#and I could NOT have figured that out just by thinking about him
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GOT WHAT YOU WANTED
summary: you're rafe's best friend—kelce and top's too, but there's always been something more between the two of you. neither of you will do anything about it. clearly, the solution is to become friends with benefits.
now spinning: too many nights by metro & future
word count: 11.5k
warning/tags: kook trio reader, using jj to make rafe jealous, mentions of drugs/partying, jealous/possessive rafe and reader, smut !, rafe deals coke. tysm to @zyafics for beta’ing & helping me so muchh & @inimamea for being so lovely and supportive. tysm to all the lovely anons who have been supporting and loving this concept from the start, i hope u all love this ♡ (but sorry in advance if u don’t)
truth be told, you didn’t like making rafe angry.
it wasn’t fun for you, like other things were—watching your boys play golf while you lounged in the cart with the cold drinks, picking out a pretty outfit for the day, crashing on the couch at tannyhill with your head in rafe’s lap and feet over kelce’s legs.
those were fun things. what you were doing now, with jj, was something borne of necessity. you’re not a mean girl. you find it tough to be mean to anyone except rafe, actually, and only because he dishes it back and you know his feelings aren’t really hurt, but right now you were being mean.
to jj that is.
you smile at the blond boy seated next to you, the golden glow of the bonfire casting its warmth onto both of you. you laugh at another joke he makes, but only half-hearted, taking another sip of the beer he’d gotten you from the keg.
jj’s funny, he’s sweet too. it’s not his fault you wish you were seated next to your best friend instead of him, drinking a strawberry seltzer from the case that rafe keeps in the back of his truck specially for you.
“so?” jj asks, and you turn from staring at your shoes to look up at him. he’s looking at you with a smile, a very charming smile that you could have a lot of fun with, except you’re starting to feel bad about toying with him like this.
“so?” you repeat back, softly. he leans in a little to hear you. you feel a little warm at the action, but it could just as easily be from the fire.
jj’s nice—and you’ve always liked nice, preferred it to almost anything. every boy you had ever introduced to your trio had been nice, though rafe hadn’t ever cared. he’d hated them from the moment he’d laid eyes on them. you wonder now when you let him seep into your mind like this, with every other thought about rafe rafe rafe. somewhere in between accepting jj’s invitation to come to the bonfire with him and getting jealous over the fact that rafe was seeing some random girl.
“you didn’t tell your other boy about this, did’ya?” you look up at jj with eyebrows knitted, puzzled.
“other.. boy?”
“cameron.” now you really flush—you certainly don’t want jj to think rafe is your other anything.
“no, no. we’re not dating. we’re just friends.”
“right, okay. you tell him about tonight?”
“no. it didn’t come up.”
“ah. got it.”
“why?” you ask, and before you can look around, jj stares into the distance, gesturing with his eyes to a blurry figure.
“nothin’. he’s just been starin’ at us since we sat down, so i figured, but-” you stand up, looking into the distance where rafe was. you can feel yourself turning green with envy, red with rage, watching him stand next to the same girl he’s been with, her looking at rafe while rafe looks at you.
you sit back down on the log, wrapping a hand around jj’s arm and pulling him down to sit beside you. from this angle, rafe can’t make out anything but your backs, and maybe the lack of any real distance between you and jj.
“sorry,” you say, sweetly, almost having regained your wrath the second you saw the two of them standing together. “he’s crazy.”
“s’okay. not news to me, princess.” jj takes a pause, and you chew your cheek, trying to decide how far you were willing to take this. “you okay?”
“yes. why wouldn’t i be?”
“well, uh, it doesn’t take a genius. even though, y’know, i am one, to know somethin’s up.”
“no, jj, i promise, we’re ju-”
“just friends, yeah, i got it. i mean, i don’t know what type of friends exactly, but uh, i like you. and i’ll like you even if he has a problem with it. so up to you, really.” you glance up at jj, who is being nicer to you right now than you deserve.
and you hate it, hate every second of it. you hate how rafe makes you feel, how angry and jealous you get, the fact that you even started talking to jj when in the back of your mind you knew it was because rafe would get upset over it.
but you also hate what rafe’s doing, the girl he’s with and the way he’s with her, the fact that he brought her here and still won’t stop shooting daggers into jj’s head. in short, you hate all of it.
you lean in, resting your head against jj’s shoulder.
“i’m sorry. i don’t know what’s going on with him. but, he’s here with a girl.”
“and you’re here with me.” jj wraps an arm around you.
“yes, but not because-well, i don’t know.” it feels stupid coming out, but if jj thinks that, he doesn’t show any signs of it.
“s’okay. don’t always have to know.” you keep your head on his shoulder, enjoying the warmth he brings. “by the way, he’s still watching.” you smile, though you can’t tell which boy elicited it. “i mean, not gonna complain if i get to be your boy toy for a little but, nice to know you care-” you giggle, pulling away to put your drink on the sandy ground.
“you’re telling me you don’t want a sugar mama?” he laughs at your words and you relish in it.
it could be picture perfect—waves crashing in the back, the fire flickering in front of you, stars sparkling above. jj keeps his hand on your cheek and leans in for a kiss, and you find yourself leaning too, when the voice of your best friend breaks the silence. you pull away from jj to look up at rafe standing behind you.
“hey. we’re goin’. c’mon.”
“rafe-” you start, but you get interrupted. jj stands, facing rafe.
“hey buddy, we’re a little busy. but uh, i’ll make sure she gets home safe-”
“guys-”
“wasn’t fuckin’ talkin’ to you, pogue-”
“tuck her into bed, and everything. don’t worry your little head ‘bout it-”
“m’gonna knock your little head out if you don’t get the fuck away from-” having heard enough, you drag rafe away by his arm, your pretty nails digging in harshly.
“what the fuck was that, rafe?” you ask, though you feel the bitterness coursing through your veins. how’s that fair—that he parades his girlfriend around you, at the club and here at the bonfire, but you can’t so much as spend a moment alone with jj.
whatever reservations you had just held about using jj to make rafe jealous seem to have gone far away. instead you’re just angry—he wants his own girlfriend and he wants you without a boyfriend too. you turn to look back at the boy you left behind at the fire. jj gives you a thumbs up.
“how many times do i have to fuckin’ tell you to-to stay away from that pogue-”
“he has a name,” you counter, so defensive because jj was being nice to you even when he didn’t have to be, helping you even with no gain for himself. “and you can’t order me around, okay? you brought a girl here but i can’t talk to jayj? how does that make any sense?”
“stop yellin’,” he barks, grabbing you by the arm now, and guiding you away.
“why? afraid someone might hear us? like your little girlfriend? where’d she go, by the way, i bet she’s missing you right about now-”
“shut up. shut it.” you don’t realize how far rafe’s dragged you until you shake out of his tight grip, standing next to his truck on the street.
“i’m sick of this rafe.” it comes out quieter than you intend, tears prickling up. you hate crying, especially infront of the boys but even more so infront of rafe. “i’m not stopping my life and boys that i wanna see, and relationships i want to have because you’re not okay with it. not when you have your own girlfriend. it’s not fair.”
“i don’t. i don’t have a girlfriend.” you roll your eyes, he watches it happen with a tight fist, jaw clenching.
“yes, you do.”
“no, i don’t.”
“you don’t?” you question, unbelieving. “you just.. walk around with the same girl for weeks. take her everywhere. but she’s not your girlfriend?” you’re snarky like always—you still don’t know if he likes it or not.
“no, she’s not.”
“bullshit. at least get your fucking story straight, rafe. that girl’s probably half in love with you-”
“m’not dating her. and if it bothered you so much how come you didn’t say something, huh? you pull this shit with fuckin’ maybank instead?”
“i’m not pulling anything with jj.” you lie through your teeth, hoping rafe bites. “i-i like him.”
“no you fuckin’ don’t.”
“who are you to tell me-”
“you don’t like him. what you like is makin’ me fuckin’ angry. well, it worked. stay the fuck away from him. and get in the goddamn truck.”
you groan loudly, the noise almost a scream and filling the quiet street. but you comply, getting into the passenger seat and letting rafe drive you home—to your house, not tannyhill like every other night. when he pulls up to your house, you resist the urge to get out without saying anything at all.
“i’ll see you tomorrow, kid.” you sigh, looking back up at rafe.
“that’s it? you’ll see me tomorrow?”
“what else do you want me to say, huh?”
“are you just gonna ignore all of that? what the hell was that?”
“m’not ignoring anything-”
“so, i can’t see jj anymore. are you still seeing her? who am i allowed to date then? kelce? top? do you have a pre-approved list for me?”
“shut up.”
“rafe,” you sound serious, as serious as he’s ever heard you, shifting in your seat to look right at him. he looks back, his knuckles white on the steering wheel at the mention of you dating kelce or top or anyone. “i’m not gonna stay single forever. i know your alpha-male tendencies don’t agree with it, but girls have needs too. i want-”
“what? what do you want?”
“the possibility of getting laid without you screaming at every boy i talk to would be nice.”
“don’t talk like that.”
“rafe.”
exasperated, you unlock the door and climb out, not turning back to say goodnight. the last twelve hours seem like a blur, between texting jj and actually seeing him and rafe’s reaction to it. you’re not sure what kind of reaction you really wanted out of him, but you’re not happy with the one you got. you don’t know what, if anything, would have pleased you.
that night, you go to bed angry and wake up sad. jj texted you something but you can’t find the heart to look at his message yet.
you’re sure the boys have something planned for today, like they always do, but the idea of opening the groupchat to look at what they decided on makes you feel sick. so you stay home instead, showering off yesterday’s anger and wondering why rafe thinks you don’t deserve to have a boy in your life to fool around with, to date, to do anything with.
the answer, sharp and painful like the jagged end of a piece of glass, hovers in your mind. you try to push it away.
rafe’s wrong—like always. you really don’t like making him angry, like it even less that your routine is disrupted and that for the first time in a long time, you don’t want to see your best friends today. brushing your hair, the sound of your bedroom door opening snaps you out of your thoughts.
“c’mon kid. get dressed. top’s got tee time at two and we booked lunch before.” you turn to look at rafe but don’t budge. he takes a look at you—dressed in one of his old frat shirts and plaid shorts that barely peak out.
you look pretty all the time but it feels the worst, the hardest to deal with, when it’s just the two of you alone like this, none of the shit that you do for other people, for outside the house—the makeup, the hair, the nice clothes. when you’re pretty like this it’s just for him, since no one else gets to see you, no one but him. you probably didn’t even notice you were wearing one of his shirts—something that leaves him feeling more pleased than he should be. but like always, he’s not gonna tell you any of that.
“are you adding deaf to stupid?” he asks, and you roll your eyes, letting out an irritated huff.
“i’m not coming. go away.” you turn around on your vanity chair to face your mirror, continuing brushing your hair. rafe walks up behind you, staring at you in the mirror.
“c’mon. lunch is at the place you like. i’ll even talk to you when kelce and top are up.”
“is that your way of apologizing?”
“it’s not an apology.”
“of course it’s not. why would you say sorry? you probably don’t think you did anything wrong.”
“i didn’t.”
“mm-hm. when does rafe cameron ever do anything wrong?” you keep brushing your hair, staring at yourself in the mirror instead of at him. “psycho.”
rafe yanks the brush from your hand, spinning your chair around to face him. he boxes you in, his hands resting on the armrests. he’s too close to you, it makes his head spin. you wish he’d stop, you know he’s not going to. you watch with bated breath, wondering what’s coming next.
“i… didn’t mean to make you upset.” you keep staring up at rafe, blinking fast. “and i didn’t see it from your side. so, m’sorry. about that part. nothin’ else.” you can’t help the slow smile that grows on your face—rafe, apologizing, and to you of all people. you thought you’d never see the day.
“thanks rafe.”
“alright. get ready. truck’s still runnin’.” he pulls himself upright, freeing you of the restraint. you can hear the bass of the music in his car, the future song audible from your open window.
“that’s bad for the environment. and i didn’t say i forgave you.” snatching the hairbrush back, you resume your motions. you hear rafe groan and it’s hard to hold back the smile. maybe you did like making him angry.
“kid.”
“what? i heard your apology, and i don’t accept it. hope you girls have fun at golf-” rafe leans back in, holding your jaw shut between his fingers.
“do you ever shut up?” you shake your head from your position, though you can’t really move. “what’s it gonna take, huh? you want my permission to fuck ‘round? sleep with some, some fuckin’ nobody? some pogue? tough shit. you’re not gettin’ it.” he lets you go, and you rub your jaw tenderly.
“but you get to do it?”
“that’s different-”
“no it’s not! you’re just a dick. and sexist. who am i supposed to sleep with, then?” you shoot back.
“i don’t fuckin’ know, kid. me, i guess. at this point-”
“ha-ha funny. you’re an-” when you finally get up and look at him, he’s staring at you. “what?”
“yeah. that’s fine.” he shrugs, like he’s just decided something trivial, like what to order at lunch or which iron to use. “you can sleep with me.”
“excuse me?”
“yeah. yeah, it’s a good solution. that way you can stay the fuck away from maybank and any other asshole.”
“rafe. shut up.”
“think about it,” he says, and you fall silent to listen, though this is the worst idea you’ve ever heard in your life. “you get what you want. i get what i want. it works out.”
“how is being your pity-fuck remotely close to what i want?”
“sheesh, kid m’tryna help you right now. offerin’ you a solution-”
“rafe?”
“yeah?”
“get out.” you walk over the door, swining it open and waiting for him to step out.
“just think ‘bout it,” rafe says, standing by the door but not leaving just yet. “alright?”
“goodbye, rafe.”
you listen to the sounds—him walking down the staircase, the front door closing, his truck taking off. after you’re sure he’s gone, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding inside.
sleeping with rafe had been nothing more than a drunken thought that occasionally slipped into your mind when he’d be nice to you after some party. curling up next to him at tannyhill every other night certainly didn’t help, but that’s all it was—a thought, not reality.
then you wonder if it’s really such a bad idea. maybe if you just got out all of this pent up energy with rafe, and then worked on finding someone he actually approved of, it would be easier for both of you.
key word: maybe.
the idea that he’s still seeing that girl, the one he keeps denying is his girlfriend, makes you want to puke. he’d have to stop that, that would be part of your agreement.
maybe rafe’s right, maybe you both get what you want out of this, as messed up as it seems. it can’t be the worst idea in the world—kelce and top always joke the two of you are half a couple already.
you go to your closet to pick out an outfit for golf, hoping you weren’t about to ruin your friendship with your best friend.
.☘︎ ݁˖
rafe’s leaning against the bar at the club when you find him. you think he’s got a weird sixth sense, he always knows when you’re around, and he looks up before you’re even near him.
“i knew you wouldn’t pass on lunch. top owes me five bucks.”
“yeah. sure.” you put a hand on the counter to steady yourself—this is harder than you thought it would be. rafe takes a sip of his drink. you want to chastise him, tell him it’s only twelve-thirty and too early for drinking, but nothing comes out. your mouth feels dry and you almost want to chug the rest of his scotch. surprisingly, you refrain.
“what?” rafe asks, and you glance up at him, eyes locked.
“i thought about what you said this morning. what you offered.”
“and?” the bastard looks so smug. you should the slap the smirk off his face but you know what he’s thinking—proud of coming up with the idea himself, thinking he’s doing such a service.
“and.. better the devil you know and all that.” you wait for the other shoe to drop for a moment, for rafe to admit it was all a big prank and you fell for it, and now the boys owe him money or something.
“good. i agree. so should we get outta here, or what?”
“right now?” you question, eyes widening. “what about tee time?”
“you’re the only who’s so horny you’re on the verge of jumping pogues. m’just tryna help you-”
“shut up!”your face heats, looking around to make sure no one heard him. “by the way, between the two of us you’re the only one jumping pogues.”
“yeah, yeah. so not now, then?”
“a gentlemen as always, rafe. no, really, thank you, for showing me chivalry’s not dead.” you roll your eyes again, staring ahead at the bottles behind the bar. you don’t want to turn and look at rafe again, but you do.
“at this rate m’gonna have to show you what friends with benefits means too.”
“shut up.” it comes out like a hiss this time, narrowed eyes focusing in on your best friend and apparently, new fuck buddy.
“yeah, yeah. they’re at the table near the window.”
“thanks.” you walk in that direction, catching a glimpse of top and kelce, but your feet pause for a moment. you stay still, but glance back at rafe.
he’s not leaning against the bar anymore—he’s facing you, staring at you. blue eyes rake over your skin top to bottom, focusing on the pretty sandals and polished white toes, smooth lotioned skin, your short white skirt and tight golf shirt, with one too many buttons popped.
when you’re talking without ever shutting up, it’s hard for him to focus on anything but your glossy lips or long eyelashes fluttering when you roll your eyes. but now he’s taking it in—how easily you agreed to this little idea, how you talk a big game but you don’t seem as hesitant or upset as you were this morning.
you turn back and keep walking towards the table—rafe can tell you’re flushed. he’s fine with it, prefers it this way. anything’s better than you going on dates with strangers, showing them looks and emotions and other things that belong to him.
if you’re horny, all you had to do was tell him. downing the rest of his drink, he goes back to the table and like always, sits next to you.
kelce and top talk about the same old shit, until they focus their attention on you. you’re being quiet, not nearly as talkative or snippy as usual, and you haven’t said a word to rafe the whole time.
“and where’d you two go off to last night?” kelce asks, pointedly looking at rafe while he asks you the question.
“you guys know you left us stranded, right? we all came together. i mean i’m not saying self-absorbed but-” topper adds, but you cut him off.
“you’re really not one to talk about self-absorbed, are you top?” you shoot back, and kelce chokes on his water.
“easy,” rafe says, and normally you’d fire away something at him too, but this time you don’t. “we had somethin’ to take care of. but you got home didn’t you?”
“yes, but-” topper says, but rafe cuts him off again. you hold back a laugh.
“then shut up ‘bout it.”
“kelce’s mom had to pick us up. it was humiliating.” you snort into your lemonade, all four of you bursting into laughter. you turn to ask kelce a follow up question, and rafe’s staring at you while you laugh. something low in your stomach twists, like a butterfly trying to fly out and away.
when kelce and rafe start talking about the course today, topper leans in to say something to you.
“you’re getting mean. y’know that means you’re spending too much time with him.” you transfer your gaze from top to rafe, staring at the boy next to you.
the idea of what you would normally say floats through your head—something funny and earnest but still making top feel better, not saying sorry but making him laugh instead. nothing comes to mind.
“yeah. i guess i am.”
you sit through golf, reading your book in the cart while the boys play nine holes. your phone rings with a call from your parents about an hour in, and when you step away to take it, rafe follows you. the boys protest from the distance—it must have been his turn.
“you goin’ home?” rafe questions, and you jolt at the sound, not realizing he was right behind you.
“god. you scared me.” he doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring down at you. “yes, uh, mom wants me home for something.”
“you need a ride?”
“no, i drove here, remember?”
“oh. yeah. am i gonna see you tonight?” the words make you flush—stupidly, no matter how hard you try to fight it, knowing that they shouldn’t. the two of you are going to be terrible at this. “kid?”
“careful, rafe. you’re starting to sound like a boyfriend.”
“yeah. and we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
sucking in a breath, tearing your gaze away with pretty blue eyes that are looking at you like maybe that wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world, you’re at a loss for words again. before all of this drama, you could count the amount of times you had been rendered speechless by rafe with no hands—since it had never happened. still with nothing to say, you turn around and start to walk away. foot steps follow you.
“hey, hey. m’joking, it’s just.. a joke. how about i come over later? and we’ll talk about it.” you spin on your heels to face him.
“talk about it? talk about what?”
“our.. arrangement. y’know talk about it..” he tilts his head stupidly and you can’t decide if you want to slap him or kiss him. “..fuck about it.”
“okay! that’s it. bye, rafe.” storming away, you almost wish you hadn’t heard what he called out after you.
“bye, kid. i’ll see you later.”
.☘︎ ݁˖
at ten pm that night, freshly showered and somehow in another one of rafe’s shirts, you were back to where you were this morning—brushing your hair. rafe doesn’t knock on your door, just barges in.
“oh my god-”
“hello to you too.” he steps in, shutting the door behind him and taking a seat on your bed. you spin on your chair to face him.
“how the hell do you keep getting in here?”
“what? your mom let me in.”
“you didn’t even text-”
“i told you at the club. you have selective memory, kid.” he looks you over again. “nice shirt.”
“oh shut up.” you turn away for a moment, setting the hairbrush down, biting your cheek. “so?”
“so?” he repeats. he’s smiling, you can just tell.
“aren’t we gonna talk about our arrangement? that’s what you told me at the club-” you finish in a mocking voice.
“what else is there to talk about? you wanna get laid, i don’t wanna see you with random guys.”
“i still don’t understand what’s wrong with the guys that i-” rafe cuts you off, and he sounds angry.
“of course you don’t understand. you don’t have’t think about this shit, because i think about it for you. what’d you gonna do when some guy starts sleepin’ with you ‘cause me and top pissed him off once? or one of those pogues, huh? to get back at us? take some video of you and send it to everyone? brag and show it off to everyone?”
“oh.”
“exactly. so m’lookin’ out for you. this is better, trust me.” the thing rafe’s saying are making sense. you were on board anyways, but you feel better that there’s a real reason behind it.
“but what about that girl-” you ask, though you don’t know what kind of answer you’re expecting. rafe sighs.
“what about that girl?”
“are-are you gonna sleep with other people too?”
“no. m’too busy anyways. works out for both of us.”
“oh. okay. promise?”
“when have i ever lied to you?” you sigh, about to protest, when he finishes his sentence. “promise.” you feel strangely reassured, like this is a good idea.
“okay. thanks.” you dodge his gaze, playing with your manicured nails, pink this time.
“alright. get on the bed.”
“rafe-”
“what? i just said-”
“you’re not even gonna, like, take me out for dinner first?”
“who the hell d’you think paid for your lunch?”
“i don’t know.. kelce? he got lunch last week. should i go sleep with him next?”
“ha-ha. get on the bed.”
“ugh. you’re so crass. i don’t even know how you get any girls-”
“yeah, yeah. are you gonna shut up now or what?”
you can’t think of anything to say, so you finally follow his instructions, crawling into your bed and sitting up against your pillows to look at rafe.
you’ve see him naked before. he’s seen you naked before. with all the time you spent together on the druthers or at the beach, you should be used to seeing him like this. he yanks off his shirt, pulling it off with a fist in the back over his head.
the first sign that this idea wasn’t going to go as planned should have been now—feeling your breath catch in your throat at the sight in front of you. your best friend shirtless, getting closer to your bed. your eyes rake over tan, muscled skin and the silver chain glimmering around his neck. you don’t realize you moved, body sliding down and back flat against your mattress while rafe starts to lean across the bed, his hand planted next to your head.
rafe’s hovering over you. your breathing shakes for a moment, wondering if it would be this easy for him to do this with any other girl. you dismiss the thought when rafe leans in to kiss you, but it almost seems too wrong to let it happen.
“wait-” you move your head a little so your lips are away from rafe’s. “are you sure? you don’t think it’s gonna be weird?”
“stop bugging out, kid.” he says it low and quiet, and your entire body quivers from the sound.
“answer the question, asshole.” rafe laughs, his hot breath fanning across your cheek. you can’t help it, you laugh too, turning to look at him. you think he’ll be grinning like something’s funny, but your smile dies the second you lock eyes.
he’s not smiling, he looks as serious as you’ve ever seen him. he licks his lips, moving his eyes over your body, his shirt and your bare legs.
“you wearin’ anything under this?”
he moves one of his hands from your knee to your thigh, stroking the soft skin. you curl your leg automatically, head lifting to watch his hands and your entire body trembling under his touch—it’s hot and electric, making your heart beat faster and the hairs on your arm stand up. he looks up from your legs to your face, watches you shake your head to answer no.
“good girl.”
your head falls back onto the pillow when the words leave his mouth. a chuckle leaves his mouth, but still he’s not smiling, it’s more just a noise of pleasure than anything else. rafe sits up between your legs, hands grabbing onto both of your legs and stroking again. he makes his way all the way to your hips, fingers dancing over the waistband of your panties.
you think he’ll stop, maybe at least answer your earlier question, though you can’t remember what you had even asked him. he doesn’t, fingers swiftly hooking around the fabric and pulling them down your legs. you suck in another breath, angling your foot so they fall onto the bed while you keep your eyes locked on him.
“y’ready?” he asks, and you nod, though you’re not sure what you’re agreeing to. his hands go back to your thighs, pushing his t-shirt up to expose more skin. you tense up, but he keeps a palm on your knee. “relax.”
before you can anticipate anything else, he strokes your pussy, which is shamefully wet already, with two fingers, prodding the sensitive skin and gathering wetness. he does that laugh again, like he can’t believe what he’s looking at, and you try to shut your trembling thighs in embarassment, but rafe holds them open.
“rafe-” but before you can finish your sentence, two thick fingers plunge inside you, “oh my god—!”
“hah. good.” when he pushes his fingers out, just to slam them back in, your eyes roll all the way back, another loud moan emitting from your mouth, sounds he’s thought about a hundred times before but still can’t compare to the real thing. but of course, you don’t need to know any of that. “don’t get too loud. y’folks are downstairs, remember?”
you don’t seem to remember. when he picks up the pace, really just wanting to test you and see how much you could take, you start moaning even louder, sweet breathy sounds filling the room. they’re just for him, and normally he’d want you screaming, but he can’t arouse too much suspicious, or your parents won’t ever let him back in the house. his other hand, the one holding your legs open, moves to your mouth, clamping his palm over your lips to keep your noises quiet.
you must like it, you clench around his fingers and your walls flutter when he locks eyes with you, almost hunched over you to keep you quiet while still fucking his fingers—now three, though he didn’t realize when he’d added another—into you.
rafe’s hard, and he can’t remember the last time he was patient enough to wait to get his dick wet, but he likes you like this, not just shutting up for once, but eyes shut and face twisted with pleasure, whimpering into his hand, legs shaking in his grip while you’re wet around his fingers.
“rafe-” you mumble, the sound all muffled. “m’gonna, ohh-” he picks up the pace, shushing you while battering into your pussy, listening to the gasps and whimpers through his palm while you cum all over his hand.
limbs like jelly and throat dry, you lay there, catching your breath. your skin’s hot and flushed, and you stare at rafe while he stares at you.
“what?” you question, and it comes out quiet, soft, like you’ve done something you shouldn’t have. he’s thinking a couple of things, some of which have no business being in his head at all. do you always get this wet? who else has seen you like this? who’s gonna get to hear you moan the way you just did for him some day?
“nothin’.”
“oh. okay.” you sit up against your headboard, pulling your—his—shirt down to cover up a little. “well, thank you.”
“yeah. no problem.” for a second he hestiates—briefly concerned you want him to leave now.
“well? come on.” you’re trying to sound like you always do, a little irritated at him, a little snarky. he can see through it this time.
“what?”
“get the condom. you’re the one who said we’re doing it today.” rafe watches for a second, wondering if he should laugh or yell at you, when you pull off his shirt. he stares at you, not moving, wondering why he thought this would be a good idea.
he’s seen you naked before, changing in the same room or when you two lost all boundaries and started walking into bathrooms while the other’s showering, but this seems different. propped against your headboard naked, with your cum on his fingers, asking him to get a condom. now that he’s seen you like this, he has a new life mission of making sure no one else ever gets to.
“god, you’re such a boy.”
“shut up.”
“you shut up. you talked such a big game and now you’re just staring at my boobs-” he moves quickly, fingers on your jaw, actually shutting you up.
“lie down.” biting your lip, you comply, sliding down so rafe was on top of you. “spread your legs.” you move to do so, but rafe uses his hands on your thighs to pull them apart before you can. you can’t look at his face, it almost feels too weird, so you decide to stare at his dick instead, watching him roll the condom on with a puzzled face.
“what?” he’s been looking at your face the whole time.
“nothing. if i had known you were this big i would’ve asked a while ago-” rafe starts laughing, a real one this time, and you burst into giggles too.
“stop-” and he gets closer to you, lining himself up with your wet cunt, “-making me laugh. shut up.”
“you’ve said shut up like thirty times but you won’t stop talking eithe-oh!” he pushes in all at once, and all the breath leaves your lungs. you gasp instead, toes curling, feeling incredibly full, the disbelief that you’re full of rafe quickly fading away.
you should have known he’d be good at this, good enough to actually get you to shut up. he starts a slow pace, thrusting in and out and you look up to see your best friend’s face contorted with pleasure, heavy breaths in your ears and the scent of his cologne overwhelming everything. his chain dangles on your neck, tickling you, and you try to permanently engrain the feeling into your memory.
you attempt to stay quiet, though the slam of the headboard against the wall is a dead giveaway. rafe pushes all the way out and then all the way back in with another slam, and there’s nothing you can do but take it, clamping your hand over your mouth now.
he manhandles your legs into place, pressing them to your chest while he continues the exhausting pace. you can’t discern anything but rafe’s quiet groans and heavy breaths. you’ve just cum but it doesn’t take long for that hot feeling to wind up again in your stomach, toes curling and eyes getting watery. your moans are still muffled, but the way rafe’s looking at you is only making them get louder.
your bottom lip must be bleeding from the way your teeth have been abusing it. rafe moves your hand out of the way and leans in for a hot kiss, his tongue in your mouth and swallowing all of your noises.
with a final oh god, oh god, oh god, moaned into rafe’s mouth, you cum hard around his dick, eyes pressing shut and stray tears falling down, rafe’s lips not leaving yours.
you don’t know why—but you wrap your arms around his neck, keeping the kiss going. rafe pulls away for a moment to breathe and you open your eyes, staring up at him through wet lashes, licking your swollen lips, while he looks back down at you.
he leans in for a final kiss, groaning into your mouth while he spills into the condom, still thrusting in and out of your sore pussy.
rafe rolls off of you, resting on your sheets beside you. you try to catch your breath.
“you didn’t last very long.”
“and how long did it take ya to cum all over my fingers?”
“oh, whatever. where’s my shirt?”
“it’s my shirt,” rafe says back, finding the discarded clothing on the ground and tossing it on your chest. you sit up, sliding his shirt back on. rafe’s standing, pulling on his shorts.
“are you leaving?” you ask, and you regret it the second it comes out, quiet and soft like you want him to stay.
you do want him to stay, but you don’t want him to know that you do. it all feels very complicated and your thighs are aching, your throat dry.
“no.” he sits back down next to you, swinging an arm over your shoulder like he always does. you lean into his chest.
“you kissed me,” you say quietly. you’re glad your face is pressed into his side, you don’t think you could handle looking at his face right now. “and you were quiet. i didn’t expect that.”
“your parents are downstairs, remember?”
“oh. i forgot.” you realize after that you don’t want him to know he fucked you so hard you forgot where you were and who was home.
“is kissing off limits?” rafe asks, and you almost choke processing the sentence. things you never thought rafe would say to you.”
“no.. it was nice.” you pause, listening to the silence of the room and the thud of rafe’s chest in your ear. you’re no expert—though you fear you’re about to become one—but it seems faster than normal. “you want ice cream? or cookies? i made some yesterday.”
“no, kid. it’s fine.” you chew your cheek nervously. you want rafe to want to stay, not just because you asked.
“you can go.. if you need to.” you look up at him and then look back down when he meets your eyes.
“why? got nowhere else to be.”
“oh. okay.”
“turn the tv on. we’ll watch your stupid movie”
“really?” your face lights up, grabbing the remote on your nightstand. you open up the blanket at the foot of the bed, covering both of you while you try to find you’ve got mail. you go back to your position and lean against rafe’s warm body, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. it’s not unusual, he’s done it before, but you don’t miss the fact that he’s decided to do it now. you try to push away the warm feeling blooming in your chest.
“don’t ever make a joke about sleeping with kelce or top again.”
.☘︎ ݁˖
your tired muscles wake up to the sun pouring into your bedroom. the light shines on rafe’s still-asleep figure, but you knew it wouldn’t wake him up, nothing ever does. you don’t remember falling asleep, barely remember anything after rafe showing up.
and the part where you slept with your best friend.
a guilt-trip dangles on the edge, about to take over, when you push it away and focus on the text messages on your phone instead.
top: rafe can’t believe u bailed on cod. u better be dead in a ditch somewhere
kelce: maybe princess finally killed him
top: stop hanging out without us
kelce: top lets just pull up next time
you laugh, and rafe stirs at the sound. you give his arm a shove.
“you ditched playing video games for me? i’m so flattered, rafey.”
“shut up.” he grumbles. “go back to bed. s’too early for this shit.”
“it’s nine in the morning. and i have pilates in an hour.”
rafe turns over, and you can’t deny it’s nice to have him in your bed for once—it seems like you’re always sleeping at tannyhill.
“didn’t get enough exercise last night? you need more?”
you fake a yawn, covering your mouth.
“exercise? what exercise? i don’t remember that. you mean the boring sex?”
rafe sits up, facing you. you choke back a laugh.
“you wanna say that again?”
“uhh-”
“in fact, why don’t you try and get up? ten bucks says you can’t even walk to the door.”
“i can’t believe the two of us even fit on this bed with your gigantic ego-”
“don’t see you walking. m’waiting.” you toss one of your throw pillows at him.
“get out!”
“alright. i’ll say good morning to your parents on my way-”
“okay! wait, stay.”
“s’what i thought.”
“some way to say good morning,” you mumble, scrolling through your other messages—a text from your other friends about a party tomorrow and a reminder for your pilates class.
“you woke me up.”
“oh whatever. i was just surprised you skipped a video game for this. but i guess most boys would.”
“there’s not much i wouldn’t skip for you.” you smile at rafe, misunderstanding him.
“that’s so nice. are you saying i’m a great lay?” he rolls his eyes.
“i’m trying to- shut up. what’d they say?” he picks up his phone.
about twenty minutes later, after checking the hallway (and that too on wobbly legs, just like the smug idiot had predicted) rafe leaves. like always, he says he’ll see you later.
you fall on your bed and dwell on the fact that rafe kissed you last night. it’s hard to focus on anything else, and with every passing second, you think this whole thing was a worse and worse idea.
but he doesn’t seem to think that way. he seemed fine. he’s better at the no-strings-attached thing than you, and you don’t think he would have suggested it if he didn’t think you could handle it.
with that thought lingering, you get dressed for pilates and hope it’s easier to walk before you see the boys again. you find out that it’s really not.
after your class, you check your phone, finding messages from top and kelce. game night and pizza at kelce’s house. you’re invited, of course, but you shoot them a message saying you’re staying home with your parents instead.
the second you press send, rafe’s contact photo lights up your screen.
“rafe?” you answer it without even waiting.
“what, not comin’ tonight? you always come.”
“oh, um-” you pace around your room, trying to think of a lie on your feet. “mom and dad wanted to stay in. you know. game night.” the words feel stupid, though you hope he’ll believe it.
“okay. you gonna swing ‘round after?”
“no, probably not. um, i’ll see you tomorrow?”
“yeah, tomorrow. have fun, kid.”
“you too. tell them i say hi.”
the rest of your day flies by and it’s not long before you’re curling up in bed with a tub of ice cream. your parents went out to dinner with some friends, while you contemplated what the hell you were doing with your own friends.
you four always had a standing date on saturday mornings in the summer—snacks and a spin on the boat. if you don’t go, it’s going to be incredibly obvious something was going on with you.
you call topper while you pack your boat bag—grabbing the necessities the boys always completely forget about; spray sunscreen, an extra baseball cap, a book for you when you inevitably get bored of listening to them talk.
“what’s up?” top says, and you’ve made your way into the kitchen, pulling out fruit to wash and cut.
“what time are we going on the boat? and i’m bringing strawberries and mangoes, is that fine?” topper is the pickiest when it comes to the fruit—kelce and rafe will eat whatever you bring.
“uh, i think noon. call rafe, we’re taking the druthers today.” crap. that’s what you were trying to avoid. it feels crazy the second you think it—trying to avoid rafe. you need to get it together. acting like some love sick girl over your best friend feels like the stupidest thing you’ve ever tried to do. he must bring it out in you. “do you have any of those oranges? the little ones?”
“i’ll bring ‘em. listen, i need to get ready, do you know the time? i’ll just meet you there.” your self-realization is going to have to wait for another day.
“noon, yeah. i’ll text it.”
“thanks top.”
you start an internal monologue on repeat—stop being weird about it. he’s still your best friend. be normal. he is not your boyfriend. you repeat it, but still pick out the prettiest bikini you own, yellow gingham and held together entirely by straps you’ve tied into pretty bows. you throw on one of the boys’ button-ups that’s ended up in your closet somehow on top.
walking onto the pier, you hesitate in front of the druthers. you don’t hear any of the boys, and though nothing’s stopped you from getting on and making yourself comfortable, you wait for a second.
it’s like he knows. rafe steps out from the bridge, and takes one look at you, eyes flicking up and down your body and taking in the yellow fabric that’s barely covering anything, before offering you his hand to get on.
“hey.”
“hey.” you look around. “nice weather.”
“yeah.”
“kelce and top running late? he told me noon.”
“those two are always late.” he’s staring at you, and this time it becomes clear, that he’s looking at you the way a boy who has been inside of you looks at you.
“i packed mangoes. you liked them last time.”
“yeah, i did.”
“i just hope they’re sweet.”
“yeah. they probably are. sweet.” rafe keeps looking, and you turn around to set your bag down. “listen, kid-”
“it’s a great day. good weather.”
“you already said that.”
“oh.”
“would you stop and look at me?”
“no, um,” you start, emptying out your bag onto one of the seats. “sorry, i’m busy.” you feel rafe grab your shoulder, turning you around. he’s not as rough as he could be, like he usually is.
“you okay?” he asks, and you feel stupid.
“i’m fine.. are you okay?”
“yeah. but you’re actin’ weird.”
“well yeah, rafe. we slept together. it’s weird.”
“you were on board-”
“i was. i am,” you clarify. surprising even to yourself, you think you still are. “doesn’t make it not weird. imagine if you and kelce slept together. wouldn’t it be weird?” rafe’s face twists into a mixture of disgust and concern. “okay. bad example. sorry.”
“yeah. m’just saying, i wanna make sure you’re okay. but i don’t regret it if that’s what you’re afraid of. and nothin’ has to change.” hearing him say it makes you feel better. you repeat the words, tasting the feel of it on your tongue.
“right. nothing’s changed. you’re still rafe. i’m still me.”
“it doesn’t have to happen again, if you don’t want it to.” you stare up at him with crossed arms.
“why are you being so nice about it?”
“jeez, kid. what, you-you want me to be a dick ‘bout it? sounds like you’d prefer that.”
“no, just. it’s weird when you’re nice.” you look at him for a second before the two of you start laughing. “y’know what i mean.”
“alright. i’ll stop being nice.”
“thank you. now where are these two? i wanna read my book.”
“probably still sleepin’. played until-” rafe keeps talking, but you realize you’re only half paying attention. he takes his shirt off, and at the very sight of his chain sparkling in the sun, you realize you’re no better than the girls who chase after him. “what?”
“hm?” a little dazed, you look up from his abs to his face.
“you’re starin’.”
“oh. you think we have enough time before they show up?”
“time for what?” rafe stares at you while you stare at him. “oh.”
turns out he thought you did have enough time. you end up with your cheek pressed against the tan sofa in the cabin, body folded with your head down and ass up. rafe’s slamming into you from behind, and though it’s only the second time with him, you think there’s no pleasure in the world comparable.
from this angle he feels even bigger than yesterday. you feel tighter, or maybe it’s just the way your cunt is sucking him in, he thinks, thrusting in and out with his hands grabbing the fat of your ass, watching it bounce with every one of his motions. he has an urge to untie your bikini top, just so he can look at the expanse of the bare skin of your back, but he knows you’ll fuss if he does. he settles for shoving the thin yellow fabric of your bottoms to the side, yanking it so hard that you’re scared it’ll rip.
“be—oh—careful,” you get out in between moans, louder than the first time and louder still than he thought you’d be. he likes it more than he should. you already came once, but he wants to see if he can get another out of you.
“shut up,” rafe groans, eyes fixated on your perky ass, the one he’s stared at in hundreds of short dresses and tiny skirts, bikinis that he shouldn’t let you wear and panties he gets an eyeful of when you’re asleep in his bed. “jus’ take it-”
you keep moaning against the couch, head shoved in to muffle what you can, but it’s when you look back at him, turning your head to watch rafe slam into you with wet, lustful eyes, tired from how hard he had just made you cum, that he really can’t take it, finishing hard and fast while you let out pretty mewls that are still ringing in his ear.
he pulls out, adjusting your bikini bottoms to cover you up, though there’s visible wetness staining them. your inner thighs are shiny where your juices glisten. rafe has to tear his eyes away, you keep your legs clamped shut.
“you okay?” he asks, trying to catch his breath. you don’t speak, just nod. “c’mon.” rafe offers you a hand, again, and you accept, following him outside and into the sun, even though you’re so tired you could fall asleep where you were.
“thanks.” you say, wiping your neck of the sweat that has collected there. he watches you do it. “sorry, i don’t have a tip or anything. how about some fruit instead? call it even?”
“shut up, kid. m’not a hooker, you fuckin’ weirdo.”
“no, of course not,” you gasp, like you’d never suggest such a thing. “the correct term is escort, rafe. it’s all very american gigolo.”
“you watch too many movies.” but you still hear him laugh when the two of you step onto the deck.
“what’s so funny?” you hear top’s voice, freezing up. you catch rafe’s eye, before looking away
“nothin’, man-” rafe starts, but you start talking over him.
“just debatin’ how long it would take you idiots to get ready. got enough gel there, top?” rafe and kelce laugh while topper narrows his eyes at you.
your days are on the boat are always fun—the boys steer while you enjoy the breeze and the sun. you pass the fruit around and read your book—another romance beach read, of course. this one’s about two best friends falling in love. you can’t find the will to keep reading.
you tune in a conversation about a party tonight.
“are we going?” you ask, looking expectantly at the three boys in front of you.
“yeah. why wouldn’t we?” kelce says. you shift your gaze to rafe, who gestures to your thighs with his eyes. you clamp your legs shut, flushing.
“fun. what time?”
.☘︎ ݁˖
finding a little hard to walk straight after your little tryst on the boat, you switch your heeled sandals for a pair of sneakers for tonight. you smooth out your pretty blue dress in the back of top’s jeep. him and kelce are in the front, you and rafe in the back, pulling up to whichever family that was off-island’s mansion for the evening. the music was blaring, audible from even down the street, with two boys carring a keg into the house while top parked.
“are they celebrating something?” you question, staring at the crowds of people inside.
“yeah. the fact that it’s saturday night,” kelce answers, and you shove the back of his head from the backseat.
you hear rafe and top talking about something, though you can’t make it out. yesterday you thought, dreading when the boys swung by your house to get you, that it would be awkward to sit next to rafe and act like nothing had happened. surprisingly after the conversation this morning, you find that it’s not. he leaned over to open the door for you to get in, asked you how your class was, did the things he always did.
topper’s an idiot for boosting his wheels, and you’d told him as much when he showed you guys for the first time. getting down is a nightmare, even more in your sore state (which you are attributing to the pilates and not the boy sitting next to you right now).
you turn to look at rafe again but he’s not there, and instead you see him in your window, opening the door and offering you a hand to get down. rafe’s probably helped you down a dozen times. this feels different, you admit to yourself, holding onto his hand to get down and keenly aware of his other hand hovering around your waist.
inside, the party is in full swing, one corner by the windows with billows of smoke and a group of boys in another corner mixing drinks.
the four of you end up like always—divided into half on opposite ends of a painted pong table from someone’s old frat house. some girl top’s been talking to makes her way over, hanging off his arm before long. rafe watches you toss the white ball, your nose scrunching up in concentration. you cheer when it goes in, turning to hug kelce. you’ve only had two cups but you’re getting tipsy already, he can tell.
“top. top!” rafe shouts over the music, but he’s too busy talking to the girl to notice.
“man, he’s clearly busy,” kelce says with a laugh.
“i agree. looks like that one’s for you, rafe.” you look at him with a giddy smile, leaning forward on the table, palms pressed flat. he wishes you wouldn’t—he can see down the front of your dress from this angle. you cheer when rafe chugs the cup of cheap beer.
he should make the next one just to get back at you, but he doesn’t want you to get too drunk. instead he misses, the ball falling right into kelce’s hands.
if you were sober, you’d roll your eyes—you’d recognize that rafe missed on purpose. he’s better at this than all of you combined.
“give me five,” rafe says to top, casting one more glance back at you and kelce before walking towards a group of people on the couches and fishing something out of his pocket.
he’s gone, at most, ten minutes, and returns to find kelce missing. his place is taken by some brunette boy, who is currently trying to show you the best way to toss the ball. he’s standing awful close, a hand on your shoulder, his gaze on your exposed skin while you stare at the red cups.
“who the fuck is this?” rafe barks, though with the music blasting, only topper can hear him.
“i dunno, kelce ran off with that chick he’s been hooking up with-” the white ping pong ball lands in the red cup closest to rafe. he hopes he doesn’t look up to see something that’s gonna piss him off, but it’s dashed in seconds—you hugging the stranger in glee that you made another shot.
he swings around the table, shooting a glare at the boy while putting himself in between the two of you. he faces the boy first.
“get lost.” the boy tries to say something, but rafe interrupts before he can get a word out. “get. lost.” you watch him scramble away, rafe turning to face you.
“c’mon. we’re done with pong.”
“but i made the last one!”
“i said we’re done. y’lucky i don’t take your ass home.”
“we just got here. why would you take me home?” you question.
for all the big talk, all the jokes and banter and emotions you’re trying to bury, you still don’t understand the simple truth known to everyone that’s ever met you and rafe—he’s never going to be happy seeing you with any boy besides himself.
“what’s wrong?” you question softly, looking up at him with big, confused, drunk eyes, not snarky like he thought you might be.
“no. just.. stop talkin’ to strangers, s’all.”
“but he was nice!” you yell over the music, picking up another cup from the table and taking a sip. you hate beer, but they took top’s jeep and not rafe’s truck, so there’s no spiked seltzer here for you.
“no he wasn’t.” he takes the cup from your hand, pouring half the beer out into another cup before shoving it back in your hand.
“yeah he was! don’t you want that? the sooner i find a nice guy we can stop all of this, right?” you look at him earnestly, before chugging the rest of your beer.
“alright, you’re cut off.”
the rest of the night goes by the same as all the others—kelce and top into a competition to see who can get more drunk, you tipsy enough to talk loudly about anything that comes to mind and rafe scaring away any guy who stares at you for too long. you stare at rafe’s back when he goes to sell, watching a pretty girl touch his arm when he’s counting the cash she’s handed him.
you look away since you feel the beer coming back up, anger bubbling. you focus on topper, trying to follow along with his nonsensical conversation about his ex-girlfriend.
“don’t worry,” kelce says, and you turn your gaze on him, confused. “he didn’t even look at her.”
“what?” but his eyes aren’t on you, glancing behind you. you turn, though you shouldn’t, looking at rafe, two girls laughing at something while he opens the little white packet for them. glancing at kelce, and then at top, who is keeled over on the sofa, nursing a half-empty bottle of tequila just by himself, you walk over to where rafe is.
“wait, don’t-” kelce calls out after you, but you don’t listen.
“rafe, i think top’s ready to go. are you?” you interrupt his conversation with the two girls, and though you despise the fact that you’re doing this, you realize kelce was right. he wasn’t even looking at them. you gesture at your two other best friends on the couch, kelce trying to yank the bottle from top’s grip.
“yeah, kid. c’mon, this place is dead anyways.” you smile, though you shouldn’t let rafe see it. no, your smile is for the girls. you feel an unparalled joy when rafe swings his arm around you, guiding you back to the couch.
you shouldn’t look back, but you do. the girls look mad and you feel happy.
this is fucked—the very thought sobers you. you shouldn’t be happy that those girls think there’s something between you and rafe, but you are.
rafe manhandles topper into standing up, while kelce turns to talk to you. he’s drunk, and it comes out like a laugh. you smile, thinking he’s going to make some joke about top and tequila.
“you’re just as toxic as he is. hah. and i thought rafe was bad-”
“what?” you ask, but rafe cuts you off before you can figure out what kelce means.
“kelce, it’s your job to make sure he doesn’t puke in the back.”
“man, why am i always on top watch-”
in the car, you pick the music while rafe drives. you notice he keeps an eye out in the backseat, with top’s head half out the window and kelce texting on his phone.
“did you sell a lot?” you ask. you’ve never really mentioned it before, so rafe didn’t expect it tonight.
kelce’s words linger in your head. if you weren’t sober before he said that, you certainly are now.
“enough. why?”
“just wondering. i saw you before we left, that’s all.” you look at the road ahead, listening to the quiet tune of the bryson tiller song you’d put on.
“you saw me?”
“with the pretty girl throwing herself at you? hard not to see.” you regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth—you sound bitter and angry, two things you truly are, but you don’t want rafe to know already.
“what, you jealous, kid?”
“why would i be jealous? you’re not my boyfriend.” it comes out louder than you expected, trying to talk over top and kelce’s voices in the backseat.
“no, m’not.”
you bite your cheek and stare out the window.
“not to interrupt, or anything, but i think top’s gonna puke-” you jolt when rafe slams on the brakes.
tannyhill is fifteen minutes from where the party was, but it takes fifty minutes to get back. rafe pulled over twice to let topper puke on the side of the road, so it’s three am before the four of you get back.
you want to go home—the alcohol in your system and unfinished conversation with rafe have left you feeling queasy too, but it’s three in the morning. top and kelce are too drunk to drive you, and you don’t want to ask rafe.
you decide that you don’t want to be alone with rafe either, changing into one of the shirts you’d brought from home and stupidly looking down realizing it’s one of rafe’s. did you own a single t-shirt that wasn’t from his closet? where had all of your clothes gone?
grumpy that you’re in his clothes, upset that he had pretty much admitted he wasn’t your boyfriend, and riddled with the assumption that he meant he would never be your boyfriend, you collect a pillow and one of the blankets from his bed, walking out the door when you hear rafe’s voice saying your name.
“where the hell are you goin’?” facing him, you stare at your feet.
“the couch.”
“when have you ever slept on the couch here?”
“i’m starting something new.”
“get in bed before i drag you there.” you groan, thumping both feet on the ground before stalking into the room. rafe exhales loudly, loud enough that you hear it, before muttering something under his breath and following you inside, closing the door.
you sit on the bed, but before you can think about what you’ve done, you bunch up a pillow in your hand.
“you-” you throw the pillow at rafe, which misses him completely. “suck!” the second thuds against his chest, before falling on the ground. you huff from your position on the bed.
rafe picks up both pillows, dropping them on the bed.
“what the hell was that?”
“this whole thing was a mistake.”
“it’s been two days.”
“well i’m an emotional fuck!”
“yeah, i can tell.” you pick up the pillow again, whacking rafe’s side with it.
“ugh! you can’t just-” your hands falter, dropping next to you while you look up at rafe through wet eyes. “-just say that us sleeping together is a good idea because you don’t want me with any other guys. what the fuck am i supposed to do with that?”
“i don’t know! you’re the fuckin’ clueless one. what’d you think that means?”
“stop! just tell me! stop making me think, i’m so drunk and everything is mental gymastics with you-”
“well stop throwin’ my own pillows at me!”
“you suck, rafe. all of this and you can’t just tell me whether you like me or not?”
in hindsight, you don’t know where the question came from. maybe a small part of you that wasn’t willfully ignorant suspected a long time ago that the way rafe acts towards you is more than just overprotective friendship. you had buried the thought the second it emerged—rafe cameron doesn’t have girlfriends, doesn’t do relationships. the rafe that’s been your best friend was your best friend for that very reason, because you weren’t in love with him.
or at least you thought you weren’t in love with him. and at least, he thought you weren’t in love with him.
the truth, you’re beginning to realize, watching rafe grab the pillow you’re about to hit him with out of your hands and set it down, is that rafe only acts the way he does with you, and no one else. the drinks you like in the back of his car, his shirts in your closet, the bed you share and all the time you two spend alone. you thought it was a great friendship, and maybe it was. but all along there’s been something bubbling underneath the surface, the feeling in the pit of your stomach when he started talking to that girl, how angry you get when you see him with any girl that’s not you.
you thought rafe’s a dick for giving you such a hard time about any boy you try to talk to. he is a dick, but you’re the bitch that can’t stand seeing him with another girl.
and as the thoughts rush through your head, rafe looks at you in his bed, in his shirt, and realizes the answer to your question is that there’s no one in the world he likes more than you.
“you should have told me ‘bout the emotional fuck part.”
“you should have just confessed.”
“nah, not really my thing.” he sits down on the bed next to you, and you stare up at blue eyes that are looking at you, a smile on his lips. “this whole thing was a bad idea.”
“it’s been two days,” you mock.
“yeah, well, we tried it.”
“do you regret it?” you hold your breath for the moment of truth.
“c’mon kid. yeah, i do. ‘cause i’m not letting you out of my sight after this. you’re dating me or no one at all.”
“so if we break up-”
“straight to the convent for you. don’t worry, i’ll send you a care package. strawberry seltzer and those porno books-”
“shut up.”
“you shut up. and get the fuck into bed. it’s late.”
“you don’t want one last emotional fuck? on your last day as a single man?” you tease, crawling under the sheets.
“learn how to read a clock. it’s past midnight.”
“oh. whatever, you know what i mean.”
“i guess i can be convinced-” he leans in for a kiss, and you hold your breath waiting for it, when there’s a sharp knock on the door.
“guys. sorry to interrupt whatever the hell this is, but i think top needs to get his stomach pumped.”
#😭here it is#i am so nervous about this if you think it’s ass . i apologize in advance#kook trio reader#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader
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The Alchemy
Pairing: Logan sargeant x singer!reader
Warnings: Cursing
Authors note: recently realized that every time i include Logan in a fic, he gets points. That is me manifesting xx Not edited, ill edit later. Very loosely based on the alchemy by Taylor swift. This album has me in a chokehold. Also!! Tysm for 1k, I’ve been trying to think of something to do for that xx
Word count: 7.6k (took way too long, thanks Tay)
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“Do you want to go to the f1 race in Miami? Ferrari invited you.”
Your head snaps to your publicist who tilts her head with a questioning look on her face. You set your guitar down, putting an end to your idle strumming. It rests on top of your notebook filled with random lyrics and doodles.
“I didn’t know I was allowed to do that,” you reply, laying back onto the couch you were sat on, shifting to sit in the seat more comfortably.
Your publicist, Aimee, rolls her eyes at your response, clicking away quickly on her phone, “I mean, you’re one of the biggest stars in the world, you could technically do whatever you wanted. It’s just never been in your image to go to sports or whatever. But everyone is gonna be there.”
There it is, the real reason you’d be allowed to go to a race was to be amongst the famous people that Aimee would, no doubt, want you to mingle with. Mingling wasn’t your strong suit.
“Ill think about it,” you give her a tight-lipped smile which she hums in response to, sliding out of the room without another glance at you.
The second she's gone, you collapse against the leather couch, eyes locked onto the ceiling of your studio.
The real reason you wanted to think about going to the race wasn't because Aimee only wanted you to go to get good pr but, instead, it was because of your own personal connection with one of the drivers.
You'd met Logan a year ago at the previous Miami Grand Prix. Noone knew you were there and you had intended to keep it that way before you ran into the driver.
You got in fairly easy, Mercedes VIP pass wrapped around your neck. You were close friends with Lewis who promised he could get you in and out with it still remaining a secret. You had your jacket hood up above your head, hair pulled back away from your face and a pair of sunglasses resting on your nose.
You hadn't thought about how many people you knew would be there. Your eyes stayed trained on the ground for the most part, hoping that it you didn't look up, no one you knew would notice you.
Because you weren't looking where you were going, you didn't see yourself run straight into a taller figure, landing against his hard chest.
Both of you stumble back a bit from the impact and you immediately open your mouth to apologize to the man in front of you but when you look up, the words die in your throat. Your eyes trace the features of the blond man, soaking up every little detail of his pretty face. You can tell he's muscular through his blue t-shirt and your breath catches slightly.
He's speechless when he sees you as well but for a completely different reason. You may not have been in your flashiest clothes or have your usual makeup or hair but anyone with a brain could recognize you if they actually bothered to look. Your music had been everywhere for so long and Logan would be lying if he said he hadn't had a crush on you for the longest time.
When you look up at his face and see him gaping slightly in an attempt to make sure you're actually you, you grasp his hand and start to pull him along before he can blow your cover. You pull him along until you reach a quiet corner, quickly pushing him away from the eyes of other people.
He leans against the wall behind him, crossing his toned arms across his chest and you find yourself gazing again.
“So,” he starts, voice filled with humor, “What is Americas sweetheart doing at a Formula 1 race... Undercover?”
You roll your eyes but cant help the grin that starts to form from the mans words, “I'm not actually supposed to be here.”
“Oh and that's why I got dragged into a dark corner?” the man asks, grin splitting his pretty face.
You laugh but don't catch the pleased look on the man's face, “Yeah, sorry about that. Didn't want anyone to, I don't know, mob me or something.”
“I get it,” when he says it, you can't help but believe he really does get it for some reason. For all you knew, this man might just work PR for…you glance down at his t-shirt to check, Williams Racing!
“Well, thank you for cooperating…?”
The man raises his eyebrows at your questioning tone, “Logan.”
“Thank you for cooperating Logan. I know a lot of people that probably would've fought me for grabbing them like that.”
Logan laughs, head leaning back against the wall gently as the noise leaves his throat, “Its no problem. Are you in the Mercedes garage today?”
You nod at his words, glancing back out to make sure the both of you are still hidden from the outside, “Lewis said he could sneak me in.”
“He didn't do a very good job, then. If I found you out,” Logan grins, leaning away from the wall.
“Maybe not. But you're not gonna tell, are you?” you tilt your head teasingly at the blond, eyes crinkling with the weight of your smile.
He laughs again, sticking his pinky out between the two of you, “I won't, pinky promise.”
You giggle and Logan decides its the only noise he cares to hear from now on. You stick your hand out as well, wrapping your pinky around his and the two of you just stand there for a second, gazing toward the other.
But eventually, both of you seem to remember that there were time-sensitive events about to happen just about 10 meters from where you're stood. You break away from him, smile stuck on your features.
He walks away first, his grin replicating yours. He turns toward you as he walks away, pulling a hand up to wave goodbye slightly as he slides out of the corner.
“See you later, y/n,” he smirks before disappearing from view and something in you tells you you will be seeing him later.
You hurry to the Mercedes garage, having told Lewis you were there 15 minutes ago. He ushers you into his drivers room, telling you that you could chill there until the race started, only a slight bit of concern for your previous whereabouts written on his face. You don’t tell him you think you’d just fallen in love with some random teams random employee, deciding that was a bit too off topic for the currently rushing Lewis who was practically running around his room trying to get his stuff together. He wasn’t stressed since he was, of course, Lewis Hamilton, but this was the most frazzled you’d seen him
“Ill be back before the race starts,” Lewis nods toward you while he opens the door, things clutched in his tattooed hands.
“Have fun, Lew!” you call out, collapsing against his couch the moment he leaves.
You pass the time scrolling through your phone, scribbling random lyrics into your notes app and trying not to fall asleep. Lewis comes back quick enough, sneaking you into the garage with your hood pulled tightly over your hair and sunglasses sat firmly on your face.
No one spares you a second glance and if they do, they know better than to question Lewis Hamilton.
Your eyes are drawn to one of the screens above you, the drivers all stood out in a line together for the national anthem and your eyebrows raise when they land on a certain blond man. Right in front of your eyes, Logan is stood in Williams blue and white next to his teammate as the national anthem plays behind them.
Oh, that cheeky bastard.
Well, at least you now knew where to find him after the race. When the race starts, you try your hardest to stay focused on the Mercedes and cheer for Lewis but you can’t help but let your eyes trace the path of a certain blue car instead.
When the race ends and Logan’s in p8, you find yourself anxiously waiting for Lewis to get back so you can dip. You bounce passively on your heels, fingers picking at the fraying edge of your jacket. The Miami sun beats down relentlessly, making sure you stay safely in the shaded garage.
Lewis gets back quick enough, having not been on the podium this race. You give him a quick hug and a congratulations, telling him you’ll text him if you ended up wanting to get dinner later. You didn’t give him a concrete dinner plan since you had a feeling you’d be busy later.
You practically sprint out of the garage in your effort to find Logan before he leaves, missing the confused look you leave on Lewis’ face as he watches you run.
You honestly had no idea where the Williams garage was but when you see the familiar blue, you stop in your tracks outside the exit. You lean on the wall just outside the door, hoping no one will see you as they leave.
A driver in orange passes you, Oscar maybe, giving you a perplexed look as he walks by. You just dip your head farther, hoping he didn’t recognize you. Or worse, think you’re some kind of stalker.
But before the kid can call any security or ask you for a picture, a familiar laugh sounds out as someone opens the door next to you. You glance up and see Logan exiting and you reach over and grasp his wrist. Logan looks up to see you, his infinite smile seemingly stretching even wider as he see your concealed state.
“Hi, y/n,” he laughs dopily, abandoning whoever he’d been walking out with. You glance over his shoulder to see Oscar with his eyebrows furrowed and you pray any of his concern had disappeared when he saw Logan’s positive reaction.
“Hi, Logan,” you smile back, pulling him away from the garage and hopefully away from anyone at all, ending up in a corner not dissimilar to the what you had pushed him into earlier that day, “Congrats on the points. Can’t believe I thought you worked PR or something.”
He grins again, carding a hand through his sweaty hair. Your eyes trace the fireproofs he hadn’t taken off yet, trying not to ogle the muscles under the shirt.
“Thanks, I’m pretty sure both parts of those are compliments?” your eyes snap back to his and away from his chest. You can tell from the smirk on his face, he had noticed your stare and you try your best to control your blush.
As you two stand in the corner quietly for a moment, you’re surprised when Logan’s the one to break the silence.
“Do you want to get dinner later?” Your eyebrows shoot up in shock at his confidence but they quickly settle as you smile softly.
“I’d love to.”
Logan grins once again, shoulders obviously relaxing at your response, “My phones in my room… or I’d get your number.”
You laugh slightly as he leans back against the wall behind him, his own blush covering his cheeks as you giggle.
“I’ll go with you,” you state simply, shrugging your shoulders and watching as his own eyebrows raise.
“You sure?”
You laugh as he leans closer to you, “yeah I’m sure, Logan. I’ll give you my number and you can send me dinner plans and we can have a great time. Celebrate your win.”
“I didn’t win,” Logan’s face looks somewhere between a grimace and a smile. His hands moved to wrest against his hips. Right where his race suit was also sat.
“You got points. Close enough to a win in my book,” you shrug, smiling big.
Logan laughs loudly, head leaning back against the brick wall behind him and your own laugh joins his, creating a chorus of joy that wasn’t to common on these parts of the paddock.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll text you then. Come on, I need to shower,” he says to you, returning the previous favor by grasping your wrist in his and pulling you along to his drivers room. When he starts walking, you slide your wrist out of his grasp and intertwine your fingers instead, pretending not to see the grin that splits his face.
When you get to his room, you quickly put your number in his phone before exiting. As much as you wish you could’ve stayed, you had places to be and if you were going on a date, you'd need a few hours.
Logan texts you the minute you're in the car back to your place and you grin stupidly at the words on your screen, texting back quickly.
The date goes well, Logan being a perfect gentleman the whole time. He had picked a nice steakhouse he had no doubt been to a couple times growing up, considering you knew how he’d grown up. You had definitely not pulled his Wikipedia up the second your feet hit the floor of your room.
He sips his wine passively, much more interested in the stories you were telling about being on tour and the time one of your backup dancers had accidentally hooked up with one of the drivers. He offers to cut your steak for you and you let him, simply because none of your ex’s would have ever done something as small as that. He reads the dessert menu to you, asking the waiter for a second fork when you order the chocolate cake despite your objections about having your own slice. You both laugh but you shake your head when he offers to get a different piece. He picks up the bill despite your protests, sliding his card into the check and handing it back before you can even attempt to grab it from him. Then he walks you back to the car, arm around your shoulders as you try not to trip in your heels. When he drops you off, he moves to walk away from your doorstep but you’re quick to grasp his wrist, pulling him in and slamming the door behind the both of you.
That had been a year ago and you were still in love with Logan.
A year of Logan sneaking you in and out of the garage and a year of coincidentally scheduling tour shows to line up with race weekends. You’d released two albums about him. Not even your own manager knew who the songs were about. The only person who knew about the relationship was Lewis, who figured it out pretty quickly when you didn’t text him to get dinner that very first night. He was actually quite helpful in getting you in and out of the paddocks all across the world. He was pretty private to begin with so no one asked him many questions about where he was sneaking off to.
It’s not that you didn’t want to world to know about your relationship. It’s more that it was nice to have something you loved be private for once. Every boyfriend you’d ever had was inevitably mobbed by fans every time they stepped outside. Not that you were too empathetic. Half of your ex’s were contractually obligated to date you by your agency and the other half just sucked as people.
Logan was the first boyfriend you truly loved and got to choose to be with every day. Also, if your agency found out you’d secretly been dating someone and sneaking around for a year, you’d never hear the end of it and you’d probably get dropped for breach of contract, or whatever.
You didn’t tell anyone else on the grid. You would've but Logan dissuaded you after telling you that none of them could keep a secret for their lives.
So, the second Aimee left the room, your first calls is to Logan.
“Hey baby,” Logans voice echoes across the phone. You can hear a bit of exhaustion in his voice and recall him telling you he was about to work out, “Whats up?”
You can't help the heat that rises to your cheeks at even his simplest words, “Hey, are you free to talk?”
“Yeah, yeah, just finished working out with Benny,” He replies, and you car hear the beep of a car unlocking and the door opening before closing, “Everything okay?”
You hum, shifting in your seat, “Yeah, I'm fine. Aimee just asked if I wanted to go to the Miami gp with Ferrari.”
There's a few seconds of silence from Logans end of the phone before he responds, “Do you want to?”
“It’d be nice to go and not have to hide in the back of Mercedes,” you sigh, weighing the pros and cons, “But I don't want to go with Ferrari.”
“You can't pick the garage?”
“I’ll try but I feel like Aimee will just stick me in whatever garage she wants me in,” you sigh again, sinking dejectedly into the couch, “Not sure I'd get much of a choice.”
“I’d love to have you there,” you can hear the slight smile in his voice and you laugh warmly despite your previous annoyance.
“Ill try and convince her. I'll see you there Logan,” you smile, sitting up in your seat. You fiddle with a piece of your hair, glancing around the small room you're in. You weren't super confident you could convince Aimee but if Logan wanted you there, you'd try your hardest to get in the Williams garage.
Logan laughs, “See you there, babe. Love you.”
“Love you too,” Logan hangs up and you smile, tossing your phone down next to you. You're quick to pick it back up though, texting Aimee to ask if you can be in the Williams garage instead.
When the day of the Miami GP arrives and your stood in the Williams garage, its as much of a surprise to you as it is to everyone else. You had spent the past month trying to convince Aimee to let you sit in Williams instead of Ferrari. She had spent the past month telling you that it’d be better for your image to be in Ferrari.
You hadn't told Logan you’d be in his garage since, until that morning, you didn’t know you would be. You weren’t initially sure what made her change her mind but when you entered the garage and saw several celebrities almost more famous than yourself, it made sense. Of course she’d only agree to get you to be seen interacting with more a-listers. Jokes on her, though, because instead of staying in the garage for the next few hours, you decided to walk around. You were actually hoping to find Lewis in something other than a dark corner for once.
On the other side of the paddock, Logan had ended up in Ferraris hospitality after Oscar had dragged him along to meet up with Lando who was meeting up with Carlos who was meeting up with Charles who was meeting up with Max. So, in the end, Logan felt out of his element.
He chair sat slightly away from the others as they all talked about Miami, a place that Logan honestly didn’t have much to say about anymore. Maybe if someone asked, he’d say something. But he honestly wasn’t feeling it. He’d be more enthused if you were stood in his garage instead of Charles’, cheering him on. But, no, Aimee had you stuck in the red and yellow.
“Did you guys hear that y/n l/n is here?” A Spanish accent rings out from across the little circle of chairs, causing Logan’s head to snap up.
Lando’s head shoots up as well, eyes locking onto Carlos’, “You’re kidding! I love her!”
Carlos nods his head at the Brit, grinning widely, “Yeah, I heard some engineers talking about her earlier!”
Max snorts, shaking his head in disbelief, “If she was here, one of us would’ve seen her already. She’s not in either of our garages,” Max gestures between him and Charles who’s sat with an agreeable look on his face, nodding at Max’s words.
“I’m gonna ask around. If she’s here there’s no way I’m not giving her my number,” Lando laughs, already looking around for someone to interrogate. Logan has to hold himself back from rolling his eyes. Although it was weird Charles hadn’t seen you. Maybe he’d just left before you’d arrived.
“You sure she’s even single, mate?” Oscar asks the brunette man, laughing slightly as he turns around toward the Aussie with a smirk on his face.
“She hasn’t been seen with anyone in like a year and a half and there’s definitely no shortage of men in love with her. I’m about to jump on that before anyone else here snatches her up,” Lando laughs again, standing up from his chair quickly almost as if he’s about to sprint out but suddenly Lewis appears beside the little group, catching Lando before he can.
“What are you guys doing?” Lewis asks with a raised eyebrow, eyes surveying the group before they stop on Logan. Logan glances away from the older man quickly, choosing instead to stare at the ground.
“Talking about y/n l/n. Apparently she’s here and Landos so in love with her that he’s about to sprint out and find her. I’d want her number too but Lando seems more passionate,” Carlos laughs and Charles nods along with a grin. Lewis’ eyes land back on Logan with a small smirk gracing his features.
“Yeah but we’re not sure she’s even here, we all think she would’ve been in one of our garages if she was here,” Max continues, gesturing toward his fellow drivers. Logan has a sneaking suspicion he meant every garage beside Williams.
Logan grins again, pushing Lando softly back into his seat. Logan can feel the man’s gaze on his lowered head as he respond, “Well, she’s is here. She’s in the Williams garage.”
With that, Logan’s head snaps up to meet Lewis eyes and the eyes of all the other drivers move quickly toward Logan who’s too busy looking at Lewis to sink under their piercing gazes.
“She’s looking for you,” Lewis nods at Logan who’s quickly to stand from his seat, six pairs of eyes on his back as he turns away.
“Shit,” he mumbles under his breath as he starts to walk away from the group, his movements quickly turning into a run.
Back in the little circle, Lando sits with a pouty look on his face while everyone besides Lewis sits with incredulous looks on their faces. Lewis sits proudly, a small smirk on his face. Oscar is the one to break the silence.
“What the fuck just happened?”
Logan reaches the garage quick enough, hearing whispers of your name echo between engineers and PR workers alike, all mumbling about your surprising presence in the garage.
He jogs lightly over to Alex, slinging an arm around the taller drivers shoulders. The man turns away from the conversation he was having with Lily, furrowing an eyebrow at the weirdly exhausted American.
“What’s up mate?”
“Have you seen y/n?” Logan says through labored breaths, eyes tracing every corner of the building in search of a sign of you.
Alex shakes his head, glancing back toward his girlfriend, both with matching confused looks on their faces, “Nah mate, apparently we’ve just missed her.”
Logan groans dramatically, sliding away from Alex and moving toward the exit once again, correctly assuming you must be looking for Lewis. Alex turns back to Lily whose confusion mirrors his.
“What was that about?”
“No idea.”
Logan’s once again jogging through the paddock in search of you, praying he gets there before Lando can thoroughly weird you out or flirt enough to give you trauma.
His heads bowed to shield himself from the Miami heat so he doesn’t see himself run straight into someone. He reaches out to catch whoever he’s just thrown toward the ground and when he looks up he’s met with your pretty face. He’s honestly never been more relieved to see someone.
“Hi,” you smile softly as he leans you back to standing, arms still wrapped gently around your torso.
“Hi,” he laughs, out of breath from his jog. You both stand and stare in each others eyes for a moment, adoration in the air between you.
“That felt quite familiar,” you break the trance, laughing as his arms finally move away from you in order to keep a little decorum.
Logan barks a laugh, hand moving to run through his blonde hair as he glances toward the ground abashedly, “Yeah, except this time, you’re not pulling me into a dark corner.”
You glance around at the bustling people around you, realizing how little you cared about people seeing you interact. A weight feels like it’s been lifted off your shoulders at the fact you don’t have to hide your conversations around here anymore. It actually felt quite freeing.
“Yeah, it’s nice,” you reply, smiling as sunlight hits the side of your face, eyes not catching the loving stare Logan is sending your way as you bask in the Miami sun.
Logan grins, eventually pulling you away from the sun as he grasps your wrist. You lean into his side slightly, keeping a reasonable distance for people to think you’re just close friends. You’d already talked about how mad your agency would be if they found out you were dating. So you both agreed interactions in the paddock would be kept to platonic.
But as much as you tried to keep them so, you could only do so much. It was hard to keep the love out of your eyes as you stared at Logan, eyes tracing the side of his face. Anyone with eyes could see how gently he held you, with all the love and care in the world.
As you arrived back at the Williams garage, Logan kept walking and pulled the two of you back into his room as quietly as he could. Shutting the door gently behind him. As soon as the doors closed, your hand is wrapping around the side of his face and pulling him down to meet him in a gentle kiss.
He smiles into it, arms wrapping around your shoulders as you walk the two of you back to the couch, both flopping down onto it. You lean back against the arm rest as he lays against your chest, the exhaustion of a race weekend finally catching up with him.
“Go to sleep baby,” you say quietly, fingers carding through his sun-bleached hair, “You’ve got more than a few hours. I’ll wake you up when someone comes to get you.”
Logan hums half-heartedly, eyes already closing as he shifts to sit against you more comfortably, sleep quickly overtaking him. You scratch his head passively as he sleeps, almost petting him as if he was a golden retriever. You slide your phone open, mumbling lyrics and rhythms under your breath. You mange to type a few verses into your phone with one hand, occasionally having to pull your other hand away from his head momentarily. Every time you did, though, he’d shift in his sleep and your hand would go right back.
It’s a few hours of this before anyone comes to disrupt his nap, the door sliding open without a knock. Your eyes catch Alex’ and you quickly raise your hand with a shushing motion, gesturing down at the man sleeping on top of you. Although, Alex seems more preoccupied with your presence than Logan’s sleeping state, mouth dropping open as he takes in you and his teammates predicament.
“The team needs Logan, they’re about to start getting ready,” Alex manages to spit out, eyes still bouncing between the two of you. You nod, moving one hand to tap at Logan’s face lightly. The man groans through his tiredness, eyes cracking open slowly.
“Teams getting ready, they need you,” you smile down at him. He glances up at you with a small smile, eventually rolling off of you to stand up with a yawn.
Only then do his eyes catch on his teammate stood by the door, shock and confusion lacing his figure. Logan just waves slightly, drowsiness still fogging his mind. Alex blinks, arms frozen to his side.
When Logan grabs his stuff and steps out of the small room, stopping to give you a kiss on his way out, Alex finally snaps out of his haze.
“What the hell, man?” Alex manages to spit out.
Logan yawns as he walks by his teammate, a hand reaching up to rub the sleep out of his eyes, “Huh?”
Alex splutters through his words incredulously, “Why were you sleeping on top of y/n l/n? One of the biggest stars in the world was just hanging out in your room!?”
Logan hums, running a hand over the lines that had appeared on his face during his nap, “That’s my girl, man.”
Alex stops in his tracks, eyes wide and mouth dropped in shock, “What!?”
Logan rolls his eyes at his teammates dramatics, dragging him along next to him and also gesturing for Alex to keep his volume down, “Yeah, we’ve been together for a year and a few months.”
“Mate, what? She’s released like 3 albums in that time,” Alex starts before he seems to come to a realization, eyes snapping back to Logan again, “Oh my god, is reputation about you!?”
When Logan concedes and nods in response, a grin break out on his teammates face, “What about Lover? Or nonsense? Or espresso? Oh my god, so many of her songs must be about you!”
Logan holds back his annoyance, blaming his exasperation on his quite recent wake up call, taking a moment to remind himself that Alex was just surprised. If this had been any other day, he’d take any chance to talk about how cool you were or how much he loved you. But after everything with Landos crush and the boys thinking you’d only ever been seen in their garages, he was honestly annoyed. Not at you, of course, just at how everyone was acting without any tact.
“Yeah, come on, the team needs us,” Logan yawns, dragging his teammate down the hall, the latter still with a stupid grin on his face.
You stepped back into the garage again eventually, eyes scanning the parts of the garage you hadn’t seen before while hidden in the corners. Of course, the Williams garage was completely unfamiliar. But you hoped it wouldn’t be unfamiliar anymore after today.
You can feel the cameras and questioning glances on you, wondering why you’d be at an f1 race, let alone Williams. Everyone thought you’d be in Red Bull or Ferrari or at the least, Alpine, since several of your athlete friends had invested.
You’re not sure what the rules are for drivers going into garages that aren’t theirs but you’re ninety-nine percent sure Lando wasn’t supposed to be here. It didn’t help that he seemed to have dragged Oscar, Max and Charles along with him.
“Oh my god, y/n l/n!” You hear the Brit call out first, giddiness lacing his words. You glance over to see the four drivers approaching, turning your gaze back to the team momentarily to check if this was allowed. There’s uneasy looks on their faces but none of them move to kick them out so you turn back to the quartet.
“Hi?” You smile with a raised eyebrow and you swear you see Lando blush. Oscar rolls his eyes as the older driver starts dramatically fanning himself.
Charles is the first person to respond normally, sticking out his hand as he leans toward you, “It’s nice to meet you, we’re big fans. Some of us obviously more than others.”
You laugh as Charles side-eyes Lando who responds by sticking his tongue out. Their interactions made sense considering you were pretty sure half of them never graduated high school. You reach out and shake Charles’ hand before dropping it as Max reaches out his own.
“I’m Max, not sure how much you know about F1,” Max states, tilting his head. If only he knew just how many races you'd been to.
You nod your head with a small smile, ignoring the way Lando is staring with a dopey look on his face, “Yeah, yeah, I've actually watched a lot of races, so I've seen you win a lot haha.”
Max smirks slightly, shaking his head. Lando frowns as Oscar elbows him and mumbles something under his breath, “She’s never seen you win, mate.”
Your head snaps toward the drivers in papaya as Lando practically tackles Oscar, putting the Aussie in a headlock. You tilt your head toward Charles who’s watching with a frown but makes no effort to separate the pair, “This happen a lot?”
He hums, nodding his head, not taking his gaze away from the thing 1 and thing 2 now on the ground in front of you, “Yeah, they’re like puppies, got to let them get their energy out somehow. No ones been seriously maimed. Yet.”
You snort, finally looking away from the idiots as you hear someone walk up behind you, Charles and Max, the latter turning around as well.
“What the hell are you guys doing?” The commanding voice of the Williams team principal rings out, causing the two mclarens to halt their movements, immediately separating as they stand up.
James surveys the little group for a few moments and you look over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of blond hair before it disappears.
“Now,” James starts, scanning the drivers in front of him, all in varying colors of team shirts, “I could probably get you all in trouble for being in my garage but since I’ve heard a lot of excitement about our guest today, I’ll let it slide.”
You looks back to the man in front of you when you hear a mention of yourself, skin heating as several pairs of eyes all look to you. You look away and back to where you’d seen Logan, hoping for a quick escape. You find him but you watch as he makes eye contact with Lando before turning away as quick as he can. Lando, on the other hand, shoots a hand out to point at the driver, moving forward toward him.
“Logan!” He yells as the aforementioned driver turns away, making himself busy with pretending to be helping Alex, “I need to know what he did to get you in his garage!”
Lando gestures at you before moving to walk past you. He only makes it a few steps before James is stepping in front of him, pushing the lighter man back slightly, “I actually believe you will all be going back to your own garages, yes? It’s almost time for the race.”
Lando frowns with a suspicious look on his face, planting his feet firmly in the ground beneath him as if challenging James to move him. Oscar rolls his eyes before grabbing the brunettes wrist and dragging him out of the room, waving slightly at Logan as he exits.
Charles and Max both wave at you as they leave but Max is the one calling out, “Nice to meet you, y/n.”
You smile at the pair, waving them goodbye. You sigh as you turn around, tiredness filling your face. James stops you before you can stalk off to your seat for the race, hands grasping your shoulders lightly.
“It’s nice to finally meet my drivers girlfriend,” there’s a knowing look on the man’s face and you open your mouth to respond but he beats you to it, “He didn’t tell me. But I saw you two in the hall earlier, the boy had love written on his face, it would’ve been hard to miss.”
You blush, looking down toward the ground with a smile, “Thanks Mr Vowles, it’s nice to meet you as well.”
James laughs, ruffling your hair as he leans away, “Have a fun day, kid. Maybe you’re his lucky charm. And you can call me James.”
You smile as you walk away, smoothing your hair back to place. You weren’t too annoyed by the antics since it was pretty windy anyway, your hair had already been going wild.
“Thanks, James. Good luck, today.”
He just nods in response before slipping away, no doubt to get ready for the race. You turn to talk to Logan but he’s already been swept up in the chaos of the pre-race so you leave him to it, finally making it to your designated seat for the day.
It’s not long before it’s lights out and away we go.
P3. P fucking 3. Logan had just gotten a podium.
You don’t think you’d ever screamed as loud as you had when he crossed the line. Luckily, Alex’ girlfriend, Lily seems just as excited as you, jumping up and down as the team celebrated around you. Fortunately, Alex had had a good race as well, finishing in fifth.
You didn’t bother wiping the tears that were falling from your eyes, too busy trying not to fall over in your expensive heels as Lily dragged you to where the team was meeting at the barriers. Sun shines brightly down on you all, painting your faces with a warming light. Williams employees revel in joy from all around you, pure happiness gracing their usually joy-deprived faces.
The crowd seems to part as you and Lily make your way to the barriers, grasping at each other tightly, trying to make sure this was all real.
Tears stream down your face, no doubt taking your mascara with them. You have to gasp for air more than a couple times, pure elation taking over your breath. You watch as the blue car rolls in front of you, slowing to a stop. Lily hugs your arm tightly, already having heard about your relationship from Alex. You see Alex’ car out of the corner of your eye but you’re too busy trying not to collapse.
Logan steps out of the car, hands visibly shaking. You can practically see the smile through his helmet as he stands on the nose of his car, the crowds of Miami cheering for their hometown hero.
He jumps down and moves to take off his helmet, gloves coming off with them. He glances around at the crowd above him, taking in the moment he gets to be the hero for once, gets to be revered. But his eyes do move away, tracing the crowd for his team.
When his eyes land on yours, another tear slides down your face and drops off into the warm concrete below you. His grin in that moment could move mountains, filled with enough pure joy to heal any aches and pains you’ve ever felt. You can’t look away from his child-like joy, having never seen him this happy in your entire year of dating. His eyes widen with a warmth you wish you could find a way to stay in forever, almost rivaling the warmth of the Miami sun.
Someone from race control tries to get him to go get weighed but he’s dropping his helmet before taking off in a run. He reaches you and before you can even say a word, he’s grasping your face in his hands and leaning down to put his lips against yours, melting into your embrace.
Screams echo around you but all you can hear is the words Logan whispers as he breaks away, leaning his forehead against yours, “I did it, baby.”
You laugh, leaning toward him as he reaches a hand up and wipes away your tears, “Yeah, you did. I’m so proud of you!”
Logan smiles, closing his eyes momentarily to take in the love between you, “Thank you for coming, I love you so much, baby.”
You tilt his head up to catch his lips in another searing kiss, hoping he can feel just how proud and in love with him you are, “I love you too, so, so much.”
You’re both just grasping at each other, praying to be able to simply hold each other for as long as you can before someone pulls him away. Unfortunately, that comes sooner than you’d hoped as someone from race control pulls him away to get weighed. You finally break from the trance he’d put you in, looking around to see Charles and Max staring at Logan as he walks in front of them, glances shared between the pair in p1 and p2.
Lily wraps an arm around you as Alex walks away from her as well and you lean your head on your shoulder, watching as your boyfriends talk after getting weighed, obvious congratulations and pats on the back being shared between the two.
You knew this would make Aimee mad, but you honestly couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You were too busy being young and in love. You could always find a different agency, you were in high demand after all.
Logan’s stood to the side with Alex when Lando walks up, eyebrows furrowed deeply as he surveys the Williams drivers.
“What the hell was that, mate?” Lando calls out to Logan, confusion creeping through his outward disapproval.
Logan laughs at the Brits face, sensing a bit of disappointment in the McLaren drivers demeanor, “The podium?”
Lando rolls his eyes, running a hand through his curls, “You know that’s not what I meant.”
Logan laughs again as Alex throws his arm over the younger drivers shoulder, preparing to steer the two of them to interviews, “Just kissing my girlfriend, mate. Nothing else to it.”
Lando seems to be even more confused as the Williams drivers walk away, although he does eventually manage to shout out a final sentence, “How’d you manage that!?”
Logan practically cackles as Alex snorts, knowing as much as he did that it was a miracle he had pulled you, “I’m not sure either!”
They do eventually make it to interviews and then podium, Logan sending a heart down at you with his hands before Charles and Max turn to him, champagne in hand. Logan stands there and takes it, Miami sunlight bounces off the rivulets of alcohol that cascade across his tanned skin, still hot with the warmth that had infected him during the race.
The next morning, you don’t remember much from the night before. You had gone out to celebrate with Logan and of course, it was Miami and you were known so it wasn’t too hard to find the best spots. Drinks flowed and music pumped and you’re pretty sure you were hanging out with pitbull at one point.
Logan was still asleep in your bed in your Miami home, shirt missing and a distinct smell of beer sticking to his skin. His hair was ruffled and random pieces of glitter floated around his skin. His shins were hanging off the edge of the bed and random marks littered his exposed back, scratches and bruises, no doubt your fault, painting his usually blank skin with hues of red and purple. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been more in love with him.
You slide from the bed quietly, moving toward your guitar as a sudden bout of lyrics plagues your mind, begging to be released. You strum passively as you sit out on your balcony, humming lyrics under your breath as Logan remains asleep soundly in your bedroom.
“Said it’s still reserved for me … who are we.. fight the alchemy?”
A month later, Logan’s entering the paddock, his phone clutched tightly in his hand and headphone covering his ears. He’s making his way to his garage when he’s suddenly bombarded by the same five drivers from Miami, all talking over each other.
“Calm down, one at a time, please,” Logan sighs, waiting for them to quit speaking at the same time. They all stop, Carlos being the one to speak first.
“Have you heard the new y/n song?” Carlos asks, eyes raised widely. Logan laughs as he asks it, sliding his phone open to Spotify, proudly showcasing your new song playing on loop.
The Alchemy - y/n l/n
Logan slides his phone in his pocket, walking away before Lando can wax poetic about you or complain about Logan stealing you away from him. Logan glances back to see Oscar covering Landos ears as the song starts to play from a nearby speaker. Logan laughs as Charles, max and Carlos do the opposite of helping by deciding to sing it loudly in the Mclaren boys face.
Alex watches his teammate walk up, pulling off his headphones to find the song also playing the garage. Alex laughs, leaning his head back in content, basking in the pure happiness radiating through the atmosphere this weekend.
“Good song,” Alex hums, cracking an eye open to see a wide grin split the younger man’s face.
“Thanks man, it’s about me.”
Alex laughs, leaning back against the chair he was sitting in, watching as Logan sways to the song, lips moving to the words no one else had had time to learn yet.
Alex closes his eyes again, letting the rhythm of the song and Logan’s hums take over his hearing. He wasn’t sure about your relationship at first but he honestly hoped you’d stay together just so he could see Logan this happy every weekend.
You, on the other side of the world, were listening to the song at the very same time, singing the lyrics to yourself and dancing to a song Logan had been hearing for the past month non-stop.
As you danced along, you just knew Logan was out there somewhere, dancing with you.
———————————————
Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119
#scheduled#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 imagine#f1 x female reader#f1 x reader#f1 x y/n#f1 x you#f1 smau#logan sargeant x fem!reader#logan sargeant x you#logan sargent x reader#logan sargeant x reader#logan sargent fluff#fem!driver!reader
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To Know You…
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?
Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.
Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)
Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3
I: To Know You….
“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace.
You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.
—
Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.
He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…
—
You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.
You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own.
And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly.
You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.
“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.”
You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.
“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.
“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident.
“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.
“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.
By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…
“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.
Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.
“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”
You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.
“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.
“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.
—
Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.
Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.
“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”
“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it.
Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…
—
You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.
“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.
“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.
“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.
“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.
It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.
—
Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.
“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.
You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours.
“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air. “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”
Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!
As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.
“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”
Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.
As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.
“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.
Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”
“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.
“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.
“That is what I said…”
“That is what she said…”
You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.
—
Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.
“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”
“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.
“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.
Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.
“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”
His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.
—
You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room.
Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.
“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.
“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”
“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.”
And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.
“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast.
You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.
II: …Is To Love You
The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.
“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.
You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.
Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.
“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.
—
Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.
But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks.
Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.
He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.
As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.
“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.
“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…”
Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.
“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”
—
You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.
Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.”
“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.
You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand.
Is no one in attendance up to his standard?
“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.
—
His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.
“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.
“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.
She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”
“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.”
“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.
“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.
“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly.
Benedict has no response to that.
—
The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.
After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.
“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.
“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.
He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.
“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”
You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”
“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”
“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.
He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence.
You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.
He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.”
A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.
“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”
“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”
“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.
“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”
You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.
—
How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly.
“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.
“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in.
He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing.
He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.
—
Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid.
“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly.
“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.
“I can send him away, Miss?” The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.
“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”
Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.
“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.
“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.
“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.
“Why?” Violet frowns.
“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”
“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.
“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.
“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.
Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.
“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.
“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”
“Well, no…”
“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.
“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.
You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all.
—
The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on.
However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.
“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.
“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.
“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”
You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.
“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.
“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.
He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.
—
“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.
“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.
And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.
“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.
Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.
“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.
She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.
You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.
“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.
—
Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.
“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.
“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”
He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.
The piano stops abruptly.
“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.
Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.
“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.
“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such.
—
You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.
“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.
“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him; his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.
“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.
“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.
“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat.
“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.
“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”
Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive.
As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.
“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…”
You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.
“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.
“Thank you.”
Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance.
III: … And I Do.
A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.
“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.
“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.
“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.
“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.
You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary.
Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.
“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!”
You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.
“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.
You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.
“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.
“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.
“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”
There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not.
You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.
—
As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.
He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that.
It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.
How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.
—
Nothing could have prepared you for this.
The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor.
Surely, this is what dreams are made of?
You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.
“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event.
His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.
“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.”
Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.
You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.
—
Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face.
He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.
—
You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton.
Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.
“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.
“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.
As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.
Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside.
“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”
“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.
“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.”
There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.
“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.
And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner.
To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply.
“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”
“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man.
He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.
—
That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking.
An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless.
Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.
You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.
You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.
“What on earth…?”
There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.
“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.
“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”
His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.
“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”
You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.
“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.
“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.
—
That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.
“No, you certainly will not!” He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.
Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.
“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.
He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.
“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”
“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.
“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.
“Thank you,” you answer softly.
You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does.
“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge.
—
Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.
“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”
He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.
“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.
“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”
That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it.
You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.
“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips.
Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…
…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.
—
The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.
“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.
“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.
She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”
He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.
“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.
“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.
“Why would she have?”
“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.
“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.
“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.
“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?”
Even he can read between those lines.
“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.
—
Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.
He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.
“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.
“Researching,” he gruffs economically.
“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.
“I can find nothing wrong with him!”
Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.
“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”
Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”
“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.
He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”
“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”
Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.
“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”
Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.
It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.
“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks.
“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.
“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.
—
The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.
You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked.
A resounding yes.
In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.
And yet.
And yet.
There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice.
—
Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.
—
You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.
“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.
“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.
“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.
“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.
You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest.
“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”
You are stunned. Speechless.
Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.
So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.
—
Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.
“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.
“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.
“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.
“I love you.”
It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.
—
You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more.
“I-I-I love you too.”
You are bewildered when you say it aloud.
The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.
“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.
“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation.
He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.
“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.
He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.
“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart. “And I do. I truly do.”
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— 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 ?
➺ PAIRING: lee heeseung x female reader
➺ GENRE: stepbrother au, smut
➺ SUMMARY: the story of how your stepbrother’s girlfriend realizes her boyfriend has never really been hers.
➺ CW/TW: stepcest, infidelity, possessiveness, heeseung can lift reader, cucking kink, voyeurism, masturbation (f), oral sex (f), fingering, face sitting, unprotected sex, creampies
➺ WC: 4.6k
NOTE: don’t like, don’t read.
A lot of people find your relationship with your stepbrother cute. How could they not? He’s always so doting and protective like a real brother would be. In spite of being only slightly older, Heeseung takes on a very important role in your life. He constantly goes out of his way to take care of you, making sure you have anything you could possibly need.
Heeseung’s girlfriend never thought too much about the relationship between you two. It was natural that he took the naive college freshman under his wing and constantly had you by his side. Mina found it endearing, actually. The way he worried about you like a mother hen who wasn’t ready for her young chick to go into the world alone is adorable and a good sign. After dating so many inconsiderate losers, she thinks she’s finally chosen the right guy.
But somewhere along the way, Mina starts to grow tired of it. Time has gone by, and you’re no longer a naive freshman who can’t get around without her boyfriend’s help. Of course family is important, but it’s not like you’re entirely helpless. And yet, that’s exactly the way Heeseung acts. He’s always ready to drop everything when you need him. On several humiliating occasions, he’s even left her half naked on his bed just to go to you because you bought something you couldn’t figure out how to put together, or because you wanted to hang out with him.
It’s hard for Mina to admit that she’s a little jealous. Especially because it all seems so ridiculous. There’s no way her boyfriend actually wants you like that. But as time goes on, she thinks that maybe she’s not all that crazy. Especially with the affectionate way her boyfriend looks at you. Despite all this, Mina doesn’t say anything. At least, not until Heeseung starts to bring you along to what were meant to be dates.
“Babe, why do you keep bringing your stepsister? i thought we were going on a date?” It’s hard for her to not sound bitter and annoyed.
“Her roommate is going to visit her parents, and I don’t want Y/N to be alone.” His tone is kind and gentle like always, but it’s also firm and leaves no room for arguments.
What’s worse is that Mina can’t bring herself to hate or blame you. In a way, she understands why her boyfriend is always so concerned about you. You’re so nice and trusting that it would be way too easy for someone to take advantage of that. There’s also the fact that you’ve been more than willing to let them have some alone time, but Heeseung never lets you leave.
It’s all so strange and frustrating that Mina feels like she has to take matters into her own hands. So she does.
The key to Heeseung letting you go is getting you a boyfriend—or at least getting you to start dating. It’s easy enough to find a guy who’s interested in you. That’s never been a problem for you, and all it takes is her showing your picture to the cute guy in her communications class for her plan to fall into place. As luck would have it, you’re also into meeting the guy and going out with him.
Little did Mina know, setting you up with him would be a mistake that would cost her everything.
On the night you’re meant to meet up with her classmate, Mina excitedly goes to her boyfriend’s apartment. It’s been a long time since she got to be alone with Heeseung, and she was going to make the most of it.
She’s dressed in tiny tank top and a cute little skirt that Heeseung loves—it barely hides the lingerie she’s wearing underneath. Mina quietly lets herself into her boyfriend’s apartment using her spare key. Quietly, she tiptoes to his room only to find the door wide open. What she doesn’t expect is to find you sitting on his the edge of bed while Heeseung kneels in front of you.
Mina feels like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on her as his pretty hands rub your soft thighs. You look incredible, clad in a cute little dress with your makeup and hair done to perfection. It’s a mistake for Mina to keep watching, but she can’t find her voice at the moment.
“Seungie, what’s wrong?”
God, Mina hates that you call him that. Mostly because she can tell how much Heeseung likes it.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going out to meet some guy?” Heeseung sounds almost venomous, but it’s like you don’t hear it. “Who is he? How’d you meet him?”
You tilt your head, pretty lips pulled down in a confused frown. “Didn’t Mina tell you? She set me up with a guy from her class. He’s really cute!”
A chill goes down Mina’s spine. She can see Heeseung’s back tense when you tell him how your date came to be. The air feels almost murderous as he gently squeezes your thighs.
It kills Heeseung that he was almost too late in stopping you from meeting some strange guy in the pretty little dress you have on. He softly rubs your thighs, eyes simmering with anger and desire he doesn’t care to hide. Not anymore.
“Oh, angel.” Your stepbrother murmurs, hands slowly trailing up to your thighs. “You know you’re my favorite girl, right?”
An unsuspecting smile graces your lips. “Yeah. And you’re my favorite guy.”
Heeseung hums in satisfaction as his fingers ghost the edges of your dress. He watches your eyebrows furrow, but you don’t say anything. As always, you have blind trust in your stepbrother. That’s all the indication he needs to get up and push you down on his bed. Heeseung hovers over you, loving how you’re staring up at him with sparkling, wide eyes. He swoops down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.
Your heart is racing in your chest as Heeseung forces his tongue into your mouth. Despite the initial shock, you quickly melt into the kiss. He swallows your moans, pulling you closer as he deepens the messy kiss. You mewl into his mouth, carding your fingers through his hair with desire you had never realized you had for him.
Meanwhile, Mina can only watch as her boyfriend kisses you with a passion that he clearly never felt for her. It feels like her heart is ripping in half as Heeseung begins to undress you. Tears well up in her eyes when he groans at the sight of the lingerie adorning your body. Mina can see how hard he is from where she’s standing, and the desire in his eyes is very different from the way he looks at her.
“Can’t believe you got all pretty for some other boy.” Heeseung spits as he starts to undress. “Were planning on letting him fuck you?”
You shake your head and go to speak, but you can’t when Heeseung roughly pulls off your lingerie then his own underwear. His cock is thick and big, possibly the biggest you’ve ever seen. It’s twitching and leaking as he looks at you with his dark eyes.
“W-We shouldn’t be doing this.” You whine as Heeseung shoves your thighs to your stomach and licks a broad stripe up your wet pussy.
Your stepbrother groans at your sweet taste, thrusting his tongue into your dripping hole. He laps up the juices leaking out of your slit, circling his tongue on your clit for good measure. The noise you let out is downright pornographic and pure music to Heeseung’s ears.
“Seungie!” You keen as you spread your legs and tangle your hands in his messy hair. “I– Fuck!”
Heeseung pulls back with a wet slurp to spread your cunt open with his big hands. “God. You have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, angel. Just had to taste it.”
Each one of his words is like a dagger to Mina’s heart and confidence. Wet tears trickle down her face, but she doesn’t say anything as you pull on her boyfriend’s hair. Heeseung only moans and dives back into your slick cunt. He greedily laps up everything that drips out of you, sucking and kissing your clit.
“We shouldn’t be doing this, Hee.” You repeat through a needy mewl, making no attempt to stop him. In fact, you buck your pussy into his mouth as he sucks on your sensitive bud.
“Shh, angel.” Heeseung shushes as he flicks his tongue across your swollen bud. “Just relax and let me eat you out. Been wanting to do this for so long.”
Mina swallows thickly, the hurt slowly being replaced by something else. Her eyes grow bigger when she realizes which feeling is taking over. She shifts slightly, feeling a familiar wetness begin to pool in her panties. Mina feels sick that the sight of her boyfriend cheating on her can turn her on, and she thinks that she should leave right now and never return.
But she stays.
Mina licks her lips and continues to watch. Even she can’t help but think how hot you look, whimpering and writhing as Heeseung pushes your thighs apart so he can bury his face deeper in your pussy. He flicks his tongue, slowly descending until he’s lapping at your hole, slowly fucking the wet muscle in and out. Your eyes roll back as your stepbrother eats your pussy like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.
The sounds coming from your pussy and the way Heeseung messily eats you out has Mina’s own cunt clenching with need. She can feel her underwear start to stick to her cunt as she watches her boyfriend lap up your arousal like a starved man. Mina bites her lip, feeling sick and twisted for being turned on by your pretty moans.
Heeseung suddenly pulls away, but not before he slaps your thigh playfully. He goes to lay on his back all while wearing a filthy smirk. “Sit on my face.”
You bite your lip as a hot flash of arousal pulses through your body. Both your and Mina’s cunts throb at the suggestion. Heeseung sees your hesitation, but doesn’t back down.
“C’mon, baby. Be a good little stepsister and ride my fucking face.” He growls out with dark eyes.
With your pussy dripping, you crawl over to him and kneel over his face. Mina watches with heated eyes as you slowly lower your cunt on her boyfriend’s face. The heat in her stomach grows when she hears Heeseung groan in satisfaction.
“That’s it. I want your pretty pussy suffocating me.”
With that, your stepbrother grabs your hips and pulls your cunt down onto his face with a groan. Mewling quietly, you rub your cunt all over his mouth. Every time he moans or grunts, it sends little vibrations through your pussy. The delicious feeling has you grinding down on his tongue as you chase that feeling. Heeseung eagerly fucks his wet muscle into your hot cunt, already addicted to your sweet taste.
Mina swallows thickly when he sees Heeseung thrusting into the air as he eats you out. His cock is leaking and throbbing with need. Fuck. How she’d like to go and lick all that up, to have him fuck her mouth as he fucks you with his tongue. Mina rubs her thighs to soothe the growing ache in her pussy as she watches you ride Heeseung’s face.
Your eyes roll back when your stepbrother slaps your ass. A loud squeal spills from your lips as Heeseung keeps fucking his tongue up into your cunt. He grabs your ass and kneads it roughly. With one last groan and flick of his tongue, he sits up and takes you with him. The effortless display of strength turns both women on, one containing her moan while the other cries out as she’s pressed back into the mattress.
“Such a sweet little cunt.” Heeseung moans as he buries his face back into your dripping cunt. “Shit, Y/N. You’re fucking soaked down here.”
“Heeseung!” You cry out as he pries your thighs further apart. Your stepbrother shakes his head to grind his tongue against your sensitive cunt.
“Fuck, you have the hottest little pussy.” Heeseung lifts his head with a groan, lips shiny with your arousal. “Missed eating some good pussy. It’s been so long.”
Mina feels pathetic that her cunt throbs at his degrading words. She bites her lip, hands trailing up her thigh and to her soaked underwear. It’s so filthy and humiliating, but the ache in her pussy is getting to be too much. She slowly rubs circles on her covered cunt as she keeps watching her boyfriend cheat on her.
“Fuck, Seungie.” You mewl desperately. “S-Shouldn’t like having your face buried in my cunt.”
Heeseung smirks into your wetness. He gently circles his tongue on your clit, kissing it tenderly before he gently starts to nip at it with his teeth. Mina shoves her panties aside when you moan out in pleasure. Now she’s furiously rubbing at her bare pussy, wanting to see you cum on her boyfriend’s face.
“But you do, baby. You like me fucking you with my tongue, and I fucking love eating this sweet little pussy.”
Your hips buck up at the words, grinding your cunt against his mouth as you moan for him. Juices drip out of you lewdly, leaking down to your ass and onto Heeseung’s sheets. Your head is swimming with pleasure, and you have to remember that this is all so very wrong.
“You like that?” Heeseung teases you, loving how you’ve turned into putty in his hands. “Answer me, Y/N. Do you like your stepbrother telling you how much he loves tasting your juicy cunt?”
Your back arches when Heeseung sucks your puffy bud into his mouth. “God—yes! Feels so fucking good, Hee! Love having your mouth on my pussy.”
Heeseung growls, the vibrations making your cunt throb as he sucks and licks your swollen clit. Eager to have you cum on his tongue, he slips two fingers into your fluttering hole. Mina follows in suit, unable to take her eyes off the erotic sight of you getting ate out and fingered. Fuck. This was better than any porn she had ever watched. Her hand is dripping with her own arousal, and she can’t even feel disgusted anymore that she’s so turned on by the entire situation.
“Mmmh, shit, Hee.” You whine as the tips of his fingers brush against the gummy spot inside you. “You’re gonna make me cum.”
“Do it, baby. Cream all over my tongue.” He purrs in delight. “Be a good girl and cum for me.”
Heeseung flattens his tongue on your clit while his fingers grind into the spongy spot in your cunt. Your back arches off the bed, orgasm whiting out your thoughts as you cum around his long fingers.
Mina has to cover her mouth as Heeseung moans along with you. By now she’s shoved her fingers into her sopping pussy, the squelching sound is drowned out from the sounds coming from your own pussy. The filthy sight is driving her wild, and she’s so delirious with arousal that she wishes Heeseung would just fuck you already.
“You’re amazing, angel.” Your stepbrother praises with his fingers still buried knuckle deep in your pussy as he softly strokes your velvety walls. “So soft and wet. It makes me want to shove my dick into your tight little hole.”
Heeseung slowly pulls his fingers out of you, and you can only watched with a lidded gaze as he moves his body between your thighs. His cock is twitching and leaking as he grabs the base. He smacks his cock down on your slippery pussy, dragging his drooling tip up and down your slit slowly. Mina has to press her hand into her mouth harder to stifle her filthy moans. The sight of her boyfriend pressing his drooling cockhead into your soaking pussy is so hot she might just cum all over her fingers.
“S-Seungie—fuck. We shouldn’t.” You whimper as he leans forward and braces his arms by your head.
You and Mina both know you don’t really mean your words. It’s clear that you want your stepbrother to split you open on his big cock. That becomes obvious when you don’t try to stop him as he shoves his cock into your pussy until he bottoms out completely, balls pressing against your ass. Shuddering with pleasure, you scratch your nails up his arms as you sink into the bed.
“Pretty pussy was meant to take my cock.” Heeseung growls, already drunk on the feeling of your cunt wrapped around his dick. “Fuck. I know it’s wrong, baby, but I just couldn’t help myself. Your hot little cunt was just begging for my dick. Doesn’t it feel all nice and full having your pussy stuffed with your stepbrother’s big cock?"
Mina starts fucking herself harder when you nod desperately. Your hands go to tangle in his hair as you grind your hips up to meet his thrusts. “Yes! Fuck! Love my stepbrother’s cock stretching me open! Feels so fucking good, Hee!”
Mina knows better than anyone how good you must feel. Although, she imagines you feel must better than she ever did because from the way Heeseung’s fucking you, she can tell he’s doing it with much more enthusiasm and passion. Even his moans are more guttural and full of more pleasure than she’d ever heard. They’re deep as he pulls out until just his tip is spearing you open. Then, he pushes forward, thrusting his cock deep into your fluttering walls.
“That’s it. Tell me how good it feels.” Heeseung leans down, lips brushing against yours. “Don’t be shy, angel. Let me know how much you like this cock fucking you.”
You gasp wantonly and pull him down further to press your lips together. He groans and licks into your mouth easily, tongue slipping past your lips as his cock thrusts deep into your hot, wet cunt. Your hips buck up to meet his, loving how his dick rams into your sweet spot over and over until your sight is painted with pretty little stars.
“Fucking love it, Hee.” You moan between sloppy kisses. “God—I love your cock!”
The coil in Mina’s stomach is close to snapping. By now, her juices are dripping down to her wrist. Luckily, the lewd squelching and sound of skin slapping together drown out any noise she’s making. Heeseung is fucking you so hard and good that she can smell the musky scent of sex from where she’s standing. The erotic aroma turns her on even more, pussy clamping down on her fingers in desperate need of release.
“Tight little pussy feels so good.” Heeseung moans out between the quick pecks he’s giving you. “God, I love you, Y/N. So fucking much.”
Your heart races as Mina’s breaks all over again. It hurts, but somehow that just turns her on even more. She keeps fingering herself as tears pool in her eyes.
With a low moan, your pussy clamps down on Heeseung’s dick tightly as you go to eagerly kiss him. A soft I love you, too goes unnoticed by Mina, but not by your stepbrother. He groans into your mouth, cock throbbing inside you.
“Mmmh.” Heeseung hums against your lips before he trails wet kisses down your neck. “I love my gorgeous girl. That’s why this feels so good. Even your tight little pussy knows how much I love you.”
His gorgeous girl? Mina thinks deliriously, orgasm dangerously close. It’s something he never referred to her as.
You cry out loudly when Heeseung bites your neck and sucks the skin into his mouth. His hips rock against yours, balls smacking against your ass as his pelvis grinds down on your swollen clit.
“Seungie!” You whine in ecstasy. “I’m getting close.”
Your stepbrother doesn’t let up. In fact, his thrusts seem to get faster and rougher. His cock pistons in and out of your cunt, creating sloppy wet sounds as you get even wetter. His eyes are dark as he pulls back to look at you, all pretty squirming and trembling on his cock.
“Cum for me, baby. Cover my cock with your sweet cream so I can fill you up.” Heeseung pants. “Cum on my cock, angel.”
His teeth sink into your neck again, and it pushes you over the edge. Your hot cunt throbs as you squeeze down on his cock. Somehow your pussy only gets tighter and tighter as you get fucked through your orgasm. You tighten your legs around his waist until he can barely pull out, rutting his cock in short shallow thrusts as your climax starts to taper off.
“So fucking tight.” Heeseung hisses by your ear. “Shit, baby. Get ready. I’m about to creampie your cute little pussy. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
With a strangled grunt, he buries his cock to the hilt and shoots his load deep inside your fluttering walls while your pussy softly milks him for every drop of his hot cum. Mina reaches her own climax when she sees her boyfriend cumming inside you. She has to stifle her moans as she trembles and shakes outside the room that’s filled with the smell and sounds of hot sex.
“You’re taking it so well, angel.” Heeseung kisses your jaw tenderly as his fat tip spurts rope after rope of his thick cum into your clenching heat. “Milking my cock like I knew you would.”
He grinds his hips down, cock pulsing as he finishes stuffing you full of his hot, sticky load. Your stepbrother fucks his cum inside a bit more before reluctantly pulling out. Heeseung’s cock throbs as he watches his seed drip from your messy pussy.
He licks his lips, heated gaze never leaving your body. “Let’s do it again.”
You don’t try to protest as your manhandles into a different position. Mina is still coming down from her high when she realizes her boyfriend is still hard and about to fuck you again. She knows she shouldn’t feel excited or aroused by the fact, but she does. Especially when your face is shoved into one of Heeseung’s pillows just before his big cock rails back into your needy pussy.
Heeseung starts fucking you so hard his headboard slams into the wall repeatedly. The harsh sound pairs well with the plop plop plop sound coming from your cunt.
“God, Y/N. You’re so fucking good for me.” Heeseung groans when you clench down on him.
You moan loudly, bouncing yourself back on his cock. “Fu-Fuck, Seungie. This is wrong. We s-shouldn’t be doing this.”
“I know.” Your stepbrother smacks your ass, not sounding the least bit remorseful. “It’s so dirty baby, but I couldn’t help myself. Had to get my dick wet using your pretty little pussy.”
“Mmmh!” You whine out mindlessly, face turned to the side with your ass raised in the air for Heeseung to fuck deeper into your wet hole. “Feels so fucking good!”
“Yeah, it does.” Heeseung’s laugh sounds almost mean as he speeds up his thrusts to fuck his cock harder into your sopping cunt. “Your cute little pussy is the best I’ve ever had.”
His words shouldn’t please you as much as they do, but those lewd words turn you on so much that you can’t stop your cunt from tightening around him as he keeps spearing into you like an animal in heat. They also shouldn’t turn on Heeseung’s girlfriend but that’s exactly what they do. She isn’t angry, only extremely aroused as your ass bounces back on your stepbrother’s pelvis.
“Fuck!” Heeseung groans, fucking his cock right into your g-spot. “You’re so fucking hot, angel.”
You are. So hot that Mina finds herself wishing she could eat Heeseung’s cum out of your pretty cunt. She just knows you taste good, and mixed with her boyfriend she’s sure you must taste even better.
“Seungie, please!” You cry out, dizzy with arousal.
“Shit.” He growls, slipping a hand underneath your hips to rub fast circles on your clit. “Gonna make you cream on my cock again.”
“Heeseung!” You squeal as he picks up his pace, ramming into your squelching pussy as he rubs soft circles into your swollen clit.
Your stepbrother shoves his cock deep into your cunt and grinds, making you squirm and whine as his dick rubs against the spongy spot in your pussy. Your hands twist in the sheets. He flicks and pinches your puffy clit. God, do you look good, and so does Heeseung. Mina is groping one of her tits while the other hand goes to play with her pussy again. Briefly, she thinks she wouldn’t mind having a video of you two fucking so she can watch it over and over again.
“Hee, I’m gonna cum.” You moan against the pillow.
“Do it, baby.” He encourages you, free hand coming down to slap your ass hard. “Cum all over my cock. Want to feel your hot cunt squeeze me.”
It’s not long before your orgasm hits. You’re screaming into your pillow as your cream coats Heeseung’s big cock. Your pussy clamps rhythmically around his dick. Mina can’t see you, but with the way your toes are curling she can tell your eyes are rolling to the back of your head in pure ecstasy.
“Oh, baby. You feel so fucking good.” Heeseung praises you. His hands move to slap your ass again, making you squeal and tighten again. “Fucking work your little pussy on my cock. Fuck. Need to fill you up again.”
“Want you to stuff me full.” You whine back at him, pussy fluttering at the thought of Heeseung’s cum filling your cunt again.
“Yeah?” Your stepbrother laughs, sounding way too delighted. “Want me to creampie your hot little cunt again?”
“Please!” You whine as Heeseung’s fingers slide over your hip to start working soft circles into your clit again. You writhe back on him, feeling yourself get even wetter at the filthy thought of him shooting his hot load inside you.
“Cum inside me, Hee.” You pant, mewling when his fingers rub your clit even faster. “Want it so bad. Want to feel it.”
“Oh, fuck.” Heeseung groans, hips snapping hard against your ass when he feels how tight you’ve gotten. “You ready, baby? Fucking take it. Take your stepbrother’s cum in your needy little cunt.”
You moan loudly when you feel his hot cum filling your pussy, stuffing you so full it drips out around his cock. Heeseung ruts his spent cock into your sloppy pussy as he pinches your clit, watching as your back arches as a fourth orgasm sweeps through you. You lazily fuck your cunt back into him, loving the feeling of his cum dripping out of you and coating your thighs.
Heeseung pulls out of your warm cunt with a low groan. He’s quick to pull you against his chest and lays you down with him. His face is buried in your hair, eyes closed in bliss as you both try to catch your breaths. You feel his smile in your hair as he cuddles you and murmurs sweet praises against your temple.
Through your drooping eyes, you catch sight of Mina. Her eyes widen when you two make eye contact. You can’t hide your smirk when you see that she was masturbating to the sight of Heeseung fucking you raw. Instead of saying anything, you give her a seductive wink. Mina clenches around her fingers because the wink is full of understanding and promises.
It’s clear that Heeseung was never hers, but maybe you wouldn’t mind sharing.
#heeseung smut#lee heeseung smut#enhypen smut#enha smut#heeseung x reader#lee heeseung x reader#enhypen x reader#enha x reader
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hey love can i request brothers bff cho and how he's just down bad for you 🤍🤍🤍
𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg wait, i fucks with this baddd
⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Choso x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - masturbation (m!) - oral (m! receiving) - tit/breast fucking (m! receiving) - cowgirl position - pet names (baby, darling, honey, sweetie) - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up) - implied that reader is big chested - Choso crushing on you hard, lmao - mention of drool/spit.
⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k
Choso knew better than to be attracted to you, the sibling of his best friend ever.
Your brother and Choso have been buddies for a while, meeting during his part-time job at a burger joint as servers and finding out they have so much in common. Being older siblings, lovers of rock music, and relating to so much together, the two often hung out after work and became pretty good friends. Just two people vibing out in each others’ company, and there was nothing to make this relationship complicated!
“Hey, Choso, I’ve told you about my sister before, right?”
You greeted him with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Choso!”
Well, that is until you came and absolutely rocked Choso’s world.
You were the younger sibling of two; a college senior comes home biweekly to take care of laundry and then drives back up for your education. By your gorgeous face and alluring figure, Choso was struck by your image from the first time his eyes ever laid on you. You were such a kind spirit, always so sweet to him and others surrounding you — you’d want to hang with the boys whenever you had the chance while you were visiting, which was hellish for the brown-haired man.
You’d laugh along with the jokes, making Choso’s heart skip uncontrollably, and the way you’d lean to him when you’re sleepy watching a movie with them pushed the guy on the verge of shutting down. He could never get tired of how you’d say his name; it came out so dear from your lips as if he could be under your spell at any second. And it didn’t help that you’d walk around the house with shorts on, the lower fringes constantly threatening Choso on whether they’d creep up to see the mere crevice of your ass.
As said before, he knew better than siblings of best friends were off limits. However, you were becoming too much for him. It’s been half a year of seeing you, and there has never been a day or night where you haven’t popped up in his head one way or another, particularly when his mind would think of you in the most…lustful ways.
He was spending the night at yours after spending a night out drinking with you and your brother, using the basement bedroom to sleep. Sleep evades him; however, he uses this space to deal with the erection he’s been dying to indulge in this entire night instead. His teeth pull the bottom of his shirt, dark jeans discarded to the floor, and his hand pumps his shaft that’s freed from his boxer briefs.
He throws his head back, reminiscing about you and your outfit from the pub. The way your breasts were tucked in nicely by the window of your bodycon dress, yet the cleavage was too tempting for his eyes not to notice. The dress sculpted your curves dangerously, Choso fighting the urge to put his hand on your hip to feel your clothed skin. And your lipgloss made your lips shine; every time you spoke to him was a test for him not to kiss you right there in front of your brother. It was so cruel how you looked so good for him!
He grunts at the memory, teeth grinding while he strokes his long cock. Precum exuding from the urethra slides down to the base and wets his fingers. “Fuuck, Y/n,” your name is said in choked moans, the horny man fisting himself in a faster motion. Brown eyebrows are trenched, and his abdomen begins to flex. Shit, I’m so close, so cl—
“Choso?”
He never in his life froze still in an instant, and his heart goes to a complete stop, too. No way.
“Ca–…May I come in?”
No words are said from either side, so Choso’s heat immediately shifts to icy cold when he hears the door open, and your frame is all he sees. You’re still wearing the beautiful dress, yet your face is molded into an expression of utter anxiousness. Sweat goes down Choso’s forehead, oh fucking shit!
“I came down to see if you were okay and needed anything,” your eyes were downcast to the floor, chewing on your lips during this awkward situation. “But…I heard you say my name and…”
Oh, it was so over for him. All Choso could do was stare at you in dread, entirely shocked that you saw him masturbate at the thought of you! You were fidgeting with your dress, perplexed about how to handle this predicament, too. He was so done for; not only was he thinking of you, the sibling of his best friend, and using said thoughts of you, but now you are aware of how he pictures you in his fucked up head! Yup, he can never walk into this house again. “S–Sorry, Y/n! I’ll just go and—“
“Can I help?”
Again, his body goes rigid mid-stride of getting off the bed after pulling his underwear up. ….What?
“I mean, can I…help you with that?” You meekly walk into the room and close the door behind you. “I am the one who made you like this, so…I’m okay with it if you are…..”
Choso blinks, too alarmed to make any movements. “But, your brother…” You’re quiet for a few seconds before you spook him by taking steps in his direction. He gulps thickly when your figure crawls on the bed, too close for his brain to comprehend. You take his hand with your soft ones and bring his fingers to your lips to kiss, and his breath hitches when you suck and lick his digits. The boner stuffed in his briefs twitches at the sensation of your tongue running against the underside of his middle finger and sucking on it.
You peer at him, “What about him?” That is what you say before lifting your dress to remove your panties. And just when Choso thought his life was about to be thrown in the gutter, you flipped the script on him again.
In his head, Choso knew he shouldn’t be doing this.
“Mmm…Mmahh! Oh, Choso, you taste so good…”
But in his heart, he couldn’t help but give in to this situation.
You were situated between his legs, ripped him off his briefs for you to suck on his glans freely. Your tinge dances around his cockhead to prompt more come to ooze out of his urethra, and your hand slides up and down to stroke his member. Choso whimpers under your touch, and shivers crawl up his spine as you lick from the base to the tip before sucking hard.
“Fuuck, Y/n,” he grips the sheets, barely containing his hips to buck to your lips. “Your mouth, it’s—Hssshh…!”
“Mmm?” You blink before releasing the tip with a sound. “What about my mouth, Choso baby?” Fuck, the nickname made the pink of his ears creep down to his nape. “You feel good?” He nods at your question, and you giggle before sucking one of his balls, resulting in a sharp gasp from the brown-haired man. “I’m so happy you are…”
Hallow cheeks take in his cock, busying your throat with his length that has you humming blissfully. You massage his waist as you bob your face up and down, and shaky breaths leave his lips while his legs jolt with every swish of your tongue.
“—Shhiiit, oh shit, hnnn,” he can’t do it, you were driving him crazy. “Y/n, you’re gonna make me…Mmmm”
You pick up on his cue, withdrawing your lips from him to maneuver and pull down the top of your dress. Caramel eyes widen at the sight of your breast spilling out, forgetting how to breathe when you bring them to wrap around his long dick. You move them around to please him, taking the tip back into your mouth to slurp his leaking essence that trickles down to your chest.
“Mmaahh, go ahead, darling,” you place kisses on the tip, Choso looking at nothing but your mounds swallow him with every stroke. It takes mere seconds for his orgasm to sneak up on him, his jizz coming out to fall and trickle down in between the rifts of your tits. “There you go, let it out for me…” the way you looked at him with half-lidded eyes took his breath away, especially with the spit that connects your gloss-shining lips to his spit-and-come coated shaft.
And when he’s finally inside you? He’s too far gone to even think of being away from you.
“Ohhh, hoooh!! Chosooo, y’u feel soo good!”
Your dress was cast-off entirely, your nude body bouching up and down on Choso, his cock bullying the inside of your cunt. It’s been a solid fifteen minutes shared between the two of you exploring each other’s bodies, and sweaty skin exchanges heat from the constant motions. And come from rounds prior spill from your chasm as you ride on Choso’s dick with a rhythm.
He has his hands on your hips now, using you to keep him steady before he gets too lost in the feeling. Not that it hasn’t happened already; the man moans with every clamp of your walls around him, tightening around him with every graze of your g-spot. You wail for him up top, and your aroused sounds have to be the cutest things he’s ever heard. And the way your tits jump every time you plummet down to the base of him, it’s an image that will haunt him for the rest of his days.
“Tahhh, ughh, Jesus Christ…” He’s too sensitive right now; he just came not too long ago and is now being chased down for another one. “Y/n, sweetie, too fast, slow d—Ahh…!”
You hear him and titter, “Yeah? Want me to slow down, huh…” You bring your hips up excruciatingly slow, listening intently to the shaky sobs from the brunette as you get to the very top. And then you smack yourself down with haste, sharing a yelp at the rushed sensation. You do it again, “Think you’re about to cum again, huh, honey?”
His hands now come to your ass to grope with the flesh, and you twitch around his girth at the hunger. “Yeahhh…”
“You gonna be good and cum for me again, right?” Another snap of your ass crashing down on him.
“Yess, baby,” he throws his head back to the pillows, his head pounding so hard it could kill him. You can feel him pulsating within your slit. “Almost there…Ohh–ooo..!”
You bite your lip, relishing at the sight of him being desperate for release. You lean forward to him, your breasts meshing with his chest as you snake a hand around the back of his head. You place your lips on his, and he doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate.
The kiss gets hotter when you dial up the speed, tongues swirling and exchanging spit as the friction becomes a lot more pleasurable than before. Choso’s ears ring the deeper you bring him in to kiss, humming on his tongue as you suck on it with harsh rocks on his length from scraping places you couldn’t reach. He’s so fucking addicted to you; his composure long deteriorated the moment he first put his cock inside you.
Choso bucks himself to you in sync, his climax coming in just a few ruts. He howls into you, and you wail along as your hips don’t rest until you’re hit with a crescendo of your own. Contracting your vaginal walls milks him, exerting his load into you again to spill and flow down your sticky frames.
You two heave and pant in each other’s mouth before the kiss is broken, and the string of saliva is evidence of you being one with the other. Although the both of you are dazed, you smile at him before kissing his nose. “Glad I helped you out, huh?” He chuckles weakly as you lay kisses on his chin.
KNOCK!! KNOCK!!
And just like that, the two of you are frozen yet again. Wait…
Too late, the bedroom door busts open with a bang, and in comes your brother!
“Yooo, Choso, my guy—hic,” your brother stumbles inside the room, still a bit loopy and drunk. “Wanna go up and hit a quick blunt with— ah…”
The heat shared between you and the man below you switched to silent torture, awkwardness suffocating the three figures staring at each other. And this is the exact reason why Choso should’ve known better than to mingle around with you…
© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.
#𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑺𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#choso x reader#choso smut#choso kamo x reader#choso kamo smut#choso x you#choso x y/n#kamo choso x reader#choso kamo x you#choso kamo x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk imagines#anime smut#jujustsu kaisen x reader
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Down the Hall
Frankie Morales x f!reader
Tags: Explicit, age gap because you know what I'm about (Frankie is your mom’s boyfriend, he is in his 40s, you are in your mid-20s)
A/N: Yea….so this is dedicated to @intheorangebedroom who inspired this entire idea and to @whatsnewalycat whose beautiful brain and writing inspired me as well. Thank you to @astroboots for cheering me on, to @bageldaddy for the super in depth beta and to @the-ginger-hedge-witch who soothed by "does this hit" worries — your minds are golden and I am so happy you support this utter filth. Ily ❤️
He thought that dating someone his own age would ground him, steady him. Not that he ever paid much attention to the age of the women he dated, but he thought with someone who had their own shit figured out, he might be inspired to do the same.
Unmoored and unattached since he joined the army in his twenties, he was pushing forty now and craved some kind of routine. Living alone gave him too much time for thinking, too many hours spent inside his own head. He knew that living like that for too long could lead to bad decisions and thought he might hold himself to a higher standard when he saw how they held themselves to one.
He met her at a bar – the most cliche of meeting places, but for good reason. She was out with friends after work and from the start, he was attracted to the way she smiled with her whole mouth. Everything about her seemed sensuous and fun, so inviting that he found himself drawn in and when he asked if he could take the seat next to her, he matched her smile with one of his own.
When she invited him home that night, he buried himself deep while feasting on that generous mouth.
He stayed that night, and then one night became twice a week, became three – and before he knew it, his lease was up on his apartment and he moved in. It was nice to come home to someone after work. To know that someone was there, wondering how his day went. To have a warm body curled up next to him in bed.
She was so independent, so driven. A corporate job that required her to dress in slippery blouses and pretty skirts with heels; the same he loved to strip from her when she came home all stressed out the way she did sometimes. And she had a kid – a daughter – already in college somewhere on the east coast, but that didn’t bother him. Dating in his forties meant people already had their own histories, and he was no exception.
Sometimes after she fell asleep and he had time alone to think, he still felt something that itched beneath his skin. Something that pulled at him from within, something that remained unsettled. He told himself that it was just an adjustment period after so many years of being unattached, and shoved those feelings deep down inside of him, determined to ignore them until he taught himself a new way to live.
Her breathing deep and steady beside him, he told himself that she was good for him.
That was what counted.
He was all for it when she told him her daughter was coming home to stay the summer between semesters. He liked the idea of having another person in the house – another distraction, another responsibility to take him out of his own head.
He worked odd hours, and during his off days, Frankie took up the task of preparing her daughter’s old room. Light pink walls, a creamy bedspread dotted with delicate flowers: his mind supplied an automatic image of the little girl that lined the hallway in frames. He knew she was older than that now, but the way her mom talked about her, he couldn’t help imagining a little kid.
Tasked with picking her up from the airport the day she arrived, he had just stepped out of the shower when he heard the doorbell. Frowning, he tugged a shirt over his damp curls, and opened the door.
Jesus Christ. Speechless, he stared at the prettiest woman he’d ever seen.
“Sorry I didn’t call,” you apologized, tugging a heavy bag higher up on your shoulder. “I got in early and thought an Uber would be faster.”
He stood there for a moment, just staring, his mouth slightly parted in confusion. And then he saw it: the shape of your eyes, the curve of your lush mouth. The resemblance stamped across your delicate features.
“I couldn’t find my key.” You stood there, looking uneasy on your own doorstep. “You must be Frankie. Or is it Francisco? My mom said you’d be here. It’s nice to meet you.”
At the rounded sound of his full name coming from your mouth, his gaze snapped back to meet your eyes while you hung there, clearly waiting for him to say something. His body was slow to catch up with his brain, the little girl his mind supplied was gone, replaced by the vision that stood in front of him. Still young and fresh-faced, but grown nonetheless and so, so fucking beautiful.
When you gestured towards the house behind him, he finally shook himself from the initial shock.
“Shit,” he apologized, stepping back out of your way. “Yea, it’s Frankie. Nice to meet you.” You gave him a half smile, and when you stepped inside, he reached for your bag. “Here, let me grab that.”
His hand dragging through his curls, he stood in the entryway and watched you make yourself at home: your shoes immediately kicked off on the doormat, your jacket hung neatly next to his own like it had always belonged there.
“Do you know when my mom gets home?”
He cleared his throat, trying not to stare at the length of your legs underneath the hem of your shorts. “Uh, she said probably around six? That’s when she usually gets home.”
You nodded, holding your hand out for your bag and for a split second, he wondered if he should bring it upstairs for you. It would be the polite thing to do, but the idea of entering your room now felt like overstepping. You weren’t a kid, you didn’t need him like that. The boundaries had suddenly blurred and shifted, and he whisked away the image of you settling into your bedroom just as fast as it popped into his head.
When you grabbed the bag from him, he felt relief.
It was easy to avoid you for the afternoon while you got settled. Instead, he mowed the lawn, prepared dinner, all the while with his ears attuned to the sound of you walking around above him. He felt on edge, anxious. The excitement he thought he would feel with someone else in the house had turned into unease.
He made himself an outsider, even more so when your mom came home. Not wanting to intrude on your time together, he stayed in the kitchen to cook dinner for the two of you and delivered it to the living room, placing your plates on the coffee table.
“Thank you, baby, that’s so nice.” Your mother scooted forward, tilting her chin up towards him in a silent request for a kiss.
Granting it to her, he felt her familiar hold slip around the back of his neck to keep him in place for a moment, keenly aware of the way you were right there. For a split second while his lips were still on hers, he glanced up at you and it was clear that he caught you watching by the way you hastily looked away the second he met your eyes.
He fucked her hard that night, his hand over her mouth so you wouldn’t hear.
She was gone in the morning when he made his way downstairs, and he was pleasantly surprised to find coffee already in the pot.
“I made extra,” you said, from your perch on the chair at the table. Sleep shorts high on your thighs, an oversized tee shirt covering your top half. The way it engulfed you made you look younger than you were.
He looked away, busying himself with pouring a cup.
“I drink a lot, so I made a lot,” you explained with shy self-deprecation.
“Sounds good to me,” he replied, sitting down at the table. “Got any plans for today? Or for the summer, I guess?”
Wading the tentative waters of getting to know someone, he watched your fingers play with the edge of the paper.
“Just relax for a bit, I think? Catch up with some old friends? No plan really. I just didn’t want to hang out on a deserted campus.”
He nodded. “Makes sense.”
And so began the morning routine you would both share for the next few weeks. Hesitant and quiet around each other in the beginning, sliding into something normal fairly fast. Your mother was early to rise and early to bed, but he had never been and neither were you.
He joined you in the late morning at the kitchen table, the curve of your soft cheek highlighted in the slant of light through the window. On the couch at night, a different kind of illumination from the light of the TV, yet hitting your cheek just the same. Your things scattered around the living room, your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom, your clothes mixed with his in the wash.
Your proximity was what he blamed for the constant thoughts he had about you.
Every morning he admired how rumpled you looked, how sleepy and soft and inviting. It was endearing, but soon other thoughts edged out the more innocent ones: thoughts about your legs wrapped around his waist, your slender fingers wrapped around something other than a coffee cup.
The want he felt for you pooled in various places inside him: his brain, his chest, between his thighs. It spilled down the shower drain and spilled hot across his stomach.
It flooded your mother’s mouth, and she was none the wiser.
Afterwards, she tucked her face into the meat of his shoulder, pressing a kiss against the skin there. Sated and content, she curled herself around him. “Let’s do something this weekend together. Actually make use of that pool we have for once.”
A barbecue. She’d been talking about having one for a while.
“We’ve been working so hard. I feel like I barely even see you, honey.”
Something akin to guilt tugged at him, thinking of the shifts he had been picking up in an effort to avoid you. Your eyes, your smile, your stupid sleep shorts.
He hummed his agreement and she kissed him in thanks, her breaths eventually evening out as she fell asleep.
Frankie lay awake, the image of your closed bedroom door stuck in his mind.
–
“Jesus Christ,” you murmured as you watched Frankie climb out of the pool.
Broad, bare shoulders, tanned swathes of skin, cute little dimples just above his ass. Water ran down over his tanned skin, the thin material of his swim shorts stuck to his ass and when he turned around to grab a towel off a nearby chair, you were glad for your sunglasses.
Fuck me.
The material of his shorts molded to every inch of his thick cock, the shape clearly outlined. Oblivious, he ran the towel over his curls, over his shoulders and arms, down his torso – and when his hand gingerly pulled the material away from his crotch, you memorized the swirl of dark hair that surrounded his navel and led down.
“Can you help me with the grill, honey?”
Your mom’s voice pulled your attention away from him.
Her boyfriend, you reminded yourself. Frankie was her boyfriend.
“Yea,” he called back, chucking his towel on the chair. “Be right there. Let me put a shirt on.”
The shirt he shrugged over his head was the same one you folded that morning. The material was threadbare and super soft, the muscles of his back shifting underneath the thin fabric as he sauntered over to the grill. You knew the way it felt in your hands, and at the thought of his body heat through the material, you pressed your thighs together.
The afternoon sun bathed you in warmth, but it was nothing compared to the heat that pooled inside your bottoms as you continued to watch him from your recline by the pool. His brown curls glinted in the sun, his throat bobbing with a swallow when your mother brought him a beer.
When his eyes flashed over to you, you finally looked away.
You saw those deep, doleful brown eyes in your sleep.
You felt them on you all the time: in the dark living room during family movie time, your mother curled up against his side. In the kitchen after dinner, when you loaded the dishwasher while he put away the food. In the mornings, when you pretended to read the paper while he snuck hooded peeks at you and drank you in.
Startled by his handsomeness from the very first time you laid eyes on him, your crush only grew with every passing day spent in his company. He was so thoughtful, so attentive and kind, but it was something else buried within his gaze that drew you in.
A barely restrained want that shone clear on his face every time he looked at you. A need simmering under the surface, you saw the way he fought it.
You thought about him constantly: imagined him crowding you against the counter in the kitchen, saw him pulling back the shower curtain to join you, pretended your fingers were his in your bed at night.
Born out of your own need, you pushed him. Played with the limits of his self control, desperate for him to make a move. No action overt enough to be blatant, the way he stared at you made you feel confident, bold. The want pouring off his skin when you hung around him was obvious and thick, filling the space between the two of you until he inevitably excused himself.
When it’s time to eat, you take a seat next to him on the bench, your thigh pressed hot against his. You waited for him to pull away, but he never did and the intimate sensation of the hair on his leg brushing against your own smoother skin made it hard to eat, though you missed it when he got up.
Your mother, one margarita too many and giggly and loose, pulled him into a dance under the stars that had just begun to come out. He humored her, wrapping his arms around her waist to hold her close, smiling at every murmured secret she slipped into his ear.
You watched the scene unfold right in front of you with a fond, humoring expression, and his eyes kept finding yours, flashing in the darkness.
You pretended nonchalance, but the entire time, you wanted.
He took her to bed while you cleaned up the kitchen.
You knew he fucked her – you heard it sometimes. They tried to be quiet for your sake but sometimes a whimper would slip down the hall, the deep reverberation of a groan in the dark.
Climbing into bed that night, your mind lingered on the image of his wet swim trunks. The dark swirl of hair, the heft in the outline.
You wondered what he fucked like with a cock like that.
–
“Something’s going on in the Arizona market,” your mom explained, tossing items into her suitcase. A silk blouse spilled over the side, and you tucked it back in with the rest. “I’ll be gone through Thursday, maybe Friday? Hopefully not the weekend, but I’ll let you know.”
“Do you need a ride to the airport?”
Smiling at you, she stepped forward and cupped your cheek with her hand for a moment. “That’s sweet, honey, but I’m good. Frankie’s got it.”
Apprehension swirled with anticipation, the joint feelings settled low in your gut. You’d been alone with him before, but never for this long. Never truly alone, for days on end.
The man himself poked his head around the corner of the doorway, the width of his shoulders filling out the frame. He glanced at you, and then his watch. “You about ready, baby?”
She bustled around the room, tossing things here and there onto the bed and he looked at you again, a slight frown pulling between his brows.
His expression gave something akin to frustration, and for a split second, you thought it was because of the time your mom was taking. When you felt his dark eyes drop down the length of your body involuntarily and then back up again, you turned away with a small smile, knowing it to be something else.
–
For the first couple days, he stayed away from the house as much as he could. Kept his distance until he ran out of errands, until he drove down the same stretch of road too many times. He didn’t trust himself to be alone with you, and he hated himself for it.
Self loathing creeped in every time he thought about the way his jeans tightened even thinking of you alone in the house. His girlfriend’s fucking daughter, half his age. The whole thing was fucked up.
And yet, he couldn’t stop.
He felt bad, thinking of you suddenly being all alone after spending so much time with people around, but he told himself that you probably loved having the space to yourself.
He came in the shower that morning to the thought of your mouth wrapped around the base of his cock, and he was unable to look you in the eye when he saw you in the kitchen afterward. Your hopeful expression lingered in his mind all day as he stretched out the hours.
The sky turned from light blue to dark, and he finally caved. He couldn’t stay away forever.
The house was quiet when he walked in, tossing his keys on the entryway table. He crept around, looking for any sign of your presence, until he heard the shower running upstairs. Light spilled down the staircase, and heading into the kitchen, he tried to push down the thoughts running rampant in his head.
He drank a glass of water, listening.
The shower turning off (your naked body, damp and warm), your footsteps padding down the hall (that smooth skin, hidden under your towel), your bedroom door shutting (the towel dropping onto your floor).
He stayed downstairs, turning the TV on to distract himself, the air in the house charged with a magnetic pull from your room. He waited until there had been nothing but silence for the better part of a half hour, then dared to venture upstairs.
He’d just say goodnight, that’s all. Just so you knew you weren’t alone.
His knuckles rapped against your door, and he pushed it open when he heard you say come in.
“Hey,” you greeted him, slight surprise on your face. Stretched out in bed, the inviting cloud of your comforter was plush underneath your body. You paused the movie you were watching, and sat up on your elbows. “Haven’t seen you in a couple days.”
“Yea,” he replied, leaning against the frame of your door. His eyes followed a slow path up your bare legs.
“Work been crazy or something?” you asked.
“Something like that, yea,” he answered. His hand stayed on the knob of your door, an anchor that kept him from crossing a line. “I actually just stopped by to say goodnight. I’m gonna turn in.”
“Already?” you teased. “It’s pretty early, isn’t it? Aren’t you gonna live it up while my mom is gone?”
He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I’ve lived it up enough. I’m an old man, remember? We don’t do that kind of stuff.”
“Forty-five is hardly an old man,” you scolded with a smile. “You wanna watch a movie instead?”
You patted the bed next to you, and his face sobered. You didn’t see it, instead reaching for the lotion on your bedside table to work some into your hands and the image of you jerking his cock with that same lotion flashed across his mind. He frowned.
“In here?”
You shrugged, laying back down. “I mean, I’m already all set up in here…”
You left the offer hanging, and even though he knew - he fucking knew he shouldn’t - he found himself nodding.
You looked surprised at his answer for a split second, and then pleased.
“Let me go get changed.”
He walked down the hall towards his room, scolding himself the entire time. Don’t do this, don’t do this, don’t go back into that fucking room. Don’t think about how smooth her skin is and how much you want to kiss her. Don’t think about how her sheets smell like her, don’t think about how much you want to lick her cunt.
The thoughts ran on a loop as he peeled off his work clothes.
They echoed in his head as he pulled on his sweats.
They followed him out of his bedroom and all the way down the hall, stopping at your doorway.
You turned your head, looking at him expectantly, looking so fucking lush and innocent, so eager to have him join you.
He swallowed hard, mouth watering and left his guilt in the hallway, joining you in bed.
–
Pretending to ignore the heavy blanket of tension pulsing between your bodies, you kept your eyes fixed on the screen.
Stretched out next to you, he kept a respectable distance, but you felt the heat that poured off of his skin. He looked so large in your bed, so much like a man. His long limbs splayed out over your girlish comforter, his masculine scent filled the space and when he crossed his arms, you admired the way the hem of his sleeve stretched around his bicep.
Lightheaded and trembling with a heady want that ached between your thighs, you made it through the whole movie – until the room descended into darkness, until the credits rolled and the screen went black
Until it was just the two of you sitting side by side in the dark.
The sheets rustled when you rolled onto your side to face him.
“What did you think?” you asked quietly.
He looked down at you from his slouch on the bed, and your fingers twitched with the need to smooth away the crease that rested permanently between his brows. You would think he was mad if not for his eyes: those always look conflicted more than anything. Constant turmoil, roiling deep within the dark depths.
Not answering, he stared down at you for a long moment before shrugging.
“Okay, I guess. Well, have a good night.”
He then started to slide off the bed.
Disappointment flooded your chest, the tension that you’d been feeling for the last two hours releasing restlessly through your limbs. Already making plans to get your vibrator from your side table to use while burying your face into the sheets he was just sitting on, he stilled.
Your eyes fixed on his broad back, you could almost see the decision being made and he quickly turned before he could convince himself to stop.
Bending down, he kissed you.
It was consuming. The brush of his mustache, the taste of his mouth, the weight of his solid body as he pushed you into the bedding, draping it over yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth to slide against your own, and he swallowed the soft sound that caught in the back of your throat. Pushing himself into the cradle between your thighs, he forced them open wider as he deepened the kiss, and his dry, calloused hand slid underneath the hem of your shirt, wrapping around your hip.
You knew you should push him away, but your hands only dragged him closer, grabbing everything you could touch: the slip of his curls, the curve of his whiskered jaw, the rounds of his broad shoulders. You dug your fingertips into his sides as he ground his hips against yours and your knees hitched higher around his torso.
His hand wrapped around the top of your shin, pushing down to hold you in place.
“Jesus,” he breathed into your mouth between kisses, his fingers tightening in their hold before sliding down to touch everything he can: the meat of your hips, his big hand cupping your ass with a greedy squeeze. Need rolled off of him in waves, his touch betraying just how long he had thought about this and his mouth shifted down to devour the long line of your neck, tasting the sweet hollow of your throat.
Your pulse beat fast under his tongue, speeding up when he let out a groan against the sensitive skin.
“Take – take this off–” he sat back on his ankles, his hands fumbling with your shirt.
As soon as you pulled it over your head, his mouth latched onto your nipple. His tongue swirled around it, sliding over the peaked bud with a suck. His beard scraped across your sensitive skin, leaving a wet path that glistened over the plane of your chest as he dragged his mouth to your other breast and his heavy hand reached down to cup you wholly over your sleep shorts.
His fingers dug into the dip of your entrance and the heel of his hand ground hard against your clit.
“I can’t stop thinking about this pussy,” he confessed. His fingers rubbed harder, and he groaned hot against your skin. “I can already feel how soaked she is for me. How much she wants it.”
You nodded with a whimper, rolling your hips into his touch. “God yes. Please.”
He pulled back just enough to stare down at your face, his pitch black eyes sliding over your features to settle on your open mouth. “Tell me you want this. Tell me how much you want my cock.”
“Yes. Please, please,” you begged.
“It’s gonna be a lot, baby.” He wetted his bottom lip with his tongue, his hand working, working, working. “She’s gonna need to be wet to take what I need her to take.”
A fresh wave of arousal washed through you, and your sleep shorts clung to your center with every grind of his palm. His thick fingers nudged the fabric to the side, exploring.
“Oh fuck,” he groaned, releasing a heavy breath. “Fuck.”
His eyes fluttered shut with a frown as his touch slid through your soaked seam and kissing you again, he timed the slide of his tongue with the slick stretch of two fingers.
Your thighs opened wider around his waist, a whine crawling out of your throat when he pushed them deeper and when he started a smooth, audible stroke, you started to ride his hand.
You’d been watching his fingers for months: wrapped around the steering wheel in the car, loosely cradling the neck of a beer bottle, drumming against his thigh when he watched TV sometimes. You’d imagined them tucked inside you so many times, buried in your mouth or your cunt, and as he worked a third one in, you let out a filthy moan.
“I gotta work it open, baby,” he soothed, pulling your earlobe between his lips. “It’ll be okay. I know you can take it.”
His hips started to follow the rhythmic roll of his hand and when he seemed satisfied with how much you could take, he slid his fingers out, reaching to tear his shirt off over his head. When he pushed his fingers into his mouth for a moment, his lips wrapping around his knuckles as he sucked your taste off the thick digits, his hooded eyes took in the way you scrambled to take your sleep shorts off.
Following your lead, he dumped everything onto the floor beside your bed, and it felt like heaven when you felt his bare skin against the inside of your thighs. So broad, so firm and strong, his body pressed you into the mattress and you felt the hot, pulsing heft of his cock pushing against your cunt. You clenched at the teasing sensation of what was to come, and reached down to grasp him, but his hand caught yours and pushed it into the bedding above your head.
“Let me do it. I wanna watch your face when I put it in,” he confessed, resting his weight on top of you as he reached down with his other hand to guide himself in.
Sticky slick smeared between the both of you, and when the tip of his cock forced you to bloom around him, his eyes fixed on your face. Greedily, he devoured the sight of your mouth dropping open, a tiny tiny frown appearing between your brows and he thickened inside you, pushing forward.
“Fuck,” you moaned. “It’s so much.” So much more than you ever thought it would be, even with all the months spent imagining it.
He bottomed out and the air froze in your lungs, your cunt stuffed fuller than it’s ever been.
“Shhh,” he soothed, staying in place to let you adjust. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re so fucking tight, baby. So tight.”
Squirming underneath him, you hitched your knees higher around his torso and he rocked his hips to slide halfway out before grinding back in with a weighted push. He gave you a minute: a tense minute, a minute thick and full of wanting, a minute where all you could focus on was the stretch of his cock and the heated bulk of his body and the firmness of his chest pressed against yours.
He brushed his lips against yours, and gently rolled his hips.
“Do you know how much I’ve thought about this? About fucking you, in this bed?” His voice deep and breathless, it sounded overwhelmingly intimate breathed against your cheek.
You shook your head.
“I thought I was the only one,” you admitted. “I used to think – oh fuck – I used to think about you coming down the hallway in the night. Crawling into my bed and fucking me just like this. Just like I can hear you fuck her.”
“You listen to me fuck her?” His hips rocked forward a little faster, picking up pace.
“I can’t help it,” you whined. “The sounds – the sounds you make. I wanted to make you make them. I wanted to be the reason.”
His fingers pushed through the hold of your own, locking your hands together above your head and he dug his knees into the bed for leverage. Your breasts shifted underneath him, bouncing lightly as he fucked into you harder and his eyes dropped down to watch. “You are, baby. You are. I think about you all the time.”
Building steadily underneath him, your head pushed back into the bedding and his mouth found your throat, his teeth scraping against the tender skin. His hips never stopping their filling grind, you pushed your fingers through his curls and when he bit down with a suck, a slurred yes slipped out of your outstretched throat.
You imagined your mom seeing it, asking you if you went on a date with someone.
His strokes got harder, harsher, his hips snapping against yours and digging your fingers into the soft globes of his ass, you forced him deeper. When you clenched around his thick length, he looked down at you, wrecked and desperate.
“I wish I tasted you,” he groaned. “Next time, okay?”
You frantically nodded, unable to focus on anything but the bright, shining edge of your release.
He could see it, feel it in the squeeze of your soaked cunt and his vision blurred around the edges, his own want building at the base of his spine.
“You gonna come?”
You are. The sounds he’s making above you and the way he feels inside you and the scent and need rolling off his skin and those fucking pitch black eyes that have been in your dreams for months –
Slick dripped down the curve of your ass, your hips locking up underneath him and when you came with a silent cry, he groaned deep and loud, fucking you right through it.
“Tell me I can fucking come inside you. Say it,” he pleaded, fingers gripped on your chin to hold your gaze on his. His words punctuated by the snap of his hips, you nod your head.
“Do it,” you whined.
Your fingers threaded through his curls, it’s the tug that you give that does it. Coming harder than he had in his fucking life, he filled your tight cunt with thick ropes of his spend. Endless, smeared over the shaft of his thick cock as he continued to pump into you because he couldn’t stop, slipping out to drip onto the delicate sheets below.
“Christ,” he groaned, his jaw clenched as the veins in his neck strained above you, his hips stuttering. Slowing them into a languid roll against your own, his softening cock was still a thick, filling weight inside and when he looked down at you, you recognized the guilt that already flooded the brown depths.
You stared right back, holding him tight.
“Stay,” you murmured, holding him in place when he started to roll off of you.
You wanted to remember this. The hot press of his skin against yours, tacky and slick with sweat. The warm gust of his breath over your lips, the rapid beat of his pulse under his flushed neck. The wild curls that stuck damply along his hairline, the brush of his fingers as he tenderly thumbed at the curve of your jaw.
He swallowed and you could see the war in his eyes, something you recognized as being there from the start. His hand curled over the crown of your head, and you pressed a kiss to his throat.
“You can’t –” he started, eyes fluttering shut at the press of your mouth. “You can’t tell your mom about this, okay. We can’t say anything.”
We. You reveled in the sound of the word, your head nodding underneath him. A secret to share. Something for the two of you alone.
“I won’t,” you promised. “Just don’t leave, okay?”
You felt small and vulnerable asking, and when he looked down at you, a glimpse of the girl he imagined on that very first day tugged at his memory. Not the age he pictured of course, but the way you needed him.
The way he wanted you to need him all along.
His face nuzzled yours, his nose sliding across your cheek. A kiss pressed against the soft, youthful curve of your cheek that he had admired for months, he nodded with your sweet taste still lingering on his tongue.
“I won’t, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”
#frankie morales#frankie morales x you#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales/you#frankie morales/reader
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no but i can't stop about eddie finding queering the map and being overwhelmed by the amount of stories that resonate with him.
it starts with buck, because of course it does.
buck comes into the station one day, rambling about this site he found online. he's still figuring out bisexuality for himself and has been going down a rabbit hole ever since, reading endless articles and reddit stories and experiences told from so many people.
and something about it, about this particular site, catches eddie's attention. he really can't stop thinking about it, wondering if people from el paso would have any of those pins. if anyone from the place he grew up in, was raised in, ever felt like him.
he can't stop wondering if maybe he was never as alone as he thought he was.
when he gets home, he decides to look for himself— it takes him a while. there's too many black pins and he doesn't quite know how to navigate the huge map on his screen. it takes him a few minutes to get the hang of it.
but when he does— oh, when he does.
right there in el paso, people from the same streets he once rode his bike in, are sharing his experiences. fellow soldiers in the same base eddie trained at.
eddie reads these sacred, secret little messages and feels his heart expand more and more with every each one of them.
some of them makes him laugh and chuckle, teary eyed but amused, like "even the army has gays," and "from one gay cowboy to another."
others, nake him falter. make his bretah hitch inside his chest. make something beautiful and fragile and orecious uncurl from the deepest depths of his soul. make him feel seen in a way he isn't sure he's quite ready to.
messages like— "you're not the only one," and "you'll be okay." "the heaven the people from this town speak of, is not a heaven i wanna be sent to." "i should've told him when i had the chance." "stuck in a warzone, thinking about how i wasted so much time and now i might not make it home to him."
messages that hit a little too close to home. from soldiers still in the closet, struggling to accept themselves and living a lie.
messages from dumb teenagers, scared of the future— just like eddie had been once.
messages from people braver than he ever could be, sharing the stories of how they came out to their families and moved across the country to be able to live their truest selves.
eddie spends hours and hours just reading post after post, goingbthrough as many lins as he can and drinking them in as a dying, thirsting man in the middle of the driest desert. he reads until the light from the comouter makes his head hurt and his eyes burn everytime he blinks.
at the end, before closing the tab, he decides to put on his own note.
📍not sure if I'll ever be ready to say it out loud, but I love him. i'm too late. I've lost my chance. this changes nothing, my heart is still in his hands.
he clicks on add and feels the tiniest amount of weight lifting from his shoulders.
#i.... don't know what's this tbh#queering the map#eddie diaz#buddie#kinda#evan buckley#911 abc#911 on abc#april writes#my writing#911 ficlet#911 fic#buddie ficlet#buddie fic
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One 18+
Fic summary: Bucky struggles with his feelings toward you, which he hides by pretending he doesn’t trust you. You get placed on a mission together where trust is essential.
A/N: sorry if this is all over the place, it’s been a while since I’ve written anything so this might be a jumbled mess. Enjoy though!
Warnings: SMUT 18+, oral (f rec), fingering, language, unprotected p in v, kissing, heavy petting.
Word count: 5.3k
Not proofread and no beta (apologies for any mistakes)
I do NOT consent to my work being copied, translated or posted to any other platform.
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Dividers made by the wonderful @firefly-graphics and thank you to @jijilaufeyson for helping me make a decision.
“Are you serious?!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, “I’ve been with SHIELD for three years, I can do this mission by myself. I don’t need a babysitter!”
“Yes, you do.” Bucky sneers, you turn your head towards him and glare.
“I hate to agree with Barnes but he’s right, I think you still need someone to keep an eye on you. Your ex was HYDRA after all.” Tony says, as he crosses his arms over his chest.
You throw your head back in frustration, they’re never going to forget about him.
Three years ago, you had come back to the apartment you shared with you boyfriend of two years to find the place swarming with HYDRA agents. He had been assigned to you to eventually recruit you to HYDRA after they had discovered your abilities.
You’d always been able to sense how someone was feeling by just being near them and eventually it had morphed into being able to influence their emotions. You could walk into a party or a meeting and know exactly who to look out for, whether it be because they were vulnerable or someone with ill intention.
It took immense concentration, effort and energy to be able to change someone’s emotions without touching them. Which you always try and avoid, you don’t want to change someone unintentionally, you could ruin things for them. So, you manage to keep your emotions in check most of the time, and don’t accidentally influence anyone.
The moment you realised that Russell was HYDRA, you didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, but they weren’t going to let you go without a fight. Luckily, you’d befriended the Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff, when you’d met her and Wanda Maximoff one night at a local dive bar after Russ had blown you off again. One text to her and they’d both been at your door and helped you get away from the agents and back to the safety of Avengers Tower where you’d been subjected to an intense interrogation from Tony Stark, Cliff Barton and Bucky Barnes.
You’d thought that after all the years spent training and fighting by their sides, they would trust you by now, but obviously they don’t. Or more specifically; Bucky doesn’t. Cliff had decided you were trustworthy the first time he interrogated you and had told them as much, but Bucky wasn’t hearing it. So here you were three whole years later, still deemed untrustworthy by the Winter Soldier of all people.
“You know what…?” You start and Bucky smirks at you, adding more fuel to the fire. “I’m glad you’re doing the recon alone, gives me time to pack.” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “This is my last mission, I’m done. I quit!” You turn on your heel and leave the conference room without another word.
Bucky groans and places both hands on the table in front of him, flesh beside vibranium, and hangs his head.
“Well that went well Barnes.” Tony says as he walks over to the door. “Looks like I have to do damage control.” He points at Bucky. “You find something on that recon and figure out a way to fix this. We can’t lose her.” And leaves the room, the glass door swinging back and forth.
Bucky makes a fist and slams it down on the table in front of him. “Fuck!”
You stalk down the hallway, heading to your room, walking past everyone and ignoring them all as they try talking to you. Natasha notices and follows you to your room, the doors are automated so you can’t even slam it to let out your frustration. So, you throw your self face down on your bed and scream into the comforter. Natasha just stands by the door, not saying anything and waits for you to finish your screaming.
“Feel better?” She asks as you flip yourself over to lay on your back.
“I can’t believe he still doesn’t trust me! Well, it doesn’t matter anymore, I quit.” You say without looking in her direction.
“You didn’t quit.” Natasha says as she walks over to join you on your bed.
“I did, straight to Bucky and Tony’s faces. Both of them looked shocked but I don’t care anymore. I’m fucking done!” You say as you jump off the bed and begin going through your closet and putting clothes in a suitcase.
The one thing you want, is to have Bucky’s trust…. Okay there’s something you want more than his trust, but you’re never going to get it. If he doesn’t trust you to be member of his team, there’s no way he’s going to trust you in any sort of relationship. So rather than trying anymore, you’ve picked the nuclear option. Serves him right!
“Buck…?” Steve says as he walks into the conference room where Bucky is still hunched over the table. “What’s going on?”
“What is wrong with me Steve? Why can’t I trust people?”
“You mean y/n?” Steve asks. Bucky groans. “Buck, I think it’s obvious to everyone except you and y/n that you like her.” Bucky looks up at Steve. “In a romantic way.”
Bucky stammers, “N... no I don’t.” Steve raises an eyebrow and smirks at Bucky.
“You haven’t been in a relationship since she joined SHEILD, hell you haven’t even on a date in a year. You like her.”
“You’re right Steve, I do. But… She quit.” Bucky says as his head hangs head.
“What did you do? You know what, it doesn’t matter. Fix it!” Steve says and leaves the room.
You and Bucky avoid each other for the next week, but to be fair he was out doing recon for the mission with Sam, who had been ribbing him about his feelings for you and pissing Bucky off. They had however, been able to meet the mark and started integrating themselves into his world. Your role as Bucky’s girl would come later, and you couldn’t help feeling like he was ruining your chances to prove yourself. You could’ve done the getting to know the mark and maybe brought Bucky or Sam or even Steve in as your man later on.
You hated to admit it but their getting to know him first was the better plan as not many women were in that world.
The mark. Carlo Vizzini is the head of an organised crime syndicate, who deals stolen HYDRA and SHIELD weapons and technology to other members of the syndicate. The goal is to find the times and locations of all the shipments being brought into the city, finding a list of buyers would be the icing on the cake but it isn’t a priority.
Bucky’s role is to present himself as someone new to the area who wants to become a member of the syndicate. FRIDAY has come up with an elaborate backstory for the two of you, created entire histories for you both which you’ve spent the last week reviewing and learning. Your backstory isn’t too far away from your real story, so it isn’t hard to memorise. The problem is pretending to be his girl. How can you possibly work together and be convincing if it’s obvious to everyone that he doesn’t trust you. There has to be a reason why Tony suggested Bucky for the mission and not Steve, you don’t know what it is, not that you care because you won’t be around once this mission is completed.
The story. You and Bucky have moved to New York from Michigan, where was a mid level HYDRA agent who oversaw a warehouse that contained new tech. The place had been breached while he was attending a HYDRA event with you, and they had fired him for allowing the breach to happen (An actual event orchestrated by Vizzini).
You had been together for five years at the point you’re at, and Tony had decided to add the fact that you were recently engaged. So, you had to wear an obnoxiously huge diamond on your left ring finger, which really bugged you. You had both been set up in a brownstone in Brooklyn, sleeping in separate rooms but having to appear all lovey dovey in case you were being watched.
Four weeks later.
Carlo Vizzini has invited Bucky and you to an event hosted at his mansion in the Hamptons, where you will both be introduced to other syndicate members. So, you need a spa day and shopping trip where you can buy a dress for the event and be seen out and about acting like this is a normal occurrence. Tony has also arranged for someone from Tiffany to show up at your house and lend you some jewellery for the event as you’re a simple teeny hoop earring kind of girl.
You find the perfect dress while browsing online so it’s very easy to go and get it without having to actually search in store. Scratch that, Natasha found the dress for you and told you it would be a crime if you didn’t wear it.
The idea is to infiltrate the syndicate event, find the intel and get out without your cover being blown until the weapons and tech have been recovered. If your covers can last beyond that until the entire syndicate has been taken down, that’s even better.
So, you’ve been to the salon and had your hair done and are heading back to the brownstone when you notice the dark SUV you spotted outside the mall had parked across the road and the occupant was crossing over to you. You play it off like you haven’t noticed, a civilian wouldn’t have and that’s who you are for the foreseeable future.
“Excuse me? Y/N” The stranger starts a conversation with you.
“Yes? You answer, turning to face the person who has spoken to you.
“I’m sorry, I work for someone your boyfriend is trying to get into business with and he’s asked me to check that you out.”
You chuckle, “Fiancé.” The stranger looks confused. “He’s my fiancé, not my boyfriend. Does Mr Vizzini think we haven’t done the same the same to him? Can’t be too careful these days, too many con men around, especially in New York.”
The stranger seems a little taken aback by your words, but continues, like his job is at stake. “I have a few questions, if you wouldn’t mind answering.”
You cross your arms over your chest and cock an eyebrow. “Okay?”
He takes a picture out of his jacket and asks. “Who is this man?”
The picture is of Sam Wilson, the Falcon but you answer, “That is Sam, James’s brother, adopted of course. “
“And how long have you been together?”
“Five years, engaged for one. Are we done here? I have to get ready for a party.” You say and turn to the steps of your brownstone, heading up to your front door.
“One more question.” You turn to face him again. “Can I use your bathroom?” You sigh and open the door, directing him the right way and stay in the hallway so he doesn’t sneak anywhere else for a snoop. You hear the cistern flush and the squeak of the faucet, but you also hear the sound of the medicine cabinet being opened. Yep, he’s snooping. A few moments later he steps out of the bathroom and thanks you as he leaves your house.
You head straight into the kitchen and start the coffee machine; you then grab a detector out of the kitchen drawer and head into the bathroom. Using it to detect for a bug, which you find in the cupboard under the sink and leave it there. You have a get out your phone and send a message, one you’ve prearranged with Bucky, telling him about the bug.
‘Can’t wait to see your reaction when you see what I have on under my dress (followed) tonight. You’re not gonna be able to keep your cool or your hands (Suspicious) to yourself’
‘New lingerie?” (Bug?)
‘Maybe (yes), but you’re gonna have to wait and see’
‘Can’t wait’ (Understood)
You’re gonna have to start your charade earlier than anticipated and act like a real couple. I suppose there are worse things in life than pretending to be in a relationship with Bucky. You can’t deny that the dude is hot.
You pretend to use the bathroom by slowly pouring a bottle of water in the toilet, flushing and washing your hands. Then you head back into the kitchen to pour yourself a coffee.
Bucky arrives home a short while later, carrying a bouquet of roses (Sam’s idea) and gives you a kiss. You feel a little twinge in your stomach, feeling his lips on yours. His kiss is light and sweet.
Feeling your lips on his sends a thrill through Bucky, the feelings he’s been trying to hide for years bubbling to the surface and he has to stop himself deepening the kiss.
“There’s fresh coffee in the kitchen babe, I’m going to start getting ready. No peeking!” You say and head upstairs.
Bucky stays downstairs to drink a coffee and makes a few phone calls, all in character of course, before heading upstairs to get into his tux which takes only a few minutes. He’s back in the living room in less than ten minutes, waiting for you join him.
Bucky isn’t downstairs for very long before he hears your heels on the upper landing and stands up to greet you but at seeing you, his breath hitches in his throat.
(This is the dress you wear)
“You’re fucking stunning!” Bucky breathes out, causing you to grin.
“Not too bad yourself James.” You reply as you walk down the stairs and take his outstretched hand.
You arrive at the house in the Hamptons, impressed with the size of the place, hanging on to Bucky’s arm. The size of it is really impressive and you live in Avengers Tower.
Bucky thinks that he must thank Natasha for picking out that dress. He can’t keep his eyes off of you, that dress hugs your curves in all the right places. Bucky knows he needs to remain professional, but he really wants to get his hands on you and bring you pleasure like you’ve never known. He won’t have any problem pretending to be your lover tonight, because that’s the only thing he wants.
The party is in full swing an hour later, you’ve mingled with everyone, hanging on Bucky’s arm, acting like he’s your entire world. And to him, you are his world. It’s not acting, he’s crazy about you and has been since you met.
Another forty-five minutes go by with the both of you all over each other, giving you a reason to sneak off at some point, to find the intel you’re there to get.
Bucky’s arm is around your waist, holding you close to him as you leave the “ballroom” where the party is. You’re acting the part really well, practically hanging off of him, hands wandering. Walking down the hallway, still all over each other, opening doors looking for a place to have some privacy. Some rooms are all occupied, but the one you’re looking for is empty, Vizzini’s office. As soon as you’re in the room and you part ways, straight back to business, heading for his desk and turning on his computer. Plugging a USB drive you take off of your bracelet into it, and copying the files.
“Heads up Buck, Carlo is on his way and he’s not alone.” Sam says over comms. The last file copies just in time, and you attach the USB back to the bracelet and walk back around the desk.
“Shit!” Bucky says. “We’re gonna get caught!”
Your brain works quickly, “I have an idea, but you have to trust me.” You say as you switch the computer off.
Bucky nods. “Okay.” You pull him over to the wall beside the door and lean against it. You reach up under your dress and remove your underwear, Bucky’s eyes bulge out of his head. You throw your panties in the vicinity of the desk and reach down to undo Bucky’s pants. “What are you doing?!” He asks.
“I told you to trust me, I’ll get us out of this.” You unbutton his slacks and bunch up your skirt a little. “Lift me.” You instruct. Bucky catches on and lifts you, so your legs are wrapped around his waist. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him close. “Go with it okay?” You say. Bucky gulps but nods and your lips meet in a searing kiss that makes you both moan out loud into each others' mouths. His hips begin to move instinctively, playing the part of a man who can’t keep his hands off of his girl. Bucky feels an usual sensation, kind of like a happiness he’s never felt before. As quick as he feels it, it goes away again.
You’re moaning loudly, alternating between passionate kisses and heavy breathing when Vizzini opens the door to his office and “catches” you, entering the room with two burly bodyguards. You gasp and fake panic.
“What the…?” He exclaims, his eyes bogging out of his head before he composes himself and continues. “This is my office, not a motel room!” You giggle. “This is not a laughing matter young lady, this is very inappropriate behaviour!” Bucky lifts you and places your heeled feet back on the floor and helps you rearrange your dress before tucking his shirt back into his slacks.
“We’re sorry Mr Vizzini, but when your girl looks like this, you have a hard time keeping your hands to yourself.” Bucky says as he wraps his arm around your shoulders.
“But this is my office!” Vizzini says, exasperatedly.
“We’re sorry but other rooms were occupied!” You say with a smirk. Vizzini nods and the two bodyguards rush out of the room, they return moments later, both red faced.
Vizzini nods again and turns to you. “We will not mention this again and our meeting Tuesday will go ahead.” Vizzini says. Before sitting at his desk and making a choked sound. “I think these belong to you.” He says, pointing to the black lace panties that had landed on the keyboard of his computer. You giggle and retrieve them from his desk, biting your lip as you do.
“Sorry again!” You giggle as Bucky wraps his arm around you and leads you out of the office. You head back to the party, makes it seem less like obvious that you’re involved in espionage.
You both carry on playing the devoted couple, you’re hanging off of him like someone who can’t get enough of their man. Sneaking kisses here and there, selling the bit. Vizzini reappears a little while later and blushes when you and he make eye contact, you smirk back at him and pull Bucky in for a kiss. It’s after midnight by the time your car has pulled up outside and you’ve said your goodbyes.
You’re still all over each other as you get into the car, smiling and waving to everyone as the car pulls away. You keep the act up until you’re on your way out of the Hamptons and on the free way before you separate, in case you were followed. You stay close to each other just so you can snap back together quickly if you noticed someone watching you or for when you get back to the brownstone that is your “residence” at least until this mission is over.
You can smell Bucky’s cologne and it’s been invading your nostrils since you walked down the stairs before leaving in the early evening. It’s lingering on your skin from how you’ve been all over each other all night. You recognise it as Sauvage, one of your absolute favourites. You can’t remember Bucky ever wearing it before, he’s usually a Hugo Boss guy, which is another of your favourites. You momentarily let your control slip (not for the first time this evening) and imagine what it would be like, to have Bucky’s affections and let happiness bloom inside you, but you stop it as soon as you feel it reaching your face.
Bucky has put so much effort into hiding how he feels, he feels like he’s suffocating right now. He feels something again, like a happiness that he’s never felt before. But it disappeared as quickly as he feels it. The truth is drowning him and he needs to tell you how he feels, the thought actually terrifies him though. What if you reject him? What if you don’t feel the same way?
He needs to talk to Steve, find out how to approach this because he can’t lose you before he’s even had you. The car pulls up to your brownstone and you both get out, his arm around your shoulders as you head up the steps. “I need to go run a quick errand I’ll be back soon, wait up for me?” Bucky asks.
“Of course, baby, I’ll see you when you get back.” You reply with a kiss on the lips, smiling at him as you unlock the door and step inside, closing it behind yourself and leaning against the door with a sigh.
Bucky runs to the bodega on the corner and uses their pay phone, making sure that he’s concealed before dialling.
“Hello…?” Steve answers on the fourth ring, his voice scratchy with sleep.
“How do I tell her? After everything, what do I say?” Bucky’s words are rushed out, not even telling Steve that it’s him.
Steve lets out a sigh. “Buck, just say what you feel. Honestly is the best policy. She needs to know what you feel is real and not because of what you’re both living right now. Open up, I think she will be more open than you expect. I’m going back to sleep now.” Steve hangs up and Bucky is more determined than ever.
He grabs a bottle of wine and some other items so it looks like he had a legit reason to be in the bodega, pays and heads back to your brownstone.
He unlocks the door, you’re not in the living room when he gets back so he quickly takes off the jacket of his tux and goes into the kitchen and puts the items he bought away. Bucky rolls the sleeves of his white shirt up his arms, grabs two glasses and opens the wine then heads upstairs.
You’re in your bedroom, you’ve taken off your dress and are wearing a short black silk robe. He walks in with the wine and goes to speak but the words die in his throat. He takes a deep breath and closes the door, you raise an eyebrow but take one of the wine glasses off of him as he pours the red wine into it. He pours his own, puts the bottle down and takes a big gulp from his glass.
“We need to talk.” The words rush out with his breath.
“About what?” You reply.
“I’m sorry.” Bucky says, looking straight in your eyes. “I act like I don’t trust you because it’s easier than admitting the truth, but the truth is what you deserve so here goes…” You look at him expectantly. Bucky takes another deep breath before he continues. “I like you and I have since we met, and it scared me because I’ve never caught feelings that quickly before. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever caught feelings like I have for you, with anyone. I think I…” he stops himself.
“You think you what?” You nudge.
“I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”
You look into his eyes and the cerulean blue shows nothing but sincerity. He means it. He loves you. You contemplate telling him how you feel but actions speak louder than words.
You walk to Bucky, standing in front of him. You lick your lips he looks into your eyes, searching for hesitation and finding none. He reaches out for you, his hand grabs the back of your neck and he pulls you closer. His lips brush yours and your breath hitches in your throat. You look into each others eyes and you wrap your arm around his neck, pulling him closer and planting a firm kiss on his lips.
Your lips feel like they were made to kiss his, they slot together perfectly, like two halves of a whole. He sighs contentedly as your lips open to allow his tongue access, your tongues dance together, caressing each other as your bodies get even closer.
Something snaps in Bucky and he pulls you towards him, walking backwards until he’s against the wall. He spins you around and pushes you against the wall, breaking the kiss and leaving you panting for breath.
“I need you to say that you want this, please say you want this. I can’t bear one more moment without touching you.” Bucky says breathlessly.
“I want it, I want you.” You say and reach out for him again. He kisses you sweetly, pulls back and sinks to his knees. He plants a kiss on the inside of your knee which makes you shudder. “Fuck!” You moan out as his mouth kisses up your thigh, getting closer and closer to your centre. Bucky lifts your robe and groans out loud, noticing that you never replaced the underwear you removed in Vizzini’s office. He grabs your knee and lifts your leg, hooking it over his shoulder and moving his mouth to your mound, licking a stripe from your hole to your clit. “Holy shit!!” You moan out and grab Bucky’s head with one hand and scratching at the wall with the other.
Bucky groans at your taste and begins to practically make out with your pussy, his eyes glassed over as your juices drip down his chin. His uses two fingers on his flesh hand and teases your hole, gathering your slick until he can sink them into you, straight to the knuckle. He’s eating you with such fierce ferocity and fucking you with his fingers so passionately that your orgasm builds quickly. “I’m not gonna last much longer.. I’m gonna…” a long moan escapes your lips as your orgasm washes over you. You shudder and shake, struggling to breathe as you ride the waves of your climax, your cunt pulsating around his fingers.
Bucky’s oral ministrations slow as your orgasm dies down, and your breathing returns to normal. He removes his fingers and your leg from his shoulder, stands and unbuttons his shirt before removing it and using it to wipe his face. He stands there in a white vest, his face flushed and looks at you adoringly. Bucky undoes your robe and lets it fall off your shoulders, leaving you in just your bra. You reach out and undo his pants, pushing them down leaving him in just a pair of black boxers. You can see his erection straining the fabric, you want nothing more than to take what you can tell is an impressive member out of his underwear and show him how good your head game is. Bucky however has other ideas.
“Take off the bra, please. I need to see all of you.” He says, his eyes still glassy. You oblige and he groans out loud, he steps forward and pushes you against the wall again. He takes your left breast in his hand and massages gently, causing you to arch into him. He lowers his head and takes your nipple in his mouth, circling the tight bud with his tongue. Bucky stops and plants a searing kiss on your mouth, it’s sloppy, full of teeth and tongues. He pushes his underwear down as you’re kissing, depriving your view.
You still don’t get a glimpse as he grabs your ass and lifts you, your legs automatically going around his waist as you continue your assault on each others' mouths, it’s like you can’t get enough. Bucky breaks off the kiss as he looks into your eyes, the both of you are heavy breathing already. “Ready?” He asks, you nod. “Words baby.”
“Yes please!” You feel the head of his cock against your entrance, gathering as much of your creamy slick as he can. Before notching inside you, your eyes roll back in your head as he slides into your wet cunt, painstakingly slowly. He wants you to feel every inch, every vein, the way he throbs for you. Once he bottoms out in you, you release the breath you didn’t realise you were holding. Your arms are around Bucky’s shoulders, holding onto him for dear life. You’ve never felt so full, so… complete. There’s a slight sting and burn, you can only assume but there’s a very good chance that he’s big and girthy.
Bucky plants a kiss on your lips before he begins to move, sliding out of you, almost completely before sinking into you again. The air is knocked from your lungs, you feel amazing as his cock slides in and out of you at an agonisingly slow pace. You moan out loud at the sensation.
“Faster!” You groan out, frustrated at how slow he’s fucking you.
“All in good time, I need to feel you.” Bucky moans out, but pretty soon he can’t just revel in the feeling. He needs to move faster, chasing his end. His hips snap up quicker and your moaning increases in volume, that heat in your belly building again with each thrust of his hips.
Bucky takes your mouth again, kissing you with all of him as he fucks into you with abandon. Your moans and tongues intertwined, your heavy breathing entering each others' mouths. Your hands carding through Bucky’s hair, tugging gently on the strands at the nape of his neck. Each time you do it makes his hips thrust harder and makes him grunt. But you have to stop after a minute as the heat blooming in your belly expands more until it can go no further.
It snaps and blooms upward and downward, sending heat to your toes and making you see white. Your climax makes your head roll back and you let out a scream of pleasure. There’s a new sensation as your orgasm hits, the feeling of white-hot heat spreading through him. Happiness, love, every positive feeling ever shoots through him and the spasms of your cunt around his cock, prematurely sets off his orgasm. He has wanted to draw another two or three from you before his end but he can’t hold it back.
He roars out, even the way your climax muffled your hearing you heard him. You’ve never heard anything like that, the sound was primal, animalistic. Your breathing slows and you lower your head to look at him, he’s staring back at you, looking completely fucked out, but so do you.
“You okay baby?” Bucky asks, breathing heavily and pulling your face towards him so he can kiss you. You can’t even speak, you just about nod before he lifts you off the wall and carries you over to the bed. He lays you down and pulls his semi-hard cock out of you, which makes you whine. He goes into your en suite and grabs a washcloth to clean you up, before joining you on the bed. He pulls you close and you snuggle into his warm body, your hand rests on his chest, just above his heart.
Happiness blooms in his chest once more, a content feeling. He realises that you’re projecting onto him with your abilities but you’re too out of it to realise. The feeling is one of pureness, a feeling of love. Bucky realises he has had this feeling before, many times, the first time was the day he met you. He really did feel love at first sight, he didn’t think it was possible but it happened. And now you both knew how the other felt, there’s no way he was going to go back to the way it was. And you’re not leaving SHIELD. Not unless he leaves with you, because from now on, you are one.
THE END?
Posted 23/04/2024
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just come home pt. 2 - satoru gojo
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[satoru gojo - f!reader]
✧ summary: dealing with the breakup has been hard for the both of you, and it doesn't help when your randomly bump into each other
✧ cw: angst, some fluff, denial, slight intoxication, somewhat proofread
✧ word count: 3.6k
part 1
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35 days has passed since he had last seen you, let alone heard your voice and he never knew he could miss something so much. The first week after everything had went down, he had blown up your phone in hopes you two could talk it through. But he hadn’t been so lucky, as he was sent straight to voicemail every time.
He was dying to know how you were doing, wondering if you were as miserable without him as he found himself to be without you. Every time he stepped into the abandoned apartment, the scene of you leaving him played over and over in his head. It wasn’t until your friend had picked up all your stuff he realised how imprinted you were in the apartment. It didn’t feel like home to him anymore.
The apartment was, in theory, Satoru’s. In the beginning, you spent the night every now and then. But the relationship was just so intense, quickly escalating to spending the night, every night. Eventually you both figured it was just better you moved in, so you wouldn’t have to travel in between places for small necessities. As time went on, your stuff and decor brought new life to the place, something he had wanted for a long time but never taken the time to do. But now every trace of your time in his apartment was erased and he couldn’t stand being there.
“She’s not telling me anything, Satoru,” Suguru sighed as he was continuously begging him to spill whatever he had heard from you. Throughout your relationship, it was only natural for you to get to know his friends. Therefore, Suguru had reached out to you once he learned what had happened. But much to Satoru’s dismay, you gave short replies, only answering out of pure politeness.
“She’s a chatty person, I find it hard to believe she’s sending you one-word texts.”
With a sigh, Suguru threw his phone at him, taking Satoru by surprise. “Have a look for yourself.” Suguru didn’t have to ask him twice as he instantly entered the texts exchanged between the two of you. Not only did you answer shortly, but you took your sweet time sending any form of reply. But once he saw the last message he had received from you was yesterday, his heart did a small jump. It was the first sign he’d seen himself that you were even alive.
y/n: doing fine. hope you have a nice weekend too :)
His eyes kept staring at the small screen, fighting the urge to start typing anything just to be in contact with you. After a while, he reluctantly handed the phone back to Suguru.
“Happy now?” Suguru asked, earning him a cold glare from Satoru. “If I’m gonna be honest, I thought the two of you had been having issues for a while.” His glare instantly softened and his entire demeanour had changed into one of pure sadness.
“Come again?”
“You can’t be serious, Satoru?” Suguru asked tauntingly, his voice dripping with disappointment. “You hate work. I thought the first time you volunteered to stay after a meeting, you guys had been fighting and you were just being petty.”
“I’m not petty,” Satoru raced to defend himself.
“That’s beside the point!” Suguru said, rolling his eyes. “You know how you can get. I thought you just wanted to piss her off, but it kept happening. I tried asking you about it, but you just brushed it off every time.”
“I’m telling you, we were fine. There were no issues!”
“You keep saying that, but something changed. Satoru, do you remember the last time Shoko or I begged you to shut up about her?” Now that Suguru mentioned it, Satoru began to think about what Suguru had said and realised he was making a point.
He felt as if his heart was breaking all over again, to hear how even his friends had managed to pick up on his blatant disregard for his girlfriend, but it had managed to slip right by him. And because of that, the image of you, choked with tears because of him was forever burned into his mind.
“I just really want her back!” He stuttered, clearly in despair which caught Suguru off guard. For all the times Satoru had explained the situation to his friends, he had never really let his emotions show to anyone. He kept all that locked up until he was sound in his bed, when he couldn’t keep it together anymore. Nearly every night since you’d left, he fell asleep crying.
“It’s not like you deserve it.”
Satoru scoffed. “I never meant for this to happen, Suguru." He really didn’t appreciate his closest friend going against him on the matter, even though he was fully aware it was what he deserved.
“I’m sure you didn’t,” his friend shrugged. “But it did. This is the bed you made, it’s time you lay in it.” Every word that left Suguru’s mouth was entirely true, and Satoru hated himself for it. Ever since he last saw you, he had tried to convince himself this wasn’t his fault, that there was no way for him to have seen this coming. But every time he went down that road, he came to the same conclusion that he could have avoided it a hundred times over.
Satoru was definitely blaming himself enough, to the point where he was in no mood to sit there and listen to his friend spew statements of how badly he screwed up, so he got up from his seat and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
He didn’t even bother answering Suguru, as he slammed the door behind him as he left.
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It had been the longest and most dreadful 35 days of your life. Luckily, your friend had been kind enough to open her home to you and put absolutely no pressure for you to leave anytime soon.
She’d been asleep when you came banging on her door in the middle of the night, extremely confused at first when you had just collapsed into a bundle of sobs on her living room floor. Once she’d wiped the sleep out of her eyes, she had managed to decipher your broken words into a coherent narrative about how you and Satoru had broken up.
The first week was definitely the worst, huddled up on her couch in a blanket, only getting up to go to the bathroom. She had provided you with whatever you needed; ice cream, movies and takeout. You name it, and she brought it.
You were thankful she’d just let you have some time to be a complete mess before being forced to deal with life again. So after the first week, she started to pull you out of you comfort zone in order for you to start a healing process. At first, she just had you help her cook dinner, then she brought you along to shop for groceries. Before you knew it, you found yourself doing your makeup again which seemed like a huge step. Finally you were putting in some effort in making yourself feel a little better. It felt like a breath of fresh air when you returned to a form of normalcy.
That didn’t mean it hurt any less. In the moments you found yourself thinking about your relationship — past relationship — the sadness struck you all over again, and it didn’t seem like it would fade away just yet. But it had at least become manageable, and it was nice falling asleep without sobbing to the point where you couldn’t breathe.
Finally, your progress had resulted in the first social outing since the breakup. Your friend had been invited to a barbecue, and she had begged for you to join her. After some convincing, you decided it would actually be nice to go out and meet some people and regain some of the social life you had lost.
That’s how you found yourself in the grocery store, trying to find anything to bring to the barbecue, not wanting to come empty handed. You stopped your search when you felt a pair of eyes staring at you. Turning to face the person, you immediately froze, your breath hitching in your throat.
A few feet from you, Satoru was standing, his mouth slightly hanging open. You felt your heart begin to race, banging against your chest like a hummingbird.
Time stood still as you both stared at each other, wondering who would be the one to break the ice first. Wrapping your arms around yourself in comfort, you tightened your grip to contain the overwhelming feelings filling your body.
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“You didn’t see his face, y/n. I mean, he has never been embarrassed like that before,” Satoru laughed. He had his arm tossed over your shoulders, while your arm was wrapped around his waist, stumbling down the deserted street. It was definitely not unlike the two of you to leave a party early, as you both much more preferred only each others company.
“Why didn’t you come and get me?” You whined. “I would have loved to see a girl get Suguru all flustered.”
“I mean, she was hot too. Way out of his league.” With the hand resting in his waist, you pinched hard.
“Watch it mister!” You growled, but in reality you were chocking back the drunk giggle that was bubbling up inside you. “If she was so hot, why don’t you go see if she wants to join you for the night.” You shrugged his arm off your shoulders, and released your grip on him. However, he was quick to grab ahold of your hand again and pulled you towards him so you collided with his chest.
“Oh, don’t be like that, pretty girl.” His voice was teasing you, clearly not taking your fake anger seriously. He wrapped one arm around your waist, making it impossible for you to pull away. The other hand grabbed your face before he began to place a bunch of kisses all over your face.
“Satoru!” You squealed in between giggles. Pressing your hands against his chest, you tried to push him away and get out of his grip, but to no prevail.
“What? You don’t want my kisses?” He pouted, loosening his grip, but you remained close to him. “Maybe that girl is interested in them instead?.” His eyes were so soft as he looked down on you, a small genuine smile dancing on his lips. Even with his playful attitude, you had zero concern he would even consider going back to her.
“You’re a funny guy, aren’t you?” You hooked your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes leaning in closer.
“I think I'm hilarious.” Your nose brushed against his, your lips only an inch apart. His hot breath touched your skin, and his eyes travel your face.
“What makes you think she’d even go for you, darling?” His head fell back in laughter, as you flashed him a huge grin, still hanging on around his neck.
“Suguru’s a handsome guy. If I were her-“
“Shut up,” Satoru cut you off before he finally connected his lips with yours in a sweet and passionate kiss. The butterflies went wild as you felt him smile into the kiss. “Doesn’t matter anyway. You’re the only girl I have eyes for.” He said after he reluctantly pulled away.
“Keep it that way,” you giggled before pulling him in for another kiss.
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It was strange to see him again, and a new sensation of melancholy entertained you. From the second you’d left his apartment, you began to picture what it would be like to see him again. You imagined you’d be struck with the same sorrow of that night, only thinking of how he had been unable to provide for your needs. But you found yourself only thinking of the good memories you had shared with him. Every sweet affirmation, every gentle touch, just in general the time spent together.
“Hi,” you croaked, observing how his body was brought back to reality at the sound of your voice. He took a few steps closer and removed his signature sunglasses. Seeing his captivating eyes in person for the first time in so long made you tighten the grip around yourself even more, if that was even possible.
“Hey.” His voice didn’t have the same unease as yours, but it was visible on his stance he wasn’t as confident as he usually was. “What brings you here?”
“To the grocery store?”
“Yeah, what brings you to the grocery store?” Satoru repeated awkwardly, trying to play off his weak attempt to make small talk, his cheeks turning to a faded shade of pink.
“Well, I’m going to a barbecue party so just wanted to bring something.”
“Barbecue party. Fun!”
Seeing you again was overwhelming for him as well, and created a twinge of hurt within him. You looked so different from the last time he saw you. There was a hint of a glow in you he hadn’t seen in a long time, and it hit him again that he was the one who had smothered that glow in you in the first place.
Satoru knew he couldn’t continue to lie to himself much longer, and seeing you again was what made him realise that. Right now, looking at you wearing a cute summer dress, looking absolutely stunning, he saw the extreme contrast in your person compared to a month ago. He finally had a clear visual of how his ignorance had truly damaged you, when time away from him had brought a new form of life into you.
What was even worse, was how he could still see the love you had for him in your eyes. From the moment you had gotten together, one could never have doubted the fact that you loved Satoru Gojo. And you’re unwavering love for him had made him feel so safe and seen, like he’d never experienced before. Which was probably the reason he’d let everything get to this point. He knew your feelings for him wouldn’t change if he stayed late a few times, because you never hesitated to show your affection. He just took it for granted he did the same. To him, it wasn’t a question if he was entirely devoted to you, since he was so adamant that he was willing to do absolutely anything for you. He just sort of figured he had given you the same reassurance he’d received. But looking back, he could clearly see that wasn’t the case.
“I hope it’ll be,” you said with a weak smile and his heart fluttered instantly.
“I thought you weren’t big on barbecues though,” he dared chuckle a little.
“I'm not, but figured it was a good opportunity to meet some people.”
He so wanted to reach out his hand and cup your soft cheek, slowly stroking his thumb while his other hand intertwined with yours.
“How are you?” He blurted out, asking the question he had dreaded the answer to.
“Well, I’ve been better,” you stuttered. “But getting there I suppose. Taking it one day at a time. You?”
Whatever dumb thing he thought of answering, trying to conceal how broken he had been the past month, would do no good as you would see right through him. He simply shrugged, which was received by a compassionate, yet sad smile from you.
“You look great, by the way,” he gestured towards you, causing you to blush.
“Thank you,” you whispered, not able to peer your eyes off of him. He was still as gorgeous as ever, but he didn’t look the same. He clearly wasn’t sleeping well, dark circles under his eyes. Knowing him, he probably wasn’t eating well either. But his snow white hair fell the same way, and his eyes looked at you the way they always did. “I have to get going.”
“Wait-“ Satoru quickly interjected, stepping closer again so he was only standing two feet away from you. “Would you like to grab coffee or something sometime?” He sounded so unbelievably innocent, almost like a child as he made his suggestion. He anxiously waited for your answer, his shoulders tense with anticipation.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Gojo.” He flinched ever so slightly at the use of his last name, something you’d never done in the span of your relationship. It created a new distance between the two of you that felt untouchable.
“Don’t you think we could both benefit from talking about everything? I mean, things ended very abruptly-“ he quickly shut up when your friend joined your side, pure fury written all over her.
His posture changed, immediately portraying more confident. He seemed now like the Satoru everyone knew, but you saw through his façade.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than torture this poor girl?”
“We were simply chatting.” Satoru tried to play it cool by flashing your friend a smug grin, but it only seemed to fuel the fire.
“Suddenly have time for her now?” He squinted at her comment, knowing it was more than called for. It didn’t stop the urge he had to fire back at her. “Hope your job promotes you, so it’s all worth it at least.”
“I don’t see how this concerns you,” he replied, trying to keep a considerate tone, but you knew better than to think it was genuine.
“It concerns me when she’s absolutely inconsolable, bawling her eyes out in my apartment.” Your friend didn’t need to go into further detail for him to get a pretty clear picture of the scene. He had, after all, been unfortunate enough to witness it himself.
“I just want a few words with y/n alone,” he said, a hint of desperation in his voice. Your friend was about to continue to argue, but you placed a hand on her shoulder, signaling for her to put down her pitchfork.
“It’s okay,” you took a deep breath. “Just wait by the register and I’ll be with you shortly.” She gave one last stern look in Satoru’s direction before doing as you requested.
Looking at Satoru, his cocky expression had disappeared the second your friend had turned a corner. It felt so bittersweet, seeing the kind person you knew inside out, standing before you so fragile. Old habits die hard, and you felt yourself fighting the urge to stroke his cheek and comfort him.
“Y/n, I just feel like there is a lot of stuff that we’ve left unsaid.” His calm, cool and collected manner had been thrown out the window and he resembled himself the evening of the breakup. “I never got to say my piece or apologise properly.”
“I know,” was all you said, using every fiber of your body to seem levelheaded. You observed how he constantly tried to reach out for you, but stopped himself every time out of respect.
“Believe me when I say, I truly am sorry. I’ve never regretted anything more.”
“I know,” you repeated, same calm tone.
“Maybe it would give us a chance to heal properly if everything is out in the open. So we both know exactly what the other is thinking.”
“Gojo-“
“No, please, listen. I know I messed up and I really want to fix this!” He rambled on, his desperation resembling the one from that night
“Gojo-“
“Maybe even there’s a chance for us-“
“Satoru,” you said sternly, finally silencing his tangent. Your eyes flickered between his as you saw him trying to find the focus to calm his breathing. “Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
You saw the heartbreak wash over him, his shoulders falling in disappointment as he whispered your name. You’d missed hearing him speak it with such tender care.
“I am finally starting to get back on track. I’ve even started looking for an apartment,” you said with a sad chuckle. You wanted to show him, and yourself, that you had gotten to the point that you could at least manage to not completely breakdown when you were out in public. “I stand by what I said that night.”
“And you should! You deserve to be loved, and I can be that person. I am that person! There has never been a moment where I haven’t loved you.”
“Satoru, stop it.” You raised your voice slightly. “This is not the time or place for this.” It seemed as it wasn’t until now he was reminded of where you were standing. You gathered up the courage and walked up to him, carefully placing your hand on his cheek. The second you felt his cheek against your hand, you felt as if your skin was on fire.
Satoru didn't hesitate eitherm to place his big hand over yours as hea leaned into your touch. His eyes became glossy, realising how much he had craved feeling your skin against him again. “I just think I need to be the most important person in my life for a while.” He slowly began to nod in agreement, and you heard his breath began to quicken like it had done previously.
He licked his lips, trying to find his words. “See you around then?” His voice was unsteady and his chin quivered.
“Yeah, probably,” you spoke sadly. You let your hand fall from his face, but he held onto your hand until you were too far away. In a way, it felt as if both of you were aware that your story wasn’t over just yet. Satoru was right, there was a lot of stuff still left out in the open which made you believe there were still chapters to be written, whether they were good or bad. But it brought you some form of comfort.
Drying the single tear that had fallen from your eye, you turned away and began to walk away. “You look beautiful, darling,” he said, making your head turn one last time. You gave him a sad smile before he disappeared out of view.
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tags: @alisstaa
a/n: oh my, thank you guys so much for all the positive feedback on part one. it is greatly appreciated and really motivates me to write. that being said, i am not as happy with part two as part one but i rewrote it like two times and i guess it's alright. its more important you like it rather than i. hope you guys like it, and again thank you guys so so much for the feedback. reblogs, comments are greatly valued
#satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#satoru imagine#satoru gojo imagine#satoru oneshot#satoru gojo oneshot#satoru gojo angst#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu gojo#gojo satoru#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#satoru gojo x y/n#jjk satoru#jjk satoru gojo#satoru gojo#jjk imagine#jjk imagines#jjk onehsot#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujutsu kaisen oneshot
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Hi! im in love with your Lucifer fics. You newest one has me gripped and i cant wait for the next part.
You got me brainstorming more Lucifer fics ideas
I was thinking of one where the reader has been helping/supporting Charlie at the Hotel and is almost like a mother/parental figure to her, and when Lucifer arrives he acts cold/mean no matter how much she tries to be polite. But then he warm up to her after see how much the reader really cares about Charlie and then he finally realises hes in love with her.
♡
Thank you! I literally could write about him for hours (kinda have already) and I really liked this prompt, so here's just a lil' something for ya, anon ♡
Honey | Lucifer x Reader
No smut, just some cute fluff here-
♡♡♡
As soon as you arrived in Hell, your eyes were drawn to the drab-looking hotel just up the hill. And you flew to it like a moth to a TV screen. That being said, you've known Charlie and the other residents for as long as you've been dead. They've all seen you at your worst, having to be the unlucky few to explain your death. Although, Charlie's comfort really made the whole being dead thing much more palatable. During this time, while she's supported you, you've seen her through thick and thin as well. Pretty soon, you became an important part of her life, offering a more parental influence when she needed one. You didn't really die at an old age, but a lot went on in your lifetime to give you the maturity to comfort people that way and you were always happy to do it.
Considering your skill set, some of the residents went to you in the same fashion. A little task you took to, just to help out, was fixing up some articles of clothing for people. It was a great mindless task for you to do, considering Alastor wasn't a fan of having phones and TVs in the hotel. So you simply sat, humming a little tune as you fixed up something from Angel's wardrobe.
Your trance was broken, seeing a pair of slender legs in front of you. Following them up, you finally meet eyes with a nervous-looking Charlie. She's fidgeting with her fingers, still trying to find the courage to say whatever she came to you for.
"You need something, hun? You can talk to me, c'mere." With a sweet voice, you patted the cushion on the couch next to you and kept on working. She let out a heavy breath you didn't realize she was holding.
"Soooo... my dad is coming to visit and I - uh.." she still struggled to find her words. Considering you've barely been outside the hotel, you really didn't question how big of a deal Lucifer was. But to see Charlie getting flustered about a little visit from her own father did make you feel uneasy.
"I guess - I don't know, I'm just nervous, is all! It's not that big a deal, I mean, he's my dad, but also.. he's... my dad..?" You nodded your head.
"Seems like a big deal. He's the king of Hell, so it makes sense that you're nervous. Can I help with anything?" Acknowledging her feelings and making sure to keep your tone smooth, you finally set aside the mini skirt you were fixing up to face her.
"Oh! Um - I was wondering if you could bake something for everyone! Niffty's making cookies, but I think dad might enjoy something a little more.." You both thought back on the disturbing display of desserts Niffty had made for everyone in the past, it sent a chill down your spine. You nodded your head fast, taking a hold of her hands.
“Yeah, I'd love to! I'll make sure it's something your dad would like, too! How's that sound?" You absolutely loved to bake, and doing it for other people always made it even better. There was some pressure on you, considering who you were catering to, but remembering that this is for Charlie, kept any nerves at bay. Charlie, who just happened to be shedding a tear or two of relief, gave you a hug that would've snapped you in two if it had gone on any longer. You were used to those at this point.
The day went by fast, Charlie preparing and stressing over little decisions for her dad's visit. You got the OK to bake an apple pie. A specialty you would make when you were alive, you went all out. You'd always make the dough from scratch, soak the apples in a homemade cinnamon butter, and somehow managed to spiffy it up to a commercial extent. You were batting off Pentious and Niffy as best you could until he arrived.
You saw a side of Charlie during that visit that you haven't really seen before. She was nervous, sure, but it was clear she felt so defeated. Each little quip on sinners being hopeless or how Charlie shouldn't even bother in this "whole redemption deal" made you understand her paranoia more and more.
As Charlie introduced each of the staff and residents, Lucifer got distracted by the still steaming pie sitting on the table in front of everyone. He definitely wasn't the only one whose mouth was watering just by staring at it, but he was the one who bit the bullet, taking the first piece.
"And this is -" a loud hum of satisfaction interrupted Charlie's introduction to Sir Pentious, who looked deflated at the change in topic.
"Charlie! Good golly - This is great!" With another bite and hum, you watched his eyes flutter shut for a moment. A little boost of confidence immediately making you giddy.
"Oh! Well, that's good! Because this is our other guest! She made it herself -" Charlie took a hold of your shoulders and dragged you to face Lucifer. You could feel the nervous tremble coming from her hands. You looked up at her for a moment and smiled, placing a hand over top of hers. It really did seem to calm her nerves. And for some reason, he didn't seem to like that.
"Well - I'll eat anything with apples since they're obviously my favorite. It’s not that special." He tossed the half-finished plate back onto the table and wiped his hands clean. He ignored you.
"U-Uhm.. yeah, that's - that's everyone, I guess!" Charlie stammered, not expecting him to turn such a cold shoulder to you. He spent his time examining you. Considering he didn't even care enough to learn your name at that moment, he sure was taking his time looking you up and down.
"Well then!" He clasped his hands together after finally tearing his eyes off you. "How about a little tour?" He suggested, clearly not invested in the other sinners now. Charlie looked down at you and you nodded, starting to clean up some little things around you. It was a nervous habit you had, but it helped to keep your hands busy and your mind off the insulting interaction you just had to endure.
Charlie took Vaggie's hand and went on to give the tour. Once they were out of sight around the corner, you slumped your shoulders letting out a groan.
"Short king's givin' you the cold shoulder, huh?" Angel leaned on the back of the couch, crossing one leg over the other.
"Right? Okay, glad I'm not the only one who noticed that. Is something wrong with the pie..?" Looking over to Sir Pentious, who was licking the already empty pie tin clean, he quickly shook his head.
"Maybe's got a thing for ya." Angel teased, jabbing you with his elbow. You rolled your eyes, finally taking the pie tin from Pentious.
"He didn't even get my name, I'm sure that's not it. Whatever.. " you grumbled, taking any dishes you could to the kitchen to keep your mind from exploring that option.
The extermination day battle was here. You followed the armies who attacked the hoards of exorcists when they finally arrived. As the battle went on, you hated to admit it, you found yourself in awe watching Lucifer kick Adam's ass. The sight of his wings and the little V thing - and obviously his immense power, somehow managed to make you blush as you were attacking angels. Definitely a new sensation for you, with the bloodlust muddling your other senses, but it was easy to forget about it once the new hotel was renovated and everyone was finally settled in.
As everything went back to normal, you went back to helping Charlie with anything you could, drinking at the bar with everyone and generally things went back to the way they were. There was only one difference. Lucifer made the decision to stay at the hotel. It was commendable for sure, his change of heart to support Charlie through this change, but it only left you feeling conscious about everything you'd do when he was around. The underlying crush didn't help much. Or Angel's teasing about said crush.
You really did try, when you'd pass him the hallway, you'd always send him your most sincere smile. Or when you spotted him reading or working on anything, you'd try and spark any kind of conversation or ask if he needed help. He never needed help. He was always too busy to chat. You honestly couldn't remember a time he looked you in the eyes before. You bit your tongue. No need to worry Charlie, or anyone really, about some feud you possibly made up in your mind.
It was especially important to you to not stress Charlie right now. Starting the hotel back up was a big task alone, but the loss of Sir Pentious weighed on everyone. And Charlie took full blame for it. A late night, where she most likely stayed up to try and find any kind of hope for redemption, any speck of proof to bring sinners in, she found herself burnt out. Approaching the memorial for Pentious, you stood beside Charlie. You found her visiting it every now and then, and when you did, you knew she needed a check in. And you were right. Without a word, Charlie suddenly clung to you. She went on about how it was all her fault. How he was gone because of her. How nothing seems to be working and she's terrified that it's all for nothing.
It took a while for her to calm down, but you would never leave her like this. By now, the two of you had fallen to the ground, sitting on your knees.
"Charlie, you are doing your absolute best. It's okay to cry, you know that. Think of everything you've done for everyone else, I mean - Pen would've never sacrificed himself if it wasn't for his friends." You brushed a tear from her still wet and puffy eyes. "You did that. You gave him something worth dying for." It was a hard truth, but you hoped it was enough for her. She's done more for you than she'd ever know, and you'd do anything to give it back. You didn't realize, but before approaching Charlie, Lucifer was pacing a nearby corridor, battling the decision to go up to her himself. He hadn't said much to her since extermination day, and he had always been nervous about saying something wrong, making things worse. Before he had the chance to muster up the courage, you had swooped in. It confused him. He should've been jealous or hurt, that he wasn't able to calm her down himself. That you beat him to the punch. But he didn't really feel that way, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise. Was it admiration? Sitting in the shadows until he assured Charlie was taken care of, he went back up to his workshop, flustered for a number of reasons.
There was one moment, where things started to look good. It was a regular night at the bar, you, Angel and Husk had gotten on the topic of your lives, looking at the positives which was a rarity. Charlie and Lucifer were nearby, Charlie enthralled in the discussions of what Earth was like.
"My homelife? It wasn't anything fancy, but.. um.. - oh I had a farm, actually! I ran it with my parents, it was.. nice." You hold onto your arms, a bittersweet smile on your face. With a light bulb going off in Charlie's head, she nudged you with her elbow.
"You didn't happen to have any birds or chickens or ducks - did you?" She hummed. She noticed the wedge between you and her dad, and it hurt her just as much as it hurt you. She's little miss "everyone should get along", of course, this hurt her. You didn't notice, but Lucifer peaked up at you for a split second before distracting himself by swaying the drink in his glass.
"Oh..? Oh! Yeah! Yes, actually! We raised a few ducklings that a neighbor gave us - we got them as eggs, so we got to see them grow up and everything!" Going on, telling a story about how you snuck one into your room to keep it as a pet, only to be scolded for it. You had the whole group in the palm of your hand. Including Lucifer. You met his eyes for just a moment, the twinkle in them immediately drawing you in. With a quick smile, he became flustered. He scoffed, pushing himself away from the bar and leaving. As much as that should've infuriated you, seeing those eyes and the growing redness across the apple of his cheeks felt like a win.
Since the hotel was newer, and word hadn't gotten out about Pentious's redemption yet, it was still vacant beside you, Angel, and occasionally Cherry Bomb. That gave the whole group a lot of time to enjoy the large space in the meantime.
Certain nights, Alastor would play the large, golden, piano that Lucifer had so generously created. This led to Charlie singing along to whatever he was playing, of course, and when Lucifer was in a good mood - or drunk - he would even pitch in. He'd sit atop the piano, his legs crossed, as he hiked the matching golden fiddle to his shoulder and played along. It was truly a sight to see. His skills were unmatched, but it still seemed to melt into the rest of the contributions. It was as if he invented the damn thing (He did).
This sort of became a tradition, when everyone was in a good mood and Alastor wasn't getting on Lucifer's nerves too much, everyone would join in, singing and dancing. It was rare, but Damn was it fun when it did happen. One of these nights, Alastor started off with a song that you knew, and had actually introduced to Charlie. She gasped as soon as she recognized the tune, pulling you close by both your hands to sing along. You had as good of a voice as anyone did, in a musical rendition of Hell, but you mainly stuck to harmonizing little things with Charlie. Swinging around with each other, until you were dizzy and laughing, you noticed that the room seemed a little empty.
Lucifer was seated where he usually was, on his phone. His fiddle was placed carefully at his side, and he was scrolling through his goddamn phone.
"Don't feel like joining us, Your Highness?" You kept to titles since it was obvious he wasn't warmed up to you just yet. Even after living with you for a month or so.
"Mm. Don't know the song. It's not my cup of tea, just can't seem to get into it." He says bluntly, never looking up to you.
“Oh, come on! Just play along, it’s just for fun!” You slurred your words a bit, whatever you had been sipping throughout the night causing, what you would call, an outburst.
“Hm! Well, I’m not exactly here for your entertainment, am I? God forbid a sinner doesn't have fun in their eternal punishment.” The room went silent. You felt so defeated. You've been trying since the day you met him to try and at least get on good terms with him, but it seemed like he would even prefer a night with Alastor over you. Things like this never bugged you much, you tried so hard to not let it bug you, but when Charlie looked over to you, with those worried eyes, it was hard to keep back the bottled-up disappointment.
With a little sniffle and a quick wipe of your eyes with your sleeve, you start heading back up the newly decorated grand staircase, without a word to anyone.
"Heyyy - Dad..! I think you maybe.. might've... I don't know - hurt her feelings..? Would you wanna - " Charlie carefully approached her father, who immediately lit up and placed his device down when she spoke. "Could you talk to her? Maybe just check up on her..?" She was speaking barely above a whisper.
“You have to apologize. Um.. sir.” Vaggie finally blurted out. His smile was nervous, his eye twitching a bit at the concept. Taking in a deep breath, he rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a sad little laugh.
"Well, uh.. I don't know, Kiddo, maybe she's just tired." He muttered, obviously hesitant at the idea.
"Sounds like the king can't handle a little damsel in distress to me. Would you like me to comfort her, my dear?" Alastor was quick to chime in from the piano bench, offering a sympathetic smile to Charlie. Why did the concept of that make Lucifer’s blood boil?
"Oh fuck you, bambi, I can handle it." With a quick hop off of the piano top, he almost stormed up the stairs to find you. Definitely not what Charlie was hoping to motivate him, but she wasn't an idiot. She knew Alastor had his reasoning for that. She mouthed a little thank you to him, once Lucifer turned his back.
You were ecstatic to learn that Charlie worked an extensive library into the hotel. Walking into its large double doors, you almost struggled to see the back of the room with how full it was. You had a little corner you claimed as your own, leaving one of your blankets draped on the little loveseat there, and setting aside a pile of books you were still working through. It was a great place to calm yourself down after what had just happened.
Hearing heels click against the tile, you wrapped yourself tighter in your blanket as you pulled your legs up to your chest.
"I'm fine Charlie, it's fine.. I just need a second, go back to the lobby." You shooed off the figure with one hand, wiping your face with the other.
"Ahha- Nope! Try again -" with a nervous chuckle, Lucifer greeted you with an awkward wave. Interrupting the silence by clearing his throat, he gestured to the seat next to you. With a quick nod, finally snapping out of your surprised state, you shifted your position to sit beside him. It wasn't exactly a two-person couch. Not for two people who might hate each other, at least. I mean it was a loveseat. He struggled to keep his distance, leaving your legs barely brushing together.
"Soooo.. you, uh- like.. reading..?" He asked after a long silence. You were mainly confused by his words, but simply nodded in response.
“Yeah it's - I-I love it in here.. There wasn’t anything like this on Earth, so this is nice." You managed to speak out, between sniffles. He agreed with a little hum, fidgeting with the ring on his finger.
“Glad you like it. It's uhh - just happens to be my personal collection.” He puffed out his chest, looking at his clawed nails with a little smirk on his face. He had no idea why he thought that would help, but it actually did a bit. when he looked your direction, you were slack-jawed in awe. The sight made him turn a bit red in the cheeks, quickly looking away, he patted the top of his legs to fill the silence.
“That's really cool! I guess it makes sense - considering you're older than the dawn of time- but, still. Thank you, I suppose. For letting me - I mean - us use it.” You rambled on for a moment your words became quieter the more you gushed.
“Is that supposed to be an insult?” He asked between laughter. You made him laugh. You hoped he didn't see the sparkle in your eyes at the notion. You stalled, lost in thought, before quickly shaking your head.
The two of you sat there for a moment, the awkward silence sitting a little more comfortably than before. Finally, Lucifer let out a sigh of defeat.
"It’s my fault, right?" He asked, already knowing the answer.
"Oh, uh.. I guess so, but.. I mean, I'm kind of drunk so it might be something with that - but I'm fine, I swear." You waved your hands in an attempt to soothe the serious discussion. But Lucifer knew better than anyone what someone holding their true intentions back looks like.
"You're really good for Charlie. I.. I wish I could take care of her. Like you do." He admitted. It surprised you for a moment. Was that why he's been so cold to you? Was there some form of jealousy in there? Or was he really concerned that you would replace him in some fashion?
"C'mon, you're just saying that to make me feel better. I saw you on extermination day, none of this would even be here without that little pep talk, you’ve done more for her than you know, I think. Charlie.. she loves you." The words made him perk up a little. Maybe even a king needs reassurance sometimes.
"Oh- Um.. I guess she does, huh..?" You could hear his smile. The two of you sat in silence for a moment. You didn't even realize you had the smallest smile on your own face. But he did. With another nervous laugh, he hesitates before planting a hand on your leg, just above your knee. No time like the present, you suppose.
"I’m sorry. I really am. For.. everything. You're actually amazing. I-I mean it.." Without a response from you yet, he lets his gentle touch linger a moment longer. You leaned in towards him, the smile on your face turning sly.
"Yeah? You think so? I almost thought you hated me." You were teasing him. He's been so cold to you this whole time, you just had to take advantage of the moment. He turns a bit red, covering his mouth with his free hand as he clears his throat into his fist.
"Of course I don't.." He muttered.
"Soo, would you say you like me?" You drew out your words, walking your fingers up his arm.
"W-What? How - " He clamped his hand over his mouth before desperately trying to rationalize his thoughts, " Of course I do! I just said you're great with Charlie and I -ahh.. I love Charlie, so I like - " He coughs up his words, " - I liked your pie, that you made! And you have a good voice, too, and your little duck story was cute, so - " God bless this man's tendency to overshare when he's nervous. The alcohol definitely gave you the little boost of confidence you needed to question him like this, but you would be lying if you said you didn't notice his reactions to you whenever you weren't paying attention. Or whenever he thought you weren't paying attention. It finally dawned on you that some of those glares might have had some other motivations.
You knew when to reel it in, but considering his hand was still on your leg, he moved it up a bit even, you assumed he was okay with the teasing. Maybe even enjoying it. Delicately drawing your fingers across his jaw, to his chin, you pulled his gaze to meet yours. You could feel his hand tense at every little touch.
"You have really nice eyes, Luci-" He audibly gulped, tugging at his bowtie. "You’ve been avoiding looking at me for months.. I wish you'd look at me more." You almost pouted, your fingers still lingering under his chin. With the slightest movement, he followed your hand towards your face. He took his hand off your thigh for a moment, only for you to take a hold of it and place it on your back. He was the one who pulled you closer at this point.
“Y-you can't just say things like that.. it’s embarrassing..” He muttered, trying his best to not close the gap between your bodies.
“Embarrassing? I’m not embarrassed, your highness. Are you? Do I.. make you nervous? Hmm?” You placed your hands just above his knees, leaning closer through your chest. Sucking in his lips, he did his best to stay silent, knowing he’d dig his own grave no matter how he answered.
“I just think you’re so pretty, Luci, I can't help myself.” Before he could properly react, you leaned in close enough for him to feel your breath against his ear. Damn, what did you drink? You could feel his hand on your back clenching, either to bring you closer or just out of sheer nerves. With a little hum against his ear, he let out the quietest whimper. It apparently took both of you by surprise, you leaned back to get a look at his face with wide eyes. Meeting his eyes this time sent you both into a blushing, nervous state.
With a deep breath, you cupped his face after brushing some of his golden locks back into place, then gave him the lightest kiss on his lips. You didn't even linger long enough for him to return it, and he was clearly distraught by it. You unwrapped yourself from your blanket, giving a dumbstruck Lucifer another quick peck on his forehead, before standing.
“I’m going back downstairs. Take your time, Hun!” You called out so sweetly as if you hadn't just left him a heated mess.
Finally returning to the lobby, you walked with your chest puffed out, beckoning for another drink from Husk.
"Did.. did Dad check in on you? Are you okay?" Charlie carefully approached you, and was immediately disarmed by your grin.
"Yup! I feel much better now. He apologized and we had a little.. Discussion. Thanks, hun." You said sweetly, taking a sip of the drink Husk slid into your hand. Angel gave you a dirty glare, and after meeting his eyes you quickly looked away.
"Well great! Where is he? Maybe we can pick back up where we left off!" Charlie clasped her hands together enthusiastically.
"Here! I-I'm here! Great idea, honey, let's keep playing!" He tripped over himself, rushing into the room and hoping nobody saw him re-fastening his tie. Sending him another quick smile, his face clearly hadn't cooled from the past events. He nearly dropped his fiddle, but as soon as he prepared he picked up the same song that was left unfinished moments before.
♡♡♡
I wanted to get through some asks, but I'm still working on Suffer, no worries, my friends
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imagine if rafe and pogue reader’s relationship was just a bet between him and his kook friends, to see if he could ACTUALLY get her to fall in love with him, like to get her to be all over him and how long that would last, and the reader finds out omgggg. And they break up lol
you think the ending bits of the conversation between your boyfriend and his friends hurts more than everything you just overheard.
"you really think i'd settle for some fuckin' pogue pussy? nah man, top owes me fifty bucks now."
you hadn't heard the entire exchange, just from the part where you heard your name. stupidly, like a naive girl in love with the type of boy she'd only ever dreamt about, you tuned in, thinking rafe was telling his friends something you'd want to hear.
hiding—as embarassing as it is—behind the wall, holding back tears though they don't care enough to stay held back, they pour down your cheeks as the hits keep coming. the boys laugh, but the ringing in your ears had been so loud you hadn't heard the rest of the joke, didn't understand what was so funny.
the first thought in your mind is that you can't believe how stupid you were. the second is that pope and jj and john b had all been right, that it was too good to be true, that he was playing you somehow, that he was a liar and scumbag. you had ignored what your best friends had been telling you, trying so hard to believe that they were wrong, that they didn't know rafe, or at least your rafe, the one who was sweet and funny and never let you drive anywhere or pay for a thing, the one who paraded you around town like you were something who deserved to be showed off, the one who you took back to your tiny house and introduced to your hard-working parents.
you resist the urge to slide down the wall you're leaning against, though every muscle in your body wants to keel over and cry until you can't cry anymore.
you'd been embarassed enough—they didn't need to see you like this too. wiping away tears with the back of your hand, sniffling but trying to stay quiet, you wait for the boys to walk away so you could sneak out of here and pretend that you'd never even come—though you'd only come because rafe said he was having friends over and you'd baked them some snacks for their game, thought you were being a good girlfriend and doing the things a good girlfriend does.
footsteps and laughter echo in the other room—they're gone. the second it's silent, a sob wrangles itself out, eyes getting blurry again. you don't know how you're gonna bike home if you can't stop crying. your fingers fly across your screen, dialing jj's number. you'd been upset at the blond because he seemed to be the most against you and rafe dating, had the meanest things to say and was the first to insinuate there was something wrong if rafe wanted to date you.
you'd been so insulted, so hurt by his words that the two of you had gone from talking every single day to maybe once a week. you hope he doesn't hold it against you now, but a part of you knows jj never would—that's just the kind of guy he is. he answers by the second ring, and you try to stay quiet, just incase they hear you.
"j? can you come get me? i-um, i'm at tannyhill-" the last part is said with another sob, breaking into a fit of tears again. he says he's with pope and that he's coming, and you hate that they heard you cry, because knowing the two of them they'll go thirty over if they think you're upset. you wanna get out of here, but you don't want them to die.
heart thudding, eyes watery, limbs weak, you stay against that wall for a moment. before you can make your way to the door, rafe's figure steps in to where you are. he sees you before you see him—shoulders shaking, hands wiping away tears.
when you turn to look at him, it doesn't take more a second to know you heard something you shouldn't have.
"hey, listen to me-" he gets closer, and you flinch, backing away. you want to say something mean, something snarky, something that'll hurt him as much as he's hurt you. nothing comes out, and you stare back at him, and you hope he remembers how hard he's made you cry, because you've decided it then and there—you're never seeing rafe cameron ever again.
you dart past him to the door. he follows, reaching out to grab you, but you take off, running down his driveway and into the truck he recognizes as heyward's. you get in, in between pope and jj. the last thing he sees is you crying into maybank's chest while they drive you away, and the last thing he thinks is wondering what the hell he had just done.
#i actually dont like writing much angst so sorry if this sucks#this ask has been here for so long and i knew i could do something with it i just couldnt place it yet#<3 i love u jj#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader
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Peachy
Relationship: Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard x Reader
Fandom: Fallout
Request: No
Warnings: Strong Language, Brief Violence, Suggestive Themes
Word Count: 1,785
Main Masterlist: Here
Fallout Masterlist: Here
Summary: Lucy gets a front row seat to the strange happenings in the Wasteland.
It should be a crime for the day to be this hot. With the sun beating down, it felt like she was going to die rather imminently. But that Ghoul behind her back kept marching her forward whenever she tried to drop. It was not until they made it to some abandoned, two-story building, that the duo was finally able to be granted a moment’s reprieve.
“Sit down Vaultie.” The Ghoul demanded, leading the woman to sit against the worn out walls and dimpled stone. The cool rock felt blessed beneath her body. Even through her Vault-Tech suit insulated her against a lot of the extreme weather, enough was able to slip through for her to begin to cool down.
“That’s a girl. Stayin’ the night here, but I wouldn’ go wanderin’ after dark. A lotta things worse than a ghoul round here.” He spoke once more, starting to gather carve himself a little spot where he could rest.
“Where are we?” Lucy finally asked, voice rasped with dehydration and exhaustion. However, the man did not answer. He simply stretched out his long limbs, and placed his hat over his eyes in an attempt to get some sleep.
“Where are we?” She pleaded once more, to which the Ghoul was not sympathetic to.
“Hey!” Yelling now, the Ghoul picked his hat up from his eyes and set it back on his head while looking at the girl he held.
“Now, am I gonna have to cut out that tongue in order to get some peace and quiet?” Lucy was taken aback, and could not quite tell if he was joking or not. Taking his moment of silence, the man swept his hat over his eyes once more; but it did not last long. The clattering of something nearby caught the attention of the vault dweller, and surface dweller. With a heaving groan, the Ghoul stood back up, placed his hat on his head, and looked around. Lucy also tried to look, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary for the surface.
“Thou shalt get sidetracked by bullshit every goddamn time.” He muttered under his breath. Spurs clicked as he walked around and took inventory. But the clattering of a can behind him made the Ghoul pull his pistol and aim. There was nothing behind him, though. Lucy watched intently as the man surveyed his surroundings, and was just a beat too late to warn him about the shadowy figure to his back.
“Behind you!” The Ghoul did not have time to fire off a round. The figure jumped on his back, and locked on. He tried to swivel the creature off, but to no avail. Dropping to a knee, the Ghoul threw his assailant off of hm and on to the ground below. Whoever it was, they were fast. Reaching a leg up, the person managed to get him in a headlock with their legs, and rolled them around until they emerged on top. Pinning his hands down with both of theirs, the attacker shimmied out of the mask covering the bottom half of their face. It was a woman; a really pretty one at that.
“Hiya, Coop.” She teased, switching to a one handed hold on his wrists to snatch his hat off of his head. The piece of clothing was set upon her own head as a lazy smirk was pulled from his face.
“Well, if it ain’t my darling little peach.” He drawled. Once her other hand came down to rest on his wrists again, he switched their placements in the blink of an eye. Now, both of her wrists were in one of his, while his other came to rest behind her head. Cooper bucked the young woman up and off, spinning them around to pin her t the floor.
“Careful with that tone, Ghoul. Someone might think you missed me.” Once again, she was teasing. She spread her legs a little wider to accommodate him, and trailed one of them up to rest along his back. In turn, Cooper leaned down to get right up close to her face.
“Aww, we wouldn’t want that. Now would we, peaches?” A wicked smile decorated his face that she mirrored, and it seemed they were both trapped in their own little world for a time.
“How can you like him like that?” A high, feminine voice broke them free of their trance. Both Wastelanders looked over to the vault dweller with a mix of annoyance, confusion, and upset over being interrupted.
“Hope you’re not thinking of replacing me with that.” The woman, still pinned underneath the Ghoul, spoke. Her words did not sound as harsh as they should have; perhaps it was the smile that still plagued the woman’s face that offered her a softer edge that the usual surface dwellers Lucy had met thus far.
“Believe me, peach. Ain’t nothin’ able to replace you.” Cooper groaned out, letting the woman come to to sit and observe the woman before them.
“Ooo. You got yourself a Vaultie? You know how much they go for?” The woman asked, watching Lucy’s eyes widen in shock and horror. As much as she wanted to keep it going, the woman began laughing as she saw the expression on the vault dweller’s face.
“Nah, ‘m just messing with you. I ain’t got no clue how much y’all are worth. Probably a lot though. Whatcha doin’ travelin’ with this bag o’ bones?” Being friendly was confusing yet refreshing to Lucy, even as the mysterious woman remained tangled up in Cooper’s arms.
“Oh,” Lucy perked up, “well, I’m looking for my father. It’s a really long story but you are by far the nicest person I have met on the surface. My name is Lucy, and you are?” She rattled off, unable to contain her nerves or speech.
“Honestly, it’s been so long since I’ve used my real name, I’ve nearly forgotten it. He calls me peach or some variation of it so-” squeaking out, the woman turned to see that Cooper had pinched her side hard in a warning.
“Okay. Not allowed to call me that then.” She supplied her real name afterwards, and saw the vault dweller before her visibly relax.
“Now that that’s out of the way, I bring gifts.” Untangling herself from the Ghoul, she made her way to where her bag was dropped. Lucy guessed that was what they heard falling before the ‘fight’ broke out. She pulled out a few cans of food, presumably, and tossed them to Cooper, however one of the cans was tossed towards Lucy. Reading the front of the label, she took not that it was a Vault-Tech brand of pie filling.
“Sugar, you shouldn’t have.” Cooper drawled, gratefully taking the jerky and chems that were provided.
“Well, figured you’d want a little gift for all your troubles.” Effortlessly, she just kept emptying her bags. Right when you think she is done, she would pull out more from the same place. It was, honestly, a wonder.
“One last thing. Just for us tonight.” Holding a can in her hands, she pulled a knife from her belt to begin cracking it open. The label was long since gone from it, but that didn’t stop them from eagerly tearing into it. Once she was close enough, she sat down and allowed Cooper to take it from her hands. He finished the job of getting the lid off of the can, and let delight take over his scarred features.
“Now, where’d you find this, peach?” He asked, letting her tuck herself under his arm to get closer.
“Trader I went to had a whole shipment of them Georgia. Well, what’s left of it. Anyways, you should be thankful I managed to get some. That one can cost me two hundred and fifty caps.” While his eyes did not bug out of his skull, his brow area did raise considerably when he heard the price.
“Careful, peach. Someone might think you like me.” Cooper stabbed a thick, juicy slice and brought it up to the woman’s lips to let her take a bite off, before bringing the other half of the slice to his own lips. A sinful groan was released from the both of them as they allowed the sugary sweet fruit to explode. It was a taste that Cooper was not sure if he would ever taste again after the bombs destroyed the world as he knew it.
“Is that peach? Is that what it’s supposed to taste like?” She asked, hoping sh had gotten it right. The Ghoul stabbed yet another slice and repeated the process from before as he watched the woman intensely.
“Yep. That is the sweet taste of peach, alright.” With how he was staring at her, the woman was not sure that he was talking about the fruit anymore. They continued to swap the fruit back and forth as they finished the can. When it got down to the juices, she pushed the can closer to him, encouraging him to take the drink. And he did; but that was not the end of it. As he drank down the last gulp of juices from the can, Cooper grabbed her chin, pressed his lips to hers, and pushed some of the liquid into her mouth instead. She chased the taste on his lips once she had taken her drink, and let herself get lost in the moment. He pawed at the layers covering her body, but the sound of Lucy finishing her can brought them out.
“I don’t feel like having an audience tonight, cowpoke.” She whispered, breathless, against his face. The hat was still set atop her head, and it was not going to be leaving anytime soon. A yawn tore through the woman in his arms, before being caught by Lucy against the stone.
“Really startin’ to get pissed at this Vaultie, peaches.” He whispered back, pressing another kiss to her lips, before returning to their previous position.
“Get some shut eye. We leave at day break.” Cooper said with a definitive tone, leaning his head back against the wall in an effort to sleep. The woman below him cuddled herself into his chest and drifted off to sleep without a worry of being attacked in her sleep. Lucy was the last one to close her eyes, but not the last one to fall asleep. Her mind raced with questions she wished she could ask, but thought better of not asking. Hoping that the mystery woman was there in the morning, the vault dweller and surface dwellers found themselves in the land of dreams before long, hoping and trying to survive till the next sunset.
#rebelliousstories#writing#fallout imagine#fallout#the ghoul fallout#cooper the ghoul howard#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard#cooper howard imagine#the ghoul imagine#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul
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boy, you got her — r. cameron
part 1. part 2. part 3. here's part 4 (or whatever part this is to you, depending on how much you've read). i just couldn't help myself :)
❝ it's true, swear, scouts honor
you knew what you wanted and,
boy, you got her ❞
pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader
context: after a fallout at the boneyard with jj and kie, you agree to a date with rafe.
words: 1.9k+
warnings: jealous!jj, mean!jj (kind of), so so SO fluffy.
"look, i know it's kinda sudden, a'ight?" rafe glances over at you, one hand on the steering wheel. "and you don't have to answer right now. just think about it."
when you and jj broke up, the last thing you would've guessed to happen next was getting into a friends-with-benefits situation with rafe cameron. now, you were sitting in the passenger seat of his truck after he just defended you to your ex-boyfriend and asked you out on a date.
was it too soon? probably. could you really see it working? maybe. did you want to go? yes—as crazy as that sounded.
you turn your head towards him and shake your head. "i don't have to think about it."
a small smile pulls at the corner of his lips, but he fights it, just in case you said no. "you don't?"
"let's do it."
"yeah?" a chuckle falls from his lips, his smile widening.
"yeah," you nod, as he pulls the car to a stop in front of your family's house on the cut. you lean in to place a kiss on his cheek, making them turn the lightest shade of crimson, before opening your door to hop out. "come pick me up at noon tomorrow."
—
"fuck, fuck, fuckkkkk!" you slam your closet door close, just as your older brother peeks in to see where all the commotion was coming from.
"the hell's the matter with you?" he eyes you carefully, leaning against the doorway, sipping on a can of soda.
you ignore him and begin pacing around the room, tossing clothes from your dresser onto the bed. "what the fuck am i suppose to wear?" you lay out one casual outfit—a crochet top and dark-washed shorts—and one fancier outfit—a short, white floral sundress with pink flowers.
"since when do you care what you wear?" your brother walks into your room and looks at the clothes laid out on your bed.
"since i'm going on a date," you say, nibbling on your thumb, as your eyes shifted back and forth between the two outfits.
"jj's taking you out?" he asks, looking at you, clearly caught by surprise.
jj was never really the "date" type—not that you minded. while the two of you would spend time together all the time, you'd mostly do it with the rest of the pogues. either that, or you'd hang out in your room or the chateau.
"no," you shake your head. "we broke up."
"so who you goin' out with then?"
you pick up the dress from the bed, and hold it out in front of you, while turning to look into your full-length mirror. "...rafe cameron."
your brother almost chokes on his soda as he snaps his head towards you. "rafe cameron? you're goin' out with a kook?"
"is it really that much of a surprise?" you raise a brow and look at him through the mirror.
"nah," he shakes his head and shrugs. "just didn't think kook was your style."
"well i appreciate your insight, y/b/n, but it's time to go," you turn to shoo him out of the room and push him out your door.
"hey, could you—" before he could even finish his sentence, you slam the door in his face and return to getting dressed.
while you didn't clear up with rafe exactly what this date would entail, you figured it’d be better to play it safe than be sorry—he was a kook, after all—so you took off your robe and slipped into your mini sundress, before sitting at your desk to crimp your hair and scatter little braids around your head and do your makeup.
after doing so, your phone dings with a text from him, as you slip on some flat sandals.
rafe: downstairs, your brother let me in.
giving yourself one more glance at the mirror to fix your necklaces, you run your hands through your hair and spray on some perfume, before scurrying out your bedroom door and down the hall to greet rafe sitting in the living room with your brother sitting across from him.
"so what are you intentions with my little sister?" your brother asks, just in time for you to intervene.
"oh my god, y/b/n," you say, as rafe stands to greet you. "hey."
you walk over to him and he squeezes you to his side. "hey, doll."
"where we headed?" you asked, noticing him in a salmon colored polo shirt—which somewhat matched the color of the flowers on your dress—and light grey shorts.
"a little change of plans, actually," he tells you. "i gotta go to this brunch at the club cause my dad's getting some award. you don't mind, do you?"
"we can totally leave any time you want," he adds, when a look of apprehension crosses your face.
you slowly nod, your eyes meeting his. "okay."
"yeah?" a small smile forms on his lips when you agree.
"yeah, let's go," you nod again, before turning to pull him towards the door.
"don't bring her back too late!" your brother jokingly calls after the two of you, as you walk out the front door.
"you're not dad!" you yell back, closing the door behind you.
—
the minute you enter a banquet hall at the country club, decked out with several round tables and decorations, full of kooks dressed in designer sundresses and polos, it dawns on you just how different your worlds are.
rafe was the kook king. these fancy brunches were a part of his weekly routine, while the fanciest place you'd ever been was the diner your parents took you to on your trip to new york a month ago.
"you ok?" rafe's hand snakes around the small of your back and he leans into you when he notices you glancing around, your fingers fiddling with each other. "hey," his finger comes under your chin to make you face him. "don't fret, a'ight? they'll love you."
they? who the fuck is they?
"top, kelce," rafe calls out to two of his friends, both of whom are dressed just like him, as he leads you to their table, which also sat two other girls—who you recognized to be rafe's sisters. "this is y/n."
"topper," the blond one holds out a hand to you, and the dark skinned one does too. "kelce."
"y/n," you shake both their hands, as rafe pulls out a chair for you to sit down. "it's nice to meet y'all."
"oh my god," the young girl seated next to sarah widens her eyes at you from across the table. "you're that girl rafe's been sneaking in and out of the house at night!"
"wheeze," sarah throws her a look, before smiling at you. "sorry about her, she has no filter. i'm sarah."
"yeah, i know," you nod at her. "kiara's talked about you."
"oh," the smile on her face drops a little. "you're friends with kie?"
"not anymore," you shake your head, and sarah's smile returns. "we were, but… she's showed her true colors." you reach for the glass of water in front of you and take a sip.
"tell me about it," sarah scoffs. "i had to learn that the hard way."
you continue making small talk with sarah, realizing she wasn't half the bitch kiara made her out to be, while rafe's hand rested on your thigh, as he talked to kelce and topper.
"drinks?" you hear a familiar drawl behind you, and find jj standing over you with a platter of mimosas, dressed like a waiter. "y/n?"
a smirk comes across rafe's lips as he turns his head, eyes shifting between the two of you. "hey, man. just one for my girl."
jj's clicks his tongue, as rafe smiles at you and gives your thigh a squeeze, but does his job, and leans down to hold the platter out to you.
"thanks," you avoid eye contact with him as you grab a drink from the platter, and are thankful when sarah calls on him from across the table.
"i'll take one too," she says and jj rounds the table to allow her to grab a drink, his disappointed eyes meeting yours.
a part of you felt bad—it had only been about a month—but then again, he moved on while you two were still together. so was there really a reason for you to feel guilty? you were just doing what he did—but better. at least you waited until the relationship ended.
"i'm gonna go to the bathroom real quick," you whisper to rafe, who gave you a small nod.
"why?" he asked, concern falling over his features. "you okay?"
"yeah," you assure him. "i just gotta pee. i'll be back."
—
by the time you got back from the bathroom, applause was erupting around the room, as rafe, sarah, and wheezie joined their dad on stage with their stepmom.
a smile came across your face as his eyes met yours from across the room and you leaned an elbow on the counter of the bar beside you.
"can't believe you stooped this low," jj comes up beside you, placing the platter down on the bar and downing one of the drinks himself.
"no," you turn your head to look at him and shake your head when rafe becomes occupied taking pictures with his family. "we're not doing this here."
you head out of the room, and he follows. "why? scared your new kook friends are gonna realize you're not one of them? i mean, seriously, y/n— how far are you willing to take this? just to-"
you snap your head towards him. "just to what, jj?"
"to spite me," he says. "i mean, have you looked in the mirror lately?" he motions a hand at your dress. "you're dressed like them, you're eating brunch with them, you're with him—this isn't you!"
"no," you hold a finger up to him. "i am exactly who i've always been. you just don't know how i look when i'm not in love with you."
a scoff leaves his mouth. "so our relationship really meant that little to you, huh?"
was he for real?
you narrow your eyes and shook your head. "no. you don't get to use that against me. you meant the world to me, jj. you were the one who screwed shit up the second you decided to sleep with kie. you are not turning this on me."
"oh my god, would you get over it?" he asked, clearly frustrated. "you slept with rafe cameron, y/n! we're even."
"even?" you spat. "after you betrayed me? broke my trust? my heart? oh, you have no idea just how even it's about to be."
"the hell's going on out here?" rafe joins you and jj outside the banquet hall, immediately coming to your side, a hand on your lower back. "is he bothering you?"
"no," you shake your head. "jj's shift just ended. he was about to go."
rafe shifts his eyes between the two of you, you and jj's eyes focused on each other.
your ex-boyfriend scoffs and shakes his head, but walks away, taking rafe by surprise.
"you wanna tell me what that was all about?" he looks at you, after watching jj leave.
"nothing to tell," you shrug with a smile, tilting your head up at him. "you wanna head back inside?"
"you wanna stay?"
"yeah," you nod, snaking your arm around his back. "i do."
i love soft rafe almost as much as i love canon rafe tbh.
reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated <33
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#rafe cameron#rafe#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#rafe fic#cute rafe#soft rafe#rafe x reader#rafe x y/n#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x y/n#obx#outer banks
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Um sorry uf this is a weird one but could the reader be shy and mattheo uses bdsm on her for the first time and she likes it
Yes!!!! Love this idea!
Do You Trust Me
Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader
Warnings: Bondage, cussing, unprotected sex, creampie, blindfold, fingering.
18+ Minors DNI!
You and Mattheo had been dating for a while now. You obviously have had sex many times, you were just always shy about it. Embarrassed about the topic. You loved having sex with him, but if he tried talking about it, you always shied away, always wormed your way out of the conversation. Mattheo found it funny and cute, but really wanted to talk to you about something that he’d been wanting to try with you for the past week. But you kept managing to get out of the conversations.
Finally, he had enough and had you under him as he was kissing you, he had you pinned to his bed, no way you could get out of this now.
He pulled back from the kiss and smiled down at you. “Princess, you know I’ve been trying to talk to you about something for a week now.”
“I think I prefer the kissing.” You said with a blush.
“You know I love how shy and cute you get.” He teased. “I wanna try something.”
“What?” You asked quietly.
“Do you trust me?” He asked back, not answering your question.
“I do.” You said, but with a bit of caution.
“Would you trust me to take care of you if you were tied up or blindfolded or anything like that?” He rubbed at your sides soothingly, not wanting to scare you off.
You stared up at him, face red in embarrassment at the conversation. But you also couldn’t deny that what he was saying intrigued you. So after a short pause, you finally spoke up. “Yeah.” Your voice was quiet and he probably wouldn’t have caught it if he wasn’t so close to you.
“Would you be willing to try that with me?” His hands stopped and squeezed your sides slightly in a reassuring way.
“Yeah.” You said with a small nod.
He smiled again, giving you a sweet kiss before helping you out of your clothes. He might’ve been going a little faster than usual, eager to try this out with you. He figured you’d say yes and already got what he’d need, so once he had you undressed, he quickly grabbed the soft ribbon he bought to tie you up. He didn’t want it to hurt you, so he opted for that instead of rope.
“Hands up for me, sweetheart.” He said as he came back to the bed, sitting beside you. You lifted your hands up and he tied them to the headboard before checking to make sure they aren’t too tight and aren’t digging into your skin too hard. “This makes you look like a present.” He smiled, trying to ease your nerves. “How’s that feel?” He rubbed along your stomach gently.
“It feels fine.” You said quietly, gently tugging at the ribbon to see if it’ll come undone. It won’t. Mattheo had done his research on how to keep it from untying.
“Good.” He said, bringing a hand to your cheek, caressing it softly. “If you ever wanna stop, if it gets too much or anything at all, just say ‘pomegranate’ and I’ll stop everything, okay?”
You nodded, leaning into his touch.
“What’s the word?” He asked.
“Pomegranate.”
“Good girl.” He said. “I’m gonna blindfold you, too. Just focus on how I’m making you feel instead of worrying about things, yeah?”
You nodded in response again and he smiled.
He placed the blindfold on you, leaving you in darkness and unsure of what he was planning. You could hear some shuffling before he settled between your legs, rubbing them gently. He slipped his fingers between your folds.
“You’re fucking soaked, princess. It seems you’re into this stuff, huh?” You could practically hear the smile.
He pushed two fingers in you, thrusting them in and out quickly as you moaned and whined. His thumb found your clit and you were trying to close your legs on him.
“You’re doing so good for me.” He said, using his free hand to push your legs back open. “So beautiful.”
“Matty, please.” You whined.
“How about we try ‘sir’ instead?” He said and you were too worked up already to overthink anything.
“Please, sir.” You begged.
“That’s much better. Please what, angel?” His fingers were relentless, just working on trying to make you cum.
“I’m gonna cum, please.” Your hips were trying to move to meet with his fingers.
“Beg for it then, princess. Use your words.”
“Please, let me cum, sir. Please.” You begged, pulling at the ribbon as your legs shook.
“I’m not convinced yet. Keep going.”
“Please, sir. I need to cum. Please. It feels so good. Please.” You were nearly crying at this point.
“Good girl. Cum on my fingers.” He said, his free hand coming up to play with your nipples.
You came on his fingers with a cry of his name along with some profanity, body trembling beneath him.He helped ride out your orgasm before pulling out his fingers.
“Open.” He said and you opened your mouth. He pushed his fingers in. “Clean them.” You followed the order and sucked and licked his fingers clean, tasting yourself from them. “You’re so obedient.”
He pulled his fingers out and pushed your legs up to your chest. You could feel him starting to tease his cock along your pussy, coating it in your arousal. You whined and hissed at the contact, still sensitive from the orgasm.
“Please, sir, I need you.” You begged, wiggling your hips a little to get a little more friction.
“Yeah? Need me to fuck your sweet little pussy?” He teased, just wanting to hear you beg more.
“Yes! Please!”
“Always so shy, but act like such a slut for my cock, huh?” He started easing his cock in, wanting to go slow to make you feel everything. You both were moaning, panting with every inch that he pushed into you.
He bottomed out and groaned before starting to thrust in and out of you, setting a brutal pace. With how he had you folded, you were feeling him so deep in you, feeling like he was in your stomach. He moved a hand to rub at your clit, the other wrapping around your neck, lightly squeezing the sides. It had you getting lightheaded and making everything feel much more intense.
“Fuck, you’re squeezing me, baby. You like this? You like me fucking you like a slut?” He asked and all you could do was moan in response, too fucked out to think of anything else. “Got you all dumb on my cock now too? My sweet, shy girl, all fucked out on my cock. You look fucking perfect, princess.” He was rambling, but it only made you wetter, building your orgasm much quicker. “Gonna cum on my dick, angel? I can feel you fucking clenching me.”
You were moaning and crying out as best as you could with his hand around your throat, pulling on the restraint. Your orgasm tore through you and cried out his name again, tears spilling down your cheeks in pleasure. He helped ride it out before untying you and flipping you over, getting you onto your knees and pushing your chest and head down onto the bed before pushing back into you.
“You’re so fucking perfect for me, princess.” He said, grabbing your hands to hold them behind your back with one hand as he pounded into you from behind. His other hand landed a spank on your ass, causing a yelp to escape your lips followed by a moan. “My princess likes that, huh?” He said and spanked you again, rubbing the area softly. “Fucking slut. You’re so fucking dirty. Just hiding behind all that shyness.”
He ripped another orgasm from you before finally cumming himself, filling your warm cunt with his cum as he helped ride out both of your orgasms.
He helped you back onto your back, gently taking off the blindfold. You had to blink a few times to adjust to the light before seeing his face, softly smiling down at you as he rubbed at your side soothingly again.
“How was that?” He asked gently, brushing your hair from your face. “Good?”
You nodded, catching your breath. “Good.”
“I got other things we can try later, too.”
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Teenage Angst (Dad!CL16)
Summary: Charles Leclerc’s 16 year old daughter, Lila, has had quite the rebellious phase and the Monegasque just can’t figure out what to do. Luckily, his wife has some of the answers.
Charles loved his life. He loved his job. He loved his home. Most of all, he loved his family. But recently, his job seemed to interfere with his homelife and in turn impacted his relationship with his family.
His family was well versed in the ways of having a husband and father as an Formula 1 driver. They were used to race weekends in exciting new countries, or race weekends spent on the couch as they cheered Charles on. Recently though, as his eldest daughter began to experience the highs and lows of teenage life, she began to resent her father for all the time he spent out of the house.
Her dad was her most favorite person in the world but she hadn’t ever really cared for Formula 1. She liked watching her dad race and seeing all of the ‘honorary uncles’ she had gained over the years but without them she knew she would never have been a fan of the sport. So, when she began to associate it with taking her father away, she couldn’t stand to watch it anymore.
It had become a source of tension between her and her mom. Charles’ wife had tried her entire life to not force the kids into the world of Formula 1. If they didn’t want to kart, they did not have to. They didn’t need to try and follow in the impressive but expectant legacy their father was bound to leave behind. But they were expected to support their Dad. When Lila refused to watch the race with the family, fights would often break out. Her mom always kept her composure, not one to scream, but when she had a 16 year old trying to yell every hateful thing she could think of at her, it made it hard.
After a particularly nasty fight, one where Lila was sent to her room and grounded, the tension in the Leclerc house was palpable. Even though his wife hadn’t told him about it, Charles could sense the shift the moment he walked in the door. He hadn’t been given a chance to inquire about it though because the moment he stepped foot in the entryway, he had been tackled by his youngest daughter, only 6 years old. His wife then too joined the mix, happy to have her husband back (and ecstatic to have another parent in the household to deal with her 16 year old).
“Where is Lila?” Charles asked.
“Ah, she is a bit grumpy at the moment. I am letting her cool down before dinner, which is just about ready. Please quickly shower and get all the plane germs off before you sit to eat with us.” His wife demanded.
As Charles walked up to his room, he passed his eldest daughter’s bedroom and was about to walk in till he noticed she had locked the door, something that she seemed to be doing a lot more recently. Deciding maybe it is best she cools down a little, he walked right by.
Everyone, except Lila, was sat and waiting for the 16 year old to join at the table when after 5 minutes they decided to just start eating. When she finally walked down, she said a quick “hi” to her father, not even looking in his direction, before she started eating.
“Lila, why don’t you thank your mother for her cooking before you eat all the food she made?” Charles asked. Immediately, his wife tensed up, knowing that this would set her oldest daughter off.
“Why? She made pasta. It isn't exactly revolutionary or even hard.”
“She works hard to keep you both alive and happy each day. And the fact she put a lot of love into making sure you are fed well is something to be grateful for.” He was starting to raise his voice, which only caused Lila to turn her attitude up even more.
“She is just a stupid housewife living off the money you make, if it is so hard she can just hire help.”
There was silence after this. Lila watched as her mother silently got up, tears streaming down her face, and walked into the kitchen, not wanting to cause a scene or have another fight with her daughter. Lila immediately regretted the things she said, once again just looking for the most hurtful things to say.
“Are you kidding me? I cannot believe that those disgusting things just came out of my very own daughter’s mouth! Why would you ever say such a thing about such a wonderful and loving mother? When the hell did this attitude develop?”
“Maybe you would know if you weren’t gone all the time racing stupid fucking cars. God, Dad, you have no right to try and parent me when you aren’t even here. Go back to Ferrari, they are the only family that wants you!” She was screaming now. Nothing she said was true, of course, she knew it, but she couldn’t stop till she made everyone feel as miserable as she did.
“Enough! I am so disappointed and appalled by the things you are saying. Go to your room because I sure do not want to see you tonight!” At this, Lila stormed off, stomping up the stairs till she slammed the door. Charles could almost laugh at how cliche the whole situation was. Hormonal teenager upsetting her parents then storming off. But he couldn’t think about that now that he had his beautiful and sweet wife crying to herself in the kitchen, and his 6 year old daughter tearing up at all the fighting. “I am sorry, sweetie. Why don’t you go and put a television show on and I can get the special candy I got for you while I was away?” This seemed to do the trick as his youngest daughter immediately perked up and ran to the living room.
Walking into the kitchen, Charles was met with his wife silently washing the dishes, but he could see how her body shook as she cried. She immediately melted into his embrace as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.
“Charles, she has been like this for weeks now. It always is always worse when you are gone. I- I don’t know what to do. I feel like the world’s worst mother, always fighting and grounding her.”
���My love, it is in no way your fault. How she acted was out of line and I am so disgusted by it. None of what she said was true and I hope you know that.” He said, kissing his wife’s forehead.
“I know, I know. She is just trying to get us upset. I just don’t know how much more I can handle.”
“I am the worst husband for not being here. I am sorry, my love. If I knew it was this bad then I would have-”
“You would have what, Charles? You have a job that takes a lot of time. You will sometimes be out of the loop. And that is okay. You work hard to provide for us, so we can live such a nice and comfortable life. I heard what she said to you too. It wasn’t fair of her to get mad at your career. I think she is just upset that you are gone so often.”
“What do I do about that though? Retire? Because if it comes down to it-”
“No, no, no. You will retire when you are ready to, and that is surely not now. She is just hormonal and extremely emotional. Let me talk to her, I am sure she just misses her dad. You are her most favorite person, you know that right?” he nodded in response, “I would almost be jealous if we didn’t have a 6 year old who told me earlier today that I am the coolest person in the world, and that I was pretty enough to be a princess.” She joked.
“She takes after me, idolizes you in every way.”
“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Smooth Talker. Let me go talk to Lila.” With a chaste kiss to the lips, she walked away in hope of reconciling this whole fight.
Luckily, Lila’s door was unlocked. But she was blasting music so hard that she didn’t hear her mother come in until she screamed when she felt someone touch her back.
“Relaxe, honey, it's just me.” Her mother said, turning down the music.
It was silent as she awaited her daughter’s response. Both women at a standoff, seeing who would crack first. Luckily for them it didn’t last too long as it was Lila who lost. She burst into tears, quickly muttering apology after apology at her mother.
“Sweetheart, it is okay. I was hurt by what you said but I was a teenager once too. I said some pretty mean things to my mom. I understand that it sometimes comes with the territory.”
“Did you say mean things to your dad too?” Lila asked, hiccuping from the sobs.
“No, but I didn’t have as nice of a father as you do. I was more scared of him. You on the other hand have the most wonderful father, and you said some nasty things to him tonight.”
“He already is disappointed I didn’t take after him and start racing. He probably regrets having a girl.” Lila sobbed, breaking her mother’s heart. Those things couldn’t be farther from the truth.
“Honey, you know how excited your father was when I told him I was pregnant with you? It was far too early to know if you were a boy or a girl, but Charles was convinced he would have a daughter first. There was never a single moment that he wasn’t absolutely thrilled to be a girl dad. It didn’t matter if you were ever a boy or a girl though, he never for a single moment cared if his kids would follow in his footsteps. He has lost too many loved ones to this sport, he was honestly a little relieved when you said you didn’t want to go karting. But he always hoped you would support him. He just wants you guys to be proud of him.”
Lila once again burst into tears at this revelation, thinking herself a terrible daughter for not being supportive. “He must hate me now. I- I have been so terrible to him.”
“You could never do anything to make him hate you. I think he is just upset about the things you said but he knows you don’t mean them. Go talk to him, honey. It will clear everything up I promise.” Lila’s mom said as she rubbed her daughter’s back.
After a long hug, the 16 year old Leclerc went to the living room where she saw her father watching a kids tv show with her younger sister who was happily demolishing a bag of candy. Once Charles noticed his daughter’s arrival, and that Lila clearly wanted to say something to him but was hesitant, he sent the 6 year old off to go find her Maman. As he looked back at Lila, her tear stained face and puffy eyes broke his heart, even if he was still upset at her.
Before he could say anything, she rushed into his arms, sobbing out an “I’m sorry Papa! I didn’t mean what I said, I promise. I love you and love watching you race, I just miss you so much!”
Giving her a few seconds to collect herself, he kissed her forehead, tears threatening to fall as he replied. “Lila, I know you didn’t mean those things. It breaks my heart to be gone as much as I am. I love you so much, honey. I am sorry for yelling.”
Pulling away, she smiled at the revelation that she wasn’t in trouble with her dad. “I apologized to Maman too. She told me to talk to you. I am sorry I have been so mean to her while you have been gone.”
“I know. She is always good at getting us back in line, huh? You are still grounded for what you said though.” She laughed at that. Maybe it was a little too naive to think she would be in the clear now and punishment free. “Maybe though, you can come to the next race? Just me and you? I can try to convince your Mama to let you miss a few days of school.”
“Yes! I would love that. But only if I can visit Uncle Pierre at Alpine.” She demanded, giggling with excitement.
“If you step foot in any garage that isn’t Ferrari, you will be grounded for two more weeks” Charles joked… kind of. Maybe he would only ground her one week for that.
This was far from the last fight they had, but they eventually got out of this hormonal funk Lila had all been in. They had to look ahead though because they still had another daughter to deal with once she became a teenager.
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Marked
Summary: (Y/N)'s relationship with Buck and Eddie is discovered.
Words:
Warnings: smut
Buck and Eddie's relationship was still kinda a secret for the public eye; well kinda because they weren't sure of sharing it yet but they weren't subtle at all with those shared looks and hidden touches. The 118 all knew about them, they were only waiting for them to have the courage to tell them.
The crew of firefighters was so proud of themselves for figuring it out: Hen brought it up one night when they were hanging out at Athena and Bobby's house and the two men conveniently left early together.
"I name it, they're totally involved" Chimney was a little confused, "what do you mean? Of course they are, they're best friends"
Athena smacked him around the head "What Hen means is...", she was thinking of a way of saying it nicely "they get each other steam off" finished Bobby. Hen and Athena nodded, the five different expressions that passed through Chimney's face were hilarious to Maddie "I can't believe you didn't notice".
What they all also didn't notice was that that night there was another person absent: their girlfriend, (Y/N).
She was way more private than them at the station, because she saw how Eddie and Buck acted around each other and let's just say even a blind could catch that they were in love; that's why she was never too close to them to be suspected. When Hen asked her about her romantic life she said "they" and "them", but everyone just assumed it was just a person who would go by these pronouns not that there were actually two people.
(Y/N) also knew that her boyfriends had their fair shares of problems with their closets and she surely wouldn't be the one to out them to their family.
The only 118 member who knew was Ravi. Poor kid caught them exiting the same room, still adjusting their uniform. From that moment (Y/N) avoided every contact with them at work and got closer to Ravi too. He was her true best friend.
"so... what are you doing for them tonight?" Ravi asked her while they were cooking for the team, "huh?" (Y/N) said looking at him from the oven; Ravi looked around, making sure no one was watching them and whispered "you know... today's your anniversary, didn't you do something?"
(Y/N) smiled. Today her, Buck and Eddie were celebrating six months officially together. "I can't believe you remembered" she hugged him tight "of course i did, how could i forget?"
It was funny how Buck was flaring his nostrils at the sign of (Y/N) talking with Ravi while he had his hands on her waist. Eddie had to put his hand on his knee, "you know they're only friends" "still..." he rolled his eyes. (Y/N) was actually describing him the details of the dinner she had planned that night; she was so ecxited to finally go out in public with them. Ravi was really happy for her, so happy that at the end of the shift he went to Buck and Eddie and told them to be careful "she really loves you, both of you, don't screw up tonight"
He knew he only made their nerves worse, but he had to because (Y/N) really deserved the world and he knew those two idiots would give her everything she needed. He was still her best friends tough, it was his job to scare her boyfriends.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
(Y/N) only texted them the address. "Dress fancy" the sole indication.
Evan stomach was a mess. Eddie was literally sweating. They decided to get ready together; that didn't help them one bit because after getting nearly late for a too long shower together, they were second-guessing everything.
Their anxiety seemed to stop only when they spotted (Y/N) at the bar in the restaurant. She was wearing a long strapless black dress, her hair were down and naturally curled and her lips were tinted red. Buck had to touch Eddie's hand to make sure he wasn't imagining that wonderful woman in front of them. It was the first time Eddie took his hand in his in a so crowded place and just by this (Y/N) knew this would have been a magical night.
They were seated in a corner in the garden, the table was so small that (Y/N)'s legs touched both Eddie and Buck's ones. It was just how she pictured it would be: the light lights illuminated Buck's freackles ever so gently, the roses'perfume made Eddie scrunch his nose in a way that made (Y/N) want to kiss him everytime and the night breeze was a perfect excuse for them to touch her arms or shoulders constantly because of the fact she was withouth a jacket. And it was even better to see Evan and Eddie actually be confortable to act like a couple all together.
Ravi's words really helped.
When Evan put his coat over (Y/N)'s shoulder as she whispered to them "maybe you should come to mine's for dessert", Eddie's eyes sparkled and Buck's hand on her tightned.
Evan didn't drive so fast even in the truck. The air was filled with anticipation but (Y/N) had decided that because this was a special night it would go slow and good. As a matter of fact, when they entered her flat she really had a dessert ready for them and she took it out of the oven swinging her hips ever so slightly.
"Uhm baby, we thought ehm..." Buck looked at Eddie for support while (Y/N) took three forkes "we hoped for another type of cake" the other man finished. (Y/N) chuckled "don't worry my loves, this cake just needs time" she winked and took a bite of the chocolate pastry; she really knew how to turn on her boys.
"Now, eat. I'll come back in five" with that she went to her bedroom and locked the door. Buck and Eddie could only listen to her and wait. They were under the impression she took more than five minutes because when she came back they finished half the cake and were now kissing on the couch, Eddie said he missed Buck's lips and he surely couldn't deny them to him. They already took off their jacket and were starting to unbutton their shirt when (Y/N) cleared her throat and they departed from each other; she was wearing a silky robe and a devious grin on her face. (Y/N) didn't say anything, only took their hands and guided them in the bedroom.
"Because you were so good tonight accepting to go out with me, I want to make it up to you" and with that she took a rope from the pocket of the robe. The guys were having the time of their lives while she tied them to the headboard, she put them in a way they could touch each other's hands, like a way to compensate the fact they couldn't touch her. When she was done (Y/N) finally took off her robe.
"Holy shit" Buck breathed out.
She was wearing a red lace bodysuit and garters and with only this sight Eddie and Evan tried to untie themselves. "I'm a firefighter baby, don't even try", Buck's cock twitched in his boxers. (Y/N) got them naked painfully slow and Eddie started to complain; that's why she started working on Evan first.
She kissed him softly on the lips and got down from the neck to the waist licking him, his breath became heavier when she stopped, eyes on his tip. She kissed it too and then put it in her mouth.
"Oh God". Evan really liked when she worked her magic on him this slowly; Eddie next to him could only focus on her ass and be satisfied but when her hand touched his leg and started going near his balls he grunted. (Y/N) smirked on Evan's cock and he pushed his hips up. She was bobbing her head up and down faster and stroking Eddie's dick too, so fast they were both moaning.
"I-I'm cuming" Evan was practically a mess.
"Come on big boy, you're doing so good"
Hearing Eddie praise him was the last straw; Evan came so hard it made (Y/N) even wetter. When she was done sucking all his cum (Y/N) got up "you're soo good baby" she caressed Buck's cheeck and turned to Eddie "want a taste?", he nodded excited. Buck was trying to catch his breath while (Y/N) straddled Eddie's lap to kiss him. She tasted of Buck. (Y/N) lowered herself on him and Eddie moaned in the kiss at the feeling of his girlfriend pussy on him.
"It's your turn to fell good now honey"
(Y/N) unzipped her bodysuit at a slow pace and while she cupped one of her breast for show, she finished getting undressed. Buck was quickly recovering already.
She lowered her body on Eddie and started grinding her hips to lube his cock with her wetness; when she picked his dick in her hand and came down on it Eddie almost cried out loud. Usually Buck was the loudest, maybe she teased him too much this time. (Y/N) didn't complain tough, hearing her boyfriends moan only added fuel to the fire. Now she was breathing heavily too and really needed their hands on her body, so she leaned over and untied them.
Eddie didn't waste a second and flipped them over to start thrusting into her, "You feel so good mi amor".
(Y/N) tightened her legs to his hips as Buck got in between them to touch her clit. Now (Y/N) was the loudest; she tried to be quite but the stimulation was just too much that she gripped both her boyfriends' shoulder and scratched them. This only made them move faster.
"Come on baby, be a good girl for us"
She whined their names.
"So fucking tight hermosa"
Buck was sucking on her tit while he pinched her clit and made her scream.
It was the best orgasm she ever had, because when she came down her high she felt Eddie's cum on her stomach and it was so fucking hot.
When they got her all cleaned up and ready for sleep -after other two rounds-, (Y/N) told them how grateful she was to have them loving her and kissed them goodnight and Buck and Eddie felt the luckiest guys in the whole world.
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The next day (Y/N) was the happiest she ever was in at least two weeks (Buck cooked breakfast for her and Eddie made her bag for her) and all the station noticed. Also because she wasn't complaining about anything after one of the most tiring calls of all day;
They were changing in the locker room and Ravi approached her "I'm guessing it went well", she smiled only thinking about it "marvellous" (Y/N) answer.
"What went so good?" asked Hen as she got near them too, "little (Y/N) here had a date"
One of these days she would kill Ravi
"Oh you didn't go out in a while..." intruded Chimney, 'cause of course he would be there too.
"Yeah, that's because it was a special night" she was lost in her locker when Hen spoke again.
"They had a special night too"
"damn"
The confusion on (Y/N)'s face soon washed over when she turned around and understood what they were talking about: at the other side of the room Buck and Eddie were changing their shirt and were unconsciously showing off some big scratches on their back. (Y/N)'s scratches from last night. They were so red and so much; how couldn't they notice?
Then it hit her: they were practically identical, everyone would have known they were from the same person.
At this point every bit of dignity already left (Y/N)'s body when she run off to them.
"put a shirt on, now." She hissed.
Buck was so confused...then he looked at Eddie
"hooly shit". He was fast to cover himself up and Eddie followed him even if he didn't understand yet.
"i May or May not have left some...marks" she tried to say it in the gentlest of ways but the damage was already done.
All of their team was watching them.
-------------------------------------------------------
Ravi thought dinner would have been awkward; he was absolutely fucking right.
Buck, Eddie and (Y/N) were avoiding eye contact with everyone. Hen was waiting for an explanation with a smirk on her lips. Bobby was searching words for a reassuring speech after the inevitable talk, and Chimney was so fucking confused that at some point he bursted "Can somebody talk about it, please?"
(Y/N) looked at Eddie and Buck for permission, if they weren't ready she would have had come up with a lie without questions. They deserved to be out when they felt like it.
But Eddie took Buck's hand in his and started talking "we're together."
Evan felt a rock being left off his stomach, so he then took (Y/N)'s hand and continued "all three of us".
She only smiled at them.
There was a minute of silence when they thought they had made a big mistake, and everything was starting to crumble. But again, Hen spoke "fucking finally"
"Y-you knew?" (Y/N) had to start draw circles on Buck's hand.
"Of you and Eddie? Of course! (Y/N) is... A pleasant surprise" she blushed at this.
"so...you're okay with this?" Eddie was the one to ask the question they feared the most. It was obvious to (Y/N) that the 118 wouldn't have said anything but for two newly queer men... She understood the uncertainty.
"Why wouldn't we?" Chimney answered
"Yeah, you're all happy, that's what matters to us" Bobby finished.
There was another moment of silence after, where everyone was accommodating to the news.
Ravi saw the perfect opportunity to say what he wanted to say for months now: "I knew it first!"
#evan buckley x eddie diaz x reader#evan buckley x reader#evan buckley#eddie diaz x reader#eddie diaz#911#911 imagine
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