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zepskies · 8 months ago

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Maybe More Than Enough

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You’ve been a friend and ally to the Winchester brothers for years, but you and Dean break new ground while on a stakeout to catch a witch.

AN: Here’s another entry for @jacklesversebingo! It’s also based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @lacilou. 💜

Prompt: Window—Letter Opener—Binoculars

Request: I'd love to read about Dean and the reader who's his age or even a little older.

Song Inspo: “Over the Hills and Far Away” by Led Zeppelin

Word Count: 2.9K

Tags/Warnings: A bit of angst, bit of hurt/comfort, bit of spice.~

💜 Jacklesverse Bingo Masterlist

Discreetly from the passenger side of the car, you peered through the binoculars again. Your target was in view through the unusual circular window: an average looking white man in his fifties, peeling a tangerine from the comfort of his kitchen.

According to his driver’s license, his name was Martin Reynolds. Sam was investigating the sudden death of his wife, Laura, and the wives of two other men in the small town of Whitebury, Mississippi. Laura was the first victim, so you and Dean were watching Martin for any suspicious activity.

Your companion shifted in his seat. You could hear the give of the well-worn leather against denim. The Impala wasn’t exactly inconspicuous for a stakeout, but he refused to be trapped in your “tiny-ass” Toyota Camry all afternoon. You preferred the term compact.

“What’s our he-witch up to?” Dean asked.

Your lips twitched at a smile.

“We don’t know if he’s a witch,” you said, but you passed him the binoculars.

Dean’s mouth quirked to one side before he took a look. “Well, he probably isn’t a shifter.”

“What makes you say that?”

He gestured back at the window and gave you back the binoculars. You peered over and saw that Martin had half the tangerine in his mouth while he opened his mail with a letter opener. It flashed like silver in the afternoon light.

“If that is silver, it would rule out a lot of things,” you agreed, “but it still wouldn’t tell us why he killed his wife.”

Dean looked over as a white Porsche pulled into Martin’s driveway.

“Hmm, well, I’d say motive is comin’ in hot. Literally,” he said, watching intently when a young woman stepped out of the car. Her dress was as tight as the ponytail tied high on her head, a coil of blonde bouncing down her back.

You sighed, with a roll of your eyes. “Typical.”

You noticed the way Dean’s smirk wiped the boredom away from his eyes. It was annoyingly handsome, along with the neatly trimmed stubble across his cheeks, framing a strong jaw and the enticing bow of his lips. You had to resolve to ignore all of it, heaving a small sigh.

You wedged the binoculars between you both and toyed with the silver rings on your fingers—both a fashion statement and a safety precaution.

“Could be a demon deal,” you said. “Three men sporting Touch of Gray, three wives over 40.”

“Damn. That’s cold,” Dean shook his head, crossing his arms from the driver’s seat. Always from the driver’s seat. “That’d be pretty cut and dry though. Downright stereotypical.”

You gave him a smile. “Since when do you like it complicated?”

“Like it?” he scoffed. “What I like and what I get are on two different fucking hemispheres.”

You sensed bitterness there, underneath the dry remark. You looked away from the scene in the kitchen where Martin was pouring Barbie, his presumed girlfriend, a glass of white wine. Just like you thought, Dean’s brief good humor faded, falling into his resting state. It was a harder look than you were used to seeing on him over the years. His lighter, devil-may-care attitude in his younger days seemed to gain a little bit of edge every time you saw him next.

A few decades of bullshit, blood, and loss will do that to you.

But every time he called, you answered.

“You okay?” you asked. You tried to hide the depths of your concern, but maybe you just weren’t good enough. Dean glanced at you and forced his crunched brows to relax, as if he’d caught himself opening the hatch a little too much. Letting his true depths come to light a little too long.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he replied.

Sure. Always good.

You met him with a long look, your head rolling onto your shoulder.

“Hey. You can be honest with me, you know,” you reminded him. “What, you think I’m gonna tell Sam all your secrets?”

Dean smiled a little, but he shook his head, remaining stubborn.

“Look, I’m fine. Just the usual bullshit,” he said. “Nothing you gotta be dragged into.”

You frowned. “What, aside from this hunt? Aside from the last ten years of bailing your ass out?”

That last part was more joking. The truth was, Sam and Dean had helped you just as often as you’d tried to help them.

Now, Dean just shook his head. The fact that he didn’t levy back a smartass response further let you know that something was off with him.

You bumped his arm lightly over his jacket.

“Come on, tell me all about your man feelings,” you teased. It had its intended effect, bringing a reluctant smile to Dean’s lips. He shot you a look, and you couldn’t help but admire how the dimming sun caught in his eyes, that pale green.

“Whatever. Like I said, I’m good,” he said, deflecting further by turning up his music. Yet another Led Zeppelin song was playing, but at least this one was more mellow. The guitar riff filled the car at a moderate volume. You guys were still on a stakeout, after all.

You shook your head, despite your smile. “You sound like a grumpy old man.”

His brows popped up. “Old?”

You shrugged impishly.

“‘Cause if I’m not mistaken, you’ve got a bit more mileage than I do,” he retorted.

You laughed, shoving his shoulder.

“Well, that’s just rude,” you said. “You’re not even a year behind me. Matter of fact, you’re just a few steps shy of Touch of Gray in there. I can even help you find your shade. I’m thinking, what, medium brown with a hint of silver fox? Could be very George Clooney.”

The disgruntled look on Dean’s face had you dying.

“Now that’s just uncalled for,” he said, even though his lips were curving upward at the sound of your laughter. Without you knowing, he took in the infectious sound, and the way you pressed the back of your hand against his arm while you tried to get ahold of yourself. It was everything he’d ever liked about you.

Easy. That was what it was, being with you.

The hard part always came afterward, watching you leave.

Letting you leave.

“It’s just…I don’t know,” you said, biting into your lower lip. You smudged your lipstick there, a dark, juicy red. It was distracting enough that Dean almost missed what you said next.

“You seem weighed down.” Your eyes were more serious then, beautiful and warm in their honesty. “Every time I see you, it’s like you’ve got fifty more pounds on your shoulders.”

Dean didn’t have an answer for you, even as he held your gaze.

His cell phone ringing cut through the guitar melody slowly fading into the next song. Dean fished it out of his pocket and answered Sam’s call.

“Hey, what’cha got?”

Your hunch proved correct. Sam tracked down the demon that made soul-claiming deals with a handful of men from the same golf club. All of them bored of their wives, and all of them with too much money on their hands—enough that they refused to lose any of it in a messy divorce.

It was like the opposite of the First Wives Club, and you were sickened.

When you and Dean questioned Martin, he felt just guilty enough to spill his guts.

Sam managed to gank the demon on his own, which left you and Dean with a conundrum: what to do with the marked men who sold their souls. No matter how much justice you thought they deserved, their souls were still damned to Hell either way. As Dean pointed out, that would be price enough to pay.

You were sour about it, but you let Martin and the rest of his scheming bastard friends go…after leaving him with a well-placed knee to the nads. At the very least, he wouldn’t be making any more scheming bastards anytime soon.

Dean was still smirking when you two piled into the Impala. Sam was waiting to be picked up at the bar across town, where he’d found the demon.

“Shut up already,” you laughed.

Dean shook his head, still grinning as he put the car in Drive.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Your smile remained, but not for long as you stared out the window. You liked the evening time, where there was still light enough to see, but the world was winding down in shades of orange-gold and violet. The streetlamps were slowly coming on, lighting the way along the road.

The car pulled to a stop at the red light, there at a busy intersection.

“Hey.”

Dean’s voice, deep and a little tired, caught your attention.

“You okay over there?” he asked. He was side-eying you again, this time in concern. You could see it behind the usual gruffness.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said. “Just makes me glad I never got married. Else I might’ve gotten shivved just so he could get out of paying alimony.”

Dean sucked his teeth. “Apparently it’s a bitch.”

You gave him a dry, withering look. He chuckled and briefly reached over to squeeze your arm.

“Hey, come on. That shit’s not happening to you,” he said. “He’d have to be dumb, deaf, and blind.”

You tilted your head at him, a small smile lighting up your face again. You couldn’t help the way your face warmed in a blush, especially with the way he was looking at you, all smirky and charming and unequivocally Dean.

“Green light,” you reminded him.

He returned his attention to the road. His right hand was molded onto the steering wheel casually. His left rested on his thigh, while his fingers bounced to the beat of a song off his second favorite Zeppelin album. And you knew that, because he’d been playing it on repeat all day.

Many have I loved, and many times been bitten. Many times I've gazed along the open road…

You watched his profile, for a moment spellbound. The sky dimmed over his shoulder, casting him in both light and shadow, gold and dark.

“Have you ever…” You didn’t even know where you were going with this, but you’d already opened your mouth, and Dean was already glancing your way, with half his gaze on the road ahead.

“You ever gotten close to having something real? Someone who's not gonna shiv you when you’re fifty,” you said.

A laugh caught in his throat. “Hell, I never thought I’d see my forties, but here we are. Apparently I’m old.”

He shot you a wry look. You smiled.

“That’s one hell of a way to avoid the question,” you said.

Dean shook his head, this time with a sigh under his breath. For a second, you didn’t think he would answer you. You almost didn’t blame him.

The music filled the silence in between.

Mellow is the man who knows what he's been missing. Many, many men can't see the open road…

“Once,” Dean admitted. “I thought I had it, but uh…didn’t take.”

“Was she a hunter?” you asked.

Dean shook his head, his eyes staying on what lied ahead.

“Just wasn’t my life,” he said. “Couldn’t keep dragging her into mine.”

There was a lot there, buried deep. You couldn’t even begin to find a shovel, so you let it be. Though you should’ve predicted the way he turned it back on you.

“And you?” he said, brows raised. “Never had a douchebag in a sport coat, playing Caddyshack at the club every weekend?”

You shook your head as you laughed. If nothing else, Dean could paint a picture.

“Definitely fucking not.” You rested your chin in your palm, your elbow finding purchase above the door handle. “You know me. I’m either too much or not enough.”

You didn’t notice it then, but Dean looked over at you with a frown tugging at his lips. He didn’t like the melancholy in your voice, or the way you turned to look out the window, like you were trying to hide from him.

Instead of putting voice to any of the thoughts rolling through his head, he kept driving.

The Impala rumbled to a stop in the parking lot in front of the bar. You were ready to meet Sam for a couple of beers inside. You grabbed your bag resting on the floor between your feet, but Dean’s stayed your hand, his own wrapping warmly around your arm.

You looked over at him with blinking, expectant eyes. He met you with sincerity.

“Anybody who says you ain’t enough, doesn’t know you,” he said. And then, his smile was back, quirking up at the corner. “At least, not like I do.”

Slowly, you smiled back. Your blush fairly radiated down your neck as well as your face, but you crossed your arms.

“So I’m too much. Is that what you’re saying?” you said.

He chuckled. “I plead the Fifth on that one.”

You fell into a fit of laughter along with him, and you both climbed out of the car feeling a little bit lighter. The blaring red neon sign above the bar blinded you for a moment. You turned to see Dean fiddling with his keys, trying to pick out the right one to lock up the car.

Some deep-seated feeling compelled you to go to him. You made your way around the hood and stopped just behind him. You called his name softly.

Dean turned to look at you over his shoulder. He was surprised to find you there so close. It led him to turn around all the way.

You didn’t give him, or even yourself time to think.

You grabbed the edges of his jacket and pulled yourself up to press your lips to his. It was more or less a gentle kiss. Just a sweet, slow meeting of lips. You pulled away just as slowly, the heels of your boots lowering back down to the ground.

Dean blinked his eyes open. When he came back to himself, he looked down at you in surprise and with a hint of a smile. He had the imprint of your lipstick smudged across his plush mouth.

“What was that for?” he asked.

You smoothed your hands over his jacket. It was a bit too hard to meet his eyes, so yours landed somewhere around his chest. It was also too hard to say what you really wanted to say, so you settled on half of the truth.

“A thank you, I guess,” you said. “And maybe the next time I see you, you’ll have a little less weight on your shoulders.”

His calloused hand cupped your cheek, and he earned your gaze, blinking up at him through your lashes. You couldn’t name everything you saw in his eyes, but it was more than just surprise or lust. In fact, he seemed to be debating with himself, fighting something deep inside.

You saw the exact moment he made his decision.

“Maybe we should make it count then,” he said, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.

You didn’t even trust your voice, but your gaze drifted down from his eyes, to his mouth. Your shallow nod in agreement was like releasing him from his chains.

Dean framed your face with both hands and drew you into his kiss, like he was breathing life into you. You certainly felt alive.

You clung to the back of his shirt, to his arms, while he gathered you flush against his chest. His strong hands glided their way down the small of your back, eliciting tingles down your spine. All the while, he drew you in deeper and deeper with each new sensuous glide of his lips against yours.

You yelped in surprise when he turned with you in his arms, just to press you into the side of his car. Dean pulled open the door to the backseat, and you climbed in willingly. He followed after you, at the same time you dragged him over by the front of his shirt. Soon his jacket was wrenched off his shoulders along with yours, both tossed somewhere in the front seats along with his shirt.

While you explored the new expanse of tanned skin, roaming your hands over his strong, broad shoulders and dipping down his back, his lips had fastened to your neck, teasing and grazing with his teeth along your pulse point.

You were already moaning and panting in his ear, your body arching to meet his as you slung a leg across his lap. He grabbed onto your thigh and squeezed, pulling you even tighter against him.

Still, you couldn’t help but smile in amusement.

“Aren’t we a little old to be making out in the backseat?” you said.

“You can be a little old for a lotta things, sweetheart,” said Dean, his voice gravel and deep as sin. “But this ain’t one of ‘em.”

AN: Some spicy flangst there for ya! It was honestly refreshing to write some Dean after working on so much Soldier Boy. I love that guy, but he gives me stress sometimes. 😂 Trying to cure Dean's angst is a fun break! 💜

Read the Sequel:

Bonus shot! Resless Nights:

Summary: After a tryst you instigated in the backseat of his Baby, you and Dean have started something new. He’s just not sure that you’re as “all in” as you claimed to be.

▶️ Keep Reading: Restless Nights

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@siampie @hell-o-kittys

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giuliettagaltieri · 1 year ago

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Obsessive Little Thing

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Lovesick!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: A jerk, a bitch, and the sidekicks

Warning: Angst, swearing, one sided pining, shallow/light writing, you and Rafe are equally stupid in your own ways.

Word Count: 1598

1 of 4

You can clearly remember the day you first started liking Rafe Cameron.

It was midsummer five years ago. He was older than you and he only hung out with boys. You were on the sidelines, afraid to talk to other girls like the popular Sarah Cameron and not interested in the conversation that the adults are having.

There was nothing interesting happening until Rafe Cameron decided to talk to you. Well, it was just pleasantries being passed between you as you were standing by the cocktail table, sipping on your nonalcoholic juice as your mother insisted, and he was just needing a drink for himself. One thing led to another and he was keeping you company the entire night, you did see how his stepmother was exchanging glances with him. Whatever kindness Rafe Cameron showed you, it was not voluntary.

But you are grateful for it.

You started slotting yourself in his life, little by little, and he let you.

It was summer again and you had nothing else to do but bother him.

Dressed up in your polo shirt tucked in a light figure hugging shorts, your tennis shoes crunch over the pebbles of your driveway as you make your way to your car to head to the country club.

In the mornings, you know that he likes to hit the gym with Topper and Kelce, you’d join them but they all stink of sweat and you’d rather pass. Around this time, you know they will be at the Country Club, drinking or playing golf.

Smiling widely, you check your compact for anything out of place and smile even wider when you are content with how you look, sending a wink to your own reflection.

Rafe begrudgingly taught you how to drive a couple of years ago and you feel giddy with the memory. You park carefully once you arrive at the Country Club and you spritz your favorite perfume behind your ears. Rafe mentioned it smelled nice before and you have been using it ever since. All the other perfume bottles that you are gifted on your birthdays and Christmas were left to collect dust in your closet.

You pinch your high socks to make sure that they fit snuggly, you can’t appear unkempt in front of Rafe and his friends. With a practiced smile, you hop out of your car and saunter over to Rafe’s usual table, and just as you expected, he’s right there, having beer with Topper and Kelce.

“Hi!” You greet them enthusiastically. Topper and Kelce smile upon seeing you. Rafe glances behind his shoulder to look at you before he turns back to his beer.

“Hi, Rafe.” You say as you reach him, you place a hand on his arm to further get his attention and he squints up at you, making you giggle. You sit down next to him, with a smile still on your face. “I said…Hi, Rafe.”

He glances at Topper and Kelce, smiling briefly before it drops and he leans closer to you, his hard eyes staring deep into yours. “Hi, Y/N.”

Your cheeks warm upon the soft gravel of his voice and you try to hide your proud smirk. You like it when he actually acknowledges you, despite how rude he might act, you know he’s nice deep down. Rafe has quite a temper and you have seen his outburst multiple times but he is always gentle with you.

Mindless conversation rolls over you until a soft chime in your bag has you pulling out your phone. “Ugh, sorry.” You smile sheepishly as you put your phone on silent mode. “My mom has been trying to convince me to shift to business management courses.”

“Oh yeah, you took up fashion design, right?” Kelce nods as he sip his beer and you beam at him.

“I did, Kelce. Would you like to see my recent designs?” You ask excitedly as you open your gallery and place your phone so Topper and Kelce can look at your sketch.

But Rafe chuckles humorlessly. “Sweetheart, I don’t think Kelce came here to look at your drawings.”

“Oh.” Your smile drops, your shoulders sagging just a bit. “I’m sorry.” You press home and Kelce and Topper both see how Rafe was your screensaver. You don’t look embarrassed by it though.

“That’s fine.” Kelce smiled at you. “They’re uhm, they’re good. Right, Top?” He slaps Topper’s chest who quickly nods at you, even sending a frown to Rafe.

“They’re really nice, Y/N. Perhaps you can make a suit for me for midsummer next year?” He smiles and you gasp.

“Really, Top?” You stand from your chair to grab his hand and he chuckles at your excitement.

“Yeah.” Topper nods, grinning widely at your enthusiasm.

You sit back down and glance at Rafe triumphantly. “See? They’re not just drawings.”

Rafe rolls his eyes and grabs his beer. “Sure.”

You drink your cherry cola, which was put under Rafe’s tab, swinging your feet as you sit closer to him, your smile not leaving your face.

“Do you need sunglasses?” You ask Rafe quietly as he squints under the sunlight. “I have one in my car.” He ignores you to listen to Topper talk. “Or do you wanna switch seats with me, at least you won’t be facing the sun directly.” You giggle lightly as you lean even closer to him.

Rafe shakes his head, eyeing you briefly. “I’m good.”

You sigh but then you get a brilliant idea. “At least wear sunscreen.” You fish out a bottle of sunscreen from your pouch. Rafe clicks his tongue when you spread the cream evenly on your palm and just as your hands were about to touch his face, his hands caught your wrist to stop you.

The sudden movement caught the server passing by off guard and the cocktail she was carrying came spilling onto Rafe’s polo.

“Oh no!” You gasp, quickly wiping your hand on your thighs and dabbing a napkin on Rafe’s stained top.

The server apologizes profusely, she was even pressing her own napkin on Rafe’s clothes, but your eyes immediately lock on how her hands are pressed up on Rafe’s chest.

Before you can stop yourself, you are prying her hands off of Rafe, his shirt crumpled by your hands as you pull him close, your eyes glaring daggers at her.

“Don’t touch him!” You scream angrily at her. Her chest is heaving as her short hair is in disarray. You glance at her nametag. “Sofia.” You say bitterly. “Watch where you’re going next time! If you can’t even serve drinks properly without pouring them all over your patrons, perhaps you shouldn’t be working here!” You yell at her but before she can respond, Rafe’s arms wrap around your midriff and he lifts you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Put me down, now!” You scream as you kick your feet but Rafe enclosed your thighs in a secure hold.

“Not until you calm down!” He bellows, making you swallow the insult you were about to throw at Sofia.

You gulp. You pissed him off.

You bite your lip as you let Rafe carry you to your car. He puts you down roughly on your hood, you immediately squirm at the impact and at the heat of the metal under your thighs.

“Put me down!” You squeal in pain but Rafe holds your thighs in each hand, you stop all movement when you see his tendons popping out, his eyes glaring at you. “Rafe, I’m sor-”

“You’re fucking impossible, you know that?” He angrily spits through gritted teeth. His grip on your thighs tightening with every word he spoke, making you flinch and shrink back, your eyes glossy with tears. “You just embarrassed me!”

You blanch at his tone. “Rafe, I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to.” You hiccup as you touch his jaw but he turns his head to the opposite direction, away from your touch. His nose flared as his anger nearly boiled over. His face was turning red and you see a vein bulge in his temple.

“She only spilled the drink on me because you were being insufferable. That girl didn’t deserve to be yelled at. You were a fucking bitch!” He drilled a finger on your chest, making tears stream down your cheeks. “God! I can’t stand you.” He shakes his head as he glares at you before storming off.

You called his name but he was already marching back inside the Country Club. You watch him march away, his shoulders squared as he runs a hand down his mouth. Your entire body was shaking as you looked at him desperately.

Kelce comes and helps you down the hood. You were clinging to his arms as you looked in the direction where Rafe disappeared. “I said I was sorry.” You look at Kelce with tears pouring out of your desperate eyes. “Kelce, I said I was sorry.”

Topper shakes his head as he snatches a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to you. Your stuff already in his other hand

“Come on, Y/N.” Topper calls. “I’ll drive you home.”

Reluctantly, you step away from Kelce. You glance at the Country Club one last time to see if Rafe came back and you wish you hadn’t, there he was with that server, Sofia. Rafe was smiling down at her, she had a hand on her chest as she too smiled at him. They are clearly talking about you.

Topper gently puts an arm on your shoulders to get you to tear your eyes away from them.

Lovesick Little Thing

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe angst #rafe obx #obx #outerbanks rafe #outer banks #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey #lovesick little thing

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eternallyordinary · 4 months ago

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"He Belongs to You" - Part 2

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series masterlist <3

Summary: A high-profile photoshoot should be simple, but with Homelander by your side, how can it be? Tension rises, boundaries blur, and you're left questioning whether his protectiveness is too much—or exactly what you want.

Warnings: obsession, possessive behavior, power imbalance, mild violence, harassment, implied dark themes, mild smut

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The break room hums with quiet conversation as you take another sip of coffee, the warmth soothing against your palms. Homelander is still beside you, watching—always watching. His stare lingers, just as heavy as the unspoken thoughts behind it.

You giggle softly, the sound breaking through the charged air between you.

But before he can respond, the door bursts open.

“Hey, hey, new superstar!” Ashley.

She strides in, clipboard in hand, her usual manic energy filling the room. She barely glances at Homelander, doing a double take when she notices how relaxed he looks. What’s the catch?

“And… hey, Homelander…” she adds, clearly confused.

Her gaze darts between the two of you before snapping back to you with a forced grin. “Honey, my newest prodigy, you’ve got a photoshoot in thirty. Remember? Lucky for you, hair and makeup are done. But we need to get you changed—got a whole rack of outfits for you.”

She pauses, grimacing. “Or… lack thereof. Not a lot of fabric. More like… nipple covers.” She shrugs. “This is for Sports Illustrated. They’re really expecting you to skyrocket their sales. No one your age buys magazines anymore, ya know? You’re doing them a huge favor!”

Homelander raises a brow at her words, his gaze flicking to you.

“Sports Illustrated, huh?” His tone is unreadable, but there’s an edge lurking beneath the surface. His eyes trail over your form, his mind already working overtime. He imagines it—you in a skimpy, barely-there swimsuit, all curves and smooth skin, posing for the cameras while the world drinks you in.

His jaw tightens.

You don’t belong to the world. You belong to him.

“Oh, sorry, Ashley. I’ll be right there,” you say, standing up. Then, without thinking, you turn to Homelander. “Can he come?”

Homelander blinks.

You asked if he could come. You wanted him there.

A surge of satisfaction rises in his chest, his ego swelling. He owns this place, yet you still asked—like it was a privilege for him to be included.

But another thought creeps in—can he even control himself watching you parade around in almost nothing? Would he even want to?

He chuckles, amused by your innocence. “Sure, darling,” he says, voice smooth but laced with something darker. “I’d love to.”

Ashley hesitates. “Uh. Yeah. Great. Homelander can come. Let’s go.”

Homelander follows close behind as you’re led toward the photoshoot area, his presence a constant shadow.

—

Your dressing room is compact yet undeniably lavish—soft lighting, a sleek couch, and a privacy screen that serves no real purpose against his vision. Homelander steps inside, fully expecting you to ask him to leave. Maybe even insist on some privacy.

A part of him almost wants you to. Because if you don’t? He’s not sure he trusts himself.

Instead, you hold up two different bikinis, both tiny. Too tiny.

"Which one do you think?"

He almost laughs. How are you so unaware of what you’re doing to him?

His gaze sweeps over the barely-there swimsuits, then over you.

"Well, well, well," he drawls, stepping closer. "Look who's getting all fancy."

His fingers brush over the lace of one, his touch slow, deliberate. He should leave. He knows that. But the thought of stepping away, of not seeing you in this—impossible.

His smirk deepens. "Why don’t you try this one on first, darling? Even though we both know you look good in anything."

You nod, and you can't help but blush. "Okay."

You step behind the privacy screen, then suddenly peek your head out.

"I know you can, like, see through walls and stuff. So close your eyes. Promise?"

Homelander chuckles, thoroughly entertained. You’re adorable. Like a lamb asking the wolf not to look.

"I promise," he hums, closing his eyes.

It’s hell.

He can hear everything. The rustle of fabric as you slide out of your clothes. The soft hitch of your breath. The shift of your body as you adjust the straps, bare skin brushing against fabric that leaves nothing to the imagination.

His hands flex at his sides, his mind racing.

Then you speak. “Actually… I can’t tie the top. Can you help me?”

Homelander’s eyes snap open.

And there you are—standing before him, barely covered, utterly breathtaking.

His jaw clenches, tension coiling deep in his chest.

It takes every ounce of restraint not to remind you what happens when you tease a man like him.

You turn, holding your hair up, waiting for him to tie the strings.

And it’s over. He's done for.

The bikini is practically a thong. Is this what you’re going to wear in front of the world? He wants to scream.

He exhales slowly, trying to maintain control. His hands tremble slightly as he grabs the strings, knuckles grazing the soft, warm skin of your back.

This isn’t just lust.

It’s something worse.

It’s need.

Ashley’s voice snaps him out of it.

“You ready or what?!”

Then he hears it—Ashley whispering outside the door.

"Why the fuck is he in there with her? Are they fucking already? Get crisis management on this. We need to cover our bases in case this goes public. I mean, I guess they’d be a good PR couple? I don’t fucking know. He's 20 years older than her for fuck sake. Our goal was to make him a father figure to her. Not a fucking DADDY."

PR couple?

No.

You’re not a fucking publicity stunt.

You’re his.

He yanks the strings tighter than necessary, finishing the knot. He can't risk your perfect breasts spilling out of your top.

“All done,” he mutters darkly.

You beam at him, oblivious to the storm inside his head.

“How do I look?”

Homelander exhales sharply.

“You look…” He stops himself. Careful. “Amazing.”

You throw on a cardigan, slipping into your Uggs. Before leaving, you pause in the doorway.

"Are you coming? If you can’t, it’s okay. I just feel… awkward."

Homelander doesn’t hesitate.

"I’m coming."

Of course he is.

Because there’s no fucking way he’s letting you out of his sight now.

—

The moment you step onto set, a voice cuts through the room.

“Alright, everyone, make way for—” The photographer stops mid-sentence. His eyes widen. His gaze devours you.

"Holy fuck. You are so fucking hot. This is perfect."

Homelander’s stomach turns.

“I want these pics to be fire,” the director continues. “I want us to smell the cum of middle-aged men dribbling off the pages.”

The room goes silent.

Homelander’s hands curl into fists.

You gently tug his arm before he can rip the director’s spine out. “It’s okay,” you whisper.

Then, the music starts—Pornstar by Nessa Barrett.

Fucking perfect.

This isn’t just a nightmare. It’s torture.

The song, the poses, the way you move—it all belongs in his bed, under him, for him.

Maybe he’ll make you pay for this later. Or maybe…

Maybe he’ll just kill the photographer, Ashley, and every other idiot who thought they had the right to put you on display like this.

You move effortlessly, posing with confidence.

He then realizes - you aren’t doing this for them. Not for the cameras. Not even for him.

And that drives him insane. It makes his cock even harder.

As the shoot wraps, Homelander’s sharp ears catch the photographer’s vile murmur—low, smug, and utterly disgusting.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy. Might have to keep a few of these for myself… if you know what I mean.”

The moment the words leave the photographer’s mouth, the air in the room shifts.

Homelander’s smile vanishes.

In an instant, he’s right there, towering over the man, his presence suffocating. The photographer barely has time to react before Homelander tilts his head, a slow, unsettling grin creeping across his face—one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“What was that?” His voice is calm. Too calm.

The photographer swallows hard, his smirk faltering. “Uh—I just meant—”

“You just meant,” Homelander cuts him off, his tone deceptively light, “that you thought you could talk about her like a piece of meat?”

Your stomach twists.

You weren’t used to this—this possessive, overbearing protectiveness. It’s almost too much. Embarrassment creeps up your neck as the entire room silently watches, waiting to see what he’ll do.

But… you don’t hate it.

Not completely.

The way he steps between you and the photographer, the way his presence alone makes the man’s face drain of color—it sends a shiver down your spine.

Homelander leans in, voice dropping to something just above a whisper—low, venomous, and dangerously amused.

“See… I don’t like the way you’re looking at her. I don’t like the way you’re talking about her.” His eyes darken, a sickening smile stretching across his lips. “And I sure as fuck don’t like imagining what’s going on in that pathetic little brain of yours.”

The photographer’s breath quickens. “I-I didn’t mean any disrespect—”

Homelander claps a heavy hand on his shoulder, his grip bruising. “Didn’t you?” His voice is mocking, his fingers tightening just enough to make the man wince. “Because to me? It sounded like you wanted to be funny.”

A beat of silence. The tension is unbearable.

You shift awkwardly.

You should stop this. Tell Homelander it’s fine, that you can handle yourself.

But… you don’t.

Because deep down, in a place you don’t want to examine too closely—having him react like this for you? Having him ready to kill for you?

It makes your pulse race in a way it shouldn’t. It makes your center throb.

“Do you think you’re funny?” Homelander whispers, voice dripping with something feral.

The photographer frantically shakes his head. “N-no, sir—”

“Good,” Homelander purrs, his grip lingering for just a moment longer before shoving him back a step.

He straightens, smoothing out his cape, and flashes a charming, empty smile. “Because next time? I won’t be so nice.”

The photographer nods rapidly, sweat beading at his temple.

Homelander barely gives him another glance before turning back to you, his expression softening instantly.

Your body flushes at the shift in his demeanor—like he wasn’t just threatening to end a man.

“C’mon, darling,” he murmurs, placing your cardigan over your shoulders with a gentleness that doesn’t make sense. “Let’s get out of here.”

You should say something.

You should call him out for overreacting, for making you feel like a damsel in distress.

Instead, you swallow hard and nod, letting him guide you toward the exit.

Because even if it embarrasses you, even if it confuses you—

You like it.

And that’s the most dangerous part of all.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡

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sirxlla · 6 months ago

Text

Revival

--------------‐-------------------------------------

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Prompt: Being reunited with Jason after his death.

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said it's all under the cut-

It had be over a year since Jason passed and every second was pure anguish, Bruce and Alfred had allowed you to take over Jason's room after he died, Bruce did especially since he was so distraught over Jason as well, he blamed every bit of what happened on himself.

Unfortunately, Bruce wasnt the only one blaming themself, you were as well. You'd ran through the events that led to Jason's death over and over and somehow blamed yourself everytime even though Jason decided to go after Joker alone.

His room was kept the same, you slept in his bed everynight, sprayed his cologne on his pillow as you cuddled it, a piss poor replacement for the love of your life. His clothes became the only thing you'd wear, another way to keep his memory alive.

Days passed like eons without him, he'd died and every bit of light vanished within the moment those words left Bruce's mouth. You couldnt believe it and didnt for a few days until it all sank in then his bed became the hole you hid in.

Alfred would often coax you out to help him in the garden and Dick would try to keep you active by getting you to train again like you would with Jason. You werent going to tell Dick but he was just training you to enact your revenge and that was all that fueled and motivated you to get up everyday.

They thought you were getting better but in reality you wanted vengence and Joker to pay for what he did. He wasnt gonna hirt anyone again, you werent gonna let Bruce throw him in prison again just for him to break out again. Joker was gonna die for the better of Gotham and you'd make sure of it.

"You think this Red Hood guy is still Joker like before?" Dick asked Bruce quietly, neither of them new you were hiding on the other side of the door.

You waited until everyone was on patrol to put on your black bodysuit on, pocketting Jason's lucky coin in the inner pocket of your boot. He had the coin ever since the two of you were homeless together on the streets as kids. Jason said he found it but you knew that he stole it from the arcade when they wouldnt let him in.

Bruce didnt want you hurting yourself so after Jason died, he had taken all your weapons away but lucky for you... Dick left his extra set of escrima stcks and Jason's baton were both left in the Batcave. They were easily fitted onto your suit, the escrima sticks were sheathed behind your back and the baton was so compact it fit on your thigh ready to be extended if needed.

You did some quick searches on the Batcomputer about this Red Hood guy, your fingers clacked against the glass keyboard and the projected letters onto it.

Red Hood

Name: Unknown (Suspect: Joker)

Height: Approx 6 ft

Eye Color: Unknown

Hair Color: Unknown

Shoe Size: 10 ½

Possible Hideout/Last Known Location: Gotham Plaza

* EXTREMELY DANGEROUS, DO NOT APPROACH, REPORT BACK TO BASE. *

You scoffed, Bruce said that about everyone but he never called for backup. This guy was probably cake...maybe not thought if he took down Jason but your anger flared it didnt matter, retribution is all that mattered even if it killed you.

You pulled on your domino mask and headed out to avenge your lover. The trip to Gotham Plaza when you're filled with a bloolust fot the person who separated you from your man by 6 feet of dirt and a hard wodden coffin.

You snuck around sneaky as a spider. The man spoke with a deep mechanical, clearly a voice changer but you couldn't see him yet. Stealthy as you crouched so nobody saw you you got closer.

A hand touched your shoulder as this Red Hood guy came into view, Dick put a finger to his lips and he pointed to Bruce. Your eyes scanned the area until you saw their plan, a plan to trap this Red Hood guy.

You heart stammered in worry fornsome reason as you glanced back at this Red Hood guy and before you knew it you were bolting at the man.

Small combat boots tapped against the tile which prompted this guy to turn around and start shooting, you didn't care. Why didn't you care? Why am I doing this?! Whilst dodging bullets all these questions went through your head but before you knew it you had jumped into his arms, his hands found your ass. (Side note: Imagine Bruce and Dick seeing this like "huh? wtf is going on?")

This is Jason, its gotta be Jason. He always held your back before moving a hand under your ass. The smell of him was overwhelming, you starred into the white eyes of that emotionless red helmet as his gun clinked onto the ground.

Tears fell down your face as you hugged him deeply, Jason's arms tightened around you. Your hands found the button on the bakc of his helmet which caused him to stiffen up. He was worried to face you, for you to see him. Did you blame him? Were you angry? Fuck...It didnt matter, I'd just like to see her with my own eyes and not through white mesh.

As you notice his hesitance calm, you pulled the mask off and saw your sweet man...the 'J' scar on his cheek and the little tuft of white hair he now had. Jason's eyes shown with a ton of storys, a thousand apologies and endless unsaid words.

Tears poured down the both of yours faces, life breathed into you both due to the warmth of one another. He didnt wanna think about putting you down cause then he'd have to let you go.

"My Baby..." Your voice cracked and you sucked in a breath as you sobbed and hugged him which only caused him to hold you tighter, one hand rubbing your back. He was speechless, no words and so many were coming at the same time.

You breathed him in, he now smelt like gunpowder, cigarettes and leather...it was older, more refined but still fit him to a tee.

Of course you smelled like his cologne from sleeping in his bed, practically bathing in it which of course the smell brought a smile to his face. Any last thought that you didn't love him vanished with that whiff of cologne that mixed so sweetly into your skin.

He finally set you down and smirked even more as he caught a glimpse of his initals tattooed on your collarbone. You were stroking his ego without knowing it. He had a hard time hating himself when you were around...his little cheerleader.

Bruce knew his son was back, that Jason's mind was much more stable. He knew Red Hood's reign of terror would more than likely be over. Your heart would be whole again with Jason back regardless of the condition he was in. Literally you'd take Jason even if he was a sea anemone if it meant he was happy and alive.

->Masterlist <-

#batboys #jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood x reader #red hood

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catnipaddictt · 10 months ago

Text

teeth

modern!anakin x gn!vampire reader wc: 2.1k tw: BLOOD - lots of talk about it, reader turns anakin into a vampire, kissing

synopsis: while on a routine visit to anakin, he decides he wants to be with you forever, even if that means giving up his human life

The trees of the now abandoned playground cast long shadows across the ground as you walked. The moon illuminated the road, bathing the dead silent street in a brilliant white light. You have made this trip a thousand times now, only at night, and ways by foot. It was safer for you this way.

Rounding the block your senses pick up the rustling of a neighbor cat, who upon seeing your figure, immediately flees the scene. There is no wind tonight, the humid air of summer has long gone, replaced by a permanent nip at your porcelain like skin.

You pass by the places you know all too well by now. The sidewalk where you first saw him, the drooping willow tree where he ‘accidentally’ walked into you. You had a map of the neighborhood in your mind, pins dropped where-ever he had been. To say you were infatuated would be offensive.

His name was Anakin Skywalker. Your Ani. Sweet human Ani. He was young, well younger than you, but still a man. Rough hands and always tired eyes that always found their way to you, and you who eagerly accepted them. He was so close now, you could almost taste him.

Running your tongue over your sharp teeth, you make your way down his garden, to the back door he left unlocked. Just for you. You tap your knuckles against the aging wood, waiting for your obsession to answer.

A mop of curls and blue eyes appear almost as soon as you make yourself known. He was always waiting for you. He holds out his large palm for you, “come inside.”

Anakin Skywalker never minded your prying eyes and unnatural temperature skin. It never bothered him that you only could visit him when it was dark or that you would wait until he collected you from the aging backdoor to his small apartment. All he knew was that he adored you.

He adored the way you visited him every night and the way your words rolled off your tongue. He loved the way you spoke to him, possessive, in a way he knew he would never get enough off.

Anakin trusted you with his life, there was something about you that intoxicated him. You made him feel hazy but focused at the same time. And he loved it.

He led you inside, past the kitchen countertop and the cluttered desk in his compact living room, until he reached the door to his bedroom which he pushed open. His hand encased yours as he brought you into his little sanctuary.

You could hear the steady beat of his heart and the rush of blood in his veins as he settled in his plush bed, leaning against the wall. You sat opposite him as you always did, legs crossed and eyes taking him in.

His soft sweatpants clung to his hips and as he raised his arm to push a stand of hair out of his face, you were blessed with a sliver of smooth skin. You didn't speak, you never had to, he talked and you listened. He told you about his day and what he ate for dinner. He tried to explain what it tasted like but can never find the words to describe all the different flavors. He always made an effort to try and help you understand humans more.

It perplexed you how they lived such short lives, a brief dot in the history of humanity, and the world. You had been around for centuries before him, experience the change that came with it. Sometimes you would talk, never for long, about what it was like before cars or the invention of the telephone.

Anakin loved hearing your voice, it was soft but smart, you always knew how to word things for him. Most nights, like this one, you didn't speak, only watched him and the pull of his lips as he told you a story.

The words flowed out of his mouth smoothly as you remained transfixed on the human before you. He was just so precious? That was the only way to describe it. You wanted to keep him until the end of time itself. But there was only one way to do that and you didn't want to take his normal life away from him just yet

It was like he could hear your brain ticking away, “What are you thinking about huh? What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?” He cooed at you. He spoke softly.

At the beginning of your nightly meeting, you had been skittish and unsure. You had steered clear of humans for as long as you could remember. Anakin had spooked you a few times in the past, but you had gotten a lot more comfortable around him. You knew he wasn't going to hurt you. Nowadays he loves to tease and joke with you. Anakin was naturally a flirt and he thrived on seeing your cheeks heat up. However he still made an effort to be gentle towards you.

You blink at him a few times before thinking. “You” is all you reply, your voice quiet. He smiles at you, placing his palm out for you to take. You do, letting his large hand envelope yours. He rubs soothing circles over your knuckles as he speaks. “Yeah? What about me?” He asks in a teasing manner.

There had always been something unspoken between you two. Although he was yours in your head, you had never verbalized your possession of him. You tilt your head slightly, “just you.”

“Uh-huh” he nods, making eye contact. His rough hands continue to play with your slender fingers, running the pad of his index finger over your sharp, deep red nails. Nail polish was one of humanity's greatest inventions.

You could smell the blood surging away Anakin's body, you could also taste the iron in your mouth. Shaking your head, you try to snap out of it. It would be irresponsible to turn him, you could satisfy your need for blood elsewhere.

You feel Anakin take a deep breath before he speaks again. “I want you to do your thing to me.” His fingers run over your knuckles. You look at him with big eyes, wondering if you heard him correctly. You look at him questioningly, wanting him to elaborate. He surely couldn't mean what you thought he did. Could he?

“I know it sounds crazy, but I want you too” he continues. You just sit there, thinking over the options in your head. You didn't want to take his whole future away from him. He was a good human, he had a good job and a normal good life to look forward to. And if you took that away, well he would have a future, it would just be a much longer one. You don't know if you could burden him with that.

“I know you don't want to,” he speaks, “but I've thought it over and I don't want this to end. For us to end. Even if there is no us right now, I want there to be”

His shining blue eyes met yours, searching for a sigh or something to let him know what you are thinking. Inside you are a total mess, he wants there to be an us. Maybe your feelings towards him haven't been one sided after all. You just never thought he, a human, would ever like you, something very much not human.

“Say something?” He asks cautiously, his thumb rubbing a circle on the top of your hand. “Are you sure?” You question lightly. You wanted nothing more than to sink your fangs into the flesh of his neck, but you knew, at least up until now, that doing that would be reckless. Downright irresponsible of you. But now things had changed, he wanted you to. Anakin Skywalker was inviting you to take him for all eternity.

“I'm sure. I want this, and I know you do too. I've seen the way you look at my throat and the way your pupils get bigger when you run your fingers over my wrists. You want this probably more than I do.” He speaks, his words getting bolder by the second.

Biting in the inside of your cheek, you think it over. It would uproot his whole life, make everything ten times more difficult than they already were. But you wanted this too. You wanted him.

“Okay” you answer finally. You hear his heart race at your reply, he really did want this. His hand squeezes you as he blinks at you softly. “How do we do this?” He asks.

You had never shared with him the secrets of turning mortals into immortals. You really had no authority too as you had never tried. You knew how it works, but this would be an experience for both you and Anakin.

“I bite you, I'll be gentle I promise. It will probably feel weird at first, but just relax” you voice mesmerizes Anakin as he takes in your words. He was nervous, a bit afraid, but he knew he wanted this.

“Okay” he responds to you, nodding his head. You move yourself closer to him, your legs now bumping into each other. He moves from leaning against the wall to cross legged in front of you. “Is there anything you want to do before I, you know?” You ask.

Anakin nods before bringing his hands to either side of your face. “Can I kiss you?” He asks permission, which you give in the form of a nod. He brings his face closer and closer to yours, then suddenly his lips are on yours.

The kiss is sweet and you lean into it. You had never kissed a human before but you liked it. The feeling of him so close to you was intoxicating and you didn't want him to stop. Eventually he has to break away for air, giving you a dopey grin. Now that he had gotten his wish there was only one thing to do.

You take his face in your hands, looking into his baby blue eyes. He gives you a nod of confirmation and then you are tilting his head to the side to expose the expanse of his neck. Your tongue runs over your teeth, preparing yourself. Bringing yourself closer to his neck, you can feel the blood streaming below the smooth skin, inviting you to take a bite.

Your mouth makes contact with his neck, finding the right spot before running your tongue over it. You were finally getting what you really wanted, him. You knew deep down that it would always turn out this way. Once you attached to him, he was never getting away easily. Sinking your teeth into him would mean you got what you truly craved.

Slowly you bare your fangs against him so that he could feel the points of your canines pressing against his skin. Not enough to break through, but as a warning for what was about to happen. You take a deep breath in, letting the smell of iron and Anakin's natural musk envelop you. It was now or never. Gently you sink your teeth into Anakin's neck. Your eyes almost rolled back in pleasure, he tasted better than you could have imagined. All blood tastes different, but Anakin's was by far the best you had ever drunken. Although maybe the fact that he was the only human you talked to made it better.

He tasted almost familiar, sweet and delicious. You suck at the wound in his neck, pulling the divine sensation of his hot blood into your awaiting mouth. Anakin seemed fine so far, nothing drastic had occurred, however you could sense a feeling of slight unease about him. But that was to be expected with your latched onto his skin, tanned from the sun.

You only drank what you needed from him, you didn't want to leave him weak. After you had your feast, you lap at the holes on his neck, trying to stop the flow of rich blood. You pull away in time to see Anakin flex his fingers and look at you.

He was different. His blue eyes had a new feeling to them; while they were still the same blue, they seemed to hold more depth than before. He is still your Anakin, but now he has a sense of eternity about him. You could say that he had become one of your kind. He runs a large hand through his curls before taking your hands in his. “Till eternity do us part”

taglist: @qvnthesia @anisscarletstarlet @inneedsoffanfics @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist @anakinstwinklebunny @deathst9rs

thanks to my lovely editor @memoiich for this one <3

#star wars #hayden christensen #anakin skywalker #hayden christensen imagine #hayden christensen x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin x you #revenge of the sith #hayden christensen x you

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

Text

Think I Need Someone Older

Fernando Alonso x Ocon!Reader

Summary: you know you should stay away from your brother’s ex-teammate, but if it’s wrong, why does it feel so right?

Warnings: 18+ content, manipulation, pregnancy

You look around with wide eyes as you walk through the paddock, following your brother as he gives you a tour. This is your first time at a race weekend, and the excitement and nerves are battling inside you. Esteban has told you so much about his world, but seeing it in person is entirely different.

The smell of rubber and gasoline hangs thick in the air. Mechanics and engineers are buzzing around the garage, focused intensely on the sleek pink and blue car before them. Esteban places a hand on your shoulder, guiding you forward.

“Here she is,” he says proudly. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

You nod, eyes wide. The carbon fiber curves of the car seem to shimmer under the lights. Your gaze sweeps over it, drinking in every detail.

“She’s amazing,” you breathe.

Esteban grins. “Just wait until you see her on track.”

He keeps talking, but you’ve noticed a man walking towards you. Even in a paddock full of fit, athletic people, he stands out. Shorter than your tall brother, but compact and muscular. Dark hair sweeps across his forehead as he removes his sunglasses, revealing sharp brown eyes.

“Esteban,” he calls in a Spanish accent. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lovely companion?”

Your brother turns, smile fading. “Fernando. This is my sister, Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Fernando purrs. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He takes your hand, brushing a kiss over your knuckles.

You feel your cheeks flush even as Esteban frowns. Fernando’s touch lingers a beat too long before releasing you.

“Don’t you have a setup to work on?” Esteban says sharply.

Fernando shrugs, eyes still on you. “The car is nearly there. I thought I would come meet my new fan.”

“I’m sure Y/N doesn’t want to be bothered-”

“It’s no bother,” you interrupt. Fernando’s presence is magnetic in a way you can’t explain. The intensity of his gaze makes your pulse quicken.

He smiles. “There, you see? The lady wishes to talk.”

Esteban huffs but doesn’t argue further. Fernando slings an arm around your shoulders, guiding you away. You glance back at your brother’s glowering face but allow yourself to be led.

Fernando steers you to a quiet corner of the paddock, away from the bustle. Leaning against the wall, he gives you another long look over.

“Tell me, Y/N,” he says conversationally, “How does a girl like you end up with a brute like Esteban for a brother?”

You laugh, surprised by his bluntness. “He’s not so bad.”

“No? The man has the personality of a rock.” Fernando shakes his head. “I do not understand it. Such a warm, engaging young woman. And him — cold and dull as a fish.”

You bite your lip. It’s true your brother can be reserved, but-

“You barely know me,” you point out.

Fernando touches your chin lightly. “I know enough. I have an eye for these things.” His fingers trail down your neck, along your collarbone. You shiver.

“We only just met,” you whisper.

His mouth twitches. “You felt it too, no? A … connection.”

You’re no longer sure if it’s a connection or merely intoxication. Fernando’s presence envelops you like a drug.

“I ...” You falter, words failing.

Fernando leans in as though to kiss you. At the last second, he veers, lips grazing your ear instead.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” he murmurs. It’s not a question.

You nod helplessly. Satisfied, Fernando pulls back, putting professional distance between you again. Yet his eyes continue undressing you.

Over his shoulder, you see Esteban approaching, scowling. Fernando follows your gaze and sighs.

“Until tonight, my dear.” He squeezes your hand and walks away.

Esteban reaches you, glaring between you and Fernando’s retreating back. “What did he want?”

You stare at the ground, afraid your expression will give everything away. “Nothing. Just … talking.”

Your brother snorts. “I’m sure. That man always has an agenda.” His eyes soften, noticing your discomfort. “Come on, let’s continue the tour.”

You let Esteban lead you back into the bustle of the garage, his concerns about Fernando fading as he delves into explanations about the car. But you aren’t really listening. Your thoughts swirl with the memory of Fernando’s touch, his lips, his hungry eyes. The things he made you feel with nothing more than a look.

You’ve never reacted to someone like this before. The impropriety of it — your brother’s rival, a man nearly twice your age — only heightens the exhilaration. You should be appalled by his forwardness. Instead, you’re counting down the minutes until you’ll be alone with him again.

Dinner tonight. Your heart races faster at the thought. What will happen there? What might have already happened if Esteban hadn’t interrupted?

You glance around, half expecting Fernando to be watching you still. But he’s nowhere to be seen. Esteban guides you to look more closely at the car, oblivious to your distraction.

You try to focus on your brother’s words, on the amazing machine in front of you. But your thoughts keep circling back to Fernando — his intensity, his confidence, the promise in his eyes.

This weekend just got a lot more interesting. Fernando looked ready to devour you whole. And despite yourself, you want to be consumed.

***

You smooth non-existent wrinkles from your dress for the tenth time, nerves making you fidget. The hotel restaurant lounge is busier than you expected for a Thursday night. Groups of team members, drivers, and media fill the tables, the air abuzz with a mix of languages.

Scanning the room, you don’t see Fernando yet. You chose this public place with the hope it would feel safer, less intimate than being alone with him in one of your hotel rooms. But now, the crowded restaurant only ramps up your anxiety.

You check your phone again. Still no texts from Fernando. Your foot taps impatiently.

“Y/N.”

You startle at the sound of your name purred in that accent. Turning, you find Fernando behind you, looking sharp in a tailored suit jacket and dark designer jeans. His gaze sweeps over you appreciatively.

“You look exquisite tonight.”

Heat blooms in your cheeks from the hunger in his eyes. You resist the urge to fidget with your dress again.

“Shall we?” He gestures to a table, placing a hand on your lower back to guide you.

You tense at the contact, hyper aware of every point his body meets yours as you walk. Fernando’s hand presses more firmly, as if enjoying your reaction.

At the table, he holds your chair out with exaggerated chivalry, letting his fingers trail across your bare shoulders. You suppress a shiver.

Once seated across from you, Fernando lounges comfortably in his chair, perfectly at ease. You envy his confidence. One look from his intense eyes still makes you blush furiously.

A waiter appears for your drink order. You ask for a white wine. Fernando requests an expensive Scotch.

Alone again, his gaze bores into you. “Now, where were we earlier? Before we were so rudely interrupted.”

You wet your dry lips. “I-I’m not sure that was ...”

“Appropriate?” Fernando supplies with a wolfish grin. “And here I thought you liked my hands on you.”

Your blush deepens. God, being around him is intoxicating. You can’t bring yourself to admit it out loud, though.

Fernando leans forward. “I see the way you look at me, Y/N. Like a woman who wants to be … pleased.”

His use of the euphemism makes you squirm even as heat pools low in your belly.

“You’re my brother’s rival,” you protest weakly.

Fernando shrugs. “All the more exciting, no?”

When you don’t respond, he sits back with a knowing look.

“You pretend to be a good girl. But I see the passion in you waiting to come out.”

The waiter returns with your drinks, providing a temporary respite. You sip your wine, grasping for composure.

Fernando continues watching you like a cat with a mouse. “Does Esteban know you’re out with me tonight?”

You shake your head. Your brother thinks you turned in early, exhausted from the day at the track. If he knew ...

“Sneaking around on a date with his rival.” Fernando tsks. “What would he think?”

“This isn’t a date,” you retort, but the denial sounds weak even to you.

“No? Then why so nervous?” His foot brushes against yours under the table. “Why so willing to deceive your dear brother?”

You have no response. Fernando sees right through you. It’s terrifying and thrilling all at once.

His eyes glitter with victory. But his tone softens. “It is only dinner. No need for guilt.”

He refills your wine glass, coaxing you to relax as you order. The food provides a welcome distraction. He draws you into conversations about travel and music, keeping things casual. Bit by bit, your nerves unwind. Fernando is charming company when he wants to be.

You find yourself laughing at a story about his home in Spain. Your eyes meet and the air shifts. The easy rapport slips away, replaced by simmering tension.

Fernando’s fingers graze your hand resting on the table, tracing delicate patterns on your sensitive skin. Your breathing quickens.

“Your skin is so soft,” he murmurs. “I wonder if all of you feels this good to touch.”

The images his words invoke make your head spin. His thumb strokes your wrist, feeling your racing pulse.

“Fernando ...” It comes out a half-moan.

Abruptly he releases you, sitting back. You stare, confused and bereft.

“Come.” Fernando stands, holding out a hand. “Walk with me.”

Heart pounding, you let him pull you up and guide you toward the exit. The night air hits your flushed cheeks. Fernando’s hand on your back urges you wordlessly down the street toward the harbor overlooking the city lights.

At the railing, he moves behind you, hands resting casually on your hips. You tense, every nerve aware of him surrounding you. His breath tickles your neck.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he commands softly.

You turn your head, body rigid. Fernando smiles, trailing a finger down your jaw. Eyes locked with yours, he presses closer until no space remains between you. Your lips part involuntarily. Triumph flashes in his expression.

“You want me to kiss you.” It’s not a question.

You close your eyes, unable to deny it. Fernando’s thumb brushes your bottom lip.

“Look at me,” he repeats.

You force your eyes open. His face fills your vision.

“Not here,” he says. “Not yet.”

You ache in frustration, but Fernando is immovable as stone. He releases you and steps back. The loss of his touch is a physical pain.

Turning you firmly, he nods at the view. “Enjoy the lights, hmm?”

On unsteady legs, you move to the railing. Fernando stands casually beside you once more. For long minutes, silence reigns.

When you finally chance a look at him, his lips twitch into a smug, satisfied grin.

“You’re playing games,” you accuse shakily.

He lifts an innocent brow. “Games? I merely enjoy a lovely view with a lovely woman.”

You frown, unconvinced. This whole evening has been him expertly stoking the fire between you, only to withdraw at the critical moment. It leaves you trembling with unfulfilled desire.

As if reading your mind, Fernando strokes your cheek with the back of his hand. “Patience, my sweet. I have no wish to rush this.” His eyes burn. “The anticipation will make your surrender so much sweeter.”

Surrender. The word sinks into your bones, igniting a yearning you don’t dare name.

Fernando glances at his watch. “Come. I will walk you back.”

The return to your hotel is silent, charged with restless energy. At your door, Fernando grasps your hand, raising it to his lips. The kiss undoes you in a way his mouth on yours might not have.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams.” A promise lurks beneath his polite words.

You watch him walk away down the hall before letting yourself into your room on wobbly legs. Collapsing back against the door, you close your eyes, body humming.

He was right about one thing. After tonight, you’ll never look at Fernando the same way again. And despite the unfulfilled desire burning through you, part of you thrills at his control, his patience.

You don’t know what this game between you is yet, or what price it might exact. But as you lay sleepless in tangled sheets, replaying each burning moment, one truth rings clear — you trust Fernando to take you wherever this desire leads. And you’re powerless to do anything but follow.

***

The next two days pass in a haze of stolen glances and brief, electric touches that leave you trembling. At the track or hotel, Fernando finds ways to brush against you, to whisper heated words in your ear when no one else is close. But he never pushes further, leaving you a tangled mess of growing need.

Tonight is the final night before the race, the paddock thick with tension and excitement. You pick at your food during the Alpine team dinner, eyes drifting to Fernando at a nearby table with Aston Martin. He meets your gaze with a knowing smirk but stays focused on his own group.

You all but flee back to your room afterward, nerves pulled tight. Pacing the floor, you debate going to him, giving in to this madness. A knock interrupts your thoughts.

You open the door to find Fernando, hunger etched on his face. He steps inside, backing you to the wall. Caging you in place with his body, he strokes a finger down your cheek.

“No more waiting, I think,” he murmurs.

You sway toward him but Fernando holds you firmly in place, denying what you crave. His lips graze your ear instead.

“Say you want me, Y/N. I need to hear you say it.”

You shudder, clinging to the last frayed threads of resistance. Sensing it, he drifts lower, tongue and teeth teasing your neck in a way that ruins you. A gasp escapes your lips.

“Say it,” Fernando commands, the words vibrating against your skin.

“I-I want you,” you breathe, the admission cracking you open.

Triumph flares in his eyes. Then his mouth is on yours, claiming you in a fierce kiss. Weeks of pent-up desire explode as he devours you against the wall. Your fingers twist in his shirt, urgent sounds escaping between kisses.

When you’re both breathless, Fernando pulls back. Eyes wild, he strips off your dress in rough motions, leaving you in only lace undergarments. Ravenous hands explore your newly exposed skin.

“So perfect, just as I knew you would be.”

He lifts you effortlessly and you wrap your legs around his waist. Carrying you to the bed, he lays you across the sheets. You reach for him desperately but he catches your wrists, pinning them over your head.

“I am in control here. Understood?”

You nod, writhing beneath him. With a pleased growl, Fernando releases you to strip away the rest of your clothes. Then he’s above you again, letting you feel his need as he grinds against your aching core. Even through layers of clothing, it makes you dizzy with want.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands.

“You, Fernando, only you,” tumbles from your lips.

With a satisfied smile, he sits back to remove the rest of his own clothes, eyes scorching your bare skin. Then he covers you once more, warm skin against skin, teasing your entrance as his mouth finds your breasts.

Your head falls back, lost in sensation, but Fernando grips your chin. “Look at me. I want to see your eyes when I claim you.”

Holding your gaze, he enters you in one long stroke. The feeling of him filling you so completely wrenches a shattered moan from your lips. Fernando gives you no chance to adjust, pulling back only to drive into you again and again. You cling to him helplessly, taken over by a pleasure so intense it borders pain.

Fernando murmurs filthy praise and endearments in your ear as he possesses you. When his pace quickens, you shatter around him with a keening cry. He follows you over the edge with a growl soon after.

Still buried inside you, he brushes damp hair back from your face. “Such a good girl,” he praises, stroking your cheeks.

You cling to him, overwhelmed with sensation, with intimacy like you’ve never known. Fernando kisses you lazily before withdrawing to lay beside you. He gathers you close against his chest.

“Sleep now. You will need your rest to watch me win tomorrow.”

His arrogant assurance makes you laugh weakly. Fernando smiles, eyes softening.

“Laugh now if you wish. But after tomorrow, your brother will be the one sulking.”

His mention of Esteban pierces through the haze of bliss. Guilt twists your stomach. With everything that just happened, you forgot entirely about your brother.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Fernando tilts your chin up. “Do not look so troubled, hmm? Esteban need never know.”

You bite your lip. “He won’t approve. He warned me about you.”

Amusement flickers in Fernando’s eyes. “Did he now? And yet here you are.” His expression grows serious. “I will not share you, Y/N. Not even with family.”

The words, though alarming, send a thrill through you. To be wanted so possessively is disturbingly intoxicating. You know you should pull away, but you’ve already crossed so many lines tonight.

Fernando kisses you again, more gently this time. “Sleep, my sweet. No more worrying.”

Wrapped securely in his arms, you let the steady rhythm of his breathing lull you under. Everything else can wait for tomorrow. Tonight, you simply need to feel Fernando surrounding you, keeping you safe in the shelter of his embrace. Whatever comes next, you know you are his now. For better or worse.

***

Morning light streams through the curtains, rousing you from dreams of warm skin and demanding touches. For a moment, you reach across rumpled sheets, expecting to find Fernando’s solid form beside you. But you’re alone.

Sitting up, you spot a piece of hotel stationery on the pillow, his bold script across it:

Y/N,

Last night was magnificent. I wish I could wake to your beautiful face, but it is race day and I must prepare. Tonight, we celebrate properly. Wear something special for me.

Yours,

You trace the letters, a complicated mix of emotions swirling through you. The sheer joy of last night, giving in fully to each other. The guilt that creeps in with morning’s harsh light. Uncertainty of what comes next.

But most powerful of all is the magnetic pull towards him, this man who looked inside you and saw something even you didn’t know was there. Fernando unlocked it effortlessly, leaving you craving more.

Your phone buzzes with a message from Esteban, jolting you fully back to reality. He’s checking that you will be in Alpine hospitality for the race. You text back a vague confirmation, stomach twisting. Facing your brother today, pretending everything is fine while memories of Fernando claiming you play on repeat in your head, will be its own special kind of torment.

You take extra time getting ready, needing the armor of makeup and nice clothes before seeing the team. When you finally make your way trackside, the chaos of race day surrounds you. The garages burst with activity as crews make final preparations. Fans pose for photos and scramble for autographs. But your eyes scan only for Fernando.

You find him outside the Aston Martin garage, surrounded by engineers and PR reps going over last minute details. His race suit is unzipped to the waist, undershirt clinging to his toned chest. Fernando looks up and meets your gaze, desire flashing hot and quick across his face before he masks it.

Heart pounding, you flee to the Alpine suite before he can approach. The morning passes in a tense haze of avoiding Fernando and trying not to show your turmoil. You pick at food, choke down drinks, focus on breathing evenly.

When it’s time for driver introductions, Esteban finds you, pulling you in for a quick hug.

“Wish me luck out there today,” he says with a boyish grin.

You try to smile back naturally. “Good luck. I’ll be cheering for you.” The lie burns your tongue.

Esteban hurries off to prepare and you make your way trackside, pushing through throngs of fans to get a view of the grid. On the big screens, you watch the orchestrated chaos of the buildup.

Your breath catches as Fernando comes into view, prowling the asphalt in his fireproofs like a predator. His confidence and command fill the space around him.

The sight of your lover gearing up to battle your brother is surreal. But the excitement shining in Fernando’s eyes triggers an answering heat in you, eclipsing any conflicted emotions.

As the cars line up on the grid for final preparations, you spot Fernando scanning the crowd. When his gaze locks with yours, he presses two fingers to his lips then holds them out towards you.

Blood pounds in your ears. Everything else fades away except him. In this moment, nothing else matters but the connection between you.

The start lights flash and the cars roar to life, rocketing down the track. You’re jostled by the surging crowd of Alpine guests but keep your eyes glued to the screen, following Fernando’s bright green car. He keeps pace near the front of the pack, battling for position on each turn.

When he overtakes Esteban, your pulse leaps. You shouldn’t want your brother defeated, but the thrill of watching Fernando drive is too powerful.

The race unfolds lap by lap. Fernando runs a flawless strategy, overtaking rivals and avoiding risks. Esteban has moments of brilliance but spends more time defending his position than attacking.

In the closing laps, Fernando emerges through the chaos at the front of the pack, keeping two challengers at bay to the checkered flag. Your heart leaps as he takes the victory to the roar of the crowd around you.

On screen, Fernando pumps his fist before peeling off his gear and climbing atop his car for celebratory photos. Even with helmet hair and soaked in sweat, he looks like a warrior king surveying his territory. Exultant. Dominant. Yours.

The screens cut to Esteban climbing from his car in the midfield, frustration etched on his face. Your joy dims slightly, guilt creeping back in. Seeing your brother’s defeat firsthand twists your stomach.

But before regret can take hold, your phone buzzes with a message from Fernando.

Come celebrate with the conquering hero. My room tonight.

Any hint of doubt burns away. Esteban will have the rest of the team to console him. Tonight, you belong to Fernando.

The hours until the evening crawl by. You pace your room, unsure what to expect from the night. At last, dressed in a slinky black dress, you make your way to Fernando’s room.

He opens the door bare-chested, hair still damp from the shower. Hunger flashes in his eyes as he looks you over.

“Exquisite. Come here, my sweet.”

He draws you inside, mouth finding yours. You melt into him, the kiss deep and claiming. This time when Fernando backs you against the wall, you arch into him, wanting more. But he lifts you effortlessly instead, carrying you to the bed.

“I believe a celebration is in order.”

With deliberate care, he peels your dress away, hands roaming your newly bared skin. Stretched out beneath him, you let Fernando relearn every inch of you, patient this time, focused only on your pleasure.

By the time he finally joins your bodies, you’re drunk on sensation, clinging to him desperately. Fernando’s pace builds unhurriedly, drawing out your ecstasy until you shatter around him with a cry. He follows after, praising you again and again as he finds his own peak.

This time when he gathers you close afterwards, there is no guilt, no conflict in your sated bliss. You know with absolute clarity that this man owns every piece of you now, mind, body and soul. And you would give yourself to him again and again, consequences be damned. For in Fernando’s arms, you feel truly alive for the first time.

***

The end of the race weekend approaches too quickly. You wish you could freeze time, stay wrapped up in Fernando without the outside world intruding. But reality awaits.

On the flight home, Fernando secures you a seat beside him, hidden away in a secluded corner of the private jet. He slips his jacket over your entwined hands, shielding touches and whispered words from prying eyes.

“I want you in Spain as soon as possible,” he murmurs. “No more sneaking around.”

You lean into him. “I want that too.”

The stolen moments already feel unbearable after having him so completely. Fernando smiles, fingers stroking your cheek.

“Soon, my love. I will show you my home, my life there. We will never be apart.”

His words paint a picture more tempting than you can resist. Still, doubts creep in.

“What about Esteban?” You whisper. “My family here?”

Fernando’s eyes harden. “Your life is with me now. They will understand in time.” He grips your hand tighter. “I share you with no one.”

You know you should argue, but the command in his voice thrills you too much. Esteban will be furious when he learns the truth. Yet the thought of losing Fernando cuts far deeper. Your brother will forgive you eventually. But losing Fernando would break you.

At the airport, Fernando kisses you fiercely, heedless of anyone who might see.

“I will come for you soon,” he vows. “Be ready.”

Over the next weeks, you make discreet plans and excuses, preparing to leave your old life behind. Fernando texts and calls when he can, reminding you what awaits. The life he paints, together in his Spanish villa, sounds like a fairytale.

Too soon, though, reality intrudes again. Alpine invites you to a sponsorship dinner before the following race. Declining would raise Esteban’s suspicions, so you accept reluctantly.

You take pains with your appearance that evening, needing the armor. But when Esteban greets you with an affectionate hug, guilt pierces through.

“I’m so glad you could come, little sister. It’s been too long.”

You blink back tears, letting him escort you inside. Other team members welcome you warmly, expressing what a delight it is to see you again. Their kindness cuts sharpest of all.

The only balm is Fernando, across the restaurant with Aston Martin again. His gaze finds you, a question in his eyes. You give a small, reassuring nod. This changes nothing.

Dinner passes in a tense haze of pushing food around your plate and avoiding wine, afraid your fragile composure will crack. You make excuses to leave early, feigning jet lag.

Esteban walks you out, frowning when you evade his offer to get dessert somewhere.

“Everything okay? You seem distracted tonight.”

The concern in his voice nearly breaks you. But before you lose your nerve, a sleek silver car pulls up, back door opening. Fernando steps out, beckoning you.

Your brother’s eyes widen in shock and fury. “What the hell is this?”

“Esteban-”

“Did you know he would be here?” Esteban demands. “What are you doing with him, Y/N?”

You back away, tears escaping. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“Go? You’re leaving? With him?” Esteban looks between you and Fernando, comprehension dawning. “No. No you would never ...” He grabs your wrist.

Fernando is there in an instant, prying Esteban’s grip off easily. He pulls you behind him, staring your brother down.

“Do not touch her again,” Fernando warns, danger in his tone.

Esteban’s face twists in anger and betrayal. “She is my sister, not yours to take.”

“She belongs with me.” Fernando’s absolute conviction brooks no argument. “Accept that, and we will have no quarrel.”

He turns, guiding you gently into the waiting car. Needing to see Esteban one last time, you glance back. The hurt and confusion in his eyes tears at your heart.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper as the car pulls away. Fernando cradles you close as sobs wrack your frame. Grief wars with relief now that everything is in the open.

“Hush now, he will understand in time,” Fernando soothes, stroking your hair.

When your tears slow, he tips your chin up. His eyes shine with possession and pride. “You are mine now. Truly mine. Are you ready?”

You nod, no doubts left, your fate sealed. Fernando kisses you until the lingering guilt washes away. By the time you fall asleep cradled against his chest, you feel only peace. Your future stretches before you, boundless and breathtaking at Fernando’s side.

Stepping into it will mean losing so much and gaining even more. The path will not be easy, but with Fernando’s hand clasping yours, you know you can weather any coming storms.

This is your destiny now. All your broken, scattered pieces made whole in his arms. And you will let nothing stand between you, consequences be damned. For your heart belongs to Fernando alone.

***

The months that follow are bliss and agony.

Fernando whisks you away to his estate in Asturias as promised. There, you settle effortlessly into domestic life with him, days filled with sunshine, languid meals on the veranda, and nights spent tangled in silken sheets. Fernando dotes on you, lavishing you with attention and affection. Under his guidance, you blossom, leaving your past self behind.

Yet the guilt lingers. Esteban refuses your calls and texts, cutting you out fully. Your parents write you off as bewitched when you try to explain. Only Fernando’s steady reassurance gets you through those dark hours when you fear you’ve lost your family forever.

“They will come around, my love,” he murmurs against your hair. “One day they will understand this was destiny. That we belong together.”

Privately, you pray he’s right. Your new life feels hollow without your brother’s laughter and your parents’ warm hugs. But Fernando fills the void as best he can, surrounding you with his love.

As summer wanes into fall, you throw yourself into supporting Fernando’s training regimen and race preparations. The coming season will be pivotal for him at Aston Martin. You’re determined to be the perfect partner — encouraging yet not demanding, understanding of his grueling schedule and focus.

You savor each moment at home between races. Fernando takes you sailing along the coast, shows you his favorite local villages, and teaches you to cook traditional dishes. At night, his touch erases the lingering ache of your family’s rejection.

When race weekends come, you follow Fernando dutifully, maintaining a low profile. Those around the paddock eye you with curiosity and judgment, but their opinions matter little. Only Fernando’s happiness concerns you now.

The races become a test of will. Watching Esteban battle to succeed with Alpine as you lurk in the Aston Martin garage twists your stomach. But you bear the pain, focusing on Fernando’s victories and commiserating during setbacks. Your efforts earn you his praise and devotion. Slowly, the paddock gossip fades to background noise.

Months pass in a blissful haze. Fernando secures key podiums, cementing himself as a title contender. Off track, he takes you traveling during breaks — Switzerland, Dubai, the Maldives. The outside world and its judgements fade away.

When Fernando wins the season finale, you greet him with a tearful smile, so proud of his achievement. Lifting you off your feet, he swings you in giddy circles before capturing your mouth in a crushing kiss. Cameras flash all around, but his eyes see only you.

“This victory is yours too, my love,” he declares later that night, still elated. “You give me strength.”

Curled in his arms, you cling tightly, overwhelmed with emotion. Fernando has proven your faith in him justified, in both racing and your life together. Whatever sacrifices you made, his love has been worth it.

In the glow of Fernando’s championship, the offseason flies by. Before you know it, new season preparations are underway. Fernando secures a multi-year contract extension with Aston Martin, cementing his status as their star driver.

When you arrive for pre-season testing, the garage buzzes with anticipation. Fernando struts with authoritative confidence, embracing his role as the team’s champion leader. He draws you close when you appear, kissing you soundly.

“Look at them stare now,” he murmurs smugly. “You are untouchable.”

It’s true. No one dares whisper anymore when you pass. Fernando’s stature grants you protection, and with it, a new confidence. You hold your head high, welcoming the envious glances.

One person’s attention, however, you try desperately to avoid. Esteban keeps his distance, but you catch him watching sometimes, face unreadable. The renewed pain of his estrangement cuts deep. You cling to Fernando’s side throughout testing, avoiding any risk of confrontation.

On the final test day, you beg off going to the garage, emotionally drained. Fernando is reluctant but acquiesces to your needs, dropping you at the hotel to rest.

By late afternoon, guilt creeps in. You should be supporting Fernando now, not wallowing. Before you can lose courage, you head back to the track.

The Aston Martin bay is empty when you arrive, the garage eerily quiet. You’re about to turn and look elsewhere when hushed voices catch your ear. Fernando’s unmistakable accent, and one achingly familiar.

Heart pounding, you creep toward the sound, peeking around a supply crate. Fernando and Esteban stand mere feet apart, tension radiating between them. Your brother’s hands clench at his sides.

“I want to see her,” Esteban demands.

Fernando scoffs. “You lost that right long ago.”

“She is my sister-”

“She is mine,” Fernando cuts in sharply. “You rejected her. I gave her the life she deserves.”

Esteban flinches. “I was hurt. Angry. But she is still family.” His eyes turn pleading. “Just let me talk to her, Fernando. Please.”

Your heart lurches, desperate to run to him. But Fernando stands immobile as stone.

“No. I have seen how you make her cry and doubt herself. She is happy now, and I will not let you ruin that.”

“I just want to know she’s okay-”

“She is perfect.” Fernando steps closer, looming. “Go back to your garage and your racing, little boy. Y/N is no concern of yours anymore.”

Esteban’s face twists. For a moment it seems he might shove Fernando back. But finally he deflates, defeat in the slump of his shoulders.

Your brother turns without a word, nearly reaching your hiding spot before stopping short. His eyes find yours, widening in shock.

“Y/N ...” he breathes.

You stare, frozen. Esteban takes a half step toward you, hand extended. The months apart feel erased, love and longing surging-

“Y/N.” Fernando’s sharp voice lashes like a whip. You jolt from the spell, tears burning your eyes.

Esteban’s face crumbles. But he only nods once, a goodbye, before walking away.

Fernando is at your side instantly, clutching you close, a hand cradling your head as you tremble against him.

“You see now?” He murmurs. “He only wishes to hurt you more.”

You cling tighter, the echo of your name on Esteban’s lips haunting you. Burying your face in Fernando’s chest, you let him soothe away the renewed ache, the hope dying again.

Later back at the hotel, Fernando undresses you with gentle reverence, worshiping every inch of exposed skin until thoughts of your brother scatter.

“You are everything I need, my sweet,” he vows as your bodies join. “Only you.”

You know it’s true. Whatever Esteban hopes to reclaim, too much has changed now. The girl he knew is gone. Your fate lies with Fernando alone.

So you let your lover consume you with pleasure until nothing else remains. And when Fernando’s possessive whispers of ‘mine’ finally lull you to sleep, Esteban’s haunted eyes cannot follow.

***

And then a surprise is tossed your way. You throw yourself into preparing the villa for a baby, grateful for the distraction. Fernando dotes on you even more than usual, making sure you want for nothing.

At night, he lays you back with utmost tenderness, hands and lips caressing your changing form.

“You grow more radiant each day, my love,” he murmurs. “Motherhood suits you beautifully.”

Privately, you hope the coming baby might also soften your estranged family’s hearts. But Fernando shuts down any mention of reconciling.

“All we need is right here,” he insists, cradling your belly. “Our child will want for nothing.”

You try to take comfort in his words. With the new life growing inside you, loneliness for lost family cuts deepest of all. But you swallow the hurt, focusing on what lies ahead.

As your due date nears, Fernando reluctantly leaves for preseason activities. You encourage him to concentrate on racing, hiding any lingering sadness. This year must be his best yet with a child on the way.

The season opener comes quickly. Fernando wants you resting comfortably at home, but you insist on being there to support him. After lengthy persuasion, he concedes.

Stepping back into the paddock on Fernando’s arm, you keep your head high despite stares following your pregnant belly. Let them judge and gossip. You and Fernando know the truth.

Seeing the Aston Martin crew embrace you and Fernando as family sparks an ache you thought long buried. With Esteban still refusing contact, this child will have only one doting uncle on the grid in Carlos Sainz.

During the race weekend, you catch Esteban watching you pensively across the paddock several times. Each glimpse cuts like a knife. He always looks away quickly, his expression unreadable.

Sunday unfolds in a chaotic blur of pre-race pageantry and tension. From the cozy Aston Martin hospitality suite, you cheer loudly as Fernando battles fiercely for position. In the closing laps, he makes a daring pass to claim a hard-fought podium.

When Fernando emerges from the cool down room, still elated, he makes a beeline for you. Sweeping you up carefully, he kisses you passionately, heedless of the room’s occupants. You cling tightly, swallowing against stubborn tears.

The bittersweet reunion is broken by Carlos, swooping in to hug you both. He presses a hand to your belly with a grin.

“Let me properly meet my future sobrino or sobrina!”

His joyful fussing over you makes your heart clench. Glancing to the back of the room, you find Esteban watching silently, an array of emotions on his face.

As Carlos distractedly moves on to congratulate other drivers, Esteban turns and slips away. Impulse seizes you. Murmuring an excuse to Fernando, you hurry after your brother before he disappears.

You catch Esteban at the elevator, grasping his arm. He tenses but doesn’t pull away, eyes dropping briefly to your belly before meeting your gaze.

“Can we talk?” You plead breathlessly. “Just for a minute?”

Esteban hesitates, glancing down the hall where sounds of celebration continue. Finally he nods, gesturing you into the empty elevator.

The doors close and awkward silence descends. Now that you have him here, you’re lost for words.

Esteban breaks the tension gently. “You look happy. Pregnancy suits you.”

You offer a tentative smile. “I am happy. This baby will have two loving parents.” You bite your lip before adding, “But it could use an uncle too.”

Esteban looks startled, then conflicted. “Fernando would never allow it.”

You shake your head. “I don’t need his permission. Or yours.” Taking Esteban’s hand, you squeeze tightly. “You’re my family. I know we can’t go back to before, but can’t we find some way forward? For the baby’s sake? For mine?”

Esteban searches your face, hesitant. You see the longing warring with old hurts.

“Please,” you whisper. “I miss my brother.”

Your pleading eyes break him. Esteban crushes you into a hug just as the elevator doors open. You cling to each other, both crying.

Footsteps approach and you pull back to see Fernando standing there, concern fading to understanding. Over Esteban’s shoulder, you gaze at your lover beseechingly.

Fernando’s jaw tightens. For a moment, you fear he’ll force you to choose again. But then his eyes soften, nodding once. Relief crashes over you.

Esteban turns, instinctively shielding you protectively. Fernando raises a pacifying hand.

“It seems we have much to discuss.” His mouth quirks wryly. “Shall we find somewhere calmer?”

Cautious hope dawns on Esteban’s face. Together, the three of you retreat to a private corner of the Aston Martin motorhome. There, awkwardly at first, you begin reconciling.

It’s not quick or easy after so much hurt. But you now have a child’s future to consider. Heart by heart, the ice thaws between the men who both love you in different ways. They will never be friends, yet reach an understanding.

When Fernando pulls you close and whispers, “Whatever you need to be happy, my love,” you know this olive branch is genuine. You kiss him tenderly, letting your joy speak for you.

In the weeks and months that follow, bonds slowly rebuild between you and your family. Fernando keeps his promise, welcoming Esteban into your lives, albeit warily at times. He seems to take pride in your returning happiness, though.

Your daughter’s birth months later cements the change. A redemptive joy surrounds you as she’s passed gently into Esteban’s arms. Fernando looks on with unmatched tenderness, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Our family is complete now,” he murmurs. And you know it’s true.

The years that follow hold challenges and triumphs, heartbreak and healing. You watch your little girl grow surrounded by love. She becomes the bridge connecting two worlds once torn apart.

There are times old wounds threaten to reopen. Jealousies flare, harsh words spoken in anger. But you face each crisis together, choosing reconciliation over rupture. And your family emerges stronger for it.

At your daughter’s second birthday party, you pause during the chaos to take it all in. Fernando whirls the giggling birthday girl around while Esteban looks on grinning. Music and laughter surround you.

Watching your child beam, you feel only joy now, and gratitude. However painful the path, every sacrifice was worth it to arrive at this peace. You know the bonds connecting you now can weather any storm life may bring.

Fernando catches your eye, blowing you a kiss. His love gave you courage once to chase an impossible dream. Now you stand surrounded by the reality — a family woven together by resilience and forgiveness.

Your daughter toddles to you and you sweep her up, kissing every inch of her sweet face as she squeals. Over her shoulder, you meet Fernando’s proud eyes. In them you see the past, present, and future. And you know — you would do it all again a thousand times for this happiness you’ve found.

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runningfrom2am · 1 year ago

Text

cold nights // part eight

summary: may the odds be ever in your favour.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.8k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: let the games begin!! i'm so excited (and also,, so scared)

series masterlist // playlist

The light streams through Coriolanus's window in the morning, waking him with the sun. He only has a moment of peace, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before the dread sets in; settling under his skin like a sliver.

He hurries to get dressed, letting Tigris help him with his blazer due to his shoulder injury making it necessarily difficult before he kisses his grandma'am goodbye, and they wish him (and you) good luck. They would be watching, of course, and that only served to build his anxiety as he hurried to the school.

You hardly slept for a moment the whole night. When you finally did, the sun was beginning to rise and you were woken up not long after by peacekeepers urging you back into the truck. No one had anything to say on the drive. You all knew what was coming, and the tension in the air was palpable. You felt safer with the scarf wrapped firmly around yourself and the compact in your pocket, which you run your thumb over repeatedly to try and memorize the ornate carvings on the outside. It was Coryo's, and he was with you. You couldn't forget.

As the truck slows to a stop, you take a deep breath. "The third day comes a frost, a killing frost." You mutter to yourself, turning the heads of the tributes next to you as you force yourself to your feet. "The elements be kind to thee, and make thy spirits all of comfort: fair thee well."

Your slightly louder statement is met with hateful glares by a few, ignored by others. "I can't wait to hear your last words. Freak." Coral spits at you, shoving past you as the doors of the now stopped truck are opened. You swallow thickly, catching the eyes of the little one, Wovey. You give her a smile, allowing her to walk out ahead of you. She's scared, and you can tell as you place your hands on her shoulders, soothingly rubbing them while you walk out and see the arena again.

As you're led inside, separated from Jessup, and you quickly understand what Coryo meant. Everything was different. The debris had been cleared but stacked in the center of the floor, and as you got closer, you began to see weapons littered all over the pile of rubble. The thought of what you were about to see made you sick, more so as you pushed through the familiar turnstile.

"Enjoy the show!"

Coryo is already watching as you walk out. He has been watching for you since the moment the screen shifted from the Games logo to a camera view of the entrance. And there you were. He swallowed, seeing the worsening bags under your eyes and the cut on your arm with healing black stitches. You have that much younger girl under your arms, walking her in front of you as you hold her close. You whisper something in her ear that the microphones don't pick up, which makes her smile, even just a little before you're quickly forced apart by peacekeepers.

"Stand on your marks or you will be shot!" A peacekeepers voice calls out as you feel the weapon jabbed into your back, making you wince. You find your place, looking around frantically now to try and spot the hole in the ground Coryo told you about, or maybe you should try and get up in the stands. But if you get in the tunnel quickly, even if you're being chased that will buy you a few moments where you wouldn't be seen. Maybe you could hide and not be found.

What about Jessup? Or Wovey? Your mind wanders, despite you trying to adhere to Coryo's advice. You decide that wherever you run when the bell goes off, if you saw either of them on the way you would pull them with you. If not, you would just have to keep going. You had no desire in getting close to the mess that was about to happen in the centre as soon as people got their hands on those weapons.

You thought you knew you would die in these games, but as your adrenaline starts to spike, you knew you would at least try to stay alive. Your body wouldn't let you wait for your fate to come. Originally, that had been your plan. When your name was called at the reaping, even though you had planned to run by what you wore, you intended on dropping to your knees at the sound of the buzzer and awaiting whatever fate would take you. What had changed?

Coriolanus. That's what had changed. You just regretted that you wouldn't live to know if he won his prize, and see never see him again. You had to see him again.

That's when your eyes landed on Marcus, hanging by his wrists from a beam across the room from you. "Oh..." You sigh sadly, shaking your head as you look at his state. He had tried to save you along with himself, but he hadn't succeeded and that just breaks your heart. You hear crying as tears of fear well up in your own eyes but you force them down as you hear Lucretius's voice over the loudspeakers counting down.

Only ten seconds, and you had to decide. The vent behind you was looking awfully tempting, but you weren't sure what Coryo wanted. It sounded like he preferred the tunnels, and you had to listen to him. But then, seeing the hole in the floor, you would have to make it past all the chaos and the weapons and the other tributes.

"Three... two... one..."

Then it was the buzzer, and as your heart pounded in your chest and seemingly everyone else sprinted for the middle, you were frozen. You had to move fast.

"Run." Coryo mumbles to himself, silently begging you to remember what he told you.

But you stayed still. "What are you doing, run." He says again under his breath, and it's almost like you can hear him when you start running out of nowhere.

You're already surrounded by screams and grunts as you make your way to the wall behind you, flashes of orange hardly visible under the arm holes of your dress. The vent. Apparently, you decided on the vent. As you begin to climb the debris leading up to the stands you look back to make sure you're not being followed, but among the fighting and the lifeless bodies you see Jessup. He's stumbling, then crawling, and you curse yourself for what you're about to do, but your conscience has given you no choice.

"Don't. Don't go back for him." Coryo hisses, unable to look away.

You can practically hear Coryo telling you not to in your mind, but you're already sliding back down the broken cement and looking for your safest path to the boy from your District.

His mental state had declined rapidly in the last few days, you were sure it was from infection. When you walked into the arena, he didn't even know where he was. In a sad way, that was good. At least he didn't know what was coming for him.

"Jessup!" You call out, making your run for it along the wall, sliding to a stop when something metal clangs against the cement just in front of you that someone had thrown. You don't have time to see who the source was before you keep running, determined to at least get Jessup somewhere hidden.

Coryo is on the edge of his seat as he watches the close call, unable to relax even when their next couple of attempts miss as well. You were far from safe- you were making a mistake and all he could do was watch it happen. You couldn't run alongside the wall forever, so as you departed from it in a beeline for your friend, he holds his breath.

"Jessup!" You call again, trying to attract his attention but it doesn't work. You quickly duck when you hear a scream just to your right, seeing someone's form winding up to swing at you.

You yelp and stumble back as their weapon just catches the top of your hair, pulling it slightly as your dodge just out of their reach. The dirty ground was near impossible to run on, forcing them to slide past you over the dust under their feet. You keep moving even as another flying weapon in your shared direction distracts them.

You have to keep going. You reach Jessup as quickly as you can, trying to lift him up to his feet with a grip under his arms. "Jessup, come on, we have to go. We have to run, get up!" He stumbles to his feet and with an arm over your shoulder, you're running for the tunnels. You're being chased, you can hear it- Coral and her alliance that you had tried to join at Coryo's request but never got the chance, not that they would have approved anyway. You jump feet first into the opening in the ground, not worried about what's at the bottom as you roll down the debris that previously made up the floor above.

"Come on, come on!" You urge your friend again, once again helping him up and dragging him down the hall. There had to be a place to hide here somewhere; Coryo said there would be.

"They've gone underground very quickly, but we're prepared for this." Lucky says, but Coryo isn't paying any attention to anything other than you.

"Go, go, go..." He mutters, nodding as he watches the cameras switch to keep up with you.

Just as you finally find a door, you see others running toward you from down the hall. You pull helplessly at it, hoping it will open. It doesn't. With nowhere to go you look back, knowing you can't go that way either. "Open! Please!" You cry out, shaking the handle of the heavy metal door and kicking it in frustration.

Except, you miss. Your foot seemingly goes through the door, smacking your shin against it and you hiss. There's a hole in the door, just big enough for you to fit through. "Jessup, we've gotta go through. Come on! Hurry!" You urge him, already halfway through yourself.

Thankfully, he's right behind you. You quickly turn to help pull him through when his ankle gets grabbed.

You scream in a moment of panic, desperately pulling on his arms to try and help him up. Hy is who you quickly identify as the tribute holding him back, but luckily they aren't holding any kind of weapon. "Stop! Stop!" You cry out, pulling on your friend as you look around the room for somewhere else to run.

Their grip only loosens when they scream, lifelessly dropping their grip from the boy as he gets up and their body is dragged back through the hole in the door. You don't have time to process how gruesome that was, quickly hiding behind a wall across the room.

"Hey, Lumberjack." You hear Coral whispering from the other side. "Get in there and get her out."

"I'm not sticking my head in there." Treech replies, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief. "She could be waiting with a brick."

"That softy? She's not gonna hurt you! Let's just get them out of the way!"

"Then you do it."

A moment of silence follows before she replies. "Whatever. They have to come out eventually."

Coryo swallows as he watches them walk away. For now, you were safe.

"Okay, Jessup, take a seat..." You whisper to him after a good few moments, sure the other tributes had left by now. He nods, and you help him down, leaning back against the cold wall as you crouch in front of him. "I have to go, okay?"

He looks confused. "Where are you going? The mines..."

"We're not in the mines, Hun..." You remind him, gently pulling his coat tighter around him in some effort to keep him warm. "I just have to go, but you'll be safe down here. You just have to wait it out."

He nods, but he clearly doesn't understand. "Wait... wait for what?"

"A little madness in the spring is wholesome even for the king..." You hum, smiling sadly at him. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

Jessup just nods as you stand, heading back for the door. You have to make it to those vents. Coryo would want you alone, and with Jessup safe enough down here, you had to move on. You look back at him, only briefly, trying to remember the last time you would ever see the boy from your home when your eyes catch on a hatch in the ceiling. The vents.

You walk back over, looking up and squinting to see how you could get in. There's a steady-looking pipe that runs underneath it, but you can't quite reach it.

You're reaching into your top without looking away, pulling out the tucked-in knot of the scarf and untying it. Coryo's handiwork.

"Has she... Has she been wearing that this whole time? Is that allowed?" Lucky asks, looking around but no one has any answers. Except Coriolanus, who would not be responding anyway. You pull it out from under your dress as he watches the screen, smiling to himself as you throw the fabric up over the pipe and use it to hoist yourself up and disappear into the vent. He couldn't see you anymore, but he hoped no one else would find you in there either.

It would be hours before he saw you again. Everyone's attention is drawn at first by Lamina climbing out from inside the debris, heading toward Marcus as he hung from the fallen beam. Then, to Coryo's surprise, the camera flits over to you as the vent is pushed open and you poke your head out. How you had made it up into the stands was beyond him, but the vents must have led you there.

You wince at the loud creaking sound it makes, making Lamina turn quickly toward you. You hold your hands out defensively as you step out, nodding at her in a silent promise before you climb down the wall. "I won't hurt you." You verbally reassure her as you slowly get closer, hands still held out in front of you to prove to her that you don't have any weapons. She did, but you weren't scared.

The scarf is tied around your waist, the long fabric draping down and brushing the side of your bare leg with every step. You were covered in dust and dirt, Coryo notices, as you stop next to her. "Are you going to help him down?" You ask her, and she just nods, both of you looking up at him.

"Let me help." You offer, making your way over to the side of the beam where you think you could climb up. "Marcus, Honey, we're going to help you down, okay? Just try and relax. It'll just be another minute." You call out, but you're met with no response. Your brow furrows, unsure if he's even alive as you climb the rest of the way up.

"Marcus?" You ask, crawling across the beam and leaning over him as you hear Lamina climbing up behind you. You reach down to check his pulse, and you're met with one that's very faint. "Marcus, you'll be okay. We're gonna help." You tell him again and he opens his eyes, turning his head just slightly to look up at you.

"Please..." He mutters, voice raspy and pained.

"I know, I know... Just give us a minute."

"No... Don't..." He coughs out, shaking his head with tears in his eyes. "Please..."

And then you know what he means. You look back at Lamina as she sits behind you, shaking your head as tears well up in your eyes. You can't kill him, you just can't- but if that is his wish...

She looks between the two of you, giving you a slight nod. You can't even look at the axe you know is still in her hand.

You move over to his other side, reaching out to hold his hand in your shaking one.

Coryo wants to look away from the screen but he can't. His eyes are glued to you as tears fall, and you lean down to speak to the dying boy. "Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality." You tell him quietly, a sad smile on your face. "Know that you are loved. And know that I am sorry."

He chokes out a sob as Lamina moves his shirt away from his neck, looking to you as she lifts her axe. You squeeze his hand and nod at her. "You are loved. I love you. I am sorry. I love you." You remind him over and over, wanting the last thing he hears to be a reminder of the truth, but by the end, by the time Lamina brings her axe down against his skin, you're just praying he could hear your words through your cries.

As Coryo watches your donations tick up even further, you and the girl you are meant to kill are crying into each other's arms, Marcus's body limp on the ground beneath you.

#tbosas #tbosas fic #tbosas x reader #hunger games #thg series #thg fanfiction #thg #the hunger games #thg movies #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x you #coryo x reader #coryo snow #snow x reader #snow lands on top

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