#how to use flash fill in excel

[pucksandpower]

Too Sweet

Toto Wolff x Reader

Max Verstappen x ex!Reader

Summary: Max used to think that you’re too sweet for him … now he has to learn to live with the fact that Toto has quite a sweet tooth (inspired by the song that I’ve had on repeat)

I take my whiskеy neat

The doors to the upscale restaurant swing open and Max strides through, his fingers lightly grazing the small of your back as he guides you inside. The dimly lit interior is bustling with the chatter of well-heeled patrons enjoying their evening repasts. A sharply dressed hostess greets you with a polite smile.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to The Sazerac Room. Do you have a reservation?”

“Verstappen,” Max replies curtly.

The hostess consults her tablet, then nods. “Right this way please.”

She leads the two of you through the elegant dining room, weaving between tables topped with crisp white linens and elaborate floral centerpieces. Max keeps his hand at your back, his thumb idly stroking in a soothing pattern as you take in the opulent surroundings with wide eyes.

“This place is incredible,” you murmur, craning your neck to admire the ornate chandeliers glittering overhead. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He simply grunts in acknowledgment as the hostess stops before an intimate table tucked discreetly in the corner. After pulling out your chair for you with a flourish, she sets two leather-bound menus on the table.

“Your server will be right with you,” she informs them before departing with a polite nod.

You waste no time in opening your menu, hungrily perusing the offerings. “Oh Max, look at all these amazing cocktails! The La Vie en Rose sounds divine — rose liqueur, raspberries, lemon ...” You glance up at him hopefully. “We should get a couple of those to start.”

Max barely glances at his own menu before shaking his head. “I’ll just have a whiskey neat.”

Your face falls slightly at his brusque response. “Are you sure? These all look so good! We should live a little and try something fun for once.”

He fixes you with a stern look from across the table. “You know I don’t like frilly drinks. Now stop pestering me about it.”

Chastened by his harsh tone, you lapse into a wounded silence and continue reading the menu with diminished enthusiasm. A few moments later, a dapper middle-aged gentleman in a crisp suit appears at your table.

“Good evening, and welcome to The Sazerac Room. My name is William and I’ll be your server this evening.” With a polite smile, he produces a notepad from his breast pocket. “May I start you off with something to drink?”

You glance back at Max, giving him one last chance to change his mind. When he simply gazes back at you impassively, you sigh. “I’ll have the La Vie en Rose cocktail, please.”

William jots down your order before turning to Max expectantly.

“Whiskey neat,” Max says flatly. “Redbreast 27 Year, if you have it.”

“An excellent choice, sir.” William makes a note. “And may I bring you both some bread from our bakery while you decide on your meals?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” you reply gratefully.

William departs to place the drink orders, leaving you and Max alone once more. An awkward silence stretches between you, filled only by the tinkle of silverware and murmurs of conversation from surrounding tables.

Finally, you try again. “Max, are you sure I can’t tempt you with one little sip? This La Vie en Rose cocktail sounds absolutely divine. You might lov-”

“For fuck’s sake!” Max suddenly explodes, slamming his menu down on the table hard enough to rattle the cutlery. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want any of your ridiculous fruity bullshit? I’m a fucking race car driver, not some ridiculous Instagram model trying to look pretty with my drink.”

His nostrils flare as he leans across the table, eyes flashing with irritation that you would dare continue to push the issue. “I’ve had a long fucking day and I am going to drink whatever the fuck I want. So order your stupid fucking girly cocktail if you must, but don’t act so goddamn disappointed and keep shoving it in my face when I say no.”

You shrink back in your chair, eyes widening with hurt at his enraged outburst. The crestfallen look on your face is enough to douse Max’s fury like a bucket of ice water. He slumps back, remorse already stirring as he witnesses the light dimming in your eyes, lips trembling ever so slightly as you blink back sudden tears.

“I … I was just excited to try something new together,” you whisper shakily. “But never mind. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

The arrival of William with a basket of assorted breads and your glittering pink cocktail garnished with raspberries provides a merciful distraction from the tension.

You immediately reach for the drink, wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and taking a large gulp — both to avoid making eye contact with Max and to sample your coveted libation.

A look of bliss softens your features as the tart, sugary concoction bursts across your taste buds. “Mmm, this is incredible!”

For a beat, Max can’t help but drink in your look of pure enjoyment — the way your eyes flutter closed in delight, pink lips quirking into a contented smile as you savor each sip. It simultaneously tugs at his heartstrings and fills him with an irrational stab of resentment.

Here you are, sweet and radiant, able to find joy in the simplest of things … while he is just a miserable bastard who can’t let himself enjoy anything without getting irrationally angry.

You deserve so much better than him.

The thought is sobering and he feels shame burn hot in his gut. Unconsciously, his shoulders slump as he watches you take another euphoric sip of your cocktail.

“I knew it, this is amazing,” you sigh happily, seemingly recovered from his earlier tantrum as you bask in the deliciousness of your drink. “Max, you have to try just one little-”

“No.” The refusal is automatic, the word slicing through your offer before he can think better of it.

Your face shutters once more, the bright light in your eyes dimming as your smile fades into resignation. With a soft exhale, you set your glass down and reach for the bread basket instead.

“Suit yourself, then.”

As you silently butter a roll, Max finds himself at a rare loss, anger dissipating into regret as the knot in his stomach tightens painfully. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration after his impressive win on the track, a chance for the two of you to enjoy each other’s company and make more happy memories together.

Instead, he’s gone and ruined the mood … again … just like he always does.

***

“Another round?” Checo’s voice cuts through the sound of laughter and chatter around the table.

Max glances up distractedly from pushing the remaining bits of food around his plate. He, Checo, and a few other members of the Red Bull team are celebrating a successful Monaco Grand Prix. Despite making the podium, Max’s mind hasn’t really been on the festivities.

“I’m all set, thanks,” he mutters, raising his glass of whiskey with a tight smile before taking a sip. His gaze drifts across the opulent dining room of Cipriani Monte Carlo, idly scanning the crowd of wealthy patrons enjoying their evening meals.

That’s when his eyes catch on a shockingly familiar figure.

You.

Sitting at an intimate corner table, bathed in the soft glow of a candle’s flickering flame. For a moment, Max’s breath catches in his throat as a thousand bittersweet memories assault him all at once.

The hurt look on your face that night at The Sazerac Room … the resignation in your eyes as you accepted, yet again, that he would never be able to appreciate the sweet, simple pleasures that brought you such joy ...

The cold, empty silence that descended over your apartment when he finally left for good, stuffing his belongings into a duffel bag as you watched with trembling lips from across the room ...

Max blinks, and the moment passes — but his gaze remains riveted to your table. Because there, sitting across from you with adoration written across his insufferable face … is Toto Wolff.

Max feels his lips curl into an unconscious sneer as the Mercedes team principal murmurs something to you with a gentle smile, reaching across to delicately brush a lock of hair behind your ear. You catch Toto’s hand as it falls, pressing a tender kiss into his palm that makes the older man’s expression soften even further.

Your waiter arrives then, providing a momentary distraction as he lays out a couple of fresh cocktails on crisp white linen — a bright purple concoction garnished with a sugared rim and a plump cherry for you and an amber-hued old fashioned for Toto.

Your eyes light up as you take in the colorful beverage, immediately wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and bringing it to your lips to sample. A look of pure delight crosses your features as the no doubt sugary drink bursts across your taste buds.

“Mmm ...” you hum in pleasure, causing Toto to chuckle affectionately as he watches you enjoy the first reveling sips.

Setting your glass down, you gesture enthusiastically toward it as you address Toto. “This is incredible! You have to try it.”

Without hesitation, the Mercedes team boss dutifully leans across the table to take a long pull from your straw. Max watches with a mixture of disgust and morbid fascination as Toto’s expression morphs into one of surprised enjoyment.

“Wow, that is quite good, isn’t it?” Toto remarks with an indulgent grin, licking a telltale dab of purple syrup from the corner of his mouth.

“I told you!” You crow in delight, eyes sparkling with unrestrained glee.

The pure joy radiating from you in that moment is enough to make Max’s heart clench in his chest. He has seen that look before, so many times — whenever he deigned to let go of his surly demeanor for even a moment and actually indulge whatever fleeting whim or simple pleasure you desired to share with him.

But it was always so short-lived with him, stamped out by his own stubborn refusal to truly embrace anything resembling happiness or frivolity. You deserved so much more than his constant scowling and gruff rebuffs.

As if reading his thoughts, Toto then leans across the table to tenderly capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. The gentle intimacy of it makes Max’s gut churn as a feeling too complicated to fully unpack blossoms in his chest.

When you finally part, both of you are smiling at each other with such open, unguarded adoration that it’s almost obscene to witness. Toto reaches out to cradle your face in his palm as your lips find his once more in another chaste, loving caress.

This time, when you pull away, you let your head loll back with a look of pure bliss. Something deep within Max cracks and splinters at the sight. In a haze, he finds himself drifting back through the churning currents of memory ...

… that last, fateful shouting match in your living room, both of you red-faced and furious as the dam holding back all the anger and resentment and accusations that had been building for months finally burst ...

… you weeping silently as you clutched a meager trash bag containing what little remained of his belongings, not even able to look at him for fear of collapsing completely ...

… “I’m too sweet for you, Max. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

The acid words burn in his mind even now, feeling as fresh and raw as that night they were spat out like venom between you. His chest constricts as his gaze falls guiltily back to the present day scene in front of him.

Toto and you, basking in the warm, rosy glow of new love — careless and unrestrained in your public affection. Delighting in each other’s company and simple pleasures … just as you always desired for Max to do, yet he could never fully surrender to.

The display is like a twisted mirror, taunting him with the vibrant reflection of what he threw away. What he was too foolish, too emotionally stunted and uncaring to fully appreciate at the time.

Stumbling from his chair in a daze, Max barely registers the questioning looks and concerned murmurs from his team as he staggers from the dining room. He hardly makes it to the privacy of the restroom before bending at the waist, hefting the contents of his stomach into the thankfully pristine porcelain basin.

The whiskey burns on the way back up.

Max grips the edges of the counter, face contorted in anguish as a realization washes over him in searing waves.

You were the real prize all along … and now, he’s lost you for good.

My coffee black

The drone of announcements over the PA system and the dull roar of hundreds of people bustling to and fro mingles into an ever-present white noise hum. Max trudges ahead, the brim of his ball cap tugged low as he weaves through the teeming crowds filing through the airports’ terminals.

It’s just after 5 am, the start of another grueling race week. This time the travel will take you from the Middle Eastern leg of the circuit to the other side of the world in Australia. Twenty-plus hours of planes, layovers, and jet lag beckon — a prospect that grows less and less appealing with each passing season.

A warm weight presses against his side as you shuffle along beside him, head lolling adorably as you struggle to keep your eyes open. One slender hand is looped through the crook of his elbow, gripping the strap of your carry-on bag with the other. You let out a jaw-cracking yawn, leaning into Max’s solid bulk.

“I need coffee,” you mumble groggily. “I’m barely conscious.”

He shoots you a sidelong glance, mouth quirking ever-so-slightly at your dramatics. As grating as your tendency for excessive cheerfulness can be at times, he does admire your ability to shake off the fatigue and stress that plagues him more and more these days.

“There’s one of those chains up ahead,” he grunts, nodding toward the familiar logo peeking through from around the corner.

You light up immediately, straightening and quickening your shuffling steps in anticipation of the caffeinated boost soon to come. By the time you reach the counter, there’s a bright spark back in your eyes that makes the exhaustion plaguing Max’s own limbs feel slightly more bearable.

The barista, a pimple-faced youth who can’t be any older than 18, greets you with a too-wide smile. “Welcome to Daily Grind! What can I get started for you?”

You lean in eagerly, surveying the massive display of chalkboard signs advertising the latest sugar bombs and “coffee” concoctions designed to appease the basic palates of everyday people who wouldn’t know a good cup of joe if it slapped them across the face. Max scowls, already anticipating some ridiculously saccharine order.

“I’ll have a large cinnamon honey oat milk latte, please,” you chirp, as expected.

The barista marks down your request with a perky nod. “Excellent! And for you, sir?”

“Black coffee,” Max replies flatly. “Medium.”

Your brow furrows as you shoot him a quizzical look. “Just black coffee? Not even a splash of cream or anything?”

He shakes his head tersely, one hand already rummaging in his pocket for his wallet as the barista rattles off the total. “We’re in a rush as it is, and that sugary nonsense you ordered takes forever to make with all the fussy bullshit they do to it.”

You wince at his blunt assessment, shoulders slumping a bit in a way that makes a pang of guilt flicker through Max’s chest. He doesn’t mean to be so harsh … but sometimes it’s like the more considerate side of his nature has been ground away by years of constant training and calculating every single variable down to the most minute detail.

The poor kid working the register seems to shrink under the intensity of Max’s gruff demeanor. With shaky hands, he quickly processes the payment before stammering out your total. As you shuffle off to the side to wait for your orders, Max can’t help but keep picking.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you insist on ordering those stupid drinks that are 90% milk and trash,” he mutters, shooting you a disapproving look. “Barely any actual coffee at all.”

You frown, immediately hunching into yourself a bit as you cradle a handful of napkins against your chest. “It’s not like that coffee flavor isn’t there at all,” you argue meekly. “And I have to get some kind of caffeine boost to stay awake during all these flights and race weekends. I just … I don’t really like the taste of black coffee.”

Max scoffs loudly at that, shaking his head in open derision. “Sure, because drinking just regular black coffee like an adult would be too difficult. Instead you have to get your ‘caffeine boost’ from some tooth-rottingly sweet concoction that looks like something a child would order.”

The barista shifts uncomfortably behind the counter, clearly flustered by Max’s abrasive tone. Not that he cares — he’s been dealing with people gawking at him in public for years now. What does rub him the wrong way is the wounded look spreading across your delicate features, eyes dropping to stare dejectedly at the floor.

He opens his mouth to continue chiding you, but at that moment the barista appears with your drinks. The sweet, cinnamony aroma of your order hits Max’s nostrils like a slap in the face, making his nose wrinkle on instinct. You accept your oversized paper cup gratefully, hands automatically curling around the comforting warmth.

With visible enthusiasm, you bring the drink to your lips, unable to resist taking a sip despite the scalding temperature. Max tracks the minute changes in your expression — the slight widening of your eyes, the upward quirk of your lips into a smile of unalloyed contentment. Your lashes flutter closed on a quiet hum of blissful appreciation.

“Mmm … heaven,” you practically moan, hunching over your cup as though to better inhale the revitalizing notes of sugar and spice.

It makes Max want to retch, watching you so unashamedly indulging in such vapid, artificial flavors. How can you find such simple-minded pleasure in that, when you could be savoring the bold, robust notes of a proper cup of black coffee? One meant to awaken the senses and caress the taste buds with its smoky aroma and rich, nuanced flavor notes.

“You can’t honestly get any enjoyment from basically drinking hot milk and flavored syrups,” he mutters, sneering at the offensive beverage in your grasp.

In response, you simply shift closer to him until you’re pressed alongside his body. Your free hand snakes around his bicep, squeezing gently as you tilt your head back to gaze up at him imploringly. Exhaustion and hurt war openly with the angelic softness of your delicate features.

“Max … can’t you just let me enjoy this?” You plead in a low murmur. “It’s early, and we’ve got a long flight ahead.”

His jaw clenches stubbornly, unwilling to back down so easily. Caffeine and sleep deprivation have eroded his already thin sense of decorum.

“I’m just saying, drinking a syrupy dessert drink loaded with sugar and god knows what else isn’t doing you any favors. You might as well just stick to black coffee like a normal adult if you want to be awake and energized.”

The wounded look in your eyes deepens into something more somber and resigned. Slowly, you pull away from Max’s side until a noticeable distance stretches between your bodies. Something inside him shrivels at the loss of contact. Your slender fingers work feverishly at the cup’s lid until it pops off with a dull thunk.

Max stares blankly as you march over to the nearest trash can and upend the contents of your cup into the receptacle. You don’t even seem to hesitate — simply turn on your heel and hurl the now-empty cup in after the wasted drink. It clatters hollowly against the canister, mocking and empty.

When you turn back to face Max, the sight makes the now-lukewarm coffee sitting neglected in his own cup feels like a lead weight in his gut. Your arms are wrapped protectively around yourself, hunched against some unseen foe. Head bowed, you refuse to meet his gaze as you slowly make your way back over to where he stands rooted to the spot in stunned silence.

It’s only as you draw up beside him that Max notices the twin tear tracks striping your cheeks. Your chin remains stubbornly trembling, but you make no move to wipe at the tears now falling freely. Max’s chest constricts almost painfully at the sight of your misery, the guilt gnawing at him as the reality sets in.

He is the reason for it. His harsh, uncompromising tongue has wounded you in one of the cruelest ways once again. Too strict, too unyielding, too incapable of allowing even the smallest indulgences that bring you simple joy without sneering dismissal.

For several agonizing moments, the two of you stand in silence amid the milling crowds of travelers streaming past. Max can’t bring himself to meet your gaze, knowing he’ll only find the depths of his own callous thoughtlessness reflected back at him in your swimming eyes.

Finally, you release a shuddering sigh that sounds far too weighted for someone of your sweetness and light. When you speak, your voice is little more than a tremulous murmur laced with dejection.

“Let’s just go to the gate, Max.”

You brush past him without another word, leaving him to trail numbly in your wake as shame burns a hole through his gut. He watches as your form disappears into the throngs, shoulders already beginning to hunch inward as that spark of happiness in you gutters and fades.

Lingering behind, Max’s gaze falls to the empty cup lying crumpled and discarded in the trash. A reminder of yet another instance where his unchecked tongue and inability to empathize has spoiled an innocent attempt at simple pleasure.

His coffee suddenly tastes like ash on his tongue.

As he moves to dump the neglected drink into the nearby basin, Max wonders with a sinking feeling just how many more times he’ll be able to snuff out your light before it dwindles to nothing.

***

The late morning sun bears down with oppressive force, causing a mirage-like haze to shimmer over the sweltering asphalt of the paddock. Despite being early summer, the Spanish air is already thick and heavy enough to bathe Max’s skin in a sheen of perspiration as he trudges toward the Red Bull Energy Station.

Ahead, he spots a cluster of people milling aimlessly near the entrance to the Mercedes motorhome. At the center appears to be you, head tilted back in unrestrained laughter at something George Russell is regaling you with. The British driver is equally animated, pale features scrunched up in exaggerated motions as he relays what is no doubt an amusing tale.

Max feels his steps gradually slow of their own accord as he takes you in from a distance. You seem utterly at ease and in your element — cheeky grin splitting your face, one hand toying idly with the ends of your hair as your eyes crinkle with unbridled mirth.

A pure vision of effortless contentment.

His gut clenches unexpectedly, unbidden memories of how he methodically chipped away at that very lightness in you until it was all but extinguished washing over him in a nauseating wave. How quickly he took such simple joys for granted ...

So transfixed is he by the sight of your open, honest amusement that Max barely notices the figure slipping up behind you. Not until Toto Wolff raises a conspiratorial finger to his lips, eyes twinkling impishly as he pantomimes for silence at a sputtering George.

You remain oblivious even as the Mercedes team principal slides flush against your back, looping one arm around your waist to tug you snug against his chest. With his free hand, Toto cups it teasingly over your eyes — to which you release a tinkling peal of laughter.

“Guess who?” The playful lilt of the older man’s Austrian lilt is unmistakable, dripping with honeyed warmth.

“Hmm … I wonder,” you murmur coyly, making a show of tapping your chin in feigned confusion. “Is it a dashing gentleman caller here to sweep me off my feet?”

Toto chuckles deeply in your ear, the sound positively dripping with unguarded affection. “Only if you’ll have me, liebling.”

Craning your head back with a cheeky grin, your arms instinctively wind around his neck as you stretch up on your tiptoes to greet him properly. Toto meets your lips in a lingering, languid kiss that has George hastily clearing his throat and looking resolutely anywhere but at the affectionate display before him.

When you finally part, all radiant smiles and flushed cheeks, it’s like the rest of the world has completely fallen away. Toto gazes down at you with such pure adoration that Max feels his throat constrict as though a belt is suddenly cinched tight around it.

“I have a surprise for you, schnucki,” Toto murmurs huskily, lips brushing your temple as he speaks.

You light up like a kid on Christmas morning, practically vibrating with excitement at his words. “Oh? Do tell!”

With a wink and roguish smile, Toto brandishes his other hand from behind his back — in it, clutched protectively, is a large cup topped with whipped cream and what looks like edible flower petals sprinkled over the top. The light purple hue of the iced contents catches in the bright sun, refracting a prism of soft, delicate colors.

“I had the barista in our hospitality whip this up for you,” Toto explains fondly. “After I mentioned how much you enjoy trying unique coffee flavors. It’s a lavender vanilla iced latte.”

Your mouth drops open in a perfect ‘o’ of delight as you instinctively make grabby motions toward the tantalizing beverage. Max recognizes that earnest enthusiasm all too well. It’s the same look you used to get whenever presented with any unique taste or experience to appreciate.

A look he always met with disdain and scorn.

Toto doesn’t hesitate for a second before depositing the cup into your greedy hands. You immediately cradle it reverently, as though it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held. Ducking your head, you take a long pull through the striped paper straw.

The expression that blossoms across your features as that first taste bursts over your tongue is one of pure, unadulterated bliss. Your eyes flutter closed on a muffled moan of sinful enjoyment, lips pursing as though savoring each individual note of flavor. Max hasn’t seen you look that unguardedly delighted by anything in … well, he can’t actually recall the last time.

“Oh Toto, this is heavenly!” You gush, swiping your tongue across your lower lip to catch a stray drop of condensation. “The lavender is subtle, but gives it such a uniquely fresh and floral twist. And the vanilla adds this creamy sweetness that keeps it from being overwhelming.”

You open your eyes to beam radiantly up at the older man, who returns your luminous smile with equal warmth. “It’s perfect, thank you! You have to try it.”

Without prompting, you eagerly offer the cup up to Toto. He accepts it with an indulgent chuckle, locking eyes with you as he takes a contemplative sip — no doubt eager to share in whatever fleeting moment of bliss the simple drink has brought you.

Unlike Max, who would have turned up his nose and likely received it with derision, Toto seems to savor the complex blend of flavors. Humming thoughtfully, he swipes his tongue across his upper lip as though committing each separate note to memory.

“You’re quite right, liebling,” he agrees readily, “this is delightful. So refreshing for this heat. I may have to acquire a taste for these iced coffees myself.”

You positively glow at his assessment, lighting up from within like a joyful little sun. Max is helpless before the storm of emotions suddenly ripping through him at the sight.

“Oh! That reminds me,” you chirp giddily, bouncing on the balls of your feet, “I was talking to the barista about maybe incorporating some other floral syrups for iced coffees too. Like rose or hibiscus! And maybe we could get her to try making those fun layered drinks with the espresso on the bottom-”

Toto’s deep belly laugh cuts off your stream of eager rambling. Without warning, he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush against him once more. You let out a startled giggle as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, lips brushing the feverish pulse point just beneath your jaw.

“You adorable thing,” he rumbles warmly, words slightly muffled against your skin as he presses a languid line of kisses along the sharp line of your jaw. “So enthusiastic about the simplest pleasures in life ...”

Pulling back, Toto lifts one hand to tenderly cradle the side of your face. You automatically nuzzle into his palm with a look of such smitten devotion that it makes Max’s heart stutter behind his ribcage. When Toto leans in to seal his lips over yours once more, the kiss is deep and thoroughly unhurried — as though the two of you have all the time in the world to savor this intimate little moment.

Max’s hands clench into white-knuckled fists, blunt nails biting crescent moons into his clammy palms. He should turn away, leave you to your blissful display with someone who so clearly appreciates you. Yet he remains rooted in place, unable to tear his eyes from the scene unfolding before him.

It’s like witnessing an alternate universe version of your shared lives play out in vivid, scorching detail.

In this reality, Toto is the one tenderly stroking the pad of his thumb over the elegant arch of your cheekbone as the two of you part, drinking in the sight of your passion-addled features hungrily. He is the one basking in the radiance of your bright and unrestrained joy. Celebrating each of your simple thrills, from the most frivolous of flavored coffees to the sensual graze of skin on skin.

And where does that leave Max? An outsider peering in at paradise with his face smeared against the glass, watching the warmth and affection he could never fully embrace slowly slip through his calloused fingers.

And my bed at three

The mattress shifts, the subtle movement rousing Max from his slumber. He cracks one eye open to find the space next to him empty, the sheets disheveled where you had lain.

A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand tells him it’s not yet 5 am. Where are you going at this hour?

He hears faint rustling from the living area of the hotel suite, followed by the soft click of the door. Groaning, he kicks off the covers and pads out of the bedroom, the plush carpet warm beneath his bare feet.

You’re sitting on the couch, slipping into a pair of flats. “What are you doing up so early?” He asks, his voice still husky from sleep.

You look up, startled. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” A soft smile plays on your lips. “I was going to watch the sunrise.”

Max rakes a hand through his tousled hair. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because it’s beautiful.” Your eyes sparkle with an excitement he can’t comprehend this early in the morning. “The colors, the way the light slowly creeps over the horizon — it’s just magical.”

He snorts. “It happens every day. Nothing magical about it.”

Your face falls ever so slightly, and it tugs at something in his chest. But the feeling is fleeting, replaced by annoyance at having his sleep disturbed for something so trivial. “So you didn’t want to join me, then?” You ask, almost timidly.

“And wake up before the ass-crack of dawn? No thanks.” He flops onto the couch beside you with a huff. “I was up until 3 am sim racing. Not all of us find staring at the sky such riveting entertainment.”

You say nothing, simply nodding as you avert your gaze. The light in your eyes has dimmed, and he feels a pang of guilt. But he shakes it off — it’s far too early for this kind of whimsical nonsense.

“Suit yourself,” he mutters. “I’m going back to bed.”

He doesn’t see the way your shoulders droop as he turns and trudges back towards the bedroom. Doesn’t see the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes before you blink them away and readjust the set of your jaw with determination.

Max burrows under the covers, fully intent on drifting back into oblivion. But sleep evades him, his mind buzzing with a peculiar restlessness. He punches his pillow into a more suitable shape, flips it over to the cool side, but still he lies awake, listening to the silence that fills the suite.

After what feels like an eternity, curiosity gets the better of him. He kicks off the covers once more and pads over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city street below. Sure enough, there you are, a tiny figure perched on a bench across the way, your face tipped up towards the slowly lightening sky.

Max leans his forehead against the cool glass, watching as the inky blackness of night gives way to soft shades of periwinkle and lilac. Slowly, the colors deepen into blazing pinks and vibrant oranges that streak across the heavens. The sky ignites in a brilliant blaze of crimson and gold, the clouds set afire by the rising sun.

And there you sit, bathed in the dawn’s ethereal glow, utterly transfixed. In this light, your features seem softer, more at peace than he’s seen you in a long while. A smile plays on your lips, genuine and unguarded, as you take in the spectacle unfolding before you.

Max finds himself holding his breath, as if the slightest movement might shatter the magic of this moment. He’s never seen you look more beautiful, more alive than in these fleeting minutes as day breaks over the city.

A rare pang of tenderness blooms in his chest, quickly overshadowed by a creeping sense of unease. He isn’t certain how much time has passed before the brilliant hues fade into the pale blue of morning, but eventually you rise from the bench, taking one last, lingering look at the sky before turning and disappearing from view.

Max exhales slowly, his breath fogging up the glass. He isn’t proud of how he dismissed your simple joy, that spark of wonderment at the little things that he so often takes for granted.

An emptiness settles in the pit of his stomach, the guilt heavier than before. How many other moments has he trampled on in his relentless pursuit of success?

He thinks of your radiant smile, how it lit up the pre-dawn gloom more vibrantly than the sunrise itself. With a sigh, Max turns away from the window, already dreading the apology he knows he owes you.

Because in that single, breathtaking moment, he realizes just how lucky he is to have someone like you in his life. Someone who can find magic in the mundane, beauty in the simple things he’s become blind to along the way.

Someone, Max fears, who may be too sweet for him.

***

Max gives up on sleep around 4:30 am, as he has for the past several weeks. Insomnia has become his constant, unwanted companion, leaving him tossing and turning until the first hints of dawn creep through the curtains. On nights like this, slumber remains persistently out of reach no matter how exhausted he feels.

He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling as the brightening sky slowly illuminates the room. It wasn’t always this way — he used to be able to sleep like the dead after a race weekend, knocked out by the physical and mental exertion. But lately, his mind refuses to shut off, thoughts swirling endlessly until his head pounds.

With a groan, Max kicks off the tangled sheets and drags himself out of bed. Maybe going for a run will quiet the racket in his brain, at least for a little while. He dresses quickly, lacing up his trainers and grabbing his earbuds before heading out into the semi-darkness.

The pre-dawn streets are blissfully empty as he starts off at an easy jog. He despises becoming one of those obnoxious morning people, but exhaustion has a way of stripping away one’s self-respect. If pounding the pavement before the rest of the world awakes is what it takes to catch a few hours of sleep, so be it.

His route takes him along the harbor, the gentle lapping of the waves against the seawall providing a soothing soundtrack. The first rays of sunlight glint off the glassy surface, and he finds himself averting his gaze, oddly resentful of the impending sunrise.

It wasn’t so long ago that he scoffed at your eagerness to greet each new day. But ever since you’ve been gone from his life, those brilliant, fleeting moments of beauty have begun to mock him at every turn.

He picks up his pace, as if he can outrun the rising sun and the flood of memories it brings. But there’s no escaping the vivid flashes of you, smiling radiantly as the world awakes in a blaze of fiery hues. Or the hollow ache that twinges somewhere beneath his rib cage whenever he’s reminded of just how little he appreciated you.

So lost is he in his circling thoughts that he nearly runs right into you, appearing abruptly on the path ahead. His trainers skid against the pavement as he grinds to a halt, his heart stammering in his chest.

“Max?” You blink up at him, clearly startled by his sudden presence.

He opens his mouth, an automatic apology rising to his lips — until his eyes zero in on the camera clutched in your hands. Of course. Still chasing sunrises after all these years.

A wry grin tugs at the corner of your mouth as you take in his rumpled running attire. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Max says nothing, his gaze flickering briefly towards the brightening horizon before fixing on you once more. You look … well, radiant as ever, lit by the soft morning glow. A small pang of something — longing, maybe — twists in his gut.

“Out enjoying another sunrise, I see,” he says at last, nodding towards the camera.

You glance down at it fondly. “Well, you know how it is. I have to capture them while I can.” A teasing lilt edges into your voice. “Not all of us are night owls.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “I’ll never understand what’s so fascinating about watching the same thing happen day after day.”

“But that’s just it — each one is different. Unique and fleeting and … breathtaking.” Your eyes spark with that gentle wonderment he remembers so well, the sight sending a tremor through his chest. “Like getting a front row seat to the greatest show on Earth, but it’s one you’ll never see again.”

You trail off with a small shake of your head, seemingly at a loss to put the feeling into words. Max doesn’t need the explanation — he’s seen that look of childlike awe on your face more times than he can count.

An awkward silence stretches between you, laden with the weight of history and unspoken apologies. You shift your stance, mouth opening as if to say something more.

But Max cuts you off before you can get the words out, unable to bear whatever sentiments might cross those sweet lips of yours. “Toto not joining you this time?” He asks gruffly.

Your expression softens into a fond smile, and it’s like a physical blow to Max’s sternum. He knows that look, has been on the receiving end of it more times than he cares to remember. The way your entire being seems to brighten when you so much as think about someone you love.

“Ah, you know Toto — he’s more of a sunset person,” you say with a light laugh. “I’ve never been able to drag his grumpy butt out of bed for a sunrise.”

Even as his insides curdle with jealousy, Max can’t help the quirk of his lips at the mental image. He could all too easily picture Toto swatting irritably at you, burrowing deeper under the covers to escape the blasted sun.

“But we make it work,” you continue, that loving glow refusing to dim from your eyes. “I take photos of the sunrise to share with him later. And he does the same with the sunsets for me. That way, we both get to experience it in a way.”

The gentle sound of your voice washes over Max like a salve, momentarily easing the tangled knot of regret and longing that’s taken up permanent residence inside him. He watches, transfixed, as the early morning light bathes you in ethereal radiance.

In that moment, he sees it so clearly — the depth of give and take in your relationship with Toto. The effort, large and small, that you both put into nurturing one another’s happiness.

Even when your desires don’t perfectly align. Even when compromise is required.

It’s such a simple gesture, capturing those magical moments to share with your loved one. But it’s one Max was never willing to make when you were with him.

A lump forms in his throat as realization washes over him with unforgiving clarity. You weren’t too sweet for him, as he had so arrogantly assumed time and again. No — the truth, much harder to swallow, is that he was simply too sour for you.

Too selfish, too wrapped up in his own ambitions to make even the smallest concession. Too blind to recognize the magic in the simple things that brought you unbridled joy. Too bitter and jaded to embrace and nurture the beautiful nature that made you … well, you.

And now, after all his careless cruelties and wasted chances, he can only stand idly by and watch as someone else basks in the sweetness of your affection. As someone else goes out of their way, day after day, to put that blinding smile on your face and those stars in your eyes.

Something in Max’s chest cracks and crumbles at the injustice of it all. At the agonizing truth that he let the best thing in his life slip through his fingers, all because he couldn’t be bothered to change his sullen ways.

Because you were never too sweet for him … he was too sour for you.

[unboundprompts]

Hii!! I came across your blog and immediately followed since I thought I might needed some help with my fanfics, and if there's one thing I'm bad at is describing fight scenes with like guns or magic, I've been struggling to write it and did some practices and didn't like how they came out, I'm hoping if you can do some fighting prompts, I hope this isn't too much!!

How to Write Fight Scenes

-> check out @howtofightwrite , they are an excellent resource for writing realistic fight scenes.

Set the Stakes Early

Why are they fighting? Establish the stakes of the fight clearly before it begins. If the reader understands what’s at risk, they’ll feel more invested. Stakes could be personal (revenge, survival), emotional (protecting a loved one), or strategic (achieving a mission).

Use the Environment

Incorporate the setting to add depth and realism. Are they fighting in a cramped alley, an open field, or a crowded city street? Describe how the environment affects movement, line of sight, or weapon use.

Vary Sentence Length for Pacing

Short sentences create tension and speed, while longer sentences allow for brief moments of reflection or description.

Incorporate Sensory Details

Highlight the senses beyond sight to ground the reader in the fight. Describe the smell of sweat, the metallic taste of blood, the weight of a sword, or the deafening roar of a gun.

Example: “Her ears rang as the blast reverberated around the alley. Smoke filled her nose, thick and choking, but she ignored it, tightening her grip on her weapon.”

Focus on Key Moments, Not Every Movement

Avoid blow-by-blow descriptions. Instead, highlight critical moves, reactions, and turning points to keep the scene flowing and avoid overwhelming the reader.

Show Physical Strain and Fatigue

Fights take a toll, especially over time. Show characters struggling to keep up, panting, sweating, or even stumbling as exhaustion sets in.

Example: “Her arms ached, each swing feeling heavier than the last. Her breathing came fast, ragged, but she couldn’t stop now.”

Capture Emotions and Mindset

Mix action with glimpses of your characters’ thoughts and emotions. This adds depth and reminds readers why the fight matters.

Describe Injuries Believably

Injuries impact the pace and intensity of a fight. Showing injuries realistically adds tension and makes victories feel hard-won.

Example: “She hissed as pain flared in her side where his blade had grazed her. Her vision blurred, but she forced herself to stand, one hand pressed to the wound.”

Build Up to a Climax

As the fight progresses, increase the stakes and bring tension to a peak. This could be a devastating blow, a risky last-minute decision, or a surprising twist.

Example: “He was backed against the wall, nowhere left to run. She raised her hand, a final spell crackling in her palm, the light casting a fierce glow in her eyes.”

Conclude with a Realistic Aftermath

Show the immediate aftermath of the fight: physical exhaustion, injuries, and the character’s emotional response. If they won, are they triumphant, relieved, or traumatized? If they lost, what happens next?

Fight Scene Prompts (with Magic)

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

As they crept down the dim hallway, the flash of gunfire exploded from behind, forcing them to dive to the ground, bullets ricocheting off the walls around them. She barely had time to pull her weapon, pressing her back to the wall as footsteps drew closer. With a steadying breath, she waited for the right moment, then spun, firing off two rounds that hit their marks with surgical precision. The hall fell silent, the smell of gunpowder hanging in the air.

Electricity crackled around his hands as he stalked toward his opponent, energy building in his fingertips. She mirrored his stance, blue flames licking up her wrists as her gaze narrowed. He made the first move, sending a bolt of lightning in her direction, but she countered with a quick flick of her wrist, sending the flames forward like a living shield. Sparks flew as their magic collided, the force of it rattling the metal beams around them.

He ducked behind the dumpster as gunfire erupted, bullets pinging off the conjured barrier that surrounded him. He gritted his teeth, feeling the strain as his shield flickered with each impact. His opponent advanced, shouting taunts over the noise, but he focused, raising one hand to push the barrier outwards, turning it from defense to offense. With a growl, he flung the shield forward like a battering ram, the force slamming his opponent back against the alley wall.

They ascended into the night sky, wind whipping around them as spells flew between them like streaks of fire. He could barely keep up, dodging her relentless attacks as the city lights twinkled below. Finally, he unleashed a burst of energy from his hands, the force spiraling outward in a shockwave. She managed to deflect it just in time, retaliating with a beam of light that sliced through the night like a comet, forcing him into a desperate mid-air roll to avoid it.

[aperrywilliams]

Only If It Makes Sense (Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader.

Summary: You are struggling to write your report about the last case. There are a lot of things going on in your head lately, and your boyfriend, Spencer, has already noticed. An open conversation with him in the breakroom can be very clarifying for you and maybe the little push you need to think about what’s next in your life.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: More comfort than hurt. Nothing too heavy, I think. There is some reference to a gruesome case (no details given). There is a mention of the reader being pointed with a gun (once). The reader is overthinking a lot.

A/N: A self-indulgent fic, just because I need a boyfriend like Spencer Reid telling me everything is going to be okay.

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Flipping between statements transcription and evidence photos, your eyes can't focus enough to see what you need to complete the last case report. It's useless. You have been trying for the past three hours to finish it, but you can’t. Flashes about what happened to the victims and how difficult it was to catch the unsub flood your mind. Your mind replays the way the unsub talked to you when he was pointing his gun at you.

‘You think you’re better than me, uh? Do you think if you put me away, you’ll sleep better tonight? You’re wrong. You’re the one trapped here, not me. I’m doing what I want; you are doing what others want you to do. And it doesn't matter how long you keep doing this, you’ll always feel empty.’

You glance at the clock on your desk. It's almost 5, and you are not close to being done. Sighing in frustration, you stand and make a beeline to the breakroom. A coffee seems to be a good idea and a needed distraction.

While waiting for the fresh pot to be ready, your eyes are fixed on the dark liquid slowly brewing, drop by drop.

Why this case has affected you that much? It's not something you have ever seen before. You have worked on many gruesome cases in the past twelve years with the BAU. It's safe to say things can’t surprise you much these days, but for some reason, in the past months, you haven't felt like handling the job the way you used to.

Between the lack of motivation some days and the boost of excessive impetus on others, you still can’t pinpoint what’s wrong.

Your mind goes to that warehouse again:

‘...And it doesn't matter how long you keep doing this, you’ll always feel empty.’

The unsub is wrong. He has to be wrong. You don't feel empty. You don’t feel trapped. You love what you do. The BAU has been your life because you chose it to be.

“I think it's ready.”

Your mind comes back to the present the moment Spencer’s voice reaches your ears. You notice Spencer is right; the pot stopped brewing. There are no drops dipping anymore.

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” You mumble, quickly grabbing your mug to fill it with the precious liquid. With a tight lip smile, you offer to do the same with the cup in his hands. Spencer nods and reaches it for you.

Spencer watches your moves carefully without saying a word. He’s been analyzing you for a while now. Of course, he has noticed your change of behavior: frequent quietness, excessive overthinking, and constant retreatment. Spencer has picked on all of it, not only because he is a genius or an excellent profiler. He also happens to have known you since you joined the team more than a decade ago and has been your boyfriend for the past three years. So yeah, he has noticed.

You’re very aware he knows something is off. But you can’t bring yourself to address it with him. Not out of distrust or trying to hide something from him. The fact you are not sure about what’s happening makes you bury it in the back of your head and act like there is nothing to worry about. Maybe it will go away if you ignore it. At least, that is what you thought would happen. Weeks later, you are not so sure anymore.

“Do you need help with your report?”

His offer doesn't surprise you. It's not uncommon for Spencer to offer help with anything he thinks can lift some weight from you. You do the same for him every chance you get. But this time, you would have hoped he didn't catch your struggle.

“Uh. No, baby. I - I’ll finish it soon. Thank you, though. Actually, you can go home if you’re done. I’ll go after finishing and handing the report to Emily.” You try to sound convinced and reassuring. You know Spencer worries, and you love how considerate he is to you, but this is your job and your problem. He doesn't deserve to be the fixer of everything that happens to you. It’s not fair.

“You haven’t moved past the first page,” he says matter-of-factly. It's not accusatory. It's not mocking. It's a fact that supports the reality that you are not even close to being done, and he wants to help.

You huff a laugh. “Well, I know it's not my best performance, but I’ll survive,” you wink at him, trying to light the mood.

Sarcasm. That’s another component of your toolbox used to deal with things that overwhelm you.

Spencer is clever enough to know he can’t just confront you right away. You are as stubborn as he is, so if he pushes too hard, you’ll close in your shell. He opts for a different approach.

“Love, I know you will,” he says after sipping his coffee. “But I wanted us to go home together. I really don’t mind waiting or helping you to finish it if you’re okay with it.”

And this is where your dilemma arises: accept Spencer's offer, which will lead him to realize you have done nothing yet, and you’ll have to confess you're not okay, and he’ll want to talk about it, or refuse and hurt your boyfriend's feelings by not letting him help. Damn Spencer.

Your smile falters, followed by a deep sigh.

“I barely started it,” you admit, sort of embarrassed. “And I don’t know why it has taken me so long.”

Spencer’s eyes are nothing but understanding. He kindly points to a chair for you to take as he reaches for another for himself. You plop on the seat, tighten the grasp of your mug, and pout like a child before being lectured.

“What is bothering you, baby? It's the case?” Spencer asks, resting his hand on your knee to encourage you to relax your posture.

“No. I mean - yes. This case was awful,” you grimace, and Spencer matches your expression. You don't need to say details to agree that it was one of the most gruesome in a long time.

“It really was,” he concedes. “But that’s not all, isn’t it?” You nod. It's kind of useless to try to deny it. “Love, you know you can tell me anything,” Spencer reassures you. You nod again, sipping your coffee as you collect your thoughts, then setting the cup over the table.

“I have been thinking-” you start. “For a while now. I mean, thinking about this case, all the cases, you know?”

It is difficult to put into words something you don’t even fully comprehend yourself, but Spencer is patient and understanding. Also, above all, he knows you damn well. That's why you may have been afraid to bring it up with him.

You’re scared you would confirm something you already know in your gut but have not acknowledged in your brain.

“You have been in your head a lot lately. Is that about?”

“Yeah. Although I can't say it's something particular,” you explain. “If that makes sense.”

You feel like you are stumbling over your words and thoughts.

“What bothers you about it? Because it looks like you feel frustrated. Why?”

That's a good way to put it. You were going to say conflicted or overwhelmed, but frustrated suits better, you think, in this case. You have always admired Spencer and his ability to use words.

“Because - because I feel like I can’t do this job anymore,” you blurt out plainly, without warning. You expect Spencer to be scandalized, or disappointed, or both. You are a bit about yourself, to be honest. But Spencer doesn't even flinch. At most, he hums like you are saying something he has already anticipated.

“Is that so? Why do you think you can’t?”

It's weird having this conversation in the same place where you’re feeling off. It's almost as if you’re betraying the same job you have been doing for more than a decade. Spencer notices your hesitation. “We can talk at home if you feel uncomfortable right now. I don’t think Emily would mind having your report tomorrow instead of tonight.”

Surely, Emily wouldn’t mind, but something doesn't let you just leave the conversation on standby. For some reason, you feel the need to stay.

You shake your head no and stand from your spot, stopping to glance through the breakroom’s window. It gives a good view of the bullpen. You can see Luke's feet resting at his desk as he banters with Garcia, who is perched by his side. You see as JJ says goodbye for the day, bag in hand, and Tara exits Emily’s office, ready to go home, too. Matt is already gone, and Rossi is locked in his own office.

“I’m not saying they don’t get affected by what we do. I know everybody has their battles and their ways of handling them. But they look like they’re doing fine. And I know I used to feel and look that way, too.”

Spencer watches you carefully in respectful silence. He knows you need to unravel to clarify your head, and for it, you need to say what’s in your mind.

“And now? I feel like I lost my place here. And I’m not blaming anyone but me for it. It's just I can’t see the big picture anymore. I’m not cut for this anymore. And I’m wasting everybody’s time with me failing here.”

For Spencer, here’s where he draws the line. You can have doubts and overthink your present and future, but he won’t let you think you are not good at your job because it’s far from the truth.

“Hey,” he stands and approaches so you can turn from the window to look at him. “You are not failing, okay? Everyone can make mistakes here. All of us have made mistakes working here. Need I remind you who got arrested in Mexico two years ago?”

You roll your eyes. “Spencer, that’s different. A psychopath targeted you.”

“And I let my guard down,” he supplies. “But, I’m bringing this up because even though we could have made other choices working on cases, that does not make us bad at the job. Especially you.”

“Especially me? What do you mean?”

“Yes. Especially you. Come on, I have never seen someone so clever, tenacious, and so connected to people’s feelings doing this job.” You huff a mid chuckle.

“That’s your way of saying I’m stubborn?”

Spencer shakes his head in amusement. You never lose a chance to make a comeback.

“You can deflect joking about it, but I’m telling the truth.”

It seems that cracking jokes will not make Spencer drop the subject so quickly.

“Okay, so - if you’re right about what you said, why I’m seeing this from a different perspective?” You cross your arms over your chest, and Spencer feels your defensiveness.

“Well, due to the fact you asked me, I would say the problem is not you can’t do this job anymore; the problem is you don’t want to do this job anymore.”

You take in his words for a moment. It never occurred to you there was a possibility of not wanting to be a profiler. When the idea of joining the FBI settled in your mind at a young age, the BAU turned into your primary goal. And when you finally made it, you always thought it was where you belonged and that you would die doing this job.

Why would you feel different now?

“I do want to keep doing this,” you defend. “I mean, I’m doing something worthy for someone. We save lives; we’re trying to make a difference.”

Spencer nods, his hand finding yours to bring it to his lips. After lovingly kissing your palm, he keeps his hold to lead you to sit on the sofa settled in the corner.

Almost everyone left for the day, so the probability of someone walking on you both there is very low at this hour.

“I get what you say. That’s a huge motivation for us to do what we do, and I always have admired you for it. About the way you think about this job, like something with a purpose,” he says, softly stroking your hand.

“But there is a ‘but,’ right?” you anticipate, and Spencer gives you a reassuring smile.

“Have I ever told you what Morgan said to me when he left the BAU?”

You purse your lips, trying to remember it. “About leaving so he could be there for his son?” you ask, and Spencer nods.

“Yeah, that. But there is more to it. When I asked him what the difference was between his situation and JJ's or Hotch’s, he told me the main difference wasn’t in the things around them; it was in the way things still keep making sense or not. He wasn’t talking about the impact of doing or not something on others but on yourself.”

Your eyes go downcast to your lap. That is what’s happening to you? Does your job not make sense to you anymore?

“That means-”

“Baby,” Spencer continues, sensing what conclusion you are drawing right now. “It's not about selfishness; it is about being honest with you. You feel conflicted because you are scared of wanting something different and wanting something different means making changes you’re afraid to make. I get it; I usually feel the same about changes; you already know that. But I also think you know things are not going to be the way they used to be, and your heart is telling you to do something about it.”

Spencer is right. It's the way you feel, but the implications of acting about it scare you.

“But what if I’m reading this wrong? If the whole ordeal is only me being insecure because I’m not performing the way I used to? What if I’m overreacting?”

Spencer, who has been playing with your fingers because he knows it comforts you, stops his motion to interlace his fingers with yours giving a soft squeeze.

“Is that so? I’m sure you know it's not that.”

Do you really know? Maybe you do in your heart, but your mind runs thousands of scenarios in which you’re wrong and mess everything up.

“What do I do?” You finally ask. It's a mid-rhetorical and mid-actual question.

“What do you want to do?” he asks back. You groan, pulling your hands off his grasp.

“Jesus, Spencer. Don’t help me this much, okay?”

Spencer chuckles. He knows you are not really mad at him.

“I know you have been thinking about it. Everyone had at some point. Me included.”

You know the idea has been around for a while. You secretly have entertained new scenarios, new things to do, and new experiences, none of which involve staying at the BAU.

A lump forms in your throat. The realization you feared to face is in front of you. Unavoidable.

“You know?” you start. “I always thought the moment I would consider leaving the team would be after a big revelation, a big something. Not a slow building up of inner undetermined nonconformities.”

Spencer shakes his head. “Don’t go so hard on yourself. You say it like it’s only a whim when it’s not.”

You huff. “Isn’t? It's not me running from my commitment to the team? From the things that really matter in life?”

“And you don’t matter? The things you feel don’t matter? My love, to make a decision thinking of you is the bravest thing you can do, believe me. No one should think less of you for doing it, and if they do, fuck them.”

Your eyes widen.

“Did you just say ‘fuck’?”

“Is that really what caught your attention about everything I said?” Spencer asks in disbelief, and you shrug.

“Sorry. I couldn't just let it go unnoticed.”

Spencer is about to say something to protest, but you continue talking. “But okay, okay. I really get your point. It doesn't make it easy to follow, though.”

“I know it's not easy, but it makes sense to you?”

Hell, it does. You exhale sharply.

“Yeah. It makes sense.”

Your thoughts go to the day you crossed those glass doors for the first time, your first case, the first time you had to talk down an unsub. You think about the people you have seen leave and the ones who joined, the drinks at O'Keefe, the not-so-healthy food, and the excessive coffee intake. It's funny that, in almost all of those moments, Spencer has been there in one way or another. You are grateful to the BAU. You have learned, given, and received.

It's scary to think how things will change after you leave, but you know it's time for another chapter in your life.

Treacherous tears start to roll down. Spencer quickly notices.

“Hey, baby. It’s okay,” he coos, wrapping his arms around you to pull you into a tight embrace.

“I know what I have to do, but I’m still scared,” you admit, muffling your words in Spencer’s chest.

“My love, you are not alone in this, okay?” he kisses the top of your head.

Spencer’s voice whispers sweet nothings that are so soothing that you have no choice but to melt into his arms. You don’t know if you alone would have reached the determination to admit it's time to move on.

When you feel composed enough, you part to look up at him. Your cheeks are flushed and tear-stained. Spencer looks at you back with just love in his eyes, as if you are hanging the moon.

“Things will change, you know?” you point, and Spencer nods, not faltering the grip of his arms around you.

“I suppose they will.”

“We won’t be working together anymore,” you continue, and Spencer lets out a melancholic sigh.

”And if you want to know, I’ll miss you like crazy. But as long as you are happy, I’ll be satisfied.”

“You mean that?” You ask him, voice small with emotion.

“Of course I mean it. I love you, and I’ll do everything in my power to see you happy. Even if it means not having you around 24/7.”

This is another proof of Spencer's unconditional love. For him, your happiness is beyond any logistic patch on the road. Somedays, you can’t believe that man is yours.

“Fuck. I’m so damn lucky to have you,” you blurt out, and Spencer's lips curve into a smirk.

“Who’s cursing now, uh?”

You roll your eyes at his comeback. “Shut up.”

A genuine laugh escapes you both and fills the breakroom. You feel relieved and mostly lighter. The dilemma never had to do with you not having options as you thought at the beginning. On the contrary, it involved broadening one's view and considering new alternatives.

“Can we go home now?” Spencer asks, and you sigh.

“I have a report to finish,” you remind him, but before Spencer’s shoulders slump in disappointment, you continue. “But I could use some help to finish it, you know?”

Spencer narrows his eyes at you, faking contemplation of your petition.

“What I’m getting if I kindly offer to help?”

You scoff. “A happy girlfriend is not enough?”

Spencer’s grin is wide. “It’s more than enough, actually.”

After pecking your lips, he grabs your hand to stand from the couch and walks with you back to your desk. So you can finish what will be your last case report working with the BAU.

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[halfway-happyyy]

Achilles' Heel - part I {Frank Castle}

"you are my achilles' heel, the weakness only i can feel" - leith ross

summary: in which of all the lost souls in new york city, an enterprising young woman has the misfortune of patching up The Punisher.

warnings include: mentions of violence, blood, etc. two people who could fill a cargo container five times over with their emotional baggage.

pairing: Frank Castle x female reader (she/her pronouns)

AN: i’m not entirely sure how this idea came to me, but here we are. i don’t claim to know much about sex workers (except that they deserve as much respect and love as anyone else), and like our main girl here, i certainly don’t claim to know much about medical intricacies, so go easy on me. happy reading friends 💖

As the opening notes to Billie Holliday’s P.S. I Love You rose above the muted static of her record player, her eyes fell shut in unconcealed ecstasy. A flash of lightning lit the otherwise caliginous night sky outside her living room window, and it occurred to her then, in the comfort of her own presence, that this was the first Saturday night she’d had off in months. There was a 2009 vintage red on the rack next to her player that she knew would pair excellently with her record, and just as she’d been about to reach for it, her phone rang, shattering her shallow illusion of peace. It briefly crossed her mind to let it ring, but when she saw that it was her friend, she quickly changed her mind. 

“Elena, this had better be good.” 

White noise reverberated on the other end before her friend elicited a hacking, wet cough. “Callie, I need a favour.” 

On account of her friend’s rare use of her real name, she knew immediately that whatever she was about to be asked, was serious. 

“I’m listening.” 

“I was supposed to do a job tonight- some boutique hotel up in hell’s kitchen, and I can barely get out of bed, let alone anything else.” A clap of thunder sounded closely outside, startling her, and the thought of going back out into the torrential downpour of the evening made her stomach churn with dread, but she let Elena continue. “It would mean the world to me if you took the call, Cal. The money’s good- 5 k upfront and he only needs about an hour of your time.” Elena sniffled and added, “It goes without saying but I will happily take the next call you don’t want to do.” 

It was apparent that whatever bug had brought her friend down had to have been a nasty one in order for her to turn down five thousand dollars for an evening.

“You sound like shit, E. Of course I’ll do it.”

She could still hear her friend chanting thankyouthankyouthankyou into the phone when she hung up. She cast a last, longing glance at the bottle in her rack and then begrudgingly went to her bedroom to change. 

Standing poised and slightly drenched in front of the hotel room door an hour later, she reluctantly knocked the way Elena’s text message had instructed and waited. Though the feeling was a rare one - she’d been playing the long game for a while now - apprehension swelled in the pit of her belly, and out of habit, she bent slightly to run a hand over the jagged outline of the knife in her boot; just feeling it was enough to put her nerves at ease for the time being. When her client still hadn’t answered the door, she became concerned that she’d had the wrong room, and just as she was about to double-check her messages, the door swung open. She hesitated a moment before entering, and when her eyes eventually adjusted to the dimly lit room, she noticed a man perched on the edge of the neatly made bed, staring off into the distance as if in a daze, and holding a hand to his side. An undetectable bite of something hung so heavily in the air that she could almost taste the slightly salty brine of it on her tongue. 

The man cleared his throat and rasped, “You Elena?” 

She took a tense breath and shook her head. “Elena was indisposed this evening. I’m Jane.”

She watched the man hang his head and elicit a string of rough curse words.

As the rain dried on her skin, annoyance swirled in her belly. “Excuse me, is there a problem?” 

A bark of laughter erupted from him, humorless and cold. “Yeah, there’s a fuckin’ problem. There was a reason I asked for her specifically.” 

Elena had briefly mentioned something about her client requesting a girl with a medical background, but they had both chalked that up to a kink he probably had. They decided that this was just going to be one of those times where she would have to fake it to make it. 

“Listen, pal, if it’s a nurse thing you’re after, I’m your gal. I’ve got a little paper hat and a stethoscope-

He cleared his throat and glanced up at her, and it was then that she noticed the complete state of disrepair the man was in, and the rest of the words fizzled in her throat. Her stomach plummeted when she realized the source of the metallic tang in the room was blood. His face seemed to have taken the worst of the damage; multiple shallow cuts oozed crimson, and a violet bruise bloomed under an umber eye that would surely take the form of a full-blown shiner in the morning. Her gaze traveled lower, to where his hand held his side, and bile rose in her throat as she noticed blood seeping out from between his fingers.

His voice was hoarse when he murmured, “Yeah kid. It’s a nurse thing I’m after alright.” 

Kid? Who on earth did this man think he was?

Her mouth had become void of moisture at some point, so when she tried to say that perhaps they had better call an ambulance, his face turned up in a scowl. “Beg your pardon?” 

She gestured toward the phone on the desk beside the television. “I don’t see why we can’t call for help…” 

He shook his head adamantly. “Nah. No hospitals, no cops, none'a that shit. You’re here now, and if you’re able, I could really use the help.” 

She could feel the ice-cold blooms of panic taking root in her, and as she glanced back towards the door, the urge to cut and run became all-encompassing. She wrung her hands together, at a complete loss for what to do.

“Look man, if you die on me- if you die here tonight, I’m screwed. Beyond screwed. And this may come as a shock to you, but I’m not exactly qualified to assist you with whatever this,” she gestured vaguely towards him. “Is.” 

His laughter was genuine this time, but it vanished quickly and was replaced with a grimace of sheer pain. “I ain’t dying, kid. Not tonight anyway. And even if I did, I know a couple of okay lawyers that could get you out of a bind no problem,” His gaze found hers again, and the unexpected earnestness in it nearly floored her. “Please.” 

She found herself nodding before she could fully talk herself out of it. “Oh christ, okay. What do you need?” 

He inhaled deeply and gestured with the jut of his chin to a medical kit that lay open on the desk beside the phone. “There’s a needle and some thread in there-

“No,” She shook her head. “No no no. I can’t.” 

He screwed his eyes shut and hissed out another expletive. “No pressure here, but there’s a high chance I’ll bleed out if you don’t and I’d do it myself, but I can’t quite reach it.” 

Despite the chaotic haze of the moment, it all began to make sense. Three years ago, and after a particularly bad year, Elena had quit her job as a charge nurse at Mount Sinai. His earlier statement about asking for her friend specifically chimed like a bell through her muddled mind.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you it was as easy as sewing drapes?” 

Disbelief clouded her features as she shook her head. “No, it would not.” 

She wandered over to the kit and peered in, noticing two spools of black and navy thread. She pulled them both out and asked if he’d had a preference over one, which made him snicker. 

“Black suits me just fine, kid.” 

She got to work threading the needle, and when that was finished, she approached him reluctantly.

“You always carry a medical kit with you?” 

The man tried to manage a shrug. “I’ve found it comes in handy from time to time.” 

She took a steadying breath. “Alright, I’m ready if you are.” 

He reached down to retrieve a half-empty bottle of whiskey, pulled the cork out with his teeth and took a hearty swig. When he set the bottle back down, he dropped his hand with a wince and proceeded to gingerly pull the t-shirt from his battered body. If she’d thought his face was bad, it was nothing compared to the carnage that littered his chest and abdomen. “Jesus,” She gasped. 

“Yeah well, you should see the other guy.” He managed between gritted teeth. 

He bore the faintly heady scent of gunsmoke and blood, and as she leaned closer to inspect the wound she murmured, “Judging by how this looks, I think the other guy may be dead.” 

He made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “I think you may be right.”

She quickly passed a square of gauze over the wound, ignoring the pained grunt that fell from the man’s mouth and sighed. “Do I get to know your name for this?” 

“You wanna know my real name? Or should I take a page outta your book and give you a fake one?” 

It was her turn to choke out a breathless laugh. “You sure talk a lot of shit for someone at the mercy of a complete stranger.” 

He hissed as the needle pierced his skin and managed a grunted, “Yeah well, this ain’t my first rodeo.” 

She was entirely unsurprised.

“It’s uh… It’s Frank.” he eventually croaked.

She was quiet as she tried her best to focus on the gruesome task at hand, but the insufficient lighting combined with the calamitous thunder outside made it all a bit harder than it needed to be. “Yeah well Frank, first aid 101 says that you don’t pull the protrusion from the wound until you seek proper medical help.” 

“Fuck,” He seethed when she pricked a particularly sensitive spot. “We got a smartass on our hands, I see. You gonna tell me your real name now?” 

She ignored that completely. “Hey, answer me this: there was no one else in your life that you could have called besides an escort agency to come fix you up?” She found the mere notion of it all inexplicably sad. 

Despite the pain he was in, a smirk ghosted his features. “I only got two people that I would trust my life with, and both of ‘em are uh… what’s the word you used earlier? Indisposed?”

He flinched and swore again.

“They’re indisposed at the moment. Plus, you offer much more of a view to look at than they do.” 

Jesus, the nerve on this guy. 

She gave her head a shake and huffed out an exasperated breath. “Well, I’m sure you’ll regret getting a hold of Elena when this thing heals. I’ve likely maimed you for the rest of your days.” 

“Pfft, have you seen the rest of me, kid? Add it to the pile.”

While she took stock of the rest of him, her gaze drifted to the gold wedding band on a chain around his neck. “Your wife know where you are?” 

Frank stiffened against her, eyes drifting to the ceiling above her head. “Nope.” 

“Lucky lady,” She murmured, as she finished the last stitch and tied off the end of the thread.

She watched Frank’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat before he uttered, “My wife’s dead.” 

Her eyes fell shut. “I’m so sorry.” 

He offered her a shrug, his face a blank page. “You didn’t know.” 

The room became quiet while she busied herself packing gauze over the wound and placing tape over it to keep it there. She hastily surveyed the rest of the damage that she could see and asked if there were any other problem areas she should know about.

Frank shook his head. “None that require any more of your fancy suture work.” He pulled the blood-stained t-shirt back over his head, shielding the carnage of his toned chest from her, and she ignored the surprising prick of disappointment as a result.

“Can’t imagine you get too many calls like this.” 

She let out a low whistle. “This one was definitely a first.” 

Frank tilted his head to the side, studying her. “I bet you see a lot of shit though, doing what you do.” 

Doing what you do. 

Selling your company, your time, your body for money. 

She stood from the bed then, and turned towards the direction of the washroom, desperately wanting to rid her hands of the sickeningly sticky feeling of his blood on them.

“Not as much shit as you see, doing what you do.” 

She took her time at the sink, methodically scrubbing away the gore under scalding water until it ran clear, and when she entered the room again, Frank had propped himself up against the headboard of the bed and was watching her.

“I meant no disrespect, kid. You gotta do what you gotta do.” 

She rolled her eyes and murmured an acerbic, “How progressive of you.” 

It was hard to miss the mischievous glitter in his eyes when he cocked his head to the side and asked, “Tell me something. You ever have to use that knife in your boot?” 

She couldn’t imagine how he’d known, and she tried in vain to keep her voice neutral when she shrugged and said, “Not yet, but you never know.” 

A smirk lifted his lips skyward as he echoed her words. “You never know.” 

She cleared her throat, suddenly desperate to change the subject. “The guy who did this to you… Is he really dead?” 

A shadow passed over Frank’s face; if she hadn’t been watching him already, she would have missed it entirely.

“Would you believe me if I told you he was better off that way?” 

For some inexplicable reason, she could believe it, but she didn’t need to confirm it because the knowing look on his face told her as much. 

She clocked the watch on the underside of her wrist. Twenty past midnight. Shit.

“Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave, Frank?”

He winced, shifting into a more comfortable position. “Yeah kid, you can tell me your name. And none of that Jane Doe horseshit.” 

She scoffed. “Why? What’s the point?” 

Frank’s gravelly just humor me, was so quiet she almost missed it.

She kicked at a stray pebble on the carpet and sighed in defeat. “It’s Calliope. But I go by Callie.” 

A smile grew on his face that caused a wave of butterflies to take flight in her belly, despite everything.

“Your folks Greek mythology buffs or Springsteen fans?” 

Her eyes widened in genuine shock. “Both, actually.” 

He nodded in satisfaction. “I got one more question for ya.” 

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Seems you’re full of those tonight.”

“Why didn’t you just pass yourself off as Elena from the get-go?” 

She cast around for a suitable answer and eventually landed on, “You seem like the kind of guy who values honesty above most things.” 

The tension in the room seemed to reach a fever pitch as Frank’s gaze bore into hers, his expression unreadable. When the silence became too heavy, she broke it by inquiring about her payout.

Frank gestured to the desk beside the television. “It’s in the first drawer there.” 

She followed his instructions and pulled the sizable bundle of cash from it, turning back to him with her head cocked. “Well, I’d say it’s been a pleasure Frank, but I’d be lying.” 

He smiled wryly at her. “Stay safe out there, kid.” 

She hesitated a moment before turning towards the door. Her hand was on the handle when he called her name, and she slowly turned back to him. 

“What happens if I need your help again?” 

She let her mind wander a moment before shrugging. “Just shine your bat signal toward the sky, and I’ll get the hint. See ya around, Frank.”

Once outside in the hallway, she stumbled back against the wall and allowed herself a couple of heaving lungfuls of fresh air. She was moments away from stepping into the elevator when Frank’s wrecked voice caught her attention, and she turned to see him limping toward her, a small piece of paper in his grasp. 

“There’s just no keeping you down, is there?” she couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice.

He shoved the paper toward her, his face serious. “This is my number. You ever get into trouble, you ever find yourself in a situation, you give me a call.” 

Her eyes widened in mild amusement. “Right, I’ll call you so that you can get yourself into the same situation as tonight. Seems smart.” 

He shook his head. “Look kid, I don’t care if you slam dunk it into the nearest trash can on your way out, just take it.” 

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. She grabbed the piece of paper and backed into it, giving him a small wave. “Bye, Frank.” 

He mirrored her wave. “Take care of yourself, Callie.” 

~

did i originally post this earlier and then come up with a title i liked more? we'll never know. stay tuned for part 2💙

[lxndonorris]

such a tease - Max Verstappen

Y/N x Max Verstappen Theme: Smut (you've been warned) helping Max change after the Chinese GP, appreciating how good he looks in his racing suit and without x word count: 3570+ taglist: @game-set-canet EN: I had to use this picture, it lives rent free, got another for CL and LN planned, if you have any requests for others, let me know. Its my longest yet I think. Hope you like it. We need more body worshipping Max imo.

As you stood in the vibrant atmosphere of the Shanghai International Circuit, your heart raced with anticipation. It wasn't just any other day; it was the Chinese Grand Prix, and Max Verstappen, the love of your life, was poised to dominate the track.

As the lights dimmed and the engines roared to life, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through your veins. With each passing lap, you watched Max weave his magic, his driving prowess on full display for the world to see.

The tension mounted as the race unfolded, but Max remained unfazed, his determination unwavering as he led the others around each corner and each straight. Lap after lap, he danced with danger, his skill and precision leaving you in awe.

And then, as the checkered flag waved in the air, declaring Max the victor, you felt a swell of pride wash over you. You made your way toward the pitwall, just in time to catch him emerging from his Red Bull race car. 

Max's energy and excitement were infectious as he cheered loudly before he turned to meet your gaze. In one swift motion, he approached you and the rest of his team, hugging you tightly.

With a radiant smile gracing his features, Max held his throphy aloft on the podium, the golden light of victory illuminating his face. Dressed in his racing suit, adorned with the colors of his team, he looked every bit the champion he is.

As you watched from the stands, your heart overflowed with admiration for the man you loved. His determination, his dedication, and his unwavering pursuit of excellence were on full display for the entire racing world to see. And in that moment, amidst the cheers and the applause, you couldn't help but feel incredibly lucky to be by his side.

While Max soaked in the adulation of the crowd, his eyes found yours in the sea of faces, a silent acknowledgement of your unbreakable bond. And as he raised a hand in salute, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, you knew that this was a moment you would cherish forever.

As the press conference unfolded, you noticed Max's gaze constantly finding yours amidst the sea of flashing cameras and eager reporters. His smirk, subtle yet unmistakable, sent a shiver of excitement down your spine.

With every question fielded, his eyes lingered on yours, and as he spoke, his hand subconsciously drifted to his chest and thighs, a gesture that seemed to amplify his magnetic charm.

Watching him, so effortlessly captivating and utterly beautiful, a rush of adoration swell within you. You knew how he felt right now—the excitement and adrenaline of the race lingering deep inside him, and the desire to share this moment with you and you alone. 

For just anyone, this seemed unimportant, but you knew that with every stroke, every little move of his fingertips, he imagined it was you instead.

As the conference drew to a close, Max's gaze met yours once more, and with a knowing smirk, he got up from the sofa. Together, you made your way through the paddock to his motorhome.

Now inside the cozy confines of his motorhome, Max wastes no time grabbing a cold can of Red Bull from the fridge, his go-to source of energy and focus. With a deft twist of his wrist, he cracks open the can, the satisfying hiss of carbonation filling the air.

Taking a long sip of the invigorating drink, Max's expression softens, a look of pure satisfaction crossing his features.

Turning to you, his eyes sparkle with a mix of exhilaration and contentment. Despite the intensity of the race and the demands of the press conference, he still manages to look effortlessly hot in his racing attire, clad in his sleek racing suit and signature cap.

As he stands before you, radiating confidence and charm, his presence fills the room. You let your eyes roam all over him: his racing suit hugs his athletic frame, the vibrant colors a stark contrast to the muted tines of the motorhome's interior. Paired with his cap, adorned with the logo of his team, he looks every bit the part of racing superstar.

With a playful grin, Max extends the can of Red Bull towards you, inviting you to share his post-race ritual with him.

Taking it from him, you marvel at the warmth of his touch, the electricity that seems to crackle between you. And as you take a sip of the Red Bull, you enjoy the cold, refreshing liquid running down your throat.

With an hour until his next interview, you put the can down on the table next to you before turning back to meet Max's gaze right away.

With a confident swagger in his step, Max closes the distance again. One arm wrapped securely around your waist, he pulls you close, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine.

Steadying yourself against him, you can't help but be swept away by the intensity of the moment. His proximity is electrifying; his scent, a mixture of his cologne, sweat, and champagne, fills your senses as he leans closer, his lips grazing against your ear.

"Care to lend a hand?" he whispers, his voice husky with desire. His playful tone sends a surge of heat coursing through you, and you play along, relishing in the teasing banter.

With a playful smirk, you nod in response, your fingers trailing lightly along the contours of his racing suit as you begin to assist him in changing.

The adrenaline from today's race still surges through his veins, and his whole body tenses with the remnats of the high-octane action on the track. Despite the exhaustion that threatened to set in, there is a raw energy emanating from him.

You stroke his chest firmly through his racing suit; every muscle in his body seems to be coiled like a tightly wound spring, ready to unleash its power at a moment's notice. The fabric hugs his frame flawlessly, accentuating his athletic build and adding an air of intensity to his already striking appearance.

His eyes, ablaze with the remnants of the fierce competition, hold a magnetic allure that is impossible to resist. There is a primal energy to him, a wildness that sets your heart racing and your pulse quickening with every passing moment.

As your hands glide across Max's chest, tracing the contours of his racing suit, you feel the tension in his body gradually give way to a sense of relaxation. Enjoying how the sleek fabric feels underneath your fingertips, you stroke him even firmer, causing him to purr happily.

You let your hands run along his waistline as well, feeling his butt filling out the suit fully. Your hands are now freely encompassing all of him, from the small of his back, running along his spine and back around his shoulders, to his firm chest.

"That feels good." His smile widens as he pulls you closer, his grip firm yet gentle on your waist, a clear invitation to continue.

With each stroke, you sense the pleasure building within him, the sensation of your touch heightening the electric connection between you. His racing suit, once a barrier between you, now serves as a conuit for your intimacy, amplifying the intensity of your shared desire.

Max leans, his lips brushing over your neck and your ear, before he lets out a low, guttural moan, giving you goosebumps.

"Mhmm." You shiver as your hands gilde over his thick pecs and right his arms. As your fingers trail along Max's muscular arms, stroking the sinewy contours underneath his suit, he responds with a subtle flex, the muscles beneath his skin rippling with power.

He leans his head back, and with a knowing smile, he invites you to feel the strength of his arms. 

As you press your hands against his flexed biceps, you marvel at the firmness of his form, the raw energy simmering just beneath the surface. His muscles tense under your touch, a silent invitation to explore further to revel in the sensation of his strength.

With each flex, you feel a surge of excitement coursing through you, the heat of desire building with every second. Max's body is a canvas of power and grace, a testament to his relentless pursuit of perfection, both on and off track.

And as you continue to stroke him, tracing the contours of his arms with reverence and awe, you can't help but be captivated by the sheer beauty of his physicality.

"Oh, fuck." You speak quietly, watching your fingers run along his arms and back to his chest. As your gaze meets his once more, a knowing smirk plays on his lips, and he lowers his arms just to grab your waist again, securely holding you in place.

"Feels good, huh?" He licks his lips as his gentle fingers run along your waistline.

"Oh, yeah." You respond with a coy smirk forming on your lips, and then you let your hand run up his chest and right to the collar of his slick racing suit.

As you toy with the zipper of his suit, teasing him with the promise of what lies beneath, you can't help but revel in the power of your own arousal. The sight of Max, so strong and commanding yet vulnerable in his desire, stirs something primal within you, igniting a fire that burns with ferocious intensity.

And you tease him with the zipper while looking right into his sparkling eyes. You alternate between gentle caresses and playful tugs, causing a low, deep rumbling in his throat.

The firmness of his form beneath the fabric carries an intoxicating allure, pulling you closer and closer.

As you unzip his suit slowy, teasingly, you reveal the snug white fireproofs underneath, and a low growl escapes his lips, a primal sound of desire and anticipation. With his head leaning back, he surrenders to the sensations, his body tensing beneath your touch.

Sliding your hands inside his suit, you feel the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric, the firmness of his muscles, even more evident now, inviting your touch. 

With each stroke, you apply just the right amount of pressure, eliciting a shiver of pleasure from Max as he arches into your touch. His breaths come in shallow gasps, the rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in the space between you. 

And as you continue to stroke him, your movements growing bolder and more confident with each passing second, you feel the arousal within you intensifying as well, matching the intensity of his own desire.

With a shared determination, Max and you work together to remove the upper half of his racing suit, leaving the sleeves hanging down his waist. As the fabric falls away, his muscles are revealed, defined, and taut beneath the thin material of his undergarments.

Each contour is accentuated by the tight fabric, a testament to the physical strength and endurance required of a Formula 1 driver.

Unable to restrain the urge to touch him or feel him, you place both of your hands on his chest again. With every touch, every stroke, Max lets out a low, primal growl of pleasure. 

His grip on your waist intensifies as well, as he starts to stroke you in response. This spurs you on, fanning the flames already burning inside your belly, encouraging them to engulf your entire chest with burning desire.

Your hands explore the planes of his chest and the curves of his abdomen. The sensation of his muscles rippling beneath your fingertips only fuels your desire further, each growl serving as a symphony of passion between you.

Running your hands up Max's chest and neck, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your hand, you trace the outline of his lips with your thumb, a teasing question poised on your lips.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" You ask, a playful glint in your eyes.

Max's response is a simple nod, his expression softening as he meets your gaze. The tension that gripped his features now melts away, replaced by a look of pure contentment and desire.

With a mischievous grin, you reach up and remove his cap, letting it drop to the floor with a soft thud. His messy hair spills out from beneath, tousled and tousled from the excitement of the race. Running your fingers through his hair, you marvel at the softness, the strands tangling around your fingertips like silk.

Leaning in closer, you caress his cheeks, feeling the stubble beneath your touch. His skin is warm and smooth, in stark contrast to the rough texture of his racing suit.

At the same time, you keep stroking his tummy, tracing the tangible outlines of his abs with your other hand. The look in his eyes, dark with desire, tells you that he is enjoying every moment of the exquisite torture.

You let your hand wander even further down his body, and you gasp once your hand encompasses the desire bulding up inside his racing suit. In response, Max lets out a low sigh and starts to grind his hips against the palm of your hand.

Your eyes meet his, and the two of you smirk knowingly.

With practiced ease, Max slips off his shoes, the tension in the room palpable as he stands before you, his clothes clinging to his form.

As the racing suit falls to the floor, forgotten in the heat of the moment, your eyes trace the outlines of his body, mesmerized by the sight before you.

Max stands tall and proud, his muscles defined and toned beneath his tight fireproofs. The fabric is hugging his form like a second skin, and unlike the racing suit, it is unable to hide any of his features. 

His muscles ripple underneath, his biceps are thick with tension, just like his entire chest and thighs. The unmistakable bulge forming inside his trousers shows the effect all that teasing has on him, and Max isn't even trying to hide it.

Instead, he rubs the palm of his hand across his member while biting his lower lip and watching you closely. Still, you're not done teasing him yet.

Placing your hands back on his firm chest, you continue to stroke Max through his undergarments, eliciting a chorus of enticing sounds from his throat. With each touch, each stroke, the desire threatens to consume you both.

Max responds eagerly to your touch, pulling you closer until there is barely any space between you. His hands, once idle at my sides, now roamed freely, exploring every curve and contour of my body with a fervent hunger.

Feeling his hands on your butt, pulling you flush against him, sends a jolt of electricity coursing through you. The sensation of his touch is all-consuming, setting your skin ablaze with longing and need.

You suddenly can't wait to feel his bare skin under your fingertips. Tugging greedily at his shirt, you expose the hard lines of his abs. Responding to your need, he takes his shirt off in one swift motion, exposing his beautiful, toned chest.

Just like before, you stroke him and play with his hard nipples, just the way he likes it. His skin is so warm, tensed, yet oddly soft. His muscles react to the simplest touch, and you know he's longing for so much more.

Your eyes follow his hand, stroking himself, his chest, abs, and then further down to his member, tenting visibly. Max is letting out low growls, pressing his body against yours while biting his lips.

"Let me take care of that." You smirk and kiss him lovingly before you make your way down his chest. With every stroke, his breathing quickens, and you place kisses all over his chest, down his abs until you're on your knees.

Max runs a hand through his hair and across his face. His entire being is craving a release, to let go of all this pleasure and desire building up inside him.

Teasingly, you trace the outlines of his member with two fingers, causing him to moan quietly. Then, you slip your fingers inside his pants. As you play with the waistband, teasingly tugging at the fabric, Max's reaction is immediate; a low groan escapes his lips as he leans into your touch, his desire palpable against your fingertips. 

With each playful tug, his arousal grew, the fabric of his fireproofs stretching against the swell of his desire, its heat radiating through his clothes.

There is no room for restraint or hesitation. Both of you are consumed by the fire of your shared passion.

You pull his pants down and let your hands roam all over his thighs before you focus all of your attention on his dick.

As you take him inside your mouth, your entire body gets just as stiff as he is, and right away, Max lets out multiple low moans, leaning his head back while running a hand through your hair, encouraging you to take it all.

Easily, the two of you adapt to each other's movements, moving in sync with one another to an unseen, unheard rhythm.

Max moves deliberately, soft and gentle, even though he is already on the verge of cumming. All that teasing, paired with the excitement of winning today's race, dominating the entire grid, built up inside him, just waiting for this moment.

It doesn't take long for him to lean his head back even further and let out an exhausted, long moan.

His familiar taste spreads across your tongue, causing you to relish in that moment.

Max runs a hand through your hair as you separate yourself from him. He bends down, placing a hand at your neck, stroking you with his fingertips. 

"That felt so good." He moans as he leans in to kiss you gently. Then, he helps you get up and steadies you against his firm frame. 

"It was amazing." You lick your lips, savoring the taste still lingering on your tongue.

Max then steps out of his fireproofs, leaving them pooled at his feet. He stands before you, completely exposed, his vulnerability laid bare for you to see.

He touches himself a few times, still feeling that pleasure running through his veins, and you can't help but smile.

As you watch Max get dressed again, your gaze lingers on every movement, captivated by the effortless grace with which he moves. 

He starts by slipping into a fresh pair of underwear, the fabric clinging snugly to his form. Max struggles a little with his stiff member, but that just makes the two of you giggle.

"Always the same with you." You tease, but he just shrugs.

"I can't help it." He tilts his head slightly. "That's what you're doing to me." 

Rolling your eyes, you can't help but giggle again.

Next, he pulls on a pair of jeans, the denim hugging his legs in all the right places. With each movement, the tension in the room seems to grow again, amplifying the allure of his every gesture.

Finally, Max reaches for his signature Red Bull shirt, the fabric stretching tautly across his firm chest and shoulders. Even though it is a familiar sight, the shirt seems to fit him even more perfectly than usual, accentuating every contour of his muscular frame.

As he smoothes down the fabric, adjusting the shirt just so, you can't help but reach out for his chest once more. 

You run a hand over Max's red Bull shirt, feeling the warmth of his body radiating through the fabric. A shiver of excitement exhoes through you.

Your soft strokes elicit another guttural rumble deep from within his throat, and he places his hand on top of yours. The fabric of his shirt stretches and molds to the contours of his body, flattering him perfectly.

His familiar scent envelopes you again, filling the air with an intoxicating aroma that is uniquely his own. It is a scent you know and love—a blend of musk and sweat mixed with the subtle hint of his favorite cologne.

"Do I smell okay?" He asks suddenly, and you just nod.

"Yeah, so good." You smile and lean in to him, kissing him deeply while still stroking his chest through his tight shirt.

As you pick up the discarded clothes from the floor, you can't help but revel in the sensation of Max's racing suit and fireproofs between your fingers. The fabric is so soft yet sturdy.

As the two of you fold the garments neatly, you notice how they still retain the faint scent of Max—a scent that fills you with a sense of comfort and familiarity.

Feeling his arms wrap around you from behind, his touch gentle yet possessive, you melt into his embrace, savoring the warmth of his presence. His hand strokes your tummy with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter, each caress sending waves of pleasure through you.

Turning around to face him, you are greeted by the sight of Max in his signature look, his cap firmly in place, and a playful glint in his eyes. Despite the intensity of the day, he is ready for the next challenge, his confidence unwavering as he prepares for the next interview.

With a smile, you reach up and adjust his cap, making sure it is perfectly aligned. Max grins in response, a silent acknowledgement of your unspoken bond.

[inkspiredwriting]

Double Trouble: Five vs. Five

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

The Umbrella Academy mansion was unusually quiet, save for the soft hum of activity coming from the living room. Five Hargreeves, his wife Y/N, and his brother Luther were sitting on the couch, enjoying a rare moment of peace.

"Are you sure you don't want to join us for dinner?" Y/N asked, looking at Five with a warm smile.

"I'll pass," Five said, sipping his coffee. "You know how I feel about sitting through long meals."

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately. "You're impossible."

Just then, a bright flash of light filled the room, followed by the unmistakable sound of temporal displacement. When the light faded, an older version of Five stood in the middle of the room, looking slightly disoriented.

"Well, this is unexpected," Old Five said, straightening his tie. "Hello, Luther. Hello, Y/N." His gaze lingered on Y/N, and his eyes widened in disbelief. "Wait a minute—you're married to him?" He pointed at his younger self.

"Yes, we are," Y/N said, exchanging a puzzled glance with Young Five. "Who are you?"

"I'm Five," Old Five said with a smirk. "But from a different timeline."

Luther stood up, towering over both versions of Five. "So, what brings you here, old man?"

Old Five ignored the question, his attention still fixed on Y/N. "I must say, I never imagined I'd end up with someone like you, Y/N. You have excellent taste." He stepped closer to her, his smirk widening. "Tell me, what do you see in my younger self?"

Young Five narrowed his eyes, standing up to face his older counterpart. "Watch it, old man. She's my wife."

Old Five chuckled, clearly enjoying the tension. "Relax, kid. I'm just curious. Besides, it looks like I've still got it." He winked at Y/N, who looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Don't call me 'kid,'" Young Five snapped, his fists clenching at his sides. "And stop flirting with my wife."

Luther, sensing a potential fight, stepped between the two Fives. "Alright, let's all calm down. We don't need a Hargreeves showdown right now."

Old Five laughed, but there was a hint of irritation in his eyes. "Fine, fine. I'll back off. But it's interesting to see how things turned out in this timeline."

Y/N, trying to ease the tension, placed a hand on Young Five's arm. "It's okay, Five. He's just being... well, you."

Young Five took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Yeah, well, I don't like it."

Old Five raised an eyebrow. "Jealous, are we? That's new."

Luther rolled his eyes. "Enough, both of you. Why are you here, Old Five?"

Old Five shrugged. "Curiosity, mostly. Wanted to see how things turned out for me in this timeline. And I must say, I'm impressed." He glanced at Y/N again, his expression softening slightly. "You got lucky, kid."

Young Five scowled. "Don't call me 'kid.' And yes, I did get lucky. Now, if you don't have any pressing business here, I'd appreciate it if you left."

Old Five chuckled. "Alright, alright. I'll go. But just remember, don't take what you have for granted."

With another bright flash of light, Old Five disappeared, leaving Young Five, Y/N, and Luther standing in the living room.

"Well, that was awkward," Luther said, scratching his head.

Y/N turned to Young Five, wrapping her arms around him. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Five said, though his jaw was still clenched. "I just didn't expect to meet my older self today. And I certainly didn't expect him to hit on you."

Y/N laughed softly. "Well, I only have eyes for you, Five. No matter what timeline you're from."

Five's expression softened, and he kissed her forehead. "I know. And I love you for it."

Luther, trying to lighten the mood, clapped Five on the back. "Hey, at least now you know you'll age well."

Five rolled his eyes but couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, I guess so."

As they settled back on the couch, the tension slowly faded, leaving behind a strange sense of camaraderie. They had faced yet another bizarre situation, and once again, they had come out stronger together.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

okay sebastian reacting to mc learing gaelic for him. we know that he probably speaks it due to his parents and being Scottish i just imagine him reacting like that guy when his girlfriend

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DAZlsjsy2mG/?igsh=MWp5NXo5OGJ6Z255cg==

Mo Chridhe | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Ancestry says I'm 0% Scottish but I did my best BAHAH

Words: ~1,700

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Established Relationship, Fluff, Very Fluffy

The soft rustle of leaves and the gentle hum of bees buzzing around the early blooms filled the courtyard, mingling with the distant chatter of students enjoying the newfound spring weather. You sat cross-legged on the cool stone bench, your Charms textbook open in your lap and a half-finished essay balancing precariously on your knee. The warm sunlight felt good against your skin, a welcome change after the long, dreary winter.

Sebastian, on the other hand, wasn’t paying any attention to his homework.

He lounged beside you, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, one arm draped lazily over the back of the bench as if the very idea of studying offended him. His open Transfiguration book sat abandoned on the ground, pages fluttering slightly in the breeze. Instead of working, he was leaning in close, prodding at your quill with his finger like a bored cat trying to get a reaction.

“Come on,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar, teasing lilt. “How many hours are you planning to spend on that essay? You’ve written enough to fill three scrolls already.”

“Two scrolls,” you corrected without looking up, deftly shifting your quill out of his reach. “And unlike you, I actually plan to finish my assignments before midnight.”

Sebastian let out a dramatic sigh and tilted his head back to squint at the sun, the soft curls of his hair catching the light. “The best ideas come to me under pressure.” He grinned, his gaze shifting to you. “Or haven’t you noticed?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “The only thing I’ve noticed is that you’re terrible at staying on task.”

“I’m excellent at staying on task,” he shot back, straightening up slightly. “And my current task is making sure you don’t spend the whole afternoon scribbling away when you could be enjoying this beautiful weather.”

You glanced up at him then, raising a skeptical brow. "Enjoying the beautiful weather, or entertaining you?"

“Both, obviously,” he said, flashing you that signature smirk—the one he knew was impossible to ignore.

You groaned and went back to your essay, refusing to let him distract you any further. But he didn’t seem to take the hint. Instead, he shifted closer, resting his chin on your shoulder with absolutely no regard for personal space, his woodsy scent wrapping around you like a blanket.

“What’s this one about, then?” he asked, his breath warm against your ear. “Another thrilling analysis of wand movements?"

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “It’s on advanced offensive charms,” you said. “And if you don’t let me focus, I will hex you with one.”

Sebastian chuckled, the sound vibrating softly against your shoulder. “Advanced offensive charms? Why bother writing essays about them when I could just give you a live demonstration.” He lifted his wand and gave it a dramatic twirl, the tip sparking faintly.

You reached out, swiftly catching his wrist before he could attempt anything. "I've had enough detention his month because of your antics, thank you very much."

Sebastian made a show of pouting, his wand still poised in his hand. "Detention builds character, love. Besides, you can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our last one—scrubbing those cauldrons gave us plenty of quality time together.”

You raised a brow at him, your lips quirking into a sly smile. "Oh, yes, nothing screams 'quality time' like scrubbing years of potion residue out of the bottom of old cauldrons. Truly romantic."

Sebastian grinned, his chin still resting comfortably on your shoulder. "You’re saying that now, but I distinctly remember you cornering me in the—"

"Alright, alright!" You cut him off, heat rising to your cheeks as you waved your quill at him in warning. "No need to revisit that memory in public, thank you!"

Sebastian’s grin only widened, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “What’s the matter? Embarrassed?” he teased, leaning in even closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I’m pretty sure you were the one who—”

“Sebastian,” you interrupted again, trying to keep your voice steady as you pointedly avoided his gaze.

Sebastian's grin turned wolfish as he tugged on your tie, pulling your face closer to his. His eyes sparkled with mischief, his voice dropping into that low, teasing tone that always made your stomach flip. "You know, you’re adorable when you’re flustered," he murmured, his breath brushing against your skin.

You swallowed hard, your heart thundering in your chest. Usually, when he got like this—bold, unrelenting, and utterly incorrigible—you'd be left scrambling for a retort, something, anything, to wipe that smirk off his face. But not today.

Today, you were prepared.

Ever since you'd overheard Sebastian mention, offhandedly, how his parents used to speak Gaelic when he was young, you’d been secretly learning the language. He’d spoken of it with an odd mix of nostalgia and melancholy, lamenting how rare it was to hear it anymore. That wistfulness had stayed with you, and you’d spent countless late nights practicing phrases in secret, waiting for the perfect moment to surprise him.

And now, with him leaning so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him, you seized your opportunity.

You smiled sweetly, letting your fingers curl around the hand still gripping your tie. Then, in a voice as calm and steady as you could manage, you said, “Sguir dheth.”

Sebastian froze, his grip on your tie going slack as his eyes went wide. For a moment, he just blinked at you, completely thrown off. It was rare to see him so utterly speechless, and you relished every second of it.

“What did you just say?” he finally asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

You tilted your head innocently, your lips curving into a sly smile. “What’s the matter? Don’t recognize your own roots?”

He gawked at you, his expression cycling rapidly between shock, amazement, and something that looked like pride. “You—you’re speaking Gaelic?” he sputtered, his voice rising. Then, before you could respond, he sprang up from the bench, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You’re speaking Gaelic! You learned Gaelic!”

You leaned back, raising a brow at his sudden burst of energy. “A little bit.”

“For me?” he demanded, his grin splitting so wide it could’ve rivaled the Cheshire Cat’s. He dragged a hand through his hair, looking equal parts stunned and giddy. “I don’t believe it. You—you actually learned Gaelic. Do you have any idea how bloody amazing that is?”

You laughed, caught off guard by his sheer enthusiasm. “It’s not that big of a deal, Sebastian—”

“Not that big of a deal?” he interrupted, throwing his hands in the air as if you’d just said the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “Are you mad? No one speaks it anymore! I don’t even speak it anymore! And you—Merlin, you—you just casually drop it on me like it’s nothing?!”

He sat back down beside you with a thud, his excitement undiminished. He leaned in close, his hands gripping your shoulders now as if to steady himself. “Say something else,” he demanded, his eyes alight with curiosity and joy. “Come on, anything!”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, his boyish excitement infectious. “Tha thu nad amadán mòr,” you said, your tone teasing.

Sebastian’s jaw dropped, and then he burst into a loud, delighted laugh, throwing his head back as he practically doubled over. “You just called me an idiot!” he said, between wheezing laughs. “Unbelievable. You go through all the trouble of learning my ancestral language, and the first thing you do is insult me.”

“Seemed appropriate,” you said with a shrug, biting back a grin. “You make it so easy.”

Sebastian shook his head, still laughing as he pulled you into his chest. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended,” he said, still grinning.

“Just be flattered,” you said, your voice softer now. “You seemed so nostalgic when you mentioned it, and I thought… I don’t know. Maybe it would make you happy.”

He pulled back then, his teasing demeanor softening as his gaze searched yours. “Happy doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “You—you didn’t have to do this. Gaelic, Merlin. I’m never going to shut up about this.”

You searched his face, your breath hitching as your eyes caught the faint shimmer of unshed tears pooling in his. It was barely there—so subtle you might have missed it if you hadn’t been looking—but it struck you like a bolt. Sebastian’s usually self-assured confidence had softened, leaving behind something raw, unguarded, and achingly sincere.

Gently, you reached up, letting your fingers graze his cheek in a tender, grounding touch. “Of course I’d do this for you,” you murmured. “I’d do anything for you, mo chridhe.”

At that, a tear slipped free, trailing down Sebastian's cheek, though he didn’t seem to care. Instead, he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Merlin's beard,” he murmured, his voice muffled but filled with warmth. “How am I ever supposed to top this?”

You laughed softly, your arms winding around him in return as you rested your chin on his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll find a way. You always do.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, his grin returning through the lingering emotion. “Oh, I will,” he promised, his tone lighter now but no less genuine. “But first, I’m going to spend the rest of the day telling everyone who’ll listen that you learned Gaelic for me. Everyone.”

“Sebastian, no—”

“Oh, absolutely yes,” he said, his grin turning wicked. “And you’ll just have to live with it, mo chridhe.”

You groaned, but the fondness in your expression betrayed you. “Fine. But don’t expect me to bail you out when Ominis gets annoyed.”

“Worth it,” he said, pulling you close again and pressing his forehead against yours. “Completely worth it.”

[its-avalon-08]

it all fell down (ln4)

part3

multipart story! part1 part2 next

✦ pairing - lando norris x female reader

summary : lando norris and y/n were friends for 20 years, fell in love and dated for five. until it all fell down. they left each others lives abruptly and never spoke again, until they met again in the most unexpected way. can they find their way back or will certain scars never heal?

The party continued, the room filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the hum of conversation. Anna and Liam were making their rounds, thanking guests and basking in the joy of their engagement. Lando and Y/N found themselves in the same group, surrounded by mutual friends who were conspicuously trying to get them to speak.

"So, Lando, tell everyone how you had a great race last week," George said, trying to break the ice as they all stood together.

"Yeah, it was a good one," Lando replied, his eyes flicking briefly to Y/N before looking away. "A lot of hard work paid off, all those endless hours and sim racing. I guess it was all worth it."

"Y/N, how's the business going? I saw your latest campaign. It's amazing!" Claire chimed in, trying to steer the conversation.

"Thanks Claire!," Y/N said, smiling politely. "The team has been incredible. We’re launching another project next month that I’m really excited about. You remember what I told you about when we were in school? The whole collaboration? It's finally coming to life!"

The tension was palpable, each word carefully chosen, each glance weighted with unspoken history. Their friends exchanged nervous glances, hoping for a breakthrough.

"Y/N, didn’t you go on a date last week?" George asked innocently, completely aware unaware of the brewing storm.

Y/N stiffened, her smile freezing slightly. "Yeah actually I did. It was a nice evening. He wasn't busy on his phone with calls all the time and.. yeah it felt good."

Lando's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing slightly. He didn’t say anything, but the judgement was clear on his face. He turned to George, a sarcastic edge to his voice. "Must be nice to have so much free time to date around. Not everyone can afford such luxuries. Or have that much time to waste."

Y/N scoffed, her eyes flashing with irritation. Intentionally avoiding speaking to Lando, Y/N Addressed Clare, "You know Clare, some of us manage to balance our personal lives and careers. It's called multitasking."

"Multitasking, huh?" Lando said, still addressing George but clearly referring to Y/N. "Seems like some people are just good at juggling multiple things at once and not really excelling at anything in specific. Some of us like to be the best at what we do."

"Yes, some people are good at multitasking because they can handle the pressure," Y/N shot back, looking at Claire instead of Lando. "It's amazing what you can accomplish when you’re not distracted by racing around in circles."

The group fell silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Anna, sensing the brewing conflict, stepped in quickly. "Alright, alright, let's not turn this into a sparring match. It's a party, remember?"

As the night progressed, the tension between Lando and Y/N only grew more palpable. They found themselves once again in the same group, their friends trying desperately to keep the atmosphere light.

"So, Y/N," George started, attempting to steer the conversation to safer waters, "any exciting projects coming up that you can share with us?"

Y/N glanced briefly at Lando before replying. "Oh, plenty. We're working on something really innovative, but I can't reveal too much yet. Unlike some, we prefer to surprise people with our results, not just talk about them."

Lando's jaw tightened. "Yeah, surprises are really fucking great. Especially when they actually live up to the hype."

Y/N smirked, turning to Claire. "Well, some of us don’t need to hype everything we do. The results speak for themselves."

Lando’s eyes flashed with irritation and he directly addressed the woman he used to love. "Funny, I remember you being quite the hype queen back in the day. Always making a big deal out of the smallest things, could never get you to calm down."

Y/N’s smile was icy. "And I remember you being quite the show-off, needing constant validation. Guess some things never change."

George, sensing the escalating tension, tried to intervene. "So, Lando, any plans for the offseason? A vacation, maybe?"

Lando shrugged, keeping his eyes on Y/N. "Yeah, thinking about it. Might go somewhere quiet, away from all the noise and unnecessary drama."

Y/N crossed her arms, addressing Claire instead. "That sounds nice and boring. I always preferred places with a bit of life. Too much quiet can get boring. But then again, some people thrive in dull environments where it's all about them."

Lando raised an eyebrow. "Boring, huh? I’d say focusing on something meaningful is far from boring. But I guess when you’re always looking for your next distraction, it’s hard to understand."

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. "Meaningful? Like endlessly chasing after something you can never quite catch? That sounds quite bloody exhausting to me."

Lando leaned in slightly, his voice low and challenging. "Maybe it’s about the journey, not just the destination. But I guess you’d know all about giving up halfway, wouldn’t you?"

Y/N bristled, her temper flaring. "At least I know when something isn’t worth the effort. Sometimes walking away is the best decision."

George, desperate to diffuse the situation, stepped in. "Alright, enough of this. Stop making this about you."

Lando and Y/N fell silent, their gazes still locked in a silent battle of wills. The group around them exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to navigate the palpable tension.

As the night wore on, it became clear to everyone that the wounds between Lando and Y/N were far from healed. Their snarky comments and pointed jabs were a stark reminder of the unresolved feelings still lingering between them, making the night a volatile mix of celebration and unspoken conflict.

"Excuse me, I need some air," Y/N said, forcing a smile.

Y/N walked away, her heart pounding. The night had been difficult enough without Lando's snide remarks. She stepped out onto the terrace, taking a deep breath of the cool night air.

Back inside, Lando watched her go, his expression unreadable. He knew he had crossed a line, but the idea of Y/N moving on, dating someone else, had stirred something raw inside him. He turned back to the group, trying to ignore the feeling of regret gnawing at him.

"Anyone need a drink?" he asked, heading to the bar to escape the awkwardness.

Anna exchanged a look with Liam, her worry evident. "This is going to be harder than I thought," she murmured.

Liam nodded, watching Lando walk away. "They’ve got a lot of unresolved issues. Maybe tonight will help them start to deal with it."

The tension between Lando and Y/N was electric, an unspoken force that drew them together even as they tried to pull apart. Every glance, every word exchanged, carried the weight of their shared history—years of friendship, love, and heartbreak. Their chemistry crackled in the air, a potent mix of unresolved emotions and lingering attraction.

As the night drew to a close, they found themselves standing on opposite sides of the room, their eyes meeting across the distance. In that moment, the noise of the party faded away, leaving only the two of them locked in a silent, intense gaze. The space between them felt charged, filled with everything they had left unsaid.

Neither moved nor spoke, but the connection between them was undeniable, a magnetic pull that neither could ignore. It was clear to anyone watching that despite the bitterness and hurt, the bond between Lando and Y/N was far from broken. It was a reminder that some connections are too deep to sever, leaving an imprint that time and distance could never fully erase.

taglist ---> @misspygmypie @kol67-t @sltwins @f1fantasys @sarx164

comment to get added to taglist

[whimsyfaes]

Hi,

could you please write a Hannibal one-shot, where Hannibal is Will‘s substitute as an FBI teacher as long as Will is in prison and he falls in love with one of the students? She is one of the best in her class and he also sees she is attracted to him, so he asks her to stay after class?

The Drowning

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x female reader

Details: smut, (reader mid 20's), teacher/student, foreplay, mentions of gore

Minors DNI, 18+

Flashes of the overhead's images on the wall made your eyes squint slightly from the brightness, each photo depicting different scenarios of the surrounding area's murder sprees. You're used to seeing such explicit imagery, though sometimes an image or two will make your skin crawl with discomfort. But you haven't been called the best of your class for nothing, always rising to the top and taking on the challenge with no complaint. The other FBI students were slightly jealous of your natural academic mind, but they also looked up to you for guidance on their own performances.

And Hannibal took note of this.

It was no secret to yourself that you have felt infatuation for the new professor, already knowing of him since he was your former teacher's psychiatrist. You've heard nothing but great things, some even of gossips of how entrancing he was, like a Greek God that stalked the school's concrete walls. It was hard NOT to feel some type of attraction to him. And for the other student's, they had felt the same way.

He was a masterpiece.

But little did you know, that the masterpiece before you thought of the same when it came to you. Which if you were to find out, thought it was absolutely ridiculous. You, of all people, a meek, tired little thing who had an obsession with black coffee to keep you going through the day. To him however, this was a breath of fresh air, and one he would gladly inhale for the rest of his days.

"Now, can anyone tell me why the killer decided to have such a intricate display of the victim's body? Do we have any idea of what the killer was inspired by?"

Hannibal's eyes trace the crowded room with a raised brow, silence filling the air and the occasional tap of a nervous pencil. You sighed to yourself quietly, knowing that if no one blurted out the answer, it was most likely going to fall upon your shoulders. Your hand then raises upward embarrassingly, some eyes rolling because of course the best in the class knew the answer.

How this excited Hannibal.

"Perhaps the killer was inspired by Shakespeare's Macbeth, the drowning of Ophelia? It could be indicated by the water lilies that surround her body, a common flower connected to water and innocence. The opening of her chest could also indicate that she died of a broken heart, plus she is under a willow tree, where the famous Ophelia fell."

More silence filled the air, a cough from someone sounding before Hannibal gave a smile of excitement. "Excellent, precisely. The killer was obviously inspired by the famous Poet, which seems to also be the case when it comes to any serial killer really. Artistry, is the main innovation for their motives."

Your eyes connect for what seems like an eternity, small breaths escaping your parting lips with the harsh fluttering of your beating heart.

Were you, the Ophelia, about to fall into darkness?

The ringing of the bell caused you to jolt in surprise, the rustling of bags and paperwork filling the room as everyone began to depart to their next field. You couldn't stop the slight trembling of your fingers as you pull your things together, the last student's footstep leaving the room before you hear a familiar voice.

"Not you, stay for a moment please."

You halt in place before lifting your gaze towards him, his lithe body stalking with purpose behind his mahogany desk.

"You did very well today, and color me surprised on your Shakespearean knowledge. Not a lot of FBI workers have the comprehension of his complex writings."

A small swallow forms, your cheeks flushing a bright shade of crimson before moving your gaze downward to your fingers. Your nails are obscenely short from your nervous nail biting habit, but it makes it easy to pull a trigger.

"I do a lot of reading in my spare time, Professor Lecter. Shakespeare has always fascinated me, even as a little girl."

His delicate hand lifts with a small chuckle escaping his soft lips, which you did not intend to stare at this long. It's funny, if there was a black shroud upon his frame, he would almost resemble the Grim Reaper himself.

Shouldn't that frighten you?

"Please, call me Hannibal. I am only filling in Will's time for a couple of months, and would rather not fully take on his title."

A smile forms on your face before biting your bottom lip, nodding in agreement before you begin to collect more of your paperwork into your bag.

"Well, Hannibal. You have been doing very well in his stead. He might have some competition when he gets back."

Was that a tease that spilled from your lips? Gods, it came out so naturally that you didn't even notice at first. But once he starts to move slowly towards your frame is when you began to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"And what kind of competition would that be?"

If you just kept your mouth shut, you wouldn't have this overwhelming desirable feeling to hide yourself in the darkest corner imaginable. But alas, this wasn't the first time your mouth got you in trouble. He's towering over you now, your rear hitting the back of your desk with a slight creak of metal against floor.

"Well I mean, -...um...your teaching methods..."

His head cocked to the side with a sly, devilish grin, those darkening orbs in his skull drawing to gaze upon your slightly chapped lips.

"You believe my teaching methods are superior to Will Graham's?"

A small meek nod forms, your fingers reaching behind you to grasp the desk's wood tightly with white knuckles. He has waited so long for this moment, to ensnare the little rabbit who always just seemed a hand's touch away. A satisfied smirk trails on his gaunt face, for he knows he has finally caught you, the perfect subject to twist and form into his own twisted masterpiece.

"Shall we test that theory?"

He waits patiently while moving a soft hand to caress the side of your jawline, your eyes fluttering from the gentle gesture before meeting his gaze with a deep breath.

"......Yes...."

You have fallen, dear Ophelia.

The sudden feeling of his lips against your own made you gasp in fever, his other hand moves to cup both of your cheeks for guidance. Flesh kneaded against your own in a steady rhythm. He's taking your time with you, not to scare off the poor little rabbit too fast. You're hanging upon the desk for dear life, brows knitting together in concentration of his lead, a waltz of lust that you haven't experienced before in your lifetime.

It was then that he quickens the pace, pushing himself harder into your trembling frame while diving his skilled tongue past your opening mouth. You moan wantonly then, a small growl of his own forming in unison as he moves to pull upon your ponytail with control. It's as if you are melting under his touch, his experience in the art of seduction almost too much for you to bear.

Hannibal release then, breathing heavily upon your jawline before giving chaste kisses and slight bites with teeth, his calloused hands moving to cup upon your clothed breasts in a firm movement. It almost startles you, a shocking gasp escaping before he moves his mouth to assailant yours once again. You don't remember raising your hands to grasp his shoulders, but when you can feel the soft expensive silk under your fingertips, it brings you back to reality.

You are kissing your Professor, and Hannibal of all people.

He pulls away to begin to unbutton your uniform attire, a white button up shirt you thrifted not too long ago. Each movement is calculated, like a pianist wanting to get the perfect note each time.

"Are you ready for your lesson, my dear?"

His voice is hoarse from his own arousal, your eyes widening in surprise from his words. Was he seriously going to try to teach you something, while doing THIS type of behavior? It made your heart flutter wildly in your caged chest, it rising and falling before he reveals your cotton bra.

"What-...what kind of lesson, Hannibal?"

Oh how the devil smirks, his eyes trailing up to meet your own doe ones while holding your tender bust in his hands.

"Recite for me....the Death of Ophelia..."

It was then that you felt some type of fear hit your entire being, like a deer that had stumbled upon thorn bramble and unable to escape. Your breathing intensifies as you stare upon him with parted lips, his hands continuing their kneading while patiently waiting for you to begin. He was TOYING with you, and of course your stubborn brain wouldn't allow that to happen.

You've been through far too much to have this man steal your tongue.

" -....W-When down her weedy trophies....and herself...." You begin with a meek tone, his skillful fingers moving to remove the article of clothing in one swift movement. You can't hold back a loud whimper from the sudden feeling of chill air licking your breasts, his mouth moving to envelope around a hardening bud for protection.

"Her -....c-clothes spread wide... and mermaid like... awhile they bore her up..."

Hannibal praises you with a muffled hum of approval, tongue sliding effortlessly around your sensitive bud and giving a lewd suckle. His other hand moves to dive slowly, carefully, down between your legs, which you open obediently with a roll of your head.

"Which time she chanted snatches-....o-of old tunes..."

After that singular word he dove his hand down your work trousers to rub against your clothed sex, your panties already beginning to soak under his touch as you moan heatedly from the act. He has you in his complete control, and every circular motion of his finger combined with the flicking on his tongue on your breast causes your stomach to tighten and coil with pure arousal.

Hannibal pauses for a moment, his own hair a bit disheveled and falling across his sunken eyes while gazing upward at you. He wants you to continue your rehearsal, and will not proceed his lewd actions until you do. With a huff, you move your hands to hold onto the back of his head tightly, hips subconsciously rolling into his hand as you begin once again in a hoarse tone.

"As one incapable of her own d-distress...or l-like a creature....ah-...native and indued..."

He's absolutely purring now with delight, his mouth retreating from your sensitive nipple to have both hands quickly thrust your pants downward in a harsh movement. It caused you to jump slightly, his usual professional demeanor now replaced by pure hungry desire. Like a wolf that has been starved, finally able to feast on what he has been dreaming most nights alone in his bed.

"Unto that e-element...but not long it could not be..."

You're watching him slither down your frame like a viper, his eyes locked upon you as if you were about to dissipate and never return. But you knew, deep down in your heart, there was no going back. And you did not want to. No, you belonged here, your hand outstretching to brush a fallen lock behind his ear. He takes this gesture with a tilt of his head towards your touch, his hungry mouth opening to breathe wantonly against your thigh with a dash of tongue.

"Till that h-her garments... h-heavy with their drink...."

Hannibal removes your panties while staring into your soul with each word that escapes your lips, his own mouth moving to ghost along the wetting of your folds in a delicious torture. It is mentally noted that you must finish the prose, before getting your ultimate reward. Your blunt nails move to grasp the desk's sides while bending your back slightly in the sitting position for more access, a long sigh escaping your lips while you gaze down before him.

A God....upon his knees....

"Pull'd the poor w-wretch from her melodious lay....to muddy death..."

You were gone before it even began, the sudden wet heat diving into your wanton core causing a strangled cry to escape you. Tight tremors from each sinful lick upon your folds made the desk move slightly in rhythm, a starved growl emitting from his lips that vibrated upon you. More, you needed more, a small series of babbles leaving you as you tilted your head backward in pure ecstasy. Of course he was this skilled with a tongue, a finger moving to rub along your swollen bud in time with his flesh diving inward inside a nectar crevice. You can hear the lewd actions echo in the room around you, another one of his hands moving to grasp your thigh in a tight vice grip, the other fingers moving to spread you open like the most desired prize he has won in his lifetime.

You couldn't think, couldn't fully register what was happening for it was all too much to feel, your toes curling in your shoes as he dove two fingers inside you with purpose.

"H-Hannbial -.... ahn God..."

He chuckled against your folds before lifting his head towards your gaze, slicked with your essence of your coupling in the most beautiful of ways.

"There is no God here, my love..."

And with that, he plunged into you with a faster rhythm, your thighs convulsing from the intensity as he lavished your budding flower. There was only so more you could take, a hand moving to grip his lose locks tightly enough to cause a groan from his lips.

"I-I can't...I'm...."

"Come on me....."

His deep hoarse voice against your throbbing cunt was enough to send you over the edge, your back arching in the most angelic way while you spill your essence on his fingers and face. He's ravenous over it, taking it all in as if he were drunk on it. And when he pulls away and your body shivers from the lack of contact, he can only gaze into your eyes with pools of black that are his own.

His mask had cracked, revealing what truly laid there all this time.

The monster, is finally revealing himself.

[tune-on-in-folks]

Day seven! Wow, a week! I actually kind of like this one, something about this prompt was just fun to me.

Tags/Warnings: Accidental stimulation, public sex(?), public masturbation(?), mutual pining, talk about soul contracts, Vox tries to get you to sign a soul contract, cums in his pants instead, public humiliation(?), no pronouns or gendered terms for once! Word Count: 2,276

Accidental Stimulation: Vox x Reader

You had painstakingly climbed the corporate ladder of VoxTek Enterprises. Your path to becoming Vox’s assistant was one you had carved out for yourself with determination and your excellent work ethic. You had never missed a day, working even when you were sick, most of the time from home. You were never late and often stayed later than your scheduled shift. Like in life, you lived to do something. And if that was doing a job, then you’d do it. Especially if it meant you got to work for the CEO of Voxtek himself. The Overlord was an enigma, one that you were intrigued by.

Coincidentally, you were also an enigma to Vox. You hadn’t signed a contract with him, nor his fellow Vees. As far as he could tell, you owned your own soul. Yet you hadn’t missed a single day in the two years you had been working at his company. Did you get sick? Even he got sick, and had to begrudgingly take days off. And the way you climbed the corporate ladder? Mind-boggling. You were an enigma, one that Vox wanted to crack. So when he had the opportunity, he promoted you to be one of his many assistants.

He didn’t think too much about how your presence seemed to calm him. How the two of you could bounce ideas off of one another. Talk and laugh for hours… How he would request your presence more and more. If he didn’t think about it, then it wasn’t happening, and therefore did not exist. Though he was acutely aware of these growing feelings for you. Deep down, he was terrified of you leaving, moving on to something bigger and better. He was terrified of you leaving him. So he decided to ask you to sign a contract with him, not expecting you to say anything but yes.

“Absolutely not.” You deadpan, ignoring the digital contract he had drawn up for your soul.

He chuckled, the sound low and full of disbelief, slightly hurt by your refusal. “I’m sorry?”

You stood up from across his desk, taking a deep breath, “I’m not going to give you my soul, Sir.”

He stood up as well, following you around his desk. His eyes narrowed as you turned your back to him, walking down the catwalk towards the doors.

He spoke your name, his voice firm. The tone he used sent a shiver down your spine, causing you to stop in your walk. You looked back at him, meeting his gaze. There was a lot going on in his eyes, a mix of emotion you couldn’t quite identify.

You spoke first, your voice slightly strained. “Don’t ask me for my soul, Vox.”

He stiffened as though you had struck him. His name falling from your lips in that tone, had his chest squeezing in discontent. He cleared his throat, his suave mask slipping back into place as he smirked.

“I’m not asking for your soul, I just want you to re-sign your contract for next year.” He lied, taking a step towards you.

Annoyance flashed through you as you saw right through him. Frowning, you turn away from him again. Your pace quickens, a strange feeling of sadness filling you. That wasn’t something you exactly wanted to think about or even attempt to unpack. The doors opened in front of you, letting you slip past.

You were just at the elevator when Vox caught up to you. His hand circling around your wrist, tugging lightly. Enough to get your attention but not to hurt.

Your name falls from his lips again, spoken softly. Almost sweetly. “Think of it as safety.”

Your brows knit together as you pull your hand from his grasp. “Safety from what?”

He opens his mouth to answer but the elevator opens and you get on. Vox clenches his jaw and follows after you, glowering at the other sinner on the elevator. You let out a soft sigh in relief, if someone else was near, then Vox wouldn’t be able to talk to you about any contracts. It was a moment of reprieve that you hope lasts. You reached for the buttons at the same time Vox did. Your hands brushed briefly. You selected your floor while he selected the penthouse. His eyes never left you as he did so. You tried your best to ignore his stare.

A few floors up and the elevator opened to reveal a gaggle of sinners all waiting to get on. You stiffened, not fond of what was about to happen. Vox took a step back, his hand resting on your hip as he dragged you against him. You shoot a glare up at him, but his attention is on the sinners loading into the elevator. It didn’t take you long to realize that Vox seemed uncomfortable. You raised an eyebrow, a smirk taking over your face. You didn’t like how packed the elevator was either. But at least he was suffering. It served him right for trying to get you to sign a soul contract.

The elevator, all loaded, jolted to a start. Lurching beneath the weight for a moment before resuming its path as normal. The sensation made your stomach flip, a shiver of apprehension shooting through you. You pressed back against Vox subconsciously. Vox glanced down at you, his brows furrowed as he caught sight of your smirk.

Vox leaned down slightly, whispering into your ear. “Something amusing, doll?”

A shiver ran up your spine, your body tensing against him. His voice did sinful things to your body, not that you’d ever admit that to yourself, or him for the matter. 

You leaned back to reply in a low murmur, “Your face.”

He scowled, not having expected that from you, his claws flexing against your hip. You giggled softly, raising a hand to cover the sound. Vox pulled you closer against him. His breath hitched at the sudden sensation of his cock pulling against his boxers and slacks. The sudden stimulation, paired with you pressing back against him, had his cock twitching to life. You hadn’t seemed to notice, which meant that no one else in the hell-forsaken elevator had noticed either. He tentatively moved, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Again his boxers and slacks pulled across his member, stimulating him. His cock twitched again, gradually getting harder. He swallowed back a groan at the sensation, hoping beyond hope that you hadn’t noticed his growing arousal.

The elevator jerked again, the movement stimulating him even further. Vox’s claws dug deeper into your hip causing you to hiss out in pain. The sound caught his attention. He quickly relaxed his grip, murmuring, “sorry,” as he tried to step away from you. You lose your balance at his sudden withdrawal, crashing back against him. Vox has no choice but to catch you, his hand flexing, squeezing your hip. He was certain you had felt his hard-on pressing against your back. But if you had, you made no signs of it. You said nothing, your face staying in a state of perpetual annoyance at the elevator being so packed. Vox couldn’t help himself, rolling his hips forward slightly. His eyes fluttered shut at the delicious drag against his cock, the feeling of you pressed against his chest. His breathing was getting quicker, though he tried to hide it. If he wasn’t as aroused as he was, he would have felt ashamed.

He was in a packed elevator, getting off to the feeling of you pressed against him. His hand flexed around your hip again, catching your attention as Vox used you as a stress ball. You glance up at your boss, seeing his eyes close as he steadies his breathing. You watch him for a few moments, faintly aware of the elevator stopping. The doors open and quite a few sinners get off. The elevator felt less cramped. You breathe a little easier, feeling the throes of sinners thin. Still Vox keeps you held against him. Not that you mind too much. Despite your annoyance with him trying to get you to sign your soul to him. He was oddly endearing. That’s what you told yourself anyway, refusing to unpack the deeper feelings lying just beneath the surface.

Your gaze returns forward again, watching the floors tick by. More sinners get out, the numbers dwindling. Vox rolls his hips against you again, this time you feel his movement, casting a curious glance up at him. His eyes flicker open, catching your eyes. His pupils are slightly blown out and the way he looks down at you can only be described as sinful. A thrill runs through your body, your face flushing with heat. You bite your lip, unsure if you should say anything or not. Ask him why he was looking at you like he wanted to fuck you right then and there. But the elevator came to another stop. Some sinners got off, more got on. You bit your tongue, keeping your questions to yourself for the time being.

Vox felt you step closer once more as more sinners got onto the elevator. You shifted from foot to foot, an obvious nervous tick. But he wasn’t exactly paying attention to why you were shifting. What he was paying attention to was how great it felt. Your continued movement was stimulating him far more than anything else had up to that point. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to his release. The fact that you didn’t seem to realize what was happening was only making it more alluring. Getting off against you- in a slightly less packed elevator- was exhilarating. His breath hitched again, his cock twitching insistently.

That you felt, your brows furrowing as you tried to figure out what exactly it was. The doors opened, all but one sinner got off. You moved your hand behind you, feigning an itch. Your hand grazed against Vox’s hard-on straining painfully against his slacks. Your eyes widened, heat rushing to your face as the realization hit you. Your eyes shot up to Vox, finding him already watching you. His gaze told you that he knew you knew. The doors opened and the sinner got off.

Leaving you both alone together.

For a moment you just stood there, wide eyed. Vox’s hand was still on your hip, keeping you pressed against him.

“S-Sir?” You whispered.

The elevator doors opened on your floor. Then closed. The ascent continued towards the penthouse.

His voice was husky, full of lust. “See what you do to me?” He punctuated his words with a roll of his hips, his breathing ragged.

He was so close it was almost shameful. He was about to cum himself like he was going through puberty all over again.

“Vox..” You breathe, unsure of where this was going.

You were unsure of where you wanted it to go. Vox was an enigma, one you had wanted to solve. You hadn’t expected yourself to get tangled up in the man himself. But you couldn’t deny the way your heart beat faster, the way that warmth curled in your core. Minutes ago he had been trying to get you to sign a soul contract with him. Now he was moments away from cumming, all because of the accidental stimulation you had provided. You took a step away from him, turning to face him. You saw the way his gaze darkened, the sense of loss that came off him in waves. You took a deep breath, reaching forward to cup his erection through his pants.

Vox inhales sharply, his hips rolling against your hand. A shameless moan falls from his lips, his eyes watching you intensely. After a moment you tear your eyes away from his tented pants to meet his eyes. Before you could speak, he moved, capturing your lips with his. He rolls his hips against your hand as you kiss him back. You squeeze his cock lightly, Vox’s hips jerking against your touch. You remove your hand long enough to slip your hand down his slacks. You bite back a moan at the warmth of his cock against your hand. Your fingers delicately close around him, trailing up and down, in slow, languid strokes.

“Fuck!” He cries out, his hips rolling against your touch.

He rutted against your hand, chasing his release, his breathing heavy. He came with a groan, his chest heaving. You watched as he came undone beneath your touch, the thrill of making him cum by barely touching him, was a high you didn’t want to forget. A high you wanted more of. You slowly withdrew your hand from his pants. The elevator opened up to the penthouse. Vox took a step towards you and you took a step back. Letting him walk you backwards into the penthouse. Your back hit the kitchen island, a gasp slipping from your lips. Vox leaned in, both of his arms closing around you. He pinned you against him and the island, his eyes wild with desire. He pressed his hips against you, his arousal not fading despite having just cum.

“I propose a new deal.” He mutters, his gaze flickering down your body. “No contract, just us.”

You quirk an eyebrow, feeling him undress you with his eyes. “I’m listening.”

He smiles, his grin cocky and bleeding confidence. It was a smile that had heat pooling between your legs. A smile that had your heart skipping a beat. Whatever came from this night, nothing would ever be the same again. So you welcomed it with open arms, pulling Vox down into a searing kiss.

[strawb4kdior]

~ Lullabies and Laughter ~

pairings: Caitlyn Kiramann x PREGNANT FEM!reader

tw: Fluff, Domestic Bliss, Mild Suggestiveness, Pregnancy Cravings

summary: Caitlyn Kiramann, the ever-adorable and caring partner, finds herself in the midst of a cozy morning with you and the twins. With one more little bundle on the way, the day is filled with playful moments, loving banter, and Caitlyn’s constant stream of compliments. As her hand rests on your growing belly, the world outside feels far away, and all that matters is the warmth of your home, the laughter of your children, and the sweet lullabies Caitlyn hums under her breath.

~

The sunlight peeked softly through the blinds, casting a gentle glow over the room. Caitlyn Kiramann lay beside you, her fingers lightly tracing the curve of your belly where their third child—yet to be named—grew. Her touch was tender, like the softest brush of a feather, as if afraid to disturb the stillness of the morning.

The twins, Evie and Eli, were already awake, their giggles drifting from down the hall as they played together in the living room. It wasn’t often that Caitlyn got to enjoy mornings like this, wrapped up in the warmth of family. Most of her life was spent in the chaos of work and commitments, but days like this felt like precious gems—quiet, simple, and full of love.

“I can already tell,” Caitlyn murmured, her voice soft and teasing, “this little one is going to be just as charming as their big siblings.”

You chuckled, shifting slightly to look at her. “And what makes you say that?”

She flashed you a smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, they’ll have your eyes, obviously.” Her hand drifted over your abdomen, caressing the swell gently. “But they’ll definitely have my sense of humor.”

“Oh, so we’re raising a little comedian, are we?”

“Of course. They’ll be the funniest baby ever,” Caitlyn grinned, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on your forehead.

The twins’ laughter grew louder, followed by the sound of tiny footsteps. Before you could speak, Evie dashed into the room, her bright eyes alight with curiosity.

“Momma! Mama! Look! We made pancakes!” Evie exclaimed, holding up a plastic plate covered with pretend food.

“And I helped!” Eli’s voice followed, as he toddled in behind her, proudly clutching a toy whisk.

Caitlyn’s face lit up with warmth as she looked at them. “I’m so proud of you two,” she said, her voice full of affection. “You’re going to make amazing chefs someday. Maybe you can teach me how to make pancakes.”

“Momma, will the baby like pancakes too?” Evie asked, looking up at Caitlyn with her big, innocent eyes.

“Of course,” Caitlyn said, her voice taking on a mock-serious tone. “But only if they promise to be as good as you two when they grow up.”

You smiled at the interaction, feeling your heart swell with love. Caitlyn had such a way with them—so natural, so effortlessly loving. She made everything seem light, fun, and meaningful.

“Do you need me to get up and start cooking breakfast?” you asked, glancing at the clock. “I think it’s about time for—”

Caitlyn cut you off with a playful smirk. “You’re the one who’s pregnant, sweetheart,” she teased. “If anyone should be resting, it’s you. The rest of us can fend for ourselves.”

You gave her a knowing look. “If anyone needs to rest, it’s you. You’ve been running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Let me guess, you’re already thinking about how to entertain these two for the next three hours?”

“Well…” Caitlyn leaned in and whispered dramatically. “I was thinking about taking them to the park. But first, we need to fuel up. I hear pancakes are an excellent source of energy.”

Evie and Eli excitedly clapped their hands, and Caitlyn couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head. "I think they have you wrapped around their little fingers."

“And you don’t?” you replied with a teasing smile.

Her expression softened, the playfulness melting into something more sincere. “I have you wrapped around my heart, darling,” she said, her voice low and warm, the playful tone shifting to something deeper. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

Her words settled in the room, and for a moment, everything seemed to pause. Caitlyn’s gaze held yours, as if searching for something in your eyes. You could see the sincerity in them, the love, the devotion that had grown stronger with each passing day. You reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, before cupping her cheek softly.

“I feel the same way,” you whispered.

“Good,” she smiled. “Because I’ve got a lot more compliments to shower on you today.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

She gave a teasing pout. “Oh, don’t be so modest. You look absolutely radiant, as always. Even with this little one growing inside of you, you still manage to make my heart race.”

The softness in her words made your cheeks flush, and you leaned into her, kissing her gently on the lips.

“Well, maybe I’ll let you cook after all,” you said, pulling away. “But only because you’re so sweet.”

“Oh, I knew you’d come around,” Caitlyn teased. “But first, I have a very important question.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you think the baby will like waffles or pancakes more?” Caitlyn grinned. “We need to prepare for their future preferences, of course.”

The twins were now sitting on the bed with you, one on each side. Eli leaned over and placed a chubby hand on your belly, his little face serious. “Mama, when the baby comes out, will they play with us?”

“They will,” you promised, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “And they’ll be just as fun as you two, I’m sure.”

Evie bounced on the bed, her curly hair bouncing with her. “I’m going to teach the baby to draw! Like me!” She held up a crayon she’d apparently been carrying around, proud of her work.

“And I’ll teach them how to play with blocks!” Eli added, his eyes wide with excitement.

Caitlyn chuckled, reaching over to ruffle their hair. “You two are going to be the best big siblings ever. I can already see the baby adoring you both.”

With a mischievous grin, Caitlyn leaned toward you and whispered, “And don’t worry, darling. I’ll make sure they’re raised with all the love in the world.”

You laughed softly, snuggling closer to her. “You always know just what to say.”

“Only because you’re my world,” Caitlyn replied, her tone sincere, her eyes soft. “You’re so perfect, I could spend a lifetime just gazing at you.”

You could feel her love in every word, in every glance. And as she leaned over to kiss you, the warmth of the moment was enough to make everything else fade away.

In this small, quiet corner of the world, surrounded by the sounds of laughter, the hum of a life well-lived, and the gentle caress of Caitlyn's hand on your belly, you knew this was all you ever needed.

[sunshinedaisywrites777]

Shadows of the Past, Light of the Present (DI!Leon Kennedy x F!Reader)

Warnings- Bad experiences of the reader with her ex, age gap (Leon is in his 30's, reader is in her 20's)

A/N- Thank you everyone for all the likes and reblogs. All are much appreciated 💜

The mall was buzzing with life, filled with the chatter of families, the click of high heels on tiled floors, and the occasional excited squeal from children exploring toy stores. You and Leon wandered side by side, his hand comfortably resting at the small of your back.

“This place is huge,” Leon said, scanning the rows of electronics stores. “You sure we won’t get lost in here?”

You smirked. “We’ll be fine as long as you don’t run off.”

Leon chuckled. “Not a chance. I’m your bodyguard, remember?”

The two of you stepped into an electronics store, your eyes lighting up at the sight of sleek gadgets and shiny displays. Leon leaned against a shelf while you examined a set of wireless speakers.

“This one’s good,” you said, pointing to a compact model with excellent reviews.

Leon crossed his arms, tilting his head thoughtfully. “But does it work with that overkill TV you’re eyeing? Or are we gonna have to come back to upgrade the speakers next month?

You laughed, playfully nudging him. “Hey, quality matters! Plus, you’ll thank me when you’re watching movies with surround sound.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket, interrupting the banter. Leon frowned as he checked the screen. “Work,” he muttered, his expression briefly serious. “I’ll just take this real quick, okay?”

“Go ahead,” you said, giving him a reassuring smile.

Leon stepped outside the store, leaving you to continue browsing. You were engrossed in comparing two models of soundbars when a voice you hadn’t heard in a long time pulled you from your thoughts.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Your heart sank as you turned to see your ex standing a few feet away, hands in their pockets, a smirk playing on their lips.

“What do you want?” you asked, keeping your tone neutral.

“Relax, I’m just being friendly,” they said, though the edge in their voice was far from kind. “Funny running into you like this. Guess you’re still into shopping for shiny toys instead of fixing what’s real.”

You stiffened. “This isn’t the time or place for this. Just leave.”

But your ex wasn’t done. “I still can’t believe how fast you moved on. Does he know how clingy you get? Or how you used to cry over the smallest things? Must be exhausting for him.”

Their words hit a nerve, memories of the toxic relationship flashing through your mind. You clenched your fists, determined not to let them see you falter.

Just then, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“I think you’ve said enough.”

Leon’s calm yet commanding tone made your ex visibly flinch. He strode up to you, his expression cool but his eyes sharp as they locked onto your ex.

“And who are you?” your ex asked, their confidence wavering.

“I’m the person who’s lucky enough to be with them,” Leon replied, standing close to you. “And unlike you, I actually know how to treat them with respect.”

Your ex scoffed. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Leon stepped forward, his posture relaxed but intimidating. “Oh, I know plenty. I know they’re better off without someone who drags them down. And I know you’re wasting your time trying to get under their skin because nothing you say matters anymore.”

Your ex opened their mouth to retort, but Leon raised a hand.

“Save it. You’ve already said enough to prove why you’re in their past. So do yourself a favor and walk away before you embarrass yourself further.”

Your ex hesitated, then muttered something under their breath before slinking away into the crowd.

Leon turned to you, his expression softening immediately. “Hey, you okay?”

You nodded, though your voice trembled slightly. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

He touched your arm gently. “You don’t have to thank me. Nobody gets to treat you like that—not while I’m around.”

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. “I mean it, Leon. You’re amazing.”

“Damn right I am,” he said with a small grin, pulling you into a comforting hug.

After a moment, he stepped back, his gaze playful. “Now, let’s get those speakers and grab some ice cream. I think we’ve earned it.”

The two of you continued shopping, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders. Later, over bowls of ice cream at the food court, you found yourself laughing at his jokes and forgetting all about the earlier encounter.

That evening, as you set up the new gadgets at home, Leon’s goofy commentary and occasional mishaps filled the room with laughter. The warmth of his presence reminded you that, no matter what the past held, the future was brighter with him by your side.

[ama3003]

The President's Daughter

Character: Finnick Odair

Requested: No

Type: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Arianna Flemings-Snow, the adopted daughter of Coriolanus Snow, bravely volunteers for the 75th Annual Hunger Games. Yet, her courage comes at the cost of confronting not only the repercussions of re-entering the deadly arena but also the profound challenge of sharing it with the man she passionately loves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Finnick Odair, right?” 

Haymitch nods points towards the screen, “ Yes, he won his games at fourteen. Youngest ever. Extremely humble.” 

“You’re kidding right?” He looked like the most narcissistic show off known to man. His stance. His waves. His stupid smirk. He looked as if he were happy to be returning. 

“Yes I’m kidding. He’s a...” Haymitch dramatically flips his hair” …peacock. A total preener but he’s the Capitol darling. They love him here. Charming , smart, and very skilled at combat—especially in water.”

Peta leans forward glancing at the screen, “What about weaknesses?” 

“Well two. First Mags.” A frail looking wrinkly woman pops on the screen. “ She volunteered for Annie. Mags was his mentor and basically raised him. If he’s trying to protect her in any way it exposes him.” 

Katniss stares at the screen seeing the women bravely volunteer for the young girl in hysterics, “A guy like that has to know she’s not going to make it. I bet when it really comes down to it, he won’t protect her. 

Sadness flashes through Haymitch’s eyes, “Well Katniss,  I just hope when she goes…she goes quickly. She’s actually a wonderful lady.” 

The silence fills the room before Peta asks, “And his other weakness?” 

Haymitch lightly smirks before passing  to the next district when a beautiful girl with hair as white as snow comes up. “ District 5. Arianna Flemings. Mostly known as...”

“President Snow’s daughter?” Katniss snaps her head to Haymitch. Eyes widened. 

He tilts his head a bit. “Adopted. She won her games at fifteen. Everyone and I mean everyone fell in love with her. She was the purest of the pure. The cutest of the cute. And the most dangerous of the danger. After one of the tributes killed her district partner all hell broke loose and she murdered the last seven remaining tributes within two hours with one. singular. knife.”

Peta shook his head in disbelief, “If he adopted her then that means he has to have some sort of heart. And he’s letting her go back to the games?” 

Haymitch holds out his hand signaling for the kid to stop talking, “Well, there were rumors about Snow not really adding Arianna’s name into the reaping; however, when her childhood friend was reaped she immediately volunteered. Flabbergasted everyone.” The video shows Arianna immediately protesting and volunteering the moment her friend’s name dropped. The horror on everyone’s face was telling how much the district loved her. 

He cleared his throat and continued, “ I imagined Snow wasn't really happy about that. That’s what he gets for adopting a victor when he’s the leader of these games." He shrugs. "Arianna is very captivating. Even Snow’s heart had to have melt for that young girl. Took her right under his wing. Obviously she was treated like a victor but most importantly she was treated like a Capitol.” 

“If his daughter is that important wouldn’t he know that during the games people will be targeting his daughter. Who wouldn’t if his daughter means that much to him.” 

That’s when Haymtich shook his head, “ Because my dear little Katniss… A) he calls the shots. If you haven’t realized everything in the games are controlled by him and people that love her. He’ll be hovering over you all the entire time. B) She’s a skilled competitor. Again seven tributes dead in two hours by the hands of a 110 pound fifteen year old, hello people keep up. Since then she’s never eased on her training. Obviously she’s bound to have enemies because of her father so she never stopped. Really good using her resources, excellent with knives, basically insanely dangerous. C) Finnick Odair. Both basically spent the last nine years together. Everyone thinks they’re together, but are keeping it hidden because of her father. I’m sure the President feels a lot better having Finnick with her knowing that he would risk his entire life for her. However don’t think it’ll make it easy to kill them. While you two are faking it. They—“ He points to the screen. “Are real. You hurt her and not only will you have Snow on your asses, but a trident in your chest. You hurt him and you’d have knives shoved up every hole in your body. They’re each other’s weaknesses but also strengths. They are who you want to be allies with. I’m serious Katniss don’t mess this up.” 

~~~~~~~

Arianna couldn’t breathe in her dress. It’s not that it’s too tight (which it actually is), but more-so that she’s again back to where she was those many years ago. 

“Breathe. Breathe. Breathe” She lightly whispers under her breath while entering to where all the other Victors were.  She was wearing a beautiful white gown with red lace at the top. Her red make-up contrasting her snow-white features. 

“Isn’t it Snow’s precious girl. Miss Flemings never thought I would have to see you back in the games.” She turns around and sees Gloss from Tribute 1. 

“You and me both. Don’t you look as charming as ever.” She smiles graciously wrapping her arms around her friend. “Where’s Cash?” 

He smiles and points behind him, “Getting the gang back together. Should we be expecting you to join us?” 

Her eyes immediately try to find the one person she truly wanted to ally with. “Gloss I would love to, but I have to check with Finnick. You know wherever he goes I go.”

He nods understanding completely, “And I admire your loyalty. Please try to get him on our side. We really don’t want to have to go against either of you.” 

She nods smiling softly at the man, “Speaking of Finnick do you know where he might be. He wasn’t with Mags.” 

The guy pointed behind her making her turn, “I guess he’s already trying to get the Girl on Fire on his side…without telling you?” 

Arianna lightly hit him, “Glossy I love you, but I hope you weren’t trying to turn me against Finnick. Like you said before I am extremely loyal.” 

He chuckles before backing away, “ Didn’t hurt to try. Now go to lover boy, but please remember what I said.” 

She watches him go back to the Career pack and lightly waves at them before heading towards the duo. 

“Then how do people pay for the pleasure of your company?” If only she knew the truth. 

She sees him lean forward, making the Girl on Fire look uncomfortable  “With secrets” 

Arianna thought it was the perfect time to break the tension especially since she wanted to talk to the golden boy before they had to parade themselves. “Nicky, we went over this so many times, you should never try to get with an engaged woman. Very inappropriate.” She wraps her arm his waist looking up at him. His smirk turned into a genuine smile. 

He immediately looked down at the young girl smirking, “Arianna, you know I’d never try to get with anyone else but you.” 

She lightly smacks his chest before looking over the girl staring curiously at the duo, “ Arianna Flemings.” She sticks her hand out smiling as Katniss took it. “ My niece absolutely loves you. She always wanted to meet you, my father never really introduced us, but you know how he is. You look absolutely beautiful by the way.”  

Katniss couldn’t help but like the girl in front of her. Though the fact that she is someone that Snow cares about keeps nagging at her, the girl alone seems genuine. “I’m Katniss. I saw your games. Very impressive.” Her curt response made Arianna look at Finnick then back at the girl.

“Thank you and your game was also very impressive.” She smiles and then turns her attention to the man next to her. “Nicky, can I talk to you over there please?” 

His gaze went to his angel and then to the girl who’s staring at them, “I’ll be there in a second need to wrap up my introduction to the Girl on Fire.” 

Arianna rolled her eyes playfully before turning to Katniss, “It was really nice to meet you.”

The two stared as Arianna glides away elegantly. Finnick leans towards the girl with a smile, “She is off limits. You hurt her and I’ll gladly pay back the favor with your fiancé while you watch and die an agonizing death. Got that? ” Before she can answer he backs away going to find his girl. 

He finally sees her talking to her district partner and then shoos him away. "Nicky? Did you really had to use that name? "

Her gaze filled with mischief yet care had him wrapped around her finger, "There's Nick, Nickey, Finnley, Finnerson, Fin-"

"Okay we get it, but there's only one name I like hearing you call me." He leans closer.

"Mon amour" She smirks before lightly pushing him back. "That's only reserved when we aren't about to dive head first into our deaths."

His smile drops, " You are not dying. Snow will not allow it and neither will I."

She caresses his face, "Finnick these are how the games are. Though my father cares for me he wants to destroy the girl even more."

He lightly glares at the girl, gripping her waist a bit tighter. " Why did you have to volunteer dammit. Everything was going to be fine, but you just had to volunteer. Why on earth did you even do that?"

She glances around noticing that people are getting on their carriage to start the parade. " I had to, love. But it's okay. I promise you, it will be okay."

The sincerity in her eyes truly made him believe it was all going to be fine even though his heart knew it wasn't.

They finally break eye contact when her partner tells her that the parade is about to start. "Better get on your carriage Snow White looks like Prince Charming needs you."

She kisses him on the cheek, "I'm not into Princes, I prefer fishermen" winking and getting on her carriage.

They both know that no matter what happens in the ring. Capitol be dam. Districts be dam. Both their goal is to protect one another no matter what the cost is.

[burningflamescurse]

48 Stitches

Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: after being in a Brutal Fight with a Shifter and Rolling down a Steep Hill a Couple Miles, [Name] is left with a Severe Stomach Injury.

TW: Stitches, Painful Injuries, mentions of a Shape shifter, crying, Infections, fevers, soft and Fluffy Dean.

A/N: trying my shot at my first Dean x reader one shot, first time Writing for Dean so Please tell me what you all think!

This Particular Shifter had been Playing games with you and the boys for a while now, four days To be Exact, leaving Dead bodies in its wake as the person it was Impersonating at the moment. Being the Excellent tracker you were known to be, you and the boys had tracked the shifter down to a mountain above a small town. You had all flashed out your weapons out prepared to take out the Supernatural creature. You had Produced your trusty silver blade, while Dean and Sam drew out their guns which were filled with Silver Bullets.

What you weren’t expecting though was that the Shifter would launch itself at you, causing you both to roll and tumble Down the steep hill of the Mountain going down into the woods, the shifters claws Sunk deep into your belly as you did, practically Shredding the flesh allowing blood to just Pour out. You heard Dean’s worried voice call out for you. “[Name]!”

You grunted as you Struggled with your blade against the shifter’s Brute Strength, the Shifter knocked its Elbow into your jaw Sending you back a few feet into a Tree along with your blade. You narrowly managed to grab your blade and dodge it's claws as it tried to attack you again. You managed to dislocate it’s shoulder but it Pinned you to the ground on your back trying to stab you with your own blade as you tried to push his arm away.

It had managed to Push the Blade slightly into your chest as a Moan of Pain Escaped you before a Single Bullet ran out sending the shifter rolling a few feet away from you as you laid on the Ground fighting for breath as your wounds bled. Dean quickly made his way over to you, Extremely worried. “[Name], oh God.. are you okay?” he asked quietly afraid to even touch your wounds, in fear of hurting you more.

You whimpered Quietly lifting up your shirt slightly, Showing the Cuts and Tears all along your Abdomen, Sam’s Eyes Scrunched up in worry. “That’s not good [Name], you’ll probably need a good amount of Stitches.” he voiced his Concerns. You almost whined at that, both of the boys knew how much you hated stitches. Fortunately you passed out when Sam said that, only hearing Dean’s girlish Scream as you did.

You stirred awake in the Infirmary of the bunker, feeling the soft mattress underneath your back, You had been redressed in one of Dean’s black shirts and a pair of black shorts as to not bother your newly stitched up Stomach. You felt groggy, Sam probably injected you with morphine. You could feel the fuzzy feeling of the drug in your head, it felt good compared to the pain you felt initially.

You heard the door open and your favorite people walked in, Dean, Sam, Castiel and Jack. They all seemed happy to see you awake and alive. A loopy smile made it’s way onto your Pale face you weakly beckoned them in with your hand, barely being able to wave them over.

“[Name], are you alright?” Castiel asked in the same monotone Voice he used for everybody; You smiled slightly, Despite being weakened and Bedridden you were able to pat his hand that had made it’s way onto your Shoulder comfortingly. “I’m okay Cas.” You whispered, letting your hand fall back down to your side.

Dean let a Scoff leave his mouth even as Sam gave him a Scolding look, “Dean.” he scolded, his hand Whacking Dean On his shoulder harshly. “No, Sam. she needs to hear this.” Dean Retorted, Pushing Sam away from him before Roughly Addressing you. “You had to have 48 Stitches just in your Abdomen. Not to mention the seven stitches across the wound on your throat, [Name.]”

Your eyes slightly Narrowed at Dean’s accusing tone, was he really saying that this was all your fault, that you were the reason that you had gotten injured, it was the monster who lunged at you first. “Seriously, you’re blaming me?” You shouted, raising up in the bed as you did. Sam Tried to calm both of you down, before someone got hurt that someone preferably being you.

Jack only stared at you, his eyes conveying such concern and worry for you in this state. “Dean, you must be stupid because I didn’t just attack the Thing Like a Reckless kid! It attacked me!” Your hands gripped the sheets as you spoke, showing every emotion that was Spiraling up inside you. “and let’s not forget, you were the one so convinced that it was a demon so we didn’t come Prepared!” You added, giving him a Reality check.

The room was silent for a moment, now Dean just looked Guilty as he could be for Scolding you. Suddenly Jack spoke up, “You Guys defeated the monster though, right?” Dean nodded as Jack’s smile appeared on his face. “then everything’s okay, because you killed it and now all those innocent people are safe.” he finished.

With Jack being the voice of Reason calming everything and Everyone down you were able to lay back down and Rest a bit. You noticed that Dean was still Looking as Guilty as ever, so you grabbed onto his hand with Such affection. “Hey Dean, I’m okay now. I’m here and i’m not ever leaving you anytime soon.” you soothed.

Dean nodded, lifting your hand up to lay a kiss upon it. “okay. Okay, thanks [Name.]. I love you.” he whispered in such a soft Voice, you returned his loving words with a Kiss to his inner wrist.

And for now you knew that everything was going to be alright as long as you had Dean, and Dean had you.

[flightlessangelwings]

FawKtober2024 Part 5- Comandante Veracruz

Comandante Veracruz x fem!reader

Kinks- free use, bondage, edging

Word count- 1.7k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), rough, established relationship, toys, edging, slight overstim, restraints, blindfolds, creampie, established safe word, no physical description of reader other than body parts, no use of y/n

Notes- It wouldn't be kinkotber without V and cariño! It's always fun going back to my husband and letting inhibitions loose!! It's been way too long since I've written for him too omg! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so plese follow that too and turn on post notifs!

~

“Comfortable, cariño?” Veracruz smirked.

You tugged at your arms and legs as you laid on your back. All your limbs were tied to the bedposts, spreading your naked body completely out on display for the comandante. He tired you up expertly, securing you so that you were helpless, but not enough that you were in pain; he excelled at that balance.

“Yes,” you breathed as you looked up at him from where he stood over you.

Veracruz’s eyes narrowed, “Good,” he gently traced his fingers along your body, just tickling your skin with his fingertips. “You can reach the device?” he asked in a serious tone.

Your eyes trailed up to your hand and touched the small remote device with a red button on it. “Yes,” you replied confidently. You knew what it was for: should you need this to stop, push it and this all ended, no questions asked. Veracruz always made sure you had an escape, that this was what you truly wanted. It allowed him to unleash his inhibitions with you, to truly let himself go as far as you would allow.

And both of you craved it.

He gave you a nod as he tugged at your restraints one more time before he produced something from his pocket, “Then we can begin,” he said as he covered your eyes with the fabric, blocking your sight completely. “Perfect,” he looked over his handiwork as you laid bound and helpless before him. He swallowed the groan that threatened to bubble up from his throat as you looked so tempting like this.

Your lips parted as your vision was taken from you, and you couldn’t help but squirm in your restraints. You let out a soft whimper as you felt Veracruz’s touch linger on your face, and even without your sight you felt his gaze on you. But the gentle moment vanished in a flash as he gave your pussy a single slap, making you yelp in surprise. You waited for another, but after several moments, you heard the door close and you knew he had walked away.

Your heavy breaths filled the room as you waited in anticipation. You tried to close your thighs in a desperate attempt for some friction, but he tied your legs too far apart. But, you didn’t have to wait long until you felt his presence by your side again.

Instead of touching you, however, Veracruz had retired with a toy that he teased your pussy with. You let out a surprised moan as you felt him push the toy into you. You bucked your hips as you felt the toy stretch you out, your senses heightened from your blocked sight.

“V…” you moaned as he secured the toy inside you.

“I will return, cariño,” his voice sounded strained as he watched you take the toy, his eyes fixed on the way your pussy lips wrapped around it.

You tried to grasp at whatever you could as you adjusted to the girth of the toy inside you. As you writhed in your bounds, you didn’t even hear the door close as Veracruz left again. But, you weren’t truly alone and soon you felt the toy start to vibrate. You cried out as the vibrations pulsed throughout your whole body.

“Fuck,” you breathed as the vibrations became less intense. You knew that Veracruz was enjoying toying with you like this, even if he couldn’t be in the room. Through the blindfold, you imagined what his face looked like as he subtly played with the dial on the remote in his pocket. It was all a tease still though, for even though he wasn’t physically there, Veracruz always knew just how far to push you before you fell over the edge. And he would not want you to cum without him there.

Every time you felt close, the vibrations would stop, and you were left gasping. You strained against your binds as you squirmed in the bed. It went on for so long that you had no idea what time it was when you finally heard the door open again. 

“Enjoy your afternoon, cariño?” You heard the smirk in Veracruz’s tone.

You moaned in response as you felt him slowly pull the toy out of you.

“It appears you did,” he sounded pleased with himself as you heard him shuffle around the room.

Before you could say anything back, you felt the bed dip as he crawled on top of you. Veracruz grunted as he lined his cock up with your entrance and pushed in with one swift thrust. You screamed at the sudden rough intrusion, but it was a welcome one. It was what you craved after being teased for so long. And he craved it too.

“Mmm cariño,” he groaned as he thrust into you with a fast, harsh pace. He wouldn’t let you know that it made it hard for him to concentrare, knowing you were here tied up and waiting for him. He wouldn’t let you know he craved this just as much. 

Veracruz’s emotions started to get the better of him and his hips stuttered. You cried out in ecstasy as he pounded into you, and his eyes wandered to the restraints around your wrists keeping you bound to the bed. He growled as he gripped onto your hips and thrust as hard and deep as he could, making you scream.

Just as suddenly as he thrust into you, Veracruz pulled out and broke away from your body. Both of you breathed heavily as you recovered from his actions. You let out a whine at the loss of feeling him against you and you bucked your hips up in a desperate attempt to get him back. 

The comandante looked at you with a blazing inferno in his eyes as you squirmed for him. Unable to hold himself back, Veracruz climbed on top of your bound form once more and rubbed his cock up and down your folds. You both hissed at the contact again, and every move he made came as a surprise while your sight was taken from you.

“V…” you moaned as you rocked your hips in time with his.

“You are too tempting cariño,” he growled through gritted teeth. 

“V, please,” you begged as you bucked your hips.

He growled again as he gave in to your plea. “You are too delicious when you are at my mercy, cariño,” he groaned as he thrust into you again. 

You cried out as you felt the familiar stretch of his thick cock once more and you felt fulfilled. You felt his hands roam all over your body as he thrust into you. He grabbed your breasts, kneading them and pinching your nipples as he rocked his hips against yours over and over again.

“V…” you moaned as you felt your orgasm approach, “I’m close…”

“Cum, cariño,” Veracruz grunted as he felt the heat of his own climax quickly approach. 

The emotions overwhelmed you as you let yourself go. With a loud scream, you came hard as your arms and legs trembled in your restraints. Tears soaked your blindfold as Veracruz’s cock hit your sweet spot over and over again. 

He watched with a clenched jaw as you fell apart before him, and as your inner muscles squeezed his cock he tipped over the edge too. Veracruz groaned your name in a low rumble as he came inside you, spilling himself into your body. 

With one final grunt, Veracruz fell forward on top of you, covering you with his body. His cock stayed buried deep inside you, not wanting to break the connection just yet. He laid overtop of you for several moments as you both caught your breath, and Veracruz could feel the pounding of your heart in your chest. 

Veracruz let out a low rumble in his chest as he pushed himself up and pulled out of you. The whimper you let out went right to his cock, making it jump as he looked you over as you laid tied and helpless on the bed.

Before he could give in to his temptation, though, he spoke in a low voice, “I will be back, cariño.” Veracruz savored the needy whine you let out as you tried to arch your body to reach for him as best you could, “And next time, you will not hear me coming.”

“Fuck…” you moaned as you strained to listen for any sign of him. But, he already left.

You had no idea how long you laid there, but you had the feeling it wasn’t as long as the first time. And you would be right; Veracruz needed you again just as badly as you did him.

Just like he promised, it came as a surprise to you when Veracruz came back. You didn’t know he was back in the room until he climbed onto the bed, and he wasted no time in entering you again.

The scream you let out echoed in the room as you felt Veracruz thrust into you once more, and he pounded into you with his fast and harsh pace right away. He growled as he felt your wet tightness again and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from how delicious you looked like this.

“V…” you moaned as you felt another climax quickly approach.

He groaned as he knew he wouldn’t last long either, and Veracruz pounded into you, skin slapping against skin as he quickly hurled you both over the edge once more. 

Moans, groans and screams reverberated between the two of you as your orgasms hit once after the other. The thrill of leaving you bound and ready for him made you both drown in your emotions. The excitement was just too much and it made your bodies tingle with the strength of your climaxes.

Veracruz stayed hovered over you as his usually neat hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat. He breathed heavily as he watched your chest rise and fall from your own deep gasps. 

In a surprising move, he leaned forward and captured your lips with his in a deep kiss. Tasting you made the excitement pulse through his veins once more.

“We are going to have some fun for the rest of the night, won’t we cariño?” Veracruz smirked as you moaned in response against his lips. He enjoyed you like this.

It was going to be a very fun night, indeed. 

[kimberbohwrites]

Chapter One: Hide and Seek | Chapter Two >> Summary: After the events of Baldur’s Gate 3, Tav has stayed in touch with Rolan and his siblings. She visits weekly to volunteer at Ramazith Tower as a healer for the refugees in the city. Her growing crush on the wizard finally comes to a head one night and her feelings for Rolan are made clear. This is a romantic, sm*tty, and angsty story dealing with trauma and of course includes a healthy dose of miscommunication and misunderstanding.

Tags: N$FW SMÚT below the break, Angst and Fluff and Sm*t, Friends to Lovers, Tieflings, Unnamed Tav, Misunderstandings, Human Tav, Semi-Public S*x, Background bloodweave, rolan is down bad, tav is down bad, everyone is down badIdiots in Love, POV Rolan PIV S*x, Enthusiastic Consent, Biting, Mating Bites, First Time, Desk S*x, Neck Kissing, Romance, Getting Together, C*nnilingus, Bl*w Jobs, angst, f*ngering

2.8k words | Click here to read on Ao3

Tav’s heart raced with a childlike glee she hadn’t felt in so long. She prowled the halls of Ramazith Tower looking for the perfect hiding spot in the dark with only candlelight and occasional flashes of lightning through the window to guide the way. The storm that had caused this impromptu late-night gathering still raged on outside. A giggle bubbled up in her throat — a product of wine and an eager anticipation she couldn’t quite explain.

For the months that followed the fall of the Elder Brain she had stayed one night a week at the tower with Rolan, Cal, and Lia. Always on the night when she came into town to provide healing services to the refugees. She’d been working out of a stall on the shop floor of Sorcerous Sundries that Rolan had helped her set up as an apothecary of sorts. All the ingredients she used in her healing were grown by her on the small farm she’d set up just outside the city. There she grew flowers, herbs, vegetables, and additional plant reagents needed for healing and magic. It was a good life, all things considered, the only problem was Rolan.

The way Rolan had protected his family from the hellish descent of Elturel and the cult of the Absolute had caused Tav to develop an attraction to the tiefling that she had found impossible to smother out. Even though he had been outright rude to her during a lot of it. The handsome wizard occupied her thoughts even when she was away from him and the tower. She found her mind drifting to him at the strangest times. The dulcet tone of his voice lingered in her thoughts and dreams. Even now that she was free of the tadpole and a so-called hero, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Rolan how she felt. He’d been through more in the last few years of his life than anyone should have to experience. The idea of burdening him with her feelings felt so selfish that she had resigned herself to a painful silence. He seemed happier now than ever before and she didn’t want to ruin that.

On this night in town, a particularly bad storm had whipped up off the Sea of Swords and settled on the city around dinner time. Tav and the siblings had been joined for dinner by Dammon, Lakrissa, and Alfira in celebration of Alfira’s birthday. It had been a lovely dinner party for the group, Tav couldn’t help but look around at the tables pushed together filled with her found family with such joy. The plan was to head to the Elfsong Tavern for drinks and dancing after dinner, but with the storm looking downright dangerous they had decided against it. Instead, Lia cleverly suggested they raid the wine cellars and have a party of their own. Hours and bottles of wine later, it was the birthday girl herself who pointed out the Tower made for excellent grounds for a game of hide and seek.

The idea was met with laughter at first. Much to everyone’s surprise it had been Rolan who first agreed with Alfira.

“There are a few places that are off limits, because they aren’t safe yet. But I don’t see why not?” He’d noted. Alfira, seated in Lakrissa’s lap had clapped with joy at the unexpected second.

Lakrissa relented to her girlfriend’s giddiness and the rest of the gathering had agreed with sudden excitement. With the ground rules in place, together they threw back one more glass of wine for good luck. Cal had agreed to go first, he had a good knowledge of the tower and suggested a 10-minute head start. Which is how Tav found herself racing through the dark halls of Ramazith Tower in a thunderstorm, looking for a place to hide.

It had only very recently occurred to the Druid as she cursed herself internally, that she was not particularly good at hiding. She thought back fondly to Astarion yelling some such thing at her during the Illithid crisis. At current she was relatively certain that 10 minutes had elapsed, and she could faintly hear Cal beginning to search on lower levels. She couldn’t tell if she was getting closer or further from him. In the shadows she took a moment to lean against the wall and breathe as she tried to think of what to do next. It seemed impossible for her to wander his home and not think of Rolan. Just like the other inopportune moments this occurred, she felt the tell-tale heat on her face. Try as she might to resist, the image of him appeared in her mind. How he’d smiled at her from across the table at dinner earlier and how it had made her heart heave as she wished it meant more.

The slamming of a door nearby brought her back to reality with a shock. She heard Cal mutter a curse much too close for comfort. Quiet as she could, she raced away from where she heard him. Turning down another hall, she knocked into a large frame on the wall. The ear-piercing scrape it made was so loud she was certain everyone in the tower had heard her hit it.

“Oh!” Cal exclaimed; she heard him break into a run in her direction. It was as if she forgot this was just a game, the way panic gripped her at the idea of being caught. She broke into a sprint turning down the next hall but was brought to a sudden halt as a hand shot out of a door and grabbed her by the arm. Tav was pulled into what must have been a small closet, she could only guess as it was completely dark. The arm that had pulled her in, wrapped around her waist and another clapped over her mouth as her back was pulled against the firm chest of someone taller than her.

“Shhh, it’s me,” Came Rolan’s voice in a whisper. Tav’s heart was gripped with a fear and joy so intense it threatened to stop beating. She found herself pressed against the very man she had been driven to distraction by. It was like one of her many daydreams come to life. One of her hands reflexively reached back and steadied herself on his thigh, she could feel the warmth of his body through his robes. From where her head was against his chest, she could hear his heartbeat quicken. The sound sparked a hope in her she’d tried desperately to abandon. They could both hear the tell-tale commotion of Cal getting closer to their position. Rolan’s tail coiled around her legs to pull her flush with him as he gently shifted her back with him into the corner and away from the door.

“Trust me?” He whispered against the shell of her ear, causing a notable shiver to travel her body and twitch against his. She nodded against his hand still on her mouth and tried not to think about the heat of arousal growing in her gut.

Just as she heard Cal’s hand on the doorknob of their hiding place, Rolan whispered an incantation under his breath that she recognized as Invisibility. She heard him take a deep breath and hold it as the door swung open, she did the same through her nose. Light poured into the closet as Cal opened the door and looked around wildly. He held a candlelit lantern in one hand to illuminate his search. Tav was able to discern that she and Rolan were currently hidden in the corner of a small storage closet of some sort. There was room for them and a few bookshelves stacked with old tomes and scrolls, yet to be cataloged since Rolan’s promotion to Master of the Tower.

Cal’s eyes searched the the small space thoroughly as he muttered about how he could swear he’d heard someone, and his (well-founded) suspicions that people were cheating. He cocked an ear to listen keenly, Tav was terrified that her escalated heartbeat could be heard by his sharp ears. Just as she was sure they would be caught, Cal shrugged and turned around shutting the closet door behind him with a thud. She let out a slow but ragged exhale through her nose and could hear Rolan let out a quiet breath too. Neither of them spoke as they listened to make sure Cal left their position to continue his search elsewhere.

He still hadn’t let go of her. The wine in her veins turned every touch of his body against hers into electricity on her skin. She couldn’t help but shift her bottom against him as she adjusted her cramped position and a thrill raced up her spine as she heard his breathing turn strained. The hand over her mouth slowly traced it’s fingertips up her jaw and gently tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ear as he leaned closer to her.

“What are you doing?” He hissed into her ear, his voice sounded tense and excited. She shivered against him once more this time drawing a small groan from the back of Rolan’s throat. His lips brushed against her ear, she moaned and ground herself firmer on him this time.

“R-Rolan,” She managed. The thrill that coursed through her body outweighed any shame she felt in her actions.

“You’re drunk.” He said through gritted teeth. His voice was low, and it resonated through her body leaving only desire behind.

“So are you,” She shot back in the sultriest whisper she could manage as she continued rubbing her butt on his now-hardening length. All she could think about was how badly she wanted him and how perfect his body felt against hers.

All at once Rolan released his hold on her and flipped her around to face him. With a firm but tender hand, he pushed her back against the wall of the closet. As his lips crashed into hers roughly and she let out a loud moan, she said a quick mental prayer that Cal had moved far away in his search. Her arms coiled around the back of his neck to pull him closer to her, not wanting to lose the feeling of his body against hers. Now that she knew how it felt she wasn’t sure how she’d been able to live so long without it. His tongue swept into her mouth, meeting hers and sharing the taste of the wine between them. He smelt of cedar and parchment, likely from his time spent hard at work in his library-like study. She rolled her body against his slightly, earning a groan from the wizard.

He broke from the kiss for a quick breath and then attacked under her ear and down her neck with kisses. Each just hard enough to make her moan and gasp, sometimes shuddering his name in quick breaths as the lust pulsed through her body threatening to consume her. She felt his knee shift between her legs separating them as he pressed his thigh against her clothed core, causing her to release a whine of need as her head dropped back against the wall. Delirious with lust now, she tried to shift away a little to regain some control but his hands moved down to her hips.

“Do you want me to stop?” He shifted his head back to search her face. Even in the dark her human eyes could make out the glowing fire of his, like an amber sunset she’d always found herself lost in. She shook her head no.

“Words, Tav, I want to hear you say it,” he said leaning down to press his lips directly against her ear again and getting another lusty whine in response.

“D-Don’t stop, Rolan, please.” She managed between gasps. Her mouth had latched on to where his collarbone was exposed by his casual untied shirt when he leaned in again.

He used his grip on her hips to grind her against his thigh slowly, helping her roll her body against his to seek her pleasure in the friction. She gasped at the delicious sensation of the unexpected ridges on his thigh against her drenched center. She heard Rolan laugh darkly against where he continued to lave wet kisses on her neck. Through the building lust in her body, she managed to reach out and take his hardened length in her hand, stroking him through his pants.

“Fuck, Tav,” He groaned, she stopped moving her hand for a second to make sure she hadn’t gone too far. “No, don’t stop, please,” he continued and ground himself into her hand.

She continued stroking him increasing the pressure and speed slightly. Earning a groan of ecstasy from Rolan that she felt inside her, like he’d thrown oil on the fire burning at her core. It had consumed her fully now, gone from her mind were the reasons this was a bad idea and the months she’d spent trying not to think about this man. She was so close to her finish already; she muffled her cries in the firmness of his clothed chest as she felt her peak start to overtake her. It was all she could do to silence her moans and cries for Rolan as she shuddered against his thigh. She still couldn’t bring herself to feel embarrassed yet about drunkenly grinding herself to completion against Rolan. Not when he made sounds like the ones he was making now. The groans and growls that she worked from his body were her singular focus.

All of her attention went into pleasuring Rolan as he lost control, nearing his finish. Her other hand pulled his head close to her mouth and she licked up his pointed ear with the tip of her tongue. A groan of need escaped him that filled Tav with satisfaction.

“Cum for me, Rolan,” She whispered into his ear and then kissed him hard on the lips. Like she could express all her feelings for this man in a single kiss. His hands gripped her hips so tight there would surely be bruises come morning as his body shivered and jerked. She swallowed his moans with her kiss as he came against her hand.

After a moment of ragged breaths, she noticed a heavy silence in the air. Like neither one of them were ready to speak and ruin the moment that had passed between them. He leaned his forehead against hers as he rubbed her shoulders soothingly. There was so much she wanted to tell him but the alcohol coursing through her veins made her hesitant about how it would come out. She didn’t want him to think this was a drunken hookup, but she didn’t want to humiliate herself either.

“We should get cleaned up,” Rolan said softly, finally breaking the silence between them. She nodded in response, realizing they were both now wearing sticky clothes in a closet during a game of hide and seek. He smiled at her and left a soft kiss on her forehead before casting Prestidigitation to clean the mess off their bodies and clothes.

“Neat trick,” She teased and then let out a loud yawn. She hadn’t realized she was so tired until the endorphins and adrenaline from their encounter had begun to decrease. The drowsiness of a night of drinking and revelry catching up with both of them at once. Even Rolan, who had looked like he was about to scold her but let out a sudden yawn in response. Without a word he used Dimension Door to whisk her to the guest bedroom she stayed in. He helped her settle under the covers and fetched a fresh jug of water for the nightstand, leaving a cup and a tonic that must be meant for hangovers out for her. As he turned to leave her hand shot out for his wrist and latched on.

“Will you stay?” She tried to ask without sounding like she was begging, knowing the opposite was true. In her heart she knew she’d beg him to stay if he asked.

In the clear light of the guest bedroom, she could see his face as he visibly wrestled with how to respond to her. She felt her heart smash into a million pieces at his hesitation. The hope that had buoyed her deflated.

“Never mind, just the alcohol talking,” she said quickly trying to safe face before he could humiliate her further.

“Are you sure?” He said looking suddenly bewildered.

“Yeah of course, my bad” She forced out with a stiff laugh and rolled over to face away from him so he couldn’t see the tears brimming in her eyes.

After a long, uncomfortable silence she heard him move across the room to leave, snuffing out candles along the way.

“Goodnight Tav,” She heard him whisper from the doorway.

She didn’t answer and hoped he would think she was already asleep — she didn’t want him to know she was crying instead.

Dividers by @ Olenvasynyt on tumblr

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