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incognit0slut · 4 months

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Better for you

Spencer spends the change of year with a new resolution as he starts looking at his rival differently.

(THIS CAN BE READ AS A STANDALONE BUT IS TECHNICALLY A THIRD PART FOR LOSE CONTROL AND THE LAST LAUGH)

words: 4.6k Category: fluff (surprisingly this is not my usual NSFW work) warnings: kissing, suggestive content a/n: I’m killing two birds with one stone here. One, I caved in and did another part for this rival couple. And two, I wrote this as a participation in @imagining-in-the-margins office party writing challenge🥳 Here are the prompts: 1. The team hardly believes it when Character A agrees to dance with B. 2. “I just never saw you as a... party type of person."

WAS A PARTY SUPPOSED TO BE THIS BORING? A subtle sigh escaped her lips as she glanced around the backyard. When Rossi invited the team to gather around at his house in celebration of the new year, everybody was on board.

"Who would say no to a David Rossi party?" JJ had said, which led her to bring her family along the occasion. Even Simmons brought his wife and five little kids. And now Rossi’s place never looked so alive with this many people, it seemed that everyone was present at this joyful soirée.

Everyone but one person, that is.

She turned her attention back to the drink in her hand, leaning against the open bar Rossi had set up, her mind drifting towards a certain man. It wasn't like she was keeping tabs on him. Really, she wasn't. It just happened that his absence became surprisingly noticeable when he decided to take some time off work to visit his mom, even days before Christmas break.

How long had it been since the last time she saw him? Two weeks? Three? It seemed like a considerable amount of time had passed since she saw was forced to work with him, which happened during the case in a remote town. And despite successfully apprehending the Unsub days later, her resistance to temptation, unfortunately, wasn't as successful.

It was hard not to think of what happened during the travel when it kept playing in her mind like a broken record. It was as if the memories were engraved in her brain—his slick, sweaty body pressing against hers; his soft lips caressing her skin; his large hands roaming her curves, traveling to places that had her hot and wet—

What the hell was wrong with her?

She took a sip of her drink—or more like chugging it down—trying to test if the burning sensation could wash away her filthy mind.

"Whoa," a sudden voice broke through her haze and she looked up to find Luke standing close to her. "Easy there."

His easygoing grin met her gaze as he gestured toward her almost empty glass. She shrugged, aiming the glass toward him in a mock toast. "Just trying to enjoy the party."

"Yeah?" He chuckled, leaning against the bar.

She shot him a sideways glance. "What's it to you, Alvez?"

His grin widened. "Well, when someone's drinking like they're on a mission, it catches my attention. Everything okay?"

She hesitated for a moment before responding, her tone calm. "I'm just getting into the party spirit, you know?"

Luke raised an eyebrow, his playful demeanor unwavering. "Is that so? Or are you trying to drown out some thoughts?"

She scoffed. "Thoughts? What thoughts?"

"The kind that makes you chug down your drink."

"You're imagining things. I'm simply enjoying this..." Her eyes scanned the party, trying to find a word describing the ongoing festive. "...ambiance."

"Alone by the table full of alcohol?"

"Well, someone's got to keep an eye on these drinks from disappearing too quickly."

"Hmm," He responded. "It kind of seems like you're waiting for someone to join the party."

Her cheeks warmed slightly, and she scoffed again. "I know who you're referring to, and no, I am not waiting for anyone."

He leaned in, the mischief in his eyes unwavering. "So, you're telling me that if Reid walked in right now, you wouldn't do a happy dance?"

"Please, there would be no happy dance," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just a casual acknowledgment, maybe."

"Casual acknowledgment? You're going with that?" His grin widened, his teasing persistence unyielding. "There's nothing casual about you two."

"If you mean hating each other's gut, then sure, there is nothing casual about Reid and me."

"He doesn't hate you, you know." She gave him a deadpanned look, her skepticism evident in her arched brow. Luke laughed. "Fine, he disliked the idea of having another prodigy on the team. When he got out of prison, he felt like you were his replacement."

She frowned. "I kind of was. Emily wanted someone to fill in for his absence while he was away."

Luke raised an eyebrow, his expression turning thoughtful. "True, but I think you're starting to grow on him." She shook her head, trying to brush off the comment. "I'm serious, I think you made an impression."

Her skepticism lingered as she fully turned towards him, pointing a finger at him. "So you’re telling me every time he tried to pick a fight he was actually impressed by my intelligence?"

"Well, Reid's got this... unique way of expressing himself, but trust me, he respects you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Now you're just pushing it."

"There's got to be something more than what you're letting on. He's not exactly subtle, you know."

She leaned back slightly, trying to maintain composure. "You're reading too much into it. Reid and I have..." a complicated dynamic between coworkers who hate each other but had sex twice—well, three, including that one time in the shower. "...a professional relationship," she decided to say.

His grin widened. "Professional? I've seen the way you two spar during cases."

She huffed. "It's just our way of solving problems. It doesn't mean anything more."

Luke's expression turned thoughtful. "I've worked with him for a while, and he usually doesn't go back and forth with people in smart talk. There must be something about you that intrigues him."

"Or irritates him," she added dryly. "You're giving him too much credit."

"Maybe," he admitted with a laugh. "But I don’t know, he might surprise you one of these days."

She shot him a skeptical glance. "I highly doubt that."

"Yeah?" He suddenly looked past her, a sly grin forming. "Then maybe should find out for yourself."

Confused, she turned around to see what had caught his attention…. And time seemed to slow as her eyes widened in surprise when she spotted Spencer entering the party, a casual smile on his face as he greeted everyone. For a moment, their eyes locked, and despite her attempts to remain nonchalant, a subtle flutter danced in her chest.

She quickly looked away, her attempt to maintain composure falling apart.

"See what I mean?" Luke's voice broke through her thoughts.

She rolled her eyes, trying to deflect. "It's just a party, people look at each other. There's nothing special."

He raised an eyebrow and responded with a hint of sarcasm. “Sure."

"I'm serious. Stop reading into it."

"Alright, I won't."

That only annoyed her even more. She took a deep breath, attempting to regain control of the situation. "You're insufferable."

"What? I believe you," he replied. "I mean, nothing could've happened between two people who were locked together and then forced to share a room, right?"

She shot him a glare, but before she could say anything, she felt a presence coming up behind her. A sudden chill ran down her spine as she caught a whiff of scent she was accustomed to by now, something woody and fresh with a subtle hint of sweetness.

"Reid," Luke greeted as he gave her a side glance before moving towards Spencer, casually dropping an arm around his shoulders. "It's good to see you. How's your mom?"

Spencer's eyes met hers briefly before responding to Luke, "She's doing well, thanks."

“Good to hear.” Luke nodded his head towards her. "Y/n here was just telling me how much she missed you during the holidays."

Suppressing a groan, she shot him a warning look. Spencer, however, responded with a small smile. "You did?"

Her cheeks warmed slightly, caught off guard by his direct question. She feigned nonchalance, offering a casual shrug. "Please, I was just mourning the lack of someone to challenge my wisdom."

Luke chuckled and gave her one last pointed look before excusing himself with a pretense of Rossi calling him somewhere from the crowd. Her eyes narrowed on his back as he walked away, shaking her head in disbelief. "That man coming close to being second place on my hate list."

"I take it I'm still on your number one spot then."

She turned towards him at the sound of his voice, and now that they were alone, she finally took her time to observe him.

Her eyes scanned his clothes, taking in the details. From the carefully styled hair that hinted at the time he took to prepare, to the open dress shirt that he seemed unbothered to button all the way, exposing his long neck and the slight expanse of his chest. He looked good. He looked clean, polished, and undeniably handsome.

She blinked and cleared her throat, attempting to regain composure. "Well, you certainly took your time getting ready."

He met her gaze with a hint of amusement in his eyes, seemingly aware of her scrutinizing observation. "I believe in making a good impression," he replied, a subtle smile on his lips.

She arched an eyebrow, resisting the urge to acknowledge the effect his appearance had on her. "Trying to win over the crowd with something beyond your brain?"

"Partly," he admitted, "And partly because someone once told me that a well-dressed genius is a force to be reckoned with."

"Must have been Garcia."

He grinned. "You know her well."

She took another sip of her drink, a blend of sweet and bitter notes dancing on her tongue. Keeping her eyes on him over the rim of her glass, she observed the play of shadows on his face, accentuating the angles of his features. The ambient light from the party cast a subtle glow, and she couldn't help but notice how it highlighted the soft strands of hair that fell gracefully across his forehead.

"I'm actually surprised to see you here," she slowly remarked, her voice laced with curiosity.

"Surprised? Should I be offended?"

"I just never saw you as a... party type of person."

"I'm not," he agreed. "The only exception of social gathering I can endure is with everyone present here."

"Including me?"

“Especially you."

Her demeanor faltered for a split second, caught off guard by the unexpected turn in his tone. It wasn't the usual witty remark she anticipated. A flicker of surprise crossed her features before she could conceal it, her throat clearing as she attempted to regain control over her beating heart.

"Especially… me?" she echoed, attempting to mask the surprise in her voice.

Spencer's gaze held a warmth that felt unfamiliar, and he nodded. "It seems social events are more bearable when you're around."

She tilted her head and studied him. "You're just saying that because you have someone to pick a fight with."

"A fight?" He wondered. "Is that what we've been doing?"

"It's what we've always been doing."

"Not for the past few weeks, we haven't."

She knew what he was referring to. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of indulging in a conversation about their sexual escapades, she instead responded with, "Well, you haven't, I'm still trying to play my part here."

He chuckled softly, the sound resonating in the quiet space between them. "And what part would that be?"

"The one where I constantly question the liability of your knowledge, of course."

Spencer's smile widened, the lines of his face softening. "Maybe," he began, his voice low, "We can explore different roles that don't involve any fighting."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting a truce, Dr. Reid?"

"More like a change of tactics, Dr. L/n," he replied, gently taking the glass from her hand and placing it by the bar.

Her frown deepened, uncertainty in her eyes. "What are you doing?"

He nodded toward the center of the backyard where most of their team members filled the space of the party. "Dance with me."

She gazed towards the dance floor, then back at him, and her brows furrowed. That did not sound like the Spencer she knew, heck, she wasn't sure she had ever seen him dance before. Her eyes narrowed further when he gave her a grin.

"Come on, it's just a dance. It won't kill you," he urged, extending a hand towards her.

She eyed his outstretched hand with mock skepticism. "Are you implying that dancing with you is some kind of survival?"

Spencer grinned. "Considering the number of times you've survived my intellect, this should be a walk in the park."

She rolled her eyes. "Intellect, yes. Dancing? I'll take my chances."

"Are you afraid you'll step on my toes?" he teased.

"More like I'm afraid you'll step on mine," she shot back.

Spencer chuckled. "Just one dance, and if you don't enjoy it, you can revert to questioning the liability of my knowledge."

Her eyes drifted between his outstretched hand and his gaze, a silent contemplation unfolding within her. She knew that if she agreed to this, there was no turning back. Was it a wise decision? Probably not. But a small, rebellious part of her was curious to see how the night would unfold.

Spencer watched her with a patient expression, his hand still extended. The music continued to play, a steady beat that seemed to echo the pulse of the night, and after a moment's hesitation, she sighed in mock exasperation.

"Fine," she said, finally placing her hand in his, "But I reserve the right to make sarcastic remarks about your dance moves later."

"Deal," he agreed, leading her onto the dance floor with a grin.

She could feel everyone's scrutiny on them as he pulled her onto the dance floor, her breath hitching when he grabbed her other hand and placed her arms around his neck before snaking his arms around her waist.

"Everyone's watching us, aren't they?" she asked as they started to move to the soft beat of the music.

Spencer's gaze held a mischievous glint as he twirled her around, navigating the dance floor with surprising grace. "Let them watch," he replied, his voice low, sending a shiver down her spine. "It's just a dance, after all."

"You don't strike me as the 'just a dance' kind of person." She arched an eyebrow, unable to shake off the sense that there was more to this move than met the eye. "You don't even strike me as someone who even knows how to dance."

He shrugged. "Dancing is easy. All you have to do is move in circles and hold on to your partner."

He proved his point by pulling her further into his arms, and she couldn't help but notice the contrast in their heights. His broad chest pressed against her, the softness of his abdomen against her stomach, while his arms securely wrapped around her body.

Her breath caught for a moment, her gaze instinctively locking with his. The initial awkwardness transformed into a surprising ease, and she reciprocated the movements with a newfound confidence. The subtle sways and turns took on a rhythm of their own, syncing perfectly with the music that enveloped them.

"See?" he whispered, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down her spine. "Easy."

They continued to move to the rhythm, and she couldn't help but notice the intensity in his gaze. The world around them seemed to blur, and for a moment, she actually enjoyed being held close to him.

But before she could fully relax in his arms, JJ appeared on the dance floor, hand in hand with her husband Will. The look of disbelief in their friend's eyes was unmistakable as the couple approached them while being tangled in their own dance.

"Are my eyes deceiving me," JJ teased, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Or are you two getting along quite well?"

She rolled her eyes, attempting to maintain a casual facade. "It's just a dance. Don't read too much into it."

JJ's grin widened as she exchanged a knowing look with Will. "I didn't think I'd see the day when you and Reid would willingly share the dance floor."

She shot a glance at Spencer, and there was a momentary flicker of something in his eyes—was it surprise? amusement? She couldn't quite place it. Collecting herself, she responded with a mock grimace, "He forced me into it."

Spencer's expression turned playful. "I have a way of convincing people to do things they didn't know they wanted to do."

"You mean manipulate."

He chuckled. "Persuade, Y/n. It's all about perspective."

From the corner of her eyes, she saw JJ and Will exchanging another pointed look. "Either way, you both look like you're having a good time."

"And you both look good together," Will added.

"Thank you."

"We're not together."

They both looked at each other while JJ raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Yet here you are. Spence, you might have just discovered a hidden talent—getting Y/n to dance."

She let out a sigh. "Don't encourage him."

Spencer leaned in, his tone low. "You're just mad because you're enjoying this."

She narrowed her eyes. "Let's not get carried away."

"Come on, just admit it," The corners of his lips lifted in a playful smirk. "You're having more fun than you expected."

"Fun?" She scoffed, attempting to deflect the growing warmth in her cheeks. "I wouldn't call this fun. It's just an unfortunate consequence of being at a party."

"Yet you can't deny that you're not entirely opposed to the idea."

She shot him a glare. "You're dangerously close to overestimating your influence."

"Or maybe you're underestimating your willingness to enjoy the moment."

She shook her head, turning towards JJ. "Can you believe him—"

She stopped when she realized they had been left alone for a while, noticing JJ and Will were already at the other side of the dance floor. However as her eyes scanned around them, the scrutiny of the others didn't go unnoticed by her. She fixed her gaze back on Spencer.

"We must be such a sight to see," she remarked. "I bet they're starting some rumors about us."

He raised his eyebrows. "You think they haven't already?"

She sighed, acknowledging his words. "Fair point."

"What do you think they're saying about us?"

She considered for a moment. "That we secretly don't hate each other," she responded after contemplating her answer. "I think they might be disappointed when they realize the truth."

His arms instinctively tightened around her waist. "And what's the truth?"

She studied him, her heart suddenly beating fast. Weeks ago, she would have answered the question with certainty, stating that they were nothing more than coworkers who were both very stubborn. But as she felt his eyes watching her intently, she wasn't so sure anymore.

"The truth?" she echoed, her voice a little softer than she intended. "I don't know, Reid. What is our truth?"

He held her gaze, and for a moment, she was hypnotized by the look in his eyes. "Well, the part where we secretly don't hate each other is true, for me at least."

Her breath caught as she absorbed his words.

“…you don't hate me?"

"Hate is a very strong word." Spencer leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Hate is often fueled by fear or misunderstanding. It's a complex emotion rooted in our perceptions and experiences. So, in a way, hate is a reflection of the mind rather than a true evaluation of a person."

She couldn't help but let out a disbelieving laugh. "Did you just use psychology to explain why you don't hate me?"

"Considering our line of work, it seemed appropriate."

She shook her head in amusement. "Only you would analyze hate in the middle of a dance."

Spencer continued, "Well, understanding emotions is crucial in our field. And I believe there's more to us than mere hostility."

She pursed her lips together, her mind suddenly going through the times they often bickered. "I still find it hard to believe you didn't hate me the first time we met."

"Dislike would be a better way to put it. But I was at my lowest point at that time. It wasn't just you, I was angry at everyone. At the circumstances. At myself." He slightly leaned back and sighed. "And I admit, it was wrong of me to take it out on you."

Then after a moment of silence, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

She felt the warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against hers. The apology hung in the air and she found herself at a loss for words. For a fleeting moment, the walls she had built seemed to crumble, leaving her standing on the precipice of something unfamiliar.

She took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper, "And how do you see me now?"

Spencer's gaze held a thoughtful intensity as he considered her question. "I think you're someone who challenges me. There's a depth to you beyond the harsh glare and cold shoulder." He eased, pressing a hand on her lower back. "And, if I may say, someone who looks surprisingly stunning on the dance floor."

A blush crept over her cheeks, and she narrowed her eyes, wondering if he had another motive behind the compliment. "You're using flattery now? Are you trying to get in my pants again?"

He laughed. "Is it working?"

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. "Nice try, Reid. Flattery might get you far, but not that far."

His grin widened, and he guided her through the dance floor with ease. "Well, I'll have to come up with better tactics then."

His touch, gentle and deliberate, sent a shiver down her spine as his thumb traced an almost hypnotic pattern on the small of her back through the fabric of her dress. The soft caress felt both intimate and tender, catching her off guard. "I mean it though," he said, his voice a soft murmur that resonated with honesty. "You do look beautiful tonight."

There was something in his gaze that was unfamiliar, even hearing him easily compliment her was foreign in her ears. Her confusion must have been evident on her face because he smiled at her. "What?"

She shook her head, dismissing her thoughts. "Nothing. It's just... unexpected, coming from you."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her as they moved in sync with the music. "It's part of my New Year's resolution."

"What? To be nicer?" She guessed. "Be a better person?"

"To be a better person for you," he corrected.

Her heartbeat picked up, and she found herself drawing closer to him, the music weaving a subtle spell around them. The warmth radiating from him, the soft glow of the string lights, and the gentle melody created an intimate atmosphere that blurred the lines between the hostility she often wore.

The distance between them diminished, and she felt the subtle shift in the air. Without registering what she was doing, her fingers came up behind his neck, softly playing with the strands of his hair. They were so soft, just like the look reflected in his eyes. Then her gaze went down to his lips; they too looked incredibly soft.

"Stop looking at me like that."

Her eyes snapped to his. "Like what?"

"Like you want to close the distance between us," he whispered, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down her spine. "Because I'm trying to restrain myself from doing just that."

His fingers found the small of her back, pressing gently, while hers continued their silent dance in his hair. Every touch, every movement, fueled the escalating heat between them. His proximity was intoxicating, and the magnetic pull between them was undeniable. The distance diminished further until she could feel his breath, warm and inviting, grazing against her lips.

But before she could indulge herself, Garcia's voice echoed somewhere in the crowd. "It's the final countdown, people!"

Suddenly becoming aware of their surroundings, she released her arms from around his neck and shifted her gaze elsewhere. Her eyes landed on the projector screen, previously used by the kids for a movie marathon and now it displayed the vibrant scenes of people joyously ringing in the New Year celebration.

As the digital numbers on the screen ticked down, the energy in the backyard intensified. The countdown became a collective heartbeat, a shared anticipation that echoed through the crowd.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

In those final moments, she stole a glance at Spencer, their eyes locking silently.

"Seven! Six! Five!"

But his stare became so intense that she quickly looked away.

"Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!"

The cheers erupted, and the backyard was bathed in the glow of fireworks, the sky above adorned with bursts of color. She watched the dazzling display in awe, the explosions of light reflecting in her eyes.

Amidst the celebratory chaos, she noticed her friends wrapped in the arms of their loved ones, celebrating happily. JJ and Will shared a sweet kiss, Simmons was embraced by his family, Penelope and Luke exchanged laughter, and even Rossi, with a subtle smile, clinked glasses with Emily and Tara.

And as the colorful explosions painted the night sky, she felt a lingering gaze on her. Turning, she found Spencer watching her intently. His eyes were searching hers as if he were asking for permission to close the short distance separating them.

She knew what he meant. It was beyond asking permission to kiss her. It was a gentle plea to understand the unspoken boundaries that lingered between them. Engaging in intimacy behind closed doors was one thing, but to take that step in front of their peers meant exposing a vulnerability she had carefully guarded. Did she want to cross that line?

A part of her wavered, finding herself drawn to him—his warm brown eyes, his smile, everything about him seemed to call out to a part of her that she had kept guarded. The barriers she had meticulously built started to feel like fragile walls as everything around them started to fade, leaving only the soft glow of string lights and the distant echoes of laughter.

Oh, fuck it.

Feeling the pull of an undeniable force, she took a step closer with a small, bashful smile playing on her lips. It was all the answer he needed. Closing the distance between them, he framed her face with his large hands, his warm touch sending a shiver down her spine. Surrounded by the cheers of the crowd and the vibrant display of fireworks overhead, he finally leaned down, gently brushing his lips against hers.

Warmth spread through her body as he held her, his touch gentle yet possessive. He tipped her jaw, allowing his mouth to move along with hers. His tongue easily slipped into her as he continued to taste the subtle hint of liquor she had been drinking. Spencer was never one to drink, but he didn't mind tasting it on her. If anything, he couldn't get enough.

Her arms instinctively traveled underneath his suit jacket, seeking more of his warmth as she wrapped them around his waist. The fabric of his suit was smooth under her fingertips, and the heat of his body radiated through the layers of clothing.

The kiss deepened as he continued to explore her mouth, growing more intense with each passing second, and it wasn't until they heard someone through their haze calling out, "There are kids here!" that he finally pulled away.

He laughed, a soft, genuine sound and she couldn't help but join in. He then rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the small space that separated them. The lingering taste of their kiss hung in the air, and for a moment, they simply stood there. The reality of the situation slowly sank in, and they exchanged a glance filled with a mix of surprise and amusement.

"I guess we got carried away," he mumbled.

"You think?" She chuckled, her fingers playing with the lapels of his suit jacket. "We should keep it PG-13 for now."

His fingers gently traced the curve of her cheek. "Does that mean we can go R-rated later?"

She let out a laugh, throwing her head back in mirth. "You're relentless."

He smiled, savoring the moment of ease between them, and he found himself captivated by the genuine joy she radiated. His gaze traveled around the backyard and noticed everyone watching them with amused grins. He leaned down and pulled her flush against him. "Everyone's watching us."

She groaned and hid her face in the crook of his neck. "I can already imagine their teasing."

There was a moment of silence before he responded, "I think it's worth it."

"What is?" she mumbled into his neck.

He pulled away and looked down at her. In a tender gesture, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "I can handle the constant teasing if it means I get to hold you like this."

The corners of her lips curled into a soft smile. "You're willing to endure their teasing just to hold me?"

His gaze met hers, unwavering. "More than willing."

Her gaze softened as she looked at him. She couldn't believe how this night had turned out, yet, here they were—wrapped up in a dance of their own. It was a position she would've never imagined herself in. And despite her best efforts to resist, the walls she had meticulously built were crumbling.

"Can I kiss you again?" He whispered. "I promise I'll make it family-friendly."

The corners of her lips curled as she laughed. The unexpected turn of events had brought them to a place she never anticipated, but surprisingly, it felt oddly right.

"I suppose one more won't hurt."

His smile widened, and with a hint of mischief in his eyes, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. "Happy New Year," he whispered against her lips.

She found herself smiling, realizing that perhaps, unexpected as it was, this change of year wasn't so bad. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, and wondered where her life would take her this year. The path ahead seemed unclear, but one thing was certain—Spencer Reid had managed to find his way into her heart.

a/n: if you’ve followed the story since lose control, this is the ending for this short series. As much as I wanted to write smut again for the last part, the fluff was calling out to me :3

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weird-is-life · 3 months

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steve request🩷🩷

soo reader is drunk and at a party. maybe someone at the party calls steve who is her bestie to come pick her up. he’s out with eddie, robin and nancy at the time and they go and pick her up. because she’s drunk she��s so clingy with steve and doesnt want to be away from him and the rest of the gang make fun of him for it. he loves it really tho🩷

Ty for the request, lovely💕! Hope this is okay, warnings: fluff, use of pet names, mentions of parties, drinking, getting left alone by friends at a party, (0.6k)

Steve finds you sitting with your head down on the stairs of the house. The closer he gets to you, the louder the music is and he winces as he remembers how he used live for these kind of parties.

Now looking at you, he can only think of it as something he hates. Sure, the dancing, the drinks are fun, but getting left alone by friends isn't. Steve can't even count, how many times he was left alone at some party. It's too many.

He hates that your friends left you alone, but he's glad you called him, because he can now make sure you're gonna be okay.

He approaches you carefully, so he doesn't scare you, "Hi, sweetheart."

You immediately cheer up, lifting your head up quickly. You smile big at him and basically throw yourself around his neck, almost knocking him to the ground.

"Woah, woah, I'm happy to see you, too," Steve chuckles and hugs you back.

"Stevie, what are you doing here?" you ask happily. You called Steve to pick you up, which you clearly don't remember anymore.

"I came to take you home," he tells you amused, "c'mon let's get you moving."

Steve stands both of you up and you don't let go off of him, even as he starts to walk you to the car. And he's okay with that, he doesn't mind, that you've leaned with almost your entire weight against him.

What gets him a little flustered are your words. You start whispering all kind of nice words, compliments to him, that he's sure, you would be too shy to say sober.

By the time, you get to the car, Steve's cheeks are burning. He curses under his breath, because he knows, he's going to be teased even before he steps a foot into the car.

And he's right. Straight away Eddie, Robin and Nancy grin at him. You notice the three of them and smile drunkenly at them.

"Hi guys, you came, too?" you ask as you plop yourself without a care in the world next to Robin sitting in the back seat.

"Hi babe, " Robin greets you, while Steve squeezes in the seat next to you.

Your attention immediately goes from Robin back to Steve. You slide closer to him, as close as you can and you almost end up sitting in his lap. They all laugh at that.

"I missed you, Stevie, " you whisper, or more like you tell him very loudly, so the whole car hears it. Steve chuckles, because you were together few hours ago.

"I missed you, too." Steve tells you and puts one arm around you. You snuggle impossibly closer to him.

"I didn't sign up for this cuddle session, when I agreed to drive," Eddie mutters from the front of the car.

"Sorry, Eds. Did you want a hug, too?" you ask innocently.

"No, no, it's okay, you just keep hugging Steve. Lord knows how much he loves it," Eddie teases Steve again and Steve just glares at him. But it's true. He loves being close to you, maybe it's because he loves you. And maybe he'd get to hold you close more often, if he had the guts to confess his feelings to you.

"I love it, too, Stevie," you state and hide your face into Steve's front. It takes you only a few minutes to fall asleep, completely at ease in Steve's arms.

Steve can only smile and hold you tightly, as the blush comes back to his cheeks. He ignores the teasing smirks and looks from everybody.

Steve will survive the teasing, if it means he gets to hold you close. Anytime.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington

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millaaster · 2 months

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How They Treat You During Periods - Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Itadori Yuji, Fushiguro Megumi x Reader (Separate)

Summary: How some of the JJK men react to and treat you during periods!

Words: 1051

CW: SFW; Fluff; Domestic Fluff; Crack; Periods; Blood mentions.

AN: this a complex topic because everybody who menstruates has a different organism and a different dynamic, so this is very based on my own experiences, but i tried thinking about situations that could include more people ok :')

Please, do not repost or translate.

GOJO SATORU - More chill than you thought he would be. The first time you talked about it was when you had cramps during a date and tried to talk him out of doing anything.

He just came right out "Hey, there's nothing to be shy about! I'm just definitely not letting my woman suffer in front of me just to save face!"

He sits you down, holds you close and asks if you're ok. "If you don't have medicine on you, we can stop by a store to get it while heading to your place". Escorts you home, makes you tea and tucks you in to nap.

After you've been together long enough he's started getting real good at tracking your cycles and adjusting whatever plans you have. "Hm... honey, I've been thinking of taking some days off and heading to the beach, but next week would be no good for you right? Should we wait a little?"

He stuffs you in candy and treats if you're feeling down (sure he'll snatch some of those...).

One day you get a message from him:

"Babe SOS Do we have any first aid home? My nose is kinda bleeding...hehe"

"Toru!! You ok?? There should be some cotton balls in the bathroom"

When you get home you find him with a whole ass tampon stuck up his nostril...."Satoru!!! What the hell are you doing?!?"

"Oh hey, honey! Sorry, couldn't find the cotton balls but figured this was even better and it DOES work wonders!", he tells you with a proud grin on his face...

GETO SUGURU - Suguru may seem a little indifferent, but it's just that he doesn't want to step over your independence. He's trying not to overdo things and will only act after you actively ask for something.

That being said, if that's what you want, he's an expert in doing your chores and cleaning the house for you.

He was once doing the laundry and you caught him staring at your sheets.

"Something wron-" you gasp, realizing there's a big blotch of blood in it.

"Babe! You don't have to wash this one!" you cry, feeling your face burn red.

"What are you talking about? I was just trying to remember how to take off blood stains", lifting it out of your reach as you try to grab it. "Was it vinegar or lemon..." he mumbles, walking over to your kitchen cabinets.

He secretly enjoys that you get mellower and needy with him. You won't have to ask twice if you demand an extra tight hug.

Loves aromatherapy and gave you a whole kit with a diffuser and oils that ease pain and help with relaxation. If you don't use it he'll pout and nag non stop until you turn it on. "Suuuguu...you're giving me more headaches than my uterus right now dear..." "If you had it on from the start there would be no ache whatsoever, dummy!"

He's now GREAT with massages. You've always complained about how your back and thighs ache when you're menstruated, so he took some lessons to help you out with that.

NANAMI KENTO - With Nanami it's princess treatment all the way! This man thinks it's freaking amazing how you'll have to deal with this for so long in your life, through work and everything, and that you're badass for that. I mean, you're literally bleeding!!! That's concerning enough to happen to someone he loves.

So he'll put all the effort he can to minimize any discomfort you have on those days. As soon as it became a regular thing for you to stay over at his place, he purchased all sorts of tea, heat pads and asked you to tell him what pads or tampons he should buy to stock some.

He loves to have dates at home, so it's a win-win situation when you stay in; he cooks you something warm and lays around with you all day. "Is this position all right love?" While rubbing gently your stomach.

He also loves to give you useful gifts, so once he even went as far as to surprise you with a new care kit from a high end brand in a box full of products to pamper you.

The best to have around if you're out too. Never gets bothered if you have to go to the restroom too often and makes sure the place you're attending has good access to those.

ITADORI YUJI - Freaks out a little when you tell him you don't feel like going on a date because you're on your period. He forgot such things were a very real thing if he was dating you. Has the mindset that, as his S/O, your period is his period too!!

You're totally lost for words when he first tells you that.....he just means he feels responsible for your well being throughout this time.

Definitely asks Nobara for help on how to help you feel better.

He's a really active guy and always wants you to tag along and spend time with him, so he researched a lot about exercises that'll be better to practice during that time.

At some point in your relationship will text you:

"yo babe, I'm at the pads aisle what's your pussy size??"

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI - Also chill about it. An absolute angel when it comes to being patient to you, who turns into a SAINT if you're on your period.

He just knows that there are better times to deal with any stressful matters than now, so it's only love with this guy for a few days.

He prefers to talk to you in person instead of texting, but if you mention being on your period, you'll get the sweetest messages all day long popping up on your phone to check out how you're doing.

"Love, did you eat well?" "Hey, do you need anything?" "Sunshine, hope you're having a good day" “Never forget you’re amazing”

Secretly, has also consulted Nobara and his sister to get some tips on what he could do.

Gets his dogs to cuddle with you in bed, to keep your belly warm, if he's busy around the house.

He has a playlist with hours and hours of comfort movies you watch together when you don't want to leave the sofa/bed. He even watches your favorite shoujo with you if you ask!

A/N: also, yes, I do think Gojo and Geto being good parents (to Tsukimi, Mimiko and Nanako) have helped them learn about periods.

Interactions are always appreciated ☆* have a lovely day!

#milla a writes #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #nanami kento x reader #itadori yuji x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #geto x reader #nanami x reader #yuji x reader #megumi x reader

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forteafy · 8 months

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Where Do We Go? | CL16 & CS55

Summary: Charles will do anything to fix his marriage with you, Carlos will do anything to prove you're worth more. The question is where do you go between the two men fighting for your affection?

Word Count: 9.7k

Warnings: angst, a lotta angst, cheating, light smut, character death.

Note: You all really wanted a Part 2 to this one, and of course, I wanted to deliver! This is a little bit more angsty, we’re trying to save a relationship, after all. Or…are we? Also, a massive thank you to @formulaforza for proof-reading this for me and pulling me up on my addiction to italics; my brain is literally jelly right now. Enjoy, everybody!

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'

Carlos Sainz is a best friend.

Best friends, however, do not text a love confession to one another in the hours of a rising sun, especially not when their declaration is to a woman who is wrapped up in the arms of her husband.

The confession had run cold through your veins; if it hadn’t been for the sheer exhaustion taking over your body from the events of the past 48 hours, you were certain you would have been up the entire night, contemplating the words he had sent to you. He wasn’t drunk; far from it, the man had driven you down the dusky streets to your home mere hours before. Was he lonely? Did he feel sorry for you? More importantly, did he mean those precious words that had lit up your screen?

Eventually, the desire for sleep, for the warmth of your estranged husband’s chest pillowing your back overtakes your body. You hadn’t slept in a bed with him since the last day of your supposed honeymoon; even then, you had slept with an infinite gap between the two of you, cuddling instead into a pillow, rageful tears in your eyes at the realization that this was now your life.

This was entirely different. Charles pressed into you as if holding you together; his warm breath danced across the nape of your neck, a hand pressed into your stomach, cradling you between the warm blankets and soft cushions you had picked out when decorating your room. You didn’t rouse during the night, the two before had been filled with tears, constantly awakening to call for your mother as if you were a child again, the harsh realization that she wasn’t around anymore.

When you did wake, the bed was empty.

You had subconsciously turned in the blankets when you arose, expecting to see the figure of your husband next to you. The pillow was still rumpled, his glasses disappeared from the nightstand, every single trace of him had seemed to evaporate. Clearly, one night next to you had been a big enough mistake in his eyes.

Instead, your attention turns towards your phone. Silently, you remove the device from its charger, the homescreen being flooded with sympathetic messages and photographs of you arriving at your father’s home. Luckily, no photographs of Carlos picking you up himself had been released; that would have caused a frenzy which wasn’t desired on either side.

However, his last text to you that evening before still stayed burned into your screen. In curiosity, you’d once again opened the text thread, seeing th

e words stand strong, his confession to his feelings presents for your eyes. He had laid it out so clearly, Carlos Sainz was in love with you.

But, were you in love with him? You loved your family; you loved the smell of fresh candles. You adored the sounds of the fastest cars in the world racing around a track whilst you watched with ease. Did you categorize your best friend into the love you so carefully crafted? Was the desire you felt for contact solely directed towards him?

You never had time to answer yourself that morning. Your subconscious state recognised the sound of footsteps; it was most likely Charles, on his way to his own room for some private time. Maybe he’d have his mistress with him, having snuck out of bed early that morning to possibly go and pick her up himself.

The footsteps get louder, the door to your room opens, much to your confusion. In the doorway, stands your husband. You’ve never seen him like this; a soft smile, hair pushed back by a bandana, glasses resting on the bridge of his small nose. He’s dressed in a soft, grey jumper and matching tracksuit bottoms, fluffy socks warming his feet. In one arm, he cradles a washing bag. Upon closer inspection, you see that it’s your washing from the case you had lugged in the night before, ironed and folded. In his other hand, he holds a steaming mug of tea.

He looks beautiful like this, almost ethereal. He looks domestic.

“Good morning.” He speaks gently, as if any sudden sound would hurt you. You looked…so precious, covered in blankets, your pajamas covering your modesty. “I’m sorry I had to leave early. I went to get your washing done and…pick up some tea.” He offers, holding up the bag of washing in confirmation. Charles offers you a smile as walks into the room, placing the pile of clothing on your vanity. Cradling the mug of hot tea in his hand, he walks back over to where you’re now sat up, surrounded by soft furnishings, offering you the drink which you gladly accept.

It's a mediocre cup of tea at best; the teabag hasn’t diluted properly, there’s too little milk and too much sugar. Yet, the fact he had made the drink himself caused your heart to soften, despite the past twelve months of actions. You offer him a soft ‘thank you,’ as the drink touches your lips. You’re half-expecting him to stand up and leave immediately. Instead, Charles sits himself down on the edge of the bed, making certain he doesn’t sit on your outstretched legs.

There’s a moment of bliss; you’re somewhat enjoying the drink cradled in your hands, your husband’s eyes trained on your movements. At one moment, he reaches out his hand towards your face. You flinch, not too sure on what was happening, before his palm simply tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You can’t bring your own eye gaze to meet him, simply focusing on the hot drink in your hand. You can’t help but notice the way his shoulders fall, clearly not satisfied with the lack of eye-contact.

You can’t help it; it’s as if Charles believes with one night wrapped in his arms would solve the past twelve months. You couldn’t forget, not everything that had happened. Your husband had shattered this relationship, well and truly. He could only hope he’d realised in enough time to somehow win you back. Silently, he stands up from the edge of the comforter, walking towards the vanity, beginning to remove the clothing from its basket. It’s… humorous, to see him try and figure out where each category goes. It’s also a stark reminder of how this is ‘your’ room, not ‘our’ room.

Whilst picking out a rather revealing pair of panties, folding them up and placing them into your draw, he begins to speak again. “What are you doing this afternoon?” His voice is soft, but in the silent room it carries well.

You shrug, before realizing Charles has his back to you. “I’m…nothing much.” You cut yourself off, placing the cup of tea on your bedside table, letting your hands pull up the comforter a little higher. “My father is going to the funeral parlor today.” Are you…having a conversation with your husband? “How about you?”

“I have lunch with the Ferrari team this afternoon. Nothing serious, just a talk on the next part of the season.” He explains. Charles isn’t stupid; he knows despite your father’s input that you constantly worry about his job. Not because you care about his fame, wealth or power; you care about him.

“I was,” he takes a breath. “I was wondering if you would like to come along.”

You feel goosebumps prickle across your exposed skin. Charles Leclerc never invited you to his lunches. He’d always have a reason as to why his darling Mrs. Leclerc could never attend their lunch meetings alongside him. The only time you’d ever appear by his side, fingers harshly interlinked and a cold barrier between you both was when your father insisted upon it. He wouldn’t be there today, there was no way he’d be present for any form of meeting for a while now.

“You don’t have to, of course.” His explanation runs further. “I know it might be too much for you now. I just thought…maybe we could go for a drive after. Carlos and Xavi will be there, you’ll know some of the others from the Paddock…” His voice trails off in your mind. It had started to the moment he had said the Spaniards name.

Were you… ready to see Carlos? The day after a text message you had never thought you’d see. Would he acknowledge the message, was it a drunken mistake? Most importantly, did you want him to love you?

When you come back out of your trail of thoughts, Charles is still talking, carefully hanging one of your summer dresses onto a velvet coat hanger. He takes a moment to brush the fabric under his fingertips, feeling the soft cotton under his touch. He’s so gentle. The touch is almost identical to the way he had held you mere hours ago.

“I’ll come.” You cut him off, watching as his head snaps in your direction, eyes bright underneath his glasses. “Yeah. It will be…nice.” You finish your sentence, trying not to ramble or to float off topic. Charles’ eyes are still bright, elated you had decided to come alongside him. All he had to do now was fix every other mistake spanning over twelve months.

Carlos Sainz is a red-wine gentleman.

You’d immediately spotted him the moment you had entered the waterside restaurant; his back was to the entrance, but you’d recognise the powdered blue shirt and dark wisps of hair in any circumstance. You could have just walked over, stood next to him and ordered a drink, but your fingers stayed tightly interlocked with your husbands, a force of habit in public at the current rate.

However, his grasp, like the entirety of his actions over the past twenty-four hours, was different. Charles’ thumb gently stroked over your knuckle, his fingers gently resting against yours instead of the firm grip he usually held for the sake of actions. He’d taken a moment to look at you before entering the building, something he’d never done in the past, simply having dragged you into whatever location instead. It was as if his eyes told you a million things; that he had your back and the moment you wanted to leave, he was right behind you.

The moment you’re in the presence of company, the façade still comes alive, the act you had been creating for all this time is still a force of habit. Charles’ hand comes around your waist, greeting the many members of the Scuderia Ferrari team, thanking them for his time and attention to the matter. As always, you tactfully excuse yourself from the side of your husband, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and removing yourself from the crowd. Usually, he wouldn’t so much as flinch from the chaste action, but you don’t miss his eyes longing for you to stay this time.

Instead, your heel-clad feet press through the tiles of the place, making advancements towards the white marbled-bar. You receive a nod from the friendly-looking gentleman mixing cocktails, a silent signal to let him know when you’re ready. Maybe you stand too close to Carlos, so much so that you can smell his cologne, you can feel his body warmth radiating through that shirt. It doesn’t take long for him to notice your presence, his eyes widening upon the realization that it was, in fact, you–the woman he had confessed his feelings to less than twelve hours ago.

“I didn’t realize you’d be here, Mariposa,” he taunts, pulling you into his side. You’re grinning immediately, happy to be reunited with your close friend after how he had left you last night, promising he’d be there if you needed anything. “Come to make sure your husband behaves?”

“No. I came to see how his teammate is behaving.” You let him ponder for a moment, but he realizes, the blush growing from his neck to his cheeks. “I’m a married woman, Carlos.” You remind him but make no attempt to move further away. The idea is completely eradicated when his hand comes out to rest on the small of your back. His eyes are still fixed on you. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not fair to you. He couldn’t care less about his teammate’s position, the way he’s treated you all this time leaves a sour taste on his tongue.

“Your marital status doesn’t change the way I feel for you.” He thinks back to that moment in the ocean. What on Earth would be happening if he had kissed you at that moment? He could never be certain, but something tells him you’d be his date to this luncheon right now. Sighing, Carlos turns to face you directly, the bottle of wine he had originally come to pick up having been left on the counter.

“I’m going to ask you something, and you don’t have to respond.” He tries to keep his breathing calm, your presence practically overpowering him. “But...I would love to take you out for a date sometime. A proper date. With flowers and dinner and being able to make you smile.” Your heart is softening by the moment with the Spaniard’s pleads of everything your husband had never given you. “Would you like that?”

“I would.” You don’t even have to think of your response. “I would like that, Carlos.” At that moment, your estranged husband is the last thought of your mind; instead it’s overpowered by the fantasies of a date with the man standing in front of you. This time, Carlos can’t help the grin on his lips, reaching for the bottle of red wine on the bar. His careful hands carefully unlatch the stopper, the liquid hitting two crystal glasses, one of which he passes to you.

“Well, shall we toast the idea, no?” he holds up the glass delicately, to which you raise your own, grinning at the satisfying sound of clinking crockery. When you take a sip of the rich red, you’re blissfully unaware of your husband’s eyes; the ones which are never attached to you, but in that moment, don’t want to focus on anything else. Nobody misses the way he purposely sits between yourself and his teammate, fingers interlocked into yours tightly, the occasional kiss on the temple of your head.

You were his wife, after all.

Carlos Sainz is a brilliant cook.

The intimacy between yourself and your husband had oddly grown within the past week. To start, his messages became more frequent, checking in when he couldn’t be at the house. Your pantry had stocked overnight, begging for your home cooking whenever he could be there to sample it. Most importantly, the interaction. You’d been hesitant to even let your husband touch you in the beginning. You had kept it simple, a hug before you’d headed off to bed in your room, (sleeping in the same bed as him had been that one-off.) His arms would find their way onto your waist if you were cooking, his fingers would tuck a lock of hair behind your ear when you found yourself engrossed in studies.

Your husband had been elated when you had spoken to him two days before he was due to leave for Qatar, announcing you would like to attend alongside him; it was also your father’s wishes to attend that race, wanting to signal to his fellow associates that he was okay, that you could pass on a message from your family. Charles’ eyes had glossed over with happiness, taking your hand in his own, pressing a kiss to the back of your knuckles.

You were ready for your entrance to the Paddock 72 hours later; after arriving in Qatar, you’d barely seen anything from the transport from his jet to the hotel. Your eyes had grown heavy the moment your feet were removed from their shoes, two large beds welcoming you with their soft blankets and heavy pillows. (He’d made sure to give you the sleeping space that you needed.) Charles’ heart had softened when he’d seen you curl into one bed. When he returned from the bathroom, you were out like a light.

It didn’t stop him from gently rubbing a makeup wipe over your features, knowing you’d regret your lack of attention to appearance in the morning. Hesitantly, he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your hairline, one hand stroking over the back of your head before he returns to unpacking both yours and his suitcase.

You had been hesitant of attending the Paddock alongside Charles that morning, not because you were worried of the bombarding questions. No, this was the first time you had attended the paddock with a husband who seemed comforted by your presence. His heart felt gentle when he saw you look out of the front windscreen, eyes transfixed on the countless photographers standing by the barriers. Immediately, his hand finds yours, resting atop your thigh, the hot weather pleading for a cooler outfit.

“You don’t have to do this.” He removes his sunglasses, those ocean eyes finding your own. “You can wait here, or I can have somebody drive you back to the hotel now.” He promises, the worry flickering over his face. Your hand removes itself from his firm grasp, instead reaching forward and resting your hand on his bristled cheek.

“I’m okay.” You promise him, thumb dancing over his soft cheekbone. He offers you a soft smile, eyelashes fluttering as your face gets closer to his; you have no panic leaning over the console of the hire-car, gently pressing a warm kiss to the cheek your hand wasn’t resting upon. You can’t help but hesitate when you pull back from his face, lingering within mere millimeters of his lips for a long moment; you could just lean forward, press your lips to his and give into all those nights you had dreamed of. But this wasn’t a dream; this was your husband whom you needed to fix a relationship with first.

Charles isn’t going to lean forward and kiss you himself, not until the signals you are giving him are crystal clear. Instead, he presses his forehead close to yours, tips of your noses gently brushing against one another before he steps out of the car, and you’re quick to follow.

This time, he doesn’t walk in silence, ignoring your presence. Instead, as the two of you flash your paddock passes towards the security guards, he’s openly commenting on different happenings around Media Day, both of you falling into giggles upon seeing Toto Wolff’s broken arm; he was truly beginning to become an icon at the local emergency room. You’re happy. Subdued in a bubble alongside your husband, hands interlocked as you work your way through the paddock.

You’ve never experienced such a harsh blow to reality when you see an all-too-familiar figure lurking outside of the Williams Racing building. Her hair is shorter, her skirt is skimpier and a ghastly color. However, she still looks beautiful. She is undoubtedly the woman you’ve fought and lost your husband’s affection from, his mistress.

Charles seems to clock less than a moment after you do, both bodies freezing upon notifying her presence. You seem to have a quicker reaction time, despite being in the presence of a world-class Formula Driver. Immediately, you rip your grasp from Charles’ hand, showing him no emotion as you step away and into the Ferrari Building. You’re fortunate enough to avoid most of your fathers’ colleges, only once having to stop to give a sympathizing message of your mothers’ passing, the words being used are minute compared to the ache in your heart for her presence.

When you reach the top of the dark stairs, almost certain you can hear Charles’ voice below you. He’s searching for you now, but instead is overwhelmed by the amount of people in his presence. You’re able to sneak through the makeshift corridor, finding a large number ’55,’ pressed onto the door. You don’t even think, opening the door to a very tanned, very shirtless Carlos Sainz.

He's so… toned. The natural light from the window is reflecting beautifully onto his chest, broader than you’d last seen during your adventures at sea. His shorts hang low on his waist, making no attempt to shift his body despite your appearance. Instead, his dressing is overtaken by his concern for your face, immediately dropping the shirt fisted in his right hand, taking your gentle face in between both of his palms. You didn’t even realize the tears resting on your cheeks, the fear glossed over in your eyes that you’d ever trusted Charles.

Carlos doesn’t need to ask; he saw her on his own entry to the Paddock. Admittedly, he had to double-take; surely Charles wouldn’t have the audacity to bring his mistress to the other side of the world. He didn’t bother to glance in her direction too long, instead greeting the Ferrari team, excusing himself to go and get changed for their upcoming press appearances. In this moment, he’s held you against his bare chest, hushing you gently as one hand threads through your hair. Your mind is overwhelmed, from seeing your husband’s mistress, but from being pressed against his oh-so warm chest.

You don’t even realize, but your palms are resting on his chest, his skin so soft beneath your touch. Carlos gently hushes you, tilting your head up to face him, still cradled in his grasp. He could so easily reach forward, claim you there and then, but he realizes in that moment, under your soft touch and those doe eyes, you are the one who has claimed him. After a moment, he pulls back, motioning for you to follow him towards the couch, littered in Spanish-themed cushions and the enormous chili plushie you had bought him several months ago.

You can’t help the slight disappointment when Carlos eventually slips on his Ferrari Polo; however, you are interested when he reaches for his small fridge, pulling out a neat lunchbox, motioning for you to grasp it whilst he reaches for another. Curiosity takes the better of you, gently unclasping the lid of the Tupperware box. A beautiful aroma overtakes your senses, a carefully crafted meal nestled into the lunchbox. The Spaniard can’t help but grin at your reaction; sometimes something as simple as a homemade meal could lift your spirits.

And that’s how you spent the next forty-five minutes, sat on the sofa of Carlos Sainz’s driver room, the man sat on the floor as the two of you exchanged bites of food. There’s one particular moment where you offer him a spoonful of your lunchbox, watching as he arches his torso towards you.

It’s almost…sensual, the way his lips wrap around the top of the spoon, maintaining sole eye contact as he retracts his mouth from the utensil, letting his tongue trace around his lips for a chase of the taste. He knows what he’s doing; in his mind, all he wants is to show how adored you could be, to show he could be everything your husband never was.

It isn’t until Charles is finally free from the bombarding questions of his sponsors that he finally locates you in Carlos’ room. The man isn’t oblivious; he can see that the two of you have grown undeniably close. He can’t bring himself to say anything on the matter. He knows, in his heart of hearts, he has no right to make any assumptions; he was the one who had spent hours with a mistress, after all. Silently, he opens the door to the driver’s room, your figure perched upon the sofa, a grin plastering your soft features. You looked happy.

You looked like the most beautiful girl he had seen in his life.

You acknowledge his presence after a few moments, standing up from your place on the sofa, insisting the man tries Carlos’ cooking. It takes less than a few blinks of your eyes for him to submit, taking the spoonful off your utensil, making a comment towards his teammate that he would have to give him some lessons at some point. The man says nothing, simply nodding in a passive agreement.

There’s a sharp call for Charles after he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. He shoots both you and his teammate an apologetic look before he makes his way down the corridor, gently closing the door behind him as to give you a sense of privacy; the last thing he wanted was to have you plastered all over social media pages when he knew it would purely be used for publicity purposes.

You’re still smiling when the door closes, your back to Carlos’ front. “He seems to like you-“

You were destined to never finish that sentence. Within a split moment, there are warm hands, rough hands resting on either side of your waist, twisting your body within his grasp. He takes two steps backwards, enough pacing to have your back pressed against the closed door: the coldness of the wood contrasting violently with the heat radiating off your best friend.

He couldn’t hold any emotion. Carlos Sainz wears his heart on his sleeve. That much is adamant, from the way his text messages were drafted, to the way he tilts his head, meshing his lips to your own.

They’re surprisingly soft; there’s nothing soft in the way his hands grasp at your waist, the way his body is pressing so deeply into yours. Yet, as his lips continue to entrance yours, they feel like clouds; a gentle stroke of a paintbrush. His artistry continues when his kisses get deeper, one of his hands enclosing yours, bringing it to rest around his shoulders, pushing the two of you closer together. Your other hand is interlocked by his, being stretched above your head, pinned to the door you’re resting upon.

He's waited so long for this, before lunch, before your moment in the sea. He’s wanted this since the moment you walked into the Ferrari Paddock alongside your father, you must have been etched into his heart.

Carlos isn’t thinking; his kisses are becoming rougher, one hand blindly reaching for your leg, almost bare from the shorts you had opted from your wardrobe earlier. He guides it to rest upon his hip, grunting when he can feel his hardened crotch press between your legs. His reality comes crashing down when he feels the cool band on your fingers entangling in his hair. Your wedding ring.

Ragged breaths, panting, he pulls away from your lips, pressing his forehead to your own in a sheer plea of comfort. Both your breaths are synchronized, both grasping for some form of air in the room.

“You’re everything, Mariposa.” He whispers, closing his dark eyes, enjoying his moment, taking every opportunity to imprint the feeling of your body, of your lips into his mind. He prays this won’t be the last time he holds you this way.

Carlos Sainz is a fast texter.

In the moments after you had shared the intimacy, hidden away in his driver’s room, he’s gone into a sheer panic. He’d overstepped, he’d made an advancement on you at your most vulnerable. When he had left for the press alongside your husband, he didn’t have a single chance to pull you aside, not when you had left the moment after the duo had been pulled into their press conferences. Simply, you were not waiting around to catch glimpses of the mistress, still proudly flocking around the Paddock as if it was her home.

It had taken a matter of moments to request a car home, having slipped out of the Ferrari building, talking to one of your father’s colleagues about your departure. Silently, you paced out of the building, a direct beeline towards the car park, head down from the ever-present photographers.

You hadn’t expected a text from either your husband or his teammate, considering that they were both in press conferences until further notice. However, when you had felt and grasped the device in your shorts, you had immediately noticed the soft vibrations, pulling your device out of your pocket, your eyes being illuminated by the screen of your phone. Two text messages. One from your father, one from Carlos. Your attention is drawn to the latter, curious on what your best friend has to say.

11:32: Carlos Sainz:

I’m really, truly sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I haven’t seen Charles yet to let him know you left. You don’t have to see me again if you do not wish.

11:36: You

It wasn’t you at all, I promise! I was aware that Charles’ mistress was about, I couldn’t stick about for that.

Carlos messages you back, almost immediately. You’re confused, considering he is due to be in press alongside Charles. He could be having a break; he could have completely skipped out on several media appearances.

11:38: Carlos Sainz

I wish you could have stayed longer. I meant what I said, every single word. Please let me know if you need anything.

11:41: You

I know, C. I appreciate it, even if I express it terribly. I’ll always be here for you, too. Always.

You never get to see the next message that Carlos sends to you. Instead, your phone starts ringing, an incoming call from your father. You’re certain that the chauffeur won’t mind you taking the call whatsoever, holding the device to your ear as your father’s tone fills the void, his words becoming numbing as he runs through the details of your mother’s funeral, the tears in his voice beginning to swell heavily.

Charles had left the Paddock as soon as he got notice of your departure. He hadn’t bothered to message, his sole focus being on returning to the hotel, to find out what on Earth had happened to you. He was fortunate enough to escape the wandering eyes of his ex-mistress, how on Earth she had gotten into the Paddock for that race was beyond him, especially since he had ceased contact from that day.

The car arrives swiftly outside of the hotel; immediately, Charles is rushing through the back entrance, beelining for the staircase; waiting for an elevator at this moment would be too much. Within moments, he’s fumbling for his key card, pushing the door open, his heart shattering at the vision in front of him.

You, his wife, sat on the edge of one of the king-size beds; your head is buried into your hands, heavy sobs racking through your body. He can see the goosebumps littering your skin, the solemn shakes running through you, the trauma of losing somebody you cared about so deeply, combined with a cocktail of emotions from your entrance to the Paddock had become too much.

He doesn’t care about boundaries, not at this point. Immediately, Charles has crouched in front of you, his gentle hands reaching to grasp around your wrists. There’s a flinch at the sudden contact; your skin had overheated from the sheer energy of crying; your husband’s cool touch was a stark contrast which made you shiver. Delicate touches pull your hands away from your eyes. They’re so red, so swollen. Had he ever made you react like that from his own actions. The Monegasque doesn’t want to question that right now, he can’t even bring himself to look into your broken eyes. Instead, he feels as your arms wrap around his neck, hiding your face in his neck, craving for somebody to just…hold you.

Your husband has no issue in that desire; he lets you remain like that, Charles on his knees whilst you cling to him, the tears dampening through his shirt. One hand slides across your back, kneading gentle circles into your skin. At some point, you move onto the bed, the man lying back on the soft furnishings whilst you rest your head on his chest, arms encircling you as if he could hold you together, until the storm in your mind passes.

When the tears subside, you finally find the energy to look up to your husband. He hadn’t reached for his phone, tried to find some form of entertainment whilst he held you to his chest for hours. Instead, his gaze had been fixed upon you, brushing a gentle stroke over your cheek, his fingers dancing against your skin, brushing away the tension from heavy lines and sobs. When your eyes do open, you’re greeted with a soft smile, Charles leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

“Do you need some water?” His concern is to bring you back up to health; now the tears have stopped, he can do this. “I can order some food; would you like that?” His voice is so quiet, as if a simple loud sound could shatter through your veins. You can’t muster up more than a nod, your body becoming colder when Charles’ gently shifts away, sitting up so he can reach for the telephone. His voice is so mesmerizing, speaking down the line as he requests different foods; he doesn’t mind how much he orders, if he can coax you into even eating a little, the man will be satisfied.

The call finishes, but the man doesn’t sink back down into his previous position. Instead, whilst he remains sat up, Charles guides you to join him, your body still aching from your emotional breakdown. He murmurs under his breath as he pulls you into his lap, your body is tense until his strong arms wrap around your waist, the warmth instantly allowing you to relax, lean back into his firm chest.

“I’ve wanted to speak to you for a few days.” His voice is soft, but the phrase causes you to feel a sharp panic dance down your chest. Surely, this can’t be good. The relationship had evolved from barely speaking to intimate conversations within a span of two weeks. You try, try so hard to keep a clear mind as your husband continues to address you.

“How I’ve acted…how I treated you, all that time-“ He must stop himself, trying not to let his own emotion overpower his words. “I’m never going to be able to take it all back, and I will never be able to stop apologizing for it.” His whispers, his eyes growing misty with regret. “I will never forgive myself for how I treated you, nor do I ever expect you to forgive me. But…I want to try. I want to try and spend the rest of my days as you husband. I know…it won’t be overnight, but I’ll do anything, anything for you.”

The tears are rolling down your own cheeks now; never, in your wildest dreams, did you expect for Charles to speak those words of affirmation to you. His hand moves cautiously, to your face, wiping the tears which were pooling across your features.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, letting one of his hands remain on your cheek. The man leans forward, pressing gentle butterfly kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose…he pauses, mere inches from your lips. He wants to kiss you; he’d promised himself he wasn’t going to push you; his mind and his heart are complete opposites.

His mind goes into overdrive when you lean forward and press your lips to his own. They’re salty, slightly chapped, but undeniably something he has been craving for oh-so-long. Charles is immediately kissing you back, his grip around you tightening, keeping your body close to his own. Carefully, he shuffles the two of you back into a lying position, never once breaking the kiss, tumbling back onto the mattress.

Of course, you don’t miss his grumble of annoyance when the food eventually arrives.

Carlos Sainz is a gentle kisser.

An autumn breeze was strong on the dreaded day; the funeral had rolled around way too soon for your liking. Rows of family connections, close and distant friends lined the outside of the cemetery, eyes all transfixed on the black hearse rolling into view. Murmurs were pressed into silence, a bitter air all-too present as the ivory coffin was removed from the vehicle. Your elder brother and two cousins were to assist in carrying the piece into the church. Plans were soon suspended when the eldest of your siblings collapsed into tears, head in his hands upon the sheer realization that this was it.

Your father is desperately looking around, practically praying outside a place of worship that the eldest could pull himself together; it’s impossible. Whilst one of your arms is occupied, holding the hand of your young sister, the other gently wraps around his torso, comforting him in the ways he had done for you when you were nothing more than a young girl in messy braids and mismatched socks.

His wife stood on his right-hand side, adamant on consoling the man as you were, a caring hand running across his back. Your husband stood next to your sister, her childish eyes blinking in confusion; just like you, she had never seen her brother this inconsolable.

Charles feels a pain wash through him, he wants nothing more than to help his dear family through this moment. Maybe the act he was playing for so long was just a way of shielding himself from caring. Now he had bared his soul towards you, pleading for a second chance, the man wanted to be there for you, in every sense of the word.

He murmurs something incoherently, stepping away from your side, leaning towards your father’s ear. Whatever he mumbles is met with a sharp nod, a firm pat on the shoulder in confirmation. Your husband keeps a firm gaze on the coffin, not catching your own eyes as he walks towards the piece to join your cousins. There’s a quick whisper between the men, before the ivory is shuffled from the car, resting on their suit-clad shoulders. Silence falls over the attendants as your mother is carried into the church, immediate family following closely behind. Hesitantly, your eyes look to the crowding people, and as if by fate, you see his dark eyes, the fluffy curls brushed back to conform. He shouldn’t look that good in a dark suit.

Most noticeably, his gaze isn’t fixed on the church, on the six men carrying your mother. It’s transfixed on you.

The service is beautiful, if you can describe it like that. Flowers are placed atop of your mother’s coffin, the service of words correlating to her soul, the hymns sung were always her favorite when you had frequented church as a young girl. However, there’s a turning point. When the priest begins to speak of her dear children, tears pool in your lower lash-line. You want to take the time for yourself, to mourn, but louder sobs are emitting from next to you; the youngest child is beginning to realize her mother is truly gone.

You’re torn; pulling her towards you would only make you cry harder; you had already seen your father and brother fall apart, silently knowing you would have to be the one to wait by the door, thanking the copious guests for attending. Her tears are suddenly quietened when you see her gently shuffled into Charles’ lap; despite the estranged relationship for the past twelve months, he’d always had a soft spot for your sister, she reminded him of when Arthur was young. Whilst her tears turn softer, he runs a hand over her back, letting the young girl rest her heavy head in his sternum.

The open gap in the seating allowed for you to shuffle closer towards your husband, his free arm wrapping around your torso. You had to remain sitting up straight; his presence right now would have to be enough for your comfort. To any unassuming eye, you would probably look like a family, the crowds of attendants would have no idea of the true story behind your marriage. Even on the darkest days, the narrative was played well.

When the service draws to a close, final prayers are spoken. The first to rise are your father and brother, both clinging to one-another as they must leave the building. Silently, you pull yourself away from your husband’s grasp, smoothing the skirt of your dress. Charles remains seated, your sister practically passing out atop of him. Today had been a heavy day for a child, after all.

There are rows of people pausing to console you on your loss whilst you stand at the door of the church; friends you had known for oh-so-long, members of the Scuderia Ferrari team; you had never seen Fred Vasseur cry, but the redness of his eyes told you something completely different as he took one of your hands in his, squeezing it in apology.

The pews filter out silently, a large group of the guests making their way back to your father’s home, the wake soon to begin, a blessing and want of your late mother. Sharp footsteps are emitted through the church, the penultimate duo being your husband and sister. He was still carrying her, head resting on his shoulder, almost completely asleep. Charles smiles at finally seeing you, using his free hand to run across the back of your head.

“I’m going to take her back.” Charles explains to you. He understands you don't need the pressure of looking after her atop of everything else bound to come your way. “Let me know when you’re done here, please?” Silently, you nod, no hesitation needed as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, bidding you farewell as he paces out of the church, holding your sister tightly in comfort.

You believe that’s everybody, ready to collect your belongings and thank the priest for a heart-warming farewell. Before you can even think to turn around, there’s a light cough, emitting you to spin on your heel.

He’s there. Still clad in his designer suit, hair pushed back behind his ears. Undeniably, Carlos Sainz looks good in any situation. He holds your bag in one hand, the other reaching out to clasp around your wrist. You gasp at the warm skin pressing to your own, heat radiating through your body. The man leans down, letting his lips brush against your own, a sweet feathering brush pressing onto you. Carlos wanted to be there for you, more than ever on what would be the hardest day.

Seeing Charles take that position had made his blood boil.

His grip on you remains tight as he leads you out of the church and towards his own car, parked in the most secluded section of the lot. When his grip falters to hold your hand instead, he doesn’t aim to correct it, instead only holding tighter. He only removes his grasp to unlock his car, sliding himself into the driving seat, pushing the recliner back as far as it would go. When the space is present, he guides you to rest atop of his lap, arms tightening around your waist as he lets the door close, bodies pressed together tightly.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs, keeping your faces so close together. The built-up emotion, the desire since your last kiss had built a fire in your stomach, not so much as speaking before pressing your lips to his own. Whilst your own movements had become desperate, craving for some form of emotional release, his remained feather-light, one hand tangled into your hair, the other resting firmly on your waist.

His lips are soon ghosting over your cheek, fluttering across your jawline and landing on your neck, small whines emitting from your lips as he seeks to trace his tongue over your sweetest spot. The sensation across your body, the hot touch of his skin and an undeniable bulge now settling between your legs.

There’s a sudden realization that you needed to go home. Being with Carlos was the affection you desired, your heart knows however that right now, your family needs you. Hesitantly, you pull away from the man’s lips, feeling utterly guilty for the pleading look in his eyes as you rest your forehead against his own. He could never hate you for it, though. In his eyes, you could never draw that feeling from him. You don’t need to say anything, he knows.

“I’ll drive you back.” He murmurs, pressing one final kiss to your lips before allowing you to slide into the leather passenger seat.

The drive to your father’s home is almost silent; there’s an occasional rev of the engine, various horns from different cars along the highway. A part of you always prays that each drive with the Spaniard could last forever, you could drive into the distance and live happily ever after. The fairy-tale is soon dissolved when you pull to the driveway, hearing the engine of the car cease. Your eyes find Carlos’ side profile, still transfixed on the road ahead.

“Are you coming in?” You ask gently. He sighs, the grip on his steering wheel becoming tighter.

“I can’t see you that close to him, Mariposa.” He murmurs, finally finding the courage to look you in the eyes. “Not when I want to be that close to you.” One hand finds its way off the wheel, entwining your fingers together, peppering light kisses against your knuckles. “Please call me when you go back. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.” You whisper, leaning to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek. In that moment, Carlos Sainz is your savior. He’s your truth.

Carlos Sainz is a liar.

Your knuckles had turned white from the grasp on your phone, you didn’t want to believe anything you were seeing. What was supposed to be an impromptu browse of Twitter whilst waiting for your husband to finish in the en-suite, had turned into a deep dive through a certain hashtag, having seen information spread on a certain Ferrari driver.

It had started as a simple few tweets, some fans and gossip pages reckoning they had seen the driver in an exclusive club, some random blonde sitting on top of him. The photos came second, though the angle was skewed, the quality too weak to see who was there. The final nail was the video; Carlos’ hand placed on her waist, how he had done to you mere hours ago, his mouth pressing against hers, clearly nothing else on his mind.

Granted, you knew you had no right to feel the anger you did; after all, you were married, Carlos was a single man, free to do as he desired. Yet, your rage was fuelled by the romantic, now seemingly empty promises he had made you; how you were his everything, how he would treat you better than Charles ever did. He was no different than Charles Leclerc, and as your fumbled fingers reached to his contact, your rage felt inclined to tell him that.

The phone rings once, twice, three times. You’re set to hang up, leave a particularly nasty text message to the man before the line connects. Immediately, your eardrums are overtaken by the loud pulse of a nightclub, some feminine laughter almost directly on top of him.

“Are you okay?” He asks. Clearly, he’s now intoxicated, his accent is always thicker when he is. You hear another voice, telling him to hang up the phone and to come and dance with her. “Hey- are you there?”

“I’m here.” You snap; why do you feel this enraged? You must have done so when you first saw Charles with his mistress; that had become such a common occurrence that the fire in your stomach must have eventually drained. “And clearly, you’re busy with the woman climbing all over you.”

“Fuck- you left me hanging!” He retorts, drunken mind clearly pressing against any form of sober thought. “You went back to your husband. Left me with nothing. Fuck the funeral.” He snaps, clearly now becoming enraged with the entire situation, with the fact he had been caught out. The words pressed through the speaker of your phone and emitted a wave of sobs from your stomach, immediately pressing the red button on your device.

Carlos Sainz wasn’t in love with you. He just liked the distraction.

Of course, as fate would have it, the moment that your tears began again was the moment Charles had left the bathroom. He’s dressed in just a pair of boxers, chest bare and tone after his warm shower. The sound of the door opening caused you to turn to the source. His eyes widen, scampering towards you, cradling you in his arms, bare chest against your cheek. Silently, you sob into his body for the third time that day, wanting nothing more than for every form of pain to stop.

“Hey, come on.” He whispers, arms circling your body, pulling you tight against him. He thinks that seeing you cry will get easier each time, that the pain in the pit of his stomach won’t continue to eat him away. However, it never gets easier; he hates seeing you cry, every single time. “It’s been a long day, yeah? Let’s get some sleep, baby.”

The nickname sounds foreign on his tongue, though neither of you question it. If anything it causes more emotion to flicker through your body, the fact that your estranged husband was finally beginning to give you. Silently, he guides the two of you into the large bed, cradling you to his chest as he had done whilst in Qatar. Sleep and emotion overtake you, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder as a ‘thank you,’ before drifting into a state of slumber.

The sleep means you miss a vital update from the Twitter threads you had been closely following earlier.

‘Carlos Sainz leaves exclusive club ALONE, despite dating rumors arising with mystery blonde.’

Carlos Sainz is your best friend.

You returned to the following day; the entire time remaining at your father’s house had consisted of nothing but tears. You had been especially concerned for your sister, watching the way she had clinged to Charles when the duo was saying their fond farewells. After a tight hug from each family member, your husband hand interlinked your fingers together, guiding the two of you to his own car, each free hand carrying along the suitcases.

The first hour of the drive home had been quiet, the buzzing streets had morphed into greenery, the sun beginning to set across the coast. Your eyelids couldn’t find it to grow heavy, having done nothing but sob and sleep for the past twenty-four hours. Instead, your focus turned to the radio, a familiar song trickling out of the speaker, one you hadn’t heard in almost eighteen months.

“Is this…” You ask, fingers reaching towards the dial, turning the volume up slightly. Behind his sunglasses, Charles grins. You hadn’t expected him to recognise the song, let alone be aware of where he recognised it from.

“Our first dance.” Your husband laughs, both nodding your head to the music. One hand on the wheel, he reached out his other hand to grasp yours on his own, a gentle squeeze passing through each hand. “We’ll have to dance to it again, properly next time.” He promises to himself, eyes focused on the road as he continues to drive you both home.

It’s almost dark by the time you have arrived back at your driveway. The stones are dipped in the darkness, the only illumination being from the headlights of Charles’ iconic vehicle. Your eyes flicker towards the doorstep, convinced the sleep is playing tricks on your mind; why on earth was there a figure standing on the doorstep to your house? They were slim, feminine, holding a cream envelope in one hand, a designer bag resting atop the other.

The familiar feeling of who she was began to nestle in your stomach. Surely, it couldn’t have been her; even your husband would not have the audacity to invite her to the house, right after you had returned home from what was quite possibly the saddest moment of your life. It couldn’t be her, even if every sign pointed towards the truth, you’d begin to search for the tiniest detail; her hair was too short. Your stomach snaps when you realize it’s the identical haircut from the Paddock mere days ago.

“What on earth-“ You hear your husband begin to speak, turning off the engine to the car. He looks over to your figure, but you show no emotion, no reaction on the exterior. Immediately, he has stepped out of the car, violently slamming the door behind him, causing you to snap out of the trance the woman had placed you upon.

Your eyes fixed upon Charles, his mistress trying to reach out into his touch. She’d pressed the envelope into his hand, continuing to speak. The words were clear through the thin glass of the car’s windscreen, divorce, pictures, evidence.

You couldn’t stick around to watch this activity play out. Immediately, you reach out for your phone, breathing uneven as you scroll through the contact list, searching for his name. Despite the last twenty-four hours, you were not too sure who else to call. It takes less than a moment for him to answer, your words rambling and falling over one another, pleading for him to come and collect you. He speaks firmly, commanding you to stay in the car, he would be there as soon as possible.

Charles is so deep in conversation, pleading for his mistress to reconsider, that he doesn’t see you slip out of the car, stepping down the driveway into the awaiting car of Carlos Sainz. He makes no intention to show you affection when first stepping into the vehicle, his only intention to get you out of the situation as soon as possible. Whilst silence filled the space between you both, you had sent a text to your husband, confirming your disappearance.

23:01: You

I’m so sorry, I can’t be there when she is, not anymore. I’ll be back at the house tomorrow. Thank you for everything.

There’s no response. If you’re completely honest, you were not expecting anything else, not whilst he was engrossed in conversation. The street is quiet as you pull into Carlos’ driveway. Saying nothing, the man simply removes his keys from the ignition, before leaning over your frame to open your door, ever the gentleman. Of course, his eyes catch yours as he leans back, creating a deep gaze for oh-so-long. Carefully slipping out of his gaze, you leave the car, walking up the steps to his apartment, the door opening for your arrival.

It's homely. Clearly lived in. Shoes are thrown across the entrance mat, coats hanging in the rack. Although it is primarily basic, a little bare, there’s touches around the complex which warm your heart; a photograph of the man with his sisters and father, a helmet you immediately recognise as Lando Norris’ resting atop of a bookshelf. There’s fine wine glasses resting atop of his coffee table; clearly ready for their usage before your untimely call.

The details become irrelevant the moment you feel his warm arms circle around your middle; the rising of your hoodie lets his body heat radiate onto yours. Carlos doesn’t need to say anything, his face comes towards the joint between your neck and your shoulder, using his nose to brush your hair away, exposing the skin he craves to mark.

“Mariposa.” He whispers, hiding his expression in your soft skin. “I can explain her, I can explain who she is, I didn’t-“

This time, it’s you who rolls around in Carlos’ touch, your arms entwining around his neck, pulling his lips to touch yours. The Spaniard does not need convincing, his grip on your waist immediately tightening, pushing your bodies closer together, if that was even humanly possible. This time, when his lips begin to trail down your neck, there’s no hesitation left in your mind, letting the man dance across your skin, leaving small bites, trails of his tongue against you.

You realize it’s you, making a small whine as he pulls away from your body, catching his breath whilst his tanned arms reach to the bottom of his shirt, exposing his chest once more. This time, your fingers fumble to find the hem of your hoodie, pulling the clothing atop of your head, exposing the laciest bra Carlos had ever seen. There’s a grunt from the back of his mouth as he darts forward, one rough palm scooping your breast from the lingerie, his mouth immediately finding your nipple, tongue tracing across the sensitive skin whilst his stubble rubs against your exposed flesh.

He doesn’t let up, not even when your legs go weak. His mouth remains firmly attached, using his arms to instead scoop you into his grasp, your whining sheer pornography to his ears whilst he carries you into his bedroom.

He will simply ruin you for every other person, and god forbid if he lost you now.

You realize hours later, somewhere between your post-orgasm haze and the combined warmth of Carlos’ hoodie and his firm arms that best friends did not have intense, body-numbing sex in the middle of the night, specifically when one of them was married, the other one a close friend of her husband. Yet, it somehow feels normal, as if this had been the longest impending explosion. Of course, you had explained to the man the reasoning for calling him out so late, for him to simply hush you, promising you would have never been a burden to him. The further questions of what is to come next are pushed to the back of your mind.

Your sleeping state misses two key moments. The first? The slight camera shutter from a phone as Carlos places his device back on the nightstand, snuggling down into the blankets, his dream to hold you whilst he slept finally arising.

The second? Your phone finally buzzed with a response from your husband, unable to sleep without knowing you were in the large house alongside him.

02:51: Charles Leclerc

I’m in love with you.

This is everyone who asked to be tagged! @Mac-daddy-210 @aundercover @barnestatic @omgsuperstarg @chimchimjiminie16 @caelum-the-part-time-nihilist @magicalcowboyarbiter @gaslasysblog @junetto @beatrizmel-472 @motorsp0rt @crowdthena @screemqueen @lewislvr @styles-sunflower @itspaddockprincess @adeptustemptations @amalialeclerc @meetmyblondemuffins @formulanando @lorarri @christianpulisic10 @gaypoetsblog @thisbitxhs-blog @goldsainz @ru-kru @magical-spit @hrlzy @nooshytushie @gaslysainz @marvel-at-stucky @sugarvibez

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thenonweeknd · 4 months

Text

Miguel O'Hara Imagine

(NOTE: Reader! is Miguel O'Hara's assistant! Coworker! AU)

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"O'Hara! They're boarding the plane we have to go!"

He groans, his chest and thick biceps rumbling. You roll your eyes and press the cancel button on the massage chair he was sitting in. You were standing above him, waiting for him to get out of the chair in the middle of an airport. He scowls at you, his eyebrows furrowed and a frown tugging at his plump and red lips.

"We need to go. Get up." You tell him. Somehow, he finds it sweet that you're so firm and forward with him, but make it sound so kind and loving. A smirk forms on his face and he chuckles, standing up. Despite even sitting down, he still remained taller than you. Then again, he was taller than everybody since he stood at an attractive but excessive 6'9. He towers over you, chest and arms hugged so perfectly by his suit. His tie was loose and draped around his neck, since when he tried to tie it otherwise, his muscly frame prevented him from doing so. He cracks his neck slightly before walking off ahead of you, his hand taking place on the back of your neck, right at the start of your spine. The small gesture pulled you along with him, walking beside him silently.

You shiver at the touch, his hand squeezing at the muscle of your neck. You chose not to mind it and board the plane, luckily, the business he ran was rich enough to have private jet. Miguel followed behind, his breath fanning over your head. He finds a secluded seat, kicking us feet up and looking around. Sure, as the head of one of the biggest companies in the world--O'Hara Tech--he was used to being in private vehicles and planes…but he never traveled with someone other than his bodyguard. Your eyes widen slightly in curiosity, as you slowly sit in front of him, crossing your legs to make sure no one could see up your straight and smooth black skirt.

Hopefully he doesn't look.

Without you noticing, your eyes trained at looking around the plane, he glances towards your legs. Smooth, perfectly shaven, a soft glow reflecting off of them. You took care of yourself. His throat dries and his legs shift slightly.

"Cover your legs."

Your eyes snap away from what you were looking at, shifting towards him. He looked mad…and flushed?

"Why?"

His eyes narrow with a dark red glow, and he growls low in his chest. His eyebrows knit together and he sits up, making sure he looked scary and demanding. Your face burned pink, your body shifting uncomfortably while your thighs rub together slightly. He rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward with a dark expression.

"I'm not asking again. Cover your legs."

You sit up, looking at him with your eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed in a thin line. You knew how possessive he was of you, even if you were just his assistant. Although to this day, you wondered why he chose you out of all the lovely and smart ladies who worked at the headquarters. Now it made sense. He wanted someone to control. Someone to tease and act bigger than. For instance, you remembered when he invited you to dinner with some rich white men who also owned higher businesses. Or when he drove you home or to his house to have a drink after a long shift. Obediently, you took your blazer and put it over your legs. He hummed contently, leaning back in his seat and looking out the window as the plane started to take off.

You sigh and put your legs to the side, leaning your head back against the seat and closing your eyes.

This is going to be a long flight.

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #atsv #into the spider verse #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #x reader #miguel spiderverse #imagine #assistant AU

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milesmolasses · 10 months

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pretty baby (e-42 miles x black! fem!reader)

— car rides with miles nvr fail to make u queazy

— ⚠️: light cursing, slightly suggestive, slight angst, kinda sensitive reader

"you are unbelievable, y'know that?"

sitting in the car scrunched up with your legs close to your chest, you turned your whole body away from the driver's seat, trying to avoid any and all contact with the driver. after what happened today, you didn't think you could ever face miles again, too embarrassed to talk to him the entire car ride.

"it wasn't even that big a deal baby, i'm sure nobody even cared like that," he chuckled. he thought it was childish how such small moments could affect your mood for such wildly long periods of time.

"I sucked the syrup off your fingers miles, in front of all your friends. i'm humiliated!" you cried, putting your hands over your face and bending down into your lap; anything to avoid eye contact with him.

looking back at the road with a smirk on his face, he said, "if it makes you feel better, I didn't mind it..-"

"MILES!" you whined as you snapped your head in his direction. "how could you say that to me right now?!"

"oh– ok i'm sorry baby, but that doesn't mean you have to act like this-!"

you rolled your head back as you groaned and covered your face with your hands again; he didn't get it. the way you were perceived was extremely important to you, especially in front of people who you deemed important. you didn't want your boyfriends' friends to perceive you as some sort of sex fiend.

"just drive miles. you don't get it."

furrowing his eyebrows, he turned the block and pulled into a mcdonalds parking lot near your house. "then make me understand, hm? why are you letting this stupid shit affect you?"

"oh my god miles just take me home, please I don't wanna talk about it–"

"no, see 'cause now you have my attention, what's the matter?" if there was one thing you knew about miles, it's that he won't let shit go, especially when it comes to you.

"miles, i swear to god if you don't drive me home i'm gonna get out this car and walk," you threatened. you could feel tears begin to form in your eyes and the burning feeling you get in your gut when you're about to cry. miles noticed your chest rising and falling, a telling sign you were about to cry; this only pushed him further.

"you not goin' nowhere. not until you talk to me, so here's what we gon' do; we will sit in this car and we won't move until you start talking," he said as brought his hand up to your face, wiping the tear that escaped your waterline before it could drip and ruin your makeup.

your face scrunched up at the small gesture and you pressed your lips in a tight line. suddenly the burning feeling burned even hotter, and the saliva in your mouth began to increase. more tears slipped from your eyes. in a soft yet pleading voice, you asked, "please, can I just go home?"

he furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at your state and it was then he could tell this was a real problem. "ay baby.. eres mi vida. talk to me," he cupped your face with both of his hands as they caught the tears falling. with your face smushed in his hands, he leaned in to give you a smooch, not caring if your lipgloss got all over him– he just wanted to see you smile for him.

"I don't want them to think badly of me miles.. they all looked at me funny and were cheering when I did it. I humiliated myself in front of them," you spilled, not wanting to keep it in anymore. and to be honest, it felt weird crying in your boyfriends' hands and not into your pillow alone in your room.

putting his forehead to yours, he said, "hey, look at me; you don't always have to worry about impressing everybody. everybody don't matter, you understand me? only me and you, ok? ion' wanna see you crying over some pinche pendejos who don't got they own girls and haven't matured since middle school."

you giggled softly as you sniffled your nose.

"there's that pretty smile," he mumbled as he gave a kiss to the top of your head.

"my pretty girl…”

you could feel your face get warmer after what he said, the indication, that big yet subtle word “my” sticking out to you like a sore thumb.

“what, you like that? like when I call you that mi vida?” you knew he would never let you live this down, and this would be one of your many nicknames he would use on you to get you flustered to his own advantage.

“shut up—”

“what, you don’t wanna be my pretty girl?” he inquired whilst leaning back to look at you, feigning disappointment.

“of course I do miles-”

“then lemme hear you say it chiquita— c’mon I wanna hear you say it,” he said sounding very suave. you grew weak in the knees whenever miles deepened his voice while speaking to you, and he definitely used this to his advantage. thank goodness you we’re sitting down because lord knows if you were standing, you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself together without bending over backwards for him.

your eyes wandered to anywhere else in the car, not wanting to see the look on miles face when you said what you were about to say, “i’m your pretty girl.”

“yeah, I know that’s right.”

– i wanna be his pretty girl so bad lol

#earth42 miles #miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles g #prowler miles #spiderman miles morales #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles x reader #miles x reader

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astaroth1357 · 1 year

Text

Demons in the Dark

What if they have glow-in-the-dark eyes?

Contents: No warnings aside vague mentions of imminent danger. And bugs and snakes.

~♡♡♡~

Lucifer

Seeing Lucifer in a dark room is incredibly unsettling. You know those horror movies where the protagonist sees a pair of demonic eyes from shadows? You've found the inspiration.

His eyes burn with the color and intensity of molten glass and they that just loom ominously in the darkness, usually well above people's heads!

Lucifer knows exactly how haunting his eyes can look, which is why he prefers to sneak up on Mammon when it's dark and he's up to no good…

The mental image of Lucifer's crimson eyes have long since burned their way into the secondborn's nightmares...

He tries his best not to scare MC with them, but it's undeniably unnerving to see disks of pure hellfire roaming around the kitchen looking for a glass of water…

Mammon

His eyes glow just the prettiest shade of gold you'll ever see. Think of a mound of ancient coins glinting away under a treasure hunter's torchlight.

Mammon knows full well how attention grabbing his eyes are, which is part of why he always wears sunglasses when out stealing. People can't see'em glow if they're all tinted up behind his frames!!

He's also pretty proud that his eyes don't give people nightmares like Lucifer's, but since they glow like little sundrops when he's out, moths fly into his face… a lot…

He is far too embarrassed to admit to MC that he also wears his sunglasses outside for bug protection, so he makes up some shit about it being part of "Devildom-style" they just wouldn't understand.

Sometimes, the MC swears that if they look close, his pupils look like Grimm signs. But has to be a trick of the light… Right?

Leviathan

Levi's eyes glow a citrine orange but weirdly, his pupils actually slit instead of dilate in the dark.

Though he will never admit it, but he actually has pretty bad night vision in his normal form. (Which isn't that surprising given all of screens he stares at.)

It's a little comical watching Levi stumble around in the dark if he needs to go grab something. The MC can just follow his eyes as he smacks into a lot of walls…

His demon form can kind of make up for it, but only so much. If things get too dark, Levi can change into it so he can see his surroundings with the help of UV light.

"Snake Vision" makes the dark more manageable, but it's not very good for gaming at all so he rarely thinks to use it. Everybody knows that past a certain brightness in the room, don't expect Levi to be of much help.

Satan

Magically enchanted his eyes to look exactly like a green-eyed cat's in the dark. I'm dead serious.

Imagine just going about your business then two grown man-sized feline eyes pop out from behind a corner. They even have nocturnal eyeshine so feels like you're being hunted!

Sometimes he can't help himself and he'll sneak up on people with his eyes closed so he can open them over their shoulders or peeking around corners.

He has given the whole House about as many heart attacks as Lucifer has pulling those shenanigans, I swear…

Belphie is the only one generally unaffected and he always gets a big laugh from when Satan scares the others. The youngest boys just be like that, unfortunately...

Asmodeus

His eyes look like a kaleidoscope in low light. Every slight tilt of his head makes them reflect a whole new wave of fractals and colors.

Asmo is just as aware as Mammon that his eyes are gorgeous, but unlike Mammon he wouldn't DARE cover them up!! Sunglasses are for sunny days, which they don't ever get down in Hell.

Asmo's eyes are integral to his charm spells, so he takes extra care to be sure that they are as healthy and bright as they can be! He won't even accept eyebags.

Seeing Asmo's eyes in the dark kind of like seeing a trippy optical illusion just... staring at you. It's less unnerving than the others but it's equally hard to ignore.

To this day, he brags that it was his eyes that caught Solomon's attention when they first met. (Solomon actually wanted to pluck them out to use as potion ingredients, but he'll let that stay a secret.)

Beelzebub

Beel's eyes are probably the most normal of all of the family unless you look at them suuuper closely.

In his normal form, his eyes will just glow a nice shade of purple with nothing fancy happening. But in his demon form, they get that glassy, compounded film akin to insects with his iris still trapped and moving around under the surface.

Thankfully, they do not bulge out of his skull. They even give him the ability to see and track objects in fast motion, which does wonders for his reaction time.

... Somewhat unfortunately, though, his line of sight is more narrow than an inscets so it can look like he's trying to look everywhere all at once to compensate. His eyes will constantly dart around the room as if he is trying to follow the flight pattern of a coked out fly.

At least he mostly only uses this during fights or sporting events where they really come in handy. Honestly, if there's anything more jarring than red eyes, it's stumbling across bug-eyes that they can practically see right through you.

Belphegor

Belphie's eyes glow purple, but they don't shine nearly as brightly as his brothers'. In fact, they have a steady, calming pulse when stared at which is very unnerving.

Total darkness is really when Belphie gives off his best "sleep paralysis demon" vibes. His eyes are really relaxing to look at, but only in the same way that the little light on an angler fish would be enticing to its prey. It's a trap, don't fall for it.

Belphie CAN put people to sleep this way, but he hates doing it because it means he has to somehow not blink for ages. He really has to be motivated to want to see someone zonked out.

For a couple centuries, Mammon would send Belphie to talk to Lucifer if he was working too late in order to (compassionately) knock their brother out so he could get some rest.

Lucifer's since gotten wise to this trick, but sometimes if he's really been going too long he will forget until he wakes up on the nearest couch post Belphie "convincing" him to take a nap.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #tw: bugs #tw: snakes

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annaloveshjp · 1 year

Text

drunk in love

harry potter x fem!reader

word count: 1k

——————————————————————

a/n: another little fluff scenario :)

warnings: slight drinking.

summary: y/n has a little too much butterbeer(?)

——————————————————————

Loud music filled your ears as you entered the crowded Gryffindor common room. Almost everybody had a drink in their hand, or was dancing with someone.

Gryffindor had just won another Quidditch match, which was always the perfect excuse for a party. Harry had invited you even though you weren’t in the same house, but being the boy who lived’s girlfriend has its perks.

“Whataya doin here!?” Ginny Weasley stumbles your way with a half empty cup in her hand.

“Harry invited me!” You shout over all the noise.

“Oh, right!” She remembered, “come on in!”

You smile at the intoxicated teen before making your way further into the common room in search of your boyfriend.

After asking a few people where Harry Potter was and receiving a few “I don’t know” and “want a drink?!” In return, you find your good friend Hermione chatting with Ron by the fireplace.

“Hey, Mione!” You exclaim, relieved to find someone who might know where Harry is.

“Y/N!” Hermione and Ron say in unison.

“Have you seen Harry?” You ask them, ducking suddenly as a Weasley invention flew over your head.

“No, I haven’t,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “Have you, Ron?”

“No, sorry mate,” he said, giving you an apologetic look.

“Okay, thanks,” you muster up a smile as best you can before walking over to an unoccupied armchair and sitting down.

You wonder where Harry could be. maybe in his dorm? It’s fine, he’ll probably be here soon.

But even after waiting ten minutes, still no sign of your boyfriend.

“Want a drink?” Hermione came up to you holding two cups, a sympathetic look on her face.

“Sure,” you take one cup gratefully, the first sip burns your throat slightly. “Firewhisky?”

“Mixed with butterbeer,” Hermione confirms, taking a swig of her drink.

“Tastes nice,” you say before drinking almost all of it in one go.

“Woah woah, slow down,” Hermione chuckled.

You laugh, feeling lighter than before. This drink is magical.

After a few more drinks (more like a dozen), and some dancing later, you now sat on the floor leaning against the wall.

“My head hurts,” you whine like a little kid to no one in particular. “I want my boyfriend.”

You suddenly see someone walking towards you. They crouch down to your level and start talking to you.

“Hey, what happened?” The stranger asked you, their face appeared blurry but you could make out a look of concern on their face.

“I had butterbeer,” you reply, your words slurring slightly.

“How much?” They ask.

“Why do you care?” You question.

“Too much, I take it.” They sigh before lifting you up by the armpits and walking you towards the boys dormitories.

“Noooo I don’t wanna,” you complain, attempting to plant your feet but failing.

“Honey, you need some water, I’m taking you up to my dorm.”

“Hey! Only Harry can call me that, don’t be weird.” You say accusingly.

“Guess what,” the stranger says. “I am Harry.”

You gasp. “Harry? Awww I missed you!” You lean into him.

“I missed you too, Honey. Now, can you walk?” Harry asks you.

“Hmmmm I think so,” you walk, stumbling a bit. He holds your waist as you both walk up the stairs to Harry’s dorm.

Harry shut the door behind him and led you to his bed. He laid you down before taking your shoes off, he then went to the bathroom and returned with a glass of water.

“Here,” he said softly, lifting your head up and tilting the glass for you to drink.

“Thanks,” you mumble before rolling over and planting your face into his pillow.

“You smell nice,” you say, sniffing his pillow.

“You say that a lot,” he chuckled.

“I do?” You ask. “Hm,”

“Mhm,” he hummed in confirmation. “So tell me, what happened earlier?”

“Well, I came into the common room and I couldn’t find you, so I got sad and decided to have some butterbeer, but it wasn’t just butterbeer, it had some firewhiskey, Hermione told me. Then I danced, then I got a headache so I sat down, then you found me, then I thought you were a stranger, then I realized you were Harry, then Harry took me to his dorm and gave me water, then he asked me what happened.”

“Oh, wow,” he says.

“Yeah. Where were you, by the way?” You ask him. “It felt like I was waiting hours.”

“It was only twenty minutes,” he said. “But I was taking a shower,” he pointed to his hair that was dripping onto his now damp t-shirt.

“Oh, right, you get all sweaty after Quidditch,” you say. “But I think it’s hot,”

He chuckled. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” you say, snuggling into his blanket.

After a minute, you feel the bed dip beside you. You look over and see Harry laying next to you.

“What are you doing?” You ask him.

“What does it look like? I’m lying with you.” He states.

“But I thought you’d want to go celebrate, you know?” You say confused.

“Nah, I’d rather be with you, and since you’re wasted, I figured it’s best if we don’t go back down there.” He reached out and pulled you closer to him, your head leaning against his bare chest.

“Oh,” you mumble. “I’m sorry for drinking too much…”

“It’s alright, Honey,” he muttered into your hair, stroking it with one hand and holding you with the other. “I like this better anyway,”

You smile and sink into his warmth, both your slow breathing and the muffled noise from the common room being the only sound audible.

“D’you need anything else?” Harry asks you, brushing your hair from your face.

“No, just need you,” you say, turning around and snuggling your face into his neck. “This is good.”

You gave him a few kisses on the side of his neck and on his collarbone. Although you couldn’t see, Harry smiled.

“I love you,” you tell him.

“I love you, Honey.” he said, kissing the top of your head.

—————

#harry james potter #harry james potter x reader #harry potter fluff #harry potter x reader #harry james potter fluff #harry potter imagine

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theemporium · 6 months

Text

“Everything’s better when you’re high.”

The boy to your right lifted his brows in amusement as he held out the joint to you, watching as you happily took it from his fingers and took a long drag. Your eyes fluttered shut as you slowly blow out, letting the ambience wash over you passed the joint on.

“Is this another one of your weird philosophies?” The boy to your left asked, something like a snort leaving his lips as he happily took the joint from you.

“No, Trevor, it’s facts,” you stated simply as you leaned back against the headboard.

The lakehouse was quiet and peaceful due to the fact everybody else was out at a bar in a nearby town. The three of you had decided to stay back, not really in the mood to get plastered and make a fool of yourself while you were drunk. Nobody really questioned it considering you, Jack and Trevor had always been a tight-knit trio since the three of you met.

The other boys just wished you goodnight and waved as they left the house, prepared to get absolutely smashed. It took Trevor a whole three minutes before he jumped out of his seat after they left, taking your hand in one of his hands and Jack’s in the other before he dragged you towards the room he was staying in for the trip.

He was practically bouncing off the walls, giddy and excited when he pulled out three joints, a mischievous grin on his face as he offered them towards you both. And with summer break thriving and hockey season a far away thought for the boys as they settled on the bed and handed you the lighter to light the first joint.

Now, almost two joints later, the three of you felt positively buzzed and relaxed as the effects rushed through you in the best way possible.

“What do you mean?” Jack questioned, his brows furrowed together in confusion. He looked a bit like a lost puppy and it made your heart swoon.

“I mean everything is better,” you repeated in a ‘duh’ tone of voice as you turned to look at the boy. “Food tastes better. Sex feels better. Movies are even better than normal—”

“Woah, what did you say?” Trevor quickly interrupted.

You paused, frowning a little. “I said movies are—”

He shook his head. “Before that.”

“Oh! The sex part?” You questioned and the boy quickly nodded. “It feels better, Trev. I don’t know what else to say, unless you don’t know what sex is and need me to—”

“I know what sex is,” Trevor scoffed. “I just…don’t see how much better it can be when you’re high.”

“Sounds like bullshit,” Jack added with a voice of scepticism.

You rolled your eyes at the boys. “Have you ever tried it?”

They both shook their heads.

“Then you can’t say shit,” you stated simply.

“That’s not fair,” Jack murmured with his lips turned downwards in a pout.

“Why? You up for something, Hughes?” You teased, your words light-hearted and joking as you nudged his shoulder with your own.

However, the boy only flushed in response.

“Maybe you need to teach us,” Trevor commented casually, his fingers tracing random shapes on your arm before he lifted his head to look up a you from beneath hooded eyes. “Show us if it’s true or not.”

“It is,” you insisted.

Trevor grinned. “Then prove it.”

And maybe it was the buzz of the challenge or the weed or the burning desire to prove both boys wrong, but you didn’t even hesitate as you leaned forward and pressed your lips against Trevor’s.

In all the years you three had been friends, nothing had ever happened between you and the two boys. They were hot. You knew they were hot in the same way they knew you were hot. It was something you all acknowledged, but none of you had ever stepped over the line.

And yet, here you were, dazed and warm and feeling like you had already soaked through your panties as you felt two pairs of hands all over your body.

“Fuck,” Trevor let out a groan, his fingers tangled in your hair to make a messy ponytail as you bobbed your head up and down. The head of his cock was hitting the back of your throat, making your throat bulge but you looked so fucked out and relaxed as you took him. “Oh that’s—fuck me.”

“Shit,” Jack let out a low whine, his hips stuttering as he sank into you, as he felt your warm, wet walls clench around his cock. “She wasn’t lying.”

“No,” Trevor choked out, shaking his head. “She wasn’t.”

The boy let out a small whine when you pulled your mouth off him, your cheek pressed against his thigh as your hand lazily stroked his needy cock. “I never lie,” you told the boys before your eyes fluttered shut as Jack hit a spot deep inside you. “Shit, yes, right there!”

“‘m not gonna last long,” Jack whimpered, his hands squeezing the fat of your ass as you pushed back into him.

“Let go,” you murmured as you lifted your head, just close enough for Trevor to whine as your lips traced over the head of his cock. “It feels so good, Jack. Feels so fucking good.”

“Baby—”

“Shit, just like that! Yesyesyesyesyes!”

“Look so fucking pretty when you come, honey,” Trevor groaned as you let out a whimper, too sensitive as Jack continued to fuck into you. “Now open that mouth, know you probably want to fix those munchies too.”

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yxami · 1 year

Text

Stupid little thought after brainstorming. I know I know, I should be working on the request I got because I’ve only gotten a few so far but I wanted to feed you guys something while I finished that up.

Description: yandere jock, heavy bullying, bully to friend unnamed yandere, he’s just called yandere jock throughout the story cuz I don’t think he’ll be an oc unless people are interested. Also for the life of me I could not find a book that was like soaked even though I was searching soaked muddy book aesthetic for ages LMFAO.

Yandere jock that just can’t help but watch the little quiet kid in the corner, he just wondered what you did all day. You were quiet, meek, and didn’t do anything.

He had never bothered to look at you before so why now? He watched you interact with the few friends you had in your classes. He knew you didn’t have any actual friends other than some classmates you spoke to. He knew you were rather boring but you still somehow peaked his interest. There was something about you that couldn’t stop him from trying to find out more.

He followed you home once and also couldn’t help but wonder what the inside of your house looked like. His curiosity beat the best of him and he broke into your house the same night! Of course he made sure you didn’t know, but he had to see what your room looked like too! Since he was there why wouldn’t he?

Same guy who would randomly start to poke and make fun of you. It started one day and never stopped, he would jab at your choice in clothing, how you never talked, anything about you? He would make fun of you for it. Even if it was normal and rather bland thing he would find a way to bully you about it!

Of course, nothing was done about the bullying. It was rather unnoticed at your school, it wasn’t uncommon to see a person humiliate another. You were just an unlucky person who was the victim.

You didn’t do anything about the bullying since this was a well known guy at the school. He was attractive, athletic, and very good with people. He had many friends, and everybody loved him! So what if he had a few cheating scandals with every short relationship he got in? Nobody cared! He was cool and that wasn’t going to ruin his reputation.

You were at your usual spot in the school gardening area. Nobody went there unless it was the gardening club after-school. You were sat on a little brick lining to give plants a little leverage from the ground. You heard footsteps and a painfully recognizable voice stop in front of you that sneered at you.

“What are you doing? Do you really have no fucking friends that you read your little books here?” He laughed so hard as if a award winning comedian had told him a joke.

“Uhm.. yeah.” You mumbled to yourself.

“Can you speak any fucking lower? You’re so pathetic” He snatched your book away from you and you got up quickly trying to retrieve it.

“Please don’t! It’s the schools book! It’s not mine!” Your urgent tone wasn’t for show. The book was expensive because of the length and quality of it. You knew you wouldn’t be able to pay for it if he destroyed it!

“That’s even better” He grinned throwing the book in a puddle that had formed under a hose’s doing. You saw it splash back under your bully’s shoe as he further destroyed it. Smushing it made it so it was now muddy and soaked.

You didn’t want to cry, you sat down trying your best to keep it in. Your throat burned as you felt a lump that was developing through your throat.

Please don’t cry right now please don’t please please please

Tears forced themselves out of your eyes, it stung and your face reddened. You were embarrassed but you couldn’t help it. You were upset and sad about the book.

The reason of your tears was a little stunned that you were crying. The balls of your palms were in your eyes as you tried to cover them. Tears ran down your face to your cheeks and your pants. He didn’t think you would actually cry? You never cried whenever he bullied you, so why now?

“Ah-.. why are you crying..?” He was a little awkward. He didn’t know you were going to be like that.

You didn’t say anything but just let out a sob. You just sat there.. and sobbed.

“H-hey! I’m sorry just stop crying! Look I’ll pay for your book. I didn’t realize it was so important!” He quickly said. His hands waved in the air in a flustered manner. He wanted you to stop crying.

Once he realized that you were still crying he picked up your book and swiped off excess muddy water as much as he could. He tried smiling as he handed it to you.

You stared at the book and took it in your hands. Still upset a few more tears raced down as you sniffled.

“I’ll pay for it I swear! Just stop crying, okay?” He said after noticing your wavering expression. He was still shocked that you were even crying over a book. Not all the insults he threw at you, not the intense bullying he did, just a book? You were so weird..

“Okay..” All you could say was okay. You didn’t want to speak further, your hands clenched around the book as you left as quickly as you could. He tried chasing after you, not thinking you would leave so quickly.

“Hey! Hey wait up!” He grabbed your shoulder after rather effortlessly catching up to you.

You looked up at him, eyelashes wet from salty tears, slightly red eyes as well. Your face obviously showed signs of freshly recent sobbing that he has just seen. His heart actually ached seeing you like that. Yeah, of course, he would see your irritated and defeated face when he bullied you but not this one.

“Let me buy it right now, okay? And then I’ll buy you something from lunch? Does that sound good?” He spoke in a sickly sweet tone as if you were an upset kid. It weirded you out that he was trying to act nice now.

“m’ fine, just go away please..!” You kept marching on while this so called ideal of a man kept following you.

“Cmon, I’m trying to be nice!” He insisted.

“I don’t care! You’re being fucking weird go away!!” You ran off finally speaking some of your mind. This time you weren’t chased by an athletic guy that you probably shouldn’t have been running from in the first place.

The next few days were rather quiet. No tall intimidating guy that would bully you. Just your regular silence that you didn’t know you would miss so much before he showed up in your life.

That’s until he started bugging you again. Trying to give you little trinkets and gifts. What was he aiming to get? Your gratitude?

You were sat again in the garden area, despite knowing he discovered your spot.

He walked in and you both immediately met eyes. You quickly tried getting up before he told you to sit down and sat down next to you.

“Listen I’m sorry, I feel bad for bullying you.”

“Why are you apologizing now..?” You were so genuinely confused.

“I don’t know myself, I just didn’t feel good after seeing you cry. It made me feel weird, I didn’t like it.”

“So this is just because you’re guilty?” You stared at him blankly with a disgusted look on your face. One you couldn’t hide even if you tried.

“Ugh, I don’t know! Just let me buy you stuff so it’s not so awkward!” He sighed.

“You never even let me buy that book for you, so we’re going to go get it now!” He looked at you and grabbed your hand, leading you to the library that you were so fond of.

“I don’t want to go with you! I forgive you, just stop bothering me” You whined about having to go spend time with him.

“I’m buying this book for you, I don’t care what you say”

“You’re so annoying!”

These events were probably the ones that led up to that same jock following you all the time like a puppy. He was now your friend unfortunately, he was much nicer than before and properly apologized once you let him.

He treated you fairly, not mocking or bullying you anymore. He treated you way better it was a little unsettling. You just assumed after him seeing you cry that was him drawing the line. Which was a really strange place to draw the line.

He would buy you gifts as soon as you said you were interested in something, he would ward off any potential friends predators by getting naturally touchy with you, basically becoming your body guard.

He still kept up his daily stalking, sometimes being able to come over if he begged enough.

What a weirdo!

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #gn reader #bullying #yandere bully #yanderebullytofriend #bullytofriend #enemies to friends trope #maybe lovers #male yandere #stalking #poorbookbeingdestoyed #gender neutral reader #maybe an oc #yandere jock #college jock #ethanmyoc

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stylesispunk · 3 months

Text

"The not so invisible String" part 4

Not outbreak! Joel Miller x F! Reader

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summary: you and Joel were made right for each other at the wrong time. Now, thirteen years later your paths crossed when both of your daughters get in trouble at school. Would be the right time for you now?

word count: 5,5k

warnings: angst, cheating, in summary, it is a terrible day for the reader. "Doe" is her nickanme. No proof reading haha

a/n: Hello! Well, it took me almost two weeks (again) to write something. It was my birthday on Tuesday so my inspo came back for a moment because I felt happy that day. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading 💌 Remember my dms and asks are always open for you

dividers by @/saradika.

Time stopped. Tears and tears streamed down your cheeks. Humiliated, broken, and foolish. There was nothing but fury and desire next to a flame that threatened to explode into a fire, burning all the last years you had spent beside a man who just caused pain.

Your hands on the wheel were shaking, and your knuckles were purple after punching a thousand times, cursing Dwight’s name as if it were poison with a bitter taste in your lips.

You were following him. Following the path to the world he had built behind your back to trap him in the act, to defy him, to hit him, and finally to remove the dagger he had punched in your lungs.

You were going to free yourself from a world of dirty lies you and Dwight had created to free yourselves from old flames that didn’t allow you to advance, but you had loved and respected him, even when he left you in the dark.

Like everybody else, you thought.

There was always someone better—someone to run to, someone to love—but it was never you.

You were the one left in ruins, playing hide and seek, alone, and crying.

All the negative thoughts running through your head stopped the minute Dwight parked the car in a pretty nice house, where he had been playing doll house with another woman and another child.

You parked the car a discreet distance away from where Dwight had entered, and your hands were still trembling as you sat there, grappling with the maelstrom of emotions tearing through your heart.

It seemed like this city was cursed.

The seconds stretched into minutes as you contemplated your next move. The desire for confrontation warred with the awareness that once you stepped into the world Dwight had kept hidden from you, there would be no going back. The flames of anger fueled your decision, and with a deep breath, you stepped out of the car, your eyes focused on the battle field ahead.

Your heartbeat echoed in your ears. Each step you took meant facing the piece of the puzzle that had been kept hidden from you. The heavy weight of treason on your shoulders and pain and rage fueled your mind.

Finally, you reached the door that seemed to hold the answers you sought. The muffled sounds from within hinted at a world you had been excluded from. Your hand trembled as you reached for the piece of wood, and with a deep breath, you knocked at the door, waiting for the revelation.

The door creaked open, revealing a woman with a warm smile on her face. She was oblivious to the fury that raged within you. Her innocence seemed to contrast sharply with the treason that broke your ego. The smile faltered slightly as she took in the tear-streaked face and red eyes.

"Hi there, can I help you?" she asked, her tone friendly but tinged with concern.

Your eyes scanned her face with astonishment and disbelief. How could she be so unaware of the man she was with? Your gaze shifted, and that's when you saw the little girl, no more than four years old, happily playing in the living room.

The contrast hit you like a ton of bricks. The image of Dwight playing the role of a loving father to this child felt like a betrayal on a whole new level, taking you to the very exact moment he stopped playing with Tara, the moment he stopped acting like a father to her. You struggled to find words; your voice was caught in the turmoil of emotions.

"I... I need to talk to Dwight," you managed to say, your voice raw and trembling.

The woman's smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion. "Dwight? You must be mistaken. There's no one here by that name."

Your heart skipped a beat. Could you have been wrong? Was this not the place you thought it was? Doubt crept in, but then you heard a familiar voice from within the house, calling the little girl's name.

"Daddy!"

Your breath caught in your throat as Dwight appeared in the doorway, his expression shifting from surprise to shock at the sight of you standing there.

"What are you doing here?" he stammered, his attempt at feigning innocence falling apart.

The reality unfolded before you, and the pieces of the puzzle finally clicked into place. The woman beside him, the child, the house—it was all part of a life Dwight had been living behind your back. Your hands clenched into fists as anger and hurt surged through you.

"Who is she, Dwight?" you demanded, your voice a mixture of pain and anger.

He hesitated for a moment; the guilt was written all over his face. The woman beside him looked from you to Dwight, realization dawning on her.

"Daddy, who is she?" the little girl asked, confusion in her innocent eyes.

Dwight stammered, struggling to find words that could undo the mess he had created. The silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the distant sounds of the little girl's toys.

“Elisa, please take Emma to her room,” Dwight said for the first time.

The woman, apparently named Elisa, took a step back, her eyes flickering between you and Dwight. She gently guided the little girl, Emma, away, leaving you and Dwight in a charged atmosphere.

The weight of the betrayal settled over the room, and you couldn't hold back the torrent of emotions any longer. Your gaze bore into Dwight's, demanding an explanation that might never suffice.

"What is this, Dwight?" you questioned, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak. "How long has this been going on?"

Dwight avoided eye contact; his guilt was evident. "It's complicated," he muttered, a feeble attempt to justify his actions.

"Complicated?" you scoffed, bitterness tainting your words. "So, you accidentally had a daughter with another woman?”

“I can explain,” he said, reaching for you, but you stepped back.

“You made Tara and I move here because you wanted to be with her, didn’t you?” The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, and anger surged through your veins.

“I thought it was the best for us and for you,” he stammered, his excuses sounding feeble and hollow.

“For us? Or for you and your secret family?” Your voice rose, a mix of betrayal and anger coloring your words.

Dwight’s eyes darted from you to the ground, realizing the depth of the mess he had created. The room felt heavy with the weight of shattered trust and broken promises.

When no more words came from his lips, you turned to leave. Dwight's desperate plea echoed in the background. "Please, let me explain."

“I don’t want your damn explanations, Dwight. I want a divorce.”

As the weight of your decision hung in the air, Dwight's face contorted with a mix of desperation and regret. The word "divorce" hit him like a cold, hard truth, a consequence of the choices he had made. The room seemed to close in around him as he grappled with the reality of losing the life he had taken for granted.

He grabbed you by the arm with such force that it almost fell from your shoulder, stopping you from getting into the car.

“Love, please, let's talk about this. We can work things out," Dwight pleaded, his voice a desperate attempt to salvage the unraveling threads of your marriage.

You pulled your arm away, resentment etched on your face. "There's nothing left to talk about, Dwight. You made your choices, and now I'm making mine. There’s no way I’m staying with you after this.”

But for him, this couldn’t be the end; this couldn’t be the end that his so-perfect family on the outside was done.

“This just suits you well, right?” He asked, with a bitter taste on his tongue, “Now you will run to Joel.”

Your jaw clenched at Dwight's accusation. The bitterness in his words stung, but you knew that responding with anger would only prolong the pain and the fury rustling your bones. With a heavy sigh, you looked at him.

"This has nothing to do with Joel," you stated firmly, your voice devoid of the emotions that churned within. "This is about us, about what you did. I won't stay in a marriage built on lies."

“Oh, but it was made of lies!” he exclaimed, now fury corroding him. “Do you think it didn’t hurt me to now you would never love me the way you loved him”

Your patience was wearing thin, and Dwight's attempts to deflect blame onto Joel only fueled your frustration. "Stop trying to shift the blame, Dwight," you retorted, your voice sharp. "This is about your choices, not Joel. Our marriage was broken long before Joel came back into the picture."

You started the car, determined to put distance between yourself and the wreckage of your marriage, from Dwight and his venom, and as you drove away, the weight of the truth settled on your shoulders, and the road ahead seemed both daunting and full of uncertainties.

“Hey, why aren’t you coming back to work?”

2:30 p.m

“Come on, Doe where are you?”

2:35 p.m

“Doe, seriously I’m getting worried.”

2:45 p.m

“If you don’t come back, I’m coming to your house.”

3:00 p.m

Oh Joel, sweet Joel, you thought as his messages popping up on your screen, yet you didn’t answer, not finding the strength to even take your phone a put effort on making up a lie. You wanted distance, silence and peace.

You were sitting on the couch, looking around your house, and it felt so cold to be on your own, alone, humiliated and sad. Your tears had almost run out, your face felt tainted with the salty taste of your own sadness.

You knew you weren’t innocent. You had been taunted with the could’ve been with Joel, with a flame that tainted your life with a dark blue because there will never going to be something like that, someone like him.

Back when you found yourself with your back against the wall, kissing the lips of Dwight, your wound was open and you allowed the fire sparks enter to your, blind hoping for the care of a man again, you allow the hollow eyes of Dwight find yours in that desperate need for something.

But after time, those eyes didn’t look at you with love, there was no spark or adoration on them just the used of company, and you killed each other by no loving each other enough.

But now, you felt lifeless and ashamed of what you had chose for yourself. Honesty felt so cruel because was tearing you apart, and it felt particularly cruel because it was a reminder of how you were never enough to anybody.

"Mom, what happened? Why are you crying?" Tara asked when she stepped into the house, coming back from school.

You didn’t even notice the sound of the door being closed, just the touch of your concerned daughter touching your shoulder as a source of comfort.

You tried to compose yourself, wiping away the tears that had escaped. "It's nothing, sweetheart. Just a tough day."

Tara, ever perceptive, wasn't easily convinced. She approached you, her eyes searching yours for an honest answer. "Mom, I know something's wrong. You can talk to me."

The vulnerability in Tara's voice tugged at your heart, and you realized that keeping everything bottled up was affecting not only you but your daughter as well. The cruel truth was going to see the light of the day, but you weren’t going to be the one taking responsibility for Dwight’s actions. Taking a deep breath, you look at Tara, inviting her to sit next to you.

"It's about your father and me," you began, choosing your words carefully. “I’m divorcing your father.”

Tara's eyes widened, a mix of shock and sadness flickering across her face. “What? Why?”

You sighed, grappling with the difficulty of explaining the complexities of adult relationships to your daughter. "Sometimes, adults face challenges, and they make choices that hurt others. Your father and I have reached a point where we need to go our separate ways."

Tara's gaze remained fixed on you, absorbing the weight of your words, and before she could say something, the sound of the door opening made you turn your attention, and there stood Dwight, his face desperate and fearing the worst once he took the image in front of him. The tears on your face and Tara’s expression.

"Why are you telling her?" Dwight burst out, his voice edged with anger. "She's just a kid!"

You shot him a stern look, defending your decision. "She deserves to know the truth, Dwight. It's not fair to keep her in the dark about what's happening in our family."

Tara looked between the two of you, her eyes wide with confusion and concern. "Dad, what's going on?"

Dwight's frustration escalated, and he glared at you. "You're poisoning her mind against me, making me the villain in this."

Tara's expression morphed into sadness and disappointment as she looked at her father. "Dad, just tell me the truth. What's happening?"

Dwight hesitated, realizing that the truth was inevitable. "We're having some problems, Tara. Your mom and I are trying to figure things out."

“Stop lying and act like a fucking man!” You exclaimed, frustrated by this situation. “I’ll go upstairs, and when I came back here, you must have told her the truth.” Your determination changed something in Dwight’s expression.

You went upstairs, leaving Dwight and Tara alone in the living room. The weight of the situation lingered in the air as you ascended the staircase, knowing that the inevitable truth would surface. Tara was going to suffer, and Dwight had to face the consequences of his actions and confront the reality of his choices.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you couldn't help but sob. There was anger and fury rustling your emotions. But amidst it all, there was concern for Tara; you had to be strong for her and act as an adult.

While you took a moment to collect yourself in your room, downstairs, Tara pressed Dwight for answers, her young eyes searching for clarity in the chaos.

"Dad, what's really going on?" Tara asked with urgency in her voice.

Dwight, cornered by the truth, took a deep breath before responding, "Your mom and I have been having problems for a while. We're trying to figure things out, but she is making it complicated."

Tara frowned, sensing the weight of his father’s lies. For her, you were a victim of a bad love story. "Is it because of another woman?"

Dwight hesitated, his eyes avoiding direct contact with Tara's gaze. "It's more complicated than that."

“What could it be more complicated than cheating on my mom?” She questioned, raising her eyebrows. "You're trash, dad. How could you do this to Mom? To us?" she demanded, her eyes filled with a maturity that exceeded her thirteen years old.

"I messed up, Tara," Dwight admitted, his voice carrying the weight of regret. "I made some wrong choices.”

Tara's expression hardened with evident disappointment. "I can't believe you would do this to her.”

"Tara,” he whispered, but she had already left the living room.

The tension seemed to be haunting the entire house; a breathing, tainted air of unfaithful lies suffocated you, passing back and forth inside the room, fitting all the pain inside.

Dwight retreated to the bedroom without closing the door behind him. You took some distance from him, creating an emotional barrier between you and your soon-to-be ex-husband.

You were there by the door, like you were just a kid facing the anger of a mad father.

“I suppose you’re happy with what you caused." Dwight spitted, turning the blame on you: “Tara calls me trash, trash! I’m his father, for fuck’s sake.”

“Perhaps she saw the truth behind your pretty face.” Your voice, so insensitive yet fueled by disappointment, threatened to cause a fire with each word you threw against him. “I can’t believe you’re blaming me for what you did.”

Dwight, torn between guilt and the remnants of his wounded pride, attempted to justify his actions. "It's not that simple, okay? Things have been complicated, and I made mistakes."

“Having a daughter with another woman and having a secret family is not a mistake but a choice,” you shot back, your patience wearing thin.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I never meant for it to get this far. It just happened."

“What would your little girl say if she could hear you calling her a mistake, Dwight?” anger bubbling within you."

His expression shifted from defensiveness to frustration. "I get it, okay? I messed up, but you don't have to make this any more difficult than it already is."

"You've shattered our family, Dwight. Tara deserves better than this." As always, you were putting your daughter before yourself.

“She does, but you don't,” he shot back. “You never loved me. How do you think I felt all this time when I woke up to you looking at pictures from your past, from your lover?” Dwight's frustration escalated, and he paced around the room, his hands running through his hair in a display of exasperation. "You never loved me. You were always stuck in the past. How do you think that made me feel?"

Your jaw clenched, and your eyes narrowed at Dwight's attempt to turn the tables on you. "This is not about me and Joel! I didn’t see you until that day Tara got that problem at school.”

“I don’t care! I got tired of you, and I found a woman who cared about me.”

"What I even was to you, Dwight?" You questioned, and your voice broke at the hurt and the feeling of being a small kid being threatened. The room, still echoing with the remnants of the heated argument, seemed to punish you.

Dwight's face contorted with a combination of emotions, from defensiveness to guilt, and a lingering pride that fueled his attempts to justify his actions. "You were supposed to be my wife, the mother of my child. But all you cared about was your past and that guy, and I was the man you found a way to fill that void inside you."

"Then why are you here?" you asked, the pain and confusion evident in your voice. The room felt like a battleground of dirty, shattered lies and promises.

Dwight hesitated, a fleeting moment of uncertainty crossing his face. "I thought I could have both. I thought I could keep you and have this other life."

Your incredulous gaze met his, who stood silently, looking at you for some answer, perhaps a beg.

"You can't have it all, Dwight," you asserted, your tone firm. "Life doesn't work that way. Choices have consequences."

Then there was silence, and silence is the most devasting sound when you can’t repair the damage. There was no need for more words, not more fights.

“I’ll stay in this house until I find a place to stay, then you can come and live with your new wife and daughter.”

You made a move to leave the room, to find solace elsewhere, away from the chaos Dwight had unleashed upon your lives.

But Dwight, desperate and unwilling to accept the consequences, blocked your path. "You're not going anywhere. We need to talk about this."

Frustration boiled within you again, and you pushed against Dwight's attempt to keep you in the room. "It’s over, Dwight.”

“You’re my wife,” he said, tightening his grip on your arm with such anger in his eyes. "You can't just walk away. We're married, damn it!"

Your eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and fear. "Marriage is built on trust, Dwight, and you shattered that trust. You made your choices, and now you have to live with the consequences."

The struggle for dominance continued, both emotionally and physically, as Dwight refused to release his hold on you. In that moment, the facade of the once-happy family crumbled, revealing the ugly truth beneath.

You closed your eyes in instinct, waiting for the hard touch of his hand on your face, but all you felt was the loosening of Dwight’s strong grip on your arm, and when you opened your eyes again, there was Joel between you and the man who had caused so much pain. There was an unspoken anger in Joel’s eyes; he would not stand by and let anyone harm you.

"If you ever think of it, put a finger on her, and I will smack your face," Joel warned, his voice firm.

Dwight laughed at Joel’s attitude, finding it both amusing and offensive. “Do you really think I was going to hurt her?”

Joel's jaw tightened at Dwight's dismissive laughter. The air in the room crackled with tension, and the weight of the betrayal you had just experienced hung heavy in the atmosphere.

"I've seen enough to know you're capable of causing harm," Joel retorted, his voice laced with restrained anger. The lines were etched on his face.

“Are you going to say something?” Dwight asked towards you, ignoring Joel.

You took a deep breath, your eyes meeting Dwight's with hurt. "It's over, Dwight. There's nothing more to say. We're done."

Dwight's face contorted with a mix of frustration and regret. He seemed to be torn between attempting to salvage what was left and accepting the consequences of his actions.

Joel, still standing protectively in front of you, spoke up with a calm yet firm tone. "She's made her decision. Leave.”

Dwight, feeling the weight of defeat, left the room with a resentful glance, muttering under his breath. "Enjoy it while you can. The only reason I’m behaving is because Tara is the house.”

Joel's jaw clenched, and a flicker of anger danced in his eyes, but he held his composure. He didn't want to escalate the situation further. Instead, he focused on you.

Once Dwight left the bedroom, your only thought was Tara. “Where is Tara?” You asked mostly to yourself than Joel.

"Relax; she is in my truck. She is fine,” he assured, gently stroking his thumbs on your shoulders.

Joel's reassuring words offered a momentary comfort. The weight of the newfound truth was heavily on your shoulders, and your concern for Tara fueled your urgency.

"Why are you here?" you asked, this time finding Joel's gaze.

He sighed, the weight of the situation evident in his eyes. "I came here because you didn't answer my messages or calls. I was worried about you, Doe. Something felt off."

Gratitude and regret were displayed on your face as the events of the day settled in. "I didn't want to involve you in this mess."

Joel shook his head, his expression softening. "Doe, what happened?”

But instead of words, a sob escaped from your lips. Finding solace in Joel’s presence made your feelings overwhelm you. Joel pulled you into a comforting embrace, allowing the tears to flow freely.

“Dwight was cheating on me, Joel. He had another family,” you mumbled on his shoulder. The crumbling of your marriage and the betrayal you experienced all poured out in that moment.

"I'm here for you, Doe," Joel whispered, his voice a soothing presence in the midst of chaos. "You don't have to face this alone."

As the sobs subsided, you pulled away, wiping away the tears, and your gazes connected.

Joel's gaze held a mixture of concern and empathy. He brushed a strand of hair away from your face; his touch was gentle and reassuring. "I'm so sorry you're going through this, Doe. You don't deserve any of it."

The vulnerability in that moment deepened the connection between you and Joel. Despite the years that had passed, the emotional intimacy you once shared resurfaced. His thumb traced a soft pattern on your cheek.

“I don’t want to sleep here,” you roared, hugging Joel tightly.

“You won't,” he said, kissing your temple. “You and Tara can stay with me tonight.”

Joel held you in his arms, offering the missing warmth from your life, feeling like a roof in the middle of a storm. The weight of the pain and betrayal you had just experienced slowly eased as he whispered reassurances. "You won't have to go through this alone, Doe. I'm here for you, whatever you need."

It was almost summer; holidays were coming, and you felt brave enough to make confessions of love. There was a guy from school, and you were convinced that he reciprocated your feelings. The anticipation of young love and the butterflies in your stomach didn’t lie. As you mustered the courage to confess your feelings, reality unfolded in a way you hadn't expected.

That guy made fun of you in front of everyone, leaving you with shame.

In the quiet corner of the park, where Joel and you often hang out, you poured your heart out to Joel. The guy you liked had not only rejected your feelings but did so in a cruel manner, making a public spectacle of them.

By this time, both of you were sixteen, and Joel felt the weight of your pain. Although he had been secretly developing feelings for you, his priority was to shield you from unnecessary hurt. In that moment of heartbreak, he became your protector.

With a protective arm around your shoulders, Joel offered a comforting presence, his own heart silently breaking at the sight of your tears. He didn't utter words of love, not wanting to complicate an already painful situation, but his actions spoke louder. Joel stood between you and the judgmental eyes of your peers, ensuring that you wouldn't face the humiliation alone.

"You deserve someone who sees how amazing you are, Doe. That guy doesn't know what he's missing."

It’s me who can see through you.

The evening settled into a quiet calmness as the memories of the tumultuous day began to fade. The soft glow of dim lights in Joel's house created a comforting atmosphere, providing solace in the midst of the storm.

Joel, always caring for your emotions, approached you gently. "Sarah and Tara fell asleep," he informed, his voice a soothing murmur. "Do you want to share a glass of wine? It might help ease the weight of the day."

You nodded, appreciating the offer of a small respite. Following Joel to the cozy living room, you found solace in the warm ambiance of a place that felt like home. The flickering candles cast dancing shadows on the walls, creating a sense of intimacy that contrasted with the chaos you brought with you.

As Joel poured the wine, you couldn't help but reflect on the unexpected turn your life had taken. The comfort of friendship, which had evolved into something deeper again, provided a steady anchor in the storm. Joel handed you a glass, his eyes reflecting concern for you.

"To resilience," he proposed, raising his glass in a silent toast.

You reciprocated, clinking the glasses with a small smile on your face. The velvety red wine offered a taste of familiarity, a reminder that amidst the chaos, there were still constants in your life.

"It's funny how life works, isn't it? That we found each other again." You began, breaking the silence.

Joel nodded, his gaze unwavering. "I never stopped caring about you, Doe. Even when we were apart, there was always this connection that transcended time and distance. I guess our bond is meant to be."

As you shared the stories of your personal lives without each other for the last few years, the unspoken truth lingered in the air—the bond between you and Joel was more than the forceful friendship you were trying to recover; there was something else still taunting the beating of your hearts when you were together. It was a connection that had weathered the storms of life—an invisible thread woven your paths together.

"You were there for me, and I didn’t fight for you that night,” Joel admitted, his voice carrying the weight of his regret. "And, truth be told, I never really got over you."

The weight of Joel's confession hung in the air. He had already told you that he still loved you, but this time, his admission felt personal, opening a door to a realm of emotions that had long been kept at bay.

You looked into Joel's eyes, a mixture of surprise and realization flickering in your gaze. The atmosphere seemed to shift, the quiet acknowledgment of a shared history merging with the present.

Perhaps a second chance.

There you were, after years of the night you left the house, you both shared the confession of love you waited to hear the most—the regret and the sadness. In the soft glow of candlelight, Joel's expression mirrored the vulnerability you felt. The unspoken emotions hung between you, bridging the gap of time and space that had kept your hearts apart. The weight of his words lingered, unraveling the layers of history and emotions that had shaped your lives.

"I always wondered what could have been," Joel admitted, his gaze unwavering.

As the weight of unspoken confessions hung in the air, you felt a surge of emotions pushing you to bridge the gap that had separated you and Joel for so long. The vulnerability of the moment, the shared history, and the admission of lingering feelings created a magnetic pull you couldn’t ignore.

With no rings and no faithful promises to keep with another man, you felt free.

Leaning in, you found yourself drawn to Joel, a longing that transcended the years apart. The soft glow of candlelight flickered in the room, casting a warm ambiance on the faces of two souls entwined and meant to be together again.

As you looked at him, you got lost in the dark starry universe his gaze held, the stars and constellations written the words he didn’t say to you in the past, and without a warning, you leaned in, but for your surprise and also shame, Joel pulled back, eyes wide, mouth open.

Oh.

“Oh god,” you said, holding your tears and face behind your sacred palms, hiding from the cruel joke you felt toward the world today.

"I can't, Doe," Joel whispered, his voice carrying a sense of restraint. His gaze, though filled with a depth of emotion, conveyed a silent plea for understanding.

Confusion and a tinge of hurt flickered in your eyes as you retreated, the space between you now feeling deeper than ever before.

"I understand," you murmured, a faint smile attempting to mask the disappointment that lingered beneath the surface.

Joel watched you, his heart heavy with a mix of regret and a profound desire to ease the pain that etched your features. But Joel wanted to kiss you and worship every single inch of you, but he wasn’t able to give in under your state, yet he was so vulnerable, and a deep ache settled in his chest. He wanted to be the solace you needed, but the weight of the moment and the chaos of the day made him hesitate.

He didn’t want to take advantage of you.

"I want to be there for you, Doe," Joel said softly, reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. "But not like this. You deserve more than a rushed moment in the midst of all this chaos."

His words carried a sincerity that echoed in the quiet room. Joel had waited years to express his feelings, and now, with the universe conspiring against both of you, the timing felt painfully wrong.

You lowered your hands, meeting Joel's gaze with a mixture of gratitude and a silent acknowledgment of the complexities that surrounded you. The connection you shared held a delicate balance.

“I’ll go to sleep,” you said, feeling the exhaustion that permeated every fiber of your being. The weight of the day, the end of your marriage, and the nice words of Joel.

“Goodnight, Doe," Joel said, his voice a soothing presence.

You nodded and said, "Goodnight, Joel.”

++++

Upstairs, unbeknownst to you and Joel, Sara and Tara huddled together, peeking from upstairs, watching the scene unfold in the living room. The girls exchanged concerned glances, sensing the gravity of the situation.

"Dad is such an idiot," Sarah whispered to Tara, her young eyes wide with frustration.

Tara nodded in agreement, her own eyes reflecting on the events of today.

Sarah leaned in closer, her mind buzzing with an idea. "We should do something to help your mom and my dad be together again.”

Tara's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Like what?"

A mischievous grin formed on Sara's face. "We'll be matchmakers! We'll get them together. They obviously still love each other, and it's about time someone did something."

Tara hesitated, glancing back at the living room, where you had just retreated. "But won't your dad be mad?"

Sara shook her head. "Of course not; he would have his girl back."

tags 💌: @joeldjarin @missladym1981 @yomiyasxx @aliengirl99

@lola8888673 @nottodaysattan @picketniffler @violinchick

@sadgirlcheesecake @caitlynsixxx @luvwanda @sarahhxx03

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