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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 6 months

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hii!! could i request a snow fic where she finds out she cheats on him and voluntarily tributes and hes trying to get her back? i loved the other fics!! I NEED MORE CHEATING SNOW FICS OMGG

Don’t blame me, love made me crazy. || Young President!Coriolanus snow x district!reader

A/n: Sorry anon I hope you’re not disappointed that I didn't fully write your request. I wanted Coryo to lowk suffer in this which is why I didn't dive into details of him getting her back. There is also one scene that is heavily inspired by a scene in the movie Priscilla! I also spent so many hours perfecting this and it was super fun!!!

Warnings: fem!reader, implied infidelity, toxic!coriolanus, manipulation, not proofread, if there's anything else pls lmk!

Wc: 1609

Divider by @firefly-graphics

The rapid clicks echoed throughout the hallway, the sound reverberating off the 12-foot-high ceiling walls. You walk with an eager stride, each step filled with anticipation as you take the familiar route to Coriolanus' office where he spent most, if not, all of his time cooped up in due to the upcoming hunger games.

There was a heaviness in your heart. You have always been the epitome of grace and composure, a woman who played her role in the political theater with finesse, albeit your brief upbringing in district 2. However, behind closed doors, the truth unfolded, resulting in you heartbroken and most of all betrayed. You couldn't ignore the letters that would pile up weekly, the gifts, all for him, from someone by the name Lysandra.

Not bothering to knock, knowing it would provoke a reaction from him, you forcefully swung the double doors open. There sat Coriolanus Snow, seemingly unbothered at your entrance. "Is there a problem?" An icy, impersonal tone carried his words, sharp and emotionless.

Your nose flared as you felt a surge of frustration, his lack of concern and emotion fuelling your anger. Besides, you had never stormed into his office unannounced before. Surely, he would question your sudden abruptness and, visibly, your anger.

Your voice, though filled with a trembling resolve, posed the question, "Who is she?" You hold a letter between your fingers, lifting it up to show him. He lifts his head up from his papers. "And why on earth is she sending my husband gifts and-and love letters?" You stammer, throwing the piece of paper with writing and a kiss—in the form of a lipstick mark in a shade of deep red—on his desk; your façade crumbling at your feet.

Snow stares at you before a scoff leaves his lips, leaning back on his chair. "You know how the people admire me, it's likely that whoever it is, she's simply passionate about expressing her feelings to me," Coriolanus shrugs. Your eye twitches at his response. Lies.

"Really? Well, Lysandra is ever so passionate about expressing her undying love for you," You recite the words from her letter as you watch a subtle glint of knowing in his eyes, "She's the only one who has described her so-called affection for you so intimately!"

As you question your husband's loyalty, an unsettling quiet settles around him. His eyes, cold and calculating, hold yours without a trace of vulnerability. The absence of words from his lips becomes a formidable response, leaving an ominous uncertainty lingering in the air.

His office echoed with a tense hush, broken only by a subtle tapping of his fingers against the armrest in a rhythmic patter. "For god's sake, Coryo. Say something! Who is she?" The slip of his nickname makes you swallow.

"I won't entertain your accusation. She's merely an admirer, nothing more! Have you finished exhausting yourself with this matter, wife?" Coriolanus seethes, abruptly standing up as he gathers his papers, opens his drawer, shoves them in, and slams it shut with such force that you swore you felt it in your bones.

"Is there something your hiding from me?" There was a tense silence that followed your question, Snow's features contorted with a mix of frustration and defiance. Avoiding eye contact, he clenched his jaw and emitted a sharp exhale. The air was thick with unspoke tension, revealing an anger that simmered beneath the surface.

"I have nothing to hide from you," He says calmly but you knew damn well there was anything but calmness within him. Annoyed and frustrated at the lack of information, you open your mouth again.

'"Throughout our entire marriage, I have done nothing but showed you how grateful I am that you chose me to marry, a district girl. You helped me build a reputation here in the capitol so that I would finally be respected, and now, I ask just one simple thing of you," As you speak your voice wavers slightly, revealing the depth of emotion behind your words. "Who is she to you?"

In mere seconds, Coriolanus storms past you, a blur of motion, leaving you momentarily bewildered as you blink, only to find yourself in the same spot. "Coriolanus!" You yell, spinning around as you follow him. "I've just had about enough of you for today y/n," He spat as he briskly walked up stairs, you following him. Servants who were around hurriedly walk pass, heads down.

He steps into your shared private chamber, adorned with decadent furnishings and overlooking the Capitol. He walks a couple steps before he just stops. His breath came in heavy, rhythmic waves, his chest rising and falling with urgency, leaving you standing frozen at the entrance.

"You know, I think you should go see your family for a little while," He turns around as you felt your heart drop. "What?" Your voice echoed with a helpless tone. "You heard me, I think your family has been missing you in the districts, go pay them a visit. Tell them how grateful you have been that I chose you as the First Lady of Panem, hm?"

He takes purposeful strides to the next room, filled from top to bottom with expensive, lavish pieces of clothing befitting both him and you. Coriolanus then pulls out a travelling trunk. The thought of you going back to district 2 sent shivers up your spine. You knew that everyone there now thinks of you as a traitor.

"What- No- Coryo, I'm not going-" Coriolanus cuts you off with a yell, tears forming in your eyes, "I think you should! Matter of fact, I'll help you start packing." A loud noise comes from the trunk making contact with the floor making you jump, a sob leaving your lips. The trunk opening as he starts aggressively pulling your clothes from the black velvety hangers, tossing them into the trunk.

"Coryo- please. Don't make me go back there," You fall to you knees in front of the trunk as your shaky hands remove the pieces of clothing from it. "Yeah, well I think a few months in the districts, away from your lavish life here, will make you realise how easy it is that I can send you back there." He forcefully takes your chin in between his thumb and index as your glassy eyes stare back at his icy, raging, blue eyes.

"Please, please don't send me back there-" Your beg becomes interrupted as he drops his grip on you and yells out the door, "Simon! Get the train ready now for Y/n to go back home!" He calls out to his assistant who answers out a "Of course Mr. President," You let out another sob as you rest your head on the pile of clothing.

Coriolanus glances over his shoulder, his breaths lingering in the air, he could hear your quiet pleas. There's a yearning within him, a desire to approach you and envelop you in a reassuring hug, to tell your that everything is alright and that forgives you. Yet, and unyielding pride restrains him, holding him back from acknowledging that what he was doing was wrong.

With one final look, he turns around, leaving you in a crying mess. Coriolanus was going to send you back to district 2 until the hunger games finished, then, he would come get you and hope that your time there made you ponder your actions, although he knew they were quite reasonable.

Your allegiance to your husband shattered when you were forced onto the train, Coriolanus stood a couple metres away from you as you squirm in the peacekeeper's grips. As you made your way back to a place you once called home, a quiet determination settled within you as you hatched a plan that would not only expose Coriolanus' betrayal, but also allow you to reclaim a piece of your shattered identity.

As the Reaping day approached, you made a choice that sent shockwaves through the carefully orchestrated world of Panem. With a steady hand, you inscribed your own name on a slip of paper and placed it in the glass ball, committing yourself to the Hunger Games.

On the day of the Reaping, the Capitol Square buzzed with anticipation, the districts, not so much. Coriolanus, very much unaware of his wife's hidden actions, stood in front of the dignitaries on the stage.

The customary ceremony began, the escort pulls a slip pf paper from the glass ball, announcing the male tribute who would face the Capitol's twisted version of justice.

As the tension mounted, the escort unfolded a slip of paper and read aloud, "Y/n Snow." A gasp rippled through the crowd, and Coriolanus's face contorted with disbelief. Time seemed to free as he processed the shock of seeing his wife's name called out. Surely there was a mistake.

The realisation hit him like a sledgehammer, and anger boiled within him, mixing with the shock and confusion as the crowd erupted in whispers. A woman of Capitol elegance was now standing among the district 2 residents.

You weave through the rows of people, maintaining a stoic expression. As you step up on the stage, your eyes land on the camera a couple feet away from you where you know Snow was watching back in the Capitol.

Coriolanus stared at your face and in that moment, he saw the resolve and defiance that had replaced the hurt in your eyes. The Capitol, known for its love of spectacle, witnessed an unprecedented turn of events. Coriolanus Snow, the powerful President, was rendered speechless as his own actions came back to haunt him in the cruelest twist of fate.

#fanfiction #coriolanus snow #the hunger games #coriolanus snow fanfiction #possesive!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow #tom blyth #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow imagine #Coriolanus snow x district!girl #district 2 #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth x reader #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #hunger games #hunger games the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games fanfiction #hungergamesx

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kissitbttr · 11 months

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this is miguel o’hara being a dick

pairing: miguel o’hara x fem!reader

miguel knows he’s fucked.

he has been neglecting you, putting his work above your needs and ditched on dates he can’t count with his fingers. at first you were okay, given that you’re dating such a busy man like him, you understand the consequences.

but you’ve had enough. there were nights where you cooked dinner, only to be left untouched by him or where you softly cried yourself in the middle of the night because he was still out. the only time he comes home is when you’re already asleep, then he left to the HQ in the morning before you’ve gotten the chance to wake up.

you confronted him about this. paid a visit to his office before going to work. Jess and Lyla had warned you to not disturb him but you managed to make them back off with a single frightening look.

yes. they are scared of you. a lot of them are. they do not want to test you at all.

the moment you stepped into his office, he didn’t even bother to look. eyes were just too focused on his work that he assumed Jess was the one who walked in.

“oh, you’re fucking your co-worker now?” your tone laced with sarcasm and anger with arms crossed over your chest,

hearing the familiar voice, he had never whipped his head so fast. “y/n? what are you doing here?”

“well” you start, heels clicking against the floor as you step towards him. “since my boyfriend has been MIA for almost a week i figured i should stopped by.”

his head shook, turning his focus back to what he thought mattered most. “not right now, mi amor. I’m working.”

“i can see that, dumbass” you respond in a cold tone. frowning as to why he couldn’t take one second off from that god damn screen. “you and me are going to get breakfast together. now. before i go to work.”

“i told you I can’t. I’m busy” he replies, brushing you off with his hand. “next time.”

“i’m a busy woman too!” your voice shakes, wanting so bad to scream at him and throw that tiny desk at his head. “but I always want to make time for you, Miguel!”

no response. he muttered something under his breath but you couldn’t hear him.

un-fucking-believable

“you’re such a fucking asshole, you know that?” tone laced with venom as you spit the words. clenching your fists by your side as you struggle to hold back the tears. “i feel like this relationship is one sided, the only person that is truly making an effort is me. you don’t—“

Miguel couldn’t take it anymore. he threw a desk and it went flying, thankfully it didn’t hit you. though your eyes went wide in shock, a loud gasp left your lips as you covered your mouth with your hands.

“you’re right! I don’t! I don’t care about some silly little fucking breakfast when the universe depends on me!” he pointed at himself as his irises turned red when he looked at you. his breathing went heavy and he still wasn’t aware how scared you were at him at that point.

“do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to keep all this shit together?! how many people will die if i don’t do what i gotta do! I don’t always like it, y/n but i have to do it! and here you are trying to play house with me it’s fucking pathetic!” he scoffed, putting his hands on hips.

oh he did not realize how much his words hurt.

the room was filled with silence. you stared at him in disbelief but remained a stoic expression. you were taught better than to be weak before any men. Miguel was no exception. your mother would be disappointed if you let a man win.

“wow” you breathed, nodding. “that was a good speech actually, the longest one I’ve ever heard you talking” you tried to sound sarcastic but how you felt and how you sounded failed you.

Miguel was quick to notice this and his features quickly soften. he reached out quickly to hold you.

“cariño i—“

“I’m returning back to my apartment by five. do not fucking look for me” it was final. the way you said it, how your eyes remained empty as you spoke to him. Miguel knew better than to test you,

but he just did and now he’s paying the price,

his heart broke when he heard you said that. you were so tired of him and you just wanted him back. you want your man back but he couldn’t see how that mattered to you.

“baby, please—“

you held your hand as you turned around. “don’t you even think about sending Jess or Miles my way.”

with that you walked out of his office without uttering another word. leaving him speechless and heartbroken. he knew better than to follow you out, it would just make things worse. he was just going to let you cool off.

he didn’t know how long it was gonna take.

it has been almost a month that you two have been living separately. and he’s losing his mind. he can’t sleep, he can’t eat, he can barely walk out of the house without seeing all the things that remind him of you. the team even sensed something is wrong because he has been more short tempered than before and it almost made the rest of spider society terrified of talking to him.

he’s gotten more violent, that’s for sure. every enemy he encountered, he would leave them bleed with their faces unrecognizable. it was his way of taking his stress out. not exactly healthy but it’ll do for now.

but he thinks that this has gotten too far. he misses you terribly, your scent, your laugh, your voice, your body, and mostly… your pussy

God, the amount of times he sniffed your panties while he jacked off as the image of you clouded his mind was simply not enough.

and now here he stands before your apartment door. dressed nicely in a white buttoned up shirt with his sleeves rolled to the elbows and a pair of black pants. his ring cladded fingers nervously grip around the boquete as the other hand shoved into his pocket.

Miguel had never been this nervous before. toeing his shoes and tapping his toes against the floor rapidly. it’s probably already been fifteen minutes that he’s standing like that staring at your door. thinking far too carefully what he wants to say.

he decides it’s now or never as he raises his fist and knock softly against the wooden door, hoping that you’re home.

“coming!” he hears your voice, his stomach somersaults hearing that after what it felt like a thousand year. “i am so hungry, why are you delivery guys always taking so—“

soon as you open the door, you freeze. definitely not the takeout delivery boy and instead it’s the one person you’ve been avoiding for God knows how long.

Miguel’s mouth hangs open slightly as he slowly taking in the sight of the gorgeous woman before him. you put on your favorite lime green night gown that stops just above your knees with a white silky robe, your hair fall down gracefully. natural curls framing your face. eyes glinting under the light, he almost falls to his knees and thank the Lord for your existence.

beauty doesn’t even begin to describe how you look tonight.

Miguel realizes how he probably looks like an idiot. clearing his throat to regain his composure as he smiles awkwardly at you. “Hi.”

you stare at him as your features then showcase a displeased expression. “what are you doing here?”

you’re leaning your body against the doorframe, arms crossed in annoyance. eyes flickering from his face to the flowers he’s holding and back up to his eyes. as much as you hate to see him, you can’t help that little feeling of butterflies in your stomach when you see the flowers he’s holding.

tulips. your favorite

he takes a one step closer to your frame, breathing out a sigh as he looks down at you. “I’m sorry, mi amor.”

that earns a scoff from you, looking away. “good start.”

“i was a horrible boyfriend.” he admits, gulping as he sees how sadness and exhaustion taking over your face just like that. “you don’t deserve that. what i said to you that day… none of it was true. you were not… pathetic, nor were the idea of having breakfast together… I appreciate every single thing we’ve done together, baby. believe me, por favor…”

a hard stare is the only thing he gets from you. the way your lips form into an angry pout and how your eyes seem to get tired and bored from his confession.

you’re a difficult person to please. he knows that.

“i know that being stress is no excuse of what I’ve done… I should’ve—fuck I should’ve done better. a month without you was like hell, mi corazon. ay, me sentí como si estuviera perdiendo la cabeza.” he sighs in frustration, head shaking as he recalls many sleepless nights. “i love you so so much. i do not want to go through that again … i know that it’s going to take forever to get your trust back and everything, but i swear on my mother’s grave that i—“

“stop talking”

he shuts his mouth after that. eyes looking up to you when he realizes you’re talking to him after a prolonged silence that’s taking over.

seeing how broken he looks almost feels like your heart got plucked. as mean as you are or as much as you wanted to look like you don’t care, you can’t when it comes to Miguel. you love this man far too much and despite his cold cold persona, that’s a huge sweetheart underneath.

“you hurt me, Miguel.” eyes casting down the floor as you try to keep your voice low. “you threw a desk to my direction…”

he shakes his head at that, resisting the urge to cradle your cheek. “lo siento, mi amor. I didn’t mean—“

“yes i know, i heard you.” you sigh, eyes closed momentarily. “you scared me”

Miguel feels his heart breaks when he hears how your voice breaks. he carefully lifts his hand to softly palm your cheek, thumb grazing against the skin. he exhales a soft sigh when you aren’t pushing him off.

“I didn’t mean to do that to you, my love. fuck, I’ve hurt you. i will never forgive myself for that. i was supposed to be the one who protect you and i was being a huge asshole.”

“a cute one though” you pout at him,

he chuckles at that, feeling the tension between you two are finally cutting down. “you’re too sweet, baby… after all i had done to you”

“nothing compared to how you treated me for the past two and a half years.” you smile sweetly at him, hand wrapping around his wrist. feeling at home once he holds you in his palm. “still a good man.”

he shakes his head in disagreement. “no, no that doesn’t excuse it… i was in the wrong.”

you hum in response, looking at the pretty flowers still in his hand. “are those for me?”

he nods with a smile, “you’re my only woman, no?”

you bite the inside of your cheek as you smile, taking it from his grasp as you sniff the pretty petals. “i love them. thank you.”

he once again goes quiet, taking another step closer. eyes looking down at your glossy lips and he can’t take it anymore. he doesn’t care if he’s stepping boundaries here. “i miss you, cariño. can i show you just how much?”

his offer sends shiver down your spine, making it impossible for you to stand still. Miguel always knows your sweet spot, how to make your knees feel wobbly without having him to touch you.

you do miss him touching you,

“i have a ballet class to teach tomorrow, papi. Saturday morning class, you remember ?” a pout formed on your lips, yet you still allow him to pull you close to him as he closes the door behind. “plus don’t you have work too? i bet Jess needs you.”

Migue nearly growls at you calling him ‘papi’. his jeans growing tight as you look up to him with doe eyes that you know he loves. though sometimes, you don’t understand the effect you have on him.

“that can wait… you’re more important to me than anything” he whispers, giving your open hand a kiss. large palm coming down to grip your waist, giving it a light squeeze. “do you want me too?”

you respond with a slow nod, biting back a smile as you interlock your hand with his pulling him inside. his smirk grows wider as he leans over to capture your mouth in his,

“let me fuck you real good then we can come home, eh mi vida?” he promises against your lips, slipping your soft silky robe off of you before picking you up in bridal style causing to shriek and giggle,

“i wanna hear you scream my name.”

part 2?

#miguel o’hara blurbs #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara angst

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tteokdoroki · 7 months

Text

☆༉ — RYOMEN SUKUNA. a better man.

about. you’re a girl that’s way out of his league and he’s the bad boy you couldn’t help but fall for. what happens when ryomen sukuna fails to meet you in the middle?

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, suggestive towards the end, no curses!au, modern!au, it’s implied that sukuna is in a gang, mentions of fights, reader is a rich girl, they’re kinda in love :( bad boy!sukuna, fem!reader.

“you’re mad at me. aren’cha?”

sukuna mutters with an air of faux nonchalance as he lazily jogs up the final marble steps that lead up to the restaurant he was supposed to meet you at nearly two hours ago. the evening traffic zips by, red and white headlights parting through the rain to illuminate your boyfriend’s features. heavy water droplets take residence on the slope of his nose and Cupid’s bow, some even daring to cling on to the tips of dusty rose-coloured hair.

if you weren’t so angry right now, you might take a moment to appreciate how good sukuna looks in the moment — especially with the way the rain makes the designer tux you’d gotten for him cling to his skin. exposing every ridge and dip and curve in his muscle while his inky black tattoos become all the more visible.

“of course i’m mad.” you step aside to let sukuna under the shelter of the entrance, avoiding him as he swoops down for his usual hug and kiss. “tonight is important. it was important.”

“babe c’mon on, i was—“

“you were late. they’re serving dessert in there, ryomen.” your tone is coloured with shades of annoyance and a hint of warning. like a mother about to lecture her child. you’re pissed. it’s written all over your face too — in the way that your brows crease and you pout so adorably. he’ll try to play it off, like he doesn’t care, but it almost makes sukuna sick to his stomach to know that you’re angry with him.

the rain picks up outside of the restaurant and you continue. “all you had to do was show up on time. come to this stupid fancy restaurant and be there to meet my parents. but of course, you got yourself caught up in—“ you grab his dress shirt in frustration, noticing the blood on the collar that doesn’t belong to him. his split knuckles and the bruise on his lips. “— in whatever this is.” you roll your eyes, blood boiling.

“it’s nothin’ for you to worry your pretty little head about,” sukuna scoffs, lips spreading wide in his signature smirk. the excuse is lame, but he doesn’t want you to worry for him any longer. “since when did you care about what your parents think, anyways?” but you see it in his eyes, that same old worry. that he’s not good enough for you, that a scumbag like him doesn’t deserve a pretty girl like you. he’s always told you to find someone better, someone able to feed into the glitz and glamour that you were brought up in.

but you’ve always told ryomen sukuna that you have everything you need right there with him.

cupping his face, the heat of anger dispels from your body and you exhale deeply though your nose. “i don’t care about what my parents think. if i did, i wouldn’t be dating you.” you cast a thumb over the thick lines of ink decorating his face, accenting sukuna’s high cheekbones and chiselled features while the rest of your fingers sink into his smooth, dark undercut. “but that doesn’t mean i don’t want you to meet them. they’re just as special to me as you are. i want the most important people in my life to know each other.”

your boyfriend’s hands settle on your wrists as he grunts noncommittally, indicating that he’s aware of his wrong doings. if there’s one thing that sukuna hates, it’s upsetting you. he doesn’t care what the world thinks of him, it’s never mattered before. yet, even the slightest look of disappointment from you has the man in shambles. “‘m sorry,” he drawls, his grip on you shifting down to cup your waist — pulling you flush against him. “what can a guy like me do to make it up to you?”

“you can go on in there and charm the hell out of my rich, uptight parents so that we can hurry up and go home,” your voice lowers an octave as you stand on your tip toes for the extra height so that you can nip at the shell of sukuna’s ear. “where you can rip this dress off’a me.”

“such a dirty mouth for such’a prim ‘n proper girl, hm? i should wash it out with soap.” he purrs right back, leaning down to kiss at your neck until you’ve had enough of his frayed pink hair tickling your skin. he damn near melts when your fingers inch up to tug at his roots — earning a deep and thrilling growl from the man. “that was a dirty move. who taught you that?”

“my good for nothing boyfriend, he’s kind of a bad influence.” you tease back, despite having to physically push sukuna away in order to avoid setting off his inner beast before dinner with your parents is done — and instead, take to grabbing his larger hand in yours so you can lead him from the front of house to your family’s reserved table.

and like always, sukuna trails after you like a lost puppy enamoured with the person that found them, have them love and warmth. because, while you didn’t change him, you made him want to be better — to give up the knives in his back and the bullets looking over his head for something better. something softer.

something like you.

ryomen sukuna wanted to become the someone he thought you deserved.

that’s why he put on this stupid suit and tie, why he let you take his hand, why he follows you to the the table that’s sure to seal his fate with you.

behind all that rough exterior, is a man who loves you.

and in front of sukuna, is a girl who loves him and all of his flaws right back.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #don’t look at me lawl #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #angelshubnetwork

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shaisuki · 13 days

Text

𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗦𝗘 𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗦

ft. bully! gojo satoru and geto suguru

content warnings college au, heavy bullying, gaslighting, noncon, dubcon, implied sexual assault, allusions to depression/suicide, alcohol consumption, drinking, implied drugging, fatphobia, overdosing, naoya zen'in is an asshole, humiliation, threats, minor oc character. dead dove do not eat.

notes this might come as disappointing since some of you wanting revenge what this two idiots had done to reader. their are some matters that i think is too complicated and impossible so i came with this way as the breaking point where reader starts to retaliate/plan her revenge. will get to it later and to that anon, who asked for the revenge, i will get once i start to finish this one up. please read the warnings, i don't want someone bitching in the comments telling me that the contents above is uncool. it truly is not cool. that's why it have warnings. it is on a fictional context. do read the warnings before continuing. also do let me know of what you think of this chapter.

read part one, here. two here.

SERIES MASTERLIST

synopsis you let them take and take what they can from you. you were a nobody after all but everybody have their breaking point.

the world is a blur to you. colors of red and blue dances in your vision while voices whispers to you. what's happening? you can't move. it's like your body were made of lead. you can't understand what they were saying. multiple faces stares at you, are you dead? is this what you see when people surround you while they lower your casket. is it? you hope it was, cause you didn't plan on living anymore. there's nothing worth moving forward and the world around you turns black.

there's a beep and then silence. you hear before you see and when you opened your eyes, all you can see is a bright light above you. it took you minutes to adjust your vision and realize where you are. you're in a hospital. laying on a bed and you started to get irritated at your oxygen mask. you tug at it. getting frustrated why it keeps coming back at you before someone put their hand on it. completely removing it and there you breath. your sight darted to the hand who helped you until your sight travels to his arms and then to his face. a brief recognition flashes through you.

“nanami?” you call his name unsure but you know it was definitely him. it was hard to mistake him for someone. there's his blonde hair, neatly parted. his pristine beige sweater paired a dark colored trouser, not a crinkle in sight and his signature silver watch in his wrist. you met him once at the literature club and decided you were going to be there too not until it changed due to some circumstances. his lips parted but before he can speak, a cheery voice interrupted him.

“she's awake!?” said haibara, you also knew him since he and nanami were always together. seeing your confused state, his voice died down. “what happened?” you asked them and they exchanged looks before haibara answers you.

“we found you passed out in the lawn. thought you were drunk but you weren't breathing.” haibara's voice was soft while he slowly breaks down the reason why you ended up here.

a doctor comes inside to your room before haibara can finish. you took note of her pristine white coat with her surname embroidered on it. clicking her pen and whipping out her clipboard she pulled out of nowhere. you were distracted by it. the doctor's eyes is on you now and you began to frown.

the doctor coughs clearing her throat before speaking. “hello, ms. (y/n). i'm glad you're awake now.” noticing your confused expression she pauses began answering the question. “to answer your question you were unconscious for two days and is brought for possible assault. we need your con—”

“no!”

“ms. it would help for you t—”

“you heard me!? i said no!” you scream at the doctor and your tears appeared in your eyes. you didn't realize you were screaming. nanami and haibara stand there in silence but the looks on their face said otherwise. concern painted in their faces and the doctor bows before leaving. looking at the men inside in your room to call her if you need anything.

cause if they would test you, they would find the remains of their sperm inside you and then report? who will believe you? it would be buried like the case of another girls like you who were too afraid nor fight their abusers. you don't find the point of that. they would twist the words out of you. it was easy to believe than you.

you curled up in bed and did the next thing you can. cry. now, you're in here and the events before this plays in your head in repeat.

“f-fuck”

satoru curses out while suguru bites your ear. your body like jello as they spilled their load for the nth that day. both of them lowered your body after fucking your brains out. warm up, they say. you shiver as you feel their cum running down your thighs. feeling disgusted as it began to stick after being exposed to the air. you grab the wipes but suguru stopped you, grabbing it from your hands and cleaning you up. fixing your skirt in the meantime.

“worth every penny.” suguru mutters. staring at the new clothes they bought for you. a baby blue corseted puff-sleeved, square neck top matched with a black skirt that rests on your mid thigh is what they forced you to wear. it feels tight. intentionally buying it one size smaller than you usually wore and it more feel you like a stuffed sausage rather a comfortable piece of clothing. you can't say no to what they wanted. you're a bit of grateful that they allowed you to wear your white sneakers rather than those kitten heels that would put your feet in blisters.

satoru's fingers brushes through the expanse of your exposed flesh. playing with the small bow in your top. sighing, “suguru, can we have more with (y/n)-chan?” his best friend chuckles at him. “idiot, we're already running late, after that we can.” satoru pouts. “tch, party pooper.” he ignores gojo and moves his attention to you.

“smile, this is your first real party. you're going to enjoy this.” suguru lifts your chin up with his finger and you obediently nodded. “ditch and you know what will happen.” he warns.

it was a bad idea. the moment you stood in the front door. the party was already in motion. you can hear the people inside shouting profanities and booming music mixed with already drunk frat members and student bodies. this was never really your crowd and when you were shoved inside with gojo and geto you were done and you already felt like crying. you look at the duo in front of you. they were already engaged in conversation with the other people here.

“gojo, you son of a bitch. you fucking came.” a guy hollered in the side and you see more of his features as he gets nearer. a snarl in his face with multiple piercings in his ear. a hair dyed blonde with green accents.

“ah, zen’in. wouldn't missed this just i could wipe that smirk off your face.” gojo mocks him and before the guy whom gojo called zen’in darts his sight to you. he raises a brow. “you two in fat bitches now?” pointing at you with hand cupping a plastic cup. gojo scoffs. “none of your business, zen'in.” glaring at him but he can't see that gojo's looking at him with dark glasses in the way. “then you two wouldn't mind me using her.” he suggested and suguru gaze darkens at him. “fuck off, naoya.” almost growling at naoya and the latter raises his hand in mock defeat before finding shit he could entertain himself with.

suguru scowls after naoya left, he looks at you like you just turned his mood sour. “you're an embarrassment.” he says and you bit your lip. keeping the tears at bay and you don't really want to embarrass yourself more at this party. “hey, hey suguru.” gojo taps his shoulder. “let loose, don't naoya get to you.” satoru glances at you. his blue eyes peering in his glasses. “you're right.” his stare cold at you. “find a seat, (y/n). you're embarrassing us now with you around.” you nod and you find yourself in a vacant corner. near to those already wasted or just plain chilling in the couch in front of you.

what did you expect? that were all sex talk or when they're in good mood. all those praise and compliments are just enough to feel you good about yourself for a bit and then they'll come destroying it. you stare at the view through the window. the night's particularly beautiful and peaceful except the place you're in and you're already missing the comfort of your bed.

you take a sip from your cup. a girl gave it you earlier saying that it's a special concoction that's only made at this parties. unsure you took it. not wanting to show ungratefulness to someone whose only been polite to you and she seems nice. you cringe slightly at the taste and the burning of the liquid as it flows down your throat. coughing you bring down the cup, not used to drinking.

your first time being a party, your eyes wander how your peers lost their selves in the influence of alcohol. some where dancing and mingling. talking like they were friends and you caught of others taking their business upstairs. you were kind of jealous how everyone are the life of the party and you sit here in your misery. you continue to observe everyone and you caught gojo. it's impossible to miss his tall stature and his white hair standing in the crowd. a petite woman is linked to him. her thin arms are wrapped around his neck and it was clear what they were doing. there they stood in the crowd. kissing.

“satoru.” gojo was taking a swig of his drink when a girl approached him. calling his name like they were lovers but it was more like an ex-fling. never had a relationship with her. she was only a temporary fun. “ah, sar—ah, sayuri.” he almost curses at himself. sayuri playfully pouts at him and there it is, the batting of eyelashes. “that's mean, satoru. you already forgot me.” her lips puckers before placing a hand in his chest. if this was a another party of gojo and he really liked this girl. he would have taken her upstairs. he caught you in the corner. you were like a child in awe at the people in this house. gojo almost chuckles at your cute antics but suppressed it and then a cruel idea pops in his mind. “missed me?” he asks sayuri and there was no answer needed as he crashes his lips to sayuri. his sight never leaving yours and when you caught him. he watch as your eyes widens, you lower your head in embarrassment before chugging that drink in your cup in one swig. he smirks in the kiss as he watches you wiped your tears away. he always liked making you cry.

you should have ditched this stupid party, even it means getting punished by those again. you were hurt. they always like to torture you. listen as they tell you how worthless and unlovable you are while they keep girls who are clearly not you by their side. those girls were perfectly fit for them to be seen in public and you were there for them to humiliate you. with your head lowered, you stifled a sob. wiping your tears with your hands shaking. they kept flowing and you kept messily wiping them and with that you slowly made your way outside. discreetly making your way through the door and you almost laugh. you were a nobody. you're not made for pretty things and this goddamn outfit you wore only added to your misery. you never felt beautiful and it looks ugly on you. wrapped a sausage with a different and it will still look the same.

no one noticed you leaving except for suguru's watchful gaze.

suguru finds his friend making out with a girl he definitely doesn't remember. suguru slaps his back and satoru broke the kiss. wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and ignores the girl he was just making out seconds ago. suguru points the door where you left earlier. you're really looking for trouble and with that they left following you.

sayuri was stunned being shoved aside again. she was angry. how the fuck did you get those two's attention especially gojo's? she's beautiful. she's thin. academically excelling and you, a fat nobody bitch easily made those two fall for you. she knows they were just playing at you and sayuri could take it but being shoved again by satoru isn't what she expected tonight. she's going to be satoru's bride. it was decided from the start and satoru knows it. their fathers friends since their college days had made a decision to marry their son and daughter before they were even born and she did everything she can just to have satoru's attention but why can't she even get to look at her without her trying. it's your fault. it's your fucking fault! you deserve to die. you're fucking stupid for accepting that drink like you're a fucking saint and now, maybe you'll rethink your choices of making those your own and satoru will only have his eyes for her and only her.

weird. why are your hands sweating? it's cold. freezing cold. you know this temperature at night is normal but why are you freezing cold. hah, your vision's starting to get funny too. where there always stars in the sky? ahh, i want to go home. i wonder if akira's still awake. i didn't told her that i was going away tonight. my eyes hurt. you were crying. this was your thoughts as you walked away.

it was to easy to catch you with their long strides. satoru grabs your flabby arm angrily. “we told you, you don't leave without us. do you really want to get punished, (y/n)-chan?” his voice snarky as he digs his nails in your arms. it hurts. it really must really hurt but you're suddenly numb to feel anything. you just stare at him in confusion and then you hear voices. they were calling them to get back.

gojo scowls at them. your knees buckled and you sat in the ground. geto tsked. “we're going back to you later.” he says and they left you there and there were loud cheers. you lay there in the ground. numb and your vision fades away.

you blinked as you stare in the nothingness. that's what you last remembered. they left you there and you hoped you died. you can't take another bullshit of what they put you through. the tears continuously flows from your eyes and your blanket is wet with tears. haibara puts a comforting hand in your shoulder and you bursted crying again. this was the real kindness you felt since the accident. they didn't blame you. they only stayed and made sure you were resting enough. stranger they maybe or an acquaintance. you would never forget this kindness from them.

days. nights. you stayed in the hospital until you were cleared. you made nothing of what happened to you. putting it in the records as an allergic reaction in which the hospital agreed. just like that even when you're in the brink of death of what happened to you. if you took the procedure for assault. they would be guilty but it was days old now and bruises are left in your skin as nothing but reminders of the humiliation of what they did to you.

for now, you're going to cry. cry until there's nothing left to cry for.

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kyumisyumi · 5 months

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Tentacles and Tendrils

Shaking off the rust and giving monster smut(writing in general) a shot again.

Prompt: monster partner is in rut/heat and the partner has to deal with it

Rating: 18+

Monster type: M!Merfolk x F!Reader

Word count: 6k

~Taking requests~

You stare out at the unending, blue horizon. The cool ocean breeze preparing you for the temperatures of its water as you linger along the edge. You wore the company certified diving gear: a wetsuit, mask, BCD, the works. A spear weighed down one hand while a cylindrical container weighed on your shoulder. Hope and pessimism fought to be at the forefront of your mind as you scan the empty waters with heavy disappointment. This area was always relatively vacant, but not too far off you can spot a duo entering the water with matching gear. Their actions take you out of your haze, and with another gauge check you finally approach the water. Getting a feel for the sea's surge, you make your way in. And with practiced hands you slipped on your fins before turning to greet the seas with outstretched arms.

Beneath the blue your body instantly goes into autopilot. Swimming was as natural as walking and these seas might as well have been a second home; a wayward beauty that will switch it's mood at a moments notice but home nonetheless. You took it all in, familiar as it may be, the ocean never stopped being a sight to behold. A world beneath our own full of wonderful blues, outstretched greens and terrifying blacks. The current had a bit of force behind it but nothing near the cruelty you knew any large body of water could deal. Your darting eyes couldn't help but search around, scanning everywhere for even just a hint of... There! You moved with haste. As much as you could as a land dwelling animal in aquatic terrain. You didn't get far before the shape you eagerly chased revealed itself to be just a particularly thick and unruly swatch of seaweed. You sigh internally before resolving to begin your original task.

Nearing a gorgeous station of coral, you couldn't help but linger and watch the busyness. Schools of varicolored, itty bitty fish swimming through the equally colorful pseudo-flora. Despite your love for marine life, you never quite learnt the names of all the little guys much less how to differentiate between them, say for a handful that stick out. Your interest was usually for the larger lifeforms mother nature had to offer; you smiled as you watched a wary grey eel eye you with suspicion. Soon your eyes fell upon your reason for being here. It's bright red colors were slightly muted by the depths, with white tiger stripes outlined by black to break up the pattern. Its form was lined with spines and frills that flowed and fluttered with each graceful swish of it's body; an absolutely gorgeous creature. You readied your spear. The black strap trigger pressed into your skin as you carefully aimed, hoping not to hit anything but the target. It helped that the lionfish lingered in one spot before you speared it. You moved to put it in the container before opting to offer it to the eel you saw earlier. As gorgeous - and delicious - as they were, these guys were invasive here and the effects of their persistence was a constant strain to the native wildlife. They seemed highly concentrated around this sandy patch of substrate, driftwood and dead coral. It didn't take long after the first few kills for one of your friends to make their way over. Gently, you caressed the top of the nurse shark eyeing your spare eagerly, this one you named Lisa... or maybe it was Madeline. It was no surprise your face blindness extended to animals as well, even the cute ones that made your dives feel a little less lonely. The creature began gliding and swirling around you. You liked to believe the fondness was mutual but it was equally likely they were just in it for a meal. You speared another lionfish and offered it to the grey and white cutie.

The spot you were in. The shark. The scenario. It brought back the memory of the first time you saw him.

Back then you were collecting lionfish, same as now with a duo of nurse sharks tailing your every movement. At the time you were overly cautious, so you'd sit in one place, removing the venomous spines of the fish before handing them over. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, he'd been there for quite a while, watching you. From his position partially behind the rocks, you'd think he was hiding -or rather, on the defensive- but you just can't imagine something that big and powerful hiding from tiny 'ol you. Yes you had a spear but you doubt it would do you much good if he decided to attack. Merfolk. Given your job at the Aquatic Wildlife Center you were relatively familiar with them. Your company was more than welcoming when programs were made for them- as well as the other species- who showed interest in coexisting during the realm migration. The Merfolk you were familiar with, however, had to undergo numerous lessons on etiquette and culture to live among humans. The one near you now... The word 'feral' came to mind. You didn't quite like using such an animalistic term towards something that looked a little too human, someone that you knew had equivalent intelligence. His skin was primarily muted greens with a burst of parchment white down his chest and undersides of his arms. Unlike the fish tails merfolk were known for, this one's body ended in a myriad of tentacles, not unlike an octopus. Height wasn't exactly something you could measure but in terms of body mass he was more than twice your own. He seemed to tense any time you held direct eye contact so you settled on keeping him in your peripheral and keeping your movements slow and measured. You're not sure what he wanted but if he was content to just watch you, you didn't mind.

The next time you went out for a dive he'd made another appearance, this time resting on the rocks instead of behind them. Looking at the way his tentacles gently swayed against the current, you realise the way they'd writhed restlessly the day before may have been a sign of anxiety. It tickled you that somehow, in his mind, you were a threat to be worried about. You'd never even been in a proper fight. His relaxed demeanor gave you a bit of courage and you contemplated offering him one of the lionfish but ultimately chose not to. Doing so would feel as though you were treating him like an animal at the petting zoo. Then again, he was watching you like an animal at a regular zoo, keeping his distance as if he thought you'd lash out at any opportunity. You focused on the task at hand. Either the sharks had developed more patience or they were full from yesterday, this time they seemed more interested in dawdling around and getting pets than playing Russian roulette with your spear. You'd gotten into a rhythm of pull, aim, release as you moved slowly across the sandy substrate with him never too far behind.

On the third day he was almost as close as the sharks were. There was still a respectful distance but you'd only have to reach out your hand to touch him. Despite your determination to hold strong as he approached there was a hint of fear in your eyes when he first got closer. He wasn't threatening but the size difference was all to blatant up close, his chest so broad and arms so thick you didn't doubt they could snap you in half like an oatmeal cookie. In response he seemed to try to make himself look smaller, drifting at a lower level so that his head wasn't much higher than yours. This gave you a good look at his features, he had round pupils unlike the rectangular slits you associated with octopi, his sclera was a light grey and his irises a saffron yellow on downturned eyes. He didn't seem to have any patchwork of iridescent scales like your work colleagues. His eyes aside, everything about his face was sharp, from the hooked nose to the prominent chin and brow bone. As curious as you were, you tried not to look any lower than the slits along his neck; gills, in case your gaze made him uncomfortable. You briefly wondered if he'd try to say something once he got closer but he didn't, he just looked back with a gesture you interpreted as 'continue'. So you did.

There actually weren't anymore lionfish nearby so you decided to take a moment to clip the spines of the one on your spear, hoping to feed it to Joel the eel... or maybe this was Geoffrey. He took this lull in your movement as an opportunity to interact. You stared wide eyed as his hands reached out. It looked as though he was going to reach for your spear but thought better of it and reached out for your free hand instead. He took your smaller hand into his much larger ones. He inspected each finger, pulling them apart and tracing the curve in between, where his held a thin membrane. He ran a thumb over your blunt nails, where his held thick black claw. His movements were slow - cautious - and you get the feeling that it was more for your benefit than his. Wary as you were, you were equally enthused to learn more of the man... fish... octopus being before you. He inspected the sleeve of your wetsuit, running his fingers over the material. When it seemed like he was going to pinch the fabric between two claws you tugged your hand away, shaking your head in hopes the gesture was universal. Thankfully he understood. He then circled you to take in the rest of your form, a possible sign he understood touching anywhere else on your body might be unwelcomed.

Unsurprisingly, he took particular interest in your legs, watching the way they swayed to keep you afloat. He didn't touch you yet you somehow felt pressure over every inch his eyes laid upon. Was this how your coworker felt during those awkward introductory meetings where there would always be one person asking to touch their fins. The memory made you giggle and the merman suddenly shifted his focus from your legs to your face. Your breath caught as his eyes focused on yours, it was mesmerizing how they looked as fluid as the ocean; the colors swaying as the black center zeroed in on you. For a moment you wondered what did you look like through those eyes. He raised a hand to rest his knuckles against your cheek. His gaze then lowered to your lips. Your body -so ready to flee when he first approached- now froze. No matter how much you tried to reinforce that his actions were of innocent curiosity you couldn't stop thinking they weren't. Or maybe you just hoped they weren't. Oh dear. Before you could figure out where your head was at, he pressed a thumb against your lips. There was a subtle shift in his features as he stared at you intently. A question? Was he asking to kiss you? Your heart sprinted. He wanted to kiss you... and you- you were actually considering it. You must be insane; yes you thought he was gorgeous in a unnatural -captivating- way but you weren't going to kiss a creature you haven't known for more than a few hours. You hadn't even exchanged words with him. Words... Oh! That was it! You would've face palmed if your hands weren't occupied. He wished to speak, and prior knowledge reminded you that merfolk could adapt a language through lip contact. Well, that cleared your brain a bit. If that's the case surely you could spare your lips for a moment. It wouldn't have to be long, just the slightest peck was enough. A fraction of a second. He was patiently awaiting your answer, somewhat pulling back as if to tell you 'no' was a more than acceptable answer. With a tad more hesitation you finally nodded. You pulled out your mouth pieces, angling it downwards to prevent excess air loss. Trying to show some initiative you moved closer but you just couldn't bring yourself to close the kiss. Graciously he did and your lips met. Your rushing blood brought heat straight to your cheeks. It was such a minute amount of contact but your body responded as if he was already tongue deep inside. You felt... something. Like faint streams of electricity that moved from the corners of your lips to the center before vanishing. You figured it was the magic at work, now would be the time to move away but your body and brain can't seem to get on the same page. Or maybe they were on the same page and the voice telling you to move away was something foreign, something unwanted. You opened your eyes to see his, half lidded but looking at you with an intensity that couldn't be misconstrued. Neither of you wanted to break the contact. You're not sure where the confidence came from but just as you moved to press closer to him, your lungs reminded you where you were. They called for oxygen. It took more effort than you would like to admit to pull away from him and return your regulator to your mouth. You looked back at him to see his fingers pressed against his mouth, eyes swirling with mixed emotions. Maybe it was your eyes playing tricks on you but you swear he licked his lips. His adam's apple bobbed in his throat and he moved his lips as if testing the motions.

"Can you understand me?"

You nodded in the affirmative. And by Gods, the smile on his face could outshine the sun on a clear summer morning.

This opened up the pathway to your budding friendship. Underwater, you couldn't have full conversations but with the barrage of questions he had there was hardly a need to speak. It especially amused you that he had to confirm that you were indeed human. Do humans walk everywhere? Do we forms pods? Do we dream? Do humans fly was a weird one to answer under the limitations. It was an eye opener to the fact that you were as alien to him as he you.

At some point you remembered that you were on a timer and though there wasn't really a quota, resurfacing with only four lionfish would definitely not look good for you. You went back to spearing, trying to be quick while he asked about this and that. It only got better when you finally resurfaced. You perched on the old abandoned dock, it was barely more than a couple planks of wood hanging on for dear life. You were especially glad that this area remained as vacant as when you left so you didn't have to worry about worried/wondering gazes at the two of you.

Unfortunately diving was only something you could do 2 maybe 3 times a week, it was essentially a freebie session offered to break up the office work you dread. Still, even after you clocked out, you'd take a stroll to that same dock where he'd be waiting beneath the surface. You learnt that, though most merfolk would declare otherwise, his species wasn't rare. Just distant and reclusive. The only reason he was close enough to the shore to spot me was because he seeked a precious stone to complete a trade. Based on his description you believed it was Larimar or Blue calcite, which you may have in your personal collection. When you asked why he decided to approach you, his answer was a sideways glance and a shrug before quickly changing the subject. There were moments, you noticed, when he'd rest his arms along the wooden planks and caress your overhanging legs. The movements were slow and feather light, almost absent minded. It made your mind fuzzy, you wished to just close your eyes and focus on nothing but the feel of his skin against yours. Occasionally, he would gently rake a claw over your soft skin and you'd try your best not to trip over your words. In return, you'd run your fingers over the mix of tentacles and tendrils that sprouted from his head- similar to hair. The prehensile limbs would wrap around your fingers. The gestures were unmistakably intimate but neither of you spoke against it. Amongst the many questions and conversations would be these moments of content silence, these you treasured most. His hands on you, your hands on his, as you both enjoyed the world around you and each other.

Now those memories fill you with a hollow feeling in your chest. It's been almost a week with no sign of him. What had you expected, really? He has a life down below that he has to attend to after all. Even you have missed a day or two. What if he's hurt? The question gnawed at you many times these past few days; you despised the small part of you that preferred that outcome over having been left behind. But then the idea that somewhere down there he was facing unknown perils that you'd have no means to help him with would solidify in your mind. No, you'd rather the hurt of having been abandoned. Summoning your mental fortitude, you aimed to focus on the task at hand before you accidentally harm one of the sharks by being distracted. There was a new face this time... at least you thought they were new. They nuzzled your body as if sensing your distress and to your delight; it helped

Seconds dragged into minutes then hours before it was time for you to get out. You wished you could say you were strong enough to just go but instead you swam around for a bit; hoping. Praying. But there was nothing around except you, the water and your pitiful heartache.

Above land you safely shed the equipment. The smart thing to do would be to go home as soon as possible. To finish your day, change your clothes and curl up in blankets while playing some video games. However, you've always been a creature of habit so instead you sat at the old dock. Alone. The sun was so warm but the winds were relentless, they licked at your skin as if trying to shoo you away. Maybe this was Poseidon's way of telling you to get over it. It's not like there was anything between the two of you. You'd only known him for a handful of weeks after all, that's barely enough time to form a friendship much less... As if shutting down the thought, your brain replayed a memory of him pressing his face against the palm of your hand with pure bliss etched into his features. As if your touch alone could push away all his problems. Then there was the time you touched your forehead to his during a momentary spur of boldness. The look he gave you spoke so loud in the silence. You would've kissed him then if not for your shyness winning out. That was one of the last moments you'd shared before his disappearance. A treasure in your heart that now caused you pain. Packing up your things, you got up to leave, however something clutched your ankle. Something, rather, someone you recognized all too well.

You gasped violently as you were dragged down. Thank goodness you did because it was all the air you'd get to take with you in your rapid decent below. He shifted so instead of being pulled by his tentacles, you were fastened to his side by a firm arm. He stared straight forward as he swam, allowing you only to see the tendrils whipping around the back of his head. You could hardly process how fast you were going down the bottomless blue. The water shifted from a bright, comfortimg azure to ultramarine as you went deeper and deeper. Your panic rose the further he swam, which did your lungs no good. Was he trying to drown you!? You couldn't call out, couldn't scream so you tugged and pulled at his thick, unyielding arm, trying desperately to get him to stop. He turned to you then, there was a look of pained and haunted thoughts scribed into his face. The lovely grey of his sclera had darkened into a soulless black making the yellows of his eyes that more vibrant, almost glowing in the waters inky depth. The word 'feral' again came to mind as he blinked his second eyelids. He looked at you and looked at you and looked even more. As though his eyes processed one thing but his brain was stuck on something else. It took a moment but he finally said your name. Not said, growled it. His usually velvety deep voice was now strained through gravel. He pulled you closer to him and buried his face in your hair, your heart would be fluttering were it not currently banging in your chest wondering where the hell was the oxygen it ordered. You tried, you really did, to struggle against his hold. Hoping he'd wake up from whatever spell he was under and bring you back to solid ground. Hell, you'd make an attempt to swim for it, knowing how futile it would be. But once his long tongue was on your throat you became putty in his arms. You feel three distinct fingers rake against the other side of your neck as he nipped at you. You can't tell if your breath hitched or your lungs made another vain attempt to reach for air. You raised a trembling hand, trying to alert him to your situation but he seemed solely focused on tasting your skin.

"Breathe." He spoke in-between licks, his tongue venturing down to your clavicle, and you wondered if he'd actually gone mad. His hooded eyes met yours and he repeated the word.

It didn't matter anymore, the choice was no longer yours. You had held onto that final breath for dear life but it was time for that life to come to an end. A stream of bubbles left your horrified lips as you now fought not to breath in; that was a far shorter battle. You inhaled, preparing for the sting of water invading your airways in it's rush to your desperate lungs. For your body to heave and cough as the waters reminded you you were not it's friend but a guest who had overstayed their welcome. Would your body float up to be picked at by birds or sink to be fodder for the sea floor scavengers? You waited and waited. But... It never came. You, somehow, were breathing air. Opening your eyes in confusion, you looked around to see if you were suddenly back on land, if all this was some dream or hallucination spurred on by your guilt and heartbreak but no. You were still surrounded by the open seas and all it's inhabitants. Your breaths felt slightly strained but you weren't going to complain about life saving miracles. Especially when a giant tentacled man was tracing his finger down your spine. Now that your life was no longer at risk(mostly) you calmly rest your palm against his head, trying again to get answers out of him. He stilled, dissolving into your touch as he had many times before. You saw a bit of clarity in his eyes before he closed them.

"I'm sorry." He said after a moment, his voice was lustful and strained, like a warning sign dipped in want and desire. "It started; my heat. I tried to stay as far away as I could but when all sense had escaped my mind the only thing left were thoughts of you." He pulled you closer, his eyes remained closed as if one look at you would break the little control he had. "I thought I had overcome it when I began searching for... Methods for you to survive beneath the waters. But the moment I had my answers it overtook me. It possessed me. It still does. I want you...desperately but only if you'll have me."

You listened to his words, in confusion then understanding. Then you actually understood! Oh! Suddenly your body had forgotten all it's woes, focusing on your core instead. He wanted you. You bit your lip in thought, noticing that the water couldn't pass some unseen threshold of your mouth. You wanted him, you couldn't even pretend to deny that but... Was there a 'but'? You searched your tainted mind for excuses but your brain and your body were again in unison, the only outlier was you. You slid your hand up his face and caressed a cranial tendril, he opened his eyes and you felt his body vibrate. Purring.

You didn't have the courage to look him in the eye when you spoke. "I will." You consented.

He was on you instantly. His lips crashed into yours with reckless need. There was no slow build up, no questioning nor tentative tongue touches. His tongue snaked pass your lips and devoured you in kind. His large hands ran down either sides of your body, meeting when they both grabbed at your ass. There they lingered, kneading your flesh through the stretchy materiel, before one devious hand ventured even lower. You felt him slide a finger along the fabric covering your sex. Back and forth, his finger glided creating a nice little friction that almost touched your eager clit. Your hips moved on their own, seeking the contact. You craved more of his touch and suddenly the thin, synthetic rubber was a dense barrier. As if hearing your thoughts, there was the slightest pinch against the crook of your behind before a sudden coldness seeped in. You could feel him carefully swipe his claw to just above your clit, creating a opening in the fabric. The new sensation of cold wetness against you warm sex made you gasp but it was soon replaced by the warmth of his... hand? No, the texture was far different. Before you had a chance to investigate, the feeling of suction against your clit gave you all the answers you needed. Something between a gasp and a moan left your lips, the sound must've pleased him greatly because he tore himself away from your mouth to look into your eyes. The limb covered your whole sex, with the tip lightly teasing your entrance but it was that one suction cup upon your clit that was really putting in the work. It took a rhythm that was brain meltingly pleasant against the sensitive bud, thoroughly teased by his phantom touches prior. A sudden surge of pleasure began to build causing you to reflexively try to squeeze your thighs together. However, the action was impeded by two tentacles quickly wrapping around your legs to keep them parted. They squeezed as if to reaffirm their hold on you. He took your chin in his hand and watched you intensely as you came undone from the stimulation. His grip was light but unyielding when you tried to turn away. Closing your eyes would lead to him stopping completely until they fluttered open again to meet his. He would take in every dip in your throat, every curve in your lips, every crease beneath your eyes and flush upon your cheeks. He wouldn't miss a moment of your first orgasm at his hands. His gaze was dizzying, as if whatever possessed him was now reaching out for you. Having him inspect you with such cold fondness only made the experience that more salacious. The rising tide of pleasure finally crashed and you were left a buzzing, panting mess. With a look of gratification he released your chin, wrapping his arms around you once more to knit your body to his.

"You're so beautiful." He cooed before trailing off into words of his own language.

You didn't get a moment to say anything back before you felt something probe against your opening. One of his tentacles slid inside you fully, welcomed and aided by the slick lube of your still pulsing walls. You shuddered in his arms, thankful for the support. It was a comfortable fit and suddenly you're reminded that it's been ages since anyone has had you like this. It made the experience slightly more alien atop the fact that you were being intimate with a lust driven sea-beast. Rather than the expected thrusting, the appendage grazed along your insides. It twisted and pushed as if getting a feel for you, learning you before pulling back out. The sudden emptiness made you whimper, you looked at him, ready to beg if need be but it didn't come to that. You felt your entrance being prodded again. It was the familiar tip of a tentacle, ready to enter you once more. However, the more it pushed, the wider it got; so very much wider. And Gods, it held a bumpy texture that was absent before. Just as your mind went hazy you realised it was two of them, wrapped around each other. It finally gave you the thrusting motion you desired, it's ribbed texture grazing parts of you that remained untouched for too long. Your movements were limited but you attempted to grind against each wonderful thrust, moaning your delight with feather light whispers. This was all too good, soft and pliable enough that it writhed inside you but firm enough to press against your hungry womb.

Despite all senses seemingly being focused on your trembling hole you felt something press against your stomach, forcing it's way into the tiny space between your body and his. You peek downward to see the spearheaded tip of what you assumed was his cock. Suddenly, his preparation of your cunt made sense, you'd expected him to be big but geez. It was identical in color to his body, darkening at the tip in a similar fashion to his fingers. It throbbed and twitched as he began to grind against you. Even with two tentacles stretching your insides, your greedy eyes craved the feel of it. Craved the connection to him. You reached down and grasped it at the base, shock almost pulling you out of your haze when it wrapped around your hand. It tightened as if begging for more of your touch. You acquiesced and began running you hands up and down his massive length, taking great pleasure in the way his body vibrated with resonating groans. His thrusts inside you growing wilder, taking you further and further and you were determined to take him with you. His voice held a softer, pleading tone as it goaded you on, praising you between strained hisses. His cock swelled and hardened, his words devolving into senseless mumbles. The limbs inside you became more erratic as his pleasure grew. His grip on your body tightening to the point of leaving small tears in your suit and nicks in your skin. He released a long animalistic huff as he coated your arm in slimy white fluid, your body responded by coating his tentacles with your own. You rest your head against his chest, moving in time with his heavy breaths, counting them as you both recovered. You're not sure when he began moving you but suddenly you were face to face. He kissed you. Slowly. Gently. Tasting and savoring you.

"Do you think you could take me, my treasure, or do I need to stretch that greedy hole of yours even more?" He asked between kisses.

Words were beyond your tired brain so you just nodded. As spent as your body was, this moment would not feel complete until he was inside you. Slowly, as if moving you too much too quickly could break you, he turned you around so that your back was pressed against his chest. He snaked his hands around you -he really did seem to love having his arms on you-, one hand moving to grope your breast while the other traced a line down your stomach to caress your mound. You feel his lower half angle itself to bring his leaking member to your slick opening. Oh so slowly you feel him slide into you, spreading you wider with each inch. You couldn't help but try to squirm against him but his hands held you steady. He was only half way in when your body began to show resistance. He started pulling out slowly and thrusting into you, getting a little bit further each time.

"You're being so good for me." He whispered just above your ear, his voice held a lovely cadence. Singsong; as if haunted by a melody that compelled his body to move.

You couldn't hear it but you felt it, it rang through your body with each sway of your hips and out your lips with each whine. Down to the way he held you, like an instrument to be adored. Every moan a crescendo and every voice stopping bite at your neck a diminuendo. He was playing you and you were loving every moment of it. In and out, in and out like he was timing bars on sheet music. That was up until the flat, tapered tip hit the deepest part of you; he'd hilted. Then everything stopped. Fermata. You're only warning for what was to come were the tentacles that slithered around your legs to ground you. You hardly even felt him pull out, just the force as he thrust fully into you. The sound that left your mouth was a guttural whine of shock and pain. He kept going. Slamming. Pounding. Taking your body over and over. It hurt and yet you desired more. He fucked you like he was craving this moment his whole life. Your body eased and the pain slowly dissolved into pleasure, never quite leaving but become something more. Something better. Something wholy obscene. Your body was an inferno in the cold, dark water. Pleasure overtook you; you no longer felt like a person, just a mass of emotions and senses. You could hear his grunts and growls behind you, the sounds he made were truly animalistic. Wild. Primal. Savage. As though he couldn't fathom being anything but a creature of vulgarity. Couldn't fathom doing anything but driving himself into you. Desired nothing more in the world than to fill the emptiest parts of you. Your walls tightened around him, as if intending to learn every bulge and vein of his cock. Pulling and sucking him in with no desire to let him go, that was where all your strength went. You felt the recognizable build of another orgasm and judging by way his pliable member was now a hardened monolith, he wasn't far off. He no longer needed to lead, you danced with him as you both came together. His seed seeped out of him, filling every bit of (nonexistent)space inside of you before oozing out. He continued to thrust, making sure you milked his cock for everything he had. It's throbbing was like a heartbeat inside you.

You collapsed against him, laying your head flat against his chest, your cheek barely touching the flesh above his heart. After a moment you looked up to see him already staring down at you, the affection in his eyes fueled your already thrumming heart. A moment of tenderness as the tainted waters surrounding you both whisked your indecencies away. His sclera lightened to their usual soft grey. An eagerness popped up on his face as he seemingly wanted to ask you something then but thought better of it. A somber look taking over his features instead. Using what little strength remained in your body, you turned fully to him. He immediately took your head in both his hands and rest his forehead against yours.

"I- Did i hurt you?"

"Did-" You gave him a droll look. "Did you hurt me??" You flicked his head. Well, you tried but there was less than no force behind your fingers. "Of course you did. Lucky for you I enjoyed it."

"I'm so sorry, I'll be gentler next time." He sounded genuinely apologetic. "If you would allow for a 'next time'."

"There better be."

"And a time after that?"

"Don't push your luck, ocean boy."

You felt him smile against you. It may have been an innocent one but you couldn't help but wonder if he was already plotting.

He took you above land after that and you thanked the Gods above that your towel and pack was still waiting for you. At least you could walk(limp) to the company building without catching a charge for indecent exposure. He watched you from his usual spot on the dock. His downturned eyes hooded by his lashes had him looking like a distraught child watching their best friend board a plane to unknown lands. Did he think he scared you away? That you'd never return? Maybe as a bit of revenge you'd let him believe it.

((You also had to deal with the urge to sink into the floor at the knowing and amused looks on your merfolk coworker's face every time they saw the marks on your neck D:))

#monster boy #monster lover #monsterfucker #merfolk #monster x human #monster romance #monster smut #teratophillia #exophelia #kyumiwrites #monster writing #tentacles #tentaclesandtendrils

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pucksandpower · 8 months

Text

Breaking Point

Charles Leclerc x Ferrari!Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc finally reaches his breaking point after the disaster that was the United States Grand Prix. Something needs to change … and that’s where you come in

“Again, again!” Charles’ voice rings out, echoing through the debrief room, “How can we mess this up? I was on pole!”

Fred Vasseur looks down, sighing, but trying to maintain composure. “Charles, it was a miscalculation—”

“A miscalculation?” Charles retorts, eyes blazing, “This has been a trend all season, Fred. It’s not a one-time mistake. It’s systemic.”

Carlos, looking uncomfortable, tries to chime in, “It wasn’t just about strategy, you know the car—”

“Oh, I know the car,” Charles snaps, “And it was built against my driving preference. But it’s not just that. It’s everything. The poor race strategy, the unnecessary swap, and now being disqualified as if my day has not been bad enough!”

Enrico Cardile, the team’s technical director, steps forward, “Disqualification was not anticipated. We followed the regulations to the best—”

“Enough with the excuses!” Charles’ voice cracks with emotion. The weight of the season, the betrayal he feels, finally makes him see red. “Every time there’s an excuse. We’re a team and yet somehow it feels like I’m constantly battling not just our opponents but Ferrari as well.”

A deep silence settles.

The head strategist, Ravin Jain, finally speaks up hesitantly, “We thought the one-stop made sense. The data suggested—”

“Data,” Charles interrupts bitterly, “The same data that led to a decision that every other team on the grid laughed at! Did the data also suggest swapping me with Carlos? Or was I being punished for being able to manage my tires?”

Carlos, despite himself, looks hurt. “I didn’t ask for the swap,” he mutters.

Charles takes a breath, looking at his teammate, “I know. It’s not your fault, hermano. But I need to trust the team’s decisions. And right now, I don’t.”

Sporting Director Diego Ioverno tries to mediate, “It’s been a tough season, Charles. Everyone is understandably stressed. Let’s sit down, review everything together, and find a way forward.”

Charles shakes his head, “That’s what we said last time. And the time before that. And the twenty times before that! Empty promises, meetings, discussions, and then what? Nothing gets done and there is another disaster waiting to happen.”

Fred tries one more time, “We’re as frustrated as you are. We’re a family. We’ll figure this out.”

Charles scoffs, “I can’t keep being let down and used. Not like this.”

The room falls silent once more, a heavy cloud of disappointment and tension hanging in the air.

Carlos reaches out, placing a hand on Charles’ shoulder, “Things will get better.”

Charles meets Carlos’ gaze, nodding slightly. But the fire in his eyes has not dimmed, “I need to believe in this team again. But right now ...” He pauses, “I have a call to make.”

He turns, leaving the room filled with introspective silence. The team is left behind, grappling with their own emotions, knowing that actions will always speak louder than words.

***

Charles steps out into the warm evening air, taking a moment to compose himself before dialing a number he knows by heart but hasn’t touched in months.

“Hey,” Charles’ voice is a low rasp, every ounce of weariness evident.

Then a pause, as he listens to the voice on the other end.

“Yeah, it’s me ... look, I know what I said earlier this season. About handling it myself.” He takes a deep breath, letting the weight of it all settle.

A longer pause, broken by Charles’ intermittent nods and “Uh-huhs.”

“Every race feels like it’s been one disaster after another. And it’s not just the car, it’s everything. I can’t ... I can’t keep doing this to myself.”

He listens closely.

“I told them today, laid it all out. But it’s like talking to a brick wall. They listen, they nod, and then? The same mistakes. Over and over.”

He shifts his weight, the sound of his shoes scraping on the gravel echoing softly.

“I know, I know I told you not to get involved ... but maybe ... maybe that was a mistake.” He sounds defeated, a man at the end of his rope. “I need help. Real help. Maybe it’s time you step in.”

Charles is silent, absorbing whatever the person on the other end is saying.

“No, it’s not about leaving the team,” Charles’ voice is earnest, desperate even. “It’s about respect. Trust. It’s about feeling like I’m not constantly fighting against the tide, not just against other teams but within my own garage.”

A long pause.

“What I mean is, maybe some changes within the team would be good. Fresh perspectives. New faces, perhaps. Somewhere I can trust the decisions, the strategy ...”

He sighs.

“I just want to race, you know? Without all this drama. Without constantly wondering if I’m being set up to fail no matter what I do.”

Another pause as he listens, nodding, lost in the gravity of the decision he’s about to make.

“Thank you. Really. Let’s talk tomorrow? Lay out all our options?”

There’s a moment of quiet, only the sound of his breathing, the distant hum of the circuit, the world slowly dimming around him.

“Thanks. Goodnight, Y/N.”

***

“Emilia,” you call out, and before a moment passes, your ever-efficient personal assistant is by your side.

“Yes, Y/N?” Emilia asks, perfectly poised.

“I need the jet prepared. We’re heading to Mexico City,” you say, voice steady and determined though inside, the turmoil from the phone call with Charles still lingers.

Emilia raises an eyebrow slightly, a silent question in her eyes. “Any particular reason?”

You sigh, looking away for a moment, reflecting on the weight of the legacy you carry. “Scuderia Ferrari needs my direct attention. I trusted them to handle things, but ... it’s clear that has not been happening.”

Her eyes flash with understanding. “Of course. I’ll have the jet ready. When do you wish to depart?”

“Tomorrow morning, early.”

She’s already typing into her tablet. “I’ll book you the Presidential Suite at the Four Seasons. Will you be needing a meeting space there?”

“Absolutely,” you nod. “On Wednesday, before the Grand Prix. Organize for all team personnel to meet in the hotel conference room. And Emilia ... they are not to know the reason for the meeting or that I’m the one calling it.”

Her eyes gleam with a hint of mischief, “Mystery and surprise. I love it. Consider it done.”

A small, wry smile tugs at your lips. “Thank you. And can you make sure Charles knows about my arrival? But ask him to keep it quiet.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

You pause, taking a moment to consider. “Just one more thing. Make sure we have everything we need to review the team’s decisions and strategies for this season. Every little detail.”

Emilia nods. “Absolutely. Everything will be arranged as per your instructions.”

You take a deep breath, “Thanks, Emilia. This … it’s about preserving a legacy, and right now, that legacy is on shaky ground.”

She places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “If anyone can steer this ship right, it’s you.”

***

The door to the conference room opens with a low creak, and the room immediately falls silent. Everyone turns to see you entering, your presence commanding every ounce of attention.

“Good afternoon,” you begin with ice-cold authority. “Thank you all for meeting on such short notice.”

There are murmurs of acknowledgment but no one dares speak up.

“I’ve reviewed our performance this season,” you continue, pacing the length of the conference room, letting each word sink in. “And to say I’m disappointed would be an understatement.”

Fred shifts uncomfortably in his seat, eyes darting around the room. You lock eyes with him, “Fred, you promised change. But the only change I’ve seen is our team’s steep decline.”

“I understand your frustration,” Fred stammers, “We’ve faced challenges—”

You cut him off sharply, “Challenges? Every team faces challenges. What matters is how you overcome them.”

Several team members look down, uncomfortably shuffling papers and avoiding eye contact.

You turn to the strategists, “Your decisions have cost us dearly, time and time again. Your inability to read a race situation, to adapt, to strategize effectively ... it’s quite frankly appalling.”

One of the strategists, a middle-aged man named Roberto, speaks up defensively, “We did our best with the information we had.”

Your eyes narrow, “Your best? Tell that to Charles, who has been left out in the cold race after race.”

Moving on, you address the engineers and designers, “Our car has issues that should have been rectified at the beginning of the season. Yet here we are, still struggling.”

An aerodynamicist named Lucia, clearly agitated, stands up. “We’ve been working tirelessly, trying to find solutions.”

You level her with a gaze, “Then maybe it’s time we look for people who can find those solutions more efficiently.”

Lucia’s face reddens, “You can’t just—”

“Actually I can,” you interrupt, “And I will.”

Your attention turns to Xavi, Charles’ race engineer, who has been noticeably silent. “Xavi, your dynamic with Charles has not been the slightest bit helpful. His feedback, his needs ... they’ve fallen on deaf ears.”

Xavi, trying to defend himself, says, “It’s a two-way street. Charles can be difficult.”

You shake your head, “Charles is a world-class driver. It’s your job to bridge any gaps, not widen them. I checked and it turns out that constantly repeating we are checking like a broken record is not beneficial for race performance!”

Taking a deep breath, you make your announcement, “Effective immediately, Roberto, Lucia, and several other strategists, engineers, and aerodynamicists that a personal audit revealed as detrimental to team performance relieved of their duties. Xavi, you too are let go.”

There are gasps around the room, the weight of your words sinking in. Roberto stands, fuming in anger, “You can’t just dismantle this team!”

You lock eyes with him, “I’m not dismantling. I’m rebuilding. And if that means letting go of every one of you who can’t uphold the standards of Scuderia Ferrari then so be it.”

Fred finally speaks up, “And what about me?”

You lean in, “Consider your position on very thin ice. I expect results. And fast.”

You straighten up, the room thick with tension, “Scuderia Ferrari is not just a team, it’s a legacy. My great-grandfather would be rolling in his grave to see what has been done to his beloved team. I will not stand by and watch it crumble.”

With a final, piercing gaze around the room, you pivot on your heel and exit with a flick of your hair.

***

You lean against the cool wall, taking a moment to gather yourself after the emotional intensity of the meeting. The hallway is quiet save for the distant hum of voices but soon familiar footsteps make their way around the corner.

“Charles,” you call out softly as spot the driver.

His green eyes, clouded with a mix of emotions, meet yours. “Y/N.”

“Are you okay?”

He hesitates, “I wasn’t expecting all of that.”

You nod, “It was long overdue. I should have intervened much sooner.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to process everything. “It’s ... a lot. I didn’t think you would actually step in like this.”

You sigh, “I hoped I wouldn’t have to. But my bisnonno once said that aerodynamics are for people who can’t build engines, and right now, it sure seems like Ferrari can’t do either.”

Charles chuckles dryly, “You have a point. It’s been ... frustrating.”

You gently touch his arm, trying to reassure him, “Enzo also believed that dreams become bigger, much bigger, to build a car that doesn’t slow in the curves, that flies without leaving the ground. I want that dream for you. For us.”

He looks at you, “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. A car that allows me to race to my full potential.”

You nod, thinking of the iconic red car and its tremendous legacy, “I know. And we’ll get there. Remember, racing cars are neither beautiful nor ugly. They become beautiful when they win.”

A smile tugs at Charles’ lips, “I haven’t won in too long. I almost forget what it feels like.”

You step closer, “That is going to change. I’m here for the long haul. To rebuild, restructure, and reclaim the Ferrari legacy. Glory will be dressed in red once more.”

He nods and swallows thickly. “Thank you, Y/N. It means more than you know.”

You smile softly, “We’re a team. And I promise to do whatever it takes to see us on top again.”

***

Early that Friday at Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez, you gather the team in the garage.

“Good morning, everyone,” you begin. “I know it has been a whirlwind these past few days but I want to set the tone for this weekend.”

Fred, still adjusting to the new dynamic, nods silently from the back.

“We haven’t had the time to implement any physical changes to the car,” you continue, “But they are coming. For now, the difference will be about being smart … being strategic.”

Charles listens intently, his gaze occasionally drifting to the newcomers in front of him.

Speaking of the new additions, you gesture to the two people standing on either side of you, “I’ve brought on Marit Nilsen as our Principal Strategy Engineer and Claudio Segreti as Charles’ new race engineer. Not only are they exceptional engineers but also global chess masters.”

There are murmurs of surprise and interest among the crew. The world of Formula 1 and professional chess has rarely, if ever, intersected.

Marit, a tall woman with striking blonde hair, steps forward, “Chess is all about strategy, foreseeing the opponent’s moves and countering them. That’s what we’re here to do but on the track.”

Claudio, with his dark hair and deep-set eyes, adds, “Every move and decision we make will be precise. We’ll anticipate, adapt, and overcome.”

Carlos clears his throat, “So what’s the plan for free practice?”

You smile, “Today, we observe. We learn. We see where the car stands, where our strengths and weaknesses lie.”

As free practice commences, there’s a different energy in the garage. Marit, with her sharp analytical mind, quickly picks up on patterns, working closely with Claudio and Carlos’ engineer to ensure both drivers get feedback they need.

There’s a visible shift throughout the weekend. The team, rejuvenated by fresh perspectives, operates with a renewed vigor. And while the car may not have upgrades yet, new strategy quickly begins to make a difference like anticipated.

Qualifying sees Charles securing P3, an unexpected but welcome result. The garage is full of cautious hope but Marit and Claudio remain focused, already planning for the race to come.

Race day dawns and the tension is thick. You pull Charles aside, “Remember, things have changed. Believe in the strategy and the moves we make.”

He nods, “I trust them. And I trust you.”

As the lights go out and the cars roar to life, Charles delivers a performance that’s both calculated and aggressive. Every pit stop and every overtake is orchestrated like a chess match.

The race sees Charles finishing in P2 and Carlos in P4, a significant improvement from recent races.

The garage is a mix of tentative elation and relief.

Marit thoroughly reviews the race data, “This is just the beginning. Once the car upgrades are in place, the board will be ours.”

The sun sets on the Mexico City Grand Prix, but for Scuderia Ferrari, a new dawn is on the horizon.

***

“Fabiano Turati,” you muse, looking at the impressive portfolio before you. “Aerospace engineer, a key player in the development of hypercars for Agnellotti Motors, a professor at Politecnico di Milano. But never in F1?”

Fabiano, with salt and pepper hair and an air of quiet confidence, smiles slightly. “It’s not for lack of offers. I have just always believed in pushing boundaries outside of traditional paths.”

You lean back, intrigued, “So why Ferrari now?”

His eyes scan around the garage, “A challenge. An opportunity. A legacy to uphold. And, to put it simply, I think I can make a difference.”

You nod, appreciative of his candor. “We have three races left this season: Brazil, Las Vegas, and Abu Dhabi. Realistically, how much can we improve?”

You can practically see the gears in his brain turning, “In terms of complete redesign? Not much. But in terms of optimization and efficiency? Quite a bit.”

By the Brazilian Grand Prix, Fabiano’s influence is evident. While not a complete transformation, the SF-23 sports streamlined wings and a refined rear diffuser, maximizing what the current design allows.

“Initial feedback is good,” Charles reports after the practice session. “There’s a notable difference in the corners.”

Carlos chimes in, “The balance feels better.”

The improvements are evident, with both Ferraris finishing just off the podium. But Las Vegas poses a new challenge: a circuit unfamiliar to all teams and drivers.

“This is anyone’s game,” Marit says, examining the track layout.

Fabiano nods, “This weekend will be all about adaptation.”

The Las Vegas Grand Prix is an exhilarating rollercoaster. Charles fights for a podium finish, narrowly missing out but showcasing the SF-23’s newfound prowess, while Carlos secures a solid sixth.

As the season finale in Abu Dhabi looms, anticipation runs high. The Yas Marina Circuit will end the year with a test of Ferrari’s mettle.

Post-race, with both Ferraris finishing on the podium after avoiding a pile up that took out multiple opponents, there’s a sense of satisfaction but also of hunger.

“We’ve made progress,” Fabiano says as the garage winds down. “But next season, we’ll aim for a car that is not just evolved but fully revolutionized.”

You smile, “With you on board, I truly believe we can. The future is bright for Scuderia Ferrari.”

***

“Look at her,” Fabiano muses, admiration clear as the blueprint for the SF-24 is spread out before you both in your Maranello office.

“She’s a beauty,” you agree, tracing your fingers over the schematics. “If she performs half as well as she looks ...”

“She will,” Fabiano leaves no room for doubt. “We’ve streamlined the aerodynamics, enhanced the power unit, and made significant weight reductions.”

Carlos walks in with a grin on his face, “Is this the beast we’re taming next season?”

“That’s the plan.”

Charles catches your eye from where he lingers by the door. “It’s a fresh start,” he murmurs, approaching the table almost reverently. “I feel it.”

Over the following weeks, you rarely leave the factory other than to sleep and shower. You immerse yourself with the team, observing wind tunnel tests, joining strategy sessions, and even trying your hand with pit stop drills.

One evening, after a particularly long meeting, Charles finds you in the lounge, sipping an espresso. “Mind if I join you?”

You gesture to the seat across, “Of course not.”

He sits and just looks at you until you get the urge to fidget. “I’ve been thinking,” Charles begins, “About the changes, the car, and ... us.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Us?”

Charles smiles slightly, “You and I. We’ve spent so much time together these past weeks. I’ve gotten to know you, not just as Y/N Ferrari but as ... Y/N.”

You flush and not just from the hot coffee, “I feel the same. It’s been ... refreshing. Getting to know the man behind the helmet.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, “There’s this great little place just outside Maranello. Quiet, hidden. I was thinking, maybe, dinner?”

Your heart skips a beat but you maintain your composure, “I’d really like that.”

The winter in Maranello unfolds, and as the SF-24 takes shape, so does the bond between you and Charles.

Between brainstorming sessions and late-night discussions about optimal setups, there are stolen moments: shared glances, lingering touches, and dinners that stretch long into the night talking about anything and everything.

Carlos teases, “Seems like the new car isn’t the only thing igniting sparks.”

You roll your eyes but there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips. You don’t try to deny it. Why bother when you hope it might be true one day?

***

r/formula1

Posted by RaceRundown · 6 hours ago

First look at the SF-24! Thoughts?

RedFever · 6 hours ago

This could be the machine that keeps Ferrari at the top. Just look at those lines!

PitStopPundit · 5 hours ago

Getting major 2004 vibes from this. Could be a dominant year for the Scuderia!

***

You step into the air-conditioned motorhome, grateful for an escape from the Bahraini heat. Charles and Carlos, race suits unzipped around their waists, are animatedly discussing their first day of preseason testing with the SF-24.

“Last year, we didn’t have to sandbag because the car was, well … genuinely that slow,” Charles laughs. “But this time around ...”

Carlos grins, finishing his sentence. “This time, we have an ace up our sleeves.”

You nod, “Just remember, it’s only testing. We still have to see where we truly stand.”

The race weekend finally kicks off and the paddock is full of speculation. After a deliberately unimpressive showing during testing, no one expects Ferrari to be a front-runner.

Yet, when the lights go out, the SF-24 does not just impress …. it dominates. Charles takes P1 with Carlos not far behind in P3. And the world takes notice.

The next few races see a rejuvenated Ferrari. In Saudi Arabia, Charles and Carlos deliver a nail-biting duel with Red Bull, securing a double podium. Australia is a tougher battle, with Mercedes coming to form, but Charles clinches a respectable P4.

The Asian leg of the season has its highs and lows. In Japan, despite a torrential downpour, Charles masterfully handles the wet track to clinch the top step. On the podium, he points up at the sky and then shapes his fingers — first into a one and then a seven — a silent tribute to his late godfather and mentor.

However, China proves challenging and sees the SF-24 struggling unusually with tire degradation. But as Miami approaches, the team regroups and Charles takes a commanding win under the Florida sun.

Then comes Imola, the first of Ferrari’s home races.

As the sun shines brightly over the circuit named after your great-grandfather and grand uncle, you find yourself walking the track alongside Charles. The weight of racing on home soil evident in his eyes.

“Everything okay?” You check, sensing his nervous energy.

He looks at you and taking a deep breath. “Racing in front of the Tifosi at home always feel different. I want to make them proud.”

“No matter what happens today, they will be proud of you. The whole team will be proud of you. We’ve come so far.”

He smiles, visibly lighter. “Then let’s give them a race to remember.”

And it is nothing short of spectacular. Charles starts P2, but with determination and brilliant strategy, he overtakes Max in the final lap and secures a victory for Ferrari on home soil.

The roar of the crowd, the sea of red flags, the tears in Charles’ eyes as he stands atop the podium — you make a promise to never forget this moment.

As the sun sets on Imola, the Scuderia Ferrari team comes together, basking in their victory.

As Charles, champagne-soaked and beaming, pulls you in for a damp hug, it is clearer than ever that this season is only the beginning of a beautiful journey ahead.

***

“Norris is approaching on a flying lap. Make sure not to impede,” Claudio’s voice comes through crisp and clear over the radio during the dying moments of Q3 for the Monaco Grand Prix.

You can practically feel Charles’ concentration from where you’re seated on the Ferrari pit wall. The narrow streets of Monaco leave no room for error … Charles knows this better than most.

“Copy,” Charles responds, adjusting his position on the track just enough to give Lando the space he needs to pass while keeping his own momentum.

The clock is ticking and Charles needs a perfect lap if he wants to clinch pole position.

“Tires are feeling good. Pushing now,” Charles says, rounding the first corner with precision. The SF-24 dances around the iconic circuit, the roar of its engine echoing through the streets.

From Casino Square to the hairpin and through the tunnel, Charles’ driving is flawless. Every apex hit and every corner nailed.

“Final sector, Charles. Make it count,” Claudio encourages.

And he does. Crossing the line and jumping to the top of the timing board.

The garage cheers but there’s no time to waste. Tomorrow’s race is what truly matters.

***

Race day in Monaco is always special, but today, with Charles starting from pole, there’s an electric tension in the air.

“Lights out in ten,” Marit announces over the intercom.

Charles, already in the zone, simply nods.

And then he’s lined up on the front row.

The lights illuminate one by one. Then, in a heartbeat, they go out.

The race is on.

Charles gets a strong start, holding off challengers through the initial turns. The streets of Monaco are notoriously difficult for overtaking, so track position is everything.

“Maintain the pace. Tire management is key,” Claudio advises as the laps progress.

As the race unfolds, strategy becomes crucial.

“Plan to box in two laps,” Marit instructs through Claudio. With with Verstappen close on his tail, everything must be executed perfectly.

The pit stop is lightning-fast, the crew working in synchrony. Charles emerges just ahead of Max, who had followed him into the pits.

Throughout the race, Charles’ skill shines. He manages his tires, navigates the backmarkers, and keeps a razor-sharp focus.

The final laps approach. The team, the spectators, the entire Principality holds its breath.

The chequered flag waves and Charles crosses the finish line to takes his first home win. The elation, the pride, the sheer emotion of the moment is overwhelming.

“Monaco, Charles! You’ve won Monaco!”

Tears in his eyes, Charles responds, voice choked, “We did it! This is for Monaco. This is for Ferrari. Grazie mille. Merci beaucoup.”

The team gathers beneath the podium, celebrating their victory and the hometown here. Charles quickly sprays the two drivers beside him before aiming the bottle at the sea of red cheering in front of him and soaking his team in champagne.

He thinks back to how this weekend ended last season and let’s his elation wash away the years of dejected he faced before.

Things are different now.

***

“I’ve never seen Monaco come alive like this after a win,” you shout over the pulsating music in one of the city’s many upscale clubs.

Charles grins, leaning in closer so you can hear him. “It’s the magic of a home race victory!”

As the night turns to early morning, alcohol flows freer and the laughter grows louder.

The Ferrari team loves any reason to celebrate and they’re certainly making the most of the location.

Charles pulls you to a quieter corner of the VIP section. “Have you ever danced with a Monaco Grand Prix winner?”

You roll your eyes at the attempt at flirting but laugh as you accept his outstretched hand. “There’s a first time for everything.”

The two of you dance, losing track of time.

The world blurs around you. All that matters is the magnetic pull between you two which has been simmering for so long that it is threatening to overflow.

Charles pulls you closer, his lips brushing your ear. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

You relish in the warmth of his breath against your skin. “What’s that?”

“I’m drawn to you,” he admits, eyes searching yours. “Not just because of tonight but ... there’s something between us. I feel it. And I think you do too.”

You swallow hard. “I do.”

He hesitates before wrapping an arm around your waist, “Come with me.”

Without a word, you both exit the club, making your way to his apartment. The air between you is thick with anticipation but also vulnerability … openness.

Once inside, he gently pushes you against the wall, lips crashing onto yours. It’s passionate and intense, like a dam that has been waiting to break.

Charles pulls away slightly, “Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you whisper, eyes locked with his. “But ... Charles, not just for tonight. I don’t want this to be just a result of a victory high or the Monaco night air.”

He cups your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “I don’t want that either. This isn’t about the race or the party. It’s about us. I think it’s been about us for a while now.”

“Then why didn’t you say something sooner?”

He chuckles softly. “You think it’s easy, being around you every day, wanting to be close but maintaining a distance for the sake of professionalism? To spend every evening when we’re in Maranello sitting across from you at dinner and wishing that I could call it a date? But tonight,” he pauses, eyes searching yours, “Tonight felt different.”

You waste no time to draw him closer. “No more waiting then.”

***

Canada’s Circuit Gilles Villeneuve echoes with the roar of engines and the cheers of fans. Charles dominates the track, mastering the chicanes and the notorious Wall of Champions.

But the race isn’t straightforward. Mid-race, strategy suddenly changes when an unexpected rain shower soaks the track. However, the new strategy team you’ve brought in makes all the right calls and Charles takes the chequered flag.

In the Spanish sun, it’s a different story. The high-speed corners expose a slight flaw in the SF-24 which leaves Charles fighting valiantly but finishing third.

Despite the setback, you see determination in his eyes. “We’ll get them in Austria,” he promises.

True to his word, at the Red Bull Ring, he dominates. The SF-24 suits the straights and fast corners. Charles takes pole and leads every lap, building a gap that the competition can’t close. The victory feels even sweeter given the circuit’s name.

Silverstone proves challenging. There’s fierce competition, and while Charles doesn’t win, he’s involved in one of the most thrilling wheel-to-wheel battles of the season with Max Verstappen. They exchange positions multiple times, showing pure racing talent. In the end, Charles finishes a proud second after a photo finish.

The Hungarian Grand Prix tests the team. Tire strategy becomes paramount. The SF-24 shows vulnerabilities in the surprisingly sweltering conditions. Still, Charles’ impeccable driving and some cunning strategy calls earn him a place on the podium.

At the Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Charles shines brilliantly. He conquers Eau Rouge and Raidillon like few can, making it seem effortless. The SF-24 feels perfectly balanced and he takes another win, smiling at the Ferrari flags waving high in the crowd as the Monegasque and Italian anthems play.

Through it all, you see Charles grow not just as a driver but as a leader and beacon of hope for the team and global fanbase. He is not just driving for himself or for Ferrari, he drives for everyone who believes in him.

***

The warm Italian sun pours golden light onto the expansive villa overlooking Lake Como. The water below sparkles, mirroring the sky. For a brief moment, the hectic world of Formula 1 feels miles away.

You’re lounging under an oversized umbrella, Aperol Spritz in hand, while Charles emerges from the pool, beads of water cascading down his toned physique.

“That swim was perfect,” Charles grins as he flops down beside you.

“You were in there for ages! Trying to turn into a fish?”

He shakes his head like a wet puppy, making you squeal as you try to escape the splashes. “Just preparing for our yacht trip. Besides, I have to burn off all those pasta dinners we’ve been having or else I won’t fit in the car by the end of the month.”

“The troubles of a professional athlete,” you laugh, “I’ve been indulging and I’m not even sorry.”

That evening, the two of you share a quiet moment on the terrace. Soft jazz floats from inside and cicadas buzz rhythmically.

“Remember our first race together?” Charles starts. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”

“I never imagined we’d be here. But I am so glad that we are.”

He meets your gaze, his eyes reflecting the same heat you feel. “Me too. These moments, away from the track with you ... they’re special.”

The following week, you find yourselves on a luxurious yacht off the coast of Sardinia. Charles’ family and both of your friends are aboard. The sun decks echo with laughter, music, and the soft lapping of waves. There is never a quiet moment and you relish in the sounds of happiness.

As you stand by the railing, watching Charles and Joris race each other on jet-skis, Arthur slides up beside you. “So, how’s life with my big brother?”

You laugh, “It’s an adventure every day. But honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing. It’s wonderful. He’s wonderful.”

Arthur nods, “I’ve never seen him this happy, you know?”

You smile warmly, your gaze drifting to where Charles has somehow fallen into the water and is now splashing his friend. “He brings out the best in me, just as I hope I do for him.”

***

The gentle lapping of the Mediterranean waves seems like a distant memory as you find yourself in Zandvoort.

“Quite the change of scenery, isn’t it?” Charles chuckles, standing beside you as the sea breeze of the Dutch coast tousles his hair.

You laugh, “A bit but I’ve missed it. Nothing beats the excitement of a race weekend.”

And what a weekend it was. Charles, against all odds, comes out on top at Max Verstappen’s home race. The Dutch crowd offer begrudging respect as Charles takes the top step.

And then, Monza.

Monza is different. There’s an electricity in the air that cannot be replicated anywhere else. It’s the home race of Ferrari … the cathedral of speed.

“Do you know,” you tell Charles as you both walk through the paddock, “I used to come here with my grandfather as a child. This track ... it’s steeped in history. I’ve always loved it.”

“Winning here was like nothing else I have ever experience,” he reflects. “Let’s do it again. We’ll write our own chapter in history this weekend.”

Qualifying is a nail-biter. Charles pushes the SF-24 to its limits, dancing on the edge of control.

“How are we looking?” Charles checks in.

“You’re on provisional pole,” Claudio responds over the radio. “But push on the last sector. Max is close and getting closer.”

And push he does. Charles clinches pole with a margin that leaves no doubts about the capabilities of both the driver and the car.

Race day, the atmosphere is fever-pitched. The Tifosi, in their sea of red, wave their flags and banners, chanting Charles’ name like a prayer. As the lights go out, the battle rages. The strategy is aggressive, a one-stop that requires Charles to defend position in the latter stages of the race.

“Lap 45. Push now, we need widen this gap,” Claudio instructs.

The tires scream in protest as Charles further carves out a lead. But as the laps tick down, Verstappen and Piastri close in.

“Drive smart and hold them off. Four laps to go. You’ve got this,” Claudio urges him on.

Going wheel-to-wheel with Max through the Ascari chicane, Charles pulls ahead. The Tifosi roar, their energy and sheer will pushing him on.

“Last lap. Bring it home!”

And he does.

As Charles crosses the finish line, the crowd erupts. The track is soon packed with red as fans flood the track, surrounding the podium.

From the sea of faces, one voice stands out — yours, “You did it, Charles. Monza is yours.”

He lifts the trophy high, a tear in his eye, “We did it. This is for Ferrari … for the Tifosi … for us.”

***

The streets of Baku and the lights of Singapore both witness the magic that Charles and the SF-24 weave together. Two more wins, two more steps closer to the championship.

And then you find yourselves in Texas.

“Do you remember this time last year?” Charles asks.

“How could I forget? It was the phone call that changed everything.”

Charles laughs but there’s a weight to it, “For both of us. It was a disaster ... pole to sixth and then the disqualification. All because of...” He doesn’t finish the sentence, the mismanagement of the team a heavy shadow neither of you can forget.

“You’ve grown since then,” you point out gently, “The team has grown. Look at where we are now.”

He nods, taking a deep breath, “One year. So much has changed. From one of the worst days in my racing career to ... this.” Charles gestures around, to the revamped team, the transformed car, the very atmosphere of competence that permeates every corner of the Ferrari garage.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” he whispers, “The championship is within our grasp. Right back where it all went wrong.”

You take a moment to pull out your laptop and open a data sheet, “Here’s the breakdown. If Max gets P2 in both the sprint and the race, you need P1 in both. That’s how we seal the championship this weekend.”

Charles’ eyes scan the spreadsheet, “That’s ... a tall order.”

“But not impossible. Not for you and not for this team,” you assure him.

He chuckles again but it’s brighter now, “With you in my corner? I know anything is possible.”

***

The energy is electric when qualifying day arrives in Austin. You find Charles in his driver’s room, eyes closed in focus as he visualizes the track.

“You ready for this?”

His eyes pop open, determination burning in them. “Ready. Let’s show them what we can do.”

Qualifying unfolds in a blur of fast laps and bated breath. Charles pushes the limits, wrestling the SF-24 around the bumpy circuit.

“Time for one more lap. Give it your all here,” Claudio radioes through.

Jaw set, Charles squeezes all he can from the SF-24. Silence falls as he crosses the line … broken by cheers as his new lap time is set.

Pole position for the second season in a row.

Charles sheds his helmet and rips off his balaclava. “Yes! That’s how we start a weekend!”

The sprint shootout and race similarly see Charles launch cleanly from P1, building a gap early.

“Verstappen is matching your pace, don’t let him get within DRS range,” Claudio advises.

“Copy,” Charles responds, focused.

A late charge from Max raises tensions but Charles keeps him at bay, taking the chequered flag and the eight points.

“That’s the way to do it!” You shout as Charles enters the garage.

“Grand Slam in the sprint, now time for the main event,” he grins.

You rally the team Sunday morning. “Remember, the start is crucial. The car that lines up in P2 has led by the end of lap 1 for five years in a row. We need full focus.”

It seems like barely any time has passed before Charles takes his spot on the grid. Lights out, tires screeching, he holds the lead through the first lap madness.

“Nicely done,” Claudio praises. “Manage those tires now.”

The pit stop strategy is executed flawlessly. Charles takes his second stop, emerging ahead of a charging Verstappen.

“Ten laps remaining,” Claudio counts down.

Charles responds with measured confidence, “Let’s bring it home.”

In the closing laps, he is poetry in motion, hitting each apex and maximizing every straight. Max closes in but Charles is perfect to the millimeter.

“Charles Leclerc,” Claudio’s voice cracks with emotion, “you are the World Champion!”

Eyes wet, Charles radios in, “Yes! Yes! Yes! We did it! Thank you guys! This is unbelievable! Grazie, grazie mille, grazie a tutti! It’s been an incredible season with all of you. This is for the team, for Ferrari, for all the fans, and for everyone who has supported me. We brought it back to Maranello! I’m speechless ... grazie, thank you!”

In the garage, celebrations in full swing, you lean in with a laugh, “Don’t worry, I checked with the FIA — the plank is up to regulation this time.”

Grinning, Charles pulls you into a passionate kiss as the team hoots and hollers around you.

The World Champion smiles so bright he makes the Texan sun look dull in comparison.

You would do anything to make sure he feels like this every season. You will do anything to make sure he feels like this every season.

***

The winter sun casts a warm glow on Maranello as you walk beside Charles into the Ferrari factory. The off-season buzz of activity fills the air as the team prepares for next year’s challenges.

Charles looks at the sleek lines of the new SF-25 with anticipation. “She’s beautiful. I can’t wait to see what she can do.”

“This one’s special. She’ll be fighting for the championship again.”

“Yeah?”

“You heard me right,” you say with a smile. “I made you a promise. Last season was just the beginning.”

As Charles turns for a briefing, you spot Fred across the room. Your relationship has evolved and he now respects the authority you wield for the team’s benefit.

Approaching, you extend a hand. “I wanted to say, you’ve led the team well this past season.”

He grasps it firmly. “We share this success. Thank you for being the catalyst we needed”

You know there will still be challenges ahead. But Ferrari has been reinvigorated. Its racing spirit has been reignited.

That evening, Charles joins you on the terrace of the home you both share when in Maranello and wraps you both in a warm blanket to fight the chill. “Can you believe what a year it’s been?”

You shake your head. “It’s been a dream.”

He pulls you close. “The dream is just beginning and it’s a dream I hope we never wake up from.”

3K notes · View notes

1644s · 2 months

Text

trust me, I’ve got nothing for you other than love

warnings/tags: minors DNI, 18+, dark themes, implied babytrapping, woc!reader, mafia!AU (background), arranged marriage!AU, pregnancy, lovesick!lando, reader is on birth control but is she really?, manipulation, gaslighting, obsession, possessive behavior, dark!lando, these tags are not exhaustive

wc: 5.3k (what happened here...)

summary: Your marriage vows are til death do you part but Lando sees no harm in ensuring your forever is, well, forever.

dividers by @/cafekitsune :)

unedited, unbeta'd, etc. this was supposed to be maybe 2k but...here we are... anyway! there's a bigger background plot going on but I cannot be bothered to expand on it aldkjfas please let me know your thoughts and happy reading!!

also! sinha = lion in bengali :)

“You just have to meet him, sinha.”

Through the grainy FaceTime call, your mother’s patient expression holds a touch of exasperation. She’s not scolding you but it’s a close call.

“No expectations?”

She shakes her head. “No expectations,” she promises and then she softens. She looks less like the wife of a criminal and more like your mom. “If you don’t like him—”

“Let me know what day he is free and I’ll clear up my schedule,” you interrupt, unable to bear listening to platitudes. It doesn’t matter if you like or dislike Lando Norris. Your father needs his family’s power and resources. This is a formality for your sake.

There are no expectations because this isn’t a choice.

You make a show of looking away from the camera as if being called and then look back at her with an apologetic grimace. “Sorry, I have to go. Someone’s at the door.” Your mother tries to say something else but you interrupt her with a hurried, “Love you! Bye.”

The call cuts. Your mother’s disappointed face lingers for a moment longer and then the screen fades to black.

Breathing out a heavy sigh, you rub at your face. Your parents have a way of forcing your hand and making it seem as if they are doing you a favor.

Objectively, Lando is nice. There is little overlap between your circle of friends and his but there is overlap and it lies with Carlos Sainz Jr.

Carlos has had nothing but good things to say about Lando when the topic is broached.

“A little immature but it is to be expected,” he laughed, wine sloshing in his glass. “He’s annoying. Like a little younger brother.”

That glowing review is all you have to go off of until Xavier comes back from his recon mission. You don’t think following Lando around with a camera necessitates such a dramatic title but it is not your opinion they ask for.

You’ve heard of what he is capable of but it is not the red flag it should be. Perhaps it is misguided and shockingly insensitive of you, but you care more if he will be a good person to you. You don’t need his affection but you do need his respect. And with that, you’ll need him to care about you enough to want to keep you safe. A man who feels obligated to keep you safe is not one you want.

Your phone pings. The screen lights up with a message from your father.

Clear your schedule for next Saturday. Wear something nice. Details to come.

Your spoon is halfway out of your mouth when Lando sits across from you.

His hair is perfectly styled to look effortless. A stray curl hangs down his forehead and only adds to his boyish charm.

He grins at you, eyes bright and shoulders relaxed. A backpack is slung over his shoulder and he’s wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants. They are of good quality but the lack of suit emphasizes his youth.

You’re suddenly struck by how young the two of you must look. It will be many years before Lando is expected to take over his father’s position but looking at him now, you can’t imagine such a situation. You know better, though, given his reputation.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

It’s so ridiculous it makes you laugh. “You really know how to keep a girl waiting, huh?” you say, more amused than not.

He’s fifteen minutes late but you don’t mind. Tardiness is the last thing you worry about in a partner. His body count, for example, is a more pressing matter.

The illegal one that is.

“I see you’ve gotten some food though,” he says, nodding towards the parfait you ordered. “Care to share?”

You offer him your spoon and when he reaches out, you pull your hand back. “Any allergies?”

He leans over the table and grabs your wrist. Dipping his head down, he takes a bite. “None,” he says around the granola.

You make a noncommittal noise. So far, he matches what Xavier’s detailed about him. There’s an easy going air about him which loosens the tension in your muscles. However, as much as you’d like this to be a normal introduction, you and Lando are working on borrowed time. So you’ll need to speed this along.

A litmus test might do the trick.

“Alright, let me see it.”

His smile disappears. “See what?”

“The file you have on me.”

He props his head with his hand. He’s careful as he says, “I don’t have a file on you.”

Leaning back into your chair, you cross your arms over your chest. You let the silence stretch between the two of you as you appraise him. When he continues to maintain his confused look, you sigh. It is foolish of you to think Lando will be honest. Honesty has no place for a marriage such as the one you will have with him.

“Okay,” you say simply. You tap your fingers against the table, a quick three beat tune before you give him a singular nod. “Let me know when and where to show up for our wedding. I’m impartial to a courthouse wedding but,” and you shrug, “It’s up to you.”

He straightens up. There’s a predatory stillness to him. “That’s it?”

You reach for your bag. He’s rented out the entire restaurant for the two of you so you’re sure the wait staff are being paid an exorbitant wage today. But it won’t hurt to leave a good impression in case you find yourself back here. You peruse your wallet, thankful you remembered to bring cash with you. “Yeah. Sorry to waste your time.” You’re perfunctory if not a little clipped with your response.

You think you’ll grab some lunch on the way back. The parfait, while good, only served to whet your appetite.

“Hold on.”

You can’t help but glance at your watch but you wait patiently as he gathers his thoughts.

“Why go through all this fuss?” Lando twirls his finger. “If you are leaving within—“ He looks at his watch and clicks his tongue, “Ten minutes?”

“I’ve been here for half an hour,” you remind him coolly. He winces but still offers no excuses nor an explanation for his lateness, so you steamroll ahead. “And if you’re willing to lie to me about something we both know is true,” you spread your hands out helplessly, “Then why bother with this? I’m sure my parents told you they set this up to appease me and you know what? Consider me appeased.”

He mouths appeased silently to himself. “You’re mad because you think I lied?” he clarifies, furrowing his brows.

“I’m mad because you are lying,” you correct icily.

“You really think I’d lay all my cards on the table so easily?”

“A file is all your cards?” you challenge.

His jaw locks. “No.”

You decide to cut him some slack. You dig through your purse and produce a folded stack of papers. Your parents were able to pull a sizable amount of information on Lando. It is supposed to remain confidential but this is your future marriage after all. You will be the one dealing with the Norris’, and Lando in particular, not them. You were rereading them up until you ordered and you presume Lando was doing the same given how last second this meeting is.

“I don’t want there to be an uneven playing field,” you say, waving the papers. “I want us to have a clean start.” Then you grimace. “As clean of a start as we can,” you amend.

He eyes the manilla folder. It’s fairly thick and you’re sure your color-coded tabbing only makes it more enticing. Lando kisses his teeth before reaching into his own backpack and pulling out a file. It’s much slimmer than the one you have on him.

You itch to reach over and take it but you restrain yourself. Placing your elbows over Lando’s file, you balance your head on one of your hands, mirroring his earlier lackadaisical pose. “So, is orange really your favorite color?”

“They have that in your file?”

He’s torn between being impressed and incredulous. It makes you wonder what they’ve managed to find on you.

You pull out a photo from your file. Flipping it over, you show him at a random dinner a couple weeks ago. You still don’t know how Xavier managed an invite to such a close-knit dinner but you suppose it’s best to not ask questions. “No. You just wear a lot of orange.”

He tries to snatch the photo out of your grasp but you quickly tuck it back into its place. “You have pictures of me?”

“I’ll show you mind if you show me yours.”

He rewards you with a laugh. “Yeah, s’fair.”

You pass over some of your photos and Lando does the same. You’re mildly terrified of how many Lando hands to you but he does not share the same reservations.

Lando flips through the photos. He keeps his expression neutral, betraying nothing as he sees how he’s been tailed without his knowledge.

“Do you have a favorite?”

You take a second too long to answer. “…Yes.” A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth but you refuse to let him embarrass you. “Do you have one?”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he mocks. Without needing to sort through your pile, he reaches over and takes the one off the top. He places it flat down in front of you, waggling his eyebrows as he does so.

You motion for him to hand you the ones he’s holding and he obliges. It takes a short amount of time even with your feigned studying of the pictures to pick one out.

All of them vary in degrees of how off guard Lando looks but this one in particular looks as if it is any run of the mill day for him. He’s laughing, fingers digging into his friend’s arm for balance. His eyes are crinkled and there’s a lightness to him that seems as if it’s attached to him at all times.

You swallow. Heat begins to collect underneath your cheeks. You hope Lando does not realize how much this photo flays you open.

You slide across the table, face down as well, and wait for him.

“On three?” he suggests.

You can’t look at him. You’ve accidentally laid your heart on a platter and now you must let Lando decide if it’s worth devouring. “On three.”

“One…two…”

You don’t know what you were expecting but you do know it is not this.

“Oh my god,” you groan, cheeks warm for an entirely different reason now.

You’re lounging by the pool in an outfit that is appropriate when you think you’re not being photographed by a random man’s family. You’re shading your eyes with your hand, mouth in a pout as you consider someone in the distance. Odds are, you were arguing with your friend Hiba about something stupid.

However, discomfort soon replaces the embarrassment seeping into your skin as you make a mental check of when you last hung out with Hiba by the pool. That had been…months ago. Your parents had made it seem as if this arrangement was a recent idea and not one they’ve been concocting for months.

Your vision flickers for a moment as your blood rushes to your head. At least they decided against springing a surprise wedding upon you, you suppose. It can always be worse.

Lando lingers on his photo and then puts it down. “So lying is a big deal to you.” He frames it as a statement and yet, he glances up at you through his lashes. His bottom lip is tucked beneath his top teeth.

You thumb your stack of photos, hesitant to see the images that have created the baseline of Lando’s perception of you. A sharp pain flares at the corner of your thumb. Blood is smeared across the white edges of the photos. You press your tongue against the paper cut to stave off the pain. Lando follows the quick flick of your tongue.

“It can be,” you admit. You are many things but you are not unrealistic. There will be things Lando must keep from you, husband or not, for your safety and his. But you don’t think it to be too tall an ask for some modicum of honesty to be what the both of you default to. “I want to trust you. And I want you to trust me.”

“So you’ll be willing to divulge all of your family’s secrets then?” Steel underlays the playful tease in his voice.

You keep yourself from rolling your eyes but it’s a near thing. He is so dramatic. “You will be my family when we’re married.” An emotion you can’t place flits across his face. Filing it away for later, you point at him. “And you lied about something easy to disprove. I’d rather us not act like we’re strangers when I practically have a minor in Lando Norris and vice versa.”

He nibbles the granola from your yogurt. “A minor, huh? You’re that confident?”

You tilt your head. “Should I have booked a seafood restaurant instead for dinner then? I heard Mariana’s does an excellent salmon.”

“Ugh, no. They got that correct.”

You share a smile with him. The tension cracks, giving the two of you breathing room. “Look, I’m not asking for full discretion for the…unsavory parts. Just you know.” You shrug.

“A partnership,” he supplies.

You make a so-so motion with your hand. “Is that what we want to call it?”

“Well, I’m a bit of a romantic so…” His voice trails off suggestively. But the brightness in his eyes lets you know he’s mostly kidding.

You bite the bait he’s hanging so lowly in your face. Compromise is one of the commandments of marriage, right? “Oh, are you now?”

He nods slowly. He finishes off the parfait and now points the smeared spoon at you. “Just you wait.”

“Alright Romeo, let’s start with a date first,” you say, unable to keep from smiling. “I promised you that much, didn’t I?”

He slaps his hands against his thighs. “That you did. Steak wasn’t it?”

You make a face. “Boring but yes. Short notice and all.” You drop a couple bills onto the table before slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Ready to sweep me off my feet?”

“Born ready,” he drawls, standing up.

You don’t miss the flash of silver at his waist. The sweatpants don’t do a good job of hiding what’s hidden there but maybe that is the point.

He catches your wandering eye and extends a hand towards you. His fingers are callused and rough but it’s soothing to you. You’ve never known a soft touch in your life and Lando is no exception.

“I take care of what’s mine,” Lando assures you. “You won’t have to worry about a thing with me.”

His smile is all teeth.

It’s overwhelming to be the object of Lando’s desire you come to find out.

“Lando, not here,” you breathe, eyeing his closed but unlocked office door. His lips drag across your throat, open-mouthed and with a hint of teeth.

“I’m a newlywed I think I can be forgiven,” he says, rucking your dress up higher on your body. The edge of his desk digs into your thighs but you hardly notice as Lando traces his nose down your hammering pulse. “Or did you wear this—“ His fingers stop crawling around your hips when he realizes there is no scrap of fabric lying against your skin. He runs his hand over your smooth skin again as if to do a sanity check. “Oh, you’re such a tease.”

He looks up at you through heavily lidded eyes and you grin. With how voracious Lando’s appetite for you is, you didn’t think underwear was worth the chance he might ruin another pair of panties. You’re still mourning that hot pink set he ripped with his teeth.

“Didn’t feel like leaving you something to remember me by this time,” you quip, spreading your legs.

Lando groans, sliding his hand down your thigh until his fingers brush against you. “Fuck, you’re going to kill me,” he says raggedly. He nips at your throat, the bite sharp enough to leave the imprint of teeth. The pain dissolves as the fever in your blood heightens. He soothes the faint sting with a wet kiss, apologetic and unrepentant at the same time.

He sinks two demanding fingers into you with ease. You turn your face into his bicep, trying to keep yourself from gasping too loudly. Your teeth dig into the fabric as his fingers curl up, nudging a spot inside that heats your blood to an inferno. You whimper, urging him closer. Lust clouds your senses and makes his teasing touches torturous.

He drags his thumb across your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure cascading down your spine. The muscles in your thighs tighten and your knee hitches up to his side.

Lando huffs a laugh, blowing cool air against your sweaty skin. “Thought you didn’t want this,” he mocks.

“I changed my mind,” you say. Unbuckling his belt, you try to shove his pants down. An impatient whine accompanies you when he doesn’t make it easier for you. “Hurry up.”

He kisses his way down from your jaw to your chest, ignoring how you plead with him. His lips skate across your nipples, tongue darting out to circle them briefly before he drags that same traitorous tongue up the line of your chest.

“Stop being mean,” you whine, trying to push his head off of you.

“You like when I’m mean.” But he acquiesces, shoving down his pants.

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance and your stomach twists. The smooth head rubbing against your cunt has you faltering, reminding you of where you are. You almost want to tell Lando to wait but then he’s hiking your leg over his hip as he sinks into you.

A gasp is punched out of you as he stretches you around his cock. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, instead, choosing to press himself into you even further, reaching somewhere in you you didn’t even know existed.

Lando drives into you, his pace so rough that you can hardly catch your breath.

You moan, a broken guttural sound that Lando swallows greedily.

“You don’t want the others to hear, hmm?” he whispers against your ear. His fingers trail over you, featherlight and too much on your oversensitive skin. Yet, you arch into the touch anyway.

Warmth begins to build up in your belly and you feel it down to your toes. Lando slides his hands underneath your hips and yanks you forward, forcing you to take him down to the hilt.

Tears blur your vision. Your blood pounds so loudly in your ears you no longer hear the muffled sounds of Lando’s business partners outside. A shuddering sob of Lando’s name escapes your lips.

“That’s it,” he croons. “Just like that.”

Lando rubs his thumb against your clit, synced with his thrusts. Before long, you’re tightening up and coming all over his cock.

He loses his rhythm as you whine against the sensitivity. With his chest pressed against you, you can feel all of him tense up. He jerks his hips into you shallowly one, two times before you feel the telltale warmth.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he mumbles, resting his head against your collarbone.

Lando lifts your hand and curls your fingers so he can press a kiss against your wedding ring. And you think, yeah, this is a man you can learn to love.

The two lines weren’t enough to convince you but the ‘pregnant’ staring up at you is harder to dismiss.

You still rub at your eyes, hoping once your vision clears again, you’ll see the ‘not’ that is surely hidden. You wait a few seconds until your eyes adjust and the result does not change.

An anxiety induced nausea begins to curdle the little food that is left in your stomach.

You’re pregnant.

You’ve only been married for six weeks.

There’s a knock on the door. “Babe? You okay?”

You can practically hear Lando making the mental decision not to jangle the door knob though you know it kills him not to. Instead, he leans against the door. The wood creaks underneath his weight.

Somehow, you wet your throat enough to not have your voice crack as you call out, “Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.”

You put the pregnancy tests back into the box and shove it behind your pads underneath the sink. Carefully shutting the cabinet door, you stand up and wash your hands. Your motions are methodical as if it is someone else commandeering you to scrub at your hands and dry them on the towel.

You turn the door knob slowly, pushing the door outwards. Immediately, Lando gathers you into a hug when you step out.

“I missed you,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the underside of your jaw.

You return his hug, perhaps squeezing him a little tighter than you usually do. “I missed you, too,” you say automatically. You’re still processing the two lines and the definitive pregnant you saw. If you had taken only one test, you could have convinced yourself it was a fluke. But two tests from two completely different companies would beg to differ.

“You okay?” he repeats, pulling back so he can look at you.

You don’t know how to lie to him so you say, “Just a little nauseous, that’s all.”

His attention sharpens. “Nauseous?”

“Mm hmm.” You try to duck underneath his arm but Lando holds you back.

“Hold on,” he cautions, running a critical eye over you. “For how long?”

You rack your brain for an evasive answer that will suffice but Lando is like a shark scenting blood in the water.

“How long?” he urges. There’s something wild lurking in his eyes. It cuts a serrated edge to his voice.

You won’t look at him. “I mean,” you hedge. “A while?”

That doesn’t cut it. “How long is a while?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t keeping count!” you snap, throwing your hands up in the air.

“A couple of days? A week? Weeks?”

“Lando.”

He tries to smooth out the impatience in his expression. “My love, please humor me. I’m worried.”

You take a breath and count to ten. Running your tongue over your teeth, you try to remember the first time you felt this bone deep nausea that made you want to take your stomach out of your body. “Five days,” you say. “Now, can we go eat dinner?”

You aren’t hungry in the slightest. But a chewing Lando means there won’t be a talking Lando and you will take your wins where you can get them.

He looks like he wants to continue this frankly riveting conversation but you pout. It works more times than it does not and right now is no exception. He kisses his teeth and mutters an agonized, “You’re unfair.”

You force yourself to eat dinner. Your nausea clogs your throat, making each bite a monumental task as you try and listen to Lando recount his day. The food is heavy in your stomach, a leaden weight that you are overly conscious about.

Lando slows down in his complaints about Carlos. He puts his fork to the side of his plate. You find it hard to hold his attention for long.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Smiling tightly, you nod. Saliva pools in your mouth and you pray you’ll last the five minutes needed for Lando to finish eating. “Just been a long day.”

He doesn’t believe you but he’s always indulged you so he swiftly moves onto discussing the rest of his day. You nod at all the right places and ask him follow up questions. Lando becomes so engrossed in picking at your brain that his suspicions are temporarily set aside.

It doesn’t take long for him to finish eating and for you to make your escape, citing a much needed shower as your reason. You rinse off quickly and run through your night routine before Lando can sneak in. You examine yourself in the mirror with every conceivable angle and find your stomach looks as it always does. Your pregnancy is in its early stages but somehow, you are fearful Lando will know by simply looking at your bare stomach.

He joins you while you finish brushing your teeth. There’s a disgruntled wrinkle to his brows and if you were in the right headspace, you might ask him what’s wrong.

He leans his hip against the door frame as he watches you apply your moisturizer. The wrinkle deepens.

“You feeling okay?”

The nausea has finally settled but your nerves have not. A staticky energy buzzes underneath your skin. “Yeah.”

It has only been two hours since you found out and you don’t think you can keep this to yourself for any longer. God, you guys haven’t even discussed kids yet. Lando deserves a proper announcement but you can’t do that when you don’t know if he even wants kids this early.

But waiting will do you no favors.

“Lando,” you say. Your throat strains and you feel the pinpricks of tears beginning to fill your lash line. “I need to tell you something.”

He tips your chin up. Worry darkens his eyes when he scans your sickly face. Whatever he’s searching for he does not find given by the flex of his cheek muscle. A specific type of misery replaces his worry and it makes your stomach tangle into a knot to know you’ve put such an expression on your husband’s face. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t look like he’s keen on the answer but he smooths his hand over your jaw encouragingly. His shoulders straighten as if he wishes to brace himself.

“I’m pregnant.” The confession is clumsy on your too thick tongue.

For a moment, Lando doesn’t react. It’s as if the words have no meaning to him.

“You’re pregnant?” he breathes. Both his hands are placed against your cheeks, cupping your face gently. “You’ve taken a test?”

You nod, unable to speak. And then you hold up two fingers, hoping he understands.

“Both of them were positive?”

You nod again.

A bright grin spreads across his mouth. “I can’t believe it,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to your stomach.

“You’re not…upset?” you ask in a small voice.

He’s quick to snap his attention back to you. “Why would I be upset? Are you upset?”

You bite your lip. You haven’t given it much thought despite how you’ve spent the last hour on the brink of a panic attack. You want kids, that much has always been clear to you.

But you certainly hadn’t anticipated getting pregnant only weeks into your marriage to someone who is essentially a stranger. You like Lando, and in your private moments you can admit to yourself you will come to love him for who he is, but you don’t know Lando.

“No,” you say, testing how it makes you feel. It gives weight to the indecision warring within you so you try to remedy it by following up with, “It’s overwhelming.”

He strokes your cheekbone gently. “We’ll be okay. We’re probably better off than most.”

You cut him an irritated look. Your baby will be provided for but they will also be in danger for the unforeseeable future simply because of who their parents are.

It is something you’ve always known for your kids but you thought you would have more time to prepare for it.

He frowns. “Hey, you know I’d never let anything happen to you. Or our baby.”

“I know that. It’s just—“ You shrug helplessly. “It’s so soon, Lando. We barely know each other.”

He scoffs. “We know each other plenty. Our, uh, what did they call it?” He looks around as if the word will materialize in front of him.

“Courtship,” you offer, amused.

“Courtship! It was long. Longish,” he corrects sheepishly.

Considering how quickly both your families wish to secure this alliance, the period before your engagement was quite long. You’re reluctant to call it dating given that you and Lando knew exactly how it would end but it was a two month period you wouldn’t have been afforded if Lando hadn’t pushed for it.

He had been gracious with your hesitation, promising to go at your pace. For all of Lando’s lightheartedness, he had a maturity about him that surprised you. His patience endeared you to him and it didn’t take you long to stop pushing off the inevitable.

And now look at the two of you: married for six weeks with a baby on the way.

You think you are going to be sick and it has nothing to do with your pregnancy related nausea.

“How are you not freaking out?” You press your forehead against his shoulder.

Lando takes things on the chin. It’s something you admire and wish you could adopt into your own personality with equal finesse. Unfortunately, you are built to overthink and anticipate the worst case scenario.

“I don’t think it’s hit me yet,” he admits. “But when it does, I’ll still be just as happy. It’s me and you. We got this.”

Fear clings to you but it’s tempered by his confidence. “I’ll freak out for the both of us then.”

He laughs. The sound is pure sunshine amongst the doom and gloom you’ve held close to your chest the past few hours. “Don’t you always?”

You punch at his arm, if it can even be classified as that. He laughs again and lifts your head so he can kiss you. He’s smiling so much it’s hardly a kiss but it warms you all the same.

“Where are the pregnancy tests?” Lando asks when he pulls away.

“Behind the pads downstairs.”

His eyes widen. “That makes so much sense,” he says to himself. You look at him weirdly but he doesn’t notice. “Be right back.”

He’s out the door and down the stairs in a matter of seconds. You’d find it cute if he wasn’t literally going to go grab some sticks you peed on. But you also deprived him of finding out with you so you suppose it is cute.

You eye your box of birth control pills on the counter almost forlornly. You were supposed to start a new pack two days ago but with how severe your nausea has been, you didn’t bother taking them the last two days seeing as they would end up flushed down the toilet soon enough.

With a heavy sigh, you pick up the pack to throw it away. When your finger meets the frayed edge of the box, you pause.

You know you didn’t open this pack. You couldn’t have and yet, it pulls apart easily. Pushing the pack out of the box, your eyebrows creep to your hairline as you notice the first two days of pills are missing.

A hand disrupts your vision as Lando smoothly plucks the box out of your grasp and tosses it into the trash. You follow the box as it drops into the trash. The two punched out holes peek at you over the opened edge.

Unease knits itself across your heart. An unfamiliar tightness coils in your stomach, the sort that makes your blood curdle in your veins. Lando wouldn’t—he wouldn’t do this to you.

It would be much easier to convince yourself if a self-satisfied smile wasn’t currently curving Lando’s mouth.

“Guess we won’t be needing these anymore.”

this fic is finished. there won't be a part 2. thanks!

#Lando Norris #lando Norris x reader #Lando Norris x you #Lando Norris smut #formula 1 x you #Lando Norris imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 smut #formula 1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 smut #mafia!Lando Norris #dark fic #writing: lando Norris

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🐾 Il Pawdestinato

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Bianchi!Reader (fc. Alexandra) Genre: Comfort/Fluff Summary: A disappointing fourth place as Suzuka has your boyfriend feeling down. Maybe all he needs is a teeny-tiny surprise.

So this is that imagine that I've been talking about making. Sorry, it's taken so long. I hope you all enjoy and I promise I am working on the next chapter of Reputations. I just think that since it's a smaller fic, I could do an imagine and a chapter for the week. Let me know what y'all want me to do!

You internally sighed as you watched the red car with the number 16 cross the line in fourth place. Anger started to bubble below the surface and you had to turn around for a moment, hoping that the cameras in the garage wouldn’t catch the sneer on your face.

How hard was it to get Charles on the podium that his heart needed?

The tenth anniversary and it seemed to not matter to anyone except your family and Charles’s. But of course, it’s Ferrari. Can’t give their driver a decent car or a decent strategy. When Charles is ahead it’s race on if you’re faster. But if Charles is faster but behind it’s stay in position.

When were Ferrari finally going to actually put actions into their words? Or give their chosen driver the better strategies?

Your blood had almost boiled over at the very distasteful words of Damon Hill when he called Charles depressed and emotion during the weekend. Sorry, it’s not like his godfather or your brother had a fatal crash ten years ago. Totally not that.

Charles had to hold you back from seeking out the former champion when you watched the interview.

But now, you just had to be there for Charles.

Your hands held the helmet that the Monegasque would have brought to the podium with him if he had been up there. The helmet that should have been brought to the podium years ago if everything had been according to plan.

But ten years ago, fate had a different story: one that didn’t include your brother in the narrative.

Your high-heeled feet quickly took you to Parc Ferme to meet him there. You didn’t want to be too late. Multiple people in red parted for you as you made your way to the cars. The shiny helmet seemed to blind anyone who looked at it.

Charles took his time getting out of the car in the P4 placement. His heart was heavy as his head turned to look at the wrong Ferrari parked a few meters away. God how he wanted that to have been him. His eyes watered as he started to take his gloves off. He could see the tilt of Carlos’s lip as he gave his post-race interview. He despised the driver for it.

However, as he turned, a glint of silver caught his eyes. The Monegasque almost choked on his spit when he saw that you were holding it up. He all but ran over, trying to get there quickly before Max was called up.

Charles held out his hands when he got close, however he froze when you placed Jules’s helmet in his hands. His own helmet was still on, probably him trying to hide his own tears. Except, you had let yours run free.

You gave him a little nudge.

“Go,” was all you told him.

The Ferrari driver, now with helmet in hand, jogged over to the cool down room. The security around didn’t bother him, almost knowing what he was trying to do. He poked his head around the corner and caught a bit of the conversation.

“And you were struggling with tyres,” he heard Max say as he watched the Dutchman almost give Carlos a cold shoulder. Max’s eyes widened when he caught a familiar red helmet peeking around the corner. He cocked an eyebrow but walked over when beckoned.

“Charlie?” he questioned when he saw the Monegasque crying in his helmet. Max wanted to question him further, but something was thrust in his hands. He looked down in shock.

Charles shuffled on his feet a bit.

“Can-can,” he stuttered under the Dutchman’s gaze. He inhaled deeply. “Can you take this with you? On the podium?”

He shut his eyes tight, not even wanting to see if Max rejected his plea. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and he opened his eyes just a bit. He was confused when he saw that Max was close to tears as well.

Max gulped the big lump in his throat, taken back by what Charles was asking. If Max could, he’d switch with Charles in heartbeat.

He tried to give the brunet a smile, but it came out kind of crooked. Max clutched the helmet close to his stomach, careful not to accidentally drop it. He looked down at the silver detailing. The only thing lacking on it was the Ferrari emblem. His eyes widened a bit when he realized that this wasn’t just an extra helmet from Charles.

“I-I’m sorry I c-can’t bring it up myself,” Charles tried to justify, but he couldn’t get the words out.

In the back of the cooldown room, Checo’s eyes were trained on the pair. His eyes slid to the side only to find Carlos not even looking. The Mexican wished he could hear when they were saying, but the familiar helmet told him everything he needed to know. He watched Charles back away and disappear around the corner. Once the red-clad driver was gone, Checo saw Max stiffen as though he realized what this actually meant.

The second Red Bull driver got off the seat and walked over toward the Dutchman. He peered down at the silver helmet. He could almost hear Max thinking in the silence. Now he was the one to place a comforting hand on Max’s shoulder, as the Dutchman had done for Charles.

“He trusts you Max.”

Max only breathed in and nodded. They were quickly called to line up go to the podium. When the blond got to the top step, he made sure to hold the helmet where everyone could see. It was kind of like a testament to truly show that he was the wrong driver to be holding it on the top step.

His blue eyes tried to find green in the crowd below, but he failed. Max even failed trying to find you. He deflated a bit but still held his head up high. Max’s lips quirked when he heard P screaming from below in the arms of Kelly.

While Max held the helmet, really all he could think of is if he would have friends who’d hold his helmet in reverence if he were to tragically die. He’d like to think that Charles would race with a dedication helmet all race year long. He wouldn’t want it on Carlos’s helmet or Checo’s (but he knew that the two would do it anyway).

Even though he was missing green, his eyes did catch a wide smile. He was glad that Danny was there, knowing the Australian had been close to Jules during his time in F1.

Max had been so caught up in the anthems that he didn’t even realize that they had ended. Not wanting the helmet to get ruined with champagne, he quickly ran around to hide it behind the wall. He made sure it was stable before running back out to join in the celebrations. He knew that he’d have to give it back after, but for now, he could only receive sprays of bubbly.

Charles’s head had been buried in the crook of your next since he got back to his drivers room. You could only rub small circles on his back, trying the comfort the sad man.

“Why am I just never good enough?” Charles whispered into the silence. Your breath hitched when you heard the utter despair in his voice. “Can’t even get a podium for Julio.”

“Charles, it’s not you. Please, never think it’s you.”

The Monegasque only sighed and turned more into you. Your hands blindly reached for your phone. Once your fingers hit the cool case, you immediately grabbed it and started to plan something. You knew that the two of you were headed to Milan this week for sim testing and for the grand opening of LEC. But, you knew that you could make it even more special.

You grinned as you made the plans and sent over a hefty amount of money, but it’d be worth it.

Hopefully.

A knock on the door had Charles sitting up straight. He quickly rubbed his eyes before heading over to the door. When he opened it, he came face to face with a soaked Max, who had slightly sad eyes. In his hands was the helmet.

Max’s gray eyes swept over Charles before looking around the room. He gave you a smile when your eyes met. A quick nod of you head told Max everything he had to know. He turned his eyes back to Charles and handed the headpiece over.

There was some awkward silence before Max coughed.

“I’m guessing you’re headed back to Maranello?”

When Charles shook his head no, the Dutchman was a little confused.

“We’re headed to Milan first,” was all Charles offered.

You snorted at the short words from your boyfriend. Charles grew red but then offered a little more intel. “I have that ice cream thing.”

Max’s eyes widened when he realized that it wasn’t just a rumor or a joke. Charles made a face.

“I’m very serious about my ice cream Max.”

Oh, Max guesses he said that out loud.

The Red Bull driver snorted. “I wouldn’t doubt that Charles. Everything you do, you do it best.”

Now, Charles grew red (but not of embarrassment).

“Thank you,” he whispered, squeezing the helmet a bit tighter. You were still scrolling through your phone as they talked a bit more. You were just making sure that the place you were staying at had the correct accommodations for your surprise.

It was only when Charles got back into his spot on your chest did you realize that Max was gone. You turned your phone off and put your hands into his hair and started to scratch lightly. A content sigh escaped Charles as he finally melted into you. You leaned down to kiss his forehead.

“We have to get going or the flight is going to leave without us,” you murmured into his hairline. You had talked to Fred (more like demanded) about letting Charles skip debrief for the time being. The money in your bank account could pay for whatever expenses the Monegasque would be fined if he skipped everything.

In the plane, Charles had curled up to you once again. When you made sure that he was sound asleep, you got your computer back out. You finished typing out your email to Doni, making sure that everything was in order for when the plane would land. You just hoped that you could keep the surprise a secret for a little longer.

Knowing that Charles would be dead tired when you got to the place where you’d be staying for almost two weeks, you put him straight to bed when you arrived. He went down with little to no arguments and was sound asleep as you unpacked everything.

Pulling back the covers, you were able to slip in next to him. As you were about to fall asleep, Charles wrapped his arm around your middle and brought you closer. His lips met the crest of your shoulder before tucking his head back into your neck. You put your hand over his arm and held it tightly.

In the morning, you were woken up by the sound of a blender from the kitchen. You sleepily put your feet on the cool tile and made your way to the open room.

Charles had his bare back to you as he was slaving over frozen fruit and oat milk. He startled a bit as your cheek came to rest on his shoulder. Your lips pressed against your favorite freckle that stood out amongst the rest of the galaxy on his back.

“Good morning amore.”

You always loved his terms of endearment in the morning when his voice was still deep with sleep.

“Morning Cha.”

Charles smiled as he heard sleep still evident in your own voice. While he pressed the automatic blend button, he turned around to face you. Your eyes were still closed as you looked at him with a dopey smile. Charles couldn’t help but mirror it, even if you couldn’t see it.

He leaned down and placed feather-light kissed on your eyelids before moving down to your nose. The Monegasque always loved doing that as your nose would immediately scrunch after.

A whine left your lips, signally to him that he hadn’t kissed you where you wanted it yet. He rolled his eyes and stooped a bit lower, his lips finally finding solace in yours.

After three years, you still couldn’t get over the feeling of his lips on yours. Your hands slip up his arms until they locked behind his neck, pulling him closer to you. His own hands found themselves planted against the span of your hips.

It was just the two of you in your own little world for a bit, leaving you breathless when you finally parted, smoothie long forgotten.

Charles rested his forehead against yours.

You hummed, getting his attention.

“I have a surprise for you later today,” you told him. Feeling him tense against your chest, you knew he was immediately interested.

“Like, later today or in a few hours.”

“More like in a few hours. We have to get ready and then get going.”

You and Charles quickly drank your smoothies before you headed back to the bedroom to get dressed. Teasingly, you swung the keys around his face as you walked out to the car, claiming that you had to drive because he didn’t even know where you were going.

“You get to be passenger princess now my love,” you called as you climbed into the driver’s seat. Charles could only roll his eyes.

He would never admit it, but he secretly liked being the passenger every once in a while. It gave him the freedom to choose the music and not worry about getting one place to another.

Once the car got closer to the location, Charles had a sense of what was going on. He turned his head toward you once you pulled into the house. His eyes were sparkling (but you knew they’d get brighter once he understood why exactly the two of you were here).

Charles unbuckled with you following suit.

“Are we here to see Mimi?” he questioned as he held your hand, swinging it as you walked.

You were digging through your purse with your other. “Something like that.”

The doorbell was rang and Charles smiled at the sight of his friend.

“Hi mate,” he greeted, pulling Doni into a hug. You gave the man a greeting when you had the chance.

“Follow me,” Doni said, pulling you and Charles into the house. You could tell that the Monegasque was excited as he squeezed passed Doni and immediately went to pick Mimi up. You giggled, seeing your boyfriend turn into a literally baby for the small dog.

Seeing that he was preoccupied, you leaned over to Doni.

“Is he here?”

Doni smiled down at you. “We can go get him.”

You turned to Charles. “Love, Doni is going to show me a new painting that he’s been working on. I’ll be right back.”

The only response you got was Charles kissing Mimi on the head and waving you off. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be mad because moments later, your hands were full of puppy. You clutched the blond dachshund into your chest.

“He’s perfect,” you whispered, kissing the puppy’s head lightly, earning a little yap in return. You and Doni returned to the bigger room, still finding Charles enamored with Mimi. You snorted at the sight.

“Charlie,” you said, gaining the Monegasque’s attention for a moment. The minutes Charles’s eyes were on you, he froze at the sight of the itty-bitty puppy in your arms. He set Mimi down immediately, but the bigger dachshund wasn’t offended.

Charles gingerly stepped over and his hands hovered over the little puppy in your arms. His eyes met yours, silently asking to hold the tiny thing. You rolled your eyes and you gently set the unnamed puppy in his hands.

The baby dachshund looked tiny in your arms, but now looked even tinier in Charles’s bigger hands. The Ferrari driver held the puppy up to his face and was met with a wet tongue against his nose. The giggles that resounded out of the grown man made you melt inside.

After the right amount of attention was given to the pup, Charles looked at Doni.

“What’s his name?” he asked his friend.

Doni smirked down at you.

“That’s for you to decide love.”

It was comical with how big Charles’s eyes got when he finally realized that the puppy in his hands was his (well, you two would share him). Tears even welled up in his green eyes, making them look incredibly glassy.

You cooed at the two while stepping closer to put your hand back on the puppy. The little thing yawned and snuggled deeper into Charles’s hand. His head whipped up so he could look at you.

“I’m never putting him down you know that right? I’ll make him a little pocket in my race suit and he’s going to go everywhere with me.”

You snorted. “I don’t think puppies are built to withstand the G’s baby, but I’ll keep him company in the garage. He’ll have Roscoe to play with next year too.”

Charles stopped listening after you had said “baby,” his brain melting. Now, he couldn’t stop thinking about a future with you and an actual baby. That made blood go to different places and he needed to stop thinking about that.

Doni had walked away for a moment and came back with a piece of paper.

“You think of a name superstar?” the man asked, pen poised to write.

Charles held the British-crème dog up to his face and looked into the boba-like brown eyes. He hummed as he put him back down at stomach level, still not wanting to put him down.

“Leo.”

Now that you snorted. “You’re going to name our son after your rival?”

Charles paled once he realized and stuttered as he tried to make up an excuse. “Non, it’s like the LEC logo. The ‘C’ looks like an ‘O’ if you squint.”

You laughed but nodded at the excuse. “Sure amore, sure. But I think Leo Leclerc suits him. Little baby.”

Doni also laughed as he wrote down Leo’s name. “More like Leo LeHandbag because I don’t think superstar is going to put him down anytime soon.”

You turned back to Charles, but the man was already crouched down next to Mimi, showing off Leo to the older dog. You facepalmed.

“I am dating a literally child. First an ice cream line and now this.”

Doni smiled. “He looks happy.”

You sighed in content. That’s all you had wanted to do since Suzuka: make Charles happy. You couldn’t bring back your brother, but you could offer small hopes to the man you loved so dearly. Your eyes widened when you looked at your watch.

“Love, we have to go. Your launch is in an hour and a half.”

Charles pouted. “We’re bringing him right?”

You smiled softly. “Yes, let’s bring our son.”

The two of you said your goodbyes to Doni before heading out. Charles still wanted to be the passenger so that he could hold onto Leo for longer, knowing that he’d have to give him back to you once the launch started.

“I still can’t believe you named him Leo after Max.”

“He is not named after Max.”

“Sure babe. It’s definitely not like Roscoe being named after Nico Rosberg.”

“Wait. Lewis names Roscoe after Rosberg?”

“Yes Charlie. But it’s ok. I can be second best to your work-wife.”

“Max is not my work-wife.”

“Whatever you say. Il Predestinato now has Il Pawdestinato.”

“HE WON IN SPA, HE WINS IN MONZA!”

“I swear Charles, I will take him back.”

“LEO LECLERC IS THE WINNER OF THE 2024 DOGGIE GRAND PRIX!”

“I’m dating a child.”

y/n_bianchi has posted

y/n_bianchi little Leo Leclerc ☀️

liked by charles_leclerc, lestappenlove, y/nxcharlie, and 4,204,096 others

leclerc_fam oh my gosh he's so cutieeeeeee

i_want_y/n do y'all need another one? cause I can bark 🗣

charliesangels STOP DID Y/N GET HIM A PUPPY AFTER SUZUKA????

lestappenlove not them naming Leo after a certain lion rival

brocedes2.0 reminds me of lewis naming Roscoe after Nico Rosberg

lecluv ice cream, a puppy, and a gorgeous girlfriend - Charles is living the life 😭

roscoelovescoco yous is goings to haves to brings him to the paddocks so I's cans meets new friend! ♥️

y/n_bianchi of course roscoe! I can babysit so the dads can do their thing 🏎💨

lewishamilton can't wait to meet the son!

charles_leclerc he'll be at Shanghai ☺️

roscoe&leo they're going to be the IT dogs of the paddock

leolovescharlie imagine having formula 1 driver Charles Leclerc and Ceo of a multimillion dollar company Y/n Bianchi as your parents

maxverstappen1 I like the name! 🦁

y/n_bianchi i told him that you'd say something

charles_leclerc HE IS NOT NAMED AFTER YOU

y/nxcharlie it's cat dad Max Verstappen vs dog dad Charles Leclerc

iamred_iamyellow choose your fighter

y/n_leclerc I'm just waiting for when y/n is going to show up with a ring

ferrari_fan when I saw I got that dawg in me, best know I'm talking about Leo

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#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #formula one x reader #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #Leo Leclerc #when I say I got that dawg in me #it's Leo #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader #f1 x you #f1 x reader

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wonryllis · 2 months

Text

✶ 𝟭𝟳𝟳𝟱 (𝓥 ) SATAN'S IMAGINATION, AGENT ENHYPEN.

╰ 𝖠𝖫𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖭𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖵𝖤𝖫𝖸, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗇𝖾𝗋.

THE ATELIER. agent!enhypen hanging on that line between act and reality with agent!reader. word count 1261 CONTAINS— fluff, suggestive, fem!reader. ( ARCHIVE? ) pls reblog!!

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 he feels his breath caught in a dangerously thin line between staying professional and kissing the hell out of you, your body pressed against him between the narrow shelves.

he's probably at fault for blowing your cover earlier but all he can think about right now is the way the light through the windows make your glossed lips glow and your messy hair look sensual.

each inhale and exhale a battle against his self-control.

"do you think they noticed?" your voice sounds more tempting than ever in the low whisper you let out against his chest and heeseung swears he's fighting demons right now. "i hope not," he sighs heavy, feeling himself leaning into you, getting carried away as his conscience slowly slips and cracks.

lips almost brushing when you suddenly look up, wide eyes boring into his,"i think they just walked past," unaware and painfully oblivious of what your partner was about to do to you. of how he was ready to devour you.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆 with the biggest lovesick smile ever, jay watches you act coy in your character, gently excusing yourself to the washroom.

"act like you want me, but more like you love me," your soft words tingle his ear as you discreetly whisper to him just before you leave the dinner table. are you dense or are you just too professional? there is no way you think the look on his face isn't already giving away his feelings to all these people around the table you're supposed to fool.

he chuckles deep and smitten as he stands seconds after,"i apologize gentlemen, but my love needs my help," excusing himself as well.

with each step he takes towards you, he realizes the wicked idea you have in your wicked little brain.

his heart skipping beats and blood rushing everywhere when you throw yourself at him, dragging him to bathroom with your lips hovering over his making sure the targeted people get a glimpse of it and get the wrong idea.

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐔𝐍 jake grins wider as your palm presses flat against his chest first and then fingers curl to mimic a gun, your tips emulating a spark of electricity through his veins, feeling the blood pump harder in his heart.

"you better not take advantage of our cover to steal kisses, sim," it is crazy how he feels disappointed yet amused at the same time, you doing this right now is the hottest thing ever but you refusing to let him kiss you later is a tad bit upsetting plus you knowing he loves to do that has him dazed.

"can't promis—" his breath gets knocked out mid sentence as you grab him by his tie and smash your lips together in a sloppy and short kiss.

"that's is all you can have for the night, focus on the mission agent three,"

now that was hotter than the hottest thing you could have ever done to him, and you decide to do it right before work. oh how he wishes he had kissed back harder and show you just what you'd be missing out on later.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 his eyes scan across your rather overly feminine dressed figure amble over to him, stance seductive and alluring in the red cocktail gown he helped you pick hours ago.

"that was disgusting," he says as soon as you stop beside him.

he was glad the mission was successful and he was so glad he picked this dress for you. feeling a sense of pride that he has always been the first one to see you dolled up and that he has always been your date and that he has always been gotten to take you home at the end of night.

the only thing he feels jealous about right now is that while he has always been all that, it has always been the targets who get to feel you all up and who get to see your siren side showing them how it would be if you were interested in them.

"well it wasn't for you anyway, mr hotshot," you bite back and sunghoon almost breaks on the verge of exposing that he'd die for it to him, for you to seduce the heck out of him.

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐖𝐎𝐎 the hawk-like focus sunoo had on you seemed so normal to you both, you didn't even realize when it turned into something possesive and unfitting for agents just working together.

perhaps it was for the reason that you two had been paired up together for couple missions, or perhaps it was because you both trained together everyday. there was this sense of belonging you had developed, unaware of how it was changing things in your work dynamics.

"your gaze is so fake, come on baby i know you can give a more sultry one, remember our practice?" sunoo speaks through the in-ears, his eyes locked with yours across the other end of the vip club, watching you try to seduce the target.

the sparkle of tension crackling in the air as you held the eye contact, sunoo's ego blasting at the back of his mind knowing he's the only one who's seen the real thing.

"just imagine it's me, and finish it up so you can actually come back to me,"

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍 his gaze is envious and bitter, feeling his blood boil over the revelation you just made. "so you know him well?" the tone being one of grudge and spite, he continues to watch you strap on the weapons around you body. places under your dress where one would probably not have the chance to touch, unless it's him.

which amplifies his jealousy to a staggering height at the realization that the target you are chasing this time probably has touched you in those places before. maybe even more than he has.

the dismissive nod you respond with, makes jungwon's impatience fly through the roof, walking closer to trap you against the table where the weapons laid. "better than me?"

the air thickens with implication of his words, jungwon himself is unaware what the undertone of it means.

if it's how well you know him or if it's something entirely different, something that makes him want to leave kisses down your neck like he did the last time.

𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈 his breath is laboured as he helps you rush out the pool, your fancy dress drenched and heavy weighing you down more than he'd anticipated. quickly you both find a spot in the showers to hide, squeezing into a single booth.

he's brisk and sharp, giving you a hand in stepping out your wet dress into the latex suit underneath. letting you put your weight on him, your hands holding onto his body while you undo the strings and sleeves. the possibilities of getting caught are on high alert yet riki can't find it in him to focus on anything besides you.

the way you look so hot in your agent attire, your hair wet and sticking to the sides of your face making you appear so cute in contrast to you getting ready to fight men a step outside the door.

he has always found it so attractive, and the thought of admitting it openly just makes him more dazed.

his fingers reach out to push away the strands around your eyes and lips, thumb brushing a second longer on your lips, "i really wanna kiss you right now," he whispers into your ears, lips grazing against it softly.

taglist ( open. ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @eeunoia @nxzz-skz @shawnyle @potato0579 @enhastolemyheart @belowbun @ro-diaries

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stevenose · 3 months

Text

rocks off (18+)

contains: steve x reader; reader with a vagina + breasts; no gendered language used for reader; idk what their dynamic is they be fucking tho; stressed out and in need of an epic handjob!steve; praise (steve receiving); perv!reader; cumming inside 😳

a/n: this is a lot longer than originally anticipated - i hope you enjoy!!

The air shifts the moment Steve’s car is thrown into park outside. You can feel irritation radiating off of him already - though maybe it’s just the knowledge that he worked a double, and he’s just getting home at ten in the evening.

You frown at the door, brows creasing when he finally gets inside. He doesn’t look at you at first - doesn’t seem to notice while he’s singing under his breath, kicking his Nikes off and ripping his vest from his chest.

“Bad day?”

Now he looks, glaring at you under thick brows. He sighs and runs a big, tired hand over his exhausted, pretty face. “The worst.”

“How come?”

“Because,” he starts, eyes diverting from you again to put his shoes in their place, “I had to kick middle schoolers out of the porn section, I totally got turned down by one of our hot regulars, and I had to work with Keith for the last three hours.”

You hum, watching him walk towards the couch, collapsing on it. He sighs and lets his head fall back, the pretty crown of hair cascading backwards. His pretty neck is ripe for the taking, unmarked by your lips.

“What can I do for you?”

He waves a hand, nostrils flaring with his exhale. “Just need to relax.”

You hum again, watching him intently, seeing if he’ll get the hint. His pretty brown eyes are half lidded as he watches whatever is on the television. You lick your lips.

Steve glances over at you. “What?”

“I can help with that,” you say softly.

He smiles lazily. “You gonna knock me out or somethin’ so I can sleep for once?”

For the horniest guy you know, he sure doesn’t get hints. “I was thinking more, like, making you feel good?”

Chestnut eyes widen. He licks his pink lips, tongue running over his stubble. “What would that entail?” he asks.

You bite your lip, eyes drifting downwards towards his jeans, and then back up. “Could help you cum if you want,” you whisper.

You watch his chest rise and fall. “And how would you do that?”

“Must be so tired. Bet jacking off would make you feel better, huh?“

You hear his breath hitch, watch his cheeks grow red. “Uh-huh,” he says softly.

“And you shouldn’t have to jerk off that heavy cock by yourself. Right?”

He takes a moment to find his words. “Right.”

You smile at him, crawling down the couch towards him. You prop your thighs on either side of his, straddling him. His hands come up delicately to hold your hips, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows anxiously.

“Let me take care of you,” you whisper.

Steve nods, looks at you like you’re the creator of the universe. Eyes sparkly, features tired. His thumbs rub over your hipbones, just barely obscured behind a pair of boxers.

“Can you take your cock out for me?”

He nods again, eager to please. His big hands leave your body to free himself. You sit up, giving him room to push his jeans and underwear down to his knees. Then you seat yourself back onto his hairy thighs, eyes fixating on his cock.

You’ve seen it before but it never fails to disappoint. So thick and long and you’re so sure it would be impossible to impale yourself on. Curves upwards, has a few pretty freckles on it, tip as pink as his lips. He’s only half hard and you’re still a little breathless over it.

You run your fingertips up the underside of Steve’s cock, along a vein that protrudes from his tanned skin. He sighs, hands finding their way back to your hips.

“So soft,” you moan quietly, wrapping your hand around his shaft and pumping a few times, watching him get harder. “Do you usually use spit or lube?”

Steve sort of chokes, eyes widening. “Uh - um - i-it depends.”

You wonder why he’s so anxious. You know he fucks. You can hear it through the thin walls of your apartment - you’ve touched yourself to the sound of it. It makes you feel important, him below you with flushed cheeks and golden eyes.

“Spit okay for now?”

He nods. Watches with wide-eyed wonder as you bring your hand up to your mouth, spitting into your palm, then bringing it back down towards his dick. The moment you wrap around him he gasps, a long moan finding its way out of his soft lips.

“Feels good?” you ask softly.

“Mhm.” He moans it out tightly, the muscles in his neck straining.

“Yeah? Good boy,” you coo.

Steve’s cock twitches in your hand. Your grip is firm, no teasing, as much as you’d like to wait until he’s begging and crying for something from you. His breath hitches again as his dark brows knit together.

“Have such a big cock, Steve,” you purr. “Probably why you get turned down, honey. Too big to take.”

Steve sighs, his eyes fluttering shut, his cock leaking significantly.

“Mhm,” you continue, “bet it’s got so much cum to give too, huh?”

“Oh my god,” he groans, his grip on your hips tightening. “Y-yeah, it does.”

You bite your tongue, but you say what you’re thinking anyway. “Where do you like to cum, Steve?”

“Inside,” he pants, face growing redder.

Your stomach flips. “Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” He sounds so fucked out and it’s been two minutes.

“Anyone ever let you?”

He shakes his head. “Just - in a condom.”

You pout. “That’s not fair. Pretty cock like this shouldn’t be in a condom, Stevie.”

He’s panting, sweat glistening on his forehead. You watch him swallow hard. He’s speechless, doesn’t know how to react, but his cock certainly does. It pulses in your grip and you sigh dreamily, pulling away from him to stand.

“Where you goin’?” he asks, heartbroken.

You simply pull your boxers off before seating yourself back on him. Steve’s eyes drift downwards, and even if he can’t see much, he groans softly.

“Wanna see my tits?”

“Oh, please,” he whispers.

You throw your shirt off, too, naked on his lap now. Hand still stroking him in a steady rhythm. His hips rock into your palm as his eyes bore a hole into your chest.

“You can touch,” you goad.

His hands are so warm. You sigh as his fingers find your nipples, pinching them softly. And while he’s distracted, you move forward a bit, lift your hips, and bring the tip of his cock to your pussy.

Steve gasps just as you moan. His hands are back on your hips lightning fast, mouth hanging open. You rub his cock against your clit, your own mouth dropping with pleasure.

“H-holy sh-shit,” he breathes, hips bucking upwards involuntarily. His cock catches on your clit again and you sigh, arching your back, placing your free hand on the couch behind him for support.

“How long’s it been since you’ve touched a pussy raw?” you moan.

Steve whimpers. “I - I’ve never….”

“Should I stop?”

“No,” he whimpers, hips rocking. “Keep going, please?”

“Does it feel good?” His cock glides through your folds now, coating him in your cream. He doesn’t know where to look, but right now he’s fixated on where you both meet. “Bet it does. Feels so good for me.”

You spit on your palm again and take him back into your fist, jerking him off but letting the tip of him rub against your clit.

“And you’re good for me, Steve.” You lean forward, resting your forehead against his. He looks at you with adoration, eyes warm, honey-like. “Fuck, I want your cum. Can I have it?”

“Jesus Christ,” he moans, brows furrowing again. “Take it, need you to take it.”

“Want you to make a mess of my pussy, Stevie.” Your lips just barely brush against his. You ramp up the theatrics, moaning more, biting your lip and grinding your hips. “Wanna be the first person that feels your cum… want it so bad… wanna be a little stress toy for you.”

“Oh -!” He’s so turned on he can’t even finish his sentence. His face twists, panting, legs shaking under you.

And then - against your own better judgement - you bring the tip of his cock to your entrance. You’re entirely too tight for him but you still sink down just enough, enough to get half of the head of him inside. Steve nearly shouts, planting his feet and arching his back, his cock nestling a bit further inside. You hiss, but never stop jerking him off.

“Cum inside me,” you whine.

“Holy fuck,” he gasps. He has such a beautiful blush spreading down his broad chest. “Are - are you serious?”

You nod fervently. “‘s okay, ‘m on the pill, wanna feel you.”

Steve looks at you like you’re insane - because you are - but he never once attempts to stop you. In fact, his hips jut up a little further, burying the head of his cock inside of you deeper. The seal is almost certainly air-tight and your stomach flutters in delight.

“Be a good boy,” you purr. “Be such a good boy and cum for me, please Steve? Fuck, you’re so goddamn hot, honey. Don’t want anyone else having you like this.”

He nods, muscles tensing.

You clench around him and with one final stroke he cums. His hands grip the fat of your hips harshly - enough to bruise - and you have to follow his hips upwards to stop him from splitting you open.

“Good baby such a good boy Steve so fucking hot,” you babble, cunt pulsing. His cum spreads through you, hot and thick and it’s so goddamn much. Must’ve been backed up, hasn’t cum in a while. Really needed this.

You breathe against each other’s mouths as he comes down from his high, hands still clenching your sides. Steve doesn’t seem to want to let you go. Actually, it seems like he would love nothing more than to plant his feet and fuck his bad day right into your cunt. But he lets you lift off after a minute, watches with hooded eyes as his cum slowly drips out of you.

“That good for you?” you ask, pushing his hair back away from his sweaty face.

Steve swallows hard, nodding. “Really good.”

“Feeling better?”

He nods again. You can see his brain is trying to turn on again and you smile, kissing his forehead.

“Glad I could help.”

#stevenose posts #steve harrington smut #ns/fw #steve x reader

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tojisun · 2 months

Note

the way you wrote simon “my cock is too big it won’t fit” riley was jaw dropping, eye-rolling, and heavenly!!!

I’m imagining Simon who finally puts it in and is even more desperate than reader (cue male whimpering audio)

awww thank u so much!! i had such intense need that i bonked my head n went, “yup. this is the horny thought for the day” <333

oh but he was always soooooo desperate, even more so than the reader!! especially before they finally fucked!!!

thinking about the way he fucks his fist every night after your date ends :((

while you were at your home, stuffing your hole with your fingers (and toys, really—your eyes having devoured the chub underneath simon’s pants every time you two would sit close together, snuggled as you watched a movie, before rushing home and putting in on an order for toys because god do you need one. or four…), simon was locked in his room, messily fisting his cock.

there is too much lube, and it is staining his boxers and his pants because he was too horny to even strip properly. he bites down his moans, hesitant to let them out even when he is alone at his safe house, his eyes pressed close as he imagines the way he'll take you: on your knees while he pinches your nipples, flicking the buds with the blunt ends of his nails, or on your back with your legs folded to your chest because there is no way in hell that simon's not going to breed you.

it's that thought that always makes him cum, rumbled groans pouring out like rippling water.

“jesus,” he murmurs as he stares at his cum-stained palm, mind running at the way you clenched-and-unclenched your legs during dinner—something, he notes, was happening more often. “this is torture.”

(simon has always known how you look good in your own desperation, ragged in the way you stare up at him with furrowed eyes and lips jutted into a pout, but there was something different then. it was charged. primal. and simon realized how the ache must have peaked for you.

good, simon thought. i need you just as much.)

he slid two fingers in your twitching hole, relishing in your stuttered moans at the ease of their plunge. the wet squelch made his cock jump, thumping against his thigh, but he wasn’t done.

it wasn’t enough.

(simon has had countless partners before you, just like you had others before him.

you told him of the dissatisfaction, how cocks only ever breached your walls for the pleasure of the body it was attached to and never for your own. you told him of your elation that bubbled into sputtering disappointment because they never knew how to coax an orgasm from you with just their cock. you told him of the accidental orgasms, those that they cannot recreate because it wasn’t intended. sure, you told him of their wonderful fingers or mouths, of their robust laps you were grinding on during those days when sex is more foreplay than the penetration, but it wasn’t what you ached for.

you told him all of this, in return, simon told you the others who could never really fit him. the others who tried but they were never really interested in the preparation. the others who could only take half of his length, hissing when an inch slides in even when it shouldn’t.

“impatient,” simon murmured when you asked why his ex-partners couldn’t fit him.

“and they don’t have that…” he trailed off, tongue heavy in his mouth.

“they don’t have what?” you prodded, blinking at him all so darlingly, your blood buzzed with alcohol.

“they don’t have that masochistic streak,” simon replied, voice gentle. testing.

your only reaction was a quiet gasp, heavy eyes widening a fraction as the words settled in. he watched as you began fidgeting, throat bobbing at your dry swallow.

that was all simon needed to know you are made for him—soul and body.)

the moment your greedy hole managed to gobble all of his four fingers was when simon knew you were ready. he flicked his eyes away from your dripping slit and watched as you laid on the bed twitching, your eyes red from your tears, your skin dotted with sweat.

you looked like a beautiful, hot mess and simon was ready to engulf you whole.

simon slots himself between your legs, fist warm around his flushed cock. your glazed eyes focus on him, watching with open-mouthed gasps, and simon coos, unable to stop himself.

“ready f’r me, pup?” he asks, tapping the head of his cock against your sensitive sex.

it makes you keen, hips squirming, mussing up the already soiled sheets. simon chuckles, heat filling his cheeks, and taps it once, twice, three more times before finally lining the leaking head of his cock against your twitching hole.

the slow press in makes you two moan, bodies locking at the explosion of ecstasy that fills up your senses. overwhelming pleasure quickly razes through him, overtaking his sanity as the wet squeeze of your walls grips him deliciously.

he buckles, muscles liquifying, and the dizzying euphoria makes him stumble. he slips, his cock sliding in deeper, breaching further—

simon whimpers, unable to stop himself as unadulterated bliss grips him. he couldn’t help it: he sinks all of himself in you, your walls not even protesting as they swallowed him in, hungry in the way you are all filled up by him.

“si-!” he hears your delirious squeal, the rumble of your voice scratching into a ragged echo, and simon—

simon gurgles a response.

his mind has been zapped by the peaking high, rendering him unable to string coherent thoughts as all of his synapses sing nothing but the enveloping pleasure, running him on overdrive.

simon feels like he is being devoured. like he is stripped into nothing but his sensitive spots.

“t-too good,” he mewls. “pup, s’too good–”

#anon #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon and his big dick galore 🥰#ask #suns #I YELLED OMG SORRY THIS IS FILTHY

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hwaitham · 6 months

Text

𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𓈒 ˖ ࣪ 𝜗𝜚

al haitham x f!reader . nsfw — mdni . established relationship ﾉ dry humping ﾉ foreplay heavy ﾉ praise ﾉ finger sucking ,, :3c ﾉ cervix fucking + creampies ﾉ petnames [ darling + baby + sweet girl + princess ] ﾉ clit kissies ﾉ haithie is only a teensie bit teasing n' supa dupa sweet ᰔᩚ disclaimer tht this is a rewrite + repost frm m old blog ! !

“you’ll never hear the end of it if kaveh catches you with that.”

you paw at the thick book al haitham has laid over the thigh that you aren’t occupying, shying into his neck at the image painted on the cardstock page he’s flipped to— one of a man and woman adorned in fine jewelry, gold silks tumbling off their limbs as they embrace each other in what appears to be a rather compromising position.

you’re not exactly sure what's led your haitham— someone who has rarely ever indulged in the pleasure-oriented faculties of life— to pick up such a text about sex and eroticism as the kama sutra.

regardless, you can't seem to deny that the mere thought of him analyzing the images on each page, fantasizing about you and he bound together in such positions, limbs draped and damp and hot, is enough to coil your insides with anticipation.

“there’s far more to the kama sutra than just… fornication. it’s more so a guide to living well and the nature of love. a whole section is dedicated to finding a life partner—”

“awh, does that mean you’re gonna…?” you giggle, playfully wagging your ring finger in front of his face.

al haitham’s ears tinge red at your insinuation, but he carries on with the faintest of smirks on his lips that he’s trained to remain invisible. at least, invisible to you, “— and there’s another chapter solely demonstrating when and how to commit adultery.”

and just like that— your toothy smile turns to a frown, nose twitching as you anxiously toss your hair. “you'd better not be reading that chapter,” you mutter into the warm skin of his neck, lips curving into a weak, half-hearted kiss that you lay over his pulse.

it’s almost amusing to him, the prettiest pout on your lips and brows knitted taut as you try to hide your disappointment from him, turn your head away from his when he attempts to face you. “sweetheart, look at me.”

“no.”

“you child,” he huffs out a sigh, endeared to your petulance. shaking his head, he gently grasps your chin to hold you in place and lays an apologetic kiss atop the apple of your cheek. “i never said i’d be paying that part any mind, did i?”

"still..." bashfully, you pick at the jade of his breastbone, soft voice crackling with nerves that you forcefully keep lodged in your throat.

and al haitham can't deny that it's cute; it's very, very cute when you get like this.

he can't deny his heart leaping and stopping and leaping again until he feels the sweet burn of it at the back of his tongue, the strong pulse jumping into his head and the tips of his fingers and southbound of the waist of his pants.

it beats quickly, quickly, grows untamed.

such intense feelings are perhaps thought by most to be unnatural for someone like himself, but fitting, for someone madly in love.

so, al haitham does what his heart tells him to do— he sets the heavy leather-bound tome aside and leans over you, holding you down against the couch by the handles of your waist. hikes your thigh over his shoulder before lowering his face to the crotch of your panties, skirt pooling flimsily at your hips. “when a woman reproaches a man, but at the same time acts affectionately towards him, she should be made love to in every way,” he quotes from the kama sutra.

the warmth of his breath reaches through the thin cotton and your cunt begins to weep, clenching and oozing out slick in a silent plea for his fingers, his tongue— anything to relieve the weight of desperation that settles heavily on your stomach. and before your hips can involuntarily wiggle against his face in search of respite, al haitham is already tugging your panties to the side to place a sweet, lingering kiss on your clit.

you tremble at the sudden warmth, soft features overcome with a dazed expression as if that alone is enough to knock all the thought out of your pretty little head. “‘h-haitham, what’re you doing…”

“putting theory into practice.”

and then he’s licking up the length of your slit, collecting your sugary slick in the dip of his tongue before letting it dribble past his lips in a mix of saliva onto your swollen clit— giving it another kiss, and another, and then some— until your chest begins to heave with pitchy whispers of his name, candied with a burning behind your eyes from how badly you need more, all of him.

“patience, darling,” lips are replaced with a growing bulge as his face levels to meet your own, sapphire-tinged emerald dancing across your features, from the delicate pinch of your brows to the flex of your neck. al haitham presses into you deeper, your bare and puffy folds moulding to the shape of his cock through his slacks, drenching the fabric with your milky cream. "all in due time, now..."

his crotch catches onto your clit and in an instant, you’re curling your fingers woefully into the linen of his shirt, puffing out hot air against his jaw as you keen sweetly— haithieee, f-feels nice, feels... o-ohh...

oh, what a pretty, tender, needy thing you are— clinging onto his bicep and painting his ivory skin with crescents of red, every slow grind of his clothed cock against your achy cunt drawing another eager, desperate whine from your throat. and you only fall more lightheaded as he nuzzles into your ankle dangling off his shoulder, kissing the bone before making quick work to remove the noisy anklet adorning it, because all he wants, needs to hear are the sounds he coaxes out of you; all the pitchy moans and cute little hums are the most dulcet sounds to grace the earth, he’s absolutely sure of it.

“w-wanna… kiss…”

“what’s that?” he whispers against the inside of your knee, the swell of your breast, the hollow of your clavicle as he travels lipwards— covering every inch except the place you need to feel him most.

“i wanna kiss, haitham! lots 'nd lots 'nd lots...” you throw a tiny fit, and it’s nothing short of adorable when your tongue does a poor job of biting back your impatience. the uneven pout of your lips and the twitch of your nose have his veins aching with such a strong need to dote on you, tend to you until he rids you of the pain of your burning desire and all you’re able to voice is fifty different whimpers of his name. "i want a kiss on my lips, please?"

“oh, but if i kiss you here,” your haitham teases as he runs a thumb over the dainty curve of your mouth, stopping it at the swell of your bottom lip before releasing a strained laugh, chest knotted up with half-pleasure and half-pain, for all he wants to do is kiss and suck and lick and nibble the soft flesh— feed on it, even— and with a generosity wherein you’re ready to offer anything, everything, he’s almost positive you’d let him. “i’m afraid i won’t be able to stop.”

“don’t want you to stop… never ever,” your eyes are hazy with the light of the stars and you’re looking up at him with so much ardour, busying your lips with soft suckles on his thumb while he hastily frees his cock from the confines of his slacks. his gaze stays on you all the while because you look so pretty like this and your words settle in the deepest depths of his soul and he thinks he could just devour you whole.

patience be damned.

“never ever, hm?” he muses, eyes swimming with a shimmery pool of silver mirth. you shiver and twitch under his gentle hold, where he kisses the corner of your parted lips, nosing along your cheek to place another on your brow, a final one against the hot lobe of your ear. his breath fans over your neck as he teases your little cunt open with his leaking tip, and you feel him smirk against your skin when you obediently spread your legs wider to accommodate his size. “you wouldn’t be able to eat or drink anything ever again.”

it’s nearly tragic— the soft, dreamy lulls of your head, the cute whimpers of his name, the saliva that pools and spills around the thumb he pops out of your mouth— he’s barely gotten the flushed head of his cock past your tight ring of muscle and you’re already so complacent, pliable, perfect for him.

“don’t care… s’long as i have you,” you sniffle, fingers grappling weakly at the tufts of platinum and sage that curl around his neck, trying to lean up and bump your nose against his. “please, kiss me?”

and it’s in the way you ask him: with dew clinging to your lashes and a timid quiver to your breath that makes him submit all at once, because what kind of a person would he be to deny his lover when she asks so sweetly?

and just as al haitham’s lips meet yours, he’s reprimanding himself for not giving you a kiss sooner. because on your tongue he tastes the spice carried through the sumeru wind and zaytun peaches and all the fluttering pieces of romantic prose you eat and gosh— al haitham is the furthest thing from a poet— but surely, he doesn’t need any kama sutra to teach him about the love he holds for you in his heart.

he kisses you and kisses you and kisses you some more— smirking against your lips when you sigh happily and melt into the palms that smooth up your waist, moulding and shaping you into the perfect princess of his that you are. “pretty little thing, aren’t you?"

“uh huhhh, wanna be everything for you,” you respond wetly through the spit bubbling at your mouth and the blood that flows straight to your brain as he begins to fuck you languidly with his tip, watching your slick drip and ooze around the red, bulbous head.

he shushes your sobs sweetly, the pads of his thumbs dipping just at the edges of your eyes to collect any tears before they have a chance to be shed. “shhh— f-fuck— s’okay, you’re doin’ so well— doing so well for me. oh you sweet girl.”

you begin to pant against the hollow of his neck as he eases his full length into you, all the ridges and veins decorating his cock that you’ve come to memorize over the past months perfectly snug against the warmth of your delicate walls. his head falls forwards and his forehead bumps against yours, a harsh, erotic groan escaping him when your little cunt begins to squeeze and clench around his cock, sucking him in further, further, all the way until he’s knocking at the sponge of your cervix and his pubic bone is flush against your clit.

your hips jerk at the sharp pulses of pain and pleasure that build in your abdomen as he grinds into your womb— the sweetest, breathiest whines of h-haithie, ‘haitham, s’biiiig flood his brain because he’s deeper than he’s ever been, with the backs of your knees sticky against the bridge of his shoulders and your body quivering under him from how full you feel.

he does all he can to wash away the aching pinpricks in your tummy— slipping a palm between the couch and the back of your head to cradle it, pressing hot kisses to your forehead as he continues drawing his hips back and forth, back and forth, maintaining a steady rhythm with his cockhead as it slides against the sponge of your most sensitive parts.

and he continues fucking into your womb like this, thumb sliding in the thin space between his crotch and your clit to rub sloppy stars on the puffy nub, and— oh, it feels like heaven.

“feels like heaven?” he’s asking, charmed by your guileless wonder as you wrap your arms around his neck and meekly tug his face closer to yours, rubbing your nose against his cheek like a pet endeared to her owner.

"mhmmm, feel you here, haithie… in my tummy,” you giggle in ecstasy, at the thought of his cock twitching wildly in you and his cum filling you up there, hot and sticky and oozing like sweet milk down your thighs— you want it so bad; you want it everywhere— in your womb, dousing your skin and in every crevice, in your brain. to have him mark you with his seed as a physical manifestation of his love makes you think you might cry.

and you do, because you want him— all of him so, so bad.

you sniffle when you feel the tears rush down your face and al haitham can only groan at how overwhelming everything is: the wild pounding of his heart against his ribs and the starry night reflected in your eyes and your walls hugging his cock so tight like it loves it. “h-hey now, ‘m gonna cum if you keep sucking me in like that— o-oh, fuckkk.”

he’s worked you up to that soft, dreamy headspace— where you’re hiccupping on shallow breaths and your bambi eyes are glazed over with honey and the words come tumbling out of your pretty lips before you have a chance to think them through. “cum in me— pretty please, wan’ your cum in my tummy, wan’ it everywhereee—!"

it’s all so much, and it’s all too fast, because it’s only been a short while but your words send a glow of mind-numbing pleasure through his head, down his chest to his cock— and then he’s cumming— thrusts jerky before he plunges into you completely, spurt after spurt of thick white ribbon filling your womb, flushing your limbs full of warmth.

you’re right there with him as the head of his cock twitches and drags over that one spot nestled deep in your cunt and his thumb continues its assault on your clit, gravelly voice spewing sweet nothings into your hair while you mewl for him sweetly.

and it’s so pretty— you’re so pretty when you cry, so pretty when you cum— he tells you as he clears your face of any stray hairs before thumbing your tears away. the next few moments are silent and he takes them to admire you, the heave of your chest as your breath steadies, the almost doll-like pout of your lips, the precious way you suck your cheek in between your molars to defy the flustered grin that forms under the curious gaze of your lover.

“don’t hide from me,” he speaks to your lips as he gently tugs the skin free from between your teeth, the most tender smile gracing his face when you begin to giggle shyly, eyes beaming with starlight and mouth curved up like the most daintiest of petals. “so long as lips shall kiss, and eyes shall see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

another passage from the kama sutra, you presume. the delivery of the line, words thick and dripping affection like ginger molasses would’ve made you swoon if it weren’t for the mere fact that it was al haitham saying them. in a failed attempt to suppress the onslaught of laughter, you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, only for your lover to tut you with a playful roll of his eyes and a shake of his head.

“i... suppose such poetry is unbefitting for me, huh?”

your legs slot under his arms to wrap around his waist more comfortably, heels resting against his back dimples and fingers tracing hearts over the dips and grooves of his biceps. he’s picked it up as one of your habits— something you do when you feel particularly endeared to him. “you should leave the lovey-dovey stuff to me, haithie.”

perhaps you’re right, he tells you through bated breath— perhaps he’s the furthest thing from a poet, a romantic, but there’s no denying how you make him feel like he could compose the greatest love story in all the universe— and it’s silly, he thinks, how madly in love with you he is, how that love defies all sense of logic in his mind.

perhaps al haitham is the furthest thing from a poet, but if you were to tell him he was your world, he would tell you that you’re everything that makes the world good and beautiful and pure. tell him you’d die without him, and he’d tell you that he could still exist without you, but that’s all he’d ever manage to do.

but al haitham is a scholar, not a romantic, and such poetry is unbefitting for him.

right?

my early birthday gift frm me 2 u ^__^ i apologize for it only being a repost ,, i will try my vry best to post a new fic for our haithie over the winter break 🍪🥛 so please cheer me on & look forward to it ! ! !

#𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻 ⑅˚˖ ݁ ˓ ෆ #al haitham smut #al haitham x reader #alhaitham smut #alhaitham x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #haitham ❤︎

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