rafa @rafaaoli - Tumblr Blog

little miss perfect - r.c - introduction & masterlist

pairing: siren!reader x rafe (non-fantasy). they grew up side by side—her, the golden girl; him, the reckless heir. their dads were old money best friends, bound by business and legacy, blind to the games she played. she was always the favorite; he, the scapegoat with a temper. everyone saw her as sweet, perfect, untouchable—but rafe saw through the act. to him, she’s just the siren: made to ruin him.

warnings: suggestive, +18 themes, smut.

favourite-regret

mon petit monstre | f1 smau part one | part two | part three | part four (coming soon)

charles leclerc x f!vettel!reader

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

spankyourlocalbrat

Can you write a smut about Rafe and reader are in an arranged marriage. How will their sex life be? Can you make up a story where they do it intensely?

notes. i def don’t think you wanted a fanfic that was this long, but i saw so much potential in this idea i just couldn’t help myself to write this for you. this took me days to do, so enjoy! this is for all of my lovers who love backstory & character development. i tried my best! this is so long but so cute and worth it (in my opinion)

content warnings. ⸝⸝ fem reader, arranged marriage, fluff, arguing, tad angst, cussing, so much backstory, no proof read, cuddling, slow burn, make up sex, tender mornings, rough sex, hair pulling, love making, rafe spitting in reader’s mouth, degrading, praising, showering together, wife!reader, husband!rafe, ass slapping/spanking, backshots, choking, slight wording of cnc(?), some intimate scenes, brat taming, edging

ward wants his son to have a good girl. he’s told rafe the standards he should look for, not a drug addict, someone sweet, someone good to him. simple enough, but rafe never followed through. he went for party girls who had no direction in life, fucked girls for drugs, and messed around with ones who’d been passed around so much they’d probably had every std in the book.

then you came along.

ward was immediately interested. he’d spoken to you before, when you were planting flowers in homemade vases along your front yard fence. you had this soft, sweet charm he’d never seen in any of the girls rafe usually brought around.

you didn’t expose yourself in everyday clothes, you spoke like you didn’t even know curse words existed, and you carried yourself with a modesty that felt rare. you were perfect for the cameron image. the kind of girl who could clean up rafe’s mess of addictions and reckless behavior.

when the wedding came, rafe had no real say. you were beautiful, sure, but he wasn’t ready to let go of his old life. so on your wedding night, after you were officially married, he didn’t say much. he was still adjusting.

you found him in the bathroom, a towel wrapped low around his waist while he brushed his teeth. you poked gently at his side. “hi,” you said, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

he glanced down at the spot you’d poked, then looked at you. toothbrush still in his mouth. “…hello.” you smiled, a playful little pout forming on your lips. “that’s all i get?”

he stayed quiet for a second, eyes now fully on you. “what am i supposed to say?” he asked and you shrugged. “i don’t know… we just got married!” excitement colored your voice. “yeah,” he replied dryly, spitting into the sink. “trust me, i’m aware.” he adds.

your smile faltered, and you swallowed. rafe sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “look, i’m not trying to be a dick. this whole thing is just… a lot.” he explained. you nodded, looking up at him. “is there anything i can do to help you relieve some stress?” your brows furrowed in genuine concern. “anything you need?” you ask.

he stared at you for a long moment. “a drink,” he said flatly. you frowned. “i don’t think that’s what you need,” you replied softly. his eyebrow lifted. “you’ve been my wife for three hours and you’re already arguing with me?” he asked, sarcasm thick in his tone.

you didn’t answer. instead, you gave a small, quiet nod and walked out of the bathroom.

the whole adjustment process to rafe was strange. one day, you were receiving nothing but attitude and toxicity, and the next, little moments of kindness that caught you off guard.

coming from a family who handled their feelings by sitting down and talking things out didn’t exactly prepare you for someone like rafe. he thought he knew everything, and even when he knew he was wrong, getting an apology out of him was like pulling teeth.

he wasn’t even close to what you imagined in a husband before his father came talking to you. you wanted someone sweet, mature, someone who didn’t treat every disagreement like a battle. someone who could tell you what was wrong instead of making you figure it out yourself.

just like the first night of your honeymoon, he was still angry. still angry at his father for putting him in this situation, for making choices for him like he was a kid. it was around two in the morning, and he was sitting out in the living room of the hotel ward had paid for in another country.

every now and then his voice would rise, frustration bleeding into every word as he talked on the phone about how he was sick of everyone deciding his life for him. his voice carried all the way down the hall to the bedroom, and you sat there on the bed with your hair in a messy bun, listening to every word.

when he kept going, something in you finally gave out. quietly, you got up and headed to the closet, pulling your suitcase onto the floor and beginning to pack the clothes you’d brought with you.

when rafe heard the movement, he ended the call and walked into the room, stopping when he saw you calmly folding your things into the suitcase.

“what are you doing?” he asked, but he could obviously see what you were doing. you didn’t look up instead just continued. “packing.” you reply. rafe stared at the suitcase for a second. “i can see that.” he said and you folded another shirt. “then why’d you ask?” you interviewed, and he went quiet. his jaw tightened, like he was holding back a groan. “where are you going?” he asked, looking at everything about you.

your hair, clothes, skin. “home.” you stated, dryly. the answer came so easily that it caught him off guard. “what?” he said. “you’ve spent the whole trip talking about how much you don’t want this. i figured i’d make it easier for you.” you replied.

“that’s not—” he started and you scoffed. “not what?” you cut him off, as you looked at him. “i heard you, rafe.” you mention and you got nothing but silence.

he then shifted his weight. “you’re seriously packing because i was pissed off?” he asked and you let out a small laugh mid sentence. “because you were pissed off? no.” you correct, another shirt landed in the suitcase.

“because you’ve made it very clear you don’t want me here.” you said and it was visible that something uncomfortable settled in his chest, that wasn’t what he’d been trying to say. at least, not anymore. “stop.” he demanded.

you ignored him, adjusting your shirt on your shoulder. “i said stop.” he repeated. “why?” you ask, looking up to meet his gaze. the question hit him harder than he expected, because he didn’t have a good answer at all to give you, because a couple days ago he would’ve gladly watched you walk away, but because now that you were actually doing it, he couldn’t stand the sight of it.

“just…” he rubbed a hand over his face. “stop packing for five seconds.” he told you, approaching slowly as if you were an angry animal that would pounce any moment. you scoff as if he had asked you something insane, the audacity he had making you began to get angry.

“no rafe!” you say, looking at him, your volume catching him off guard. “you don’t like me, so i’m leaving. simple. i don’t need your permission.” you stated, keeping eye contact with him. his face went cold, staring at you. “i’m not stupid, nor am i gonna waste my time! i’m leaving.” you yelled, and he didn’t even react. but he did scoff when you told him you were leaving.

because he knew you weren’t, you can pack all the shit you want but he knew in his head, you weren’t leaving him. not him.

“you’re not leaving.” he stated, and you looked up at him and laughed. “watch me.” you told him, moving to the nightstand and getting your phone charger out and makeup. “i’m serious.” he told you, standing still while watching you, his tone spoke for itself. “so am i.” you flash a fake smile before rolling your eyes, putting your charger in your pocket and makeup in the suitcase. “you’re my wife.” he stated.

“a wife you don’t even want!” you correct. “i didn’t say that.” he responds, and you looked at him as if he wasn’t crazy. “yeah right” you say, rolling your eyes with attitude. his expression darkened, anger lingering in his eyes. “quit putting words in my mouth.” he demanded and you turned to him fully, crossing your arms.

“then tell me i’m wrong, rafe.”

and he couldn’t, he just sat there looking fucking stupid. “that’s what i thought.” you said quietly now, nodding in acknowledgement and you continued packing.

for the rest of the night, he left you alone. at least, mostly. after another pointless argument, he stormed back into the living room and dropped onto the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. every few minutes he’d hear another zipper, another drawer opening, another reminder that you were actually packing. it got under his skin more than he wanted to admit. twice he got up and walked toward the bedroom, only to turn around before he reached the door.

by three in the morning, he was still sitting awake on the couch, staring at nothing and listening to the sounds coming from the bedroom. he fucked hated hearing the suitcase’s wheels rolling on the floor, and the zippers bit at his patience.

he drifted off on the couch, and by the time he woke up, he heard the sound of the suitcase wheels. at first, he didn’t react, then he looked up to see the bags, all of them. his stomach dropped. “what are you doing?” he asked, but you didn’t answer. you just kept walking toward the door.

“hey.” he said, louder. but he still got nothing. “seriously, where the hell are you going?” he asked while you reached for the handle. “home.” you finally answered. rafe stood up so fast the coffee table rattled. “you’re actually leaving?” he questioned. you laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “what did you think i was doing all night?” you asked.

his jaw tightened, he didn’t have an answer, because he didn’t want to come to speak out loud about this view and also truthfully he’d thought you’d calm down, he’d thought you’d unpack, he’d thought you’d stay.

“so that’s it?” he asked, and you looked at him. “what do you want me to do, rafe?” you asked. he hates that questions like that, because when he’s asked questions like that, most of the time he doesn’t want to answer… and also because for the first time since the wedding, he knew exactly what he didn’t want. he didn’t want you walking out that door.

“don’t go.” he told you. the words came out rough, almost angry, like they had been dragged out of him. “don’t go.” he repeated and you stared at him, your hand still wrapped around the suitcase handle as you searched his face for something real, something that would make any of this make sense.

“give me one reason.” rafe looked away immediately, like he couldn’t stand being pinned down by the question. “i don’t need a reason.” he defends. “yes, you do.” you follow up quickly. “no, i don’t.” he said. you slowly let go of the suitcase handle and shook your head.

“that’s funny.” his eyes narrowed. “what?” he asked. “because every time you want something from me, there’s supposed to be a reason. every time you expect me to understand you, forgive you, follow along with whatever you decide, there’s always some explanation i’m supposed to accept. but now suddenly you want me to stay and i’m just supposed to do it because you said so?” you ask, staring at him.

“what are you talking about?” he asked. “you want me to stay? okay. why?” you question, letting your hands drop to your sides. “because i said so.” he told you. you let out a laugh that held no amusement whatsoever. “that’s not an answer.” you say. his jaw clenched hard enough that you could see the muscle jump.

“can you stop doing that?” he requested. “doing what?” you ask. “turning everything into an interrogation.” he explained and you rolled your eyes. “i’m not interrogating you, rafe. i’m asking a simple question.” you gestured toward the suitcases sitting by the door, packed and ready to go. “you’ve spent this entire trip acting like i’m a burden, like my presence is something you have to tolerate instead of something you actually want.” you stated. “that’s not true.” he continued after you quickly.

“really?” you ask. he went quiet, and that silence told you more than any argument ever could. you nodded slowly. “that’s what i thought.” you repeat again tonight. “i never said you were a burden.” he corrected. “you didn’t have to. you made it obvious enough without saying the words.” you said, flashing a fake comforted smile.

“for fuck’s sake—” he groans. “see?” you interrupted him abruptly. “there you go again.” his hands flew up in frustration. “what do you want me to say?” “the truth.” you yell. “i am telling the truth.” he yelled back. “no, you’re not.” the room fell silent after that, the tension stretching between you until it felt impossible to breathe around it. you took a step closer, refusing to look away from him this time.

“if you want me to stay, tell me why.” rafe looked frustrated enough to punch a wall, his entire body rigid with the effort of holding something back. “because.” he said dryly. “because why?” you ask. “i don’t know.” he swallowed.

“that’s a lie.” his eyes snapped to yours instantly. “you think you know everything, huh?” he questioned bitterly. “no. i think you’re scared to say it.” you mention and his expression hardened. “say what?” he asked. “that maybe you don’t hate me as much as you wanted to.” for a moment neither of you moved. neither of you spoke. the words hung heavily in the air between you.

“i never said i hated you.” he corrected. this time his voice was quieter, stripped of some of its usual anger. you swallowed hard. “then stop acting like i’m impossible to keep around.” rafe looked down at the floor, staring at it for several long seconds before finally lifting his gaze back to yours.

when he spoke again, there was something different in his expression, something tired and honest and completely unguarded. “i got used to you being here, okay?” it wasn’t a grand confession. it wasn’t romantic or dramatic or anything close to the kind of speech people gave in movies. but somehow that made it feel more real.

it was probably the most honest thing he’d said since the wedding, and you could tell how much it cost him to admit it. “and?” you asked softly. he rubbed a hand over his face and let out a slow breath. “and i don’t want you to leave.” he said, finally.

you stare at him. “keep that attitude up, and i’ll stay.” you tell him, opening the door. “you have my number, prove you don’t want me to leave, rafe.” you continue and he rubbed his face, he was livid.

his eyebrows furrowed. “what?” he asked, looking back at you as you open the door wider. “you heard me.” you said. for a second, he just stared. then his expression hardened. “that’s bullshit.” he said, aggressively. “is it?” you respond, sarcastically. “yeah, it is.” he said. “why?” you questioned.

“because you’re putting me in some stupid test.” he responded and you sigh. “no, rafe. i’m leaving.” you stated, and the words hit harder than he expected, so hard that he shifted his weight and his voice was quieter. “then leave.” he said, gesturing toward the door with his hand before letting it drop back down to his leg.

you simply nodded. “okay.”

he didn’t say anything to you after that, you bought a plane ticket back home and you arrived home some time later. you didn’t receive any calls from him when you were boarding the plane and the time prior, but when you got on the plane he started to text you, and call you.

you decided to make him wait, so you turned your phone off. when getting home, the scent of your favorite candle still lingered. the sunlight pouring through your glass french doors stretched across the hallway that you passed from the front door. it was so beautiful, and so much calmer than hanging out with your new husband.

you let your hair down from the bun, your hair touching your skin as you swayed your hips to the kitchen. you made yourself some food, the calm morning still having a warm embrace on you. you sighed, your chest becoming more comfortable and not tight and stressed out.

once you finished making your food and eating it, you headed upstairs. when you reached the second floor, you stripped out of your pants and took your shirt off just for preparation for bed. your bed was calling you, so you made it easier for you.

you opened your door, tossing the clothes to your floor, and you looked at your bed, suddenly realizing rafe sitting there.

“jesus!” you yelled, rushing to cover yourself with the door and peeking your head out to look at him. “would you stop yelling?” he asked, rolling his eyes. “you’re in my house rafe.” you defended, before squinting your eyes at him. “why are you here?” you asked.

“you turned your phone off, what the hell was i supposed to do?” he asked, looking at you. “oh, i don’t know, maybe tell me if you’re on the way?” you offered, and rafe scoffed. “right, because you were doing such a great job answering your phone.” he replied, getting up from the bed and you stared at him.

“that’s not the point.” you stated. “it is the point.” he shot back. “no, rafe, the point is i came home and found a man sitting in my bedroom.” you said to him. “your husband.” he corrected.

“don’t do that.” you scoffed. “do what?” he asked. “use that whenever it’s convenient for you.” you replied and his jaw tightened. “i called you.” he admitted. “and i didn’t answer.” you replied. “yeah, i noticed.” he replied, walking toward the door. “that doesn’t mean you get to break into my house.” you mentioned.

“i didn’t break in.” he said, lifting a brow. you then folded your arms. his hand went to the door, opening it fully to look at you.

“then how did you get in?” you asked and he went quiet for a second. “your spare key.” he admitted. “rafe.” you started. “what?” he asked. “that’s creepy…how the fuck did you even get a spare?” you asked, brows furrowed now. “you getting on a plane and disappearing was crazy.” he mentioned, ignoring your question.

“i told you i was leaving.” you replied. “and i told you not to.” he continued. you rolled your eyes dramatically and pushed past him. “you win.” you said as you rubbed your face with a soft sigh. “i’m so done arguing with you.” you said.

rafe didn’t have a comeback. it was like he didn’t even want to say anything to end the conversation. he wanted you to stay, to talk to him, but you walked past him and sat on the edge of the bed.

“seriously. i’m tired.” you assured and watched as he watched you pull the blankets back.

“that’s it?” he asked.

you looked over your shoulder. “what else is there to say?” you asked. he opened his mouth, then closed it again. there was that fucking question again. you sighed.

“if you really came all the way here just to sit in my bedroom and be angry, you can sleep here if you want.” you said. rafe stared at you. “maybe argue with me in my sleep.” you laughed softly, but he didn’t laugh. he rolled his eyes.

“that’s not why i came.” he said.

“okay.” you replied softly, providing him a soft and gentle out to this argument. but the fact that you didn’t argue made the situation worse to him. the way you just simply laid down and turned away from him made the room fall quiet.

“you’re just gonna go to sleep?” he asked.

you let out a tired laugh. “what do you want from me, rafe?” you asked once more and he didn’t answer. because that was the problem, he wasn’t entirely sure. he was never sure when that question came out.

all he knew was that seeing you leave had felt wrong, and now that he’d found you again, the fight suddenly seemed a lot less important than it had a few hours ago.

after a long moment, he looked away. “move over.” he said roughly. you raised an eyebrow. “thought you’d never ask.” you said, moving over. “don’t make it weird.” he muttered, laying down next to you.

“you’re sitting in my room.” you said, turning to look at him. “our room.” he corrected, and to that admission, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. the most physical touch he’s given you is from you giving up on an argument. you laughed at that thought. he was impossible, and so annoying.

you woke up gently, you could hear the sound of his phone faintly. you stretched lightly on the bed, getting up and sitting on your knees on the bed, hair falling loose as you finally looked at him properly.

he glanced up from his phone, his eyes meeting yours. “what time is it?” you ask. “three.” he responded and your eyes widened a little. “i should probably get up and make us lunch.” you said, as you shifted forward on your knees, then leaned toward him like it was the most normal thing in the world.

he stiffened slightly, not pulling away, just surprised by the sudden closeness after everything. but you came from a family of affection, of tender love. so a kiss after you wake up was mandatory. you brushed a soft kiss along his jaw, then another near his neck. his hand paused mid scroll on his phone.

“do you want that? or do you want delivery?” you asked, your eyes meeting his again. he stared at you for a second, confused if he should be upset or happy you’re acting this way. “…why are you acting like yesterday didn’t happen?” he asked, you hummed softly, still close. “did it change what you want to eat?” you ask, and that caught him off guard.

his jaw tightened like he was trying not to react too much. “that’s not the point.” he commented. you smiled a little, backing up from him. “okay. then what’s the point?” you asked, he didn’t answer immediately. because the truth was, he didn’t know how to respond to you being soft with him again after everything.

he set his phone down. “i don’t know what’s going on with you.” he stated. “i’m just being nice, rafe.” you respond and he let out a short breath. “yeah. that’s the problem.” he said. you pushed your lips into a thin line, running your hand through his hair as you get up. “so, you want me to make it?” you ask.

he looked at you for a second longer than necessary. “i didn’t say that.” he said, you sigh and you tilted your head slightly. “you didn’t say anything.” you stated. that got a reaction out of him, but just a faint shift in his expression. “…just don’t burn anything.” he said. you smiled, getting up from the bed and already moving toward the door. “that’s not an answer.” you said.

he exhaled through his nose, setting his phone down on the bed. “yeah, fine. make it.” he said, a pause settling between you two. then, he spoke up quietly. “i’m not trying to fight with you.” he said, his tone unrecognizable because of how sweet it was. you glanced back at him. he wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead looking at the bed. “i know.” you gently responded.

you finally leave the room, making your way down to the stairs, the cold air biting at your skin, your eyes looking out your glass french doors and seeing ward and some random guy. you pause, looking down at your body that only had a bra and panties on.

you go back upstairs calmly, luckily they hadn’t seen you, despite your french doors being so open to the house. you go to your walk in closet, putting your hair up before putting on a top and shorts, and making your way to the bedroom to rafe. “uh. your dad is outside with some guy.” you told rafe, rafe lifted a brow.

“what guy?” he asked. you shook your head slightly, shrugging. “i don’t know. i just saw them through the glass doors.” you responded. his expression changed immediately, it was subtle, but sharp. ward seemed like he was a trigger for him, judging by how tense he got.

he sat up a little straighter. “he didn’t call.” he mentions. “does he ever?” you jokingly respond but that made his jaw tighten. rafe pushed himself off the bed. “yeah, okay.” he mumbled to himself. he grabbed his phone off the nightstand, already unlocking it. “he’s probably trying to turn this into some kind of meeting.” he mumbled to himself once more.

it seemed like he was trying to calm himself down, by his own voice and words while you watched him. “you want me to go downstairs?” you ask. he glanced at you for half a second. “no.” he said firmly. then, he swallowed. “just… stay here.” he added, his tone less strict.

there was a pause before he added, quieter, like it slipped out without thinking. “i’ll handle it.” he assured you, before brushing past you. you bite your cheek and sit on the bed, holding your face.

you spent a couple minutes up there, hearing quiet voices that stretched upstairs, you couldn’t hear them completely but rafe was mad about something. then you hear rafe coming back upstairs, when he found you, he didn’t say much.

“my dad’s downstairs.” he started, and you looked up. “yeah, i know.” you responded back and he hesitated. he shifts his weight. “he wants you down there.” he told you and your brows furrow in confusion. “why?” you question. rafe exhaled through his nose.

“just come on.” he told you, you studied him for a second, then followed. the moment you walked into the dining room, you felt it. too many chairs, it was too formal just for a quick chit chat. ward sitting like he owned the air itself, and someone else. a woman you didn’t know.

rafe stopped behind you. “what is this?” he asked, and ward gestured lightly. “sit down.” ward said but rafe didn’t move. “no. what is this.” he asked once again. a pause settled, and then ward leaned forward slightly.

“this is a marriage counselor.” rafe’s expression went completely still. “…you brought a therapist.” rafe started, glaring at ward. “for you and your wife.” ward explained, staring at rafe. rafe let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“without telling me?” rafe asked. ward’s voice stayed calm. “you weren’t going to agree if i asked.” he explained. rafe looked at him for a long moment, then glanced at you, then back at ward.

the anger he was feeling wasn’t loud it was controlled, and dangerous underneath.

“you don’t get to manage my marriage like a business deal.” rafe stated and ward didn’t flinch. “then start acting like it isn’t one.” ward clapped back.

rafe stood, arms stiff at his sides as ward looked up from his seat. ward didn’t look at him, his eyes went straight to you. a soft smile settled on his face. “hi sweetheart.” he coos. you blinked, a little surprised but you smiled back automatically.

“hi.” you reply, giving him a soft wave. ward’s tone warmed just slightly. “how are you doing?” he asked, you hesitated for half a second, then answered honestly, still polite. “i’m okay… a little confused.” you say.

“understandable,” he said smoothly. “this is a lot for you.” he gently said. rafe’s jaw tightened behind you. ward gestured toward the empty chair. “why don’t you sit down, sweetheart.” he offered. you glanced back at rafe briefly, then sat.

rafe didn’t move, which made ward finally look at him now. “you too, rafe.”

rafe let out a short breath through his nose. “no.” he said firmly but ward’s expression didn’t change. “sit.” he commanded, silence stretched then rafe slowly pulled out the chair and sat, but his posture stayed rigid. ward folded his hands. “i wanted to talk to both of you properly.”

rafe cut in immediately. “you could’ve told me what this was.” he said. ward tilted his head slightly. “you wouldn’t have come.” ward stated. rafe scoffed. “yeah. because it’s insane.” ward ignored that, eyes shifting back to you.

“i just want to make sure you’re settling in alright, sweetheart.” he explained to you, which you nodded softly. “i think i am… it’s just been a lot of change.” you describe with a smile. “of course it has,” ward said gently. “you’ve been very patient with everything.” he compliments, rafe looked between you two, disbelief flickering across his face. because he knew that tone.

it wasn’t real warmth, it was strategy. and seeing it directed at you made it worse for him, his anger started to boil even more than before.

then counselor offered a polite smile.

“thank you both for sitting down with me today. i know this probably wasn’t how either of you expected to spend your afternoon.” she said. “you got that right,” rafe muttered.

ward shot him a look but the counselor ignored it. “why don’t we start with something simple? how has married life been so far?” she asked, her eyes on you. you smiled politely. “it’s been an adjustment.” you answer. “that’s a very mature answer.” she complimented and you smiled once again. “thank you.”

“and for you, rafe?” she asked, writing down something before looking up at him. he leaned back in his chair. “it’s been great.” the deadpan answer made the counselor pause. “great?” she echoes. “yeah. fantastic.” he repeated. you closed your eyes briefly. “rafe.” you said.

“what?” he asked.

the counselor offered a patient smile. “i’m assuming that’s sarcasm.” she replied. “good catch.” he stated, ward rubbed his forehead. you could practically feel the tension radiating off rafe. the counselor tried again. “what has been the most difficult part?” she asked. “my father arranging the whole thing.” he said flatly.

“rafe.” you repeat, looking at him. “what? she asked.” he said. the woman nodded. “that’s a fair answer.” she said. rafe looked surprised for a second. “it is?” he asked and she nodded. “yes.”

his expression softened slightly. “oh.” he murmurs. you glanced at him and the counselor smiled. “you’re allowed to be frustrated. i think what we’re trying to figure out is what comes after that frustration.” she explains, and rafe looked away.

for a moment, nobody spoke and under the table, you carefully reached for his hand. his fingers immediately tensed, you honestly expected him to pull away, but he didn’t. instead, he glanced at you. you rubbed your thumb across the back of his hand once, just once.

a silent reminder that he wasn’t alone in this conversation. so, when the counselor spoke again, his answer came out less sharp. “i don’t know.” he said. the room went quiet.

“that’s okay,” she said gently. “you don’t have to know everything right now.” she continued. rafe looked down at the table, then at your hand still holding his. “i’m just trying to figure it out.” he said, being the most honest he’s been with her since sitting down. she wasn’t getting that confession again, and the woman could tell.

after ward and the woman left, rafe had been distant. quieter than usual. he wasn’t giving you the cold shoulder exactly, but the warmth from the night before had cooled. he kept himself busy, answers short, eyes avoiding prolonged contact. like he was rethinking everything that had been dragged out in front of that stranger.

you hated the shift. so later in the day, when the house felt too heavy with silence, you stood in the doorway of the bedroom and said softly, “rafe… come take a shower with me.” he looked up from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, jaw tight. for a second you thought he might say no. his pride was still stinging.

“i’m fine,” he muttered, even though he clearly wasn’t. you didn’t push hard. you just tilted your head, voice gentle. “you don’t have to talk. i just… want you close. please?” you plead softly.

one thing your mother taught you was intimacy was something every couple needed, especially after such an intense experience for him.

that last word always did something to him. he stared at you for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose and stood up without another word. he followed you into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him a little harder than necessary.

once the water was running hot and steam started filling the space, he undressed slowly, still not looking at you much. but when you stepped under the spray and held your hand out to him, he took it. he let you pull him in.

the moment the water hit his shoulders, some of the tension in his back eased. you didn’t force conversation. you just washed his hair, fingers gentle against his scalp, and he eventually leaned into your touch. his arms came around your waist after a while, forehead resting against your shoulder as the water ran over both of you.

he didn’t say much, but the way he held you tighter than usual told you everything. the distance was still there, but it was cracking. this was his version of letting you back in, quiet, physical, a little grumpy, but present.

he wasn’t sure why he was doing this, but it definitely was not because he suddenly loved vulnerability, but because you asked, and deep down he needed the closeness more than he wanted to admit.

standing under the warm spray, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering for a second against his damp skin. “what do you need, rafe?” you asked gently, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. he stayed quiet at first, water running down his shoulders, then his voice came low and rough. “i just need you.” he said.

the words settled between you like something heavy and honest. you didn’t push for more. instead you stayed close, letting the shower run over both of you for a couple of minutes in comfortable silence. his arms stayed wrapped around your waist, your bodies pressed together under the steady stream, the tension in him slowly easing.

after a while you pulled back slightly and brushed wet strands of hair from his face. “go ahead and get out, okay? go lay down. i’ll make you some dinner and then we can watch tv.” he suggest. he nodded, agreeing without argument for once. as he stepped toward the edge of the shower, he paused, cupped your face with one hand, and leaned in. his lips met yours in a soft, simple peck, your first kiss.

you blinked, a little shocked, warmth blooming across your cheeks as he pulled away. he didn’t say anything else, just gave you a small look before stepping out and grabbing a towel.

you stayed under the water a moment longer, washing your hair with slow fingers. your mind kept drifting back to that kiss, the unexpected gentleness of it, the way it felt both new and familiar at the same time. a quiet smile tugged at your lips while the steam swirled around you.

when you got out the shower, you quickly got dressed and headed out to your bedroom, giving rafe a soft glance while making your way to the stairs. you get downstairs, and search your freezer for any type of food you had.

you didn’t want to give him something fancy to overwhelm him, just somethin’ easy so he wouldn’t have to wait for a good while.

when you finally came back upstairs, balancing two plates in your hands, the television was still playing quietly in the background. rafe hadn’t moved much. he was stretched across the bed, one arm behind his head, staring at the screen without really watching it.

his eyes shifted toward you when you entered. “food.” you calmly said as you held up the plate. that got a small reaction. he sat up slowly as you placed the plate on his lap.

a burger and fries. nothin fancy. just something warm, maybe familiar. it was something filling, something easy.

rafe looked down at it, then up at you. “you made this?” he asked, you smiled. “obviously.” you respond. “you didn’t have to.” he mutters. you shrugged. “i wanted to.” you whisper to him, for a moment, he just stared at the food, then he picked up a fry.

“thanks.” he said, the words were quiet, almost awkward coming from him, but they were genuine.

that was good enough for you, so you smiled. “you’re welcome.” you said, he nodded once and looked back down at his plate, still very quiet. still thinking about whatever had been running through his head all afternoon.

but not quite as distant as before.

before you could get comfortable, rafe looked at you once again. your eyes met and he grabbed your plate and his, moving them to the nightstand. he pulled you to him as he kissed you, slow and deep, like he had been holding back for hours.

the tv hummed softly in the background, some show neither of you were really watching anymore. you melted into the kiss, your hands sliding up his chest as his fingers threaded gently through your hair. the makeout grew heavier, more intimate.

tongues brushing, breaths mixing, his grip on your waist tightening just enough to keep you close. he was surprisingly gentle at first, savoring every second, every little sound you made.

his hands moved carefully, sliding under your shirt and lifting it slowly over your head. you did the same with his, palms exploring the warm skin of his chest and shoulders. clothes came off piece by piece between kisses; your shorts, his sweatpants, until there was nothing between you.

he laid you back against the pillows, hovering over you, eyes dark but soft as he took you in fully. his gaze traced every inch of your body like he was memorizing it.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your neck, voice low and rough. he kissed down your collarbone, taking his time, hands gentle as they roamed your sides and thighs.

when he finally settled between your legs, he moved with a patience you didn’t expect from him, slow, deep thrusts, letting you feel every moment. your jaw dropped softly, his size stretching you. his forehead pressed to yours, breaths shared, bodies moving together in a steady rhythm that felt both intense and tender.

he stayed gentle through it all at the start, hands cradling your face, lips brushing yours between gasps, completely focused on you. the earlier distance had cracked wide open, replaced by something warmer, more vulnerable, as the two of you lost yourselves in each other.

rafe kept going, his pace deepening as he pressed more of his weight down onto you through his hips. each thrust hit harder now, the pressure intense and overwhelming in the best way, his body pinning you firmly into the mattress.

he buried his face in your neck, kissing and sucking along your skin, lips hot and relentless as he marked you with every breath.

you lost your breath beneath him, gasping softly with every heavy stroke. his cock felt so thick and deep inside you, filling you completely. your legs stayed spread wide for him, trembling and quivering as he fucked straight into your g-spot over and over again. the sensation was almost too much, heavy delicious pleasure that made your toes curl and your thighs shake.

your hands flew up, gripping tightly onto the bed frame above your head for some kind of anchor while he drove into you. rafe didn’t ease up. he stayed right there, heavy and relentless, hips rolling with purpose, grinding against you on every thrust. his mouth never left your neck, kissing, licking, biting gently as low groans rumbled from his chest.

the weight of him, the way he fucked you so deep and steady, had you breathless and dizzy, completely lost in the feeling of him. his cock felt impossibly heavy inside you, stretching and rubbing every sensitive spot until your whole body was trembling beneath him.

his hips pressing all his weight down with every thrust, driving his cock right into that perfect spot inside you. the pressure was overwhelming, his thick length stretching and rubbing you so good you could barely think. your legs shook violently around him, still spread wide as your body tightened more and more.

“rafe—” you gasped, breath coming out in short, desperate pants. the pleasure built impossibly high until it crashed over you. you came hard around his cock, walls clenching and pulsing as waves of heat flooded through you. your mouth fell open, panting desperately for air because his cock felt so fucking good, pushing you through every throbbing second of your orgasm.

“that’s it, baby,” rafe murmured against your neck, voice low and rough with praise. he kept moving through it, slower but still deep, grinding against you. “you’re doing so good for me. fuck, cum on my cock just like that… let me feel you.” he rambled.

your hands stayed gripping the bed frame, body trembling as you rode it out. he kissed along your jaw and neck, then pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and intense.

“i’m sorry for being mean to you,” he whispered, still buried inside you, voice thick with emotion. “i don’t want you to go. i want you to stay… with me.” he said to you. he kept praising you softly between kisses, hips still rocking gently as you came down, breathless and warm beneath him.

you came hard all over his dick, your slick warmth coating every inch of him, dripping down his length with every thrust. your walls fluttered and squeezed around him so tightly, soaking him completely as your body shook beneath his weight.

“fuck, just like that,” he groaned, voice breaking with pleasure. his hips stuttered, losing their rhythm as he buried himself as deep as he could go. he came hard inside you, thick ropes of cum spilling deep into your pussy, filling you up with every heavy pulse.

you felt every twitch, every warm spurt as he emptied himself completely, his cock throbbing against your sensitive walls while he pressed his hips flush against yours, making sure you took every drop.

his breath was ragged against your neck, body heavy and trembling as he stayed buried inside you, both of you panting and slick with sweat. he kissed your skin softly, still rocking gently through the aftershocks, his cum leaking out around his cock as your bodies stayed locked together.

ever since that day, you two have been fucking like animals. since the day he gave you permission to do everything and anything you wanted to him, the tension between you never really settled. you’d both end up tangled up from the smallest triggers; if he looked at you a certain way, held your hand a little too long, spoke to you in that low voice, bought you random gifts, or even just looked too good while getting dressed.

this time it was over something stupid.. laundry. it had been two months since you two got married, and it still turned you on like crazy seeing him being so domestic, doing shit for you without even being asked. you walked into the laundry room to find him loading the machine, sleeves rolled up, that focused look on his face, and it hit you instantly.

before you could even think, you were bent over the washing machine, hands gripping the edge tightly as rafe shoved your shorts down and pushed inside you in one rough thrust. he was fucking you hard, deep strokes that made the machine shake beneath you.

“fuck, look at you,” he growled, one hand fisting your hair and yanking your head back. “bent over like a little slut just because i’m doing laundry. so fuckin pathetic.” he said.

his other hand came down hard, smacking your ass with a sharp sting that made you moan louder. he did it again, harder, the sound echoing in the small room. you pushed back against him, taking every inch of his thick cock, the size difference hitting you hard as he stretched you open so wide it almost hurt, because you knew he’s forcing you to take it.

rafe leaned over you, his chest pressed to your back, and wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. “this pussy was made for me, wasn’t it? so tight and greedy for my big dick.” he taunted.

he pulled your head back further and spit directly into your open mouth. “swallow it,” he ordered. you did, whimpering as he fucked you even rougher, hips slamming against your ass. his grip on your neck stayed firm, controlling every movement while he railed you from behind, the wet sounds of your bodies filling the laundry room.

“that’s it, take it like the desperate little housewife you are,” he groaned, smacking your ass again as he buried himself to the hilt over and over. your legs were shaking, hands gripping the washing machine for dear life as he used you exactly how he wanted.

you came so fast when he fucked you like that, but then there were other times where he fucked you and edged you for what felt like days.

you caught an attitude with him at a party at his father’s house. he warned you so many times but you didn’t want to hear it. so when you got home and the front door closed, he snatched you up. you both didn’t even make it to the main bedroom.

he pulled you into the spare room you were renovating into an office. the dress you were wearing was yanked down your legs in seconds, and getting him out of his suit might’ve been a world record.

“turn around and lay on your stomach,” he told you simply. you laughed, shaking your head. “can’t make shit simple, huh?” he asked, his face showing he wasn’t in the mood for your games. he flipped you over firmly but fell on top of you gently, his mouth right next to your ear as he worked your panties down.

“y’been so bad tonight, baby,” he muttered in your ear, pressing his weight down so you couldn’t squirm away. his words came out slow and low as he dragged your panties to your mid-thighs, using them as a makeshift restraint.

“have i?” you asked, voice already breathy.

his left arm hooked around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse race. “mhm,” he hummed against your ear, his heavy cock dragging along the back of your thigh before he lined himself up with your pussy.

he pushed in with one slow, thick thrust, stretching you open as he buried himself deep. a broken moan slipped from your lips. rafe kept his arm locked around your neck, holding you right where he wanted while he started fucking you harder, hips snapping against your ass.

“yeah, you have,” he whispered hotly in your ear, voice rough. “acting like a fucking brat all night… thought i wouldn’t handle you when we got home?” he taunted.

you tried to reply, lips parting, but the way he was pounding into you made it hard to speak. “i—fuck, rafe—” your words came out shaky and strained, breath catching every time he drove deep. your hands gripped the sheets, body rocking forward with each rough thrust while his arm stayed firm around your throat, keeping you pressed into the mattress.

he didn’t let up, lips brushing your ear as he kept whispering. “that’s right. struggle all you want, baby. this pussy still gets so wet for me when you’re in trouble.” he comments.

you tried to talk back, lips parting as you gasped out a shaky reply. “i wasn’t—fuck—” you start. “shut up,” rafe stated low in your ear, cutting you off instantly.

before you could get another word out, he fucked you so much harder, hips slamming into you with brutal force. the sudden intensity knocked the air right out of your lungs.

every thick inch of his cock drove deeper, faster, pounding into you so relentlessly that all you could do was moan and whimper helplessly. coherent words completely failed you now. just broken, desperate sounds spilling from your mouth.

rafe’s large hand quickly moved from your throat to cover your mouth, palm pressing firmly against your lips to muffle the loud noises you couldn’t hold back. “so fucking loud,” he hissed against your ear, still railing you without mercy, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the half renovated office. “can’t even behave for five minutes without screaming for my cock.”

your eyes rolled back, body jolting forward with every savage thrust while his hand kept you quiet. you could barely breathe through the overwhelming pleasure, completely overwhelmed.

you tried to warn him, voice muffled desperately against his palm. “rafe—i’m gonna cum—” you managed to choke out, barely intelligible.

for a moment he kept the brutal pace, hips snapping hard like he was going to let you. “yeah? you wanna cum, baby?” he whispered hot against your ear, sounding almost sweet. his cock drove deep and steady, hitting that spot over and over, pushing you right to the edge.

your body tensed, thighs shaking, right there..then he pulled out completely.

a broken whine escaped you instantly, hips pushing back desperately, searching for him. “did i tell you to speak?” rafe growled, voice dark and low.

before you could even process it, he slammed back into you, rougher than before. his thrusts turned punishing, hips slamming against your ass with raw force, the wet slap of skin filling the room as he fucked you even harder. his hand stayed clamped tight over your mouth, muffling your loud cries while his arm kept you pinned beneath him.

“brats don’t get to cum that easy,” he hissed into your ear, pounding you mercilessly, stretching your soaked pussy around his thick cock with every savage stroke.

you reached back desperately, fingers digging into his biceps, gripping the hard muscle as he kept pounding into you. your mind had gone completely fuzzy, cock drunk and lost in the feeling of him stretching you so deep.

“rafe— fuck… your cock feels so good,” you babbled breathlessly against his hand, words slurring together. “so fucking big… i can’t— it’s so good, baby, please—”

he kept fucking you through your desperate little praises, hips slamming against your ass with wet, filthy sounds. your grip on his arms tightened, nails digging in as your body started trembling again, that familiar pressure building dangerously fast.

“i’m gonna cum—rafe, please, i’m so close—”

he groaned low in your ear, sounding like he was finally going to let you. his thrusts stayed deep and rough, pushing you right up to the edge, right there and then he pulled out again.

you let out a broken, frustrated sob, hips twitching uselessly as the orgasm slipped away. your body was shaking, pussy clenching around nothing while you tried to catch your breath.

rafe gave you just a few seconds to come down, breathing hard against your neck, before he lined himself up and slammed back inside you without warning. he started fucking you even harder than before, the new angle making his thick cock hit even deeper.

“not yet,” he stated, voice dark and teasing in your ear as his hand stayed pressed over your mouth. “you don’t cum until i say so, baby.” he taunted cruelly.

your muffled moans grew louder as he railed you mercilessly again, using your body like he owned it, drawing out your pleasure until you were a trembling, cock drunk mess beneath him once more.

“rafe— please,” you begged, voice muffled and broken against his palm. “let me cum… i’ll be good, i swear. i’ll be your good girl. please baby, i love you— i love you so much, just let me cum on your cock.” your words came out in a desperate, teary babble, body shaking as he kept pounding into you without mercy. rafe’s grip on your mouth tightened slightly, his lips brushing your ear as he listened to you fall apart for him.

“that’s it,” he growled, voice low and rough. “beg like you mean it.” he said. you kept pleading between broken moans, hips pushing back to meet his savage thrusts. “please rafe… i’ll be so good for you. i love you— fuck, please let me cum—” you beg more.

he finally gave in. his thrusts stayed deep and punishing, but he angled his hips just right, slamming into that perfect spot over and over until your whole body locked up.

“cum then,” he ordered against your ear. “cum on my cock like a good little wife.”

the permission hit you like a wave. you came hard, crying out into his hand as your pussy clenched and pulsed around his thick cock, soaking him completely. your legs shook violently, eyes rolling back while pleasure crashed through you in heavy, blinding waves. rafe fucked you through every second of it, groaning at how tightly you squeezed him.

only when your orgasm started to fade did he slow down, still buried deep inside you. he moved his hand from your mouth and pressed a hot kiss to the side of your neck, breathing hard.

“don’t test me again, baby,” he warned. “next time i won’t be so nice.” he teased.

starkeymeow

Hi! Love your writing! If you’re up to a rage fic -

I would love an angst trade where he calls reader clingy and she distances herself!

are you busy?

SUMMARY . . rafe gets exactly what he asks for when he calls you clingy in front of everyone and discovers that silence is a lot harder to live with than he expected.

AUTHOR’S NOTE . . 2144 words ( before edit ) ; i did use she/her pronouns for this ; did a little obsession spin on this because i feel like he’d actually become the version he saw you as before his little outburst, so a bit of irony. if anyone wats me to fulfill any more requests let me know !!

MAIN MASTERLIST | PART TWO REQUEST

the party stretches across the cameron property, spilling from the back patio and out toward the water where expensive boats rock gently against their slips. music drifts through air while people move in clusters.

you’ve spent the better part of the evening weaving through those groups looking for rafe, catching glimpses of him only long enough for somebody else to pull him away again before you can get more than a few words out of him.

when you finally spot him near the edge of the deck, talking to topper and a handful of other people, relief settles in your chest before you can stop it.

maybe it’s pathetic. maybe it isn’t. all you know is that finding him feels like finally being able to exhale after spending the last hour searching.

you make your way over without thinking twice, squeezing between a couple of people until you’re standing beside him, your shoulder brushing lightly against his arm as you tilt your head up toward him with a smile.

“there you are,” you say. “i’ve been looking for you.”

for a moment, he doesn’t answer. his jaw flexes instead while he stares out toward the water. you've seen him stressed at things that had absolutely nothing to do with you before. because of that, it takes a second to realize the look he finally turns on you isn’t aimed through you or past you. it’s aimed directly at you.

“can you relax?” he asks sharply.

the smile fades from your face. “what?”

babyyhoneyyy

Yes, Mr. Styles | H.S

CW: harry is a hot shot ceo, and y/n is his shy, new PA! minors please dni!!! enjoy!! longer an at the end!

WC: 13.1K

PREVIEW:

He made the familiar walk to his office, hand stuffed into his pocket and phone secure between his fingers. The lights were on, from what he could see from the outside, and the blurred glass made way for a figure standing right by his desk. Confusion lurked in Harry’s head as he wondered who could possibly be in his office without his permission. Without a second thought, he threw the door open and walked right in, “who are you?”

His voice was gruff and cold, a complete opposite to the sugary sight before him. Stood by his desk was a girl— a very pretty one, in fact. Big, round eyes looked at him, resembling a deer, and a plush mouth was left agape as she eyed him up and down. She was wearing a sweet ensemble; a pretty pastel blue dress that fell just past mid-thigh and had a tiny slit on it. Her hair was swept back over her neck, tamed and neat.

He lingered his gaze on her as she straightened up from where she was bent over his desk and cleared her throat, “hi, Mr. Styles, it’s nice to finally meet you,” she extended a hand for him to shake, “I’m Y/N. Your new assistant.” The slight rise and fall of her chest gave her nerves away but her eye-contact never faltered. Her hand was warm and soft when he took it, and only then did the last-minute text from Mitch come back to him.

By the way, you’ve got a new assistant starting this week. Be nice to her.

This was her. Of course. He gave her a firm handshake, “Harry.”

lightsoutandawaywewrite

Hi!! Can i request for Charles Leclerc x media/yn? Gender doesn't matter and if there's a romance or not. Just them being chaotic and everyone on real life and online noticed (more like Charles and too eager and yn getting ragged from his energy). Making this request because i remember him shouting brake to Carlos and thee "Banana Leclerc". Thank you regardless if you'll make this request or not <33

The Chaos Era

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Media!Reader(y/n)

Warnings: extreme chaos, flying pumpkin seeds, aggressive beetle removal, terrible Texas accents, mild clipboard damage

Summary: Survival as an F1 journalist gets complicated when Charles Leclerc chooses you as his partner in crime. From paddock jump scares to absolute disaster during a pumpkin carving challenge, the internet watches in delight as you desperately try to survive his chaotic golden retriever energy across the globe.

Requested: Yes/ Anon

Word count: 3951

Author's note: Hii, thank you so much for this request, it was so much fun to bring Charles's chaotic energy to life, especially with iconic moments like the banana suit era and shouting brake to Carlos, i hope you like it, and please feel free to send more ideas once my requests are open again, take care!! xx. I also used a timeline where carlos and charles were still teammates.

Masterlist

The neon lights of the Marina Bay paddock cast long, distorted shadows across the asphalt as the humidity of Singapore wrapped around everyone like a warm, wet blanket. You were currently leaning against a stack of Pirelli tire blankets, trying to fan yourself with a media pass that had seen better days. Your hair was stuck to the back of your neck, your notebook was damp from your own palms, and you were seriously questioning every life choice that had led you to becoming a traveling Formula One presenter and journalist.

Then came the hurricane.

“Y/N! Y/N, you will not believe what just happened in the garage!”

You didn't even need to turn your head to know who it was. The sheer velocity of the footsteps, combined with a voice that pitched up two octaves whenever its owner was excited, gave him away instantly. Charles Leclerc skidded to a halt right in front of you, still half-zipped in his red Scuderia Ferrari race suit, his hair a sweaty, chaotic mop that defied all laws of gravity. He was vibrating on a frequency that could probably power a small village.

“Charles, please,” you groaned, not lowering your makeshift fan. “It is forty degrees with ninety percent humidity. If you increase the kinetic energy in this immediate radius, I am going to spontaneously combust.”

“No, listen to me,” Charles said, completely ignoring your plea for mercy. He grabbed your shoulders, his gloved hands leaving faint smudges on your white team shirt. “Carlos was trying to explain the braking point for turn fourteen, and he was being so slow, so detailed, like a professor, you know? And I just looked at him and I screamed BRAKE! Just like that, right in his ear! You should have seen his face, Y/N, his eyes went so wide, like this!”

Charles proceeded to stretch his eyes open with his fingers, mimicking a terrified Carlos Sainz, while making a high-pitched screeching noise that caught the attention of two Mercedes mechanics walking past. They stared, whispered to each other, and kept walking.

“You screamed in his ear while he was looking at telemetry?” you asked, rubbing your temples.

“Yes! Because he takes too long! We need to go fast, not talk about the corner for twenty minutes!” Charles beamed, immensely proud of himself. He looked like a golden retriever that had just successfully chased its own tail and expected a medal for it.

“You are a menace to society,” you told him, finally pushing his hands off your shoulders. “And more importantly, you are currently being filmed by three different fan-cams from the grandstands above us. Look up.”

Charles blinked, looked up toward the grandstands where a group of fans was franticly waving their phones, and immediately flashed his textbook, pristine media smile, waving like a pageant queen. The juxtaposition from a manic, screaming gremlin to a suave Monaco prince took exactly half a second.

“They love it,” Charles declared, turning back to you with a cheeky grin. “And you love it too.”

“I am paid to tolerate you,” you corrected, though the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips gave you away. “Now go finish your media debrief before your press officer executes us both.”

That interaction, though trivial at the time, set the tone for what the internet would come to call the Chaos Era.

By the time the paddock moved to Japan the following week, the video of Charles yelling and making faces in the middle of the Singapore paddock had gone viral on TikTok. Someone had edited a cartoon slipping sound effect over his movements, and the comments were flooded.

User1: why is he like this lmfaoooo

User2: y/n looks so tired, like a mother of a toddler

User3: Charles is high on life and y/n is just trying to survive the humidity

You saw the edits while sitting in the media center at Suzuka, sipping on a cold green tea. You showed it to Charles when he walked in for his scheduled one-on-one interview with you.

“Look what you did,” you said, sliding your phone across the table.

Charles leaned over, watching the video. Instead of being embarrassed, he burst into that loud, unfiltered laugh of his, his shoulders shaking. “Ah, this is brilliant! Look at my face! I look so crazy!”

“You *are* crazy,” you pointed out, adjusting the microphone clip on his shirt. “Can we please keep this interview professional? My producer said if you derail another broadcast with a random story about your streaming setup or your piano, I am going to be relegated to interviewing the safety car driver.”

“I am always professional, Y/N,” Charles said, crossing his arms and putting on his most serious, dedicated racing driver expression. “Ask me about the upgrades. Ask me about the tarmac. I am a professional.”

Two minutes into the live broadcast, a giant beetle landed on the table right next to your notes.

Suzuka was notorious for its wildlife, but this particular insect looked like it had been working out in the gym. You froze, trying to maintain your composure on live television, hoping the camera wouldn't catch your internal panic. Charles, however, had no such filter.

“Mon dieu! What is that!” Charles shrieked, jumping back so hard his chair screeched against the concrete floor. He stood up, pointing wildly at the table. “Y/N! Look at the size of it! It is a monster!”

“Charles, we are live,” you hissed through your teeth, keeping your face fixed toward the main camera lens. “The upgrades for this weekend seem promising, Charles, how do you feel about the front-end stability?”

“How can I think about front-end stability when there is a dinosaur on the table!” Charles yelled, his voice cracking slightly. He grabbed your clipboard and began waving it wildly near the beetle, trying to shoo it away, but only succeeding in knocking over your water bottle. Water spilled everywhere, soaking your notes.

“Charles! Stop!” you yelled, finally breaking character as you tried to save your tablet from the incoming wave of water.

“I am saving us!” he shouted back, before lunging forward and successfully swatting the beetle away into the bushes. He stood there, chest heaving, holding your wet clipboard like a warrior sword, looking directly into the live camera. “The beetle is gone. You are safe, everyone.”

The camera operator was shaking from laughing so hard. You closed your eyes, taking a deep, centering breath, and muttered, “We return to the studio.”

The internet went absolutely feral. Within an hour, the clip of Charles Leclerc fighting a beetle with a journalist’s clipboard was the number one trending topic on X. The memes were instantaneous. People cropped your face, frozen in pure despair, and turned it into a reaction image for when your life is falling apart but you have to pretend everything is fine.

A popular F1 meme account posted a side-by-side photo. On the left, Charles looking sophisticated in a tuxedo playing the piano. On the right, Charles screaming at a beetle while you looked like you wanted to jump into a volcano. The caption read: *The dual duality of Charles Leclerc, and his primary victim, Y/N.*

The next day in the paddock, Max Verstappen walked past you during the TV pen, leaned in, and whispered, “Watch out, Y/N, I think I saw a spider near the Red Bull hospitality.” Carlos Sainz gave you a sympathetic pat on the back, murmuring, “I told you. He is impossible.”

You thought it couldn't get any worse, but then came Austin, Texas.

The United States Grand Prix was always a spectacle, with drivers wearing cowboy hats and teams going all out with American-themed marketing. Charles had decided that his mission for the week was to master a Texas accent. He was terrible at it. It sounded like a mix of a French aristocrat and a pirate who had spent five minutes in a Boston pub.

You were conducting a joint interview with him and Pierre Gasly in the fan zone, standing on a stage in front of thousands of cheering fans.

“So, Charles,” you started, holding the microphone up. “The bumps on this track are always a challenge. How are you feeling physically heading into practice?”

Charles took the microphone, leaned his head back, adjusted his cowboy hat, and drawled, “Well, ya see, partner, it is mighty bumpy out there on that there track, but we gotta ride 'em cowboy, ya know? Just gotta wrangle that red beast and hunker down!”

The crowd erupted into cheers and laughter. Pierre covered his face with his hands, groaning audibly. You just stood there, staring at Charles with a deadpan expression that felt like it had been etched into your soul after weeks of dealing with him.

“Charles,” you said into your own microphone, your voice completely flat. “Please never do that again.”

“What? I am fitting in! I am an American cowboy now!” Charles turned to the crowd. “Am I right, guys?” The crowd roared in approval, which only fueled his chaotic energy. He started doing a little country line-dance step right there on the stage, his race boots clicking against the wooden floorboards.

You looked over at Pierre. “If I walk off this stage right now, will you cover for me?”

“No,” Pierre laughed, backing away. “I am enjoying this too much. You are on your own, Y/N.”

Charles then grabbed your arm, trying to pull you into his impromptu dance. “Come on, Y/N! Show them the Texas spirit!”

“Charles, I am wearing a skirt and carrying a triple-battery wireless microphone transmitter, let go of me,” you laughed, resisting his pull, but he was too enthusiastic. For a brief three seconds, you were dragged into a bizarre, clumsy spin before you managed to break free, nearly tripping over a monitor speaker in the process.

The clip went everywhere. TikTok edits were made with country music blasting over Charles dancing while you looked like a hostage trying to escape a captor. The comments section of the official F1 account was a goldmine.

User4: Charles is that one friend who drinks five espressos and expects everyone to match his vibe

User5: Y/N’s eye twitch when he said partner lmfao she is suffering

User6: can we talk about how Charles just drags Y/N into all his intrusive thoughts? They are pure chaos together.

By the time the paddock arrived in Mexico, the narrative was fully formed. You and Charles were the designated comedy duo of the grid, whether you liked it or not. Fans started bringing signs to the tracks that read *Save Y/N from Charles* or *Charles, give Y/N her clipboard back*.

Charles found the signs hilarious. He actually stopped during a fan walk to sign one of the *Save Y/N* posters, writing *No, she is stuck with me* next to his signature. A photo of him doing that went viral within minutes.

You were sitting in the Ferrari hospitality unit, waiting for him to finish a strategy meeting, when his press officer, Jock, walked in with a look of mild amusement on his face.

“Y/N, I have a request from the social media team,” Jock said, sitting down across from you.

“If it involves me wearing a cowboy hat or standing anywhere near Charles while he is holding a large object, the answer is no,” you said immediately, not looking up from your laptop.

“Actually, it is a challenge video. For Halloween. They want you and Charles to do a pumpkin carving contest against Carlos and a Spanish content creator.”

You sighed, closing your laptop. “Jock, you know how Charles gets when he is competitive. He loses all fine motor skills and just starts destroying things.”

“Please? The engagement metrics when you two are together are higher than our podium announcements,” Jock pleaded, flashing a sympathetic smile. “Just twenty minutes. We will give you safety goggles.”

That was how you found yourself sitting at a table in the paddock, surrounded by cameras, with a massive pumpkin in front of you and an overly excited Monégasque next to you holding a small, serrated plastic knife like it was a deadly weapon.

“We are going to win this, Y/N,” Charles whispered intensely, leaning in so close his shoulder bumped yours. “Carlos thinks he is an artist because he can draw a smooth circle. I will show him real art.”

“Charles, it is a pumpkin, not a Michelangelo sculpture,” you said, carefully tracing a face onto your pumpkin with a sharpie. “Let’s just make a standard jack-o'-lantern and call it a day.”

“No! We must make the Ferrari logo! A stallion!” Charles declared.

“A stallion? On a round, bumpy vegetable? With plastic tools?” You looked at him like he had lost his mind. “That is impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” Charles said, and immediately stabbed the top of his pumpkin with immense force. The plastic knife snapped in half instantly, leaving the blade lodged deep inside the pumpkin skin.

Across the table, Carlos Sainz paused, looked at the broken knife, shook his head, and scoffed. “Unbelievable. Two seconds in and he has already broken the car.”

“It was a faulty tool!” Charles defended himself, his face turning red. “Y/N, give me your knife!”

“No, I am using mine!” you said, pulling your pumpkin closer to protect it. “Go ask the crew for another one!”

Charles didn't wait for the crew. He grabbed a metal spoon that was sitting in a bowl of candy nearby and started aggressively scraping at the top of the pumpkin, making horrible, screeching noises. He was working so fast, with so much chaotic energy, that pumpkin pulp and seeds started flying everywhere. A stray seed hit you right in the cheek.

“Charles!” you yelled, wiping the seed off your face. “You are a hazard! Look at this, I have pumpkin guts in my hair!”

“It is a high-downforce setup!” Charles yelled back, completely absorbed in his work, his face covered in sweat. He was scooping out the inside of the pumpkin with his bare hands now, throwing the pulp into a bucket with maximum velocity. “We are gaining time on Carlos! Look at him, he is still on the first cut!”

“Because I am doing it properly, Charles,” Carlos said calmly, meticulously carving a perfect, clean eye shape into his pumpkin. “You look like a wild animal.”

By the end of the twenty minutes, Carlos’s pumpkin looked like a beautiful, professional Halloween decoration. Your pumpkin looked decent, mostly because you had managed to carve two eyes and a mouth while dodging Charles’s flailing arms. Charles’s pumpkin, however, looked like it had been run over by a freight train. It had a massive, irregular hole in the front that looked less like a stallion and more like a cave-in.

“Ta-da!” Charles announced proudly, lifting his hands in the air, completely coated in orange slime. “The Ferrari stallion!”

“Charles, that looks like a tragic accident,” you said, staring at the disaster.

“No, look closely! If you squint, you can see the legs!” He leaned over, trying to adjust the pumpkin, but his slimy hand slipped, and the entire pumpkin rolled off the table, crashing onto the floor and splitting into three pieces.

The entire room went dead silent for a second, before Carlos burst into hysterical laughter, pointing at the floor. You just dropped your head onto the table, hiding your face in your arms, wondering why this was your life.

Charles stood there, looking down at the ruined pumpkin with a look of genuine, heartbroken shock. “Oh. It broke.”

The YouTube video of the carving challenge was released the next day, titled *Ferrari Halloween Chaos*. It reached a million views in less than twelve hours. The comments were a symphony of amusement.

User7: Charles breaking the knife in the first five seconds is peak Charles Leclerc

User8: Y/N hiding her face on the table is the most relatable thing in F1 history

User9: somebody please give Y/N a raise or a vacation, she is fighting for her life with this man

User10: The way Charles threw the pumpkin seeds at her like a golden retriever playing in mud lmfao

As the season progressed toward the finale in Abu Dhabi, the online phenomenon only grew. It became a running joke that you were the only person capable of slowing Charles down, or at least, the only one brave enough to publicly tell him he was being ridiculous.

One evening, during a Thursday media day in Brazil, you were doing a livestream for the official F1 app, walking around the pit lane and talking to fans who were watching online. Charles saw you from the Ferrari garage and decided to hijack the stream. He snuck up behind you, completely silent for once, and suddenly popped his head over your shoulder, right into the camera frame.

“Hi everyone!” he shouted.

You jumped, nearly dropping the expensive broadcast phone. “Charles! For the love of god, stop scaring me!”

“What are we talking about? Let me see the comments,” he said, leaning in so close his cheek was almost pressing against yours to look at the small screen. He started reading the live chat out loud. “Charles is chaotic... Y/N looks stressed... why is Charles always bothering her... Hey! I am not always bothering her! Tell them, Y/N, I am a very good friend.”

“You are a very loud friend,” you corrected, trying to steer the phone away from him, but he kept following the camera angle like a moth to a flame. “We were actually discussing the track conditions and the weather forecast for tomorrow.”

“Ah, the weather! It will rain, or it will be dry,” Charles said with absolute confidence. “That is my expert prediction.”

“Wow, thank you, meteorologist Charles,” you sighed. “Truly groundbreaking analysis.”

“You are welcome. Also, everyone, you should know that Y/N stole my favorite pen yesterday during the FIA press conference. I want it back.”

“I did not steal your pen! It was a generic black biro that was sitting on the media desk!” you defended yourself, laughing as the live chat went into overdrive with emojis.

“It was my lucky pen! I won Monza with a pen like that!” Charles argued, Pouting his lip in a way that he knew full well made him look entirely innocent.

“You won Monza three years ago, Charles, that pen is long gone!”

The live chat was moving so fast it was a blur of text.

User11: they are bickering like an old married couple im crying

User12: CHARLES PLEASE LET HER DO HER JOB

User13: Not the lucky pen argument lmao Y/N look at his face you have to give it back

The clip of the live stream hit TikTok before you even finished walking back to the media center. A compilation of all your interactions throughout the season was put together by a fan, set to upbeat, comedic music. It showed you rolling your eyes in Singapore, the beetle incident in Japan, the cowboy dancing in Austin, the pumpkin disaster in Mexico, and finally the pen argument in Brazil. The video accumulated millions of views, with people commenting that your dynamic was the best part of the race weekends.

By the time the final race weekend in Abu Dhabi arrived, you were exhausted. The long season had taken its toll, and you were looking forward to a winter break of absolute silence and zero racing cars.

You were standing by the yachts in the marina on Sunday night, after the race had concluded. The fireworks had already gone off, lighting up the desert sky, and the distant sound of team parties echoed across the water. You were leaning against the railing, holding a glass of sparkling water, just enjoying the rare moment of quiet.

“There you are.”

You didn't jump this time. Your brain had become hardwired to recognize the cadence of his voice, even when he spoke softly. Charles walked up next to you, no longer in his race suit, but wearing a clean, white linen shirt and trousers. He looked relaxed, the heavy pressure of the championship season finally lifted off his shoulders.

“Hi, Charles,” you said, offering a small smile. “Congratulations on the podium today. Good way to end the year.”

“Thank you,” he said, leaning his forearms against the railing and looking out at the water. For a moment, he was quiet, a rare occurrence that always made you wonder what was going on in that fast-moving brain of his. “It was a tough race, but I am happy with the result.”

“You drove well,” you said sincerely. “You should be proud.”

Charles turned his head to look at you, a soft, genuine smile replacing his usual manic grin. “I wanted to say thank you, Y/N.”

“For what? Surviving you?” you joked.

“Yes, exactly,” he laughed softly, the sound carrying over the water. “I know I am... a lot sometimes. I get very excited, very hyper, and I know I interrupt your interviews and break your clipboards and throw pumpkin seeds at you. But you always match my energy, even when you are pretending to be annoyed. You make the weekends fun for me. It is easy to get too stressed in this paddock, but when I see you, I know I can just be myself and have a laugh.”

You blinked, slightly caught off guard by the sudden vulnerability. The chaotic, screaming, beetle-fighting driver had vanished, replaced by the sweet, thoughtful guy beneath the helmet.

“Well,” you said gently, feeling a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the Abu Dhabi heat. “You are definitely a handful, Charles. But honestly? The weekends would be pretty boring without you around to cause a disaster. Even if you did ruin my favorite clipboard.”

Charles chuckled, reaching into his pocket. “Ah, yes. About that.” He pulled out a sleek, beautifully wrapped box and handed it to you.

You opened it to find a high-quality, customized leather clipboard, with your initials embossed in silver at the bottom. On the clip itself, a tiny, elegant stallion was engraved, alongside the words: *For professional use only. Keep away from beetles.*

You burst into a genuine, loud laugh, looking up at him. “Charles, this is amazing. Thank you.”

“You like it?” he asked, his eyes lighting up with that familiar, eager puppy-dog energy.

“I love it,” you said.

“Good! Because now that you have a new clipboard, we can do a special interview for the end of the year! Come on, I brought my phone, we can do a quick video for the fans, they want to know if we are still enemies!”

Before you could even protest, Charles had pulled his phone out, extended his arm, and wrapped his other arm around your shoulder, pulling you tightly against his side.

“Hi everyone!” Charles shouted into the phone camera, his chaotic energy returning in a split second. “We are here in Abu Dhabi, the season is over, and Y/N finally forgave me! Look at her new clipboard!” He thrust the leather board right into the camera lens, completely blocking both of your faces.

“Charles, they can’t see us, you are holding it too close,” you laughed, trying to pull his arm down.

“Ah, sorry, sorry!” He adjusted the angle, flashing his massive, brilliant smile while you looked into the camera with that familiar, affectionate, slightly exasperated expression that the internet had grown to love. “Happy winter break everyone! See you next year for more chaos!”

You smiled into the lens, knowing that despite the madness, the ruined notes, and the constant exhaustion, you wouldn't trade your chaotic racing driver for anything in the world.

littlepinkglitterbunny

watercolor bruises ˙⋆✮ SH

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

ʚɞ You and steve had been connected at the hip for years until high school came and he got swept away into chaos leading him to be become someone new, someone too “cool” for you and your friendship. You swore you hated him, swore you’d never speak to him again until he starts hanging around your younger brother and one day shows up at your house drugged and beaten with your brother begging for your help.

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ Hi! i honestly haven’t written in years so this is a little sloppy and all over the place but i figured i should start writing my thoughts down and share them bc who doesn’t love steve. i might try to write a part two if i can be more organized during writing it’s also poorly proofread i just wanted to post it before i got to scared. i hope you enjoy angels 🤍

Wc: 4.1k (ish)

There was no big fight signaling the end of the friendship. no yelling no violent words thrown back back forth no conversation about it at all. It happened under your nose, one day it was there then the next it started floating away too fast for you to react. The two of you met at camp the summer before second grade and from that moment on you did everything together. You went through the transition from elementary school to middle school together and the awkward puberty stage together but nothing could tear you apart until steve entered high school while you were a year younger. You were soft spoken, reserved and shy meanwhile steve fed of the attention of popularity, he loved it to the point of completely becoming someone new. His Freshman year wasn’t so bad you guys still spoke still hung out occasionally but when it was your turn to go to hawkins high he completely acted like you didn’t exist. He walked around school head held high with tommy h and carol and coined the name “king steve”. On your first day for freshman year he walked past you without a glance and from that moment on you knew he was gone.

seasidetom

sunkissed face - charles leclerc

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS MASTERLIST

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 - part 8

summary: You’ve been in love with your best friend Harrison for quite a while now but when Tom, Harrison and Tuwaine go on a trip to Monaco for the F1 Grand Prix, you’re quick to tag along, even though it means spending time with Harrison’s girlfriend.

warnings: Will make you want to move to Monaco asap.

words count: 7.2k

a/n: Thank you very much to @borhapstyles for sending me this request! I’ve loved mixing Tom’s world with the F1′s and having him visit Monaco for the last GP was the perfect occasion for it! I hope you’ll like it! Xx

Continuar lendo

moonstruckness

May I Have This Kiss?

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: The kiss cam never lands on you, but the one time it does, it gives you the opportunity to kiss a very handsome man.

Content: fluff, meet-cute, mostly not proofread, tweaked the way a quidditch game goes of course, let me know if I missed any!

Word count: 1.4k

The stadium was already roaring as you found your seat, clutching your bag to your chest as you squeezed in, giving apologies to the people you went past. You let out a sigh of relief as you finally plopped into your seat, which was in a section high up from the ground.

lightsoutandawaywewrite

The pen-pal project pt.1

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader (y/n)

No warnings just pure fluff and fate working together, it is impliedthat the reader is american

Summary: You and a boy exchanged letters as children through a school program but eventually lost touch. Years later, while cleaning out old boxes, you post one of the letters online. An F1 driver recognizes it immediately.

Requested: No

Requests open

word count: 1570

Previous Part || Next Part

The cardboard box smelled faintly of dust, cedar, and old scholastic book fair bookmarks, specifically those lenticular ones that clicked when you ran your thumbnail over them. It was a suffocating, comforting scent, the olfactory equivalent of a time capsule. It was the kind of deep-cleaning afternoon where progress is measured not by how much trash goes into the black plastic bags, but by how long you sit cross-legged on the hardwood floor, paralyzed by a sudden, heavy wave of nostalgia. A pile of discarded clothes lay forgotten to your left; a stack of old textbooks gathered dust to your right.

Among the high school yearbooks, plastic wrapped prom corsages, and faded concert tickets to bands that had long since broken up, sat a bundle of loose-leaf papers. They were bound together by a thick, beige rubber band that had long since lost its elasticity; it had dried out into a brittle, crusty ring that snapped at the slightest touch, leaving a chalky residue on your fingers.

You pulled the top sheet from the pile. The paper was standard wide-ruled school paper, slightly yellowed and brittle at the edges, bearing the distinct blue lines that used to dictate the boundaries of childhood thoughts. The page was covered in the overly careful, slightly cramped cursive of someone writing with immense deliberation—the handwriting of a child trying very hard to please a teacher in a language that was not entirely their own. The ink was a pale, vintage fountain pen blue, faint but perfectly legible.

Dear Y/N,

Thank you for your letter. Monaco is very nice today. The sun is shining and I can hear the cars outside. Today I practiced my English with my teacher, and then I went to the karting track. My father says if I work hard, I can be a champion one day. What is your favorite sport? I hope your English is better than mine.

Your friend,

Charles

A sudden rush of memory hit you, sharp and vivid. The third-grade international pen-pal program. Your elementary school teacher, Mrs. Gallagher, had set up a cultural exchange, pairing everyone in the class with students from European schools to help them practice their English conversational skills. You remembered the fierce excitement of waiting for those international stamps to arrive in the mail—brightly colored squares with foreign monarchs or landmarks—and tracing the textured postmarks with your thumb. You and Charles had exchanged letters for nearly two years, sharing the beautiful, mundane details of childhood life across an ocean. You had sent him a drawing of your dog; he had sent you a sticker from a local French bakery. Then the school year ended, middle school distractions took over, interests shifted, and the correspondence quietly faded into the background of growing up.

Amused by the earnestness of his eighth-grade vocabulary and the sweet simplicity of his ambition, you took a quick, aesthetic photo of the letter on your phone. The lighting from the bedroom window hit the page just right, highlighting the faded blue ink, the slight ink smudging on the capital letters where his hand had dragged across the page, and the innocent, naked declaration of a childhood dream.

You opened your social media app, uploaded the photo without thinking twice, and typed out a casual, lighthearted caption:

“Cleaning out my childhood bedroom and found these. Shoutout to my middle school pen-pal Charles from Monaco. I hope you made it to the karting championship, buddy. Your English was actually great.”

You locked your phone, tossed it onto the mattress of your unmade bed, and went back to sorting through old varsity sweatshirts and mismatched socks. You didn't think about it again for the rest of the afternoon.

Many time zones away, the paddock of the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya was buzzing with the chaotic, high-octane energy of a Formula 1 race weekend. The late afternoon sun beat down on the tarmac, and the air was thick with the scent of burning rubber, high-grade fuel, and expensive catering. Engineers were hovering over banks of monitors displaying complex telemetry data, mechanics were executing synchronized, blink-and-you-miss-it pit-stop drills in the garage, and the media pen was a chaotic sea of cameras, boom mics, and aggressive journalists.

In the quiet, air-conditioned sanctuary at the back of the Scuderia Ferrari hospitality suite, Charles Leclerc slumped into a pristine white leather sofa. He was exhausted, his hair damp with sweat and flattened by his balaclava after a grueling secondary practice session where the car's balance had felt completely uncooperative. His trainer handed him a protein recovery shake and a chilled towel. Charles wiped his face, sighing, and instinctively reached for his phone to kill the twenty minutes of downtime before his mandatory engineering data debrief.

He scrolled mindlessly through his notifications, templated sponsor tags, high quality fan edits set to trending audio, analytical race previews, and standard public relations alerts. It was a deluge of digital noise until a specific image caught his eye. It wasn't the kind of polished, high definition motorsport photography that usually filled his feed. It was a poorly lit, amateur photo of old, lined school paper, sitting on what looked like a bedroom floor.

Charles paused. The scrolling stopped. He zoomed in on the handwriting.

A strange sensation, a disorienting mix of vertigo and intense, buried familiarity, washed over him. He knew that handwriting. He recognized the specific, slightly exaggerated way those lowercase 'g's and 'y's looped at the bottom, a stubborn habit his childhood tutor, Madame Bonnet, had spent months trying to correct with a red pen. He read the English words, and a memory locked deep in the vault of his childhood suddenly broke wide open.

Monaco is very nice today... I went to the karting track.

"No way," Charles muttered under his breath, sitting up straight on the sofa, the recovery shake forgotten in his hand.

His trainer looked over from his laptop, raising an eyebrow. "Everything okay, Charles? Something from the data?"

"Yeah... no, it's nothing about the car," Charles murmured, his green eyes scanning the username of the account that had posted the photo. Y/N. The name instantly connected the scattered dots of a memory from fifteen years ago. Suddenly, he wasn't in a high tech paddock in Spain; he was ten years old, sitting at the wooden kitchen table in his family's apartment in Monaco. He remembered his mother cutting up slices of apple for him while he looked up English verbs in a heavy, French-English dictionary, determined to write a response that would sound smart and impress his friend across the Atlantic. He remembered the genuine heartbreak he had felt when the school program concluded, and the letters abruptly stopped coming—swallowed up by the relentless, demanding, and stressful schedule of junior karting championships that eventually consumed his entire youth.

A small, genuine smile broke across his face, entirely different from the practiced, media ready smiles he gave to the television cameras. He didn't notify his public relations team. He didn't ask for permission from the team principal. He simply tapped the direct message icon, his thumbs flying across the glass screen with far more speed, confidence, and fluency than the little boy who had struggled over that letter fifteen years ago.

Back in your bedroom, your phone buzzed against the mattress.

Then it buzzed again. And again. A rapid-fire succession of haptic vibrations caused the device to slide an inch across the sheets.

Within an hour, your notification feed had turned into an unreadable, runaway blur of activity. The screen was a continuous scroll of red numbers. You picked it up, thoroughly confused, assuming a stray hashtag had accidentally caught the attention of a rogue bot network or a crypto scam.

But when you opened the app, the notifications weren't random strings of spam numbers or automated advertisements. They were thousands of real comments, thousands of retweets, and an exponentially skyrocketing count of direct messages. Formula 1 fans, internet sleuths, and casual observers had intercepted the post, and it was spreading across the internet like wildfire.

“Is this a joke? Tell me this is a joke. There is no way this is real.”

“Bro casual dropped the most historic, multi-million-dollar flex in internet history.”

“Imagine having an F1 race winner as a childhood pen-pal and just finding out today??”

“OP, check your DMs right now, I am screaming for you.”

Baffled and feeling a sudden spike of adrenaline, you tapped on your direct messages icon. At the very top of the primary request folder, sitting beneath a prominent, verified blue checkmark and a professional profile picture of a handsome man wearing a red racing suit, was a message sent just ten minutes prior.

Charles Leclerc (@Charles_Leclerc)

“I did make it to the championship, actually! It took a lot of practice, just like the English. I cannot believe you still have this letter, it brings back so many good memories. How have you been, Y/N?”

Your breath caught sharply in your throat. You stared at the verified badge, then at the profile with its millions of followers, and then back down to the faded, yellowing piece of school paper sitting on your messy bedroom floor.

The little boy who had spent his sunny afternoons dreaming of racing tracks while struggling with foreign grammar had actually done it. And against all statistical probability, the vastness of the internet had just brought him back.

authors note: i don’t know if i like the plot or not, i had this written in my notes for so long and decided to post it, should i make a part 2?

maiamore

TELL ME A LIE

You think Clark is about to propose, but he breaks up with you instead.

cw: 18+, smut, exhibitionism, getting frisky on a bus, colleague!reader, popular girl!reader, sexual tension, push and pull dynamics, miscommunication, gossip girl inspired, office relationships, breakup angst (3.3k wc)

"Believe me when I say that you're…such a great and wonderful girl."

A bigger hand carefully lays onto yours, and you pull the rim of your glass away from your lips. Smiling blissfully at the man before you.

This was it.

You'd gone down the checklist — weirdly cagey boyfriend, expensive place you just needed to make reservations for months prior. Your nails were done up, a pretty natural nude matching your skin tone.

"I couldn't have imagined all my firsts with anyone but you."

He was going to do it. He was going to propose.

"…But…I think it's best if we go our separate ways…"

The violins in your head stopped playing. Sounds of strings unceremoniously snapping as you watched Clark, thumb at your knuckles. Remorseful.

What the hell.

"What the hell?" You choke, the glass clinking down onto the table loud enough to gather the prying eyes of others.

"You're breaking up with me?!"

maiamore

LOVE,TEMPTATION

The first time Superman meets a telepath and nearly gets his secret revealed.

cw: 18+, smut, situationships, mutant telepath!reader, flirty teasing/banter, f!receiving oral, clark eats her out while talking to her through her mind-reading ability, movie content is mentioned, but not big spoilers (2.3k wc)

PART TWO

Jimmy was halfway rambling to Clark when you peer in from the receptionist area.

"You're here! Give me one second. Let me brief Perry and we'll go." He's fumbling around for his files, throwing a quick, "keep her company for me, Kent!" over his shoulder. Clark is momentarily taken. You were radiant in a way that made everyone do a double take. Not particularly because of what you were wearing, but because you were carrying an easy, carefree warmth that seemed out of place in an office that was caffeine-run.

Definitely not the sort of girl anyone would assume Jimmy Olsen hung out with.

He offers you a tight smile, as he stands, about to introduce himself when your hand extends out, palm down, wrist tilted. A princess shake. Clark takes a second, and awkwardly grabs both your hand to shake your hand. The sheer size of him has you craning your neck all the way up, eyes widening a fraction.

backtothefanfiction

Professor Peter Parker

Summary: The first day of college nerves are suddenly made worse when you realised the guy you f*cked last night is your new Physics Professor!

Warnings! 18+ ONLY! This is some of the filthiest smut I have ever written and posted on here yet. Female reader and pronouns, Age gap (everyone is of legal age, Peter is a very young Professor), Oral (F + M Receiving), Dirty Talk (so much fucking dirty talk), praise kink, edging, P in V, Peter Parker (YES he does need his own warning), One Night Stand... or is it?, ITS SEX PEOPLE, JUST STRAIGHT UP SEX WITH A LITTLE PLOT FOR ADDED TENSION AND POW!

Word Count: 4.9k+

A/N: Consider this my formal application piece for the literary prostitutes society. There are no words for this, so I'm just gonna type/sing Don't Lose Your Head from Six. "Sorry not sorry but what I said, I'm just tryin' to have some fun..." But seriously though this was so self indulgent and I can't believe this came out of me. It's very much giving Aria and Ezra in Pretty Little Liars but older and much more Peter Parker. Also I am really sorry about if the tense keeps changing, I sometimes have a problem with finding my rhythm and I really cba to spend the time working it all out and changing it.

First day of college. Standard level of nerves for a first day. Are you running on just a couple hours of sleep? Sure. Still a little tipsy from last night? Okay, yeah, maybe just a little, but that’s a good thing right. Takes the edge off. But then again numbers and science had never let you down before. You can do physics. You’ve got this.

You took a deep breath, hand hesitating on the door handle. ‘This is the first day of the rest of your life.’ You said to yourself, breathing deeply.

batslovebite

On Your Side

Masterlist

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Summary: Once upon a time you and Steve Harrington were inseparable. You grew up together thinking that nothing would ever change between you two. Then middle school came along and suddenly the sweet boy that you knew was changing. He was became "King Steve" and there was nowhere for you in that title. You haven't talked to him in years by the time Hawkins keeps pushing you into each others lives. (wc 4.9k)

Content: Childhood to Strangers to lovers, Slow burn (like slooow), canon violence, smoking, overprotective sister, fem reader, course language, use of y/n, reader not nothing anything till season 2 (so this chapter is literally all of season 1)

a/n: I've been thinking about this since the show ended and I finally started writing it down. Steve Harrington has had a hold on me since 2016 so this is long overdue.

uhhhj13iguess

friends helping friends

sex pollen with peter parker x fem!reader

wc: 4.5k

cw: MDNI!! dubcon (bc there's an aphrodisiac involved), oral (f!receiving), fingering, lots of dirty talk, unprotected p in v, mating press, creampie, multiple orgasms, friends to lovers!!, HUNGRY peter

masterlist, taglist, and kinktober 2025 masterlist!

you weren't sure when it became a habit to sneak into the chemistry building after hours with peter to help him work on his web fluid; all you knew was it was your turn to pay for the pizza.

it was nearing midnight as your full belly laughs echoed through the empty lab, crusts long forgotten on the table behind you, as you lost yourself in a story. peter's smile was visible through prickling tears.

he knew it was a bad idea to invite you from the start — there was no shot in hell he'd get any work done as long as you were around him. peter had figured that out by the senior year of high school: he just couldn't seem to focus on anything other than you. he began to lie and say he was finished with his homework whenever you would hang out, covering his lack of progress in your presence.

peter had been distracted by you for the last few years, yet he could never seem to resist your company anyway. he beamed as you laughed at your own joke, relishing in the alone time he got to spend with the one person who made him feel like himself.

you let out a snort, and peter was done for, tears in his own eyes as he joined you in hearty laughter. he reached down and grabbed a vial through blurry vision, adding the final touch to his web fluid 3.0.

except that, instead of a sticky web-like substance, peter was met with a bright flash of hot pink from the liquid in the beaker before a cloud of magenta powder exploded from the glass, dusting the room, and in turn, you and peter.

he was on you instantly, shielding you from the flying shards of glass before the beaker even burst, though the aerosol impact was inevitable. the reaction was quick to hit your lungs, dragging out hoarse coughs, rough and heavy in your chest as you fought to regain a sense of your surroundings.

the headache was almost immediate as peter leaned down to say something, and you winced as you looked up at him.

"what?"

"are you okay? did you get cut at all?" peter frantically examined for any tears in your sweatshirt, checking your hands for any possible nicks.

"i'm okay, rea—woah," peter placed a hand on your jaw to inspect your face, and the touch activated something deep inside of you.

suddenly, you felt the hottest you'd ever been, and the headrush made you weak in the knees. your vision began to cloud, senses on overdrive as you felt an aching pain rising in your chest. meeting peter's gaze with panicked eyes, you began to really take in the state of the situation.

"peter, what did you just mix?"

"i-i don't know, i must've grabbed the wrong thing..." he trailed off as he turned to search through the drawers, but the movement stopped him dead in his tracks.

peter was instantly met with a rush of vertigo, the room spinning violently around him as he braced himself on the countertop. he felt like he did when he was first bitten: hypersensitive and overwhelmed. fuck, what did he mix?

amidst the rest of the world in his ears, peter picked up on the sound of your heartbeat and immediately knew something was wrong. really wrong. he took a moment to analyze you, everything moving in slow motion as he fought to figure out what the hell he mixed together, and where these symptoms were headed.

your current state didn't give him much comfort; peter quickly noticed how you were starting to sweat, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath, despite not having left your chair. your full-body flush made him wonder if he looked just as disheveled.

"are you feeling okay?" peter asked, heavy with concern and guilt.

you shook your head at him, words fighting to escape your trembling lips. "i-i don't know. i feel... warm. i don't know."

and then peter felt it. his cock twitched, and he realized for the first time how painfully hard he was. he looked down in horror, hoping you hadn't yet noticed in your own haze. peter quickly sat down again to cover the evidence, praying to any god who was listening that this wasn't happening.

while successful in his concealment, the slight friction in the movement of his pants was enough to elicit a groan from his throat; he hoped you didn't hear.

but you did. because each little noise he made, conscious or not, egged on every dirty fucking thought you were having right now. and about peter. in front of peter.

"maybe we should get some... some fresh air, or something," peter says weakly.

as you nodded in response and moved to get up, it became horribly apparent to peter that he had to stand up with you, and not only would you also know just how hard he was, but the friction alone might be enough to kill him.

and then he had a thought:

are you feeling this way too?

no, don't think like that. that's your best friend, and whatever's happening, clearly neither of you was in your right mind.

but peter had always felt this way about you. this time, it was just so physically painful for some reason. what the fuck was in that beaker?

he didn't have any more time for his mind to race, as you stood from your stool and he watched your knees buckle underneath you. peter rushed to stabilize you, grabbing your shoulders and keeping you steady. it was pointless, though. somehow, the feeling of peter's hand against you knocked your breath out, far worse than falling ever would've.

you had no idea what was going on, but it was getting harder and harder to think about anything other than peter (as if that wasn't the norm anyway, bffr). but this was heightened. this was all of your wildest desires pulled to the forefront of your mind in the middle of your ochem 403 lab at 11pm on a tuesday night.

what the fuck was going on with you?

you tried to shake off the way peter's touch relieved some of the haze clouding your brain, and tried to shake off the feeling that maybe he was also feeling this way. your thighs clenched at the thought — that peter was also thinking of every possible way to take you on this counter right now.

but this was your best friend, and you needed to get your shit together long enough to handle whatever this feeling was on your own.

"woah, are y'okay?" peter slurred, your body heat under his palms radiating down to the rest of his body and nearly sending him down as well.

"i... i don't know, i think..." you stuttered out, not trusting anything coming from your mouth right now. "i-i think i have to go, i'm, i'm not feeling well."

you turned to make a run for it, hoping to get out of peter's sight before you either passed out or pounced on him. he stopped you, though, grabbing your hand with a pleading "wait!" falling from his lips.

before you could stop it, a whimper escaped from your lips at his touch, and you went bright red in seconds, hand flying up to cover the unexpected noise.

peter didn't help as he stared at you with his mouth agape, pupils blown to shit. he looked fucked out beyond belief and you'd barely even touched.

you cleared your throat, hoping to get out as coherent and PG a sentence as you could. "peter i-i feel really weird. a-and, i think i'm freaking the fuck out."

knowing you were hurting as much as he was broke his heart, and peter struggled to put all his energy into focusing on you. "i know, it's okay, bug. just take some deep breaths, a-and let's try to make it outside, yeah?"

he tried to pull you, but your legs forgot how to work, and you were frozen where you were, breath quick as everything grew downright painful.

peter's breathing picked up as he heard you hyperventilating, panicking himself as he watched you crumble in front of you. he needed to find out what was in that vile, and fast.

but all he could fucking think about was being on his knees in between your thighs.

fuck.

"p-peter, please. please, i-i, i need your help. you have to make this stop."

"fuck— it'll be okay, i promise. i'll do whatever i need to get you better. i-i just..." he clamped his eyes shut, desperately trying to come up with a way to make an antidote of some kind without dying or ruining your friendship along the way.

"peter... i—"

"what?" he cut you off, concern heavy in his tone.

despite his ever-growing problem, peter reached out to cup your cheek, and though not an unnatural thing to do, it was one definitely influenced by a gravity drawing him towards the feeling of your skin on his.

you stared at his lust-blown eyes, wondering if yours looked the same. wondering if he felt the same.

peter spoke your name softly, his thumb grazing your cheek softly and lingering far too closely to your lips to not mean anything.

fuck it.

you grabbed his shirt and pulled him forward, nearly headbutting him in the process as you locked onto his lips, surprised when you felt him immediately reciprocate and tangle his hands in your hair. everything about the kiss was desperate, and the feeling of peter all over you was fucking radiant.

peter was nothing but a moaning mess against you, sloppy and wet against your lips as he pleaded your name as though each time he said it, it took away the pain in his chest. truthfully, it did.

peter pulled away to take a breath, and the lack of contact brought the sharp pain immediately back, earning a whine to fall from his lips. he shook it off, grabbing the sides of your face and doing his best to refocus.

"f-fuck, should we talk about this?" peter asked relectantly.

"i-i don't know. i don't know what's happening right now, pete. all i know is that i need you to touch me. anything, please. i'm sorry. just, please make it go away."

yeah, you could talk about it later.

"nonono, hey. im so sorry, baby, this is all my fault. i'll do whatever you need, i mean it. i'll make it better, i promise."

peter pulled you back into a hungry kiss, rough hands roaming your body in a way he'd never touched you before. the feeling of your curves under his palms was only something he'd dreamed of, and peter was insufferably hard as he pulled you into him further.

there was a nag in the back of his mind, something telling him to stop before you did something you'd regret. because there was no possible way he had you, his best friend, tangled in his arms and lips heavy on his own. and yeah, peter had been smitten with you since the day you met, but he was never going to do anything about it. you didn't feel that way about him, of course. right?

cause right now, you kinda did.

no! fuck! just the chemicals! this was a one-time thing, friends helping friends.

yeah, friends helping friends.

but the pretty little moans that came out of your mouth as peter trailed his way down your neck? those sounded awfully more than just friendly. and the way you whined as he moved his hands up your waist, palming your tits through your shirt as he growled for permission in your ear? peter was never going to be able to look you in the eyes after tonight.

but right now, he was entranced as you bunched his shirt fabric in your hands and begged for it off, pulling the material over his head and immediately attacking his firm chest with a series of hickeys. you shifted your hands down towards his waistband, tugging him by his belt loops as you left a wet, hot trail of kisses down his abs. peter couldn't help but cant his hips forward into you, absolutely fucking losing his mind.

his own hands made their way around your frame, trailing down to your ass and grabbing hard. you gasped at the feeling, then lost your breath fully as peter nipped at your ear and told you to jump. he caught your thighs, shifting to set you on the lab counter and wedging his body between your legs.

everything was hot and heavy, and the effects were evolving and worsening. it was growing stronger with each touch, and though feeling each other was helping ease the pain, the need for more was growing too strong to ignore.

you pulled away from him, tears threatening to spill from your doe eyes as you stared up at peter, who didn't look much better.

"what? what is it, what do you need, baby?"

"i-i... i need you to touch me, pete."

peter went pale at your confession. it was asked so quietly, but it held so much weight. weight he'd think about after he got to find out what you tasted like.

with a deep rumble in his chest and another sloppy kiss to your neck, peter began to fumble his way around your waistband, asking you a thousand extra times if this was okay.

yeah, i fucking think so.

peter's index fingers hooked the hips of your pants; feeling his hands on your bare skin for the first time covered you in goosebumps. it was numbing the pain in your chest and igniting something in it all the same. you were so caught up in the moment, gobsmacked over peter parker, your best friend of six years, tugging your pants down, that you almost didn't notice that he'd pulled them back up.

your cheeks instantly bloomed in mortification. "fuck, i-im sorry, i-i don't know what's come over me—"

"no! stop apologizing, please. i just..." peter took a dramatic pause, and the only thing that could be heard was the two of you heavily panting, taking in the scene unfolding before you as the pain hammered in each of your chests.

"i need to tell you something before anything else happens."

you gave him a worried look, and peter returned it with a heavy sigh.

"i don't know what the fuck is happening right now, and why i feel like im fucking going to die if you don't touch me right now, and this is all my fault and i'm so fucking sorry—"

"peter. what's wrong?"

well, we're already in this deep.

"i don't know what fuck-ass aphrodiasic i just created, but i need you to know that the real me means this too. i can't let anything happen without you knowing that i love you, and this still means something to me. even if i'm not myself right now. a-and i'll do whatever you need me to do, and we can never talk about this again, but you don't deserve me keeping that from you."

you sat on the counter, stunned, as peter anxiously bit his lip, worried he'd just fucked up one of the best relationships that had ever happened to him. and he was still so fucking hard.

the only response you gave him was hopping off the counter and taking your bottoms off for him.

and peter was immediately on you again.

he had a hand rough in your hair as he kissed you, his other firm on your bare ass as he kneaded the soft flesh with a hunger. through his moans and downright whines, he almost missed it:

"i love you too, peter. so fucking much."

something inside of him snapped, and this time he didn't even ask you to jump, wrapping his hands around your waist and lifting you to the counter like you weighed nothing. you wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him close, the make-out nothing short of a frenzy.

the entire time, peter was in your ear, moaning things into your mouth you only ever dreamed you'd hear:

"this. this isn't how this was supposed to happen."

"you deserve better than this, fuck. deserve better than an empty fucking chem lab, christ's sake."

he was quick to get his hands back on you, traces of mischief left behind as he massaged your thighs and stared at your lace thong with a look you'd never seen from him before. peter had been so caught up in it all, he'd almost forgotten the effects of the reaction. his actions were genuine and intentional. but as he pulled back to get a proper look at you, the pain in his chest settled back in, and his senses reheightened to a million

"fuck, i need to touch you. please, can i touch you?" peter whined.

you were breathless in response, "please peter, do whatever the fuck you want to me. just please, do something. anything."

he groaned and ran his hands up your thighs till he reached the delicate lace, teasingly tracing the hemline. "don't fucking say that. i-i don't think i can control myself right now."

"pete, i don't want you to control yourself," a shudder ran down his spine.

"please. fuck me."

peter didn't have the energy left in him to delay this any longer.

he ripped the underwear clean from your body, pulling you to the edge of the counter and dropping to his knees in front of you. he wasted no time running his tongue through your glossy folds, latching his lips over your clit.

peter was so hungry, and the mixture of the fading pain in your chest and the pleasure blooming inside of you was an insane feeling. he added a finger? oh my god. you were fucking incoherent. he added another? you were pretty sure this rivaled the time you tried molly.

you pulled at his hair, begging him (to stop or to go harder, you didn't know). it was all so overwhelming, and every time you looked down to see the source of your pleasure and remembered it was your peter parker? you were close to the edge the quickest you'd ever been.

"pete, i-i..."

"what is it, baby?" he breathed, quickly returning to your dripping cunt.

baby. jesus fucking christ. that almost did you in right then and there.

"i wanna touch you too."

peter groaned deep inside you in response, and the vibration was enough to send you over the edge. you felt your body fly over the moon as you came, peter not letting down for a second as he fucked you with his tongue so you could ride out the high, lapping up every drop you gave him.

he stood up, breathless, glistening, and a little cocky if you knew peter the way you thought you did. "how are you feeling? did that help, d-does it still hurt?"

you were panting as you came down from your high, taking a second to be aware of your body and headspace again. you couldn't help but feel emotional as you noticed the effects starting to creep back in. you shed a tear and nodded as you felt the headache thundering in the distance.

peter pulled you into a hug, and it was almost enough to sober you up again, because something about this one felt different. more weighted.

"im sorry, baby, fuck. i-i'm sorry, what can i do? how can i help?" fuck, this was all his fault.

you sniffled in his ear, but the movement of your hips against his contradicted your melancholy demeanor. "it's better when you're touching me. please, just don't stop."

between your words and you snaking your hand down to palm him softly, peter parker was a wreck, and wrapped around your finger.

he was quick to envelop you in a kiss and drink you in, and you moved to claw his shirt off of him. you pulled back to look at him, and it wasn't like you hadn't seen peter shirtless over the years, but you'd never seen him this close, in this context. it made your chest hurt in a different way.

"fuck, you're so hot," you groaned, almost as though an inside thought had slipped out.

he snickered. "me? are you kidding me right now?"

peter roughly kissed you before tugging your shirt off, absolutely elated at the discovery you'd forgone a bra under your crewneck. he stared at you like a deer in headlights, starstruck as he saw you for the first time.

"jesus christ, you're a fucking dream."

his hands were on your tits before you could even register it, but the feeling only made you crave him more. you messed with his pants, and he took over amidst your frustration. boxers and all, he sprang free in front of you, and Holy Shit Peter Parker. that's fucking obscene.

"this is your last chance to change your mind. because once i start, i dont think i'll be able to stop," he warned.

"please fuck me, peter."

he attacked your chest with his lips, hands firm on your hips as he shifted you again to the edge of the counter. you wrapped your soft fingers around his leaking cock, and he was almost done for before you'd even started.

peter moaned loudly and moved to put his large hand over yours to line himself up. you were still soaked from peter's previous meal, making it easy for him to slide his head through your slit. you were a begging mess in his ear, nails scraping down his back in anticipation.

peter nudged your entrance and pushed in easily (whether from the pollen or his ample prep, no one knows). the two of you moaned in filthy harmony, the feeling a definition beyond indescribable.

his legs were shaking immediately, and despite his inhuman strength, it became apparent that he couldn't do this standing for much longer if you felt this good.

"fuck, sweetheart," peter grabbed you roughly and pulled you towards him, pushing to the hilt and pressing hip to hip with you. he picked you up, spun you around, and laid you on the cool tile

"this isn't what you deserve, fucking you on the ground like this. fuck, baby."

and then peter was relentless.

he pounded into you with such a force, his mouth still focused on your tits and how they bounced for him. both of you could breathe again, the pain lifting and now replaced with a newly discovered pleasure that made you emotional again. you looked completely fucked out, tears streaming down your cheeks as peter lifted your thighs higher to get as deep in you as possible.

"fuck, please don't cry," he begged, though he kept drilling into you, knees now meeting your own chest. "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry."

you pulled him down, his chest pressing against the back of your thighs, and your foreheads connected as you breathed him in, exhaling a rough "i love you so much, peter".

he stuttered for a moment, eyes as wide as they were the first time he heard you say it. not for long, though, as he stayed pressed against you and picked up the pace like never before.

"oh my god, i fucking love you."

peter had you seeing stars, and you didn't know how long you'd even been in the lab. five minutes could have passed, maybe three hours. all you knew was that you didn't care, and you were close. peter knew it too.

"babe-baby, you're close. i-i can feel it, you're so fucking tight around my cock." you couldn't help but clench him in response.

"fuck, yeah-y-yes. god, squeezing me so good. god, i knew you were made for me."

it was the sentimentality of everything that sent you over this time. hearing the way he talked about you, you came around his cock, and it felt so fucking magical. but peter didn't slow down, determined to ride out your orgasm. he was quickly losing his composure, though, at the feeling of you fluttering around his cock.

"sweetheart, w-where—"

"inside, please."

peter didn't even have time to question the outcomes to his actions because the second he heard you, his best fucking friend, moaning for him to cum inside of her? oh fucking hell.

he let out such a guttural moan as he came, hot and thick, deep inside of you. you felt so warm and full, so much so that it triggered a third orgasm, sobbing peter's name as he just kept going. mixed arousal spilled down your thighs as he continued to fuck you, and through your fucked out haze, you could feel his cum drip down and pool around your ass.

you were barely conscious at this point, but peter kept going as he muttered "i'm sorry" over and over again.

luckily, he'd released the goddamn mating press and released your legs, allowing you to stretch out. peter was able to cover more of your body with his, lying chest to chest with you as his hips rutted into yours. the new position was so much more intimate as he leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss again.

"please. please, just one more. one more and i'll stop."

peter said that three more times that evening before he was done, and he felt like himself again.

he looked down at you in awe, though concern slipped through his fucked out eyes. "you okay, bug?"

"i can't believe you really just gassed us with an aphrodisiac."

peter laughed, a blush creeping on his cheeks at the memory of his fatal mistake. "yeah, that was, uh... that was my bad."

a moment of silence.

"...any chance you wrote it down?"

tags!

guineveresghost nyutasgirl extremebookreader iamacheezburger love-hs28 dumercredi dam-dum bryanna-j moniffazictress11 liebaluba the-fangirl-from-hell imafangirlofeverything adalvsseb cherrybomber3000 dayastarkorwtvr corsiry isansstuff 1989worshipper claudiwithachanceof princearthur4 frenziedobserverluminary ravisinghs-wife btch2009 jastoo46 hanz991 dayastarkorwtvr brunettebombshell72 parker-murdock forgetticushim seagull-111

emqqx

Hiii!! First request!!!

Could u do that reader and Steve are like best best friends buuuuuttttttt Steve gets a new girlfriend and shes just really mean to reader?? I love angst lollll. The rest is up to youuuu!!

Thanks cutieee

"Not his first choice"

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Steve Harrington x reader ⋆⭒˚.⋆

english is not my language please be kind and sorry if i wrote wrong :) requests are open if you want!

summary: steve’s girlfriend drives a wedge between you and him, and his failure to defend you leads to a painful fallout and broken friendship.

warnings: angst, jealousy, possessive partner, friendship breakdown

Steve had always said you were his person, not in the romantic way everyone assumed, not in the “Steve Harrington secretly in love with his best friend” way Robin constantly teased him about. It was simpler than that, bigger, maybe.

You were just… you. The first person he called after a nightmare, the passenger princess in his BMW, the one who knew he liked his fries dipped in milkshakes and that he still got nervous before parent-teacher conferences for the kids even though he’d never admit it out loud.

So when Steve got a girlfriend, you tried really hard to be happy for him. At first, you were.

Her name was Amanda, pretty in the polished, intimidating kind of way. She wore expensive perfume and always looked like she’d stepped out of a catalog. Steve smiled more around her, he laughed easier and you loved Steve enough to want that for him. Even if something in your chest twisted every time he canceled plans.

“Sorry,” he’d said over the phone one friday night, voice muffled. “Amanda wants to go to the mall for the weekend.”

You stared at the pizza sitting on your counter and the two tickets to the horror movie marathon tucked under your wallet.

“Oh,” you answered quietly. “Yeah. Sure.”

“You’re not mad, right?”

“No,” you lied instantly. “Of course not.”

But then it kept happening. Movie nights forgotten, late-night calls unanswered, inside jokes fading into silence because Amanda would wrinkle her nose and ask, “Do you two always act this codependent?”

You laughed the first time she said it. Steve didn’t and that should’ve been your warning.

It got worse slowly, cruelly, like Amanda enjoyed seeing how far she could push before someone snapped.

“You’re still hanging around?” she asked one evening when you showed up at Family Video with coffees for Steve and Robin. Robin immediately looked uncomfortable, instead Steve glanced up from behind the counter. “Hey! You came.”

Amanda leaned against the display beside him, manicured nails tapping against her crossed arms. “That’s… sweet.” Something about the way she said it made heat crawl up your neck.

“I was in the area.”

“Mhm.” She looked you up and down. “Steve said you kind of just pop up everywhere.”

Robin coughed awkwardly, Steve frowned slightly. “Amanda…”

“What?” she laughed. “I’m kidding.”

But she never sounded like she was kidding.

Every comment had teeth.

You’re surprisingly pretty in good lighting.

Steve says you hate dating. I can see why.

Aw, matching bracelets? That’s adorable. Middle school vibes.

And Steve… God. Steve never really defended you, not properly, sometimes he’d mumble, “Amanda, stop.”

Sometimes he’d give you this apologetic look like please don’t make this difficult, and because you loved him, you swallowed every hurt feeling down until they sat heavy in your stomach like stones.

The breaking point came at Nancy’s party, you almost didn’t go. Steve had invited you three separate times, insisting he wanted you there.

“It won’t be fun if you’re not there,” he’d complained over the phone.

So you went and for a little while, things felt normal. You and Steve ended up on the kitchen floor at one point laughing so hard soda nearly came out of your nose because he’d attempted to dance and immediately slipped into a wall.

“There she is,” Robin said dramatically, pointing at the two of you. “The soulmates reunite.”

Steve grinned at you, a big and warm and familiar grin

Then Amanda appeared, her smile dropped immediately “Oh my god,” she muttered. “Seriously?”

Steve blinked. “What?”

“She’s attached to your hip.”

The room quieted just enough for embarrassment to flood through you.

“Amanda,” Steve warned softly.

“No, because I’m actually tired of pretending this isn’t weird.” She looked directly at you. “Do you not have your own life?”

Your face burned, Steve stood up quickly. “Okay, enough.” but Amanda kept going “You’re obsessed with him. Everyone sees it.” She laughed harshly. “It’s honestly pathetic.”

The kitchen went silent, Robin looked horrified and Steve hesitated, just for a second, but that second was enough. Enough for something inside you to crack straight down the middle.

You looked at him waiting for him to say something, to finally choose you, to finally tell her to stop. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly instead. “Amanda, maybe let’s just calm down…”

Calm down, not leave her alone, not don't talk to my best friend like that. Just calm down.

You suddenly felt stupid suddenly so unbelievably stupid.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Steve looked at you immediately. “Hey…”

“No, it’s okay.” Your voice shook despite your effort to steady it. “I get it.”

“You don’t…”

“No, I do.”

Your eyes burned, you hated crying in front of people. Hated it, but Steve looked more worried about the scene than about you. That hurt worst of all.

You laughed shakily, stepping backward toward the hallway. “I think maybe I stayed too long.”

“Don’t do this,” Steve said quietly.

The words sliced right through you. Don’t do this. Like you were the problem.

Amanda crossed her arms triumphantly and Steve let her. You nodded slowly, throat too tight to breathe properly. “Yeah. Okay.”

Then you left.

Steve called twelve times that night, you ignored every single one.

By morning, your phone was full of voicemails.

“Please answer.”

“Can we just talk?”

“You know she didn’t mean it like that.”

That one made you cry the hardest, because deep down? You knew she did.

And worse of all Steve knew too.

You didn’t answer Steve’s calls, not the twelve from last night, not the seven more in the morning, not even Robin’s, which you knew meant she’d either been bribed, threatened, or emotionally blackmailed into mediating.

Your phone kept lighting up on your desk like it couldn’t understand that something had already ended. It wasn’t even dramatic at first, that was the worst part, nothing had exploded, no final fight where everything was said cleanly and loudly and finally. No clear ending you could wrap your brain around and file away under this is over, move on.

Just… a slow shift, like a room you’d lived in your whole life had started shrinking while you weren’t looking and Steve had been in the middle of it the entire time, acting like nothing was changing.

By the third day, you stopped going outside unless you absolutely had to.

By the fourth, you started flinching every time a car pulled up outside your place, half-expecting his BMW to be sitting there like it used to be when he’d show up uninvited with snacks and a stupid grin and say, “Get in. We’re doing nothing today.”

On the fifth day, you finally went back to Family Video.

You told yourself it was normal, that you just needed a rental, that you weren’t avoiding anything, that Steve Harrington working there did not suddenly make every part of your life complicated. But the moment you stepped inside, the bell above the door chimed and everything inside you tightened.

Robin saw you first, her expression softened immediately, like she’d been bracing for this exact moment all week.

“Hey,” she said carefully.

“Hey,” you replied, too fast, too casual.

Steve was behind the counter, he looked like he hadn’t slept properly since the party. Hair messier than usual, eyes flicking up the second he heard your voice like his body had been waiting for it even if he hadn’t admitted it out loud. For a second, just a second, his face lit up. Then it faltered because Amanda wasn’t just standing beside him anymore.

She was there, leaning into his space like she belonged in it and the way she looked at you said she absolutely remembered everything she’d done.

“Well,” Amanda said brightly, voice sharp underneath the sweetness, “look who finally decided to reappear.”

Robin shifted uncomfortably, Steve straightened quickly. “Hey, you didn’t…uh…call.”

You blinked. That was what he led with.

Not are you okay?Not I’m sorry.Not I should’ve said something.

Just… logistics.

“I didn’t know I needed an appointment,” you said quietly.

Amanda laughed. “Oh my god, she’s funny.”

Steve shot her a look. “Amanda.”

“What?” she said innocently. “I’m just saying. She always acts like she lives here.”

The word acts hit harder than it should’ve. You swallowed, stepping closer to the counter but not all the way in, like there was an invisible line now you weren’t supposed to cross.

“I just came for a tape,” you said. “I’ll be quick.”

Steve looked like he wanted to say something else. His mouth opened, then closed again like he couldn’t find the right version of himself to speak with. Robin watched all of it like she was holding her breath. Amanda, meanwhile, leaned on Steve’s arm “So,” she said, voice light, “are we still doing dinner with my parents tonight?”

Steve blinked. “Oh…yeah. Right.”

Something in your chest tightened again, of course. He forgot things with you constantly now but not this, not her.

You nodded slowly, like that information made sense. Like it didn’t sting “Cool,” you said then you turned toward the shelves. You picked a movie you didn’t even care about, your hands were shaking slightly when you brought it to the counter.

Robin started to take it, but Steve stepped forward first “Let me,” he said quickly.

Your eyes met his for half a second, that used to be enough to feel like home, now it just felt like standing in a doorway that had been rebuilt while you weren’t looking.

He scanned the tape without looking at you for too long, Amanda watched from behind him like she was waiting for something to happen, like she was hoping something would.

“You okay?” Steve asked quietly, sliding the tape toward you.

There it was again. Not I’m sorry. Not I miss you.Just… Are you okay?

As if everything that had happened was still neutral enough to be a simple yes or no answer.

You forced a small nod. “Yeah.”

Steve didn’t look convinced.

Amanda sighed dramatically. “Can we go? I’m starving.”

Steve hesitated, just for a moment, then he nodded “Yeah,” he said.

And that was it, that was the moment something inside you finally stopped hoping.

You didn’t see Steve for a week after that, not because he didn’t try but because you stopped opening the door, stopped picking up, stopped letting yourself get halfway to forgiveness just because he sounded sad on voicemail.

Then, one evening, Robin showed up, no warning, no joke, no usual chaotic energy. Just Robin, standing on your porch like she’d been assigned a mission she didn’t fully agree with but was doing anyway.

You opened the door slowly, she studied you for a second. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” you muttered.

She exhaled. “Can I come in?”

You stepped aside. Inside, she didn’t sit right away. She paced once, then turned toward you like she was choosing her words carefully “I’m gonna say something and you’re not gonna like it,” she started.

“That’s usually your whole brand.”

That got a faint smile out of her, but it didn’t last “Steve’s not okay,” she said.

You stared at her, a long silence stretched between you, then you laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Okay.”

Robin frowned. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Because what were you supposed to say to that?

That Steve Harrington, the guy who used to drag you into gas station parking lots at 2 a.m. because you “looked sad in a way that required snacks”, was not okay? You knew that, you just also knew something else now.

“It’s not just about him,” Robin added quietly.

Your gaze flicked up.

She exhaled. “Amanda’s been… yeah. I don’t like her. At all, but Steve keeps acting like if he ignores it long enough, it’ll fix itself.” That landed differently. Because that part? That part you knew too well.

Robin stepped closer. “He misses you.”

You swallowed hard. “He has her.”

Robin gave you a look like she was trying not to say something harsher. “Yeah, and that’s clearly working out great for everyone.”

Finally, she said, softer, “He didn’t defend you.”

It wasn’t a question, It wasn’t even an accusation, just truth.

Your throat tightened “I know,” you said.

And that was the problem, you did know, you always had.

Steve showed up the next night, you didn’t open the door. He knocked again. Then again. Finally, his voice came through the wood, quieter this time “Please.”

That alone almost broke you, you hated that it still affected you.

“Just…just talk to me. I’m not leaving.”

You leaned your forehead against the door, on the other side, he did the same without knowing you were there. “I messed up,” he said “I know that now. I should’ve said something at the party. I should’ve shut it down. I should’ve…” he exhaled sharply, frustrated with himself, “I don’t know, I should’ve been better.”

Your eyes burned.

“I didn’t mean for it to get like that,” he continued. “With her. With everything. I just… I thought I could balance it.”

A bitter laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it, balance it, like you were something he could put on the same scale as a relationship that clearly didn’t like you.

“I miss you,” he said finally, quieter.

That one hit harder, because it sounded real, not rehearsed, not convenient, not like he was trying to fix a problem he didn’t want to lose sleep over.

Just… Steve.

“I don’t know how to do this without you,” he admitted.

Your chest tightened painfully, and for a second, you almost opened the door. Almost. But then you remembered Amanda’s smile at the party, the silence in the kitchen, Steve not saying your name loud enough to matter and you realized something that made your hands stop shaking. He didn’t know how to do life without you but he had been doing just fine letting you feel alone inside it.

You stepped back from the door “Steve,” you said softly.

He went quiet instantly.

“I can’t be the person you come back to when things get uncomfortable.”

“…I know,” he said, but it sounded like he didn’t.

You closed your eyes “I love you,” you added, voice breaking slightly. “But I can’t do this version of it.”

On the other side of the door, he didn’t respond right away, when he did, his voice was rough “I’ll fix it.”

You shook your head even though he couldn’t see it “That’s not how this works.”

“…Do you hate me?” he asked quieter than ever

That question hurt in a different way, because the answer was no.

“I don’t,” you said honestly. “I just can’t keep getting hurt where I’m supposed to feel safe.”

He didn’t speak for a long time after that, when he finally did, it was barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you said and you meant it, but sorry didn’t rewind things. Sorry didn’t make him choose differently when it mattered, didn’t undo the moment he stood there and let you feel small in a room you used to belong in.

His footsteps lingered outside for a while after that, then they left and this time, your phone didn’t light up right away. It stayed dark, like even it understood something was over.

lizzygrantforever

Steve harrington x reader

Summary: you and Steve been situationships for a while. You want way more with him, but you feel like he’s not over Nancy yet.

A/N: Hii guys, wanted to make a situationship vibes with Steve. Lmk if you enjoy and if I should make it a series!

Warnings: fluff, teasing, arguments, angst.

You met Steve at a party, he was a bit drunk and so were you. But you remember it like it was yesterday. He recently broke up with Nancy the whole school knew. You thought you were just a silly one night stand. Till he kept seeing you way more often than a “friend” would.

You would have intimate conversations it felt good to be with him and even kiss him. But there was always something holding him back with being with you. You didn’t know if he was embarrassed by you. Or his ex Nancy.

He talked about Nancy a lot, you just thought it was his way of moving on. But the more he talked about her the more it seemed he wanted her back. Everytime you thought you and Steve were going somewhere he would always get back with Nancy.

Now here you were with Steve laying down in the grass together from biking. It felt so intimate, as if you were at the lake with your boyfriend. But you weren’t cause Steve didn’t think the same. You didn’t know if he liked being with you or he didn’t like being alone. Yet there you were always by his side.

“Can’t believe we graduated” you said as you turn to your side to see him looking at the sun. Steve sighs, “me too.. and yet I still have no clue what I’m going to do.” You were silent letting his words sink in. “Me too..”

Steve sat up as he yawns, “high school was fun huh?” You shrugged “sometimes yeah.” You said being a little more stand off with him. And he could tell you weren’t happy like how you use to be. Maybe you got tired of always having to reassure him about the same things.

Steve sighs as he looked down at you seeing the way you avoid his eyes kinda hurt his feelings more than he thought. “You look pretty in the sun.” You gave him a tiny smirk “thanks.” You got up as he took your hand and guided you to the lake.

Steve smiled as he went near the deck and took off his shirt and left in his shorts, as you took off you shirt and pants left in your underwear and bra. Steve was already getting into the lake as he jumped as you laugh getting splashed. “Oh my god!” You screamed as he laughed.

“Hurry up I can’t be swimming alone.” He said as you took off your watch and jumped off the deck. Once you landed into the lake with him he gripped your waist as he held you.

Little moments like this made you like him more and more, but you knew where is heart will belong too. Steve carried you as he threw you into the lake. “STEVE STOP!!” You yelled as he laughed as you splash water back onto him.

Steve smiled as he came closer you and held you as you try to get away from him but that didn’t work as he laughed watching you fail. “Oh baby C’mere” he said and kissed you. As you guys were kissing he stop out of nowhere. “Shit.. what time is it?..” he asked as you swim over to the deck and checked your watch.

“2:30” you said and turn over to him as he sighs. “Fuck I’m late.” He said and got out of the lake and putting his clothes on. You watch him get dressed as you were still in the lake. “Where you going?”

Steve sighs as he looked at you. “Nancy.. uh we have a date tonight.” You were silent as you should’ve knew better. “Of course.” You got out of the lake quiet you didn’t bother to talk more to him. “Hey I’m sorry.” You hurry up and put your clothes on and getting your bike and leaving as you try so hard to keep in your tears.

“No.. no don’t go let’s talk” he said desperate but you already left. He watched you bike away as he sighs as he looked down at the ground, you forgot your watch he bought you. He picked it up and put it in his pocket. He had to give it back to you.

On your way home biking, you couldn’t believe he would be kissing you in the lake then go off and have a date with Nancy. “Why am I so stupid?”.. you thought. Once you made it back home your mother smiled seeing you. “You’re home early..”

You nod, “yeah uh Steve had work so.. hangout time was cut short.” You lied and sat down at the dinner table. Your mom sighs, she knew about you and Steve and she knew if she interfere it be a mess. “i hoped you had fun.” You nodded as you drink water. Your mother was silent before she spoke up.

“You remember Oliver?..” your mother asked as you raised your eyebrow. Oliver was your childhood friend you use to hangout with in Italy. You were always in Italy as a kid since you had family over there.

“What about him?”.. you asked as your mother smiled. “His 20th birthday coming up.. and I wanna us to go for vacation.” You smiled thinking back to Oliver. He was your first love but did you really wanna leave Steve?

“How long are we going for?” You asked as your mom smiled. “2 months, not just for Oliver but for our family too.” You were in shocked but excited maybe being away from Steve will help you get over him and rekindle your relationship with Oliver.

“Does he even remember me?” You asked blushing a bit. Your mom nods. “Of course he does he called me earlier talking about his party and wanting you to come especially.” Your heart flutter. “I can’t wait to see him, when do we go?”

Your mother looks at the calendar, “in one week..” your eyes widen would that even be enough time to fix things with Steve? “Okay.. well I’m going to go ahead and figure out what outfits to wear.” You said rushing up going upstairs as your mother smiled. She was happy you had something to do and looked forward to seeing Oliver.

As you were busy thinking about Italy and Oliver your mother was downstairs as she yelled. “OLIVER ON THE PHONE.” Your eyes widened and rush downstairs, “let me.” You said as you took over the phone and that’s when you hear Oliver’s voice, it was so beautiful the way he talked made you miss him more.

“Ciao, bellissima” Oliver said as you smiled. “Hey Oliver..” you were already blushing just hearing his voice.

“How have you been.” He asked, you smiled “pretty good.. I can’t wait to see you.” Oliver chuckled over the phone as he smiled. “Me too.”

You finally ended the conversation hours later. You didn’t think you miss someone from so many years ago. It was nice catching up with him, and you couldn’t wait to see him either. But in the back of your mind you couldn’t help but think what was Steve doing. “Is he kissing Nancy?” “Why does he always go back to her?” You thought.

As you were now laying down in bed, it was 3 am you couldn’t sleep at all. You had way too much on your mind, first it was Steve then Oliver.. you knew you didn’t have to pick Steve since he’s with Nancy again. But something always tells you to keep being near him.

You decide to get up and go out to the lake. It be nice to go out and enjoy the weather alone. Maybe it’ll help take things off your brain for a while.

You went over to get your jacket and hurried to put your shoes on, as you went downstairs as quiet as you can. Once you were finally outside you got your bike and went to the lake. It felt amazing being alone riding your bike with the air in your face.

Once you made it to the lake you went pushing your bike down and seating on the grass. Laying down on the grass watching the stars made you miss Steve. But in your heart you felt like going to Italy and seeing Oliver you might move on from Steve.

It did scared you a bit from moving on from Steve. You were never his girlfriend he would never tell people that. But when you were alone with him it felt like that and he knew it too.

The only thing that really scared you was, if your connection with Oliver isn’t good and Steve moving on with Nancy. You knew why he loved her so much. She was beautiful, smart, caring you felt like you couldn’t compete.

As you were overthinking all of sudden you see Steve. He was out of breath as he ran to you. “I knew you be here.” He smiled as you sigh. “What do you need now?”

Steve smiled kinda faded as he sat down next to you. “Oh um.. you’re watch you left it.” He gave it you as you took it back and put it on the ground next to you.

“How come you didn’t answer my calls?” Steve asked as you didn’t even look at him. “Was calling someone else, beside why call me when your on a date with Nancy.” Steve looked down at the ground. “Um.. I didn’t end up going I found her with Jonathan.”

You were silent, now you felt like a dick. “Oh..well sorry I didn’t answer.” Steve nods as he looked at the lake. “Um.. who were you calling?” He asked as you sigh. Should I tell him the truth? You thought.

“My.. my friend who lives in Italy. His name is Oliver.” You said short and simple. Steve frowned he definitely didn’t like the idea of this Oliver guy who’s Italian. “How do you know him if he lives so far?”

You sigh “well I know him since I was a kid and I would be in Italy till I came here.” Steve nods “huh I wished you told me that before.” You roll your eyes. “Why would I tell you that? We only really have sex Steve.”

Steve scoffed. “That’s not true you know that, cmon we have more then sex.” You scoffed. “Right Steve we have way more that’s why you always go back to Nancy.” You said a bit harshly but it was the truth. Steve looked at you stunned and hurt. “Really? Why do you always bring her up huh? It’s not my fault you’re insecure.” He said which you didn’t take lightly.

You got up as you looked at him hurt but mad as hell. “Yeah Steve I’m so insecure” you said sarcastic. “I’m so insecure that I’m leaving here soon and I’m going to Italy to be with Oliver so maybe Oliver can take away my insecurities.”

Steve scoffed and got up “really? Just gonna go to another man huh?” You smirk. “You do the same with me and Nancy.”

Steve was quiet as he took your hand. “Look.. I’m an ass I know that but I truly don’t need you seeing this Italian Oliver guy.” You move your hand away from him and stand your ground.

“Steve no.. you’re lying to me like you always do. Stop saying you love me when you don’t. Why don’t you want me to be happy huh?” You said trying to keep your tears in for some reason it was a touchy subject.

You went over to him now face to face with him. “I am going to Italy okay? Maybe Oliver the right one for me I’ll let you know when I come back 2 months later.” You said as you can see Steve eyes start to water. God it hurt to see him like this, but it was important to tell him the truth and how you felt.

“Don’t bother to say goodbye either.” You said as got your bike and start to bike off. Steve stand there watching you back off as a tear fell down his face as he looked at the grown and mutter to himself. “Why do I do this to myself?..” as he looked down at the ground there was your watch staring right back at him as a cruel joke.

He knew in his heart it was you. But always in the back of his mind he thought of Nancy.

A/N: sorry if it was short maybe part 2

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