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thankskenpenders · 1 year ago

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The Lara-Su Chronicles: Beginnings review

The day has finally come. Many, understandably, thought we'd never get here. Maybe we shouldn't have gotten here. We've been through so much. Lawsuits, reboots, redesigns, unreleased NFTs, empty legal threats over the fact that movie Knuckles has a dad, an attempt to license out Scourge the Hedgehog to fans that immediately got canceled (in both meanings of the term), and many, MANY idiotic Twitter controversies. But now, here we are.

Thirteen years after first announcing it in the middle of his legal battles with Archie and Sega that changed the American Sonic comics forever, former writer Ken Penders has released the first part of his new series: The Lara-Su Chronicles.

Yes. I had to buy the book. I had to take one for the team. Look at the fucking URL of this blog, a blog I've been using to talk about the American Sonic comics for nearly a decade while the specter of this book loomed in the distance. The one time I've actually been paid to write an article about anything in any professional capacity, it was an article about the Penders lawsuits. I'm cited on his Wikipedia page. There was no way I was going to skip reviewing this, and there was no guarantee that scans would ever turn up online given the incredibly small audience for this trash. (Only 166 people preordered this, and even that number feels way higher than it should be.) No, I had to preorder it to ensure I could get a copy and cover it for the blog... even if that meant my name would be forever immortalized in the list of "supporters" in the back of the book. These are the sacrifices I must make as a woman who stumbled ass backwards into being an amateur Archie Sonic historian.

So, what exactly is in this book? How much of it is new? How bad is it? How did we even get here in the first place? How can this exist without Sega pursuing legal action? What happens next? And, most importantly... why are there multiple depictions of an Archie Sonic character breastfeeding in this book?

I'm here to answer those questions as best I can, and in agonizing detail.

First, for those just tuning in to this decades-long saga or those who maybe don't know the full story, here's a refresher on the background info.

"What the hell is this?"

The Lara-Su Chronicles is Ken Penders' long-dreaded long-awaited continuation of his 1994-2006 run on Archie Sonic, ignoring everything written after he left by other writers like Ian Flynn. In particular, it picks up from the cliffhanger ending of the 2003-2004 arc "Mobius: 25 Years Later," which was set in what Ken considers the definitive canonical future of the series. It stars Knuckles' daughter from that future era, Lara-Su, among other new and returning characters. The project was first announced near the start of Ken's legal battle with Archie in 2011, and he's been posting WIP previews online for about a decade. Now, after all this time, a Lara-Su Chronicles book finally exists.

We'll get to the actual contents of that book in a bit.

"He can do that without getting in trouble with Sega?"

Believe it or not, yes, he can.

Thanks to the outcome of Archie Comics' woefully mismanaged lawsuits against Ken (yes, they sued him after he started filing for copyrights, not the other way around), he now has full legal ownership of every story he wrote for Archie Sonic and every character he created for the series. This was explicitly granted to him in the terms of the settlement between him and Archie (acting on behalf of Sega). He can even reprint his old Sonic material as-is to his heart's content. The main catch is just that he can't write new stories featuring Sega characters or trademarks, and his new stories also have to be distinct from Sonic at a glance to avoid confusing readers. As such, reprints can't use Sonic iconography on the cover, a few Sega characters (mainly Knuckles) have been renamed and slightly redesigned in the new stories, and the art style has been changed to less closely resemble Sonic. But otherwise, he can do whatever he wants with his own characters.

All of this is because Archie lost the original copy of Ken's work-for-hire contract that signed over the rights to his work. Without that (or any alternative that was considered permissible in court), his comics and characters are the property of their creator by default. Yes, those old comics are full of Sega stuff, but Sega doesn't automatically own the copyright for every drawing of Sonic in existence. And Sega put their stamp of approval all over those comics and let them get sold at retail for decades, even though (in the eyes of the court) there was no legal paperwork granting them ownership of any of it. It's almost like they were unwittingly distributing a fan comic for years and declaring it a fair use of their property, and now there's no takesies backsies. It's a strange and unique copyright situation. Again, they worked all this out in the settlement. And, yes, fans have long speculated that Ken stole and destroyed his own contract to regain the rights to his work, but frankly Archie was so incompetent throughout the lawsuit (it went so bad that they had to fire and replace their lawyers midway through) that I completely buy the idea of them just losing important legal documents.

Also, in case it needs to be spelled out: while Ken's a weirdo, it's ultimately a good thing for creatives everywhere that Archie lost their lawsuit against Ken. We do not want to live in a world where corporations can claim ownership of peoples' work without the contracts to back it up. That would be an incredibly dangerous legal precedent to set. And more comic creators, and artists in general, should own their own work! Corporations are not your friend! They'll delete your work for a tax write-off in a heartbeat! It's just bewildering that this guy, of all people, was the creator who ended up successfully getting his shit back, and that this is what he's doing with it.

"What about his old collaborators? Are they involved? Is he paying them?"

Ken is mostly doing The Lara-Su Chronicles solo, though he has, in fact, talked about compensating the artists involved in any material he's reprinting. The ones who give enough of a shit to get paid for a small scale reprint of something they did 20 years ago, anyway.

On the subject of his collaborators, it's also worth pointing out that Ken's wasn't the only contract that was lost. Most of the early Archie Sonic writers from before Ian Flynn's time seem to be in the same boat as Ken, with the ownership of their stories and characters defaulting back to them. Again, Archie fucked up big time. But like I said, most of them don't really seem to give a shit. For most of them, Sonic was just a random temporary gig they took to pay the bills while Marvel was busy going bankrupt in the '90s, not the thing that defined their entire careers.

The only other Archie Sonic contributor who's tried to do anything on the level of what Ken is doing was writer and editor Scott Fulop. In 2016 he attempted to sue Archie for the unauthorized use of what are now retroactively considered his copyrighted characters and stories, and he even announced a standalone comic about his most famous Sonic character, the recurring villain Mammoth Mogul (sort of a pastiche of DC's Vandal Savage and Marvel's Kingpin, with wizard powers added for spice). However, Fulop lost his lawsuit because he didn't put together a particularly compelling case. Since then he seems to have wiped all traces of his ill-advised Mammoth Mogul comic and his company, Narrative Ark Entertainment, from the internet. For now, this leaves The Lara-Su Chronicles the only project of its kind.

"What about those other Archie Sonic reprints he just announced?"

At the time of writing, Ken is once again claiming that he's trying to get the band back together to reprint all of Archie Sonic, now under the bad new banner "Floating Island Productions: MOBIAN LINE" that I can't imagine he consulted literally anyone else on.

So, like, look. As we've established, Ken can reprint his own stories. And if he can work something out with the other contributors whose contracts were lost, he can print their work, too. But there is no fucking way he's getting his hands on Ian Flynn's run, which Sega undoubtedly holds the copyright for. Even if they don't, Ian needs to maintain a good working relationship with both Sega and IDW if he's to keep his job, so he'd never go for this. Not to mention that Ian and Ken just... don't get along! Ken's whole plan here seems to be predicated on IDW going out of business (a thing he REALLY wants to happen) and freeing up the Sonic comic license, after which he knocks on Sega's door and goes "hey I've still got dirt on you guys," blackmailing them into giving him the Sonic license back so that he can reprint the later comics. Every step of this plan is ludicrous. It's never gonna happen.

He's been saying he wants to reprint the whole series for a few years now, though. This isn't really anything new. And despite his lofty plans that set Sonic Twitter ablaze, he quickly backpedaled. The only specific things in the works right now are a "two-volume omnibus" of all of his Knuckles stories and a collection of artist Scott Shaw's work on the very early Archie Sonic issues, since they're on good terms with each other. I have no idea how Ken plans on packaging these when he can't put any Sega characters or the Freedom Fighters on the covers, but these projects are small enough in scale that there's a decent chance they'll see the light of day. Scott Shaw only did like five issues. But anything beyond that? I'll believe it when I see it.

Or, y'know, this could've all just been a publicity stunt for his new book. I wouldn't put it past him. Let's just focus on the book that actually exists.

"So he finally did it? He made a whole Lara-Su book? It's out? He finished it??"

Yes and no.

The book that's out now is The Lara-Su Chronicles: Beginnings, a prologue for the series of seven graphic novels Ken somehow plans on making, even though it's taken him 13 years to put out literally anything new. I don't know whether or not this counts as book one of seven, because it only features 30 pages of new comics. 30.5 if I'm being generous.

Most of the book is actually just a reprint of his infamous Archie Sonic storyline "Mobius: 25 Years Later", which ran from issue #131 to #144 in 2003-2004. (Again, yes, he can reprint this, he just can't put Sonic on the cover.) Why's it infamous? Well, Ken had been building anticipation for this future era of the series for basically his entire run. We kept seeing King Sonic and Queen Sally from the future. Knuckles' entire backstory hinges on his dad having a vision of this future. Several years before Silver the Hedgehog was created, it was Lara-Su who was Sonic's equivalent to Future Trunks, the cool-looking child of one of the main characters who traveled back in time to try and prevent a dark future. Believe it or not, yes, there was hype for Lara-Su. And then we finally got M25YL, and none of that cool stuff happened. Instead it really ended up being about how unbearably boring the middle aged Sonic, Knuckles, Sally, and co. are in this peaceful future where Robotnik is dead and they're all married with kids, forced into traditional nuclear family gender roles. Lara-Su is present, but she mostly just does generic teen girl stuff and complains about how Knuckles won't let her do anything even though she REALLY wants to be the new Guardian of Angel Island, like, super bad! Come on, dad!!!

In its original printing, this meandering arc ended on an abrupt time travel cliffhanger that Ken was never able to follow up on before he left Archie in 2006. This new printing slightly changes that ending, using the unresolved timey-wimey shenanigans as a convenient excuse to alter the entire timeline. This creates the slightly different world of The Lara-Su Chronicles, where the few relevant Sega-owned characters have been replaced and everyone is ten times uglier.

After this, we finally get two short new stories picking up where M25YL left off: "The Storm," starring Acorn Kingdom super-spy and known creep Geoffrey St. John, and an early release of the first chapter of The Lara-Su Chronicles: Shattered Tomorrows, the first full TLSC graphic novel.

And now that we're all on the same page about what we're looking at, let's actually talk about the book!

The cover

Let's start by beating a dead horse. The cover art: it's still bad! But why is it bad?

The cover is, of course, based on Patrick Spaziante's cover from Archie Sonic #131, the start of the "Mobius: 25 Years Later" arc. (Ken did the layout for that cover, though, so in the eyes of the law he's the original creator who owns that cover.) That cover was, itself, a tribute to the iconic cover of Giant-Size X-Men #1 by Gil Kane and Dave Cockrum, the issue that introduced the version of the team with Wolverine, Storm, Nightcrawler, etc.

Ken seems to have forgotten that the point of both these covers was to hype up the arrival of a new cast of characters. The new guys are supposed to make a dramatic entrance front and center. That's the focal point. Meanwhile, the cover for Beginnings has the old timeline versions of the cast from Archie Sonic dramatically bursting out of a shattered crystal ball, while their new counterparts look on in mild bemusement - if they're even bothering to look at all, since most of the characters here are just copied and pasted from their profile pages. That's just not how you do this particular homage! The point is supposed to be "out with the old, in with the new." And why are they using a crystal ball to view the past? Hell, why are they even using a crystal ball at all? The original arc was presented as a magical vision of the future courtesy of Tails' uncle Merlin (don't ask), but the new story leans all the way into being futuristic sci-fi.

Of course, there is no real artistic intent at play here. The old versions of the characters are placed front and center in the crystal ball simply because Ken traced over Spaziante's original art of Lara-Su and Julie-Su (the only two characters on the Sonic cover he owns) and threw out the rest, ruining the composition in the process. Look at the awkward empty space where Sonic, Sally, and Rotor once were, and the new drawing of The Character Formerly Known As Knuckles who's no longer properly centered between his wife and daughter. Even if Ken can claim ownership of the cover because he did the original layout, this all just feels scummy and lame.

And, yeah, if it needs to be said, the new characters and Ken's new rendering style look like absolute fucking dogshit. Putting new Lara-Su directly next to old Lara-Su does her no favors. The shattered glass effect looks absolutely atrocious. I could go on, but we'll have plenty of time to talk about the art style when we see how bad the stories inside look.

Changes to "Mobius: 25 Years Later"

Overall, 99% of M25YL is presented identically to its original printing. Sonic, Sally, Knuckles, et al. are still present with no changes to their names and no tweaks to the art. Even the original cover for issue #131 is included only a few pages into this book with its Archie, Sonic, and Sega logos still intact and everything. Again, because of the weird copyright situation described above, these preexisting comics can be released without any changes.

There is exactly one bizarre change to the art, though, where a hand drawn shot of Angel Island is replaced with an unfitting photo background and the ugly Floating Island photobash that Ken has been using as his personal logo for decades. I think he only did this as part of a test for his motion comic app that nobody asked for. I don't know why this had to make it into the print version. It's like the book is firing a warning shot for what's to come if you keep reading.

The new content begins on the final page of M25YL. In the original wet fart of a cliffhanger ending, Sonic and co. accidentally alter the timeline with an old time machine of Robotnik's and Lara-Su begins to fade away. Then, after everything goes white, we just cut to the present day heroes going "gee, you ever think about the future?" In this new printing, that last bit has been cut, and the rest of the page has been awkwardly shrunk down so that Ken can fit in a new panel. We now see the hands of an off-screen villain, seemingly named "Override," proclaiming that "the Praetorian" (Knuckles) has messed up the timeline again and that they'll finally get their revenge.

Who is this Override? I have no fucking clue. The new stories in this book make no mention of them. You have to buy the next book to find out.

My confusion over the identity of this villain overlaps with another big problem: name changes. So many names and nouns have been arbitrarily changed in The Lara-Su Chronicles, even ones Ken didn't have to change for copyright reasons, and I only know what half of them are replacing because Ken's been tweeting about this shit for years.

The echidnas are now a totally original alien race called "the Echyd'nya." Even in flashbacks to events from M25YL attempting to mimic the old art style, if it's on a new comic page, they're gonna call themselves "Echyd'nya." Evil echidna faction the Dark Legion is now the "Cyberdark Dominion," hailing from the "Cyberdark Colony." The Brotherhood of Guardians is still the Brotherhood of Guardians, but now the main guardian is called "The Praetorian." Angel Island is still called "The Floating Island," like it was in the older Archie comics, but it's ALSO sometimes called "Avion"? When I read this I wasn't sure if he had randomly renamed Albion, the other echidna city from the Archie comics. But no. Now we have an Albion AND an Avion. Sally is mentioned simply as "Princess Acorn," while Sonic is referenced once as an unnamed "blue-spined Erinaceinae," using the scientific name for hedgehog to make it sound more sci-fi. In an incredibly ballsy move, Ken even mentions Robotnik as "the Insurrectionist Kintobor," retaining his original surname from the Archie comics that's just "Robotnik" backwards. Guess Sega never trademarked that one.

Aside from every name change being a downgrade, this leads to confusion when you're not sure if something is supposed to be new, or if it's just an Archie thing you're supposed to recognize despite having a new name and design. Is "Override" someone I'm supposed to know already? Am I just supposed to have read a fucking tweet from Ken where he said he changed the name of some existing villain to "Override"? The answer is no, but I had to term search his Twitter just to verify this.

Moving on!

New story #1: "The Storm"

If you've been following the WIPs, this is that story about Geoffrey St. John that Ken's been posting previews of for almost a decade. The title page copyright dates it to 2015, and that absurdly long gestation is probably why the art is so inconsistent here. Even the style of speech bubbles and the font change between pages two and three.

This is a problem when there's supposed to be a deliberate and noticeable change in art style here signaling the moment where the time travel stuff alters the timeline, replacing the Archie Sonic world with the Lara-Su Chronicles world. If you don't already know that's what's going on, the idea isn't conveyed clearly at all. It just goes from one hideous art style to a slightly different one with no explanation.

The main problem here is that Ken has hitched his wagon to a franchise about anthropomorphic animals when he can't draw furries to save his life. (Though a bit later in the book we'll also begin to wonder if he can even still draw humans.) He's shifted away from the cartooniness of the original designs and given them more human proportions and facial features, but this just ends up making them look incredibly uncanny and lumpy and gross. With some designs he's trying to lean into more of a Star Trek alien vibe, but then he still insists upon retaining the giant Sonic eyes on most characters even though he has no idea how to make them emote.

The rendering of these godawful designs doesn't do them any favors, either. Ken's going for more of a painterly look now, but it almost seems as though he's shading everything with Photoshop's burn and dodge tools that are designed to darken and lighten select areas of a photo. The result is a muddy, smudgy look that makes it feel like the color layer has been smeared in vaseline. And it only looks worse after coming off of 14 chapters of M25YL that have way more palatable art.

The backgrounds, too, are a complete mess, a jumble of low res jpeg photo elements (sometimes with extremely noticeable pixelation), stock textures, and smooth digital gradients. There's no real sense of place here, and it gives everything a surreal, dreamlike quality when you can't really tell where anything is supposed to take place. This first story is seemingly set in a high-tech stronghold below Castle Acorn called "the Bunker," but it could just as easily be confused for the bridge of a spaceship. This whole story features characters speaking to each other over floating video displays and hologram projectors from three different locations, but without a hologram effect and without a clear sense of where the characters are it often feels like they're just in the same room as each other. Characters will be in one location on one photo background, and then the camera angle changes and they're in a completely different place, because Ken just uses mismatched photos off of the internet. It's been like 25 years since he first tried using photo backgrounds in the Archie comics and he hasn't gotten any better at it.

When I had my boyfriend read the book to see if it made literally any sense to him (it didn't), Anthony said this: "This is the kind of shit I'd see linked on a Second Life world that hasn't been touched since 2004." I think he really hit the nail on the head. Now, there's actually a contrarian part of me that thinks that might theoretically almost be kind of cool, in sort of a messy counterculture way. I love weird indie shit. I was a Homestuck reader! But this isn't a scrappy mixed media zine, or experimental outsider art from someone just messing around with Photoshop, or a loving throwback to weird old internet art, or even something intentionally bizarre and offputting like Xavier: Renegade Angel or a PilotRedSun video or whatever where the fact that it's weird and ugly is part of the humor. This is supposed to be a sincere sci-fi epic drawing on Star Trek and Jack Kirby comics, made by a guy who's been drawing comics professionally since the '80s. This is supposed to look good. This is supposed to compete with mainstream comics that are on sale right now. He thinks any day now IDW's gonna go out of business and Sega will come crawling back to him so that he can stamp the Sonic logo on shit like this. It just doesn't work.

But, okay. It's ugly. We knew it would be ugly. But that ugliness would be much easier to accept if it was in service of an otherwise genuinely good story. So what about the writing? After all this time, how does Ken choose to kick off this new saga? Well, credit where credit's due. "The Storm" feels like a proper continuation of Ken's writing style from M25YL.

Because it's eleven pages of characters standing around and talking while nothing fucking happens.

Here's the synopsis: A dog woman named Brownie, an ensign in the Royal Secret Service fresh out of training and the only character who's almost cute, walks up to Geoffrey to deliver a report. He's immediately suspicious of her, asking who let her in and if she's a spy for Elias (Sally's brother, if you're new here) or Alicia (Sally's mom). The art style suddenly shifts when the timeline is altered, but the scene continues uninterrupted. Geoffrey points a gun at Brownie when she won't say whose spy she is. Geoffrey is distracted by a call and proceeds to have a conversation via a mix of holograms and video screens with Remington (head of Echidnaopolis security), Spectre (Knuckles' great great great great great grandpa, the one with the helmet who always looks evil), and a new scientist character named Dr. Zephyr/Zephur. (The spelling of this character's name changes multiple times throughout the 11-page story, because I guess nine years wasn't enough time to spellcheck this shit.) They say a bunch of made up technobabble nonsense about how it looks like the timeline was just altered and Knuckles and co. seem to be involved. It's complete drivel that I'm not even going to try to make sense of. Everyone decides to investigate further, and the conversation ends. Brownie tells Geoffrey she's his spy, then walks out and implies she's actually Alicia's spy in her inner monologue.

To be continued!!!

Yes, that's it. It's really just a bunch of technobabble where some characters talk about how it seems like the timeline has been fucked with. That's it. The whole time Geoffrey doesn't even get up out of his damn chair, which he's of course sitting in backwards to show how cool he is. It's just 11 pages of Geoffrey sitting in a chair and talking to people and looking uglier than he's ever looked. Nothing happens. Nine years for this.

I'm also struck by how meaningless all of this is to anyone who hasn't read Archie Sonic. The added context from M25YL may help a little, but "The Storm" focuses on characters who weren't in that arc, and the story does very little to introduce who any of them are. Brownie could've been super useful as an inexperienced point of view character who's only meeting the others for the first time here, but instead she's really just a passive observer who's here as part of some kind of 4D chess game between Geoffrey and Alicia, an off-screen character whose motivations in this era of the story are completely unknown to even returning readers. Who are the good guys and bad guys here? What are the conflicts and the stakes of the story moving forward? What do these characters want? Basic questions like this aren't really answered. I can't imagine a new reader being able to make heads or tails of this. Hell, I can't really imagine a returning reader who hasn't been following the last decade's worth of Ken's tweets about this story making heads or tails of it, either.

...Maybe more will happen in the next story?

New story #2: Shattered Tomorrows preview chapter

After another message from Ken, the story of The Lara-Su Chronicles proper begins with the redesigned Lara-Su walking along a jpeg photograph beach at sunset and crying while thinking about how Knuckles - sorry, his name is K'Nox now - is dead.

Yep! Straight into the dad stuff!

Look, I'm the last person to complain about writers getting super personal and drawing from their own baggage in their writing, but Ken's just no fucking good at it. There's no nuance, nothing interesting to say. He just keeps writing mediocre-to-horrible dads whose misdeeds are always justified by their "good intentions," and then sometimes they die and their kids are like "we may have fought but actually you were the bestest dad ever and I'll miss you forever, I'll never be able to fill your shoes!"

This is the only part of the new material here that feels like it has any heart behind it, because I know how much his complex relationship with his late deadbeat father means to Ken (there's an author's note in this outright saying as much). But the guy died 42 years ago, and it doesn't feel like Ken has had any new thoughts about this part of his life in those four decades. He's just not an introspective or self-aware enough artist to actually mine his personal baggage for anything beyond "father knows best."

Anyway, so then it jumps forward in time(?) and now we're following this human guy who looks like this.

Previously, Ken got a lot of shit for literally just using the likeness of Anthony Mackie for this guy, based on his IMDB profile photo. Ken has thus redesigned the character... and by that I mean I think he looks more like Ernie Hudson now? Ken's clearly just working off of photo references (if not straight up tracing), given his face is the most detailed and realistic-looking thing on any page where he's present.

But you may be wondering: who is this, and why is he here? Well, for one, he's here to run around in front of some low res space photos while making trite references to things like Planet of the Apes and Star Trek. Haha, he makes a joke about red shirts! Original!! But beyond that, Commander Mykhal Taelor (yes, that's really how he chose to spell it) is a human... from Earth! Archie Sonic readers are probably confused, because in those comics Mobius is Earth in the distant post-apocalyptic future. Well, despite being a Planet of the Apes fan, Ken always hated that particular worldbuilding decision from Karl Bollers, always preferring to think of Mobius as a separate alien planet. And now he gets to make that canon in his own stories and throw out Karl's ideas. So Mobius is basically just, like, a Star Trek planet now, with its own alien creatures that sometimes just so happen to look like anthropomorphic Earth animals.

Also, at one point Taelor wonders if the inhabitants of the dead Mobius might have been human, and the alien ally he's talking to over the radio says it's unlikely. "I don't understand why your kind has a problem understanding you're a minority within a minority." Perhaps poor wording for a line said to the only Black character in the story.

Anyway, Commander Taelor here seems to have discovered the uninhabited husk of Mobius after the vague time-space cataclysm everyone was worried about in M25YL has come to pass, and he finds an audio log from Lara-Su that I presume will explain what happened. I guess those are the titular Lara-Su Chronicles. In theory this flash forward establishes some sense of pressing danger, but when the threat to the planet is so unclear and technobabble-y it just kind of lands with a thud.

It doesn't take long before we get back to Lara-Su being sad about her dad. A good little chunk of the chapter is spent with this new timeline's Lara-Su recalling moments in her life, including echoes of the original Lara-Su's memories from M25YL, which feels redundant coming hot off the heels of a straight reprint of that entire arc. And boy, for anyone who read the later Archie Sonic comics, the protagonist having vague memories of the old version of the series from before a lawsuit-related timeline reboot sure does sound familiar, huh?

The art inconsistency somehow becomes even worse in this story, with Ken flip-flopping on whether or not he wants to use outlines, with the no-outline art managing to look even worse by relying entirely on Ken's awful rendering. By this point in the book, readers are also likely to start noticing how often Ken reuses art from previous panels. This is a shortcut that tons of comic artists use, of course. Invincible famously did a joke about this. It's often understandable. But, again... it sure does stand out in a book that took 13 years to make with only 30 pages of new art. Amusingly, Ken even manages to combine his inconsistency and recycling problems by reusing the same art with and without outlines. And, of course, any time Ken tries to draw the Archie era designs it's just... the worst.

And, yes, it's in this dreamlike montage sequence of Lara-Su's life that we get...

The uncomfortable family nudity scene, followed by the dual timeline Julie-Su breastfeeding scene.

Yeah, you might have heard about this one already. If this incredibly eerie presentation of Lara-Su's hazy memories of the two different timelines make it hard to tell what's going on, don't worry. There's another, clearer version later in the book as part of Julie-Su's character profile, because I guess Ken was just so proud of it.

(I censored these myself because I'm not playing Russian roulette with Tumblr's inconsistent nudity rules and risking getting banned lmao)

Like, okay. Is a mother breastfeeding her child really that shocking of a thing to see in a story? No, not at all. But, like... when it's two characters who you previously created for an officially licensed Sonic the Hedgehog comic for 7-year-olds... and some of those officially licensed Sonic the Hedgehog comics for 7-year-olds are reprinted in the same book... and when it's drawn like this... yeah, it's kind of a shocker.

It just looks so unnatural. Julie-Su is posed very deliberately so that you'll see both of her breasts, and in the new timeline version she's barely even holding Lara-Su so you can really get a good look at her supermodel body, showing zero physical signs that she just gave birth. Most people will immediately jump to this being Ken putting his fetishes in his work (a type of criticism that I'm incredibly tired of - it's 2024, all the cool artists are blatantly putting their fetishes in their work now). And my immediate response is that, no, this is probably just Ken trying to come off as really mature on a surface level, a thing he's been obsessed with since the Archie days. Free from the shackles of writing a licensed children's comic, of course he's going to jump immediately into depicting some nonsexual, artistic nudity to try and prove he's A Real Mature Artist For Grown-Ups who just thinks the human body is beautiful and breastfeeding shouldn't be a taboo etc. etc.

But then, like. You look at some of the other character designs. Like Espio's daughter Salma, who's now this horrifying alien lizard person who's always nude, and her scale pattern puts scales exactly where her nipples should be. Or you look at his comments about the Echyd'nya age of consent. Or you look at how he keeps drawing Lara-Su in this. Like, does the shuttle really need this, like... reverse chaise lounge thing in the cockpit? So that we can keep getting these shots of the 16-year-old Lara-Su lying on her stomach and posing with one of her legs kicked up, her naked ass in plain view?

The vibe isn't great, is what I'm saying!

I'm not going to try to ascribe authorial intent here. I don't know. I'm not a psychic. Given his very blatant reliance on photo references elsewhere in the book, it's entirely possible he just referenced some figure drawing photos that were maybe just a little too sexy. And also, he's an American comic book artist, and a boomer one at that. Those guys tend to draw women a certain way, even when it's not supposed to be sexual. I don't fucking know. It just sucks. I'm not gonna make some hyperbolic statement about how this makes him a literal pedophile who should be in jail, but it is deeply offputting and objectifying.

But if you already knew about the nursing scenes and were hoping there was some other really shocking stuff in there for me to talk about in this review, sorry to disappoint, but nope. That's the only shockingly weird new thing in here. Once again, not a lot happens in this story, and what does happen is pretty boring.

Once we get past the recap stuff and the human guy, the plot developments boil down to this: The timeline was altered at the end of M25YL... but not as much as you might think. In the new timeline, Knuckles ("K'Nox"), Cobar (now looking significantly younger), and Rotor (now a rhino just called "The Emissary") still traveled via shuttle to go find a time machine in the Badlands and fix the time-space continuum, like in the climax of the original arc. This time, though, Sonic wasn't there, and Lara-Su came along without having to stow away. Lara-Su watches the ship while the grown ups go deal with the time machine, and then after a couple panels Not Rotor comes back with Cobar and is like "Hey, Cobar got hurt, we gotta leave. Dunno what happened to your dad." And then they just, like. Presume that Knuckles must have died. Even though we have no idea what happened to him. And then they just fly away. And then Lara-Su is sad that her dad died.

And that's pretty much it!

This is supposed to be a really emotional sequence - it's literally the scene where Lara-Su learns that Knuckles is dead - but instead it comes off as unintentionally funny because of how poorly it's portrayed. Not showing Knuckles' actual disappearance is a huge misstep, for one, making his uncertain fate more confusing and anticlimactic than dramatic. But also, Ken keeps just using the same two drawings of Rotor for two pages, so he doesn't really seem to be emoting at all, and he's in this spacey hazmat suit that honestly just makes him look like fucking Moltar from Space Ghost. So the whole time I'm just reading his dialogue in Moltar's deadpan voice as he's like "I dunno. We did what we could. Anyway, let's leave."

After this, we get a two-page spread previewing the rest of the story from Shattered Tomorrows. It's basically like a trailer in comic form. It has one of the most mystifying layouts I've ever seen in a comic book. I have no idea what order I'm supposed to read this in.

Yeah, I kinda have a feeling this is the full extent of what Ken has drawn for the rest of that book. I'd love to be wrong, but I fear that I'm right.

Bonus material: Data files

These are mostly very dull, recapping a lot of events shared between Ken's Archie run and the new Lara-Su Chronicles timeline. It seems like almost his entire run is still considered canon to the backstory of the new timeline, just with some names changed, and things only really diverge at the climax of M25YL. But I'll share the interesting stuff here.

Lara-Su

The main thing you'll notice in Lara-Su's profile is the massive, unreadable wall of text where Ken felt the need to list the entire Knuckles family tree, split across both pages.

This is literally so long that Lara-Su's personal history has to awkwardly cut off mid-sentence and be continued on the final page of the book, after the rest of the data files.

Also, please note that this list gives Julie-Su's mom's full name as Mari-Su of the House of Atrades. Incredible on all levels.

There's also a reference to the dark timeline Lara-Su was originally supposed to come from. You know, the one where Julie-Su is the leader of a rebel movement fighting against a Knuckles who had gone mad with power? The timeline that would have been way more interesting than the one in M25YL? Here it seems to have been written off as the result of another "timeline disruption." Lara-Su allegedly has vague memories of this timeline, in the same way that she has vague memories of the M25YL timeline.

Geoffrey

Geoffrey's bio mostly recaps events from the Archie comics, which means the Sonic/Sally/Geoffrey love triangle has to be alluded to. His rivalry with Sonic is described like this:

"He would later resurface when Kintobor was transporting his latest hi-tech weapon, the Dynamac-3000. It was during that mission he discovered a rival for the Princess' affections. Whereas the Princess would be one of a line of conquests where St. John was concerned, the blue-spined Erinaceinae who protested doth a bit too much regarding his affections for the Princess for St. John's taste would prove to be a source of great sport and amusement."

Yes. It's gross. Saying that Geoffrey saw Sally as "one of a line of conquests" is gross. Ken writing this and then still treating Geoffrey as the coolest badass ever is gross. The "Princess Acorn" is also first on the list of Geoffrey's "female relationships" elsewhere in his bio, though I suppose how much of a "relationship" they had is left vague. Honestly, at this point the fact that Ken didn't explicitly confirm that Geoffrey took the underage Sally's virginity in the book comes off as a display of restraint. The bar couldn't be any lower, I know.

Remington

His bio is, frankly, shockingly long for such a minor character, though I guess he does get a large portion of the word salad dialogue in "The Storm." There's a lot of stuff here about how the identities of his biological parents are shrouded in mystery, a plot point that fans have long speculated Ken just straight up forgot about in his time at Archie. (Ian confirmed that Kragok from the Dark Legion was Remington's dad, though, so this isn't really much of a mystery.)

Lien-Da

She gets a bio even though she's not present in the two new stories, just so we get to look at her awful new design and compare it to how Steven Butler drew her earlier in the book:

Commander Taelor

We get to see two drawings of him with the same exact Ernie Hudson face side by side! That's fun.

Julie-Su

She gets a list of "known friends," but the only character listed is Knuckles' mom. Poor Julie-Su.

Also, Ken feels the need to reiterate that Knuckles and Julie-Su are still distant cousins. He made a whole new timeline where he can change whatever details he wants, but THAT had to remain canon. Thanks, Ken.

And then after the data files we get the special thanks page, listing everyone who preordered the book and/or bought TLSC merch from Ken.

With my name on the list. Because I had to buy a copy to cover it for the blog.

My name is on the very next page right after the breastfeeding panel in Julie-Su's data file.

Yep. He got me.

Is it at least a well put together book? Like, in terms of manufacturing quality?

Its physical quality is... fine. It's a nice, sturdy hardcover. The print quality seems fine, though mine does have a bit of smudging from some sort of printing error on one page. The pages don't seem like they'll fall out on me. The image quality is crisp. The colors are vibrant. This is a low bar, but this is one of the few places where I'm able to give this book anything resembling praise.

The formatting and graphic design work, on the other hand...

(I didn't crumple those page corners, it came like that.)

For one, the placement and sizes of the M25YL pages is inconsistent, largely due to the fact that the book doesn't actually match the proportions of a comic. A lot of pages aren't properly centered vertically. Some pages go all the way up to the top edge of the paper, while others leave a visible gap of about half a centimeter. Every page has a 1cm gap to its left and right, which is sometimes filled in with a solid color or gradient that doesn't quite match the page it's surrounding. I have to assume Ken didn't have any sort of source files or original artwork to work off of, as those ideally would've had more generous bleed to account for slight shifts in printing. It kind of seems like he just got the highest resolution versions he could find of the digital releases online and printed those. The colors are a dead ringer for the digital versions, which have always looked slightly more saturated and pastel than they did in print.

I can't say this bodes well for his further plans for Archie Sonic reprints - sorry, Mobian Line reprints. If they ever come out, please, for the love of god, do not buy those. I don't care how much you love Archie Sonic, they aren't going to be good reprints. For comparison, IDW's similarly priced hardcover Sonic collections have none of these formatting problems, because they're made by people who know what they're doing with access to the actual source files.

The book also has its fair share of text-focused pages, split between the data files and messages directly from Ken about the history of his career and this project, and these are formatted in the most amateurish way possible. Just massive walls of Arial text over either plain white backgrounds, simple gradients, or faded photos. I've seen school yearbooks with better graphic design. Even ignoring my subjective feelings about the art and stories within, this book does not feel like it's worth $36 USD.

It's frankly shocking how shabby he let this thing look considering it's supposed to be his baby. And doesn't that really sum it all up?

Closing thoughts

Obviously, I did not expect this to be any good. But I'm still left kind of dumbfounded by it.

I think what really strikes me about it is that Ken had a blank check to do whatever he wanted here. He got an opportunity many writers would kill for when he gained complete ownership of his most famous work. He's free from the limitations of a monthly licensed comic book for children, free to make whatever creative decisions he wants without editors or other writers or Sega to worry about, free to completely reinvent the series to his heart's content and finally tell the story of his dreams. And with that opportunity and 13 years of his time, he made... this. A direct continuation of "Mobius: 25 Years Later" that barely changes anything about the characters or world beyond their awful new designs, even though much of the word count is spent rambling about how the timeline has changed. A story that makes zero concessions for new readers, or even returning readers who don't already have the last decade's worth of Ken's tweets explaining his creative decisions burned into their memory. 30 pages where nothing really happens and the story barely moves forward an inch despite the decades-long wait - but maybe something will happen if you buy the next book!

Who is this for? Maybe this really is a project for no one but Ken. Maybe he just really, really wants to finish the story he started, a story that's personal to him due to the family history it evokes, and the number of people who enjoy it or buy it beyond that is irrelevant. I think that many of the best artists are incredibly self-indulgent ones working with that exact mindset, artists whose enthusiasm for their own work jumps off the page or screen. So, if that's the case, then why the fuck isn't he telling the damn story? What's stopping him? Why is he still spinning his wheels? Where is that passion for his own work? Because it sure as hell isn't there on the page. There's a huge part of me that really wishes I could say "Man, what a weirdo, but you do you, Ken. You tell your weird little story." But there's barely any story here. It's like he loves styling himself as a storyteller, but he's terrified of finally having to actually tell a story after all this time. He's still stuck in the exact same mode of writing he was in almost 30 years ago when he was doing 6-page backup stories about Knuckles, just killing time and stringing readers along until he's eventually able to truly realize his vision. If not now, then when, Ken?

Even the back cover blurb is mostly just a dry recap of the history of this thing. It was a Sonic comic, the original arc was published in these issues, it went unfinished, Ken left Archie, the lawsuits happened, now he's continuing the story. There's nothing about why anyone should give a shit about this as its own story, even though Ken has spent years trying in vain to convince people TLSC is its own beast that shouldn't be judged as a Sonic story. I think deep down he knows that there's no pitch for this beyond the novelty of it originating from Sonic. And that's why, despite declaring that he'd leave the site, he's still on Twitter riling up Sonic fans. It's the only attention he gets at this point.

Maybe this is too harsh when those 30 pages of new comics are just intended as a preview for the "real" book. But the elephant in the room is that we have no idea if that "real" book will ever actually come out, let alone the entire series of seven graphic novels that will supposedly complete this saga.

Ken is undeniably a complete jackass and all around unpleasant, vindictive person who's rightly become an industry pariah. He's a self-proclaimed paragon of progressive values who'll send Comicsgaters after his successors for the crime of not worshiping the ground he walks on, and then turn around and announce he's going to reprint their work without even consulting them. He's a sore winner who already won his copyright battle on a level most comic writers would never dare to dream of, and yet still won't truly be satisfied until he sees an entire major comic publisher go out of business, putting god knows how many people out of work, because he thinks this would get him back the license to a video game franchise he doesn't even like.

But I still have to pity him.

As an artist, the trajectory of his life is my nightmare. I think all of us fear dying before we can tell all the stories we want to tell. There's simply never enough time to do everything. And here's Ken in his 60s, talking about how he's still planning on making his magnum opus all by himself out of stubbornness and pride, despite demonstrably proving he can't handle the workload, and also talking about how if he dies before the project can be finished he'll have to pass the torch on to his kids and get them to finish it for him. It's so grim. Even just typing that sends a shiver down my spine. It took nine years of his limited time on Earth to finish and release an 11-page comic about Geoffrey St. John sitting backwards in a chair.

This is a purgatory of his own creation. And yet... I'm not sure he's ever been prouder. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

I guess if I want people to take anything away from this review, it's this:

Lesson one: If you're an artist or writer of some kind, or an aspiring creator, don't wait around. No one else is going to tell your story for you. Start writing that novel. Start drawing that webcomic. Start making that game. If Penders can put out this damn book that no one asked for after 13 years of work, then proudly proclaim that he's still going to make six or seven more books and also reprint hundreds of comics he doesn't have all of the rights to, then show up to cons with that foul Lara-Su Chronicles: Shattered Tomorrows banner and sit in front of it beaming with pride, fully aware of his critics but saying "fuck 'em, I know I'm hot shit," then you can do fucking anything. Tell the weird, sincere, cringe story of your dreams. If Ken Penders doesn't have imposter syndrome, then nobody should.

And lesson two: Don't buy Ken's books.

#tkp post #tlsc #tlsc beginnings

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bucky-barnes-diaries · 6 months ago

Text

The First Time

Pairing || Beefy!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary || Bucky takes your virginity.

World Count || 3414

Contents & Warnings || Fluff, Smut — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, pet names, virgin!reader, loss of virginity, protected vaginal sex, oral (female receiving), mention of bodily fluids.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Beefy!Bucky Masterlist

You and Bucky had been in a relationship together for three incredible months now. Before that, you and he had been friends for two years. You have had a crush on him for what felt like forever, your heart skipping a beat every time he smiled at you, but you never had the courage to do anything about it due to your previous relationships.

It took a little matchmaking from your mutual friend, Natasha, who knew that you were both pining for each other, for Bucky to finally ask you out since he had been holding those same feelings for you all along.

One of the reasons that it had taken him such a long time to ask you out was his deep-seated insecurities. The weight of his past still haunted him, and he was terrified that you would end up hurt because of him. But you wanted nothing more than to be with him.

You cherished every moment of your friendship with Bucky, but these past three months of dating had been absolutely magical, filled with tender moments.

One thing that had been absent in your relationship was sex. Bucky was incredibly attentive to your comfort, never once pressuring you with the topic of sex, always letting you set the pace.

During those heated make-out sessions on his worn leather sofa, when his touches became more passionate and his breathing more ragged, he always stopped to check on you, his blue eyes filled with concern and care. When you told him you weren’t in the mood, he would simply kiss your temple softly, pull you close against his warm chest, and hold you there, making you feel safe and cherished.

But you hadn’t been entirely honest with him about something important. The real reason you avoided taking things further during passionate moments was your virginity. Past experiences had made it difficult to open up about it because previous boyfriends had mocked you for it, leaving you with deep trust issues.

But Bucky was different, you knew it. His gentle soul, caring nature, and dedication to your happiness and comfort made you feel safe in a way you had never felt before. Tonight, you were ready to open up to him. You were ready to share this intimate truth with him and hopefully take this next step in your relationship together.

You found yourself on his sofa after an exhausting day at work. Your lips moved together in perfect sync as his strong hands, flesh and metal, held your waist with just the right amount of pressure. Your fingers were tangled in his soft hair, keeping him close as you lost yourself in the moment. The movie playing in the background became nothing more than white noise.

His lips felt incredible against yours, soft yet demanding, as his hands explored your curves with touches that sent tingles through your body. The desire to go further, to feel more of him, was overwhelming. It was stronger than you have ever felt before.

But that familiar voice of insecurity whispered in the back of your mind, bringing a wave of anxiety with it. What if Bucky was just like the others? What if your virginity was a deal-breaker to him? Deep in your heart, you knew he would never react that way.

When his warm hand slipped under your shirt, slowly inching higher towards your breasts, you forced yourself to pause.

“Bucky, wait.” He immediately pulled back, his blue eyes meeting yours with concern, panic flashing across his features. “I’m sorry, doll, if I went too far.” His thumb gently caressed your cheek, his face portraying genuine worry and apology.

“N-no, it’s not that. I-I liked that, I just… I need to tell you something.” He nodded encouragingly, his patient silence giving you the strength to continue.

Here goes nothing.

“I’m a virgin,” you whispered, ducking your head in embarrassment. His fingers gently caught your chin, tilting your face back up to meet his gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was scared and ashamed that you… that you may not want me if you knew,” your voice trembled as you poured out to him, and despite your best efforts to stay composed, a tear escaped, rolling down your cheek. Your past rejections weighed heavily on your heart in this vulnerable moment.

“Don’t want you?” He shook his head, his expression softening as he caught your tear with his thumb. “I want nothing more than you, doll. I hope I’ve never made you uncomfortable. I never want you to feel pressured to have sex with me. Never.” His voice was thick with emotion, so full of sincerity that it made your heart flutter.

You surprised him with a sweet kiss. The moment couldn’t have been more perfect—his acceptance lifted a weight you had been carrying for so long.

“You’ve never pressured me, Bucky. You have always been respectful and understanding.”

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before leaning his body against yours, his warmth and comfort enveloping you. “How about we just cuddle tonight?” His hands tenderly cupped your cheeks as he placed a feather-light kiss on the tip of your nose.

You shook your head, bringing his lips back to yours in a passionate, searing kiss. The desire coursing through your veins was overwhelming—you wanted him more than ever, you needed to feel him completely.

“I want you, Bucky. I’ve never wanted anything more. Please…”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to if you’re not ready. I can wait for as long as you need.”

“I’ve never been so sure of something in my life as this. I trust you completely.”

In one fluid movement, he pulled you to straddle his lap, making you gasp. The atmosphere was growing heavy with your shared desire and anticipation.

“Say it again, doll,” he murmured in your ear, his lips brushing against your skin as he placed a soft kiss on your cheek.

“I want you, Bucky. Please.”

He picked you up with strong, sure hands, making you shriek with delight as he carried you bridal-style to his bedroom. Laying you carefully down on the plush mattress, he pressed his warm body against yours, and you reveled in the delicious weight of him on top as he kissed you breathless. His kisses were deep and passionate, filled with such pure adoration that your heart fluttered in your chest.

He reached back and tugged off his red Henley, revealing his perfect physique inch by tantalizing inch. Bucky wasn’t just painfully beautiful, he was also hot. Your fingers itched to trace his skin, to feel his perfect body. Next, he slowly removed his pants, leaving him only in his tight black underwear. The impressive outline of him was clearly visible through the thin fabric, making your breath catch.

“Can I please undress you?” His voice was husky with desire but still gentle, his hair falling over his eyes.

You nodded eagerly while biting your bottom lips, your chest rising and falling with quick breaths. Although desire coursed hot through your veins, you couldn’t help but feel shy at the thought of being completely exposed before him. Bucky, ever so attentive, sensed your slight hesitation.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, doll. We can take things slow. At your own tempo.” His eyes were soft with understanding.

“I want to keep going. I-I’m just a little nervous,” you murmured, biting the inside of your cheek while your fingers fidgeted.

He traced your brow with the pad of his thumb, his touch feather-light and soothing, his voice warm and reassuring. “We’re in this together, You and me. I want to make this as perfect and comfortable as I possibly can for you.”

“Keep going, please. Undress me and make me yours.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but filled with trust.

With a quick, tender kiss to your lips, he helped remove your clothing piece by piece, his movements slow. As each article was discarded, his eyes grew wider, a dark mixture of adoration and burning hunger. He left you bra and panties on, giving you time to get comfortable. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on,” he breathed.

He kissed you passionately before his lips began a torturous journey downward, leaving a trail of heated kisses across your neck, paying special attention to that sensitive spot underneath your ear. His lips and tongue worked together perfectly, making you hum as your fingers threaded through his hair. The path of kisses led him to the valley between your breasts, where he paused to look up at you for permission, which you gave. His hands, one warm flesh and one cool metal, reached underneath you to unclasp your bra. Once removed, his attention was on your exposed skin. He worshiped every inch with his lips and tongue, and when he finally took your sensitive nipples into his mouth, altering between gentle sucks and teasing flicks, you couldn’t help but arch into his touch and release a breathy moan.

He looked up at you, his lips parted and pupils dilated, and hair falling deliciously over his face. Your eyes widened, suddenly feeling self-conscious about your vocal response, but Bucky’s reassuring smile immediately put you at ease.

“I don’t want you to hold back. Make any sound that you want so I know what makes you feel good. I want you to enjoy yourself, doll.” His voice was rough with desire but still so tender.

He continued his descent, placing open-mouthed kisses across your stomach, each touch and kiss sending sparks of pleasure through your body. The further down he went, leaving a trail of heat in his wake, the more your legs parted instinctively, anticipating what was to come. Your body seemed to know exactly what it wanted, even if your mind was racing with nervousness.

Once he was finally nestled between your open legs, he looked up at you through hooded eyes, his breath ragged and pupils blown with desire. “Can I taste you?” He murmured, his hot breath fanning across your covered core, making your back arch slightly and goosebumps ghosting your skin. You frantically nodded, your whole body trembling with anticipation, needing him to continue, wanting desperately to feel his mouth on your most intimate part.

He carefully, and slowly, pulled down your panties, his metal hand cool against your heated skin. Your heart was pounding so hard in your chest you were sure he could hear it. You have never gone this far before, but you trusted Bucky completely. You knew he would take care of you.

Bucky’s tongue traced his lower lip as he saw you bare and exposed, already wet and ready for his mouth. He spread your legs wider with gentle but firm hands to get a perfect view of your pussy, his eyes darkening at the sight before him.

“So beautiful,” he murmured while placing soft, teasing kisses along your inner thigh, slowly working his way towards your waiting pussy. When his tongue finally licked a broad stripe up your center, he kept his intense gaze locked on your face, studying your reactions to learn what made you feel good. You let out a surprise gasp at the unfamiliar yet incredible delicious sensation. He did it once more, this time slower and with more pressure, and you threw your head back into the pillows while gripping his dark locks between your trembling fingers.

“O-oh, t-that’s good,” you moaned breathlessly as Bucky worshiped you with his mouth. His lips wrapped around your sensitive clit, expertly switching between sucking and flicking with his tongue, while his metal hand held your hip steady to keep you from squirming. Your senses were completely overwhelmed with pleasure, every nerve ending on fire. If he kept going at this pace, you were going to come embarrassingly soon, but Bucky took notice and suddenly released you. You let out a frustrated whimper as the pending orgasm was ripped from you, your body still trembling with need.

“Hmm, you taste absolutely incredible, doll. The way you respond to me drives me wild,” he murmured against your inner thigh, his hot breath making you shiver. “As much as I would love to feel you come undone on my tongue as I watch you fall apart, I need to be inside you. I want us to come together, want to feel you wrapped around me when we both let go.”

He captured your lips in a passionate kiss, your tongues dancing together desperately as you savored the taste of each other. His metal hand cupped your cheek while his flesh one traced patterns on your hip. “Don’t move,” he murmured against your swollen lips. “I’ll go get a condom.” He gave you one last lingering peck before pulling away and disappearing into his bathroom. You could hear him rummaging around frantically for the item, cursing lowly under his breath as more drawers were opened and closed on his mission to find a condom. A few moments later he emerged with it in hand, a victorious smile playing on his lips.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his eagerness as he climbed back on top of you, immediately claiming your mouth in another fierce kiss that left you breathless. With trembling fingers, you tugged at his underwear, helping him shimmy out of them. Your hand experimentally wrapped around his length, making him groan deeply against your neck. His mouth fell open as you slowly moved your hand up and down his impressive cock. He was bigger than you’d imagined, and a flutter of nervousness passed through you as you wondered how painful it might be for your first time. But that anxiety was quickly overshadowed by pure want. You needed to feel him inside you, needed his passionate kisses and whispered praises in your ear. You trusted Bucky completely, knowing that he would be gentle and considerate. That he would take care of you like he always did.

You released him from your grip so he could roll the condom on, watching with hooded eyes as he prepared himself. Before you knew it, he was positioning himself between your thighs, his tip pressing against your entrance as he looked deep into your eyes, silently asking permission one final time. “Please,” you breathed out, running your hands up his strong arms. “I’m so ready, Bucky. Please, I want you.”

He slowly pushed inside your tightness, the initial stretch making you whimper and shut your eyes at the slight burning sensation. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you tried to adjust to his size, your breath coming in short gasps.

“Are you OK? Do you want to stop,” he asked with genuine concern, his flesh hand tenderly cradling your face while his metal one held him upright, the plates whirring softly with the strain of holding back. His eyes searched yours intently, ready to pull away at the slightest sign of stress. “N-no, please keep going. I need you.”

When he was fully situated inside you, stretching you deliciously, he took his time to kiss all over your face—your forehead, your closed eyelids, your warm cheeks—making you giggle. His stubble tickled your skin as his journey of tender kisses ended with an achingly sweet one to your lips. “I love you, doll. Thank you for trusting me with this, with everything.”

That was the first time he had said those three precious words to you and it made your heart almost burst out of your chest. “I love you too,” you whispered, cupping his face in your hands and stroking his cheekbones with your thumbs, “now, please move. I want to feel you take me and make me yours completely.”

He pulled out until only his tip remained inside before pushing back in with excruciating slowness, making you moan and cling to him tighter, your nails leaving marks on his broad shoulders. He repeated this careful motion several times, each thrust helping your body adjust to his impressive size.

“Please, Bucky,” you breathed against his lips, your legs hooking around his waist to pull him closer, begging him to take you properly. Your heels dug into his lower back as your body arched underneath him. He let out a deep, throaty groan that sent shivers down your spine and buried his face in your neck, kissing and sucking your sensitive skin as his hips began to move with purpose against you.

“You feel incredible, doll,” he groaned against your neck, his hot breath fanning across your heated skin, making you whimper sweetly. Bucky took notice of your reaction, adjusting his hips until he found that perfect spot that made you see stars. your whole body trembling underneath him.

He rested his forehead against yours, his blue eyes, dark with desire, gazed deeply into yours as you climbed higher towards release together. Your fingers tangled in his soft brown hair, tugging lightly as his flesh hand snaked down between your bodies to where you were joined, his skilled fingers finding and circling your sensitive clit. The dual sensation of him stimulating your clit and the tip of his cock brushing your sweet spot made your whole body sing with pleasure, your back arching off the bed. “Oh f-f-fuck, I’m so close, Bucky. Please don’t stop.”

He maintained a steady, passionate rhythm, determined to make you fall apart around him. The thought of him being the first, and hopefully only, to ever make you come undone like this had your head spinning, your vision blurring at the edges as pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak.

“Come for me, baby. I need to feel you,” he breathed against your ear, his voice rough with desire. His words sent electricity down your spine and that was the final push you needed. Your pussy pulsed around him as waves of intense pleasure took complete control over your body. You threw your head back against the pillows as stars exploded behind your vision, your fingers digging into his shoulders. With one final, deep thrust, he spilled inside the condom while burying his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath and muffled moans of pleasure sending shivers across your skin. He continued to move against you with slow, gentle thrusts, drawing out both of your highs until you were shaking underneath him.

As you both started to come down from your shared orgasm, he pressed a series of soft, loving kisses to your lips, making you hum in delight. You hissed at the loss when he carefully pulled out of you, immediately missing the feeling of fullness. He rolled to the side, discarding the condom, before pulling you close, tucking you perfectly against his warm chest. You nestled into his embrace, ear pressed to his chest where you could hear his calming heartbeat, as he traced gentle patterns across your back with his fingertips.

The room fell into a peaceful silence, filled only with the sound of your synchronized breathing as you basked in the afterglow of your shared bliss, savoring each other’s warmth and tender touches. After several minutes of comfortable silence, you were the first one to speak.

“That was absolutely incredible, Bucky,” you whispered against his chest, tilting your head up to meet his adoring gaze. “Thank you for being so sweet and caring, and for making my first time more special than I could have ever imagined.”

“Always, doll,” he responded with a tender smile, his metal hand coming up to gently pinch your chin as he guided your lips to his for a slow, deep kiss. “Thank you for trusting me. I feel like the luckiest man alive to be the first, and I hope only one, to ever make you come like that.”

You giggled softly against his lips, pressing another kiss to them before dropping your voice to a sultry whisper. “Well, lucky for you, Mr. Barnes, you’re the only one who will ever be allowed to make me come like that for the rest of our lives.”

“Hmm, is that a promise, doll?” He playfully growled, his eyes darkening with renewed desire as he swiftly rolled on top of you once more, caging you beneath his strong body. “Because I intend to spend the rest of my life proving just how lucky I am to do so.” His lips descended on yours again, ready to make good on that promise.

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itneverendshere · 2 months ago

Text

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SEVENTEEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: angst; mentions of mental and physical health issues.

In a matter of days, your bump decided to take on a life of its own.

You'd looked the same for months —nothing that screamed months pregnant. Then, last week, something inside you had clicked into place, your belly suddenly rounded out. There was no denying it now; there was no more wondering if you were bloated.

You looked pregnant.

Seven days ago, you were still able to fit into your regular jeans, brushing off the snugness as a result of a big lunch. And now, your belly recognized the timeline and proudly announced, there’s definitely a baby in here.

It was wild how everything changed overnight. Shirts that fit fine last week suddenly rode up like crop tops.

You were already at the hospital every week—more than most—hooked up to IVs, getting poked and monitored. You were exhausted, but better, lightheaded on good days. The bump showing up so suddenly only added to the fear. You found yourself blurting out questions to your doctor, "Is this normal? Because it doesn't feel normal."

She always said yes. Or some version of it. A nod, a glance at the monitor, everything was textbook. But your chest stayed hurting long after the appointment ends.

You haven’t left the house in five days, except for your hospital visits.

You haven’t sat on the steps or cracked open a window wide enough to feel like you're still part of the outside world. You were hiding from the looks, the questions. From yourself. From the surreal curve of your stomach that had hijacked your reflection.

Sarah hasn’t been able to come around—work, shifts, life—and you haven’t let her see a single picture. On the rare occasions she brings up the baby, you change the subject. You say, "Fine," and send a blurry photo of your hand instead. You don’t want her to see it.

You haven’t seen anyone.

Rafe checked in every other day, like clockwork, texting. He asked if you needed anything. You said no. You always said no. If you didn’t want him at your appointments then, it was worse now. You couldn't stomach the idea of him seeing the bump. Of him looking at you and the thing growing inside you, forming a shape under your skin, and yanking you out of the life you once knew.

You knew it was stupid and weak. And kind of pathetic, honestly.

You told yourself that a dozen times a day, a mantra meant to snap you out of it: You couldn't hide forever. But the thing was—there were still months left, and you already felt like you’d hit some breaking point.

You’d been ordering food and whatever else you needed. Groceries, toiletries, overpriced juice you didn't like—anything to avoid setting foot in a public space. The idea of running into someone you knew, or locking eyes with a stranger in the cereal aisle, felt like a nightmare.

Your staff hasn’t been around much since you found out you were pregnant. You paid them like nothing’s changed. They came once a week now, and you made sure you were nowhere to be found when they’re around—either gone or locked in your room, a lonely ghost in your own house.

But today, it changed.

You woke up and the sun felt less hostile through the curtains.

You stared at yourself in the mirror for too long, hoodie lifted enough to see the curve of your belly. It was bigger than yesterday. Or maybe you were looking harder. You pressed a hand there and decided you were done being scared like this.

You were done letting the fear do the driving. You couldn’t stay locked away until your water broke or one of you died—God, no. Even if it was just for groceries, you wanted to try. You needed to.

So you called Sarah.

You didn’t overthink it, which was new. You chewed on your sleeve while it rang. She picked up, breathless, with loud background noise.

"Hey babe! What’s up?"

“Hi.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, and the background noise started to fade; she was moving somewhere quieter. “You sound weird. Tired-weird. Sad-weird.”

You half-laughed, eyes burning. “That obvious, huh?”

“Kind of,” she said gently. “You’ve been MIA. I figured you were nesting or something, but…” She paused. “Is something wrong? With you? With the baby?”

You shook your head before you remembered she couldn’t see it.

“No. I'm fine. He's fine too, as fine as he can be when I’m the one growing him."

“Hey,” she scolded, not unkindly. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m not—” You stopped mid-sentence, rewinding. Trying again. “I’ve been hiding. A lot. I haven’t been out.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that. You don’t text back or answer my calls.”

“I’m sorry.” You sighed, rubbing at your face as the guilt settled on your shoulders. “I want to go outside. The store, something normal.”

Sarah brightened instantly. “That’s great!”

“But I… I don’t want to do it alone.”

Her voice softened. “Of course. I’ll come with you. When do you wanna go?”

You bite your lip. “Now. If you’re not too busy.”

There was a pause, and you knew the answer before she gave it.

“Shit,” she groaned, clearly torn. “I want to so bad, but Poguelandia is slammed. We’re short-staffed, JJ fucked his leg up, and there’s already a line out the door. I haven’t sat down since eight a.m. I’m so sorry. I literally haven’t even peed in four hours.”

You tried not to let the disappointment win. “Oh. No, it’s okay. I figured.”

“I can try,” She insists. “If I leave now, maybe I can swing it—if I skip lunch and—"

“No,” You cut in, “Seriously.”

“I’ll figure it out. I’ll get someone to cover—”

“Sarah.” You took a breath. “I love you, but please. Don’t stop working because of me. If you drop everything, I’m gonna feel worse.”

“You sure?”

You smiled, even though your eyes were burning again. “Not even a little bit. But I think that’s okay.”

“I hate saying no,” She muttered. “I hate that I can’t be there. But…”

You tensed up, pulling the sleeve of your hoodie over your hand.

“…I do know someone who can.”

You go quiet.

“Sarah…”

“Hear me out. He’s been texting me, asking if you need anything. He’s been trying to respect your space, but also losing his mind because he doesn’t know how to help. If you called and said you wanted to go walk into traffic, he’d probably volunteer to drive you.”

You let out a dry chuckle. “That’s comforting.”

“I mean it,” She insisted. “He’d show up in a heartbeat.”

You leaned your head against the wall. “I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like this,” you repeated, “My bump. It’s showing now.”

You could practically hear her blinking through the line.

“Wait. Since when?”

"Last week," You let out a breath. “I woke up and—bam.”

“Oh my God,” she gasped. And then again, breathier this time. “Oh my God.”

You could picture her hand flying to her mouth, the half-spin she probably did when she got excited.

“I wish I was there,” she breathed. “I want to see you.”

You shut your eyes, fighting the sudden tears. “It’s not cute, Sar.”

“I didn’t say it was cute,” she scoffed. “I said I want to see you.”

You didn’t want to be seen like this, swollen and pale, hoodie hanging off your frame. And your stomach—this round, undeniable thing you couldn’t suck in or pretend away anymore.

“I thought I had more time. To ease into it.”

“That’s why you’ve been inside.”

It wasn’t a question.

You sank further against the wall, socked feet curling on the floor. “I’m falling out of my skin.”

“It’s okay that it freaks you out. You’re allowed to feel whatever you want.”

You finally exhaled. “I don’t know how I’m gonna do this.”

“One step at a time,” she said, warm even through the phone. “Starting with this one. Groceries. Hoodie on. Sunglasses if you want. One aisle.”

You closed your eyes, “If I call him… if he comes… he’s going to look.”

“If you wanted him to rip his eyes out, he would.”

You blinked.

“I’m not kidding,” Sarah added, “He’d walk with his head down the whole time, hands tied behind his back, take a vow of silence, whatever. If it made you feel even a little safer.”

Your throat closed up, a laugh tried to force its way out but died on arrival.

“I don’t want him to have to do that,” You said quietly. “I don’t want to feel like a freak show.”

"You are not a freak show," Sarah said, sounding insulted. “You’re pregnant. And scared. And beautiful, by the way, but I won’t push that one right now.”

Your hand drifted to your stomach without thinking.

“I don’t want to go with him.”

“I know.”

“But I want to go.”

“I know.”

You were quiet for a moment, chewing on the inside of your cheek, unsure if agreeing to this made you brave or desperate.

Sarah seemed to feel the hesitation swell on your end of the line, so she added, “If I could send one of the Pogues, I would.”

“Yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” She said. “But… they don’t know.”

“Oh. Right. I didn’t tell them.”

“It’s a lot. And they love you, but—yeah, it’s a lot.”

You rubbed your temple.

“It’s not like this is something you just drop in a group chat.”

You snorted. “Guess not.”

You swallowed, eyes moving to the mirror across the room—a sliver of your reflection visible, your shape under the hoodie. You didn’t want to shut people out. But every part of you had folded inward the second your body started changing, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

Sarah’s voice came back. “So… Rafe?”

You closed your eyes.

“Yeah. Fine. Tell him.”

Cameron Development. 3:17 PM.

Rafe was two seconds from throwing his fucking clipboard through the drywall.

"That doesn’t go there," He snapped at one of the newer guys on site, not looking up. His pen scraped across the paper harder than necessary, carving through the thin report sheet. "Jesus Christ, y’all can’t read labels now? It’s marked clearly, in red—RED, Sean.”

Sean stammered something behind him, but Rafe had already turned, muttering under his breath about incompetence, how he couldn’t keep babysitting everyone to get basic shit done.

His shirt clung to his back from the heat, his boots were caked in mud from the storm last night, and his patience was nonexistent. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten.

He hadn’t seen you in days.

And it was killing him.

You were always good at acting fine over text, but Rafe knew the difference between your fine and “fine.” He couldn’t tell through a screen if you were tired or biting your nails again.

“You okay, Rafe?” someone asked cautiously, probably Dan or Tyler—he didn’t care who anymore.

“No,” he bit back without missing a beat. “But thanks for asking.”

He hated this version of himself, that let everything build up until it spilled onto the wrong people. He disappeared back into the trailer and slammed the door behind him so hard the hinges rattled.

He leaned over the desk, head hanging between his shoulders, taking a deep breath that did absolutely nothing to help. His hands were gripping the back of his neck.

This was exactly what Dr. Sanders warned him about.

The outbursts, the impatience.

How his frustration got in the way of everyone who didn’t deserve it. No one should be punished for his shitty mood—especially not some fresh-hire kid just trying to do his job. He’d been doing so good, with weeks of keeping his voice level, reminding himself to step away when things got too loud inside his head. And now here he was again, snapping over labels and yelling at people who were trying to help.

His phone buzzed.

Sarah.

He stared at it for a second before answering. “What?”

“Chill with the attitude,” She snapped right back. “I’m calling for a reason.”

Rafe exhaled through his nose. “Sorry. Bad day.”

“No kidding,” she muttered. “You’ve been biting the head off everyone down there?”

Rafe didn’t deny it.

He sighed, annoyed, eyes on the ceiling. “What?”

“I need a favor.”

His stomach dropped so hard it made his head swim.

“Did something happen to her?”

“No,” She added quickly. “She’s fine. She...she’s not doing great.”

Rafe sank down into the chair. “What do you mean not doing great? What’s that mean? Be specific, Sarah, I swear—”

He bit the inside of his cheek. He’d tried. Called, texted. Waited when you didn’t answer. Backed off when Sarah told him to give you space.

“She’s okay?”

“She’s okay,” Sarah confirmed. “She wants to go out. Grocery store or something and she doesn’t wanna go alone.”

He sat forward. “She said that?”

“Yeah,” Sarah replied, “I can’t go—Poguelandia’s insane right now. There’s a line out the door. But I figured… maybe you could?”

He was already grabbing his keys. “Where is she?”

“She’s home,” Sarah confirmed, “Don’t pressure her, okay? She almost didn’t call. She’s been going through it. Be gentle.”

“I am gentle,” he snapped.

Sarah snorted. “Tell that to whoever you just yelled at.”

“They can’t do shit, Sarah.”

“Rafe.”

He sighed, dragging his palm down his stubble-covered jaw.

“I’ll be cool,” he muttered.

“You better be.”

Rafe didn’t bother to hang up properly; instead, he shoved the phone in his pocket and dashed out of the trailer, boots crunching gravel as he headed for his truck. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going. Let Dan or Tyler or whoever pick up the slack for once.

You hadn’t answered his texts with more than one-word replies in four days.

It’s insane to remember, back when things were good, you would leave voice notes in the mornings, call him out of the blue to complain about traffic, shitty coffee, or the weird commercial you saw.

Now, you didn’t want to go to the grocery store unless someone was with you.

You never asked for help, not when your car wouldn’t start, not when you had a fever, not even when you got a flat tire at midnight.

You were stubborn, hyper-independent. The fact that you asked for company meant that something was wrong.

None of this knowledge, however, prepared him to see you.

Oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder and the swell of your belly—your, his baby, right there, growing—so obvious now that you weren’t hiding it behind hoodies or blankets or clever angles.

Rafe stood there, blinking like a fucking idiot.

Holy shit.

That was his kid.

It didn’t feel real until this second. Not even when he felt it for the first time. Seeing your bump—round under that stretched cotton tee—sent him down a rabbit hole between awe and panic.

You squinted at him.

“If you’re gonna stand there and stare the entire time, you can leave.”

That got him out of his stupor.

“No—sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice came out fast, defensive, hands already up. “I wasn’t—I mean. I didn’t mean to. I just… wow.”

He had to drag his gaze back up before it got disrespectful. You looked good. No—you looked insane. He wanted to compliment you, tell you how fucking unreal you looked right now, how bad he wanted to walk up behind you, press his hands to your stomach and kiss your neck. But that would get him a punch and a restraining order against him.

Your brow ticked up.

Rafe scratched the back of his neck, stepping inside when you didn’t slam the door in his face.

“You look…” His lips parted, closed, parted again. “You look—pregnant. Not bad. Not bad pregnant. I mean, you look—you look good. You look like—like a mom.” He made a strangled noise. “I’m screwing this up.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched.

“I meant that in a nice way,” He mumbled, defeated by his brain.

“I’m sure you did,” You brushed past him toward the couch.

Rafe wasn’t staring in the stunned, silent, holy-shit way anymore. He was watching how you moved a little slower, hand resting under your bump as you loweredto grab your purse. Your breath faltered a little when you adjusted it on your shoulder, pressing the edge of your thumb into the small of your back without thinking.

He’d missed so much.

You looked at him expectantly. “Let’s go.”

“Oh—right.” He stepped back, forgetting how doors work. “Yeah. Grocery store. Got it. Let’s go.”

You arched a brow at him as you locked the door behind you.

“Seeing you like this.” He gestured vaguely at your stomach, still not looking directly at it like it might cast a spell on him again. “It’s—I don’t know.”

You opened the passenger door and shot him a tired look. “You gonna cry in the produce aisle?”

Rafe snorted, almost indignant. “What? No.”

In a matter of seconds, he was already by your side, hand out, ready to help you into the passenger seat.

“I got it,” You brushed him off with a roll of your eyes.

Rafe didn’t back down. “You shouldn’t have to.”

One of your dainty hands was already gripping the doorframe as you started to hoist yourself in.

“Watch me.”

He hovered anyway, hand out so he could catch you midair if you so much as wobbled.

“Stubborn,” He grumbled under his breath, not loud enough for a fight but loud enough for you to hear.

You settled into the seat with a small wince—barely noticeable unless someone was paying very, very close attention.

Rafe was paying attention.

Your eyes flicked to him. “See? Fine.”

“Mmhm,” He wasn't convinced, reaching in to buckle the seatbelt before you could swat him away.

You narrowed your eyes in annoyance.

“You gonna bubble-wrap me next?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

You shook your head, settling into the seat with a wince.

“Wait—does it hurt?” He crouched, hand halfway extended toward your stomach, but hesitating. “Sitting? Standing?”

“Rafe,” you warned.

“What?” he asked, genuinely concerned. “I’m just asking.”

“Drive.”

He backed off, hands up again like you were pointing a loaded gun at him.

“Okay. But you gotta tell me if something’s wrong, alright?”

You sighed as he closed the door and jogged around to the driver’s side. Once you were on the road, Rafe glanced at you out of the corner of his eye every five seconds.

“You sleep at all?”

You shrugged.

Rafe tapped his thumb against the steering wheel. “Do you need anything around the house? How's the treatment?"

“Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

His face dropped.

This was why he didn’t push. You had a way of cutting through bullshit with a single sentence, and even now, with your delicate tone and your eyes on the horizon, it still hurt like a bitch.

He was jittery and wide-eyed the entire drive. This was more than a ride to the store, this was you not shutting him out. This was you, in his truck, after so long.

“I’m not trying to,” he said quickly. “I’m not. I swear.”

Rafe drove with one hand on the wheel and the other twitching in his lap, dying to reach for you but knowing better. He put on your old playlist, passed the turn to the fancier store on the north end and drove straight to the quieter one near the marina, where you wouldn't have to deal with crowds.

Once he parked, he turned toward you fully.

“Do you want me to come in with you, or—?”

Your eyes flicked to him. Finally.

He saw it.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Please.”

That please just about ripped his spine out.

He would've gone even if you’d called him every name under the sun. Would’ve shown up if you told him to eat shit and die. He’d crawl through glass if it meant he got to be near you like this—You were here, and you’d asked him for something.

This alone felt like a second chance he didn’t deserve.

He opened the door without another word, rounded the truck, and reached your side before you could try to climb down on your own.

This time, you let him help. His hands were warm under your arms as you eased onto the pavement.

“Okay?” he murmured.

You nodded.

This was the type of shit he used to dream about in silence, lying awake at night with his face buried in your old pillow after crying more than he’d ever admit. Wondering if he’d ever be allowed back in ordinary parts of your life again. The boring stuff—the errands, the grocery runs. The seatbelt arguments. The way you pointed out the weird snacks he always bought.

"There's not a lot of people this time of day," Rafe said gently, clocking your silence. “But if it feels like too much—”

“I’m fine.” Your voice sounded flat.

Even if the store was mostly empty, there were people. And people had eyes and mouths.

As far as everyone knows, Rafe and you broke up months ago. You pulled your hood lower. That instinct to hide didn’t surprise him, but it crushed him all the same.

He fell into step beside you, arm brushing yours sometimes on purpose. Inside, there were a couple of older folks milling around. A teenage boy stacking cereal boxes. A woman with a crying toddler.

You tugged your sleeves over your hands and went straight for the carts. Rafe snagged one before you could, wheeling it behind you without a word. You glanced at him, eyebrows adorably pinched.

“What?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Let me be useful.”

Eggs. Milk. The prenatal vitamins you forgot last time. He didn’t flinch when he saw the label on the bottle, and dropped it in the cart for you with a nod.

You moved slowly, partly because your legs ached and because you were stalling. You didn’t want to rush when no one had paid you any attention yet.

Rafe walked behind the cart, guarding it, you. Shoulders squared, eyes always flicking around the aisles, ready to throw hands with anyone who so much as whispered something sideways. He caught how clutched your purse tighter, the sharp breaths you tried to hide.

At one point, a woman walked past, gave Rafe a long look, and then looked at you. She didn’t say anything, but you stopped. Went still.

Rafe was at your side in a second. “Hey.”

You swallowed. “She looked at me weird.”

He hated that you had to feel like this—hide so much.

“She looked at me weird.”

He kept close, shadowing your steps, the tension in his body never fully easing. Every time someone glanced at you, at the swell of your belly, he felt oddly overprotective.

It was no longer just about being in love. It was turning into something primal; his heart, his very soul, had been hooked and tangled with you and the little life growing inside you. And fuck if he wasn’t going to guard you both with every ounce of strength he had.

He caught up when you paused again in the juice aisle.

“Need help?”

You reached for a bottle on the top shelf—cranberry, your favorite—but it was behind a stack of other ones. You stretched, finger grazing the edge, a grunt slipping from your lips as you rocked onto your toes.

Rafe moved fast.

So fast, it startled you when he was suddenly behind you, one hand sprawled on your lower back, the other bracing your hip. He reached over you with ease, snatching the bottle like it was nothing, but he didn’t pull away immediately.

Your breath hitched.

“Easy,” he murmured, right next to your ear.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks hot. “I had it.”

“Sure you did,” He muttered, passing you the bottle. His thumb brushed your spine. “Not lettin’ you bust your ass in a juice aisle, alright?”

“I wouldn’t have,” you retorted.

When you turned to face him, you were closer than you anticipated. His hand dropped, but he didn’t step away. His gaze dipped to your mouth.

Dangerous territory.

Rafe’s throat bobbed. “You smell the same."

Your lips parted, surprise blooming behind your eyes.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

Rafe had been this close before. That night at the gala. When everything went sideways and his lungs felt like they were filling with cement. He hardly remembered how he got outside, but you were there—hands on him, voice killing through the noise in his head.

He remembered your touch. But he hadn’t been able to get a whiff of your scent, not with a clear head and a heart pounding for an entirely different reason.

Now he could.

Your breath was mingling with his, and God—the same scent that used to cling to his shirts when you stayed over, it haunted his pillow for weeks after you left.

Warm. Familiar. Completely fucking overwhelming.

He swore your eyes flicked to his lips for the briefest second.

Rafe couldn’t look away. Wouldn’t, even if he should’ve—for your sake. Your chest rose and fell in measured breaths, and he stupidly hoped you felt it too. That same unbearable pull between two people who had been here before. Who had known each other too intimately.

Your mouth was parted a little, glossy. He remembered what it tasted like, how your breath hitched when he kissed the corner first, the way your fingers always knotted in his shirt—

Fuck, he wanted to taste it again.

Just one kiss. One slip.

His hand twitched at his side, inches from your waist.

One step closer, and he could feel you. The curve of you now, fuller, warmer, carrying something that belonged to him—

“Excuse me, young man?”

Rafe’s soul nearly left his body. Both of you jerked apart, like you were sixteen again, getting caught making out in church.

An old woman in a lavender sweater and orthopedic shoes was peering up at him, one hand on her cart, the other gesturing at the same damn top shelf.

“Would you mind grabbing me one of those apple juices?” She asked sweetly, oblivious to the tension thick enough to butter toast with.

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, sure.” He cleared his throat, grabbing one for her.

Second juice save of the day.

“Thank you, dear,” she said, tucking it into her cart with a nod.

Rafe managed a polite smile, still in a daze. “No problem.”

The woman rolled away, humming to herself.

He turned back to you, but you were already looking anywhere but at him, biting your lip in a way that was going to make him lose it.

Neither of you said a word. He wanted to—shit, he wanted it so bad, for you to meet his eyes again, to look at him like you felt it, too.

Rafe stepped back and let his hands curl around the cart handle.

“You need anything else?”

You dropped the juice in the cart like nothing happened, face shuttered, voice absent as you said, “I still need rice.”

No softness. There was no trace of you, pressed against him just a second ago. You turned away, and he followed silently, shoulders tensed, feeling it slip.

That sliver of closeness now gone.

The wheels of the cart squeaked as they rolled over the linoleum, the only sound between you. Rafe kept behind you by a step, scared that getting too close might spook you. You only added things to the cart in silence. He observed how your fingers curled around the boxes and how your lips pressed together when you had to crouch or twist too far.

He meticulously catalogued everything.

Useless instincts—stupid, protective, tender ones—that wouldn’t shut the fuck up inside him. He wanted to reach for your hand in the spice aisle as if it was still his to hold.

But you weren’t looking at him anymore. He despised that he had been hoping for it—that desperate, pathetic twitch in his chest every time your head moved even slightly in his direction. Just like a dog waiting to be called. Fuck.

“Think that’s everything?” he asked, ignoring how his palms were sweating.

You nodded.

Alright. He’d wait.

At the checkout, he paid without hesitation. You didn’t argue.

Neither of you spoke as the cashier scanned your groceries, though Rafe handed you the bag with the eggs without asking—muscle memory. By the time the trunk was shut and you’d both slid into the car, the tension had mellowed down.

He started the engine, pulled onto the road.

A few minutes passed before he spoke.

“So… did you talk to Topper?”

He wasn’t looking at you directly.

His eyes were fixed out the windshield.

He knew. Topper had told him earlier in the week, he was his best friend, there was no universe where that conversation hadn’t already happened.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” he repeated, like he hadn’t heard you the first time.

“We talked,” You said simply.

A stoplight turned red ahead, and he eased the truck to a crawl. He should’ve left it alone. But his mouth was already moving.

“He told you about Sofia?”

Your turned toward him instantly, startled.

“What?”

He glanced over, admiring how beautiful you looked when you furrowed your brows.

“You know?"

Rafe nearly laughed. It wasn't funny—okay, it was a little—but the sheer absurdity of it, the disbelief in your voice took the cake. Did you still think she meant something to him?

Rafe ran a hand down his face as you studied him, all wide-eyed and wary.

"Why wouldn't I know?"

Your brows creased further, "She's your ex."

"No," He clarified, "She's not."

He hated even saying it out loud, it sounded real fucking dumb now.

A half-assed attempt to feel something when he was trying not to think about you.

Rafe blew out a slow breath.

“You thought I’d care?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know. You get weird about shit sometimes.”

“I don’t care that they’re talking.” His thumb tapped the steering wheel. “I care that you thought I would.”

"Can you blame me?"

No, he couldn’t. Of course you were going to assume the worst after the shit he pulled.

“Right,” Rafe bit down on the inside of his cheek.

The light turned green, but he waited before easing on the gas. You kept your face turned to the window, it was probably easier to talk to your reflection in the glass than to him.

You used to talk to him, say things. It was a sacred language, just for him. He tapped his fingers on the wheel, not to a beat, just to do something.

You moved beside him, adjusting your seatbelt so it didn’t dig into your stomach. He clocked that instantly.

“Seatbelt too tight?”

A small shrug. “It’s fine.”

Bullshit.

You shouldn’t be sitting like that. You should be lying down, with pillows under your knees, and someone taking care of you.

“I could buy one of those, uh, extender things,” he offered, “For next time.”

“I’m not asking for anything."

He kept his hands at ten and two, eyes fixed on the road. Every other second, he’d steal a peek, catch the side of your face in the window’s reflection, how your arms were folded across your chest even though the A/C wasn’t blowing.

“You cold?”

“I’m fine.”

It wasn’t true.

Rafe knew you were uncomfortable; you kept fussing in your seat, three times already.

“They got the good ice at that place. The chewy kind. You want me to swing back around, steal a cup?”

You gave him the smallest, driest laugh. “Gonna rob a Sonic now?”

God, he missed hearing your laugh, even like that.

“If you wanted it bad enough.” He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “We can talk, you know."

You clicked your tongue in annoyance.

“We’ve already talked about it.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t keep talking.”

You scowled at this nerve.

“And say what, Rafe? What could you possibly say that hasn’t been said?”

“I—fuck, I don’t know. I’m trying.”

A sound of disbelief escaped you.

“You weren’t trying when you left.”

He recoiled like you slapped him. “That’s not fair.”

“You’re right. You know what is fair?” You said, bitterly. “You walking around like this thing isn’t growing inside me. Like I don’t have to carry it and feel it and decide—”

You stopped yourself, biting your tongue hard. Closed your eyes.

Rafe’s voice dropped. “I didn’t walk away from that.”

You stopped yourself. Bit your tongue hard. Closed your eyes.

“I didn’t walk away from that. I’ve been showing up. Every day. I know that doesn’t erase how I left, but I’m trying. I want to be here. However you’ll let me.”

He heard you inhale—tight, restrained. Then you turned to him, eyes red-rimmed. You were still pissed, guarded. But you were looking at him.

And fuck, finally.

That stupid part of him—the one that wagged its tail every time you threw him a bone—lit up. He could live on scraps if it meant you’d look at him like that again.

Rafe meant it with every fiber of his body.

If you asked him to drive across the country for a specific brand of prenatal vitamins, he’d do it. If you wanted him to sit outside your door and not come in, just so you’d know someone was there, he’d do that too.

“I’m here. Even if it’s just to grab apple juice off the top shelf or to punch Topper in the face if he says the wrong thing.”

You huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes.

“There she is,” he teased, squeezing your leg gently. “Was starting to think I’d hallucinated that smile.”

“Don’t push it.”

He smirked, couldn’t help it , even if you were half-ready to rip his head off, it was better than that cold silence. He didn’t miss the way your eyes softened, that split-second slip where you didn’t hate him.

Or you still did, but not fully.

Rafe’s hand lingered on your leg before he cleared his throat and pulled it back, gripping the steering wheel again like his life depended on it.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m not really good at doing what I’m supposed to.”

You gave him a look, that familiar, flat stare. He knew you'd rather bite glass than admit he was charming sometimes.

“And what are you supposed to do, huh?”

Rafe glanced at you from the corner of his eye, not trying to hide the smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Thought that was obvious,” he said, casual, “Love you."

You scoffed, disbelieving—he was the one being ridiculous.

“Oh, go eat shit.”

He fucking loved you.

The laugh burst out of him before he could stop it, all teeth, not mocking, only helpless. You turned your face to the view again, but he saw the corner of your mouth twitching like it wanted to smile.

“You’re so—” you started, cutting yourself off with a frustrated noise.

You looked so fucking beautiful. That expression on your face, that shit wrecked him.

"Charming?"

You were flushed from the heat, cheeks warm, hair frizzy from the humidity, and still, all he could think was how unfair it was for you to look like that and not be his anymore.

“I was gonna say insufferable.”

“That too,” Rafe said, grinning. “Multifaceted.”

“Wow. You’re actually proud of that.”

“Course I am. You used to like that about me.”

"No, I tolerated it. Big difference.”

His tongue clicked against his teeth, turning onto the long road that led toward your neighborhood.

“Coulda fooled me. Especially that night after Barry’s party.”

He was feeling bold, sue him.

“That was a lapse in judgment.”

He bit back a smile, but it was in his voice when he said, “Pretty long lapse. Five-hour lapse.”

“Oh my fucking God."

He glanced over at you, head tilted. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m grimacing,” you corrected, poorly. “Because this is painful.”

You stayed still, only the sound of the tires on the road and the distant hum of the A/C between you.

But it wasn’t that bad anymore. He snuck a glance at your profile, the curve of your cheek, how you leaned into the door, but didn’t flinch away from him like earlier.

He wanted to tell you again—that he loved you, that he still loved you, that he wasn’t going anywhere—but he knew better than to say it twice in a row.

The phone buzzed on the dashboard, Rafe saw Sarah’s name lighting up the screen.

He held it out toward you. “Here. You wanna talk to her?”

You took the phone, and as you pressed it to your ear.

“Hey, Sar."

He missed the nicknames you used for him—the ones that made his chest warm. Those little names that made him feel like he was the only person who got to hear them.

“Hey! So you two haven’t killed each other yet. That’s nice!”

"Shut up."

"I can stop by later! JJ's doing better. You want to?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes, please. I could use that.”

“Alright, I’ll be there.” Sarah signed off with a promise, and the call ended, "Call me if you need anything. Love you."

"Mmkay, love you too."

The way you said it—automatic—made something burn to ashes inside him. He wanted to be the one you said that to the most. He wanted to hear it from your lips; it meant the world.

He used to be the one you said that to without thinking.

"Here—"

He noticed you stop mid-sentence, inhaling, then you turned slowly to him. Then the screen on his phone lit up, showing the lockscreen—unchanged since last year. That picture of your 18th birthday, the two of you caught mid-laugh, arms thrown over each other.

Rafe squeezed the wheel gently, thinking to himself how lucky he was—even if you didn’t say it aloud—to be the one you looked at that way once.

"It's a nice picture," He offered.

"Yeah."

"You ever miss it?”

Your shoulders pushed back, your body catching the question before your brain did. Your mouth tensed and he braced himself for the worst.

"Missing something doesn’t mean it still fits.”

You handed the phone back, not bothering to wait for a response or caring if there was one.

Doesn't mean it still fits—he deserved that.

But it wasn't going to stop him from wanting to try it anyway, even if it tore straight through him.

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kiyawritesforf1 · 3 months ago

Text

Love in the Blind Spot

Pairing : Lando Norris x Sainz!Reader

Summary : Y/N spent a year hiding her identity as Carlos Sainz’s sister while dating Lando Norris, but when the truth finally comes out, chaos—and a very protective older brother—ensues.

Y/N had spent years keeping her life separate from Formula 1.

She loved her brother, but she hated the attention that came with being Carlos Sainz’s sister. The cameras, the headlines, the way people treated her differently once they knew her last name—she wanted none of it.

So when she met Lando Norris outside of the F1 world, she saw an opportunity.

He didn’t know who she was.

And she didn’t tell him.

For a year, she let herself be just Y/N. No paddock, no press, no constant questions about Carlos. Just her and Lando, existing in their own little world.

But secrets don’t stay hidden forever.

And this one was about to come crashing down.

Carlos Realizes

Carlos Sainz was a patient man. But something wasn’t adding up.

Over the past year, he had noticed the changes in Lando. The hushed phone calls, the unexplained grins after texting someone, the way he sometimes disappeared on off-weekends without telling anyone where he was going.

Carlos wasn’t stupid. Lando was obviously dating someone.

But when he caught Lando FaceTiming someone late at night, smiling in that dopey, affectionate way Carlos had never seen before, a strange feeling settled in his stomach.

Then, one day, while scrolling through Instagram, a picture caught his attention.

A group shot from a café in Monaco. A familiar café.

And right there, barely noticeable in the background, was his sister.

Carlos frowned. She had never mentioned going there. She never mentioned anything about her personal life these days.

But what made his heart stop was the way Lando’s hand was resting on hers under the table—small, subtle, but undeniably intimate.

Carlos stared at the photo. His brain refused to accept it.

No. No way.

But once the thought was in his head, he couldn’t ignore it.

The little things started making sense. The secretive smiles. The way Lando had accidentally called him “bro” one too many times recently. The way Y/N had been avoiding family gatherings, always with a vague excuse.

It felt like a punch to the gut.

His teammate.

His friend.

Had been dating his little sister.

And never told him.

Carlos was already dialing Y/N’s number before he could think twice.

The Confrontation

“You have two seconds to explain,” Carlos said the moment Y/N picked up.

Y/N froze. “…Explain what?”

Carlos let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Don’t play dumb, hermana. You and Lando.”

Silence.

Then, a quiet sigh. “…How did you find out?”

Carlos clenched his jaw. “So it’s true?”

Y/N hesitated before whispering, “Yes.”

Carlos closed his eyes. He didn’t even know what to feel. Anger? Betrayal? Confusion?

“How long?” he asked, voice tight.

“…A year.”

Carlos nearly dropped his phone.

“A YEAR?!”

Y/N winced. “Carlos, please—”

“A whole damn YEAR, Y/N?” Carlos’s voice was rising now. “And neither of you thought to tell me?!”

“I wanted to,” she admitted. “But I knew how you’d react.”

Carlos scoffed. “Oh, you knew? So you just decided to keep me in the dark?”

“I didn’t want you to make a big deal out of it.”

Carlos ran a hand through his hair, pacing. “Of course it’s a big deal! You’re my sister!”

“I know,” Y/N said softly. “But that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. I wanted to be just me, not ‘Carlos Sainz’s little sister.’”

Carlos sighed heavily. He understood, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

“Does he—” Carlos swallowed. “Does he treat you right?”

Y/N smiled a little. “He makes me happy, Carlos.”

Carlos groaned. “That’s not an answer.”

“Yes, he treats me right. He loves me.”

Carlos let out a long breath. He still wanted to strangle Lando. But more than that, he wanted to hear it from him directly.

Because if Lando Norris had been secretly dating his sister for a year?

Then the next conversation was going to be a lot worse.

Lando’s Worst Nightmare

Lando had faced high-pressure situations before. Last-lap battles, tricky tire strategies, press conferences filled with impossible questions.

None of them compared to this.

Carlos had asked to “have a chat” after the team meeting, and Lando had never felt his stomach drop so fast in his life.

Now, here he was, standing in the McLaren motorhome, watching as Carlos crossed his arms, his expression unreadable.

Lando swallowed hard. “Hey, mate.”

Carlos didn’t return the greeting. He just tilted his head slightly. “You’re dating my sister.”

Lando forced a nervous chuckle. “So, you’ve heard.”

Carlos blinked slowly. “I heard it directly from her. You, on the other hand, never thought to mention it?”

Lando scratched the back of his neck. “In my defense… I didn’t know.”

Carlos arched a brow. “For a year?”

Lando sighed. “I swear, if I had known, I wouldn’t have kept it from you.”

Carlos exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Lando, do you have any idea how weird this is for me?”

Lando grimaced. “I can imagine.”

Carlos took a step closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Tell me something, Lando.”

Lando tensed. “Yeah?”

Carlos held his gaze. “Are you serious about her?”

Lando’s breath caught slightly at the directness of the question.

This wasn’t just a teammate talking. This was an older brother who loved his sister more than anything.

And Lando had only one answer.

“Yes,” he said, no hesitation. “I love her.”

Carlos stared at him for a long moment, reading him, weighing his words.

Then, finally, he sighed. “Good.”

Lando blinked. “Good?”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “You think I’d let you off that easy?”

Lando gulped. “Uh—”

Carlos smirked, but it wasn’t comforting. “Just know, if you ever hurt her…”

Lando nodded quickly. “Yeah. Got it. Loud and clear.”

Carlos clapped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing just a little too hard. “Welcome to the family, Norris.”

Lando wasn’t sure if he had just won or signed his own death sentence.

The Paddock Chaos

Y/N had successfully avoided the F1 paddock for years.

But now, she was walking through it hand-in-hand with Lando Norris.

And everyone was staring.

Charles smirked. “So, you’re real.”

Daniel slung an arm around Lando. “When’s the wedding?”

Y/N and Lando nearly choked.

Carlos’s eyes darkened. “Absolutely not.”

Lando held up his hands. “Let’s get through today first, yeah?”

The teasing continued all day, and Y/N quickly realized that dating an F1 driver—while also being related to another—meant there was no escape.

But that night, curled up with Lando, she knew one thing for sure.

She wouldn’t trade this for anything.

#f1 fanfic #f1 fandom #max verstappen x reader #f1 one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 grid x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando Norris x Sainz!Reader #carlos sainz x reader

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graveltotempomp3 · 2 months ago

Text

concept:

the usual historical fiction au where derek is a prince and stiles is like a royal of another realm. derek is maybe in a relationship with paige, maybe just enjoying being alone, when he's told he is going to have to marry this random guy from another realm in order for his mother to secure an alliance with king scott of the beacon lands, or king john or whoever.

derek hates this and tries to refuse but he doesn't really have a choice, so he resolves to be as petty and make life for this 'stiles' as miserable as possible. he writes the shittiest letters in response to stiles' long and in depth ones, sends over terrible gifts that are not personal at all, doesn't even open the paintings and things stiles sends his way, and the day stiles arrives to his realm (couple of days ahead of the wedding) derek doesn't even show up to greet him/welcome him.

talia is so angry at him for the last one especially, and tells him how devastated the poor stiles was and derek is all like 'good' in his head, and resolves to be even more terrible, hoping that maybe it will be enough for stiles to beg his king to undo the nuptials.

however he cannot avoid him forever, and later on he's sitting at dinner with his family when cora walks in with stiles. derek turns around--

and is immediately struck silent cause stiles is the most beautiful guy he has ever seen in his life? large brown bambi eyes that catch every light in the room, pale skin dotted with stars- with moles, and as he listens to cora, the most radiant smile he has ever seen. and his scent! he's like a dream come true.

and then stiles looks at him.

and instead of blushing and looking away, or looking heartbroken, or anything like the docile creature his mother had described him as, stiles looks at derek top to bottom, discretely sneers, and pointedly goes to sit between cora and laura, refusing to engage with derek at all.

talia is ripping her hairs. peter thinks this is hilarious. cora and laura look disappointed with derek and completely taken with stiles. derek's dad is actively ignoring the table.

and derek spends the entire meal gathering the courage to speak any word at all to stiles, to pay him a compliment or even apologise for not being there to greet him-

just for stiles to completely ignore him and loudly, in a very un-princely manner, ask laura if she also hears that fastidious fly making odious noise in the background.

laura is terribly amused. derek is lowkey mortified. talia doesn't even know what to say. stiles just sniffs delicately and continues ignoring derek.

cue three days of derek trying his best to apologise to stiles while stiles really makes him work for it, filled with misunderstanding and hilarity, idk

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek prompt #fic ideas

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reidmarieprentiss · 10 months ago

Note

Could you perhaps write something? It’s the readers birthday and Reid waits all day to see if she brings it up, but they never do. So he shows up at her apartment with a gift for her and tells her he’ll always remember her birthday, even if she doesn’t tell anyone when it is. And then a little smut occurs. 😱

Birthday Surprise

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: smut (18+), fluff

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, forgotten birthday

Word count: 7.9k

a/n: this is such a great idea i'm so sorry it took me forever to get around to writing it !! it's probably way smuttier than you thought lolol i was in a smut slump but we're back !

main masterlist

Additional warnings: oral (fem receiving) protected PinV

The day unfolds like any other, with the usual rush of paperwork, coffee runs, and the occasional moment of laughter echoing through the bullpen. You stay focused on your work, avoiding any unnecessary interactions that might draw attention to yourself. After all, it’s your birthday, but you’ve chosen to keep that to yourself. It feels strange, withholding such personal information, but in a high-stakes environment like this, there’s a part of you that prefers to blend into the background. Birthdays aren't meant to be a spectacle here.

You glance around the room, noticing the typical energy coursing through the space, unaware that a pair of eyes have been subtly watching you all morning. Spencer Reid, as meticulous with people as he is with facts, has always been someone who notices the little things others tend to miss. Today, it’s your silence, the absence of a celebratory card, or a slice of cake that catches his attention. He’s well aware of what today means, not because you told him, but because he knows. Just like he knows the birthdays of every other team member, except yours is different—yours matters more to him.

Spencer taps his pen against his notebook, his gaze drifting toward you. He debates internally whether to say anything, to let you know he’s aware. He’s read enough about social norms to understand that birthdays often come with expectations—balloons, cake, a few awkwardly sung lines of "Happy Birthday"—but that’s not your style. He’s noticed how you avoid the spotlight, how you prefer quiet moments over public celebrations. Still, he wonders if there’s something you’re hoping for today.

Penelope, typically the beacon of all things celebratory, hasn’t said anything either. But Spencer figures you’ve kept it quiet on purpose. He knows Penelope would have plastered the office with decorations had she been aware, and since the office remains as normal as ever, Spencer figures you’re not in the mood for that kind of attention.

He watches you, waiting for a sign—a smile, a quick glance his way, anything that might suggest you’d appreciate a private acknowledgment. When nothing comes, he respects your decision, but there’s a gnawing feeling inside him. Birthdays are supposed to be special, and even though you’ve chosen not to celebrate, he can’t just let it pass without doing something. Not for you.

The day comes to an end, and not a single word has been spoken about your birthday. You’ve kept it quiet, of course, but still, the silence lingers a bit more than you expected. Not from anyone else, and not from you. Spencer has watched the day unfold in his quiet, observant way, and though he knows you’re not one for grand gestures, he can’t let this pass unnoticed.

After leaving the office, Spencer’s mind is already set on what he needs to do. He stops by your favorite restaurant, carefully picking up dinner. You never told him your favorite spot, but he’s always been the kind of person who pays attention to the little things—especially when it comes to you. He takes pride in knowing these details, even if he’s never made a show of it.

From there, he heads to a local bakery, the door chiming just as the frustrated baker is about to close. Spencer, out of breath and apologetic, manages to convince the baker to stay open just long enough to get a small cake with your name written on it. The generous tip helps, but more than anything, it’s the desperation in Spencer’s voice that softens the baker’s resolve.

Now, standing outside your front door with his arms full—dinner in one hand, cake in the other—he uses his elbow to press the doorbell, feeling a flicker of nervousness that’s unusual for him. He never shows up unannounced like this, but he knows this is different. This matters.

Inside, you’re curled up on the couch, completely absorbed in the book your parents sent you as a gift. It’s one you’ve been dying to read for months, and it’s been the perfect way to end your quiet day. The unexpected ring of the doorbell pulls you from your peaceful moment, your brow furrowing slightly as you set the book down.

You tiptoe toward the door, glancing out the sheer blinds to see who it could possibly be at this hour. When you spot Spencer standing there, your heart skips a beat. You quickly open the door, a confused grin tugging at your lips.

"Reid?" you ask, your voice light but puzzled. "What are you doing here?"

He shifts awkwardly, his arms still burdened with dinner and the cake, and there’s a sheepishness in his expression that’s both endearing and unexpected.

"Happy birthday," he says, though it comes out more like a question, his uncertainty evident.

Your heart swells at the sight of him, the surprise of his gesture hitting you all at once. You glance at the dinner in one hand, the cake in the other, and something warm blooms in your chest.

"Thank you," you say, your voice soft as you open the door wider. "Come in, please."

Spencer followed you into the kitchen, his eyes subtly taking in the details of your small, cozy home. It occurred to you that this was the first time he had ever been inside, and that realization only added to the strange, fluttery feeling that had been building inside you since he showed up at your door.

He set the bags down on the counter, the quiet clinking of takeout containers filling the brief silence between you.

“How, um... how did you know it was my birthday?” you asked softly, a hint of shyness in your voice.

Spencer didn’t look up immediately, making himself busy with the food, carefully unpacking it as though it were an everyday task. “I would never forget your birthday, Y/N,” he replied, his voice so matter-of-fact yet warm.

His words struck something deep inside you, and your heart swelled all over again, the warmth spreading through your chest and into your limbs. “Reid... that's so sweet,” you murmured, barely able to contain the emotion in your voice.

He smiled over his shoulder at you, that soft, almost boyish grin that made everything feel lighter. “I hope this is okay,” he said, turning around to show you what he had brought. “I guessed you’d like this.”

You blinked, staring at the familiar containers in his hands, and your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t just any takeout—it was your favorite order from your absolute favorite restaurant. Your mind struggled to process how he could have known, and your body felt like it was on the verge of exploding with a tidal wave of affection and gratitude.

“H–how?” you stammered, unable to get out anything more coherent as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you.

Spencer shrugged in that sweet, almost bashful way he did sometimes, his eyes meeting yours as he simply said, “I pay attention.”

Those three words hit you harder than anything else he could’ve said. It wasn’t just the dinner, or the cake, or even the fact that he’d remembered your birthday without you saying a word—it was that he saw you, truly noticed you, in ways you didn’t think anyone ever did.

Without thinking, you stepped closer, your eyes soft and full of everything you couldn’t put into words. “Reid, you didn’t have to do all of this,” you whispered, but there was no mistaking the happiness in your tone.

He smiled gently, placing the food down on the counter. “I know,” he said, his voice soft, “but I wanted to.”

And just like that, your quiet birthday became something more than you ever could have expected—because of him.

As the two of you settled into an easy rhythm of conversation over dinner, it felt surprisingly natural—despite the unexpectedness of the evening. You sat across from each other at your small kitchen table, the soft clinking of forks against takeout containers punctuating the space between your words. Spencer, usually so reserved and careful, seemed more relaxed, as if the intimacy of the moment had broken down some of his usual barriers.

“You know,” Spencer began between bites, “this restaurant has one of the highest customer satisfaction ratings in the area. I didn’t just pick it at random—I wanted to make sure it was perfect.” He looked up at you, his eyes bright with sincerity.

You smiled, taking in how thoughtful he had been without even realizing how much it meant to you. "I can’t believe you went to so much trouble for this. I really don’t expect anything big for my birthday."

Spencer shrugged, his expression so genuine it made your heart ache just a little. "Well, it’s not just any day. It’s your day. And you deserve to feel special."

His words landed gently, but with a depth that made your pulse quicken. You had always seen Spencer as more than a colleague, but you’d never really considered him in a romantic light. The way he was speaking tonight, though, made you notice things about him you hadn’t before.

“You’re really thoughtful, Reid,” you said, picking at your food, your voice soft. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone remember the little things like you do.”

He glanced at you with a shy smile, pushing his glasses up slightly. “I like to notice the important things. People tend to overlook those details, but they matter.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, and you suddenly realized how much attention he must’ve been paying all this time. Spencer was always observant—he was a profiler, after all—but this was different. He was talking about you, not in a way that made you feel studied, but in a way that made you feel seen.

“I guess I’ve never really thought about it like that,” you replied, your voice light, though your heart felt anything but. “Most people don’t pay that much attention.”

Spencer looked at you intently then, his gaze soft but unwavering. “It’s hard not to pay attention to you.”

The statement was simple, but the way he said it felt like something more. You felt your cheeks warm, caught off guard by the realization that Spencer Reid might see you in a way you hadn’t seen yourself.

“Reid, I—” you started, but he interrupted, not even realizing the shift in the conversation.

“And you’re always so organized with your case files,” he continued, a small smile playing on his lips. “I appreciate that about you. You make my job easier, and honestly, it’s hard not to enjoy working with you.”

You laughed softly, feeling flustered but trying to keep it light. “You make me sound like I’m perfect or something.”

He tilted his head, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. I’ve always thought you were... well, pretty amazing.”

“I... I didn’t know you felt that way,” you admitted quietly, playing with your fork to avoid looking directly at him.

Spencer, seemingly oblivious to the weight of his own words, shrugged again. “I'm not always good at saying what I’m thinking, but you’ve always stood out to me. I guess it’s just… obvious to me.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and for the first time, you found yourself really considering Spencer Reid in a different light. Sure, he was brilliant, kind, and more attractive than you’d ever let yourself dwell on—but you had never imagined he might see you that way.

You felt... average. Just you. How could someone like Spencer, with his genius mind and thoughtful nature, possibly see you as anything more than a friend or colleague?

As you looked across the table at him, his expression soft and open, you realized that maybe—just maybe—you had been wrong about where you stood with him.

After the plates were cleared, you and Spencer sat side by side, laughing as you decided to abandon any pretense of formality and dig into the cake with forks. It was just the two of you, after all, and the evening had become too comfortable for anything else. Every bite seemed to add to the warmth between you, and even though neither of you had touched a drop of alcohol, it felt like you were both intoxicated—drunk on the unexpected affection and connection between you.

You noticed Spencer watching you with an intensity that was both thrilling and unsettling. His gaze felt heavier than usual, more present, more... intentional. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a little self-conscious under his watchful eyes. “What?” you asked, your voice light but breathless as your lips curled into a small, uncertain smile.

Spencer let out a soft laugh, a sound so gentle it sent warmth coursing through you. He shifted closer, his hand lifting, and before you could process what was happening, his palm was cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed across your lips tenderly, lingering there.

“You have...” he murmured, eyes never leaving yours, “some frosting.”

His touch was electric, sending a shiver through you, though you were frozen in place. Your lips parted slightly in surprise, but you couldn’t move. Spencer's thumb continued to gently trace the curve of your bottom lip, the moment stretching between you, thick with something you hadn’t realized was there until now.

He leaned in a little closer, his breath brushing your skin as he whispered, “Y/N… I’m going to kiss you. Is that okay?”

His words, soft and tentative, sent your pulse racing, and you barely registered the nod you gave in response. But that was all he needed. Spencer's gaze flicked down to your lips, and he closed the remaining distance slowly, as if giving you every chance to stop him, though you knew you wouldn’t.

His lips met yours gently, a hesitant kiss that was soft, warm, and everything you hadn’t realized you’d been craving. The world seemed to fall away for a moment, leaving just the two of you, locked in something fragile and sweet.

Spencer’s hand stayed cradling your face as he deepened the kiss just slightly, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache. When he finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his forehead rested gently against yours, and his eyes were still closed as if he were savoring the moment.

“Was that okay?” he asked quietly, his voice thick with emotion, still holding onto the last traces of your kiss.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands instinctively finding their way to his chest. “Mhm, very okay,” you whispered, smiling softly as your heart raced in your chest.

Spencer opened his eyes slowly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. The room felt heavier with meaning now, but it was the kind of weight you welcomed, a sense that things had shifted between you in the best possible way.

“Can I do it again?” Spencer asked, his voice playful, his lips pulling into a silly grin that made your heart flip.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his eagerness, your cheeks warming as you nodded once more. This time, though, you didn’t wait for him to make the first move. You leaned up toward him, your hands sliding from his chest to the back of his neck, your fingers gently threading through the soft strands of his hair.

Spencer’s hands moved from where they had been resting on your face, sliding down to your waist as he pulled you in closer, your bodies now pressed together with a new, delicious kind of tension. He let out a soft, happy hum, the sound vibrating through you, making you feel like your entire body was alight with warmth.

When you felt his tongue gently part your lips, exploring your mouth with such tender care, you couldn’t help the soft, sweet moan that escaped you. The sound seemed to stir something in Spencer, and you felt his fingers tighten on your waist just as a low, deep groan rumbled from his chest.

Encouraged by his reaction, you tangled your fingers further into his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. The world outside this moment seemed to fade even more, leaving just the feeling of Spencer against you, the intoxicating heat between your bodies, and the soft sounds of contentment that passed between you both.

Each kiss was deeper than the last, each touch more deliberate, as if you were both slowly learning a new language made of gentle caresses and lingering glances. Spencer’s lips were soft and insistent against yours, but always so tender, as if he was savoring each moment, never wanting to rush. The feeling of his body pressed so intimately against yours, his hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go, made your pulse race.

Spencer pulled back ever so slowly, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You let out a soft whine, your body instinctively leaning forward, both at the loss of his lips and the delicious pull of his teeth. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath, the air between you thick with unspoken feelings.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he murmured, his voice soft and almost breathless, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Your heart skipped at his words, and you tilted your head slightly, curiosity getting the better of you. "How long?" you asked, your voice just as quiet, as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile intimacy between you.

Spencer laughed, the sound low and almost bashful. "Two years and three months," he said with a soft chuckle, his breath tickling your skin.

You paused for a moment, realizing how specific that time frame was. Then it hit you. "That's... that's when I started at the BAU," you said slowly, your mind racing to piece it together.

He nodded, his forehead still resting gently against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between. "Since the first day I saw you, I knew you were special."

His words hung in the air, and something inside you shifted. You could feel the weight of his confession settle in your chest, and it only made the moment feel more intense, more real. Spencer had been feeling this way for so long, waiting patiently, watching from the sidelines, all without you ever knowing.

That’s when you made your decision.

"Take me to the bedroom, Reid," you said, your voice steady but filled with anticipation.

Spencer pulled back instantly, his eyes wide in surprise, his expression almost comically stunned. "What?"

You held his gaze, your hand gently brushing his cheek as you repeated, more softly this time, "The bedroom, please?" You threw in your best puppy dog eyes, knowing it would be hard for him to say no.

For a moment, Spencer was frozen, his mind clearly racing to catch up with the reality of what was happening. "Okay—yeah, yeah," he stammered, still in shock but unable to hide the excitement building in his voice.

He stood back quickly, offering his hand to you with a mix of eagerness and hesitation. You took it, letting him pull you gently from the kitchen, the warmth of his palm against yours sparking something deep inside you. As he led you down the hallway toward the bedroom, your heart raced, the anticipation growing with every step.

As soon as the bedroom door closed behind you, your hands were already tugging at Spencer’s sweater vest, pulling it over his head with eager fingers. His usually neat hair was left a little wild and messy, and you couldn't help but giggle softly at the sight. He grinned back at you, shaking his head like a dog trying to shake off water, making you laugh even harder.

"You're ridiculous," you teased, but your words were laced with affection.

Spencer just smiled wider, his eyes filled with mischief and desire. Without missing a beat, his hands found the hem of your shirt, slowly lifting it up as you raised your arms in surrender, allowing him to undress you with deliberate care. The fabric slipped over your head, and as soon as it was discarded to the floor, you could feel his gaze roaming over your body.

His eyes lingered on your chest, clearly noticing the absence of a bra, and the way his breath caught sent a shiver through you. There was something so intense, so reverent in the way he looked at you that it made your skin tingle. His hands found their way to your breasts, his touch gentle yet filled with hunger, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

Without another word, Spencer dipped his head back down, capturing your lips in another kiss that left you breathless. This time, it was deeper, more urgent, as if all the emotions he'd been holding back for years were pouring into this moment. His thumbs rubbed at your nipples as he kissed you, and you could feel his heart beating wildly against your chest, matching the rhythm of your own as you whined softly into his mouth.

Your hands found their way to his hair again, tangling in the soft strands as you pressed your body closer to his, craving more of him, more of the way his lips moved against yours, more of the way his hands explored you.

The moment you felt the unmistakable press of Spencer’s arousal against you, your instincts took over. Your hands trailed down, quickly working at the waistband of his pants, eager to feel more of him. Spencer’s fingers left your body only long enough to undo the buttons of his shirt, your breaths becoming heavier as the distance between you both shrank even more.

Soon, he was down to just his briefs, his skin warm against yours, and for a second, you thought he was about to pull you into another kiss. But instead, he surprised you by crouching down in front of you, his hands resting on your hips. You looked down at him with curiosity and amusement, tilting your head.

“What are you doing down there?” you asked, laughing softly, though your heart was racing.

Spencer looked up at you, and the look in his eyes sent a rush of warmth through your body. There was something almost reverent about the way he gazed at you, like you were the most precious thing he'd ever laid eyes on. “I have wanted this for so, so long,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I want to savor every little bit of you.”

His words made you flush with heat, the intensity of his desire crashing over you like a wave. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, and before you could say anything in response, Spencer's hands were moving again, removing the last pieces of your clothing as he kissed the newly exposed skin.

And then, you were standing completely bare before him, your most intimate parts now level with his face. The vulnerability of the moment, combined with the raw hunger in Spencer’s eyes, made you feel dizzy, but you couldn’t look away.

It seemed like this was exactly what he had wanted all along. Without hesitation, he leaned in, his breath hot against your skin before his tongue traced a sure stripe through your slick folds. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure up your spine, your knees almost buckling from the sheer intensity of it.

A gasp escaped your lips as Spencer continued, his mouth working with a determination that made it clear this was something he had imagined countless times before. His hands gripped your thighs, steadying you as he continued his ministrations, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes designed to unravel you from the inside out.

You couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips, your fingers tangling in his hair once again as he savored you, just like he said he would.

"You taste better than I imagined," Spencer murmured between breaths, his voice thick with desire before he dove back in, his mouth moving over every inch of you, leaving no part untouched. His tongue was thorough, his lips relentless, and each movement made it harder for you to hold on to any coherent thoughts.

Your grip on his hair tightened as a desperate whimper escaped your lips. "You—ungh—you imagined this?" you managed to gasp out between moans, your voice shaky and breathless.

Spencer hummed against you in response, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, his mouth latching onto your clit with more intensity, suctioning his lips tightly before shaking his head back and forth, creating a sensation so intense it made you scream out, your body trembling with the force of it.

The sound that left you was raw, completely involuntary, as waves of pleasure rolled through you, Spencer's hands gripping your thighs tighter to hold you steady as you lost yourself in the moment. He was relentless, devouring you with an eagerness that matched his earlier words. It was clear he had thought about this—dreamed about this—and now, with you here in front of him, he wasn’t going to waste a single second.

"Reid..." you moaned, your voice breaking as your entire body responded to his touch, your legs threatening to give out beneath you. Each movement of his tongue, each gentle bite or hum, pushed you closer and closer to the edge, and all you could do was hold on tight, letting him take you wherever he wanted you to go.

But then, just as you were teetering on the edge, Spencer pulled back, leaving you breathless and aching for more. The sudden absence of his touch made your body tremble, a desperate whine escaping your lips. When you looked down, confused and still dazed with pleasure, you noticed the almost stern look in his eyes, his lips glistening as he gazed up at you.

"Spencer," he said, his voice low, full of intent.

Your brow furrowed slightly, your mind hazy from the high you had been riding. "What?" you managed to ask, your voice breathless and needy.

His eyes softened, but his expression remained firm. "Call me Spencer," he repeated, his tone a mixture of command and affection, as if this small detail mattered more than anything in that moment.

Before you could fully process it, he leaned back in, parting you gently with his thumbs to give himself even more access. The feeling was overwhelming, your body trembling as he resumed his ministrations with renewed intensity, his tongue and mouth working in tandem, more precise and focused than before.

The need in you swelled again, even stronger than before, and this time, you couldn’t hold back the moans that spilled from your lips. "Spencer," you gasped, his name escaping your lips like a prayer, your body arching into him as he pushed you further and further toward the edge.

Hearing his name on your lips seemed to spur him on, his movements growing even more deliberate as he devoured you with every ounce of the hunger he had been holding back. You were completely at his mercy, unable to think, unable to do anything but feel as he brought you closer and closer to the peak of pleasure, his name falling from your lips again and again.

Spencer could sense how close you were, your breath hitching and your body trembling beneath his touch. He doubled his efforts, his tongue moving with precision and urgency, his fingers pressing against your thighs to keep you steady. The need to see you completely unravel, to give you that release, spurred him on as he focused entirely on you.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, and then, finally, the tension that had been building in your core snapped. You tilted your head back, your body arching as the overwhelming pleasure took over. With a loud, uncontrolled moan, your hands found Spencer’s hair, gripping it tightly, tugging hard as you released, your body shuddering and your mind reeling from the intensity of it all.

Spencer didn’t stop, his mouth never leaving you as he worked you through your climax, swallowing everything you offered him. The feel of your fingers gripping his hair, the way your body shook as you released in his mouth—it was everything he’d dreamed of, and more. Only when your body began to calm, your breath evening out, did he slowly pull back, his lips brushing against your skin one last time, savoring the moment.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of satisfaction as you slowly came back to reality. You were still breathless, your body weak from the intensity of your orgasm, but the way Spencer looked at you, filled with awe and admiration, made you feel like you were floating.

"That," he murmured softly, "was everything."

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, still floating in the afterglow, your head in the clouds, your body humming with the remnants of pleasure. Spencer slowly rose from his knees, his hands gently skimming your skin as he stood to his full height, a soft, amused smile playing on his lips as he looked down at you.

“You with me, beautiful?” he asked, his voice full of warmth and amusement as he stroked your hair, fingers threading through the strands tenderly.

You blinked up at him, your eyes still hazy with satisfaction, but your smile was soft and content. “I’m with you,” you replied, voice breathy but sincere, your whole body feeling like it was made of light.

Spencer chuckled, the sound affectionate and full of something deeper. “Good, good,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. “Do you want to keep going?”

A slow smile spread across your lips, and the way you said, “Please, Spencer,” made his heart race with excitement and affection.

Spencer grinned, the playful glint in his eyes returning as he gently guided you down onto the pillows, his hands firm but tender. He leaned over you, his fingers brushing your cheek as he whispered, “Anything for the birthday girl.”

With that, Spencer lowered himself over you, his body pressing against yours with a sweet, delicious heat. You could feel the warmth of him, the anticipation growing as his lips found yours once again, slow and lingering, savoring every second. His hands explored your body as though he wanted to memorize every curve, every inch of your skin, and the way he touched you made your heart race all over again.

This wasn’t just about physical pleasure anymore—it was about something deeper, something that had been quietly building between you both for much longer than either of you had realized.

"Can you..." you started, but then hesitated, suddenly feeling a wave of shyness crash over you. This was Reid, after all, your colleague and friend, someone you'd see at work tomorrow. The reality of that hit you, and it made your heart race for an entirely different reason now.

Spencer, noticing the shift in your demeanor, raised an eyebrow, his voice soft and reassuring. "Can I what, darling?" he asked, a small, amused smile on his lips as he looked down at you.

You shook your head, trying to brush it off, but Spencer’s expression quickly shifted to concern. His hands, which had been tracing gentle patterns on your skin, paused, and his voice became softer, more serious. "Y/N... are you okay?"

You let out a quiet sigh, nodding, but there was still a lingering tension in your chest. "Just... is this going to be weird tomorrow?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The intimacy of the moment, the emotions wrapped up in everything that had just happened—it suddenly felt fragile when faced with the idea of seeing him at the office the next day, going back to the usual routine like nothing had changed.

Spencer's face softened even more, and he tilted his head, his eyes searching yours. "Weird?" he repeated, his voice thoughtful, as if he was carefully considering your words. He shifted slightly, his hand coming up to gently stroke your cheek. "No, Y/N, this doesn’t have to be weird."

You blinked up at him, your heart settling slightly at his calm demeanor. He continued, his voice gentle but certain. "We can take it one day at a time, okay? But if you're worried about work, nothing between us will change unless you want it to. I care about you too much to let this ruin anything.”

"If anything, this makes everything better," Spencer continued softly, his eyes full of sincerity as his hand stayed gently on your cheek. "I’ve wanted to be close to you for so long. I wouldn’t do anything to mess that up or make you feel uncomfortable. We can handle this however you want—slow, steady, or even just keeping it between us for now."

His words soothed the unease that had started to form, the tenderness in his tone making it clear that he wasn’t rushing anything, wasn’t trying to push for something more than what you were ready for. Spencer, as always, was careful, deliberate, and understanding. The way he looked at you, the way he touched you, made you feel safe, even in this new, uncertain territory.

You took a deep breath, feeling some of the weight lift from your chest. "I just… I don’t want this to change things in a bad way," you admitted, your fingers lightly brushing over his arm as he hovered over you, your bodies still close but the air between you calmer now.

Spencer shook his head, his smile warm and full of affection. "It won’t. I promise. I’ll still be me, you’ll still be you. And we’ll figure out whatever this is together, one step at a time. You don’t have to worry about work or anything else right now. Just... be here with me tonight."

You felt a sense of relief wash over you, his words grounding you in the moment. The fear of what tomorrow might bring began to fade as you looked up at him, trusting that Spencer, with all his care and thoughtfulness, would never let this turn into something that would hurt either of you.

"Okay," you whispered, offering him a small smile. "I’m here with you."

Spencer’s face lit up with a soft, almost shy grin as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, his hands once again finding their way to your waist, holding you close as if reassuring you through his touch.

“Good,” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm and comforting. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

With that, the tension between you melted away, leaving only the quiet intimacy of the moment. Spencer guided you back onto the pillows, his movements slow and deliberate as he kissed you again, this time with more ease and tenderness, making it clear that whatever happened next would be on your terms, whenever you were ready.

Spencer groaned deeply into your mouth as you pushed his briefs down, your hand wrapping around him, stroking him with just enough pressure to make his breath hitch. You guided him into position, your need for him clear in the way your body responded. His lips never left yours, but his breath grew more ragged as the tension between you mounted.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours, his voice thick with restraint.

You whimpered in response, the feeling of him grinding against you, the tip of his cock hitting your clit, making it impossible to think of anything else. “Please, Spencer,” you begged, your voice trembling with need. “I want you so badly. Please.”

He let out a strained groan, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as your words washed over him. "Okay, okay," he whispered, trying to soothe you even though he was losing his own control. "Shh, you never have to beg me for anything, ever."

Your body writhed beneath him, desperate for more, for him, and you shifted your hips instinctively, trying to coax him to push inside. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and your need for him was palpable in every shaky breath you took.

Spencer, however, managed to hold onto a sliver of resolve, even as it wore thin. "Y/N, beautiful," he said, his voice rough, "we need to use a condom."

"Top drawer," you gasped, your words nearly a plea as your body moved beneath him, craving the release only he could give you. "Hurry!"

With a nod, Spencer fumbled toward the bedside table, pulling the drawer open with shaky hands. He found the box quickly, tearing it open with urgency. Your eyes stayed locked on him, watching every movement, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your skin burning with need.

He returned to you swiftly, sliding the condom on with practiced care, though his hands were trembling. The moment he was ready, he positioned himself above you again, his eyes filled with both desire and affection as he leaned down to kiss you, this time slower, savoring the feel of your lips against his.

"I'm here," he whispered, his voice softer now, filled with reassurance as he finally pressed forward, slowly pushing inside of you, the sensation sending a wave of pleasure crashing through both of you.

Your head fell back against the pillows, a loud, satisfied moan escaping your lips as he filled you completely, your body welcoming him in a way that felt natural, perfect. Spencer groaned, his breath hitching as he felt your tight walls constrict even further around him.

"Y/N, darling, relax, please," Spencer panted, his voice laced with both urgency and concern as he struggled to hold himself back, his body tense with restraint. He could feel your tightness, the way you clenched around him, and it was driving him wild, making it hard to stay in control.

You whimpered, your body still adjusting to the sensation. "You're just—ah!" Your voice broke into a loud gasp as he finally pushed all the way inside, filling you completely. The stretch was intense, overwhelming in the best way. "You're so big... why didn't you tell me you were so big?"

Spencer let out a tense chuckle, clearly amused by your reaction despite his own effort to keep himself in check. "I, uh... didn't think it was that big," he managed to get out, his breath shaky as he looked down at you, his forehead damp with sweat from the strain of holding himself back.

“You’re a fucking liar,” you laughed breathlessly through your whimpers and whines, your body trembling with both pleasure and amusement.

His chuckle, though filled with affection, was also tight with restraint, and you could feel the tension in his body as he tried to keep from moving too quickly. "Just... breathe," he murmured, his voice gentler now as he leaned down to kiss your forehead, trying to calm both you and himself. "I'll give you as much time as you need. I don't want to hurt you."

You nodded, taking deep breaths as your body slowly adjusted to the feeling of him inside you. Spencer’s hands stayed gentle, stroking your sides and thighs as he gave you time to acclimate, though you could feel him trembling with the effort of holding back.

After a moment, you shifted your hips, testing the sensation, and the movement elicited a low groan from Spencer, his self-control wavering. "Okay..." you whispered, your voice soft but filled with need. "I’m ready."

Spencer’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with desire as he slowly began to move. His pace was careful at first, each thrust deliberate as he let your body adjust to his size, but the tension between you built quickly, and soon, the rhythm grew more urgent, more desperate.

Each movement sent sparks of pleasure through you, the sensation of him filling you so completely making you dizzy with desire. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the way he moved so perfectly in sync with you, as if you were made for each other.

Spencer groaned deeply, his forehead pressing against yours again as his movements grew more intense. "You feel so good," he murmured, his voice strained as he fought to hold himself back just a little longer, wanting to make this last as long as possible for both of you.

"Spencer!" you cried out, your nails digging into his back as your body trembled beneath him, the pleasure overwhelming you.

"Yeah, baby?" he panted, his voice rough and breathless as his hips slapped against yours in a steady, rhythmic motion. "Tell me what you need."

"You! More! Please!" Your voice was a desperate plea, every inch of your body burning with want.

"Fuck," he breathed, his control slipping as he sped up, his thrusts becoming more intense. His hand snaked between your bodies, fingers finding your clit as he began to rub you in time with his movements. The sensation made you cry out again, the combination of his fingers and his body sending you spiraling toward the edge.

“I’m—I’m gonna come,” you whined, your body trembling as you clenched tightly around Spencer, the sensation pushing you toward the brink.

“Y/N!” he gasped, his voice strained as he tried to hold on. “Calm down, baby, you’re going to push me out.”

But you were too far gone to hear him, lost in the overwhelming pleasure that was building inside you. Your whimpers grew louder, your body thrashing uncontrollably as Spencer’s fingers moved faster, working in perfect rhythm with your body's need.

Suddenly, it hit you all at once, the most intense release you’d ever experienced. You let out a violent scream, your entire body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, something deeper and more powerful than anything you'd ever felt before.

Your walls clenched so tightly that you did, in fact, push Spencer out, and you gushed all over him, your body overwhelmed by the force of your orgasm. Spencer let out a low groan at the sensation, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and arousal as he watched you come undone in front of him, watched your release coat his stomach and thighs.

“Did you just... squirt?” Spencer asked, his voice full of pure awe as he looked down at you, his eyes wide with amazement.

You were a panting mess on the bed, completely spent from the intensity of what had just happened. “That, or I just peed on you,” you mumbled, half-joking but still trying to make sense of the overwhelming sensation you had just felt.

Spencer laughed, shaking his head as he dipped down to kiss you, his lips soft against yours. “You are so sexy, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice full of affection and admiration.

You kissed him back tiredly, your body too exhausted to do much more, but the desire to give him what he needed still lingered. "Want you to come too," you whined softly, your words almost pleading.

“Okay, okay,” Spencer soothed, his breath hitching as he positioned himself once more, slowly pushing back inside you. The sensation made your body jolt, and you cried out, your back arching from the overstimulation. It was too much and yet not enough, the oversensitivity sending sharp pulses of pleasure through you.

“Are you okay, darling?” Spencer asked, his voice breathless as he fought to hold himself back, concerned about your comfort.

You nodded quickly, though your body was trembling beneath him. “Nuh huh,” you whimpered, your voice shaky as you gripped him tightly, pulling him closer. “I’m okay, I want this. Please,” you urged, your body still sensitive but craving the closeness, needing to feel him chase his own release.

Spencer groaned at your words, his resolve crumbling as he began to move again, thrusting into you with an increasing pace. His body was tense, his breath ragged as he neared the edge, each movement sending both of you into a dizzying spiral of pleasure.

You clung to him as he chased his release, your breaths mingling, your bodies connected in a way that felt intimate and overwhelming all at once. And when Spencer finally let go, his body shuddering as he found his own climax, you held him close as he groaned and whispered your name.

After Spencer had taken care of both of you, gently cleaning you up and even changing the sheets that had been soaked in your release, the two of you finally settled into bed, wrapped up in each other's arms. His body was warm against yours, his breath steady as he held you close. Everything felt so perfect, so right in that moment, like the world had shrunk to just the two of you in that cozy little space.

You nuzzled into Spencer's chest, feeling his heartbeat under your lips as you placed a soft kiss there. "I want things to be different," you mumbled, your voice quiet and filled with a softness that made his heart swell.

Spencer looked down at you, his hand stroking your hair gently. "Yeah?" he asked, the happiness in his voice evident. "Different how?"

You shifted slightly, still cuddled close, your lips brushing over his skin. "I want everyone to know," you murmured, your voice more certain this time.

Spencer chuckled softly, though he held you tighter, a smile spreading across his face. "Know what exactly?" he asked, teasing slightly, though he had a feeling he knew where this was going.

You tilted your head up, meeting his eyes with a sweet, serious look. "That you're my boyfriend," you said, your voice full of affection, but also with a sense of determination.

Spencer’s heart fluttered at your words, and he couldn’t help but break into a grin. He’d never thought he’d hear you say something so simple yet so powerful. "Boyfriend, huh?" he teased softly, though his own voice was thick with emotion. He pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours. "I think I’d like that," he whispered.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his words settle over you like a blanket. "Good," you replied, kissing him softly. "Because I want everyone to know how lucky I am."

Spencer let out a soft laugh, his thumb gently tracing the outline of your face. "I think I’m the lucky one, Y/N," he murmured, his voice filled with nothing but pure, overwhelming happiness. And in that moment, with the two of you wrapped up in each other, everything felt like it was exactly as it should be.

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pitlanepeach · 3 months ago

Text

From Eden | Chapter Five (5/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety + telling a partner about self harm. Some awkwardness (obviously. it's them.) Kissing!!!!!!!.

Notes — Ohmygod they’re literally insufferable. I love them so much. I wrote half of this in the middle of the night and the rest when I was supposed to be WFH. Don’t tell my boss.

It took twelve minutes — a stuttered conversation about his plane journey (“Boring. I chose the wrong job for a guy who hates travelling so much.”), him tripping over a random stack of books, and Francesca’s uncontrollable burst of laughter at his clumsiness that cracked through the initial awkward tension.

And then it was just… easy. Like they’d known each other forever.

Oscar fit. He fit into her space. Not seamlessly — his legs hung off the edge of the sofa, and he had to duck to get into the kitchen without smacking his head — but somehow, he still fit. Like there had always been a space carved out for him here, quiet and waiting.

“You have a lot of books,” he grunted, rubbing his elbow where he’d caught it on the corner of a shelf after trying (and failing) to avoid another tumble. A faint red blotch bloomed across his cheek.

Francesca pursed her lips in a valiant effort to hide her grin; her cheeks hurt. Had she stopped smiling since he’d arrived? Probably not. “That’s my entire livelihood you’re talking about.”

Oscar gave her a mock-serious nod, eyes twinkling. “My apologies. I guess I just have to get used to feeling like I’m in a library then.”

Francesca raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Correct. Insult the books and you’ll be out on the street faster than you can say ugly orange racecar.”

He grinned at that, dimples flashing. “Papaya,” he corrected, automatically.

“Osc. It’s… so orange,” she told him, gentle and sincere. “They’ve brainwashed you.”

He rolled his eyes, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Hm. Agree to disagree.”

She huffed her annoyance, but she was smiling, still.

Oscar looked around the flat again, with more intention. Most of the walls were lined with shelves — overflowing, chaotic, personal. Not just books, but little figurines, old mugs repurposed as pen holders, framed photos, postcards, pressed flowers between glass. Her entire world, encompassed inside these four walls.

“I like it here,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her.

Francesca’s smile faltered, just a touch. She studied him, trying to figure out if he meant it — really meant it — or if he was just being kind.

But Oscar met her gaze with something solid. Unwavering.

“I’m glad you let me come,” he added, softer this time. “Really glad.”

Right. Because he really was here.

Not on a screen. Not in the background of a race broadcast. But here, in her flat, stepping over book piles and stealing glances at her like she was the only thing in the room he really wanted to be looking at.

Henry hopped up beside him on the sofa, gave him a cursory sniff, then promptly curled up next to his thigh like he, too, had accepted Oscar's presence as something entirely inevitable.

“You’ve been vetted,” Francesca said, settling in across from them with her knees pulled up.

Oscar tilted his head. “By the cat or by you?”

She smiled. “Both. Congratulations.”

He leaned back, arms stretched out across the cushions, one foot nudging hers gently. “Worth it.”

—

Francesca didn’t mean to end up pressed right up against him on the sofa. It just sort of… happened.

One minute they were sitting side by side, knees brushing slightly whenever she shifted to grab her mug from the coffee table, and the next, she found herself curled against his side, her legs pulled up, tucked comfortably between them, a blanket pooled over both their laps.

Oscar’s arm had moved slowly, almost unsurely at first, but now it was settled around her shins, his big hand warm around her ankle, wrapping around it entirely. His thumb made small, absent-minded circles, like he hadn’t even realised he was doing it. Francesca hadn’t said anything, didn’t want to break this spell they’d found themselves in.

Henry was curled on the rug nearby, snoring faintly. Oscar had tried to bribe him with a treat earlier. The cat had blinked once, disinterested, then strolled off with his tail flicking like a snub.

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Oscar murmured, glancing at the feline. “He’s kind of a little bastard, actually.”

Francesca smiled, eyes on the cat. “He’s discerning.”

“Is that the polite word for emotionally unavailable?”

“That,” she agreed, “and slightly spiteful. He liked you when you first got here, but now you’re stealing my attention from him, so…”

Oscar chuckled. “Can’t deny he’s cute. I can see why you love him.”

“I do,” she said simply. Then, after a pause, “He makes me feel safe.”

Oscar glanced down at her, the humour in his expression fading into something gentler. “Yeah?”

Francesca took a breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah. He’s quiet — unless he’s hungry and I’ve forgotten his breakfast. Doesn’t expect much. Doesn’t judge me. And he’s just… here, you know? He just exists near me. Always.”

Oscar didn’t speak right away. He didn’t try to fill the silence with something easy or deflecting. Instead, his thumb traced a slow, steady line along her ankle, grounding her.

“He’s taken good care of you, then,” he said, soft but certain.

She turned her head to look at him — really looked. “Yeah. Is that weird?”

“No,” he said firmly, with a tone that very much implied that he wouldn’t accept any different.

His hand left her ankle after a moment, fingers brushing up her leg, light and patient, until they found hers, half-curled on her lap. He picked up one of her hands gently, like it might break.

And maybe it already had; in a way.

He turned it over slowly, thumb grazing the inside of her wrist, then the raw, reddened skin across her knuckles and the side of her palm, the tiny pinch bruises, the white scars. His gaze flicked to hers, suddenly cautious.

Francesca swallowed hard. God, she’d known this would come up eventually. She hadn’t expected them to be so touchy so fast, but it was far too late to pretend this was going to be anything slow-burning. They’d already burned for long enough.

“It’s not— I don’t hurt myself. Not… deliberately.” Her voice shook, but she didn’t stop. “It’s more like… when things get too much, and I don’t know how to handle it, I pick. Scratch. Sometimes I don’t even notice I’m doing it until it’s already bad.” She drew in a breath, unsteady. “It’s been worse before. But this — this is still pretty recent.”

Oscar didn’t let go.

He didn’t flinch or shift away or frown in that way that made people feel like they’d just confessed to something shameful. Instead, he laced their fingers together, slow and certain.

“My parents hated it,” she said after a silent moment. “Whenever they caught me doing anything that made them uncomfortable — biting my nails, needing to leave places early — it was like I was ruining it for them. Like I was an inconvenience on purpose, you know?”

Oscar’s jaw went tight, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I wasn’t allowed to talk about how I was feeling. They didn’t… like hearing it. I had to hide everything. After a while, I started hiding it from myself, too.” She gave his hand a tiny squeeze. “And then, one day, it started manifesting itself in other ways.”

“Like this,” Oscar said gently, brushing a thumb over her hand again.

She nodded, eyes burning. “It’s getting better. I- I hardly do it anymore. I can go months without an issue. I know it’s terrible, I do, but I promise, I can try—.”

“You don’t have to try for me,” he said, voice low as he cut her off, halting her spiral. “Don’t ever have to hide how you’re feeling, or what you’re thinking. You get that?”

Francesca bit her lip, hard. Her chest was tight — not in her usual twisted panic kind of way, but something much, much warmer.

“I’m a bit scared,” she whispered, curling closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder and breathing him in. “That you’ll realise how messy I am and… I don’t know. Decide I’m not worth the hassle.”

“You are,” he said, without hesitation.

No pause. No doubt. Just truth.

She let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You don’t know that.”

“Kinda do,” Oscar murmured. “I’ve got my mess too. Plenty of it.” He paused, his voice low. “You might be the one who decides I’m not worth it. I can’t promise you a peaceful life, Francesca. I’ll try — I’ll do everything I can to give you something close — but I can’t guarantee anything.”

She shook her head before he could spiral further. “Osc, stop. I know. I already know,” she said gently.

And that was enough.

They stayed like that, wrapped around each other, fingers loosely tangled, hearts beating in tandem — not perfectly synced, but close enough. Close enough to mean something.

—

The quiet felt different now.

Francesca sat on the edge of her sofa, staring at the dent Oscar had left in the cushion. Henry had moved to the other end, curled up into a croissant of cat contentment, but it wasn’t enough. Not tonight.

She'd tried brushing her teeth. Tidying. Scrolling on her phone. All of it only filled seconds.

It had been less than an hour since he’d left, and already the air in the flat felt too thin.

She got up and paced, arms crossed over her chest like they could hold her together.

This is ridiculous. He’s five minutes away. Maybe less. But also, you’ve known him for what? Three months? And then, he didn’t want to go either. You saw it on his face.

She reached for her phone, pulled it back, then finally opened FaceTime before she could change her mind.

He picked up on the second ring. His hair was damp, he looked freshly showered, and the hoodie he was wearing sat slightly crooked on his shoulders.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft with surprise. “Everything alright?”

“I—um.” She pressed her lips together and huffed out a laugh. “Is it really weird if I ask you to come back?”

Oscar blinked once, then sat up straighter, the movement making the camera wobble slightly. “No. Not weird.”

“I’m not… asking for anything,” she clarified quickly, heat rising in her cheeks. “I just — I can’t really explain it. I just feel a bit off. I thought I’d be fine. I’ve lived alone for years and it’s never been a problem but now that you were here and now you’re not it just feels—”

“Wrong for me to be five minutes down the road?” he offered gently.

She nodded. “Yeah. Exactly that.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, he smiled — lopsided and warm. “I was hoping you’d say something. Didn’t want to be the one to push my luck.”

“I— Really?” She exhaled.

“I haven’t unpacked,” he admitted. “I’ve just been sitting here staring at the ceiling wondering if it was too soon to text you that I miss you.”

She laughed, the sound raw and relieved. “You’re such a dork.”

“Takes one to know one,” he said, standing up and already reaching for his shoes. “Give me ten minutes. I— should I bring my stuff?”

“Yeah.” She said, without even a second of hesitation. “I’ll leave the front door unlocked.”

Oscar hung up after one last smile in her direction.

Francesca paced again, but this time it was different — tinged with a manic kind of anticipation, her steps light.

When the door creaked open, she was perched on the arm of the sofa, kind of just… staring at it. Waiting.

Oscar stepped inside, shaking his hair out from the light drizzle. “London really rolled out the welcome mat for me, huh?”

“It was wet already,” she said, and then stood there, looking at him. The comfort of his presence settled over her like a favourite hoodie. “Thank you for coming back.”

“I never really left,” he said.

With a snort of derision, she reached for his hand, pulled him toward the couch, and they collapsed into the same dented cushions as earlier — this time, with no awkwardness, no space left between them. She practically curled up on his lap, in a move that was so very Henry of her.

It was late. Early hours of the morning. They were both tired. They didn’t talk much beyond a few whispered words here and there as they watched a random movie that was playing on Channel 4. Just sat, his arm slung around her waist, her fingers toying with the edge of his hoodie. He kissed her temple once, then rested his cheek there.

Easy. Warm.

She wanted it forever.

—

Francesca moved around her kitchen on careful feet, trying not to make too much noise even though Oscar was very much awake — she was wearing one of his hoodies. They’d fallen asleep on the couch, a mess of limbs and cricked necks. When they woke up, she’d shivered, and he’d immediately grabbed his duffle, opened it, and grabbed the first hoodie to hand her. It had a McLaren logo on the front and smelled like him.

The domesticity of it all was throwing her completely off balance.

He looked up from the mug in his hands when she set down two plates — toast, fruit. Not fancy, but easy. She didn’t say anything, and neither did he, not for a few moments.

“You make weird tea,” he said finally, peering into his mug. It had a picture of Henry on it. When he’d chosen it out of the cupboard, she’d had to hide her smile.

She tilted her head at him. “Huh? Weird how?”

“There’s oat milk in it,” he said, nose scrunching slightly.

“I like oat milk,” she replied, matter-of-fact. “You should’ve told me you didn’t. I think I have some powdered cow’s milk in the back of the cupboard somewhere…” She trailed off, glancing toward one of the kitchen cabinets with a furrowed brow.

Oscar coughed, hastily shaking his head. “No—God, no. I’m… yeah. Oat milk is just fine.”

Francesca stared at him for a second, a slow smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It’s easy to forget you’re probably used to, like, fancy coffee. Flat whites with milk flown in from Australia or something.”

She reached across the table and plucked a strawberry from his plate with deliberate mischief.

“Be nice about my milk preferences,” she added, popping it into her mouth.

“I am being nice,” he said with a small smile. “I’m drinking it, aren’t I?”

Their knees bumped under the table, lightly, accidentally-on-purpose. Francesca didn’t move hers away. Oscar didn’t either.

His phone buzzed near his elbow, but he didn’t reach for it. Francesca glanced at it, then back at him, then said, “Lando?”

He hummed. “Probably.”

She smiled around her bite of toast. “Aw. He’s your Katie.”

Oscar blinked at her. “My what?”

She laughed softly, a little embarrassed. “You know. The person you text the most. The one who you think about telling big news before anyone else.”

His expression softened, gaze dropping briefly to his plate before lifting again, meeting hers. “I think that’s you now.”

Francesca froze. Not in a bad way — just long enough to feel it settle deep in her chest, warm and a little scary. “Oh.”

Oscar’s foot nudged hers again, gentler this time. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, it’s… very okay.”

They went quiet again, the air between them filled with something lighter now, but thicker, too. Oscar reached out, slowly, fingers brushing the edge of her plate to steal a slice of strawberry. She watched his hand, her gaze lingering as it retreated. And then she reached across and took it — his hand — without fully thinking.

He didn’t flinch. Just let her link their fingers and gave the tiniest squeeze in return.

“So,” he said softly, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “You studied English Lit at uni?”

Francesca nodded. Of course he’d noticed the framed certificate stuck to the fridge like a badge of honour. The most expensive fridge magnet in the world.

“Yeah. At York,” she said. “I was going to try and get into the publishing industry, originally. Or proof-editing. But… things changed. I started posting on YouTube a month after graduation, and it just… took off.”

“Did you like studying?” he asked after a beat.

“Sometimes,” she replied, her voice thoughtful. “I liked the content. Loved the books. The theory, the discussions. Hated the actual, like, uni lifestyle though.”

He smiled, just a little. “Too much socialising for you, huh?”

She huffed out a laugh. “Too much everything. People everywhere, all the time. Constant pressure to be on. And drunk. I hated how loud it all was.”

Oscar’s fingers stilled for a second before they moved again, slow and grounding, rubbing circles on her skin. “I didn’t do uni,” he said, eyes flicking down to where their hands sat tangled between them. “Went to boarding school here, in England. Left after GCSEs to focus on racing full time.”

Francesca’s brow creased, the image of him at fifteen — maybe younger — on the other side of the world, too sharp in her mind. “Did you miss your family?” She frowned, thumb tracing a line over his wrist. “Your mum must have trusted you a lot, to let you make that decision.”

Oscar let out a breath, not quite a sigh. “Yeah,” he said. “She did. Does.” His voice dropped, a little rougher now. “It wasn’t easy. I mean, I was pretty lucky — I had lots of people around me, managers, mentors, a few teammates who looked out for me. But there were days when all I felt was homesick, you know?”

Francesca turned her body more toward him, their knees bumping.

“I can’t imagine being so independent at that age,” she said, quietly.

“I think it taught me a lot,” he said after a moment. “But I don’t know if I’d want the same for my kids.”

Her breath caught.

“I- yeah.” She murmured. “I can see that.”

He looked at her then, properly, his hand moving to hold both of hers now, like he wanted to keep them steady. “When did you start reading?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Young. I used to go to the library after school. It felt safe there.” She confessed. “When I didn’t want to be at home.”

“I- I really hate how you were treated by your family.” He admitted. “Did you— I mean, can you at least tell me that you had one person in your life who took care of you?”

“Katie.” She said, after a heavy beat. “I met her at uni. She was studying business. She’s a great friend.”

That wasn’t the answer he’d been wanting to hear, clearly, but he didn’t push.

Francesca stared at him. There was a beat of quiet between them, soft and golden, and then she said, “You make me feel safe, Osc.”

He blinked at her.

“I know it sounds like a lot,” she continued, “but there’s something about you that makes me feel like I can just… breathe.”

Oscar didn’t speak for a long moment. He just leaned in, her forehead resting lightly against hers.

Francesca let her eyes flutter shut, her breath catching in her throat. There was something cloying in the air between them now — expectant, tender, and so, so careful. His hand moved from hers, brushing up along her forearm, until it came to rest at the side of her face. His thumb traced a gentle line across her cheekbone, featherlight, like he was memorising every inch of her.

She opened her eyes just enough to meet his.

He was already looking at her.

Not the way other people looked at her — with pity, or hesitance, or confusion — but like he was enamoured by her.

“Is this okay?” Oscar asked, voice barely a whisper.

Francesca gave the smallest nod, her fingers curling into the sleeve of his hoodie. “Yeah,” she breathed. “Please.”

So he kissed her.

It was slow. Intentional. No rush, no need to prove anything — just the warmth of his lips against hers, the quiet exhale from his nose, the gentle tilt of his head as he leaned in closer. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world to do it properly.

Francesca melted into it. Her hand came up to his shoulder, then his neck, fingers sliding into the soft hair at his nape. She felt his pulse against her palm, and hers answered in kind, a steady, stumbling rhythm.

When they eventually pulled apart, neither of them moved far. Foreheads still resting together, breaths shared in the space between them, everything soft and golden in the morning light.

“I really like you,” she confessed, cheeks rosy red, lips swollen.

Oscar grinned, lips brushing against hers as he said, “Yeah. I really like you too.”

And then she laughed, small and slightly breathless. “Good. Because that would’ve been really awkward otherwise.”

He laughed with her, arms tightening around her like he didn’t quite want to let her go. “Yeah, that would’ve been devastating for my ego.”

—

bookishgoldie just posted!

liked by oscarpiastri, hattiepiastri, and 47,109 others

bookishgoldie: new video-essay coming to your screens on Tuesday! hint: it’s about a certain singers influence on the contemporary romance genre 🪩🫶

view all comments

user21: holy shit my two worlds are colliding and i am NOT going to be calm about this

user17: she’s a HUGE swiftie miss girl isn’t quiet about it either 😭 ive been waiting for a vid like this from her omg

user87: me on tuesday: everybody shut up my show is on

user74: ohmygod real

user6: our girl is collecting piastri’s like pokemons ohmygod. oscar AND hattie in the likes iktr

user54: so her and oscar are definitely dating then lol

user69: maybe hattie just showed oscar one of her vids and he just… follows her? it’s probably completely innocent. she’s not exactly wag material lol

user7: @user69 wish i could be as delusional as you babe

hattiepiastri: if i send u my favourite manga will you make a video about it pls?

bookishgoldie: it would be my first manga ever! but yes. i’d 100% make a video about it if u want me to do <3

user40: OH SHES PART OF THE FAMILY HUH

user61: stop she’s giving such big sister energy ‘if that’s what u me to do’ IM DYING

landonorris: my sister asked if u would follow her pls she likes your videos @flonorris

bookishgoldie: ohmygod yes of course that’s so sweet. followed her

flonorris: this is the most humiliating day of my life but I LOVE UR VIDS SO MUCH FRANCESCA ahhhhh (lando i fcking hate u)

user76: ok this is getting crazy now

user8: im getting whiplash WHAT IS HAPPENING

—

Francesca was curled up on Oscar’s lap, laptop perched on her thighs, fingers moving with idle precision as she clipped audio and trimmed footage.

He was content to just watch her work. In her element. The furrow of her brow when something didn’t sync up quite the way she’d expected it to. The occasional muttered commentary and nudge when she wanted his opinion on something. The way she mouthed along to her voiceover without even realising.

It made something calm settle in his chest.

“I like seeing this side of things,” he said after a while.

Francesca glanced at him with a shy smile, tapping the spacebar to pause the video. “A lot of people hate this part. The editing. My management tried to hire someone to take over, but I said no. I genuinely enjoy this. I can just… lose myself in it.”

Oscar hummed. “Hattie’s the same with her sketching. Just zones out completely. You could set off fireworks next to her and she wouldn’t notice.”

Francesca’s smile widened a little at the mention of his sister. “I like Hattie.”

“She’s annoying. But she’s also one of my favourite people,” he said simply. Then, after a second, he asked, “Do you… talk to your siblings much?”

The shift was subtle. Her smile dimmed.

“Not really,” she said, voice quiet but even. “I mean, I have a sibling. One. Izzy. She’s older. We’ve never been close. She was like my parents; thought I was just a dramatic attention seeking kid.”

Oscar’s fingers found hers where they sat between them, soft and easy. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay.” She gave a little shrug, tried to smile again. “I mean, it’s not. But I’ve made peace with it.”

Oscar was quiet for a second. “My family’s already excited to meet you.”

Francesca’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Wait — what?”

He gave her a sheepish grin. “I’ve told them about you. Mum asked if I’d started seeing anyone. I didn’t really know how to explain what this is, but I tried.”

“You’ve told them about me?”

“Of course I have,” he said. “You’re kind of hard not to talk about, to be honest.”

Francesca flushed, her gaze dropping to their joined hands. She didn’t speak for a long moment, then murmured, “I want to go. One day. To Australia. I want to meet them.”

Oscar looked at her properly then — really looked. Her eyes were glassy, not from tears, but from something quieter. Nerves, maybe. Definitely fear.

“Scary thought?” he asked.

She nodded.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said. “They’ll come to you. They’ve already offered. I told them a little bit—not everything, just what I could. Mum gets it. She said she’s happy to meet you wherever you feel safe.”

Francesca stared at him, wide-eyed. “You… told them that?”

“Yeah,” he said, slightly hesitant. “I—I'm not ashamed of anything about you, Francesca.”

She looked away quickly. Her thumb rubbed absently over his collarbone, shaky and soft.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’d like that. Them here. But that— I mean, I’d want to try. My job gives me so much freedom and I’ve never used it.” Her voice dipped, threaded with uncertainty. “I’ve always been too scared.”

She had a passport, technically. But she hadn’t travelled since she was a kid, since there’d always been a parent’s hand to hold in the chaos of airports, someone else to take charge. Adulthood had turned freedom into something sharp-edged and overwhelming.

Oscar leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple — slow and sure. “We can do as much trying as you want, babe.”

Babe.

The word caught her off guard in the nicest way. It fizzed in her chest, soft and electric, looping like a song she didn’t know she’d needed to hear.

She tilted her head just enough to look at him. “You said that really casually,” she murmured. “So now I feel like a psycho for wanting to scream about it.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, then looked down at her, a teasing glint sparking in his eyes. “Beautiful. Babe. Baby. Princess.” He ticked each one off like a checklist, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Francesca let out an incredulous, half-sputtered laugh as her face flamed red. “Oh my god. Stop. Now you’re just testing me.”

“Actually, I’m gauging your reactions,” he said, gaze calculating. “Seeing which one makes your brain short-circuit the most.”

“It’s definitely ‘princess’,” she muttered, hiding her face in his chest. “You cannot just say that. It’s embarrassing. I hate pet names.”

“No you don’t,” he said, entirely unapologetic, fingers drawing slow shapes on her arm. “You liked them.”

“Did not.” She said petulantly.

They sat like that for a while. The laptop battery warning popped up and was ignored. The video paused, forgotten. Francesca leaned her head against his chest.

“When do you have to be back?” Francesca asked, her voice soft, as if she didn’t really want the answer. “At work, I mean.”

Oscar shifted slightly beneath her. “There’s a break between races,” he said. “Just a week, and I’ve got to be in Woking on Saturday. Sim session.”

She nodded, humming in acknowledgment. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed against the hem of his sleeve. “Where do you… I mean, where do you actually live?” she asked after a beat. “I’ve never really thought about it. You’re always travelling so much — it’s hard to imagine you, like, actually settled down somewhere.”

He smiled, tilting his head like the question had caught him off guard. “Australia, mostly. I stay with my family when I’m back there. But I’ve got a few places scattered around — small apartments I use when I need them. I rent them out when I’m not going to be using them.”

“Oh.” Francesca blinked, absorbing his words.

“I want that to change, soon,” Oscar said, his voice low, honest. “It’s been fun, letting myself just… exist. Living out of suitcases, bouncing from city to city, never stopping long enough to feel anything settle. But I want somewhere to be able to call home, you know? A real home. I don’t feel like I have that at the moment.”

She nodded, quiet for a moment as she chewed on her bottom lip. “Where would that be?”

He let out a short breath through his nose, a sound laced with uncertainty. “Lando’s been pushing me to consider Monaco,” he admitted. “Says it makes sense. Warm weather, tax stuff… the usual.” He gave a small shrug, like he was a bit embarrassed by how dry and practical it sounded.

“Lando seems fun,” she said, glancing up at him with a teasing smile.

“He’s… Lando,” Oscar replied, with a fond shake of his head. That alone made her laugh. “He’s excited to meet you.”

She softened at that. “You’ve told everyone about me, huh.”

Instead of answering right away, he tucked his fingers gently under her chin, tilted her face toward his, and pressed a series of light, lingering kisses to her lips. Slow and affectionate and sure.

“Yes,” he murmured in between kisses. “Everyone. Anyone who’ll listen. Don’t expect that to change anytime soon.”

She blinked at him, dazed and glowing. “Hm. Well, I get exclusive soft launch rights,” she said, attempting something breezy but smiling too hard to quite pull it off. “If you’re telling everyone about me, I’m telling the internet about us.”

His brow quirked, and he grinned. “You want to show me off?”

There was a low, amused heat in his voice, and she bit back the stupid little sound that nearly escaped her throat.

“Yeah,” she said, gaze flitting to his mouth and back to his eyes. “Obviously.”

He gave a small smile, soft around the edges. “So… what you’re saying is that it wouldn’t be completely ridiculous if I asked you to be my girlfriend? Officially?” A slight flush crept up his neck, but his eyes stayed steady on hers. “No pressure, if it’s too soon, or weird, or—”

“Yes.” Her answer came fast, almost cutting him off, and she let out a little breathy laugh at herself. “I mean… yes, I’d like that. A lot.”

Oscar’s smile widened slowly, and something settled behind his ribs. “Okay. Cool. That’s cool.”

She leaned up to kiss him. “Yes. Very cool. Boyfriend.”

—

iMessage — Francesca & Katie

Katie:

Update pls

Francesca:

I AM A GIRLFRIEND NOW

Katie:

Colour me shocked.

Girl why do u seem surprised by this.

He is literally so gone for you.

Francesca:

i want to eat his face off

Katie:

Oh good god.

Please tell me you haven’t been this unhinged in-front of him

Francesca:

yolo

he’s my bf now anyway

no escape for him!

Katie:

Poor guy has no idea what he’s signed himself up for 💀

CHAPTER SIX

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