#Deciphering conflicts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fishnapple · 8 months ago

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You in their eyes, how do they see you?

(Future spouse/partner/lover)

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

MAELSTROM

• Spirit animal: Turtle

You're a balanced combination of both soft, mysterious energy and firm, assertive energy. They can definitely see that you have mental compatibility with each other. Words flow between you effortlessly, conversations would take hours without anyone noticing time was flying by. They can talk about anything with you without fear of judgement and misunderstanding. You stimulate their mind, and when conflicts arise, you can discuss them logically with clarity without letting emotions take over you. This make problems solving between you and them easier, leaving less space for resentment and unresolved feelings.

You seem reserved and quiet in their eyes. Your display of emotions and affection is subtle and intuitive, a quiet devotion that embraces them every day without suffocating them. Though, sometimes, they would have difficulties in trying to decipher your deeper feelings, to understand you at your core, the part that you conceal from them.

But they admire your ability to embrace your inner child fully. They know that this didn't come naturally for you, there's a journey behind it, lessons and hardship you had to go through in order to protect and bring your inner child to the world, no matter how you're perceived. They love this courage, this fearless attitude when you have to face people's opinions, you don't let yourself be swayed by them. Sometimes, you can even be rebellious. But the funny thing is, the more you fight, the more rebellious you're, the more attractive you're in their eyes. And it's not like you go about it in an aggressive and confrontional method. You do you, unapologetically, like a child unaware of how seemingly "odd" their behaviour is in other's eyes. But they know you're not childish. Behind that oblivious attitude is a strong sense of self, a wise person, ruling their own inner kingdom with iron fists. Like a ballerina, their movements can be so graceful only because they've spent endless hours discipline themselves and practised.

Sometimes, they can think that you're being too engrossed in the pursuit of material achievements, like you're always in preparation mode for some disasters looming in the distant future. Greedy might be too strong of a word, but they can view you as materialistic or have a mindset of lack. They understand that material security is very important to you. You need to feel a strong foundation under your feet to feel safe. That can make you overwork yourself to the point of exhaustion, always looking for the next thing to do. But they can see you putting that same effort in making the relationship work, you care about them and are willing to take care of things to make their life easier. They will feel that you're always there when they need you, your presence is a constant that is very much needed in their life. They would feel empty, a part of them is missing when you're away.

SEA FOAM

• Spirit animal: Fish

They think you're their good karma (if you believe in the concept of karma) or a reward, a surprise given to them by some higher powers. I see the image of someone being ushered into someone's life. Both parties can be quite reluctant at first, but as fate has it, you and them need to be together. There's a heavy element of fatefulness in this connection, or so that's how they see it. You are destined to love each other, no matter how much both of you try to deny or run away from it.

I think you will be the one who does the running away in the beginning. You seem "hard to catch", like trying to catch a fish with their bare hands. You would fleet in and out of their life at first, they can't seem to figure you out. But your presence will be a pushing force in their life, pushing them into a different direction, to where they are afraid to tread but secretly wish to.

In their eyes, you can be a little immature or temperamental, acting on whims of the moment. This makes you exciting and unique but sometimes, also agitating and hard to pin down. It's like they're torn between the feeling of love and frustration for you. Their personality probably is more serious and intense than yours. They want to be in the deep water with their lover, but you seem to refuse to swim there with them. But they will always want to care for you, to protect you from the harsh world outside.

The way you talk and act just exudes a young and pure energy, as of someone who, just for the first time, allowed to go outside to explore. You might talk a lot (compare to them), you ask questions, sometimes funny one, sometimes philosophical one, sometimes silly one. They will like to indulge you, patiently answer each one of your questions, then sometimes they can get irritated and start to lecture you, to that, you will just ask more questions. You want to learn, to understand this world. Behind that seemingly busy bee mind is a yearning to explore, to be free and soaring. And even if they can't fly with you, they sure will gather all the winds to lift your wings, instead of trying to pull you down into their water (who's the fish here?).

Your habits might be a little more messy or undisciplined compared to this person. You seem confused lots of times and don't have a good grasp of how to navigate your daily life efficiently, yet miraculously, you still swim through life effortlessly, much to their amazement. You don't fret too much about the future, somehow always arrive at the desired destination on time, things just work out for you, as if you just need to focus on taking good care of yourself and be contented, the rest will be taken care of for you by some mysterious force. This contrasts sharply with their approach to life, always planning ahead, always wanting to control the outcome. This creates a complementary dynamic between you two. Where you need structure, they provide, where they need spontaneity, you provide. In the end, no matter how different you guys are, you just fit each other neatly, like puzzle pieces.

SANDSTORM

• Spirit animal: Swan

They just know that you're the perfect partner for them, the one they need to get married to or at least make a serious, long-term commitment. You just possess all the qualities they seek in a spouse, the thought of committing probably will appear in their mind early on. You have a natural ability to understand them, nurture and protect them, at the same time, be a reliable pillar of strength for them. You are serious in your commitment, never take feelings for granted, you date with marriage as end goal in mind. They also think you would make a good parent, someone with enough tenderness and discipline to raise children with good balance.

Your work might involve lots of travelling and communicating. They can see that these are prominent parts of your life, demanding a large chunk of your time. They think that you tend to overwork yourself, being too engrossed in working, you're always busy, I wonder if this also means that you don't spend enough time with them, they feel like they have to demand for your time, to take you away from whatever is bothering your mind. Security is very important to you, you need to feel abundant to feel safe, yet they think you hardly ever feel that way, hence the constant working. They will want to help you in this area, just like how you help them. You mirror each other, in energy, in intentions, both of you want to care for each other in the same way as the other person does.

They probably like to hear your voice, be it talking, singing, or making other sounds. It feels soothing and calming for them. What you say also brings a new perspective, widening their view about the world. They sometimes see you as a teacher, whom they should listen to and want to be guided by. You just move through life gracefully, always open to new adventure, but still leave space for contemplating deeper meanings about everything. Like a philosopher wandering through life, observing the world, and sharing wisdom with the people. You need to be constantly in motion, travelling, or just moving around, and they're happy to be your companion, though they might sometimes want to slow down and rest a little.

They think you have a lot to uncover. You hide a huge treasure of deep love inside, something too intense for you to confidently show to the world. They would be sad to see you lock your dreams away, and they are willing to help make your dreams come true, if you would just ask them to. Your inner child is also someone they want to get close to. You seem to be disconnected from your inner child. They can feel that you want to connect, but something in your psyche is scaring your inner child away, making them reluctant to join the "family". From the outside, this makes you look a little cold or unaffectionate, you're discreet with your love, only ever bring it out when you completely trust someone. They would want to reach out their hands and pull your inner child closer, to give your inner child a hug.

DUSK

• Spirit animal: Phoenix

They think that you being in a relationship with them is be a big step away from your past wounds. Not that they want the credit for themselves, but as an admiration for you, for your strength. They can see that you had a great fear concerning relationship and commitment in general. Maybe you have been burnt in the past, childhood baggage, and the bad examples you saw around you made you wary of love. So choosing to be in a relationship with someone, being committed to that person, trusting that person enough to share yourself with them, all of these are really brave actions in their eyes. It shows that you don't let your past hold you back and define you, you rise above it and are willing to change, to choose happiness for yourself. Sometimes, they would reminisce about the initial getting-to-know-each-other phase, how many obstacles they saw in your connection, and how hard it was for them to gain your trust and affection. They would even tease you for it.

Your life seems to be ridden with changes of direction. You're not meant to stay still in one place, both mentally and physically. Life will always present you some events to push you to move. You can't stay stagnant, if you think you're contented with the current situation, then sure enough, there would be an event, an opportunity appearing in front of you, making you reevaluate your current direction in life. So life with you definitely won't lack movements and changes. Another thing is, you also actively seek to restructure your life. From small hobbies to big life decisions, you can be pretty random and go with the flow. You would change the plan at the last minute, planning to turn left, then suddenly turn right because something caught your attention that made you change your mind. Or some mornings, you would suddenly announce that you will take up a new hobby, register for a dance class, learning new language etc. without prior warning.

Life with you would be busy, you always have something to do, a task to complete, a news to watch, a track to run, a book to read. It's like they can't never see you being still. Maybe that also made them feel like you were afraid of commitment when they first got to know you. They could feel that you're too busy for love. But of course, that's not true, being a busy bee is just who you are, and over time, they've gotten used to it and adapted to it well. That busy energy also shows itself in the way you talk. Maybe you talk a lot, very fast, always have something witty to say. They love your humour, your ability to look at yourself, and joke without being defensive. The way you express your ideas and emotions is clear and rational but not cold. You know when to offer the softest words of encouragement and when to debate with the sharpest points.

They think you like to beautify yourself, you like beautiful things but at the same time you seem to be reluctant to spend on yourself, almost like you're stingy with yourself. Even if you like something, you might rationalise and deny yourself that thing. You want to earn lots of money yet don't feel comfortable spending it, especially for yourself. They know this trait of yours, so they will try to guess your desire and get it for you. You're not stingy with them or everyone, though, you're likely to pour your resources into the people you love and the house you share with them. You might like to beautify the house instead. Which is where you would like to stay a lot. You can seem like a homebody to them (with all the busy work) but you will have to go out and make an appearance in the world and they know the world loves you.

SIERRA

• Spirit animal: Phoenix

If they were the wind, they would lift your wings up as much as they could. Your person sees so much potential in you, so many talents, yet you're limiting yourself with your fears. You have an enormous desire to learn and expand your mind. But you also fear going deeper. You might be the kind of person who learns various subjects simultaneously, has a good grasp of everything, but doesn't dig too deep into any particular subjects. Not because you're shallow or impatient, it's the opposite, you know that once you've engrossed yourself in something, you go all in, it would get to the core really fast, and this drains your time and energy so much, you're reluctant to dive in. You also know that there will be hidden things inside you that need to be uncovered if you were to go any deeper. But they think you have the strength to do this because they understand, deep down, you're much happier when you devote yourself to something.

And they know you devote yourself to them and the relationship. Once you're in a commitment, you take it seriously, you see your life as an entanglement with each other, not just one's own anymore. In a way, you're a team person, someone who has a talent for working with people. This makes being in a relationship with you so much easier. Because you're willing to cooperate and want to make a team effort to build the relationship strong, instead of demanding from a selfish stance.

But you're not a pushover or a people pleaser in their eyes. Your individuality shines intensely. You have no trouble being yourself, you can't help being yourself. Even if you wear normal clothing like everyone else, blending in quietly, you still somehow stand out to them. Like a visible halo around you is beckoning them. They admire your creative energy so much, if they're ever short of ideas, they can always turn to you to get some. If you want to pursue some creative endeavours, they would probably encourage and support you wholeheartedly. Because they believe in you.

They also love your playful side, which you only show to a few close ones, and only in a comfortable space. You appear much more serious in public than when you're with them in private. When you're home with them, you can be tender, childish but also very seductive, you show yourself fully to them. You can act silly, making jokes all the time with them, being competitive in games, or playing pranks on them. But all of those are saved for alone time together. Outside, to the world, you're more uptight, serious. People also respect you a lot, looking up to you like a teacher. What you say probably are well listened to by people. You appear as a wise, mature friend, whom people can come to for sound advice. Your person would sometimes chuckle quietly to themselves whenever they see you out in public or with acquaintances. Those people wouldn't imagine how you would act in private, imagine their reaction when they found out some of your silly jokes. They definitely think you have the world fooled.

RIVER

• Spirit animal: Lamb

You're a quiet presence that haunts their psyche in an inexplicable way. They sometimes can't understand why they're so drawn to you, they have that feeling in their heart, but they can't put it into word. If someone asks your person how they feel about you, they would stumble a bit and would take a long time to come up with a coherent answer. Don't mistake this for their lack of affection or commitment, they just haven't fully comprehended your effect on them. When they hear the question, in their mind, the image of you would be conjured up in so many different ways and different areas, it's like you're everywhere.

They admire your grace under pressure. Your quietness doesn't mean you're meek or naive. Your energy is pure and wise. The hardship you encountered in the past didn't turn you into a bitter and cold person. On the contrary, you developed compassion for other's suffering. Everyone has their own story and they deserve to tell them without shame. Each pain is traded with wisdom. They probably wish to learn a thing or two from your stoicism. You're here, in the present, you don't put your mind to needless worrying nor do you cling to the past.

You're the person they would always turn to when they need an advice, your words have a stabilising effect on them, you make them believe that everything will be okay in the end, that they're safe and sound. You might not talk a lot, superfluous information doesn't interest you, but each word holds values. You can talk about deep and taboo topics without judgement, fear or prejudice. Your person will also love your voice, it sounds tender and calming, though they may wish that you would talk more so that they can hear your voice more.

They do notice, when they've gotten closer to you, that you tend to hold in your anger, you don't want it to affect other people, but your person will worry that this can affect you negatively. You also hold your drive and ambitions close to your chest, refusing to disclose them to others. You work silently, diligently towards your goals. It's like you don't want to show anything too overt, your emotions, your struggle, your passion, they are kept simmering inside, while outwardly, you show a serene and placid disposition.

In love, you show a more relaxed energy to them, like a child finally out of the house after a heavy rain, enjoying the freshness and the earthy scent of everything. You can act a little more erratic with them than when you're with other people. Maybe they adore that side of you or more tolerate towards it. You can be unpredictable, not showing your cards fully. They sometimes have to guess how much you love them, how you feel about them. They can ask you for your opinion about other matters and receive practical and solid answers from you, but when the questions change to the topic of personal feelings and love, you can be elusive. This frustrates them greatly but also pull them to you greatly. You're like the muse and the poet at the same time. And they're your avid reader.

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reminiscingtonight · 4 months ago

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Just Friends

Jana Fernández x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

[WOSO Masterlist]

The arms that wrap around your waist should shock you. They come out of nowhere, entrapping you in a mini-prison that smells like the perfect blend of vanilla and coffee.

You’ve never been an overly touchy person, even the slightest brush from your national teammates often resulting in a hole being burned into their face.

So yeah, the arms that wrap around you should shock you.

But they don’t.

Jana’s grinning your way when you turn your head, the older girl giving you an affectionate squeeze that nearly lifts you off your feet before she lets go.

“Are we still having dinner tonight?”

You nod, her smile infectious as the corner of your lips tick upwards. “Of course. You still dropping by like seven-ish?”

“Six. You said you were going to teach me how to play… what was it…” the Spanish girl falls silent as she thinks hard about a conversation the two of you had late after a game the other day. “Ah yes! Play speed!” She blinks. “Whatever that means.”

You bite back a giggle and nod, waving the older girl goodbye when Vicky tugs at her arm for attention. Jana looks conflicted for a second but you give her a goodhearted shove, shooing her off to entertain Vicky's burning questions before training starts.

You trail slightly behind, taking your time walking out onto the pitch. There’s a slight haze already settling in as you begin tying your hair up. It’s a slightly warmer than normal day, the sun up and blazing already. You’re not used to such temperatures, regular rainy skies plaguing the skies back home. But you’re not one to complain. Anything’s better than having to figure out the logistics of lugging water clogged tops, soggy shorts, and anything in between back home after training.

Your brief period of solace is broken by the presence of another body sliding up next to you.

“So you and Jana, huh?”

Lost in thought, it takes you a second to realize Patri’s talking to you, a soft smile breaking on your face when you finally do. “Jana? Oh yeah, she’s been great. I don’t think I’ve ever made a friend so quickly before.”

There’s a scoff before the older girl is nudging your shoulder. “Just a friend?”

You frown. “Yes? I mean, I hope she thinks of me as a friend. She’s so cool.”

There’s a second where Patri freezes. Then she’s looking at you strangely. She seems to ponder her choice of words before settling with a simple, “Chica, she likes you.”

Your face brightens. “Really?”

Patri has to bite back her groan at the clear misunderstanding painted all over your face. The pure joy that can only come when finding out your “coolness” status rather than romantic interest.

“Si. She likes likes you.”

A beat passes.

Patri watches as your eyebrows furrow together, trying to decipher her words.

“You know. Like more than a friend?”

“What?” Your head jerks up, eyes growing wide. “Jana doesn’t like me like that! She’s just being nice!”

You frantically turn your head, checking to see if Jana could hear your conversation. The last thing you’d want is Jana hearing Patri’s conspiracies and writing you off as a crazy follower.

The defender’s on the other side of the pitch, clearly nowhere close enough to hear a single thing Patri’s said to you. But almost as if she could sense your gaze on her, Jana raises her eyes to meet yours, shooting you a smile before turning back to her conversation with Vicky.

“See?”

“See what?” You shove Patri’s arm off your shoulder, making a point to slap the teasing finger she raises to poke at your forehead. “Jana is being nice. Nice people smile when others look their way!”

Patri rolls her eyes. “Well you don’t see Jana offering to cook me dinner now do you?”

“You’re an adult. I sure hope Jana’s not offering to cook for you. You should know how to do that yourself.”

“You’re missing the point,” she groans, hands reaching out as if to shake some sense into you before quickly deciding against it. Instead, she sighs before giving your shoulder a couple awkward pats. “You know what, forget it. Just… never change.”

There’s a couple muttered words you fail to catch, words that sound suspiciously like ‘stupid’ and ‘idiot’, but Patri’s gone before you can question her. Shrugging, you don’t think much about it, chalking the conversation off to Patri being a weirdo.

At least you don’t think too much about it until suddenly it’s night and Jana’s in your place and then it’s all you can think about it.

“Jana?”

The older girl hums, stirring the pot she’s been working on for a while.

Whatever she’s making smells heavenly. Your card game has long been abandoned in favor of cooking dinner. And by cooking dinner you mean Jana doing absolutely everything and you just giving her moral support.

It’s honestly quite impressive how you’ve managed to survive this long being a professional footballer. Cooking has never been your forte, jumping from teammate to teammate who were willing to feed you back at your last club. And in Spain? Yeah, that was all Jana.

“Do you like me?”

Jana laughs, eyes crinkling adorably when she tilts her head to meet your gaze. “Yes? Why? What have you heard?”

You shrug. “Patri was just being silly today.”

Jana rolls her eyes. “Whatever Patri said she was probably lying.”

Her response gets a frown, your feelings of elation quickly turning to confusion. “So you don’t like me?”

There’s a slight pause as Jana blinks, fixing you with a confused look. “What? No, I do.”

“But you just said Patri lies.”

“She told you I liked you?”

You nod timidly.

Jana’s got that look on her face again, the one that tells you she’s thinking really hard about something. You’re not sure exactly what that means, but then Jana’s slowly nodding. “Okay. Well I… Yes. I like you.”

You let out a long breath. It feels like relief but at the same time it doesn’t. You’re not sure how to describe the icky feeling that starts to grow in your chest.

“I told Patri she was being stupid.”

It’s clear Jana’s completely lost the direction of the conversation, the older girl now looking the most perplexed you’ve seen in a while. “Why was she stupid?”

“Well she, er--” your brain grinds to a halt, not having thought this well ahead. All you wanted to do was prove Patri was just pulling your leg, but you didn’t actually want to bring to Jana’s attention the contents of your conversation. Really walked yourself straight down a hole it seems. “Well Patri thought that you might like me. Like, romantically.”

Jana doesn’t say anything, hands coming to a still on the stove. The longer the silence drags on the more antsy you become.

“But she was just being stupid. You know Patri, always a joker.”

Jana’s frown deepens. “What? No. She’s right. I like you. A lot.” Her eyes widen suddenly, everything clicking all at once. “Wait, you didn’t know that?”

Your mouth drops open. “What-- what do you mean you like me?”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“What-- How was I supposed to know?”

Jana gives you a look.

You feel like you’re on a different planet, thoughts getting all jumbled up in your brain.

Jana likes you?

She likes you.

She likes you a lot.

Oh god, Jana likes you and you’re pretty sure you like her too.

You must have been quiet for too long because Jana’s grabbing your hands to pull your attention back to her.

“Hey, where’s that head of yours at?”

You shrug, trying to fight the blush that’s threatening to rise to your cheeks. Because now that you’re thinking about it, Jana actually likes you and you like her and she’s really, really, really pretty.

“So I’m going to assume you didn’t realize those three dates we’ve been on were actually dates?

You look at Jana.

She looks right back.

You blink.

She blinks.

Silence.

Then,

“I’m sorry, we’ve what?!”

#jana fernandez x reader #jana fernandez imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes

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kaira-diaries · 6 months ago

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Older

warning: violence || death - gun usage || fluff || wound cleaning- mentions of blood

pair: Fem!reader x In-ho

wc: 5k

a/n: this is fluffyy, no smut. More of a "who did this to you" kinda trope if you catch my drift..

summary: You're injured from a rogue player and the frontman fixes you up while also revealing his feelings.

->Masterlist <-

The elevator doors slid shut with a low hum, isolating you in a confined silence broken only by the rhythmic throb of pain radiating from your upper thigh. You leaned heavily against the cold metal wall, gritting your teeth as you pressed a trembling hand against the angry, crimson wound. Blood seeped through your fingers, staining the black fabric of your suit with a wet heat that clung to your skin. You hissed under your breath, a string of curses escaping as the memory of the fight replayed in your mind.

Player 202.

The name alone sent a fresh wave of frustration through you. He'd escaped after ruthlessly taking down one of your men, disarming him with precision and fleeing into the labyrinth of the facility. The moment the alarm sounded, you sent out a brigade to track him, their boots pounding the metal corridors like a drumbeat of impending justice. Yet it wasn't them who found him first.

It was you.

The confrontation was savage and immediate. He had nothing left to lose, and his desperation made him dangerous. Your pistol clattered to the ground during the struggle, the sound of its impact lost in the chaos. The fight turned brutal, the two of you grappling for control of his weapon. The flash of the muzzle came before the pain—a white-hot, searing agony that ripped through your thigh and left you gasping.

Your troop arrived seconds later, fanning out like a tide of pink uniforms and barked orders before sending him to his grave. They pulled you back, their hands firm and voices taut with urgency.

You left them to handle the scene—the body, the blood, the weapon—but not before stuffing a bandage into the ragged hole torn into your flesh. It was a temporary solution, one that barely stemmed the bleeding and left you limping through the sterile halls, your body screaming with every step.

Now, you stood in the elevator, the walls pressing in like a cage. The report clutched in your hand felt heavy, not just with the weight of its contents but with the implications. You stared at it, the words blurring as your mind raced ahead to the confrontation awaiting you.

The thought of seeing him—In-ho—your boss—sent a shiver down your spine, a conflicting rush of anticipation and dread. You'd worked under him for a year now, long enough to decipher the cracks beneath his cold, enigmatic exterior. He didn't speak much, but you noticed the subtle signs: the way his hand would linger just a second too long on yours, the rare moments his unmasked gaze would meet yours in the low light of late nights spent planning the future of the games.

He was older, yes—marked by the faint lines etched near his eyes. But to you, that wasn't a drawback; it was a draw. The men your age always seemed unsure, fumbling through life with a bravado that couldn't mask their inexperience. They didn't have the weight of the world in their gaze, the scars of hard-earned insight that you saw in him.

In-ho knew who he was, and that confidence was intoxicating. It wasn't just the authority he wielded, though that certainly added to his allure—it was the way he made you feel seen, like he understood you in a way no one else did. He could cut through your defenses with a single look, his intensity both unnerving and thrilling. With In-ho, there were no games, no shallow conversations. Every interaction felt deliberate, meaningful. It was a stark contrast to the fleeting, empty flattery you'd grown accustomed to from others in the facility. In-ho didn't waste time on empty words—when he spoke, it mattered.

But his temper was something else entirely—a storm, sharp and explosive, that left you reeling in its wake. It terrified you, the sheer force of his rage when things went wrong. Yet somehow, you craved it. It drove you to work harder, to strategize smarter, to ensure that every piece of the game moved flawlessly.

Until now.

Now, the flow was broken, disrupted by a single player who had dared to defy the system. And you were the one left to account for it.

The elevator lurched to a stop, a soft chime signaling your arrival. You straightened as much as your injured leg would allow, smoothing the front of your bloodied suit with trembling fingers. Your heart thudded against your ribs, a drumbeat of adrenaline and apprehension. As the doors slid open, revealing the long corridor that led to his office, you took a steadying breath.

The door to his office stood ajar, a soft glow spilling into the corridor. You hesitated for a moment, drawing a shallow breath to steady yourself. The sharp ache in your thigh pulsed in time with your racing heart. Leaning heavily against the frame, you rapped your knuckles lightly on the wood.

He glanced up from his drink, his mask nowhere in sight. The bare planes of his face caught the light, casting sharp shadows along the elegant curve of his jaw. His gaze locked onto yours, steady and piercing, sending a jolt through your already frayed nerves.

"Just dropping this off," you said, lifting the report in a trembling hand. But your voice betrayed you, cracking under the weight of the pain you'd worked so hard to suppress. Quickly, you schooled your features into a mask of indifference, willing the flicker of agony on your face to vanish.

He didn't move at first, only watching you with a quiet intensity that made the air feel heavier. Then, slowly, he set his glass down on the desk and pushed himself to his feet. The light overhead carved out every detail of his features, drawing your attention to the sharp lines and the faint tension in his posture.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low but laced with an edge of something you couldn't quite place. His eyes narrowed slightly, catching the twitch in your expression before you could hide it.

"Nothing," you replied quickly, too quickly. "Just tired."

He hummed softly, a noncommittal sound that sent a ripple of unease through you. His gaze swept over you in one smooth motion, lingering too long on the torn fabric at your thigh. The faint sheen of blood there hadn't gone unnoticed.

You bit your lip, the faint taste of copper grounding you. He knew. You'd been made.

With deliberate steps, he closed the space between you, his presence both imposing and oddly comforting. His fingers brushed yours as he took the report from your hand, but he didn't step back. Instead, his other hand came up, warm and steady, wrapping gently around your wrist.

"What happened?" he asked, softer this time, but the command in his tone was unmistakable.

You flinched, the mask you'd so carefully constructed threatening to shatter. "I told you, it's nothing."

His thumb ghosted over your pulse, and his eyes, normally sharp and unyielding, held a flicker of something softer now. Concern, perhaps, though he kept it guarded.

"You're bleeding." His gaze dipped back to the torn slit at your thigh, voice tightening just enough to betray his frustration—or was it worry? "That doesn't look like 'nothing.'"

The silence stretched between you, taut as a wire. You looked away, but he didn't release you. Instead, his grip remained tight.

"Let me see," he said at last, his voice dropping lower, almost a plea.

You swallowed hard, torn between defiance and the strange pull of his concern.

The vulnerability in his tone caught you off guard, and for a moment, you let your guard slip. Just a moment.

You sighed, the sound heavy with defeat, and allowed him to take control. His hand slid to your arm, carefully, as he guided you toward the bed. Each step sent a sharp jolt of pain radiating from your thigh, and you couldn't stop the grimace that twisted your face. When you finally reached the bed, you lowered yourself onto it with a hiss, the mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight.

He knelt before you without hesitation, the action fluid and purposeful. His gaze flickered up to meet yours for a fleeting moment, a silent reassurance passing between you before it dropped to the torn fabric of your suit.

With unsteady fingers, you widened the hole in the fabric, revealing the angry, blood-slicked wound beneath. His jaw tightened, the muscle ticking as he clenched his teeth, but his eyes softened in contrast, shadowed with an emotion you weren't sure how to name.

"Who did this?" he asked, his voice low but tense, each word laced with barely restrained anger.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance even as the heat of his gaze on your injury made you acutely aware of your vulnerability.

"It's all in the report," you said, lifting your chin as if to distance yourself from the pain. "But long story short, a player escaped, and I happened to be the first to find him."

His brow furrowed at your words, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He nodded slowly, his fingers ghosting just above the torn flesh as though debating whether to touch it. He didn't, instead leaning in closer to inspect the wound.

You watched him work, his focus sharp and unwavering, yet there was a tension in the way he moved—an almost imperceptible hesitation as if the sight of you like this unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

"Stay here," he said at last, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Before you could respond, he rose smoothly to his feet and strode out of the room. For a moment, the space felt colder in his absence, the tension in the air lingering like an aftershock.

You shifted slightly, the pain in your thigh flaring as you tried to settle into a more comfortable position. The scent of blood and the faint trace of his cologne lingered in the room, mixing into something oddly grounding. As you waited, the steady thrum of your heartbeat filled the silence, your mind replaying the look in his eyes—the clash of anger and concern.

He returned a few minutes later, the soft grating of the floor pulling your attention. In his hand was a first aid kit, its red cross glaring against the white metal. He placed it on the bed beside you with practiced precision, his movements deliberate and calm. You watched him intently, your nerves prickling as a sense of inevitability settled over you. You weren't one to jump at the chance to see a doctor—or anyone who'd come near a wound with tools—but right now, you had no choice. The jagged piece of metal lodged in your thigh needed to come out.

You swallowed hard, the audible gulp betraying your unease. His head snapped toward you, sharp and assessing, and for a moment, you felt entirely too exposed under his gaze.

"It has to come out," he said, his voice hard but not unkind. "One way or another."

You nodded, forcing a deep breath into your lungs to steady yourself.

"I'll need a better view of your leg," he added, his words carrying an unspoken implication that made your stomach twist.

Your fingers found the zipper of your suit, moving with determined efficiency despite the tremor in your hands. The cool slide of metal teeth was almost deafening in the quiet room. You managed to unzip it down to your hips, but the moment you tried to shimmy the fabric lower, the pain exploded, sharp and blinding. A soft, involuntary gasp escaped your lips as you froze, unable to continue.

Without a word, he stepped closer, his presence both grounding and intimidating. His hands moved to the crumpled fabric at your hips, firm but aware as they took over the task.

"Lay back," he instructed, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

You hesitated, your body stiff with the anticipation of pain, but you obeyed, easing yourself down onto the mattress. The ceiling blurred slightly as you stared up at it, trying to focus on anything but the throbbing ache in your leg.

"Lift your hips for me," he said softly, his tone low and coaxing.

The words carried a strange intimacy, making your pulse spike. You hesitated again, the sharp edge of fear creeping into your expression, and his gaze softened in response.

"I'll be quick," he assured you, his voice barely above a murmur.

"Trust me."

Something in his tone—a rare note of sincerity—eased the tension in your chest, just enough for you to comply. You braced yourself, gripping the edge of the mattress as you shifted your hips upward. His hands moved with quiet efficiency, sliding the fabric down your legs with as little movement as possible. Even so, the motion sent a fresh wave of pain rippling through you, and you clenched your teeth to keep from crying out.

"It's okay," he murmured, his voice steady and grounding as he worked.

Finally, the suit was out of the way, leaving your leg exposed. He glanced down at the wound, his jaw tightening again as he assessed the damage. You caught the flicker of something behind his expression—frustration, concern, perhaps even guilt—but he quickly masked it.

He reached for the glass of liquor on the desk, the liquid catching the light as he extended it toward you. His movements were deliberate, slow, as though offering you a choice—but you didn't hesitate. You snatched the glass from his hand, your fingers brushing his briefly, though neither of you acknowledged it.

The cool weight of the glass felt solid in your grasp, and you brought it to your lips without a second thought. The liquor burned as it slid down your throat, sharp and unforgiving, a brief distraction from the pain radiating from your thigh. A few stray drops escaped, trickling down your chin, leaving a warm, tingling trail before dripping onto your chest.

The sight sent a flicker of awareness through you, heat threatening to rise to your cheeks, but you shoved it down, focusing instead on the sting of the alcohol and the sharp, metallic scent of blood that still hung in the air.

In-ho's gaze flickered, lingering for a split second longer than it should have. The contrast between the harsh situation and the intimate glimpse of black lace pulled at something deep within him, but he quickly masked the reaction, his jaw tightening as he tore his eyes away.

You, oblivious, shifted slightly, the motion sending another ripple of agony through you. The sound of your sharp intake of breath jolted him back into focus. He turned, reaching for the first aid kit, and the soft clink of metal brought your attention to the pliers he now held.

The tool looked unforgiving, its edges gleaming under the harsh light. A chill swept over you as he knelt by your side again, his expression grim and unreadable.

He placed the pliers against your thigh, the cold metal brushing the torn flesh. The sensation sent a wave of panic through you, and before you could think, your hand shot out, gripping his wrist tightly.

"In-ho—" you choked, the fear in your voice raw and unguarded.

He froze, his gaze snapping up to meet yours. For a moment, the room felt unbearably still, the tension hanging heavy in the air.

His eyes softened, the sharpness in them giving way to something quieter, something almost tender. But there was a flicker of conflict there too, a shadow he didn't allow to linger long.

"I'll make it quick," he said, his voice low, steady. The words were deliberate, spoken like a promise meant only for you.

You didn't respond right away, searching his face for any sign of hesitation or doubt. Instead, you found only calm resolve, a quiet assurance that somehow steadied you despite the circumstances.

Finally, your grip loosened, though your fingers trembled as you released his wrist. You closed your eyes, sucking in a shaky breath. "Okay," you whispered, almost too quietly to hear.

"Good," he murmured, almost to himself. His hand returned to your thigh, steadying it as he repositioned the pliers.

You didn't see the fleeting glance he cast at you again, the lace and soft curves drawing his attention one last time before he forced himself to focus. He tightened his grip on the pliers, his jaw hardening with determination.

"Just hold on," he said quietly, the words laced with both command and care, and you braced yourself for the pain to come.

The cold metal of the pliers pierced your torn flesh, sending a blinding wave of pain radiating through your body. Your hand flew to your mouth, pressing hard against your lips to stifle the cry that threatened to escape. The pressure did little to mask the muffled whimper that slipped through, but In-ho didn't flinch. His focus was absolute, his movements precise and unyielding as he worked.

Each subtle shift of the pliers sent another spike of agony through your leg, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You bit down on your knuckle, your chest rising and falling in uneven gasps, trying to breathe through the searing pain.

He remained silent, his jaw set in steely determination as he dug deeper. The pliers twisted slightly, the sharp edges brushing against nerves that made your leg jerk involuntarily. His free hand shot out to steady your thigh, his touch firm but grounding.

"Almost there," he murmured, his voice low and soothing, though it was clear he was speaking more to himself than to you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he paused. The small metallic clink of the bullet being gripped filled the silence. With a quick, decisive motion, he yanked it free.

You exhaled sharply, the release of tension almost dizzying as the pain shifted from sharp to dull. The air felt heavier now, thick with the metallic tang of blood. He set the pliers and bullet down on a clean napkin, the small hunk of metal glinting under the light like a grim trophy.

For a brief moment, you thought it was over—until your eyes caught the crimson stain blooming across the sheets beneath you. The deep red seeped outward, a stark contrast against the pale fabric, forming a small but growing pool.

Your stomach twisted at the sight, a new wave of discomfort settling over you. Your brows furrowed as you forced yourself to sit up slightly, wincing at the motion.

"In-ho," you said, your voice uneven as you gestured weakly toward the mess. "Your bed…"

He glanced at the bloodstained sheets, his expression unreadable. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing. Instead, he reached for the first aid kit again, his movements efficient as he grabbed a fresh bandage and antiseptic.

"It doesn't matter," he said quietly, not sparing the sheets another glance. His focus was back on you, his hands steady as he worked to clean the wound.

"It does matter," you mumbled, guilt creeping into your voice despite your exhaustion.

"It doesn't," he insisted, his tone firm, almost scolding, but his hands remained gentle. "You're what matters."

You lay back, forcing yourself to relax as he continued tending to your wound. His movements were practiced and meticulous, each gesture deliberate and careful.

The antiseptic stung at first, a sharp, biting sensation that made your leg twitch, but his steady hands didn't falter.

"Luckily, stitches aren't needed," he said, his voice calm and reassuring as he dabbed at the cleaned wound. "It should heal on its own, as long as you don't push yourself."

His tone carried an undertone of warning, though it was gentler than you expected. You nodded faintly, the tension in your body beginning to ebb.

With precise care, he reached for a roll of bandages.

The soft fabric unraveled with a faint rustle, and he began wrapping it around your thigh. His fingers brushed against your skin as he worked, warm and firm, grounding you with each pass. The pressure from the bandage was snug but not overbearing, and the dull ache that lingered in your leg already seemed more tolerable.

"There," he murmured, tying off the bandage neatly. "That should hold. Keep it clean, and you'll be fine."

You exhaled a shaky breath, relieved the worst was over. But just as you thought he was finished, he leaned closer, his head dipping toward your thigh.

Before you could process what was happening, you felt the faintest press of his lips against the bandaged wound. It was featherlight, a fleeting touch that sent a ripple of warmth cascading through your chest.

Your breath hitched, the unexpected gesture leaving you momentarily frozen. His kiss wasn't lingering or ostentatious—it was soft, almost reverent, and so brief that you wondered if you'd imagined it.

He straightened, his expression unreadable as he began gathering the used supplies and setting them aside. But you couldn't tear your eyes away from him, your heart fluttering erratically in your chest.

"In-ho…" you whispered, his name slipping from your lips before you could stop it.

With that, he slipped an arm beneath your legs and another around your back. The motion was effortless as he scooped you into his arms, holding you close against his chest.

His grip was steady, his movements smooth as he carried you across the room to a clean bed. The scent of fresh linen greeted you as he lowered you carefully onto the mattress, his hands lingering for a moment as he adjusted your position to ensure you were comfortable.

You winced slightly as your leg shifted, but the ache was manageable now, dulled by the care he'd already given. He pulled the blanket up over you, tucking it around your shoulders with a gentleness that felt almost out of place coming from him.

His expression softened as his gaze lingered on you, a quiet protectiveness in his eyes that made your heart stutter. "Rest. You'll feel better after some sleep."

You nodded, your body sinking into the soft mattress as the tension slowly began to leave your frame. "Thank you," you whispered, the words barely audible.

He didn't respond right away, but his lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, the first you'd seen from him in a long time. "Get some sleep," he repeated, his voice low and steady.

As he turned to leave, you couldn't help but watch him, your heart still fluttering from the weight of his touch and the warmth of his unexpected tenderness.

𐮛𐮛𐮛𐮛𐮛𐮛𐮛𐮛𐮛

You began to stir, your senses coming alive one by one. The first was touch—your fingertips gliding across the cool, luxurious texture of green silk sheets. The sensation was foreign, unfamiliar, but oddly comforting, like a gentle reminder that you were somewhere safe.

Your eyelids fluttered open, greeted by the soft glow of ambient light filtering through the room. The memory of pain made you tense, expecting the sharp, blinding agony to pulse through your thigh the moment you moved. But instead, there was only a dull ache, a faint throb that felt almost distant now.

Curiosity mingled with relief, and you slowly shifted, your muscles stretching cautiously as you tested the boundaries of discomfort. The bandage wrapped snugly around your thigh was a subtle reminder of the night before, but it no longer felt like an unbearable weight.

With renewed confidence, you threw the blankets off your body, the fabric sliding off your skin in a cascade of green silk. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you planted your feet firmly on the floor.

Your red-painted toenails caught your attention for a moment, their vibrant hue a stark contrast against the polished gray surface below. The image was oddly grounding, a small burst of color in the midst of an otherwise muted room.

The coolness of the floor met your bare skin, sending a gentle shiver up your spine. You braced yourself, hands gripping the edge of the mattress as you prepared to stand, the memory of In-ho's care lingering in the back of your mind.

Pushing yourself to stand, you moved cautiously, every muscle in your body on high alert. The moment your weight settled on your legs, you held your breath, bracing for the sharp sting of pain that never came. Instead, the ache stayed dull, manageable, like a whisper of the injury rather than a shout.

Encouraged, you dared to take a step, your right leg moving first. It held steady, your balance wobbling only slightly. Then came your left. You hesitated for a moment before shifting forward, the bandage brushing against your skin as you tested the limits of your body.

The pain remained muted, like a dull ember rather than the roaring fire you expected. Slowly, you reached for the doorframe, the wood cool and solid beneath your fingertips, a reassuring anchor as you inched forward.

But then, as you took another step with your left leg, the sensation shifted. A sharp, searing pain shot through your thigh, fiery and unrelenting, as though the wound had been ripped open anew.

You barely had time to register it before the scream tore from your throat, raw and uncontrollable. The sound echoed in the quiet room, bouncing off the walls like a cry for mercy. Your legs buckled beneath you, the strength drained in an instant, and you clutched desperately at the doorframe to keep from collapsing entirely.

The scream was still leaving your lips when it happened—strong hands gripped your waist, steady and unyielding, as though they had always been there, waiting. It was almost as if In-ho had materialized from thin air, his presence sudden and grounding, like an anchor amidst your spiral of pain.

"Easy," he murmured, his deep voice low but firm, the single word laced with both command and concern. His arms wrapped around you with practiced ease, pulling you firmly against his chest. You felt the solid warmth of him through the fabric of his suit, his breath steady against the top of your head as if he was willing you to calm down with the rhythm of his own body.

Your hands instinctively clung to him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as though letting go would mean collapsing entirely. The searing pain in your thigh was sharp, unrelenting, but his hold steadied you, his grip a lifeline pulling you back from the brink.

"You should have called for me," he said, his tone soft but with a trace of reproach. His words hung heavy in the air, not an accusation but a reminder of your limits, one you had clearly tested too soon.

His hands shifted, one sliding from your waist to brace your back, the other moving down to steady your injured leg. The tenderness in his movements was almost startling, a stark contrast to the cool authority he usually commanded. "I've got you," he said, his voice gentler now, an unspoken promise threaded through the words.

He made his way to the couch, lowering you onto it with care. The cushions were soft, and the cool leather soothed your overheated skin. He crouched in front of you, his hands never leaving your sides until he was certain you were settled.

"In-ho, I'm fine," you murmured, watching as he began to peel back the layers of gauze.

His brow furrowed as he leaned closer, unraveling the dressing and inspecting the wound. A faint sigh of relief escaped him when he found the area intact, the underlying bandage only slightly stained with blood. "You're lucky," he said, his tone softening. "You didn't tear it open."

You exhaled shakily, your shoulders slumping in relief.

A shaky breath escaped your lips. "I told you I'd be fine," you murmured, trying to keep your tone light, though the intensity of his gaze made it nearly impossible to focus.

He didn't respond immediately; his eyes locked on the wound as he replaced the bandage with a fresh one. "You need to stop pushing yourself," he said finally, his voice low, almost a growl.

Swallowing hard as his hands lay over your wound, he asked, "What happened to Player 202?"

"Dead," you said simply. "He was a liability. And liabilities don't survive here."

He nodded, with a smirk. You'd learned that from him.

He finished re-wrapping the bandage and sat back on his heels. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes lingered on you longer than they should have, as if searching for something unspoken.

"The games can't afford mistakes like this," he said finally, his tone measured. "You know that."

You flinched, the weight of his words hitting harder than you expected. "I know," you whispered. "It won't happen again."

You nodded faintly, unsure of what else to say. The games had always demanded sacrifices, but hearing it put so plainly was a reminder of the harsh reality you both lived in.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and loaded, until he leaned forward, his arms braced on either side of you as his face hovered closer. His eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, you couldn't look away, caught in the intensity of his gaze. His hand rose, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. The gesture was small, almost insignificant, but the way his touch lingered sent warmth rushing through you.

"You're too reckless," he said quietly, his voice low and rough.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he leaned in further, his forehead briefly brushing yours, his breath warm against your lips. The proximity made your heart race, anticipation thrumming in your chest like a drumbeat.

"I mean it," he murmured, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smirk.

"You drive me insane."

Before you could respond, his lips claimed yours. The kiss started soft, almost tentative as if testing the waters. But when you didn't pull away—when your hands gripped the front of his jacket, pulling him closer—it deepened, his mouth moving against yours with a fervent intensity that left you breathless.

The world seemed to fall away, the tension, the pain, the weight of the games fading into the background as his hands slid to your waist, holding you as if grounding himself. His touch was firm and steady, but his lips were anything but—they explored yours with a mix of hunger and restraint, every movement figured yet desperate.

You tilted your head slightly, allowing him to deepen the kiss further, and his hand moved to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek in a gesture so gentle it made your chest tighten.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was as uneven as yours, his forehead resting against yours. "You're unimaginable," he muttered, though there was no anger in his tone—only something that felt dangerously close to fondness.

You smiled faintly, your fingers still gripping his jacket. "And yet, you're still here."

A rare chuckle escaped him, low and brief, as he leaned back just enough to meet your eyes. "Don't make me regret it," he said, though the faint quirk of his lips softened the words.

He stood, offering you his hand. "Come on. You need to keep your mind off things."

You raised a brow, curious but compliant as you took his hand, letting him help you to your feet.

Moments later, you were seated beside him in front of a large screen, the next round of games unfolding before you. The air still felt charged from the kiss, but the distraction of the games offered a reprieve.

"The Dalgona game," you murmured, leaning back against the cushions. Your thigh throbbed faintly, but the pain was muted now, dulled by his bandaging.

In-ho nodded, his gaze fixed on the screen. "A classic," he said, his tone calm, but there was a sharpness in his eyes as he watched the players being handed their candy disks and metal tools. "It's simple, but it separates the clever from the careless."

You watched as the players examined their candy pieces, each etched with a different shape—a star, a circle, a triangle, and, for the unlucky ones, an umbrella. The camera zoomed in on their faces, capturing the dawning realization and fear as they pieced together the task ahead of them.

One player hesitated, their hands trembling as they picked up the needle. "How many do you think will make it?" you asked softly, your gaze flicking to In-ho.

His expression didn't change, but his fingers tapped lightly against the armrest. "Less than half," he said. "The umbrella alone will take out most of them."

You nodded, your stomach knotting as a player snapped their disk in half, the sound sharp and final. The guards wasted no time—one raised their weapon, and the shot echoed through the room. You flinched, but In-ho didn't move, his face unreadable.

"It's brutal," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

"It has to be," he replied. "The games don't reward weakness."

You looked over at him with a smirk, "I know," earning one from him in return.

For a while, the two of you watched in silence. The tension in the game mirrored the tension in the room, each crack of the candy or echo of a gunshot adding weight to the air between you.

At one point, In-ho leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied the screen. His focus was absolute, but you couldn't help noticing the way his profile caught the light—the sharp line of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes.

"They're desperate," he said, nodding toward a player licking the back of their candy. "But smart. That one might make it."

You followed his gaze, watching as the player's determination paid off, the fragile candy shape finally sliding free. A rare smile ghosted across In-ho's lips.

"You like watching them figure it out," you said, a hint of curiosity in your tone.

"It's not just about survival," he said, leaning back again. "It's about adaptation. Those who can think under pressure, who can find unconventional solutions—they're the ones who deserve to win."

His words lingered in the air, and for a moment, the game seemed to fade into the background. You turned your gaze to him, studying the faint tension in his shoulders, the way his hand rested loosely on the armrest beside you.

"In-ho," you started, your voice soft.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were gentler now, the sharpness tempered by something quieter. "What is it?"

You hesitated, your fingers brushing against the edge of your bandaged thigh. "Thank you," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze steady on yours. Then, slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against your cheek. "You don't need to thank me," he said quietly. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

The space between you seemed to shrink, the air charged with unspoken words. He leaned closer, his movements slow, deliberate and his lips met yours in a kiss that was soft, careful, and unhurried, a stark contrast to the brutality unfolding on the screen in front of you as the sounds of pleading and gunfire faded into nothing.

#hwang in ho #the frontman #front man #hwang in ho x reader #in ho squid game #front man x reader #the front man x reader #fan fiction #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game fanfic

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dreaisgrayte · 1 year ago

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First Kisses With the Hashira

Includes: Gyomei Himijima, Tengen Uzui, Sanemi Shinazugawa, Obanai Iguro, Giyuu Tomioka, Kyojuro Rengoku, Mitsuri Kanroji, Shinobu Kocho Synopsis: What would your first kiss with the Hashira be like? {I did not include Muichiro even though this was mainly fluff} warnings: kisses! so many kisses! A little suggestive in some parts, but only if you squint, very wholesome and fluffy!

Gyomei Himejima

Gyomei is super tall, so you practically had to – with red cheeks – ask him to bend down so you could kiss him

When you managed to place your lips on his Gyomei was pleased to find how gentle you were

Gyomei found himself selfishly thinking for once

He lifts you onto the table, trapping you with a muscled arm on either side of your thighs. He groans as your lips work against his. Gyomei might not be able to see, but he could feel right where you wanted him to be. He was leaning over you, his massive back completely obscuring you from view. “You are making me break concentration.” He finally mutters out, his eyes squeezed shut. “You are dangerous YN,” He pauses, opening up his glazed white eyes to meet yours. He knew exactly where you were even without sight. “The way my heart beats in my chest for you… is dangerous.”

Tengen Uzui

Tengen thinks you’re joking at first, clapping you on the back like one of his pals with a loud guffaw while you both sit at a table.

He realizes he's made a grave mistake only after your bottom lip starts to tremble.

Your cheeks are flushed and tears are running down your face.

Tengen leans into your eyesight, an apologetic grin making his face scrunch hilariously. You roll your eyes and huff out a laugh. “There’s my girl,” Tengen’s grin widens, then after a small beat, his brows furrow. “Are you sure?” He’s asking you so gently and in a way like he’s unsure of himself. You nod and that’s all the conformation Uzui needs before he’s cupping your face, guiding your mouths together in a sweet, yet passionate kiss. His face twitches with emotion when you part, a small gasp escaping your lips as you peer into his conflicted magenta eyes. Did he not enjoy it? “I think my wife count just went up,” He states with all the seriousness in the world present on his face. You burst out laughing and hit his shoulder.

“You do not mean that!” You giggle, but he shakes his head and rolls his lips into his mouth. He hums, looking at you with possessive intent.

“No, I do.”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Sanemi had just finished a mission, dragging himself through the gates of his main mansion.

When he sees you, in a tiny lilac-colored apron his brain nearly short-circuits.

You were so cute – too cute in fact – it was going to kill him one day.

You shyly presented him with a batch of fresh red bean mochi, twiddling your thumbs as he gawked at the ensemble.

Sanemi sets the plate down, walking toward you until your back is flush against a wall. You nervously glance around, trying to decipher if this was going to be the last thing you ever saw. “Thank you,” His voice is gruff, but his face floods with a deep pink color. He’s covering his face with the back of his arm and you suddenly wish this was the last thing you’d ever see.

You can’t help yourself as you slowly reach out to grab the back of his neck and pull him into a sweet kiss. He licks at your lips and a smile forms against your mouth. “You taste like red bean mochi,” He smirks.

“You took a while.”

Obanai Iguro

Obanai was somewhat preoccupied with training as you yelled out his name

He came running up next to you, his head tilted in question as to what you wanted

You quickly peck Obanai on the area of his mask where his mouth should be, stumbling back in amazement that you went through with it. Obanai is equally as shocked, his brows raised and his body stiff. You’re about to turn and leave when he catches your wrist. “Oh no you don’t,” He tuts, yanking you back into his arms. “I think you forgot something.” He pulls down the top edge of his mask until his lips and a bit of his scars are revealed. You revel in how beautiful this man is as he leans down to kiss you deeply.

Giyuu Tomioka

Giyuu was reading a book with adept concentration. You were slightly annoyed by the fact you came all the way here just to be ignored by this man.

So you crawl over his lap, grab the edge of the book, push it down, and lean over to kiss him

When you break away from this kiss Giyuu’s face is a stark contrast to the once pale skin. His deep blue eyes are wide, lips parted as a trail of spit still connects your mouth to his. He sets his book down – the thought of reading lost to the thought of doing that again with you. His fingertips gingerly touch the skin of his lips once, like he believes it to be a figment of his imagination. “Can we… can we do that again?” He asks, excitedly leaning toward you.

You roll your eyes and laugh, pushing at his face. “Oh so now you want to pay attention to me?”

Kyojuro Rengoku

Kyojuro is all over the place

He’s the one that first leans into you with too much force, bonking your foreheads together

He’s nervous, excited, and in love. To you that’s all that mattered

Kyojuro rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavier than usual. “YN, can I kiss you again?” He pleads, yearning to make the first kissing experience the two of you share as perfect as possible. You laugh brightly, pecking both of his cheeks and the tip of his nose before nodding your head. Kyojuro couldn’t think about anything else except how lucky he must be to have you in his life. He slowly brings his lips to yours, pressing into you ever so slowly as to not rush like last time. It’s a fiery hot kiss only seconds after the tantalizing brush of his lips.

Mitsuri Kanroji

Mitsuri didn’t know how to react when you explained that kissing her was something you’d enjoy

She thought you were stunning, prettier than here even – which you had to shut down right away

Mitsuri hadn’t given much thought to acting on her attraction to you, but just hearing you utter the words made her whole mind swim

She’s going into one of her overthinking episodes, squealing about how you shouldn’t kiss her because then she’d want to hold your hand and go on dates with you and-

You grab the sides of her face, bringing your lips to hers. The kiss is mildly awkward at first because Mitsuri is too stunned to move, but once she melts into your embrace and your bodies move in tandem, it turns into something beautiful. Her lips are soft and remind you of eating a strawberry. You’re the one to part ways first, leaving her breathless as she maintains eye contact with your lips. “I think I’d like to do that again…” She blurts.

Shinobu Kocho

Shinobu was tactful and precise about when you two would bump into each other

She planned the perfect time to finally ask you to share in some intimacy with her

So when you popped up at the Butterfly Mansion battered from a training session, you could say you threw more than a wrench in her plans

Shinobu’s bright eyes widen when she sees you limping inside the infirmary. “Y-YN?” She assesses the situation, rushing to gather material to dress your bruises. You don’t have to say much before she’s rubbing salve into your shoulders and down your back. Her hands and cold, but they feel wonderful as she works the sap into your muscles. “What did you get yourself into?” She grunts from behind. You chuckle softly, wincing at the ache spreading across your stomach. You don’t know what takes over your mind, but you lean back into Shinobu. She’s surprised but adjusts to hold you regardless. “What am I going to do with you?” She sighs.

“Put me out of my misery?” You suggest, earning a jab from her into your sore ribcage. You groan but then a sly smirk works its way onto your lips. “I think for being such a good patient I deserve a reward.” You tease. What you don’t expect is Shinobu to purse her lips and while her cheeks fade to a pink she leans down to kiss your lips.

“Is that good enough?” She huffs, glancing away.

“I’m not sure, I was kind of hoping for some mochi,” You giggle. Shinobu glares at you. “On second thought, it appears there would be nothing sweeter than another few thousand kisses from you…” That’s all it takes for Shinobu’s lips to be back on yours. A sweet, simple, and lovely kiss. If it weren’t for the way she worked the salve into your muscles, you might’ve mistaken her kisses to be what healed you the next day.

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luna-azzurra · 1 year ago

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Dialogue Strengthening Methods

Dialogue serves as the lifeblood of any narrative, offering readers a window into the minds, hearts, and souls of characters. When executed effectively, dialogue not only propels the plot forward but also deepens character development and fosters emotional engagement.

Authenticity through Observation

Authentic dialogue begins with keen observation of the world around us. As writers, we are avid listeners and astute observers, capturing the cadences, quirks, and real-life conversations. For example, in a bustling market scene, the rhythm of vendors haggling over prices or the melodic lilt of a street musician's banter adds depth and authenticity to the setting.

Character Voice

Just as no two individuals are alike, each character in a story possesses a unique voice that reflects their personality, background, and worldview. Crafting distinct voices involves delving deep into the psyche of each character, understanding their motivations, fears, and desires. Consider the contrast between a grizzled detective who speaks in terse, cynical phrases and a wide-eyed rookie whose speech is punctuated by eager enthusiasm. By infusing dialogue with these individual nuances, characters come alive, resonating with authenticity and depth.

Subtext

Beyond the surface level of spoken words lies a rich tapestry of subtext—unspoken thoughts, hidden agendas, and underlying emotions. Mastery of subtext allows writers to imbue dialogue with layers of meaning, inviting readers to decipher the unspoken truths that lie beneath. For instance, in a scene where a character offers a half-hearted apology, the tension between their words and body language hints at unresolved resentment or guilt. By harnessing the power of subtext, dialogue transcends mere communication, becoming a vehicle for nuanced storytelling and character development.

Showcasing Emotions

At its core, dialogue is a reflection of human emotion—joy, sorrow, anger, love. Capturing the emotional essence of a scene requires a delicate balance of words, tone, and context. Instead of explicitly stating characters' emotions, skilled writers show them through subtle cues—hesitant pauses, clenched fists, tearful eyes. Consider a scene where a parent confronts their child about a secret they've discovered; the trembling in their voice and the quiver of their lip betray a mixture of concern, disappointment, and love. By allowing emotions to permeate dialogue exchanges, writers forge a visceral connection with readers, eliciting empathy, laughter, and tears in equal measure.

Conflict and Tension

Dialogue thrives on conflict and tension, driving the narrative forward with relentless momentum. Whether it's a heated argument between lovers or a tense negotiation between rivals, conflict infuses dialogue with urgency and dynamism. Consider a scene where two political adversaries engage in a war of words, each vying for dominance and advantage. By pitting characters against each other, whether in overt clashes or subtle power struggles, writers create opportunities for growth and revelation.

#writing #writer on tumblr #writerscommunity #writing tips #character development #oc character #writing help #creative writing #writing block #writing advice

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ticifics · 7 months ago

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Restoration

Count Vronsky x fem!reader

Summary: You allowed your heart to fill with a faint hope. Maybe Alexei could love you. Maybe time would make this more than an arrangement, more than a contract. But then Anna came along.

Warnings: angst, marriage in crisis, emotional conflict

A/N: My fourth request - anon, sorry if I strayed a little from the proposal, it's the first time I've written about marital problems, so I hope it wasn't too bad

Restoration Spin-Off

The hall was silent now, with the distant echo of the last celebrations echoing through the corridors. The moon streamed in through the window, its silvery light highlighting Alexei’s contours as he moved around the room with elegant ease, his jacket already undone, his cufflinks set aside. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your heavy wedding dress still intact, your hands busy with the embroidery of the veil that you weren’t sure how to remove.

Arranged marriage. The word had been weighing on your mind since the moment you heard the news months ago. Your fate sealed in meetings between families; your life decided before you could even formulate your own wishes. But deep down, wasn’t that what every woman of your position expected? To grow up hearing that she should be an exemplary wife, produce heirs, build a respectable home. Yet, between the expectations and your solitary dreams, there was an almost childish desire for love—a love that blossomed in the unexpected, that overcame the cold barriers of a social contract.

And then Alexei had come into your life.

A tall man, with a presence that was impossible to ignore, eyes that held something between amusement and danger, a smile that seemed designed to disarm anyone. He was charismatic, that was undeniable. At every meeting before the wedding, his words had been gentle, but there was a confidence in them that seemed both unpretentious and rehearsed. He knew the effect he had—and he used it skillfully.

Yet he had never been cruel.

“You seem to be trapped in a maze of thoughts,” Alexei said, his low voice cutting through the silence. He was close now, closer than he should have been, and you could smell the faint note of brandy on his breath.

“My lord…” you began hesitantly, but he held up a hand, as if stopping her was a natural gesture.

“Alexei,” he corrected. The name sounded intimate on her lips, and it made him smile. “I want you to call me by my name. We’re not strangers anymore, after all.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He was watching you in a way you couldn’t quite decipher yet—not predatory, but as if he was studying your every reaction, as if he found pleasure in seeing you flustered.

With deft fingers, he reached out and effortlessly began to undo the delicate pins that held the veil together, his eyes still fixed on yours.

“Let me help you.” His voice held something softer now, almost intimate, and the touch of his fingers on your skin made heat rise up your neck.

It was this charm, this ease, that made you wonder if there could, in fact, be love in your marriage. He was an enigma: gentle, yet impenetrable. Seductive, yet never completely surrendered. And yet, throughout the weeks that followed the ceremony, he had been careful.

The wedding night had not been what you had feared. Instead, it had been marked by unexpected patience, by quiet words spoken in the dark, by touches that seemed almost studied to ease your tension. And the following nights were no different, filled with a passion that was restrained and yet intense.

For you, there was something sacred about these intimacies. You wanted to give him an heir, yes, but there was more: you wanted him to see you as more than a wife chosen for convenience.

You allowed your heart to fill with a faint hope. Maybe he could love you. Maybe time would make this more than an arrangement, more than a contract. Still enchanted, still nervous, by the idea that perhaps it was possible to find love in this man’s eyes.

The two weeks of your honeymoon passed in the blink of an eye, but you felt as if you had lived a dream. Alexei was the personification of kindness—attentive in every small gesture, tender in every word, always one step ahead in caring for you. Under the sun of a place that seemed so far away from everything, he made you laugh with his witty observations, gave you goosebumps with subtle touches, and looked at you as if you were the only person who mattered at that moment.

Now, as the carriage made its way to your new home, you watched the changing landscape through the window, but your mind remained anchored in those moments. There was something new growing inside you, a feeling you barely dared to name.

“Lost in your thoughts again?” Alexei interrupted your contemplation, his voice low and soft. He was leaning back against the seat, his eyes shining with something between humor and tenderness.

You smiled, blushing slightly, but before you could respond, he leaned forward, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles. “I hope those thoughts include your husband. It would be terrible to find out you’re dreaming about someone else.”

Your laughter escaped before you could contain it, and he followed suit, the sounds blending together.

Back at the house, the routine began to settle into a slow but comfortable dance. Alexei seemed to know exactly how to make every moment of the day special—the way he would take your hand at the dinner table, the smiles he would give you when you walked into the room, the casual touches that seemed to last longer than necessary. There was a magnetism about him that made your heart race without warning.

It was during one of those nights, after dinner, that he brought it up.

“Have you ever thought about how many children you would like to have?” he asked, his voice calm as he held a glass of wine in his hand, his gaze fixed on you.

The question took you by surprise, but the tone of his voice reassured you.

“I… I don’t know for sure,” you replied, looking down at your hands in your lap. “What do you want?”

He leaned back in his chair, resting his elbow on the armrest and his face in his hand, his eyes still fixed on you.

“Whatever you want, my dear. As long as it brings you happiness, that will be enough for me.”

The words were simple, but the way he said them—with a light seriousness, almost unpretentious, but sincere—made something inside you heat up.

It was then that you decided.

The nights—and sometimes days—of passion became frequent. You could never have imagined the intensity he brought with him, how each touch seemed charged with a greater purpose. He was patient and tender, but there was an almost electric energy that made it impossible for you not to lose yourself completely in him.

On one such morning, the sun timidly entered through the window, casting a golden glow over the bed. You were leaning against his chest, your fingers drawing lazy circles on his skin, while Alexei’s messy curls fell over his forehead.

“You’re thinking about something again,” he said, his lips curved in a lazy smile, his hands tracing soft patterns on your back.

“Maybe,” you replied, biting your lip to hold back a smile.

He tilted his head to get a better look at you, his eyes alight with amusement.

“Then tell me. I want to know what’s going on in that busy little head of yours. Don’t keep your secrets from me.”

You laughed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

“I was just thinking about how different you look like this…” you said hesitantly, but he arched an eyebrow.

“Different.”

“More…” You searched for the words. “Human.”

Alexei laughed, the sound vibrating through your body, and leaned down to kiss your forehead.

“Is that a compliment? I hope so, because my wife is seriously risking hurting her husband’s pride.”

The laugh was inevitable, and he joined in, a wide, disarming smile on his lips. You loved that smile—so rare in public, but so natural in moments like this.

There was a gentleness about Alexei that he seemed to save just for you, a kind of intimacy that made your heart yearn for more.

The halls sparkled with the reflection of the crystal chandeliers, the sound of the orchestra filled the air with elegant melodies, and you felt the eyes of many on you. Alexei had that effect—a natural magnetism that didn’t go unnoticed anywhere.

He looked particularly stunning that night, with his perfectly tailored suit and his golden curls combed with a charm that seemed casual but that you knew was meticulously calculated. Every smile he offered made the people around him glow as if they had been touched by a ray of sunshine.

And you were right there with him.

He made a point of keeping you close, his hand firmly on your back, guiding you through the circles of high society with unshakable confidence. Whenever someone made a comment or leaned in to talk, Alexei found an opportunity to whisper something in your ear—a witty observation, a sharp comment, a little teasing. It was impossible to hold back your laughter, even if you tried.

“They’re all watching us, you know?” he murmured, with that smirk that always made your heart race.

“Of course they are. Because of you,” you replied, trying to hide the blush that threatened to rise to cheeks.

“No. Because of you. You leave them speechless, my darling.”

Before you could protest, he pulled you into another dance, the third that night. It was more than protocol dictated as appropriate for a married couple, but Alexei seemed immune to the veiled criticism. His every move was fluid, as if he were born to lead a waltz, and he made sure you were the only one who felt it.

“Should I worry about what they’ll say about us?” you whispered, slightly breathless, as he twirled with calculated precision.

“Let them talk. I don’t care, and neither should you.”

And at that moment, you really didn’t care.

But then she walked in.

Anna Karenina didn’t need to say a word to draw their gazes. Her black dress contrasted with her pale skin, her hair shining in the light of the chandeliers, and there was something about her posture—a natural confidence that made the entire room seem less grand.

You noticed the subtle change in Alexei before you even looked at him. His eyes, always so intent on you, shifted. It was only for a moment, but it felt like an eternity.

He recovered quickly, turning to you with a soft smile, as if nothing had happened.

“It’s Mrs. Karenina, isn’t it?” he asked, his tone casual and unconvincing.

You simply nodded, keeping your expression neutral.

Out of courtesy, or perhaps something more, Alexei approached Anna. After a few brief, polite comments, he held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

You saw it all.

The way Alexei bowed slightly, the slight tension in his shoulders as he waited for her answer, and then the way she smiled before accepting. They were a vision together—he with his natural elegance, and she with an almost defiant magnetism.

The dance was… different. There was no denying it. The entire room was watching them, and it seemed like they didn’t notice anyone else. The rhythm of the waltz seemed to be dictated by them, each step, each turn perfect, as if they were in another world.

You felt something tighten in your chest, but you kept your composure. When Alexei returned to your side, he smiled as always, as if nothing had changed. He took your hand and led you for another dance.

Later, back in the bedroom, he took you in his arms with a passion that seemed almost desperate. His touches were intense, each kiss carried an urgency that you didn’t fully understand, but accepted.

As he slept beside you, his golden curls falling over his forehead, you watched him in silence. He seemed so peaceful, so much yours in that moment, that you decided that everything you had seen before meant nothing.

“None of that mattered,” you told yourself, closing your eyes. “None.”

The days that followed were peaceful, almost idyllic. Alexei was still as affectionate and attentive as ever, filling the moments you spent together with laughter and tender gestures. He made a point of looking you in the eyes when he spoke, as if you were the only person in the world who deserved his attention. Yet, there was something different.

A sparkle in his eyes—an energy you couldn’t quite describe. He seemed more attentive, more restless, but never in a way that diminished the care he showed you.

That morning, he kissed her before leaving, holding your face in his hands. “Goodbye, my dear. Be well for me.” And then he was gone, leaving behind a void that the house could not fill.

It was the first time you had spent so much time alone. You tried to keep yourself busy, supervising the servants, organizing small details to make the home more welcoming and, finally, preparing to receive some ladies of society. The afternoon brought restrained laughter and lively conversation to the drawing room, as the women settled in with cups of tea and delicate sweets.

The conversation flowed as usual, until a name came up casually, but with a devastating impact. “Anna Karenina was stunning at the ball, don’t you think?” The air seemed to grow heavier around you.

You kept smiling, raising the cup to your lips, but your fingers tightened slightly on the porcelain.

“All the men only had eyes for her, even the married ones,” one of them commented, letting out a muffled laugh. “But of course, she’s a married woman, so it’s just… admiration, isn’t it?”

You forced a laugh along with the others, but the words echoed inside you. Her name seemed to have taken root in your mind, and each time it was repeated, the knot in your stomach tightened a little more.

When Alexei came home that night, the sound of his boots on the wooden floor made you straighten your posture and put a smile on your lips. He appeared in the entrance, as always impeccable, and his smile immediately widened when he saw you.

“My dear.” He greeted you with a kiss on the cheek, his warm hands holding your waist. “Did you miss me?”

You melted, as always. It was impossible not to get lost in the attention he gave you, in the low, intimate tone of his voice, in the warmth he seemed to carry with him.

“How was your day?” You asked, trying to sound casual as you followed him to his office. “Did anything interesting happen?”

He paused for a moment, taking off his coat and hanging it up carefully. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Just the usual business. And your day? I hope you weren’t bored without me.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “No, the ladies came to visit. It was a nice afternoon.”

He stepped closer, lightly touching your chin so you would look at him. “I’m glad you did. You deserve to be surrounded by good things.”

The knot in your stomach tightened again, but you pushed it away. Don’t be silly, you thought. He was a kind and caring husband, someone who always made you feel special. Your marriage was better than most other women’s, and wasting time on dark thoughts would be foolish. When Alexei kissed you again before going to change, you decided you had better believe it.

Time passed, bringing sunny days and starry nights as you and Alexei indulged in your mutual desire more and more. He seemed more than happy to respond to your attempts to conceive, and you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed seducing him.

There was something powerful in the way he looked at you, a glint in his eyes that told you he wouldn’t resist anything you asked. “Do you have any idea what you do to me, my dear?” He whispered as he pulled you closer, the heat of his words almost as overwhelming as the touch of his hands.

In the mornings, when the sun was barely breaking over the horizon, Alexei would sometimes hold you in bed, preventing you from leaving. “Don’t go yet,” he would murmur, his voice hoarse with sleep, his strong arms wrapped around you. “Stay with me a little longer.”

And in those moments, with your head resting on his chest and his fingers drawing lazy circles on your skin, any doubt that tried to sprout in your heart was forgotten. He made you feel loved, wanted. The world seemed to not exist when Alexei was only yours.

But the world, inevitably, kept turning.

Meetings with the ladies were a crossroads between gossip and appearances, and you did your best to maintain your composure. Still, the whispers about Anna Karenina and Alexei kept finding you, cutting like sharp knives disguised as smiles.

“He’s so devoted to his wife,” one of them would say, almost enviously. “But it would be a wonder if his eyes didn’t follow her too. Who could blame him? Anna is stunning.”

You forced a smile and stood up straight, as a good hostess should. But every word seemed to erode a little of your confidence.

Alexei was still the loving husband he had always been, but there were moments—small, fleeting, but undeniable—when he seemed distant. His eyes, though focused on you, were elsewhere.

And though he would never admit it, you knew there was something more. His schedule seemed different. He would leave early and sometimes come back late, always with a ready excuse, always with a reassuring smile.

“Just meetings, my dear. Don’t worry.”

You believed him. Or at least you tried to believe him.

That night, as he pulled you into a hug on the couch, you snuggled against his chest, listening to the rhythmic sound of his heart. He stroked your hair tenderly, and for a moment, you thought about asking. About Anna, about the rumors, about the absent-minded glances.

But then he whispered in your ear, “I’m so lucky to have you.”

And you decided you didn’t want to hear the answer.

The days passed, and although Alexei remained affectionate and attentive at times, something was off. He always seemed busy, and you began to notice the gaps—small delays, glances that strayed beyond where you were.

But that wasn’t the typical behavior of an unfaithful man, was it? He still held you by the waist when he passed by, still kissed you lingeringly before leaving. These displays of affection confused your thoughts and increased your anguish.

That night, determined to get an answer, you spent the time leafing through a novel, although the words were nothing more than blurs on the page. There was something on your mind, a restlessness that you could no longer ignore. You were wearing a nightgown that you had previously hesitated to wear, a soft and provocative fabric, with strategically placed lace.

When Alexei entered the room, exuding the freshness of the cold night, he stopped when he saw you. His clear eyes slid over you, shrewd and shining with something indefinable. “An unexpected reception,” he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and something deeper.

You stood up, your heart racing, but your face carefully serene. You walked over to him and began to help him take off his gloves. The coat came next, feeling the weight of the fabric on your arms, while you asked trivial questions. “Was it very cold outside? Did you find who you needed?” He answered calmly, but there was something in his voice that seemed a little distant.

Then, before you could lose your courage, you looked at him. “Alexei…” you began, hesitantly, your fingers lightly touching the sleeve of his shirt. “Are you still happy?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer, and the pause made the air in the room seem thicker. But then, without a word, he pulled you to him. His lips met yours with an urgency you hadn’t felt in a long time, and the answer came not in words, but in actions. He adored you that night, as if you were something sacred.

Every touch, every gesture felt like a promise, and for a moment, you believed that everything was fine again. But when morning came, the unspoken words returned, and the promises evaporated like dew under the sun.

A few days later, at a gathering of the ladies, held in the gardens of a hostess’s house, the rumors reached you again. They spoke in low tones, but curiosity overcame discretion.

“It seems that Anna and Alexei were seen together in the garden, alone.”

You tried not to react, but you felt heat rise to your face and a lump tighten in your throat. “Don’t talk nonsense,” one of the women said. “She’s married, so is he. It’s just rumors.”

Rumors or not, the words hit you like a blow.

That evening, as you looked at Alexei at the dinner table, you noticed the shadow of weariness in his eyes. He smiled at you, the same smile that had so often calmed your fears. But something seemed out of reach.

“What’s wrong, my dear? Is everything okay?”

You just nodded, but in your heart, the distance seemed to grow ever wider, and the two versions of Alexei—the loving man who held you in his arms and the distracted husband who was possibly with another woman—began to overlap, leaving you without answers.

The days became a disjointed dance of avoided glances and touches that seemed more like habit than genuine affection. Alexei would arrive late, his face tired and his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

“Is everything okay?” You asked one night, as he took off his coat, his gaze lost somewhere in the room.

He smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Just my duties, love. Nothing to worry about.”

But you worried. His silence seemed louder than any words, and the way he took so long to answer you in certain conversations made the discomfort grow.

“You’ve been working too much,” you commented again, feeling the weight of loneliness as he left her at the dinner table to attend to a letter that had just arrived.

“It’s necessary,” He kissed your forehead before leaving, but the gesture seemed mechanical.

Meanwhile, Alexei, increasingly involved with Anna, felt torn between duty and desire. She was… fascinating. There was something in her way of speaking, in her eyes that seemed to decipher his thoughts before he even expressed them, that made him want to be close to her. Their encounters began to become frequent, and the longer touches were inevitable.

“That’s not right, Alexei,” she said in one of her hesitant moments, although she didn’t pull away when he took her hand.

“Maybe not, but how can you ignore something so… inevitable?”

And he was lost.

That night, at home, you were waiting for him. The dinner, untouched on the table, had already gone cold, but you remained seated, trying not to look at the clock. When Alexei came in, later than usual, something inside you gave way.

“It’s so late,” you said, his voice hesitant, almost a whisper.

He sighed, as if the guilt he was trying to hide was weighing more heavily than expected. “Yes, I’m sorry. The meetings went longer than planned.”

You stared at him, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. “Alexei… I need to ask you something.”

He stopped, his body tense, but he tried to hide it. “Sure, whatever you want.”

“Anna Karenina.” Her name left your lips before you could stop the tremor in your voice. “Do you… what do you think of her?”

For a moment, Alexei seemed to struggle with himself, and you could see the hesitation in his eyes. But then he took a deep breath and answered, almost as if he were talking to himself.

“I think she’s amazing.”

The word hit you like a blade, and the world around you seemed to stop. Alexei realized too late the impact of what he had said, but he didn’t try to correct it.

You stood up, unable to hold back the tears that were already stinging your eyes. “Amazing? Is that what she is to you?”

He tried to move closer, but you took a step back, your hand shaking as you gripped the back of the chair to steady yourself.

“It’s not what you think,” he tried to explain, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never… there’s nothing you need to be afraid of.”

But you were afraid. Not just for him, but for the shadow that was beginning to creep into your marriage, a shadow that now had a name and a face.

When he held you in his arms that night, trying to comfort you, you wondered if he really held you or if his mind was still with her.

The glances started as something subtle, almost imperceptible. A second longer of hesitation, a half smile that seemed fraught with pity. But now, it was unmistakable. When you entered a room, conversations would cease for a moment before starting again, whispers slithering like snakes around the corners.

“She’s admirable, don’t you think?” someone had commented once, their voice low but not enough to escape your ears. “To carry on like that, with such dignity. I don’t know if I could do it.”

“It really is impressive,” another replied. “Especially with… well, with everything that’s said.”

You smiled, as you had learned to do since you were a child: with the grace required of someone in your position. But inside, you felt as if a crack were forming, threatening to widen with every strangled comment and look of commiseration.

At home, Alexei seemed determined to erase the marks of whatever was causing your guilt. Fresh flowers appeared on your bedside table, delicate jewelry was left on your pillow, and he never failed to compliment your when they were alone.

“You look so pretty today,” he said one evening as he watched your dress for a social gathering.

“Thank you,” you replied, trying to force a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

The truth was that the gifts were a cruel reminder. No matter how much Alexei tried to make up for it with kindness, his words about Anna that night echoed like a distant bell, ever present. He thought you were a good wife, a wife as one should be. But that wasn’t the same as loving you.

Meanwhile, Alexei was falling deeper and deeper into what he couldn’t quite name as anything other than fascination. Anna wasn’t just amazing—she was magnetic. Their encounters, though brief, were a relief in a world where everything seemed predetermined. She laughed openly, challenged his ideas with cunning, and the looks they exchanged grew more intense every day.

“You should stop coming,” Anna said during one of their encounters, her eyes shining with a mixture of irritation and provocation.

“I should have,” Alexei replied, but his hand lingered on hers, unable to pull away.

Anna felt her frustration grow. Alexei’s attention, once sufficient, now seemed like a mere crumb. He had a wife he returned to every night, and she… she didn’t want to be a shadow in anyone’s marriage.

“It’s unfair, Alexei.” Her voice sounded quieter, but no less intense. “I’m not the kind of woman who shares. And you know that.”

Back home, you tried not to fall apart. Your routine became a desperate cycle of busyness, trying to keep the house spotless, planning meetings, but none of it filled the growing emptiness. It was in the silence that the tears came, without warning, as you wondered how everything had become so fragile.

And then the nausea began. First, a slight malaise, which you attributed to fatigue. Then, a constant nausea, which seemed to intensify along with your anguish.

Alexei noticed, of course. He wasn’t blind to the changes in you—your lost gaze, your trembling hands, your increasingly hesitant responses. One night, he found you crying silently in the living room, your face hidden in your hands.

“My love…” he began, kneeling beside you. “What’s happening? Tell me, please.”

You shook your head, unable to find the words. How could you explain something that even you didn’t fully understand?

Alexei tried to take care of you in his own way. He brought you warm broth, promised to stay home longer, held your hand as if that would be enough to seal the cracks. But even as he did so, something in him remained distant.

And it was Anna that his thoughts fell upon when the silence of the house became unbearable. She was the opposite of what he had known, a breath of life amidst conformity. But he knew he was being cruel, to you, to himself, to Anna. And yet, it didn’t stop.

While you faced the loneliness and growing discomfort, Anna, in turn, began to feel an anger she couldn’t hide. The idea that Alexei was going back to another woman night after night was intolerable.

“You need to decide,” she said in a firm tone, her arms crossed as he looked at her, speechless. “I won’t be your second option, Alexei. If that’s what you want, leave. Now.”

He didn’t answer, and the silence between them was as heavy as any accusation.

Anna and Alexei had been apart for a few days, but the distance was never more than a pause. It only took a chance encounter — or maybe not so chance — for the attraction between them to rekindle. He saw her from afar at a social event, talking and laughing with a naturalness that seemed to light up the room. She saw him too, and a corner of her mouth formed, full of meanings that only they understood.

At home, you began to connect the dots of your nausea. It was hard to ignore the way the smell of some dishes, once appetizing, now made you nauseous. But you kept your suspicions to yourself, until Natalia, always so attentive, pulled you aside one morning.

“Madam, forgive me for being blunt, but I think I know what’s happening to you.” The maid hesitated before continuing, her voice low and careful. “It could be that… you’re expecting a baby.”

Her words were a shock and, at the same time, a spark of hope. Natalia helped you call a doctor in secret, a trustworthy man who guaranteed discretion. After a brief consultation, he confirmed what you already suspected:

“Congratulations, ma’am. It looks like you’re in the first weeks of pregnancy. Make sure you get plenty of rest and avoid unnecessary worries.”

The news was like a ray of sunshine breaking through dense clouds. It was the first time in a long time that you felt truly happy. The idea of a child was not just a blessing — it was a promise of renewal, a new chance for your life with Alexei, something that could bring you closer together. Without realizing it, you had adopted the habit of running your hands over your belly, whispering little promises to the baby you couldn’t yet hear:

“You will be loved. Always. And you will have everything you need.”

One afternoon, while embroidering in the living room, you lost yourself in thought. Your fingers worked almost automatically, transforming a piece of linen into something delicate and intimate. The embroidery that was taking shape was of a small flower surrounded by arabesques, an image that referenced Alexei's family crest. A gesture that, in a way, linked the father's inheritance to the son's future.

You were so absorbed that you didn't hear Alexei enter the room.

"You're distracted, my love." His voice sounded low, but close enough to startle you.

The sudden movement caused you to prick yourself with the needle.

"Oh!" You exclaimed, bringing your injured finger to your mouth.

Before you could react, Alexei was at your side. He took your hand carefully, observing the small spot of blood.

"Let me see." His voice had a tone that bordered on authoritative, but his movements were incredibly gentle. He pressed his finger delicately, assessing the damage before bringing his lips to the small wound, sealing it with a gesture that made your heart falter.

Alexei, with his always impeccable posture, looked more tired than usual. His eyes, an intense blue that reminded you of winter skies, were shadowed with the hint of restless nights of sleep. His golden hair was slightly disheveled, and you noticed there was something almost vulnerable in the way he kept his expression neutral, as if carrying the weight of something he couldn’t share.

“You need to be more careful,” he said, with a slight frown that quickly softened. He looked down at the embroidery in his hands and arched an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

You tried to hide the linen, but it was too late.

“Oh… nothing much. Just something to pass the time.”

“Nothing much?” Alexei narrowed his eyes, as if trying to guess the reason behind the drawing. “You’re happier these days. It… relieves me, you know?”

His words were sincere, and it touched you. Alexei might have been distant, but there was genuine concern there, even if it was expressed hesitantly, as if he himself didn’t know how to handle it.

“I don’t want you to worry about me,” he continued, holding your hand for a moment longer than necessary. “There’s a lot I can’t control, but… you’re important to me. You always have been.”

You felt the weight of those words, but also the contradiction behind them. How could he say that, knowing what the others were whispering? Knowing that there might be a grain of truth to the rumors?

“Then why…” you began, but the words caught in your throat.

Alexei pulled his hand away, returning to his more formal posture, as if the moment had been a lapse. He cast one last glance at his embroidery before standing up.

“I’ll be in the office. If you need anything, please send for me.”

You watched him leave, and at the same time, something inside you remained torn between the warmth of your concern and the ice of the uncertainty he left behind.

Invitations to social events arrived frequently, but you rarely had the will to accept them. This time, however, was different. The news of the pregnancy seemed to have rekindled something inside you. As Natalia adjusted her dress, you looked at yourself in the mirror, trying to see yourself as Alexei would see you.

The fabric of her dress flowed like water in the yellow light of the room. It was a deep blue, almost black, with silver details that sparkled with every movement. Her satin gloves came up to her elbows, and a simple diamond chain rested over her elegant neckline. Her hair was tied in a low bun, with a few strands strategically loose to frame your face. For a tiny moment, you allowed yourself to believe that there were no problems, that your life was as beautiful as it seemed in the reflection.

The theater was a masterpiece of gold and velvet. Huge chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling, casting a warm light that bathed the boxes and the audience. The walls were adorned with mirrors and ornaments that seemed to dance in the light. You walked up the stairs with Alexei, feeling the light touch of his hand on your back, guiding you gently.

In the box, the seats were padded, covered in crimson brocade. You settled in next to Alexei, feeling almost safe in that moment. The murmur of the crowd filled the space, a distant sound that seemed to match the growing anticipation for the show.

Then it hit you. Alexei’s gaze was lost in the audience, crossing the distance like an arrow. You didn’t need to follow his gaze to know who he had found.

She was there. Anna.

You knew it before you even saw her. There was something in the way Alexei took a deep breath, the way his shoulders tensed. Still, your gaze shifted, and then you saw her. She was gorgeous, a vibrant red dress that seemed like a challenge, hugging her figure with unshakable confidence. Her hair was loose in perfect waves, falling over her shoulders. When she laughed—oh, that laugh—the people around her seemed to lean in like sunflowers facing the sun.

It was impossible not to compare. You were beautiful, yes, but Anna was a force of nature. There was something about her that transcended appearances. She was magnetic, and worst of all, she seemed unaware of her power.

When the break came, people began to stand, some going to get refreshments, others just to stretch their legs. You and Alexei were silent when she appeared, as if drawn by an invisible magnet.

“Alexei.” Anna’s voice was low, but it carried a natural musicality. Then her eyes fell on you. “And this must be your wife. What a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Your smile was impeccable, polite, but you felt the hidden blade beneath her words.

“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Karenina.” Your voice was firm, but there was a tension in her shoulders that you knew she would notice.

“Anna, please. Formalities between us seem so… unnecessary.” She tilted her head slightly, as if assessing you. “You are even more charming than I imagined.”

You murmured a thank you, aware of Alexei’s gaze darting between you and Anna as if he were trying to navigate a minefield.

“And you, Anna, look, as always… stunning.” Alexei’s voice broke the silence, and the weight of his words was palpable.

For a moment, Anna looked away from him. It was brief, but long enough that you felt as if the ground had dropped from beneath your feet. The way they looked at each other… there was no need for words.

The conversation continued, polite and courteous, but each sentence was loaded with hidden meaning, like a game of emotional chess. You realized that Anna wasn’t just beautiful; she was perceptive, intelligent, and knew exactly how to use those qualities.

“I hope this evening is memorable for both of you,” Anna said finally, with a smile that seemed almost sincere. “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

When she walked away, you felt the weight of the comparisons that inevitably arose. Her posture, her grace, her naturalness… it was hard not to feel small in front of her.

Back in the box, the silence between you and Alexei was almost unbearable. When he touched your hand, just to help you sit down, the heat of his fingers seemed to burn your skin. You wanted to scream, to ask him what she had that you didn’t, but you remained silent. The show started again, but you could barely pay attention. Your thoughts were caught up in Anna, in Alexei’s gaze, and in the growing abyss between the two of you.

When you arrived home, the stillness of the night seemed to stretch even longer than before. The air was thick, permeated with a tension that neither of you dared to break. Alexei led you to the mirror, his eyes dark and attentive. With almost automatic movements, he removed the clips that held your hair, one by one, with reverent delicacy. His hands, firm but careful, touched your scalp, relieving the pressure, and you closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the touch and the lightness of the moment.

Silence spread between you, and you could feel the distance that had settled since the theater. You, with a heavy heart, tried to ignore the echo of those images, the way Anna caught your attention, her beauty, her magnetic presence. Alexei, unconsciously, cast furtive glances, and you, without needing more, knew that his thoughts were far away.

Suddenly, without warning, the tears formed and fell, silent, as if they were a chain that had been waiting for a long time to break. The tip of his fingers gently touched your face, the warm tears still on your skin.

“What is it?” He spoke, his voice low, full of a tenderness that seemed tailor-made for you.

You looked at him, and for a moment, the words were stuck, but the question escaped with a thread of voice, so broken that it seemed like a whisper:

“You… you don’t want me anymore?”

The question seemed like a blade, cutting through the air. Alexei stepped back a little, his eyes wide with surprise, but soon the expression gave way to compassion. He came closer, touching your face with his fingertips, as if he was afraid that you would fall apart in his hands.

“Never say that, never.” His voice was firmer now, and his eyes, which had previously been filled with tension, now reflected a softness that you couldn’t fully understand.

The silence returned, but it wasn’t the same anymore. You shook your head, a tired denial, and your voice, choked, made the air around you seem colder.

“Prove it to me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling with something inside, and then, with an expression of resignation and affection, he answered, in a tone so sincere that it almost hurt:

“I’ll show you, today. I’ll show you that I still want you.”

And that was how the night turned into an intertwining of touches and whispers, a desire that materialized in a careful, almost reverent way. He kissed your as if each contact was an oath, a commitment that he tried to seal on her skin and in your heart. You felt that he was sharing something, something that couldn’t be ignored — an internal struggle between affection and what was still left in his mind. But at that moment, with every touch, there was a real effort to connect, to show that desire, no matter how much it was confused with guilt and doubt, was still there.

The night was made of touches that spoke louder than any words. Alexei's body moved with a care you had never seen before, each gesture an attempt to fix what was broken. He knew it wasn't a solution, he knew the abyss still existed, but that night, as the two of you met, there was no room for fear — there was only now.

When dawn began to tint the sky with shades of orange and pink, you rested in his arms, exhausted and satisfied, your heart still beating with the memory of the night. The world was coming back into existence in its fullness, but a question still haunted your mind, one you didn't dare to speak out loud:

Why couldn't things always be like this?

The answer remained unexplored, somewhere far away from you, but for now, as the sun began to rise, the only thing that mattered was the promise, still uncertain, that he would be there. Even if the dilemma continued, even if love was divided, at least for that moment, there was something you could believe in.

The afternoon was filled with a light breeze that moved with a whisper, as if it were a warning, a caution. You sat in the armchair next to the window, with the needle in your hands, your eyes fixed on the work in progress. The embroidery fabric was still stained with soft lines, but the thought of your son's layette brought some peace to your heart. But that peace was shattered by a sudden pain that shot through you, a stab so sharp that the world seemed to stop for a second.

You lifted the skirt of your dress with trembling hands and a scream escaped your lips before you could contain it. The sight of those red stains, fierce and cruel, made you tremble, fear spreading through every cell of your body. The pain was overwhelming, but nothing compared to the feeling of terror of losing what was growing inside you.

“Natalia!” Your voice was a lament, a desperate whisper that echoed through the room, each word filled with fear and helplessness. The sound of your own screams seemed distant, drowned out by the frantic beating of your heart. You fell to your knees, your vision blurred by the tears that flowed uncontrollably.

The blood. The merciless red. Cruel. It was all you could see.

“Please… No… Not my baby.” The words were mumbled, disjointed, a thin thread of plea as your trembling hands held your belly in desperation. The pain was more than physical; it was a growing emptiness, a loss you weren’t ready to accept.

The hurried footsteps echoed through the house before Natalia burst through the door.

“Oh my God, ma’am! What happened?”

“Natalia, please… save him. Please do something!” Your voice barely came out, muffled by sobs, as you gripped the maid’s arm with a strength that seemed impossible for someone so fragile at that moment. “I can’t lose him, Natalia. He’s all I have. All I… Please!”

Natalia, pale with horror, knelt beside you, trying to calm you down while struggling to hide her own panic.

“Calm down, ma’am, calm down. I’ll call the doctor. Just stay with me. Breathe, please!”

But you barely heard her. The heat of the blood running down your legs was a constant reminder of what was being ripped from you, cruel and without warning.

Meanwhile, Alexei walked along the path that led to the woods, the cool breeze caressing his face with a cruel gentleness, as if the environment did not understand the weight he carried in his chest. Each step seemed heavier, each breath more difficult, as if his conscience fought against his body, insisting that he return. But he kept going. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

When he saw her, sitting on a carefully laid blanket, with a picnic basket beside her, her eyes shining with expectation, he hesitated. Anna was everything that should be perfect – beautiful, charming, captivating. But at the same time, she was a constant reminder of everything he was destroying.

“You came…” Her voice carried a softness that should have calmed him, but only increased the guilt that consumed him.

“I shouldn’t have,” he murmured, but still sat down next to her. The words were true, but his presence there made them empty.

Anna smiled, as if she hadn’t heard or as if she believed he didn’t mean it. Her hands touched his, soft, hesitant, but not rejecting. He should push her away. But he didn’t. The silence between them was heavy, each moment of stillness stretching the tension to the limit.

Then Anna moved closer. Her fingers slid over Alexei’s face, her eyes searching for something in his—a permission, perhaps, or a reciprocity she already believed was there. When her lips touched his, for an instant, Alexei gave in. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Every lingering touch, every lingering look, every time he’d allowed her to come closer—it had all been pointing to this moment. And now that he was here, how could she back away?

The kiss was passionate, almost desperate, as if they were both trying to erase doubts and insecurities in the heat of the moment. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer as his thoughts tangled in a confusing whirlwind. This was what he wanted. This was what he was supposed to want.

But then her hands began to unbutton his shirt, and something inside him stopped. These weren’t the hands he wanted. These weren’t the kisses he wanted. The realization hit him like a blow, crushing any illusion he’d been trying to nurture.

“Anna, no.” He held her hands, firmly but not harshly. The surprise in her eyes hurt more than he expected.

“Alexei…? What is it?” Her voice was confused, almost a whisper, as if she were trying to comprehend a rupture she hadn’t anticipated.

He was slow, an abrupt movement that left him standing, while she was still kneeling on the blanket.

“I’m so sorry.” The words came out quickly, but they sounded insufficient, empty in the face of what he knew they had for her. “I can’t go through with this, Anna. I can’t.”

“Why? Isn’t this what you want?” Her question was sharp, but there was pain in her voice, a vulnerability he couldn’t bear.

He ran his hand over his face, his fingers pressed against his temples as if to stave off the internal conflict tearing him apart.

“I thought it was. But I was wrong.”

“Wrong?” Her disbelief was palpable. “Are you telling me that this… us… doesn’t mean anything?”

“Anna, I don’t know what this means. I just know that… I can’t do this to her. Not anymore.”

She found herself gasping, as if the words had been a physical blow. Alexei knew he had hurt her, but there was no other way.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice low, barely audible.

He turned away from her before he could change his mind, each step back onto the trail feeling like an act of self-punishment. Your face, the pain in your eyes, the frustration and anger—all of it following him, like a ghost he knew he would carry with him forever.

On the way home, the silence of the forest seemed to mock him. Each decision, each choice took him further away from the peace he so desired. But one thing was clear: he needed to renew what was left.

When he finally saw the house, the familiarity of the sight hit him hard. Inside, you were there—the woman he swore to protect, to care for, to love. The woman he hurt every day with his absences, his lies, his indecision.

Alexei walked into the house, feeling the weight of each step. Something was wrong. The lack of noise, the way none of the servants looked directly at him, as if they were afraid that any word or gesture might ignite a flame they could not control.

“What’s going on?” His voice was firm, but with an urgency he could not disguise.

The servants hesitated, but it was the housekeeper who finally answered, her voice low and careful: “It’s your wife, sir… She… The doctor is with her now.”

Before she could finish, Alexei was already climbing the stairs, his heart racing in his chest. Each second seemed like an eternity, the echo of his footsteps amplifying the fear that was growing in his mind.

When he reached the bedroom, he stopped in the doorway, his body tense. The doctor was talking in whispers to the housekeeper, gesturing discreetly. The scene before him was a nightmare. You were lying in bed, the sheets disheveled around your pale body. Your fragility was a cruel blow – a vibrant, lively woman seemed broken, almost unrecognizable.

“What happened?” He was elegant, his voice sharp, almost desperate.

The doctor turned to him, straightening his jacket before answering.

“Your wife had a serious scare. There was some bleeding, but fortunately the baby is fine.”

The doctor’s words hung in the air, and Alexei felt as if the ground had disappeared beneath his feet. A baby. He blinked in disbelief as the weight of the information descended upon him. What had once been a distant murmur was now a deafening scream in his mind. You were pregnant. You were pregnant, and he didn’t know it.

Suddenly, everything began to make sense. Your sudden improvement a few days ago, the way the laughter had slowly returned to your voice, how you seemed lighter, almost radiant. And he… He hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t paid attention to the little signs.

Alexei raised a trembling hand to his forehead, unable to shake off the whirlwind of thoughts. How could he have been so blind? He, who should have known your better than anyone, had failed to notice something so significant, something that should have been shared and celebrated by both of them.

He didn’t need to ask why he hadn’t been called sooner. He knew the answer. He knew exactly where he was. He knew exactly who he was with. Guilt hit him like a blow, stealing his breath. There were no excuses, only the knowledge that he had failed you—again.

When he finally managed to take a few hesitant steps toward the bed, his eyes fixed on your belly, where his seed grew, protected but barely lost. His chest tightened, an almost unbearable knot. Here was something he hadn’t even known he had, and it had almost been ripped from him without him having the fight to keep it.

“Alexei…” Your weak voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he knelt beside the bed, holding your hand with a gentleness that seemed to contradict the storm raging inside him.

Your eyes were half-closed, the lids heavy with exhaustion, but there was a glint of pain he couldn’t bear.

“I’m so sorry…” Your voice shook, each word filled with overwhelming guilt. “I failed you. With… with the baby.”

He shook his head, his fingers squeezing your lightly, as if he wanted to push the pain away with his touch.

“Don’t say that. It wasn’t your fault. None of this is your fault.”

But he knew whose fault it was. Not yours, never yours. Every bit of blame, every mistake and omission was his. Alexei looked down at your belly again, unable to contain the tightness in his throat.

“You’re safe now. And the baby too. I’m here.” He tried to sound firm, but his voice was a broken whisper.

You closed your eyes again, exhaustion overcoming you, but not before a single tear ran down the side of your face. Alexei watched you in silence, his heart torn by the fragility you showed.

Natalia, standing near the door, took a small step forward, hesitant but determined to speak. “She called for you.”

Alexei turned his face to her, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

“What?”

“As she cried, in despair. She called out to you.”

The words pierced him like blades. He looked away, feeling the weight of her absence crush him even more. How many times had you called out to him? How many times had he not been there when you needed him?

He leaned closer, pressing his forehead against your hand, his eyes closed in a mixture of relief and despair.

“Never again,” he whispered, the promise escaping his lips like a prayer. “Never again will you call out to me and not answer.”

And as the night deepened around them, Alexei stood there, beside your, in silence. For the first time in a long time, he felt that the silence was more deafening than any storm.

The days that followed were an exhausting mix of silence and tension. Alexei seemed like a man possessed by an almost desperate determination, willing to do anything to ensure his wife’s well-being. He had the finest dishes the chef could prepare brought to you, even if you barely touched them. He hired musicians to play softly in the garden, hoping the music would help ease your paleness. He brought expensive fabrics, delicate jewelry, perfumes from faraway lands.

The mornings were always filled with Alexei at your side, urging her to eat another spoonful, to take a few steps into the room. When afternoon fell, he would have your sit by the window, the view of the garden filling the space where words failed between them.

But nothing seemed to work.

You didn’t push him away. You didn’t refuse his care. But the distance between you grew every day, a chasm that Alexei didn’t know how to cross. He could feel it in the stiffness of your shoulders when he entered the room, in the gaze that hadn’t met his for a long time.

And then came the blow he hadn’t expected.

You knew.

He realized the moment your gaze finally met his, charged with something he had never seen before. It wasn’t anger, but something worse. It was the stillness of someone who was too hurt to confront, the resignation of someone who had lost something that could not be recovered.

He tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

“You were with her.” Your voice cut through the air like a thread of ice.

Alexei froze. He wanted to deny it, he wanted to make up an excuse, anything. But the lies stuck in his throat like a tight rope, because deep down, he knew that you deserved more than your lies.

“I… I didn’t want it to be like this,” he murmured, his voice so low it sounded like a lost echo.

You laughed, a bitter sound he’d never heard come from your lips.

“I didn’t want it to be like this? Then how should it be, Alexei?”

His name on your lips was like a slap. There was no affection, only the cold formality of someone who’s given up the fight.

“I didn’t know about the baby,” he said, his voice shaking. “If I had known… if I had known…”

You interrupted him with a weak gesture of your hand.

“And would it have made a difference? Would you have stayed by my side? Or would I have been just another responsibility to balance between your escapades?”

Alexei fell to his knees beside the bed, his eyes pleading. He wanted to say yes, that everything would have been different, that he would have chosen you and his son above all else. But the words wouldn’t come, because he knew he couldn’t erase her—Anna—from his mind with mere promises.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he finally said, his hands shaking as they held yours.

You looked up at him, your eyes brimming with tears.

“But you did. And now I don’t know how to fix it, Alexei. I don’t know if it’s possible.”

Silence fell between you again, heavy as a stone. Alexei lowered his head, his breathing ragged.

“I want to try,” he whispered. “For you. For the baby. For us.”

You closed your eyes, allowing the tears to slide silently down your face. You didn’t answer, and Alexei felt his heart break a little more. He released you slowly, feeling as if you were slipping through his fingers, a fragile rope fraying under the weight of your own mistakes.

As he left the room, Alexei stopped when he heard Natalia whisper to another servant:

“They try to protect her from everything, but what is really destroying the lady of the house is here inside.”

The weight of the words hit him like a blow. He knew that it was not only her body that needed rest, but her heart that he had broken.

And for the first time, Alexei had to face the possibility that there might be no way to mend what he himself had destroyed.

The distance between you became more palpable every day. Alexei felt it in your gestures, in the way you looked away when he entered the room, in the short words that left a cold space where there had once been warmth.

He knew he had no right to demand anything, much less forgiveness. But despair was a hungry animal that consumed him, tearing away pieces of his sanity with every blank look you threw in his direction.

When you announced that you were changing rooms, he froze. Since the wedding, there had not been a single night in which you had slept apart.

“Is this necessary?” he heard himself ask, his voice low, almost a whisper, as if your answer could crush him.

You just nodded, without even looking up at him.

That night, Alexei wandered the house like a lost soul. Sitting in the darkness of the empty room, he stared at the bed where you should have been, your absence an oppressive presence that stole the air from his lungs. He didn’t know what to do, how to bear it. The bed seemed bigger, the room colder, the silence deafening.

And then he saw you. The next morning, as he walked down the hallway to his new room, the door was ajar. Alexei stopped. He didn’t want to invade that space that was no longer his, but something compelled him to look.

You were sitting by the window, the sunlight gently touching your face. One of your hands rested on your belly, and there was a smile on your lips. A smile he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“My little miracle…” you murmured, your voice soft, as if you were talking to the baby you were carrying.

Alexei felt his heart tighten. He should have been by your side, participating in that moment. He wanted to be the one with whom you would share your hopes and dreams for the future. But now, he was just a spectator from afar, like a stranger looking through the window of a life that was no longer yours.

He didn’t dare interrupt. He stayed there, quiet, until you slowly got up, supported by Natalia, and disappeared into the room.

The days dragged on. He dedicated every moment to trying to win back something, anything, but you remained distant. He no longer saw the warmth in your eyes, only an icy formality, a barrier he didn't know how to cross.

Sometimes, he heard you talking to the baby. Little promises, loving words that made his heart ache. He wanted to kneel right there and beg for a chance, for a moment of grace. He wanted to tell you that he didn't know how he had lost so much. That now he saw.

Because now he saw.

He saw in the expressions of the servants who passed by him, the veiled judgment in each furtive glance. He saw in his own eyes when he looked at himself in the mirror, the emptiness that had taken over his face. For the first time, he saw himself outside the lens of fascination that had blinded him, outside the lies he had told to justify his actions.

But none of that seemed enough to fix what he had broken.

At night, when he lay in his empty bed, the darkness seemed to weigh on him. He wondered if you thought of him as he thought of you. If, when you caressed his belly, you imagined him as the father of that child, or if he was already a specter in your memory. And he knew that, no matter how hard he tried, your forgiveness was not something he could demand. It was something you would give, or not, and he would have to accept it. But the waiting, the silence, the distance, were a hell he didn't know how to bear.

That night, he sat in the empty room and whispered to the darkness: "Forgive me. Please… forgive me."

But the only answer was silence.

A few more days passed. The mansion, with its spacious halls and impeccably silent corridors, seemed smaller, more suffocating. Still, you kept trying. The weather, the garden, the cold breeze that announced the arrival of a new season — everything was an effort on her part to find some balance, to not let herself succumb to chaos again.

Your belly, although still discreet, was already the center of everything. The servants avoided talking more than necessary, moving carefully around you, as if each word could be another weight on your shoulders. But you were tired. Not of living, perhaps, but of suffering for him.

The walk in the garden came as an unexpected relief. The flowers were still resisting the beginning of autumn, and the wind, although cold, did not seem merciless. There, for a few minutes, your thoughts about Alexei gave way to a momentary peace.

But the calm never lasted long.

That same afternoon, while you were strolling through the streets, something caught your attention. It was a small shop with modest windows, where baby clothes were carefully displayed. You hesitated, but ended up going in.

Inside, the soft colors and soft fabric of the clothes seemed to scream promises of a better future. Your fingers touched a specific piece — a light blue jumpsuit with small, delicate embroidery. He looked so small, so fragile, that for a moment you closed your eyes and allowed the image of a baby to fill your mind.

A boy, you thought. He would have eyes like Alexei’s. And the smile too, that smile that once brightened your days.

The thought came without warning, but it brought a wave of mixed emotions. You didn’t know what it meant—this longing, this inevitable connection between the baby and the man who had broken your heart. But the tightness in your chest was real.

You bought the onesie. When you left the store, the fabric still in your hands, you realized you were shaking.

On the way back home, your steps seemed slower, as if they carried the weight of everything that had been unsaid, of everything that still hurt. The idea of a new beginning, something that had once been a promise for you and Alexei, now seemed uncertain. How could you possibly rebuild something with so many pieces around it?

But as you held that piece of clothing, too small to imagine a body inside it, a silent truth began to take shape. No matter what happened to you and Alexei, that baby was real. He was the hope in the midst of chaos, even if you didn’t yet know how to fully grasp it.

And deep down, even without wanting to, you knew. Part of you still wished things were different, that he was different. That the warmth would return to your eyes, that he would be the father you imagined when you held the onesie in your hands.

The days passed with an unbearable slowness for Alexei. He tried desperately to find ways to get closer to you, but all his attempts seemed to be lost in the void. Dinner that night, the first you would share in weeks, seemed like a small miracle to him. The table was set, the delicate aroma of carefully prepared dishes filled the room, but the euphoria in your chest soon gave way to an anxiety that was hard to ignore.

You were serious, but not hostile. There were no more tears, nor any looks filled with pain. There was a calm that, for Alexei, was even more frightening.

The meal passed with little more than the sound of silverware, and he struggled to create some dialogue, anything that could fill the silence. But then you spoke, and your words shattered the faint hope he had.

“I’ve been thinking,” you began, your voice low but firm, as your eyes remained fixed on your plate. “I think it would be better for everyone if I moved to another house.”

Alexei froze. The knife slipped from his hand and hit the plate with a loud clang that echoed through the room. He looked at you, confused, as if he couldn’t have heard you correctly.

“What?” he barely managed to whisper, his voice hoarse and incredulous.

You didn’t look away, even as you felt your chest tighten at the look on his face.

“It’s not uncommon. Lots of ladies do it,” you continued, your tone almost clinical, as if you were explaining something obvious. “It’s a practical solution. I would be fine, and you could have your life… with whoever you want.”

The words were like knives, stabbing one by one into his heart. He shook his head slowly, as if denying the reality you were proposing.

“No…” Alexei murmured, standing up from his chair with an abrupt movement. He approached you, almost tripping over his own feet, his voice louder now, more desperate. “Don’t say that, please. Don’t do that.”

But you remained where you were, looking at him with an expression that seemed both hard and fragile.

“It’s not fair, Alexei. You could… keep seeing Anna, without having to worry about me.”

He interrupted before you could say more, urgency brimming with each word: “There is no more Anna.”

The silence that followed was sharp.

You blinked, disbelief evident in your eyes. Alexei took a step forward, as if he needed to close the physical distance to reach you somehow.

“It’s over. I… I broke up with her. There’s nothing between us anymore, I swear.”

Your expression remained firm, but he saw the doubt in your eyes, the hesitation.

“Why would I believe you now?” Your voice shook, but you kept your tone controlled.

He took a deep breath, running a hand over his face, the gesture of an exhausted and defenseless man.

“Because I couldn’t go on, not after…” He hesitated, his eyes darting to the floor for a moment before meeting yours again. “Not after realizing what I was risking. What I almost lost.”

Alexei knelt in front of you, his hands gripping yours with desperate strength, as if the mere contact could stop you from pulling away any further.

“I was a fool, a complete idiot, and I know that… that my apologies may not mean anything now. But please, believe me. There is no one else. Just you. Just you and…” He looked down at your belly, his gaze softening for a moment, before returning to your face, so full of hurt. “And our son.”

You wanted to believe him. A part of you screamed to accept those words, to allow the pain to be replaced by something sweeter. But there were wounds that were still raw, and the fear of getting hurt again was too great.

“Alexei… I…” You began, but the words died on your lips.

He felt the wall between you, knew that his words, as sincere as they were, might not be enough.

“Please, don’t go.” He spoke again, his tone lower, almost a whisper. “I know I have no right to ask this, but I… I don’t know how to live without you.”

The weight of his declaration hung between you, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. But you looked away, unable to bear the intensity in his eyes.

And yet, even when your hands released his, he didn’t pull away. He remained there, kneeling, caught between guilt and hope, waiting for a miracle that might never come.

The weeks that followed were a slow unraveling of us. The distance between you two still existed, but it was no longer an unbridgeable chasm. There were shared glances that lasted a little longer, less charged silences, gestures that seemed to seek something beyond the surface. And although fear still inhabited your chest, you didn’t leave.

That afternoon, the room was silent, the discreet sound of the fireplace being your only companion as you read. Alexei was there too, sitting in a nearby armchair with a book that seemed more like a disguise than something he was actually reading. He kept stealing glances at you, as if he was afraid of missing some detail of your expression.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and almost hesitant: “Can I… can I touch your belly?”

The question hung in the air, and you looked up from your book, meeting his. For a moment, Alexei almost regretted asking it, afraid that you would refuse. But to his surprise, you nodded slightly, a shy but genuine permission.

He approached you slowly, kneeling beside you as if each movement were a silent prayer. When his hand finally rested on the soft fabric covering your belly, it was with an almost reverent delicacy. He held his hand there, still, as if afraid that a bolder gesture might break the moment.

The heat from his palm seemed to pass through your skin, and you watched him as he leaned in slightly, his eyes shining in a way that made your heart clench. He was smiling, a soft but genuine smile, so full of happiness that it was impossible to ignore.

“He’s… still so young,” Alexei murmured, almost to himself, his voice choked with emotion.

You just nodded, unable to answer. Something inside you broke at that moment, and tears began to sting your eyes. It was impossible to reconcile the man in front of you, so vulnerable, so in love with something that was still just a promise of life, with the same man who had broken your heart.

He looked up at you, and for an instant, the connection between you was so strong that it seemed like nothing else existed. But the pain was still there, mixed with the tenderness of that moment.

“Alexei…” Your voice broke a little, and it took you a moment to gather your courage. “Tell me about her. About Anna.”

He froze, the happiness on his face replaced by an almost palpable hesitation.

“I don’t know if…” he began, but you interrupted him, your voice firmer now.

“Please. I need to know.”

Alexei took a deep breath, the weight of the confession weighing on him. Finally, he pulled away a little, sitting next to you on the couch, but keeping his hand on your belly as if it were his anchor.

“The rumors…” He began, choosing his words carefully. “They say we were in love. That there was… something between us. But that’s not true.”

You remained silent, allowing him to continue, although you felt your chest tighten with tension.

“There was never a night of love. There was never anything physical.” He shook his head, his eyes locked on yours. “I was foolish, I was blind. I fell for her… for an idea of her, maybe. It was like… something I couldn’t have, and it made me want her even more.”

Alexei paused, his fingers lightly touching your belly, as if the gesture gave him the strength to continue.

“I wasn’t in love with her. Not really. How could I be? She was… an empty dream, a distraction. I was an idiot for not realizing it sooner. And by the time I did, I had already hurt you.”

You closed your eyes, allowing the tears to finally escape, running silently down your cheeks. He leaned in slightly, his free hand hovering in the air as if he wanted to wipe them away, but didn’t dare.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice was a whisper, filled with regret. “If I could go back, I would change everything. But now, all I can do is ask… ask that one day you forgive me.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but there was something different about it. It was no longer the oppressive emptiness of before, but something more… full of possibilities. And although you still didn’t have answers for everything, in that moment, you allowed it to stay.

Because, maybe, this was a start.

The days began to pass differently. The void that had seemed insurmountable between the two of you was now slowly being filled, not with the certainties that had once existed, but with something new. Alexei was present in a way he hadn’t been before, and every gesture, no matter how small, seemed to carry a greater meaning.

He was no longer just the husband you knew, but a man who seemed to strive to be worthy of any space in your life again. There were flowers left on your dressing table, always your favorites, though he never gave them to you directly. There were short notes with kind words placed next to your tea. Little things that you began to notice and eventually treasure.

The visits from the ladies close to you also contributed to this new rhythm. When they arrived, they brought with them not only laughter and pleasant conversation, but also a natural curiosity about how you were doing. They were different from the ladies who had come before, full of snide comments and innuendo. These were your friends, the ones who seemed genuinely concerned.

As they drank tea in the sunlit living room, one of them casually commented:

“It’s funny… no one sees Anna around anymore. It seems she’s gone back to her life, with her husband, as if nothing had happened.”

The remark made the room go silent for a moment, and you felt your heart sink, but you forced yourself to maintain your composure.

“Maybe it’s for the best for her.” Your answer was calm, almost rehearsed, as you sipped your tea.

“No doubt.” Another lady agreed. “After all, it was all so… scandalous. But it’s good that things are getting back to normal.”

The subject changed quickly, but the words stayed with you, a reminder of something that still weighed on you, even when you wanted to let it go.

Alexei kept trying, and each day seemed like a new opportunity for him to show you that he was there for you. One morning, while you were tending the flowers in the garden, he appeared, shy as someone who fears rejection.

“Can I help you?” The question was simple, but the tone begged for a yes.

You hesitated for a moment before handing him the pruning shears, allowing him to join you. The minutes that followed were calm, with him working beside you in silence, until, at some point, he began to speak.

“I know that nothing I do can erase what happened. But I want you to know… I will never do anything like that again.”

You paused, watching him as he continued, his voice full of sincerity:

“I will never let anything or anyone hurt you like that because of me again. I promise, with everything I am.”

His words touched something inside you, but it was hard to know if they were enough. Still, you didn’t pull your hand away when he lightly touched yours.

The nights changed too. Although you still slept in separate rooms, there were times when he would stay by your side for longer, talking quietly about the future, about the baby. He asked questions, listened carefully to your answers, and his eyes shone in a way that made something in your chest tighten.

“I want to be here. I want to be the father our son deserves.” He said one night, and there was sincerity in every word.

It was hard not to believe him when he looked at you like that, with a vulnerability you had never seen before. And even though the fear was still there, you began to let it in again, little by little, like sunlight filtering through the cracks in a curtain.

Things were still not the same. Maybe they never would be. But for the first time, you began to believe that they could be something new.

The night was quiet, the silence filled only by the sound of Alexei’s voice as he read softly, careful not to disturb the peace of the moment. He was sitting in the armchair next to your bed, holding the book with steady hands, but his eyes often strayed to you, searching for signs of fatigue or, perhaps, some trace that your presence was more than just tolerated.

You were lying on your side, your eyes closed, but you weren’t sleeping. It was a relief, somehow, to hear something familiar, something that wasn’t accompanied by excuses or explanations. He read with the same passion he always had, the words coming out as if they were his own creation.

Then, when he finished the poem, a comfortable silence settled in.

“I like it when you read to me.” Your voice was soft, almost hesitant, but true.

He paused, almost in disbelief, before responding with a small smile.

“I like it even more when I read to you.”

The room felt different that night, enveloped in something that went beyond comfort or closeness. It was as if the two of you were walking together in new territory, built on scarred ground but with real possibilities to flourish.

“Stay.” You murmured, the words spilling out before you could reconsider them.

Alexei’s gaze froze the moment he heard them, and he thought for a moment that he had imagined it.

“What?”

You opened your eyes, meeting his, and repeated a little more firmly:

“Stay the night.”

There was a second of hesitation, but only because he was trying to control the wave of emotion that threatened to overflow. Alexei nodded slowly, standing up carefully so as not to break the moment. He seemed nervous, almost as if it was the first time he had approached you this way, and maybe, in a way, it was.

He blew out the candle next to the armchair before lying down next to you, as if every movement could scare away the possibility of this moment existing. The bed seemed smaller with the two of you, but he didn’t complain, didn’t move more than necessary.

For a moment, he stayed there, just staring at the ceiling, unsure if you really wanted him to touch you. So when you turned onto your side and he felt your body settle closer, he took a deep breath and finally gathered his courage.

His arm slowly rose, wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer, until your body was completely fitted against his. Alexei’s breathing was shaky, as if he couldn’t believe this was real.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion.

You didn’t respond, but you shifted slightly, adjusting to his warmth, which was answer enough. The closeness was a balm for Alexei, a kind of redemption he never dared ask for, but yearned for every day.

His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep. Not yet. He was too busy memorizing every detail of that moment: the way your hair smelled, the rhythm of your breathing, the feel of your body against his.

“Do you still like me?” Your voice cut through the silence like a barely audible whisper.

Alexei paused, his throat tightening with the force of the question. He leaned in slightly, pressing his lips against the top of your head, the only response he could muster without breaking down completely. “I never stopped.” It was the last thing he said before you finally fell asleep, and he lay awake for a long time after that, holding you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever had—because to him, that’s exactly what you were.

The room was bathed in soft light, filtered through the curtains that danced lightly in the morning breeze. Alexei woke first, his eyes blinking against the brightness as he adjusted to the surroundings. For a moment, he lay still, as if afraid that any movement would undo the scene before him.

You were still asleep, your face relaxed, your breathing slow and even. He let out a sigh, not of exhaustion, but of relief. As hard as the journey here had been, there was something immensely comforting in simply being able to be by your side again.

His hand moved almost on its own, his fingers tracing invisible lines over your skin, from your shoulder to the delicate curve of your arm. He didn’t dare do more than that, afraid of intruding on the moment. But when you sighed in response, still asleep, he let a shy smile appear on his lips.

When your eyes finally opened, Alexei was already there, watching you with an intensity that almost seemed new, but at the same time familiar.

“Good morning.” He murmured, his voice low and a little hoarse from sleep.

You blinked a few times before answering, still adjusting to reality.

“Good morning.”

The soft voice made something in his chest tighten, and for a moment, he wanted to say everything he felt, but didn’t know where to start. So, he opted for something simpler, safer.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.” You answered, your gaze meeting his. “And you?”

“Better than I deserve.” The confession was out before he could stop himself, and when he realized what he had said, he blushed slightly, looking away for a moment.

You studied him silently, noticing the still faint dark circles under his eyes, the way he looked anxious, but at the same time… content.

“Do you still tolerate me?” He asked, finally gathering the courage, though his voice carried a palpable hesitation.

The question made your heart clench, but you didn’t look away.

“Alexei…” You began, your voice thick with emotion. “It was never about tolerating. I never stopped loving you. That’s why it hurt so much.”

The words hit Alexei with the force of a wave, his breath catching in his throat. It took him a moment to process, but when he finally did, something in his gaze changed. It was a mix of relief, pain, and an emotion he couldn’t name, but it pulled him closer to you.

And then he couldn’t resist.

Your faces were inches apart, and the hesitation disappeared the moment your lips touched. The kiss started out timid, careful, as if you were both testing the waters after so long. But the initial softness gave way to something more intense, more urgent.

Alexei held your face in his hands, as if he needed to anchor you there, next to him. His lips moved with silent desperation, each touch loaded with months of unspoken words, of accumulated pain, of a love that, despite everything, had never disappeared.

You returned it with the same intensity, feeling his heat envelop you like a flame that didn’t burn, but healed. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as if the space between you was unbearable.

When you finally pulled away, you were both panting, your faces close, testing the newly rediscovered intimacy. Alexei rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath and his words.

“I love you.” He whispered, his voice thick with vulnerability and conviction. “I always will.”

You didn’t respond with words, but the way your eyes sparkled was answer enough. And when your lips met his again, it felt like a silent promise that this time, things would be different.

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2b4st4r · 27 days ago

Note

hii there:)

sooo what if reader and sanji,established relationship,and they keep their relationship pretty hidden for a long while until one day one of their crew m mates found them making out/kiss(?) by accidentally but that crewmate keeps that secret hidden but slowly teasers them during dinner(which made the others confused) but soon after they kind of reveal their relationship and the crew goes shocked or something

It could be other characters too!

(I figured I could just smash these together because you know why not)

Hidden love

Sanji x f!reader

Words: 8,197

SLIGHT SMUT!!

Warnings: implied sexual content, mild language, argument/conflict, jealousy

Req open

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

The salty spray of the Grand Line was as familiar as the calloused grip of your own hands on the rigging. Years had passed since you first set sail with Luffy, a wide-eyed dreamer with an impossible ambition. You’d seen islands rise and fall, faced down pirates, marines, and creatures beyond imagination. Through it all, you'd been a constant, a steadfast presence among the ever-growing chaos that was the Straw Hat Pirates.

You remembered the day Sanji joined like it was yesterday. The sharp suit, the swirling eyebrow, and the instant, unyielding devotion to any woman who crossed his path. Nami and Robin were often the targets of his elaborate declarations, but with you, it was different. He'd still shower you with compliments, offer you the choicest morsels from his culinary masterpieces, and spin you around during impromptu dance sessions on the deck. Yet, there was an unspoken depth to his gaze, a sincerity in his touch that transcended mere flirtation. It was a warmth that settled deep in your bones, a silent understanding that blossomed between you two like a rare, resilient flower in the unpredictable currents of the New World.

You were each other's anchors in a sea of adventure. Whether you were lending a hand in the bustling galley, chopping vegetables to the rhythm of his humming, or he was patiently untangling a stubborn knot in your rigging, your proximity was a given. His presence was a comforting hum in the background of your life, a melody woven into the very fabric of your journey with the Straw Hats.

A comfortable silence often settled between you and Sanji, punctuated only by the rhythmic creak of the ship and the distant shouts of your eccentric crewmates. It was in these quiet moments, tucked away from prying eyes – perhaps late at night on the crow’s nest, or hidden behind the galley’s swinging door – that your shared secret truly blossomed. For seven months, you'd been navigating the treacherous waters of a hidden romance, a feat that, in hindsight, felt utterly impossible.

How had you managed to keep it under wraps? You often wondered. Maybe it was the sheer force of habit, the way you’d always gravitated towards each other, an unspoken understanding that predated any romantic entanglement. Or perhaps it was Sanji’s unwavering devotion to the fairer sex, a smokescreen so effective it blinded even your sharpest companions. He'd still fawn over Nami, still offer Robin a lingering gaze, and in doing so, he created the perfect diversion. Who would suspect that beneath the whirlwind of his flamboyant affections, his truest, most genuine devotion lay with you?

It was a delicate dance, a constant awareness of wandering eyes and curious minds. A brushed hand lingered a fraction too long, a whispered word held a depth only you could decipher, a stolen glance across a crowded deck conveyed volumes. Each small, clandestine act was a thrill, a testament to the quiet, powerful connection you both cherished. It was insane, truly, the audacity of your secret, and the sheer joy of living it.

Why keep it a secret? It was a question you and Sanji never quite vocalized, though it hung in the air between you, an unspoken agreement. Perhaps it was the sheer novelty of it, a private rebellion in a life lived so publicly. Or maybe, and this was closer to the truth for you, it was the fear of commitment. Not commitment to Sanji, never that. But commitment to the idea of a relationship within the chaotic, unscripted reality of the Straw Hats. You’d always been a steadfast force, a reliable constant. The thought of adding another layer, another dynamic to manage, felt daunting in a world where your next destination was always uncertain.

For Sanji, it might have been a similar reluctance, or perhaps the ingrained habit of his persona. After all, he was the Straw Hats' resident love-cook, his chivalry a cornerstone of his identity. To suddenly be taken would undoubtedly alter that. Yet, despite the secrecy, despite the unspoken anxieties, there was an undeniable truth that resonated deep within you: you’d loved each other since the moment your eyes met. It was a cliché, perhaps, but one you clung to – soulmates, if such a thing existed, navigating the tumultuous currents of the Grand Line.

Sanji had a knack for pushing your buttons. His unwavering, over-the-top flirtations with every woman who crossed his path were legendary. Usually, you found it endlessly amusing. Watching him practically dissolve into a puddle at Nami’s feet or offer Robin a meticulously crafted drink with a flourish that threatened to send him toppling – it never bothered you. You knew Nami and Robin saw through the theatrics, saw the genuine heart beneath the lecherous exterior. It was all part of the Sanji experience, a harmless quirk in the grand tapestry of your crew.

But today, something shifted. The familiar sight of his swirling eyebrow and heart-shaped eyes, usually a source of quiet amusement, grated on your nerves. The air felt thick, charged with an unfamiliar tension. It wasn't the flirting itself; you were immune to that. It was the intensity of it, the way his voice, usually a melodic purr for the ladies, seemed to resonate with an almost desperate plea towards a particular stranger. Your usual detached amusement evaporated, replaced by a slow, creeping heat that had nothing to do with the tropical sun beating down on the deck. Today was different. Today, for the first time, you felt a prickle of something akin to…jealousy.

You weren't typically one to entertain such petty emotions, especially not jealousy. It felt beneath you, a silly, inconvenient little spark that rarely ignited. But Sanji, bless his lovesick, chivalrous heart, was currently fanning that spark into a roaring inferno. The Straw Hats had dropped anchor at an island that seemed to have sprung straight from a romance novel – all sun-drenched beaches and women whose beauty could rival any sea goddess. And Sanji? He was like a bumblebee in a field of sunflowers, buzzing from one bloom to the next, his heart-eyes practically radiating across the bustling port.

Most of them, as you expected, blew him off. A dismissive wave, a sharp glare, sometimes even a bewildered laugh as he dramatically knelt before them, presenting an invisible rose. He'd simply sigh dramatically, then move on, his ego apparently as resilient as a rubber band. You watched, arms crossed, a familiar smirk playing on your lips. This was Sanji. This was normal.

Until she appeared.

She wasn't just beautiful; she was captivating. Her laughter, when Sanji launched into his usual repertoire, wasn't a mocking snort or an exasperated sigh. It was genuine, a lilting, musical sound that carried on the breeze. And then, she flirted back. Her eyes danced as he spun a flowery compliment, a sly smile playing on her lips as she leaned in, whispering something that made him blush a shade deeper than usual.

Your smirk faltered. You watched him, waiting for the familiar, chivalrous dismissal, the polite but firm "My heart belongs to the ladies of my crew." But it never came. Instead, as he turned to continue his exploration of the island, she simply followed. Not just for a moment, but she stayed, chatting, laughing, her hand occasionally brushing his arm. And Sanji? He didn't brush her off. He didn’t stop. He walked with her, a rare, almost bashful smile on his face, a smile that felt intensely personal. Right there. In front of you.

A cold, hard knot formed in your stomach, replacing the usual warmth you felt in his presence. The familiar amusement drained from you, leaving behind a sharp, unfamiliar anger. Your emotions, usually a calm sea, now roiled and crashed like a stormy tempest. You felt a chill creep over you, despite the warmth of the sun. For the first time in a long time, looking at Sanji, your feelings felt as stark and unforgiving as the symbol of death.

The entire day bled into a frustrating, agonizing loop. Everywhere you turned, there they were: Sanji, his usual exaggerated swoons replaced by something subtly softer, more genuine, and the stranger, her laughter a constant, infuriating echo. He’d fetch her drinks, open doors, and even offer her a small, perfectly peeled tangerine, a gesture he usually reserved for Nami or Robin when they were particularly fatigued. And she, in turn, accepted it all, her eyes sparkling, a hand often resting on his arm as they walked.

You felt a burning in your chest, a desperate need to lash out, to make some kind of scene, to demand an explanation. But the thought of Nami’s sharp, assessing gaze or Robin’s quiet, knowing smile stopped you dead. They were too smart, too observant. They saw everything. A flicker of raw emotion, a crack in your composure, and your carefully guarded secret would be out.

So you plastered on a smile, a brittle, fragile thing that felt like it might shatter at any moment. You laughed a little too loudly at Usopp’s latest tall tale, pretended to be engrossed in Chopper’s ramblings about local herbs, and nodded enthusiastically at Franky’s plans for a new ship modification. All the while, a part of you was screaming, a silent fury simmering beneath your forced cheer.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore. The air felt suffocating, each breath a struggle against the rising tide of your anger. "Oh, my stomach," you groaned, clutching your midsection with an Oscar-worthy performance. "Must have been that questionable street food. I think I need to head back to the ship, just to lie down for a bit."

Nami looked at you, a flicker of concern in her eyes. "Are you sure? We were just about to check out that new market."

"Yeah, Y/N-chan!" Sanji called out, his voice a little too distant, a little too preoccupied with the woman beside him. "I can whip you up something soothing when we get back!"

You managed a weak smile, a silent "thanks" that died in your throat. "No, no, don't let me spoil your fun," you said, waving a dismissive hand. "I'll be fine. Just need a bit of peace and quiet."

Robin, ever perceptive, offered a gentle smile. "Rest well, Y/N-chan. We'll see you later." There was a subtle depth in her gaze, a hint of something unsaid, but you were too consumed by your own turmoil to decipher it. You turned, walking away from the laughter, the flirtation, and the infuriating sight of Sanji, leaving the vibrant, beautiful island behind for the familiar, comforting solitude of the Thousand Sunny.

Back on the Thousand Sunny, the gentle rocking of the ship offered no solace. The vibrant sounds of the island faded with each step you took towards its empty decks, replaced by a suffocating quiet. The anger, held so tightly in check, began to surge, a hot, bitter wave washing over you. You couldn’t scream, couldn't punch a wall – not without drawing attention, not without having to explain. So you sought refuge in the one activity that promised both distraction and an outlet for your volatile emotions: deep cleaning.

Normally, you considered anything beyond a quick tidying a futile effort. What was the point of meticulously scrubbing the deck when Luffy would inevitably track in mud, or Zoro would leave his weights scattered, or Usopp would explode glitter in his workshop? But today, the usual apathy was gone, replaced by a furious drive. Your hands, usually deft in handling ropes and navigating charts, now moved with a raw, almost violent precision.

You started in the galley, the very heart of Sanji’s domain. Memories, usually warm and comforting, now stung. You scrubbed the gleaming countertop where you’d often leaned against him, sharing quiet jokes as he prepared a meal. The burnished surface reflected your strained face, the tight line of your jaw. You attacked the oven, a faint scent of burnt pastry clinging to it, a ghost of a time Sanji had tried to teach you to bake a soufflé, his arm brushing yours as he guided your hand. “Just like this, Y/N-chan,” he’d whispered, his breath warm on your ear. Now, you scoured every inch, as if trying to erase the memory, the gentle touch, the shared laughter.

Next, you moved to the crew’s quarters. You flung open the heavy oak door, the scent of stale air and various personal effects hitting you. Luffy’s discarded hat lay on the floor, Zoro’s swords were propped haphazardly against a wall, and Usopp’s half-finished contraptions littered his bunk. You began to organize, to fold, to put away. As you picked up a stray apron – a spare, clean one Sanji sometimes wore when things got particularly messy – a flicker of last night's memory pierced through your anger. He’d been wearing this very apron, leaning against the railing with you, stargazing. His arm had been around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder, pointing out constellations as the gentle sea breeze ruffled your hair. “Beautiful, aren’t they, Y/N-chan?” he’d murmured, and you knew he wasn't just talking about the stars. You crumpled the apron, tossing it into a laundry basket with unnecessary force.

The ship creaked around you, a silent witness to your fury. Each scrub, each wipe, each forceful rearrangement was an attempt to expel the acidic burn of betrayal, the unfamiliar pang of jealousy that gnawed at your gut. You cleaned with a vengeance, the silence of the ship a stark contrast to the storm brewing within you. You were scrubbing away the dirt, but what you really wanted to scrub away was the image of Sanji, smiling that soft, genuine smile at someone who wasn't you.

The Thousand Sunny glittered under the late afternoon sun, so bright it almost hurt the eyes. When the Straw Hats returned, laden with souvenirs, strange snacks, and tales of their island adventures, they stopped dead at the gangplank. The usual scuffs and faint grime of a ship constantly sailing the Grand Line were gone, replaced by a blinding, almost unnatural gleam.

"Woah! What happened?" Luffy's jaw dropped, his eyes wide as saucers.

"Is this... our ship?" Usopp squinted, reaching out a hesitant hand to touch the impossibly polished railing. "It's like a brand new ship!"

Franky, the shipwright, ran a hand over the spotless deck, a look of bewildered awe on his face. "Super... shiny!" Even Zoro paused, his brow furrowed in confusion, momentarily forgetting his perpetually lost state. Nami, ever practical, was already mentally calculating the cost of such meticulous cleaning. Robin, a soft smile playing on her lips, simply observed, her gaze moving from the ship's pristine exterior to the figure standing rigidly at the galley door.

Sanji, however, felt a chill that had nothing to do with the sea breeze. His usual flamboyant swagger faltered. His heart, which moments ago had been filled with the lingering scent of that other woman's perfume, now plummeted to his polished shoes. He had a deep, sinking feeling, a premonition that coiled in his gut like a venomous snake.

He knew this shine. He knew this meticulous, almost violent cleanliness. They had had this discussion, he and you, countless times. You’d always told him, with a wry, knowing smirk, "When I'm pissed, Sanji, I clean. And I clean."

He could feel the cold dread creeping up his spine, a sense of impending doom. He glanced at the others, still marveling at the immaculate ship. They were oblivious, blissfully unaware of the storm that was about to break. But he saw you, standing framed in the galley doorway, your posture stiff, your smile a terrifyingly thin line. Your eyes, usually warm and inviting, held a cold, unwavering intensity that made his blood run cold.

Oh, hell.

Sanji felt his very soul begin to detach, to float upwards, preparing for its inevitable departure. He knew, with absolute certainty, that he was not going to survive this.

The silence that had fallen over the Straw Hats as they gazed at their impossibly clean ship was shattered by the creak of the galley door. You emerged, a figure of daunting domesticity, looking less like a pirate and more like a warrior preparing for a chemical attack. You were armed with yellow rubber gloves pulled up to your elbows, a pristine white apron tied snugly over your clothes, a surgical mask obscuring half your face, and a hairnet tucked neatly under your cap. In one hand, a spray bottle gleamed; in the other, a meticulously folded microfiber towel.

Your eyes, sharp and unwavering over the top of your mask, swept across the crew, lingering for a fraction too long on Sanji. Then, with a practiced ease that sent shivers down his spine, you flashed them a chillingly bright smile. "Welcome back, everyone!" your voice was muffled but surprisingly cheerful. "I figured since you were all out enjoying the island, I'd take the opportunity to... deep clean a bit." You paused, your gaze still fixed on Sanji, who felt his soul preparing for its final descent. "Especially your rooms. Hope you don't mind. I didn't think you'd object to a little... tidying up."

The reactions were immediate and varied:

Luffy, ever the simpleton, bounced on the balls of his feet. "Awesome, Y/N! My room smells so good now!" He took a deep sniff, grinning. "Did you find any meat in there?"

Zoro grunted, adjusting his haramaki. "As long as you didn't move my swords." He looked vaguely uncomfortable with the sheer cleanliness, as if it threatened his natural habitat of mild disarray.

Nami's eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion crossing her face. She knew your habits, and this level of cleaning was off. "Are you feeling alright, Y/N? You're usually not this... diligent."

Usopp gulped, his eyes darting nervously between you and the immaculate ship. "Uh, thanks, Y/N! My workshop probably needed it... a lot. Hope you didn't accidentally throw out any of my inventions!"

Chopper whimpered slightly, clutching his hat. "Your eyes look a little scary, Y/N! Are you sick?"

Franky ran a hand over his shiny pompadour. "Super clean! Thanks, sis! Now the Sunny's even more of a super ship!"

Robin simply smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes. "How thoughtful of you, Y/N-chan. It looks absolutely sparkling." Her gaze drifted from your oddly serene face to Sanji, whose face had gone pale beneath his tan. She understood.

Sanji, meanwhile, could only stammer, feeling the full weight of your chillingly polite demeanor. His jaw worked, but no sound came out. He swallowed hard, knowing that the real storm was yet to come. His fate was sealed.

The Straw Hats continued to marvel at the ship’s pristine state, their awe slowly giving way to a cautious appreciation. Luffy was bouncing around, enjoying the smooth deck, while Nami meticulously inspected her tangerine trees, looking for any signs of over-cleaning. The air, usually thick with the scent of sea salt and adventure, now carried a faint, almost sterile freshness.

About an hour and a half later, as the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, you finally shed your role as the ship’s furious cleaner. Still in your rubber gloves, apron, and hairnet, you caught Sanji’s eye from across the deck. His face was a mask of strained politeness, but his eyes, wide and apprehensive, pleaded for a moment alone. You gave a curt nod, turning on your heel and heading towards the secluded storage room near the stern, a place rarely visited by the rest of the crew.

Sanji followed, his steps unusually heavy. As he slipped inside, you slammed the door shut, the muffled thud echoing in the small space. The cheerful, almost manic energy you’d maintained all day snapped, replaced by a cold, simmering rage.

"Mind explaining yourself, Cook?" your voice was a low, dangerous whisper, barely audible above the gentle creak of the ship. Your hands, still encased in bright yellow rubber, clenched into fists at your sides.

Sanji flinched, running a hand through his hair. "Y-Y/N-chan! My darling, I didn't mean... she was just... a very appreciative lady!" He tried to sound nonchalant, but his voice cracked on the last word.

"Appreciative?" you hissed, stepping closer, the spray bottle still clutched in your hand like a weapon. "She was practically draped over you, Sanji! And you—" you gestured wildly with the spray bottle, a mist of cleaner wafting between you— "you didn't even try to brush her off! You just… let her! For the entire day!"

"I was just being polite!" he whispered back, his voice rising in exasperation before he quickly lowered it again. "You know how I am with ladies! It's my nature! She just seemed so lonely, Y/N-chan, a beautiful flower in need of a kind word!"

"Lonely?" you scoffed, your anger sharpening into a painful edge. "And what about me, Sanji? What about our secret? What about the fact that we've been together for seven months and you're out there acting like a single man on the prowl? In front of me!"

His shoulders slumped. "It was... a lapse in judgment, Y/N-chan. I swear, it meant nothing! You know I love you! She doesn't even compare!" He took a tentative step towards you, reaching out a hand, but you instinctively recoiled.

"Oh, you love me?" you sneered, your voice laced with venom. "Because that’s exactly how you show it, isn't it? By making me watch you flirt with some random woman all day while I'm stuck here, pretending it doesn't bother me! You think I don't see the difference, Sanji? The way you look at them versus the way you looked at her? She laughed with you, Sanji! Not at you, not ignoring you, but with you!"

He recoiled as if struck. "Y/N, please! Don't you think I'm suffering enough? My soul has been trying to escape my body all afternoon, seeing this incredible, unprecedented shine on our ship! I know when you clean like this, it's a sign of a dark, terrible storm!" He wrung his hands, his eyes pleading. "I messed up! I admit it! Just... not in the cleaning uniform, Y/N-chan. It's... intimidating."

You stared at him, your chest heaving. The absurdity of your "cleaning uniform" in the midst of this heated, whispered argument almost made you laugh, but the hurt was too fresh, too sharp. "Intimidating?" you whispered, your voice cracking. "Good. Maybe you should be intimidated, Sanji. Because I'm not sure how much more of this I can take."

The air in the cramped storage room was thick with unspoken words and raw emotion. Your whispered argument continued, a furious, desperate dance of hurt and defensiveness. You accused him of thoughtlessness, of disrespecting your shared secret, of making you feel foolish. He, in turn, pleaded for understanding, for forgiveness, promising endless devotion, even as his eyes darted nervously towards the closed door, ensuring no one outside could hear your hushed fury. Each sharp retort, each choked accusation, served only to deepen the tension, stretching the silence that eventually fell between you, taut and suffocating.

Sanji’s breath hitched. His eyes, usually dancing with playful flirtation, were now earnest, searching yours. He took a slow, deliberate step closer, his gaze sweeping over you from your hairnet-clad head to your rubber-gloved hands. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips, a flicker of his usual charming rogue breaking through his distress.

"You know," he murmured, his voice a low rumble, breaking the agonizing quiet. "I might actually be starting to like the cleaning uniform on you, Y/N-chan."

Before you could even process his outrageous, perfectly Sanji-esque comment, he charged. It wasn't a gentle approach, but a sudden, almost desperate lunge. He cupped your masked face in his gloved hands, pulling you forward. Your startled gasp was swallowed as his lips found yours, urgent and demanding. The taste of salt and something vaguely floral, from the cleaning spray, mingled with the familiar, intoxicating flavor of him.

It was a kiss born of tension and relief, of unspoken apologies and overwhelming desire. The rubber gloves, the apron, the hairnet – all faded into irrelevance as you melted into him, your own hands finding purchase on his suit jacket. The whispered argument was forgotten, replaced by the dizzying rush of the make-out session, a silent promise and a fervent plea in the dim light of the storage room.

The initial shock rippled through you, a fleeting jolt that quickly dissolved into something much deeper, much more primal. His lips, initially demanding, now moved with a familiar tenderness that stirred a fierce hunger within you. Your hands, still encased in the bright yellow rubber gloves, found purchase on his lapels, pulling him closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The cleaning uniform, once a symbol of your furious anger, now felt like an absurd second skin, a barrier you were eager to shed.

His hand, warm even through the fabric of your apron, traced the curve of your back before dipping lower, fumbling with the ties of your apron. You gasped into the kiss as the knot loosened, the apron falling away with a soft whisper of cotton against the floor. The mask, now forgotten, was pushed up by the angle of the kiss, catching in your hairnet, a comical detail lost in the escalating heat.

You broke the kiss for a moment, breathless, your eyes locking with his. The unspoken words of anger and frustration still hung in the air, but they were being swiftly suffocated by a more urgent need. His eyes, usually half-lidded in flirtation, were now dark with desire, reflecting your own unmasked longing.

"Sanji," you breathed, your voice husky, your fingers already working at the buttons of his vest. He groaned, a low, guttural sound as your touch ignited a fresh wave of intensity. He pulled away just enough to tear off his own suit jacket, tossing it haphazardly onto a stack of crates. His tie followed, a quick, practiced movement.

With renewed fervor, his lips descended again, hungrier this time. You tangled your gloved fingers in his golden hair, pulling him impossibly closer as his free hand found the hem of your shirt, his calloused fingertips brushing against your skin. The cool air of the storage room suddenly felt stifling, the space shrinking around you both as the last vestiges of anger burned away, replaced by the blazing fire of long-suppressed passion. The ship, once a witness to your rage, now creaked softly, a silent accomplice to the secret unfolding within its hidden depths.

The storage room, already stifling, grew even warmer with the escalating passion. His hands, no longer fumbling, were now confidently under your shirt, the cool metal of his rings a stark contrast against the sudden heat of your skin. A soft moan escaped your lips as his thumbs grazed your ribs, sending shivers through you. Your own hands were busy, tugging at the crisp fabric of his dress shirt, desperate to feel more of him. The anger that had fueled your cleaning frenzy was now a distant memory, completely eclipsed by the overwhelming desire that coursed through your veins.

You pressed closer, the sounds of the ship outside fading into an indistinct hum as your world narrowed to just the two of you, consumed by the frantic rhythm of your shared breathing. The air thickened, charged with the intoxicating scent of his cologne, of salt, and of something uniquely him. Your lips were bruised and swollen, your body alight, every touch igniting a deeper spark.

Just as the intensity reached an almost unbearable peak, a sudden, jarring sound shattered the moment. The door, previously a silent barrier, slammed open with a resounding thud.

The harsh light from the deck flooded the small, dark room, illuminating the scene in stark, unforgiving detail. Frozen in a desperate embrace, shirt undone, hairnet askew, you and Sanji whipped your heads towards the intrusion.

And there he stood.

Zoro.

His swords were still sheathed, but his hand rested on their hilt. His face, usually a mask of indifference or a scowl, was now a portrait of bewildered shock. His eyes, wide and unblinking, scanned from your disheveled form to Sanji's equally undone state, before finally landing on the rubber gloves still firmly gripping his own shirt. The air in the room, already heavy, became impossibly thick with unspoken words and the sudden, devastating realization that all secrets were out.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, punctuated only by the distant lapping of waves against the hull. Zoro's eyes, usually narrowed in perpetual annoyance or battle focus, were wide, scanning the incriminating scene. His gaze moved from your startled face, still wearing the slightly askew hairnet and rubber gloves, to Sanji, half-undressed, his perpetually lovestruck expression replaced by pure, unadulterated horror.

A slow, derisive smirk began to spread across Zoro's face, replacing the initial shock. He hooked a thumb into his belt, leaning casually against the doorframe, effectively blocking any escape.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice a low, mocking rumble that cut through the tension like a dull blade. "Look what the current dragged in. Didn't realize the love-cook was finally aiming a little higher than his usual pathetic attempts." His eyes flickered to you, a glint of genuine surprise mixed with his usual antagonism. "Though, honestly, Y/N... I thought you had better taste than this curly-browed pervert. You're clearly out of his league."

He let the words hang in the air, a barb aimed squarely at Sanji's inflated ego, then pushed himself off the doorframe. Without another word, without waiting for a reply, he simply reached out and, with a soft thud, pulled the door shut, plunging the storage room back into dimness and leaving you and Sanji in the suffocating aftermath of his discovery.

The click of the latch echoed in the sudden quiet, a death knell for your secret. You stared at the closed door, heart pounding, adrenaline surging through your veins. The heat of the moment had evaporated, replaced by a cold wave of mortification. Your face, already flushed from the kiss, burned even hotter with embarrassment. You were utterly, completely busted.

Sanji, however, was already reacting, his initial panic quickly morphing into furious indignation. He hadn't even processed the full implication of being caught, not when Zoro's words were still ringing in his ears.

"OUT OF MY LEAGUE?!" he shrieked, his voice a furious whisper-yell, completely forgetting their precarious situation. He gestured wildly at the closed door, as if Zoro were still standing there. "That moss-headed brute! How dare he?! My Y/N-chan is the most beautiful, most exquisite lady on this entire Grand Line! He just doesn't understand true beauty when he sees it!" He puffed out his chest, completely missing your wide, panicked eyes. "And I am a gentleman of the highest caliber! To imply that I'm not worthy of my darling Y/N-chan is an insult to my very being, my honor, my entire culinary philosophy!"

You stared at him, torn between utter disbelief and a desperate need to bang your head against the nearest wall. Here you were, caught in a profoundly compromising position, your relationship exposed, and Sanji's primary concern was Zoro's insult to his perceived attractiveness and your supposed "league."

"Sanji!" you hissed, finally finding your voice, grabbing his arm. "Never mind your pride right now! Zoro just saw us! He knows! The whole crew is going to know by dinner!" The reality of the situation crashed down on you with a sickening lurch. There was no hiding it now. Your secret, so carefully guarded for seven months, had been blown wide open by the most unlikely of culprits.

"Sanji!" you hissed again, your voice rising in a panic, completely overriding his indignant squawks about Zoro. "Forget your stupid pride right now! Zoro just saw us! He knows! The whole crew is going to know by dinner!" You tore off the offending rubber gloves, flinging them across the room, then frantically pulled at your hairnet. "Oh my god, what are we going to do? Nami's going to demand to know everything! Robin will just give us that knowing look! Luffy's going to make some stupid comment about 'Sanji and Y/N's secret love nest' or something equally embarrassing! Franky's going to build a love sauna!" The scenarios flashed through your mind, each one more mortifying than the last. "This is a disaster, Sanji! A complete and utter disaster!"

Sanji, for his part, finally seemed to register the full weight of your words. The indignant flush drained from his face, replaced by a ghastly, ghost-white pallor. His eyes widened, and he swayed slightly, the image of Zoro's derisive smirk flashing before his eyes. He pictured Nami's calculating stare, Usopp's dramatic gasps, Chopper's innocent confusion, and even Franky's potential "love sauna" idea. For a terrifying second, the world seemed to tilt on its axis, and he felt a cold dread colder than any ocean current. His carefully constructed persona, his chivalrous mask, his secret world with you—all of it teetering on the brink of chaotic exposure.

Then, a surprising calmness settled over him. It was as if the shock had finally jolted him out of his self-pity and into a more protective, resolute state. He took a deep, steadying breath, his golden eyebrow furrowing with determination.

He reached out, taking your still-trembling hands in his, his grip firm and reassuring. "Hey. Hey, Y/N. Look at me." His voice, though still a whisper, was now steady, imbued with a newfound strength. "It's okay."

You stared at him, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "How can you say that? It's not okay! Our secret is out! Our private thing, Sanji, it's—"

"I know," he interrupted softly, squeezing your hands. "And yes, Zoro's an idiot. And yes, the others might be a little… surprised." He even managed a faint, reassuring smile. "But listen to me, my beautiful Y/N. This is our relationship. Our love. What does it matter if that moss-headed moron saw us? Or if the others find out? If they laugh, we'll deal with it. If they question, we'll answer."

He pulled you closer, ignoring the slight crunch of your discarded apron under his feet. "We've faced down admirals, Yonko, literal gods! We can handle a few surprised crewmates. Besides," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, "now we don't have to hide anymore. Maybe... maybe this isn't a disaster, Y/N. Maybe this is a new adventure for us."

His words, delivered with such unexpected calm and conviction, slowly began to soothe the frantic beating of your heart. You leaned into him, still trembling, but a fragile sense of relief began to unfurl within you.

The hours leading up to dinner felt like an eternity. You spent them in a state of agitated anticipation, pacing the deck, replaying Zoro's stunned expression, and imagining every conceivable reaction from the crew. Sanji, ever the devoted partner, stayed by your side, a calming presence amidst your rising panic. He offered soft reassurances, brewed you calming herbal teas, and even tried to distract you with gentle touches and whispered compliments, but the knot of anxiety in your stomach refused to loosen.

Now, as the aroma of Sanji’s cooking filled the air, the moment of truth had arrived. Everyone was seated around the long dining table in the galley, their usual boisterous energy subdued by an unspoken tension. The clinking of cutlery, the soft lapping of the waves against the ship, and the gentle creaks of the Sunny filled the silence.

Your eyes, wide and darting, were fixed on Zoro, who sat across the table, seemingly engrossed in his sake. Every slight movement, every flicker of his eyes, sent a fresh wave of dread through you. Had he told them yet? Was this strained silence the calm before the storm? You barely touched the delicious food on your plate, your appetite completely gone.

Sanji, usually a whirlwind of graceful movement as he served, was unusually stiff. He moved around the table, meticulously placing plates, his back ramrod straight. His usual flamboyant "Nami-swaaan!" and "Robin-chwaaan!" were noticeably absent, replaced by quiet, almost mechanical movements. His head was turned slightly, his single visible eye constantly tracking Zoro, a silent, desperate plea for discretion in his gaze. He kept glancing at you too, a fleeting, worried look passing between you two each time. The air in the galley was so thick with unaddressed tension, you could practically cut it with a knife.

The silence at dinner was a heavy, suffocating blanket, but it was Zoro who decided to rip it off. He'd been quieter than usual all day, a rare occurrence for him, and you’d hoped he'd simply forgotten or, even better, decided to keep his mouth shut. You were wrong. His usual stoicism was replaced by a mischievous glint in his eye, a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He took a deliberate sip of his sake, then leaned back in his chair, his voice cutting through the tension with a casual, almost bored tone.

"Funny," Zoro began, his gaze drifting lazily around the room before settling on Sanji, who was meticulously plating Nami's food. "I figured with all the... extra work being done on this ship today, someone would be a little more relaxed by now."

Sanji's hand, holding a serving spoon, visibly twitched. He kept his back to Zoro, feigning deep concentration on the perfect arrangement of vegetables. You, however, felt a cold dread trickle down your spine.

Luffy, oblivious, chimed in, "Extra work? What extra work, Zoro? The ship's just super clean!"

"Yeah, but why would that make someone 'relaxed'?" Usopp pondered, scratching his head.

Zoro ignored them, his eyes now finding yours across the table. You stiffened, forcing yourself to maintain a blank expression, though your heart hammered against your ribs. "Or maybe," he continued, a sharper edge to his voice, "some people just need a good, thorough scrubbing to get all the tension out." He paused, taking another long drink of sake, his gaze never leaving you. "Even if they need a little help with it."

Sanji nearly dropped the serving platter. He spun around, a vein throbbing in his temple, his glare a silent warning to Zoro. "What are you even talking about, Moss-Head?! Are you feeling alright?"

"He's probably just drunk already," Nami sighed, rolling her eyes. "Ignore him, Sanji-kun."

But Zoro wasn't done. He set his empty sake cup down with a deliberate clink. "Just saying," he drawled, pushing back from the table, a shark-like grin spreading across his face, "some people clean very thoroughly when they're angry. And some people apparently need a little... motivation to clean up their act." He rose, stretching languidly, his eyes locking with Sanji's. "Wouldn't you agree, Cook?"

Chopper looked up, bewildered. "Are you talking about cleaning, Zoro? But Y/N did all the cleaning!"

Robin simply took a sip of her tea, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips, her gaze flitting between you and Sanji.

Sanji’s face had gone a shade of deep purple, a stark contrast to his earlier ghostly pallor. His lips were pressed into a thin, trembling line. You, meanwhile, could feel the blood draining from your own face. The thinly veiled hints, the pointed remarks – they were like daggers, each one confirming that Zoro knew, and was enjoying every agonizing moment of your collective discomfort. This wasn't just teasing. This was a deliberate, slow-motion exposure, and the silence that followed Zoro's final jab was deafening.

The air in the galley grew heavier, thicker than the deepest ocean trench. Your fork pushed a single pea around your plate, your appetite completely vanished. You, usually a lively presence at dinner, were now unnervingly quiet, your silence a stark contrast to the buzzing tension. Sanji, meanwhile, continued to hover, serving food with a forced politeness, his usual exuberant flirtations with Nami and Robin entirely absent. He wouldn't even meet their eyes, let alone offer a sweet remark.

Zoro, emboldened by your and Sanji's obvious discomfort, seemed to relish his role as the master of ceremonies for your impending doom. His earlier hints, subtle as a brick, now became outright suggestions, aimed with pinpoint accuracy.

"You know," Zoro mused, taking another loud slurp of his sake, his eyes fixed on you and Sanji. "It's funny. You two have always been so... close. Always in each other's space." He paused, a smirk playing on his lips. "Didn't realize how close that actually was, though. Seems like someone found a new way to get their daily dose of affection."

Sanji's head snapped up, his eye twitching. "What in the blue blazes are you implying, you miserable marimo?!" he seethed, his voice a low growl that barely contained his rage.

"Oh, no implication, Cook," Zoro drawled, shrugging nonchalantly. "Just an observation. Especially after seeing a certain cook and a certain cleaner getting a little... hands-on in the storage room today."

The words hung in the air like a guillotine.

A collective gasp rippled through the table.

Luffy's eyes, usually full of food, now widened to comedic proportions. "EH?! Sanji and Y/N?! In the storage room?! Doing what?!"

Usopp choked on his rice, sputtering, "No way! You mean... like, together together?!"

Nami's fork clattered loudly onto her plate. Her expression, usually composed, twisted into a mixture of disbelief and dawning realization. Her gaze snapped between you and Sanji, suddenly understanding the day's abnormal quietness, the frantic cleaning, Sanji's uncharacteristic lack of flirting. "Sanji-kun... Y/N..." she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

Chopper looked completely lost, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Storage room? Were you helping Y/N clean, Sanji? Was it really messy?"

Franky stared, his mouth slightly agape, before a slow, knowing grin began to spread across his face. "SUUUUPER... intimate cleaning, huh?"

Robin simply placed a hand over her mouth, her eyes glinting with amusement and a quiet triumph, having seemingly pieced it all together long ago.

You, however, felt the blood drain from your face, then rush back in a furious blush. Your earlier fear was replaced by a wave of mortification so intense you wished the floor would swallow you whole. Sanji, meanwhile, had gone from purple to a deep, incandescent red. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, trying to formulate a denial, a defense, anything. But Zoro's final, damning statement had obliterated all pretense, laying your most carefully guarded secret bare for the entire, shocked crew.

Zoro, having clearly had enough of his own subtle artistry, scoffed, a look of triumphant exasperation on his face. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and delivered the final blow, his voice devoid of its earlier teasing, replaced by a blunt, almost bored declaration.

"Alright, fine, you morons," he grunted, looking pointedly at Luffy and Usopp. "I saw the Cook and Y/N making out in the storage room. Happy now?"

The silence that followed was absolute, heavier than a cannonball dropped into still water.

Luffy was the first to break it, his mouth agape, eyes wide as saucers. "WOAH! Sanji and Y/N are making out?!" His head snapped between you and Sanji, a slow, incredulous grin spreading across his face. "Does that mean you're... together?!"

Usopp pushed his goggles up onto his forehead, his jaw practically on the table. "You mean... the cleaning was just a cover?!" He looked utterly betrayed by the mundane nature of your secret.

Nami gasped, her eyes narrowed, a mixture of shock and a flicker of something akin to hurt. "Sanji-kun! Y/N! How long?!" She thumped a fist on the table, demanding answers. "And why didn't you tell us?!"

Chopper whimpered, pulling his hat over his eyes. "Does this mean they're going to... leave the crew to be together?!" The innocent fear of losing nakama was clear in his voice.

Franky let out a booming laugh, slapping the table. "SUUUUPER SECRET LOVE AFFAIR! I knew it! The romantic tension was off the charts! This calls for a celebration!"

Robin simply smiled, a serene, knowing expression on her face. "Indeed. It was quite obvious to those who observed closely."

Sanji, however, was a statue. Zoro's bluntness had finally broken him. His face, which had been bright red, now went a patchy, mottled white. He stared at Zoro, then at the gaping faces of his crewmates, then at you. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a fish out of water. The shame of being exposed, coupled with the sheer audacity of Zoro's revelation, paralyzed him. His hands began to tremble, and a small, almost imperceptible plume of smoke started to curl from his perpetually lit cigarette. He looked utterly, completely devastated that his private world with you had been so crudely laid bare.

You, on the other hand, felt a strange mix of relief and lingering mortification. The cat was out of the bag, no turning back now. You met Zoro's gaze, a flicker of defiance in your eyes, then turned to face the rest of the crew. Your voice, though still a little shaky, held a newfound resolve.

"Yes," you said, taking a deep breath, looking from Luffy's goofy grin to Nami's stern expression, to Chopper's worried face. "Yes, we are. We've been together for about seven months." You shot a glare at Sanji, who was still in a state of shock. "And we didn't tell you because... well, because it's our business, and we weren't sure how to bring it up in the middle of fighting pirates and saving islands."

A flurry of questions erupted then, a cacophony of voices demanding answers:

"Seven months?!"

"Is that why Y/N was cleaning like a maniac today?!"

"Does this mean you're getting married?!"

"Are you going to be all mushy now?!"

"Were you really making out in the storage room?!"

The dam had broken.

The galley, usually a scene of boisterous camaraderie, had transformed into an interrogation room. A barrage of questions, fired from every corner of the table, assaulted you and Sanji.

"So, like, how long have you two been doing this?!" Luffy's voice, always loud, cut through the din.

"Seven months," you repeated, feeling your cheeks burn. "Since that island with the singing clams." You shot Sanji a look, a silent agreement to keep the details of your first kiss to yourselves.

"Seven months?!" Nami shrieked, slamming her hand on the table. "You mean you've been keeping this from us for seven months?!" Her eyes narrowed, suddenly sharper than any blade. "And what about that woman today, Sanji-kun?! The one you were practically drooling over all day?!"

Sanji, finally regaining a sliver of his composure, puffed out his chest, though a nervous sweat beaded on his forehead. "Nami-swaan! My affections for all ladies are pure and untainted! She was simply a damsel in need of—"

"A damsel in need of a good shove off the island, maybe!" you interjected, glaring at him. The memory of his prolonged flirtation, and her reciprocal interest, still stung. "That's why I went back to the ship, Nami. I was pissed."

Nami's eyes widened, then a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. Her gaze flickered between you and Sanji, then to the impeccably clean galley. "Aha!" she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. "So that's why the ship is sparkling! You weren't feeling sick, Y/N, you were just furious with Sanji-kun for being a love-struck idiot!"

Sanji flinched, shrinking slightly under Nami's accusatory gaze. "My dear Nami-swaan, I would never—"

"Oh, you would, Sanji!" you shot back, jabbing a finger in his direction. "You did! And then Zoro walked in on us making up!"

Zoro, who had been quietly enjoying the chaos he'd unleashed, snorted. "Making up, huh? Looked more like you were trying to strangle him with that hairnet."

"So you two are... dating?!" Usopp stammered, still processing the sheer magnitude of the revelation. "Like, proper boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"Is this going to change anything?" Chopper asked timidly, his big eyes filled with concern. "Are you still going to be our nakama?"

You reached across the table, taking Chopper's hoof in your hand. "Of course, Chopper! Nothing changes. We're still your nakama. This just means... well, it means we're a couple."

Sanji, regaining some of his chivalrous swagger, though still visibly nervous, cleared his throat. "Indeed! My heart, though overflowing with devotion for all you lovely ladies, now beats with an even deeper, profound love for my Y/N-chan!" He bowed theatrically, then risked a glance at you, a hopeful plea in his eyes.

The questions continued to fly, a whirlwind of curiosity and mild disbelief. You and Sanji, a united front in your new, exposed reality, did your best to answer, stumbling over details, occasionally bickering, but always, always facing the crew together. The awkwardness lingered, thick and palpable, but beneath it, a new layer was slowly being woven into the fabric of the Straw Hat Pirates – one of accepted, if surprising, romance.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #straw hat pirates #straw hats #straw hats x reader #one piece angst #angst with comfort #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #op sanji #one piece sanji #suggestive

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apricot-blossomss · 9 months ago

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☛ mortal! fem! reader telling apollo she is pregnant

☛ sfw, angsty-ish, fluff

he was late, and it only worsened your anxiety. for the last half hour, you had been pacing nervously around the house, jumping at every sound that might announce the return of your immortal lover. the ticking of the clock mocked your growing despair as your gaze flickered between the door, the window and the bathroom door that stood between you and it. the positive pregnancy test on your sink.

five minutes late. was there any way he knew already? would he never come back to you again? the nausea that crept up your throat was very unlike the one that had you throwing up over the toilet this morning. just when you thought you would start to cry, there was a knock on the door. eight knocks in the rhythm of "here comes the sun" by the beatles.

since you had been waiting by the door, you opened it in a matter of seconds, only to be met with the face of apollo. a look of surprise graced his divine features and he smiled breathtakingly down at you with raised eyebrows. "quite eager to see me, are ya', sunshine?"

swallowing down your worry and despair was easy when he was right here, in front of you, when his shining smile made your heart burst with happiness and his deft fingers reached for your hips to ground you against him. a warm hand landed on your neck as your lover gazed down at you with pure adoration in his eyes and leaned down to kiss you. it was warm, it was perfect, it was like coming home and you sighed contentedly into his mouth.

however, you were pulled out of your haze when you felt the tips of his fingers dip under your skirt and the kiss become more heated. shakily, your hands pressed against his chest to push him away and immediately, you could feel him retracting. "love?" you opened your eyes to find him looking down at you, his worried eyes searching your features for an explanation for your shaky figure.

you should get this over with. after all, it was also his fault that you were now in this predicament. so you smoothed out your skirt and looked him in the eye, fingers fiddling with each other. "apollo, i'm... i'm pregnant"

the rush of emotions on his face was too fast and intense for your mortal senses to pick up. there seemed to be conflicting reactions within your lover which at least meant that he didn't only react with distain. at last, worry remained as his hands wrapped themselves around your bicep and he leaned down to your height. "how are you feeling?" oh, right. god of medicine.

"fine, just a little morning sickness earlier today," you answered, remembering the horrific story of his own birth. without your permission, your lower lip started to quiver and your fingers clawed at his shirt. "will you- will you leave me now?" you lowered your head to avoid looking at him if he pushed you away, it would be so much harder that way.

not that you thought he was a monster. but he was a god. dieties are fickle, as one mortal is only a second in the eternity of their existence. god's don't stick around and only rarely burden themselves with taking care of a mother and a child. from the moment you saw that the test was positive, you knew you wanted the baby, but you also wanted apollo. would you have to let one or the other go?

"leave you?" strong hands tilted your averted face towards the god and you couldn't help the tears burning in your eyes. if you could at least have a graceful farewell, but no. here you were, crying pathetically between his warm hands. apollos brows were furrowed- in anger, wonder, worry? you couldn't decipher it, even though you could read him fairly well most of the time.

"yes?" you squeaked with your broken crying voice. a dry chuckle left apollos lips and you frowned. must he mock you now as well?

"sunshine," he sighed and another tear escaped your eye at the sound of the nickname. grimacing, he brushed it away and offered you a gentle smile. "after all the poems and songs and declarations, what made you think i could leave you this easily?"

"don't you gods always?" you sniffed and tried to blink your tears away. "apollo, I- I want to keep it"

"good," he hummed and lowered his head to press a kiss onto your tear-stained cheek. "if that's what you want" as if to physically stop him from leaving, your arms locked around his godly body and you hid your face in his neck. your voice quivering with a shy hope, you whispered: "I want you, too"

"well, i'm glad," he laughed and you shuddered because even that sounded so ethereal. softly, he said your name, prompting you to look at him. with your faces only an inch apart, his warm breath fanned your moist face. he was smiling and you were in awe of how happy he looked. "sunshine, i'm not leaving. not ever"

"no?" you hiccuped embarrassingly and he chuckled. strong hands came up to cup your tummy as if there was a bump already. "i am amazed by your strength, lover, to carry our child. i shall promise to be with you every step of the way."

"thank god," you laughed and wiped your tears away. looking back, your outburst seemed almost stupid, but you knew you were justified in your suspicions when it came to gods and their feeling of obligation to their families. but not apollo. your lover was going to stay, with you, with the child. as the realization sunk in, your heart swelled with joy. about the baby, about the god in your arms, about your family.

new strength flooded through you and you took a step back. "i'll make dinner, do you want-"

apollo didn't let you finish, he picked you up princess style and shook his head scoldingly. "you aren't allowed to do anything. i'm making dinner, you just relax." before you could protest, he set you down on the couch, covered you in blankets and placed a cup of tea in your hands. "do you feel okay? any nausea? any pain?"

the deadpan look you gave him didn't seem to impress him very much. "apollo, I'm only a few weeks pregnant, this is ridiculous, do you want me to spend the next seven months on this couch?"

A tender but mischievous smile graced his lips as he pecked your nose and tucked you in despite your protests. "maybe. what would you do about it?"

"probably smother myself with these pillows out of boredom." you huffed and rolled your eyes. "apollo-"

"i know," he almost whined and you raised your brows. this thousands of years old diety was not supposed to sound like a toddler asking for his bedtime story. "it's just- you humans are so easily ki- hurt"

you frowned, but he turned away and walked a little more hurriedly to the kitchen than necessary. to not elicit any more protests, you didn't go after him but sat up on the couch, watching him scramble around just a tad bit to un-gracefully for a god. a sigh left your lips as you watched him and he stiffened a little. "apollo, how are you ever going to get through the childbirth?"

#greek mythology #greek gods #greek mythology x reader #greek gods x reader #greek gods x you #apollo x mortal reader #apollo x fem! reader #apollo x reader #apollo x you #hurt/comfort #tw: nightmares

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mcrveilles · 7 months ago

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just this once // ln4

word count: 2.7k warnings: smut, sexual themes, intimacy themes, secrecy, conflicts of loyalty, romantic tension and suggestive content includes: friends to lovers, fluff, best friends little sister, brothers best friend summary: basically porn with a little plot - sorry. or not? if you don't want to read the explicit part, i've added a red line where it starts and ends

PART THREE previous part - next part

tag list: sltwins sarx164 hadesnumber1daughter fullmugwolffish willowsnook

MINORS DO NOT READ

As you slip into your pajamas, the soft cotton of your loose tank top and shorts providing comfort against your skin, the phone on your night stand buzzes. You sigh, feeling drained from the long night out and the emotional rollercoaster with Lando. You rub at the remaining mascara under your eyes, trying to wipe away any still left. In your softly lit room, a single lamp casts shadows on the walls as you crawl into your bed. It's a cozy escape from the night you’d just had. As you settle under the covers, the warmth of the day lingers on your skin while your chosen movie's gentle hum adds to the soothing atmosphere, creating a peaceful state of mind.

The name on your phone screen, however, makes you freeze when you finally look at it.

Lando: You still up?

Your pulse quickens. After the night you’d just had—the stolen glances, heated touches, Max hovering too close—you aren’t sure you’re ready for more of whatever this was.

You: Just about to crash. Why?

His reply comes seconds later.

Lando: Because I’m out front.

Your heart skips a beat.

You: Are you serious? Why?

Lando: Come find out.

You hesitate, knowing that letting him in will only create more complications. But the memory of his touch and the taste of his lips still linger on your skin, making the decision for you. You throw on a cardigan and walk to your front door. Through the security system's camera, you see Lando leaning casually against the door, dressed in his usual hoodie and jeans and looking far too confident for someone who showed up uninvited at this late hour. Exhaling deeply, you buzz him in and crack open your apartment door. As he steps out of the elevator, his familiar scent fills the hallway - clean, warm, with a hint of musk.

“Are you insane?” you ask him, crossing your arms and cocking an eyebrow.

“Probably,” he answers with a grin. “But I couldn’t just stay home after tonight.”

“You could’ve texted me like a normal person instead of lurking outside my building.”

“Would you have replied if I had?”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words die on your tongue. He has a point. Lando's gaze softens as it sweeps over your appearance, his grin turning lopsided. His eyes linger on your pajamas, taking in the cute patterns and soft fabric. You suddenly feel self-conscious under his scrutiny, but also oddly flattered, “Cute .”

“Don’t start,” you warn, the sound of your voice echoing off the walls as you shut the door behind him. He holds up his hands in mock surrender but doesn’t move from where he’s standing in the entryway. His eyes are fixed on you, studying you with a penetrating gaze, like he’s trying to decipher some deep mystery.

“What are you doing here, Lando?” you ask again, your voice barely above a whisper now.

He shrugs, his usual confident demeanor faltering for a brief moment. “Honestly? I just wanted to see you.”

Your heart skips a beat at his confession. The air between you seems charged and heavy, pulsing with unspoken emotions.

He takes a step closer, his hands casually slipping into the pockets of his hoodie. “All night, all I could think about was you. The way you looked at me, the way you felt when we danced... And then Max was there, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Lando…”

But he interrupts with a low and sincere voice, “I know we said ‘one time’, but it doesn't feel like enough. Not after tonight.”

Your defenses start to crumble as his words sink in. You want to say something, anything, but before you can, he closes the distance between you. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” He murmurs, gently brushing his hands over your arms. “Right back atcha,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

That's all he needs to hear. His lips are on yours before either of you can overthink it, his hands pulling you closer by your waist. This kiss feels different from the last time - not playful or teasing like before, but deeper, filled with all the pent up frustration and longing.

Your hands find their way to his hoodie, gripping onto the fabric as he guides you backwards towards the couch. When your knees hit the cushions, you both break apart for a moment to catch your breath. “Are we really doing this?” Your voice trembles as you ask.

He rests his forehead against yours, his thumb tracing circles on your hip. “If you tell me to stop, I will.” But you don't. Instead, you pull him back into another kiss—your answer clear.

“Don’t stop,” you breathe out, voice low. The atmosphere is charged now, every sensation amplified—the brush of his fingers against your skin like the whisper of a checkered flag, the heat of your bodies close enough to ignite. This moment has an intensity about it, like standing on the brink of a cliff, hurtling towards something that is both unknown and alluring.

You crash your lips against his with a newfound intensity, the decision made and the line crossed. Your hands, emboldened, slip beneath the soft fabric of his hoodie, exploring the contours of a body built by countless hours in the cockpit and gym. You feel every ridge of muscle, every pulse of his quickening heartbeat against your palms.

“Your hands are freezing,” Lando chuckles breathlessly, but there's a thrill in his voice that tells you he doesn't mind the chill. Or perhaps it’s the contrast he enjoys—the fire between you set against the ice of your touch. “Maybe you should warm them up then,” you tease back, your voice a raspy whisper, a green light flashing in your mind, urging you not to stop.

With a gentle tug, his hoodie is off, tossed carelessly into the shadowy corner of the room. There's an urgency now—a need to explore the terrain of his skin, to map out every part of him. Your breaths mingle, hot and fast, as you navigate this new intimacy. The world outside fades away until there's nothing left but the electric current buzzing between you, threatening to short-circuit your self-control.

Lando's eyes lock with yours, dark and intense. His pupils are blown wide, reflecting the dim light of the room. You can see the conflict there—the eagerness entwined with hesitation. “Are you sure about this?” he asks once again, his voice husky. You make a mental note to remember this about this. This carefulness, the way he needs to make sure, you’re sure.

Your answer is to pull him closer, eliminating what little space remains between you. You can feel the heat radiating off his bare skin, smell the intoxicating mix of his cologne and sweat. Your fingers trace the lines of his abs, feeling them tense under your touch. “I've never been more sure of anything,” you breathe against his neck before pressing my your lips to skin of his neck, feeling his sharp intake of breath, the way his hands tighten on your hips.

__________________________

Suddenly, you’re falling backwards onto the couch, Lando following, his body covering yours. The weight of him is intoxicating, pressing you into the cushions. Your legs part instinctively, allowing him to settle between them. The friction as he shifts against you sends sparks shooting through your body.

“Fuck,” Lando breathes, his forehead resting against yours. His curls tickle your face, and you reach up to run your fingers through them, marveling at their softness. You arch up, desperate for more contact, more friction, more of everything. Lando groans, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. His hands are everywhere—skimming down your sides, slipping under your shirt, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

“Too many clothes,” you mutter, fumbling with the hem of your own shirt. Lando helps, his fingers brushing against your skin as he pulls the fabric up and over your head. The cool air hits your exposed skin, raising goosebumps. His eyes roam hungrily over your body, his gaze so intense you can almost feel it like a physical touch.

“God, you're beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with eagerness. His hand traces the curve of your waist, fingertips dancing along your ribs. You shiver, arching into his touch. The moment stretches, charged with electricity. You can hear the pounding of your own heart, see the rapid rise and fall of Lando's chest. The air feels thick, heavy with anticipation. You reach for him, pulling him down for a searing kiss. His lips are soft but insistent against yours, tongue seeking entrance. You grant it willingly, moaning softly as the kiss deepens. Lando's hips grind against yours, the friction sending shockwaves through your body. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, urging him closer. The kiss grows more desperate, teeth clashing, breaths mingling.

Lando's lips trail down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You tilt your head, giving him better access. His stubble scratches deliciously against your throat as he works his way lower. When he reaches your collarbone, he pauses, looking up at you through his lashes.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice rough with longing.

You nod, unable to form words. Your skin feels like it's on fire, every nerve ending hypersensitive. Lando continues his descent, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the swell of your breasts. His hands come up to cup them, thumbs brushing over them. “Lando,” you gasp, your voice breathy and desperate. “Please...”

He smirks against your skin, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you. "Please what?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your chest. You squirm beneath him, desperate for more contact. "Don't tease," you whine, fingers tangling in his curls. Lando chuckles, the sound vibrating through you. "But teasing is so much fun," he says, punctuating his words with a gentle nip at your collarbone.

"Tell me what you want," he murmurs against your neck, his breath hot on your skin. "You," You gasp. "All of you."

He groans, grinding his hips against yours. The friction is delicious but not enough. You slide your hands down his back, feeling the muscles flex under your palms, before slipping them into the waistband of his jeans. Lando inhales sharply, "Fuck, you're driving me crazy,".

"These need to come off," You breathe, tugging at the fabric. Lando nods, his eyes dark with desire. He shifts and fumbles with the button of his jeans. You fumble with your shorts. Then you’re both looking at eachother, panting, "Like what you see?" Lando teases, voice low and husky, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you.

"Shut up," you mutter, reaching for him. He laughs, the sound rich and warm, before leaning down to capture your lips again. This kiss is slower, deeper, filled with a hunger that makes your toes curl. His hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

You arch into his touch, desperate for more. Your fingers trace the planes of his back, feeling the muscles flex beneath your palms. Lando groans into your mouth, hips grinding against yours. The friction is delicious but not enough. You need more. As if he knows, his fingers finally dip between your thighs.

"Fuck," Lando breathes, his voice rough. "You're so wet." You can only whimper in response as he starts to move his fingers. Your hips buck against his hand, chasing the sensation, "Lando," you pant, "Please, I need you." He groans, pressing his forehead against yours. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," You breathe. "God, yes." He reaches for his discarded jeans, fumbling with the pocket for a condom. Lando's hands tremble slightly as he rolls on the condom, his eyes never leaving yours. The anticipation builds, an intensity of desire thrumming through your veins. He positions himself between your thighs, the heat of him scorching against your skin. With excruciating slowness, he pushes in, stretching and filling you completely. You both gasp at the sensation, overwhelmed by the intensity. Lando stills, his forehead presses against yours, breath coming in short pants. "You okay?" he whispers, voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Yes," you breathe, lifting your hips. "Move, please." He obliges, starting a slow, steady rhythm that has you seeing stars. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, urging him closer, deeper. The room fills with the sound of skin on skin, breathless moans, and whispered encouragements.

Lando's lips find yours in a searing kiss as he picks up the pace. You match him thrust for thrust, lost in the sensation of him moving inside you. Your world narrows to just this - the slide of his skin against yours, the pressure building with each thrust, a burning tension deep in your core. Lando's rhythm falters, his movements becoming more erratic. You can tell he's close. His hand snakes between your bodies, fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves. The added stimulation is almost too much. "Fuck, Lando," you gasp, arching into him. "I'm so close." He groans, burying his face in your neck. "Come for me, baby," he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough and desperate. It's those words that send you over the edge. Your release crashes over you in waves of white-hot pleasure. You cry out, fingers digging into Lando's back as your body shudders beneath him. The pulsing of your inner walls triggers his own climax. With a strangled moan of your name, he stills, burying his face in your neck.

For a moment, you lie there, tangled together, your chests heaving as you catch your breaths. The room feels charged, electric, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. The warm, solid weight of Lando's body pressing down on you creates a sense of security and connection, his skin smooth and warm against yours. You run your fingers through his damp curls, savoring the intimacy of the moment.

Lando lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours. There's a vulnerability there you’ve never seen before, a softness that makes your heart skip. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it again, seemingly at a loss for words. "Hey," you whisper, cupping his cheek. "You okay?" He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. "More than okay," he murmurs, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. "That was..."

"Yeah," you nod in agreement.

As the afterglow fades, reality starts to creep back in. Lando shifts, gently pulling away from you, and you both wince slightly at the loss of contact. He disposes of the condom and reaches for his discarded clothes, his movements slow. You sit up, suddenly feeling exposed, and pull a throw blanket over yourself. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words and lingering questions. Lando runs a hand through his tousled curls, his gaze flicking to you and then away again. "So..." he starts. You interrupt him, "That happened."

__________________________

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Yeah, it did." His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining. "Any regrets?"

You pause, considering. There are so many things to consider.

Your eyes lock with Lando's, searching his face. Despite the vulnerability in his expression, there's a spark of hope there too. You take a deep breath, weighing your words carefully. "No regrets," you finally say, squeezing his hand. "But...this complicates things." Lando nods slowly, his thumb tracing circles on your palm. "I know. Max..."

"Yeah," you sigh, the name of your brother hanging heavy between you. "And our friendship.” The air between you feels charged again, but differently this time. There's a tenderness there now, layered beneath the lingering desire. Lando shifts closer, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek.

"I definitely don't want to lose you," Lando murmurs, his eyes earnest. "As a friend or...whatever this is." You lean into his touch, closing your eyes briefly. "I don't want to lose you either," you admit softly. When you open your eyes again, Lando's gaze is intense, searching.

"So what do we do now?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #f1 x reader #lando norris smut #jto

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cherienymphe · 1 year ago

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Teenage Dirtbag XII

JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron

Warnings: mentions of NON-CON, mentions of DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

⭑

When you woke up, you were alone.

Even if you didn’t remember how drunk you’d gotten the night before, everything about the way your head pounded and the tightness in your throat told you so. Sunlight was bleeding through your curtains, but it wasn’t the kind of brightness associated with the afternoon, so you knew it was still morning. You were slow in sitting up, holding the sheet to you as you glanced around, your gaze briefly landing on the familiar fabric on the floor.

You stared at it for too long, raising your hand to press to your forehead in both disbelief and horror. A strange range of emotions were all fighting for dominance within you, and you forced yourself to close your eyes in order to calm down. Taking a deep breath, you tried to ignore the feeling of dried bodily fluids between your thighs…but it was hard. You could feel a familiar sting behind your eyes.

You’d cheated on Rafe.

Sure, you’d been doing that for some time, now, but last night you’d really cheated on him. You didn’t know why a few kisses and some touching didn’t make it feel as real to you when it most definitely should have, but last night was a point of no return. Last night was a line you weren’t even sure you’d wanted to cross. Your stomach turned, and you swallowed it down.

You and JJ had sex.

Right here…in your bedroom.

There was a part of you that wondered if you could even call it that. You’d been so drunk, and while things were still a little fuzzy, you knew for a fact that you’d been so unsure. JJ hadn’t seemed to care, but JJ wasn’t like Rafe. Surely, if you’d tried harder to stop him, he would’ve stopped…right…? You did want to be with JJ, that was no secret, but maybe the events of the previous night showed you that you weren’t as conflicted as you’d thought. After all…

You could’ve protested more.

…but you didn’t.

Your mind was going a mile a minute, and after briefly dropping your face into your hands, you threw the covers back. You weren’t in the right headspace to analyze anyone’s actions and motives, pushing yourself to your feet to seek out a much-needed shower. You grimaced at the sight of your clothes on the floor, forcing yourself not to think about that, right now.

You were thankful that your perusal in the mirror brought up no unwanted marks, and that allowed you to rest easier. The warm spray of the shower did help with the hangover and fatigue, but it did nothing for the heaviness in your chest. Pressing your wet hands to your face, you allowed yourself to remember the way JJ held you—how gentle he was in doing so. You couldn’t recall the last time you felt like that.

You swallowed down a sob at the memories of his lips pressing kisses all over your face as he laid you down on your bed. By that point, you’d forgotten why it was a bad idea, wrapping your arms around JJ and lifting your hips to meet his. The alcoholic fog made it hard to decipher how long he’d slowly thrust into you against your sheets, but it was long enough to make you shudder just thinking about it.

…but it was wrong.

It was so wrong, and not just because of Rafe, but because you hadn’t even wanted to in the beginning. You wondered if that even mattered at this point. You wanted JJ. You’d wanted to know what it felt like to be with him and be with someone who made you feel safe. Even if you hadn’t been quite ready yet, did it matter? Whether it was last night or two months from now…did it matter?

Telling yourself that you couldn’t stay in the shower forever, you turned the water off.

Rafe was the last person you expected to see when you finally opened the door.

You actually froze at the sight of him, tightening the towel around you just as he sat on the edge of your bed. The sight of him there…sitting where you and JJ were only hours ago…it made your stomach turn. He looked better than you felt, dirty blond strands freshly washed and the short sleeves of his white polo stretching against his skin. You surmised that it was a warmer day outside.

“I’m surprised you even made it upstairs last night,” was his pleasant greeting.

Finally telling yourself to move, you made to pick up your dress…and underwear.

“I managed,” was all you said, moving to put the dirty clothes in the hamper.

There was no way Rafe could know, but part of you felt like he could just sense it. Rafe had this way about him that made him seem larger than life, like he had abilities and senses the rest of you—namely you—didn’t. As you looked at him, you couldn’t stop your eyes from watering, recalling the feel of JJ shuddering against you as he came, his blue eyes staring into yours. The tears spilled over before you could stop them, and you watched the way Rafe’s lips curved.

“I take it you remember last night…and how shitty you were being.”

You wiped your face, looking away from your boyfriend, remembering something else entirely. Yes, you were shitty, but not for the reasons he thought. When you heard him stand, you pressed your hand to your face, and you didn’t protest when Rafe gently pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. Rafe shushed you, slowly rocking you, but there was nothing comforting about it.

“You know I hate it when you drink like that,” he murmured into your hair. “You know I hate how…fussy you get.”

You nodded, your mind preoccupied with the sweet nothings JJ had whispered into your ear instead.

“…and then I have to be the bad guy when you start embarrassing yourself.”

You recalled the sigh you’d let out when JJ pulled out of you, conflicted between wanting him to leave as soon as possible and pulling you against him again. You remembered his hand on your face and his lips on yours after he’d gotten dressed, telling you he wished he didn’t have to go. You could still remember his fingers against your lips as you’d drunkenly kissed them, vision blurring and room tilting. You didn’t remember him leaving…only closing your eyes.

When you pulled back to look at Rafe, the expectant glint in his gaze was evident, and before where it would’ve made you bristle… Now, it only made your heart sink. You looked over his face, telling yourself that Rafe was a thousand times worse to you than you could ever be to him, and yet, that did nothing to ease your guilt. He was still your boyfriend…and you’d had sex with someone else.

You’d made love to someone else.

“I’m sorry,” you quietly told him.

Even though the apology wasn’t for what he thought it was…it was genuine.

You ignored another call from a familiar face, swallowing down the bad taste it left in your mouth. You felt all kinds of horrible for ignoring the blond for literal weeks—especially after having sex with him—but you needed time to think. About Rafe, about JJ, about that night… Your feelings about said night were still so complicated and confusing, and you still didn’t know if you liked the way JJ handled things—and if you did, was it because you were drunk?

You chewed on your fingernails, telling yourself that JJ wasn’t Rafe.

You’d experienced rape many times, and that night with JJ wasn’t quite the same.

So, why did you still feel weird about it?

“We could go to the beach…”

You were pulled from your thoughts by another blonde teenager, Sarah’s budding smile filling your vision when you refocused on her. She sat back down before you on the couch, handing you a glass of lemonade as she gave you a hopeful look. You swallowed a sigh, knowing that if you agreed, her friends would show up somehow…and you weren’t quite ready to face JJ just yet.

You knew that he was still periodically sleeping at the pool house, catching glimpses of him through the window sometimes while everyone else slept. You didn’t need to be a genius to know that he was waiting and hoping you’d come see him, whether to talk or repeat what had been done that night. You had too many things to sort through—your confusion, your guilt, your feelings for him.

You didn’t know how to feel about JJ, right now, and that worried you.

“I better not…”

As your voice trailed off, you watched her face fall. You knew what she was thinking about before she even voiced it.

“I really am sorry about what happened at John B.’s,” she sheepishly told you. “Nothing went as planned.”

“Sarah, it’s fine-.”

“It’s really not though,” she sighed. “I…”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling.

“I hate how Rafe treats you,” she forced out, voice cracking. “He behaves like you belong to him.”

Your gaze fell to your lap at that.

“He treats you like you’re his fucking property, and…”

Her expression was a mix of confusion and disgust when you looked up again.

“I just don’t understand why you stay,” she spat, scoffing to herself. “Sure, you love him, but…”

She shifted on the couch, giving you her full attention.

“Does he love you? Do you like being treated like this?”

“Sarah-.”

“I don’t care if I’m overstepping, help me understand,” she cut you off, looking between your eyes. “Why do you stay? Why do you put up with it?”

You were trying not to let her words anger you—after all, how could she know—but it was hard when she looked at you like you were some foolish and dick-struck girl she just didn’t get. Swallowing down all the things you wanted to say, you merely shook your head.

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“You’re right,” she fired back. “I don’t get it.”

Your jaw clenched.

“I don’t get why you let him talk to you any kind of way. I don’t get why you blindly follow him around and do what he says! I don’t get why I’m trying so hard to help you have some kind of life outside of my brother when you don’t even seem to want that,” she said, face pinched in confusion. “My friends like you, and…if you asked them, they’d probably consider you their friend too.”

You looked away at that.

“They ask about you and they worry about you— because they see it too! —but you seem so,” she dragged the word out. “…happy to revolve your entire life around Rafe.”

You blinked back tears, struggling to handle the range of emotions her rightful frustration brought on. Sarah didn’t know the truth, so you couldn’t fault her for feeling disturbed by your dynamic with her brother, but that didn’t make it sting any less. Especially so since it seemed like everyone only saw you as the girlfriend that obeyed Rafe like a well-trained dog.

You would love to have friends outside of Rafe and his friends. You would love to be able to go anywhere you wanted without your phone and car being tracked. It would be nice to tell your boyfriend you were going to hang out with Sarah or whoever without it being some big thing that needed approval and a million questions about who else would be there—if any guys would be there. You would kill for a normal relationship with a normal boyfriend that didn’t put the fear of God into you, but that wasn’t the hand you were dealt.

“What do you want me to say, Sarah?” you eventually sighed.

You could see the way her face fell as she studied yours, and you didn’t miss the guilty look to cross her eyes. She touched her forehead, huffing.

“Nothing, I guess,” she quietly answered. “I’m sorry, okay? I just… I just think you could do better.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you only nodded, ignoring her soft sigh as you stood. When she said your name, you didn’t acknowledge it, only throwing her a small smile.

“You should go to the beach, anyway, Sarah,” you told her. “Your friends always look for any excuse to get in the water.”

You forced yourself to go upstairs, hating how right everything Sarah said was and how awful it made you feel.

When Rafe finally returned hours later, you weren’t in the most contagious of moods, wrapped up in his bed and still thinking about things that made your chest sting. Sarah’s words only served as a reminder as to how trapped you truly were, and that in turn made you feel less crappy about what you’d done with JJ.

It wasn’t like you could actually leave Rafe…

JJ was right when he’d called your relationship a hostage situation. With that being said, you couldn’t let go of that part of you that recognized Rafe as your boyfriend and recognized what you were doing with JJ as cheating. As awful as he was…Rafe was still your boyfriend, and while his jealousy got the better of him more often than not, you both knew that deep down, Rafe would never in a million years expect you to cheat on him.

Maybe that had more to do with control than trust though…

Rafe wouldn’t expect it because of his ego…not because he loved you. Besides, many would argue that he’d betrayed you first and a million times over. Crossing boundaries and breaking trust was a betrayal, and Rafe had done that the night you’d turned nineteen, slapping you at your own birthday party, and all he’d done since then was continue to betray you.

When the bed sank underneath his weight, you closed your eyes at the feel of his fingers on your face.

“I ran into Sarah on the way in…”

He continued when you didn’t respond.

“She told me to check on you…said she probably said some things she shouldn’t have.”

You squeezed your eyes tighter, and when you didn’t deny that, you heard him mumble something under his breath. It was about her, no doubt.

“Was it about me?” he wondered, voice dropping.

Licking your lips, you found your voice.

“Rafe, I don’t want to talk about this…”

“Don’t let Sarah get into your head…” he drawled. “She’s a bitch, alright?”

You were pushing yourself to sit up before he could even finish, frowning at him.

“Don’t call her that,” you argued. “She’s your sister.”

“…and she’s a bitch,” Rafe repeated, lowering his head so that his eyes were level with yours. “She hates that you’re with me, so I can only imagine what she was saying.”

“Nothing that wasn’t true,” you whispered.

Rafe didn’t respond to that, but the way he blinked at you told you that maybe you shouldn’t have said it. You couldn’t hold back your tears as you stared at him, and he just watched you wipe your face.

“My life revolves around you, Rafe,” you quietly cried. “Will it ever not?”

By the way he rolled his eyes, you could see that he didn’t want to have this conversation.

“I don’t have any friends-.”

“You have my friends,” he interrupted, and you shook your head.

“Your friends. What about friends of my own?”

More tears spilled over when Rafe stood, and you frowned at him.

“I do everything you ask,” you whispered. “I’ve cut people out of my life, I wait on you, I dedicate just about every minute of every waking moment to you. When will it end? When will you let me have something like a life?”

You were unsurprised when Rafe’s hand found its way to your jaw, fingers firmly pressing into your skin and making you wince. His face was so close to yours, and you reached up to rest your hand on his wrist. At the feel, Rafe only tightened his hold, and more tears spilled over. Your boyfriend’s breathing was even as he looked between your eyes.

“Did you forget that it was only less than two months ago that I was racing down the streets of Kildare County to pick you up from The Cut?” his tone was sharp. “Hmm?”

He continued when you blinked.

“Or what about when you talked to JJ before that behind my back?”

The mention of the other blond had you squeezing your eyes shut.

“You make it sound like…”

“I don’t care why you did it,” Rafe spat. “Point is, you did.”

He shook your face, making you peel your eyes open. Rafe’s face was even save for the clench of his jaw as he stared you down. Suddenly he looked over you, face softening just a tad, and a smirk danced along his pink lips.

“Is it that time of the month?” he chuckled when you jerked your face out of his grip. “Is that where this is coming from?”

“Fuck you,” you breathed, and he paused.

You watched him touch his tongue to his lip.

“…or maybe that’s it,” he whispered. “Maybe you need me to fuck this attitude out of you, and you just don’t know how to say it.”

When you moved to get up, Rafe stopped you, hands tight on your arms.

“No,” he dragged out. “Don’t get up…”

You jerked away when he leaned in to kiss you.

“You’ve been moody for weeks, ever since you got drunk that night and made a fool out of yourself…”

He was rough in pushing you down.

“My dad’s had me so tied up with family business stuff… I’ve been neglecting you, huh?”

“Don’t touch me,” you spat, harshly shoving his chest. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Yeah, okay,” the blond chuckled, and it was genuine. “If I relied on you being in the mood, I’d never get any.”

You struggled with his hands as they pulled at your shirt, and eventually you gave up, striking him clear across the face. The slap was loud, and your hand stung, evidence of just how hard you’d hit him. You could tell it shocked Rafe too, and your lips parted, silence descending over the two of you. You reacted before he did, using his momentary shock to climb off of the bed.

You were already in the hall when you heard his door swing open, banging against the wall.

“What the hell is your problem?”

His voice was loud, and that was all the confirmation you needed that you were alone in the house.

“I told you I’m not in the mood,” your voice shook, and rightfully so.

You winced when Rafe caught your arm, yanking you back and making you face him. There was a deep frown between his brows as he stared you down, and you swallowed at the redness you saw on his cheek.

“Am I supposed to care about that or something?” his tone was clipped as he looked between your eyes. “You think I give a fuck? You think I won’t fuck you right here in this hallway?”

“Rafe, I’m serious,” you bit out, fighting to push at his chest.

“What is your problem?” he repeated his earlier question. “Did Sarah put some ideas into your head or what?”

You winced when his other hand roughly grabbed your neck, and you grabbed that arm too.

“Have I ever cared if you’re in the mood? No? So, why would I now?” he wondered. “…and more importantly, why would you think I would?”

“Rafe, please,” you begged when he leaned in, turning your face away.

When his lips touched the corner of your mouth, you hit him again.

He hit you harder.

Your face was on fire when you landed on the floor, eyes watering. You bit back a sob, covering your face as you heard Rafe sniff above you.

“I’m a guy, baby,” was all he said. “I promise you, I can hit you ten times harder.”

Your breathing was uneven, and when you refused to move, your boyfriend huffed.

“Get up,” he quietly told you. “Get the fuck up.”

His hand was under your arm, yanking you to your feet.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you today–fuck, I don’t know if it’s something Sarah said, but cut it out,” he sneered, shaking you. “I’m not in the mood to deal with your bullshit.”

“Oh, when you’re not in the mood to deal with my ‘bullshit’, I have to shut up, but when I’m not in the mood to fuck you, I should lie there and take it anyway, right?”

Rafe reared back a bit, looking down his nose at you, and the way he studied you made your heart skip a beat. You winced as his hand tightened, and you hated the way his lip twitched. There was a glint in his eye that made you nervous, and you watched him slowly smile. Letting you go, both of his hands started to gently drag up and down your arms.

“I think you’ve been hanging around Sarah too much,” he told you, an amused lilt to his tone. “We both know things go so much smoother with us when you know your place.”

You pulled your lip between your teeth, tearfully blinking at him.

“I’m not leaving you, Rafe,” you whispered. “You have made it abundantly clear that I am never leaving you, so why can’t you give me something to work with here?”

Rafe tilted his head at you, a frown on his face as he reached up to gently touch your own face.

“You can leave,” he said to you, making you roll your eyes. “Baby, you can leave me anytime you want…”

You didn’t look at him, refusing to dignify this farce. His fingers were gentle on your skin as he trailed them down your jaw and neck, and you shuddered, tears kissing your eyes at the way he was toying with you.

“So long as you know what’ll happen if you do…”

You didn’t say anything, and the tension in the air shifted when he spoke again, tone venomous.

“You want to leave me, you go right ahead, but don’t think I won’t smile in your daddy’s face after wringing your neck,” he sneered. “Don’t tell me you’re never leaving me like that’s supposed to be some comfort to me or some bargaining chip.”

He took your face into his hands, making you look at him.

“I know you’re never leaving me,” he calmly said. “It’s not something I worry about, so there’s no need to reassure me. I don’t need it.”

“I could,” you choked out.

That bloodthirsty glint in his eye came and went, and Rafe smiled again.

“Okay… Let’s say, for argument’s sake, you do leave me… Who in this town would touch you with a ten-foot pole?” he shrugged. “You’re mine.”

You licked your lips.

“Kildare isn’t the only place in the world,” you whispered.

“You’d have to get off the island first,” Rafe bit out, visage void of all humor, now.

His nostrils flared as he looked between your eyes, his blue gaze cold, and you took a step back when he moved forward. The look on his face was unreadable, and you struggled to figure out what he was thinking.

“Is that what this is about? You’re thinking about leaving me?”

“No.”

You denied that before he’d even finished talking, heart skipping a beat.

It was your boyfriend’s quiet moments that you found unpredictable. When he was irritated and loud and pacing like a bull, you knew what to expect and how to handle him. In the moments where most of that was going on inside of his head, you didn’t always know how to proceed or how to prepare yourself.

“I just feel like if I say I’m not in the mood, it shouldn’t become a big thing,” you tearfully continued.

“…and why should I care if you’re not in the mood?” he wondered, leaning in. “Why should that matter to me…?”

You took a deep breath, voice shaky.

“…because I’m your girlfriend.”

“…and as my girlfriend you don’t think it’s your duty to fulfill your part in this relationship?”

You crossed your arms over your chest.

“I spoil you, I buy you flowers and gifts, I take you out to places some people on this island will never see,” he said. “So many girls want what you have, and you can’t even put a smile on your face and fuck me when I want you to?”

“They wouldn’t want what I have if they knew you were a violent piece of shit,” you spat, tears in your eyes.

Rafe’s expression shifted at that, and although you couldn’t name it, you knew you didn’t like it. You watched him glance away, jaw ticking as he slowly nodded. When his eyes met yours again, you braced yourself. You were prepared for a slap.

Not a punch.

Your scream bounced off of the walls as you covered your face, and if it weren’t for Rafe, you would’ve collapsed right there. His arms were tight around you as you held your nose, blood seeping between your fingers as you squeezed your eyes shut. Your whole face hurt, but your nose especially, and if all the blood didn’t make it obvious, the God-awful pain did.

It was broken.

You couldn’t stop crying, the most gut-wrenching choking noises escaping your throat, your sobs coming out too fast for your body to handle. Rafe was moving—walking you somewhere—but you were too preoccupied with the pain in your face and the blood on your arms to concern yourself with it.

Until there was air beneath your feet.

It was too late for you to grab the railing, the blood on your hands making it impossible to slow your descent down the stairs. Each step was like a hit to your arm or your leg or your side, and even throwing your hands out before you didn’t help much. When you landed at the very bottom—right onto your knee—you didn’t register the pain at first. There was too much pain—mostly in your face—to take note of the one that was prominent alongside your nose.

When you did, you gasped, keeling over and holding your knee to your chest.

Your other hand was still holding your nose, and you were growing lightheaded at both the sight of blood and the feeling of the loss of blood. Your mind was going a mile a minute, and the sharp pain in your knee had you momentarily forgetting about your nose. When you tried to move your leg, you cried out, and you only pulled your gaze away when you heard Rafe walking down the stairs.

Through tearful eyes, you watched him steadily take out his phone. His face was as calm as ever when he finally joined you on the first floor, and you flinched when he reached for you, hand coming to rest on the top of your head as he made you lean your cheek against his leg.

You squeezed your eyes shut as the operator’s voice traveled from the phone.

“Yeah, um…my girlfriend… She just…she just tripped down the stairs,” he breathed. “I think she’ll be fine, but she’s bleeding a lot, and I think she hurt her knee.”

You shook against him as he gave her his address, and when he hung up, you avoided his gaze when he slowly knelt before you. Against your will, he pulled your hand away, and you flinched again when he tried to wipe some of the blood off of your face. Rafe’s voice was soft as he shushed you, but it only made you cry harder.

When he didn’t say anything, you knew that he was waiting for you to look at him, and when you did, he took a deep breath. His blue eyes stared into your own.

“How’s that for a violent piece of shit?”

With a screaming leg, and a face that felt like it was on fire, you had no choice but to let him pull you against him. His arm curled around you as he rested his chin on top of your head, hand playing with your hair while you both waited for the ambulance.

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