#i love when you can see him smiling with his eyes

[erwinsvow]

GOT WHAT YOU WANTED

summary: you're rafe's best friend—kelce and top's too, but there's always been something more between the two of you. neither of you will do anything about it. clearly, the solution is to become friends with benefits.

now spinning: too many nights by metro & future

word count: 11.5k

warning/tags: kook trio reader, using jj to make rafe jealous, mentions of drugs/partying, jealous/possessive rafe and reader, smut !, rafe deals coke. tysm to @zyafics for beta’ing & helping me so muchh & @inimamea for being so lovely and supportive. tysm to all the lovely anons who have been supporting and loving this concept from the start, i hope u all love this ♡ (but sorry in advance if u don’t)

truth be told, you didn’t like making rafe angry. 

it wasn’t fun for you, like other things were—watching your boys play golf while you lounged in the cart with the cold drinks, picking out a pretty outfit for the day, crashing on the couch at tannyhill with your head in rafe’s lap and feet over kelce’s legs. 

those were fun things. what you were doing now, with jj, was something borne of necessity. you’re not a mean girl. you find it tough to be mean to anyone except rafe, actually, and only because he dishes it back and you know his feelings aren’t really hurt, but right now you were being mean.

to jj that is. 

you smile at the blond boy seated next to you, the golden glow of the bonfire casting its warmth onto both of you. you laugh at another joke he makes, but only half-hearted, taking another sip of the beer he’d gotten you from the keg.

jj’s funny, he’s sweet too. it’s not his fault you wish you were seated next to your best friend instead of him, drinking a strawberry seltzer from the case that rafe keeps in the back of his truck specially for you. 

“so?” jj asks, and you turn from staring at your shoes to look up at him. he’s looking at you with a smile, a very charming smile that you could have a lot of fun with, except you’re starting to feel bad about toying with him like this. 

“so?” you repeat back, softly. he leans in a little to hear you. you feel a little warm at the action, but it could just as easily be from the fire. 

jj’s nice—and you’ve always liked nice, preferred it to almost anything. every boy you had ever introduced to your trio had been nice, though rafe hadn’t ever cared. he’d hated them from the moment he’d laid eyes on them. you wonder now when you let him seep into your mind like this, with every other thought about rafe rafe rafe. somewhere in between accepting jj’s invitation to come to the bonfire with him and getting jealous over the fact that rafe was seeing some random girl.

“you didn’t tell your other boy about this, did’ya?” you look up at jj with eyebrows knitted, puzzled.

“other.. boy?”

“cameron.” now you really flush—you certainly don’t want jj to think rafe is your other anything.

“no, no. we’re not dating. we’re just friends.”

“right, okay. you tell him about tonight?”

“no. it didn’t come up.”

“ah. got it.”

“why?” you ask, and before you can look around, jj stares into the distance, gesturing with his eyes to a blurry figure.

“nothin’. he’s just been starin’ at us since we sat down, so i figured, but-” you stand up, looking into the distance where rafe was. you can feel yourself turning green with envy, red with rage, watching him stand next to the same girl he’s been with, her looking at rafe while rafe looks at you.

you sit back down on the log, wrapping a hand around jj’s arm and pulling him down to sit beside you. from this angle, rafe can’t make out anything but your backs, and maybe the lack of any real distance between you and jj.

“sorry,” you say, sweetly, almost having regained your wrath the second you saw the two of them standing together. “he’s crazy.”

“s’okay. not news to me, princess.” jj takes a pause, and you chew your cheek, trying to decide how far you were willing to take this. “you okay?”

“yes. why wouldn’t i be?”

“well, uh, it doesn’t take a genius. even though, y’know, i am one, to know somethin’s up.” “no, jj, i promise, we’re ju-” “just friends, yeah, i got it. i mean, i don’t know what type of friends exactly, but uh, i like you. and i’ll like you even if he has a problem with it. so up to you, really.” you glance up at jj, who is being nicer to you right now than you deserve. 

and you hate it, hate every second of it. you hate how rafe makes you feel, how angry and jealous you get, the fact that you even started talking to jj when in the back of your mind you knew it was because rafe would get upset over it.

but you also hate what rafe’s doing, the girl he’s with and the way he’s with her, the fact that he brought her here and still won’t stop shooting daggers into jj’s head. in short, you hate all of it. 

you lean in, resting your head against jj’s shoulder. 

“i’m sorry. i don’t know what’s going on with him. but, he’s here with a girl.”

“and you’re here with me.” jj wraps an arm around you. 

“yes, but not because-well, i don’t know.” it feels stupid coming out, but if jj thinks that, he doesn’t show any signs of it.

“s’okay. don’t always have to know.” you keep your head on his shoulder, enjoying the warmth he brings. “by the way, he’s still watching.” you smile, though you can’t tell which boy elicited it. “i mean, not gonna complain if i get to be your boy toy for a little but, nice to know you care-” you giggle, pulling away to put your drink on the sandy ground.

“you’re telling me you don’t want a sugar mama?” he laughs at your words and you relish in it. 

it could be picture perfect—waves crashing in the back, the fire flickering in front of you, stars sparkling above. jj keeps his hand on your cheek and leans in for a kiss, and you find yourself leaning too, when the voice of your best friend breaks the silence. you pull away from jj to look up at rafe standing behind you.

“hey. we’re goin’. c’mon.”

“rafe-” you start, but you get interrupted. jj stands, facing rafe.

“hey buddy, we’re a little busy. but uh, i’ll make sure she gets home safe-”

“guys-”

“wasn’t fuckin’ talkin’ to you, pogue-”

“tuck her into bed, and everything. don’t worry your little head ‘bout it-”

“m’gonna knock your little head out if you don’t get the fuck away from-” having heard enough, you drag rafe away by his arm, your pretty nails digging in harshly.

“what the fuck was that, rafe?” you ask, though you feel the bitterness coursing through your veins. how’s that fair—that he parades his girlfriend around you, at the club and here at the bonfire, but you can’t so much as spend a moment alone with jj. 

whatever reservations you had just held about using jj to make rafe jealous seem to have gone far away. instead you’re just angry—he wants his own girlfriend and he wants you without a boyfriend too. you turn to look back at the boy you left behind at the fire. jj gives you a thumbs up.

“how many times do i have to fuckin’ tell you to-to stay away from that pogue-”

“he has a name,” you counter, so defensive because jj was being nice to you even when he didn’t have to be, helping you even with no gain for himself. “and you can’t order me around, okay? you brought a girl here but i can’t talk to jayj? how does that make any sense?”

“stop yellin’,” he barks, grabbing you by the arm now, and guiding you away.

“why? afraid someone might hear us? like your little girlfriend? where’d she go, by the way, i bet she’s missing you right about now-”

“shut up. shut it.” you don’t realize how far rafe’s dragged you until you shake out of his tight grip, standing next to his truck on the street.

“i’m sick of this rafe.” it comes out quieter than you intend, tears prickling up. you hate crying, especially infront of the boys but even more so infront of rafe. “i’m not stopping my life and boys that i wanna see, and relationships i want to have because you’re not okay with it. not when you have your own girlfriend. it’s not fair.” 

“i don’t. i don’t have a girlfriend.” you roll your eyes, he watches it happen with a tight fist, jaw clenching.

“yes, you do.”

“no, i don’t.”

“you don’t?” you question, unbelieving. “you just.. walk around with the same girl for weeks. take her everywhere. but she’s not your girlfriend?” you’re snarky like always—you still don’t know if he likes it or not.

“no, she’s not.” 

“bullshit. at least get your fucking story straight, rafe. that girl’s probably half in love with you-” “m’not dating her. and if it bothered you so much how come you didn’t say something, huh? you pull this shit with fuckin’ maybank instead?”

“i’m not pulling anything with jj.” you lie through your teeth, hoping rafe bites. “i-i like him.”

“no you fuckin’ don’t.”

“who are you to tell me-”

“you don’t like him. what you like is makin’ me fuckin’ angry. well, it worked. stay the fuck away from him. and get in the goddamn truck.”

you groan loudly, the noise almost a scream and filling the quiet street. but you comply, getting into the passenger seat and letting rafe drive you home—to your house, not tannyhill like every other night. when he pulls up to your house, you resist the urge to get out without saying anything at all.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, kid.” you sigh, looking back up at rafe.

“that’s it? you’ll see me tomorrow?”

“what else do you want me to say, huh?”

“are you just gonna ignore all of that? what the hell was that?”

“m’not ignoring anything-”

“so, i can’t see jj anymore. are you still seeing her? who am i allowed to date then? kelce? top? do you have a pre-approved list for me?”

“shut up.”

“rafe,” you sound serious, as serious as he’s ever heard you, shifting in your seat to look right at him. he looks back, his knuckles white on the steering wheel at the mention of you dating kelce or top or anyone. “i’m not gonna stay single forever. i know your alpha-male tendencies don’t agree with it, but girls have needs too. i want-”

“what? what do you want?”

“the possibility of getting laid without you screaming at every boy i talk to would be nice.”

“don’t talk like that.”

“rafe.” 

exasperated, you unlock the door and climb out, not turning back to say goodnight. the last twelve hours seem like a blur, between texting jj and actually seeing him and rafe’s reaction to it. you’re not sure what kind of reaction you really wanted out of him, but you’re not happy with the one you got. you don’t know what, if anything, would have pleased you. 

that night, you go to bed angry and wake up sad. jj texted you something but you can’t find the heart to look at his message yet. 

you’re sure the boys have something planned for today, like they always do, but the idea of opening the groupchat to look at what they decided on makes you feel sick. so you stay home instead, showering off yesterday’s anger and wondering why rafe thinks you don’t deserve to have a boy in your life to fool around with, to date, to do anything with. 

the answer, sharp and painful like the jagged end of a piece of glass, hovers in your mind. you try to push it away.

rafe’s wrong—like always. you really don’t like making him angry, like it even less that your routine is disrupted and that for the first time in a long time, you don’t want to see your best friends today. brushing your hair, the sound of your bedroom door opening snaps you out of your thoughts.

“c’mon kid. get dressed. top’s got tee time at two and we booked lunch before.” you turn to look at rafe but don’t budge. he takes a look at you—dressed in one of his old frat shirts and plaid shorts that barely peak out. 

you look pretty all the time but it feels the worst, the hardest to deal with, when it’s just the two of you alone like this, none of the shit that you do for other people, for outside the house—the makeup, the hair, the nice clothes. when you’re pretty like this it’s just for him, since no one else gets to see you, no one but him. you probably didn’t even notice you were wearing one of his shirts—something that leaves him feeling more pleased than he should be. but like always, he’s not gonna tell you any of that.

“are you adding deaf to stupid?” he asks, and you roll your eyes, letting out an irritated huff.

“i’m not coming. go away.” you turn around on your vanity chair to face your mirror, continuing brushing your hair. rafe walks up behind you, staring at you in the mirror.

“c’mon. lunch is at the place you like. i’ll even talk to you when kelce and top are up.”

“is that your way of apologizing?”

“it’s not an apology.”

“of course it’s not. why would you say sorry? you probably don’t think you did anything wrong.”

“i didn’t.”

“mm-hm. when does rafe cameron ever do anything wrong?” you keep brushing your hair, staring at yourself in the mirror instead of at him. “psycho.”

rafe yanks the brush from your hand, spinning your chair around to face him. he boxes you in, his hands resting on the armrests. he’s too close to you, it makes his head spin. you wish he’d stop, you know he’s not going to. you watch with bated breath, wondering what’s coming next.

“i… didn’t mean to make you upset.” you keep staring up at rafe, blinking fast. “and i didn’t see it from your side. so, m’sorry. about that part. nothin’ else.” you can’t help the slow smile that grows on your face—rafe, apologizing, and to you of all people. you thought you’d never see the day.

“thanks rafe.”

“alright. get ready. truck’s still runnin’.” he pulls himself upright, freeing you of the restraint. you can hear the bass of the music in his car, the future song audible from your open window. 

“that’s bad for the environment. and i didn’t say i forgave you.” snatching the hairbrush back, you resume your motions. you hear rafe groan and it’s hard to hold back the smile. maybe you did like making him angry.

“kid.” 

“what? i heard your apology, and i don’t accept it. hope you girls have fun at golf-” rafe leans back in, holding your jaw shut between his fingers.

“do you ever shut up?” you shake your head from your position, though you can’t really move. “what’s it gonna take, huh? you want my permission to fuck ‘round? sleep with some, some fuckin’ nobody? some pogue? tough shit. you’re not gettin’ it.” he lets you go, and you rub your jaw tenderly.

“but you get to do it?” 

“that’s different-”

“no it’s not! you’re just a dick. and sexist. who am i supposed to sleep with, then?” you shoot back.

“i don’t fuckin’ know, kid. me, i guess. at this point-”

“ha-ha funny. you’re an-” when you finally get up and look at him, he’s staring at you. “what?”

“yeah. that’s fine.” he shrugs, like he’s just decided something trivial, like what to order at lunch or which iron to use. “you can sleep with me.”

“excuse me?”

“yeah. yeah, it’s a good solution. that way you can stay the fuck away from maybank and any other asshole.”

“rafe. shut up.”

“think about it,” he says, and you fall silent to listen, though this is the worst idea  you’ve ever heard in your life. “you get what you want. i get what i want. it works out.”

“how is being your pity-fuck remotely close to what i want?”

“sheesh, kid m’tryna help you right now. offerin’ you a solution-”

“rafe?” “yeah?”

“get out.” you walk over the door, swining it open and waiting for him to step out.

“just think ‘bout it,” rafe says, standing by the door but not leaving just yet. “alright?”

“goodbye, rafe.” 

you listen to the sounds—him walking down the staircase, the front door closing, his truck taking off. after you’re sure he’s gone, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding inside.

sleeping with rafe had been nothing more than a drunken thought that occasionally slipped into your mind when he’d be nice to you after some party. curling up next to him at tannyhill every other night certainly didn’t help, but that’s all it was—a thought, not reality. 

then you wonder if it’s really such a bad idea. maybe if you just got out all of this pent up energy with rafe, and then worked on finding someone he actually approved of, it would be easier for both of you. 

key word: maybe.

the idea that he’s still seeing that girl, the one he keeps denying is his girlfriend, makes you want to puke. he’d have to stop that, that would be part of your agreement. 

maybe rafe’s right, maybe you both get what you want out of this, as messed up as it seems. it can’t be the worst idea in the world—kelce and top always joke the two of you are half a couple already.

you go to your closet to pick out an outfit for golf, hoping you weren’t about to ruin your friendship with your best friend.

.☘︎ ݁˖

rafe’s leaning against the bar at the club when you find him. you think he’s got a weird sixth sense, he always knows when you’re around, and he looks up before you’re even near him. 

“i knew you wouldn’t pass on lunch. top owes me five bucks.”

“yeah. sure.” you put a hand on the counter to steady yourself—this is harder than you thought it would be. rafe takes a sip of his drink. you want to chastise him, tell him it’s only twelve-thirty and too early for drinking, but nothing comes out. your mouth feels dry and you almost want to chug the rest of his scotch. surprisingly, you refrain.

“what?” rafe asks, and you glance up at him, eyes locked.

“i thought about what you said this morning. what you offered.”

“and?” the bastard looks so smug. you should the slap the smirk off his face but you know what he’s thinking—proud of coming up with the idea himself, thinking he’s doing such a service.

“and.. better the devil you know and all that.” you wait for the other shoe to drop for a moment, for rafe to admit it was all a big prank and you fell for it, and now the boys owe him money or something.

“good. i agree. so should we get outta here, or what?”

“right now?” you question, eyes widening. “what about tee time?”

“you’re the only who’s so horny you’re on the verge of jumping pogues. m’just tryna help you-”

“shut up!”your face heats, looking around to make sure no one heard him. “by the way, between the two of us you’re the only one jumping pogues.”

“yeah, yeah. so not now, then?”

“a gentlemen as always, rafe. no, really, thank you, for showing me chivalry’s not dead.” you roll your eyes again, staring ahead at the bottles behind the bar. you don’t want to turn and look at rafe again, but you do.

“at this rate m’gonna have to show you what friends with benefits means too.”

“shut up.” it comes out like a hiss this time, narrowed eyes focusing in on your best friend and apparently, new fuck buddy.

“yeah, yeah. they’re at the table near the window.” 

“thanks.” you walk in that direction, catching a glimpse of top and kelce, but your feet pause for a moment. you stay still, but glance back at rafe.

he’s not leaning against the bar anymore—he’s facing you, staring at you. blue eyes rake over your skin top to bottom, focusing on the pretty sandals and polished white toes, smooth lotioned skin, your short white skirt and tight golf shirt, with one too many buttons popped. 

when you’re talking without ever shutting up, it’s hard for him to focus on anything but your glossy lips or long eyelashes fluttering when you roll your eyes. but now he’s taking it in—how easily you agreed to this little idea, how you talk a big game but you don’t seem as hesitant or upset as you were this morning. 

you turn back and keep walking towards the table—rafe can tell you’re flushed. he’s fine with it, prefers it this way. anything’s better than you going on dates with strangers, showing them looks and emotions and other things that belong to him.

if you’re horny, all you had to do was tell him. downing the rest of his drink, he goes back to the table and like always, sits next to you. 

kelce and top talk about the same old shit, until they focus their attention on you. you’re being quiet, not nearly as talkative or snippy as usual, and you haven’t said a word to rafe the whole time.

“and where’d you two go off to last night?” kelce asks, pointedly looking at rafe while he asks you the question.

“you guys know you left us stranded, right? we all came together. i mean i’m not saying self-absorbed but-” topper adds, but you cut him off.

“you’re really not one to talk about self-absorbed, are you top?” you shoot back, and kelce chokes on his water. 

“easy,” rafe says, and normally you’d fire away something at him too, but this time you don’t. “we had somethin’ to take care of. but you got home didn’t you?”

“yes, but-” topper says, but rafe cuts him off again. you hold back a laugh.

“then shut up ‘bout it.”

“kelce’s mom had to pick us up. it was humiliating.” you snort into your lemonade, all four of you bursting into laughter. you turn to ask kelce a follow up question, and rafe’s staring at you while you laugh. something low in your stomach twists, like a butterfly trying to fly out and away.

when kelce and rafe start talking about the course today, topper leans in to say something to you.

“you’re getting mean. y’know that means you’re spending too much time with him.” you transfer your gaze from top to rafe, staring at the boy next to you. 

the idea of what you would normally say floats through your head—something funny and earnest but still making top feel better, not saying sorry but making him laugh instead. nothing comes to mind.

“yeah. i guess i am.”

you sit through golf, reading your book in the cart while the boys play nine holes. your phone rings with a call from your parents about an hour in, and when you step away to take it, rafe follows you. the boys protest from the distance—it must have been his turn.

“you goin’ home?” rafe questions, and you jolt at the sound, not realizing he was right behind you.

“god. you scared me.” he doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring down at you. “yes, uh, mom wants me home for something.”

“you need a ride?”

“no, i drove here, remember?” 

“oh. yeah. am i gonna see you tonight?” the words make you flush—stupidly, no matter how hard you try to fight it, knowing that they shouldn’t. the two of you are going to be terrible at this. “kid?”

“careful, rafe. you’re starting to sound like a boyfriend.” “yeah. and we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” 

sucking in a breath, tearing your gaze away with pretty blue eyes that are looking at you like maybe that wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world, you’re at a loss for words again. before all of this drama, you could count the amount of times you had been rendered speechless by rafe with no hands—since it had never happened. still with nothing to say, you turn around and start to walk away. foot steps follow you.

“hey, hey. m’joking, it’s just.. a joke. how about i come over later? and we’ll talk about it.” you spin on your heels to face him.

“talk about it? talk about what?”

“our.. arrangement. y’know talk about it..” he tilts his head stupidly and you can’t decide if you want to slap him or kiss him. “..fuck about it.”

“okay! that’s it. bye, rafe.” storming away, you almost wish you hadn’t heard what he called out after you.

“bye, kid. i’ll see you later.”

.☘︎ ݁˖

at ten pm that night, freshly showered and somehow in another one of rafe’s shirts, you were back to where you were this morning—brushing your hair. rafe doesn’t knock on your door, just barges in.

“oh my god-”

“hello to you too.” he steps in, shutting the door behind him and taking a seat on your bed. you spin on your chair to face him.

“how the hell do you keep getting in here?”

“what? your mom let me in.”

“you didn’t even text-”

“i told you at the club. you have selective memory, kid.” he looks you over again. “nice shirt.”

“oh shut up.” you turn away for a moment, setting the hairbrush down, biting your cheek. “so?”

“so?” he repeats. he’s smiling, you can just tell.

“aren’t we gonna talk about our arrangement? that’s what you told me at the club-” you finish in a mocking voice.

“what else is there to talk about? you wanna get laid, i don’t wanna see you with random guys.”

“i still don’t understand what’s wrong with the guys that i-” rafe cuts you off, and he sounds angry.

“of course you don’t understand. you don’t have’t think about this shit, because i think about it for you. what’d you gonna do when some guy starts sleepin’ with you ‘cause me and top pissed him off once? or one of those pogues, huh? to get back at us? take some video of you and send it to everyone? brag and show it off to everyone?”

“oh.”

“exactly. so m’lookin’ out for you. this is better, trust me.” the thing rafe’s saying are making sense. you were on board anyways, but you feel better that there’s a real reason behind it.

“but what about that girl-” you ask, though you don’t know what kind of answer you’re expecting. rafe sighs.

“what about that girl?”

“are-are you gonna sleep with other people too?”

“no. m’too busy anyways. works out for both of us.”

“oh. okay. promise?”

“when have i ever lied to you?” you sigh, about to protest, when he finishes his sentence. “promise.” you feel strangely reassured, like this is a good idea.

“okay. thanks.” you dodge his gaze, playing with your manicured nails, pink this time.

“alright. get on the bed.”

“rafe-”

“what? i just said-”

“you’re not even gonna, like, take me out for dinner first?”

“who the hell d’you think paid for your lunch?”

“i don’t know.. kelce? he got lunch last week. should i go sleep with him next?”

“ha-ha. get on the bed.”

“ugh. you’re so crass. i don’t even know how you get any girls-”

“yeah, yeah. are you gonna shut up now or what?”

you can’t think of anything to say, so you finally follow his instructions, crawling into your bed and sitting up against your pillows to look at rafe. 

you’ve see him naked before. he’s seen you naked before. with all the time you spent together on the druthers or at the beach, you should be used to seeing him like this. he yanks off his shirt, pulling it off with a fist in the back over his head. 

the first sign that this idea wasn’t going to go as planned should have been now—feeling your breath catch in your throat at the sight in front of you. your best friend shirtless, getting closer to your bed. your eyes rake over tan, muscled skin and the silver chain glimmering around his neck. you don’t realize you moved, body sliding down and back flat against your mattress while rafe starts to lean across the bed, his hand planted next to your head.

rafe’s hovering over you. your breathing shakes for a moment, wondering if it would be this easy for him to do this with any other girl. you dismiss the thought when rafe leans in to kiss you, but it almost seems too wrong to let it happen.

“wait-” you move your head a little so your lips are away from rafe’s. “are you sure? you don’t think it’s gonna be weird?”

“stop bugging out, kid.” he says it low and quiet, and your entire body quivers from the sound.

“answer the question, asshole.” rafe laughs, his hot breath fanning across your cheek. you can’t help it, you laugh too, turning to look at him. you think he’ll be grinning like something’s funny, but your smile dies the second you lock eyes.

he’s not smiling, he looks as serious as you’ve ever seen him. he licks his lips, moving his eyes over your body, his shirt and your bare legs.

“you wearin’ anything under this?” 

he moves one of his hands from your knee to your thigh, stroking the soft skin. you curl your leg automatically, head lifting to watch his hands and your entire body trembling under his touch—it’s hot and electric, making your heart beat faster and the hairs on your arm stand up. he looks up from your legs to your face, watches you shake your head to answer no. 

“good girl.” 

your head falls back onto the pillow when the words leave his mouth. a chuckle leaves his mouth, but still he’s not smiling, it’s more just a noise of pleasure than anything else. rafe sits up between your legs, hands grabbing onto both of your legs and stroking again. he makes his way all the way to your hips, fingers dancing over the waistband of your panties. 

you think he’ll stop, maybe at least answer your earlier question, though you can’t remember what you had even asked him. he doesn’t, fingers swiftly hooking around the fabric and pulling them down your legs. you suck in another breath, angling your foot so they fall onto the bed while you keep your eyes locked on him.

“y’ready?” he asks, and you nod, though you’re not sure what you’re agreeing to. his hands go back to your thighs, pushing his t-shirt up to expose more skin. you tense up, but he keeps a palm on your knee. “relax.”

before you can anticipate anything else, he strokes your pussy, which is shamefully wet already, with two fingers, prodding the sensitive skin and gathering wetness. he does that laugh again, like he can’t believe what he’s looking at, and you try to shut your trembling thighs in embarassment, but rafe holds them open.

“rafe-” but before you can finish your sentence, two thick fingers plunge inside you, “oh my god—!” 

“hah. good.” when he pushes his fingers out, just to slam them back in, your eyes roll all the way back, another loud moan emitting from your mouth, sounds he’s thought about a hundred times before but still can’t compare to the real thing. but of course, you don’t need to know any of that. “don’t get too loud. y’folks are downstairs, remember?”

you don’t seem to remember. when he picks up the pace, really just wanting to test you and see how much you could take, you start moaning even louder, sweet breathy sounds filling the room. they’re just for him, and normally he’d want you screaming, but he can’t arouse too much suspicious, or your parents won’t ever let him back in the house. his other hand, the one holding your legs open, moves to your mouth, clamping his palm over your lips to keep your noises quiet.

you must like it, you clench around his fingers and your walls flutter when he locks eyes with you, almost hunched over you to keep you quiet while still fucking his fingers—now three, though he didn’t realize when he’d added another—into you. 

rafe’s hard, and he can’t remember the last time he was patient enough to wait to get his dick wet, but he likes you like this, not just shutting up for once, but eyes shut and face twisted with pleasure, whimpering into his hand, legs shaking in his grip while you’re wet around his fingers. 

“rafe-” you mumble, the sound all muffled. “m’gonna, ohh-” he picks up the pace, shushing you while battering into your pussy, listening to the gasps and whimpers through his palm while you cum all over his hand. 

limbs like jelly and throat dry, you lay there, catching your breath. your skin’s hot and flushed, and you stare at rafe while he stares at you.

“what?” you question, and it comes out quiet, soft, like you’ve done something you shouldn’t have. he’s thinking a couple of things, some of which have no business being in his head at all. do you always get this wet? who else has seen you like this? who’s gonna get to hear you moan the way you just did for him some day?

“nothin’.” 

“oh. okay.” you sit up against your headboard, pulling your—his—shirt down to cover up a little. “well, thank you.”

“yeah. no problem.” for a second he hestiates—briefly concerned you want him to leave now. “well? come on.” you’re trying to sound like you always do, a little irritated at him, a little snarky. he can see through it this time.

“what?” 

“get the condom. you’re the one who said we’re doing it today.” rafe watches for a second, wondering if he should laugh or yell at you, when you pull off his shirt. he stares at you, not moving, wondering why he thought this would be a good idea. 

he’s seen you naked before, changing in the same room or when you two lost all boundaries and started walking into bathrooms while the other’s showering, but this seems different. propped against your headboard naked, with your cum on his fingers, asking him to get a condom. now that he’s seen you like this, he has a new life mission of making sure no one else ever gets to. 

“god, you’re such a boy.”

“shut up.” 

“you shut up. you talked such a big game and now you’re just staring at my boobs-” he moves quickly, fingers on your jaw, actually shutting you up.

“lie down.” biting your lip, you comply, sliding down so rafe was on top of you. “spread your legs.” you move to do so, but rafe uses his hands on your thighs to pull them apart before you can. you can’t look at his face, it almost feels too weird, so you decide to stare at his dick instead, watching him roll the condom on with a puzzled face.

“what?” he’s been looking at your face the whole time.

“nothing. if i had known you were this big i would’ve asked a while ago-” rafe starts laughing, a real one this time, and you burst into giggles too.

“stop-” and he gets closer to you, lining himself up with your wet cunt, “-making me laugh. shut up.”

“you’ve said shut up like thirty times but you won’t stop talking eithe-oh!” he pushes in all at once, and all the breath leaves your lungs. you gasp instead, toes curling, feeling incredibly full, the disbelief that you’re full of rafe quickly fading away. 

you should have known he’d be good at this, good enough to actually get you to shut up. he starts a slow pace, thrusting in and out and you look up to see your best friend’s face contorted with pleasure, heavy breaths in your ears and the scent of his cologne overwhelming everything. his chain dangles on your neck, tickling you, and you try to permanently engrain the feeling into your memory.

you attempt to stay quiet, though the slam of the headboard against the wall is a dead giveaway. rafe pushes all the way out and then all the way back in with another slam, and there’s nothing you can do but take it, clamping your hand over your mouth now.

he manhandles your legs into place, pressing them to your chest while he continues the exhausting pace. you can’t discern anything but rafe’s quiet groans and heavy breaths. you’ve just cum but it doesn’t take long for that hot feeling to wind up again in your stomach, toes curling and eyes getting watery. your moans are still muffled, but the way rafe’s looking at you is only making them get louder. 

your bottom lip must be bleeding from the way your teeth have been abusing it. rafe moves your hand out of the way and leans in for a hot kiss, his tongue in your mouth and swallowing all of your noises.

with a final oh god, oh god, oh god, moaned into rafe’s mouth, you cum hard around his dick, eyes pressing shut and stray tears falling down, rafe’s lips not leaving yours. 

you don’t know why—but you wrap your arms around his neck, keeping the kiss going. rafe pulls away for a moment to breathe and you open your eyes, staring up at him through wet lashes, licking your swollen lips, while he looks back down at you.

he leans in for a final kiss, groaning into your mouth while he spills into the condom, still thrusting in and out of your sore pussy. 

rafe rolls off of you, resting on your sheets beside you. you try to catch your breath.

“you didn’t last very long.” 

“and how long did it take ya to cum all over my fingers?”

“oh, whatever. where’s my shirt?”

“it’s my shirt,” rafe says back, finding the discarded clothing on the ground and tossing it on your chest. you sit up, sliding his shirt back on. rafe’s standing, pulling on his shorts.

“are you leaving?” you ask, and you regret it the second it comes out, quiet and soft like you want him to stay. 

you do want him to stay, but you don’t want him to know that you do. it all feels very complicated and your thighs are aching, your throat dry. 

“no.” he sits back down next to you, swinging an arm over your shoulder like he always does. you lean into his chest. 

“you kissed me,” you say quietly. you’re glad your face is pressed into his side, you don’t think you could handle looking at his face right now. “and you were quiet. i didn’t expect that.”

“your parents are downstairs, remember?”

“oh. i forgot.” you realize after that you don’t want him to know he fucked you so hard you forgot where you were and who was home.

“is kissing off limits?” rafe asks, and you almost choke processing the sentence. things you never thought rafe would say to you.”

“no.. it was nice.” you pause, listening to the silence of the room and the thud of rafe’s chest in your ear. you’re no expert—though you fear you’re about to become one—but it seems faster than normal. “you want ice cream? or cookies? i made some yesterday.”

“no, kid. it’s fine.” you chew your cheek nervously. you want rafe to want to stay, not just because you asked.

“you can go.. if you need to.” you look up at him and then look back down when he meets your eyes. 

“why? got nowhere else to be.”

“oh. okay.”

“turn the tv on. we’ll watch your stupid movie”

“really?” your face lights up, grabbing the remote on your nightstand. you open up the blanket at the foot of the bed, covering both of you while you try to find you’ve got mail. you go back to your position and lean against rafe’s warm body, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. it’s not unusual, he’s done it before, but you don’t miss the fact that he’s decided to do it now. you try to push away the warm feeling blooming in your chest.

“don’t ever make a joke about sleeping with kelce or top again.”

.☘︎ ݁˖

your tired muscles wake up to the sun pouring into your bedroom. the light shines on rafe’s still-asleep figure, but you knew it wouldn’t wake him up, nothing ever does. you don’t remember falling asleep, barely remember anything after rafe showing up.

and the part where you slept with your best friend.

a guilt-trip dangles on the edge, about to take over, when you push it away and focus on the text messages on your phone instead.

top: rafe can’t believe u bailed on cod. u better be dead in a ditch somewhere

kelce: maybe princess finally killed him

top: stop hanging out without us

kelce: top lets just pull up next time

you laugh, and rafe stirs at the sound. you give his arm a shove.

“you ditched playing video games for me? i’m so flattered, rafey.” 

“shut up.” he grumbles. “go back to bed. s’too early for this shit.”

“it’s nine in the morning. and i have pilates in an hour.”

rafe turns over, and you can’t deny it’s nice to have him in your bed for once—it seems like you’re always sleeping at tannyhill.

“didn’t get enough exercise last night? you need more?”

you fake a yawn, covering your mouth.

“exercise? what exercise? i don’t remember that. you mean the boring sex?”

rafe sits up, facing you. you choke back a laugh.

“you wanna say that again?”

“uhh-”

“in fact, why don’t you try and get up? ten bucks says you can’t even walk to the door.”

“i can’t believe the two of us even fit on this bed with your gigantic ego-”

“don’t see you walking. m’waiting.” you toss one of your throw pillows at him.

“get out!”

“alright. i’ll say good morning to your parents on my way-”

“okay! wait, stay.”

“s’what i thought.”

“some way to say good morning,” you mumble, scrolling through your other messages—a text from your other friends about a party tomorrow and a reminder for your pilates class.

“you woke me up.” 

“oh whatever. i was just surprised you skipped a video game for this. but i guess most boys would.”

“there’s not much i wouldn’t skip for you.” you smile at rafe, misunderstanding him.

“that’s so nice. are you saying i’m a great lay?” he rolls his eyes.

“i’m trying to- shut up. what’d they say?” he picks up his phone. 

about twenty minutes later, after checking the hallway (and that too on wobbly legs, just like the smug idiot had predicted) rafe leaves. like always, he says he’ll see you later.

you fall on your bed and dwell on the fact that rafe kissed you last night. it’s hard to focus on anything else, and with every passing second, you think this whole thing was a worse and worse idea.

but he doesn’t seem to think that way. he seemed fine. he’s better at the no-strings-attached thing than you, and you don’t think he would have suggested it if he didn’t think you could handle it. 

with that thought lingering, you get dressed for pilates and hope it’s easier to walk before you see the boys again. you find out that it’s really not. 

after your class, you check your phone, finding messages from top and kelce. game night and pizza at kelce’s house. you’re invited, of course, but you shoot them a message saying you’re staying home with your parents instead. 

the second you press send, rafe’s contact photo lights up your screen.

“rafe?” you answer it without even waiting.

“what, not comin’ tonight? you always come.”

“oh, um-” you pace around your room, trying to think of a lie on your feet. “mom and dad wanted to stay in. you know. game night.” the words feel stupid, though you hope he’ll believe it.

“okay. you gonna swing ‘round after?”

“no, probably not. um, i’ll see you tomorrow?”

“yeah, tomorrow. have fun, kid.”

“you too. tell them i say hi.”

the rest of your day flies by and it’s not long before you’re curling up in bed with a tub of ice cream. your parents went out to dinner with some friends, while you contemplated what the hell you were doing with your own friends.

you four always had a standing date on saturday mornings in the summer—snacks and a spin on the boat. if you don’t go, it’s going to be incredibly obvious something was going on with you. 

you call topper while you pack your boat bag—grabbing the necessities the boys always completely forget about; spray sunscreen, an extra baseball cap, a book for you when you inevitably get bored of listening to them talk.

“what’s up?” top says, and you’ve made your way into the kitchen, pulling out fruit to wash and cut.

“what time are we going on the boat? and i’m bringing strawberries and mangoes, is that fine?” topper is the pickiest when it comes to the fruit—kelce and rafe will eat whatever you bring.

“uh, i think noon. call rafe, we’re taking the druthers today.” crap. that’s what you were trying to avoid. it feels crazy the second you think it—trying to avoid rafe. you need to get it together. acting like some love sick girl over your best friend feels like the stupidest thing you’ve ever tried to do. he must bring it out in you. “do you have any of those oranges? the little ones?”

“i’ll bring ‘em. listen, i need to get ready, do you know the time? i’ll just meet you there.” your self-realization is going to have to wait for another day.

“noon, yeah. i’ll text it.”

“thanks top.” 

you start an internal monologue on repeat—stop being weird about it. he’s still your best friend. be normal. he is not your boyfriend. you repeat it, but still pick out the prettiest bikini you own, yellow gingham and held together entirely by straps you’ve tied into pretty bows. you throw on one of the boys’ button-ups that’s ended up in your closet somehow on top. 

walking onto the pier, you hesitate in front of the druthers. you don’t hear any of the boys, and though nothing’s stopped you from getting on and making yourself comfortable, you wait for a second.

it’s like he knows. rafe steps out from the bridge, and takes one look at you, eyes flicking up and down your body and taking in the yellow fabric that’s barely covering anything, before offering you his hand to get on. 

“hey.”

“hey.” you look around. “nice weather.”

“yeah.”

“kelce and top running late? he told me noon.”

“those two are always late.” he’s staring at you, and this time it becomes clear, that he’s looking at you the way a boy who has been inside of you looks at you.

“i packed mangoes. you liked them last time.”

“yeah, i did.”

“i just hope they’re sweet.”

“yeah. they probably are. sweet.” rafe keeps looking, and you turn around to set your bag down. “listen, kid-”

“it’s a great day. good weather.” 

“you already said that.”

“oh.”

“would you stop and look at me?”

“no, um,” you start, emptying out your bag onto one of the seats. “sorry, i’m busy.” you feel rafe grab your shoulder, turning you around. he’s not as rough as he could be, like he usually is.

“you okay?” he asks, and you feel stupid.

“i’m fine.. are you okay?”

“yeah. but you’re actin’ weird.”

“well yeah, rafe. we slept together. it’s weird.”

“you were on board-”

“i was. i am,” you clarify. surprising even to yourself, you think you still are. “doesn’t make it not weird. imagine if you and kelce slept together. wouldn’t it be weird?” rafe’s face twists into a mixture of disgust and concern. “okay. bad example. sorry.”

“yeah. m’just saying, i wanna make sure you’re okay. but i don’t regret it if that’s what you’re afraid of. and nothin’ has to change.” hearing him say it makes you feel better. you repeat the words, tasting the feel of it on your tongue.

“right. nothing’s changed. you’re still rafe. i’m still me.”

“it doesn’t have to happen again, if you don’t want it to.” you stare up at him with crossed arms.

“why are you being so nice about it?”

“jeez, kid. what, you-you want me to be a dick ‘bout it? sounds like you’d prefer that.”

“no, just. it’s weird when you’re nice.” you look at him for a second before the two of you start laughing. “y’know what i mean.”

“alright. i’ll stop being nice.”

“thank you. now where are these two? i wanna read my book.”

“probably still sleepin’. played until-” rafe keeps talking, but you realize you’re only half paying attention. he takes his shirt off, and at the very sight of his chain sparkling in the sun, you realize you’re no better than the girls who chase after him. “what?”

“hm?” a little dazed, you look up from his abs to his face.

“you’re starin’.”

“oh. you think we have enough time before they show up?”

“time for what?” rafe stares at you while you stare at him. “oh.”

turns out he thought you did have enough time. you end up with your cheek pressed against the tan sofa in the cabin, body folded with your head down and ass up. rafe’s slamming into you from behind, and though it’s only the second time with him, you think there’s no pleasure in the world comparable.

from this angle he feels even bigger than yesterday. you feel tighter, or maybe it’s just the way your cunt is sucking him in, he thinks, thrusting in and out with his hands grabbing the fat of your ass, watching it bounce with every one of his motions. he has an urge to untie your bikini top, just so he can look at the expanse of the bare skin of your back, but he knows you’ll fuss if he does. he settles for shoving the thin yellow fabric of your bottoms to the side, yanking it so hard that you’re scared it’ll rip.

“be—oh—careful,” you get out in between moans, louder than the first time and louder still than he thought you’d be. he likes it more than he should. you already came once, but he wants to see if he can get another out of you.

“shut up,” rafe groans, eyes fixated on your perky ass, the one he’s stared at in hundreds of short dresses and tiny skirts, bikinis that he shouldn’t let you wear and panties he gets an eyeful of when you’re asleep in his bed. “jus’ take it-”

you keep moaning against the couch, head shoved in to muffle what you can, but it’s when you look back at him, turning your head to watch rafe slam into you with wet, lustful eyes, tired from how hard he had just made you cum, that he really can’t take it, finishing hard and fast while you let out pretty mewls that are still ringing in his ear. 

he pulls out, adjusting your bikini bottoms to cover you up, though there’s visible wetness staining them. your inner thighs are shiny where your juices glisten. rafe has to tear his eyes away, you keep your legs clamped shut.

“you okay?” he asks, trying to catch his breath. you don’t speak, just nod. “c’mon.” rafe offers you a hand, again, and you accept, following him outside and into the sun, even though you’re so tired you could fall asleep where you were.

“thanks.” you say, wiping your neck of the sweat that has collected there. he watches you do it. “sorry, i don’t have a tip or anything. how about some fruit instead? call it even?” “shut up, kid. m’not a hooker, you fuckin’ weirdo.”

“no, of course not,” you gasp, like you’d never suggest such a thing. “the correct term is escort, rafe. it’s all very american gigolo.”

“you watch too many movies.” but you still hear him laugh when the two of you step onto the deck. 

“what’s so funny?” you hear top’s voice, freezing up. you catch rafe’s eye, before looking away

“nothin’, man-” rafe starts, but you start talking over him.

“just debatin’ how long it would take you idiots to get ready. got enough gel there, top?” rafe and kelce laugh while topper narrows his eyes at you.

your days are on the boat are always fun—the boys steer while you enjoy the breeze and the sun. you pass the fruit around and read your book—another romance beach read, of course. this one’s about two best friends falling in love. you can’t find the will to keep reading.

you tune in a conversation about a party tonight.

“are we going?” you ask, looking expectantly at the three boys in front of you.

“yeah. why wouldn’t we?” kelce says. you shift your gaze to rafe, who gestures to your thighs with his eyes. you clamp your legs shut, flushing.

“fun. what time?”

.☘︎ ݁˖

finding a little hard to walk straight after your little tryst on the boat, you switch your heeled sandals for a pair of sneakers for tonight. you smooth out your pretty blue dress in the back of top’s jeep. him and kelce are in the front, you and rafe in the back, pulling up to whichever family that was off-island’s mansion for the evening. the music was blaring, audible from even down the street, with two boys carring a keg into the house while top parked.

“are they celebrating something?” you question, staring at the crowds of people inside.

“yeah. the fact that it’s saturday night,” kelce answers, and you shove the back of his head from the backseat. 

you hear rafe and top talking about something, though you can’t make it out. yesterday you thought, dreading when the boys swung by your house to get you, that it would be awkward to sit next to rafe and act like nothing had happened. surprisingly after the conversation this morning, you find that it’s not. he leaned over to open the door for you to get in, asked you how your class was, did the things he always did.

topper’s an idiot for boosting his wheels, and you’d told him as much when he showed you guys for the first time. getting down is a nightmare, even more in your sore state (which you are attributing to the pilates and not the boy sitting next to you right now). 

you turn to look at rafe again but he’s not there, and instead you see him in your window, opening the door and offering you a hand to get down. rafe’s probably helped you down a dozen times. this feels different, you admit to yourself, holding onto his hand to get down and keenly aware of his other hand hovering around your waist.

inside, the party is in full swing, one corner by the windows with billows of smoke and a group of boys in another corner mixing drinks. 

the four of you end up like always—divided into half on opposite ends of a painted pong table from someone’s old frat house. some girl top’s been talking to makes her way over, hanging off his arm before long. rafe watches you toss the white ball, your nose scrunching up in concentration. you cheer when it goes in, turning to hug kelce. you’ve only had two cups but you’re getting tipsy already, he can tell.

“top. top!” rafe shouts over the music, but he’s too busy talking to the girl to notice.

“man, he’s clearly busy,” kelce says with a laugh.

“i agree. looks like that one’s for you, rafe.” you look at him with a giddy smile, leaning forward on the table, palms pressed flat. he wishes you wouldn’t—he can see down the front of your dress from this angle. you cheer when rafe chugs the cup of cheap beer.

he should make the next one just to get back at you, but he doesn’t want you to get too drunk. instead he misses, the ball falling right into kelce’s hands. 

if you were sober, you’d roll your eyes—you’d recognize that rafe missed on purpose. he’s better at this than all of you combined.

“give me five,” rafe says to top, casting one more glance back at you and kelce before walking towards a group of people on the couches and fishing something out of his pocket.

he’s gone, at most, ten minutes, and returns to find kelce missing. his place is taken by some brunette boy, who is currently trying to show you the best way to toss the ball. he’s standing awful close, a hand on your shoulder, his gaze on your exposed skin while you stare at the red cups.

“who the fuck is this?” rafe barks, though with the music blasting, only topper can hear him.

“i dunno, kelce ran off with that chick he’s been hooking up with-” the white ping pong ball lands in the red cup closest to rafe. he hopes he doesn’t look up to see something that’s gonna piss him off, but it’s dashed in seconds—you hugging the stranger in glee that you made another shot. 

he swings around the table, shooting a glare at the boy while putting himself in between the two of you. he faces the boy first.

“get lost.” the boy tries to say something, but rafe interrupts before he can get a word out. “get. lost.” you watch him scramble away, rafe turning to face you.

“c’mon. we’re done with pong.”

“but i made the last one!”

“i said we’re done. y’lucky i don’t take your ass home.”

“we just got here. why would you take me home?” you question.

for all the big talk, all the jokes and banter and emotions you’re trying to bury, you still don’t understand the simple truth known to everyone that’s ever met you and rafe—he’s never going to be happy seeing you with any boy besides himself.

“what’s wrong?” you question softly, looking up at him with big, confused, drunk eyes, not snarky like he thought you might be.

“no. just.. stop talkin’ to strangers, s’all.”

“but he was nice!” you yell over the music, picking up another cup from the table and taking a sip. you hate beer, but they took top’s jeep and not rafe’s truck, so there’s no spiked seltzer here for you. 

“no he wasn’t.” he takes the cup from your hand, pouring half the beer out into another cup before shoving it back in your hand.

“yeah he was! don’t you want that? the sooner i find a nice guy we can stop all of this, right?” you look at him earnestly, before chugging the rest of your beer. 

“alright, you’re cut off.”

the rest of the night goes by the same as all the others—kelce and top into a competition to see who can get more drunk, you tipsy enough to talk loudly about anything that comes to mind and rafe scaring away any guy who stares at you for too long. you stare at rafe’s back when he goes to sell, watching a pretty girl touch his arm when he’s counting the cash she’s handed him. 

you look away since you feel the beer coming back up, anger bubbling. you focus on topper, trying to follow along with his nonsensical conversation about his ex-girlfriend.

“don’t worry,” kelce says, and you turn your gaze on him, confused. “he didn’t even look at her.”

“what?” but his eyes aren’t on you, glancing behind you. you turn, though you shouldn’t, looking at rafe, two girls laughing at something while he opens the little white packet for them. glancing at kelce, and then at top, who is keeled over on the sofa, nursing a half-empty bottle of tequila just by himself, you walk over to where rafe is.

“wait, don’t-” kelce calls out after you, but you don’t listen.

“rafe, i think top’s ready to go. are you?” you interrupt his conversation with the two girls, and though you despise the fact that you’re doing this, you realize kelce was right. he wasn’t even looking at them. you gesture at your two other best friends on the couch, kelce trying to yank the bottle from top’s grip.

“yeah, kid. c’mon, this place is dead anyways.” you smile, though you shouldn’t let rafe see it. no, your smile is for the girls. you feel an unparalled joy when rafe swings his arm around you, guiding you back to the couch. 

you shouldn’t look back, but you do. the girls look mad and you feel happy.

this is fucked—the very thought sobers you. you shouldn’t be happy that those girls think there’s something between you and rafe, but you are. 

rafe manhandles topper into standing up, while kelce turns to talk to you. he’s drunk, and it comes out like a laugh. you smile, thinking he’s going to make some joke about top and tequila.

“you’re just as toxic as he is. hah. and i thought rafe was bad-”

“what?” you ask, but rafe cuts you off before you can figure out what kelce means.

“kelce, it’s your job to make sure he doesn’t puke in the back.”

“man, why am i always on top watch-”

in the car, you pick the music while rafe drives. you notice he keeps an eye out in the backseat, with top’s head half out the window and kelce texting on his phone.

“did you sell a lot?” you ask. you’ve never really mentioned it before, so rafe didn’t expect it tonight.

kelce’s words linger in your head. if you weren’t sober before he said that, you certainly are now. 

“enough. why?”

“just wondering. i saw you before we left, that’s all.” you look at the road ahead, listening to the quiet tune of the bryson tiller song you’d put on.

“you saw me?”

“with the pretty girl throwing herself at you? hard not to see.” you regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth—you sound bitter and angry, two things you truly are, but you don’t want rafe to know already.

“what, you jealous, kid?”

“why would i be jealous? you’re not my boyfriend.” it comes out louder than you expected, trying to talk over top and kelce’s voices in the backseat.

“no, m’not.” 

you bite your cheek and stare out the window. 

“not to interrupt, or anything, but i think top’s gonna puke-” you jolt when rafe slams on the brakes.

tannyhill is fifteen minutes from where the party was, but it takes fifty minutes to get back. rafe pulled over twice to let topper puke on the side of the road, so it’s three am before the four of you get back.

you want to go home—the alcohol in your system and unfinished conversation with rafe have left you feeling queasy too, but it’s three in the morning. top and kelce are too drunk to drive you, and you don’t want to ask rafe.

you decide that you don’t want to be alone with rafe either, changing into one of the shirts you’d brought from home and stupidly looking down realizing it’s one of rafe’s. did you own a single t-shirt that wasn’t from his closet? where had all of your clothes gone?

grumpy that you’re in his clothes, upset that he had pretty much admitted he wasn’t your boyfriend, and riddled with the assumption that he meant he would never be your boyfriend, you collect a pillow and one of the blankets from his bed, walking out the door when you hear rafe’s voice saying your name.

“where the hell are you goin’?” facing him, you stare at your feet.

“the couch.”

“when have you ever slept on the couch here?”

“i’m starting something new.”

“get in bed before i drag you there.” you groan, thumping both feet on the ground before stalking into the room. rafe exhales loudly, loud enough that you hear it, before muttering something under his breath and following you inside, closing the door.

you sit on the bed, but before you can think about what you’ve done, you bunch up a pillow in your hand.

“you-” you throw the pillow at rafe, which misses him completely. “suck!” the second thuds against his chest, before falling on the ground. you huff from your position on the bed.

rafe picks up both pillows, dropping them on the bed.

“what the hell was that?”

“this whole thing was a mistake.”

“it’s been two days.”

“well i’m an emotional fuck!”

“yeah, i can tell.” you pick up the pillow again, whacking rafe’s side with it.

“ugh! you can’t just-” your hands falter, dropping next to you while you look up at rafe through wet eyes. “-just say that us sleeping together is a good idea because you don’t want me with any other guys. what the fuck am i supposed to do with that?” 

“i don’t know! you’re the fuckin’ clueless one. what’d you think that means?”

“stop! just tell me! stop making me think, i’m so drunk and everything is mental gymastics with you-”

“well stop throwin’ my own pillows at me!”

“you suck, rafe. all of this and you can’t just tell me whether you like me or not?” 

in hindsight, you don’t know where the question came from. maybe a small part of you that wasn’t willfully ignorant suspected a long time ago that the way rafe acts towards you is more than just overprotective friendship. you had buried the thought the second it emerged—rafe cameron doesn’t have girlfriends, doesn’t do relationships. the rafe that’s been your best friend was your best friend for that very reason, because you weren’t in love with him.

or at least you thought you weren’t in love with him. and at least, he thought you weren’t in love with him.

the truth, you’re beginning to realize, watching rafe grab the pillow you’re about to hit him with out of your hands and set it down, is that rafe only acts the way he does with you, and no one else. the drinks you like in the back of his car, his shirts in your closet, the bed you share and all the time you two spend alone. you thought it was a great friendship, and maybe it was. but all along there’s been something bubbling underneath the surface, the feeling in the pit of your stomach when he started talking to that girl, how angry you get when you see him with any girl that’s not you. 

you thought rafe’s a dick for giving you such a hard time about any boy you try to talk to. he is a dick, but you’re the bitch that can’t stand seeing him with another girl.

and as the thoughts rush through your head, rafe looks at you in his bed, in his shirt, and realizes the answer to your question is that there’s no one in the world he likes more than you.

“you should have told me ‘bout the emotional fuck part.”

“you should have just confessed.”

“nah, not really my thing.” he sits down on the bed next to you, and you stare up at blue eyes that are looking at you, a smile on his lips. “this whole thing was a bad idea.”

“it’s been two days,” you mock.

“yeah, well, we tried it.”

“do you regret it?” you hold your breath for the moment of truth.

“c’mon kid. yeah, i do. ‘cause i’m not letting you out of my sight after this. you’re dating me or no one at all.”

“so if we break up-”

“straight to the convent for you. don’t worry, i’ll send you a care package. strawberry seltzer and those porno books-”

“shut up.”

“you shut up. and get the fuck into bed. it’s late.”

“you don’t want one last emotional fuck? on your last day as a single man?” you tease, crawling under the sheets. “learn how to read a clock. it’s past midnight.”

“oh. whatever, you know what i mean.”

“i guess i can be convinced-” he leans in for a kiss, and you hold your breath waiting for it, when there’s a sharp knock on the door.

“guys. sorry to interrupt whatever the hell this is, but i think top needs to get his stomach pumped.”

#😭here it is #i am so nervous about this if you think it’s ass . i apologize in advance #kook trio reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

If You Have Something To Say (Mouse series) - Max Verstappen

Summary: With Max being hit with a new wave of hate as a result of his wins, fans suddenly take a turn on y/n and Max makes it clear that he won't tolerate anyone who has any comments to make about his quiet girlfriend

Max might be a little bias. He obviously thinks y/n is perfect and that there is no possible way people can dislike her.

But when she went completely silent even towards him part way through the day, he wasn't sure what had happened. On rare occasion she might go silent when she doesn't feel way or she's done something to embarrass herself and doesn't want to address it.

"Hey, mouse." Max smiles pulling his helmet off and kissing her softly. "Can you go to the unit? We'll be getting out of here pretty quickly so I want you to be ready to go."

Y/n nods still not uttering a word before she stands up and rushes from the garage while GP appears for the quick debrief Max requested over the radio.

"Everyting ok?"

"I think she might not be feeling well. I want to get back to the hotel quickly." Max sighs shaking his head before gesturing for them to have a look at the data and discussing plans for FP3.

By the time he gets to her it's been a longer wait than he intended but with no media he can get them straight out of there and to the hotel without much issue.

He doesn't push her to talk as he keeps a tight grip on her hand as they walk through the paddock to leave or even when they're in the car with a drive in the driver's seat. But eventually they're walking into the hotel suite and he sighs watching her throwing her phone down onto the bed.

"Mouse..." Max starts catching her attention and seeing the bloodshot eyes and he almost trips at the speed he moves forward to look at her. "What's wrong? Why are you upset?"

Y/n only manages to take a couple short and stuttered breaths in before tears actually appear.

"I can't fix it if I don't know what's wrong. Please talk to me...even if it's just a couple words so I know." Max panics, not just wanting but needing to be able to do whatever he can to stop her from being so upset. "Mouse please? I want to make everything better."

"I keep getting tagged in posts about-about how much people hate me." Y/n hiccups knowing she sounds pathetically childish. If you're going to be a WAG you have to take hate on the chin. Especially if she wants to be in a relationship with Max, one of the most hated drivers.

"Can you show me?" Max asks since he knows there's only more hurt and upset that can come from forcing her to tell him what people are actually saying.

Y/n picks up her phone and hands it to him hitting Twitter first before he flicks over to her Instagram tags and even on TikTok, which he doesn't personally spend a lot of time on but he knows y/n actually loves watching edits of him. On more than one occasions she's squeaked being caught in the act of watching them but it's definitely amusing from his end.

But all the posts and comments that she's tagged in are saying that she's rude and stuck up and the fact she won't talk to anyone isn't because she's just quiet and shy but because she thinks she's better than everyone. Especially the other drivers and even more towards the mechanics and lower paid jobs within the team.

"What a joke." Max mutters then sighing as he looks at y/n who is sniffling and wiping at tears that are still falling. "They don't even know you, Mouse. They have no idea who you are and they don't get to comment about it."

"I know." Y/n hiccups as Max moves back to her and just hugs her tightly, resting his chin on top of her head as she tries to calm herself down. "But people think that's how I am."

"They're just trying to get at you because I love you and they like to ruin nice things." Max whispers hating that he's really the source of this. He's why she'll get hate and even if every driver and every person in the team told the world that y/n is not stuck up and she's just shy and quiet. They wouldn't believe it because they believe what they want to believe even if it's entirely conspiracy and has no real evidence. "I'm sorry, mouse. This is my fault."

"No."

"They're just trying to hurt you because you're dating me." Max cements shaking his head before he kisses the top of her head, still holding her tightly. "I'll try and fix this."

"It'll probably just make it worse."

That's true. Usually as soon as you feed into their agenda the fans are like pirañas. If they know what they're trying to do to upset someone is working, they'll make it a point to really go in on that method of causing upset.

"I'm just going to private all my accounts and delete the apps for a bit." Y/n mumbles earning a sigh since she shouldn't have to do that just to try and take care of herself and stop herself from seeing the unwarranted attacks on her character from fans.

"I'm still going to tell them to stop." Max sighs then looking down. "Do you want to order room service?"

"All the desserts?"

"Yeah mouse, all the desserts." Max smiles lightly since if there's one thing that does make y/n happy it's sugar. Which is understandable because who doesn't love the comfort that a sugar buzz brings.

He does manage to cup her face and get a few kisses before reaching and grabbing the room service menu. He'll be doing the ordering but he definitely needs her to see what she wants before he calls for it.

-

Max and his team along with the Red Bull team all put out statements telling the world to stop making comments and digitally harassing y/n. She didn't see any of it, since she went through with her plan to just go off grid for a bit.

But there was certainly chatter about Max's out of character move to essentially tell everyone to shut the fuck up.

"Hey, mate. Everything alright?" Daniel asks as they stand together in the driver's parade. "I saw a lot of statements coming out. Is y/n ok?"

"Not really. The things they've been saying about her are just bullshit, they're making stuff up and they don't even know her." Max huffs shaking his head. "She knows it's not true but everyone saying it is just upsetting her that she thinks people really believe that stuff about her."

"That's rough." Daniel winces since he recalls Lando's girlfriend getting whole hate pages and ultimately it cost them their relationship because he couldn't handle putting her through that amount of hate.

Y/n is much more soft natured and even Daniel has a limited recall of how many times he even knows for certain that he's heard her voice. Initially he was actually a little offended till he realised everyone get such treatment in general. The fact he'd even heard her voice was a sign that she actually didn't hate him or fear being around him.

"Is she at the race today?"

"Yeah, but I've told her to just stick to watching in the unit. I think it's better if she just stays away from cameras as much as possible. The less attention on her the better hopefully."

After the parade, Max heads over to unit quickly just wanting to check on her one last time before he's gotta stay out in the garage and take the car out on track.

"Hey, mouse. You look comfortable." Max laughs since she's somewhat got the unit to herself. Definitely the room to view the race with the biggest screen in the unit.

"I am." Y/n smiles as he leans down to kiss her softly. "I didn't think you'd be coming back."

"I just want to check on you."

Y/n smiles before he nods mumbling for her to wish him luck though her expression gives him a silent message of "don't pretend you need a wish of good luck" and he steals another kiss before jogging back out the unit.

It's not exactly comforting for him to have to feel the need to step in when she is receiving hate all because of her connection with him. But Max will always protect his mouse. She's his world and honestly he really thinks if she wanted to stop coming to races he'd quit just to follow her wherever she wanted to be.

If she left him because of the hate, oh he'd make every driver and fans worst nightmare come true of really bringing back Mad Max. Anyone who crossed him whether it being in practice, qualifying or a race. He'd do whatever to ruin their race. Hell he'd probably go out of his way to ruin the entire field's race...aside from Yuki, maybe he'd like to have Yuki up there.

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #max verstappen #max verstappen f1 #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fluff #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #max verstappen series #mouse series #mv1 fanfic #mv1 #mv1 x reader #mv1 imagine #mv1 fic #mv1 x you #mv33 #mv1 fluff #mv33 x you #mv33 x reader #mv33 imagine #mv33 fic #mv33 fanfic

[hischierhoney]

Just Friends

Jack Hughes x Best Friend!Reader

summary: You’ve been best friends with Jack for ages. He’s also been in love with you for ages, but he’s got that completely under control. Really, he does. Right? 5.2k words

warnings: alcohol/intoxication, non graphic mentions of surgery/blood/stitches, hospital stay, reference to Jack’s shoulder surgery :(

Jack finds you in his apartment kitchen, a black tie in his hand. He’s already dressed in his suit pants and shirt, and for once, he feels like hair looks almost presentable. You take the tie from him without a word, and you loop it around his neck, underneath the collar of his shirt. Meanwhile, he grabs your necklace off the counter and fiddles with the clasp.

You hum to yourself as you start to tie the tie. “Ready for the game today?”

He shrugs. “I’m always ready.”

Luke is there, too, shoveling cereal into his mouth and watching the two of you warily. As you loop the tie around your fingers, Jack slips the necklace around your neck, your skin soft under his fingers. He latches it, blindly, with expert precision, muscle memory. He’s done it a million times now.

You tug the tie into place and then smooth it out on his chest. He hasn’t put his jacket on yet, but you’ll fix the lapels of it, too. You take a half a step back and give him a once over. He stands, waiting for your approval with his breath held in his chest. It shouldn’t mean this much, you making sure he looks good, but it does. You reach up and tuck a lock of hair back into place atop his head, and he smiles happily.

“All good,” you say, dusting your hands together as if you’ve just finished a hard day’s work.

Jack squints at your face, spotting something, and he brings a finger up to brush against your cheekbone. “Eyelash,” he explains, and you hum, closing your eyes as he brushes it away. “Got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Come on, don’t wanna be late. And no cereal in the car, Luke.”

Jack rushes off to grab his jacket. When he comes back, Luke is dumping the last of his cereal into the sink, and Jack grimaces. You’re in the hallway, stepping into a pair of shoes. Luke turns to him with a smirk, and Jack shakes his head before his brother can even open his mouth.

“Don’t,” he whispers.

Luke rolls his eyes. “I just think you guys are-“

“You thinking is dangerous,” Jack says. “Save all that energy for the game.”

He walks away, down the hallway to find you. You reach up to fix his jacket for him, and then you reach for the car keys and hand them off to him. He grins and nudges his elbow against your side.

“You’re such a passenger princess,” he teases.

You shrug. “I’m very good at it!”

He’s not complaining, really. There’s nobody he’d rather see in his passenger seat than you. Your jersey hangs proudly from your shoulders, his name and number on the back, and it makes his chest feel warm. You’re his good luck charm. He just hasn’t told you that yet.

…..

Jack’s spent so much time convincing his brothers and his teammates and his parents that he’s not in love with you, that he can’t pinpoint when it actually happened. He’s not sure there was some big moment, some realization, some day where he looked at you and everything changed. You’ve just been so present in his life that maybe it was a sort of gradual thing. Maybe it’s always been there, and he’s been in denial since he was eleven and Quinn was teasing him on the playground near their house.

Now you’re in New York, closer than you have been in years, both distance wise and friendship wise. You have season tickets, because he’s playing in the NHL and he wants you at every game possible. You spend half your nights at his place when he’s home, and he ignores the funny looks Luke gives him about it. Honestly, he’s a bit tired of denying it all. He thinks maybe if someone just asked point blank he’d let it all spill out.

He reads the text from you and smiles- you’re on your way to the Rock, one of your friends in tow. He’d gotten you two seats for the season, so you wouldn’t have to sit alone. He sort of dreads the day you decide to bring a date, but then he wonders what guy would be stupid enough to go along with that. Jack’s cocky, he’ll admit it. He knows he’s good at hockey. He laughs at the thought of you dragging a date along to see him play.

Someone announces they’re ordering food before the game, from the deli down the street. Jack listens as his teammates put in their orders. Luke goes with his usual. Timo changes things up. When the assistant gets to him, he grins. He orders his go to, and then another, and asks for a can of Coke, too, for good measure. Luke gives a knowing roll of his eyes.

When the guy brings the food in, Jack takes his bag, fishes his sandwich out of it, and hands the other sandwich and the can of Coke back. “Can you get this to seat B322?” He asks, grinning widely. He knows your seat number by heart.

Luke sighs heavily next to him. The guy agrees, of course. Nico, who’s standing nearby, cocks his head in confusion.

“She’s coming straight from work,” Jack defends. The ribbing he gets from the guys will be worth it when he sees you after the game. “She’s gonna be hungry.”

“It’s a hockey arena,” Luke says drily. “There’s so much food here.”

“But she loves Krauszer’s,” Jack says, and Nico rolls his eyes. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t order her some?”

“Friend,” Nico says, drawing out the word. “Sure.”

Jack ignores him. He ignores Luke’s smirk, too. He eats his sandwich and finishes getting ready, and then he heads out onto the ice, knowing you’re there somewhere, probably sipping on a can of Coke.

…..

The issue, Jack finds, is that it’s getting harder to ignore the fact that he’s in love with you.

It was easier, before, when you were younger and he was more dumb and less aware of… everything. He could convince himself it was just puppy love, just absence making the heart grow fonder, when post high school saw the two of you split apart. But now you’re here, close, and yet not close enough. Jack wants more, and he can’t really ignore that feeling these days.

He’s out at a bar, team bonding, as Nico put it. Except that half the team is drunk, including Nico, and the only bonding Jack’s doing is the brotherly kind, trying to keep Luke from sneaking drinks, or worse, getting caught sneaking drinks. Sometimes he hates being an older brother. He’d wanted to come out, maybe talk to a girl, maybe take said girl home, or get her to take him back to her place so he wouldn’t have to worry about Luke overhearing. But it’s not really working, not with Nico hanging off his shoulder like a leech and Luke sneaking another shot, and god, Jack’s going to kill him. If you were here, you’d be keeping an eye on Luke, too. He wishes you were here.

He has a shot to take the edge of the annoyance off. Then he has another, and another, and then there’s a girl across the bar, smiling at him, and- she sort of looks like you, is the thing, but not quite. The sort of uncanny valley of it all is freaking him out. For a moment he wonders if hooking up with her would make it better- would get it out of his system, would scratch the itch. The sane, more sober part of him thinks it might just make it all worse. To have some girl under him and hear a voice that isn’t yours. Jack used to do this all the time. The thought of it makes him feel sick now. That’s new.

He downs another shot and passes his leech of a captain off on his problem of a brother, hoping the two of them will keep each other in line. Then he pulls his phone from his pocket and gets an Uber.

It’s only when he’s standing at your apartment door that he realizes he probably should’ve called first. You might already be asleep. You might be out. Maybe you have a guy over. His stomach does a somersault at the thought. He raises his hand to knock anyways- he’s come all this way.

You open the door with a smile on your face. “Nico called to ask if I knew where you went. Thought you might be headed here.”

Jack lets his shoulders drop. “They were annoying me.”

That’s not the real reason he left, but he can’t exactly tell you he saw the uncanny valley version of you and decided to leave. That would be… a lot. You seem to take his answer as the truth, because Luke is annoying on a night out, and Nico can be, too. Jack still probably should’ve told them he was leaving. He’ll get an earful about it. Oh well. The way you step aside to let him into your apartment makes it worth it.

He heads for the couch, and you laugh when he flops onto it, facedown. He likes your laugh. It sounds so much like you. He remembers the years when you were in college and he was far, far away from you, when he’d crack jokes on the phone calls just to hear you giggle. He presses his face into a pillow and hopes you don’t see the blush on his cheeks, or that you’ll attribute it to his drunkenness.

“Want food?” You call out, from the kitchen, he thinks. He groans loudly in response. “I have mozz sticks.”

He turns his head to the side and says, “fuck, I love you.”

He can say it here, in the comfort and privacy of your living room, in the relative safeness of the fact that he’s been drinking. You won’t think anything of it. You won’t realize how much he really means it.

The sound of your laugh is music to his ears. “Love you too, Rowdy.”

You don’t mean it the way he wants you to. That’s okay. He came to terms with that a while ago, listening to you say it over staticky phone calls. But you’ll make him mozzarella sticks, and you’re not upset that he’s here, so he’ll take it. He’ll take anything, really.

You come into the living room a few minutes later, plate full of food in hand, and make him roll over. He sits up slightly, leaning against the arm of the couch, and you lift his legs to sit under them. He doesn’t complain when you turn on some stupid reality tv show he hates- there are mozzarella sticks for him to eat, and the warmth of you under him, the weight of your arm where it’s draped across his calves. He can put up with the host’s annoying voice for this.

He falls asleep on your couch, half a mozz stick in his hand. When he wakes up, he’s tucked in with the quilt you’ve had for years now, a pillow under his head, and water waiting for him on the coffee table. You’re probably at work by now. He’ll send you a text to say thank you, later, unless he decides to just wait here until you come home. That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea, really.

…..

It’s a Saturday, and Luke is out for lunch with some of the other younger players, so Jack’s fending for himself. Trevor, knowing this due to what he would call their cosmic connection, has seen it as an opportunity to talk Jack’s ear off over FaceTime. Jack has his phone propped on the kitchen counter, half listening as he cooks.

He loves Trevor- really, he does, but the guy could talk for hours upon hours and never run out of things to say. Jack lets him, because he knows Trevor likes talking, so he’s not going to be mean. He just chimes in with noises of agreement or disagreement at the right times. Then Trevor says your name, and he zones back in.

“I fucking knew you weren’t listening!” Trevor cackles, wide grin taking up most of the phone screen. “But the second I mention-“

“Shut up,” Jack groans, rolling his eyes. “I’m listening. I’m just also making lunch.”

“Right, right,” Trevor snarks. “Just for you?”

Jack knows what he’s insinuating. Honestly, as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad idea. You’re not working today, and he could probably convince you to come hang out with him in exchange for free food. He’s bored enough to listen to Trevor go on and on. You could save him from it.

“Yeah,” he says, and immediately contradicts himself by picking up his phone and sending you a text.

He tries to listen this time, he really does. He cares about Trevor, he wants to hear what he has to say. He finishes cooking lunch, and then Trevor has to go, shouting something to someone in the background, and he hangs up. Jack sighs at the empty, quiet room. He thinks about texting Luke to see when he’ll be back, but that feels pathetic. Maybe Nico’s not busy.

His heart leaps when his phone buzzes with a text from you.

Lunch sounds good. I’ll be over soon.

He can’t wipe the grin off his face the whole rest of the day. You come over, and eat the rest of the food happily, sitting at the kitchen counter. He watches fondly and tells you all the drama Trevor just told him- screw you, Zegras, he was listening. You smile brightly up at him.

“Got plans for the rest of the day?” He asks, hoping desperately that you don’t.

You shrug. “Nope. I’m all yours.”

God, he wishes.

…..

Jack thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can’t really be blamed when it all comes crashing down on a Wednesday afternoon in April. It’s been coming for a while. He’s had time to prepare. It shouldn’t take him out the way it does, because he’s seen it coming from miles away. It shouldn’t, but it does anyways.

They pull him from the games and finally, finally, ship him off to Colorado to have surgery. He gets an email with the flight information, another with a hotel to stay in the night before, and instructions on how to book his flight back to Jersey after he’s released. They don’t want to book it now, for fear of something going wrong in surgery. Hockey teams are superstitious like that, even their travel management.

There’s another set of emails, too- ones from the surgeon, about his prep and things he needs to do and bring and what to expect from the healing process. He hasn’t bothered to open it. That’ll make it real. He just packs up some of his clothes, shuts himself in his room, and waits. He ignores Luke, then he ignores Nico, who he’s sure Luke has brought over. He ignores Quinn’s phone calls, too, and everyone else’s.

When you show up, though, knocking on his bedroom door and calling out his name, he can’t ignore it. He makes a noise that isn’t a go away, and you take it as an invitation in, which he supposes it was. You make a soft noise of disapproval when you see him, curled up in his bed, hood pulled up around his head to block out the world.

“Hey, J,” you murmur, padding your way across his bedroom. “What’s going on?”

He sniffles and presses his face into the mattress. “The surgery.”

You sigh and sit down on the edge of his bed. “Yeah.”

Jack’s not afraid of having surgery, really. He’s never been very squeamish, never one to shy away from blood draws or stitches or IVs. You know this. Everyone knows it, which is probably why they’re all so worried about his reaction to this. He doesn’t want to admit it really, but it’s you, so he finds the words slipping past his lips.

“Mom can’t come,” he says, voice raw and scraping. “Or dad. Too short notice. And- and Luke and Nico and Quinn are gonna be busy, obviously, and I just… all this talk about surgery all this time and I didn’t think I’d have to do it alone, you know? It couldn’t wait till after the season so I could-“

He breaks off into an embarrassing, breath stealing sob. You make a soothing little noise and lean down next to him, scooping him up into your arms. It sort of helps and sort of makes it worse. The tears flow freely now. It’s just you. All his walls are down.

“You won’t be by yourself, Jack,” you murmur, and he waits for the reassuring words, that you’ll all be with him in spirit, that he’ll be home in no time, that he’s never alone. Instead, you say, “I took some time off. I’m gonna fly out with you, be there for the surgery.”

He pries one eye open, waiting for the punch line. There isn’t one. Just you, watching him carefully, holding him close. He knows how hard it is for you to get time off right now. It’s your busy season at work. And yet, here you are. Tears start running again. The whole world goes blurry. You just brush them away, one by one.

“Oh, honey,” you soothe, voice low and soft. “You didn’t think I’d let you do it alone, did you?”

God, he loves you. And he thinks this might be the final straw, the last puzzle piece. There’s no denying it now. You brush stray hairs from his face and press warm kisses to his forehead while he admits that he’s scared, not of the surgery but of what comes after, of the healing and the rehab and everything involved in it. You draw soothing patterns on his skin and just listen, because you know him well enough to know he needs to get it off his chest. He thinks about telling you how much he loves you as he starts to drift off, but he thinks better of it. There’ll be a better time than this, tear stained and curled up in his bed like a little kid. For now, it’s enough to know you love him, in any way, shape, or form.

…..

Jack wakes up in a hospital bed in Vail, Colorado, utterly disoriented and freezing cold. The ceiling is this ugly grey color, just like the rest of the ceilings in the building have been. He’s spent a lot of time staring at them in the last 24 hours. He blinks, and the tiles blur and swirl, and he hears his name in your voice. He tries to hold on, but he’s so, so sleepy, so he closes his eyes.

He wakes up again with no idea how long he’s been out. He’s warmer now. There’s an extra blanket laid over him, and a hand holding his. Hm. It feels nice. He squeezes his fingers experimentally. He hears movement to his left. A plastic cup appears in his field of vision, and he suddenly realizes how thirsty he is. He turns, slightly, and finds you.

“You’re here,” he says, quietly.

Your face is a little out of focus, but he thinks you smile. “Yeah, of course I am. Told you I would be.”

He knows that. He knows you flew out here with him, eating snacks on the plane before he hit the 12 hours before surgery mark and he had to stop. You checked into the hotel with him, got all the supplies ready for after the surgery, got him here, promised you’d be waiting when he woke up. But now he’s here, post surgery, and you’re holding his hand, and his chest hurts in the best way.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” you murmur, lifting the cup to his lips. He takes a sip. “Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head gingerly. He’s a little achy, but nothing that would make him cry normally. He can’t help it, it’s probably the meds. He remembers crying when he got his wisdom teeth out, too. He tries to tell you as much, but it comes out garbled and teary and raw. You shush him, smoothing your hand over his forehead and pushing his hair out of his face. That feels nice. You’re warm.

“Okay. It’s okay,” you soothe. “Take a breath. It’s alright.”

He does his best. You help him take little sips of water, and eventually the tears dry up. He’s left sitting there, your hand running through his hair, and he suddenly feels so, so sleepy. He turns his head and blinks at you. You’re clear in his vision now, beautiful as ever.

“You’re pretty,” he mumbles.

He thinks it all the time, he may as well say it. Nothing’s holding him back now. You laugh, and your face gets blurry again. He sighs.

“You’re pretty,” you say back.

He rolls his eyes, but he smiles anyways. “Hmm.”

“Are you sleepy?” You ask, thumb brushing against his temple. He nods. “You can go to sleep, okay?”

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” He asks, feeling a little vulnerable, suddenly.

“Yeah, Jacky,” you murmur, and when he closes his eyes, he thinks he feels your lips against his temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The third time he wakes up, you’re sitting next to him, eating ice cream out of a little plastic cup with one of the tiny wooden spoons. The tv in the room is playing that same stupid reality show. The host’s voice would piss him off if he wasn’t so focused on how adorable you look. He inches the fingers of his good hand towards you, towards where your knee is pressed against his bed. When he makes contact, you jump nearly a foot in the air. He can’t help but giggle.

“Jesus,” you mutter, shaking your head at him.

“Nah, just Jack,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “Someone’s feeling better.”

If he’s being honest, he still feels a little loopy. Your face is in focus, but everything feels a little softer around the edges. His fingers scramble against your knee, and you laugh, leaning close. You set down the ice cream and reach to tangle your hand up in his. That’s nice. He doesn’t get to do that a lot- hold your hand. Maybe he should have surgery more often. You smooth his hair out of his face again. It’s such a caring motion that it sends his heart stuttering.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, quietly.

You shrug. “What kind of best friend would I be if I wasn’t?”

And. That’s nice, but it’s not really what he wants to hear. He wants you to be here because you love him. He probably wouldn’t spend hours in a hospital waiting room for Nico, probably wouldn’t sit and wait for him to wake up. He’d bring him food after, when he got home, would help him however he needed. But to fly halfway across the country just to be here? He’d do that for you in a heartbeat, but he’s not sure there are many others he’d do the same for.

You seem to notice the way he’s staring, and you wave the wooden spoon at him. “You want some ice cream? The nurse said to call when you actually woke up. I’m sure she’ll give you one if you turn on the charm.”

He blinks slowly. “I love you, you know that?”

It’s past his lips before he can take it back. It should be terrifying. He should feel sick to his stomach. Maybe it’s the hospital drugs, or maybe it’s just that he’s been holding it in for so long, but it doesn’t feel scary. He sort of just feels relieved.

You smile brightly. “Yeah, I love you, too, Jack.”

He huffs. “No, you don’t get it-“

Before he can get another word out, the nurse comes in. He wonders if you pressed the button when he wasn’t paying attention, or if hospital staff just have comically bad timing. He lets out a groan. You give him an amused smile.

“Welcome back, Jack,” the nurse says. He reads her nametag- Nancy. “I’m just going to do a little checkup, alright?” She turns to you. “If you want, you can step out into the hall.”

By the time he’s squeezing your hand to keep you there, you’re holding onto him tightly, too. Huh. That’s interesting.

“She can stay,” Jack says.

You nod. So does Nancy, a knowing smile on her lips. Jack wonders if she sees this a lot. Guys with friends who sit by their bed, oblivious to the fact that said guy is hopelessly in love with them. Maybe it’s a common thing in hospitals. Maybe it’s not just Jack. That’s a nice thought.

He gets his blood pressure taken, and his pulse, and he gets asked to take a few deep breaths for what seems to be just the fun of it. She asks his pain level- a 3, at which point you break in and tell the nurse that his three is more like a five. She smiles at the two of you. When she goes to leave, Jack speaks up.

“Could I have some ice cream?” He asks, hoping the way his voice cracks on the words makes her sympathetic.

Ice cream does sound good. His throat feels raw, and his mouth is dry. And he’s starving.

Nurse Nancy smiles and looks at you. “What do you think? Has he been well behaved enough?”

Normally, Jack would take a little offense to it. But he turns to you, and you’re smiling bright, lighting up the whole room. His stomach does a somersault. He wonders if the way he feels about you is visible on the heart monitor, if his pulse picks up every time he looks at you.

“He’s the best,” you answer, and he melts. “Give him all the ice cream you’ve got.”

Ten minutes later, you sit there, holding a container of chocolate vanilla swirl. He’d been ready to eat it on his own until he remembered his arm, the surgery, the whole reason he’s here. He’d had to settle for letting you feed it to him. Maybe settle is the wrong word, really. It’s nice to be taken care of, even nicer when you’re the one who’s doing it for him.

He thinks maybe he’s still loopy, because in between bites, he pauses, looks at you, opens his mouth, and puts his foot directly in it. “I meant it, you know. I love you.”

You nod. “I know.”

He’s too far into this to stop now. “No, I-“

You interrupt, dropping the spoon in the cup to place your hand over his. “Jack, honey. Tell me later, when you’re not high off anesthesia, okay?”

Oh. He cocks his head, slightly. His mouth tastes like chocolate and vanilla. You smell like flowers. Like the lilacs in the backyard of his childhood home. There’s a light and warmth in your eyes that makes everything feel a little bit better.

“And if I tell you later,” he says, feeling braver than he ever has before, “are you gonna tell me something back?”

You laugh. It’s still music to his ears. You pick up the spoon again, scooping up a bit of ice cream. His gaze stays locked on you.

“Yeah,” you say with a nod. “That I mean it the same way you mean it.”

That’s enough for Jack, for now.

He tells you again the next day, waits a full 24 hours because a part of him is worried it was all some sort of drug induced dream. But you’re packing up the suitcases, that same stupid show on the TV, and he turns to you where he sits on the edge of the bed and says it.

“I love you. Like, really love you. As more than a friend.” His heart is in his throat.

You drop the hoodie you’d been holding into the bag, walk across the room to him, and come to stand between his legs. He’s holding his breath. You hook your finger under his chin and pull his face to yours. He thinks he recognizes the look on your face, from the kitchen when you helped him tie his tie, from the living room with a plate of mozzarella sticks in your hand, from every moment he was feeling all his feelings for you.

“Yeah,” you say, kissing his cheek. “I really love you too.”

When you kiss him on the lips, soft and sweet and everything he’s wanted for ages now, he thinks that maybe the whole mess has been worth it.

…..

He sits in a wooden chair on the back deck of the lake house. It’s mid summer, the week of the 4th of July. The heat is nearly unbearable, heavy and sticky and inescapable. Trevor and Luke are on the grass, throwing a football back and forth. Jack’s trying not to check the time obsessively.

Quinn, who’s sitting next to him, gives him a look when he picks up his phone again. “She’ll get here when she gets here.”

Jack rolls his eyes and sinks further into his seat. “You’re a dick.”

“Jesus, I know she’s your friend but…” Quinn is shaking his head. “You’re being obsessive.”

He hasn’t told any of them. Not about the hospital bed confession, or the kiss, or anything that came after it. The flight back to Jersey, his head on your shoulder. The way you took care of him before he flew to Michigan for the off season. The late night calls the two of you have shared since then. He’s itching to see you. It’s been far too long. He’s been scared to tell them because he’s scared you’ll get here and it won’t be real. He’s being ridiculous, he knows it, but he can’t help it. It’s you.

He hears it when your car pulls up in the driveway. He stands up, ignoring the look Quinn gives him. He’s not quick enough- you must’ve parked and ran inside immediately. You come racing out onto the back porch, eyes wide, smile even wider, and he could melt into a puddle right there in the hot summer sun. You’re brighter than all of it.

He pulls you into a kiss right there, in front of everyone, earning a series of surprised yelps and gasps and cheers. He doesn’t care about anything else. You’re here, and you’re kissing him back, and that’s more than enough.

“Fucking called it!” Trevor yells, and Jack laughs.

“We all did,” Quinn says. “Glad you two finally figured it out.”

You won’t be here forever. You have work, and a life in the city. But for now, for this little slice of time, he gets to have everything he’s always wanted. That’ll hold him over for the rest of the off season. Or, more likely, until he caves in and gets an early flight back to Jersey to spend more time with you. From the way you smile when you stare up at him, he thinks it probably won’t be long.

a/n: thanks for reading! have been wanting to write about Jack for a bit & he’s just so best friends to lovers coded. so here we go!

#jack hughes x reader #jack Hughes x you #Jack Hughes fic #jack Hughes fanfic #Jack Hughes fluff #Jack Hughes fanfiction #jack Hughes imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #hockey fic #honey writes #jh86

[verahella]

yoyo! please can i request jjk men reaction to yn always sleeping hugging a pillow(because it’s comfy lol) 🙈. thankyou! :)

kissing you rn nonnie i too cannot go to sleep without hugging a pillow <3

ᡣ𐭩 SLEEP TIGHT !

✎ feat. g. satoru, n. kento, r. sukuna

ᡣ𐭩 GOJO SATORU

honestly, if you hug or show affection to anything that isn't him in a five metre radius of his presence, it's your fault.

you palm around the cold sheets, squinting an eye open when nothing soft meets your hand. you could've sworn it was right there a second ag—

"oh god—what are you doing, satoru?"

gojo huffs, unaware that the luminous spheres of blue he calls eyes look like they're about to devour you in the dark, "i should be the one asking you that." he crosses his arms, glaring at you. "is this who you fuck when i'm not in the city?" his hand vigorously shakes the pillow that was in your arms a few moments ago.

your heartbeat is still recovering from the jumpscare when you sigh, running a hand over your face. "kind of, yeah. when you're out on missions, this makes me feel like you're here. helps me sleep better."

his eyes soften and the curves of his lips are threatening to burst into a smile but he huffs again, looking away. "i guess i can excuse it. but now that i'm here, you don't need it."

"...it's also a way better cuddler."

"what?!

(cue to you repenting on your words while gojo smothers you to show how good of a cuddler he is. please, 'toru it's summer.)

ᡣ𐭩 NANAMI KENTO

it's only when nanami takes a quiet breath in that he notices the absence of your comments.

soft words come to a pause as he glances down at his lap, where you lay. light streams in through the window, kissing your relaxed face, eyes shut in content while a river of drool runs from your mouth.

your grip tightens on the pillow that's lucky enough to be snuggled close to your chest and the dimples on kento's cheeks make a faint appearance.

even though he's in risk of being replaced by a mere pillow, nanami always found it adorable that you hugged something to bed. he remembers the first time you slept together, you bashfully explained to him that it was a childhood trait of yours that continued through your later years.

(he didn't mind; it's a feeling that provides protection and comfort. an anchor that grounds you when you're most vulnerable.)

he also remembers that he offered to take the position of your pillow, to which you had stuttered an eager 'yes.’

nanami sets down the book with a bookmark, guessing the page where you nodded off. he gently lifts your head off his lap, moving just enough to get a blanket.

he places a kiss on your forehead and warmth fills his chest when you smile in your sleep, "sweet dreams, love."

(your dreams consist of a hazy blond with a precious smile but nanami doesn't know need to know that when he sees you blushing in the morning.)

ᡣ𐭩 RYOMEN SUKUNA

sukuna would rather eat his own shoe than admit it, but he's the clingy one in the relationship. especially in the mornings.

the moment sunlight peeks through the curtains and his soul regains the slightest bit of consciousness, his body is searching for yours, magnetic. your soft snores fill the room and his heavy arm slings over your body, ready to pull you into him—until it meets something soft.

"the fuck?" his voice is groggy from sleep but he rips the pillow from your grasp with ease. sukuna stares at it with barely concealed disgust before he flings it to the other side of the room. he huffs, moving to rest on top of you. you deserve suffocation.

...sukuna's gaze moves to the limp pillow on the floor and his eyes narrow. a bit of careful shuffling and a pair of scissors. sukuna comes back to bed after a few moments, crawling back on top of you with a hum of satisfaction. that's better.

(in the morning, you frown, checking under the bed. "hey sukuna, have you seen my pillow? the big, comfy one i bought yesterday."

"no."

“…hey, what's that fluff falling from the trash can—")

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #sukuna x reader #gojo satoru x reader #nanami kento x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #i’m not sorry for the amount of em dashes i use #but i am sorry for how shit sukuna’s turned out #vera’s.jjk.library.✎

[laneywrld]

Oh Baby | Lewis Hamilton mini series

part one.

word count: 7.7k

Warnings: smut, absolute filth. breeding kink

Lewis can't help but want to give his best friend everything she desires. she can have whatever she wants.

You were Lewis' best friend; the world knew it. The world also saw that he admired you in a way he hadn't anyone else.

You'd been in Lewis' life since the two of you were literal babies. Your dad was best friends with Anthony, Lewis' father, so in a way, you two were destined to be the best of mates. 

Sometimes, Lewis wishes he had the chance to meet you organically, but as quickly as that thought flickers through his mind, it is pushed away just as fast.

He would've been alone as a kid if you had come later in his life. But still, meeting you later would've changed the trajectory of your guy's relationship. He wouldn't be stuck in the constant lock of just being your "best friend."

He would continue to stick out his role and push through his torture if it meant you keeping him around.

Since you were kids, you two have been joined at the hip. You were always there to defend him at school when the bullies got to him. You were always down to follow his dreams with him, even if it meant convincing your dad to let you ride with his family to watch him go-karting in the sweltering heat. You were always there. 

You still are, and maybe that's what's got his heart thrumming in his chest as he watches you dance with his brother Nicholas. The two of your hands are entwined as you sway to the music blasting from the speakers.  

As Nicholas twirls you around, your eyes meet Lewis for a brief second, and you smile at him before you are faced with his brother again. You joke with Nicholas as the two of you dance, your head constantly turning to check on Lewis.

He loves how his family is your own and vice versa. He loves how you treat his brother with the same tender love and care that he does. He can't help but to admire everything you do, even if it's just including his brother in something as simple as dancing.

You give him a curious look as you sway with Nicholas. He only grins in return, raising his glass at you. He sees your eyes fleet over his shoulder, and then your mouth pierces together in a knowing smile. You tilt your head to motion behind him, and when he turns to follow your orders, he sees Laura approaching. 

When he turns back to you, you are no longer dancing wildly with his brother but sitting comfortably with your friends, accepting the shot Miles pours for you. 

Lewis shakes his head, turning to greet Laura. He shouldn't feel disappointed and he shouldn't feel an emptiness wallow in his gut at the mere fact that he can't watch you sway in the night. His girlfriend, (if you could even call her that), was approaching and he should be glad to see her, but he can't help but to relish in the fact that'd he'd rather observe you from a distance than be in her presence.

"Hey baby!" she cheers. " I'm sorry I'm late. I got hung up at the agency."

"S'fine." He smiles, embracing the hug. "Let's grab you a drink and then settle in with everyone."

Meanwhile you are trying your best to tame your friends and their instantly sour moods. "C'mon y'all. Be nice to the girl."

"Nice?" Whitney scoffs. "I don't like that lil' girl."

"Whit." You scold, "She's not for us to like; as long as Lew likes her, we support them, yeah?" 

"Whatever," Miles piques up, "She not good enough for my guy?"

Always the wiser one, you shoot miles with a frown that shows your agreeance: "We can think that, but who are we to decide for him? Lew's not an idiot. When the time comes to make the right call, he'll make it, yeah?"

"Yeah." Daniel says, "But the only right call would be you."

You smack your teeth, reaching for another shot. "Here this nigga go on his shit again."

The table erupts in laughter just as Lewis approaches with Laura.

"Guys, you all remember Laura?"

"Do we?" Whit scoffs under her breath, downing a shot. The group breaks into fits of sniggering. You eye them with a look that screams, Act right! before turning to face Lewis and Laura in your seat.

"Laura, hi! girl!" You dragged.

Once again, you shoot your eyes across the group; one by one, they all push out fake ass hellos or a mumbled What's up.

Lew watches on as you turn to him, smiling. He can't help it as his own grows wider.

After the phony greeting, Lewis drags Laura to sit with him. The only open spot is the two-seater across from you. 

Conversation is ablaze in the midst of the circle. You lean forward chatting with Laura for a while since no one else bothered. Lewis has his arm thrown over her shoulder but he is watching you. Like always.

"Oh, so you planned this gathering?" Laura questions.

"Isn't it obvious?" You joke. "Lew could never." You motion to the lights and grand decor located around the yard.

"Oh, please." Lewis smacks his teeth.

"Admit it, Lew. It's my thing. Tell me I did good."

"You did great." He smirks, leaning back, his legs spread in a way that has you ready to drool.

You divert your eyes, sitting back in your own seat.

"Y/N's so domestic, it's giving wife."

You squint your eyes at Whit, giving her the ultimate stink face.

"You're always going to be the stepmum to us Laura. We can't separate mum and dad." Mori speaks up.

There was an ongoing joke in your friend group that had been circling for years. You and Lewis were Mum and Dad, you two paired together so well that it was like watching the perfect marriage. Your friends referred to you as each others "hubby" and "wifey".

Still, your friends were beginning to get out of pocket, and you turned to Lewis expecting him to put an end to their shenanigans like any good dad would. He only smiles at you his eyebrows wiggling in a playful manner.

You feel your cheeks burn as he doesn't deny it.

"She is quite domestic, would make the perfect wife." Miles piques up from beside Lewis.

It's a scheme that you two were left out of, a plan made to force you two to realize your feelings for each other.

His words trinkle into Lewis' mind. He's always thought you'd make the perfect wife. He's thought about marrying you seriously plenty of times. It's also been a childhood dream of his to make it official, especially after having your own wedding ceremony at the playground under the monkey bars, commemorated by strawberry ring-pops and sand confetti that had both of your parents grumbling as they scrubbed your scalps clean that night.

He's only ever told Miles this, but he wishes he never got seriously involved that first time at all. He thinks he did it out of pure irrationality. You had your first serious boyfriend, and Lewis thought well shit. To him it seemed as though you'd never be that into him. So he spent seven years on and off with a woman he was unsure about when all he really wanted was you. He's wasted so much time.

He thinks back to the times where distance sprouted between you two. Nicole didn't like how close the two of you were, and you respected it even if he didn't want you to. He feels a bit like a dickhead thinking of all the times he lied to his ex telling her you were nothing more than a friend to him. It was obviously a lie. If it wasn't a lie he wouldn't have spent majority of his relationship trying to make you realize what it was you were missing. Hint: it obviously didn't work, or you'd be the girl under his arm right now.

"I'll be back in a few," you announce, standing from your seat. I'm going to go do my rounds. Give Lew a break." Lewis' stare was beginning to get intense, you could feel your little resolve crumbling the longer her stared into your soul.

He watches you stroll over to his dad and your dad, stepping in between them and wrapping your arms around their waist. He can't read your lips but can tell that whatever you said had the two doubled over in laughter. You pat their backs, trekking over to your next target.

You're a little ways away, refilling wine glasses at the "mum table." His mum has you saying something that leads to you smooching the top of her head as you pass by. You set the bottle on the table before suspiciously eyeing your mother and opting to pull it to the other end. Lewis lets out a chuckle, watching your antics.

It'd been awkward silence covering the group like a blanket since you'd left. Everyone watching Lewis, watch you.

You had convinced Lew to buy this house, practically begged him all of those years ago. "Lew, the backyard," you had marveled, hands outstretched at your sides. "Imagine hosting out here." You had gone on a rant, dragging him across each area of the yard and throwing out ideas for gatherings that didn't even exist.

He closed the deal that same day. He was glad he listened to you as he watched you light some sparklers for the group of kids. He watches you crouch down to his nephew's level, pressing him against your front as you direct the sparkler into his hand. 

He couldn't see your face but could tell you were muttering words of encouragement into his ear. 

You stand with a proud grin when he twirls the stick around confidently. 

You turn as a small child tugs on your dress, "I'm thirsty, Auntie y/n/n."

You coo, picking up your friend's child. "Hi, mama! let's fix that for you." You pop her onto your hip, waltzing into the house from the open patio doors. She runs out moments later, a juice box snug in her hands. You follow after, arms full of the very same juice.

You crouch down as the children huddle around you. You poke each straw through the hole before passing them out one by one.

"Look at Mama Bear." Whit laughs as her eyes follow Lewis' line of sight. He is watching you with a smile and that classic sparkle in his eye that he always seems to have when it comes to you.

"She'd make a great mum, huh?" Lewis rasps out. 

You're back at the fire pit before you know it.

"Yeah, Mori, you should totally let me kidnap your child next weekend."

"Have her girl, she's all yours." She scoffs, "badass little girl."

The group laughs, but Lewis can't help but notice the gloom flash over your face before it quickly washes away.

He knows about your desire to have a family. He remembers how you opened up to him about it after your last relationship ended, and you took it worse than you ever had before.

He remembers that day like it was yesterday.

You were a drunken, blubbering mess, sitting on his couch with puffy eyes and a blotchy face. "Ugh!" you groaned, reaching for the bottle to pour yourself another glass. He beats you to it, pulling it away and setting it down on the table at the end of the couch.

"Hey," he coos, his hand pulling you into his side as your lip wobbles. You can't help the outburst of tears for what feels like the 100th time.

"Let's talk about it, yeah? That might help a bit."

You had been friends for so long, and not once had he seen you this distraught. In fact, you were the one comforting him most of the time.

"I hate him," you whined, reaching up to cover your face. He got me over here looking stupid."

"Hey," he pulls your hand down, still holding you against him, just holding your hand down at your side as well. "Don't be embarrassed for feeling, ain't that what you tell me?"

"Yeah," you shudder.

"Now, talk to me."

"I wanted kids. I don't think i'm that hurt about him you know?" you don't give him time to answer, "I just feel like I'm not meant to be with someone, like love is not for me. Sometimes it seems like everyone has a person out there for them but me. I want a family of my own. I love my family and yours, but it's different." you cry harder then.

"I want a human to love unconditionally, I want babies, and I want to be a mom; I would make a great mumma."

"You would." He hums, his free hand coming up to wipe your face. You pull away turning to face him, your legs are crossed in front of you and he reaches forward grasping both of your hands in his. 

He has one leg propped under the other, and his body is turned to face you. The way he's looking at you makes you want to break down into another fit of tears. No one pays attention to you as much as Lewis.

"Is there something wrong with me?" You ask, and you sound so broken that Lewis is fighting off tears of his own.

"You're perfect." He assures, and his hold on your hands grows tighter. "There's someone out there who loves you whole. Through and through, you hear me? There's nothing wrong with you, just the wrong people you've come across. You're going to get all that you want one day. He was an idiot anyway. What happened anyway, huh? What made him-."

"I left him." you interrupted, "which is crazy that i'm crying over him this bad but I could feel a disconnect between us, we were too different, didn't have the same end goal."

"You know what's beautiful about this?"

You look up to him with a baffled expression to say what the actual fuck is beautiful about being an emotional mess. He chuckles, swiping one hand against your wet cheek, where he settles his palm to cup your face. 

"One day, when you get what you desire, you're going to appreciate it a whole lot more because of how much you had to go through to get it."

And if Lewis wasn't a scary idiot, he swore he'd given you a kid right there and then, hell, however many you wanted. He's always had a soft spot for you, giving you anything you could have remotely even thought about wanting. You mention wanting to visit Brazil, bam, you're on his private jet whisked away, you want a yard to throw family gatherings, the deed is signed. You complain about wanting specific cupcakes from your favorite bakery, he was out of town but it was nothing to have his assistant travel across town to place them at your door. The point is, he'd give you anything in a second. He's good for it and he'd give you his baby if you really truly wanted.

You look up to Lewis the same memory flowing through both of your minds, he shoots you a tiny smile, raising his glass in your direction. You return his expression sipping from your freshly filled wine glass. 

Your smile blows him away; he can never control the way his heart lurches; you'd think after years and years, your charm would lose its effect on him, but somehow, they grow stronger and stronger as each day passes by.

He doesn't know how long his group of friends sit around the fire pit laughing and chattering along (you including Laura every chance you get, seeing as your other friends seem to have forgotten she exists.) Before he knows it his father is approaching. "Son, there's a million sleeping kids all over your house, I think that's our queue to pack it up."

At that announcement you guys' friends begin to pack themselves up. Lewis says his goodbyes. The group sniggers as Anthony shoots a "Nice meeting you Lauren."

"He called me Lauren," she pouts, "and I've met him before."

"Don't pay it any mind," you speak up balancing an armful of empty glasses, "he's got a bad memory."

You scold your friends, shooing them off as Lewis apologizes to Lauren, Laura.

After a while the house is empty and you say the goodbyes in place of Lewis. As you load the dishwasher you see them bicker back and forth through the large window. 

You close the door, pressing start, deciding to stop evading their private conversation. You connect to Lewis' speaker, soft melodies bleeding through the house as you go room to room, collecting any foreign object that doesn't belong. You sit with Roscoe for a while after refilling his bowl, giving him kisses and rubs until his body vibrates with snores and then you are up and at it again finding anything to tidy.

You sing quietly to yourself you huff wiping the imaginary dust onto your dress. Just as you're going to sneak from the home, Lewis' voice halts you in your tracks.

"You're leaving?" His eyes are furrowed, and his face is scrunched up.

"I- uh yeah, I didn't know how long the two of you were going to be."

"You're not staying the night?"

Your eyes flicker between Lewis and Laura, "Um, no." you chuckle hoping he'd catch the hint.

As much as you loved Lewis and spending time with him, that love didn't cover listening to him fuck the brains out of his current fling.

"She's not staying," Lewis speaks up.

You are still frozen by the door, your hand holding onto the handle. You peek at Laura, her face covered in disdain.

Your mouth drops open and then closed, trying to figure out the words to articulate your desire to leave in order to avoid whatever weird tension is brewing.

"Bye, Lewis." Laura bites, her long legs striding past you quickly. You move to the side, and she slips through the door without saying so much as a word to you.

"Ooh," you whistle, watching as the door frame rattles from the intensity of the close.

"What's her problem?"

"Your friends are bitches Lew." He mocks in a whiny voice.

You laugh, clutching your chest, "They're a bit rude." 

"Yeah," he sighs.

"For good cause," you continue.

"Yeah."

"I mean, I don't like the girl either, but as long as you don't mind what she did then-."

"You staying." Lewis interrupts. He really didn't feel like talking about Laura, especially since he was alone in your presence for the first time today; it was all he wanted for his birthday.

It'd been three weeks since he last saw you, and while the two of you talked on the phone and texted every single day, it'd never compare to actually being in your space. 

You groan as he puckers out his bottom lip, giving you his signature puppy dog eyes that always seem to convince you to do whatever he's asking for.

"Only because it's your birthday, and these heels hurt my feet so much, I don't really think I can drive."

"Oh please," Lewis laughs, "don't act like you don't wanna spend time with me. Excuses, excuses, excuses."

You waddle over to him, grasping onto his waiting arm as you bend at your knees to free your aching feet from said heels.

He takes the shoes from your hand, leading you up the stairs. 

As the two of you approach his bedroom, you feel your excitement boil over.

When he opens the door, you speak up, "I figured what'd be a good gift for someone who literally has enough money to buy whatever he wanted. Then I remembered how much you miss home while you're away and came to the conclusion that money could never bring that kind of comfort."

Lewis sniffles as he looks at the array of gifts spread over his bed. 

There is a stuffed Roscoe and Coco, a scrapbook that you'd dug into the archives to fill, letters from his family, your family, your friends, and an array of letters from you. Flowers, because to you, he deserved his more than anyone walking. You'd recreated his favorite ever birthday gift to him, a knit cheetah that you had your grandma help crochet with you for weeks before his seventh birthday. It's safe to say the OG had gone through a lot over the years. And finally, his first helmet from his carting career. He remembers his parents not being able to afford his helmet after buying him a game console for his birthday.

He remembers how upset he was but understanding of his parent's situation. He also remembers you leaving his party that night, face set in as much determination as it could be for a kid. The next day, you popped up with your dad shoving a brand new helmet adorned in a purple sticky bow into his arms. It'd been so many years since he'd last seen the helmet; as a teen, he'd gotten rid of so many things he considered to be junk, the helmet being one. But the older he got, the more he realized just how sentimental stuff like that was.

"You don't understand how hard I had to search through my Granny's attic for that. She always figured you'd want that back one day, pulled it right out of your yard sale that day."

Off to the side were stacked shoe boxes, a box from his jeweler, and a few designer bags.

He throws his arms over your shoulders, pulling you into his chest; he nestles his head atop of yours before he cranes to press multiple kisses to your hairline. "You're my favorite person in the whole world, know that, right?" He rasps.

"You wrap your arms around his waist pulling him in closer. "I love you Lew, happy birthday. You deserve it all."

You don't know how long the two of you stand their wrapped in each other's embrace before you part. 

"You can shower in here; I'll hop in the guest."

"Unzip me?"

You turn giving him your back to face, you feel his hand reach up to gently swipe your hair over your shoulder, you shiver as his finger tips glide against the skin of your neck.

"I'm gonna unclip your necklace first," he announces, and his voice is raspier than usual. He gulps as he pinches at the golden clasp, reaching one hand around your front to catch the dainty piece of jewelry.

He places it into you waiting palm, and feels his hands get clammy as he holds onto your hip for leverage. Holding you into place as his other hand glides the zipper down your back. His mouth waters and his heart hammers at the sight of your glowy skin being reveled to him.

You hold the dress up at the front, staring at him from the mirror in the corner of his room. His eyes meet yours in the mirror and there is such a charged tension lingering between the two of you. There are no words spoken as the two of you revel in each others presence. Both of his hands are now on your hips as you fell yourself subtly lean back into him. His chains cool your back as you sink into him. 

You smile at him through the mirror, "I really did miss you, but I have to shower. I'm sweaty, and I've been chasing kids around all day."

He chuckles, nudging you away but not before leaning over your shoulder, craning his neck in order to place a lingering kiss on your cheek that is almost too close to the corner of your mouth.

"Go shower, stinky."

You roll your eyes, treading into the bathroom and closing the door. You let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding.

Fuck, it was so challenging yet so exhilarating being in Lew's presence when all you want to do is strip him bare and have your way with him.

You put those thoughts aside and turned on the shower.

When you're clean and dry, you exit the bathroom in your robe (Lewis always keeps an extra for you), where you see Lewis sprawled across the bed, clad only in a pair of boxers. He watches you as you stride past, his head lies against the bed turning to follow your movements. He watches you disappear into his closet and exit, covered in his Mercedes t-shirt that falls down your thighs.

He lulls away the inappropriate images flowing through his mind and instead focuses on the fact that you're wearing his shirt to bed rather than any selection of your clothing piled in his dressers or hanging in your section of his closet.

He makes no attempt to move as you crawl up the bed towards him.

The scene is an absolute vision; he feels blood rush to his member, and he has to use all of his willpower not to let out the lewd groan he's containing.

You only smile at him, and you look so fucking beautiful and innocent he swears if you stare at him for any longer, he'd say fuck it all and pull you down underneath him.

He starts a mental countdown, but before he reaches one, you are flipping onto your back, his arm serving as a pillow as you fit comfortably against his side.

You turn your head to the right, seeing the bottle of liquor in his hand. 

"Give me that." He passes it over, his lips turned up in a smirk.

You lift your head, taking a good bit down your throat before passing it back; he does the same.

"I've got to post you for your birthday!" You gasp excitedly. You two joke around as you upload to your pages.

y/u/n

liked by haileybeiber, landonorris and 1,472,872 others

y/u/n my favorite holiday, happy birthday lewlew, i love you to the moon and back, although you love to move through life fast I am always happy to spend slow days like this together with you cheetah, thank you for the lifelong memories and for sticking by me, i love you like no other <3

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whitwhit mum and dad ❤️ happy birthday pops

fencer Petition to make today a national holiday.

lewishamiton I love you more than life bunny, Thank you for today it was everything I needed.

lewishamilton

liked by mercedesamg, charles_leclerc and 3,563,986 others

lewishamilton Another one 🎂 Always a blast spending time with the people I love. Blessed to see another year surrounded by those I love. Special shoutout to bunny for the impromptu birthday celebration, every year that passes I am reminded of how we've gone through life together, always. Can't wait to spend many more years surrounded by love and happiness, thank you for the birthday wishes.

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user the way his post is full of him and y/n as kids. they really grew with each other 🥹

y/u/n cakes and candles my guy i luv uuuu

morismith +1 dad 🥳 child of a happy and healthy marriage

You two laugh as you scroll through your friends' comments. Somewhere along the line of you two passing the bottle back and forth, you began your own game of twenty-one questions, extra juicy, seeing as you two already knew damn near everything about the other.

"Hmmm!" you light up, "take a shot, or tell me why Nicki called you a weird little guy." 

Lewis smacks his teeth but breaks into a fit of laughter as you turn over, propping your chin up against his arm. Your feet kick back and forth as you stare into him.

"You're messy." He declares, downing another shot.

You groan, reaching over his bare body to take the bottle. "And you're no fun."

"What's one thing you've never told anyone, including me? I mean deepest, darkest secret."

You hum again, allowing Lewis to reposition the two of you. Now he is rested against the headboard, and your head rests on his lap. You let out a gentle moan when his fingers begin to rub against your scalp—his member twitches in his boxers.

"Answer the question." He demands his hands, pushing your head forward slightly to avoid the feel of his growing penis.

Your eyes bore into his, and he could see you fighting to decide whether to tell him or not. He almost tells you to take your shot until the words tumble from your plush lips.

"I used to have the biggest crush on you for the longest time, like probably was in love with you." You admit. Your eyes never leave his and it has his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He feels many questions running through his mind and they want to tumble out like an avalanche but like the relaxed person he is, he plays it cool.

"yeah, and what happened to these feelings, bunny?"

You smile at the nickname, rolling your eyes as you scoff. Lewis always picked at your cute persona as a kid, calling you as sweet and timid as a bunny, the bunny teeth also didn't help.

"You almost got married," you answered. "Realized that a childhood crush was just that, I let it simmer for so long that I made it seem realistic. When you started considering taking things further, I think I closed that book, locked that door, and threw away the key. It was easy when you left her and started running rabid like a fucking dog." you snort.

He laughs with you, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You calling me a slut?"

"If the condom fits." You tease. 

He rolls his eyes, but deep down inside, he is in shambles over the chance with you that he's missed. And he's regretting every decision that led up to you losing those feelings for him. "Next question."

You're staring deep into his soul with those sparkly eyes again and he can't help but return the same lovey eyes back. He always feels like this with you, wholly enamored and floored by anything that you do. 

You look so sweet and perfect that he doesn't expect the question that falls from your lovely mouth. "What's your favorite kink, like what's something that you do during sex that has you absolutely ready to go berserk?"

"You got a dirty mind, bunny." He teases, two fingers tapping against your temple.

"I've got a breeding kink, I think." He doesn't go into full detail, describing how he discovered it years ago when out shopping with you, and you passed through the baby aisle to shop for his newborn niece at the time. He doesn't describe how his pants tightened at the sight of you holding up cute little onesies or how his mind wandered to you laying spread out in his bed, being pumped full of his cum and loving it, begging for it. He doesn't tell you how he came the hardest he'd ever come in his life that night in his shower, imagining you plump with his child and a bright smile on your lips.

"Elaborate." There is a glint in your eyes as you observe him that urges him to finish his thoughts.

"It's something about loving someone so much that you want to fill them up with another part of you. You love someone so much that you want them to swell up with what is yours. Just fucking the cum back into them every time it slips out, one goal. Give someone my babies."

As he talks, his own words excite him; you can feel it, and you say nothing. The air surrounding you two is charged with such a lewd and sensual energy.

You throb between your thighs as he speaks to you, and his voice is getting deeper and deeper. He is hot and hard against your cheek; you stare up at him, your eyes leaving his own to trail the way his lips move to the way his jaw clenches, to the way his throat bobs all the way to his tatted, glowing chest. His words are getting to you. It's no secret that you, too, had a breeding kink, but hearing him say the words you wished to hear spoken to you in the midst of passion made you shoot into action. You are on his lap before you know it, mouth mushing against his in an instant.

He doesn't hesitate to return the favor; he separates your lips, gliding his tongue into your mouth, licking you open. You moan into his mouth, pressing yourself against him harder. He lets out a shaky breath through his nose, reaching one hand up to grasp the back of your neck and the other on your ass, pushing you impossibly closer to him.

You rock your hips against him, grinding down over him; he lets out a raspy groan, pulling away from your lips, his head falling to watch where your bodies connect; he lets out a moan as his grey briefs darken in color. You continue to glide back and forth over him

You swear you hear him whimper as you lift from his lap. He reaches to pull you back, but you are too fast; kneeling between his spread legs, the sight alone has him letting out another drawn-out whine. Your hand creeps up, rubbing him through the material. You were such a fucking vixen it was driving him mad. His head falls back against the headboard, and his eyes squeeze shut. You're barely doing anything to him, and it feels better than anything he's ever experienced, and he can only equate it to it being you.

You finally free him from his confines, and his head drops down to view you, and his jaw falls slack.

You jerk him up and down, your thumb swiping over the slit at the head of his perfect cock. You moan at the sight, and he twitches. You kiss at the top, staring at him through your lashes, and he swears he almost burst right then and there. Your lips are shiny with spit and you're practically drooling over him. As you place kisses up and down his shaft. You finally slip him into your mouth humming as you taste him. It has his legs spasming making you jostle a little.

You pop him from your mouth, giving him a cute smile that has him throwing his head back. She's going to fucking kill me.

You're moaning over him, driving him absolutely fucking insane. Lewis watches you through clouded eyes, his hand traveling to your hair. He pushes you lower and lower until you're shoving all of him down your throat, and then he pulls you off for air. You smile up at him going down again, and he lets out the nastiest moan you've ever heard.

"So fucking greedy for my dick." You'd never heard him speak like this, and it was scrambling your brain and your insides. "Mhmm," you moan over him. He holds onto your hair with his left hand, his right hand trailing to pull up the shirt that adorns your beautiful body. The higher he raises the shirt, the more unstable he becomes; the black panties cover barely anything, and when he continues to glide his hand up your back, your breasts hang loosely. He fondled them in his hand tweaking your nipple.

He tenses up, watching you take him down your throat like a champ, "fuuckk." 

He pulls you up for the last time, leaning down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. He thrust up into nothing. His tongue finds it's way into your mouth and moves along with you in the most sensual kiss you'd ever gotten in your life.

"Lew." you whine, and it has him tensing again. This was better than he'd imagined. For years for his entire life he'd pictured this moment, played it out in a million different scenarios and they don't even measure up to this.

He was harder than he'd ever been and ready to finish at the mere sight of you looking up at him with his cock stuffed in your mouth.

"I can't- I won't last-" He is breathless, and his chest is falling up and down harshly. He looks so perfect, face tinted red and lips red and plump.

"Fuck me then," you order, and it flips a switch in him.

He'd dreamed of this moment, and he would be damned if he let his mind fuck this up for him. He pulls the large shirt from your frame and flips you over, laying you gently on your back. He hikes your legs up, spreading them open and pressing them down. Your knees touch the bed flat at your sides, and you mewl as his tongue flatly glides against your core.

You shiver and shake as he sucks you up. You can't stop squirming as he literally eats you. You moan his name over and over, hands coming down to clutch his curls. He moans against your core, pressing you down harder. You quiver in his hold, and you can feel that ball inside you, ready to burst. "Come for me, baby, let it out." He urges kissing your clit. He sucks it into his mouth, and that's when it happens.

The best orgasm you've had in your life. He licks you through it before sitting up on his knees. He still has you spread open at his mercy, and the sight below him has him stroking himself above you.

"So fucking pretty." he rasps, "ready for me?"

You nod, so fucked out that words seem impossible to you.

He chuckles, his hand coming up to hold you open as his other directs his hard dick to your hole; he pushes the head in at first, hissing as you suck him in. "Mhhm," he moans, "want me so bad, huh?"

You mewl, trying to push your body up to push him in.

"Aht, aht." he pushes his hand against you harder. "Let me take my time, make it right for us, yeah. Been wanting this forever."

His words make you gush more and more; you'd never imagine that Lewis, of all people, was this vocal during sex.

"He lets go of himself, both hands now gripping your thighs that are still burning against your chest. He stares deep into your soul as he pushes himself in an inch just to ease out just as slowly.

"Gotta stretch this pretty pussy out first, huh? So fucking tight." he coos.

Your eyes fall closed, your mouth going slack as he slides in again. "It's your dick, baby. All yours."

"C'mon bunny, wanna see your eyes, wanna watch you take me." You open your eyes breaths leaving you as little hitches as he finally fills you up.

"He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, his eyes watching where the two of you connect. "Fits so good," he groans, "made jus' for me."

You only mewl and clench the sheets.

"So pretty," he drops your legs, propping himself up on an elbow; his weight covers you like a security blanket. "Mhmm." he moans, sliding in and out of you. Your walls were suffocating him, sucking him in and trying to keep him in place. His face is scrunched up in pure pleasure as he succumbs to your velvety walls. So fucking warm and wet.

"Love this pussy." he groans before his mouth is back on yours. 

"Say it's mine," he orders pulling back, he is towering over you again, one hand clutching your face to watch him watch you.

You only moan, equating his words to being in the moment even though they have your stomach doing flips.

"Say it's mine, baby, and I'll give you what you want." 

It's like he hit a switch in you, brought out a side of you that you've never been able to release.

"It's yours," you coo, "all yours, only yours."

His eyes shine at your words, pressing a quick peck to your lips. 

"Nobody can give it to you like me, they don't deserve it, been so good to you. Hmm. Can give you everything you want."

One hand travels down to your stomach, where he presses down, "Feel me in there?"

"yes." you gasp, eyes rolling back; the sex is no longer slow and sensual. He is pounding into you so hard that your body lurches up and down the bed, and your breast bounces with every thrust. 

Lewis Hamilton is a dirty man, you conclude watching his lips fall open from the dirty smirk he'd had it in. 

"Got something else to put in there." You clench around him tighter curses falling from his mouth as he stills inside of you.

You know he is only in the moment, this whole debacle started because of his admission of a praise kink, you know he's playing along with yours, he wants to get you there in the same way you want to get him there so you play along.

"I want it." you whine, "want it all."

Lewis thought it was impossible for him to get any hornier, but once again, you've proven him wrong.

"Want you to fill me up, want to be full of you." You play on his words from earlier. "Want all of you."

He moans once again, spreading you open. He is plowing into you. Loud grunts left his throat as he digs deeper and deeper into you. He can feel every crevice of your flesh as you swallow him.

"Gonna give you what you want, make you big and full, have you carrying my babies. Going to have what you always wanted, love."

Your eyes fall shut at his words in utter bliss.

He lays on top of you, the burn of your thighs spreading. His hands travel to your own, holding them on either side of your head. His head is nestled between the crook of your neck; he's sucking and licking along your neck. You feel him everywhere.

"mmph," you moan as he reaches and punches against your sweet spot over and over. 

Lewis is so fucked out in a loving haze that he can't control the words tumbling from his lips onto your skin.

"Wanted this forever, so long." He whimpers, "Feel so good, only wanna feel you. Only wanted you."

You free one hand from his hold wrapping it around to rub at the curls at the nape of his neck. You want him to keep talking, keep feeding you the words you've waited your whole life for him to say. "I can give you everything you want, baby."

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you can't tell if it's from the pleasure he's giving you or the words he's dribbling out.

"Taking me so well, fuck!" he sits up on his knees again, turning you over without pulling out of you; you're on all fours as he plows into you from behind. 

"So mean, making me wait so long, letting me be with the wrong woman, should've been you." You clench around him eyes squeezing shut, you shouldn't enjoy these words as much as you do but you can't help it.

"Wanted it to be you, would've had our family by now, so many kids, so happy." You're literally shaking, the fire growing inside of you, making it impossible to ward off your second orgasm. 

"Been looking for you in all these women, never were you, never could be. Fucking couldn't get hard without imagining your face. Always had to be you." He sounds so vulnerable and open behind you. You want to see his face so badly, and you want to watch him as he admits what you've always desired.

Like he read your mind, he flips you over again, nestling between your legs and pushing himself in again with a hiss, "Gotta see your face when you come, love."

You're on top of him, relishing in the way he looks up at you. Your thighs are placed on either side of him lifting over and over as he glides in and out of you.

He looks so beautiful, you think even if he is spitting out the most wild and lewd words you've ever had spoken to you. "Gonna empty this dick in you baby, give you my baby. Make you mine, all mine." He growls.

"Could've had this all along if you said something sooner, bunny. Would have had you feeling like this all of the time."

His hands are on your waist, lifting you up and down over him. You fall forward one hand holding you up and the other reaching down to cup his jaw. You press your lips over his, breathless pants traveling from one mouth to the other. The eye contact is intense as you stare each other down. His eyes literally sparkle as he fuck up into you, his mouth dropped open. You kiss him one last time before sitting up again and setting your own pace, "Fuck Lew, you feel so good."

You're bouncing on him at a much slower pace as his eyes fall closed and his grip tightens on your flesh.

You're not responsible for what you say when you cum, it's common knowledge, which is why when Lewis flips you over and barrels into you at a much softer pace you let his words carry no penalty, albeit the way they make your eyes water, albeit the way you return them truthfully.

It's so overwhelming you can't help the way the tears flow from your eyes and slide onto the sheets. He's cumming in spurts, hot and gooey, filling you to the brim. Lewis has never come so much. He lets out an array of grunts and moans. He's so out of it that he lets his words tumble out without a care in the world, and he means them wholly. He's fucking his cum into you, pushing it back in with his dick as you quiver around him. 

"Love you, fuck, I fucking love you."

#lewis hamilton #x black reader #lewis hamilton x black reader #f1 #formula 1 #formual one #lewis hamilton imagine

[eccentricwritingbaby]

baby finn series, babysitting and date nights

series list - house divided - bedtime stories - sneaking onto stream

lando norris x mom!wife!reader

summary - uncle carlos comes over to babysit finn as you and your husband enjoy a night out. 

masterlist

-

when lando had finally turned the latch of the lock to your shared home, he let out an exhausted sigh. he had been in the sim all day with a long road ahead of him in order to secure a win. he was drained. he had been there the entire day, missing dinner and almost missing bedtime. all he wanted was to hug his young son, kiss his beautiful wife, and take a long hot shower. the universe, however, had other plans. 

opening the door, lando was met with baby finn running circles around you in nothing but his diaper. you locked eyes with your husband and he could feel the exhaustion that you were exhibiting, too. finn wasn’t being bad, he was just being a kid. he had loads of energy that you and lando could usually keep up with in high spirits, but, work had been kicking both of your asses. you were both burning out.

“finn, honey, please it’s time for your bath,” you let out a sigh, bringing your hand up to brush the hair out of your face. lando walks over to assess the situation fully, bringing your tired body into his arms for a hug. you slump against him as he kisses your forehead and locks eyes with his son.

“finn. bath. now,” your husband puts his foot down and your son happily runs towards the bathroom, not grasping the exhaustion or irritation of his parents - thankfully. one thing neither of you ever did was push your problems onto your son, and you never wanted to. 

“thank you, i’ll head in there in a min-” you begin but your husband cuts you off with a kiss. 

“no, we agreed you’d take the morning, i’ll take bedtime. i’ve got this,” lando replies with a swipe to your bum. 

“but you look tired, love-”

“so do you. it’s alright, who knows? maybe finn’s innocent energy will rub off on me, eh?” you chuckle at his question and wordlessly nod before he continues, “go get ready for bed, i’ll call you right in,” one more smack to your bum and lando is heading into the bathroom to start his son’s nightly routine as you follow his polite orders to take care of yourself. 

around a half hour later, lando is calling you into finn’s room for a cuddle and a tuck into bed. as you arrive, you can see finn slowly losing his energy cuddled into your husband’s arms, letting out a yawn. 

“is my sweet boy tired?” you question towards your son, seeing lando nod his head yes as finn lets go of a quiet ‘so much mommy’. 

“i think he had a case of the late night zoomies,” lando lets out a laugh as he gently sets his son into bed, proceeding to get him comfortable under the blankets. you both then lean down, kissing his forehead, wishing him a good night's sleep, and reminding him you’d see him in the morning. after the lights are off and the door cracked a bit open, lando leads you down the hall towards your bedroom with a firm hand on your lower back. 

you collapse onto the bed in a huff once you enter, leading your husband to quietly laugh at you - still cautious of the sleepy boy down the hall. 

“i’m heading to shower, love. care to join?” lando offers with eyes wide and smile even larger. you grant him a feverish nod and begin to follow behind him eagerly as he giggles. 

once you were both stripped and into the steamy shower, lando’s body slumped against yours, his back being attacked by the hot water and his head resting on your shoulder. you run your hand gently through his wet curls as he lets out a deep sigh. 

“wanna talk about it?” you whisper into his hair. lando shakes his head and mumbles into your shoulder, “could you repeat that, love?” you giggle, shaking your shoulder a bit to move lando’s face out of your neck and into your view. his hands grip your waist as yours are guided to rest on either side of his face.

“i just want to relax, we haven’t had a day just us to relax, i miss my wife,”

“i miss you too but that’s the life of parents, lan. maybe if you had pulled out three year-”

“alright, alright,” he exclaims, “you don’t need to harp on my pullout game for me to get the picture” he laughs while reaching behind you to grab some body wash. 

“i do agree we need a small break, though,” you sigh, “work has been draining me, i don’t want it to affect finn,”

“ya know who’s in town next week, love?” lando’s eyes sparkle as he asks, prompting you to laugh and let out a shake of your head, urging him to continue, “carlos,”

-

“okay, bud. uncle los will be here very soon, do you remember what we talked about?” lando is on one knee, bent at your son’s level and looking oh so fine. his black button up with most of the top buttons loose, the dark pants to go with it and the chains dangling from his neck already had you worked up, but the adorable nature of his fatherhood? now that’s hot. 

“yes, daddy,” your son replies, you can tell he’s attempting to hold in his excitement as much as he can as he is almost vibrating due to his little bursts of energy. 

“can you tell me again, bubs?” lando holds onto his son’s hands, searching his eyes at an attempt to really have finn understand the importance. 

“um, say pwease and tank you!”

“very good, what else?”

“be nice,”

“good, bubs, anything else?”

“do what uncle los say?” finn adds his last answer with an unsure smile as he eyes his dad with a tilted head. lando chuckles at his son’s cuteness and kisses his head, nodding in confirmation for your son to listen to his babysitter for the night. 

“and help him out, baby. if he needs anything, okay?” you add on, making your entrance in the room known. lando looks over to you and it seems as if his heart stopped, but it hadn’t. if anything it was beating so fast it could've flown out of his chest. standing up from his position on the ground, he makes his way over to you, mouth agape, eyes raking your figure, and head slowly shaking left to right. 

“you look…” your husband drinks in your appearance again, eyes scanning you from head to toe, “absolutely breathtaking,” he finishes off, his right hand coming over to hold his heart. 

“thank you, my love,” you giggle a bit, stepping to him in order to plant a kiss to his cheek, “you clean up pretty nice, too,” you shoot him a wink, walking past him and towards your son. 

“thanks for walking away, dear. this view is much better,” lando lets out a chuckle, eyes not daring to drift from your ass, until your head swivels - and he catches your smile.

“anytime, baby,” you laugh at his antics, leading him on as you bend over to grab your son, slower than usual. you hear a deep groan come from lando but before anymore comments were made, the doorbell rang throughout the home. finn drops from your arms, beginning his race to the door. 

“finn! wait until i open the door!” lando shouts, jogging over to where your toddler was attempting to reach the handle. 

“i big like you dada! i do it!” finn jumps again, trying with all his little might to reach the handle. lando comes behind him, scooping him up from behind and holding him near the handle and lock. 

“alright, go ahead big boy,” lando urges his son to open the door, and when he does, his excited shrieks are all that fill the house. 

“UNCLE LOS!” finn has wiggled out of his fathers’ grasp and already launched himself into carlos’ arms. 

“hola, pequeño,” the ferrari driver lets out with a chuckle. 

“i so excited you here!” finn is squirming up and down in carlos’ arms as the adults all just laugh at the adorable kid. lando pulls him out of carlos’ arms for one more brief chat about his behavior as you hand carlos the important babysitting list. 

“basically, it's all the numbers you don’t already have, like fewtrell and i think my mom, and then his schedule is here,” you continue briefing carlos as lando begins to stand and make his way back to you, “you don’t have to be too strict about this, just have fun,” you assure carlos at the end of the run through. 

“i’ve got it, you guys have fun. finn and i sure will,” carlos begins to usher you two out the door, a hyper-active three year old seemingly glued to his leg.

“call if you need anything, and i mean anything,” lando emphasizes to his friend.

“lando. it will be fine, you muppet. go enjoy your night with your wife, i’m going to catch up with mi amigo, finn, here,” at this point he is pushing you and your husband out the door and you both laugh at the door shutting in your faces. lando extends his arm for you to hold with a ‘m’lady’, and you both make your way to the restaurant. 

-

at the restaurant, the maître d' guides you to your table and lando proceeds to pull out the chair for you to take your seat. both now seated, he begin to ask what drinks to begin with, lando responding with his and you responding with ‘just a water, please’. walking away to fulfill your orders, lando spares you an odd glance.

“it’s our night off, love. you didn’t want to get a drink?” 

“no, just a water will do it for me,” you respond quick, your husband still eyeing you with oddity, “im glad we’re doing this,” you continue, reaching across the table to hold his hand in yours. 

“me too, a night just to ourselves was very needed,” he lets out with a smile. 

“i just hope our boy isn’t causing too much chaos at home,” you sigh, the waiter coming over to take your orders and drop off your drinks. lando just mumbles a ‘they’ll be fine’ almost to assure himself before placing his order. 

-

“vroom! vroom!” finn squeaks out on the floor, rolling his red ferrari cars around the living room. carlos joins in with a laugh, proceeding to hold his own decorated sainz55 car - finn’s most prized possession - and run it around their make-shift track. he quickly pulls out his phone to capture the moment and ease the parents minds.

“finn, look here! it’s for mommy and daddy, smile!” carlos instructs the little boy. finn looks up, letting out a huge smile and giggle, before crawling into the ferrari drivers lap. one more picture - a selfie this time - of finn clinging onto carlos’ neck, and carlos hits a quick send to his friends. 

-

“here, honey,” lando pulls his phone out and sends it your way in order for you to also see the adorable array of photos your babysitter had sent. 

“well aren’t they having fun?” you place a hand over your heart as you speak, too in awe of the little chubby cheeked smile staring back at you. 

“this was a grand idea,” your husband reiterates, putting his phone away into his pocket after typing a response back. you both share a look and a smile, before continuing your previous conversation and finishing your food. 

-

making it home a little past finn’s bedtime, you both didn’t know what you would walk into. bedtime was finn’s only struggle, therefore him being awake when you arrived home wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for what both you and your husband expect. 

except, when you walk in, your house is clean, quiet, and calm. carlos stands from the couch in order to greet the both of you, while you’re both scrambling to pick your jaws off the floor. 

“i’m assuming it went well?” you ask with a laugh while carlos brings you into a light hug.

“si, finn was a gentlemen. he passed out on the couch by seven and i just carried him into his room after that,” you and lando share a look of disbelief before carlos continues, “we played with some cars, ate some dinner, watched a movie, and he went down really easily,”

“can you move in?” lando pops the question into the conversation as carlos laughs off the request, “i’m serious, sainz,” your husband pushes again.

“did you two enjoy your night?” the ferrari driver ignores his friends jokes, directing his attention to you.

“we did, thank you so much for this, carlos,” you respond with a smile, “we really appreciate it,”

carlos gives you another hug goodbye and you begin to make your way towards finn’s room to check on him as lando walks carlos out, continuing his pestering of ‘how did you do it, mate?’ and ‘you don’t understand he hates bedtime’. 

you stand in the doorway of your son’s room for some time, admiring the sleepy boy all cozy under his racecar blankets. feeling a hand on your waist, you turn and catch your husband in a kiss. 

“let’s go to bed, love,” he offers once you break apart. you give him a silent nod, and you both make your way into your bedroom - lando stealing one last glance at your son. 

walking into your bedroom, you discard your heels and begin to unzip your dress.

“ah, ah,” lando stops your movements, replacing your hands on the zipper with his own, “allow me,” you giggle a bit as he continues to unzip your dress, letting it pool onto the floor. he pulls your back into him and begins to pepper your skin with sweet and sensual kisses as you blush in his hold, “we still need to make baby number two,” he mumbles into your skin while continuing his kisses. your body stiffens, lando feeling and understanding the tension releases your body and turns you to face him.

“what is it, y/n? do you not want another baby anymore?” he asks quietly, as if he’s scared of your answer.

“no, no. it’s not that,” you reply, head hanging down to stare at your feet.

“then what is it?” lando cups your chin in his hands with his question, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“it’s just that,” you sigh, searching lando’s eyes, “we don’t need to keep trying, if there’s already a baby on the way,”

#babyfinnseries #baby finn #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #carlos sainz jr x reader #ln4 #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz jr fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris #charles leclerc imagine #lando norris fanfic #mclaren #formula 1 #mclaren f1 #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris icons #lando norris x oc #lando norris x wife!reader #dad!lando norris x reader #dad!lando norris #lando x reader #max fewtrell #lando imagine #landonorris #ln4 smut #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine

[rynwritesreid]

hi hello yes i just read your post ab spencer buying the necklace and it was amazing and i was hoping to see a pt 2 with spencer buying an anklet with his initials for the reader? and at first you thought it was a bracelet but then he tells you it’s only for him so he can see it while y’all are fucking and your legs are on his shoulders 👀

A/N: You guys have to stop coming up with such good ideas :,). to anon, I am so glad you liked the first part to this, I hope this is everything you want it to be.

Summary: Spencer feels it's unfair that you don't have a piece of jewellery with his initials on it, and decided to make things right. But when you find out the reasoning him for picking an anklet over a bracelet, you can't wait to see if his idea matches reality.

Content: Smut 18+. Fluff. Dom!Spencer. Fem!reader. oral (F!receiving) No mentions of contraception. Penetration. Creampie. some aftercare mentioned. Possessive Spencer. Pet names (princess and my love).

Masterlist| requests are open| navigation

After Spencer had seen your reaction to his necklace with your initials, he thought it was only fair in getting you something. However, while Spencer enjoyed seeing how effective a little piece of jewellery was in stopping him from getting unwarranted interactions, he didn’t necessarily want that for you.

So, when you came home to see Spencer with a carefully gift-wrapped box you weren’t too surprised as he did love getting you gifts, but you had no idea what he had gotten you. 

“What’s this?” you asked, eyeing the box suspiciously. Spencer grinned mischievously, enjoying the anticipation written all over your face.

Open it and see," he urged, handing you the box.

You carefully peeled away the wrapping paper, revealing a sleek black velvet box. With a quick glance at Spencer, who was practically bouncing with anticipation, you lifted the lid to find a stunning silver bracelet nestled inside. As you looked closer you could see an S and R entwined in an elegant script, just like the necklace he had. You gasped, running your fingers over the delicate design as a smile spread across your face.

"It's beautiful, Spencer," you whispered, feeling touched by his thoughtful gesture. He beamed with pride, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Can you help me put it on?” 

“Of course I can, my love.” He paused for a brief second. “But I do have a confession to make about it.”  Spencer’s cheeks seemed to become a light shade of pink, his eyes twinkly with mischief. “It’s not.” He coughed slightly, one of the nervous ticks you had noticed about him when you two first started dating, “it’s not a bracelet. It’s an anklet.” 

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "An anklet?" you echoed, pretending to be surprised. Spencer nodded, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. 

"I thought it would look perfect on you," he explained. With a chuckle, you sat down and lifted your leg for him to fasten the anklet around your ankle. “And, well this is for my eyes only.”

“For your eyes only, huh?” you raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in your eyes. Spencer's cheeks flushed even deeper as he nodded, his gaze locked on your ankle as he fastened the anklet securely in place. “I didn’t know you admired my ankles this much, Spencer.” 

Spencer let out a nervous laugh, feeling caught in his attempt to keep the anklet more of a private sentiment. “It’s not your ankles I’ll be admiring when I am looking at this.” Spencer moved a little closer to your ear. “It’s the fact they’ll be resting on my shoulders.” He stated in a whispered tone.

"Spencer," you began, your voice barely above a whisper as you reached out to cup his cheek, "you never cease to amaze me." His eyes sparkled with affection and a hint of something more as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips. “Should we test it out. Because I also want to know what it will look like on your shoulders.” You whispered, a playful twinkle in your eye.

Spencer was more than eager to test it out, he also loved knowing there was always going to be a reminder on you that you belong to him. With a shared grin, you both rose from the couch, your new anklet glinting in the soft light of the room. Spencer's hand found yours, his touch warm and reassuring as he led you to the bedroom.

As you reached the edge of the bed, Spencer gently turned you to face him. His eyes held a depth of emotion that took your breath away, a silent promise lingering in their depths. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly knelt before you, his fingers deftly tracing the delicate chain of the anklet around your ankle.

"Beautiful," Spencer murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But not as beautiful as you." The sincerity in his words made your heart flutter, a warmth spreading through you at his tender gesture. Silently, he rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving yours as he led you to the bed.

With a gentle hand on the small of your back, Spencer guided you to sit on the edge of the mattress. He moved closer, his breath mingling with yours as he leaned in to capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. The world seemed to fade away in that moment, leaving just the two of you lost in each other.

As the kiss deepened, Spencer's hands began to explore, his touch setting your skin ablaze with desire. You responded eagerly, your fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him closer. The anklet felt like a secret between the two of you, a symbol of your connection and the intimacy you shared.

Clothes were shed in a flurry of urgency, but there was a tenderness in each caress, a deep-seated love that transcended mere physical desire. But Spencer was not in a hurry to do anything else, he wanted to take his time with you, admire you.

As you lay in your shared bed with him, he couldn’t imagine been anywhere else. “I love you so much.” His voice husky and filled with lust. He started to kiss your neck, but he started moving down.

He peppered kisses down your neck and traced the curves of your skin with his lips, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Your breath hitched as he reached your collarbone, his touch igniting a passion that burned brightly between you. Spencer's hands roamed your body with reverence, mapping every dip and curve as if committing you to memory.

You closed your eyes, savouring the sensation of his lips on your skin, the love and desire mingling into a heady cocktail that enveloped you both. His movements were slow and deliberate.

Spencer's kisses trailed lower, his hands guiding the path as he worshipped every inch of you. When he finally reached the curve of your hip, he paused, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of adoration and hunger. Without a word, he pressed a soft kiss to your hipbone, a silent promise of all that was to come.

As his mouth finally meet your clit, almost by instinct, you wrapped your legs around his neck. You gasped at the sudden intimacy, the surge of desire overwhelming you. Your hips bucked instinctively, the need to feel him against you consuming you. He smiled against you, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and began to move his tongue in a rhythmic pattern that made your body clench.

With each stroke of his tongue, your moans grew louder, each one a testament to the pleasure building within you. His fingers found their way to your throbbing core, sliding inside you with ease. The sensation was too much, too intense, and you cried out his name, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

Spencer pulled himself away from you, and gently pulled you to the edge of the bed. He grabbed your legs and placed them above his shoulders, his eyes never leaving yours. As he began to line himself up, he couldn’t believe how lucky he is, seeing his initials dangle from your leg and how you react to every touch he gives you, he knew you would always be his.

As he entered you, slowly at first, your eyes locked in a passionate gaze with his own. Your breath hitched as he made his way deeper, claiming you fully. Your senses were heightened, the anticipation and longing that had built between you now manifesting in the most intimate of ways.

Spencer moved with purpose, his movements slow and deliberate, each one designed to bring you closer to the edge. He could feel your body responding to his, the perfectly synchronized dance of your hips and his thrusts.

“Spencer, you feel so good.” You basically moaned out. 

Spencer briefly moved his attention away from your eyes and turned it towards your ankle. Although this was Spencer’s favourite position before, because of how deep he could get, it had somehow become even better. 

Seeing the anklet on your ankle, with his initials, as he thrust into you was an erotic sight for him. And while Spencer was definitely more dominant than you, and he did sometimes like to act like that when it came to sex, what he said next seemed to be a bit of shock for you.

“You feel so good, princess. Especially now, knowing you belong to me and that no other man will ever get to look at you like this. Because these, are my initials.” Spencer stated, his eyes glinting with a mixture of possessiveness and love.

You moaned softly, your hips bucking against him in response. "You belong to me, always," Spencer promised, his voice low and husky with desire. "And I will make sure everyone knows it."

You knew Spencer was just stating a fact, but hearing it like that, it seemed so much more real than before.

Spencer's movements grew more urgent, his thrusts becoming harder and deeper. You could feel your climax growing near, the pleasure building up inside you.

"Spencer," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please, I need you to...please, don't stop."

He smiled at you, a mix of tenderness and dominance in his eyes. "Don't worry, I won't. I'll give you whatever you need."

With that, he increased his pace, driving deeper into you. You could hear him moaning softly, his breath hot against your ear as he thrust into you.

Your body tensed, the pleasure overwhelming you as you felt the sensation of a climax building within you. Spencer knew the moment it hit you, his fingers digging into your hips as he matched your rhythm. As you cried out his name, he thrust harder, his own release not far off.

His eyes locked onto yours, the intensity and passion etched across his face. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "You're so beautiful, so perfect, and all mine."

With a final thrust, Spencer groaned out your name, his pleasure intertwined with your own. Your bodies pressed together, sweating, and gasping for air, as the aftershocks of your orgasm rippled through you. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, the evidence of his love for you, and vice versa.

“Let’s get you all cleaned up.” Spencer whispered softly, a hint of possession in his voice. He gently pulled out of you, admiring the wetness that had pooled between your legs. You watched as he stood up and walked over to the bathroom, his body still glistening with sweat.

He turned on the water and adjusting the temperature to warm, he walked back into the bedroom, as he knew it would be almost impossible for you to walk and carried you into the shower.

He gently placed you under the cascading water, his hands caressing your body as he washed you clean. The water was warm and soothing, but the real heat came from the look in his eyes as he admired your naked body.

"You are mine," he said softly, his fingers tracing the wet skin of your back. "And I will never let you go."

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[offthepages]

And so the stars aligned. Pt 3

Azriel x Archeron!Sister reader.

Summary: After a few weeks of Azriel teaching you to read, your sisters confront you about how much time you’re spending with him.

Warnings: Some slight suggestive stuff? Nothing explicit.

Ageless and MDNI

a/n: I know that I should probably- not upload so often. However, this has been knawing at my brain all day and I really just needed to post it so I can write the next part.

Part One, Part two

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You and Azriel walked up toward the exit of the Library after yet another reading lesson. Your arms linked, as you let your hand rest on his forearm. He always offered you a hand, an arm, something to keep you close to him. Not that you minded being closer to him. The Illyrian was tall, warm, and very easy to hold onto. His scarred hands never purposely reached for yours, but sometimes you’d brush hands as you exchanged books or he delicately took the pencil from you to help you spell. You’d have to think pure thoughts for the next few hours. Keeping your mind off of what you wanted to feel them doing.

For about two weeks you’d meet here for a few hours each day and practice your writing, spelling, reading, and anything else Azriel deemed important for you to know. Clotho had stopped him apparently from bringing in a punching bag to train you. You couldn’t help but laugh so hard tears gathered and your stomach hurt after, when you walked down to the fifth floor only to see him pouting about it. "You big Illyrian baby." You coo'd after your laughs died down. And you rubbed his shoulders a little. He hadn't looked you in the eyes that day. But the lessons were working, you could now confidently read through the stack of books he brought to every meeting.

“I think we can upgrade to chapter books soon.” He speaks up, pulling your attention away from your thoughts. His warm, honey gaze finds yours as he lets a soft smile break through that normally stoic face of his.

“You think so?” You hum, with a slight tinge of hope. Maybe you could actually read the book you toted around thanks to him.

Azriel nods, closing his eyes as he does so. “Mmh. You’ve got the foundation down. Now we expand it.” His voice is smooth and calm. He spoke with ease, and somewhere deep within you it made you feel safe, calm. You’d wondered if that’s why you learned so quickly, because the words you didn’t know- they sounded like rich, warm melty chocolate in his voice. And you’d repeat it in your head all night long as you laid there in bed recounting your day. You didn't want to admit to yourself how late you stayed up thinking about him.

Your reply to Az gets cut short however as you hear your oldest sister's voice cut through the library. “Ah! If it isn’t our one and only, y/n.” Her voice drips in condescension, and normally you could handle Nesta. She didn’t scare you, not like the others at least. You knew her and knew that tone, you knew that tone of voice all too well. She was like a lion ready to pounce. Relentless teasing awaited you as you gazed at your sister. And she knew it too, watching you with a feline smirk as her hands rested on her hips in a power pose.

“Nesta.” You nod at her, removing your arm from where it had safely rested in the crook of Azriel’s arm. Immediately feeling colder, less protected. Vulnerable in front of your sister now. You felt the cool swirling sensation of Azriel’s shadows rising to attention, aware and ready to pull you back if needed. Nesta raised an eyebrow at the two of you, a slight smirk she tried to will into nothing. “How can I help you?” It was then you noticed your other two sisters, and now your brow furrowed. Elain stood smiling dumbly, like a love sick little puppy at Azriel. Her eyes raking over him. Something in her gaze made the hair on your arms stand, and you wanted her to stop looking at him like a piece of meat. Feyre stood watching you with a quirked eyebrow and a little grin. Her blue grey eyes shinning in amusement, like she too couldn’t wait to tease you. But it wasn’t everyday your sisters came together. Had something happened? Was everything okay?

Nesta looks Azriel up and down, not in the same way Elain had been. No she was sizing him up, in a fight you’re not sure the shadowsinger would win. Squinting at him before using her chin to motion him out. “We can assist her home. Thank you.” Nesta’s tone leaves no room for argument. Azriel for the briefest moment locks eyes with you. Asking you silently if you’d be okay with that, so you give a subtle nod. His shadows swirl around him again, something that was less common when it was just you too. They always pooled around your feet like a dog. You wondered if you could pet them. Unable to help the smile that spreads, you give a small wave to see him off. Watching him hesitate as he looked at you and your sisters, but his eyes glossed over and he chuckled lowly under his breath. And gods what you wouldn’t do to hear that sound again. Feyre must have said something to him with her daemanti powers.

So with that, Azriel left your side. Albeit a little unwillingly as he pressed a kiss to your temple before glaring at Nesta as she coo'd at you. He disappeared into the shadows. Leaving you now with your sisters who were all staring at you expectantly. Suddenly you felt like you were nothing but a child in front of them. Caught with your hand in the cookie jar and chocolate smeared on your face. Subconsciously you wiped your lips. "…hello." You greeted.

Nesta continued to smirk as she watched you. Knowing what her gaze did to her youngest sister. She uses her head to motion them out, not waiting for anyone to argue with her. And the rest of the Archerons followed suit, finally, Feyre speaks up, as if she didn’t just bombard you and demand you go with her. "So, will you join us for lunch?"

"I don't think I had a choice." You jest, elbowing her playfully. Feyre looks over at you with slightly wide eyes, as if feigning hurt, before her smile breaks through. Her laughter becoming instantly contagious. “Whose idea was this?" You look over at Nesta and Elain.

"Why must there be a reason for sisters to hang out?" Elain shrugs, looking at you with an amused smile and shooting you a wink. Squinting at your sister she can’t help but just smile more. Nesta just winks at you as she leads you to Rita's, it didn't surprise you that it was Nesta's favorite restaurant. With the vibrant music that always played, sometimes accompanied with bad karaoke singers; those were your favorite nights. Rita’s was a busy place- easy for conversations to get lost amongst others. Oh, and of course, the food was delicious. You truly didn't mind going out to lunch with your sisters, it was nice to have an actual familial bond with them.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Conversation came easy as you all discussed everything and anything. Catching up with each other like old friends, part of it made you long for this in your girlhood. It would have made those years of poverty just a little brighter. Feyre told everyone how Rhys was trying to teach Nyx to fly, except for the fact that Nyx's wings were still too floppy to work. You admired the way that she lit up talking about her family. Seeing her happy meant that maybe you’d be that happy one day too. Nesta tells everyone about Gywn and Emerie's recent book recommendations. And her words made you long for friends that could talk back, unlike the flowers in the gardens. Elain discusses her garden plans- and even asks what they think about her opening a flower shop. You wondered if she’d let you work there, it be so nice to get out of the house. To have a purpose.

And then- like the vultures that your sisters were, their eyes landed on you. Blinking owlishly at them, you noted Feyres smirk. Nesta had a raised eyebrow as she rested her head on her intertwined fingers. Elain had her hands folded neatly in front of her. This just became an interrogation. "…what?" You ask, looking around to see if there is a reason why they're looking at you like this. Your heart beating a mile a minute, and you tried to subtly wipe your now sweaty palms on your dress. “Did I do something?”

"Let's get to the real tea." Feyre grins, setting her drink down and putting a hand on yours. She knew physical touch was one way to help you calm down. She’d offended used it to help comfort you as a child. "What is going on with you and Azriel."

You blink again and suddenly- you can't help the laughter that erupts from you. They had truly thought something was going on with you and Azriel! As if it wasn't obvious that Azriel was hopelessly in love with Elain! You wave away the ridiculously thoughts coming out of your sisters mouths. “You guys are ridiculous" You laugh, sighing heavily as you continue to grin. "Nothing is going on between us."

"He meets with you every Friday for hours," Elain says sharply. Her tone catching you and your other sisters off guard. And for a second, your hurt. Hurt that she could ever use that tone with you, not believe the words you were saying. "Something is going on."

Your eyes lock onto Elain's and there's anger in hers. She's upset about it, upset that you made a friend. She had friends! She had Cerridwen, and Nuala! The was two more than you had. Ever. Your nose wrinkles in disgust as you watch how she tries to intimidate you into answering her. Was this how you looked that first night in the Library? Is that why Azriel laughed at you? Elain looked as harmless as a kitten. "Nothing like your thinking." You reply cooly, trying not to start a fight with your sister. That was the last thing you wanted to do, and Cauldron. It would ruin the friendship you and Azriel had just started to form. That hot headed, stubborn Archeron temper didn’t need to come out now. Not when there was another hardheaded and stubborn Archeron in front of you.

"So then it shouldn't be a big deal to tell us." Elain snaps back. Nesta and Feyre exchange a look at the two of you. You can feel your blood boiling at her tone. But you knew you had to stay cool, calm and level headed. So as gingerly as you can, you reply.

"It's none of your business." And you would have thought you just insulted Elain by the way her face twisted with rage. She puts her hands on the table and stands with a swift, graceful movement. The chair loudly scooting out from behind her, dragging attention to the table. But Elain didn’t seem to care. Staring at you with fire in her eyes, like logs on a campfire.

"As your sister, it is. And as someone who is in lov-"

Knowing exactly what was about to come out of her mouth, you feel the ugly green monster boiling up inside you. You couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard you tried. She had a mate. Someone who wasn't Azriel. What happened when Azriel found his mate? What then? Would she demand that he stay away? It was ridiculous. An absolute ridiculous thing to say and expect of someone else. In a less graceful, more forceful way. Your chair shoots out the same way, and you thank the mother Feyre grabbing it before it could fall. You match Elain's actions as you glower at her. Surprised by how low your voice had gotten, "You have a mate. That you claim you don't love because you simply refuse to get to know him. Lucien is a kind man, he gets you a Winter Solstice present every year and tries to make it as thoughtful as he can while knowing so little about you. He is allowing-"

"Allowing?" Elain laughs shortly, "I should be grateful for him allowing me to reject him?" Her eyes bare into yours as if she is trying to find any little thread to unravel you with.

"Have you even told him you rejected him!?" You shout back at her. You hadn’t meant to raise your voice, people were usually quiet, and gentle with Elain. And here you were screaming at her in a bar…

Elain's face drops but it doesn't stop you from going in again, despite knowing you had made your point. This was about more than just her rejection of Lucien. It was about the lack of care and compassion your sister showed a man who tried to help her. "He is allowing you space- which you asked for, mind you! He could be all over you; there are horror stories of mates, Elain! But instead of trying to get to know him you instead clung onto someone else. And what? You're in love with someone else's mate? Lucien is a good, kind man. And it’s also not his fault that you were mated from the moment you stepped out of the cauldron. But he tried to be there for you. Badgered us about getting you food and sunlight. Even now! He writes you letters, but do you ever answer? Do you give him the time of day? I’m not saying you owe him your affection, but I am saying he deserves a mate who is willing to try.”

The table is silent for a moment. Letting your words hang in the air before Elain holds her head higher. "Mates do not have to be accepted."

"Elain." Nesta snaps, "Y/n has a point. You are in love with someone else's mate. You see how happy Cassian had made me, helped pick up my broken pieces! Showed me love while I healed. How happy Rhys makes Feyre! Giving her a life she could have never dreamt of. You can't so easily dismiss Lucien without at least trying."

"Oh, and you were one to so easily accept your mate?" Elain lashed out. Her eyes turning slightly misty. You quickly exchange a glance with Feyre who looks just as concerned as you. And the hurt on Nesta's face was there for just a split second before she steeled herself and opened her mouth-

"He's been teaching me how to read." You answer the first question quickly, looking down at your glass. Your reflection reminded you of your younger years again. Your sisters arguing at the table as you ate a meal you prepared. Trying to keep from your cheeks redding as your sisters turned to you. You could just imagine their expressions, shocked, disappointed and maybe a little upset you hadn’t asked one of them. Not being able to read was the last thing you wanted to admit, but you'd rather embarrass yourself than have them at each other's throats. There had been so much fighting in this world recently. There didn't need to be more. The fighting didn’t need to be between sisters. You dared to look up at them, Feyre was smiling gently as she reached out and took your hand. Giving a gentle squeeze. She understood you the most, both of you didn’t have the education that the other two did. Nesta looked at her water, frowning and contemplative. It was almost as if she looked guilty. Elain found a spot on the table interesting. The silence was too heavy, so you continued, "He realized the book I always carried around…he realized I wasn't reading it. And so he tricked me, got me down into the library, and made me try to read…ever since then he's been teaching me…"

"You know, Rhys also taught me how to read." Feyre supplies to help ease the tension. “By making me write about how handsome and charming he was.” Nesta and you snort, rolling your eyes affectionately at your brother in law. Feyre takes your hand better, giving another squeeze. “And now I can read and write just fine. And I would bet good money that Azriel is a better teacher than him." She winks. You gave her a thankful smile.

"He says we can move onto chapter books soon…" A small smile spreads across your face as you recount what had happened just a few hours earlier. "Maybe I can join your book club then, Nes." You look at your oldest sister in hopes of pulling her out of her thoughts. The last thing you wanted was for her to feel guilty about it, your father should have picked up the slack. Not her. Nesta looks up at you, smiling back at you with a softness rarely seen.

"If you can handle it." She shrugs with a half committed grin. After another beat of silence she sighs, reaching across the table to take your other hand. "I'm sorry. Like Feyre, I had no idea where your lessons started and how much you knew…"

Shaking your head, you squeeze her hand. "It wasn't your job. You were a child just like me. If anyone should have stepped up it was Dad. And besides, reading wasn't going to help us get out of poverty. We did what we could. And now, we have a life of comfort…" You give another thankful smile to Feyre. "Thanks for mating the most powerful High Lord in Prythian." You tease, your sisters laugh unexpectedly at the comment. It was a strange thing to thank Feyre for. There was so many things you could have thanked her for- and yet you chose her mate. But Feyre didn’t seem to mind, she welcomed it with open arms. Bowing her head as if to say ‘you’re welcome.’

Then, when the laughter died down, you look over at Elain, "And if you want me to stop the lessons with Azriel then I will. I'm sure we can get me a tutor now that I know the basics."

Elain raises her head to look at you and then sighs. Shaking her head, "No. You're right. I haven't been fair in demanding attention from Azriel, giving him my heart so easily when…when I haven't given my own mate the chance. Truthfully, I'm just scared. To lose someone like I lost Greyson. I thought… I thought for sure Greyson would love me no matter what. I thought our love was stronger than just some pointy ears. And,” She pauses as she purses her lips. Nesta gently rubs her back, Feyre takes her hand as you take the other. Gathering around her in support. “And i’m scared that something with happen to Lucien as well. I see how much you love your mates and I just- I just couldn’t bear to loose anyone like that again.” Elain lets out a shaky breath at her confession, squeezing you and Feyre’s hands. “Azriel would be a good partner. I know to expect him to leave at times…" She leans back into the chair and lets out a whistful sigh, "Plus he's hot."

That gets the table to erupt into laughter again, "As if Lucien isn't?" You ask playfully.

"Oh please, Illyrian men are the way to go." Nesta winks, "They don't talk about the wing spans for no reason."

"Gross!" You giggle as the conversation starts up again, becoming easier between you and your sisters. ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

As you arrived back at the River house, laughter still surrounded you and your sisters. The four of you make your way into the living room to continue your fun night, but find it already occupied with the Inner Circle. Spread across the rooms with various wine bottles, and a few snacks scattered about.. "Hello, Feyre Darling." Rhys greets and gets up, taking her in his arms, "We couldn't let you have all the fun. Now could we?" He smirks, looking over at you and your sisters. “Did you girls have a goodnight?”

“Not as good as the one here.” You muse, crossing the room to grab some of the charcuterie board they had left. “Rita’s doesn’t have fancy meat.”

“At least not when you’re not there.” Cassian ribs, elbowing Rhys as he passes by. Rhys’s quip back gets lost in the laughter the ensues from your joke. And as Cassian always does, presses a kiss to Feyre's cheek. He ruffles your hair, causing you to make a small noise of disapproval before quickly smoothing out your hair. He kisses Elain's hand before he pulls Nesta into his arms. Kissing her swiftly, causing you to avert your eyes.

You hear some shuffling and look up to find Azriel coming closer, something you noted he only did when he wasn’t trying to sneak up on people. His footsteps so light that he want to accidentally spook anyone. You smile at him as you notice for once he wasn't in his leathers. But that didn't mean that he wasn't still insanely attractive. It was unfair how effortless it seemed to be for him. A pair of black jeans that were a bit looser than his normal pants but still hugged his thighs, a long-sleeved blue knit shirt that had the sleeves pushed up to show off his forearms. Showing off more scars, His siphon-topped hands shoved into his pockets. Even his casual dress made you feel under and over-dressed at the same time. Your sisters and you usually wore dresses- Nesta and Feyre opted for Illyrian leathers while training. But you had done none of it, so here you stood in front of him in a plain purple sundress. Smoothing out the fabric you looked up at him with a gentle smile. "Did you have a good night?"

Azriel nods, a faint smile from him almost had you trying to catch your breath. His attention focused so innately on you, that nothing else seemed to matter. "Better now that you're here. Rhys and Cass wouldn't stop complaining about how much they missed their mates." He sighs heavily, not revealing the smirk that graces his features to anyone but you. You couldn’t help but let out a quiet giggle, shaking your head at him. His beautiful hazel eyes glimmering with amusement.

"We did not!" Cassian interrupts, pulling you and Azriel from your moment. Nesta still pressed into his arms as she held onto him. "Don't let him fool you, y/n." He pouts, “We weren’t the only ones complaining!”

You raise your eyebrow and look at Elain. She shares the amusement. "Cassian, with all due respect. You are annoying about Nesta even when she's in the next room over." Elain teases and you cover your mouth to stop the bark of laughter. But it’s too late, the room is filled with it.

"Do you hear them, Nessie?" Cassian pouts and barries his face into her neck. "They're being mean to me." Nesta laughs and pats his back. Looking at the rest of you with playful exhaustion.

"You big baby, you can take it." She offers no sympathy to her mate, who only whines in her arms. Causing Nesta to roll her eyes and look over at you and Elain again. "Drama king." She mouths.

And something about the normalcy in your sister's affection, loving her mate so openly. Being held with no reservations, bantering and kissing, and….being loved. Both of them…it causes that ache in your heart again. The crippling loneliness. Even Elain had found a spot next to Mor and Amren, letting them pour her a drink. You can't bear to watch it, it hurts too much. To feel so outside, like a stranger peering through a window. You step away from Azriel, unaware of his his eyes quickly follow you, ensure you aren’t going too far. He’s about to offer an arm when you yawn and stretch. "I think it's time to head up to bed." You give a tight-mouth smile to everyone else and bid them goodnight. Ignoring the boo’s from a tipsy Mor.

Azriel follows you up though. He’d seen the sudden change in your demeanor, almost like you closed yourself off from the family. He didn’t know what was said to you tonight, but he’d assure you til dawn if anything he deemed wrong.

You hadn't noticed him until he cleared his throat, just outside your bedroom door. Causing you to startle as you looked back. "Azriel!" You hiss as you put a hand over your heart with a little laugh. Azriel looked like a kicked puppy, his beautiful hazel eyes wide, eyebrows raised in surprise. You hadn't ever expected to see that look on his face, biting your lip to stop a laugh.

"I'm sorry!" He rushes, "I thought you knew!”

You let out the laugh that you were holding back and shake your head. "Oh, Azriel." You giggle and shake your head as you pat his bicep, the sheer size of it made your hand look downright childish. So small in comparison to all that muscle. "It's alright, don't worry. Did you need something?"

He cleared his throat, in the dim faelighting you could have sworn that you saw a blush creeping up on his cheeks. You pushed away the thoughts of how adorable he was. "I, wanted to make sure that you were okay." He whispers as he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, refusing to meet your gaze. Watching how it darts around like he is growing more and more anxious by the second. You had never seen the Spy Master like this- so flustered and awkward. It made you wonder what he and the rest of the Inner Circle talked about while you were gone today. Cassian mentioned someone else complaining… was it him? Was he complaining about your lessons?

You blink at his words, finally registering them, before tilting your head. "…yes? Why wouldn't I be?"

"Your sisters all but kidnapped you." He says simply. His eyes finds yours again as he raises an eyebrow at you. Slightly worried that you might have forgotten. His eyes also shine with amusement as he recalls the way they'd shown up. Only for himself to be bombarded when he returned to the River House as well. No doubt Feyre, Rhys, Nesta and Cassian’s doing. Nosy fuckers. "Nesta was…" Azriel shivers as he recalls her glance. Shaking his head you laugh again at his reaction, patting his arm again. He couldn’t help but also notice the size difference between you two and it drives him up a wall.

"They just wanted to know my intentions with you Azzy." You wink, and on the Shadowsingers face was definitely a blush. "Don't worry I assured them it was nothing but evil, evil plots of learning how to read to start a coup." You continue to tease him.

Azriel glares lightly at you, but any harshness in his eyes soften the minute you giggle so hard you snort and lean into him. Resting your forehead on his chest- the closer you’d ever been to him. The way you did so in such a simple, effortless way…touching him and laughing like it was the easiest thing in the world. His heart races out of his chest as he looks down at you, shocked as he doesn’t quite know what to do, his shadows curling around your ankles and his hands on your hips to keep you from falling back as you laugh- still dazed by the pure beauty of…you and it snaps. The mating bond. You were his mate.

His.

From now until the end of time. You were his, and he was yours. And it suddenly felt like everything in this world made sense. Holding you in his arms would feel like home, never again would it feel like he didn’t have a place in this world again. Because his place was next you. Starting from this day on. Now and forever. It feels as if his entire life had been an endless storm, constantly searching for salvation only to find it in your smile. The darkness that enveloped him washed away by your laugh. The self deprecating thoughts eased by a touch of your hand…there was nothing he wouldn’t do for you. The snapping of the bond felt as if though part of him had truly become complete. There was no greater honor than being yours. So holy dedicated to you.

If he were a lesser man, he would have surged forward and pressed his lips to yours. Needing to feel the touch of your skin against his. Giving in to his primal instincts. Tugging you closer as you both accept the bond and two- became one. Over, and over, and over again until you couldn’t move anymore.

But Azriel looks at you as you smile up at him. So innocent in the way only someone who had no idea what dirty thoughts were coming through his mind. Completely unaware of what you had just done to him. How you now had him wrapped around your finger forever and always. And then, like a freight train crashing he realized.

It hadn't snapped for you…

"Goodnight Az." You whisper as you lean up, one hand delicately on his chest, the other squeezing his forearm to help keep you steady, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'll see you in the morning." With that, you stepped into your room closing the door. Leaving Azriel in the hallway alone, again. ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── a/n: This one was really fun to write! Also, if you guys wanna know the dress I was picturing for the reader, its this one here. If yall have anything you wanna see, or wanna be added to the taglist let me know! tag list: @sidthedollface2 @cat-or-kitten @impossibelle @brunette-barbie1220 @scatteredstardustt @sammanna @cherry-cin @tele86 @judig92 @lana08 @stained-glass-eyes0708 @oucereeng @persephonesalvatore @fightmedraco @juniperberriesaries @whatdoyxumean @harrystyke21

#azriel x reader #acotar series #acotar fanart #acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #nesta acotar #pro nesta #nesta archeron #nesta x cassian #pro elain #elain archeron #elain x lucien #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #cassian acotar

[cherryredcheol]

quiet time

tldr: what exactly is he staring at? a/n: this is an ode to my own headphones. thank you for everything you do. (none of this would exist without you)

you think the best thing vernon ever did for your relationship was buy you your own pair of noise-canceling headphones. not only was it cute that you two had a subtle way of matching, but the gift was the catalyst for what you two called “quiet time”. 

you knew vernon needed his alone time. knew he needed time with his headphones on and music blasting in his ears, in his own world. you were happy to give him the space and do your own thing. when you opened the headphones he had given you, you weren't really sure you’d use them, perfectly happy with your small earbuds. the large headset seemed excessive. however, you quickly got the appeal after using them for the first time.

now every time you two hung out, you’d have quiet time. each doing your own thing, existing in the same space but not interacting with each other. hair getting flatter on both your heads as the band of the headphones pressed down. 

today you were sat on opposite ends of the couch, several feet of space between you both. you were absorbed in a game on your phone. he couldn’t help but stare at you, the music blasting into his own ears becoming background noise as he focused on you. he loved seeing you in those headphones, pleased to no end when he sees how well you use them. when he bought you the exact same pair that he had, he was nervous they would get mixed up but that fear was put to bed when you promptly decorated yours with little stickers, saying they needed to be “cuter” and as he stares at those stickers now, he can confirm you’re cute, but it might not be the headphone’s doing. 

you could feel vernon’s gaze on you, you’d felt it for minutes now. no longer able to stand it, you turned your head to him, pulling the headphones down to rest around the back of your neck. 

“why are you staring at me like that?” 

vernon pulled his own headphones down, unphased, “what?” 

you huffed, “why are you staring at me so intensely? it's creeping me out.” 

he smiled easily, “i just love you so much, bug.” 

you rolled your eyes, pulling the headphones back up, “well knock it off, you’re distracting me from my game.”

vernon just continued to stare, not missing the soft blush on your cheeks and little smile tugging on your lips as you tried to focus on the small screen in your hands. unsuccessful, you turned your head again pushing the headphones just off the ear closest to vernon, "for real stop staring. i need to beat this level before i can even think about making dinner so if you want to eat soon, you’ll look away.” 

laughing, vernon crawled closer to you, closing the distance between you two on the couch. wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he pulled you closer and whispered in your exposed ear, “i’ll wait forever for dinner if it means i can keep looking at you.” 

#seventeen imagines #seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #svt #svt x reader #vernon x reader #vernon fluff #vernon imagines #vernon #hansol vernon chwe #hansol fluff #hansol x reader #seventeen hansol #hansol

[fayes-fics]

To Know You…

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?

Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.

Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)

Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3

I: To Know You….

“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace. 

You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.

—

Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.

He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…

—

You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.

You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own. 

And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly. 

You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.

“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.” 

You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.

“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.

“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident. 

“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.

“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.

By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…

“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.

Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.

“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”

You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.

“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.

“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.

—

Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.

Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.

“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”

“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it. 

Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…

—

You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.

“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.

“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.

“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.

“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.

It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.

—

Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.

“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.

You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours. 

“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air.  “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”

Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.

As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.

“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.

Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”

“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.

“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.

“That is what I said…” “That is what she said…”

You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.

—

Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.

“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”

“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.

“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.

Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.

“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”

His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.

—

You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room. 

Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.

“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.

“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.” 

And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.

“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast. 

You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.

II: …Is To Love You

The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.

“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.

You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.

Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.

“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.

—

Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.

But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks. 

Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.

As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.

“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.

“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…” 

Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.

“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”

—

You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.

Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.” 

“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.

You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand. 

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.

—

His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.

“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.

“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.

She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”

“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.” 

“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.

“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.

“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly. 

Benedict has no response to that. 

—

The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.  

After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.

He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.

“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”

You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”

“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”

“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.

He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence. 

You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.

He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.” 

A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.

“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”

“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.

“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”

You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.

—

How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly. 

“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.

“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in. 

He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing. 

He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.

—

Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid. 

“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly. 

“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.

“I can send him away, Miss?”  The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.

“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”

Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.

“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.

“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.

“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.

“Why?” Violet frowns.

“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”

“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.

“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.

“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.

Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.

“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.

“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”

“Well, no…”

“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.

“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.

You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all. 

—

The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on. 

However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.

“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.

“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.

“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”

You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.

“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.

“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.

He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.

—

“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.

“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.

And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.

“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.

Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.

“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.

She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.

You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.

“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.

—

Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.

“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.

“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”

He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.

The piano stops abruptly.

“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.

Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.

“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.

“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such. 

—

You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.

“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.

“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him;  his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.

“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat. 

“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.

“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”

Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive. 

As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.

“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…” 

You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.

“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.

“Thank you.” 

Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance. 

III: … And I Do.

A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.

“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.

“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.

“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.

“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.

You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary. 

Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.

“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!” 

You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.

“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.

You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.

“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.

“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.

“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”

There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not. 

You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.

—

As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.

He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that. 

It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.

How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.

—

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor. 

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event. 

His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.

“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.” 

Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.

You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.

—

Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face. 

He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.  

—

You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton. 

Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.

“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.

“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.

As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.

Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside. 

“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”

“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.

“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.” 

There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.

“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.

And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner. 

To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply. 

“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”

“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man. 

He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.

—

That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking. 

An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless. 

Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.

You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.

You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“What on earth…?”

There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.

“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.

“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”

His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.

“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”

You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.

“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.

—

That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.

“No, you certainly will not!”  He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.

“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.

He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.

“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”

“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.

“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.

“Thank you,” you answer softly. 

You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does. 

“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge. 

—

Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.

“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”

He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.

“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.

“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”

That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it. 

You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.

“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips. 

Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…

…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.

—

The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.

“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.

“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.

She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”

He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.

“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.

“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.

“Why would she have?”  

“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.

“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.

“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?” 

Even he can read between those lines. 

“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.

—

Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.

He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.

“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.

“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”

Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”

“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.

He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”

“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”

Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.

“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”

Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.

It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.

“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks. 

“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.

“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.

—

The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.

You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked. 

A resounding yes.

In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.

And yet.

And yet.

There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice. 

—

Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.

—

You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.

“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.

“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.

“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.

“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.

You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest. 

“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”

You are stunned. Speechless. 

Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.

So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.

“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.

“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.

“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.

“I love you.” 

It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

—

You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more. 

“I-I-I love you too.”

You are bewildered when you say it aloud. 

 The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.

“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation. 

He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.

“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.

He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.

“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart.  “And I do. I truly do.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

[princesssmars]

sweet✰honey✰buckin

a rodeo!abby x reader.

its a hot spring in the south and rodeo season is here. your hunt for a new fling leads you to an up-and-coming hotshot bull rider with an aversion to groupies. maybe you can change her mind.

wc : 2.509

contains : fxf relationship. barely attempted country slang. fluff. smut. oral and penetrative sex (r!receiving). nicknames (baby, darlin', a single bunny).

a/n : yeah guess who just listened to cowboy carter. idk why i posted about this before writing a single word but i didn't procrastinate this time yall clap it up and enjoy.

if you think about it, this was really all dolly partons' fault.

you could still picture the first time you saw her, the grainy recording on your grandmother's television, the gentle melodies from the blonde bombshell wrapping around you like a warm hug. you'd only been exposed to the south for a few weeks, and you already knew who you wanted your role model to be.

and the buckle bunny stuff also wasn't your fault! you were gorgeous, as people so loved to remind you at every twist and turn. and maybe you used your looks to your advantage sometimes. the first time was when you batted your eyelashes to make a boy do your project a day before it was due in junior year. he was... good-looking, you supposed. smart enough to be on the chess team, so he would do.

so you went to a little party with your friends that night. a spacious house, nice music, and good enough booze. everything was normal until you saw her. she was lean and mysterious, and under the lid of her black ridge top hat you could see her eyes tracking your body as you danced

so yes, her eating you in the back seat of her truck until you cried, holding down your hips when you tried to move changed your brain chemistry just a bit.

now a few years later, you're a little taller, a little smarter, and have collected a handful of studs for your belt. sure you've collected a...not so savory reputation in some of the local bars, but it was nothing a smile and a little flirting couldn't help. and its only going to get better; as the air warms and the trees bloom pussy spirit starts buzzing, and you know rodeo season is upon you again.

it was a hot night at the cow belle and the people even hotter as you scoped the scene from the rim of your glass. you and your friends were perched at the bar, daisy dukes heightened and crop tops tied under your busts.

"i heard red devil rosie'd be here tonight," savannah whispers to your group from beside you, her tall dark legs relaxed with her arm resting on the wood behind you. she always had a bit of a thing for redheads, and she'd had her eyes on rosie ever since it got around that she'd broken up with her fiancee.

"jesus, sav, the poor girl just got heartbroken, now you already wanna jump her bones?" charlize laughs, taking a hard swig of the beer in her hand. standing at a solid five feet and four inches tall the little kentuckian was a handful, always the first in line to ride a mechanical bull or jump in the front of a line dance.

"whats that saying men always use? as soon as you lose one hop on a 'nother?"

"you are deplorable."

as the girls banter back and forth your eyes focus on the rising commotion at the front of the bar. with a slight rise on your toes, making sure not to scuff your boots, and you can't help the growing smile on your face when you spot that blonde hair pushed down by her signature brown stetson.

abigail anderson, the rodeo's angel. she'd only been in the circuit for under two years and sponsors were lining up and begging for her to go pro. it was always easy to spot her, frequently trailed by her already professional friends manny alvarez and owen moore, along with a handful of groupies begging her to look their way.

luckily for you, manny had flirted with you a few weeks back and remained friendly after you turned him down, and he was heading straight towards you while his friends headed to a booth.

"oh god, hide your wives and girlfriends, the buckle brood is here!" he laughs, thanking the bartender for his beer and taking a swig.

"whatever manny, you're just upset our darling here didn't give you a chance." savannah winks.

"i think god was doing me a favor. y'know dixie's been trying to call you for about a week? the poor girls even thought about sending a bouquet. dixie. a bouquet."

"i made it clear before we slept together it would be a one-time thing. 's not my fault she wants more." you sigh.

that just makes the man laugh harder. he chats it up with charlize about how the rankings are looking when he notices how your gaze keeps wandering off, following your eye straight to-

"no."

"hm? i didnt say anything!"

"you said it with your eyes. and im gonna tell you with my mouth that you don't stand a chance. abby hates groupies." he shakes his head.

"abby, huh? i like it." manny grows exasperated as his words go in one ear and out the other. "'n and im technically not a groupie. never seen the woman in my life before now."

"well, look don't touch. or maybe don't look at all, before you put a spell on her or somethin."

you pout, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and bring him into a hug. you see abby look your way in the corner of your eye and make sure to stretch your torso just a tiny bit until you're able to feel the bottom of your shirt ride up just that much more. when you see her eyes trail down your waist you hide a smile into the side of your arm.

you let the man go with a sweet goodbye, watching as he grabs two more beers and heads over to the booth and twisting your head before you can catch the blondes gaze.

its only a few minutes later when manny comes back with wide eyes and invites you over to sit with them.

sitting across from her, you can see why people are so attracted to her. she’s big, her muscles bulging out from the sleeves in her plaid shirt. despite her size she doesn’t try to take up more space then needed; confident but not cocky.

she clearly notices your glances, and maybe even the smile on your face when one of her past flings with a girl is brought up in conversation.

“so, you’ve had girlfriends before?” you ask, stirring your cocktail with the little colorful umbrella that came with it.

“no no, don’t answer that, you’ll regret it.” owen butts in, meeting your glare. you’d never talked before, but you were pretty sure you had slept with his fiancée a few years ago. last you’d heard they’d had a baby, maybe you’d offer to babysit sometime.

“why not? are you a groupie?” abby asks.

“can’t be a groupie if i barely know who you are. so why don’t we get to know each other better. preferably in private.”

“whatever you say, darlin.”

you hear the sudden sounds of a few hoots and claps and a familiar song that they always play to get people dancing.

“why don’t you show me some of your moves, big girl?”

she rolls her eyes, letting out a quiet sigh before following you onto the dance floor.

as much as she’s trying to fight it, you can tell abby is enjoying herself, learning quickly as you show her the moves to the dance. you’re a bit surprised she doesn’t know it already until she tells you she’s originally from utah.

“what, they don’t have country bars out in salt lake.”

“no, not like this. at least i never went to any of them.”

“wellll if you ever need a tour guide i’m available. whenever you want me.”

“god, manny told me about you.”

“really? what’s he say? i can probably guess.”

“so you know everybody thinks you’re a playgirl who sleeps with cowgirls for damn near a living and you don’t care?”

you shrug. “‘m just young and having fun. maybe everyone else, including you, is too uptight.”

“oh really? and what, you're supposed to help me loosen up?” she raises a single eyebrow. you don't answer, deciding to just look at her face for a while.

you like how pretty she is. the soft blue of her big eyes, the freckles dotted across her face that trail down her neck and disappear into her shirt. you feel pride in your chest when you see her cheeks redden.

when the song ends you pull away from her, ready to go over and tell your friends goodbye when a large hand grips your wrist, tugging your body back to its previous position. before you can question her you feel the weight of her hat sitting on your head.

"well? you gonna answer my question?"

you can still remember the looks on your friends face's when abby told them she was heading home, still gripping your hand. manny looked like he had just seen pigs fly.

it was hard to ignore the way she didn't let go of you until she was driving or the looks she was giving you when she was looking at the road, or how desperate she was when you finally got her here, dragging you to her room and attaching her strap like she'd die if she didn't get you in bed.

"i don't see what the big fuss is about, this really isn't that hard." you tease her, admiring the way she whines when you refuse to let her wrists go from your hands, using all your strength to keep her from flipping you over

but maybe you should learn when to shut your mouth because she roughly starts bucking her hips, smiling at the euphoric look on your face before you hide your face in her neck, trying and failing to muffle your moans.

"what? i thought you said this was easy?" she laughs when she hears your muffled groan, failing to ignore when you roughly bite her. you can tell she's getting frustrated at being restrained, her hands clenching into fists and repeatedly trying to get them from under your hands. "fuckin - cmon, baby, lemme help you."

god, she was so cute. you'd never say it out loud but you liked all the little nicknames she gave you, the gentle kisses she would place on your skin when she was warming you up for her. if you didn't have a one-time policy you would have chosen to keep her around. just for a little while.

but you could also see the inner turmoil in her eyes, the battle between dominance and submission. when you first met her you thought she'd be a stone top, so you decide to take advantage and reach one of your hands up to her hair and pull, forcing a loud moan from her as her mouth gaped open.

"not so uptight now, are you?" you laugh, awwing at her when she lets out a small whine.

you didnt realize until it was too late that it was a mistake to underestimate her because she was attaching her hands to your hips, planting her feet on the bed, and thrusting up into you like a wild bull, sucking a mark into your chest like she can't see you struggling to breathe.

"yeah, that's it. not so easy now, is it darlin'?"

and oh how you hate how you can't answer her, only able to muster up a weak glare as the pleasure grows, feeling the burning heat gross in your stomach. you're trying to hold off, not ready for this to end just yet, and hating the satisfied look on her face when your shaky arms wrap around her neck.

"you gettin' close, baby?" she maneuvers your legs to spread wider, hitting that spot inside you at just the right angle. god, everything feels so hot and overwhelming and so damn good-

"that's it, show me how pretty you look cummin around me." once she reaches a hand down and roughly rubs your clit it's over, moaning and gasping her name as your orgasm hits you like a freight train. she never stops her movements, in fact, you think she goes harder once she feels your nails dig into her arms.

your head flops onto her shoulder, basking in your post-orgasm bliss as her large hands rub up and down your back. mind hazy, you feel yourself drifting off and giving yourself a mental pat on the back when you're shocked upwards by a fierce thrust from below you, wide eyes darting to abby's.

"what, ya thought we were finished? if you wanna claim me you gotta earn it, bunny."

"oh no, abby i cant-" you try to decline, not sure you can take another before she presses you back into her sheets, manhandling your legs over her shoulders and your arms under your back. she can tell you're about to fight it because she's pushing her strap into you again.

it's embarrassing how close you are already after a few minutes, unable to move as she splits you open in a damn mating press. trying to hide your face in the sheets is futile so you have no choice but to keep eye contact with her, which only brings you closer to the edge because she's looking at you like she wants to fuck you until she physically can't anymore.

she's quieter now but you can hear her mumbling under her breath about how 'you're too damn fine, jesus you're gonna be the death of me,' and the next thing you know you're both cumming, feeling the wet mess grow between your legs.

she sinks into you, boneless on top of you as she gently rubs at your sides as you do the same for her head. after a few minutes she gets up, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips at your soft whine at the strap leaving you before heading off to the bathroom to get a washcloth.

it's gentle as you both clean the other, softly trailing the rag down her arms as she observes you. its almost...domestic. which you haven't done in quite a while. it feels nice.

when she gets up to throw it in the hamper you reach for your clothes on the floor before she questions you.

"excuse me, what do you think you're doin?"

"uhh...leaving?"

"nope, bad manners if i let you go home now," she tosses you a shirt from one of her drawers, finding her own pajamas before flopping on her bed. "i don't know what kinda girls in the circuit you've been seein', but I'm not like that."

you're on the fence, rubbing the fabric of her large shirt before putting it on and settling in next to her. it couldn't hurt just to sleep with her, right? "fine. but you should know i don't normally do...this."

"me neither. but there's a first time for everything, right?" she smiles, rubbing your hip from over the shirt before trailing it under. "besides, maybe we can go again in the morning. still need to prove to you I'm not uptight."

thank god for dolly parton.

sorry if this is shorter than expected i feel like death. can we all do rodeo!abby this summer. pretty please.

taglist : @euphternal @jupiter-502 @vqxen @youcallmeconnor @andersonlore i love you guys im giving you kisses rn

#rodeo!abby #buckle bunny!reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #abby anderson smut #abby #tlou #abby x reader #tlou2 #tlou 2 #tlou smut #tlou x reader

[sourpeachsayshi]

Praise kink with Nanami, please😭

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: therapist!nanami; client!reader; guided; forbidden; doctor-patient relationship; size kink(?)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ notes: I went overboard with this one.

nanami's eyes darken, his glasses resting just below the bridge of his nose, irises blurring like the haze between night and day. he uncrosses then crosses his legs, desperately trying to adjust the bulge in his pants. his notebook is still resting comfortably on his lap, one of his hands fidgeting with the pen that he lightly taps against the paper, while the other traces the outline of his lip.

your legs are spread apart, your skirt flipped up, underwear pulled to the side. your shirt unbuttoned, exposing the lace fabric of your pretty, pretty bra. the sight of your cunt forms a knot in his throat, which he swallows while trying to forget the many nights he's jacked off picturing himself fucking you.

the one who came to him after leaving her horrible husband. who has struggled to find any sexual pleasure ever since, and who timidly admitted that she finds her underwear soaked after every session with dr. kento.

"I don't think," you sigh, your bottom lip trapped between your teeth. "I don't think this will work..."

"but you look good," he reassures, noticing your lashes flutter at his words. "Wet. I can see it from here..."

your face burns with embarrassment, and you part your lips to say something though no words come out.

"just keep listening, okay? you're doing really well for me, I promise this will help," he lies through his teeth, his cheeks tinting a shade of crimson of him abusing his role. "your middle and index finger, use it to rub your clit, not too fast...nice and easy..."

you oblige, and that doesn't take him by surprise. you listen to his guidance, start massaging the nub of your clit gently. a few minutes pass, but he's busy paying attention to your reactions. the way your breath hitches and your chest hiccupping as you try to stifle a moan.

"don't hold it in," he coos, "give in to your natural reactions. it's okay, I'm right here. I'm watching you, helping you. you trust me, right?"

"yes, doctor," you whimper and he hums in response.

"feels good?"

"uh-huh"

"you sound lovely, like you're enjoying it..."

"mmph~"

"faster. add a little more pressure, that's right..." he continues, "how do you feel?"

"warm-" you add, breathless and needy which only fuels his desire. "I l-like it, I like how it feels..."

"This is excellent progress, I'm proud of you," he praises, a hint of a devious smile ticking the corner of his lip. "try putting a finger in, there you go..."

his eyes narrow as you sink your middle finger into your hole. you gasp in slight shock, taken aback that you actually enjoyed the tiny stretch. nanami nearly snaps the pen his half. knowing full well that the length and thickness of his fingers would do far, far better.

you pump in and out, so slowly like you're trying to figure out what pacing you prefer. "doctor kento," you moan, though you are not addressing him with anything specific except to simply call out his name.

his cock twitches.

he takes his glasses off, and folds it neatly between his pressed shirt. he closes his notebook, the page filled with mindless scribbles that he put together to distract himself from being aroused by you.

"when we discussed your sex life prior to your marriage, you mentioned you enjoyed receiving oral," he states.

you gaze up at him with doe eyes from underneath your lashes, finger fucking yourself tenderly as you shake your head in confirmation.

he gets up from his seat, takes a few steps closer as he carefully rolls up his sleeve. he kneels before you, the afternoon light sparkling against his golden hair. his face far too close to your cunt.

"a more manual approach might do you some good," he mumbles, his large palms reaching for your plush thighs.

the heat burns behind your ears and down your neck, your muscles in your lower belly start quivering with delight and anticipation.

"you're gorgeous, by the way," he admits, dropping his professional mask and allowing his inner thoughts to speak on his behalf. "it's a shame your ex couldn't appreciate that..."

he moves on hand to circle around your wrist and draws it away from your soaking cunt. he brings your shaking fingers to his lips to taste your essence before releasing you with a pop.

"so sweet," he purrs. he drops your wrist, his hands smoothing over your inner thigh and over the curve of your pelvis. when he looks up at you, you almost don't recognize the devilish expression on the face of such a gentleman. "you deserve to feel this good. may I?"

you melt into the pillow behind you, your heart pounding so hard against your chest it makes the room around you spin.

"we'll go for as long as you can handle. alright, sweetheart?"

"yes, doctor kento"

"good girl," he murmurs, the depth of his voice making you tremble in your seat. "such a good girl..."

your eyes roll to the back of your head, a cry leaving your lips that sounds like an ache when he brings his tongue to your sex and drags upward along the glittering slit.

no more secrets x

#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

My Boobs - LN

Summary: Lando loves his girlfriend's boobs and she's just got used to him in private and public, in fact half of the time others notice before she does

I know the picture on the right is re-used from another fic, but like it works too perfectly for this.

Big yitties!reader

No part 2 requests place

Lando is without a doubt a clingy man, having his girlfriend within sight. He never far from pulling her towards himself and 9 out of 10 times holding her boobs.

People he's close to have learnt to just ignore it. But others who aren't so close, still seems shocked by how unbothered y/n is by it.

At the moment Lando is currently lying with his head on her tummy and his hands very firmly planted on her boobs while they wait for George to arrive for the Sky karting video they want to recreate 5 years later.

"I like his helmet." Alex comments inspect the design of the helmet.

"Yeah it's cool, and it matches his sister's riding helmet." Y/n smiles making Alex smile and nod. "I like it the little touches like his name. Some fans said he should put like Silverstone in the design."

"I like that, or just make all the like blobs be all the tracks on the calendar." Alex hums as George appears and looks at the three.

"Does that never get annoying?" George questions making y/n look down and smile ruffling Lando's hair.

"He's just my clingy boyfriend. But since you're here...Lando...wakey wakey." Y/n smiles drumming her hands lightly on his back earning a grunt. "You gotta go karting."

Lando untucks his face from against her sweater looking up at her with tired eyes while she smiles at him, laughing lightly.

"You know it's only the two of you who can get away with that amount of PDA, if anyone else did it, it'd be like...condemned." Alex comments as Lando sits up moving his hands to neaten his hair up. "Y/n called you clingy."

"I'm not." Lando frowns turning around to look at y/n who raises her eyebrows at him for actually trying to argue.

"Alright...you're not clingy." Y/n states but her tone definitely suggests something else is a play.

Lando ends up changing with the rest of the boys for karting and when he moves before they head out to give her a kiss he finds her turning her head so his lips land on her cheek.

"Hey-"

"Go on, you're on a schedule." Y/n cuts in earning a frown. "I thought you weren't clingy."

"Woooooow." Lando laughs then shaking his head. "Fine, be like that."

"Fine, I will." Y/n smiles since she's enjoying this.

Lando leaves her inside while he gets out to join the rest of the boys and all the team actually setting this up.

A little over an hour later, Lando reappears and when he sees y/n the earlier conversation is the last thing on his mine when he moves over with a pout.

"Alex hit me with some gravel." Lando mumbles showing a pretty nasty red mark on his neck.

"Aww...poor baby." Y/n coos in a slightly mocking manner before laughing when he wraps his arms around her.

"The team is karting with Oscar...will you stay here with me?"

"Ok, but you can't touch my boobs." Y/n sighs making him retract back from where he'd hidden his face.

"What? Why?"

"Because I only let my clingy boyfriend hold my boobs and you aren't clingy."

"Your boobs? They're my boobs. I pay more attention and love to them." Lando scoffs actually looking offended, much to y/n's amusement. "My boobs."

"You're such a weirdo." Y/n laughs before the kisses him. "Let's go watch the team."

Lando grunts in agreement then leading them down to a little podium that looks out on the track before y/n settles on his lap, not even paying attention when Lando's hands go up to holding her boobs, cupping them softly as he kisses the back of her neck, just peaking over her shoulder to watch members of the McLaren team zooming around the track.

-

Y/n is actually too focused on booking and arranging a holiday for the two of them to be paying attention to the conversation happening around her.

They're sitting in the McLaren unit, Lando having managed to sit down with Will and Jose both of whom have become accustom to ignoring y/n, in the most polite way possible.

The physical touch neediness of Lando is now just part of speaking to him if y/n in is the vicinity.

Which by this point is always. Initially she was only at a few race then maybe every other race and then eventually the number of races she doesn't attend dwindled to zero.

Eventually the conversation with his race engineers comes to an end and the two men take off to go do what they need to do after the conversation.

"Baby, you haven't eaten." Lando mumbles actually squeezing her boobs as a means to get her attention as he rests his chin on her shoulder.

"Sorry, I was booking our trip for the winter break-and I know it's literally ages away but I want to book it now before I forget and lose motivation to book it at all-or forget that I even wanted to go on the trip." Y/n rambles before sighing and placing her phone down to the side so she can pull her food closer. Though she pauses before taking a mouthful. "Lando...I can't focus on eating if you're playing with my nipples."

"You have before." Lando mumbles but he stops anyway because her does actually want her to finish eating.

-

Now on a normal day back at home in Monaco, y/n is lucky to find a day that Lando has plans which don't include her. Not that she wants to be away from him, but he seems to have a knack for making sure he can take her everywhere.

On this occasion he's caught some kind of bug and it means all arranged plans are cancelled for rest.

"You're so cute when you're all pouty and sick." Y/n coos while Lando groans and rubs his fevered head between her boobs. "If you'd let me get up then I could try and do something to break your fever."

"No." Lando groans earning a sigh and hum.

"Ok." Y/n whispers running her hands through his curls a couple times before she relaxes against the sofa.

At some point she falls asleep, maybe because she's trapped under Lando and there's not much else to do. Maybe because his body heat radiating off of him is really acting as a means of knocking her out.

She ends up only waking up to Lando's voice because he's taking a phone call and it rises her from the sleep she'd fell into.

"No, mate. I feel like shit, I don't know what I've caught but it's the worst." Lando states before y/n hears Max's voice.

"Mate, you said you were coming back to England for golf." Max laughs as y/n feels Lando rubbing gently over her boob which he's somehow got out from under her t-shirt without waking her up. "Where's y/n?"

"Underneath me pretending to be asleep."

"I'm not pretending, you woke me up so I'm trying to go back to sleep." Y/n murmurs with a grumble before she hisses when he bites her nipple gently. "Ah, I thought you were ill."

"I am-anyway mate, we'll have to reschedule." Lando states as y/n rolls her eyes and slaps her hand onto his forehead with an audible slap on his skin. "Still a fever?"

"Yeah." Y/n mumbles then sighing. "Sorry, Max. I can't force him to keep to his commitments with you."

Max agrees to reschedule it before the call ends and Lando sighs look at y/n with slightly bloodshot eyes making her frown.

"Can I please get up and get you something to drink? You need to keep your fluids up." Y/n yawns while Lando hums kissing her boob before seeming to shove his face into the soft skin making her laugh a little and gently push his head away. "Alright, clingy. Get off, I'm putting my foot down. You need water and honestly so do I."

Lando very begrudgingly allows her to stand up but he doesn't get up without following her, making what should be an easier task of getting them both water a much harder task by following her very close behind so his hands don't leave her boobs.

"Can you please let me do something to get your fever down? We're both drenched in your sweat." Y/n mumbles after managing to turn and get him to drink what turns into the better part of over half a water bottle. "A lukewarm shower?"

"Ok, but I'm not going to force you to endure that."

"How kind."

"But can we cuddle again once we're both clean?"

"So long as I can put like a cold cloth on your neck to try and keep you cool." Y/n smiles earning a nod of agreement. "Alright, drink so more. Then we'll shower and you can get back to treating my boobs like they belong to you."

"Y/n, they literally are my boobs." Lando mumbles sounding like he wants to but more energy into that sentence but he's also just being a clingy boyfriend right now and he doesn't want to push in fear of his privileges being provoked.

"You're so adorable." Y/n laughs then leaning forward and kissing him.

"Yeah, just wait till you're sick now you've kissed me."

"I've been saturated in your sweat all day. I promise you, if I'm going to get sick it's going to be from that. Not a kiss."

Lando hums moves his hands back up to cup her boobs.

"I'm never sure if you love me or my boobs more."

"You but your boobs are definitely strong competition." Lando jokes earning a hum before she hums.

They do manage to finally get showered and y/n decides to pull some more of the water bottles out to be within reaching distances of lying together, she also blowdries her hair before insisting they lie in bed and that way if they fall asleep they have more space.

Not that Lando intends to give her any of that space.

And in true nature as a result of his clinginess. Y/n has to share it with people so she posts a picture which does actually include Lando's hand gently cupping her boob while he seems to hide his face between her ribs and the mattress as he cuddles into her.

And of course, his fans absolutely melt over the sick Lando content. So she posts more of him over the next 24 hours before he's seemingly back to health and then he returns the favour of nursing y/n since she did get sick.

"My poor baby." Lando laughs as she whines and nuzzles into him before he rolls her so her back is to his chest and so he can wrap an arm around her and cup her boob before kissing her neck. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you, beautiful."

"I don't even know if you're talking to me or my boobs."

"Shut up. I'm not that bad." Lando laughs though he gives them a gentle squeeze.

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando x reader #lando #norris #lando norris fluff #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris mclaren #lando norris fic #land norris x you #lando norris one shot #ln4 #ln4 one shot #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 fluff #ln4 fanfic #ln4 x you #ln4 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

i always end up writing way more than i intend to so im just gonna keep it short. hockey player! bakugou who’s absolutely enamored with lil ole quiet you. squealing. (ps @bkgpackets this is all your fault)

hockey player! bakugou who’s the star player of his team, who could have anyone he wants yet his eyes always search around in the stands for you so he can flash you that smirk.

hockey player! bakugou who absolutely demands a kiss on the cheek before every game, claims it brings him good luck even tho he really doesn’t need it. “m’not goin’ out there till you give me my kiss, sweetheart”

hockey player! bakugou who despite seeming all cool and casual, gets so incredibly nervous when he’s has to show any sign of being interested in you. his hands clammy when he brings you your favorite snack from that bakery you liked to go to when you were paired up for the project that sealed his fate. his friends never miss an opportunity to make fun of him for it, but he’d much rather take this than any chances of some random loser asking you out before he does

hockey player! bakugou who despite being the definition of a total hunk, is actually inexperienced as hell. he’s clunky and a little awkward when he asks you out, almost shoving the bouquet of your favorite flowers you’d once mentioned in passing in your face unceremoniously, but that cute little blush on his cheeks is to die for.

hockey player! bakugou who despite being inexperienced is also the most insufferable piece of shit ever. he teases you mercilessly, he tickles and pokes you and sneaks up behind you just to hear you squeal. he traps you between his broad chest and your locker just to see how flustered you get from how public he’s being. (not like he cares anyway) he’ll bite and kiss you randomly and he’ll steal bites of your food to see you pout and to have an excuse to share his lunch with you. “now we’re even so quite whinin’.” he snickers.

hockey player! bakugou who loves when you get all fired up for him. who feels his heart somersault in his chest when you give him your sweet pep talks during intermissions. who loves when you place your hands against his cheeks and can’t count the amount of times his mouth goes dry when you tell him he’s got this. who kisses you square on the mouth before he has to go and strategize with his team, newly reinvigorated resolve because his girl is watching and cheering him on.

hockey player! bakugou who after his team wins and they’re done celebrating, immediately bounds over to you with that dashing smile and picks you up over his shoulder. whooping and laughing meanly at your squeals and giggles while he carried you around like you’re the trophy. who kisses you long and hard before pulling away and grinning so so bright it almost blinds you but you can’t look away “you really are my good luck charm, aren’t ya ?”

#fem reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugou imagine #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou fluff #im satisfied w my amount of words #yippee #bakugou x y/n #bakugou drabble #bakugo drabble #katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki x y/n #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugo x female reader #my boyfriend my one and only my beau my one my all

[gay-dorito-dust]

🍮could I request hsr Astral express boys + penacony boys (not Gallagher tho) with a very teasable s/o bcoz they flinch and blush whenever they initiate physical touch or kiss them.

It's not like the s/o hates it, it's just they not used to it so every hug and kiss or touch is very electrifying. Would the boys tease them to hell and back or be very sweet and gentle and understanding to take things slow? 🍮

Me being dumb and not knowing whether ratio would be considered a part of the trio but he’s here either way regardless…

Aventurine:

Takes pride in the fact that he has so much power over you by doing something so small as kiss your cheek or even hold your waist.

It’s an absolute power trip for him in knowing this little secret of yours and he will be unforgiving about it too, plus your reactions were just so cute for him to give up now.

‘Good morning my dear.’ Aventurine say softly as he pressed a kiss to your neck, smiling upon feeling you tense beneath his lips and chuckles. ‘Still reacting like this after we’ve been together as long as we have? How adorable.’ He practically purrs as he burrows his face into your neck and strengthens his hold on your waist despite your noises of complaints.

‘Aventurine.’ You whine, burrowing your burning face into the pillow. ‘Knock it off.’

Aventurine pulls his head out from your neck and rests it against your shoulder as he could practically envision the steam coming from your ears. ‘I’m not doing anything though.’ He says cheekily as he presses a kiss to the underside of your jaw, nipping at it a little in order to hear you squeak. ‘I’m merely expressing how happy I am now that you’re awake.’

‘Yes you do.’ You said as you tried to borrow your face deeper into the pillow out of a need to hideaway from Aventurine and his knowing gaze, ‘And aren’t you enjoying this far too much.’ You add as you felt your face burn even more upon hearing him laugh in your ear.

‘No, I think I’m enjoying this the right amount.’ Aventurine says as he presses a kiss behind your ear and cuddling himself further against your back, taking far too much self enjoyment in making you a flustered mess to his heart’s delight.

Ratio:

Nothing gets past this man, nothing.

He’s immensely observant and will catch on quite quickly on how you’d practically freeze up when he shows you any physical affection. And he secretly loves the reactions that you give in response to him merely brushing shoulders with you.

Veritas treats this as a mini experiment of sorts and will run this excuse into the ground if it meant getting to see you either melt or become flustered to the high heavens from his touch.

‘Interesting.’ He would mutter under his breath as he slowly runs his fingertips up and down the back of your hand with featherlight caresses, all the while you were trying your hardest not to pull away per his instructions when agreeing to help with his study. ‘How very interesting indeed.’

You breathed out an uneven sigh. ‘What’s so interesting about my reactions, wouldn’t this sort of thing bore you?’ You asked as your attempts at hiding how much his touch was affecting you were failing by the second.

‘Not necessarily.’ Veritas said as he started caressing the inside of your wrist and pulse point as his eyes remained on you, closely examining your face for even the most minuet shifts in your expression. ‘If anything I find them to be rather-‘

‘Let me guess, interesting?’ You butted in a moment of cheekiness and immediately regretting it when Veritas stopped stroking the inside of your wrist and moved his hand to cup your jaw, lifting it so that you’d have no choice but to look at him directly as he leant in close to your face, his nose touching your own.

‘Yes, very. However I’m sure we can find some… unique ways to fully experience the full extent of your reactions to my touch.’

Sunday:

He finds it amusing seeing you flustered from him simply kissing the back of your hand or guiding you down the streets with a firm hand on the waist.

He’d gladly use this against you in times where he was feeling particularly in a teasing mood as your cute reactions fill him with a sense of pride knowing that only his touch could get those kinds of reactions out of you.

However he didn’t want you potentially passing out from all his teasing and would take it slow for your sake by asking permission to mitigate your tendency of easily being taken off guard somewhat.

It really depends on how he’s feeling that day and that only makes him more unpredictable, which meant you were more often than not kept on your toes when this happens, much to Sunday’s enjoyment.

‘Is my dearest at a loss for words already? And I’ve barely even touched you and you’re flustered beyond compare.’ Sunday would laugh after pulling your hands away from your face after kissing you on the lips in greeting. ‘How adorable.’ He adds as he presses you against his chest.

‘I’m just not use to…all this.’ You defend yourself.

‘I know.’ Sunday coos as he gently lifts your head by the chin to look at him rather than square at his chest, pressing a reassuring kiss to your nose. ‘It’s not something you should be ashamed of as it just means that no one was willing to give you the love that you deserve. So I will make up for what others sorely lack in droves.’ He adds as his wings fluttered in determination.

Welt:

An absolute gentleman who’d gladly go slow and help you become more acquainted with physical touch.

When he first kissed your cheek and heard you sharply inhale and become rigid, he genuinely thought he did something wrong and possibly hurt you in the process, and was about to apologises profusely until you told him that you just weren’t use to physical contact of any sort.

‘I merely wish to not put you in any form of discomfort.’ He tells you afterward as he gently holds your hand in his own.

‘You’re not, I’m just not use to stuff like this just yet.’ You said as you gestured to your interlocked hands with a soft smile, you always found Welt’s need to prioritise you and your comfortability above all else endearing and extremely sweet, so much that you often find yourself getting flustered from that more often then the physical contact itself.

‘Then we shall go slow.’ He replies, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

And slow you did.

Welt always tells you what he was going to do beforehand so that you wouldn’t be taken aback by the sudden display of affection, which does help in some regard but you still get flustered from the way in which he held and or kissed you.

His hugs were strong, comforting and warm that you felt like you could fall asleep in his embrace, but you knew you’d be more likely to burrow your face into his chest out of habit as you let out a muffled sorry.

Welt didn’t mind, the man was made with unwavering patience.

‘It’s okay my dear.’ He says as he chuckles, rubbing your back soothingly. ‘Theres no need to apologise, we’ve got a lot of time to try again.’

Dan heng:

Much like Welt, Dan Heng would think he hurt you somehow when trying to hold your hand and was quick to drop your hand and apologise, only for you to stop him before he could and tell him that physical contact wasn’t something you were use to.

From then on Dan Heng has been taking it slow, so extremely slow that it was more frustrating than not when all you wanted him to do was hold you in his arms, but he was treating you as though you were made out of porcelain.

He was sweet about the whole thing, but was probably overthinking it and or trying to follow Welt’s example by showing unwavering patience. You had to remind him that it was okay for him to touch you, hug you and so on if he so wished.

‘Then…is it okay if I kissed you?’ He would ask not long after, which made you wonder whether the reason he hesitates was because he was waiting for your permission to do such things.

‘Of course, you don’t need my permission to do so but I appreciate where it’s coming from.’ You replied as you felt his hands slowly cup your face and linger there so you could become accustomed to his touch, before resting his forehead gently against yours as he leant in for a sweet, slow kiss.

Dan Heng takes these things in stages because he too can get easily flustered from an overload of affection, so he understands your situation better then most but also doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries you may have; Which often times makes affectionate moments between you two come across more stifling and slightly awkward but you’ll get there.

And when it does? It becomes a little ritual for you two to share a kiss or two before missions, and or link pinkies when you’re both feeling unsure and just need to feel one another.

It’s extremely cute.

#hsr imagines #hsr imagine #hsr x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #Honkai star rail imagines #Honkai star rail imagine #dan heng x reader #Dan heng imagine #Dan heng imagines #welt x reader #welt Yang x reader #welt Yang imagine #welt Yang imagines #aventurine x reader #aventurine imagine #aventurine imagines #sunday x reader #sunday imagines #sunday imagine #veritas ratio x reader #veritas ratio imagine #Veritas ratio imagines #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr sunday x reader #hsr dan heng x reader

[bedsyandco]

noticing the indented marks left on their face from the pillow or however they were laying

^ "did you sleep well?" "mhm.." [tracing the mark with their hand] "i can tell."

prompt with Luke Hughes

ᯓ⌕ 𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐒 — 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟑 ༉‧₊

pairing: gf!reader x luke hughes

summary: in which taking naps on your boyfriend is your favourite pastime. and he enjoys nothing more than having his girl in his arms.

content: just some fluff.

note: thank you so much for taking part in my celly! it's time I get myself a pookie bf cause writing these are making me feel lonier and lonier 😔

luke loves sleeping. it’s one of the many joys in his life. and it’s no secret either. luke knows his teammates are well aware that when he declines their offers to go out, he goes home and knocks right out. and as much as he brushes their teasing off by saying he’s just a kid and he’s still growing, luke is pretty sure no matter how old he gets he’ll always be down for an afternoon nap.

luke only knew one other person who loved sleeping as much as him… and that was you. it’s become an integral piece of your routine. it’s almost a daily occurrence for jack to find you and luke passed out together for an hour or two.

but if there was one thing luke loved more than sleeping…it was watching you sleep. not in a creepy way, he swears. there was just something so peaceful about watching your content expression, the way your whole face would soften, the steady beat of your heart, your soft puffs of breaths against his skin. watching you sleep put him in a state of grace that even his own slumber couldn’t.

so what if he sacrificed his own two hour naps just to admire you in your sleep? it recharged him all the same and no one would ever know.

“is she asleep?” jack whispers when he enters the apartment and sees his brother on the couch. you laying completely on top of him.

“of course she is,” jack says when luke nods in response.

luke grins at the horrified expression on jack’s face when you let out a particularly loud snore. he gently runs his hand through your hair, dropping a kiss on your head.

“fuck!” jack yells suddenly and luke turns his head seeing his brother crouched over, clutching his toe.

“shut up. I just told you she was sleeping,” luke whisper-yells and jack glares at him letting out an annoyed sigh. luke glances down at you, making sure his brother’s antics didn’t wake you up.

“I stubbed my toe. It fucking hurts. but I’m okay, thanks for asking,” Jack says and Luke rolls his eyes at his brother’s dramatics

“If you wake her up you’re gonna be very not okay when I’m done with you,” luke grumbles and stills when you shift, hand clutching his shirt tightly

but he quickly forgets about the threat uttered to his brother. a warm feeling spreading through his chest when your eyes flutter open, blinking slowly up at him.

“hey baby. did you sleep well?” luke asks, gently brushing wild strands of hair out of your face.

“mhm…” you mumble, snuggling back into his chest, exposing the side of your face you were laying on and luke smiles at the indented mark on your face

“I can tell,” luke says amused, pressing a kiss to the top of your head when you hide your face in his chest from embarrassment.

luke squeezes you tight, his eyes fluttering close with a content look on his face. jack contemplates waking both of you when he sees your drift off again, knowing the two of you were on dinner duty tonight, but the peaceful look on his little brothers face makes him hesitate.

jack decided to leave the two of you be, but for no other reason other than the fact that he doesn’t want to eat luke’s burnt rice again. or so he tells himself.

#⊹ ࣪ ˖ cami’s celebrates — 1.8k ⟢ #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes fic #luke hughes imagine