n finished. Shawn quickly got up from his place and tackled Y/n. "I love you too. So much, you won't believe it, and I can't wait to expand our little family," Shawn said, smirking at Y/n before he started peppering her face with kisses. Laughter was the only sound that filled the L/n-Mendes household as they spent the rest of the afternoon talking and watching old movies.

Yourname added to their story!

🎶 I Like Me Better by Lauv 🎶

(I knew from the first time, I'd stay for a long time! I like be better when I'm with you ��)

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| shawnmendes replied to your story

-> 💙

Lando looked at Y/n's story, and all he felt was pain. Not only did he lose a person who truly loved him, he also lost one of his best friends. Being with Luisa was exciting; it made him feel young and full of life. The idea of settling down seemed so foreign back then that Lando couldn't have cared less about how his actions might have affected Y/n. He knew it was wrong to flirt with multiple women, even though he was in a committed relationship, but all of that felt like nonsense to him back then. But as he lay in bed, sad and alone, Lando realised just how much of an impact Y/n had on his life. He lost the girl, and now he's on the verge of losing his career as well. Lando felt a tear roll down his face. One became two, two became four, and before he knew it, he was full of tears. There was nothing Lando could do; he laid the bed with all his actions, and now he has to sleep in it. Tired of it all, Lando finally let sleep take over him, hoping that when he wakes up later, his heart will feel a little lighter.

2K notes · View notes

reveuse-de-minuit-writer · 6 months ago

Text

Flimsy Excuses (Caleb x MC)

Caleb is home for the summer, and the tension between him and MC is unbearable. When MC catches him having sex with another girl, things spiral out of control.

NSFW (18+). Jealous and possessive Caleb. Mutual Pining. Denial of feelings. Accidental Voyeurism. Rough sex. Loss of virginity. Squirting. Overstimulation. Multiple Orgasms. Mutual Masturbation. Explicit and gratuitous smut.

Full tags on AO3 here: x

There’s a note in the kitchen with an envelope. Gran’s gone away on a girl’s trip for the weekend. She’s left a list of emergency numbers and cash for groceries and gas. I leave both the note and the envelope as they are, so that Caleb will see them when he gets home. As the oldest and the man of the house, he’d always taken it upon himself to take care of me. He’d know what to do with the money and info more than I would.

The thought of him now makes the sleepy warmth in my body burn hotter. He’d texted me while I was napping that he’d gone out with his friends for an impromptu game of basketball, and that he might go out with them to the bar afterwards. He’d even sent me a photo of him in the gym locker room, eyes bright and smile wide, before he headed out to the court.

I wonder what my brother would do if he knew how that photo made me feel. How it made me react. The want, the need, was immediate. He sent me photos of him when he was gone all of the time. When I asked him about it in the past, he said that it’s his way of including me, of making it feel like I’m there with him, even when he can’t bring me. His reasoning is so sickeningly sweet that it turns my insides to goo, even though the pictures make my heart race for another reason entirely.

I’m weak. I open up my phone to look at the photo again, and have to restrain the sigh that beckons to escape my throat. His hair is mussed just so, his thick, muscular arms are on full display in the white tank top he wears, and the silver glint of the necklace I gave him sits just between his full pecs. He’s so solid, so big, so powerful. Just the sight of him makes me want to burrow myself into his arms until I can fuse myself into him, into one being, so that we never have to be apart again. The ache for him is almost unbearable.

I breathe deep and set my phone down. His location under his contact name shows he’s still out, so I have time to collect myself before he comes back home. I close my eyes and will the frantic beating of my heart to slow.

The summer air drifts in through the open patio door, and the last glimmers of golden hour stretch out across the room, casting everything in warm sunlight. It was warm, too warm, despite the AC blasting throughout the house. I grab a sparkling water from the fridge and pop it open, chugging down a few swigs of it to relieve some of the heat. The burn in my throat feels good, and I wipe the condensation beading along the sides of the can across the skin of my neck and collarbone.

Maybe I’ll go for a swim. Maybe that will help cool me down and distract me from my thoughts. Maybe the burn of the exercise will do me some good. With that in mind, I return to my room and change. My hands drift across the various suits in the drawer as I try to think about which one I want to wear. I see something red at the bottom, and my hands twitch, before digging it out.

I’ve only worn it once.

The scraps of red that made up the bikini were scandalous. The triangle tops were tiny, barely covering even covering my areolae. The bottoms were a high-cut thong that left nothing to the imagination. Tara had drooled when I bought it, insisting that I had to wear it to the pool party. I wanted something that would give me attention, and this was certainly it. I threw on one of Caleb’s old shirts as a coverup overtop and left with Tara.

When we arrived together at the party, the house was packed. The music was loud, and the bass vibrated the walls. Every hallway and room was densely filled with people, to the point where we had to hold hands to not lose each other. We navigated our way to the kitchen first, eyeing the island filled with booze as we tried to figure out what we wanted to drink first. The shots of vodka we split back at my place swam languidly in my system already, warming me from the inside out. We grabbed our cocktails from one of the guys playing bartender, and headed to the backyard.

The house and pool were large. It was raised on the side of a hill, overlooking the valley below. It was breathtaking. The music was louder out here, as was the laughter and conversation all around us. Tara dragged me over to the grass in front of the DJ that had been turned into a makeshift dance floor, and pulled me into her. We drank our cocktails and danced, uncaring of the strangers eyes feasting on us, and created our own little bubble of fun.

Two guys appeared next to us and chatted with us while we danced. They offered to grab us more drinks, and Tara and I continued to twist and grind on one another. The heat of the day, the alcohol, and the dancing was enough to make me sweat like crazy, and I eyed the pool with longing.

“Wanna go for a swim?” I asked her.

She eyed the pool with me and enthusiastically nodded her head. We walked over to some chairs that were unoccupied on the fringes of the yard and put our stuff down. Right as I was about to strip, Tara’s voice was a cold sobering crash of thunder over me.

“Oh shit, is that Caleb? You didn’t tell me he was going to be here too.”

I whip my head around and anxiety grips my throat as I scan the sea of partygoers with fresh eyes. It takes me seconds to find him, and my heart drops into my stomach. I don’t know how I didn’t notice him earlier.

He lounges with his friends in a group around a fire, all passing around a joint. He’s shirtless, and the sculpted form of his muscles are on full display for every girl at the party to see. He’s relaxed, his legs splayed wide, and his broad shoulders spread across the back of his chair. He’s a picture perfect image of at-ease masculinity. The sight of him makes my blood race, and heat throbs through my core in an instant.

The heat is doused almost immediately as a beautiful girl in a bright blue bikini walks up to him with a beer, and strokes flirtatiously along his shoulder. I expect him to push her away the way that he always does with women when he’s around me, but instead he smiles up at her, and takes the beer.

Jealousy storms inside of me, a thick, ugly, turbulent thing that decimates every feeling of warmth and contentment in its path. Sickness roils in my stomach, and I want to drown myself in the pool. I know I have no right to react this way. It’s so wrong. But I can’t help it. I want to burn the girl alive with the force of my glare. I want to make him burn too, since he can’t burn with me.

“Well, looks like he’s preoccupied. No wonder he hasn’t noticed you’re here yet. I think that’s Madison Bailey, she’s in the Deespace Pilot Program too. She’s really good.” Tara continues, oblivious to the storm raging inside of me.

Madison. Caleb’s never mentioned her before. Despite all of the people he’s told me about in his program, she’s never come up before. He would tell me if he was seeing someone, right? He wouldn’t hide it from me, would he? Doubt festers inside of me like a poison, corroding every organ and cell inside of my body.

I watch, helpless to look away, as the two of them talk. She leans in close to him where he sits, and places a hand on the back of his chair. He laughs at something that she says, and shifts slightly in his seat.

I hate him. I hate her. I hate them both.

“Do you wanna go say hi?” Tara asks. Her face falls a bit as she looks over at me, and I force myself to smile. It feels unnatural, like it pulls at my skin like a mask, but I maintain it as best as I can.

“Nah, let’s leave him be. Wanna go swim now?” I ask.

Tara nods, and the suspicion in her eyes clears away. As I pull at the hem of Caleb’s shirt I can’t help but feel ridiculous. My eyes drift towards them again, and the ugly jealousy inside of me compares us. We’re nothing alike. She’s tall and lean, with full breasts, and long blonde hair that shines with health. My own body is curvier, with wider hips and fuller thighs. While it’s given me a great ass, my own tits look like road bumps in comparison to hers.

Is that what he likes? Does he prefer a woman with larger breasts? Does he prefer someone with a more model-like build to my own curvy one? Does he like the lightness of her hair? Insecurity eats away at me, and even though I’d felt confident in my bikini before, I’m now almost afraid to reveal it. What would I do if he saw me, so exposed, so on display for him, and he didn’t like it? How could I live with myself after that?

But no, I needed to stop. Caleb clearly wasn’t thinking about me right now, so I needed to stop thinking of him. Who cares what he thinks of me in my bikini? I’m just his little sister, right?

I tug his shirt off over my head, and let it fall in a pile on the table. I can feel the eyes of the men around me appraising my body, and it builds up my confidence somewhat. I resolutely refuse to look at Caleb as I saunter over to the other side of the pool, directly across from him, and take a deep breath, before diving in.

The water crashes over me, soothing the fever from my skin, and washing away my doubts. I revel in the cool weightlessness for a moment before breaking the surface for air. I hear the splash behind me as Tara jumps in, and turn around, waiting for her to join me. I tread water, purposefully turning my back to where Caleb and his friends sit. I can’t obsess over him if I can’t see him. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

We swim for a while. The two guys from earlier join us with more drinks in the pool, and we chat and lounge around with them. Tara is more interested in entertaining them than I am. Twilight dances over the horizon, and I sip at my drink, letting the buzz flow like liquid ambrosia through my body. I drift alone to the edge of the pool, taking in the view.

Two arms come around me, caging me in to the side of the pool. My heart skips a beat, and for a moment, I wonder if it’s Caleb. If he’s finally come in after me. But when I turn my head to look at who is behind me, I see the face of the guy from earlier. He tries to flirt with me some more, but I make up an excuse to need to use the restroom, and escape from his arms.

There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s handsome, tall, friendly, and seems respectful once I set up the boundary.

But he’s not him. He’s not Caleb.

I make my way to the other side of the pool and grab ahold of the ladder to pull myself out.

It’s only when I’m halfway out that I realize where I am. As I lift myself out of the water, Caleb is right there sitting in front of me.

He’s noticed me now.

And he looks furious.

Before I’m on stable ground, he’s out of his chair and stalking towards me. Fear grips ahold of me, and I’m irrationally struck with the need to run. I pivot, uncaring of the fact that I’m dripping wet, and make my way into the house. I dodge through the crowd, hoping that he’ll lose sight of me as I all but run away from him. I turn down various hallways, until the crowd starts to thin. The third hallway I fly down is empty, and that’s when I feel the iron grip tighten around my wrist.

In moments, I’m spun around and pinned to the wall. Caleb’s body towers over me, with his other hand clenched in a tight fist against the wall near my head. His violet eyes are dark with anger, and his cheeks and ears burn red. His powerful body is tight with tension, and my body burns with desire and fear equally. The heat of him is so sudden and so intense that it makes my heart race. He’s so scary when he wants to be.

The glare he sears me with sends my pulse skyrocketing, and my core throbs with an everlasting, aching need. His violet eyes run down the length of my body, and I can’t breathe as they skim down my breasts, my stomach, and my thighs. His gaze is like a physical touch, and I yearn to lean into it, to feel it for real.

I need to diffuse the tension before it boils me alive. “Hi Caleb. I didn’t know you would be here,” I begin breathlessly.

“I thought you said you were seeing Tara,” he accuses, “Funny. I didn’t know this was her house.”

He damn well knows it’s not. I hated when he played the overprotective parental card. I didn’t lie to him, I knew I would be seeing Tara, I just omitted that I would be seeing her at a pool party. I knew he would be annoying about it.

But it’s not like he’s innocent either.

“And you said you were hanging out with the guys,” I spit back, “so which ‘guys’ are you seeing today, the one in the blue bikini?”

His eye twitches, and a dark shadow passes over him. Our lies simmer in the tension that thickens the air between us. A smirk tugs at his lips and he leans down until our faces are only inches apart.

“Watching me closely, were you?” He asks softly. His voice is deceptive, as smooth as honey over the bitterness of his mockery.

My cheeks burn with embarrassment as he calls me out. His smirk deepens, before he leans in closer, his mouth just barely grazing against the skin of my cheek, before resting just beside my ear. My entire body vibrates with the need to lean into him, to touch, to feel every solid inch of him pressed tight into every dripping inch of me. I bite my lip, and the pain clears my head as I stand my ground.

“It’s okay, pip-squeak. I was watching you too. I was watching as every man in the party watched you prance around oblivious and drunk and naked.”

My brows furrow in confusion, even as I shiver at the depth of his voice.“I’m not naked!”

His grip on my wrist tightens to the point of pain, and he leans back until our faces are inches apart. His violet eyes sweep a path from my face down the length of my body, before glaring back at me. “Then tell me, pip-squeak, what the fuck are you wearing?”

I spare a glance down at myself, and see the sodden red scraps of fabric that make up my swimsuit. My nipples are dangerously close to being exposed, and the hard peaks strain at the thin fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination. Water drips down between my breasts. The sight is undeniably erotic. When I glance back at him, his eyes are narrowed to furious slits. I’ve never seen him this tense or this angry before.

“A bikini?” I answer him breathlessly.

His scoff is cold and incredulous. “Oh, is that what they’re calling it these days? Where did you get it from, huh, an adult shop?”

My cheeks burn with embarrassment, even as my core throbs under his furious scrutiny.

“I got it online, you dick,” I spit back, “not that it’s any of your business.”

“Oh it is absolutely my business,” he says, leaning down until his mouth is right at my ear again. I can feel the heat of his breath, and I shiver as goosebumps prickle my skin. “It is always my business when my little sister is running around looking like she’s ripe to be fucked,” he continues with a sneer.

The air between us is thin. The heat of him so close to me, but not touching any part of me other than my wrist, is unbearable. The ends of his hair tickle the heat of my cheek, and I want to lean into him like a cat. Even as his overprotectiveness drives me crazy, even as his words light an anger up inside of me, because he has no right to talk to me that way, my body yearns for him.

“Stop it, Caleb. Now let me go, I wanna go back to the party.” I say, pushing at the firm muscles of his chest.

But he’s an immovable object in my path, snarling his fury down upon me. His skin is molten, and his chest heaves as he breathes heavily under my touch.

“Oh no, the only place you’re going is home.” He says with finality, “Where’s your stuff? I’ll get it for you.”

My heart drops. “What the fuck, Caleb? No, I’m not going home yet. You can’t make me.”

He whirls around and pins me with a glare that could melt steel. “Oh I very much can and will make you. Do not test me right now, pip-squeak. Now answer me. Where. Is. Your. Stuff?”

Our glare is a stalemate, before I finally sigh. There’s no point in arguing with him when he’s like this. I mumble where I put my stuff next to Tara’s and he turns to leave.

“Can I at least say goodbye to Tara?” I ask him, my voice small and defeated.

He turns his head over his shoulder, and with a flick of his wrist, gravity seems to push down harder around me, warping through the air until I’m pinned to the wall again.

“You’re not going anywhere until I get back. You will not look at or even speak to anyone else but me. If you so much as move even an inch, I’ll make you regret it,” he promises.

As he walks away, he lifts his evol, but his threat restrains me all the same. The buzz from earlier is all but evaporated, and emotions overwhelm me now that he’s gone. The heat and the shame and the anger are all a frenzy inside of me. He didn’t deny that he was talking to the girl earlier. Did that mean that she was someone special to him? The thought stabs shards of ice into my heart, and tears sting my eyes. I sniffle and try to hold them back. He’ll be so annoying about it if he sees me cry.

It seems like not even a full minute has gone by before he’s back in front of me. His violet eyes sweep down the length of my body again as he stalks towards me, and my core throbs pitifully, despite the betrayal in my heart. He holds the shirt out for me, but I glare up at him in stubborn refusal.

“Oh, you wanna play dress up? Okay, fine.” He smirks in the face of my defiance.

He uses his evol to yank my hands up above my head. He slides the shirt over me until it settles completely over me. He doesn’t bother to hide his satisfaction once I’m covered up, and he smirks as he looks at the shirt. His hand plays with the hem, his fingertips skating against the skin of my upper thigh. His hand is so close to where I need him most, so close to uncovering just how ruined I am for him.

He leans in close to me again, as though magnetized to my body in the same way that I am to his. His other hand comes to rest on the small of my back, fisting the fabric of his shirt lightly in his large grasp.

“Pip-squeak, is this my shirt?” He asks in a low, teasing voice full of dark promise.

I shiver at his tone, and there’s no way he doesn’t feel it with his hold over me. His eyes flicker across my face, taking in every minute expression, obsessively calculating and watching me. I all but blossom under his attention. The heat between us is unbearable and my eyes flutter as his thumb traces an idle pattern right along the sensitive skin of my upper thigh.

I’m lost in his eyes, in his touch, in his heat. My brain is scrambled and focused only on the scant distance between us. If only he would lean in. If only he would ease some of the desperation that I’ve always felt for him.

He’s merciless though. He sees how lost I am in the fog, and he leans in. His breath lands on my lips, and my spine arches beneath his hand. He gasps, and I feel his exhale wash over me. His scent, warm and rich and achingly familiar, saturates my nose, and I want to inhale him forever. I want to bury my head in his neck and lick and bite and mark him as mine.

The pressure of his hands on my thigh robs me of all thought, and they tremble as his grip abandons my shirt entirely, to span across the back of my thigh. His hand is so large and so hot that it spans across the entire side and back of it. I’m engulfed by him. I want him to pull it up and fit himself between my thighs where he belongs.

“Caleb,” I sigh, unable to help myself.

He groans and his chest heaves as he struggles to breathe deep. His fingers twitch against my thigh, and his hand on my back grips the fabric of the shirt tighter. “I asked you a question, pip-squeak,” he mutters low, a breath away from my lips, “did you wear my shirt here?”

“Yes,” I whisper against his lips.

His answering groan is a broken, needy sound that I’ll play on repeat in my mind for the rest of my life. His grip hardens until it’s all but bruising, and his chest heaves with his uneven breaths.

“Good girl,” he purrs.

It’s my turn to sigh, as his praises washes over me like an electric current. Every nerve in my body tingles with pleasure and warmth and yearns for more, for everything he can give me. I melt in his arms.

The heat and hunger inside of me is mirrored in his violet eyes, and for just a moment there is no doubt, there is no fear, there is only the instinctual primal knowledge that he feels exactly the way that I do.

But he pulls away.

In a blink of an eye, that look is gone, and the warmth there is instead as familiar to me as the sound of my own name. The tension dissipates like smoke in the wind, and I return to my own body feeling empty and hollow.

Of course I’m wrong. He’ll never understand how I feel. He’ll never feel the same way about me. After all, I’m just his little sister.

“Come on, pip-squeak, let’s get you home.”

The memory plays on repeat in my head as I slide on the bikini and make my way down to the pool. It’s technically the second one, as the original mysteriously went missing from my closet days after the party. I purchased it again out of spite, knowing that Caleb had something to do with it, but I never had the guts to wear it again.

The pool is heated, but it still is cool enough to chill my overheated skin. My head is lost in the heat of the memory, and if I close my eyes I can hear the sounds of the party going on all around me. I can feel the way Caleb crowded into me afterwards, how his eyes looked so angry and so hungry at the same time. It wasn’t the first moment we’ve shared like that, but it always leaves me confused and wanting. It will be an eternal mystery without an answer to understand what’s going on in his mind when he acts like that.

I swim laps in the pool, pushing myself to at least get a good workout in, if my mind is determined to fixate on him. I imagine how he must look with his friends right now at the court. Is his hair clumped and dripping with sweat? Is he still wearing his tank, the white material clinging to his broad shoulders and made transparent with the slickness of his body? Or did he abandon it entirely, showing off his physique and my necklace for the world to see.

I can imagine how his muscles twist and bunch as he moves around the court. If I were there watching, I know he would turn to look at me and wink before shooting. When the ball would inevitably sink in the basket he would mouth to me that his win was for me.

My arousal is unbearable at this point. Dusk falls over the pool, and I pause, gasping for breath, as I will my body to calm down. I know the slick between my thighs is wet from more than just the pool, but I can’t bear to do anything about it just yet. I don’t know when Caleb will be home, and I can’t imagine what he would do if he found me fucking myself in the pool. The thought makes my cheeks burn and my nipples tingle.

After a deep sigh, I groan as I pull myself out of the pool. My muscles burn from the exertion, and my legs feel like jelly. I wrap myself in the towel and give myself a few minutes to collect my breath. By the time I enter the house, the sky is a darkened blanket of stars, and the illumination of the kitchen stretches across the grass.

As I make my way to my room, there’s a sound that makes me freeze. I pause mid-step, and my breath rushes out of my lungs at once.

It was a moan. A high-pitched one. My ears strain as I will my heart to stop its quick beating so I can hear it again. Did I hallucinate it? Did I will my deepest fears into coming true? Again, a moan echoes throughout the house, this time longer and whinier. It’s followed by a masculine reprimand. I can’t hear what he says, but his tone is angry. I’m so startled that I drop the towel on the stairs.

Caleb’s home. And he’s not alone.

The hurt that stabs into my heart is overwhelming. It’s like I can feel as it disintegrates piece by piece, the cracks fissuring out into nothing until it resembles a husk of something that can never be repaired. I feel adrift in my own body. Unmoored. My feet walk me in a trance towards the door to his room, and I don’t know if it’s better or worse that it’s left partially open.

I can’t even pretend I don’t feel a wave of self-loathing as I peer through the opening in the door to look inside.

Caleb is on the bed, some woman collapsed and all but prone underneath him. His naked back is rigid with tension, and his hips furiously pound into her. I can see his profile, see his thick, long cock as it batters into the girl’s cunt. She whines again, her pleasure obvious as she fists tightly into the sheets below.

Caleb’s face twists in fury. And his hand comes down hard on her ass.

“Shut the fuck up,” Caleb growls. His voice is dark, monstrous, and if it weren’t for the fact that I saw the words coming from his mouth, I wouldn’t have believed it was him at all, “I don’t want to fucking hear you,” he snarls, “make one more fucking noise and I’ll gag you. Nod if you understand.”

I hear a needy, breathless whine, and she nods her head. Caleb hisses before the vicious smacking of skin on skin fills the air as he fucks her again.

I can’t breathe. I shouldn’t be watching this. But my feet are frozen to the spot. The drops of pool water dripping down my skin no longer leave me chilled, but the subtle sensation sets me on fire.

I know the feelings I harbor for him are wrong. But in all of the ways I’ve imagined him fucking before, I didn’t know he could be this cold, this dominant. I always imagined him as a passionate lover, as someone who gave and gave and gave until the point where he was so wound up he had to take. I imagined he would whisper sweet words and praise in my ear while filling me up slowly, tenderly, forcing me to feel every slow inch of his cock.

But I was wrong. Caleb’s hands grip hard on the girl’s hips, and his pounding thrusts are brutal. They rock the bed with their ferocity, and I can see his skin glisten with sweat from his exertion. The girl tries to turn her head around to look at him, and he fists her hair and pushes her face back down into the comforter.

“I don’t want to look at you. I don’t want to see your face. I just want to see your ass.” He pants.

He’s so cold, so detached, it leaves me breathless. But the sight of him being so dominant, of him being so ruthless in his pursuit of pleasure, makes my cunt flutter, aching and empty around nothing.

I never imagined him to be so rough, and now I can’t imagine him any other way. I imagine it’s me instead of her that he’s fucking so ruthlessly. I imagine the battering of his thick cock, long and hard enough to hit my cervix over and over again, uncaring of how much pain or pleasure I feel as long as he gets to fill me again and again.

“S-slow d-down. It-it’s too—” the girl moans through broken breaths.

“No,” he growls, and if anything, fucks her even harder.

The girl wails, and his hand comes down hard on her ass again. It leaves a bright red imprint that stands out against her pale skin.

“Please!” She whines.

Caleb growls in frustration and grabs the girl by the throat. He pauses his fucking, while deep inside of her, but his body is anything but relaxed.

“If you want me to stop, then say your safe word,” he demands, “otherwise I don’t wanna hear you speak again. Do I make myself clear?”

The girl’s face is wet with sweat and tears, but she keeps her mouth shut. Caleb once again pins her down by the throat and begins to roughly fuck her in earnest. This time, when he throws her down, he’s angled more towards me. I can do nothing more than watch, transfixed, as his abs flex and roll as his hips smoothly thrust back and forth. His head falls back, and his neck is stretched, slick with sweat, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he groans with pleasure.

Despite the betrayal in my heart, I’ve never been more aroused in my life. My thighs are all but soaked from the arousal that trickles down from my weeping cunt. In a daze, my hand trails down my stomach and grazes gently along the outside of my folds through the fabric. The slight touch is enough to make me gasp and my eyes flutter. But just as quickly as they close, I open them again to keep watching Caleb.

I pull the bikini bottoms to the side, and swipe a finger through the slick heat of my cunt. It’s obscene, the amount of moisture that coats my hand immediately. It drools out of me, with stray drops puddling on the floor. I insert two fingers almost immediately and try to match the pace of his thrusts. It’s intense, almost too much, and yet it’s so severely not enough. The feeling of fullness, even if it’s only partial, is bliss after aching for him for hours. I can’t help the sigh that escapes me, and my other hand grips tight on the doorframe for support.

“Oh fuck,” Caleb groans, his pleasure mounting higher. The sound makes me flutter against my fingers, and I hold back my whine in response. I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood, as I fuck myself to the sound of his cock driving back and forth. When I glance back at him, his eyes are closed in pleasure, and his neck and chest are stained deep red.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he moans. His hips stutter as he drives hard into her over and over again. I match his pace, and within seconds I feel like I’m on the edge with him. “Mmm, fuck just like that. Take my cock, just like that. Fuck, I’m cumming, y/n,” he groans.

It’s the sound of my name moaned breathlessly between his lips that sets me off like dynamite. My orgasm is intense, wracking every sense in my body until I’m shaking and sputtering for breath. The puddle on the floor is large now, from the force of my need for him. My spine tingles all the way down to my toes, and a high lifts my body to the heavens.

He moaned my name.

He may have been fucking her, but he moaned for me.

The knowledge chases away some of the bitterness in my chest. It prolongs the tremors that crash over me again and again.

I watch with bleary eyes as Caleb slips out of her and peels off the condom. The girl whines, obviously not finished yet, but Caleb just glares down at her. A flash of anger and disgust wash over his face, and it sends a chill down my spine. I almost don’t recognize him.

“C’mon, Caleb, make me cum. I’m so close,” the girl gasps.

He pulls back from her and ties the condom into a knot before throwing it in the trash by his bed. “Do it yourself,” he says coldly.

The girl flips over and looks at him. “Don’t be like that,” she says, shocked.

He just raises a brow at her while he catches his breath and leans back against the headboard. “Don’t be like what? You’re just a hole to fill. Now that I’ve used you, I’m done.” He states coldly.

The girl glares at him before getting off of the bed. “You are such a fucking asshole. I never should have fucking come here. Don’t ever talk to me or call me again.” She says as she furiously finds her clothes and puts them back on.

Caleb just rolls his eyes in the face of her anger. “I wasn’t planning on it anyway,” he just says, rubbing salt in the wound.

The girl lets out a huff of frustration while Caleb rolls off the bed. I take in the sight of him completely unhindered, and despite being soft now, he’s still a magnificent sight to see. He reaches for the discarded boxers on the floor and slips them on easily.

I should leave now. With my heart pounding, I all but run towards the bathroom and turn on the shower. Not even seconds later, I hear as two pairs of footsteps walk past, one angry and one lazy. I hold my breath, not even daring to breathe, until I hear the door slam shut.

I exhale and close my eyes, before stripping my bikini off. I hop in the shower and rinse off my hands, before rubbing them over my face. I’m shaking, I realize belatedly. My skin feels like it’s stretched too thin over my muscles, and the blood that races in my veins is near a boiling point. I don’t even know where to begin to decipher how I feel.

The sight of his orgasm with my name on his lips plays like a record in my head, and I can’t feel anything except for the heat that refuses to dissipate from my body. I’ve never felt a need like this before. It’s all-consuming, chasing away every other stray thought from my mind.

He thought of me as he came. It was my name he called out. Did he wish she were me? Is that how he wanted to fuck me? The thought makes my legs shake and I have to brace myself against the slick tile wall of the shower. I’ve never even thought of having sex that rough before.

To be fair, since I was still a virgin, I had no basis of comparison, but I didn’t think it was possible to be like that. Was Caleb kinky? Did he want the whips and chains? Did he want me to call him ‘sir’ and let him fuck me into submission? The thought makes my pulse pound and my core clench. Did I want that too?

Every fantasy I had of Caleb kissing me tenderly as he made love to me seems foolishly naive in retrospect. I always knew there was a darkness inside of him, but I had no idea he would unleash it like that. Did I like it? Was I okay with it?

My thoughts continue to spiral out of control. The only thing I know is that my desire for Caleb is a constant. No matter how he wants me, I will want him in turn. Whether that means rough and degrading or soft and tender, I’ll take any shade of him as long as it means having him to myself.

And he called out my name.

A sudden bang on the bathroom door makes me yelp, and I flinch beneath the spray. “Pip-squeak, hurry up,” Caleb calls from the other side, “I gotta take a leak.”

My heart is caught in my throat and my breath stops. There’s another bathroom down the hall. I know he knows that. So why is he here bothering me?

“Fuck off,” I shout back.

I force myself to sound normal, to sound like I didn’t fuck myself to him railing a random girl into next Tuesday. I hear the muffled sound of a growl before he bangs again on the door.

“I’m coming in, don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” he shouts.

He barges into the bathroom, and makes a beeline for the toilet.

“Caleb, what the fuck?” I shout at him, covering myself up despite the fact that the curtain that separates us is completely opaque.

He groans in exaggerated pleasure and I hear the sound of his piss hitting the water. I’m so shocked, so overwhelmed by everything that’s happened in the last thirty minutes, that I can’t even react. What the fuck is he doing? What is he playing at?

I hear the stream taper off, before the soft closing of the lid. At least he has the decency not to flush while I’m in the shower.

“Pip-squeak,” comes his voice from the other side of the curtain. He sounds unrecognizable, his voice husky and deep. I’ve never heard him say my nickname like that before. It makes my pulse pound and my pussy drool, and it’s all I can do to keep myself upright against the tile.

“Y-yeah?” I ask him belatedly. My voice is small and breathy in the bathroom. It echoes back to me and makes me cringe from how needy I sound.

“Where did you get this?” He asks.

My brow furrows and I struggle to think about what he could be referring to. Swallowing the tattered shreds of my dignity, I pull back the curtain just enough to peek around and see what he’s referring to.

He’s so close. Too close. All at once I’m hyperaware of how naked and vulnerable I am in front of him. He stands there, all power and menace, naked except for his boxers, with the bottoms of my bikini dangling from his fingertips. My face flushes scarlet, as I see him holding them.

They must be saturated with my arousal by now, and he must mistake the wetness for pool water. He stares down hard at the fabric, a tension vibrating in his muscles that I’ve never seen before. Not even moments ago when he was balls deep in some random woman.

“What do you mean?” I ask him breathily.

He rubs the fabric between his fingers, and makes a point of gliding his thumb through the gusset, collecting the slick on his hands. My mortification is enough to make me wince as I see him rub it back and forth on his fingers. I want to tell him what he’s doing so he can at least be informed, but speaking those words aloud makes me want to die.

“I thought I confiscated this bikini from you,” he says coldly, before finally turning to look at me. His expression is hard and restrained. Like he’s on the brink of something terrifying and out of control. “Did you take these from me?”

I can’t even point out the absurdity of his question with how intensely he’s glaring at me. Did that mean he kept it? I thought he just threw them out. Does he still have my original bikini now? Why?

“I bought a new one,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

His hand clenches tight, and his muscles twitch. He laughs to himself, but the sound is humorless and cold.

“You always enjoyed testing me, didn’t you, pip-squeak,” he says, before glancing back at the bikini bottoms in his hand. He makes a point of gliding his hands more intentionally through the remains of my arousal before bringing up his hand between us. My slick shins on his thick fingers, and my brain short-circuits.

He knows.

I don’t know how he does, but it becomes immediately clear that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows that he’s feeling my arousal on his fingertips. He knows.

“You never knew when to stop, did you?” he asks, his voice accusatory and deep. His violet eyes lock onto mine, as he brings his fingers up to his mouth. He breathes deep, filling his lungs with the scent of my musk, and his eyes flutter closed. He pauses, breathing it in for several moments, and his massive chest heaves with the force of his inhale.

I can’t speak. I can’t think. Like the moments before, I’m frozen, unable to do anything more than watch. The arousal I tried to subdue before roars to an inferno at the sight of him reveling in the scent of my musk coating his fingers. I must have died. I must have drowned in the pool and this is all some kind of delirious fever dream one sees before their death. There’s no other rational explanation for why Caleb is doing any of this.

“I have to wonder, is this my penance? My punishment? That you got to watch me, but I’ve never been able to watch you?”

My uneven breath is his only answer. I grip the curtain tight in my grip and can do nothing more than stand there with heat radiating between my thighs.

“Do you want to?” I ask him. The question is out of my mouth before I can process it. It hangs in the tension of the humid air between us, thick with unspoken need and anticipation.

Caleb freezes, and his eyes flutter open. The darkness, the hunger, the yearning in his purple eyes is a palpable touch on my soul. I tremble with the intensity in his stare, and watch as he guides his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean. He moans at the taste, and works at each digit with a lascivious diligence. His eyes remain fixed on me, giving me no mercy but to allow him the sight of watching me watch him taste me.

“Do you really want to cross that line?” He asks in a low, dark voice, “because if you do, I’ll want to do a lot more than just watch.”

My heart flutters like a hummingbird in my chest, and I feel a wild, animalistic need overtake me. I feel like I’m watching an out of body experience as my hand tugs at the shower curtain and pulls it back, baring my body for his viewing pleasure. Caleb’s eyes dip immediately, and his chest heaves as he gasps for breath.

He looks ruined just from looking at me. His eyes survey every inch of skin that has never been seen by him before. His gaze is covetous, molten, and scorches me from the inside out. I thought I would feel self-conscious if I were ever naked before him. I imagined he would make me feel shy and insecure.

But all I feel now is power. The way he looks at me is like a sinner looking up at his god. His gaze is worshipful, devoted, and full of a need that echoes inside the very depths of my being. I like being naked in front of him, I realize, if he can make me feel this desired from just a look alone.

“Are you sure?” He asks again, and his voice cracks. The sound is so endearing that my heart swells and surges, stitching itself over the ruptures he caused so recently. I hold my hand out to him, beckoning him to join me in the shower.

He strips in a daze, stepping out of his boxers with his eyes unblinkingly fixed on my body. As he steps towards me, the heat between us climbs to an unbearable level. He takes my hand tenderly, the skin of his palm gliding delicately against mine, before his larger hand engulfs mine entirely.

He reaches out for me with his other hand, but I step back. Immediately, he freezes, and a look of confusion and alarm breaks him out of his trance.

“I don’t want you to touch me after you just fucked someone else.” I say sternly over the pelting sound of the shower.

He swallows thickly, and his violet eyes fill with guilt and regret. “She meant nothing to me,” he says earnestly. I believe him, after seeing the way that he treated her. “If I had known that I could have had you instead, I never would have looked elsewhere. You’re the only person I’ve ever truly wanted.”

The hand he holds he brings up to his forehead and leans into my touch. He closes his eyes and breathes deep, the weight of his guilt crushing down on his broad shoulders. He is every bit the sinner come to repent and beg for forgiveness.

“Why did you take another woman?” I ask him, my voice trembling despite myself.

He sighs, and the sound is choked, like he’s breathing around a lump in his throat. His grip on my hand grows tighter, and he presses it deeper into his face.

“You have no idea how much being in the same house as you, being around you again, drives me crazy. There isn’t a single thought I have that doesn’t involve you. That doesn’t involve all of the things I want to do to you,” he confesses, nuzzling into the palm he holds captive, before pressing a kiss to the skin, “Every smile, every sigh, every touch, every breath you take, and I’m a slave to this need, this obsession. It burns inside of me. And I needed a release. An outlet. Because I couldn’t have you.”

His eyes fix on mine, and the weight of his hunger settles deep into the marrow of my bones. Obsession. That’s what he called it. I can see it in the darkness that shadows his eyes, in the need that coils tight between his muscles and tissue. It beckons to something inside of me, a mirrored desire and fixation, coaxes it to the surface at the slightest tremble of his lips.

“But you’ve always had me,” I whisper.

Caleb groans, and he nuzzles further into my touch, kissing my palm before sucking the skin into his mouth. His chest heaves as he gasps for breath, its the same unevenness in my own.

“Tell me what to do. Tell me how to make it up to you. I’ll do anything, as long as you tell me that I haven’t ruined this chance,” he begs. His other hand tentatively reaches out towards me, and when he sees that I don’t back away this time, he tenderly cradles my face in his palm.

The air between us stretches and thins as he leans down closer to me. His lips are mere inches away, and his eyes study mine closely. The sensation of power rushes through me again, as I realize that I hold the weight of his heart firmly in my hand. I know that I can break him with a word, that I can shatter his heart as coldly and as cruelly as he shattered mine.

I lean into his palm and stare up at him. I brace myself, prepare myself for the worst, but I have to know before any of this continues. “Tell me everything you did to her.”

He answers immediately. “I kissed her neck, used my hands to warm her up, and then fucked her until I came.”

“You didn’t kiss her?”

“No.”

“Did you put your fingers inside of her?”

“No, I just rubbed her clit.”

“Did you think of me?”

“Yes, always.”

“I want you to do to me exactly what you did to her,” I demand, “I want to feel what she felt.”

But Caleb freezes. His eyes flicker back and forth between mine, searching for something in the depths.

“No, I can’t,” he whispers brokenly.

“Why not?” I ask him.

“Because I would never treat you the way I treated her. I can’t. You don’t deserve that.”

“But she did?”

“She isn’t you.”

His answer makes the breath catch in my throat. His thumb strokes idly along my cheekbone, wiping away at the stray drops that collect on my face. His expression is so full of adoration and need that it scrambles my ability to think. My heart races at its implications.

“Then I want you to do to me what you would have, if she was me,” I say quietly.

Caleb’s eyes close and he lets out a broken moan. His other hand drops mine and wraps around my waist, pulling my body tightly into his. The sudden feeling of his slick skin pressed tightly into me makes my brain short-circuit. His cock is rigid and twitches between the tight press of my belly. The knowledge that it’s Caleb’s cock that rests against my skin nearly sends me into a frenzy. I’m overwhelmed by him, every sense taken over by need and desire and yearning that I’ve felt since the day that I could first form memories.

“You want me to fuck you, baby?” He moans in my ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and sucking gently. The feeling of his mouth on my skin sends me into overdrive, and I cling to his shoulders for support. My spine arches into him, pressing our bodies even tighter together, and he groans, rutting his hips into me as his cock twitches eagerly.

Everything in me screams to give in, to finally surrender. But my hand on his shoulder pushes back, and he gently responds, unlatching his mouth from my ear to peer down at me curiously.

“Not yet,” I say, “Not while you still smell like her. Clean yourself off first.”

He immediately reaches for the soap behind me. He pours a liberal amount of shower gel into his hands before working it all over his body with a mechanical precision. He’s rough with himself, swiping over his body with firm, indelicate gestures. I take the bottle from him and squeeze some out into my palm. He freezes as he cleans himself, instead focused on me as I begin to rub the soap into my skin.

In contrast to him, I take my time with myself. I run the soap along my shoulders and arms, tracing each inch of skin slowly before running my hands back up. I spread it over my breasts, rubbing it into my nipples with slight rolls and pinches, before cupping the full weight of my breasts in my hands. Caleb’s heated gaze is glassy with his lust, and his hand idly strokes down his chiseled abdomen to palm at his erection.

The sight of his soapy fist wrapped around the thick length of his cock makes my breath stutter and my core clench. I can’t look away from the veins of his lower abdomen, and my eyes track them as they lead down the thick veins of his cock. It looks large, even in his hand, and the thought of taking it inside of me makes me feel apprehensive.

“I like the way you’re looking at me. So brazen. You like looking at my cock, pip-squeak?” He asks with a throaty groan.

A flush spreads down from my cheeks to my tits, and his eyes trace along the length of it with greed. He licks his lips and his smirk deepens. All I can do is nod, while my eyes fix on his hand clenching and pumping at his length. He groans, and I see his cock twitch, and my mouth floods with the thought of feeling that twitch against my tongue.

“Keep going, baby, I want you to be nice and clean for me,” he commands.

Somewhere along the way, somehow, the power dynamic switched, and I find myself helpless to his demand. My hands follow his instruction, continuing to spread the soap down my abdomen and to my legs. I raised my foot on the edge of the tub and work the soap into my calves, massaging the muscle as I work my way higher. Caleb groans as I part my legs, but his eyes follow my hands as they work.

When every inch of my body is clean, I finally trail my hands towards my messy cunt. I swipe my hands through the thick slick of my arousal, and I lean back against the tile to hold myself up. Caleb bites his lip, and grips the base of his cock with an iron fist. The head of it is deep red, and shines with a mixture of water and pre-cum.

“Let me see what you were doing to yourself earlier. Let me see how you made a mess of yourself on the floor,” he demands.

I whine as mortification flushes my cheeks. Is that how he knew? Did he see the puddle of arousal I made? How did he know it was me? But despite my shame, I follow his command. I part my labia, exposing my hole to his gaze and slowly slide a finger inside myself.

The stretch makes me sigh, and I push it in as deep as I can before pumping slowly. Caleb moans, his hand still gripping tight as he stares at my hand disappearing into my cunt.

“Add another finger, baby,” he requests.

I do as he says and add another finger, and the feeling of fullness makes me clench down hard on my fingers.

“Mmm that’s it,” Caleb hums, “Did you fuck yourself so gently earlier?”

I shake my head, distrusting of my voice.

“Then show me how you fucked yourself. Show me how you made yourself cum.”

I increase the speed of my hand, mimicking the fast, hard thrusts of his cock earlier. The pace is relentless, and my muscles tighten as I push myself rapidly towards the edge. I whine into the air, and the sound buzzes in my ears as my orgasm creeps closer and closer and closer. The weight of his eyes on me, on the heat and greed in his gaze, does more for me than my own hands, and I’m on the brink before I know it.

“Caleb, I’m gonna cum,” I moan.

His eyes flutter shut and he moans, before his hand pumps hard on his cock. “Cum for me, pip-squeak. I got you. Let me see you.”

It’s like my body waited for his permission before it crests over me. The orgasm seizes my muscles tight, and I throw my head back against the wall. My cries are loud and echo in the bathroom, mixing with the obscene sounds of my hands fucking into my cunt. Caleb moans, and I open my eyes in time to watch as he spills into the tub, his cock twitching furiously as he pumps himself to the point of overstimulation. I watch the creamy white of his spend swirl down the drain with a tinge of disappointment that I don’t understand.

Our panting breaths are loud, and for a moment we both just look at each other, as if neither of us can really believe what’s happened. Caleb recovers first, and stalks forward, crowding me into the wall. He reaches behind me and turns off the water. His face hovers close to mine, and despite the waves of my orgasm receding, the hunger in his eyes sets me on fire.

“That was the last orgasm you’ll ever have without me, pip-squeak.” He vows.

He slams his lips into mine with all the weight of his pent up need, and I melt in his arms. His lips devour mine as he plunders mine with a passion that takes my breath away. He grabs ahold of my thighs and pulls me up and into his arms. I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist and my hands grab at his hair, bringing his head closer into me. He groans into the kiss, and begins to walk us towards my room.

He tastes like everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Like apples and musk, and freedom and home. His cock is still half-hard as it nestles against my core, and I rock my hips experimentally against him. His hands on my hips are bruising, and he groans into the kiss, ripping his mouth away with a punishing nip at my bottom lip.

“Behave,” he growls.

The reprimand sends shivers down my spine, and he smirks as he feels it.

“Does my little sister like being told what to do? I can feel how wet that just made you,” he groans.

“Don’t call me that,” I pout. I nip at the skin along his jaw in retaliation, and his fingers twitch.

“What do you want me to call you then?” He asks in a husky voice.

“Yours. Call me anything of yours. Except for that.” I say into his skin. My mouth continues its exploration of his neck, and I lick along the path of water that trails down from his hair.

He groans and nods. “I can do that. Do you like it when I call you baby?”

I nod as I continue to lick and suck at his neck. His skin reddens beneath my touch, and the sight of the marks does something feral inside of me.

He presses me back into the bed and climbs over me. He settles between my parted thighs with a teasing rock of his hips, and his cock glides slowly over my clit. My hips jump at the stimulation, and I moan, my nails digging into the strong muscles of his biceps.

“Anything else you wanna tell me before we continue?” He asks.

I wrack my brain to think of anything that he could do that I wouldn’t like, but I draw a blank. As long as Caleb is the one doing it to me, I am open to trying anything.

There is a massive elephant in the room that I need to address though. The thought of bringing it up makes a sudden wave of anxiety settle over me, and I bury my face in the crook of his neck again. Caleb senses the change in me, and pushes my wet hair back from my face, and strokes along the skin of my shoulders. His touch is soothing and familiar in a way that helps make it easier to open up to him.

“I’ve never done it before,” I whisper into his skin.

Caleb freezes above me, and a shudder wracks through his body. He breathes in deep, his heart racing against my palm that hovers against his chest.

“Did,” Caleb begins, before swallowing hard and trying again, “did you wait for me?”

His voice is so tender, so full of emotion, that I feel the hot prick of tears sting my eyes. I squeeze them shut and cling even tighter to him, trying to swallow past the emotion that threatens to drown me. I nod.

It’s like I can feel the shift in his body, as he exhales deep into me. His touch, while gentle before, is downright covetous now. He presses a kiss into my hair, and clings to me tight, as though it will calm the trembling in his body too.

“What have you done?” He asks softly.

“I’ve only ever kissed. Everything else is, um, something I’ve done to myself.” I confess.

He groans, and I feel his cock twitch from half-hard to erect. I can feel as it lengthens and hardens against the slippery folds of my cunt, and Caleb absently rocks his hips gently back and forth, barely hinting at the stimulation his cock promises.

“Have you only ever used your fingers?” He asks me.

I shake my head no. “I have a toy.”

“How big is it?” He asks, “I want to know how much I’ll need to prep you.”

My cheeks burn, and I can’t move my face from his neck to have this conversation face to face. “It’s smaller than you, but I already broke my hymen the first time I used it.”

He moans into my ear, and the feeling of his breath is hot and warm against my skin. Still a seed of doubt lingers in me.

“Is that okay?” I ask him, my voice small.

“Of course it’s okay. Why wouldn’t it be?” He asks, genuine confusion in his voice.

I can only shrug. “I thought you would want to do it yourself. Are you…disappointed that you can’t?”

His idle strokes along my skin find my wrists, and he loosens my tight grip on him enough to pull back. One of his hands finds my chin and lifts my face up to look at him.

“Nothing you can do will ever be a disappointment to me. The fact that you saved yourself from me,” he trails off, at a complete loss for words. His eyes glimmer with an unnamed emotion, before his resolve seems to hit him at once, “I will spend the rest of our lives letting you know every single second of every single day how much that means to me. How much you mean to me. And then I’ll do it all again in the next lifetime after that. And then the next one after that. And then the next one—“

“Okay, okay I get it,” I giggle, my eyes wet with emotion. He smirks at my reaction, before his face gets serious again. His eyes are imploring as he looks down at me, his hand cradling the side of my face.

“Do you?” He asks gently.

And I know what he means without words. The tears in my eyes spill over, and he catches each one with his thumbs, wiping them away tenderly. I nod, and smile past the lump in my throat. “Yes, I do.” I gasp.

He kisses me again, and this time it’s tender. While the passion is still there, it’s shifted. No longer frenzied, but instead worshipful, devoted. His tongue traces along the swell of my lips as though committing their shape to memory with its touch. His hands cradle my head, fingers tangling in the damp strands of my hair as he holds me in place to receive his kiss.

My hands skate along his skin in kind, tracing along the path of his shoulders in the way that I’ve always longed to. They map out every bump and smooth expanse of his skin in the same desperate need to commit his body to memory.

His mouth descends from mine to make a path down my throat. His large hands sweep tenderly down my arms, his touch just light enough to raise goosebumps along my skin as I shiver with the need for more. He seems to delight in my sensitivity, as I feel him smile into my throat, before his mouth dedicates itself back to marking me up as I did to him.

Despite having orgasmed so recently, my blood runs hot, and my core aches with need. Every teasing breath and every light touch only makes me yearn for more. I wonder if his tenderness is because he’s afraid of handling me any rougher. Does he see my virginity as a need to treat me like glass? What if I want more?

“Caleb,” I moan, “stop teasing.”

He bites down gently on my pulse, before he soothes the mark with his tongue. “Don’t rush me. I’ve had over ten years to imagine how I would savor you for the first time. Let me indulge myself a bit.”

I can’t really argue against such a sweet response like that, but Caleb does take the hint and progress things along. His mouth descends to my breasts, and he tenderly kisses my left nipple, while rolling and caressing my right. The feeling of his mouth on my body is more than I can bear, and I sigh, my back arching into his touch. He pulls back with a messy pop, and his violet eyes are glassy with lust.

“Hi,” he whispers to my nipple.

I peer down at him and giggle at his absurdity. “Did you just greet my boob?”

Caleb looks up at me and winks before capturing the bud in his teeth and gently pulling. The soft pinch of pain, makes me whine, and Caleb studies my reaction greedily.

“They’re so perfect they deserve a proper introduction. After all, we’re going to be very acquainted with one another,” he grins into my skin.

I roll my eyes, but he captures my nipple again, and bites harder. The pain is sharper, and sends tingles down straight to my core, and my hips rock into him automatically. He hums against my skin, and sucks and soothes at the tight bud in return. With every swipe of his tongue and twist of his fingers, the ache between my thighs grows worse. My hips rock and surge against him, and the tip of his cock glides along the folds of my cunt just enough to provide a hint of stimulation, but not enough to give me what I want.

I huff, and buck my hips up properly, rocking my cunt hard against the tip of his cock. Caleb moans around my nipple, and bites hard in retaliation, while his hips flex and rock into me.

He leans up and his lips are swollen and red, slicked with his saliva. The slight makes my pulse pound, and my cunt flutters against his thick length. He grinds his hips more purposefully into me, intentionally dragging out the sensation of his cock sliding against my clit. I keen into the air, my fists twisting tight into the sheets, while my hips raise and chase after the sensation.

“So fucking greedy. So desperate. You always were so impatient.” He groans, before sliding further down.

I moan at the loss of his cock against my clit, and he chuckles deep and dark. He uses his hands to pry my legs even farther apart, practically pressing my knees into the mattress. He toys with my flexibility experimentally, before hoisting my legs over his shoulders. Caleb turns his head and presses kisses down the skin of my knees up to my thighs, taking his time to enjoy every tremor and tremble his mouth elicits from its touch. I’m practically shaking by the time he turns to repeat his gentle seduction along my other leg.

“Caleb, please!” I whine into the air, my hand threading into the soft locks of his hair. He hums and flashes a wicked grin at me, his purple eyes narrowed in mischief.

“Well since you asked so nicely,” he purrs.

He trails his nose along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, before hovering just next to my weeping cunt. His eyes drink it in, and he inhales deep, his nostrils flaring as he savors my scent. He groans and his hips twitch against the mattress. His hand releases his grip on my thigh to gently stroke between my folds, spreading my labia apart so he can see every inch of me.

“It weeps so pretty for me,” he marvels in awe, as his fingers swipe through the thick layer of my arousal. It weeps from my core, staining a puddle into my sheets. The feeling of his fingers, knowing that Caleb is doing this to me, has my heart racing and my cunt flutters in anticipation. He groans at the sight, as more slick dribbles out, and catches it with his tongue.

Caleb eats me out like a starved man. His tongue is relentless, spearing over every millimeter of my cunt, collecting every drop of arousal that spills out of me. My head is thrown back, and my spine arches, and my grip on his hair tightens. He moans as I pull at his hair, and the vibrations on my cunt make me shriek. He enters my hole with his tongue, fucking me with it, while his thumb traces circles over my clit.

My hips buck wildly, and he uses the rest of his hand to push down on my abdomen, holding me in place. His other arm wraps around my thigh, holding me open so he can continue to feast on my cunt. The sensations overwhelm me, and I’m reduced to putty in his hands. He’s always been so intuitive with me, always known exactly what to do and how to do it. His knowledge translates perfectly into playing my body like an instrument he’s studied for years.

It takes mere minutes for me to be on the edge again. My cries of pleasure are loud in the room, interrupted only by the lewd sucking noises he makes with his mouth and occasional groans of pleasure. His thumb moves faster over my clit, combined with the feeling of his tongue stretching me out and filling me over and over again, and my body seizes.

“Caleb, I’m gonna—“ I shout. I can’t even finish warning him, before he groans into my pussy, and sends me over the edge. The pleasure that crashes into me is transformative. My ears ring, and my lungs stop, and I swear my heart stops beating, as every nerve and every cell in my body is reduced to pleasurable sensation by his hands and tongue.

He rides out the orgasm by swapping his mouth and hands. His tongue seeks out my clit and sucks it hard into his mouth, as he swiftly plunges two fingers deep inside of me. They’re so thick, and so much longer than my own, and he rocks them in and out relentlessly. My cries are continuous, and my hips buck against his other hand that pins me down. The stimulation is too much, but it’s not enough. I can feel him expertly pushing me towards another peak.

My cries are guttural, as he crooks his fingers inside of me, finding that spot that I could never reach on my own, and fucks me over and over and over again.

“Caleb!” I scream, as I crest another powerful orgasm. He detaches his mouth from my cunt and instead keeps pistoning his hand inside of me, his glazed purple eyes watching me closely as I fall apart for him.

“So fucking pretty when you come for me,” he groans, while keeping his hand pressing down hard on my abdomen.

The sensations flood me, and I feel a pressure building inside of me that I can’t explain. The release is endless, and gushes out of me, spraying all over his hands and face. Caleb’s eyes flutter and he groans as I squirt over him. It’s only after my hands tug at his wrists that he finally gives my overstimulated cunt a break, and I lay there gasping for breath.

Caleb looks all but drunk as he pants heavily over me, as though he just experienced an orgasm with me. He watches me for a moment before grasping my chin firmly with his hand and crashing his mouth into mine. I can taste myself on his tongue, and the knowledge that it’s me, that it’s my arousal, that saturates his tastebuds fills me with a heady kind of power. I suck on his tongue, desperate for more of it, and he groans into me, his hips grinding against my thigh as he responds to my eager passion.

“You’ve been holding out on me, pip-squeak,” he slurrs against my lips, “didn’t know you were a squirter.” His hands rub and soothe my thighs that have yet to cease trembling.

“I didn’t know either,” I breathe into his mouth.

He smirks against my lips. “I’m honored to be the first.”

He kisses me lazily, giving me more time to calm myself before pushing me to move forward. My body is languid and lazy from the aftershocks of my pleasure, but my hands roam his skin, greedy for more. My hand trails down along his shoulder to his chest, and follows the trail of my necklace down his pecs.

I’ve always admired the strength of his body, and his dedication to keeping fit. His muscles are carved from stone, and the heat of him is solid and strong beneath my palm. It’s at odds with the frantic pace of the his heart beating furiously in his chest. As dominant as he may be, he’s still just as effected by me as I am by him. The thought makes my heart soar.

My hand trails down further, following the ridges of his defined abdomen. He gasps at the light touch, and his muscles twitch in response to my gentle exploration. I can tell he wants more, but he restrains himself, allowing me to go at my own pace. My hand continues to dip lower, idly stroking along the veins that run down his adonis belt, before wrapping around the base of his cock.

The touch of my hand around him, makes him hiss, and I feel him twitch against my palm. I’ve never held a cock before. I don’t know how to make him feel as good as he did to me. But I want to learn. I want to repay the favor.

With a glance at his face to gauge his reaction, I slowly glide my hand down the length of him from root to tip, slowly tightening my hold around him. He squeezes his eyes tight, and the hand he has supporting himself on the bed tightens into a ball. His other hand wraps around mine, and tightens my grip considerably, until I’m squeezing him in my fist.

Caleb groans and his whole body shivers as he guides my hand over him, showing me how to pleasure him. After a few strokes, he lets go, and I continue to pump him as he demonstrated. He hisses in pleasure, and his breath is heavy and uneven as he leans into me.

“Just like that. Doing so good for me, baby. Fucking perfect, like I knew you’d be.” He mutters before capturing my lips in another kiss.

I experimentally pick up the pace, while swiping my thumb along the slit at the end, smearing his pre-cum down his length. His abs twitch, and he groans into my mouth, before pulling my hand away entirely.

“Of course you’re a natural. Gonna make me cum if you keep that up.” He growls before devouring my mouth in a breathless kiss.

When he pulls away, my body is hot and needy, and I think if I have to wait any longer to properly feel him inside of me I’m going to lose my mind.

“Do you still want it, pip-squeak?” He asks against my lips. “We don’t have to today. We’ve got all the time in the world. I don’t wanna push you.”

While I’m touched that he’s willing to hold himself back for me, I’m more focused on the obsessive need building inside of me that only he can take away. I grab ahold of his hair and jerk his head down to look at me. He hisses in pain and glares down at me, but waits for me to speak.

“Caleb, fuck me right now. That’s an order.” I demand.

His body ripples in pleasure as his pupils blow wide. He captures my lips in another kiss, before pulling back.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers cheekily.

He pulls at my legs until my knees are pressed to my chest, and guides his cock towards my entrance. He holds my gaze as he slowly pushes in, feeding me his cock inch by inch. He’s big. So much bigger than my toy or his hands. But I’m so wet that the stretch is only a dull aching pinch. He fills me about halfway before rocking gently back, and I can’t help but glance down at his length. It shines with my arousal, and I whimper with the need to feel him inside me again immediately. Caleb’s hand gently grasps my chin and guides my face back to looking at him as he pushes into me again.

“Eyes on me,” he demands.

This time he goes deeper, and the pressure builds until I have to grip him tight. It’s an ache that only expands until finally he stills, all of him inside of me. The stretch is almost more than I can take, but Caleb stays put, allowing me to slowly get used to feeling him inside of me. His shoulders tremble, and his eyes flutter shut before fixing on me again.

“So fucking good. Feel perfect around me. Like I knew you would. Your cunt is made for me. Only me. Only I will ever fill this pussy up,” he mumbles as his mouth grazes across my neck, nipping and sucking at the skin around my collarbone.

His possession makes me flutter, and he groans, nipping at my skin harder.

“You like it when I tell you that you’re mine? You like it when I tell you that my cock is made to fill you up? That it will never feel empty ever again, because I will always be there to make it full?” He continues his filthy promises against my skin.

I whine as my cunt flutters tighter around him, and the sharp edge of pain slowly begins to ebb away. His hand trails down to slowly circle my clit, and the stimulation makes me gasp, and I dig my nails into his shoulders.

He rocks his hips experimentally, before pulling about halfway out, before slowly gliding in again. Sparks dance inside of my body as he moves, and the waves of pleasure quickly overtake the pain. He captures my mouth, and moans as his hips slowly start to pick up the pace in earnest.

With each thrust, the pain dulls to a whisper, and I feel that need for more clawing its way down my spine. He maintains his maddeningly gentle pace, and I think back to how hard, how viciously he fucked the other girl earlier, and my cunt clamps down tight in jealousy. He groans, and thrusts harder, before catching himself and slowing down again.

“Harder,” I pant into his mouth, “please fuck me harder.”

His hands tighten on my body, but he pulls back to study my face all the same. “Are you sure?”

“Please, Caleb. Please fuck me harder, I’ll be so good for you, please, please, please,” I beg.

It’s like a cord snaps inside of him at the sound of my begging, and his touch becomes iron. He pulls almost all the way out before slamming his hips hard into mine, and I wail out my pleasure into the room. The sound of it is obscene, and only makes me wilder for him.

“You want me to fuck you hard, is that it?” He asks, while his thrusts become deep and bruising.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” I shout, my eyes rolling back in pleasure as he finally gives me what I’ve been wanting.

His hips snap viscously back and forth, thrusting his cock deep into me over and over again. His cock bullies into my walls deliciously, and stretches me out until I can’t think, I can’t even speak, because all I am is reduced to how he feels inside of me.

“Was trying to be nice,” Caleb growls, “but my dirty girl wants to be fucked good and hard, is that right?”

“Yes, please, Caleb!” I scream.

He moans and grabs at my legs and throws them together over his shoulder, bending me solidly in half, so he can continue to pound deep into me. The angle makes me grip him even tighter, and I can feel the stretch even deeper. My hands fly out, fisting in the sheets, and it’s all I can do to hang on and take his furious pounding.

He rises up on his knees, and the sight of him, sweaty and towering over me, flushed from the exertion of fucking me, drives me to the edge. I can tell from the wild look in his glassy purple eyes that he’s close behind me.

As if he can read my thoughts, his eyes narrow down on me like a predator, and his fucking becomes all but savage. “You gonna cum for me, sweet girl? Are you gonna cum all over my cock?”

I moan at the sinful words and stutter for air. I can feel his cock throb inside of me, and I spasm as I try to find a hold on the sheets beneath me. His thrusts are frenzied and ruthless, and it takes only a few more before I’m coming for him. His cock is relentless, dragging out the pleasure of my orgasm as my cunt spasms around him. I wail my pleasure loud into the room, and scream his name as I cum.

“That’s it baby. Feel so fucking good. Gonna make me cum. Where do you want it?” He asks, his words half drunk as he fucks me to oblivion and back. I gather what little strength I have left in my arms and pull him down onto me. His weight smothers me, and our skin is slick with our sweat.

“Inside, please,” I whine.

He moans and his thrusts become erratic. He buries his face in the crook of my neck and bites down while his hips rutting mindlessly as he comes. The feeling of his cock throbbing inside of me, and his hot cum filling me up brings me to a soft peak, and I clench around him, milking his cock dry. His moans and heavy breaths fill my ear, and I pull him to collapse completely on top of me. His heavy weight is grounding, and makes me feel even more connected to him as we gather our breaths.

Finally, he rolls off of me with a huff, and pulls me with him so that I’m burrowed in his arms. He grips me tight, and his hands stroke idly along my skin, uncaring of the sweat that covers it. As our bodies cool down, he pulls back and cups my face in his hand. The look in his eyes is heavy and fills me with an emotion I can’t name. He kisses me softly, sweetly, pouring everything he feels into it. I grab tight onto his wrists and kiss him back, hoping that he can feel my response as clearly.

“Can we do this forever?” He asks me softly.

I turn my head and kiss the palm that cups my cheek. “Forever and ever.”

His smile is soft and sleepy, but still filled with his trademark mischief. “And forever after that?”

I let out a sleepy laugh and burrow tighter into his chest. The feeling of rightness, of being home, has never been stronger. “And forever after that.”

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