#Bangles Making At Home

[leyavo]

Ghost getting badly injured during a mission that they have to call his next of kin.

Next of kin?? What do you mean next of kin.

Mrs Riley?! He doesn’t wear a wedding band to protect you. Not even at home, worried there’ll be a mark to show he sometimes wears one.

It’s then that the TF 141 find out he’s married to you. They’re all wondering what you’re like, convinced you must be in the same line of work.

You’ve been married for six years, only to be called if it’s serious like now.

Soap’s jaw is on the floor as you walk into the infirmary, you don’t even glance their way as you rush to Simon’s bedside. Your hand on his chest as you lean down to kiss his forehead and brush back his hair.

You’re well put together, a lightweight robe layered over jeans and a simple vest. Pops of colour on your olive thick framed glasses and golden wedged heels. Hair pinned back with a pencil, leather bag overpacked with a book, filofax, purse and little cosmetic bag.

Price introduces himself, shaking your hand. A dainty diamond ring sparkling on your finger. Your silver bangles jingle as you greet each man, repeating their names and they know Ghost has not told you anything about them.

All he told you is that he likes working alone, but sometimes works with others.

You stay at the base for a while till he’s well enough to travel home. Eating with him and the guys in the canteen, they’re still staring at Simon like he’s grown another head. Watching you two squabble about little things.

“Do not put that shit on my plate,” Simon grumbled.

“It’s broccoli not a bomb.” You can’t help but roll your eyes, shoulder bumping into his arm as you try to move him along in the line.

The art director job you have takes you all around the world, sometimes you get to meet up with your husband. Simon treating it like a mission in itself, you playing along as you talk to him over the phone as you walk the cobbled streets to see him. “Target engaged, moving in,” you whisper as you spot him standing outside a coffee shop.

FaceTiming him whilst he’s at base so you can show him the little trinket you found in an antique store. He’s laying down in his bed, headphones on so no one hears.

“Nearly the same age as you luv.” Anything to see that little poutie face and brows furrowed. He loves teasing you that you are older than him, but it backfires whenever he complains at his body aching. “You’re supposed to be young and spry.”

Being a couple years older than Simon, you’ve got your shit together. Which drew Simon to you. Both no nonsense, say what you feel and work it out. No games, no silent treatment.

“Watch your tone Si, you’re not in the army here. You’re home so don’t give me that shit.”

“Watch my tone, luv. You just flooded the bathroom!”

“You distracted me!”

“Why don’t I get some towels and we both sort it out.”

Once Simon’s fully recovered, you invite his team to stay at your shared home together for the weekend.

A cottage in the countryside, there’s an eclectic mix of vintage furniture and textiles. That one rug Simon shipped back from Morocco in the living room. Paintings, pottery and sculptures scattered around the rooms. Rocky, a German Shepard trailing after you as you give them a tour of the place.

You make friends with Price’s wife who’s around the same age as you. Even try to set Gaz up with a client you think he’d get on with. Bond with Soap telling him you lived in Scotland as a late teen where you had your first art assistant job there.

Price’s wife scheduling a double date in five months time. Simon side eying John. She’s also invited you to come stay for a girls weekend at the Price house.

[wife/gf masterlist]

[lavenderprose]

Emmrich actually IS the suave and charismatic gentleman we've all been waiting for. Forget your Alistairs and your Cullens. Emmrich says dear and darling and has enough Big Dick Energy that you sense him coming from three rooms away. What's that shift in the air? Emmrich's natural necromantic aura touching the Fade? Well yes but also the sound of his monster cock swinging in his perfectly tailored trousers.

Emmrich talks to Rook like there's a love letter addressed to them specifically lodged in his voice box. He touches them like he paid money for the privilege. Emmrich uses his wealth to help others, he is NOT a person who desires power, and he expects the same of others. One time he looked at Rook and said, "The only good noble is a dead one," and even though Rook knew he was talking about the residents of the Necropolis, or perhaps because of that, it made Rook so wet they had to go sit down against a tree and bang their head a little to calm down.

Sometimes Rook shows up in Emmrich's room of an evening and without even missing a beat Emmrich says, "Come have a seat, darling," and Rook sits next to him only for him to tut and pat his knee. Immediately, Rook is perched there like he's Santa Claus.

"The things one can sense when truly in tune with the fade are inspiring," Emmrich says, and other such nonsense as his touch finds the path of least resistance to Rook's skin without hesitation. His fingers are cool and kind and they trace up the side of Rook's ribs like they might slot perfectly between them, like Rook was built as a home for his hand.

"You're killing me," Rook says, because he is, because Rook could actually choke and die from how badly they want to feel Emmrich's mustache on their thighs.

"Yes, but only a little death," Emmrich says. He smiles and his bangles jingle merrily away as he plays with Rook's chest. "Every time I touch your body, I'm already longing for the moment I'll touch it again."

"Guh," says Rook. "Hrng. Hunh."

"I quite agree. I find that words fail me when it comes to...how you make me feel, dearest." This is what Emmrich says, but fails utterly to demonstrate as he leans in and delicately bites Rook's earlobe, whispering seventeen of the twenty filthiest things Rook has ever heard. Things like I'll eat you like a cake, though you're more delicious and the Fade sings your name when I'm in you and--

"If I have to hear ONE MORE THING about that necromancer's cock," seethes Solas, who did NOT know that he was signing up for nightly pornographic lullabies when he decided to kick it in the back of Rook's head. This is the fourth time he's said that this week. He will hear many, many more things about that necromancer's cock.

"YES EMMRICH," echoes through the Fade, "Gods YES, harder! Give it to me!"

The spirits of the Fade, who like Emmrich a whole helluva lot more than they like Solas right now, twirl and giggle.

[amkyor]

K. BAKUGO SHORT STORY ᡣ𐭩

Scarily Observant:

You had always joked that Bakugo wasn’t the most romantic guy. He didn’t shower you with flowery compliments or grand gestures, but you knew better.

His love showed itself in quieter ways, ones that made your heart skip a beat when you realized just how much attention he paid to you.

It started small—too small to notice at first. Like how he always handed you the mug you liked best when y'all had coffee or how he seemed to know exactly where you left you keys before you even asked.

“Lucky guess,” he’d mutter when you pointed it out, but there was no mistaking the faint smirk tugging at his lips.

One day, you were running late for work, frantically searching through your closet. “Why is everything I want to wear in the laundry?” You groaned, yanking hangers back and forth.

Bakugo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Wear the green sweater,” he said casually.

You paused, turning to him in surprise. “The green one? You mean the one with the loose sleeves I got last year?”

“Yeah. You always wear it when you’ve got long meetings,” he replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Your jaw dropped. “How do you even know that?”

He shrugged. “You fidget with the sleeves when you’re stressed. Look, just wear it and stop making me late, dumbass.”

Moments like that kept piling up. He remembered every little thing you told him, from how you liked your tea to the name of your favorite childhood toy.

Once, you casually mentioned a song you used to love but hadn’t heard in years. The next time y'all went on a drive, it was queued up in the playlist.

“Don’t overthink it,” he’d grumble when you called him out, his ears tinged red.

But the moment that truly floored came during a quiet evening at home. You were curled up on the couch, flipping through an old photo album your mother had sent over. Bakugo glanced over your shoulder, his sharp eyes taking in every detail.

“That’s the bracelet you lost, isn’t it?” he asked, pointing to a picture of you as a kid, wearing a simple silver bangle.

Her eyes widened. “How do you remember that? I barely even mentioned it!”

“You talked about it when we first started dating. Said your grandma gave it to you,” he replied, almost nonchalantly. Then, with a small, rare softness in his voice, he added, “It meant a lot to you.”

You turned to him, overwhelmed by the realization of how much he truly paid attention to you. “You’re scarily observant, you know that?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta remember all the stuff you keep forgetting.”

But deep down, you knew the truth: Bakugo’s sharp eyes weren’t just for battle or strategy. They were his way of showing love—by noticing, remembering, and cherishing every little thing about you.

MY BAKUGO FANFIC:

Adult Bakugo x Female Reader

If the link does not work, use the username ᡣ𐭩

Wattpad: amkyor

[heartyluv]

Note: I already yapped my head off —here— but I will never stop saying it because it means so much to me…thank you so much my luvlys for over 1K followers. This fic literally became something of its own—the characters, the information, the story. Like I want to know more myself LOLLL!!!

Creds to @/strangergraphics-archive for the dividers! + The images below do not belong to me!

Warning: Caleb is eating that 🐱

Word count: 4.5K (bigger than i thought -that’s what she said-)

Summary: Avoiding him wasn’t bound to last forever.

TattooArtist!Caleb/Reader

You sighed after you put the car in park, looking over at your best friend. Currently, Bea was grumbling to herself as she rummaged through her purse to find her phone before she heads into work. You smiled as she kept tucking her deep blue hair behind her ear each time it fell into her face, opting to hold it back for her with your palm gently pressed against the rebel strands.

She looked at you with a quick smile of gratitude, flashing her smiley piercing before returning to her bag that was too big to be hauling around on a regular basis. It was her favorite thing in the world, though, so she’d never get rid of it.

You and Bea have been attached at the hip since you were in third grade. As time went on, even if you two knew one another like the back of your hand, you were polar opposites. Where you were a clean slate, simple, and reserved, Bea was decorated in stunning tattoos, flashy bangles, bracelets and jewelry, and the most outgoing individual you’ve ever experienced. And you absolutely loved her for it.

“I might’ve left it in your fucking room,” she groaned loudly in annoyance. Bea had spent the night in your apartment for the last few days and it was for no reason in particular. She liked coming over, you loved her company, so she stayed. You’re someone who works from home—thankfully—so you’re with each other all day until she has to go to work. Since she’s been with you, you didn’t mind driving her there and picking her up after for dinner. Especially on days like today where you were off.

Bea is one of the best tattoo artists in the world—sure it may be biased, but you didn’t care. Though, it was a fact that she’s one of the best in the state. She even has a plaque at her place to prove it and you have the photos when she and other artists were rewarded for it. Her range and ability to bring her art to life on a human being has always fascinated you.

The parlor she works in is one that has been a monument in the tattoo community for three decades now, owned by an uncle and his nephew. You’ve been in there a few times—a lot of them for reasons you keep tucked away.

“I can go get it and bring it back, if you want,” you offered. She frowned, but she was nothing but appreciative as she leaned over the center console to hug you.

“You’d literally be my hero.”

“When am I not?” you chuckle. “You’ll still be available for my appointment, right?”

“Of course, duh!” she exclaimed. “No one gets to see those beautiful nips but me and maybe your future baby. And whatever guy is lucky enough one day.” She waggles her eyebrows and shimmies her shoulders.

You shake your head, ushering her out the car so she isn’t late. Once she’s inside, your mind immediately drifts to the fact that Bea is supposed to be doing something for you. Something that she convinced you would boost your sexiness and confidence, even if no one but you would see them.

Nipple piercings.

You never would’ve thought you’d even consider doing something like that since the mere thought of a needle getting near you makes you nervous—let alone near your nipples. But you wanted something new. You wanted change. You wanted to have something about you that made you feel good.

Traffic was insane to and back, making you a whopping seven extra minutes late.

Thankfully, you got ahold of Bea’s phone quicker than you expected, finding it right under the pillow she slept on last night. She was in a little bit of a hurry this morning, so you’re not surprised that she forgot it as she focused all her attention on getting it together.

Once you gathered your things, you made your way inside Luvly Inkz. Immediately, you’re greeted by Sleep Token playing on the speakers and the subtle buzz of tattoo guns at work. With a quick once over, you don’t see Bea, but you’re nothing short of relieved when you don’t see him.

“Hey, there’s our girl!” shouts Uncle Wiz. The dark skinned older man grins at you from where he sits as he works on a client. Everyone calls him Uncle when they meet him because that’s always the type of relationship you get with the kind hearted gentleman who is completely decked out in ink. He’s like a magician with the way he executes his work, so being called Wiz isn’t too far fetched.

“Hey, Wiz. Hey, everybody,” you announce and they all offer a quick warm welcoming. “I know it’s been a while. You can thank Bea for my presence today. She in the back? I got her phone.”

“Nah,” Wiz focuses back on the lady listening to music through her earbuds as he fills in the large outline on her side. “Her and her dude got into again. He hasn’t even clocked in yet—had her sitting there losing her cool over the work phone. Told her to go take a breather.”

The need to go and find your best friend is strong, especially knowing that she’s out there with no phone or way for you to reach her efficiently. But you know her better than anyone to understand that she could handle herself, she didn’t like being crowded, and that the best thing right now was to let her do as Wiz said, and breathe.

Bea and her boyfriend Marquis work together at Luvly Inkz, which one could argue has its pros and cons. When they’re good, they’re like a power couple—an unstoppable force. But when it gets like this? When they fight and argue about something that ranges from completely stupid to detrimental enough to break up over, they’re like ticking time bombs that have a higher probability of detonating if they stay close.

But Uncle Wiz would never fire them because their bickering and disputes never stopped them from doing what they needed to do. Work was always done on time, correctly, and clients always walked out happy. It was a level of professionalism he knew he could trust them with, even with their personal problems.

But it wasn’t working out for you right now because you were supposed to be laying on Bea’s table, ready to get your nipples stabbed.

“Were you scheduled with her? I might be able to get it done for you really fast, depending on what it is.”

“It was a…piercing,” you say simply. Uncle Wiz nods.

“She finally broke you, huh?” he chuckled before looking around the room. “All of our girls are busy right now, but we’ve got Caleb here. He actually came in, despite me telling him to take off for his birthday. He got in not too long ago, and if you’re comfortable with him doing it, he won’t mind. Just tell him what it is since he’s qualified to do them all.”

Your whole body freezes.

Caleb.

The same Caleb who took your virginity and made you know what it was like to be desperate for dick for the first and only time in your life.

The same Caleb who you have regretted sleeping with ever since you learned he…gets around.

The same Caleb who admittedly never did anything wrong, but you were embarrassed and ashamed for succumbing to him so easily when you were certain—without viable proof—that the way he got you was by utilizing a technique he���s likely used too many times to count.

Bea was the one who—accidentally—told you after she wondered where you and him disappeared off to during the night of the party she threw for Marquis’ birthday at a luxury house she rented for the event.

You and Caleb were pretty cool before you had sex, having actually been acquaintances for a good few years. There wasn’t much you knew about him, other than that his talent rivaled Bea, he was annoyingly attractive, and had the body of a fucking god. You met him almost six years ago when she started working at Luvly Inkz and just clicked instantly about a lot of things.

So when he and you sat on the balcony that night just talking about everything and nothing like you knew each other so well, it was so hard for the crush you had formed over time to remain at bay. You never thought the attraction was mutual, but then, when he ended up kissing you? When he asked you if you’d let him fuck you? You knew you should’ve told him no, but the way he pressed his hardness into you and called you pretty—you were a goner.

He made—what you thought at the time—sweet love to you as his hips rocked back and forth slowly to let you adjust. You touch yourself at night when you think about the way he rolled the condom onto his heavy cock, when he filled you up like he was made to complete you.

After it all and you fixed yourself to face everyone again, you couldn’t stop smiling. But unintentionally, the words Bea spoke when she found you alone in the kitchen is what caused the rift.

“Dude, where were you and Caleb? Please don’t tell me you fucked him!” she joked with a nudge. “Seriously he’s like a walking attraction or something. Never heard the words “thank you for last night” so many times by so many different women in my life, ugh!”

You’ve been distant ever since. Every phone call and text was ignored and you stopped coming into the parlor entirely. You beat yourself up a lot about that.

How could you not have known better?

He literally carried a condom on him and the way he worked your body was not a man who kept to himself.

Bea felt awful because both of you are her friends and she hated that you felt the way you did after you admitted your truth, but she respected it.

You told her how you thought it was a special thing, that you and him were going to become more. Maybe you would’ve, but you’d never know now.

It wasn’t that you judged Caleb. Him having a past doesn’t dictate him, but the way he is wasn’t something he grew out of. You slept with that version. Before you had that information, you felt like what you shared with him was something special, but you concluded that it was just another day for him. To think you would be the one to become some life altering catalyst was foolish—so it was safer to rid him of your system entirely. It hurt and it stung as your brain worked to convince yourself that he just wanted to get his dick wet and you were easy enough to do it for him.

Being here today only happened because like Uncle Wiz was saying and based on what Bea had told you, he wasn’t supposed to be working because he originally took off for his birthday.

As you prepare to shake off and decline Wiz’s request, Caleb walks into the wide open space. In that moment, every single emotion, thought, and feeling you worked hard to suppress after all these months came rushing back like a hurricane fueled flood.

“We were just talking about you,” Wiz said as he told Caleb to come closer. You refused to look at him. But you could feel his eyes burning into you the closer he got.

Then when his cinnamon apple like scent flooded your nostrils, you tried to hold your breath like you were a vampire trying not to pounce on a human being whose blood smelled equivalent to ambrosia.

“She’s looking to get a piercing done, but Bea was supposed to do it and…well, you saw the tail-end of her and Marquis’ argument. If she’s cool with you doing it, you mind?”

“I don’t mind at—”

“I can come back another time,” you interrupt, keeping your focus on Wiz.

Caleb chuckles at your dismissive tone. But he’s not letting you get away again so easily. “If you don’t want your piercing done, fine. But I’m sure you at least want to know about Bea?” You turn your head slightly, but still not giving him your eyes.

“Marquis called me, but I don’t think you or them want the entire parlor in their business.”

Caleb and Marquis are similar to you and Bea in terms of friendship—really close and tight knit. They’ve been friends since high school and found their way through the tattoo world together.

You can see in the corner of his eye how he tilts his head in the direction he came. “Cmon, I’ll tell you what he told me so you don’t worry.”

Every part of you wants to leave and not be in any secluded area with this man, but you are concerned about Bea. You don’t want to cause a scene of trying to get out of this by curtly denying him and making Uncle Wiz wonder what your deal is.

Honestly, you didn’t know if anybody else knew what happened between you and Caleb. You know you never said anything, Bea never said anything, and you’re sure Caleb didn’t. 

And you would like to keep that under wraps forever, if you could. So you just nod, still looking at everything but Caleb until he begins to walk. As you follow him, you can’t help but begin to admire his strong tattooed arms in his sleeveless black shirt and the black jeans that hug his waist so well.

His boots thud against the floor on your journey down the vintage-esque hallway with several photos and copious amounts of unique artwork.

Once Caleb approaches the second to last door at the end, he steps aside to let you enter. You’re greeted by a slightly messy room with pencils and markers, rough drafts of pieces pinned across the walls, as well as a table with a light and equipment that seems like it was just in use.

“Sorry for the mess,” he apologizes as he shuts the door and flips the light switch to illuminate everything. “Was working on a project for a client—”

“Is Bea okay?” You stare at the floor as if your sneaker clad feet would be the one to answer your question.

“She’s fine. Marquis told me he was able to find her at some park they usually go to. He said they were talking everything out and that they’d be here before either of their first appointments.” It goes silent. “He said Bea appreciates you getting her phone and that she’ll make it up to you about these piercings you were getting.”

“Okay,” you huff. “Thank you.”

You get ready to walk out the door he stands besides, but he grabs your arm gently.

“Don’t…go.” He scoffs out a laugh. “I mean, fuck, can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“That’s bullshit. We fucked, or have you seem to forgotten that like you have my existence, apparently?” He gets closer to you, but you move back. “And when I tried to reach out, you ignored me, Bea wouldn’t tell me shit, and then I haven’t seen your face in months.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” you say sharply.

“Okay, but I do. You don’t get to make a decision about us without giving me a say so.”

For the first time in months, you put your eyes directly on his. And fuck…is he ethereal.

“Us?” you repeat in disbelief. “There is no us. There was never an us. We were barely considered friends!”

“There she is,” he grins like his plan that you didn’t even know he had, worked perfectly. “Now that you gave me your eyes, you gonna tell me why you ghosted me after the night we had, or am I supposed to try and figure it out through your scowls?”

“Caleb, get out the way.”

“Make me get out of the way,” he dares. “I let up on you before out of respect and I don’t care how you viewed the dynamic between us—I don’t like how you apparently chose to end it after what we did. Did I fuck up? Was I too rough?”

“Why does it fucking matter? We’re not a thing! We don’t owe each other anything!”

“So there was a problem,” he concludes.

The only way you’re getting out of this room is if you tell him something. Unfortunately, your brain decides to tell him the truth instead of sticking with the lie that you curated on the tip of your tongue.

“We were never close enough for what we did to be more than what it was. I simply removed myself so that you could get back to being the way that you are.”

Immediately he’s insulted, shaking his head like he has to jumble your words up again to make sure he understood you. “The fuck do you mean the way that I am? How exactly am I?”

“It seems like everyone but you knows,” you mumble.

He wipes his hand down his face in frustration. “Could you cut the riddle bullshit and just say it?”

“No.” Your determination is admirable, but he sees through your facade. He sees the way your nipples strain against your ribbed tank top, the way you can’t stop staring at the tattoos along his fingers, the piercing in his brow, or the one on his tongue when he licks his lips out of habit.

“I have to get it out of you, then?”

“You’re not doing anything but moving so that I can leave.”

“You wanna bet?”

Caleb couldn’t understand why you going cold bothered him so much. You’re not the first girl to be one and done with him, but you’re the first where he felt—no, knew—that there was something specific that made you pull away from him. He wanted to let it go, to let it be, but he also promised himself that if he ever saw you again, he’d get his answer one way or another.

You watch with wary eyes as his hand goes to the lock behind him, clicking it into place to keep you stuck in here with him.

“If you tell me no—if you tell me that you’re serious and that you want me to back off, I’ll never bother you again. But if you don’t utter that word before I get my hands on you, since I couldn’t get you to tell me what your problem is…I’ll have to make you.”

The thought of Caleb never talking to you again sends a wave of sadness through you. You know you should be protesting, but in truth…you don’t want to. Much to his liking, you don’t answer.

“Figured,” he says confidently.

Your body feels like it’s made of jello with the way you wobble where you stand.

“No bra and Bea being the one to do it for you…” he shifts the conversation, smiling widely as it settles in. “You were piercing your nipples, baby?”

“That’s none of your business.” Your face immediately grows hot.

“My tongue is about to be in your pussy in the next few seconds, so yeah. It is my business.”

Your eyebrows furrow, but there’s no time to be confused because he takes two grand steps your way, lifting you just enough to sit you down on the padded piercing table.

He doesn’t bother teasing or playing with you anymore, sucking on your nipples through your shirt when your tits are in his face. Your back arches into his hot mouth instinctively, your pussy throbbing in your jeans because of the metal ball in his mouth that swipes against your sensitive peaks each time he alternates between which one he thinks needs some more love.

“I’ll pierce them for you when I’m done. I know them better than Bea, don’t I?” he chuckles when your objection shifts into a moan that you have to suppress with your hand to your mouth.

“Tell me why,” he mumbles into your tits, gently biting on them when you pull his hair a little too hard from the intensity.

“I’m scared I’ll be wrong,” you shockingly admit through unshed tears when he starts to kiss up your neck, feeling the chill of his month being away from where you need them to return.

That thought crossed your mind a lot. That you shot yourself in the foot over something underlying that you weren’t ready to admit.

Caleb may sleep around, but what if he really did want you in ways you didn’t know?

What if you would’ve just went and fucking asked him instead of assuming?

But the fear of it being the opposite, experiencing that realization and embarrassment, trumped any other potential belief.

“Let me take that fear away, then.”

You remain focused on the way he brings your hips to the edge of the table, undoing your jeans as he kisses your lips. Your hands frantically grasp at his hair that he’s cut a little shorter, but it’s a difference you like. Skillfully, he holds the kiss as he guides you to lift your hips to get your pants down your legs without needing to say a word.

“Tell me yes,” he pecks your lips several times, a string of saliva constantly forming from how wet the exchange is. “Like the first time. The way you begged me. Let me hear you again, pretty. You don’t understand how much I’ve missed it.”

There’s so many emotions and questions coursing through you as you nod quickly, your eyes prickling with tears. You pull at the hair on the nape of his neck, your fingertips finding their way to the simple quote down the side of it. It’s like you’re trying to trace him to commit him to memory in case this really is something you’ll never have again.

“Please…Please taste me, Caleb..”

“You’re so good, baby,” he breathes, falling to his knees so that he can worship you better than he did when he slid inside your pussy. Immediately, he covers your mound with his mouth. You can’t sit up like this anymore when he starts to suck your clit, your body giving out on you as you slowly fall back and onto the cool leather.

The metal in his mouth teases your sensitive nub while his tongue writes his name into your flesh. Each stroke of the thick muscle between your sensitive lips is enough to finally pull the tears from your ducts to cascade down your temples.

He pulls back, gathering his spit to drench your cunt in it before delving back into you like a second wasted will make you realize that this isn’t where you want to be.

“I fucking missed you,” he declares, licking long stripes up and down your pretty pussy. “I haven’t touched anyone since you let me have you. I couldn’t get you off my mind.”

You choke on your cries, a foreign warmth completing you at the sincerity of his words.

He indulges in you like a man starved of what is rightfully his and all you can do is become a mess under his spell. The wet sounds of your juices as his tongue opens you up like a wallflower, drives you to be incapable of holding on any longer.

“I’m gonna come…” Your hold in his dark strands grow tighter.

“I know...You’re so sensitive, just like I remember. Like I always dream about.”

The confidence in his response, like the one time with your body was all it took for him to know it so well, makes you bite your lip hard as your body jerks when you orgasm makes you feel what it’s like to be torn between two realms.

His nose moves back and forth in your warmth, your walls clenching around his tongue while he continues to spread your slick everywhere he can.

You can’t control your moans, your legs raising to give him room at the same time your tits rise and fall in an effort to ground yourself.

Caleb quickly separates from you, standing up to climb over your body, attacking your lips so that he can swallow your cries. Your taste on his tongue makes you whine into the kiss the more he licks into your mouth. He rests his forehead against yours, his breath fanning against your face.

“I thought I was just another notch on your belt,” you finally voice the truth to him. “I thought you used me, and I was too scared to find out if it was true.”

“Oh, baby…” he breathed in defeat as if your words have crushed his heart. “You thought you were a fling?”

“How could I not? You have…a history, Caleb.”

“That’s fair—if we were strangers.”

“We might as well have been.” Your breath finally settles. “I didn’t exactly know how you moved until after, when Bea told me. We don’t know each other as much as you seem to think we do.”

“You seem to not know me, but pretty girl,” he kisses your neck. “I know you.”

“I feel like that needs some explaining.”

“It does,” he smiles. “Let me take you home after I get off. I’ll tell you everything you don’t know. That can be your other birthday gift to me.”

You ruminate on his proposition before you agree, but every single nerve in your body—aside from having the orgasm—is raised.

What does he know? What has he been hiding?

But it’s no point in pondering on something you have zero clue about. Like he said—tonight, you’ll learn.

True to his word, after Caleb cleans you up, he sanitizes your nipples, prepares his station like its second nature, and pierces them for you. He guided you through every breath and praised you for each successful puncture. He even admired them with you as he stood in front of a mirror with you in front of him so that you could admire yourself.

You didn’t know if it was Caleb, the piercings, or both, but you could feel and understand that confidence Bea spoke of.

“I can’t wait until they heal,” he kisses down your neck, pressing his bare chest to your back. He never brought up the fact that he didn’t come, so you assumed the reason the poor man behind you got so heated that he had to take his shirt off, is because he needs to come.

But you’re not going to say anything either. Since he apparently has something’s he’s kept secret, maybe he needs this little punishment.

But you can’t deny that the view of the few tattoos on his body doesn’t make you want to put his cock in your mouth.

“What will you do once they are?”

“You’ll see. Just don’t disappear on me again, yeah? It’s good to check in with your piercer. Have to make sure everything is healing nicely.” He grips your waist, making you suppress a smile.

When you’re finished, Caleb gives you a large spare shirt of his since your tank top is still wet from where he sucked on your nipples.

At the same time that you leave the room with him right on your tail, Bea and Marquis walk in. Thankfully, they look way happier than whatever was being said about them earlier. But, Bea’s eyes look at you, then Caleb, the shirt you wear, and the slight flush on his cheeks.

That’s all she needs to know that you two have a whole bunch of hours of crucial information to exchange ahead of you, but when you tell her where you’ll be tonight, she’s going to wish she was a fly on the wall.

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this, like it honestly felt like I was writing a chapter for a novel in a weird way. I can only hope you luvlys actually enjoyed this as it’s more of a full fledged out story than it is straight up sex going on and it wasn’t even really any of that in this. I’m sorry if that’s what you were looking for, by my masterlist is full of it, so I’m sure you’ll be fine LOLLL.

Tags 🏷️: @innergardentoadpony @teacupwaifu @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler @ajyoursgirl @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @honeycrispangels @dummiebunny @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @asiatic-apple @callads7 @caien @stargirlygirl @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @lazygelpen @floatinginaer @meadowinthesky @floatinginaer @grackerzzz @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @inutrasha94 @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine

[tojisteddy]

BLACKCAT!READER who frequents at the bar the tf141 have basically called their home.

It’s filled with everyone in SpecGru every time a mission ends successfully— it’s loud, roudy and everyone is looking to have a good time. Of course you had to be there. Little minx was always down to party.

And at first, no one pays blackcat!reader any mind, just another girl who wants to fuck a military man; joining in on the terrible karaoke, drinking games, dancing like your life depends on it and betting during card games. And maybe it’s the 10th time Gaz has seen you around, so he indulges in the poker game your apart of— but it’s the way you play that’s just too fucking familiar for his liking.

You crack your neck before you start, overhand then pile shuffle the cards, and cut the deck while looking right at the person to your left right in the eyes, then deal the cards like a pro. And the game looks so simple, so easy to Gaz that he’s sure he’ll win in less than ten minutes. You’re talking big shit, smirking and egging everyone at the table to bet forty pounds more because why the hell not, what could happen?

Eager to win, Gaz puts down an extra fifty just this one time, you match it to make him feel even better. And finally, the man slams his hand down, rejoicing obnoxiously in delight. You pout, eyebrows furrowed as you place your hand down.

“But I thought I won?”

And the whole area is then filled with howls of laughter and yelling, your deck topping Gaz’s by a single joker.

Annoyed he downs the loser cup that’s filled with god knows what, praying he doesn’t hurl as you collect all the money on the table with a sly grin.

Like you hadn’t been sitting there for the past hour collecting men and women’s money like tissue hand outs.

And Gaz and no one else thinks anything of it, till your making your way to the bar like a happy kitty kat, getting called to come ‘have a good time’ by lower ranks here and there, your ass up like a tail, swishing with ease with every move. You’re tipsy because you lost a few rounds but you know exactly where you’re supposed to be, after a long night of fucking around— with Ghost Riley of course.

And it’s a shock to everyone who’s had their eyes on your gorgeous self the whole night— in a white crop top that’s sliding of your shoulders showing off your stomach, black micro shorts that’s just barely covering your ass, mid calf fur stilettos, curls in high ponytail with a few stray hairs perfectly out of place. Layered bangles & necklaces adorning your wrists and neck and large hoops that met your shoulders, black glasses perched on the end of your nose, matching you long black & silver manicured nails with and a brown lip liner.

Ghost, a man who didn’t take most women who approached him serious in any regard, even if he left with them for the night. A pretty little thing that was eager to have that man’s attention despite him being in the middle of talking to Soap. Of course he didn’t give it to you straight away, letting you lean on him while his hand found the small of your back, slowly down to your ass— squeezing. blackcat!reader who pulled out the chunk of cash she’d won from her purse and giving a portion of it to Riley, his brown eyes gleaming with mischief— pride.

Oh, you weren’t just a random— you were Ghosts.

The slithery bastard, known for not only being good at any card game, talking shit without flinching, but cheating and never getting caught— had taught you how to play poker to a T.

And it was a sight for that brute who got annoyed at anything, letting you sit in his lap, lifting your chin and putting his half empty whiskey to your full lips and chuckling when you cringed at the taste. Plopping you back down in his lap when you tried to get up too fast.

“Take a fuckin break, you’ve been movin all damn night.”

The man doesn’t bother explaining to any of the 141 what the hell just happened once your off on your merry way.

It was just known, Ghost was in possession of a new pet— perfect to look at, absolutely no touching.

a/n: Idk if anyone will like this format but I wanna try it. Am I doing this instead of writing my essay, well yes!

most recent masterlist blackcat!reader

[lokischocolatefountain]

at last, my love has come along

Fandom: Gladiator II Pairing: General Acacius x Wife!Reader Rating: PG13 Word count: 2.9k words Summary: After the end of a loveless marriage, your father finds a match for you in General Acacius. Warnings: age gap, arranged marriage, mentions of maternal and infant mortality, widowed reader, widowed Acacius, past neglect, virgin!reader. A/N: Marcus Acacius has me in a chokehold and he knows I like it. This is a second look at the characters from home in three days, do not wash but happens earlier. You can read them in whatever order you wish. Title stolen from Etta James' At Last.

“What is he like? The Dominus?” 

“He is very kind,” said one of the girls who worked on your toga. You nodded, the pearls in your earrings brushing against your skin and making the hairs on your body stand upright. 

“What of my hair?” 

“What of it, Domina?” 

“The sun has already set. You said the Dominus will be home soon,” you said, fidgeting with the silk fabric that your sisters had presented you with before you began your travel from your village to the city. Something that would help you fit in better with the fashionable ladies and not make your husband, the General, look bad in society’s eyes. 

It was not for lack of wealth that you did not own many luxurious fabrics. Only that such things did not reach your village easily and your father, despite his place in the Senate, never brought the right things home. Not for a lack of love for you and your siblings but a lack of taste in women’s clothing and jewelry. 

You thought as a young girl of only fourteen that your husband, the first one, would bring you the soft silks and lustrous gold unlike your father. But he did not even bring himself home. You had been married off through letters exchanged between him and your father. It took two of living in his mansion and raising his two children from his last marriage before he finally came home. And when he did, he did not act as a husband should. Not how your older sisters told you he ought to be. 

When Consus passed, you mourned not as a wife but as a friend. 

“The dominus prefers unbraided hair,” the girl standing behind you said. You nodded, registering the information in your heart. You wanted to know all that there was to know about him before he even arrived. Perhaps then you would be pleasing enough to have a fate different from your last marriage. 

It had been all but a year since you were widowed that your father brought you news that you would be wed to a General who lived in the capital. There was no wedding for you even this once. A repeat of your last fate. You had resigned to never knowing your husband when you reached his grand home and spent your night with servants rather than his bed. 

How foolish you were to hope. 

But the situation changed for the better quite suddenly when you received word that General Acacius was returning from his travel soon. You expected that the news would calm your nerves but it somehow achieved the opposite. Fear. 

When the girls were happy with how they had decorated you for your husband’s eyes, they led you to his chambers. They left you there alone to stew in your anxieties about how the night would fare. The quiet of the night did not help matters. All that filled the space was the tides of the sea and the occasional clinking of your bangles as you fidgeted with your dress. 

It was all you yearned for in your last marriage, a night of intimacy as a husband and wife should. But now that you were at the precipice of getting what you wanted, dread filled your chest. You’d heard from your older sisters and servants what it was like to lay with a man. From their stories, it did not seem enjoyable. Not for women. It was only something to bear for the sake of having children. And all you wanted was to have children. 

You loved Consus’ children of course. They were all you had in the lonely life you led with him. But they were taken from you soon, married off or sent to battle in many campaigns. And you wanted your own children. Have what your brothers and sisters had. Hold your newborns in your arms and raise them from their first breaths rather than from the middle of their childhood. 

In your fantasizing of motherhood, you had completely forgotten that you had to be bed by your husband to become a mother. You had forgotten your sisters describe how painful it would be the first time a man took you. If one’s husband was a barbarian with a big cock, it would hurt each time although not as much as the first. A servant girl told you that she had the luxury of a kind husband who would not touch her if she said she was feeling unwell. But there were also husbands who would beat their women for refusing to perform their marital duties when asked. 

Your thoughts grew louder and louder in your head until you couldn’t hear the ocean anymore. And you most certainly did not hear when the doors opened and your husband entered. When you perceived his presence, he was already sat by you. When he spoke your name, your heart nearly jolted out of your chest. 

He laughed softly and looked you over with a smile on his plush lips. The candle lights illuminated his golden skin and the strands of gray that interspersed his dark hair. The candle on his other side shone bright to highlight his silhouette, his aquiline nose standing bold, characteristic of a valorous man. The sight had you transfixed and you wondered if his godlike visage aided him in battle. If it distracted his enemies long enough for him to slay them. 

He reached his hand out to yours, brought it up from your lap and placed a kiss on your fingers. He looked up at you from your fingers, his brown eyes drawing you in like Cupido himself was pulling your strings like a marionette. 

“I have kept you waiting for long.” 

Not as long as Consus did. But you kept the comment to yourself. You’d never come close to a marital bed but something told you that men did not want to hear about a woman’s previous husband. 

You spoke for the first time in his presence. “You are an important man. I understand.” 

He smiled, dropping your hand to the space between you but not leaving it. His hand was rough from battle yet gentle in touch. It enveloped yours, exuding a soft dominance like the rest of him did. He was quite large and you winced internally, hoping that it did not translate to his size elsewhere. Did your sisters ever tell you about the relationship between the size of his man and his manhood? You couldn’t quite remember. 

“Have the servants made the home comfortable for you? It has been quite a while since this home had a domina.” 

You nodded and licked your lips, wishing you could run out to fetch some water for your drying mouth. “It is comfortable. And very beautiful. I have never seen the ocean before.” 

“There is nothing like the peace the sound of the waves brings. Nothing like the cool breeze at night and relaxing on the balcony to indulge in the stunning blue expanse.” 

“The sight of the ocean when the sun sets is truly incomparable. I spent many evenings mesmerized by it.” 

Like magic, the pressure in your lower belly disappeared. You spoke about the beauty of Rome and indulging in it. He put you at ease, drawing smiles out of you, each one wider than the last. But you had a way of finding something to torture yourself over. As you exchanged details about your past, you blurted the question out. 

“Am I to your liking?” 

“You are beautiful. Worthy of the praises your father sings of his younger daughter in the senate. And at banquets. The bathhouses and libraries and markets. Rome does not know your name but she knows you.” 

“I…” you swallowed, relieved that he found you beautiful but afraid for everything else to come. You were inexperienced but even you knew that beautiful faces were not enough to be an adequate wife. It was not adequate for Consus and you did not want a repetition of that with the General. “I do not know what you require in a wife. But I will learn. I have kept my hair out of braids. I learned that you prefer it that way. I will learn everything else too.” 

Please allow me to learn. Do not discard me for my inadequacies before I have the opportunity to prove myself. 

“Your father also described you as dutiful. I see he was right.” 

“Stand up,” he said and took your hand once again, guiding you to stand in front of him. “Undress. Let me see you.” 

He leaned towards the headboard of the bed, relaxing with his arm draped over it as he looked at you. You felt your heart thud like a galloping horse on the battlefield. Like a good soldier would, you persisted into your own battle and undid the ties and clasps that kept your clothes in place. He sat back, exuding power with his broad shoulders, wide chests and thick thighs spread apart. 

Something about the situation made you feel like cattle in the market being evaluated by customers. Did the cows feel the way you did? Did they wonder as they were purchased if they would be slaughtered for meat or kept to be bred and milked? At least they had the peace of mind knowing that the man who bought them was satisfied with his purchase. 

The General hadn’t seen you before he took you for a wife. 

Silk pooled around your legs and the cold breeze he’d waxed poetic about caressed your skin. The cold and the shame of being bare in front of a man persuaded you to cross your arms over your chest. You kept your eyes on the ground, focusing on his feet and yours being so close together. 

You jumped when his hand grazed your elbow but refused to look at him for fear of what you would find. Disappointment? Disgust? Anger? You could not fathom which would be the worse outcome. 

“Do not hide from your husband,” he said, gently prying your arms apart. Arms by your side, you dug your fingernails into your palm to keep from covering yourself again. Consus never laid a hand on you— never bedded you, never hit you. The General had been sweet so far, but you did not know who he was and what he did when angered. 

He held your hip and caressed your soft skin with his calloused hand. You inhaled sharply, overwhelmed by the proximity of his hand to your core. You pressed your thighs together, your feminine demureness anxious to keep your most intimate parts hidden from men’s eyes. 

“Turn around. Slowly,” he said, guiding you by your hips. As soon as you faced away from him, you brought your hands back up to cover your breasts. He did not seem to notice as his hand trailed down to your rear and grabbed your flesh in both hands. You whimpered, feeling somehow more exposed though you had not become more naked.

“Beautiful…” he hummed as he rotated you to face him once again. You dropped your arms to your sides as though you had touched a hot pot, his instruction ringing in your ear. 

“And obedient… I could not have chosen better. Now show me what you can do, girl.” It was enough for you to finally look up at him. There were none of the expressions you feared you would see. He looked quite relaxed and you were afraid you would ruin that with your ignorance of what you were to show him. 

“I will do anything you ask,” you answer meekly, hoping he would tell you exactly what he wanted you to do. Hoping he would instruct you every step of the way. 

“Show me how you will serve me.” 

You swallowed, thinking through every bit of information your sisters and servants had given on pleasing a man. It all came down to obedience, to lying down and taking what your husband gave you. Were you supposed to do something else? 

“P-please,” you whispered, the world distorted as it spilled from your trembling lips. “Show me what I should do.” 

He stood up, startling you and forcing you to take a step back. He placed a hand on your lower back and caressed gently like you did a litter of feral kittens when you were a girl. 

He placed a finger under your chin and nudged you to look up at him. “Nothing you should do, beautiful girl. I only want what you want to do.” 

“I have never…” you trailed, shaking your head in denial. “I am still chaste,” you blurted out. He froze in place, deep brown eyes boring into you.

“Your father said you were a devoted mother.” 

“To Consus’ children. Borne by his first and second wives. After his second wife died in childbirth, he— I raised the children.” 

“You do not want children of your own?” 

“I do!” You exclaimed quickly, afraid this life would be taken from you once again. You kept silent throughout your marriage and you couldn’t do that again. Not if it meant your womb staying barren. “I do. Consus, he— both his wives before me died in childbirth and the children— he did not want them to lose another mother. So he never touched me. I am chaste.” 

“Your father did not tell me.” 

“I did not tell him. Consus wrote to my family that I lost pregnancies. Had my father known that he was— that we did not live as a married man and woman— he would have had me divorce him. Consus did not want that for the children and I could not tell my family the truth until he passed. Please… If my father believed I could not bear children, he would not have arranged for our marriage.” 

You naively believed your father would have informed the General of your predicament. Giving one’s daughter to a man when you believed her barren was no small slight. Your felt as though a stone had lodged itself in your throat. You had just doomed yourself and your father. He could march up to the senate come sunrise. Humiliate your father. Take his sword to his neck. All because you were too foolish to know how to please a man. 

“What of you?”

“What of me?” You asked, confused. He took your hands in his and guided you to sit on the bed. He joined beside you.

“Why did you remain loyal to such a loathsome man? One who besmirched you to your family rather than admit to his deficiencies as a man?” 

“I was young and foolish. When I realized that he would never give me children, I… he had already lied enough to my family about my—” you stopped and shook your head. There was no need to speak ill of the dead man. No need to remind yourself how your barrenness made you the laughing stock of the village. “I resigned myself to the fate the gods had chosen for me. And I grew to love his children as my own.”

“I want more children. I ha— all my sons are dead, a few daughters too.” 

You nodded, your chest clenching from the pained look in his eyes. It was universal. Almost everyone who’d had children had lost children. But the pain never subsided. You’d seen it in your sisters, noble women of the highest ranking, in servants and slaves. The first time in a General.

“I want to have children.” 

He smiled and nodded before picking up your linen stola from the ground and wrapping it around you. He cupped your cheek, his hand engulfing the entirety of your face. He tilted his head, a soft sigh escaping his lips as his eyes bore into yours.

You leaned closer to him, praying you remembered how to kiss from the few times with a servant girl when you were only thirteen. Anticipation and anxiety had your heart racing together. When he finally touched his lips to yours, he quietened every anxiety, leaving only excitement behind. You placed a hand on his armor, the hardness of the metal underneath the leather contrasting the softness of his lips. Your other hand moved of its own accord, finding the nape of his neck. His soft curls tickled your fingers and he sighed into the kiss. 

He traced your lips with the tip of his tongue and you opened up, welcoming him. A sense of calm settled in you as you explored each other. In his arms, you found safety for the first time since your arrival. His lips coaxed you to the gates of heaven and you followed as you imagined soldiers followed your General into war. With some fear of the uncharted territory yet brave because they trusted his leadership.

When you pulled away from each other, something felt changed. He no longer felt like a stranger. Something in his eyes, an openness inviting you into his life. 

The ravages of war and time were evident in his features. A scar on the bridge of his nose perhaps from a time he came too close to his own end. His skin was spotted with marks from the sun. His eyes were soft not from the naïveté of youth but from seeing the harsh world. His golden skin peeked from under his beard decorated with a few grey flecks. You caressed a patch of skin where his beard did not grow. 

Not an hour had passed since you met him but in his embrace, glancing into his eyes, you knew life would be peaceful.

Follow and turn notifications on on @chocofountain-notifs to be notified when I post. Find my other PPCU fics here.

[vantetaes]

SPRING FLING🫧🥂

COUNTRY BOY! EREN X CITY GIRL BLACK FEM READER

SUMMARY!!! yn goes back to visit what once was her home 15 years ago, only to meet a new face.

WARNINGS!!! 18+!!! high sexual themes! oral (f receiving), penetration, slow burn before smut

a part of you missed it. waking up to the fresh smell of sausage sizzling in hot grease while grits simmered on a burner next to it. feeling the cool summer breeze whip around your sweltering body from playing kickball in the large mowed field with some of the towns kids. drinking freshly squeezed lemonade your grandmother made before tending to her garden.

as the driver slowly approaches your grandparents estate, your heart couldn’t help but to let up a little. the large white house still sat perfectly on their plot of land.

“yn, sweetheart!” the houses screen door flys open with a screech. your grandmother dressed in a flowing white dress, tan beach hat, arm decorated with small gold bangles and her wedding band catching rays of sun.

the driver places his car in park, opening his door to retrieve your suitcase from the trunk. hopping out of the yellow vehicle, the older lady meets you halfway. wrinkled hands caressing your face, she smiles.

“it’s been too long. you’re all grown up on us!”

before anything could leave your lips, a grunt comes from around the bend of the house. your grandfather, covered in motor oil and dirt caked overalls. he removes his gloves, walking towards you and his wife, smile reaching his ears.

“ah i would hug ya honey but im dirtier than the pigs!”

your grandparents liked the life they lived away from the city. the way they could sit on the wrap around porch, grandfather sipping a beer and grandmother some lemonade, their towns newspaper tucked in their palms. watching as the sun ducked their bright red barn, casting a golden glow over the crops and animals grazing on the lush landscape. the stars peeking through transparent clouds, moon creating its atmosphere in the sky.

your grandmother enjoyed picking fresh fruits from her orchard, baking pies and making jams with the delectable fruits. your grandfather loved the lake that sat on the other side of the large property. growing up you’d grown to love these things about them.

as for yourself? you wouldn’t be caught dead doing half the things they do.

your career path led you to pharmaceutical consulting. working for one of the biggest companies in the world. it wasn’t something you enjoyed, but it funded the life you wanted.

living in a penthouse, well off from the city below you. the work was intense, demanding, and you needed to stay on top of it. anyone is replaceable in jobs such as those.

which is why you put in every single pto hour you had into a month long vacation.

to the middle of nowhere.

the wheels of the suitcase clank against the wooden stairs as your grandfather lugs it up the flight. following behind the older lady, excitement bubbles out of your grandmother while she quickens her pace, rushing to the door at the end of the hallway.

when she pushes the door open, it gives way easily, the hinges murmuring softly. the air that greets you is faintly cool, laced with the sweet scent of spring. someone had left the large french windows cracked open, the lace curtains drifting in slow, ghostly ripples.

“just like you left it, darlin’!” the lady says cheerfully.

stepping in feels like stepping back into a memory too fragile to hold in your hands. the room is pale, almost dreamlike. soft white walls, still wearing faint shadows of posters long torn away, frame the space. A canopy bed sits against the far wall, its sheer, pastel pink and ivory drapes spilling down like delicate water, pooled at the floor as if waiting for someone to step through them. the bed itself is made, layered with quilts of faint creams and frilly edges, whispering of afternoons spent sprawled on its surface with a book or diary.

“mary anne, we gotta get back to town to pick up some more feed for the chickens! ‘for the sun go down! i ain’t got my glasses either.” after placing your suitcase inside the threshold, your grandfather gives the back of your head a slight hold before placing a small kiss to the top.

“okay! okay! you ain’t gotta rush, clyde!” the two eventually leave you alone to unpack and do as you need.

to the right, a dresser waits, its porcelain knobs cool and familiar, though you can see chips where small hands must have struck too hard, too often. a vintage vanity mirrors the scene beside it, its surface cluttered with an array of glass perfume bottles, now dulled with dust. the mirror above has started to haze, its edges flecked with age, but you can still catch glimpses of yourself. a cushioned stool still sits beneath, its ruffled seat faded and threadbare.

the light here is alive. golden and warm, it pours through the cracked windows, catching on floating dust motes that swirl like restless fireflies. outside, unseen branches scratch faintly against the frame, their new leaves brushing with the weightlessness of spring. the breeze curls in through the cracks, carrying the faintest hints of magnolia and freshly turned earth, slipping beneath the canopy and rustling the skirts of the curtains.

there’s a rug in the center of the room, its edges frayed, and around it—near bookshelves that haven’t been touched in years—small details stand out like relics: a porcelain music box with its lid still half-open, a stuffed rabbit missing one eye perched on the window seat. all of it feels caught in a quiet kind of waiting.

your footsteps are softened by the wooden floor beneath, the boards groaning faintly under your weight. you look around and inhale deeply. it smells faintly of lavender, of clean linens, freshly cut grass, and mahogany wood.

the hot water washes away the weight of the morning and plane rides, the steam curling in soft, misty clouds that cling to the glass. you stand under the spray longer than you need to, letting it loosen muscles you hadn’t realized were tight, letting it strip the last remnants of dust from your skin. when you finally step out, the room feels cooler, the steam clinging to the mirror and walls in beads of condensation.

lathing your body in cocoa butter and applying a fair amount of lip balm.

you pull on something simple: a soft white tank top and a pair of loose cerulean cotton shorts, light enough to let the sun find your skin. carefully pulling your shower cap off, the water droplets falling down to your shoulders, running off your moisturized skin. you grab a new bottle of sunscreen from your spwarled out suitcase, the book ‘if cats disappeared from the world’, and your black chanel sunglasses.

as you make your way barefoot down the creaking staircase, everything tucked in between your arm. the house warm and bright in a way that feels both lived-in and empty. you’re halfway to the back porch when the front door swings open, and your grandparents call for your attention.

“hey, hold up a minute-” your grandfather says, pausing just inside the doorway, his hat in one hand and the keys to the truck jangling in the other. Your grandmother lingers behind him, hands resting on her hips, her face soft but serious.

“-we’re headed into town for a bit.” she says. “need some supplies for the farm and a few other things.”

you nod, shifting your weight onto one foot as you glance toward the back porch, toward the promise of sun and quiet.

“‘fore you run off-” your grandfather adds, pulling the hat onto his head.

“one of the town boys is ‘posed to be stoppin’ by. hes gone take a look at the barn, see about fixin’ up some of the beams we been neglectin’.”

“you’ll know him when you see him.” she says, a touch warily.

“so just keep an eye out. he’s probably fine, but you know how folks can be.”

something about their tone. half warning, half habit. makes you bristle. you know how quickly people judge someone based on a name, a family, a shadow cast long before them.

“all right.” you say lightly, hoping to end the conversation before it becomes something heavier.

“i’ll be outside if he shows up.”

your grandmother nods, giving you one last lingering look, and then they’re gone—boots on the porch steps, the truck’s engine growling to life and disappearing down the road. you linger by the door for a moment, watching the dust settle in the empty yard. the house feels quieter now, a little too still.

when you turn toward the back porch, the sunlight calls to you again, warm and golden, a balm for whatever comes next.

the back door opens swiftly, letting in gusts of spring air to sweep across the floors. trudging through the plains of grass tickling your thighs, you find yourself at the small floating pond your grandfather built. it sat in front of the large red barn, creating a scene of what farm living actually is.

the pond is fairly quiet, except for the hum of cicadas and the faint lapping of water against its banks. the cows deep moo a little in the distance. the sun hangs high, drenching everything in gold, and the heat wraps around you like a second skin.

you’re stretched out on a reclined lawn chair, a thin towel draped beneath you to catch the sweat. your sunglasses shield your eyes, and a book rests open in your hands, though the words blur a little under the laziness of the afternoon. a half eaten sandwich and a glass of fresh strawberry lemonade sweats beside you, the condensation leaving rings of water on the tiny wooden table. it’s sweet and cold against your tongue, a small relief in the heaviness of the heat.

your top is flung casually over the back of the chair, leaving you in a white bathing suit, comfortable and unbothered as you let the sun soak into your skin. the soft breeze off the water kisses your shoulders every now and then, rustling the pages of your book.

it isn’t until the sharp, uneven sound of boots on gravel carries over the quiet that you lift your sunglasses, brow pinching.

at first, you only catch a shadow moving toward you from the far side of the reservoir. someone tall, broad-shouldered, and clearly not your grandparents.

“hey!” the voice calls, deep but rough, like he hasn’t spoken much today.

you sit up a little straighter, your sunglasses slipping down the bridge of your nose as you look him over. he’s closer now, close enough for you to see the sharp lines of his face, the way dark hair falls a little too messily over his forehead. he’s wearing a plain t-shirt, worn jeans stained at the knees, and scuffed boots that kick up small puffs of dirt as he moves. there’s a toolbox in his hand, which he sets down carelessly at his feet.

“you’re, uh…-” he trails off, scanning you quickly before looking away, his jaw tight. he was issued to seeing old people on this property. but you were a sight for sore eyes. he couldn’t help but fixate his green eyes back onto you. watching as the beads of condensation dripped from the glass to your exposed cleavage, sliding down between your moisturized boobs. that were too big for the swim top your sported. his eyes fed off the way your e/c* eyes shined in the light under the black shields, lips glistening under the rays.

“im here for the barn. your grandparents said someone would be around.” his words are tight and frigid.

you blink, caught between annoyance and curiosity.

“yeah, they mentioned you.” you let your sunglasses slide back into place, leaning back in the chair as if his presence hasn’t disrupted anything.

“didn’t realize you’d be here so soon.”

“you’re welcome.” he mutters, a hint of sarcasm threading through the words as he squats to grab the toolbox.

you raise a brow, bristling.

“didn’t say i was thanking you.”

that makes him pause, glancing up through his lashes like he can’t decide whether to be amused or annoyed. a scoff releases from his lips.

“you sure are a real warm welcome, huh? and you’re reading a book about.. cats?”

“and you’re a little grumpy for someone who just got here. not that it’s any of your concern, i prefer cats over mutts.”

he huffs out a breath, maybe a laugh, but it’s hard to tell, and shakes his head, muttering something you can’t quite hear. you watch as he straightens up again, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead as if to dismiss you entirely.

“look, i’ll stay outta your way. just here to fix the barn, ma’am.” he says, nodding toward the distant structure.

“you can go back to… whatever this is.” his gaze flickers briefly over your lemonade, the book, your sprawled-out figure in the sun, before he turns on his heel and starts walking toward the barn.

you glare after him, irritation bubbling to the surface. the nerve of him, showing up out of nowhere with a chip on his shoulder like you’re the one invading his day.

“you’re welcome.” you call after him pointedly, though he doesn’t stop, just throws a hand up in a half-hearted wave of dismissal.

the barn door groans open in the distance, and you sink back into your chair with a huff, flipping your book shut. for the first time all day, the quiet doesn’t feel so peaceful anymore.

he had been long gone by the time your grandparents arrived back at the house. watching the sun set on the horizon out of the kitchen windows, casting a warm orange and pink hue to the house. you couldn’t help but to think about how strange of an interaction that was today.

“some’ wrong, darlin’?” your grandfather asks, pulling apart a small peice of his dinner roll, slipping it into his mouth.

“nothing papa. just tired i think. not really used to the time difference again.”

-

the kitchen smells like sugar, butter, and lemon zest. thick and warm in the morning light streaming through the windows. you stand beside your grandmother at the granite counter, your hands dusted in flour as you work a soft, pliable ball of dough, rolling it carefully under her watchful gaze. the little puffs of flour catch the light as they float lazily to the counter, turning the morning into something hazy and dreamlike. outside, the morning doves are already humming, and the breeze carries the faintest whiff of honeysuckle through the cracked window above the sink.

“not too thin now, dear.” your grandmother says gently, leaning over to inspect your work. her hair is pinned back neatly, and there’s a streak of flour on her cheek that she hasn’t noticed.

“these tarts need some structure, or they’ll fall apart ‘fore they make it to the church. we can’t have a lock in with no tarts, honey.”

“yes, ma’am.” you mutter, suppressing a small smile as you focus on the dough, guiding it into perfect little circles for the tart shells.

the table is cluttered with bowls and ingredients. deep red raspberries, bright and glistening, piled in a pale ceramic dish; a glass juicer with lemon pulp still clinging to its grooves; a small jar of sugar, the lid left slightly askew. your grandmother moves around the kitchen like she always has. calm, methodical, humming a hymn under her breath as she fills the air with the scent of baking pastry. you help her spoon the tart mixture into the shells, carefully pressing a few raspberries into each before she slides them into the oven, her hands covered in oven mitts patterned with sunflowers.

while the tarts bake, she chats softly about who will be at the church service, about old friends and new faces, her voice lilting as if trying to bridge the years that you’ve been gone. it’s comforting, her easy way of speaking, and you let it wash over you as you wipe down the counters, the scent of caramelizing sugar growing richer by the minute.

“i really appreciate your help this mornin’.” her sweet voice fills the silence.

your grandfather appears in the doorway just as you’re checking the tarts, a small grin tucked beneath his mustache. hes holding a set of keys. old, scratched, and gleaming faintly in his calloused hand.

“got something for ya.” he says, the words light but carrying a weight that makes you stop mid-step.

your grandmother glances over her shoulder, smiling softly as if she’s been expecting this.

“go on, now. see what he’s got.”

you follow your grandfather outside, the morning sun already high and hot, the light pooling across the gravel driveway. parked just off to the side of the house is a truck—not new by any stretch of the imagination, but clean, its pale blue paint shining faintly in the sunlight. it’s an older model, rounded and boxy in that classic way, and you can see where he’s spent hours tinkering with it. fresh tires, a polished hood, the faint scent of oil and steel lingering in the air.

“you’re givin’ me this?” you ask, a little breathless.

“sure am.” he replies, pressing the keys into your palm with a nod that’s gruff but affectionate.

“i’ve been workin’ on it a few months now. runs smooth s’ever. figured you might want somethin’ to get around while you’re here.”

the gesture hits you harder than you expect, and you swallow against the sudden warmth building in your chest.

“thank you,” you say softly, running your fingers over the keys before looking back at him.

he pats your shoulder in that firm, no-nonsense way of his.

“you go on, take her for a spin. just don’t let it sit idle too long, y’hear?”

you decide you can’t possibly drive your new truck around town in the same pajama bottoms and rumpled tank top you’ve been in since morning. after a quick shower, you stand in front of the mirror in your childhood bedroom, brushing your hair as the sun filters softly through the lace curtains. you choose something easy. a flowy white sundress, the fabric soft against your skin, cinched at the waist, flaring out below. it’s the kind of dress that moves when you walk, catching the breeze and making you feel like youre floating. slipping on tan sandals and grabbing your sunglasses.

sliding into the truck feels surreal, the leather of the driver’s seat warm beneath your legs as you turn the ignition. the engine rumbles to life with a satisfying purr, and you grip the wheel with a grin you can’t quite suppress.

the drive into town is nothing short of idyllic. the windows are rolled down, the warm breeze tugging at your hair and the hem of your dress as you cruise past fields of tall grass and wildflowers. radio crackles softly, static giving way to an old country song you don’t recognize but hum along to anyway. the town comes into view slowly. a handful of streets lined with brick buildings, white picket fences, and storefronts with painted signs. it’s small and familiar, a place where everyone knows everyone, and yet it feels entirely new through your eyes.

you park the truck just off the main street, slipping the keys into your bag before heading toward the square. the town is quiet, but there’s enough movement to remind you that life trickles on here. people chatting on porches, kids weaving through alleys on their bikes, a group of guys sitting on the bed of an old truck parked near the general store.

you don’t notice them at first, too busy taking in the details of the place. but their voices, loud and lazy—drift over as you pass.

“well, well.” one of them drawls, amusement curling through the words.

“ain’t expect to see you all the way out here.”

you glance over sharply, your gaze landing on none other than him. eren jaeger. leaned back against the tailgate of the truck, his arms crossed and a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. his friends exchange looks that border on curious and entertained.

“didn’t expect you to talk to me.” you shoot back without missing a beat, stopping just a few feet away.

eren raises a brow, clearly enjoying this already.

“oh, don’t worry. i’m just surprised you’re not still sunbathing by the pond, princess.”

“princess? it’s yn to you. and all of you.” you repeat, folding your arms across your chest.

“also, big talk for someone who can’t even find full jeans.” your acrylic points to the dirty man-made holes decorating the boys jeans.

that earns you a snort of laughter from one of his friends, but eren just tilts his head slightly, the smirk never faltering.

“guess you’re still mad about yesterday. why you so upset at me, darlin’?”

“mad? please.” you say, rolling your eyes. “nothing even happened.”

“mmh. sure you aren’t.” he says, pushing off the tailgate to stand up fully, his height a little more imposing up close. there’s something sharp about him. his voice, his gaze, but beneath it is something else, something less certain. you get the feeling he’s used to being looked at sideways, just like your grandparents warned you about.

“you always this charming, or is it just for me?” you ask, tipping your chin up slightly. eyes meeting his low green ones.

he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as his friends snicker quietly behind him.

“you’re somethin’ else.” he mutters, more to himself than to you. turning on your heels, you rush to excape the uncomfortable encounter.

“see you around, princess.”

-

the next day stretches out slow and quiet. the house feels bigger without your grandparents, their absence leaving a stillness that clings to every corner. you’ve taken full advantage of the solitude, padding barefoot through the rooms in an oversized t-shirt and little else. the fabric brushes against your thighs as you move, worn soft with age, like an old friend. the back of the shirt reads something about a fishing derby from a year that predates you, and you’ve rolled the sleeves haphazardly up your shoulders, letting the collar slip wide against your collarbone.

you spend the morning lazing on the couch, your legs sprawled across the cushions as you flip halfheartedly through a book you aren’t really reading. somewhere outside, birds chatter, and the cicadas hum their slow, pulsing chorus.

it’s the kind of day where time feels like it doesn’t exist. you shuffle into the kitchen whenever you’re hungry, toast a bagel you don’t finish, drink lemonade straight from the pitcher, and leave the radio on low just to fill the silence. some soft, crooning voice filters through the speakers, adding to the lazy weight of the afternoon.

you’re perched on the arm of the couch, knees drawn up to your chest, flipping through an old fashion magazine you found tucked in a drawer when the knock comes, sharp and sudden against the door.

it startles you, your head snapping up as the noise echoes through the quiet house. the second knock follows quickly, impatient this time. you glance toward the clock on the wall, but it’s no help, just another reminder that time isn’t real today.

frowning, you slide off the couch, tugging the hem of your t-shirt self-consciously as you head toward the door. the knob feels cool beneath your fingers as you pull it open just far enough to see who it is.

and there he is.

eren, standing on your grandparents’ front porch like he belongs there, though his posture suggests otherwise. hes got one hand braced against the doorframe, his other hooked loosely in the pocket of his jeans. a thin white t-shirt clings to him in the heat, faint smudges of dirt streaked across the fabric like he’s been working outside all day. his dark hair looks even messier than it did before. some tucked into the cowboy hat, other strands falling over his forehead and curling faintly from the humidity.

for a moment, he doesn’t say anything, his gaze catching on your bare legs before he flicks his eyes up to meet yours. his expression shifts, something unreadable dancing just beneath the surface. you realize too late how you must look: hair messy, t-shirt oversized and sliding off your shoulder, a little breathless from having rushed to the door.

“what?” you say finally, crossing your arms over your chest as if that might protect you from the way he’s looking at you.

“nice greeting.” he says dryly, his voice low and a little rough around the edges.

“well, you did show up uninvited.” you shoot back, arching a brow.

“what do you want?”

eren exhales through his nose, almost like he’s amused but trying not to show it.

“your grandparents asked me to stop by. said there’s a busted pipe in the barn and they didn’t want to wait until they got back to fix it.”

you frown, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe.

“and they sent you?”

“clearly.” his lips twitch, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“believe it or not, i know how to do more than just piss you off.”

you roll your eyes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

“well, the barn’s out back. you know where it is. the big. red. building.”

“i do. smartass.” he says, but he doesn’t move, and there’s a spark of something in his eyes. mischief, maybe. that makes you suddenly aware of just how much skin your t-shirt doesn’t cover.

“what?” you ask again, sharper this time.

“nothing.” he shrugs, the movement lazy as he pushes off the doorframe and takes a step back.

“just didn’t peg you for the type to lounge around in your underwear all day. but what do i know? you wore a bikini outside.”

heat flashes across your cheeks instantly, and you grip the edge of the door tighter.

“it’s not underwear, creep. it’s comfortable.”

“sure.” he says, smirk fully formed now as he starts toward the barn, hands tucked into his pockets.

“looks real… comfortable.”

you slam the door before he can say anything else, the wood rattling in the frame.

“asshole.” you mutter under your breath, but your voice is drowned out by the sound of his boots on the gravel, his laughter carrying faintly through the cracked window.

the hum of the radio drifts on, and sunlight still slants through the windows, but something about the space feels restless now. like the air has been disturbed and won’t settle again. you find yourself standing by the door, chewing your lip and staring at nothing in particular.

it’s curiosity, you decide. that’s all it is. you’re just curious about him. about the boy who showed up at your door unannounced, dripping sarcasm like it’s second nature, as though he thrives on pressing your buttons. that’s why, after pacing the kitchen once or twice, you tug on a pair of shoes and head outside.

the barn stands at the back of the property, worn and familiar, its paint faded and roof patched with tin that glints under the afternoon sun. the gravel crunches beneath your feet as you cross the yard, your shadow stretching long ahead of you. you can hear him before you see him. something clattering against metal, followed by a low muttered curse that drifts out through the open barn doors.

you pause just outside, peeking around the corner. eren is crouched low near the base of a wooden post, his toolbox spread out beside him, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. sweat glistens faintly along the line of his neck, dark hair curling slightly against his temple, though he seems too focused on whatever he’s fixing to notice you.

“i hope you don’t talk to the pipes like that.” you say, stepping into the doorway.

eren glances up sharply, his eyes narrowing as soon as he sees you.

“what are you doing in here?”

“just checking on you.” you lean against the frame, arms crossed, the hem of your t-shirt fluttering faintly in the breeze.

“you could be in here stealing, for all I know.”

he snorts, turning back to the pipe.

“yeah, im gonna steal an old tractor and a pile’a hay. that’ll really set me up for life.”

“you’ve got the attitude for it.” you shoot back.

eren doesn’t respond right away, just reaches into his toolbox and pulls out a wrench, testing the pipe with a faint metallic screech. you take the opportunity to wander further into the barn, your bare legs brushing against the dust-speckled air, the smell of earth and old wood thick in your nose.

“don’t distract me.” he mutters after a moment, though there’s no real heat in it.

“distract you from what?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him.

“you seem like you know what you’re doing.”

“i do.” he replies quickly, then pauses to glance up at you again, that familiar edge of sarcasm tugging at his voice.

“but I don’t need you hovering over me like a supervisor.”

“im not hovering.” you say, wandering toward the ladder that leads up to the loft. You trail your fingers along a beam as you go, the wood rough and splintered beneath your touch.

“im just… observing.”

“observing me.” he corrects, the corner of his mouth twitching.

you shrug, tilting your head to look at him.

“maybe. you’re hard to figure out.”

“well… why are ya tryin’ t’figure me out?” he fires back, turning his full attention to you now. his gaze is sharp, but there’s something behind it. something curious, like he’s trying to pick you apart the same way you’re doing to him.

you hesitate, feeling your face heat up despite yourself.

“im just bored.”

“bored ?” eren repeats, his voice dry.

“well, sorry im not here to entertain you, princess.”

you bristle at the nickname, pushing off the beam to face him fully.

“will you quit calling me that?”

“what?” he says, smirking now. “does it bother you?”

“obviously.”

“good.” he huffs a quiet laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he goes back to the pipe, adjusting the wrench with a sharp twist. the muscles in his forearm flex with the movement, beads of sweat dripping from his body.

“you’re insufferable.” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you turn and start to climb the ladder to the loft. the wood creaks faintly under your hands and feet, but you ignore it, needing to put a little distance between you and him.

“where are you going?” he calls from below, sounding more amused than anything.

“away from you!” you shout back, hoisting yourself onto the loft and brushing the dust from your knees. the space is dim, beams of sunlight filtering through the slats in the walls, catching on cobwebs and hay strewn across the floor. you sink down near the edge, letting your legs dangle as you glance back down at him.

“don’t worry. i won’t distract you from all your hard work.”

eren glances up at you with a look that’s half exasperation, half something else. he stands, tossing the wrench back into his toolbox with a faint clatter.

“or you could just gone back in the house. you’re a real piece’a work, you know that?”

“you’re one to talk.” you shoot back, swinging your feet slightly.

“you act like you hate me, but you keep showing up.”

“i don’t hate you and i keep showing up for your folks, not you.” he mutters, scrubbing the back of his hand across his forehead as he looks away.

“you just talk too much.”

“and you’re just cranky.”

he lets out a soft laugh, one that seems to surprise even him. when he looks back at you, his expression is different, though it’s hard to tell in the dappled light of the barn.

“you don’t know anything about me.” he says finally, his voice quieter this time.

you tilt your head, studying the man below you.

“maybe not. but I know you’re not as bad as everyone says you are.”

eren stiffens slightly at that, his jaw ticking as he averts his gaze. for a moment, the only sound is the wind pressing against the barn, rattling the boards, and the distant hum of cicadas.

“you don’t know that either. and what about you, huh? showing’ up outta nowhere. bein’ as bossy as you are?” he says eventually, his tone flat.

“im a pretty good judge of character. and i used to live here. a lot changes in fifteen years.”

he scoffs, but there’s no real bite to it.

“you’re annoying.”

“and yet you’re still here.” you say, letting a smile creep onto your face.

the loft creaks beneath you, but you don’t think much of it at first. it’s old, worn by years of weight and weather, and the barn itself seems to hum with the memory of its age. eren is below, fiddling with his toolbox, muttering curses under his breath as he wrestles with some stubborn pipe or post. you’re perched on the edge of the loft, legs dangling as you watch him, not bothering to hide your smirk.

“you’re taking forever.” you tease, your voice carrying through the barn.

eren pauses, glancing up with an annoyed glare.

“if you think you can do it faster, darlin’ , be my guest.”

“oh, i didn’t say that.” you reply, leaning back with a huff of satisfaction.

“i’m just observing how inefficient you are.”

he mutters something under his breath, shaking his head, and you’re about to push his buttons again when the sharp sound of splintering wood freezes you. the beam beneath you gives a slow, aching groan. erens head shoots up, noticing the lift giving in right where you sat.

you don’t have time to react. the wood cracks loudly, shattering the stillness, and suddenly you’re falling.

it happens in a rush. your stomach lurching, air rushing past you, hands scrambling for anything to grab. you hit something solid but not the ground. the impact knocks the wind out of you, but there are arms around you, holding you tightly.

“jesus christ!” eren’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and alarmed. “are you stupid?”

your brain catches up slowly, heart still slamming against your ribs as you look up to find eren staring down at you. his face is just inches from yours, his arms wrapped firmly around you where he caught you before you could hit the floor.

“i—” you start to say, but the words catch in your throat.

eren lets out a breath, long and shaky, as he lowers you carefully to the barn floor. his hands linger at your sides, steadying you. “are you okay?”

you try to nod, but then you feel it. the sharp, searing pain radiating up your leg. you wince, shifting slightly, and his eyes dart downward.

“you’re hurt.” he says flatly.

“no, i’m fine,” you lie, but as soon as you move your leg, the pain worsens. you look down to see a gash along your shin, blood streaking your skin where the wood must have splintered against you.

eren notices immediately.

“shit-” he mutters, reaching for you before you can protest. “don’t move.”

“eren, i’m fine,” you insist, but your voice wavers when you try to put weight on your leg.

“yeah, sure you are,” he shoots back, already scooping you up before you can argue. his arms slide beneath your knees and back, lifting you effortlessly.

“stop squirming, unless you wanna make this worse.”

you freeze, stunned at the way he carries you, like you weigh nothing at all. his face is set, focused, though you swear you can see a flicker of concern beneath the irritation.

“you don’t have to carry me.” you mumble, feeling heat creep up your neck.

he doesn’t look at you. “and what, let you drag yourself back to the house? don’t be stupid. now imma have to fix up the loft.”

the walk back to the house feels longer than usual, the silence stretching between you save for the crunch of his boots against the dirt. you steal glances at him—at the way his brow furrows in concentration, at the way his arms flex slightly beneath your weight. his grip is careful, like he’s afraid of jostling you too much.

“you’re really dramatic, you know.” you say quietly, trying to lighten the mood.

eren snorts, glancing down at you with a raised brow.

“me? you’re the one who decided to fall through the damn barn.”

“it wasn’t a choice.” you mutter, pouting slightly.

“whatever you say, princess.”

he carries you through the front door like it’s nothing, kicking it open with his boot before setting you down gently on the couch. the shift makes you wince, and he notices, crouching beside you immediately.

“last door on the left, under the sink.”

“stay put.” he says, voice low but firm, before disappearing into the bathroom.

you sigh, leaning your head back against the cushions as the adrenaline starts to wear off, leaving behind nothing but the dull ache in your leg and the embarrassment settling deep in your chest.

when eren comes back, he’s holding the first aid kit and a damp towel. he drops onto the floor in front of you, his knees brushing the edge of the couch as he sets everything down.

“this might sting.” he warns, wetting the towel before carefully pressing it to your shin.

you hiss through your teeth, nails curling into the couch cushion. “you could be a little gentler, you know.”

“i am being gentle.” he says, though his tone lacks its usual bite. he works quickly, cleaning the blood and dirt from the scrape before carefully dabbing it dry.

you watch him quietly as he unwraps a roll of gauze, his movements surprisingly careful, his expression softer than you’ve seen before.

“you didn’t have to do all this.” you say softly.

eren doesn’t look up, focused on securing the bandage.

“yeah, well. you’re not exactly good at taking care of yourself.”

“is that your way of saying you care?”

he pauses for half a second, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. the look he gives you is unreadable, but there’s something there. something warm.

“just… don’t do anything stupid like that again.” he mutters, his gaze dropping back to the bandage.

you bite back a smile, watching as he finishes and sits back on his heels. his hands linger on your leg for a moment, testing to make sure the gauze is secure before he finally stands.

“thanks.” you say quietly, your voice soft.

eren just shrugs, grabbing the first aid kit and standing to his full height. “don’t mention it.”

you try to mimic his movements, grabbing onto the arm of the couch for support until the pain shoots you right back down. eren wastes no time meeting you at eye level again, frowing a little.

“you need to stay put. stop being so damn hardheaded, yn.”

“finally you use my name.” his eyes burn deep holes into yours, brown chunks of hair framing his face.

“eh. i still like princess.”

he pauses, just for a second, as if he’s considering something. then he turns, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“both are real pretty though.” he mutters, but his voice is quieter now, softer. there’s an edge of something else there, something that’s hard to place.

you feel your heart pick up, and before you can even process the thought, before you can even think to stop him, he’s closing the space between you. his hand comes to rest gently on the side of your face, and then, with surprising tenderness, he leans in. the kiss is slow, hesitant at first. just a brush of lips against yours. but it deepens quickly, and for a moment, it feels like time itself is holding its breath. maybe you were holding your breath. his hand curls around the back of your neck, and you instinctively lean into him, eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of his lips presses against yours, soft and urgent.

the kiss is over almost as soon as it started, and when he pulls back, his face is so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your skin. his eyes are dark, a little unsure, but there’s something raw there too.

“eren?” you whisper, breathless, unsure of what to say, what to do with the sudden surge of emotions.

he doesn’t speak at first, just looks at you like he’s trying to figure you out. his fingers linger against your skin for a second too long before he pulls away, stepping back.

“um, guess i’ll get going then.” he says, voice low, almost like he’s unsure of himself for the first time.

he basically rushes out the front door, leaving you with a bloody gauze pad wrapped around your shin and a sense of confusion.

-

the farmer’s market buzzes softly with life. the air smells of ripe peaches and freshly baked bread, and the sunlight filters through the trees, dappled and golden. you weave through the crowd, your basket swinging lightly on your arm, filled with a small loaf of sourdough and a jar of honey. it’s your favorite part of the week, wandering between the stalls, picking out produce and listening to the steady murmur of the townsfolk.

you’ve got a small crumpled list tucked into your hand: oat milk, a jar of honey, maybe some fresh greens, and you’re weaving your way through the market when you spot him. eren. he’s standing with a man you can only assume is his father. the resemblance is impossible to miss: the sharpness of the jawline, the same dark hair, though his father’s is streaked with gray, and the way they both carry themselves. quiet and a little standoffish. they’re posted at a vegetable stand, crates of carrots, onions, and cucumbers spread out before them. eren’s arms are crossed as he listens to something his father says, his brow furrowed like he’s only half paying attention.

something about the way eren glances around, almost restless, makes you hesitate. you watch for a beat longer, tucked slightly behind another booth, debating whether to approach. but then eren looks up, and his gaze lands on you. for a second, he’s still, his face unreadable. then his eyes shift slightly, narrowing, and it almost feels like he’s warning you.

you step forward anyway, hobbling a little on your sore leg.

“eren.” you say, your voice soft but steady. his name feels strangely loud against the background chatter, and both he and his father turn to look at you.

eren’s face tightens slightly, but he doesn’t look away. his father, on the other hand, gives you a long, slow once-over, his sharp green eyes cutting into you with a coolness that makes your chest tighten.

“who’s this?” his father asks, his tone mild but clipped, like the words have edges.

“yn, sir.” you offer quickly, stepping closer and giving him a polite smile.

“i’ve been staying with my grandparents for the spring. i’ve seen eren around, so i thought i’d introduce myself. he helps around a lot.”

you hold out your hand, but his father doesn’t take it. instead, he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the booth’s counter, his gaze steady and unwavering.

“introducing yr’self, huh?” he says, his voice light, almost amused, but there’s something underneath it, something just sharp enough to make your stomach flip.

“not many of the town folk bother to stop by our booth, let’lone introduce themselves. guess you must be curious.”

you pull your hand back awkwardly, your smile faltering as you glance at eren.

“i just thought it would be nice, sir. i apologize.” you reply, trying to keep your voice even.

“your vegetables do look great.”

his father lets out a soft huff of a laugh, barely more than an exhale.

“yeah, they do, don’t they? we put a lotta work into this land. more than most people around here would know.”

eren shifts beside him, his jaw tightening.

“dad.” he mutters under his breath, but his father doesn’t even glance at him.

“you stayin’ with the wrights?” his father asks, tilting his head slightly.

“figured. they’re good people, always minding their own business. shame not everyone in town does the same.”

you blink, the words settling in your chest like stones. there’s no malice in his tone, not directly, but the weight of them is unmistakable.

eren’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, his shoulders tense.

“she’s just trying to be nice.” he says, his voice low, almost resigned, like he knows it won’t make a difference.

his father finally straightens, dusting his hands off on his jeans.

“nice is fine-” he says, glancing at you again. “-but not everyone ‘round here is friendly as they seem. might be worth ‘membering.”

the air between you feels tight, uncomfortable, and you’re not entirely sure if his words are meant as advice or something closer to a warning. you force another smile, even though your face feels stiff, and take a small step back.

“well, it was nice meeting you.” you say, your voice a little quieter now.

“i’ll let you both get back to work.”

eren looks at you then, his lips pressing together like he wants to say something but can’t. his father, however, just gives you a small, curt nod.

“have a good day, darlin’.” he says, the words clipped and formal.

you turn quickly, your cheeks burning, and make your way back into the flow of the market. the cheerful voices and warm sunlight feel duller now, muted by the lingering tension.

it’s not until you’ve stopped by another stall, pretending to inspect a bunch of lavender, that you feel eren’s presence beside you. you glance up, and there he is, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face pulled into a scowl.

“sorry about him.” he mutters, his voice low. “he’s… he’s just like that.”

you shrug, trying to act like it didn’t bother you, though the knot in your stomach hasn’t quite eased.

“it’s fine.” you say softly, but the look he gives you says he doesn’t believe you.

for a moment, neither of you speaks. the market swirls around you, full of life and sound, but between you, there’s only a quiet tension. finally, eren sighs, tilting his head toward the edge of the market.

“come on,” he says. “let’s get out of here.”

-

you’ve learned to move quietly, to slip through the back door of the house when no one’s looking, to meet him at the edge of the woods by the lake when the sun has set and the stars are just beginning to prick the sky. everything feels like it’s wrapped in silence, soft and secretive. even the air between you seems charged with something unspoken, something thrilling. for two weeks.

he was addictive.

soft whispers under your large quilts as his lips traced kisses from your neck to lips. engulfing you in a warm embrace. wind blowing through the windows he snuck into.

he loved seeing you drive past him casually in your truck while picking up groceries for your grandmother. watching your hair whip in the wind and the low hum of the trucks engine passing by.

when you and him sat in his living room, playing with the golden lab he named ‘scout’ when he was four. your fingers comb through his mane, tilting your face upwards to avoid from being licked by the drooling animal.

whenever your grandparents gave him yet another daunting task around the farm, he’d watch as your sprawled out in a bikini. sipping the sweet tea, beach hat shading your face. watching as the droplets of water dripped down your chest. he’d hate to admit how many times he’s almost nailed his hands to the barn.

“you okay over there?” your arm, half up in a wave, drawling his attention from your new position. you lay on your chest, slowly pulling at the strings holding your top up. letting them dangle off the side of the chair, you slide the waistline of your bottoms down a little.

“eren! why don’t you come have some lemonade with me?”

you were driving him nuts.

he loved how lively you would get after spending the afternoons in a tiny, quaint bar located on the outskirts of town.

the drives back usually consisting of you halfway out the passenger window, eyes gazing up at the sky as you took advantage of the open landscape. eren would watch you intensely, eyes bouncing from the road back to you.

pulling into erens dirty path driveway, he pulls your body across the long front seat, carefully tucking his arms under your knees and around your back.

“im not drunkk!” you whine, face buried into the crook of the man’s neck while he places you down softly on the dark leather couch. closing his front door, his hand runs through his brown locs with an exasperated sigh.

“you need to sober up so i can take you home, yn. i ain’t trynna deal with a angry mob of old church people.” his height blinds out everything in your path as he stands over you. his large hands cup your face gently.

“boy im grown, come here.” you whisper, pulling him down by the forearm, eyes never leaving his. green eye flicker from your eyes to your glossed lips. your essence was like a gravitational pull.

lips locked onto one another, you can’t help but to notice he much softer his lips have gotten.

“you been exfoliating?”

“i’on know what that is, shut up and kiss me.”

it was hungry. borderline filthy the way his hands rubbed you down slowly. caressing the dips of your waist, cold jewelry slides across your stomach, hitching your breath. the tank top you wore stood no chance. brown nipples poking through the sheer cotton fabric.

hes smiling. feeling his hands roam you so freely. he couldn’t help but to take his thumbs and pointer fingers, slipping them into his mouth and out with a quick pop! going back under your shirt, he takes your perky buds in between his fingers, rolling them slowly as the rest of his hands cup your breast.

“oh! eren- oh my god.”

his lips pepper kisses all over your exposed skin, nipping at spots before kissing over the pain. hands roam down to your thighs, giving them tight grips before sliding down the couch.

eyes latched onto each other, you can’t help but to whine.

“please eren.”

this was the first time in years you’ve felt this strong of an attraction towards someone else. crazy for it to be eren of all people.

“please, what?” he’s slowly tugging at the drawstrings of the shorts you wore. eyes locked on you with a burning passion. sitting up against the arm of the couch, your shorts make it to the other side of the room.

your jaw is wide , eren hissing when you tug at his long brown locks. the moment he’s sliding his middle fingers into your burning core, stretching you open as his thumb slowly teases your clit. his body proceeding lower, all you can feel is slight gust of air hitting your cunt. his lips wrap gently around the swollen bud, sucking agonizingly slow, saliva and slick stick to the man’s face. he hums into your taste, wrapping his arms around the base of your thighs. he laid fully out on the couch.

instantly, you’re falling apart. moans breaking out in short whimpers and high gasps, grinding into his palm and nose. feeling his tongue slip inside your clenching hole, only to add two of his slender fingers.

his fingers scissor up into your throbbing cunt, hitting your sweet spot.

“babyy” you whimper, barely able to get anything out with the man’s face devouring you below. eyes closed in euphoria and concentration. hands interlocked into his head full of hair, your moans grow louder.

“doin’ such a good fuckin’ job, princess.”

feeling how he used his thumbs to spread open your pussy, using his tongue to penetrate your clenching hole. his tongue dips into you, coating his tongue in your cum, before coming back out and circling your swollen bud. the repetitive sensation sends you into a fit of louder moans, enticing the man to keep going.

“oh! ba- fu,fuck eren! im fucking c-“ the pressure builds, coiling tighter in your abdomen until you can't hold back anymore. not even when you’re cumming all over the man’s face, does he stop. he wants more now. he needs more.

from the first day he saw you out by the water, he knew he wanted you for himself. he watched the way you interacted with the townsfolk and farm animals. how sexy you were effortlessly. walking around your grandparents farm with nothing but a bikini on and practically see through shorts.

he hated to see other men in town look at you. the way the old, decrepit men would sit in the farmers markets and watch you browse around. whispering to each other while you naively chose your fruits and vegetables.

he didn’t want to share you with anyone.

his body jolts to a standing position, with ease he’s dipping down to pick you up off the couch. a large wet spot decorated the leather where you lie. he’s carrying you over his shoulder down the narrow hallway of the house.

“where we goin’?” you ask, eyes low and hazy.

you make it to the well decorated room. posters and band prints scattered on the wall , a radio sat in the corner, humming random songs from the station eren left it on. his bed was royal blue and well kept.

that was until you were being pounded into the bed.

you nails grip for anything they can reach. digging straight into the bed set, while his throbbing cock dips in and out of you. he has your right leg thrown over his shoulder, hands pinned to your waist as he draws out. face twisting in pleasure. his dick coated in the slippery substance, a faint white line forming the base of his cock as he moves in and out of you repeatedly .

“makin’ such a mess on me. pretty fuckin girl.”

he waste no time, throwing your other leg over his shoulder, locking you in as he quickens his pace. shallow breaths escape his mouth, eyes locked in concentration. you’re stuck with your mouth in an -o- shape as the man pounds you relentlessly. with a swift pull out, he taps against your side.

“on your knees, princess.”

on all fours, he wastes no time reinserting himself, bottoming out while his nails dig into the supple skin on your waist. the sound of skin slapping together and the wet squelches of your abused cunt bounce off the walls, filling your ears.

“i’ve wanted you for so long, you’re so good to me- fuck!”

the more your honey coated words fall from your lips, the more the man wants to ruin you. he wants to see you beg for him. he needed to have it.

pulling your arms from under you, he pins them to your back, locking you in an unforgiving arch. he feeds you slow, agonizing pleasing, strokes. loved watching the way your pussy desperately gripped around him as he pulled out.

trying your hardest to escape the abuse of your cervix, you try to pull away, only to receive a fire fueled spank on your ass.

“take this dick, baby. you had all that mouth ‘member? you can do it, i know ya can.”

his pace quickens, yearning for your release. the only thing you can form is small gasps of air as the man shows no mercy on your smaller frame.

“eren! oh shit- im cumming again ple-“

he releases your hands, using his free hand to rub at your clit as he continued fucking into you.

your body goes limp, clear liquid spewing out onto the man’s blankets. he flips you back over, eyes dark and full of hunger still.

“gimme just one more? please, honey. she just so good.”

folded into a middle split off the bed wasn’t something you ever thought you could do. yet here you were, on your back, eren standing in front of you, holding your legs apart.

his hips roll into yours, digging at your inside slowly. head tilted to the side, eyebrows furrowed and eyes low. your hands hold onto his muscular forearm, trying to keep grounded as the man was wearing you out.

with a few more thrust, he pulls out. long white ropes decorate his chest.

“you’re something special, yn.”

-

after your grandparents had gone into town for their usual errands, you find yourself at the edge of the lake, hidden in the soft embrace of the willow trees. the faint glow of fireflies flickers in the warm spring air, and the world feels still, like it’s holding its breath for what’s to come. eren’s there before you, waiting, leaning against a tree with a smile that always makes your stomach flip.

“thought you’d never show up,” he teases, his voice low and smooth, like it’s a secret only meant for you. his eyes flicker over you, and the corner of his mouth pulls into a crooked grin.

“you just like being dramatic,” you reply, though you can feel the flutter in your chest as you walk closer, the pull between you too strong to ignore.

he steps forward, closing the space between you, and before you can say anything else, his lips are on yours. quick, soft, the kind of kiss that leaves you breathless. it’s always like this, quick, a rush of feeling that neither of you can seem to contain. he pulls away just as quickly, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling with yours in the cool night air.

“you’re insane.” you whisper, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

he grins, taking your hand and guiding you down the worn path toward the lake. the grass brushes against your bare legs, soft and cool under the fading light. the blanket he’s spread out by the water is a patchwork of colors. faded reds and yellows that look almost too bright against the darkening sky.

you settle down beside him, the scent of wildflowers heavy in the air. the lake reflects the dimming stars, the quiet ripples in the water mirroring the racing of your heart.

“y’know. ive been havin’ a lot of fun with you.” he playfully nudges your body, rocking you to the side.

“i know. imma miss you, country boy.” the fake southern accent rolled off your tongue sarcastically. although the tone was funny, something about erens aura shifted.

“what’s up? why’ve you gone all quiet?” you ask, eyes fixated on the male. the moonlight illuminated his face, exposing every freckle, unshaven parts of his face, and his eyes locked onto yours.

“i jus’ really don’t wanna let you go, princess.”

“don’t go all sappy on me now. i’ll visit when i can, you know that right?” he just nods, taking a drink of the beer he had before your arrival. the air was thick and warm, your knees pressed together, watching the water reflect the bedazzled night sky as eren just shuffles in his spot.

“yn, promise ya wont forget me?”

“eren-“ you try to stop the conversation before it happens. instead ending up in a tight hug from the man. his arms latch around your waist, head resting over your shoulder.

“im serious, yn. i ain’t ever felt this way for nobody.” pulling away, all you can see is his bright green eyes burning into yours.

“how could i ever?”

you lean in, your free hand brushing against his jaw as you kiss him. it’s slow, deliberate, and familiar, yet it feels new in the way it sends warmth flooding through you.

his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his touch firm but gentle as he deepens the kiss, like he’s trying to hold onto the moment for as long as he can. the world around you fades. the quiet lap of the water against the shore, the soft hum of the crickets. until there’s nothing but him.

when you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. eren’s thumb brushes over the curve of your jaw, and his lips curl into a small, almost sheepish smile.

“you ever thought about visiting the city?”

© vantetaes. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. ageless/blank blogs dni.

random inspo pics at the bottom? yes!

[theballadofharkness]

Whisky and Wine: Part 6

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Claire Debella x fem!reader

Summary: The last thing you expected when you came home from your publishers to your older partner Claire’s home was an invitation to her friend’s, Billionaire Miles Bron, private luxury yacht for the weekend. The problem? Claire had been very careful to keep her fellow disrupters away from you, terrified they would ruin yet another aspect of her life. But nobody says no to Miles, so you find yourself surrounded by Claire’s ‘inner circle’.

Word Count: 10.4K

Warnings: Non explicit smut, and sexual harassment (non explicit: it is a hand on the thigh but it does warrant a warning I think). So as always minors DNI xo

A/N: apologises this took so long! Work and life has been hectic but I should be back to updating more regularly and for those who enjoy my Agatha works, I have quite a few things to publish soon xo 💜🪻

The morning air is already thick with heat, the Mediterranean sun beating down mercilessly on the yacht's upper deck. The brunch plates have been cleared, fresh drinks poured, and now the group is settling, finding their places in the slow, indulgent rhythm of the day.

Duke, unsurprisingly, has stripped down to his swim trunks and is doing laps in the pool, his massive frame cutting through the water with precise, practiced strokes. Every time he reaches the edge, he stops for just a second to glance over at the side of the deck where his gun sits, gleaming in the sun, like he can’t stand the idea of being too far away from it. Like it’s an extension of himself, something he needs within reach to feel whole.

Peg is hunched over her laptop, her bucket hat pulled low, shielding her face from the sun as she furiously types away, looking like a stark contrast to the scene around her. Her legs are pulled up onto the sunbed, bare knees pressed together, her fingers flying across the keyboard with stressed efficiency.

Birdie, on the other hand, is a fucking spectacle.

Living up to her namesake, she is absolutely peacocking, standing near a sun lounger, posing like she’s waiting for someone to paint her rather than just exist in the space. She’s draped in a swimsuit so needlessly complicated that it looks more like an avant-garde fashion piece than something meant for swimming. Her hair is perfectly styled, makeup flawless despite the heat, and she’s decked out in more jewelry than necessary- chunky gold bangles stacked up her arms, oversized hoops catching the light, rings weighing down her fingers. And, of course, she’s in heels.

High heels by a pool? You try not to think too hard about it.

Lionel is sprawled out on a lounger, sunglasses perched on his face, his arms crossed over his chest. His posture is relaxed, but the stress radiates off of him, his fingers twitching slightly, like he needs something to do, something to focus on. You can practically hear his brain working overtime, even though he’s technically supposed to be relaxing.

And then there’s Whisky.

She’s walking across the deck with slow, deliberate movements, every step purposeful, every inch of her oozing that lazy, confident sex appeal that makes it clear she knows exactly how she looks.

She makes her way over to Miles, who has picked up an acoustic guitar of all things, strumming lazily, looking insufferably pleased with himself. The image of it is enough to make your skin crawl: Miles Bron, billionaire, tech “genius,” barefoot on the deck of his fucking yacht, playing guitar like he’s some soulful artist just waiting to be discovered.

Whisky drapes herself over the back of the couch he’s perched on, her fingers trailing over his shoulders as he plays, and you tear your eyes away before you have to see him eat up the attention.

Instead, you focus on Claire.

You find her sitting stiffly beside you, eyes locked onto something across the deck, a very specific look settling over her features, the slight furrow of her brows, the way her lips press together, the subtle way her fingers twitch against her knee.

You follow her gaze and… oh, of course, she’s staring at Peg’s laptop.

You frown. “Oh, no. No way,” you say immediately, turning to face her fully, voice firm.

Claire blinks, like she wasn’t aware she’d been caught, turning her attention back to you. “What?” she asks, feigning innocence.

You narrow your eyes. “Baby.”

She huffs, shifting slightly, but doesn’t deny it. “I was just thinking I could-”

“No.”

“Just a few-”

“No, baby. No.” You shift onto your knees, leaning in closer, placing both hands on her cheeks dramatically. “You promised. No work this weekend.”

She sighs, her hands coming to rest on your thighs as she looks up at you, something playful tugging at her lips.

“I know, but-”

You pout.

Claire pauses.

You know what you’re doing, you know she hates when you pout, that it wrecks her every time.

“I never get this much time with you away from your laptop at home,” you continue, voice soft, a little wounded, pushing just enough to make her feel it.

She exhales sharply, her grip tightening on your thighs, like she wants to argue, wants to say just one email, just one quick check-in, but she can’t. Because she knows you’re right. And you know she hates disappointing you.

So she groans, tilting her head back dramatically. “Fine,” she relents. “No work.”

You beam, kissing her quickly. “That’s my girl.”

She exhales through her nose, shaking her head as she pulls you back into her lap, her arms wrapping around you completely, like she’s trying to prove she’s really, fully present with you.

And for the first time all morning, you feel like you can actually relax.

The sun glints off Birdie’s oversized sunglasses as she pushes them down her nose, appraising you and Claire with a slow, deliberate sweep of her eyes. The expression on her face shifts almost instantly, first with mild intrigue, then thinly veiled irritation as her gaze lands on you.

It’s subtle, but you see it, that tiny, involuntary twitch of her lips, the way her brows tighten ever so slightly.

It’s your youth, your freshness. It bothers her. You’re effortlessly radiant, still glowing from the morning’s laziness, from Claire’s kisses, from the unbothered softness of being utterly wanted without having to ask for it.

And Birdie knows it.

But, of course, she doesn’t comment on you. No, you’re not the target here. She turns to Claire instead, sliding her sunglasses off completely, flashing a too-wide, saccharine smile.

“Oh, Claire,” she coos, voice dripping with manufactured sweetness, “you look so cute.”

You arch an eyebrow, shifting slightly in Claire’s lap to look at Birdie properly, but Claire doesn’t even hesitate, she just deadpans right back at her and gives her the finger.

Birdie gasps, clutching her chest dramatically. “God, rude.”

You smirk, a little proud, but then a better idea hits you.

Birdie thinks she can just throw little jabs and keep moving, that her beauty, her legendary status, means she never has to sit in that discomfort herself. Maybe it’s time she gets a taste of her own medicine. You shift, tilting your head just so, letting your lips curl into something sweet, saccharine, but pointed.

“Oh, doesn’t she?” you say, voice light, airing on thoughtful, as you turn to Claire instead.

You drag your fingers along Claire’s shoulder, watching her eyes slightly darken at the touch, and then smile as you continue:

“Always so elegant and sexy,” you say, voice slipping into something deliberate, something knowing, “she doesn’t even have to try.”

You feel Claire react, the subtle shift of her muscles, the way her hands tighten just slightly around your waist.

Birdie’s expression hardens. It’s quick, the way her lips purse, the way her perfectly arched brows pull just a little, but you catch it. Not that she has time to say anything, because you keep going.

“Not that trying really hard is a bad thing, Birdie,” you add, still smiling, still so fucking sweet, “I mean, you’ve obviously spent hours on this, uh…” you gesture vaguely, taking in the chaotic swimsuit, the towering heels, the excessive accessories. “…ensemble.”

Claire chokes on a laugh.

Birdie’s jaw tightens.

Your smile widens, eyes glinting as you deliver the final blow. “You look cute, though,” you say easily. Then, after a beat, “Adorable, even.”

Birdie glares.

Claire loses it.

She actually snorts, a rare, genuine sound of amusement, before she hooks her arms around you, pulling you straight into her lap on the sun lounger.

You laugh as she presses a quick, gratified kiss against your temple, murmuring “Fucking love you” into your hair as you hand her the glass of white wine you had been holding.

You settle against her, draping yourself in her warmth, and let yourself relax.

Because here’s the thing, you never put other women down, you don’t believe in it. But Birdie Jay? Birdie needs to learn that messing with Claire means messing with you, and that’s a mistake she will always regret.

You sigh, fully melting into Claire’s arms, letting her warmth wrap around you as you rest against her chest. The midday sun is relentless, the heat seeping into your skin, making everything feel hazy, lazy, but Claire’s fingers, tracing soft, idle patterns up and down your bare back, keep you grounded. She smells like suntan lotion and white wine, and when you glance up at her, she’s already looking elsewhere, her sharp eyes locked onto Whisky.

Whisky, who is currently draped over Miles, her toned, bronzed legs curled over his lap, her manicured fingers trailing up and down his chest as she giggles at something he’s said.

It’s the fakest laugh you’ve ever heard.

Claire huffs softly.

You grin. “Oh, come on,” you murmur, just loud enough for her to hear. You tilt your head, resting your chin against her collarbone, eyes gleaming as you press closer. “It’s so obvious, right?”

Claire hums, still watching them, her fingers slowing as she absently traces the line of your spine. “I know,” she mutters, voice low with disbelief. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice before.”

You giggle. “You’ve been a little preoccupied, baby.”

She smirks at that, but her eyes stay on Whisky, her brows furrowing just slightly. “I just…” she exhales, shifting, adjusting you in her lap, her free hand reaching for her wine glass. “I wonder what she’s really getting out of this. I mean, what could possibly be worth having to act like Miles is desirable?”

You snort. “Not his billions?”

Claire scoffs, taking a sip of wine. “You couldn’t pay me enough.”

You bite your lip to stifle a laugh. “I think the second he pulled out his acoustic guitar, I’d lose it.”

Claire actually groans. “Jesus, don’t remind me of that. He thinks he’s fucking John Lennon.”

That sends you giggling, tucking your face into her shoulder as she shakes her head, lifting her glass again.

“God,” she mutters, “she must have the patience of a saint.”

You pull back, still grinning, and glance over at Duke, who is sitting at the edge of the pool, watching Whisky with open pride. His gun, because of course he brought it, rests beside him within arms reach, like being too far away from it would kill him.

Claire follows your gaze and sighs. “And Duke,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “I mean, I know he’s a meathead, but I’m still… God, I’m so disappointed in him.”

She tightens her hold on you slightly, shifting as she moves her wine glass to the table beside her. “I’d never pimp my partner out to get something. I don’t care what it is.”

You smirk, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, you sure?” you tease, tilting your head, your lips brushing against her jaw as you murmur, “You don’t wanna rent me out for Senate?”

Claire stills.

And then… she growls. It’s low, deep in her throat, as she immediately turns, shifting so quickly that you let out a surprised squeak. Her hands move fast, one gripping your waist, the other sliding down, fingers digging into your ass as she pulls you into her.

“Don’t even joke about that,” she mutters, voice dangerously low.

Then she kisses you. It’s not soft, it’s claiming. Possessive. Her fingers dig in, pressing you down hard against her, and you gasp, lips parting as she deepens the kiss.

“You’re mine,” she murmurs against your mouth, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Your head spins. You can’t help the breathy little moan you let out, or the way your fingers tangle in her hair, or how you immediately tilt your head to chase her lips when she pulls back, just slightly.

“I know, Mommy,” you whisper.

And fuck, her eyes go dark. She groans, kissing you again, slower this time, her hands smoothing up your back, her grip still firm but gentle, grounding herself in you, needing you close.

And honestly?

You love it.

The sun was relentless, pressing down on your skin in thick, golden waves. The day had barely begun, yet the air was already heavy, swollen with heat and tension that had nothing to do with the weather. You’d curled yourself into Claire’s side, letting her fingers trace lazy patterns along your spine, her touch grounding you, anchoring you to this moment.

“Claire.”

Lionel’s voice was quiet, almost careful.

You didn’t move immediately, still curled against Claire’s side, your lips brushing against the warm slope of her shoulder. But you felt the way her entire body tensed beneath you, the way the soft circling of her fingers stilled against your back, as if bracing herself.

You turned your head just enough to look at Lionel, sunglasses shielding his eyes, but his mouth was set in a firm line. His fingers tapped against the condensation on his glass.

“How are you feeling?”

The words might have seemed harmless to anyone else, a polite check-in after a night of drinking, a casual question between friends. But you weren’t just anyone else. You knew exactly what he meant. It had nothing to do with Claire’s hangover.

It had everything to do with Andi.

With the court case.

With the weight of what they’d agreed to do for Miles.

Even if you hadn’t been privy to all of the discussions, hadn’t been included in all the hushed, conspiratorial conversations that happened behind closed doors, you still knew. Because it was written all over Claire’s face. And Lionel’s.

They were the two most moral people in the group. The ones who should have been the first to walk away. The ones who, in any other scenario, wouldn’t have let themselves be backed into a corner like this. But instead, they were here. They were staying. They were testifying.

And you knew it was eating them alive.

The moment stretched between them, thick and suffocating. So you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Claire’s lips, trying to ease some of the tension gripping her body. You pulled back just slightly, brushing your thumb over her cheekbone.

She blinked, brows drawing together, concern creeping into her expression. You already knew what she was thinking. That maybe you felt pushed out. That maybe she wasn’t being a good enough partner to you, too caught up in her own shit to be fully present with you.

But you just gave her a small smile. “You and Lionel talk, baby.”

Claire’s frown deepened, searching your face, as if trying to make sure you really meant it.

You did.

You knew she needed to talk to someone about this. And Lionel was the only one who truly understood what she was going through.

She exhaled softly, her lips parting just slightly as she mouthed thank you before turning to Lionel.

You stood, stretching slightly, feeling the heat of the sun immediately settle against your skin.

You needed a drink. Something cold. Something that might help quiet the buzzing in your head, the unease curling in your stomach. As you walked toward the bar, you caught a glimpse of Claire and Lionel slipping into the infinity pool, the two of them drifting toward the far edge, the part where the water met the sky, where they could talk without worrying about being overheard.

You swallowed, jaw tightening. You hated this for her. Hated that she was carrying this. That she even had to make this choice. But you also knew she wouldn’t let you carry any of it for her. She was protecting you. Even if it hurt.

You reached the bar, stepping under the large umbrella and relishing the brief relief from the heat. The bartender glanced at you, wiping his hands on a towel before leaning forward slightly.

“What can I get you?”

You hesitated, considering. Something light. Something that wouldn’t add to the already growing nausea in your gut. “Just a pineapple juice, please.”

The bartender gave a short nod, turning to grab a glass when you felt it. A presence behind you. Too close. A hand on your waist that wasn’t Claire’s. Wrong.

Before your brain could fully register what was happening, you heard his voice, low, casual, friendly.

“Oh no, no, no,” Miles chuckled, his fingers pressing just slightly against the soft skin of your hip, too close to the knot of your bikini bottoms. “You have to try the Cuban Breeze. It’s so good. That was the drink that got us on the no-fly list at St. Barts.”

Your whole body locked up.

The heat of the sun suddenly felt suffocating.

Too hot. Too much.

You weren’t a stranger to touch. You liked being touched by Claire. By people you were comfortable with. People who had earned the right to put their hands on you.

But this?

Miles’ touch felt wrong.

It wasn’t overtly inappropriate, but it was just enough to set off every single alarm bell in your body.

Your heart started hammering, your stomach twisting as a sharp wave of unease rolled through you.

The urge to yank his hand off of you, to push him away, was immediate. But you hesitated, your mind racing. You knew exactly how dangerous Miles Bron was. You knew exactly what he was capable of. He could ruin Claire. Could ruin her campaign. Could ruin everything she had spent her entire career working toward.

And after last night, after the veiled threats and the barely concealed gloating, you knew better than to put a target on your back.

So you forced yourself to stay still.

You forced yourself to swallow the nausea rising in your throat, to keep your voice steady as you reached for the drink he was offering.

You barely looked at him.

Didn’t meet his eyes, didn’t give him anything.

Just took the glass, gripped it tight, and stepped away from his orbit, you from him. Your entire body felt cold, even as the sun blazed down on you. You needed to get back to Claire.

Now.

The ice in the glass clinked softly as you walked back to your sun lounger, the condensation slipping between your fingers as you lightly sipped at the ridiculously gaudy drink Miles had pushed into your hands.

It was absurdly overdone, chunks of pineapple bobbing at the surface, a skewer of bright red maraschino cherries resting precariously on the rim, and, as if that weren’t enough, a cheap plastic straw adorned with a fake parrot, its tiny beady eyes staring blankly at you.

You barely tasted the drink itself, the lingering unease from your interaction at the bar curling like smoke in your stomach. You needed to breathe, needed to sit down. Needed Claire.

Because Miles had touched you. And now, even as you walked, the phantom weight of his hand on your waist still lingered like an oil stain, seeping under your skin, impossible to scrub away.

Your sun lounger was waiting, shaded slightly from the relentless midday sun. You settled down, adjusting your wrap skirt, crossing your legs as you tried to will the tension from your shoulders. You weren’t going to let this ruin your day.

You’d just sit here, sip your ridiculous drink, and wait for Claire to finish her conversation with Lionel and come back to you.

But then you heard him. Again.

Miles’ voice, still that same casual, easy-going tone, as if he hadn’t just made your entire body lock up at the bar.

“So,” he started, walking up behind you, the sound of his bare feet padding against the deck making your stomach tighten. “Been getting any writing done on this trip?”

You took another slow sip of the Cuban Breeze, barely reacting before you calmly responded, “No. Claire and I agreed not to do any work while we’re here.”

It wasn’t a lie. It also wasn’t the whole truth. Because even if you wanted to write, there was no way you’d be able to focus, not with this group. Not with the stress and the constant, looming reminder of what Claire had agreed to do for Miles.

Miles hummed as if considering your words. “I like that,” he mused, stepping further into your space, his shadow briefly passing over you. “I respect that. Work-life balance, that’s important. But listen…”

He sat down across from you, too close, the movement making your body tense involuntarily.

“I’ve been on the phone with some high-profile publishing houses,” he said, flashing that Miles Bron™ smile, the one that was meant to be charming but just felt like a sales pitch. “They’re very interested.”

You blinked at him, fingers tightening slightly around your glass.

There it was. Again. That same offer. That same temptation. And for a split second, you thought about it.

Not because you wanted Miles’ help, but because you knew how easy it would be to say yes. To let someone like him open doors that were otherwise bolted shut. To skip the years of clawing your way through an industry designed to keep people like you on the outside. But you’d already made your decision.

So you exhaled softly, offering a polite, measured smile. “Thank you, but no thank you.”

Miles laughed like you’d just told him something hilarious. “Why not take the help?” he grinned, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. “This could be so good for you.”

And before you could even think, even process, his hand was suddenly on your thigh. Just resting there. Casual. Like it belonged there. Your entire body went rigid.

Your breath hitched. You knew what he was doing. It wasn’t an accident. Wasn’t innocent. It was a test. He was seeing how far he could push you.

Your skin crawled, the urge to shove him off of you overwhelming, but you hesitated. Because what if? What if you pushed back and he made things worse? What if he decided Claire wasn’t worth the effort anymore? What if he destroyed her campaign just because he could?

Panic started creeping in. Your throat tightened. And without thinking, your eyes darted to Claire. She was in the infinity pool with Lionel, their backs to you, she had no idea what was happening. She had no idea that you were sitting here, frozen, with Miles’ hand on you, with his voice in your ear, pressing you, pushing you, trying to see how much he could get away with.

And for the first time since this entire trip began, you felt unsafe. Miles’ hand was still on your thigh. Heavy and possessive like it belonged there.

Your breath caught in your throat, body locked up so tight you thought you might snap. The more he talked, smooth and friendly, the more you shrank, wanting to disappear, to fold in on yourself until there was nothing left. You barely even heard his words, too busy trying to keep yourself still, too afraid that pulling away too sharply would be seen as rude, that it would set him off, that he’d take it as an invitation instead of a rejection.

Say something.

Move.

Do anything.

But you felt frozen, caught between the weight of his palm and the horrible sinking feeling in your stomach, the knowledge that one wrong move could make everything so much worse.

And suddenly a voice cut through your inner turmoil. “Miles,” Birdie drawled, lazily pushing down her sunglasses to peer at the two of you. “Is that my Cuban Breeze?!”

Your heart lurched.

Miles’ head turned at the sound of his name, his hand still firm on your thigh as he smirked at Birdie.

“The very same,” he said, tipping the glass toward her.

Birdie gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her chest like she was shocked, but you could see it now. The carefulness. The practice. The way she made her voice all light and excitable, playing into the only role she knew how to play, the fun and brainless Birdie J she’d curated so perfectly over the years.

If you weren’t still reeling, still trying not to shudder at the feel of Miles’ touch, you might’ve been impressed.

Instead, you just sat very still, barely breathing, barely blinking, as Birdie tossed her hair and insisted, “Miles! That was mine! Okay, that’s it, come on, we’re getting another one! We are ending up in the pool tonight.”

Miles chuckled, finally pulling his hand away as he stood, letting Birdie loop her arm through his. “We’re starting in the pool,” he teased.

And just like that, he was gone. Dragged away in a flurry of heels and jewelry and gleaming white teeth.

The second he was out of reach, your breath left you in a sharp, uneven rush. It was like you could breathe again. Like you were finally allowed to.

Tears pricked at your eyes, burning hot and humiliating, and you hated it. Hated that your body had betrayed you. Hated that your hands were shaking, that you felt gross, that even now, with him gone, you could still feel his palm on your skin.

You sucked in a sharp breath, blinking rapidly, fingers curling into the fabric of your wrap skirt, trying to keep yourself together.

“Hey.” The sound of Peg’s voice made you stiffen.

When you turned, she was already watching you, her lips pressed into a thin line. Laptop snapped shut. She’d seen the whole thing. And even though Peg was a lot of things, tired, overworked, probably one bad day away from quitting, she wasn’t heartless.

“…You okay?” It was a simple question, one that you should’ve answered easily. But the words stuck.

You swallowed hard, nodding too fast, forcing out a shaky, “I… I’m fine.”

Peg didn’t believe you. Didn’t even pretend to. She sighed, fingers drumming against her knee before she suggested, “You wanna go to the bathroom? When Birdie frustrates me, I splash some cold water on my face. Helps.”

You hesitated, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “…Yeah,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, okay.”

She stood up, waiting for you, and you went to move, only to stop short. Because the second you stood, you felt exposed, like everyone was watching you.

Your bikini suddenly felt too small. Your wrap skirt felt too sheer. You wrapped your arms around yourself, willing the rising panic to settle, but the words still came out wobbly when you stammered, “I—I think I need to grab a cover-up or something.”

You felt stupid the second you said it, but thankfully Peg was patient. Like she understood. Like she’d been in your position before, like she knew how it felt to be powerless, to be just unimportant enough that speaking up against the wrong man could destroy your entire life.

She just nodded. “Okay.”

And you were about to move when a familiar voice called out: “Baby?”

You froze. Oh, God. Claire. She was still in the infinity pool with Lionel, but now she was frowning at you from where she leaned against the edge, arms draped over the stone, her body half-submerged in the water.

She’d been distracted before, caught up in the kind of tense, anxious conversation that made the heat feel more oppressive than it already was. But now? Now she was looking at you. And seeing.

Your stomach twisted violently. The last thing you needed was Claire’s attention on you. The last thing you needed was for her to notice. To ask questions. To put things together. Because if Claire figured out what had happened, she would kill him. You knew that. And nothing good could come from that.

So before you could even try to answer, Peg, calm, steady and carefully measured, gave her a practiced smile and called back, “We’re fine! Just going to get something.”

You could still feel Claire’s eyes on you, heavy with suspicion.

You forced yourself to nod like that was true, like that was all it was, and then quickly turned, following Peg inside while trying not to let the horrible weight in your stomach sink you.

Peg followed you into your room, letting out a low whistle as she took in the space. “Damn,” she muttered, hands on her hips. “You got this? I have a glorified closet next to Birdie.”

You barely heard her. Your heart was still hammering, your skin still crawling, the weight of everything still pressing down on your chest like a slab of stone.

You beelined straight for the bathroom, fingers gripping the door frame as you mumbled, “Um- thanks for, uh…getting me here. But I’m fine now. You can go.”

Peg frowned. You couldn’t see it, you were already pushing the door closed between you, but you could hear it in her voice when she asked, “Are you sure? I can wait, if you want. Saves me from getting splashed by Duke’s cannonballs.”

She was offering kindness, a way out. But you couldn’t take it. Because even though she’d helped, even though she’d seen what happened and quietly stepped in, it didn’t change the fact that you felt like your skin had been stripped raw, like you’d been ripped open and had nowhere to hide. The only thing you wanted, the only thing you needed, was to be alone.

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you, and murmured, “No, it’s okay. I might take a nap. Barely slept last night.”

Peg was quiet for a second, then she sighed. “…Alright.”

You heard her step away. The door clicked shut behind her. And then… nothing. Silence. For the first time since Miles had put his hands on you, you were alone.

You turned the lock with shaking fingers, turning the tap on full blast.

And then, you collapsed. Your knees hit the tile floor as you folded in on yourself, arms wrapping tight around your legs, forehead pressing against them as the first sob wrenched out of your chest, sharp and violent. You couldn’t stop it. Didn’t even try.

The sound of the rushing water drowned out your cries, but it didn’t drown out the feeling, the raw, suffocating sensation that filled every part of you, like your own body was a cage you were desperate to escape.

You could still feel him. His hand on your thigh. His arm around your waist. His voice, smooth and friendly, like he hadn’t been doing anything wrong. Like you were supposed to just accept it.

You pressed your hands against your face, trying to breathe, trying to make it stop, but nothing was working.

Because this wasn’t just Miles. This wasn’t just one moment. This was every time you’d felt small. Every time you’d felt powerless. Every time a man had looked at you and seen something that was his to conquer before you even got the chance to say hello.

And the worst part, the very worst part, was that you hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t pushed him away. Hadn’t made a scene. You just sat there frozen.

Another sob tore through you.

You clutched your knees tighter, nails digging into your own skin, trying to ground yourself, trying to remind yourself that he wasn’t here, that you were safe, that Claire would never let anything happen to you… oh god, Claire.

A new wave of panic crashed into you. Because Claire had seen you, she’d known something was wrong.

And if she found out, if she figured out what really happened, she would kill him. And Miles knew that. He counted on that. That was why he did it. Because he knew you wouldn’t dare tell her. Wouldn’t dare start anything that could ruin Claire’s chances, that could put her in a position where she had to choose between her career and you. You couldn’t let her find out. You couldn’t. Because if she did, this trip would turn into a bloodbath.

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking, trying to shove that thought down, trying to shove everything down, until it was buried deep enough that it wouldn’t come back up.

But for now, you could do nothing but sit there hugging yourself, rocking slightly, crying so hard it hurt. You didn’t know how long you sat there, curled up on the cold tile floor, knees hugged to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself like you could somehow hold yourself together if you just squeezed tight enough.

At some point, the sobs slowed, your chest stopped heaving, and your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps instead of frantic, desperate gulps of air.

But the weight, the awful, sinking weight, still pressed down on you. You felt raw and stripped open. Exposed. Like if you looked in the mirror, you’d see something hollow staring back at you.

You couldn’t stay here, not on the floor. Not in this stupid fucking bikini that suddenly felt far too small, far too revealing, far too much like the exact thing Miles had been looking at, had been touching.

Your stomach turned as you forced yourself to your feet. Your legs were weak, shaking, like you’d been drained of everything that kept you upright, but you forced yourself to stumble out of the bathroom anyway.

Your vision blurred with the remnants of tears as you moved on autopilot, crossing the room to Claire’s suitcase, flipping it open, digging through neatly folded clothes and expensive fabrics until you found something soft and worn, something familiar.

An old Harvard alumni t-shirt.

The fabric was faded. The letters were cracking. The material was stretched from years of being yanked on, pulled over her head in half-asleep movements, tossed into the wash again and again.

She’d had it since college and she still brought it with her. You clutched it tight in your fingers, holding it to your chest for a moment before tearing the bikini off, ripping off the sheer skirt, pulling on a pair of Claire’s boxers, and yanking the t-shirt over your head.

The second it was on, you curled up on the bed, knees tucked to your chest, hands clenched in the fabric like a lifeline. It smelled like her like home, like safety.

You inhaled deep, trying to pull yourself together, trying to to fix yourself before she got back. Because if she saw you like this, if she even suspected something was wrong…

The door handle rattled.

You froze.

“Baby, why the fuck is the door bolted?” Claire’s voice called out, sounded worried and frustrated.

You scrambled off the bed, nearly tripping over yourself in your rush to reach the door, unlocking it with trembling fingers before pulling it open.

Claire was standing there, brow furrowed, eyes scanning over you the second she saw you.

“I-I’m sorry,” you rushed out, voice still hoarse from crying. “I just… I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking.”

Claire crossed her arms, still looking at you like she was trying to figure something out. “Why are you in here?” she asked, tone shifting from frustration to confusion.

You swallowed, heart hammering. “I-I wasn’t feeling great,” you lied. “Thought I might nap.”

Claire tilted her head, studying you closer. Her gaze drifted down, taking in the clothes you were wearing, her boxers, her t-shirt, and her frown deepened. “…Why are you in my clothes?” she asked. “Not that I mind, but…you look like you’re ready for bed.”

You clenched your fingers tighter in the fabric, struggling to keep your voice even. “I just- I just wanted to be comfortable.”

Claire’s eyes narrowed like she sensed something wasn’t right. And fuck, you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep it together.

Claire didn’t let it go, of course she didn’t. She was a politician. She was sharp, too sharp to let something like this slip past her. And you knew that. Knew that the second she’d seen you, standing in the doorway in her old t-shirt, looking pale and shaken, something in her had clicked.

So you weren’t surprised when her eyes softened, not with relief, but with something much worse, with worry and with concern. With that keen, assessing gaze that meant she was already putting together the pieces of something you weren’t ready to say out loud.

“Baby,” she murmured, voice gentler now. “Are you sure?”

You nodded too fast, too eager. Too desperate.

“I-I’m fine, Claire,” you said, voice tight. “I just… I wasn’t feeling great, Peg walked me up, that’s all.”

Claire’s frown didn’t lift. Her hand came up, her soft, steady fingers reaching for you, instinctively seeking out the warmth of your skin… and you flinched.

It was a small movement, barely even noticeable, but Claire had felt it. She felt it and she froze. The space between you, already so small, suddenly felt like a canyon.

Her hand, still suspended midair, twitched before curling slowly back into a fist, falling back to her side. And the look on her face… that fucking look. You’d seen her angry, seen her livid. But this? This was something else entirely. This was something fragile.

“Baby,” she said carefully, like she was afraid you might shatter if she wasn’t careful. “What’s happening?”

You forced yourself to smile. Your face felt stiff, unnatural, like it knew you were lying before your mouth even formed the words. “It’s nothing,” you said, voice falsely light. “I’m fine.”

Claire’s expression darkened. It was clear she didn’t believe you, but before she could push further, something else flickered across her face.

Something pained, something hesitant. She swallowed thickly, shifting on her feet, suddenly unable to meet your eyes as she murmured, “Is this about…? About the trial?”

Your stomach dropped. “I-…”

“I know how you feel about this,” she said quickly, voice just shy of desperate. “And I know I should’ve said no, I know it’s fucked, I know it’s Andi, and I—”

She exhaled sharply, raking a hand through her hair. “But I didn’t know what else to do,” she admitted, shaking her head, and you could see it, the spiraling thoughts, the gnawing guilt. “I couldn’t say no, I-”

She broke off, biting her lip. “Baby, please don’t be upset with me.”

The pain in her voice made your chest ache.

“Oh, Claire,” you whispered, stepping forward, practically scrambling into her arms. “I’m not, baby. I promise. I’m not.”

Her arms hesitated for half a second before they locked around you, pulling you tight against her like she’d been starving for you, like she had thought you were slipping through her fingers and she needed to hold on.

“I swear,” you whispered against her neck. “I swear, baby, I’m not upset with you.”

She still looked unsure, still looked unconvinced.

So you tilted your chin up, kissing her. Soft. Sweet. Like a vow. “Claire,” you whispered against her lips. “Kiss me.”

She exhaled shakily, brushing her lips against yours again, slow, hesitant, like she was still bracing herself. “Baby,” she murmured, voice barely there.

“Please,” you whispered. “Kiss me.”

And that was all it took. Her hands gripped your hips, fingers pressing firm against the cotton of her boxers as she pulled you flush against her. Her mouth was soft, desperate against yours, kissing you with all the words she wasn’t saying, all the emotions tangled in her throat, all the tension coiling in her shoulders.

It wasn’t enough.

You kissed her harder, clutching at her like she was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. Because maybe… maybe she was.

Claire pulled away just slightly, enough to put space between your lips but not enough to let you go. Her hands still held you tight, her breath warm against your cheek as she searched your face.

Her fingers traced over the fabric of her old Harvard t-shirt on your body, her thumbs just grazing the bare skin of your thighs where the hem of the shirt rode up. The concern in her eyes was clear, cutting through the heat of the moment like a cold breeze.

“Baby,” she murmured, voice husky but still gentle. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t want to answer. Didn’t want to think about Miles. Didn’t want to think about the weight in your chest, the sick feeling in your stomach, the way your hands still trembled from earlier. So instead, you kissed her again. Only it wasn’t soft this time, it wasn’t careful, it was desperate. A need. A distraction.

Claire inhaled sharply through her nose, surprised, but didn’t hesitate to return it.

Her fingers tightened against your hips as you parted your lips, letting her deepen the kiss, her tongue sliding against yours. The room felt smaller, hotter, the air between you thick with tension.

She kissed you slowly, like she had all the time in the world to explore you, like she could feel something was off but wasn’t willing to pull away again just yet.

You weren’t going to let her. Your hands slid up her back, tugging her even closer, feeling the warmth of her skin through the lightweight linen of her shirt. You sighed against her lips, tilting your head to let her kiss deeper, harder, her teeth just grazing your bottom lip before she sucked it into her mouth.

And it worked for a while.

She let herself get lost in you, let you pull her down onto the bed, her hands exploring, moving under the oversized t-shirt to squeeze your waist, your hips, her fingertips grazing the sensitive skin at your sides. But then, again, she pulled back. Not much, just enough to make you chase after her, lips parted, eyes hazy, wanting more.

She smiled softly at how eager you were, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Baby,” she murmured again. “Talk to me.”

No. Not now. Not when you could still feel his hands. Not when you could still hear the low rasp of his voice, the forced friendliness of it, the way his fingers had lingered.

So you did the only thing you could do. You took her hands, her strong, capable, safe hands, and guided them up your body. Up, under your shirt. Up, over the bare curve of your breasts.

The second she realized what you were doing, her breath hitched.

“Touch me,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Claire groaned. A deep, low sound in her throat, her fingers instinctively flexing over your soft skin.

Her thumbs brushed over your nipples, making you shiver, and you gasped softly as she squeezed, kneading the weight of your breasts in her hands, her eyes darkening as she watched you react beneath her.

“You’re not playing fair,” she rasped, her voice deeper, rougher.

You didn’t care. Didn’t care if you were playing fair, if you were playing dirty, if you were making it impossible for her to think straight. All you wanted was to forget. To lose yourself in her. To make this, her, the only thing in your head.

Claire groaned again, leaning down to kiss you, slower this time, deeper, her hands still warm, still perfect as she touched you exactly the way you needed.

And for the first time that day, you let yourself breathe.

Claire groaned against your lips, her fingers flexing, kneading the soft weight of your breasts. She squeezed, just enough to make you gasp, her thumbs brushing over your already sensitive nipples. You whimpered, arching into her touch, your body desperate for it, for her.

“Shit, baby,” she murmured, voice low and rough, breath hot against your cheek. “Love playing with your tits.”

A whimper caught in your throat as she rolled your nipples between her fingers, tugging just enough to make your back arch. Your head spun, pleasure drowning out everything else, every thought, every memory, every trace of him.

There was only her.

Only Claire. Only the warmth of her hands, the teasing pull of her fingers, the way she cupped and squeezed and played with you like she had all the time in the world.

Your hips shifted restlessly against her, desperate for more, but Claire was focused, obsessed even, her eyes locked onto you, watching every little reaction, every soft whimper and sharp intake of breath.

“Look at you,” she muttered, voice thick with want. “So fucking pretty, baby. You like this?”

You could only nod, lips parted, a tiny, desperate sound slipping from your throat.

Claire smirked, then tugged at your nipples again, harder this time.

You whined, thighs squeezing together, body writhing under her.

She groaned at the sight, shifting to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your neck, nipping lightly at your skin. “Sensitive little thing,” she mused, rolling her hips just slightly against yours. “Love having my hands on you. Could touch you all fucking day.”

You gasped, your body a live wire under her touch, your mind too fuzzy to hold onto anything else, no worries, no fears, no past. Just Claire. Just her hands. Just the perfect way she owned you, made you forget everything except how good she made you feel.

Claire groaned, her fingers still teasing, still tugging, still making you squirm. Her thumbs brushed over your stiff nipples, and you gasped, your whole body trembling under her touch.

“Touch me all day,” you whimpered, desperate, pressing your chest further into her hands. “Please, baby. Don’t stop. I don’t wanna leave this room, I don’t wanna go anywhere, I just wanna stay here with you. Till this trip is over, till we’re home even, just stay with me, please.”

Her hands squeezed, tugged, making you gasp again, back arching. “Not until you tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours,” she murmured, voice husky but firm, her thumbs rolling over your sensitive peaks.

A whimper left your lips as you scrambled for something, anything to keep her from pressing, to keep her hands on you, to keep you here, safe.

“Nothing,” you gasped, shaking your head. “Can’t think of anything but you, please, mommy.”

Claire froze.

For the first time since she had laid her hands on you, she paused, fingers still resting against your flushed, sensitive skin, her dark eyes searching yours. Because she knew. She knew you. She knew how you sounded when you were desperate, when you wanted her. She knew how you sounded when you were trying to run. And right now, she could tell the difference.

She frowned, torn, her fingers twitching against your skin. Because fuck, here you were, your tits out, gasping, offering yourself to her like the sweetest fucking thing she’d ever seen, like all you wanted was for her to take care of you, to make you forget. But she hated that you needed to forget something. She hated the way you had flinched before. She hated the way you were running from something you weren’t telling her about.

Her jaw tensed, eyes flicking between yours, searching, debating, trying to decide whether to push or to give in, to give you what you wanted, what you needed, or to pull back, to demand the truth. Her hands were still on you, warm, steady, but her gaze was something different now, something deeper, something filled with something close to fear. And she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do with it.

Claire’s hands dropped from your body completely as she stepped back, putting space between you for the first time since she’d walked into the room. The shift in her presence was instant. Where there had been heat, hunger, devotion, there was now something sharp, something concerned, something demanding.

“No,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “Baby, no. I love you, but no. You’re talking to me about this.”

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably, and you sighed, tugging your top back down to cover yourself, suddenly feeling too exposed, too vulnerable. You folded your arms over yourself, hugging your own body, trying to push down the sting of tears in your throat.

“It’s nothing,” you murmured. “It’s stupid. A total overreaction, honestly, don’t worry.”

Claire’s eyes darkened in an instant. “Overreaction to what?”

You exhaled heavily, your gaze flicking anywhere but her, trying to will the tension in the room to evaporate, to let this moment pass. But Claire wouldn’t let it pass. Not when she was looking at you like that, standing there so still, so steady but ready, like a storm just before it broke.

You clenched your jaw, fingers gripping your own arms. You could still feel it, the weight of his arm slung around your waist, the press of his palm against your hip, the casual, entitled way he had touched you, like you were just another thing in his collection.

You swallowed, forcing the words out. “Miles touched me.”

The room went silent. Claire went rigid. “What the fuck did you just say?”

You sighed, shaking your head quickly, already seeing the way her expression was shifting, darkening into something terrifying, something lethal.

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you,” you said quickly, voice tight with nerves. “It was nothing, really.”

But Claire was already moving before you could stop her, spinning toward the door like she was about to hunt him down, like she was going to tear him apart.

“Claire- no,” you gasped, grabbing her wrist, holding on tight. “Please. It’s not- it’s not that serious.”

She turned back to you, her entire body vibrating with fury, her jaw clenched so tightly you could hear her teeth grind. “Not that serious?” she repeated, voice low, dangerous. “He touched you. You flinched when I tried to touch you, baby. And you want me to pretend that’s not that serious?”

You swallowed, shifting closer to her, your grip on her wrist tightening as panic built in your chest. “Claire, please,” you whispered. “You know him. You know what he’s like. If you make this a thing, he’s gonna- he’s gonna lash out, he’s gonna make things worse. I can’t- I can’t let you do this. It’s not important enough to make waves, okay?”

Claire’s nostrils flared, her entire body tense, her fists clenched so hard they shook. “Baby,” she said, voice low, raw, pained, “you are the most important thing.”

You let out a shaky breath, moving in closer, pressing yourself against her as if you could just melt into her body, as if you could disappear into her arms and make all of this go away.

“Then don’t say anything,” you whispered, voice pleading. “For me, okay? Just- just don’t say anything. Just stay with me. It’s not long now, till this is over. Just stay with me.”

She let out a slow, heavy breath, and for a moment, you thought she might argue, might tell you she couldn’t stay silent, that she wouldn’t. But then she sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly, her hands finally coming up to grip your arms, sliding up, squeezing gently.

She leaned in, pressing her forehead against yours, her breath warm on your lips. “Fine,” she murmured. “I won’t say anything.”

You exhaled in relief, letting yourself fall into her, wrapping yourself around her, inhaling the scent of her, the scent of something grounding, something safe.

“But I promise you this,” she said, voice firm, unwavering. “I won’t leave your side for a second.”

Claire held you close, arms locked around you like she was anchoring you to the world, keeping you safe. And for a second, just a second, you let yourself believe that maybe she could, that maybe if she just held you tight enough, she could erase it, make the sick feeling in your stomach disappear, make the memory of his hand on your thigh vanish.

But your chest tightened, and you let out a shaky breath, pressing your face into the crook of her neck as the tears finally spilled over.

Claire’s grip immediately tightened, her hand stroking up and down your back, her lips pressing against your hair. “Baby,” she whispered, pained, helpless. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

And that only made you cry harder.

“It wasn’t even explicit,” you choked out, voice thick with tears. “It’s not like he- he said anything outright, or, or forced anything, or even made me feel threatened exactly, it was just…” You swallowed hard, hands fisting in the fabric of her shirt. “It was just the way he made me feel.”

Claire exhaled slowly, her jaw clenched against your temple, silent but listening.

You sniffled, trying to collect yourself, but it was so hard when she was holding you like this, when the warmth of her body was so safe but the memory of his touch was still lingering.

You took a shuddering breath. “And the book deals… God, Claire, the way he talks about them, it’s like a business proposition. Like- like, look at Whisky, she played the game, she made herself useful, so why wouldn’t I?” Your throat tightened. “And the worst part is, it didn’t even feel calculated. He wasn’t, like, deliberately pressuring me. It’s just…”

You shook your head, letting out a bitter, wet laugh.

“It’s just that he assumed,” you whispered, voice raw. “He assumed that if he made a move, if he offered himself up, I wouldn’t be able to resist.”

Claire’s hold on you turned almost crushing, her breath shaking as she nuzzled into your hair. “He really thinks he’s that fucking irresistible,” she muttered, voice dark, dangerous.

You huffed out a small, mirthless laugh, tears still slipping down your cheeks. “I mean,” you said weakly, “I’m a lesbian. Surely he must know this won’t work on me.”

Claire let out an incredulous breath, shaking her head against yours, and then she pulled back slightly, cupping your face in her hands, wiping your tears away with her thumbs.

“Oh, baby,” she murmured, voice thick with a painful sort of fondness, something utterly devoted but also furious on your behalf.

You sniffled, pressing into her touch, her warmth, her safety.

“I hate him,” Claire said simply, fingers stroking your cheeks, voice soft but lethal. “I hate him so much, baby.”

You closed your eyes, exhaling slowly. “I know.”

“And I can’t do anything about it?”

You swallowed, looking at her desperately. “Please, Claire.”

Her jaw clenched, and she took a slow, grounding breath. “Okay,” she murmured, voice rough, uneven. “Okay. But I’m not letting him near you again.”

You nodded, finally, fully collapsing into her arms.

And she held you like she never intended to let you go.

~

Claire had been holding you for what felt like forever, her hands gentle but firm, her touch grounding you, keeping you here, keeping you safe. Her thumbs kept stroking small, soothing circles into your back, and every few moments, she’d kiss the top of your head like she needed to remind you she was there, like she needed to remind herself that you were safe in her arms.

Eventually, you sniffled, pulling back just enough to look at her. “Okay,” you whispered, voice still thick from crying. “We should go back out.”

Claire searched your face, her hands coming up to cup your cheeks, her thumbs brushing over your damp skin. She hesitated, like she was looking for any reason to keep you in here, away from them, but eventually, she nodded.

“Yeah, baby,” she murmured. “Wanna swim together?”

The corner of your lips quirked, a small, shy smile as you nodded.

She beamed, her whole face lighting up like she was so proud of you for being brave enough to step outside again, and she pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling back. “Okay,” she said gently, giving your arms a little squeeze. “Let’s get changed.”

Your heart fluttered as you moved to grab your bikini, but the moment you held it in your hands, you hesitated, suddenly feeling too exposed, too seen.

Claire noticed immediately, stepping behind you, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “Hey, baby,” she murmured, voice soft. “It’s okay. Why don’t we bring a cover-up for when we get out of the pool, yeah?”

You nodded, letting out a small breath of relief, and Claire kissed your temple before helping you change. She took her time adjusting the strings of your bikini, making sure you were comfortable before slipping a light, soft cover-up over your shoulders. Her fingers smoothed down the fabric, and then she pulled you into her chest, wrapping her arms around you.

“Perfect,” she murmured, lips pressing softly against the shell of your ear. “So, so perfect, baby.”

You melted into her, letting her kiss you slow and sweet before she finally took your hand and led you back outside.

The sun was bright, almost too bright after the dimmed comfort of the bedroom, and for a moment, you hesitated. But Claire squeezed your hand, glancing over at you with a warm, reassuring smile, and just like that, the tension in your shoulders eased.

She guided you to a sun lounger, settling you down before straddling the lounger behind you, reaching for the sunscreen.

“Can’t have my baby getting burned,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck before squeezing a generous amount of sunscreen into her hands.

You shivered as her fingers smoothed over your back, rubbing the lotion into your skin with slow, thorough movements. She took her time, her hands massaging over your shoulders, your arms, your spine, her thumbs pressing gently into the muscles of your back.

“You’re so tense, baby,” she murmured, kissing the top of your shoulder as her hands kneaded softly. “Just relax, I’ve got you.”

You let out a small, content sigh, leaning into her touch as she continued working the sunscreen over your skin, her hands trailing down your sides, over your stomach, your thighs. By the time she was done, you were practically boneless, melted into her lap.

She chuckled, kissing the side of your neck again. “All good?”

You turned to her with a soft, sleepy smile, reaching for the sunscreen bottle. “Your turn.”

Claire smirked but let you maneuver yourself onto your knees, facing her as you squeezed some sunscreen onto your palms. You started at her shoulders, your hands gliding over her skin, taking your time to rub in the lotion with the same slow, methodical care she’d given you.

When you reached her chest, you frowned, tsking lightly. “Baby, you’re burning up,” you murmured, pouting.

Claire laughed, shaking her head as you ran your hands over her collarbones, her sternum, rubbing in more sunscreen than necessary, but she wasn’t about to complain when you were touching her so sweetly.

“Is that so?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

You nodded firmly, smoothing more lotion over her shoulders, pressing a lingering kiss to her clavicle before finally pulling back. “There. Now you’re safe.”

Claire grinned, stealing a quick kiss before taking your hand and guiding you toward the pool.

The water was cool against your overheated skin, and the second you both stepped in, you melted, your muscles relaxing under the gentle sway of the water.

Claire waded in deeper, and the moment she was deep enough, you launched yourself into her arms, wrapping your legs around her waist, your arms around her shoulders, clinging to her like a little koala.

She let out a soft, delighted laugh, immediately wrapping her arms around you, one hand splayed over your back, the other cupping the back of your head. “There’s my baby,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You hummed, burying your face in her neck, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of her sunscreen, her shampoo, her everything.

She swayed the two of you gently in the water, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back.

“Better?” she murmured.

You nodded, nuzzling into her.

She kissed the top of your head, her arms tightening around you. “Good,” she whispered. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m not letting go.”

And you believed her.

You were so warm, so content, pressed against Claire’s chest in the pool, her arms wrapped around you as the water gently rocked you both. The sun was high in the sky, making everything hazy and golden, and you felt yourself slowly slipping into that perfect in-between space, not quite asleep, not quite awake, just floating.

Claire must’ve noticed, because she pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, murmuring, “Getting sleepy, baby?”

You hummed, barely able to keep your eyes open, completely at ease in her arms. “Mhm.”

But before you could drift off, a loud, roaring noise shattered the peace, making you jump in shock. You instinctively clung tighter to Claire, heart thudding as the sound grew closer, and then…

VROOOOM.

Your head snapped around just in time to see three luxury jet skis zooming through the water at high speed, the engines slicing through the otherwise still bay. They were sleek, brand new, painted in obnoxious metallic colors, gold, deep red, electric blue.

From the deck, Miles clapped his hands together, grinning wildly. “Gang! The speedboats are here!!”

Lionel, who had been sitting with his sunglasses on, letting his stress radiate into the atmosphere, slowly turned to look at Miles and sighed heavily. “Miles… these are jet skis. Very different.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “Same thing.” Then he grinned again, rubbing his hands together like some cartoon villain. “Now, c’mon! Let’s see who can beat Duke!”

Duke, already puffing up with pride, flexed his arms, the ridiculous tattoo of a gun on his bicep bulging. “Hell yeah, bro!” He turned to Whisky, all amped up now. “Babe! We need to take some videos for the channel, c’mon!”

Whisky, who had been lounging under the sun with an expression of mild boredom, suddenly perked up. She flipped her hair back, flashing a camera-ready smile. “Yes, Duke-y! Sounds good!”

You could tell immediately that she was excited to be featured more on the channel. A chance to get more views, to build a bigger following. She was already pulling out her phone, checking the angles, making sure she was camera-ready.

You sighed and turned your attention to Claire, who was watching the scene unfold with the most unimpressed expression you had ever seen. “…Baby,” you murmured, voice amused, “you don’t look very excited.”

Claire scoffed, glancing back at the jet skis with an expression like they had personally offended her. “That’s because I’m not.”

You grinned, already knowing full well that high-speed water sports were not her thing. “Aw, come on. You don’t wanna go race Duke?”

She shot you a look. “Absolutely not.”

And honestly? You were kinda with her on that one.

Taglist: @harknessshi @agathascoven1 @notorious-vick @jessica-mcd @sapphicfleur @lisqueen @starryjeongyeon @brekker157 @maximilfism @meghina18 @onlybynightandonlybysea @buttercandy16 @milflovers4 @rigglemethat @mistyshane30 @certified-sleep-deprived @agathaallalongg @yun4-st4rx @psychickryptonitebouquet @athnastasia @eletricheart @her0in-addicttt @writerspirit @sarahhh-plz @imlike-so-gaydude @morallygreymilfs @worstendingever @trasheddoll2 @womankissersworld @rizzlesregal13 @lowlyjelly @nightlyconfusion @morgananyx @agathaspett

[luvyeni]

[ req? yes / no ]

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘 ─── loving your soft girl life while your wife works very hard to provide for you ..

( 対 ) ceo!giselle + fem. reader wc. 0.4k genre smut · contains! scissoring , language mature content. / back to library

you lived your dream life ; you had everything thing you wanted , you got got everything you wanted with just a look and a sweet smile — you were taken care of very well , your wife made sure of that.

you stayed home all day comfortably , while giselle went to work and told people what to do ; or at least that what she told you , you couldn’t be bothered to worry , nor did she want you to do that. ‘ just be my sexy stay at home wife.’ is what she tell you .. so you did.

“hey baby.” she entered the room late into the night. “oh you’re home?” you jumped up straight into her arms. “yea , long day.” she huffed , you kissed her lips. “i missed you extra today.” you said , her hands lowered down to your buttocks , squeezing softly. “i missed you to princess , im glad i could get off a bit early and see my baby.” kissing your neck , leaving lipstick marks along your neck. “you smell good love.” whispering in your ears. “gi.” you moaned , your hand unbuttoning her shirt , squeezing her boobs , she cursed , moaning as you played with her nipples. “baby i’m gonna fuck you.”

giselle was always on top , it was just what it was , and you didn’t mind it at all. having her do all the work , but like she did in your everyday lives. “such pretty titties , my wife is so pretty.” she kissed your breast. “prettiest girl ever.” you let out a moan as she sucked on your nipples — you griped her hair. “ah fuck , i’m so fucking wet gi.” rubbing your folds through your panties , the wet spot in between your legs increases. “don’t worry baby i’m gonna fuck you.”

your leg was up by her ear , she held your ankle as her now bare cunt came in contact with yours. “oh shit.” she moaned as she moved , your clits touching , kissing as your hips moved up with hers. “oh fuck i love this , fuck i love this so much.” she sped up , both of you squealing in pleasure. “aeri!” you pinched her nipples , her tits jiggling in your face as your pussies rubbed together. “gi , gi i’m gonna fucking cum!” you screamed.

“yeah , you gonna cum?” she moaned , squeezing your boob right back. “that’s it baby , cum!” she kissed your ankle , right where the bangle with her initial sat. “cum all over my pussy , fuck im gonna cum too!” speeding up , both of you moaning loudly. “fuck fuck fuck!” you screamed , legs shaking as you came , you brought your hand in between your bodies , finishing her off , she jerk above you , twitching violently as she came , kissing your lips , holding your face. “mhm fuck i love you so much” she kissed your lips breathlessly. “i love you too gi.”

“i wanna make you cum for the whole night , just lay there and be my good little princess.”

©️LUVYENI

[cuntphoric]

a/n; indian reader with gojo for @satoruspillow idk if this is like right because i'm not indian myself but i was researching!! i was trying!! i'm sorry if it's bad ☹‼

you’re sitting cross legged on the floor, wearing one of your oversized kurtas—the comfy, peachy pink one that fades into coral - the one you always reach for when you're home and relaxed. it’s late, the soft yellow lights in your apartment glowing like melted ghee, warm and easy. a bollywood movie plays faintly in the background, the scene showing a man playing with a violin but you’re not even watching it anymore, though. gojo’s lying on your lap, his snowy hair a mess against your thighs, his long lashes brushing his cheeks as he blinks up at you like a cat who knows he’s spoiled.

“you smell like cardamom,” gojo says suddenly.

you blink, pausing in your motions—your fingers had been threading through his hair absentmindedly. “it’s probably the chai i made earlier,” you murmured.

“you do smell like cardamom..” he smiles lazily, eyes half lidded. “you’re like a puja in a person.”

you laugh softly, flicking his forehead. “what does that even mean?”

“it means you make everything feel great. even the boring stuff. even me.” gojo catches your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, his lips cool and soft. “especially me.”

your cheeks heated up, but you obviously don’t pull away. instead, you let your hand rest on his cheek, thumb brushing the curve of his jaw. he leans into your touch like he’s starving for it.

gojo reaches up and fiddles with your bangles, letting them clink together. “teach me how to say something romantic in hindi.”

you arched a brow. “romantic? why?”

“because you always say the sweetest stuff in your language and i want to make you smile too.”

you roll your eyes, but your heart stutters. “okay. say.. tum meri jaan ho.”

gojo tries. fails. tries again. says something completely different that sounds more like jam than jaan. you giggle into laughter and he grins shamelessly.

“you’re soo hopeless,” you tease.

“hopelessly in love,” he counters, tugging you down into his arms, toppling you both into a heap of laughter and limbs.

[hibiskissess]

Lonesome Love

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Summary: You’re about to leave Twisted Wonderland but both Malleus and Leona have yet to tell you their true feelings. Who’s affection will you accept?

╰┈➤ Part 1 (here!) | Part 2 (Leona Route) | Part 2 (Malleus Route)

It had been over a whole year since you were sent into Twisted Wonderland and taken away from your old life.

As the time stretched longer with each month, you were beginning to lose hope that Crowley or yourself would ever truly find a way for you to return home.

So when he called you to his office during class, you had simply assumed that Grim had done something while you weren’t looking and gotten in trouble. Instead, Crowley told you the great news of how he finally found a way back, stirring a cocktail of both happiness and regret inside of you.

Sure, you were happy that you could finally go back home and see your family and friends, but you had also grown a family here too.

Your feet felt heavy as you left the headmage’s office. A week- thats all the time you had before you’d be sent home. Only a week to say goodbye to everyone that had helped and cared for you during your time here.

❀。• *₊°。

Leona found out you were leaving from an offhand comment Ruggie left while walking to lunch.

“Who’re you gonna nap on now? Better not expect me to do it.” Ruggie teased, his eyes meeting Leona’s.

Leona’s eyebrows inched closer together, judging the other student’s words. “Huh? What’re you on about?” he questioned, his tail swiping slowly behind him.

“Haven’t you heard? The prefects going home soon. Finally found a way outta here.” Ruggie quirked his head to the side, “You seriously didn’t know? I thought for sure they’d tell you, considering how close you two are.” he smirked, gaging Leona’s reaction.

“Knock it off.” Leona curtly responded, cutting the conversation short.

Why didn’t you tell him? Out of everyone, surely, wouldn’t you have told him? Maybe your relationship just wasn’t what he thought it was.

Leona’s heart felt heavy in his chest during the remainder of his walk to the cafeteria. The one person who viewed him as more than a waste of space for simply being born too late. The one person who treated him more than just a shadow. The comfort he had yearned for after countless years had finally be bestowed upon him, and now it was being taken from his grasp before it was ever truly his.

Leona’s hands stuffed his pockets, begrudgingly walking to the cafeteria.

Seriously, what was he going to do? Here he was, thinking he had played his cards right and courted you enough to make a real move. But the harsh truth was always there to remind him- things weren’t mean to work out for him. His work would never pay off.

The rest of his idle chatter with Ruggie felt like white noise. While it wasn’t intentional, the news from Ruggie shook Leona more than he would ever admit out loud.

°•. ✿ .•°

Leona bathed in the sunlight peering down from the glass enclosure of the greenhouse, his eyes feeling heavy. That was until his ears twitched, hearing a distinct set of footsteps that he knows all too well.

“Herbivore.” he calls, “Come here.”

Despite the obvious curtness in his tone, you knew him well enough to hear the underlying softness in his beckoning.

You sat beside him, heart feeling sorrowful. This would be one of your last times here together, wouldn’t it?

A slow sigh dragged out your worries, leaving you to focus on the moment instead.

“…I wanted to tell you that I’m going back home in five days. Your company has really meant a lot for me during my time here, and I just wanted to thank you.”

A box emerged from your pocket, being offered to Leona with an unsure look.

“I hope you like it. It might not be up to par with your princely standards.” you jest, hoping to lighten up the somber mood.

Inside the velvety box was a golden bangle. It glistened in the sun, almost as if it was sunlight itself- like how you were the sun that shown through his seemingly endless twilight of self loathing.

“I saw it while I was out in town a few weeks ago and thought of you. I didn’t know when it would be the best time to give you it, so I thought now was better than never.”

Silence washed over the both of you, causing you to feel more hesitant about even giving it to him. “You don’t have to wear it, y’know. I just thought you’d…“

You stopped yourself short once you saw his expression.

Just for a moment, even if it was just a split second, you saw the look of sorrow emerge onto his features. Just as quickly as it appeared, his heartache faded away as he smirked causally as if your sentiment hadn’t phased him in the slightest.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll keep it.” he assured. “You know I’m not one for grand gestures. I’ll appreciate it regardless.”

He bit back the rest of his sentence— ’especially if it’s from you.’

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ｡･ﾟﾟ

The black velvet of the night’s sky was disturbed by the alluring glow of the moon lighting Leona’s room. He laid on his bed, thumb absentmindedly stroking the bangle he received earlier that day.

He had to do something. It couldn’t end like this. For once in his life, he had the control to keep something as his. However, the opportunity was slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. If he didn’t act hastily, then he would continue to be alone. The only person who had made him feel at home, like he belonged somewhere, was leaving for good.

He had to do something. He didn’t know what, but anything would be better than nothing. Anything to keep his love besides him no matter what. No matter how much wealth or fortune he possesses, nothing would matter if he was left without you; you who were worth more to him in his heart than any gold or money.

Worry began to slither itself into his mind- what if it lead to nothing, just as all of his efforts had in the past? He wasn’t meant to have a happy ending, he was meant to stay buried in the shadows.

But was that really true?

You had shown him otherwise. You showed him he could be loved, how he could still be cherished despite being second-born. Even if it lead to nothing, he had to at least try. Just this once.

.·:*¨¨*☆

Your nightly walks with Malleus had grown into something of a heartwarming tradition. Even after you learned who he really was, even after he overblotted, you still treated him like he was normal. Like you weren’t scared of him just casually looking your way.

That simple normalcy caused you to sneak into his heart. He thought he would always be alone; sure, he would have Silver, Sebek, and other people there to guard him, but thats all they were really there to do. Guard him because he was the future ruler of Briar Valley.

You met Malleus outside, the midnight’s gentle breeze tousling both his and your hair. A gentle hand came up to your face, brushing away stray hairs obscuring your features.

“Child of Man,” he started, “I’ve appreciated the time we’ve spent in eachother’s company. You brought light to the desolate place of Ramshackle Dorm just as how you have to myself. I wish you well in your future endeavors.”

His hand intertwined with yours, its bigger size engulfing your manus. His adoring eyes met yours, any other words of his getting caught in his throat. Once you left, it would be just him again. No one to understand him in the way you did so lovingly.

“I’ll miss you too. You’ve really done a lot for me while I was here.” you smiled.

“…I was meaning to ask you something before I left.” you broke the silence, your eyes meeting his.

“Oh? And what might it be?” the fae inquired.

“I was wondering if you could check up on Grim occasionally. I think he might be lonely with me gone, but he’ll try to hide it. Just… get him tuna every so often. He’ll warm up to you, trust me.”

Even now, when everything you had known for the past year was being pulled away from you, you were still caring for others. Malleus’ heart clenched, wishing that you could stay, wishing that you could stay here with him.

“I’ll do my best to provide. Don’t worry about your companion in your absence.” he tried his best to assure.

You grinned back at him once more, a tenderhearted expression painted on your visage. What he would do to keep you looking at him like that for eternity.

As the two of you adjourned for one of the last times, Malleus disappeared with a flash of green light. He paced around his dormitory room, being uncharacteristically panicked.

He knew he shouldn’t let his emotions get the better of him- he was the crown prince, after all. The epitome of refinement and dignity. However, that meant nothing when it came to you. You, who broke down the walls around his heart. You, who was just a simple human, was making the most powerful fae’s heart blaze with a desire for your affection.

The door to Malleus’ room creaked open, showing just enough to see who had disturbed him.

“You should be sleeping, you know. It’s quite late.”

Malleus pouted, looking over at the door. “Lilia, do not treat me as if I’m a child.” However, he couldn’t deny that it was late. But isn’t it in his nature as a nocturnal fae to crave for the night’s comfort?

Lilia shrugged, smiling ever so casually. “Okay, okay.” he accepted Malleus’ request reluctantly.

The air shifted as Lilia walked closer to him, his tone more serious than before. “Malleus, you need to understand something. Fate comes with a delicate balance, as our endings are already written in the stars. If you chose to dip one end of the scale into your favor, will the world ever end up the way it was meant to?” he inquired, “The choice of whether or not you want to claim the prize of the winner is up to you. Just make up your mind before the opportunity slips away, becoming just another memory.”

Lilia knew all too well what was happening deep inside of Malleus’ heart. After all, he had known Malleus for his whole life, along with knowing his parents. If Malleus weren’t to act on his infatuation now, his heart wouldn’t be able to heal no matter how many millenniums passed.

┊┊❁ཻུ۪۪♡ ͎. ｡˚ 　　° — choose who you’ll accept:

╰┈➤ Leona or Malleus

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Jamaai Ghar Aaye ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆

Summary: Lando and you go back home from your honeymoon. You hadn't realised how much your parents had changed in that short period of time.

⤑ ln x desi!reader 𔓘

⤑ fluff 𔓘

masterlist ☾☼

marrying lando had been a dream come true. it was something you hadn't expected, but god, you were glad it happened.

now, after not only getting married, but being back to india, to your city after your honeymoon really made you realise just how real the relationship was. the two of you had planned to stay in india for a week with your family, before going to monaco. lando had to begin with his training soon, and you had to get back to work. it worked out well for you.

standing just outside the airport, you quickly spotted your cousin's car, and the two of you dragged your bags over. your cousins stepped out, hugging the both of you, and put the bags in the trunk.

lando and you climbed into the back seat, where you rearranged the bags to sit in the middle, closer to where lando was against the window.

he immediately wrapped an arm across your shoulder and you leaned into him, holding his hand, enjoying the way your red bangles clinked against each other. he pressed a distracted kiss against your temple, his attention on the people outside as your cousin made his way out of the airport pick up and drop.

"so, how was the honeymoon?" your cousin in the passenger seat asked, turning from his seat.

you brightened up, and leaned forward to tell him all kinds of stories. your hands moved animatedly, and every now and then, lando chimed in with a part that you missed.

"are you pregnant yet?" your cousin asked.

your cousin in the driver's seat coughed loudly as he tried to hide his laugh, and you glared at him. smacking your cousin's arm, you said, "what kind of question is that?"

"what? the only reason you can have sex is if you're trying to get pregnant!"

lando laughed, "mate, how many kids do you have?"

"shut up! i don't have sex that often!"

"sure you don't," your husband responded, still chuckling.

"hey, stay out of my sex life!"

"you stay out of ours then! no no, better yet, stay out of your baby sister's sex life, unless you want me to tell you all about how i made her c-"

"no, no, no, no shut up! i don't want to know! i don't care! stop talking!"

everyone in the car burst out laughing. serves your cousin right.

all four of your phones buzzed at the same time, and you checked the notification. your mom was asking in the family group if you and lando were on your way yet. quickly clicking on the camera icon on whatsapp, and setting it on selfie mode, you snapped a picture of you and lando making goofy faces.

sending the picture, you let your family know that you were about five minutes away. all you got was a thumbs up in response.

tuning back into the conversation happening in the car, you realised that your cousin from the driver's seat was talking.

"there's a full daawat at home,"

"what's a daawat?" lando asked you softly.

"it's like a full meal. multiple types of starters and main dishes and desserts. that kind of thing," you responded, just as softly.

"why is there a daawat?" lando asked, his question directed towards your cousins. the confusion was obvious in his voice, and despite him slightly butchering up the pronunciation of the word, you still appreciated it.

your cousin looked at lando from the rear view mirror and smirked, "jamaai ghar aaye hai,"

before lando could ask, your cousin parked the car in the allotted parking space, and the four of you got out of the car.

lando fussed around with the bags, insisting on taking out all the local sweets that he had handpicked from your honeymoon.

"baby, we can give it to them once we go inside,"

lando shook his head, already holding the pile of boxes, "no. we gotta give them now. what's that thing you say when you buy chocolates or a bottle of wine or something when we go to someone's house?"

you bit your lip, trying to hide your smile as you said, "khaali haath kisi ke ghar nahi jaate?"

"bang on," lando said, and walked towards the front door.

your cousins followed behind him with the suitcases, grumbling about their weight.

before you could even reach the door, your parents stepped out, arms wide and smiling. seeing them instantly filled you with joy, and you opened your arms as well to hug them. your parents sidestepped you, and hugged your husband, taking the boxes from his hands and dumping them in your open arms, as they quietly chatted for a bit.

you frowned, and watched as your husband leaned down and pressed his hand to your parents' feet before touching that hand to his chest.

well, at least sanskaar acche sikhaaye hai tumne.

your cousins laughed behind you, but you ignored them.

settling the boxes, you greeted all your aunts and uncles, and you joked a little bit with your cousins as well. you kept a watch on lando from the corner of your eye. he hugged and laughed with the entire family, and you couldn't help but notice how much attention he was receiving.

it made you happy. of course it did.

when your aunt called for dinner, you insisted that lando begin with his meal while you freshen up a bit to get rid of the flight feel.

picking your bag and walking to your room, you began winding down. changing into fresh clothes, you tied your hair, removed all your excess jewellery, washed your face and did your short skincare routine.

once you were done, you walked back to the dining room, and slowed down at the scene in front of you. lando sat at the head of the table, his plate filled with different delicacies. your entire family were surrounding him, offering him more food, and feeding him if required.

with a frown, you sat on the other end of the table, where your cousins sat, talking amongst themselves.

you began serving your plate, and every time you asked an aunt or uncle for a particular dish, they gave it to you without even glancing at you, and it only made you frown more.

as you ate, you watched the special treatment your husband was receiving from your family.

"what the fuck is happening?" you asked lowly to your cousins.

they looked at the scene that you had been watching. your mother was forcing gulab jamuns in his mouth, and you could tell lando was loving the attention.

your cousin sister snorted, "isn't it obvious? jamaai ghar aaye hai,"

you scrunched up your face as you watched all the gulab jamuns vanishing, and silently wished you had taken two beforehand.

sighing you said, "i miss when i used to be the favourite child,"

your cousins laugh, "it always ends up being the jamaai,"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

@partiallyderived this is for you! i got this idea a long time ago when we were talking about your dad basically seeing lando as his son-in-law. baba maan gaye ismein bhi ;)

lemme know what you think of it! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @greantii ; @anamiad00msday ; @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @justaf1girl ; @peterholland04 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry

i'd love your support! https://ko-fi.com/kavi2305

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

۶ৎ a/n .ᐟ | this is honestly a hot ass mess, and more like an info dump with some loose plot on the side. it's also ridiculously long because i have been wanting to write about this for so long, but i was lowkey too scared too. i also want to say that i don't condone the reader's actions, mean girls aren't cute nor are they funny, it's just for the morally gray plot 😭

i literally cannot stop thinking about what if Spencer Reid had a childhood best friend that was a mean girl.

realistically, i'm aware that spencer looks down on people like that, but for the sake of this au, imagine if the both of you grew up together, and you protected him from bullies and whatnot.

of course you're not a moral person, you're mean and you have a wicked tongue, and you're all around not nice, but spencer loves you.

i'm imagining a typical LA valley girl; that once you both get older, your clothing gets sluttier and you get meaner, while he gets nerdier.

your dynamic i imagine would be a really loose adaptation of the 'mean to everyone else but you' trope.

it's kind of funny to an outsider looking in, because you feel the need to protect your boy genius from people like you.

spencer helps to reel in the bitchy tendencies in you, because you typically lose your cool fast and say whatever's on your mind, which usually comes at a cost of the other person's feelings.

when you guys were younger, he was definitely scared of you.

though you were this chunky girl that should have been bullied right along with him, you were downright worse than what he had to deal with.

the poor boy nearly shit himself when you sat with him at lunch the day after you had saved him from getting his ass kicked.

he was too nervous to say anything, and you've never left him alone since.

now that spencer's older, he figures that your friendship kind of tracks; he always did attract trouble.

the strange part about it was that, yes, you were snappy, but you had never purposely tried to hurt his feelings.

he knows how you get, especially when you go on your tangents or if your buttons had been repeatedly pushed.

you lash out and say things you don't mean, then slink back into his arms with that charming pout on your face, and an apology thick on the tip of your tongue.

spencer sometimes forgets that people kind of fear you because you're sweet on him.

like let's be honest, you're a judgy bitch. no one likes those.

so when he's exposed to that side of you, he gets whiplash.

you took well to the team though, and i only think that's because you can tell how much they mattered to him.

your main thing had always been to try and defend him against people that have ill intentions.

so when see the sheer amount of camaraderie and familial energy that surrounds all of them, you ease up.

but not when they cut him off. that's when you get ugly.

you guys were in separate grades due to spencer jumping ahead, but you still hung out on a daily basis, you had heard his statistical chattering for the majority of your life.

so, you knew it was something he found pleasure in doing, and you'd be damned if someone upset him.

you really did try and bite your tongue! but sometimes morgan's ego was too big for his body, or maybe jj gave him one too many looks for your liking.

luckily spencer can catch the cat-fight bubbling in you from a mile away; he can see the way your eyes narrow first, a disbelieving smile on your face while your exceptionally done nails tap on the nearest surface in irritation.

have you ever seen a cat when its hair stands up on the back of its neck? yeah, that's you.

all it takes is a warm hand on your naked thigh and a small shake of his head to make you huff and cross your arms, the clinking of your bangle bracelets moving along with you.

of course he'll hear all about it on the ride home.

spencer's feelings for you had always been there, but there was a difference between you being his best friend and his lover.

and honestly? that grade school intimidation that he had felt would came back.

because at the end of the day you were you, and he was him.

it was a ridiculous thought, one that you had dismissed when you had confessed to him yourself.

"do you like me back or not, spence?" you had asked out of the blue one day. "because you keep looking at me and not doing anything about it. It's kind of pissing me off."

his wide, shocked eyes met yours, practically tearing his gaze away from the book he had been engrossed in.

"i... do."

"do what?"

"yes, i do like you back."

"good."

dating wasn't all that different than being your friend, he had come to realize.

the only thing that was different was that you were sweeter than ever.

always complimenting him and buying him shit, posting him all over your social media, and even making him your lock screen.

you were so proud to be his partner, that he had forgotten what being loved out loud had felt like.

your relationship came as a shock to no one, of course.

y'all are the epitome opposites attract.

your skimp wear compared to his cardigans, your bite to his soft ask, your scoff to his chuckle.

that's what spencer's come to love. the fact that you guys are so different.

yes, you're a handful, yes you're mean to him sometimes, but like i said before:

he loves you. and that's all that matters.

© ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused .ᐟ

[tawnysoup]

Seeing as the ISAT art book is in production and we know there'll be Nille concept art in it, I may as well post my take on her design before the release!

Since she made her own hammer, I thought she may be into metalworking, so I tried to incorporate more metallic elements into the design. Could she have made Bonnie's bangle? Maybe she would make armour for the others after joining the group? She has to do a lot of hard work back home so I'm sure she's built up some muscle. And I'm a firm believer in Nille with a braid! A fun hairstyle that's unique from the others and fits her tidy 'roll up sleeves, tie hair back, bring it on' attitude. Petronille! We love you! Can't wait to see those little concept drawings, hehe!

I also personally headcanon that, while most of the family calls her Nille, if Loop was there they'd definitely shorten her name to Pet instead and peeve her off. Teehee~

[kiyawritesforf1]

TINKLING TEMPTATIONS

Pairing: Lando Norris x Indian!Reader

Words: 4k

1. The Nose Ring That Started It All

Monaco’s McLaren Technology Centre buzzed with pre-season prep, engineers darting between laptops and car parts. Lando Norris, fresh from a sim session, was meant to be focusing on telemetry data, but his eyes were elsewhere—on Y/n, the new PR manager, briefing the media team across the room. She was a vision: tailored blazer, high-waisted trousers, hair in a sleek ponytail, and a tiny silver nose ring with a diamond stud that caught the fluorescent lights like a flirtatious wink.

Lando’s coffee cup froze halfway to his mouth. He’d seen nose rings before, sure, but on her? It was… different. A nod to her Punjabi roots, subtle but bold, sitting perfectly on her flawless skin. His brain short-circuited, imagining her picking it out in some vibrant Delhi market, her laugh echoing as she tried it on. Bloody hell, Norris, focus.

“You alright, mate?” Oscar Piastri, his teammate, nudged him, smirking. “You’re staring like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Lando snapped out of it, cheeks pink. “I’m not staring,” he mumbled, spilling coffee on his hoodie. “Just… her nose ring. It’s… shiny.”

Oscar snorted. “Shiny? Mate, you’re gone. That’s Y/n, the PR wizard. Good luck—she’s way out of your league.”

Lando groaned, wiping the spill, but his eyes drifted back to Y/n. She caught his gaze, raising an eyebrow, the stud glinting again. “Lando, you need something?” she called, her voice teasing but professional.

“Uh, no! Just… nice… ring!” he stammered, face flaming as the media team chuckled. Y/n’s lips twitched, amused, and Lando sank into his chair, muttering, “Kill me now.” Oscar clapped his back, laughing, but Lando was already planning how to accidentally-on-purpose bump into her later.

2. The Spicy Lunch Surprise

The Bahrain Grand Prix was a scorcher, and the McLaren garage was a sweaty hive of activity. Lando, between practice sessions, was starving, his stomach growling louder than the V6 engines. Y/n was at her usual post, managing press queries with cool efficiency, her sundress a bright contrast to the grease-stained chaos. She’d been with the team a few months now, and Lando’s crush had only worsened—especially since he’d overheard her joking in Punjabi on a call, her voice melodic, confident, hot.

He was rummaging through the catering table—same old sandwiches—when Y/n walked over, a Tupperware in hand. “Hungry, Norris?” she asked, popping the lid to reveal a steaming pile of chana masala, the spicy chickpea dish wafting cumin and chili.

Lando’s mouth watered, but not just for food. She was eating this herself, a little piece of home in the desert, and the casual way she offered him some—like it was nothing—made his heart skip. “Is that… Indian?” he asked, voice a pitch too high.

“Yup,” she said, handing him a spoon. “Punjabi soul food. Careful, it’s got a kick.”

He took a bite, and whoa. The flavors exploded—tangy, spicy, warm—and he grinned, eyes wide. “This is unreal,” he said, then, without thinking, “You’re unreal. Like, how do you just… make this? And look like that?”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard, then laughed, a sound that hit him harder than the chili. “Easy, tiger. It’s just chickpeas, not a love potion.”

His face burned, spoon halfway to his mouth. “I didn’t mean—well, I did, but—” He stopped, noticing Daniel Ricciardo nearby, eavesdropping with a grin.

“Go on, Norris, dig that hole deeper,” Daniel called, winking at Y/n, who smirked and handed him a spoonful too. Lando watched, jealous of the spoon, muttering, “Mate, get your own.” Y/n’s eyes sparkled, oblivious to his inner meltdown, and Lando swore he’d learn to cook chana masala if it meant eating with her again.

3. The Bangle Blunder

Silverstone was home turf, and Lando’s family joined him for the weekend, turning the McLaren hospitality suite into a Norris family reunion. His mum, Cisca, was fussing over his hydration, while his dad, Adam, and siblings, Flo and Oliver, teased him about his P4 qualifying. Y/n was in her element, managing media chaos with a clipboard and a smile, her floral skirt and blouse combo hugging her curves in a way that made Lando’s focus slip.

Then he heard it—a soft jingle, like tiny bells. Y/n was wearing bangles, a stack of thin silver ones on her wrist, a nod to her Punjabi heritage that clinked as she gestured, explaining something to a journalist. The sound was hypnotic, tying her modern vibe to something timeless, and Lando was gone, imagining her dancing at some vibrant Indian wedding, bangles flashing.

“Lando, you’re up for interviews,” she said, walking over, the bangles jingling louder. He stared, mouth dry, brain stuck on jingle-jingle-hot.

“Uh… yeah, cool,” he managed, tripping over a chair as he stood, earning a laugh from Flo. “Your… bracelets. They’re… loud.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, shaking her wrist to make them clink more. “Loud? You mean musical. It’s a Punjabi thing—keeps the vibes festive.”

“They’re… really festive,” he said, cheeks pink, scratching his neck. “Like, distracting. In a good way.”

Cisca, watching, whispered to Adam, “He’s smitten,” and Adam chuckled, nodding. Y/n tilted her head, amused but clueless, and said, “Focus, Norris. You’ve got Sky Sports in five.” She walked off, bangles singing, and Lando groaned, muttering, “I’m doomed.”

Carlos Sainz, grabbing a coffee nearby, smirked. “Mate, just ask her out. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Shut it,” Lando hissed, but he was already daydreaming about those bangles, wondering how they’d sound if he held her hand.

4. The Holi Havoc

McLaren hosted a pre-season team-bonding event in Monaco, and Y/n, ever the creative PR genius, suggested a Holi-inspired party—color powders, water balloons, and music to celebrate her culture’s festival of spring. The paddock was transformed into a rainbow riot, drivers and staff laughing, covered in pinks and blues. Y/n was in a white crop top and jeans, modern but ready for the mess, her nose ring sparkling as she tossed a handful of yellow powder at Oscar.

Lando, in a white tee, was meant to be strategizing with Zak Brown, but his eyes were on Y/n, laughing like a kid, her skin dusted with color, her energy infectious. When she grabbed a water balloon and lobbed it at him, soaking his shirt, he yelped, then chased her, grabbing a fistful of red powder.

“Gotcha!” he shouted, smearing it across her cheek, his fingers lingering a second too long. Her laugh was electric, her face glowing under the color, and Lando’s heart did a double take. She’s a bloody masterpiece.

“You’re dead, Norris!” she teased, tossing more powder, her Punjabi spirit shining through in her playfulness. He caught her wrist, pulling her close, their faces inches apart, colors swirling around them.

“You’re… so pretty,” he blurted, voice soft, face redder than the powder. Her eyes widened, a smile tugging her lips, but before she could respond, Max Verstappen doused them both with a water gun, cackling.

“Oi, lovebirds, save it for later!” Max yelled, and Lando groaned, letting her go, his shirt clinging to his chest, his crush painfully obvious. Y/n laughed, brushing powder from her hair, and Lando muttered to himself, “I need to stop saying stupid things.” But he was already planning to steal another balloon fight with her.

5. The Diwali Glow

It was November, and Y/n invited the McLaren team to her Monaco apartment for a low-key Diwali celebration—her way of sharing her roots without making it a big PR stunt. Lando jumped at the chance, dragging Oscar and Daniel along, his nerves jangling worse than race day. Her place was warm, lit with diyas, a small rangoli at the door, and the smell of sweets—gulab jamun, barfi—filling the air.

Y/n wore a simple anarkali dress, gold and peach, not heavy like a traditional outfit but flowing, modern, hugging her just right. Her hair was loose, her nose ring catching the candlelight, and Lando nearly walked into a wall when she opened the door.

“Welcome!” she said, handing him a diya to light. “It’s for good vibes—don’t burn my place down, Norris.”

“No promises,” he joked, but his hands shook as he lit the lamp, his brain screaming she’s unreal. She explained Diwali—light over darkness, family, hope—and he hung on every word, charmed by her passion, her ease blending cultures.

When she offered him a gulab jamun, her fingers brushing his, he took a bite and groaned, loud enough for Daniel to snicker. “Mate, it’s a sweet, not a proposal,” Daniel teased, but Lando’s face was flaming.

“It’s amazing,” he said, eyes on Y/n. “You’re amazing. Like, this whole… Indian thing. It’s… wow.” He cringed, words tumbling out wrong, but Y/n smiled, soft, oblivious to his heart doing cartwheels.

“Thanks, Lando,” she said, passing him another sweet. “You’re sweet too.” He choked on the jamun, Oscar thumping his back, laughing, and Lando swore he’d die of embarrassment—or love—before the night was over.

+1. The Confrontation and the Date

The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix was the season finale, and McLaren was riding a high—Lando had clinched P3 in the championship, a career best. The team party was at a beach club, fairy lights twinkling, music pulsing. Y/n was in a navy dress, sleek and elegant, her nose ring glinting as she laughed with the media team, coordinating last-minute posts. Lando, in a rare suit, couldn’t stop glancing at her, his crush no longer a secret to anyone—drivers, his family, probably the entire paddock.

His mum, Cisca, was there, visiting, and nudged him. “Lando, love, just tell her. You’ve been mooning over her all year.”

“Mum,” he groaned, cheeks pink, “she doesn’t even notice. I’m a mess around her.”

Cisca smiled, patting his arm. “She notices more than you think.”

He wasn’t so sure. Every time Y/n’s bangles jingled, or she cooked something spicy, or her nose ring caught the light, he fell harder, babbling like an idiot—yet she stayed cool, professional, friendly. Untouchable. But tonight, with the season done and champagne in his veins, he was done hiding.

Y/n was by the bar, sipping a mocktail, when he approached, heart pounding. “Hey,” he said, voice shaky, “can we… talk?”

She turned, smiling, that damn stud sparkling. “Sure, Norris. What’s up?”

He swallowed, noticing Daniel and Charles lurking nearby, pretending not to eavesdrop. “I, uh… you’re amazing,” he started, then winced. “Not like, work-amazing—though you are—but… you. Your nose ring, your food, your bangles, the Holi thing, Diwali… all of it. I’m kind of obsessed with you.”

Her eyes widened, lips parting, and for once, she looked flustered. “Wait—obsessed? Lando, are you saying…?”

“I’m a disaster,” he rushed on, face red, “but yeah, I fancy you. Like, a lot. Every time you do something… Indian, I lose it. The jingly bracelets, the spicy stuff—it’s all so you, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to take you out. Like, a proper date. If you’ll let me.”

Silence. His stomach dropped, expecting rejection, but then she laughed—not mocking, but warm, delighted. “Lando Norris,” she said, stepping closer, her voice teasing, “have you been blushing over my nose ring this whole time?”

“Maybe,” he mumbled, scratching his neck, the drivers snickering behind him. Charles gave a thumbs-up, Daniel mouthed “Go for it,” and Cisca watched, beaming.

Y/n tilted her head, studying him, her smile softening. “I noticed, you know. The way you stare when I wear bangles, or when I brought that dal to the paddock. I thought it was cute, but I didn’t realize it was this.” She gestured at his flustered self, grinning. “You’re adorable when you’re nervous.”

“Adorable?” he groaned, but his heart lifted, hope sparking. “So… is that a yes?”

She nodded, eyes sparkling. “Yes, Lando. Take me out. But—” she leaned in, whispering, “you’re gonna have to handle spicier food than you think.”

He laughed, relief flooding him, and grabbed her hand, the crowd cheering—Daniel loudest, yelling, “Finally!” Lando pulled her close, not caring who saw, his grin wide.

“First date,” he said, voice low, “I’m picking somewhere with curry. And you’re wearing those bangles.”

“Deal,” she whispered, squeezing his hand, her nose ring catching the light, sealing his fate.

END

P.S. I am liking these 5+1 fics

[butterli5]

Fem! Moonwater post bc yes?

Remus hadn’t even wanted to come.

But Lily had threatened her with bodily harm if she didn’t, shoved a crop top into her arms before they left the flat, and curled her hair with determined precision while babbling about how everyone would be there tonight, that her and Pandora had been planning for weeks to meet each other's friends, and Remus being Lily's best friend could not even think of not being there. The shirt was from her last birthday, black, soft, and tight in all the right ways. The bold white lettering across her chest read: I Get the Job Done. They had just laughed about it then, but it soon became Remus' favorite thing to wear when they were going out because she never went home alone when she did.

“Trust me,” Lily had said, eyes glinting, “you’ll be glad you wore it.”

Now, under the soft buzz of fairy lights strung across a rooftop in the city, Remus was starting to believe her.

She stood awkwardly at the edge of the party, one hand tugging at the delicate gold chain around her waist, star charms moving across her pale stomach with the slightest of movements, Lily’s final accessory touch. It sparkled just under the hem of her shirt every time she shifted.

The music pulsed low. The air smelled like smoke, sugar, and something sweetly burning.

Pandora appeared first, floating through the crowd like some ethereal creature, pink platform boots stomping softly against the concrete as she threw her arms around Lily and kissed her full on the mouth.

Remus looked away, smiling, and that’s when she arrived.

Regulus Black.

She moved through the haze like a slow flame, glass in hand, wearing a short leather skirt that sat low on her hips and a silk camisole that glittered under the light. Her arms were toned, sun-kissed, adorned in silver bangles and tattoos that peeked out with every slow step.

And her eyes, sharp, dark, devouring, were locked on Remus.

No one had told Remus that Pandora’s best friend was a goddess in leather.

Regulus dragged her eyes down her body like she had all the time in the world to savor it, the shirt, the curve of her breasts beneath it, the glint of gold at her waist, the soft stretch of her bare stomach. And when she reached her face again, she smiled. Slow. Lazy. Dangerous.

Then she stepped in. Closer than necessary. Closer than reasonable. Her mouth tilted in amusement as her perfume wrapped around Remus like a net, something lush and expensive and unbearably distracting.

Her breath was hot against Remus’s ear.

“Is it actually true?” she murmured, voice silk and sin, one finger ghosting the edge of the printed words stretched across Remus’s chest. “Do you…get the job done?”

Remus, who had never in her life been more flustered or more aroused, managed to nod.

Regulus chuckled, low and thrilled, like she’d just found her new favorite game.

“I don't know,” she said, pulling away, but not before letting her hand trail lightly across Remus’s bare waist. “I just might to find out on my own, don't I?”

Remus’s legs might’ve forgotten how to work.

Lily caught her arm as Regulus melted back into the crowd to order the next round of drinks. “You good?” she asked, grinning like the devil.

Remus swallowed. Her pulse throbbed in her ears.

“No,” she said. “But I’m very interested in becoming so.”

"Told you the shirt would do its magic," she winked and turned to high five her girlfriend who was giggling with amusement, and suddenly it all made sense.

Now Remus just had to find a way to take that gorgeous woman home, show her how good she can be so that she can keep doing that for the rest of her life.

I was inspired by @serenadeofastros post about the Renee rap song, and listening to the giver earlier I was like yep let's do it (this also might just be the outcome of my delirious sick state, because even if I wanna kms moonwater are having some hot steamy sex somewhere in the universe and that makes me feel a bit better)