#car engine code reader

[jamminvroomvroom]

let’s go ride.

LN x fem!reader

in which lando keeps getting frustrated and you wanna know why…

hiiiiii here u go! belated love day fic from me to you 💝 love u all, tysm for the love on my last few fics, i’ve had a lot going on lately so i’ve not had very much time to write but when the inspo hits….. shoutout to miss mcrae for dropping lando-coded bangers bc i literally cannot resist. might make a part 2 of all the times they get freaky in a car lmao, lemme know if you want that! likes, comments and reblogs are sooooo appreciated so lemme know what u think xoxox

proofed by my own personal goat @lavenderlando 💖

songs to set the vibes: sports car by tate mcrae, bad guy by billie eilish

warnings: 18+!! minors begone! smut, language, fluff, bit of angst bc lando’s in a mood, friends to lovers, p in v, porn without plot but there is a little bit of plot, bitchy lando

4.2k words

you sit in silence, opening spotify and preparing to fiddle with the bluetooth as he slips into the drivers seat beside you. the car door slams shut and he huffs, jawline taut with annoyance. the hood of his car is surrounded, a million and one cameras pointed at you both as he tries to relax into his chair. the engine roars to life and you side eye him.

“when are you gonna learn, hm?” you try and sound playful, teasing, but it comes out laced with a twang of scolding. lando tenses up even further, turning to glare at you.

“god forbid i go outside.” he snaps.

“give over.” you roll your eyes. “poor me, i’m famous! lando, you can’t get angry when you park in the most high profile spot on the fucking planet and your fans want to worship you.”

“you don’t know what you’re talking about.” he sighs, white knuckles wrapping tighter around the steering wheel.

“don’t i? this has been happening a lot lately.” your voice softens, ever so slightly. “every time i’m seen with you, you lash out.”

“because i don’t want people harassing you, looking at you like some fucking commodity.” lando snarls, steely eyes locked on the supposed car enthusiasts that are slowly backing away from his parking space.

“lando, we’re friends. this has always been a thing. why is it bothering you so much now?”

you wonder if it bothers him for the same reason it bothers you.

he shuts his eyes, collecting himself for a moment. he puts the car in drive and smoothly pulls out of the space, ignores your question. you scowl at him, at this sudden childishness that has overtaken his easygoing manner in the last few months.

“fine. whatever.” you mutter, slumping defeatedly into your seat. you give up on playing music, leaving him to bask in the silence, something he loathed.

lando had switched from his usual self to this stony, irate version of him that you rarely had the displeasure of seeing, from the second you walked out of the restaurant where you’d had lunch. he was reluctant to pose for photos and sign hats, something he usually revelled in, grateful that people even wanted to see him. the swathes of fans that had gathered had irked him for once, but what really boiled his blood was the photographers that seemed to find him no matter where he chose to spend him time. so much for monaco’s privacy laws.

it wasn’t like he cared about himself, either. it was you. the way they leered, leaned close to you while he was distracted with pens being shoved in his face. it was the way their eyes dipped low, whether you were in a tank top or a baggy hoodie. it was the way they spread the false, painful narrative all over the internet that you and lando were together, which drove hoards of losers into your comment section and your DMs just to call you names.

you were not together. as much as it pained him, you were just friends.

he couldn’t exactly explain his overprotectiveness to you without getting himself into a big, tangled mess. you, being the resilient, cool as a cucumber stoic that you were didn’t care what fourteen year olds on the internet thought about you. you weren’t about to let faceless, jobless trolls ruin the friendship that you’d nurtured for years, through ups and downs, thick and thin, race wins and huge losses. but lando, god, it killed him, tore him up inside every time someone so much as looked at you wrong.

“you really don’t get it.” he says, hushed, like he’s telling a secret. you turn to look at him, tearing your eyes away from the glistening view of the marina.

“lando, tell me then. make it make sense because i’ve never seen you behave like this. they love you! least you can do is lose the attitude over some harmless pictures.”

“jesus christ, it’s not the fans! it’s not the ‘harmless pictures’! it’s these fucking creeps that follow us around just to make some money off of my own personal hell. you really don’t get it, because if you did, you’d know that it breaks my fucking heart to see the way people talk about you online, just for being seen with me. it’s my fault that you get harassed, that paps are basically stalking you now.”

he signs of his rant with a sharp inhale, one that seems to suck all of the life out of the car. you melt.

“but lando, it doesn’t bother me. i just wanna be here with you, i don’t care about the rest of it.” you coo softly, reaching over the centre console to grip his forearm.

“and i want you here. i want you with me every fucking second of the day, but i can’t cope. can’t help thinking that one day it’ll all just be too much and you’ll leave me.” he whispers.

“never. never ever ever.” you promise. your belly swirls with emotions, tickled from the inside out by butterflies that threaten to swarm.

lando breathes shakily, warmed through by the hand that rests on his arm as he manoeuvres through the twisty lanes. as he hits traffic and slows, he clocks another photographer looming on the pavement, lens aimed at his windshield. already too annoyed, he aggressively smacks his sun visor down, leaning over the console to reach yours too, pulling it down. he prays it’s enough.

“you need to relax, lan. i’m fine, we’re fine. i promise.” you reassure, but he’s breathing heavily now. “you don’t worry this much when it’s max.” you trail off.

he doesn’t know what comes over him. he spins the car into a sharp u-turn, positively speeding back in the direction you’d just come from. any mention of you and him as a ‘we’ makes him crazy, makes him utterly lose his mind, but something about your sweet, earnest voice bringing him back to reality has left him completely shaken. the sun is setting now, most people clearing out of the underground car park he pulls into to head back to their homes. he has other intentions. you don’t say another word until he pulls into a space at the back of the lot, tucked neatly into a corner.

“what are we doing?”

“need a minute.” lando rasps, forehead resting on his steering wheel, the matte leather pushing his sharp curls back. you trail your eyes over him, the way his chest rises and falls under the sweatshirt he’s wearing, the way his thick fingers curl as his grip continues to tighten.

“i’m jealous. and i’m selfish. and i’m a complete fucking idiot.” lando says, steadily, like he’s reading the news.

“you’re… you’re jealous? of what?” you’re like a deer in headlights.

“of any other person that gets to lay their fucking eyes on you.”

“what are you saying?” you whisper. the air in the car goes still, frozen. you can’t breathe.

“i’m saying… that you’re mine. and i should have made that a known fact a long time ago.” ever so slowly he looks up at you, and you gasp at the intensity of his stare. he’s gazing at you with complete conviction in his eyes, a whole lot of vulnerability mixed in with the sincerity of his words. “i don’t want anyone else anywhere near you. lose my fucking mind watching the way they look at you.”

“lando…” you trail off, eyes as wide as saucers. is he really saying what you think he’s saying?

“i know this is terrible of me, to do this now, here - to do this at all, to be honest. i know that i have no right to stake some kind of claim on you, and i know that you probably don’t feel the same, but god, i just needed you to know. if you want me to shut the fuck up or leave you alone forever then i totally get it but-“

“oh my god, are you stupid?” you shake your head, still stuck in your state of disbelief, but you muster the coherency to grip the collar of his crewneck, tug him close.

your lips meet hastily, urgently, and every ounce to tension seems to seep out of the car. he moans at the very sensation of you against him, breath caught in his throat when you lace your finger through his hair like you want to mould your faces together, never stop. his brain finally catches up, awestruck as he is, and you trade passion and saliva, bumping noses as you clash chaotically.

“i think we’re both stupid.” he mumbles into your lips. you shut him up with another kiss, fiery and needy, and his hands begin to wander. he smoothes over the back of your jumper until he finds your waist, awkward in the limited space of the front of the car, and skims his hands up until he’s made his way beneath the material and he’s gripping your bare skin.

“too forward of me to ask you to get in the back?” lando pants with a cheeky smile.

“you literally just marked your territory on me, and nearly bit a photographer. i think we’re past ‘forward’.” you deadpan.

“then get in the fucking back.” he grins, devilish and commanding. you do as you’re told, wriggling between the leather until you’re propped up against the backseat. lando follows, sitting beside you, tugs you into his lap like you’re weightless.

you can feel him beneath you, hard and wanting, and you mewl, keen into him. your breaths mingle in the nonexistent space, lips brushing gently.

“this okay?” lando’s lips ghost over yours and you lean forward, just enough to reach him. he pulls back, eyes hooded, teasing, and tuts. “use your words.”

“who knew you were such a bossy boots.” you smirk. “more than okay.”

his eyes glaze over once he has your permission, and he kisses you like you’re the last supply of oxygen on earth. he licks into your mouth, wet and desperate and you whimper as he grazes over the crease of your thigh, toying with the hem of your skirt where it’s ridden up.

“can feel you.” lando groans, pulling away to look between your bodies. “so warm for me, you like seeing me all riled up?”

you nod coyly, lip caught between your teeth, and you swear you see his eyelashes flutter.

“what did i say about words?” lando composes himself enough to tease. you roll your eyes, but you can’t ignore the way heat rolls through your body.

“like when you get all bitchy.” you reply, rolling your hips once.

“bitchy?”

“mhm. always been so easy to toy with.” you whisper, leaning in to nose along the thickness of his neck. you drag your tongue up the vein there, feeling it pulse under your tongue. he smells like his cologne, so him, and it makes you even hotter.

“oh, so you’ve been playing with me?” he chokes out, eyes rolling back in his head at the marks you’re leaving.

“maybe a little.” you hum.

“you liked watching me get angry? pretending to be all sweet and clueless?” lando whispers, the words hanging heavy in the space between you. all you can manage in response is a mischievous smile that twists his tummy.

your hands trail under his sweatshirt, skating over the muscled ripples of his belly, ever so slightly dipping into the band of his sweats. his head lulls back, blindly holding you close while you worship him. he lets you, lets himself have this moment, thinking for so long that it would never come.

“waited so long,” your lips brush over the shell of his ear, tongue grazing the lobe. he descends into a mess of shivers. “needed you to break first. i knew you would.” you croon.

“you’ve been loving this, haven’t you?” lando starts, low and calculating. “bet you’ve been getting off on dressing like a whore for the cameras, watching me suffer.” he pieces together. your resolve cracks. “bad girl.”

the sense of control you’d briefly maintained shatters, a hand around your neck forcing you away from him, preventing your sweet torture. his fingers flex, just above your collarbone, and you swallow at the smirk that seems to engulf his entire face. he looks animalistic, crazed with a feral adoration that leaves you certain that you’re dripping all over his lap.

“i think you’ve had your fun, baby, it’s my turn.”

you whine when he drags you across his lap, back and forth until you’re squirming. his hips rut up into yours, fuelling your desire for every single inch of him.

“please, lando.” you breathe, reaching out to lace your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck.

“let me look at you.” he demands, shutting down your intentions for more. “i’ve waited long enough for this, don’t you think?”

“so have i.” you beg him with your eyes, but give in to him nonetheless. you’re staining his lap, grey sweats darkening as your wetness pools there and he can’t help but buck up into your warmth.

“wanna play with you, baby, see how you like it.” he taunts, bringing two fingers between your legs.

he brushes his knuckles over the obvious damp patch at the crotch of your panties, lip caught between his teeth at what he finds. your soaked through, and he pinches your bundle of nerves just to watch you thrash in his grip.

“i hate you right now.” you spit through gritted teeth, but your hips can’t help but chase his hand.

“doesn’t feel like it.” he kisses you quick, loving the way you lean in for more, but he relaxes against the seat and dips slowly beneath your underwear. “fuck.”

he doesn’t have to work too hard to spread your wetness around, you’re already lathered in it, but he continues to tease, fingers gliding over your clit and through your folds.

“please.” you beg, leaning back to give him as much access as possible.

“what do you want, baby? tell me.” he urges, drawing circles on the swollen bundle of nerves.

“your fingers.”

“you have them.” he barks out a condescending laugh, applying more pressure just to prove his point.

“need them inside of me.” you pant, eyes squeezing shut at his sadistic game between your thighs.

“that’s my girl.” he praises, and you curse, clamping down around him before he even gets the first knuckle inside of you.

“how are you doing this to me?” you think aloud, tears in your waterline already. it all feels far too good for a first time.

“because i know you better than you think i do.” he coos.

lando pulls you flush against him, grinding his fingers deep so that they curl deliciously against your sweet spot. his palm bumps your clit with every twist of digits and he nips over your collarbone. his tongue laves over your skin, tasting the perspiration that gathers as the car steams up around you. you’re suddenly hyper aware of your surroundings, huddled together in the back of his urus in a dimly lit car park. thank god you’d lost the photographers.

“can’t believe we’re doing this.” you gasp, feeling your tummy tighten at the thrill of it all, of feeling your best friend work to please you.

“i knew it would happen. knew that someday i’d get to see you like this, all for me.”

“all for you.” you repeat, drunk on him as you rode his fingers. “feels so good.”

“want you to come for me like this.” lando orders, replacing the heel of his hand with his thumb against your clit. his ministrations are more controlled like this, precise, and you throw your head back in pleasure. his teeth sink in to the base of your neck, sucking softly over the bruising skin, lapping at the mark to soothe it.

“i’m so close, lan.”* you choke, riding his fingers as you near your release.

“c’mon baby, make a mess for me.” he urges, eyes locked intensely on yours. you’re enticed by the sea green storm that swirls in his irises, shrinking as his pupils blow with lust. you can’t help it, can’t delay the inevitable, and you thrash in his arms, wildly bucking your hips against his as you fall apart.

you gush all over his lap, further ruining his sweatpants but he doesn’t bat an eyelid, working you through your orgasm until you’re spent. he’s transfixed by the way your thighs glisten, by the way your release seeps through the material covering his crotch and it makes him throb.

“that’s it baby.” he murmurs, voice low and smooth. you pant, collapsing forwards onto him.

“thank you.” you whisper into his neck, and he laughs softly.

“don’t thank me, silly girl.” he coos into your ear. you pull back just enough to kiss him, taking it slow, giving you a moment to come down from your devastatingly intense high. you’re exhausted, eyes fluttering shut from the exertion, and he tucks sweaty strands of your hair behind your ears. his fingers graze your warmed cheeks, noses bumping and you take him in, carefully studying the lines of his face, the sharp slope of his nose, the flutter of his eyelashes against those ridiculously high cheekbones.

“you’re so pretty.” your voice floats over him like a delicate caress, makes him shiver. he grins at you, enamoured.

“didn’t think our first time would be in the back of my car but i don’t think i can’t wait to get you home.”

“you’ve thought about this?” you ask, bashful. he gazes up at you sheepishly.

“every night before bed.” he jokes, and you shift your hips.

you’re overstimulated, but it does the trick, the playful haze shattering, replaced by thick, charged tension.

“you gonna make that fantasy a reality?”

“yeah. yeah, i am.” he mumbles.

his hands skim your waist, pushing your jumper up as he goes higher and higher, until it’s off, chucked into the footwell. you tear at his sweatshirt until it joins your discarded clothing and explore the bronzed planes of his chest, extra sun-kissed by the trip you’d taken to dubai just a few weeks before. if only you’d known then…

“hurry.” you plead, and he scoffs, adjusting you on his lap just enough to free himself from his sweatpants and boxers, and you gawk down at what’s revealed to you.

it’s big, thick, and you sigh in relief that he’d so thoroughly stretched you out, got you nice and slick for him already.

“gonna take it all for me?” lando taunts, catching your hanging jaw between two firm fingers, forcing you to look at him.

“gonna try.” you reason, breathing shakily as you rise up on your knees. you feel the head of his cock prodding your clit, the sodden tip running along your folds until it catches on your entrance. you both hiss as the contact, his hands steadying your hips.

“you can do it, baby.” lando promises, helps you begin your descent.

“oh my god.” you gasp, sinking down slowly. “dunno if i can take it, lan, you’re so- so…” you trail off, head thrown back far enough that you miss the way he’s smirking up at you.

“c’mon baby, being such a good girl for me, i know you can take it. just a little more.” he goads, pressing each button of your apparent praise kink, and you whine, soft moans tumbling from your lips. a sense of determination becomes you, and you’re aching to take him all the way.

you cry out his name when you’re pressed flush against him, and he soothes circles into your hips, holding you close against his chest. one hand smoothes through your hair, the lace of your bra scratching against his chest as you breathe rapidly.

“well done, baby, knew you could do it.” lando praises, trailing kisses over your face. you quiver in his hold, hips wiggling ever so slightly, and he takes that as a sign. “want me to do the work, hmm? make you feel so good?”

you nod lazily, looking up at him from where your face is smushed against his shoulder, and he lets you break his rule of “words”, softened by how beautiful you look, vulnerable in his strong arms. he starts to move, fucking up into you slowly, feeling you out. you can feel him twitch inside of you, his breath catching in his throat at the feeling of you, tight and warm, enveloped all around him. you roll your hips languidly, meeting his thrusts and you both moan out as the explosion of sensations unfolds between you.

“harder, lando. can take it.” you mumble, glazed over doe eyes looking into his. he tenses up, shaken to the very core by the emotional tether between you, feeling the way it grows even stronger. the one woman he’d wanted since he’d laid eyes on you, the one women he never thought he could have; his heart pounds violently in his chest.

he readjusts your hips, pushing you back so that you’re upright once more, eyes raking hungrily over your flushed body. your skirt is bunched around your waist, panties tugged to the side, cups of your bra barely covering anything anymore. he tweaks a nipple through the lace, paws at your tits until you’re fluttering around him. the cups of your bra are tugged down, resting below your breasts and he swallows hard.

“fuck me, you’re so beautiful.” lando rasps, leaning you back further to perfect the angle.

once he’s satisfied, he bounces you against him, meeting your hips with harsh thrusts, his pace unrelenting. he can see the way you pool around his base, dampening the thatching of hair that decorates his pelvic bone. you seem to chase the friction there, rutting your clit against him. sweet puffs of breath fill his ears, melodic combined with a symphony of your needy whines, continuously intensifying as he fucks you deeper and deeper.

“it’s so good.” you slur, mouth hanging open, totally unhinged from the raw pleasure that he courses through your veins.

“you’re doing so good for me, baby.” he wants to say more, but then he sees it, the way your lower belly seems to protrude with every roll of his hips. “oh, fuck.” he cries out.

“do you see that, baby? see how deep i am?” lando growls, voice rippling through your connected bodies. you glance down, and the first tears start to fall.

“oh my god.” you repeat, nothing else to say, totally braindead at the sight. your cheeks are wet with tear tracks, utterly overwhelmed by the way he’s taking you, so blissful that it hurts.

“you crying for me, baby? do i feel that good?” lando mocks, reinvigorated by the way your tears gather at your collarbone. his hand swipes messily against your throat, swiping them away, but you catch his hand, keeping it there. your eyes lock as your hand squeezes around his, a silent plea. he rocks up into you even harder, hand clamping around you neck slowly, leaving your breathless, liquid heat shooting down your spine. you can’t stop it from hitting you like a ton of bricks, can’t hold back, not when he’s making it hurt so fucking good.

“lando, i can’t- i’m gonna- fuck.” you bellow, falling to pieces around him. he keeps you propped up through your orgasm, plowing into your limp body until you’re so tight around him that he quite literally can’t keep going. he shudders, repeating your name like a godforsaken prayer as his abs flex beneath your shaky hands. you feel him filling you up, shots of warmth painting your insides.

lando lets you collapse into his arms, holding you tight as you both tremble in the silence of the car. condensation rolls down the windows, giving away your frenzied desires. if anyone caught sight of his car, it wouldn’t be hard to do the math.

“gonna let me take you home so we can do that again?” lando laughs, breathing you in. he can feel the way your chest rumbles softly in response, hears your angelic, raspy laugh.

“gimme a sec, don’t think i can move ever again.” you groan, sighing into his chest.

you stay there for a while, basking in it, coming down. he traces shapes into the bare skin of your back; you absentmindedly trace a heart into the window fog.

when you finally manage to redress, it’s dark outside, bright lights casting patterns into the calm midnight of the marina. he holds your hand as he drives up into the heights of monaco, and you stare at the way yours fits so perfectly with his, just like how your head tucked so perfectly into the crook of his neck. you smile out the window and lando smiles at you.

by the time bedtime rolls around, you’re both well and truly exhausted. when you try and wriggle out of his grip, ready to retreat back to the guest room like a wounded animal, lando pouts - pouts! - and holds you even tighter.

“silly girl.” he kisses the words into your hairline, and drifts off to sleep.

-

hehe

-

taglist

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taglist cont. in reblogs. smooches

[ari-ana-bel-la]

I absolutely love your fics! I was wondering if you'd mind writing something for Lewis where the reader isn't exactly his biological daughter, but Lewis and the reader's mother have been together since she was little so she kind of grew up with him and he became her father figure, maybe she's calling him dad for the first time without realizing it

Just Dad

The paddock was alive with its usual hum: engineers shouting over headsets, the low growl of an engine being tested, journalists weaving in and out of crowds like determined bees in a hive. Amidst the chaos, Lewis knelt beside a small, vibrant six-year-old with two fluffy puffs tied high on her head and sparkly unicorn sneakers.

"Alright, remember what we said?" he asked, gently tightening the little wristband around her tiny arm. "You stay with Maya, you don’t wander off, and if you get nervous, you can come find me or go to the Ferrari hospitality, okay?"

Yn gave an exaggerated sigh, as if she were seventeen instead of six. “I know, I know. You already said that, like, five times.”

Lewis grinned. “Well, maybe six is the lucky number today.”

“Is that because I’m six?” she teased, tilting her head and scrunching her nose.

“Exactly.” He poked her nose lightly. “Alright then, go, go, before I smother you with dad jokes.”

She took off toward Maya, the young assistant who had become something like a big sister, pausing only to wave dramatically at Lewis. He watched her go, heart warm and full.

She wasn’t technically his daughter. But she might as well have been.

---

Yn’s mother, Elle, had met Lewis three years ago at a charity gala. She wasn’t someone from the paddock, not even from the F1 world—she was an educator and a single mom doing her best to raise a bright, curious little girl who loved coloring books and hated vegetables.

Lewis hadn’t expected to fall in love with Elle, but he did, slowly and completely. He hadn’t expected to love Yn just as fiercely, but that had happened even faster. The moment she’d toddled up to him and asked why his hair looked prettier than hers, he was done for.

From then on, it was weekend visits, shared breakfasts, dance parties in the living room, and bedtime stories even when he was on the other side of the world. She’d never called him anything but Lewis—until today.

---

Later that afternoon, after debriefs and a media session, Lewis found Yn curled up in a corner of the motorhome, building a LEGO car with extreme focus. Maya had stepped out to grab her a juice box, and the hospitality lounge was quiet.

He crouched down beside her, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Hey, tiny engineer, how’s it going?”

She didn’t even look up. “Bad.”

“Uh-oh. Do we need to declare a code red?”

“The tires keep falling off.”

“Ah, classic pit stop issues,” he said seriously. “Want me to help?”

She considered it. “Yeah. But not like, grown-up help. Just regular help.”

Lewis chuckled. “Regular help. Got it.”

They sat in companionable silence as they tried to stabilize the tiny plastic wheels. Yn’s tongue peeked out slightly in concentration, and Lewis had to resist the urge to kiss the top of her head. She hated when he interrupted her LEGO flow.

Once the car was fixed, she sighed in satisfaction and handed it to him. “Here. You can keep it.”

“For me?”

“Yeah. Because you didn’t yell when I said a bad word earlier.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You said a bad word?”

She looked guilty. “Only a tiny one. The one that starts with ‘cr’ and rhymes with ‘nap.’”

Lewis had to bite his cheek. “Well, I appreciate the car. And the honesty.”

She smiled, leaning into his side, then said it so naturally it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs:

“Thanks, Dad.”

Just like that.

Lewis didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it—he knew Yn didn’t mean it as a declaration, more like an instinct. A feeling. A comfort. The name had just… slipped out. And he wasn’t going to be the one to scare it away.

So he smiled softly, pulling her gently into his side. “You’re welcome, bug.”

---

That night, back at the hotel, Lewis told Elle.

“She called me Dad.”

Elle’s toothbrush froze mid-motion. “What?”

“Just casually. She handed me a LEGO car and said, ‘Thanks, Dad.’ Like it was nothing. And I acted normal. I didn’t want her to think she had to call me that or that it was something to be nervous about.”

Elle set her toothbrush down and stepped into his arms. “Lewis…”

“I didn’t cry,” he said, although his voice was slightly hoarse. “Almost. But I didn’t.”

She smiled up at him, eyes glistening. “You’ve been her dad for a while, you know. You just finally got the title.”

---

The next morning, as they walked through the paddock again, Yn reached for Lewis’s hand without looking up.

“Dad, can I get a milkshake later?”

There it was again.

He smiled and squeezed her hand. “Only if you don’t say any more words that rhyme with ‘nap.’”

She gasped, eyes wide with pretend horror. “You told on me!”

“I did no such thing,” he said, utterly offended. “But someone has a very expressive face.”

“Traitor,” she muttered, but her smile gave her away.

They stopped for a second when a fan recognized Lewis and asked for a picture. Yn, used to it by now, stepped aside and held the LEGO car while Lewis posed. Once the photo was done, the fan crouched to Yn’s level.

“Are you his daughter?”

Yn looked up at Lewis, then back at the fan, and nodded proudly. “Yep.”

And Lewis—Lewis, who had stood on countless podiums, held world championship trophies, and heard thousands cheer his name—felt something bloom in his chest that made all of those moments seem dim in comparison.

---

Back in the Ferrari hospitality, Charles caught Lewis on his way out.

“Hey,” Charles said, glancing toward Yn, who was now colouring a picture of a lion with neon pink. “She’s getting taller.”

“Tell me about it,” Lewis said. “Next thing I know she’s going to be asking for a phone.”

Charles smirked. “Did she call you Dad earlier?”

Lewis blinked. “How’d you—?”

“She said it to Maya. I overheard. You looked like you’d seen God.”

Lewis laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It just… hit different.”

Charles patted him on the shoulder. “You’ve earned it.”

---

Later that evening, Yn sat cross-legged on the hotel room bed, watching old F1 races on the tablet while Lewis dried her hair with a towel.

“That’s you!” she squealed. “You’re the car in front!”

“Sometimes,” he teased. “Not always.”

“But most of the time.” She beamed. “You’re the fastest. Even when you’re not winning, you’re still my favorite.”

He chuckled. “That’s very biased.”

“I don’t care.” She leaned back against him. “I like you the most.”

The towel slid off her head as she turned to face him. Her eyes, always full of light, looked serious.

“Is it okay if I call you Dad now? Like… all the time?”

His heart swelled.

He kept his voice steady. “Of course it is. Only if you want to, though. No pressure.”

“I do,” she said softly. “Because you feel like my dad. You do all the stuff dads do. You make me pancakes and braid my hair and read me stories even when you’re sleepy.”

He cupped her face gently. “Then I’d be honored, bug.”

She smiled, curling into his lap. “Can we get pancakes tomorrow?”

“We just had pancakes this morning.”

“Yeah, but you said six is the lucky number. I’m six. I deserve pancakes every day.”

He laughed, scooping her up. “You might be too smart for your own good.”

---

At the next race weekend, Lewis held Yn on his hip as they made their way through the crowd. Someone from the press smiled at the sight.

“She’s your daughter?” they asked.

Yn didn’t hesitate. “Yep. He’s my dad.”

And Lewis? He just nodded, his heart overflowing.

“Yeah,” he said, “I am.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🤍🦢

[loserabby]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚.    𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃? 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 mom!abby x teacher!reader

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ .     ** MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS IS AN 18+ BLOGI DO NOT GIVE ANYBODY PERMISSION TO REUPLOAD OR PLAGARISE MY WORK. IF YOU SEE SOMETHING I'VE WRITTEN ANYWHERE ELSE OTHER THAN HERE OR MY A03, PLEASE LET ME KNOW VIA ASK **

₊˚ 𓂃 ₊ ˚ ✧ abby anderson is in trouble, and it's all her son's cute daycare teacher's fault — at least, that's what she tells herself each time you make her heart pound in her chest. she doesn't even know if you like women but the more time you both spend together, dancing around the edge of something, the more she wonders; is she the only one whose interested or is there something here?

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : explicit language, no outbreak au (modern), use of Y/N, fluff, references to sex/sexual acts, kids/de-aged characters (yara and lev as abby's kids - 6+3 respectively), lesbian pining, slight misunderstandings (they think each other are straight in the beginning), doctor!abby as well but i don't go too much into that, anxiety mentions (abby has a lot of mom guilt and stresses easily about her kids), just straight up yearning, kissing, dry humping (to quote madeline argy: "bring back dry humping"). vague mentions of neglect/abuse in side characters backgrounds. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 15,824k

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 : not gonna lie, this is the fic idea that brought me back to this site and i'm not even sorry. it was just supposed to be a small little drabble but it quickly went out of control, to the point i've had to cut scenes from my outline cause the word count was getting way too much for a one-shot. also please note: i used to be a childcare practitioner and have worked in nurseries for a few years with different age groups but i have no idea what the american daycare system is like so take the actual daycare things with a grain of salt bc idk what u guys do. i may potentially make a series out of this and add other parts in the future cause i grew quite attached to the characters in this au. also this is lev's shark backpack, for visualisation reasons, cause i fell down a rabbithole while writing and had to decide amongst three. [ read on ao3 ]

[ border credit ] [ resources for palestine ] [ boycott tlou ]

The rain is coming down so heavily now she’s finding it hard to see through her windshield as she finally pulls into the daycare’s parking lot, but arriving does nothing to lessen the absolute panic Abby feels at being a whole twenty minutes late for pick-up. This was, not to be completely dramatic, her worst nightmare come true. Lev had only been at the daycare for less than a month and she was already late to collect him, thoughts of what the daycare staff probably thought of her, what other parents who might have seen him playing on his own as the last other child finally left, had plagued her mind the whole drive over. And no amount of slamming her palm on her horn had made the other drivers speed-up.

She takes a moment to herself when she kills the engine before she sucks in a breath, ripping her door open and sprinting out into the torrential downpour, immediately feeling her whole body soaked with the icy cold rain. Shit, ‘I should start bringing a coat for myself in the car’ she thought to herself, she always made sure she had backups for the kids but always failed to forget about herself. 

Her braid is slightly windswept and completely soaked, stray baby hairs stuck to her sopping forehead when she reaches the door to the building, punching the code in with frozen fingers and finally stepping inside when she hears the door open.

She stands for a second, dripping on the doormat and wipes off her shoes. She can’t do much about the way her clothes drip on the laminate floors of the hallway, nor the way her shoes squeak as she walks down it but at least she’s not tracking in dirty footprints she supposes. When she does reach Lev’s room, her heart stutters for a second when she sees the lights aren’t all on, the room slightly dimmed. ‘Was he gone? Did someone take him away? Am I that bad of a mom?!’ She spirals mentally, before noticing some movement in the side of the room that is still dimly lit.

She pushes the door open, sighing in relief when she sees her son playing in the home corner, pretending to chop up wooden fruit and handing the pieces with a gummy grin to his teacher. You, his beautiful, sweet teacher who eagerly took the half of a strawberry he had extended to you and thanked him profusely before pretending to eat it. You’re telling him how tasty it was when Abby finally makes her presence known. 

“I am so, so sorry! That rain came out of nowhere a-and I know I only work 20 minutes away from town but I swear, no one can drive in this weather” Abby’s eyes are wide, big and apologetic as she presses a wet kiss to the top of her sons’ head. 

“It’s fine, Dr Anderson, don’t worry. When it gets like this we expect a couple of the parents to be late, especially those who work up on the mountains or outside of town.” You give Abby a soft smile, attempting to comfort her. You’re well aware of how easily she begins to spiral with worry — something you picked up on during her induction into the setting. 

She’d been stressed then, going over all the paperwork not once, not twice but three times in fear she’d forgotten an allergy (he had none) or had written both her personal cell and work number down incorrectly (she hadn’t). Then there was Lev’s trial visits, spending a few hours getting to know the staff in the room he was in and bond with them, as well as socialising with the other children. Lev had, understandably, cried big fat tears down his little face as Abby had left but she’d only made it so far down the hallway before her own eyes had begun to water.

Cue you, having seen the tall woman’s body sliding down the wall from the window, stepping out into the hallway to console Abby, of all people. Not the child but the grown woman opening sobbing into her jacket. You’d been so understanding, offering her a tissue seemingly out of nowhere to wipe her eyes, and by the time you’d pulled a wet laugh from Abby she’d realised she could no longer hear Lev crying. 

“Wha— He… He stopped?”

“Yeah, most of them do. I think it’s the whole, out of sight, out of mind thing.” You’d shrugged, “He will miss you, but he’s just realised it’s not as scary as he thought it was.”

You’d stood up then, offering a hand to Abby to do the same. She took it sheepishly, embarrassed about her emotional display but you’d waved her off. “You’re not the first parent to cry at drop off and you won’t be the last. But be prepared, he’s gonna be so overwhelmed with emotion when you pick-up he’ll burst into tears again. It’s gonna tear out your heart strings but he’s fine, just got a lot of big feelings in a little body. They all do”

And boy were you right, but it didn’t pierce Abby’s heart as much as it would have if you hadn’t warned her it was going to happen. She’d never had any issue settling Yara into school after she’d adopted the siblings, in fact she’d barely got a ‘bye’ from the six year old before she was off into her classroom leaving Abby to stand in surprise and, embarrassingly, rejection of her own daughter. Recounting that story to Manny had earned his howling laughter and a ruffle of her hair, which then led to Abby swatting her colleague and long-time friend on the arm right in front of a patient. That was a great Monday.

Maybe the difference was Yara was ready to socialise from the get-go, Lev had been clingy and shied away from people. Abby had taken some time off from working in the practice for adoption leave to help Lev settle better, finding groups for moms with children who are a little more socially wary to ease him into socialising again. Mel and Owen would say she babied him but, as Ellie once pointed out during a coffee catch-up, he kind of is a baby.

Which is why it was a big step, not just for Lev, but for Abby when it came time to send him to daycare. She knew he was ready, but it was a big step for him. She was worried he may regress, finding it hard to socialise with a larger crowd of children or having difficulty identifying a ‘safe person’ in one of his teachers.

Quickly though, Lev had attached himself to you and, in a way, after that day and — admittedly, the subsequent days Abby had also cried like his first actual day — getting to know you more during the pick-ups’ and drop-offs’, Abby found herself getting attached too. A stupid, embarrassingly quick crush had begun to form and she felt like she was a teenage girl again, counting down the minutes until she got to see her crush in whatever class they shared.

“We’ve had a great day, haven’t we Lev?” You ask with that sugary sweet smile to the toddler, the one Abby’s come to find her heart flutters at, idly tidying up the home corner Lev had been playing in when Abby arrived as you spoke. You’ve got a handful of wooden toy fruits collected in your hand, all matched together before you pull out a wooden fruit crate and toss them in as gently as possible, before setting them on the toy kitchen’s shelf. “I’ve put some photos on the app for you, we explored the garden didn’t we? And found some mini beasts!”

Abby had been immersed in the daycare world long enough with Lev to know Mini Beasts meant… Bugs? They meant bugs right?

“Got worms! ‘nd stinkbugs!” Lev shouted cheerfully, turning to Abby with his arms in the air. She was close enough, she thinks. She goes to scoop him up then pauses, remembering her soaked clothes. As if also noticing Abby’s dilemma, you jump into action.

“Got all his stuff ready, raincoat and umbrella…” Lev’s shark backpack is thrown over one of your shoulders while you’ve already got his raincoat opened up for him to put his arms into, kneeling down to help him button his coat before Abby can jump in.

“Y’don’t have to do that, Y/N” she sighs, guilt lacing the words. She knows you don’t mean to make her feel like a shit mom, so effortlessly and thoughtfully helping the little boy but it’s just another thing she feels like she’s fucked up tonight. “I know it’s probably way past your shifts ending time, I can do that”

You level her with a look, shaking your head softly. “I’m not gonna rush you guys out and besides, maybe I just like hanging out with my bestest friend ever, Lev!” She finishes the buttons on his coat, giving him the gentlest pinch of the cheek Abby has ever seen and a ruffle of his hair. Absent-mindedly, Abby then makes a note to take Lev for another haircut since it’s curling at the nape of his neck.

“Okay, I think you’re all good for your mama to take you home, Levy-boy!” She feels her cheeks heat at you calling her mama, and damn if her little crush isn’t getting out of control. She has to bite at her tongue to distract from the immediate thoughts of you in her home, in her kitchen, in full domestic bliss. You sitting on her lap on her favourite arm chair, giving the kids that doting look before saying ‘ask your mama’ when they try and get something out of you. No! Fantasies of… God, she was soft — domestic bliss, really?! — Well, they were for when her head hit the pillow.

It’s only then, when she’s shaken all thoughts of how soft your skin would be as she held you during a family movie night, that Abby notices the rain boots on his feet, a teal blue and not his. She quirks a brow, looking up at you. “These aren’t his, I’ve got ‘em at home. I know, I know, I’ll bring them in tomorrow” Abby bends to take them off his feet but your hands gently go to her wrist, small and dainty in comparison to her muscled arms. 

“They’re daycare spares, you can just leave ‘em out in the hallway tomorrow ‘nd one of us will take them to the mud room. His shoes’ll get soaked, even if you carry him so I figured I’d save him from getting wet feet.”

Fuck, see. Thoughtful.

As if noticing the attention on his footwear, Lev stretches a leg out to show the rain boot off, which earns him one of your soft melodic giggles and smiles. Abby could kiss her son for gifting them with that giggle, for that smile. 

It’s no wonder the kid let you put the rain boots on him, they’re not just a solid teal blue colour but have ocean wave patterns along the edges near the soles. “See, sp’ashin” He says, as if justifying it to his mom. Abby sighs, relenting. “Fine… Thank you, I’ll… I’ll make sure we bring them back tomorrow… And bring his ones in, y’know, in case it rains like this again”

Your pleased smile makes Abby’s stomach do a flip, so she distracts herself from it by finally scooping Lev up. “C’mon buddy, say bye to Y/N. We gotta go pick up Yara from her play-date, okay?”

“Is she doing good, I know you were a little worried about them when it came to making friends” You follow Abby and Lev out the room, finally turning off the lights in the room and walking out into the well-lit hallway. There’s still some other staff walking around, and another parent making a mad dash for the door — their child covered by their own jacket — which makes Abby feel a little bit better for, at least, not being the last parent to collect their kid. 

“Yeah, I mean she’s still a little stand-offish with people but she’s got a solid group of four friends in her first grade class so… It’s one of those kids that she’s having a play date with” Abby had pretty much gone overboard vetting that child's house too before she agreed to let Yara go unattended for dinner, so she was anxious about getting to her.

You could pick up on that, or at least the residual nervous energy from being late so you kept your response short. “I’ll let you guys head out then, but I bet she’s had a blast”

Abby doesn’t doubt that but she can’t help the tight smile on her lips, nerves beginning to boil over. What if they made something Yara doesn’t like? What if they have small portions and won’t give her seconds even if she’s hungry? What if she and her friend had a falling out cause Yara tried to mother he— “Dr. Anderson!”

Your voice cuts off her mental spiral, Abby’s blue eyes wide as she looks at you. In her arms, Lev is looking over his mom’s muscular shoulders at the rain outside of the window which is still coming down in lashes. “Wha… Sorry, did you… Did you say something?”

A faint laugh spills from your pretty lips but your eyes have concern in them as you look at the other woman. “I just said ‘Have a good night’ but you were off in your own head. Y’okay?”

Abby swallows nervously and hikes Lev up further on her hip, her sodden blazer and shirt moving uncomfortably against her equally wet skin. “Yeah, fine. I gotta go, but thanks for everything. See you in the mornin’?” It’s phrased as a question, but you both know it’s as set in stone as the sun rising.

She darts out the door, her hand over Lev’s head to secure the hood from his raincoat, before you can respond. She quickly unlocks her car, fixing Lev into his car seat at record speed and ignoring the icy pelting of rain on her back as she bends half-way into her car. It’s only when she’s got him all secure and closed his door that she looks back at the daycare’s main doors to see you still standing there, offering a small wave goodbye to them.

Abby mirrors your movement, cheeks heating once more before she jumps into the drivers seat and finally makes her way out of the parking lot.

That wasn’t the last time Abby was late picking up Lev, although it was the latest she’d ever been. That was one of the hard parts about being a working mom, the Mom Guilt™ tends to eat you alive. She’d adjusted Lev’s hours to be more compatible to her hours at the clinic, even giving herself a set day off so she could spend a day at home and collect him earlier than she would do if she was at work. But, Lev was still at the daycare from start to finish most days and she couldn’t help but worry.

It became a routine though, Abby being the first parent to arrive and the last to leave. And oddly enough, it was always you she’d see. Not that she didn’t want to see you, but it felt oddly intimate getting to spend those few minutes so early just chatting with you. 

Not that she was complaining, not when she got to see your beautiful face and hear your voice before her day began and before her night began to end. Abby wasn’t religious but she might start saying prayers of thanks to any and all deities to keep this going.

She wasn’t sure what your hours were and she’d made a joke once about how you seemed to never get to have a lie-in or go home early. She could have swore your cheeks heated just a little and maybe you looked a little… Guilty? Like a child caught doing something you shouldn’t be. But maybe she was seeing things, it still being so early in the morning.

It became one of Abby’s favourite parts of the day, seeing you at drop off and collection. Getting your full attention, and soon the conversations weren’t just about the kids but about each other. Abby learned about your time in high school and college as a kids Summer Camp Counsellor and, in turn, Abby talked about growing up in Salt Lake City with her dad, practically raised by his fellow doctors and nurses and how he’d moved up to Jackson when she headed off to college to finally slow down before retirement, opening his own practice which Abby now runs.

It felt nice, like the two of you were bonding. Abby had to remind herself to not read too much into it, you were just nice. She didn’t even know if you liked women, never mind if it was your intention to make her heart thunder in her chest whenever you’d ask about something Abby had fleetingly mentioned three weeks earlier, already forgotten herself. 

You had this magic way of easing the mom guilt she had and she didn’t know how you managed it.

Realistically, though, she knew Lev saw the daycare staff and kids more than he saw Abby and Yara and that realisation had her sobbing into her pillow while a rerun of Stargate SG-1 played in the background. 

Abby had mentioned this self-depricatingly during one of the morning drop-offs, trying to disguise it as a joke. Maybe her face didn’t sell it though, or maybe you just knew her too well at this point but suddenly she felt your hand on her shoulder with a comforting touch.

“Dr. Anderson, stop” And she did, like a pup following an order, falling quiet and looking at you with an open expression. “You’re being too harsh on yourself. It’s a lot being a working mom and you’re doing amazing, and Lev is far from the first in the building… Or even the last one to leave. I promise”

“Th-Thanks..” Abby had managed to stutter out, a shy smile creeping on her lips. She hadn’t said it for praise or compliments, in fact she wasn’t sure why she said it. Something about you just.. Made it easy for her to speak. “I just.. I think cause I see him as the first to arrive and the last to leave in this room, my brain starts to go crazy thinking of him alone for ages until the rest of the kids turn up”

You shake your head, brows scrunched up in a disagreeing face. “I swear, after you leave it’s like a stampede of kids. I’m telling you, Lev and I barely get, what?—” you look down at Lev as if asking him to confirm. He and Yara are helping set the tables for breakfast with you, his small eyes looking as if he’s also pondering your question. “Five minutes? Maybe, of peace. And at the end of the night it’s maybe… Ten, fifteen at most before you get here. But I’m telling you, he’s fine, i’m fine, and more importantly you’re fine, Doc”

Abby felt a little bit better at your words, nodding. She glances at the clock, sighing when she realises she’s gonna have to leave soon to drop Yara off at school. “We better get you to school, huh Missy?” she calls down to her daughter, black hair in an intricate braid Abby had been forced to practice doing all weekend. Apparently, braids were an important thing in first grade.

Yara gives Lev one last hug and Abby bends down to press a kiss to the top of his head before the two move towards the door. You’re murmuring a ‘see you tonight’ when Abby turns to you, “You can call me Abby.. By the way. You keep calling me Doc or Dr. Anderson, but.. You can call me Abby”

The blonde wasn’t sure why saying that made her palms sweaty, or why her heart was racing. But then you smile, lips slowly curling and eyes averted from hers. You nod your head, testing the name on your tongue. “Abby.. Abby it is then” It sounds beautiful coming from your lips and she finds herself eager to find more ways to get you to say her name over and over again now she’s heard it.

She’s walking out with a silly, dumb smile stretched across her lips, Yara’s small hand in hers when the six year old gets her attention. “Mama, do you like Miss Y/N?” She says it quietly, like she knows it’s probably embarrassing. Abby’s eyes widen, darting around the hallway to make sure no one else heard the young girl. “Wha— Subtlety, c’mon.. why, uh.. why do you ask, Goob?” 

Yara takes her hand from Abby’s, crossing her arms over her chest and looking up at her mom with a look far too condescending to be on a six year old. “I am being subtle, that’s why I waited t’be outside. And your hands get sweaty when you talk to her”

Abby stares at her daughter for a moment before sucking in a deep breath, looking at the hanging paintings of children’s art work in the hallway like it might tell her how to have this conversation. “Should we get ice cream at the diner after dinner tonight” is what she says instead, ushering her daughter along and out the door. Yara just lets her.

Soon the two of you are not just talking in the mornings and the evenings but through the day, albeit only through the daycares app. You justify why you spend so much time updating it is because you know Abby gets anxious and maybe seeing how Lev’s day has gone will help make her feel better by the time she comes to collect him.

Your colleagues give you knowing looks, all well aware that your own crush on Abby is the reason you do so much. If it weren’t for the fact you make the point to go above and beyond with all the kids then maybe then they’d have an issue with it, favouritism and all, but you don’t. Actually, bonding with Lev so much and Abby in return has made you feel so guilty you’re writing extra detailed posts for all the kids activities.

But if going the extra mile for all thirteen of the kids in your class just to see Abby’s comments on Lev’s posts, her reacting with emojis and her smile at the end of the day when she collects then it’s worth it. 

And she lives for these updates, not just like any parent would but because she feels like you’re actually taking the time to have fun with the kids, not just keeping them entertained to make the day go easier.

Her favorite post was one you made during some ‘Healthy Living’ week Abby didn’t even know was going on, about how the kids had tried new fruits and vegetables they may never have tried, all done some obstacle courses and played pretend with fake gym equipment. After that sentence followed a photo of him on the post, his big cheesy grin directed at the camera. He’d pushed his short-sleeves up past his shoulder and was flexing his ‘muscles’ to the camera ‘like his mama has’, showing off for his friends.

And when she’d asked him about it on the drive home from daycare, he’d not stopped talking about how ‘big’ and ‘strong’ (“Super-duper strong!”) his mama was. Abby printed out the photo and framed it in her office at work, her heart full at the thought her son admires her that way.

It’s Wednesday, Abby’s set day off and while she’s very much aware that there’s a pile of laundry needing to go into her washing machine and a playroom currently looking like a crime scene, she’s sat in a coffee shop on main street across from her friends. 

Her hair is, for once, free of its usual braid and left down for ease, which immediately led to ribbing from Manny. Abby’s not sure how the topic shifted, maybe it was Manny teasing her that was a gate-way, but all of a sudden you were the topic of conversation. Namely, Abby’s big fat crush on you.

Yeah, she should have stayed at home.

“Guess you could say she’s hot for teacher, eh?” Manny’s loud laugh fills the coffee shop, their friends low laughter following as the blonde’s cheeks blaze.

“Knock it off, she’s… She’s just sweet, y’know” Abby’s eyes won’t meet any of their looks, voice quieter than usual. “And she’s good with the kids, both of them. That’s, like, mom kryptonite”

“She’s a daycare teacher, Abby. You’d hope that she was good with kids” Owen laughs, his newborn splayed across his chest as he leans his chair back against the wall. It’s their second kid, a baby girl and the group have spent a majority of their get-together passing the baby around like the world’s most precious game of pass the parcel.

It’s funny, when Mel and Owen first announced they were pregnant Abby had felt sad. Not because he was her ex-husband and she regretted the divorce, wanted it to be her instead of Mel carrying his baby but just because she realised she did want to be a mom, that all her friends were also falling pregnant. She was embarrassed by her jealousy, her yearning. If it wasn’t for Mel and Owen getting pregnant after one too many wine coolers at a group ski retreat, Abby wouldn’t be where she is now— Mom to Yara and Lev, the happiest she’s ever been.

“No, you.. You don’t get it. It’s not just Lev, it’s Yara too. She doesn’t just know their quirks, she gets them. She knows that if Lev’s had a portion but he’s still hungry, he won’t ask for anymore no matter how much he wants it. That you’ve gotta put it in front of him. She knows Yara used to.. That she was the one looking after him even when she was small, so she gives her some job to do at drop-off’s and collections so she feels important but isn’t being a kid looking after a kid.” Abby’s face is burning hot now, her heart is fluttering at the thought of you and she can’t help but feel embarrassed until she feels Nora’s hand at her back, rubbing soothingly.

“Yeah, she’s too far gone. Someone take Abby out back” She hears Ellie murmur under her breath, earning a soft dig from Dina and a few laughs from the table.

“Shut up,” She huffs, taking a sip of her drip coffee and pulling her phone out. She taps through the apps and pulls up your posts on Lev’s daycare profile. “I mean, how am I not supposed to like her when she’s hardworking and it has to do with my kid. She knows Lev is obsessed with sharks so she organised this whole ocean themed water activity for all the kids with Lev as her helper. He told all the kids the different types of sharks and how to distinguish them, and he actually started to make more friends than he had before”

She’s got her phone extended across the table — Ellie, Dina, Jesse and Mel huddled together and watching — scrolling through the various posts, pulling it back for a second only to show them a photo she’d had saved to her favorites since last month.

“And, look—  I know it’s just a Mother’s Day card, we all got carbon copies, but she knows how I get and when I got it she told me about how the whole time he was making it, Lev couldn’t stop talking about me. Like she knew how much that was gonna make my day… What?” Her gushing comes to an abrupt stop, brow raised when she spots Ellie and Dina smirking. Beside them, Jesse is looking at his caramel macchiato with raised brows, wide eyes and like he’s trying to force his face to stay straight.

“What, assholes, are you gonna tell me you all got the same line?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff.

“Oh, no. We didn’t get nearly the same amount of attention as you did, Ab” Dina says pointedly, though she can hear the held-back laughter and smile as she speaks.

“What are you—” Abby starts, but Ellie is already taking Abby’s phone and scrolling to the second picture, the one of the inside of the card. She turns the phone back to Abby, but all Abby sees is the inside message and Lev’s ‘signature’ (aka his crayon scrawls which extend across both inside pages).

She looks at her friends, brows raised and a clueless look upon her face. “What, did they not write Happy Mothers Day inside yours?”

“Well should we ask the audience,” Ellie deadpans before swinging her lanky body to the side to look at Mel and Owen. “Mel, Owen, what did the Mothers Day card you guys got say on the inside?”

Owen uselessly looks at Mel, whose face is lightly scrunched in thought. “Happy Mothers Day, from… And then kiddos name, why?”

Ellie’s head rolls to the side, a look on her face that says ‘See! Told ya so’ and Abby quickly snatches her phone from the auburn haired woman’s grip before she can show her card off to the rest of their friends.

Looking at the picture again, brows furrowed as she reads: Happy Mothers Day to the best mom. Lots of love followed by Lev’s signature. It’s your handwriting, she’s learnt it by now from the few notes you’ve had to pass in regards to weekend activities for the kids and such nearby you’d recommended to her one night. In fact, it looks like your best handwriting, like you made sure each letter was perfectly legible.

Abby looks up at her friends, suddenly feeling like a teenage girl again. “S-So what, you think—”

“She wants you” Manny cuts in, laughing once again. “I’m reading that right, aren’t I?” he adds after a moment, looking at the rest of their friends.

“Okay, people who actually know Y/N, can I get a raise of hands who think she.. Might like me” The words aren’t fully out of her mouth before five hands rise in quick succession, Mel reaching over to her baby sleeping on her husband's chest and raising her hand too.

The baby’s hand being raised is what really makes Abby feel like she’s being mocked by her friends, if she’s completely honest. “Okay, couldn’t have said anything sooner, assholes?”

“Abby, how are you one of the smartest women I know and simultaneously, the stupidest?” Nora asks lazily, her tired eyes only brightening with humor. Abby didn’t know how she was even here given she’d only finished her double at the hospital at six am, and despite her many attempts Nora won’t come work for her at the clinic. Something about not wanting to use influence to get a job she didn’t earn. Bullshit, she was Abby’s friend and an incredible doctor.

“One time I picked up JJ late, before you had Lev there. She was nice and all, but I was out of the door in, like, two minutes. Took me until I had him at home to realise she’d practically herded me out of the door as she did handover.” Jesse recounts, his lips pressed together tightly as he tries not to smile. “Just saying, she can get parents out quick when it's late. So why do you think she’s havin’ these big, long conversations with you each night?”

Abby’s mouth is slightly agape, stunned being one way of describing how she feels. She’d spent so long sure her crush was silly, unreciprocated. But had she been so focused on herself and concealing it that she hadn’t bothered to look and see if maybe it wasn’t just her who felt that way.

She’s off in her own head, brows scrunched up in deep thought — replaying every interaction, every touch you’ve both shared — when Mel nudges Owen. “Hey, isn’t that…”

Every head at their table turns to look at the coffee shop counter where you stand, oblivious to the audience you’ve now earned, ordering coffee. “Yeah, that’s Y/N. Must be on her break, damn… I wish I worked on Main, practically next door” Dina whispers, as if you might hear them.

“Guys, stop looking at her” Abby hisses, averting her eyes to her coffee in front of her and hoping her friends don’t garner your attention with their stares.

“Ah, I get it. She is pretty, I see why you’re so wound up by her now” Manny throws an arm over Abby’s shoulder, pulling her strong shoulders in close and giving her a squeeze. Then, with a tone of finality, “I want to talk to this girl.”

Her blue eyes widen, head shaking side to side as she looks from Manny to the rest of her friends. “Absolutely not” 

But Dina is already calling you over, saying your name so sweetly with her hand beckoning you over. Abby can see your eyes widen with surprise and your cheeks go rosy, seeing such a large table of people apparently wanting your attention. But Abby’s sure when your eyes fix on her, even if it was for a moment, you seem to relax just a little bit.

“I’m going to kill you guys” Abby hisses though a smile at her friends before you get close enough to hear, but none of them take any notice and instead focus on you.

You stand awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do with your hands and, in the end, deciding to cross your arms over loosely. Abby’s eyes drift over to your arms as you do so, spotting dried orange paint on your skin and something glinting, most likely culprit being glitter. 

“Hey everyone, didn’t expect to see you guys until tonight” Despite your awkwardness, your humor is still solid and you don’t sound nervous at all. But you can’t help your eyes from wandering to Abby, to the sight of her with her hair loose in front of you.

It’s new, at least to you, and it kinda makes you breathless. Abby’s beautiful always but with her hair straight and down it’s just.. Different. “Hey, Abs” you shoot a small wave her way, Abby returning it with a small, warm smile.

“We try and catch up for coffee as a group at least once a month, especially with our workaholics.” Dina is quick to take the lead with the conversation, leaving Abby to want to sink into her chair and hide. “We were actually just discussing the kids crafts and you guys outdid yourselves with Mothers Day this year. Seriously, mine’s framed on the mantle”

There’s that blush at your cheeks again, one Abby wants to see again. Except she’s picturing a very different way of putting it there, one she probably shouldn’t be thinking of at a table full of her friends. Or in public.

She can’t help but wonder if you’re realising that they’ve realised a difference in their cards versus hers. Had you even meant to do it, was it unintentional but still.. With some sort of meaning behind it.

“Oh, this is Nora and Manny — they don’t have kids so you won’t know who they are but—”

“Actually,” you interject, cheeks darkening further as you do. “I think I recognise the names. Manny… Emanuel Alvarez and Nora Harris?”

Their surprise on their faces must be clear cause you're quick to finish, “You’re on Lev’s paperwork as emergency contacts, I make a point to memorise names and numbers for the kids in my group.”

You can’t see but Dina is smirking at Abby, mouthing the words ‘I told you so’. Her wife, beside her, has to bite her fist to stop from laughing. 

“Well now I feel terrible for not knowing anything about you, sit! Join us while you wait for your drink” Shit, Abby knows that voice. That’s Manny’s charming voice, the one he uses when he’s trying to talk a girl into bed or get what he wants in some other way. She’s heard it way too many times back in the day at the Tipsy Bison.

Worse, it works but maybe it’s actually the rest of the group's encouragement that makes you sit on one of the free chairs with them. “So, daycare. Sounds like you’ve very nurturing, from what my friends tell me. They make you sound like God's gift to daycare. Tell me, do you have children of your own, a husband?”

Subtle, Manny. Subtle.

You huff out a laugh awkwardly, jaw twitching as you try and find words. “No, I don’t. To both”

“No? Wife then? Partner? Hey, we’re waving all kinds of flags with this group” Abby briefly considers whether or not using the laminated menu to stab her eyes out would put her out of the misery which is Manny trying to… Wingman? For her.

“Uh, sadly no” Yeah, Abby can see the regret in your eyes for agreeing to sit with them. But she can’t seem to care at this moment, sitting up a little bit straighter when you say the word sadly. What does that mean, you wish you had a wife? Did you have someone in mind? C’mon Manny, ask more questions!

Like the cat that got the cream, his smile curls at his lips. “Ah, I see. You got your eye on anyone?”

Your eyes glance at Abby, her hair catching your attention for the fourth time since you’d been called over. It looked so long, so silky. You wanted to run your fingers through it, braid it for her. You shake out of that thought, breathing out finally like you’d forgotten to. “Uh, maybe, Jackson isn’t really—”

“Iced Latte for Y/N” Saved by the bell, or the barista in this case. 

“Shoot, I better go, but I’ll see most of you later tonight for collection. Have a nice day you guys!” They watch as you practically speedwalk to the counter and out of the coffee shop towards the daycare.

After a few moments of silence, Jesse is the one to break the silence. “Did Manny just scare our kids daycare teacher off by asking if she was married right from the get go?”

“Might have also had something to do with us all staring at her like creepy dolls” Ellie says around the rim of her coffee cup before gulping down the last of her coffee.

Manny puts his hands up in mock surrender, “At least we confirmed—”

But Ellie is quick to cut him off, “What, that she’s a girl kisser? Good going, genius, you could tell that by looking at her.”

“Pretty sure it was obvious when she gave us a group hello and Abby her own one” And as much as she doesn’t want to, she’s gotta say her ex-husband does have a point.

Abby spends the rest of the time the group remains at the cafe over-analyzing each look you gave her, every reaction you had, every word you said until it’s time to go home and rush her chores.

“I’m telling you, it was, like, the world’s scariest version of ‘meet the parents’ except it was all her friends and they were all parents of kids I was building a megablocks tower with ten minutes later.” You’ve pretty much sank yourself into the cushions of the old, worn sofa in the staff room, recounting your break to your friends and colleagues hours later on your lunch break. “Have you guys ever played Resident Evil, or seen it? That family from Biohazard? It was like that except they obviously weren’t rotting… Or evil”

Around you your colleagues laugh, namely because a majority of them are working mom’s in their early to late thirties who have no idea what you’re talking about.

“Okay, understandably creepy” Cat, one of your only colleagues close to your age, says as she scrapes the sides of her yogurt pot. “Still, objectively funny”

“So, you’re comparing getting called over by the good doc’ and her friends to meeting the parents, huh?” One of the older women, Caroline, butts in before you can respond to Cat. Her words make you wish the sofa would consume you, if only to hide the blush you knew had to be visible at this point.

It became public knowledge amongst the staff about your crush on Abby, pretty much from the start. You didn’t need to say anything, everyone sort of picked up on it easily, and suddenly it was as if you didn’t need to race to be the first to speak to Abby. No, they made sure they were busy as soon as they saw her walking into the room. 

And when you suddenly started staying late to do the closes each night and starting your shifts early to talk to her in the mornings? They let you with minimal teasing. Minimal but still humiliating. Your manager told you they wouldn’t always be able to pay you for the overtime you were doing but, in all honesty? Talking with Abby, hanging out with Lev and Yara? It didn’t feel like working. It felt right.

Sometimes you imagined it when you were at home, in your tiny apartment that felt empty more times than not. You imagined some cozy home, curled up on a sofa, the four of you like a family in a living room surrounded by bookshelves. Not only filled with the sci-fi and classics you’ve heard Abby mention she’s reading in passing but your fantasy and romance ones, the bottom shelves for the kids books. 

Imagining making breakfast, kissing Abby on the cheek before she heads out to work. Getting to see her come back from the gym, muscles strained and sweaty. You’d seen her once leaving the gym when you’d had a Wednesday booked off and the sight of Abby post-workout was enough for you to bite your fist and file the image away for later, but now your thoughts are just of easing her onto the couch and giving her a massage to ease the knots in her back.

You kind of missed when your crush first started, when your daydreams were all heated. How you’d fantasised about Abby’s form, of her manhandling you and licking into your mouth like she was starved. Of wrapping that beautiful, infuriatingly neat braid around your fist as Abby devoured your cunt, chin glistening and messy as she laps at your folds. Those were the fantasies that decided to reappear in your mind every time you saw Abby in the beginning, ones you’d have to bite your lip and try not to think of as she spoke.

Now? Now you’re straight up yearning and it’s a pain.

You huff out a sigh, ignoring the gentle, teasing laughter of the group of women. “It’s not funny, it was like I was being interrogated and all while she was sat there — not saying anything, mind you — with her beautiful, blonde hair out of that braid she always wears and I just wanted to… I don’t even know. God, is it bad if I say I just wanted to play with it? Is that a new level of sad?” There’s a pout at your lips as you sigh and Caroline reaches over to ruffle your hair, cooing softly in that motherly way she does.

“They’re sizing you up, Hon’, why else y’think they’re askin’ if you got anyone warming y’bed?” Arlene, another one of the older women, says softly. She’s stabbing her fork at some sad looking salad she’s put together but doesn’t seem all that interested in. “Betcha whole tab at the Bison she likes ya back and they’re fishin’ for her”

God, you wish. You thought you’d had a chance, the first time you’d met Abby but now you were pretty solidly aware you couldn’t be her type. Still, the thought makes your heart race.

“You’re forgetting one crucial fact: she’s not into women, ‘Lene. Has a whole ex-husband and everything” You groan out the word ex-husband like it did something personally offensive. She’d only mentioned the man briefly, no name or description but you cursed the man on a daily basis for letting a woman like Abby go.

“Whose to say Comp-Het didn’t have something to do with that” Cat mumbles, causing Arlene to lean over asking “Com-what?”

Caroline sucks in a breath, making a noise of disagreement. “I don’t know… Just cause she’s got an ex-husband don’t mean she can’t like women, or what if she likes both? You don’t know why their marriage ended, what if she realised the only cock she wanted was on the end of one of those strappy things?”

You’re groaning, head held in your hands at that comment while Cat cackles loudly. Her laugh can most likely be heard in all the classrooms and you have to reach over to smack her to get her to stop. You will not be dealing with cranky toddlers ‘cause a conversation about strap-ons of all things woke them up.

“Now I know I’m old and I don’t wanna get myself in trouble,” Arlene starts, causing you and Cat to glance at each other in silent dread. As the only two queer people on the daycare staff, neither of you knew where this could go. “But I always figured when you looked like that you kind of had to be a Lesbian. There’s takin’ care of your body and then there’s runnin’ for the Lumberjack Qualifiers, darlin’, you know?”

Cat makes a noise as if weighing up her answer, “No, sadly, straight women can be buff. It’s fucking cruel cause then we get baited but there’s no rules���

Arlene nods as if she’s digesting the information then turns to look at you with determination. “I still say her friends were checkin’ into you for her, not that you ain’t obvious about your lil’ crush on her and everything but what if she thinks you’re not into her?”

“Yeah, that Dina — JJ’s mom — she’s a tricky girl, bet the reason Dr. Anderson was so quiet was ‘cause they called you over before she knew it. I’m telling you, she was probably talking about you and got all shy cause her friends were embarrassing her”

You sit up at that, finger pointed at the older woman. “Okay, firstly— I am not obvious, I actually make a point to be extremely professional and only go all starry eyed after she leaves.” 

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, Sweetheart”

“And Secondly….” Your mouth hangs open for a second, not quite sure what else you could say to argue. The thought of Abby being flustered in that moment? It made your heart race with excitement. Cruel, cruel excitement. “If.. If you’re right, what do I.. What’s next? I can’t exactly ask her out, she’s a parent—”

Your manager's voice calls out from her office, right across from the door to the staff room. “Yes you can, as long as there’s no favoritism, favours or inappropriate behaviours that would reflect badly on the setting.” She says it in the familiar bored drawl you’re used to hearing from her, your eyes wide at the thought that even your manager is invested in your love life.

Around you, your colleagues are all trying to stifle their laughter.

Cat stands up, taking her trash to the garbage as she speaks. Shit, if she’s going back then you’re due back soon too. “You talk to her enough in the morning and at night, you can’t find a way to ask her out to coffee one day or something?”

“What, ‘Hey, I know you employ me for a service to care for your kid but do you maybe wanna go on a date with me, winky face?’”

“Yeah sure, but maybe don’t say winky face out loud” If it wasn’t frowned upon, you’d be throwing all of the sofa cushions at your friend right now.

“It doesn’t have to be a date, sweetheart. You could always ask her to hang out as friends first, then see how she is outside of these four walls.” Caroline adds as you stand, tossing the remnants of your own lunch in the garbage.

You’re nodding slowly as you leave the room, trying to convince yourself that the idea isn’t a bad one that could go horribly, horrifically wrong and end with Abby avoiding you forever. You glance at the clock in the room when you get back, only five more hours until you see Abby to see if you’ll actually do it.

Abby makes sure she’s early tonight, not just ‘cause it’s a Wednesday and she has the ability to do that but because she can’t be alone with you in that room without bursting into flames. The longer she had to dwell on your run in with her and her friends this morning, the more she wanted a zombie apocalypse to start so the undead could rip her apart. That might be more painless than seeing how uncomfortable her friends and their questioning might have made you.

Her mission is simple: get in, get Lev, get out. Try to avoid potentially seeing you look at her with disgust or any lingering weirdness. Maybe look into Witness Protection, see if they have exceptions.

She feels like luck is on her side, three other parents in the room and staff all busy talking to them. She can see you off in the corner, talking to another parent and unaware of her presence. Maybe she can keep it that way, just long enough to get the attention of another member of staff to let them know she’s taking Lev and make up some story about how they’re in too much of a rush to do a full handover.

Speaking of Lev, where the hell is her son? She can’t see him in his usual places, the construction area or the water tray. He’s not in the book corner, surprisingly, nor is he in the home corner like he had been that night Abby got caught in the rain.

She’s about to start panicking, blue eyes wide as she scans the room when she sees a familiar head of hair. Fuck, mission obstacle — He’s clinging to your legs, his toy giraffe clutched under one arm while his other is looped around your calf, his head rested against your knee. 

Damn it, thwarted by her own kid. She’d even gone to the lengths of calling in Manny for babysitting duties so Yara wouldn’t complicate her ‘get-in-get-out’ plan but all of it had gone out of the window when Lev decided to attach himself to you like a keyring.

Abby sighs, hands awkwardly going into the pockets of her jeans as she waits for you to notice her. Luckily, since Abby is no longer actively hiding from you, she’s quickly spotted. You hold up a finger, signalling to her you’ll be a moment and bend down to whisper something in Lev’s ear. His tired eyes look up and then brighten when he sees Abby, a shout of “Mama!” from his tiny lips before he’s sprinting across the room.

Abby’s quick to squat down and scoop him up, watching as he rubs his eyes with tired fists. “Tired, Goober? Should we go to sleep early tonight?” 

Despite his eyes being closed and one fist still rubbing at one, he shakes his head. “Still want my books, mama”

You must have wrapped up with the other parents in the short amount of time Abby’s had Lev cause suddenly you’re there, and even with the room being lively with other kids and other adults Abby can’t help but feel like all that noise quietens when you appear.

“Hey, Abs” You sound oddly shy, so unlike you and it makes Abby’s heart race. She thinks back to the conversation she and her friends had earlier this morning about how they all thought you might like her back and damn how she wants that to be true. 

She manages to say a hey of her own, awkwardly sounding it out and somehow making it sound apologetic. “Seems busy in here, surprised you were able to do anything with this one clinging to you like a koala. I would’a picked him up earlier if I knew he was tired, you could have put something on the app. I don’t mind”

You shake your head, reaching up to give Lev a soft stroke on his face as he nuzzles into Abby’s chest. Abby already knows he’s either gonna fall asleep on her like this or on the car ride home. “It’s fine, honestly. Wouldn’t survive in this job if you weren’t used to tired kids attaching themselves to you”

You do the normal handover, giving Abby all the information about his day, meals and toileting before there’s a pause. This is where you’d both naturally fall into conversation, where you’d share something personal like an interest in books or, in Abby’s case, whatever documentary she’s watching this week.

But no, silence. Awkward silence, like neither of you want it but you both also don’t know how to end it.

“I’m sorry!” Abby says abruptly, then mentally slapping herself in the face cause she knows she could have eased into saying that. “You know, about my friends… This morning? They’ve got no sense of boundaries and they shouldn’t have started grilling you like that. It was… It was weird, I’m sorry”

Your mouth hangs slightly open, eyes a little wide like you didn’t expect her to say anything about it, which makes Abby wish she didn’t but there’s not much she can do about that now.

“No, no—  it’s, uh.. It’s fine, not the first time parents have inquired about my personal life, won’t be the last.” 

“Still, there’s boundaries. They—  We shouldn’t have cornered you like that. I’m sorry, especially about Manny.”

The only thing that stops Abby from continuing her nervous apology spiel is your light laugh as you look at her, bottom lip drawn between your teeth. She can’t help the way her eyes are drawn to the movement, how she wishes it were her teeth your lip was caught by. She looks up just in time to see you catch her staring, which only causes the both of your faces to brighten with embarrassment.

You shake away the nervousness, shrugging casually. “No, seriously it’s fine. Besides, it’s not like there’s much to gossip about in my love life. So they were getting nothing anyway”

“Really?” Abby can’t hide the surprise from her voice, looking you up and down obviously. She couldn’t see why you wouldn’t have anything going on, you were quite possibly one of the most beautiful girls she’s ever seen.

You let out some shaky, nervous laughter as you shake your head. “Really. It’s kind of far and few to find girls who like girls here in Jackson that aren’t already taken or a word I can’t say cause there’s kids around” You let that marinate, watching Abby carefully to see her reaction.

Abby, to her credit, does her best not to react. On the outside, she’s nodding like people do to say I’m listening, continue but on the inside she feels like a teenager jumping up and down on their bed. 

“Plus, work makes it difficult to meet anyone who doesn’t get it so…” You add after a beat, a little awkwardly since you didn’t get a reaction from Abby.

“I get that,” Abby adjusts Lev where he lays on her shoulder, his tiny fingers toying with the end of her braid. She’d put it in her usual style, much to your disappointment, once she’d started stress deep-cleaning the house following your interaction at the coffee shop. “I’ve not had much time to meet anyone the usual ways, always figured once I stopped working at a big hospital and stuff, I’d have time to get back out there again but…”

She had tried after the divorce, she’d had a few casual relationships but those were all before she adopted Yara and Lev. “Plus it’s hard, with the kids. Don’t want to invite someone into their lives who doesn’t get it or who might leave”

Your eyes are on Lev as you let out a wistful ‘yeah’, eyes softening when you notice his eyes fluttering closed. Abby can’t help but watch you, watch as you look at her baby boy with a look she’s only ever seen in herself, in photos captured by friends of her playing with the kids. She wants desperately to believe you’re imagining yourself as that person Abby is waiting for, that she’s not alone in being stupid for you and you her.

“It’d be nice though,” Abby’s voice sounds slightly breathy and her heart is thundering so hard in her chest as she aims for a coolness she knows in this moment she does not possess. “Plus it’d be fun to be able to have the kids going around in a circle of ‘ask your mom’ at some point, you know”

She watches you carefully as what she says finally registers in your head, eyes averted from her gaze but moving up slightly, as if looking at an invisible camera on The Office. A soft intake of breath as you slowly nod, swallowing thickly as you process. “Yeah, pretty sure that’s every queer mom’s right of passage” You say slowly after a moment, a short laugh falling from your lips.

You look like you want to say something else, but your eyes drift to Lev again and soften with a smile. “You should, uh… You should probably head home. Someone’s decided to call it a night while we were here yapping”

Abby cranes her neck to look down at her son, softly snoring against her chest and leaving a nice wet patch of drool on the neckline of her t-shirt. “Guess I should…”

Awkwardly, she tries to toss his backpack over her shoulder but it’s difficult to get it to stay without jostling Lev. She freezes slightly when she feels you start to help, your soft hands against her skin as you position the backpack so it will stay. She could have swore your hands linger, as it tracing the muscles in her arms before you let go of her.

“See you tomorrow?” Abby mumbles as she leaves, feeling like her heart is about to race out of her chest. Unknowingly, she leaves you in the same state.

Later that night, when all the children have gone home and the daycare is getting closed down for the night, Caroline walks by just in time to see you and Cat jumping up and down and around in circles, hands clutched together as you both chant “She’s gay! She’s gay, she’s gay, she’s gay!” excitebly over and over.

You may have chickened out of asking Abby out on a date, or even to hang out as friends, but there was still some cause for celebration. “Whole tab at the Bison, huh?” she calls to Arlene when she appears behind her a second later, the manager beside her. The older woman grumbles, but her motherly smile is beaming at you and Cat. “That girls gonna be drinkin’ like a fish on your card, that’s for sure, ‘Lene”

Abby should have known something was up the moment she got three separate messages all relating to going out to the Tipsy Bison on Friday night. It started casually late Thursday morning during a lull between patients, opening the groupchat to see Dina’s message.

[ Dina ] :   Guys we should get sitters and go to the Bison tomorrow, let loose

Simple, casual. Nothing she found suspicious, because there was always a message in the groupchat about hanging out. That’s the issue with being a group of friends with young kids, you can say you want to make plans until your throat goes dry but actually getting said plans out of the groupchat? Practically impossible, especially if they don’t involve aforementioned kids.

Abby expected this to be the same, and maybe she should have questioned it when later that night the groupchat exploded with sudden interest from everyone. It was strange, how this one night everyone seemed able to commit to plans with barely twenty-four hours notice but Abby just shrugged it off. She didn’t confirm or deny if she was going, phone left open in her hand as she falls asleep on the sofa that night.

It definitely should have been suspicious when Jesse shouts her name during drop-off in the morning, catching Abby just before he drops JJ in as Abby’s about to leave, and asks if she’s going with them. 

“No, sorry, can’t. Wouldn’t have been able to book a sitter so last minute even if I tried” Abby shrugs, waving her friend off. And yet, somehow she still ends up in the dimly lit bar later that night, Dina’s mischievous smirk being kissed off her face by her wife. 

Abby’s still not sure how she ended up being talked into coming, or how Joel Miller ended up stuck babysitting not only his step-grandson but Abby’s kids as well; All she knows is Jesse walked away and she was left dazed and confused, like she’d just entered a deal with the devil.

They’re all stood at the bar with the exception of Mel and Nora who were saving their seats at one of the few round tables in the bar big enough to fit the size of their group. Manny’s buying the first round, which translates more to flirting with the new bartender. At least, she’s new to Abby — It’s been a while since she’s been out drinking like this, most nights when she needs a stiff drink she just curls up with scotch after putting the kids to bed.

Abby can’t help but feel like there’s a certain energy though that falls over the group, a weird layer of excitement and deception but that may be because Dina has a devilish smirk on her face and it’s been directed at Abby since they stepped foot into the bar.

“Okay, what’s your damage tonight?” Abby finally asks when the group return to their table, sitting with her back to the bar trays in hand with the amount of drinks Manny decided to order in this first round. Abby’s already picturing herself on a liquid IV just looking at the tray solely holding shots. She has to shout to be heard, the music loud and the bar crowded, voices overlapping

It’s addressed to the table as a whole but Dina, ever the ringleader, takes the bait first. “What? Can’t a girl be excited we’re all out for once. Drinking.”

Abby narrows her eyes as she reaches her hand out to grab a shot, looking around at the group. It’s not just Dina who makes her suspicious now, it’s everyone. Manny, for the most part, is quiet — which is worse. She can see Nora and Mel whispering back and forth in each others ear and she’d try and force Owen to tell her what they’re saying, but he’s got that far off look in his eyes she recognises as him straight up disassociating while he downs his shot and then chases it with his beer of all things.

“No, no. You’re being weird,” she shouts again, crossing her large arms over her chest as she leans forward to glare at them all closer. “What are you guys up to?”

“Nothin’, nothin’, can’t a group of people go out and drink on a Friday night without a reason?” Ellie shouts across the table, leaning on her tattooed arm while Dina strokes the skin idly. “Just cause we had kids doesn’t mean we can’t—”

“Abby, next rounds on you! You should go to the bar and grab them, grab them now” Dina suddenly cuts in, eyes unfocused and staring off behind the blondes head, causing Abby to look around the table at everyone’s still full drinks.

“How about when we’ve actually started drinking them” She deadpans, confused at the urgency in which Dina said it. Dina has a smile on her face, nodding like she agrees, but Abby can see her tells; the twitch at her cheek as her jaw grinds slightly, the way her eyes widen slightly as she tries to think of how to get what she wants. Her eyes glance around the table, making eye contact with each and every one of them and like dominoes falling, everyone picks up their glasses and tries to subtly start drinking faster.

“Okay, what the hell guys?!” The exasperation in her voice is clear as she throws her hands up in the air, looking around at the group. “I’ll still buy the damn drinks but this isn’t college, we don’t have to drink so much so fast”

“I just think the bar is pretty busy, going now might mean you’ll make it back in time for when we are finished?” Mel throws a soft smile Abby’s way, her eyes glancing behind Abby’s head every so often towards the bar, clearly trying to placate her. Sure, it was busy but it was a Friday night and pay-day weekend. It was bound to be, but it still wouldn’t warrant Abby needing to go back to the bar when all their drinks were barely touched.

“I’ll still be back before you guys finish your drinks if I leave when you’re half-way though them, quit chugging them” She makes the point of picking up her own beer and drinking it slowly, savouring the taste and looking at all their friends. In front of her Dina, eyes still off behind Abby’s head sighs with annoyance and sags into her chair, eyes tracking something off to the side. Ellie’s quick to pull her in by the shoulder, murmuring into her ear something Abby wouldn’t be able to hear even without the noise of the bar.

Owen changes the subject then, lessening the weird tension that’s in the air, by complaining about work. He works as a Sheriff’s Deputy in town but ever since Mel had their second kid, he’s been on permanent desk duty. Somehow, for the deputies that don’t get out once in a while, they’re filled with drama. Manny recounts how a patient was trying to get his number this morning, which everyone ignored as the usual Manny flirt-parade until he added that she was eighty-two and had three husbands under her belt. 

Finally, when everyone's drinks seemed reasonably half-drunk, Abby stands without saying anything to go and order but she’s quickly stopped by Jesse. “Uh, no sweat, Abby. Dina was just jerkin’ ya around. I’ll get the next round, you just… Stay here”

Okay, back to weird.

In front of them, Nora is nodding like she thinks Jesse has had the greatest idea ever, Ellie and Dina talking over each other to get Abby to sit back down. For a group of people who seemed so determined to get Abby to the bar no less than twenty minutes ago, they seem desperate to keep her at the table now.

“Nu-uh, you guys were practically chasing me over there a while back. I’ll cover it now, b’sides — I’m probably gonna call it a night after another round or two. It’s been a long week” She’s turning around before anyone can stop her, Jesse’s hands trying and failing all too late to keep her fixed facing the group. She doesn’t notice anything at first, half expecting the bar to be on fire or gremlins doing some Coyote Ugly shit on the bar.

She walks towards the bar, through the crowds of people stood where the makeshift dancefloor and the seating meets when she sees something out of the corner of her eye. Her friends think she’s missed it, that they’re in the clear, but no. She’d recognise you anywhere.

It’s like time goes still, like someone threw a blanket over a speaker to muffle the noise of the bar. The music seems to quieten in her ears, people seem to go slower as she watches you. More specifically, watch you and Cat.

Your head is thrown back as you dance, back pressed against the other woman's chest as you both dance together. There’s drinks in both your hands, but Cat still has her free one resting casually on your hip and you seem so carefree and happy, it can’t be the first time you’ve done this.

Abby’s blue eyes unfocus slightly, looking off behind you and the sound of rowdy laughter cuts in, the noise of the bar suddenly coming back to her as she realises the rest of your coworkers are also there. There’s two older women cheering the two of you on as you look like you’re grinding your ass back against Cat’s crotch.

Right. Of course. You didn’t… You didn’t like Abby, why would you like Abby when Cat was clearly…

Abby turns to look back at her friends, already trying to figure out a way to get the hell out of the bar without making them aware but she knows she can’t do that when the first thing she sees is varying looks of pity and apology on all their faces.

They’d seen. Oh god, that was why they were trying to keep her at the table. Abby’s not sure how she has the strength to but she slowly walks back to the table and slumps down into her chair, crestfallen.

She’d been so sure you liked her, or, at least, she’d gotten her hopes up that you might just like her as much as she likes you. And after you’d both not-so-subtly confirmed to each other that you did both like girls, she thought surely that was also a point in the Y/N-likes-Abby-back column but after that display?

“Shit, I’m sorry, Abs. I didn’t— I knew they were all comin’ to the bar tonight but if.. If I knew she was gonna.. That she and Cat.. I would’ve—” Dina’s apologetic voice comes quick down Abby’s ear, the other girl having appeared suddenly and quickly over her shoulder and comforting her in a hug Abby didn’t ask for or particularly want, but allowed nonetheless.

After a moment, Abby takes a short breath and smoothes her face into a mask of calmness. She will not break down at the bar, she’s a grown-ass mother of two. She is much too old for that, especially when it’s over a crush. “I think I’m gonna head to the bathroom a sec.”

Abby doesn’t wait for an answer before she’s up and out of her chair, walking in the opposite direction and towards the dingy women’s bathrooms before anyone can stop her.

There’s a pleasant buzz in your system, that familiar state of officially drunk but just barely as you move around on the dance floor. The Tipsy Bison is relatively busy, but that’s more to do with it being payday weekend and the only bar on main street rather than actual preference. You don’t mind though, whatever gets liquor down your throat after a long week is good — especially when it’s not you that’s paying.

That’s the funny thing, you look at a group of daycare teachers and expect them to be saints, yet here they all are. A group of seven women, four of which in their early fifties feeding shots down your throat and egging each other on as you drunkenly dance with each other. It is a celebration though, as it’s not every day you discover the girl you like might like you back and that you actually might have a shot, especially in Jackson. That’s why she accepts the heavy handed drinks from Arlene like a birthday girl on her twenty-first.

The music is normally ass in here, Seth’s usual playlist a total bore but there’s a new bartender he hired that actually seems to enjoy variety in music, so when you and Cat heard a song you were both actually fans of and recognised you were pulling each other on the dance floor. You were both drunk enough, courtesy of Arlene, to not care about your surroundings and dance like you’re both at a big city club. 

Cat’s arm is thrown over your shoulder, pulling your back against her chest as you both clumsily grind against each other to the beat of the song but you’re also both laughing and singing along, trying your best to not spill your drinks on the floor and make a sticky mess. 

Your dancing is too close, but you two have never been more than just friends so it doesn’t feel like there’s anything wrong with it, especially since there’s nothing that feels right about it that way. 

Abby on the other hand?

You could imagine how good it would feel to dance with her like this, although you both might be a little too grown up to dirty dance in a club like this. But the thought of it is nice. Your back against her chest, her sexy toned chest rubbing up against her abs and her tits? You bite your lips at the thought of it, of her hands wandering across your body.

Okay, not thoughts to have while your ass is pressed against your friend. You take a moment to reassess, suddenly very aware of your bodily functions.

Spinning around, you giggle drunkenly as you look at Cat. “Gotta hit the stalls, forgot how much I was drinking. If I’m not back in fifteen, send a rescue party — might be consoling a drunk girl”

She gives you a thumbs up and you make your way towards the toilets, but out of the corner of your eye you see two familiar faces. You can’t stop yourself, way too friendly when intoxicated as you skip along to the bar to see Dina and Mel as they buy a round.

“Fancy seeing you two here,” You say playfully but your enthusiasm is curbed when the two women's faces look less than impressed with you. You might be drunk but they don’t normally look at you like you kicked a puppy, do they? “We’re just out for drinks for payday, you two doing the same?”

You hope if maybe you point out it’s not just you that’s drunk they won’t be as annoyed, but Dina just nods, avoiding eye contact and pointedly tutting under her breath as if your very presence irritates her. Had you done something? Or was it just that detestable that you have a life outside of work? You didn’t think Dina would be that type of parent but there’s always one who surprises you.

Mel takes some pity, pointing to a table near the back as she speaks while Dina just huffs, visibly annoyed. You shift uncomfortably, regretting coming over more and more. “We’re, uh… all out, not something we do very often”

At that your interest piques, ignoring Dina’s attitude towards you. Your eyes are seeking something out, or rather someone, scanning all the heads at the table for a familiar face or a familiar back of the head but you don’t see it. She said all, didn’t she? Where’s Abby then?

As if knowing exactly what you’re searching for, Dina turns to you stern faced and with narrowed eyes, venom in them. “She’s in the bathroom, I’d say to say hi but she’s already seen how busy you were” Her arms fold over her chest and even in your intoxicated state, you can’t help but feel like you’re getting told off by your mom.

Your brows furrow in confusion, wondering when you’ve been busy all night? Did she mean when you helped Arlene and Caroline bring the trays of drinks over to the tables for their rounds? “Huh?”

But they’re gone before you can get a clearer answer, a muttered see ya from Dina before they’re walking away with their own trays of drinks. Your confused look follows them all the way back to their table, watching as Dina and Mel must say something cause suddenly they’re all looking at you. The stares vary from pitying to annoyed and you’re not sure why the feeling hurts.

You stumble away from the bar dejectedly, pushing your way into the bathroom and wincing at the stark overhead lighting. In the main bar area of the Tipsy Bison it’s all low lighting but in here, it’s broken overhead lighting that feels a little too cold in temperature and makes you look sickly no matter how you look really.

The sight of yourself in the mirror is… Well, a sight. Hair messy and slightly sweaty, your skin has a sheen to it too from the humidity you’d barely noticed inside the bar and your makeup — which was applied at six am and barely touched up after the daycare closed in the staff toilets — is also messy, eyeliner smudged under the eyes and lipstick barely there from the drinks. The dulled sound of the bars music makes you feel like you can actually think, which is maybe not the best idea cause your mind is swimming with questions.

What the hell was that? Why did it seem like Dina Woodward-Williams hated you all of a sudden? Matter of fact, why did it seem like a core group of your classes parents — not to mention your crushes best friends — disliked you to varying degrees. And speaking of your crush, what did Dina mean when she said Abby saw how busy she was?

Shit, Abby.

Didn’t she say Abby was in the toilets?

“Abs?” You say tentatively, your voice is rough, from drunkenly shouting over the music all night so everyone could hear you. She might have left, but behind you there is a closed stall.

After a few moments of silence, you hear a huff of breath and see a pair of feet appear under the crack at the bottom of the stall through the mirror. The door unlocks and she appears, looking beautiful and… Her eyes are slightly red, like she’d been crying and you can’t stop yourself as you turn around and move towards her with concern.

You go to reach out but she takes a step back and you… You can’t help but feel the pain of the rejection but you respect it. “Abs, Abby… What’s wrong, are you…”

“It’s.. ‘m fine, Y/N. S’all good” Despite this, Abby’s shaking her head and pushing past to wash her hands, clearly wanting to ignore the elephant in the room that was her crying in the bar bathroom.

“I didn’t realise you guys were here, you should have come over ‘n said hi to us”

“It’s fine, you looked busy… Like you were havin’ fun”

Busy… There’s that word again. Still, Abby doesn’t seem irritated with you the same way her friends did, just.. Deflated.

“Yeah?” Your dopey smile is wide, eyes are too as you stare up at Abby like she’s something of wonder. “You know, on the dancefloor” Abby then adds, words slightly slurred, definitely bitter. You’re not sure why.

“Oh yeah,” Your airy little giggle as you sway tipsily makes Abby want to wrap her arms around you and keep you close for the rest of the night. “Cat and I get a little crazy when something we actually know and can dance like we’re in a club comes on”

“Yeah,” Abby’s own words slur slightly, but even she’s just tipsy as she laughs lowly. Still, she’s hit that level of intoxicated tonight where she’s not even trying to hide her bitter tone. “And there you were a few weeks ago sayin’ somethin’ about barely any girls in Jackson. All along one was workin’ with you”

It takes a moment for you to process what Abby says, your sweet smile falling and brows furrowing in confusion as you shake your head. You move closer to Abby where she stands gripping the sinks. “What?”

“Your girlfriend? Saw you two dancin’ tonight, you seemed… Pretty close”

“Cat?” You ask, your voice small and confused. “Cat’s not my girlfriend, Abs. We’re just friends”

“Not what it looked like t’me, not with her hands all over you ‘n your ass against her”

Suddenly all the air in the dingy bathroom doesn’t feel like enough, not as you stare at Abby as she looks genuinely irritated at what she saw. You can understand it, even when you’re drunk like this you get why she probably thought you and Cat were a thing. You both were a little too handsy while you drank, neither thinking much of it but to an outsider? To someone who (you hoped) liked you watching from across the room?

You move closer to Abby, like a moth to flame, and crowd her up against the sinks with a needy look on your face. Your hands are either side of her, her own almost touching yours as she looks down at you with this intensity you feel yourself melting under. You want to wipe that look of jealousy, the bitterness, from her perfect face.

“Just friends, just drunk. Always get too handsy when the liquor is flowing” It’s said as a joke but your voice comes out too breathy, too soft like you’re trying to coax her into believing you. 

“Her or you?” The words are heavy, loaded, like one answer could mean the difference between Abby snapping. “Both” a beat, then, “You don’t like seein’ Cat’s hands on me?” 

The tension in the air is stifling, your eyes heavy not just with the alcohol but lust as you look up at Abby, mouth slightly agape as you whimper at the dark look in the other woman’s eyes. It’s answer enough about what she thinks of Cat touching you, friends or not.

Your eyes move slowly to where your hands are, moving them slowly up until your fingertips are touching Abby’s thick hands. You can hear your soft panting, feel your heart racing as you ease closer into touching her — even something as innocent as touching her hands making you feel breathless.

When you look back up at Abby, her blue eyes are dark and stormy, locked on your lips and you have to let out a shaky laugh to release some of the tension.

“This why Dina was a bitch to me at the bar?” You ask quietly so only she can hear, even though Abby is the only other person with you in the bathroom.

“Yeah,” Abby’s voice is low, rough and it sounds like pure sex to you in a way no-ones ever has. The kind of gruff voice that makes it sound like she’s parched, desperate and you have to squeeze your thighs together to ease the ache building at your core. “She got wind of your work outing. Wanted to give me a chance to make a move”

Your fingers thread through hers as she starts to speak and once you’ve got your daintier fingers interlocked with her thicker ones, still slightly wet from washing them, your hands both remain either side of Abby.

“Yeah?” Your throat feels thick, words getting caught as you say them from how affected you are. It no longer feels like you’re out in public, just caught in a bubble of yourself and Abby as you lean into her space, legs tangling so a thigh presses between hers.. It’s not just you, Abby’s starting to look equally as wrecked by the sudden proximity between the two of you.

Maybe it’s the alcohol.. Okay it’s definitely the alcohol that’s making you both this reckless. Both your chests are rising and falling quickly, small panting breaths falling from each of your lips as you both teeter on the edge.

“Would you of?”

“You were dancing with her” Abby’s voice is low, her breath hot against your cheek as your faces seem achingly close. You can hear the disgust in her voice when she says her.

Between your thighs you can feel how embarrassingly affected you are by the other woman, by the thought of her making a move on you. What if you'd danced with her tonight, got to feel everything you were thinking of when you danced with Cat.

“I was thinking about you the whole time” The words come out as a whimpered confession, like you were having flashbacks to every sinful fantasy that came to mind as you danced of Abby and you have to bite at your bottom lip to stop from letting out an embarrassing sounding whine.

Of course, Abby tracks that movement almost instantly and you can see her eyes dilating at the sight. Her expression is still dark though and she raises a single brow as she stares down at you, lips so achingly close to yours. “Yeah? Wanted t’be me you were being a little slut for out there?”

That shouldn’t make your heart race and your mouth dry the way it does, slowly your tongue darting out to wet your lips as you pant softly. You had a million ideas of what Abby might be like in this situation, if she’d be a gentlewoman and wax poetic in your ear, a downright tease or if she’d talk dirty, degrade you while making your body light up.

Your eyes are fixed on Abby’s, but they’re heavy lidded with lust and say so much while saying nothing at all. It’s pure need, desperation the way you look at her because yes, you did want it to be her you were grinding against, you wanted it to be her whose hands were on you only so her fingers would ghost across your skin and so you could tease her with your body.

And the best part is you can see it mirrored in her own eyes, see the hunger and the desperation bleeding through. Abby looks like she’s hanging on to her final restraint, the one thing holding her back from jumping you and that desire you see in her? It feels good. It feels good to know it’s not just you, that it’s potentially never just been you that’s wanted this.

You nod up at her over and over, the desperation bleeding out. God, you want her, need her and it feels like pure torture to have her this close finally and not taste her on your tongue.

“God, please let me touch you, kiss you, ‘nythin..” Abby’s voice is wrecked as she speaks and she has that same look of need in her eyes you’re sure is reflected in yours. You’re not sure how you answer, another nod, a whine but next thing you know her lips are on yours and her tongue is sliding against yours, the kiss messy and dirty as your hands go to each other's bodies.

You’ve got your hands all over the place, one fisted in her hair messing up that pristine fucking braid you’ve daydreamed of for months and the other touching her everywhere. It’s against her throat in a light hold one moment, moving down her chest and groping at her small, perfect tits the next. It’s pushing up her shirt and raking the nails against her torso, her abs quivering under your touch, then it’s lower pushing her legs open wider so you can press closer and repeat how it roams.

It’s not just you that’s handsy now either, Abby lets you keep your faces pressed firmly together greedily and takes full advantage of having both hands to explore your body. God, your perfect body. Her imagination did not compare to actually feeling your skin beneath her fingers, feeling each reaction to her touch. How her large hands could hold your tits and grope them easily while you mewled into her mouth, a needy mess (not that she was much better)

“Thought about this f’months,” Abby murmurs, voice low and fucked out, as she breaks the kiss to drag a trail of open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. Her hand moves to the back of your neck to manoeuvre you enough so she’s got the perfect angle, perfect access to as much skin as she can reach as she leans down. “You’re so fucking perfect”

All you can do is whine, rocking your hips forward so your clothed cunt can drag against Abby’s jean-clad thigh and press your own thigh against her too. “Shut the fuck up, am not. You’re the one… Fucking look at you” The words are said so breathlessly and yet with such adoration, such belief that Abby can’t help but pull her lips away from your neck just long enough to gaze at your face adoringly. The both of you are biting back small noises and clinging onto each other as you both rock slowly against each other.

Abby’s almost shaking with need as your hands slide down to her hips, holding them firmly and forcing her to grind against your thigh. “I-I need you… I need you so bad” Her husky voice whimpers, forehead falling against yours as she feels herself grower wetter in her boxers. It takes everything in you not to moan at how easily Abby has become submissive under your touch, how quickly she’s started to become lost under the pleasure. 

Not that you’re doing much better, eyes rolling shut as you move against Abby’s thigh and feel the drag of fabric against your clit. You’re nodding softly, hand coming up to her jaw to capture her in another tender but hungry kiss, half-devouring her as she whines into your mouth. Your hand is sliding down to her jeans, fingers unbuttoning them when the bathroom door slams open. You both pull apart slightly, eyes wide in shock and embarrassment and skin flushed as you’re caught dry humping each other against the sinks by Cat.

Cat who doubles over with laughter when she sees the two of you, clutching onto the hand-dryer for support only to accidentally turn it on. “You said come and get you if you were long” she shouts over the dryer, shaking her head and smirking. “Congrats guys but maybe take this back home so Seth doesn’t go all… Seth on you guys”

She doesn’t even wait for a response, stumbling back out into the bar laughing leaving you and Abby half embraced and feeling like ice water has been thrown on you both. Slowly, nervously, you turn and look back up to Abby. You’re not sure why but now you’ve both been shaken out of the haze of lust and drunken courage you’re worried that maybe, just maybe Abby might be having second thoughts.

“Abby?” Your heart is racing again, lip drawn between your teeth as you worry it. God, what if clarity hit and she’s sobering up enough to realise she doesn’t want this. That you should have never crossed the line. Shit, her kids involved in this, she’s probably already regretting it. You’re visibly spiralling, eyes wide and worried.

Abby’s large hands come down to cup your cheeks, the pads of her thumbs softly brushing against your cheeks soothingly. “Hey, hey, calm down” The words are spoken so gently as she moves the two of you around so your back is to the sinks, and she gently lifts you up so you’re sitting on the counter top. “Talk to me, what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

Fuck, she’s perfect and it only makes you more nervous. You let out a shaky sounding breath, a sad look on your face curtesy of your drunken emotions. “I… really like you, Abby. Like, really really like you a-and I don’t want this to be something you’re regretting, cause I know you’ve got your kids and I get that if you don’t wanna carry on ca—”

Abby cuts you off, shaking her head and looking at you with such a soft, sad look. “When did I say I’m regretting anything? Or that I don’t wanna keep seeing you? Shit, I’ve been thinking about you since I met you so I don’t think I could stop if I tried”

“But Lev and Yara, I don’t wanna make things complicated for you or for them”

“Leave my kids to me, okay? I know what I’m doing, I know what I want. I want you, I’ve been wanting you and I don’t just want you in bed.”

That gets your attention, looking up at her with a hopeful glint in your eye and an excited smile threatening to curl at your lips. “Yeah, really?”

“Yeah, silly. I want you at the dinner table with us, ‘wanna see you on Saturday mornin’s in your pajamas cooking eggs and waiting for the coffee with me before the kids wake up.” Her stupid, beautiful face is lit up with a fond smile. You lean into her touch, her hands still cradling your face as she speaks. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been thinking about you in other ways too but… I’m not regretting this, but if you don’t think you’re—”

“I’m not, I-I mean I’m not regretting this, not that I’m not ready. I want.. I want that too. I want all of it” Laughter spills from both of you at your panicked and nervous babbling, leading into a comfortable silence. It feels like the outside world slowly starts seeping in, the muffled sound of the bar’s music and peoples talking becoming more audible — like the bubble the two of you were in finally popped.

Slowly, Abby moves her hand to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear and press a soft kiss to your forehead. “What do you say, wanna listen to Cat and get out of here?”

A wide, unapologetic grin is stretched wide across your lips at the thought of leaving with her, of this being real and not just a figment of her imagination anymore. “What, not into people walking in on us kissing, Abs?”

“Not if I can help it.” Easily she kisses you one last time, short but thorough before she’s helping you jump down from the counter top and throwing an arm around your shoulders.  You can still taste her on your tongue as you both pull the bathroom door open and walk back out into the bar, intent on leaving and going home, whoever's home that may be. And if, over the loud music and crowd, the two of you can hear cheering and shouts from both groups of friends, you both choose to ignore it.

[sincerelyneo]

style | z.cl

“i heard…that you been out and about with some other girl”

💿now playing: style by taylor swift

❯ summary: Midnight. Lipstick. Tight skirt. You swore you were done with Chenle. But then he drove you home, looked way too good in your kitchen, and said all the right things. He might always leave. But he always comes back. Because you always let him.

❯ pairings: idol!chenle x fem!reader

❯ genre: co-workers with benefits, smut

❯ words: 4.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, slight jealousy, arguing, angst, mentions of sneaking around, commitment issues, oral sex, fingering, rough blow job, hair pulling, dirty talk, praise, kitchen sex, unprotected sex, dom!chenle, swearing, ambiguous ending, reader uses she/her pronouns, basically just a toxic situationship and pure filth for 4k words.

an: y’all can thank @bbina for triggering this idea in my head. chenle being style coded has made me go insane 😛

You told yourself you wouldn’t do this again.

And yet here you are, sitting in the passenger seat of Chenle’s car, completely silent and still, whilst his jaw ticks and one hand strangles the steering wheel. 

If it were any other man, you’d be concerned about how often his eyes leave the road. But this is Chenle. Your Chenle, with wild, dark eyes that seem to dart everywhere but forward—flicking to your legs, lingering shamelessly on the exposed sliver of thigh peeking out from that tight little skirt you decided to wear. The same skirt he swears is taunting him.

Him, and every other fucker in that room tonight.

He had no choice but to get you out of that damn afterparty and into his car. Straight home. He still remembered the route—of course he did.

Honestly, part of him expected you to tell him to get fucked. He would’ve deserved it. Because truthfully, Chenle had no right offering to drive you home. No right to act territorial or interject your conversations with other men. He never did.

Not when he was the one who could never quite figure out what he wanted.

Still, deep down, you hoped it was you. A part of you still does. Because you're just so stupidly drawn to him.

That’s why you don’t say a word when he pulls into your driveway. That’s why you don’t stop him when he kills the engine, steps out, and follows you inside like it’s second nature.

You know damn well you should tell him to leave.

Especially when you already know the consequences of letting him—this man—walk through your door, shrug off his jacket like it still belongs here, and drape it over the back of your chairs like he never left. You know the routine. The toxic, repetitive cycle. The inevitable crash.

You know exactly where it leads.

Chenle tosses his keys onto your kitchen counter without bothering to turn on the light. He doesn’t need to—he knows your place just like he knows your body. Thoroughly. 

He leans back against the marble counter, arms crossing over his chest as he watches you kick off your heels and flick the switch. For a split second, in the soft glow of the kitchen light, it almost looks domestic.

If you were any other couple, it might’ve been.

But you weren’t any other couple.

Because you were you, and Chenle was Chenle—unconventional, uncommitted, undefined. Definitely not a couple. Just three long years of messy arguing, sneaking around, and dirty sex.

“You looked friendly with Sungchan tonight,” he mutters finally, like it’s nothing more than an observation. But the bitterness in his voice bleeds through every word.

You glance at him over your shoulder, folding your arms to mirror his stance. You can’t believe him right now.

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting," he shrugs nonchalantly, but his jaw still ticks. “I just thought the two of you looked…cosy, is all.”

“Cosy?” you repeat, brow arching. “Are you seriously jealous right now?”

He scoffs, pushing off the counter. He rakes a hand through his slicked back hair, leaving it all messy.

“I’m not jealous. I just didn’t realise the two of you were that close.”

“That’s because you don’t know the meaning of close, Chenle.”

His jaw tightens whilst you rant. 

“Seriously, I haven’t heard a fucking peep from you in months,” you quip, stroming towards him. “No call. No text. Nothing. And now you wanna walk through my door like it’s yours, drop your shit on my counter, and act territorial about who I talk to at a work party?”

“I’m not acting terr—”

“Yes, you are,” you cut in. “You always do this. You disappear for weeks, then show up acting like you have some kind of claim to me. You don’t.”

He flinches. Just barely. But you see it. And still, you press on, because it’s the only way to survive conversations like this with him. 

“You don’t get to act like this,” you shout. “Not when you’ve been out and about with some other girl on your arm.”

“Don’t turn this around on me,” he grits out. “You think it didn’t fuck with my head, seeing you smile like that at him? He’s my friend, Y/N, and it looked like—it looked like you wanted him.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t soften. “And if I did?”

“Watch it,” he growls. 

You shake your head, jaw clenched. “No! I’m done doing this with you. I’m sick of waking up to every damn gossip site and fan account showing pictures of you with other girls!”

His eyes darken.

Then, he's crossing the room and closing the distance between you two in quick, hasty strides. You don’t move. You should. But you don’t. Because some reckless, masochistic part of you wants this. Enjoys it.

You like it when he’s angry. Because at least then, you know he cares.

His hand slides up, fingers wrapping around the side of your neck—firm enough to steal your breath, soft enough to make you remember exactly who he is and who he always will be to you.

“You’re not done with me, baby,” he says, voice gravelly. “You’ll never be done with me.”

Your heart thumps heavily in your chest. Warmth pulsing low in your belly, spreading outward in a burning ripple that leaves goosebumps along your forearms. 

You hate the effect he has on you—hate how easily he can crack you with nothing more than a look, a brush of his fingers, the goddamn rough scrape of his voice. But what you hate most is how it keeps pulling you back. Every time. No matter how often you promise yourself you won’t.

His thumb drags slow strokes along your jaw, studying and possessive. 

“What you’ve heard and seen is true,” he continues, searching your face. “I’ve been out, but I swear, none of them meant shit. None of them stuck. Because every damn night, I come back to the same thought.”

You swallow hard. “What thought?”

He leans in, breath hot against your ear, and your knees almost buckle.

“You,” he exhales. “What you do to me. What we do to each other,” he says. “You haunt me, Y/N. You get in my fucking head and you stay there. Even when I know I need to let you go.”

His forehead presses to yours, and you’re met with eyes that burn. Eyes that are so raw and pleading. 

“You think I don’t hate this too?” he whispers. “I hate how I ruin everything the second it starts to feel real…but baby, I swear to God, no one—not a single person—makes me feel the way you do.”

His grip softens, fingers sliding down your neck to your collarbone, then teasingly tracing the hem of your shirt over your lower abdomen.

You suck in a breath at his cold fingertips, voice cracking. “Then why do you keep leaving?”

“I don’t know,” his eyes screw shut as he breathes. “Maybe because wanting you this much scares the shit out of me.”

God, you hate that too.

Hate the way your chest aches at his voice when it drops so low. Hate the fact that you’re always his secret. His weakness. His maybe. His fear. 

He can parade around with other girls, laugh with them, be seen with them. Smile for the cameras and let them touch his arm, lean into him. He can be theirs in the way that matters—publicly.

But you?

You’re the one he hides. The one he ghosts and crawls back to. The one he craves in the quiet. Behind closed doors. Always behind closed doors.

Because you’re staff. 

And this is what happens when you cross the line and start sleeping with idols.

Still, you stare up at him, furious with how good he looks tonight. Black hair a little messy, pushed out of place by his own frustrated fingers. White t-shirt clinging to the ridges of his torso like it was stitched onto his skin. Your eyes wander before you can stop them, and you curse yourself for it—because he notices.

His own eyes dip to your mouth, that familiar lustful haze clouding his features. It’s hot. The kind if look that makes you wet your lips without thinking. 

He follows the movement. Tracks it like instinct.

Then his hand lifts, almost unconsciously, and his thumb drags a featherlight line across your bottom lip. You let him. You always do. You always will.  Because this has always been his thing.

He stares at his thumb now, at the smear of lipstick staining the pad—a deep, bruised red. The classic kind. The one you know he likes. The only reason you still wear it, really. 

His throat bobs as he brings the thumb to his mouth and wipes it along the plump flesh.

He doesn’t lick. Doesn’t taste. Just wipes. Lets it brand him.

“You still wear this shade,” he murmurs. It’s not a question—just a statement, the memory of him buying it for your first birthday together flashing vividly in his mind.

“You liked it.” 

“No,” his eyes flick to yours. “I loved it.”

A beat passes.

“I hate this, Chenle,” you breathe.

“I know,” he says, gaze dropping to your mouth again. His thumb brushes your lip once more, slower this time. “I hate it too.”

Maybe he means it. Maybe he really does this time. But it doesn’t matter. Not now. Not when he’s looking at you like that—like you’re the last good thing he’s ever touched.

“I hate when you do this,” you continue, even as your fingers fist into the hem of his shirt.

“I know.”

“No.” You shake your head, pressing your forehead to his chest. Your voice breaks a little. “You don’t get to show up like this. All hot and brooding and act like you’re—”

“Yours?” he cuts in gently, lifting your chin, just enough to meet your eyes. “I don’t get to show up here all hot and brooding and act like I’m yours, Y/N?” He asks. “But I did. Because I am.”

You sigh. 

“You don’t mean that,” you say, barely audible.

“I do,” he says, and his voice—God, his voice—it’s so damn raw. “I do, baby.”

You see it flicker.

Right there, behind his eyes. That look that never lies or fades. That want. That need. That ache. And your brain, the traitorous thing that it is, clings to it like a lifeline. Because that flicker means he still wants you. Means he always has.

No matter how long he disappears. No matter how many nights you cry yourself to sleep. No matter how many months pass with nothing but radio silence and reruns of memories you swore you’d forget. No matter the girls, the headlines, the cruel, painful game of pretending he’s not your favourite mistake—you always come back.

He exhales a shaky sigh, brushing his hand against your cheek. And you lean into it. Into him. Into the quiet, stupid comfort that still lives in his touch.

Because the thing about Chenle (the thing that wrecks you) is that he never touches you like it’s an accident. He knows your skin. He remembers exactly what makes you tick.

His other hand slips to the hem of your skirt, fingers dragging lightly along your thigh. Not to push. Not yet. Just to remind you that he knows.

And then, with a soft breath, he whispers, “You and me, baby… we just fit. We’re perfect for each other.”

“Perfect?” you echo on a scoff. “Chenle, we’re a fucking disaster.”

His fingers press just a little more into your waist as he leans in, forehead resting gently against yours again.

“I don’t care,” he says. “This is how we work. You know it is.”

And goddamn it, you do.

This push and pull. This mess of a relationship. This history that keeps bleeding into the present. It’s yours. All of it.

The midnights. The 3 a.m. fights and 4 a.m. kisses. The long drives. The missed calls and texts. The way he disappears for weeks—only to show up again, looking at you like you’re perfect, like you’re sin, like you’re all his.

You close your eyes, forehead tilting into his hand as his thumb brushes along your cheekbone. He’s breathing you in harder than he needs air. 

“I don’t know how to let you go,” he admits, brokenly.

Your heart aches, splits right down the middle, but you don’t move. You never do. Because deep down, you don’t know how to let him go either. 

“But we don’t make sense,” you whisper, words trembling. “Not to anyone.”

Chenle shakes his head, lips brushing the edge of your jaw. “We don’t have to. You make sense to me. I get you, baby. I always have. No one else needs to.”

Then he kisses you.

And it’s not gentle. It’s not soft or sweet or anything close to safe. It’s a collision—raw and explosive and possessive. A kiss that ruins, devours, and breathes life into the parts of you he’s broken. Everything he needs to say to you pours into that simple press of his mouth against yours—like an apology. He knows you deserve one.

It feels like drowning and crashing down. But still, you’re willing to hold him in your bare hands.

Because even if you don’t necessarily make sense… you look right together. You feel like fate. And for now, that’s enough. All you can think about is how good it feels to burn—and how right it feels to fall.

Your hands twist in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer because you need to feel the heat radiating from his skin, need to know that he’s here and equally burning for you too.

Without breaking the kiss, Chenle’s fingers hook under the hem of your skirt, dragging it down lower until it slips off completely, pooling at your ankles. You don’t feel embarrassed standing in front of him wearing your panties anymore. You no longer tense under his stare or shiver at his fingers teasing the tender skin just above the waistband. 

His eyes flare, and without another second’s hesitation, he flips you around, caging you against the counter he was leaning on. He pauses for a moment, watching you, but when he sees you bite down on your lip and nod once, it’s enough for him to drop his voice. 

“Get your ass on that counter, baby,” he commands lowly, hooking you under the arms and helping you up. “And open these pretty legs.”

He doesn’t give you a second to comply, eagerly prying your legs apart himself before dropping to his knees, eyes clouded and lip caught between his teeth. His fingers hook into the lace of your underwear, a groan escaping him as he inches them down gradually.

His eyes stay locked on you, tracking every nervous flex of your stomach, every sharp inhale of breath.

Fucking beautiful. Fucking perfect, he thinks.

He leans in, mouth gliding along the inside of your trembling thigh, letting his breath ghost across your skin that’s already burning. His hands grip your knees, firm, keeping you spread open for him, exposed under the flickering kitchen light.

“You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he whispers.

Then his lips brush closer. Close enough for his mouth to find your puffy and aching clit. And he sucks. Hot. Slow. Languid. Worshipful sucks.

Your head tips back with a whimper, hands scrambling behind you for balance against the counter’s edge. He doesn’t rush. He savours, tastes, tongue mapping every sensitive inch, locating every spot he knows that makes you squirm, makes you pathetic for him.

Each sound you make has him groaning against you, his fingers digging hard into the plush of your thighs, anchoring himself as he drowns in you.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” Chenle says, pulling back just enough to speak—lips slick with a mix of his spit and your arousal. “Dripping, baby. You like this? Like letting me bury my face in this tight little pussy?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer—not really—your heavy eyes say everything he needs to get his tongue on you again. Rougher now, harder, dragging filthy little moans out of you that ring around the kitchen. He eats like he owns you—like he’s starving for you and only you.

Your hips twitch, legs wobbling and borderline threatening to close, but he growls low in his throat, fingers pressing into your thighs as he keeps you wide open.

“Don’t you dare fucking move,” he groans against you. “You take it. Just like that. Let me make this cunt all nice and messy.”

You sob, a high, needy sound, head thrown back as pleasure builds fast and brutal.

“That’s it,” he coos. “Ride my face, baby. Use me. You taste so good—fuck—I could eat this sweet pussy all fucking night if you’d let me,” he grits out, lips brushing your clit with every word.

He slides two fingers inside you then, without warning, curls them deliciously just to watch the way you shudder. 

“God, listen to that. So fucking wet. Gonna cum all over my face, baby? You’ll let me taste it, won’t you?”

You can’t even answer. All you can do is shake, pant, fall apart while he keeps going, keeps sucking and licking and fucking his fingers—relentless, filthy, starved.

“Chenle—” you whimper, but it catches in your throat. 

You feel it now, the heat, the pressure coiling tight in your gut, the obscene wet sounds of him between your legs, eating your pussy shamelessly. 

“Come on, baby, give it to me,”  he rasps. “Be good. Cum for me. Let me have it. Right here on my fucking tongue.”

He carries on, nose pressed tight against your clit, moaning into you like the taste of you is driving him insane. You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Not when he talks like that. Not when he touches you like this.

“That’s it,” he whispers hoarsely. “I can feel it. This pretty cunt’s clenching around my tongue.”

You nod frantically, a broken sound ripping from your throat as your back arches, thighs jerk, and you moan out his name. He keeps licking you through every wave, holding you wide open and helpless, until you’re too spent to even twitch.

When your breathing begins to slow, he starts rising to his feet—pupils black, cock straining hard against his jeans.

“We’re not done, baby,” he mutters, dragging his thumb over your swollen, soaked lips. “Not even close.”

He leans over you, chest heaving, trapping you in with his arms on either side of your thighs. His mouth is swollen, glistening with your orgasm, and he drags his tongue across his bottom lip like he’s still hungry and relishing the taste of you. Then he tilts your chin up with two fingers.

“Want you to return the favour for me,” he demands, voice all raspy and low. “Like the good girl I know you are.”

Your stomach clenches at the praise, excitement pulsing between your legs as you nod. You slide off the counter, legs feeling a little like jelly, and Chenle steps back, giving you space. But the moment your knees hit the floor in front of him, something in him snaps—his jaw tightens, the vein in his neck flexing hard.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growls, hand slipping into your hair—not pulling, not yet, just holding you there. “On your knees for me. God, you look so fucking pretty like this. All ruined and ready.”

You reach for the waistband of his jeans, hands trembling slightly as you undo them. He watches you the entire time, completely focused, completely in awe. 

Once he’s free—thick, hard, already leaking—he taps his cock against your lips.

“Open up,” he rasps. “Wanna see those pretty red lips wrapped around my cock.”

You part them without hesitation, tongue flicking out to taste him, and he lets out a sharp hiss, head dropping back for just a second.

“Jesus fuck—yes. Just like that. So damn good.”

You take more of him, inch by inch, until he hits the back of your throat and you gag slightly, tears welling in your eyes. He mosns from deep in his chest, both hands threading into your hair now, holding you steady to take him.

“Doing so fucking good for me,” he pants. “Taking me so deep. You love choking on my cock, don’t you?”

You hum around him, the vibrations pulling another harsh string of curses from his mouth.

“Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—glassy eyes, drool dripping down your chin. So fucking eager to please me.”

His hips begin to move, rolling forward as he starts to fuck your mouth like he owns it. Every time your throat clenches around him, his grip on your hair tightens right back.

You whimper, and it only spurs him on to go deeper. One hand slides to your cheek, thumb brushing away the spit and tears there with a surprising gentleness, despite how hard he’s breathing.

“My messy, filthy, perfect girl,” he groans. “Keep looking up at me like that, baby. Shit—those eyes. Could cum just from this fucking view.”

He rocks into your mouth again—deep, greedy—pushing past your limit before pulling out to the tip. Only then does he let you catch your breath for a second… only to thrust back in deeper.

Eventually, a harsh hiss leaves him, his hands locking you in place as your mouth works him harder, your throat fluttering with every push forward. He’s close—too close for his liking—and he knows it. That coil tightening low in his stomach. 

“Fuck—no,” he growls suddenly, breath strained.

He pulls out abruptly, cock slick and glistening, flushed at the tip with a string of spit connecting you in one filthy, shining line before it breaks. You’re left panting, mouth swollen, eyes cloudy and wet with tears—but there’s no shame in it. Not with Chenle. There never is.

“Why’d you stop?” You blink up at him, all dazed and breathless. “I can take it. I want it.”

His jaw flexes. He knows you can—he’s seen you take it, again and again—but hearing you say it like that? With that much need? Holy fuck.

He cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he leans in to press his forehead against yours again. 

“Not like that,” he exhales. “Not wasting it down your throat, baby. Not when I need to be inside you.”

He nudges your legs apart again with his knee, pushing you gently back onto the counter. The cold surface shocks your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the intense look in his eyes—all focused, all fire, locked on the soaked mess between your legs.

His fingers trail between your thighs. “Look at you,” he breathes. “Could slide right in, no fucking problem.”

One finger sinks in with ease, and your back arches with a cry. He adds another, bending them just right, watching the way your body twitches at the sensation.

“Desperate little thing,” he chuckles, mouth grazing your jaw before biting lightly at the hinge.

“You haven’t heard a peep from me in months?” he mocks your earlier words, amused. “Bet you’ve still been thinking about this. About me. Every night though.”

You nod wildly, hips grinding down to chase his hand. He smiles darkly against your throat. 

“Yeah? Been touching yourself to the thought of my cock buried deep inside you?” His fingers press harder, deeper, stretching you open. “Tell me. Because I’ve only ever fisted my cock for one girl. One girl—you.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Fuck—yes. All the time. I only ever think of you too.”

His mouth slams onto yours, teeth biting and tongue hot, as he slowly pulls his fingers out, leaving you aching and empty.

“Then you’re gonna take it now,” he grits out, lining himself up with no warning. “All of it. Every inch. All of me.”

You whimper as he presses the tip against you, easing into your cunt with little resistance. You’re so wet, so ready—but the stretch of him, thicker than his fingers, triggers that tightening ache in a way that makes you spiral faster. He’s filling you, claiming you inch by inch, like he owns you.

Because right now, he does.

You think, maybe, he always has.

“Fuck, baby,” he lets out a strained moan, hips rocking forward in relentless thrusts. “You were made for this. For me.”

He’s deep now—buried to the hilt—each thrust making you clench and tremble. His rhythm quickens, hips snapping harder, pressing you back against the counter. The air thickens with sweat and breathless curses.

Then his hand finds your face—fingers curling around your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek as he squishes them together, making your lips pout around soft moans.

“Look at this fucking mouth,” he grumbles, slowing just enough to admire you. Lipstick smeared, red and messy, your spit slicking your chin from earlier. “You never wear that colour for anyone else.”

It’s not a question. It’s a demand. A rule you already follow. You didn’t need him to say it, because you only ever wear it with him in mind. Only when there’s a chance you might see him.

You shake your head, eyes half-lidded, mouth still caught between his fingers. He knows the answer—but fuck, he wants to hear it.

“Say it,” he demands, thrusting deep and slow now, grinding against that sweet spot until your eyes roll back. “Tell me who you wear it for.”

“You,” you gasp, voice muffled by his grip. “Only you.”

He smirks, eyes dipping down to where he’s buried inside you, glistening with the proof of just how badly you’ve needed this. “Yeah, that’s right. All dressed up for me.”

Then he slams into you again—harder this time, relentless. The slap of skin echoes through the room, each thrust forcing filthy little sounds from your throat as your slick spills and drips down his length. Your lipstick is undoubtedly smeared across your cheek now, mouth pouty, chest heaving

“No matter how long it’s been,” he says more to himself than you, “I always end up right back here. With you. Fucking losing it over you.”

You’re shaking, right on the edge, and he can feel it—the way your pussy flutters around his cock, clinging to every thrust, so hot and tight. You don’t even have to say a word. Your body’s begging to cum. 

But he’s not letting you just yet.

“Tell me this doesn’t feel right,” he growls, snapping his hips forward as the counter creaks beneath you. “Tell me my cock doesn’t fucking fit like it was made for me.”

“It does,” you gasp, voice breaking. “Fuck—it always has, Chenle.”

He groans at that all guttural, and crashes his mouth to yours again. It’s less desperate now, more possessive, like he’s trying to seal the truth between your lips. Because you’ve both tried. Tried to forget. Tried to move on. Tried to tell yourselves your situation wasn’t healthy.

But this—you two—never really ended. It never could.

And when he drives into you one last time, burying himself to the limit as you shatter around him—slick and pulsing, your cunt squeezing him so perfectly—he groans and lets go, spilling his cum inside you with a shudder.

It’s filthy. It’s messy. It’s everything you swore you wouldn’t do again.

But some things don’t change.

Some things never go out of style.

Especially not him. 

[tikitakatia]

Under Watch — A. Putellas x Reader

"You´re Late"

WC: 1.4k

Summary: You’re hired to protect her but she’s reckless, untouchable, and wants nothing to do with you.

The first time you met her was in a hallway.

She’s already late. Cleats in one hand, hoodie slung low, hair still damp from the shower. She’s got that just-finished-practice glow: skin flushed, breath still a little quick, body loose in a way that says she just spent an hour tearing up the field.

She doesn’t look dangerous. But she is.

Not in the way your briefing warned about, no wild-eyed stalkers or coded threats here. Not yet. She’s dangerous in the way she moves like nothing can touch her. Like if the building crumbled around her, she’d walk out of the dust without a scratch. There’s a kind of recklessness in her that doesn’t read as careless, it reads as power.

She stops a few paces from you and looks you up and down. That’s intentional. Every part of her is practiced, the cock of her head, the slow drag of her eyes, the way she lets the silence stretch just a little too long before she speaks.

“You’re the bodyguard?” she says, unimpressed on purpose.

You nod once.

She sighs. Loud. Theatrical. “This is ridiculous.”

Another nod. Slower this time.

You don’t explain yourself. That’s not your job.

She mutters something under her breath and turns away. Her voice follows her as she walks.

“What do they think is gonna happen? I trip over a ball and need saving?”

You follow. Quietly. That part is your job.

She slouches in her seat during the security briefing like she’s doing the club a favor just by being there. One foot up on the table, twirling a pen between her fingers, face locked in that unimpressed athlete expression she wears like armor.

The head of security goes over it all again. The notes. The photos. The fact that one of them was left on her locker and no one saw who did it. Another showed up two days later. No fingerprints. Just words. Messy, threatening, graphic.

Too many people know where she trains, where she eats, where she lives. Too many eyes on her at all times. She’s high-profile. Always careful with her words. Polished. Politically correct. She knows how to play the media game and never slips, at least not publicly. But lately, someone’s been trying to push her off balance and get under her skin.

You’re not assigned to investigate. You’re there to be the barrier. The buffer. The human shield.

She doesn’t look at you once during the meeting. But she knows you’re watching.

At lunch, she sits two tables away with her teammates. Tosses her head back in a laugh that’s too loud, too staged. 

Then leans into the physio and says, “She stares too much.”

The physio glances at you. You don’t blink.

You’re not trying to intimidate her. Not consciously. But you don’t look away either. You’re paid to see everything.

She bites into an apple and smiles like she’s won something.

That evening, she tries the back gate. You don’t need cameras to know it. You already clocked her angle the second she cut out of the hallway with her phone pressed too casually to her ear.

You’re leaning against the car by the time she gets there.

She halts and doesn’t bother to hide her frustration. Instead, she frowns like a teenager caught sneaking out past curfew.

“Do you ever take breaks?” she asks.

You say nothing. Just open the passenger door and wait.

She slides in, arms crossed. No seatbelt. You don’t start the engine. You wait.

The silence stretches. Long enough for her to shift in her seat. Tap her fingers on her thigh. Glance your way once. Twice.

Twenty-three seconds, you count.

“Okay, what, is this your way of interrogating me?”

Still, you don’t respond.

She mutters under her breath, clicks her seatbelt into place.

The engine starts.

She doesn’t speak for the rest of the ride. But when she gets out, she slams the door just hard enough to make a point.

The first real conversation happens on day four.

She’s supposed to be at a press junket. You find her in the equipment room, legs swinging off a crate, scrolling her phone like she’s waiting for the universe to give her an excuse to skip it entirely.

“You’re late,” you say.

She doesn’t look up. “It’s boring.”

“You have a schedule.”

She shrugs. “So adjust it.”

You don’t move.

She lets the silence drag for a while before finally looking at you. Really looking.

“Do you ever lighten up? Pareces mi sombra.” she says the nickname slowly, as if trying to see how she likes the feel of it in her mouth.

You sigh. Not loud. Not annoyed. Just… necessary.

She grins. Slow and sharp. “That’s a yes.”

From that moment on, you’re Sombrita.

She uses it everywhere. Says it with a smirk, like it’s an inside joke only she’s in on. She teases you with it in front of the others. Whispers it under her breath as she walks past.

You don’t correct her.

She knows your coffee order by the end of the week even though you never told her. Hands it to you without fanfare one morning. Just a paper cup and a look. Like she’s waiting for something to break.

It doesn’t. Not on the outside.

She wanders into a crowd of fans, photographers and noise. You’re beside her before she realizes she’s drifted too far.

She veers off schedule. You’re at the next checkpoint without a word.

Eventually, she starts pretending you don’t exist. But narrates your presence like it’s a game.

“And here comes mi sombrita,” she says once, as you appear in a doorway.

“Silently judging my existence.”

Her teammates laugh. She watches you from the corner of her eye.

You never laugh back.

The third time she tries to ditch you, it’s raining.

She slips out a side door after training, hoodie pulled up, steps quiet. Like she’s testing you again.

You find her half a block away, hands jammed in her pockets, shoulders hunched.

You reach out, catch her arm. Gentle, but firm.

“Don’t.”

She startles, pulls back.

“Jesus. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“You’re not cleared to leave alone.”

“I’m going to get coffee.”

“Take me with you.”

She scoffs. “I’m not five.”

You hold her gaze. Calm. Unflinching.

“I know.”

Something in your tone slows her down. Makes her look at you like she’s seeing you for the first time.

She doesn’t argue again.

You’ve guarded politicians, CEOs, criminals with targets on their backs. You’ve been shot at, stalked, followed.

None of them ever looked at you like this.

Like they’re waiting for you to crack. Like they want to know what’s behind the armor.

You avoid reacting. That’s protocol.

She makes it difficult.

You’re at your usual post in the lobby when she appears beside you without a sound.

"Ever wonder if you’re the threat?" she asks, eyes fixed ahead.

You turn your head. She’s closer than she should be. Close enough to count her lashes.

“Every day,” you say.

You step back before she can respond.

For once, she doesn’t have a comeback.

Two weeks in, she pushes too far.

It’s post-match chaos. Adrenaline. She’s been fouled hard, and it shows. She barrels past you, muttering curses under her breath, knocks over a table full of water bottles. The PR team flinches.

You follow. Not too close. Just enough.

She stops. Spins on you.

“You gonna give me a time-out now?”

You don’t answer.

“Maybe call my mom? Tell her I’m being difficult?”

Still silent.

“Seriously Sombra, what’s the endgame here? You gonna follow me into the shower next?”

You cross your arms. Don’t flinch.

She storms past. “Fuck you.”

Your voice follows her. Low. Steady.

“I don’t care if you like me. I care if you stay alive.”

She stops mid-step and the hallway holds its breath.

“I don’t need saving.” She says quietly.

You say nothing.

This time, she walks away slower.

You don’t follow right away.

The next morning, she strolls into training like nothing happened. Yawns too loud. Tosses a ball toward your feet like it’s a peace offering disguised as mockery.

You pick it up. Toss it back.

No words.

She grins like she won something.

Maybe she did.

She disappears after a match. For thirty minutes, your pulse climbs by degrees. You check every room. Sweep the perimeter. Quiet panic simmering under your skin.

You find her outside. Alone on a bench. Hoodie pulled up, headphones in, eyes closed.

You sit beside her. Not close. Just there.

She doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t move.

“You’re late,” she murmurs.

You sigh.

Of course she notices.

[ijustwannabecool]

It’s Just a Word, Right?

Lewis Hamilton x wife!reader

Summary... After a chaotic doubleheader weekend, Lewis returns home ready to unwind. But when their son repeats a word from the paddock at school, it sparks a parenting clash that cuts deeper than expected.

✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩

The smell of dinner hits Lewis before he’s even stepped out of the car.

It’s been two races back-to-back; Imola and Monaco. He flew home straight from debrief, wearing the same Ferrari jacket he left the circuit in. There’s still engine grease under his nails and a faint scuff mark on his cheek from a chaotic media pen scrum.

He’s not even through the front door when Sofia barrels into his legs, arms wrapped around him, curls wild and still a little sticky with honey.

“Hi, Daddy!”

Lewis lifts her easily, pressing a kiss to her cheek as Y/N calls from the kitchen, “Wash your hands first! Dinner’s just about done!”

Leo and Mateo are already at the table, perched in their chairs with plates of rice, roasted chicken, and steamed veggies in front of them. Y/N is cutting up Sofia’s portion, still dressed in her tank and joggers, looking like home.

Everything feels right.

Until Leo opens his mouth.

“I don’t want any more fucking broccoli.”

Silence.

Y/N freezes mid-slice.

Lewis pauses, mid-hand-wash, eyes flicking to his son with disbelief. He almost laughs. Almost.

“Leo,” Y/N says, voice sharp, calm, but barely.

Leo shrugs, poking a carrot with his fork. “Uncle Toto said it when he dropped the sandwich.”

Lewis chokes on air.

Y/N’s eyes laser in on him like she’s about to start qualifying laps around his ass. “Uncle Toto said it?”

Lewis wipes his hands on a dish towel, walking toward the table slowly. “Babe, c’mon, Toto probably did say it. I’ve heard him swear in six languages.”

“I don’t care if he said it in Morse code. Our son just said it at the dinner table,” she snaps.

Lewis crouches down beside Leo, trying to keep his tone light. “Where’d you hear that, really, bud?”

Leo looks up at him, completely unbothered. “The garage. You said it when the rear jack didn’t lock.”

Y/N doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t need to.

Lewis sighs. “Okay. That one’s on me.”

“It’s always on you,” she mutters under her breath, gathering up the juice cups.

Leo starts chewing on a breadstick like it’s no big deal, but Mateo whispers, “You’re in trouble.”

Sofia nods solemnly beside him, eyes wide.

“We don’t say that word, baby,” Y/N says gently to Leo, crouching to his level. “Not at school, not at home, not anywhere. It’s not kind.”

“But Daddy says it all the time,” Leo says, frowning. “You do too when your computer crashes.”

Y/N blinks.

Lewis snorts and instantly masks it with a cough.

“Oh my God, don’t laugh,” she says, shooting him a glare. “You’re the reason he told his whole class the brake pedal was ‘fucking toast.’ Do you know how many calls I got?”

“It was toast,” Lewis defends. “I almost put the car into the wall at 305 KPH an hour because someone didn’t torque the—”

“Lewis.” Her voice is warning enough.

He stands, frustrated but biting his tongue. “It’s a word. He didn’t hit anyone. He didn’t steal anything. He just... he just repeated something I said. I’ll talk to him.”

“You’re not getting it.”

“No, babe, you’re not getting it.” His voice sharpens. “They already live in a world where everyone watches them because of me. I just want them to feel normal, not like they’re walking on eggshells every time they say something wrong.”

Y/N’s jaw tightens. “And you think letting them swear is normal?”

“I think letting them be kids is normal.”

“You want them to be kids, or you just want to feel better about the fact you barely see them two weekends a month during the season?”

It slips. She doesn’t mean for it to. But it cuts through him like a wing mirror shattering.

Lewis stiffens. Silence falls again.

Sofia stabs a carrot with her little fork. “Mummy’s mad.”

Leo nods. “Like when the blender exploded.”

Lewis just walks away, back into the hallway, jaw clenched. He doesn't slam the door. Doesn’t yell.

He just sits on the stairs for a second. Breathing.

Two minutes later, Y/N follows, guilt already rising in her throat like a lump of gravel.

“I didn’t mean that,” she says quietly, sitting beside him.

Lewis doesn’t look at her. “Maybe you did.”

She places her hand on his knee. “I get frustrated. But you’re a good dad, Lew. The best. I just want to raise them right. Not like we were.”

Lewis finally looks at her. His voice is quieter now. “I want that too.”

They sit like that for a moment. Side by side.

From the kitchen, a sudden giggle erupts.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Mateo!” Y/N yells.

Lewis sighs. “Oh, come on.”

“I will end you,” she says, already getting up.

He catches her hand before she storms off, and grins, sheepish. “Still want to kiss me later?”

She glares. “Wash your mouth out with soap first.”

-------

flashback

It was years ago.

Pre-kids. Pre-marriage. Pre-Ferrari red. Just a messy hotel room in Monaco, the scent of champagne in the air, and Lewis Hamilton flat on his back, one arm draped over his eyes.

Y/N stood by the open window, robe half-tied, eyes on the Riviera lights below.

“You ever think about kids?” she asked, barely above the hum of traffic and late-night waves.

Lewis didn’t answer right away. She turned and saw it in his face, tension. Not the kind he got before a race, but the kind that lived in the cracks of a past he never talked about much.

He lowered his arm. “Not really.”

She climbed into bed beside him, soft and slow, tracing a finger down the lion tattoo on his chest. “Why not?”

He looked at her then, eyes dark and serious. “Because I wouldn’t know how to be a dad. Not a real one.”

“You had one.”

“Exactly.”

Silence.

Then he added, quieter, “I don’t want to be the kind of father I had. Detached. Controlling. The guy who showed up to take credit but never stayed long enough to do the work.”

Y/N rested her head on his chest. “Then don’t be.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is. Love them more than you hate the way you were raised. That’s how you break it.”

He closed his eyes, breathing her in like she was the only real thing in the world. “I don’t want to mess up a kid.”

She kissed his chest. “Then maybe don’t have one with just anyone.”

Lewis huffed a laugh, eyes opening. “What, and have one with you?”

She smiled. “You’d be lucky.”

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his face in her hair. “Don’t tempt me.”

---------

The house was quiet.

The kids were finally asleep. Mateo tucked in with his dinosaur nightlight, Sofia curled up with a plush lion, and Leo sprawled across his bed like he fought demons in his sleep.

Y/N padded into the ensuite bathroom, her hair pulled into a loose bun, a soft cotton robe tied around her waist. She was brushing her teeth when she felt Lewis’s presence before she saw him.

His reflection met hers in the mirror, shirtless, boxers riding low on his hips, tattoos stark in the dim bathroom lighting.

“You still mad?” he asked, voice low and rough.

She spit into the sink, rinsed her mouth, and turned. “A little.”

Lewis stepped closer, caging her in with one hand on the counter behind her. “Want me to make it up to you?”

She didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow.

“I mean,” he murmured, lips brushing her cheek, “I could wash my mouth out with soap… or I could use it on you.”

That did it.

Y/N shoved his chest, half-laughing, half-annoyed, but he caught her wrist mid-push, twisting it gently until her back hit the bathroom counter.

Lewis leaned in, lips grazing her jaw. “You love when I’m like this.”

“You’re a menace,” she whispered, but her thighs were already squeezing together.

“I’m your menace.”

He kissed her slow at first, maddeningly so. Then his hands were on her hips, sliding her robe open, parting the fabric until it slipped from her shoulders and pooled on the tile.

Lewis sank to his knees without a word, palms dragging down her sides until they gripped behind her thighs.

“Still want to punish me?” he asked, looking up at her from under those lashes.

She smirked. “Only if you beg.”

He grinned. “Bet.”

--------

The bathroom lights are still on, casting a soft glow into the bedroom where they’ve ended up, a trail of clothes and discarded thoughts leading from one room to the next.

Y/N is sprawled across Lewis’s chest, her cheek pressed to the lion ink she’s always loved, the one she used to trace when she was just his girlfriend sneaking into hotel rooms under fake names.

His fingers draw slow circles on her back, steady and grounding.

“Still mad at me?” he asks, voice low and rough with the edges of sleep.

Y/N hums. “Not really. You were right… kind of.”

“Kind of?” he repeats, smiling.

“You’re a good dad, Lew.”

He doesn’t respond right away. He just holds her tighter, like if he doesn’t, she might vanish. Then he speaks, quiet and real.

“I always thought I’d mess this up,” he says. “I used to tell myself I didn’t want a family because I couldn’t handle it. Because the paddock was my whole life, and anything outside of it felt… far.”

Y/N lifts her head to look at him, eyes soft. “And now?”

He gazes at her. “Now it feels like the rest of my life is the time between coming home to you.”

Something about the way he says it makes her chest ache.

Lewis continues, almost like he needs to get it out. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. I still panic when they cry too hard. I still think I’ll say the wrong thing. But I love them. God, I love them.”

“They know,” she says. “Every time you hug them, every time you show up, even when you’re exhausted. They know.”

Lewis swallows hard. “Sometimes I think about that night in Monaco. You remember?”

“The one with the robe and the champagne?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “I said I’d never be a dad. Said I’d ruin a kid.”

Y/N brushes her fingers along his cheek. “And now you’ve got three who think the sun rises because you told it to.”

His laugh is quiet. A little broken. Full of disbelief.

She kisses him gently, murmuring against his lips, “You didn’t ruin anything, Lew. You built this. You built us.”

They lie in silence for a while, nothing but the hum of the house and the softness between them.

Then he whispers, “You’re still a bitch, though.”

Y/N laughs, swats at his chest, and lets herself fall back into him with a sigh. “Yeah, well. You married one.”

“And I’d do it again tomorrow.”

--------

The end.

[sweetstrawberryys]

"She’s In Labor (Again?!)"

–Part 1: Code Red: She's in Labor.

Summary: Your water breaks, and Task Force 141 loses what’s left of their minds. One’s panicking, one’s too calm, one’s Googling things he really shouldn’t… and the baby hasn’t even arrived yet.

Rating: chaos, fluff, found family madness

Masterlist

---

“GUYS—SHE’S IN LABOR!”

Gaz’s voice echoed through the base like a bomb went off.

Soap, halfway through biting into a sandwich, dropped it immediately. “What?! Now?! She wasn’t due ‘til next week!”

“She said her back hurt, then she made that face—you know the face!” Gaz was already sprinting toward your room like the world was ending.

Ghost looked up from the corner. “We talking full contractions or emotional spiral?”

“FULL CONTRACTIONS, YOU TWIG!” Gaz shouted back.

Soap bumped into a chair, cursed, then tripped over his own bootlace. “What do we do?! Do I boil water?! Isn’t that a thing?!”

“You’re not making pasta, Johnny!”

Price appeared in the hallway, utterly calm, like he wasn’t hearing World War III erupt in the barracks. “Someone grab the go-bag. Get her in the car. We trained for this.”

“We talked about it,” Gaz corrected, “for, like, ten minutes—months ago!”

“She said she felt a pop,” Soap added breathlessly, “I think that’s the part where the baby’s like, ‘I’m coming!’”

Ghost calmly shut his book. “You lot are hopeless. I’ll carry her.”

Gaz held up a phone. “I Googled what to do, it says she needs to—wait. Wait, this is an article about cows—”

“GIVE ME THAT!”

Reader stood in the hallway doorway, doubled over slightly but clearly unimpressed. “Why is everyone yelling?”

They all froze.

“You—are you okay?” Price stepped forward, voice gentler now.

You nodded. “Yes. Contractions started. My water broke. I’m not dying. Stop looking like that.”

Soap nodded rapidly. “Right, right—okay, you’re fine, but also not, because the baby is coming and we are not fine!”

“Car’s ready,” Ghost added, already scooping you up like it was nothing.

“Why does he get to carry her?” Soap muttered.

“I will bodycheck you into a wall,” Ghost said pleasantly.

As they loaded you into the truck, the yelling continued.

“She’s breathing weird, is that normal?”

“That’s called labor, you idiot!”

“Did anyone bring snacks?! What if she’s hungry?!”

Price got in last, shutting the door behind him. “Everyone. Breathe.”

You grabbed his hand. “You’re the only sane one here.”

He smirked. “Someone has to be.”

And as the engine roared and Soap started yelling about speed limits and Gaz kept asking where the charger for the speaker went, Ghost leaned back in his seat and sighed.

“Next time, I’m staying home.”

[dailynnt]

──── A QUARREL, ALCOHOL AND YOU...

𓏭 Summary: You furious. The fight at the party still reverberates in your head, but instead of forgetting about him, you stands at his door at five in the morning, drunk, stubborn, and still hurt.

𓏭 Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook/Y/N

𓏭 Age restrictions: 18+

𓏭 Size: one shot

𓏭 Tags: from friends to lovers, sex, unprotected sex, sex while drunk, swearing, sexual tension, detailed description of intimate scenes

𓏭 From author: Don't blame me for writing about it again 🤭 I don't know what you should do with me, but I adore the theme of friends/lovers and just couldn't resist writing something about it again. I described Jungkook here as always cocky and persistent because ....ummm I love this kind of Jungkook 😌😃 I hope you like this story 👉🏻👈🏻 If you don't, just pass by 🙏🏻

Your mind is foggy. You don't know how you ended up here. When the taxi driver asked where to take you, you told him the address of his apartment. You get out of the car and smell the warm smell of a summer morning. You bang the car door and take a deep breath. "How annoying," you think. You hear the sound of the engine and the black Hyundai drives away.

You stagger to the entrance. Your steps were determined, if a little shaky, as you approached the familiar house. Your fingers nervously clutched the phone, but you weren't going to call him. He wasn't expecting you anyway.

It's almost five in the morning, and he's long since left the party you two were at. However, you didn't know when exactly he did it. You had a fight and you were one hundred percent sure it was all his fault. He could be surprised to see you. And he certainly won't expect see you right now to be drunk.

You've come to tell him what a rare asshole he is, even though he's your best friend.

The glass doors of the entrance slammed shut on some man who stepped outside, but you didn't even slow down, just pulled out your phone and quickly dialed the access code. A short beep, a click, and the door opened smoothly. The guard on the ground floor didn't pay you any attention. He had seen you here many times, leaving in the morning or staying late. You were best friends and you were a frequent guest in his apartment.

The elevator took you to the right floor. The metal booth reflected your reflection - slightly disheveled hair, a blush from drinking alcohol, a twinkle in your eye. You didn't even try to hide your emotions.

You reached apartment number 130 and knocked on the door, desperately and demandingly. You leaned on the wall near the front door with your hand to steady your relaxed body.

You don't know how long it took before his apartment door opened. You looked up. Your friend was standing on the threshold, shirtless in just shorts, looking at you in surprise. You slowly ran your eyes over his figure and smiled slightly. You paid attention to the tattoo that covered his right arm. He was hot as hell with that tattoo and perfect abs.

"Didn’t sleep, asshole?" - You asked cheekily. Jungkook tilted his head and hummed softly. He looked down at you, and his eyes showed a familiar irritation mixed with hidden amusement.

"You had a great time, I see." - His voice was low, hoarse from sleep. He crossed his arms over his chest, and you involuntarily ran your eyes down his torso again, a little longer than you should have.

"It's none of your business." - You pushed off the doorjamb and took a step forward, unsteadily. Jungkook effortlessly caught your elbow, stabilizing you.

"Yeah, not mine." - He raised one eyebrow. "It's just my drunken friend standing on my doorstep at five in the morning, calling me names for no reason." - He said, still holding you, his touch soft on your skin. You were wearing a light summer dress with straps, his favorite black color. You abruptly pulled your hand away and, taking a deep breath, straightened up again.

"Not without reason. I came to tell you that you're a real brat. I thought you were my friend, but you're an asshole..." - Your head was spinning from the amount of alcohol you'd drunk.

"Really?" - His lips stretched into a smile. "And you had to skip a few cocktails to come at such a time and say it?" - You rolled your eyes, but he stepped aside, letting you inside. "Come on in before the neighbors decide to call security." - He said. You walked proudly past him, bumping him with your shoulder. The apartment smelled like him - citrus, light notes of expensive perfume, and something cozy, homey.

Jungkook closed the door and turned to you, his gaze a little more serious.

"You didn't come to talk about the same thing again, did you?" - Jungkook asked, alluding to the fight that happened between the two of you at the party you went together. You were angry with your friend for dumping you for some girl, even though he supposedly came with you to that fucking party. You turned to him sharply.

"That's right, Jeon. We didn't finish talking because you ran off right away. I honestly didn't know you were such a sensitive soul." - You said sarcastically. "Anyway, you were acting like a complete idiot!"

He frowned and hummed in confusion.

"A sensitive soul? Are you talking about me right now? You were the one who started this fight." - Your friend reminded you, approaching you. You ignored his irritated tone.

"You came with me to that damn party. Do you think you had the right to sit with that slut?" - You ask, your tongue almost tangled. You're a little unsteady. His lips stretch into an amused smile.

"Wait..." - He took a step toward you. "Are you jealous?"

You clenched your fists, feeling the heat of his proximity.

"What jealousy Kook?" - You shouted, waving your hand in front of his face. "You dumped me, it's obvious I'm angry. You know I'm only went to this fucking party because you dragged me there."

Jungkook couldn't stop laughing. His laughter made you even angrier.

"Are you serious?!" - You took a step toward him, jabbing your finger at his bare chest. "This makes you laugh?!" - Jungkook caught your hand, and his fingers closed around your wrist in a hot fist. He was still smiling, but his eyes were getting darker by the second.

"You amuse me." - His voice dropped a tone lower. You jerked hand, but he didn't let go. On the contrary, he pulled you even closer, forcing your conversation to become too intimate.

"I dragged you there so you could have fun and take a break from your hard work... But if so, you should have told me right away that you wanted me for yourself." - You became almost sober in the moment. Jungkook was standing close and you didn't think that your conversation could come to this.

"What?!" - You stared at him, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks.

"Well, how could it not?" - Jungkook leaned in, his lips almost touching your cheekbone. "I'm not supposed to sit with other girls because my friend is jealous? Is that how you explain your claims and this ridiculous fight at the party?"

"I wasn't jealous, you left me alone, it made me angry..." - You're trying to justify yourself, or rather you're trying to prove him your right, but he seems to see the situation the way he wants to see it.

"Do you even believe what you're saying?" - He asks. His voice has gone even lower. He has you pinned between his body and the wall in the hallway leading to the living room of his apartment. There was something dangerous in his eyes. "Because right now you look like a girl who was definitely jealous."

You held your breath as his fingers slowly slid along your shoulder, lightly touching your bare skin.

"What are you doing? Jungkook, get away from me." - You wanted your voice to sound firm, but it trembled.

"I don't want to." - His lips slid down, his warm breath brushing against your neck. "For that matter, I'm curious about what happens next." - His touch was driving you crazy. A hot wave ran through your body, and your breath hitched.

"You're taking advantage of me being drunk!" - You tried to shame him. But he probably was drinking too, because he drank at that party. You didn't expect that when you went to your friend to settle things, he would start hitting on you.

"Isn't that what you came for?" - His breath left hot marks on your body. No, that's not why you came. Or...? You held your breath as you felt his arm slide around your waist, making your heart beat faster. Jungkook leaned even closer, so that your breath mingled with his. His lips slid lower, leaving a hot trail on your neck. He didn't kiss you or anything, you felt him slowly inhale your scent.

You pressed your hands against his chest, trying to keep your distance, but he was unyielding. His fingers tightened around your waist, pressing your body closer.

"I came here to fight with you, not..." - You couldn't continue because you heard his voice next to your ear.

"Not what?" - He whispered next to your ear and then lightly bit your earlobe. You sucked in a shaky breath.

"Jungkook..." - You called out to him. Either to stop him or to ask him to continue.

"Shh..." - His hand gently brushed the curve of your back. "This is what you want. So don't pretend you don't like it."

You knew you had to break free, to tell him that this was wrong, that he was crossing the line. That you were friends and he shouldn't touch you like that. But your body didn't listen. His touch burned you, left you defenseless.

His lips finally found yours. You thought it was a dream. A dream you've had a thousand times. But his lips were real.

At first he kissed you teasingly, slowly, as if giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn't. So he broke in more greedily, deeper, forcing your fingers to clutch his skin. The piercing on his lip felt good as he deepened the kiss. His tongue entered your mouth because you easily let it happen. His naked torso pressed against you. His hand had already slipped under the hem of your light summer dress and squeezed your flesh on your buttocks.

"That's why you were angry..." - He murmured against your lips, barely pulling away. "Because you wanted me to be with you." His fingers slid over your shoulder, pushing the strap of your dress down. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll stop." - His voice was husky, full of dark desire. You opened your lips, trying to answer him, but instead of words, only a heavy exhalation came out. Jungkook smiled. "That's what I thought."

Jungkook leaned in again, his lips pressing against your neck, leaving wet marks. His breathing was heavy, almost lighting a fire in your body. He ran a long, wet streak across your skin as if savoring it.

"A little uncomfortable for what I want to do." - He muttered as he gently picked you up by your hips. You let out a small cry. You barely managed to grab onto his shoulders as he lifted you into his arms. His strength had always amazed you, but now it seemed even more palpable as his fingers held you steady, as if you weighed nothing.

"Kook!" - You gasped as he easily pushed off the wall and carried you deeper into the apartment.

"Don't be afraid, I won't drop you." - He assures you, but you are not afraid. You trust him, as you have hundreds of times before. You just didn't expect this.

He walked into the living room, confidently, never taking his dark gaze off you. His eyes were burning, but there was still that playful spark in them that you knew.

"You're so..." - You muttered, not taking your eyes off of him. You couldn't see where he was taking you.

"Like what?" - He asked, sitting down on the couch and putting you on his lap.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. The distance between you was tiny. His hands held you tightly, one on your back and the other on your hip. You felt his every move, his every breath.

"Unbearable." - You said. He laughed softly and ran his fingers along your naked back, making you shudder.

"But you like it, don't you?" - His voice sounded deeper, with undisguised playfulness. You didn't answer, because the next moment his lips were on yours again, hot and demanding, making you forget everything.

Jungkook pressed your body closer to him, his fingers biting into your skin, leaving a hot trail. His lips moved boldly over yours, he took his time, savoring every touch, making your heart beat even faster.

"You taste so sweet..." - He murmured, moving to your jaw and then down to the sensitive spot on your neck.

You felt his palms slide slowly down your back, lifting the fabric of your dress. Your breath hitched, and you instinctively squeezed his shoulders, feeling the hot skin beneath your fingers.

"We can't do this..." - You said, breathing heavily. Your voice was trembling. You weren't supposed to do this because you were... friends?

"Shh..." - He hissed against your lips. He brushed the tip of his nose lightly across your cheekbone. "I want to savor this moment." - Jungkook has discovered that you're not wearing a bra and he smiles with satisfaction. He moves away and removes his hands from under your dress. His fingers catch the thin straps and pull them down. He pulls your dress down and it comes together on your stomach. Your breasts are exposed.

He wastes no time in taking one of your tits in his hands and squeezing it, and you instantly feel aroused. He bends down and you feel his wet tongue on your excited nipple. He tastes it, sucks it, plays with it. You moan softly. There is a pleasant pain in your lower abdomen that can only be stopped by creating some friction. Your thong is bunched up and the moisture between your legs seems to be leaking onto his black shorts.

When Jungkook slides his hand between your bodies and finds your clit, you tremble in his lap. He starts massaging it while sucking on your nipple.

Suddenly, he stops sucking your nipple, but he doesn't leave your needy clit. You can't stop shivering from the feel of his fingers. Jungkook stimulates your sensitive center until you come on his fingers. You squeeze his flesh on his strong shoulders, moaning against his face.

He withdraws his finger and leans back, pressing your hips with his hands even tighter against him, and then tilts his head relaxedly, watching you.

"I'm your friend... Why are you trembling in my arms?" - He asked. His words burned you and made you close your eyes.

"Because you're not acting like a friend." - You breathe out, swallowing the lump in your throat and still feeling the orgasm he caused with his fingers.

"Maybe you want to stop?" - Jungkook ask. His palms slowly slid down your thighs, and his fingers gently but firmly squeezed your skin. He looked up, looking you straight in the eyes, and his dark pupils reflected the same fire that was now burning in you. Obviously, you can't stop, not now. So you keep quiet, just enjoy what's happening.

He thrusts his hips and you hold your breath, only now realizing how hard he is. His bulge presses against your wet pussy. You inhale and start riding his hips yourself. The feeling of friction is good. Jungkook looks absolutely lustfully at his friend, who is shamelessly riding on his lap, trying to have a second orgasm.

You dig your nails into his shoulders.

"Does that feel good, sweetie?" - He asks, admiring your expression. Your eyes are closed. Your eyebrows are furrowed in bliss and your hair is standing on end. Your hair is disheveled and you're so fucking sexy.

"Yes..." - You say confidently, feeling like you're on the verge. You're about to come for the second time today. You jump on his lap, bringing yourself to orgasm. Your clit twitches and bliss covers you with a new wave of sweet bliss. You let out a louder moan and Jungkook's cock twitches at your sounds.

You stop and breathe heavily. You open your eyes and see Jungkook's gaze filled with unbridled desire. You suddenly panic, realizing that you just came just riding his hard bulge. But Jungkook seems to see this and instantly pulls you in for a kiss. His hand is on your neck, squeezing so that you don't have a chance to pull away. But you didn't even want to.

Jungkook puts you down on the couch and hovers over you. He kisses your neck. Your breathing is ragged and you feel like you're getting wet again, harder and more.

"I want to fuck you." - He says his desire into your lips. You open your eyes and see him so close. "You'll let me?" - He asks, and he sounds innocent. You want to swallow your saliva, but your throat is dry. You let him, because you want that he to do it.

"Yes." - You say shortly but confidently, squeezing his skin a little with excitement. Jungkook smiles with satisfaction.

"Yes? Do you thought well about it?" - Jungkook asks another question, which throws you into a stupor. His eyes are dark, and his smile becomes cocky. He deliberately doesn't look away, as if he's studying you, catching every little change in your expression. "If you say yes now... there will be no turning back."

Your heart beats faster. He says this in such a playful yet dangerous tone that you feel a mix of excitement and impatience.

"You think I don't realize that?" - Your voice sounds confident, but he seems to hear a slight tremor. Jungkook leans closer, his lips almost touching yours.

"I just want you to be sure..." - He runs his nose along your jaw and then, with a sly smile, bites the skin somewhere between your jaw and neck. "Because once I start..." - He pauses deliberately, his breath mingling with yours. "I won't be able to stop."

You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling his voice burn your skin.

"And who says I want you to stop?" - You ask even more confidently. You wanted him to fuck you as soon as this game between you started. Jungkook laughs softly before his lips cover yours in a passionate, deep kiss. His tongue takes over yours and sets the pace for your kiss.

Jungkook suggests that you move to his bedroom for more comfort, and you don't mind. Not even a minute later, you're already kissing as you move to his bedroom. When you reach the bed, he gently puts you down and climbs on top of you. You spread your legs so that he can fit comfortably between them.

When he has enjoyed your plump lips enough, he starts to undress you. He doesn't like any of your clothes. So it takes less than twenty seconds for you to lie completely naked in front of your friend. Your breasts rise and fall quickly. Goosebumps cover your body and you know for sure that they are not from the summer chill of the morning that comes in through the open window in his bedroom. They are provoked by Jungkook's touch.

He runs his fingers over your body, drawing patterns that only he can understand. He lingers a few seconds longer at your nipples. He pinches one of them, making you hiss in pain.

"Fuck, I've imagined this picture so many times, but who knew you were so fucking hot in real life?" - Jungkook asks, and you don't know if this question is addressed to you. He glances at your wet pussy and the next moment his fingers are on it.

He gently runs his fingers over your clit and you tremble again. And then his fingers plunge into your passage. You want to squeeze your legs together to endure the sensation, but Jungkook's other hand is spreading your legs. You grab the sheets and dig your nails into the fabric.

"So wet, so tight... I need to fill you up soon, baby." - Jungkook says, and you let out a barely audible moan in agreement with his words. You can't wait.

When Jungkook decides you're stretched out enough, he gets off the bed and quickly pulls off his shorts, which he wasn't wearing underwear under. Only now, looking at his aroused cock, do you realize that it felt so good through the fabric of his shorts because he was wearing nothing else.

Jungkook hurries over to you. You can see his hard cock. It bounces as Jungkook moves toward you.

You wriggle with anticipation as he takes your legs and drapes them over his shoulders, settling in close to his entrance. He smears your wetness with his fingers, and then rolls his cock with his hand and places it against your entrance.

Jungkook presses against your passage and slowly plunges in. When the head of his cock reaches the place where the hymen used to be, you scream softly, squeezing his biceps harder. He stops to look at your face. Jungkook leans in and you feel his lips on yours.

He kisses you, a little hastily but gently. You feel him twitch, and after a moment, your friend continues to sink into you. He continues to kiss you, as if to distract you from penetration. His size hurts you, but when he reaches the end, he parted your lips and you both exhale blissfully.

"That feels good, doesn't it, baby?" - He asks against your lips.

"Hell…yeah." - You assure him. Jungkook gives a gentle thrust with his hips and you can't help but think about how wonderful he is filling you with his cock. You squeeze his biceps to ease the pain that's still a little present. But with each new thrust of Jungkook's hips, you realize that the pain is disappearing, giving way to only pleasant pleasure.

Jungkook fucks you slowly, deeply. You enjoy the friction he creates, your eyes are closed and moans escape your lips. You can hear your bodies hitting each other, and it feels so natural, like you're having sex all the time, not for the first time.

Jungkook stops and you open your eyes. He's smiling, and you don't know why he's doing it.

Jungkook leans in closer, sliding his nose along your cheek before pressing his lips to your ear.

"What?" - You ask, feeling him stiffen inside you, and his smile seemingly widen.

"Just... I feel like I'm setting a new record. I've never seen you like this..."

"Like what?" - You squeeze his skin a little harder, suspecting he's about to do something.

"Like this..." - He pauses, pretending to search for a word. "Pleased with my, um, talent."

You snort, trying to stifle a laugh, but he immediately gives you a short but deep thrust, making you forget what it was that made you laugh so hard.

"Jungkook!" - You hiss, and he cheekily kisses you on the lips.

"Tell me, what's my grade? Ten out of ten?" - He moves again, driving his cock deeper into you. You can't answer even if you wanted to. All you do is moan and dig your nails into his skin on your back. Jungkook presses his body against you, pulling your legs up under his press before doing so. He whispers right into your lips.

"You're holding me like you're afraid I'm going to run away." - He says in a low voice. You roll your eyes, finding the strength to speak, but stutter a little with pleasure.

"Maybe I am. What if you decide to go get a drink of water and don't come back?" - You say your opinion. Jungkook stops and you look at his eyes.

He laughs hoarsely, grabs you tightly by the hips, and without taking his hands off you, rolls you over so that you are now on top.

"I'm definitely not going anywhere. How can I leave this juicy, tight pussy without cumming around my cock?" - He asks. You try to put on an offended face, but all you can manage is a weary smile. He squeezes your hips to guide you where he wants you to go.

"I thought so." - You say. You can't help but laugh between contented sighs, because he's so cocky, so confident, that you just don't have the strength to resist. But you don't seem to want to. You slowly lean in closer, touching your lips to his ear, and whisper:

"So maybe you'll set another new record?" - You ask seductively and give a slow, deep thrust with your hips. Jungkook can barely contain his moan. Your fingers slowly scratch his chest.

"Yes, baby." - His voice is deep, hoarse, and full of desire. "I'm going to fuck you until you beg for mercy." - He promises. But you huff a mocking humor and deliberately rock your hips slowly, making him close his eyes and squeeze your waist tighter.

"You think you can promise that now?" - You ask. Jungkook opens his eyes, and you see something dangerous, something devilish in them. His hands go down to your hips, squeezing them so tightly that you can barely hold back a shudder.

"I can..." - He suddenly rises up on his elbows, then sits down, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning into your ear, whispering hotly. "I can do everything and even more... hold on tight, because I won't stop until you beg."

You don't even have time to respond, because he rolls you onto your back and abruptly changes the rhythm, forcing your lips to reach for his skin in an attempt to drown out the pleasure that is overwhelming you.

Jungkook fucks you mercilessly, making you moan loudly. He liked how you tried to dominate him, tempting him to prove that he could fuck you well. And he was proving it. His cock is deep inside you, and it's just perfect. The sinful sounds of your bodies hitting each other is a delight to his ears. Your moans are the perfect melody.

You squeeze his shoulders, trying to somehow stay afloat amid the waves of pleasure he's mercilessly rolling over you.

"Kook..." - Your voice trembles, and he smiles, knowing that you're almost on the edge.

"What, baby?" - His voice sounds too pleased. You don't answer, just scratch him, and he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. "Tired?" - He asks.

"You're... too..." - You can't finish the sentence because he picks you up again in that passionate rhythm.

"Too what?" - Your friend asks mockingly. "Too good?" - You roll your eyes.

"Too cocky! As usual." - You barely say. He laughs, but doesn't stop. His hands slide hotly over your body, leaving marks that are only his. But you're both on the verge of coming. So Jungkook decides it's time to end it. He grabs your hands and holds them above your head. He intertwines your fingers and asks you to look into his eyes.

Jungkook leans even closer, so that his breath burns your skin and his eyes, full of passion, bore into yours. He squeezes your fingers tighter, pinning them to the pillow, and whispers with depth in his voice.

"Look at me. I want you to remember this moment. So that even when you become sober, you remember that I did it. That I gave you the greatest pleasure of your life by fucking you so well." - He says, and his words make you tremble even more, your eyes darken. You can't do anything but obey him, trust his every move, every hot touch. He doesn't look away, watching you dissolve in this whirlwind of sensations, your world shrinking to him alone.

And then there is an explosion.

A loud, all-encompassing explosion that makes you grab onto him even harder, as if he were your only support in this world. And he really doesn't let go. He just leans down to your ear when the last waves of pleasure subside and says with a smile pressed to your temples.

"You are mine now, baby. And you'll never be able to forget it." - He fucks you until he feels himself coming. He pulls out of you abruptly and his hot cum paints your stomach. You breathe heavily as you feel him spewing his cum. Finally, he stops and breathes heavily too.

You lie there trying to catch your breath as the realization of what just happened begins to wash over you. Jungkook gets off of you and goes to the bathroom, takes some napkins and brings them to you. He sits down next to you and wipes the rest of the cum off your stomach.

The air in the room is still hot from your shared madness, and Jungkook, who lies down and covers you with a sheet, looks at you with a subtle smile.

"You look like someone who's thinking: 'What the hell have I done?" - He says, leaning slightly on his elbow to see you better. You exhale sharply and cover your face with your hand.

"Shouldn't I be thinking that?" - You mutter through your fingers. Jungkook laughs and gently pulls your hand down, forcing you to look at him.

"Well, at least you had a good time." - He speaks for you, and you agree with him completely, even though you feel extremely ashamed.

"It’s doesn't help." - You roll your eyes, but the corners of your lips lift.

"Oh, so you wanted me to make it bad?" - He pretends to be offended, but there's laughter in his eyes. You sigh and mutter without looking at him.

"You're my best friend. We just... God." - You realize the gravity of the situation only now. Jungkook rolls over onto his back, putting one arm under his head.

"We just now fucked, yeah." - He picks up calmly. "And it was hot, you have to admit."

"Shut up!" - You raise yourself up on your elbows and then slap him on the shoulder.

"What? I'm just stating the facts." - He defends himself. You look at him, then groan and fall back on the pillow.

"Jungkook, this is wrong, right? We're friends..." - You say in desperation. He is silent for a few seconds, and then leans into you, hugging you. You stare at his handsome face.

"Honestly? I have no idea what this means for us…" - He admits. "But if you want to forget about it, I won't insist." - You look at him, and suddenly something in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

"What if I don't want to forget?" - You ask quietly.

"Then stay." - Jungkook says quietly and purses his lips. You swallow the lump in your throat and realize you don't want to leave.

You look at him, licking your dry lips, and Jungkook doesn't seem to take his eyes off you for a second.

He's waiting for your answer, but he doesn't push. He just runs his fingertips lightly along your forearm, as if he's testing you, as if he's checking to see if you're real.

"If I stay..." - You start, but your voice is a little shaky, so you pause.

"Then it's the right thing to do." - He prompts, as if reading your mind.

"How can I look you in the eye after all? A soon I’ll be sober…" - You confess. Jungkook smiles and squeezes your hand lightly.

"As usual. Don't to be afraid. It's me. Why would you find it hard to look me in the eye?" - Jungkook asked you. You curl your lips, trying not to let it show that these words make your heart race.

"It's not fair..." - You mutter softly.

"What?" - He leans in even closer, his lips almost touching yours.

"That you act like you have everything under control." - You say, closing your eyes. You hear Jungkook smile, and when he doesn't answer, you look at him. And something dangerous appears in his eyes, something not friendly at all.

"What if I've always wanted this to happen?" - He confesses. You open your eyes wide, but he doesn't let you say a word, just bites into your lips, pulling you into a new whirlpool where there is no room for doubt.

His lips are hot, insistent, but not hasty. He took his time, as if he knew you had plenty of time. His tongue barely touches yours, teasing you, forcing you to respond to this kiss as if it were a game you had already lost in advance.

Jungkook smiles as you pull him closer, tangling your fingers in his hair.

"So you don't want to leave after all?" - He asks between kisses, his voice husky, pleased.

"Shut up..." - You whisper, pulling him even closer, like you can't enjoy him enough.

He laughs, but obediently fulfills your request, finding your lips again. His arms wrap confidently around your body, leaving touches that you will feel even after he lets go. If he lets go. Jungkook breaks the kiss, looking at your face.

"How did you end up here at five in the morning anyway?" - He asks. You blink, not immediately realizing what he means.

"We had a fight... at that party... because you left me to go dancing with some girl." - You say quietly.

"I didn't dance with her." - Jungkook denies.

"But I saw her pulling you to dance." - You say what you saw with your own eyes.

"Yes, I went, but I didn't want to dance. We met Taehyung on the dance floor and I handed her over to him." - Jungkook tells what really happened. "I went outside to smoke and saw Jimin there, we were smoking and talking. And then I went to find you and you threw a tantrum." - You look away, realizing how absolutely ridiculous you've been. It was the alcohol. You were sure.

"I was... a little drunk." - You justified your behavior by blaming it on the alcohol. Jungkook raises an eyebrow.

"A little? You were pretty drunk even then." - He says. "I told you to eat something before drinking." - Jungkook complains. You bite your lip, and he laughs, running his fingers down your cheek.

"So I was right, then?" - He leans down to your ear, breathing warm air into it. "Besides, we've made up so well." - You rub your fingers over his shoulders, realizing that you can't deny that he was right.

"We didn't have to make up like that." - You still can't believe that this happened between you. Even though you can feel the phantom presence of Jungkook's cock.

"Come on. I'm glad you came, because now you're mine." - He says this and gently touches your lips, and you feel butterflies in your stomach. He pulls your lips apart and you exhale heavily, trying to gather your thoughts, but Jungkook won't let you. His touch is too light, his gaze too sure.

"I'm not yours." - You mumble stubbornly, though you don't even sound convincing in your own voice. Jungkook tilts his head to the side, his fingers sliding along your stomach, making you shudder.

"No?" - His voice is filled with mockery, mixed with that dangerous desire you've felt so well before. "You really want me to believe that?"

You swallow the lump in your throat, but still lift your chin stubbornly.

"We're friends." - You state, and it was once true. You were friends before tonight's hot sex.

"Friends don't do what we did." - He reminds you, leaning in so that his lips are dangerously close to yours again. "Friends don't come over at five in the morning to get mad over a stupid fight... and they definitely don't stay in bed afterwards."

You gasp for air as he brushes his nose across your cheek, teasing you.

"It was just...the alcohol." - You don't give up. Jungkook humors you.

"Then why are you still here?" - He asks you more rhetorically. He knows the answer and you know the answer. "I'll give you time to think, baby." - He whispers, letting you feel his smile on your skin. "But remember..." - He lingers at your ear, and his voice penetrates every cell in your body. "I'm not backing down. You're already mine. You just have to accept it."

[luvrgirl-f1]

behind the paddock walls

charles leclerc x verstappen!reader

summary: Max’s little sister has been secretly seeing Charles Leclerc behind the scenes. It’s getting harder to hide, and the couple navigates through a race weekend.

———————————————————————————

The paddock was buzzing. Monaco always had that unique energy—a pulse that beat faster than any other race weekend. The harbor shimmered in the sunlight, and the crowd buzzed like bees around a hive. And somewhere between the flashes of cameras and the quiet hum of engine talk, you were trying not to look too obviously in love with Charles Leclerc.

You leaned against the Red Bull hospitality wall, arms folded, pretending to listen as Max explained something about car setup and tire degradation. You loved your brother—really, you did—but he never knew when to stop talking about racing. Especially now that you were trying to keep your face neutral while your heart was doing somersaults just across the paddock.

Because just a few meters away, Charles was laughing with his Ferrari engineers, occasionally flicking his gaze over to you. Brief. Careful. But enough to ignite that familiar flutter in your chest.

He wasn’t supposed to look at you like that. Not here. Not when Max could turn his head at any moment and figure it all out.

You were Max Verstappen’s little sister. A year younger. Grew up in the same garage, around the same pit crews, used to the screech of tires and the scent of rubber. You were supposed to be off-limits. That unspoken code between drivers—don’t mess with each other’s families. And Charles… well, he’d tried to follow it.

Until he couldn’t anymore.

It had started in Singapore.

-FLASHBACK-

Singapore ‘24

You had wandered off from the Red Bull suite one evening, unable to sit through another round of championship strategizing. Charles had been walking back from media duties, tie half-loosened, and you’d crossed paths outside the paddock gates.

“I think we’re both trying to escape,” he said with a crooked grin.

You’d laughed. And then he’d asked if you wanted to walk.

It had been light and easy at first—talking about anything but racing. About books and late-night takeout, about growing up with pressure in your bones. You told him about how Max would always test drive your go-karts before you could, how you hated it but secretly loved knowing he cared.

Charles listened. And somewhere along that walk, something shifted.

It wasn’t a grand moment. Just a quiet pause. A glance that lasted a little too long. And then, with the softest uncertainty, he asked, “Is this okay?”

You kissed him before you could overthink it.

Now, months later, you were balancing this tightrope. Private texts. Hotel rooms booked under fake names. Glances that could burn if someone looked too closely.

You hated lying to Max. But you also knew what he’d say.

“Charles? Really? He’s the competition.”

Not just on track—but in every sense. Max had always been protective, and the idea of his sister falling for the guy he’d traded paint with more times than either of them could count? It wouldn’t end well.

But Charles was worth it. You saw him in ways others didn’t—when he’d call his mum after every race, no matter how late. When he’d panic over a chipped fingernail because it “looked unprofessional.” When he whispered in your ear, “You make all of this feel normal.”

The night before the race, you slipped out of the hotel through the service elevator. You wore a hoodie and sunglasses, even though it was dark.

Charles was waiting in the shadows, cap pulled low, hands buried in his pockets.

He grinned when he saw you. “Very incognito.”

You rolled your eyes and kissed him.

His apartment was quiet, tucked above the noise of Monaco’s nightlife. He poured wine, and you kicked off your shoes, curling into his side on the couch.

“Are we idiots?” you asked, watching the city lights through the window.

“Definitely,” he said. “But I’d be an idiot every day if it meant having this.”

You laughed softly, pressing your forehead to his chest. The silence between you wasn’t empty—it was warm, like a blanket wrapped around everything unsaid.

“I hate hiding,” you murmured. “I hate lying to him.”

Charles’s arms tightened around you. “I know. I do too.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I’ve been thinking,” he continued. “After the summer break… maybe we tell him. Give him time to cool off before the end of the season.”

You pulled back to look at him. “You’re serious?”

“I want to stop pretending. I want you with me—not just when no one’s looking.”

Your heart twisted, full and aching all at once. “Okay,” you whispered. “After the break.”

Race day came with its usual frenzy. Max was in pole. Charles right behind.

You watched from the Red Bull garage, nerves splitting you in half. You hated this part—the pretending. The cheering for Max, even while your heart pulled toward someone else.

Charles finished second. Max first. Champagne and celebrations. You saw them bump shoulders on the podium, competitive smiles masking a thousand unsaid things.

Later, in the hallway near the drivers’ room, you caught a quiet moment with Charles. Just a brush of fingers as you passed, your smile barely visible.

“I love you,” he mouthed.

You didn’t reply out loud. Just squeezed his hand once. That was enough.

For now.

———————————————————————————

part 2?

[charlesslut16]

-sharing a home forever-

summary : you and george move together into your shared apartment...

PAIRINGS : george russell x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : I hope that you will like this! I will answer the requests i have open but please request some more!

masterlist  

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The front door clicked shut behind you with a solid thud.

George exhaled dramatically and dropped the last box of items inside the doorway. “And just like that... we live together.”

You laughed loud and happily, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. Your dream apartment, which you now share with george. The apartment still echoed, your footsteps soft against the bare wood floor. 

The light shone faintly above, the walls were blank, and the air smelled faintly of cardboard, fresh paint, and a little nervous excitement. A smell that you welcomed.

The whole place looked more like a moving catalog than a home — but something about it already felt like yours. 

George, of course, was far too ready. He had a color-coded spreadsheet. A printed floor plan. Labels on everything. You caught a glimpse of one box marked “Living Room - Fragile - Place Second from Left Wall” and shook your head.

“Did you pack us or assemble a Formula One pit crew?”

He gave you an innocent smile. “Planning prevents panic.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re panicking.”

“I’m managing.”

You laughed and stepped closer, placing your hands on his chest. “George, the first box we open better have a kettle in it, or this relationship is already in danger.”

He pressed a hand over his heart. “I would never forget the kettle.”

True to his word, within twenty minutes, the two of you were perched on the floor, sipping mugs of tea in front of the giant living room window. The city lights blinked outside like stars caught in the wrong place. 

You pulled your hoodie tighter around yourself as the breeze slipped through the open window. But shortly after, a warmth filled you as you saw the sight of george in front of you.

George leaned back on his elbows beside you, stretching out his long legs with a satisfied sigh. “We actually did it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“We’re officially cohabiting.”

“Big word for a man who hasn’t figured out where the towels are.”

“Hey,” he shot back playfully. “I know exactly where they are. Box D7. Bathroom supplies. Top shelf.”

You blinked. “You alphabetized the boxes?”

“I am a man of order.”

You slid a hand up to cup his jaw. “You’re a man of mild insanity.”

He grinned, leaning into your touch. “And yet you chose me.”

“I must be worse off than I thought.”

-

Two hours later, you were building a bookshelf that had somehow become a three-person job. You and George made two. The cat you were fostering made a very unhelpful third.

“You’re not an engineer,” you said through gritted teeth as George turned the screwdriver in the wrong direction.

“I have a degree in mechanical engineering!”

“And yet the instructions clearly said two people needed, one being literate in IKEA.”

He groaned and dropped onto the floor beside you. “Okay. Maybe I’m better at cars than furniture.”

“Cars don’t come flat-packed.”

“Thankfully.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, both of you sweaty, laughing, slightly annoyed, and so happy it ached.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” he asked softly.

You turned your head. “What do you mean?”

“This… this kind of messy. You making fun of me. Me being deeply overconfident about tasks I can’t do.”

You tilted your face up to look at him, eyes warm. “I hope so.”

George looked at you like you’d hung the moon.

Then he leaned in and kissed you — the kind of kiss that said, we don’t have to be perfect; we just have to be us.

Later, when the bookshelf was finally standing (a little crooked), and you’d both changed into pajamas — him in a t-shirt and plaid sleep pants, you in his old hoodie and your bonnet tied snug — you crawled into a bed that was just a mattress on the floor.

No headboard. No decor. No rug underfoot.

And yet, George curled behind you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I like it here,” he whispered into the back of your neck.

You laced your fingers with his, pulling his arm tighter around you. “Even with the mess?”

“Because of it,” he murmured. “It’s not just a place now. It’s ours.”

You smiled in the dark.

No furniture, half the kitchen still in boxes, a cat asleep at your feet.

And still, somehow… everything was exactly where it was meant to be.

[hearts4hughes]

DUE DILIGENCE ~ CHAPTER TWO

wallstreet!rafe x assistant!reader | no warnings

the invitation was printed on thick cardstock, embossed in gold, as if the weight of it alone should impress you. “cameron capital annual black-tie gala,” it read. located at some overpriced rooftop venue in soho. the dress code was formal, of course, with mandatory attendance for executive staff and key support. and you, apparently, are now considered key support. rafe didn’t ask you to go. he just forwarded the invite with a one word email, required.

typical.

you wear a black satin slip dress that barely passes the office appropriate threshold, but it’s evening, and you’re off the clock, and frankly, you want to see if it’ll make him twitch. your hair is up, your heels are high, your earrings catch the light when you flip your hair.

when you step outside, the car is already waiting. engine purring low, headlights casting long shadows across the sidewalk. it’s routine by now—rafe sending cars for you like it’s nothing. like your time is his to orchestrate. you never asked, and he never asked either. he just started doing it. no explanation, no conversation, just control, cloaked in convenience. you slip into the backseat and wonder, not for the first time, if his other assistants got the same treatment or if this is something he saves just for you.

you arrive late enough to avoid the worst of the small talk. the room is full of venture capital vultures and soulless financiers, their laughs too loud and teeth too white. there’s jazz in the background, champagne flutes in every hand, and the unmistakable scent of money—expensive perfume, leather, old scotch, and ambition turned sour.

he sees you before you see him. awareness pricks along your neck like static. his eyes follow your every stride across the ballroom. he drags his gaze up and down your figure, and can’t help but scoff at your outfit choice. not because he hated it—it was the complete opposite. and if he loved it, that meant every wallstreet douche in here did as well.

when you finally look, he’s across the room, in a black tuxedo that fits like it was stitched directly onto his body. no bow tie, collar open, one hand in his pocket, the other nursing a glass of something brown and neat. he looks like sin dressed to the nines. for a second—just a second—your breath gets caught in your throat. his eyes drag over you with the kind of precision that makes your spine straighten. and then, as if none of it happened, he looks away.

you talk to a junior partner for a while. he’s nice enough. says your name like he’s trying it on for size. you don’t notice how close he stands until rafe appears beside you, sudden and soundless like he was waiting to step in.

“excuse me,” he says to the junior, not bothering to smile. “i need her for something.”

the man’s face tightens. “sure. of course, mr. cameron.” not everyone had the pleasure of personally knowing rafe cameron, but everyone had the pleasure of fearing him. no one dared to contradict his commands. they simply do what they are told and steer clear of his wrath.

rafe doesn’t look at you as you follow him across the marble floor, but you see the tick in his jaw. the way his fingers flex once at his side, like he wants to do something reckless.

“you enjoying yourself?” he asks, finally, when you’re near the far end of the terrace, where no one else lingers.

you lean against the railing. “define enjoying.”

“you seemed pretty engaged.” he inhales a sharp breath, looking out into the city sky. he never cared much for these galas. there is always too many fake smiles and polite laughs; too many people all gathered together like they’re lifelong friends. the terrace was the only place he could hear his own thoughts.

“i was being polite.”

his gaze sharpens. “he was two seconds from asking for your number.” that bastard was lucky he didn’t cross that line. he would’ve went home with his two weeks notice and a black eye.

you smirk, not looking at him. the champagne glass twitches slightly in your grip, but your voice stays cool. practiced. cruel. “you’re jealous.” you say, lips curling into a faint smirk. there’s a pause—just long enough to taste. you don’t have to look to know he’s watching you. you can feel it, that shift in the air, the way heat coils behind your neck. his silence stretches like a taut string, like he’s choosing between biting his tongue or biting something else entirely. still, you keep your eyes forward, your smile sharp.

“i’m not jealous,” he says, throwing back the remnants of liquor in his glass. his fingers drag across the textured cup, memorizing the ridges instead of memorizing your beauty marks. “you see a handsome businessman, and i see a hawk circling its prey.”

you turn to him then, slowly. “well that’s just thrilling.” your eyes widen and lips press into a thin line.

he shrugs, lips pressing together as well. he puts his glass down and stands up straight. goosebumps rise on your neck and you’re not sure if it’s from the breeze or his gaze. the wind carries the sound of music from the gala. rafe closes his eyes and hums. “i like this song,” he murmurs, taking your hand in his. “let’s dance.”

his hand is warm against your waist. his palm settles along your spine like a question he hasn’t asked yet. you dance like two people who shouldn’t be dancing. not here, not now, not with this much restraint held between you like a noose. your eyes meet, and suddenly the room is too loud, too bright, too filled with the ghosts of decisions neither of you has made yet.

at one point, his head dips and rests against your shoulder. not deliberately, not dramatically—just a quiet collapse, like gravity had been begging him to give in all night and he finally stopped resisting. he exhales, slow and unguarded, and you feel warm breath fanning down your collarbone, the soft press of his temple against the curve of your body. like the weight of the world is stitched into the lining of his suit jacket and this is the first time he’s allowed himself to set it down.

you don’t move, don’t speak, you just let him be there, tethered to you in this impossibly fragile moment that neither of you will acknowledge come morning. but still, he stays. and that says something, even if neither of you are brave enough to say it out loud.

you shiver, but not from the cold. the night air barely touches you. it’s the proximity. the heat of him at your back, the way his breath ghosts the shell of your ear when he leans in to murmur something but doesn’t. it’s the tension that lives in his fingertips, the way his thumb sweeps once against your hip before he stills it like it never happened.

“cold?” he asks, pulling away from you to stare into your eyes.

“not really.”

but he shrugs off his jacket anyway. drapes it over your shoulders. it smells like him. and you hate how you keep inhaling just to catch his scent in the air. his hand lingers at the curve of your shoulder for half a second longer than necessary. your breath hitches. and just like that, the balance shifts again.

you look at him. he looks back. tension lingers in the air like humidity. he doesn’t stare at your lips or lean forward, he just takes in your appearance. it’s not long before he pulls away first—he always does.

later, you leave before him. you tell yourself it’s smart, measured, a way to keep the upper hand of not crossing that line.

he doesn’t blink as you disappear into the car he sent. he only wonders how long he can keep pretending the wolves aren’t already at the door.

taglist ~ @sweetstrawberrianne @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @wishfairies @kieeslove @jacklesluvr @futuremrscameron @rafesdaintyfawn @winterbarnesblog @starkeyszn @drphilssoulmate @xobimbobunnyxo @foolishseven @starsluvrr @luvonstyles @k4yr14 @hawkeez @sultryg0dess @restinpaece @leather-n-velvet @rafestoothbrush @katecokeed @her30910 @rafeeekam @rafesdearest @donaldsonsgirl @l0vest1les @bungurus @bambi-bvnny @strawberrymilk99

[everythingne]

learning curve - cs55

williams is a new territory. his co-head engineers is an interesting idea, until he meets you, and learns of why he needs someone else on the radio.

haring impaired!williams engineer reader x carlos sainz

James was far too excited to have Carlos here so god damn early. But, as Carlos knew, the racing world didn't wait for anybody. Engineers dipped in and out of rooms, hands flicking as the spoke, heads nodding or shaking along with ideas or with procedures.

"And here," James grandly gestures to the small team that's working on installing Carlos' newly fitted seat into the shell of a car, "is team fifty-five."

A few heads pop up from his new mechanics, analysts, engineers, a few waves Carlos returns before James is bringing him to the side where a large computer is set up. Two people sitting at the screen. The man turns his head, smiling warmly in greeting as the person next to him--you, keeps her head down and scribbles some notes on a drawing of the car.

"This is YN, the one writing, and Luca. Both pulled in from Ferrari, from junior Engineers to senior. Figured a fresh start would be best for all of us until we can secure more full season contracts for your team." James explains and Carlos feels entrapped by you, watching the way your tongue darts out for a moment as you think, before your head goes right back down.

"Two head engineers?" Carlos asks softly, after shaking Luca's hand in greeting. James nods to Luca, and he turns and quickly taps the desk next to you, and you perk up and unplug your airbuds... or something similar.

"YN is hard of hearing, Luca's makes sure she doesn't miss anything. YN doesn't usually, and she'll understand you well as long as she can read your lips." James explains, and you nod.

"Don't be afraid to talk to me," You say, folding your hands in your lap, "Most people just ask Luca but he hates talking to people."

"I do." Luca nods, face red, "I'd rather be hiding. YN will speak to you on the pit wall. The board connects right to her hearing aids."

"Oh, thats really nice." He says and you nod, bursting into a explanation that has your face all bright and smiley and god damnit if it doesn't make his heart skip. After a moment, James pulls Carlos away, but your looks linger a little longer after that.

-

Two weeks in and Carlos knows some BSL. He practices to himself most nights in the hotel, signing over and over: drag, lift, broken, okay, the alphabet, basic letters, and the signs he's noticed you do for over and understeering. He doesn't need to know BSL to communicate with you, your hearing aids and lip reading have been working just fine for two weeks before testing days, but he figures it might be easier--and a nice little secret to have, on days where the garage is swimming with noise.

Alex has picked up more than he has, and while Carlos is a little envious at Alex's ability to just absorb, it's not like he's practicing sentences.

Which Carlos has been. Simple ones so far, but he finds it so enchanting when you and Luca go off on BSL tangents, the little secret code of your hand gestures and expressions so amazing to him.

Day one of testing is by far the longest day of your and Carlos' life. You both sit there pouring over data and models, running simulation after simulation while Carlos pokes at every level of information you have and questions it. Luca watches you both silently, noting the way Carlos hangs on your suggestions and you nod at his inputs.

Neither of you break for lunch, pushing aside the catered meals to look over more data from the rear wing. By the time the mechanics came back, you had a whole new wing plan. Same with dinner plans. But you're kicked out of the track by midnight, the last two people closing up shop, still talking about designs and new plans as you both stand next to each other from the second you leave to the second you get into the lobby of the hotel.

You bid Carlos goodnight, but read his lips as the batteries on your hearing aids are dangerously low.

Day two is the same. You and Carlos wake up excessively early, are the first ones there, but mid way through the day you notice something. Your hearing aids are fucking dead.

Carlos comes into the garage with a grin, chattering to you about something exciting, but his lips move so quickly and differently from British accented words you lose him.

Carlos blinks. Pause. And then nervously signs, 'fixed the understeer.'

You blink. Pause. And then break into a grin, whacking his arms.

"Good job." You say, though you aren't sure how loud, before holding up a finger for him to wait as you rush to your purse and dig out the back-up batteries. It takes a few seconds for you to find them in the bottom corner of the bag--but you pop them in and adjust the volume a bit before rushing back over.

"Sorry! They died!" You tap the hearing aids and Carlos nods, smiling to you with a little tilt of his head, "When did you learn to sign?"

Carlos' cheeks are a little red as he shrugs, "I don't know if I did it well, but I've been practicing for a bit. It's always so loud in here, I don't know how you hear everything."

You shrug, tilt your head, "You get used to picking out the important noises, it's not that much different from you."

Over the next few months, as you and Carlos adapt to the car and to the team, you find he's picked up more and more sign language. You idly teach him some in his spare time, words slowly drifting from racing notes to everyday phrases, to names for people across the tracks, to jokes. By Monaco, you've taught him enough for semi-fluency, and you don't know how he's managed to pick up a whole new language so quickly but you're not complaining.

It happens after Monaco quali. You're sitting on the floor of his drivers room while he's being stretched out post race, your hands moving idly along with your words as you speak, Carlos watching intently. There's been a shift, you note, and when Carlos' holds hand for you to pause, you do.

'Going to dinner tonight?' his signs are a little wobbly, but you get the gist.

'At the hotel, maybe.'

Carlos hesitates for probably a whole thirty seconds before, 'Want to go out? Only us two.'

'A date?'

'Yes.'

You blink. Then slap his hands with a loud laugh--Teto leaning his head back to look at you two from the other side of the room, the other various 55 members chuckling at the exchange.

'You learned sign just to ask that didn't you?' You keep the conversation silent, but the smirk on Carlos' face probably tells everyone what you're both conversing.

'Maybe.' His smirk doubles and you flush. Somehow, Carlos has done the most thoughtful thing, by doing the most basic thing at the same time.

general tag list:

@d3kstar @justalittlejess @tvdtw4ever @llando4norris @daemyratwst @piastri-fvx @sltwins @armystay89 @leclercdream

[onlyangel4]

healing a heart i didn't break. LH44. MV1. SMAU. part three.

cheater! lewis hamilton x reader. max verstappen x reader.

when your boyfriend of three years fumbles, his rival is there to put the pieces of your heart back together bit by bit.

warnings: 14 year age gap with lewis. cursing. cheating.

author's note: our girl finally getting the treatment she deserves

prev // next

faceclaim: camilla morrone

y/ninsta posted a story

written: nothing could keep me away from austin

y/nupdates

liked by user12, user45, user62 and 15,629 others

y/nupdates: it is official mother is not missing the austin gp. she had us wondering whether she would be present after the news that dropped on friday and her not being present at qualifying but she is back in the paddock. as usual arriving with charles and alex. fits like this are one of the many things that make y/n the perfect wag.

view all 530 comments

user12: i'm so glad she didn't miss austin she is on the record so many times saying that it is her favourite date in the calender because of the chaos.

user45: the fit! y/exbff could never

user62: she is a better woman than me, i would be in bed eating my weight in ice cream if what happened to her happened to me

y/ninsta posted a story

written: change of scenery

f1updates

liked by user22, f1fan7, user54 and 250,028 others

f1updates: lewis hamilton faces engine failure during the 23rd lap and DNFs in austin.

view all 5,682 comments

user22: i call that karma

user54: oh no what a shame

f1fan7: y/n cursed that bitch

user52: the way the sky camera man knows exactly what he is doing. it cut from lewis getting out of his car to y/exbff looking all concerned and then to y/n sat in the rb garage just sipping her drink with a straw unbothered

f1

liked by maxverstappen, y/ninsta, f1fan32 and 920,310

f1: and he does it again. max verstappen takes poll at austin with norris in second and russell in third.

view all 19,283 comments

f1fan32: can't wait to see what mad max has to say about lewis' dnf

user61: he is going to have so much to say but red bull will silence him

y/nfan2: the way he hugged y/n when he got off podium. this friendship was so unexpected but it is so perfect

user51: they are so sunshine x grumpy coded and i love it

y/ninsta posted a story

written: an outfit change before dinner with my favourite people

y/ninsta

liked by maxverstappen, danielricciardo, alexandrasaintmleux and 761,982

y/ninsta: these past few months have been some of the worst of my entire life but the people in these picture + many more have made it one hundred times better. i love you all and i miss seeing you in the paddock however i am sure that with our many group chats i will still manage to annoy you all. so many exciting things on the horizon.

view all 7,284 comments

maxverstappen: going to miss your light in the paddock

y/ninsta: and i'm gonna miss all the free redbull

danielricciardo: and where did you get that last photo from

landonorris: i was about to ask the same thing

y/ninsta: you are both so stupid you stole my phone to take it

alexandrasaintmleux: charles is laughing at me for having tears in my eyes

y/ninsta: we are practically neighbors babe, you will see me all the time

y/nfan: y/n living in france? is she back in her model era?

carmenmundt: gonna miss my garage buddy but this is the right choice my love

y/ninsta: thank you my love

taglist: @sinofwriting @toldyouitwasamelodrama @formulaal

@minkyungseokie @shrbehndwn @gr1mes-cc @nichmeddar

@liberty-barnes @kravitzwhore @annaluna12

[ditsycafe]

unplanned sweetness || p.js

pairings : park jay x female!reader

genre : fluff, angst?, sugar!daddy au

warnings : no strings attached, unexpected pregnancy (wrap it before you tap it), jay coded, dominant jay, mentions of being in reader raw.

work count : 5k

summary : Jay, a wealthy and dominant businessman, enjoys the arrangement has has with his sugar baby—you. The relationship is clear-cut: luxurious gifts, expensive vacations, and a no-strings —attached agreement. But after one drunken night where the two cross a line, everything changes. A few weeks later, you realise you’re pregnant. Now, you must fact the terrifying reality of breaking the news to jay, unsure of how he’ll react. Will he abandon the arrangement, or will this unexpected twist lead to something neither of you expected?

a/n : do not in any way plagiarise, translate my work to another language or claim my work as your own

The city lights blurred past as the sleek black car pulled up infront of your apartment. You sighed, kicking off your designer heels as soon as you stepped inside. The night had been long, filled with expensive champagne, laughter, and the familiar weight of jay’s possessive hand on your lower back.

Jay was many things—rich, powerful, and dangerously charming. He was also your sugar daddy, the man who spoiled you with lavish gifts and took care of your every need, as long as you followed the unspoken rules of your arrangement.

No attachments. No emotions. No complications.

But everything had changed three weeks ago.

Your fingers trembled as you clutched the pregnancy test, the two pink lines staring back at you like a cruel joke. You swallowed hard, your mind racing with memories of that drunken night—how jay’s usually controlled demeanour had slipped, how his hands had roamed your body with more desperation than ever before. How he had whispered your name like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

And now, here you were, pregnant with his child.

Your stomach churned as you thought about telling him. Jay wasn’t the type of man to deal with unexpected surprises. He liked control. He liked things on his terms.

Would this be the end of your arrangement?

would he turn his back on you?

You took a deep breath and reached for your phone.

It was time to find out.

Your fingers hovered over Jay’s contact name, your heart pounding so hard it drowned out all rational thought.

Just do it.

Taking a deep breath, you pressed call.

It rang once. Twice.

Then his smooth, deep voice answered. “Didn’t expect to hear from you this late, sweetheart.”

You hesitated. How were you supposed to drop this bomb on him?

“Jay…” your voice wavered. “Can we talk, it’s important.”

A brief silence. Then, “Are you home?”

“Yes.”

“I’m on my way.”

The call ended before you could protest. Your stomach twisted as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. You looked pale, anxious. The complete opposite of the poised, glamorous woman jay was used to seeing.

Fifteen minutes later, the familiar purr of his car’s engine reached your ears. A knock echoed through the apartment.

When you opened the door, Jay stood there, dressed in his usual tailored suit, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning your face with a mix of concern and curiosity.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping inside.

You swallowed hard. “I need to tell you something.”

Jay exuded authority and confidence, but this was the first time you’ve ever felt truly nervous into his presence.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re shaking.”

“I..” The words caught in your throat. Just say it. Rip off the band-aid. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

The air between you turned heavy, suffocating. Jay’s expression didn’t change at first—his dark eyes locked onto yours, his lips pressing into a thin line as if he hadn’t fully processed your words.

Then, he let out a slow breath. “Say that again.”

“I’m pregnant,” you whispered.

Jay took a step back, taking a hand through his hair. His usual composure cracked, just for a second. “And it’s mine.” It wasn’t a question.

You nodded. “We…that night… we weren’t careful.”

His jaw tensed. “You should’ve told me sooner.”

“I just found out,” you admitted. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Jay exhaled sharply, pacing for a moment before stopping infront of you. “And what do you want to do about this?”

Your heart clenched. “I don’t know.”

You had expected anger. Indifference. Maybe even an offer to make this problem go away.

But instead, jay stepped closer, his fingers tilting your chin up. His voice was softer now, more serious. “I take responsibility for what’s mine.”

Your eyes widened. “You’re saying…”

“You’re carrying my child,” he muttered, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Which means you’re not doing this alone.”

Jays words lingered in the air, thick with unspoken promises.

“You’re not doing this alone.”

You weren’t sure what you had expected—maybe cold detachment, maybe a check slid across the table to handle the situation—but not this. Not the firm resolve in his voice, the way his dark eyes held yours like he was already making plans in his head.

Your throat tightened, “what does that mean?”

“It means,” jay said slowly, as if the answer was obvious, “that you’re mine. And now, so is this baby.”

His possessiveness sent a shiver down your spine. Normally, you enjoyed it—it was part of the reason your arrangement had lasted so long. Jay wasn’t like other men. He didn’t just throw money at you and disappear. He wanted control. Over you. Over everything.

But this was different. This was real.

You took a shaky breath. “Jay, this isn’t just some business deal. This is a baby. A whole human being. You don’t just get to decide—“

“I do.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “You think I’d just walk away?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “We never talked about this. We never even thought this would happen.”

Jay’s gaze darkened. “That’s my fault. I was careless.” He ran a hand down his face, something almost frustrated in his expression. “I should’ve been more careful. But now that’s it’s happened, I won’t run from it.”

A lump formed in your throat. “So… what do we do?”

Jay was quiet for a long moment, his fingers tapping against his thigh as the thought. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. Decisive.

“You’re moving in with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” Jay crossed his arms, his gaze locked onto yours. “You’re not staying here alone. I want you where I can take care of you.”

Your head spun. “Jay, that’s—“

“It’s not up for debate.” His tone left no room for argument. “I won’t have you stressing over this by yourself. You’ll be taken care of. Anything you need, I’ll provide.”

You hesitated. Living with jay? That wasn’t just changing your arrangement—it was crossing a line neither of you had dared to approach before.

“Jay…” you searched his face. “Why are you doing all of this?”

His jaw clenched. “Because it’s mine.” His hand slid down to your stomach, his touch gentle, almost reverent. “And so are you.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. “This isn’t what we agreed to.”

Jay tilted his head. “Things change.”

His fingers curled around your waist, pulling you closer. The air between you cracked with something unfamiliar. This wasn’t just sugar daddy jay speaking. This was something more. Something deeper.

And it scared you.

Because if jay was serious…

Then you were in deeper than you ever intended to be.

He had already decided. In his world, once Jay made up his mind, there was no room for argument. That was how he operated in business, and now--apparently--in your life.

Your throat felt dry. "Jay, I can't just pack up and leave--"

"Yes, you can." He stepped closer, towering over you, his scent wrapping around you like a drug. "You're carrying my child. You think I'd let you stay here alone, stressing over this?"

You swallowed. "This wasn't part of our arrangement."

Jay's lips curled into a smirk, but his eyes held something softer, something unreadable. "We passed arrangements the moment you let me have you raw."

Your face burnt a bright red. "That was--"

"A mistake?" He raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

You opened your mouth, but now words came out. Was it? A mistake? It had been reckless, unplanned, but the memory of that night was still burned into your skin--the way jay had touched you like he was unravelling, the way his lips had traced every inch of you, the way he needed you.

And now...this.

A baby.

Your fingers curled into your palms. "Jay... I'm scared."

Something in his face softened. He exhaled, reaching for your hand. "I know." His grip was warm, steady. "That's why you're coming with me. You don't have to do this alone."

You searched his face, looking for cracks in his confidence. Some sign that he was panicking as much as you were. But there was none. Jay had already decided, and if there was one thing about him-- you knew he never backed down from what he claimed as his.

Still, you hesitated. "What if this changed everything?"

Jay's thumb brushed over your knuckles. "It already has."

Your breath hitched. He was right. There was no going back to what you had before.

And maybe... maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

A long silence stretched between you. Then, finally, you whispered, "Okay."

Jay's smirk returned, but this time, there was something dangerous behind it. Satisfaction. Possession. Like he had just won.

"Good girl."

His words sent a shiver down your spine.

You had no idea what you'd just agreed to. But with jay, there was no turning back.

all rights to this work belongs to me @ditsycafe.

[bbyg4rl]

reader getting all hot and bothered watching jj fix her car

cw: jj x reader, no established relationship, oral (m receiving) !

summary: you thank jj for fixing your car. MDNI

"you should let me take care of your car more" JJ speaks out from where he was hunched over your car's open hood. You had been watching him for fifteen minutes now. Fifteen minutes of the best view in obx. Fifteen minutes of grunts and pants and back and abs and arms. What a view.

You were sure the oil from your car ruining jj's shirt was just the universe blessing you. It's not everyday you can sit and watch a shirtless jj work.

"all done dumbass" he says pushing the hood of your car down with a loud grunt. Your eyes refuse to leave the sight of his arms as the muscles flex.

"Oh wow" you whisper to yourself, taking mental polaroids of every movement he makes.

Not a word leaves your mouth when he faces you. Your pussy's doing the talking now.

You can't help but rub your thighs together when he shoots you a shit eating grin all covered in grease and oil.

And of course he notices the affect he's having on you. He was enjoying this too.

Why else would a two minute fix take fifteen minutes? Why else would a perfectly fine oil sump shoot oil all of a sudden? That too only on his shirt?

Seeing you all worked up over had him worked up. He had his eyes on you the whole time. He'd seen every lip bite, every clench of your thighs, every flutter of your stomach- he was feeling everything you were feeling.

It took a special kind of control for him not to take you right there. To resist dirtying you with his greasy hands and bathe you in engine oil as he bent you over the hood and slid in and out of you.

He walked over to you slowly, his greasy hands now on your knees. "No 'thank you JJ'?"

"Thank you JJ" You say to him softly, voice on the verge of whimpers. You knew that he knew what you were feeling.

He takes a step back and points to himself. "Look at me baby- a small thank you isnt gonna cut it now is it?"

He takes your hand and pulls you off your seat. Your knees felt like jelly as he led you to the back seat of your car. He opened the door and you slid into the seat, earning a chuckle from him. He slides in after you and closes the door.

"Thank you for fixing my car JJ" you giggle out as your hands reach the hem of his shorts, He groans when you palm his crotch a few times before pulling them down.

You're quickly met with his cock, standing proud in front of your face. You wrap your arms around him and give him a few slow strokes. It's only fair he deserved to feel good after all the hard work he had just done.

He pulls your hair into a makeshift ponytail with his hand and tugs you lower, silently ordering you to open up. And you gladly did. He pushed your face lower and lower as his dick twitched in your throat.

He held you down for a few more moments before using his grip on your hair to bob your head up and down on him. He hit the back of your throat with every rutt of his dick against you. Your mascara ran down your cheeks as he continued to fuck your mouth with his cock.

He pulls you off when hes satisfied with how much mascara is smeared on your face. He taps your cheek a few times- his silent code for please me.

You take his signal and reach out to stroke him, wrapping your mouth around his pink tip, You slowly suck as you tighten your hands around his shaft, twisting them around his girth, alternating between small kitten licks on his tip and long licks on the veins on his underside.

It didnt take long for him to reach his climax. He let out small whimpers as he paints your face with his cum.

"Thank you for fixing my car JJ" you say again as you lap up at the sticky liquid around your lips.

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