#would that I could and then fixes everything

[ssahotchnerr]

Begging and pleading for reader hosting a dinner for the team since they just finished a rough case. No one knows her and Hotch are together, but start getting suspicious when he just?? Knows where everything is in the apartment?? Like he’s been there before??

right at home

i loveee a classic the-team-is-finding-out 🤭 cw; fem bau!reader, established relationship, mentions of food and drinking, fluff <3 wc; 1k

Sometimes, a little team bonding was the only thing needed to recover from a tough week.

After a brutal case that left everyone with a bad taste in their mouth, you jumped at the opportunity to host a gathering at your apartment. It was clear no one wanted to go home just yet; the darkness of the case hung over your heads and made the idea of being alone so soon unbearably daunting.

It wasn't anything extravagant, coming straight from the jet; ordering delivery from a local cafe - a slight, healthier alternative to  the usual takeout consumed on cases. Forgoing formal seating at your kitchen table and instead crowding on the carpet around your coffee table, a movie playing in the background, offered a casual and comfy atmosphere.

Sitting next to Aaron, you wished you could lean over and rest your head against his shoulder. Just for a second. Just long enough to breathe out some of the weight clinging to your ribs. You were glad the team was comforted by being together, but all you needed was Aaron. Only him and then you would be able to put this case in the past.

Plus, it's been a few days since you’d been physically affectionate. Long days in the precinct and out in the field made finding a private moment impossible, and with the team unaware of your relationship, it was impractical to do so much as hold his hand without being behind a closed door.

Little did they know, his overnight bag lay discreetly in your bedroom.

As if he could hear your thoughts, his eyes found yours, a gentleness to them as he silently checked in. Your own eyes briefly softened, relaying that you were fine.

"I'm so happy you all made it home to me unharmed and all in one piece." Penelope commented, her eyes flashing with relief. "Thank good gracious that's over."

"You and us both baby girl," Derek answered, dipping a veggie in some dressing. But as condiments with a thin consistency often did, it dripped off his piece of celery and onto the carpet before he could bring it to his mouth.

He grimaced, an apology in his eyes as they shot to yours. "Shit, I'm sorry mamas."

You waved it off, bringing your knees up to your chest and hugging them. "No worries. Nothing a bit of carpet cleaner can't fix."

"I got it." Aaron didn't hesitate, scrambling up and heading to your hall closet.

The quiet hum of conversation continued on. But after a moment, JJ’s expression shifted; a flash of confusion appearing so abruptly, it was impossible to miss.

How did Hotch know where you kept your cleaning supplies?

"JJ?" Emily asked, her wine glass pausing at her lips. "Something wrong?"

"No." She tentatively shook her head, but her eyes stayed on you, searching your face as if trying to read the things you weren’t saying.

And you weren't saying much. Oblivious to JJ's stare, you weren't acting out of the ordinary at all - taking a sip of your drink, eyes flickering back and forth amongst the conversation. But as Aaron re-entered the room, your face lit up the smallest amount. He handed the carpet scrubber to Morgan, and reclaimed his spot next to you.

You looked relaxed, happy.

Aaron did as well. Too relaxed and too happy, as if he felt at home.

JJ did, however, nudge Emily with an elbow. One that read: start paying attention.

"Morgan, make sure you-"

"I know how to clean a carpet, Hotch." Derek bantered quickly, causing a smile to tug on the ends of Aaron's lips, cheekily looking in your direction as a laugh escaped you. Satisfaction pulled onto his face.

Emily's eyebrows rose. Oh.

The next instance that brought questioning, you all had congregated to the kitchen - another round of drinks for some. As Emily distributed the wine, Aaron took it upon himself to help you rinse off dishes and put them away. Handling it in advance, and saving the two of you time later.

As far as the rest of the team was aware, this was the first time you’d had any of them over. Usually, everybody would meet at Dave's house (mansion, he would correct) or eat out at one of the many establishments populating DC.

But Aaron acted with practiced ease. He didn't ask you where something belonged, no lost expressions filled his face as he tried to determine where something maybe belonged. He just knew.

Spencer's eyes followed him, weighing all the variables. Sure, your dishes were in the closest cupboard to your sink; logically that made sense. Rather convenient, a quick and easy unload, especially given at your height. Was it common sense, or prior knowledge?

But what did he know? Genius or not, he’d never been good at reading subtle cues like those.

Aaron's hand even brushed the small of your back as he passed - something that could've easily been dismissed as a casual, friendly gesture - the kind people make when squeezing by. But there was a quiet familiarity to it, a natural ease, as if he'd done it countless times before.

-

"Are you heading out too?" Dave asked Aaron, his eyes narrowing at him in suspicion. It had gotten late, and everyone had begun streaming out - grabbing coats and tossing goodbyes left and right.

Meanwhile, Aaron lingered quietly in the background, his shoulder pressed lazily against the wall with his arms loosely folded. There was no urgency in his posture - just a calm stillness, as if he had all the time in the world and nowhere in particular to be.

"Why wouldn't I?" Aaron feigned confusion, suddenly debating putting his shoes on to make it more believable.

But he was soon distracted by you - giggling wildly as Penelope refused to release you from her tipsy embrace. Your laughter echoed through the room, unbothered and bright, as JJ - her ride home - attempted to unlatch her from you. Aaron's lips lifted in an almost-there smile.

"Mhm." That answered that. Dave smirked, a wise and knowing glint in his eyes. "Hope you two have a good night."

[save-the-child-qais]

DON’T SKIP, PLEASE I BEG YOU.

This is Gaza — and this is my baby, Qais.

Children here are not just hungry — they are vanishing. Their bones show through their skin, their cries grow weaker by the hour. My son, baby Qais, is one of them. He is wrapped in silence, starving in my arms as I watch him slowly waste away. We have no food, no milk, no medicine — only fear, only empty hands. The famine in Gaza is real, and it is merciless. I am begging you, please — help us. Don’t look away. A small donation can save a child’s life. It can save Qais.

Why is this famine happening?

1. Blockaded Aid – Humanitarian food and medical aid is blocked or severely limited from entering Gaza.

2. Destroyed Infrastructure – Farms, bakeries, and food supply routes have been bombed or shut down.

3. No Clean Water or Electricity – Without clean water and power, families cannot prepare formula or store food safely.

Please, from one human heart to another — I am begging you.

I am a mother who has nothing left. Not because I failed, but because everything around me has been stripped away. I am powerless, trying to keep my child alive in a place that has been abandoned. I can’t afford food. I can’t afford milk. I cry every night watching Qais suffer, knowing I cannot fix this alone. Please, I am pleading with you — help us. Your donation could be the difference between life and death for my child. Don’t let another mother bury her baby in silence.

PLEASE DONATE HERE

If Qais was your only child, would you leave him to face his fate alone?

DONATE HERE PLEASE

Please stop ✋🚨 you're the only hope to save a child😔😭

[manyegos]

I wrote on 2019 "Me during the last decade" I think I gained so much wisdom and strength on 2023. The last 2 years were absolutely miserable, whereas in my early childhood and youth it was embodied with trauma, violence, abuse, poverty and utter loneliness . . . the last years specially after covid (and a little bit still) were marked by stagnation, dissapoitment and unkown. I am etraordinary better now and I can handle them but these years were difficult even if I would like to say otherwise. My financial situation really affected me to a point I reached a low point for consecutive years. I am very strong because the combination of everything with the pandemic and the recessions would have taken anyone out. I am better today and it makes me happy to read what I was feeling and going through and to know I gained so much wisdom and strength. That movie also represented how much I felt disconnected, lost and a feeling I can't put into words "stolen" from life. Now Blue is the warmest color does not have the same effect on myself.

By the way on a funny and uplifting note, at one point I reached the Fat Thor (if you seen Avengers you will understand) state of mind, where I had given up on everything and I was a mess (still not the lowest I have been, as I was hedonistic and careless) I posted this back then, thankfully all those questions have been answered and I am still working on the last one. “do you have a boyfriend yet?” Yes I did, I almost get married. Thank GOD I did not. By the way youngerself, you become a master and a pro in relationships and on ending in good terms after a nightmare fall out and dating so many frogs. You will find so much pleasure in being alone and single and even envision creating a family on your own! You also learned that anyone even the sort of wrongly titled "love of your life" are just complements, being good with yourself fixes everything around you and truly attracts people! “when are you gonna get a job?”Well youngself, you will discover soon after COVID hits that we actually had more luck back then and there was so much more we could do. You will experience a new industrialization wave (the AI and supercomputer wave.) Neither Trump, Communist, progressives or any party will fix it. You have to survive, good luck We are still doing that! “what are you gonna do with your life?” Well young self, I am still answering that. I keep avoiding and ressisting. Going after our dreams isn't as clear, easy or serendipitous. It is scary as fuck, sometimes and for many close to impossible and as we are discovering not even applicable (AI changed the landscape, laws change things, the economy, war, etc) But we are actually very motivated and more focus than when we were young.

Bonjour Tristesse (1958) // Blue is the Warmest Color (2013)

[chaes-tea]

── // feeling the dream .

// kpop demon hunters fic. // jinu x reader. // a/n: hi! i hadn't planned on expanding living the nightmare, but here you go! his pov: living the nightmare ⚠️!! WARNING: kpop demon hunters spoilers !!

Your eyes shoot open, your vision blurred by tears. Blinking them away, you grab your phone from your nightstand.

3:48 am.

You had that dream again. Well, not exactly again, but this is the only one that's recurring. These dreams specifically always seem to take place in the same time period, with the same people. A mother, a little girl, a young man, and... you? At least, that's the perspective these dreams always put you in.

Dressed in rags, surrounded by a variety of medicinal plants, you figured that 'you' were a low class physician. Glimpses of the noble class attire in other dreams suggested that all of these dreams take place in Joseon, Korea. Though no two dreams were ever the same, they always involved the same mother, little girl, and young man. Despite the muffled voices and the blurred faces, you couldn't help but feel that they were related to 'you'. The terms 'in-laws' and 'lover' comes to mind. Were they family? Were they 'your' family?

It's strange, you think. These dreams are starting to feel more and more familiar to you. Nostalgic, like you've experienced them before. A cold winter night, a scorching hot summer, a warm embrace, a kiss under the starry sky– all with that man.

You decided to tell Rumi about it the next night.

"I've had them for a while now," you said. "I don't really know how to explain it. It's almost like... they're my own memories? But not really. It feels like I'm living someone else's life."

"Have you talked to Celine about this?" You shake your head.

"No, though that probably isn't a bad idea."

"It wouldn't hurt to try, she might know a thing or two." She says. "So, you've had these dreams for how long and never told me?"

"Rumi, please-"

"Just kidding~"

You and Rumi have been friends since childhood, way before the formation of Huntr/x. With both of your mothers being a part of the Sunlight Sisters, it was inevitable that you two would stay friends.

The two of you chat about anything and everything else, until a wave of tiredness hits you.

"Okay, Roomba, I'm getting tired," you say, holding back a yawn, "I'm gonna head out now. Good night."

"Hehe, goodnight, [Name]."

You didn't end up telling her about your latest dream, though, which woke you up in tears. In the dream, 'you' reached a hand out to a person's back, large wooden palace doors closing behind them. The distress, the sadness, the pain, you felt it all. But this time, you got a name.

You drift off to sleep, thinking of the name from the dream.

"Jinu!"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Is this place even credible, Zoey?" You ask, staring at the entrance suspiciously.

"Don't you ever listen to Bobby, [Name]? The internet. Never. Lies!"

It was the day after Rumi lost her voice. Zoey suggested to get tonics from a shady looking alleyway doctor.

"There's no way he's legit, Zoey." Mira replies.

"The reviews were so good though!"

Needless to say that that whole ordeal was an experience to be remembered. After losing the staring contest with Mira, the doctor gave Rumi a box of the tonics– or, as Mira calls it, 'voice juice'– and the four of you went off on your merry way.

"We got the tonics! Yay!" Zoey exclaims. "Once your voice is fixed, we can get back to the important stuff, like the fans!"

"What exactly is in this 'voice juice' anyways?" You ask, taking a peek into the box.

Before you could take a better look at the tonics, the four of you see shadows in front of you. Five young men turn the corner. Tall, photogenic, straight off the cover of a magazine. A few of them talked amongst themselves, some listening into the conversations. One of them, a man with black hair, trails behind them, lost in his own thoughts, until he directs his gaze forward, past the men in front of him, and he looks at you.

The moment he sees you, it's like something in his expression changes. Not visually, but the way he looks at you with his chocolate colored eyes feels like he knows you. Not in the way that a fan recognizes their favorite artist, but like he knows knows you. And you don't know why, but you also feel like you know him.

He looks away and gently pulls the cyan haired man closer to him, making space for your group to pass.

"Excuse us."

You can't say for sure, but you feel like you've heard that voice before.

Later that night, you have another dream about 'you' again. This time, it's dark, 'your' eyelids are heavy, about to fall asleep. The sound of crickets fill the night, and there's a gentle breeze in the air. A comforting touch tucks a strand of hair away. Your conscious knows it's the young man again. He presses a kiss to 'your' forehead before whispering.

"Good night."

[cameronsbabydoll]

BASIC TRAINING — CHAPTER NINE

WARNINGS — Oral (m receiving), face fucking, power imbalance, degradation/praise mix, spit kink, explicit sexual content, coercion, 18+ only.

You don’t know how you ended up here, kneeling on the cold concrete floor of a storage shed, the smell of motor oil and dust thick in the air. The shed’s tucked behind the motor pool, far enough from the main base that no one would hear you, but close enough to make your heart race with the risk of it all. The door’s locked, a rusty chain looped through the handle, and the only light comes from a cracked bulb overhead, casting shadows across Rafe’s boots.

He’s leaning against a crate, legs spread, one hand resting lazily on his thigh, the other holding a half-smoked cigarette he hasn’t touched in minutes. His dog tags glint under his unzipped jacket, his t-shirt stretched tight across his chest, and his eyes are fixed on you, dark and unyielding, like he’s studying every twitch of your lips, every shake of your hands.

“You’ve been learning, haven’t you, sunshine?” he says, voice low and rough, like he’s already halfway gone. “All those little lessons I’ve been giving you. Time to show me what you’ve got.”

Your knees ache against the floor, your sundress bunched around your thighs, and you’re trembling, not just from the cold but from the weight of his gaze, the weight of what he’s asking. You’ve never done this before—not like this, not with anyone, and definitely not with him. But after last night, after the way he’d looked at your dad, daring him to do something, you know there’s no going back. Rafe’s not playing anymore. He’s claiming.

“I—I don’t know how,” you whisper, your voice small, your hands fidgeting in your lap. You’re telling the truth, and it makes your cheeks burn with embarrassment, because you’re supposed to know something, anything, after everything he’s already done to you.

He chuckles, soft and mean, and flicks the cigarette away, letting it smolder on the concrete. “Don’t know how?” he echoes, stepping closer, his boots scuffing the floor. “That’s cute. But you’re gonna learn, sweetheart. Right now.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight, and look up at him, his shadow swallowing you whole. He’s so big, so overwhelming, and you feel small, fragile, like you could break under the weight of him. But you don’t want to disappoint him. You don’t want to say no. Because part of you—some twisted, desperate part—wants this. Wants to please him. Wants to be his.

He crouches in front of you, his hand lifting to cup your chin, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Look at me,” he says, and you do, because you always do. His eyes are dark, hungry, but there’s something else there, something like pride. “You’re gonna do this for me, yeah? Gonna make me feel good.”

You nod, barely, your lips parting under his thumb, and he grins, slow and wicked. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and the words hit you like a drug, warm and dizzying, pooling in your stomach. He stands, unzipping his pants with one hand, the other still on your chin, holding you in place. “Let’s see what that pretty mouth can do.”

You’re frozen, your breath shallow, as he pulls himself free, hard and thick and so much more intimidating than you’d imagined. You’ve never been this close to a man like this, never had to think about what comes next, and your hands shake as you reach for him, hesitant, unsure.

“Easy,” he says, voice softer now, but still firm, instructional. “Hands on my thighs. Just hold on. I’ll show you.”

You do as he says, your palms pressing against the rough fabric of his cargo pants, your fingers digging in for balance. He guides himself to your lips, slow and deliberate, and you feel the heat of him, the weight, before he even touches you. “Open,” he says, and you do, your lips parting, your tongue darting out instinctively. He groans, low and rough, and you feel it in your bones.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he mutters, his hand sliding to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. “Start slow, sunshine. Lick it. Get it wet.”

You’re trembling, but you obey, your tongue tentative at first, brushing against him, tasting salt and heat and him. He hisses, his grip tightening, and you feel a surge of something—pride, maybe, or power—because you’re doing this to him, making him react like that. You lick again, bolder now, dragging your tongue along the length of him, and he groans, louder this time, his hips twitching forward.

“That’s it,” he says, voice rougher now, strained. “Now take it in. Slow. Don’t choke.”

You nod, or try to, and open your mouth wider, letting him slide in, hot and heavy against your tongue. It’s too much, too fast, and your eyes water, but you don’t pull back. You want to do this right, want to make him proud, want to hear that “good girl” again. You take him deeper, your lips stretching, your hands gripping his thighs for support.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hand guiding you, slow and steady, but you can feel the tension in him, the way he’s holding back. “Look at you, sunshine. Taking it so well. So fucking pretty like this.”

The praise makes you whimper, the sound muffled around him, and he groans again, louder, his hips pushing forward just enough to make you gag. You flinch, your throat tightening, but he doesn’t let you pull away. “Breathe through your nose,” he says, voice firm, instructional. “You can do it. Just relax.”

You try, your eyes watering, your chest heaving, but you do it, because he told you to, because you want to be good for him. He starts moving, slow at first, guiding your head, his fingers tight in your hair. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, and you feel it again, that warm, liquid rush, like you’re melting under his touch.

He picks up the pace, his hips rocking, and it’s messy now, spit dripping down your chin, your eyes streaming, but he doesn’t care. He likes it. “Look at that,” he says, voice thick with something like awe. “So fucking messy for me. You’re doing so good, baby.”

You whimper again, the sound vibrating around him, and he curses, his grip tightening, his hips moving faster. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come,” he mutters, almost to himself, and you feel a strange thrill at that, at the idea that you’re doing this to him, that you’re making him lose control.

He pulls back suddenly, just enough to let you breathe, and you gasp, your lips swollen, your chin slick with spit. He looks down at you, his eyes dark, his chest heaving, and swipes his thumb across your mouth, spreading the mess. “Open,” he says again, and you do, letting him press his thumb inside, letting him smear spit across your tongue. “Good girl,” he says, and you moan, soft and desperate, because you’re his, and you love it.

“Back to work,” he says, voice rough but steady, and he guides himself back to your lips, pushing in deeper this time, faster, harder. You gag again, but he doesn’t stop, just holds you there, his hand firm on your head, his hips thrusting. “Take it,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Take it all for me.”

You try, you try so hard, your hands gripping his thighs, your eyes squeezed shut, tears slipping down your cheeks. It’s overwhelming, the taste of him, the weight, the way he fills your mouth, but you don’t want to stop, because he’s groaning now, low and guttural, and you know you’re doing it right.

“Fuck, sunshine,” he growls, his voice unraveling, his hips stuttering. “So fucking good. You’re mine, you hear me? Mine.”

You nod, as much as you can, and he curses again, his hand tightening in your hair, pulling just enough to make you whimper. He’s close, you can tell, his breaths ragged, his movements jerky, and then he pulls back, just enough to speak. “Look at me,” he says, and you do, your eyes watery, your lips swollen, spit dripping down your chin.

He groans at the sight, his thumb brushing your cheek, smearing the mess. “Say thank you,” he says, voice rough and expectant.

You swallow, your throat sore, your voice hoarse. “Thank you,” you whisper, and it’s barely audible, but it’s enough.

He comes then, hard and sudden, his hand holding you in place, his hips jerking forward. You choke, but you take it, because he told you to, because you want to, because you’re his. He groans your name, low and broken, and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

When it’s over, he pulls back, slow and careful, his hand still in your hair, his thumb brushing your lips. You’re a mess—tears, spit, your dress wrinkled, your knees red from the concrete—but he looks at you like you’re perfect, like you’re his.

“Good girl,” he says, soft and satisfied, and you feel that rush again, warm and dizzying, like you’ve done something right. He pulls you to your feet, steadying you when your legs wobble, and kisses you, slow and deep, tasting himself on your lips. “You did so good for me,” he murmurs against your mouth, and you whimper, clinging to his jacket, because you’re not sure you can stand on your own.

He wipes your chin with his sleeve, smirking, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “Go clean up, sunshine,” he says, casual again, like he didn’t just wreck you. “Don’t want anyone knowing what you’ve been up to.”

You nod, dazed, and he unlocks the door, checking outside before nudging you out. You stumble into the sunlight, your lips still tingling, your throat sore, your body humming with something you can’t name. You make it to the bathroom, splash water on your face, and try to fix your hair, but you can’t stop seeing him—his eyes, his hands, his voice telling you you’re his.

You don’t write in your notebook that night. You don’t know how to put this into words, how to make sense of the way you feel—used, wanted, ruined, loved. You just sit on your bed, staring at the wall, your fingers brushing your lips, tasting him.

And you know, deep down, you’ll do it again.

Because he told you to.

Because you’re his.

[farfromharry]

Summary: Lando’s girlfriend broke her leg and obviously he had to be the first to sign it

lando norris x reader

w/c 963

A broken leg, that was Y/N’s diagnosis. That and being incredibly clumsy. And she had been sulking about it for the better part of a day.

Lando had been scared to overstep. He knew she was upset, her movements for the next 2-3 months were limited, of course she would be upset. But he missed her. Being a boyfriend had taught him a lot about himself and one of those things was that he was extremely clingy when the right person was involved. He just wanted to spend time with her.

He gave it till 2pm the day after they left the hospital before he broke. He needed bribes and a smile and hopefully everything would go to plan.

The man knocked on the bedroom door, getting no response just as expected. “Are you still moping or can I come in?” It was a dangerous game he was playing. Poking the bear. Luckily for him, this bear had a soft spot. That soft spot was named Lando Norris. She was just as gone for him as he was for her. A match made in heaven.

A huff came from beneath the blankets. It made him smile. “Depends. Did you bring ice cream… or chocolate?” Her voice was quiet, like she was being shy about it. He knew her too well though.

“Chocolate ice cream okay?”

She lifted her head like she was checking he was being honest. The man waved the tub where she could see with a spoon in his other hand. For the first time in a full day, she smiled. “You beautiful man, get over here.”

That was his green light. He basically jogged over to the bed, throwing himself in beside her. He offered the ice cream and a kiss, both doing wonders to lighten her mood.

“How you feeling?” He brushed her hair from her face.

She frowned, curling into his side. “Like I can’t go anywhere without burdening someone.” Considering she had never used crutches, everyone agreed it was best to accompany her places in case she stumbled or fell. It was out of love. No one wanted her to hurt herself more than she already had.

Now it was his turn to frown. He couldn’t even begin to tell her how much of a burden she wasn’t. “I will literally carry you everywhere until it’s healed. You’re not allowed to be sad anymore.”

Unfortunately she knew he was being serious. “Lan, you can’t just—“

“Yes, actually, I can.” He raised an arm, pulled up his sleeve and flexed. “I have incredible biceps. It’d be a breeze.” He winked for good measure and she hated how it made her a little flustered.

It all started with his finger tracing shapes on her leg. That was probably where he got the idea from. Then it graduated to him shuffling down the bed, deciding he had to make his mark on her cast.

She didn’t know where he got the pen, probably in one of his many pockets for some random reason. It did take her by surprise though that he was just blindly helping himself. She might not have minded if he had written her a nice message or something. “Did you just sign my cast?” She blinked, blankly.

“Obviously, that’s what you do with casts.”

Her eyes flickered down to the ink now soaking into the plaster. It was there clear as day. The squiggly lines that somehow made up ‘Lando’ with a little 4 beside it. “No, Lando, you literally autographed it.”

He looked down with a furrowed brow, like he hadn’t even realised what he’d done. It was sort of a reflex. When a pen was put in his hand and he was supposed to sign something, that’s exactly what he did. His signature was scrawled mindlessly across the cast because that’s what he was so used to doing. Over the years he’d signed everything from skin to wrappers. Apparently now he even signed his girlfriend.

“Shit.” Any normal person would have felt guilty or even feigned it, but not him. Lando laughed, like, full belly laughed at his mistake. “I’m sorry, baby.”

The woman rolled her eyes. Admittedly she couldn’t help but feel slightly amused herself.

“I’ll fix it.”

“How?”

There was that evil grin on his face again. “You just eat your ice cream. Let me work my magic.”

She didn’t even want to know what he had planned. When it came to Lando sometimes it was better to turn a blind eye and let him do his thing. She sighed, doing as he said. As long as he didn’t draw something phallic like the child he was, she supposed she could get over it.

The man was concentrating hard. Every now and then she would glance at him, find him with his head practically buried in her thigh and his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. It was adorable.

10 minutes must have gone by before he finally announced he was done with his masterpiece. “All done.” He sat back with a proud smile on his face.

When she finally took a look, it was like something a crushing teen might draw in the margin of their high school notebook. Hearts, everywhere, followed by a ‘Lando <3 Y/N.’ It was silly, but it made her smile and that was all he wanted to do. Plus now that he’d dedicated his love to her, at least everyone would know she was his.

“I love it, you’re a real artist.”

He beamed. It would be with her for the next 3 months so he was glad she liked it. He stole a quick kiss and then a bit of ice cream when she wasn’t looking. “Good, ‘cause I love you.”

[no-144444]

hey girl!

I LOVEEEE your writing, you're so talented! i was wondering if you could do a grid post where either the reader, or the driver starts crying during an argument? I'd just love to see how it would play out!

thanks ml :))))

crying during an argument

꩜ featuring: the entire grid, zhou guanyu, paul aron, jack doohan.

꩜ a/n: thank you for requesting and thank you for reading! I loved this idea and lmk if yall want a part 2 to any of them bc i have some ideas... :) also heads up, this is 14k words... my b i got carried away :p

mclaren

Oscar Piastri 

Oscar didn’t cry often. Special events required crying; terrible crashes where he genuinely felt scared for his life, his dog dying, missing his sisters’ graduations. 

And apparently this. 

You were ranting, not even raising your voice, just frustrated. You were so damn understanding too, so aware of the fact that it wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t control his schedule. You just missed him. You just wanted him there for one of the biggest nights of your life, and he couldn’t be there. 

He felt the emotion building in his throat, foreign and clunky. Uncontrollable. He tried to swallow it down, but he just made this weird choked sound, and he felt the tears on his cheeks. 

You’d somehow sensed it, like you did with everything else about him. Always, after every race, every tough day, every great day, you always knew just what he needed. You stopped talking. You whipped your head around, and you were already in front of him with wide eyes and more patience than he thought he probably deserved.  

A soft hand on his shoulder, a tentative breath. “Oscar?” You practically whispered. He nodded, wiping his tears away, only for more to appear seconds later. “Oscar, it’s ok, I’m sorry,” you whispered, your hand reaching up and running through his hair, coaxing him to lean into you. He did. He dropped his head to your shoulder, his tears soaking your shirt. You didn’t seem to care. 

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, not entirely sure what he was apologising for. You shook your head as he fisted your shirt, trying to hold onto something so he wouldn’t fully fall apart.

Your voice came soft and soothing. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” you tightened your grip on his waist. “Please don’t apologise.” 

“I just-“ hiccup- “I feel bad,” God, he sounded like a child to himself. You didn’t judge. “I want to be there so bad.”

“It’s alright Osc,” you hushed. “It’s okay. I know you support me,” you said it against his temple like a prayer, and it made him want to believe you. “I know you love me.”

He nodded, pulling his face out of its solace in the crook of your neck. “Okay,” he nodded, breathless. Your eyes were wide, but trusting. Truthful. “Okay.”

You hadn’t seen Oscar cry many times, mostly because he didn’t like to. He knew now, if he needed to, he could come to you. 

Lando Norris  

It was a dumb argument. Somewhere in your brain, you knew that. 

But it’s hard to remember that when you’re that angry, and that frustrated. 

You shouldn’t have shouted. You shouldn’t have stopped looking at him. You shouldn’t have let him go quiet. There were a lot of things you shouldn’t have done. 

He listened as best he could, truly. He wanted to solve the problem, to make it better, to make being with him easier. He can’t control his schedule though. He can’t control where he’ll be day by day. He can’t leave at a moment's notice. He has people who rely on him, too many people who rely on him. It weighs on him, and somehow, it’s started to weigh on you. You’ve become a background character in your own partner's life, and you couldn’t take it anymore. He feels like more of a roommate than a boyfriend, and he’s hardly ever home. He wanted to fix it, but when so many parts of your life are out of your control, you start to feel helpless. You start to believe the things people say online, the ones online telling him he should just break up with you since he only gets to see you twice a year. The ones who tell him he’s not a good boyfriend. The ones who remind him of his failings, and all the second chances you’ve given him without even thinking about it. 

He teared up and just left. The bedroom door locked behind him before you’d even notice he’d fucking left. 

Then the guilt settled, right down in your stomach, so deep you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You cupped a hand over your mouth, like it would reverse all the things you’d said. Like it could take it back. It couldn’t. You couldn’t. 

Time passed as you stared at that fucking door, debating about what you’d even do if you went in there. You didn’t know, but you knew you had to make it right. 

You knocked against the wood. “Lan,” your voice was breaking. “I’m so sorry,” you leaned your head against the door. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Slowly, you heard footsteps, and the door opened. He looked cosy, but the sad kind of cosy. The kind of cosy he looked when he was overwhelmed. 

He cleared his throat. “Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that,” his usual sentiment lacked any conviction, but there was a soft kind of humour in his words. “She’s a genius.”

You shook your head, that guilt clawing at you from the inside out. “I’m not sure I am,” you chuckled out, but it lacked any kind of humour. “I’m sorry,” you looked up at him, his red-rimmed eyes, his soft expression, his sunken shoulders. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

He shrugged. “Probably not,” he let out a breath. “But I’ve said a lot worse, and you’ve given me another chance every time without thinking about it,” he admitted. “And I think we’re both exhausted.” 

“You’re too nice to me-”

“You’re not nice enough to yourself,” he corrected, wrapping his hand around your waist and pulling you into his chest. “I just needed a minute, I’m sorry I left.”

“I think we both needed a minute,” you admitted, that warm feeling in your chest somehow choking out the feeling of guilt. “I’m sorry again Lan.”

“Thank you,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “We’ll work through it. We always do.”

mercedes:

George Russell 

George argued like he drove; completely controlled until he wasn’t. He liked to think he could keep his cool, that an argument with his girlfriend wouldn’t shake him so much when he could make split-second decisions while driving 300km/ h. He couldn’t. Every word coming out of your mouth seemed to rattle him, make him falter, make him lose his mind. 

He didn’t realise he was crying. It wasn’t sadness. It wasn’t being overwhelmed. He was frustrated. He wanted to be what you needed, he wanted to be there for you, he wanted to always be able to drop everything for you, but he couldn’t. Yes, it was his dream to drive, but sometimes, it left a sour taste in his mouth on the nights you texted him sad and lonely, or exhausted and in need of affection. It made him feel… ashamed. He wanted to be the perfect fiance, be there for you more than anyone else. He couldn’t. And it made him feel like shit. 

“George,” your voice pulled him out of his shame-spiral, and he felt your hand on his cheek, wiping away the wetness. “Breathe,” you demanded, your voice full of fear and eyes wide. “You’re going to have a panic attack, George, breathe.”

He did as you asked, grounding himself with his hands on your hips, squeezing your shirt in time with his breaths like you’d made him do several times before. He focused on your eyes. Exploring the colours he knew so well, reminding himself that an argument is just an argument, and you were just frustrated, he was just frustrated. You’d both lie down together tonight, he’d kiss your shoulder, and you’d pretend to hate the way his hand sneaks up your shirt. You’d still be there. You’d still love him. 

He nodded. “I’m alright,” he sighed out, the tension finally breaking. You didn’t look convinced, you never did during one of these. “I’m alright,” he spoke slower again, reassuring you. 

You nodded, then pressed your face into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice,” you let out, soft and small. Like you were scared he'd fall away if you didn’t hold onto him. 

“I’m sorry I can’t be there,” he whispered, a humorless chuckle in his lips. “You’re always there to support me and I can’t fucking be there for you. Ever.” He spat out the last word like he was embarrassed, or disgusted with himself. 

You looked up and pressed your lips to his. He kissed you back like it could maybe make up for it. Like he could show you how much he cared, how much he wanted to be there. “George,” you were breathless, he tried to kiss you again, and you stopped him. “You’re always there for me,” you smiled softly, the kind of smile that made him see into the future, wrinkles and kids, everything he wanted. “Even when you’re a million miles away, you’re always checking up on me. You care so much it scares my friends sometimes,” you chuckled and pressed a kiss against his forehead. “I’m just…” you couldn’t finish your sentence, you didn’t even know how you felt. 

“I know,” he whispered, his forehead against yours. He always knew when it came to you. 

Andrea Kimi Antonelli

Kimi hated arguments. He hated making you upset, hated not knowing what to say. 

“You can’t say shit like that Kimi, it’s not fair,” you scoffed, fluffing the pillows of your couch. Moving in together had been tumultuous. You both loved it, but it was a long process to figure out the balance between being together all the time, and not ripping the heads off each other. He’d said something stupid, some off-handed comment that made you see red. He sat on the couch as you rage-cleaned the apartment, ranting all the way. He felt too much like a child for his liking, sitting on the couch as you scolded him. 

Kimi was an emotional person, and you’d only had so many arguments in your relationship. He hated seeing you upset, and knowing it was his fault just started a guilt pit in his mind, picking apart every single thing he did that upset you. 

“I think I just need some time alone,” you sighed, putting down the towel in your hand. “I’m going to go for a walk-“

“Don’t go!” He shot up, the emotion building behind his eyes as panic surged through his chest. You couldn’t leave, not like this. He grabbed onto your wrist and pulled you against his chest. “Please don’t leave, talk to me, scream at me, just don’t leave. Please.” His eyes were wide and pleading, and his grip was practically bruising. 

You’d never seen him like this. Begging. Pleading. Like if he didn’t convince you to stay, you’d never come back. You cupped his cheek, the beginnings of tears falling from his eyes as he tried to blink them away. “Kim,” your voice was soft. “I’m not leaving,” you assured him, stroking his cheek as he kept his eyes fixed on your face. “I’m right here.” You took his hand and placed it on your waist, showing him you weren’t leaving. 

“I hate it when people leave,” he admitted, breathless. “I don’t-“ hiccup “-want you to leave,” he closed his eyes. “I never want you to leave,” he pressed his forehead against yours, like it could somehow stop you from running. 

“I’m not leaving,” you whispered. “I’m not leaving, Kim,” you shook your head. 

He tightened his grip on your waist. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was just tired, I didn’t mean it-“ 

“I know,” you nodded, voice full of warmth and understanding. He wasn’t sure he deserved it, but he took it all the same. “You don’t have an angry bone in your body Kimi, I know you didn’t mean it,” you chuckled, and he felt lucky to ever hear the sound. “It just… upset me.”

“I didn’t mean to-“

“I know you didn’t,” you cooed, and his frown relaxed. “Again, I don’t think you have a mean bone in your body either. It just… it was what it was. And it’s done now.” 

Forgiveness, it had never tasted so sweet. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you,” he repeated, on his lips like a chant. 

williams:

Alex Albon

It’s haunting how strange Alex looks when he cries. That’s what he thinks anyway. He’s almost sure you think it too. He’s just so used to not being upset, that he really doesn’t know what to do with himself when he is. You were there for him, through everything. Through RedBull. You’ve seen him cry. You’ve seen him rise up from it, rise up to Williams, rise up to P5 being a genuine result, a constant result. He’s proud, of course, but there’s always that voice in the back of his head that sounds surprisingly like Will Buxton, telling him that he’s a problem. 

Even in his relationships. Even in your relationship. 

That’s what this stemmed from. He didn’t feel good enough. He shut you out again. He didn’t text for a full week. 

“Alex, you can’t just not text me for a week, alright?” You were exhausted, exasperated, and downright pissed. Frankly, you had every reason to be. He was in the wrong, he knew that, but he just couldn’t help feeling slightly justified. He would’ve caused a fight either way, especially when he got like that. “I want to hear from you, the good, the bad, the ugly, the mundane! I don’t care once it’s coming from you,” your words were raw with emotion, and it almost shocked him. He sometimes forgot the fact that he made a difference in people’s lives. 

He didn’t feel the tears falling until one landed on his shirt, and he almost thought it was somehow raining inside. “I know,” his voice broke despite himself. “I’m sorry.”

Your head whipped around and you were beside himin seconds. “Alex,” you whispered out, his name coming out like a secret. “It’s okay,” you wrapped an arm around his neck, your heart breaking as you felt him hiccup against you, trying against his better judgement to stop himself from crying. “You can cry.”

And he did. He wrapped his arms around your back and pulled you into his lap, and cried into your shirt. He didn’t know what to do after carrying this… hurt, for so long. But for some reason being beside you, having you hold him, it didn’t seem so heavy. 

“What’s wrong?” You whispered once his crying has subsided. Your expression was full of care, of understanding, of love. He wondered how he’d gotten so lucky. 

He shrugged. “I just… I don’t know. Sometimes there’s this voice in my head that, no matter what I do, tells me I should still be more,” he admitted, and immediately, he felt out in the open, and not necessarily in a bad way. You nodded your head, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

It took you a few seconds to formulate a response, but it didn’t make him panic like he’d thought it would in the millions of times he’d gone over this very scenario in his head. Your hand smoothed up and down his arm, and he knew you cared. You wouldn’t run away. 

“Thank you for telling me,” you smiled softly. “And I always want you to talk to me about these things, because I’m here for you,” you took a deep breath. “I’m going to say something that I know you won’t like, and that’s how you know I genuinely believe it. Alex, I think you should see someone again,” you placed a soft hand on his cheek as he stiffened. “Not right now, maybe not even in the next few months, but I think it would be good for you. I can love you as much as I can, and do, and evidently, I can’t make it go away. Race results don’t make it go away. Progress doesn’t make it go away. Nothing is going to make it happy, and if I’m understanding right, you can’t just turn it off,” you pressed your lips to his cheek again. “I think seeing someone would help.” 

He felt like you’d opened his eyes. You were right, nothing would make it go away, other than him. For the first time in his life, he was happy about an argument. 

Carlos Sainz

When he argued, he got quiet. Whether he meant to or not, he did. So there was nothing out of the ordinary when it seemed like you were talking to yourself as you listed out the problems. You didn’t want to go to a race when you knew a certain other girlfriend would be there, because she made you feel like shit. Carlos didn’t seem to understand that, and he fought you on it. He called you selfish. You walked off. This was part two of the argument, what you called the reconciliation, but Carlos was silent as he leaned against the counter, his back to you. 

“You’re not even fucking listening, are you?” You scoffed, feeling more than dejected. “I don’t know why I try,” you mumbled, starting to walk away again, but a strong hand gripped your waist and pulled you into his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered out. He hadn’t paid much attention before, when you’d said you didn’t want to go. He just felt rejected, and he ignored your reasoning. He stopped listening. He didn’t know it was because of the group chat you had been added to and humiliated by a girl you thought was your friend. He would’ve never fought you on it. He would’ve just agreed and moved on, asking you to come to the next one. “I didn’t listen, I’m sorry.”

“Carlos-” you reached up and cupped his face in your hands. “What’s wrong? I-I’m sorry-”

He sighed, that hole of guilt in his heart aching with every word out of your mouth. Of course you’d start worrying about him. You should get angry, but of course, you chose to be soft, to care, to love. Sometimes he wished he could do that. He wished he could think like that, instead of going straight for an argument. “You don’t need to apologise,” he shook his head, his big brown eyes dropping with tears as you tenderly wiped them away. “I’m in the wrong,” he reminded you, almost as if he thought you forgot. Maybe you had. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, and I’m sorry I started an argument,” he sniffled. “I love you,” he pressed a kiss to your shocked cheek. “I love you so much, mi cariño.”

“Car,” you were wordless, not even sure how to react. “It’s alright,” you answered, your eyes focused on him, only him. “It was a mistake.”

His heart ached. The world didn’t deserve you, your friends didn’t deserve you, he didn’t deserve you. You should scream. You should tell him to shove his apology up his ass. But you don’t. You chose to forgive him. 

He wasn’t sure he deserved it, but you kissed him like he did, and he couldn’t really complain from there. 

redbull racing:

Max Verstappen 

Max probably wasn’t the best person to go to about emotions, and you knew that. Not only was he emotionally stunted, he was also Dutch, a nationality famous for being blunt. 

But you thought he would see your side and agree. He didn’t. He spent a half hour lecturing you on why your mother was justified in what she said to you. You just agreed, it wasn’t worth the energy to fight with him, he was always so fucking logical. He couldn’t just appeal to the illogical side of you, he couldn’t let you just be upset. He had to solve the problem, he had to explain why the problem wasn’t a problem, he had to make you feel like a helpless kid. 

You finished getting ready for dinner in silence. No music playing. No fun dancing he pretended to hate watching (and sometimes joining you for). No bright smile when your hair looked how you wanted it to, or your outfit came together exactly how you’d wanted it to. Just a flat line on your lips. Just a dull gaze in your eyes. He, on the other hand, was completely entranced by you. You looked stunning in that dress, with your hair done the way you had it.

“Ready to go?” You asked him, not even trying to bait him into putting your heels on you. Another thing pretended to hate, but secretly loved. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, watching you with a sense of curiosity and confusion. “Are you alright?” He asked, trying to snake a hand around your waist, but you just walked on. 

“I’m okay,” you nodded, but there was a stiffness in your actions and words. “Just tired.”

He decided to put it to bed for now, just enjoy the night together, and check back in with you in a while. 

You ditched him the second you got on the yacht. Alexandra was there, so you practically ran to her, and Max loitered around the drinks table with Charles. 

“Alex is mad at me,” he admitted. 

“I think Y/n’s upset with me too,” he admitted. He could blame the loosening of his tongue on the gin in his drink, but he knew it was because of his growing anxiety about the situation. You rarely fought, and it rarely went on this long. 

“What did you do?” Charles knocked back the rest of his drink and Max took him in for the first time that night. He looked practically disheveled. A broken man in front of him, because he had an argument with his girlfriend. 

“Nothing really, she had an argument with her mom over something stupid, and I told her to get over herself. I have arguments with my folks all the time,” he shrugged, and Charles looked at him like he’d committed several war crimes. 

Charles’s jaw dropped even further when he realised Max wasn’t joking. “Are you fucking crazy?” He demanded. “Do you want her to break up with you?”

Now it was Max’s turn to think Charles was crazy. “Obviously not? I love her.”

“You sure?” He scoffed. “If I said that to Alex, I think she’d break up with me-”

“The fragility of your relationship has nothing to do with mine,” he interpreted because he’d finally realised what he sounded like. God, he’d been a fucking asshole, no wonder you were upset. 

You slinked into the bedroom with your head low and a tired expression on your face. You slotted into bed beside him, but you didn’t shock him with your feet against his, frozen against warmth. You didn’t turn to him. You didn’t show him the funny tiktoks you’d found that day. He felt something in his heart squeeze. 

You turned out the light without a kiss, and the air in the room filled with the atmosphere of a heavy silence, and he genuinely yearned to reach out for you. He didn’t. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed. 

You waited 30 minutes. Max was a good sleeper, and heavy sleeper. You could get away with sleeping on the couch for one night, not because you wanted to hurt him, but because you genuinely couldn’t sleep next to him after he told you to get a grip. 

Slowly, you climbed out of bed, pillow in hand. 

Something pulled you back. A hand. His hand. 

A sniffle. “Stay,” he whispered into the darkness of the room. “Please stay. I know what I said was shitty and wrong, and you can hate me all you want, but please stay.”

You halted in the darkness, his words carrying more weight than you thought he probably meant them to. “I don’t hate you Max,” you answered. “I’ll never hate you.”

“You can, if it means you’ll stay,” he admitted, his voice breaking. You climbed back into bed slowly, but he felt that hole in his chest, the one that had been there since the day his father left him at a petrol station, close up just a little more. The way it always did when he was near you. You climbed into his arms, feeling small droplets of water against your shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

You breathed out. “Alright,” you nodded. “Thank you for apologising.” He practically held his breath. What the fuck was he doing crying when he was one the in the wrong? He could hear his dad now, telling him to stop crying, telling him to grow up, telling him- 

“You can cry, y’know,” you whispered. “I like it better when you trust me. Like when we dance or when you put on my heels. You’re less nonchalant than usual. Makes me feel like you really care about me,” you admitted, running a hand through his hair. “Makes me feel like you like me enough to trust me.”

He closed his eyes, tight. Of course you’d say the most heartbreakingly beautiful thing anyone had ever said to him and act like you’re the one inconveniencing him. “I trust you,” he whispered. 

And that was the first time you’d ever seen Max cry. 

Yuki Tsunoda

Fathers were funny in the way they showed their love. You understood that Yuki probably didn’t have the healthiest relationship with his, especially based on the way he practically shunned him when he came out of the car, another disappointing Sunday. You knew it was already weighing on him with a simple glance. 

He clearly couldn’t. He complained the whole way back to the hotel, all throughout dinner, and even on the short walk back to your hotel rooms. 

And you couldn’t take it anymore. Yuki was trying his damnedest in one of the shittest cars on the grid, and the only reason it looked so bad for him was the fact that he had Max 4-Time-World-Champion-one-of-the-greatest-of-the-modern-era Verstappen as a teammate. 

“He’s trying. How can that not be enough for you? He’s trying,” you shook your head at her before bidding his wife a good night, and walking into your own suite. Yuki had no idea what to do, but his father just brushed by him coldly, his mother behind him offering a sympathetic smile. He felt twelve again, sandwiched between two things he wanted equally. He wanted his father’s approval, he wanted his dad to just say he was proud, just once. And he wanted your support. He liked that you stood up for him, that you were willing to, but it wasn’t that simple. The majority of things never were. 

He didn’t even know what to say. It happened in slow-motion. He couldn’t stop it, just watch the chaos unfold and have to deal with the aftermath. He just stormed in and demanded. “What the fuck was that?!” 

“Yuki, the way he was talking about you, it was disgusting,” you answered, shocked at his confusion. 

“You just disrespected my father, Y/n, you’ve just fucked the both of us,” he scoffed. He paced the floor, his eyes wide, panic surging through him. Tension filled the room, oozing from every corner. “He’s going to hate you now.” He knew it probably wasn’t the best thing to say, but he needed you to understand the level of disrespect, and how his father would hold that grudge. 

You shrugged, unbothered, as you pulled your earrings out. Though he could tell, from the stiff and rigid nature of your movements, it bothered you. “Let him hate me,” you sighed. “I’m trying to support you, and hearing about every tiny thing you did wrong isn’t going to make you feel any better, just worse. He needed to shut up.” 

He groaned in frustration, his head falling into his hands. Despite the way he wanted to keep his composure, he could feel it crumbling under the weight of the day. He sniffled and looked up again, willing himself not to cry. He failed, and the first tear fell. 

You stared at him through the mirror, your eyes locked in on him. You slowly turned around and stood when you saw him. “Yuki,” you breathed out, pulling him into a hug. “I’m sorry,” you cooed. “I made it worse, and I know that. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, emotion breaking his voice. “I just- I wanted today to be good. Not like every other fucking race this year. I wanted it to be worth it. Worth their sacrifice. Worth your sacrifices. And it’s not,” he sighed. “I just step into that car feeling like a failure.”

“I know,” you nodded as his hands circled your waist. “But you’re not, baby, you’re not a failure. Christian is. Helmut is. You’re just taking the brunt of the weight because they’re too small to admit their mistakes,” you soothed. He wondered how he’d ever gotten so lucky. “And you’d never fail me.”

Something about the way you said it made him believe you, and for the first time in a while, he didn’t go to bed feeling like a failure. 

vcarb:

Liam Lawson

He hated crying. He hated how it made him feel. He hated how it made other people feel. You hated arguing just as much. 

The fact that both these things were happening simultaneously was entirely your fault.

He knew you wanted to meet his parents, he really did. You were just busy. The life of a software engineer was busy. You couldn’t change that, even if you wanted to, which you did. You would’ve been there, at that restaurant on 43rd, that gorgeous Italian place you two frequented when you were in New York. Yet you stood him up for a late-night coding session with your team because the contract you were working on was taking longer than expected, and you were contractually obligated to keep on working until you could get as close to done. His texts were just… miserable. 

Hey baby, where are you?  (18:04)

We’re going to start without you, alright? I’m sure you’re just late (please don’t be too late my dad is already teasing me about you not being real :)) (18:35)

Y/n, where are you? (18:47)

Are you alright?  (18:59)

Please text me I’m getting worried. (19:34)

Fucks sake Y/n. I just checked your location. Really? 

Work is more important than this? Than me?  (19:57)

Congratulations my parents are pissed and I’ve been doing fucking recon all night. I thought you’d actually make it this time. I thought you put the time aside. I thought you fucking cared.  (20:07) 

Don’t text me. I don’t want to talk to you until tomorrow. (21:49) 

I’m staying in my parents' hotel. (21:50) 

He was crying on the streets of New York like some bad romcom. He felt pathetic, in more ways than one. How was it that he could fuck everything up, all over again. He trusted you. He relied on you. He was so sure you’d show up for him like you’d done so many times before, and you just didn’t. His parents felt disrespected, fuck, he felt disrespected. He’d planned out the entire dinner, picked a place you loved, briefed his parents on you as a person so they could ask questions, briefed you on them, so you’d have just as many questions. 

And you didn’t show.

You walked towards his hotel, shame hanging off you so clearly, you were sure anyone who could see you would know. Fuck, you stood up Liam’s parents. Brilliant first impression, you thought to yourself. You knew him well enough to know that after a night like this, even when you fucked him off so badly, him still wanted you to try. He’d messed up enough for you to know this routine, though you didn’t think it would go as it did regularly. You’d missed dinner with his parents. Possibly the worst first impression you could ever make, especially when you truly planned on marrying him. You loved him, so bad it hurt sometimes. 

You dialled his number. You couldn’t wait the 18 minute walk to apologise. You just hoped he’d pick up. 

He picked up on the fifth ring. 

“I’m so sorry,” you rushed out. “I’m a fucking piece of shit, and you deserve so much better and I’m mortified that I missed it, I’m so sorry Liam.” You waited with bated breath as he just breathed on the line. He was quiet for a minute, so still you thought he almost hung up. 

“I can see you,” he answered. You raised an eyebrow, and looked around, seeing a figure that looked a lot like Liam, just across the stream between you. 

“What-? Liam-” you started, hearing the thickness of his voice. He’d been crying. The knife twisted in your heart, and you had only yourself to blame. 

“Across the water,” he finished. “You look beautiful,” he smiled through his tears. “So fucking pretty.”

Again, that knife got deeper. Of course he’d compliment you even after what you’d done. Of course, because that’s the kind of man he was. Caring. Loving. So fucking sweet it hurt your teeth sometimes. You let out a small humourless chuckle. “You’re too sweet to me.”

“You fucked up tonight,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair as he stared at you from across the water. “Figured a compliment might soften the blow.”

“You don’t need to soften the blow, I was an asshole. I deserve the full consequences,” you breathed out. “I’m so sorry Liam. I’m genuinely so embarrassed and fucking… ashamed. I’m such a fucking idiot,” you played with the ring on your middle finger. He’d given it to you after he noticed that you liked to fidget while you spoke. That's what he did, he noticed. 

He let out a teary laugh. “Yeah, you were an asshole,” he agreed, nodding his head. The words felt foreign in his mouth. He hated saying shit like that, but objectively it was true. You were the asshole in the situation. “But I fucking love you,” he let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “And for some reason spending a night we could spend together, alone, makes me sick to my stomach. I want to fall asleep next to you and I want to wake up beside you tomorrow before I fuck off to wherever,” he admitted, his vulnerability pulling at every single string of your heart. “And I fucking love you so much I spent all of tonight convincing my parents I got the date wrong. So you owe me.” 

You breath caught in your throat at that. Of course he did. Always protecting you. Always caring too much. “Liam, you didn’t have to do that. You should tell them-”

“Just come over here,” his voice was pleading, like he wasn’t above begging for you. “Please,” he added at the end. 

Against your better judgement, you walked straight through the shallowest part of the stream, ruining your dress from the knees down, and running right into his arms. “I’ll make it up to you,” you whispered against his lips as he kissed you like he hadn’t seen you for months, not days. 

“You fucking better,” he chuckled, wiping away the last of his tears as he pulled away. 

Isack Hadjar

Isack had vowed to himself he wouldn’t cry until the end of the season. Was it the healthiest thing on planet earth? No, very much not, but he seemed set on the idea, so you let him. You were just ready to be there if it fell apart, and he needed some comfort. 

He did pretty well, up until it started. You came home, quiet. You weren’t humming in the kitchen as you made a snack, you weren’t asking him about his day, it was like you were there physically, but not mentally. And it didn’t change. He’d thought it had been a once-off, but no, the next day you pushed him further and further away, and he had no idea why. You’d always been the better communicator out of the two of you, hell, you’d taught Isack everything he knew about communicating effectively. So getting radio silence from you was not only unusual, it was worrying. He left for the double header, thinking you were just mad and needed time to process it, and then you’d talk. You didn’t. You texted him a few times, small messages wishing luck, or congratulations on a good result, but your regular messages about your day were gone, much like your hours-long facetime calls. He didn’t let it bother him. He gave you space. He didn’t lose his cool, because he knew you loved him, and he loved you. That wouldn’t change.

He walked into the living room with a confused expression when he found you sitting on the couch, the apartment looking more barren than when he’d left. It hit him. His heart stopped in his chest and he dropped his bag. No. He thought. This isn’t real, she’s pranking me, she’s just mad at me, she’s just-

“Isack,” your voice was steady, but anyone could see the way you were breaking inside. “We need to talk.”

Those dreaded words. He nodded and gulped back the emotion building in his throat as he sat beside you, his eyes trained to you like you’d disappear if he looked away for a split-second. Maybe you would. He didn’t reach out and hold your hand or grab your thigh like he usually would, he didn’t know if he was allowed. He held his breath. “What’s wrong?” he asked, all the care in the world in his voice. 

You sighed. “I can’t do this anymore,” you admitted out loud for the first time. For months you’d been going over every scenario in your head, trying to work through every possible fix, and none of it left you satisfied. You couldn’t just be someone’s WAG, even if that someone was Isack. You needed a boyfriend who could show up for you, always. And Isack never could. And the worst part was, it was never his fault. He always wanted to, tried to support you from oceans away, sent you message after message, and you’d see how disappointed he was once you came back and you had to recount the whole night to him. He cared so deeply, but it just wasn’t enough. You needed someone to be there, mind, body, and soul. Not in a racecar halfway across the world. “I love you,” you sniffled, a stray tear falling down your face. “But this isn’t working for me anymore. I need someone who’s here, someone who can be there for me all the time. And it’s not your fault. You’ve been nothing but the best to me,” you choked up, unable to continue as more tears fell down your face. He wanted so desperately to reach out and wipe them away, promise you he could be there, that he would be there, but that was unrealistic. He couldn’t be there, no matter how badly he wanted to be, and intentions and text messages after the fact are never as good as actually showing up. He couldn’t give you that. He understood. “You’re so kind,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “And caring, and loving. I just… I need something else right now.” 

You finally looked up and saw his face, tear-stained but accepting. He nodded. “That’s alright,” he whispered, though every syllable killed him. “You deserve someone who can be there for you,” there was a small smile on those lips you knew so well, and it hit you that it might be the last time you ever see him in person, you were sure you'd end up seeing him on your TV screen, even long after today, probably winning world championships. Time stopped for a moment and you let yourself remember what it meant to be with Isack, just one last time. “And I’m so sorry I cannot give that to you,” he sighed out a teary, angry sigh. “It is one of my great failings,” he sniffled, but brought a hand up to your cheek and wiped a tear away. “Maybe one day we’ll find each other again?” he asked, his voice hopeful. 

“Maybe,” you nodded, but you both knew this was the end of the two of you. 

You left the apartment after that. You didn’t look back. You saw him, years on, watching the sport you fell in love with because of the boy you fell in love with, with your family. Your husband and your children loved car number 6, and you didn’t have the heart to tell them you loved it for a different reason. He won world championships, like you always knew he would. He never got married, he just raced. He sent you Christmas cards and thank yous that you hid and cherished forever, because you never really forget your first love. 

Years on, you told your granddaughter about the boy with the hazel eyes and fighting spirit, and how some nights, you wished you’d stayed with him. She told you that you should’ve. You told her she was wiser than you were at her age. 

Maybe she was right. Maybe you should’ve held on a little bit longer. 

ferrari:

Charles LeClerc

Charles notoriously hated fighting. He had no idea what the point was, because he’d just apologise, kiss you, and want everything to go back to normal. That worked for him. He came from a family that didn’t yell, a family so tightly woven together through something so deeply upsetting, that shouting was never an option. He came from a family that took care of each other, no matter what it cost them. Loyalty. Strength in numbers. Unconditional love. 

You didn’t. You came from a family that made their children compete for love, made you hate your siblings and them hate you in return, and a family that boarded all that up with their perfect image. 

He didn’t know. He wouldn’t have pushed if he did. He wouldn’t have gone behind your back and set up the dinner if he realised it was like this, on your birthday no less. 

Those carefully disguised jabs from your mothers, those deliberately placed smirks and sniggers from your siblings and their stuck-up partners, those blatant comments from your father, he saw how they all weighed you down slowly. Over the course of a dinner, he saw you turn from the extroverted, kind, and sweet girl he’d fallen for, to the small, picked-on, and scared child you’d been for half your life. The side of yourself you’d never shared with anyone. The side of yourself you promised you’d never have to. He saw how your eyes watered before you got up to go to the bathroom, another snarky comment about your career choice being ‘unique’, like you weren’t literally changing people’s life with your work. He shook his head as he watched you leave. 

“You are all terrible,” the words came out of his mouth before he meant them to, his eyes low as he looked at the table around him. He’d already said it, why not dig the grave deeper? “Get out of my house, now.” 

There was a tense stillness that followed. Knives stopped. Chatter died down. Anger pulsed through his veins. 

“Pardon?” your father asked, an incredulous smile on his face. He acted as if he didn’t hear Charles, and if he was a better man who wanted to keep a relationship with your family, he would’ve apologised and told everyone to continue eating. He wasn’t a better man, not when it came to you. He would do anything to protect you. He would go to any length to make you happy. He’d do anything if it meant he wouldn’t have to see you with that heartbreaking pout and cloudy eyes. 

“I said, get out of my house,” he repeated, standing from the table. “I don’t want to see you here again.” He walked over to the door and opened it wide, waiting for them to step outside. They looked at him dumbfounded. Like he wasn’t being serious. Like he wasn’t seconds away from grabbing your brother, who’d made an awful comment on how you were ‘parading yourself around the paddock like an instagram whore’, when he didn’t understand or know how long it took Charles to convince you to come with him. When he didn’t see the hours you’d spent before walking into that paddock, pacing your hotel room, and nearly backing out at the last minute, but you forced yourself to because you wanted to be there for him. 

“W-what’s going on?” you asked, walking out of the bathroom, the tension palpable. 

Your father turned to you. “Brilliant question, what is going on?” he demanded, his tone laced with anger. You flinched. Charles knew that was it. 

“They’re leaving,” he said, never raising his voice, never arguing. Just assertive and simple. “Say goodbye.”

The fear in your eyes broke his heart. Had this really been how you’d grown up? You looked around the room, panicked. “Charles, they’re not done their-”

“No, we are,” your sister bit out, standing up with her husband beside her. “Thanks for the hospitality, Bunny,” she practically spat at you. You just flinched, those beautiful eyes filling with fresh tears. He wanted nothing more than to go to you, hold you, promise you he was sorry, swear he’ll never let it happen again. But he couldn’t. Not yet. He had to make sure they left. 

“Meg, come on, I’m sorry-” you reached for her, but she slapped your hand away. Like it didn’t even matter. Like you were less than her. Charles couldn’t stop himself. He crossed the room and grabbed her wrist, holding it tight. She gasped. You grabbed his arm and tried to get him to let go, begging in his ear gently, but he had this unbreakable focus and precision. He wanted to scare her, scare them all. He needed to show that you were untouchable now, that he wasn’t going to let this shit slide. By the way your mother’s eyes widened, he guessed she got the gist. 

“What did you just do?” he questioned, the terrifying calmness in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. She didn’t answer. “Apologise, then leave.” 

She mumbled out something, and Charles let her go. It wasn’t that he actually cared about her apology, it was about scaring them. She shuffled out the door with her bitch of a husband behind her, your brother following, shouting about a lawsuit. Your parents were last to go, their eyes on Charles the entire time as you just watched them leave, feeling eight years old again. If you had it in you, you probably would’ve begged them to stay, just because dealing with their teasing is better than the opposite. Silence. For months at a time. Even when you were in the same house. Even when you were a child. 

Your hand was wrapped so tightly around Charles arm, he didn’t even notice the pressure until you released it. Your eyes were clouded over, you were shaking, and you just walked over to the table and started cleaning up dishes. 

“Y/n-” he started. 

“Don’t,” you breathed out, your voice uneven and broken. It squeezed his heart. “Just don’t, Charles.” He held you clean up the table in silence. He dried the dishes after you washed them and he tried to push that terrified look in your eyes out of his mind, but it kept coming back. Your realisation of them leaving, the way you were trying to apologise, and the way you tried to stop him. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled, stopping in his tracks as his eyes watered. You just kept washing the dishes. Mindful, like it was a ritual, holding onto it like it was the only thing stopping you from crumbling. “Y/n, please,” he begged, reaching over and turning the tap off. “Talk to me.”

You looked up, a tear already flowing down your cheek. You dried your hands on a towel, then wiped your cheek. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you against him. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, hsi voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.” 

You nodded, tears falling onto his shirt silently. “I know. You didn’t know. It’s alright,” you whispered, that heartbreaking frown on your lips against his neck. “It just sucks.”

“Was it always like that?” he asked in a broken whisper. You didn’t respond, and that was answer enough. He choked back a tear. “It’ll never be like that here, I promise. I swear.” 

You nodded. You believed him. Charles made you feel safe. Sure, he made a mistake tonight, but he was already making up for it. 

He loved you. That was worth a shitty night.

Lewis Hamilton

The apartment was ground zero for an explosion of toys, arts and crafts, and Lewis was sure there was some mashed up food in there somewhere. And it was quiet. Too quiet. A newborn, two toddlers and a five year old meant there was constant noise, but none tonight. He raised an eyebrow as he expertly stepped through a broken lego set, and moved towards the kids bedrooms. 

No one in the nursery, not unusual, since the most time Millie spent there was sleeping. 

No one in the boys room, again, also not unusual at this time of night, they usually stayed up with you until about 8, then when he got home, they’d go down without a fight. 

No one in Emmy’s room, so they were in your room. 

He opened the door as quietly as he possibly could, and found three children sprawled out on the bed, already asleep, and Millie asleep in her crib. He smiled fondly, tucking them in, kissing Millie on the forehead. Moments like these made those shitty days in the car bearable. Just knowing he had his own little fan club back home, made getting into the car just that bit easier. 

The light from the bathroom spilled out from under the door, and he froze when he heard a tiny choked sob. He softly opened the door, worry furrowing his brow as you came into view. Red-rimmed eyes, hand over your mouth to stop the sobs from waking the kids, exhausted eyes. His heart ached and he pressed a cautious hand on your shoulder, just a simple ‘I’m here’. 

You whipped around and fell into his chest, everything you’d been holding in for weeks finally coming out. Then you did something unexpected, you pushed him away. 

You stood up, wiped your eyes, and went back out to the main room, and you started cleaning. He closed the bedroom door and followed you out, a confused brow raised. “Baby?” he questioned. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing Lewis,” you spat, picking up toys, as tears fell like you didn’t even notice them. “Nothing’s wrong.” His heart ached. What could possibly be this wrong? Why would you be calling him by his first name? 

“Clearly something’s wrong,” he started, approaching you slowly. You stilled and stared, finally looking at him. Ferrari shirt and some jeans, necklaces and rings, hair done perfectly. It made you hate him. He got to go out and live his life every single day, every single weekend, while you were stuck in an apartment in a country hundreds of miles away from your family and friends, and you were just expected to deal. Deal with a newborn. Deal with your toddlers. Deal with the actual important things in your life while he gets to go race, and still be the favourite parent. God, you fucking hated him for it. You weren’t sure when it started. You weren’t sure if it was just your regular case of postpartum depression, or if you genuinely hated his guts, but either way, you didn’t want to see him. You didn’t want him to touch you. You didn’t want him. 

Seeing him standing in your living room filled you with so much rage, you actually didn’t know what to do with yourself.  “Just fuck off Lewis,” you scoffed, resuming picking up the toys. “Go on the sim or something, leave me alone.” 

“Y/n,” his voice was stern, serious. “What’s wrong?” He tried again. 

And you broke. Even though you didn’t want to. Even though you’d been holding it together since Millie was born. You dropped the toys to the floor with a loud crash, and you sobbed. Openly. Angrily. 

You let yourself rage. You didn’t think about the other people. You didn’t think about the kids asleep inside. You didn’t think about the fact that you’d end up saying things you regretted, because you didn’t care. You just wanted him to hurt, to understand your hurt, and you didn’t know how else to show it. “Fuck you Lewis,” you sniffled. “You’re never here!” you shouted, thanking your past self that you soundproofed the apartment years ago, so hopefully, the kids wouldn’t wake up. “You’re never fucking here. You leave me, all the fucking time. You don’t parent our kids, ever. I do. Every fucking day. Every drop-off, every mess, every spillage, every argument, every fucking day. And I don’t get a moment to myself. Because I have four fucking kids relying on me, alone. Their father is never fucking here. And every time I remember that, I think back to your vows to me, as your wife,” you choked out, sobbing as you shouted. You didn’t even feel like a person anymore, just a mom. Not a functioning human with thoughts and opinions, and needs, and wants. “You promised you’d never leave me.” 

He stood there, dumbstruck. He had no idea. Of course you didn’t, you’re never here, a voice in his head shot back. “Baby, I’d never leave you-”

“You already have, Lewis. Clearly you have,” you sighed, letting your arms cross over your chest. “I just… I need to go home.” 

“You are home, baby,” his voice which was once soothing, sounded so fucking patronising now. You gritted your teeth. 

“I want to go back to my home. With my family, and my friends,” you bit out. “I’m bringing the kids with me. You can visit us there.” 

Fuck, that was heavy. You both felt that settle in the room, tension filling the air. He didn’t realise he was crying until it dropped down onto his shirt. “Y/n, you can’t just leave-”

“You do it every damn weekend,” you offered an angry smile. “I hope you’re satisfied by the end of the season, because if you don’t choose our family and me over your career, I’ll be filing for a divorce.” 

And the ultimatum was set. Fuck, he probably would’ve fallen over if he wasn’t already leaning against the wall. You didn’t notice. You just continued picking up the toys and putting them away. He felt bile rise in his throat. 

Zhou Guanyu

Zhou cried, he was just like that. But, he’d never cried because of you. This had rattled him. He’d never expected you to be so… mean. He knew you didn’t mean it, emotions were high anyway and this was just the cherry on top of a shit week. 

You knocked on the door, guilt heavy in your stomach like a bowling ball. “Zhou,” your voice was soft. He held his breath. “Zhou I'm so sorry,” you started choking up yourself. “Fuck,” you mumbled. “I’m being mean to you and I’m the one fucking crying,” you sniffled, leaning against the door. “I’m an asshole.” He felt your weight against the door, and heard the desperation in your voice. He just… wasn’t ready to respond yet. He didn’t have anything to say to you. 

You took another deep breath. “I shouldn’t have said that, I-I’m sorry,” God, you felt so small. Taking Zhou down just because you were stressed? Snapping at him like he wouldn’t do anything for you? Like he didn’t love you so much it hurts? You were disgusted with yourself. You honestly thought you didn’t deserve forgiveness. “I was stressed, and I know, that’s not an excuse. I just don’t know how to fucking deal with it. When everyone is breathing down my neck, a-and you’re just trying to love me with, with your fucking love languages and I love it. I swear I do, I don’t ever w-want it to fucking stop, I just… it gets c-crowded in my h-head,” you admitted, hiccups interrupting your explanation. You’d never been good at this, at love. But you were willing to try for Zhou, because you loved him so much you felt like you couldn’t breathe without him. You let out another sob. He felt the tears falling down his cheeks. “I just don’t know what to do with myself sometimes. I’m so bad at this, I just… I’m so scared you’re going to wake up one day and realise that I’m not worth the trouble. And I-I push you away because I already love you so much that losing you w-would break me,” you held in a sob. “And I’m so sorry Zhou. You deserve so much better than that.” You knocked your head against the door lightly, like it could somehow fix the turmoil in your brain. It didn’t. 

He sniffled from the other side of the door and it twisted the guilt in your stomach. The door unlocked. You stepped back. Zhou stood in front of you, looking just as broken as you were. 

No words were exchanged. He didn’t shout or demand an apology. He did the most Zhou-thing he could’ve done. He forgave you. He hugged you. He kissed you. He promised you he’d stand by you when you felt like this. 

He chose to be kind, because of course he did. He was your Zhou. 

haas:

Ollie Bearman 

He was fucked. Literally, and metaphorically, he was fucked. 

Seriously, he’d just fucked someone. And he’d just realised it wasn’t you. After the fact. After it was over. 

Dodging calls wasn’t like Ollie. Dodging texts wasn’t like Ollie. But, he’d changed a lot since moving up to F1. He was colder. Less goofy. Less… himself. He walked around like he cared what people thought now, which you guessed he must’ve. You saw it in the way he carried himself. You saw it in the light in his eyes, or lack-there-of. 

And you were seeing it in person, right now. He stood in front of you, eyes wide and teary, excuses pouring from his mouth like those tyre strategies he used to rattle off. 

“It was a mistake,” he sniffled. “And I’m so sorry.” He let his head drop, eyes falling to the floor. He couldn’t face it, face you. This was the biggest mistake of his life, and he was a Haas driver. He thought back to those nights where you’d hold him when he got like this. Whether it was results or pressure or stress, you always cared. You hugged him and kissed him and told him everything would be alright. Well, right now, he wished you would. He knew you wouldn’t, knew he didn’t deserve it. Didn’t stop him from hoping.

“Alright,” you shrugged, no tone, no hurt, nothing. His head snapped back up, eyes filling with hope. “Pack your shit.” 

His world stopped. “Y/n-” 

“Fuck you Ollie, I don’t care. I don’t trust you. I can’t love someone I don’t trust,” you laid it out perfectly. Simple. Easy. He broke your trust, so he didn’t have you anymore. “Begging won’t change anything. Just leave with your dignity.” 

And even if he didn’t want to, he did. He left with that pit of guilt in his stomach, knowing he made the biggest mistake of his entire life. 

Esteban Ocon

Esteban was quiet. You were tense. Your apartment was usually full of laughter and light. It was silent that night. The sun had set on the beautiful city of Geneva, and the chill crept in from the cracked window, or just the cold shoulder your boyfriend was giving you. The bed felt cold. He felt cold. You thought back and noticed how those sweet routine moments you’d cherished for years had slowly started to dwindle in recent months. He wouldn’t join you for a shower anymore. He didn’t bother teasing you while you did your makeup or skincare. He didn’t dance with you in the kitchen anymore. He spoke more French, a language you didn’t quite understand (though in recent months you’d been learning it, for him). He focused on work. 

Your heart broke slowly as it hit you. He fell out of love. 

“Just say it,” you whispered into the darkness of your shared bedroom. His hands weren’t around your hips like they used to be. His face wasn’t buried in your hair as he slept soundly. No, he stayed to his side of the bed like you had the plague. 

“Say what?” he huffed, tired voice and eyes turning over to meet your eyes. “It’s 2am Y/n.” 

You stared at him for a moment, and you knew she knew what you were saying. He knew exactly what you were saying, he was just too pussy to do it himself. “You’re seriously going to make me say it?” you scoffed. He shook his head in annoyance and looked at you expectantly. He was a small man. He was pathetic. That's what you reminded yourself as you spoke. Maybe your voice would shake, but at least you spoke. “You’re not in love with me anymore,” your voice sounded so small it was almost like you didn’t recognize it.

He was quiet for a moment, then he broke. Eyes weeping, chest heaving, fully sobbing. You stared in shock. Never in your three years together had he ever done that. Never had he fully broken down in front of you. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I never meant for this to happen.”

And you hated yourself for being right. Of course he fell out of love with you, everyone always did. “Yeah,” you shrugged, sitting up. “I know you didn’t.” There wasn’t much enthusiasm behind your words, but I think anyone could’ve excused you for that. You didn’t reach out for him. You didn’t comfort him. You didn’t care to. Who was he to be crying when he was the one at fault? You’d been the perfect girlfriend, perfect support system, perfect fucking WAG, and he fell out of love. That was his failing, not yours. You told yourself, but it had started to feel like there was something wrong with you. This kept happening. You’d give yourself to someone completely, and they wouldn’t care anymore.

He grabbed your wrist before you could leave the bed. “You’re going to find someone who loves you like I should’ve.”

Fuck, if that didn’t break you more. 

aston martin:

Fernando Alonso

Arguments weren’t uncommon in any relationship. People disagree, it’s just humans being humans. But these disagreements were showing up more often, cutting into you a bit more, his words became more harsh. You knew he didn't mean to, but he hurt you. He made you feel like a child, with the way he talked down to you, like you were too fucking stupid to understand the complex inner-workings of his brain. 

It made you feel less-than, and you fucking hated that. It made you feel like you weren’t in a partnership, but a mentorship, and you hated that too. He used language that he knew would hurt you, childish, adolescent, a baby. Like you couldn’t understand just how bad life can get because you were 28 instead of his wise age of 43. 

So you were quiet. You stayed quiet, shrunk yourself to fit in better. You didn’t take back when his friends made awful comments, you spent more time to yourself, you stopped wanting to come to races, you stopped wanting to dress up and go out, you stopped wanting things. Race weekends passed in a still kind of tension, one that he didn’t seem to notice. He did. He saw every time you made yourself smaller for him. Every time you gave up something you wanted for him. Every time you kept your mouth shut for him. And it broke him. Why would you think he wanted you to be any different? Why would you change yourself for him? Why would he let it go on so long? 

So he sat down at the table one day, dinner in front of him, you to his left, and he broke down. It was all too much. The pressure from the sport, the silence in the house, the shrinkage of the only thing good left in his world, you. 

You gasped. “Fernando,” you reached out and cupped his cheek, panic filling your eyes. “What’s wrong?” You asked, your food forgotten as you leaned in closer to him. So caring, so kind. It twisted the knife into his heart, but he was always good at persevering. 

He shook his head, a sad smile reaching his lips. “You deserve better than me, than this,” he spoke softly and your heart dropped into your stomach. He couldn’t make you miserable a minute longer. He couldn’t watch you shrink. “I think we have to take a step back,” The fear in your eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life, but he knew he needed to do this. He had to set you free, you had to live your life free of him. He pushed your hand off his cheek. “I’m not interested anymore. I want you gone.” 

That was all it took. That panic and fear melted away into something darker. Resentment. Anger. Hatred. It killed him to watch, but he knew it was the right thing, even if it felt like his world was falling apart. 

Lance Stroll

“Just- shut up!” he groaned, his hands flying around the room uncontrolled. It was quiet for a moment, you were quiet for a moment. Just standing there, still, either in shock or rage, he couldn’t tell. He just knew nothing good could come of this argument since the minute he started it, and he still started it. “I just… I need a minute.” His voice broke and that unforgettable burning sensation began in the back of his throat. You stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his back, soothingly rubbing up and down. He could tell you were still upset, still mad, still raging. But you chose to put it aside for a moment, and calm him down. Fuck, he didn’t deserve you. 

You sighed, laying your head on his shoulder and leaning into him. “Lance, you can’t start an argument and leave it once it gets hard, or I get angry. It’s not fair,” you whispered out, your exasperation clear in your tone. “It’s not fair.”

He knew you were right, knew he should apologise, knew he should say something. He didn’t. He just nodded, trying desperately to hold himself together as he felt everything in him beg to be let out. You huffed. “Lance, you can cry, we just need to keep talking after. You have to stay here. Trust me enough to let me comfort you. If you don’t trust me I genuinely don’t understand why we’re still together,” you admitted, your voice raw and tired. You couldn’t do this dance again, you needed him to commit. Feel the fear, and do it anyway. Trust. Love. 

He nodded again, stronger this time. He took another shallow breath, and he turned to you. She has you. He told himself. She loves you, this isn’t going to scare her away. 

And he let himself go. 

sauber:

Nico Hulkenberg 

He missed it, even though he’d flown all night. Exhaustion had settled itself in his bones long before he reached his front door, and still, he continued. 

But he missed it. 

That’s what she would remember. Her dad wasn’t there for her birthday. He didn’t get there in time. 

You were waiting in the living room. It was 5am. Too early to get the day started but also too late to go back to sleep. You told yourself you should go for a walk, start breakfast, get ahead on your work, but something anchored you to the couch, watching the sun rise on Monaco. The harbour shone in the sunlight, making it as beautiful as the time you first saw it. When he brought you here for the first time, all those years ago. You sat on a boat beside him, a new exciting talent in the world of F1, a jittery 20-something guy you’d met through mutual friends. Someone had said to you that even then, he looked at you like he saw something else. A future, a loving home, a family. And they were right. You chuckled, remembering those moments where he’d come home to you after a shitty weekend, and he’d just melt into you. Not leave your side for three days. It made you laugh. 

“I missed it,” he whispered into the expanse of the dark living room, just brightening up in the new day's light. He didn’t approach you. He didn’t know if he was allowed. “I fucking missed it.” You stood up and walked over to him, hearing the wobble in his voice. It cracked your heart, just like every question from your daughter had, during the day. You wrapped your arms around his neck. You should be mad. You should shout.

“She’s four,” you whispered. “She loves you more than anything. Children are more forgiving than adults. Don’t miss the next one,” you advised with a soft smile on your lips. He squeezed you tighter, the beginning of tears falling onto your hoodie. “You’re not a bad father,” you reminded him, instilling in him that he wouldn’t become his worst fear. “You’re a lot of things Nico, and a bad father will never be one of them.”

He shook his head in the crook of your neck. “I don’t deserve you two.” 

Now it was your turn to shake your head. “You do,” you smiled. “We love you so much Nico.” 

Gabriel Borteleto

He wasn’t prepared, he didn’t think about it, he just said it, he didn’t realise the implications, didn’t notice the way you stiffened. 

Now his apartment was empty. It was his apartment, as he’d so unkindly shouted during that godforsaken argument. It all came back to him clearly, the housing, the tears, his unwillingness to stop. He hadn’t meant to drive you away, he just… he needed you to understand. Understand the pressure. Understand the disappointment. Understand how he felt like he was failing every single time he jumped into that car. But he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t. Even when you left, he sent you message after message, calling you selfish. Making you out to be the problem, as if you weren’t the only thing holding him up. 

The pounding in his head didn’t cease throughout the day. You’d told him to at least wait a day before talking to you, or else you’d never hear him out. It was torture. Counting the minutes down as the time slowly ticked by, never quite close enough for his liking. Then 8pm rolled around, and he was dialling your number as fast as he could. You picked up on the fifth ring. 

He spoke first, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m so sorry.” He held his breath. He wasn’t expecting you to forgive him immediately. He wasn’t really expecting you to forgive him at all. He was expecting to get scolded, to get told just how bad he’d hurt you. 

“Alright,” you shrugged, indifference crept into your tone and it made his blood freeze, his whole body shivering with a scary sense of dread. You didn’t care. Not anymore. Not now. He’d pushed you too far. He’d done it. He’d fucked it. He leant against the bathroom door, a sob ripping out of his throat as the burning sensation of his unshed tears began. You sighed. He held his breath again. “Gabi, what do you want me to say?”

You might as well have stamped on his heart. God, he wanted to scream. Anything that shows you fucking care? He thought. Anything that makes me think this is salvageable? “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Just… something. This has to be worth saving, we have to be worth saving.” He choked out through angry tears. Why weren’t you fighting? Why weren’t you angry? Why didn’t you care? 

“Is it worth saving?” you asked him, and his world tipped on its side. Of course it is. Was his immediate response. He loved you. You loved him. It made sense. You groaned. “We fight all the fucking time, Gabi. You’re not happy, I’m not happy. We haven’t been for a long time.” 

He thought back to those fights and those nights you both spent angry. By morning the problem would be forgotten and you’d make up right? You’d kiss his cheek and make him a coffee, he’d give you some half-assed apology but you’d accept anyway. That’s the way it was, and he never wanted it to change. Maybe she wants it to change, a voice in his head spoke up. She’s getting the short end of the stick. His heart dropped to his stomach when he realised he’d been ignoring all the animosity from you. The burnt coffees. The glares. The subtle and slow retreat back into yourself. He coughed. “It is for me,” He had to fight for you, promise you he’d change. “I’ll change, I swear. I love you.” 

“I don’t need you to change. I need to change. I need other things, and you can’t give me them. I’m sorry Gabi, but we’re over.”

alpine:

Pierre Gasly

He hated arguing, really he did. He was just good at it. Weirdly good. Like, he’d been told to become a lawyer on more occasions than one. But he hated arguing with you. And he hated when he took it too far. 

You wouldn’t understand. He’d said.

What, like I’m not smart enough now? You were livid, and rightfully so. 

I like taking care of you, is that so hard to understand?! He didn’t mean to raise his voice, but he had. He just didn’t understand why it was such a big deal, it was just money, a simple thing he had more than enough of, and he wanted to spend it on you. You weren’t having it. 

It’s not being taken care of Pierre, it makes me feel gross, like I’m using you or something. And you could use that money to do so much good in someone’s life, God! You were just being kind, but he was frustrated. He just wanted to do something nice and you’d blown it out of proportion. It was a dress. A fucking 5,000$ dress. It made you sick to just look at the price tag, but he didn’t feel the same. That kind of money was cheap change to him. 

You’re being dramatic, it’s s dress, I just wanted to congratulate you. You got a promotion, it was a big deal. He was proud. 

I’m not trying to sound ungrateful Pierre, but flowers would have sufficed. 

And he snapped. He said things he didn’t mean, and you left. You went back home, leaving him in Austria with a race weekend to finish. You told him to sort his shit out. You told him to think before he speaks. God, he’d been thinking of you since you left. He called your phone. 

You didn’t pick up the first time. Or the second. Or the third. 

Ten times. Then you responded. You picked up the damn phone on his lucky number ten. 

“Pierre,” you yawned. “Isn’t it late over there?” you whispered into the phone like you’d wake someone if you weren’t quiet enough. You wouldn’t, you were alone in your hotel room, still sorting out your shit from the argument. 

“I missed you already,” he admitted, the first tears falling down his cheeks. He sniffled. “I’m such an idiot sometimes.” 

You chuckled. “Yeah, you are.” He chuckled too. Quiet conversation filled both your hotel rooms as you both drifted back off to sleep. You didn’t talk about the fight. You didn’t talk about how he was crying. You just… talked. About your busy schedules, how you were running out of foundation, and how tired he was. Boring things. The in-between things. Monotony. Regular, normal life. 

He loved every second of it. 

Franco Colapinto 

His body ran cold when he looked at the time. 2am. You still weren’t home. He’d pretended it didn’t bother him long enough, he had to text you. Or call you. Make you come home. 

He wasn’t a stranger to fucking up, especially with you. He knew what he did was shitty. He knew he should’ve tried harder, worked harder to be there, but duty calls sometimes, and fuck, he has to answer whether he wants to or not. He called your number, his hands shaking. 

Pick up. He begged. Pick up, please. 

You picked up on the sixth ring. “Franco?” your voice was tense. Like he was annoying you. He didn’t care, he was just happy you were responding to him. Relief surged through his body like a fucking lightning bolt, and suddenly he could breathe again. “Why are you calling me?” You were sick of this, of him, of being a secondary priority. You didn’t even want to fucking fight anymore, you just wanted peace, a boyfriend would could be there, who could show up. 

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice quiet. Timid. And, if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he sounded scared. He was. He felt sick to his stomach that you were walking around Spielberg all alone. You left the hotel 4 hours ago. 4 hours of him burning a hole in the floor pacing the room, 4 hours of genuine fear that it might all be over, 4 hours of shit. Pure and utter shit. He was scared, alright? Fucking terrified. He wanted you back, in the hotel, in his arms, in his bed. He wanted you home, to him. He wanted to make sure he was still home. You were quiet for a moment, debating on whether to tell him. “Come on mi cielo, just… come back,” he let a small sob out, his voice just above a whisper. 

You stopped in your tracks. You’d seen him cry a handful of times at most. Over family stuff. Over results. But never was it over you. You didn’t think this had pushed him that far, didn’t think it would. He was so… unbreakable sometimes, you forgot he was just as fragile as you were. He hurt and bled the same, and of course he wouldn’t want you walking out in the dark in a foreign town with your location off, ignoring him. Of course not. “I’m on my way back now, I’ll be there soon.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut and held back a relieved sob. He nodded. “Great,” he choked out. “I’ll be here.” 

Jack Doohan 

It was important to you, he understood. He saw the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about it. He basked in that light, he planned beside you. 

Blood is thicker than water. His father’s mantra rang out through his head, taunting him. He’d been the one to fucking say it and the hurt on your face told him everything he needed to know. Not that he hadn’t known it before, he had. He knew you wanted him there more than anything, he knew how much it would mean for him to get on a plane and meet your family. Yet, he flaked. For some fucking family holiday he didn’t even want to go on. But you cried when he left, and you asked him to practically never come back, and even though he felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest, he boarded that plane like he didn’t have another choice. He saw that he did now. He saw the right choice. 

Mick saw the changes in Jack. He saw the untouched food, the sluggish walk, the lack of interest. He texted you and got no response and he knew what it meant. 

Dinner was too loud, so Jack sought refuge with the sand and the water. His bracelet, the bracelet you gave him was threaded through his fingers as he watched the waves roll out. He was too deep in thought to see Mick sitting beside him. 

“What did you do?” he asked, his voice soft, though it startled him all the same. He jumped and turned to him, a slow smile made its way onto his lips, a chuckle leaving Mick’s. “She’s gone for good?”

That smile disappeared quickly. Jack looked back out at the ocean in front of him, so vast and wide. “I fucked it up,” he admitted, his heart aching with every word. “I left her for this.” He gestured to the area around him, but Mick got the gist. He sighed and clapped a hand on his friend's back. 

“Did you talk to her?” 

“She doesn’t want to hear from me,” he shook his head. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried, he had. You genuinely didn’t want to hear from him. Emotion bubbled deep in his throat, but he tried to swallow it down regardless. He didn’t care if it’d choke him, he didn’t want it. Emotion admits more than words ever would. If he let himself break down he’d be admitting it was over. He wasn’t ready for it to be over. He wasn’t ready to kiss those moments with you goodbye. The way you smiled at him, the way you’d tease him over anything you could, just because you loved it when he’d finally tease back. He couldn’t say goodbye to those nights when you’d stay up until dawn, just talking, making promises about a future you two weren’t guaranteed. He wouldn’t leave those memories of you telling him you loved him in a box in the back of his mind. 

He hadn’t realised he’d been crying. Well, there it was. 

Over. 

Paul Aron

“You can’t fucking do this! You can’t leave for weeks at a time and not talk to me Paul, for fuck’s sake!” you groaned, your eyes wild and angry. It had been like this for 40 minutes, a back and forth that wouldn’t end no matter how much you both wanted it to. He wouldn’t see your side, and you couldn’t see his. He didn’t really have a justification for his actions, just empty promises, and you were sick to death of those. Your hands raked over your face, and you sighed, your eyes meeting his. “Either sort your shit out, or break up with me Paul, because those really seem like our only options right now.” You already knew you were crossing a line, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You just had to say it. 

He could’ve pretended that didn’t feel like a punch to the gut, but you knew him too well. You knew the second you said it too, because you stilled. His face faltered, his body twitched and jerked in a weird way. He wanted to recover, to pretend it was normal, act like it didn’t happen maybe. He couldn’t. Not when it was you on the line. Not when you were talking about a universe where he couldn’t come home to you every night and have you kiss his head or let him kiss you silly. 

You walked over and wrapped your arms around him. Your face was serious but tender and he cupped your cheek. The low light made him look like an angel, a crying angel, but an angel all the same. “Paul, I’m sorry,” you whispered, tender but timid. Like you were scared you’d make it worse. “I’m tired and you’re tired, and you’ve just had a huge weekend, and we just need… we need each other, right?” you offered and he just nodded, too shocked to really comprehend what was going on. “Let’s just head to bed, yeah?” 

He nodded, then dipped his head down and kissed you like it was the last time, like he was trying to put all the love and care and passion he had for you into the kiss. Like that would make you understand him. To an extent, it did. 

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

mclaren masterlist (OP81 &LN4)

ferrari masterlist (CL16, LH44 & AL65 )

williams & mercedes masterlist (GR63, KA12, CS55 LS2 &AA23)

redbull & vcarb masterlist (MV1,IH6 & LL40)

alpine masterlist (JD7, PA17, FC43, PG10)

[goaskangel]

roomates!john and simon x reader

cw : slight somno, smut, toxicity, age gap, quiet reader

you practically jumped from place to place while maintaining a college career. you made minimum wage with maximum rot. everyday seeming to blend into each other, then came the craigslist ad: you found yourself in the hands of ex-military men, looking for another roommate, with dirt-cheap rent. you wouldn’t mind if it felt more like a recruitment than stability. 

they welcomed you politely and casually, like you were an old time friend that was crashing for a while; returning, not arriving. really, you were a burned out kid in her late teens trying to make a living but with two older men.

but nights there weren’t so bad, in fact they were comforting. you’d doze off in your smaller room, nose in notes and snoring into highlighter ink but would wake up on the couch with a hefty blanket atop you. they’d be gone, left a little plate of breakfast on the coffee table. 

slowly, living became less of a hassle without the extra stress of no food, no time to clean, no shelter in general with them. everything seemed so—in control. your favorite lost pens would show back up, sleep didn’t feel like such a privilege. time started letting you catch your breath.

even with all these unexpected advantages, you kept your space and silence. you wouldn’t really run into them very often, not really leaving your room. staying quiet and controlling your breath. but it slowly wore off and you noticed the little things. john smiled at you, often. they both seemed to get along well—had the accents always been there? simon’s footsteps felt like a ghost passing while john was a bit heavier. they had deep inside jokes, you could tell by the way simon would even smirk and shake his head at the bearded man’s recalls. 

you’d start hanging out more in the living room, maybe join them on the balcony. john’s little grins made your thighs feel like tacky magnets. and he noticed.

john was bolder with his moves. you really couldn’t tell when he’d cross the line of platonic and sexual. until one sunday morning before your exams, your breath is picking up as sunlight hits your face. soft winces and thrives of your body until you yawn yourself awake to see john. his fingers lightly skimming over the pretty throb behind your damp panties. he greets you with a good morning like he usually does, your name on his tongue like it’s the only thing that has meaning. casually, as if he didn’t wake you up with his thumb gently stroking your clit. 

“big things comin’ up later this week, yeah? you wouldn’t mind if i lent a hand, just a bit, would you now?”

“john…” 

he moves up next to you, cooing just above your ear. your legs never close, so he takes that as an invitation. he slips his thick fingers behind your panties, humming at the obvious heat and wetness. you’re too tired—too comfortable to resist. he just wants to help you, he knows how stressed out you are, how long you’ve gone without getting touched. 

he was sweet; every time you’d leave for class he’d land kisses on your cheeks, if he’s lucky, your lips. maybe a soft grind to your lower back as he whispers in your hair. displays such acts of attraction, but only when simon’s not around. 

simon had his own ways, he was much more aggressive. once when he came back from the gym, shirt off with a sheeny layer of sweat on his pecs and broad shoulders, just dropped onto the couch and jerked his chin toward you. “c’mere,” he said—he didn’t say things twice. you finished fixing a plate of fresh tiramisu for yourself and sat beside him. 

“rough day?” he asked, “how’d the tests go?” his hand dropped to your knee—bare skin, warm palm. the kind of touch that didn’t ask first. you almost choked on your dessert. he never really talked unless price was nearby. never more than a nod, a grunt, and most definitely didn’t touch you so blatantly. he asked about the homemade trifle on your plate and you offered some to which he just opened his mouth. you hold back your smile, taking a good bite on your fork and feeding it to the older guy. he groaned in satisfaction—one that might as well have had you like a waterfall. you take turns taking bites before he finishes it with a lick to the fork. 

he makes more moves after that, obvious pushing to the kitchen counter. wrapping an arm around you while watching late night television. may have helped you finished one time after hearing you struggle in your room. he sat on the edge of your bed and intoxicated you with praises laced with his accent, your orgasm hitting you like a coma that blocked out the sound of his voice and the buzz of your vibrator. simon took that to his advantage and learned about all your little gadgets. finding each of them and tossing them out—you’ve got two guys in the flat, you need something more natural anyway. 

i wanna add onto this so bad eek masterlist

[shidoglazer]

“i knew you in another life, i’ll love you ‘til the day that i die.”

sae itoshi

the “demon child” who got convicted of a crime for not mourning during a funeral, accused of being the murderer of the victim and was dragged by knights with chains to throw him off the cliff for a peaceful death, yet was left in the middle of the forests rotting because the knights said “good enough, nobody will find him here. i’m too lazy to climb up all those steps.”

x

the “witches child” who ran away. just for trying to be kind and offering herbs for a sick child and immediately being accused of being a witch for knowing too much. she lives in the forests after running away from being beheaded — she knows the forests like its the back of her palm, places to collect herbs, to feed animals, what different sounds would that place make according to the animals there… so why was there something so unfamiliar that day?

“hi there.” sae opened his eyes when he heard a girls voice, he squinted and took a look at your features, knowing by a glance you were just around the same age as him. his body squirmed against the rusted metal chains, “get me out.. ‘m not a demons child.” he mumbled weakly, and that was all you needed to get to work. “why’d you get abandoned?” your hands started to work against the metal lock, using different twigs from the ground to pick the lock, occasionally using your hand to keep him in place.

for some reason, sae found your touch the softest he’s ever felt. and thats. something. “i don’t know. i’m not a demons child.” “you don’t know the reason you were abandoned?” “i’m not a demons child.” he mumbled over and over, and you knew there was a lot of fixing to do with this guy. you stayed silent for the majority of the times while picking the lock, and he kept mumbling about dumb judges, lazy people, weakness, how he hated them all.

after getting him out of those chains, you supported him up to walk him to the shelter you found in the middle of the forests. on the way there, just taking a step seemed to exhaust him. “..whats your name? i never got it.” “sae.” he paused. “not demons child.” and you basically had to take a deep breath before talking to him. “im a witches child. its fine, not like we’re ever going back there right?” and there was a long gap of silence before sae replied. “..hm.”

when you reached your small hut, you immediately took some soup you made some other day and handed it to him. “its a bit cold, but it has everything healthy in it!” he took the bowl into his hands and immediately wolfed it down like a starving man (basically was), licking his lips after finishing the whole bowl. “..got anymore? please.” and that day, you spent your whole day foraging for more food to make for him. maybe it was the satisfaction of knowing someone really enjoyed your food, or that you could help the only one you know in the same situation as you.

at night, it was cold. your body temperatures dropped and the holes that punched through the walls weren’t helpful. you were used to this, sae wasn’t. so he did the only thing he thought was the most efficient. “i’m cold.” he doesn’t give you another warning before hugging up on you, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “you’re shameless.” you say with a pink tinted against your face, leaning against each others warmth. the cold breeze wasn’t something to be hated anymore as it served as your cupid, like a mysterious force that made your limbs tangle with each others.

in the morning, you woke up to sae standing in front of you, holding a basket full of poisonous mushrooms and random flowers and weeds he picked. “i’ll help you make the food today.” you rub your eyes and lift yourself up from the grass bed, taking the basket from his hands and examining it. “..sae..” you say groggily, your eyes barely being able to open fully. “a lot of these are poisonous, but i appreciate the effort, dearest ..” dearest. dearest. he stood there like an idiot, the usual composure he had falling piece by piece as his mouth fell slightly agape, red blushing through his fair skin. “..o- oh. okay. my bad. i’ll throw these out, real quick.” he quickly took the basket from your hands and ran out the door, being in shock at himself for acting like this.

but after a few weeks of living with you, he learned to identify which mushrooms were safe, waking up earlier then you to go foraging, coming back with a basket with mushrooms that are actually safe. “good morning. can you help me check if these are safe?” he handed the basket to you and you looked through them one by one. “..yeah, good job dearest.” you smiled hazily, reaching out to pinch his cheek. he grumbles about being treated like a kid, yet he makes little to no effort to pull away from your touch that feels like a touch of warmth in his ice-cold world.

though, not all stories have happy endings. just because you were out of sight from the citizens doesn’t mean you were off their radar. in the middle of making you and sae lunch like usual, there was sudden chanting coming closer and closer, a smell of smoke, dozens of footsteps stomping against the forest floor. you look to sae, who’s clearly noticed, immediately scrambling up, “come on- lets go lets go lets go—” he tries to pull you to the windows to escape, yet you dont budge. “no, i.. i’m done for.” “you’re not. i won’t allow it.” and with force you’ve never seen him use before, he throws you onto his shoulder and runs. he runs for not for his own life, but for yours. he may lose his own life, but theres no way he’ll deprive this world of yours.

despite the hundreds of twigs digging into his feet with every step, the crowd of people chasing behind them, he holds onto you tightly even when his heart is pounding in his chest. even when his feet are bleeding and you’re begging for him to stop.

but you don’t have to beg him.

it’s the end of the chase.

a cliff meets his eyes. and you both know that theres no chance to run anymore. he shifts your position to look at your face just one last time, putting you on your own two feet and cupping your face. “hey.. if we’re born again, maybe as people who aren’t children of demons and witches,” he gulps, “let’s get married. make me your husband and i’ll make you my wife, and i’ll give you all the herbs and mushrooms you could ever want. maybe a house with better walls, and-” he chokes on his own tears, the crowd gets closer and closer, “i love you. my dearest.” you hug him tight, closing your eyes as if hoping you’d wake up from this nightmare. if you could just go back to the day you both met, brought him to a safer place, savoured moments with him more .. your thoughts get cut off as you’re engulfed into flames, choking out a cry of pain as sae holds you tightly. “i love you sae— i love you so much, i love you,” the fire spreads too quickly against your wool clothes, and you both are reduced to nothing but charred bones.

it was almost instinct when you first saw sae on tv that you knew you wanted to support him, then you started seeing him in public, or sometimes even in your local cafe where you worked part time at. your co-workers would nudge at you whenever he came in, “look, its your idol, itoshi or whatever his name was. go get him!”

and it wasn’t different for sae. his eyes locked onto yours whenever he saw you. the cafe you worked at was mediocre and all for aesthetics. he’d complain about everything if he could, yet he still comes for you. “one mushroom soup. thanks.” until he basically became a regular here, and he never had to specially request for you to be the one serving him, unless you were out of work, that was. “..wheres that girl? the one that usually serves me?” “oh, shes sick today, so-” he doesn’t wait for another word to immediately stand up and leave the cafe.

the news spread like wildfire, first it was your co-workers telling you how sae was definitely into you, and you didn’t believe it at first until you saw this interview.

“so, sae itoshi! headlines say you’ve been eyeing a cafe worker, is she cute? what-” “first of all. stop butting into my business. second of all,” he pauses “yes. she is cute. my standards wouldn’t be any lower than that.” and fuck. you almost passed out after hearing that.

another day at the cafe after that interview, he came into the cafe and sat down at his usual booth, and you immediately brought him the mushroom soup without saying anything. “i.. figured you’d want the mushroom soup again, right?” “actually.” he pushes the mushroom soup away, looking at your name tag. “y/n.” then back up to your eyes, “i don’t want to say unnecessary things or make up bullshit. so just listen. i’m interested in you. romantically, ‘was wondering if you could give me some type of social media so we could stay in contact.” and you stood there, mouth agape, pink immediately tinting your cheeks. “oh- i, i want to, but i can’t do this during work tho-” and a glare from him is all you need to take your pen out from your pocket and write your number on a notepad, slipping it to him.

“sae! pick me up some mushrooms and creamer when you’re going to the grocery store later, i wanna make mushroom soup and bread.” you say excitedly, while sae looks at you with those endearing eyes that you swear nothing can replace that feeling in your stomach whenever you look at him. “mushroom soup? for our anniversary? i thought you wanted to go out and eat.” he says while cleaning up the living room after your cats caused a warzone there. “well, i thought i’d do something special. since mushroom soup was the reason we met, no?” “..hm. i’m okay with anything. do you want me to help you cook tho?” “god no.” “okay, jeez..”

he comes back with the mushrooms and creamer, placing it onto the counter and you start cooking while he stands there and watches you, occasionally kissing you out of nowhere just because he feels like it. you started the night with mushroom soup on the dining table, sitting beside each other with silence that speaks so loudly. “hey.. i’ve been meaning to tell you this but i wanted to wait until it was our anniversary.” he reached into his pockets, pulling out a key. “i bought a new house. for us.” and you’re shocked. staring at the house key, then back at him, “what?! no way- what type of house even is it??” “don’t yell at me for wasting my money.” he pauses. “a mansion. 4 stories.” you almost cried right there, immediately pulling sae into a hug. “thank you.. thank you sae, i love you so much. you spoil me too much,” “then i must’ve owed you something in a past life.”

and after dinner, you both immediately get into bed. the air conditioner is blasting on full wind, a blanket covering each other and you’re already enough warm, but theres no excuse as to why sae hugs you close to his chest, as if protecting you from the rest of the world. yet you lean into it anyways. you close your eyes, hoping not to wake up from this dream, but to progress into another day with your dearest.

[lyricwritesprose]

Oh. So I was the bad guy.

I hadn't meant to be the bad guy. I don't suppose anyone does. But in addition to remembering things like the throne and the armies and the crown of fire (which I knew how to summon, now, and also had a feeling it would be a very bad idea), I remember the utter rage. You think that ruling the world would get rid of rage. Everyone knows what happened to the last person who annoyed you because the crows are still at the bits, so surely everyone around you would take care not to offend and everything would work smoothly and it would all be all right. If you can crush everyone and nobody can crush you (old memories of a dungeon, a torturer, the man who took me as an apprentice because that would hurt my weakling original father worst of all) then everything would be all right and you would be happy.

Right?

Doesn't work that way. There's always more to be angry at. Always something.

And despite a very large portion of my mind being just a scream right now (is that anger or fear? Do I know? Have I ever known?) I didn't want to go back.

It had been good here.

I did have to do something about these bandits, though.

The first was holding a sword on Aia, so I grabbed the sword and snapped it in the middle. Should have been enough to tell all of them that they were engaging in an act of stupidity. But the thing about bandits is that they're usually desperate. Since the Empire of the Undying fell, and right now I am not going to deal with that being my fault in several different ways at once, there have been lots of bandits, mostly because minor kings are generally bone stupid enough to give a man a sword and a job and then not pay him afterwards, and what the fuck did they think was going to happen, heavily armed tea parties? Look, they used to say that a child could carry a bag of gold from one end of the Empire to another without being bothered by anything more than well-meaning busybodies, and that wasn't just because of all the impaling and necromantic punishments, it was because my fucking soldiers. Got. Paid. Idiots.

I was woolgathering, and I shouldn't be, because one of the bandits was coming at me with a mace, which I took away from him and broke his ribs with, more because that behavior was extremely rude than because he was any kind of threat to me. Threw it at the head of the bandit leader in the back yelling, "He can't get us all!" First of all, it wasn't true, and second, even if I couldn't get them all, I could most certainly get him. I dodged a sword, broke the arm of the bandit wielding it, and—since Aia couldn't see me—let my eyes flare up a little.

They bolted. Injured members hindmost. The cads.

I sighed, and carefully got my eyes under control, and turned to face Aia.

Oh. Right. That was the other thing about being the Undying. You didn't have any friends. People said they were. But you could see it in their eyes, hear the undercurrent of please no please no please no in the magic. (So was that scream anger, or fear, or loneliness?)

The thing about Aia is that she takes care of things. I don't think she can help it. Orphaned birds. Orphaned deer. Orphaned overlords. Not that she knew about that one. It didn't give me much of a chance, but maybe—

I looked down at the hand I had grabbed the sword with and told it it to stop being quite as invulnerable for right now if it knew what was good for it. "I'll go," I said quietly. "If you want. I'd like some salve, but I don't have to stay here." I held up my hand with its newly manifested fake sword wound.

Which was dishonest of me, yes. On the other hand, the need in her to fix things was every bit as strong as the need I'd had to crush them, and—I don't know—I thought that maybe it would put her on firmer ground? Control is the only thing I know of that fixes the screaming. I didn't know what I was going to do about that on my end of things, I knew I didn't want to go back, but—I also wanted to fix the screaming a little bit for her. To let her control something.

"Oh." She beckoned me back towards the house. "Oren, you're going to turn all my hair gray, do you know that? Why would you do something so risky?"

Oren is very much not my name. "I was scared," I admitted. (Hadn't said that since I became an apprentice, the old man was weak, I wasn't weak, I wasn't going to be weak, someday I was going to…) "Why didn't you stay inside? I could have talked to them."

"Then they would have threatened you."

"Better for me to get a little hurt than you get hurt. There's—I'm—look, it's important that you stay safe, all right?"

"I swear I think you might have been a knight," Aia said, and held the door absently so I could follow her into the kitchen.

I had not been a knight. I was very, very much not any kind of a knight.

I wasn't going to tell her that today, though.

Found memoryless in a forest, you lived for years on a widow’s farm. She tried everything to help you remember. Nothing worked until the day you saw her held at swordpoint, and your true identity came rushing back.

[blossomcola]

hello! can i request all g!p aespa x sub fem!reader please? thank you so much! :]

pairing. school gang!gp aespa x sub!student fem reader

content warnings. dubcon.

the concept that aespa is using for ‘dirty work’ makes me think of a gang!aespa or them as the problematic group of high school... that typical group of unruly students who don't seem to care about the rules and are always in the principal’s office for causing more than one scandal a day.

karina would be the leader or the one in charge of the group, this doesn’t mean that she is the most problematic but she is the one who gives the orders or commands. she would be the first to notice your existence, always looking at you in the hallways when she and her group are leaning against the walls and talking about stupid things, talking to the girls but having their gaze fixed on you with a gleam that you can’t clearly decipher what it is. i feel like she would also be the first to make a move, taking advantage of her beauty and popularity to talk to you because no one can resist her, except you who seems to refuse to have a conversation with her??? the good thing is that karina is stubborn and it doesn’t take long for her to push you into an empty classroom, cornering you against the teacher’s desk and managing to climb onto it thanks to the fact that she is stronger than you. and well, no matter how hard you try to fight, you end up giving in one way or another when one of her hands holds your wrists above your head while the other goes down to reach the waistband of your pants and practically rip them off your legs along with your underwear, exposing your dripping pussy to karina’s gaze <3 of course she gets cocky and it wouldn’t take long for her to tease you, saying “awww, this wet for me?” with a stupid smile on her pretty face... although you can’t complain either because she is quick to slide her cock inside your warm sex, making you whimper pathetically and having to cover your mouth with her palm because karina can be problematic, but getting a report for fucking in a classroom is the last thing she wants! so you just have to lie there and be good to her while she breds you.

the real baddie, giselle. i feel like she wouldn’t be that interested in you because honestly she doesn’t care that much about you but she’s had her eye on you since you always looked at her badly and apparently talked bad about her behind her back about meaningless things or even go so far as to invent things and let yourself be carried away by rumors that other people told you with the purpose of getting you to spread them further. giselle isn’t an idiot and she knows this, but giving you what you deserve for being a loudmouth is the best thing she can come up with. she would ask you out in the parking lot so you could confront her and tell her in the face everything you say behind her back, but you both know it’s too much for you that you’d probably pee your pants trying to be smart with her... so she would have no problem taking you to the backseat of her car and fucking the bad attitude out of you <3 giselle wouldn’t even bother to lift a finger because she would leave all the work to you, so watching you struggle to take her cock completely without complaining or saying anything about it’s something she loves. riding her while she just lies back and pats your ass every now and then seems to be the best way to calm your attitude.

the calmest of all is winter but because she spends so much time drooling over you that she doesn’t have any other thoughts in that little head. i picture her as the type who when you walk past her in the hallway would probably give you a blatant look or she would probably whistle softly but at the same time she would do it in a tone high enough for you to hear it because she wants to get your attention, besides her thoughts are not as depraved as those of karina and giselle. winter is more like... a shameless pervert who can’t be bothered to hide her clear attraction to you, of course. this would lead her to have her eyes on you all the time, practically undressing you with her gaze and making you uncomfortable to a certain extent, but she doesn’t care! and it’s noticeable when one day you’re alone washing your hands in the school bathroom sinks and she just happens to come out of one of the stalls... winter’s presence is more than uncomfortable by nature and it is worse when you cross glances with her through the mirror, but you don’t have time to think much because she is faster and soon corners you against the sink ceramic, pressing her erection against your ass and making you feel the outline of her cock even through the thick fabric of her school uniform jogging pants — winter also takes advantage of this to start groping your body freely, not caring that you try to stop her and move away from her touch :( one hand closes over your mouth to silence you while the other slides between your thighs, pushing your panties aside so winter can finally slide her cock inside you and give you the good fucking you deserve <3 she would even hold your face so you could look at your reflection in the mirror in front of you and see how pathetic you look when you were fucked from behind, not even caring how your legs shake from her rudeness because she would end up bending you over the sink and fucking you until lunch.

and ningning... a mixture of all of them together. your meeting with her is more casual because it’s in the middle of a party, where the place is so crowded that you don’t realize you’re dancing and grinding against it because the lights are colored or flashing, realizing it’s her when you hear her whisper in your ear and let out a soft giggle. at this point you’ve been so used by her group of friends that you don’t know what to expect from her anymore... and well, drunk and silly sex with ningning is <3 she would be so cute, whimpering against your lips as her thrusts become messy and uneven in pace, trying to be tough like her friends but ending up being a cute baby who seems in love with you :( it’s thanks to her that you know that being with the whole group means you’re screwed...

[propenseverbosity]

Spoilers for Eddie and Volt's story in Date Everything but I need to rant about this for a minute.

I get why Volt exists. Honestly if I got to that point where Eddie was, I'd be burned out too. (Hell, I did. And I was.)

Keeping the power stable is a full-time job in itself. Now that he's running the Breaker Box too, Eddie needs someone to run the bar, dazzle the crowd, command the stage, complete all the necessarily repairs to maintain the club, and have enough mental and physical energy left over to keep the damn lights on. He's only one man. All that on top of a faulty wire? He knows he can't keep up with all of it forever without fizzling out.

To fix this, he made Volt to pick up the slack. For both the house power and the Breaker Box, but it's become so much more than that. He made Volt to be the host because he's the personification of what Eddie thinks people want from him. Volt is handsome, charming, and likeable. He doesn't tire out as easily after a surge, doesn't need to take breaks between social interactions to recharge (or else he starts snapping at customers left and right) and he doesn't shy away from flirting with people he finds attractive.

Volt is Eddie's mask taken form. He's there to throw on a smile and flirt with the human often enough that they won't want to peek behind the curtain and see what a mess everything really is. All they see is a loose floorboard here, a cracked bulb there, and hidden beneath it all is Eddie, barely keeping it together.

After all, why would they ever want Eddie when they can have Volt? Eddie himself created Volt to be everything he wants to be. How could anyone not fall in love with that?

So when the human starts taking an interest in Eddie of all people, he's confused. They must be there for Volt, right? Everyone's there for Volt. No one actually shows up to the Breaker Box just to see Eddie. Not that Volt would allow that in the first place, especially if Eddie was resting that day.

(Half the dialogue options for that interaction involve asking him where Volt is, or mentioning they'll wait until Volt gets there and that just broke my heart. This man is not ready for anyone to take an interest in HIM.)

Because the human does, of course, like Volt too, but that doesn't make Eddie any less important to them. (They are truly a bonded pair, do not separate.) The human wants to make sure both of them are okay, and seeing Eddie hurt is hard for them. They want to help in any way they can, whether Eddie trusts their intentions or not.

Even during the repairs he's hesitant to trust them. After all, they're probably only helping him to get in good with Volt, right?

But then he opens up to them about his struggles, and they promise not to tell Volt about what's going on, and he realizes they really do care about him, and want to help the club.

THAT'S the reason he calls them Live Wire after the reset, because it's not really just Volt who calls them that, Volt is literally a subset of Eddie's existing personality.

The way I see it is more like how a circuit splits power from series to parallel. He created another version of himself during that split, but in terms of making that split power into A Person, he hand-picked certain aspects of his personality to give Volt so that people would like him. After the split, Volt kinda grew to become his own person, so their personalities would be sorta like a venn diagram. Eddie on one side, Volt on the other, and the intersection is the specific traits Eddie chose to give Volt.

And how could Eddie not fall in love with the person he created to protect him on his worst days?

Anyway thank you for coming to my TED Talk, I'm very normal about the breaker box tyvm

[canyonmoonchild]

⊹ Whiskey and Silk

Pairing: protective!harry x heartbroken!reader

T.W.: cheating (past, mention), explicit sexual content, praise kink, light choking, breeding talk, mild hair pulling, alcohol, strong language, one-night stand, emotional vulnerability

Words: 3,441

Synopsis: one reckless night with Harry Styles leaves you ruined in the best way.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

I shouldn't have come here alone. But after finding that name on my ex's phone yesterday — a string of hearts next to someone else's name at three a.m. — I couldn't bear my friends' pity or their comfort. Their you deserve better speeches would only split me further open. I needed quiet, and the freedom to drown myself in whiskey without anyone trying to fix me. So I'd slipped into my shortest black dress, the one that made me feel powerful. Like maybe, if I looked dangerous enough, I wouldn't feel quite so wrecked.

The bar was cozy but a little battered, the kind of place that smelled like warm wood and heartbreak. A slow, bluesy song licked at the edges of my mood while I nursed a double whiskey neat, letting the burn match the ache inside me.

I couldn't stop seeing it — that new name on my ex's phone, proof that everything between us had been rotting for longer than I'd realized. My hands trembled around the glass, smudging the ring of condensation, mascara still clinging to my lashes in a messy ruin I hadn't bothered to fix.

That was when I felt him — a quiet warmth, settling into my peripheral vision. When I turned, I nearly forgot how to breathe. He was tall, lean, with curls falling around his face, a silk shirt half undone over a white tee, boots scuffed in the best way. His eyes found mine, warm and curious, playful, and something about them made my shoulders unclench for the first time in twenty-four hours.

"That drink looks like it's working overtime tonight," he said, voice deep but gentle, with a soft grin. "Mind if I steal this seat?"

I tried to brush him off, to keep my walls high. "Free country," I managed, voice sharper than I meant.

He only laughed, sliding onto the stool beside me. "Guess that's my invitation, then." He studied me for a moment, his eyes lingering on mine. "Who in their right mind would leave you sitting here alone?"

A bitter laugh slipped out before I could swallow it down. "Let's just say I'm suddenly single."

He nodded, thoughtful, no hint of pity. "Well... they must have left their brain somewhere if they walked away from you."

My lips twitched, a surprised smile threatening. "That's generous."

"I'd have to be clinically insane to pass up a chance to talk to you," he added, glancing at my nearly empty glass. "Let me get you another? You look like you could use it more than a lecture."

My defenses cracked, just a hair. "Sure," I breathed.

He raised a hand for the bartender, then turned back to me with that warm grin. "I'm Harry, by the way." I hesitated, then gave him my name — it felt strange on my tongue, like something new. "Nice to meet you," he said, voice dipping lower, like he might actually mean it. Then he leaned in, just close enough for me to catch a warm, earthy trace of cologne. "If you need a better distraction than that whiskey," he murmured, eyes catching mine with a spark that shot straight to my core, "I'm happy to volunteer."

For the first time that night, I felt a real smile lift my lips. Dangerous, tempting, too soon. But maybe I'd survive it.

Harry kept the conversation easy, teasing with a confidence that should have been off-putting, but instead felt like warm relief.

"Careful, Heartbreaker," he said with a grin, eyes tracing down to my glass. "I'm dangerous when I get you tipsy."

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "I doubt you're that dangerous. Show me."

He leaned closer, close enough that I could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of my dress. "Prove you can outdrink me, then," he challenged, flicking his gaze to the bartender.

"Prove I can't," I shot back, ignoring the strange flutter in my stomach. He laughed — a warm, rough sound that I wanted to sink into — and ordered another round. His accent wrapped around every syllable, and I couldn't help mocking him for it, letting the whiskey loosen my tongue. "God," I sighed, dramatic, "even the way you order a drink sounds posh."

Harry rolled his eyes, all wounded pride. "Heartbreaker, you wound me," he teased, laying the nickname on thick. I nearly laughed, but he caught me in that moment, seeing the crack in my armor. His gaze softened, the grin fading to something real. "You know," he said, voice lower, rougher, "they didn't deserve you. I hope you know that."

The words sliced right through me, leaving something raw and trembling in their wake. I tried to wave it off with a weak laugh, but the sound died in my throat.

Harry's expression gentled even more, and he reached up to brush my cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Hey," he murmured, so quiet, "breathe." I swallowed hard, and nodded, feeling the last shreds of the day's bitterness begin to slip. Before I could sink too deep into the ache, he broke the moment with a crooked grin. "So, Heartbreaker," he went on, playful again, "do I get a goodnight kiss first?"

I snorted, smirking despite myself. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

His grin turned molten, heat dancing in those green eyes. The air between us pulsed. His hand moved, slow, letting his fingertips hover just above my thigh — waiting, checking.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he said, voice so low I felt it in my bones.

I froze for a heartbeat, chest tight, and then slowly parted my legs a fraction, a silent permission. His fingers settled on my thigh, warm, steady, tracing slow circles that left sparks along my nerves. I tried to steady my breathing, tried to keep my head from spinning. "You're bold," I whispered, my voice shaking, but not from fear.

Harry only smiled, thumb brushing the hem of my dress in a teasing glide. "Let me take you somewhere you can breathe," he murmured, protective but hungry, all at once. I hesitated, thoughts of my ex's betrayal still lingering like a bruise — but then Harry's thumb dragged across my lower lip, soft and certain. "I promise you'll forget everything else," he said, so sure it nearly made me believe him.

That was it — that was what tipped me over.

"Okay," I breathed.

He paid without a word, hand never leaving me, then guided me out to the curb where an Uber waited. The city air hit my skin, cool and electric, goosebumps chasing up my arms. Harry slid into the backseat beside me, his thigh pressed against mine, heat radiating from him in waves. His hand stayed on me, a protective weight, reminding me I wasn't alone.

"So, Heartbreaker," he smirked, breaking the tension once more, "do I get a goodnight kiss first?" I shook my head, biting back a grin, but the way his thumb slid higher under the hem of my dress left me breathless. He leaned in, lips grazing my ear, voice a rough whisper: "Can't wait to hear you moan for me," he said, sending a violent shiver down my spine — then softer, gentler, "If you want to stop, say so."

My heart twisted, a painful, perfect ache — torn between guilt and a fierce, reckless desire to lose myself in him, just for tonight. I decided I wanted to let go.

***

Harry's place was exactly what I should have expected from him: sleek, modern, minimalist — but still warm in a way that made me exhale for the first time all night. Soft lamplight lit the space with a honey-colored glow, catching on a plush rug that looked like you could sink into it, and somewhere beyond the glass, the city sparkled under the night sky.

He stepped in first, casually toeing off his boots, then turned to me with that easy grin.

"Welcome to my humble cave. Make yourself at home, Heartbreaker." I tried to laugh, but it came out soft, uncertain. My cheeks felt hot. It all felt so fast. Harry stepped closer, voice low and gentle. "No pressure, okay? We can stop whenever."

I swallowed hard. "Thanks... I... yeah."

He brushed a curl back from his forehead, then cupped my cheek in a way that made my stomach twist, steady and patient. "You're still sure about this?" he asked, searching my eyes.

I nodded, because I wanted him — wanted this so badly I could hardly breathe.

"Yeah," I whispered. "I'm sure." The look that passed through his eyes was pure heat, but wrapped in something warm and protective.

"Good," he murmured, before leaning down and kissing me — a deep, unhurried pull at my lips that made my heart stutter.

The moment his tongue slid against mine, something inside me let go. I let my hands drift to his shirt, feeling the silk under my fingers, pulling him closer. When he pulled back, he let his gaze wander down, drinking me in from head to toe with such raw appreciation I nearly squirmed.

"God," he rasped, brushing a thumb across my cheek, "you're stunning... every inch of you."

My cheeks burned even hotter, a shy laugh slipping out. Then he stepped behind me, fingers tracing along the zipper of my dress, voice going dark with hunger.

"You wore this just to kill me, didn't you?"

I shivered. "Maybe," I teased, though it sounded more like a gasp.

His hands stilled, fingertips at the strap, and he paused — gentle, careful. "Can I take this off?" I nodded again, too breathless to answer out loud.

He slid the zipper down so slowly it felt like torture, the brush of his knuckles down my spine making my skin prickle with goosebumps. I felt the fabric slide off my shoulders, pooling around my ankles, leaving me in the black lace lingerie I'd chosen, half to feel powerful, half to remind myself I was still wanted.

Harry let out a shaky breath behind me. "Fuck," he sighed. "You're going to kill me tonight."

Heat flooded through me, pooling low and hot. He took his time exploring, hands smoothing over the curve of my hips, fingertips brushing along the lace, tracing where the sheer bra barely held me together.

"Perfect," he said, voice rough with awe. "Every. Inch."

He dipped his head to press hot kisses to my shoulder, letting his teeth scrape just enough to make me whimper. My hands found their way to his hair, threading through the soft curls, tugging gently.

"Harry," I breathed, overwhelmed already.

He pulled back to look at me, one hand cupping my jaw, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.

"I've been thinking about how good you'd taste all night," he whispered, a wicked smile pulling at the edges of his lips. My knees nearly buckled. "Mine tonight, yeah?" he added, voice darker, possessive in a way that made me clench around nothing.

"Yes," I gasped, barely recognizing my own voice.

Harry grinned, the heat in his eyes almost too much to hold. "Let me hear you, baby."

Then he kissed me again, harder this time, coaxing another helpless moan out of me. His hands moved down to cup my thighs, lifting me like I weighed nothing, and walked me backward until my knees hit the bed. He laid me down so gently it made my heart ache, then sank to his knees between my parted legs. His fingers hooked under the lace of my thong, looking up with that infuriating patience.

"Can I?"

"Please," I managed, voice breaking. He grinned — and pulled it down with devastating slowness, baring me completely.

Harry just stared at me for a second, like he was trying to memorize every detail, and then he leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the inside of my thigh. Each brush of his lips felt like fire, leaving me twitching, breathless, practically vibrating with need.

He chuckled low in his throat, like he could read my mind. “So pretty,” he murmured, tongue teasing just at the crease of my hip. “So fucking pretty with my fingers inside you.”

I let out a strangled sound, hips jerking toward him, desperate for anything, everything. Harry’s hand smoothed along my stomach, grounding me, while the other dipped down, two fingers sliding through the slick heat between my legs. I couldn’t help the moan that broke free — it felt so good, so overwhelming, that I forgot to be shy.

“God, you’re wet already,” he teased, but there was reverence in his voice. “You want this?”

“Yes,” I gasped, shame long gone. “Please, Harry—”

His grin was pure sin. “Good.”

He sank his fingers inside me slowly, curling them just right, and I nearly came undone on the spot. The stretch, the fullness, after being so empty for so long — it stole the air from my lungs.

“That’s it, baby,” Harry whispered, voice low and rough. “Let me hear you.”

A broken, keening moan escaped me, my hips rolling helplessly against his hand as he worked me open with steady, relentless strokes. Then I felt his mouth — soft, warm, teasing — replacing his thumb on my clit, and I almost screamed. He sucked gently at first, then firmer, in rhythm with his fingers, every nerve ending sparking at once.

“Harry—” I panted, fingers tangled in his hair. “Fuck, please don’t stop.”

He laughed, breath hot against me, the vibrations making me whimper. “Not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he promised, his voice somehow both gentle and filthy.

I felt the orgasm cresting before I could fight it — too intense, crashing over me like a wave. My entire body went tight, trembling, clamping around his fingers while he coaxed me through it, praising me over and over.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he groaned. “Let go for me. There you go.” When I finally caught my breath, he pulled back, licking his lips with a grin that was almost obscene. “I could taste you all night,” he teased, and I let out a half-laugh, half-sob, completely undone.

I barely had a moment to recover before he kissed me again — deep, possessive, letting me taste myself on his tongue. Then he stood, peeling off his own shirt and letting it drop to the floor, revealing the lean, toned lines of his body, dusted with tattoos I’d only ever seen in photos. My breath caught. He was… beautiful.

He caught me staring, and smirked. “See something you like?” I nodded, too dazed to be embarrassed. His hands went to his belt, pausing just a second. “You still sure?”

“Yes,” I whispered, no hesitation left.

Harry stripped the rest of the way, and my mouth went dry at the sight of him, thick and heavy and flushed, already so hard. I licked my lips, heat rushing through me, and he noticed. His grin went dark.

“Want to taste me?” he asked, voice hoarse.

I swallowed hard, nodding again. “Yeah.”

He stepped closer, guiding me gently to the edge of the bed. I wrapped a hand around him, marveling at the weight, the heat, before leaning in and taking him into my mouth. Harry let out a strangled curse, one hand bracing against the headboard, the other threading into my hair.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he praised, voice wrecked. “God, you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

That sent a shiver through me, a thrill buzzing under my skin. I hollowed my cheeks, sucking harder, letting him slide deeper, wanting to give him even a fraction of what he’d just given me. His hips flexed forward, controlled but needy, and I moaned around him, which made him curse again, louder.

“Shit — you’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that,” he warned, pulling back gently before I could finish him off. He leaned down, kissing me rough and sweet at once, breathing hard. “I need to be inside you,” he growled against my mouth.

A rush of heat coiled low in my belly at the thought.

“Please,” I whispered, clutching at his shoulders. “I need you, Harry — all of you.”

His eyes darkened, and he guided me back on the bed, settling between my thighs. One hand fisted in my hair, the other braced at my hip, as he lined himself up and pushed in, inch by inch, filling me so perfectly it stole every word from my mouth.

“Nice and slow, sweetheart,” Harry murmured, voice shaking. “That’s it… fuck, you feel incredible.”

I could only moan, overwhelmed by the stretch, the heat, the fullness. He paused once he was fully seated inside me, giving me time to adjust, his forehead resting against mine. I could feel him everywhere, a delicious, aching fullness that made my toes curl.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmured, voice rough, eyes searching mine.

I gasped, clinging to his shoulders. “So good… you’re so big, Harry, it’s—” He kissed me, swallowing the rest of my words, then pulled back just enough to move, a slow, perfect drag that made me shudder.

“Good girl,” he rasped, hips rolling, steady and deep. “Taking me so fucking well.”

Every thrust made sparks explode behind my eyes, the pressure building again far too quickly. My hands scrabbled at his back, desperate for something to hold onto.

“Harry—” I moaned, nearly crying from how good it felt, how right it felt.

He grinned, then caught my chin with his fingers, forcing me to look at him. “Mine tonight, yeah?”

“Yes,” I gasped, barely recognizing my own voice.

“Say it,” he commanded, voice dropping to a dangerous, possessive rumble.

“Yours,” I breathed, dizzy. “I’m yours.”

His smile turned darkly satisfied, and he slammed into me harder, making me arch and cry out.

“Gonna fill you up, baby,” he growled, voice thick with lust. “Make you so full of me, yeah?”

My entire body went tight at the words, a deep, animal thrill pulsing through me.

“Yes — please, Harry—”

He shifted, pulling my legs higher around his waist, changing the angle so he hit even deeper. I nearly sobbed at the sensation, head spinning.

“Fuck, look at you,” Harry groaned, eyes blazing. “Falling apart on my cock.” I couldn’t answer, only moaned, letting the wave crest higher and higher. Harry’s hand slipped to my throat, gentle but firm, squeezing just enough to make my breath catch. “Good girl,” he praised again, voice breaking. “You’re gonna come for me, yeah?”

“Yes,” I whimpered, barely holding on.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, thrusts going rougher. “Come on, pretty girl. Let go for me.”

The orgasm slammed into me so hard I saw stars, my entire body locking up, squeezing around him. I cried out, voice ragged, lost in the pleasure. Harry cursed, hips jerking erratically as he followed me over the edge.

“Fuck, I’m coming — take it all, baby,” he groaned, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside me.

We both froze, breathing hard, his forehead still pressed to mine, sweat-slicked and shaking. When he finally pulled back to look at me, the heat in his eyes had gentled, soft and adoring.

“You were perfect,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Absolutely perfect.”

I flushed, overwhelmed, whispering a shy, “Thank you…”

He kissed me, slow and sweet, then carefully pulled out, watching my face as he did. I felt a messy, aching sense of relief, a flutter of satisfaction that went bone-deep. Harry stood, then returned with a warm cloth, cleaning me up gently, making sure I was comfortable before pulling me into his chest.

“I’m here,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You’re safe, alright?” I nodded against him, too raw to speak, but feeling lighter than I had in weeks.

Harry held me there, arms strong and warm around me, while the faint city noise filtered through the open window. A distant hum of traffic, the soft beat of his heart.

“I know it’s fast,” he murmured after a moment, voice threaded with honesty, “but I’m glad it was me.”

My throat tightened. “Me too,” I admitted, burying my face in his neck.

He smiled, one hand smoothing along my back, soothing. “Sleep here,” he offered softly. “We can talk in the morning.”

I nodded again, too worn out to protest, letting my eyes drift shut while the last scraps of heartbreak burned away. Harry’s breathing evened out against me, steady and warm, and I let myself melt into it, safe in his arms, the faintest glimmer of hope flickering somewhere deep in my chest.

Maybe tomorrow would hurt. But tonight, I let him hold me.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

author’s note:

first post — thanks for checking it out! feel free to drop your thoughts or just say hi. 💗

love,

🌙 canyonmoonchild

[poppyseed-cookie]

(In honor of 1,000 notes, here’s the story behind this post)

Haha it’s a little roleplay au. I’ll explain it since u asked, it’s actually a lot less focused on the art I showed than you’d think. Warning, it’s all beast x ancient (this is a shadowvanilla post so I doubt that’s much of a problem for ppl but in case yall don’t like the other bxa ships)

Soo, for whatever mysterious reason, the Ancients get transported back in time to before the Beasts were corrupted. Millennial Tree, having powers of Time and all, noticed this happened, and said “okay, don’t worry, I’ll find a way to get you guys back to when you’re supposed to be. As long as you don’t create or destroy any life, I should be able to fix the timeline, so just hang out and have fun or whatever until I figure out how to get you guys back”

So the Ancients are just like “cool vacation in prehistoric times ig (we call them prehistoric times cuz technically the history of these times is practically all erased lol)” so they just tour around and see what the Beasts were like in the past as Virtues.

First off, we don’t have Silent Salt lore, so White Lily just went “awesome I love studying things that cookies shouldn’t normally be able to” and just completely wandered off doing her research on literally everything and they just don’t see her 😭 ngl I keep imagining she’s going to Solidarity Salt’s Concerts for some reason I can’t make this canon I don’t think they held concerts why would they be a singer I shouldn’t even be typing this I haven’t even told my sister (the one I rp this with) this stupid idea

ANYWAYS… Golden Cheese just goes sight seeing, not wanting to get into any trouble. Hollyberry wants to go see the Garden, but immediately gets distracted by visiting all the bars she can find and tasting all the prehistoric drinks. Pure Vanilla enrolls into the Fount of Knowledge’s school because he just wants to see what his teachings were like. Dark Cacao… the real story begins with him.

Dark Cacao saw that cookies lined up to get their wishes granted by Master Flour Cookie. He figured, since that’s his beast and all, he should go and see what it’s like. So he stood in line and eventually got to her. She asked him what his wish was, and then he realized he stood in line that WHOLE time not having a wish. He said “uhhh I just came here because I wanted to see you”. Master Flour’s not really sure what to do about that one. It feels really awkward so Dark Cacao asks her what her favorite food is. She answers, and he wishes for some of it, which she grants, but only for him to tell her to have it. He remembered that cookies weren’t very nice to the Beasts from what he could gather, so he figured he’d do something a little nice for her. Then he left.

Master Flour Cookie was stunned. A cookie shows up with only the desire to see her? And wishes she would give herself a treat? She’d never had a cookie be so kind and selfless to her. She goes to the other Virtues and tells them about this mysterious cookie that warmed her heart, and Sugar of Happiness immediately encourages her to pursue this feeling of happiness. Master Flour’s not sure if she can, but the other Virtues, especially Sugar of Happiness and Fount of Knowledge, offer their help.

So Dark Cacao is just walking around when suddenly the Sugar of Happiness swoops down from the skies, picks him up, and flies him over to the Ivory Pagoda. Scariest moment of his life. Once he’s there he discovers that Master Flour Cookie is interested in him. Romantically. Oh no no no. How could this happen??? This is the beast of APATHY. It’s so unnatural to see her this flustered… she’s not supposed to like anyone!! But what’s Dark Cacao gonna do? Break her heart? Nope.

So when he gets back to his Ancient friends he explains the situation. They’re all shocked. “What did you do to make Mystic Flour fall in love with you??” but when he explains what he did, they all go “OH MY GOSH UNMATCHED RIZZ!!!! DUDE YOU TOTALLY RIZZED HER UP!!!! THAT WAS SMOOTH!!!!” He doesn’t believe it except he has to believe it because why else is he in this situation. Also I can’t forget to mention that the Fount of Knowledge approached Dark Cacao, circled around him, nodded, and left at one point which also terrified him. (Fount was analyzing him to figure out what sort of things he likes to help Master Flour out in her dating escapades)

Now let’s have a look at Pure Vanilla. It’s VERY IMPORTANT to note, that, this au is based on my roleplay, and in that roleplay, Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk ARE IN A RELATIONSHIP. So, he enrolled into school to see what his Present boyfriend was like in the Past. He’s been studying at the Blueberry Milk Academy, and enjoying it for the most part… but there was one thing that ruined it for him. And that was the other students in his class. They didn’t enjoy the Fount’s more creative ways of teaching (especially the songs they were forced to learn) and would sometimes talk during lessons. Pure Vanilla would sometimes snap at his classmates if they were disrupting the Fount’s lessons, and was always very encouraging of the Fount’s creative lessons. He always spoke many praises of the teacher and how he’s proud of him for doing such a good job teaching the class.

This is also where his classmates ruin the experience for him. He didn’t have many friends. That’s because… there was a rumor about him going around class. A rumor that he was crushing HARD on the teacher. His classmates were all very disturbed by this and constantly told him “dude the Fount of Knowledge isn’t gonna screw you” and he kept insisting that was NOT his goal, he’s NOT into the Fount, he just really enjoys class. Yet his excellent grades didn’t help the rumors. He was basically the “teachers pet” except nobody called him that especially because it felt more like he wanted the TEACHER to be HIS pet. Pure Vanilla is absolutely stunned at these rumors. Like, sure that’s his future boyfriend, but he wasn’t trying to do anything!!! Just school!!!

For a while, it’s just rumors and a lack of friends. But eventually, the Fount starts to see the evidence pile up that his top student Likes him. He doesn’t know how to react, and confides in his fellow Virtues that one of his students seems into him. A very good, kind, and attentive student. Seeing as they all got Master Flour a boyfriend, they immediately encourage Fount to pursue this as well. No one had ever treated the Fount as lovingly as Pure Vanilla, so he went along with this idea, not receiving any help since he can already see Pure Vanilla during the day and he also hates admitting when he’s not sure what to do so of course he wouldn’t ask for any further help.

So one class, the Fount nervously asks to see Pure Vanilla after class. He’s surprised by this but is like “ok”. His classmates are STUNNED. “Surely not…” they think. After class it’s just Fount and PV. Fount gets really flustered and says “so, um, d-do you want to, um- NEVER MIND!!!” and he tries to run away but trips and almost cries from embarrassment. Pure Vanilla is nice about it and tries to make sure he’s ok. PV gets the message and gently accepts Fount’s offer, careful not to scare him off. Sooo now they’re a thing.

Also yes, Dark Cacao and Master Flour are dating. He didn’t want to break her heart. He has tried coming up with excuses for why it wouldn’t work out but she grants wishes bro she has the power of Volition SHE CAN MAKE IT WORK. He refuses to say “I’m not interested” so there’s nothing he can do (but is he really not interested…?).

Pure Vanilla tells his Ancient friends that he’s dating the Fount of Knowledge now. They are not surprised, except for the fact that TWO of them are now dating Virtues. At least THIS time Pure Vanilla was ACTUALLY already dating the guy in the present…

Seeing as this post is focused on purefount y’all probably want me to go into more detail about that. They’ve had a lot of developments and gotten really close, the Fount of Knowledge lets Pure Vanilla call him Blueberry Milk now and he’s learned things that he didn’t know about Shadow Milk. Blueberry Milk is willing to be so open to Pure Vanilla in part BECAUSE he has this strange sense that the two of them have a far deeper connection than normal cookies, not realizing they are actually soulmates.

In terms of close calls like the post, Blueberry Milk DID absolutely scare the life out of Pure Vanilla by asking “oh by the way, I don’t recognize the fields you grew up in! Where is that? Oh, right, forgot to mention, I looked into your memories 😊” Pure Vanilla considers himself very lucky that he seems to have ONLY looked into his childhood, which doesn’t have any super incriminating evidence of being a time traveler with a soul jam, (Blueberry Milk was only curious WHERE Pure Vanilla came from, that’s why he only checked as far back as he could remember) but the fact that Blueberry Milk has the power to see into his memories is very concerning. Luckily the Fount doesn’t seem too interested in prying, but man.

The other Ancients start to get concerned about all this plus the fact that Blueberry Milk has discovered that the cookies catching the attention of the Virtues (skipped over GC and BS don’t worry I’ll loop back to that shortly) are all actually friends, AND wants to come over and visit them sometime, they’re like “listen we know you love Blueberry Milk and we’re letting Dark Cacao date Mystic Flour (DC in the background: help) but this is starting to get dangerous. That’s one of the most powerful cookies in existence when it comes to magic, if anyone could ruin the time fixing stuff it could be the Fount, plus what if discovering that it becomes Shadow Milk causes that to happen early and cookies die?”

But Pure Vanilla just caaaan’t stop loving his precious partner. Sooo let’s go back a bit and see what happened with Golden Cheese Cookie.

She was just sight seeing as per usual, going around one of the Herald of Change’s kingdoms to admire the culture and architecture there, not realizing that the Herald himself would actually BE there. He noticed her wings and was captivated by her IMMEDIATELY. He went up to her and said “hey! Why do you have wings?” to which Golden Cheese panicked and said “oh, I was raised by cheesebirds.” Herald of Change said “ohhh that makes sense” and immediately went to the Fount of Knowledge to ask about what cheesebirds like. That’s how Blueberry Milk discovers that the Herald is now interested in Golden Cheese, PV also happened to be there and was just internally like “ohhh no”

Unlike with the other two, when the Herald tells the other Virtues about his newfound crush, they aren’t as intrigued or encouraging. The Herald was one of the only Virtues to actually date around. This wasn’t new or exciting to them, and it’s not even like Golden Cheese had done anything to win him over, he just thought she was pretty. Still, Blueberry Milk was always happy to help the Herald (important part of our roleplay lore tbh) and hunted down Golden Cheese for him so that it could scan her and learn what she likes, since the Herald really wanted to know.

Golden Cheese saw the Fount of Knowledge approaching her, and thought “oh, no, Dark Cacao described this happening to him, too. The Fount definitely isn’t meant to be here and is definitely coming towards me. Oh, wait! I don’t need to let him circle me! I can fly away!” So that’s what she did.

Blueberry Milk didn’t expect that but immediately became suspicious because of that action. She DEFINITELY saw him approaching, and CHOSE to escape him. Plus, she had LIED. Potentially. Blueberry Milk has an open mind and says that “MAYBE there are WAYS you can spin it so ‘I got wings because I was raised by cheesebirds’ is true” but still thought it strange. Blueberry Milk also noticed a pattern, that both his and Master Flour’s new boyfriends knew each other, and figured maybe it was the same for the Herald’s new crush. Blueberry Milk went to PV and did a brief scan of him to discover that yes, he does know Golden Cheese.

The Fount of Knowledge is somewhat onto them, no longer totally oblivious that there’s anything strange going on, but is giving Pure Vanilla its full trust because it loves him deeply. Still, it questions whether it’s all worth it, knowing that for reasons unexplained, Pure Vanilla isn’t planning on staying.

Anyways. The Herald of Change figured that cheesebirds like cheese and sticks. So, he went to Golden Cheese with cheese and sticks. He gave them to her, then yelled “OH MY GOSH IM STUPID! WHY DIDNT I GET CHEESE STICKS?!” and ran away in embarrassment. Golden Cheese found the pitiful attempt at wooing her kind of cute. She put the cheese on the sticks to eat.

Back home with the Ancients, she is DEVASTATED that she is now part of the “strange relationship with Beast” club. She insists that she doesn’t DESERVE to be lumped in with Dark Cacao and Pure Vanilla, because she didn’t DO anything to garner his attention other than be her glorious self. All it took was a look and she was involved. Hollyberry is just like “on one hand I should avoid Eternal Sugar at all costs so that I can be the One Cookie who is doing things right. On the other hand, I’m REALLY curious”

So far we haven’t added a branch to the au where Hollysugar happens. So FOR NOW, Hollyberry is the one safe Ancient (other than WL until we learn more about SS). But I don’t doubt that at some point we will drag her into it. She’s certainly not AGAINST going to the Garden, despite her friends suggesting maybe she doesn’t.

Also might be worth mentioning that again this au is based on our RP and QUITE CONTRARY TO CANON Golden Cheese and Burning Spice have NEVER been on truly bad terms. They’ve spent most of their time just awkward around each other but are practically besties now. Never a strictly negative relationship. So Golden Cheese doesn’t have as many problems as she probably would if this were a regular AU based on canon.

I wouldn’t be against writing this AU as an actual fic that’s based more on canon rather than my sister and I’s silly little RP! My only problem would be my severe writers block haha! I have 2 WIPs for CRK fics rn and it’s not looking great!!!!!!!!

Wait maybe if I made it an actual fic I could have the ships go in release order so it still starts with Dark Cacao but we swap GC and PV’s plots starting… hahaha… will have to brainstorm this. If ppl want a real AU ig.

Pure Vanilla goes back in time and dates the Fount of Knowledge while trying not to reveal the fact that he is a time traveler who owns half his soul jam

[doctorsiren]

God now I’m seriously thinking of an Undertale route with Spamton and Tenna, specifically how they would affect the ending phone call… I feel like if you kill Tenna, especially if you kill nobody else, Spamton goes completely insane forever. Maybe throws himself into the core again, like how Alphys dies if you kill Mettaton.

If you kill Spamton but fix Tenna, though, since Tenna doesn’t know he’s alive… maybe he joins Mettaton’s network but he’s hollow inside? Has no real purpose and no real friends, just shuts himself down every night alone. You know, a neutral ending!

Neutral Route if you kill only Tenna

Spamton spirals even further, tricking himself into believing that he can still fix Tenna, but he soon realizes that there’s nothing he can do. So I believe he would jump into the Core again or do SOMETHING. Either way, his shop is closed down after the player’s choice to kill Tenna.

Neutral Route if you kill only Spamton

I like that idea a lot. He’s always wants to help people and lift their spirits, so being a TV star after being repaired sounds perfect to him. Before his Spinel moment, he thought Spamton had died when he jumped into the core. And so, if the player kills Spamton and later repairs Tenna, Tenna will be conscious again still believing Spamton to have never been alive since the Core incident. However, he quickly finds the evidence of him all through the underground. His abandoned shop, his strange graffiti, and reports and rumours from other monsters that one of the old Royal Scientists used to leave all this stuff, but disappeared suddenly. Tenna realizes if he had just stayed awake and not shut himself off to fruitlessly wait for Chara and Asriel, he could have found Spamton and helped him. He wallows in regret and sits alone in his room every night, watching the same VHS tape over and over, which was filled with little moments of the Dreemurr family before everything went bad, including moments of Tenna and Spamton. …and I realized I could make them even more tragic if I made them fiancés, who then had a falling out before they even got married (the falling out being after Gaster fell into the core and Spamton started losing it and blaming Tenna to deflect his own guilt). Tenna doesn’t even care about the fight anymore and he’s not mad at Spamton. He just wishes he hadn’t been powered off for all those years while Spamton clearly still cared about him and had been trying to fix him up.

[lilbitt]

What are Brothers For?

Elias ‘Stack’ Moore X Annie

A/N: Sooo, Hi! I write a lil bit, but I’ve never written fan fiction a day in my life and I blame this entirely on Michael and Wumni for shooting that scene the way they did. And I blame Ryan too, for leaving it like that. My brain wouldn’t let me rest until I got these words out on a google doc and I figured I’d post it, cause why not. Lol enjoy, or don’t idk. May not be that amazing but EYE was cheesing while writing it. Also, this is damn near 9k words. I, honest to God, tried to end it at 5k, then 6, then 7 and Stack and Annie? Yea, those mfs were NOT letting me. I do not take responsibility for this length. It ended when they were done 👐🏾

C/W: A lil angst, SMUT, cursing, a beginner in writing southern dialect 🥹, MDI

She should have felt it. As soon as she opened her eyes and dragged herself out of bed. If not then, while she prayed and tended to her alter. If not then, while she washed up and ate a quick breakfast. And if not then, while she opened up shop, despite the rare but heavy downpour that’d started, and that didn’t leave her anticipating many – if any – visitors. She shoulda’ felt that something was….off – something in the air that would make an ordinary Tuesday, unordinary. But she hadn’t.

She blamed it on her mood, on the nasty attitude she’d been tryin’, and failin’, to shake. It’d overtaken her senses. The persistent thrum of irritation buzzing under her skin. The annoyance that’d started off twisting low in her stomach, before slitherin’ its way up to her chest where it settled – heavy and uncomfortable. The anger that gripped at her throat – pointed, hot, unrelentin’ like the Mississippi heat. It was all too heavy, and all that heaviness was distractin’. 

Still, she tried to go on like business as usual. 

While rain pounded on the roof, Annie worked. Or she started to, taking some light inventory, and then staring into space as if orders filled themselves. As if enough doing nothing could clear her head, and settle her heart, and allow her to do the sacred work her people trusted her with. Truth was, she hadn’t felt clear – hadn’t felt at peace – in days. And maybe that was her fault. Keeping her thoughts to herself and not speakin’ the words she knew she should be mature enough to express. 

Words she felt she shouldn’t have to express. 

And that’s what really had her swallowin’ down the things that’d be better off spoken. Cause, before, they hadn’t needed words.  Annie and Smoke had put the work in, learned each other inside out – had energies so intertwined they could sense when everything was all good. Could sense when it was the opposite. And all it took was a look, a touch, a twitch of a lip to fill each other out and fix what was goin’ on. Even after he’d left for some years, chasing money she didn’t ask for and running behind a brother that would never sit still, their connection was still there. Hadn’t just disappeared. She could still read him better than any bones she threw. And he could still read her – should still be able to read her. Pick up on her moods. Fix what was wrong. But, Annie guessed to fix what was wrong – one had to notice somethin’ was wrong, and to notice somethin’ was wrong, one had to be around – and these days? His black ass never was. 

Between the Juke, and whateva’ the hell else he and Stack got up to, Annie didn’t see much difference between him being up north versus back here in the Delta. He was never around when he’d run off to Chicago, and he was hardly around now. 

Annie sucked her teeth, just thinkin’ about it. Why should she have to beg for a scrap of his attention after he’d left her? After she’d taken him back despite the pain he’d caused? The pain he was still causing? She wouldn’t do it. Shouldn’t have to do it. Not when he’d talked so much shit ‘bout how he loved her, and was sorry, and was ready ta’ pick up where they left off. It had all sounded good, but words anit mean nothin’ when the only time he cared to be around was when he was sleepin’. 

She was confused, and angry, and hurt, and neglected, and horny and it was fuckin’ wit her mojo. She was love and light, and he was bringin’ storm clouds.

Annie shook her head at herself, laughing, completely unamused. “Who else but the great Elijah Moore to get me outta character?” He made her sick. An’ she wanted him to fix it. 

A pounding, heavy like the rain, but louder and harsher on her ears, startled Annie out of her thoughts, and she jumped a little, head turning towards her door. The wood threatened to cave in, somebody was kockin’ so hard. 

“Now just who in the hell–?”

“Annie! Girl, open this do’. A nigga ‘bouta drown out here!” 

Her big brown eyes were rolling before Stack even finished speaking. This anit the Moore she’d asked for. Still, she padded across the room to answer, save he actually break her door down and she have to cut him as a result. She swung the door open, just as Stack, who stood protected from the rain on her porch, had raised his hand to ‘knock’ again. 

“You done lost yo mind bangin’ on my door like that? What’s wrong with you?” 

Stack’s thick lips split into a grin, arm dropping at his side. 

“Now, why you gotta greet a nigga like that Annie? I was just makin’ sure you heard me.” His dimple popped, gold caps glinting. “Now lemme in. It’s nasty out here girl. Hot as hell too.” 

And it was. Just cause it was raining in the Delta, didn’t mean it was cool in the Delta. The heat was still there. Now it was just wet heat – thick and humid and suffocating. Still, Annie didn’t move, crossing her arms under her heavy bosom instead. 

“What chu’ want Stack?”  

His shoulders rose then dropped, lips still curved up. “I was in the area.” 

Annie’s cheek didn’t even twitch. 

Stack wrinkled his nose playfully.

“You so mean sometimes,” he laughed. “Nah, you got me. I’m playin’ errand boy. Smoke sent me to check up on ya’. Figured it was gone start rainin’ and wanted to make sure you was good. Glad my ass left ‘fo it really started coming down.” 

Annie’s cheek twitched at that. But not cause she thought somethin’ was funny. Wasn’t shit funny bout what he’d just said actually. 

“‘Scuse me?” 

The heavy feeling that already sat in her chest grew heavier, distractin’ her and allowing Stack to slide inside, her feet shifting unconsciously to let him by. 

He walked in like he owned the place, eyes flitting over the herbs, and spices, and everything else she had lining the shelves in her shop. He didn’t know if he believed in all that – magic, and spells, and spirits. There was damn sure no magic present when he was growin’ up. No spirits watchin’ over him. No spells to make the bad go away. But shit, maybe it wasn’t like that for everybody – maybe some niggas had somebody on the other side lookin’ out. And maybe he’d had his brother, and his brother’d had him and that was all they’d needed to get through. 

“He sent you to what?” Stack turned around to face her.

“To check on you. Why you looking like that?” 

Annie didn’t know how she was looking. But she could guess. She felt her eyes squint further, like she could make sense of the words Stack was saying. Not that they were hard to comprehend, just that–

“Why he couldn’t bring his ass down here and check on me himself?” 

Stack blinked. Then smirked. 

“He holed up in his lil office, stressin’ bout numbers like always. What, you miss him? Yo man’ll be back tonight girl.” 

Annie laughed. Sharp, decisive, done.

“The hell he will,” Annie started walking, stompin’ really, deeper into the house, leaving the door wide open. “You can take yo’ happy ass right back down to that Juke Joint and tell ‘im I’m just fine. And tell that nigga to get comfortable down there while you at it, cause he anit comin back here. Run that errand.”

She entered her small kitchen, pacing back and forth to work out some of her energy. He’d been coming in after she’d already went to bed, rising before her eyes were open in the morning, and now he couldn’t be bothered to come out and check on her himself? 

Stack didn’t go back to the Juke. Instead, he closed the door, shutting them off from the rain that was coming down harder than before – as if it sensed the river of emotion welling up in Annie – and followed behind her.

“Uh,” his voice paused Annies pacing. She turned her head sharply in his direction, eyebrow arched like she dared him to say somethin’ stupid. “Y’all havin a lil lovers spat or somethin’?” 

“Or somethin’.” Her voice was flat. “I anit in the mood for you or yo brothers shit today. You can let yoself out.” It wasn’t Stack she was mad at. Not really. She loved Stack, not so much as a brother, but more so as an extension of Smoke. There wasn’t one without the other. Elijah wouldn’t be Elijah without Elias, and vice versa, so she’d made space for both men in her life when she committed to being with one. Right now though, she didn’t have space for either of them, especially Stacks childish ass.

“Now hol’ on,” he stepped further into the kitchen, voice light, lips tugging upwards like this was a game. “Why it gotta be all that? Big brotha’ fuckin’ up? What he do? Talk to Stacky Stack.” He pulled out a chair, plopping down and leaning back, spreading his legs wide like he had all the time in the world. Like Annie wasn’t spitting fire at him with her eyes. 

“You think this funny Stack?” She stood directly in front of him, lips twisting up. “You anit bout to come up in here, treating me like I’m a joke, cause you a child stuck in a grown man’s body, and can’t take nothin’ serious. Now I told you to leave.” 

His eyes got comically big, “Who said you was a joke??” 

She’d opened her mouth to respond, stepping forward threateningly, and he quickly cut her off. 

“Annie, swea’ fo’ God, I don’t think you a joke. I know better than that. My bad for playin’.” He raised his hands in surrender, dropping any smirk that’d lingered on his lips. “I just anit know y’all was fighting, is all. Anit like y’all.” 

Annie considered him for a moment, and then sighed, shoulders losing their defensive edge, and feet starting to pace again. 

“We ain’t fightin’,” she mumbled. “He gotta be around for us to fight.” She was talking moreso to herself, finally speaking the words that’d been tumbling ‘round in her brain the last few days. “Maybe I was mistakin’ thinkin’ we could pick up where we left off. Thinkin’  that spark was still there. Maybe things done changed too much. It gotta be that. Been waiting on him all this time, just for him to come back and treat me like this? It anit that much busy in the world.” 

Annie huffed, shaking her head. “Maybe I just need to cut my losses. Go be wit’ somebody that wonna wake up to me in the morning at least.” 

Those last words were spoken out of hurt, just her venting mostly, but Stack sat straight up, eyes narrowing on her with a seriousness that rivaled his brothers. 

“What chu’ mean?” 

Annie paused, blinking, and turning her head to face the younger twin like she’d just remembered he was there. 

He was watching her, posture stiff, muscles tensed in his collared shirt like he didn’t plan to exhale til she answered. 

Annie raised an eyebrow. She knew why he was looking like that, and she doubled down, purely out of spite. 

“I meant what I said. Maybe I needa’ find somebody new. Put all this old shit behind me.” 

There. Let him run back to the Juke and report that to Elijah. 

Stack studied her for a beat and then slowly, much to her amusement, shook his head. Like she’d just asked him for permission to move on. 

“Nah. We ain’t gone go and do that. The nigga been a lil busy – I’ll give you that. I’ll tell him start bringing his ass home earlier, but you know he love you. You anit gon’–”

“I anit gon’ what?” She cut him off, laughing. “Stack, I’ma grown ass woman and I’ma do whatever I please.” 

Her laughter stopped. “Just like he do whatever he please.” The anger that’d been gripping her throat, let go, and the words came pouring out her mouth like lava. “The nigga like a ghost. After leaving me for all these years, he come back, and he like a ghost. Always at that damn Juke Joint, and wherever else he be. Ain’ never got time for me. For the woman that prayed over him every day while he was gone. For the woman that prayed over his brother. 

“No. Its fuck me. And he anit even been doin’ that. So if I wonna be wit’ somebody who actually present – who don’t avoid me like I’m the klan – who wants to be around me, and talk to me, and touch me, I can do that and it anit a thang a Moore on this earth can do about it,” she looked pointedly at Stack. “Any Moore.” 

A boom of thunder rang out, loud, and deep, and damn near shaking the little shack. It was warning them of the storms to come. Warning them that the rain wouldn’t be stopping no time soon, and that the Delta better get ready for a flood.

Neither party in the kitchen flinched at the sound. Their eyes remained locked, Annie’s chest rising and falling in anger, Stack still unmoving, still tense. He broke eye contact first, ‘hmming’ in the back of his throat, eyes darting to the floor before jumping back to hers. He nodded once, like he’d just made a decision, and then sat back in the chair, legs spreading wide again, shoulders dropping in that low easy way of his. He tilted his head back a little, let his eyelids drop slightly.

“C’mere.”  

Annie blinked. 

“Boy what?” His tone had dropped, voice low and thick and sweet – like honey. A tone that probably worked on every other woman in the Delta. Annie just looked at him like he was crazy. 

“You heard me. C’mere.” 

She stayed where she was, arms crossing, and eye brow raising in warning. 

“Boy, if you don’t get up, go on somewhere, an’ stop playin’ wit me. I just told you, this anit a game.” 

“You right, it anit.” He let his eyes roam her lazily, cocking his head a little as he traced over the swell of her chest, the curve of her hips, the softness of her stomach. He let her see that he was looking, even as her eyes narrowed dangerously at his gaze. “It anit a game at all Annie,” he was still talking low. “You plannin’ on gettin’ some random niggas killed, all cause you a lil mad right now and that ain’t right girl.” 

Annie’s face screwed up.

“Cause I’m ma–”

He cut her off.

“You say Smoke anit takin’ care of business? I believe you. His drawers up his ass right now. The nigga done forgot what he got at home. That’s his bad. Lemme talk to ‘im. But you know anit gon’ be no other niggas Annie. Don’t even talk like that. 

“You say you needa’ be listened to? Needa’ be touched? Needa’ work out some of that pressure? I’ll handle allat right now, but don’t make ’im – make us – put some nigga six feet deep cause you wonna act out.” 

Her mouth parted, no words coming out, as she processed what he’d just said. 

“Now, c’mere.” He jerked his head lazily, signaling for her to step forward. 

The processing was done. 

She laughed. Not meanly. Not angrily. Genuinely laughed for what felt like the first time in forever. The sound that bubbled up out of her throat wasn’t light and airy and polite. She was damn near wheezing, hunched over like he’d just told the joke of the decade. The sheer audacity of the Moore men – of men in general – needed to be studied. She didn’t even think Stack was playin’. She believed he was dead serious and that made her laugh harder, right there in the kitchen in front of his face, paying no mind to the way his lips started frowning up – to the way his eyes narrowed. 

“What’s funny?” 

She wiped at her eyes, standing up straight, and trying to get her shoulders to stop shaking. 

“You Stack. You are what’s funny,” she looked him dead in the eyes, not phased by the look she saw on his face. She saw that same look on Smoke’s face all the time. The exact same look – literally. “You think you can ‘handle’ me and Smoke wouldn’t put you six feet deep? You think you, can tell me, what I can and cannot do? You think if I even let you touch me, you’d have the slightest idea of what to do wit’ all this?” She chortled. “Nigga please. Even if you did know what to do wit’ me, an’ you don’t, it anit gone fix what Smoke is doin’. You don’t know nothin’ bout this Stack.” 

Stack shook his head.

“Anit ‘bout fixin’ what he doin’. It’s ‘bout makin’ sure you good, til he fix what he doin. Makin’ sure you don’t make us drop no bodies cause you anit thinkin’ straight.” He wasn’t laughing wit her. But he was smirking now. Leaned forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, hands hanging loosely. Even as his jaw jumped. He made himself focus on the other thing she’d said, letting that shit ‘bout not being able to handle her go unacknowledged. For now.

“You anit gotta worry bout me. This anit ‘bout me and Smoke anit puttin’ me six feet no where. Y’know it don’t work like that Annie. I am Smoke. Smoke is me. I’m bouta help my brother keep the best thing that ever happened to him. That ain’t the same as you havin’ some random nigga thinkin’ he can slide up in here and take what anit his.” He suddenly stood, and Annie instinctively took a step back, before remembering who she was and squaring her shoulders. 

“Now, you gone c’mere’ or you gon’ make me come over there?” 

Annie’s voice was more serious the next time she spoke. 

“Stack..” she warned. “Enough of yo games. Go ‘on somewhere–”

He was up on her. Two long strides is all it took to close the distance between them and he had his chest pressed to her titties, stomach flush with hers, one arm locked tight around her waist, before she could even startle. 

Annie’s arms instinctively went to push at him as she breathed, 

“Stack what the– mmmm,”

Her own words trailed off, dying on her tongue, when his other hand gently, but swiftly, tilted her face, and his fat tongue hit her neck. 

“Stop being ungrateful. I’m tryna’ look out.” 

There was no hesitation as he tongued her neck, and Annie’s brain clouded for a moment when he tongued at a particular spot, sucking gently and then harder, when he realized what he’d found on the first try. 

She wasn’t laughing, or sassing him, now. Now, she was being reminded of just how long it’d been since she’d had a man wrapped around her like this. Being reminded of how good it felt. She almost titled her head back to give Stack more room to work, fingers instinctively clenching at the fabric of his shirt – before she remembered this was indeed, Stack sucking on her neck like he had every right and all the time in the world. 

She resumed pushing at the solid frame in front of her. 

“Stack, c’mon now. Stop, hmm, stop playin’.” 

He gave one last hard suck on her spot, before pulling his head back to look at her. She was trying to look stern, lips pressed in a firm line, eyebrows furrowed. But them eyes – them big brown eyes, told it all. His gold caps glinted, hand rubbing at her lower back, right above where all that ass she had on her sat. 

“Who playin?” He licked his lips like he could still taste her skin. “Told you, I’m helpin’. You needa be touched?” His hands were suddenly gripping at her dress, pulling at the blue layers, raising the fabric. “I got chu’ Annie. You anit gotta get niggas killed cause you need some lovin’. I’ll get that anger worked out of ya.” 

Her hands dropped from his chest, down to her dress, pushing the fabric back down whenever he went to pull it up. Once. Twice. Thrice. His movements were lazy, consistent but unrushed, his deep brown eyes glittering with amusement and the beginning sparks of lust. Annie on the other hand, was fighting for her life. 

“Stack, I will put a root on yo’ ass!” The threat didn’t have the intended affect, cause her pupils were blown just a little too wide, nipples poking at her dress just a little to pointedly, voice coming out just a little too breathless. She couldn’t let him get that dress up. One, cause it was Stack and two, cause–

“Gahhh damn. This pussy always dripping like this, or that’s just cause of me?” Between their dance of pushing her dress up and down, one of his slick hands had managed to get underneath the fabric. He anit even waste time toying wit’ her, smoothly working his fingers into her drawers and between her fat, soft lips. Annie gasped, brain short circuiting for a moment as his thick digits slid up and down her vulva, not aiming for anything in particular just yet. Just feelin’ all that wet. Stack smirked sharply. 

“Why y’all women do that? This pussy needy as hell, and you tryna deny her. Mm, mm, mm,” his fingers fluttered over her hole and then slid right back up. Up and down, up and down. “This shit don’ even make no sense. I barely touched you.” He shook his head like it was a shame.

 “Yeah, Smoke fuckin’ up. You got every right to be mad girl. Wet ass pussy like this, you needa’ be taken care of every day. Shit.” The rain falling outside was no match to the fuckin’ tsunami he had his fingers sliding through right now. Stack wanted all that wet in his mouth. Around his fingers. Around his dick. When he got back to the Juke, he and Smoke was gon’ have words, cause that nigga was trippin’, letting all this slip through his fingers. 

Annie’s breath stuttered when his fingers just barely brushed her button, and then left it alone. Like he was teasing her. She choked back a noise that was rising in her throat at the loss, letting go of the useless hold she had on her dress and gripping his wrist instead. She just held it, like she didn’t know whether to pull his hand away or push it back upwards, under her hood where her clit had started to poke. While she contemplated, Stack’s fingers still leisurely explored. He felt her soft curls, her softer lips, that hard clit he was purposefully avoiding, and his mouth watered. Slowly, he worked his fingers back down, ignoring the way her hand tightened on his wrist and positioning his thick digits at her entrance.

“Stack, shit, Elias wait,” At the sound of his real name, Stack paused, eyes jumping back up to meet hers. Annie’s lips were parted, eyes low but still sharp, still working, like she was deciding on something. 

“What? You really ain’ bout to let me give this pussy what she want?” He asked, the playful edge in his voice not really that playful. 

They both felt the way her little hole had started twitching, like it could sense something wanted to enter and was glad to let it in. There was no denyin’ the juices that were running over his fingers and sticking to her thick thighs – no denyin’ the heady scent of her pussy that rested in the air between them, warm and spicy and enticing. 

Annie studied him. Face so much like Elijah’s, but so different – much like their personalities. She bit her lip, turned something over in her head, shook a memory from the past away and then made her decision. 

“If we do this, and you don’t leave this pussy ruined, you will walk outta here with a root on you.” And she halfway meant it. 

This wasn’t ‘bout Smoke, or whatever the hell was wrong wit’ him. Wasn’t ‘bout the past, or even Stack really. This was ‘bout Annie getting hers. After the way she’d been feelin’? She deserved. 

Stack’s head cocked, teeth flashing like a shark who’d just caught the scent of blood. His eyes shined mischievously, a “Be careful what you ask for,” dropping from his lips, like a promise and a warning, right before two thick digits buried themselves to the hilt in Annie’s soft channel. 

Her head fell back immediately, a whimpering, “Oh fuck,” falling from her lips. He was stretchin’ her, that tight pussy of hers locking down on his fingers like it was trying to stop the intrusion and make sure it never left at the same time. 

“Mmmm,” Stack kissed at the column of her throat, trying to pull his fingers out a little and smirking when he couldn’t. “You gotta lighten up. Let me work.” 

Annie wasn’t tryna hear that. 

“Either you know how to break in tight pussy, or you don’t.”

Stack had her laid flat on her kitchen table before she could exhale. Annie gasped, doe eyes bugging impossibly wider as she looked up at Stack. 

He’d yanked his fingers out of her heat, turned her big fine ass around, and laid her out like a Sunday dinner after church. 

“‘Thas’ like the third time you done talked to me like that. Like cause I’m tha’ lil brother, I’m a lil nigga.” He forced her legs open, forced her dress up and out his way, eyeing the damn near translucent gusset of her underwear. “Promise yah Annie, that’ll be tha’ last time you do that.” 

He ripped her drawers off her like they were made of paper, and before Annie could even hiss at the stingin’ feeling it’d left on her thighs, Stack was on his knees, fingers buried back in her tight heat, and tongue deep between her lips. He damn near put his whole face in the pussy and Annie’s hips shot up instinctively, running from that good feeling he suddenly had thrumming through her body. Stack wasn’t trippin’, he just followed. Like a dog with a bone. Flattening his wide tongue and licking through her sticky wetness long and slow, like he was gathering as much of her juice as he could on the way up to her clit. 

And when he got there? 

It was like music to his ears – mo’ beautiful than the blues even – the way she moaned his name. 

“Stack, oh my God.” 

It’d been so long since she had somebody on that spot. 

Stack locked his lips around her bud, eyes peering up at them big heaving titties and that pretty face he could barely see, as he circled his tongue clockwise, then counterclockwise, and back again around her bundle of her nerves. Her mouth was dropped open but her pussy was like a vice around his fat fingers, and this time he anit say nothin’ bout her needing to lighten up. He just forced her open. Just broke her in. He worked his fingers in and out of her gushy walls, fighting back against the tight snap of her hole over and over again. 

“Hmm, oh shiit.” Her eyes closed on their own accord, hands scratching at the table like she was looking for something to ground her. It felt like her pussy was alive the way it was pulsing – the way it was crying. Annie didn’t even know what to do with all the good she was feeling. Hadn’t expected to be seein’ stars like this. For as much as Stack played, he was takin’ this serious. Lapping at her clit like he was scared it would disappear, like he was delirious for her pussy, jaw be damned. On and on it went, licking all the way down to where his fingers were buried. Licking all the way back up to that special spot, and giving it the attention it was askin fo’. 

He let his teeth graze her button and Annie keened, hips finally dropping back on the table with a thud. 

“Fuck, Stack. Do that again.” It was just on the right side of too much. Toeing that line of pleasure and pain that made everything go fuzzy. 

He soothed her clit with his fat tongue, and for once, followed orders. Let his teeth, gold caps and all, graze her bundle of nerves again. And again. And again. Always soothing her in between. Always working his fingers in and out of her center, groaning into the pussy as her juices took over his senses. 

She matched him, groaning louder, hand finding the top of his head, as her hips rose again. Not running. But using. 

“Eat that fuckin pussy Stack. Eat that gushy fuckin pussy. This what I deserve.” 

She anit have to be on his face to ride his tongue. She was guiding him, movin’ his head where she wanted, hips rolling slow as they raised up, then dropping back down fast, lovin’ the way her fat clit felt against his tongue.   

“Ouuu, Stack.” She spit his name out, teeth clenched so hard that if she wasn’t careful, she’d break one. 

“Why are you eating it like that, fuck.” 

Stack fought the hold she had on his head, raising his face up for a second. His twinkling brown eyes looked dark as tar now. His facial hair dripping wit’ her essence. His voice guttural when he said, 

“Cause this how good pussy deserve to be eaten Annie.” 

And then he was back in it. Tongue hitting every spot she had down there. Fingers twisting up inside of her like he was searching for something hidden. Annie’s eyes rolled, body falling back on to the table for good as Stack thrummed her clit with his tongue like he was playin’ guitar. 

She was starting to feel achy down there. In a way that had her pushin’ at his head for him to stop, when what she really needed was for him to keep goin’. And he knew that. Stack brought his free hand up, locking his fingers with hers and keeping her out his way. 

Another boom of thunder sounded outside. Still warning of that flood that would surely be comin’ soon. 

“Stack. S-stack. You eating it too good. I can’t - I can’t–”

But she would. 

Stack lathered her clit in his spit. Pushed his fingers back inside her. Held ‘em there. Angled ‘em down. And then told all that sweet cream to come on, fingers curling up in a come hither motion. 

And Annie? 

Annie almost crossed to the other side before it was her time. 

She screamed, big thighs clamping around his head, stomach tightening viciously for a second and then completely deflating as her pussy gushed, releasing all that pint up juice she’d been holding. 

Stack let her smother him. He anit care. He’d die in the pussy, right between ha’ thick ass thighs if he had to. Long as she got what she needed. Long as it put her head back on straight. Smoke always cleaned up Stack’s messes, Stack was committed to returning the favor. 

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Stack!” 

Annie flooded his mouth. 

Stack drunk it all. 

Big tongue slurping at her nectar, trying to get up in her hole and get it from the source. He was greedy. And that trait remained firmly intact whether he was chasing money, or eating pussy.

Annie banged her hands on the table, hips turning every which way as Stack sucked her through her orgasm. 

Words fell from her mouth in a language he didn’t understand. He anit have to understand it though, to know she was sayin’ she felt good. 

By the time she was pushing at his head again, her sensitive center actually needed a break. The pussy was quiverin’, it was so overwhelmed. He obliged, pulling his face from between her thighs, lickin’ his lips and shakin’ his head like he hadn’t gotten enough of her. 

“Could bottle that shit and sell it girl. Fuck some herbs,” Stack flexed his jaw as he stood and stepped back, lookin’ down where she laid splayed out on the table. 

His dick was past solid. Hard like his head. And lookin’ at her, dress halfway up her stomach, legs spread wide and still trembling, rich dark skin that he now knew for a fact tasted as sweet as it looked – he was ready to give her what she really needed. Somethin’ to really work that anger out of her, till Smoke got his fuckin’ head on straight. His hands went to his slacks. 

Annie was still tryin’ to catch her breath, eyes still screwed shut, body still in another dimension. That was the type of mouth you did put a root on – just to keep it comin’ back. The tension she had been carryin’ in her body all day – all month damn near, had leaked right out of her body with the rest of the liquid she’d gushed out. Annie felt her lips tug up, head still far in the clouds and body still mostly mush. 

“Guess you don’t got that big ass mouth for no reason,” she teased. 

Stack let out a bark of laughter and she cracked her eyes open. 

 “I anit got this big ass dick for no reason neither.” 

Annie managed to prop herself up on her elbows, eyes dropping from Stack’s smirking face, down to the long thick dick he held in his hands. Annie blinked, her center clenching, like she hadn’t just came five seconds ago. She watched as Stack stroked himself, from root to tip, pearly white drops beading at his mushroom head. Pretty dick for a pretty nigga. She bit her lip, eyes jumping back to his face. 

He smirked, but it wasn’t playful. It was salacious. It made her center clench again. 

He stepped forward. 

“Before I give you this,” he stroked his dick, “I wonna’ say sorry.” 

Annie’s brows furrowed. 

“Nigga left all them years ago cause I convinced him to go.”

Annie felt her high fading fast. 

“Stack, I don’t want to–”

“Nah, lemme talk Annie,” he cut her off, taking his last step forward, lettin’ go of himself in favor of grippin’ her hips – pulling them closer to the edge of the table. 

Annie choked in surprise, gasping when Stack’s big hands went to the back of her thighs next, putting them in the air and making her legs fold in on themselves. She felt her pussy spread open, like a flower blossomin’, cause of the new position.

“Stack -”

“Maybe if we wouldn’t of never left, the nigga wouldn’t be actin’ so stupid right now. Shit wouldn’t be strained ‘tween y’all. He feelin’ like he don’t deserve yo forgiveness. Wouldn’t be nun’ to forgive, if he wouldn’t of never left wit’ me.” 

Annie disagreed. But she wasn’t ‘bout to talk about it right now. 

“Stack -”

He slapped his heavy dick down on all that wet, right between where her nether lips had spread, and both of their eyes fluttered. The next time he spoke, his teeth were clenched.

“I’m bouta fuck yah so good you forgive both a’ us,” his accent wrapped thickly around his words, like feeling all that gush against his dick was makin’ him lose it. “Bouta fuck yah so good, you forget all that hurt you was feelin’. Fuck yah so good, you know he sorry, befo’ he even say it. Fuck yah so good you know I’m sorry.” 

Annie was tryin’ to focus on his words, tryin’ to hold his gaze, but he’d started moving his hips as he spoke, sliding his member up and down between her soft folds, nudging her clit with his big head on every pass. Her eyes fluttered again, head dropping, a low “Ouuu”, slipping past her lips.

Stack watched her for a beat, sliding his dick through the mess she was making, once. Twice. Three times more. 

“We so sorry mama.” 

And then he slid in deep. 

Thunder clapped outside.

Annie’s breath left her body, fluttering eyes flying right back open, soft brown orbs gazing up at him like he’d just taken something from her. He bit back a curse, throat working as her tight heat enveloped him. Smoke was fuckin’ crazy.  

Stack gripped at her pillowy thighs – could already tell he was gone be the one that had to keep ‘em in the air – and let his signature smirk take over his face.

“Now what was that you said earlier? Bout how I anit know what to do wit all this? Wit’ you?” He tilted his head like he was thinking. 

“Stack..” Annie breathed, trying to sound stern through her panting. “Don’t go doing too much no-”

“Let’s test that out, Annie. See if you know me, as well as you know magic?” 

He slid out slow, all the way to the tip, making her feel every inch of what was stretching her wide. Annie’s toes flexed in her boots. They weren’t even undressed. She anit have to be naked for Stack to give her what she needed though. And Annie was ‘bout to get exactly that. 

“Sorry ‘bout this too,” he said, shrugging, eyes squinting playfully. “Cause you gon’ feel this shit.” 

Any quick witted response was derailed as a yelp tore from her throat instead. 

Stack had his pelvis pressed firmly against hers, every inch of that dick buried back inside her heat before she could blink.

Deep. 

He was so deep.

She could feel him in her chest where that annoyance had set. Could feel him under her skin, all over, where that irritation had thrummed. Could feel him everywhere, he was so deep.

Stack slid out, slowly like she was somethin’ precious. And then he slammed right back inside, thick length hitting every wall, every corner, every hidden spot in her pussy. And then he did it again. And again. 

Annie’s mouth formed a round O, hands clutching at her dress, thighs trembling in his hold. Stack wasn’t even giving her time to adjust. And it hurt so good.  

He trailed his eyes over her open mouth, her shaking hands. Snapped his hips forward harder.  

“What’s wrong wit’ chu? This what you wanted right? What you needed? What you was ‘bout to run off on my brother to get?” 

His fingers hadn’t done a damn thing to loosen her up. He had to bully her pussy open over and over again, had to force all that tight, to stretch.  It was like it couldn’t make up its mind – the way the pussy was leaking every where, hugging him like it never wanted him to leave one second, and then fighting him the next, tight hole locking back up every time he slid out to the head. 

“Oh my – ugh Stack!” She said his name like she was mad at him. If that was the case, she was only ‘bout to get madder. 

His narrow hips worked, pure bliss coursing through his body as he felt all that good surround his dick. All that slippery nectar. Them gushy walls. He changed his angle a lil bit, and then his eyes narrowed – jaw jumped, when Annie fought his hold on her thighs. Not to run. But to spread her legs wider.  

He was moving in her easier now, all that liquid she was leaking making it possible for him to slide in and out as he pleased. Annie was adjusting. Annie was feeling – none of the bad from this morning. This week. This month. No, Annie was feeling good and Annie was just getting started. 

He’d stroked inside her again, new angle hitting a spot, deep and hidden and one she could never reach on her own. One that had her slamming her feet down on the table, spreading her thighs wide, licking her full lips. 

“Again! Do that agai- ugh yesssss!” 

Stack leaned forward, hands coming down on the table on either side of her frame, gold making an appearance when he smirked down at her. 

“Do what again? This? Do this again?” 

He pulled out, immediately thrusting his hips forward into that soft spot she was talkin’ ‘bout. What felt like raw electricity shot through Annie’s body at the movement. 

“Yesssss, that’s what the fuck I’m talking ‘bout. That’s what I need.”

Stack obliged. Hips moving like the pussy was running away from him. In and out. Always going deep. Always hitting that spot. He watched her closely, lip tucked between his teeth. Tracked the little gasps that left her mouth every time he drove into her. The way her brows furrowed. The way her eyes fluttered. The way she fought to open them back up every time, meeting his stare head on. 

“Ouuuu Stack – my God!”   

Outside the rain kept comin’. In sheets. In droves. Weighing down the branches of trees. Turning dirt into mud. Creatin’ puddles now – and much worse later. Water was needed. To nourish, to clean, to grow. But the rain? The rain was an inconvenience. And it anit care. Still kept comin’. Pitter pattering against the windows. Falling from the sky. Unrelenting. Unforgiving. The Delta would just have to deal. 

Outside lighting flashed. Outside thunder roared. 

Inside? 

Inside, Annie cursed. And Stack cursed back.

“Fuck! Fuck this pussy! Fuck this pussy just like that! Don’ stop, Stack.” 

He grunted, talked right over the loud squelching noises that filled the room, “I anit stoppin’. I’m in this shit. Who can’t handle you? I’m in this shit, girl!” 

Annie’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, hips raising to meet his like he wasn’t droppin’ the dick fast enough, “Ouuuu, give me that dick Stack. Give it to me! I wonna feel it in my stomach. I feel it in my stomach!” 

Stack swiveled his hips while he was still buried deep, stirring all that wet. All that juice that was dripping down his dick. “I’m fuckin’ you good? Fuckin’ you how I said I would?” 

Her pussy pulsed in agreement with her, “Ouuu yes, yes, yes. You fuckin’ me so good, don’t stop.”

Stack went from holding himself up by his hands, down to his elbows, getting closer, boxing her in. His lips found that spot on her neck, sucking hard. Mouth came up to her ear, talkin’ shit. 

“Ain’ gon stop. Sayin’ sorry remember? Gotta fuck this good wet ass pussy tell she forgive me.” 

Annie moaned, hands coming up to grip at his strong arms. “She say she anit gone never forgive you. You gotta keep fuckin me, keep fuckin me, oh my god, Stack. I feel it!” 

Stack wanted to laugh at her words. Couldn’t. Cause he felt it too. The way that pussy was tightening up, getting impossibly wetter, jumping around his dick like it couldn’t wait to release something it’d been holding back. 

He swiveled his hips. Stroked her from root to tip and back again at an impossible speed. Fuckin’ into her like he had a point to prove. Like he had a relationship to save. Annie scratched at his arms, then rubbed, like she was soothing the sting. 

He clenched his jaw, feeling her pussy jump again, feeling that tight hole get tighter, “Pussy must be magick. You put some magick in this pussy girl? Huh? This fat pussy got some mutha fuckin magick in it?” 

Annie couldn’t speak. All she could do was whimper. Grip his arms tighter. Leak all over him. Brace herself for what she felt building inside of her. For what she felt about to snap loose. 

Stack pulled out, then slammed in, making Annie cry out in ecstasy. He gritted his teeth. Felt his balls start to tighten.

“All ‘dem years ago, sayin’ you anit want both uh’ us,”

He pulled out, then slammed in. 

“This make me think yah was lyin’ Annie.” 

Pulled out, then slammed in. 

“Cause the way this pussy talkin?” 

Pulled out, then slammed in. 

“Pussy sayin’ you shoulda been let me in.” 

He brought his face right above hers, roamed his eyes over all that pretty. All that strength. All that perfect. 

He pulled out again. 

“Pussy sayin’ she ‘ont ever want me leave Annie!” 

Then slammed in. 

Annie shattered. And Stack stilled, mushroom head pressed right into that gushy spot, unmoving, even as the rush of liquid that erupted from her pussy tried to force him out. 

“Oh my – Oh my – Elias – STACKKKK!” 

She wasn’t cumming. She was flooding. Pussy raining down on Stack, not unlike the rain outside. 

Pleasure. That’s what she felt. So consuming it ran from the ends of her hair to the tips of her toes. It overwhelmed her. Annie ran for the first time, thighs trying to snap close, hips trying to jerk back, trying to get him to lay off that spot before she passed out. 

Stack anit care. Stayed on her. Stayed pressed into her even as his knees went a little weak at the feel of her walls choking his length. Her wet surrounding him. 

“Stop runnin’ from what you need,” he slid his arm between them, forced one thigh back open. “Jus’ take it. Get all that bad energy up out ya’.” 

Annie didn’t have no choice. She came tell her ears were ringing, tell her breath left her body, tell she didn’t even know what bad energy he was talking ‘bout. 

And Stack watched, head tilting almost in wander, eyes raking over her face like he’d never seen a prettier picture. His dick jerked just lookin’ at her, and his eyes snapped shut, willing himself not to nut. 

Annie was trying to get air back into her lungs, walls squeezing around Stack again – not on purpose, just on instinct, and it was enough to make him lose it.

“Shit,” he cursed, eyes still closed tight like that was the only thing keeping him sane. “You good if I move?” 

She blamed him. For how good he’d just made her feel. Blamed Smoke. For how long it’d been since he’d touched her. Blamed them both for what came out her mouth next, eyes cracking open slowly, voice coming out breathy, taunting.  

“You good if you move? Look tense. Can’t handle a little pussy? The little brother got little stamina?” 

His eyes flew open. Shock and indignation both clouding those dark orbs. He’d just fucked life back into her. They both knew it. And still Annie pushed. Because if he could give it? She wanted more. Honestly, who knew when she’d get loved down like this again? She was bein’ greedy, takin’ as much as she could while it was offered. She deserved to be greedy. 

Stack blinked above her, less focused on his urge to cum now, and more surprised by how much of a brat Annie was being. He’d never pegged her as that. Stack shook his head. Hell, maybe she normally wasn’t, but knowin’ how Smoke was actin’, it’d probably been good and long since she had the attitude fucked outta her. 

He watched her, watch him, and saw that gleam in her eyes. Like she couldn’t wait for his response – like she was hungry for it.

“You got a greedy pussy Annie,”  he pushed himself up, stood upright again between her spread thighs.

 So greedy you really need two niggas takin’ care of you on the regular.

Stack forced that thought out his head. Cause this shit wasn’t ‘bout him. It was ‘bout her and his dumbass brother. 

“You wanted more? Jus’ say that. Ain’ gotta hurt a nigga feelings. You know I’m sensitive, girl.” His tone was light. Too light.

“You want more? Say it.” Their eyes met, his prompting hers to speak, refusing to move until she did. 

She opened her mouth to do just that, to tell him what she wanted and how she wanted it. 

Stack never gave her the chance. Sliding out and proceeding to show her just how long his stamina could really be. 

They weren’t working out Annie’s built up pressure anymore. That had already been done. Now, they were just fucking. Rough, and nasty, and loud. The table was shaking, their voices were cracking, and the storm outside didn’t have shit on what was brewing between them. 

One second he had her by the hips, had the lower half of her body damn near in the air and was pulling that pussy up to him every time he fucked into her. 

“Pussy so fuckin’ good. This what you wanted? You gone take it then. Gone take all this dick tell yo’ ass can’t walk straight!” 

The next, she was flat on the table, moaning filth in his ear while he pressed his weight into her, digging deep in her guts. 

“Ouuuu I love that dick Elias. Love the way you fucking this pussy. You love this pussy? This pussy good?” 

They went back and forth. She matched him stroke for stroke, word for word, pushing when he pulled and pulling when he pushed. 

Strings of cream clung to his dick, pooled at his base. Her pussy was loud, talking like it wanted to join the conversation. He was fucking the love and light back into her. She was making him lose his goddamn mind. 

By the time they were approaching their peaks, they were nose to nose, bodies moving like they had a mind of their own. Annie’s hands gripping at his back, his arms, everywhere she could reach – eyes squeezed tight in bliss. Stack cupped her face, forced his brown orbs to stay open, to stay locked on her, as he panted in time with her breaths. 

The rain kept coming down outside. Fast, and loud, and dangerous. 

“I’m bout to cum Elias! Stack I’m bout to - it feel like so much – Elias!” 

“I feel it girl, I feel it – fuck! Me too, Annie, fuck!” 

If he wasn’t pinning her down, she would have levitated. 

If she was his, he would have shot his seed as deep as he could. Woulda hoped it took. 

They came in unison, the tension in their bodies snapping. Annie cried out loudly, core clamping down, rivers of that essence that made both Moore men crazy, pouring out of her sweet center. Stack cursed, yanking his hips out and up just in time, cumming so hard he would have collapsed if he wasn’t already damn near laid flat on top of her. His eyes shut on their own accord, stars appearing behind his closed lids. 

“Shit Annie!” 

Rain was funny sometimes. It could choose to wreck havoc – cause floods, displace homes, come down long enough and hard enough to drown entire communities if it so pleased. And…it could also choose to storm a little and then stop. Outside, the downpour lightened to a drizzle, seemingly out of nowhere. Inconsistent drops – light, unrushed, harmless. There would be some mess to clean up – the rain never left anything completely in tact – but it seemed the Delta had lucked out this time. The damage wouldn’t be irreparable. 

Inside Annie’s kitchen? 

There were no guarantees of such luck. 

The two caught their breath, gradually coming down from the peak they’d reached. And Elias felt wrong. Hot. Itchy. Like he was too big for his clothes. He frowned a little, not liking the discomfort. Not understandin’ where it was comin’ from. 

He opened his eyes. Damn near lost his breath again when he was faced with Annie’s searching gaze. Neither spoke. Until she did. 

“‘Lias?” 

He swallowed. Didn’t really know what was being asked. Knew and just didn’t know how to answer. How she wanted him to respond. Elias felt like a boy again. Elias felt like he wanted to fall into Annie and get the fuck away from her at the same time. Elias remembered his brother, remembered that he’d done this for him. For them – Smoke and Annie. 

Stack is who responded to her, smirk on his lips, eyes squinting, gold caps shining. 

“Annie.” He tilted his head playfully, made his tone light, kept it light, even when her eyes narrowed. “Surprised you can still talk. I worked all that attitude out huh?” He laughed. “I know I did. Now you and that big head nigga can work y’all shit out – no outside parties needed, girl.” 

“Elias–”

“And you anit gotta thank me, it was my pleasure, trust.” Stack winked. “Now lemme clean you up so I can get back down to this juke and talk to this nigga.” He let his dimple pop, ignored the look in her brown eyes. “Wouldn’t want all this to be for nothin’ right?” 

Annie watched him. For so long he damn near broke out into a sweat. And then she nodded. Slow. Reluctant. But she gave it to him. Let him run. “Right. Wouldn’t want this to be for nothing.” His dimple popped harder, smirk grew wider. Too wide. Forced. Uncomfortable. 

He let his eyes scan her face one more time - quick but thorough.

Nodded to himself. To her. 

“Right.”

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So, Hi again! Omg y’all - that poor table. Lol if you made it to the end, I hope you enjoyedddd! Not gone lie, this was supposed to end on a much lighter note. And then, it just didn’t lol. I had a lot of fun exploring this and figuring out a circumstance where Annie and Stack would happen though, especially with Smoke on the same earth, anddd this what I came up with. Anyways, don’t know if I’ll be writing anything else. I would like to, cause this was fun, but I’m not gone force it. I just had to get this out my head before I went crazy! Let me know what you think if you feel so inclinedddd 🫶🏾🧡