#ILYSM AND ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT

[dreamsy990]

YAY I GOT THIS DONE ON HIS BIRTHDAY. HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAJIMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE YOU RUINED MY LIFE AND ALSO MAYBE SAVED MY LIFE. WHO THE FUCK KNOWS I DO LIKE YOU A LOT THOUGH

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

yknow it's interesting how, for all his talk in s3/4 of not wanting arthur to idolize him, john is... arguably doing something very similar right back.

and it's entirely understandable. john has just been pulled back from his absolute lowest point, and not even through his own determination or sacrifice or whatever, but because he chose to sign his best friend up for a capricious god's games without his knowledge so he could be with him and on earth. he was probably hoping they could have at least a little bit of a breather before kayne's deal started causing new problems. just a little time to ease himself slightly out of pure caged-animal survival mode, to be with the person who helped him find humanity and be reassured that he hasn't completely lost what little of it he had.

...and then he actually gets there, and realizes very quickly that Something Has Gone Very Fucking Wrong in the short time he's been away. john doesn't even know about larson's daughter yet, he has no fucking idea why arthur is so desperate to hunt this man down that he's ready to throw their life away in the process. he needs to believe that arthur has changed, in some fundamental way, and that said change can be reversed. if john just finds the right words, if he can get it through to him that what he's doing is wrong, he can bring his friend back. because if arthur drowns he's going to pull john right down with him, because how is he supposed to keep hold of his barely-recovered morals when he's stuck with someone so hellbent on throwing them away?

when john talks arthur down after killing uncle it is legitimately caring abt his friend, ofc, but it's self-motivated, too. How could they have won? We're nowhere near finished. read as i'm not lost, i'm not damned, there's still a chance for me to be better.

he needs arthur to not be a monster bc otherwise, john has to be one too, and he can't bear that.

[conspiracy-ash]

fly high my angel !! you will always be remembered !! </3 🕊️🕊️🫶🫶

[captainimprobable]

Happy 6th birthday to the time Rick Riordan tweeted me just to shade me (After this he linked a blog post of his about his characters ages because apparently i made him MAD??? Which is so funny??? I'm gonna go tweet at him rn and wish Annabeth a happy 31st <3)

[ysaefinn]

hihihi djhdjdhdn same anon from earlier literally kicking my feet blushing at your reply <3

also double team dilf stsg!!! yess my absolute two beloved blorbos!! i adore how you write them like pleaseeee i want to give you a lil forehead smooch :333

HAI ANON GOOD MORNING!!!! I'm so happy you're still here 🥹🥹 tytytytysm for reading thay fic 😭 i wanted it to be as indulgent as possible since i know this is actually a need and not just a fantasy LMAO

God, I love them both so bad as well UGH I think the dilf element just cements the caretaking 😭, they're very precious to me.

When I finished writing the first paragraph I asked my bsf to pick between 1 or 2 but I didn't tell her why she went with 1 and I was like nah the people deserve better LMAOO

[oscargender]

It’s been a while since my last purple gallinule spam session. PREPARE YOURSELVES

[kaydalixza]

ya ever just cry over your ocs

[dq1]

hi hi, remember to take care of yourself and know it’s okay to reminisce on past experiences and times. there’s nothing wrong with missing those moments and memories. i wish for you to meet people who will treat you better and understand you more than anything. i hope you have better day than before and each day continues to be brighter and happier. happy easter and sleep well! 🪼

thank you so much:')) this means a lot to me ilysm 🫶🏼 im late but i hope u had a grest easter too my love :') this is so kind i will cry

[s4turn-ly]

It's funny how I owe you this drawing since last year or maybe more I have to say It's a little special to me since it's in the collection where our first interactions were.🥹🥹 I've always had it in mind and I remember you told me that you might love to see it 👉👈 I'm sorry for letting it go so long 🙇💞💞💞

But I just saw that it was the right time to do it! Happy birthday @bunniehoneys 🥹💞💞 ilysm 🥺🥰💞

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

you'd never let me fall ・b.c

—Bangchan who carries you home while your a little drunk and your feet a lot a bit hurt

paring・bangchan x gn!reader // genres・fluff, established relationships // words・900 // warnings・drunkenness, if you don't like rambles or tooth-rotting fluff than you won't like this

a/n・i needed something soft and fluffy after a pretty big fight with my dad and i found this also @sunnysdiary istg i dont know what i would do without you ilysm. p.s. lowkey proud of myself for finally just writing (i only edited once for like an hour :))

You were exactly two blocks away from your apartment when the handful of shots you had thrown back earlier really started to hit you. The sun had died hours ago, the sky now sparkling with stars that seemed to dance and tangle with the streetlights in your vision.

Wow.

You were really fucked up.

You sigh, leaning deeper into the crook of Chan's neck, his hand pressed protectively against your back as he holds you up. His breathing is soft and calming when the world begins to shift again, sharp pain shooting up your legs thanks to the stupidest decision you made all night—wearing high-heels.

The only thing that could be heard over the harsh click of your foot-shaped-death-traps is your pained groan as you loll your head against Chan's shoulder and stumble over the sidewalk mindlessly.

"I'm tired, carry me home," you slur, a slight whine in your voice. He simply smiles, looking down at your dizzy gaze with tender eyes before effortlessly scooping you up bridal style.

The moon grins with you.

Your heartbeats intertwine as you squeal, lovesick giggles pouring from your lips as you hide your face in his sweat-coated neck.

There was no way he was real.

You pull away, blinking up at his sharp jaw and shiny lips, and you swore if you looked just long enough you could find the stars hung on his lashes. There was something about him, something that spread warmth underneath your ribs. You could never quite place it—the feeling bursting within you before settling down like sweet rose perfume fading off your shirt as your nose acclimates to the scent.

Perhaps it was the alcohol that made you so sentimental, or how in a rush of emotion you remember days when you used to assess others by their expressions, the tone of their voice, and the heaviness of their footsteps. You had gotten so used to living on the edge of disaster the thought of certainty deemed to be an impossible feat—that was until you met Chan. He was something special, he loved you softly, with gentle fingers and adoring gazes. He wasn't loud, not with his words or his actions, and sometimes from the outside, society might have deemed he didn't love you at all, but you knew better than that.

Just because it was subtle didn't mean it wasn't there—it just meant it was safe.

The notion alone is enough to bring tears to your eyes, drunkenly choking out: "Thank you for always carrying me."

His gaze softens before he faintly tilts his lips, muttering, "Thank you for letting me carry you."

You were almost to the house when, mindlessly, half-asleep, you mumble, "You'd never let me fall," before going limp in the comfort of Chan's strong arms.

If you weren't so drunk, you might have noticed the shift in his stride, how a shy blush falls over his cheeks and he fights the urge to spread a smile so bright across his face it would put the sun to shame.

But you were far too gone to notice. And he was so focused on keeping you safe that he didn't sense how deeply in love with him you were right then.

You were correct; down to his very last days, he would never let you fall.

You hadn't realized how close you were to the apartment before he steps through the unlocked door, your vision blurring into the darkness of your shared home. It was the silky sheets you felt first, the warmth of his hand leaving you only before he gently pulled the covers over your body and right underneath your chin.

He kisses your forehead, lips lingering there before, hesitantly, he whispers, "I don't know what I'd do if I didn't get to carry you."

He brushes a stray lock of hair from your eyes as you crack them open only to smile, lopsided and silly. "I guess we'll never know."

Bangchan stares at you for hours after that, admiring you in all your tranquility. He knows he should stop, but he also knows he can’t. It had bottled inside him for so long, and it felt as though the rug had been ripped out from under him, and suddenly his feelings flooded out of him all at once. This wasn't what average love felt like—it was pure, gentle, and, best of all, entirely absolute.

In the novels, love is described as something maddening, profound, and disorienting. And while there are moments where it felt as though the galaxy had been sewn into your fingertips, it was more than that. Chan quickly came to find that love lived in silence—the intimate moments where words didn't matter. There was no pressure or unrealistic expectations when he was with you, no anxiety about being perfect all the time. Being with you made his world feel... lighter.

He breathes, brushing a lock of hair out of your face. You shift, instinctively leaning into his touch. A small smile tugs at his lips when the moonlight catches your face just right; you were peaceful, angelic like spring flowers fluttering in the breeze.

There are very few things in this world that are truly poetic. Some may say the stars, the sea, humanity, and the very depth of our emotions. And while Chan could agree with all of those, his love for you outweighed them all.

please don't forget to reblog with tags or comment what you think your feedback makes my day 😁

[cheftsunoda]

beauty and brains

in which charles leclerc's twin is a doctor and the grid is constantly in awe that they are even related...she may even catch the eye of a certain driver.

SMAU!

Charles Leclerc x !Doctor Sister Reader x Platonic F1 Grid

Leclerc Reader x Lando Norris

part two here:)

part three here:)

part four here:)

liked by charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, leclerc_pascale & 4,442,989 others.

dr_jules_leclerc : a week in the office ft milo chewing on my birkin

charles_leclerc : Toujours si fière de toi ma belle sœur! (Forever so proud of you my beautiful sister)

liked by author

charles_leclerc : but seriously we all miss you come visit

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : be home so soon charlie promise you

liked by charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux and arthur_leclerc

leclerc_pascale : ma belle fille - tu me manques tellement. fier est un euphémisme. (my beautiful girl - i miss you so. proud is an understatement)

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : je t'aime tellement maman. merci d'avoir toujours cru en moi. (I love you so much mom. thank you for always believing in me.)

alexandrasaintmleux : my princesssss i miss you

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : my wifeeee i'll be home soon- ilysm

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

charles_leclerc : what am i witnessing?

dr_jules_leclerc : lets face it cha, i'm a doctor and save lives everyday and you drive a car in circles all day- she has her priorities straight.

liked by alexandrasaintmleux & arthur_leclerc

arthur_leclerc : bring milo when you come home pls

arthur_leclerc : oh and I MISS YOUUUUU

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : ofc, miss you too turtur - did you start taking those vitamins i told you about?

arthur_leclerc : Yes Doc...

username : her doctoring arthur and then him calling her doc is taking me out -

username2: oh to be dr. jules

username4: Jules- I just got accepted into my top med school today and I wanted to tell you thank you- you have been a huge inspiration to me!

liked by author, charles_leclerc & leclerc_pascale

dr_jules_leclerc : OMG! Congratulations!! I remember how exciting it was to get that letter. If you ever need some studying tips or want to be my resident - come find me ;)

username4 : Absolutely!! Thank you!

carlossainz55 : Miss you Hermosa! You're killing it. So proud! ❤️

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : Miss you sm Carlitos- hope williams is treating you well!

maxverstappen1 : sometimes i forget charles is related to a literal genius- hope to see you in the paddock soon.

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : oh maxie you are always so sweet to me

liked by maxverstappen1

scuderiaferrari : Nice car, Doctor! Should we be expecting a paddock appearance anytime soon?

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : Absolutely. I need to greet the newest member of the Ferrari family. @lewishamilton

liked by scuderiaferrari & lewishamilton

lewishamilton : Excited to witness the beauty and brains in person again.

liked by author

charles_leclerc : OH but not to support your TWIN brother?

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : I felt like that was a given Cha...

lilymhe : gorg

liked by author

lando : so if i wreck the car will you save me, doc?

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : not if you do it on purpose lando

__

alexandrasaintmleux added a post to her story!

seen by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, charlotte2304 & 2,432,638 others.

charlotte2304 : beautiful girls! we all need get drinks while jules is in monaco!!

alexandrasaintmleux : yes absolutely!! jules is so excited for it!!

franciscacgomes : WAIT- my fave Leclerc is back and no one told me???

alexandrasaintmleux : yes!! she will be coming to the race:)

—

f1gossipgirls just made a post!

liked by username4, bananas4leclerc, ln4whoree & 12,482 others.

f1gossipgirls : Dr. Jules Elise Leclerc was spotted in Monaco with Charles’ girlfriend Alexandra and then was later seen in the Paddock! Jules has not been seen in the paddock since 2022 as she has been out of the country to continue her work as a Pediatric Oncologist!

username4 : I always forget Charles’ twin is a literal doctor- it’s insane to me.

username8 : so excited to see her back in the paddock! she is such an inspiration for so many!

username10 : YAYYYYY- she looks so good!

username12 : those Leclerc genes are STRONG.

username14 : I love how since she has returned she has been seen more with Alex more than her own brother 😭

—

dr_jules_leclerc just made a post!

liked by charles_leclerc, lando, roscoelovescoco & 10,253,384 others.

dr_jules_leclerc : isn’t it a coincidence that the first race I attend after YEARS, charles ends up breaking the monaco curse? I think not.

But in all seriousness, Charles, you are my twin, my rock, my best friend and I am so proud of you. Watching you continuously chase your dreams and grow as a person has inspired me so much over the years. I love you and hold every memory with you so close to my heart. You are an absolute legend. Keep the wins coming brother, I know you’ve got it in you. ❤️

also finally met my new nephew leo and was reacquainted with my son roscoe:)

+ lando fell flat on his face and required a minor stitch.. still not sure if he did it on purpose or not

—

charles_leclerc : thank you jules - I could have never done it without your support. I am so glad you were here to witness it. I always want to make you proud as you are the most intelligent and amazing person I know. So grateful I was given a sister like you. I love you❤️

liked by author

username4 : oh the Leclerc’s are making me SAPPY

scuderiaferrari : ❤️❤️❤️

liked by author

lando : it was definitely on purpose

liked by author

dr_yn_leclerc : oh norris…what am I gonna do with you?

username4 : LANDO LITERALLY ADMITTING HE FELL ON PURPOSE TO GET JULES ATTENTION-

charles_leclerc : anymore flirting with my sister and you will really need a doctor

lando : as long as it’s jules idc 😃

liked by author

oscarpiastri : So glad to finally meet you! Thank you for taking care of Lando🙄

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : So nice to meet you and lily!! total angelsss

liked by oscarpiastri + lilyzneimer

roscoelovescoco : loves yous jules!! ❤️❤️

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : love you more my baby roscoe

lewishamilton : Please stay around. I missed you dearly, Jules.

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : I’m definitely thinking about sticking around, lew:)

username5 : is jules moving back to monaco????

alexandrasaintmleux : leo and i love his auntie jules soooooo much

liked by author

pierregasly : my gf has not shut up about you since she saw you

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : god i love her

franciscacgomes : JULESSSSSS

liked by author

arthur_leclerc : who is that handsome man in the lower left corner???

dr_jules_leclerc : just this weirdo who hasn’t left my side since i got home

arthur_leclerc : OH SUE ME FOR MISSING MY BIG SISTER

liked by author

danielricciardo : visit aus soon:)?

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : absolutely- missed seeing your smiling face dr3

liked by danielricciardo & maxverstappen1

lilyzneimer : so so nice to meet you! thank you for all your help with my math class!

liked by author

dr_yn_leclerc : ofc!- you will be the best engineer ever 🧡

mclaren : We are sorry about Lando but so glad to see you Dr. Jules!🧡

liked by author

—

dr_jules_leclerc made a post!

monaco 📍

liked by lando, charlotte2304, alexandrasaintmleux & 10,255,378 others.

dr_yn_leclerc : so many reasons to stay in monaco

lorenzotl : We all missed you so much!

liked by author

charlotte2304 : I need you here to help with wedding duties!!🤍

liked by author

alexandrasaintmleux : i hope i am your main reason to stay <3

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : yes but don’t tell cha he will lose his mind

charles_leclerc : i can read yanno

dr_jules_leclerc : ohhhh you can?

liked by arthur_leclerc

arthur_leclerc : please stay so we can play chess together everyday…charles is not a good opponent I get bored

liked by author

lando : stay so that lovely bloke can take you out on another date

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : he is definitely a contributing factor

liked by lando

username5 : OH MY GOD DID SHE GIVE LANDO A CHANCE

username10 : ODKEJDJDJ

f1 : we vote for you to stay !

liked by author

arthur_leclerc : wait is that l**do?

liked by author & lando

—

themedicinejournal is with dr_jules_leclerc

liked by formula1, charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari & 12,453,374 others.

themedicinejournal : We had the incredible honor of sitting down with Dr. Jules Leclerc after her recent Nobel Award for her outstanding contributions to Pediatric Oncology. The young doctor has founded her own Pediatric Cancer Institute and continues to work alongside many other physicians to try to end childhood cancer.

Jules on founding the Institution.

“My biggest dream has been founding this institution. It began with assembling a multidisciplinary team of experts in pediatric oncology, research, nursing, and psychosocial care, united by a shared mission to advance treatment, research, and support services. The institute’s foundation is built on partnerships with academic institutions, hospitals, and philanthropic organizations to secure funding, infrastructure, and community support. Central to its mission is the integration of cutting-edge research with compassionate clinical care, offering access to the latest therapies and clinical trials. A strong emphasis is placed on family-centered care, survivorship programs, and educational outreach. Ultimately, the goal of a pediatric cancer institute is not only to cure childhood cancers but also to ensure that every child and family receives the highest standard of care, hope, and support throughout their journey.”

Jules on receiving the Nobel Peace Prize in Medicine.

“To be recognized by my peers and mentors in the medical community is both incredibly meaningful and profoundly moving. This award is not just a reflection of my work, but of the incredible teams I’ve had the privilege of working with—nurses, researchers, residents, and fellow physicians who have inspired me every day with their tireless commitment to patient care and innovation. I’m especially grateful to my mentors who have guided me, challenged me, and believed in me from the start, and to my family, whose unwavering support has been my foundation. Working in medicine—especially in pediatric oncology—is both a challenge and a calling. It’s a field where the stakes are high, but so are the rewards. Every day, I am reminded of the courage of our patients and the trust they place in us. They are the true heroes, and it is for them that we do this work. This award fuels my passion even further, and I accept it not just as a recognition of what has been done, but as a motivation for what still lies ahead. There is still so much more to discover, to heal, and to change for the better.”

—

charles_leclerc : The proudest brother there ever was. Sis, you have continuously changed and saved lives. There is no one I could ever think of that deserves this award more than you. What you do and the mark you leave on this world will never ever be forgotten. I don’t know how this world got lucky enough to have you. Thank you for all you do and all the sacrifices you have made. We all thank you and love you. ❤️

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

arthur_leclerc : So unbelievably proud of you and could not have asked for a better role model in life. Continue to shine bright and leave your mark on the world, Jules.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

leclerc_pascale : Il n'y a absolument aucun mot pour décrire à quel point je suis fière de toi en tant que mère. Tu m'as complètement époustouflée. Tout ce que tu fais est animé par tant de passion et d'amour, et c'est tout ce que j'ai toujours voulu pour toi. Tu mérites tout et même plus, ma chérie.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

lando : You are incredible, Jules Elise. This world does not deserve you. Thank you for all your hard work, Bub.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

username5: BUB???

lewishamilton : One of the most intelligent and caring human beings I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Thank you for sharing your gift and kindness with the world, Jules. This world needed you.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

maxverstappen1 : You deserve every award in the world, Jules.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

alexandrasaintmleux : So beyond proud to call you my sister in law and my best friend. I love you.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

danielricciardo : So so proud of you, Bug. I knew you had it in you!

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

formula1 : Dr. Jules! We are so proud to call you a member of the F1 family. You are such a shining light in this world and an amazing example for all to follow.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

scuderiaferrari : So happy to see you get recognized for all your hard work and dedication, Doc!

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

lilymhe : I am SO proud of you.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

alexalbon : Such an incredible human being. So humbled to know you.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

lorenzotl : Never been more proud of someone. You are so deserving of this award and more. Can’t believe my little sister is this incredible.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

charlotte2304 : An amazing achievement for an amazing woman. Love you sista.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

carlossainz55 : This is so incredible. Jules, thank you for sharing your gift with the world. You are so inspiring.

liked by dr_jules_leclerc

view 450,364 other comments.

—

lando added this post to his story!

charles_leclerc added this post to his story!

arthur_leclerc added this post to his story!

maxverstappen1 added this post to his story!

alexandrasaintmleux added this post to her story!

carlossainz55 added this post to his story!

formula1 added this post to their story!

—

dr_jules_leclerc made a post!

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux & 7,247,484 others.

dr_jules_leclerc : my last week in office before packing up and restarting in Monaco! so excited to be reunited with all my family and friends and so many great things coming in the future. all of my incredible fellow physicians will be holding down the institute and I am so grateful for all of them.

—

oscarpiastri : cheeky cheeky

liked by author and lando

oscarpiastri : no but seriously very proud of you and your work, jules. look forward to seeing you in the paddock a lot more. i won’t hurt myself like that muppet.

liked by author and lando

carlossainz55 : i recognize that mullet…

liked by author & lando

charles_leclerc : wait what do you know that i don't

carlossainz55. : nothing cabrón

charles_leclerc : So happy to have you home. I’ve missed you so much.

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : I’ve missed you every day, Charlie.

maxverstappen1 : muppet man better treat you right or i will drive him off the track. happy to have you back, jules.

liked by author

lando. : threatening violence? 50 place grid penalty.

liked by author and maxverstappen1

dr_jules_leclerc : poor pear gasleak

liked by pierregasly

alexandrasaintmleux : I am so so happy to have you back. You don’t know how much I miss you every day!!

liked by author

alexandrasaintmleux : very sad you picked him over me though

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : could say the same about you picking my brother over me :(

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

alexandrasaintmleux : it’s not too late for us to run away together

liked by author

charles_leclerc : sigh

lando. : mystery man seems rather fit wouldn’t you say?

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : mmm yeah but he is kind of full of himself

liked by lando

lando : he is just a confident lad

liked by author

maxfewtrell : no he is definitely just big headed

liked by author

username4 : jules and lando dropping so many crumbs and charles picking up on absolutely nothing is killing me

liked by author, lando, alexandrasaintmleux & arthur_leclerc

arthur_leclerc : i am gonna record his reaction and sell it

leclerc_pascale : Arthur, ne vous mettez pas à dos votre frère.

liked by author

leclerc_pascale : Je suis si heureuse que tu reviennes parmi nous. Ce beau visage me manque tous les jours.

liked by author

arthur_leclerc : can i move in with you?

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : you have your own place tur - why?

arthur_leclerc : well you have Milo and i love Milo and I just missed you so much and charles was mean while you were gone

liked by author

charles_leclerc : I absolutely was not- I rebuke that statement.

liked by author

leclerc_pascale : They were both a little…feisty with you gone, Mon amor. That’s why we need you back!

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : you are always welcome in my home, bug. as long as you two manage to keep the peace 🙄

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lando added to his story!

seen by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, maxfewtrell &7,459,478 others

maxfewtrell : can’t believe you pulled a Leclerc let alone a DOCTOR Leclerc

lando : lowkey never thought I’d have a chance with her

charles_leclerc : 👀 whoooo?

lando : you know her...very well.

pietra.pilao : so excited to meet her!

lando : you will love her:)

flonorris1 : HOW in the world did you PULL a DOCTOR?

lando : hey hey - have a little confidence in your brother please

flonorris1 : yeah whatever - Bring her home soon please- Mom and I are dying to meet her.

lando : that’s the plan

—

hello guys- my first official post! i have many things sitting in the drafts rn- including a part two to this - let me know if you guys want it! send me requests as well! i am always down to write:)

[hyuckiefluff]

The Wicked Game of Love| Lee Haechan

pairing: slytherin! haechan x ravenclaw! fem.reader genre: rivals to lovers, smut, angst wc: 21k+ (full fic) content warning: explicit content, unprotected sex, public sex, oral (fem. receiving), rough sex (hair-pulling, light spanking), marking (hickeys, bruises), forced proximity, toxic family dynamics, blood status discrimination, mean haechan, usage of wizard ver. of a slur, canon divergence (post-hogwarts /ministry setting), their relationship gives whiplash i apologize in advance, emotional hurt/comfort. summary: Lee Haechan was a pure-blood heir raised to hate everything you are. You, a half-blood girl who knew better than to let your guard down around someone like him. You were never supposed to want each other—until one disastrous kiss shatters everything you’ve worked to protect. a/n: AT LAST it is here!! my blood, sweat, and tears went into this u guys. i hope it was worth the wait. also i somehow ended up with a very dramione-coded fic (yes, this is me coming out as a dramione enjoyer). it’s so long i had to split it into two parts because apparently i don’t know when to stop. part two should be up right after this one (unless i passed out from exhaustion). pls enjoy and scream at me about it in the comments <3 ps: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BABYGIRL HAECHAN!!! ILYSM!!!

READ PART 2 HERE

“I hate and I love. Perhaps you ask why I do so? I do not know, but I feel it, and I am tormented.” — Catullus, poem 85

What you and Lee Haechan had could only be described as pure, unadulterated rivalry. Or it started that way, at least.

Your mother and his father had been political opponents for as long as you could remember—two towering figures in the wizarding world, constantly at odds in public and behind closed doors. While your mother built her career on progressive reform and transparency, his father operated in shadows, pulling strings and building alliances that made him one of the most quietly feared men in wizard politics. When your mother was named Minister of Magic, it was only by a thin margin, one that turned their rivalry into something closer to open war.

Because of your parents’ standing, and their closely intertwined conflict, you were often forced to share space. Too much of it. Not just at Hogwarts, but everywhere. Ministry galas, private events, summer functions.

Haechan was like a buzzing fly in your ear, a little gremlin who made it his life’s mission to drive you up the wall. You didn’t like him. You didn’t like his voice, or his slouchy posture, or the way he looked at you with those half-lidded eyes. You didn’t like the stupid pattern of moles on his face or the way he always knew exactly which button to press. 

Everyone who knew you, knew you couldn’t stand him. If anything, the daily verbal sparring made it pretty damn clear. But what no one could’ve ever predicted was how quickly this would change.

A change that started when your mother was officially sworn in as Minister.

The announcement made headlines across every wizarding publication, and for a brief moment, your name was something people said with admiration. Students congratulated you in the corridors, professors gave you subtle nods of approval, and even the portraits seemed more polite than usual.

Your mother had been a respected Ministry official long before taking office, a well-known pureblood figure who shocked everyone by marrying a Muggle-born wizard, a choice that set tongues wagging long before you were born. Eventually, your father cracked under the pressure of a world he never fully belonged in, leaving your mother in favor of a simpler life with a Muggle woman.

Because your mother was so busy with her political career, you grew up with your father in the Muggle world, isolated from magic entirely until the age of ten, when strange incidents like your hair changing colors overnight, glass shattering during arguments started happening and forced your mother to intervene.

She brought you into a world you didn’t know then. Hogwarts became your fresh start, your chance to prove you belonged in the magical world despite whispers about your blood status, your father’s scandalous departure, and your upbringing.

Which was exactly why, when you walked into the Great Hall a few days after your mother was sworn in and saw the headline The Daily Prophet had run, it hit so viciously.

“Merlin’s beard, Y/N. Have you seen this?”

Hannah Parkinson’s voice stopped you on your way to the Ravenclaw table. She unfolded her copy with a dramatic flair and shoved it into your face. Your stomach dropped as you read the words.

“THE MINISTER’S HALF-BLOOD HEIRESS: RAISED BY MUGGLES, GROOMED FOR POWER?”

Under the headline was a moving photo of you walking through a Muggle market wearing jeans, scuffed trainers, and a second-hand T-shirt. You hadn’t even noticed the photographer.

Rita Skeeter’s quill did its best to flay you alive.

“Young Miss Y/L/N may carry a famous surname, but does she carry the polish befitting the office? Sources say the new heiress spent most of her childhood in a Muggle household, blissfully ignorant of wizarding custom until age ten—hardly the upbringing our world expects from a Minister’s child.

Classmates describe her as ‘aggressive on a broom, and foul-mouthed in the hallways’.  One wonders whether this half-blood Seeker has the temperament to represent us on the international stage.”

And it continued into the next page, because Skeeter never knew when to stop.

“Her fashion sense appears equally questionable as she’s seen in the picture wearing Muggle denim and a shirt bearing a ‘Misfits’ logo (whatever that means). One hopes Madam Malkin can work miracles.”

The tears welled in your eyes before you could blink them back. Skeeter had somehow managed to hit all of your insecurities with one article—your parents separation, the years spent as the weird kid, the endless fight to prove you belonged in the wizarding world—and splashed them across the breakfast tables of the entire wizarding world.

“Aww, is the Minister’s little charity case going to cry?” Hannah cooed mockingly.

Before you could even find the words or grab your wand to shut her up, there was a loud crack behind you. The paper in her hands tore clean in half, as if slashed by an invisible blade. Hannah stumbled back in shock.

Next thing you knew, Lee Haechan was walking past you, his wand still glowing faintly. Dark hair fell in soft waves over his eyes, his uniform tie was crooked as always, his expression flat with boredom.

“Parkinson,” he drawls “I’d ask if the Prophet’s paying you for distribution, but just like your father you clearly enjoy handing out trash for free.”

A collective ooh rippled across the Hall. Hannah’s face turned an impressively blotchy shade of red before she turned around and stalked off, tripping over the hem of her robes.

Haechan turned then, catching your eye before his gaze dipped to your jeans and the battered trainers peeking out beneath your open robes.

“And you.” His mouth curved into a half-snarl. “If you insist on dressing like a stray Muggle, don’t act shocked when the rats sniff you out.”

You flinched at his words, feeling even more self-conscious than when Hannah was insulting you.

He nudged the ruined paper with his shoe, his voice low so only you’d hear it. “Never bleed where they can smell it.” Then, louder in a mocking tone “Try to keep up, you’re the Minister’s pet now.”

He turned on his heels and strolled back to the Slytherin table, his friends thumping him in the back in glee.

You stood frozen, not knowing how to react. He humiliated you, which wasn’t a new thing in your relationship. But this time, it felt as if he’d thrown the punch so no one else could.

After that day, Haechan was still a nuisance to you. Still the boy whose father would do anything to see your mother fail. But now his teasing felt different. It wasn’t sharp the way it used to be. His taunts started landing just shy of cruelty, aimed to sting you into strength instead of out of it. No one noticed the difference except you.

Bit by bit, you found yourself almost looking forward to it. Not that you’d ever admit that out loud.

In the days following the article, you did your best to become invisible—but Hogwarts was not a place that allowed anonymity when your name was constantly on the front page of newspapers. Rita Skeeter’s words spread fast, and soon every corridor was filled with whispers about your family. The attention made you retreat into solitude, often spending your free periods hiding among the furthest library stacks.

One afternoon, as you sat hunched over your Charms textbook, the chair across from you scraped loudly against the stone floor. You looked up, startled and already annoyed.

"Did you lose your way?" you asked coldly, glaring at Haechan as he settled carelessly into the chair opposite.

"Unfortunately not.” He replied with a yawn, dropping his textbooks onto the table with a thud that made you flinch. 

"What do you want, Haechan?”

He raised a brow. “Wow, no ‘hello’? No ‘thank you for publicly humiliating a pureblood princess on my behalf’?”

​​"Right, I almost forgot chivalry’s alive and well in Slytherin.” you said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Only when it comes with entertainment value." He leaned back, arms behind his head. "And you're a surprisingly decent show these days."

"Glad I could provide," you muttered. “Did you come here just to annoy me?”

"Nah, I just figured you were desperate enough to tolerate my presence," he retorted, flashing a shit eating grin. "Since your fellow Ravenclaws aren't exactly lining up to spend time with you these days."

You narrowed your eyes. "If you're looking to have a laugh, go bother someone else."

"Believe me, watching you sulk around like a kicked puppy isn’t that fun anymore."

"Then leave," you hissed.

“Can't. I need your notes."

You scoffed loudly. "You're delusional if you think I'd help you."

"Am I?" he tilted his head thoughtfully. “Cause you still haven’t hexed me, which means you're at least considering it."

Your wand hand twitched under the table, and he noticed immediately, mouth quirking upward in amusement. The two of you were used to swapping harmless hexes for years. Silly stuff like changing each other’s hair color, gluing quills to fingers, turning the other’s pumpkin juice to green sludge during breakfast. Nothing scarring, but enough for you to flinch when the other’s temper flared. Haechan’s smirk said he remembered every jinx.

The nature of your relationship is exactly why you weren’t used to having him on your side all of a sudden, and you couldn’t be judged for holding him at a safe distance when you had no idea what his intentions were. 

Especially now that his father was capable of doing anything to ruin you and your mother’s reputation with the purpose of hindering her future reelection. Not to mention, you hated feeling like you owed him anything.

"You didn't have to interfere the other day," you muttered bitterly, unable to meet his gaze. "I could’ve handled Hannah myself."

He didn't respond at first. The quiet stretched long enough that you glanced up just in time to catch a strange expression crossing his features. He masked it quickly with indifference.

"Parkinson annoys me," he shrugged.

"Since when?" you raised a skeptical eyebrow. 

He leaned forward, voice dropping into a velvety murmur. "Since she started messing with what's mine."

"Excuse me?" you stammered. 

"Mine to torment, I mean," he corrected, rolling his eyes. "Merlin, don't get ahead of yourself."

"I wasn't," you snapped, embarrassment twisting sharply in your stomach.

"I know." His smirk returned. "Your pride wouldn't allow it."

You huffed, returning your gaze to your textbook, pretending to read despite the words blurring uselessly in front of you.

He flipped open his own book, pretending to skim through pages in bored silence. After about twenty minutes of silent “studying”, he stood up without looking at you.

"I’ll come back tomorrow for those notes.

You hesitated, feeling the inexplicable urge to humor him, despite every reason not to. "Fine. Whatever."

"And stop hiding in the library every day. It's depressing."

"Fuck off," you shot back sharply.

His answering laugh echoed as he walked away and you sat there for the next few minutes trying to summon any sense of concentration to no avail.

A week later you were back in the library, this time sequestered at a corner table piled with parchment and potion vials. Professor Slughorn had paired the two of you for an extra-credit antidote project—“my favorite students working together!” he’d said with a wink—and neither of you had managed to wriggle out of it.

Haechan wasn’t really doing any work, he just kept  twirling his quill and splattering ink blots across your carefully labeled ingredient chart.

“Could you not?” you snapped, blotting at the stains.

“Relax,” he said, slouching until his knees bumped yours under the table. “Don’t you know that chaos is the mother of invention?”

“That mentality is how you melted the cauldron earlier in class”

He grinned. “That was funny, though.”

You rolled your eyes and bent back over your parchment, quill scratching furiously across the page. You could feel him watching you, but you refused to look up.

The quiet of the library was broken by a burst of loud whispers from a nearby table.

“…I bet he only keeps the half-blood around because he feels bad for her—”

“—heard they sneak off after curfew. Wonder what she’s giving him in return…”

You didn’t even need to guess who they were talking about. It was obvious what people thought when they saw you with the Slytherin golden boy, the heir of one of the most ancient pureblood families. They probably thought you were his charity case as well. That you were stupid enough to want him around after all he said to you.  

Your pulse pounded too hard in your ears to hear Haechan’s chair scraping back. A second later, the gossipers’ table went silent, punctuated only by the unmistakable snap of someone’s quill being broken in half.

He walked back to your table and dropped into his seat, jaw tight. “Idiots.”

You shoved your notes into a messy stack. “I’m done for tonight.”

“Y/N—” he reached across the table, but you were already on your feet.

You didn’t stop until you reached an unused classroom three corridors away. It was cold and dusty, with cobwebs in the corners and desks scattered around.

The ghost of a bride hovered near the corner, sobbing quietly into her translucent veil. You ignored her as you braced both hands on the windowsill, trying to steady your breathing, willing the sting behind your eyes to fade. 

After a few minutes, the ghost floated silently through the wall, giving you a mournful look—as if accepting that you had more reason to cry tonight.

The door clicked open after a few seconds.

“Thought I told you I was done,” you said without turning.

“And since when do I listen?” Haechan closed the door behind him.

You didn’t reply, only sound that could be heard was your quiet sniffles and his slow steps getting near.

“They’re not worth it.” His voice was careful. “A new article will come out tomorrow and everyone will move on. You know people need a new chew toy every week.”

You huffed a shaky laugh. “Easy for you to say. Your family’s never been headline fodder.”

“Sure we have. Just with less sensational adjectives.” He stepped closer until your shoulders brushed lightly. “Besides, if they’re going to talk, we might as well give them something good to gossip about.”

You glanced up at him, puzzled. “Like what?”

Haechan hesitated for a quick second, before his mouth quirked into that half-smile you recognized as the one he gave before saying something ridiculous. “We could pretend to date.”

A surprised laugh burst out of you, louder than you’d intended. “Fake dating? Seriously?”

“Why not?” His expression was deceptively casual, but his eyes stayed serious on yours. “It’s the quickest way to control the narrative. People eat that shit up.”

You shook your head, smiling, expecting him to crack up and admit he was joking any second now. But his expression didn't waver, and you faltered slightly.

“You’re not serious.”

His gaze didn’t shift. “What if I am?”

You stared at him, waiting for the joke, the laughter—but it didn’t come. Still, the idea was too absurd. Fake dating Lee Haechan? Impossible.

You shook your head again, forcing another laugh as you quickly dismissed the notion. “Nice try, Lee. But I think I’ll stick to something easier to manage like maybe getting top marks in our Potions assignment?”

He chuckled, finally relenting. “Suit yourself.”

Another tear escaped as you laughed softly, embarrassed. You swiped at your cheek. “God, I hate crying.”

“Yeah, you’re an ugly crier.” He nudged your shoulder gently

You rolled your eyes, shoving his arm, but he caught your hand mid-motion. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, making your breath catch. For a moment you both stood there quietly, until finally, you let out a slow exhale and allowed your head to rest carefully against his shoulder.

He stiffened for barely a second, then relaxed, leaning gently into your weight.

Neither of you spoke again until the clock tower chimed curfew. Reluctantly, you straightened, feeling calmer but oddly reluctant to move away from him.

“We should finish that antidote tomorrow,” you murmured.

He nodded, eyes searching your face as if confirming you really were okay. “All right.”

When he left, his suggestion lingered in your thoughts, stuck there like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

Fake dating Lee Haechan. You snorted softly to yourself, shaking your head as you walked back to the common room. The idea was not only ridiculousbut completely impossible.

Yet your brain, traitorous as always, circled back stubbornly to it. The thought of Haechan holding your hand in the corridors, leaning closer at dinner, brushing a casual kiss to your forehead in front of everyone...

Heat rose sharply in your cheeks.

Ridiculous, yes… but not completely unappealing, if you were honest. He was handsome and smart, plus he wasn’t as irritating as you originally thought.

You shook your head again firmly, as if to physically dislodge the thought. No. You couldn’t afford to indulge this. It was crazy. Dangerous, even.

But as you walked up to the Gold Eagle Knocker at the entrance of the Ravenclaw common room and answered the riddle, you couldn’t deny the way your heart sped up at the thought of everyone believing you belonged to each other.

You spent more and more days studying with Haechan after that. Or rather, you studying while he studied you. It was a comfortable escape from judgmental whispers and the scrutiny of everyone else’s eyes. Somehow, he’d become your calm in the midst of chaos.

To your surprise, Haechan was actually a good listener, offering better advice than anyone else you'd ever met. It was unexpected for someone who seemed born to antagonize, but behind his cutting remarks was someone who noticed more than he let on.

He was even helping you improve your flying form, despite technically being your biggest rival since both of you played Seeker. But he’d started noticing small flaws in your technique, quietly pointing them out during your private drills. You only learned to fly at eleven, which made you less experienced compared to Haechan who’d practically grown up on a broom.

“You’re still dropping your shoulder every time you dive for the Snitch,” he called over one afternoon, a playful grin on his face as you landed and sat on the grass.

“I do not,” you shot back, brushing hair from your sweaty forehead.

“Yes, you do.” He snorted lightly, tossing himself onto the grass beside you. “It’s why I keep beating you in dives.”

“Whatever.” You sighed, picking at blades of grass. Admitting your weakness felt uncomfortable, but the words slipped out anyway. “It’s just...dives still freak me out a bit.”

His teasing expression softened immediately. Quietly, he stood and held out a hand. “Come on, I’ll show you how to fix it.”

You hesitated only a second before taking his hand. The warmth of his fingers sent a small flutter through your chest.

“Mount your broom,” he instructed gently, letting go once you were steady. “But don’t kick off yet.”

You did as told, gripping the handle tight enough to hide the slight tremble in your fingers. He moved behind you, his presence too close. You felt your breath catch sharply when one of his hands gently settled on your lower back, steadying you. His palm felt impossibly warm through your Quidditch robes.

“You’re way too tense,” he murmured, amused. You jumped slightly when his other hand rested firmly on your shoulder. “Relax a bit, yeah?”

“How am I supposed to relax when you’re—”

“Just trust me.”

You tried to turn your head but he gently redirected your chin with his fingertips, guiding your gaze straight ahead. 

“Eyes forward. If you were flying, you'd have crashed already.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, not from embarrassment, but from the soft rasp of his voice near your ear and the firm grip of his hands. You swallowed thickly. “It’s hard to concentrate with you right there.”

“I’m just correcting your form,” his fingers moved softly along your spine, and every nerve in your body seemed to spark under his touch.

His grip tightened slightly on your shoulder, pressing it into a more relaxed position. “Keep it down like this. Shift your weight forward without leaning into your broom too hard.” His breath was warm in your ear. “Trust your broom, and trust yourself. And stop tensing every muscle just because you’re afraid you’ll fall.”

“Easy for you to say,” you mumbled, frowning. “You were born with a broom attached to your hand.”

“Just try the dive.”  he chuckled.

You hovered mid-air and bent forward, shoulders steady this time as the broom descended. The dive went smoother and your stomach didn’t feel like a bottomless pit. 

“That…felt better.”

He grinned. “Told you.”

You dismounted, heart still thumping. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he said, grabbing his own broom. Then, with a teasing smile, “Just remember who helped you when you finally beat me to the Snitch.”

The following week The Great Hall hummed with the usual breakfast chatter. It had been an awkward morning, people seemed more on edge than usual and you didn’t even know why until commotion started by the Slytherin table.

Haechan’s voice rose sharply with anger, breaking through the murmurs. “Mind your own business, will you?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you saw him glaring down a small cluster of Hufflepuffs who immediately ducked their heads, faces flushed and eyes darting nervously. He snatched a crumpled copy of the Daily Prophet from one boy’s trembling fingers. He looked up and his eyes locked onto yours.

“Enjoying this?” he stalked toward you, paper clenched in one fist.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, defensive under the weight of everyone’s stares.

He threw the Prophet down onto the Ravenclaw table. The headline screamed out in black lettering “MINISTRY SCANDAL—LEE FAMILY FACING INQUIRY OVER ILLEGAL DARK ARTEFACTS”

“You happy now?” Haechan hissed. “Your mother’s finally getting rid of the bad press. Congratulations, Minister’s pet.”

“What… I—We had nothing to do with this!”

“Oh, really?” he sneered bitterly, leaning in closer. “Funny how these stories started coming out right after the articles about you. Maybe Skeeter wasn’t so wrong… hanging around Muggles didn’t teach your family much about fair play.”

A few gasps echoed softly around you. You wanted to scream, to hex him right then and there, but your hands shook too badly under the table to even grip your wand.

You lifted your chin, staring back. “What are you really so upset about? That your father’s finally being exposed, or that people might think you’re just like him?”

His expression faltered enough to let you know your barb had landed. Of anything you could’ve said that was probably the worst for him.

Haechan didn’t just resent his father. He was terrified of becoming him. Every cruel instinct he buried, every smirk that masked something darker, every time he played the game too well—he wondered if he was already halfway there. So hearing it from your mouth, that disgust, that echo of everything he feared he might become? It was too much and it shook something in him loose. 

“You’re right,” he said with a cruel laugh. “My father’s not a good man. But at least he never pretended to be. Your mother clawed her way to the top on the back of others and you’re just her dirty little project. Filthy blood dressed in silk. And no matter how high you climb, you’ll always reek of where you came from.”

The air drained from your lungs. It wasn’t just the insult — it was how easy it came to him. As if it had always been there, lurking under his tongue. You stared numbly at the crumpled headline on the table. 

He was clearly deflecting. Protecting himself and his family’s name. But you never expected him to use words you’d only ever heard whispered by the worst kind of witches and wizards.

Haechan stormed out of the Great Hall, past the whispers and stares, past the first-years who scrambled aside in fear, past the professors who pretended they didn’t see anything. He didn’t slow down until he reached the abandoned courtyard behind the greenhouses, his breaths coming short and shallow.

He braced a hand against the cold stone wall, his pulse pounding sickeningly in his ears.

“Filthy blood dressed in silk”

The echo of his own voice made bile rise in his throat. He’d said it so easily, so effortlessly cruel, exactly like his father would have.

He could still see the way your expression had shattered. Not in anger—that would have been easier to stomach—but stunned disbelief, pain etched deep into your features, your chin held high even as your eyes welled with tears. He’d torn you open, hit you exactly where he knew it would cut deepest, and he’d done it because he couldn’t face feeling vulnerable himself.

“Fuck,” he whispered harshly, sliding down onto the nearest bench and burying his face in his hands. He felt like a coward. No, he felt worse.  He felt exactly like the kind of person he’d sworn he would never become.

He’d watched you go through this already, helped you pick up the pieces, telling you people would forget, that it wouldn’t matter in the end. But he’d never imagined his family would become the next target. He’d never expected the anger, the embarrassment, to burn so personally.

He swallowed thickly, head tilting back against the wall, gaze fixed unseeingly on the darkening sky. He needed to fix this. Needed you to understand that he’d meant none of it, that he wasn’t like his father, even if today he’d failed spectacularly at proving it.

But how could you possibly forgive him after what he'd said?

He wasn’t even sure if he could forgive himself.

The courtyard incident never reached the Headmaster, but the castle carried gossip faster than owls. By the next morning everyone knew Lee Haechan had called the Minister’s daughter “filthy blood” to her face. Ravenclaws pitched him glares sharp enough to cut skin. Half the Slytherins avoided eye contact, the rest wore smirks that said at least one of us finally said it out loud.

You refused to be in the same corridor with him, let alone speak. At meals you sat with your team while he took the far end of the Slytherin table and toyed with food he never finished. Whenever you entered the library, he left. Wordlessly. Every time.

The distance should have made things easier, instead it thrummed like a headache behind your eyes.

Thing’s should’ve calmed down after that, but the Prophet ran a follow-up column on the Lee investigation, calling Haechan directly a liability to the family reputation. Skeeter framed his words against you in the Great Hall as proof of the “volatile Lee temper,” the perfect angle to question whether the family’s dark artefact inquiry hinted at deeper corruption. 

She quoted unnamed “allies” of the Lee family who feared the heir’s public outbursts were undermining decades of carefully polished prestige. In Skeeter’s telling, Haechan wasn’t just an embarrassed teenager but a wobbling pillar threatening to topple the entire Lee dynasty.

You closed the paper before anyone could see your hands shaking. Whatever anger you still felt, seeing him reduced to a scandalous article—no less than you had been—left a sour taste in your mouth that lasted throughout breakfast.

By the time you slid into Charms class, your stomach was in knots. Professor Flitwick’s flickering quill skated across the blackboard, dividing your Charms class into pairs for the upcoming Presentation on Non-Verbal Counter Charms.

The moment your name appeared next to Lee, H., the knots pulled so tight you thought you might throw up.

Across the room, Haechan twirled his wand between two fingers, deliberately avoiding your gaze. You’d managed to avoid him so well you were half-convinced the castle had sprouted secret passages just to keep you apart, so being forced into proximity again felt deeply unpleasant. 

“Partners will demonstrate in two weeks,” Flitwick announced, clapping his tiny hands. “Research and practice outside class is essential!”

Reluctantly, you gathered your things and walked stiffly to the empty seat next to Haechan. He didn’t bother moving his books to make room for you.

“I wrote down a few options,” you said, dropping your notes onto the corner of the desk. “I’ll handle wand movement notation, you can do the theory.”

Haechan barely cracked one eye open. “Pass. Last time I trusted your wand work, I nearly lost my eyebrows.”

“That was in Defense class, and you deserved it,” you snap, voice sharp enough that two Gryffindors glancd over. “Just do the theory, Haechan. It’s not that hard.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—did I miss the part where we decided you’re in charge?” He straightened slowly, finally meeting your glare. “If Flitwick’s grading us on performance, I’m not gonna let you take all the spotlight.”

You exhaled sharply. “Then what’s your brilliant idea?”

“We can meet in the library tonight,” he said evenly. “Let’s practice first, figure out who does what later.”

“Fine,” you snapped.

“Fine.” He leaned back again. “And let’s do something advanced. Your choice, if that makes you feel better.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering a resigned “Whatever”

When you arrived at the library a few hours later, it was mostly empty aside from a Ravenclaw girl who was crying into her Potion notes and Madam Pince who was judging from her desk at the front. Haechan was sitting at a back table, posture so straight it seemed unnatural for him. His eyes flicked up only when you dropped your bag across from him.

“Non-verbal Disillusionment,” you said by way of greeting. “It’s a simple figure eight motion. If you botch it, I’m not explaining to Flitwick why you’re half-invisible in class.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Nice to see you, too.”

“Let’s try partial disillusionment first, just my hand."

He raised his wand, eyes narrowing in concentration. "Stay still," he murmured. His wand flicked in a tight spiral. At first nothing happened, then slowly your fingertips began to shimmer into the tabletop, camouflaging perfectly with the wood.

“Not bad,” you admitted, slightly impressed.

He lowered his wand, the illusion fading quickly. "Your turn."

You focused carefully, tracing a precise spiral in the air. His hand flickered briefly before returning fully visible.

He gave you a faint smirk. "Looks like you need some pointers."

“Just be quiet for two seconds, will you?"

"Maybe try easing up on the wrist movement," he suggested anyway. "Less stiff."

You tried again and his fingertips vanished almost completely. He flexed them experimentally.

"Better," he said quietly.

Halfway through the wand practice he paused. "About the other day, in the Great Hall—"

You tensed immediately, eyes snapping up to meet his. “I’m not really here for an encore performance,” you muttered. 

Your counterspell fizzled again, causing reddish brown to bleed through the fading illusion on his arm. He didn’t mock you this time. Instead, he silently recast the charm, patiently waiting for you to try again

“I was a dick,” he said quietly. “And not in my usual charming way. I mean… a proper, full-scale dick.”

“I’m aware.” You said, though you wanted to laugh at the way he described that.

“I crossed a line," he finished, holding your gaze steadily. "I shouldn't have lashed out like that or called you a—”

“A filthy half-blood?” you finished, swallowing around the tightness in your throat.

His jaw tightened. “Yeah. My father always taught me the fastest way to look strong was to punch down. It’s taken me this long to realize how pathetic that is.”

"You didn't have to throw me to the wolves to save yourself."

He exhaled slowly, looking tired and ashamed. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

His sincerity softened some of the tension that had lodged itself inside your chest. After a pause, you gave him a small nod. “Apology acknowledged.”

He tilted his head cautiously. “But not accepted?”

"Still pending," you offered quietly. "But no more low blows and no more humiliating me publicly."

He almost smiled, relaxing slightly. "Fair, truce?"

You hesitated, then held out your hand. "Truce."

He took it firmly, and you felt warmth linger briefly even after he let go. You hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of your wand. 

“How are you doing, by the way? With... everything. The Prophet. The investigation on your father.”

Haechan looked down at the table, then exhaled a laugh that had no humor in it. “It’s weird. Part of me’s pissed they’re dragging his name through the dirt. The other part…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “The other part thinks maybe it’s what he deserves.”

You stayed quiet, but your hand crept across the table, resting just near his.

“I keep thinking,” he said softly, “if they tear him down, does that mean they’re tearing down part of me, too?”

You bit your lip. “No. You’re not him.”

“Don’t sound so sure.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I sounded exactly like him that day in the Great Hall.

“But that’s not who you are.” You reassured him softly.

His hand moved then, his pinky brushing yours.

“Thanks,” he said, voice barely above a breath.

“Ready to try the full-body charm?”

He leaned back with a teasing smirk. "Try not to make me disappear permanently. I know you'd miss me."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't entirely suppress your smile. "Don't tempt me."

For the next hour you traded spells and counter-spells. He still rolled his eyes and mocked your notes, but the comments landed softer every time, the edge dulled by something like mutual respect or at least mutual exhaustion. When Madam Pince finally shooed you out of the library, you’re silently looking forward to the next practice.

After that truce in the library, nothing between you and Haechan got any easier.

In private, he still showed up to practice and study. In public, he kept his distance, afraid that more articles would come out. The more time you spent around him, the riskier everything felt.

If anyone had asked, you would have denied thinking about Lee Haechan at all—denied the way your pulse lurched when his broom skimmed too close during matches, denied how your gaze drifted to his mouth when he argued with you in class, denied the fierce stab of protectiveness that flared whenever someone else insulted him.

But your parents were still political adversaries, and it was the middle of the elections which meant everything was so much more fragile. You were starting to think that The Prophet had spies in Hogwarts. The rumor that Rita Skeeter could transform into a fly and that’s how she heard so many private conversations was starting to seem more believable every day. 

Because of the complexity of all these things, you hand no choice but to roll your eyes at Haechan in the corridors, call him insufferable beside your friends, and let the castle believe you hated him without exception.

Mostly you stuck with your own Quidditch team since it was easier to pretend around them. Venting about the Slytherin Seeker was practically a bonding ritual.

“He’s such an asshole!” Mika spat after a Saturday match, pushing her dark hair off her forehead.

“I can’t believe Madam Hooch let that shoulder check slide,” Renjun grumbled, ripping off his gloves. “He nearly sent you into the stands.”

“Typical Slytherin, they only know how to play dirty,” you agreed breathlessly, bruised, and secretly exhilarated.

But you weren’t totally innocent either.

That morning at breakfast, right before the match, you’d gotten into one of your usual arguments with him over something silly like who’d scored more points this season or who had better broom control.

“Keep dreaming, Lee,” you said, smirking across the table. “You’ll fumble the second the Snitch shows up.”

He scoffed, chin propped on his hand. “If I win today, I want a reward.”

“A reward?”

“Yeah. Something worthy of beating you.”

You pretended to think, tapping your fork to your lip. “Fine. If you catch the Snitch, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

The words left your mouth with a casual shrug, but the second you said them, his expression darkened with interest.

“Anything?” He asked, lowering his voice enough so only you could hear. “You might not like what I want though.”

You blinked, suddenly very aware of how close his knee was to yours under the table.

His gaze flicked briefly down to your mouth, then back up. “See you on the pitch, then.”  he said softly, pulling away with a smirk that left your cheeks burning.

You’d said it as a joke. Obviously. But now, after the match, with bruises blooming on your ribs and your teammates fuming about missed fouls, you couldn’t stop replaying that look on his face. And to top it all off…

He’d caught the damn Snitch.

You waited until your teammates were gone and the Slytherin tent was empty to walk in. Haechan was sitting on a bench there, shirt half-off and hair damp with sweat. 

“Took you long enough,” he sighed, leaning back in his arms.

“You’re lucky the wind was on your side today.” 

“Aht! Aht! Don’t come at me with that now, you were still confident enough to bet.’

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, you’re not even going to cash that in.”

“Oh, but I am.” He pushed off the bench slowly, stepping closer. “You can’t offer something like that and expect me to just forget.” 

You crossed your arms. “What do you want, then? A box of Fizzing Whizbees? A foot massage?”

“Tempting. But no.” His fingers reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear before letting his hand drop. 

“I want you to admit I’m the better Seeker.” 

“Come off it.” you laughed.

He leaned in a fraction, his voice lower now. “Alright then. I want you to ask nicely.”

“What?”

“Please, Haechan, what do you want from me?” he said, mocking your voice. “Say it.”

He was getting too close. Your eyes flicked to his mouth for half a second, and you knew he caught it.

“Is this the part where you make me kiss your boots or something?” you scoffed, looking at a point behind him instead of his eyes.

“I have a better idea of what you can kiss.”

An annoying flush crept up your neck, lips parting in disbelief at the implication.

“Excuse me?” you asked, with a laugh that came out shakier than intended.

“You heard me.” He didn’t look away, didn’t even blink. 

This wasn’t your usual banter anymore. The kind you could dismiss with a scoff and a snide remark. This felt infinitely more charged.

“Oh, you’re disgusting.”  You muttered.

“We made a deal,” he said, stepping even more into your space. “And I won.”

You backed up slightly, only to hit the wooden lockers behind you.

“What exactly do you want from me, Haechan?”

“That,” he started, his voice lower and raspier now “is a great question.”

He moved slowly as if he was offering a chance to run but you didn’t. Maybe you should have.

His hand came up, knuckles brushing your jaw. “You want to know what I want?”

You swallowed hard and nodded.

“I want to know what happens when you stop pretending you hate me.”

“I don't pr—”

“Don’t lie. I've seen the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching, you’re so obvious.”

You tilted your head, defiant even now. “Fine, let’s say you're right. What then?”

He gasped so slightly you barely caught it before his smirk came back in full force.

“Then we need to do something about it.”

You stared up at him, close enough to count every damn mole on his stupid, perfect face.

He leaned in until his  lips brushed your ear. “Unless,” he whispered, “you’re scared you’ll like it.”

Your hands twitched at your sides.

“As if.”

You kissed him so hard you knew it would bruise later. And for a second it wasn’t about politics or Quidditch or the Prophet or who hated who first. It was just his mouth on yours, insistent and warm, and the way his hands gripped your waist possessively.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds before he pulled back, breathless. 

“That was definitely better than a foot massage.”

He barely finished the words before your mouth crashed onto his again, hungrier this time, any shred of dignity gone. Your fingers slid up his neck, tugging him down by the collar of his robes.

Haechan chuckled into your mouth, and you felt him press you harder into the wood, his body trapping you there.

“So much for hating me,” he murmured, breaking just far enough away to speak, his breath hot against your lips.

“Shut up,” you hissed, fingers tightening in his hair as you pulled him back down to you, kissing him roughly to silence that stupid mouth. 

He groaned against your lips, slightly annoyed at how good you were at this. Your hands caressed his jaw where stubble was growing. His hands found your hips and squeezed firmly.

You gasped, lips parting to give him an opening, and he took it immediately, deepening the kiss with the kind of reckless arrogance that made your knees tremble. One of his hands slid lower, slipping under your Quidditch shirt to brush bare skin.

“Fuck—” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut when his mouth pulled away to trail along your jaw. “Haechan.”

He hummed, pleased at the way his name sounded from your lips. “Say that again.”

You shook your head stubbornly, pulling his mouth back to yours, swallowing the cocky smirk you could feel forming. You needed him silent, you needed to stop thinking, stop remembering that this was Lee Fucking Haechan.

His thigh pressed between your legs, and suddenly it was harder to pretend you didn’t want this with every fiber of your being. Especially when you were arching against him, hips chasing the friction shamefully. He noticed and pressed harder, savoring the breathless sound you made.

“Not so mouthy now, are you?” he teased, nipping your lower lip.

“Just—god—stop talking,” you breathed, dragging your nails down the back of his neck, earning a rough groan that vibrated through you. 

Your head spun from how quickly this was happening, how eagerly your body surrendered to him.

He smirked against your lips. “But I like watching you argue.”

You grabbed his jaw firmly, forcing his gaze down to yours, reveling in the way his breath stuttered at your sudden boldness. “Haechan, I swear—”

“What?” His voice was challenging, eyes glittering with excitement. “What are you gonna do?”

The answer came in the form of your hand sliding down to palm him through the fabric of his quidditch trousers, smiling sharply when his confident expression fell, eyes squeezing shut as he bit out a moan.

“That.” You murmured, stroking him again, slowly.

He recovered quickly and was kissing you again with a hand tangling in your hair, tugging firmly enough to make you gasp.

“Two can play dirty, princess.”  He growled softly, hips pressing forward into your hand.

“Then fucking play,” you challenged, breathless.

His fingers swiftly undid the buttons of your trousers. Nothing but heat flushed your skin as he slipped his hand lower and under your panties, fingers finding exactly where you needed him.

You cried out sharply, hips bucking into his touch.

“So sensitive,” he teased, voice shaking just slightly as his fingers circled your clit gently, then pressed inside you. “I wonder if your team knows their perfect little seeker gets this wet for a Slytherin.”

“Shut—ah—” your retort melted into a moan, hips grinding shamelessly against his hand.

Your head fell back against the locker, lips parted in a silent gasp as Haechan’s fingers worked you over. Your legs were already trembling, breath hitching in time with every curl of his fingers.

The need to to wipe off the fucking look on his face of pure cocky satisfaction was overcoming. He was watching you unravel like this was the victory he really wanted—not the snitch, not the match, this is what he’d been craving the most.

“Who knew,” he murmured. “That you’d look this pretty falling apart all over my fingers.” 

You couldn’t even glare at him, all your strength focused on moving your hips against his hand, chasing that high, chasing him. Until the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching froze you both on the spot.

His hand stilled immediately, and you slapped it away in a a panic. Your pants were unbuttoned, his shirt was still half-off, your lips were swollen, and you could feel your pulse between your thighs, desperate and unfinished. This was not exactly how you wanted to be caught dead.

“Shit,” you hissed, shoving him back as quickly as your wobbly knees allowed.

Haechan grabbed his wand and muttered a cleaning charm under his breath, wiping any visible evidence from his hands and your legs. Then, he schooled his expression into that bored and slightly annoyed mask he wore in class.

You barely had time to fix your clothes before a voice rang out from outside.

“Haechan? You in here?”

The Slytherin beater, Na Jaemin.

Haechan stepped out of the tent as if he hadn’t just been knuckle-deep inside you. “Just grabbing my wand,” he lied smoothly. “I didn't know I needed a hall pass to change.”

Jaemin laughed. “Hey, was someone else in there?”

You forced yourself to step out, tucking your shirt in with trembling fingers and praying to every god in the castle that your face didn’t look as wrecked as it felt..

Jaemin blinked at you, confused. “Oh.”

Then he looked between the two, and you could see the pieces falling in place.

“Right…” he said, drawing out the word. “Well, don’t let me interrupt. Just  figured you’d want to see the scoreboard. They’ve posted top players.”

Haechan raised a brow. “Top players?”

Jaemin gave a pointed look. “i think you’ll be surprised.”

Then he turned and walked out, leaving behind a thick silence in his wake. You let out a breath, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“That was a close call.” He said, still looking way too proud for someone who’d just been caught mid-debauchery.

You glared. “I'm going to kill you.”

He smirked. “Only if you say please.”

The Ministry’s Galas always felt like a battlefield in ball gowns, but this year it was worse. Your mother moved through the ballroom with effortless grace, every nod and handshake a subtle show of dominance. You followed half a step behind, champagne flute untouched in your hand.

“Y/N, darling, try to look engaged,” she murmured, looping her arm through yours as she guided you toward yet another tedious cluster of political allies. “This is the perfect opportunity to make connections before graduation.”

“Can I at least enjoy dessert before I get offered a job I don’t want?” you said under your breath.

She laughed lightly as if you’d said something charming. “You have options, dear. The International Magical Cooperation office is always interested in young minds, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has already reached out. You could even apprentice under Councilwoman Fairbairn, she’s been watching you.”

You blinked, trying to summon enthusiasm. “That sounds... overwhelming.”

“It sounds like a future,” she corrected, smiling at a passing Wizengamot elder. “We can’t all be Quidditch captains forever.”

You clenched your teeth behind a tight smile. This entire night was curated around your mother’s standards. From your dress, your hairstyle, to your perfectly timed laugh. And you were so bored you could scream.

So when she paused to speak to a pair of visiting diplomats, you used the opportunity to escape toward the dessert table. You stuffed a sugared pumpkin tart into your mouth just to have an excuse not to answer questions about your “career trajectory.” If anyone asked again about your post-Hogwarts plans, you were going to throw yourself into the enchanted punch fountain.

The peace lasted until you felt that familiar prickle between your shoulder blades. You turned just as Haechan bowed to a council witch, and walked straight toward you.

“Enjoying the pastries, princess?” he asked, stopping close enough that the chandelier lights caught a storm of gold in his eyes.

“You should focus on your father’s damage control, not my dessert plate,” you replied, forcing a smile that hurt your cheeks.

“Trust me, he’s better at politics without me. Besides, I’m here to make sure you don’t die of boredom.” he said with a crooked grin. 

Then as if it was the most common thing, he wiped a bit of powdered sugar from the corner of your lip. The action shocked the reply out of your mind, and you had to look around to make sure nobody saw that. A passing journalist drifted too near so you stepped back on instinct and lifted your chin to reply.

“I would rather be bored than babysat by you.” The reporter’s quill twitched happily and moved on.

Haechan’s eyes cooled, but a corner of his mouth lifted. “If you keep insulting me that sweetly, people might think you mean the opposite.”

“Are you ever serious about anything?” you rolled your eyes, yet your pulse thudded hard enough to blur the string quartet.

He offered his hand. “One dance. You can call me names the whole time.”

“Not a chance,” you hissed but a council member brushed past and mistook your glare for a smile. “Oh, Miss Y/N, would you lead the next waltz?”

Before you could refuse, Haechan’s hand slid to your back. “She’d be delighted,” he said smoothly, steering you onto the glassy floor.

You settled your palm against his shoulder, felt muscle tense under velvet, and tried to count the steps. But his thumb brushed the inside of your wrist and the numbers scattered.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered.

“It’s the tempo,” you lied.

The waltz spun you through three agonizing minutes of perfect posture and silent arguments fought with eyes alone. When the final note faded, applause burst around you, and you let go as if burned.

You escaped to a side corridor lined with stained-glass portraits. Halfway down, you heard his footsteps. You spun, skirt whipping.

“You had no right—”

“No right to what? Save you from making a scene?” He stopped an arm’s length away, breathing hard. “I’m pretty sure we’re here to keep appearances.” 

“Oh, thank you,” you snapped. “But I can fight my own battles.”

“I’m aware.”

A flickering wall sconce threw silver across his cheekbone, your eyes followed the droplets of melted snow that still clung to his hair from the ride here. He looked beautiful, and you hated it.

“Why do you always do this,” you said, softer now, “You always make everything harder than it needs to—”

He stepped closer. “Do you really not know why?”

Your breath caught, his gaze dipped to your lips.

“Haechan… this isn’t right,” you whispered.

“I know,” he answered, not moving back. “But tell me you don’t want it too.”

A voice rounded the corridor corner—two aides chatting about the banquet. Without thinking, you grabbed Haechan’s collar and dragged him into a narrow alcove behind a velvet drape. The aides passed but you still held onto him.

“You’re truly such a pain,” you breathed.

“You’re one to talk.” He said and kissed you before you could come up with another retort.

His hands framed your face, thumbs stroking away shock. Yours fisted in the silk of his robe as you kissed him back, matching every demand. The gala’s distant music thumped through the walls, but inside the alcove everything narrowed to the press of mouth on mouth, the soft catch of your breath, the relief of finally, finally shutting each other up.

When you broke apart, you were both trembling. He rested his forehead against yours.

“This is so dumb,” you breathed.

“I have to disagree.” 

Another set of footsteps came from outside and you pulled away smoothing your hair. He straightened his lapels with a tiny smirk on his lips.

“Lose the grin, Lee.” you said, slipping out first into the hall, masking swollen lips behind a polite smile. He followed a minute later, expression schooled into neutrality again.

Across the hall, your mother caught your gaze. You forced yourself to move toward her, while behind you his fingers brushed across the back of your hand before letting go

A week went by without much thought. The bruises from the gala’s waltz, the little half-moon marks his fingers left on your wrist, had faded. But the memory of that alcove kiss refused to. Unfortunately, life went on, and in your household that meant tea with the Minister at precisely eight in the morning.

Your mother was already seated in the glass-roofed conservatory, steam curling from a delicate china pot. She greeted you with the smile she reserved for diplomats.

“Sit, darling.”

You obeyed quietly but anxiety bubbled in your chest.  She only used this much ceremony when she was about to drop a bomb.

“I’ve been thinking about your future,” she began, pouring. “You’ve always excelled in Defense, but I know how fond you are of languages as well. So I called in a favor.”

Your stomach dipped. “Mom…”

She set a parchment envelope on the table. “A summer internship in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, right after NEWTs. You’ll shadow the Trade Accords division, they might even pay if you impress them.”

“I didn’t apply for this,” you said tightly.

“I applied on your behalf. They accepted instantly, obviously. One look at your marks, your pedigree—”

“Exactly,” you cut in. “My pedigree. When do I get to make a choice that isn’t pre-selected for political optics?”

Her expression cooled by a few hard degrees. “Opportunities like this don’t wait. You’d be foolish to refuse.”

The conversation spiraled quickly with her measured reasoning, your rising temper, and the clink of china as you set your cup down too sharply. In the end she dismissed you with a gentle but immovable, “We’ll speak once you’ve calmed down.”

You left the conservatory shaking, the parchment still unopened in your fist.

You considered skipping but pride shoved you into the Ministry lift at 8:59am. You wore sensible robes you hated, hair pulled back into a ponytail that was giving you a headache, and your heart was still hammering with resentment. But if you had to do this, you would do it well… and spitefully prove you didn’t need your mother to pull strings.

The lift grill rattled open onto a marble corridor lined with signage that said Level Five, International Cooperation. You approached the reception desk, rehearsing a polite introduction. Then you heard a laugh that froze you on the spot.

Haechan was leaning against the counter, chatting easily with the receptionist. He was wearing dark robes, and his hair was slicked back. The receptionist pointed toward a stack of orientation folders, he thanked her with a wink, and turned towards you.

His eyebrows shot up in shock when he saw you, then his mouth curved into a slow smile.

“Well, well. Fancy seeing you here on a Monday morning.”

You gave him a flat look. “What are you doing here?”

“Same thing as you, I’m guessing. Interning because my father thinks letting me rot on a beach all summer would reflect poorly on the family name.”

You raised a brow. “Was this the only department desperate enough to take you?”

“Actually,” he drawled, stepping closer, “Magical Law Enforcement was my father’s first pick but it was too much work so I requested this department specifically.” He tilted his head. “Imagine my surprise when I saw your name on the roster last night. Made this whole endeavor infinitely more entertaining.”

Heat crept up your neck, equal parts anger and something far less convenient. “I’m not here for your entertainment, Lee. Stay out of my way.”

“That might be difficult,” he said, tapping the crest on his folder. “Trade Accords division, same as you.”

Of course. Your mother couldn’t have orchestrated a more ironic punishment if she’d tried. But grateful relief pooled in your stomach anyways. At least you wouldn’t be alone in a sea of strangers, at least the one person who could keep up with you (and rile you up) would be right there. But you couldn’t show that. The whole structure of whatever twisted thing existed between the two of you depended on pretending you’d rather kiss a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

The program coordinator, Ms. Thatch approached you, beaming at you both. “Wonderful! Our Hogwarts pair. Minister Y/L/N spoke highly of you, and Mr. Lee comes with stellar references. You’ll be working together on our project about Portkey Tariff revisions.”

You swallowed a groan, Haechan’s grin only widened.

“Looking forward to our collaboration,” he said sweetly, extending his hand. Ms. Thatch watched, expectant.

You shook it, pretending your pulse didn’t spike when his thumb brushed the inside of your wrist in a silent echo of the waltz from the gala. His eyes flickered with the same memory.

“I hope you can keep up,” you murmured under your breath.

“When have I ever disappointed you?” he answered, squeezing slightly before releasing your hand.

The morning of your first official group session, you found Haechan sitting on the arm of a leather sofa in the Ministry atrium, twirling his wand mindlessly and balancing a croissant on his knee. You approached slowly, arms full of color-coded folders of all the research you’d done already. He looked up, eyes dragging over your thoroughly professional appearance before raising a brow.

“Someone’s ready to storm the Wizengamot.”

“I can’t say the same about you.”

He popped the last bit of croissant into his mouth and spoke through the crumbs. “Relax, this thing’s just a formality. They don’t expect us to have actual solutions yet.”

“I’m not here to coast,” you huffed. “I’m not going to let anyone say I got this internship because of my mother.”

“Of course not. You’ve got enough pressure breathing down your neck without adding my laziness to it.” he replied with a dramatic sigh.

 “So you admit you’re lazy.”

“Ah, I'd call it strategic,” he corrected with a grin. “Why waste effort on a rigged game?”

You stared at him, genuinely annoyed now. “Why even be here if you’re not going to try?”

“Because I was told to be,” he said, still smiling but something behind his eyes hardened.

You opened your mouth to press, but Ms. Thatch appeared, waving the two of you over to the briefing room where interns settled around the long mahogany table. Ms. Thatch stood at the front, adjusting her elegant tortoiseshell glasses.

“Welcome back, everyone. Today we’ll outline initial proposals for the Portkey Tariff Revision project,” she said briskly. “I trust you all reviewed the necessary documents in preparation for this.”

You glanced quickly at Haechan, who was leaning back  and looking bored in the chair opposite you.

When Ms. Thatch’s gaze landed on you, she smiled encouragingly. “Miss Y/L/N, let’s hear your proposal first.”

You straightened, ignoring the faint twitch at Haechan’s lips, and began clearly, “The current tariffs favor Western European trade. I think we should revise the rates using updated data from underrepresented regions, especially in Eastern Europe and Asia. It would make things fairer across the board.”

Ms. Thatch nodded appreciatively. “Very good, any thoughts?”

Haechan leaned forward, eyes glinting as they locked onto yours. “That sounds good on paper but it ignores our current diplomatic priorities. Adjusting tariffs too quickly risks alienating our key European allies. I’d suggest a phased approach, start with targeted reductions for certain regions while giving our main trade partners time to adjust.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, feeling irritation rise at the implication that your idea was naïve. “So we just let the imbalance drag on for years while everyone tiptoes around it?”

He tilted his head, annoyingly calm. “No, we just need to be smart about timing. If we push too hard and too fast, we could lose cooperation completely. It’s not just about fairness, it’s about what’s actually doable.”

“Diplomacy requires action,” you shot back, voice sharpening despite your efforts to remain composed.

“When has rushing things ever gotten us anywhere?” he asked with a raised brow.

The other interns glanced between you two with barely hidden fascination. Ms. Thatch cleared her throat delicately. “Passionate debate, but perhaps we can find a middle ground?”

You flushed slightly, biting your lip. Beside you, another intern whispered something like awkward, but you ignored it.

“Well,” Haechan started, “we could try a hybrid approach. Immediate adjustments where the gaps are the worst, but phase in the rest over time. We could also offer incentives like better magical goods regulations for countries willing to work with the new model early on.”

You blinked. It wasn’t a terrible suggestion. It was annoyingly logical. Worse, you’d briefly considered something similar before dismissing it because it felt too cautious. You glanced at Ms. Thatch, whose expression was encouraging.

“…That could work,” you said reluctantly. “As long as we set clear timelines for change and don’t let it get buried in process.”

Haechan gave you a satisfied smile. “Look at that teamwork.”

Ms. Thatch clapped once, pleased. “Wonderful! A joint proposal from Mr. Lee and Miss Y/L/N. Excellent demonstration of cooperation.”

Your face warmed up at her compliments, but you were still annoyed because you'd unintentionally made Haechan look good too. He reclined in his chair again, twirling his quill lazily, with a little smirk on his face.

When the meeting ended, you gathered your parchments quickly, eager to escape the lingering awkwardness. But as you stood, Haechan slipped smoothly into step beside you.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, leaning slightly toward you.

“For what? Pointing out flaws in my idea?”

“For saving your impulsive approach from alienating half of Europe,” he corrected.

“Why do you act like you care about the outcome now?” you snapped softly.

“You’d be surprised.”

The lift chimed before you could answer. You stepped in first, forcing a slow breath. Haechan followed, positioning himself at a polite distance but still close enough that his body heat seeped through your robes.

The enchanted car lurched upward, then swerved left, then right in its usual nauseating zig-zag. Your boots slid and you lost your balance. Haechan’s hand shot out, pulling you against the solid plane of his chest.

“Careful…” he murmured.

“Thanks,” you managed, the word thin and embarrassingly high.

He released you the moment you steadied, but the imprint of his fingers stayed on your skin. When the doors finally opened on the Atrium, your pulse was thudding so hard you could hear it.

“See you tomorrow, partner,” he murmured, throwing a knowing glance over his shoulder as he exited.

You watched him disappear through the bustling floor realizing it was going to be a very long internship.

The next few days consisted of nothing but research. Haechan seemed more interested in the project after your argument. He claimed he was committed to helping but you suspected he just enjoyed contradicting your findings.

“Page six,” he announced, flipping your draft around. “Your import tariff curve is off by half a point.”

“It is not.” You muttered without looking up.

He leaned forward. “Wanna bet?”

You rubbed your temples, eyes throbbing from going through three decades worth of parchments. “Fine. Show me.”

Haechan stood and bent over your chair, his cologne wrapping around you. He pointed to a neat column of figures, far closer to your face than necessary.

“See?” he murmured. “You adjusted by seven percent, but the 1903 clause moved the baseline to eight.”

“Good catch,” you conceded through gritted teeth.

He straightened, grinning. “Say it louder, the ghosts in the basement might’ve missed it.”

You rolled your eyes, then pressed two fingers to the side of your neck and winced. All those hours of hunching had finally caught up with you.

Haechan’s smirk faded. “You okay?”

“Just sore,” you muttered, rotating your shoulder. “Thanks to someone who insisted we cross-reference three languages and thirty years of footnotes.”

“That same someone happens to give excellent massages,” he said, sliding behind your chair before you could protest. “Turn.”

You opened your mouth to refuse but then another sharp twinge shot down your spine. So with a reluctant sigh, you let his hands settle lightly on your shoulders.

“Don’t break me,” you mumbled, cheeks heating.

He chuckled, low. “You’ve survived Bludgers to the ribs. I think you’ll live.”

His thumbs worked slow circles into the knotted muscles at the base of your neck. Heat unfurled under your skin; the room seemed to narrow to the quiet rasp of parchment and the steady press of his hands.

“Better?” he asked, voice a breath from your ear.

“A little,” you managed, pulse thudding far too fast for mere relief.

He kneaded deeper, tracing careful circles. Your breath caught as his thumbs slid higher toward your neck. He paused, and you didn’t realize he was leaning in until you felt the faintest ghost of a kiss graze your bare shoulder where your robes had slipped. Your entire body stiffened in surprise.

“Haechan—” The name broke on a gasp as he kissed you again.

“I’ll stop if you want,” he murmured but his lips only drifted higher. Another kiss landed below your ear, teeth grazing a spot that made your breath hitch. He nudged your hair aside, mapping the exposed skin with his mouth.

“What are you doing…” you breathed.

“Just helping you relax,” he whispered, mouth warm on your neck.

You turned without thinking, and his mouth met yours, stealing the rest of your question. Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer. 

He stood from his chair and eased you back until you bumped the table. His tongue brushed yours; a low sound caught in his throat when you arched into him. Your hands found the loosened knot of his tie and pulled. He broke the kiss just long enough to trace your bottom lip with his thumb.

“Feeling better?”

You swallowed thickly. “I don’t know.”

“Hmm, we gotta keep going then.” He kissed you again, deeper this time, hands sliding down to your waist and gripping tightly. His hips pressed forward, drawing a sharp gasp from you as you felt the heated line of his body. Your fingers tightened in his shirt, clinging as he kissed along your jaw, teeth gently scraping your skin.

“We shouldn’t—” you breathed, though you tilted your head to grant him better access.

“I know,” he said hoarsely. But neither of you stopped.

His hands slid down to explore the curves of your body through your robes. You felt dizzy, entirely consumed by him. He lifted you slightly onto the table, knocking scrolls and parchment to the floor, but you hardly cared. There was no one around in the Archives at this hour and all you could focus on was him—the fierce heat of his mouth, the soft catch of his breath when you bit his lip.

Your robes shifted upward, exposing bare thighs. His palms skimmed your skin, rough fingertips igniting sparks along your nerves. He kissed you deeply, tongue sliding against yours as you parted your knees instinctively, drawing him in closer.

“Lie back.” He murmured.

Your heart kicked up as you leaned onto your elbows, breath already shallow. His eyes didn’t leave yours, not even as he dropped to his knees, hands sliding up your thighs and pushing them apart with slow pressure. With his other hand he bunched your robes higher, the cool air hitting your skin in sharp contrast to the heat rolling off him.

“Haechan—” you gasped, tensing when his mouth brushed the inside of your thigh. 

You hadn’t expected how soft he’d be. How careful. He kissed higher, lips dragging up inch by inch until his breath was warming your core. You squirmed closer, needing him closer, needing somethinv to relieve the pressure building low in your stomach. His eyes flicked up to yours with a silent question in them. You nodded without hesitation.

His mouth was on you in a second. A sharp main escaped before you could stop it, echoing off the dusty shelves. His tongue moved slowly at first, learning you, and then with more purpose. Your hands fumbled for the edge of the table, gripping tight as your breath caught again and again. The sensations were overwhelming, so much better than anything you’d let yourself imagine.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “Haechan—”

“You’re so fucking sweet,” he said between strokes. “Tastes better than I thought.”

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, voice cracking. “Please—”

“Not planning to.” His fingers dug into your thighs as he dragged his tongue in tight circles. “Gonna make you fall apart on my mouth.”

He groaned low against you, and the vibration nearly sent you over. Your hand flew to his hair, tugging, desperate, but he didn’t slow. His tongue worked you relentlessly, fingers digging into your thighs as you twitched.

“Haechan—fuck—” you choked, voice high and strangled as you came hard. Your thighs clenched around him but he still didn’t stop until you started to shudder.

You slumped back, breathing fast. Haechan rose slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You reached for him without thinking, pulling him into a kiss. You tasted yourself on his lips, but you didn’t care. You just needed to feel him.

“Less tense now?” he murmured, his smirk returning, but softer this time.

You exhaled, dazed. “Yeah. But—”

“I know,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours. His eyes slipped closed. “This doesn’t leave the room.”

You nodded, even though everything in you hated the idea. He pulled back just a little, smoothing your robes down, then reached for his fallen notes without meeting your eyes. You fixed your hair with trembling hands, still trying to get your breathing and your thoughts under control.

But you knew the truth, even if you weren’t ready to admit it. This wasn’t just something that happened and pretending otherwise wasn’t going to make it go away.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 6

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader are finally honest with each other. complete with tears and more than a few make-up kisses.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: angst but mostly fluff, i think this qualifies as hurt/comfort, HHEHHEHHEH, lots of kissing, so cheesy, you jokingly imply he's a slut, i need him expeditiously a/n: thank you guys for being patient with me!! ilysm!! i edited this until i hated it but i hope it's satisfactory for YOU guys..... as always please please let me know what you think!! and i already started the next part hehehe

The car ride is the worst of your life. 

Neither of you speak. 

And you find yourself wishing, pleading to god that one of you will say something to fix this—but each minute ticks by and the streets get familiar and a quiet song ends and you realize you were silly to ever think a twenty minute car ride would change anything. 

Spencer was the luckiest you’d ever been and your relationship is floating away like a balloon you forgot to hold on to—nothing more than a red dot lost to the vast blue. 

Maybe for him it’s easier. You’re pretty sure it is, as you risk one or two glances at his unreadable profile that turn into lingering, obsessive looks because you’re panicking and realizing you’ll maybe never see him this close again. It’s funny and terrible how quickly you’re remembering what it was like to see him at the coffee shop for the first time—how he was nothing but a beautiful stranger, completely unknown to you and worlds away. Now you’ve had him, sort of, and you’re turning into the girl who could never have him all over again. 

When he turns onto your street reality begins to sink in. Your heart is a short fuse inside your chest as he pulls into a spot and parks the car. The rumble of the engine cuts. The headlights stay on. 

For a moment, everything is quiet. You wish you could insert your own reality into the silence—one where you’re simply enjoying each other’s company and there’s no sense of impending doom to take your breath away. 

“Do you want to talk?” Spencer asks, looking pointedly ahead where the lights shine off the back of some other person’s car. A wayward moth dips and swirls into the high beams. You watch Spencer track it with his eyes. 

“I’m not sure what to say,” you admit quietly. The weight of everything you’d like to say sits in your stomach like lead, too heavy to divulge. It’s only been a few weeks of having to carry the truth around with you and your muscles are already fatiguing. The idea of carrying it around indefinitely makes your eyes sting. You’re already exhausted. 

Maybe a stronger person would find that last bit of energy to make a final push, to save the relationship just before it falls apart. 

But you never claimed to be strong.

Deep down, you must’ve known you weren’t ready for a real relationship. You can’t handle all of this pretending to be okay with things that hurt. Even if that's the grown-up thing to do.

“I tried. I really did, I’m sorry—I’m—”

Before you can get the words out your throat tightens around them and you bury your face in your hands. 

The sound of his seatbelt unlocking and whirring back surprises you—but you’re even more surprised when he undoes yours. Still, you move your arm so it can snap back into place and then he’s pulling you into him. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, one hand on the back of your head as you lean over the small gap between the seats, unable to stop yourself from shedding more tears. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry. 

For not loving you?

If it’s not your fault he doesn’t love you back—then whose fault is it? Who’ll take the fall?

But still, he’s holding you so carefully, like you’re made of porcelain. Something to be protected. Or at the very least, something to be mourned even after it’s in pieces. 

As you lean against him, lulled by the slow in and out of his breath, the inverse of yours, and the way he slips his thumb over the back of your hair in silence for a few minutes—you wonder what’s missing. Why he’s not satisfied. 

“I don’t understand you.”

The words come out flat, muffled by his coat, garbled with leftover tears. 

“What was that?” Spencer asks gently, still playing with your hair. You sniffle, adjusting your head so your cheek is to his shoulder and your lips are no longer smushed. 

“I just… I want you to explain it to me.”

“Explain what?”

You sit up just enough to meet his eyes. The movement seems to take him by surprise, but he keeps his hands on you—one slipping to your cheek and the other still loyal to your back. He brushes his fingers over the delicate skin beneath your eye and you cover them with your own in an effort to get him to stop treating you so kindly. But even now, when you’re mad at him for being so gentle in the way that he hurts you, you can’t help but seek the familiar callus on the side of his trigger finger. It’s an odd thing to anticipate missing, but you’ll miss all of him. You can’t imagine holding a hand without that familiar anomaly—a cairn to show you where he’s been and who you’re holding. 

He curls his warm hand around yours and you hold your joined fist out for him in emphasis, speaking louder than either of you were prepared for. 

“This! You! I understand that we don’t feel the same way about each other and maybe I can’t change that. But then you do this and I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why this isn’t enough for you, because it’s enough for me, and I just—I don’t know what else I can give you. I don’t know what else there is. I don’t understand why I’m not... enough.” The tears are back and flowing freely, but you forge breathlessly ahead, because you’ve finally found a way to be honest and you’re not going to stop now. Spencer is frowning, lips parted and clearly confused or shocked or something, but you continue your confessional before he has the chance to interrupt. “I want to be enough, but you didn’t even give me the chance, and I don’t think it’s fair that we’re breaking up when you didn’t let me try. Maybe if you just told me, if you explained what’s missing I could fix it and you could love me back, and—please. I just want to try. Please, Spencer.”

A car engine revs somewhere far away, echoing down the street. It reverberates for several seconds, unimpeded by any other noise. Any word, any breath. 

His voice is thin when he responds a moment later, still studying your face with a kind of scrutiny that is so indecipherable you don’t know how you expect him to respond. 

“Love you back?”

You blink. 

Your stomach drops. 

For all that you’d revealed, for all that you’d willingly humiliated yourself with your pathetic supplication—you’d meant to keep that four letter word to yourself. 

What a way to make an exit from your relationship. 

Spencer is still looking at you, keeping you pinned to your seat, and as much as you wish it wasn’t the case he’s not going to let you off the hook this time. He’s going to demand an answer, and you have a 0% chance of bursting into mist before you have to provide an explanation, so you have no choice but to say something. 

What, exactly, you’re going to say—you don’t know. 

“I didn’t…”

“You didn’t mean it.”

The response comes so quickly, sharp as a slap, that you jump back slightly, a deep frown twisting your brow. Spencer makes no effort to keep his hand in yours as you slip from his grasp. 

“That’s not what I was—”

“Just say what you mean.” Silence. “Tell me.”

It’s like he’s got an ice pick to your chest. It’s like he wants you to humiliate yourself even further, to punish you for your messy indiscretions. 

“Spencer…”

It’s a warning. You’re giving him a chance to stop this before he hurts you sadistically. Before he becomes unrecognizable. 

He swallows. 

“Please.” And then, a second later, when you’re still trying to process the quiet pain in his voice and suddenly faced with the unexpected question of who is hurting who, “please, just… tell me if you meant it.”

For the first time tonight, you notice how exhausted he looks. Slightly gaunt, even paler than usual. Shadows pool deeper in the hollows of his face. His eyes look glossy, dark crescents below awaiting to catch tears you realize you’ve never seen fall. The tonal shift has you so disoriented, so out of your body like you’re seeing yourself in his own injuries—the truth becomes the only humane answer. Even if it hurts you.

“Yes. I meant it. You know I mean it.”

“I don’t know that,” he says on a shaky exhale. “How would I know that?”

And he’s got the ice pick back at your sternum. It’s tipped in poison. The mallet trembles in the air. So does your voice. 

“You told me you didn’t feel the same. You said it was new for me and different and I was going to make things complicated and you treated me like I was a stupid kid, and—and it doesn’t even matter. This was dumb. I’m sorry I said anything, I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing. I just.. I can’t do this.”

You’re about to open the door, every muscle tense as you wonder what the hell is wrong with you. What reduced you to the weepy, pathetic girl, begging a boy to love her despite knowing it doesn’t work like that—the same girl you’ve looked down your nose at in every film and TV show and in every high school and college hallway since you learned what self-superiority meant. Before you knew exactly what it felt like to be her. 

“Wait.”

He says your name.  

And of course you pause. 

You want a reason to stay. If you had more self-respect, you wouldn’t. But you know you’ll give him as many chances to give you an excuse as he’s willing to take. You knew that before your fingers met the metal of the door handle. 

“Just—hold on a second. Can you look at me?” 

You sniffle and wipe your eyes with the heel of your palm before turning around to face him once more. You wonder if anyone will ever have the kind of power he has over you ever again. 

The despair leaves only wisps of itself on his face—mostly he looks like he’s thinking hard about something. It’s jarring. 

“You’re talking about our phone call on Sunday, right?”

You nod petulantly with a quick teary eye-roll because obviously that’s what you’re talking about. 

Something lights in his own dark eyes as he inhales, parts his lips as if to speak, and stops himself again. Like he’s got news that he’s not sure how to break. 

“The things I said, on that call… I wasn’t talking… about you.”

Your insides feel like tangled yarn as you stare at him uncomprehendingly. 

“I mean, I was. I was talking about us. But not in the way you think, it was—” he stops, rubbing his eyes and taking a frazzled breath. “I know what it’s like to be the one who cares more. I have to assume that I’m the one who cares more because when I don’t, I ruin things. And with you, I felt like—the stakes were so high, and I thought it’d be safer for me to not say anything until I knew you felt the same. But I know that’s not fair to you so I tried to tell you over the phone that if you didn’t feel the same way it was okay. And now I’m—I’m realizing the way I phrased it was incredibly unclear and misleading, and somehow I fucked it up in a completely new way. But I wasn’t referring to you. I just didn’t want you to feel stuck with someone who can’t give you casual when you have so much ahead of you. I had no idea you felt that way about me. And I am so, so sorry that I hurt you. I never meant for that to happen.”

You blink. 

And for some reason, begin sobbing. 

Spencer freezes for a moment, then tells you to stay there and you barely have the capacity to wonder what he means as you hear his own door opening then slamming shut again. A moment later he’s on the passenger side, opening your door and leaning in. 

“Hey,” he whispers, gently pulling your hands from your face and making you turn your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But that’s good news, right? Why all the tears, lovely? What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

You take a shuddering breath. 

“This is all my fault, I ruined everything because I was too scared to tell you before and now—and now—”

Stroking your cheeks to wipe away the tears is a futile effort because they just keep coming, but Spencer does it anyway, and he speaks so kindly, so evenly it somehow hurts deeper. 

You were terrible to him. And he had been prepared to accept that. He thought you didn’t love him, and he was still willing to be the subject of all your cryptic frostiness and inexplicable cruelty. 

“It is not your fault. You didn’t ruin anything. I’m still right here. We’re okay.”

“But we’re breaking up, and—and I was so mean to you. That’s not okay, Spencer.”

You finally look at him. He’s close, eyes warm and wide as he looks directly into your own teary gaze, shaking his head earnestly. 

“You were confused, honey. So was I. It was just a misunderstanding. But… I know I was unkind to you. I cannot express how sorry I am for that, and the last thing I want is for us to break up, but if you think that’s what’s best, I’ll… I’ll understand.”

His voice is dangerously thin by the end, strained with impending tears of his own. But he’s eternally kind—backlit by the streetlamps and beautiful like an angel.  Whatever you want, he’ll give you. Even if it’s this. 

“I don’t want that. I don’t.” You sigh, closing your eyes briefly against the world as you realize the impending breakup had been a delusion all along. That you were going to let your insecurities and some sick pride end the relationship for you. All that despair had been for nothing. Or—maybe not nothing. You realize he still hasn’t said it back. But you won’t be a coward. It’s not worth losing him. You open your eyes.  “I just—I want us to be on the same page. And if you don’t love me yet or if you don’t wanna say it, or if you can’t, I get it—it’s okay, but if you don’t could you maybe just tell me? So that I’ll know—”

Before you can process it Spencer is leaning in, head angled to accommodate you, pressing his lips to yours so softly your breath catches and your stomach flips. Maybe softer than he ever has before, and it’s like taking a deep breath after holding it through a dark tunnel. You exhale a tentatively soft sigh against him, releasing air you don't have along with the fraught tension in most of your body. All too quickly he’s pulling away, hands still cupping your cheeks and thumbs stroking over your skin. When he speaks it’s not quite a whisper, but secret-soft. 

“How could I not be so in love with you?” 

Suddenly you can feel the world turning underneath you. Or maybe you’re just dizzy from lack of oxygen. Either way it feels good. A drop of warmth makes a splash in your stomach and slowly spreads through every vein and capillary until you’re sure you’re glowing gold. 

“Really?”

“Of course really. I��m—” he takes a breath of his own, and you realize how difficult this must be after what happened the last time he professed his love for a girl. Your chest aches for him. His voice is low and solicitous, but it wavers slightly. “I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, but I was worried—I was worried the way I felt for you was… too much. I am so in love with you it scares me. I still don’t know what to say or how to act around you. When I’m gone, sometimes I imagine quitting my job, just so I can come home and see you sooner. When I have a gun in my hands, I start thinking about all the things I would do to keep you safe, or—or just because you asked me to. And if what you wanted was for me to leave you alone, I would have done that. If you wanted me to drop everything and everyone to be with you I would have done that. And I know you’d never ask those things of me. But any of them, I’d do in a heartbeat. Which is… it’s a little scary, huh?”

The final sentence is a nervous self-effacing chuckle, which you can match in sound only—one breathy attempt at a laugh from your slackened jaw. 

When that’s the only response you can manage, he clears his throat. 

“Too honest?”

You shake your head as if in a fog. 

“No. Not too honest. But I’m just… I’m trying not to cry again.”

He smooths over your hair fondly. His own eyes are shiny and full of wonder as he studies you for a short while, like you're doing something much more awe-inspiring than sniffling in the passenger seat of his car. Then one hand is dropped to your shoulder and the other braced against your seat back. Finally, he pulls back to a more reasonable distance with a shaky sigh. It’s a sound of relief. You want to hug him, and all the past hims who have ever been hurt by anyone. 

“You, um—you need to rehydrate. Do you have anything that will rebalance your electrolytes? If you don’t I can go to the store—”

“You don’t need to do that,” you assure him with a small, watery laugh, loosely grabbing the wrist that brushes your shoulder. 

“But you need to take care of yourself. And I know you haven’t been drinking enough water because you never do.”

There’s a lingering overwrought shakiness to his voice, but it’s still the most relaxed he’s sounded since he came home, and you realize that the worst is behind you. The storm that you’d been so sure you couldn’t weather is somehow clearing up. 

“I can’t believe we almost just broke up.”

He hangs his head, dropping it to the curve of your neck and groaning. 

“Don’t say that. Let’s not think about that right now. Just—” when he raises his head again, and shakes it slightly to get his hair out of his eyes, they’ve cleared, like he’s on a mission to change the subject. “Let’s go upstairs. Will you let me take care of you?”

You give him an exaggerated nod, still sniffing, and the smile that grows on his face is like seeing the sun rise above the ocean. You love his smile. You love him. 

Spencer kisses you on the cheek. 

“Okay. Let me lock the car and then we can go up.”

As soon as you get into your apartment and turn on the light Spencer goes to the kitchen. It’s a small unit, but antique and nice enough, though you prefer Spencer’s. There’s still some tension as you observe him filling a glass with water, kicking your boots off by the door—but not necessarily the bad kind. You’re not sure exactly what it is. 

“Where are you going?” He asks as you pass the kitchen area to turn on a standing lamp in the opposite corner of the room. 

“I don’t like the big light.” A warm glow emanates through stained glass as you flick it on. 

“I know that. I just didn’t realize it was a higher priority than your wellbeing.” His tone is sardonic but he’s already switching off the overhead lighting for you. You give him a wry smirk as you finally approach and take the proffered glass from his waiting hand. 

“Ambience over everything, baby.”

His brows pinch at the cavalier sentiment—you never call him baby, so you're sure he knows it’s a joke—and he shakes his head with a humorous little huff of air through his nose, watching as you drink deeply. Your hand is shaking. Spencer notices and covers it with both of his, taking the half empty glass with one and grabbing your hand with the other. 

“Adrenaline,” he murmurs, kissing your knuckles. “It’ll go away soon. Did you get enough?”

You nod, smiling small but genuinely. Emotionally exhausted or not, you’re happy. 

Spencer strays, not far, to set the glass on the counter. Then he turns to face you, bracing his palms on the ledge and just watching you for a moment with the kind of smile that makes you nervous in the best way.

He beckons you to him with nothing more than a quick tilt of his head, and you shuffle across the floor in your socks til you’re toe to toe. Without your shoes on, he feels much taller. Still he just watches you for a moment—not that you mind. Your view isn’t half-bad. The faint warm glow from the lamp casts shadows over his face, highlighting all the perfect angles, deep brown eyes framed by dark lashes, and lips that still make you feel like a girl with a crush when you look at him. His hair is getting long. You’re unreasonably glad you still get to look at him like this. 

“Hi,” you whisper—something about the intimate dark of the room feels like a place for secrets. 

“Hi, pretty.” Spencer tucks hair behind your ear, eyes soft wherever they focus on your face like if he even looks at you too sharply you might break. “Have I told you how much I missed you while I was gone?”

He knows he hasn’t.

“Even when I was being a heinous bitch?”

Spencer laughs and it makes you smile too. The way his smile changes the landscape of his whole face will never feel any less like observing a natural phenomenon. It’s unfair how beautiful he is, and how you’re keeping him all to yourself in the dark on the fourth floor of an apartment building in DC. 

“Even then. Not sure that’s the wording I would have used.”

“I missed you too,” you admit softly. 

He maps your face with wandering eyes like he’s done a hundred times. Vaguely you wonder if he sees the same kind of beauty in you that you see in him. If he sees landmarks in your flaws and stars beyond the observable universe in your eyes. 

Spencer sweeps your hair over your shoulder, fingertips grazing your neck. 

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs. 

Butterflies fill your stomach and you nod shyly, unsure of what would come out if you tried to speak.

His free hand settles on your lower back and brings you into him until you’re chest to chest. With his other on your jaw, he bows his head, and you angle yours up, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. 

Spencer kisses you so gently it aches in your chest, still cupping your face and stroking your cheek. You can’t help wrapping your arms around his middle—before he’s pulling away far too soon. 

And he’s laughing. 

“What were you drinking?”

You frown, flustered and trying to remember a time before his lips were on yours.

“Water.”

“Before that, baby. At the bar.”

You think back even further, head muddled even more by the endearment so that it takes you a moment to recall. 

“A Shirley Temple. Derek brought it to me. Why? Is that bad?”

“No,” he says, still smiling as his lips brush yours. “You’re perfect. You taste like candy. It’s cute.”

Oh. You feel warm as he presses another kiss to your lips—and this time you insist on him staying awhile. He’s happy to oblige. 

Spencer kisses you soft and careful at first, and then deeper, but still so slow, until you can’t help the way you’re bunching the fabric of his shirt between your fingers and rising on your toes to try and get impossibly closer. He kisses you the way you’ve been needing him to since he left, long and unhurried and sweet—and takes everything you give him, siphoning away all your leftover turmoil and angst until you’re weightless. You’re deprived of oxygen, you’re dizzy, and you don’t care at all. 

“I love you,” you breathe against him before he captures your lips again with a hum that flips your stomach, his hand rubbing over your hip. 

“Say it again,” he mutters against your mouth a second later, brushing hair away from your face. 

It comes out a little mumbled this time between kisses, but it comes out all the same. 

“Love you.”

He sighs into you—relief that mirrors your own. 

“I love you.”

It seems like the kind of thing that will never stop sounding perfect from his lips. 

A final deep kiss shortens into a series of smaller ones, and then he’s pulling away slowly, brushing the corner of your mouth affectionately. 

Both of you require a few deep breaths—a moment to let your sparkling eyes wildly chart each familiar curve and convex and shade and shadow of the other’s face—before either of you can speak. Spencer breaks the silence first. 

“I’m sorry.”

You frown, stirred from your brainless bliss by his unexpected apology. 

“For what?”

The fiery glow in his eyes dampens slightly. 

“For what I said at the bar.”

Oh.

That.

It feels like a lifetime away—memories seen through someone else’s eyes. Words like blows from a less familiar mouth. 

You look away. For a while, you’d forgotten about that. Ideally he wouldn’t have reminded you. 

At least he doesn’t make you look at him. He just strokes your hair, watching you examine the tiled counter. His voice is soft and soothing, like he’s appealing to a scared rabbit. Or maybe something angrier and with more teeth. 

“You’re not immature, or badly behaved, or thoughtless. I was having an emotional reaction, I got defensive, and I lashed out. It was unfair and unkind of me to throw those things back in your face when I know how much trust it takes for you to be vulnerable with me. There’s nothing I can say or do that will adequately make up for that, but I want you to understand that I didn’t say any of it because it was the truth. I said it because I didn’t understand how you were feeling and I was hurt. I was insecure and I acted juvenile. I am so, so sorry, honey. You don’t have to forgive me, but you do need to know that none of it is true.”

Once you bite your lip long enough to be sure you won’t cry again, you speak. 

“It’s okay,” you insist with a cheerfulness as natural as hard plastic, something in your chest twinging. “I was mean too. Like you said, we were both confused.”

“It is not. I made you cry.”

Sometimes you forget that he’s not like other people. He’ll never accept anything less than the barest truth. So you look back up at him and speak with a level of honesty that you hope satisfies him. 

“I forgive you. You didn’t mean it. And I have insurance because Derek said he and Emily would kick your ass if you’re mean to me again.”

You hear the sad humor in his voice. His hand runs up and down your back. 

“If I’m ever mean to you again, I personally invite you to kick my ass. And then let Derek and Emily have their turn.” He thumbs at your cheek, studying you in silence for a moment. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could take it back.”

You stand up a little straighter. Spencer tracks you with his eyes, noting the way you smile slightly. 

“You’ll find a way to make it up to me.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he admits, barely a whisper and the truth of it so heavy you can feel it too. 

But for tonight you can’t contend with more weight. 

“You know what you could do right now?”

The mischief in your tone is obvious, and he hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to let you move on from this so quickly. But eventually he plays along, pressing his thumb into the dip of your back and speaks lowly, just as you’d hoped he would. 

“What’s that?”

You smile slyly. 

“You could kiss me again.”

“Hm… I don’t know, three times in one night? Sounds a little excessive.”

“Do you want to be forgiven or not?” You huff. He smiles lazily, already dipping his head to press his lips to yours. 

“I thought I was already forgiven.”

“Apologies can be retracted.”

“Ah.” His next words are mumbled as his lips ghost yours. “Well we wouldn’t want that.”

Spencer puts you out of your misery, not bothering to warm you up to it before he’s kissing you with a deep need. It’s still languid, and not hungry, exactly—it’s more like an aching, mind-numbing thirst. It’s all-consuming, overwhelming to have all of his burning focus pinpointed on you like this. Both hands come to cup your face and you wonder if he wants you in ways that he doesn’t entirely understand, just as you want him. You wonder if anything could possibly sate this desire to possess him completely and for him to possess you, to trade corporeal forms—or if it’s just something you’ll have to live with like a metaphysical itch you can’t scratch. As he forces you to tip your head back for him, using his height to his advantage, breathing deeply against you and attempting to push himself impossibly closer, you begin to think he understands exactly how you feel. 

As soon as you’d sensed he wanted it, your lips had parted for him. He knows he could have any part of you. He knows how eager you are to give yourself to him. You’ve done everything to prove it, and yet you’ve never needed him quite like you do ask he pushes off the counter and slowly backs you against the wall, protecting your head with a hand as the paintings rattle ever so slightly. You gasp into his mouth and he kisses you greedier still, but his hands don’t stray from your cheeks. 

Not until, that is, you hook your right leg around his left, and he catches it, fingers wrapping under the bend of your knee. 

Never in your life have you regretted picking jeans rather than a skirt more than you do right now. 

But to your disappointment, Spencer slows down to a halt—pulling his lips from yours like they’d been stuck by molasses until he’s far enough away to study you wildly, panting just as you are. His hair hangs over his smoldering eyes. He’s disheveled. It’s sexy. 

“What?” You whisper, voice surprisingly hoarse.

He looses a dry, abashed laugh. The flush he’s sporting is incredibly charming. 

“I’m supposed to be playing nice with you.”

Spencer says it like it’s a mild hindrance. Something frissons in your core. You smile a little wider as you continue to catch your breath, which seems to please him. 

“Playing nice?”

“Being gentle. I’m not supposed to push my favorite things against walls when they’re delicate.”

Your face heats at the way he speaks of you—if it weren’t Spencer, if you didn’t know he really doesn’t think of you as an object, you’d be pissed. But instead all you can think about is how good it feels when he calls you his. 

“According to who?”

His eyes dart between yours and then down to your lips several times before he averts them to the wall beside you with an intensity that could burn holes through the plaster. Is that how he looks at you?

“According to me. I think… god, you're going to hate me for this. But I think I need you to kick me out.”

You drop your leg at the same time as you do your heart. 

“What?”

“I know,” he says, over-apologetically, “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that escalate. But we can’t… do anything tonight.” Before you can protest, he rushes to explain himself. “It’s just that it’s been a long day. It’s been a long week, actually, and I doubt either of us have slept very much, and I think you’re really drained, and probably not thinking super clearly. I don’t think you’re in the best place for decision making.”

You look pointedly down to where he still has you pressed to the wall. 

“I think I’m in a great place.”

At that he steps back, but lets his hands find yours and pulls you away from the wall—just not quite as close as before. His nose bumps against yours as he speaks low and sweet. 

“I understand that you want me to stay right now. But it’s not a good idea to associate fighting with physical pleasure. That can set some really dangerous patterns.”

“We’re not fighting,” you plead, matching his tone as you look up at him with big eyes. His fingers lace with yours. 

“You’re right. Maybe fighting was the wrong word. But we had some pretty intense conversations today, didn’t we?”

Reluctantly you nod. 

“Right,” he agrees. “Same premise. We need to be able to have those conversations without getting distracted.”

In a last ditch attempt to get him to change his mind, you give him your best approximation of the imploring, wide-eyed gaze he sometimes uses on you. Something not entirely smile and not entirely smirk twists the corners of his mouth. When he ducks down to kiss you quickly, you reciprocate, but you lack the enthusiasm of earlier. 

“Hey.” 

“Hm,” you respond, dejectedly. 

“Don’t get all grumpy because I don’t put out.”

That puts a disgruntled little smile on your face as he probably knew it would. 

“I guess you just gave it up easy to all those other women.”

He grabs your chin and gives you a final peck. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never been with other women.”

“Mhm,” you grumble good-naturedly, pushing away from him and going to the door to undo the deadbolt. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Wow. I really must have overstayed my welcome if that’s the goodbye I get.”

You turn back around, brows raised. 

“Oh, I was prepared to be very welcoming. This is your doing.”

“Uh-huh. Come here.”

Happily you skitter back across the few feet of wooden flooring and wrap your arms tightly around him one more time, pressing your cheek to his chest. He’s ready, winding his arms over yours and rubbing your back. It’s eerily similar, you realize as he presses his face into the concave of your shoulder, to when he’d left on that most recent case. 

But at the same time—everything’s different. 

And you won’t make the same mistake twice. 

“Hey,” you smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer pulls back to look at you, a similar grin on his face. 

“Hey what?”

“I remembered what I was gonna say.”

The grin widens. He knows exactly what you’re talking about. 

“Tell me.”

“I was going to tell you that I love you. And—I hope you’re not one of those people who’s uncomfortable being told that often. Because if that’s the case I’m really going to annoy you.”

“I’m not that kind of person,” he assures. “Tell me as often as you can.”

“But you should say it back. It’s more polite that way.”

“I love you,” he murmurs, in a voice more serious than your teasing tones had been but still soft and sweet around the edges. “You know, people talk about love as if it’s completely irrational and illogical. But with you… I think the world actually makes more sense than it used to. I understand things I never did before. You’ve taught me a lot.”

It’s like a lightshow in your stomach. You wonder if he has any idea the effect his casual musings have on you.

“You already knew everything.”

“Not everything,” Spencer whispers. “Not about the things that matter.”

And you’re fresh out of teases. All you can do is look up at him with big eyes again, in awe of the fact that you get to keep him after all. 

“Will you text me when you get home?” You request, voice reverent in the wake of an admission you could never hope to top. 

“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod, because it doesn’t even matter if you had other plans tomorrow. They’re as good as cancelled. 

Spencer kisses your cheek, and you get the sense that things are still being left unfinished. There’s an unresolved tension that you can’t shake, even after all the apologies and kisses and sweet words. Still, he made a point with his talk about not mixing argument with pleasure, and you’d like to respect those wishes because you respect him—even if every atom of your being shakes with desire to keep him locked in your bedroom, hidden away from the world together, for as long as you can possibly manage. 

Eventually, you loosen your hold, and you let him go. He lingers at the door, hands in his pockets, just watching you and mirroring your small smile as you hold onto the counter with an iron grip to keep yourself in check. After he finally peels his gaze away from yours and silently closes the door behind him, you stand there, staring at the wood for at least a minute.

Once you manage to shake yourself from your revery with a deep breath, you grab your glass from earlier and stand in front of the sink, watching it fill with a white jet of water. It’d be a shame to admit it to him, but maybe Spencer is right. Maybe you do need time to emotionally digest today. After all—that was technically your first argument. It seems to have left you sort of wound up. Not in a bad way, per se—maybe you just need to take a shower, let the hot water roll over your shoulders and wash away the frenetic energy that clings to you. 

Still, something tells you that you won’t be getting much sleep tonight, even if you do take the world’s longest shower. You’re simply too high-strung. You wonder if having Spencer here would fix that or make it worse. But ultimately, he’d made the call that it was a bad idea for him to stay, and you’re generally inclined to trust his judgement. 

The thought makes you laugh into your cup as you drink. Even after the debacle that was the past week, you trust him to know what he’s doing. Maybe you need to rethink that, at least temporarily, until he’s had a chance to redeem himself. 

Just then, your front door is opening with absolutely zero warning and slamming shut again before you can finish whipping around. Your heart threatens to choke you and you almost drop your glass, clutching your chest. 

“Jesus, you—”

But the words die in your throat as Spencer storms toward you, shrugging his coat off with a white-hot chill in his eyes. It’s enough to freeze you in place, heart drumming against the confines of your ribs. 

“You really need to start locking that door,” he breathes, tossing his jacket on the counter before grabbing your face and crashing his lips into yours, palms pressed to your jaw and fingers pushing into your hair. You stand there, hands hovering in air before you gain the wherewithal to blindly set the glass down behind you. Your heart is pounding as you immediately submit to the kiss, whining softly against his lips and cautiously seeking stability in the fabric of his shirt. Spencer pulls away only briefly, allowing you to gasp for much-needed air. His brown eyes are like molten gold on you, pupils blown wide and wild as he scans your face, taking heavy breaths of his own. “Anyone could just walk in.”

-

part seven

[aurorawritestoescape]

ALL THE GOOD GIRLS GO TO HELL

Stepdad Joel Miller x f!reader || 4,7k

part 3 of A Step Into Hell || can be read alone

Summary: you can't stop thinking about your stepdad so you do something risky to have a little more of him. But Joel is not the "little more" kind of guy.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, step-cest, Joel's POV, reader’s pov, still technically dub con but reader's very into it, big legal age gap, dark!Joel, perv!Joel, possessive!joel, f!oral, both holes pronouns, cock pronouns, corruption, object insertion, fingering, creampie, degradation, anal, praise kink, daddy kink, pussy spanking, cum eating, swearing. The pics are for the mood only. Reader has no specific physical descriptions. Joel can lift reader.

A/n: huge thank you to my love @milla-frenchy for this inspiring ask, for beta-ing and for the title. ILYSM❤️ also thank you to everyone who enjoys this naughty series, I’m grateful for your love, your asks and your thots! I hope you’ll enjoy this part❤️‍🔥 dividers by @/saradika-graphics

SERIES MASTERLIST || MASTERLIST

”Joel, wake up.”

Joel opened his eyes, startled by a figure standing next to the bed in the darkness of the bedroom. He cursed under his breath when he realized it was just you.

“Hmm?” all he could muster to say, groggy with sleep.

“Can you — can we talk?” you whispered and beckoned him with a hand.

Joel was blinking at you for a few seconds and then his eyes slid over your barely clothed figure. Even in his half awake state he realized that it wasn’t normal - you, standing in his and his wife’s bedroom in your tiny pajamas like a slutty ghost, your voice shaky with nerves.

Joel got up, moving carefully so as not to wake up his sleeping wife. As he was following you downstairs a scary thought passed through his mind - what if your guilt brought you to him in the middle of the night? Did you feel bad for sleeping with your mother’s husband and decided to break your thing off? No! He’d just found a perfect fuck toy in his own backyard and he wasn’t going to let you slip out of his paws. So he decided to intimidate you and remind you that he had you by the pussy.

You

You thought that Joel was hot the moment your mother introduced you to him but when you started living under the same roof, his rough nature, gruff voice, piercing eyes and broad frame became your obsession. You wanted him to be with you, not with your mom. It was so filthy and naughty to think like that about your stepdad and your heart skipped a beat every time he was staring at you. You were scared that somehow he had read your mind and realized that his stepdaughter was a cock-craving freak. Needy and desperate for him.

You would have never confessed your feelings but somehow you got what you wanted anyway.

Yet your thirst wasn’t satisfied, instead it grew and grew until it took over your mind and body. You couldn't sleep any more - your nights were spent tossing and turning, sweating against the clingy sheets and thinking of Joel. Remembering his hands greedily exploring your body, his lips, too mean to give you a long kiss, but hot enough to brand you as his, his cock so deep inside you, it was hard to take a breath.

Tonight was especially hard. He hadn’t fucked you in three days - you were busy with the college, he worked late and your mom always seemed to be around. You were dying to get filled by his him, to feel his body pressed to yours. But most of all you craved to be degraded by him. Whenever you saw each other, he was cold, indifferent, looking through you and it was understandable - he had to keep your sick relationship a secret, especially in front of your mom, but it elevated your need even more. You wanted him to be mean, to call you a slut, to manhandle you, to give you anything to satisfy your twisted thirst for his attention.

All you had was your pink dildo; after Joel prohibited you from getting some on the side, the toy was your only respite. The one that still had Joel’s fingerprints on the shaft. No way you’d wash him away. You were so desperate you slept with it like with a damn teddy bear, it was always in your hands when you were alone in your bedroom, feeling empty without your stepdad’s cock plugging you, cold without his arms around your body.

You’d been fucking yourself sensless every night but all in vain. Your body and mind demanded him, your attraction turned into a fixation. You must have gone completely crazy with ‘the horny’ but on the fourth day in the middle of the night, surprisingly even for yourself, your feet carried you to his bedroom.

Joel

You led Joel to the kitchen and when you both entered, you turned on a little light over the cooker and stood a few steps away from him. Joel shivered, feeling chilly only in his boxers and a white tank top, and grumbled with an intention to intimidate you,

“What’s up?”

You looked anxious as hell, shifting on your bare feet, chest heaving under your cute pajama top, restless hands fidgeting with the lace on your shorts. You looked so small and vulnerable in front of him, that Joel’s cock twitched.

“I— Joel — sorry for waking you up but — I can’t sleep.”

Your stepdad furrowed his bushy brows.

”Want me to sing you a lullaby or some shit? How the hell is it my problem?“

He glanced at the clock and then glared at you, his hands on his hips.

“I have to get up in 3 hours.”

Avoiding his stare, your eyes slid down his broad torso and landed on his bulge. He followed her line of sight and smirked at his hard cock creating a glorious tent in his boxers.

“What a little slut. ‘s called morning wood. Don’t be flattered, jus’ nature.”

You quickly looked away, but he didn’t miss the way you bit your soft lower lip and pressed your thighs together.

“Wait...” His breath hitched. With his eyes narrowed he took a step towards you.

Could it be…? No way! Did you wake him up because you were horny?

Suddenly Joel was 100% awake.

You shifted back and pressed your body to the counter, looking embarrassed. And there was something else in the way you moved. Need.

‘Fuck. Me.’ Joel thought, staring at you, as a mixture of triumph and relief expanded his chest.

The bitch didn’t want to break up with him, she wanted him to break her back. A wolfish grin twisted his face as he cooed, inching closer,

“Aww, someone needs daddy’s milk to sleep better?”

He grabbed himself by the heavy balls and gave them a shake, stepping up closer to you. “Have it all right here for ya.”

Now there were mere inches between you and him. You looked so delicious - your eyes downcast, your body almost trembling out of your clothes, fast breaths making your chest flutter.

“My cock-hungry girl,” he whispered.

You shook your head, still not daring to look at him, but stayed silent. Yes, it must be hard for you to deny the obvious — you were madly horny for your stepdad.

Joel tilted his head and his smile faded. He shifted his jaw, suddenly serious and concentrated. There were so many ways he could ruin you tonight and he had just a few hours. Why did he always have so little time with you?

“Don’t worry, sweetie, I’ll take good care of you,” he whispered in your ear and bucked his hips against your lower belly, making you gasp. “Your pussy keeps you up at night?” —his hands slowly pulled down your shorts— “She wants my meaty cock?”— he lightly slapped your folds and you moaned his name — “Poor thing.”— He massaged your wet pussy —“Hungry cunt, always drenched.”— Slap!

“Ahh!” you cried out. Slap—slap—slap!

“Joelllll….”

Your hands grasped his strong biceps, nails hurting him like a little kitten would, while he was spanking your damp folds with his paddle of a hand.

“A few days without daddy’s dick and you run to him —,” Joel pushed his index and middle fingers between your folds —”in the middle of the night…riskin to wake up your mother.”

Joel shoved his thick fingers inside you and started fucking you slowly and steadily. Soon you were whimpering and shaking, eyes shut, lips parted, almost drooling.

“What if you woke her up, huh? What’d you say? ‘I need daddy to fuck me to sleep?’”

“Nooo, Joel—“, all you could do was to moan.

“You know what I like to be called.”

“Daddy -ohh, daddy…”

You spread your legs wider, watching his hand work your pussy until Joel spat,

“Eyes on me.”

You followed his command and he almost came in his boxers.

“Look at you, dirty slut, you love it. Love bein finger-fucked by your stepdad.”

Your beautiful face was twisted with pleasure he was giving you and he pressed his lips to yours and licked possessively into your mouth.

Joel was rubbing his clothed hard-on against your side, working himself up, and then pushed your clit with his thumb and started rubbing it up and down in rhythm with his fingers, that were knuckles deep inside you. You mewled into his mouth and soon your pussy began clamping on his digits hard and fast.

Joel parted from your lips and watched you closely, reveling in the way your body was succumbing to his dirty actions. He still couldn’t believe that he got to do that to his hot stepdaughter. Corrupting you felt so damn good.

When you fell into his arms, exhausted from the hard climax, he lifted you and helped you to wrap your weak legs around his waist.

“Daddy’s turn, sweetie,” he huffed, carrying you to the door, and after checking that the coast was clear, stepped into the hall.

“Lie down,” Joel ordered, locking the laundry room door behind you two and turning on the dim lights. There wasn’t much space but it was enough for him to have some fun with you.

“Right here? On the floor?”

“Damn! Ain’t ya a fucking princess,” he grumbled. “‘k, I guess my knees could use a little padding too.”

He grabbed a basket with dirty laundry and unceremoniously dropped its contents on the floor. Then he scattered the clothes with his bare foot and motioned for you to get comfortable.

You looked at the messy makeshift bed with a pout and then at Joel but his dark eyes told you to do what he’d said and soon you were lying on your back in front of him.

“Good girl,” he sneered, palming himself at the sight of you. Then he kneeled down with a grunt, settled between your legs after spreading them wide with his bear paws.

“Oops, daddy ruined your shorts, babydoll.“ A dark spot between your legs made him salivate and he quickly slid your bottoms off.

The view of your naked cunt, wet and pretty, was the last drop. His desire skyrocketed and took control over him completely. He didn’t care about anything else at that moment, he wanted to grab, thrust, squeeze, bite, eat you whole. He’d never felt anything like that before, the animalistic need to claim your every inch.

“Top up. Show me the girls.”

You exposed your breasts and he ogled your body for a few moments.

“Fucking ‘ell. I hate you. You can’t be this fuckin hot.”

Your little smile was cute but soon your lips parted and you gasped when he leaned down and pushed his nose right between your folds. He took a deep breath and growled, sending vibrations through your tense body. You jerked with overstimulation but Joel didn’t care. Keeping your thighs apart with his palms, he was busy sliding his nose like a credit card up and down your cunt, coating his face with your juices, collecting some with his plush bottom lip and tasting you greedily.

It didn’t take long for your thighs to tremble and when Joel sucked in your clit between his lips with a loud slurp, you came again. Joel drank everything your pulsating cunt had to offer, then sat back admiring the way your pussy clamped around nothing.

”Fuck. This cunt. Wish I could put you in my pocket and carry you around. Fuck you whenever I want. Wouldn’t it be nice?”

Your eyes were closed, chest heaving, and Joel lightly slapped your mound to get your attention.

“Ouch… Yeah, yes, daddy.”

Joel’s cock was rock hard, his boxers soaked with prefuck juice, but he wanted to keep playing with his stepdaughter as long as he could.

“Ya know I still have your panties. They were handy when you were studyin. Jizzed all over them. Now they’re ruined.”

He glanced at the stacks of clothes on the dryer and picked up one piece.

“These yours, right?”

You nodded slowly blinking at the pink lacy thong in his hand. He pressed it to his nose and mumbled with disgust,

“Clean.”

Suddenly his face lit up.

“Let’s make a souvenir for daddy, uh?”

“What?”

Joel answered your question when he brought the thong between your thighs and began wiping your pussy with it, soaking the fabric with your cum.

“Here we go, now they gonna smell of your tasty snatch.”

You were mewling, jerking again and again when he’d graze your puffy clit with his hand, but your legs stayed open for him. At one point Joel slid the panties over your entrance, that was stretched by his fingers, and without any thought in his mind he began pushing the thong into your glistening hole.

“What are you doing?!” You gasped, lifting yourself up on your elbows, your eyes wide.

“To soak ‘em better,” he mumbled, inserting the panties into your soft hole with his thick fingers. “Nice ‘d wet.”

He tilted his head, admiring the view of your cunt sucking the lace in, fluttering around the fabric, while you both were panting, aroused to the max at the sight.

When his hand was working, Joel’s eyes would fall on your asshole, winking at him from time to time.

It was calling to him - ‘Fuck me, Joel. Stick your fat cock right here.’

Joel stopped stuffing you with your thong only when the side string was sticking out of your hungry pussy.

He took a deep breath and looked up at your face.

“I’ll let it sit for a bit, ‘k? Ya pussy full now so… I’ma fuck your ass, baby.”

You

Joel looked crazy— eyes blown out, curly hair disheveled, mouth parted, lips and chin wet with your slick, so when he announced that he was going to fuck your ass, all your holes clenched extremely hard. You’d never done anal before but you could imagine that taking such a huge cock would split your ass in two. And you loved your ass. You didn’t want to go to the ER in the middle of the night.

‘Help me, doctor. I ...I fell on my stepdad's cock.’

Yet Joel was too hot to say ‘no’ to. His broad chest, stretching his tank top with every mighty breath, his monstrous bulge between the thick thighs, his handsome face, his muscular arms, his veiny hands…you could come just from staring at him. And the best part was that he wanted you. So much that it made your head spin and your knees buckle.

He probably noticed your scared expression, you weren’t really hiding it, and gave you a faux sweet smile. Then he cooed at you with the weirdest tone of voice — sugary and calming, that was so not like him, it made you even more anxious.

“I’ll be careful, sweetie.”

Suddenly he got up and went to the door.

“Joel?” you called but he pressed a finger to his lips, opened the lock and went out.

Joel came back a minute later holding something in his fist. He took his place between your legs, your pussy still full with your panties, and you saw a little bottle in his hands.

“Got us some lube, sweetie. Bought it the next day we fucked. For your ass. And we both know your pussy can drown the whole neighbourhood.”

A pathetic ‘aww’ almost escaped your mouth. You were down bad for him but you couldn’t show that you took ‘buying lube to ruin your butt’ as a sign of affection.

Meanwhile Joel was already opening the bottle and pulling his hard cock out. You almost moaned when you saw it. He was throbbing, his veiny thick member looked engorged and ready to destroy you. Your asshole clenched and pussy squeezed the wet thong.

”Daddy, fuck my mouth instead. Please.”

Joel, who was already pouring the slick liquid on his palm, shook his head.

“Nah, babydoll. Been there, done that. You woke me up so now face the consequences. Or rather let the consequences fuck your ass,” he chuckled and you whined, slowly closing your legs. Your inner thighs clamped against his hips and Joel froze, his eyes boring a hole in you. He clenched his jaw and his expression turned dark. A cold shiver ran down your spine. ‘He’s gonna make me,’ you thought in panic, ‘he’s gonna make me do it.’

Joel

‘Fuck! Joel thought. The bitch was about to say ‘no’. She woke him up, made him hard, made his cock leak like a fucking fountain into his boxers and now she was gonna leave him high and dry. Two orgasms spoiled her. Why the hell was he always so generous to this ungrateful brat?’

Yeah, your pussy was bomb. Yeah, you let him stick a dildo and his cock inside you, ate his cum like crème brûlée and at that moment were lying in front of him with your panties sticking out of your hole. You were a perfect slut. And yeah, your fear was valid - his schlong was huge and intimidating. But Joel knew that your ass would be heaven-like so he had to do a little ground work. Anal was worth it. You were worth it.

Joel sighed and glided his hand over your thigh.

“Ya scared?”

You nodded with your eyes glossy, lips trembling.

He sensed that you needed some sugar. So he could get your sweet ass.

“I get it,“ Joel sat on his butt and offered you his hand. You took it, looking confused, and he gently pulled you up and manhandled you to sit on his lap, your knees pressed to the floor. Your stuffed pussy snuggled up to his hard cock and Joel clenched his teeth and gathered all his will not to stick it in any hole that would be close enough. He needed to fuck something soon or he’d explode.

“It’s ok. I won’t make you do it. I'm big.”

”Yeah, so big, daddy,” you mewled, nuzzling the crease of his neck. His hands were gliding over your juicy asscheeks, soothing your nerves but also intentionally turning you on. You whimpered and he smiled in his mind. The slut was getting needy. Already feeling the tight squeeze of victory around his dick, he cooed,

”But listen… I know how to make it easy, sweetie. Know how to make it feel good for us both. You’ll feel so fuckin good, I promise.”

“Mmm,” you hummed against his skin, the sound unsure. Joel wrapped his arms tight around you and pulled you closer to his torso. Your thighs spread wider around his hips, your back arched and your butt stuck out more. Perfect.

“I also know that —,” his hand shifted to the crease of your ass and you jerked in his arms when his lubed up finger caressed your asshole, ”— she wants me too.”

Joel glided the pad of his finger over your tight ring, teasing it, spreading the lube over your puckered hole while you were moaning softly, probably fighting the urge to beg for more. But you will. Bet your cock-fearing ass you will!

“All your holes were made for me, babydoll. And this one too,” — his middle finger gently pushed on the ring — “I’ll work her open, carefully, sweetie, don’t worry, and in no time she’ll be able to take me.“ Pouring sweet honey into your ears, he inserted the tip of his digit in and your body tensed.

“Shh, relax, baby, relax. Gimme those sweet lips.”

Joel knew that you loved kissing him, always melting in his arms when his tongue was fucking into your mouth. So he gave you what you wanted - a long and passionate kiss while working your tight asshole open slowly but steadily, relaxing your muscle, making room for his fat cock.

When Joel was deep inside you to the knuckle, he moved his finger in and out a few times until you broke the kiss. You parted from his lips and searched for his eyes, almost frozen in his embrace.

“Oh, fuck, you’re inside me, Joel… daddy… I..”, you were choking on your words, your voice breathy, and he gave you a saccharine smile.

“Yes, tell me, sweetie, what do you need?”

“I need … need your cock there. Please.”

That was almost too easy but after playing with you for so long, Joel’s jizz wanted out and he was happy that your cock hunger took over your fears.

“ ‘course, babydoll. Get back down.”

He wanted to see you take him in your little ass lying on your back, wanted to see your pussy chew on your panties when his cock would neglect her and instead fuck another hole.

You were trembling, probably still scared but your eyes were screaming for a good fill.

“Hngg, like that. Hold your knees—yeah, good girl.”

“Please, be careful, Joel,” you asked with a timid voice.

Joel didn’t reply, busy applying more lube on his cock and groaning at the sensation.

“Daddy, please, be gentle.”

“I will, I will.”

Joel was hovering over your torso, his cock finally at your asshole, his wet hand guiding it. His head was empty, occupied only by you. All his being was taken over by the instinct to pierce his stepdaughter with his cock. But at the back of his mind a tiny voice reminded him that he needed to be careful with his favorite toy so he could play with it as long as possible.

Wanting you so badly that his balls were buzzing, Joel bit his lip hard to stop himself from busting just from the sensation of his cold cock-head pressed to your warm skin.

“More lube.” Yeah, he needed more.

Only when his schlong was slippery enough to fuck a whole cheerleading team, he stopped lubing it up. Your ass was worth it and he really needed you to enjoy it.

Joel pushed the tip against your hole but you weren’t letting him in.

“Babydoll, relax. Breathe deeper.”

You nodded but your chest was heaving, panic swimming in your eyes. You needed him close so Joel leaned down and covered you with his body, not putting his weight on you, just sharing his warmth.

Your eyes were inches from his, nervous, glossy, turned on.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, fuck being sorry. Just relax. Enjoy it.”

Enjoy my cock in your ass.

His tip knocked at the heaven’s door again and you finally granted him the access.

“Yeah, oh yeahhhh, baby, ahhhh—“

Joel didn’t care that he sounded needy and ecstatic, that was exactly what he was feeling at that moment. His tip was inside your glorious ass, your warm ring squeezing him hard, and to stop himself from coming, Joel closed his eyes and imagined his wife. He’d been imagining you whenever he was fucking her for some time now and he could have chuckled at the irony but at that moment only grunts and moans were leaving his mouth.

Your nails were digging into his biceps, widened eyes darting between his, your lips parted in a silent moan until you whimpered loudly, too loudly for a quiet house.

“Ahhdaddydaddydaddyyyy!”

He shut you up with a kiss and rocked his hips forward, slowly nailing your ass with his stiff cock.

If anyone had stopped him at that moment, he’d cry, that’s how amazing he was feeling. He’d fucked a fair amount of asses in his life but yours was definitely in top three.

“Need to see her take me,” be mumbled feverishly as his lips left yours and you whined.

“Quiet, needy slut. I’m still here.”

Joel was careful as he sat up and lifted your hips, wishing to stay in your tight hole and also not to rip you in two. When he dropped his head, his hands on your juicy asscheeks spreading them wider, the sight made him curse,

“Fuck— you seein it?”

He was mesmerized, watching your tight ring flutter around his glistening shaft while your stuffed pussy was squeezing the drenched panties. Your thighs began trembling when he fumbled with the wet fabric sticking out of your hole.

“Shit, baby. You’re somethin else.”

Joel slowly moved his cock, in and out, dipping it further with every forward thrust. You were watching him ruin your butt, breathing fast, and then murmured, choking on air,

”Oh my god—I feel like I’m gonna explode— don’t go deeper— please.”

Joel really wanted to push further, wanted to feel your tight ring hug the base of his cock but he was already on the verge of ecstasy, ready to empty his heavy balls. He was a glass-half-full person so half of his cock in his hot stepdaughter’s ass was enough for him. Yet wishing to keep you on your toes, he growled, “Don’t tell me what to do,” and slapped your pussy. The hit was light but his hand grazed your puffy clit and it electrified you like a bolt of lightning. You cried out through your teeth, your body tensed up and you squeezed him hard.

“Hnnnggg, yeah, choke ‘im, c’mon,” Joel grunted at the feeling and slapped your folds and clit again.

Slap- slap- slap!

“Daddyyyyy,” you moaned as you came, shaking in his arms, both of your holes contracting fast.

A string of curses left Joel’s mouth as he was watching your soft pussy nibble on your thong, making it dance over his cock.

“She’s droolin even gagged, fuckin ‘ell.”

While the orgasm was still rippling through you, he pinched the string of your panties with his thick fingers and began slowly pulling them out. It seemed to be prolonging your climax as you rolled your eyes at the sensations and kept jerking against the floor.

Joel immediately brought them to his lips and licked the fabric, breathing in your scent.

The sound he emitted was animalistic. The taste and smell of you, your asshole gripping his fat cock, the image of you, ruined and fucked out, finally made him let loose and explode inside your ass. He grabbed your hips tight and began fucking you with shallow thrusts, staying half-cock in just like you wanted. His balls were bouncing, slapping your asscheeks as their contents were flooding your channel like a tsunami.

“Take it— take it — take it,” Joel chanted through clenched teeth and you did take it — your asshole sucked in and swallowed every drop of his hot cum.

Joel slowly pulled out and dropped your butt on the pile of clothes. He tucked his cock back into his boxers and got up with a grunt, knowing well that his knees would hurt like hell the next day. It was worth it. As always after playing with his favorite fuckdoll, Joel felt greatly satisfied. As always after being fucked by him, you looked completely wrecked.

He offered you a hand and helped you to stand on your trembling legs. Then he pinched your chin and tilted your head up, searching for your hazy eyes.

“Ya good?“

You nodded with a drunk smile and he sneered. He really found a perfect slut.

“‘k, clean yourself up and go to bed. You’ll sleep really well now, babydoll.”

He pressed his body to yours and snaked his hand to your naked ass. He found your hole and gently prodded it. It was leaking his cum.

”Say ’thank you for the milk, daddy,’” he whispered, looking into your eyes with a sneer.

“Thanks for the milk. Daddy,” you mumbled, still trying to catch your breath.

Joel brought your panties to his face and took a deep whiff.

“And thank you for the souvenir, little slut,” he winked at you and then left the room.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!<3

SERIES MASTERLIST || MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

People who were interested in pt 3; no pressure to read, bbs: @tateypots @amyispxnk @filetofishfan @lilac-boo @toxicanonymity @sunshineispunk @thundermartini @arcanefox207 @tammythr

[pathologicalreid]

I'm a terrible writer but always get good ideas lmao

Idk if you've ever seen friends or not but there is this one scene where Rachel and Ross go to a sonogram appt and she has a whole breakdown cause all she saw on the sonogram was a blob and not a baby. (I'm pretty sure it was like their first appt or something idk)

I'm a sucker for dad!spence and you're one of my favorite writers for him.

Feel free to totally ignore this if this is trash lol💓

amorphous | S.R.

your first appointment goes exactly how you expected it to, but not at all how you wanted it to

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff w/ comfort content warnings: pregnancy, ultrasounds, doctors, pregnancy symptoms, emetophobia warning word count: 795 a/n: i have never seen friends but i hope that this fic does your request justice. ilysm.

You put on a brave face as you accepted your appointment card from the secretary, thanking her for her time before sliding the card into your pocket, trusting that Spencer would remember the date and time of your next appointment.

Everyone had tried to prepare you for this appointment. At eight weeks, all you were going to do was confirm that you were actually pregnant and make sure that you were measuring accurately. The internet told you that was going to happen. Spencer told you that was going to happen. Your OB told you that was going to happen.

None of that prevented the sheer disappointment you felt while leaving the obstetrician’s office. You lagged behind Spencer, taking the steps to the parking lot considerably slower than he was.

It didn’t take him long to notice, keenly aware of your every move as if he had developed a paternal superpower, your husband waited for you at the bottom of the steps. “What’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth to respond, gesturing over to the building before shrugging, “I thought it would help,” you confessed, sticking out your bottom lip in disappointment.

Spencer’s gaze softened as he ushered you off to the side and out of other people’s way. He knew you had been struggling with the lack of visibility that early pregnancy had. You hadn’t told friends and family yet, the only people who knew – aside from medical professionals – were the two of you.

“I just wanted to see it,” you mumbled, looking sheepishly to the ground. “I thought it would make it feel real.”

He nodded in understanding, using the pads of his thumbs to deftly wipe away any stray tears on your cheeks, “You saw the screen though, right?”

You thought you had been looking at the screen, but maybe you had been so distracted by the transducer that your brain hadn’t processed what you had seen. The baby hadn’t been in a good enough position for you to hear the heartbeat.

“Here,” Spencer said, setting his hands on your upper arms before guiding you over to an empty bench. Once you were sat, he dug through your purse and produced the sonogram images that you had been given.

Suspiciously, you eyed the black and white pictures that Spencer had gently set in your lap, “It just… it’s just a little white blob.”

Maintaining your attention, Spencer pointed at the picture, “Do you see this part here? That’s the head,” he dragged his finger over slightly, “There’s the body,” he showed you. Guiding you through the sonogram, showing you every part in hope that it would console you.

“I just…” you faltered, looking at the photos as you tried to see it as a baby instead of a blob, “I don’t have a bump, we couldn’t hear the heartbeat, I guess… I guess I wanted some sign that they’re okay in there.”

Crouched down in front of you, Spencer cocked his head to the side, “Honey, what’s the first thing you did this morning?”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “I showered?”

Spencer shook his head, “Even before that, the very first thing you did this morning,” he encouraged you.

Your face warmed as your eyes flittered up to his, “I threw up.”

“And do you know what made you so sick?” He asked pointedly. Smiling timidly, you looked down at the photos with a newfound fondness, “The baby.”

He nodded, “Every morning that you wake up nauseous and every time you’re tired in the middle of the day are all little signs that they’re doing just fine.”

You sniffled slightly, wiping tears from your face with the sleeve of your sweater, “I’m sorry,” you murmured, “You probably think I’m being so dramatic.”

“I think you’re scared, and it’s okay to feel that way,” he reassured you. “We’re gonna see them again, okay? Next time we go they’ll be more than three times bigger. Our little blob will have tiny arms and legs.”

You frowned down at the pictures, still frustrated that this was all you had, “Twelve weeks feel so far away.” You had scheduled your nuchal scan for the end of next month, which felt like eons into the future.

Spencer smiled at up at you, “It’ll be here before you know it,” he told you softly, “No more tears, okay? I still have an hour before I have to go to work, did you want to get something to eat?”

Nodding softly, you put the photos back in your purse before standing up, “Yeah, maybe something with raspberries? That’s how big my phone says the baby is – the size of a raspberry.”

Tilting his head back slightly, Spencer chuckled at your proposition, “Absolutely, we’ll find the best raspberry dish in the district.”

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙“parents” | CS55˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: carlos sainz x fem reader y/n (she/her)

genre: social media au, established relationship

warnings: lots of fluff & play fighting!!! lol not rly much plot tbh

summary: in which your boyfriend's best friend is like a son to you

a/n: i missed writing for my bby carlos🥺🥺🥺 jus a cute casual messy one i love writing fics like this!!

request!!!: could you write a smau where reader and carlos are in a long term relationship (since before he moved to McLaren) and lando is basically their son. just some cute moments between them

my masterlist

fc: various blonde girls from pinterest

instagram ->

yourusername

liked by lilymhe, carlossainz55, and others

yourusername i made them take me ⛳️

tagged: carlossainz55, landonorris

view all comments

user1 oh to be y/n y/l/n

user2 lando's hair lol

landonorris posting this pic of me why?

yourusername what's the issue??

landonorris you know what.

yourusername cheer up mate

landonorris next time i see u 🔪.

carlossainz55 no threats of violence, please

yourusername yea lando 😨

landonorris k.

user3 LOL they love each other really.....??

lilymhe bet you showed the boys up too 👀

yourusername oh you already know

lilymhe that's my girl

carmenmmundt the outfit!!

liked by yourusername

user4 the three coffees too. yncarloslando nation rise

landonorris posted a story

liked by carlossainz55, oscarpiastri, and others

user5 hotttt

user6 carlando crumbs

user7 where's y/n 😊💖🎀✨

user8 CARLANDO❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

user9 do u guys ever do anything else

carlossainz55 no delete this y/n will get mad

yourusername WHY THE HELL DIDNT YOU GUYS INVITE ME

landonorris oh my bad we thought you were busy today

yourusername u horrible liars.

messages ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe, and others

lilymhe 😍😍😍 my girl

liked by yourusername

carmenmmundt twit twoooo

liked by yourusername

alexandrasaintmleux wow.

liked by yourusername

landonorris carlos is screaming crying rocking back & forth rn

yourusername boohoo

user10 SOO HOTTT

user11 omg the most gorgeous girl ever

carlossainz55 y/n baby please forgive me wow you are the most beautiful perfect amazing girl in the world

yourusername LOL

yourusername please relax 🥰

lilymhe

liked by yourusername, alex_albon, and others

lilymhe a lil week off ✨

tagged: yourusername, alex_albon

view all comments

yourusername YAYYYYY miss u already

lilymhe wish i could see u everyday

carlossainz55 back off

lilymhe relax much?

yourusername so protective!!!

user12 this is too cute

user13 yesss a y/n mention

user14 y/n nation rise

user15 aww all my favs omg

alex_albon im last? 🤨

yourusername sucks to suck!

alex_albon evil girl

lilymhe dont fight!! there's enough of me to go round 😊

user16 LOL they are all always fighting!!!

carlossainz55

liked by yourusername, landonorris, and others

carlossainz55 six years 🌹

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

user17 6 years already omg i remember when they first got together!!

user18 same 😭 & everyone thought she was a gold digger?? LOL

user19 imagine hahahaha

user20 everyone's fav couple

landonorris mum & dad 🥹

carlossainz55 😂😂😂

yourusername aww!!! our son!!!!

user21 LOLLLL

user22 he's like us

user23 parents fr

lilymhe gorgeous angels!!

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername

charles_leclerc ❤️

liked by carlossainz55

carmenmmundt perfect couple <3

yourusername ilysm

yourmother congratulations guys, come visit soon ❤️

carlossainz55 of course!!! we miss you guys!

yourusername 🥹❤️

yourusername I LOVE YOU!!!! so so so so so so so so much

carlossainz55 i love you so much more my sweet girl

yourusername posted a story

liked by carmenmmundt, carlossainz55, and others

user24 goals omg

user25 me when

user26 what a problem to have!!!

user27 i want what they have omg......

landonorris u guys are too in love

yourusername make it make sense, lando

alexandrasaintmleux oh you guys make me sick!

yourusername 😝

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by landonorris, taylornation, and others

user28 OMGGGGG this makes sm sense

user29 knew u guys would be swifties

user30 i bet carlos loved it

landonorris i wasnt invited?

yourusername be serious

yourusername carlos is laughing at you right now

landonorris okay. can you tell him i miss him please

yourusername 😂 you are obsessed

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux, and others

yourusername xoxo

tagged: carlossainz55

view all comments

user31 omggg bf carlos

user32 he's so bf

user33 the third pic 😭😭😭

user34 ME WHENNNNN

francisca.cgomes the jeans?? hello?!?!?! 😍

yourusername hahahah yes you can absolutely borrow them

francisca.cgomes oh ilysm

user35 her eras tour fit🥹💖

user36 carlos is so sexyyyy

liked by yourusername

user37 NOT Y/N LIKING THIS LOL

landonorris mum & dad! 😊

yourusername you don't always have to comment this you know

landonorris can i not be proud of my parents?

carlossainz55 aww! leave him alone y/n

yourusername 🤨

user38 omg lol.

user39 oh how i love u carlando

carlossainz55 posted a story

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, and others

user40 CARLANDO

user41 omg we won

user42 my favs fr

user43 y/n is deffo always third wheeling u two

yourusername cute

carlossainz55 is this you pretending not to have fomo?

yourusername …no

carlandofan

liked by user15, yourusername, user33, and others

carlandofan carlos and lando today after the grand prix in spain! :)

tagged: landonorris, carlossainz55

view all comments

user44 omg???

user45 in love much

user46 carlando forever 🧡❤️

user47 THIS IS SO CUTE

user48 now kiss

user49 marriage

yourusername HELLO??

carlandofan Y/N?????

user50 OMG what is she doing here

yourusername my husband & my son!!!

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris

carlandofan omg y/n ily 😭

user51 she's so real for this

THE END ❤️