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beskarandblasters · 3 days

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Stonecatcher

Chapter Three: Let Me Be Your Stonecatcher Please

Din Djarin x OFC Athalia (Second Person POV)

Artwork: The Lovers by René Magritte Gif: @cherubispunk Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Series summary: An up-and-coming bounty hunter and a promising arms dealer cross paths on Dantooine. What starts as a business relationship quickly becomes more. How long can you bury your emotions and be a stonecatcher for someone else before you finally snap?

Series warnings: pre season one of The Mandalorian, instant smut but slow burn romantically, Athalia is able-bodied but other than that has no physical description, angst

Chapter summary: While on a supply run to Coruscant, you run into Mando.

Word count: 3.4k

Chapter warnings: anxiety, oral sex (M receiving), vaginal sex, creampie

You’re on your way to Coruscant for a supply run, the first one you’ve ever had to do. This opportunity sort of fell into your lap. One of your new customers, Clint, was buying a blaster from you when he told you he knew a guy in Dantoo Town who was going to Coruscant. The contact in question, Sid, was looking for others to join the trip so long as they chip in on fuel. That agreement seemed fair to you so you said yes.

You’re leaning against the window of a ship, cheek pressed up to the cool glass, and staring out into the vastness of space. You’ve never left Dantooine, much less ventured out of Casia more than a handful of times, and yet you’re handling space travel better than you anticipated. The chatter among the passengers turns into white noise as you close your eyes, imagining what Coruscant is like. It’ll be weird to be around so many people, so many speeders, and so little nature for once.

Once you get to Coruscant, you’ll head to the lower levels, a place Sulee warned you about. You’re not sure how she knows so much about them considering that you’re almost certain she’s also never left Dantooine. Yet she has mysterious knowledge and wisdom that you definitely took into consideration for your journey.

Mind your business.

Don’t make eye contact with strangers.

Keep your head low.

Don’t let anyone walk all over you.

You’re nervous but also excited. You’re excited to see a new place and for this wonderful business opportunity.

But you can only think about your future endeavors for so long until your mind eventually wanders…

Mando.

It’s been another few weeks since you’ve seen him. You wonder what he’s doing. Probably off chasing another bounty.

You didn’t expect to see him after the first time you crossed paths. And yet you did. That has to mean something. It’s unfortunately all you’ve been able to think about. You told Sheva about the event that led you to miss the party at the cantina. But you’ve neglected to tell Sulee, assuming that in her old-fashioned ways, she’ll tell you that casual sex is a bad idea. Even though you think it’s already growing deeper, that a meaningful connection is already being forged. But all this begs the question;

When will you see him again?

You’ll get your answer soon enough.

Sid lands the ship in a docking yard while you stare out the window. Neon lights flash in your face and heavy raindrops pelt the windows. He reminds everyone that the ship will be leaving by mid-morning the next day, before disembarking. You’re doing this supply run alone. So you’ll have to meet the supplier, pay them, and carry everything back to the ship on multiple trips.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Sid asks as you head down to the lower levels. He must be going there, too.

You look over at him, watching as he shivers in the rain and noticing how the wet strands of hair stick to his forehead. He’s a human male, a couple of inches taller than you, with dark skin and warm eyes. His hair sits at his shoulders and goosebumps prick his skin where it’s exposed. You’ve only met him once before coming here but so far he’s proven to be a valuable contact and also a good friend.

“I do.”

“Do you need me to show you where to go? You know the password?”

“You did enough by getting me here. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll hang around the area if you need me. Chances are I’ll be in a cantina.”

“Sounds good,” you chuckle, bidding him goodbye before you head to the meet-up spot.

You’ve heard rumors of a sort of flea market for arms in the lower levels. Sid seemed to validate that it does indeed exist. He said it’s on Centurion Street, inside of a clinic. You have to approach the front desk and say the phrase, “I need a central processor for my Protocol Droid.”

You’re not nervous. You’ve got Sulee’s advice repeating in the back of your mind and a blaster attached to your belt. If you want to break into this industry, you need to know how to navigate it and how to interact with the clientele, plus all of the other shifty characters that come with territory.

You wander the streets before locating the correct street. It’s slightly less busy on Centurion Street but still just as shady. Your hand hovers above your blaster and you pray to the Maker you won’t need it. Soon you find the clinic and it definitely looks fake. You head inside and get a brief refuge from the rain. You’re the only one in the lobby and the overhead fluorescent light is somehow worse than the neon sign. Everything is absurdly clean, a harsh contrast to the neighborhood the clinic is in. You approach the front desk where the receptionist is sitting and tell her the code, half expecting her to laugh in your face. She gives you a knowing look and gets up to let you in. You follow her behind the desk and into an open doorway. And it’s a little underwhelming. For some reason, you were picturing a large secret market place but it’s just a guy in a back room with an absurd amount of weapons.

“Who sent you?” the man asks.

“Sid Clemon.”

“He didn’t come with you?”

“Nah, he decided to hit up a cantina.”

“Typical. Tell him don’t be a stranger,” he says before turning around to comb through his stock.

“What are you looking for?” he asks.

“Anything and everything.”

You buy a decent chunk of his stock, mainly different types of blasters and a few thermal detonators. It takes you a couple of trips to get it all back to Sid’s ship. The man who sold them to you (whose name you didn’t get) didn’t offer to help you but you didn’t expect him to either. He did help you load all the product into large gray bags, telling you “Can’t be out there on the street with all of this out in the open. Can’t be showing your cards to just anyone.”

After the last trip, you head back down to the street, deciding to look for Sid in random cantinas and find out what to do next until you leave. Are you expected to sleep on the ship in the docking yard? Or are you supposed to find a random motel to stay at?

The rain has let up but everything is still rather wet, including your clothes. And now that the rain has gone away the street is even more crowded. You scan your surroundings, looking for a sign for a cantina. But you find something else instead.

There he is, standing in the busy street. Not Sid– Mando. Although you can’t see his face, you can tell by his body language that he’s overwhelmed. His helmet swivels in all directions, trying to keep an eye on every person around him. But it’s hard when the streets are packed with people shoulder-to-shoulder.

He still hasn’t noticed you yet. Instead of bursting through the crowd to head towards him, you wait. You wait for him to notice you. And when he does you can’t ignore the butterflies in your stomach. For some reason, it excites you to see him at a place other than Dantooine.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, placing a hand on the small of your back and guiding you off to the side.

“Supply run.”

“It’s not safe here.”

“I can hold my own, you know,” you say, tapping the blaster attached to your belt.

“Do you… need help?”

‘What do you mean?”

“Carrying stuff back to your ship.”

“Oh! I already finished, but thanks for the offer.”

“What are you doing now?”

“Killing time. We’re not leaving until tomorrow morning.”

“Who are you here with?”

“Just some guys from Dantoo Town.”

“Are they going to miss you for a few hours?”

“No… Why?”

He points to something behind your head so you turn to follow his gaze. Across the street is a neon sign for a motel that looks abysmal at best. Is he suggesting that you get a room together?

“Are you asking me to”

“Yes,” he says abruptly, replacing the hand on the small of your back and walking you towards the motel.

“Are we splitting it?” you ask.

“I’ll take care of it.”

He’s taking you to a motel. He’s paying for it. Stay calm. Stay calm.

It all happens so fast. He books a room and pays for it with a hefty handful of credits, leading you down the hallway. Once you’re in the room, he lets go of you, collapsing onto the bed.

“Are you… alright?” you ask, walking over to the side of the bed as the door closes behind you.

“I’m fine. I just don’t like this planet,” he says softly.

“Why?”

“Too many people.”

“Do they make you anxious?”

“...No.”

“It’s normal to get anxious, Mando.”

“Not for me.”

Poor guy. From what you’ve seen of him so far he doesn’t seem to be in touch with his emotions, which is why he’s rejecting his own anxiety.

“Can I help?”

“How?”

“You’ll see,” you say, moving to the foot of the bed.

The bulge in his flight suit catches your eye. He needs to be taken care of. You sink to the floor and motion for him to inch closer to you. He obliges, boots planted on the floor on either side of you. You palm his cock, hearing him groan while you touch him so delicately.

“You need to relax,” you tell him softly, increasing the pressure of your hand, “You’re so tense… Have you ever had anyone take care of you before?”

“...Not like this,” he says, poking up his helmet and looking at you.

“Lie back down,” you say gently, placing a hand on his breastplate and coaxing him to lie on his back again.

You remove his cock from his flight suit, watching it spring free from the confines of the fabric. You wrap your hand around the base, watching the pre-cum bead up at the tip of his cock before spilling over and running down his shaft. As you stroke him you watch the stress and exhaustion leave his body. He practically melts into the bed and it makes you feel good that you are the person to take care of him like this. Surely, he’s gotten head before, but probably not by someone who cares about him like this. You’re just assuming but you gather he’s not one for long-term relationships. It makes sense given his line of work but maybe he’s changing his ways. Why else would he cross the galaxy for you? He could’ve purchased that blaster anywhere. Maybe he’s developing feelings for you, too. Maybe he’s just not showing it.

You enclose your lips around the head of his cock while your hand continues to stroke him. Your other hand cups his balls, eliciting a deep moan from him.

“Feeling good?” you ask, pulling your mouth away for a moment.

“Mhm,” he moans, voice all strained and dripping with arousal.

You return your mouth to his cock and suck in your cheeks, watching as his hands grip the sheets at his sides. Your tongue slips in between the head of his cock and his foreskin, swirling around the sensitive tip. Saliva seeps out of your mouth and coats his shaft, making everything that much more effortless.

He melts into the bed as you bring him closer to the edge. But you’re not done with him just yet. You rise from the floor much to his dismay until he realizes what you’re doing. You peel off your wet clothes, nipples perking up in the cool air of the motel room. Goosebumps prick your skin and a shiver runs down your spine. He’s so attractive lying there on the bed, broad and spread out with his cock dripping in pre-cum. For once you’ll get to be face-to-face (well really face-to-helmet) when you fuck. The arousal drips down your legs as you get onto the bed, straddling him with your entrance grazing the head of his cock.

He doesn’t protest you straddling him. He embraces it instead, hands gravitating to your waist. You lower yourself onto his cock, slowly taking all of his length. He groans, reveling in the feeling of your warmth encapsulating his cock.

“Kriff, you feel good,” he says, squeezing your waist.

You rock your hips back and forth, feeling his cock sink into you deeper. You rest your hands on his breastplate, staring directly into the visor of his helmet. You lean forward, bringing your face closer to the black T shape.

“You’re so big, Mando,” you moan, voice getting high pitched on the last word as his cock hits a sensitive spot.

“Mmm, you take it so well, ruusaan,” he says, voice sultry and silky smooth.

Ruusaan. What does that mean?

You don’t have time to think about it as he jerks his hips up into you. You’re getting closer and closer to coming, and tingling sensations run throughout your body. Your fingers grip the edge of his breastplate, clinging for purchase as you rock your hips back and forth even faster. He’s getting closer, too, strained moans come out from underneath the helmet.

Your orgasm erupts from your core and your sounds of pleasure fill the small motel room. His orgasm is triggered by the sensation of yours, spilling over the edge thanks to your cunt clenching his cock. He guides the movement of your hips as you both cum, feeling you squirm and writhe while you ride out your high.

Once you’re done coming you pull yourself off of him, collapsing onto the bed beside him. You catch a glance of your wet clothes on the floor and get up to set them on the heater, wondering what’s next for you two. Normally, he leaves.

This time he doesn’t. Instead, his chest heaves up and down. You just want to take care of him again.

“Mando?” you ask, turning to face the bed. He doesn’t sit up. He remains where he is, his chest rising and falling as he tries to control his breath.

You glance at the chair at the desk across the room and walk over to it, pulling it out for him before reaching for his hand.

“Come sit.”

Reluctantly, he gets up from the bed and sits on the chair. His hands grip the armrests for dear life as if this is his way of releasing the stress. You stand behind the chair and ghost your hands over his shoulder pauldrons.

“Can I take these off?” you ask.

“Why?”

“To massage your shoulders?”

“Oh… Go ahead,” he says stiffly.

You remove each pauldron and place them on the desk, bringing your hands to his sore muscles. He’s as stiff as a board as you touch him and you have to gently remind him to relax.

“Relax,” you whisper beside his helmet.

You rub his shoulders like you’re absorbing his stress and anxiety. He slumps into the chair, helmet thrown back. You imagine his eyes are closed underneath.

Is this what peace looks like?

He falls asleep on the chair. You let him. It seems like he really needed the rest. Your clothes dry in the meantime and you get stressed again. It’s the middle of the night and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do until it’s time to go. Maybe you’ll sleep in the bed? And secretly hope he’ll wake up and join you.

That’s a reality you’ll only see in your dreams, though.

When you wake up you’re greeted by darkness. He must’ve turned the lights off. You feel around for him in the bed but he’s not there. Perhaps he’s still sleeping in the chair? Maybe he didn’t want to encroach on your space in the bed.

You reach for the lamp on the nightstand which illuminates an empty room. You’re alone. Sadness builds in your gut. He just… left you.

But not without a word. There’s a note on the nightstand. It reads;

Thanks for the massage. Catch you back in Casia.

At least he left a note.

You do one final look over of the room before leaving, grabbing his note and putting it in your bag. You set out into the early morning and wonder where Mando is now. You’re one of the first people to arrive back at Sid’s ship, waiting around in the stillness of a quiet Coruscant for once, before the planet wakes up. But eventually, you’re joined by the others.

“Jeez Athalia, did you stay up all night?” Sid asks, laughing at your disheveled state.

“Something like that,” you sigh.

“You could’ve stayed in the ship,” he points out, lowering the exit ramp.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you say, slumping into the same passenger seat you sat in on the way here.

The other passengers talk amongst themselves as you lean against the cool window of the ship. Sid takes off and before you can fall asleep you think about what he called you.

Ruusaan.

You’ll have to ask him what that means next time you see him.

There is one thing that’s certain- you have a lot you need to tell Sheva about.

Once you’re settled back in Casia with all of your purchases put away, you head to the cantina to tell Sheva about your trip.

She places her hand over her heart when she sees you, letting out a sigh of relief.

“You look like you just saw a ghost,” you say, chuckling as you sit down at the bar.

“To be honest I wasn’t sure if you’d ever come back.”

“What do you mean?!”

“Come on, the lower levels are sketchy.”

“Well, I survived.”

“Congrats.”

“Anyway… I have something I have to tell you.”

“Spill,” she says, leaning on the countertop.

“I saw Mando again.”

“On Coruscant?!”

“Mhm.”

“Like you just happened to run into him?”

“Yup. On the street.”

“And how did that go?”

“We spent the night at a motel together.”

“Wow, things seem like they’re getting serious.”

You bite your lip and grimace. If only that were true.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Well… he left in the middle of the night.”

“He what?!”

“I mean he left a note!”

“But still… Girl, that’s suspicious.”

“I don’t think so. I think he just has an issue with commitment.”

“Do you have the note?”

You reach for your bag and pull out the folded-up piece of paper from the motel, handing it to her as she looks at it with a raised eyebrow.

“ ‘Thanks for the massage. Catch you back in Casia’… Girl, what is this?”

“I found him on the street. He took me to a motel where we had sex and then I rubbed his shoulders after. He seemed stressed,” you shrug.

“Exactly! He’s using you.”

“What?? No, he’s not.”

“He buys your products, has sex, and then leaves every single time. Except this time your “product” was in the form of a massage.”

“…You don’t think he’s feeling anything for me?” you ask, starting to feel doubtful.

She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m not saying he doesn’t… I’m just telling you to be careful.”

“Thanks…” you say, getting up from your stool, “I’ll be careful. I promise”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No!” you half-lie, “I’m just tired from the trip.”

“I get it… Just think about what I said, okay?”

“I will,” you tell her, smiling at her before turning and leaving. The evening rush is just starting to make its way to the cantina. You’re tired from the trip but you also need to think about what Sheva said.

You don’t think he’s using you but also… so what if he is? You can take it until he fully realizes his feelings.

At least that’s what you tell yourself.

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics

Tag list: @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @freelancearsonist @djarins-cyare @survivingandenduring @littlegrungegirlaf @pamasaur @chiyo13 @pedrostories @schnarfer @burntheedges

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#stonecatcher #din djarin x oc #din djarin x ofc #din djarin x original female character #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian x original character #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian smut

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intotheelliwoods · 11 months

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I present to you a little timeline :)

I have been having dreams about this story since way early march and im so happy I finally have the guts to go through with it all lmaooo no matter how wild it is

"hey ell what happened to this being a hurt/comfort comic" can you pretty please trust me when I say that everything comes full circle, the hurt comfort comics will return! I just want to have some fun first!

Anyways uhh expect a time skip next update!

#the discord got to see this early #hello discord I love you discord peoples #btw if anyone can actually guess whats going down #kudos #no one has guessed whats happening yet #kicks feet #my dream ideas be so wild no one can see them coming #I would put in foreshadowing....#but I would rather give everyone a big week long fish slap #the “WHAT.” is probably going to be another week long event #but hey after that its all just fun happy healing until I get bored of the comic #might I just state #I have the ending planned #along with a few inbetween scenes #but outside that I just have fun making stuff up ahaaa #honestly though making stuff up as I go/get inspired is the best way for a comic imo #keeps you entertained the whole time instead of following some rigid storyline #idk #whoops big ass tag ramble #nonsense #2 arms left #anyways about that timeskip....#cannon little leo beans.#they are coming

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lecliss · 28 days

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I'll never be able to take the theory that Vincent is Sephiroth's real father seriously cuz I cannot stress enough how important I think it is to the plot that Vincent wanted to fuck Lucrecia and did not get to.

#once again i jest but now i have to actually talk about it #like. okay we have no proof of any actual timeline for the dirge flashbacks other than. it was at least 30 years ago #so who knows how long they were at the manor. could have been weeks before The Incident. or months. or maybe a full year! who knows #but to me a timeline of like. they fucked and like a week later vincent found The Evidence and lucercia had her little breakdown #AND THEN EXTREMELY QUICKLY SHE AGREED TO THE EXPERIMENT AND IT COULD GO ONE OF TWO WAYS #1. she knew she was pregnant and thats why she agreed to the experiment cuz there was already a usable subject #and therefore she must have fucked hojo like a week after she fucked vincent AND THATS STUPID FAST FOR THESE EVENTS #or 2. she didnt know. agreed to the experiment. fucked hojo. and therefore thought seph was hojo's and NOT vincent's #AND BY THE WAY. i dont even actually believe hojo fucked either!!! cuz theyre both scientists so why wouldnt they think IVF was the best way #okay. well.... hojo is canonically a fucked up little freak. so. he might have taken the opportunity to... get in there.#also when did ivf even start being a thing? cuz that may play a factor into this if nomura even considered that #well either way lets just unfortunately assume hojo got in there #ITS STILL AN ODDLY FAST TIMELINE #also. fuck man doesnt lucrecia have a later line in dirge where she actually says shes in love with hojo? or something along those lines #IMPLYING ITS BEEN AWHILE SINCE SHE HAD THE FALLING OUT WITH VINCENT. YOU WOULDNT FUCK THE GUY AFTER ALL THAT SHIT #AND WHILE CLAIMING TO LOVE/CURRENTLY FALLING IN LOVE WITH HOJO!!!! LIKE CMON MAN!!!! SHE SUCKS BUT SHES NOT THAT KIND OF A MESS #i dont think vincent would fuck her until they sorted out their issues anyway and that CLEARLY didnt happen.#its VITAL that that did not happen!!!!#its just. if vincent and lucrecia fucked. everything would have had to happen EXTREMELY fast within like a 2 week timespan #and im just talking about up to when vincent learns shes partaking in the experiment. it was probably another week or two until vincent died #SO. logically it must have been like #fall in love->learn about the gimoire incident->refuse to speak to vincent->get obsessed with hojo->fall in love(?)#and then thats where i think its ambiguous on did the experiment become an idea before or after seph started to exist?#like chicken or the egg ya know. experiment idea or sephiroth zygote?#that feels fucked up to say. im so fucking sorry to seph to talk about this. yeah sorry i have to debate who fucked your mom bro #god imagine telling him that. like not even as a reveal thing cuz he knows who his father is. just like as a sick joke. your mom joke.#NO OH M Y GOD I HAVE A QUESTION NOW #in accordance to him having a photo of lucrecia in ever crisis. after he reads that jenova is an ancient (incorrect btw)#does he think that picture is still her? what about when he takes jenova's body from the lab????#oh my god 30 tag limit. FUCK. i need like a rant blog for all this vincent talk now. my brain is going a mile a minute

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formula-fun · 7 months

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#would like to finish my fucking fic but i need to just rant about how insane architecture school is #there are 50 people in my year and we're making this book thing together #have to present the book thing today #theres 8 groups and each person made a handful of pages #each group handles 1 topic #and then theres a formatting team which is a representative from each team #so that we can all coordinate on the formatting and hten go back to our groups to tell them like what fonts to use and give them layouts #shit like that #i am on that team #which means i have to nitpick my team and make sure their pages look the same as the other people's pages and compile them #we have ?? 30 something pages of diagrams and drawings? 8 teams so the book is probably 250ish pages long atm #thats due today and after were done presenting were getting a second study to do which is due on monday (same length)#we have to present that one too #and then we have an essay due tuesday (3 pages) a site analysis due thursday (that ones short #another due next tuesday (again 3 pages for theory (gag))#and were getting our studio assignment after mondays presentation #where we have to design a building and we have a few months to do it #and this weekend i have a networking event and a site visit so i have like 1 day to work and 1 day to do those things #oh and we have readings in the midst of all this #not sure the word count on that but we have usually 4 a week and theyre usually each 20 ish pages long which isnt that bad but you know #oh shit i also have to go to mr theory mans office hours on monday bcause i NEED that 4.0 man i need it #anyway if i am not writing i promise you i PROMISE you i am thinking about how much i want to and what i will do next #there is just ?????? so much shit to do #also my structures class is during the quali today so im just gonna. watch it in there. multitask. priorities #tldr dont study architecture #all these f1 drivers who wanted to be architects? would they have survived is my question. the answer may shock you #td

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scuderiahoney · 5 months

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After All

Charles Leclerc x bestfriend!reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, tooth rotting fluff

Charles is a lot of things. He’s determined, hardworking, a bit of a self sacrificing dumbass. He’s kind, talented, humble, confident, soft. He’s your best friend, your closest confidant, the person you would trust with your life.

And, according to everyone who’s ever seen the two of you together, he’s madly in love with you.

…..

Pierre’s the first one to say it. He’s known both of you the longest, he’s one of Charles’ best friends. He sidles up next to you on a warm afternoon. You’re both on Charles’ yacht, leaning against the railing and watching as he does a backflip off the deck and into the water.

“He’s going to hurt himself,” you point out, “and Ferrari will not be happy.”

Pierre snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “He is showing off.”

You give him a look of disbelief. “For who?”

Before he can answer, you’re drawn to look at Charles again when he calls your name. You watch and wave at him, and then he lines himself up for another stupid trick dive that makes your stomach lurch. He makes a splash when he lands, sinking deeper and deeper till you can’t see him through the bubbles. Just when you start to worry, just when you feel like he’s been under too long, he resurfaces. He kicks himself to the surface, hair plastered to his forehead, laughing raucously. He’s suddenly the boy you met at 13, big dreams and big plans and a big personality to get him there.

“You,” Pierre says, jarring you out of your staring. “He is showing off for you.”

You roll your eyes and elbow your friend. “What? He is not. Why would he be trying to impress me?”

“Because he is in love with you,” Pierre states, so matter of fact you almost don’t realize what he’s saying. “Come on, it’s obvious.”

“He is not!” You laugh, shoving at his shoulder lightly. “Jesus, Pierre, the fumes from those engines must really be getting to you.”

Pierre opens his mouth to speak, probably to rebut with some insane theory he’ll present as fact. He’s interrupted by Charles calling your name again. This time he’s waving you down to the back deck, eyes sparkling. He’s going to want you to jump in. You have a fear of heights, a fear of falling, a fear of deep, open water. Despite it all, you head down to meet him anyways. Charles could talk you into anything, could make even the scariest things seem easy.

“You have to hold my hand, though,” you say, when he urges you to jump in with him. “The whole way, no letting go.”

“The whole way,” he promises, knitting your fingers together.

…..

It’s a bit of fate that you end up in Suzuka for the race. You hadn’t been planning on going, but there’d been cheap flights available when you looked the week before, and suddenly you’re off to Japan. Charles is thrilled about it, always happy to have you there, even when he’s busy and barely gets to see you. He says there’s something comforting about knowing you’re in the garage or the stands.

He takes you with him to as many things as he can, including the pre race media days. The second you meet up with him after you get to Japan, he’s talking non stop about Sebastian’s Buzzin Corner project, and your heart melts at the excitement in his eyes. He’s been missing Seb lately, having a tough go of things and searching for guidance.

You watch from behind the scenes, behind the cameras, as the entire grid arrives to make pollinator hotels and decorate canvases. You smile when Sebastian spots Charles and runs over to give him a hug, and you smile even bigger when Charles follows Sebastian around like a lost puppy. Sebastian seems just as happy to be near Charles again, stopping by to check on Ferrari’s progress frequently.

Charles turns during a lull in the event, when the cameras are on another team and Sebastian is distracted, too. He waves you over, eyes bright, smile wide. You can’t help but be drawn towards him. Any time he wants you nearby, you go willingly, eagerly.

He has paint on his fingers, speckles of it on his shirt. Charles is creative, too. He doesn’t get nearly enough chances to show it, in your opinion. He’s stifled by brand deals and the public eye and overbearing management. You stand next to him, eyeing his and Carlos’ artwork with a soft smile. The pollinator hotel is filled with supplies, the roof is decorated, and Charles tells you excitedly that they’ve already had their first “guest”. He hands you a paintbrush when nobody is paying attention.

“You should add something, chéri,” he says, nudging you lightly.

You look up at him, twist your face into an unsure smile. “Am I allowed to?”

“Of course,” Sebastian says, having made his way back around to the Ferrari team. You smile at Charles’ old teammate as he pays your shoulder lightly. “It’s not exclusive, you know.”

You laugh, reaching out with the paintbrush and adding a small heart next to the stripes and stamps the guys have painted on. “A little love for the the pollinators and bugs.”

“You weren’t saying that about that spider last week,” Charles teases.

“It was in my hair,” you say through gritted teeth, looking at him with wide eyes. “Don’t slander me in front of Seb.”

Carlos is giggling, watching the two of you. Sebastian is doing the same, his eyes lit up reminding you of years ago when he and Charles had been teammates. He’d joked about the two of you exhausting him, with your boundless energy and constant flip flopping between bickering and affection. You’d insisted you were the ones keeping Sebastian young.

Someone calls Charles and Carlos over for a photo op. You peruse the bee hotel while you stand next to Sebastian. There’s a lot of people’s artwork on there, but somehow you think you know which brushstrokes belong to Charles.

“I see not much has changed,” Sebastian says, nodding his head towards Charles. “He calls you darling and then teases you in the same minute.”

You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks grow hot. “He is my best friend, both of those things are his job.”

“Ah, to be young and oblivious,” Sebastian says in a lilting tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He laughs, tilts his head at you. “Just that my wife was my best friend, once.”

You narrow your eyes at him. The glare has no effect if the grin on his face says anything. Sebastian is older, wiser, and Charles trusts his judgement on nearly everything, but you know he’s wrong about this. There’s no way Charles sees you as anything more than a friend. You’ve come to terms with that. You can live with that. You have to live with that.

Charles makes his way back over to the two of you, hands in his pockets. You plaster a sunny smile back on your face and try to ignore the way Sebastian is watching the two of you. Charles is telling you to paint something else, pointing out the empty space left on the canvas and the bee hotel.

He takes your hand, still wrapped around the paintbrush, in his own. He dips it in the black paint, leads you over to the wooden structure, and adds another heart.

“More love,” he says, singsongy, squeezing your hand. Behind you, Sebastian barely muffles an affectionate laugh. “More love for the bugs.”

…..

“This is my favorite song!” You yell over the booming bass.

You have a drink in your hand, your… 6th? of the night? You’re not sure, you’ve lost count. Charles keeps handing them to you every time your gets low. It’s always tequila and soda, always with two limes.

Charles laughs, shaking his head. “You have said that about every song in the past hour.”

“I mean it this time,” you say, eyes wide. You’re standing up from the table, pulling on his arm. “C’mon, we should dance, Charlie!”

He groans lightheartedly. Really, all of this should be your sign to cut yourself off. You don’t like dancing, and you rarely call him Charlie. Everyone calls him Charles, so you’d let the nickname go years ago. You’d worried it made you sound childish, made you sound like you were holding onto years past. He doesn’t budge from his spot in the booth, watching you warily.

“Amour, I don’t like this song as much as you apparently do,” he says, shaking his head. “And I like dancing even less.”

“Fine,” you say with a pout. “I will find someone else, then.”

You melt into the crowd before he can pull you back into the booth and down to earth. You’re at that pleasant stage of drunk where everything is funny and fuzzy and floaty. You spot Lily, Alex’s girlfriend, at the bar, and she needs much less convincing to join you on the dance floor. She abandons Alex with George and follows you eagerly. It’s Las Vegas, you’re here to have fun. This is fun. The two of you squeeze through the swirling mass of people till you find a good spot.

You don’t know how long it’s been when Charles finds you there- you just know you’re sweaty, a few drinks deeper, and past the point of no return. The song that’s playing now is your actual favorite song, a fact that you tell Charles when he steps in front of you, his hands on your waist to steady you.

“I know,” he says, because of course he knows. Nobody knows you better than him. “I also know you are drunk.”

“M’having a good time,” you tell him, wrapping an arm around his neck. It’s just to keep you steady, you tell yourself. “Vegas, baby!”

Charles laughs, shaking his head, but he starts to sway to the music with you. One hand stays on your hip, but the other comes around to your back and pulls you closer. You like being pressed against him, like being able to feel the warmth of him even through the fabric of your clothing. You don’t think before you spin in his grip, press your back to his front, keep your arm around his neck behind your head. Tomorrow morning, or rather, later today, you can blame it on the alcohol.

Charles wraps his arm around your waist in response, and you swear you feel his lips on the back of your neck as he pulls you in again. You’ll blame that on the alcohol too.

It’s like you blink, and then you’re standing out on the sidewalk, surrounded by the lights of the Las Vegas strip. The night air is cold, and you laugh to yourself, thinking about all the talk of a night race in the desert and the temperature.

“What’s so funny?” Max asks.

You’re surprised to find him standing next to you, and you blink at him.

“S’cold,” you say, unable to explain the rest of it. You just giggle again. “Where’s Charlie?”

Max raises his brows. “He went inside to get your jacket. You left it in the booth. Remember, five minutes ago, when you said it was cold?”

Huh. You don’t remember, but Max is probably telling the truth. He and Charles are more of friendly rivals than enemies now, despite their formative years. Max is definitely not trying to kidnap you as revenge. He has nothing to get revenge for- he won the race. Maybe he’s bitter that a Grand Prix he talked about so negatively had ended up being one of the best of the season, you suppose. Though you’re not sure that would give him a reason to kidnap you-

“I called him that once,” Max says, and you tilt your head at him. “Charlie. He didn’t like it.”

You remember. It was in Brazil, when they’d all been gathered in a garage. You’d seen it in a video. You can’t admit that, though, without admitting you watch tiktoks of your best friend, so you stay quiet on that subject.

“He thinks it’s childish,” you say with a shrug, scuffing the toe of your shoe on the ground. “I… forget, sometimes.”

You forget that Charles isn’t just your thirteen year old friend, the guy you’d never expected to even tolerate you. You can’t remember how it even happened, how you went from barely saying hi in the halls at school to dinners with his family, homework at their kitchen table. You’re not sure it matters now. What matters is keeping him a part of your life.

You’ve adapted. You’ve let pieces of him go, like childhood nicknames and any hope he’ll ever look at you the same way you look at him. Charles is larger than life, now. You’re still small. You’re still thirteen sometimes, still sitting at the table, begging Charlie to help you with your math problems.

“That’s the thing,” Max says, nudging your side lightly. “He doesn’t seem to mind when it’s you that says it.”

You frown. “Oh, he definitely minds.”

Max shrugs. “He doesn’t show it, then. Probably because he loves you.”

You nod solemnly. “I am his best friend.”

“Right,” Max laughs. “Sure. Friend.”

Charles reappears shortly after that, your jacket in hand. It turns out Max isn’t even leaving- he’d just been tasked with keeping an eye on you while Charles went back inside. He says goodbye and goes back into the club, while Charles is checking his phone, telling you the car should be there any minute. The night has gone from fuzzy to blurry, and you lean heavily on Charles’ shoulder, blinking repeatedly and trying to stay awake. He pours you into the backseat of the car, drags you out of it ten minutes later when you get to the hotel.

“You are so drunk,” he says, standing in the elevator, your head against his chest.

“I know you are but whatamI?” You slur, tugging on his jacket.

Charles just laughs. Even if he could understand you, he wouldn’t get the reference. His hand is resting on your shoulder, fingers squeezing your bare skin softly. You’d taken your jacket off as soon as you got inside, complaining about being hot. Charles had just taken it from your hands with an exasperated smile.

“I think you should sleep in my room,” he suggests when the elevator dings and the doors begin to open. “So I can keep an eye on you.”

You’re not that drunk, but you’re not going to argue. “Yeah, okay.”

When you wake up in his bed in the morning, Charles is asleep on the couch. He’s stretched out, one arm hanging off the edge, one foot on the armrest. His blanket is tangled in his limbs, and you feel guilty, suddenly. It was his night to celebrate, and he’d ended up taking care of you, ended up sacrificing his hotel bed and sleeping on the sofa. You sit up, feeling sick to your stomach, and not from the hangover.

“Lay down,” Charles says, not even opening his eyes. “S’too early. You need more sleep.”

“I should go to my room,” you whisper, and he opens one eye and looks at you warily. “That couch cannot be comfortable.”

“It’s not,” he admits, and the guilt lurches in your gut again. He’s smiling, though. “You tried to insist on sharing the bed, but you were very drunk.”

That’s not surprising. Drunk you always wants Charles close. You direct your eyes to the comforter and muster up all the courage you have left.

“I’m sober now,” you tell him. “So either we share the bed, or I go to my room. You look so uncomfortable.”

Charles hesitates for only a second. You wonder if you’ve gone too far, if you’ve crossed the line. But then he’d shifting, untangling himself from the blankets and tumbling off the couch. He crawls into the bed next to you, sighing happily as he sinks into the mattress. Seemingly almost without thinking, he reaches out, slips his arm around your waist, and hauls you against his chest. You let it happen.

There’s something sacred about the time between morning and night. The sky is a purple hue outside the hotel room window. The halls are quiet. Charles’ heart thuds in your ear, steady and beating out a soothing rhythm, and nothing about this feels out of place. It’s like this is where you’re meant to be, tucked against him, slotted together like puzzle pieces. You wrap your arm around his upper arm, and he pulls the blankets over the two of you.

“G’night, Charlie,” you mumble.

He laughs, and it’s a sweet sound. There’s no hostility behind it. “Goodnight, amour.”

…..

There’s something to be said about your inability to see something as it is until it’s staring you in the face. You’re stubborn as a mule, and maybe blind as a bat, too. It’s not till the holiday break that it all clicks into place.

Charles is sitting next to you at your kitchen counter, decorating cookies. You’ve been baking all weekend. It’s your grandmother’s recipe, now your responsibility to keep up the tradition. There are batches set aside for your family to decorate later, another set for the cookie party you’re holding with some of your friends from university. But Charles had whined and begged about wanting to decorate cookies, about wanting to be a part of the tradition, and you’d given in oh so easily.

He has a heart shaped one in his hand, a knife with red frosting in the other hand. He’s being so delicate, so particular, like it means so much to him. It’s just a cookie, you want to say to him. You hold my actual heart in your hands every day without a care, but you’re so delicate with a cookie?

Except, then, you’re thinking about it, and maybe that’s not true. Charles is brash and bold and confident, but he’s never anything other than gentle with you. He cares deeply, throws himself headfirst into things, he’s all or nothing. But when he’s around you he lets his guard down, takes the time to think. He’s cautious, heartfelt, kind. He takes his time.

“Max asked me to play padel today,” he says casually. “To make up for him missing our match.”

You laugh, though it feels a bit forced. You’re watching his hands, watching as he takes the white icing and writes something on the cookie. “Oh? You didn’t go?”

Charles shakes his head. “He wasn’t free till 11:00. I told you I’d be here at 10:30.”

You frown, blinking at him. He’s so focused on the cookie he doesn’t even notice you staring. He hasn’t spent this much time on a single cookie since he got to your apartment that morning.

“You could have come over later,” you say.

He shakes his head. “This was more important. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”

It shouldn’t be the moment, is the thing. Nothing spectacular happens. It’s not like he’s made some big confession, not like anything drastic has changed. Somehow, you just know. He looks up at you, a soft smile on his face, and it’s so, so obvious. You wonder if this is what he sees when you look at him. You wonder if this is what everyone else has seen and told you about. There’s so much love in his gaze that it makes your heart skip a beat, makes your skin feel hot, makes your fingertips go numb. You set your cookie down on the table.

He holds his in his own hand, peering down at it as if he’s judging it in a competition. He turns it between his fingers, leaving a red thumbprint on the underside of it. He has icing on his fingers, all the colors of the rainbow. It’ll probably stain his skin.

“You are always more important,” he breathes, and you can’t breathe at all. “The most important.”

He turns the cookie towards you, but you already know what it’ll say. His initials and yours, in white icing on a red backdrop. He’s been saying it all along, really. The whole way. More love. I know. Somehow it has still caught you off guard, stolen the air from your lungs and the words from your lips. All this time pining after him and you had never actually considered he might be feeling it, too. But it’s there, written on the cookie, and it’s written on his face, too.

You lean in to kiss him. He tastes like frosting and feels like love, and you wonder how you didn’t see it sooner.

…..

A week later, Pierre spots the matching hickeys on yours and Charles’ necks and laughs his ass off.

“I told you,” he says, through peals of laughter, shaking his head. “You are both so blind.”

Charles wraps his arm around your waist, and you shrug. You stare up at your boyfriend, happier than you’ve ever been, the weight of his hand on your hip grounding you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, dismissing Pierre even as he continues to laugh. “We figured it out. That’s all that matters.”

Charles leans close, presses his lips to your forehead. You feel it all. The years of waiting, wondering, wishing. Pierre is congratulating the two of you and saying something about calling Carlos about a bet they’d apparently had. You can’t bring yourself to care. In the end, you suppose, Pierre deserves to gloat. All your friends do.

They were right, after all.

thanks for reading! you can check out my other fics here!

#charles Leclerc #f1 #formula one #f1 fanfic #charles Leclerc oneshot #f1 oneshot #charles Leclerc x reader #charles Leclerc x you #cl16 #honeywrites #first public fic on a blog with an Oscar icon and it’s about Charles?? oh well

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tropes-and-tales · 5 months

Text

Dyin' for a Taste

Day 11: Face Sitting (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Idiots in love; pining; smut (oral, f!receiving); 18+ only.

Word Count: 4096

AN: This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: When I say this is not edited, please know it is NOT EDITED. Full of typos and sloppy typing. Tropes is a fat-fingered old crone.

It starts with a joke.

The 141 is on a covert ops in the mountains. It’s cold—the sort of cold that burns, that makes the bones ache. You’re posted up in a perch, your sniper’s rifle at the ready if shit goes south. The rest of the team is in the square below, waiting for the drop.

“My bollacks are gonna freeze off,” Soap complains over the comms, and you snort at the whining tone in his soft Scottish brogue.

“Shoulda dressed for the weather,” you reply. “Ghost probably has a spare balaclava.”

“And cover this handsome face?”

“Won’t be so handsome when your nose turns black from frostbite.”

You hear the tsch noise he makes over the comms, the very Soap, very Scottish noise of dismissal.

“You’ll have to sit on my face then, hen, and warm me back up,” he says.

You’re rarely stunned into silence—you and the guys are always making off-color jokes—but when you open your mouth to reply, you only gape wordlessly. The silence over the comms grows, expands, until Gaz—fucking Gaz—chimes in.

“I think she’s into the idea, bruv.”

And you can’t respond to that fast enough either, which leaves another long beat of silence over the comms, which likely seems like enough of an answer.

-----

The mission goes smoothly. The team splits up as planned to avoid drawing attention. You don’t see Soap again until a few days later when you regroup at HQ.

You think, perhaps, that he’s forgotten. Maybe that’d be better. You and Soap get along well, and sometimes he flirts with you, but he flirts with everyone. It means nothing.

And yet…

And yet, it’s Soap. You might be able to lie to others, but you can’t lie to yourself: you’ve spent many a lonely night with your thoughts drifting to him. Turning him over and over in your mind.

Soap MacTavish. Handsome, almost unbearably so. He could be a cocky asshole, be the sort of man who knows he’s hot and be insufferable about it, but he’s gregarious. Friendly. He’s a happy-go-lucky sort of man—or as much as someone in the One-Four-One can be.

-----

“Been avoiding me.”

It’s a statement, not a question. Soap corners you in the mess hall, his blue eyes peering at you without guile. He looks almost concerned.

“I haven’t,” you reply. You try to shift past him, but he puts a hand out against the doorway, bars you with his arm.

“You have.” He peers at you closer, his blue eyes somber. “What’s wrong?”

“Why would anything be wrong?”

You thought, perhaps, that he’d forgotten…but those somber eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, then smooth out as he schools his expression.

“Maybe you think my offer was wrong,” he says.

“I never said that.” You duck under his arm, but he lays his hand on your shoulder and stills you again.

“You’ve never said anything about it.” You don’t look at him, but you hear his gentle snort of laughter. “Your silence is deafening.”

You feel your face start to heat up because he’s not wrong. Too much time has passed now to address that moment in the mountains. You should have said something then, spat out some rejoinder to signal that it meant nothing to you, that it was just another dumb joke between you and Soap. But something about that dumb joke conjures up the mental image of you and Soap, and your face burns in embarrassment.

So you duck from his light grip on your shoulder and it makes him laugh again, then call out to your retreating form, “the offer still stands, hen.”

-----

A month passes, then another. You get leave for a few weeks and go someplace warm, a beach with golden sand and soft breezes where you can relax and forget the horrors of what you see every day.

Then you’re back on base, then another mission. Over and over, the same routine.

Through it all: Soap MacTavish, the team’s Golden Retriever. Always with an easy grin on his handsome face, a laugh, a joke. He teases Ghost, he does a passable impression of Captain Price. He gives Gaz a hard time about their rival rugby teams, but it’s always good-natured.

He jokes with you, but that joke—the one about sitting on his face—becomes just a joke between the two of you. You don’t know if the other men have forgotten it, but Soap only brings it up when you’re alone now.

At the barracks, in the rec room, he’s sprawled out on the couch and half-dozing, half-watching a rugby match. When you walk past, he notices, sits up. Beckons you over, tells you to have a seat…then thoughtfully strokes his face with that damned smirk and comically waggling eyebrows.

“You’re a jackass,” you call out as you leave the room, but by now, it makes you laugh…and it lightly stokes that ever-burning flame low in your belly.

-----

Another time, he sidles up to you at the range as you study your targets with their tight formation of bullet holes. He points out one shot, high in the corner of the paper, off of the concentric circles of the bullseye.

“Missed one,” he says.

You scoff. “One out of….many.”

He matches your scoff with one of his own. “Might be losing your edge.”

“I’m not.” You know he’s winding you up, but that missed shot galls you.

“Maybe you’re stressed out.”

You set the target down on the wooden railing. “Maybe you’re stressing me out, MacTavish.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. His blue eyes light up in glee, and he only gets out the first part of his retort—You know what’s good for de-stressing—before you drop to one knee and start disassembling your sniper rifle, ducking your head and hiding your burning cheeks from him.

“…nothing wrong with it,” he finishes as you shut the rifle’s case, and you realize you’ve missed part of what he’s said.

“There isn’t,” you agree. You stand up and lean a bit on the courage that sees you through each mission. You look him square in the eye and add, “but you’re just flirting.”

He gazes back at you, a soft smile on his face, only a little teasing. “Not just flirting.”

“Sure.” You roll your eyes.

He makes his Soap-branded tsch sound, then he loops his arm around your shoulders to pull you in close. He smells like…well, he smells like soap, clean with a hint of something herbal. It’s nothing he hasn’t done a hundred times—in safe houses after a mission, walking out of a bar on a night out with the team—that companionable way he pulls you against him.

“It makes me sad when you don’t believe me, hen,” he chuckles, and it’s low, right by your ear, his warm breath fanning over you.

You’re not sure what spurs your next move. You’re a natural-born sniper; you take the measure of everything around you—the curve of the earth, the speed and direction of the wind—before you squeeze your trigger. You’re the same with people, cautious and feeling out every angle of their intentions before you make a move. But you know Soap, and the question around his joke is the only uncertainty.

Something makes you act without much thought. Your rifle case in your hand, your other hand tucked in your pocket, and Soap’s arm slung around your shoulders…the moment is crystalized, will be an easy memory to recall in the years to come because this is when everything between the two of you changes.

“You know what?” you ask, and you don’t allow him to hazard a guess. Instead, you gaze at him levelly, straight into those bright blue eyes of his and add, “alright, let’s do this.”

It’s comical, how the smile drops from his face, how his mouth makes a little “oh” of surprise. His eyes scan your face, quick, like he’s trying to find the joke, trying to find proof you’re just having a laugh at his expense.

“Bonnie,” he starts to say, and his voice has a rough edge to it. His voice is missing its usual teasing edge, and he pauses to study you. You don’t know if he realizes it, but the tip of his tongue darts out, licks against his lower lip, like he’s really thinking of it now that it could be a reality.

“Bonnie, are you just…are ye fer real?” His voice is lower and his accent gets thicker, and it sets a frisson of heat shimmering through your lower belly.

You refuse to blink. Refuse to look away. “I’m for real if you are.”

“I was never joking about that.”

“Then I’m not joking either.” You swing your rifle case towards the barracks, playing at bravery but willing the fluttery feeling in your stomach to calm. “So let’s go.”

Soap—gregarious, convivial Soap—says nothing else on the walk back. He keeps his arm around your shoulders, though, and his hand settles against your bicep, rubs you briskly before gently holding you there, like he’s proving to himself that you’re real, that the moment is really happening.

-----

Your nerve wobbles a little when you get back to quarters. Soap’s nerves must have a similar wobble, because he turns to you and his usual boyish grin is gone, replaced by a grave expression.

“You dinnae have to do this,” he says, “if you don’t want to.”

Part of you wants to back out, chuck him in the arm and say it was just a joke. You could still back out. Soap is flirty and gregarious, but hooking up would irrevocably change your easy relationship with him. It could change the tenor of the team. And yet…

…don’t you both face death every day? Don’t you see the absolute worst of humanity? Don’t your bodies bear the scars of your hard, unrelenting lives—countless scars, visible and invisible both? Don’t you all operate in your own bubbles of loneliness, sleeping alone night after night but crowded out by the ghosts you all haul around?

Is it too much to ask for even a moment of connection, of not feeling alone?

You gaze back at him. Sweet Johnny MacTavish. Handsome but not vain, smart but not aloof, funny without being cruel about his teasing. Is there anyone you’d rather be with?

“I want to do this,” you tell him, and there’s no hesitation in your tone. “If you do. If you really were just joking around, then no harm, Johnny.”

His somber gaze softens at your use of his real name. “Wasn’t joking at all.” Then he opens the door to his quarters and turns to you, invites you in with a sweep of his hand, and when you walk past him, he lays his palm on your lower back to guide you.

-----

In truth, you’ve never actually sat on anyone’s face. It’s one of those funny sex acts that you joke around about but have never gotten around to, like sixty-nine (always seemed more complicated than necessary) or food-play (always seemed too messy).

Soap, it turns out, has never actually had his face sat on.

And it’s adorable, how he sheepishly runs his hand through the longer stripe of his short-shorn hair and admits as much.

“Figured it cannae be that complicated though,” he says. He huffs out a breath, and you realize how nervous he must be, and it gives you courage to take charge.

“Kiss me first. Then we can figure it out from there.”

The tame command makes his face light up and he murmurs, “yes, ma’am” in his brogue, and then he does as you say.

If Soap MacTavish is generally the team’s Golden Retriever, bouncing around with a wagging tail, he kisses with far more finesse. He cups your face gently, reverently and leans forward, brushes the lightest of kisses against your lips like he’s testing the waters. Like he’s waiting for you to pull away, and when you don’t, he kisses you again.

It’s awkward at first, but only because you’re both so tentative. It’s uncharted territory. He must be aware that you’re crossing a line in doing this, you think, and he must not care either. But the awkwardness melts away quickly because Soap is a damned good kisser, skilled in how he moves his mouth against yours, his tongue against yours. One of his hands stays on your face, cupping you gently and steering you, but the other hand touches your waist, your hip, slides around to squeeze your ass gently before returning to the dip of your waist.

He tastes like something warm and spicy, like cinnamon or nutmeg. Everything about him is warm, really: the way he cups your face but runs his thumb over your cheekbone, the way his other hand holds you steady as he kisses you. And the way he looks at you when he breaks the kiss, the almost-shy way he tugs at the hem of your shirt and asks if he can take it off.

He’s warm too—his body, his skin as you bare it with each article of clothing shed. You strip each other in tandem, and the sight of him leaves you breathless. He’s like something carved by a Renaissance sculptor, but when you smooth your palms over the dips and swells of his muscles, you find that he’s warm to the touch, wonderfully so, and a wave of lust almost takes you out at the knees by how much you want to feel his body against yours, under you or on top of you, every inch of you pressed against him.

Soap must feel the same way about you—he touches you just as gently as before, almost reverent, but his goddamned eyes practically shine when he looks at you, then groans out, “fuck, but you’re stunning, hen.”

He maneuvers you both towards the bed, and then he stretches out across it, and this is precisely why your sexual repertoire has always been lacking: when a brutally handsome man is stretched out in front of you like a damned buffet, your mind singularly focuses on one thing, and you rarely remember that there’s other, more adventuresome things you could do.

You’re already turned on. Ever since the two of you walked back from the range, you’ve been on a low simmer of lust, and the desire has ratcheted up with each kiss, with each little grumbling groan of Soap’s, with each sweep of his big warm hands along your body.

So you’re already turned on, so why sit on his face when his beautiful cock—perfectly sized for you, the ruddy tip already leaking precum—is also an option?

And Soap is no dummy. He must guess at your internal battle because he says your name softly, pulls your gaze back to his face where he smiles that brilliant Soap-smile at you.

“Alright then?” he asks. He pats his upper chest. “You can sit right here, to start.”

It hits you all at once how intimate this is. Fucking, hooking up—that’s one thing. But sitting on your teammate’s face feels like you’re taking a further step into the unknown. Oral sex, to you, is already more intimate than regular ol’ intercourse, but sitting on his face feels…even more intimate. There’s a lot of trust on both ends: he has to trust you not to hurt him, not to put too much weight or force on his face or neck. And you have to trust him too, since you’re basically smothering him you with your pussy, and many men are precious little babies about eating pussy.

“I could just…” You trail off and gesture vaguely at where his erection strains and bobs against his belly, and Soap snorts before he replies, “we could do both, hen.”

When you don’t say anything, when you don’t move, he adds, “c’mon, sweet girl. I’m dyin’ for a taste of ye.”

The accent is unfair, you decide. The accent is not fighting fair. Soap’s Scottish brogue is charming in the best of times, but his bedroom version is thicker, at a slightly lower register, and it’s entirely unfair. It easily dismantles the rest of your meager defenses, so you nod and then kneel on the bed. But when you start to awkwardly clamor on top of him, he stills you for a beat and taps his mouth, says, “give me a kiss first.”

And the kiss is unfair too because it reminds you that it’s just Soap, one of your dearest teammates, a man who often holds your life in his hands and whose life you hold in your own. His now-familiar taste of spicy warmth on your tongue, and his lips curving in a smile against yours when he whispers, “climb on up, hen Don’t keep me waitin’ anymore.”

There’s no sexy way to climb on top of him. Do you just kneel by his chest and throw a leg over him? Do you straddle him lower and scoot up? You split the difference, try to straddle him on his lower chest and scoot up, but then his one arm gets pinned. Any other man? It might be a deal-breaker being so clumsy, but Soap laughs underneath you—a genuine belly-laugh full of warmth that makes you giggle too. He wrangles his arm free, then lays both hands on your hips and guides you the rest of the way.

This is unbearable intimate too, being so exposed to his bright blue-eyed gaze. You probably have tons of issues around previous men who didn’t eat pussy, who were grossed out by it, but Soap’s eyes practically glitter black with how blown his pupils are. His face rarely hides its emotions very well (he’s a shitty poker player), and there’s no disgust in his expression at all. There’s only desire, naked and apparent.

“Tell me,” he says, and his voice is a low growl that sends that frisson of heat straight to your core. “Tell me what is working for you, yeah? Don’t go quiet on me.”

You nod, and you wish you could think of something cool or funny to say, but Soap lifts his head a little and presses a plush, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, where both are splayed in front of him, and before you can even beat yourself up for failing to think of something cool or funny, his mouth is on you in earnest.

Soap, a damned good kisser. It translates to this, his skilled tongue and lips licking at you, suckling at you, swirling against you before he breaks up the pattern with an outright kiss, then resumes his routine. He traces the tip of his tongue around the firm bud of your clit, the perfect amount of pressure before he snakes it lower, lapping at the arousal leaking from your entrance. He’s unabashed about it, groans against your feverish skin, and you love him in this moment—love that he wasn’t joking after all, love that he had led you here, where you sit perched on him while he feasts on your cunt and seems to genuinely enjoy it as he does.

Any other position, you’d lean down and kiss him, or pull him to you and kiss him. Now, as he groans against you again, you reach down and run your fingers through the longer stripe in his hair. He must like that, because he groans a third time, and his grip on your hips spasms tighter.

You remember what he asked of you, so when he purses his lips and suckles against your clit, you gasp out a startled “oh!” but then add, “fuck, Johnny. Just like t-that.”

“Good?” It comes out muffled against you, and he pauses his mouth long enough to gaze up at you with a smile.

“So good.” You shift your hand, cup his stubbled chin slick with your arousal—a gentle movement that makes his smile soften too.

“Like when you call me Johnny, hen.” Now he sounds a little shy, like he’s edging close to something beyond a random hookup with face-sitting.

“Keep using your mouth like that and I’ll call you Johnny all the time,” you tease.

“Deal.” And then he’s on you again, laving your sensitive folds with his tongue, his bit of stubble raising a warm burn against your inner thighs. His hands on your hips pull you closer, and he encourages the slow, careful rhythm when you start to actually ride his face—a languid back-and-forth, mindful of his need for oxygen, while he eats your pussy with the fervor of a starving man.

Your orgasm approaches faster than you thought; you thought you might have to fake it, since you rarely come from oral alone. But there’s something about this position. You feel powerful in a benign way, in charge, but mindful of the man underneath you. You run your fingers through his hair and Soap preens at the touch, just as he preens when you pant out praise for him, tell him how good you feel. How good he is making you feel.

He must sense it because his grip tightens on your hips, but his tongue moves faster and focuses solely on your clit—teasing with the tip of his tongue, then laving it with the flat of his tongue, then wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

“F-fuck,” you choke out. “Johnny…fuck…I’m gonna…” but you don’t finish the sentence, you keen out a garble of nonsense as you come.

The heat in your belly pools over, spills over in a brilliant wash that courses through your veins, into your trembling legs and up through your body, makes your vision shimmer and crackle with sparks. Your heartbeat, your panting breath are loud in your own ears, and you hear Soap groan but he sounds faraway. He teases your orgasm, prolongs it by licking against you until you grip his hair tighter and hold his head still while you clumsily dismount, then flop gracelessly onto the bed beside him.

You feel boneless. You feel heavy, sleepy, like you could sink into the mattress and sleep for days. You close your eyes and feel the bed shift, and Soap disappears for a moment. You hear running water—he must be cleaning his face, you think—but then the mattress dips again and he’s curling his warm body around yours, wrapping his arms around you as he pulls you to him, then settles the blanket over both of you.

“Good, yeah?”

You laugh. “Yeah, that was good. Especially for someone who’s never done it before.” A beat. “Give me a moment to catch my breath and then I can help you out.”

Soap chuckles above you, and you feel him press his lips to your forehead before settling again. “No need.”

“But I—”

“Already came.”

The gears in your head turn slow when you’re sated from sex. Coming makes you stupid. “Huh? When?”

Another chuckle, another kiss to your head. “When I was eating you, hen.”

You turn your head and try to peer up at him. He looks comfortable and sleepy too, content and sated. “Seriously?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Told ye I was dyin’ for a taste.” He shifts a little, pulls you closer to him. He tugs the blanket more securely around your shoulders. “If ye want a second round, I’ll need a few minutes.”

You appraise the situation: the warm scent of Soap, the feel of his naked body pressed to yours, the warm little cocoon he’s created here in his bed. Of course you want a second round, but you’re sleepy too, and the thought of sleeping with Soap doesn’t seem nearly as terrifying as it might have seemed before he had his mouth on your pussy.

“Or we could sleep,” you offer.

“Sleep,” he agrees. “Round two tomorrow.”

The doubts from earlier start to surface in your mind, but they seem tiny and inconsequential when you’re wrapped up in Soap’s arms. You feel sleep tugging at you—he’s already asleep, you think, breathing deep and even against you—so you chance to brush your lips against the bit of him you can reach and whisper good night to him.

But he’s not quite completely asleep yet because he kisses you back, another press of his lips against your head, and he whispers back, “g’night, hen.”

#john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #soap imagine #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish imagine #soap x reader #call of duty modern warfare #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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anyon-else · 2 months

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spiked w/ kaeya alberich, zhongli, xaio – main masterlist

warnings (please read!) | gn!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, non-consensual drug use, implied attempted sexual assault (barely, but i wanted to add it just in case)

KAEYA ALBERICH

kaeya was not one for quiet nights.

he much preferred the white noise and chatter of the tavern to his own lodgings. even after he began seeing you, spending nights with you at his side on a barstool remained his favorite activity. he loved to watch your easy confidence as you chatted with jean or charles, or even diluc for that matter. he just enjoyed listening to your lovely voice over the background conversation of the other patrons.

but there were some nights when kaeya wished he had elected to stay home.

there was a new bartender working tonight. kaeya had seen him a few times, and charles didn't seem particularly bothered by him despite the subpar drinks he made, but kaeya couldn't help his inherent distrust of any newcomer. it always took him a bit of time to get used to an unfamiliar face settling in mondstadt as a permanent resident, and from what kaeya had heard, this one had made his intention to stay in the city for the foreseeable future very clear.

the night, while young, was already wearing him thin. he'd just gotten back from a days-long commission that jean had requested he take on personally. it had been a grueling week, and the only thing he wanted to do when he returned was take you to the angel's share for a few drinks, then take you to bed.

you never elected to drink very much when you accompanied kaeya to the tavern. you'd usually nurse a glass or two of wine, and oftentimes you'd leave without finishing a third.

tonight, you had barely started sipping your second glass when you began looking fairly ill. at the moment, you were slumped against kaeya's shoulder, struggling to keep your eyes open or form a coherent sentence.

"darling?" kaeya asked when your strength seemingly left you. you went limp, and had you not already been leaning on his shoulder, you probably would have fallen off of the barestool. kaeya caught you with an arm around your waist and another holding your shoulder. you muttered something unintelligible and groaned when kaeya shifted so he could look at you. he lifted your face, and gave your cheek a light tap when your eyes began to flutter shut. "can you open your eyes, love?"

"'m tired," you mumbled. kaeya furrowed his brow; he was certain you'd only had one drink since you'd arrived.

he caught charles' concerned gaze from across the bar, but before either of them could speak, the newcomer was stepping forward nervously.

"i can take them to the back," he said to kaeya, eyeing you briefly, "there's a couch."

kaeya raised a brow at the suggestion. from the corner of his eye, he saw charles wince.

"i'll take them," kaeya corrected firmly, scrutinizing the man further when he saw disappointment flicker across his expression.

"r-right. of course. it's just back–"

"i know where it is," kaeya snapped, abruptly standing from his chair and sliding his arms under your pliant body. concern was thrumming through him, and he immediately forgot about the bartender shuffling behind him when you shifted and let out another string of mutters.

"talk to me, love," he muttered as you peeled your eyes open, "how are you feeling?"

"bad," you grumbled. kaeya hummed, pursing his lips and walking as steadily as he could manage.

"was it something you ate?"

"dunno," you said, already fading again. kaeya cursed when your eyes fell shut and you went limp, head resting against his chest and arm hanging uselessly to your side.

kaeya laid you on the couch in the back room that charles had set up for employees. you didn't stir as his arms left you, though he saw your brow furrow when he let you go. he elected to take one of your hands in his as he thought through the events of the night to try and pin down the cause of your mysterious illness.

it was then he realized that the new bartender had followed him all the way down the hall and was waiting nervously in the doorway. he shifted uncomfortably under kaeya's sharp gaze.

"what are you still doing here?"

"i...i apologize, i just wanted to make sure everything was alright–"

"while your concern is very touching," kaeya sneered, suspicion growing each time the man's eyes left his and strayed to where you were laying behind him. kaeya shifted so that your face wasn't in the man's view, "i can handle things."

kaeya saw a touch of annoyance cross the man's features, and the alarm bells already ringing in his head became more frantic.

"unless," kaeya rumbled as he stood, reluctantly dropping your hand so that he could approach the man, "you know something about this."

"oh! uh...no, i'm not sure what happened. i just noticed that they looked rather sick."

kaeya hummed, scrutinizing the man for a moment longer before nodding his head towards the door behind him.

"you can go, then," he said with finality.

"right," the man nodded, eyes wide as he took in kaeya intimidating aura, "o-of course."

kaeya didn't watch the newcomer scurry away. instead, he turned back to where you were beginning to rouse again. he heard a string of words escape you, only catching his own name every few seconds until he was kneeling next to you, one hand reaching to find your own as the other cupped your cheek.

"kaeya," you huffed, breathing sporadic and so panicked that it made kaeya's chest ache, "what's happ'ning?"

"i don't know, darling," kaeya told you truthfully. you groaned, bringing a hand to shield your eyes from the light in the room and turning on your side, pressing your face into the pillows. "i'm sorry. we'll get you feeling better soon, alright?"

"that wine," you mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow and barely audible over the distant chatter of the tavern, "it was...really strong."

that gave kaeya pause. he distinctly remembered the new bartender pouring your wine, then turning towards the opposite counter where kaeya couldn't see what he was doing.

he couldn't imagine that anyone would...

"charles!" he shouted as soon as he puts the pieces together, rage clouding his mind as he thought back to the suspicious behavior, the attempts to stay in the room with you, and kaeya's own gut feeling that something was off about the newcomer.

the only thing that kept him from going back to the bar and wringing the man's neck was your hand holding his. he couldn't leave you alone now—not with that criminal still roaming god-knows-where.

"don' leave," you muttered, making a desperate attempt to sit up and grab onto kaeya's arm. he shook his head, placing careful hands on your shoulders and guiding you onto your back. you were looking up at him with bloodshot eyes, and the fear in them made his chest ache.

"i'm not," he shook his head, taking your hand in both of his and giving it a reassuring squeeze, "don't worry, love. i'm not leaving."

kaeya's chest tightened when your breath hitched, a silent sob rocking your chest. you were terrified—that much was strikingly clear. your eyes were scrunched shut, and if your pained expression was anything to go by, you had a raging headache brought on by whatever it was that you had drank.

kaeya couldn't watch for much longer before he was lifting you up and replacing you on the couch, then setting you down with your head on his lap. you pressed closer to him, head resting on his thigh and fingers gripping his jacket.

"what happened?"

kaeya stiffened at diluc's familiar voice. he looked down at you and focused on the rise and fall of your chest to keep himself from getting too upset over his brother's untimely arrival.

"that new bartender," kaeya grumbled, "he made their drink tonight. i think they mixed it with something."

there was a silence, and kaeya finally chanced a glance at diluc. he was watching you with a furrowed brow, hands clenched into fists and jaw grinding back and forth in the only show of anger that kaeya could see.

"is the drink still at the bar?"

"it should be."

"i'll take it to timeus on my way to the knight's headquarters."

kaeya looked up in surprise, but diluc looked away, very intentionally avoiding his eyes.

"i'll take the bartender to jean. i trust she can keep him in check in a far more legal manner than i would."

diluc breathed in deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. when he opened them again, he looked far more intense than before, and he looked at kaeya with a seriousness that was rarely shared between the two.

"it's my responsibility to know who is being hired at my establishments. i apologize for being so negligent."

kaeya blinked, opening his mouth to reassure him that the only one at fault was the scum who did this, but diluc held a hand up to stop him.

"just make sure they're taken care of," diluc said, glancing down at you once more with a furrowed brow that almost made him look worried, "i'll handle the rest."

kaeya gave a single nod, knowing that any gratitude could go unsaid. he also knew that this sudden show of kindness was less for him and more for you—diluc had always been fond of you, claiming that you made kaeya more pleasant to be around.

while the comment had irked him when it was made, he couldn't exactly disagree.

"'m sorry," you groaned when diluc was gone, sniffling and trying desperately to keep your tears at bay. kaeya's expression twisted, his hand stilling where it had been rubbing soothing circles on your arm.

"sorry?" he repeated, "love, what could you possible have to be sorry for?"

"for inconveniencing diliuc," you huffed, "and making you worry."

kaeya sighed, shaking his head at the guilty look on your face and cupping your face in his hands.

"we just want to make sure you're okay," he whispered, lifting your hand and pressing his lips to your fingers, "none of this is your fault, my love."

you grumbled something that sounded like a disagreement, but let the argument go when your headache returned.

"am i gonna be okay?" you croaked, eyes filling with panic as you thought about the possibilities of what could've been put in your drink. sure, you'd heard about people's drinks getting tampered with before, but it could've been something more deadly. maybe this was a murder attempt to get at kaeya. maybe you had unintentionally made someone so angry that they'd hired this bartender to kill you. maybe–

"you're going to be just fine," kaeya assured you, hands cupping your face so that you were forced to look at him, "it's nothing to worry about. i've seen this happen a few times. you'll just wake up with a nasty headache, but i'll take care of you, yeah?"

"yeah," you agreed, feeling any energy you'd been using to panic seep from you as you sank into kaeya's arms.

as kaeya carried you home later that night, he thought about all of the things that he could do to make that bartender's life a living hell. the ideas he came up with brought him some satisfaction, and he found that he was more excited than he had been in a long time to get to work the next day.

ZHONGLI

zhongli had been alive for many, many years. enough years that he had seen the cruelties that others were capable of. he understood that preventative measures were necessary to keep oneself safe, but he was also painfully aware that those protections were not always enough. those with bad intentions usually found a way around any safeguards no matter how carefully they were designed.

in you, he saw a very careful person. you were well aware of the dangers of the world—though perhaps not to the extent of someone who had fought in wars and survived to tell the tales. you were, however, cautious enough that he knew you were a very capable person.

but despite his experience, this was a first.

you weren't one to drink yourself into a state of incapacitation, so zhongli couldn't deny his growing concern as you stumbled towards him, eyes lidded and legs shaky. you stumbled towards him, struggling to keep yourself from falling with each step. he met you before you could fall, accepting your outstretched arms and pulling you into his chest.

the first thing he noticed upon catching you was that you were shaking. he tried to move away so that he could look at you, but your grip was firm. you were holding him so tightly, like you were afraid of letting him go and facing whatever had frightened you so much.

"y/n?" he asked softly, resting a hand on the small of your back just under your shirt and rubbing soothing circles over your skin. he felt some of the tension loosen from your shoulders and hugged you closer, "darling, what happened?"

the answer appeared behind him before you could even attempt to answer. he felt a tap on shoulder, impatient and insistent. zhongli turned carefully, making sure to keep you steady as he faced the interruption with equal levels of impatience.

"yes?"

"ah, this is a bit awkward," the man chuckled, attention not on zhongli, but rather on you huddled in his arms. zhongli's eyes narrowed on the stranger, and he pulled you tighter against his chest, keeping your face pressed into his clothes to keep it out of the man's sight.

"do tell me what you find so awkward about the situation," zhongli said darkly, "or better yet, tell me why you're even speaking to me in the first place."

the man gulped, finally looking up and meeting zhongli's glare. it must have been the first time he really registered the person holding you, because his eyes widened a fraction and he began spitting out excuse after excuse, each sounding more desperate than the last.

"y'see, my friend has had a few too many drinks tonight. i apologize that they stumbled into you like that–"

"your friend," zhongli huffed, an irritated laugh bubbling in his throat, "ah, well, it's a good thing you've come to their rescue, then."

the man, who zhongli now knew was denser than stone, grinned at this and began reaching towards you eagerly.

"may i ask you what their name is?"

this made him pause.

"well...i don't think they'd appreciate me giving that information out to a stranger-"

"oh, of course," zhongli nodded, "how noble of you."

"right," the man gave him an odd look, but continued reaching towards you, "if you could just–"

if there was one thing that zhongli appreciate about his human form, it was its agility.

he swept you to the side, keeping one arm firmly around your waist while the other grabbed hold of the man's wrist. he only got a glimpse of the stranger's wide, terrified eyes before he twisted the his arm just shy of breaking. the man let out quick, panicked huffs as he looked between zhongli's hard expression and the hand gripping his wrist.

"a-alright, i get it," the man gulped, making a feeble attempt to pull away, "i'll go–ow, i'm sorry! i didn't know–"

"didn't know what?" zhongli asked venomously, false smiles and politeness wiped from his expression. his harsh tone made the man visibly shudder, "that it's not acceptable to try to kidnap people? what made you so ignorant that you couldn't comprehend that that is a crime?"

"i wasn't...listen, i'm sorry, okay? i won't do it again, just let me go. please."

zhongli was very close to breaking the man's wrist, eyes nearly glowing as they narrowed on the man's terrified eyes. however, he paused when you shifted, coughing weakly into his chest.

"zhongli," you croaked, "i think he did something to my drink."

zhongli's fingers tightened around the man's wrist, earning a terrified squeak from him as he tried to pull back in one last, desperate attempt to get away.

"well?" he asked the terrified man sharply, "did you?"

"o-of course i didn't! i just...i didn't know you were together, alright? i just saw that they looked ill, and thought i'd help–"

"your help is neither wanted nor needed," zhongli said with a sharp smile that made the man's face go white. zhongli knew he could be more than menacing at the right times, "xiao."

the adeptus appeared at his side immediately, making the already nervous man jump in fear. the man watched with wide-eyes as xiao approached zhongli. xiao payed no mind to the man trembling in zhongli's grip. he did, however, take note of your barely-conscious body slumped against zhongli. you were staring blankly at something behind xiao, and the adeptus tried to keep himself calm for your sake.

"please watch him until i return."

xiao gave a single nod, gripping the man's shirt and dragging him to a more secluded area of the market. zhongli wrapped his arm further around your waist, pulling you in close before he disappeared from the streets of the harbor.

baizhu did not looked particularly alarmed when zhongli appeared in the middle of the pharmacy, though his eyes widened just slightly when he spotted you in the ex-god's arms.

"come with me," baizhu ordered immediately, turning and moving further into the pharmacy. he entered a room with zhongli at his heels and pointed towards a long table, "put them there."

zhongli did as he was told, brow furrowed in clear concern as he brushed a hand over your cheek. you seemed to be conscious, but barely lucid as you leaned into zhongli's palm.

"what happened," baizhu asked, leaning over you and opening one of your eyes wider to look at your pupil.

"i believe they were given some kind of drug. i don't know what."

"that would explain these symptoms," baizhu murmured, placing a hand on your chest and closing his eyes. his palm began to glow a bright green, and zhongli watched as changsheng slid down the doctor's arm until she was resting on your stomach. after another moment, the glow dissipated.

"i can't tell the exact substance that was used, but it's nothing deadly. they'll just need to rest. it will be out of their system by tomorrow night at the latest."

zhongli nearly collapsed as relief rushed through him. he took your hand and pressed it to his lips carefully, closing his eyes so he could focus on calming his racing heart.

"if it's not too much trouble," zhongli began as baizhu stepped back from the table, allowing changsheng to take her place upon his shoulders again, "could you look after them for a moment? i've left someone waiting."

baizhu huffed, a smirk crossing his lips at the zhongli's sugarcoated words.

"please do. rest assured, they'll be looked after here," baizhu told him slyly, waving a hand towards the door, "and don't bother bringing me any more patients when you're finished. i'm afraid i'm stretched quite thin with just the one."

as zhongli disppeared towards he harbor, baizhu almost pitied the poor man who had put you in such a state. almost.

XIAO

xiao had never enjoyed human celebrations.

he knew that they were important to you, but he just didn't have the patience for them. they always dragged on for so long. sure, he was immortal, but he still appreciated concision.

and the crowds. just thinking about trying to shove his way through a mass of humans made his skin crawl. he'd watched you do it enough times that he knew he would be content to never experience it for himself.

so he was satisfied watching you from afar. he liked seeing you enjoy yourself, even if he wasn't necessarily keen on the types of events that you chose to dedicate your time to.

however, it was neither his place nor his desire to tell you how to spend your time. while he would've been more than happy to just lay with you under the stars, he knew how much you enjoyed spending time with your friends at these little soirees.

but humans were just so fragile. he knew you wouldn't blame him for wanting to keep a watchful eye out.

it was foggy, but that did little to impede his vision as he watched over you from the balcony of wangshu inn. tonight's event had gathered a fairly large crowd to the courtyard outside of the inn, but xiao was careful to make sure he didn't lose sight of you in the depths of the crowd.

in the back of his mind, he heard zhongli's scolding voice telling him that he shouldn't hover, but he waved it away. he was not hovering. he was simply...observing. there was nothing wrong with wanting to keep an eye on humans whose intentions and judgment he didn't trust. he probably would've been here whether you decided to attend or not, just looking out to make sure no one was hurt in the crowd or bothered by some drunkard.

the fact that you were here was simply a coincidence. he was just taking advantage of it to keep an eye on you.

xiao!

the voice that intruded into his mind was panicked, begging for his attention and help. he felt the fear of the person calling him through the word alone. it sent a cold chill down his spine, and he perked up immediately, eyes still on you to make sure you hadn't somehow gotten hurt while he was momentarily distracted.

but you were fine. the call had come from somewhere a few miles from the inn where the abyss order tended to wander. very few knew to call his name in order to summon him, but this particular cry seemed far too desperate for him to ignore. he gave one last look to where you were standing at a food stall with your friends before he disappeared. it only took seconds of searching to find the source of the voice.

as he suspected, the woman was surrounded by monsters. one cryo mage, one hydro, and a handful of hilichurls were tormenting her for seemingly no reason other than their own amusement. rather than unleashing any deadly attacks, the mages released small bursts of elemental power and cackle at the frightened cry that the woman gave as she was hit with a blast of water or ice. the hilichurls seemed equally as amused, dancing around the woman in joy as they watched her grovel and beg that they leave her alone.

"xiao, help!"

she cried his name once more in the same second that he summoned his polearm, throwing it through the shield of the hydro mage with enough force that it shattered, then summoning it once again to destroy the shield of the other. with all of the monsters exposed to the wind, he flew forward and sent the point of his weapon across their throats, ending their lives quickly and painlessly. no need for any more senseless violence than that which had already occurred.

"t-thank you," the woman breathed as she watched the bodies of the monsters disappear, turning to dust as any remaining life drained from their bodies. once they were gone, xiao stepped forward to help the woman to her feet.

"how did you know to call for me?" he asked shortly, slightly annoyed that such a minor incident had called his attention away from the inn. the woman flinched, and he sighed, lowering his head, "i apologize. i just meant that not many people know to call for me anymore. i'm surprised."

"oh! well, i have a friend who told me about an adeptus who helps those in danger. they said to call for you if i ever found myself in a need of help."

xiao sighed. of course.

"this friend—what is their name?"

"it's y/n. they live near the inn, just a few miles from–"

"i know," xiao interrupted with another sigh, "and where do you live? is there somewhere you would like me to take you?"

"just the inn is fine. i'm meant to be meeting them, actually. for the party."

xiao nodded at this small relief—no more time wasted, then. he took hold of the woman's shoulder and teleported to the edge of the crowd gathered outside of the inn. she wobbled slightly at the unexpected travel, but he simply held her elbow as she righted herself while he scanned the crowd for any sign of you. without his high vantage point, it was difficult to make out anyone beyond the border of the crowd, and he scowled.

"will you be alright on your own?" he asked the woman as he let go of her elbow. she nodded.

"yes, thank you very much. i am in your debt."

"it's no trouble. think nothing of it," he told her before he vanished, leaving her to weave her way through the crowd in search of you. xiao returned to his perch on the balcony, scanning the crowd once again for your familiar form.

what would usually be a fairly easy search quickly become far longer than he'd expected. you were nowhere to be seen, and after a third, then a fourth, and finally a fifth scan of the crowd, he took in a deep, calming breath and tried to listen for a call of his name or a sign of your presence within the inn itself.

nothing.

he reappeared on the outskirts of the crowd again before his panic could get the better of him, shoving past people until he spotted verr goldet behind the makeshift bar that had been put together before the party. she was pouring seemingly endless glasses of dandelion wine for the eager customers on the other side of the counter, meeting their demands with a patience that xiao envied.

she spotted him before he could speak, a small smile on her face as she continued to work on taking the orders of the partygoers.

"xiao," she greeted, "i'm surprised to see you. y/n told me that you'd be keeping your distance tonight."

"do you know where they are?"

verr paused, bottle of wine stilling in her hand as she glanced at him. her expression seemed to ask how he had possibly lost sight of you—she was, admittedly, one of the few people who felt comfortable telling him that you were perfectly safe without his constant vigilance.

"i haven't seen them, but they might've just gone to the bathroom. i'm sure they're fine."

right. of course. there were plenty of reasons why you wouldn't be in his direct line of sight. there was no real reason for him to get so worked up over momentarily losing track of you.

he glanced towards the main entrance of the inn. it was vacant of anyone but a few stragglers stumbling towards their rooms, spent from the excitement and the alcohol that had been flowing fairly freely as the night progressed. you were nowhere to be found.

"don't disturb the customers!" verr shouted after him as he strode towards the inn intently, his face a cloud of worry and frustration.

even though you usually pretended to be ignorant of it, xiao knew that you were more than aware of his tendency to hover. you would sometimes tease him about it, but you also understood how important it was that he knew you were safe. if you'd left, you would've signaled to him that you were going somewhere he couldn't see you.

if you'd gone willingly.

the thought had him moving faster towards the third floor where most of the rooms were located. he paused in front of the first one, wondering how much of a scolding he'd get from you, verr goldet, and zhongli if he barged into each room one-by-one until he found you.

it doesn't matter, he told himself as he lifted a foot to kick down the first door. it was just before he made contact with the flimsy wood that he heard something around the corner of the hall: the smallest sound of distress, and then a reprimand from a low voice to remain silent.

his weapon was in his hand before he even caught sight of the two figures illuminated only by the dim glow of the hall lamps. the man who had spoken was towering over a hunched figure in the corner of the room. he looked angry, and he held a limp arm in a tight grip as he tried to drag a barely-conscious human towards an open door.

xiao did not need to look down to know that it was you who was being dragged. he recognized you immediately, if not by your silhouette then by the familiar sound of your voice, so quiet that he likely wouldn't have picked it up had he been human. you let out a pained, terrified call of his name that made the man above you scoff, undeterred in his efforts to pull you to your feet.

in a single, precise blast of wind, the man was on the opposite end of the hall, clutching the back of his head where he'd hit it against the wall and groaning in pain.

xiao's weapon disappeared as he knelt at your side. he lifted your head onto his lap and held it firmly between his palms, studying your expression carefully. your eyes were lidded, and you looked like you were barely hanging onto consciousness. xiao felt anger swirl deep within him as he scanned you, searching for any sign of injury.

the skin that the man had been holding was irritated, circled with a red handprint that was already beginning to bruise. xiao picked it up gingerly and closed his eyes, willing breath into his lungs before it burst from him in an explosion of fury.

"xiao..." you breathed, eyes falling shut with the knowledge that xiao had come for you. the adeptus swallowed thickly, pressing a kiss to your wrist and laying it gently over your chest. he brushed your disheveled hair from your face and stiffened when he caught sight of the dark bruise on your cheek. you had gone limp in his arms, and he lifted you up at the same time that the vile man on the opposite end of the hall rose shakily to his feet.

"what the hell?" he grumbled, shooting xiao a scathing glare that the adeptus returned tenfold. the man blanched at the glare he was given, far more menacing than his own from the hundreds of years of practice that xiao had under his belt. "y-you attacked me. i could have you arrested for this!"

xiao didn't trust himself to speak. his fury was boundless, and he knew that if it was released, this man would be dead within seconds.

him, and most of the humans residing in the rooms surrounding them.

the man looked bewildered, both by xiao's silence and by the darkness radiating from him. he shifted as a thick aura of destructive intent pooled into the room—just a fraction of the rage that xiao felt—and attempted a hasty retreat for the stairwell.

morax, xiao called sharply as he moved to follow the man, i require your assistance.

zhongli appeared almost instantly in front of him, concerned expression from the rare use of his old name becoming grim at the sight of you limp in xiao's arms.

"what do you need?"

"please take them to bubu pharmacy."

zhongli didn't hesitate to reach forward as the adeptus carefully handed you to the ex-archon. xiao kept a hand on your cheek for a moment longer when you were secure in zhongli's arms, listening closely for the steady beat of your heart. when he was satisfied, he stepped back and nodded at zhongli.

the man disappeared immediately, and xiao felt something tighten in his chest at having you out of sight again. he trusted zhongli to take care of you in your vulnerable state, but not having you within arms reach after you'd been in danger was nearly enough for him to forget the man stumbling down the stairs, and instead go straight to bubu pharmacy.

he stood at the top of the stairs for a moment longer before he teleported to the bottom floor. verr goldet saw him instantly—though he knew that he wasn't being very subtle. the darkness that he felt boiling within him was probably consuming the space around him, which was likely for the best. it would help create a clear space for him to do what he pleased to the vermin that had finally reached the final set of stairs.

he vaguely heard verr calling for people to back away, herding them towards the bridge on the opposite side of the courtyard in anticipation of some kind of confrontation.

the man gave a shout of surprise when he spotted xiao at the bottom of the stairs, stumbling backwards and crawling up the stairs like a rat. xiao felt his mouth twitch, lip pulling back in a snarl, but he composed himself.

he took his time making his way towards the man, taking each step with deadly intent that he knew the cockroach could feel. his eyes were wide and filled with a delicious expression of fear that xiao reveled in. he generally didn't feel this sadistic need for blood, but this was different. this man—this...this animal—had hurt you. who knows how many others he'd hurt in the past.

you would be the last that he ever attempted to harm.

xiao covered the surrounding scene in thick shadows, sparing the onlookers from what was unfolding. he couldn't, however, mask the screams of a coward begging for mercy.

it took him little more than five minutes to take care of the mess he'd made of the stairway and contain the darkness that had pooled around him and the man. he was gone before the crowd could catch sight of him.

he was in front of bubu pharmacy in seconds, breathing as deeply as he could manage to keep his ever-festering rage in check.

"xiao," he heard zhongli say next to him, a hesitancy in his voice that xiao rarely heard. he looked up at the man and blinked, taking in the grave expression on his face.

"they'll be alright," zhongli said before xiao could even open his mouth, hands held neatly behind his back. there was a deep, unsettled frown on his face that was making xiao uneasy.

"but?"

"but...they were drugged. baizhu is trying to determine the exact substance that was used, but he said that it will do no lasting physical harm."

xiao felt something in his chest tighten at the thought of you being in such a vulnerable position in the few minutes that he was gone. you must've been terrified...

"xiao," zhongli's voice broke him from his spiraling thoughts—thoughts that were quickly becoming self-incriminating. "do not blame yourself for this."

"i left," xiao said simply, staring through the door of the pharmacy despite zhongli's pointed gaze insisting that he meet his eyes.

"the only one at fault is the man who did this," zhongli continued, "who, i assume, is not longer a problem."

xiao gave a single nod, and he was sure that he heard a sigh of relief come from the ex-archon.

"good," the man said coldly, "that's one less thing to worry about."

xiao glanced up at his former master, wondering what he was still doing here. surely the situation was being handled by baizhu, and with his own presence, there was no need for him to take up any more of the man's time with a situation born from his own inadequate vigilance–

"you're going to give yourself a headache," zhongli tutted, gliding past xiao towards the doors of the pharmacy.

"wait," xiao called, halting zhongli where he stood.

"yes?"

"i–" he grit his teeth, willing the words to get through to zhongli, "i left."

zhongli watched xiao for a moment before he returned to the adeptus' side.

"why did you leave?"

"a woman was being attacked," he responded immediately, "a few miles from the inn. she called my name."

"and do you think y/n would have forgiven you if you'd ignored a woman in need to continue watching over them?"

xiao felt his throat dry at this. it was true—even without the added stipulation of the woman being your friend, you would've been distraught to learn that he'd ignored someone's plea for help to keep watch over you.

but the one time he'd lost sight of you was the one time you'd needed him most.

you hadn't even been able to call for him.

a sadistic part of him wished he'd kept the man alive, if only to make him suffer further, but he knew that would bring him nothing more than a brief, fleeting feeling of satisfaction. it wouldn't change what had happened, and it wouldn't leave you any less scarred by the event.

"come," zhongli said after xiao had been given sufficient time to stew in his own thoughts, "you should be with them when they wake."

when he finally fought past the guilt clouding his mind and entered the pharmacy, you were still unconscious. baizhu explained the effects of the drug to him quickly—in small doses, it caused drowsiness and fatigue. A higher dose could render someone unconscious—much like the state that you were in now. xiao knew anger was still radiating from him, but he couldn't find the energy to try and hide it. how dare someone do this to you. they had no right to even look at you.

"xiao?"

a whisper of his name broke him from his thoughts, and he bent towards you with a gentle hand on your cheek.

"i'm here."

your smile made most of his anger drain away, and he did his best to return it. he knew he hadn't convinced you—you always seemed to see through his attempts to feigning emotions. you showed him mercy this time, likely too exhausted to do much more than keep your eyes open. xiao sat in the chair at your bedside and took your hand in his.

you closed your eyes again at his familiar touch, letting yourself drift off with the knowledge that you were safe.

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sincerelyyycece · 26 days

Text

hey, are u still there?...good.

Y/N inevitably finds themselves settling into James's backburner.

note: modern au, inspired by niki's song, "backburner.", lily evans is briefly mentioned, here's what i promised you guys mwa mwa!

Y/N had always been the "backburner," the second choice, especially James’s second choice. She was the one he turned to when his first plans fell through—the one who was always there but never the priority. She was used to it and had grown comfortable in the role.

Right now, she's sent at least 15 messages to him.

Hey?

Can we meet up? I have some great news to tell you.

Hellooo.

You're probably busy. Text me when you can.

James? Did something happen?

Nevermind, I'm probably overthinking it.

I'll just tell you here.

I got the internship :)

Delivered. Gazing at her screen, she sighed with a sense of familiarity. This repetitive pattern felt more like a routine or a game to her. The 'How long till he talks to me again?' Game, as she calls it. Setting her phone aside, she sought distraction from the mundane task of doing laundry.

A moment later, her phone chimed, drawing her attention. With a swift motion, she turned towards it. Hastily, she wiped her damp hands and cleared her throat before uttering, "Hello?" On the other end, she could hear faint shuffling before a familiar voice greeted her, "Hey, Angel." The affectionate nickname warmed her heart. "Just got your text. Congratulations!" he exclaimed. A soft "thank you" escaped her lips in response. His greeting sent a wave of warmth through her. "Apologies for not replying sooner. I was with..." He paused, clearing his throat. Her mood dimmed at the mention of another name. "With someone. I was with someone.”

Lily, always the first choice, James's top priority, the standard against which she measures herself. "Yeah, sure," she responded, lacking enthusiasm. "Mm-hmm," he trailed off. "So, do you want to celebrate? We could go out to eat or stay in and watch a movie," he suggested. "I'm not really feeling up to it right now. I'm pretty tired." There was a rustling sound on the phone once more. "Look, if this is about earlier, I apologize, alright?" he said. "Lily had some things going on and wanted to meet up, so we did." There it was again. Everything revolves around Lily.

"Um, yeah, I understand," she stuttered, trying to articulate her thoughts. "It's not that, James. I'm just exhausted from chores," she explained, glancing subtly at her unfinished laundry pile. "Y/N, come on. Let me make it up to you," he pleaded earnestly. "Pretty please," he persisted. She shook her head, amused, and relented, saying, "Okay, okay." Through the phone, she could hear his small yet enthusiastic 'yes.' "Order some takeout. We'll have a cosy night in with a movie," she suggested. "Yes, ma'am. I'm on my way," he joked lightly. "Take care." With that, she hung up and returned immediately to her laundry task.

Following that day, they continued hanging out. She pondered over the abrupt shift in their dynamic. It was uncharacteristic for her, yet she relished every moment spent with him. He delighted her by taking her to places she longed to visit and presenting her with gifts tailored to her preferences. He seemed to be doing everything right. However, as she prepared for a movie night tonight, a disheartening text message appeared on her phone. Hey, something came up. I have to reschedule. Sorry. She sighed, feeling a tinge of disappointment. Perhaps she should have anticipated this turn of events.

Sure, we can reschedule. she replied, her eyes brimming with tears. As they cascaded down her cheeks that night, she found herself immersed in a sea of sorrow. The following morning, she anticipated a message from him, but none arrived. Disheartened once more, she resolved not to reach out again. Days turned into weeks, with silence echoing his absence. It seemed as though he had vanished from her world. Or so she believed. Suddenly, her phone interrupted her reading, and without lifting her gaze from the book, she answered, "Hello?”

"Hey, are you still there?” echoed the familiar voice in her ears. Pausing, she glanced at the caller's ID. 'James :)' flashed on the screen. With a soft hum, she replied. His sigh reached her ears before he responded, "Good." Once more, she felt relegated to the sidelines in his priorities or had she truly ever moved from that place? Despite the familiar sting of disappointment, Y/N responded, "Yeah, I'm still here, James." His sigh of relief was almost audible across the line, and for a fleeting moment, she felt herself soften.

"I'm sorry, Angel," he murmured, his voice laced with a mixture of regret and something else she couldn't quite place. "I've been...busy." Busy, always busy. But she knew what that meant. Lily. Yet, she found herself replying, "It's okay, James. I understand." She knew she was settling for less, allowing herself to be on the backburner once again. But the truth was, she couldn't help it. She was drawn to him, like a moth to a flame, willingly choosing to dance on the edges of his life, even if it meant getting burned time and time again.

So, she swallowed back the hurt and disappointment, offering him a smile he couldn't see. "We can catch up soon, okay?" She suggested, her voice steady. There was a brief silence before he answered, "Yeah, that sounds good. I'll see you soon, Angel." With that, the call ended, leaving her with the familiar echoes of his promises. She sat alone in the silence of her room, her heart heavy yet hopeful. As she closed her eyes, she knew, deep down, that she was still James's second choice, his backburner. But for now, for better or worse, that was a role she was willing to play.

#james potter #james potter fic #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter angst #james potter x you #james potter x y/n

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strawberry-cowmilk · 7 months

Text

the brothers when they realise mc will die one day

-> brothers x mc

a/n: it's been a good minute since I wrote actual ultimate painful angst so here you go while I wait for my hot makeup sponge soap soup to help me clean the things

mc's gender is not mentioned, not proof read

content warnings: angst, death, crying, sports injury

-----

Lucifer

he was peacefully listening to a new record he got with you next to him

lucifer was a great fan of this certain composer so he started to talk a little about the music and the meaning behind it

'the composer wrote this piece for their deceased partner-' he suddenly went quiet once he realised he will be like the composer one day

you had already fallen asleep to hear what he said, lucifer carefully pressed you close, afraid of waking you up and afraid of the day you'll leave him

Mammon

mammon was very bored since lucifer took away his card as a punishment, so he decided to watch tv

he was just browsing the channels and ended up watching the news

mammon was already upset about not having his card, and all the depressing stuff on the news made him more sad, and one certain report hit him with the reality that humans die way before demons

tears stung at his eyes as he instantly called you, asking where you are and if you're willing to cuddle him

Leviathan

he got a new game off of akuzon and you're playing it together

it just happens that you're absolutely terrible at this game so you keep dying every two minutes

it was funny at first, you and levi were laughing about it until he suddenly went quiet and started crying

before you could ask him what happened he hugged you and started begging you to not die for real

it took some while for him to calm down a little, you're his (only) friend, how will he live without you?

Satan

he was working on a group rad project with solomon, eventually he started talking about how he accidentally made himself immortal

eventually satan demanded to know how he did it, and he was pretty angrily asking too, during the conversation he realised you are not immortal (unlike solomon)

the prof literally had to separate them because satan was getting too angry

satan wasted no time, he went to look for you so he can spend time with you and forget his awful thoughts

Asmodeus

there was some fashion week event in the devildom and some high fashion brand asked asmo to model for them (he accepted)

but on the day of the event, it got cancelled

asmo was not pleased with this, but you told him it's ok and you can watch him on the catwalk next time he gets invited, but the thing is that probably won't be until another 500 years-

he realised there's a very good chance you won't be alive for the next time, he cried and clung to you, denying reality

Beelzebub

beel was playing the finals of his fangol game and things were getting very serious, there were players getting tackled left and right pretty badly

his mind started to drift away from the game for a while, and remembered that time you asked him to play with you

but if you, a human, were on this field, you'd probably get badly injured, or worse

the coach had to get a time out because the team's got beel literally crying his eyes out on the bench

the team won, but beel is not in the mood for celebrating

Belphegor

it just randomly hit him

he was looking at the stars next to you in the planetarium and something about the stars today made him think about everything, and eventually the fact that humans don't live long compared to demons

he turned to you, said something along the lines of 'don't go' and curled up against you, falling asleep

belphie needed to give himself a good dream right now otherwise he feels like he won't be able to handle it now

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me scenarios #obey me swd #obey me imagines #obey me angst #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #asmodeus obey me #beelzebub obey me #belphegor obey me #gn!mc #tw death #tw injury

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f1girliefics · 26 days

Text

In Love with a Red Flag

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: To say that you hated him wasn’t accurate. But you didn’t like him. He was exactly the type of guy you kept a distance from. And yet, he will be the closest to you.

A/N: I realise this idea is not unique, shout-out to all the other amazing writers who wrote a similar piece!

“Ferrari PR team came up with a solution to solve the problem. Together with the Mercedes PR team, we agreed that the best course of action would be to have you and Charles play pretend.”

You looked at Toto in disbelief.

You and Charles? Play pretend?

You knew that due to Ferrari’s latest issues with their cars, along with Mercedes’ own issues became such an issue that the teams began to lose fans.

So, PR being PR sat down and came up with a wicked idea.

Having you and Charles date, well, fake date.

According to both teams, you would become the next phenomenon and the fans would come right back.

All Toto could do was simply nod.

You let out a long sigh.

You have always tried your best to avoid Charles. He was exactly the type of guy you kept a good distance from. You knew about his method of dating.

The women he dated and how often he changed girlfriends. It was a huge red flag.

Much like his car, red all over.

You turned and looked at Charles who was just as surprised if not more than you.

“I will be looking forward to working with you, Charles.” You said with a smile as you looked at him.

You were on a yacht with him.

Soft launch as the teams called it. They knew the paparazzi would be watching. All you had to do was to act all lovely-dovely but not do too much.

You two being on the same boat would be enough.

With an ice cream in one hand, you headed to the deck, trying to get a little tan during your weekend off.

Charles soon joined you, sitting down next to you, you moved a bit closer to him.

“There’s a guy on the boat in front of us, he has a huge camera, and yet he thinks we didn’t notice him.”

“Well, I didn’t.” Charles smiled and so did you. “You know last year… in Hungary… you had that press event with the fans.”

“Oh, yeah! That was fun, I even wore a traditional dress. Kalocsai, I believe it’s called.”

“That one, yes. I remember, what about it?”

“I remember you being so… beautiful.”

“Thank you. But where did this come from?”

“You avoid me. I noticed you avoid me and Carlos. Why? Do you hate Ferrari that much?”

“Red is not really my colour.” You say, avoiding his eyes. “Especially not red flags.” You said before you got up and headed into the yacht.

The paparazzi sure got a nice picture.

The same afternoon, you were all over the news. You did it. One step closer to the finish line.

You thought of this as if it was another race.

You just had to get to the finish line. This time around, you didn’t care about the placements.

You just wanted this to be over with.

The next time you had to go out with Charles was during a charity event. You were given a beautiful silver dress to wear while Charles was in a black suit.

He looked good. Probably way too handsome for his own good.

You didn’t like how he didn’t make it easy to keep a distance. He was kind, attentive, and really fucking handsome.

He had an arm around you at all times.

“I will bring us something to drink.”

“A gin tonic would be lovely.” You replied and he nodded.

This was the only time he let you out of his arms. And if you were honest. You kinda missed it.

No.

This can’t be.

You cannot fall for him. You will not!

Toto walked over to you, complimenting your dress and dedication.

“This little PR thing works like a charm. Our team gained almost half a million new followers since last week.” Of course that is all he would care about. For now, at least, Toto had a sweet spot for you so it was only a matter of time for him to save you from this.

Fans come and go.

But your contract with him was clear. And even without that, he liked you very much. He often said you are like a younger sister to him.

“Good to know at least the plan worked.” Was your reply?

“And what about you and Charles?” He asked and you were a bit taken aback. “You two play your parts a little too well.”

“Oh please, like I would fall for a guy like him.” You replied and took a sip from your glass.

Toto only laughed a little.

You however failed to notice that Charles heard everything you said.

He simply paid his part and handed you your new drink.

On your way back home, Charles was sitting in the back of the limo with you.

“What did Toto say to you?” He asked suddenly and you turned from the window to look at him.

“He said our teams gained a lot of new fans. He looked excited about it.”

“Anything else?”

“Hm?”

“Did he ask about anything else?”

“No, he then just started to talk about the new sponsors.”

“I see.” Was his simple reply.

The next planned date was a dinner in a restaurant.

You got to wear casual clothes and feel like a human again.

You planned on eating possibly the best food you can find.

So you ordered a nice juicy hamburger with fries and a huge lemonade. Then you ordered a steak with mashed potatoes.

Charles looked rather impressed that you could eat so much.

If you were honest, you had a great time with him. You two were talking a lot. He showed you a side which not many people could see.

“Can I ask you something?” He said, suddenly becoming very serious.

“Sure.”

“When you were talking with Toto last week, you said something which really stuck with me. You said you wouldn’t fall for a guy like me. What did you mean by that?”

“I-“ this took you off guard. Should you be honest? But you also didn’t want to lie. “Everyone knew about your dating life. It was no secret and… it is a huge red flag.”

“Red flag?”

“Yes. You date one woman then you date their friend… it is a red flag.”

“And that’s why you avoided me?”

“Yes.” You said right away, which probably wasn’t the best.

You could see your words hurt him.

You wanted to say something else but then he suddenly stood up and excused himself to the bathroom.

You should have said something.

But you didn’t. And it hunted you for the upcoming weeks.

“You did good, Y/N. P3!”

“Thank you, Toto!” You drove another round, smiling and waving at the fans even if they couldn’t see you.

Max, P1, Charles, P2 and you, P3. It was a good race.

But you felt so awkward around Charles.

As they took you to your interviews, you suddenly stopped Charles.

“Charles.”

“We have an interview to do.” He wanted to walk away but you caught him.

“I misjudged you. I wanted to tell you back at the restaurant. I misjudged you. I had a great time with you, even if it was all pretend. I needed you to know.” Your assistant came to get you to see why you weren’t coming, so you headed to the interview.

Charles soon followed you.

You had one week left.

One week of fake dating.

The last seven days.

Why did it make you sad?

You should have known, but ultimately, you fell in love.

You fell in love with a red flag.

And you wanted to tell him, but how?

It was all too much.

For the last week, the teams came up with a simple idea, something to give a base to your upcoming breakup.

It was meant to be easy.

You should act like you hate each other, possibly even argue a little here and there. You two should look like you two hate one another.

But, it didn’t exactly go as planned.

You smiled too much, you laughed too hard. It didn’t look like you were a couple ready to break up, you looked like the exact opposite.

You were a couple fully in love.

At least you were.

You two ended up in a café, enjoying your coffee and tea while you had a small conversation.

“What you said, before the interview last week. I understand how my actions can seem, and how my dating life looks from the eyes of an outsider. It looks bad… very bad and I don’t blame you or anyone for thinking that way about me. But I’m thankful for your kindness. It took me a while to realize that I used to do those things because none of them was the one I was looking for. But you… you are so different from them. I understand this might be sudden but I cannot be the only one who feels this way.”

“You are not.” You interrupted him, hoping to ease his inner dilemma. You smiled at him as he visibly let out a long sigh.

He moved closer to you, and you leaned into him, pulling him down for a sweet and short kiss.

You could almost hear the cameras click. Instead, all you could focus on was his scent, his smile and his taste.

You sat back down in your chair, enjoying the sun, smiling.

The next day you broke the news to your teams. Toto was the first to congratulate you.

He knew, of course, he would. He knew you and Charles would end up together. One way or another.

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles lecrelc #leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x fem reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader

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onlyhuis · 28 days

Note

for 1k.. mtl likely to completely melt when u go into subspace and say "thank you" after your orgasm? 💤

member — svt ot13 x gn reader genre — mtl, fluff (18+) word count — 1.3k (each member has a paragraph) warnings — subspace (reader), just aftercare but there’s allusions to having sex (not explicitly described), implied that svt are dom/reader is a sub, all are gn except shua's uses “good girl” as a nickname notes — requested by @junhuisms for my 🐈 1k event — this has been in my inbox forever i'm sorry nhdnsjs. honestly i feel like all of them would melt but in slightly different ways so i did a little blurb for each. i hope you enjoy! <3

most

1 - seungcheol

this man is the biggest simp on the entire planet and he would be so so good at taking care of you. i think it’s about 50/50 the amount of time he spends as a hard dom and a soft dom, but regardless of what activities you get up to he is the best at making sure you always feel good. he would melt the hardest on the nights he’s been a little meaner and a little rougher, because how can you be so sexy and so adorable at the same time, especially after you just came four times from his mouth alone? it boosts his ego so much not only that you trust him with all of yourself, but that you love him enough to say thank you afterwards? his day is made. his week is made. his whole year is made.

2 - seungkwan

he is absolutely obsessed with you. his reactions are always big whenever he's around you because he's so in love with you; you could be doing the most mundane thing in the world and he'd react like you just saved a burning building full of orphans and solved world hunger. he’ll melt over literally anything you do, but especially when you get that dopey smile on your face after you cum because your pleasure is his pleasure so your reactions only make him melt even more. he gets so caught up in how cute you are, he’d probably end up falling asleep with you tucked in his arms and forget to clean up.

3 - joshua

he thinks you’re just so adorable. most of the time he enjoys a little pushback when he’s fucking you; being a brat tamer is what gets him off, so he’s always making you beg him to let you cum. but he can never tease you for very long, especially on the times when you decide to be well behaved, so of course he has to reward you for being such a good girl for him. he lives on giving and receiving praise so he’d be thanking you too for letting him take care of you like this.

4 - mingyu

he completely melts. literally reduced to a puddle on the floor or the bed. he would get the biggest puppy eyes and be so pouty because he’s so whipped and he believes you shouldn’t ever have to do any work. he’s the one who needs to be thanking you, actually, because he's so honored that someone as beautiful and perfect as you decided to choose him of all people. he will give you anything and everything you could ever need because he doesn't want you to have a single care in the world, especially when you're being so sweet clinging to his arms. he may not be perfect but he's going to try his damn hardest to make sure he truly earns your thankfulness.

5 - jun

he’d start smiling and giggling, and he wouldn’t stop until you came back out of subspace. he would also get super clingy and hold you close to his chest and stroke your hair and grin uncontrollably. he’d give you the sweetest “you’re welcome” you’ve ever heard and just keep praising you for being so darn cute. he is the snuggliest boy and his aftercare would be the softest and best part of the whole experience.

6 - hoshi

everything about him is intense, especially when you’re in subspace. he fucks you hard and loves you even harder, so when you thank him after your orgasm it would make him so happy and he’d love you even more than before (if that’s even possible). he thinks your reactions are the cutest thing in the world and once you come out of that headspace he’d be begging for another round just so he can see you like that again.

7 - jeonghan

he’d mostly be cocky and proud of himself for making you feel so good, but deep down he'd be so giddy about your reaction. he doesn’t always explicitly say it or show it, but you’re so precious to him and all he really wants is for you to be satisfied and happy. he would absolutely tease you later about thanking him, but inside he’d be blushing and hoping it’s something that’ll become a habit of yours. he’s a fiend for praise and would want to get you there all the time.

8 - seokmin

he has hearts and stars in his eyes for you on a normal day, so it’d only increase when you’re in subspace. he’d get all blushy and embarrassed and tell you not to worry about it because it’s his job to make you feel good, so there’s no need to thank him. he’d wrap you up in blankets if you’re too cold and he’d put a cool washcloth on your forehead if you’re too hot and he’d coo over you with the purest little smile on his face.

9 - minghao

he gets so soft and he would be so gentle with you. even if he'd been a hard dom earlier, he'll flip on a dime as soon as he notices you in subspace. the responsible dom in him comes out and he tries not to dwell on how cute you look because instead he's busy making sure you’re feeling comfortable and safe and loved, bringing you water and helping you calm down. he’d melt at your reaction, but in more of a protective way because he’s not gonna let anything happen to his baby.

10 - wonwoo

he wouldn’t not be into it exactly, but he wouldn’t have as much of a big reaction as the other members. he’d mostly be proud of himself for being able to satisfy you so well, and he’d be ready to give you whatever else you asked for or what you needed. he knows what his job is and he does it well. he smiles when he thinks you're not looking or when you aren't paying attention and the sight of you makes him feel warm inside.

11 - woozi

he wouldn't melt so much as he would just be fond of you. he’d smile at you, let you rest on his lap and play with your hair until you come back to him. he's usually quiet, not making a lot of noise unless you ask him to, but when you tell him “thank you” he'll hum and blush a little to let you know he's listening and that he appreciates you.

12 - chan

he would love it when you go into your subspace, but at the same time i think he would get a little panicky. it’s a lot of responsibility to take care of you when you’re so vulnerable, and he would be so focused on that that he’d forget to think about his own feelings. he would still adore you and how cute you are, but it would be more at the back of his mind.

13 - vernon

quite honestly i don't think he'd even notice when you're in subspace. looking back later he might realize you were suddenly acting a little calmer and a little clingier, but he wouldn't treat you any differently than he normally does. he loves you and thinks you're cute all the time, why would he be any different now? he's just happy to be along for the ride, but he won't deny it feels good to be thanked, even if he thinks he hasn't really done much.

least

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mickyschumacher · 11 months

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: carlos sainz and you have an on and off relationship: full of an alluring pain. and no matter what, it seems you two always come back to one another. 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors DNI), infidelity, toxic relationship, reader has a vagina, unprotected sex (wrap it up like a gift!), reader slaps carlos, crying, ANGST, carlos bordering on being a sadist, cumming inside, fingering in the car, that being said - dangerous car driving, oral sex, incorrect model stuff probs, severely poorly utilised spanish, probs poorly written smut lol, probably missing plot holes but yeh

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: carlos sainz x model!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4k+

𝐀/𝐍: this is poorly based off taylor swift' 'style'. i hadn't realised i turned such a nice song into something well um... not nice? proof-read but as always, don't hold it against me!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆ •°. 。 .°• ⋆

Before you even started your cat-and-mouse game with Carlos, you were well aware that he was trouble the moment he walked into the room.

Scratch that.

Formula One drivers were nuisances. Ask any other model on the street and they would probably agree with you.

You knew that it was a relationship you probably shouldn't even be in. He was always going to be away in a new country every other week while you were doing photoshoots and walking runways. You would barely have time with each other. You don't think that you could even label such a relationship 'long distance'.

So when your management sent you down to the infamous Monaco Grand Prix as eye-candy, how were you to deny those brown eyes constantly lingering on you, following your body as he sported a smug smile? No one would be in their right mind to not fall for a guy like Carlos.

The heated gazes, the flirty comments, the burning brushes of touch... it was clear for the both of you that you had to be together.

But of course, despite knowing all of this, you couldn't help still feel a bit emotional about your relationship.

midnight

you come and pick me up, no headlights

long drive

could end in burning flames or paradise

fade into view, oh

it's been a while since i have even heard from you

Here you were. In Miami. The sun had fully set and the rare few stars you could find had taken up their night shift.

You were just leaving the office of your management after having a discussion on what photoshoots you were doing in the upcoming weeks and what events you were attending.

Chanel, Dior, Ralph Lauren, YSL, Louis Vuitton...

Brands on any other general day you would've love to talk about. But your mind was in a state of disarray after receiving a message from a certain Spaniard.

hot spanish polla (prick)

pick you up in 15, princesa (princess)

behind your office.

Even now, looking at the message again, you let out a scoff. You scrolled up, finding the last message you had sent to him. In January.

It was currently May.

Your fingers clenched around your phone as you let out a shaky sigh. Despite all the rage you felt, of course you were here, in the secluded area of your company.

You looked down at your clothes. A model life meant wearing 'fashionable' clothes. You, your manager, and your stylist often pre-agreed on the outfits you wore just for the sake of your image. Today, your stylist had dressed you in a black mini skirt and maroon sweater. You neck and ears all adorned in thin gold jewellery while you feet were hugged by a classic pair of white sneakers.

You pursed your lips. At least you looked good.

But of course this was just like Carlos. Speaking, calling, texting... all when he wanted. You knew he was in Miami. You weren't an idiot. You had all of this season's races organised into your calendar.

You were just in disbelief that Carlos had the audacity to even text you after not hearing even a word from him in almost five months.

Your ears perked up to a low rumble of a car entering the area. The headlights were off but you could still spot it's familiar features. You eyed the iconic Prancing Horse and rolled your eyes. The love and hate you had for Ferrari was unexplainable.

The car stopped in front of you and the door of the driver's seat opened. Carlos came out as if he were in slow motion.

You sucked your tongue to your lips upon eyeing his appearance. He was in a black coat, a simple white shirt that stuck to his sculpted body paired with black trousers that brought out his stupidly defined thighs. Those thighs... god, how much time had you spent on them?

and i should tell you to leave 'cause i

know exactly where it leads, but i

watch us go 'round and 'round each time

Carlos waved a hand through his hair and smiled at you. You could feel his eyes waver over you, making you suppress the innate shudder his gaze would usually send you. You couldn't let him think that everything was okay.

He opened the door to the passenger side and gestured for you to come in with an extended hand.

You folded your arms and stared at him. Were you really going to do this? Yes. Was this what you deserved after so long? A man who felt dizzy for you but wouldn't speak to you for four months? Yes and no.... yes.

Carlos narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to look at you. He knew exactly what you were thinking. "Get in the car, Y/N. Before I make you."

There was nothing threatening about his tone. In fact, even if it was, it would be an empty threat. Because at the end of the day, the both of you knew you were going to.

You internally sighed, before walking up to the open door. You turned your head to him and gave an amused huff. "As if you would, Sainz."

Carlos flashed his classic grin, the very one that had gotten you into this mess in the first place, and watched you enter his car.

By the time you had but on your seatbelt and rested your arm on the door, Carlos had finally sat next you.

"You look good, cariño (darling)," Carlos murmured, bringing your hand up to his mouth to leave a small kiss.

You clenched your jaw at the fiery tingle that sprawled across your hand. You snatched your hand away. "I know. I look good all the time," You mentioned curtly.

Were you being a bitch? A bit catty? Simply put, yes. But you thought a man who usually got what he wanted deserved some sort of catty behaviour.

"Four months, Carlos, four goddamn months... of nothing," You sighed out.

A remorseful expression fell over Carlos' face. "I know. I'm so sorry, cariño. I don't have any excuses."

You huffed once again with an irked smile, folding your arms while you looked out your window. You could think of one. But maybe it wasn't time to bring it up right now. You were tired of this game already. You would rather a false peace than the raw reality.

Your eyes peered over to him. "Long drive home?" You asked.

Carlos smiled softly at you. "As per usual."

You nodded slowly and Carlos turned the key of the car. The engine came alive and seemingly so did he as his hand naturally fell to your thigh while he reversed out.

you got that james dean daydream look in your eye

and i got that red lip classic thing that you like

and when we go crashing down, we come back every time

'cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

you got that long hair slicked back, white t-shirt

and i got that food girl faith and a tight little skirt

and when we go crashing down, we come back every time

'cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

Carlos could feel your eyes on him as he drove down the empty, long roads of Miami, dotted with the sparsely spaced palm trees swaying in the warm summer breeze.

Your eyes trailed over every inch of him. His hair. His eyes. His lips. His neck. His body. Every crevice. As if you were trying to print an image in your mind.

You always looked at him like that. Carlos remembered asking you about it. "What are you looking at?" He would ask.

"Just you," You would retort, "I just can't believe someone like you exists."

Carlos would chuckle and question what you meant by that. You simply said he reminded you of James Dean. Even now. His hair was slightly grown and slicked back with the heat of Miami. His entire aura was smug and intoxicating. The entire world could see Carlos Sainz as the Spanish romantic driver, but you knew that behind that warming exterior, was something dirty... troublesome in the best way, in fact.

You, god, you were the complete opposite. Y/N L/N. The good girl model. Pure. Untainted. The type of model you would see in spreads of brands right after they had a controversy because your angel aura would put anyone back in the good books. No matter how revealing your clothes were or how much skin you had on display, you were somehow still the epitome of unadulterated goodness.

There was a saying that people often associated with good girls like you. Every good girl wants a bad boy to be good just for her.

You wished that wasn't true. How desperately had you avoided all those flashy teenage popstars and actors. But here you were inevitably falling for an intoxicating Carlos Sainz. Time and time again.

so it goes

he can't keep his wild eyes on the road

You let out a shaky sigh as Carlos' hand travelled closer and closer up your inner thigh. "Carlos," You warned, eyes widening slightly as those brown eyes were planted firmly on you, taking in every little movement of yours, instead of looking at the road.

"Yes, my ñina bonita (beautiful girl)," He answered almost questioningly in a teasing tone.

"Keep your eyes on the road," You weakly mumbled.

You both watched his fingers linger up your skirt. His fingers danced across your burning skin and paused at the thin material covering your core. You sucked in a sharp breath once those fingers met your panties.

Carlos grinned at your shaking eyes and the warm dampness on his fingers. "You make it hard to look away," He confessed earnestly.

You could feel his fingers rub your pussy ever so slowly, only just grazing over that sensitive nub of yours.

"Jesus fucking christ, Carlos," You hissed out, hips bucking at his touch.

Carlos could feel his pants become incredibly tight all of a sudden. The control he had over you was so enthralling that he wanted to simply stop in the middle of the highway, grab you by yours hips and fuck the living life out of you.

What a sight that would be. You straddling his lap, soaking his trousers as your ass rested against the Ferrari symbol embedded into the steering wheel. He would make sure that the brand he represented would be covered in your cum after he was done with you.

Carlos sucked in a sharp breath. "Jesus fucking christ, indeed, cariño," He managed to get out, blinking hard at the road in front of him.

He watched out of his peripheral vision as your head fell back against while his thick fingers pushed past your panties and slid against your drenched folds.

His fingers ventured and craved a journey, feeling each crevice of your pussy. Carlos thrusted his fingers into your warm walls, briefly watching you envelope him entirely.

"Fuck, Carlos," You moaned out, hand instinctively reaching out to covers his. You couldn't tell if you wanted him to stop in this horny haze or push him in even further.

It must have been the latter as you could feel his fingers delve further into you. Carlos let out a strangled moan, foot pressing further on the accelerator. He needed to get you home as fast he could.

takes me home

the lights are off, he's taking off his coat

i say "i heard, oh, that you've been out and about with some other girl"

he says, "what you heard is true

but i can't stop thinking 'bout you and i"

i said, "i've been there too a few times."

By the time you had reached home and got to your bedroom, the entire of your house remained living in the darkness you had found it in.

Carlos and you didn't need lights. If there was anything he was purely confident about, other than his driving of course, it was your body. He knew it like he knew those race tracks. Every curve. The distance from your breasts to your pussy. How long it would take you to cum. He knew it all.

Carlos shrugged off his coat somewhere onto your floor, needing a release from the heat surging through his body. Your shoes and socks he had pulled off in a haste as well.

His lips had found yours as his hands roamed your back, pulling him closer to you. His fingers snuck past the hem of your shirt, brushing your bare skin while reaching up your torso to find a neat surprise.

"No bra," Carlos' hoarse voiced queried with the sound of a smirk playing at his lips. At least thats what you could assume in the dark.

Carlos inched you towards your bed as if it was a second nature to him.

The soft silk sheets he had bought you last year consumed the both of you as his fingers brushed past your nipple.

You released yourself from this kiss at the action, gasping for the air that Carlos had taken from you.

"I heard you were with some other girl. Is this what you did with her?" You finally asked, feeling a small smirk grow onto your face despite the annoyance running through your body.

You could feel Carlos stop moving, probably boring those beautiful brown eyes of his into you.

He knew what you were talking about. February. Pre-testing season. The drivers, some staff and their partners had gotten together to celebrate the upcoming season.

Lando, like the photo lover he was, had decided to document the night with his camera and post it to his Instagram dedicated to photos, lando.jpg.

You had clicked on it a few hours later, deciding to see how much fun they were having while you were doing a photoshoot with Kim Jones. Pictures of Charles dancing terribly with Max had made you laugh. Carmen looking concerned for George's wellbeing as he took shots had made you laugh even harder. There was also a photo of Alex and Lily being the cute paddock couple they were while Carlos was drunkly looking into the camera

But then your fingers stopped on particular photo of Carlos.

He looked good, you could not deny him that. Flushed skin, hazed eyes, the perfect smile... all while dressed as the Madrid's richest.

But lo and behold, that wasn't the only thing getting your attention. Instead, it was the girl in his arms. The same girl who in the next few photos had her lips on him and his hands on her ass. You could even spot a fresh hickey that wasn't on her neck in the previous photo.

God, the comments and tweets were coming in at lightning speed.

user55: who's the girl? i thought carlos was with y/n?

user04: maybe they broke up?

user16: wasn't just with her for new years? jfc, that man needs to get a grip

mickyschumacher: y/n deserves better than this

user44: i wonder if she knows?

Quite soon after, Lando had taken down the post, apologising to you profusely. You reassured him it was okay, even though deep down you were exhausted of this.

Not only had Carlos been going around with another girl, but he didn't even have the decency to say sorry. He would rather say nothing.

Carlos didn't know what was worse. His growing guilt or the fact that your reaction was making him harder.

His fingers skimmed across your swollen lips. "Obviously what you saw was true. But the thing is... I can't stop thinking about you and I, princesa. You consume me for every second of the day. Even if I don't show it. Fuck, I have a ritual before every race, you know? To cum to your name... to your body."

Was is it a poor excuse? Yes. It didn't even explain why he had done it in the first place. But the most damning thing was, you didn't care. Or you could care less to begin with.

Instead you were turned on. The pool in your panties had gotten even bigger as you released a light moan at his words. Your hands travelled to his waist, peeling off his white shirt while he raised his arms. The combination of your body heat was so high that it could almost be considered unsafe for the average human.

"You're a lucky man, Sainz. I can't stop thinking about you too."

Carlos could only let out a moan at your words, removing your sweater before bringing his lips to your nipples, dividing his attention to them equally. His hands were busy unbuckling his belt and taking off his trousers.

Your hand reached into his long hair, gripping the locks tightly as he moaned against your breasts. You could hear the clink and thud of his belt and pants hitting the floor as he pushed up your skirt, unbothered to take it off.

In face, these mini skirts were going to be the death of Carlos. He loved them on you. It wasn't just the easy access to the heaven down there. But if he had to explain it, it was the way they rested on your thighs. Laying there simply, not doing anything but creating a monster in him.

Carlos pushed your panties to the side, plunging his fingers into you without any warning. He could feel you arch your back and push your head into the bed while you writhed under his touch.

"Fucking hell," You swore, clenching your thighs around his hands.

Carlos chuckled. "Such a dirty mouth, princesa," He stated before speeding up his pace.

Your loud moans echoed within your empty house. Your hips bucked into his hand, fucking yourself faster on him to chase the release he had built up in the pit of your stomach.

"You wanna cum, Y/N? Hmm? Tell me?"

The sweat was building up on your skin as Carlos had added his thumb over your clit. He rubbed his thumb briefly in slow circles but he had given up on the teasing. He wanted you to squirm in his hands because that's how much pleasure you were receiving. He flicked the nub in fast motions, dropping his warm spit into your hot folds.

"Holy–Carlos!"

Carlos smirked at the ironic combination of words following out of your mouth. Yes, he was holy. But if he was that divine, you were no angel. You were a sin. A goddess. A she-devil.

"I would love to watch you cum, princesa. I really would. But my cock is begging for you, hmm? I think your pussy deserves some attention that isn't my fingers, no?"

Carlos had stopped moving his hand and removed his fingers from you. He could feel you shake in his hold. From anger or pleasure, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he had left you begging for more.

Although it must've been anger.

Because almost immediately, he had heard it before he felt it. The sharp whack of the air. The burn on his cheek almost sizzling.

You could feel his hot gaze pierce through you as your chest heaved up and down in frustration. "You're a little shit, Carlos," You groaned. "Sorry, no. What was it in Spanish? Polla? Yes, fucking polla."

The room had turned eerie in seconds. Carlos' silence had started to worry you. You could still feel his gaze and hear his laboured breathing but he was saying nothing.

Suddenly you felt his hands wrap around your waist and move to his lap. You let out a gasp at the bare cock you had been placed upon and the sloppy lips resting near your ear.

"I think I need to fuck the nice back into you, princesa, no? Maybe if you become my little divine goddess, I'll let you cum, hmm? What do you think?" Carlos' whisper was hot and heavy in your ear. "Use your words, mi amor (my love)".

Goddamn it. He had broken out the 'mi amor'. The only thing that had you hanging by a thread. The sliver of hope that whatever you and Carlos had going on was more than this. That you truly loved one another.

"Yes, Carlos," You said, bringing a gentle peck to his lips.

You could feel him smile against your lips. "There's my good girl.''

Carlos pushed your panties aside, assured that you were stretched out and wet enough by his fingers. He grabbed his cock and was overcome with a shudder when rubbing the tip of his cock through your folds.

"Spit, cariño," His voice commanded.

You gathered all the saliva that had easily accumulated after salivating for this man and let the warm fluid fall from your lips.

Carlos couldn't see but he could just imagine if the lights were on. The bubbled liquid falling from those pretty lips of yours, turning into thin strings as they had perfectly landed on the slit of his cock.

He didn't even have to say anything as your nimble fingers rubbed your saliva over his shaft. You could hear his heavy breaths in the air and a small sigh of pleasure came from his lips. "Baby, let's get me in you, hmm?"

You let out a small whimper at his words before releasing a strangled moan as you pushed his cock into your pussy. You could feel each swollen and puffed out fold take him in and your warm walls wrapping around him tightly.

Carlos shut his eyes tightly. "Mierda (shit). You feel so good, princesa," He groaned, lifting his hips up.

You moaned in agreement, throwing your hands around his neck as he thrusted in and out of you.

The concept that cock could made a person dumb often sounded strange. But with Carlos, it was true. You couldn't do anything or say anything but moan in pleasure.

"Lamp. I need to see your face, princesa," Carlos muttered out in awkward pauses, rutting his hips against you in an angle that almost made it impossible for you stretch your arm out and turn on the lamp.

A yellow illuminated the room and finally, you could see each other.

You had made eye contact with Carlos. His eyes bore into you while his mouth was agape as if he was constantly ready to moan. His normally slicked hair was now tousled courtesy of your fingers.

Jesus, was he a sight to behold.

But Carlos didn't think any less of you. God, how were you even real? Your skin was flushed, hair sticking out in every direction, sweat and traces of your wetness across your body and your eyes: dazed with lust and bordering on the edge of being fucked out.

But most especially, those goddamn lips of yours. They were painted with red when Carlos had first picked you up. The red had faded, only trace amounts left mixed with the red flush of the swelling he had brought by kissing you. What a vision you were.

Your eyes flickered to the specifically red cheek that faced you. God, this man knew how to make you feel for anything. His hips jerked into you, pushing his cock deeper as every second passed. The spell he had on you was serious; dangerous.

You could feel a glaze of water fall over your eyes as your fingers brushed his reddened cheek. His skin was still warm from your slap. Carlos shivered at your touch, eyes fluttering shut.

"I'm sorry, Carlos," You murmured out so quietly that if he wasn't listening so intently, he would've missed it. "I didn't mean to."

Carlos could feel his heart pace as you softly kissed the burning skin of his. It was as if you were kissing his pain away. A warm tear from your eyes had fallen onto his cheek, making his heart melt.

Carlos could feel himself tighten at the action, even more so when you clenched your walls tightly around him.

"You think you deserve to cum, mi princesa?" Carlos queried, wrapping his hand around your jaw and making you turn to face him. His eyes shook at your teary eyed gaze. The mascara and eyeliner you wore had broken down. If he hadn't felt so soft for you, he would've teased you and said you looked like a racoon.

Carlos could feel you start to shake as you buried your nails into his skin. To his surprise, you shook your head no. You begun to slow your pace and clench around him, only trying to get him off.

"Oh mi amor, mi ñina bonita, you deserve to cum. You deserve a lot more than you know," Carlos whispered, tucking your hair behind your ear. He planted a soft kiss to your forehead before bringing his thumb to your clit, rubbing hard and increasing the speed of his cock thrusting in and out of you.

You couldn't help but let out a sob mixed with both pleasure and sadness. A wave of euphoria convulsed within your body as Carlos staggered to a halt in you. His cock twitched and throbbed, spilling his hot cum into your walls.

You bought Carlos into a tight hug, pushing yourself further onto his cock, making him groan again and release a few more ropes of his cum into you.

Carlos brought his lips to your shoulders and left a small trail of kisses as the two of you calmed down.

The double meaning to his words had thrown you off.

You could tell what he meant.

This why he had reached out in the first place.

His guilty glances. The poor excuses.

This was the last time.

Whatever this was between you... it had to end.

You both needed to move on.

But especially you.

It was a gutting feeling to know. But Carlos was right. This sadness, this anger, this toxicity could go on no longer. Despite being heartsick, you were happy though.

Because even if this ended, you had gone out in style.

𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagine #f1 x taylor swift #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x you #mickyschumacher #carlos sainz x reader

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soobnny · 10 months

Text

classmate au | kim sunoo

❝ no one is allowed to borrow my art materials except for (name) ❞

kim sunoo

sweet, sunshine, best friend kim sunoo

it was kind of SO obvious he wanted to be friends

like he wants to be close to you soooo bad and maybe it’s bc he saw u playfully bullying riki

it was love at first sight and an instant best friendship the moment you finally met

your seats were assigned so u were sat next to each other

THANK GOD U WERE

you two are basically inseparable now

sunoo strikes me as the type to just walk into the classroom and walk straight towards where you’re seated

at school events, he’d leave his backpack on the seat next to him to reserve you a seat

then he’d go “(name)!” while waving from his seat it’s actually kind of embarrassing

there is never anxiety of being seated next to a stranger bc sunoo has your back

he’d grab an extra mini fan from his bag to give to U bc these school events r always so scorching hot

sunoo does that “leaning against your locker while you get things” thing

he is so unaware of how HANDSOME he looks

oh and btw if you don’t attend class, he probably won’t in solidarity

in the chances that he does attend class, he usually sends you photos of his notes and everything you need to know

he’d be like i’m soooooo bored 2 minutes into the class without you like it hasn’t even STARTED

just prepare for his spam messages

after class, you’d buy street food and just gossip over it

you’d stare at what he bought and he’d roll his eyes before pushing the stick towards you so you can bite off it

YES feeding each other … normal best friend things

anyways moving on

another thing in my vision is that he’s the provider of art materials

the teacher suddenly lets you make a poster????

you know you’re secured bc sunoo is ur bff and will let only YOU borrow his supplies

“sunoo, let me borrow your colored markers”

“ok, which colors do you want” ☺️☺️☺️☺️

flat out will say no to everyone else tho

he’s kind of intimidating honestly despite having the sweetest smile

LIKE he’s friends with everyone but not friends friends

do you guys get what i mean

he is just a completely different person with you bc he trusts u the most and he just becomes CRAZY

like yall let him keep his crazy too much .. thank god you’re there for him to unleash it to

he’s one of the people who plays volleyball with riki and friends

but he’s absolutely horrible please save him

altho … why does he look so handsome playing even tho he can’t receive the ball? 🤨

he’d just laugh and crumble in embarrassment and you’d be the number one person cheering for him

(update after ella’s rb,, full credits to her) u would def put the blame on his teammates

“RIKI DO BETTER” even if it was 100% sunoo’s fault like so real

weird specific love language? buying each other water

he’s playing volleyball? you have a bottle of water for him in case he wants to sit out the game and watch with you

you’re finished with your physical education practical exam? he’s waiting for you with his big ass water jug

BUT LIKEEEE why is there a change in the air suddenly 😩😩😩

why is your best friend so boyfriend material actually

he holds your hand… holds it so firmly

sunoo gives the best hugs too

he makes you laugh and he’s so thoughtful with his stupid water and his art materials

even carries your things for you sometimes

AND yall take good photos of each other

“does my hair look fine?”

he’d reach out to fix it … tuck it behind your ear or look at you so intensely before going back to smiling n saying yup all good!

during the sports festival, yall are off joining some type of singing jingle cheer competition which is usually the first event

so you guys just joke around for the rest of the week, watch some events, and take LOTS of photos

you would laugh at your classmates

maybe even cheer for some of your friends

just as long as you’re next to each other

you probably bad mouth the opposite team BUT TO YOURSELVES .. not out loud

would clap so hard when your team wins a point !!!

also back to the taking photos detail

he��d just be dragging you everywhere to take photos bc when is the best time but NOW

ofc u do take his photos .. u ltrly take the Best

“sunoo, look, you’re so handsome here!”

and then you look up at him to see his reaction and he’s already looking at you

uh oh.

your faces are so close to each other like SO close

let’s step back and check the label 😂

BEST FRIENDS !!!!!

tho he does save u out of ur misery by asking you out a week later

bc apparently the sudden shift in air also happened to HIM

he brings it up as a joke first bc he’s testing the waters and he’s not trynna get rejected

“imagine if we were dating…..” and a long lingering pause in the air afterward

if you joked back with like a “LOL”, he’d know u don’t feel the same

but you ltrly go 😮 and so speechless bc why is he suddenly bringing this up when you’ve spent the last few nights thinking about him

did those tiktok manifestations work

did that tiktok audio actually get sunoo to like u back

“um… well! well, you see…”

“i like you”

“THANK GOD”

you guys are like waaaaay more inseparable now that you’re dating

your friends will fake vomit around u .. but don’t worry it’s just bc they’re bitchless

while u and ur bf sunoo are happily in love

btw he gets jealous easily TEARSSSSSS

he gets all pouty but don’t worry, you just have to Hug him and give him a kiss and he’s all smiles again

oh, and i feel the need to inform you that hugs are his favorite thing in the world

and CHEEK kisses like specifically cheek kisses.. he loves them

his ideal dates r just when you’re at each other’s house

you can order takeout and do your skincare together … watch the latest movies

his family loves you too

so much that they include your favorite snacks when they go grocery shopping

“sunoo, get those chips that (name) rly likes. u dont know when she might come over next!”

like they are ANTICIPATING you

enjoy dating i love sunoo

note. credits to user @.luvknow for the layout of this post! let me know what you think! please discuss these with me i’m crazy

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celtic-crossbow · 17 days

Text

For You, I'd Bleed Myself Dry

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Early-ish Alexandria

Warnings: Suggestive (extremely mild); hangover

Summary: You're hung over and don't really remember how you got to Rosita's house the night before. Or what you had said on the way there.

A/N: Just a fun little drabble born of this incorrect quote. Suggested by @marvelcasey05

You didn’t expect to find Daryl still home when you wandered in the next morning. He was always an early riser, and though everyone else still slept, he would usually be long gone and outside the gates. So, when you tip-toed through the door and into the kitchen, your heels in your hand, he nearly scared the life out of you. You flipped the lightswitch and:

“Mornin’.”

“Jesus Christ, Daryl!”

The archer chuckled behind his coffee mug before tilting it the least bit more to take a sip. “Rollin’ in awful late.”

You shrugged “Or early, depending on how you look at it. Any left?” You nodded toward the cup. He gave a quiet mhm and got up to make you a mug. Your head was throbbing. You knew your makeup was a mess and your hair a disaster. You had slept in your dress at Rosita’s, so it was wrinkled and you were almost certain that it was only partially zipped in the back.The party hadn’t been that fun but the liquor had been flowing. That was why you went. Things in Alexandria had been stressful. Your group had been there a while. Long enough for so many problems to come along and be handled. The past week had been particularly eventful. Still, it had been handled and there had been some time to cut loose.

So, you did.

You sat your heels on the counter and muttered a thank you when he slid the mug across the surface, narrowing your eyes across the rim as you readied for a drink. “Do you know how I take my coffee?”

“Guess you’ll need to take a drink an’ find out, won’tcha?” He was perching himself back on the island stool when you realized that Daryl Dixon was barefoot, wearing flannel pajama pants, and a faded Led Zepplin t-shirt.

“You’re wearing people clothes.” You blinked, still holding the mug close to your mouth.

Daryl smirked from behind his own cup. “M’a person, contrary to popular belief.” He took another sip, prompting you to take one of your own. He did know how you liked your coffee. Interesting.

An ache in your left foot reminded you that you wanted nothing more than to go to your room and fall into a coma for a few hours. “I should probably take some—”

“S’behind ya. Got ‘em out earlier. Water too.”

There were two tablets on the countertop by the fridge, along with a glass of water. You warily picked them up, almost as if they would come alive and bite you. “Thank you?”

“Mhm.”

Quickly swallowing them, you downed the water because coffee wasn’t the best tool for rehydrating, but you’d be damned if you’d give up that mug for anything. Collecting your heels and your coffee, you started walking backwards out of the kitchen. “Listen, I’m gonna head upstairs and get off my—”

“Perfectly good chair right here.”

“What?” Now you were looking at him as if he’d grown a second head. There were no other chairs in the kitchen. Carol had the only other stool piled full of kitchen junk she had yet to put away. “Are you sure you’re awake?”

“M’wide awake. How’d ya get to Rosita’s last night?”

Wait. Was Daryl blushing? “She helped—” No, that wasn’t right. Rosita and Tara came back long after you did. You distinctly remembered grumbling at them to turn off the lights. “How did I get there?” You said aloud, though softly.

“I took ya.”

Your shoes hitting the floor echoed through the quiet house, causing both you and Daryl to flinch. After a moment, no baby cried and no adults yelled. You walked forward and placed your mug back on the counter. “What do you mean you took me? You weren’t at the party.”

Cause Daryl’s home. He doesn’t like parties.

He shrugged but the pink tint to his cheeks was now traveling a route up to his ears. “Was workin’ on the bike. Saw ya stumblin’ ‘round in the dark. Didn’t wantcha to get hurt.”

“Did I—did I say anything stupid?”

And if I see him right now, I'm gonna ask to use his face as a chair.

“Nope.” The archer was staring at his coffee cup, rolling the smooth sides between his hands. He absolutely knew what you had said but he was giving you an out. Goddamn that man. He had to be beautiful, rough edged, and chivalrous at the same time?

“Good.” You nodded. “Good. Thanks for the coffee.” You turned to walk out, leaving the coffee mug behind. “And for—you know, getting me there safely last night.”

He nodded with a small, tight smile but didn’t say anything else. Maybe he was just teasing you. No, Daryl wasn’t the type. Well, he was but not with things that were at his expense. He was definitely going out of his comfort zone if the red tint on his face was any indication. Did he want to do that with you? You certainly wouldn’t mind. You’d wanted Daryl for as long as you could remember. Even before he started treating the group more like friends than survival buddies. There was always just something about him that called to you, pulled you in like a magnet, but there was this invisible line that didn’t feel safe to cross. Was he toeing that line with you now?

You might never get the chance again if you were to shut him down.

“Hey, Daryl.” You called from the stairs, barely looking over your shoulder. Your heart was racing.

“Yeah?”

“There’s—there’s no chair in my—what’re you—hey!” You were over his shoulder and being hauled down toward his room in the basement before you could do much more than laugh.

“Weren’t no way ya could make any line ‘bout a chair work.”

“Got a bed, right?”

“Got a mattress.”

“That’ll do, Dixon. That’ll do.”

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon twd #daryl #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x female reader #Spotify

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scuderiahoney · 25 days

Text

Oscar Piastri x Reader // In Motion Pt. 4

Summary: a very bad snowstorm, bears in the ice hockey arena, and a one night only poster board pick-me-up. 6.6k words

Warnings: mentions of physical violence, small mention of alcohol

“So. You and Oscar spent a lot of time together over the break,” Lily says, carefully.

You roll your eyes and set the glue stick in your hand down, sensing this is going to be a long conversation. “We were the only ones here for like, a week. And we were bored. And then Max showed up, so it wasn’t just us.”

Lily isn’t looking at you. She has a wine glass in one hand and a magazine in the other. The two of you are making vision boards, which Max had called “glorified collages” when he called five minutes ago to ask about family dinner for tomorrow.

Lily hums. “He’s just so… quiet.”

You shrug and take a sip of your wine. “He’s not, really, once you get to know him. He’s just… it’s easier for him one on one, you know?”

Lily nods. You nod, too, and lean over to pick up another magazine. You flip through the pages, looking for whatever sticks out. Your friends collect magazines and newspapers and fun posters and give them to you, and you hoard them for days like these. A little sun drawing pops out at you from the page, and you reach for the scissors.

You clear your throat. “Nothing happened, if that’s what you were trying to say. We just. We had some movie nights, played some video games, took a couple walks. That’s all.”

Lily looks up at you and stares. “Right.”

You stare right back. “What?”

“Did you want something to happen?” She asks, and you freeze, the magazine page half turned.

“What?” You ask again.

“You said nothing happened,” she says. “Did you want something to happen?”

You stare at the wine in your glass, the way the warm light of the lamp catches on the red liquid. Your stomach swirls. Did you want something to happen? He’s your friend. Your study partner. He’s your best friends’ teammate. Did you want something to happen? He’s a sweetheart once you get to know him. He holds your hand when you walk by the soccer field and he doesn’t push you when you can’t do it. Did you want something to happen?

You shake your head. “We’re just friends. We bonded over physics trauma. We were just bored.”

Lily nods and reaches for the scissors. “Okay.”

You want to say more to defend yourself, but you think that’ll be even less convincing. So you move your focus back to the vision board and try not to think too much about what she asked you. It doesn’t matter what you wanted, anyways. He’d never see you that way, and if he did, he’s probably too scared of his teammates to do anything about it.

…..

January slips away faster than you’d expected. It’s full of syllabuses and assignments and far too much homework for this early in the semester. You do a lot of it at the kitchen table in the guys’ house, sat across from Oscar even though you’re not in a class together anymore. It’s just nice to have someone to study with, even if he has no idea what you’re talking about when you whine about your biology assignments.

February brings with it the warnings of a winter storm for the ages. On a Thursday night, you sit on the couch in the living room, giving your homework a feeble attempt. The guys are back from an afternoon practice, and everyone is settling in for the evening.

“You know who we play next week,” Carlos says, leaning over the back of the couch and looking at you.

“Can’t remember,” you answer, not even looking up from your book. “Not the Badgers.”

The Badgers are the Timberwolves’ sworn enemies. The rivalry game weekend is one of the most anticipated events on campus. It’s marked on the calendar in the kitchen with a dark red X. It’s weeks away.

“No,” Carlos says, raising his eyebrows when you finally look up at him. “The Bears.”

For just a moment, you wonder what sort of significance that’s supposed to hold. They play a lot of teams. Most of them, they’re relatively civil towards. A lot of the players grew up together on junior teams, and they’re still friends outside of game weekends. You’re about to ask if he has beef with a Bears player when you notice Oscar’s stiff posture where he sits on the floor in front of the couch. He’s been half watching the TV, half working on homework. Then you remember.

Oscar played for the Bears for two years. That was his former team. The ones who treated him so badly he quit hockey. You blink up at Carlos and pray he doesn’t take the route you think he’s going to.

“You know who used to play for the Bears,” Carlos starts, a lilting tone to his voice.

Oscar turns over his shoulder with a grimace. “Play is a strong term,” he says. “I did a lot more sitting than skating.”

Carlos shrugs and wiggles his eyebrows. “I am just saying. Maybe we should be worried that Piastri here will go easy on his friends.”

“Not my friends,” Oscar says, quietly.

You slip your hand off the couch and press it to his shoulder blade, hidden from Carlos’ view behind blankets and cushions. Oscar relaxes slightly, and his eyes flicker to yours. Carlos is just trying to rile him up, probably. There might be a hint of truth to it- trying to test Oscar’s loyalty, which is stupid.

You turn to Carlos and blink. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Like your own apartment?”

Oscar laughs and tries to disguise it as a cough, muffling it into his elbow. Carlos grins, gaze flickering between you and Oscar, mischief in his eyes.

“Oh, Bunny has claws,” he teases.

By Sunday, everyone is panicked about the impending snow. The stores sell out of all the essentials before you can even bother to plan the week’s family dinner. You and Max will have to make do with what’s left on the bare shelves of the grocery store. The aisles are packed with people. You’ve lost Logan in the fray.

“He’ll be fine,” Max says, trying to maneuver the cart around a small child. He makes a funny face at her, and she laughs. “He will find us, and if he doesn’t…”

“Oh my god, please sound more concerned,” you say.

He shrugs and reaches for a box of Kraft Mac and cheese.

“You have to be kidding,” you say with a glare.

He nods, looking at the grocery list again. “I am. We are buying more TimTams?”

Your face grows hot against your will. You snatch the list from his hand as he eyes you, brows raised. At that exact moment, Logan, your lifesaver, appears from the crowd.

“I got so lost,” he says, eyes wide. “This place is a madhouse.”

Max nods, and he looks around, set determination on his face. “Alright. Let’s get what we need and get out. Logan, hold onto the cart.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “I’m not a child,” he says, but he grabs the cart anyways.

By the time the three of you get in the car, the first few snowflakes are falling. Max sits stiffly in the passenger seat the whole drive, like he’s worried a little snow will send you into a violent crash. You make it home safely, of course, and unload the groceries together. Charles is sitting on the couch in front of the living room window, staring at the snow, a cup of hot chocolate in hand.

“It’s already pretty,” he says, softly.

You ruffle his hair. “Is there more hot chocolate?”

He nods. “Oscar’s making it.”

You head for the kitchen, bags in hand, and find Oscar and Alex huddled around the counter. You give them a smile as you unpack the groceries, and Max and Logan do the same. Oscar looks up at you, eyes bright.

“What do you want in yours?” He asks.

You stand with your hands on your hips, thinking hard. He’s got plenty of supplies- mini marshmallows and sprinkles and caramel drizzle and whipped cream. You shrug.

“Keep it simple,” you say. “A couple marshmallows and some whipped cream.”

He nods eagerly and gets to work. By the time your bags are empty, it’s ready. He hands it off to you with a happy smile- the whipped cream sits in a perfect spiral atop the mug. He looks so proud, and it’s such a sweet gesture, you almost lean over and kiss him right on the forehead. Almost, before you remember half his teammates are here, and Max is watching, and everyone is apparently suspicious. And that it would probably be a strange thing for you to do. You just smile and thank him quietly instead.

You head back into the living room with the mug, trying to shake his soft, proud grin from your brain. Charles is there, in the loveseat next to the window, and he pats the cushion, beckoning you to join him. You sink down, turning so you can look out the window, too. He tosses a blanket over your lap.

“He gave you more whipped cream than me,” he says, pouting.

You shrug. “Maybe he likes me better.”

Charles narrows his eyes at you. “Do you remember, a few months ago, when you thought he hated you?”

You nod. “Funny how things change, huh?”

Oscar walks in then, a mug in his hands. His gaze slips to the window, brows raising on his forehead, and he smiles happily. You smile, too and turn back towards the window as he walks over.

“Pretty,” he says, softly. “Wow, it’s really starting to come down, huh?”

You sigh. “God, I hope they cancel classes tomorrow.”

Charles sighs and sits up. “That reminds me. I have an assignment due at midnight.”

He stands up and stalks off, taking his hot chocolate with him. Oscar makes a sympathetic noise, but he doesn’t hesitate to steal Charles’ spot on the couch. You smile at him when he sits down. Both of you put your legs up on the cushions so you can stare out the window. You rest your head against the back of the couch and let your knee rest against his. Outside, Logan pulls up with a full car, having offered to pick up a few of the team members who didn’t want to walk in the snow. Carlos climbs out of the front seat and leans over, already trying to scrape together a snowball. Oscar sighs. You turn to look at him, and he’s got a look of apprehension on his face. You nudge your knee against his.

“What’s up?” You ask.

He shrugs. “Maybe they’ll cancel the games next weekend, too.”

He doesn’t want to play against his old team. From what he’s told you, you can’t really blame him. He’d hinted at a toxic environment when he first told you, but the longer the two of you have been friends, the more information you’ve pulled out of him. He’d mentioned something about a scar on his upper lip, how his old team captain had left it there when he pushed him onto the ice. Your heart breaks for him.

Under the blanket, you reach out and rest your hand on his knee, lightly. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

He grins widely at that, and then hides it behind his mug of hot chocolate. You smile right back. Outside, Carlos hits Logan directly in the stomach with a snowball. The others are making their way towards the house. You brace yourself for the impending chaos.

Charles and Max cook dinner, and there are enough people in the house that you end up eating in the living room on one of the couches. Lando sits next to you, while Oscar sits on the floor in front of you, his back against the couch. The news is playing on the TV, and you all steal glances at the bottom of the display, where the area snow closures are being announced.

Max pokes his head into the living room from the dining room. “Snow’s getting bad. Anyone who doesn’t live here should probably go now, yeah?”

People begin to stand up. You almost follow suit, figuring it’s about time you headed back to your apartment, and not really wanting to walk in the snow. Lando grabs your wrist and tugs, though, and Oscar’s head whips around to look at the two of you.

“Maybe you should just stay,” Lando suggests, a small smile on his face. “It’s a storm warning, you know.”

You blink softly at him, though you sit back down. “Lan, I don’t have any of my stuff. I don’t have clothes to sleep in. I have an 8am class, and I don’t want to sleep on the couch and have a sore neck-“

“Oh come on, you know they’re going to cancel classes,” Oscar says, nudging your knee lightly.

“And if they don’t, I’ll go get your stuff,” Lando suggests. He pouts. “And you don’t have to sleep on the couch, I’ll get the air mattress out. C’mon. What if your power goes out?”

“When my power goes out, yours also goes out,” you remind him.

“But we can all be powerless together,” Charles chimes in from the other end of the couch.

You groan. “You guys. I’m an adult. I can take care of myself in a little bit of snow.”

You hear Logan’s car start up outside. You try to get up again, but Lando wraps his arms around your arm, and Oscar reaches for your ankles. You let out a squeaky laugh and try to break free just as Max walks back into the living room, brows furrowed.

“Max! Tell Bunny she should stay here,” Lando calls out.

Max blinks, eyes darting over the entire situation before he turns to look at you. “There’s a winter storm. You live alone. You are not going anywhere.”

You grumble, but you go limp anyways. Lando lets go of you and high fives Max as he walks past. Oscar holds onto your legs for slightly longer, and he squeezes your calf softly before he pulls away. You try to act normal about it, though from the side eyed look Lando gives you, you’re not sure you were successful.

Eventually, you head to the kitchen to help Max clean up from dinner. Lily, Alex, George, and Oscar sit at the dining room table, playing cards, while you and Max do dishes and Lando and Charles clean counters. When your eyes stay on the Oscar for too long, watching him laugh happily, the sink nearly overflows. Max nudges your shoulder.

“You can go hangout, if you want. I can do the dishes,” he suggests.

You shake your head. “M’fine. Just spaced out a bit.”

Max nods, though you can feel him watching you every so often. Lando and Charles start slapping each other with rolled up wet washcloths, and that distracts Max enough, at least for a few minutes. There’s music playing, and you hum along as the soapy water warms your fingers. When the dishes are done, Max ushers you to the dining room, and you take a seat in the chair on next to Oscar. Lando and Charles join, too, and you smile around at everyone. Snow is falling in the backyard, and the world feels quiet. Oscar’s fingers brush against yours when you both reach for a card, and you can’t help but smile. You’re exactly where you want to be.

At 9:30pm, just when you’re starting to yawn, and Lando is talking about going and setting up the air mattress, everyone’s phones go off. Little dings and chirps and vibration sounds echo through the dining room. Alex is the first one to open the email.

“Classes are canceled!” He calls out. “Snow day!”

The room erupts into chaos. Lando and Max hug each other, George stands up and cheers, while Charles collapses forward onto the table in relief. You turn to Oscar as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and shakes you gently. Alex leans over and kisses Lily on the cheek as she cheers. The joy in the room is infectious. Snow days have the ability to turn you all into children again, apparently.

Oscar leaves his arm around the back of your chair for the rest of the game. You try desperately to act like it’s not there, like you can’t feel the warmth of him on the back of your neck or the way his fingers brush against your shoulder. It’s consuming your thoughts, though, making it insanely difficult to focus on the card game at hand.

He’s one of the first to go to bed, and you miss the feeling as soon as he’s gone. You head up to bed eventually, and you pass Charles in the hallway on the way to brush your teeth. He gives you a sleepy half hug and stumbles into his room. You find yourself looking at Oscar’s door and wondering if he’s still awake, but you’re not sure what you’d even do if he was.

You wake up the next morning to Lando still out cold, snoring loudly into his pillow, and the early sun inching its way through the blinds. The air mattress is partially deflated, and you slide off of it and onto the floor with a soft thud. There’s a hoodie laying on the floor that seems relatively clean, and you pull it on. You know immediately it’s not Lando’s- it smells like a different laundry detergent and cologne, but it feels familiar and warm, so you leave it on. Then you wrap a blanket around your shoulders before you head downstairs.

Oscar’s sitting on the loveseat, still rubbing sleep from his eyes when you find him. He turns and blinks up at you, eyelids heavy. You blink back, long and slow, the way you’d been told to do with pet cats. It seems to work on him- he smiles. Without a word, you head for the kitchen.

You return with two mugs of tea, and he smiles up at you. He makes room for you to sit, and you do so happily, curling your legs under you and fully facing the window. It’s a winter wonderland outside. You can’t even see where the front yard ends and the street begins. Snow is still falling, though at a slower rate.

“It’s so… quiet,” Oscar whispers.

He stretches one leg out behind you on the couch, and bends his other knee up next to you. When you lean against him lightly, he doesn’t protest or move away. He just smiles.

You nod in agreement. “Pretty. I love snow.”

You blink a couple times and take a sip of your tea. Oscar’s leg is warm against your side. He reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. You sigh and let your eyelids flutter shut.

“Still sleepy?” He asks.

You nod. “Yeah, but the air mattress is deflating, and Lando’s snoring, so…”

“Here,” he says, and you blink at him in confusion.

Oscar’s hand brushes against yours where you’re holding the mug. Your grip falters, and he slips it from your hand and sets it down on the nearby table. Before you can blink again, he leans forward and wraps an arm around your middle. Then he uses it to haul you towards him, your back against his chest, side by side on the little sofa. You’re nestled between him and the back of the couch, surrounded in warmth, your skin burning up. You can feel the soft rise and fall of his chest behind you.

“Okay?” He asks.

You nod, too sleepy to form the words, too sleepy to worry about what this means or if it’s weird or if someone else will see the two of you and have questions. He lets out a little laugh, his hand slipping into the pocket of the hoodie you’re wearing.

“Is this my hoodie?” He asks. You shrug. “Think it is, there's a hole in this pocket.”

“It was on Lando’s floor,” you mumble, burrowing deeper next to him. “So it’s fair game.”

He laughs, but he lets it go. You rest your cheek against his other arm and bask in the softness of it all, blinking at the falling snow and the soft morning light. Sleep scratches at the back of your brain, and as much as you want to fight it, as much as you want to stay present, it melts over you. The last thing you feel before you fall back asleep is the press of his cheek against the top of your head.

When you wake up, he’s in the kitchen, talking lowly with Alex. There’s a pillow wedged behind you to keep you from falling over and off the couch, and the blanket is pulled up around your chin. You don’t blame him for getting up, and you’re a bit relieved that he seems to have done it before the rest of his roommates are up, because you might have never heard the end of it. Though, when Lando rolls out of bed and joins you on the couch, with Max not far behind, and the three of you squeeze onto the little sofa together, you wonder if they’d have even questioned it. Maybe they’d have seen it the same as this- friends curled up on a slow morning, sharing space and warmth. Maybe that’s all it was for Oscar, too. You’re probably the only one who felt butterflies over it.

Oscar pouts when he walks in and sees his spot taken, though. Behind him in the doorway, Alex meets your gaze with a smirk, eyebrows raised, and you start to wonder again. Eventually, the rest of the people in the house join you downstairs, and you all start to make snow day plans. You close your eyes and listen to them talk. Whatever they come up with, you’ll enjoy, you know it already.

…..

Unfortunately for Oscar, the snow clears, and the first game against the Bears goes forward as planned that week. It’s a mess. The Timberwolves are up by two by the time they’re halfway into the second period, but the Bears are playing like, well, bears. Not a lot of penalties, but cheap shots and bad moves and what looks to be exhausting hockey. They’re frustrated by their own inability to score by the third period, and that’s when the claws really come out. The refs send a Bears player to the box for slashing. He gets back on the ice, and then another one gets called for tripping. There’s a few minutes left, they’re down a player, and they’re desperate.

When Oscar gets locked into a battle for the puck with his old team captain, you hold your breath. He manages to bat it away and send it skidding towards Max, but his helmet and face mask get shoved askew in the process. Somehow, you just know. Everyone in the arena follows the puck, but you watch as the captain on the other team rips his gloves off. You grab onto Lily’s arm and watch his fist connect with Oscar’s jaw. The Timberwolves bench erupts into chaos. The fight is over before it even starts, because Oscar just pushes the guy away and doesn’t swing back. The team captain gets sent to the penalty box. Oscar gets his helmet back on and gets back in the game.

An hour and a half later, you sit at the kitchen counter in their house, a mug in front of you. The house is quiet. You’re not sure why you’re still here- Lando went to bed a while ago, and Max had retreated to his room even before that. You’d made the excuse of staying to clean up the dishes, but now you’re just… here, still. Waiting. You should really go home. It’s bordering on midnight. If you walk home much later than this and any of the guys find out, they’ll be pissed.

The front door creaks open. Soft footsteps echo down the hallway, and you look up from your mug of tea. Oscar doesn’t seem surprised when he walks into the kitchen and finds you sitting there. He stops in the doorway, shoulders dropping. There’s a bruise shadowing his jaw. You wince.

“It looks worse than it feels,” he mumbles.

You stand up from the stool and head for the fridge. You can hear him walking closer as you rummage around in the freezer, finally finding one of the ice packs they keep in there. On a whim, you also reach into a cleverly disguised bag of frozen peas, and come out with two chocolate dipped ice cream bars. When you turn back to Oscar, items in hand, he looks perplexed.

“We have ice cream?” He asks, quietly.

You smirk. “Max hides them. But he can’t keep secrets from me. He won’t mind.”

He takes a seat on the stool, and you flip the switch for the overhead lights. He grimaces.

“I already had it looked at,” he says, brows furrowed. “Trainer said it’s fine.”

You hum as you step closer, pretending your heart doesn’t thud in your chest when you come into close range. “I know,” you say, reaching up and placing the ice pack against his face gently. He hisses. “This is actually an interrogation.”

His hand comes up to hold the pack, fingers brushing against yours. He laughs, then winces. “Yeah? What about?”

You drop your hand to your side. “Why didn’t you fight back?”

He sighs heavily, looking anywhere other than your face. You roll your eyes and open one of the ice cream bars and hand it to him. Then you sit down on another stool, facing him, before you open your own ice cream, too.

“I don’t wanna get suspended,” he shrugs. “And I don’t really fight.”

You decide not to bring up the guy at the party last semester and the way Oscar had been ready to punch him. “Even if they hit you first?”

He nods and makes a little noise. You wonder if he ever fought back when they were on the same team, or if he just accepted it. Your heart aches for him. He shrugs again, eyes flickering up to yours. He looks so sweet, despite the harsh kitchen light, despite the purple tinge on his skin, even more with a bit of chocolate in the corner of his lips. You take a bite of your own ice cream in the hopes that it’ll cool you down.

“Just never felt worth it,” he admits. “I don’t know. Some people are in it for that, for the hits and the fights and the… aggression. I just like hockey. Besides, the guy got a penalty. So now he’s out for a game. That’s better than getting a hit on him.”

The tone he says the guy in is interesting- like he’s distancing himself, like it’s easier if he pretends it was just some guy and not the captain of his old team. You overheard some of Lando and Max’s hushed whispers. You know the guy said some shitty things about Oscar on the ice. And tomorrow, he has to play the rest of the team all over again. Oscar takes another bite of his ice cream and purses his lips.

“I’m okay,” he promises. “And if the guys think I'm going easy on them because I have some weird sense of loyalty, I’m really not.”

“Oh, Osc,” you say quietly, shaking your head. You reach across the gap and press your hand to his wrist, the one holding the ice pack. “Nobody thinks that.”

He shrugs. “Carlos was-“

“Carlos was being a dumbass, but he doesn’t really believe it,” you promise. “After the game, all they were worried about was you. That’s it.”

He lets out a huff and takes another bite of his ice cream, cracking through the chocolate shell. “I don’t wanna be worried about.”

You almost pull your hand from his wrist, but as soon as he says it, he winces, closing his eyes. You wait, rubbing your thumb against his skin. He takes a deep breath. You press your finger to his pulse point, and his breath hitches. You watch his shoulders move.

“I don’t mean that. It’s nice. Just. Had a bad day,” he says. “And we have to do it again tomorrow.”

You nod and squeeze his wrist. “That’s the shitty thing about the way college hockey works, huh.”

He nods. The ice pack bumps against his face, and he hisses. You muffle a laugh and reach to put your hand over his to steady it, keeping your grip gentle. He inhales through pursed lips and closes his eyes. He slips his hand off the ice pack and lets you hold it, and blood roars in your ears. It feels so trusting. Strangely intimate. His hand falls to your knee, and you try to breathe normally. You’re probably failing miserably. You swallow all the feelings down and try to come up with something to say.

“Tomorrow is a new day,” you remind him. “We can wake up and pretend today never happened. A new game, a new start.”

He sighs and closes his eyes. “I can try.”

“That’s all anyone could ask for,” you tell him. “That’s all you can ask yourself for.”

A wavering smile crosses his lips. You take a bite of your ice cream to stop yourself from leaning in to brush your own lips against his cheek. The two of you eat the rest of your ice cream bars in the peace and quiet, under the fluorescent kitchen lights. His hand stays on your knee, barely there, just resting. Your fingers go numb holding the ice pack, but you don’t complain. You can hold this for him, for a little bit. He’s holding onto enough.

…..

You wake up on the couch the next morning with an ache in your neck, because by the time you finished the ice cream Oscar insisted it was too late for you to walk home, and you hadn’t wanted to wake Lando by sneaking into his room. Upstairs, you can hear the guys starting to wake up. Soon they’ll be donning their suits and heading to the rink to get ready. You push yourself to sit up and run a hand through your hair. Then you head for the front door.

Once you’re home, you call Lily. “I have an idea,” you say, ”and I need your help.”

Lily, to her credit, doesn’t ask a lot of questions. You’re sure she sort of understands what’s going on without having to ask, but you’re grateful either way. The two of you shuffle into seats in the arena, eager to watch. You’re wearing your jersey today, hoping it brings good luck, and you’ve both gone full out with lines of blue face paint under your eyes.

When they come out onto the ice, Lando’s the first one to spot you. He does a double take, nudging at Max’s shoulder. They both stare, heads tilted. You can’t blame them. Instead of your normal seats, the two of you are in the front row, right down by the boards.

You’d sit here every game if you could, but the tickets are outrageously expensive on a college student budget, especially when you can sit in the student section for free. Today, though, you’d splurged. There’s a poster board sitting at your feet that you’ve worked painstakingly on all morning. It needs to be seen, and for that, you need to be up close.

Lily lets out a squeak when Alex skates over. “Oh! Hi!”

You roll your eyes affectionately at your friend as she makes hand gestures at her boyfriend through the plexiglass. It’s too loud for them to hear each other, especially through the glass, but Alex’s big smile says more than words ever could. For what’s definitely not the first time, you find yourself wishing you could have what they have. You want someone to smile like that when they see you. You want to feel that giddy feeling.

Lando skates over, tapping his glove against the glass. You just shrug and laugh. He points at the poster board. You shake your head, and he rolls his eyes. It’s not for him. He’s not the one who needs it. Out on the ice, Oscar’s next to Charles, heads bent together as they stretch. Max skates over and points at you, and from this close, you can see Charles' affectionate eye roll, and the way Oscar smiles. He goes from apprehension to adoration quite quickly. Something turns in your chest. Lando, who’s still standing nearby, quirks a brow, and you wonder how plainly it’s written across your face.

While they’re all looking, you take a deep breath, pick up the sign, and raise it above your head. Alex bursts into giddy laughter, Lando’s shoulders drop, and Oscar’s face lights up like the sun.

Kick Some PiASStri, it says. The letters were cut out of magazines and glued down this morning, and you’re still a bit worried it’s not dry enough, but it seems to hold for now. Max and Charles bump their heads against each other as they laugh. Oscar shakes his head, absolutely beaming. It’s a new game, a new start, another day, another chance. And maybe, what he needs is a little bit of encouragement. A reminder that there are people rooting for him.

He skates over, playfully shoulder checking Lando, who’s talking to Alex, now. Oscar takes his stick and scoops up a loose puck off the ice. He flips it over the barriers to you, and you catch it, shrieking at the temperature when it lands in your hand. It’s nearly as cold as the icepack you held to his face the night before.The bruise on his jaw is visible as he looks at you through the glass, but he’s smiling so wide all the same.

He yells something. You can barely hear, but between that and the lip reading you’ve learned to do after years of watching hockey, you think he says something about his “number one fan.”

You just smile and laugh and hold the puck up in the air, hoping the giddy feeling in your chest isn’t painfully obvious. He puts a glove against the plexiglass, and you place your hand there, too, and you know you can’t but you swear you feel the warmth of him. It’s probably just your brain playing tricks on you. He shakes his head, then pats his hand against the clear surface, and then he takes off across the ice.

When you turn to Lily, she’s smiling knowingly. “That was…”

“Shut up,” you grumble, rolling your eyes. “I don’t wanna hear it. He just needed some encouragement.”

It seems to work. He’s on fire that night, skating across the ice like it’s exactly where he belongs. You’re proud to be there, proud to hold the poster up when he scores, proud to call yourself his friend.

After the game, you find yourself in the back hallway of the arena, waiting. You can hear the music in the locker room from here, can hear the intermittent shouting and cheering from the guys. The other team is long gone. Lily’s back at the house already, getting things ready for the inevitable big party they’ll be having after a win like this. The poster you’d made leans against the wall.

Oscar’s the one to find you. His smile seems permanently set on his face tonight. His hair’s a mess, towel dried and sticking in every direction. “You kicked ass,” you call out.

He doesn’t stop at the socially acceptable distance apart. He walks close, so close you have to lean your head back just slightly to look him in the eye, so close that you can smell his shampoo and see the freckles on his cheeks. His hands are in his pockets, and your heart is in your throat. There’s something wild in his eyes. The bruise on his jaw is dark, almost blue now, and you reach up to brush a finger against the outline of it. He blinks and pulls his hands from his pockets.

“It was nice to see you in the front row,” he says.

Your pulse is pounding. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. Those tickets are expensive. Just needed to make sure you could see the sign.”

He juts his chin out. “Yeah?”

You swallow, then nod. “Yeah. Did it work?”

He doesn’t answer. He just reaches out, and his hand lands on your hip. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye, and you hold your breath. His eyes search your face, darting between your eyes and cheeks and lips. You lean closer, closer. His cheeks are rosy and blotchy, from the game and the post game shower and- and maybe, from this, too. Is he feeling it, too? Is his heart racing, is he holding his breath, are there butterflies swirling around in his stomach?

Just when you think you can’t hold your breath any longer, he closes the gap, pressing his lips against your cheek. You wonder if he can feel how warm your face is beneath his lips, if he can hear the way your heartbeat picks up. It’s just a kiss on the cheek, but you let your eyes fall shut anyways, let the warmth wash over you, down your spine and all the way to your fingertips and toes. This is better than a thank you, better than anything, really.

There’s a loud bang of a door being flung open, and both of you break apart in a rush. You wobble, and he does his best to keep you steady. By the time you stand up straight, the two of you are standing a respectable distance apart, and the door to the hallway swings open. It’s Carlos, first, followed by the rest of the team. You try to compose yourself. Oscar’s face is bright red.

“Bunny!” Charles calls out, eager and bright eyed. “We won!”

Oscar backs away when Charles rushes up to hug you. Nobody comments on his red cheeks, or the poster sitting at your feet. You’re sure they’d teased him about it, but they won the game, so anything that got them there is seen as a good thing. Max is the next one to wrap you up in a hug, and soon you’re being pulled along in the stream of hockey players, out towards where the rest of their friends and families wait, out towards the walk back to the house where the party will already be in motion.

“Your face paint is smudged,” Lando says, pointing at your cheek.

You laugh and brush Lando’s hand away from your face. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Oscar wipe his thumb on his pants, as discreetly as possible, and your heart flutters in your chest. There’s a blue streak of paint left behind on the fabric. It’s some sort of evidence that it really happened. It’s enough, for now.

Later that night, when you’re falling asleep in Lando’s room after a long night of celebrating, you think of deep blue bruises and bright blue face paint, and how much you wish you’d gotten the chance to mix them both together. It would look nice, you think, as you drift off. Paint smudged on his rosy, freckled cheeks. It would’ve been nice.

You dream of Oscar. You’re definitely not complaining.

a/n: happy oscar’s birthday to all who celebrate! ��

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