#more drowning him in champagne please

[f1-birb]

he's got the drowned hamster look but boy does it look good

[jeonsweetpea]

The Moon Knows Our Secrets (1)

Exes to Lovers!AU | Hybrid!Jungkook x Hybrid!OC | Soulmate!AU

genre: angst, smut, exes to lovers, vampire/werewolf hybrid (emphasis on werewolf), soulmates, forced proximity

rating: explicit

description: He doesn’t remember loving you. How could he, when you’re the one who erased his memories? You run into him a year later at a wedding. The year after that he’s reported missing and you go off to find him. Then you wonder: did he ever forget you?

word count: 9.1k

warnings: blood, blood-drinking, one injury, flirting, TXT is mentioned and they’re horny brats but protective!JK swoops in, ANGST, mentions of compulsion, past deaths, JK smokes for like, one second, fire, resentment, but trust me, they will fall for each other all over again, two-shot 💖

smut warnings: OC goes into HEAT at the worst time, kissing, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, squirting, overstimulation, (more intense smut to come in part 2)

a/n: This is an epilogue for my series Moonstruck (inspired by TVD), but it can be read as a STAND-ALONE! You do not have to read Moonstruck (but it will be more satisfying if you have 😉). I love this couple and they deserve their (steamy) happy ending. They both embody the “right person, wrong place.”

Part 1 | Part 2 |

“You’re going to forget the fact you ever loved me. I’m just the girl who had a crush on you and trained with you, nothing more. I want you to live your life freely. If we ever cross paths again, don’t approach me. When I’m ready, I’ll come to you and you can decide then if you’ll have me. You’ll remember then. I love you, Jungkook.”

You first saw him again at a wedding.

When you arrive at the venue, your eyes scan the sea of strangers for him like an automated response. You clutch onto the chain of your purse, the tight squeeze in your chest never seeming to disappear. Once you’re sure of his absence, the tension in your shoulders fades.

Round tables are arranged around a central dance floor, so you sit at the closest one, joining in the crowd’s applause despite not knowing what’s happening. The happy couple is swaying to romantic jazz music played by the live band, their adoring smiles perfectly matched.

“What did I miss?”

Your old classmate chuckles when she notices your presence, using her fingers to count as she lists off her answers. “The ring bearer, flower girl, the da-da-da-da piano introduction, the vows, the kiss, the first dance—so pretty much everything. Surprised to see you here.”

So are you. It took you hours of hyping yourself up before deciding to attend. You never RSVP-ed properly, allocating all your time to getting ready instead. Not that you had anyone to impress, but it’s a wedding. Sweatpants weren’t going to cut it.

“Can everyone please have a seat? We’re going to hear the best man give his speech!” That authoritative voice belonged to Kim Namjoon, the headmaster of BTSU (Be The Supernatural University). His dimple smile emerges when he notices you and he waves excitedly, dropping the microphone in the process. 

You giggle. “See? I didn’t miss everything, Lia.”

She hands you a glass of champagne, then clinks the glass against your own. “Okay, Ms. Fashionably Late. At least you look hot.”

The guests take their seats while the couple sits at the head table near the dance floor. There’s a small stage next to them and on it is a microphone stand under a beautifully decorated archway. A blanket of silence washes over the crowd as anticipation rises, but the best man is nowhere to be found. Murmurs spread quickly as heads turn in confusion.

“I’m here, I’m here!”

You don’t have to look to know who that voice belonged to. The glass in your hand trembles, on the brink of shattering under your tightening grip. Your mouth parts open in shock, your heart rate beating so loudly that it rings in your ears, drowning out the noise of the crowd’s applause as the so-called best man gets on stage. 

Jeon Jungkook — your ex-boyfriend.

Could you even call him your ex? Your history was, in a word, complicated. Boyfriend and girlfriend weren’t labels you two were fortunate enough to share. Bound by trauma, forced into despair, crippled with pain — the “relationship” in question was toxic. 

“You’re going to forget the fact you ever loved me…”

A hybrid had many advantages — compulsion included. With one look, you ordered him to forget having loved you and then left. Traveling the world healed you and the thought of returning to your college campus never once crossed your mind until a year later.

Your old professor sent you a text — a wedding invitation to be specific. Though the gesture was sweet, you preferred staying blissfully ignorant. You almost deleted it. However, F.O.M.O was a crippling feeling, so you ultimately gave in. 

You were aware the chances of running into Jungkook were high, but that’s why you arrived late on purpose. You had let your guard down too easily, assuming he might’ve left early or not bother showing up at all. What a fool. 

The fairy lights strung across the venue illuminate him with a gorgeous golden glow as he steps onto the stage. You hold your breath as the world seems to slow down, taking in his features. 

His hair used to be longer and shaggier; you teased him for having a mop-head back then (lovingly). Now it’s half long, with shaved sides and a slight mullet. He wore a simple white shirt, layered with a classic black blazer and matching dress pants. Several square box chains surrounded his neck, complimenting his silver hoop earrings and lip ring (when did he get that?). His accessories sparkle under the lights, almost blinding, as if he were a living filter. 

Damn. He’s only gotten more gorgeous. 

Jungkook quickly adjusts the microphone stand to his height, then presents a bunny-tooth grin. “Hello everyone! Sorry, I’m late. I had forgotten my script.” He shakes the index cards in his hands gently, causing a ripple of laughter through the crowd. “It’s an honor being both Hoseok and Yoongi’s best man.”

Jung Hoseok was your old classmate, who used to be the alpha of the werewolf pack senior year. But then along came Jungkook, who stole the title from beneath him after challenging him to a duel. Funny how he is now his best man. 

Min Yoongi was the one who invited you, a research assistant at your university. If you had to describe him in a phrase, it’d be: “Actions speak louder than words.” You knew his intentions when he sent the invitation, so you had to come and support him the same way he’s done for you. 

Jungkook peers down at his script before placing a hand on the microphone. 

“I’ve known Yoongi and Hoseok for years now and their love is truly special. They’re often private with their affection, but we know how they would go out of their way for each other. My favorite part is whenever Hoseok compliments Yoongi, he’d—”

“AaarrghhH!!!” The obnoxious scream is from Yoongi himself, who had stood up and faced away from the crowd. People crack up at his hilarity, including Hoseok who is clapping his hands like a seal. 

“Yes. That. Exactly that,” Jungkook says, followed by a soft chuckle. “The two play off each other well. Hoseok brings joy to everyone and it’s infectious. I’ve never seen Yoongi happier than when he’s with Hoseok.”

Yoongi rubs the nape of his neck, a shy smile gracing his features as he sits back down. Hoseok places his head on his partner’s shoulders, sighing in content. Jungkook flips to the next index card and clears his throat.

“Yoongi and Hoseok are people I like from the bottom of my heart. They’re like family, and I’m so glad to be a part of their story. We were able to come to where we are right now because everybody was all together.” His lips tremble slightly as he holds the corners of the card with both hands, tears slowly welling up in his eyes. His head hangs low for a moment but then he looks up, forcing a smile on his face. “Sorry, I’m getting emotional.”

You almost shout it’s okay! but nothing comes out. Fortunately, a couple of folks blurt out comforting words that make him laugh as he quickly wipes his tears away. He rolls his shoulders back and blows a small raspberry with his lips to reset. 

“These two have both helped me through so much. When I almost lost my life. When I lost my friends. When I wanted to give up on myself,” His eyes scanned across the venue as if simulating eye contact with each guest. “And especially when I experienced the biggest absence of my life with…”

His words are cut short at the same time your breath hitches. It’s a split second, but you’re sure. You’re sure his gaze fell on you, his expression stiffening slightly while you let out a silent gasp. The world seems to be at a standstill until he crumples the cards in his hand and tosses them aside. He lets out a half-hearted laugh, gesturing to the large projector screen he prepared earlier. 

“Enough about me!” he exclaims. “I made a compilation of the couple’s best moments. Enjoy!”

You don’t pay attention to the video playing despite the roaring laughter from the crowd. Someone shouts something about the couple wearing colorful animal sheet masks, but your eyes are glued to Jungkook. He exits the stage, heading back to his group of friends at the table furthest from yours. They give him a pat on the back and he’s back to smiling as if nothing happened. 

Was it your imagination? Maybe he wasn’t looking at you. You finish your champagne in one gulp, slamming the glass down without meaning to. The sharp sting in your palm makes you realize your actions as you groan, the deep cut across your hand oozing blood. 

“[Y/N], are you okay? Oh my gosh, here.” Lia is quick to grab the cloth napkin, wrapping it around your hand and tying a knot. 

“Thanks, but I’m fine. I’ll heal anyway.”

“Still, how did this even happen? What’s got you so tense?”

You say nothing, but she follows your line of sight and purses her lips. “Are you looking at the wolves? Is it Jungkook?”

“No,” you say quickly. “I’m gonna go to the restroom and wash the blood off.”

Before she can interrogate you further, you make a break for it. It was difficult walking in your nude heels, each step feeling like you were sinking deeper into the grass. The fairy lights help you see in the dark as you pass by the greenery of the garden, the flowers being your favorite part. You’d stop to smell them but didn’t want the blood to stain their lovely petals. Your feet finally reach a cobblestone path and you see the restroom building up ahead. 

There’s a handwashing sink outside. Once you turn on the faucet, you unwrap the cloth around your hand and wash the excess blood away. The cut had partially healed already — another perk of hybrid blood — but it still felt nice.

You find yourself lost in thought as the cool water flows onto your hands. You tell yourself there’s no way Jungkook was looking at you. He doesn’t even know you. At least, not in the way he used to. 

“I’m just the girl who had a crush on you and trained with you, nothing more. I want you to live your life freely.”

Ah. Right. You’ve been reduced to a mere stranger now. The depressing reality makes you sigh as you turn off the water. 

That’s when you hear it. Footsteps. Heavy ones that grow louder from behind you. The hairs on your neck stand up as you turn around.

Jungkook is approaching you, his stride long and confident. Your brain must have been rewired to put him in slow motion because he’s like a model walking down a runway. You can’t believe your eyes and are torn between running away or staying put. He’s closer now. Your heart skips a beat, the anticipation crushing you. Stay put it is.

“If we ever cross paths again, don’t approach me.”

Yet here he is. Approaching you. Had the compulsion not worked on him? Did he remember you all this time? Well, your answer comes when he walks right by you without sparing a glance as he enters the men’s restroom. You blink a few times, stunned by what took place.

Well, that proves it; the compulsion was still effective. You look at the bloody napkin in your hand, clutching it tightly. 

“What, is he blind? He didn’t even ask if I was okay. This is a huge red flag, literally!” You wave the fabric around like a crazed woman, having half a mind to chuck it across the building. After sulking for a minute, you compose yourself and prepare to head back.

That’s when an unpleasant smell creeps its way into your nose. It’s harsh, like the smell of acetone and burnt wood, and you cough uncontrollably. The acrid fumes are suffocating as you wander around the restrooms for the smell. 

“It’s coming from the men’s side…” you mumble to yourself. 

“When I’m ready, I’ll come to you and you can decide then if you’ll have me.”

Ignore it. It’s not your business. Yet your feet are already stomping inside, where your ex jolts in alarm at your sudden presence. 

“Hey, just because you’re a hybrid doesn’t mean smoking is okay!” The cigarette dangles from his mouth when his lips part in a small “o” shape, seconds from falling. You swipe it from him, drop it on the ground, and crush it under your heel. His doe eyes are larger than before, but your actions render him speechless. “It’s a gross habit and causes bad breath. So… yeah. Don’t smoke. Even if you’re practically immortal it’s not good for you.”

You spin around and close your eyes, cringing at your meddlesome behavior. You should leave before things escalate. 

“Are you okay?” Your eyes flutter open. He must think you’re deranged! “Your hand… is that blood?”

You look down, noticing the cloth in your hand was no longer white, but a deep crimson that seemed to permeate nonstop. 

“Oh, this is nothing. It’ll heal soon.”

He circles and gets in front of you, holding out his hand. “May I take a look?”

Whatever compels you to give your hand to him is a mystery, but you do it. He removes the cloth first, then inspects your palm, concern etched in his features. Blood continues to ooze out of the gash, but all you can focus on is the warmth of his hand enveloping your cold one. It reminds you of holding a hot cup of coffee in the morning except in this case, your cortisol levels are spiking. 

“It’s not good for you, you know,” he says with a soft smile. He directs his gaze from his hand to your own. “Getting cuts on such pretty hands. Who did this to you?”

If you had a brain, you didn’t anymore. You feel it short-circuiting, the hints of protectiveness in his voice setting sirens off in your mind. “No one… I accidentally broke a glass.”

It comes out as a whisper, but he acknowledges your response with a gentle “hmm.”

“This won’t do. It’s not healing fast enough,” His eyes shift up to meet your own. “You’re practically dripping in my hand.”

How can he say such things to you with such a straight face? The double entendre is blatant, but calling him out for it would only expose your impure thoughts.

“Shall I clean you up?” You don’t miss how he says “you” and not “it.” His irises glow a ruby red, matching his blood-shot sclera. Protruding veins appear under his eyes as he opens his mouth wide enough to exhibit his sharp fangs. It’s a hauntingly beautiful sight.

“That’s okay, you don’t—you don’t have to.” 

“Maybe I want to. Besides… I was smoking to curb my cravings. You took that away, so I need something else to satisfy me.”

You gulp. “And you think my blood will do that?”

He flashes you a smirk. “I’d like to find out. If you’ll let me.”

He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember. He can’t remember. Right? 

You agree with a soft “okay” and Jungkook doesn’t hold back. He sticks his tongue out, licking up the blood that overflowed onto his thumb first before following the stream up to your palm. He presses his lips onto the gash and sucks, earning a small gasp from you. This catches his attention, and he stares at you. His pupils are dilated, the primal look in his gaze so enrapturing. 

The pit of your stomach is on fire as he continues feeding from the palm of your hand. His tongue comes out to play, swiping back and forth, leaving no spot untouched. It tickles, but you’re too tense to move a muscle. 

Then he moans. It’s low at first, but then he closes his eyes and does it again. This time it’s more guttural, and he presses harder against you like he was starved.

“Ow,” you say, wincing when his fangs pierce your skin. It coaxes more blood to come out, and he visibly shudders.

“Sorry, I—Fuck,” His breath is uneven as he pants, drunk on your taste. He furrowed his eyebrows like he was mad, fighting against his primal urges to devour you whole. “I’ll be more careful. Please let me finish, please.”

Oh my god. He’s begging you. It’s too adorable to resist. He opens his eyes when you don’t reply, and you quickly give him your consent. His technique, if you can even call it that, grows sloppy as he rushes to clean up the mess he made. It’s like he was embarrassed, which makes your heart grow fonder. 

Once he finishes, his lips come together and make a loud smooching sound. He kisses the spot once again, lovingly, and then pulls away. You’re shocked to see the cut is no longer there. 

“Delicious. Sweet, with a hint of spice.”

You’re flattered by the handsome blood sommelier but retract your hand, hiding it behind your back while clearing your throat. 

“Um… Thank you.” That sounded more lame out loud than in your head, but nothing else seemed appropriate. 

Jungkook rubs the excess blood from the corner of his lips with his thumb. “It was my pleasure.” He sucks it and then releases his thumb with a loud pop.

Discomfort washes over you with how quiet the restroom gets, but you don’t break the silence. Instead, you turn around and head for the exit. 

“You’re [Y/N], right?” Three steps. That’s how far you got. “We were in the same year together.”

You grab onto the chain of your purse again. “Yeah. We were.”

And you leave it at that. 

You walk around to ease the buried feelings threatening to bubble up to the surface. Aside from the reception in the garden, the rest of the campus is quiet. Not a single light is on from the buildings you pass, your heels following the moonlight instead.

You pass the library, the gym, and the fine arts hall, but your steps halt at the girls’ dormitory. Memories flood your mind one by one: decorating your room, staying up late studying for exams, and the time when Jungkook slept over and—no. Shit. Don’t think about a love that’s lost. 

A weighted sigh comes as you sit on the steps, giving your feet a much-deserved break. You hug your knees, tuck your head down, and rest it in your folded arms as if you wanted to hide from the world. Why the hell did you think coming here would be easy?

His touch lingers in your mind as you replay the moment. The way he held your hand, the way he was concerned for your well-being, and the way he fed off your blood was far more intimate than you expected. Then he said your name.

It ignited a yearning you thought you had suppressed.

“I should leave…” you say out loud to no one in particular. 

“And miss the group picture?”

You lift your head slowly like you were caught red-handed committing a heinous crime. You’re greeted by pointed black dress shoes, black dress pants, a white shirt and black blazer, silver necklaces, and soft doe eyes that could melt anyone’s heart. 

“Jungkook…”

His eyes light up, a tinge of rouge dancing across his cheeks as he slips his hands into his pockets. “So you do remember me.”

How could I ever forget? “Well yeah… we were in the same year together.”

He scrunches his nose, amused at your usage of his past words. “That’s it? We were sparring partners, we went on missions together, and I’m pretty sure you saved my life by turning me into a hybrid,” Your jaw falls to the ground while his lips curve into a playful grin. “Ring a bell?”

The logistics of your compulsion weren’t specific as to how much Jungkook would remember. Then again, you didn’t erase his memory of your existence, so it’s natural he would remember some basic things. 

“Wow, you have a good memory. Um… yeah, I guess that covers the extent of our relationship.”

He quirks his eyebrow, sounding far too happy for your liking as he says, “We… have a relationship?”

You put your hands out in a stop motion and shake them in a panic. “No! Not at all. I–I meant that’s all we are to each other. Nothing more, nothing less. Just old classmates.”

“I see. What a shame though. I feel like we would have… should have gotten to know each other more back then.”

His voice has a trace of longing, but you dismiss it for friendly conversation. “Really? I was too focused on my studies anyway. You wouldn’t have liked me.”

He nods. “Considering how you stomped out my cigarette? Yeah, probably not.”

You scoff, a playful glint in your eyes. “Excuse me for looking out for you.”

“Never asked you to, but I’ll admit, I enjoy the attention.” You both laugh and then he extends his hand out to you. “Come on. Let’s go take the group picture together.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I’m not fond of pictures. Yoongi and Hobi don’t even know I’m here, so it’s not like they’ll notice.”

“I’ll notice,” You stare at him, watching his smile fade and how serious his demeanor becomes. “Your absence is significant, especially to those who care about you. They’ll remember it for the rest of their lives.”

You are about to speak when he adds, “Besides, the formation is off and we need one more person to fill in the gap.”

With a roll of your eyes, you swat his hand away and stand. “Alright, I get it. Let’s go.”

He smiles, puts his hands back in his pockets, and leads the way back. You follow him to the garden where guests are lined up in neat, staggered rows. Most of them have their arms crossed, some tapping their feet anxiously, while the rest have their hands on their hips. Even the main couple in the front row are mouthing words you can’t hear, but the way Yoongi slaps a hand to his forehead makes you aware of his distress.

“Oh!” Hoseok shouts with a jump, pointing his finger in your direction. “They’re here!”

Everyone expresses their relief with a “thank goodness” or “about time” as you and Jungkook make your way over. 

“You found her!” Namjoon says, holding up his hand for a high-five. Jungkook walks by too fast to notice, so you high-five him to ease his embarrassment.

“Wow, is that [Y/N]? You look incredible.” The man next to Namjoon gives you two thumbs up and you smile at the compliment. 

“Jin…” You can’t help but hug him tight and he reciprocates. Kim Seokjin aka Jin was the head witch on campus and counselor. You’ve confided in him for years and seeing him again almost brings tears to your eyes.

“Alright, alright. That’s enough.” Yoongi pats Jin’s back, a signal to release his hold on you. You laugh and then embrace him next, earning an obnoxious groan, but the fond smile on his face shows his true emotions. “I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course. Thank you for inviting me.”

You stop hugging him to see Hoseok with his arms out already, his heart-shaped grin wide.

“Come here~,” You let out an “oof” sound from how tight he squeezes you. “We had no idea you were here! Jungkook convinced the cameraman to wait until he found you.”

You let him go and look over to Jungkook, who clears his throat as he looks off to the side. The apples of his cheeks are rosy, which you find endearing. 

“Here, stand in the front row next to me,” Hoseok says, gesturing to the spot between him and Jungkook. Jungkook takes a large step to the right, allowing enough space for you to squeeze in.

“Alright, now that we finally have everyone here…” the cameraman says out loud, throwing a harsh glare in your direction. You give him a sheepish grin in return. “Everyone needs to scoot over to my left please.”

The crowd obeys, but the cameraman’s displeased frown remains. “Now everyone needs to squeeze closer together.”

There’s some shuffling and you bump into Hoseok after Jungkook’s shoulder bumps into yours. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. You tell him it’s okay.

The cameraman crosses his arms. “Come on, you guys. Act like you like each other! Closer!”

Everyone scooches in again, but Jungkook’s hand brushes against yours. The touch is electrifying, and you forget how to breathe. You can’t process your emotions as the cameraman orders the guests on your side to turn their bodies inwards at an angle. Jungkook exhales and his hot breath fans the nape of your neck. You feel your palms start to sweat. 

“Three, two, one, smile!” You put on your most picture-perfect smile, the flash nearly blinding you. “One more! This time do a silly pose!”

You observe what others choose for their pose. Bunny ears are common, heart poses are also popular whether using arms or hands. Some stick their tongues out while others fake a dramatic gasp. You shift in your position when your heels betray you and you stumble backward.

As if on cue, a pair of arms catch you and you’re dipped like you’re in a dance class with Jungkook’s face peering down at you. His sweet cologne wafts into your nostrils, a nice blend of amber and rose. These moments only happen in movies — or so you think — yet he’s a fantasy that somehow becomes your reality. 

The camera shutters and captures your deer-in-the-headlights expression and Jungkook’s, who mirrors after you. It makes the cameraman let out a hearty laugh, and he’s not sure who the real married couple is.

“Are you okay?”

You nod and he helps you regain stability. Your hand touches your face, feeling the heat radiating off your cheek. The cameraman dismisses everyone and your friends jump at the opportunity to hound you with questions. 

Hoseok’s eager to go first. “Whatcha been up to, [Y/N]? It’s been so long since we’ve all been together.”

“Just traveling, not much,” you reply, forcing the muscles in your mouth to cooperate into a believable smile. 

“Hey, that’s her business. Don’t be nosy,” Namjoon interjects. Yoongi and Jin give each other a knowing look.

“You’re just saying that because she communicates with you the most,” Jin teases. 

“I mean, I was her mentor… can’t help it if I’m her favorite.” He pats his puffed-out chest twice, proud as he winks at you. You giggle and Yoongi joins in the conversation.

“Okay, if anyone’s her favorite, it’s actually me. But anyway,” he tilts his head towards the bar, “help yourself to a drink.”

“Ooh, I will. Do you have any recommendations?” you ask. 

“Do you want something strong? Fruity?”

“Get her what Jungkook got,” Namjoon says. Jungkook stands off to the side, his jaw clenches at his name being mentioned. “You like peach-flavored things, right?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Because he told me…” He notices the group shooting glares at him like daggers. It reminds you of when an idol spoils their next comeback by accident. “... Told me it was delicious and that anyone would like it. It goes down smoothly. Very yummy. Hah. Hahaha! Is that a saxophone?”

He leaves the group in a hurry with Jin chasing after him yelling, “No! Leave the sax alone! I’m not paying for damages!”

Awkward glances are exchanged between Hoseok and Yoongi, a silent two-player game of telepathy you weren’t a part of. You can’t compel Hoseok, but Yoongi’s human. One look and you’d know what he was thinking, but that’d be highly inappropriate to do that to the groom at his wedding. 

“I’ll order my own,” you tell the couple and they wave goodbye. Jungkook’s already retreated to his friends, much to your relief. 

Once you’re at the outdoor bar, your mood lifts upon seeing the bartender. She puts down the glass she was drying and rests her hands on the countertop.

“Well if it isn’t the original hybrid queen herself.”

The bartender is young, her oval face and sharp jawline giving her a cute, handsome aura. Her hair is short, about shoulder-length, and straight. Her eyes are large, emphasized by her dramatic makeup to draw you in until you’re lost in them. 

“Hi, Ryujin. Wow, I haven’t seen you in forever.” She had a white shirt underneath her black vest; you think it suits her tom-boyish charms well.

“Since vampire ability class, I know. What can I get you, beautiful?”

The smirk she sends you has your nerves sparking, and the palms of your hands sweaty. It was different when a girl complimented you. It felt more believable, flattering even. 

You shrug in response to maintain a calm demeanor. “Hmm… I don’t know. Maybe something fruity? Citrusy?”

She nods, grabbing a shaker and a bottle of liquor under the counter straight away. You watch as she juggles the two items in the air, covering your mouth at the thought of gravity ruining her trick. However, she caught them both with ease, moving at such a fast speed as she concocted your beverage. It’s an elegant performance, her movements fluid like it’s an art. She finishes by topping off your glass with an orange slice.

“Here you go,” She slides the glittery pink drink over, and you take a sip, allowing the fruity taste to coat your tongue. “Matches your dress.”

You smile at the thoughtful gesture. “It’s good. Tastes like peaches and grapefruit. What’s it called?”

“It’s something I came up with. I wouldn’t mind sharing the recipe with you after the event’s over.”

You don’t miss the flirty tone in her words and can only laugh. She was so refreshing and has always stuck up for you in the past when others called you stuck-up for being a hybrid. Who knew she would end up flirting with you at a wedding years later?

“So? What do you say?” she asks, her eyes brimming with hope. You take another drink and finish the whole thing despite your shaky hands. She gives you a fond smile. “If I’m being too forward, tell me.”

“No, I’m just nervous,” you blurt out, setting the glass down. “You’re really pretty.”

“Is that so?”

You’re about to respond when you feel your temperature rise. You clasp a hand to your forehead, which goes from warm to scalding in seconds. Sweat beads form around your temples as your breathing becomes harsher. You rest your elbow on the counter to keep yourself balanced, but your legs are burning too. It was like someone lit a torch from beneath you, cooking your flesh inside out. 

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Ryujin asks. You shake your head and your vision blurs, the lights behind her looking like a bokeh image. She hands a bottle of water to you, and you gulp it down, yet the fever persists and you feel worse. 

Ryujin sees your eyes widen in alarm as you peer down at your dress. She inspects it too, but doesn’t see anything abnormal. You rub your thighs together. 

“Fuck… I think I’m in heat,” you tell her. Your hand rummages through your purse and then you curse again, frustrated. “I’m out of suppressants!”

Ryujin snaps her fingers when a lightbulb goes off in her head. “Ask Lia.”

“Good idea.”

You blink to wet your eyes, regaining clarity of your surroundings before heading to Lia on the dance floor. She was all smiles with a guy until you bumped into her, your darn heels being the bane of your existence.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” you quickly say, “I need your help.”

She takes one look, excuses herself, and brings you to a quieter space. Her hand reaches into her clutch and pulls out a lace handkerchief, dabbing the sweat off your forehead. Her touch is gentle and she asks quietly, “Are you in heat?”

Lia and Ryujin were best friends. Your sole encounters with her were because of Ryujin by extension, but even back then, you knew she was sweet. Wolves often looked down upon her because of her doll-like, docile appearance. However, she had enough balls to find friends in other cliques and was, what people say, a girl’s girl. 

“Yes, I feel like I’m dying. Ryujin told me to ask if you have suppressants.”

“I don’t. Do you not track your cycle?”

“I’m a hybrid! It’s random for me!” 

She grimaces, the pity in her eyes inevitable. “I’m sorry, I forgot. But you need to get out of here. Do you know how many horny young wolves are here with zero self-restraint?”

You shift your weight and a pool of discharge releases in your panties, the sticky sensation making you cringe. Lia brings out a travel-sized perfume spray and spritzes your entire body. A wheeze is forced out of you from the potent floral scent, but at least it will cover your pheromones long enough for a distraction.

“Hey everyone! The fireworks are starting soon, let’s go to the front of the school and watch!” Hoseok has his hands cupped around his mouth to carry his voice through the venue, catching the attention of all guests. Lia holds both your hands, looking you dead in the eye with a straight face.

“There. Use this time to find suppressants or get out of here. The perfume won’t last very long.”

“Thanks, Lia, I will.” 

While the crowd heads towards the front, you rush back to the restroom building. You’re a panting mess once inside, but you go into a stall, shut it, and pull down your undergarment. The fabric is soaked in slick and has a hefty weight—you have no choice but to discard it.

Grabbing toilet paper, you clean yourself up as best as you can. Then you step out, wash your hands, and exit the building.

“Hey there.” You almost topple backward from the sudden intrusion. Three guys are in front of you, all wearing the same, smug grin. They’re young, probably younger than you, but one thing’s for sure—they’re werewolves. 

There’s a particular scent that emits from wolves. It’s earthy, like a pine tree, and you’d usually find it comforting but now? Fear crawls up your spine like a spider has latched onto you, its legs creeping up your back in a spot you can’t smack away.

The one in the middle had greeted you first. He has a youthful face, and sculpted cheekbones, which are easy on the eyes. Speaking of, that was his most striking feature. They are almost cat-like (ironically) with how wide and long they are. 

“Are you lost? Everyone’s watching the fireworks,” he says, his thumb hiked over his shoulder. You don’t respond. “Ah, I’m Yeonjun. This is Beomgyu and that’s Soobin.”

Soobin is the tallest. He shows off his dimple smile upon being introduced, which seems pure, but the way his irises shifted to goldenrod says otherwise. Beomgyu, on the other hand, had the most innocent baby face you’ve ever seen. However, you don’t miss the way he licks his lips while giving you a once-over.

“I’m [Y/N]...” You don’t know why you give them your name, but it slips out. Maybe you hoped playing along would lead them to spare you. 

“Oh!” Soobin says, his index finger pointing up at the discovery. “You’re the original hybrid the professors rave about!”

“Half-vampire, half-werewolf, right?” Beomgyu asks. Your double moon necklace glows as you form your fingers into a claw shape behind your back. A small flame ignites and you hold it there, waiting for the right opportunity. 

“Yeah. I guess,” you say. “Why don’t you boys go watch the fireworks? I’ll catch up.”

“Nonsense! As gentlemen, we should escort you. Unless… you’d rather do something else. Here. Now.” Yeonjun raises an eyebrow, but you scowl in response. 

“No thanks.”

Soobin takes a step forward. “Is there anything else we can help you with?”

Beomgyu takes two. “I’m sure the three of us can be of use to you.”

It’s not until Yeonjun approaches you that you cower, stepping backward until you’re stopped by the water fountains. “No need to be shy. No one’s around.”

Your blood is boiling, though you’re not sure if it’s from your heat or rage. What’s worse is you’re not mad at them; you’re mad at yourself. Their words spurred you on as arousal drips down your thighs, a sign of your body’s betrayal. You fear if this escalates, they’ll figure out you’re not wearing anything underneath. 

“Get. Back.” You reveal the burning flame in your palm, the heat emanating off of it close enough to Yeonjun’s face. He jumps back and places a hand on his chest.

“Whoa! She’s feisty. Or should I say… fiery.”

“Maybe we should head back. She can do magic. I thought hybrids don’t know magic,” Soobin whispers. Yeonjun laughs at the ridiculous suggestion, shoving his friend for his cowardice as Beomgyu inspects him for injuries. 

“Doesn’t matter. Look at her state now.” He points in your direction, seeing how you’re barely able to stand. Your breaths are quick, shallow and your heart is thumping around like it’s going to burst out of your rib cage. The fire in your hand diminishes to a mere flicker, and then it’s out. You try to bring it back with the flick of a wrist, but all that emits are tiny sparks. Shit. I haven’t been practicing long enough.

Your womanhood is craving something, anything to alleviate the agony. It’s screaming for release, and you hold your abdomen as a sudden cramp pains you horribly. Human females experience this type of thing monthly and you have to hand it to them. This type of pain requires endurance and fucking sucks. 

You fall onto all fours, clutching your heart which is seconds away from bursting. It’s beating so loud, you can’t even hear the vulgar things the youngins are saying as they rush over. Soobin grabs your right arm; Yeonjun has the other.

You thrash in their clutches, but they only mock you with their boisterous laughter as they force you to your feet.

“Hey, hey! We’re just trying to help,” Soobin says. 

“Unless you’d rather be on all fours,” Yeonjun teases. Beomgyu bends down to your eye level, a crooked smile on his dainty face, the true embodiment of a wolf in sheep��s clothing.

 “You’re pure temptation, you know that?” He leans close, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he whispers, “Give up. Don’t put up a fight.”

“I don’t consent,” you say, a harsh bite in your words.

Soobin squeezes your arm, almost crushing it in his large hands. “Why? Is it because we’re young?”

“It’s clear you’re horny… we are too. Come on,” Beomgyu pleads. “We’ll take good care of you. Teach us what you like.”

“Yeah. And we’ll do the same.” Yeonjun holds your hand, inspecting it closely. “So soft. I bet your hand would feel so good around my—“

“Get your hands off her before I bite them off.”

Dizziness overwhelms you, so all you see is a blurry figure behind Beomgyu, and you shake your head to come to your senses. Once the man’s face comes into focus, relief washes over you, sending signals for your brain to let down your guard. The energy you so desperately clung to has depleted, so you close your eyes as your limbs turn into jelly.

Five seconds pass and the boys’ hold on you is gone. Someone else catches you before you faint, his scent familiar and comforting. 

“I got you,” he says as he lets you lean against his body. 

“Jungkook…”

“Can you stand?” You don’t know but nod anyway. “Good. Get behind me. You don’t want to see this.”

His broad back shields you from the three wolves, so you don’t even see the damage he inflicted upon them. Yeonjun was thrown into a tree a hundred feet away, the impact so potent that it split in half. Soobin and Beomgyu were fortunate not to collide into anything after being catapulted… except for each other. 

Soobin lands on top of Beomgyu and the smaller boy groans, pushing him off in a huff. He stands first and helps Soobin after. 

“Hey, we didn’t do anything wrong!” Yeonjun shouts as he scrambles to his feet, flaring his nostrils. “You and I both know she’s a bitch in heat!” 

You cling onto Jungkook’s blazer, and he looks over his shoulder.

“Is he right?” You don’t know if he asks to be polite because even you can smell your essence leaking. You hide your face in his back, flustered, but he feels you nod.

He redirects his attention back to the wolves. “That doesn’t give you the right to touch her. I suggest you leave before I make it physically impossible.”

Soobin scoffs while Beomgyu rolls his eyes. Yeonjun’s fuse was already lit and Jungkook’s sure there’s smoke coming out of his ears. You hear him crack his knuckles, the silence that follows deafening as you hold your breath in anticipation.  

“It’s three against two. Well, three against one, really,” Soobin says, laughing like he’s already won. 

“All I see is three smooth-brained pups who are pissing me off.” Jungkook’s eyes shift to a fiery goldenrod, the corner of his lips twitching as he smirks. “You’re aware that [Y/N] isn’t the only hybrid… right?”

You don’t see it, but their faces pale in comparison to earlier. Beomgyu covers his mouth, Soobin’s eyes widen, and Yeonjun growls. 

“There were rumors about more than one hybrid existing, but I didn’t think they were true,” Beomgyu says in a hushed tone. 

“She turned him? Fuck, they’re bonded then,” Soobin says. Yeonjun waves him off in a dismissive manner. 

“I don’t give a fuck. She’s not marked. We can take them.”

Jungkook has his fists up and changes into a fighter stance, but he feels you press your forehead against his back. It’s a searing sensation that scorches him even through the two layers of fabric he had on. He turns around and holds you by the shoulders.

“Hey, stay with me,” he begs. Your head is lolling back and forth as if you were inebriated. 

“It’s so hot… I’m too hot… I hate this, I hate this. Please… I need to cool down,” you beg. Jungkook takes a peek at the time on his watch, then bites his lower lip.

“Okay,” he whispers. “When I count to three, I need you to hold your breath. Can you do that for me?”

You mumble something Jungkook believes is a “yes” based on the beginning /y/ sound. 

“Three… two…”— he looks up —“one!”

A firework shoots up into the night sky, painting it with an explosive rainbow of sparkles. You cover your sensitive ears, but make sure to hold your breath as Jungkook uses his enhanced speed to whisk you away. More fireworks go off, muffling your tracks and making the youngins work harder to find you. 

However, Jungkook’s skills are unmatched. He sprints to the side of the school where the mountains are, and they follow suit. At the last second, he pivots and heads to the secluded area on the opposite side, where the lake is. 

The last memory you had here was something you blocked out to spare your mental health. You had almost died. But now this place was going to save you, funny enough. If you think about it, the lake had more happy memories than bad. This was where Namjoon trained you before you trained Jungkook.

You can picture it now as if it was yesterday. He, a newly turned werewolf, scared of what’s to come in his new life, and you, the school prodigy who had a crush on him.

Jungkook jumps off the dock with you in his arms, the splash overshadowed by the firework’s detonation. The cool water refreshes your sweltering body as you close your eyes, submitting to it. For a moment you don’t care about anything. Not how your makeup is smeared, how your curls are undone, or how your dress is ruined.

You feel strong arms hold you close, and an overwhelming sense of longing hits you in the gut. God, you missed him so much. Even without his memories, he still cares for you. Hell, he went out of his way to protect you.

Just when your lungs are on the verge of giving out, you’re pulled up to the surface. Your eyes flutter open as you rub the water off your face. Jungkook coughs, then cups your face with both hands.

“Are you okay?”

You take in his appearance for what feels like an eternity. His brown eyes twinkle from the moonlight, so beautiful and full of worry. You find it amusing how his hair is stuck to his forehead, the strands partially obstructing his view. Your hand pushes it out of the way without thinking like muscle memory, causing his breath to hitch.

“Thanks to you.”

Fireworks are still going off in the distance, illuminating you two in the crystal-clear water. Jungkook slowly removes his hands from you.

“Good. I um… don’t hear them anymore. They must’ve left. And the water should keep your scent hidden for now.”

“That’s a relief.” Jungkook places the back of his hand against your forehead but retracts it quickly as if he touched a hot stove. 

“Ow, oh my god. You’re still burning up!”

How naive were you to think it’d be over? You’ve experienced this once before, but that was with your first ex, who was at your beck and call for sex whenever you needed it. You couldn’t ask that of Jungkook. Not after everything that’s happened.

“I’ll figure something out. You’ve done a lot for me already and your clothes are wet.”

“I don’t give a damn about my clothes. Tell me how I can help you.”

*BOOM*

A red heart-shaped firework went off as you two stared at each other. Your gaze flickers from his eyes to his luscious lips and he doesn’t miss it. Maybe you don’t want him to.

“Why do you want to help me? We… We’re not that close.”

“Well… the thing is… I-I just…” He is so freakin’ cute. You might die from how endearing he is before your heat destroys you first. “Because.”

“Because?”

*BOOM*

“Because it’s finally just you and me.”

His answer is simple. There shouldn’t be any underlying connotations and yet, it reminds you of a past conversation. 

“We’re in this together. You and me. Okay?”

“Is it really you and me…”

“What do you mean?”

“Will it ever be? Just you and me?” 

“Now tell me what you need. Use me.”

Your pussy is throbbing so much that it’s agonizing. You just need a quick release, then you’ll be sane enough to go home without collapsing. 

“This feels…” So right, you think. “Wrong.”

His hands sneak around your waist. “Then let’s misbehave.”

He hoists you up onto the edge of the dock without warning as if you weigh nothing, and a grunt leaves his lips. It’s far too sexy to ignore, and your mind craves to hear it again. Then he places his hands on either side of your thighs and pulls himself up halfway out of the water, his face now directly in front of yours. 

“Tell me what you need. How can I please you?”

Fuck. You bite your lower lip when you realize the dock isn’t that tall—he’s at the perfect height to carry out the desires you’ve been suppressing. “I need to come…”

A water droplet falls off his button nose when he chuckles. “How do you want to come?”

You stare at his lips, which are thin yet plump at the same time, his lower lip being the bigger half. You think back to earlier when he sucked your palm. 

 “I want you to eat me out…”

He moves fast, almost like he knew what you’d say. His grip on the dock loosens, and he plops back into the lake but grabs your ankles, pulling you forward until your bottom is perched on the very edge. He spreads your thighs and rests his head between them, looking up at you like you were worth the entire universe. 

“Why don’t you lift your dress for me, gorgeous?”

You’re unsure what’s louder — the fireworks or your heart rate. If he keeps speaking to you in that low dialect, you may come right now. Your fingers bunch up the fabric at the hem and you slowly pull it up, exposing your pussy to his feasting eyes. 

“Fuck, what a beautiful pussy.”

You take two fingers and glide it up your folds, coating it in your slick. Jungkook watches, unsure of what you are going to do next. You lean forward, cupping his face with your other hand with a naughty glint in your eyes.

“Open.” He obliges, and you stick your coated fingers in his mouth. A muffled groan comes out as he sucks your fingers, his tongue swirling around so nothing goes to waste. “Good boy.”

You remove your fingers and he’s practically drooling, his eyes a bit crazed from your addictive taste.

“Please let me pleasure you, please.”

You don’t answer and run a hand through his damp hair, stopping at the back to grip it tight as you guide his head closer to where you need him most. He peers up at you adoringly when you hold him an inch away.

“Please me then.”

He doesn’t hesitate. His tongue licks a stripe on your sopping cunt, earning a shudder from you. Your thighs squeeze his head like a reflex, which only spurs him on to press his mouth harder against you. He begins to lap up your juices like a dog and you throw your head back, moaning at how insanely good it felt. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him closer if possible, the tight hold giving him a tinge of pain that ignites his carnal desires. He slurps your pussy like it was his last meal on death row, slithering his arms underneath your knees and holding your thighs hostage. You don’t know which noise was most obscene—your moaning or Jungkook’s.

Sneaking your free hand down, you use your forefinger and middle finger to spread your pussy lips wider. Jungkook’s excited and sinks his tongue as deep as it would go. You’re impatient now, riding his face as he tongue-fucks you. 

“Fuck, you’re so good to me, yes—oh god…” You don’t have it in you to say anything more coherent except for broken moans. Jungkook pauses for a second, and you whine at the loss of contact. Then you’re being stretched out as his two fingers submerge into you, nearly knocking the breath out of you. 

You lean back on your forearms as he begins to piston them into you, your wetness making it easy—too easy even. They slip out when he speeds up, and he makes up for it by eating you out and sinking his fingers back in simultaneously. 

You’re shaking, unable to hold yourself up any longer. Your back rests on the wooden planks as Jungkook flicks your clit with his tongue, his fingers drilling into you at a brutal speed and brushing your sweet spot. 

You see the last of the fireworks show go off, a beautiful explosion of silver sparkles and stars, as your orgasm finally comes. You arch your back and scream, but Jungkook doesn’t slow down. He can feel how tight your walls are constricting around his fingers and knows you need a few more seconds of bliss to be fully satisfied. 

Overstimulation was always a gamble. If pushed too far, you’d be in pain. But most of the time you welcome it. One second you want the pleasure to stop building, but then you crave that ache of clenching so hard until your body gives out. 

Jungkook stops again. This time he pulls himself out of the water completely and hovers over your body. His fingers plunge into you again, his speed relentless, and you swear you’re seeing stars (or maybe that’s the fireworks who knows). Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you say his name like a mantra.

“Come for me, beautiful. I want you dripping in my hand again.”

Your eyes are wide when warm lips are pressed against your own. But you submit and savor it, having missed his touch. Combining that with the way he curls his fingers inside makes you squirt. Hard. 

Your entire body convulses and you can’t even scream because Jungkook is determined to swallow them. The limitation only makes you come harder than before. Then again, you’re not sure if this is a second orgasm or a drawn-out first one. 

The involuntary gushing is an indescribable sudden wave of pleasure. You feel so relieved from the release, pushed to tears at how good it felt. Jungkook pulls away a centimeter to let you breathe, and you submit to the foreign feeling.

Oh my god, he made me squirt. I didn’t even know that was possible. 

He pulls his soaked fingers out and resumes kissing you, moving his lips in rhythm to yours. It’s so natural, almost like he’s done this before. Well, he has, but it felt so right. So loving. So… intimate. 

You place a hand on his chest and give him a gentle push. He pulls back a little, a melancholy look passing his face. 

“Will you stay?”

You can’t. He’s not supposed to be tangled up with you again. You erased his love for you for a reason; it wasn’t the right time. Any decisions made till now were because of your heat and your brain was finally back in command. 

“I can’t.”

He caresses your cheek. “Why not?”

Because I’m not ready to love you the way you deserve. Because I love you so much that I’m afraid things will fall apart again. 

“Because we don’t know each other,” You push him off you and stand, trying not to slip. Jungkook’s hands were already in position to catch you if you did. “Not really.”

As you walk away, he says something so chilling that it crystalizes your blood into ice. “You’re running away again.” 

You refuse to turn around. “It’s my choice.”

“What about my choice and what I want? Do you not care?” He stands up and tightens his fists. “Are you leaving for good this time?”

This… time? He doesn’t remember. He can’t remember.

“Goodbye, Jungkook.”

He watches as your figure grows smaller in the distance. His head hangs low and he fights back tears. You’ve made it clear what you want. He had to let you go.

A/N: I am currently writing part 2, don't worry! It's a long one, lol. This was also my first time writing in present tense. Loved it. I hope you enjoyed it too. Thank you for giving my writing a chance. 🥰

[mariasont]

Please, Don't Prove 'Em Right - A.H

a/n: my girl sabrina can do no wrong and i have been listening to this song on repeat since it came out so i just absolutely needed to write a fic about it

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: aaron hotchner is a busy man and he tends to disappoint you by missing important events

warnings: angst (sorry in advance), aaron is like not a great husband, reader is also an imperfect character, reader is a girl boss though

wc: 1.2k

You were in your best dress. More expensive than you'd ever think about buying for yourself, but it had been a gift from Aaron. You had fought him on it, scolding him for spending so much on a dress you were sure to only wear once. But he had insisted, telling you that this opportunity was once in a lifetime and that it would be a sin for it to not be celebrated with a dress that made you shine like a ruby.

He was right, partly, you were shining--glowing, sparkling, glittering--as you moved through the library. It was beautiful, to say the least--all opulence and history that was almost too much to absorb. The marble floors almost seemed to amplify the conversations around you, the clinking of glasses, the swish of overpriced gowns and tuxedos.

Your eyes settled on the tiered desks fitted with bronze reading lamps, now repurposed as a station for hors d'oeuvres and champagne. The circular arrangement of desks, once centered around knowledge, now facilitated hushed gossip and the discreet laughter of society's finest.

You could almost hear what they were thinking: there she is again without her husband, that poor thing always by herself, and your personal favorite—does he even exist?

You wanted to be angry, to scold their prying eyes, for putting their noses into something that had nothing to do with them whatsoever. But could you really blame them? Every event you attended you told the same story--my husband is a busy man with an important job--a line you had grown tired of repeating. 

And that was all true. He devoted most of his time to saving lives--how could you find fault in that? How could you complain to having a husband whose very essence was self-sacrifice and heroism?

This evening was set to be an exception; he was in New York for a case, and the Pulitzer Prize ceremony was not something he would miss. He had given you his word.

You understood his passion for his job, completely, because you held that same passion for your own. You dedicated years of your life to your journalism, investigating corruption at its highest levels. This is exactly how you ended up here tonight, nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for that very work. A Pulitzer Prize.

The term once seemed like a fantastical concept to you, a lofty accolade reserved for the likes of JFK, Bob Dylan, Robert Frost--icons, not someone as ordinary as you. Yet, against all odds, you find yourself among the select few, a nominee for an honor that has only been won by 1,512 individuals since 1917, a fact Spencer had supplied you with.

Someone was speaking to you, saying your name. Almost without thinking, your hand found a flute of champagne, taking a generous sip before turning to face them.

"You look stunning, and a well-deserved congratulations are in order. Everyone back at the office is cheering for you." It was your boss, her stilettos adding inches to her already imposing frame.

The flattery didn't quite mask her usual coldness, it was all too artificial. She wasn't your biggest fan, and she had made that clear from your first day. Still, you mustered a smile and thanked her anyway, taking another sip of champagne, hoping to drown away her nauseating voice.

"It's too bad your husband couldn't be here," she began, and you had to resist the urge to rip out her extensions. "This is an incredible accomplishment, but he's quite the busy man, as you say."

"Yes, he is busy, but he'll be here tonight," you replied, flashing her your best smile as you smoothed the red fabric that suddenly felt too tight. "He's actually here in New York on a case."

"Oh, how great. I can't wait to put a face to the name." You could tell by the look she shot her own husband that she didn't believe a word from your mouth. "Anyway, I have to go speak with an academy representative, but I'll see you and your husband at the ceremony?"

You responded with a nod, not dignifying her with words as she left, her giggles a bitter sound. You hated her. And you were ready to make her eat her words when your husband, who looked absolutely incredibly in a suit, showed up.

But then it was dinner, and you found yourself alone, surrounded by a table of important people whose names you couldn't remember. The seat beside you was empty and suddenly that omnipotent, cloud-nine feeling you had vanished with the time that passed.

The text you sent piled up, feeling a little juvenile, like you were back in high school again getting stood up at prom.

Let me know when you're close!

Is everything going okay?

Call me if you can.

An onslaught of anxious thoughts skyrocketed around your mind as you mechanically chewed the fancy food that only seemed to upset your stomach further. What if something happened? Was he okay? Did the case go wrong? Did he get in a car accident on the way here?

You were a bundle of nerves, gnawing on the inside of your mouth as your heel tapped up and down against the floor. But this wasn't borne from concern for his well-being; deep down, you were certain he was fine. The truth was simpler and sharper: he wasn't coming.

You should have been prepared, should have braced for this, but you were convinced that this time, this occasion would be an exception.

You name was being called, but this time not by someone wanting to extract prying information or stir speculation, no, this time it was carried across the crowed, wrapped in the microphone's static hum.

Your head snapped up, fingers ceasing their fidgeting as you struggled to mask the shock and avoid the gaping, breathless look of a fish out of water.

You had won.

People were clapped, but it seemed far away as you made your way to the stage, hands coming from all directions to offer pats on the back and handshakes of congratulations.

You had won.

Your feet were carrying you up a small set of stairs. You were trying to remember how to walk--left, right, heel, toe. There was a bright light on you now, prompting a slight squint and you worked to keep a smile on your face as you accepted the award.

You had to be dreaming. Had to be. There was no other explanation.

You were on display now, under the intense stage lights. Your body was on autopilot, stepping behind the podium, words flowing out of your mouth--a speech you had rehearsed over and over again in the slim chance that you would win. And here you are.

But the more you spoke the more you seemed to deviate from the script.

You paused, voice catching as you tried your best not to let the tears fall--your makeup was too pristine for smears.

"But tonight, as I accept this honor, I am reminded that while we may seek comfort in the presence of others, our truest strength comes from within." Your eyes dart around the audience, clinging to the slim chance he's there, that he showed up. "It comes from knowing that when we step into the moment, we step in with conviction, with passion, and sometimes, with a singularity that says we are enough."

The final words of your speech hang in the air, a brittle hope that disappears as quickly as it surfaced. He proved them right, and no amount of applause can drown out the sound of your heart breaking just a little.

part 2

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179

[mariahcarreyyy]

Can you write a lando norris x fem reader fic where they do anal (fem receiving) cause he won a race or championship or something please

+ my first smut ever go easy on me pls 🙈🙈

𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥𝗦 𝗣𝗥𝗜𝗭𝗘, 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗶𝘀

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

plot: after Lando wins his first grand prix race, you let him explore a new area in your sex life-- taking it from the backdoor.

wc: 2.8k { shes a long one ;) }

warning(s): smut 18+, anal fingering (fem rec.), anal sex (fem rec.), celebratory sex, the overuse of the words 'fuck' and 'baby', swearing, and mild mention of champagne.

The post-race flush on your boyfriend's face that Sunday afternoon was nothing new: his cheeks twinged were crimson and a broad smile was etched onto his face, clashing dangerously with his papaya race suit.

What was new, however, was that Lando's feet were placed neither on the third step of the podium nor the second. He stood victoriously on the top step, raising his large silver trophy above his head and beaming at the ecstatic crowd.

The Silverstone winners' green eyes meet yours in his struggle of drowning in champagne, mouthing, 'I love you.'

'I love you more,' you mouth back, no longer resisting the urge to let your proud tears escape your waterline. 

Hours later, the thrill of Lando winning his first race was as strong as ever. It twirled recklessly around you and Lando's sweaty bodies and booming music. The high-end club was overflowing with Formula One drivers and media personnel. All celebrating your boyfriend's first win, no doubt.

You and Lando had been separated at some point during the night, lost in the purple and blue LED lights of the club, and you found yourself dancing with whoever had been willing to. Witnessing his girlfriend sway against the bodies of a stranger hadn't bothered him, because the two of you were aware that no one could touch you like he could—make you feel as good as he could.

Fuck, his blue jeans grew tighter against his crotch, eyes stubbornly planted on the curve of your hips and watching as they moved seductively to the beat of the music.

The hair on the nape of your neck rose, somehow aware that someone was watching you. You detach yourself from the stranger—a fairly attractive blond in his late twenties—and turn around only to be met with your boyfriend's eyes for the second time that day.

When he turns back around to face the bartender, you advance towards his seat and wrap your arms around his waist from behind.

"Hi, baby," he smiles as you rub your forehead against the crook of his neck.

Like a cat, he thinks.

"Hey," you murmur, muffled by the cotton of his black shirt. Breathing in, you think you have become drunk on the deep musk of his cologne. "Y'smell so good."

Lando tips his head back with a boastful laugh, but it falters when he feels your soft lips slowly trailing up his neck, smirking, "Yeah? You wanna take this someplace else?"

You crane your neck up, biting your bottom lip as you nod shyly. Lando doesn't need any further confirmation; he stands up, and your hands consequently fall from his tan stomach. A whine nearly escapes you at the loss of physical touch, but he's quick to interlace your hand in his.

Sometimes, you believe he can read your mind.

"Don't let go," he demands, pushing past the swarm of drunken crowds (and also leading you to rub your thighs together in hopes of relieving yourself, but you chose not to acknowledge it).

In a matter of thirty minutes, you were able to escape the suffocating atmosphere and catch a cab back to your hotel. The moment the door of the hotel room shut behind you, Lando placed both of his veiny hands on your waist, pressing your bodies together and attacking your lips.

Your body was on fire, and the pit in your stomach screamed for relief. Lando couldn't fucking stop kissing you. And even if he could, he wouldn't dare be the first to pull away.

Lando Norris was not one for alcohol, but he would get drunk off the peachy scent of your conditioner if he could. 

The driver's hand stilled on your cheek to tip your head back and deepen the kiss, while the other tugged on the hem of your little black dress. You let out a pathetic whimper against his lips, and Lando takes it as permission to slip his tongue inside.

Hesitantly, you pull away, albeit not very far. You could count Lando's faint freckles, and your nose brushes against his occasionally. You meet his eyes and fight the urge to look down at your feet because he's looking at you like you hung the fucking stars in the sky. A grin breaks out on his face, and he resumes his feathery touches on your dress. "C'mon, baby, take this off f'me."

You blink dumbly at him. Lando doubles over, emitting that laugh that you love so much. That hyena-like, gigglish shriek. When it dawns on you that you might be staring a little too hard, you immediately reach for your dress, lifting it above your hips and shrugging it off your shoulder.

Lando curses softly under his breath and urgently lays his palms back on your hips. He presses your lips together again, softer and gentler, and your heart aches. Warmth consumes you as you lean into the kiss, Lando's lips impossibly soft against your own.

Lando gently taps his index finger on the crease separating your ass and thighs. You know, just from his touch, what he needs, and of course you do; there have been too many nights of you waking up together, tangled in white bedsheets, for you not to.

You jump, your lips still connected, and your head dizzy from his touch. His palms wrap beneath your legs, carrying you to bed like you weighed about as much as a feather. 

And like, Lando manhandling you shouldn't make you want to ride him till he cries, but it does. It only made the need in between your thighs stronger. 

Soon enough, you're splayed out on his sheets with Lando's pillowy lips sucking all over your neck, painting it with soft hues of lilac.

The fabric covering your boyfriend's body makes you jut your bottom lip out, whining, "Take it off, Lan, please."

Lando pulls away with half-lidded eyes, resting on his calves as he fumbles to free himself from the constraints of his clothes. And well, you definitely didn't lift your hips against his clothed dick at the sight of his defined abs. 

Lando breathes sharply and spreads your legs to rub your pussy through your panties. You whine, trying and failing to grind up against his palm because his other hand is firm against your lower stomach.

"Mm, so good f'me, so wet." Lando moans lightly, pushing your lace to the side, and—oh fuck, he's rubbing your clit.

You thrash against his touch, gasping as you heave out, "Lan, no, please, no."

The drivers' previous lust-filled eyes are tainted with worry now. "What's wrong, baby? I do somethin'?"

You almost chuckle fondly at how fast he retracts his arm from in between your thighs (and also cry). You shake your head, lifting your hand—which had been previously gripping at the sheets—to cradle his defined cheekbones.

"No, no, baby, 'tis not that," you gulp, and his wory morphs into confusion, urging you to continue. "I just, I dunno, I know how much you wanted to fuck me from the back, so I, uh, thought we could do it tonight."

Shit. 

Lando doesn't know what he expected to hear, but it was sure as fuck not that. To his own surprise, Lando somehow grows harder in the confines of his boxer. A grin adorns his face, despite the pain between his legs. "Fuck, you sure, baby? I know I jus' won a race, but that doesn't mean we have to, princess."

"I know," you reassure him, trailing your hand down to his boxers and palming at his erection. "I want to; y'looked so fucking hot on that top step."

"Yeah?" He sucks in a sharp breath, and you hum sweetly, squeezing his dick harder.

Lando's hips stutter against your touch, grinding down in an attempt to relieve his ache. Mustering up his last shred of dignity, Lando somehow manages to pull away, making you whine for what felt like the 1000th time tonight.

He chuckles, stepping off the bed to tug his boxers down and reach for the strawberry-scented lube on his nightstand that, as you both learned, all high-end hotels supplied. Lando eagerly sits in the space of your spread legs, leaning forward to place wet kisses along your collarbone till he reaches your tits.

You moan softly when he wraps his hot mouth around your nipple, and Lando goes fucking ballistic. The sound echoes in his head like a broken radio. Lando wants to take it out and store it in a guarded safe somewhere in India. 

The driver alternates between each boob, flicking his tongue against one and rolling the nub of the other with his fingers. Your hand quickly finds solace in his curls, arching your back to bring him closer. When he pulls away with a kiss to your sensitive nub, you find it hard not to be hyper-aware of the thick cock resting against your thigh.

You roll your hips impatiently, and satisfaction engulfs your body when Lando reaches for the discarded lube on the bed. With a pop, he pulls the lid and squeezes a generous amount on his palm. He rubs his hands together, the friction warming the lube well.

You would be a liar if you said a swarm of erratic butterflies hadn't swarmed your stomach. Lando would make this enjoyable; you knew that, but he couldn't completely take the pain away. Taking a deep breath in, you reach for Lando's clean hand.

He intertwines them beside your hip without asking a question.

He pokes a wet finger against your rim, asking, "You ready, love?"

"Yup," popping the 'p', satisfied with yourself at how well you were hiding your nerves.

Lando pushes in, and he barely has half of his index finger inside you, but holy fuck, the sight drives him crazy. The hold on his hand tightens, and he forces his eyes away from his finger wrapped around your asshole to look at you.

"H-how're you feeling, love?" Lando stutters at the feeling of your asshole clenching around his digit. "Relax, baby, you've gotta relax f'me, please."

Tears well up on your waterline, blurring your vision of Lando kneeling in front of you. It took a few seconds, but the pain eventually subsided, and Lando took that as a sign to push deeper.

Lando tries his absolute hardest not to moan loudly, instead focusing on the heat of your ass wrapped around his index. He removes it, leaving no time for you to question him before he shoves a second finger inside.

"Oh!" You arch your back, eyebrows furrowing, when the pleasure starts bubbling in your stomach. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Shit," Lando says, because your writhing against his fingers, begging for more, more, more, has reduced him to a man of few words. "Doin' so fucking well for me, baby."

The driver continues to fuck his fingers into your ass, twisting and curling every once in a while. Your head tilts back against the mattress, and your mouth hangs in a permanent 'o'.

"You think y'ready for m'cock, darling?" 

You don't--cant-- bring yourself to answer. Your mind, you believed, had officially melted into a puddle, spilling out of your ear. Lando curls his fingers, as if nudging you on the shoulder and saying, Hey, I'm talking to you.

You screech, your eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. His gaze, that makes you feel so delicate. His gaze, that makes your head void of any thoughts. His gaze, that you wanted on you forever.

You nod, and he carefully pulls his digits out. Lando grips the base of his cock lazily because he knows he won't be able to last long, and he'd be damned if he was about to spend one less second inside you. 

Lando lines his dick up against your stretched-out rim, fingers untangling from yours, and instead rests them on the small of your waist. When Lando pushes the tip inside your hole, the pain that shoots up your spine causes your hands to fly up to your back, clawing at him to distract yourself. 

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit," Lando repeats like a prayer.

You felt so fucking wet, so tight around his cock. Lando was sure that if he died like this—naked, sweaty, and with his cock shoved deep inside your ass—he'd die happily.

The feeling of Lando's fingers was incomparable to the sensation—and pain—of his length filling you up inch by inch. The room smells of sex, Lando's perfume, and strawberry-scented lube, and once the pain finally subsided, you realized you needed him fully inside you now.

You wrap your legs around his hips, the balls of your feet pressing against his lower back as you beg, "Please, Lan, I need you, need you to fill me up, please."

Lando swears under his breath, hands gripping at your waist so hard that you're sure you'd look in the mirror the next morning to see your hips painted a lilac and indigo blue sunset. He pushed further inside, his eyes glued to your asshole, stretching to accommodate his thickness and sucking him in, moaning loudly when you accidentally clenched around him.

"Fuck, baby, y-you're taking all of me," Lando gasps in disbelief, biting his bottom lip as his eyes roll back.

You haven't said a single thing, reduced to a whimpering mess and tear-stained cheeks. When your fingernails dig deeper into his back, Lando blinks, ripped out of his lust-haze trance.

Lando tries to focus. Really, he does. But shit, you're clenching sinfully around his cock and fluttering around it as if to say, more more more.

"Lando," you whisper just loud enough for him to hear, painting his back with crescent moons from your fingernails (you'd feel bad if it wasn't for his dick splitting you in half). "Fuck me."

Lando groans at that, wasting no time before pulling his hips back and slamming them back inside. You shrieked, and at this point, you were sure that Lando's back was bleeding from your nails' assault.

You look up at Lando through your eyelashes, jutting out your bottom lip. Your boyfriend's hips don't falter when he leans down and kisses you. It was different. It was messy and hot, and you let out a choked sob against his lips.

With wide eyes, Lando pulls away. "Are you okay, baby? 'Doin so fucking well f'me, fuck, good girl."

You moan, the praise making you impossibly more horny, and nod your head frantically, reaching for your clit between your thighs. Lando tuts, removing a hand from your pretty waist to plant your arms against the pillow above you. 

"Please, Lan, I need it, need it so bad." You helplessly grind your clit against nothing.

And who the hell was Lando Norris to say no?

With the new-found pleasure of relieving clit, you are 100% sure that if you ever were to die and go to heaven, it would look like this. It would feel like this.

Lando isn't ashamed that he wouldn't last long, not when you feel this fucking good, not when he can hear your high-pitched moans and uneven breaths. With a stutter of his hips and a particularly loud groan, you already knew he was close.

"Fuck! Baby, I-I cant," he doubles over, frantically rubbing tiny circles against your clit and attacking your neck with his lips. "I'm gonna-"

You arch your back as though you're getting a fucking exorcism because, holy shit, the feeling of his hot semen filling you up is way hotter than it should be. Lando pistons his hips in and out of you through his high, and with one last cry, black spots cover your vision. 

"Fuck!- oh, fuck, lan, lan, lan," you repeat his name like a prayer because he might as well be god. Your arms thrash in Lando's hold, already yearning for his touch like you always do post-sex.

Lando releases a guttural groan as he pulls his softening dick out, twitching when your asshole involuntarily clenches around him. You're still breathing so fucking loud when he collapses beside you and wraps an arm around your neck to rest your head against his chest.

Lando shifts, tugging the thick blanket around your sweaty, cum-painted bodies before you hear, "Shit! Baby, didn't mean to hold 'em that hard, does it hurt?" 

You furrow your brows, following Lando's eyeline; your otherwise plain wrists were adorned with the scarlet imprint of your boyfriend's hand. 

Shrugging, you scoot up and bury your forehead on the crook of his neck, mumbling, "Don't care."

Lando places a mental reminder to put some cream on it in the morning, but for now, he's happy to place small kisses on the top of your head, whispering praises and 'thank you's into your ear.

When you rub your head against him shyly at his words, Lando can't help but laugh fondly at you.

Like a cat, he thinks again.

Lemme know how you liked this story or give me some feedback in the comments or my inbox! 💬🧸

Reblogs and likes are always appreciated 💌💌

[uluvjay]

Glory days- S. Vettel

Sebastian Vettel x wife! Reader

In which you ask your husband to fuck you like he did in your glory days

Warnings?; SMUT, p in v, unprotected sex(plz use protection!), oral(f receiving), fingering(f receiving), dirty talk, ass slapping, degrading, cursing, porn with a small plot, prob many errors & bad grammar 

Part of my 1k celly:)

You blamed the internet for being the reason you were seeking out your husband. The damn tik tok you scrolled upon showing your husband being drowned in champagne by two of his closest friends and then him showing his tongue with his index finger up to the world.

You loved the way Sebastian treated you in the bedroom, there was no doubt about that.

But the video had you missing the RedBull days where he was more wild and would have you pinned against a wall with tears streaming down your face as he spat things at you in German, how he’d tease you for so long you were sobbing and begging for him, the quickies in his drivers room while the entirety of the RedBull team were looking for him.

Finally finding him sat at his desk in the office you snuck up behind him, running your hands down his chest to signal your presence.

“Hi meine Liebe” he smiled taking your hand in his, bringing it to his lips.

“Hi” you greeted back.

Turning around in his chair the man smiled up at you before pulling you onto his lap.

“The girls go down easy?”

“By the second story they were both snoring” he laughed at the thought of his sweet twins fast asleep.

“I’m glad, they love having you put them to bed” you beamed snuggling deep into his chest.

“And I love doing it”

You two sat like that for a minute , his large hand running along your back while he replied to emails he’d been putting off.

“Hey Seb?” Your soft voice broke the comfortable silence.

“Yes darling?”

“Remember the night you won your third championship?” You smirked at the sound of the him taking a sharp breath.

“Of course I do, what about it?” He coughed slightly shifting underneath you.

“Remember how drenched we were in champagne? How you poured it down my chest before licking it up? How you made me come three times in three different ways?”

A cry tore from your throat when his hand slotted in your hair and pulled you from his neck.

“What are you trying to do here Schatz?” He grunted

“I just…We haven’t gone at it like that in a long time, and don’t get me wrong I still love the way you fuck me but I kinda miss us being messy and rough” you spoke looking up at him with his favorite doe eyes.

A growl, an actual growl broke from the mans throat before he smashed his lips against yours, the kiss was hot and sloppy, something familiar but yet forgotten.

His free hand reaching down to grip your hip, pulling you so close you could feel his chest moving in and out against your own.

“Seb” you panted pulling away from his lips.

“What?”

“I need you, please. I need you to fuck me so hard that I don’t remember my own name-like you used to.” You begged the blonde.

Without anymore pleading he slipped his hands under your thighs before standing and making his way down the hall.

“Seb you passed the bedroom” you spoke with confusion.

“I know”

Confusion clouded your mind for a moment until you realized he was opening the door to one of your guest rooms.

“Further from the girls, don’t wanna risk your pathetic noises waking them” he spat, his hands hastily pulling your leggings down.

Slotting himself between your thighs he began trailing soft kisses against the insides of your thighs, lips brushing right past your wet cotton panties.

“Seb, please” you begged.

“Hush Kleiner Hase” he smirked at the yearning whimper that broke from your throat at the name.

His torturing kisses continued along your skin, nipping and sucking along the skin coaxing whines and whimpers from you.

“Sebastian baby-please, I need you” you begged, hands running through his soft and overgrown curls.

“Your the one that asked for this baby, wanted me to take care of like I used to.” He tutted and as much as you wanted to argue he was right.

Sebastian hardly made you wait anymore, usually due to the fact that kids made it hard for you two to take your time.

Finally running his fingers over the elastic of your panties Sebastian hooked a finger in the material and pulled them down your legs.

“So wet for me” breathed, mouth watering at the sight of your dripping folds.

“Oh god seb please” you whined.

Your body was aching for him at this point, wanting nothing more than his body pressed against yours while he fucked you silly and made you come over and over again.

A groan left your husbands throat as he left kisses along your folds, his tongue teasingly running through them. Your body shuddered at the feeling of his mouth finally coming into contact with your cunt.

Your fingers gather his hair in a vice grip, pulling on the locks so hard it had Sebastian whimpering.

“Feels so good Seb” you heaved, body shivering as he ate you like a starved man.

His tongue ran along your folds, moving in multiple different patterns while his nose bumped and prodded against your clit.

Sebastian’s hands pinned your hips down as you attempted to grind against his face, a sharp slap against your skin letting you know to knock it off.

Your thighs shook as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten by the seconds, your moans getting louder and your tugs on Sebastian’s hair getting harder.

“M’ gonna-fuck, gonna cum seb” you cried out.

“Go on pretty girl, cum for me. Want you to cum all over my face.” He encouraged as he slipped two fingers inside you to help guide you to your high.

You arched your back, breath quivering as you came, thighs closing around Sebastian’s head drawing the man even closer to your cunt then before.

Broken sobs escaped your throat as you came down from your high, Sebastian left wet kisses along the skin of your lower stomach while his fingers continued to work you open.

“So pretty Schatz” he cooed in your ear before your body was flipped over and you were placed on your knees with your face shoved into the comforter.

You could feel him shuffling before the warm head of his cock was placed against your folds, teasingly running through the cum and spit covered skin.

Sebastian shuddered as he slipped inside, his hands gripping your hips so hard you knew there’d be bruises in their place tomorrow.

“My fucking god..” he growled at the way your walls hugged him.

He could hear your muffled cries as he kept up a brutal pace, the sounds of skin slapping mixing in with your shared moans filled the room.

Your breath hitched with every thrust, you could feel every ridge and vain as he split you open. His deeps grunts and growls making you clench even tighter around him.

“Ah-fuck. Seb it feels so good” you whimpered as he placed a foot onto the soft mattress to allow him a deeper angle over your body.

“Yeah? Like when I fuck you like a little slut?” He spat, leaning his body over your back to whisper in your ear.

The man got nothing but muffled cries in return as your body squirmed underneath his, your toes curling in pleasure as he fucked you deep.

“Clenching me so tight” he panted into your neck.

Your breath hitched at every thrust, the heat in your lower stomach getting hotter and hotter by the second.

“Se-oh!-m’ gonna cum” you stuttered.

He smirked at the way your body shook due to his movements, how you cried as his hand came down hard against your plump ass.

“Go on Meine Liebe, come all over my cock like a good whore” he taunted as his thrusts picked up and soon his hand was placed on the back of your head; shoving your face into the mattress.

Your mouth opened in a silent scream, body trembling, and toes curling as your climax washed over you. Your entire body shook as Sebastian kept going, his thrusts unforgiving as he chased a high of his own.

Grunts filled the room as Sebastian felt the familiar shiver run down his spine and he came deep inside you, your cunt milking him dry.

He smirked at the sight of your fucked out face when he turned your body over, tear tracks covered your red cheeks as you panted for air.

“So pretty Liebling” he shushed as he ran his thumb along your warm cheek.

“Tha-that was amazing” you laughed as you pulled his body down to press against yours.

“Yeah?” He smirked as he placed kisses along your neck.

“Mhm”

“I’m glad because I’m far from being done with you”

-

[silverstonesainz-archive]

one night only

─── only three floors up, marks the end of a night he could only ever dream of

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader warnings: nsfw!!! minors dni!!! (includes f receiving fingering, m receiving oral, & p in v, unprotected) foul language, and mentions of cheating.

His mouth is watering. As ridiculous as it sounds, his mouth is watering. He stands at the other end of the red carpet, waiting for his cue to take his walk when he sees you walk by in a sleek black, floor length dress. The neckline is high, tying around your neck, but the back hangs dangerously low. He admires the soft skin of your back, the way he can see the dimples sitting at the bottom of your spine. 

He’s never craved anything more in his life.

“Alright Charles, you’re all good to go.” The sweet lady smiles up at him, stepping back to give him room to walk across the carpet.

Charles mutters a thanks, nodding graciously before stepping out onto the carpet. After years of having phones and cameras shoved in his face, you would think he’d be used to the flashing and screams of him to look this way! He does his best, a tight lipped smile gracing his features as he tries to look at multiple cameras before walking further down the carpet. He tries to catch sight of you again, but instead he’s met with his first interviewer. The lady beams widely, introducing herself but Charles doesn’t hear her. He’s beginning to feel overwhelmed, the constant screaming and shouting for whoever else is walking down the carpet behind him. He tries to get through the interview, pulling out gracious answers about his team’s disaster season and his rise to and then unfortunate drop from the top. 

“Max! Max! Over here!”

Charles is slightly distracted, turning his head ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of his friend and rival. But he has to do a double take when his green eyes catch a glimpse of a familiar sleek black dress. The reporter asks him another question, one he completely misses as he stares at you in awe. But what really gets to him is the way Max’s hand rests on the skin of your back, holding you flush against him. 

“Charles?” 

The lady next to him taps his shoulder, forcing Charles to tear his eyes off your figure. He can feel his face heat up, letting out a nervous chuckle. “Scusate! Potrebbe ripetere, per favore?” Sorry! Could you repeat that please?

He does his best to get through the rest of his walk, taking more photos and answering more questions until he finally gets to the entrance of the gala. He finds his table, sitting down and immediately going on his phone. It isn’t long until the event begins and introductions are made. Most of the event is a blur, Charles drowning his sorrows in flutes of champagne and overcooked steak. 

He barely registers his name being announced, a proud call to his achievement of Vice Champion. The Monegasque smiles curtly at his peers, mouths thanks to those who clap for him. And as he steps up on the stage to accept his trophy, his eyes scan the crowd. He knows exactly what– or rather, who– he is looking for. And in the sea of wide eyes, he was looking for one pair in particular. And then he spots you. Charles shouldn’t be surprised that you were looking at him, everyone is looking at him. He should be used to hundreds of eyes on him, hell he should be used to millions. But your eyes are the only pair that light his every nerve ending ablaze. You’re leaning forward, elbows on the table as your cheek rests in your right hand. Your eyes are wide, stuck to him under the bright lights that illuminate the stage. His suit suddenly feels too tight, the spotlight overheating him. He might pass out. 

But he doesn’t let it show. The media training from years of being in front of the camera takes over, ready made responses roll off his tongue. He says his thanks to his team, to the people in the factory, to Mattia, to his family and to all the people who helped him along the way. He wonders if you know he meant you. From the way you shift in your seat, he would guess yes. He wants to smile at you, to acknowledge you in some way if not with words, but then he sees Max lean in and whisper something in your ear. His stomach turns at how quickly you look away from him, how you lean into the man’s touch. He forces himself to look away, to avert his gaze towards his brother who just smiles up at him, unknowing of the younger Leclerc’s turmoil.

The applause grows in volumes, cueing him to wave and walk back to his seat. As he lowers himself into his chair, his hand loosens the tie around his neck. Several people at the table congratulate him personally with kind smiles and gentle pats. He thanks them all before reaching for the glass of water and drinking all that’s left in it. 

“Est-ce que ça va?” Are you okay? 

Charles nods at his older brother, setting the glass. “Oui. Juste au chaud..." Yes, just warm…

The night drags along for Charles. More awards, more applause, more champagne. By the end of the night, he was a little more intoxicated than he should be at a work function. He clutches onto the trophy, his trophy, as he exits the ballroom, listening to the people directing him to his next photo-op. The champagne is swirling in his head, making the floor beneath him tilt left to right ever so slightly. For a man whose career depends on accuracy and balance, he was lacking some in that very moment. Charles is greeted by even more people, more champions and winners alike, all with their own trophies cradled in their arms. 

“Charles, if we could have you stand next to Max please.” A man rests his hand on Charles’s shoulder, his other arm extended to point to the spot next to his fellow driver. 

Charles makes eye contact with Max, and both drivers exchange awkward, closed mouth smiles. The Monegasque driver walks over, planting himself close enough to his friend for their shoulders to be touching. His grip on his trophy tightens, worried he may make a fool of himself and drop it. His knees lock, and he stumbles a bit in his place, effectively bumping into Max. The Dutch boy chuckles softly, eyes crinkling as he watches Charles regain his balance. 

“Too much champagne, no?”

Charles’s cheeks tinge red as he nods, “Way too much mate.”

The two drivers laugh, and the press has a field day. Shutters and flashes go off, trying to capture the moment of camaraderie between the rivals. The not-so-rare moments of laughter and conversation between the two of them are a must see shot, and Charles is sure they’d be plastered on every newspaper, blog, and instagram by the time he wakes the next morning. 

They take a couple more pictures, more posed than the last, and a couple of shots where both men hold their trophy high and proud. Then they walk off, as if the moment never happened. Max bids him adieu, a happy holiday season, and Charles does the same before being led to the next photo-op or interview, whichever was left on his agenda for the night. 

But then he spots you again, waiting patiently behind all the cameras for Max. He can’t help the jealousy bubbling in him at the way you smile at his rival, how soft your eyes are for him. He watches the way your hand finds Max’s arm, the way it slips down the black sleeve of his jacket, fingers finding refuge between his. His dinner begins to climb up his throat, and he forces it back down with a thick swallow. And for the briefest of moments, he sees your eyes flicker from Max to him. Charles watches for your reaction, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. Instead you return your gaze to the man in front of you, a small smile and subtle nod like you’ve been listening to him the entire time.

The night ends much later than Charles would have preferred. He was finally allowed to leave after the third photo-op with his Vice Champion Trophy. He’s sick of the flashes, of the shutters, of all the congratulations and hopeful stares. He didn’t want to spend another moment in that room, with the constant reminder that he was second best at something he poured his heart and soul into. He couldn’t handle it.

Lorenzo drops his younger brother home, but not without another round of congratulations. "Félicitations Charles. Nous sommes si fiers, papa est si fier.” Congratulations Charles. We are so proud, papa is so proud.

Charles walks up to his front door with his head hanging low, remnants of his one too many glasses of champagne weighing him down. He fumbles with his keys, forcing it into the knob as he quickly unlocks his door and shoves it open. With a huff, he drops all his belongings on the side table in the foyer, the silver trophy included. He’d deal with it in the morning. 

He undoes his tie, unbuttons his shirt, and shrugs off his Ferrari jacket. It isn’t long until he’s left in his briefs, falling onto his plush couch and flicking on the TV to fill his empty Monaco apartment. The pad of his thumb presses the plus on the remote, moving through Monaco’s late night TV. He lands on a dubbed version of Friends, lowering the volume level until he can barely hear Joey and Chandler’s voices. He lays back against a throw pillow, letting the hum of the television lull him to sleep. 

Dreams don’t happen very often for Charles. Between jet lag, the limited hours of sleep, and his mind filled with the car, the care and nothing but the car, there wasn’t much left in him to dream of anything else. Tonight would be the first time in a long time, with the help of Brut, does he finally dream of something worth remembering. But it comes in flashes, flickering so fast he can barely keep up with the changing scenes. It’s bright eyes that stare up at him through thick lashes. Flushed, clammy cheeks that have strands of hair sticking to them. Pink, swollen lips, wet with spit. Pink swollen lips, wrapped around him. 

The knock on his front door pulls him from his dream. Charles groans softly, shifting on the plush couch as he chases a flicker of his imagination. He hoped that the knocking would go away, that he’d return to a fantasy that only lives in his mind. But the knocking returns, louder against the hardwood of his front door. It’s still dark out. He couldn’t have been asleep for longer than an hour. When Charles looks at his phone, it reads 1:03 AM, and he groans. His dick is painfully hard, aching over the dream he just had. Charles pries his eyes open, looking down at his black briefs, the bulge of his hard cock more prominent than he expected.

The person on the other side of his door knocks a third time, this time louder and much more desperate. He mutters tired, French nonsense as he drags himself to the front door in his underwear and socks. He doesn’t even bother to check who’s even knocking, his hazy mind assuming it’s his younger brother in drunken stupor, or better yet a fellow driver in need of something. He makes half an effort to adjust himself, not in the mood to give whoever was at his front door a free show– or an explanation as to why he was hard at one in the morning, all by his lonesome. 

The last thing he expects to see is you, still in the same sleek black gown and mascara smudged on your waterline and pink cheeks. Flushed, clammy cheeks that have strands of hair sticking to them. He’s awake now, wide awake. 

“Can I come in?” 

How could he deny you? So of course, he steps aside and allows you to step into his home. He shuts the door behind him, leaning against the hardwood as he watches you move about his space. With your back to him, he adjusts himself again, suddenly very self conscious about his state. But you don’t seem to notice, setting your purse down next to his pile of belongings on the entryway table. You don’t even acknowledge the obnoxious silver trophy sitting right there, walking right past it to fall onto the couch. 

Charles grabs a worn jumper and puma athletic shorts that rests on a chair, slipping it over his body. When he looks over at you, your head is in your hands and your shoulders shaking up and down. He frowns, listening to your quiet cries, unsure of what he can do to make everything better. He figures he could start with a glass of water. You hear him move behind you, the clinking of dishes and gentle thuds of cabinets closing. You hear the water running, and then the soft pit pat of Charles’s feet as he makes his way over to you. 

He kneels in front of you, glass of water in hand. You finally look up from your hands, and Charles offers you a reassuring smile. He offers you the glass, and you take it from his grasp. Charles moves to sit next to you, leaving a couple of inches between the two of you. He watches you as you gulp down the water, watching it move down your throat like it was the first time you had drunken water in days. You set the glass down on the coffee table, eyes flickering up to the TV.

“You were watching Friends?”

Charles’s gaze shifts to the TV, watching as Rachel talks with Ross. The volume isn’t loud enough for him to understand what they’re talking about, but he’s seen this episode before. “Mmm, yeah. Needed some background noise so it wouldn’t be so quiet.”

You nod, looking at the expanse of his home. It’s messy, with clothes strewn everywhere and miscellaneous items placed in places they don’t belong. The biggest shock is that there aren’t any dirty dishes lying around, but you could chuck that up to the fact he probably doesn’t eat at home very often. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks you. 

You shake your head, “I just want to go to sleep Charles, and forget that tonight ever happened.” 

He doesn’t push any further, even if he is curious over your current state. He wants to know what made you cry, why your first instinct is to come to his apartment in the early hours of the morning, that you knew you could find refuge with him. Maybe it was for an ego boost, or yet again another thing for him to use to justify why he keeps letting you into his life. 

He leads you into his room. His room is probably the tidiest place in the whole apartment, it almost looks untouched. You watch as he pulls out drawers and cabinet doors, handing you a shirt of his and a pair of boxers. When you retreat to the bathroom, Charles pulls back the covers, spraying a bit of the room spray his mom got him to get rid of the mothy smell. He hadn’t slept in his own bed in months, it almost felt wrong to be standing in his room at that moment. He’d spent the better part of the year on the road, and even while on breaks he found it hard to sleep in the quiet of his own apartment. 

You come out of the bathroom not too long later, rubbing your eyes as you make your way over to bed and climbing in. Charles stands awkwardly, watching as you pull the covers over your body. He watches as you fluff the pillows, shifting them around to create more space. 

“Are you going to join me?”

Charles can’t help the knowing smile that graces his lips, shaking his head subtly. “I really shouldn’t…”

“Please? It’s not like we haven’t before…”

A point was made. But there weren’t any boundaries before. Nothing was holding him back before, but now… now there's far too much. He should’ve shook his head, said good night, and returned to his place on the couch, letting Friends put him back to sleep.

But you sit in his bed, wearing his clothes, staring at him with a stare he can’t ever say no too. So with a sigh, he moves to the space you’ve left for him in the bed, laying under the covers as you cozy up to his side like you’ve done in the past. Your fingers lay on his sweater clad chest, pressing the fuzzy lining against his burning skin. Your face is nuzzled into his neck, warm body so dangerously close to him. It’s sickening, how right it all feels.

“Why are you so stiff?”

Was he? He didn’t notice. Charles puffs out a breath through pursed lips, a dry chuckle rumbling from his throat. You pull your head from the crook of his neck to look up at him. He feels your gaze, but he refuses to give into the urge to turn and look right back at you. But he sees your wide eyes, the questioning in your gaze as you patiently wait for an explanation. 

“I dunno.” He finally says. “I didn’t even realize.” 

You lift your head, perching it in the palm of your hand with your elbow digging into the pillow next to him. Now he can see you, see the way your brows are furrowed almost playfully, as if you aren’t convinced of his answer. Charles turns his head slightly, just enough that you could see all of him under the blue light of the moon peeking through his windows. He offers you a small smile, a soft whisper of hello, one you return with the same soft hi. 

“I’ve missed you,” You confess. 

It should’ve made him angry. The revelation should’ve reminded him of the reality of you and him. It should’ve been a swift slap to the face, a reminder of why you miss him when he’s been available to you all this time. You chose to stray far, to find happiness elsewhere. But instead it clouds his vision. Pulls him further and further to a reality that was only meant to live in his head– in the daydreams he kept in idle time. He reaches up towards you. He shouldn’t have. His fingers brush the hair back behind your ear– it burns him. Charles feels himself lean into you as your other hand comes up to comb themselves through his hair, pushing it back while your nails gently scratch his scalp. Your hand comes down from the top of his head, sliding effortlessly along his skin, cupping his cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He hums softly, another sweet smile on his lips as he lets his head fall into your hold. 

“You miss me?”

“You know I do.”

You lay like that for what feels like eternity. A blissful eternity. 

Charles’s index finger traces from the top of your temple, along the outline of your face. It’s slow, soft, damn right sensual the way he traces every dip and curve. You feel his calloused skin along your jaw, down the length of your throat. You gulp. He smirks. 

“I like when you do that.” You whisper.

He hums softly, index finger tracing back up your throat. His name tumbles from your lips, breathy and nervous. He chuckles. You almost hate him for it. 

Charles drops his hand after he traces your shoulder. You let out a breath and he laughs softly. “You should go to bed.”

“I’m not tired.”

You fully sit up now, relieving your arm from carrying the weight of your head. Charles doesn’t move, he just watches as you fiddle in your spot until you decide you’re comfortable. He turns his head to the table by his bed, bright red numbers reading 1:56 AM. When he returns his gaze on you, he catches you tying up your hair, arms stretched over your head as you pull the length of your locks through the white scrunchie. His shirt rides up your body slightly, just enough to catch the black lace of your panties hugging the flesh of your hips. 

His mind is hazy as flickers of his dream begin to replay in his mind. His cock twitches in his briefs, he shifts uncomfortable under the covers. You don’t notice, instead laying back down by him in the same position you once were: head in the crook of his neck and hand splayed over his chest. He wonders if you feel the rapid thump of his heart, the way it shakes his ribcage. 

You do. “Your heart is beating so fast.” 

He has no response. And with the lack of one, your fingers leave his chest and find themselves under his sweatshirt. Charles gasps at the cool pad of your fingers dancing along the muscles over his abdomen and up to the skin of his left peck. If his heart wasn’t ready to jump out of his chest into your hands then, it surely is now. For the second time tonight, you lift your head to look down at him. He turns his head this time, tips of your noses brushing when he does so. Charles rests his hand over yours, the soft material of the jumper the only barrier between his skin and yours. 

He answers the question you ask with your eyes, the why clearly expressed in them. “This is what you do to me.” You bite down on your bottom lip, breath hitched in the back of your throat. His heart doesn’t cease, it doesn’t find its normal rhythm the longer you hold it. It beats excitedly for you. “Whenever you look at me, touch me, god you could simply enter a room and my heart is in a frenzy.”

“Charles…” You are breathless again. Nothing else follows his name, not when he slowly sits up and you are forced to back up and fall onto your back. His hand is back on your face, the joint of his index finger trailing down the side of your face. The tip of your nose tickles his, a taunt at just how close his lips are to yours. 

His head inches forward, but backs up in the same beat. What is he doing? You are no longer his to ruin, no longer his to make you tremble the way he is now. He feels how your body goes rigid in anticipation, waiting to see how he will touch you and how you will melt into him. He watches the way your eyes scan his face, micromovements from left to right as you count the seconds until he moves. You are a vision, laid out before him, a perfectly painted picture that he thought he’d only ever see in his dreams. 

Charles is a selfish man, he finds out. Selfish when it comes to you, selfish when it comes to consuming you. And maybe it’s his rival, your boyfriend,  just three floors up probably wondering where you’d gone that gets him off. The way you don’t push him off when his nose bumps yours, or the breath that shakes your chest when he inches his head forward again. It’s the way you welcome him dangerously close, that convinces him that what is bound to happen, is okay. He smirks, the corner of his lip curled upwards at the thought. Max might’ve won the championship, but you’re here in his bed, waiting for him to make a move.  

“Pourquoi es-tu ici, belle?” Why are you here, beautiful? He whispers, the ghost of his lips on yours, “Hm?” He pulls away again, fingers coming up to tuck your hair behind your ear again. “pourquoi es-tu dans mon lit?” why are you in my bed? 

Words have yet to leave you, to tumble past your lips to tell him to stop. Your hands had ample time to push him off, to say goodnight and find your rest from the long night behind you. But the scent of Charles at two in the morning, the smell of minty mouthwash while he speaks to you, the pads of your fingers touching you so tenderly is all but a ruse to convince you not to stop what is surely about to unravel. You feel the torch being lit in your gut, the way your cunt aches for him. 

And you are no better than to deny yourself of getting your fill of Charles.

You meet him halfway, much to the Monegasque’s surprise. Your lips mold into his, and Charles is quick to reciprocate the movements, his hand coming up to the back of your head to pull you even closer to him. The kiss is sloppy, a mess of teeth and spit as you pull onto each other in desperation. Charles shifts his body over yours, cock growing hard at the way your legs fall open and make room for his body. 

No time is wasted as he grounds his hips against yours, hard member rubbing against your clothed center. You sigh into his mouth, fingers clawing and gripping at his brown locks in your tightly wound fists. He rocks you back and forth as he pressed himself against you. Soft grunts and groans bubble from Charles, vibrating against your lips before he pulls away and leaves wet, open mouthed kisses along your neck. You release his hair, fingers gripping the back of his sweatshirt and pulling it up and over his head. Charles kneels between your legs, finishing the job for you as he slides the sleeves off his arms and the neckline over his head before tossing it on the floor somewhere in the room. 

His chest heaves as he stares down at you, links pink and plump, wet with you. You blush, fingertips reaching up to lay flat against his toned abdomen, sliding your hand down towards the hem of his shorts. Charles doesn’t move a muscle, allowing you to pull on the waistband of the team provided shorts, snapping against his skin. He scowls playfully, right hand dipping under his shirt on your body, laying flat against the top of your underwear.

“Je peux jouer aussi, amour.” I can play too, love.

You try to buck your hips up, encourage the boy above you to touch you where you’ve dreamt of him touching you. But he presses down on you firmly, restricting you from moving all too much. You whine softly, and he smiles. Charles leans down to find your lips with his, kissing you so hard you feel your head spin. Both your hands come up to cup his cheeks, to keep him from leaving you again. 

The joys of a Formula One driver, you realize, is how great they are at multitasking. They’re quick on their feet, able to focus their mind on one thing while their body acts on a different task. Charles is the greatest testament to this, with how quickly he pulls off his shorts while his lips remain attached to yours. His fingers tug on your underwear, pulling it down your legs to give his middle finger the room to slide against you. He feels your body relax under him, how you melt into his hold, lips lazily keeping up with him as he kisses you. His middle finger moves up and down, up and down, collecting your arousal before pushing it into you. You moan his name at the feeling of his finger stretching you out ever so slightly, the way he curls it to tickle your g-spot before pulling it out. 

Charles pulls away from the kiss, eyes casted downwards as he watches the way his middle and now ring finger dance along your pussy. Up and down, clit snug between the pad of his fingers as he presses down lightly. You shudder, a soft grunt coming from you when he does so. He smiles, sliding his fingers down towards your entrance, eyes back on yours as he pushes his digits into you. A fire is lit in his stomach at the way your brows furrowed, the soft whines the push past your lips. You don’t see the way he smiles, not with your eyes squeezed shut as he fucks his fingers into you. 

You aren’t sure how long you’d last with the way he pumps his fingers in and out, over and over. The fuse has been lit, you feel yourself inching closer to the edge. But you know Charles just as much as he knows you. You predict the exact second he’d pull his fingers out of you, the sigh that leaves your lips when he does, and your orgasm deflating inside you. What you count on is his husky voice commanding you to open your mouth. To that your eyes fly open, staring up at him curiously, only to be met with dark eyes and his tongue darting out to lick his lips. 

“Open your mouth, belle.” He says again. 

You do so, with much hesitation. Pink lips part, and Charles can’t help but picture the way they’d look wrapped around his cock. The way he’d fit perfectly in your throat like he does in your pussy. He aches. Your lips are parted, tongue partially out, and he rests the fingers the were once inside you on it. 

“Sucer.” 

Your pupils are blown, no more second guessing as your lips clamp around his digits and you begin to suck off your own arousal. You stare up at him with lust-glazed eyes, bobbing your head up and down on his fingers. 

“You like the taste of yourself, belle?” He taunts, “The taste of what I’ve done to you.” You moan softly, nodding on his fingers. “I wanna feel that mouth elsewhere.” 

He pries his fingers from your mouth, allowing you to push him off and onto his back. It is your turn to find your place between his legs, fingers quick to grasp onto the waistband of his black briefs and pulling them down his legs. His cock springs up, smacking against his belly, veiny and angry, already leaking with precum. Charles rests himself on the headboard, hands behind his head as he awaits your mouth. 

You were never as teasing as Charles is, never one to play games in the heat of the moment. You played on your desperation, played on your cock-starved self as you pumped your right hand on the hardened shaft of his dick, pursed lips pressing a kiss to its head. You kiss your way down his length, and it’s when you’re at the base of his dick do you finally lay your soft tongue flat against him and lick upwards. He groans softly, watching as you lick up and taking him into your mouth all in one swift, fluid movement. The sight proves to be better than what any dream could ever make up. Your eyes are brighter than he’d ever imagine, filled with lust as they stare up at him through thick lashes. Flushed, clammy cheeks have strands of hair sticking to them. Pink, swollen lips, wet with spit. Pink swollen lips, wrapped around him.

He savors the feeling of the warmth of your mouth around his length, the way your head bobs up and down, and the soft gagging each time he hits the back of your throat. You stroke his ego with the sloppy sounds, the way you try to suck him off all while simultaneously trying to swallow the excess spit the drips from your mouth. Charles’s left hand comes to hold your hair in his fist, his right cupping your jaw as his thumb begins to rub circles on the hinge of your jaw. 

“You’re so pretty like this baby, choking on my cock,” He hums, tilting his head to get a better view of your tear stained cheeks. “You’re so good to me.” 

You hum around him, throat relaxed as you take as much of him as you can. Charles throws his head back in ecstasy, the head of his dick squeezed tightly at the top of your throat. He could’ve came right there, spurting his seed for you to swallow. But he stops himself, yanking the ponytail in his fist. You gasp for air, looking up at him with wide eyes and drool sliding down your chin. Charles’s cock twitches. If he could’ve taken a picture, he would’ve. 

Instead, he guides your head up to him, thumb pressing down on your bottom lip to swipe away the excess spit from the blowjob you had just given him. Then he presses a kiss on your lips swiftly, hands moving to grab your hips and pull your core over him. You allow yourself to sit on him, slick cunt sliding along the length of Charles’s dick. He hisses against your mouth, lips forced from yours as he looks down at the way you rock your hips against him. 

Your hands cup either side of his jaw, forcing his gaze to return to you. And when his green eyes bore into yours, your hips stop moving. Charles’s grip on your hips loosen, but they still hold you with such force, warmth from his palms penetrating your skin. Both your chests are heaving, gasping for air as you try to come down from the intense moments shared not too long ago. His eyes study your face, pick at every mole and every scar, every little detail he committed to memory because who knows when he’d ever see you this way again. 

You pull his shirt off your body, completely bare before him.

“I want you.” Your voice is soft, a whisper, as if you’re afraid the man three floors above this one would hear your confession. 

“I’m yours.” 

Neither of you take the words for its surface level meaning, nevermind the deeper connotation that it held. He’d never know just how much you meant the words I want you, if you meant them the way he meant I’m yours. But he’s okay with that. He’s learned to be okay with never knowing. For him, those two words held so much truth, it held his heart together. Two words allowed the moments to follow it to be okay, to be something you would both carry with the other til your six feet beneath shit soil at a cemetery on a hill. 

The way Charles kisses you is an outpour of everything he feels for you, every ounce of love for you that sits in his chest. It’s every word unspoken, every touch not shared, every memory he wished he could’ve made with you. It’s filled with everything he has left to give you, and he lets you take every last drop. His mind is hazy, unable to decipher the way you kiss him back, just accepting the languid motions of your lips moving with his. His hands guide your hips upwards, while yours grip his cock to line it up to your entrance. Slowly, then all at once, you sink down onto him. A mix of muffled moans fill the room, the sweet rush of relief as Charles fills you up with every inch of him. Your breath is hot against his face as you struggle to breathe. He feels you clench around him, hugging him so beautifully he wished you could stay like this forever. 

He let you set the pace, watching the rise and fall of your hips as you bounce on his dick. It’s slow, deliberate, sure to take all of him with each stroke. He savors your warmth and wet, savors the way your cunt is made for him. His eyes fall shut, senses heightened with the loss of one. Your nails dig into the skin of his chest as you pick up the pace, desperate for your own release. Charles lets you use him to get off, to chase the orgasm you so desperately crave. He forces his eyes open to watch as you slowly fall apart above him, the mess of moans, the whines and call of his name as you tremble around him. He feels your pussy pulsate around him, your cum dripping all over him. 

You lean your head onto his chest, pressing a chaste kiss above his right nipple. 

“Do you have one more in you baby?” He asks, lifting your off of him and flipping you over so that he is hovering above you. You nod lazily, arms wrapping loosely around his neck. “That’s my girl.” 

Charles does the work, pumping his shaft that’s wet with your slick. He rubs the head of his dick along your slit before plunging into you once more. You cry out in pleasure, arms tightening around him as you pull him closer. His hips roll into yours, pushing in and out of you. It’s almost perfect, the way he fucks you while your heels dig into his tailbone to pull him in closer. The way he kisses you so tenderly while fucking you into his mattress. Your hands release him, clambering above you to grip onto the pillow. Charles is so close, and he knows you are right behind him. He licks his index and middle finger before placing them onto your sensitive clit, rubbing circles over and over until you come undone once more. It’s your orgasm, the way your cunt holds him, the way you chant his name over and over like a disciple to their messiah, the way your chest puffs up into him, that pushes him over the edge into his own euphoria. He fills you up with his cum, your name leaving his lips in breathless sigh. 

I’m yours, he thinks to himself, not just for tonight. For always.

He looks up at you, heart filled with warmth as you smile at him. Not a sliver of regret, just pure ecstasy. Charles pulls out of your reluctantly, only leaning in to press a quick kiss onto your lips over running into the bathroom for a wash cloth. He cleans you up, and then himself, before rolling back into his place in bed. And for the third time that night, you find yourself with your head buried in the crook of his neck and your hand resting on his chest. 

Panic sets in when you let your exhaustion take you. Not an ounce of regret, no. He’d never regret the opportunity to fuck you, to slip inside you and feel your warmth around him. No, never. The Monegasque panics for you, for his moments of selfishness turning you into a liar. He panics because just three floors above him is your boyfriend in bed, in bed where you are meant to be. He wonders how you manage to fall asleep so easily, how you melt into him like it’s all you’ve ever known. He’s now too afraid to hold you properly, too afraid to let his hand find refuge on your skin. How does he let you go now? How does he let you walk out of his home after tonight? 

He doesn’t know that. But he does know that when the sun rises in a couple of hours, he would have to.

While you fall asleep, the Monegasque stares at the ceiling. Nothing, not even the sound of your mellow breathing eases his quick beating heart, eases the anxieties building in his chest. He stays awake until the sky shifts from black to blue and the sun begins to peek through the curtains, teasing a new day.

Your phone rings, pulling you from your dreamless sleep. You remove yourself from Charles’s hold, rolling over to grab your phone on the nightstand to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hey, where are you? I’ve been calling you all night.” 

Charles watches as you shoot up from your place in bed, hand still resting on his chest. He sees it now, the panic, the sliver of regret he was searching for just hours prior. He watches as you offer an excuse easily, almost naturally, while moving about Charles’s room to pick up your belongings. You crashed at a friend’s place, is the excuse you give Max on the other end of the line. Charles hears the soft tenor of the Dutchman’s voice as he pleads for you to return home, a plethora of apologies tumbling out of the receiver. 

You bid adieu to the man on the other end of the phone, hanging up immediately after. You try not to look at Charles, not as you pick up your discarded underwear and the dress from the night before. Charles gets up behind you, not saying a word as he walks out of his room, only returning with a glass of water. You give him a quiet thank you, gulping it down before finally looking up at him. 

Neither of you want to address the mess made in bed nor the words with secret meanings. There is an unspoken agreement that neither of you would ever mention it, that last night would fizzle out and be left as a secret between him, you, and the moon. So Charles takes the empty glass from your grasp instead, setting it on his night stand.

“That was Max?” He asks, already knowing the answer.

You nod, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s Max."

He hates the way he has to tiptoe around you now, forced to forget the way you were just wrapped around him hours ago. Now he has to stand there, offer you a smile like a friend would. Like a friend should.

"Our little secret, yeah?" You whisper, brows furrowed but eyes filled with pleas that he'd agree.

He's a selfish man when it comes to you. Charles can't lie to himself about the twisted imagination of how he'd let it slip, let it be known to the champion that he had his way with the greatest prize of all.

But for you, he would never be selfish. Whatever you asked, he followed. So he nods, a pained smile painted on his pink lips.

"Our little secret."

"Listen…” You pause, eyes moving to trace the tired features of the boy before you. “Thank you for letting me in, and for letting me spend the night.” 

Charles nods, doing his best to mask his pain and perturbation behind a smile. But you see right through his up-curved lips, behind the faint squint of his eyes and the light indentation of his dimples. 

“Of course, anything for you.” 

Guilt warps your features. He’s glad it does. He wished you would’ve just walked out, said goodbye and went on your way. But instead you open your arms and wrap them around his neck. And he lets you. Charles returns the gesture with very little hesitation. His arms wrap around your middle, face burying itself in your neck as he holds you close to him. He holds you like his life depends on it, like it’s the last time he would ever hold you.

The sentiment is shared.

This was the hard part, the “letting you go” even though you were never really his to keep anyways. This is the part he dreads the most. You were his, but for a night. One night only. 

He walks you to the door, leaning against the frame as he watches you go down the hallway of his apartment complex.

“Goodbye Charles.” 

He sends you off with a tired smile, and resentment in his chest. He waves as you turn back and make your way further and further from him. Sends you off with the last of him, watching as your hair sways and your head lifted high. He watches as you make your way to go three floors up, where a harsh and cold reality sits waiting for you. Three floors up, to a man who has taken everything from him. Three floors up, where you belong.

note: do i hate the ending of this? a little. but i hope you like this. as always, feedback is so greatly appreciated. smooches.

[its-avalon-08]

Can you do one where max verstappen x leclerc!sister reader? set this after austria 2019. y/n refuses to talk to max, and max refuses to talk to y/n. both angry for their own reasons. charles hates seeing them so distant so he goes and sorts it out even though he is still furious at max.

Thanks!

to hell with him (mv1, cl16! as a brother)

the champagne showers at the red bull ring were a stark contrast to the storm brewing between you and max. two years. two years of laughter, whispered secrets in motorhomes, stolen kisses under starlit skies, all culminating in this icy silence. the roar of the austrian national anthem barely registered as you stared at the podium, charles' jubilant face mocking your shattered heart.

max's reckless move on leclerc in the final lap had cost him the win and ignited a firestorm within you. the frustration, the fear, the betrayal – a cocktail of emotions that left you speechless. max, on the other hand, was fuming. he'd taken the risk for the win, a win that could have closed the gap in the championship. your disapproval felt like another blow, a rejection that added insult to injury.

charles, ever the mediator, couldn't bear the tension any longer. after the podium celebrations, he found you drowning your sorrows – non-alcoholic champagne, of course – in the red bull hospitality area. "y/n," he started cautiously, "we need to talk."

you sighed, the dam threatening to burst. "not now, charles. please."

he persisted, his monegasque accent soft yet firm. "it's breaking him too, you know."

you scoffed. "right, because it's all about him."

his words hung heavy in the air. a flicker of doubt ignited within you. could he be right? but before you could process it, max entered, a dark cloud following him. he scanned the room, his gaze landing on you.

across the room, charles, his own disappointment at a missed podium simmering, couldn't bear the tension any longer. he stormed over, his gaze hard. "this is ridiculous," he declared, voice taut. "talk to each other."

max, surrounded by team personnel, barely glanced up. "nothing to say."

you choked back a retort, the sting of betrayal raw in your throat. charles, seeing the storm brewing in your eyes, turned to max, his voice low, fierce. "that wasn't racing, max. you almost took me out. don't you get it?"

max flinched at the mention of your name, but his jaw remained clenched. "it was a racing incident, charles. end of story."

the tension crackled. you stood abruptly, tears blurring your vision, and stormed out, the echo of cheers hollow in your ears. hurt morphed into anger. you stormed out of the room, the cool night air doing little to soothe your burning cheeks. tears, stinging and hot, welled up in your eyes blurring the path ahead.

meanwhile, max had been drowning his frustration, not in champagne, but in self-recrimination. he replayed the race a thousand times in his mind, each time cringing at his recklessness. but most of all, he saw your tear-filled eyes, a sight that twisted his gut with regret. he had been so focused on his own disappointment, he hadn't seen the hurt etched in your face.

bursting out , he scanned the darkness, his heart pounding with a newfound urgency. he found you on a small bridge overlooking the track, the city lights twinkling below. you were facing away from him, your shoulders trembling with silent sobs.

he walked up slowly, his voice rough with remorse. "y/n," he called out.

you stiffened at the sound, but didn't turn. he stood beside you, a heavy silence settling between you both. finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, he confessed, "i was an idiot. i took a stupid risk and… and i scared you. seeing you cry… that hurt more than anything."

you still refused to meet his gaze. finally, a choked sob escaped your lips.

the sound tore through max's defenses. he closed the remaining space and took a cautious step closer. seeing the tear tracks staining your cheeks, the vulnerability etched on your face, a wave of regret washed over him. he knelt before you, his voice laced with remorse. "i'm so sorry, y/n. i didn't think it through. thinking of losing...it clouded my judgment."

slowly, you turned towards him. the anger that had burned bright in your eyes had softened, replaced by a deep hurt. "it scared me, max," you whispered. "the thought of losing you...of losing charles..."

max reached for your hand, his touch gentle. "i know," he murmured. "i never meant to put either of you at risk. especially you."

he held your gaze, and in his eyes, you saw a depth of emotion you hadn't witnessed before, an apology that went beyond words.

the road to forgiveness wouldn't be easy, but in that moment, a flicker of hope ignited. the roar of the engines outside might drown out some conversations, but the one between you and max had just begun. and for the first time since that reckless move on the track, a tiny corner of your heart dared to believe.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Lucien and Night Court Emissary Reader who were falling in love pre-UTM but she had to break it off/start being cold to keep the cruel High Lord and Court ruse up/Velaris secret safe. Now he's come back with Feyre and sees the truth, is being rejected by Elain, and Reader can't bear to watch him pine after someone who doesn't want him when she's still miserably in love with him.

Angsty but happy ending please ❤️

Anything.

Summary: She's ready to do anything to get him back.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: babes. anon. my darling baby. marry me plis. i LOVED THIS IDEA so much i wasnt ready to write it because i thought i might never do it justice, but i think i like how this thing came out, so thank you thank you THANK YOU anon for this request 🥹🥹🥹

anywas, enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Y/n watched him watch her.

Elain.

Soft, gentle Elain.

Nice, beautiful Elain.

Inconsiderate, unaware Elain.

Elain, who either did no care for who she hurt with her lack of decision making skills, or she genuinely had no idea that she was hurting her mate as she strung him along. Maybe it was just because of the sheltered and happy life Nesta provided for Elain, always keeping her away from the harsh truths of life, and while Y/n had admired that habit of her new friend, she could not help but resent her a little for it.

Y/n took a slow sip of the wine she held in her hand as she stared down from the dimly lit balcony at the ballroom floor, the twirling and swaying couples, wondering how the hell Lucien had changed so much.

So much that he'd gone from being hounded by pretty females falling at his feet and shoving their breasts in his face to get him to give them attention to begging for attention from someone that probably would not be able to tell if she was paining someone.

With a sigh, Y/n made to turn away, deciding that the sweet obliviousness was better than drowning herself in wine and bitter jealousy.

She felt his presence a moment before she smelled the night court high lord.

"Sister." He stepped forward, leaning his elbows onto the balustrade next to her. "Who hurt you?"

Y/n rolled her eyes, immediately relaxing in the presence of her older brother. "What makes you think someone hurt me?"

"Oh, are you telling me that you've decided to take up Azriel's job of brooding and glaring at people from a dark corner just for fun?"

Y/n said nothing, her eyes flitting all over the dance floor absently before settling on a head of fiery red that stood against the far wall, holding a champagne flute.

Rhys turned his head to glance at her when she sad nothing, then followed her gaze. "Oh. Did he kill your cat?"

Y/n released a frustrated breath. "Rhys."

"What?!"

"I don't have a cat."

"Oh my, I am sorry your highness."

Y/n was tempted to shove her middle finger in his face, and he might have read it on her face, as he huffed out a laugh. "Sorry. But come on. What happened? You know that you can tell me anything, right?"

Y/n turned away from the view she had been staring at, instead leaning her back against the railing, letting her head fall back as her arms came to rest on the expensive wood of the balustrade.

"I do."

Silence settled around the two siblings, comfortable and welcome, heavy with internal thoughts, filled with the music from the orchestra in the corner and soft humming from Rhys.

Before long, Y/n started humming along with him, almost subconsciously. She hadn't even realised it until after a few moments, and she smiled at the wall she now stared at.

"Y/n. I've known for quite some time now that you have been hiding something from me. If there's anything I can do for you and whatever you are doing, then please let me know. You don't have to tell me what it is-"

"It's Elain."

Rhys fell quiet, and Y/n sighed. "Come. Let's go somewhere more... private."

Rhys followed her quietly down the stairs and out into the hallway, letting her lead him to her room.

He did not ask anymore questions, nor did he speak, but Y/n could feel the intrigue and curiosity rolling off of him.

Y/n did not speak even when the two of them arrived to her bedroom, walking over to the small cupboard in the corner she stashed her favourite drinks in, including pineapple juice and champagne. She also kept a bottle of whiskey there in case her brother decided to give her a visit.

"So... what happened with Elain?" Rhys spoke as Y/n was pouring him a glass of whiskey, and Y/n steeled her resolve. There was no way she could keep it to herself anymore, because if she did, she would very likely explode.

And anyways, this was her brother. She could tell him anything.

"So... you remember how you sent me to that spring court ball to represent night court?"

Rhys nodded, his attention rapt.

"Yeah well, I met Lucien for the first time there." Y/n busied herself by popping open the bottle of some bubbling champagne, letting it slowly trickle out and into the flute she held, her eyes fixed on the little bubbles that floated from the bottom of the glass.

"He, of course, being the charming male he is, got me running after him. We talked that night. We talked till it was morning, till we knew I needed to return or else you would worry." Y/n smiled softly as she remembered the way she had made Lucien laugh till he was telling her to shut up because his stomach hurt.

"Oh." Y/n could see the pieces falling in place for her brother.

"Everytime after that when I told you I was going out to party all night, I was just travelling to the outskirts of spring court and just talking with him the whole night." Y/n blinked away the prickling in her eyes at that. "I started to fall for him, and he reciprocated."

Y/n let that marinate in the air a little before continuing.

"But then Amarantha came, took his eye. He pulled away, drawing into himself and shutting off anyone who tried to comfort him."

"But how come I never saw you with him?"

Y/n smiled sadly. "He had returned to spring with Tam, and I was trapped under the mountain. When he did visit, he would always hide in shame because he thought I would hate him after he lost his eye." She downed the rest of the liquor left in her glass, grimacing. "He did approach me once, and I..."

"Fuck." Rhys mumbled under his breath after a moment of silence, staring at her. "You told him to leave you alone, didn't you?"

Y/n closed her eyes, leaning back into her chair. He cursed again.

"He probably thought it was because of his eye. Or maybe that I was playing him all along. I don't know why, but he accepted it. Did not fight back. I let him believe it. I did not want him to get any more unnecessary unwanted attention from Amarantha. That was the only way that felt right."

Y/n opened her eyes to find Rhys bowed, his elbows resting on his knees as he clutched his head in frustration. "Fuck Y/n. I thought you were smarter than that."

Y/n sighed. "Apparently not."

Rhys reached out to grab the bottle of whiskey from the low table in front of them, drinking directly from the bottle.

Y/n simply watched him.

"Why are you getting so worked up over this? I thought you didn't like Lucien?"

Even just saying his name made her heart ache in longing.

Rhys stayed silent for a moment before standing, extending his hand towards her. "I might dislike him, but I can tell how much you like him. And your happiness comes above all else."

When Y/n stared at him and his hand, unmoving, he wiggled his fingers. "Come on, let's go get you your knight in shining armour."

Y/n's eyes widened. "What?"

He gave her a wicked grin. "Trust me baby sister."

Y/n thought over it for a moment. She knew whatever her brother's unhinged brain had come up with would probably be uncomfortable, but it would definitely help her out.

So, with an exasperated sigh, she stood, slipping her hand into his. "For everyone's sake, Rhys, I hope that whiskey hasn't gotten to your head yet and that you are not planning something stupid."

"Me? Stupid?" His grin widened. "Never."

Now that, concerned Y/n.

•○🌑○•

Y/n knew she made a mistake when trusting Rhys the moment he led her to a secluded room in the house of wind.

He opened the door, shoved her in and then locked it behind her. She turned, slamming her fists on the door as she cursed at him. He only laughed, telling her to wait and be patient.

Y/n huffed, folding her arms across her chest as she took in the room he had brought her to.

It was a cosy, intimate place, with a circular table in the center of the room, two chairs on opposite sides of it. There was a huge spread of food on it, most of it she'd already seen in the living room earlier in the evening.

The entirety of the room was covered in nothing but candles, giving the darkened room a soft, romantic glow. And slowly, things started clicking for Y/n.

Rhys had gone to get Lucien.

Shit.

Y/n whipped around, frantically searching for a way out.

While she was still in love with him, in no way was she ready for the confrontation.

She knew he hated her for breaking his heart. There was no way he didn't. She hated herself for it. She did not know how she would go about apologising without it looking like she only wanted him after he'd found someone better.

The glass doors leading to the balcony were thrown wide open, the soft gauzy curtains fluttering gently in the breeze. Y/n stared out at the night sky mournfully. She had taken more after her father than her mother, and so while her brother was half illyrian and could summon wings, she could not.

Now, more than ever, Y/n cursed her father for not being a winged male.

The door was locked, and winnowing was out of the question. Begging someone to let her out would tire her out and make her get angrier, so that had to be scratched out too.

Looking around defeatedly as she accepted her fate, Y/n found a full body length mirror against a far wall.

Meeting her own eyes, Y/n walked closer, knowing that her brother would have left no exit way for her to run from the situation at hand. So there was only one thing she could do, and that was prepare herself.

She studied her own figure, turning this way and that as she smoothed down the nonexistent wrinkles from the skirts of her dark maroon gown that reminded her of Lucien in all his glory.

"You can do this." Y/n muttered in the silence of the room, staring intensely at herself as she pushed back her shoulders and took in a deep breath. "He deserves to know."

Not a moment later, the sound of a lock clicking open echoed through the room, and Y/n winced, turning in time to see Lucien stumbling in and then the door being pulled shut.

He grumbled under his breath, fixing and pulling on his sleeves. He glanced up, then stilled, his eyes filled with surprise.

"Y/n." He addressed her as he straightened.

"Lucien..." He stared at her, his eyes slowly and leisurely roaming her figure. The look in his eyes was just like the way he used to look at her fifty years ago, when everything had been right, perfect. It made Y/n blush, and she had to swallow in an attempt to peel her tongue off of the roof of her mouth. "How- how have you been?"

He met her eyes. "I've been good. Good enough to not die I guess. How about you?"

Y/n swallowed the guilt climbing up her throat like bile. Maybe it was bile. Damn, should not have drank that champagne. "I'm good. As good as I can be without you-"

"Don't."

Y/n looked down at the floor, her blush increasing in embarrassment as he took a look around the room, his golden eye clicking softly. "I'm sorry-"

Then his eyes flew to hers, accusation written in every angle of his beautiful face as his metal eye whirred. "Why did he bring me here?"

Y/n swallowed. "I- if you're saying that I made him drag you here, stop. I did not tell him to bring you here."

Lucien glanced around the room again with a skeptical look. "So he just decided that putting the two of us in the same room with such a setting would be funny?"

Y/n closed her eyes, forcing herself to speak the truth. "I... was just talking to Rhys and he found out that we were seeing each other before under the mountain happened, and he did this by himself."

Lucien scoffed, making her open her eyes to look at him. "And did he tell you why?"

"Lucien-"

"Of course, his brother's happiness matters far more than a bond to him. I just know he's doing this to keep me away from Elain to give Azriel a chance-"

"My brother is strictly against Azriel and Elain getting together-"

"Oh yes, your brother is a fucking saint who can never-"

"Lucien!"

He turned away with an incredulous laugh, walking to the balcony and leaning against the railing. "You've made your feelings very clear Y/n. You've hurt me enough for one lifetime. Leave me alone now. Let me wallow in hope and defeat."

Y/n followed him out. "You don't have to wallow alone." She mumbled, her voice quiet.

"And who will be with me? Feyre? Elain? You?" He laughed, a humourless sound that shot sadness straight to Y/n's heart like a bolt. "I'm always meant to be alone."

Y/n's heart broke right alongside his voice. "Lucien that's not the case."

"Then tell me what is, because as I see it, everyone seems set on hurting me or leaving me. Tell me. Tell me what the case is."

Y/n looked away from him, staring out over the twinkling light of the rainbow and the snake like Sidra cutting through Velaris.

He huffed, his disappointment evident as he followed her gaze. "Exactly."

Y/n was silent for a moment, contemplating the best way to explain without having him leave.

The best answer was to let all her thoughts free.

So she took a deep breath, composing herself, and began in a soft, calm voice.

"I still love you, more than anyone ever could. I hope you know that." Y/n felt his gaze returning to rest on her face, but she did not look away from the glittering Sidra, knowing she would lose her nerve if she did.

"Amarantha? She had taken a special interest in Rhys and me. Anyone who was found even remotely close to us, whether it be a courtier or someone we just talked to that day, ended up dead, tortured and beaten."

She swallowed, trying to not let those memories resurface. "You also had dug up your own grave. What were you thinking, telling her to crawl back to the hole she crawled out of?"

She finally removed her eyes from the Sidra, using them to glare at her past lover. He was not deterred, lifting his chin as he turned his body to face her fully.

"Nothing other than the urge to get you to safety. I was dumb. I know. But I don't regret it. Even if it cost me my eye." With a meaningful look, he mumbled out softly. "But it was no use, as it cost me you too."

Y/n stared at him, her nervousness long forgotten. "Lucien... why do you think I told you to leave me alone?"

"Because I lost my eye?"

Her eyes widened, and her brain practically stopped functioning. All she could do was whisper, "What?"

He gave her a look. "What? You told me to leave you-"

"Lucien I- no." She facepalmed, releasing a frustrated sigh. "No Lucien. That was not the reason why."

Lucien shifted uncomfortably, not saying anything. "I- thank you?"

Despite her efforts, a smile made its way onto her face, and she slapped his chest. "You dumbass. I pushed you away because I did not want Amarantha and her cronies targeting you because of our relationship."

Lucien blinked. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh." Y/n sighed. "Look Lucien. I... I know there were better ways to tell you to stay away, but I knew you would try your best to stop me from my instincts to protect you, and when you did not put up much of a fuss or even ask me for a reason, I thought you'd been waiting to get rid of me."

Lucien laughed then, a soft, pained but genuine sound. "Looks like we need to learn how to communicate."

Y/n smiled up at him, her eyes prickling a little.

He said nothing for a long time, just staring at her, his eyes swirling with an emotion that Y/n desperately wanted to name but was too scared to.

Y/n waited for him to speak, to move, to do something, with bated breath. He just looked away, releasing a breath.

"Lucien?"

He shook his head.

Concerned, Y/n went to touch his arm.

He recoiled, an Y/n instantly pulled her hand back, her heart breaking again.

"I- I didn't mean to make you uncomfotable-"

"No."

Y/n paused. "Um... No?"

"Why Y/n? Why now?"

"Because I can't watch you pine for someone who does not care while I'm still miserably in love with you!"

He shook his head, his eyes fixed on something in the far distance. "That's not- no. Y/n, I... you know I'm a mated male now."

Y/n reared back like he'd slapped her, and if she was being honest, it would have been better if he dd, because there was nothing in the world that hurt more than hearing that.

Y/n stared at him, trying not to feel betrayed.

"You- you're not mated, Lucien."

His jaw clenched, but he remained quiet.

"You, are not, a mated male-"

"Well I know that-"

"Then why do you pretend that you are unavailable for anyone-"

"I have a mate now-"

"Who does not want you!" Y/n screamed, her chest heaving. A dark look crossed his face, and his eyes hardened as he turned away.

"Thanks for the reminder that I'm unwanted, Y/n. Its almost like I'd forgotten."

Y/n kicked herself mentally, reaching for him. "Lucien, I did not mean that-"

"Oh you for sure did. Don't lie." He mumbled softly as he was stepped through the threshold into the warm interior of the house, like he was defeated, and Y/n wished that he'd screamed at her, fought with her, because that would definitely have been better than this torture of watching his shoulders curve inwards.

She stepped forward, her dress swishing around her legs, tears slipping out of her eyes and rolling down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around his waist. She pressed her cheek into the defined muscles of his back, knowing her tears were going to stain the fine threads of his navy blue jacket.

"Lucien please." Her voice broke as she spoke, and he froze, letting her squeeze him tighter with every sob that ripped through her.

The two of them remained in that embrace for far too long and not long enough, unmoving and unspeaking, the only sounds her soft cries and his breaths.

With a jolt, Y/n realised he was crying too.

"Lucien, I need you. I need you so bad." She turned her head, digging her face harder into his back.

He took a deep breath, his chest expanding under her fingers from where they'd climbed up his body as the two of them cried.

"Y/n-"

"No. No, let me finish." Y/n sniffled, trying to get her voice to stop wobbling. "I love you Lucien, and it pains me greatly to see you get hurt by her."

"I'm used to it by now." He whispered. If it was even possible, her arms tightened around him more.

"Lucien I love you. I need you back. Come back to me, let her go." Y/n cried.

"It's not that simple my love."

Y/n's heart- whatever shattered remains were left in her chest by this point- froze at the term of endearment. He didn't even seem to notice.

Y/n just absorbed and basked in the normalcy in which he spoke, as if the two of them were back when everything had been okay fifty years ago. As if the last fifty years had never happened.

Like the two of them were not standing so close but were still so far away from each other.

"It could be if you wanted it to be." Y/n mumbled into his back, wondering if there was any way she could press closer still.

He sighed, his body relaxing as he let his head fall back. Then he turned.

Y/n had to force herself to breathe so as not to pass out as his eyes met hers again. They now swirled with so much more emotions than they had before.

He lifted his hand silently, letting his fingers trace the apple of her cheeks.

She did not let her arms fall from where they were now wrapped around his waist.

Moments passed.

Months, years, millenia.

Still, they stood in their embrace, quiet, lost in thoughts in the arms of the person they loved most, sacred bond or not, the moment only broken by him parting his lips to speak.

Y/n tracked the action eagerly.

"I... guess you're right."

Y/n blinked, her brain slow to process as she was so busy trying not to bite the soft flesh of his lips.

When she realised what he said though, her eyes flew to his, alert.

"What?"

He swallowed. "I just have to... tell her she can be free. That I won't bother her again. That will do it, right?"

Y/n blinked again, shocked at how easily he'd agreed.

He rose a brow at her.

"What, you think I don't love you still?" Her lips parted in shock at that, and his lips lifted at one corner. "You will need more than a few harsh words to make me hate you-"

Y/n did not let him finish.

His lips were soft against hers, moving in a rhythm more familiar to Y/n than the back of her own hand. And the fact that he kissed her back without any hesitation made her melt.

And, maybe, if possible, fall more in love with him.

The both of them were reluctant to pull away, but air was also a necessity, as much as Y/n was loathe to admit it.

She blinked open her eyes, finding him already staring at her, a small quirk to his lips and a blush on his face.

She smiled up at him shyly, as if she just hadn't been the one to initiate the kiss. She tried to hide her face in his neck, just like she used to do before, but he caught her chin between his fingers.

Just like he used to do before.

He grinned at her, nudging his nose against hers. "Look at that facade, getting all shy."

"Shut up." She mumbled.

His smile softened.

"We might have to start all over again."

She straightened, nodding. "I know. I'm ready to do anything it takes."

He smirked at her. "Anything?"

She matched his expression, standing on her toes to kiss his nose to emphasize her point.

"Anything."

•○🌑○•

Whore hive (because yall bitches need to read this): @artists-ally @thehighladywrites @berryzxx @clairebear08 @riddlesb1tch @cupidojenphrodite

General taglist Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1 @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21 @mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @eve175 @starsinyourseyes @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium

Lucien Vanserra Taglist: @mirandasidefics @fell-in-luvs

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

ma’am, could we pretty please have some more gaslamp!au? 🥺🥺

"Wildflower," Jason said smirking, jumping over the railing, "don't tell me you're ready for bed?"

"Jason what-"

"Marry me?" he said pulling the ring out of his pocket and kneeling. His heart in his throat, "Run away with me. Tonight. We can be in New York before the morning-"

Lips collide with his and there's a soft warm body in his arms. Reflexively he pulls you closer and strokes your hair. He'd like to leave you breathless and reeling. To show you what's waiting for you- kisses that tempt. That promise. But when he can taste tears- it reminds him that he's still got to be gentle. He can teach you how to play those kinds of games later.

"Yes," you tell him, "But-"

"But nothing," he rumbled, claiming one of your left hand to press a kiss against your palm before siding the ring onto your finger. Relieved that the fit is perfect. "Whatever happened to you-" he broke off and shook his head, "it didn't change my feelings for you. I thought I lost you. And when I found you- Alive- and that man was dead my only regret was that you had to be the one to do it." He wiped the tears off your cheeks with his thumbs and kissed your forehead. "But. I won't lose any sleep over what you did. And no- even if you weren't still a virgin, it wouldn't have changed anything."

"That's just all I had left to offer and I just-"

Jason kissed you quiet quickly and smiled a little, "A razor wit, medical knowledge, and the ability to appreciate the beauty of literature is infinitely more important," he said. "And that's just a short list of things that are more important to me than your virginity."

He can feel you heating with embarrassment and he snuggled you closer. "We'll wake up the whole house if we don't leave soon," he murmured. You wouldn't. Half of them were in Bruce's study waiting and holding their breath he'd swear to it. The other half were keeping watch out a window or from a rooftop to see the lamps on the carriage race down the drive. Champagne would be had. And, if he knew Stephanie and Dick, bets would be made about the birthdate of your first child.

"How will we get out I mean- I can't climb down in a dress."

Jason grinned, "What kind of prince charming would I be if I didn't rescue my princess from her tower?" he teased.

"I'm not exactly a captive in rags," you snort, "Everyone's been very sweet-"

"Just put your arms around my neck and hold on," he chuckled. "Mind, don't look down-"

"It's four stories!"

"And I've been sneaking out the 5th since I was 10," he said grinning, "Just hold on. And please don't slap me. Or faint."

"I don't want to spend my wedding night with a broken neck," you squeak.

"Don't tell me my fearless, tree-climbing, horse-riding wildflower is afraid I'll drop her," he taunted, chucking you under the chin.

"I'm heavy," you remind.

"Hardly," Jason snorted. That he'd address later. He'd write sonnets about your breasts, hips, and belly. Spend hours lavishing kisses on every inch of you he could reach. But now- as he pulled you into his arms and got to his feet; leaving you no choice but to put your arms around his neck. As he savored your little yelp of surprise when he grabbed your bottom to support you against his side- all he wanted was to be well underway. To have you to himself. And for the rattle of the carriage to drown out the sound of all the rakish things he was going to do to you on the way to the wedding.

[badgerbl00d]

drinking with the one piece boys pt.2

☆ characters: law, crocodile, mihawk

☆ up next: one piece boys getting jealous pt. 2

☆ summary: getting a lil drunk w the above characters who definitely don't have a thing for you ;) ..., suggestive content

☆ a/n: part 2 is finally up! let me know which characters you'd like to see in part 3... and please enjoy!

law

bourbon

It was a relatively small victory. 

The Polar Tang had sprung a minor leak after nearly 3 weeks without resurfacing, and somehow, amidst the general panic, Penguin’s constant reminders that dying by drowning was arguably the worst way to go, no shipwright, and Law’s inability to keep everybody anybody calm, the leak was patched. It took two and a half hours and there would be a significant clean up job but it was a victory nonetheless. The crew hadn’t seen a fraction of excitement for the past month and it was such a relief to have fixed it that within minutes alcohol was being passed around. 

Law snuck back into his office, barely avoiding the spray of opened champagne and shaken beer bottles, groaning and mumbling about ‘behaving like children’ and ‘unprofessionalism’. 

You sat with the others for a while, playing cards with Jean Bart as Bepo and Shachi looked for the karaoke machine. 

You dismissed yourself quickly when they found it, grabbing a bottle of expensive looking alcohol before you left. 

Knock. Knock. 

“Come in,” Law sighed. 

He didn’t look up from his paperwork and was sorting out different kinds of coins on his desk. 

“You left the party too early,” you teased, “My Heart Will Go On has a third person part in case you wanted to join in!”

A small smile spread across Law’s face and he looked up, perking up slightly when he saw the amber bottle in your hands. 

“What’s that?” he raised an eyebrow at you, opening his desk drawer to pull out two glasses. 

“Bourbon,” you popped off the seal, smelling the liquid inside before pouring some into each cup, “I figured we might enjoy it better than they would out there. Cheap beer seems to do the trick for them.”

Law nodded his head in thanks and clinked glasses with you as you both took a sip.

“Good god,” you gagged, “That’s strong.”

“Looks like it might be cheap beer for you too.”

“You just want the whole bottle to yourself.” 

He shook his head, “You know I’m better behaved than that. This glass should be enough for me.” 

He finished it with a second sip.

“C’mon don’t make me drink alone, Captain.”

With little protest from the pirate, you poured him another drink, and capped off your own glass when you had finished.

An hour later and somewhere between your fourth and fifth glass of stolen bourbon and Law’s sixth or seventh you realized how completely gone you both were. The bottle was half empty and with every sip you took you felt the man across from you’s eyes watching how your plump lips hugged the rim of the glass with every sip. 

Overcome by both boldness and drunken impulse you leaned forward, laying your head down on the table and softly ran your fingers over his.

You traced the tattoos that painted them, and placed your hand on top of his when you had finished. 

You slowly sat back up, and looked at your Captain. His cheeks were a hazy pink and his hair tousled and messy. His eyes were half lidded and his voice seemed to have dropped an octave or two. He’d undone the top two buttons on his shirt and it took the entirety of your hazy minded willpower to not start drooling. 

“Y’know,” Law started, his words blending into one another, “You’re ver’pretty.. ‘n I might have a crush on you.”

His hands made their way towards yours and you toyed with each other until your fingers seemed to naturally tie themselves together, your hands resting comfortably in his. You softly laughed, it was airy and beautiful. 

Law continued, “Like that. S’pretty.” 

“Y’might not remember this ‘n the morning,” you slurred, your cheeks a furious red. 

“Then kiss me now.”

You both stood up much faster and more suddenly than your condition allowed and nearly fell over.

You giggled your way towards each other, Law placing a surprisingly gentle hand on your back, guiding you towards the side of his desk, his hand guarding you from any sharp edges. 

He sat you down after sloppily clearing away all the papers, leaving a mess on the floor. 

He pushed your hair from your eyes, clumsily tucking it behind your ears. 

Everything was suddenly very warm, the palms of his hands seemed to radiate an ebbing heat onto your back. One on the small of your back and one supporting your neck.

Despite your drunkenness, you locked eyes, and there was a startling sincerity in both your stares.

You closed your eyes as a soft pair of lips were gingerly placed on yours. 

Your lips closed around his, softly sucking and nibbling at each other, giggles littering the space in between each attachment of your lips. You brought your arms up around his neck and he pulled you closer into him, situating himself between your thighs. 

Your desperation grew and you sunk yourself fully into him, your tongues slipping back and forth into each other's mouths, sloppy strings of saliva connecting your lips every time you pulled away. 

“Law, Law, wait,” you said, gasping for air, “Wait.” 

You swallowed, your chests both heaving.

His brows furrowed and his hands rubbed your back.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, still breathing heavily. The dim light in the room was making your head spin and you suddenly felt very overwhelmed. 

Law pulled you into his chest and pressed kisses to the top of your head. 

“What do we say tomorrow morning?”

“Does it matter?”

You were silent. 

“I suppose that depends. Are you drunk?”

You shook your head, “I’m not, no. Are you?”

“Not anymore,” he laughed. 

You looked up at him. 

He smiled. 

“Then we say nothing.” 

crocodile

whiskey

If there was one mistake in your life you’d regret, it would be this one. 

He’d make sure of it.

Had you really, in all your laughable idiocy, convinced yourself you could double cross a warlord? 

And you probably thought you’d been clever about it. Like he couldn’t recognize when he saw a sheep in wolf’s clothing. 

You were, he had to admit, better than most. 

You were cunning in a wickedly creative way and he had no doubt that had you not shown your hand, he would have been in serious trouble. But did you really think he wouldn’t find out? 

You’d been so careful that it astonished him you’d chosen the worst possible confidant to help carry out your planned assassination. Mr. 2, aside from being notoriously big-mouthed and unaware, was- more than anyone- loyal. 

Surely you had to have known that.

But that was no concern of Crocodile’s, and he’d have dealt with you before morning.

‘Ten o’clock, Hasting’s Bar on 2nd’ was what the card had read. 

It was beyond you what he could have possibly wanted to do with you at a bar but you weren’t left with much choice. 

You waited for an hour before he cared to arrive, sitting next to you. 

You sucked on a cherry stem, and tapped your cigarette out onto the ashtray in front of you. 

He said nothing, but you felt his eyes swallowing you whole.

It was threatening, of course, but enjoyable. Your red dress looked good and his attention felt even better.  

“Two whiskeys,” he ordered, slapping a hand down on the bar, breaking the silence.

“Oh- I don’t drink.”

Crocodile raised a hand to stop you talking, “You do tonight.” 

He was visibly upset and you shifted in your seat in discomfort. 

The bartender placed two glasses in front of you, each containing a dark gold liquid. 

You grabbed your glass by the rim, swirling it around.

It smelled like gasoline and wood. 

“What’s the occasion?” you asked. 

“Company is doing well. Marginal increases, international buyers and sellers, and most importantly, we’re now operating completely legally. Well, we will be in three weeks. Once we’ve wrapped up all the licensing paperwork.”

You looked at him, not completely understanding why he’d be giving you all that information. Your position at the company most definitely had nothing to do with legality of operations. 

It made no sense for a man of his secrecy to tell you anything. Unless… 

You felt your stomach start churning and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. 

Bon Clay had said something. 

He knew. 

His expression remained completely neutral, disinterested almost. 

You slowly stood up, “Why are you telling me this?”

“What is that proverb,” he asked, standing up with a startling speed and stepping behind you, a leg on each side of yours closing you in, “About traitors?”

You swallowed audibly, sweat beading against your forehead, your knuckles turning white around the glass they were holding. 

“Keep your friends close…,” he whispered as he leant in, brushing his lips against yours, a hook snaking around your waist to pull you closer into his chest as he traced a tantilizing finger up your cheek, brushing a strand of hair back. 

Dragging his lips to your ear you felt a sly grin slowly etch into his face, 

“.. and your enemies closer.”

Your heart was steady, though the beat against your chest was now much stronger. 

How typical of a man in his position. 

Assuming he knew best and you knew nothing. 

In a sudden motion you threw your drink behind you, drenching his head and shoulders in whiskey. 

He stepped back, anger bubbling up from his chest into his face which was turning red. 

“If I’m correct,” you started, “Sand doesn’t disperse when wet.”

You turned around to look at him, smiling at how his eyes widened.

“Playing stupid worked! For a second I thought you’d be too smart to fall for the ‘clumsy assassin’ routine. Accidentally letting slip who I was with by telling Mr.2 of all people? Please.”

You studied his face as he stood unnervingly still, thick drops of golden liquid dripping down his cheeks. 

There was something else in his eyes though, something uncivilized and hungry. He looked at you with anger, yes, but also with a fervent desire. 

He seemed genuinely amused. Not in a condescending way like you were used to from him, but like he had a genuine interest in the turn of events. 

“You know, sweetheart,” he laughed, taking out a cigar and placing it between his lips, “I’m impressed.”

He walked towards you, facing the cigar in your direction, asking for a light, “I should offer you a job.”

You let out a short, dry laugh, bringing your lighter to his lips. 

He bent down, grey eyes locking onto yours and you watched a wolfish smile spread onto his face. 

“There’s a car outside, that will take us back to mine.”

He slipped a coarse finger under the strap of your dress, toying with it, letting it off your shoulder. 

“Good thing you’re dressed for the occasion.” 

You pulled the cigar from his lips, taking a long drag before softly blowing the smoke onto his rigid nose.

You ran a finger under his chin, bringing your lips millimeters from his. 

“Must we leave here? We have it all to ourselves.”

Crocodile smiled, pulling the cigar from your lips and putting it out on the bar.

He pulled you into his lap as he took a seat, letting his coarse hands palm your body.

If there was one mistake in his life he’d regret, it would be this one. You were about to make sure of it. 

mihawk

wine

“Cariño,” you called out from the tub, “Bring wine!”

You sunk back down into the warm water, listening to your husband chuckle to himself as he ran downstairs to complete his errand. 

Bubbles covered you and floated around the tub as you softly paddled the water underneath. 

A deep sigh made its way out of your lungs and you rested your head back, enjoying the display your husband had arranged for you.

Rose petals littered the bathroom, strewn across the floor and tub, the room dimly lit by candles which casted a warm hue giving your skin a golden glow. 

It wasn’t often the two of you were home together for more than a few weeks at a time, however you’d both managed to finish all your obligations and errands before winter had even set on Kuragaina. 

The swordsman, much to your surprise, had finished nearly a full two weeks before you and had spent the time preparing for your arrival. 

He owned an abundance of different financial assets around the world, most of which you managed. Properties from North to South Blue, millions of dollars in (rigged) stock market exchanges, investments in artworks around museums around the world, and several different savings accounts with banks run by ex-cons and loan sharks. 

Your husband might not have been the most violent type of pirate, but he was a pirate nonetheless and, well, clean money didn’t buy castles. 

You didn’t mind, and were good with the men he dealt with. 

Pirates' morals were pretty simple when they were talking to a beautiful woman with a globally feared husband, so you were never really worried. 

Though, on the rare occasion something did happen you could usually handle yourself. 

Two light knocks at the door woke you back up and you turned to look at Mihawk holding up a wine bottle. 

“I figured we didn’t need the glasses,” he mused. 

You giggled and beckoned him towards the tub, “Butler,” you teased, “The water’s cooling down.”

He smiled and turned the faucet to the left, increasing the temperature of water pouring into the tub. 

He kneeled outside the tub, a large hand bringing your head towards his lips which pressed a kiss onto your forehead. 

“Anything else, hermosa?”

You nodded, sinking into the hold of his hand on the back of your neck. 

“¿Qué necesitas?” he asked, admiring how beautiful you looked.

“Entré aquí y te diré.”

He smiled, more excitedly this time, pressing a rapid flurry of kisses to your face before obliging your request. 

“Help me undress,” he asked. 

You leaned over the edge of the tub, the bubbles clinging to your body acting as a rather transparent cover up, and slowly began undoing the buttons of his shirt, tracing your fingers up and down his exposed skin as you did so. 

The golden light filling the room enhanced his muscles, highlighting the product of years upon years of rigorous training and strength building. 

But he wasn’t hard to the touch, like marble or stone. His skin was impossibly soft and smooth. He bore no scars- a fact that brought him immense pride, and further proof of his title as the world’s greatest swordsman. 

A sinfully soft hand gently grabbed your cheeks, pulling your lips towards his. 

You kissed him, savoring how even now, in marriage, he kissed you with completely unfiltered lust. 

His tongue slipped past your lips, begging entry into your mouth, and you tasted that he’d gotten a head start on the wine. 

“Not fair,” you giggled, pulling away from the kiss.

He stood up, discarding the rest of his clothing, folding it and placing it on top of yours before stepping in. 

He sunk down and you made your way over to him, sitting yourself in between his legs, lying back onto his chest.

He grabbed the wine bottle and handed it to you, from which you happily took a long drink. 

It was surprisingly sweet and you thanked him for accommodating your less refined wine tastes, the bitter stuff just didn’t entice you. 

He laughed, gathering up the hair that had fallen out of your claw clip and redoing it for you. 

“I missed you,” he said, kissing your neck. 

You grabbed his hands and laced your fingers into his, lightly squeezing as you wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“I missed you so much,” you started, “I know we should probably be used to it after five years but…”

You let your thoughts trail off. 

“I’ll never get used to your absence,” he said, “Before you this castle was lonely and empty save for some squatters I momentarily had staying. And now it is only a home when I can find you in it.”

You giggled at his quip before continuing, “It’s so lonely and empty and the floors are so cold and I swear I still get lost sometimes.

And when you’re not here the bed is so much colder and I worry the entire time about you.”

“Worry about me?” he teased, “And what possible pirate or marine out there could possibly have you worried about me?”

You took another long sip of the wine. 

“I dunno,” you said, your head starting to feel hazy. The heat from the bath and the surge of emotions of being back home were overwhelming you. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he assured you, “I’m here now. And I’m staying until spring.”

You hugged his arm which was still circled around your waist. 

“I have to leave for another week,” you’d been hesitant to tell him and had decided now was probably going to be the best opportunity. 

“I’ll be back by next Sunday, I have business in the city. There’s a man who wants to rent part of a property we own for reasons I assume he’ll elaborate upon when we meet.” 

He gently grabbed the wine bottle from your hands, taking a drink from it, saying nothing. 

“I know I just arrived, I’m sorry.”

He gave you a soft squeeze.

“I have no room to complain, amor, I’m constantly leaving you here,” he pressed a flurry of kisses to the top of your head, “But I could go with you.”

You turned around to look at him, adjusting yourself in the tub so you were at the perfect height to give him a kiss.

You pulled away, only for his hand to find its way to the back of your head and pull you back in for another. 

You deepened the kiss, pressing your body against his, as his hands traveled downward palming a good amount of your ass.

It was clear this activity was bound to make its way into your bedroom sooner than later. 

You sat up, running a hand through his hair. 

“Let’s go get in bed. We leave early tomorrow morning.”

He laughed, grabbing your cheeks and pulling you in for one last kiss.

[pamwritessometimes]

British Invasion

Soldier Boy x (British)fem!reader

Summary: Soldier Boy is forced to attend a lavish gallery opening for an emerging artist, expecting nothing more than a typical evening of pretentious small talk and overpriced art. But when he gets to know the artist herself, he quickly realizes they might share more than one thing in common.

proofread & edited on 8/21/24

Warnings: unprotected SMUT (be smarter), pet names, some 60s slang, breeding kink if you squint, terrible writing, AmE and BritE use is varied based on the characters

Word Count: around 4.7 k

Author’s Note: This is my VERY first fic I have written since I was a teenager. English isn’t my first language, so I apologise for any mistakes. Please be kind. 🤍 All kinds of feedback are appreciated!

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May, 1962.

He tried his best to understand what he was looking at. The colours danced in a confusing symphony - deep red lines flashing across the canvas, yellow streaks breaking through the tainted blue background. It was an odd mix of serenity and unease, a puzzle that felt both ambiguous and crystal-clear. Not that he had any expertise in art, he was a superhero, after all. Analyzing abstract paintings was hardly part of the job description. Thank God and Vought for that. He didn't even know why he was there in the first place, stripped of his imposing suit, which at least gave him the semblance of authority. “This will do wonders for your image. Supporting some up-and-coming artists is exactly what we need to repair that reputation you seem so determined to destroy.” 

“Yeah, fuck that.” he thought, scanning the room until his eyes landed on a tray of champagne glasses amidst the other hors d’oeuvres. At least there was free booze. He swiftly grabbed a glass, downed it in one go, and swapped it for another. He barely noticed the presence next to him when he stood back to pretend to interpret the same painting he had been looking at for the last fifteen minutes. 

"Do you like it?" a voice with a soft British lilt called out from his right. He turned to see the source—a striking beauty with (Y/H/C) hair styled in a classic beehive. Her makeup was flawless, with bold eyeliner and red lipstick that enhanced her gorgeous features. The elegant black dress she wore hugged her curves in all the right places, and for a moment, he felt his already tight pants grow even more uncomfortable. "You’ve been staring at it for quite a while."

He quickly gathered himself, a charming smile sliding into place as he responded with feigned confidence. 

"I do, yeah. I really like the... uh, colors and how... this line curves," he replied, trying his best to sound like he knew what he was talking about. “It… makes one feel uncertain and… and certain at the same time.”

“Does it?” she asks, her sceptical eyes glued to the canvas. "To me, it just brings back memories of a February night when I drowned my sorrows in a cheap bottle of rum after finding out I didn’t get into RCA."

His brows furrowed as he looked at the girl next to her taking a sip of her champagne. “You painted this?” he asked. She just nodded in response, her eyes still fixed on the framed painting. “Busted” she chuckled awkwardly. He looked back at the artwork once more and it suddenly all made sense. It was a testament of chaos, the rage and unsettle she must have felt when creating it. Plus, being drunk while creating something? That, he could understand. “I’m (Y/N)... (Y/L/N). But I believe you figured that out.” she said as she nodded to the signed painting.

He smiled and nodded. “Benjamin,” came the reply. “But please, just call me Ben.”

She nodded and smiled at him. “So, Ben… What brings you to London?”

“I'm here for work.” he replied casually. It wasn't a complete lie, per se. He could tell the truth, she will learn it soon anyway. But for now, he just wanted a normal conversation, free from the weight of being America’s Greatest Hero. Just for a couple of minutes.

“I see” she said as she eyed him with great attention to every detail of his appearance.  His dirty blonde hair was slicked back with a sophisticated touch, and his tailored suit and slacks fit him impeccably. "Are you some kind of actor?" she asked finally.

“Among other things.” his tone playful, reflecting on the fact that he enjoyed her not recognizing him. “Why?”

"I was just wondering," she shrugged, finishing the last sip of her drink. "When I first saw you, I thought, ‘He’s either a soldier, a businessman, or an actor.’ Your physique suggests military, but then I took a closer look at your suit, and– may I?" she asked, lifting her hand toward his jacket. With a nod, she touched the fabric. "As I suspected. Kid mohair. No soldier I know could afford that. So, that left businessman or actor. Now, here comes my first observation: your athletic build. If you were an accountant or something like that, you probably wouldn’t be this fit. So, my conclusion? You’re an actor." She smiled, clearly pleased with her deductive reasoning.

He chuckled, clearly amused by her careful observation. “You are quite the observer, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he asked.

That she was. Her favourite hobby was studying people. Every little feature, every line and detail that made them unique. Later, she would capture those fascinating subjects in drawings from memory. Any details that became hazy would be filled in by her imagination. She did the same to him; just memorising his lines (though the nickname almost made the whole process cease).

“So this whole happening… is it all for you?”

She just scoffed. “They say it is” she started, though her face was soaked with clear annoyance. “But I believe it’s more for my agent. He said he found great patrons for this current collection. They want me to go overseas for a potential business proposition.”

At the mention of that, Ben's eyes gleamed with a mischievous spark. The Vought executives had briefed him on their plans to renovate the entire Tower. Stronger foundations, new levels, and, of course, fresh furnishings and decor. That was the real reason he was here in the first place. For whatever reason, Vought wanted (Y/N)'s artwork to grace the Tower's walls. He’d flown in with some executives to evaluate her latest collection, to decide whether it was worth the investment. It wasn’t his decision, of course; he had no real say in the final call. But to the public, he was the face of Vought, their most powerful representative, so his presence was required by his superiors.

“Miss (Y/L/N), it is time” the aforementioned agent’s voice cut through their conversation. She took a deep breath before turning to face the charming looking man in his early thirties.

“I’ll be there in a minute, Greg.”

Greg then nodded and smiled at the two. “I see you met one of your patrons already.” he said as he nodded towards Ben. “It’s an honour to have you here, Soldier Boy. I hope you enjoy your time in our country.”

Ben nodded, a smug grin spreading across his face as he kept his gaze locked on (Y/N), who now wore an expression of stunned realisation. She had only just realised who she had been casually conversing with. “I’m enjoying it so far, very much,” he replied, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

“Alright, Miss (Y/L/N), please say goodbye to the gentleman and follow me.” Greg interjected, his tone formal and clipped, as if he were conducting some high-stakes business transaction.

She swallowed the urge to roll her eyes at the mannerism of the whole conversation. That was one of the many things she hated about the art society she was part of. The pretentious idiosyncrasy and the sense of being loftier than the others. If she had the resources to fund her own artistry, she would leave it all behind. But unlike her peers, who all came from money, she wasn’t that fortunate. Her parents, God bless them, did everything they could to support her, but it was never enough for her to break free. Now, under the thumb of Greg—THE Gregory Alcons, the most influential artist agent in the region—she had little choice but to play along.

Still a bit flabbergasted by the previous revelations of Ben’s identity, she managed to compose herself and glanced at his green orbs. “It was nice meeting you, Soldier Boy. I hope to see you around,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

As she turned to follow Greg, Ben couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way her hips swayed in that sinfully tight black dress. If he didn’t know better, he might just think it was all for him. 

(Y/N)’s speech was a drag. Even she knew that. Every word was scripted, every pause rehearsed, her smile a mask. Like a goddamn politician–she often thought to herself. Nonetheless, her official duties of the gathering still didn’t end, but she could now move around more freely, trying to charm the people gathered in the museum, occasionally sipping on champagne to look for that blitzed state she was so eager to reach. She just wished she had something stronger. During her museum circles, she heard some speeches that she couldn't care less about. Mostly influential old hags talking nonsense about the importance of art patronage and trusting the vision of an artist... She also heard Soldier Boy's brief speech, but she was too occupied to talk to the other guests, she couldn't stop and listen to it.

The smooth jazz tunes created an atmospheric scene, adding to the illusion of sophistication. The guests seemed to be amazed by it all–the champagne, the music, the elegant attires, the modest speeches… yet, she couldn’t care less. This wasn’t her world. It was all a grand performance, and she felt like an imposter in the spotlight of her own art exhibition. She was chatting with a man in his early to mid-seventies about the long-term consequences of giving freedom riders a platform to talk when a familiar rumble cut though the conversation.

“Can I borrow Miss (Y/L/N) for a minute?” 

Relief washed over her as she turned to see Ben—no, Soldier Boy—in his full supe attire, helmet and all (he certainly just finished his speech duties, too). If she had to pretend to share one more of the old man’s bigoted views, she might have committed murder. Soldier Boy was by far her greatest conversation partner tonight, and probably the most tolerable person in the room, which speaks for how entertaining the gathering is. The elderly man tried to hide his disappointment, but reluctantly let her go. 

“Wow,” she muttered, taking in Soldier Boy’s imposing presence. “Now, this is the Soldier Boy I’ve seen in the telly.” Her voice dropped to a sheepish tone. “And… sorry for not recognising you earlier.”

“Can’t say it didn’t hurt,” he replied with a smirk “But it’s also nice knowing that it’s the suit that most people recognize, not my face.”

(Y/N) offered Soldier Boy another small, apologetic smile before letting her eyes drift across the room. The jazz band was playing a smooth set that impressed the crowd but grated on her nerves. The soft melodies and gentle horns just didn’t resonate with her. If she had her way, she’d have had her friends, Gerry & The Pacemakers, play instead—something with real energy, something raw. But, of course, that wouldn’t have flown with Greg or the rest of the stuffy art crowd. They were too wrapped up in their own pretentiousness to appreciate anything that didn’t fit their narrow idea of ‘classy’.

She took another sip of champagne, but it did little to ease her frustration. She felt trapped, stuck in a night that was supposed to be hers but felt like anything but. All she really wanted was to be with real people, having real conversations, and listening to music that made her feel alive. Instead, she was here, pretending to enjoy the company of people who saw her as nothing more than a name to drop at their next social event.

“You’re not exactly enjoying this, are you?” Soldier Boy’s voice cut through her thoughts, bringing her back to reality. His tone was amused, but there was a hint of genuine curiosity there too.

She looked up at him, surprised he noticed. “Is it that obvious?” she asked with a slight smile.

“To most people here? Probably not. But I can tell,” he said with a shrug. “You’re too real for this crowd.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “How about we get out of here?”

(Y/N) hesitated, glancing around the room filled with guests who were supposed to be admiring her work. “I wish I could go somewhere more fun. But this is my show. Not mine mine, obviously, but I can't just disappear,” she said, sighing. “Plus, Greg would kill me if I bailed.”

Soldier Boy smirked, undeterred. “I’m not saying ditch the whole thing, just take a break. Clear your head, get away from all this for a few minutes.” He paused, lowering his voice. “You deserve that much, don’t you?”

She bit her lip, tempted by the offer. The idea of stepping away, even just for a little while, was more appealing than she wanted to admit. Especially with such a handsome-looking bastard. “And where exactly would we go?” she asked, intrigued.

His smile widened, a mix of charm and mischief. “Trust me,” he said, offering his arm. “You’ll like it better than this place.”

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She would lie if she said she didn’t see this coming. She was more than a bit tipsy, but who is she to fool? She would’ve followed Ben to the staff restroom sober, without any question. She needed to release some tension, and he was more than happy to oblige. His calloused thumb was drawing invisible circles on her swollen clit as his cock pounded in and out of her juicy, tight hole. 

“Fuck, sweetheart–” he growled into her ears as his other hand was leaning on the counter, trapping her body between the cold surface and his heated body. It was all quick, filthy, but –oh so needed. Her watery eyes were locked on his reflection in the mirror as she observed both his ecstasy-filled pupils and her rather dishevelled appearance. Either of her boobs were bouncing with each harsh thrust of his hips, stark contrast to that tight black dress that still clung to the rest of her body.

How they ended up like this was both a blur and a logical consequence of their desire. One moment they were talking, and the next, they were stumbling into the restroom, hands all over each other. Soldier Boy’s strong body pressed her back against the door, his lips crashing against hers with a fierce hunger. She didn’t hold back, kissing him with just as much intensity. She melted into his lips and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him coser. She gasped softly as his tongue swiped against her lower lip, asking for entrance. She granted it, his tongue slipping past her plush lips and exploring her mouth while her hands were busy finding a way to rip off his tactical vest. Fuck, why does a supe suit has to be so complicated? 

He soon noticed her efforts to undress him, so he leaned back for a moment with that same smug grin he always seemed to wear, and began to take his suit off. She hurried to do the same when Ben’s voice commanded her to stay put. “That dress stays.” he said, his voice low and sultry. “Couldn’t tear my eyes off of you, you know that? Wearing a dress so fuckin’ tight… swaying your hips like you did… was it all just to drive me crazy, huh?” he asked as he got rid of her suit, now standing in front of her in his naked glory. 

She swallowed hard once his member sprang free–erected, the fat tip leaking with pre-cum. She obliged to his requests by rolling the skirt of the dress up to her perky butt. With delight, he discovered that she was wearing black panties with delicate lace trimming, which was overall already ruined by her soaked cunt. He growled at the sight, grabbing the base of his cock to pump himself a couple of times. She was about to pull her panties down, when he spoke up again. “Those also stay.”

“You are having many commands just for a little hookup” she remarked as she leaned her body closer to his, her palms replacing his on his shaft. Her hands were soft against his skin, his dick twitched by the touch. She pumped him a few times before stopping and releasing him completely. He let out an annoyed huff that quickly turned into a satisfied moan when he felt her hands once more around his cock, now coated with her saliva to add more to the pleasure and to prepare him to enter her already weeping pussy. 

Soldier Boy swiftly gripped her hips and spun her around to face the sink and the mirror above it, returning them to the position they’d just been in. “You’re a real tease, aren’t you?” he growled, his voice thick with desire. She could feel the need in his tone, matching the flame that burned inside her. He lifted one of her legs, giving himself better access, and she braced herself against the counter, anticipation running through her veins. “You're so beautiful. A beautiful tease.” he kissed a line along her spine.

“Yeah…you are just as much of a—” before she could finish the sentence, she felt the tip nudge at her entrance after pulling her panties to the side. It was that moment she finally came to terms with how huge he was. Seeing it, palming it wasn’t enough. Feeling the head of his cock spreading her folds was a whole other sensation. Before he would properly enter, he asked. “You sure you want this?” She couldn’t help but moan, her mind completely taken over by anticipation. Not trusting her voice, she just nodded fervently and pressed herself against him more. That was all Soldier Boy needed. He took a shaky breath and eased himself into her dripping cunt. The only sound in the room was their mingled, sinful noises that escaped both their mouths.

“Fuck….so tight…so fuckin’ wet…” Ben growled as quietly as he could. They were still in that museum, just a few rooms away from the exhibition. As much as he wanted people to hear them, he knew she would probably prefer their affair to stay hidden. 

He kept one hand on her hips, guiding her movements, while the other slid up her stomach, to her exposed breast, his fingers gently tracing over her sensitive nipple. The way it bounced at every thrust, every movement, and how the nipple hardened at his touch… Soldier Boy was known for his supe stamina, but he was already on the edge of coming undone. She was closely behind, her moans and gasps were music to his ears in a sinful symphony as she clenched her hands around the edge of the sink.

“Ben…please…”

“What? What do you need, honey?” he cooed.

“Please… h-harder.” it was more of an incoherent muffled cry than a plea. But he understood nonetheless. He ceased his speed, his hips clashing against hers in a relentless motion. He groaned, his body moving supernaturally fast, his grip on her hips almost bruising on her sensitive skin. 

His mouth attacked her neck, finding her sweet spot, the one that seemingly made her go feral. He sucked and bit that one spot like a madman, being on the mission to elicit as many sounds from her as he could.

“Fuck…baby, youre gonna kill me.” he mumbled into her neck. He felt he was nearing his climax and he needed to make sure she was there with him. He redoubled his efforts, his body moving against hers in a rhythm that was both brutal and beautiful. “You are squeezing me so fuckin’ tight. Shit, I can feel your pretty little cunt trying to push me out.” he said and delivered a brutal thrust to the hilt, burying himself inside for a moment. “Fuuuuck.”he said as he stopped to feel her convulsing pussy. He could feel she was close too. 

His voice, his words and the way his twitching cock was balls deep inside of her made her go feral. “Soldier Boy, I…please… I need to–” his fingers stopped their ministrations on her nipples and found their way to her sensitive bundle of nerves.

“What do you need, honey? Do you want to come? Do you want to soak this big, fat cock, huh?” he asked as he began to move again slowly, his gaze locked at hers in the mirror. Fuck, she looked even more phenomenal than at the grand hall. Her neatly made beehive now a bit more messy, her red lips were a bit smudged, her eyes hazy…Truly a sight to behold. When she didn't answer, he delivered a harsh slap onto her clit. “I asked you a question. Do you want to soak my dick, baby?” he asked and buried himself to the hilt once more, his own climax nearing the edge, too.

“Fu–Yes! Please, let me come on your cock, please, make me squirt all over you… please…” she urged, looking at his reflection.

Her words made her already aching shaft twitch deep inside of her, and with a throaty rumble he set a ruthless pace. His cock was laced with her wetness, the sight making Ben go ferocious. “I’m gonna come into this tight little pussy. I’m gonna pump my load into you. Fuck, come with me, baby, soak my dick.”

Their breath hitched almost at the same time. His fingers were still working their wonders around her clit. Her pussy almost pushed him out when she came, her cum gushing over his shaft. While he made sure to ride her orgasm out, she felt him spilling his seed deep into her hole, dribbling out from her down to his balls. His slowled his pace, but the strength didn’t cease, making sure he fucked his white hot cum back inside of her. 

Once they both came down their highs, they found their eyes going back at their reflection. His satisfied grin, her spent expression, their mingled, joint bodies… Besides being absolutely filthy, there was something more behind that scenery…

After catching their breaths, Ben slipped out of her, quickly pulling her panties back to their place to hold up his cum. He saw her panties being soaked with his climax, which elicited a moan from him. “Now that’s a sight, darling.”

She just laughed breathlessly and rolled her skirt back down, putting her tit back into the confinement of that dress. “That was… just what I needed. Thank you.”

(Y/N) glanced at her reflection in the mirror, cheeks flushed, her breath still unsteady from the intensity of what had just happened. She watched as Soldier Boy straightened up and casually began putting his suit back on. There was something about his calmness, his complete lack of urgency, that made her heart race all over again. He caught her eye in the mirror and flashed that mischievous smirk she was starting to find dangerously attractive.

“M’just happy to help the artist out,” Ben shrugged, the smirk never leaving his face. His voice was playful, but his gaze was laced with something deeper, something that made her pulse quicken. As he fastened the last strap of his vest, he turned to her, an eyebrow raised in challenge. “Don’t you… wanna get out of here? For real?”

(Y/N) bit her lip, torn between the temptation of escape and the nagging responsibility of the exhibition. The thought of ditching this pretentious gathering for something—anything, really—more genuine was almost irresistible. But despite her wild child tendencies, she was still aware of her responsibilities. “Ben, I still have this exhibition,” she said, her voice softening. “I can’t just leave. Greg would have a heart attack if I walked out right now.”

Ben chuckled, stepping closer until he was just inches away. “And you care about that?” he asked, his tone low and teasing, but with a seriousness beneath it. “You really wanna stick around, playing nice with assholes who wouldn’t know real art if it smacked them in the face?”

She hesitated, knowing he was right. Everything about this night felt wrong, but she still felt trapped by the expectations that came with it. “It’s not that simple,” she murmured, almost to herself. “This is my career.”

He reached out, gently tipping her chin up so she had to look at him. “You’re not one of them, you know that,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You don’t belong here, with these people who only care about what you can do for them. You deserve more than that. Plus, you’ve already got that deal with Vought. Why would you care about any other guests?”

His words hit her harder than she expected. He wasn’t just trying to lure her away for some fun; he was calling out what she had been trying to ignore all night. She sighed, feeling the weight of the evening press down on her again. “But where would we even go?” she asked, though the resistance in her voice was fading.

“Anywhere you want,” Ben replied, his eyes lighting up with the possibility. “Somewhere where you can breathe, where you don’t have to pretend.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You said you wanted fun tonight. Let’s go find it.”

She looked at him, really considering his offer this time. The idea of leaving it all behind, even just for a night, was more tempting than ever. She knew it was reckless, maybe even career suicide, but there was a part of her that didn’t care anymore. Not tonight. Tonight, she wanted to feel alive.

Slowly, she nodded. “Alright,” she said, her voice stronger now. “Let’s get out of here.”

Ben’s smirk widened, satisfied. “Atta girl,” he murmured, taking her hand in his. He pulled her toward the door, and as they slipped out of the restroom, a thrill shot through her. She was leaving behind everything that had been weighing her down all night, walking away from the people and the pretence, and into something unknown but undeniably exciting.

As they made their way through the back halls of the museum, she felt a strange sense of freedom. The further they got from the exhibition, the lighter she felt, like she was shedding a skin she’d outgrown long ago. She didn’t know where Ben was taking her, but for the first time in a long time, she didn’t care. She was done pretending.

And as for Soldier Boy... maybe coming to this exhibition wasn't such a bad idea after all.

═════════ 𖤐🤍𖤐 ═════════

Thanks for reading. <3

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Honey-Bunny

Winter Prompts Masterlist | Winter Prompts List

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader

Prompts: Mistletoe/ Hands/ Fake Dating

“Cut it out,” You grumble.

“Cut what out?” 

“You’re being too smug. My family’s not gonna buy that I’m dating a smug asshole. Hell, they’re probably barely buying that I’m dating anyone.” 

“I’m not being smug,” Harvey insists, curling his arm around your middle. You try not to overthink the way your body warms with the press of his palm, and the sweep of his fingers against the fabric of your dress. “I’m just so happy to be here with my honey-bunny.” 

“Oh, my god." You reach out, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. You draw in a deep gulp, tipping your head back and letting it slide down your throat, joining the two that you’ve already downed. 

“Careful, sweetie. Your family’ll think we’re not happy.” 

“One of us isn’t right now.” 

“Really? I’m ecstatic.” 

You cast an unamused sidelong glance at Harvey and find him smiling brightly at you. 

“C’mon, admit it,” He adds, leaning into you, his breath brushing your temple. “I’m a better stand-in at your family reunion than Mike is. I’m better dressed, I’m more interesting, I’m more attractive—” 

“I am so telling Mike that you have such a low opinion of him the next time you see him.” 

“Now that's not fair. It’s just, you know. Mike is like this,” Harvey raises his hand, waving around his shoulder, “And I’m like this,” He raises his hand, waving it around his brow. “Besides, I’m taller.” 

“You’re the same height. The only thing edging you out is your Johnny-Bravo-like hair.” 

Harvey’s jaw drops, a stunned laugh leaving his mouth. 

“Johnny-Bravo-like?” 

Your mom calls, “Get over here, you two!” Before your argument can continue. You wince at the sight of your family lining up for a picture. 

“Oh—Mom, I don’t know—” 

“This is not negotiable! Get over here!” She orders, “Both of you!” 

“It’ll be fun,” Harvey insists, his hand resting on your lower back as he leads you over to the familial tangle. 

“I don’t think I want you in our Christmas photos for time immemorial. I’m gonna have to explain who you were every few years.” 

“Maybe you ought to just invite me back every year.” 

“Doubtful.” 

“Maybe your mother will—” 

“Do not drag my mother into this—” 

The two of you shut up as your mom waves the two of you into line with the rest of the family. 

“You gonna quibble with me about standing one place or another? Making sure they get your good side?” You mumble.

“Please, sweetheart. Every side is my good side.” 

You roll your eyes openly, winding up for another argument—and then Harvey curls his arm around you again. Your stomach swoops at the feeling, your face going warm. It’s absurd—you can’t stand Harvey, but he’s making you feel all…Gooey. You push a smile on your face for a few pictures, and are determined to hurry away and drown your gooey feelings in champagne—but as the others begin to disperse, your mother warns:

“Ah-ah-ah, don’t get far, you two. You know the tradition, honey.” 

Your eyes go wide, stomach twisting with embarrassment. 

“Oh—Mom, no,” You plead. “We do it every year—Oh, Harvey, you’re gonna love this,” Your mom swears, gripping both of you by your hands and tugging you to a different spot in the room. “Whenever a new significant other is brought home for the holidays, they take a picture under the mistletoe.” 

“Really.” Harvey’s smug amusement is back, spreading his smile wide.

“It’s an old tradition—It’s—Mom, we really don’t have to do this,” You stumble over your words. 

“Oh, come on now! You’ve always been a little shy, never bringing anyone home before, so we can’t pass this opportunity up!” 

She looks up, positioning the two of you under the mistletoe that’s been hung in the event space by the staff (probably at your mother’s request). You glance up at Harvey as your uncle waves you closer together, holding up his camera. Harvey leans in, giving your cheek an obliging peck as you give the camera a weak smile. 

“Oh, please,” Your mom complains, “A real one!” 

Your smile goes tight as you look up at Harvey. 

“This wasn’t part of our agreement,” You whisper, “You don’t have to do this.” 

Harvey’s gaze skates your expression before he gives a small shrug. 

“It’s a couple of seconds to make your mom happy,” He murmurs, “I don’t mind. But I’ll push back if you need me to.” 

You can’t help it—you go a little gooey again at the offer. You’d expected Harvey to brush it off, or to be a dick about it—but his expression is sincere, and his eyes are searching yours for any hint of hesitation. So you give a small nod, and try not to think about the way your heart leaps into your throat as Harvey draws you closer. You sway into him just a touch, chest brushing against his. The two of you lean in, and your lips meet in a stunningly warm, soft kiss. You try to fight it, but your eyes slip closed. Harvey raises a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb sweeping tenderly over your cheekbone as your heads tip slightly, deepening your kiss. You vaguely register the coos and clapping from your family just a few feet away, and that finally snaps you out of it. 

You lean back, nose brushing Harvey’s slightly. You blink at him in slight surprise, tongue sweeping across your lips. As Harvey’s eyes open, he seems just as stunned as you are. His slick, smug look is gone. His eyes are searching yours again, then dip, and catch on your lips before steadying there. Your chest flutters as he seems set to go in again, but you hear your mother shooing, “Alright, you two can canoodle in the corner! We need to get your cousin and her girlfriend in here. Go on.”

You clear your throat, pressing your hand to Harvey’s chest and guiding him away from the mistletoe. The two of you come to a stop in a quiet corner. Harvey’s arm is still curled around your middle; your hand is still on his chest. You raise your hand a little, absently straightening his tie, just to do something with yourself that isn't fumbling an apology, or drawing him back in.

“Thanks for the, um…” You trail off, waving toward your family. “I’m sorry, I didn’t remember that—stupid tradition.”

“Doesn’t seem that stupid to me,” Harvey offers. 

“That stupid implies that you think it’s at least a little stupid.” 

“It was unexpected.” 

“I’ll give you that.” 

“Wasn’t bad, though.” 

“Sealed the deal. I mean—” You hurry to correct, eyes darting to Harvey’s face nervously. “In terms of being…Believable. I never pegged you as such a good sport.” 

“No one’s ever managed to peg—” 

“Oh my—I don't need to know that," You groan, turning and hiding your face in his shoulder. He chuckles, arm tightening around you. 

“Still think I’m a smug asshole?” He murmurs against your temple. 

“I know you are,” You grumble. “Just because you’re an alright kisser doesn’t mean you’re not.” 

“An alright kisser? Oh, that just won't do."

"What do you mean that won't—"

You go quiet as Harvey cradles your jaw, drawing you in for another kiss. You let yourself lean into him, your hand slipping from his tie, up into his hair. He hums softly against your lips, nudging you back against the wall. Your breath leaves you in a soft huff as feel yourself pressed into the hard surface. You can't imagine what your family is thinking, or if they've noticed that the two of you have, in fact, taken then chance to canoodle.

Harvey just smiles, smoothing his hand over your hip.

"Better than alright?" He murmurs. You pretend to consider before shrugging a little.

"Nearly."

Harvey's expression darkens, and he chuckles softly, shaking his head.

"You're asking for it," He warns. You smooth his hair down, a wicked thrill shooting down your spine.

"Why honey-bunny," You coo, sweeping a fingertip along his plush lower lip, "I don't know what you mean."

Tag list: @amneris21 ; @elen-aranel ; @brandyllyn ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight

[gretagerwigsmuse]

Jordan!! Share the thoughts!!!! We all are having the same ones!!! Especially since we talked about spanking!!! I seriously need to get laid or find the charger to my vibrator I’m going insane™

the aforementioned spanking will have to wait until later because i can’t quite think of how to incorporate it into their storyline yet (what can i say he’s a Giver in the next two things i’m gonna post), but here’s some good old fashioned daddy shit and cockwarming to hopefully wet your whistle (why did i say it like that?)

OR the first time you call bradley daddy (18+)

the first time it happened was an accident.

well, maybe not an accident, per se. you had thought it plenty of times since you’d been dating bradley and even more since you’d moved in together.

but you’d never said it. or at least not to him.

daddy. daddy. daddy.

you’d never once had the desire to call a partner that before in bed - ever. but with bradley it just fit.

and so one night, you had been a little tired from the edible you’d taken earlier (obviously bradley had to refrain) and buzzed from the champagne you were convinced you needed, and your inhibitions had been lowered - drastically. but the ironic thing was, you hadn’t been doing anything out of the ordinary. it wasn’t a scene or anything like that.

no. you were just sitting on his lap, chest to chest, as you warmed his cock after going another round earlier in the evening.

and again, you were a little tired from the edible and the champagne and your head was resting on his shoulder at the perfect angle for you to press little kisses across his cheeks and neck. so when you’d kissed the pretty little scar on his shoulder, he’d shuddered and shifted and you had let out a pitiful whimper. god, you felt so good. he always made you feel so good.

“feel so full, daddy.” you sounded wanton - you barely even recognized your own voice - you sounded tired, young, bratty.

daddy. daddy. daddy.

and then bradley tensed.

and then bradley dug his fingers into your hips.

and then bradley slightly pulled you off his cock.

and then bradley settled you back on his cock, deeper this time.

and then bradley groaned.

and then bradley said: “what was that again, sweetheart?”

you whimpered and couldn’t help but clench your pussy around his cock. embarrassed, you burrowed your face into his neck, knowing even on the cloud you were floating on that you had said something wrong. well, maybe not wrong. but something you probably should have brought up at another time. like when all seven and a half inches of your boyfriend’s cock weren’t inside you.

“daddy…” you whispered, except it came out needier than you would have liked.

bradley groaned and you could feel his cock twitch inside you. “you want more of daddy’s cock?”

“please,” you said into his neck, but bradley grabbed your chin so you were looking into his eyes.

he slipped his thumb into your mouth and you sucked on the tip. his fingers were still sticky from when they’d been inside you a few minutes ago and you felt warm at the thought of tasting yourself.

“you’re gonna have to work for it then…”

you nodded, eagerly. anything. you’d do anything for bradley - for daddy.

daddy. daddy. daddy.

bradley slapped your ass with his other hand and you moaned around his thumb. the action shot a hot wave of arousal straight to your throbbing core. god, you hadn’t even started moving and you already felt so full.

“come on, be a good girl and bounce on daddy’s cock.”

he was loving this, you could tell. if not from his physical reaction then from the cocky tone of his voice and the pleased smile on his face. but a breathier, sluttier voice at the back of your mind kept drowning the rational voice out and could only focus on one word.

daddy. daddy. daddy.

daddy wanted you to bounce on his cock. daddy wanted you to work for it. daddy wanted you to be a good girl.

you started off with slow, languid thrusts of your hips, gradually becoming deeper knowing that was the way bradley liked it - the way daddy liked it. his thumb slipped out of your mouth and then he drifted his hand down your body to play with your breasts. they were desperate for some attention and you jutted them out towards him. they were full and heavy and so sensitive and you let out a whimper as he pinched a nipple.

“‘atta girl…”

the obscene sound of the two of you fucked up against each other filled the room. you were so wet and turned on it was almost pathetic. granted, you still had bradley’s cum inside you from when you had fucked earlier. but god - it was so delicious. you could cum from the sound alone.

daddy. daddy. daddy.

as if reading your thoughts, bradley glanced down to where the two of you were connected and clicked his tongue. “fuck, ain’t that pretty?”

you nodded multiple times in quick succession. god, you were so close. so fucking close.

“harder, daddy, please.”

his hands snaked down to your hips and settled the two of you in a bruising pace and you swore you saw stars again for the second time that night. knowing you were close, bradley brought his hand down to where the two of you were connected and rubbed your clit. his middle and index finger played with the nub and you felt a pull in your stomach.

you arched your back and let out a moan, which he swallowed with his mouth. you both let out desperate gasps and grunts against each other’s mouths as you tried to see who would come first.

“‘s all you, kid. come on,” he groaned.

with a final cry, you came and bradley spent himself inside you soon after. you collapsed against his chest, utterly spent from the multiple times you had already cum that evening. god, you were so overstimulated. your entire body was wrought and warm and yet you still wanted to be closer to bradley. you peppered kisses along his jawline in between catching your breath.

“daddy, huh?” he said after a moment.

you sighed and pulled back to look at him, knowing you were in for some teasing, but still more than willing to give it just as good.

“don’t get used to it, bubs.”

(but he would. and he did.)

[corpsebasil]

Nikolai x reader. Reader trying to convince Nikolai to go for a swim in the lake on the grounds of the Little Palace at night against.

Babe I’m blushing

“Come on!” You laugh, sprinting down the grassy hill towards the lake. You’re drunk. Of course you are. The amount of champagne being served at Vasily’s birthday ball should be considered illegal. You spin on your heel, tossing a wink towards the blond prince who hurries after you, much more sober and way more concerned. “Loser!”

“Y/N, please.”

“What?” You giggle, lifting your skirts as you approach the edge of the water. Your shoes were discarded at some point—who knows when—so you dip your bare toes into the lake. “What’s wrong?” You call, meeting his eyes again.

He’s closer than you expected.

Your eyes widen a fraction when he places one hand on your lower back, the other on your waist to keep you steady when your toes slip on the pebbles close to shore. You giggle again and meet his gaze, those blue eyes of his mere inches from your own.

“You’re what’s wrong.” He muses, but there’s a faint smile on his face. “Please don’t drown.”

“I won’t.” You breathe, grinning as you shuffle the both of your farther into the water. Then you’re yanking him, full strength, and seconds later both of your bodies are crashing down into the lake, water wrapping its arms around the both of your heads.

For a moment, there’s blissful silence.

The water is freezing. Cold and dark, brushing your skin with the gentleness of a lover. For a moment, just a moment, you close your eyes and sink, Nikolai’s arms around your waist tightening in a vise.

He yanks you above the surface.

“You—” he sputters, coughing lightly as he snatches you to his chest, the both of you completely soaked as he attempts to find his footing. “You damn heathen, you—” but you’re laughing, then he’s laughing, and soon his forehead is resting on your shoulder as you giggle like a maniac, pleased with your success at causing chaos. “You’ll be the end of me, won’t you?” He sighs, lifting his head to meet your stare.

The both of you are streaming water down your faces and hair but, somewhat emboldened, you reach out to touch the damp, dark blond strands.

“Yes.” You murmur, fixated on your task. He takes your wrist, meeting your gaze again before he presses a feather-light kiss to the limb.

“You’re a menace.” He says softly, pressing another kiss to your skin. “We’ll get sick in this water.”

“You’re not trying to leave.”

His eyebrows raise and he shakes his head, both in disbelief and amusement.

“No.” He starts, seconds before he tugs your soaked body even closer, eyes on your mouth. “No im not.”

When he ducks down and kisses you, you go limp, his arms tightening as you both collapse once again beneath the surface.

^ literally you

[ferrariregina]

Charles Leclerc request

I hope to one day have it in me to make you as miserable as you've made me

misery on the fast lane | cl16 × reader

pairing: charles leclerc × reader

warning: angst, unedited, also lets act like charles won a gp recently okay? okay.

summary: mentioned above.

you are seated at home, the flickering flame of the candle throwing agitated shadows against the wall. outside, the night is dark and silent, the world seems to be as quiet as your heart. a single polaroid, nestled between a pile of books, catches your eye. it's you and charles. embraced in each others arms, grinning at the camera like idiots.

you miss him, you admit. the way his fingers would trace your skin, delicate and electrifying, the playful glint in his blue eyes, his terrible imitations of celebrities, and that contagious laughter. but the bitter poison of hurt and betrayal lingers stronger than the remnants of love.

he was not just anybody; charles was the fan-favourite driver. every time he'd leave, you would dread his impending return because it should have made you happy. instead, the fear of him losing his life on the racetrack made you miserable. the anxiety was unbearable, but he always returned with that exhilarating grin. until one day, he didn't.

he didn't crash. no, we were the ones who crashed and burned when he admitted having fallen for someone else.

"will you forgive me?" his last words left a bitter taste that you could not erase.

now, you fantasize about the payback. how would it feel to make him as miserable as he'd made you? there's a sick pleasure just imagining it. your heart, once full of love, is now brimming with vengeance.

the warmth he provided, the promise of countless tomorrows, all of it lost and unattainable now.

like a cruel joke or perhaps fate trying to mend your broken halves, you found yourself standing across charles at a bustling party one night. you watched him standing tall, sipping champagne, a captivating sight indeed. his eyes met yours across the sparkling crowd, with an emotion you couldn't fathom.

"hey," he greeted softly, as he moved closer. the effervescent laughter and congratulatory cheers for his recent victory seemed to drown out.

"charles," your greeting was soft-spoken, brimming with bittersweet nostalgia - but you were far from presenting an open book.

"you look…" he paused as if the words weighing him down. "you look beautiful."

"thank you" you replied, stiffening when he grazed your arm with his fingers, those familiar digits igniting an old flame.

"you know… I've missed you," he muttered, eyes pleading. you felt your heart stutter but the seed of vengeance watered, determined.

"that's strange," you replied, feigning naivety.

"I want you back," he declared, grip intensifying. "give me a chance. please."

every cell in your body cried out for his touch, for his promise of a tomorrow. but your pride screamed, insisting you not fall for his pleas. give him a taste of his own medicine, you reminded yourself. you chewed on your lip, hesitant, before releasing a gentle sigh.

"I'm sorry, charles," you replied, taking a step back. "that's not possible."

"b-but I miss you…" his plea embarrassingly desperate, making you wince, a pool of sorrow welling up inside. "can we try again? please?"

you laugh without humor, the sound harsh and louder than you intended. "you have some nerve, charles," you state, trying to wince back the tears threatening to fall.

"don't you miss what we had?" he asks almost pleading now.

you want to lash out, yell at him for what he did, but instead, you say, "what we had is past, charles. a closed chapter. "I still miss you," he says helplessly. suddenly the victorious f1 champion seemed to be nothing more than a broken man begging for forgiveness.

your eyes soften for a brief moment. you miss him too, yet the devout hope to make him feel your agony overpowers your longing for him. you yank your arm free and walk away, leaving him standing alone.

as you walk away, you find it difficult to determine whether you have become stronger or colder in fulfilling your hopes. but for now, you are satisfied, his piercing gaze burning into your back, mirroring the same misery he had inflicted on you.

a/n: I loved writing this, hope y'all enjoy reading.thanks for this request! requests are open!

xoxo

[reysdriver]

Stop The World | S.B.

Sirius proposes to take you away at your arranged engagement party to Lucius Malfoy — sirius x fem!pureblood!reader angst

warnings: cheating but the good kind lol, reader is in an unhappy/forced relationship

words: 0.8k

a/n: this is like loosely based on the song Stop The World I Wanna Get Off With You by Arctic Monkeys (go listen its amazing) and I may be doing a part 2 later

You were the only person wearing white in a sea of black or colours only a few shades away. That wasn't the only reason you were uncomfortable. You were surrounded by pureblood maniacs who only cared to be here so they could pester you with questions about having an heir immediately after graduating from Hogwarts.

Your family arranged a wedding between you and Lucius Malfoy, and you couldn't even voice your dismay for fear of being disowned and having nowhere to go. So, because you couldn't do anything else, you took a sip of your drink and tried to drown out the conversations around you. 

"Shall we dance?" Lucius asked you, void of emotion. 

You didn't give him a verbal reply. Instead, you just held out your hand for him to take and walked with him to the area where several other unhappy couples waltzed. 

His hands dropped down to your waist—too possessive for your liking—and you brought your hands up to rest on his shoulders. You danced, barely making eye contact or speaking or doing anything else couples do. 

Interrupting the tension of the dance, you saw Sirius Black walking closer to you and you held back a smile. Your eyes darted to the side so as to continue looking at him, and you concluded that he was, in fact, walking right over to you. 

"Malfoy." Sirius said, getting Lucius' attention. "Mind if I steal (y/n) for a dance?" 

He looked hesitant, but you knew the majority of that was just due to the rivalry between the two young men. 

You tried to get Lucius to leave, making a pointless excuse for him to go away. "Lucius, would you mind getting me another drink? And perhaps you could greet some of our guests on your way."

His mood remained largely unchanged, but he wanted to avoid making a scene over something so small at this party. He let go of you and walked away. You quickly resumed the dance with Sirius, only much more comfortable as you were in the arms of your secret boyfriend. 

"This isn't what you want. You know that." 

"And what is it that I want?" You asked with a cocky head tilt. 

"Me." The word caused you to roll your eyes, even though it was absolutely true. "But not just me. Anything but this, really."

You gazed into his silver eyes, imagining the happy life with him that he had insinuated with those few words. He was right, you wanted to get out of this life, but you felt trapped. It's not easy being a sixteen year-old with your life mapped out for you by wealthy relatives who couldn't care less about your happiness as long as the bloodline was continuing. 

"Well, it's a shame I'm already engaged." You said sadly, and he twirled you in sync with the music. 

He pulled you back into his arms, the two of you were perhaps even closer together than you had been a few moments ago. "But not married." He countered. "And even if you were, I wouldn't care. I would still offer to sweep you away and be with you."

You tried to keep your voice down. If other guests heard you having this conversation, you were sure it would not end well. "Well, my knight in shining armour, how do you plan to rescue me from this tower? I'm sure the dragons would not be pleased to hear I want out."

"You don't have to tell them. I plan on running away and living with the Potters, you should join me. I have my uncle's fortune, and I could buy us somewhere to live and keep us afloat after graduation." 

The proposal scared you more than anything, but it was everything you've ever wanted. You wanted to jump into his arms and have him carry you away that instant, but you saw Lucius coming back with a glass of champagne, and you knew you had to wrap up the conversation. 

"I'll be needing some air in ten minutes. I'll go out to the gardens, meet me there." You said quickly and quietly, then you unwrapped your arms from his shoulders and gave him a polite kiss on the cheek. 

Your betrothed—the official one—handed you the drink, and you took a sip with perfect etiquette. 

"Thank you for the dance, Sirius." You said, both of you holding back your joy from public eyes. 

"Thank you, my dear. This party is lovely, by the way."