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itwasthereaminuteago · 2 months

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|| Authority ||

Shane Walsh x female reader

Tags/warnings: dirty, sweaty, horny, Shane sex cos that's what I want.

Shane can't help chuckling at your stormy expression and demeanour as you pound an angered path towards the garage store where he's working.

“What's grinding your gears this time darlin’?” He asks, but you only shoot him a fierce scowl in answer.

“Aw nah, you been fightin’ with Rick again?” he guesses. You always had something to say about him almost every other day.

You clench your teeth before answering. “He won't let me lead a group to go check out that boarded up farm we passed a week or so ago. I know there must be some good stuff in there, maybe even fuel and tools!” You kick at the door frame in annoyance. “He says he doesn't think it's worth it, that it's too dangerous and that the others wouldn't listen to me or respect my authority on a trip out there anyway. Fuck him!”

Shane watches you winding yourself up in a rage, your fists bunching till your knuckles are showing through your skin.

“He thinks I'm green but I've got skills! I can help! Why does he have to be such a knowitall asshole lording it over all the rest of us? It ain't fair.”

He catches your wrist before you start punching the wall. “Hey, hey now. You gonna calm down before you break somethin’, like your goddamn fingers?”

You scrunch up your face in annoyance. “Depends. You gonna take his side and tell me I'm just a little girl who should shut up cos she doesn't know anything?”

He looks you straight in the eyes. “Nah, I know you're capable. You just gotta give Rick some time to trust you with it, that's all. Hell, I know he's a grouchy sonofabitch but the system's worked alright so far, huh?”

You growl in defeat.

He's got a point you guess, but it still rubs you up the wrong way how Rick seems to see you as nothing more than a nagging pain in his ass. “Would you follow orders from me, Shane?” you challenge.

He gives you that signature self-assured cocky smile of his. “You bet. I trust your judgement, sweetheart.”

You scoff, actually semi surprised by his seemingly honest response.

“Yeah, sure you would. Whatever.”

You watch him in silence as he moves crates of supplies, some full up with cans and other heavy items, stacking them up against the wall. His vest is damp with sweat, beads of moisture roll down his neck to his broad, glistening chest and you can't help licking your lips.

“Doesn't help that it's so fucking hot today,” you muse, tugging your own shirt away from your sticky skin. Then you settle on an idea.

“I'm going down to the lake. Come with me.”

Shane pauses, glances up. “I gotta finish up this shit…”

You plant your hands on your hips. “Come with me. That's an order, Shane.” You smirk and he catches on, putting the crate down and straightening up.

“S’that so?” He responds with an interested look and you nod.

“Y’said you'd follow my lead, so follow.” you quip, walking out into the blazing heat of the yard towards the gate.

“Might be walkers down there.” He says, grabbing his pistol and knife from the shelf and tucking them into the back of his pants.

You wave your hand carelessly back in his direction as you keep walking. You've got your own weapon on you. “I'm capable, remember?”

Shane rolls his eyes as he catches you up. He's not sure what he's letting himself in for but it's not a good idea to let you go off alone, especially if he expects you've got something to prove.

The lake was a godsend. A welcome actual oasis in this rabid and lethal world that you'd all found yourselves trying to survive. A perk of living in the camp and bearing Rick's questionable leadership. It was small, a now undammed creek running in to fill an old quarry, but it was fairly safe and utterly perfect for dip on a day like this.

The side you came in on had a grassy bank and a large tree growing near, giving some much needed shade before the ground turned to gravel and slate near the water. You scoped out the rim and the shimmering, inviting water for any signs of walkers and once satisfied it was clear, you turned to Shane, planting your palm firmly on his damp chest.

“You, stay.” You command, gesturing at him to sit down.

“What the hell? How come I don't get to cool off?” He complains as he reluctantly sits on the baking hot grass. You cross your arms at the hem of your shirt and tug it up over your head.

“You said you'd follow my orders, didn't you? Don't you trust me?” You grin, slinging your top over a low branch of the tree and then starting to unbutton your pants.

Shane watches unashamedly as you undress in front of him. You had brought him here after all, wanted him here for whatever reason, and he sure as hell wasn't about to complain about the current view he's got. His gaze roams over the curves of your near-naked body as you strip to your well-worn underwear. He's never seen this much of you before, and he likes it.

You make your way to the water's edge, shrieking and then humming with relief as the sudden cold hits your heated skin.

“So what the hell am I s’posed to do? It's as hot as all hell, even in the shade!” Shane calls out.

“Watch for walkers, idiot!” You yell back with a laugh, and wade in deeper into the lake until you can swim. It was such a treat to have this space relatively close to the camp, but it wasn't the only thing you had in mind…

Shane watches you enjoying yourself as he sweats under the tree. You had your own watchful eye on him, near salivating as he eventually pulled his vest off to reveal the rest of that deliciously toned torso.

When you're done you walk slowly out of the lake, shaking off your hair and stalking towards where Shane was lying on the bank. He pushes himself up on his hands, surprised as you straddle his hips, grunting as cool droplets of water fall from your body onto his.

“What are ya doin’?” He asks as you push him back down to lie flat on his back.

“Cooling you off.” You reply matter of factly as you rock your hips down on his crotch, feeling his cock beginning to harden rapidly through your wet panties.

“Yeah?” His voice is husky, his hands finally landing at your waist as you lean in close, grinding yourself against his cock again, feeling him twitch.

“When I first came here, Rick told me to stay away from you, y'know? Said you were dangerous…”

“Fuck…” Shane curses, his fingers gripping at your damp skin and eyes flicking between the sight of your hardened nipples poking through your bra and your wiggling hips on his. “You doin’ this to get back at him or somethin’?” He asks with a slight strain in his voice.

“No...”

Your own fingers start to explore and trail over his chest, scratching briefly at his nipples and on down those washboard abs to hook under the waistband of his pants. You can't help yourself, leaning down, your tongue sliding out between your lips to lick up the layer of sweat from between his pecs. You close your eyes as the satisfying taste of his salty musk hits your taste buds and both you and Shane moan. You lick and kiss your way up to the side of his neck and nip at his earlobe, purring out your desire.

“I just wanted you to fuck me.”

His eyes gleam a dark amber in the sun as he looks up at you. “Yeah? Is that an order too?”

“Do you want it to be?”

You teased the question but he wastes no time, scrabbling quickly to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants, pulling his thick cock out of his underwear as you shimmy out of your panties. You'd need to be fast, this was all the foreplay you needed. You couldn't risk any of the others from the camp wandering down here and finding you both.

He was just as big as you had imagined. You weren't at all surprised with the way he would nearly always stride dick first through the camp. When you could, you'd sometimes pass any quiet moments watching him work, whether it was swinging an axe to cut firewood, or patrolling up on the wall. Even if he could be smarmy and bullish he was prime eye candy for sure, and you wanted a taste.

“God… damn.” Shane hisses as you sink down on him, your bodies now as one, feeling your tight, wet heat gripping around his throbbing length. Air leaves your lungs in a gasp as you start to move up and down, and Shane moves his hips upwards in quick, powerful thrusts to meet yours. “Shit… god-fucking-damn!”

“Fuck, Walsh!” You moan as he's stimulating the deepest parts of you, his hands firm on your hips, fingers pressing in harder..

“S'at good?” He grits out, captivated by the feel and look of you moving above him with abandon.

“So good-” you whine. He shifts forward, ducking his head to mouth at the softness of your breasts spilling over your bralet.

“Oh you like that, huh?” he snarls, “yeah, jus’ like that?” He leans back again so he can pound into you even harder, gritting his teeth, beads of sweat rolling down his face and neck to pool at his collarbones with the effort. He snatches the cups of your bra down, letting your tits bounce around, squeezing them hard before he drops one hand down to where your bodies meet, his thumb desperately rubbing sloppy circles over your slick, swollen pearl.

The dry grass presses into your knees as you fuck, your pussy starting to flutter as the tightness at the core of you builds so quickly. You haven't had any form of intimacy for so long that everything you're feeling now is intense, sharp, and needed.

“Don't you dare stop!” You threaten, riding his cock even faster as you near your edge.

Shane is panting, hips bucking wildly.

“Shit-shit-shit baby I'm gonna cum, aw fuck I'm gonna-”

You lift up off of him and rapidly switch to frantically rubbing your pussy and clit along the length of his cock, seconds later his mouth is forming a silent ‘o’ and his pulsing dick is shooting stripes of creamy white over his stomach and chest between you as you topple over with him. Shane hooks his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you down and smashing your hot mouths together as you both shudder through your orgasms with a deep shared moan.

You push off of him, laying on your back to his side, both of you panting ragged breaths with the heat and exertion.

“Fuck… oh christ.”

Your satisfied hum turns to laughter when you hear Shane's curses yet again.

“So, do you like a woman that knows what she wants an’ orders you around, Walsh?”

He grumbles, gingerly sitting up and wincing at the sweaty, messy state he's in. “Mm, I guess only when it's me that she wants.”

He gets up and strips off his boots and pants, and you watch as he takes his gorgeous ass into the lake to wash, dunking his entire body and scrubbing his hands over his face and closely shaved head. You soon follow and when you're done you put your now-dry clothes back on in a silence only disturbed by birdsong and the sound of the bubbling creek.

“We should get back.” You say redundantly, breaking the sudden tension that had formed.

“Yeah.” Shane agrees, not meeting your eyes.

You awkwardly part ways back at the gate, and when you're on shift up on the wall later that night you can't help wondering if you miscalculated, made a mistake.

“Hey.”

You almost jump out of your skin as Shane sneaks up behind you.

You calm your racing heart as you move the barrel of the gun away from him. “Jesus christ, don't do that, I could have killed you!”

He just smirks, holding his hands up in surrender. “Well now I wasn't lookin' for that.” He drawls, and you soften.

“So what were you looking for?”

"You had any more run-ins with Rick today?"

"Uh... no? Why?" You reply, slightly confused.

He shrugs, eyes flitting between the gun you're holding and you. “Just been wonderin’, if maybe you wanna order me around some more?”

#shane walsh x female reader #shane walsh smut #shane walsh fic

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gabessquishytum · 3 months

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Hob gets kidnapped and as he's slitting the throat of the last person alive, Dream stalks in, full on Nightmare mode, prepared to unleash his wrath upon the fools that dared take his human.

Dream freezes for a second when the scene registers: Hob, knife in hand, near naked, sporting wounds from his imprisonment and successful escape. He’s covered in blood, his own and that of his enemies. Bodies lie scattered across the room. Dream can smell the lingering traces of sedatives and unknown humans on Hob.

He growls.

Dream smashes into Hob with all the force of an undammed river. He lifts Hob, clawed hands under his thighs, without breaking stride until they hit the wall, Dream drowns Hob in fierce, bloody kisses all the while.

Hob drops the knife in favor of gripping Dream's hair, grinding insistently against the erection he can feel growing against his ass. He pulls his head back to speak. “Fuck, I need you in me,” he gasps. “Make me forget every touch but yours.”

Dream drags sharp teeth along Hob's jawline, traces the shell of his ear with a long, black tongue. “Patience, my vicious wraith. Your body will know only me before I enter you,” he croons.

First, he plans to lick the blood from every inch of Hob's body. Then, he will overwrite the wounds others have left with tooth and claw. Only when Hob bears the bruises and gashes Dream has granted him will he tenderly prepare Hob. He will call Hob back from the battlefield with gentle lovemaking, will soothe him with soft touches and playful kisses.

There will be nightmares later, but Hob will rest, safe in the knowledge Dream is watching over him.

Aww hell yeah! Bamf Hob, Bamf Dream, post-kidnap sex. I'm convinced that Dream would to see Hob being unhinged and bloody (although the circumstances could be better). He loves seeing his little human let go of all his civilised restraint and just going absolutely ballshit crazy.

Also, Dream should definitely use the blood of their enemies as lube when he finally enters Hob’s body again. All other traces that the captors left on Hob have been eviscerated but now Dream wants to use them to bring Hob pleasure. They are nothing to him now, nothing more than a tool that he can use to make Hob feel good.

Hob loves it all as much as Dream does (although he would prefer not to have been kidnapped and beaten up). He loves that Dream is so possessive and protective, and it almost makes the whole ordeal worth it when Dream literally licks him clean from head to toe.

And later, when he's in bed and shivering after a bad nightmare, Dream will be there all over again to hold him and kiss him and make him feel safe. They can love each other in so many different ways.

And being fucked up against the wall by his 7ft, sharp clawed lover, is definitely one of Hob’s favourites way to be loved.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw blood

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xsapphirescrollsx · 10 months

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Nettles

Masterlist

Rebloging supports writers!

Written: Sept 26, 2020 Paring: Dark!Sherlock Holmes x Black Female Reader

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: +18, spanking, intimidation, assault, breeding kink, non-consensual sex, dubious consent. Proceed with caution.

A/N: Thank you to my beta @titty-teetee for reading through this. I love ya. And to @littlefreya for planting the seed lol >:D

1886 - Near Maidstone

He promised.

If Mr. Holmes was anything in this world, he was a man of his word. His broad figure relaxed against the thick stone doorway, neither staring at you or seemingly aware that you had on nothing but a white silken nightgown. But you know he does, little lapsed the attention of the great Sherlock Holmes.

Though you trusted his word that he would stay away and not the malice you watched spontaneously arise in his brow, or the tautness tightening his jaw. What ever brought it on, you chose to remedy his inclinations, or rather lessen them completely. Light, shaky footsteps patted in your wake toward the chair near the fireplace. At least there, the robe could save your pride and conceal the reaction of being watched. But as you moved, so did he, quite swiftly with the excitement you figured a predator might have with his prey.

Nothing could control your breaths, the panicked beating of your heart when he continued to approach.

“The last time you were here-”

“Did I ask you to speak?” Sherlock inquired, with a damning tilt of his curly head he began to unfasten his vest.

“This is my home-”

He stopped before you, fingers working down the front and tossed it to the floor. “I’ll ask again,” he raised his voice for a moment before lowering his eyes to you. “Our agreement was completely reliant upon your word.”

He yanked at the white cotton shirt undaming it from his slacks. “You were never to step foot in London again.”

Bare chested, wide and unforgivingly muscular you watched him as he bent down and began to unlace his boot. “I told you as long as there was this guarantee I would support your endeavors here.

He pulled off one and sat it near the bed, “I would offer sage advice,” he did so with the second and sat it near the other. He stood up, taller than you remembered before, “To give you free reign to do as you saw fit.”

“Was this a mistake?” The condemning pitch in his deep voice had your eyes diverting toward the fire.

“Woman, speak up.”

“I was needed there.” your voice was small, though you still did not meet his eyes. “It was important, I never thought I would see him there-”

He tsked shortly and you stared back at his ominous glare. “Thinking is what got you in such a state?”

“I have free will. You are the one mistaken to think you can impose your priorities, your salacious tastes-”

His hand to your face ended your words in a tattered jumble. You jerked back but he kept you there, standing before his mighty judgment with his fingers and thumb squeezing your jaw.

“I see you are in great need for reeducation.”

It was the first smile you had seen appear on his features. Those speculative blue eyes, now made dark within your room barley lit by the fire, grew joyous in delight.

“No.” you insisted. He squeezed harder, pulled you toward his face. “I know. You help me, Mr. Holmes. I assure you-- I understand completely.”

“Forgive me love,” he snatched you around like a rag doll against his chest. “-but I will not take you on your word at this time.”

His hands, large and roaming clambered over your breasts, gathered the thin fabric there and began to rip. “You think I am a fool?” agitation laced the words that followed. “That I haven’t thought about the very moment you would slip?”

His head leaned over your shoulder, soft curls brushed against your naked shoulder. “You are mine.” he whispered into your ear. Still closer, he placed a kiss, wet, succulent lips pressed on to your neck.

“I dare think of the day I would not have you in my life.” he said, quietly. “It would extraordinarily destroy my days after.”

His words sparked an idea within your mind. “If there is love to be had between us, you have made it uneven, Mr. Holmes.”

At that he grabbed for your arms and began to walk you toward the bed. His body pressed against yours and he forced you to unjustly mimic the direction.

“Love?” With a light roll in his voice deep in his throat he bent you over. A warm hand pushing between your shoulder blades your hands fell to the bed.

A pause in his motions became a ray of hope for a moment. Either to reconcile what he was about to do or to think of any emotion he had for it it was welcomed. Your heart pounded harder when his lower body brushed against your ass. His hands gripped your skin through the gown, twisting and clinging to it as he pressed your firmer against the growing mound under his slacks.

“I do not know the word fully,” he said and kept you still. “But I do know that I told you to stay here and never to see that man again. My emotions are singular in this, do as I say and I will pepper you with affection. My protection is love, what I afford you is love.”

Your fingers tangled within the sheet underneath them. “Your legs quiver. Are you beginning to understand the other side of my love?”

You quickly nodded.

“Good girl.”

He slid to the side dragging the lump against you. A steady hand held the back of your neck as the other raised the hem of your nightgown over your bare ass.

“Still lovely I see.”

You opened your mouth to defend, to say something, anything to make him forego the action to follow but only a gasp left your lips. He struck you quick on the center of your cheeks so hard your heels rose from the floor.

A satisfied grunt, he tightened the hold on your neck and hit you again. And then again, while deliberately swiping his groin back and forth on to the edge of your hip. And he hit you again.

Pausing, he podded at your entrance, though you leaned forward to get away as he pushed inside anyway.

“Are we understanding each other yet, love?”

Your breathy whine cascaded into a moan as his fingers began to be coated in your wetness.

He pulled out quickly and struck your ass again. “Speak.” the world grinding between his teeth.

“Yes,” he struck you again, making you yelp to answer. “Mr. Holmes, I do! -- I understand!”

“See, I am not sure you do.” He released your neck and swiveled back behind you. The clinking of his belt hitting the floor alerted you at once. “I intend to tie you to me.”

“The rules are there for a reason. I suspect an available woman, like yourself, wouldn’t understand the delicacy of society contracts.”

At your slippery entrance something hot, fleshy, and large nudged.

“Wives…” he pressed into you. “On the other hand,” an aching hum fluttered over his lips as he sank in deeper. “--they have to obey.”

He scraped over your ass and grabbed for the fabric of your gown, he balled it up in his fists and tore the back away exposing your skin. Fingers then dug deep into your sides and held you fast. His hips pulled back and then snapped forward into you. The crippling stretch had you falling to your elbows. Delicious rapture, as only he could provide you, seemed but a few motions away as he began to steadily pump into you.

“I expect--” he said with a restrained rasp, “children…”

The notion hit you to the core. Suddenly you clawed at the bed in an attempt to scamper away, but the only thing that occurred was him pushing you fully to the bed. He flipped you over, hooked one of your legs over his arm, his knee pressed into your upper calf and he entered you roughly. Spreading you wide, covering you with his body completely he held your arms at your head. Swirly curls hung over his face, draped over your brow as he began to kiss you. With this tongue prodding like his cock, craving more than you wanted to give, he licked your bottom lip and then pressed his lips on top of yours anyway.

And the burst coursed through you, up from your center your muscles pulsed with every joy until you shattered into a mewling whimper. There out, the moment collided with visions of his eyes, his teeth bared as he plummeted you into the bed. For how long? You were uncertain. He gave no care how deep he drove, how fiercely he invaded your body which ended with him straining above you. A vein beating out of his forehead, eyes squeezed tight, lips wet with yours and his, he finished with a groan.

Sherlock slackened, releasing your wrists, his knee removing the crushing weight, your leg over his arm fell to the bed. Finally, he opened his eyes and stared down at you.

“You are mine,” the urgentency in his voice persuaded you to touch his face, and then into his curls. Brushing them back as he leaned his lips closer to yours. “Do you not know..how very important you are to me?”

He kissed you lightly, “I crave you every day, in every way possible, love. I just want you for myself..”

He cradled your head, his thumbs kneading the points of your jaws. “You nettle me. In the back of my head I think of you daily, hourly. I have no choice but to make you my wife.”

“You said this was uneven..” his voice was light as he placed another gentle kiss on your lips.

“--don’t you see it is you that rules me.”

#sherlock holmes #henry cavill #x black!reader #black female reader #x black reader #black reader #I block the 'likes'

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mignonricciardo · 8 months

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august | dr3

chapter 5

happy august 31 <3 to celebrate, here is a chapter of august, my daniel ricciardo friends to lovers back to friends back to lovers full of mutual pining fic. enjoy, read the other chapters and let me know how you're feeling <3

warnings: 18+, smut themes, not a mention of sex being protected (5k words)

Day 8 of 19

An uncomfortable silence hangs in the house since the news broke. Daniel shared the news with Michael, and while he was supportive of his friend and the situation, I could feel the tension in the air and the strain on their friendship as they both admitted defeat. It was painful to watch — sagging shoulders and tired eyes. Both men were sulking, but what could I do beyond my own sadness?

I throw myself into work, spending hours at the Greenhouse Cafe or down by the pool deck, finishing manuscripts and sending edits and brainstorming my own stories. It feels good to get back into the groove of my life before the trip — my life when Daniel isn’t around. It’s easier this way. To remember what reality is like, not whatever alternative universe exists at this house. Since our near kiss at the vineyard, I need every painful reminder of why it can’t happen. I let myself recall memories of too many run-ins over the years that have resulted in nothing but repressed longing and late night tears. Memories of France — the trip that finally broke whatever we were for years — surface in flashes that make my heart clench and stomach roll.

With memories of Daniel comes memories of Dad, and it feels like I’m back to where I was in the aftermath of his death. Thoughts spiraling into the what-ifs, images of what life could look like if he were still here. The thoughts consume me, sending me into a shaking mess as I tuck the manuscript away. My fingers click Elizabeth’s name, typing up the message with shaking hands.

Can I talk to you about something?

The text bubble is quick to appear, and I nearly feel guilty at her response.

Of course, Cal. Want to give me a call in a few? About to put the kids down for bed.

Tell them Aunt Cal says goodnight for me?

Felix says he misses you, and Amelia says goodnight, too. You alright?

Yeah, I just wanted to talk to you about something. Girl talk. Jack around?

At the pub with the boys to watch the game. No need to worry about him.

Thank god. Call me when you’re ready.

Minutes pass slowly as lights dim in the house. From the pool deck, the golden lights from Daniel’s bedroom cast shadows dancing across the rippling water. A sense of relief floods me when it goes dark while a second wave of guilt swells in me knowing there’s no way to make him feel better about any of this. The swell of the bugs from the brush culminates, ebbing away into silence as they perform their nightly routine. Waves crash beyond the edge of the property.

“Hey,” I answer the video call, smiling when Elizabeth’s face lights up the screen.

“Are you alright?” she says without hesitation, twisting the top of a bottle of red wine.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I look up to Daniel’s window one more time, waiting for light’s to flick back on. It remains dark against the gray-blue facade. “I just- I don’t know what’s going on, Lib.”

She pours a glass of red wine, settling on the large couch in the center of their living room, “Is it about Daniel?”

All I give is a weak nod.

“Oh, babe. Talk to me about it.”

I start to tell her about everything. The return to the house, the coffee, the movie night, the bar, the waking up together, the vineyard, the feeling of being caught in between Daniel and Michael. It flows from me like an undammed river, and the ever-present listener, Elizabeth lets me tell everything without interruption or interjection. The breeze ruffles the pages of the manuscript next to me on the chair, and I pull the blanket around my shoulders tighter without interrupting my story.

“We almost kissed, Lib,” I whisper, the shame crawling up my throat as she makes a face.

“Cal,” her voice warns.

“I know,” I answer. “After all that time and work, and it was like I was willing to forget everything. I’m angry at him and myself.”

“Have you talked about it?” she asks, sipping from the wine glass.

“The kiss? No, we’ve been pretty much avoiding each other since the vineyard. It’s been weird.” I groan as tears flood my eyes — angry drops slipping past my lashes. “I’m just so frustrated, Lib. Did I make a mistake saying yes to all of this?”

“I don’t know, Cal. I think only you can figure out that answer,” she answers gently. “In my opinion, no, I don’t think you’ve made a mistake. I think you need this trip to see him and catch up — remember what his friendship is like.”

Friendship. Is that what this was supposed to be? The word cuts me up and casts even more confusion.

“Lib, can I tell you something and you promise you won’t kill me or tell Jack?” my voice shakes.

The memories of France rest on the tip of my tongue. I glance back up to Daniel’s room, curtains drawn and room dark, and a part of me begs for him to hear me. An overwhelming heaviness settles in my stomach, but Elizabeth brings me back to reality.

“Usually I’d make a pregnancy joke here, but I don’t think now's the time,” she grins, and I chuckle weakly at her attempt to calm me down. I’m grateful for it. She continues, “I promise I won’t kill you or tell your brother. I can’t promise I won’t want to punch you, though.”

I let out a groan, fighting the anxiety in my stomach at the thought of revealing anything, “There’s a lot you don’t know — that no one knows except us.”

“You and Daniel?” her brows are raised as she takes another sip of wine.

I nod my head, “Remember in 2018 when I stayed with him after Monaco? It was not as friends.”

So I begin, telling Elizabeth about the trip that changed everything. There are moments along the way, like Italy or our final summers at this house, that are shared. Whether Elizabeth is shocked or not, I can’t tell. She keeps a stoic face, once again being the perfect listener without any interruptions. Frustrated tears continue to well in my eyes as my throat burns. Confusion swallows up everything, and when I finally finish with whatever my mouth decided to tell, Elizabeth looks at me with a sense of pity in her eyes.

“Babe, you’ve kept that all to yourself for all these years?” I nod, and she continues, “Why? It’s clear keeping all of that in was affecting you.”

“We agreed a long time ago to never talk about it,” I say, realizing I’m breaking my most sacred promise — a promise I had honored for over a decade. “It was just easier this way. It never felt real if we didn’t talk about it, so it meant we could go on like this.”

“Do you feel better now?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer after a moment of hesitation, brutal honesty in my words. “I guess speaking it out loud makes it real.”

“You aren’t going to want to hear this, but you need to talk to him about it, Cal,” she says. “I know that’s not what you’ve ever done, the two of you, but it has to be affecting him, too, right?”

“He doesn’t act like it,” I whisper, throat burning as tears continue to make their way down my cheeks. “It’s like he can just turn it on and off. I can’t do that, Lib. I care too much.”

The admission nearly stops me in my tracks. I care too much. Is this as close as I’d ever get to admitting it?

“Does he know how much this hurts you, Cal?” she asks.

I shake my head, “There’s no way he could. We don’t talk about it.”

“You need to,” she says, voice gentle. “Even if its just to yell at him for everything, then you can decide not to speak about it again. Either way, you need to talk to him. He’s the only other person who will get it, Cal.”

“Aunt Callie?” a small voice calls over the phone.

Elizabeth’s head spins around, and she smiles as one of her kids approaches. She asks if they want to talk, and Felix’s quiet voice says yes. There’s a shuffling as he climbs into his mother’s lap, and I can’t help the wide smile as his face fills the screen.

“Hey, buddy,” I say.

“Why are you sad?” he says, eyes heavy with sleep. “You’re crying, Aunt Callie.”

“It’s been a long day, buddy,” I say, fighting back more tears at his quiet voice being so caring. “It’s better now that I’m talking to you.”

“I see you soon?” he asks, looking at Elizabeth and then back to the screen.

I nod, “Very soon, Felix. I’m excited to see you. I miss you.”

He yawns, “Miss you, too. Uncle Daniel there?”

I nod my head, “He’s asleep right now, Felix. Like you should be.”

He rubs his eyes with tiny fists, “Woke up and heard Mummy say your name. Wanted to see Aunt Callie.”

The blond curls nearly reach his eyebrows, a reminder of how quickly he’s growing, and my heart swells, “Did you check on Amelia before you came down?”

“She was sleeping,” he nods gently, yawning again. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Mummy and Aunt Callie were talking,” Elizabeth says quietly to him, brushing his curls back from his forehead in a motherly fashion. “We were talking about when we’re going to see each other.”

“And Uncle Daniel, too?” he says, eyes fluttering shut. “We see everyone?”

Elizabeth nods, and I smile as his eyes remain shut, “Felix?”

He hums quietly, and I take the time to answer before he falls back asleep, “I love you. Thank you for checking on me.”

“Love you, Aunt Callie,” he murmurs. “Mummy, go back to bed?”

“Alright, come on,” she smiles gently, grunting as she lifts his tired frame against her hip.

“I’ll let you go,” I say over the phone. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Cal,” she says, smiling as Felix echoes her statement.

After the call hangs up, I lean back into the chair, sighing as the conversation weighs heavy on my mind. I wipe the remaining tears off my cheeks, letting my eyes stay shut as the chilled ocean breeze washes over me. It’d be a week before they’d arrive. I let myself relax into the poolside chair, falling into a sense of calm with the distant crashing waves. Half an hour passes as the shore falls into an ebbing sense of quiet, culminating with the symphony of the tide.

“You coming in soon?”

His voice is gentle so as not to startle me, but my eyes fly open to see Daniel towering over me. He looks like he had been trying to sleep, sweatpants and ruffled hair with a hastily thrown on sweatshirt. There are dark circles beneath his eyes despite the soft, ever-present smile on his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to make you jump, but I thought I would check. I saw the lights still on out here.”

“Yeah, I was just trying to get some work done,” I motion to the long forgotten manuscript on the chair next to me.

“And work was making you cry?” he says quietly. I look to him with shock, but he motions to my eyes, “I’ve known you forever, Cal. I know what you look like after you’ve cried. What’s up?”

I shake my head, “Sorry if I kept you up. Go to bed, Daniel.”

My tone is sharper than I anticipate, but it doesn’t faze him as he moves the manuscript to the side so he can sit in the chair next to me. Long legs spread before him, and he sighs as he gets comfortable, adjusting his sweatshirt around his shoulders. He lets a silence linger before speaking.

“I couldn’t sleep. I have a lot on my mind, so I was going to come out here to read for a bit — get some fresh air — but then I saw you.”

He turns over the book in his hand, cracked spine indicating it was a loved book from the shelf in the living room. I watch as his fingers slide along the spine before he sets it next to the manuscript.

“Well, I’ll go in so you don’t have to be bothered,” I start, lifting myself from the chair.

His fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks, “That’s not what I meant, Apples.”

Damn that nickname. Our eyes meet, and something in his gaze makes tears tug at my lashes. Warm, brown depths suck me in, and they leave me defenseless. I shake his arm off mine, sucking in a deep breath to regain some sense of control. I stand from the chair, shaking my hands limply at my sides as I pace across the pool deck. I glance up to the house where Michael’s window is dark, taking a steadying breath before turning to Daniel.

“Was it a bad idea for me to come here?” I ask.

The look in his eyes makes me almost regret the words falling from my mouth. He sits up, his elbows on his knees, and his brows draw together.

“What do you mean, Cal?” he looks genuinely confused — no sense of facade to his expression.

“Daniel,” my voice shakes, teetering on the edge of silence. “After everything, was it a bad idea to jump into this?”

“Callie, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His calm and gentle tone sends my blood boiling, and the tears start to fall down my cheeks out of frustration. Without another thought, my voice raises as I screech at him, “Bullshit you don’t know!”

My tone startles him, but when he sees my tears, he reaches for me, “Cal, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t touch me,” I fight him off weakly, shrugging off his looming embrace. “I’m angry right now, and I don’t need you to comfort me. I need you to stop pretending.”

I feel guilty. He looks tired, and with everything else going on, he doesn’t need my demands to pile on top of him, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending. He sighs as he settles on the pool chair, head hanging with his elbows on his knees. I watch his every move, body wound so tightly that I could flinch with the simplest of his movements, and my eyes burn with years of frustration bubbling up.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he sighs, avoiding my gaze.

He looks tired, shoulders sagging, but I feel just as exhausted.

“Tell me it was all real,” I say. “Tell me I’m not crazy and all these things I remember actually happened.”

“What things?” he asks, and it sends something snapping in me.

“You know what!” I screech, voice foreign to my own ears as my frustration oozes. “I’m so fucking sick of this game, Daniel.”

He just looks at me, something swirling in his eyes as his lips part ever so slightly. Please, I want to beg. Just say it. Instead, we square off in silence. He stammers out my name, and I snatch the manuscript off the chair beside him, sure to avoid brushing his leg.

“I shouldn’t have come,” I say, spinning away from him. “I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”

Suddenly, his fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling me back toward him. I spin to face him in the process, and something familiar about the close stance floods my senses. I don’t know what compels Daniel to grab my face, but before I know it, his lips are crashing into mine as his hands cradle my jaw. My hands subconsciously find their way into his dark curls, weaving into the strands in a familiar dance. Before I’m processing what I’m doing, one of my hands slides from the back of his neck to rest on his jaw, and my lips part to welcome his familiar caress. He takes a step, and my leg follows backward until it hits the pool chair. The contact sends me spiraling back toward reality, and I break away from him as my chest heaves. We’re staring at each other, chests mimicking the other’s rapid rise and fall, and I barely trust my voice.

“Daniel, we have to talk about everything.”

“There will be time for that,” he is breathless as his chest rises and falls with what he’s saying. “I owe it to you — I do — but right now, please just-”

“What, Daniel?” I start. “Please what? Pretend I want to do this again and forget what happened every time before? When you can’t even admit any of it? Please what?”

He hesitates, warm eyes following the curves of my face, “Just let me kiss you.”

The longing in his voice makes my heart splinter yet every part of my being screams no. One of his hands slides down my arm, tracing across the bones in the back of my hand before weaving our fingers together. My eyes look down to our clasped hands before casting back up to meet his eyes. As much as it pains me, I shake my head slowly.

“You don’t really want this, Dan,” my throat burns. “You’re hurt. This is what we do when we’re hurting. It’s always what we’ve done.”

“I do want this, Cal,” he whispers, eyes pleading with me. His fingers slide against mine, “I should’ve kissed you at the vineyard. I should’ve kissed you at that bar when I came to get you. I should’ve kissed you before you ever left to meet that dickhe-”

Despite every part of my brain screaming at me, I act in defiance as one of my hands hooks beneath his jaw, his beard rough beneath my fingers, and I press our lips together again. He reacts immediately, hand dropping away from mine and rising to slide along my jaw. The familiarity of his lips against my mine — tongues recalling a familiar dance — sends heat firing down my limbs. He inhales sharply through his nose, hands drifting toward my waist where cold fingers slide beneath my sweatshirt.

“Daniel, I’m sorry,” I breathe, fingers weaving through the curls at the back of his head. “This can’t go too far.”

“Fuck, I know,” he groans quietly, fingers brushing across my skin concealed by the fleece sweatshirt. “I’m sorry. I’ve just missed you.”

The words hit me square in the chest, and warmth bubbles up and brings my voice to a squeak as his lips press gently to my jaw and neck. My head spins, full of the smell of his cologne and feeling of his lips against my skin, and it tips to the side to allow him access. One of my hands slides across his shoulder, gripping his bicep as his nose brushes against my neck.

“I need to know we’ll talk,” I choke out, legs buckling as his knee slides between mine. “We need to talk about everything.”

“I owe it to you,” he whispers against my skin. All of my defenses crumble beneath his touch.

“I missed you, too,” I whisper, gasping sharply as his cold hands press against my skin beneath the sweatshirt. “It hurt to think about it.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, lips still tracing old, familiar lines down my neck. “I’ve always been sorry.”

The chill of the breeze ushers in clouds beneath the cover of darkness, and the stretching black cracks open as gentle rain begins to fall. We’ve barely processed the cold drops falling on our faces, digging through the haze of whatever was happening between us, before the sky opens up and unleashes heavy rain. Our sweatshirts become soaked with rain, hair sticking to foreheads as we look at the other in a daze as our brains scramble to catch up. Chests are heaving and eyelids heavy, and we simply stare at one another as the rain ripples across the pool surface. I see the manuscript flutter behind Daniel, and I curse as I lunge for it, grabbing the soaked papers and pulling my rumpled sweatshirt over them in a futile attempt to save them. I spin around to a laughing Daniel — a true laugh that makes him look like he's 25 again. He doesn’t look so heavy, and his shoulders lift higher than they had since arriving at the house. He continues to laugh as he grabs my hand, pulling me through the pouring rain and across the soaked pool deck toward the house. We stumble into the house, leaving water droplets in our wake, and he continues his laughter, quieter now as Michael sleeps upstairs. He drops the wet book to the countertop, pages already swelling, and he reaches to peel his sweatshirt off.

“Daniel, what is so fun-”

I stumble to a halt, words failing, and my eyes watch as his bare torso is revealed. Biceps flex as he tugs the sweatshirt over his head, and he reaches a hand out to indicate he’s waiting for mine. I’m aware that I’m staring, eyes tracing new tattoos spreading across his skin, but I can’t tear my eyes away. I’m frozen — trying to recognize something that used to be so familiar.

“I’m gonna put our stuff in the dryer,” he smiles softly. “Cal, you’re freezing. You need to get that stuff off.”

I nod, dazed as my eyes are stuck on the tattoos on his collarbones and spreading down his arm. My fingers tug at my sweatshirt, peeling the heavy fabric away from me, and something about his eyes on me spurs my confidence as I peel the cotton t-shirt away from my skin, too. I don’t hesitate to lose the t-shirt, a sense of comfort in Daniel’s presence, and I can feel the burn of his eyes on me as I tug the shirt over my head to hand to him. Goosebumps prickle across my skin as I stand before him, bra and sweatpants damp from the rain, and his eyes shamelessly stare at me.

“You got more tattoos,” I whisper, unable to take the silence as his eyes watch me. “I didn’t know about them.”

He nods, still holding our sweatshirts and my shirt in his hands, “Picked up a couple since you’ve seen me like this.”

I don’t know what to say, so I remain quiet as I follow him into the laundry room. My eyes drink him in, tan skin stretched across taut muscle and adorned with black ink. His dark curls are wild from the rain. He tosses the soaking items into the washer, adding a full step to the promised routine, and his fingers clutch the elastic waistband of his pants before he tugs them down his legs. I can’t help the sharp inhale that passes through my lips as his sprawling thigh tattoo is revealed beneath sleek boxers, and he faces me seemingly unfazed despite hearing my gasp.

“Do you want me to step out while you throw yours in?” he asks.

My brain screams at me, but in an attempt to play it cool as my mind scrambles to catch up with everything, I shake my head. I peel the sweatpants off my legs, hyper aware I’m standing before Daniel in next to nothing, and pass them to him to toss into the washer. The water starts filling the basin with a gentle hiss.

“I thought we were just drying them?” my voice is unsteady as I take ragged breaths.

He turns to me and I’m suddenly aware of how small the laundry room is with the minimal distance between us. My back is pressed against the edge of the wooden table, and our chests nearly brush with the deep breaths I’m heaving.

“Figured I’d wash them while we’re at it,” he whispers, voice raspy as our eyes meet. “I have to kill some time before I throw them into the wash.”

I nod my head, humming since I don’t trust my voice. His fingers reach toward my face gently, warm digits brushing hair sticking to my forehead behind my ear. I take a steadying breath, stuck in whatever trance is surrounding us, and my fingers brush along the tattooed words on his collarbone.

“Tell me about them,” I whisper, feeling goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch.

He tells me about some of his new tattoos, voice quiet and raspy as whatever space was left between us slowly closes. My fingers brush across his chest, tracing the ink from his shoulder to his bicep to his forearm as he talks about each new tattoo since I had seen him like this. He takes his time, sharing each story with detail and letting me trace the delicate lines. He tosses the small load of laundry into the dryer when it chimes, briefly breaking our trance before returning to stand in the closing space between us.

“The new one on your thigh,” I whisper, hand slowly reaching for the ink above his knee. The anchor is settled within his sprawling thigh tattoos, hidden unless you were already familiar with them. I notice the sharp inhale he takes as my finger brushes across his skin, “The anchor.”

He nods, throat bobbing as his eyes flutter shut, “It was for you. You’re always reminding me to stay grounded — it’s a reminder of home.”

Tears suddenly flood my eyes as I gasp, and my gaze tears from the ink on his thigh to his face where warm brown eyes meet mine.

“You got this for me?” I whisper, voice low and breath fanning across his skin.

He nods, eyes hood and a honeyed lilt to his voice, “Callie.”

My fingers stop tracing his skin, and my eyes search his for whatever he’s about to say. His hands twitch at his sides, “Did he touch you like I did?”

The first mention of my ex since I had told Daniel we had broken up. It catches me entirely off guard.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb on me, Cal,” he starts, voice strong and eyes dark. “Like in France. Did he touch you like that?”

“Daniel,” my voice trails off, brain forgetting how to do anything besides think of him — besides giving me flashbacks of his hands on my skin and his kiss from earlier.

“Did he touch you like how I touched you? I have a feeling he didn’t even come close.”

Our chests are heaving between us, and no matter how much my brain screams at me for what I’m about to do, I’m powerless to fight it.

“I need you to remind me how you touched me.”

That’s enough. Clashing lips and tongues as he lifts me onto the table behind me. The dryer drones away behind us, masking whatever noise is drifting from the laundry room toward the living room and kitchen. Daniel’s hands on my body, palms warm and rough as they slide across my skin, are familiar and warm me from the inside out. His hands press the softest parts of me into the hardest parts of him, and my thighs knock open and wrap loosely around his hips. The dance is familiar, our bodies remembering everything before our brains have time to find excuses as to which this should stop. His hand curls against my spine, pressing me into him and sending lightning through my body, and I gasp as his lips trace over the skin sensitive from his earlier ministrations.

“We need to talk about this, Daniel,” I gasp, bra dropping to baskets full of laundry. “Fuck, we need to talk about this.”

His lips part against my skin, mumbling into my shoulder, “Fuck, I know.”

“Promise me I won’t regret this,” I whisper, fingers curling into his hair and tugging gently along his scalp. “If you can promise me that, we can talk later.”

“You won’t regret this,” he answers without missing a beat. “Callie, its you and me. You know how this is going to go. Do we ever regret it?”

In my heart, I know the answer, but the lust clouds my brain, and before I know it, I’ve got thighs wrapped around him. Any clothing has been abandoned into the baskets around us, and Daniel presses forward as our foreheads rest against each other. The steady hum of the dryer matches Daniel’s steady pulse beneath my fingers, and for the first time, I remove any expectations out of the situation. I simply let myself feel, finding freedom in getting lost in Daniel’s touch. The feel and scent of him, arms caging around my body as he lifts me ever so slightly from the table. It hits me all at once — voice hoarse as my eyes shut — and Daniel isn’t far behind, stilling within me as our chests heave. Any chill from the rain has vanished, and once we catch our breath, the dryer chimes quietly. Daniel pulls from me gently, whispering a gentle I know as I whine helplessly. Before I know it, he’s pulling his sweatshirt over my head, smelling of laundry detergent and faintly of him still, and I watch through hooded lids as he tugs the sweatpants up his legs.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers quietly, hands brushing hair from my face.

“Tired, spent, incredible,” I answer.

He chuckles quietly, “Let me take you to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow, Cal.”

He lifts me from the table, setting me down on uneasy legs, and nudges me forward gently. I barely trust my legs as I make my way up the stairs, but Daniel follows behind with large palms resting on my hips. He follows me toward my room, watching as I crawl into bed, and he pulls the blanket over my bare legs. As he goes to leave, I reach for his hand, catching his fingers with mine.

“Will you stay?” I ask quietly, embarrassed at the ask falling from my lips.

He thinks it over for a moment, unreadable look in his eyes, and the guilt burns deep in my stomach. He nods gently, hand squeezing mine before he crawls in next to me, sighing as he gets comfortable on the mattress. I hesitate to curl into his side, afraid of feeling clingy after everything that had just happened, but he rolls onto his side to face me. Our eyes meet, and for the first time this trip, the heaviness weighing around the corners is gone. He smiles as we lay there, grinning as we lay in silence.

“How do we make sure Michael doesn’t find out about this?” I whisper.

“I’ll leave in the morning before he’s up,” Daniel whispers. “Don’t worry about it, Cal.”

I nod my head, but he doesn’t buy it. He pulls me closer to him, arms wrapping around me as I press into his chest. His steady breaths lull me into a near-sleep, eyes lidded and limbs heavy.

“Cal?” he asks quietly, chest vibrating against my cheek. I hum quietly, an acknowledgement I’ve heard him. He continues quietly, words making my heart swell and warmth spread to my limbs, sending me drifting off, “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”

#daniel riccardo imagine #daniel ricciardo fic #formula one imagine #formula one fic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 imagine #daniel ricciardo #august

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