#i have the day off on thursday so i can catch up on sleep then if i need to

[mossflower]

happy nanowrimo to those who celebrate <3

[moonchildstyles]

First time sex with rosemary 🌿

wordcount: 9k

—————

Wiping her floured hands on her apron, (Y/N) brushed her hair out of her face with her wrist before reaching towards her back pocket for her vibrating phone. Her lips curled into a soft smile seeing Harry's name on her screen, his contact featuring a photo of him sleepy-eyed next to his kitten in her bed had her smile stretching wider. Taking a quick glance at the time, she was sure he'd just made it back to his apartment after finishing up at the grocery store. 

Quickly, she peeled her gloves from her hands and peeked out into the storefront of the bakery. Just as she had left it a handful of minutes before, there weren't any patrons now that the morning rush had passed, leaving Sabrina tucked behind the desk with her book folded open. 

"Hey, I'm going to take my fifteen really quick. Is that okay?" As soon as Sabrina gave her the go ahead with a wave of her hand with her eyes still stuck to her book, (Y/N) was answering the call with a tap of her thumb. "Harry?" she greeted, stepping out back of the bakery for a bit of privacy in the mid-morning air. 

"Hi, peach," he murmured through the receiver, voice drooping and soft, "Is it alright that I called you? I know you're still working, so." 

"Your timing was perfect, actually," she told him, knowing he was probably more worried than he was letting on for fear of having ruined her day, "Everything just cleared out from this morning, and I needed a break." 

"Yeah? Long shift already?" he pressed, the sound of sheets shuffling on the other side with a petite meow chirping through. 

"A little bit, yeah," she sighed, wishing she was wrapped up in warm sheets with Harry and Rosemary, "Just one of those Sunday morning shifts, you know. How was your night, though? Work was okay?" 

"Yeah," he said, the syllable floating out on a long suffering sigh, "Theo and Brett were still annoying, but I think Fawn is going to cover one of my shifts this week." 

(Y/N) immediately perked up at the new information. She'd been urging him to take some time off this past month; he didn't have to work himself to the bone anymore, not now that his issues from back home had been resolved. It was unhealthy, she'd told him more than once—he would make himself sick with more than just exhaustion if he wasn't careful. 

"Really? What day?" she bubbled off, ready and willing to shift her own schedule around if he wanted. 

"Thursday." 

She could hear the smile in his voice as he uttered the words. He knew what reaction he was going to get. 

"Are you serious?" she beamed, bouncing on the soles of her feet, "You have the whole weekend off then?" 

"I do, yeah. So do you." 

"Harry," she bleated, "I'm so excited! We haven't had any time together I feel like, and now we get a whole weekend! Thank you!" 

"That's what I was thinking when I made my request; barely seen you this past week. 'S not fair." 

"It's not," she affirmed, "You haven't even been able to sleep over since Friday. I'm not used to that." 

"Me neither, peach," he murmured, his tone decidedly more somber than just a moment before though she understood where he was coming from. 

Ever since their impromptu road trip, they tended to have as many sleepovers as their schedules would allow. Besides the comfort that came along with being at each other's side—especially in the case of Harry's frequent nightmares—, it was hard to forget how much they liked sharing a bed and sitting down for meals together. 

"Did you want to do anything special?" she prompted, already racking her brain for anything that Harry would enjoy leaving the house for. 

"I've got to go to the library at some point," he mused, another chirping meow sounding from the background prompting a huff of laughter to leave his lips, "But, other than that, I was hoping I could catch up on m'sleep." 

"We can do that," (Y/N) decided, shifting her view of the days off to turn into cozy sheets and breakfasts in bed, "A weekend long sleepover. We'll make a thing of it." 

"Yeah?" Harry asked, a smile audible in his tone—a vision that had (Y/N)'s chest warming. "How are we gonna do that?" 

She hummed, sifting through her ideas before landing on a few to share, "Probably movies if we have the attention span for it—if not, we can read together or something. We can do face masks too—Ooh, or I'll get another of that hair mask you like. Let me think, but I have some ideas." 

"'M sure y'do, peach," he murmured, his voice decidedly lower and slower than before, sleep vining around the edges of his words, "Whatever y'want, we'll do. I trust you." 

"I'll make sure we make a thing of it, H," she told him, reluctant to say her next words but knowing he needed to get as much sleep as he could manage, "I've got to get back to the ovens, but I'll text you when I'm off." 

"Yeah?" he mumbled, "Tell me when y'get home?" 

"You've got it," she smiled, feeling the winter sun warm on her cheeks, "Goodnight, H."

"Goodnight, peach." 

With that, (Y/N) ended the call. Hopefully, he would be able to sleep through the rest of her shift at least. He just needed to get through the next few days, then he'd have some time off to spend at her gingerbread house. 

The thought had that soft curl on her lips feeling permanent. She would have to remind him how proud she was that he was taking a couple of days off, the time well-deserved. 

Just like she said, she would make a thing of it, she only had to figure out what a thing for Harry looked like. 

—————

With Rosemary wriggling in his arms, Harry nearly fumbled his keys to the ground while on (Y/N)'s stoop. She was a calm little thing nearly any other time of the day, but as soon as they were at (Y/N)'s door, Rosie couldn't settle. 

Keeping his hold on her tight, he was able to finally stumble through the door before letting her spill out of his arms. Her feet pattered over the hardwood, beelining for the kitchen just as he knew she would. Harry could only shake his head as he kicked off his shoes by the door, setting them next to (Y/N)'s under the foyer table. He couldn't stay mad, though, especially not when he heard the familiar cooing of his peach filtering down the hall. 

"Where's your daddy, Rosie?" (Y/N) crooned, voice a soft murmur through the house, "We've got to talk to him about how hungry you are when you come over. Is he not giving you enough treats?"

Following the sound of her voice, Harry's lips curled instinctively into a soft smile when he spotted (Y/N) crouched next to his kitten, fingers massaging through her fur. There was a part of him that wanted to peer out the small window above her sink, ensuring no one was watching in—a part of him that he forcefully tamped down in favor of reveling in the sight of his stitched family. 

"You know I feed her," he drawled, leaning against the threshold of the entrance, "I don't know why she acts like this when we come over." 

It was the way (Y/N)'s features seemingly bloomed when she looked up at him. Her hand absently continued petting Rosemary, but it was clear all of her attention was splashed upon him. It was when her eyes were on him with nothing but adoration that had Harry happily anchored to the moment, warm and comfortable in his skin. He hoped he was able to make her feel that way when he looked at her. 

"Hey, H," she smiled, giving one last stroke to Rosie before she was standing to her feet and crossing the kitchen towards him, "I was going to ask you how work was, but you're on vacation." 

"I am, aren't I?" he mused, collecting her into his arms.

(Y/N) looped her arms around his neck while he hugged her around her middle, face cradled into the crook of her neck. His eyes fell closed reflexively, his chest expanding as he pulled in a deep breath. The sugary scent of her skin filled his lungs, her hair tickling his nose. 

"Are you excited?" she asked, trailing her fingers up and into his hair as she drew away. 

Matching her eyes, her question drifted away in favor of tipping forward and pressing a kiss to her lips. A giggled out his name against his mouth, muttering something about answering her, though Harry didn't pay it any mind. He focused on the give of her lips under his, the seam parting when she eventually melted into him. Her hands in his hair was a warming tether, keeping him from drifting out of her pastel kitchen. 

It was her that pulled away first, cutting off his indulgences earlier than he liked. He attempted to chase after her, craning his neck with puckered lips, though that only granted him a peal of her laughter fluttering between them. 

"Not in front of Rosie, H," she teased, unwrapping from his arms to move towards the stove where a warm oven and bubbling pan had gone unnoticed before. 

Harry stood back, watching as she stirred and tasted and adjusted, clicking on the light in her oven to take a peek inside. No matter how many times he'd offered to make dinner, take care of her meals—told her that he liked cooking, even—she had insisted that she wanted to take care of him, take one worry off of his plate. When she put it that way, he didn't feel like fighting with her. 

"She's seen worse, peach," he countered, leaning over the peninsula counter with his forearms flat on the surface. He had a perfect view into the domestic dream that was his (Y/N), complete with a bow in her hair despite the mess of a bun on the top of her head. 

A small laugh fell from her lips as she looked over her shoulder at him, "Maybe, but we shouldn't encourage it. Dinner's almost ready anyway, so we don't need to be distracted." 

"Yeah? What'd y'make?" He could see just the edges of something creamy in the pot she was stirring.

"Sabrina's family is visiting, and her dad gave me this recipe for stuffed shells with all this cheese and, like, spinach and stuff. I thought we'd try it out." She gave him a beaming smile when she finished whatever she was stirring, taking it off of the burner with the timer on the oven ticking down to less than two minutes. 

"That sounds really nice, love. Thank you. I've got dishes tonight." 

"Harry." A small scold—as expected.

"(Y/N)," he responded in the same arguing tone as she, "You're letting me—and my cat—stay here all weekend, 'm not letting us leave a mess here for you too. 'S alright." 

This was one of those things he didn't allow much room for argument on. It was one of those things—fear of feeling like a burden—that had come with the years on the run while attempting to ensure his impact was never felt. He was working on it, sure, but the least he could do for all of (Y/N)'s kindness was taking care of the dishes. 

"Okay," she relented, eyes rounding out as she looked up at him, "Just not tonight, though. I have something special for you after dinner." 

He did recall her saying something about making this weekend a thing for him, he just didn't really know what exactly that meant. "And, what's that?" 

A sheepish look crossed her face, softening her features and lining her eyes. "It's kind of silly, but I got some fun bath things and, like, candles and stuff. I wanted to make everything a little special tonight since it's your first extra, real day off in a long time." 

The longer she went on explaining herself, Harry could feel his own lips curling into a small smile. "Really?" he asked when she finally took a breath. 

"Yeah," she started, dropping her eyes from his, "But, you don't have to use them or anything if you don't want to. I know it might not really be your thing, and all." 

"Love," he crooned, the petname falling from his lips just for her to hear, "Thank you. That sounds really nice actually—don't remember the last time I took a bath like that. 'M always too worried about the water running cold." 

(Y/N)'s expression brightened at his words. "I'm excited for you to see all the stuff I got for you, then. But only after dinner—and dessert."

"Dessert?" 

"Of course dessert," (Y/N) smiled, moving back to the oven on the brink of beeping, "But that's a surprise." 

It was the way she looked at him before she gave her attention to the oven and baking pasta, how bubbly she seemed over something as simple as a surprise sweet for him to have at the end of the meal. That was what had him all but melting into the countertop. She could have fed him garbage and left him to soak in an ice bath and he'd be just as happy—all he needed was for her to keep looking at him like that. 

—————

"Are y'sure y'don't want me to do the dishes tonight?" 

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, pulling out of Harry's embrace to head towards the kitchen and the plates waiting by the sink. "Yes, I'm sure, H. I want you to relax this weekend, I don't mind doing a couple of plates." 

"But—" 

"No," (Y/N) cut him off, plugging the sink before beginning to fill the basin with soapy water, "As soon as I get this ready, we're going to my bathroom and I'm showing you all the stuff I got for you, and then you're going to not think about the kitchen again for the rest of the night." 

"I'm not?" he asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at her insistence. Sometimes it was fun to argue with her for no other reason than he liked to see her put her foot down with a smoke to her gaze. 

He thought it was cute.

"Nope. Not even for a second." Amusement covered her own features by the time she cut the tap and turned to face him. "C'mon." 

With that, she flitted out of the kitchen with socked feet padding over the flooring. She didn't have to look back to know Harry was following. 

Tailing her through the house with his gaze carefully landing on the round of her hips as they swayed with her steps, she took him to her bathroom. There, on the counter, was a brown paper bag with a white painted logo on the front. A gifting ribbon had the handles tied together on top,  a tag with his name dangling from the tendril. 

In presentation, (Y/N) stood off to the side of the counter, a beaming smile on her face as she flourished her hands out. "Happy free weekend." 

"What's this, hm?" he hummed, stepping over the tile with his gaze narrowed teasingly in her direction. 

"Your bath stuff," she said, practically bouncing in her spot as he began reluctantly untying the bow. He wanted to keep it perfect—he couldn't remember the last time he received a gift, especially one like this. 

Harry could feel his eyes on her as he began digging through the bag. Floating on top were two powdery spheres, striped in alternating colors with dried flowers stamped inside. He settled them gently on the counter, his hands coming away with remnants of the sweet smelling dust. 

"They're bath bombs," (Y/N) piped up, "They're those things that dissolve in the water and make it colorful with all these nice skin things in them. The purple one is lavender and sage, and the blue one is lotus and jasmine."

Smiling at her explanation, he reached back inside the bag. A glass bottle filled with sweet smelling oil was his next find, the wax seal corking it closed having dripped its way down to the label. He could smell the warm, floral notes from here, even with the contents sealed away. Looking at the simple label wrapped around the thick of the bottle, he looked up at her with raised brows. 

"Massage oil?" 

It was the way she hesitated that had his lips stretching into a smile. "Its—I—It doesn't have to be used for that. It can just be a nice body oil if you want, but I... I mean if you want a massage, I could use that, so." 

So far, this was his favorite gift from her reaction alone. He settled it with a clink next to the bath bombs. "I'll keep that in mind." 

Next in line was a candle, standing tall in a cold glass voice in the bag. Pulling it out, the four wicks were sealed away with the help of the suctioned lid, showing off the marbling of the wax tucked inside. It was a swirling jade color, complete with lapping white streaks to emulate the gemstone. Under the just right light, he could see bursts of glitter suspended inside. The label boasted a vanilla sage scent, surely meant to match the sage bath bomb he'd picked up earlier. 

"Peach," he smiled, looking at his gifts spread out on the counter for him, "These are so nice, than—" 

"There's more," she bubbled, unable to contain herself this time, "At the bottom." 

He raised a brow but dug inside like she suggested. At the bottom, his fingertips brushed something smooth and flat. Getting his fingers around it, Harry already had a good idea of what he was pulling out, a smile spreading over his features and denting his cheeks with dimples. 

It was a book—one of his favorites from the library. One he had loved enough that he wished he had his own copy to keep him company—something he had told (Y/N). The cover was the black and white with splashes of red, the artwork glossier than what he had borrowed from the library. The spine was uncracked, kept in pristine condition—just the way he liked it.

"I know you've already read it, but I thought you might want to read a little again while you take your bath," (Y/N) mused at his side, her hands in a fumbling bundle before her. 

"(Y/N)," Harry sighed, looking up from his new, personal edition, "This is all wonderful, really. Thank you, so much." 

With his book still in hand, he collected her in his arms, tucking her against his chest. While he wasn't one hundred percent sure what all of the things he had received were, it was more than warming to think about her perusing a shop with him in mind, plucking things up with the intention of sharing them only with him. 

"I know it's all kind of silly, but I'm happy you like it," she murmured into his shoulder, the curl of her smile felt against the cuff. 

"'S not silly," he told her, drawing back just enough to get a look in her eyes, "I can't remember the last time anyone has done anything like this for me. I really like all of it, (Y/N). Thank you." 

Tipping his chin, he pressed his lips to hers, hoping she felt his words as much as she heard them. He felt eased when her lips molded into a soft smile. 

"I'm happy I could change that," she cemented, beginning to untangle himself from his hold, "I'll leave you to it, then. Take as long as you want, I'm just going to clean up and we'll go to bed—" 

"You're not staying with me?" 

How was he supposed to enjoy all of these trinkets and things without her there? What was the point of a sage candle and glittery bath bomb if she wasn't going to be indulging with him? 

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks, one foot out of the bathroom. "Oh—um, no? I was going to go clean the kitchen and things, remember?" 

"Yeah, but," he started, watching to reach out and keep her on the tiled floor with him, "can y'do that later?" 

"Do you want me to?" was her simple response. 

Harry nodded. "Yeah." 

Her features were warm, taking a step back into the bathroom with him. "Then, I'll do it later." 

It didn't take long for their clothing to be shed, lying in a lumpy file on the floor with the tub filled to the brim with steaming water. Harry had chosen the lavender bomb to be placed in the water, (Y/N) all too excited to show him the magic of the fizzy powder. She had urged him to sink in first, her gaze following the lines of his body before she had gone after him. 

Harry wrapped his arms around her as she sunk into him, his chest to her back. The steaming water rippled around them, scenting the air with crisp lavender and warming sage. Every deep breath he took had the bunching in his muscles lessening and lessening until he was lax with (Y/N) in his hold. He could feel her every breath, the expanding of her chest that pressed back into him, the brush of her hair drifting through the surface of the water and tickling his skin, the careful way she had her hands laying atop his own where they were threaded over the soft of her stomach. It was easy for his eyes to shutter closed with his head tipping back against the rim of the tub. 

It was almost enough to keep him from acknowledging the curve of her body pressed against his cock.

Now wasn't the time though, he starkly reminded himself, taking in a deep breath of the calming lavender. She had wanted to relax with him, not get felt up with a dick pressing against her ass. 

"Do you like it?" 

The sound of (Y/N)'s crooned words had him blinking his eyes open. He wasn't even hard yet, how could she know that he was already talking himself down? 

"What?"

"The bath bomb," she laughed, oblivious, "You said you've never used one before, right?" 

"Oh," he sounded, exhaling finally, "Yeah. 'S nice—it smells really nice. I could fall asleep in here.”

Twisting in his arms, (Y/N) shot him a beaming smile over her shoulder. "I have before—I don't recommend." 

"Yeah?" he smiled, much more willing to focus on this anecdote than on the way the shifting of her body hit points on him he would have rather ignored for the time being. 

"Oh yeah," she cemented, shaking her head, "I only woke up when I felt water going up my nose 'cause I started slipping." 

Though she laughed off the remark, a frown settled on Harry's lips. "Y'almost drowned? (Y/N)..."

Her name came out as a scold, one that had her letting out another peal of laughter. "No, I didn't drown, H—" 

"You almost did," he pointed out. 

There were parts of him, traits that he gained during his years protecting his mother and sister, that were now woven into the fabric of his personality. Hearing (Y/N)'s story had that protective gene flaring up in him, urging him to hold her tighter, keep her at his side. He wouldn't let his mind wander to another version of events where she hadn't spasmed awake when the warm water touched her nose. 

His limbs became a warming cradle around her form, caging her to him lest the bathtub somehow raise tsunami waves and try to pull them apart. He pressed his lips to the back of her shoulder, speaking against the skin, "I don't like that." 

(Y/N) wiggled her hands underneath his, turning her palms up to match his own with her fingers threading between. "It's just a funny story, H. I'm fine—you know I don't take baths, like, ever, anyway." 

His brows pinched into a furrow. Sure, maybe he did know that. "Still," he grumbled.

Harry's petulance only served to draw another breath of laughter from her chest. 

She wriggled in his hold some, melting into him as she slid deeper into the water. The milky shaded water ripped around her, Harry keeping her close as she settled with her head resting against his shoulder. 

"I'm fine, Harry," she cemented, peeking up at him with an adoring smile on her features, "But, you're cute for worrying." 

Taking in a deep breath, he did nothing more than dropping another kiss to the cuff of her shoulder. He wasn't trying to be cute—he was protective. It was a part of his nature. 

Shuttering his eyes, Harry indulged himself and allowed his kissing to continue down her shoulder, only stopping when the lapping line of the water halted him. With his fingers laced between hers, he pulled her arm out of the pastel bath. He dotted his lips down the line of her limb, nose skimming her skin in his wake and raising goosebumps. A plume of laughter left his peach, the sound enough to have his own smile taking place as he fought to smear his lips over her skin. 

It wasn't until he was headed towards her wrist, landing on the soft underside of her arm that he slowed when he, through cracked eyes, spotted a slash that had made a home in her skin. It was small, though it looked only partially healed—still a warm red and slightly raised.

"What happened here?" he murmured, a pinch furrowing his brow. 

"Hm?" (Y/N) hummed dazedly, shuffling in his hold before spotting what had made him stop in the first place, "Oh, Rosie scratched me by accident." 

It was something so minor, completely mundane and curable. The scratch wouldn't even scar, and yet Harry still felt his shoulders deflate. He would have to remind Rosemary to be gentle with her mother—she was entirely too special, no need to have claws out when being held by her. 

He apologized for his cat with a small press of his lips to the cut. 

Under the cover of the pastel water, (Y/N) untangled her hand from his that was still laid against her stomach. He was left to feel the give of her plush skin under the pads of his fingertips while she carded her own through his hair. Though he attempted to continue the dotted affection of his kiss over her skin, he didn't stand much of a chance as he reveled under her touch. 

Maybe it was the brush of her nails against his scalp, or the slight give of her body under his hand, or just the fact that he could feel every line of her body against his own, but Harry felt his stomach tense then. It was minute and fleeting, but something he felt under the blocking muscles of his abdomen. 

He attempted to keep a lid on whatever that feeling could lead to by taking a deep breath, but that only reminded him of (Y/N)'s skin right under his nose and the fact that she had been the one to run him this bath and that was why she was naked, and warm, and wet, and pressed right against him, and that was why his hands were on her and—

"H?" 

Blinking his eyes open and drawing away from her, Harry looked up to match her wide eyes. "Hm?" 

There was something teasing on her expression, lighthearted in her eyes with a small tug edging on the corner of her mouth. "Are you okay? You weren't breathing for a second." 

"Oh," he sounded, mouth dry, "Sorry." 

She shook her head, murmuring something about him being funny or cute or something, but, admittedly, Harry didn't have an ear to lend at that moment as (Y/N) started moving around him. Wriggling out of his hold, Harry stayed still in the water as she maneuvered around until she deposited herself in his lap. Her thighs were spread to cushion his hips, her bottom settled on the thick of his thighs while her chest was flush against his. Only trickles of the lavender water were able to make their way between her breasts and the curves of her body, leaving her shimmering with the scented oil on her skin and suddenly warmer than the steaming water. 

Looking up at her, Harry took his time tracing the lines of her piled hair with the wet ends sticking to her skin, warm cheeks glowy and dewy, the soft light reflecting in her eyes from the candle she had lit and stationed behind their cuddled bodies. He felt breathless—reverent. 

It was never far from his mind just how deeply (Y/N) had impacted him. Without her, he never would have been knocked out of the daze that was his life—the cycle of never-ending loneliness and purposeless decisions. She had changed him in ways he was scared of, the ways that he had avoided for years because it was easier to stay the same. He didn't enjoy thinking of who he would be without her, where he would be. 

It was with that knowledge and the sight before him, that Harry wanted nothing more than to worship her and show her the purple that he had been given now that she was in his life. Religion wasn't anything that ever consoled him during his years on the run, but if the temples and altars had looked like her, the gods held her kind eyes and warming touch, he may have reconsidered. 

"You can touch me, you know." 

Dropping back to earth with a flutter of his eyes, he realized his hands were lax at his sides, careful to keep a distance from her skin. She had been the one to tie her arms around his neck, to keep their bodies close, while he had basked in the sight of her alone. 

"Sorry," he murmured, placing his palms on the full curve of her thighs. 

He skated them over her form, taking in the rounded edges of her body and warm skin. He'd touched her before, enough times to have mapped out every crook and groove, and yet, it still felt like the first time when he allowed him to feel. It would never get old knowing that he had someone like her that loved him enough to allow his hands to land on her. 

"Don't be sorry," she murmured, ducking her head until she planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. "I just don't want you to feel like you can't touch me—I'm yours, H, remember?" 

There was that stirring again in his stomach, that tensing in his muscles that felt much deeper and lower than he would have liked during a relaxing cuddle with his girlfriend. It was just the reminder, that declaration that got to him just like it always did. 

(It was a bit embarrassing, in Harry's opinion. Would it always be this easy to work him up? Would (Y/N) always be able to say a handful of words, let his hands wander to her hips, and then he would be done for?) 

"You're mine," he sighed, sinking deeper into the water. 

It was (Y/N)'s turn then to trail her lips over his skin, the pillows of her lips never fully lifting from his skin before she was planting another kiss. She went on with the tip of her nose smushing against the line of his jaw as she worked down to the column of his throat. He could feel himself growing harder and harder with every kiss, every brush of his hands over her body, until he was sure (Y/N) was well aware as well. Though she made it abundantly clear she didn't mind when she rocked her hips against his, his cock pressed against his stomach and the soft core between her thighs. 

A shuddering exhale caved his chest. 

"I'm yours," she crooned, the heat of her words fanning over his heated skin.

Her own arms wrapped around his neck began to drift, leaving only one tangled in the waves of his hair with the blunt of her nails tracing his scalp. Her touch skated down the length of his chest, her eyes settling into a daze as they followed the journey of her hand until it disappeared under the water. His abdomen jumped under her hand the lower she went until the heel of her palm grazed the plumped head of his cock.

He couldn't help the way he tossed his head back, leaning into the palm of her hand. His voice came out in a breath, "I want you so bad, peach, I'm so sorry." 

(Y/N) drew away just enough to match his eyes, her wandering hand settling against the middle of his chest. "Why are you sorry?" she asked with amusement in her eyes, a soft smile on her lips as she shook her head, "You don't have to be sorry." 

"Jus'" he started, focusing on the sight of her as opposed to the weight of her form and warmth of her skin against him, "I don't... Don't want to ruin tonight since you're already doing so much, and you're only trying to relax and 'm reacting like this and—" 

She cut him off with her lips pressing against his, the edges of her mouth unable to fall in line with her kiss as she fought back a smile. "Do you think I don't want you, too, right now? If I didn't, I wouldn't be climbing all over you, H—or trying to get you to take me back to my room." 

Shifting on his lap once more, (Y/N) emphasized her point with a small roll of her hips against him, her warmth grazing over his length. 

His hands on her waist tensed, denting into her flesh with stern fingertips. Was she asking for what he hoped—what he'd been wanting but was too fearful to ask for in worry of pushing her?

His mouth felt dry as he took in her features, watching as something heated lingered in her irises. "A-Are y'sure?" he mumbled, unwilling to misread the conversation. (Y/N) loved taking care of him, he never wanted her to think he was intending to take advantage of that. 

Carding her fingers through his hair, the tip of her tongue peeked out from between her lips to run along the seam. "I've really missed you, H. It's not always enough just to call you before I fall asleep, you know. It's not the same as actually having you." 

A spark pinged in his chest at her words, the memories they dredged up. A couple of times over the last week with his busy schedule, they'd spent some extra time on the phone before (Y/N) fell asleep for the night and Harry worked through an especially long shift. He knew exactly what she meant: now that he knew what it was like to be touched by her, his own hand, his own fantasies paled so starkly in comparison it was almost embarrassing. 

"I can take care of you, peach. 'M sorry I haven't been doing m'job, but I'll make it up to you," he crooned, tipping his head in hopes of pulling her in for a kiss, "Y'want m'mouth or m'fingers, love?" 

It was only when she shook her head that he paused. That hand trapped between their bodies made a deliberate graze down his body until she skated her fingertips over his length, the ruddy head twitching over her touch. "I want you," she corrected, "Don't you want to fuck me?" 

Maybe it was the fact she rarely cursed, or just how intensely she was meeting his eyes, or the feel of her grabbing his cock, but Harry could have blown it all right then. His throat felt thick as he attempted to swallow down the moan building in his chest. His eyes were hooded, a vignette forming around his view of her. 

It would be so easy to sink inside her, split open her walls and make a home between them. All he needed was to shift his hips just right, and then he would be taking advantage of her spread legs and the slick around them. But, his worry of disappointing her—leaving her unsatisfied—held him back. 

His mouth felt dry by the time he found his voice. "I—um—(Y/N)," he started, unsure of how exactly to divulge the information in him, "'S been a while since I've—..." 

He wasn't sure what he was expecting her reaction to be, but he gladly took the small kiss she offered him, sealing his lips to hers. "How long?" 

"Since before everything," he sighed, allowing himself to sink into her kiss and the brush of her mouth against his, "I don't want to... leave y'unsatisfied if 'm not... good." 

That had her lips curling against his, a cluster of small kisses being pressed to the full of his lips before she pulled away. "It's going to be good before it's you, H. I'm not worried—I love you, remember?" 

Was it normal for him to feel his cock pulse at her declaration? Or was he really that easy? 

"I love you, too," he slurred before taking her mouth against his once more. It was messy and heavy, clumsy and unsure, but he didn't care. "I want to fuck you so bad, peach. Can I?" 

All it took was a soft nod of her head before he had his arms lacing underneath the thick of her thighs with the water splashing around the tub. He held her tight, grip stern as he stood tall in the pastel water. (Y/N) let out a bubbling laugh, clinging to him with a gasp as if he would ever drop her. 

With her pressed tightly to his chest, his cock was now fit snugly between the planes of his abdomen and the soft folds between her legs. Water sluiced down his form, a chill befalling his skin now that they'd left the steaming pool behind, though that had no effect on just how hard he was for his peach. 

"We didn't have to right away," (Y/N) laughed, fingers denting the broad of his shoulders, "If you weren't done—" 

"'M done," he cemented, dropping her onto the bounce of her mattress with only a small amount of guilt at getting so much water on her sheets. He'd change them for her later. "You're m'favorite way to relax, peach—don't need all the rest." 

Laid on the center of her bed with her skin gleaming and warm, scented so sweetly from their bath, Harry had a new level of respect for his self-control. But, that was in the past now, left in the bathroom along with the droplets of water on the floor and the candle he would have to remember to blow out before they fell asleep. 

Crawling on the mattress with his cock heavy between his legs, he fit his body between her spread legs, reveling in the plush of her thighs on either side of his hips. (Y/N) reached for him on instinct, looping her arms around his neck with the curls on the back of his neck dampening against her skin. 

"Hi, you," she murmured, a bubbly smile on her lips as if she hadn't just asked him to fuck her a moment ago. 

He could only shake his head, dropping a kiss to the bridge of her nose as he situated himself above him with his forearms stationed on either side of her head. "Hi, peach. What are you up to, hm?" 

"Nothing much," she laughed, hitching a thigh over his lip in a languid move to thrust him forwards. "You?" 

Harry's voice was stilted in his throat, feeling her slick folds give around his cock when his length split through. He could feel the minute pulsing of her clit against his base. "Jus' worried 'm not gonna last very long at all, nothing important," he attempted to joke, if only to feel of plume of her laughter fill the air. 

Instead, he garnered a smearing of (Y/N)'s lips against his own, her affection tender and lingering. "Don't worry about that," she urged him, "I don't care—I just want you to feel good." 

A furrow pinched his brow, his heart rattling when she rocked her hips underneath him as if it wasn't already hard enough to concentrate. "But, I want y'to feel good too, and—" 

"I will as long as you do," she reiterated, amusement sparking in her blown pupils, "I don't care if you finish early, just finish in me, that's all I ask." 

Harry couldn't contain the moan in his throat, the rumbling falling from his throat as he rested his forehead against hers with shuttered eyes. He could feel a bead of warm precum blurting from his tip, dripping to land on the soft of (Y/N)'s stomach with a pulse. 

"You're going to kill me," he murmured, not sure if he was speaking for her to hear, "D-Do y'need me to do anything f—" 

Cutting him off with a kiss, (Y/N) slipped her tongue between his lips only to offer a quick taste before she was pulling away once more. "You can feel how wet I am, right?" 

As if he could forget with the way she was pressed against the underside of his cock, the ridge of his head tight between their stomachs. He answered with a small nod. 

"Y-You're sure, then?" he murmured, attempting to tap into that self control he had back in the tub. 

"I want you, H," she assured, nothing teasing or urgent in her voice, only sincerity, "As long as you're ready, I am, too. It's just me—you don't have to worry." 

His only response came in the form of a small kiss and a declaration: "I love you, (Y/N)." 

"I love you too," she smiled into his kiss, a small roll of her hips turning his brain to mush. 

His breathing was strained as he reached between their bodies, his fist wrapping around his shaft. Looking down, he watched as she spread her thighs that much wider as he swiped his cock between her folds. She was sticky and wet, clinging to the width of him as he split her open enough for his head to kiss her clit. He could see the jump of her muscles, the small whine that chirped from her lips, but he couldn't seem to stop himself—especially when a thread of her slick stuck to him, only bowing and breaking when he reached his cock towards his stomach, too far for the string to extend. 

"Harry, please," she quietly pleaded with him.

The sound of her voice was just enough to knock him back into the universe. It was enough to remind him that this wasn't the main event, there was even more warmth and wetness to be explored. 

Pressing the tip of his cock to her opening, he held himself steady as he pressed his hips forward. It was a tight squeeze, a feeling that took his breath away. As much as he wanted to catch (Y/N)'s expressions, see exactly what she looked like as he sunk inside her for the first time, he couldn't seem to peel his eyes away from the sight of his cock fitting inside her core. With every stretch of his length pushing through, less and less coherent thought filtered through his head. 

Instead, all he could think about was the snug fit of her walls around him, the pulsing with every heartbeat, just how wet she was, the warmth that enveloped him and welcomed him deeper and deeper. By the time he bottomed out, his mouth had fallen into a gape and his arm propping him up was now shaky. His only anchor was the grip he moved to have on her hip, his palm slick and sticky from fisting his cock though he didn't have it in him to care. 

He really, really hoped (Y/N) meant it when she said she wouldn't mind if he blew it fast; he doubted he had much longer left, and he'd only just sunk inside. 

"Y'alright, peach?" he breathed, his words fanning across her skin when he finally looked up to reach her eyes. 

Looking at him with hooded eyes, the pupils wide, (Y/N) gave him her confirmation in the form of a jerky nod. "I'm okay," she mumbled, "Are you?" 

"'M good," he said, feeling drunk despite not a single drop of alcohol even being present in (Y/N)'s home, "'M so good, peach. 'M scared 'm too good." 

"It's okay," she smiled at him, if only a bit dazed when she threaded her fingers through his damp curls, "Just do whatever makes you feel good—that's enough for me." 

He wished he could have told her how much her affection meant to him, how he couldn't believe she loved him the way she did, how there was no one who had such an effect on him, but there was no way his tongue was going to follow any kind of command let alone any train of thought to actually form. Instead, he settled for a searing kiss against her already swollen lips. 

Though he doubted he would have any chance at composure, he still attempted to catch his breath and his brain before he reared his hips back for the first time. Pulling out of her warm channel was enough to add some form of clarity to his mind, though it didn't last long before he pushed forward in a shallow thrust. Her walls welcomed him in once more, warm and snug with every ridge forming around him in a pulse. (Y/N)'s thighs tensed around his hips, a slight tremor to her muscles though she managed to let out a sigh of pleasure against his kiss. 

"Fuck, peach," he murmured when he bottomed out once more, the crown of his length tapping her furthest walls. 

A furrow had his brows pinched though his eyes remained closed, even when he couldn't manage to kiss her anymore, his lips simply resting against her own parted ones. He shared panted breaths with her, his forehead resting on her own with (Y/N)'s fingers curling in his hair. 

Though the pace was slow, he was able to curate a rhythm that kept him from finishing right away. He didn't feel too far from the edge, but this was as good of a chance as he was going to get when she felt as good as she did. 

"H-Harry," she whined, her voice breathy and airy, "You're so big." 

His hips stuttered at her words, the previously shallow thrust he was working on turning into a harsh grind against her core. The jolt had another moan rumbling her chest with a curse falling from Harry's lips. 

"Y'can't say that, peach," he murmured, unable to keep his pacing, "You're gonna make me cum and we've barely started." 

Every stroke was indulgent, lingering when he wanted, harsh and deep when he changed his mind, anything and everything to his taste. His only chance was in moving his hand from her hip and shaky positioning it between his punishing hips and her forgiving core. At the apex of her folds, her clit pearled. Though his hand was shaky, he still managed to smear the pad of his thumb against the bud, feeling the budding pulse that matched the hammering of her heart. 

Suddenly coming to light, (Y/N) managed to bring him in for a kiss. It was sloppy and clumsy, leaving their lips swollen and teeth glancing off one another, but there wasn't any room for perfection. 

Harry needed her, that was all he knew. His stomach tightened with every thrust, his balls shining with her slick with every slap against her ass. (Y/N)'s thighs were warm and tight on either side of his pelvis, unwilling to let him venture too far before accepting him back inside. 

"(Y/N)," he panted, shaking his head, "P-Peach, 'm so sorry." 

"Don't be sorry, do—shit—don't be sorry, H. I want you to cum, okay? Cum in me, please." 

How was he supposed to deny her? What kind of boyfriend would he be if he said no to such pretty words?

Keeping his thumb running circles around her swollen clit, Harry couldn't stop himself before harshly thrusting inside her and pausing when he felt the first spasm wrack through his abdomen. There was a bunch to his muscles he hadn't even realized until the thread keeping them together snapped. 

Ropes of his cum spurted out, decorating and flooding her walls with every pulse. She grew impossibly wet around him, his thumb barely keeping track as he tried to tend to her clit even through the tremors. He ground his hips against hers, unwilling to draw away even an inch out of her warmth as he came.

The world slowly came back into focus as he pulled in puffs of air, (Y/N) delicately kissing his bottom lip. He felt so hot, sticky despite the bath he'd just soaked in. 

Was sex always like this? He couldn't recall ever coming this hard, but had it been too long for him to remember? Or was this another (Y/N)-only thing? He could readily believe that highs like this only came from being in her arms. 

"Still with me?" his peach murmured, a wanton edge to her voice that reminded him that there were much more important things than his own pleasure. 

He nodded, finally reciprocating her kiss. "'M here, peach. I've got you."

Despite the oversensitivity beginning to leak into his system, he managed to grind into her just enough to match the swirling of his thumb against her clit. She gasped into his mouth, allowing him to slip his tongue past her lips and sweep over her own. He got a taste of her pleasured moans, reveling in the feel until it seemingly became too much for her. 

In a way he was now familiar with, (Y/N) let out a chirping moan, delicate and shaky into his mouth. That was the first sign before her fingers in his hair began to tug at the roots in a stinging pull, and toes curled. Her pussy clung to the shape of his cock, his cum overflowing around himself and dripping down to the bed under her ass as she gushed around him. His oversensitivity had him crying out a call of her name, her pulsing walls almost too hot to handle as she came around him. 

He could have done this all night, Harry decided. He could have pet his fingers over her clit and pressed into her walls for hours if not for the fact that they were both beginning to see the less than favorable side of sensitivity. 

"'M gonna pull out, okay?" he panted, blinking his eyes open to find his (Y/N)'s still shuttered. She answered in a quiet nod, her lips parted as she breathed. 

Though it was a bit reluctant, he drew his hips back in a slow glide. His softening cock slipped out with a wet sound as (Y/N) unfurled her legs from around him. A small whine left her lips, but she didn't stop him, only clinging to him.

Settling in bed beside her, reaching for one of the pillows stationed at the head of the bed, Harry fixed it under their heads. (Y/N) instinctively rolled to face him, sharing the cushion with him. He gave her time as she came down, brushing his fingers through her hair and over the planes of her features until she managed to crack her eyes open. 

"Hi, you," he smiled, repeating her small tease from earlier. 

A plume of laughter fell from her lips, a slight smile forming on her kiss-swollen lips. "Hi. What are you up to?" 

"Nothing. Jus' looking at you." 

"Nothing important then, I see," she laughed, snuggling closer to him until Harry was collecting her into his arms with her head tucked into his neck.

"Very important, actually," he corrected, amusement draining from his tone, "Thank you, peach. Really." 

"You don't have to thank me, H," she countered, "I obviously got my own benefits out of this, so don't think I just did this for you." 

He knew she was trying to play with him, get him to loosen up, but he wasn't in the mood for that just yet. He was a touch too sentimental at the moment. 

"You know what I mean," he murmured, planting a kiss to the top of her head, "I jus' love you, and... always means a lot when y'trust me, and let me be with you. Thank you." 

"I love you, too, Harry," she reciprocated, her own arms giving him a pulsing hug, "It's easy to trust you, really. I wouldn't want to have these kinds of moments with anyone else—you're the best thing that ever happened to me, honey." 

Though he knew they needed to change her bedding, and blow out the candle in the bathroom, get (Y/N) cleaned up, and mop up the bathroom, Harry couldn't find any good reason to extract himself from her arms. 

There would never be a good enough reason that came above being with her like this. 

—————

ahhhhh! thank u sm for reading and to whoever requested this! sorry for any mistakes and if you have any fun ideas or requests of your own please send them in!! if you want to read more, you can check my patreon page:)

[lokideservesahug]

Blissfully Unaware

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Pairing: Yandere!Charles Leclerc x gn!reader x Yandere! Carlos Sainz

Warnings: Dark themes, pervy Charles and Carlos, reader panicks at a few points. Reader watches a film with a spicyish scene but no smut, so many mentions of underwear (not in a sexual setting).

Notes: And we are back! I hope to get the Logan fic out in the next few days and work on some more requests. But this is a fic based off of this request. Enjoy!

Summary: It's completely normal to have a small crus on one of your coworkers. Two? Meh it happens. But what happens when you end up sleeping in the same room due to their meticulous planning chance? Well, one can only guess...

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Your shoes click below you as you walk through the paddock towards Ferrari hospitality. The rain patters to the side of you and you quickly duck into the doorway of Ferrari. You breathe a sigh of relief. This weekend would be interesting with the weather forecast looking how it does. You turn to your left at a gentle call of your name.

Charles Leclerc stood in all of his glory. A man that despite there being immense amounts of downpour today, still manages to look flawless. "Charles, hi!" The man smiles at you softly and begins to talk with you about anything and everything. The two of you even manage to get onto the topic of the next race on the calendar before a rough cough cuts through your conversation. Your eyes fly to the intruder only to be met with a familiar shade if brown. "Good morning Carlos, how are you today?"

Carlos walks towards you and you turn your attention from the Monagasque to the tall Spaniard in front of you. You only manage a short conversation before your eyes fall on the clock just to the side of Carlos' head and you curse. "Oh no... We're running a bit late." Charles moves towards you and puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Don't worry mon chéri, everyone will be with the weather today." You shrug and murmer that you're going to your office to collect the notes for today.

Yet unbeknownst to you, the two men left in the room shoot sharp stares of jealousy to the other.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

You walk back into the entrance in pursuit of "escorting" the Ferrari men to the first media duty of the day. Despite it being awful weather, and being sodden all throughout the weekend, there is no rest for the pilots when it comes to media commitments. You pace back into the foyer and catch the end of Carlos and Charles' conversation I hushed whispers. You swear you could have heard your name but before you get the chance to eavesdrop anymore, the two are sharing a film handshake and turning to look at you.

"So, it looks like the first job of the day is going to be filming a video for YouTube. But I think it'll be upstairs rather than outside today. Both men breathe sigh of relief at your words. With how Ferrari can be, no one would be surprised if they were forced to film outside and then filmed for thirst trap videos of their damp bodies afterwards. "Well show the way mi corazón and we will eagerly follow." You laugh at Carlos' playful tone and lead the two of them upstairs.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

You're surprised how grueling the day turned out to be. It's only Thursday and you can't wait for the opportunity to get back to the hotel and change into more comfortable clothes. You make sure to lock your car and grab your work bag. After you close the door you begin to look for some comfortable sleep clothes.

You crouch to reach under the bed and find your suitcase. Your hand shoots out and you tal around but still don't find your luggage. How odd. You stand up but are met by the sight of a half unzipped suitcase. Oh you must have haphazardly chucked it on your bed and zipped it before you left for work. That explains its location...but why does it look like on so the zips is broken? You lean in to take a closer look. Yes this has happened to you before but only when you were very hastily shutting the zip. Oh well at least there were several zips on there.

You open the case in search of your favourite pair of undergarments. You truly wanted to feel at your comfiest today. Yet once again, you can't seem to find them. You pull out the many shirts and various miscellaneous clothing items. Yet you seem to have misplaced a large majority of your underwear. You sigh in defeat.

Well it wasn't the most hygienic but maybe you can wear some from yesterday. At least they'd had more air exposure than your current pair. You go into the small laundry hamper in the corner of the room. You dive in and find your jeans from yesterday, a pair of Ferrari socks (work standard bit unbelievable comfy) , one gag "I ❤ Montreal" shirt gifted to you a few years ago. But not yesterday's underwear... You take a deep breath to stop yourself from internally freaking out and walk back over to the suitcase.

Maybe you just packed them ina different place this time. After a good few minutes, you find your underwear stuffed into one if the front pockets of the case (with both a substantial amount missing and with nothing being folded).

You finally get changed and fall backwards onto the expensive, hotel sofa and try and find a film. Just for today, you allow yourself to order in some food and you excuse the large expense of the just eat order as a means to treat yourself. You start to watch the old rom-com on the television but find yourself zoning out and thinking about anything that will come to mind and stay. That may be why your mind lingers on the two Ferrari men (you must admit that they never really leave your mind).

A loud sound cuts into your daydreams. The two main characters begin to have a passionate exchange that grown more and more heated. And your mind can't can't but flash to the conjured image of you and Charles in that situation. Like the character to his love intrest, his hands slowly making their way up your body in a long trail of featherlight touches.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. How inappropriate. And goodness how awful of you was it taht you couldn't even eat ha film without getting frustrated. You turn your attention back to the screen. The actor on screen begins to murmur in a voice so deep that it reminds you of a certain Spaniard. And now you're imagining Carlos pinning you to the table whilst kissing you like it's your last day on Earth. Gosh, you feel like such a perv.

The image of the "Smooth Operator" makes you fail to realise when the lights begin to flicker. You bolt upright in panick. This hadn't happened before and you were already stressed enough from earlier. You try and sit doen and take deep breaths, assuring yourself that it'll be sorted soon. You focus back on the characters on the screen and fall back into your Ferrari infused daydream.

The sharp ring of the doorbell breaks you from your dreamy state. You skip towards the door, ready to have something good happen this evening and get your hands on the meal that's just dripping with grease and unhealthiness. However, you're not met with a just eat delivery person and instead you're met with a man in the hotel uniform. "Hello. Are you Y/N Y/L/N?" You nod and shrink in on yourself, suddenly consious of your too casual clothing. Your body buzzes with anxiety as to what the worker will say next and you feel like you've been plunged with ice cold water when he says he'll have to evacuate you from the room. Something about pests. You feel like you've been pushed to the deepest part if that ice cold water when he explains that the hotel is overbooked and asks if you can stay with anyone.

Sure, you you can that. You can probably bunk with Marie, the lovely old woman that runs the lighting for videos, you think she's somewhere here. Or even Todd, the new chef's apprentice. What no, he went home to watch his daughter's play. You don't even register nodding at the man but when someone behind the door opposite you begins to frustratedly mumble, you certainly gain a sense of sobriety.

"Qui est-ce? Il est bien trop tard pour ça" (Who is it? It is way too late for this.). You look at Charles hopefully as he opens the door. When he finally realises that it is in fact you that woke him up this evening, a sleepy grin takes over his lips. "Y/N, mon amour. Whatever is the matter?" He ushers you onto the sofa of his hotel room and you explain what happened.

He sits next to you and rubs your shoulders. You hate to admit how simple it makes you look but you feel almost all of your previous stress melt away at the gentle touch. Charles offers you a coffee whilst stating that "It will probably be pretty bad but it's something at least." You nod and smile, softly thanking him in the process. You turn the TV on (carefully, to avoid the channel you were viewing earlier) and begin to watch an old, outdated 80s sitcom. Charles comes back, and holds out a coffee in hand and you choose not to comment on the fact that he brings 3 mugs over to the lounge area in total. All is explained however, when a soft knock on the door is heard and Carlos comes in.

He greets Charles and then you, giving you a gentle smile. He asks why your here (yet doesn't act surprised at all that yours here). And you can't help but also spill this evening's events to Carlos (leaving out your laundry hamper interaction of course). Surprisingly though, he tells a similar story about how he was told by the hotel to find somewhere else to bunk for the might, it must be a common thing.

You apologise for his misfortune and Carlos urges you to continue your story. You speak about the suddsn, ominous light flickering up your room and he comforts you with a sympathetic look and that's when Charles cuts in. "So where are you going to sleep ma très chère?" You furrow your brows. You hadn't thought this far. Clearly, Carlos was quick to process the situation because in a monent, he has his hand on your shoulder and is propositioning you. "Well espléndido, it might be sensible if you deck with Charles tonight." You shake your head. "What about you Carlos, where will you go." He tilts his head in amusement at your clear concern for him. "Meh, I shall sleep on a sofa in the foyer if I have to." You her Charles tut to your right.

"Don't be foolish. I know it is a squeeze but we can all sleep here tonight." You turn to Charles (just in time to miss Carlos lean back and smirk). "Really?" Charles repeats your words back to you and inches closer to you. "It is the least I can do." He smiles like a puppy at you and you thank him profusely. "What about Carlos though?" He shakes his head with laugh. "He can be here as well of course." Your cheeks warm slightly d you realise what this means, spending the night in a room with two very attractive men that you have dreamed about on many occasions. Oh no...

You voice your concern about sleeping arrangements to Charles and he just hums. "Well mon cœur, my mither wouldn't have raised me right if I didn't let you have the bed." You roll your eyes. "Don't be silly, the two of you can take the bed whilst I can sleep on one if the sofas." Charles raises an eyebrow at you, challenging your statement. "You will not. Just look at how uncomfortable they look." You glance at the sofa. Yeah, despite this being an expensive hotel, they look like the type of sofa to give you a back ache by morning. "Well what does Carlos say?" The two if you turn to Carlos, still leaning back in the armchair, smirking. Charles scoffs.

"Enjoying the show are you." Carlos just laughs. "Y/N, mi amor, Charles and I would rather not sleep than take the bed from you. You go to argue with him but Charles softly cuts across you before you have the chance. "Y/N, look. We are going to be in this predicament for the next few nights, please just take the bed and we'll sort something our for later. Hack we can even take it in turns." You look Charles un the eyes and can't find it in you to disagree. You glance back at Carlos snd the sheer ferocity of your looks makes you feel like you'll loose your friendship if you decline the offer. You drop your head down and murmur a quiet agreement. The two men, unbeknownst to you, share equally as sinister smirks but they're gone in a moment as they go to prepare for bed.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

It doesn't take long for you to fall asleep explially with the low timbre of Carlos' voice and the soft curl of Charles accent. Or maybe it was mostly due to your tired state. Which would explain an awful lot.

It would explain how you missed the sight of the box half sticking out from under the bed, containing your missing sets of underwear, a lipbalm you lost many weeks ago and even a multitude of photos in you in many locations and positions from you getting a drink at a café many weeks ago to you getting undressed in the sanctuary of your bedroom. It would explain how you missed a letter on the desk not far from the bed, thanking the two men for their payment and costume for an act by a starting actor, and confirming the date of performance (tonight). It would explain how you missed the two pilots usually dresses in red talking (with evident dopey grins in their voices) about how their plan worked and how they are closer to you you they ever dreamed, even how they intend to futher the development of your predicament. It would would explain how you failed to miss the two soft kisses placed on either side of your head with quiet promises of always protecting you, promises of staying forever devoted to you, confessions of love and admitions of acts of insanity just for a moment of your attention. And most of all, it would explain how you missed the two world famous drivers get under the covers and snuggle up to you.

But that was an issue for when you woke up....

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Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee

[juleswritesstuff]

Relax

Poly!JegulusxFem!Reader

warning: smut

Hi ! This is the first smut fic that I'm more than satisfied with, so I really hope you will enjoy it 💗

English isn't my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

You were stressed. 

You were so fucking stressed, that you either weren't even able to function properly due to sleep deprivation, or you were a nightmare to be around, snapping about every little thing.

James and Regulus noticed, obviously.

They always noticed when there was something wrong with you.

Regulus was too observant for his own good, and James had such empathy that he could sense the slightest changes in your mood from a mile away.

And, maybe, the fact that you had literally screamed at an owl for interrupting your studying when the poor bird was just trying to deliver some mail to its owner in the middle of the Great Hall could've been an indicator as well, you weren't sure, really.

So when they basically cornered you in your dorm room, locking the door with a charm and sporting twin expressions of concern, you knew it was probably worse than you had noticed.

“I know, I know. I just need to finish this essay and then I'll be all yours, ok ?” you say as you retrieve the book you need for your paper. You try to walk past them to reach the door but, predictably, they stop you.

“Where do you think you're going ?” James questions, raising an eyebrow.

“To the library James, where else would I be fucking going ?” you snarl.

Regulus gives you a pointed look, and your shoulders sag in response.

You knew you were being a bit difficult to deal with, and hurting the two boys you loved the most in the world was the last thing you wanted. But all the pressure you had been under the past few weeks was catching up to you and you were a ticking bomb ready to explode.

“Sorry. I'm sorry Jamie, but I really need to finish this essay” you say with a pleading look, begging him with your eyes to let you go.

“You've been in the library all day everyday for the past week, Y/n. Don't you think it's time for a break ?” Regulus asks. His voice is so gentle and so delicate that you really just want to curl into a ball and cry.

“I can't” you say sighing “the essay is due Thursday. I only have two days to work on it, I can't afford to waste time” you say as your hands run through your hair in frustration.

“So spending time with us would be time wasted ?” the Gryffindor asks, lifting his eyebrows as a flash of disbelief passes through his eyes.

“Yes !” You scream in anger, and only then you realize the gravity of your words. It takes one look at James’ hurt expression, and Regulus’ cold stare.

“I mean, no ! That's not-” You let out a shaky breath as you sit on the bed, your throat tight.  “That is not what I meant, I swear. You know it, you know I didn't mean that” 

Your head is hung low and you can't even look at them in the face.

You were feeling like shit, but that didn't mean that you had to make them feel awful too.

You felt guilt crawling up to every fiber of your body.

“I'm sorry, I'm being a bitch” you say, and you feel your eyes start to water, gaze still glued to the floor of your room.

Your eyes fix on Regulus as he kneels down in front of you, searching your gaze until it locks in his, and you're not able to pull away from the stormy gray of his eyes.

“You're not being a bitch, my love. You're just stressed. You need to relax” he says as he tucks your hair behind your ear, letting the pads of his fingers dance on the skin of your cheek.

“I'm not stressed, I promise I can manage until-”

“Baby, you told a second year to fuck off because he tripped in front of you, and made you late for class” James says with an humorless chuckle as he sits down on the bed next to you.

Your eyes snap to his, incredulous.

“I- No that's-” you look at him, horrified “Did I ?” 

He doesn't answer, but the look of pity and worry on his face tells you everything.

You didn't even remember. And a second year ? They were basically a child. You cussed out a bloody child. 

You needed to get a grip, and apologize. Oh, you needed to apologize so much.

“I'm so sorry, I-” 

“It's ok, Y/n. Really. You're under a lot of pressure and no one blames you for being a bit snappy, but you need a break” Regulus says, coming up to sit on the bed too, together with you and James.

“But-”

“Let me rectify. You need a break now” he says, and all the protests that were ready to come out of your mouth die in your throat.

“You're right” you say beyond exhausted “and, trust me, I know you are but the essay-”

“Remus will handle it” James says nonchalantly, not even batting an eye.

“What ?” you ask confused, blinking rapidly.

“You two have Divination together, don't you ? He will be more than happy to help you with your paper” he states, grinning slightly.

“But James-” you try to protest. You don't want Remus to do extra work just because you couldn't handle a bit of stress.

“No ‘buts’, darling. He's already on it” he says. His arm lifts up to move your hair from your shoulder, exposing your neck.

“What do you mean he's already on it ?” You ask confused as you try not to shudder at the contact of his fingers with the sensitive skin of your throat. And then your eyes go wide as it clicks on your brain.

Oh, these two.

“You planned this, didn't you ?” you ask, bewildered, as you turn to Regulus. 

You would expect something like this from James, sure, he was the king of interventions when something was wrong.

But Regulus ? 

Damn, you must've been a real nightmare to be around.

“I told you” he says, inching closer and closer, until your lips are a breath away “you need to relax” he breathes, and then he is kissing you so deeply that the air gets knocked out of your lungs.

His lips are soft, so soft, and needy, and hungry and everything you needed in that moment.

You part your lips and his tongue slips in, caressing yours as he deepens the kiss even more and a soft moan leaves your mouth, because, fucking hell, you missed this, and you missed him and his relentless mouth as it works against yours, and the way his teeth graze your bottom lip, softly, sucking right after in a soothing manner.

And you missed James and his mouth on your neck, where he knew exactly where to kiss, to lick, to gently suck and taste your skin, as more delightful sounds leave your lips, making your head spin, as his wonderful hands travel all over your body and make you squirm and shiver in the best way.

“So this is your idea of relaxation ?” you ask breathlessly as you part from Regulus’ lips only to feel them trace a path from the corner of your mouth, to your cheek, then your jaw,  and ending on your neck, on the exact place opposite to James, and he starts licking too. You could swear you were in heaven as breathless whimpers escaped from your kiss bruised lips.

“I'd say it's a pretty good idea, don't you think baby ?” James asks, lifting his head from your neck to inch closer to your mouth.

“Absolutely” you and Regulus answer in a chorus. And you would've laughed in any other situation, really, but then James' lips collided with yours and every thought in your brain just ceased to exist.

It was just him, and his fantastic, amazing, wonderful lips as they chased yours hungrily.

“Shit, I- missed this” you say in between kisses, as soft needy sounds echo through the room.

“Tell us about it” Regulus says with a chuckle, lifting his head from your neck.

His eyes are hazy, as are yours and James’, and his lips are swollen, and red, and plump and-

“Don't be mean Reggie” James says, leaving your lips alone to focus on your jaw. His tone doesn't have any bark, he's just teasing.

“Oh, but you like it when I'm mean, don't you Jamie ?” The Slytherin teases further, and in a heartbeat they're kissing, devouring each other’s mouths like they were starved.

It's a lot of tongue, and a lot of teeth, and a lot of lust and fire, and you were left speechless in front of such a sight.

Salazar only knows how much you had missed this, missed them.

How could you give so much of your time to essays and papers, and neglect the amazing boys you hand in front of you ?

You must’ve been crazy, really.

“Enjoying the show, love ?” James asks with a smirk as he trails kisses down Regulus' neck.

“You know I always do” you say, backing up a bit farther on the bed and taking off your uniform, because there were definitely too many fucking clothes in the way of your 'relaxation'.

“James, baby, your mouth is a gift sent from heaven, trust me” Regulus says, voice shaking from pleasure as he  pushes James away gently “but you do remember who this is about, right ?” 

“As if I could ever forget” James says with a grin and they both turn to you and notice that you're halfway undressed, the first buttons of your shirt undone and your legs pressed together so embarrassingly tight.

Your cheeks are flushed and your lips are plump and bruised and you're on cloud nine, because after a horrible week full of no Regulus and no James they're now both in front of you, taking each other’s clothes off.

Oh, to be graced by this sight every minute of every day for the rest of your life.

And Merlin, you really need to thank whoever invented Quidditch, because-

“Bloody hell, you both look like you were sculpted by the Gods” you say as your mouth waters. Their bodies are a work of art, two of the seven wonders of the earth. All those lean muscles, slender waists and their backs.

Oh God, their backs.

You wanted to swallow them whole.

Both of them, preferably at the same time.

They grin at your comment, and then they're both on the bed by your side, James on your right and Regulus on your left.

“Speaking of being sculpted by Gods…” James says as his hands go to your shirt to unbutton the remaining buttons, and then Regulus helps you take it off completely,  leaving a few open mouthed kisses on your neck as he does.

“Lay back baby, would you ?” the Slytherin asks gently, but his voice is so low and so full of lust and desire that a shiver ripples through your whole body.

You don't even notice James unclasping your bra before your back makes contact with the bed beneath you.

“Oh, look at you. So perfect, so fucking perfect” the Gryffindor whispers on your lips before kissing you and taking you to a whole other world.

You can feel Regulus’ mouth tracing your neck, leaving marks you were sure would be every shade of red and purple by the following day.

He gives attention to every inch of your skin as James makes sure to leave you breathless, and senseless, just by swiping his tongue against yours.

Then you feel Regulus lips on your breast and your head starts spinning, the breath is knocked out of your lungs and moans of pure bliss fill the room.

“Fuck- Reggie-” you whimper on James’ mouth.

Your hand goes to Regulus’ hair, cradling your fingers through it as he delicately sucks on the sensitive skin of your nipple, leaving tiny kitten licks, soft kisses, light grazes of his teeth, and then the gentle suction begins again and you could literally melt.

“Merlin, baby, the sounds you make” James whispers on your lips and then proceeds to make his way down, hovering over your other breast and then diving in, with Regulus’ same gentleness.

The warmth of their mouths on your sensitive skin, the feeling of their back muscles under your hands as you let them roam on their bodies, feeling every curve, every chiseled corner, it was a feeling you missed for a week.

And now it's here, they're here, in front of you, and you could literally die on the spot and be happy.

But they seem to disagree as they both lift their heads up, sharing a languid kiss that makes you even wetter than you already are.

Because, fucking hell, you were drenched since the first time they put their lips on you today.

You went on for so long without feeling their touch that as soon as their skin came in contact with yours your body started burning, finally alive again.

They break apart, slowly, and without saying a word they start going down, and down, and down, leaving open mouthed kisses on your  stomach, on your hips, on your thighs. 

“You don't have to” you tell them, because really they don't. Up until that moment everything had been about you. You wanted them to feel good too. You wanted to make them feel good. 

“But we want to” Regulus says as he leaves kisses on your inner thigh. Soft, gentle, delicate kisses. James does the same on your other thigh.

“Do you want to ?” the Gryffindor asks, slightly lifting his head from your thighs to see your answer.

“I really fucking do” you admit, your hands in their hair, fingers cradling softly through their locks.

“Perfect” says Regulus, inching closer and closer to where you need him, need them, the most “now be a good girl, and keep your legs spread for us, ok ? Don't think about anything. Let loose baby, you deserve it”

And then he dives in, licking a long strip along your folds as your world shakes with the power of ten thousand earthquakes.

The moan you let out could probably be heard from a mile away, but you couldn't give less than a shit, because Regulus is eating you out like it's his last meal. He's ravenous, and eager, and gentle at the same time, and so so good, and-

“Fuck- fuck, fuck, fuck” your curses mix with whimpers and moans and you never want it to stop, ever. You wish you could remain in this bliss for eternity.

And then Regulus opens his mouth.

“James, James, Jamie, come here love” he says breathlessly. Mouth covered in your essence and eyes hazy and a fucked out expression on his face. 

You swear you could come on the spot.

James, who had been busy worshiping your thighs, doesn't let Regulus tell him twice.

At the feeling of James’ tongue right on your little bundle of nerves they're so familiar with, you see stars, you see whole new universes.

“Fuck- you taste so good, baby” he moans.

“So sweet”

“So fucking sweet”

You arch your back as moans keep tumbling out of your lips.

You're breathless, a mass of choked out sounds and incoherent words. You're burning alive, the fire in your veins so strong and powerful that you feel like you could melt.

And then you make the mistake of looking down at them, right between your thighs, as they feast on your pussy like they were born for it.

“Oh, fuck- I'm-” you don't even have the time to finish your sentence because both their tongues are on that sweet sweet spot that makes you see stars, sucking gently, and in a heartbeat the coil in your tummy snaps and you not only see stars, you see an entire galaxy.

Finally, after a week of pure torture, you find yourself in heaven with the two most beautiful angels right between your thighs.

Your breath is ragged, you're breathing heavily, and you're the most relaxed and content you had ever been in the past few days.

Your body feels like jelly, your legs shaking slightly.

You must've zoned out a bit after the most earth-shattering orgasm you've had in a while, because James and Regulus were now laying next to you, gently caressing your hair in a soothing manner.

“Welcome back” James says with the most beautiful smile ever.

“Was I out for long ?” you ask, blinking slowly.

The three of you are under the covers now, still very naked, and still very happy.

“Thirty seconds max” Regulus tells you, his eyes soft, a fond expression on his face.

Merlin, he's so beautiful.

They're both so beautiful.

“You can sleep, love, it's okay” the Gryffindor says, as he softly strokes your cheek with the pads of his fingers.

“But-” 

“Everything is clean, we took care of it, as always” Regulus interrupts you sweetly.

You really had the best boyfriends in the world.

“God, I love you so much” you say sincerely.

“Oh, really ? Wouldn't have guessed that. What do you say, Reg ? Did you notice ?” James says teasingly as a grin grows on his lips.

“Would've never been able to guess, honestly” says the Slytherin, equally as teasing James.

“You twats, I was being serious” you say and then you realize your mistake.

“Don't you even try to make that joke right now” you warn them, especially James, who makes the gesture of zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key, but he has the stupidest most adorable smile on his face.

“We love you too, darling” says Regulus “but I think you should sleep now. It's getting late”

“Will you stay here ?” you ask, hopeful.

“Of course, love” James assures you. 

And that's how you fall asleep that night.

In a tangle of limbs and bodies, between your two very personal angels.

Divination essay long forgotten.

[freakyformula]

Pretty like the sun part one

Summary: Reader is a huge Lewis fan and is attending her first race in her life with her brother. She catches Lewis eye and he instantly falls for her.

Writers comment: Can I just say that this is my first ever fan fic so read this with that in mind and please don't kill me I BEG.

Warnings: Reader is referred to as she/her, reader has a brother, age gap but readers age is not specified.

Word count: 3,7k

Y/N= Your Name and Y/N/B= Your Name's Brother

Wednesday

Y/N POV

She was so nervous her stomach hurt. It was the first time she was going to attend a Formula 1 race. She had decided on the British Grand Prix in order to support her favourite driver… Sir Lewis Hamilton. Ever since she graduated nursing school, she had been saving up in order to make it happen, working double shifts and living a simple life. It was all worth it in the end, two years later she finally had enough cash to buy herself a ticket. She convinced her brother, also a huge Formula 1 fan, to accompany her. Although he was busy working on his master's degree and was quite busy, he took the time off. As he lived in London they didn't get to meet up that often, except around Christmas when he came home. Y/N and her brother still had a strong bond and they got along well. Going to a Formula 1 race was a perfect way to catch up with him and get some quality time, she thought. He'd agreed to pick her up at the airport. He waited for her to get off the plane, holding a sign with her name, waving at her when she came into sight.

"Y/N!"

"Heyyy, big brother!"

He chuckled at her comment, knowing full well that he wasn't only two years older than her but also robust and tall. Any guy would be intimidated by him.

"How was your flight?" He asks as they walk off.

"It was okay! We hit some turbulence at some point but other than that it was smooth sailing" She said and smiled.

They caught up on life on the car ride home to his apartment. They discussed their parents strict parenting style, she could see that her brother was worried about her and how she was doing. Even if she was living on her own, she lived only an hour away from their hometown which meant that her life was under hard supervision by her parents. Their parents were never as strict with her brother. He was very protective of his sister and wanted her to move further away from their toxic parents. He had discussed this with her multiple times but every time she declined his offer, finding excuses.

When they arrived at the apartment complex her brother helped her with the bags and they shimmed their way in. Her brother had already prepared the spare room for her in advance, which she was thankful for. She was so tired after the flight and decided on taking a shower and going to sleep relatively early.

"Good night, Y/N/B!"

"Sleep well, Y/N."

And with that she closed the door to the spare room and got under the covers. She was excited for the upcoming days and what they'd bring.

Thursday

She wakes up early the next day and shuffles out of bed. She feels her stomach grumbling and goes to check the fridge for something to eat. Eggs, sausage and beans will do. She finds some toast in the pantry too.

"Proper English breakfast…" She thinks to herself.

Within half an hour her brother finds his way to the kitchen too, maybe the commotion is what woke him from his peaceful slumber.

"Morning" he grumbles.

"Hmmm.. Good morning to you too! Sounds like you're having the best day you've ever had!" She laughs.

He looks up at her and starts chuckling, him realising how unenthusiastic he had sounded a couple of seconds earlier.

"Sorry about that" He says, hiding his face in his palms.

She knew just how tired he was in the morning and in pure pity she started the coffee machine for him.

They eat their breakfast and go through the plan they had for the weekend. They'd be seated at the farm curve, a grandstand just past the start and finish line, with perfect opportunities to catch the post-race celebrations at the podium.

She doesn't bother with heavy makeup or doing her hair, she'll save that for race day. She's stood finishing up on her skincare and applying some mascara when her brother sticks his head in.

"Ready?" He asks, clearly tired of waiting for his sister.

"Give me a minute!" She says with a tinge of annoyance in her voice.

The weather forecast is promising; sun and warm weather the whole weekend, but she still doesn't trust the english weather so she packs a couple of disposable raincoats in her handbag, just to be safe. She is dressed in a floral sundress, the skirt of said dress being long enough to go past her knees. She had also purchased a Mercedes cap for the occasion which she would be wearing. She felt incredibly comfortable and attractive in what she wore, how she looked and most importantly, how she felt.

They packed their things and made their way down to the garage. They had decided on taking her brother's car instead of going by train as it would take them much longer. The car ride went by rather quickly, even driving past Milton Keynes, the home base and headquarters for Red Bull Racing. They found their way to the parking, paid, and walked the 20 minute walk to the track. She was happy she took her white sneakers, thinking her feet would thank her later.

She was so excited to finally be here, they got their passes and made their way to the pit lane where they'd get their Thursday pit lane walk. At this point she was almost jumping up and down from excitement, her brother kept her grounded even though he was just as excited. She could see he was happy that he joined her and gave him a reassuring pat on his arm. They walked around the pit lane, talked to some of the different team staff and took pictures. She froze when she saw the Mercedes garage, she could feel her heartbeat in her throat as they started walking closer. She stopped at the barrier and just took in the glory and finesse of the cars and how the mechanics worked on it in order for it to run as smoothly as possible. You caught the eye of one of the Mercedes mechanics who gave you a nod and a thumbs up, referring to your choice of cap.

Lewis POV

It was a hot day on the track. He was surprised it was his own home race, he wasn't used to Silverstone being this hot. He was wearing his usual Mercedes tee with jeans which he soon realised, was a bad idea. Shorts would've been more efficient. He was preparing for some briefings on strategies and the weekend as a whole. This was the thing he dreaded most. All he was there for was racing, not being stuck at hour-long meetings about set-ups. After the meeting was done he thought he'd run back to his driver room to catch a breath, and later go to hospitality for late lunch. On the way to his room, he ran into George.

"Scorching hot, isn't it?" George says with a wide smile.

"Hell yeah it is, I could use an ice bath already!" Lewis giggles.

"Lunch in 5? I just need to change, my tee is drenched in sweat."George asks.

"Count me in, I'll wait for you at hospitality." Lewis says and walks off into his room.

Lewis first impression of George had not been positive, he thought he was stuck-up and spoiled. Unlike Lewis when he was George's age. But he had grown to like the young man, George had calmed down a ton and seemed more respectful. Lewis sat on the sofa with a water bottle in his hand, thinking back.

He had a phenomenal career behind him, having won 7 world titles and had 103 race wins to his name. Everyone on the grid looked up to him, as a friend, brother figure, teammate. He did consider himself lucky and all. But one thing was still missing from his alleged perfect life. Her. Her, that he still hasn't met. Sure, he'd been married before and dated countless supermodels but none of them had felt like "The one". It wasn't like he was actively searching for her, but he had a feeling that when he saw her, he would know.

He didn't hear someone knocking on his door until he saw George in front of him gesticulating with his hands.

"Jesus christ mate, where were you?!" George laughs.

"Eh, nevermind man." Lewis feels his cheeks reddening.

"You okay?" George asks, concern evident in his voice.

"Of course I am!" Lewis briskly counters and smiles at the fellow brit.

George and Lewis find their way to hospitality where they meet up with Bono and Toto for lunch.

"The fans here at Silverstone are a different league." Toto laughs. "The first thing I did as I got out of the car this morning was to give a girl a signature… on her boob!" He doesn't dare to continue his story aloud and whispers "She said she would have it tattooed so she could carry a part of me with her."

"What?! That's ridiculous!" Lewis blurts out.

"I swear to god if she goes through with it…" George says, looking almost disappointed.

"What is wrong with youngsters nowadays…" Bono mutters, making the four men laugh.

As they finish their lunch they walk back to the garage where they check on the data and watch the mechanics work on final changes. He can hear the fans screaming his name outside desperately. He scans the crowd and decides to run out to them. He signs a couple of posters and caps while some fans preferred a selfie with the gorgeous man. As he walks along the line of fans his eye catches hers.

She's absolutely extraordinary. She looks at him with kind eyes. It's as if time stopped, as if they are in their own bubble. He can hear the others screaming his name but their screams feel like they're miles away. He doesn't know if he dares to take a step closer, he's scared to trespass on her space. Then he notices the man she stands next to, they're standing a little bit too close in order to be strangers. He feels his heart breaking just a little bit. But before he looks away the man strikes up a conversation.

"Hi Lewis! I'm Y/N/B and this is my sister, Y/N! We are so glad to finally get the chance to meet you."

Lewis is in awe and takes a couple of seconds to even register that the man has actually said anything.

"H-hi, I'm Lewis!" Lewis almost yells out, making the siblings raise their eyebrows.

"Y/N is a beautiful name" Lewis says, trying to move on from the awkward greeting.

"Thank you" She says, he is barely able to hear it, followed by that warm smile of hers.

Lewis hadn't realised before but she was standing behind her brother slightly, almost like she was afraid of him. Her uncertainty made his heart break, so in order for her to become a little more comfortable with his presence he continued talking to them.

"So, are you happy to be here? Have you been here before?" He asks politely.

Her brother answers his questions for her, which only leads Lewis to suspect that the girl is extremely shy or nervous.

"Would you two like a private tour of the garage?" Lewis asks with a twinkle in his eye.

You both gasp at the question, obviously flabbergasted.

"You're kidding." Your brother tries to resonate.

"I'm most certainly not kidding." Lewis quickly answers.

Lewis went to the gate and convinced the guard to let you both in.

Now he got the chance to properly look at her. Her wide smile and kind aura complement her short stature. God, he'd never seen a creature more beautiful than what he saw in front of him.

They must have noticed him staring with his mouth open because her brother cleared his throat in order to get his attention. This was unlike Lewis, he was usually unapologetically put together, well-spoken and careful. Now he felt like a fumbling teenage boy. And to make matters worse, her brother was here too. He didn't want to give him, or even worse, her, a bad impression.

Lewis made them walk in front of him and he walked behind, explaining the routines and how everything worked. He even introduced them to some of the staff. He could feel her warming up to him, even if it was just a tiny bit. She didn't look down the second he glanced at her. But he could see it in her eyes, she was both nervous, scared and in awe, all at the same time.

When his private tour is about to end he finally asks what he's been meaning to ask the whole time.

"Would you two like to be upgraded? I'll get you paddock passes for the whole weekend, all expenses paid."

All the two siblings do is stare at him, speechless.

Lewis chuckles. "I'll let you think about it for a bit, I'll be back soon."

"We would like that very much, Lewis." You calmly say as he's about to turn around. She surprises her brother and Lewis too, he didn't think he'd hear her say anything for the rest of the day.

"Great, please take a seat and I'll have it sorted." He says and escorts them to the seating area of the Mercedes garage.

Y/N POV

Neither of them could believe it. What on earth had they done to deserve such a blessing? This was insane.

As they're waiting, the mechanic that showed his appreciation before came up to them and exchanged some words with her brother. Her brother was like that, he got along with everyone, while she was the shy one. When they see Lewis walking towards them they immediately stand up.

"Here you go" Lewis says, as he hands over all of the passes. From this point onwards, they would have almost unrestricted access not only to the paddock and the garages, but also the finest dining there was to offer.

"Thank you so much" Both her and her brother say at the same time which makes all three of them chuckle.

Her brother grabs Lewis by his arm and walks away from her.

She sees the two men discussing something but she can't think of what it might be. Her brother is staring at Lewis, he looks like he can't comprehend what he just heard Lewis say. She sees Lewis nervously smiling at her brother and then glancing at her, making her nervous again and she turns her head away in order to escape his stare.

A kind-looking lady brings her a bottle of coke and she sits down, keeping an eye on Lewis and her brother. She can't help but wonder what they're talking about, has Lewis changed his mind? Is he kicking them out? No, he's smiling at her when she looks their way, can't be.

Lewis POV

"We are both very flattered by your kindness and we really appreciate this, but I can't help but wonder, why are you doing this to us?" Her brother whispers, nervously scratching his neck, hoping not to agitate the driver.

"Simply put" Lewis starts "Because your sister is the most beautiful young lady I have ever laid my eyes on."

"I-…." Your brother starts. "I am truly honoured, but do you know how old my sister is?"

"Age is just a number, right?" Lewis counters. "Do I have your blessing to ask your sister out for dinner at some point?"

Her brother is in such shock, all he could do was stare at the 7 time world champion. After what felt like minutes, your brother picks his jaw up and simply hugs the man in front of him, making some mechanics turn around, stunned by her brother's weird behaviour.

Her brother gets himself together. "You know what, Lewis, normally I'd say no. But I know my sister and I know you're her role model. I can't possibly take this away from her." He pauses, and continues "My sister is extremely shy and new to dating, so please treat her with care. She also hates French and Japanese cuisine, just for your information."

Lewis watches as her brother walks up to her again, and sits down next to her. He sees him talking to her as she's furrowing her eyebrows. Lewis has no idea what her brother has told her but they get up and walk towards him.

"I just told my sister that you've agreed to take care of her as I'm checking out the other garages. I can't wait to get a glance of Daniel!" And just like that, her brother gives her a quick hug and a wink to Lewis and walks off, trusting Lewis to treat his sister like a gentleman.

Damn it, this was not how Lewis had imagined things turning out. He wanted to ask her out but he wasn't prepared for it to be so soon. He decided to look at the situation from a positive perspective, this is what he wanted deep down. He was just scared of how he'd be able to handle the situation. He had met her only an hour ago.

"So… Are you hungry, Y/N? I can take you to hospitality for something to eat." He asks.

She seems to consider his question for a bit and looks up at him with a slight smile.

"I haven't had anything else than breakfast today" She admits.

"Well then, sounds like we're off to hospitality then!" Lewis says and takes her hand. He leads her through the paddock and hundreds of fans and staff. He ignores everyone trying to get his attention except for her. He looks down at her every couple of seconds, almost to make sure that she's still there with him. Lewis leads her into the luxurious restaurant, and finds a table for both of them, away from everyone else, and most importantly, anyone that could make a juicy story out of their beginning friendship.

"Now, Y/N, what would you like?" He asks.

She looks at the menu, and seems to consider her options for a moment.

"What about the buffet? I'd like to try out the English cuisine-inspired buffet, please?"

Lewis can't help but smile at her, he can feel his heart swelling at how incredibly well-spoken and kind she is.

"Of course, come this way" He says as he guides her to the buffet with a wide variety of small dishes.

She takes what her heart desires, Lewis keeps his restrictive diet in mind when choosing between the dishes but still finds some food that Angela would approve of.

As they're eating, Lewis tries to get to know her better. He asks her questions about her family, school and work and she tries to answer to the best of her ability.

"I can tell your brother cares about you a lot." Lewis says.

"Yeah, I guess he does, we were close as kids."

"Oh, how come? Just coincidence?"

"Our parents didn't really have time for us and my brother pretty much raised me" Lewis could see tears forming in her eyes and threatening to run down her cheeks. He looks at her head slumping down towards her food.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, Y/N" She looks up at him again and wipes her tears.

"It's fine." She says, "It's a long time ago and both me and my brother have forgiven our parents."

"Speaking of parents" Lewis starts, "My father is coming to watch the race on Sunday! Maybe you'll run into him at some point."

"Oh, your dad seems so caring compared to mine." She says, with a certain pain in her voice.

"Y/N, whatever happened to you and your brother in your childhood, you didn't deserve to be abused like that. You deserve so much better, you deserve to be worshipped and loved like royalty."

She gives him a small, pained smile. "I hesitate that will ever happen but thank you anyway."

When they're done, they get up and Lewis once again takes her hand.

"Thank you for this, I really appreciate your time and effort" She says and offers him a wide grin.

"No, thank you, Y/N. I've had such a lovely day thanks to you" He says, taking a moment to admire her.

They walk off to the RB garage in search of her brother. They find him there, in deep conversation with Daniel and Yuki. They walk up to them and her brother gets up, smiling at his sister and Lewis.

"Thank you for today Daniel and Yuki, I will see you tomorrow again, yeah?" Her brother asks.

"Bet" Daniel responds.

The three of them walk back to the Mercedes garage, the sun is starting to set and it's starting to feel a little chilly. "We better start heading back to our hotel, Y/N" Her brother says and she nods.

"My feet hurt and it's only the first day!" She sighs.

"Hence why… Hotel" Your brother laughs, giving you a small nudge.

Lewis is walking beside them, clearly enjoying their banter. He was taking it all in, and he soon came to realise that he hadn't had such a good day in a long time. He stops and turns to face them as they stop too.

"Thank you for today, both of you. You've truly made my day, will you come to the Mercedes garage tomorrow to cheer me on?"

Before her brother had the chance to even think she says "Sure thing, I'm looking forward to it already" and looks down, realising she opened her mouth without thinking.

"I'm glad. See you tomorrow then" Lewis says as he gives her a light hug and offers her brother a firm handshake.

Y/N POV

They walked slowly back to the car, exhaustion evident in both their bodies. No one of them dared to talk, the unnecessary tension feeling overwhelming.

As they finally got to the parking and their car they both sighed from relief. No more walking. They got in and sat quietly, staring forward.

"So, details…?" Her brother breaks the silence.

She looks at him with the widest smile he's ever seen and starts spilling all of the highlights of the day.

"Y/N/B, you won't fucking believe it…"

[xcherryerim]

Strange Fascination

Part One: A Mocha With A side Of Your Sight

pt.two

Stalker!Mike x gn!reader

“Every morning, in front of you at last, I stand again, as if I'm enchanted. I'm still half-awake, the haziness guiding me towards you.” — Iced Coffee by Red velvet

This story will lead to smut (not this part but the second) If you’re not up for that, do not read this!

Warning: obsession/ stalking | mentions of over-usage (with sleeping pills but yk) | Breaking in readers house

Notes: This part is meant to describe Mike’s fascination on reader and how he ends up breaking into reader’s house so, this part mainly focuses on Mike along side Abby. Part two will focus mainly on reader. (also this was revised like 3 times so, yk not that perfect)

Summary: After not seeing you at school to pick up your brother, his mind is flooded with worry. In an excuse to hangout with his sister, Mike drove near your place, observing your every move through the cafe window.

Mike tends to obsess easily. Whether it's with re-living the events of his lost brother, collecting nostalgic artifacts, or reading a stack load of psychology books. It’s an innocent hobby and it’s not harming anyone, but lately, he started to be captivated by a new subject.

Four months have passed since Abby began attending middle school, but Mike can still vividly recall the very first moment he laid eyes on you. That fateful day remains etched in his memory, as though it happened just yesterday.

Despite the mounting stress surrounding his impending court case against his Aunt, Mike attempted to maintain a composed demeanor for Abby's sake. She was embarking on a significant transition, moving from her familiar surroundings to a larger and more complex educational environment.

As he patiently awaited Abby’s emergence from the classroom, his nerves were further tested when a stranger appeared and positioned themselves near him, close enough for the musky Vanilla scent to reach his nose.

Under normal circumstances, Mike would shy away from making eye contact with strangers, unless he had a specific reason to engage with them. However, on this particular day, he found himself inexplicably drawn to look up, and there you are, standing before him. In his eyes, you appeared as a divine being, an angel who had descended from the heavens, sent to watch over him and him alone.

Your presence sent a shiver down his spine, heightening his nervous energy while simultaneously eliciting a sense of comfort and security.

Though Mike remained silent, his eyes meticulously took in every detail of your visage, committing your likeness to memory. His behavior was not intended to be unsettling; rather, it stemmed from an innate need to capture your image in his mind.

Suddenly, you broke the silence with a timid "Hi," which caught him off guard. Taken aback, Mike responded with a soft, "Hello, you."

While seeing you for mere moments each weekday may seem like a fleeting encounter, Mike's keen observation skills allowed him to make the most of these brief instances. He meticulously studied your routine, scrutinizing the subtle variations in the timing of your arrival to collect your brother.

On Mondays and Thursdays, you could be found arriving precisely at 3:20, while Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays offered slightly longer windows, ranging from 3:30 to 3:46.

Through diligent study and careful attention, Mike managed to piece together a comprehensive understanding of your schedule, ensuring that he wouldn't miss a single opportunity to catch a glimpse of you.

In addition to monitoring your schedule, Mike began to decode the nuances of your moods based on your daily attire. Although you generally stuck to the same color scheme, he discerned subtle differences that hinted at your emotional state.

For instance, a particular long-sleeve shirt signaled haste, while an oversized graphic tee indicated fatigue. Even minor alterations to your hairstyle served as clues to your mental landscape. Over time, Mike committed countless details to memory, even going so far as to surreptitiously follow your vehicle to ascertain your home address.

However, despite these extensive efforts at understanding and learning about you, the interactions remained limited to brief greetings - a tantalizing taste of connection amidst the vast sea of unspoken longing.

On this particular Wednesday, chaos reigned as students spilled from the classroom, jostling one another in their rush to leave. Amidst the pandemonium, Abby found herself standing beside Mike, sensing the turmoil in his gaze.

Intrigued, she queried, "Why are we still here?" Her question snapped him back to the present, and he stammered, struggling to formulate a coherent thought.

Remembering the purpose of their wait, he asked, "Um, Abbs, did your classmate... was it Gregory? Did he come to school today?"

Abby couldn't help but furrow her brow, wondering if Mike's preoccupation was related to you. "No," she replied briefly before leading the way, prompting him to follow reluctantly.

Attempting to shift gears, he inquired about the solar system project Mike helped her with.

"So, how did your presentation go? Did you score a hundred?"

Abby sighed, clarifying, "The science teacher never gives hundreds, but I managed to snag a ninety-seven."

“That’s still pretty good, Abbs. Don’t worry.” He smiled.

Mike struggled to suppress his desire to visit your residence, the concern for your well-being clouding his judgment. His anxiety threatened to derail his focus on the road, nearly resulting in a collision and earning him seven irate honks from fellow drivers.

Abby wondered if her mental prayers on the road helped them get home safely. She was now standing in front of the kitchen table, as his brother, still with his anxious look served her spaghetti. As she polished off her meal, she observed Mike's restless hands continuously picking at his uneaten food.

Unsure whether to approach him about his obvious distress, she hesitated, suspecting that he might dismiss her concerns. Enveloped by the deafening silence, she contemplated retreating to her room or remaining to offer support. Ultimately, it was Mike who broke the quiet standoff, tentatively proposing, "Do you want to go for a walk?"

This unexpected invitation perplexed her; sibling bonds between the two had predominantly revolved around shared chores, academic assistance from Mike, and marathon sessions of cheesy films.

However, the unfamiliarity of a walk piqued Abby’s interest. Sensing hidden intentions, she inquired, "Why?"

Mike attempted to deflect his sister's probing gaze, replying casually, "Just feel like getting some fresh air."

With that, he grabbed his keys and confidently declared, "I know a great spot."

Mike navigated his vehicle to a parking spot near the park, consciously avoiding your location to not seem suspicious. As they walked, Mike maintained a brisk pace, pushing Abby to her limits as she struggled to keep up.

After a few exhausting minutes, the excuse he needed to invite Abby to the coffee shop on your street appeared.

"Oh, you're tired?" he feigned innocence, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow. "I think I recall seeing a coffee shop nearby."

Upon reaching the coffee shop, the once-unfamiliar street suddenly held an uncanny familiarity for Abby. Though she couldn't comprehend the reasoning behind this sensation, she was relieved to see a genuine grin spread across Mike's face. While appreciative of his newfound composure, the peculiar nature of his smile continued to nag at her subconscious. Little did she know, her apprehension foreshadowed the depth of his new fixation.

Mike's gaze roamed the coffee shop, absorbing the ambiance - the warm lighting, the rich scent of coffee beans, and the soothing fragrance of lavender. His imagination ran wild, conjuring visions of an intimate date with you in this very locale.

He envisioned himself sitting across from you at a cozy café. As you brought the mug to your lips, he reached out gently, wiping away a stray dollop from your mouth. Your eyes met his, filled with warmth and understanding.

In this fantasy, he leaned in, lips meeting softly in a tender kiss. His fingers traced the softness of your cheek, feeling the warmth beneath his touch. The taste of espresso mingled with the sweetness of your lips, a unique blend that only you could create. In this dream reality, there was no fear, no anxiety, just two people finding comfort in each other's presence.

“What would you like to order?” The Barista on the register repeated.

Startled from his reverie, Mike hastily blurted out his order, "A latte and a mocha, both small!"

Aware of his volume, he flushed with embarrassment, but his impassioned state rendered him indifferent to etiquette. Paying for the drinks without delay, he claimed a seat by the window facing your house, his heart pounding with anticipation.

Despite the glaring sunlight and the parade of cars obscuring his view, Mike strained his eyes to catch sight of you through the window. Your shadowy outline offered solace, indicating that you were safe and sound. In contrast, your brother Gregory appeared increasingly agitated, doodling with shaky hands.

Concerned, you checked on him intermittently, hoping to ease his discomfort.

Your house consumed Mike's attention, leaving him oblivious to the arrival of the drinks. Abby stepped in to retrieve their coffees, presenting Mike with a gentle nudge back to reality.

"How's yours?" she inquired, attempting to break his trance. Snapped out of his daydream, Mike took a sip and confirmed, "Yeah, it's good." Almost immediately, his gaze returned to the reflection of your house in the mirror.

Fixated on your home, Mike caught a glimpse of you speaking on the phone, setting off a barrage of questions in his mind. Who were you speaking to? Was there someone else in your life? Dismissing the thought of a secret partner, he rationalized that he would have detected indicators of such-jewelry, perhaps a ring. Unless…

"You seem to like that house," Abby observed, taking a sip of her latte.

“I like the design. You know I wanted to be a—“

"Contractor," Abby concluded, and Mike nodded vigorously. His fascination with architecture was well-known, but the true extent of his infatuation remained shrouded in mystery.

"Hopefully, you'll get to live in a beautiful home someday, Abby," Mike responded earnestly, his stare fixed on the distant house. While not prone to overt displays of emotion, his wishes for her happiness emanated sincerely. He genuinely cherishes his sister.

"I hope you do too," Abby whispered, her tone laced with warmth. Pondering whether this excursion sprang from simple brotherly camaraderie rather than anything sinister, she allowed herself a flicker of optimism.

Though his gaze remained trained on your place, the tenderness in Abby's voice elicited a faint smile from Mike.

"Let's get a better look," she proposed, rising from her seat.

Inside, Mike wrestled with uncertainty, questioning the wisdom of their actions. Nonetheless, the need to observe you closely trumped his reservations, justifying this intrusion into your privacy.

“I like how you think.” He replied, following his sister out of the coffee shop.

Fortuitously, the absence of traffic allowed Mike to traverse the street without incident, his impulsive stride mirroring a moth drawn to a flickering flame. Unaware of the potential danger, he followed you with unwavering determination, guided by an insatiable curiosity.

While Abby visualized herself residing in such a picturesque abode, lost in dreams of interior decor, Mike scrutinized the property, seeking vulnerabilities. Numerous avenues of entry loomed ominously, igniting a protective instinct within him. The last thing Mike wanted was for a total stranger to be near your house.

Fixated on identifying threats, Mike scanned the landscape from left to right. His focus alighted upon a window, likely your room, taunting him with easy access. Steeling himself against temptation, he decided to not to cross that line- at least, for now.

The sudden noise of crunchy leaves being stomped upon immediately made Mike walk away from the property as he forced Abby out of there, yet his eyes analyzed the new stranger, walking cluelessly at your house with a box of Pizza at hand.

Relief washed over Mike as his insecurities dissolved, only to be supplanted by irritation at the presumed flirtatiousness of the pizza delivery boy. Perhaps he was overreacting, yet his protective instincts screamed for confrontation, longing to rain down retribution upon the perceived transgressor.

Yet, Mike resisted allowing his fury to dictate his actions. With a renewed sense of purpose, he hastily departed from the scene. Your safety brought him solace, but your home's vulnerability haunted him.

As the clock struck 10:30 pm, Mike found himself unable to sleep, despite having ingested more than the recommended dose of his sleeping pills. Typically, these medications ensured a swift descent into slumber, but tonight, they failed to deliver their usual sedative effect.

Despite the meticulously arranged bedding, the soft hum of nature sounds, and the impeccably positioned Nebraska poster, Mike's restlessness persisted. Could it be that thoughts of you encroached upon his subconscious? Unsure of how to quell his turbulent emotions, he lay awake, grappling with his feelings.

At 11:16 am, the silence of the night echoed through. In this deserted hour, as others slumbered, Mike contemplated a surreptitious visit. Perhaps, under the cloak of darkness, he could safeguard your sanctuary from unseen threats.

Wrapping himself in a mantle of darkness, Mike donned a black cap, hoodie, and athletic bottoms - attire atypical for him. Mike did this to devise an alibi. if someone sees him making sure you're safe (which he knows in the sight of strangers it might look weird) he can just say he was exercising. Perfect solution.

Mike walked on his tippy toes, making sure to make no noise, as he grabbed his keys and made sure the house was locked tightly. Locks secure, keys in hand, he commenced the engine.

Despite the pill-induced haze clouding his senses, his concentration sharpened as he navigated deserted streets, only semi-trailers punctuating his journey. Finally arriving at your residence, he prepared to watch over you from the shadows.

The closer Mike got to you, the more his heart raced, pumping blood like a freight train against his ribcage. Every step he took brought forth a flurry of emotions - excitement mingled with anxiety, fear intertwined with anticipation. The fine line between obsession and love blurred in his mind, and it fueled him further into the unknown.

He stopped mere feet away from the window of your room. Peering through the glass pane, he could see the faint silhouette of you under the covers, sleeping peacefully. A wave of relief washed over him, replacing the earlier dread with a strange sense of satisfaction.

He watched you breathe rhythmically, your chest rising and falling gently with each breath. Despite the late hour, there was something comforting about seeing you safe and sound.

His fingers traced the cold surface of the glass, feeling its smooth texture against his palm. A mix of longing and protectiveness swelled within him, making his chest tighten. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed next to you, hold you close, and keep you safe from all harm. Yet, he knew better than to disturb your slumber. This was as close as he dared get.

Mike's heart pounded in his chest as the lights flickered on inside the house. His instincts kicked in, propelling him into the nearest hiding spot - a cluster of dense bushes. He pressed himself against the cool ground, hoping to remain unseen.

What could have caused you to switch on the lights so suddenly? Were you disturbed by something? Or did you have a nightmare?

In the glow of the moonlight, he could see you standing by the window, looking out into the night. Your posture seemed tense and your hoodie confirmed it.

There was an unmistakable air of distress around you, which resonated deeply with Mike's own experiences. Could it be possible that you were going through something similar?

A wave of empathy surged through Mike. He wanted nothing more than to comfort you, to offer you a shoulder to lean on, a warm embrace to banish your fears away. But he knew better than to intrude on your privacy. Instead, he stayed hidden, watching over you from the darkness, praying silently for your well-being.

As you emerged from the room, Mike hesitated briefly. His instincts screamed at him to hide, to disappear into the shadows before being discovered. But something within him rebelled, urging him forward. Before he could think twice, he was lifting the window sash, the squeaky hinge echoing in the silence of the night.

Once inside, he hurriedly shut the window, heart pounding wildly in his chest. He knew this was reckless, yet it felt necessary. As he scanned the slightly messy room, his eyes fell upon the forgotten spot beneath the bed - a haven of security amidst uncertainty. Without giving it a second thought, he squeezed himself underneath, his body brushing against discarded clothes and half-filled notebooks.

In this cramped space, he listened closely for any signs of detection. Sweat trickled down his forehead, mingling with the grit and dust from the floor. He felt exposed yet strangely protected, like a child playing hide and seek.

"Sorry," he whispered under his breath, hoping you would understand his intentions.

Mike was already anxious, the adrenaline of being in your room and the effects of the dosage made him a panicked mess.

The sound of you entering the room sent a ripple of dread through Mike. His heart pounded against his ribcage, beating out an erratic rhythm that threatened to give him away. Sweat dripped from his brow, pooling in the dimly lit corner where he lay concealed. His breath hitched in his throat, each gasp amplified in the quiet space.

When you moved closer to the bed, Mike held his breath, bracing for impact. But instead of anger or fear, a scream echoed through the room. Startled, he scrambled back, knocking into a pile of books that had somehow ended up under the bed. Papers rustled and pages fluttered, creating a symphony of noise that seemed deafening in the silent bedroom.

"I'm fucked," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

To be continued…

Thank you so much for reading. Hope you will support this mini series! xoxo (if you want to be tagged on the next part let me know!)

[the-offside-rule]

Fernando Alonso (McLaren era) - Envious pt.2

A part 2 to Envious

Fernando walked into the paddock on the Thursday for his usual media stuff. His PR manager had brought him around, filling him I on what questions most interviewers would be asking him. Whilst they walked into the interviewing area, glancing around for Y/n. He was quite desperate to see her. He found himself having to watch her past interviews just to make the feeling of missing her go away. How could be miss her? He wasn't even with her? They weren't exactly on speaking terms. "Can we start with ITV?" He asked, eager to see Y/n. "Just get it over with? Of course." They made their way over to ITV. Fernando looked up, expecting to see Y/n but instead seeing a different girl. He crossed his arms, a confused look on his face. "Where is Y/n?" He asked. "You'll be happy to learn, she has a segment to do with Lewis for ITV." His PR manager told him, preparing her voice recorder. "No." He mumbled. "Pardon?"

"I won't do the interview for ITV unless it is Y/n asking the questions. Where is she?" The ITV production team exchanged uneasy glances. "I don't think she can change her segment, Fernando." One of them said. "I'll worry about that. I would like Y/n to interview me. We'll be back when Y/n is." He said walking away and leaving a few confused souls. Fernando went about doing his interviews but he kept glancing over at the ITV crowd, hoping he would see Y/n but each time he looked over, disappointment struck. Y/n was on the other side of the paddock, getting ready to start her segment when she got a call from her boss. "Im about to turn my phone off. I have to go do this segment." Y/n said as she answered the phone. "The segment can wait. You're needed in the interview pen." She couldnt believe the words being said to her. "I don't understand. Did Darcy just get up and leave?" She asked. "No, but Alonso is being specific about who is interviewing him and he'd like you to interview him." She chuckled. "Well, if only we were accommodating."

"We are. He's refusing to do interviews with us until you are back." She rolled her eyes. "He is so childish. He's just bored. Darcy will do." Y/n protested. "No, we need the Fernando interview." She threw her arms in the air. "It's an interview that will last two minutes! I worked so hard to get this Lewis interview!" She was near shouting at this stage. "Sleeping with the driver in question does not mean you worked hard for it." She felt her heart drop with those words. "I didn't and I won't ever sleep my way to where I want to go." She hung up and groaned.

ITV had been panicking, but eventually located Y/n, who seemed stressed and preoccupied and angry, which when interviewing Fernando became normal. Fernando turned to see her talking sternly to the girl that was interviewing. He hoped he didn't get her in trouble but at the end of the day, he finally got Y/n. He walked towards her, his PR manager following behind closely.

"Y/n." He said approaching Y/n. She didn't look up. "Fernando." She replied, engrossed in the papers she held. "What's wrong with my intern?" Y/n asked as Fernando walked towards her. "Too boring. I want a little fun in these things." He smiled. "And you are a child." She said, taking out her notebook and pen. As Y/n prepped for the interview, flicking through her countless pages, Fernando decided to begin his redemption (if you could call it that) and share a warm smile with her. "How are you today?" he asked, catching her off guard. She looked up confused. Stumbling over her words, she replied, "I'm... I'm good, thank you. How about you, Fernando?" He chuckled. "I'm doing well. I was worried you weren't going to interview me today." He said. "Believe me, I wanted the segment with Lewis but you pushed for me to interview you." He clenched his jaw. "That must has set me back a bit but I'm intrigued, why do you want me to interview you?" She asked. "You bring a smile to my face. How about that?" Y/n kept her skepticism. "Okay. Ready to roll?" She asked her camera man.

Confused but intrigued, Y/n began the interview. "Hello, Fernando. Its a new race week here in Malaysia. Are you hoping hoping to better than your P2 last race weekend?" She asked, trying to add a harshness in the fact he had P3. "Well, of course. The Race was difficult last week with Kimi doing so well in the Ferrari and obviously, as a driver you always have to strive to be the best at what you do. I feel like it would be the same for journalists which is why why are as highly regarded as you are." He smiled. Y/n pulled a face. Did he just....compliment her? What was he up to?

"Do you think that long-term, you could beat Ferrari in the constructors or even beat them to the driver championship?" Fernando took a deep breath in. "Well, it's always tricky to pin-point these things but I think I could get there with the help of McLaren and obviously my teammate." He replied. "Something tells me your teammate won't be as willing to help you as you think." She remarked. "Something or someone?" He joked, making the few people surrounding them laugh. She felt her face heat up at what he was implying. "Sorry, that was unprofessional, but to finish that question off, I think-" to her surprise, Fernando's apology was laced with genuine kindness and humility. The tension that usually filled the air between them dissipated, replaced by an unexpected camaraderie. She didn't entirely believe him, she still thought he was up to something but until she could put her finger on it, she had to bite her tongue.

"But yeah, if he wants to help me he can. It's not my job." He answered. "Thank you Fernando." She said, concluding the interview. "You seem pretty tense today." Fernando said. "Why are you still here?" She asked, handing her notebook to Darcy. "Can you please write this up for the article. Thanks." She brought her attention back to Fernando. "What? J thought you'd be happy to see me." She scoffed. "Yeah, right." Fernando thought for a moment. He didn't wanna leave her just yet, he wanted to talk to her more. He had gone ages without seeing her.

"How about a joke?" He offered. "What?" Was he serious? "What does a bee do in the gym?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Zum-ba." The camera crew looked at eachother confused. "It makes sense in Spanish. Because its like 'qué hace una abeja en el gimnasio?' Zum-ba! But in English it makes no sense." She found herself giggling along, knowing the joke since she spoke spanish. "I know, I know." She found herself laughing harder and harder at how bad the joke was and how Fernando explaining it somehow made it much funnier. "You're crying!" Fernando laughed, pointing at Y/n as she wiped her tears away.

"I never thought I'd see the day when you and I would share a laugh." She admitted. "Again." He said. Y/n looked at him bewildered. "What?" She asked. "Well we have shared laughs before so you never thought you'd see the day we would share a laugh again." She smiled, reminiscent of her first ever motorsport interview, back when Fernando was in Minardi. "I'm surprised you remember that far back." She smiled. Fernando grinned. "Life is full of surprises, isn't it?" Y/n nodded. "Do you mind if I ask you something?" Fernando smiled and agreed. "What's with the sudden change? We've had our fair share of clashes in the past and now you're refusing to answer to anyone other than me."

Fernando tried to think of an answer that didn't completely include the truth but still add a hint or two. "Sometimes, it's good to leave the past behind and start anew. Besides, life is too short for unnecessary feuds." He said, stretching his hand out. "Hopefully, we can just be friends now." He said. Y/n reluctantly took his hand and shook it before he bid farewell to everyone and left, leaving confused souls behind.

That evening, Y/n had to rewrite Darcy's work which led to a late night, and a lot of coffee. As she was writing, she heard her phone ringing, eith the caller ID of 'The Boss' on it. She answered, holding in yawn. "Hello?" She questioned, still writing away. "I didn't expect you to be awake at this time." He said. "Well, you know me. I'm always up late for work." She said, a hint of bitterness still in her voice from their earlier conversation. "Yes, well I'm calling became McLaren gave me a ring. Your segment with Lewis can be done tomorrow after qualifying." She smiled. "Aw, he's a gem for reorganising it." She chuckled. "It wasnt Lewis." She knotted her eyebrows in confusion. "Was it his PR people?"

"No actually. It was Fenrnado." She stopped writing. "Fernando?" Fernando had rescheduled it. "He said he felt bad about pulling you away from the segment with Lewis. The marketing team over there are not happy about Fernando giving them an earful this evening so I'd say go over and just thank them." Her boss said. "An earful?"

"Yes, he said bugging them all evening to fit you in for your segment. You're all about the questions today." She nodded along. "Yeah, yeah. I- mmh. Perks of being an interviewer. Look, I'll call you back tomorrow. In just finishing this up for the weekend preview. I'll send it on over when it's done." She said hanging up the phone and looking out her window into nothing. What alternate dimension was she in that Fernando was so nice? Did he hit his head or something? What was with him. It was weird, it was strange.

The day after, Fernando was walking into the paddock. His trainer had gone in before him but since Fernando forgot his pass he had to run back to the car and grab it quickly. "Fernando!" He turned, expecting to see a fan but instead spotted Y/n, jogging towards him. "Ah, good morning, Y/n." He smiled. "How are you, my friend?" He asked as she caught up. "I"m good, you?" She asked. "I'm doing good. Thank you." He replied. "Um, I just wanted tk say thank you for rescheduling that interview." She said. "Oh, that was nothing. It was simply a thank you for interviewing me and changing your plans up." He turned to face her. "It's what friends do." He scanned his pass and let her go in first, before scanning his own pass. "So, are you looking forward to your interview with Lewis?" He asked as they walked in the paddock. "I'm not with Lewis." She said. He looked at her, a grin on his face. "I didn't say you were. I said-"

"I know, but everyone thinks im with Lewis. My boss even thinks I slept with him but-" She paused. "I don't know why I told you. I'll go." She said quickly. "Wait, wait. We'll since you are not eith Lewis and I am most definitely not with anyone-" Y/n looked as her face turned red from embarrassment. "How about we head out after the race. Just as friends, nothing more." A smile tugged at her lips, before she agreed. "Very good, I'll be seeing you around." Fernando smiled, and disappeared into the McLaren hospitality while Y/n walked around as muddled as the day before.

[prime-adeptus]

the lucio nation army has decided to back off (same anon as before- hiya~) and now we feast. how about some cassidy cuddles?

FIVE MORE MINUTES – COLE CASSIDY X READER

Soft is the very last word he’d use to describe himself, but you know it for sure: your Cole Cassidy is a total softie. 

CONTENT.⠀gender-neutral reader. just fluff. Cass calls you 'sweetheart' and refers to you as his partner. ~0,6k words

NOTES.⠀I'm so sorry for this horrendously late response LOL it's been a busy week. Here's a sleepy, clingy Cassidy for the soul <3

You don’t think Cole realises just how affectionate he is.

A pat on the back, a gentle clasp on the shoulder after a job well done, a noogie if he’s feeling playful. He’s changed a lot over the years, but he’s still the same man you love. He’s carefree, keeping tension off the air with his chatter. He’s close to the rookies, putting up with Hana’s teasing jabs or going through one of Zarya’s ‘easier’ regimens. He trains at the shooting range with Fareeha every Thursday. He tries to help Baptiste with whatever he can, even if he’s more distracting than helpful.

He’s not shy with physical affection—that much is obvious. He’s more careful with his superiors (as he should be, you think bemusedly) but with you?

Total free rein.

He kisses your cheek every morning, greeting you with a good morning, sugar that never fails to elicit a reaction from you. He kisses your forehead every night, holds you close against his chest as his fingers dance across your skin until you both fall asleep. He likes having his arm around your waist, loves letting your hands brush together when you walk side by side.

Soft is the very last word he’d use to describe himself, but you know it for sure: your Cole Cassidy is a total softie. 

If it were any other time, you’d tease him for it, but your love for him consumes your being entirely. You let the innate desire for him to be yours, heart, mind and soul, grow stronger every time he glances your way. You want to be the only one who gets to see him like this—asleep, at peace, at home. He’ll call you a sap if you ever say these things out loud, but the redness at the tips of his ears will betray him. Much like the smile on his face will.

The morning sun shines and peeks through the gap between the curtains as the day begins its course. Cole grumbles something in his sleep, not quite ready to start the day just yet, and languidly pulls himself closer to your body. You can feel his chest against your back, rising and falling with each breath he takes. It falls into a rhythm that lulls you into a state of tranquillity, but as much as you’d like to stay here, there’s a lot of work to catch up with today.

Begrudgingly, you push yourself into a sitting position. The sooner you get it done, the sooner you can rest, right?

“Cass,” you whisper, gently shaking him awake. “Get up.”

He blinks one eye open, his brows furrowed until his gaze lands on you. Relaxing and sinking deeper into the sheets, he wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls you back down. An endearing chuckle rumbles in his chest at the surprised yelp you let out.

“It’s our day off, sweetheart.” Sleep is still evident in his voice as he speaks. He leans forward to press a gentle kiss to the back of your neck. “Work can wait.”

You sigh in mock exasperation, though you don’t make an effort to pry his arm off your waist. “You promised to help out Torbjörn and Baptiste today, remember?”

“No clue what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Cass.”

“Hmm.”

You bite back a smile. “You’re gonna prove Hana right, y’know. About you being a lazy bum.”

“Can’t I just spend the morning in bed with my partner?” His complaint is more playful than it is of genuine upset. With how close you are to him, figuratively and literally, you can just tell that he’s in a good mood. “Come on, sweetheart. Five more minutes.”

And his five more minutes will turn into ten more, fifteen more until someone inevitably comes to look for one of you and rings the buzzer at the door. It’s never five more minutes with him, but as he peppers soft kisses from your neck to the curve of your shoulder, you think you don’t mind spending the entire morning like this.

[ivymarquis]

A Little Death

Pairing| Ghost x F!Reader Rating| M Word Count| 7k Kinks/Content/Warnings| The author has decided she can't be assed to edit this, Chubby!Reader, Kidnapping, nondescript mentions of torture. Ambiguous mentions of S/A (vague enough you can chose to ignore that part if you want tbh), Reader is traumatized from her ordeal but working through it. Fingering, PiV, riding, squirting, Simon has a moment where he's worried he triggered reader after sex but that is an incorrect assumption on his part.

On days like this Simon can almost pretend he’s normal. 

The game’s on, a beer in one hand while the other has been commandeered by his girlfriend with a simple “Gimmie.”

Simon has never been one to worry about his nails beyond clipping them for practicality’s sake.

Having a SAS lieutenant for a boyfriend means she deals with what she insists is Simon’s paranoia and he insists is a healthy level of suspicion about the outside world. Having a nail technician for a girlfriend means every so often she’ll commandeer his hands to ensure they’re up to her standards. As it turned out, adhering to regulations wasn’t up to par for her. 

His neighbor is a popular woman.

It sets him on edge, all the traffic. One or two people at a time, usually other women- sometimes with a man in tow, other times not. They show up, they stay for maybe an hour or maybe 4, and they leave. Within 30 minutes someone else is knocking on her door.

Normal men humor their partners about things they don’t particularly give a fuck about when left to their own devices, as an acknowledgment of its importance to them. 

And so he sits, beer in one hand as she works on the other. Once she’s finished she gathers up the towel that acts as a catch for the various clips and trimmings before making her move to switch sides, Simon easily acquiescing to her whim.

“I’m not keeping you up, am I?” She asks one night. Music plays lowly from a laptop on her patio as he steps onto his for a smoke break. Just because he’s got his vice doesn’t mean he wants the whole flat smelling like it.

“Don’t sleep much anyway, pet. Bit of music won’t change that one way or another.”

Despite his insistence that he’s merely humoring her, he soaks up the attention she readily gives him. When she’s done and tidied after herself she returns with a small bottle of lotion.

He’s got one arm wrapped around her shoulders, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of her head as she massages his hand. If he plays his cards right tonight he can probably get her to soothe some of the aches and stiff muscles that always plague him. For now he melts as she seems to know exactly what points to hit in his palm and forearm. 

It’s domestic and normal and Simon can almost ignore the burner phone he keeps on him at all times.

It goes off at 5am on a Sunday, Simon already awake and having been watching the ceiling fan since 4:30. He can’t fall back asleep but can’t bring himself to separate from her. 

She burrows further into his chest as his shifting disrupts her. He’s fairly certain she would crawl inside his ribcage if she could, curl up right next to his heart and never leave. 

Simon would gladly let her. 

She’s a nail technician, he comes to learn. Sure as shit, he eventually memorizes the traffic that comes and goes on a roughly two week interval. Some of them are steadfast in their appointments. 2 o clock every other Thursday. 4 o clock every other Friday. Others not so much- they come around frequently but the days and times are random after the 14 day mark. 

The familiarity of some of the faces takes him slightly less on edge. He will never relax, not truly, but it settles him down now that he knows the pattern. 

It also explains why her hands have two completely different designs on each one. Color, pattern, the shape of the nails. Her left and right hand look like they belong to two different people. 

Simon doesn’t use social media, for obvious reasons. His little neighbor has formed an entire career for herself based off of it. 

But the phone buzzes on the nightstand, an omniscient presence that always hovers heavy in the air.

“Price?” Is all he gives for a greeting. Trying to keep his words short and concise. He doesn’t want to wake her, still under the lull she draws him into without trying. 

He keeps his work and his personal life separate with no intention of ever melding the two. 

“Laswell’s got intel. We meet in 2 days, back on base at 06:00.”

He is about to respond, both an acknowledgment and a hopeful end to the conversation, when she stretches next to him with a groan of protest at being awoken so early. 

“Tell your other girlfriend I said hi,” she grumbles, already knowing it’s Price on the phone and that the clock is officially counting down on the time they have left together. 

“You know at a certain point I'm going to just decide you’ve got a whole secret life with a wife and kids and a picket fence.”

He doesn’t want his work to ever follow him home. Not to her. He keeps them strictly separate. She knows he’s military- specifically SAS- and that he works in counter terrorism and that’s about all he’s willing to tell. She doesn’t need to know details. And more importantly the details don’t ever need to know about her. 

His past missions have haunted him in the worst way possible. He’s finally rebuilt something for himself as the ghost of a dead man, and doesn’t want anything to ever tarnish what he’s found. 

He can’t entirely blame her. It takes a leap of faith to accept the little he offers her. What does he have? A dead man’s name and most likely a violent end waiting for him. 

Eventually he does offer a small peace offering. Price is enough to settle the concerns that she hides as jokes. Provides enough credibility that she can let go of the concern that he’s living a double life.

Well, he is. But not the kind that nags at her. 

Price knows her; Gaz and Soap know that he’s got someone waiting for him at home, but Simon is already at his limit of how much intermingling he can handle. They’re both compromising, both making allowances for their comfort levels for the sake of the other. But he has to draw the line somewhere. 

If Simon had his way Gaz and Soap would be none the wiser, but a night of frantic coupling before he’d left had Simon bearing marks that are incredibly obvious in the changing room. 

“Steamin’ Jesus L.T.! You get jumped by a wildcat?” The chortle from the Scot makes it obvious that Johnny is yet again not afraid to push Simon’s buttons. 

There’s no denying what they are, nor how he got them. Neither Soap nor Gaz are stupid. 

Long, red scratch marks criss cross the broad expanse of his scarred back. He certainly hadn’t complained when his lovely girl had left her mark on him- those nails dragging across his skin had only encouraged him as his hips clapped wetly against hers, hands gripping her knees as he pressed them to her shoulders.

Most nights he is soft and gentle and strokes her skin while his lips press either in her hair or the soft expanse of her neck. He doesn’t roughhouse her tonight, but the knowledge he’ll be gone for weeks and tonight is their last together for the foreseeable future?

Well, the pair of them are a bit amped about the impending separation. It’s a good thing neither of them are particularly known for their good sleeping habits, because there’s not a lot of that usually happening on the nights before Simon leaves. 

Leaving without waking her up is an impossible task but he tries anyway.

Whereas Simon finds sleep difficult to achieve and eventually sleeps like the dead once he finds it, she drifts readily enough but will wake at the drop of a hat.

Usually she’ll settle soon after. Eyes following his form in the dark, waiting expectantly for him to come back after he dresses to kiss her goodbye. 

They carve out a routine for themselves. One for when Simon is home, and one for when he’s preparing to walk out the door until eventually coming back through it.

His therapist is equal parts shocked and pleased to hear that Simon is taking the leap and opening himself up emotionally to someone. 

His therapist is less pleased about the way he simply buries himself in her life when he’s on leave.

Simon is nothing- has nothing- when he is not acting in the line of duty. He is a dead man with nothing to his name and no one who gives a fuck if he ever walks back through the door that isn’t tied to his military career. 

He thrives on the stability and schedule on base. On the simplicity of nights spent out on the field. Wake up, piss, dont die, go to sleep. Wake up, repeat. 

Some days the only thing keeping him from trying to end it all (again, he bitterly acknowledges) when he’s gotten too far into a bottle of bourbon is his therapist and the thought of his team’s face at the news. 

Until, at least, he meets her. 

The mission is brief but successful. Simon is pleased. 

The deepest of the scratch marks has just finished healing and he’s already missing the sensation of her nails dragging against his skin- and he’s not picky about the context, either. 

There have been plenty of nights he’s fallen asleep with his face buried in her chest with one of her hands scratching gently at his scalp and the other tracing in broad strokes across his back.

Of course those nails also feel divine scratching at his abdomen while she is on her knees for him.

There’s a process he goes through when he gets home. It lets him shed the mantle of Ghost- to calm down as much as he’s able and be better equipped to deal with civilian life. Helps him give her the illusion that she is with a normal man who’s not holding onto himself with a death grip, desperately trying to keep the pieces together.

He feels fine when he leaves base and heads home. Everything is normal. 

Until he turns the corner and sees the door ajar.

Fear runs ice cold in his veins, hackles raised and on guard. 

I’m just being paranoid, he tries to self soothe as he steps towards the door. She tells me all the time.

Course, it was one thing when he gripes about how she answers the door without looking to see who it is. She doesn’t leave the fucking door open.

“Wish you’d at least look at the peep hole before just opening the bloody door,” he grouses into her hair, pulling her in so she’s tucked up to his side. 

“If I’m expecting someone to come at 3 and there’s a knock at 3, I already know who it is, Si.”

There are times when he is grateful that she has, by comparison, lived a life where she thinks he is paranoid and needlessly worries. She hasn’t had the experiences he has, and he doesn’t wish that upon her. He’s grateful with the knowledge that every time he’s sent out, thus far, that she’s been tucked away safe and sound until he returns. 

But of course the other shoe was always going to drop eventually. 

“Price?” Simon doesn’t know who else to call. 

He’s standing in the middle of his flat, evidence of an altercation scattered around the living room. 

She put up a fight if the state of the flat is anything to go by. He wants to be proud of that at least, use it as hope-

He just feels hollow. 

A group the 141 has dealt with prior are the ones all the signs point to. They wanted the team’s attention and by God they fucking got it. 

Simon doesn’t understand how they found she has any ties to him. He’s so careful- keeps her tucked away and hidden from any potential cross over with his work.

The next few days are a blur and Simon’s mental health has seen better days. 

He resigns himself, even when Laswell gets a hit and the 141 are loaded into a helo, to the fact that at best this will be a body retrieval mission. 

Even as Soap gives a reassuring knock into his shoulder- we’ll get her back, LT- as confident as ever. 

His sweet girl is dead, just like every other person Simon has ever cared about. 

He doesn’t understand what he’s done to deserve losing them all. The only ones he has left are his team, and that’s a tenuous state at best. His family was good. They were normal people with normal lives. She is good and a normal person. 

Her only sin is being foolish enough to love him. 

Some time between getting on the bird and offloading, Simon forces the thoughts in a corner and blocks them off. 

Simon, the terrified boyfriend, gives way to Ghost so he can get through this in one piece. He just wants to find her, bring her home and bury her body. He’s numb to anything beyond the scope of the plan he’s formed in his mind. 

It’s laughably easy. A fringe group the 141 has had altercations with- she’s not exactly a high profile prisoner. They just wanted to fuck with Simon.

There’s no satisfaction or vindication as they clear the building floor by floor. 

He feels nothing.

The further they venture into the building with no sign of her, the pit in his stomach sinks just as far. There’s no sign of anything concrete or anywhere they’d keep a prisoner. 

And then there, in a corner of a hallway, Ghost spots it-

An acrylic nail lying broken on the ground, dried blood clotted on the tips. 

For the first time in days, Simon feels something. 

It’s not hope. He doesn’t dare hope. 

But it’s confirmation that she has, at some point, been in the building. 

It’s also confirmation that she gave it a fighting chance. 

She’s a civilian- nothing much she can do against professional criminals. But she tried and Simon has to find something in that.

They split into pairs down a hallway clearing rooms. Every door that opens only to not have her in it is like a knife that keeps twisting in his abdomen. 

Just let him have this one thing. 

It’s just as Ghost and Soap have called out clear on another room that he hears Price’s voice call to him down the hall. 

There’s only one reason Price would be calling for him specifically.

As he approaches he can hear the captain again, softer this time. Can’t make out what he’s saying but everything feels slow; like he’s moving under water. 

As his mind prepares him for every horrific potential image waiting for him beyond the threshold of the door- there’s nothing that prepares him for what he sees. 

She’s alive. 

Wide eyed and panicked, which is to be expected all things considered, but she’s here and she’s breathing.

Simon forgets himself entirely. He swings wildly from feeling nothing to feeling everything and it bubbles up all at once as he barrels towards her. 

He forgets that while she knows Simon is SAS she knows nothing of Ghost. Simon works in counter terrorism, yes, but she knows nothing about the mask.

So after being kidnapped and going through God-knows-what in her absence, she’s got no fucking clue the 6’4 fucker with the skull mask gunning for her is her boyfriend. 

The sharp, croaked “Stay the fuck away from me!” doesn’t cut but it does jog his memory enough to know she’s absolutely terrified.

Again there’s that part of him that is proud of her. After everything she’s been through even if she wouldn’t stand a chance in an actual altercation- She’s not huddled in the corner. She looks willing to fight him, until Simon rips the mask off his face. “It’s me, love! It’s me.”

“Simon? What the fuck is that?!”

Rather than scrambling to get away she turns to launch herself at him, a tangle of limbs as they cling to each other and reassure themselves that yes this is real and yes the other is there. That this fucking nightmare is over.

Simon buries his nose in her hair- was so certain he’d be bringing her home in a body bag he almost doesn’t know what to do with himself. She’s shaking in his grip, sobs ripping through her as he shushes her gently and murmurs “It’s alright, love. I’ve got you now.”

“As much as I love a good reunion- we need to get going, Ghost.” Price is ever the voice of reason, because Simon’s head is not in the game right now. 

He wants to cling to her and never let her go- he needs to pull his head out of his ass. 

Price isn’t wrong. As much as he has to fight off the impulse to tuck her against his side and keep her there, they have shit to do. 

He won’t truly be able to relax until she’s safely stowed on the helo and they’re on their way back.

It’s a bit easier once he puts the mask on. His brain is trained to focus on work and not let his personal life muddy the waters. Where Simon can’t help but falter, Ghost is dauntless. 

Simon can barely string a thought together now that he has her back in his arms. Simon still cannot believe she’s alive and breathing even after touching, smelling and hearing her. 

But Ghost can focus on getting her to the helo. 

Everything is a blur as Price and Gaz lead with Soap bringing up the rear. 

Ghost can’t quite decide where he wants her- keeps alternating between keeping her behind him in the event they get blindsided, that he’ll take any hits that go past Price or Gaz, or getting her in front of him so he can keep an eye on her, and there’s two SAS soldiers in front of her and two behind.

The hostiles in the building wanted the 141’s attention. Mission fucking accomplished.

The ones they chance across are dropped with ease. Simon is no stranger to returning to a location and making his point. Right now he’s got bigger concerns to be worried about. 

A knot of anxiety lodges itself on his ribcage as they move through the building that doesn’t unwind until he’s got her strapped to her seat in the helo. 

For the first time in days he can breathe. The knot slowly untangles as they ascend.

It finally settles in for both of them that she is out and she is safe. She’s been quiet the whole trek to the helo but Price, Soap, and Gaz have been on enough hostage recovery missions to not be caught off guard as she bursts into tears and buries her face in Ghost’s vest. 

It’s finally safe for her to do so, the adrenaline wearing off as she sobs. 

For the most part the other three men try to avert their eyes and not intrude.

Simon’s always been reserved about his life off base and watching him soothe his partner is bordering too personal for the others to witness.

It comes and goes in waves; Simon will settle her down, crooning quietly in her ear too low for the others to hear. She’ll stifle her tears for a bit as he soothes her. They go straight to medical after landing to have her looked at. She starts up again while waiting for the nurse to come back, trying to apologize to Simon through choked sobs. 

He won’t hear it, softly but firmly brushing her apologies to the side and assuring her everything’s fine now, love. No need to apologize.

He feels physically ill when the nurse delicately asks if she needs a rape kit or screenings done.

The rest of the 141 gives them a wide berth- which is a marked accomplishment because all too often Soap and Gaz are trailing behind him and finding some sort of shenanigans to get up to. Simon is perfectly content with the arrangement. He wants to focus his attention on her and that’s easier to do without the sergeants under foot.

His room on base is much like his entire apartment was before she moved in.

It’s 3am, Simon needs to take a piss and as he’s doing so, he’s not-quite eye level with a sign that says

“★★★★★ -

Would poop here again”

He’s got no idea when or where she found that, let alone put it up, but rolls his eyes good naturedly as he tucks himself away.

Normal people have bathroom decor.

Simon can appreciate a bit or a joke as much as the next person- but while this space is his it’s not something he’s ever felt the need to decorate. It’s a bed for him to crash on in between missions or if he’s too bloody exhausted to safely make the trek home.

There’s only one piece of any sort of personal touch to the room- a framed photo of her.

Simon intends to see her through the next few days- they’ll head home in the morning and realistically there’s only so long John can hold off on calling the boys in again. But the captain says he’ll do what he can to keep Simon home while they settle back in. He’s been due for some leave anyway.

He doesn’t sleep the first night. She swings drastically between being knocked out and jolting awake screaming and crying. Even once she’s gotten over the initial shock of her rescue it still takes time for her nervous system to calm down.

“I’ve got you, love- you’re safe here” he murmurs into her ear as she trembles like a leaf. “We’ll be home soon, yeah? You’ll feel better once you’re in our bed.”

The question is twofold- it is to soothe her, and also to gauge her reaction to the prospect of going home. Simon won’t hesitate to set the flat ablaze if it makes her feel better. 

Start fresh.

For now she seems to sleep better if he’s got her pinned up against the wall- the bulk of him a physical barrier to anything that might enter the room.

He’s always slept between her and the door so that’s no hardship- it just takes time to realize she feels safer trapped between him and the wall.

They make it through the first night in one piece, although the next morning she will not stop chewing on her nails. With someone else, he wouldn’t necessarily be surprised- but she’s never been a nail biter.

It dawns on him, as she sits on the couch and bursts into tears, that she wants the nails (or at least the ones that survived the ordeal) off, and is winding herself up too much to take them off the way she knows she should.

Simon goes to her office; he’s watched her enough that he knows the steps and the materials she’ll need, gathering them up before coaxing her to the table.

There’s no interest in redoing them but Simon manages to get the current sets off of her so she doesn’t damage her nail beds- assuming she stops chewing on them (which she does).

Over the next few days he lets her set the pace. She’s jumpy at home and calmer when he takes her out to run errands or just to stretch their legs. 

Maybe he will propose moving sooner rather than later. Their building is a shithole anyway.

He puts her in therapy after a week. It’s the only time he’s away from her. Realistically he knows it’s not good to have her so used to always being within arms length or eyesight of him- it’s not sustainable when eventually he will be called back in. But he has no qualms for the coddling he subjects her to while he’s able to. She’s quiet and comfortable with his hovering in a way she’d never tolerate before she was abducted- he figures he’ll know when she’s feeling a bit like herself again when she starts complaining about him not giving her any space.

Knowing she’s got the therapist gives him some security on how she’ll mentally cope when eventually he needs to leave again.

Her bursting into tears occurs less frequently. If Simon has to pry himself away from her to take a piss in the middle of the night she’s not up, back ramrod straight and waiting for him to come back with wet, teary eyes.

As the days tick on, bleeding into months later, Simon idly acknowledges that-short of when he’s on deployment- this is the longest they’ve gone without having sex. There’s nothing else that goes with that acknowledgement- he’s far more concerned with her well being than he is getting his kicks. He’s just taking stock of all their ‘normals’ and prior to her abduction they’d had quite the active sex life.

It’s one day as they’re watching a movie that it’s apparent Simon isn’t the only one aware of their dry spell.

They’re laying on the couch, her back pressed against his front with one of his heavy arms draped across her rib cage to keep her snuggled up against him as they watch the screen in front.

At first he thinks that she’s repositioning- thinks nothing of it and lifts his arm just enough to allow her the freedom to wiggle to a more comfortable spot. She keeps wiggling though and Simon is trying to keep his mind off the sensation of her arse grinding into his groin. Trying to ignore the way his dick twitches in interest, because- God help him- he's not dead and the love of his life is grinding her arse on him. Bodies are going to do what bodies do, and he can feel himself stiffening in response.

“Sweetheart, you need to sit still,” he whispers the plea into her ear. 

Her head tilts back towards him and lust jolts through his body at the look in her eyes while she still continues to grind against him.

“I miss you, Simon,” and given how he is rarely further than grabbing distance from her, there’s very few other ways to interpret what exactly it is that she is missing.

He’s a goner when she gives him that wide, doe eyed expression paired with the prettiest “Please?” he’s ever heard in his life.

One moment they’re quiet and content laying on their sides on the couch- the next Simon’s gripping her arm and pulling her on top of him as he settles onto his back. She follows his lead and moves so her weight is settled on his hips as his hands grip hers.

It is no hardship on his end to wait for her- the patience never truly even registered in his brain. She can have as much time as she needs and Simon will give it to her gladly.

But his pretty girl batting her eyes at him and pleading softly for him? His patience isn’t the only thing he’s willing to give her.

“Are you sure?” He doesn’t mean to second guess her or make her question herself but he does want to make sure that she’s not acting on obligation.

“Yes, Simon- Please,” and who is he to deny her?

His hands are on her immediately- pulling her towards him and encouraging her to grind, knowing her sweet clit will light up at the friction of her soft panties dragging across the rough material of his jeans.

His lips find hers, separating only briefly as he hauls her dress up and over her head, happily discarding the material in a heap on the floor.

His hands grip her hips, Simon relaxing into the couch while his fingers dug into the pillow soft skin perching above him. He’s straining against the fabric of his jeans- knows the tip of his erection is leaking clear pre and it’s not just going to be her being the reason the fabric has a wet spot.

The couch is certainly not the worst place to be, his beautiful girlfriend’s tits in his face as she grinds down in his lap with little hitching breaths.

“Just like that, pretty,” he encourages, kissing down her jawbone, the length of her neck and across her collar bone before happily mouthing at her breasts which are blessedly right in his face.

Simon groans in pleasure as he teases one nipple, her sweet mewls and the grip on his hair only spurring him on.

Grabbing a handful of her plush arse, he groans in anticipation while switching from one breast to the other.

It’s been a fair while since his back has been shredded by her nails and he can’t wait to feel the bite of them dragging down the length of his spine.

“Lift up, sweetheart,” he instructs, somewhat loath to release her plump bottom but eager to get her dripping for him.

She pulls up enough for him to slip one hand between her legs. Exploring fingers are quick to spread her wetness, dipping between her folds and dragging back up to circle her clit softly.

“Fuck- Simon!” she whines in his ear.

He knows enough by now what makes her tick. Once she’s all warmed up and ready to roll, that sweet cunt of hers could take a thrashing. But warming up involves feather-light touches to get her squirming and squealing for him.

“Feels good, pretty?” he asks despite knowing the answer in the way her arms wrap around his neck and she sags against him, hips twitching as she lets him tease her.

“Ye-yeah,” she murmurs, and presses her lips against his neck as he takes another pass- finger pulling away from her clit just to draw shivers from her as he traces back down her folds and presses ever so lightly against the entrance on her- just to the first knuckle- and making his way back to tease her clit.

Each pass has her rocking her hips more as he slips more of his finger inside, eventually adding a second that has her mewling and squirming in his lap.

He’s going to have one hell of a hickey from how she’s sucking on his neck, but Simon can’t bring himself to care. Not when his ears are graced with the delightful little noises she makes- whimpers of protest as he pulls his fingers out of her, the shaky inhales as he circles her clit and the trembling moan when he once again slides his fingers inside of her to give a few pointed strokes to her g-spot just to get her shivering and blinking up at him with lust-blown eyes.

“Fuck you’re wet,” there’s absolutely zero resistance now, even when he slides a third finger inside her. 

“Please,” she mewls into his skin, hips rocking in time with the thrust of his fingers into her.

“What do you want, sweetheart? Use your words.” He’s always found her an absolute delight to tease- she gets so flustered and stares at him with that doe eyed, betrayed look- how dare he make her ask for anything when it’s obvious what she wants.

“Please let me cum,” she pants as her eyes screw up in pleasure while his fingers trace and circle her clit for several passes.

“You wanna cum, love?” His tone is just a bit too soft to be a mocking tease despite the way she glares at him. Spoiled little thing so easily sliding back into her old habits.

“I’m going to bite you,” she grumbles in bemused annoyance, brows furrowing as she tries to follow his hand while teasing her.

He doesn’t doubt his little viper for a second, mollifying her displeasure with three fingers digging for that spot that makes her see stars.

“Oh~,” she mewls against him as he stokes the fires of her orgasm with a vengeance. He doesn’t stop, angling his hand so his thumb can stroke against her clit and enjoying the way she trembles against him like a leaf caught in a windstorm.

“That the spot, hm? Right there, innit?” He rumbles low in her ear, a satisfied smirk on his face as she nods in a big sweeping motion against his neck. “Come on, pretty. You wanna cum so badly? Do it.” he baits.

Mission accomplished.

Fuck he’ll remember the vision of her crying and cumming and trembling in his hold, soaking his forearm and abdomen as she squirts, for the rest of his days. His free hand runs soothingly down her back for a few passes before pulling both hands away from her.

She’s immediately whining against him, upset at having his touch taken away. “Simon, please-”

He shushes her with a kiss to her temple, “I know what you need, sweetheart,” he murmurs while deftly undoing his pants and freeing his cock.

It only takes a few strokes, already straining and ready to perform, before they’re shuffling as he pulls and maneuvers her so she’s hovering above him and Oh fuck has Simon missed this as she sinks down on him.

It always takes a couple attempts- he’s not a small man, and doesn’t want to risk injury. Not to mention there’s just something fucking delicious about only giving her a few inches, pulling back and feeding her just a few more. Slow, short, steady thrusts that get deeper bit by bit, having Simon ready to melt into the couch at the bliss of being buried in her by the time she sinks all of her weight onto him, her groin pressing against his.

She’s so fucking warm and wet, clinging to him as she shuffles to get good leverage on top of him to bounce.

Bloody fucking hell does she feel good. “That’s it, pretty. Take it all,” he encourages her while she whimpers above him- if he angles himself just right he can grind her clit against him in a way that has her sucking down air and shivering.

She’s so good for him but he knows there’s only so long she can bounce in his lap- even resting on one knee on the couch and her other foot on the floor so she can shift her weight and give leg a break every now and then, Simon throwing his head back and groaning loudly.

It’s one of the only times he’s particularly verbose- Usually content to be silent and broody unless he has a specific question in mind, the bedroom (or in this case the living room) is the one place where he is a chatterbox. The mouth on him is surreal at times, and while one would think his sweet girl would be use to the filth every now and then he’ll catch her off guard with some particularly out of pocket comment.

For now though, he’s a bit reserved- doesn’t want to go from zero to a hundred out of nowhere.

No, for now his attention is focused on the goddess bouncing on his cock, wondering if he can get her to squirt a second time if he just- he shifts underneath her, changing the angle and fucking hell does that seem to do the trick for her. Swiping one of his thumbs across his tongue before pressing it to her clit and circling again, Simon can’t help the smug look on his face when she squeals. “Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck,” he grunts as he thrusts up into her. From how those pretty thighs are trembling, her legs are about to give out as he fucks into her. 

“Simon!” She’s yelping his name with glassy eyes and a clenching cunt “Fuck- Simon! Please-”

She doesn’t have the energy to get herself back up again- poor thing, her thighs must be burning, and he can’t help but be a cocky fuck about the fact that she loves riding his dick to the point that she physically can’t keep going.

“On your back, sweetheart,” he instructs with a light swat to her ass- appreciating the way her body jiggles at the impact.

His sweet girl has done so well and worked so hard, it’s only right that he rewards her. Once she’s on her back he grips her under her knees and folds her legs back- gives himself room between those gorgeous thighs.

“Fuck, baby- please don’t stop,” she pants underneath him, back arching in pleasure as his mouth drops to her breasts again. Her arms wrap loosely around his neck, and he twitches in anticipation at the feel of her nails tracing ever so lightly against his back.

“Not gonna stop, pretty girl.” he groans against her skin, alternating between which nipple he has between his teeth.

Fuck she’s clenching down on him like a vice. He knows she’s getting close; squirming in his grip, keeping her legs nice and spread for him. The feel of her nails reaching down his back and dragging up his spine pulls a groan that would be embarrassing if Simon could find it within himself to care in the slightest. The slight pain encourages him as he cants against her.

“Simon!” The sound of his hips knocking into the back of her thighs is loud and messy. Fuck he’s such a goner when she looks up at him with that sweet expression on her face- pure adoration and wonder in her eyes.

“Just like that, sweetheart. Fucking hell, love,” he grunts out, a second wind reinvigorating him when she starts shaking. Those plush thighs shaking in his hold as he knocks the sense out of her pretty head, he’s so fucking close he can taste it but is determined to get her across the finish line first.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he purrs in her ear, “You feel fucking perfect taking my cock. This wet cunt’s all mine, innit?”

All she can do is chant “Yes! Yes! Yes!” over and over again- Simon’s not sure if even she is certain if she’s repeating the word to answer him, or if she’s just babbling because he’s making her feel good and she’s getting close.

“You gonna cum again love? Gonna soak me, hm?” He’s just running his mouth now- knows the shit she likes to hear, reaffirmed by the way she’s shivering in his hold and crying for it with a glassy eyed gaze.

Whatever she is going to respond with is cut off with a squeal. Simon rears back, enjoying the show as she makes a mess all over his cock with her eyes rolled back. He lets go of one of her legs in favor of teasing her clit just shy of overstimulation to prolong her orgasm- she lets him for a time before her hands abandon shredding his back in favor of wrapping around his wrist in a plea for mercy. 

“Simon it’s too much,” she laments with teary eyes as he pulls his hand away with a chuckle and a chaste kiss. 

He stays curled over her, hips driving into hers. “Tell me where you want it,” he instructs.

“Inside! Please, I want it inside!” Her answer is sharp and immediate, the leg not pinned to her chest wrapping around his waist like she is daring him to even try to pull out.

And fuck there is something cathartic about his orgasm when it hits. Burying his face in her soft body while his hips snapped into hers a few times, Simon groans as his vision damn near whites out for a second.

Simon knows better than most that there’s good days and bad days- and a presumed good day can become a bad day quicker than one can blink. But overall he feels like consistently she’s doing better all around. They take their time calming down, Simon showering her in attention and getting a feel for where her head is at. Praising her for how well she did and making sure she feels stable.

He lets out a breath, feeling confident that she’s settled, having a good day, and everything is fine for now. 

And it is. Until about two hours later.

One moment they’re finishing the movie they’d initially started before the impromptu romp on the couch, and then Simon has a 3 second warning of her sniffling as she obviously tries to fight back the tears and then she’s sobbing harder than she has in weeks.

Simon goes from content to concerned in a second, his blood turning to ice in his veins. His immediate assumption is that their prior activities finally caught up with her mentally and now that she’s had time to think it over it wasn’t good. It was too fucking soon to have sex. He should have told her no, should have been gentler, should have-

“Sweetheart? Talk to me,” his voice is tinged with a thinly controlled concern (not panic he convinces himself) and while he means to comfort her, she can hear his tone and that just sets her off anew.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she blubbers, turning to face him. “I don’t know why I’m crying!”

That settles Simon’s nerves somewhat, stroking her back and pulling her close to comfort her. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” he soothes her, listening to her sniffle against his shirt after shoving her into the crook of his neck.

“I just want to feel normal again,” she sobs into his collar.

“You will, love,” he assures her- never mind that ‘normal’ is something that even he struggles with on a near daily basis. “It’ll take time but you’ll get there. I promise.”

He’s a bastard for making a promise to her that he can’t guarantee to keep. There’s a part of him that knows that- hell, he’s been working on his shit for years and he still doesn’t feel normal most days.

But while he can’t promise that she’ll ever get back to feeling exactly the same as she did before all of this happened, he can promise that he’ll be by her side and ensure she’s adjusting. It will take time, and work, but Simon will make sure she gets there one step at a time.

[peachpitlover]

Head Over Heels

After a movie night at the Chateau, Y/n wakes up with a migraine.

Word Count: 1,159

Pairings: JJ Maybank x Reader

My Masterlists

~~~

Y/n wakes up to a sharp, pulsating pain in her left eye and a dull ache on the top of her head accompanying it. She’s sprawled out on John B’s couch next to Kiara, Pope on the other couch, John B and Sarah in his room, and JJ in the guest room. She reaches for her phone that’s laying on the floor charging. She squints and stifles a pained groan at the dim light emitting from the screen. Thursday, June 6 2:31 AM. As she sits up, that piercing pain shoots up from her eye and spreads up to the top of her head and down the back of her neck. With ears ringing aggressively and colorful squiggles clouding her vision, Y/n makes her way to the bathroom as quickly and quietly as possible. Closing the door behind her, she drops to her knees and holds her hair up with one hand. She really didn’t mean to wake everyone up, but how quiet can you be when throwing up?

Sarah was the first to wake up, she walked out to the bathroom and knocked on the door.

“Give me a sec,” Y/n squeaked out as she tried to catch her breath.

Sarah knows all about Y/n’s migraines, they started when she was so young; too young to have to deal with pain like she has. She slowly opened the door and crouched to rub Y/n’s back.

It wasn’t long before John B and JJ came out of their rooms too, at this point Y/n was lying on her back in the bathroom, her legs resting out the doorway of the small bathroom and in the hallway. They both exchanged a confused look as you hadn’t had anything to drink last night.

“Baby, do you have any pain killers?” Sarah whispered as she stood from her position on the bathroom floor.

“No, I finished the Advil a couple days ago. What happened?”

“She has a migraine, she gets really bad ones. I’m gonna go wake up Kie and ask her.”

JJ turned the bathroom light on and she let out a small whimper, turning her head and pulling her arm over her face.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he whispered as he crouched and pulled her arm up around his neck while John B slid his hand under her back to help her stand. Once she was standing, JJ put his hand around her back and hooked his other arm under her legs to carry her to his room.

“Kie has some tylenol in her car, she’ll bring it in a second. Do you want some water?” Sarah asked as she peeked her head into the room.

“If you don’t mind,” Y/n asked as she settled on the bed. Just then, Pope made his way over to see what was going on, Y/n felt so embarrassed and guilty for waking everyone up. As Kiara came in with tylenol and a bottle of water, John B helped Y/n sit up.

“I’m sorry for waking everyone up,” she whispered.

“That’s ok, we know you’re hurting,” Sarah smiled.

“It’s no big deal,” Pope added in.

Y/n was so grateful for her amazing friends. But right now, all she wanted was to sleep off the pain. Everyone went their separate ways again, leaving JJ at the doorway and Y/n feeling guilty for kicking him out.

As JJ stepped out slightly, beginning to bid her goodbyes, Y/n piped up sheepishly: “JJ? Will you please lie down with me?”

The truth is, JJ likes Y/n. Like a lot. There have been no hookups since she came around as no one peeked his interest but her. And Y/n always finds herself giddy when JJ makes a flirty joke as he often does, her heart and stomach fluttering when his skin brushes hers. So she’s taking advantage of the moment and asking for some comfort, and how can JJ say no to the girl he can’t get off his mind?

“Of course,” he smiled. He walked to the other side of the bed and got under the covers with her and waited for her to make the first move to cuddle. If that’s what she wanted, that is. She turned over and looked at him with tired eyes and he was suddenly so aware of how much bare skin was available to his hands. Wearing only a small, cropped tank top with spaghetti straps and loose cotton sleep shorts.

She could barely open her eyes, she wasn’t tired at all. But her body often shuts down due to the excruciating pain: when she has a migraine, Y/n could sleep on and off for days on end. She reached her hand up and sunk her fingers into her hair as she curled her hair around her middle and pointer fingers and pulled slightly, trying to relieve some of the unbearable pain. Though, she couldn’t hold that up for long as her body was so weak.

“Don’t do that,” JJ frowned, though she couldn’t see much in the dark. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“It helps,” she croaked out.

He took it upon himself to untangle her hand from her hair and replaced it with his. But instead of pulling at her hair like she did, he scratched gently at the spot she had been trying to relieve. With that, her eyes fluttered closed and she ever so slightly shuffled closer to him. After a while, her breathing slowed and her hand clutching JJ’s favorite blanket went limp, he resorted to running his fingers through her hair; something he often found himself wanting to do.

He stopped once he was sure she was asleep, but as soon as he pulled his hand away, she mumbled something he couldn’t understand and rolled over onto her stomach, her hand grabbing onto his bicep.

“It hurts,” she sniffled.

“I know it does, I wish I could do more to help you, do you want to put your head on me?”

Without a word, Y/n shifted closer and laid her head on his chest and draped her arm over his bare stomach, like she had been waiting for him to ask. He could feel tears dripping onto his skin and he felt so useless in that moment: “I know, I gotcha,” he whispered. His hand slid under her shirt and began rubbing along the expanse of her back in an attempt to soothe her to sleep. He was lightly scratching at the skin and she hummed in pleasure.

She did eventually find sleep with JJ’s soft breathing in her ear and the back scratches she didn’t know she would love so much. His heart fluttered at the sight of his sleeping friend on his chest, and with a kiss to the top of her head, JJ’s eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep with warmth surrounding him.

[suga-kookiemonster]

satisfy 06

summary⇢ “listen,” taehyung says, eyes wide and eager as he smiles at you. “i figure we can just help each other out. i scratch your back, you scratch mine.” but when you find yourself suddenly in need of a massive favor, exactly how much scratching are you willing to do? pairing⇢ seokjin/reader, namjoon/reader, taehyung/reader, …..jimin/reader word count⇢ 4.8k genre⇢ smut | escort!au | ceo!au (kinda) warnings⇢ none, really. just a few suggestive memories and oc having a crisis 👀 a/n⇢ and now, my dear friends, we finally make it to the epilogue! 🥹 thank you to everyone who has stuck with this fic over the years, and i'm extra grateful to everyone who has dropped in my inbox at any point to scream their feelings about it to me--as well as everyone who has enjoyed it enough to reblog and share! 💜💜 you guys are the ones who really keep me coming back to share my writing on this hellsite, and i truly, truly appreciate you for helping keep fandom fun and alive. i hope you've enjoyed this ride as much as i have enjoyed taking you on it! 🥰😈 mood for this chapter is this song~ thanks again, everyone! 💜

chapters⇢ previous | series masterlist

Just as they were scheduled to, your employers jetted off overseas, leaving you to your own devices for the next three weeks. You weren’t going to lie—it felt bizarre for your calendar to be so open after months of near bursting due to constant activity. But honestly? It was truly refreshing to suddenly have so much downtime. And after your last Kim encounter, you definitely felt your break was well-deserved.   

So, you used the sudden breathing room to catch up on other parts of your life that had been suffering. The next few days were spent burrowed beneath the covers and gloriously unconscious, your truly exhausted body ensuring sleep to be your first priority. Initiating the wildest sexual encounter you had ever had—and probably would ever have—on a Thursday meant that you luckily only had to miss one lecture, and you happily did so, knowing the slides would be online for you to look over later. And though you weren’t asleep the entire weekend, even when you were awake, you didn’t part with the comfort of your bed for long—eating takeout in it and watching true crime documentaries in it and actively ignoring the way your skin tingled when your mind strayed to the other activities you had done in it not too long prior. 

(And if you were being honest, it was a little hard to not linger on what you had done. On what you so easily allowed the Kims to do.) 

When you did allow yourself to linger on it, it almost felt like a fever dream. Some abstract, depraved fantasy that your overactive mind had cooked up. But the ache in your muscles, the tenderness of your pussy—these were tangible proof that it had all been real. That the flashes of hot tongues and gasping breaths and shivering pleasure that kept creeping back, no matter how you tried to distract yourself, were memories, not figments of your imagination. You knew you should probably feel some sort of shame over it, but honestly? Other than astonishment that this was what your life had become, other than the expected fatigue—

You only felt satisfied.

Satisfied that your own needs had been spectacularly met, of course, but also with the knowledge that your employers were even more satiated than you, and that you had done that. You couldn’t help but glow with a sense of pride when your doorbell rang one afternoon and you were handed a gorgeous flower arrangement, the corresponding card detailing that the unexpected, expensive gift was from Kim Seokjin. Months ago, you probably would have felt mortified to receive them—especially with the intimate knowledge of what exactly he was thanking you for—but you had earned those flowers, dammit! Earned that, as well as the absurd amount of money Namjoon unceremoniously wired you in between the texts he sent you every few days to check on you. 

You always gave your all to whatever you set out to do, and this was no different. You were a hard worker, period. No one could fault you for being pleased with the successful results of your efforts.     

So yes, you spent those next few days relaxing and recuperating and feeling rewarded. And when you finally felt enough like a human to leave your nest of pillows and blankets, you used your newfound freedom from distractions to catch up on other parts of your life you had been inadvertently ignoring—the first being your schoolwork, and the second, Jimin. 

You did a double-take when your text thread showed that the last time you had messaged him had been a week and a half ago, unbelieving. Though busy, the two of you never went that long without at least checking in, and for him to not reach out either? You couldn’t help but worry that maybe he had forgotten about you. Found someone much more interesting, someone prettier and much more available to be showered with his attention than you. 

But luckily, your slow spiraling was immediately halted when the timid Hey you sent him resulted in his bubbly, smiley face-filled reply barely a second later. 

And so now, there you were, meeting him in person for the first time in over a month.

“Sorry I’m late,” you told him as you approached the table, slightly out of breath from your hustle there. “Traffic was crazy and the Uber driver seemed afraid of driving, or something? Like, this probably isn’t the job for you if driving in the city makes you that nervous.” Because yes, when Jimin asked if you could meet him for dinner, you were surprised when he chose a spot downtown. And you were even more surprised when you finally arrived and realized that said restaurant was apparently an upscale hotspot, especially considering the meals you usually shared together consisted of nothing fancier than takeout or something you could grab from the convenience store.

He immediately stood up to wrap you in his arms, giving you a comforting squeeze that reflexively had you melting into the warmth of him before he let go. God, he smelled good. “Glad you made it in one piece,” came his amused reply, eyes twinkling as he reached over and politely pulled your chair out for you.  

You did your best to tamp down the familiar delighted butterflies that always sprung up within you when you were near him. There was something more pressing that needed to be addressed. “Jimin,” you hissed out the corner of your mouth, warily looking around. “You didn’t tell me this restaurant was so nice! I would’ve dressed up more.” Because as it was, your simple cocktail dress wasn’t really cutting it. The tables had cloth tablecloths that no doubt were removed and washed between each seating. There were multiple chandeliers sparkling from the ceiling, for fuck’s sake! Jimin had told you to wear something more on the nicer side, but he never told you this nice, and you could tell immediately that you were underdressed. You had been so excited to see him again that you just got in the car without even bothering to google the place first. 

Jimin waved a dismissive hand, visibly unbothered as he retook his own seat. For his part, he had actually taken the time to throw on a rather smart blazer over his dress shirt and slacks, his hair carefully styled and slicked back. “You look beautiful, as you always do.”

Your eyes shifted to the table, a shy but pleased smile inching across your lips. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for meeting me. I was worried you’d forgotten about me.”

You couldn’t help the incredulous snort that escaped you. “Me forget about you? No, of course not, Jiminie. I’m sorry for dropping off the face of the earth—I’ve just been so busy—”

Jimin’s raised hand halted your rambling, the gentle crinkle of his eyes calming your frazzled nerves. “Don’t worry,” he smiled. “I totally get it—I was just teasing. I could tell you had a lot going on, and so I just didn’t want to bother you. You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

Didn’t you, though? Would he feel the same way if he knew just what had been taking up all your time? You reflexively swallowed, sifting uncomfortably in your seat. “Yeah, school has been running me ragged.” And it’s not a lie. Just not the full truth.

“No kidding. I think I got seven hours of sleep total last week, so like I said, I totally get it.” Before it even registered that he was reaching for you, his hand was already enveloping yours, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your palm. “I’m just happy we have the chance to get together now. I missed you.” 

You felt yourself immediately soften into putty at his admission. “I’ve missed you too, Jimin,” came your soft reply. Dazedly, you tried your best not to visibly show how much his unexpected touch was making your heartbeat skyrocket, but from the pleased curl of his lips, you weren’t entirely sure you were successful. 

It didn’t matter, because just as easily as he had reached into your space, he was now letting go, pulling his appendage back to his side of the table to pick up his menu.  

As if waiting for a lull in your conversation, the waiter chose that moment to approach your table. “Welcome to Serendipity. Have the two of you dined with us before?”

“I haven’t,” Jimin replied, expectantly looking your way for your response and finding you scrabbling for your menu instead.

“Me neither,” you squeaked, flustered that you had been too busy making heart eyes at Jimin to even give it a cursory browse. “Is there anything you recommend?”

The waiter reached over a little to direct you a slip of paper on your table that had gone unnoticed until this moment. “You can find our current specials here—I’m a big fan of the salmon, but everything on there is excellent. And we’re actually currently running a dinner for two special, that’s been really popular. One appetizer to share, two entrées, and a dessert to share.”

Yes, it didn’t surprise you that that would be popular—along with how nice the restaurant was, you had noticed immediately when walking in that it was filled with couples who were clearly having romantic nights out.

“I think we’re still deciding on food.” Jimin’s voice cut through your thoughts. “But can we please see a wine list?”

Wine? Your brow raised, not opposed, but surprised. In all the time you’ve known each other, alcohol has certainly never been a stranger—you’ve had late night study sessions together, accompanied by chicken and beer; you’ve gotten shitfaced together at bars after particularly rough exams. But something about this felt…different. In this restaurant, much fancier than you anticipated, surrounded by couples, sitting across a candlelit table from where Jimin was poring over a wine selection that you knew had to be really expensive—this was undoubtedly more intimate.  

You idly cleared your throat, not daring to linger too long on the dots your mind couldn’t help but connect. Because it obviously couldn’t be that. It had to be a coincidence.

“_____,” Jimin said, the slight raise in his voice cluing you in that this wasn’t the first time he had tried to get your attention. “How does this one sound?” 

You blinked our of your thoughts, finding both him and the waiter looking at you expectantly. “Whatever you choose is fine!” you croaked, slapping on a smile for good measure.    

“Excellent choice. I’ll bring it right out,” the waiter said with an affirmative tilt of his head, and then the two of you were alone again. 

It was quiet for a bit while you both properly perused your menus, though from the corner of your eye, the curious glances Jimin was sending you didn’t escape your notice. You were acting weird. You were acting weird and he could clearly tell you were acting weird, but ever since you noticed the restaurant’s romantic atmosphere, you couldn’t help it.

“These prices are kinda wild, huh?” came your attempt at normal conversation.

Jimin took it in stride, lips curling in amusement. “Yeah, they’re definitely overcharging for those stuffed mushrooms. But don’t worry about it—I invited you out, so this is my treat.”

You shook your head immediately. “No, no, I can’t let you do that! I was just making a comment. Don’t worry, I have enough money to pay.”

He let out a bemused sigh, shaking his head, and if you didn’t happen to be looking directly at him, you might have missed him say under his breath, “You’re not gonna make this date easy for me, huh?”

You immediately choked on your own spit, eyes bugging at what you thought you heard. “D-Date?” you repeated incredulously.

Jimin’s spine went stiff, eyes widening as if he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. You could only watch in amazement as it was his turn to look shy, pointedly averting his gaze to his menu and letting out a chuckle that sounded suspiciously nervous to your bemused ears. When you continued to gape at him, waiting for some sort of explanation, he was forced to continue.

“Yeah,” he hedged cautiously. “That’s what I’d hoped. Would that be a bad thing?”

You couldn’t answer right away, staring him down like he had grown two heads and wondering when he was going to burst out laughing with a Gotcha! You should have seen your face.  

Always one for great timing, the waiter chose that moment to come back with your wine, taking his sweet time pouring it into each of your glasses and cheerfully chatting about the region it came from. You didn’t hear a single word, too focused on the way Jimin studiously avoided your stare, on the noticeable flush that had risen up his neck and was fanning across his cheeks. It was only after you apologetically asked for more time for your meal orders—your mind too frazzled to pick something on the spot—that he left again. Jimin took a long swig from his wineglass.

“Sorry,” he murmured, still not looking at you. “I probably should have let you know my intention beforehand, but I was nervous you wouldn’t come, or I’d chicken out of doing it, or—”

“Your intention?” you parroted dazedly. 

Another generous swallow of wine, the liquid courage coaxing his eyes to meet yours. “I wanted to take you out somewhere really nice,” he admitted. “Show you a good time and work up the nerve to properly ask you out again.”

“On a. Date?” Your lashes fluttered, an involuntary response to your brain short-circuiting. “With me.”

His lips twitched. “Yes, with you, silly.”

“Why?”

“You’re really going to make me say it? Before our food gets here?” He was fiddling with his napkin, but despite his clear nervousness, his gaze was now unwavering and his voice was clear. “Because I like you, _____. I have for a long time.”

These were words that you had only heard him whisper in your wildest dreams, when your subconscious thoughts were no longer being restrained by your common sense. And as such, you could only gape at him, sure you were about to wake up any second.

Your unintentional silence triggered Jimin’s tongue into overdrive, and you could only struggle to make sense of his rambling as he proceeded to tell you how much your friendship meant to him and how he was afraid confessing how he felt would affect it, but he just couldn’t take it anymore. How his feelings for you were growing by the day, and the recent time spent away from you was maddening and only confirmed to him how much he wanted to be with you. And so he felt he had to at least put it out there and try.

And the longer he talked, the more your eyes welled up with horrified tears, panic gripping you by the throat and squeezing, tight, tight.

This was nothing short of a nightmare. 

You would have never agreed to your arrangement with the Kims if you had thought in a million years Jimin would have ever been a serious option for you. 

Absolutely not. You would have swallowed your pride, maybe taken that loan from Tae instead. Would have also taken as many odd jobs as you could to pay him back, would have forgone sleep completely and struggled ten times more than you were now just so you could pay off your debts. Hell, you would have even just fucking dropped out. Would have taken the semester off and attempted to come back whenever you could scrounge up the appropriate funds. 

But never, never ever, would you have done what you had done. 

Because now, not only were you contractually unable to be with the man you’ve—in an attempt at self-preservation—refused to acknowledge you were in love with, but even if you found some legal way to quit now…there was zero chance Jimin would still want you when he knew. Less than zero. And you couldn’t blame him for that, because who would?

Beyond overwhelmed, you did the only sensible thing you could in that moment—you burst into tears.

Your sudden sniveling immediately halted Jimin’s rambling, eyes wide in alarm and looking every bit as distressed as you. “Ah—don’t cry!” He leaned over the table, cradling your face in his hands and swiping your tears with his thumbs. “You don’t have to feel the same way, _____. I’ll get over it, please don’t cry—”

“No,” you blubbered, beyond miserable. He couldn’t be more wrong. “I do! Jimin, I feel exactly the same way, I just…” Your eyes welled up anew, unable to tell him the truth. “I c-can’t.” 

“You can’t?” he repeated, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. His eyes roved your face for any possible answers, nibbling slightly on his bottom lip in thought. “…Is this…” His thumbs were still caressing your cheeks, gaze gentle and open as he quickly glanced around to see if anyone was paying the two of you any attention. When it was clear no one was giving your table more than a few curious glances, he said quieter, “…Is this about the arrangement you have with Tae?”

Everything froze. Your eyes locked, Jimin patiently waiting for your reply. Hysteria trickled through your veins, held only a bay by the disbelief slamming into you harder than a freight train. “W-What arrangement?” you blurted reflexively, a touch too loudly to be believable. 

It was Jimin’s turn be caught off guard, hands slowly dropping from your face and returning to his side of the table, though he was still leaned over it so he could still whisper to you, “You know.” He looked at you pointedly, mouth downturning a bit in his confusion. “With him and his brothers. The arrangement.” 

Jesus Christ, this was not happening. There was no way that this was actually happening to you. There was no way that the man who unknowingly held your heart in the palm of his hand was fully aware that you were fucking his best friend for money. Deny, deny! “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

He didn’t say anything for a few moments, still visibly puzzled. But the two of you only sat in an awkward silence for a few more moments before he snapped his fingers, a light bulb clearly going off. “Ah! You can’t say anything because you signed an NDA, right?” 

You swallowed thickly, unable do anything more in that very moment than stupidly stare at him like a deer in the headlights. 

“I’m sorry, that was stupid of me,” Jimin chuckled, smacking his forehead for good measure. “I don’t know why I didn’t realize that sooner. Obviously you’re under NDA.” 

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. Weren’t sure from the gentle smile he was now sending you if he even expected a response from you. Luckily, Jimin kept talking. 

“But it’s okay—I already know everything, so you don’t have to hide it,” he reassured you. You didn’t feel assured. You felt like you were in the Twilight Zone. “Taehyung told me about your agreement when you started it months ago.”

If you were flustered before, that was nothing on what you were feeling now. Now, half-thoughts were ricocheting across your brain too quickly for you to grasp anything of substance but your internal screeching. “You know everything?” you repeated incredulously. This time it was you who leaned over the table, meeting him in the middle. “Taehyung told you?!”

“Of course he did!” Color rebloomed across his cheeks, but he didn’t shy away from the bewildered stare down you were giving him. “He’s my best friend and he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be stepping on any toes. He…knows how I feel about you.” When you only continued to stare at him, he nervously added, “Who do you think got me the reservation for this place to begin with? The waitlist is literally a year out.”

“I’m sorry, I just—” You pulled back so you could reach for your wineglass, allowing yourself a few healthy sips to give your mouth something to do other than flap about like an idiot while you stalled. Jimin didn’t call you out on it, just waited patiently and topped off your glass when you set it back down again. 

You took a few steadying breaths, ultimately choosing to lean back closer to Jimin. To the casual onlooker, the two of you were just another couple making heart eyes over a romantic dinner. And considering the rather lewd and illegal turn your conversation had just taken in this very public place, that only worked in your favor. “Let me get this straight,” you whispered, carefully choosing your words in case you still managed to garner an unwanted audience. “Taehyung told you the deal he has with me. Months ago.” Jimin nodded. “And you’ve known this entire time about our…arrangement, but never told me you knew.”

“I swear I didn’t at all mean to keep that a secret,” he murmured, expression contrite. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or embarrass you or anything like that, so I’ve just been waiting on you to bring it up at your own pace. But I didn’t take into account that you would never bring it up because you would be under NDA, which, again, now that I say it out loud was an extremely stupid assumption of me not to make. I’m sorry.”

“So. You have feelings for me,” you reiterated, ignoring the delighted shiver that raced up your spine at the words. You had to be sure. “But it didn’t bother you that your best friend…propositioned me? You have no problem with me being…involved with him and his brothers?”

“You were caught between a rock and a hard place and the grind never stops. You know I know that better than anybody,” he replied with a shrug. He swallowed, discreetly ensuring no one was paying the two of you any attention before he added, “You think you’re the only one who’s sucked dick for money?”

Your eyes widened, jaw dropping a little before you could catch it. Was he…implying what you thought he was implying? There was no way. You had to be reading into it. 

But ultimately, all of this was irrelevant. When the ghost of Seokjin’s mouth on you came to you unbidden—the phantom weight of Taehyung’s body, the haunting reprimand of Namjoon’s stern hand—

You shook your head, unsuccessfully dispelling those unwanted, lingering thoughts. Your gaze skirted to the table, despondent and embarrassed as you finally set free your hushed admission. “Jimin, I’ve done more than suck dick for my money.” 

There was a pause, an agonizing one that felt like an eternity, and then he was lifting your chin with a finger and guiding you to meet his eyes.

“Again.” He reached for your hands, thumb tracing patterns over your knuckles. His smile was a soft secret. “You think you’re the only one?” 

He held your gaze, not looking away even though your mouth just flapped uselessly as you struggled to regain your bearings. So he did mean—

“Does knowing that bother you?” Jimin asked quietly, expression now carefully neutral. Seriously asking, and giving you the proper space to process and answer. “Does it change anything?”

“No.” The truth, though delayed, left you as easily as a breath. He was still Jimin. “Of course not.”

Jimin’s resulting grin turned his eyes into crescents. “Soooo…what I’m hearing is that we’re clearly on the same page and are both Team Fuck Bitches, Get Money.” 

Boy, did you wish you could smile back. Wish you could share in his obvious relief. But while you assumed his exploits were in the past, the same couldn’t be said for you, who was actively under contract. “Jimin, I’m still…employed,” you couldn’t help but point out. “And still will be for a while. That really doesn’t bother you?”

“It really doesn’t,” he insisted. But your continued hesitance had him pulling back from you, hands busying themselves with reaching for his wineglass as he carefully asked, “Should it? Is there something else I should know?” A couple sips of wine to steel himself before a  cautious, “Do you have feelings for any of them?”

“No!” you blurted. Despite the amount of time and intimacy you had been spending with the Kims, romantic feelings had never even crossed your mind. Your pussy certainly felt some things when she was getting some action, but your heart had never gotten involved. Your heart was too busy crowding in your throat at that very moment, threatening to fling itself at the man in front of you.

Jimin took your sincerity for what it was, a pleased twist to his lips. “Then it’s all fine with me. And again, Tae’s been aware from the beginning that I’ve been intending to ask you out, so that expectation has been there since the beginning. All three of them agreed to the deal knowing that I might be in the picture if I ever decided to put my big boy pants on and tell you how I feel. They’ve been expecting it, so they’re cool with it.”

“They’re cool with it,” you parroted blankly, completely flabbergasted. This was absolutely not how you foresaw this night going, and you never would have thought your life would ever take a turn like this in a million years. “They’re cool with it, and so are you?”

“I don’t mind sharing your time,” he shrugged. “So long as I’m not sharing you.”

“And you don’t see that as the same thing in this…situation?” you asked incredulously. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

Jimin puffed out an amused laugh. “Wow, you really are trying to talk me out of this, huh?”

You waved your hands. “Absolutely not, that is the last thing I want! I just. I come with a lot of baggage, and I don’t want any of it to come as a surprise. As busy as I’ve been the last couple weeks? That’s becoming a reoccurring normal. And Jimin, I just feel really shitty.” You swallowed. “Because I can’t promise you everything that you deserve to be promised right now.”

Jimin’s face softened as he listened to you, visibly much more comfortable now that you had successfully reassured him just how badly you wanted this. And oh, did you want it. You weren’t sure how this could ever work, but god did you want it to.

“Not fair,” he repeated under his breath, eyes glazed over in thought. “Hmmm.” 

“Is there anything I could do?” you hedged. You weren’t really sure what that could possibly be, considering the ironclad situation you were in. But now that you had been given a glimmer of your heart’s desire, you couldn’t let it fade away. Not if you could help it.  

His reply wasn’t immediate, still lost in thought. But when his eyes finally refocused on you, smoldering and intense, you couldn’t help the way your breath caught in response, the way your heart quickened. “Here’s an idea of what we can do to make it fair. What if you continue to work for them, just as you are now. And then…” 

He was thoughtlessly swirling his wineglass, momentum pulling the ruby liquid into slow, circling waves that would be rather hypnotizing if you weren’t already caught in the snare of his gaze. When he leaned across the table again, the way you followed suit was as easy as breathing. A lovesick sailor willingly lured to possible danger by a siren’s song. “Whatever you do for them, you do for me. How does that sound?” 

You let out a soft breath, just the thought of it immediately electrifying your every atom. Sparks danced excitedly beneath your skin, his soft, sultry tone curling your toes in their shoes. 

“Fair.”

His Adam’s apple dipped excitedly, lips parting.

“So sorry to interrupt,” someone suddenly said from beside you. It was the waiter again. You had completely forgotten about him. Completely forgotten everything other than the restless tap of Jimin’s fingers against the table. “I just wanted to check in to see if you were ready to order?” 

“Yes, I think so.” You didn’t look away from Jimin—still hadn’t even glanced at the menu. Your tongue swiped over your lips, and his gaze darkened in response. 

“But I think we’d like it to go.”

chapters⇢ previous | series masterlist

[the-writer-ofthe-fandoms]

Silent Cosmos (Edward Cullen) (Ch. 2)

Pairing: Edward Cullen x GN! Mute!Reader

Words: 4.0k+

Warning(s): Intense car accident scene (its a nightmare/memories. involves blood, gore/body horror), mentions of minor character death/parents dying, swearing, anxiety/stage fright, bullying at Forks mentioned but no scenes depicting it, edward watches MC sleep lmao

A/N: Here is chapter two! I really like this one personally. There is a lot of just narrative, but a good amount of dialogue too. I enjoyed writing the Edward and MC scenes :^) I hope you guys like it too. Taglist is at the bottom.

Series Masterlist

"Bright Star, while thou thy lonely way

Pursu'st in yon expanse of blue,

Thy gem-like form and steady ray

Attract the heedless peasant's view...

...And fancy whispers in mine ear,

That those who once were here beloved,

To friendship and affection dear,

Now from this fleeting scene removed,

Repose, bright star, in thy ethereal sphere."

-- William B. Tappan, "To the North Star"

---

You sigh as you look at several outfits you laid out on your bed. It was Saturday and you spent much of your time getting the last few things unpacked before tonight. The former captain, the firefighters, and the sheriff decided to throw a party at the station for your uncle. Being his immediate family, you had to attend. Your eyes lingered on an outfit that would look nice but would also be comfortable and casual.

As you started getting ready, you began recalling the week you had at your new school. Like Emmett promised, he looked out for you in gym. Apparently, some of the students thought it would be funny to try and target the new kid in the various games the teacher had the class do. Emmett stayed by your side, helping catch dodgeballs or watching your back for 'stray' balls from volleyball. He was easy to get along with. You appreciated that he was more laid back and seemed to always have a smile on his face.

You met Jasper in history. You sat next to him with Alice on his other side. He was tense and looked like he was in pain. You wanted to express concern for him, but recognized through your own experiences dealing with chronic pain from your accident that it can be annoying to have people ask if you're alright. So, you gave him a smile and as the week came on you two were friendly. Alice helped with that of course.

Alice was already treating you as if you both had known each other for years. It was overwhelming at first, but you found that her bright smile and eagerness to talk with you endearing. She has already offered to take out for a shopping and lunch day several times, which you may take her up on next weekend if she were to ask again. You appreciated her friendliness.

You met Rosalie during lunch and met her a second time by your locker; hers and Emmett's were next to yours. Edward had managed to convince you to sit with them the next day after your first. She absolutely, drop dead gorgeous and you couldn't help but stare. You remembered the tense glare she gave you when you sat with them and you almost wanted to bolt out of the cafeteria. Her face softened though when Emmett whispered something in her ear and place a quick peck on her cheek. Still, she almost kept her distance from you and made very minimal steps in engaging in conversation.

The Cullen children were nice. You would be a fool if you couldn't tell there was something amiss with them. They all had matching eyes gold eyes though you noticed by the end of Thursday a few of them had nearly pitch black eyes. There were also times when Alice would stare off to space or Edward would laugh under his breath at nothing. You remember one day you brushed your hand against Edward's as you both reached for his fallen pencil, and you noticed how cold his skin was.

But, despite the discrepancies you've picked up, you liked them. They actually sought to engage in conversation with you since they could under stand sign. Their eyes never lingered or blatantly stared at the raised scars on your neck, not even when you first met them.

That's not to say everyone else ignored you. You had some students talk to you with the help of Edward or any of the other Cullens that lingered around you, but, you could tell quite a few were hesitant in speaking with you. You could feel their curious eyes stay on your neck until yours met theirs. You were used to that from your old school, though at least most of the people here were polite.

There have been a few mean comments and some weird rumors spread about you already. Most of them revolved around you being with Edward for most of the school day. You only heard their directed comments towards you in the morning before first period, when you weren't with a Cullen. You paid it no attention. Some remarks hurt, but as long as they didn't outright say it to your face or harm you, you let their remarks roll off your back.

You applied finishing touches to your look for tonight's party as you concluded your recount of your week at Forks High. You looked in your full body mirror, smoothing our creases in the fabric before approving of what you picked out for yourself. You wondered how the party was going to go. Your uncle, Robert, and your aunt, Phoebe, were bound to go off and converse with others.

Were you to just follow them around or would you stay in a corner until the night was over?

You close your eyes and sigh deeply.

You heard your aunt call your name downstairs.

"It's almost time to go, honey!" She yelled. You open your eyes and give yourself one last glance over in the mirror. You put on a tense smile before leaving your room, heading downstairs.

"You look great." Phoebe smiled, bringing you into a tight hug. You look at her and gave her a thumbs up. She looked good too, her dress fitting her nicely and her makeup was minimal but still beautiful.

When you first started living with her and your uncle it was almost too much. Phoebe looked so much like your mother, her sister. It took a few months to not see your mother in her, but thankfully your brain, despite the trauma you experienced, started registering her as Phoebe. You two have been close since.

"You look good too. That dress is always a good choice." You sign, smiling at her.

"I'm glad you told me to hold onto it. I can't believe I considered getting rid of it when we packed." She laughed and did a small twirl.

You heard a wolf whistle and look over to the stairs at your uncle, who had a cheeky grin as he stared at his wife.

"You look stunning." He winked to your aunt. He then looked at you with a smile. "You look great too. I like what you did with your hair."

"Wow, you actually know how to dress up, Rob." You chuckle, teasing him. Robert was a big believer in comfort and practicality over looking nice so it was rare to see him in something stylish like this.

"Oh ha ha." He said dryly but kept a smile. He glanced down at his watch and his eyes widened. "Shoot, we got to get going. I don't want to be late to a party thrown for me."

---

There were a lot more people at the fire station than you were anticipating. You expected the crew and their families and the sheriff maybe, but this was a lot more than that. Forks is a small place, maybe this was a rare event here. Regardless, you were glad to see many welcome your uncle to Forks and to the station.

It had been about fifteen minutes since you and your family arrived. You had met all the other firefighters and their families; met Sheriff Charlie Swan and his daughter Bella, who you recognized from your history class; and met various of other Forks citizens who came to meet the new captain. A few familiar faces from school floated around at the station too, though you only met three that were children to the other firefighters.

You glance to the large clock on the wall and glanced to your uncle, who was with the former captain. They were getting ready to go to where a microphone was placed in the station for a welcoming speech in about 10 minutes. You were standing idly by you aunt as she conversed with a few of the wives of other firefighters. Even if you could comfortably speak, you wouldn't know what to even talk about with these women. Your aunt discussed her career as a nurse while the others talked about their jobs.

You heard your name being said behind you by an all too familiar voice. Your face brightened with a small smile when you saw Edward. Next to him was a man and woman you've never seen but could tell they were also Cullens by their golden eyes.

"I didn't expect you here." You walked up to him, then glanced at the two with him.

"My father is the chief physician in Forks so he was invited." Edward gestured to the blond man.

"Hello, I'm Carlise." He offered his hand.

"And I am Esme, Edward's mother." She also offered her hand. You shook both, noting how cold their skin was. "Alice is around here somewhere, probably talking with Bella."

"Nice to meet you both."

"It's nice to meet you too, Edward here has talked a lot about you." Esme grinned, a teasing look in her eyes. You saw Edward give her a embarrassed look which made you silently laugh.

"Ah, the man of the hour." Carlisle grinned and step forwards. You jump a little when you see your uncle's arm from your side. You didn't even hear him approach with your aunt in tow.

"You must be Dr. Cullen." Your uncle grinned. Immediately your aunt and uncle and Edward's parents fell into an easy conversation, leaving just you and Edward.

"Are you having fun?" The bronze haired male asked.

"It is nice. I've mostly been following them around." You gesture to your guardians. "I am curious about the refreshment table though, so I may head over there."

"Would you mind some company?" Edward tilted his head slightly, his lips upturned into a small smile. You give him a nod and start making your way over to the food, he followed close behind.

One thing you picked up is the Cullens drew attention no matter what. You can see people's eyes linger on you and Edward. You noticed their stares when you met his parents. And if you could find Alice, you were sure people's gazes would linger. You got used to it in school, but it seemed more awkward when it appeared many people outside of Forks High had their focus on them.

"Everything alright?" Edward's voice was soft as he spoke.

"Yep." You give him a tense smile as you reached the table, looking over the contents.

'I just wish people here didn't have staring problems. Who cares if they look good?' You thought as you grabbed a small plate and started picking up things you liked. You swore you heard Edward chuckle next to you. You look back to him and gesture to the spread as if you were asking if he was going to eat.

He held up a hand and shook his head. "We ate before we came here."

You nodded and quickly ate what you picked out.

Right as you finished your last bite, you heard tapping through the speaker. Looking over to where they set up a microphone you saw your uncle and the former captain of the station. You throw away your plate and keep your spot next to Edward.

"Thank you everyone for coming!" Theodore, the former captain, greeted. Everyone clapped and a few people let out loud 'whoops.' "We are here today to welcome Robert Kennard to the station, our new fire captain."

Your uncle waved and smiled.

"Forks welcomes you warmly, despite the constant cold weather." Many in the crowd softly chuckles at Theodore's words. "And I can speak for the crew in that everyone looks forward to working with you." The former captain steps back from the microphone, letting your uncle step up.

"Hello! Thank you guys for putting this on." He laughed and raised a glass of what you assumed was champagne. "I was concerned at first. When I got offered the position while I was still down in California, I was worried about moving my family up here... starting a new life. However, their support has been unwavering and here we are now."

You heard him call your aunt's name and your name. You froze.

You could see your aunt make her way up to him but you were hesitant. It wasn't that you didn't want to support him, but you weren't sure why a sudden rush of anxiety hit you. You take a step forward but pause.

"Are you alright?" Edward asked softly, his thick brows furrowed as he leaned forward, maintaining eye contact.

You purse your lips and give him a subtle shake of your head. You saw him look confused for a split moment before his facial expression went back to concerned.

"Would you like me to walk forward with you?" You nod at his suggested. He nodded slowly with a small smile and placed a hand between your shoulder blades. Gently, he pushed you forward and guided you to the front. His form stayed next to yours as you moved through the people to get to the front of the small crowd.

When you got close enough to your uncle, you felt Edward's hand leave your back as you kept walking forward. You glance back over your shoulder and saw him waiting at the front, his golden honey eyes never left your form. You flanked your uncle on his right while Phoebe stood at his left.

"To my lovely wife Phoebe, thank you for encouraging me to take this step in my career. Your support has me falling in love with you every second." He leaned in and kissed her cheek. People in the crowd aww'd. "And to you," He looked to you with a smile full of fondness. "Your support towards mine and your aunt's careers has been so appreciative. Raising you as if you were my own has been such a treasure, thank you." He then hugged you tightly before turning to the crowd. "Thank you guys for having us here."

The people attending clapped and cheered. You smiled at how warm the welcoming was, though that feeling of anxiety still lingered. The three of you stepped away from the microphone as the former captain came up to give a final few words. You glanced around for either Edward or Alice, but saw them both in conversation with Carlisle and Esme.

You take a deep breath and excuse yourself from your family. You weave through bodies and made your way outside. The cold air immediately nipped at your face as you wrapped your arms around yourself. You walk over and lean against your uncles pick-up truck.

You look up to the night sky and smile. It seems like the constant cloud cover pulled back enough for you to see the stars and moon. You felt giddy at just how bright the stars looked. You felt at ease now. You felt comforted under the night sky.

'Ah Polaris, my old friend.' You sigh contently when you found that bright star shining brightly in the inky black sky.

"Are you okay?" Edward's voice startled you. You jumped a bit and looked back at him with wide eyes, your heart felt like it was racing wildly in your chest. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"No worries, I assumed nobody would come outside." You offer a friendly smile, keeping your eyes on him as you felt yourself begin to ease.

"Parties aren't... my thing." He joined you, leaning against the truck. "Carlisle asked me to come along."

"I'm not big on parties like this either. I like smaller get togethers."

There was a brief moment of silence before he spoke again, repeating his previous question. "Are you okay?"

You exhale, your breath visible in the air.  "Yes. Just felt overwhelmed and wanted space."

"Ah. I can leave then."

"You can stay. I know you after all."

---

Edward smiled sincerely when you told him he could stay. Even though Alice and Esme did point out you left out and made comments for him to follow you, he chose to join you on his own. He wanted a moment of peace away from the other humans... and he wanted to explore your mind more.

He tried peering into your thoughts again as a comfortable silence washed over the both of you. Ever since you sat next to him on your first day at Forks High, he attempt to discern your mind. He was still confused at the presence of such a detailed cosmos that lies in your thoughts and how it wasn't always there.

Edward noticed he could always hear your thoughts when you communicated with him or others. However, outside of that he never was sure if he would be hearing your voice or viewing that space. He picked up you weren't aware of this. Nothing you ever did or said gave him any reason to suspect you were purposely putting up this galaxy to block him out. He also kept track at how the galaxy would coincide with your emotions. When you were stressed about going up to your uncle earlier, he could almost feel heat against his mind. He could see how bright the sun residing in the middle had gotten until he was pushed out, which was another thing he noticed.

It was like the galaxy was trying to keep him at arms length from you; always forcing him away from peering too deep into your mind.

Edward shifted his eyes to looking at the sky like you were doing, but his focus was purely on your thoughts. He saw the familiar galaxy once again and this time, it was the most serene he has ever seen it. The sun at the center, still bright, was calm. He didn't feel heat pushing him out. He just saw stars, planets, and various colors around. It was peaceful. Compared to the many thoughts from the party goers back in the fire station, this was nice.

Edward felt welcomed in this vast cosmos.

The scene melted away rather than push him out, causing him to look at you. You were now staring at him with an unreadable gaze.

"Do you know any constellations?" You asked him. It didn't take reading your thoughts to know how excited you were at the prospect of discussing this with him.

"No, I don't." He lied. In the 1970s he spent some time studying the stars. "But I take it you do? Can you tell me?"

"Sure!" He could barely contain the large grin threatening to form on his face at how excited you were.

He could hear your thoughts in tandem as you signed. You would tell him the constellation name and then point it out in the sky. You'd lean close to him, your arm barely brushing against his, as the the other raised up to the sky. He'd subconsciously lean in as well, easily finding said constellation on his own but he let you help him 'find' it. You hadn't mentioned to him before how much you adored stars, but it came to no surprise to him after seeing what goes on in your mind.

Showing him constellations came to an end when neither could see more through the lingering clouds. That didn't stop you from pointing out the brightest star in the black sky.

"The North Star represents guidance and direction." You explained to him. "For hundreds of years, it provided guidance to anyone who needed it in many ways."

'It helped after the accident.' Edward heard from your thoughts. It had him curious and he tried delving more but all he saw was space and felt heat keeping him at bay.

"You must really like stars." He smiled gently.

"Yes, I've been drawn to them since I was young. My dad was into anything space related, so I guess that's were it came from." You smiled, though the vampire could see a certain sadness lingering in your eyes. He then saw you shiver and immediately started shrugging off the coat he wore. "Wait, you'll get cold, Edward."

"Don't worry about me. I will be fine." He spoke softly, his lips upturned. He placed the coat over your shoulders and you gingerly slip your arms into the sleeves.

Confusion briefly flashed on your face. 'I expected some warmth. Ah well, this is still nice.'

Edward had to contain his chuckle at the thought that slipped through.

"Do you still want to stay out here for a few more minutes?" He asked.

"Yes, just a few more minutes."

---

It was near midnight when Edward slowly opened your bedroom window. He felt some guilt as he waited for you to finally fall asleep, but his interest in your mind hand him wondering what he would see when you were unconscious. Would that galaxy appear to him when you were asleep, or would he have full access to your dreams?

He easily slipped into your room, leaving the window open. His eyes scanned around at the various posters you had placed on the walls and the decorations lying around. He saw one half unpacked box in the corner then shifted his gaze to you, tucked under your covers in a deep slumber. There were a few plushies in bed with you and he couldn't contain a small smile when he saw one on the floor. Carefully and silently, he walked over and crouched down. He picked up the stuffed cat and leaned over, setting it aside next to the others. He found himself back near the window and zeroed in on your mind.

He saw a grassy field and a woman sitting on a blanket. He heard high pitched giggles from who he assumed was you as you ran around. It was clear he was seeing your memories. You were running, squealing, and giggling in what Edward could make out as a park. You glanced behind yourself as you ran and could see a man chase after you. He could make out the similarities in his face with your current face. Suddenly, you tumbled and hit the ground with an 'oof.' Your father immediately helped you up and sat you on his knee.

"Aww, poor baby. Are you okay?" He cooed.

"Yeah! My leg hurts, but I'm fine!" You giggled. Your father held your leg and your focus was now on your bloody knee.

"Hmm, you must of snagged it on a rock. Lets get you back to momma, my little nova." You were lifted up and Edward watched through your memories as you were brought to your mother on a picnic blanket.

Suddenly, he thrown into a new memory. He suddenly felt dread in his being.

It was dark.

He could hear what sounded like a car blinker non-stop clicking. You groggily blink and Edward started making out that you were upside down. He heard gargling and pained noises come from you. Your eyes barely focused but he started making out you were upside down in a car at night. He can see bright lights from the front and shards of glass. Then he sees all the blood and what looked like a severed arm on the ground. It was attatched to a feminine hand with a gold band on the ring finger.

"Sweetie? Oh God..." He sounded in pain and like he was crying. Edward then heard your name from your father. "Nova please answer me. Fuck, please."

You responded, but it wasn't a word. It sounded like you tried to say daddy, but it came our jumbled and wet.

"Nova-!"

Suddenly, all Edward could hear was a high pitched noise. It was the same he heard when Alice replayed her vision to him. A blinding light filled the car.

Then, it was that same galaxy. However, it was turbulent. He could see planets shake and stars dim. A sun, larger than ever glowed brightly before an eruption from the Sun's atmosphere blasts out and hits hum with intense heat. He stumbles back as his vision is back in your room, right as you woke up gasping for air.

Without you catching him, he was out of your room and in the forest. His eyes were blown wide and if he had to breath, he knew the wind would of been knocked out of him at all he viewed. He felt the sting of venom-tears fill his eyes.

"Fuck..." He muttered and sat down on the forest floor. His fingers carded his hair before he clutched tuffs.

---

Taglist: @buckybarnes-1917​, @trawberry-fire​ , @dreamy-caramel​, @urgirlfriendspage​

[tropes-and-tales]

🤮 FINALLY

Day 9:  Exhibitionism (Frankie "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Light angst, kinda; idiots in love; enemies to lovers but not really; smut (fingering; exhibitionism; PiV, unprotected); 18+ only.

Word Count:  5553

AN:  This was requested by @elegantmusicdragon!

The cabin is small:  it only has two bedrooms.  The Miller brothers claim the loft bedroom on the second floor, the steep eaves of the roof leaving barely enough room for Will and Ben.  Pope, as the group’s resident planner, helps himself to the slightly larger bedroom on the first floor.

It leaves you and Frankie in the living room.  There’s a lumpy couch; there’s a thin, rolled-up mattress for the floor.

There’s also a fair amount of antagonism between the two of you.  It’s not complete hatred:  it’s love-hate, maybe.  Begrudging respect.  Admiration, but only if someone put a gun to your head and made you admit it.

You just irritate each other.  Too similar in some ways, too different in others.  Polar opposites in some aspects, the same person in others.  It’s been the same as long as you’ve known each other:  there’s a low-simmering annoyance with each other that eventually blows up in a fight, then cools off in a period of niceness until it cedes back to annoyance.  It’s been that way for as long as you’ve known each other—for years.

The hooking up is new.

The hooking up is so new the guys don’t know about it.  You haven’t been hooking up long enough to get caught.  Hell, it’s so new that even the two of you can barely fathom it.  Each time a dalliance ends, you both have the same stunned, sheepish expression, like neither of you can believe it happened.

But it keeps happening:  Frankie shows up at your door in the middle of the night.  You turn up on his porch on a Sunday afternoon.  You call each other; the other comes over eagerly enough.  The two of you sneak off at a group hang-out, and you reappear long moments later to the larger group one at a time, flustered or overcompensating by being too casual.

“We can’t keep doing this,” you told him the last time you hooked up.

“Obviously not,” he agreed.  “This is insane.”

Neither of you really meant it.

-----

The cabin is a thing Pope is trying to do.  It’s a tradition he wants to start in the wake of Tom’s death.  A way to keep everyone together, even if just for a long weekend every fall:  the gang may drift apart, but they can reassemble once a year at least, for good food and drink and sitting around the campfire.

Thursday, and everyone rolls into the rental property where the cabin is perched along the shore of a lake.  The Miller brothers turn up together; Frankie comes alone.  You catch a ride with Pope since he flew into your hometown.

Thursday, and it’s just take-out pizza and beer from the nearby village.  It’s stocking the cabin with provisions, unpacking, settling in, claiming where you’ll each sleep for the weekend.  Pope builds a fire in the massive fire pit outside just as the sun is setting, and Frankie feels a calm settle over his nerves.  He’s been clean now for over a year, but the cravings come and go.  He glances across from him and studies where you sit between Will and Pope:  the firelight casts you in an orange light, throws your features in sharp relief where shadows fall.  You’re quiet tonight—maybe your nerves are bad too.  Frankie knows you have your own anxieties.

Thursday, and when it’s time to turn in, you don’t even bother to fight Frankie for the mattress on the floor.  You take the lumpy couch, and you fall off to sleep within minutes, leaving Frankie to lie awake with his own thoughts for a long while.

-----

Friday, and everyone is back in their groove with each other.  There’s the usual laughter, the usual ribbing.  Pope knocks Frankie’s hat off his head.  Ben feigns a series of punches at Pope.  Will wraps his arm around your waist and spins you until you slap at his arm and shriek for him to release you.  It’s easy and familiar, like slipping into a faded old t-shirt washed to velvety softness.

Pope organizes a hike to the summit of a nearby mountain.  The weather is so crisp and the air so clean it hurts Frankie’s sinuses to breathe.  At the summit, the views are spectacular, stretching for miles in all directions, the hills and dales and low-slung mountains of this patch of Appalachia.  Frankie is reminded that not everything is so complicated:  there are swaths of wilderness where life is simple, where his problems seem small and inconsequential. 

You all settle on a flat stretch of rock and eat lunch, sandwiches and apples from a farmstand in town that you packed in for the hike.  Frankie watches you peel out of your boots and socks and stretch your bare feet against the sun-warmed rock.  The conversation flows naturally; everyone shares their latest life updates, their hopes for the near-future. 

If Tom is with you, his ghost rests lightly between the five of you.

On the hike back, there’s a tricky stretch of the trail, a switchback that was easier to climb up than it is to climb down.  Frankie is behind you, taking up the rear, and he loses the rhythm of his hiking cadence when you suddenly balk.  He pulls up just in time to not run into you.

“C’mon,” he grumbles, exasperated.  With Pope at the head of the group, Frankie has just been on auto-pilot, his feet leading him forward, but now he’s been yanked out of his reverie by your sudden stopping.

“Ground’s covered in scree,” you reply.  Frankie watches as you take a tentative step forward, reach out a steadying hand along the outcropping of rock.  You do this sometimes, he knows—you have sudden moments of freezing up, afraid to fall, afraid to stumble and jam up a wrist or twist an ankle.  Frankie watches in exasperation as you suddenly transform from an assured hiker to a bumbling newborn foal, all shaky legged and trembling hands.

“C’mon,” he repeats.  “Move.”

“Don’t rush me.”  The words come out tense, pushed out between clenched teeth.  You hate being weak, sure, but you hate being weak in front of others—especially Frankie.

“Don’t be a baby.”

“I’m not.”  You take another careful step forward, your toe knocking some of the scree loose. 

“It’s not even that steep here.”

“I’m going as fast as I feel comfortable.”  You turn your head, glance at him, and Frankie sees the animal panic in your wide, unblinking eyes, your nostrils flaring as you take shallow breaths.  “Go around if you have to.”

He doesn’t have to go around you but he does.  He heaves a sigh, edges around you on the trail, and he doesn’t miss the quiet little whimper of fear as you press yourself against the face of the mountain to make room for him.  He doesn’t glance back to see that you’re fully frozen now, not moving at all—until Ben notices and reverses back to rescue you.

“Overthinking it?” he asks.  Frankie can’t make out your reply, but it makes Ben chuckle, then add, “well, let’s get you off this part then, yeah?”

Friday, and Frankie learns that there’s an ugly streak of jealousy in him.  Ben manages to peel you off of the mountain face with gentle teasing and good humor, and Ben is the one to wipe away the couple of shaky tears that squeezed out during your crisis of courage.  The group rearranges itself:  Pope then Will, then Frankie, and you and Ben at the rear, and Frankie seethes the rest of the hike back to hear the two of you joking and teasing.

Friday, and Frankie learns that he can be jealous over you.  He’s quiet over dinner as he turns over this new intel about himself. 

Friday, and when it’s time to turn in, you take the couch again.  Frankie lies awake and watches you in the faint silvery moonlight streaming in through the curtains, and he berates himself for letting Ben step in where he could have intervened.  Frankie could have been kinder, could have helped you.  You’ve never been cruel to him about his own struggles.  A little episode of panic on a low-stakes hike would have cost him nothing in terms of kindness.

Frankie does something he’s never done before with you.

“Hey,” he whispers.  “You awake?”

You huff out heavy breath, a low groan.  “I am now.”

A long stretch of silence passes.  Frankie can’t quite get the words out; his tongue feels like it’s glued to the roof of his mouth.  Enough time passes that you sigh again, roll over on the squeaky couch.

“Sorry,” he manages to mutter.  It comes out gruffer than he’d like, more mean-sounding. 

“What?”

“I said I’m sorry.”  Now he sounds defensive, a bit petulant.

“Oh.”  A beat, then, “for what?”

He rolls over on the mattress and faces where you lie feet apart from him, slightly higher than him on the couch.  “For being a dick on the hike.”

“Ah.”

There’s another long beat of silence, and then the room lights up as you turn your phone on.  He hears you tapping on it, and he asks what you’re doing.

“Just marking the date and time.  Latitude and longitude.”  In the white light cast across your face, Frankie can see your smirk.  “Need to know where to put the memorial plaque when the time comes.”

“Huh?”

“You know.”  You lock your phone and toss it aside, and Frankie hears you roll over to face him.  In the scant light from the moon, he can just make out your face, still smirking.  “The commemorative plaque.  On this place and on such-and-such date, Francisco Morales offered the first apology in his life.”

Frankie bristles.  “Funny, but I’ve apologized lots of times before.”  He thinks of his ex-wife, his mother, Tom’s wife.  He’s apologized plenty:  for his bad behavior, for his poor choices, for all the ways he’s lacked as a son or a husband or a teammate.

“Not to me you haven’t.”

“Bullshit.”  He rolls onto his back and stares up at the rough-hewn boards of the cabin’s ceiling.  “I probably have.”

“Bullshit,” you retort.  “You haven’t.”

“Well now I have, and I damned well regret it.”

You laugh softly, but it doesn’t have its usual bitter edge to it.  You don’t add anything for so long that Frankie’s eyelids start to get heavy, but just as sleep starts to lap around his ankles, he hears you say, far softer than before, “I appreciate it, Fish.”

Friday, then:  Frankie learns he has a jealous streak for you, and he learns that he can feel ashamed of how he sometimes treats you.  Both revelations pale in comparison to how he feels to own up to his less-than-stellar behavior…and how he feels when you accept his apology rather than retaliate with your own less-than-stellar behavior.

-----

Saturday, and the day starts promising:  sun in the blue sky, bird song, the wind rustling through the leaves.  Storm clouds gather after noon, low and fast-moving, blotting out the sky, and the evening turns into a torrential storm.

You and Pope go into town to pick up more beer, a bottle of wine for dinner.  Frankie and the Miller boys stay behind.  Ben gets a headache and goes to nap it off, which leaves Frankie and Will alone on the cabin’s porch, watching the rain disturb the mirror surface of the lake as they nurse a couple of longnecks.

“Good to have everyone here,” Will offers after a while.

Frankie grunts in agreement.  He doesn’t mention Tom, and neither does Will.

Will handles the bulk of the conversation, which is really just gossip about you and Pope and Ben since you’re all absent.  It doesn’t come across as especially catty, though, since Will spins everything in his motivational lingo.

Then Will touches on you and Frankie’s rocky relationship.  He takes a sip from his bottle and gives Frankie a sidelong glance, says, “heard the two of you talking last night.  Surprised it didn’t end in yelling.”

Frankie snorts and takes a drink of his own beer.  “First time for everything.”  He shakes his head, rueful, and adds, “we’ve just never got along.  You know that.”

Will nods in that irritatingly sage way he has now.  “Well, you’re both crabs.”

“She makes me crabby.  I’m usually fine otherwise.”

The man chuckles and shake his head.  “Nah, I mean you’re both crabs.  You’ve both got tough shells.  Even if you could get out of your own shell, you’d have to get past hers and vice versa.  Double walls up, whatever you want to call it.  Makes it tough to connect.”

Frankie bites back the obvious response:  that you and he connect plenty, in a carnal way, and that Will’s dumb analogy would crumble the moment Frankie mentions that the two of you fuck often, and that you don’t have a tough shell when he’s balls deep in you.  Instead, he snorts again and says, “okay,” heavy on the sarcasm.

“The problem with a crab’s shell though,” Will adds in that faux-wise tone of his, “is that if you don’t shed them once in a while you can never grow.”

Frankie almost wishes you were here to hear this bullshit too.  You’re irritating, but as a fellow crab, you’d tell Will to fuck off, to go play shrink with someone else.

-----

You and Pope return, and the two of you handle dinner together.  Pope sears the steaks on the grill outside; you make fresh pasta and sauté late-season vegetables.  Ben is pulled from the loft bedroom by the scent of the food, headache gone, and everyone circles up around the table to eat and drink. 

The fire snaps in the fireplace and the rain drums against the roof, and Frankie hasn’t felt so relaxed since South America and the scramble over the Andes that ultimately claimed Tom’s life.  He glances around the table, and it occurs to him that aside from his parents, the people he loves best in the world are all right here with him.  Even you, he supposes.

He lets the good food and drink and warmth of the fire work against his anxiety.  He feels the snarls and tangles of his tight muscles—those perpetually tense shoulders hiked up near his ears—unlock.  He feels all those bad feelings, the constant self-doubt and low-level depression ebb into the distance.  He is lulled into a drowsy state as he eats, as he sips at his wine, and he rejoins the conversation in process and finds himself jolted by its subject.

It's Pope needling you, and the man is clearly picking up a thread from earlier between the two of you.  He’s asking you about some guy, some guy named Paolo, and Frankie feels an uncomfortable prickle along the back of his neck.

“Just call him sometime,” Pope tells you.  “Grab a coffee or something.”

“Nah, Santi.”  You push a bite of steak around your plate and don’t look up.  “I don’t think so.”

“I think the two of you would get along.”

“I’m not really interested.”

“Why not?” Will interjects, catching up faster than Frankie.  Then to Pope, “you trying to set her up?”

Pope nods at Will’s question as you shrug and mumble something about being out of the dating game for too long, and Frankie stares at you, wills you to look up at him, but you don’t.

“Which is why this is perfect,” Pope replies.  “Paolo is coming out of a long-term thing.  He needs a gentle reintroduction to dating too.  C’mon…what would lunch hurt?  Or dinner?”

“You should think about it,” Will adds.  He glances over at Frankie, catches his eye.  “Might help for you to get out of your shell.”

You laugh at that.  “I think I’m good, William, but thanks.”

Then Ben gets in on it, Ben and Will and Pope cajoling you into dating this Paolo guy.  The Millers point out your paltry dating history, your lack of serious relationships—you’ve never even lived with a guy, let alone edged up against an engagement or marriage.  Pope tells you about Paolo, some coworker in his contracting work with a failed marriage, something about cheating, the man is hurting, blah blah.  Frankie is shocked to find that his jealous streak isn’t just wide but deep—it feels like a bone-deep ache, a cold searing in his gut as the guys egg you on, try to convince you to just meet the dude.

“What do you say, Fish?” Pope asks, and Frankie glances up and finds your eyes settled on him.  There’s a question there, but Frankie can’t see beyond his own tough exterior to know what it is.

“Sure,” he replies with a shrug he hopes looks nonchalant.  “I’m sure this Paolo guy would love to be disappointed by you.”

Which earns him a punch in the shoulder from Ben, who’s sitting beside him, and rolled eyes from Pope, and a disappointed tsk-ing from Will.

Frankie doesn’t see how his barb lands with you, though.  As soon as he launches it, he looks away, looks down at his plate, so he can’t see if you are hurt or not by him.

But he hears your reply to Pope.  He hears you say, “you know what?  Sure.  Give him my number.  I don’t have any better prospects.”

-----

The rest of the evening is a blur.  There’s a robust game of poker, low stakes, and the beer flows steady as the conversation.

Frankie goes mute, only mumbles out monosyllabic answers when the conversation turns to him.  His thoughts turn maudlin.

He always felt a step ahead of the guys.  More mature.  More of a man.  Him and Tom, both:  making the adult choice to marry instead of drifting around in the chaos of the post-army bachelor life.  Where Pope and the Millers lived in bland beige apartment complexes, strung together short-term relationships and hook-ups, Frankie had a house with a wife.  He felt a smug satisfaction when he’d meet up with the guys back then, like he and Tom were the sage elder statemen of the group.

You had been there too, of course, but it was different with you.  Back then, Frankie used to compare you against his wife—you were the other woman in his life, so you were a handy comparison to his wife, Sophia.  You were prickly where Soph was sweet.  Opinionated where Soph wasn’t.  When Frankie held the two of you up, it made Sophie shine brighter.

But now hindsight is twenty-twenty.  Because Frankie always compared the two of you, he can’t help but craft an alternate universe where a marriage to you had faltered and then fell apart.  With Soph, it had been ugly:  she never spoke up, never held him to account for his increasingly bad behavior as his addiction took hold.  She merely left one day—Frankie came home to an empty house and instructions to not reach out to her, that her lawyer would be in touch.

You’re the one who had confronted Frankie.  You’re the one who arranged for the intervention, who chased him when he stormed out, who grabbed him by the arm and shook him, told him he had to get his shit together and get help.  You’re the one who handled everything:  packing his bag, getting him on the plane to the rehab.  You found him a place for when he got out, you and Pope salvaging as much as you could from his marital home before it was sold as part of the divorce.

And now he’s back to square one, but even more so.  He’s divorced.  He’s a recovering addict.  He’s got a bad back and a suspended pilot’s license.  He’s nobody’s bargain, as the song goes, but he wonders how much his low mood right now is linked to you.  Pope and the Millers talk you up, gas you up for this date with Pope’s buddy, and Frankie feels worse and worse the more he realizes you may slip away from him. 

It's a startling revelation that he even cares.  If asked, he’d lie and say he doesn’t, that you can date whoever you want, move away to wherever.  That if he never sees you again, he’ll be perfectly okay, because the two of you have never gotten along and the hooking up has just been two bored, lonely people mutually using each other.

But he remembers a million little moments of you being…not kind, maybe.  You’re prickly with your kindness, you sigh and roll your eyes when you do nice things for him, but you’re the one who started him on the path of recovery.  You’re the one who stood in front of him at Tom’s wake and told him in a low voice that it wasn’t his fault, it was no one’s fault but Tom’s own greed.

Hell, he bets you’ve even taken the couch this whole time in the cabin because of his bad back.

Frankie feels like he’s close to some world-altering revelation, but it’s just beyond his grasp.  Instead, he just stews:  his memories circle around his failed marriage, how he was never further ahead than the guys after all.  His memories shift to you then, circle around you:  the most irritating person he’s ever known, yet the one who probably saved his life.  The frustrating woman who has had his back for years, who squabbles with him and argues with him and (lately) has been fucking him with equal aplomb.

-----

When everyone turns in for the night, Frankie waits a long while before he hisses out your name.  You don’t sigh or groan like he’s woken you up; you answer him by saying his name back with a questioning lilt.

“You can take the mattress if you want,” he whispers.  “If the couch is uncomfortable.”

“It is, but I’m fine.”  A beat, and you confirm his suspicion by adding, “your back.”

“Mattress is wide enough for both of us.”

He hears your quiet snort of laughter.  “Nice try, Fish.”

“What?”

“You know what.  If I lie down with you, you’ll get all handsy.”

Frankie smiles in the darkness.  “You don’t mind my hands usually.”

Some spring deep in the couch squeals as you roll over.  “We said we weren’t doing that anymore.”

“We say that every time,” Frankie points out.  “And then you call me at two in the morning because you need it so bad.”

You snort.  “I never need it.”  You’re silent for a long moment, then add, “and anyway, I’m actually looking forward to meeting Pope’s friend.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m serious.”  Your voice does lose its snarky, insouciant tone—you sound uncharacteristically somber.  “I need to get my shit together.  I’m tired of being alone all the time.”

That stings Frankie a little, like all those moments with him don’t count, even though he knows they don’t.  You’re talking about being alone, all those times you need someone to talk to or cuddle up with or just be with.  Frankie and your hooking up isn’t any of that; it’s a lone moment of physicality without any of the intimacy.

“And you think Paolo is the one then?” he asks, and the name Paolo drips with disdain that he doesn’t bother to hide.  You hear it, too.

“You sound jealous, Fish.”

“’m not.”

“Because I thought I was just gonna disappoint him anyway, so why would you be jealous?”

“Said I’m not.”  He’s not jealous.  He isn’t.  The bloom of hot acid in his gut is something else entirely.  Maybe Pope didn’t cook the steaks thoroughly enough.  Maybe it was too much red wine.

Now your voice turns faux-casual, conversational, like you’re just gabbing with a girlfriend.  “Do you think Paolo is hot?” you ask. 

“Probably looks like a troll doll.”

“I bet he’s big.  Huge.”

“Gross.”

“Bet he’s slinging a real hog around.”

Frankie scoffs.  “Pope said he’s divorced because his wife cheated on him.  He’s probably tiny.”

“Ooooh, you’re definitely jealous.”  Another rustling of your blankets, and then Frankie feels it—your bare foot reaching down and out to where he lays, your cold toes kicking him lightly in the side.  He swats at you, but you pull your foot back at the last minute with a laugh.

“Fuck off,” he grits out.  “I’m not.”

Another playful kick that clips him in the shoulder.  “Aw, Fish, did you fall for me?  Are you in love?  Are you—”

He’s quicker this time, and he catches your foot, catches his hand around your ankle and tugs you towards him.  You squeal; he gets you halfway off the couch but not entirely and there’s a moment of tug-of-war.  Frankie doesn’t release your ankle, and you try to break his hold, but Frankie (who knows how strong you are, how good you are at self-defense) doesn’t think you really fight him that hard.

Instead, you let him pull you the rest of the way onto the floor.  You let him tug you across the short span between the couch and the mattress, and he’d smirk and gloat at how willingly you come to him, but within a second you are beside him.  You smell smoky, like the snapping wood fire of the evening has burrowed into your hair, and you smell like the wet, washed-clean earth and loam, and you smell like the slightly-metallic water of the lake, and Frankie’s mouth finds yours, seals over yours, steals away any other teasing or arguing you may do.

Part of him hates how well the two of you fit together.  For as much as you squabble and irritate each other, in these moments, you are perfectly in line with each other.  On the same wavelength.  Frankie kisses you deeply, tastes you beyond the mint of your toothpaste, and he still—even after all these moments, all these stolen interludes—gets a fluttery swoop in his gut when you slide your tongue against his.

He maneuvers you underneath him and you go willingly.  Eagerly.  He wishes sometimes he could read your mind.  He wonders what you’re thinking in these moments.  Have you been lying beside him the past few nights, wanting this to happen?  Or are you only riled up and slick to his searching fingers because of the idea of this Paolo, a man who could theoretically assuage your loneliness?

The thought makes that deep streak of jealousy pulse inside him, so he breaks the kiss as his fingers slide into you.  He feels how wet you are, always wet and hot for him, and he hisses into your ear, “this for me?”

“Fuck off, Fish.”  You whisper it back, and in the wan moonlight, Frankie can see you glaring up at him. 

He pulls his finger out, adds a second, pushes both into you.  He catches how your eyelids flutter, how your lips part at the stretch of his digits.  He studies your face as he pulls out, pushes back in a handful of times.

“Tell me,” he demands.  He keeps his voice low, aware that the Millers are asleep in the loft above you and Pope is asleep in the bedroom just beyond the small galley kitchen.

“I said fuck off.”  You enunciate the fuck clearly, catch your lower lip between your teeth as you hiss out the eff.  As guilty as Frankie feels to compare you to his ex-wife, the differences are never more stark than here:  Sophie had been completely soft, completely submissive in the bedroom, never quite willing to do more than a handful of positions or situations.  Fucking you is like wrestling a wild cat sometimes, and you make him work for it, and Frankie kinda loves it.

He clucks his tongue in mock sympathy.  He pushes his two fingers into you as deep as he can, then crooks them inside you, strokes your inner wall until you gasp underneath him.

“There it is,” he croons.  He dips his head, drags the slick muscle of his tongue along your pulse point where your heartbeat jumps and thunders away.  “Knew I’d find it.”

“Fish—”

“Always find it.”  He moves his thumb, presses it lightly against your swollen clit.  “Pope’s dumb fucking buddy could never.”

You laugh but it’s breathless as he works his hand against you.  You tangle a hand in his hair and tug against him, steer his head back to you.

“Knew you were jealous, you asshole,” you whisper.  You surge forward and nip at the side of his neck, and he bites back his own groan, hushes you, reminds you that the guys are nearby and you have to be quiet.

Frankie reaches down and shoves his sweatpants down enough to free his aching cock, and he doesn’t even bother to get you out of your sleep shorts.  He only shoves them to the side and then removes his hand, guides his cock to replace his fingers.  He hears the low groan you give at the contact, so he reaches up a hand and covers your mouth and pushes into you in one firm, deep thrust.  His hand absorbs your moan as he mounts you, but he looses his own groan to be back inside your clenching heat.  You both freeze for a long moment—his cock twitching inside you, your cunt bearing down on him—but none of the guys make a noise, so you proceed as quietly as you can.

You’re not nearly quiet enough.

*****

Pope is woken by the sound of a thump, like a body hitting the floor. 

That’s exactly what it is:  Frankie yanking you off of the couch, and just as Pope starts to wake up, starts to swing around and put his feet on the floor, he hears a moan.

Ben sleeps like the dead and hears nothing:  not you and Frankie squabbling in whispers, not you and Frankie fucking, and not the furious clicking of Will in the other bed, texting back and forth with Pope.  He’s only woken up later.

Will hears everything.  He never fell asleep at all, only drowsed a bit, so he heard you and Frankie talking down below.

Then he hears the same thump as Pope, then the same moan.

His first thought is that Frankie has made you cry, that Frankie has said something mean enough to break that tough dam that holds back your emotions.  But then he hears a gasp (yours), a low chuckle (Frankie’s) and he realizes what he’s hearing.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out.  “No way.”

His cell phone, silenced, lights up with a message.  Will unlocks it and sees that it is Pope.

Please tell me I’m not hearing what I think I’m hearing, the text reads.

Will responds.  Not sure, he types.

Pope:  You got eyes on them???

Will:  No way

Pope:  Sounds like she’s crying. Need confirmation.

Will:  NO

Pope:  Ur in the loft.  Confirm.

Will sighs, mutters “fuck.”  It does sound like you’re crying and trying to hide it, breathy, bitten-back moans that could be crying or could be…you and Frankie fucking.

The former seems unlikely.  Will’s never seen you cry, and he thinks he’s only heard you once—a similar gasping sound, through a flimsy motel room wall in Central America as you made your way back to the States with Tom’s body.

The latter—the thought of you and Frankie fucking—seems even more unlikely.  Yet when he freezes, when he holds his own breath so long he hears his heart beating in his ears, Will swears he can hear the quiet rustling of fabric, heavy breathing that sounds more like Frankie.

He moves as slow as if he were on a mission.  He turns around on the trundle bed and crawls to the edge of it, a millimeter at a time.  He reaches the open doorway of the loft; there is no door, and it looks down at the first floor, and when he peers over the railing, he sees the two of you awash in silvery moonlight.

Frankie, on top of you.  Your knees on either side of Frankie’s hips, one hand gripping his curls at the nape of his neck, the other hand reaching down and grasping his ass, guiding him where he fucks into you in slow, deep strokes.

Will doesn’t know why he never saw it before.  This can’t be the first time between you—you move too well together.  The two of you have always grated against each other, but no one ever really thought it was hatred.  You and Frankie love each other in your own way, Will guesses, and maybe this is just a facet of that.

You helping Frankie get clean:  another facet of that love.

Frankie going silent at the thought of you dating Pope’s work buddy:  another facet of that love, perhaps?

Will retreats just as slowly.  He doesn’t want to ruin the moment, though he thinks he’ll need therapy to erase the vision of the two of you fucking from his mind.  He climbs back into bed carefully, then texts Pope.

She’s not crying, he types out. 

She’s not??? Pope replies.

Yeah, dude, Will types.  She and Fish are fucking.

Pope responds with a puking emoji first, but then he adds, FINALLY.

[harry-on-broadway]

Hopelessly Devoted

Word Count: 3.1K || Rating: M (contains sexual content)

A/N: So is everyone else still worked up over last night? 😅 Consider this a way to work through those feelings. (We’re also counting this as my entry in my own fic challenge lol My chosen prompt is bolded below). Happy reading! Would love to hear your thoughts!

***

“Remind me what you were last year,” you asked.

The question felt weird and it was hard to believe that Harry had been a stranger to you at this time last year given his constant presence in your life over the past ten months.

“Was Dorothy one night and a clown the next,” he said, voice gravelly from the combination of sleep and overuse.

“You set the bar pretty high for someone who supposedly hates Halloween,” you said affectionately, snuggling closer to him underneath the blankets.

“I try to be a good sport. You know, for Mitch” he replied, smirking and popping one eye open. “Get over here, you’re so far away.”

“Harry, if I was any closer I’d be on top of you.”

“Exactly! Get over here.” He lunged for you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you giggled into his shoulder. Once his grip was secure, he rolled back onto his side of the bed, pulling you with him. When he stopped moving, he opened his eyes and gazed up at you. “Hi…” he said softly.

“Can you give me another hint as to what you’re going to be this year? Is it another group costume?”

“You are relentless, woman!” Harry exclaimed, shaking his head. “What am I going to do with you?”

“You’re going to tell me what your costume is.”

“Nope,” he replied, pressing his lips against yours, hoping the gesture would placate you and halt the inquisition.

“If you won’t tell me, how are we supposed to do a couple’s costume?”

“Oh, are you planning on joining me on stage?”

“No,” you said quickly. “You know I’m not about that.”

“Then just be patient, love,” Harry said, moving his hand up your body to rub the back of your neck. “I think you’re going to be pleased with what you see tonight. Let’s just get breakfast now.” He released you and nudged you towards the edge of the bed. “How do you feel about scrambled eggs?”

Thanks to the weekend and a couple of well-deserved vacation days, you’d landed in Los Angeles on Thursday evening, ready for a weekend of shows and relaxation. You hadn’t done much else other than watch Harry perform, and he’d apologized for doing a poor job at playing host, explaining that he really needed his rest. You didn’t care though, it was a treat just to get to sit next to him.

You’d headed over to the arena with him in the afternoon, occupying yourself with your phone and making conversation with whoever was around as Harry went through soundcheck and warmed before retreating from the backstage area when he was told it was time to get dressed. “Have fun, love,” he said on his way out of the room. “I’ll be looking for you,” he added with a wink.  

With about an hour left until showtime, you took your time putting the finishing touches on your own costume. You’d opted for the easy way out, a version of Where’s Waldo, complete with a striped top and cap, and when you’d finished dressing you made your way into the arena and settled into the area cordoned off for friends and family to watch Ben’s set. When he’d finished, you settled for people watching around the arena.

It was fun to see what everyone was dressed as. Many had dressed up like Harry and there were even a few dressed up as Marvel characters. You checked your phone and saw that Harry and the rest of the band were running late, which made you nervous, even though you knew there wasn’t a reason to be. What did he have up his sleeve? Finally you saw Pauli and Elin come out of the tunnel and head to the stage in bright pink bomber jackets.

No. He wouldn’t dare.

You flashed back to a conversation you’d had several months ago. You were in his arms, sweat cooling on your bodies as you both tried to catch your breath.

“What’s your favorite movie?” he’d asked, chest rising and falling.

The question, while strange for the situation, didn’t catch you off guard. You’d grown used to Harry’s rapid fire question squeezed into every moment you all were able to salvage together.

“Grease,” you’d said without hesitation.

“Really?” he asked. Even without looking at him you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah, I think I was Sandy for like three Halloweens in a row. I used to ask my mom to let me watch the movie every day after school for a couple of years.”

“A couple of years?” he asked incredulously.

“What can I say? It’s a classic!” you said with a laugh. “I also had a bit of a crush on John Travolta. I was very disappointed when I learned that present day-Travolta didn’t look like 1978 Travolta.”

“Noted,” Harry had said, as he rolled back on top of you.

That was all you could think about as you watched Sarah, Yaffra, Mitch, and Ny-Oh file in. You’d counted their characters one-by-one, until you confirmed your suspicions about who Harry would be dressed as.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath as the lights dimmed and the concert’s intro began to play. You kept your eyes trained on the center of the stage, lit up by the spotlight, until you saw the trapdoor open and watched as Harry slowly emerged from the depths of the stage.

The first thing you saw was the wig, and you were only slightly ashamed that it made you feel the way you did, heat spreading through you, setting your body ablaze. The leather jacket and tight black pants had you breathless and you had to remind yourself to take a breath, lest you pass out in the middle of the Kia Forum. The confidence he oozed on a nightly basis was amplified by the outfit, which only drove you wilder. Based on the screams echoing through the building, you weren’t alone in that feeling.

Your eyes followed him as he pranced around the stage. You were brave enough to admit that your gaze was mostly alternating between his ass and – when he’d shed the leather jacket – his arms. You melted even further when you caught a glimpse of the big screen and saw that he had donned eyeliner as well.

A couple of songs in, he caught your eye and threw you a wink, his lips curling into a smile as he did so. The throngs of people in front of you all screamed, each thinking the gesture was directed at them, but you smiled at the knowledge that it was only for you.

The moment of your undoing was at the end of the show, when he tossed the jacket over his shoulder before leaving the stage, running through the tunnel of fans. When he’d disappeared behind the curtain, you and the rest of his team made your way backstage. Harry and the band were high-fiving and celebrating another show in the books, with someone, likely Pauli, starting to pour drinks for everyone. Harry reached for the cup, but stopped when he saw you enter the room, racing over and scooping you up in his arms.

“Surprised?” he whispered in your ear as he spun you around. “Was it worth the wait?” You nodded into his neck. “Why don’t we have a drink and then I’ll get changed and we can head home.”

“How about we have a drink and head home and you keep this on?” you said, surprising yourself with your boldness.

“You –?” Harry pulled back to get a better look at you. “This is really doing it for you?” he asked, throat bobbing.

“Thought you knew I’d always had a thing for Danny?”

“I mean – I didn’t think it was in that way, but hell, I’ll take it,” he grinned. “Tell you what, why don’t we just skip the drink and get out of here.”

“I’d love that plan,” you said. “Don’t forget the jacket,” you added, kissing him gently.

Harry’s eyes widened and you laughed as he all but scampered across the room, grabbing his jacket and offering quick goodbyes to everyone around him.

“Ready?” he asked you, eyes clearer and more focused than they were moments ago. After an affirming nod from you, he took your hand in his and pulled you towards the exit. There was an electricity in the air during the drive home, marred only by Harry’s occasional muttering of “for fuck’s sake” when you hit a tricky bit of traffic, but you made good time and were pulling into his garage before midnight.

He led you through the maze of hallways, not bothering to turn on a light until you reached the bedroom. Once inside the room, he pulled you close to him and placed a searing kiss against your lips. It was surprisingly tame, but you knew he was just trying to control himself ahead of what was sure to be a memorable evening.

“Give me a sec?” he asked when you parted. “I just want to freshen up.”

You nodded, and sat on the bench at the end of the bed where he tossed the jacket next to you. Harry closed the bathroom door behind him and you were left alone in the quiet, empty room. Stretching, you looked down, suddenly aware that Waldo was not the best outfit for setting the mood. You pulled at the shirt trying to expose more of your cleavage before giving up. Your eyes landed on Harry’s leather jacket next to you and an idea formed.

You shed your striped top, rummaging through the suitcase beside the dresser for some of the sexier undergarments you’d packed for this exact occasion before settling on a pair of lacy underwear. You removed the rest of your clothes, replacing your everyday cotton briefs with the red garment and pulled Harry’s jacket on top of your naked torso so that it just covered your bare breasts.

You heard the click of the bathroom door latch and jumped. “Don’t come in!” you shouted.

“Um, OK…” Harry said suspiciously.

You took a look in the mirror surveying yourself and your new outfit for any imperfections, but were largely pleased with what you saw.

“OK, you can come in now,” you said, adjusting your hair so that it fell just right. You arched your back as you leaned against the wall, praying that the pose you settled on was more sexy than awkward. “Tell me about it, stud,” you said in the sultriest voice you could manage as Harry walked in.

Harry stared at you. “What’s this then?”

“That is my line, right?” you giggled, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious over your attempt at seduction.

“You’re fucking right that’s your line,” Harry said, voice low and deep with desire as he crossed the room in three strides and pressed you against the wall. “Say it, again,” he said against your lips.

“Stud,” you whispered, soft and slow.

“Fuck,” he hissed against your skin. You could feel a hardness below his belt as he pressed his full body weight against you.

“Do you like this?” you asked.

“What do you think?” he replied, wrapping one of his hands around your neck and pulling you forward to meet his lips. He closed the gap between you all with a ferocity you’d never experienced. He nipped at your lips, parting them just enough to slot his tongue in between them and you moaned at the intrusion.

Mouths occupied, his free hand traced its way up your waist before settling on your breast. The tip of his index finger ghosted over your nipple in a slow, teasing circle, causing it to harden underneath of his touch. Your breathing quickened and he increased the pace of his circles to match your breath before stopping.

You made a wounded noise at the loss of the sensation but gasped when his mouth replaced his fingers and you felt a jolt of pleasure throughout your entire body. His mouth was hot and wet against the skin of your breast and you tried to stay in the moment and memorize the feel of him on your body. His other hand landed on your left breast and he repeated the sequence.

Without breaking contact, Harry looked up at you as he continued his attack on your breasts, feeling his cock harden even more as he took in the look of pure ecstasy on your face. He was quite confident in his abilities in the bedroom, but he didn’t think he’d ever caused you to come undone this quickly before.

“Harry,” you panted, interrupting his reverie.

“Yes?”

“I need –” you started.

“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me what you need.”

You took a shaky breath. “I need your mouth on my clit.”

Harry bit his lip, closed his eyes, and willed himself not to cum on the spot. You were never shy about what you wanted during sex, but were also rarely this direct, opting for subtle corrections or guidance. When he’d calmed himself, he looked back up at you. “Your wish is my command.”

He kissed down your body, leaving a wet trail down your stomach and ribs, continuing to kiss around your thighs, pulling them apart to better position himself at your center. His hands drifted to your hips and he slowly pulled your panties down until they pooled around your ankles. With nothing between you and him, he brought his hands underneath your ass to pull you close to his face, relishing how the feel of your skin under his palms and the hem of the leather jacket surrounded him in softness.

You placed one of your hands in his hair, ready to push him to you, but he dove in without preamble before you could make a move. He lapped at your wet folds clearly avoiding the one spot you most wanted him.

“Don’t be a tease,” you whined, hating how desperate you sounded.

“You know you like it,” he shot back, and as infuriating as it was, he was absolutely right.

You were relaxing into his touch, growing somewhat content with the feeling and trying to ignore the desire that was pulsing within you. Which is why you were caught off guard when he suddenly locked his lips around your clit, dragging his teeth gently along the sensitive skin.

You yelped with pleasure and felt your knees go weak at the sensation. Harry tightened his arms around you, which served the dual purpose of keeping you upright and bringing his face deeper between your legs, which in turn only intensified the waves of satisfaction that were ricocheting through your body.

“Harry, I’m – oh!”

You knew it was coming, but your orgasm still surprised you, in both its intensity and duration. Harry didn’t falter throughout it, keeping his ministrations steady as he helped you ride it out, only pulling away when he could feel your breathing start to even out.

“Easy there,” he said when you tried to step back on unsteady legs.

You sank down the wall before settling into his lap and kissing him, long, hard, and deep. “Your turn,” you said, pulling away and resting your forehead against his. As you looked into his eyes, you saw that the eyeliner on his waterline had grown smudged from the sweat that dotted his face. “What do you want, baby?”

“I want you,” he said, hands once again finding your ass. “On top. Want to see you.”

You smiled, and eased up onto your knees. “Well, I think these are in the way,” you said, fingering the button of his pants, and pulling the tight garment down his legs, throwing them and his briefs behind you. His shirt was next and once he was completely naked below you, you started to shrug off the jacket you were still wearing.

“No. Leave it,” he said, pulling it back up your shoulders.

His cock was jutting proud, red, and already leaking against his stomach, but you gave him a few tentative strokes anyways as you slid the condom on him, enjoying the way his face contorted with pleasure alongside your touch. Satisfied, you lifted your hips once again and sank down onto him. You were already wet, so you took him with little resistance, but even with that it was still a tight fit and you swallowed thickly when he was fully inside you. You took a moment to savor the sensation that only Harry – not your hand or some toy – could give you.

After a moment, you moved up and down, testing the waters, while Harry hissed below you. You leaned over top of him, your breasts pressed against his chest, the loose flaps of the jacket hanging open over top of your bodies, and you tentatively rolled your hips, slow at first, but building speed until you found a pace that felt manageable for you and good for Harry based on the sounds he was emitting.

“Do you like this?” you asked him. He nodded. “Tell me,” you said. “Tell me how good I’m making you feel.”

“So good. So fucking good, baby,” he rambled beneath you. The ragged sound of his breathing and the incoherence of his thoughts indicated that he was close. You knew what he needed and leaned down once more and kissed him, wet and sloppy, and seconds later you felt him stiffen and spill over inside of you. You continued to kiss him, loving the way he moaned against your lips, and when he was done, you lifted off of him and laid down next to him.

He stared up at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. “I–. You –. Fuck,” he finally said.

“Love you too, Harry,” you replied. You shifted next to him, taking off the leather jacket which was now sticking to you uncomfortably. Completely naked, you shivered as the AC kicked on, drying the sweat on your body.

Sensing your discomfort, Harry pulled you into him, gently rubbing your back. “This was a great treat, love,” he said. “Not sure next year will be able to top this.”

“Next year?” You knew you both were happy in the relationship and had no plans for anything to change, but hearing him talk so casually about the future did something to you. Maybe it was the hormones, but you were suddenly overcome by an intense wave of affection for the man lying next to you.

“Yeah,” Harry said confidently, turning to look at you. “You’re the only one for me and I hope I make that clear to you every day.”

“Hopelessly devoted,” you said, with a light chuckle.

“Hopelessly devoted to you, love.”

***

talk to me! 

[shhh-secret-time]

Hi lovey! I would never pass up an opportunity to request something from you, you are litro my fav writer on here ^_^ Obsessed with the way you perfectly capture the love in your polyam stuff, can we get Style x fem reader with some fluffy and soft lovemaking👀 Aaaa I’d just die for that!

Lots of love from a loyal reader, take care of yourself 💘✨

Me? Me am favorite? Why?! You bless me with the sweet words. I hope I continue to serve.

Also happy Kyle Week guys! We stan a silly man in love! I had a blast writing this one!

Warning: NSFW, Strong Language, F/M/M, Threesome, Pillow violence.

Pairings: Stan x Fem!Reader x Kyle

It's the pressure on his chest that stirs him. At first it was gentle, almost comforting in a way, but now it's too much. Every time he takes a breath it's strained. Kyle doesn't need to open his eyes to know what the source of his discomfort is, he already knows.

Stanley Marsh was a cuddler. It wasn't a secret the man was the most touch starved human being in South Park, but some imaginary pride kept him from acting on it in public. Behind closed doors the man had to be touching Kyle constantly, especially if it was bedtime.

"Dude you can't break the nighttime routine. Hurry up and get your ass in this bed. I'm tired!"

"Then go to bed Stan! Just because you don't care about your skin's health doesn't mean I have to neglect mine!"

It would be one thing if it was just Stan, unfortunately he wasn't alone. You were just as bad, if not worse. Kyle couldn't recall any moment in his shared relationship with you and Stan if you were ever warm. Not a day went by that you didn't complain about being cold.

"Kyle, sweetheart, love of my life, sun in my sky, light of my-"

"Yes, you can use my hoodie and my sweatpants."

A part of him feels bad; because as he cracks open his eyes, letting that early morning light hit the greens of his eyes, you both look so peaceful on his chest. Nothing in this world ever makes him feel so at peace than when he catches his lovers cuddles up against him. Stan tucked into his side; face nuzzled into the crook of neck with a heavy arm wrapped around his chest. You under that arm, slotted between his legs with your head resting just below his heart.

No, he can't think of anything more perfect. One of the many perks of being an early riser. He'd never tell either of you how he lies here for the first ten minutes of his day just admiring your sleeping forms. The way your hair clung to your face or how you would mumble under your breath, letting him know what kind of dreams you were having. Or how Stan's lips would curl up into a smile when he placed a kiss on his forehead. It was adorable that he could give him a dorky smile in his sleep, even with that trail of drool rolling down the side of his chin.

Kyle could deal with the sore arm and crushed lungs, not even the sweat bothered him. But the one thing Kyle couldn't stand being was being late, he couldn't stand it when his schedule was thrown off. If the shrill screaming alarm went off, it meant it was time to get up. Time to start his day and get work done so he can come home to the both of you as quickly as possible. Do the work, get the reward. That anxiety of keeping anyone waiting for him or being late for something was too strong to ignore.

So, what was he to do when his alarm went off and his two partners wouldn't move. Normally the alarm at least stirred you off him, made Stan roll over and give him room to get up. Something about this chilly Thursday morning kept you both glued to your spots. If anything, Kyle thinks he felt Stan's muscles twitch and his arm slide down towards his waist, tightening his hold on him. Your smaller frame moving closer to the source of warmth, sliding your cold little hands under his shirt. He couldn't tell if you were secretly awake and punishing him for even thinking about moving, or if you were just innocently still asleep. Either way that damn alarm wouldn't stop screaming.

With a huff, he moves his free arm across your body and makes a grab for the phone. Stan's eye, the one not buried in the crook of his neck, cracks open and he swats Kyle's hand. Sleep still trapped in his eyes, Stan fumbles with the device making it stop its cry for attention. He misses the glare Kyle shoots his way.

"Stop movin'." Stan's grumbled words make it sound like he's not asking, but Kyle wasn't having it.

"You know I need to get up. Now come on, let me get up." Kyle goes to move you off his chest and into Stan's arms. He figures you both can keep each other warm and comfortable so he can get up to start his day.

"Stop moving..." You whine in response to him trying to get up. He lets out the softest grunt when you push on his chest.

His brows furrow when he's pushed back down onto the bed. Kyle's back hits the plush of the bed making the headboard knock against the wall. If this kind of behavior was done on the weekend, he would have found it kind of adorable that you're both being so whiney. It did make Kyle feel loved that he was wanted, but being loved doesn't pay the bills or excuse irresponsibility.

So, he tries again, moves his arm out from under Stan and wraps it around you. In your sleepy haze you think he's going to give you a hug and give into the snuggling. You should have known better, should have remembered that Kyle was a stubborn man. Kyle twists his body in Stan's hold and uses you as a shield. Moving you into the arms of the raven-haired man, which Stan almost falls for. It's instinct at this point for Stan to hold you.

As much as he clings to Kyle, Stan clings to you. He loves picking you up and taking you away from whatever you're working on for cuddles. You don't fight him nearly as much as Kyle does and you get his warmth, it's a win-win. You huff in response, how dare that man use you and Stan's weakness against you.

"Kyle...noooo! Come back to bed." Your hands fly out to grab at his pajama shirt, tugging on the material.

"Don't give me that. I already told Stan I need to get up, you heard my alarm I know you did." The scolding in Kyle's tone dies when he sees how sweet you look. Even Stan looks adorable with his messy hair and baby blue eyes.

How dare you use his weakness for puppy dog eyes against him. The only defense he can think of is to turn his head and twist his body away from cute kryptonite. Turning his back on you proved to be his downfall. As soon as he did Stan's arm was around his waist, pulling him back against him again. You slipped around his body as if this was a coordinated attack. You moved your hands up his chest and locked them lazily around his neck.

"You're both horrible! God damn it Stan let me go! And you-" Kyle's protests come with a healthy scowl, one he's sure you're not taking seriously. "-you stop helping him!"

"Just five more minutes, please!" You whisper pleading, almost begging.

He knows better. Kyle knows better than to say yes because it won't be five minutes. It'll turn into ten, and that ten will turn to twenty. He'll be trapped here until Stan's alarm goes off, where he'll lay there watching him hit snooze three times. By then he'll have hit the fourth and Kyle will be late for work.

"No. I warned you both last night not to stay up and watch Castlevania." Despite his complaints, Kyle finds his body starting to melt back into the bed. His muscles don't tense as they should. His hands don't pry you away from him and instead find home on your hips. He even lets Stan intertwine his legs with his.

"Hmm, you're just grumpy Stan and I watched it without you." You hum in response, pressing a soft kiss on one of the stray freckles on his neck.

"Hm." Stan doesn't seem to register the conversation you're having, just grunting to tell you he's still awake. And that he really doesn't want to be.

"I'm not upset that you- wait you watched it all?"

".... No?" You muffle your lie in his skin, trying to hide the growing smile creeping across your face.

"You little shit!" He goes to bite down on your neck, squirming out of Stan's hold just enough to pin your wrists back by your head.

Squeals and kicks aren't enough to get him to stop. He rolls you over until you’re flat on your back, being late for work is a distant thought. Not when you just ratted yourself and Stan out. A betrayal like this can't go unpunished. Try as you might, you can't fight back Kyle's light-hearted wrath. His hands are up and under your shirt before you can blink, squeezing and tickling the sides of your stomach.

"Stan! Stan, help meeee! He did it too! Get him!" One minute you're begging to be saved, the next you're trying to drag him down with you. Gasping loudly as you try to catch your breath in between giggles.

Stan grumbles something now more awake since all that kicking, you're doing landed his way. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes before registering what you just said. A little smirk playing on his lips and instead of coming to your aid, he props himself up on his elbow.

"He'll get his! Don't you worry!" Stan's smirk drops. Kyle cuts him off like he knows Stan was about to protest. "Stanley Marsh don't you even try and get out of this!"

Luckily for you Kyle's assault stops long enough for you to scramble away and catch your breath. Your heels dig into the bed, hands fumbling the pillow beside you. Anything to keep distance between Kyle and your sore sides. You watch as Stan sits up, giving Kyle a loving look. Slowly a hand cups Kyle's hips, soft digits rubbing circles in a way that allows him to dip them past the band of Kyle's sweatpants. The Marsh Charm™ is in full effect.

"Kyle...dude look we can watch it again. And we'll get all the satisfaction of watching your cute face react to the stuff we already know." Stan lets his voice dip low, sweet whispers against the shell of his ear.

"Yeah? To the stuff you already know?" Kyle leans into his touch, lips getting closer towards Stan's. He's close enough that Stan's eyelids lower down, breath ghosting across his partner's lips.

"Hm-m."

The poor fool. You almost feel bad for Stan. The Marsh Charm™ is but a candle to the roaring fire that is the Broflovski Wrath™. As soon as Kyle brushes his lips across Stan's lips, and the man's shoulders drop, a pillow is swung hard against the side of his head. Out of left field a flash of blue and white stripes slam into the side of Stan's head. Hovering over him in triumph, Kyle continues his attack. Stan's arms come up to defend his face from the memory foam, each wack making a thump against his head.

"I.don't.want.your.shitty.excuses!" Each word comes with a healthy swing. Kyle was on a warpath now. Denied the right to get up and get his morning coffee. Denied the right to a warm shower to wash the sleep out of his eyes. Denied the right to whatever else his morning routine demanded. And now he was denied any happiness that would have come with watching a silly Netflix animated series with the loves of his life.

Once he's decided Stan's had enough, he falls back onto the bed and sighs. He didn't need to look at his phone, there was no doubt in his mind that he was going to be late. So, he tosses the pillow onto Stan's face, who had just let his guard down again, and curls up next to you. Right back in the middle where you both had him moments ago.

"Fine. You win. The both of you are terrible, awful influences and when I get fired, you'll have no one to blame but yourselves." You and Stan both know that would never happen. The company Kyle worked for needed him badly, and he almost never called out of work.

When he closes his eyes, he expects the both of you to return to your spots. Reaping the sweet reward of a few more minutes of shut eye, basking in the warmth of his body like you always do. And in a way, you do. You and Stan take your positions against him, with you pressed up against his chest and Stan against his back.

Only you don't rest your head on his chest, instead he feels your hands playing with the metal snap buttons on his shirt. He feels Stan's hands playing with the hem of his pants again, hooking a thumb in the band of the sweats. Stan tugs him back against him just as your fingers pop a button open. The little snap makes his eyes shoot open.

"Someone's grumpy~"

"Are you mad at us baby?"

That purr in your voice and that little laugh that comes from Stan tells him that neither of you had any plans of going back to sleep. Kyle feels Stan's nails dig into his hips and can't help but groan a little at the pain. Those pretty sounds from his lips make Stan's cock jump up at attention, the borrowed basketball shorts do little to hide his growing arousal. Chapped lips trail down Kyle's neck, brushing up against the pulse point on his throat. Kyle's head lulls back expecting Stan to bite down, but all it does is open him up for Stan's lips to continue exploring.

He's so wrapped up in the way Stan makes him feel that he barely registers it when you push his shirt down. The shirt folds and slides down towards his elbows where you leave it. Your lips almost meet Stan's at the same point on his body, right on his shoulder where more freckles cover his skin. When your lips brush against Stan's you let out the sweetest laugh, one Kyle can feel make his heart speed up.

"Was here first~" Stan smirks down at you, nipping at your bottom lip. "I left his neck for you."

You giggle again and push your lips up against his as if to silence him with a kiss. You weave a response in between kisses. "You're the biter Stan, you take his neck."

"Don't talk like I'm- ah!" Kyle yelps when your teeth sink into his chest, right below his collarbone. It cuts his complaints short and turns it into a loud moan.

It's Stan's turn to laugh, a hint of pride in that deep sound. His thumb brushes over the bright red mark left behind, admiring it with a grin. He presses his lips back onto Kyle's skin right at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

"F..Fucking Christ you two. What happened to five more minutes?" Kyle gasps at the warmth left behind Stan's tongue.

"Stan and I had other ideas! You seemed so upset that we did something without you." As sweet as you sounded, the way your nails scraped down his chest and stomach made Kyle groan. "Now we're doing something with you. Isn't this better Ky?"

He wants to respond with a snarky comment, to gain some sense of control over the situation, but his head is spinning. He should be used to this by now, how you and Stan make him feel. But every kiss and hot breath that ghosts his skin makes his heart flutter, it makes him fall that much deeper in love. Especially when he hears praise after praise falls from your lips.

"So pretty."

Was he really? Kyle looked at himself in the mirror that was connected to your dresser. His face was flushed, and his hair was a mess.

"Love those sounds Ky."

His moans? Or the whimpers? Both? He couldn't stop them if he tried.

"Keep you rockin' your hips like that fuck you feel so good."

Just a little friction, something to help relieve his throbbing cock. Something to help Stan's that pushed him forward, forcing his cock to grind against the thin material of your underwear.

"Let’s get this off you."

The desperate whine that escapes his lips turns into a gasp when Stan pushes his sweats down. Your hands follow close behind pushing down his boxers leaving him in nothing but that sleep shirt still draped on his arms. Stan moves his hands off his hips for a moment, he feels the man shift behind him and soon the rustling of clothes close behind. But a second later he feels Stan's arousal against his.

His cock slides up between his legs pressing up against his. Kyle bites his bottom lip as he reaches down to grasp both members in his hand. Deft fingers wrap around them and begin pumping slowly, creating delicious friction. When Stan moans lowly and jerks his hips, it encourages him to go faster. Pre-cum being smeared in-between his hand and their shafts. It was messy but it made him feel so good, so good he didn't want to stop. He could feel that pressure building, pleasure rocking in his stomach in time with Stan's clumsy thrusts. He tightens his hand, squeezing the tips just as his hand comes back up.

It wasn't until he felt Stan's desperate hands grab at his wrist that he realized just how close he was. The hot pleasure that he was building up simmered down to a low heat. Tiny beads of sweat already forming on his chest and down his arms. When he looked down at you, you seemed to be enjoying the show.

Your fingers were dancing up and down his stomach, causing the skin to flex in response. He watched as they traced up towards Stan's arms and up back behind Kyle's head.

"We have all morning now Ky. Relax~ let's take it slow." Stan purred in his ear, low and soft. He felt his face burry into the crook of his neck again.

Kyle closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. Still, that didn't stop him from seeking out something to help his aching cock. He pulls you closer towards his frame, feeling your thighs instinctively spreading enough to where he can slot himself between. A moan escapes you as he slips his fingers down the hem of your underwear. He slips his fingers past the band, immediately seeking out your wetness. Kyle coats his fingers before placing them straight along your clit.

Your hips start to move in sync with his fingers. Grinding against the calloused fingertips, trying to create more friction. The angel of his hand and the fact that you were the only one still dressed made that difficult.

"Help me take this off."

You sound so desperate, how could he not? Hurriedly he removes his fingers from your cunt to assist you in removing what clothes you still had on. As soon as they were thrown off to the side, creating some pile in the corner of your shared bedroom, his fingers were back on you.

The only time his fingers stop their assault is when he feels your body tense. They sneak down, drenching in slick, he pushes them inside of you. Pulling his fingers out of you just enough to where he can slide them back inside. He creates a repetitive motion, curling his fingers against the sweet spot of your walls.

Stan watches from behind him with a humming approval. His own hand reaches out and grips your chin, bringing you closer. Your lips lock together for a brief moment. Gentle soft kisses that come with a warm smile. Your bodies pressed firmly against Kyle.

Stan gives you one last lazy peck on the lips before he moves his hand back down to Kyle's thigh. He nudges his legs open just enough to slip his hard cock up against his backside. There's a moment where he pulls away but it's only a breath. He twists his body back with a small blue bottle of clear gel.

Seconds later he repositions himself behind Kyle. It's like every moan you let out only encourages him. After putting a healthy amount of lube on his cock, Stan aligns himself back up against him. He takes the time to lather the cold gel onto his hole before gently pushing himself in. Kyle slightly winces in response, his body tensing but as he focuses on fingers on you, he relaxes.

"That's it Ky. Relax. I'm gonna make you feel so good." His sweet words coax him. Kyle can only bite his lip and nod.

At the same time, you pull his hand out of your soaked cunt. His fingers coated in your arousal. You smile up at him when his eyes fly down to you. He's worried for a moment, but that look of love and admiration in your eyes makes him relax.

Not wanting you to go far from him, Kyle wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you back against him. He copies Stan's movements and lifts your thigh, tossing your leg over his hip where Stan takes your ankle.

His hand going down to spread your lips where he eagerly guides his tip inside, you both sigh a relieving sigh at the feeling of it. A deep groan sounded from him and Stan both, once he's fully sheathed inside you. Stan rocks his hips forward, pushing in and out carefully. He tries to keep things slow, concentrating on pleasuring you just as much as Stan's giving him.

But the minute he rocks into you, being carried by Stan's momentum, he's commenting on his own desire. "More. Please, hurry up."

You roll your hips in response, hands flying out to be tangled up in his hair. There's that silent conversation that goes on between you and Stan again, one that he can't follow because of how much of a daze he's in. Stan presses a kiss on his cheek, you press one on his chest.

"Anything for you baby." It's the way your voice dips into a sultry purr and the way Stan's hands grab hips. "Like when you beg."

Kyle's seeing stars.

The delicious sounds and desperate use of his name almost sends him overboard. Stan's grip tightens and he picks up his movements, fucking him at a steady pace. Every time Stan drives his cock into him, it pushes his own further into you. Tight walls wrapped around his dick perfectly, like it was made for him.

Your walls stretch and pull him. Accommodating for the thick size, each thrust reaching further inside. Kyle nudges every sweet spot he can to pull more moans from you. The sound of wet skin on skin filled the room. A perfect rhythm and dance created.

It isn't until his name comes out in a choked cry that he knows how close you are. He hits a particular spot that had your vision turning white. That feeling of hot pressure shoots up through your body and down to your feet, you arch your back determined to have him repeat the action. "Th-there! Right there again! Please!"

Drawn-out moans escape his throat encouraging Stan to go faster and him to thrust harder. Your arms wrap around his neck bringing him down for another kiss. Stan's gaze makes it all the hotter, as he patiently waits for his turn. Once you break for air, Kyle doesn't get that luxury because Stan's mouth his on his before he can breathe. Each kiss makes him feel more and more loved.

Kyle has to break the kiss to breathe. To catch his breath and stop the room from spinning. The lack of air leads to the growing pressure building up in his stomach again. He's so close, he can feel his stomach tighten. That familiar warmth pooling at his stomach. He knew Stan was close from the way his hips were beginning to lose their steady rhythm. He wants to hold out. Find a way to cum together, he's not sure why he wants that so badly, but he does.

In seconds of wishful thinking, he feels your body start to tense. Your orgasm building higher and higher, walls constricting around his cock. Kyle watches your eyes flutter shut as a high-pitched whine escapes your lips.

"Close- 'm so close! Gonna cum!"

"Fu-fuck!"

Then like a band stretched too far. He snaps. Kyle lets his climax take over, spilling his load inside of you. The sight alone makes Stan follow shortly after. With a final thrust he buries himself deep inside of him, tightening his arms as he does. Between his blunt nails digging into your thighs and the lazy thrusts, you follow shortly after.

Kyle's heart was racing so loudly it was all he could hear past the soft panting. The out of breath chest heaving up and down in time with one another. He's never felt more connected to anyone before. Through his glossy vision he watches as you're the first to move, slipping off his softening cock. Stan follows behind pulling out of him slowly. Why was his body so spent? He felt so exhausted at that moment.

Your gentle hands move to help clean him, and Stan lifts him up enough to where he's back on his pillows. They've never felt so soft in that moment. He lets his eyes close, and he feels the weight of it all.

"Mm... give… give me a minute and I'll get up." Kyle mumbles in the fluff of the pillows.

"Okay baby. Stan and I are gonna make breakfast. That sound good?"

He doesn't respond. Even his mouth feels too heavy to talk. He just nods and decides to give himself five more minutes. Then he'll get up, grab a cup of coffee, and start his day.

[mossmotif]

uni au (i.shoko)

“When’s the last time you ate something?”

Shoko walks to your study table without any introduction. The chair she untucks makes a loud noise against the old wood of the library floor and she’s swallowed into her winter coat when she sits down. 

She’s always too lazy to take it off, ends up all bunched in the fabric and hot by the time she has to get up and head to her next class. It messes up her hair slightly, frayed and tucked into different parts of the thick cloth. You wonder when she’s going to trim it next. 

“Not really sure,” you reply. You don’t look up at her as you speak, face buried into the screen of your computer and hand wrapped the abused stem of a pencil. Its eraser is missing and you’ve broken off the pocket clip. Shoko keeps nagging you about switching over to pens, but you really don’t see how they would fix any of your problems; plus your pages smudge a hell of a lot more whenever you do. 

“This morning?” You try again, vaguely remembering heading off somewhere early before your afternoon class. Although, something about that memory doesn’t feel very right.

You feel Shoko shaking her head somehow. You don’t know, maybe at one point through your hectic week you developed some sort of sixth Shoko-centric sense. You know exactly how she’s looking at you right now, tired, annoyed, weirdly attentive in that blasé way of hers. 

“Do you even know what day it is?” She prods hypocritically.

You finally look up from your laptop then, catching sight of her own sorry state. Her frizzy hair, the forgotten reading glasses on her head, the bruised color beneath her eyes, the ink smudged across the meat of her outer palm. Her lips are dry. There’s the ghost of red tinting her pale cheeks, the ones she’s been biting the flesh of since midterm week began. Each time she does it, a large dimple is forced onto her face. You remember pinching them to get her to stop once. 

“Do you?” you ask. 

A pause follows. She risks a glance at her watch. 

“Wow,” you drawl through a scoff. 

Shoko huffs before rolling her eyes, another faux dimple in her cheek.

“I couldn’t pick between Thursday or Friday.”

“Thursday would be correct,” you chime. 

“Thank you,” she replies ungraciously. 

Another pause.

Truthfully, you gave up getting anything done as soon as you felt her walk through those stupidly heavy doors. Any tab still open or stationary held in your distracted hands has been part of a performance you’ve been playing for what feels like has been longer than two measly months. 

She disorientates any sense of focus you have. Which is exactly why you’ve been avoiding doing all this work in the comfort of your dorm and hauling your ass to the library this early in the first place. 

Your work always seems so especially bland when she’s in the room.  

You sigh, beginning to pack up your things and tucking in your chair before approaching her still seated figure. 

Her chin tilts up as you speak down to her. 

“What are you feeling?” you ask. 

“A drink,” she replies immediately, trying and failing to find the glasses still hanging on her head.

You roll your eyes. “You can wash it down with a breakfast sandwich then.” 

Reaching up to her head and plucking her glasses away from their misplacement, you can’t help but wonder what she was doing in this part of the library in the first place. Doesn’t she usually head straight for the study rooms with Utahime? 

The question doesn’t make it out of you before you’re forced to try and stop her from haggling with Suguru about the price of their food while other students stand in line behind you. By the time she’s practically bullied Suguru into potentially losing his part time job, the taste of the warm food and the feeling of her foot hooked around your ankle beneath the table has you forgetting about it all together. 

a short little smth i felt like doing b4 going to sleep, totally unedited sorry about that i'll fix it later <3

creds to @/cosmophoriia for the dialogue prompt :D