#I just searched for “One Direction” and each full name

[zorobff]

how to disappear. (opla!zoro x fem!reader)

synopsis: joining luffy’s crew made you believe that you’d finally escaped your former pirate crew and nightmare of a captain for good. that is, until a certain butler starts looking a little too familiar. good thing zoro’s keeping a close eye on you.

warnings: opla spoilers (ep 3), some direct dialogue from opla, mentions of verbal/physical abuse, kuro is just a weirdo tbh, reader is called a bitch, protective zoro, for the sake of the story sham and buchie joined the black cat pirates after reader left

word count: 4.7k

“this guy is full of shit.”

you knock your shoulder into zoro’s wider one. “be nice. and so what if he is?” 

zoro gives you a pointed glare. “then we should turn around and look for someone who can actually help us find a ship.” 

“all business, as per usual,” you reply, with a purposefully dramatic sigh. “why can’t you have a little fun?” 

“what about this is supposed to be fun?” zoro spits out the word like it’s poisonous. “this is the blandest village i’ve ever seen.”

you scoff. “now you’re the one that’s full of shit. nothing’s ever bland with us and you know it.” 

the us in question was your newly formed pirate crew… if you and luffy could even be considered that. having left the ship you’d been on a few years ago, you were in search of a new crew. luffy was persistent and charming — when you’d crossed paths in shells town, it took little to no time for him to convince you to join his hunt for the one piece. zoro and nami, on the other hand, had yet to follow in your footsteps. 

“well, considering that we’ve only been traveling together for a day and a half and i’ve already escaped a marine base, defeated a marine captain, and fought a clown with devil fruit powers… i’d actually have to agree.” 

you can’t help but giggle at his sarcastic delivery. “be grateful, zoro. not many pirate crews are this fun to be on, trust me. oh wait, that’s right, you still haven’t officially joined—”

“tell me about your old pirate crew,” interjects zoro, your comment having piqued his interest. 

you notice that the playful atmosphere dissipates. “god, where do i even start?” 

zoro answers that for you. “why did you leave?”

“starting with the hard hitting questions, huh?” you joke, mostly to stall. you clear your throat before you answer. “well, it was different. nothing like what luffy has going on. he actually cares about his crew… and even those who aren’t technically on it.” 

at that, a smile tugs at the corner of zoro’s lips. even you crack a small grin. although as you continue speaking, it fades. 

“on my old crew, we were dispensable. anytime something went wrong, our own captain would threaten to kill us. it was… scary, to be completely honest. there were so many times when i thought i’d die with that filthy crew. and i never wanted that. so as soon as we docked at shells town, i left.”  

zoro’s jaw clenches as imagines the things you’d seen and been subjected to. “this old captain of yours sounds like a real—”

“he was a nightmare,” you tell him. “he didn’t care that i was the only woman on board, he treated me just as horribly, if not worse.” 

zoro stops so suddenly that it takes you a second to realize he’s not walking alongside you.

“what do you mean by that.” the way zoro phrases the inquiry doesn’t even make it sound like a question. more like a demand. his narrowed eyes are fixed solely on you. holding his gaze feels… intense. 

you can’t help but glance away as you answer him. “he was just a bit of a creep.”

before zoro has the chance to try and extract more information out of you, a familiar voice calls both your names. you’re not really sure when you and zoro had fallen behind but from where you currently stand, the rest of your group looks miniature. or perhaps it’s just the massive size of the mansion behind them that makes luffy, nami, and usopp look pocket-sized in comparison. 

“why’d you stop walking?!” your captain shouts, hands pressed on each side of his mouth to amplify his voice. “get over here, we’re about to go in through the top secret entrance!” 

you vaguely make out usopp gesturing for luffy to keep his voice down. you’re sure that would warrant another comment from zoro about his reliability but he’s too busy staring at you with that expectant look in his eyes. 

“we better catch up,” you tell him, heading in the direction of the deluxe home. 

he allows you to dodge the subject and sighs, walking in long strides to catch up to you.  

“i’ve never seen a house this big before,” luffy admits, admiring the mansion along with the wellkept greenery surrounding it. 

“awesome, right?” usopp gloats, walking around like he owned the place. “kaya’s given me an open invitation to drop by anytime i want.” 

“wow.” you’re not sure if luffy was just going along with usopp’s act or if he really believed him. knowing the devil fruit user, it was more than likely the latter. “all this for just one person?”

“well, she lives here with her butler and a few other staff,” usopp replies, leaning against the stone well that sat in the middle of the lawn.

“money really shows you who people truly are,” nami mutters, eyes scanning the property. “most people only care about themselves and what’s theirs.”

zoro is quick to throw the insult back at her. “sounds like someone i know.”

you roll your eyes at his comment, though you make no effort to disagree with him. nami was a little on the materialistic side. 

“and a small staff makes for easy pickings,” she continues, proving your point.

“we just got here and you’re already planning on robbing the place blind?” you ask though you already know the answer.

“at least a little blurry,” she smirks, following behind luffy and usopp who walk toward the entrance. 

you and zoro share a look. one that says disappointed but not surprised. 

going under a shrub shaped as an arch, you’re met with a beautiful pond. you admire the pink lilies that float at the top and the bushes that were intricately trimmed into the shape of various animals. even if the people that lived here were filthy rich, at least they had good decorative taste. 

“so if you have an invitation, why are we going around the back way?” luffy ponders.

usopp’s answer is nonchalant. “oh, i never use the front entrance. like i said, this is the vip entrance reserved for special guests.”

zoro scoffs. “this guy’s definitely–”

“don’t start,” you groan, cutting him off. 

abruptly, usopp freezes and spins around, attempting to usher your crew back. “you know what, there’s actually a more exclusive entrance this way–”

the sharp swoosh of a knife cutting through the air and burying itself in the ground between usopp’s feet cuts him off. from the direction the kitchen utensil was thrown stands a heavyset gentleman with his face wrinkled in anger. his demanding voice booms through the garden, “the hell are you doing here, usopp?” 

the dark-skinned boy fumbles over his word. “buchi, buddy, uh, kaya’s expecting me.”

“another one of your lies,” the man – seemingly named buchi – seethes, grabbing him by the collar. “you ain’t welcome here and you know it.”

“i know nothing of the sort,” usopp retorts, keeping his cool even when he was practically being lifted off the ground by his shirt. “i’m here to give kaya an extra special gift.”

before buchi can get another word out, a feminine voice calls out for your companion. coming down the steps is a frail looking girl in a pink dress. on her arm is a man dressed in a crisp suit, presumably the butler usopp had mentioned earlier. though, from where you stand you can’t see either of their faces too clearly. 

“what a wonderful surprise,” she exclaims, breathlessly. 

“kaya!” usopp exclaims, returning her enthusiasm. buchi has no choice but to let him go, begrudgingly. usopp makes sure to shoot him a smug look before walking towards the young girl. “happy birthday.” 

the butler clears his throat, not afraid to intrude on their special moment. “usopp, we’ve discussed this before. you mustn’t show up unannounced.” 

“nonsense, klahadore.” kaya smiles warmly. “have you come to tell me another story? i do love hearing about your adventures.” 

“i’ll do you one better,” usopp smirks with such confidence that even you’re left wondering what kind of surprise he has up his sleeve. “i brought some of my crew!” he gestures back towards the four of you, proudly. 

your excitement vanishes. “oh. the surprise is… us.”

“well, that’s boring,” luffy agrees, just as disappointed as you are. 

kaya, on the other hand, is none the wiser. “it’s so nice to meet you. you must all stay for dinner.” 

klahadore lowers his voice. “miss kaya, it is a bit last minute. i’m afraid the kitchen hasn’t prepared for any extra guests.”

“please,” begs kaya, softly. “it’s my birthday. can’t be too much trouble can it?” 

giving in, klahadore purses his lips. “anything for you, miss kaya.” 

luffy claps his hands together. “alright! when do we eat?” 

“you don’t. not dressed like that, at least.” the butler directs himself to a staff member with teal colored hair. “sham, kindly show usopp and his friends to the guest suites. you will bathe and change before dinner.”

she follows his orders and leads the way. luffy, usopp, nami, and zoro trail behind her and you go to do the same. however, all it takes is a quick glance to stop you dead in your tracks. usually, you weren’t one to stare but klahadore’s face. that stare. so dark and depraved. 

“yes, miss?” he asks, holding your gaze. “can i help you?” 

“n-no, i…” your throat goes dry as you attempt to recover smoothly. “i just wanted to, um, thank you for being so hospitable.” 

his lips curve upwards into a sinister grin. “the pleasure’s all mine.” as if to confirm your worst fear, klahadore uses his palm to readjust his glasses. his beady eyes gauge your reaction closely.

the familiar gesture sends chills down your spine. appearance-wise, he had changed drastically but his aura was still just as menacing as you remember it. he was still the corrupt pirate captain you used to serve under. you feel like a weak and helpless subordinate all over again.

“klahadore!” giggles kaya. “you’re smiling! that’s certainly a rarity.”

he hums. “i’ve simply come to the realization that having guests once in a while can truly be a delight.”

his sickeningly sweet tone makes your stomach turn. just the fact that you were standing in front of him – captain kuro – again after all these years was nauseating in itself. last you’d heard he had died at the hands of captain morgan. how was this even possible? then again, he wasn’t dubbed kuro of a hundred plans for no reason. he always had a trick or two up his sleeve. you assumed this was no different. 

“hey, you comin’?”

you turn around to see zoro waiting for you. he meets your gaze for a moment. the softness of his eyes is a stark contrast to kuro’s. it’s a breath of fresh air. he then shifts his attention to your former captain and you swear his eyes darken. 

“yeah, sorry,” you mumble, trying not to look shaken as you walk up the steps. 

zoro follows behind you, this time closer than before.

“why would anybody even need this many clothes?”

“it’s not about need with these people, luffy. it’s about want,” nami spits, thumbing through the various fabrics on the wall. 

“at least she’s rich and nice,” luffy replies, innocently.

nami rolls her eyes. “yeah, letting us stay for dinner must be her idea of charity work.” 

“what are we even supposed to wear?” luffy continues, uninterested in nami’s criticism of the rich. 

“anything you want. when are you ever going to get the opportunity to wear things this nice?” 

you step out from behind the changing board where you’d swapped out your old tee and cargo skirt for an elegant satin dress. it was a stunning shade of olive green and frilly lace decorated the edges. not to mention, it hugged your curves in all the right ways.

nami’s eyes widen. “see, she’s got the right idea. you look amazing.” 

you smile, bashfully. “honestly, i feel amazing.”

“you look the same to me,” your captain shrugs.

nami shoots him a death glare but you intervene before she can scold him.

“way to keep me humble, luffy.”

“no problem!” 

at that exact moment, a freshly showered zoro arrives donning a silk robe. he eyes the multitude of garments that cover every inch of the room, not particularly impressed. 

“there you are. don’t you think she looks nice?” nami asks him, gesturing towards you. she doesn’t notice how you shrink under zoro’s gaze. neither does he, as his eyes take their time raking over you, from top to bottom.

he hums. “suits you.” with that, he sets off towards a chair in the corner of the room.  

“seriously?” sighs nami, exasperated. “are you two physically unable to give compliments or something?” 

“hey, doesn’t that butler seem familiar to you guys?” zoro asks, promptly ignoring nami’s complaint. 

his question causes your breath to hitch. you’d pushed the kuro problem to the back of your mind while you were in search of a suitable dinner outfit. you figured that as long as your crew was by your side, he wouldn’t dare try anything. and even if he did… well, you’d seen what had happened to axe-hand morgan and buggy. 

“yeah, i think he was at the last dinner party i attended,” nami replies sarcastically, taking a handful of dresses behind the changing board. 

as he takes a seat, zoro grumbles, “i swear i’ve seen him before.” 

“where?” you can’t help but ask, fiddling with the lace on the neckline of your dress. 

“so far, i’ve got two suspicions. a wanted poster or funky bar on mirrorball island. you ever been?”

you know zoro’s teasing you, judging by the grin on his face. after all, funky bar was known to get insanely rowdy; never would he imagine finding someone as gentle as you there. but what he didn’t know is that it happened to be one of kuro’s favorite bars. per his request, you and the rest of the black cat pirates frequented it often, so he was more than likely right about having seen kuro there. he’d probably even seen you in passing, once or twice. thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have any recollection of that.

the thought of zoro knowing about your past forms a knot in the pit of your stomach. would he think less of you for having joined such a ruthless crew at one point in your life? what if it put a strain on the friendship you’d worked so hard to form? 

“i’ve, uh, heard of it,” you decide to reply, pushing down your worries for the time being. 

he tilts his head slightly, thinking out loud. “then again, i have seen a lot of wanted posters and bars in my time as a pirate hunter.”

you feel a grin creep onto your face. “probably more bars than posters, huh?”

zoro mirrors your smile. “shut up.”

by the time dinner rolls around, the entire crew is doing what they do best. 

luffy is stuffing his face, nami is attempting to swindle one of the staff, zoro is hanging by the drinks, and you’re hanging by zoro. 

“hey zoro, you gotta try this!” luffy calls through a mouthful of food.

“i’ve got all i need right here,” he mutters, taking a swig out of his champagne flute. 

“you know, i don’t think i’ve ever seen you choke down something that isn’t alcohol,” you comment, watching the way he downs the glass in one go. 

dryly, he replies, “that’s because i haven’t.”

“very on brand.”

“ladies and gentlemen,” calls out that voice from the top of the stairs. “may i present… miss kaya.”

arm in arm, kuro and kaya walk down the steps, all eyes on the birthday girl and her stunning gown. well, except you. your eyes never leave the so-called butler by her side. your jaw clenches when he has the audacity to meet your gaze and hold it. shameless bastard. 

once they reach the bottom, merry leads kaya to the guests while kuro takes his post at the bottom of the stairs… right next to the drink table. before you can think about steering yourself and zoro away, kuro speaks.

“forgive me if i am speaking out of line, madam, but i must inform you. you look positively radiant,” he purrs, soaking in your appearance. he looks ready to pounce.

you can’t stop your eyes from rolling. good to know he’s the same pervert he used to be.

looking between you both and sensing your discomfort, zoro steps in. “and you look familiar.” 

kuro’s head stiffly turns to face him, eyes peeling away from you. “highly doubtful, sir.” 

“funky bar? mirror ball island?” 

“funky bar?” kuro repeats, disgusted. “well, i can assure you i’ve never patronized that type of establishment.” 

while it was amusing to see your highly esteemed former captain lie through his teeth, the tension between him and zoro was unbearable. 

“well then.” zoro continues with his little interrogation. “ever been on a wanted poster?”

you cringe at his bluntness. sometimes it seemed like he had less of a filter than luffy.

kuro puts on a scandalized face at the question. “sir! such an accusation is highly offensive.” tugging on his collar, he goes to remove himself from zoro’s probing. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i’m going to help prepare the dinner table.” 

he leaves, en route to the dining room. zoro’s eyes follow his figure until he disappears, squinting as he racks his brain for any further recollection of this suspicious butler. 

you sigh. if zoro was going to continue being so relentless, you were sure the night would end in bloodshed and uncovered secrets. 

“keep this coming,” zoro demands, handing the empty wine bottle to sham. she takes it with a glare. 

“would it kill you to say please?” you ask, slicing the slab of fish on your plate into smaller pieces.

“the service here is shitty. why should i have to be polite?” 

you scowl. “remind me to never have dinner with you again.”

zoro turns to you with that cocky grin of his. “what if i asked nicely?” 

his quip makes your heart flutter but you manage to keep your composure. “you can try your luck.” 

before he can respond, usopp speaks up. “luffy, isn’t there something that you wanted to talk to kaya about?” 

luffy gesticulates enthusiastically with his fork. “oh, yes! usopp told me that you own the whole shipyard.” 

“well, actually, my parents founded the shipyard and merry’s been running the business since they… passed. but all that’s about to change. tonight, at midnight, i will become the sole owner.” she smiles somberly. 

“well, that’s great,” luffy says, raising his drink at her. “because we want to buy a ship from you.” 

“ah, i see. usopp mentioned that you’re sailors.” 

“nope, not sailors. we’re pirates!”

you’re certain at least three people at the table choke on their food, yourself included. 

“this ought to be good,” zoro mumbles behind his glass.

you’re too busy coughing into your napkin to chastise him for finding this entertaining.

“pirates?” kaya repeats, unsure of how to react. 

“yup! we haven’t sailed together for very long but we’ve already defeated an evil clown, raided a marine base, and taken down a captain with an axe! for a hand!” luffy holds up a fist, presumably to impersonate axe-hand morgan.

“sounds a lot like your adventures, usopp,” kaya says, turning to the brunette.

all he can do is laugh dryly. “yeah, that’s… that’s crazy.” 

“and we’re just getting started!” luffy continues, climbing up onto the table.

“someone put me out of my misery,” you mumble, looking down at your plate to ignore the secondhand embarrassment.

a tap on your shoulder answers your plea.

turning around, you find yourself face to face with kuro once again. “madam, a word please?”

“might i ask what for?” zoro cuts in before you can so much as think of a response.

kuro offers him the most forced grin you’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing. “i’m afraid that is between the lady and i.”

the swordsman turns to you, scanning your face for any ounce of discomfort. “you okay with that?”

you inhale, figuring it was finally time for you to confront the darkest part of your past. it was silly to assume you would be able to ignore him throughout your entire stay here. besides, you were sure zoro, just like the rest of your crew, would be on standby if kuro got brave enough to try anything. “sure. just… keep an eye out.”

zoro understands completely. truthfully, you didn’t even need to ask – he always looked after you. “got it.”

you push yourself out of your seat and smooth out your dress. you allow kuro to lead you to the doorway – he was smart enough to know that was the farthest you’d let him take you. 

“what do you want, klahadore?” you seethe, folding your arms.

he arches a brow. “why must you call me that? it’s ridiculous.” 

you tilt your head with faux innocence. “oh? is that not your name? must have misheard.”

he gives you an irritated look, dark eyes drilling into you.

“i remember that look,” you mutter, your memory serving you well. “it’s the same one you’d give me before you’d threaten to slice me to bits with your claws.”

kuro has the audacity to chuckle dryly. “but i never did, did i? although there were certainly times times where i should’ve.”

“what you should be is dead,” you hiss bitterly. “when i heard the news, i knew it was too good to be true.”

“you wound me, kitten,” he drawls, reaching up to fix his glasses. 

the condescending nickname makes your skin crawl. it carried so many awful memories of your time spent with the black cat pirates. it reminded you of just how weak kuro viewed you — nothing but a helpless, pitiful kitten in his eyes. typical of the man that abused his authority and treated you with not a single ounce of respect. 

he continues, putting on a sweet tone. “after all these years, stuck waiting hand and foot on that spoiled brat, there’s nothing i’d love more than to hear my favorite crew mate say my real name.”

you snap at him. “i’m no crew mate of yours.”

he sighs, dramatically. “sadly, you’re correct. after all, you did slip off the ship the moment we docked in shells town. locating you on an island crawling with marines proved to be nearly impossible. we had no choice but to leave without you.”

“that’s exactly why i chose to escape there.” 

“and to this day i can’t for the life of me figure out why you would ever do that. why would you want to leave us? leave me?”

you actually laugh right in his face. “is it really that hard to figure out? you were evil. you threatened and harassed me on a daily basis.”

“so your solution was to join that ragtag crew?” he glances at the table. “it’s pathetic, even for you.”

you lean into his face, lowering your voice down. “i’m happier than i ever was on your shitty crew. every day i wake up grateful that i managed to escape you.”

you see that vein on his forehead bulge before he’s gripping you by the chin. “listen here, you little bitch–”

the shiny silver of a sword slides between you and kuro, coming to rest against his neck. his adam’s apple bobs as he gulps anxiously, releasing you. thanks to zoro’s sword, it seemed as if he finally remembered where he was. you were no longer on his ship, he was no longer allowed to treat you like the dirt he walked on. not without someone noticing, that is. 

“why don’t you step away?” zoro offers simply.

that much was a kindness. usually those who found themselves on the end of zoro’s blade(s) weren’t lucky enough to receive a warning. however, the swordsman didn’t wish to cause a scene. at least not when you were right there and everyone was watching with shock from the dinner table.

kuro obliges, stumbling back. he meets kaya’s horrified eyes, feeling ashamed that he allowed his act to slip. surely this would cause some setbacks in his plan. with no excuse for his uncharacteristic behavior, the raven haired man scurries away and up the stairs.

zoro turns and locks eyes with luffy, giving him one singular nod. luffy returns it, jumping out of his seat and going after the butler. quiet murmuring breaks out at the dinner table, everyone surely confused. 

sheathing his sword, zoro directs his attention to you once more. “are you alright?” a calloused hand comes up to grip your chin, much like kuro had. however, this time, the touch is gentle. loving, almost. you welcome it.

“yeah, i’m… fine.” your heart is beating out of your chest and it has everything to do with your close proximity to zoro.

he tilts your face around, inspecting every inch of it. once he finishes, he pulls back. his demeanor goes serious once more. “we need to have a talk.”

you nod. “i know. i’ve been keeping some things from you guys and–”

“just tell me what’s been going on,” he demands. “and don’t overcomplicate it. you can be straightforward with me.”

his sincerity makes you start over, this time far more candidly. “klahadore used to be a pirate. i was part of his crew. he was my… captain.”

the shame in your voice pulls at zoro’s heartstrings. didn’t you know there was no reason to feel guilty with him? “is that it?” 

you open your mouth to speak but come up empty. all you can do is furrow your eyebrows at his unexpectedly dismissive reaction.

“i knew it,” zoro continues, annoyed. “i knew i’d seen him on a wanted poster before. just didn’t have any proof.”

“wait, so you don’t– you really don’t care?” you ask, still avoiding eye contact. “me being a former black cat pirate doesn’t bother you?”

he shrugs. “you said it yourself. ‘former.’ all that matters is that you got the hell out of there. and away from that creep. would he always put his hands on you like that?”

you blink a couple times, sighing. “his temper was really bad so–”

that seemed to be enough for zoro. “i’ll kill the bastard,” he hisses. “wanted to slice him to bits the moment i saw him grab you.” 

though it’s a violent threat, you can’t help but smile. the idea of zoro being so protective that he’d kill a man just for touching you made you blush. pirate love language, you suppose.

“well, i wouldn’t have stopped you,” you tell him, more than ready to see your former captain go.

zoro clicks his tongue. “nah. could’ve stained your new dress with his blood. i never would have been able to forgive myself.”

“so you do have a soft spot,” you tease.

“only for pretty things.”

“do you mean me or the dress?” 

now it’s zoro’s turn to become bashful. though, his lack of response is an answer in itself. you can’t help but giggle. 

a loud bang from upstairs interrupts your moment with the green-haired man. you assume luffy had gotten his hands on kuro… or vice versa. zoro must be thinking the same thing judging by the way he instinctively rests a hand on the handle of his blade.

“you should go up there,” you tell him. “i’ll stay with kaya.”  

he gives you a nod, though he doesn’t make any effort to leave. he stands there like he wants to say something… or do something. before you can think about it too much, you pull him in by the collar and crash your lips onto his. they’re slightly chapped and taste like the wine that’d come from the cellar – it’s pleasant. his large palms come to rest on your lower back; his hold feels tight and secure. 

when you finally allow yourself to pull away, you’re biting back a smile. “kick his ass for me.” 

“will i get more of that if i do?” asks zoro, wetting his lips. they now taste like the cherry lip gloss you’d borrowed from kaya. he takes a step forward, attempting to close the gap between you two once more.

you shrug, pushing him away by the chest. “go help luffy and we’ll see.”

you both know that means yes.

[aurorasgate]

I adore sephiroth x readers where he thinks he’s lost the reader like he thinks they’re dead for a sec and then they show up and he’s just all clingy and relieved. Or he has a nightmare that they’re dead in his arms and wakes up and they’re alive. I can’t find a lot of those kinds of Sephiroth fics and I think its absolutely criminal.

sephiroth x gn!reader

warnings: reverse hurt/comfort, mentions of blood

ooo anon i adore these types of fics too! i hope i was able to provide and help towards this injustice for these type of fics hehe thank you so much for requesting, i really hope you enjoy it<3

“sephiroth..”

he looks around for the two voices calling his name, each one familiar and bringing about very different and distinct feelings, but there’s nothing around him that he recognizes and neither you nor hojo are anywhere to be seen despite both of you sounding so close. something that puts sephiroth on edge as is, never wanting the professor to be anywhere near you if he could help it.

surrounding him lies only walls of dark petrified ice that keeps the world in a frozen stasis, the deepest glacier blues sparkling with the same mako of his eyes. the cold doesn’t bite at his skin but he knows it’s there by the clouds his shallow breaths make. masamune feels light, ready, in his left hand, awaiting her wielder's command. above him is what looks like a starless night sky and is seemingly just as endless in its depth but it feels as though as encased with no way out.

utterly alone he stands in the middle of it all, searching for who he loves and who he loathes.

“sephiroth!”

it’s only you he hears this time and at the sound of your distraught voice crying out for him in a way he’s never heard from you before, full of pain and pleading, he’s quickly on his feet to turn in the direction it came from only to be met with a sight specially crafted for his nightmares and that his own hands would make worse still.

with tears rolling down your cheeks and blood dripping from a cut on your cheek, you’re on your knees an arms length away from him, struggling through every breath, but not taking your gaze off of him. the way you draw your brows together and the deep frown to your lips might have made anyone think you were angry, and perhaps you are, but the anguish behind your eyes is undeniable. deep enough he feels it in his own chest.

“you have to stop this! please! ” you beg of him, your beautiful eyes trembling with more tears than before.

he wants to sooth you, take you into his arms and promise you that everything is okay, that you’re safe when he’s here to protect you, but he can’t move. it's as though his body isn’t his own, every command he tries to give it to bring him closer to you or say anything unwilling to obey.

sephiroth can only watch as crystalline tears freeze upon touching the icy ground at your knees and when droplets of your blood join them, his head starts to hurt, an aching pressure behind his eyes that he’s felt many times before and conjures images of raging flames and a pool of blood he knows is yours. 

when he’s able to open his eyes again, there’s a split second of relief that he feels when he sees you still in front of him before it’s replaced with an emotion he couldn’t put a single name to. he only knows that his very soul is being ripped in two and set a blaze at the sight of blood dripping from your mouth and masamune sinking into your chest, his bare hands driving the blade deeper into you. your pleas quickly turning into a cry of pain that rings in his ears, unrelenting and heart breaking. through masamunes hilt he can feel the way it breaks through your bones and cuts the soft petaled flesh he’s kissed countless times. deeper his blade goes, effectively skewering through you all while his muscles scream out in agony as they’re pulled each way in his attempt to stop himself. 

he has to stop - he can’t - he won’t - but inevitably it means nothing.

you’re so close he can taste the metaliciness of your blood in the air, can feel your fleeting warmth kissing his chilled skin and the weight of your body growing heavier on his sword. sephiroth can only stare helplessly at the way you bleed and grasp onto your life. behind him, echoing along the icy crystals, is hojos amused laugh. the same one he often used watching sephiroth hurt just as the professor had warned him he would if he didn’t his warnings.

“i told you,” hojo says, his prideful smile painted in his words telling of just how much he’s enjoying being right. “there was never any chance of saving them from you.”

hojo says more but sephiroth can’t hear him through the rapid drumming of his heartbeat in his ears as your trembling hand reaches out for him, your other being used as leverage to help bring you further down masamunes long blade, closer to him.

at the touch of your fingers grazing along his cheek, covered in blood and losing heat so quickly, whatever had hold over his body gives enough way that he doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of in order to reach for you in return but as soon as his hand is on your arm, trying to pull you into him, the aching in his head surges tenfold.

without letting go of you, his vision blurs, the entire world vibrates violently, but rather than seeing any of the mirage of images he had before, it’s only you that distorts between how you had looked mere moments ago to your skin turning different shades of splotched gray and deep purple veins spread everywhere; your head hung lower as you fight for life viruses the tender expression that’s worn by your visage but isn’t truly yours. not like he knows it to be. 

each shot of pressure behind his eyes makes you blur back and forth but your words ring clear and soft, kinder than he ever deserved and with all the love you hold for him. “it’s okay seph. as long as you’ll get to be with j -”

the touch of your forehead to his chest feels more like the entire planet of gaia is crashing into his rib cage and makes him take in an unsteady gasp for air that burns his lungs as though it was his first breath ever -

sephiroth is forced awake, the discomfort in his chest mirroring how it was in what he knows was a nightmare. he’s had so many before, for as long as he can remember, but it had not made it easier to swallow the effects they had on him; the way it could blur reality and dreams even after waking.

surely that was why he could still feel the cold of that frozen place and the thickness of blood on his hands despite being half covered by the duvet and the pale skin of his hands looking completely clean as he sits up and stares down at them like they had truly taken the life of the person he cherishes the most. he could still feel it all, down to the way he felt masamune - a very extension of himself -  cutting through you without mercy and the ringing in his ears that mingled with your resounding sobs. 

everything only seems to grow worse when, like a child afraid to wake their mother in the middle of the night, he wordlessly reaches out for you and is met with a cold, empty, place where your body should have been curled up next to him. and when sephiroth sees he is utterly alone, the world seems to move painfully slow. gravity growing heavier and making it more difficult to shift onto his knees and for his hands to clutch at the sheets on your side of the bed as if searching for an ounce of your warmth, any reminder of your presence, within the threads.

but there's nothing. no warmth, no comfort, no you and the longer he tries to find you there, the more it feels as though the entire planet is devoid of your love and light. all because of him and before he knows it, he’s dragged further into darkness.

his hands are shaking, his breathing painfully ragged and his chest aching with a crushing pressure. he’s endured much discomfort before but nothing like this. nothing like the agony of being without you after finally letting himself have you. not after swearing to protect you with his very life.

silver strands of hair stick to his sweat beaded skin and catch in his blurry vision with every heavy blink of his eyes that sephiroth swears are deceiving him. they must be when he can feel your blood on him despite not being able to see it. it’s there, he knows it is, staining his soul, flooding his lungs, sitting heavy on his heart. ready to break him.

he finds comfort in the sweet cruelness of his own mind when it betrays him further and makes him see your hands reaching for him in the dark. he expects them to go right through him before they’re gone once more, nothing more than a ghost of a touch he hadn’t deserved in the first place, that his own hands had snuffed out, but no - he feels the warmth of your fingers, the unreal softness of your skin, that travel down his palms, the benevolence of your touch that always seemed accompany the way you handled him, washing away the sticky feeling of blood he thought might never leave, and sees them wrap around his wrists as if to tether him to this world. to you.

“sephiroth..” 

it’s not the only time you’ve called out to him since reentering the bedroom and finding him on his knees, hunched over, the broad expanse of his back rising and falling with quick, uneven, breaths and clinging to the sheets on your side of the bed like they were a life line but with the way he looks up at you now, mako eyes seemingly glowing in the dark, pulsing with a mix of torment and realization, you think he’s finally heard your voice.

“love, what’s wr-” you don’t get the chance to finish before his arms are around you and you’re being pulled onto the bed, into his embrace, in a dizzying display of his strength and gentleness. but it’s easy to find your bearings when you’re quickly pressed flushed to his chest and your legs settle on either side of his like this is exactly where you belonged. 

he’s burning up, hotter than he normally runs, barely breathing and trembling all over. the parts of his skin that touch your own damp with cold sweat but you don’t let it stop you from wrapping your arms around his neck, maneuvering under his hair, and pulling him as close to you as possible. 

sephiroth whispers your name, broken and wavering and followed by his arms around you growing tighter, nearly crushing but it doesn’t hurt and you only encourage it more when you return it in kind, bringing one of your hands to hold the back of his head and keep him pressed, hidden from the world, in the crook of your neck. 

“i’m here,” you promise and wonder if perhaps it’s exactly what he needed to hear when his hands bunch up the fabric of your shirt - one of his old training shirts you’ve confiscated as your own. 

the thundering of his heartbeat can be felt throughout your whole body and you hold him like he’s something precious. as gentle as thin glass and as close to your heart as a cherished locket. your voice is a mirror of your emotions and meant to sooth him, remind him that he’s as safe in your arms as you are in his. “it’s okay seph. i’ve got you.”

he doesn’t speak or say anything but he doesn’t need to. you know by the way he holds you like you may slip through his grasp, like maybe this isn’t real, that he’s had a nightmare. one of so many you’ve been around to see him have, but this is also different than anytime before. he must have seen something truly horrible and it breaks your heart, brings unshed tears to your eyes. 

your body had picked the wrong night to be so restless. you thought you were doing him a favor by slipping out of bed and waiting for tiredness to wash over you in the living room before returning to where you normally slept curled against him. he’d fallen asleep so quickly, needed the rest, and the last thing you wanted was to disrupt that but you’d have stayed if you knew what was going on behind his closed eyes. 

he’d be vehemently against it, you know he would, but you’d have happily taken all of his bad dreams and dreamt them yourself if you could.

wordlessly you hold each other for an amount of time you don’t care to count. you’d stay here till the sun rose and fell again so long as he needed it. as time ticks by, slowly but surely, his heartbeat steadies, falls in line with your own, and each deep breath he takes that’s so full of you helps to relax the muscles of his body. your fingers run through his silken hair, careful in the way they untangle little knots that are proof of his fitful sleep and provide a comfort he isn’t sure he deserves. sephiroth has never been sure he’s deserved you but that would never make him let you go. especially tonight when his mind continues to echo hojos words, ‘there was never any chance of saving them from you.’ 

despite the calmness that has washed over him in lulling waves, his hold is unrelenting, unwilling to let you go, a silent vow that he’d never let anything happen to you. nothing and no one, not even himself, could harm you. he’d use every single ounce of his power and strength to ensure that. anything could happen to him so long as you were safe. 

you’d never be as strong as he is, never know the other worldly power he holds and is forced to use for the sake of those who use him, but that would never stop you from feeling and doing everything to keep him safe too. many times it has made you wish you were stronger but at times so little do you understand that all you do for him, the way you protect him, has nothing to do with strength. the love and care you have for him, that you show him every day, is more powerful than any physical prowess. and right now, as you continue to hold him, love him, he thinks it to be more true than ever.  

when he finally moves, neither of you being able to bear letting the other go far, it’s just enough so he can look into your eyes, remind himself that what he saw in his dreams was truly only a dream. 

just a dream. he repeats to himself as he stares at you and brings a hand up to cup your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb. as you lean into his palm, the smile you give him is both calming and radiant and proof that there’s no trace of how you were in his nightmare. no blood, no tears, no pain, no discolor of greys and purple to your skin. you’re beautiful. very much alive. his. 

“everything’s okay,” you whisper, as if you could read on his face what was running through his mind. “what you saw in your dream wasn’t real, i promise.”

“you’re okay,” he says aloud, reassuring himself, his vocal cords crackling with the remnants of being unable to speak or have control over his body, even in his dream. 

“i’m okay,” you echo without missing a beat, not needing him to elaborate. “safe and sound with you.” the last of his discomfort vanishes at the weight of your forehead on his, a distance you close, and the way you rub the nip of your noses together. “just like you’re safe and sound with me, my love.”

with a sigh of relief that you feel the heat of on your mouth, his fingers tangle into your hair and pull you closer till your lips meet in a long, soft kiss that seals your promise into his heart and soul. 

i know i already wrote a nightmare fic for him but idgaf. poor baby has too many nightmares

[beautifulplaceofyouth]

SPECIAL SERVICE

Synopsis : A surprise visit from your childhood best friend is always a nice surprise but when the usual hair routine turns to spicy confession, all the bets are off. Pairing : Yandere! Obsessed!Caleb x Reader (both red flags) Genre : Childhood friends to lovers!au Word count : 13k (Oneshot) Warnings : 18+ Fluff which turns into a smut, Caleb is Yandere and literally obsessed with you and you both have secret feelings for each other, the love confession is a little angsty and full of jealously, Caleb longs for you so much that it's hard to resist you, you fear of losing him the second time makes you admit your true feelings, reader a little crybaby at first, inexperienced reader!first time, pet names (pipsqueak a few times, princess, baby, good girl), praise kink, french kissing, Caleb uses gravity evol for an apple, female!receiving, male!receiving, big size cock, raw unprotected penetration(reader on the pill), creampie, sweet aftercare in the shower and just both of them being red flags. a/n : So...I've been obsessed with love and deepspace game lately and especially with Caleb. Sorry not sorry, I don't regret writing this.

The insistent rapping at my bathroom door nearly sent me into cardiac arrest. I’m pretty sure I levitated a good inch off the shower floor, clutching my soapy chest like I was auditioning for a dramatic opera.

I wrestled the tap to submission, silencing the watery cascade that threatened to drown out any potential sounds from the other side. My heart hammered against my ribs, performing a frantic drum solo. Was it a burglar? Xavier? Or worse...A wanderer?

I shook off the last thought immediately because then my hunter watch would have alerted me of any energy fluctuations.

Then, a voice, blessedly familiar, cut through the humid air, punctuated by another, slightly less aggressive, knock.

“Pipsqueak?”

A sigh, the kind that deflates a hot air balloon, escaped my lips. It was just Caleb. Only Caleb. As if "only Caleb" wasn't a phrase loaded with enough emotional baggage to sink the Titanic.

My childhood best friend, my confidante, my ride or die companion… and, of course, the unsuspecting subject of my deeply buried, highly inconvenient, and perpetually unrequited crush.

He, bless his oblivious heart, had no clue about the butterflies that staged a chaotic flash mob in my stomach every time he was near.

Lately, he’d become a major distraction. Calculus? Forget it. Literary analysis? Nope. All brainpower was currently dedicated to decoding Caleb’s every move, searching for hidden meanings where there were probably none.

“Caleb! Don’t scare me like that!” I yelled, trying to inject a healthy dose of irritation into my tone. “I’m showering!”

Even through the thick wooden door, I could hear the low rumble of his chuckle. It was a sound that usually sent a pleasant shiver down my spine, but right now, it was just adding to the general chaos in my nervous system.

“Sorry. Just wanted to know if you’re alive. I arrived like five minutes ago and no one answered the door.”

“You didn’t announce your arrival, so I didn’t know you were coming. It’s not my fault you had to wait,” I grumbled, knowing full well that I was being completely unreasonable. I probably should have left a note warning people I may be taking a shower.

And since I gave him my spare key, it wasn’t surprising to let him visit me unexpectedly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Finish your shower and then come out. I’ll cook something in the meantime,” he said, and before I could shout my specific culinary desires (specifically, anything involving copious amounts of chocolate), his footsteps faded away in the direction of my kitchen. Dammit.

He always managed to preempt my sugary cravings.

Once I was fully de-grimed, a miniature steam engine puffing away, I vigorously toweled myself dry, wrapped myself in my comfiest, oversized loungewear (strategically chosen for maximum cuddle-ability), and ran a comb through my sopping hair.

No time for a hairdryer. I had a much better, and infinitely more attractive, alternative in mind.

Caleb.

He always dried my hair. It was a weird tradition we’d started years ago, involving gentle towel-drying, a scalp massage that bordered on the divine, and a level of comfortable intimacy that simultaneously filled me with bliss and existential dread.

And since he was here, in my apartment, radiating pure "boyfriend" vibes, I was going to exploit the situation to its fullest potential.

With a towel turban perched precariously on my head, I ventured into the kitchen, which now smelled like a symphony of deliciousness – herbs, spices, and something vaguely reminiscent of culinary magic.

A tall figure, all broad shoulders in a casual outfit of dark jeans, white T-shirt with some dark abstract art on it and a dark jacket on top, he was focused concentration, standing at the counter, expertly wielding a knife as he diced vegetables with the precision of a brain surgeon.

Hearing my hesitant footsteps, his head lifted, and that intense, almost intimidating, gaze softened the moment he saw me.

“Look at you. All cute and soft. Couldn’t you dry your hair before coming to see me? I know you missed me, but you’ll catch a cold that way,” he scolded gently, his lips twitching with amusement.

He always called me "cute and soft." Like I was some sort of fluffy bunny or a particularly appealing marshmallow.

I pouted, because pouting was apparently my default mode when dealing with Caleb, and padded closer to him. Once I was right behind him, practically glued to his back, I leaned over his shoulder, inhaling his woodsy scent, and peered at the cutting board. “What are you making for me?”

He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through me. He tossed the knife aside and pointed to the cutting board, revealing a colorful medley of carrots, celery, and some apple slices already neatly cut into bite-sized pieces. He then grabbed a towel, meticulously dried his hands, and turned around. Before I could even think about taking a step back, he closed the distance between us, wrapped his arms around me, and pulled me close.

My heart decided to take up competitive speed racing. It was currently vying for first place in the “world’s fastest palpitations” category.

He hugged me tightly to his chest, burying his nose in my shoulder, almost like he was desperately trying to inhale my scent. It was a gesture that was simultaneously comforting and utterly, earth-shatteringly, devastatingly romantic.

“Caleb, what are you…” I started to ask, my voice a breathless whisper.

“I missed you. I haven’t seen you in a whole month! Let me have this,” he breathed, his words sending a wave of heat through me.

My heart gave up on the racing and decided to launch itself straight out of my chest. Slowly, tentatively, I hugged him back, my hands creeping up around his neck, my fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair.

“You’re being silly. It’s not like I’m gone. You have your duties in Skyhaven as a colonel, so don’t blame me if you have no time for me,” I pouted again, because apparently, I was now a professional pouter.

His hold on me tightened, and he let out a deep sigh that tickled my ear. “I always have time for you, but wanderers up there are causing more trouble, killing innocent people. I had to deal with them before I come visit you. So… did you miss me too?”

There was a soft hesitation in his last words; a vulnerability that made my heart clench painfully.

“Of course, I did.” The words were out before I could even think about editing them for maximum subtlety.

“You finally said it. Don’t regret it now.” There was a playful warning in his tone.

I smiled. Never.

Once we were separated, he looked at my hair with a knowing glint in his eyes. “Do you need me to do your hair, like always?”

I sheepishly smiled, feeling my cheeks flush with warmth. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and sending delightful shivers down my spine. “You really like to use me like a hairdresser,” he teased, grabbing my wrist and gently tugging me along.

He led me out of the kitchen and towards the living room.

After I sat on the couch, he patiently went to the bathroom to retrieve the hairdryer and then came back into the living room, wielding it like a weapon of mass seduction.

Sitting down beside me, he patted the spot between his outstretched legs, motioning towards the floor and looked up at me expectantly.

I raised an eyebrow. “There?”

“It’ll be easier that way. So don’t stall; sit,” he ordered, his voice laced with that authoritative "Colonel" tone that always made me weak in the knees. It was also the voice that could launch a thousand ships, or at the very least, convince me to perch uncomfortably on the floor.

Well, fine. If I had to sit between Caleb's legs, so be it. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

Grumbling, I grabbed a throw pillow for cushioning, plopping down with as much grace as a disgruntled cat. His thighs immediately radiated warmth against my sides as he leaned forward. Apparently, it was hair-drying time, and my wet locks were the enemy. He relieved me of the towel with startling efficiency.

“You’re ordering me around like I’m a fleet officer under your command,” I complained.

Honestly, the nerve of the man!

A sharp tug on my hair, delivered with playful force, snapped my head back. Upside down, I met his gaze, those mesmerizing turquoise eyes swirling with shades of purple. It was a look I couldn't quite decipher – a mix of amusement, exasperation, and something…else.

He leaned down, our breaths mingling like mischievous conspirators. “If you were a fleet officer,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “You couldn’t be this close to me.” A pause, and then, “I never offer to dry anyone’s hair like this, so give me some credit, won’t you?”

My breath hitched. I tried to formulate a witty retort, but my brain seemed to have taken a vacation. All coherent thought vanished when his hand slid down my throat, tilting my chin upward, his fingers gently grabbing my jaw.

“Did I make myself clear? You’re the only one who has this privilege,” he stated, his gaze intense.

My eyes fluttered closed as his free hand tangled in my hair, his fingertips making soothing circles on my scalp.

"Not fair," I whispered, leaning back until my head rested against his chest. The solid thump of his heartbeat was surprisingly comforting.

He kissed the crown of my head. "Nothing is fair when it comes to you," he murmured.

And just like that, the moment was over. He pulled away and, as if nothing had happened, began to comb my hair. The hot air from the dryer blasted strands in every direction, a chaotic ballet of frizz. I must have drifted off for a moment, because the next thing I knew, something was gently tapping my head.

I realized, with a jolt, that my cheek was resting against his thigh. Oh, the indignity!

“Did you fall asleep, princess?” His voice was soft, quiet, but laced with warmth and amusement. “I need to comb your hair, but I can’t do that if you use my leg as a pillow.”

He gently stroked my hair, and I resisted the urge to purr. Sleeping on Caleb's leg was infinitely better than being awake without Caleb's leg to sleep on.

“But it feels so nice,” I protested, my voice muffled against his jeans. My argument was compelling, I thought.

“I’m sure it does, but we’ll never get this done if you don’t lift your head,” he chuckled. It was a low, rumbling sound that vibrated right through me.

With a monumental effort, fueled by sheer stubbornness, I managed to lift my head. Only to have it drop back against his chest a microsecond later.

His fingers brushed my cheek. His voice, close to my face, was a delicious torture. “I’m happy to be your pillow, but you’ll fall asleep again soon. I’ll have to stop this five-star service then,” he warned.

My eyes snapped open. The thought of losing this…this experience was unbearable.

“No, please! Five more minutes, and then you’re free,” I pleaded, flashing him my most convincing puppy-dog eyes.

He shut his eyes and groaned. It was a sound of beautiful, glorious defeat. “You’re so lucky that I love you,” he admitted, his voice laced with exasperation and, dare I say, something more?

Before I could even process his words, he resumed combing my hair, adding in a scalp massage for good measure. The feeling was so gloriously, exquisitely good that a soft moan escaped my lips. I hadn't meant to make noise, but I was relaxed and it left my mouth before I could stop it.

Caleb stopped. I heard him exhale sharply, as if he were in pain, but he kept going anyway, his fingers working magic.

“What will your future boyfriend say if you keep asking me to do these things for you, huh? I’m sure he won’t be happy how much you love this,” he joked, but there was a definite edge to his voice. Interesting. Time for a little playful prodding, just to see how he’d react.

“That’s easy. You’ll be my boyfriend then,” I said casually, trying to sound completely nonchalant. Inside, however, my stomach was doing acrobatic flips of anxiety and, perhaps, a touch of hopeful anticipation.

His fingers stilled in my hair. His breath hitched for a fraction of a second, but he quickly composed himself. With his fingers, he tipped my head back to look him in the eyes.

“Don’t play games with me, princess. I take those jokes very seriously,” he warned. And then he did something I definitely wasn’t expecting, something that sent a jolt of electricity through my entire system.

He grazed his thumb across my lips, tracing their shape with excruciatingly slow precision. “If you start…” His voice was a husky whisper. “I’ll only bite back.”

My lips parted, and my tongue, traitorously, darted out to lick his thumb. I breathed heavily with each brush, each look, each gesture.

His eyes glinted, a dark fire igniting within them as he refocused on me. “You’re giving me strange ideas tonight, and I’m afraid you’ll regret it later.”

I shook my head. He was the one giving me strange ideas tonight, sending signals that were far from subtle. I’d never really thought he’d be like this, so forward, but somehow his gaze felt…familiar. He’d been looking at me with such intensity ever since he came back from the dead.

He’d been presumed dead, killed in explosion and then months later he was back. Like a stranger, he was different but still Caleb.

Those buried feelings had resurfaced from the moment we reunited, and I realized I could read him easier now. He wanted something more, and I could finally see it, openly, brazenly.

“What about you? Will you regret it?” I challenged, throwing down the gauntlet.

It was like flipping a switch.

One moment I was kneeling on the floor, the next I was sprawled on the couch, pinned beneath him. His face was feral, his eyes burning with an intensity that both thrilled and frightened me.

“What are you doing, pipsqueak? Are you trying to see me snap?” he growled, his voice tight with barely suppressed emotion.

I shuddered, a delicious shiver that ran all the way to my toes. “No. Just wanted to tell you the truth. I have no need for a boyfriend if I already have one,” I flashed a teasing smile. “You basically treat me like a princess all the time. We just didn’t put a label on it.”

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze searching mine. Then, he laughed.

An ominous feeling washed over me as those gorgeous lips curled into a dangerous smirk.

“A boyfriend, you say?” He laughed again as his eyes wandered down my body, igniting a wildfire within me. “Then, I guess, I have the privilege to do this, right?”

I frowned, suddenly uneasy. “What do you–”

My gasp cut off my words as he lifted my oversized nightshirt, his hot fingers skimming across my stomach, dangerously inching closer to my bare breast.

It was a strategic maneuver, designed to deprive me of oxygen and coherent thought. It was working. My brain was currently operating on a combination of adrenaline, panic, and a deep, undeniable longing that I was trying very hard to ignore.

"Caleb," I breathed, my voice barely audible. "What are you doing?"

His eyes met mine, and the intensity was back, stronger than ever. "Claiming what's mine, pipsqueak. And maybe proving a point or two along the way."

Before I could formulate a response, before I could decide whether I wanted to run screaming for the hills or surrender to the inevitable, he lowered his head, his lips brushing against my ear. "Consider this your official boyfriend initiation."

His other fist tightened around a lock of my hair, pulling gently as he inhaled deeply, like preparing for a battle. Then, Caleb claimed my mouth.

My blood pressure seemed to stall, alongside my breathing, as his lips met mine. All thought dissolved like smoke, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of his mouth parting mine, his tongue exploring with a hesitant boldness. The kiss was a chaotic blend of pain, longing, jealousy, and raw, barely-contained rage. It felt like he’d been hoarding these desires for me for a lifetime.

I was utterly immobilized, pinned beneath him, my wrists trapped above my head. All I could do was receive the onslaught of him. His taste, like crisp, slightly tart apples, flooded my senses, leaving me dizzy.

I'd always fantasized about this, but never truly believed it could happen. We were practically family, raised under the same roof. If Granny knew, rest her soul, she'd be utterly scandalized. Even I couldn't quite grasp the reality of this moment.

"Fuck," he breathed, finally breaking the kiss, dragging his mouth away after a long, heated moment.

He stared down at me, his eyes almost crazed with a possessiveness I’d desperately tried to ignore for months, but it was undeniably there. It was as if he'd been waiting his entire life for this. To be honest, I was feeling the same.

His hand moved to the curve of my jaw, his thumb tracing the outline of my swollen, red-kissed lips. "Do you regret it now?" His voice was gruff, almost rough.

I pulled a shaky breath and shook my head. "No."

He locked his gaze on mine, his eyes burning with an intensity that made my skin prickle. The longer he watched me, the faster I flushed, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable under his scrutinizing attention.

When the silence stretched, an unfamiliar anger flared within me. I strained against his hold, trying to push him away. "What are you doing?" I struggled to regain control, using anger as a shield against the raw vulnerability I felt. Was he playing some kind of game? Was this a test?

He tilted his head, unfazed by my resistance, still firmly pinning me down. A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "What am I doing? I'm trying to read you."

"What do you mean?"

He leaned down, his fingers tightening on my jaw, his breath hot against my lips. "Are you not resisting because you want me, or because you have no choice but to obey since I forced myself on you?"

I furrowed my eyebrows, confused and hurt. "You're not making sense. Why would I just obey you? Do you think I'm that easy to control?" I hissed, leaning forward, his lips ghosting against mine.

I felt him grin, his hold on my jaw tightening just slightly. "So…are you saying you like me?"

I swallowed, the question suddenly thick in the air. "And what if I do?"

His eyes darkened, his breath quickening. "Since when?"

I averted my eyes, a wave of shame washing over me. But he wouldn't allow me to retreat, tapping my cheek with his thumb, growling softly. "Eyes only on me."

I met his gaze, the honesty of the moment demanding it. "Well…always," I admitted, the word hanging in the air between us.

He clenched his jaw, mulling over my confession, his gaze drifting somewhere above my head as he struggled to compose himself. His breathing deepened, steadying. When he regained control, he locked his gaze on mine once more.

"Always? Even when you received love letters from other guys? When you pretended you wanted to go on dates with them too?" He spat, the words laced with jealousy and anger, but I didn't flinch.

"What about you? You've always been the popular one. What about all those gifts and love letters you always piled up in your room? There was plenty of proof that you had your share of secret admirers," I countered, my own anger rising to meet his.

His jaw ticked. "Yes, but it doesn't mean I dated any of them. I accepted those gifts because they were snacks, and you love snacks. That's why I didn't reject them. I gave them to you. And those love letters? I didn't even read them. I always threw them away, but the mail was always overflowing. Maybe I missed some," he reminded me. "And I promised you that I wouldn't get a girlfriend as long as I had you by my side. I didn't lie to you."

“I never seriously considered the other boys too, never wanted to go on dates with them, Caleb. I just…needed you to see me as a woman. Not just a kid who needs protection all the time,” I confessed.

My heart had always belonged to Caleb, and since he never revealed or even hinted at his feelings, I'd resorted to trying to make him jealous.

Caleb simply stared at me, then let out a short, disbelieving chuckle, covering his mouth with his hand. "You succeeded then. I wanted to kill every single person who even looked at you that way."

"Caleb…"

"No, let me finish," he interrupted.

He shifted, his weight still pinning me, but his grip loosening slightly. "I was a coward, I admit it. Afraid of ruining what we had, afraid of rejection. Years we wasted, playing stupid games, both of us too stubborn to admit the truth." He looked down at me, his expression softening. "So, pipsqueak, let's get this straight. You're mine. Always have been, always will be. And I'm yours, whether you like it or not."

He paused, searching my eyes. "But... I shouldn't have forced that kiss on you. I let my jealousy and frustration get the better of me. I wanted you so badly that it clouded my judgment. I'm sorry." His apology was gruff, but sincere.

I swallowed, the fight draining out of me.

"It...it's okay," I managed, even though a part of me still felt a little shaken. "But no more forcing. And no more games."

He nodded, a flicker of a smile reaching his eyes. "Agreed. No more games." He leaned down, his forehead resting against mine. "So, where do we go from here?"

I took a shaky breath, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. Caleb, the boy I'd secretly loved forever, my closest friend, actually felt the same way. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

"I...I don't know," I admitted. "We've been living in the same house as practically family for years. This is going to be complicated."

"Complicated is an understatement," he chuckled softly. "But worth it, right?" He lifted his head, looking at me expectantly.

I met his gaze, and this time, the intensity didn't feel threatening. It felt...right. "Worth it," I confirmed, a small smile spreading across my own lips.

"Good." He moved, finally releasing my wrists and shifting his weight off me. He didn't stand, though, remaining close, kneeling beside me.

He reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear,” So, official boyfriend initiation round two?" he asked, his voice a low murmur. "This time, with consent?"

I laughed softly, the tension finally easing. "Maybe. But you're going to have to work for it."

He grinned, a genuine, mischievous smile that made my heart skip a beat. "Oh, I intend to." He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above mine. "Consider this my official courting process, pipsqueak."

His kiss was a brand, searing into my soul, and this time, I met it head-on. The raw power emanating from him, coupled with the intoxicating scent that clung to his skin, spun me into a dizzying vortex of pure, unadulterated lust. His right arm, a relentless band of steel beneath a deceptive layer of flesh, snaked its way up my body, a possessive claim against my skin. The fabric of my shirt became an unbearable barrier, a tormenting tease in the face of such primal need. And then, he was there, his quest fulfilled. His hand, long and slender, yet possessing an undeniable strength, cupped my bare breast. His fingers kneaded, squeezed with a confident possessiveness that stole my breath, my gasp swallowed by his hungry mouth.

He broke away, and the sight that greeted me was like staring into the heart of a storm. His eyes, pools of liquid darkness, almost swallowed the amethyst depths within. A flush crawled across his cheekbones, a testament to the fire raging within him, mirroring the inferno consuming me. I struggled to draw a breath, my lungs starved for air, yet desperate to be filled with him.

His gaze raked over me, possessive and intense. He seemed drunk on the sight of me, pliant, willing, utterly and completely beneath his control. The yearning that burned in those dark eyes sent my heart into a frenzied rhythm, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated against my skin. He leaned closer, his lips tracing a slow, deliberate path from my jawline to my temple, each touch a spark igniting a thousand desires. He inhaled deeply, stealing my scent as if it were the most precious thing in the world. “Are you mine?”

I could only nod, words failing me, lost in the overwhelming tide of sensation. His touch on my waist, beneath the hem of my shirt, sent shivers dancing across my skin. The cool, smooth surface of his mechanical arm, perfectly disguised as flesh, was a stark contrast to the heat he ignited within me.

“Say the words, princess,” he pleaded, his voice thick with a desperate longing that resonated deep within my soul. He buried his face in my hair, his breath warm against my ear, inhaling my scent as if trying to imprint me onto his very being.

“I’m yours, Caleb,” I whispered, the words a fragile offering, yet charged with a truth that grew stronger with each passing moment. Being with him had etched those words into my core.

He exhaled sharply, a sound that spoke of relief, of triumph, of a desperate need fulfilled. “God. She’s mine,” he breathed, the words a possessive mantra that sent a painful tug through my heart. It was as if he needed to hear it aloud, to confirm the reality of the moment, to assure himself that I, completely and irrevocably, belonged to him, and that this wasn't a figment of his desire.

His left arm, the one of flesh and blood, reached for me, his touch tentative at first, then growing bolder, more demanding. His fingers traced the delicate curve of my jaw, the sensitive skin of my neck, each caress a deliberate exploration, a slow, tantalizing torture.

I shivered, a delicious tremor that betrayed the depth of my longing. He knew me so well, knew exactly where to touch, how to tease, how to unravel me with a single glance. He held the keys to my desires, and he wielded them with a masterful precision.

The living room, usually a sanctuary of soft colors and comforting textures, was transformed into a battleground of desires, a space charged with unspoken longing. The air crackled with an energy that threatened to consume us both.

I arched against him, my fingers digging into his back, my nails tracing patterns on his clothed spine. I craved the feel of his skin against mine, the raw intensity of his touch, the unyielding heat of his body pressed against mine.

I wanted him, needed him, craved the feeling of his weight, the sensation of being crushed beneath his power, consumed by his presence. I wanted to lose myself in him, to surrender completely to the burning hunger that gnawed at my insides.

He obliged, pressing me deeper into the cushions, his body a hard, unyielding force against my softer curves. I gasped, the air catching in my throat as he shifted, settling his weight more fully against me.

“Do you want me, baby?” He rasped, his voice rough with barely contained desire. His fingers tightened on my hips, a possessive squeeze that sent a jolt of electricity through my veins.

“Yes,” I didn’t hesitate, the word torn from my lips, an honest declaration of the yearning consuming me.

“I’m glad you came back to me. Whether by accident or fate, you’re still here with me,” he murmured, his voice laced with a vulnerability that pierced my heart. He closed his eyes, his forehead pressed against mine, savoring our close proximity.

The words hit me deep, a wave of emotion washing over me. His longing was so raw, so palpable, that tears welled in my eyes. It felt like a wound, a deep, unhealed ache in his heart, and in that moment, I felt it too.

His love was a suffocating blanket, a weight I wasn't sure I could bear. Looking into his eyes, now filled with concern, the reflection of my own tears mirrored back at me, the truth of his feelings slammed into me with the force of a physical blow.

"Why… why are you crying?" he asked, his voice laced with a tenderness that only amplified the ache in my chest.

I couldn't articulate the whirlwind of emotions tearing me apart. The grief of a potential future stolen, the realization of a love I had been blind to, the sheer, overwhelming relief of him being here, alive, in my arms. All I could do was cling to him, burying my face in the crook of his neck, the sobs wracking my body. The thought of a world without him, a world where I never knew the depth of his feelings, was unbearable.

His arms tightened around me, a comforting, possessive hold. His hand found its way to my hair, stroking it in a soothing rhythm as we lay entwined on the couch.

"Princess…" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, almost a question. He seemed to be searching for the right words, lost in the labyrinth of his own feelings.

"I love you. I love you so much," I choked out, the words tumbling from my lips like a desperate plea. His breath hitched, a sharp intake of air that spoke volumes. I felt the tremor that ran through his body, a tangible manifestation of the shock and disbelief that gripped him. He burrowed his nose into my hair, inhaling deeply, as if trying to absorb my very essence.

"My love…" he breathed, the words barely audible, a whispered prayer.

I could feel the frantic beat of his heart against my own, a frantic drumbeat mirroring the turmoil within him. The words he had longed to hear, the affirmation he had dared not dream of, were finally spoken, hanging in the air between us like a fragile, precious thing. He must be feeling like he was in a dream he desperately didn’t want to wake up from.

She's finally with me. She loves me. She's mine.

The words echoed in his mind, a mantra of disbelief and desperate hope. Was this real? Or was it a cruel jest of fate, a fleeting illusion destined to shatter and leave him with nothing but the bitter taste of what could have been?

His mouth crashed against mine, a kiss born not of tenderness or affection, but of raw, unadulterated need. A searing, desperate kiss that stole my breath and left me reeling. It was a kiss that demanded, that consumed, that threatened to obliterate everything in its path. There was no gentleness, no pretense of courtly love. Only a primal hunger, a desperate yearning for connection that had been denied for far too long.

All the pain, the doubts, the anxieties, were momentarily eclipsed by this overwhelming need. This desperate longing for something real, something tangible, something to hold onto in the face of the darkness that had threatened to consume us.

Clothes became an unbearable constraint, a barrier to the intimacy we both craved. They were discarded with a frantic urgency, a desperate shedding of inhibitions and restraints. Buttons popped, zippers screeched, fabric tore, each sound a testament to the escalating frenzy that gripped us. The cool air kissed my skin, heightening my awareness, making every nerve ending sing with anticipation, anticipation for what was about to come.

The warmth of his skin against mine was intoxicating. His body, lean and muscular, was a masterpiece of raw power and sculpted grace. I traced a path from his face, down the strong column of his throat, across his defined collarbone, and over the hard planes of his chest. His abs were a testament to his discipline, a source of envy for men and a source of swooning pleasure for women.

His broad shoulders stretched like mountains, blocking my view of everything but him. He was my world, my focus, my everything in that moment. The only other thing that caught my eye was the silver chain I had gifted him, still around his neck, the dog tags rising and falling in rhythm with his breathing, a constant reminder of the man beneath the warrior.

I didn’t dare to look lower. Not yet. But I could feel his hardness pressing against my thigh, a silent promise of the pleasure to come. The anticipation was a delicious torment, a burning ache that demanded to be quenched.

Caleb's eyes burned into mine, a dark, hungry gaze that promised both ecstasy and oblivion. There was a possessiveness in his eyes, a fierce protectiveness that sent shivers down my spine.

"God," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "You're so fucking stunning. More so than I imagined while feeling the guilt over the years, thinking of you that way." He swallowed hard, his fingers brushing against my nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. I swallowed my moan of pleasure and he continues, "I thought… I would die never knowing this feeling."

I leaned in, kissing his lips softly, letting my breath mingle with his. "Yet, I'm here. In front of you. With you as you touch me like you want me to," I whispered against his mouth. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into my skin in a possessive claim.

He wanted to possess you, body and soul, to claim you as his own, to erase any trace of the world beyond your shared desire. He wanted to mark you, brand you, make you his in a way that transcended the physical. He wanted to lose himself in you, to forget the pain, the heartache, the years of longing. He only wanted to be in this moment, with you, forever. The darkness can engulf you both later.

“You’re my princess, aren’t you?”

“Yours,” I breathed, the single word a confession, a surrender. It was the truth, stark and undeniable. Every cell in my body vibrated with the knowledge that I belonged to him, Caleb. Completely and irrevocably. And in that moment, shrouded in shadows and consumed by a desire that felt both dangerous and divine, I didn't want to be anything else. The idea of belonging to someone had always seemed like a prison, a cage built of expectations and limitations. But with Caleb, it was different. It was a liberation, a feeling of being truly seen, truly known, and accepted – even celebrated – for the darkness that resided within me.

His teasing grin returned, that familiar curve of his lips that always sent a swarm of butterflies erupting in my stomach. It was a smile that held a universe of promises, of shared secrets and unspoken desires.

"You're awfully sweet right now. Be careful," he warned, his voice laced with amusement, a hint of something possessive lurking beneath the surface.

I flushed crimson, unable to meet his intense gaze. I knew he was teasing me, but the effect was undeniable. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm echoing the anticipation that pulsed through my veins.

His eyes, dark and fathomless, raked over my body, lingering on every curve and hollow. It was a slow, deliberate appraisal that made my skin prickle with awareness. He knelt back on his haunches, muscles flexing beneath the dark fabric of his briefs. That's when I noticed it – the hard ridge straining against his underwear, a blatant display of his desire. His cock.

It was huge. Unapologetically, undeniably huge. The outline was unmistakable, a testament to the raw power he possessed, a power he wielded with such effortless control. My gaze snagged on it, drawn by an invisible force.

As if sensing where my attention lay, my lips parted, breath catching in my throat as Caleb tugged his briefs down, freeing his shaft from its confinement. It sprang forth, a dark, throbbing entity slapping against his abdomen, a pearl of pre-cum already glistening at the head, a tantalizing invitation.

The curve of the tip was perfect, sculpted like some forbidden fruit, promising a pleasure that transcended the ordinary. I imagined the feel of it, the weight of it, the way it would fill me, stretch me, consume me. I couldn’t seem to tear my gaze away, mesmerized by its potent allure.

"Like what you see?" he smirked, his voice a low, guttural rumble that vibrated through me. I flushed again, a wave of heat washing over me. I was caught, my desire laid bare for him to see, and I didn't know what to say. The deep chuckle that rumbled in his chest was my only response, a sound that sent shivers down my spine.

He wrapped his long fingers around his cock, giving it slow, deliberate strokes as I watched, completely enthralled. But then, his eyes shifted, a new glint in their depths, and his hand moved away from his cock.

Without waiting for an answer, his gaze drifted to the fruit bowl on the nearby coffee table. It was a still life of vibrant colors and enticing scents – oranges, bananas, a cluster of grapes. But my eyes were drawn to the apple, a single, perfect specimen, red like a ruby, nestled amongst the other fruits. It seemed to pulse with a life of its own, drawing me in with its irresistible allure.

Then, as if by magic, it happened. The apple lifted from the bowl, floating effortlessly through the air, guided by an unseen force. My breath caught in my throat, a gasp of disbelief escaping my lips. It was Caleb's power, the gravity evolution he controlled with such ease. Usually, it was a source of deadly fascination and awe, a display of his immense strength. But now, in this moment, it felt different. It felt like a tool of unbridled obsession, a way for him to exert his control over me in the most intimate and tantalizing way.

He manipulated the apple's trajectory with a subtle flick of his wrist, drawing it closer, closer, until it hovered just above my mouth. He met my gaze, his eyes now burning with an intensity that threatened to consume me.

"Open," he commanded, his voice a husky whisper that sent shivers dancing across my skin.

I obeyed, my lips parting slightly, anticipation building within me like a fire. The apple descended, the smooth skin brushing against my lips, the sweet scent filling my nostrils. It was a heady mix of innocence and temptation, a perfect representation of the man who controlled it. He guided it into my mouth, the cool, crisp flesh a stark contrast to the burning heat that coursed through my veins.

I bit down, the juice exploding on my tongue, the sweetness a momentary distraction from the inferno that raged within. The taste was almost cloying, but I couldn't pull away, couldn't break the connection he had forged between us.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise hitting me like a jolt of electricity. My core tightened, a wave of heat flooding my loins. The simple words, spoken in that low, possessive tone, were enough to shatter the last vestiges of my control.

He watched me, his eyes filled with a predatory gleam, a hunger that mirrored my own. His hand, warm and calloused, slid between my legs, fingers finding the wet heat that awaited him. I gasped at his first touch, the pleasure intense, almost unbearable. He started stroking me, teasing me, bringing me to the edge of madness with his relentless touch. The apple remained in my mouth, a tantalizing object of both pleasure and control, a constant reminder of his power over me.

His eyes flickered downward, watching as his fingers parted my folds like the petals of a flower. I was slick, so incredibly slick, my body betraying me with its desperate need. I started gushing around his fingers, a clear testament to the pleasure he was inflicting.

"Beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. He looked back at me, seeing my pleasure-filled face, wanting to capture every expression, every flicker of emotion that crossed my features. The shyness that usually clung to me was gone, banished by the intensity of the moment. I was raw, exposed, completely vulnerable to his gaze. "So responsive. Who would have thought?" He grinned, a flash of white teeth in the dim light.

The words were playful, a teasing caress, but beneath the surface, I sensed a possessiveness that made my breath catch in my throat. This wasn't the Caleb I thought I knew, the charming, considerate man who had always spoiled me or taken care of me. This was something darker, something untamed, and a part of me, the part that craved the forbidden, was desperately curious.

"Last chance. Tell me to stop," he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "Tell me you don't want this."

The words hung in the air, a challenge, a dare. But I couldn't. I was paralyzed, caught between fear and a desire so potent it threatened to consume me. I wanted to say no, to regain control, but the word died in my throat. His touch was doing things to my body which never happened to me before.

He seemed to take my silence as consent. While his warm fingers stroked my folds, his other hand moved lower, tracing the line of my ribs, the curve of my hips, igniting a firestorm in their wake. I gasped, arching into his touch, my body betraying my wavering resolve. He chuckled, a low, guttural sound that sent shivers down my spine.

"That's what I thought," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

I closed my eyes, surrendering to the moment, allowing him to dictate the pace.

"Open your eyes, pipsqueak," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "I want to see you when I touch you."

The command sent a shiver racing down my spine, a delicious blend of fear and excitement. He wanted to witness my surrender, to see the effect he had on me, to claim me utterly and completely with his gaze. And I, a willing captive, obeyed. My eyelids fluttered open, my gaze locking with his intense amethyst eyes, pools of simmering passion that threatened to drown me in their depths.

He was a study in contrasts, a beautiful paradox. His features were sharp and angular, hinting at a dangerous edge, yet softened by the curve of his lips and the intensity of his gaze. His skin, tanned and taut, stretched over muscles honed to perfection.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. The apple which was in my mouth, fell out and it rolled down to the floor with a thud. The sudden climax hit me like a tidal wave, a surge of pure, unadulterated pleasure that ripped through my body, leaving me gasping and breathless. He had sunk two fingers inside me, stroking me deep and good, pushing me over the edge with his relentless expertise.

My body wasn’t in control anymore. It was fully his to manipulate, to worship, to break if he so desired. And in that moment, I knew I would let him. I would surrender everything, every last shred of resistance, to the man who held my heart captive in his dark and beautiful hands. I was his princess, his to command, his to possess, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

The aftermath left me weak and trembling, my body humming with residual energy. I laid there, spent, and Caleb leaned over me, his lips meeting mine in a soft, tender kiss that belied the intensity of what we had just shared.

"You look beautiful when you come," he murmured against my lips, his voice thick with emotion.

I could only blush and bite my lip as he watched, the heat rising in my cheeks. It was mortifying, to be so exposed, so vulnerable, yet at the same time, there was a thrilling liberation in casting off my inhibitions for him. He watched as my teeth sank into my plush bottom lip, the small act of self-inflicted pain arousing something primal within me.

His nostrils flared, and he knelt back, settling into a kneeling position between my legs, his briefs still pulled down, leaving only his magnificent erection exposed. The sight of him, so raw and uninhibited, sent another shiver of desire through me.

He was impatient, though. Not wanting distractions, my gasp is loud when he takes the fabric and tears it in two with his bare hands, his underwear now destroyed. The sound ripped through the air, a primal declaration of his need, and it echoed within me, setting my nerves on fire. I hadn't expected this level of intensity, this blatant disregard for anything but the moment.

"Caleb, what-" I started, my voice a breathless whisper but me cut me off.

"I need you," he rasped, the words rough and guttural, like a caged beast desperate for release but I don't let him touch me again.

I push against his bare chest, looking up at him as his eyes furrow. Confusion, and what might be hurt, flickered across his features, but I steeled myself, pushing past the guilt that threatened to overwhelm me. This was my moment, my chance to reciprocate, to explore the depths of our desire on my own terms.

"It's my time to touch you," I said, the words trembling slightly in the air.

His lips parted, his surprise for a second almost making me giggle. It was a small victory, a brief glimpse of the power I held over him. But I swallowed my nerves down when I watched him gulp, his fisted hands at his sides clenching.

He was so powerful, so in control, yet in this moment, I held the reins. The realization sent a thrill through me, a sense of empowerment I had never experienced before.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yes," I replied, my voice firm, resolute.

His amethyst eyes darkened then, blazing with an intensity that both thrilled and intimidated me. His legs spread wider in that same kneeling position on his heels, making him even more fiercer, more imposing. 

"Then look," he commanded, his voice a low rumble.

I looked down, my gaze drawn to the magnificent display of his masculinity.

"See what you do to me?" He whispered, noticing my eyes wandering over every inch of his exposed skin. He reached down, gently guiding my attention towards his obvious arousal. "Only you can make me this hard." His voice was rough with desire. "You want to touch it?"

He knew the answer before I even spoke. He knew the hunger that gnawed within me, the desperate yearning to explore the contours of his body, to taste the forbidden fruit of his desire. But still, he asked, giving me the choice, acknowledging my agency.

“You should know that I have never…” I trailed off, my voice laced with uncertainty.

"I know," he said softly, gently brushing my hair away from my face. "You're innocent... and that makes me want you even more." His hand guided mine to gently touch him. "Just... explore, if you want. No pressure." His breath caught slightly at my tentative touch, a visible reaction to my hesitant caress.

The weight and heat of him in my hand was startling, unfamiliar, but undeniably intoxicating. I felt a surge of power, knowing that I, with a simple touch, could elicit such a strong reaction from this powerful, dominant man.

I sit up, emboldened by his invitation, and wrap my hand around him.

His head tilted back slightly as my hand made contact. A hesitant touch, almost shy, as my fingers curled around his length. He was thick, unbelievably so, dwarfing my small hand. My fingers barely managed to encircle him once. His violet eyes, usually alight with playful mischief, were now dark pools, fixed on my face. He watched every flicker of emotion, every subtle change in my expression, noting the widening of my eyes, the slight parting of my lips. He saw my surprise, my innocent curiosity, and something else… a budding desire mirrored his own.

He was a creature of raw power, a wild animal barely leashed. The purple of his eyes was clouded with a potent desire that both thrilled and intimidated me. His jaw was clenched tight, the muscles working with a barely suppressed intensity. His abs, usually hidden beneath tailored shirts or his uniform, rippled with each heavy breath he drew, a testament to his barely contained energy. He looked as though he wanted to devour me, to pull me onto his lap in a possessive claim, wrapping his large arms around me, never letting go. A low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest.

"More," he commanded, the single word laced with a desperate need that sent shivers down my spine.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. The air in the room seemed to thicken, charged with an electricity that crackled between us.

My hand moved, exploring the length of him with newfound confidence, my fingers tracing the rigid contours. His hips twitched forward instinctively, a silent plea for deeper contact. A slick pre-come, pearly and thick, leaked out, coating my hand in a warm, viscous film. He was already so close to the edge, the precipice of his control, my innocent touches pushing him closer to the brink. He reached down, his large hand engulfing mine, his fingers strong and sure as he guided me in slow, deliberate strokes.

"Just like that..." he breathed, the words a ragged sigh against the heavy air.

"Like that?" I echoed, my voice barely a whisper, laced with uncertainty and a growing fascination.

His abs clenched and unclenched rhythmically as I followed his lead, stroking him slowly, deliberately, feeling the heat and the tension that vibrated beneath my touch. His face was a mask of exquisite torment, contorted with a pleasure that seemed almost painful. His purple eyes rolled back slightly, revealing the whites, as though he were lost in a world of pure sensation.

He spread his legs wider, granting me better access, offering himself to my touch with a primal abandon. "Yes... just like that," he groaned, his voice thick with barely suppressed passion.

Somehow, I had never imagined this. Never envisioned him like this, so raw, so vulnerable, yet so overwhelmingly powerful. The sight of him, teetering on the edge of control, ignited a fire within me, a desire to push him further, to watch him surrender completely to the pleasure I was now wielding. The longer I stared at him in this moment, the more I wanted him to lose control. To shatter the carefully constructed facade of composure and reveal the wild, untamed beast that lurked beneath.

Caleb’s breathing grew heavier, ragged gasps that filled the suddenly silent room. With each stroke of my hand, his control seemed to slip further, his body arching in response to the escalating pleasure. He was utterly lost in the sensation, his eyes glazed over, his jaw tight, the only evidence of the iron will he usually possessed. Then, with a low, guttural growl that resonated deep within my soul, he suddenly seized my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong, halting my movements.

"Enough..." he rasped, his voice strained, his eyes burning into mine. "Enough, or I'm going to cum right here."

"Sorry…" The word tumbled out, a reflexive apology born of inexperience and a fear of overstepping.

"Baby, don't apologize," he chuckled softly, the sound a low rumble in his chest.

He released my wrist, his touch lingering for a moment before he let go completely. I hesitated for only a moment before resuming my ministrations, slowly pumping my hand over his engorged length. He watched my face with an intensity that made my heart pound, studying my innocent features, the slight parting of my lips, the small hand wrapped around his impressive length. His hips moved slightly forward, meeting my touch with a subtle urgency. He was teetering on the edge again, his self-control hanging by a thread.

"It's so big…" The words escaped my lips before I could stop them, a simple, honest observation that seemed to electrify the air between us.

His eyes darkened at my words, the violet transforming into a deep, almost black, purple. A slow smile spread across his face, revealing a flash of white teeth. He loved how innocent and sweet I was, even when I was touching him like this, when I held his power in my hand.

He reached down, his large hand enveloping mine once more, his fingers interlacing with mine, trapping my hand against his throbbing flesh. He began to move my hand faster, his hips thrusting up to meet my touch with a desperate need. "And it's all yours," he murmured, the words a husky promise whispered against my ear.

"Mine?" The question was barely audible, a breathless gasp of surprise and burgeoning desire.

I licked my lips, suddenly parched, the taste of him lingering on my tongue. Before he could anticipate my intentions, before he could stop me, I sat up, knelt on all fours, and leaned down, my breath warm and moist against his skin. With a slow, deliberate movement, I traced the head of his erection with the tip of my tongue.

Caleb let out a loud a surprised groan, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, as my tongue made contact. He buried his hands in my hair, his fingers threading through the strands, holding me gently but firmly against him as I repeated the action, my innocent exploration sending shockwaves of pleasure through his entire body. "Fuck, baby..." he groaned, the words torn from his throat.

He moved then, his hips jerking forward, forcing his length deeper into my mouth as I licked and teased him with my tongue. He was so close to the edge, his control shattering with each passing second.

The innocent depravity of my touch, the sight of my small mouth wrapped around his engorged flesh, pushed him closer and closer to the precipice. He started to thrust gently, his hands tangled in my hair, guiding me, controlling the pace and depth of my ministrations. "Suck me, baby…" he commanded, the words a desperate plea and an undeniable command.

Caleb looked down at me, his amethyst eyes dark and intense, devouring me with his gaze as he watched me struggle to accommodate his size. The sight of my eyes watering, my body trembling, the slight gagging sound as I took him deeper, only fueled his desire, pushing him closer to the edge of oblivion. He wiped away the tears that streamed down my face with his thumbs, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the raw intensity of his movements.

"You're doing so well, princess…" he murmured, his voice a husky encouragement.

He groaned loudly, a sound that bordered on pain, as I tightened my lips around him, my tears spilling down my cheeks, a testament to my effort and his overwhelming size. He was so close, my mouth and the sight of my tears pushing him over the edge. With a final, guttural cry, he thrust forward, his body arching, and he came, his hot seed erupting in shuddering waves, spilling into my mouth.

"Swallow it," he commanded, his voice raw and desperate.

Without hesitation, I obeyed, my throat working as I swallowed every drop, accepting his essence, taking him fully into myself. He watched, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath, his body trembling in the aftermath of the intense release. He wiped away the remaining tears from my face, his touch gentle, almost reverent, his mind reeling from the experience. He lifted me up into his lap, cradling me against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around me as though he never wanted to let me go.

"My sweet baby, you took it all…" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"W…was it good?" I whispered, my voice shaky, my body trembling in the aftermath of the intense encounter, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for his response.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through my body. "Good? Princess, it was beyond good. It was…perfect." He tightened his grip on me, burying his face in my hair. "You're an amazing little thing, do you know that?"

His words were like a drug, soothing the raw edges of my fear, fueling the part of me that craved his attention. I wanted to believe him, to bask in the warmth of his praise, but a nagging doubt lingered in the back of my mind. Was it genuine, or was it just another manipulation, another way to keep me under his control?

He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark pools, unreadable and intense. "I can't wait to have you, princess," he said, his voice a low growl. "I want to feel you wrapped around me, every inch of you."

A thrill of anticipation shot through me, mingled with a healthy dose of apprehension.

It mingled, however, with a healthy dose of apprehension, a stark reminder of the power he held over me, the potential for both exquisite pleasure and devastating pain. The reality of his size, his sheer physicality, crashed back into my consciousness.

"Can we even fit?" The question blurted out before I could censor it, a nervous, almost comical query that shattered the carefully constructed tension. "You're...big." The word hung in the air, a testament to the undeniable scale of him, a daunting prospect that simultaneously terrified and intrigued me.

A slow, predatory smile stretched across his face, a silent promise of the pleasure – and the challenge – that awaited. "Oh, baby," he murmured, his voice laced with amusement and a hint of something more primal. "We'll fit. I promise you, we'll make it fit." He shifted his weight, subtly pressing against me, a deliberate provocation that sent a renewed wave of heat surging through my veins.

He reached down, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of my hip, sending shivers dancing across my skin. "Don't underestimate my… ingenuity," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. "I know how to make things… accommodate." The double entendre was unmistakable, a blatant and deliciously wicked tease that left me breathless.

He continued his tantalizing exploration, his fingers moving lower, tracing the line of my thigh with agonizing slowness. "We might have to get creative," he murmured, his voice a husky rasp. "A little bending, a little guiding… perhaps even a little persuasion." Each word was a deliberate stroke, painting a vivid picture in my mind, arousing a potent mixture of fear and undeniable excitement.

"And don't think for a moment that I haven't thought about every single angle, every possible position," he continued, his voice a hypnotic drawl. "I've imagined you beneath me, above me, beside me… twisted in ways you never thought possible." The images he conjured were both shocking and undeniably alluring, pushing the boundaries of my inhibitions, igniting a fire within me that threatened to consume me whole.

He pulled back slightly, his lilac eyes burning into mine. "Trust me, princess," he said, a dangerous glint in his gaze. "We'll find a way. We'll make it work. And it will be… unforgettable." He lowered his head, his lips hovering just above mine, a silent invitation to surrender to the intoxicating darkness he offered.

My breath hitched in my throat, my body trembling with anticipation. The fear was still there, a nagging undercurrent, but it was being drowned out by the overwhelming tide of desire. I knew, deep down, that giving in to him, allowing him to take control, was a dangerous game. But the allure was too strong, the temptation too irresistible. I wanted to experience the full extent of his power, to explore the depths of my own desires, to lose myself in the intoxicating darkness that he embodied.

With a shaky exhale, I closed the distance between us, my lips meeting his in a hesitant, tentative kiss. It was a silent agreement, a surrender to the inevitable.

He lowered me slowly back onto the plush velvet of the couch, his movements deliberate, each one a promise and a threat. He positioned himself over me, a dark silhouette against the dim light filtering through the curtains. His lips, usually so quick to form a smirk or a biting remark, were dry, almost cracked, and he worried them with his teeth as he watched me, his gaze intense and possessive. It was a gaze that stripped me bare, not just physically, but emotionally, leaving me vulnerable and exposed.

Lifting my right leg, he draped it over his broad shoulder, the angle both compromising and exhilarating. The stretch was uncomfortable, a sharp reminder of the boundary I was crossing, but the anticipation, the undeniable pull towards him, overshadowed the pain. He pushed himself closer, the heat radiating from his body branding me, and my eyes were drawn, almost against my will, to the undeniable evidence of his arousal. His cock, already rock-hard from the first time, pulsed with a life of its own, a stark contrast to the controlled, almost detached demeanor he usually presented.

Sweat beaded on his biceps, glistening in the subdued light. Rivulets traced paths down his sculpted abs. The silver chain he always wore, a constant reminder of my love for him, swayed slightly with each movement, catching the light like a fleeting spark of rebellion.

"Caleb, are you sure…" The question escaped my lips, a whisper of doubt despite the fire that raged within me. The sheer size of his cock, the undeniable reality of what was about to happen, sent a shiver of apprehension down my spine. But he only chuckled, a low, dark sound that resonated deep within my chest, sending a tremor of both fear and excitement through me. It was a crazed sound, a sound that hinted at the darkness that lurked beneath his carefully constructed facade.

He gripped his length, his hand a possessive caress that made me gasp. Positioning the tip against my entrance, he leaned over me, his weight pressing me into the cushions. My leg strained against the unnatural angle, the muscles screaming in protest, but the pain was a distant hum compared to the roaring in my ears. He breathed against my lips, his breath hot and ragged, laced with a hint of desperation. "You will take it like a good girl, without objections, hm?"

His words were a command, a challenge, and a promise all rolled into one. They ignited a fire deep within me, a primal response that silenced my doubts and amplified my desire. I was already wet, slick and ready, his slicked, swollen head brushing against my folds like a sinful kiss.

"What about protection?" I managed to whisper, the question a last-ditch attempt to cling to some semblance of control.

He didn't hesitate, his answer immediate and unapologetic. "I don't have any with me. I didn't envision us being naked tonight," he mocked, his voice a dark, teasing whisper that sent shivers down my spine. "So our first time will be raw. So I can feel your virgin walls tighten around me." He punctuated his words with a kiss, a searing brand that sealed my fate. "It's too late to back out, you know?"

A whimper escaped my lips, a sound that betrayed the conflict raging within me. Fear warred with anticipation, doubt battled against desire. But deep down, I knew he was right. It was too late. I couldn't wait any longer to feel him inside me, to be filled with him, to experience the raw, unbridled connection that had been building between us for so long. I desperately needed him.

"Then what are you waiting for?" The words were a surrender, an invitation, a plea.

Without warning, he pushed the tip inside me, and I gasped, the unexpectedness of the sensation stealing my breath. He chuckled, a sound laced with triumph and a hint of something darker, something that made my heart pound in my chest.

"That's for being sassy, you little ungrateful brat. Will you be good for me?"

I nodded, my movements small and submissive. Our saliva dripped between our parted lips as he stroked his tongue between my words, tasting my surrender.

"Good girl," His praise was a weapon, a tool he wielded with precision, knowing exactly how to elicit the response he desired. The words made me whimper again, a sound that quickly morphed into a choked moan as he sank another inch, the painful stretch almost blinding me. It was a pain unlike any I had ever experienced, a tearing, burning sensation that threatened to overwhelm me.

"Shit," he cursed, the word a harsh rasp against the sudden silence.

He could feel you, tight and resistant, and his cock pulsed with the overwhelming urge to release, to find release in the sweet confines of your virginity. But that would be a waste, a cruel denial of the pleasure he craved, the pleasure he wanted you both to experience.

"It…it…hurts," I moaned, my nails digging into his shoulders, drawing blood without him even noticing.

He was consumed, lost in the moment, oblivious to everything but the feel of you, the taste of you, the overwhelming sensation of being connected to you in this primal, forbidden way. He gritted his teeth against the onslaught of sensation, forcing himself to slow down, to savor the agony and the ecstasy.

The sweat between us was hot, a slick film that bound us together.

His right hand, the one that had been caressing my jaw, now tightened around my throat, the metal of his fingers cool against my skin. The pressure was subtle, a gentle reminder of his power, his control.

"You're doing so good, baby. Just a little more," Caleb grunted, pushing himself even deeper, lost in the intoxicating haze of the moment.

He was too far gone to stop now, consumed by the realization that his darkest fantasy was unfolding before him. You were beneath him, naked and vulnerable, raw and breathtakingly beautiful. He wanted to freeze this moment, to hold onto it forever, to never let you go.

Tears streamed down my face, a mixture of pain and pleasure, of fear and exhilaration. It wasn't just the physical discomfort that brought them forth, but the overwhelming emotion of the moment, the profound connection that was forming between us. It was a joy to finally feel this, to feel full, to feel complete in a way I never had before.

Caleb moaned again, the sound guttural and raw, sending shivers down my spine. He removed his hand from my throat, bracing his forearm beside my head on the armrest of the couch. His fingers were clenched into a fist, a testament to the self-control he was exerting. With his other hand, he guided his cock deeper, inch by excruciating inch.

"Caleb, oh-" I couldn't stop myself from moaning his name, the sound a desperate plea that spurred him on even more. He suddenly rammed himself fully inside, all seven and a half inches of him breaching my virgin walls.

The pain was shocking, a blinding wave that washed over me, stealing my breath and leaving me momentarily paralyzed. My lips parted in a silent whimper, my body arching against his.

Caleb froze, completely still, like a statue of steel against my trembling flesh.

"I'm sorry, baby. You just feel so good," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion. He looked down at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of remorse and desire. He wiped the tears from my face, his touch gentle and surprisingly tender. "Just a moment, and the pain will fade away, all right?" He kissed my temple, a soft, lingering gesture that offered solace and reassurance. I shifted uncomfortably beneath him, and the pain began to subside, slowly transforming into something else, something almost…pleasurable.

"You can move…I think…" My voice was hoarse, my throat dry.

Caleb clenched his jaw, staring down at me with an intensity that made my heart pound. He pulled back slightly, his cock dragging against my sensitive flesh, teasing me, torturing me. He retreated until only the tip remained inside, hovering just at the edge of my entrance. The sensation was exquisite, agonizing, unbearable. The feeling of being almost empty sparked a desperate need within me, a primal urge to be filled again, to be consumed by him. I clenched around his head, my muscles contracting in a silent plea, begging him to sink back inside. I dug my nails into his skin, desperate for purchase, desperate for release.

He watched my expression, his eyes dark and knowing. And then, without warning, he thrust forward, burying himself deep within me.

My clit met his pelvic bone, sending a jolt of pure pleasure through my body. We both moaned, the sound a primal symphony of pain and ecstasy. Each thrust was more intense than the last, each drag against my sensitive flesh driving me closer to the edge. He seemed drunk on my pussy, lost in the intoxicating sensation of being inside me. The look in his eyes was feral, untamed, as he fucked me with a desperate hunger, as if he had been starving for this moment for his entire life.

My whimpers and moans grew louder, the sounds punctuated by gasps of breath. Words became gibberish, meaningless sounds that escaped my lips as I surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure. His chain swayed between us, a distracting glint of silver against the darkening landscape of our passion. He caught it between his teeth, the metal cold against his lips, and grabbed my leg, lifting my hip to ram even deeper, his balls slapping against my ass with each thrust.

"Your pussy's so...fucking...good," he grunted, his words raw and unfiltered. He looked feral, his eyes glazed with desire, his face flushed with exertion.

The air crackled with a dark, erotic charge. He teased, tormented, pushing me to the edge, then pulling me back, denying me the release I craved. He demanded my surrender, not just of my body, but of my will.

"Beg me to come, princess. Then maybe I will allow you to fly."

Too weak to resist, I obeyed.

"Please," I whimpered, the word a desperate plea torn from my throat. "Caleb, please…"

He ignored my pleas, increasing the pace, the force of his thrusts. Each stroke was a calculated torment, designed to push me closer to the precipice. The anticipation was excruciating, a delicious torture that stretched on for an eternity. I clawed at his back, my nails digging into his flesh, desperate for purchase in the storm raging within me.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Caleb relented. He unleashed the torrent, allowing me to teeter over the edge. The world exploded in a kaleidoscope of sensations, a blinding rush of pure, unadulterated pleasure. My body convulsed, my muscles tightened, and a strangled cry escaped my lips as I plummeted into the abyss.

He didn't stop there. He rode the wave with me, meeting my climax with his own. With long, powerful strokes, he pushed me further, deeper, until I thought I would shatter into a million pieces. And then, finally, he unleashed his own storm, his body shuddering as he emptied himself inside me, filling me to the brim. His seed pulsed within me, a tangible symbol of our transgression, a dark promise of the bond we had forged in the crucible of lust.

My whimpers were loud now, fueled by the aftershocks of the orgasm that still coursed through my veins.

"Such a good girl." He praised me, his voice rough and low.

He savored the moment, not wanting to waste a single drop of his essence. He thrust back inside, deeper than before, his eyes locked onto the juncture of our bodies. He stared down at the place where we were joined, where my virginity had been sacrificed on the altar of his desire. My blood, a crimson stain against the cream coloured couch, seemed to give him a deep satisfaction, a confirmation that he was the first, the one who had claimed you.

Exhaustion washed over me, a heavy blanket that threatened to pull me under. I wanted nothing more than to sleep, to escape the intensity of the moment, to retreat into the oblivion of unconsciousness.

But Caleb had other ideas. He wasn't finished with me yet.

He scooped me into his arms, carrying me towards the bathroom. "I'm going to take care of you now," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against my ear. That same caring, affectionate Caleb was back, reminding me of the old days again.

He promised me of the "special hair drying care" again which he had started when he first came to my apartment tonight, a dark threat veiled in a promise of pleasure. I was too weak to resist, too lost in the aftermath of our encounter to fight him. I complied, surrendering myself to his will, accepting my fate as his captive, his possession.

Under the warm spray of the shower, he washed away the evidence of our sin, but not the memory.

Each touch, each caress, was a reminder of the power he held over me, the dark desire that bound us together.

The warm water swirled around me, a comforting embrace that did little to soothe the unease coiled tight in my stomach. Caleb’s touch was feather-light, a deliberate caress as he guided the soapy sponge down my arm. "Are you warm enough, my love?" he murmured, his voice a silken thread weaving through the steamy air. "The water's just how you like it, isn't it?"

I leaned into him, the familiar scent of his sandalwood soap filling my senses. "Perfect, Caleb. Just perfect."

His hands moved to my hair, the suds cool against my scalp as he began to massage. It was a familiar ritual, one I usually found deeply relaxing. Tonight, however, a tremor of something akin to apprehension ran through me.

"Mmm, your hair smells like honeysuckle again," he said, his voice dropping a register, becoming intimately close. "I love it when you use that shampoo. It reminds me of the times when we were young and naive. Thinking back..it was like fate."

A smile touched my lips, a fragile thing. "It does feel like fate, doesn't it?"

His fingers stilled for a moment, the gentle rhythm broken. When he spoke again, the lightness had vanished from his tone, replaced by an intensity that always left me breathless. "It is fate. You were always meant to be mine. Do you understand that, princess?"

I turned my face up to his, meeting his gaze. His eyes, usually a warm purple, were now dark pools, reflecting a possessiveness that bordered on obsession. "Yes, Caleb. I do." The words were a reflex, a response I knew he needed to hear.

He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs tracing slow circles on my cheekbones. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, yet there was an underlying strength, a claim being staked.

"Good. Because sometimes… sometimes I worry. I see the way others look at you. They don't understand. They don't see what I see. They don't deserve to see."

A chill, unrelated to the water temperature, prickled my skin. I reached up, placing my hands over his wrists, my fingers pressing against the pulse that throbbed there. "They don't matter, Caleb. Only you matter."

A relieved sigh escaped him, a gust of air that ruffled the damp tendrils of hair framing my face. "That's right. Only me. And you… you are only mine. Every inch of you. This beautiful skin…" He dipped the sponge again, his touch lingering on my shoulder. "…these soft curves…" His fingers trailed down my back, sending shivers dancing across my spine. “…all mine."

"Yes, Caleb. All yours," I whispered, the words a surrender, a promise.

He pulled me closer, the water cascading over both of us, plastering my hair to my face. His voice was a low murmur against my ear, a secret shared in the intimacy of the moment. "No one will ever take you away from me. Do you hear me? No one. They can try, but…" He paused, the darkness that lurked beneath the surface creeping into his tone. "…they will fail."

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me: fear, yes, but also a strange sense of security. There was a raw power in his words, a certainty that both terrified and thrilled me. I wrapped my arms around him tightly, clinging to him as if he were the only anchor in a turbulent sea. "I don't want anyone else, Caleb. I only want you."

He kissed my temple, his lips lingering against my skin, branding me. His embrace tightened, possessive and demanding. "And you'll always have me. I'll always be here, watching over you, protecting you. You can't run from me, even if you wanted to."

Tilting my head back, I looked up at him, forcing a soft smile onto my face. "I don't want to run. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be." It was a lie, perhaps, or at least a half-truth. There were days, nights even, when the weight of his devotion felt like a gilded cage, beautiful but confining. But the alternative, the thought of not being with him, was even more terrifying.

His grip tightened further, his knuckles white against my back, but his voice softened again, becoming almost achingly tender. "My sweet, precious… You are my everything."

The sound of the water continued, a constant, swirling symphony that filled the silence as Caleb held me close. I closed my eyes, focusing on the feel of his arms around me, the steady beat of his heart against my ear. It was a silent promise of forever, a forever that both comforted and haunted me.

I knew, deep down, that Caleb's love was a dangerous thing, a consuming fire that threatened to engulf everything in its path. But I was drawn to it, mesmerized by its intensity. He saw me, truly saw me, in a way no one else ever had. He cherished me, protected me, even if that protection came at a cost.

And perhaps, I thought, as I leaned further into his embrace, that was enough. Perhaps being his, completely and utterly, was a price I was willing to pay. The alternative, a life without his fierce devotion, was a bleak and desolate landscape I couldn't bear to imagine. So I stayed, bathed in the warmth of his possessive love, and prayed that the darkness that flickered in his eyes would never consume us both. I prayed that my love would be enough to keep him tethered to reality, to prevent his obsession from spiraling out of control.

But deep down, a chilling voice whispered that it was already too late. That I was already caught in his web, bound by threads of love and fear, and that there was no escape. And perhaps, a small, secret part of me didn't want to escape. Perhaps I was as addicted to his darkness as he was to my light.

[redeemingvillains]

the knight's favor - knight!mattheo riddle (pt. 1)

summary: “I’m not sure why everyone is up in arms about this, it’s perfectly acceptable for a lady to offer her favor for her chosen competitor.”

word count: 2k

a/n: yes knight!mattheo is now a series. yes, i am completely obsessed with it. i hope you come to love these two as much as i do!

 »-♡→ prologue

You squirmed in the stifling heat of the spectator’s box.

The prince was suffocatingly close to you, pawing at you in the cloying heat in a way that made your skin crawl just as much from his touch, his proximity, as from the way the fabric of your dress stuck to your skin.

He grasped your hand tightly, uncomfortably, as he smiled and waved to patrons, members of the court and the knights that rode by for the joust, a practiced smile plastered to his face despite the crude comments and criticisms he muttered under his breath.

You had been watching the festivities for hours at this point, but despite your own manufactured smile, your eyes never left the group of knights as you scanned and searched them with increasing persistence for Mattheo.

Each round that had passed had left you feeling more and more anxious; whether it was the heat of the day or the rowdiness of the crowd, the competition had become bloody and brutal, with one of the last knights being dragged unconscious from the ring, his arm twisting grotesquely in a way that had you averting your eyes as the prince stood and cheered. He had called for the joust, demanding that all enlisted knights participate or suffer punishment, ‘a celebration of our pending marriage’ he’d said, though you had no idea how any of this honored you.

Finally your eye caught the glint of black armor, obsidian against the late afternoon sun and you sat a little straighter in your seat, craning ever so slightly to see him better as his horse rode around the arena to deafening cheers, clearly already a crowd favorite.

You rarely saw Mattheo in his full gear anymore and your pulse quickened in appreciation for the way the leather and metal hugged his large frame, the way he rode effortlessly with his helmet tucked under one arm, a cocky smirk on his face as he drank in the attention and affection from the crowd.

He slowed as he approached the grandstand that held members of the court and your stomach roiled as nearly every maiden launched themselves out of their seats and waved their favors eagerly at him, shouting his name. His smile was beguiling as he nodded and waved to each of them and ran a hand through his dark brown curls, which garnered another wave of high-pitched screams.

Your knuckles were white as they squeezed the arms of the ornate chair beneath you and your leg jostled anxiously beneath the folds of your dress. And like he could sense your discomfort, always so attuned to your every emotion his eyes drifted over the crowd to your box and found yours. He smiled softly and never broke your gaze as he turned and rode slowly in your direction to the great dissatisfaction of the many women who shouted after him.

He stopped in front of the box, and looked quickly to the prince, inclining his head.

“Your majesties” he said respectfully.

You stood, dropping the prince’s hand carelessly as you walked towards him and began to untie an emerald ribbon, the same color as his shield, from the lace of your dress, near your collarbone.

Not a person in the arena noticed but you that Mattheo’s eyes widened as they followed the path of your fingers, that the flush on his cheeks had nothing to do with the heat of the day.

“Your highness—” he tried to say, to stop you, as if he had any right to tell you what to do or what not to do, but then you were leaning forward precariously over the balustrade and he had no choice but to lean into you too, to remain perfectly still even as he was clouded with your perfume, as your hair tumbled over your shoulders brushing his armor, the ends tickling his cheek, as your chest fell perfectly level with his eyes in a way that had him averting his gaze, though not nearly quick enough. And then your fingers brushed his neck, his collar as you affixed your ribbon there, taking your time as you looped and threaded it into his armor.

His eye caught yours and you held his gaze for two heartbeats longer than you should of before you spoke, softly, closely, to be heard over the crowd.

“I place my trust in your valor and skill. Take this token of my favor, may this small gift bring you luck and guide your hand.”

The words were spoken and yet you didn't move, stilling in front of the court, the gods, the prince and everyone close enough to kiss him...

...And fuck if he wasn’t thinking about it, the way your eyes held his like they could say more to him than you ever could: I’m worried about you, be careful, and something else that ran deeper, in the way your own cheeks were flushed, in the way your chest was rising and falling, in the way he swore your eyes flitted to his lips before you smiled, your real smile, not the one he watched you wear every day in court, but the one he told himself was reserved just for him. And then you leaned back, letting him go.

The crowd cheered as Mattheo took off at speed, pulling his helmet on. You were faintly aware of an undercurrent of whispers and as you turned to face the prince you saw a sneer on his face that betrayed exactly what he was thinking for the first time that day.

You sat next to him and he grabbed your hand, intentionally crushing your fingers with his grasp and holding tighter when you tried to pull away.

His plastered smile was back but he growled at you under his breath.

“Was. That. Really. Necessary?” squeezing your hand tighter with each word.

Your blood chilled with concern. The prince was demanding, he was a dick, he was petulant and he pushed things too far but you'd never seen him properly angry, at least, not at you.

What had come over you? What were you thinking?

You swallowed.

“It’s common practice for the lady of the house to offer a favor to the strongest competitor. And he’s our strongest, no?”

A pause. But you could see the curl of his lip. He wouldn’t admit it, even if you both knew it was true.

“If you were a knight, if you were competing, my favor would go only to you" you lied.

He didn’t even look at you.

That didn’t help.

Much to your satisfaction Mattheo crushed his competitor, and for the first time that day you were the one out of your seat cheering alongside everyone else as he tore his helmet off and roared in celebration, pumped full of adrenaline as he tossed it and took a victory lap around the arena.

Your heart soared to see him competing, fighting, doing what he was born to be so good at, and you felt guilty for only a moment that he had been resigned to tedious days following you around the castle.

The crowd continued to clap and cheer and a smaller section had broken into song but as you looked back at the prince you realized he was the only person in the entire arena who was still seated. Silent. Staring at Mattheo.

It wasn’t until much later, after the banquet and several rounds of celebratory drinks that Mattheo was able to find a way to be alone with you, a skill he was as practiced at as he was with his sword, as he swiftly convinced your guard that he would walk you back to your chambers, even though he was technically off duty.

Though off duty at this point was only a matter of pay, as he doubted he could ever share a space with you and not be keenly aware of your every movement.

Even though he’d thoroughly enjoyed the night and the simmering adrenaline from being back in the arena, he was aware that the prince was in a mood, which wasn't altogether unusual, but it seemed to be directed at you in a way he didn't like.

And he didn't like the way you averted your eyes from all conversation, the way you pushed your food around your plate, and didn't eat anything, not even your favorite dessert.

And when he noted that the more the prince drank, the handsier he got with you to the point you were nearly squirming out of your seat he thanked the gods that you excused yourself, which saved him the effort of shearing the prince's head from his body.

You were walking quickly, marching really but when Mattheo fell into step beside you your feet slowed and he was sure he saw your body relax, the tension lowering your shoulders as a slow smile spread across your face despite the fact that you didn’t turn to look at him.

You continued in amiable silence, appreciating the stolen moment alone, and he waited until you were nearly at your room and out of earshot before saying anything.

“You shouldn’t have done that" he murmured.

“Whatever are you talking about?” you replied, smirking.

“Today, your favor.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes even as your posture tightened.

“I’m not sure why everyone is up in arms about it, it’s perfectly acceptable for a lady to offer her favor for her chosen competitor.”

He shook his head, as he carded his hand through his hair.

You weren’t wrong, but he’d heard the whispers, had seen the way people looked at him tonight, had seen the way the prince looked at him tonight. It had become abundantly clear that he’d gotten too comfortable, complacent with what it meant to be close to you.

Then again… maybe he was reading too far into it all? To think that what you had done was anything more than acknowledge that he was a strong competitor? In fact... had he been too forward just now in telling you what he thought? His head spun and it ached and he realized he was more drunk than he'd thought, and he was grateful to be at your door as he leaned against the doorframe for reprieve as you moved to open it.

But your hand paused on the iron handle, and you glanced up at him, and for the second time that day every inch of his body was at attention in your proximity as you looked at him with that same damn look in your eye and his heart melted as his lips smirked at you.

“For what it’s worth, Sir Riddle—” you said, addressing him teasingly as you let go of the handle and reached to gather the silhouette of your dress. You pulled it up and his eyes darted there and he swiftly forgot how to breath as you revealed your ankle, your calf, your knee and then your thigh and he swayed a little bit and was about to tell you that you should stop before he caught sight of an emerald ribbon knotted in a bow around your thigh, the same color as the one you’d tied to his armor that now sat in his pocket, the same color as the crest he wore on his shield, only this one sat against your skin, your perfect soft skin, your leg, your thigh, your inner thigh...

“—I always carry you with me" you whispered, and he pulled his eyes from beneath your dress to meet yours, "so it seemed only fair that you carry a bit of me with you.”

He could feel his body shaking with temptation, with fear, with the realization that what had transpired between you had gone far beyond playful banter, stolen glances, and a wish he’d held in his heart but never thought could come true.

And despite years of careful restraint, his hands betrayed him as he reached for you, moving to cup your face, to pull you towards him, his rough callouses brushing against your cheeks as your own hands came to cover his and you leaned into him, easily, without hesitation.

Your eyes fixed on his lips, and you were right there, a breath away, your eyes begging, pleading for him to kiss you...

"Dolcezza" he whispered, sliding into his native language as he grappled with a way to properly express himself.

...And then laughter reverberated down the hall that broke both of you out of the moment as you jumped and stepped back, slipping out of his grasp looking at him reluctantly as your hand covered your mouth, tracing your lips, before you shook your head.

“G-goodnight, Mattheo” you said quickly, darting into your room and gently closing the door behind you.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face as slumped to the floor and let his head fall against your door where he sat the rest of the night.

 »-♡→ part two

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @loverliner @smut-anarchy @locknco @wybieivy @itznotsophia @cipheress-to-k-pop @aur0ral1ghts @voidofsunlight @diorandcigaddict

[httpwintersoldier]

『sweet little thing p.2 | b. barnes x reader』

pairing: bucky barnes x afab!reader words: it's real long okay, it even has a third part! summary: what happens when the guy you have a crush on happens to have a dad, who is older, hotter and rougher? 『 part 1 』 『 part 2 』 『 part 3 』 『 part 4 』

fluff ; angst ; smut

"I don't think the text was for me, darlin', but for the record, it looks good."

Your widened eyes stared at the text until the screen of your phone locked again due to lack of activity.

You couldn't believe you had been so stupid as to send without checking the contact beforehand! You cursed your slippery fingers, and the fact that their names started with "J". Thankfully you didn't mention any names in the text, or else you'd probably have to drop out and move elsewhere...

Once the embarrassment had washed away ever so slightly, you let his words sink in - "but for the record, it looks good". You gripped your skirt and pressed your thighs together as you imagined the man leaning closely and whispering that in your ear, telling you just how good you looked.

Another dilemma popped into your mind - now that he knew you thought it was slutty, should you really go out in it!? On one hand, Bucky told you it looked good, but on the other you'd basically admitted to knowing too much showed in that outfit...

The sound of a car honking outside broke you from your trance, and you walked over to your bedroom's window to find your ride already waiting for you. You muttered a small "fuck" under your breath gathered all of your things and stuffed them in a bag before taking one last look at the mirror.

"Oh, whatever, can't get worse than it already is." You said to yourself, grabbed a large jersey and threw it on top of the cheerleader outfit you decided to wear.

You sprayed some perfume and left the house, with your heart wanting to find Bucky right away, and your mind wanting him to stay as far as possible.

You all rode in the same car in direction to Andy's house, which meant that at least you wouldn't be alone with Bucky yet again - that alone calmed you down quite a bit. The ride was loud and full of music, but you couldn't stop thinking about your little (big) mistake.

Your friends noticed, but as far as they were aware, you had a thing for Andy, so they just brushed it off as being nervous to be around him or something of the sort.

Fortunately, Andy was the one opening the door this time, and he greeted everyone with a big, adorable smile that would have made you fall to your knees just a couple weeks ago.

"Guys, I need your help carrying the beer cases, the ice and the thermal boxes. Y/N can you and Jas go to the garage and bring the boxes? There's four of them, they're empty so you should be alright bringing two each."

You and the other girl nodded, following his instructions as to how to get to the garage. Once you got there, however, the boxes were nowhere to be seen.

"Can you go ask him where they are, Jas? I'll keep looking."

Your friend nodded and turned around, leaving you alone to look for the boxes by yourself. You tried not to make too much of a mess while searching for them, but you had looked as hard as possible without moving anything, and yet you had no luck finding what you were looking for.

"What happened to that little number I saw?"

You jumped and shrieked at the deep voice behind you. When you turned around you saw those steel blue eyes looking down at you, with a little knowing smile.

There was no point in playing dumb, you both knew what he was talking about. His eyes flew down to your hands that played with the hem of your jersey.

You felt so small under his gaze... You had never felt like this with any other guy - sure, you had been shy before, but when it came to Bucky it was like the words were caught on your throat and your whole body caught on fire. Maybe it was because he was older, maybe it was the confidence and power in the way he conducted himself - the image of a man who wasn't, for once, all bark and no bite.

He stepped forward, reaching right beside you to claim the beer he had left open on the counter that you were leaning against.

"Decided against my advice?" He took a swing of his beer, the playful, devilish smile on his face spreading wider "Andy would've liked it."

He was teasing you. He knew you were embarrassed and he was using it against you, for amusement.

"Why? Did you like it?"

The both of you were shocked at the words that left your lips - you didn't know where those words came from and Mr. Barnes wasn't waiting for something so bold to come out of you.

He chuckled and his eyes suddenly seemed to be darker, but that darkness wasn't the lack of emotion you had seen that day at the store, it was a different type... there was something sensual about his gaze rather.

"Maybe I did."

The two of you heard footsteps heading towards you. Bucky stepped away from you and faced the door just as your friend came in.

"Andy said that his dad already- oh, hello Mr. Barnes!"

"Hi there. Can I help you?" He asked Jas.

Bucky acted as if nothing had happened, as if he and you had just been having a casual conversation, as if the air was thick and tense from the sexual tension burning between your bodies.

"Andy told me and Y/N to fetch the thermal boxes, but he didn't know you had brought them out already." She explained.

"I see. Well, have fun girls." He said, looking between you and her, as you walked towards the door to leave with your friend.

Suddenly, an idea popped into your mind, a little bit of revenge for what he had just done to you. You needed to act fast, so thinking twice about the idea was out of the question, you just... did it.

"Aren't you going to watch the game, Mr. Barnes?" You asked teasingly, turning back around to face him.

Bucky scoffed, knowing exactly what you were doing calling him 'Mr. Barnes'.

"Might stop by and watch it, why sweetheart?" The man asked, with a curious look, taking another sip of his beer, something he did often to hide his smirk.

You took off the jersey you were wearing over your outfit, revealing the cheerleader getup you had just talked about, and handed him the item of clothing.

"You don't have anything to support the team! I can lend you my jersey." You said, your voice honest and innocent, as if you didn't know exactly what your words and actions meant, as if there wasn't a second meaning to what you did.

Bucky wasn't exactly subtle in the way he looked at you. His eyes were eating you up, from top to bottom, slowly taking in the view in the flesh. Eventually, he reached for the jersey and took it.

"Thanks, sweetheart, I'll make sure to give it to you when the game is over."

You mumbled a "don't mention it" and walked back into the house with your friend, so you could help everyone set up for the game.

"Dude, his dad is a real DILF." Jas whispered as you two made it to the front porch.

"I know, right?" You smugly agreed.

Whistles and compliments echoed in the room when you pulled up with the cheerleader outfit after ditching the jersey. Andy's eyes in particular stayed the longest on your body, and you felt a little guilty for nor caring about what he thought - the feedback that you truly wanted had already been received.

Bucky had joined the group not long after the game started, and you didn't miss the way his eyes stole glances at you whenever possible.

The man himself didn't know what was wrong with him. He was nearly twice your age, he could be your dad, it was a very possible scenario since his actual kid was your classmate, but for some reason, ever since you had walked into his house with that pretty little skirt and those big, shy eyes, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about you.

He knew he wasn't being subtle when eating you up with his eyes, but Bucky wanted you to know, to see what you did to him.

Both of you were aware of the painfully tense and erotic situation, as you'd spread your legs and cross them more often than not, giving Bucky a good view or your exposed skin, making him yearn for more.

"Shit, we need more chips." One of the guys complained.

"I can get them." You offered, since you weren't really interested in the game, and stood up, taking the two empty bowls with you.

It seemed to be impossible to ever be in that house without being left alone with James Barnes, but that time it wasn't accidental at all. As you were opening the chips and dumping them on one of the bowls, footsteps echoed behind you.

Suddenly, Bucky placed his hands on your waist and flipped you around, pressing you against the counter and trapping you between the furniture and his body.

"What are you doing, darlin'?" He asked, looking straight into your widened eyes.

"I-I'm refilling the chips..." You responded, pointing at the bowl behind you with your thumb.

"Fuck the chips, you know exactly what I mean, pretty girl." The man said, cutting right through your act, as he gripped your waist tightly and pulled you to him.

One of the corners of your lips twitched upwards, discarding the innocent façade.

"I'm doing just what you are doing."

"You're playing a dangerous game, Y/N."

The way he said your name sent a shiver down your spine, it rolled off of his tongue in a manner that couldn't be described in any way other than sensual.

"And you aren't?"

He chuckled, licked his lips slowly and then brushed his hair back with his hand, out of frustration. Your naive side had him going insane with desperation, but your bold side had the man wishing to fuck the brat out of you.

"You know what?" He said, taking his hand and softly placing the pads of his fingers right above your knee "I'd love to bend you over this counter and fuck you with this little skirt still on."

His hand trailed up your leg, slowly lifting your bottoms, revealing your white panties with a pink bow in the front. Bucky smirked and chuckled, a small patch of wetness was clearly visible.

"But?..." You questioned, teasing him as you slid one of your thighs between his legs.

"Y/N! How are those chips coming along, dude?" One of the boys yelled from the living room, snapping the two of you into reality.

"Yeah- coming! One second." You responded.

"I guess we'll have to finish this later, Sergeant."

You didn't give him time to respond, as you grabbed the two bowls and walked back into the living room, the wet spot between your legs now larger than ever before, seemingly.

What Bucky was feeling was wrong. He stood there in the kitchen, thinking about you, thinking about how he towered over you and how you looked at him with those eyes that switched back and forth from innocent to fierce, to tease him, to lure him even further.

His pants were tight and his head was filled with thoughts of your body, leaving over and pressing against every surface of that house, with him inside of you.

It was torture, he couldn't handle it anymore, and he couldn't go back into the living room with such and obvious problem - and with the source of the problem sitting so close.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Mr. Barnes going up the stairs, with a serious face and a quick pace. No one else seemed to notice, however, as they were too focused on the game.

"I'm going to the bathroom, anyone need anything from the kitchen?" You lied, looking for an excuse to leave the room as quickly as possible without being suspicious.

You had just come back from the kitchen with the chips, so everyone shook their head or mumbled a "no", so you stood up and followed up the stairs, looking out for any noise to find out which door Bucky had gone into.

As you walked down the hallway, you could hear faint grunts that grew closer with each step. Eventually you found the door of what you assumed was his bedroom, and your whole body froze. There was only one door between you, and the thing that you had fantasized for so long.

"Fuck..." You heard him groan from the inside.

Your hand grabbed the doorknob and slowly turned it, as the heat between your legs was too much to bear. You opened the door, just enough to be able to see him sitting on the bed, back against the wall and head leaning back, as his hand stroked his cock.

"Are you enjoying the show?" He asked, continuously jerking his shaft as he lowered his head and looked straight at you, his hair falling beautifully over his face.

Your face was burning up and your heart was racing, but your nerves were nothing compared to the pure hunger and desperation you felt for the man. You stepped into the room, carefully, as if stepping into a wolf's cage, and closed the door behind you.

Bucky watched as you walked over to him, eyes shifting between his hand's movements and his face.

His free hand flew to your hip, slowly guiding you down until you were sitting on his lap, your wet, clothed pussy applying pressure on his cock.

You stared at each other's lips for a very long time. Bucky's hand cupped your cheek and, slowly but surely, brought you closer, until there was no space left between you.

What started out slowly very quickly progressed, and the second your lips connected, his hands were all over your body, gripping you ass and toying with the little skirt he loved so much. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging on it ever so often as his tongue got bolder.

The two of you pulled apart, your lips were swollen and your eyes were glazed, obviously displaying how much the two of you needed more.

His eyes fell to your lips and he kissed you softly once more before looking up at your eyes.

"We shouldn't do this..." His mouth said something, but the curious fingers that played with the waistband of your panties told you a completely different story.

"Why?" You asked softly, placing small, wet kisses on his neck, causing him to close his eyes and groan.

"My son... Fuck- Andy likes you." Bucky said finally, gripping you tightly as soon as those words left his mouth, as if he thought you'd slip away at the confession.

You kept on kissing his neck, as that confession didn't faze you - if it was something that you would've been over the moon about just a month ago, it was now irrelevant. Bucky came into your life and took over your mind completely, you felt as if every release would feel subpar, unless he was the one helping you reach it.

"You really wanna stop? Hm?" You asked teasingly, as your hips began grinding against his, your wet panties rubbing on his cock.

The conflict on his face was brief, as he eventually threw his head back and let out a low groan. The male gripped your ass cheeks and flipped the two of you over as he attacked your neck.

His hands expertly slid your underwear down your legs, and the male began kissing down your neck, your chest, and your stomach, until he reached your pussy. Bucky teased you for a second, kissing your inner thighs, but he was just as desperate to taste you as you were to feel him.

As his tongue begins licking your cunt and circling your clit, your right hand covers your mouth, while the other grips his hair.

"Aren't you a sweet little thing?..." He whispers, after tasting you.

You almost came at those words, the pure filth of the whole situation leaving you dizzy with pleasure.

The man's cock throbbed against the mattress, but he was too drunk in your taste to let go - Bucky wanted to taste as much of you as possible. His tongue slipped in and out of you as he took a break from teasing your clit, and he didn't stop until your back arched, as Bucky wanted to make you cum with his cock.

Bucky's lips met yours once more, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. That kiss was meant to muffle your sinful sounds as he slipped inside of you and slowly pushed himself fully into you. His girth stretched you out in the most satisfying way, and, somehow, the thing you had fantasized about for so long was even better than you had imagined.

He started out slowly, looking into your eyes as if testing the waters, and picked up the pace when he saw you were comfortable enough. Thankfully the TV was loud enough to drown out the echo from the skin slapping sounds, but they wouldn't drown out much more.

Bucky covered your mouth with his hand as his hips snapped against yours at a feral pace - he wanted to make you scream in a way that you wouldn't be heard.

"Want to be a whore? Hm? Parading yourself in front of me with those pretty little skirts thinking I wasn't gonna fuck the shit out of you?"

Your tits bounced to the rhythm of his thrusts, and you thanked for the hand covering your mouth, allowing you to be as mouthy and as loud as you wanted to.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to see you looking pretty like this, sweetheart." He said, between pants.

Bucky wouldn't last long, as your ever-tightening walls and the erotic look on your face rendered him weak, but thankfully you were also near your climax - he could tell from the way your back arched slightly more by the second.

"Wanna cum for me, baby?" Bucky questioned, removing his hand so you could answer.

"Y-yeah, please, Sir."

He chuckled and smirked at the nickname that, to your credit, did have a nice ring when you were begging under him.

One of Bucky's hands slid between your bodies and circled your clit, until your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your toes curled. You had to bite your lip harshly, to stop yourself from moaning out Bucky's name. The latter pulled out and buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning and panting as he climaxed, spilling all over your stomach.

Knock, knock.

"Hey dad, have you seen Y/N?"

For a second your face went white and your blood froze - you begged that he didn't open the door, or he would come face to face with a rather unfortunate view. You simply stared at Bucky, trusting that he would come up with something

"Huh?" He said, pretending to be clueless at first, "Oh yeah, she had a bit of an accident." Hinting that you had gotten your period, a clever lie that Andy wouldn't question due to its nature "She was embarrassed and didn't want to tell everyone so I told her to just go home."

"Oh... Okay." Andy's voice seemed sad, and you heard his footsteps dragging on the floor and becoming quieter as he walked away.

Bucky looked into your eyes before pressing a kiss to your jaw.

"Guess you don't gotta go back down... Plenty of time for another round. Or two."

'minors do not interact' banner credit: @cafekitsune

[sugurusfavemonkey]

say you'll be my darlin' - kento nanami (2/2)

*image: soshiu_pasu*

valentine's day special summary: kento just made you not only his valentine but also his girlfriend (this is where the pure and unadulterated smut comes in - minors do not interact) part 1/2

Kento's plan had only encompassed providing you with a memorable Valentine's day and, perhaps, building a foundation for a relationship with you in the near future. Yet, somehow, he had gone and gotten himself a girlfriend.

The term felt so juvenile, yet he couldn't care less because he felt young. The knowledge that you were just as enraptured created a bubble of blissful elation Nanami had no intention of bursting.

He had piled up the plates and was in the process of standing up, having just pushed his chair from underneath the table when you sprung up from your seat, startling the poor man.

"The restroom is-" he tried to direct you as you made your way around the table, assuming you wanted to use the toilette, but you hushed Nanami by wedging yourself between him and the table. "Sweetheart?" the way he looked up at you in question nearly had you losing your nerve.

You steeled yourself though, swallowing hard and placing your hands on his shoulders. Kento, for all his puzzlement, opened up his knees to make space for you in between his legs but remained otherwise neutral. The way his jaw clenched and hands flexed on his thighs wasn't lost on you, bless his heart.

"I want to show my appreciation to you. May I?" you spoke quietly into the otherwise silent room.

He wetted his dry lips with his tongue and your eyes immediately dropped to follow the brief gesture before mirroring it while he searched your face with a weighted gaze, "we haven't even had dessert yet."

"I have the dessert I want right here, Kento." You slapped yourself in the back for the quick comeback and the hitch it elicited in Kento's breath.

"I don't want to be disrespectful-"

"You've been a perfect gentleman all night. Hell! All your life, I'd bet," you stopped him before he took the blame for your forwardness. "Tell me I'm moving too fast and I'll stop."

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?" Kento smiled gently up at you. The position you put yourself in rendered both of you vulnerable in different ways and you cherished how he so easily entrusted you with seeing this side of him.

"Hmm…" you shook your head, "consent goes both ways."

"I adore how thoughtful you are, my love."

You're unsure if it's the pet name or the intensity behind his gaze, but a shiver ran down your spine.

"I don't want you to feel pressured into anything. This dinner, the flowers… they don't require any retribution," Kento assured you once more, insistent, but you knew he was merely making sure to give you an out in case that's what you wanted.

"I know that. But I want to," you assured him, hopefully conveying just how much you meant the words with your eyes as well. "Consider it my gift to you. I am your Valentine too after all, am I not?"

You didn't give him a chance to answer before you sat on his lap, each of your legs wrapping around his waist. At first, Kento hesitated, his hands hovering awkwardly until they found your hips and slowly glided up to settle on your waist.

You leaned closer until your breaths mingled together and your head spun dangerously with his aromatic fragrance taking over your senses. Nanami is the one who closed the space between you, eyes falling shut as your lips connected.

It's nothing more than a peck, full of unspoken feelings and repressed longing. The air feels charged with tension, your heart pulsing loudly in your ears, temperature running hot at the sheer brush of his warm lips to yours.

He nudged your nose with his before giving you another peck. And another. And then pressing for a bit longer, more intensely, tilting his head so his lips fit better with yours. You let your hands follow the natural curve of his shoulder, one sliding down his back and the other finding its way into the buzzed hair on the back of his head.

With the first brush of his tongue, you were ruined. You opened up to him like a blooming flower. Your entire body tingled pleasantly as he let himself consume you and you let yourself be consumed. Warm muscle exploring and mapping out your mouth sensually.

Nanami felt as if a dam was breaking as he poured the yearning from every moment he had spent craving you into the kiss, his hands tightening on your waist until you were sure he had left fingerprints on your skin. You pressed yourself even closer, moaning into the kiss when that did nothing to relieve the ache you felt, your teeth briskly clashing together in your haste.

You only separated when the need for air became too much to bear, a string of spit still connecting your lips.

"You have no idea what you do to me." Kento gasped.

"I think I do." You chirped teasingly as you ground yourself down on his lap, feeling a distinct hardness pressing into your covered center.

"Fuck." That night was full of firsts because you're absolutely certain you had never heard Kento cuss before. "Don't do that," he warned you, eyes glinting dangerously.

"Or what?" You challenged with a giggle as you did the exact opposite, pressing yourself down on him once more. Whimpering at the silver of pleasure it gave you, a teaser of what was to come.

Kento almost growled your name, his breath labored, red blossoming from his exposed upper chest and neck. He gave you no indication before he pushed the dirty dishes further up the table and picked you up with ease, laying you on the table in front of him and leaning over your sprawled form, his body slotted between your spread thighs ad he kissed you again with even more fervor.

Or that, you guessed.

His lips drifted down to your jaw and then to your neck, kissing and biting at the skin, all while rutting into you rhythmically. His ministration had you gasping for air, your head lolling back to the table. You whined pitifully when he abruptly detached himself from you.

"Sit up for me, love" He commanded. And you obeyed… How could you not when you had Kento Nanami in between your legs? His fingers held onto the hem of your top, giving it a few impish tugs, "may I?"

You nodded, wordlessly lifting your arms to aid him in removing the offending cloth. His eyes fell to your cleavage and his mouth fell open, pupils taking over until you could barely see his iris. You used his distraction to remove your bra, throwing it aside the same he had done to your top. Kento let out a guttural sound, something feral from deep within as his hands softly caressed your breasts.

"You're so beautiful," he huffed before he leaned down, pushing you back on the table surface with another kiss. You heard the crashing sound of some dish falling to the ground but neither of you paid it any mind, too absorbed in each other. His lips drifted down to your jaw and then to your neck, kissing and biting at the skin, all while rutting into you rhythmically. Kento's ministration had you gasping for air, your head lolling back to the table.

"K-Kento!"

"Yes, love?" you felt his chest vibrating with his low croon against your skin.

"Please," your fingers searched for purchase on the cotton of his shirt fruitlessly, you feared your nails could have even ripped the material in your desperate pursuit.

"What do you need? Tell me." Nanami had his hands on your chest, massaging the skin nimbly.

"Touch me," you were very close to just begging for it.

"Hmm, but I am touching you."

You rolled your eyes in both pleasure in exasperation, unsurprised his matter-of-fact manners came out even then.

"For f-fuck's sake. Don't- ah," he pinched one of your nipples. "Don't make me spell it out, Ken."

"Right here?" He questioned as he squeezed your tit. "Or maybe here?" The palm of one hand pressed to your covered mound as his middle and ring fingers found your clit even through your clothes and pressed down hard. You moaned.

"Yes! Yes, right there! Please!"

"How could I ever deny you when you beg so sweetly?"

His finger moved to your pants, teasing the button as he searched your face for permission. You huffed a breathy "yes", nodding wildly.

With your consent, Kento unbuttoned and unzipped your pants, pulling them down as he let himself fall to his knees in front of you. Right where he belonged, he thought to himself. He removed both of your shoes, hands stopping to massage your heels before your pants were off. Kento held your leg by your ankle, dropping a few kisses to your calf before setting it down and making space between your legs by pushing your thighs apart.

You lifted yourself on your elbows to peer down at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

"I thought I was the one showing my appreciation?"

"What if I want to show my appreciation as well?"

"You already," Kento kissed up the supple skin of your thighs making your voice tremble. "Hmm, you already did. It's my turn."

"Then let me have this. Worshipping you is the greatest pleasure you could bestow me, love."

"Kento! I-" He bit down on your inner thigh, so close to where you needed him the most, "Ah! Fuck! That's n-not fair."

He nuzzled at your pussy through the soaked lace of your flimsy panties, fingers wrapping around each of your legs to keep them open when the sudden touch had you trying to squeeze them together, "did you wear these for me?"

"Just for you, Kento. All for you," you sighed.

"Look at you. So pretty. So wet too," he murmured contently, his eyes locked on the wet patch on your underwear, his lips brushing against your sensitive skin with each word.

Your hand found its way into his hair, nails brushing his scalp when he finally dared to lick a stripe over the thong, a pointer finger sliding it to the side before doing it again.

Kento outwardly moaned when he tasted your slickness on his tongue, "you taste divine, my love. So much better than I imagined."

You wanted to tease him, question how many times he pictured that scenario, just how often he touched himself to the thought of you, but you could only cry out as he slid his tongue through your folds, the tip of his tongue flicking over your clit and your finger tangle in the strands of his hair.

You whimpered at the wet heat of his mouth on you. It felt like he was trying to devour you, pussy first. His tongue alternated between flicking over your clit playfully and running along your folds. It made you moan as you ground your hips upward. His tongue finally relented its attack on your clit., thrusting deeper into your heat. Nanami groaned, loving the feeling as you tugged on his hair to push his face deeper into your cunt. His cock twitched in his pants, precum probably staining through his briefs and pants.

"Fuck, Ken. Feels so good," you panted.

Nanami glanced up to meet your lidded eyes. The sight of your flushed cheeks had him moaning into your pussy, his hips thrusting helplessly in the air at the same time you jerked your hips. He stopped momentarily and snaked an arm up, pointer and middle fingers breaching through your parted lips and pressing down on your tongue, "wet them for me, love."

You clamped your lips around his fingers promptly, sucking in your cheeks as your tongue twirled around them until there was drool spilling from the corner of your mouth.

Kento pecked your lower lips without breaking the eye contact, "such a good girl."

His praise went straight to your cunt, creating even more slick. You could feel a puddle forming on the table underneath you with how wet you were.

His hand slid from your mouth, down your jaw and followed the curve of your neck only to pause briefly to grope your tit and give your nipple a firm tug before continuing on his trajectory down your body, the heel of his palm pressing firmly to your lower stomach just as his lips attached themselves to your cunt again. You kept making small sounds through it all, breath hitching with each of the breaks he took in the path.

Nanami used his wet fingers to rub small circles on your clit, eating you out like a man starved, craving to have your release on his tongue. You started babbling incoherently, throwing your head back and shutting your eyes when the feeling became too much.

For a second you thought you felt him spelling his name on your clit with his digits, but that could also have been something your fuzzy brain came up with.

"I'm s-so close! Ah!" You moan loudly, "gonna cum-"

And then the coil snap, black spots taking over your vision as pleasure explodes inside your veins, thighs shaking and squeezing his head, Kento only groans as he eagerly lapped up your slick. He worked you through your high until you were pushing his head away.

You're a panting mess, laying there on his dinner table as you try to recover and all Kento could think as he stood up was that you looked like a dream.

"Are you alright?" Kento rubbed the outside of your thighs up and down, still slotted in between them.

"Yup. Just- Help me up?"

"Of course!"

He quickly stepped back holding both of your hands firmly so you could anchor yourself as you sat up and then slid to the ground on unsteady legs. You took a deep breath and mumbled a hoarse "thank you". Once you were certain your legs wouldn't fail you, you squeezed his hands, signaling it would be fine to let you go.

Your eyes drifted to the wet patch and the very clear tent on his pants. You couldn't help but feel a new wave of desire watching over you. You licked your lips and stepped until you were flush against him, fisting the lapels of his shirt and pulling him down. You didn't care that he tasted like you or that his lips were still stained with your juices as you eagerly kissed him. Kento hummed into the kiss, arms circling your waist.

He let you take the reins, felt your clumsy fingers struggle to open each of the buttons of his shirt, and helped when you pushed the open garment down his shoulders and arms. Nanami only stopped you when you tried to unbuckle his belt, his large hands circling your wrists and pulling them up. You whined into the kiss, biting his lower lip and pulling away.

"Let me return the favor. Please."

"Fuck. Tasting you got on the very edge of the precipice I wouldn't last if you went down on me, beautiful."

"That's fine, I-"

"It's not fine," he cut you off, placing a tender kiss on the tip of your nose. "It's not fine because right now I need to fuck you. Will you let me?"

You shivered, lips parting in wonder. The tension on his shoulders and blown pupils did little to hide his hunger and you weren't faring much better, "yes, please."

You were embarrassed by the shriek you let out as he easily picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and walked around as if you weighed less than a feather, "I promise I'll give you a tour of the apartment tomorrow morning," (which he does so after bringing you a lovely arranged tray with breakfast in bed and spoon feed you yogurt with chopped fruit before you finally have enough and push him down on the bed to suck him dry).

His strength became even more pronounced when he held you up with only one arm to open the door to his bedroom and before you knew it, he had you laid down and spread over the comforter on his mattress. You admired his shifting muscles as he toed off his shoes, unbuckled his belt, and removed his pants until he was standing before you in only his briefs. Nanami was truly a sight for sore eyes, with his mussed-up hair (probably your fault), heaving chest, and deep v-line that gave way and pointed down to a badly concealed dick. 'Happy trail' never felt like a more fitting moniker, the meticulously trimmed blonde hair a path to paradise.

"You're beautiful," you had been so engrossed in gawking at him that you failed to notice he had been doing the exact same to you, soft hazel eyes then meeting yours. You knew that small compliment had you blushing, you started to sit up, legs going to fall close, but Kento stopped the movement by kneeling between them, "don't. Let me see you."

"Fine. But you gotta let me see you too," you bargained with a tip of your chin to his cock. You knew for a fact he was positively packing since the shape of it was so clearly apparent too.

"That can be easily arranged."

You watched in bated breath as he slid his briefs down, revealing his thick, veiny… perfect cock. The tip is red and angry, precum dripping down its sides. You caught yourself wondering if he would even fit.

Kento kneeled back on the bed and jerked you forward on the bed so your head rested on a pillow and climbed after you. He reached above you for his wallet on the bedside table and picked through it until he found a condom and dropped both back on the bed, his attention shifting back to you.

"We don't have to use it. I'm on the pill. And I trust."

He wasn't sure if his cock twitched over the prospect of feeling you whole, with no barriers or if it was your trust that turned him on so much.

"My last annual check-up came up clean, but I will do nothing you don't want to, love."

"I want to feel you, Kento. Every inch of you," you were trying to go for seducing, but you were pretty sure you just sounded desperate.

He pressed a finger to your entrance, thumb catching your clit in mean circles to test the waters, and then a second finger, thrusting them lightly. It's when he starts scissoring them to prepare you for what was to come that you let yourself melt.

"Ken, I'm ready, please," you cried wantonly, fingers digging into the comforter as your entire body quivered.

"Are you, love?"

"Hmhmm. So ready." You nodded maniacally, desperate for more. Famished for him.

He slotted his thighs to yours, opening you up for him, and coated himself in your slick as he rubbed his cockhead head up and down your folds, his lips falling apart, gaze locked on the tantalizing motion. When it caught on your entrance you whined, arms reaching to pull him in closer and ankles locking behind his back, miserably trying to pull him in. Kento smirked and finally pushed the first inch inside. Your mouth fell open and your head lolled back at the stretch, nails digging into his back.

He hissed, shifting to his forearms and he ducked his head down to kiss you, pushing further in, feeling your tightness envelop him until he's bottomed out. You gasped into the kiss. It felt like he was so far inside of you he reached your guts.

It was perfection. Pure, unadulterated perfection. Kento was certain he had just made it into heaven.

"Fuuuuuck," you whined pathetically, "you fill me up so good."

He held to your waist as if he was scared you were only a figment of his imagination as he gradually started to move his hips.

You were putty under his ministrations, holding on for dear life and he fucked you nice and slow.

"Kento," you panted, tilting your head back as he kissed down your throat. He ground deep into your cunt, grunting as you tightened around him.

"You're doing so good for me, my love."

The room was hot and sticky, your bodies moving in tandem. Your little sobs with each new thrust like music to his ears. More than heaven, Kento felt home and, given the chance, he would spend the rest of his life worshipping you. He was so fucking close, but he needed you to cum alongside him.

You cried when he adjusted the angle, "fuck, keep going. Right there!" You supplicated.

Nanami complied, hitting that same spot with hard thrusts and a precision that upheld his title as the 7:3 sorcerer. His hand found your clit again and your breath hitched. He sped up then, hitting your sweet spot again and again and again until you're nothing but a drooly mess.

"It's like you were made for me," he whispered reverently and the praise was all you needed as his next thrust shoved you over the edge. You clamped down around his cock crying out.

When you came, Kento groaned into your skin, working you through it until he felt you go lax. He slid He slides his hands under your ass, lifting you as he shuffled onto his haunches, and he sunk impossibly deeper into your pussy.

"Ah. you're so fucking deep," you panted, completely at his mercy as he began to rock you on top of his cock.

"You're talking me so well,” He promised, watching his cock disappear inside your dripping cunt, lost in the pleasure of being inside of you.

His eyes flickered to yours, an angel spread on his bed for him and moaned. Not even his sweetest dreams could've conjured such image… such feeling.

"I-I think I'm close again. Ken, I'm- Oh, fuck! Yes! Please, please, don't stop!"

Kento clenched his jaw and tightened his grip, bouncing you on his dick with such force you could do nothing but holding on for the ride. He groaned, pistoling his hips up, barely holding onto his own release.

"Think you can come again for me?"

You nodded feverishily.

"Then rub at your sweet little nub for me," he commanded in between grunts and shaky breaths. You did as you were told, rubbing at your clit using your mixed juices until you see stars.

Nanami thrusted a few more times before he couldn't take it anymore. He pulled you down hard, hitting your cervix and that was enough for you to come, mouth agape in a silent cry as your head fell back, body convulsing and walls fluttering around his cock. With a low groan of your name echoing in the room, Kento felt his cock pulsing, painting your walls with his hot cum. He rocked into you a few more time until you stopped shaking and let the both of you fall back to the bed, mindful not to crush you under his weight.

You sighed, caressing his back as he leaned forward to rest his forehead on your heaving chest, both of you basking in the luxurious bliss of an orgasm.

You didn't know it then, but at that moment Kento decided you would be the woman he would marry, no matter how long it took for you to see it as well.

taglist: @madamechrissy @elliehenry24 @vivivillian

a/n: idc, consent is hot.

©sugurusfavemonkey 2025┃all rights reserved. do not copy, repost, translate or otherwise modify this work

[wintrwinchestr]

an overture of indulgence (joel miller x f!reader oneshot) 18+

summary: it's been a long time since you've seen joel, and some things have changed, but a lot has stayed the same. namely, how quickly he can still get you on his knees for him, ready to show him exactly just how much you like what has changed about him.

warnings: 18+, smut, post-outbreak, jackson joel, d/s relationship dynamics, pet names (baby, babygirl, sweetheart, sweet girl, etc), body worship, belly kink, talk of weight gain, belly riding, m/f masturbation, lil bit of humiliation kink, lil bit of edging, reader is an adult but age otherwise unspecified, reader is shorter than joel and has hair long enough to grab, let me know if i missed anything :)

word count: 4.3k

a/n: just fuckin outing myself left and right these days huh. idk what came over me with this one. started this late last night and here it is now. belly enjoyers rise!!!!!!! nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed <3 you can't kink shame me bc i like getting bullied so now what. also i avoided daddy kink for once in my life please clap. i know i’m spoiling y’all this weekend don’t get used to it.

divider by @saradika

“...Joel?!” you shout, your leisurely walking pace quickly turning into a hurried jog as you leave Tommy behind, making a beeline toward the man you would swear on your life is Joel Miller. A small handful of years ago now, he was kind of your boyfriend, kind of not, kind of something else more complicated and unlabeled, because who can afford to put a label on anything in times like these?

Joel’s head turns in your direction at the sound of his name, and as soon as you spot that crooked scar across the bridge of his nose, you’re certain it’s him.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe it,” you half-cry, throwing your weight into him as you wrap him in a tight embrace. He’s much taller than you, but you still managed to knock him off his balance a little. He envelops your whole body in one of his signature, all-encompassing hugs, and it’s like no time has passed at all.

The two of you had ended whatever it was you had on good terms, no hard feelings or animosity shared between you. It was just hard to maintain any kind of relationship in a world like this, and trying to nurture romance in the Boston QZ was much like trying to grow a rose garden in toxic, radioactive soil. You can put as much care and effort and something like love into it as you have in you, but the circumstances will just never allow it to reach its full potential. The end of your “relationship” was mutual, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Especially when he had disappeared one day without so much as saying goodbye.

When you had stumbled upon Tommy and a group of patrollers in the snowy forest outside Jackson just earlier today, you were alone, tired, and losing hope that this rumored safe haven even existed at all. You had heard crackles through the radio in the QZ about the community, and even though it sounded too good to be true, what else did you have to lose anymore? After months of travel and survival and pain and hunger, you’d never been so happy to meet a bunch of strangers in the woods in your whole life. You didn’t hesitate to get on the back of Tommy’s horse, and let him lead you to the sanctuary they spoke of.

As he was giving you a tour, proudly showing off their electricity, running water, fresh food, and clean houses, you had started to look forward to what the future may bring, for the first time in a long time. You could never have imagined you’d ever run into Joel again, that this is where he had ended up, of all places. And now here the both of you are, bodies pressed as tightly together as possible, breathing in each other’s familiar scents and never wanting to let go again.

Joel is the first to break the embrace, grasping your head in his large hands and frantically searching your face for any sign that he could be dreaming, that fate hasn’t really brought you back together again after all.

“Jesus Christ, it’s really you,” he breathes, and you swear his voice breaks just a little bit as he presses his lips to your forehead, closing his eyes as he does.

When he blinks them open again, he meets Tommy’s gaze, who’s standing quietly a few yards back from where you’re having your sentimental reunion. Tommy gives an understanding nod, and gestures that he’ll be waiting inside the community’s dining hall, gathering that whatever this is happening between his brother and some girl he only just met, he shouldn’t interrupt. Joel is grateful for many things today, one of them being the rekindled bond he has with Tommy, the other being how you somehow miraculously found your way back to him.

Small groups of other Jackson residents follow Tommy into the dining hall shortly afterward, and as the sun begins to set behind the mountains, Joel realizes it must be about time for dinner to be served.

He detaches his lips from your forehead, brushing some of your hair away from your face as he takes you in again. “You poor thing, must be starvin’ I bet,” he wonders aloud, giving you a sympathetic look.

“Kinda always am, just as a rule, but yeah,” you reply, trying to make light of your situation. Though, Joel doesn’t seem to find the humor in it the way you do.

“Long as you stay here, ain’t ever gotta worry about that again, that’s for damn sure.” He runs his tongue across his lips as he finishes his sentence, already knowing that whatever meal they’re serving tonight, it’ll be some of the most delicious food he’s had in a long time. He suspects you’ll feel much the same. “C’mon, let’s get you inside. Get you warm and fed for once in your life.”

–

Your heart, your stomach, your soul, all feel full as you relax into the comfortable couch in the living room of Joel’s cozy home. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea of you staying in an empty house all by yourself tonight, insisting that if you’d like some company while you settle in, you were more than welcome to his. He had let you spend as long as you wanted to in his shower, and he didn’t mind if there was hardly any warm water left by the time you were done. He sure as hell wasn’t paying the bill, and you deserved to feel truly clean. He can remember clear as day how he felt after his first Jackson shower, like he had stripped off a layer of grime he hadn’t been able to scrub all the way clean in twenty years. He had gone to Maria to get you some clothes and underwear while you were bathing, and set them silently on the sink counter for you to put on whenever you were done.

And now here you sit, feeling full and clean and satisfied and comfortable and safe, watching Joel stoke the logs in his fireplace as it casts the whole room in a honey orange glow. You take a moment to admire him while he isn’t looking, and even in the dim and flickering lighting, you can see he’s just as handsome as he was the last time you saw him. He looks older, with more gray in his longer hair and meat on his bones, the latter trait likely due to years worth of the hearty cooking you both indulged in tonight. He looks… good like this.

“It really is nice to see you again, you know. You look…” you start, not being able to help the way your eyes wander to his soft lower belly, the way it pushes taut against his tucked-in flannel shirt and just barely spills over the edge of his jeans.

He turns his head away from the fire to face you. You’re not very subtle in your staring, and he knows what you’re referring to right away. He huffs a light chuckle, trying to brush off the way he thinks you’re poking fun at him.

“I know, I know,” he acknowledges, placing a hand on his stomach. “Been tryin’ to get Maria to give me some more patrol shifts, see if I can get some of the weight off. But hey, you try havin’ three square meals a day for the first time in twenty some odd years, see what it does to you, huh?” He pivots his attention back to the fireplace, and he seems to turn his body further away from you on purpose, so that you can’t see the round profile of his tummy as much.

“No! No, it, um… It suits you. I was gonna say you look good, actually.” You’re quick in your reply, trying to make it clear that you didn’t mean to offend him, without letting too much on. 

He scoffs. “C’mon, you don’t gotta flatter me, sweetheart. I know I don’t exactly look the way you remember–”

“Joel, will you stop?” you interrupt, your voice laced with exasperation. “I’m being serious. Do I look like I’m making fun of you?”

He cranes his neck to look back at where you’re perched on the couch, and gives you a once over. “Guess not… Look a lil’ like somethin’ else, though, if I'm bein’ honest,” he says with a teasing smirk. And there he is again, the same quick-witted Joel you remember from back in the QZ.

You choose to engage in his banter, just to see where he’s going with it. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

He shrugs, beginning to mindlessly poke at the firewood again. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you look like you might like it.”

He’s just kidding around with you, trying to rile you up, you’re sure. But when he gets silence in return instead of the sound of you jumping to defend yourself with another playful jab, he turns to face you once more, and is met with your stunned expression. 

“Oh…” Joel looks down at himself, then back to you again, just in time to catch your eyes flitting from his middle back up to his face. “What, you like ‘em big, sweetheart? ‘S that it?”

The truth is, you do, you always have. It was never a requirement, of course, as the guys you’d been with before Joel all had varying body types. But you’d be lying to yourself if you said that your eyes didn’t linger just a bit longer on guys with a little more to them, with wider arms and thicker legs and a softer middle. You’ve never admitted your preference to anyone before, and Joel calling you out on it now has your face running hot, skin feeling prickly as he sees through you like you’re made of glass.

“I-I don’t– I mean, I do, kinda, but not like that… Well, it is like that, I just mean–” You stumble over yourself, fearing you’ve revealed too much, wishing you could rewind the conversation and just tell him it was nice to see him again, plain and simple.

Joel lays the fire poker down on the granite ledge of the fireplace, approaching where you’re sitting and cupping the side of your face with his calloused hand. 

“Sh, sh, stop, baby. ‘S alright if you do, nothin’ to be ashamed of,” he comforts, and it takes all the willpower you have left not to let your eyes drift down to his stomach, so close you could kiss it, if he’d let you.

“It’s just… I missed you. I thought about you all the time, wondered what ever happened to you after you left. Didn’t even know if you were alive until today. I’m just happy to see you… doing so well. To see that you’re healthy, and everything.” You swallow hard, hoping you sound convincing enough that he’ll let this go, forget all about your little admission just now. But of course, Joel is as stubborn as he’s ever been, and he doesn’t plan on releasing you from his trap now that you’re ensnared in it. 

“That’s sweet, baby, ‘s real sweet,” Joel says, softly, stroking his thumb across your cheekbone as he speaks. “Thought about you too, all this time. Practically every day…” He rakes his eyes over you, noticing the way his touch has you starting to melt already, how you’re looking up at him with your wide, needy eyes. “Why don’t you show me just how much you missed me, hm? How much you love seein’ me healthy, as you put it.”

You’re stunned into silence once again, jaw slack and pupils wide as you search his gaze for proof that he’s just messing with you, making fun of you just to watch you squirm. But you don’t find any.

“O-okay,” you agree in a half-whisper.

Joel smiles down at you, satisfied. “All these years later, still just the sweetest thing, ain’t you? You still just as obedient, too?”

You nod without even thinking, words catching up with your instinctual response a second later. “Mhm, yeah, I am…” You had forgotten how easy it is to submit to him, how good it feels to let the hypnotizing tone of his voice carry you somewhere far away from yourself, when you need it the most. Whether it was after a shitty day of working for shittier rations in the QZ, or after a harsh trek in harsher weather to a forested oasis, Joel always knows how to make you feel like submission is your most natural state. 

“Good… Kneel for me please, sweetheart,” he commands, and you obey immediately, his hand slipping from your face as you slide from the couch onto the woven carpet beneath you. Like second nature, your hands automatically fold themselves on your lap, remembering how you were never to touch Joel until he permitted you to. He takes note of this, and praises you accordingly. “Look at that, didn’t even have to ask. Such a good girl.”

He’s so enamored with you, he almost forgets where he was going with this until he watches your eyes flash to the growing bulge in his jeans, then back up to him. “Not tonight, sweetheart. Was thinkin’ you could put that pretty mouth to use on somethin’ different this time, hm?”

You knit your brows together, not sure what he means, but he doesn’t let you wonder for long. Slowly, he starts to unbutton his flannel shirt, starting at the top and working his way down. He tosses it onto the ground, then pulls his undershirt off over his head, adding it to the other discarded clothing. Without the confines of his slightly-too-tight button-up, you can see how much he really has filled out. Everything about his upper body is just a little more plush, with petal pink stretch marks adorning the soft skin in various places. You want to make it your personal mission to kiss each and every one of them, commit their exact coordinates on his body to memory.

There's a deep scar, you notice, to the left of his belly button, that has almost successfully disguised itself as one of those pretty marks. It’s definitely new since you saw him last, and it looks like it hurt, especially with the evidence of how crudely it had been stitched back together.

“What happened?” you wonder aloud, worried eyes glued to the healed injury.

He has to peer over the curve of his belly to see what you’re looking at. “Long story. Happened on my way out here, after I left Boston. Nothin’ for you to worry about, sweet girl, hardly even hurt. Forget it’s even there, most of the time,” he answers, still with a dominant edge to his voice that does a mostly good job of convincing you it’s the truth.

“Can… Can I?” you ask, waiting to receive his permission before you move your hands from your lap. 

“Yeah, baby, go ahead,” Joel allows. 

You reach out a small hand to gently trace over the raised scar, then press your lips to it with your hands splayed out on either side of your head, just barely pressing into his belly. He releases a soft groan, cradling the back of your head with one of his hands, applying the lightest amount of pressure to let you know this is where he wants to keep you. 

“Why don’t you keep goin’, sweetheart? Gimme some more lovin’ like that, know you wanna,” he encourages, and you think you get the idea now, what it is he wanted to put your pretty mouth to use for.

With his explicit permission to continue, you don’t need telling twice. You move your face to hover just in front of his belly button, admiring the dense salt and pepper happy trail that sprouts from where his jeans push into his soft skin. You drag your tongue along the hair, nipping at the soft curve of where it disappears into the divot in his stomach. He makes a noise in response, half pained and half pleasured, but he doesn’t stop you. Just for good measure, you place a kiss to the little blushing mark where your teeth had scraped him.

Almost of their own volition, it seems, your hands begin to knead at his stomach as you make good on your promise to yourself to kiss every single one of his stretch marks. You allow your tongue to dart from your mouth on the last one, and Joel sucks in a breath.

“Oh, fuck. Forgot how good that wet lil’ mouth feels on me, sweetheart. Keep goin’,” he says, voice coming out strained. His fingers curl tightly into your hair, and he begins to maneuver your face around his belly. You lave your tongue over his skin as he does, slicking him with wet, sloppy kisses. “Yeah, baby, you fuckin’ worship it, show me how much you like me like this.”

It’s a little humiliating, but just enough that you like the feeling. You’re breathing hard and fast, letting out little whimpers as your fluttering cunt begins to soak your underwear. He brings your face to a stop at the most tantalizing part of him, the part that truly evidences how much more he’s allowed himself to indulge since settling in Jackson. The ample curve of flesh that just barely conceals the waistband of his jeans, the part you’ve wanted to get your mouth on since you first saw how it strained the lower buttons of his shirt. You latch onto it, massaging the skin around it as you use your teeth and tongue to suck a mark into him.

A growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and he curses under his breath. “Like it that much, huh? Fuck, naughty thing, look at you.”

You’re so fucking turned on, you’re shivering, rocking where you kneel and squeezing your thighs together in an attempt to get some kind of relief. You let one of your hands drift to the hard shape in Joel’s jeans, and it seems he’s enjoying this as much as you are. He spots your pathetic little squirms as you rut against nothing, and then he’s using his grip on your hair to pull you up from the floor.

“Got an idea. Up,” he commands roughly, and you detach your lips from his belly to obey his order. “Get these off, there we go.” He pulls down your sweatpants and underwear, helping you step out of them. “Christ, you’re soaked,” Joel teases, eyeing the sizable wet spot in your panties as he tosses them aside to join the other forgotten clothing. He reaches a hand toward the apex of your thighs, teasing your wet pussy and gathering some of your slick on two of his fingers. You let out a tiny yelp, but let him play with you, and then he’s bringing his fingers in front of his face and examining the sticky strings of your arousal when he spreads them apart. “All this just from lettin’ you worship all this, huh?” he taunts, patting his stomach once for emphasis. “Who’d’ve thought? Not that I’m complainin’...”

He quickly rids himself of his jeans and briefs, then reclines onto the couch with a quiet groan, stretching out his body along the length of it. Your mouth waters at the sight of his cock, hard and leaking as it bobs against his belly, his precum adding to the dampness still there from your tongue. “Come sit, sweetheart,” Joel says, softly, motioning with both of his hands for you to come closer.

You grip a hand onto the backrest of the couch to balance yourself while you move to straddle him, prepared to sink down onto his length for the first time in way too fucking long. “Uh uh, not there, baby,” he instructs, smirking when he sees how you hesitate in confusion. “Take a seat right here for me.” Again, he pats that most tempting area of his lower belly, and you just about fall apart at the sight of how his flesh ripples in the wake of it.

“Yeah, there you go, good girl,” he praises, both hands gripping your waist as he helps you settle your weight onto his soft abdomen.

“I dunno, don’t wanna hurt you–” you start, but he cuts you off swiftly.

“You won’t, baby. I’m a big man, ain’t I?” he teases, flashing you a devilish and knowing smile. “Go on, sweetheart, ride it.”

You inhale a shuddering breath, then place both of your hands on his shoulders to hold yourself up. You start an experimental buck into his belly, and that trail of dark hair tickles your clit so perfectly. It takes a few tries for you to get the positioning and pressure just right, and then you’re truly riding him, using his full stomach to get yourself off while he watches. 

“God, that’s good. Use it, baby. You love me bigger, love that I’ve been eatin’ so good, prove it to me, c’mon,” Joel goads, and it spurs you on to grind against him harder, faster, as incoherent mumbles and curses tumble from your lips.

“Love it, Joel, you look so good, fuck. So fucking–mmh–so big, makes me so… so–”

“I know it does, sweet girl, I know. Makes you fuckin’ soaked is what it does, god damn. You gonna get my belly all messy, hm? Gonna rub your lil’ cunt all over it, get me all fuckin’ wet?”

“Uh huh, yeah, gonna… I’m gonna–” you whine, eyes shutting tight as your hips pick up their pace. You move your hands from his shoulders to place them on his stomach instead, grabbing at handfuls of his tummy in an effort to create something more solid to rub yourself against. 

You’re already embarrassingly close, the humiliating edge to your earlier worship having gotten you most of the way there on its own. So swollen and sensitive it almost hurts, you won’t need much more to reach your high.

“Not without me, you ain’t. Gonna be right there with ya. You remember how we used to do it?” Joel asks, as if you could ever forget. He’s referring to your many late nights, early mornings, in his bed or in a back alley or wherever in the QZ, where he liked to make sure you both finished at the same time. You’d always be the first one to reach the edge, because he’d focus all his attention on getting you there before him, just to make you wait. It was never something punishing, just something he liked to do as an extra bit of control and dominance, and he knew it always made your orgasms that much more powerful and satisfying when he would finally permit you to let go.

With your eyes closed, so focused on your own pleasure, you hadn’t noticed that he had reached behind you to start fisting his cock some time ago. But you can hear it now, the wet schlick of his hand moving up and down his shaft as he works himself. “Hold it for me, sweetheart, I know you can. Keep rubbin’ your pretty pussy against me, jus’ like that, almost there…”

You mewl, screwing your face up as you force yourself to slow down your thrusts, muscles tense as you try to keep your orgasm at bay for as long as you can. 

Thankfully, he must be worked up enough from seeing you fall apart for him so easily for the first time in so long, that his permission comes just a few minutes later.

“Come for me, babygirl, soak my fuckin’ belly, c’mon,” Joel growls, and you fall forward immediately, twitching and spasming and crying out into the soft muscle of his shoulder as you ride out the shuddering shocks of your orgasm. He groans next to your ear as he comes, and you can feel the warm ropes of his own release as some of them land on your lower back. You’re both wet, heaving messes, as you embrace each other for the second time today and work on catching your breath.

So exhausted from the day you had, you must’ve fallen asleep against his chest as you laid there, because then you’re being woken up by the dull scratch of his fingertips against your scalp and his familiar voice working its way through the thick fog that clouds your tired brain. 

“You alright, baby?” he asks, and you can hear that he’s smiling, amused at this sleepy little thing he’s got clinging to him.

“Mhm, jus’ tired,” you answer, a barely-there mumble of a sentence.

“I’ll bet… You wanna get cleaned up? Get all tucked into bed?”

You shake your head against his neck, and he chuckles.

“No? Whatcha wanna do then, hm?”

“Jus’ lay here. Missed you. Don’t wanna let… go…” 

Your sentence drifts off into silence before the temptation of sleep allows you to finish it, but Joel gets the idea. He smiles to himself, kissing the top of your head, and hugs you closer. Both of you are still sticky and damp, but satisfied. And together again. And that’s a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

So he agrees, and you stay like that for the rest of the night. Joel doesn’t worry about whether or not he remembered to set his alarm clock for his extra patrol shift the next morning, or if he’ll even hear it all the way from his bedroom upstairs, because it doesn’t matter anyway. He has you, and you made it very clear tonight just how much you like him exactly the way he is. 

Maybe, your rose garden can finally begin to bloom, now that the pair of you have somewhere safe and comfortable and healthy to try your hand at nurturing it again.

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

a day in the life where everyone tries to win reader over, maybe they heard reader mention something like how they can't stand an annoying relative asking them about a relationship over the holidays, or trying to get her the best gift?

ps i love your writing, i read it like my morning paper

A Day in Life: Christmas, Presents and Revelations

Synopsis: A day in your life full of good Christmas presents, propositions and secrets.

Pairing: Yandere!Justice League X Assistant!Gn!Reader

Tw: Implied stalking; Calling someone a manwhore; Karens in the family with traditional and conservative ideals and miserable lives; Mentions of past cheating; Mentions of past Bucky Barnes X reader; Is Hal Jordan slowly getting his redemption arc?; Slightly implied horny Reader; English is not my first language.

Word count: 2,2k

Requested? Yup.

General masterlist | A Day in Life - Series masterlist

— And it's just so annoying, like, sometimes I literally don't want to show up on these things, but I don't want to leave my mom there alone with my dad’s family. — You huffed. — My auntie’s too concerned about my romantic life, like her husband didn't get other three women pregnant at the same time she got pregnant and only married her because he would have to marry one of the four girls. — You shook your head while your co-worker laughed. — And you know what's worse? I told everyone I had a boyfriend, but Bucky cheated on me, and I didn't tell them that yet, so she's gonna think I lied and mock me like the middle-aged Regina George she is!

Unknown to you, certain people were listening, and silently, each one of them made a decision.

Your last day at work before Christmas, you were getting ready to go home, pack and take the road, when someone knocked on your office door. You looked up, seeing no other than Martian Manhunter at your door, holding a present.

— How can I help? — You hid your gritted teeth behind a polite tone.

— I came here to follow the Earth tradition of Christmas and give my loved one a present. — He stopped in front of you with a soft smile and extended the gift in your direction. You hesitated.

— You didn't have to… — You cautiously took the present from his hand.

— I also have a proposition for you. — And there it comes. — I couldn't help but overhear earlier that you were in need of a partner for a meeting with your family. — You wanted to facepalm. — I could be that person. — You sighed.

— I can't show up with an alien superhero. — You crossed your arms with a pointed look.

— As you know, I'm a shapeshifter. — You watched as he changed his appearance to look like multiple different kind of people, one moment he was a tall blonde man, the next, a black girl with braids, then an asian young guy, and so on, meaning he could look however you wanted him to. — And you can call me by whatever name you choose, even the name I adopted here on Earth… J’onn J’onnes. — He settled for his usual green alien appearance. — You widened your eyes at his confession, thinking “oh, shit”.

— Uhh…

— While you think about it, open my present, darling. — He gently pushed the present in your direction again and you, still wordless, obeyed, while mentally searching for a way out of this.

You cleared your throat and teared the paper. The feeling of destroying the wrapping paper of gifts always made you feel a little embarrassed, as if the beautiful wrapping itself was the present and you were being rude by tearing it apart. It was a silly thought.

As you finished, you found out he gave you a comic book from your favorite hero. It made you excited, but you couldn't show it much.

— Oh wow, thank you… — You coughed. — Can't even imagine how you knew it was my favorite… — You internally rolled your eyes. — Anyway, about your offer- — Another knock interrupted you, and you both looked at the door. Aquaman was there with another present in hand.

He looked suspiciously from you to the other hero and stepped forward, then focused on you.

— Whatever offer he gave you, I give you one better. Take a king to meet your family, darling. — He smirked and offered you his present. You ignored what he said, settled the comic on your desk, and opened his present. It was a necklace with charms related to the beach, like some shells, pears and fishes, all made of your favorite metal. You pursed your lips, not waiting to admit to yourself that it was pretty and you liked it more than you thought you would, just like the last gift.

— Thank you. And about your offer, I can't exactly do that. You can imagine why. — He shrugged.

— Well, you can simply take me as your completely human lighthouse keeper, Arthur. — He smirked and wrapped your shoulders with his left arm. You shuddered, thinking “God, no”. — We’ll even invite them to our beach house, darling. Right on the shore. I also have a boat. Let's impress them. — He grinned proudly, as if he was sure you couldn't deny him.

You shrugged his arm off and before anything came out of your mouth, you remembered about your auntie and her shittalking right now. She always wanted a beach house, but everyone knew your uncle prefered to spoil himself and his side-pieces than her or the kids, and yet, she felt superior to every member of the family who was single because at least she had a husband and she didn't need to work, including you.

Rubbing a beach house, a boat, and a blonde hunk himbo on her face could be nice… Even if you just offered to take only your immediate family there one day and then just pretend you broke up with him later, he and the league would still get the wrong idea.

— Knock knock, oh- What’s everyone doing here? — Flash was there and pursed his lips while looking at the three of you. You groaned internally.

— You can go, Flash, (Y/N) won't choose you. — Aquaman, or Arthur, weaved him off. Flash narrowed his eyes for a second and then turned to you, ignoring him and beaming at you, extending a gift in your direction.

— I bought you something! — You discharged the necklace behind you and took the new gift, it was a bracelet with a lightning symbol in your favorite metal. It was also pretty, you were getting tired of it.

— Thank you, Flash…

— Please, just call me Barry. — He grinned brightly. — Please ignore the stinking ugly dressed fishman and the alien still learning to act like a normal human. You can take the funny and smart forensic chemist to meet your family. — He reached up and took his mask off, you widened your eyes, at seeing his real face. Huh, you didn't think he was blonde.

You stuttered, too shocked.

— Oh God… — You thought knowing their name was worse than their faces, secret identities and all, but something about seeing a real face that was kept hidden all the time felt like a heavier burden. To make matters worse, Green Lantern showed up. — No.

— Just hear me out, please! — Everyone turned to him with annoyed expressions. — I changed, I swear! And I apologized like, a thousand times. — He cleared his throat. By your face, he knew it was the worst thing to say. — Anyway, here’s your gift. — He bit his lip while you took it from his hands and opened it with hostility. They were tickets for the next concert of one of your favorite artists, that made you feel a little bad for the way you treated him, but it didn't change what he did to you in the past.

— I… Thank you. — You were trembling with nerves at this point from all the surprises you were having.

— I heard you needed someone to bring home for the holidays…

— Uhuh.

— And your dad is a big fan of the army, right? — You blinked. It was true, but you never told them that, yet, you weren't surprised they knew that.

Where was he going with it…?

— Please, not you too.

But he took off his ring anyway, and after a moment, he was wearing civilian clothes, along with a military jacket and dogtags.

— Who better than a charming ex-air force member to present to your family? Test pilot now, I can take them flying. Actually, I can take you flying. — He winked. — Call me Hal Jordan, beautiful. — He winked and saluted you. — Also, I fought in the war.

— Dude. Just give up. They're not gonna pick you.

— I will never give up, I'm a green lantern, strong will is kind of my thing. — He looked at you again. — So, darling?

While you were staring blankly at him, someone cleared their throat.

— Be reasonable, you don't have to be humiliated today. — Wonder Woman catwalked into the room confidently. She was holding two bags from a clothes store in her hands. The amazon pushed Hal Jordan aside and stopped in front of you. She looked you up and down and smiled charmingly. — Take me with you, darling. This is for you. — She extended one of the bags to you. You took it and looked inside, then reached in and pulled it out. It was a beautiful outfit, completely on your style, and clearly of good quality. But when she pulled out what was inside the other bag, it took your attention and you looked curiously at the red wine satin dress she was holding up. — And this is what I will be wearing. — She smiled seductively. — Diana Prince, pleasure to meet you.

You couldn't help your jaw from dropping while imagining her wearing that. While some family members might not admire the sensual outfit as much, you definitely would. Secretly. Your ego would too.

Damn it, why couldn't she be more normal and less yandere?

You swallowed, looking away from her and the dress. It was finally too hard to say no, but not for the mature reasons.

At your silence, Diana’s eyebrows rose up and she tilted her head to the side, with a pleased small smile. The other men in the room groaned and started arguing loudly, but she was untouchable in front of you.

Unstoppable force, meet immovable object.

— I think I should just go home, it's getting late… — You rapidly shoved your gifts inside the bag, took your things and squeezed your way between them heroes, not even realizing how trapped you were previously, but just as you got to the door, you hit a brick wall, or Superman, as people usually call him.

You groaned and he looked at you sheepishly.

— I guess after all of that I can't offer you something much better, but I can try… — Superman took a deep breath and before you could blink, he flew away, changed clothes, and came back. One second, Superman was in front of you, the next, just a regular cute guy wearing glasses and a suit. You took a second to recognize him and understand what happened and what that meant.

Damn, who knew glasses were a good disguise.

— I'm Clark, Clark Kent. I grew up on a farm in Kansas and I work as a journalist at the Daily Planet. — He smiled shyly and gave you his gift. — I hope you like it…

You blinked and catatonically looked at the thing he gave you. Differently from the last gifts, it wasn't neatly wrapped and it had a weird shape, but by how it felt in your hands, you guessed what it was.

You expected the sight of a Superman plushie to greet you, but instead, it was a plushie of your favorite fictional superhero. The same hero from the Martian’s comic.

Well, it was cute. You would probably fall for him if you didn't know better. You held back an awed sound that wanted to spill from the back of your throat.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by all the Justice League groaning a collective and loud “GET OUT”, you looked up, confused and curious by what caused all this, surprised by seeing it was just Batman entering the room.

Huh, why did everyone react like that?

He stared at you, then at every single one of them, silently, almost disapproving, or disappointed, but then, he smirked when he looked at you again.

Batman was smirking? You flinched.

— This is for you. — He gave you a big box. It was surprisingly heavy. When you opened it, there was a very expensive and beautiful pair of shoes, something you only dreamed of having and was always on your Pinterest board. Only digital influencers and celebrities wearing it, making you jealous. But that wasn't all. There was also jewelry and a very expensive bottle of wine. You will definitely take it to the holidays to impress your family. Or maybe keep it to a very special occasion. — And there’s more from where it came from. — He reached for his cowl and your breath hitched. Never in your wildest dreams you thought this day would happen.

He took of the cowl, and in front of your was…

Bruce Wayne?!

While everyone deflated, knowing they lost, you just had to hold back your laugh, but a snort still escaped. That took everyone off for a second, including the always stoic hero in front of you, who was clearly bewildered when you couldn't hold back anymore and laughed to his face.

— You think I'm gonna show up to my family with the nacional manwhore? HA! Yeah, that's gonna impress them for the first five minutes, then I will be the dummy who’s gonna be traded for the next top model. — You shook your head, still laughing. Bruce frowned deeper. You slightly feared for your job after you bluntly called him a manwhore.

— I would never do that to you. My affairs are all to deceive the public and keep my job a secret.

— And that might be true, but my family doesn't know that! Or are you gonna tell this to everyone? Funny. Billionaires are so delusional and out of touch… — You shook your head and walked out.

Like, comment and reblog 🥰

[itscalledastrategyfred]

Stay Close!

Request: None

Pairing: Dad!Pierre Gasly x Toddler Daughter!reader

Warnings: None, just fluff !!

Summary: Baby Gasly gets a bit excited and runs off at Disney World.

Notice: Yes, this is from @heyitspapayaontop. That is my second blog. Thank you<3

On a sunny Thursday in early June, the vibrant colors of Disney World beckoned families from all over the world, each one ready to immerse themselves in the enchanting atmosphere. Sunlight sparkled off the famous Cinderella Castle, and laughter filled the air as children darted past with balloons bobbing above their heads. Among those families was the Y/N Gasly, pulling her mother and her father closer to a teacup ride. The small family was finally enjoying a rare break between the 2025 Miami GP and the Italian GP .

Pierre and Kika shared a smile, soaking in every moment of happiness. Y/N was a sprightly three-year-old, full of energy and wonder. Her big brown eyes sparkled with excitement as she absorbed the magical sights and sounds of Disney—a place where her dreams were finally coming true.

“Look, Papa! Mickey Mouse!” Y/N exclaimed, pointing toward a character dressed in a large mouse costume that was happily waving to the children around him.

“Do you want to go meet him, Y/N?” Kika asked, kneeling down to her daughter's height. The little girl nodded vigorously, her curls bouncing as she became momentarily lost in her excitement.

As they made their way through the throngs of families, Y/N was torn between the allure of meeting Mickey and the enchanting rides that surrounded them. After a leisurely stroll and a few detours for photos with whimsically-costumed characters, they arrived at the iconic meeting spot. Y/N's face lit up when she saw Mickey, and she rushed forward, pulling her smiling parents along.

With a bright grin, she hugged Mickey while Kika snapped a photo—this was one for the family album. Y/N grinned happily at her mother's phone, her small face beaming with delight.

Afterward, Pierre suggested a visit to the nearby Dumbo the Flying Elephant ride. “Let’s go, Y/N! It’s going to be so much fun!”

“Yay! I want to fly!” Y/N squealed, her little feet bouncing with anticipation. They waited in line, and Pierre hoisted her onto his shoulders. “Higher, Papa! Higher!”

Their laughter rang out as they finally climbed onto the ride, with Y/N flapping her arms as if she could truly fly. As the ride spun happily in the air, Kika watched them, her heart swelling with love for both her husband and their little girl.

As the afternoon wore on, Y/N, enthralled by the sights and sounds, didn't notice when her parents stopped to take a photo at another attraction. Peering curiously at the giant castle, she subtly slipped away, eager to explore the magical world around her.

It was only when Pierre and Kika turned back to find their daughter wasn't next to them and panic-gripped them faster than a car when the lights went out. “Y/N?” Pierre called, scanning the vicinity. “Y/N?” He repeated louder than the first time.

Kika grabbed Pierre's forearm, a wave of anxiety crashing over her. “We need to find her, Pierre!”

The couple dashed in different directions, Kika’s heart racing. They desperately checked around every corner, calling her name, but there was no response. As the world seemed to close in, Pierre suddenly shouted, “Over there! That way!”

Meanwhile, Y/N had wandered towards the beautiful flowers, her eyes wide with wonder at the sights of colorful petals and swirling displays. She marveled at everything, completely oblivious to the worry that swelled behind her.

“Y/N, stay close!” A voice rang around her, but it sounded distant. “Papa?” she called, her little voice barely above a whisper as she turned in circles, searching.

Just then, another familiar face turned the corner—Charles, who she often called her her “Monny”,or her “Uncle Charlo.” He had taken a break from his own visit at the park to enjoy some downtime before the next race. Spotting the little girl with big, worried eyes, he quickly approached her.

“Y/N! What are you doing here all alone?” he asked gently, kneeling down and putting his hands on her waist in a gentle, protective manner.

“Uncle Charlo!” she exclaimed, relief flooding her tiny features. “I lost my mama and papa!”

Charles’ heart melted at the sight of the little girl, and he immediately took charge. “Don’t worry, mon amour. I’ll help you find them. Let’s go look together.”

With that, he gently took her hand, leading her through the bustling crowd. “Can you tell me what they have on today, mon chéri?” he asked, guiding her gently along.

Y/N frowned, thinking hard. “Papa has a blue shirt, and Mama has a pink dress!”

Charles smiled. “Alright, let’s look for blue and pink!”

As they passed groups of people, Charles kept an eye out for Pierre’s unmistakable figure, his heart racing as they checked stalls and rides. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spotted Kika and Pierre not far away, still scanning the throng of visiting families.

“Look over there, Y/N!” Charles pointed, excitement bubbling in his voice.

“Papa!” Y/N cried out and began to run towards her parents, pulling Charles along with her.

Both Pierre and Kika turned at the sound of their daughter’s voice and blinked in amazement at the sight before them. Charles, kneeling with Y/N by his side, smiled at them, a comforting gesture that reassured Kika and Pierre amidst their stress.

“Thank you, Charles!” Pierre exclaimed with immense relief as he knelt to scoop Y/N into his arms.

“Mama, I found Uncle Charlo!” Y/N beamed, completely overjoyed.

Kika rushed over to hug them both tightly, her heart still racing with the remnants of worry. “Oh, Y/N! You scared us!”

“Let’s stay together now, okay?” Kika said as she pulled Y/N closer, grateful to have her back.

“Okay!” Y/N nodded, oblivious to the tension that had just passed.

Charles grinned, enjoying the warmth of their family moment. “I think the magic of Disney worked too well today, huh?” he joked, tousling Y/N’s hair.

As the group wandered deeper into the park together, laughter erupted again, filling the air with joy. Y/N continued to chatter excitedly, her words a fantastic blend of French and English. Family, laughter, and love surrounded her; this day was one she would remember fondly, filled with the magic of Disney and the strength of family.

A/N: I LOVED THIS ONE BUT I HAD WAR MAKING THE DIVIDER??? my reqs are always open loves<3

[conjureher]

some clingy!tim drake for y'all! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ inspired by @sa1ntd1or's smau (definitely go check out her page, it's divine!) synopsis : rich kid and fat cat are fighting for your attention (it's brutal) 2.5k words | gen master.list

Timothy Jackson Drake has many enemies. It’s not unnatural for a guy in his position - that is, wandering around at night in red and black spandex - to have enemies, it’d actually be weirder if he didn’t. He’s fought countless villains, stopped a couple organizations from wrongdoing, and even had (and lost) a brutal fight with his younger brother. 

But nothing, and he means nothing, could be more evil than your beloved white tabby that you’ve affectionately named ‘Chunky.’

It’s not like he was trying to become mutual mortal enemies with your cat! As a matter of fact, he’d been trying to get along with the feline in hopes it’d make you fall even more in love with him. He’s always been relatively good with animals. So why is it that your cat has a special hatred for him? He’s not sure. 

THREE MONTHS AGO: FEBRUARY 14TH, A FRIDAY

“Okay, I swear you’re gonna love him!” you smile, taking your right hand from Tim’s so you can detach your keychain from your backpack, “He’s a total sweetheart! He loves everyone.”

Tim - whose previously free hands have now found the mini figurine attached to your bag zipper - is just as smiley as you are, "I hope so. I've never been so nervous to meet a cat of all things."

"Don't be nervous, it's just Chunky. He'll love you, and you'll love him," you reassure Tim with that voice he thinks is the most comforting. He loves it when you use that tone because for a moment he's actually convinced that everything will be alright. "It'd actually be kind of tragic if you didn't love each other. The two most important boys in my life hating each other, I'd be devastated.”

Finally unlocking your door, you take Tim’s hand in yours and push the door open ever so gently. “Chunky boy! Where are you silly?” you coo, your voice just a tad higher.

Tim waits expectantly, curiously peering over your shoulder hoping he can catch a glimpse of the esteemed kitty.

“Huh. He’s usually all over me as soon as the door opens,” you pull Tim in, dropping your keys into your little bowl full of trinkets, “Chunks?”

You shrug off your jacket and make Tim take off his shoes because he’s a heathen whose parents allowed him to run wild - not really.

Throwing your backpack onto your couch, you swivel your head in all sorts of directions hoping to catch a glimpse of Chunky. “I’m gonna look around for him. You can sit around the couch orrr help me."

"Nothing I love more than a good mystery," Tim says while checking under couch cushions - as if Chunky would be there. He's not trying to play - or so he says - he's just making sure he crosses off all possibilities.

You look in your room first. Chunky is always in your room, laying on your bed like he owns it or lounging on the carpet floor like he just got off of a 10-hour shift down at the factory. But, surprisingly, he's not there. He's not even in your closet or under your bed.

So, you get out your secret weapon: a cat feather toy you picked up for him when he was about 4 months old. It's his favorite toy that he can never resist, no matter how much of a grumpy mood he is in.

"Chunky!" You call, wiggling the cat toy just enough for it to make a little jingle noise - one that usually has him running to you for playtime. That's not the case this time. You don't even hear his little paws thumping on the ground, just silence and the sounds of Tim also looking for Chunky in the other room.

Speaking of Tim, you should see if he was lucky in his search for Chunky.

"Any sign of him?" You ask as you enter your living room, feathered toy still in hand.

"No. It should not be this hard to find a cat, man!" Tim sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe you should feed him, see if that gets him out."

You nod, making your way to the kitchen. "He doesn't just eat dry food, so that sound alone isn't gonna make him come out. He doesn't come running until he hears me drum my fingers against the counter," you explain as you open the lid of your dry food container and then open the can of wet food - both high-quality brands because Chunky is spoiled and when you tried cheaper alternatives he refused to eat.

Tim nods along with your explanation, looking genuinely interested in your feeding regimen. You know he'll commit your routine to memory, so you continue; making sure to add the reasons why you do certain things because you know Tim will spend the time he should be using to sleep to question why you did a particular thing.

It's not long before you finish making Chunky's dinner, setting the cat's orange food bowl down before finally drumming your fingers against the countertop. You and Tim listen for any movement with bated breath.

Your hard efforts are rewarded with the softest meow in the world - to you at least. To Tim, Chunky’s meow sounds scratchy, but what does he know? Perhaps we should consider the possibility that Tim’s ears haven’t been cleaned in a hot minute.

“Chunky baby!” you exclaim, crouching down to pet your very sleepy-looking cat. His fur is sticking up in all sorts of directions and his eyes are barely open but he walks ever so gracefully towards his feeding bowl.

Tim swears he’s never seen a cuter cat than Chunky, scratchy meow aside, Chunky in all his chubby glory is undeniably cute. “I can see why you named him Chunky,” Tim teases, crouching down just as you have to pet the glorious cat.

“Stop! You’re gonna give him body image issues. And then I’d have to get him a cat therapist - are those even real?” you question, not even stopping your petting motions, “Like the secret life of pets! Yes, he’ll get a cat therapist for his insecurities and it’ll be YOUR fault!”

Tim rolls his eyes. He’s well used to your ridiculous (and kind of charming) humor. It had confused him when you both first met, sometimes he wasn’t sure if your jokes were real worries or fake. But he’s come to enjoy them, even if they’re sometimes a bit too goofy.

Ignoring your jokes, Tim tries to pet Chunky just as you are; but something strange happens. Something you’ve never seen happen before.

Chunky hisses at Tim. His mouth is full of food so it’s not as intimidating, but it’s still a hiss.

The noise makes Tim immediately retract his hand. “Uhhh? Has he ever done that before?”

You’re just as surprised as Tim. Chunky has never hissed before. “No? He’s never done this before! Not with me or anyone else?!”

You motion for Tim to back away and he does as told, you’re quick to check if Chunky is injured anywhere or if anything is off about him (other than his hissing).

You deduce that he simply may not like Tim. Which is heartbreaking.

“I think he just doesn’t like you… Tragic,” you explain, calmly taking Tim’s hand into your own and tugging him towards your couch.

Tim is less calm about the situation than you are. Your previous statement about how devastated you would be if they didn’t like each other had been occupying his mind since Chunky had hissed at him.

Before you knew it, Tim had gone down a spiral and began thinking about all of the terrible outcomes that came with him and Chunky not getting along: the absolute worst being you breaking up with him.

“Wallace and Gromit is a classic but Howl’s Moving Castle is entic-“ “Are you gonna break up with me?” Tim interrupts, a special sort of fear in his voice and a frantic look in his eyes.

“No? What makes you think that,” you ask, wildly confused as to what made Tim think otherwise.

“You- You said earlier that you’d be devastated! Now we both know your cat doesn’t like me and I’m just- I’m freaking out,” Tim blurts out.

It takes you a moment to process his words but when you do you laugh, just a little bit, a lot actually. The action confuses Tim, he's not sure why the possibility of you both breaking up is so funny.

“Tim- you...! You didn’t actually believe me, did you?” you laugh, clutching your stomach in hopes to lessen the pain you're receiving from laughing too much.

"Yes? I mean! You have been making this a huge deal for the past few months, of course, I'd be led to believe that!" Tim defends himself.

It takes you a while to calm down from your laughing fit, but when you do, you're quick to quell Tim's worries. "I'd never break up with you over something so silly. Like, yeah, I care about the people I love liking each other, but I don't think I'd break up with you if Chunky didn't like you," you say as you hug Tim, hoping the gesture is calming - it is, but Tim won't admit that.

"You're stuck with me forever," you tease.

"Thank god," Tim groans, stuffing his face into the crook of your neck.

You know, Tim really wouldn't mind being in your presence for the rest of his life. He's lost so many people, it'd be nice to experience something more infinite, and permanent instead of abandonment. He's glad he can spend something so finite as life with you.

Tim is not a man prone to jealousy. Well, unless it’s you, then yeah he’s gonna get a little jealous.

Not important! What is important, however, is how you’ve not even glanced at him this entire evening!

Your attention is being hogged by your devil cat! And Tim swears Chunky knows what he’s doing.

Don’t think he didn’t catch that sly smile Chunky had on when he’d first successfully taken your attention off of Tim. And the countless other times Tim has caught Chunky wearing smiles that scream two words: “I win.” Tim has seen Chunky staring off into space with a facial expression that shouts "I am up to no good and it's Tim Drake's fault," more times than he can realistically count. That last offense is less likely to be used as proof because, well, what if Chunky just has an unintentionally mischievous looking face when he's paying attention to nothing in particular? He knows a few people like that... He can't say much.

Tim is not crazy - he has papers to prove it! So, Timothy Jackson Drake, a completely sane man, can confidently say that he and your cat are in a mutual metaphorical fight for your undivided attention.

And he’s kind of losing.

“You’re cuddling that cat more than me!” Tim whines from his spot on the couch, which, realistically, isn’t that far from you, but to Tim, it feels like he’s light years away, “This is betrayal at its finest!”

“Not even,” you giggle, not even glancing at him because you’re too busy squishing your cat.

“Look!” you push Chunks into Tim’s face, “he meows!”

As if on cue, Chunky lets out the sweetest meow that’d charm even the hardest of criminals, but not Tim. “Awww my little baby,” you smile, pulling the cat into a hug that Tim should be experiencing, not Chunky.

And Tim scoffs. He can’t believe this; his partner is being STOLEN by a cat in real time! He cannot let this happen. He’s worked too hard for too long to woo you into a relationship!

He cannot be bested by a cat. So, he does the thing he’s best at: flirting — or, well, attempts at flirting that someone not in love would think are a bit deranged and desperate. Perfect for Tim because he is, in fact, deranged and desperate and you, perfect you, encourage his weirdness.

“I can meow too!.. if it gets your attention,” Tim says, smoothly removing Chunky from your lap to the floor and taking what once was the cat’s spot on your chest.

“Please don’t,” you cringe, running your hands through Tim’s hair. You swear you can hear Tim start purring as you scratch his scalp, fingers nimbly gliding over his head.

“Just say you hate me and want me to die.”

“You’re literally on top of me right now,. I don’t grant that privilege to just anyone.”

“Good,” Tim hums.

You know, Death Cat aside, Tim thinks you guys will be okay. Scratch that. More than “okay.” You’ll be the best couple ever.

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ bonus material ruh roh

"Chunky, please. Please, man, I'm begging you! Please Chunky bro."

"mrow."

"Chunky, I've had a long night and all I wanna do is sleep NEXT to MY partner!" Tim whines, his voice barely above a whisper.

You're sound asleep with Chunky lying beside you - in Tim's spot, where Tim sleeps almost every night - and the damned cat is showing zero signs of moving within the next 10 minutes.

"Chunky, man please! I'm tired, you're tired, we're both freaking tired so just let me lay down," Tim says as he makes lazy attempts to scoot Chunks more towards your side; his attempts are met with less-than-lazy clawed swats.

"Fine! You win, you devil cat."

—

You awoke to the familiar screech of your cat begging for his morning meal and the lack of weight on your boyfriend's side of the bed. "Chunky baby... gimme a moment."

Chunky screaming means it's about 6:00 a.m., which means it must've been about 2 hours since Tim got back. You feel around your bedsheets and blankets for the aforementioned boy but you're unlucky in your pursuit.

So, you get up; eyes a little blurry and mind still jumbled from a post-sleep haze. "Tim?" you call, voice groggy and a tad deeper than it usually is.

"'m over here honey," Tim groans, "Chunky didn't let me on the bed"

The sentence wakes you up immediately. "What?" Shoving off your blankets and shuffling over to his side of the bed - or his side of the floor, really.

"Awww Tim! You didn't have to sleep on the floor," you giggle, "You could've just moved him!"

"He's too fat," Tim says with the most deadpan voice he can muster, the one he knows makes you giggle because he's being ridiculously serious.

You gasp, holding your hand to your chest like Tim's statement was a serious offense (it kind of was). "He is NOT fat! He's just... a bit chubby!"

Tim snorts, "You keep telling yourself that. Can I sleep on my bed now?"

"Uh uh, mister! You've committed a serious offense! I ought to call Batman over here and arrest you himself, criminal!" You tease, wagging your finger in Tim's face.

"Ohhh I'm so scared," Tim laughs, pulling you into the sweetest kiss ever. Before you even know it, he's already on the bed and you're both practically glued to each other. Not even Chunky could get you two to separate - mostly because you were both sleepy.

It's moments like these that make you realize that you really really love your boyfriend.

"You know, Chunky still hasn't been fed."

"He can wait a bit, can't he?"

SAM SPEAKS : first fic... ruh roh. i got carried away. ts was supposed to be only 300 words MAX 😭🙏. most of this fic is just me describing how i feed my cats, and how i act with my cats. yes, i do drum my fingers against a surface before i feed them (usually the lid of the box we keep the dry food in). anyways i've been wildly distracted lately by pictures of borzoi's. freaky looking dogs, but i love them so so much. ﹗I do not consent to my work being translated or reposted on any other accounts or websites. thank you for understanding <3

[thatdesigirl17]

you and i

toxic!theo x fem!reader

kinda inspired by the song you&I by one direction

warnings: theo being toxic and manipulative, slight angst, theo may seem a bit possessive and territorial

It had been going on for months now. The constant fighting, the making up, the arguing again, it had converted into a cycle with Theo. Today, another misunderstanding led Theo to storm out of Y/N’s dorm, leaving her alone to dwell in her frustration and sadness. It had become excessively frustrating for Y/N, the way Theo would never listen to her, would never talk things out. He would always avoid the conversation, he had become an expert really in getting out of it. Her friends had started to tell her that this was toxic, that he wasn't good for her. That was what had started the argument this time, her friends 'interfering' in their relationship as Theo had phrased it. Y/N sat on the ground, her knees tucked in her arms towards her chest, her chin resting on them, as she thought over her relationship with Theo. She loved him, and he always seemed to know what exactly to say to win her again but it was getting exhausting to be like this. 

The door to her dorm opened slowly, pausing her thoughts midway as she looked up to see who it was. Theo, of course. He was standing there with a bouquet and a small carry bag in his bag. The slightest bit of a smirk appeared on his face as he took in the sight of her. 

‘What do you want?’, Y/N asked slowly, her voice low, her words making him frown slightly. ‘Bella, I shouldn’t have fought with you like that. You know I love you right?’, he said, coming closer to her. He handed out the bouquet of white lilies, her favourites, to her. It was neatly packed in brown paper, tied securely with a white ribbon, the arrangement of lilies done with white orchids and baby's breath. 

'Theo...', she sighed accepting the bouquet and placing it next to her on the floor. He crouched down beside her, setting the other bag on the floor. She shifted her position on the floor, crossing her legs, sitting up straighter to face him. 'Why do you always have to avoid talking things out? It’ll just be so much better for the both of us.’, she started, trying to get him to talk, her hand on his forearm. ‘Cara, please, let’s just forget about it okay? Both of us said things we didn’t mean.’, he said, his voice silky smooth. Y/N looked at him, knowing that he couldn’t get out of talking this time that easily, Theo sat down in front of her, cupping her cheek and caressing it gently. 

‘Cara mia…’, he started, his eyes pleading and full of sincerity, ‘I know we have been arguing a lot lately, but we love each other more than that. I know you think your friends are right, but they don't know anything about us, about how we make this relationship work. Did they ever fight like us? Did they ever hold each other like us? We see things differently, amore, but we try, like no one ever has and that’s what makes us special. That’s what makes us stronger.’ 

Y/N looked at him feeling herself get swayed by his words again. No matter how hard she tried, she knew he loved her and she loved him. She knew she would go back to him, he would make her come back. 

‘Y/N…’, he said in a soft voice. Her name on his lips further crumbled her doubts about him. ‘Amore mia, we can make it till the end, till we are one. I know it, I believe in us. Nothing has come between you and I, definitely not some silly argument like this. Do you believe in me? In us?’ 

Theo looked at her, his eyes full of hope. Y/N nodded, making Theo smile, as he leaned in, pulled her closer and kissed her. It was soft and passionate. ‘That’s my girl.’, he smiled pulling away, 'Promise me you won't let anyone get to your head again.' 

He held her gaze, searching her eyes for any reaction. Y/N nodded slowly, her hand coming up to rest on his wrist and caress him reassuringly, a small smile breaking out on her face. Her words made him grin, as he gave her a quick peck on the lips, before continuing, ‘I planned to take you out on a nice dinner tonight, and then give you this, but I think here will have to do.’  He turned slightly, picking up the bag that rested on the floor, beside them. 

He handed her the bag and she opened it carefully to reveal a square, red box that read ‘Cartier’ in neat cursive. She looked at him a bit surprised as she opened the box. In the box, laid a beautiful bracelet made of white gold and diamonds, the classic Cartier design. ‘My god Theo, this is beautiful. It must have cost a lot, you didn’t have to do this.’, Y/N said, her fingers gently tracing the piece of jewellery. ‘Anything for you, cara. Don’t worry about anything and let me put it on, yeah?’, he smiled. 

He gently picked up the bracelet, opened the clasp and then put it on her left wrist. He then pulled up a small driver out of the pocket of his jacket as Y/N eyed him with confusion. 

He chuckled, ‘It’s a Cartier love bracelet, Bella.’ He tightened the bracelet with the driver and caressed it on her wrist. The sight made him smirk softly. Holding her hand, he brought it up and kissed her knuckles. ‘It can’t be taken off without the driver. You’ll wear this forever now, as a symbol of our love.’, he explained, her eyes widening in surprise. Before she could say anything, he continued, his voice soft but firm, ‘Nothing can separate you and I now, amore, not even the gods. I’m gonna throw the driver in the Black Lake so that it’s always there on your wrist. You’re mine, Y/N, forever.’ 

[ririleil]

osamu “i know a place” miya. he said those 4 words like it was a secret, a promise to take you out on a date that was spoken with his usual deadpan tone. 

you expected him to drag you to a food spot or just a simple food date at home, really. those kinds of things are just totally osamu. if there was anything you could count on him, it would be that osamu's idea of romance would come out making onigiri or baking sweets for you. 

but what you didn't expect was that he'd take you out on a full blown food bazaar/market. one that is filled with life, light, and laughter. 

the moment you stepped past the entrance, past the row of fairy lights strung overhead each stall that reminded you of stars, it hit you. the scent of food and the chattering of people. the scent of everything was everywhere, curling in the air. it settled into your hair and clothes in a way you know you'd secretly love later once you arrive home.

as you and osamu found a place to sit after wandering around the food stalls for a while, you take in the sight to look around you. there were people in every direction— family sitting shoulder to shoulder at picnic tables, couples sharing skewers as they walked under the lights, kids gobbling candy with sticky fingers, and food vendors calling out the name of their customers, shouting out that their orders were ready to be served. 

normally, this would make you itch a bit. too much noise and too many people would've made you want to escape and search for an exit for a little bit. or atleast a quiet corner to shrink into. but this time? it didn't. not tonight. not with osamu who walked beside you earlier, his hand grazing yours every often just to remind you that he's there. that he's always right here with you. 

and knowing that, as you looked all around you, something inside softened. a kind of feeling that you couldn't really quite explain that bloomed in your chest as you watched a little girl give her dad a bite of her takoyaki or the way a pair of older women clinked their cups of sake, giggling like they were years younger. 

it comforted you, being surrounded by many lives, and still, you had your own place in your own world right here. right next to him.

and osamu noticed.

“you look pretty like that.” he said.

you turned to him, caught off guard. “like what?”

“like what you're doing right now.”

“i'm literally just looking around, doing nothing.” 

he gave a small shrug and a smile. 

“exactly. you still look pretty, even when you're doing nothing.”

you rolled your eyes, trying to play off the smooth words, but your heart gave a small flutter. he said those words like it was the simplest truth in the world.

and in that moment, bathed in the golden hue of the fairy lights, laughter, and the aroma of food, you believed in him. 

maybe it wasn't just the place that felt like home.

maybe it was osamu. 

a/n: i honestly had no idea where i was going with this and you could tell i didn't really put any effort into this but i wanted to write a drabble of osamu taking the person he likes out on a food date. i'll write a better one next time hehe. i love food markets guys they're so full of life.

temp. m.list

divider: @/enchanthings

© RIRILEIL 2025 | do not copy, repost, or translate without my permission

[radio-fmm]

one piece men react to you screaming their full name

ft. Ace, Zoro, Sanji

SFW, mentions of alcohol and smoking, gn reader

Masterlist

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ .ᐟ ᡣ𐭩

Ace

“PORTGAS D. ACE” your voice resonates through all the walls, rooms and every nook and cranny from the Moby Dick. The mentioned stood frozen at the dinner table fork still full of food, he knew better than to run away

“What did you do now?” Marco asked eyes wide open

“Nothing!… that I remember” Ace scratched the back of his head trying to make memory of his recent activities, searching for whatever may had upset you

Marco laughed in disbelief “You’re a dead man” he said before taking another sip of his drink

You entered the room, stomping your way to your clueless boyfriend “May I have a word with you?” The tone and the politeness of the sentence made Marco fear for his dear friend. Ace nodded before he stood up and followed behind smile beaming in hopes you’ll have some mercy. A chorus of teasing ‘UUUUH’s were heard as you exited the dining room.

“Have I told you how radiant you look today?” Ace leaned over to kiss your cheek but you ducked making him loose his balance

“Don’t start with me Portgas” a shiver ran down Ace’s back, both from fear and… something else.

“You did this” you held a pillow cover in front of his face “You burned my only bed sheets, and you’re getting me new ones even if you end up in debt with everyone on this ship”

Ace was attracted to you all the time, but there was something in the way you would always stand your ground and how gorgeous you looked right now that was knocking him out of his feet. He placed his hand in the one were you held the pillow cover and pulled you in for a hug

“Im sorry sweetheart I’d get you new ones on the next island, you can borrow mine for now” you rolled your eyes and sighed, he got you wrapped all around his finger and he knew it, you couldn’t be mad at him for long

“Of course I’m taking yours, you sleep at my bed every night anyways… but wash them first” Ace picked you up and pampered your face with kisses “You look so hot when you’re angry

Zoro

“RORONOA ZORO” you screamed while exiting to the deck where he was working out, all of the straw hats looked back at Zoro in fear, Sanji holding in a laugh

Few things made this man flinch but he couldn’t help but catch himself lose balance when he heard his full name exit your lips in such an angry tone followed by your big stumps getting louder as you got closer

Everyone wrapped up whatever they were doing and ran off to the kitchen, leaving Zoro to face his demise alone

“What now?” He played it off trying to sound as nonchalant as he could not even looking your direction

“How many times have I asked you to not leave your sake around my desk?” If looks could kill your boyfriend would be a dead man

“Where am I supposed to put it then?” He scoffed crossing his arms in front of his chest, he looked at you for a second and his heart clenched at the cute way your brows furrowed and your arms rested on your hips

“Oh! I don’t know maybe, just getting silly here, IN THE PANTRY WHERE IT BELONGS!” Zoros condecency was driving you insane making your tone scale

The swordsman noticed how you were getting tense and teardrops threaten to run down your cheeks, he sighed a little embarrassed he had made you this upset. He cupped your cheeks while he apologized in that soft tone he reserved just for you

“I’m sorry I forgot to put it away last night, it won’t happen again I promise” he drew comforting circles around your cheek as he whispered

“It got all over my notebooks” oh so that’s why you were so shaken up

“I’ll clean it up baby” your boyfriend kissed your forehead as he made his way to the kitchen for a towel, as he opened the door every crew member fell comically on top of each other, they were ears dropping as they do.

Before Zoro could complain, your sweet laugh was heard at the distance which made him smile a little “You should listen to her mosshead” Sanji muttered which made the swordsman’s smile drop and scream back at him

Sanji

“BLACK LEG SANJI” even though you were screaming at him, the cook couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter at the way you wouldn’t use his birth last name as you knew he despised it and what it stand for, instead raging while using his public name.

You stormed in the kitchen eyes fixed on him, even angry Sanji thought you were breathtaking

“Yes my world?” he beamed a smile at you which you didn’t know if it annoyed or charmed you

“What have I said about smoking indoors?” Sanji felt the air get stuck in his throat, his eyes drifted from yours in shame

“I uhm-“ he laughed nervously as you got closer and closer cornering him against the counter, both hands caging him while they rested on said counter

“You know damn well I hate when my clothes smell like cigarettes, now imagine how I feel when my whole room stinks” you grabbed Sanjis tie to move his face closer to yours without breaking eye contact, you knew exactly what to do to make him a nervous wreck

The blondes heart couldn’t help but skip several beats at the way you were acting right now, he felt bad about upsetting you but he could get used to this side of you

“My apologies love, you know I cant manage to go without a smoke and sometimes I don’t want to leave your side” he twitched when his gaze met yours as he tried to explain himself

“Well you better start to manage” with a torturous slow move you took the cigarette that hanged from your boyfriends lips and threw it on the floor before stepping on it to take it out “Or I’ll move out of the room” you smiled teasingly while exploring his handsome features, stopping at his lips.

The cook turned all shades of red and pink breathing heavily, squirming a “Yes ma’m” before you kissed him passionately and breaking it abruptly

You winked at him before leaving the poor poor man absolutely stunted and a hot mess

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ .ᐟ ᡣ𐭩

Hi! This is my first time doing this type of format so tell me what you think and feel free to request. English is not my first language so correct me if I made any mistakes.

[knowinglewis]

Fading Lines

Part one/Part Two/Part Three/Part Four/Part Five

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: The lines between friendship and something more start to blur between you and Lewis when after invites you to his first race weekend with Ferrari, in Shanghai.

Word Count: 10,977

Warnings: Massive fluff with a TON of ANGST and yearning. Spiraling, anxiety, overthinking, and distance. No use of Y/N.

A/N: So umm...I lied. This will be the second to last part because I've decided to split the final chapter into two. It was getting insanely long and it's also 2am here, so I just wanted to get at least this part out and hopefully the FINAL final chapter in the next couple of days! If you'd like to join the taglist, please let me know and I'd be happy to add you! As always, thank you SO insanely much for reading, please let me know your thoughts! 🤍

The city of Shanghai passed in a slow blur outside tinted windows, the soft morning light shining over the quiet streets, like the world was still waking up. It was silent inside the car, the air full of the things you wanted to say and things you didn’t know how to put into words.

You sat close at Lewis’ side in the back seat, your legs brushing with each turn while his hand rested on your knee, his thumb stroking over your pants soothingly. His hoodie was pulled low, cap angled forward to shadow his face, but you could still see the soft tiredness in his eyes every time he looked your way, like even he didn’t want to blink and lose another second together.

The driver remained silent, hands steady on the wheel as he escorted you to the airport discreetly. The ride didn’t need any idle chatting, your bodies said enough in the way your fingers laced around his other hand across his lap and your head rested on his shoulder.

The closer the airport came, the harder it felt to breathe as the time between you ticked along to its end. You hadn’t known it would be this hard.

Maybe it was silly, after all, you’d come here knowing it was temporary, knowing this thing between you and Lewis didn’t have a name or a future mapped out in any clear direction. And yet, waking up in his arms, sharing slow kisses in the steam of the shower, laughing quietly as the water cooled, it felt like more.

Now you didn’t know what any of it meant.

Lewis leaned forward as the terminal signs appeared in the distance, speaking quietly to the driver. “Can you pull over somewhere private before drop-off?”

The driver gave a silent nod and turned off toward a quieter lane, easing the car beneath a shaded awning away from the main crowd. The car slowed to a stop, the sound of the engine soft in your ears.

Lewis unbuckled his seatbelt with a small sigh, then turned toward you fully while the driver stepped out of the vehicle. Though his shoulders relaxed, the shadows couldn’t hide the look on his face.

“You could still come to Japan,” he offered, voice low.

You looked at him with your eyebrows creasing together lightly, your heart squeezing at the sound of it. He wasn’t joking or teasing, he meant it. You could hear it in the way his voice softened, the way his eyes searched yours like he was hoping you’d change your mind.

“I want to,” you replied honestly. “But I can’t. You know that.” You tightened your threaded fingers, dropping your gaze to your joined hands. “I wish I could.”

You wished you could, so badly it hurt. The idea of just going with him, stealing another few days in this perfect little dream you shared, made your throat tight. But your life was calling, your job, your responsibilities, the version of you that existed beyond hotel rooms and paddocks.

“It was worth a shot,” Lewis chuckled as he reached up to cup your cheek with his palm.

Then, leaning forward, his forehead rested gently against yours, noses brushing with a shared breath. You turned your body toward him, curling your legs slightly in the seat, and leaned into him. His hand found your thigh again like a warm anchor, as though you both weren’t ready to let go just yet.

He tilted his chin to touch his lips to yours, his mouth soft and addictive as he kissed you slowly. Once, twice, another. The ache grew behind your ribs, not knowing when you’d get the chance to taste him again, so you savoured every brush of his lips, the whole world shrinking to only the space between you.

You didn’t ask him what any of this meant, not last night or in the morning. You didn’t dare, no matter how much your heart was already tangled in it, in him. The way he kissed you told you he felt it too. Maybe not in words, but the way his mouth lingered on yours, like he wanted to make this stretch as long as possible, like he wanted to memorise you. The way you tasted, the way you breathed, the way your fingers curled into his hoodie like you didn’t want to let go.

“I’ll miss you,” you whispered into his lips with a shaky breath.

“I already do.” You felt him smile as he squeezed your thigh, hesitant to pull away.

So did you, not just the physical nearness of him, but the gentle intimacy between you. The comfort, and the way he made space for you. The way he looked at you as if you were the only girl in the world and listened intently to every word you spoke. He made you feel important, special, like you mattered in every way.

“We’ll figure something out soon,” he murmured, cradling your chin between his thumb and index finger. “I’ll make sure of it.”

It wasn’t exactly a promise, but it was something.

The final kiss lingered like a wordless goodbye, his other hand sliding up your thigh to your waist as though you might slip away if he didn’t hold you just right. For a second, you let yourself believe that maybe you wouldn’t.

When you finally pulled apart, you felt the ache in your chest again, reality crashing over you with a heavy weight on your shoulders.

Another breath passed between you, then he reached for your bag beside him. “Let’s get you to your gate before I change my mind and make you miss your flight.”

You managed a soft laugh, your heart cracking just a little more as you opened the door. The driver was already at the trunk, retrieving your suitcase, while Lewis stepped out too, pulling his hoodie a little lower and slipping his sunglasses on, ever-conscious of watching eyes.

Still, he reached for your hand without hesitation. “I’ll walk you in.”

You didn’t argue, adjusting the collar of the hoodie he had gifted you around your neck, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you.

Inside the terminal, you stayed close to him, grateful for the lull in morning foot traffic. He assisted you in dropping your bags off, lifting the heavy weight with ease. At the departure board, he stood behind you, slipping his arms protectively over your chest and shoulders, resting his chin lightly on your head. The warmth of him, the weight of his hold, made you feel smaller in the best way, as if you didn’t have to be strong for a minute. Like you could just exist there, in your personal bubble among the mildly busy airport while the two of you scanned the board.

“Looks like your gate’s on time,” Lewis remarked, his voice low in your ear.

You nodded, your hands over his forearm at your chest, eyes fixed on the screen, even though you weren’t really reading it. You didn’t want to move, didn’t want to go through security and leave him on the other side of the barrier.

“We’ve got a few minutes then.” He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

The buzz of the airport blurred into the background, wheels dragging over the smooth floors, a child asking something too loudly, boarding calls echoing over the PA, but inside that small pocket of space with him, it all faded away.

His chest rose and fell slowly against your back, and you leaned into it. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your hair, the steady thrum of his heart. It calmed you, and hurt you, all at once.

Neither of you said anything. What could you say, really? There were still no labels, no promises, just your time together running out. It wasn’t as though you wouldn’t see him again, but the ache of not knowing when you might see him next, knowing his busy schedule, made it all the more painful.

When your boarding gate changed to ‘Gate Open’ he shifted, gently turning you to face him. His hands found your waist and his warm brown eyes, shielded by his sunglasses, trailed over your face, as if drinking you in, one last time. There was a soft crease between his brows, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

You didn't ask what he was thinking. You weren’t sure you were ready to hear it, not now, not when you had to walk away right after. So instead, you rested your hand on his chest, while the other reached to run your fingers along his beard, leaning forward towards his inviting lips. He dipped his head for a kiss, one that felt certain and real. A kiss you could carry with you in your memories, tucked safe in your pocket.

When you separated, he didn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours with his voice barely a whisper. “Text me when you land, okay?”

“I will.” You nodded and looked at him through your lashes, trying to steady the tremble in your chest. “You better text me when you land too.”

“Yeah.” His lips curled into a soft smile, planting his lips to your forehead. “Soon as I’m on the ground.”

Then he brushed his thumb along your cheekbone, lingering like he wasn’t ready to let go.

“Safe flight, sweetheart.”

The word caught you off guard. He’d never called you that before, not even last night.

“You too.” Was all you could manage as you nodded, lips parting like you just might, say something more, but you didn’t.

Instead, you grabbed the handle of your carry-on and turned toward security, giving him a small smile, before you moved into the line. You felt him quickly slip a small box into the outer pocket of your bag as you stepped away. You didn’t know what it was, but it made your stomach flutter.

You looked back one last time, and he was still there with his hands in his pockets and his cap sitting low, watching you the whole way.

Eventually, you made your way through security and boarded the airplane, settling into the plush leather seat of first class. You let out a quiet breath, the buzz of the plane’s engine a distant murmur beneath the soft clinks of glassware and muted conversations between passengers and flight attendants. You adjusted your seat instantly for comfort and pulled your carry-on bag onto your lap, as you remembered Lewis’ subtle gift.

Your hand dipped into the outer pocket, fingers closing around a small, wrapped box. The paper was simple and delicate, a thin ribbon tied around it. Carefully, you peeled back the wrapping, lifted the lid to reveal a bracelet you’d admired the day before, a bracelet your eyes had only lingered on a few seconds longer than others as you explored the stores in Shanghai. The tiny blossom charm sparkled in the soft cabin light as you traced your fingertips along the elegant chain.

Your heart fluttered behind your ribs, a flush warming your cheeks. It wasn’t just the bracelet, it was the fact that he’d noticed. That he’d remembered and gone back for it quietly, without asking or announcing it, as though he wanted to leave a piece of that day with you, something that could last beyond that trip. His thoughtfulness managed to steal your breath again that day, even when you were about to find yourselves on other sides of the world again.

A sudden buzzing startled you, your phone vibrating in your hand. You unlocked it quickly to see a message from Lewis.

Miss you already.

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth, warmth flooding your chest. His words, the scent of his cologne on the hoodie you wore, the bracelet between your fingers, it all built into an urge to run straight off the plane and into his arms. You still had time before takeoff, but the itch was quickly diminished by the reminder of your reality when a notification from your job popped up on the top of your screen.

With a sigh of dread, you swiped the notification away and typed your reply to Lewis instead.

You’re so thoughtful, thank you for the bracelet. It’s beautiful, I’m going to wear it every day ❤️ And I miss you too

You hesitated only a second before hitting send, not because you didn’t mean it, but because of the truth in your words. Then, you gently fastened the bracelet around your wrist, fingers brushing over the charm like it might answer all the questions lingering in your mind.

You laid back in the seat, bracelet cool against your skin, and let yourself sink into the rush of takeoff. As the plane rose into the air, you glanced out the window at the endless sky, the world falling away beneath the clouds.

The goodbye had clung to you more than you'd expected.

You turned your face toward the window and closed your eyes, the soft blanket pulled up to your chin.

Your thoughts slipped back to the morning, back to the low, golden light spilling in through the hotel curtains, and the slow way Lewis had kissed your shoulders before you’d even fully woken. There was no rush in the way he touched you. He kissed your body as though you were the most precious thing he had ever held, almost like he was trying to memorise the feel of your skin before time ran out.

You remembered the way his fingers had threaded through yours under the hot water of the shower, how the steam curled around your skin as he pressed you gently back against the tiled wall. Despite your upcoming flights, his hands had explored your body without hurry, holding you close to him along with slow strokes inside you. He had kissed you like he didn’t want that morning, or you, to end. His strong arms held you steady, with his mouth soft and slow against your neck.

The memory sent a deep ache through your chest, the pain tight at your throat from longing, from the magical weekend you’d had coming to an end, but mostly from not knowing.

You hadn’t talked about what came next. You didn’t ask, and neither did he. Maybe it was just easier that way, or maybe you were just afraid to. Maybe that was what scared you most, that he wouldn’t bring it up either. That you’d go back to texts, glances, and half-smiles from a distance, pretending nothing had changed. Pretending that you didn’t know the feel of each other’s bodies and hadn’t shared the most romantic kisses you had ever known.

Yet now, staring out at the sky as the plane cut through the floating clouds, you couldn’t help but wonder. You didn’t know what this was between you, if it had the space to become something real, or if it was always meant to burn bright for one night and fade just as fast.

Something had shifted between you though, and you couldn’t go back now. You weren’t sure if you wanted to, but the most terrifying part was not knowing if he felt the same, not knowing if he’d carry this with him into whatever came next, or leave it behind as just a memory folded between race weekends.

You pulled the blanket higher, burrowing into the seat as if you could hide from the questions pressing at the back of your mind.

Was this the start of something beautiful, or had you already reached the end without realising it?

You told yourself you’d wait. See what he’d say going forward, see what came next as the days unfolded. You wouldn’t get your hopes up, despite the magical weekend. Not when you knew Lewis’ history, the effortless flings, the late-night sightings with some of the most beautiful women in the world. Models, actresses, girls who didn’t linger. Maybe that was the whole point. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if this was merely another weekend for him.

However, that had never been you. You felt too much, you always had, and now, after all this time of carefully not crossing a line, you’d stepped over it in the quiet dark of a Shanghai hotel, and the world felt different. That line had now faded, and you were left wondering if it was simply lust that had intoxicated you both into crossing that threshold, or if it came from something deeper.

You couldn’t bring yourself to ask, not that night, or that morning, because asking meant hoping, and hope was dangerous.

You adjusted yourself in your seat again, letting your eyes fall closed and tried to quiet your thoughts again.

Food had been served in courses throughout the flight, but you barely tasted it. There was too much on your mind, too heavy a weight in your chest to enjoy the luxury of it all. The food was good, the seat plush, the view incredible, and still, none of it felt quite right.

You curled back toward the window and let your breathing slow. You weren’t sad, exactly. Just…suspended. Like the flight itself, in motion, but not really arriving yet. Somewhere in-between.

Your last thought before sleep finally pulled you under was the way he’d said goodbye. His chin on your head, his arms around you, that last kiss, so soft, so real. Then, nothing but the sky.

Many hours later, you’d arrived back in your city and made your way home, exhaustion dragging your feet inside. You dropped your bag in the hallway and let the silence of your home fill your ears, a relief after the constant sound of the plane engine, along with the bustling airport upon your arrival. The weekend had felt like something out of a dream, one where time ticked differently, slower, sweeter. Now it was back to reality, back to work, back to responsibilities. The silence made it all feel farther away than it should.

You made it as far as your bedroom before collapsing onto the bed on your back, phone still in your hand. You flicked through your notifications, Isabella tracking your location and flight, and other notifications of friends liking your Instagram story. Opening your message, you typed out your text to Lewis.

Home safe x

You weren’t expecting an instant reply. He was probably just checking into Tokyo by now, or stuck in traffic, or possibly even halfway through a meeting. His schedule was jam packed and time zone differences made it even harder to determine what he might be up to. You busied yourself checking in with Isabella, who wanted to hear everything about your time with Lewis, sending photos and listening to her voice notes as she provided you with an update of her own.

However, not even five minutes later, your phone buzzed again. This time, it was Lewis.

Glad you made it safe x Got in a while ago, had a quick workout [1 image attached]

You nearly dropped the phone on your face when the image loaded, your eyes widening slightly as you lifted yourself into a seated position. Attached was a mirror selfie of him shirtless, sitting on the edge of the bed in his Tokyo hotel room, his braids tied back, with a towel slung around his shoulders, track pants sitting low on his hips. His phone caught the angle just enough to show off the definition in his muscled arms, his tattoos on full display. The lighting was soft and golden, the glow from the lamps pooling across his skin.

Shirtless photos of Lewis weren’t new to you, he enjoyed posting them on his Instagram stories every now and then, making your breath catch when they would pop up on your screen as you scrolled. Except this time, the photo was only for your eyes to see, and there was something intimate about it.

You blinked, chewing your lower lip as you trailed your eyes over the photo again, trying to come up with a response that appreciated how insanely sexy he looked, while not coming off desperate for him.

Words reeled through your mind as you tapped against the screen, before typing your message.

I miss that view…

Your thumb hovered over the send button, staring at your message hesitantly. Then, you bit the bullet and tapped the button with an exhale, half regretting it already. You tossed your phone on the bed and smiled to yourself, warmth creeping into your cheeks. You were unbelievably gone for this man.

It wasn’t long before your phone vibrated again.

It’s not the same without you.

Your traitorous heart flipped in your chest as you took a breath. Sitting back against your pillows, you read the message again and tried not to grin like an idiot. You didn’t respond straight away, a part of you didn’t know how. The flirty tension had always been there, but it felt different now, loaded with what had already happened, what might still come.

The days and weeks that followed seemed to blend together into a blur as you both returned to your separate realities. Your work felt busier than ever, with an unfathomable number of meetings, deadlines, forgotten lunches, half-read emails. It often left your body exhausted, but your mind reeling and loud. You told yourself it was just a phase, that life was just catching up with you both, however, there was a growing silence between texts that began to feel heavier as time passed.

Lewis would still message sometimes, with a short call or some photos here and there, but it wasn’t every day, and not always when you needed him to. His name would light up your screen mid-meeting or just as you were brushing your teeth for bed, and your heart would react before your brain could catch up. Even a simple ‘hey’ could unravel you, tugging deep in your chest.

The truth was, it seemed as though you'd talked more before everything happened. Before Shanghai, before the kiss and that night together. Back when you were just friends, back when you hadn’t crossed a line that you now weren’t sure how to uncross, or if either of you wanted to.

Now, the space between his replies had begun to stretch for longer periods of time, and sometimes you’d stare at your phone wondering if you’d imagined the way he’d looked at you. Or worse, if it had all meant more to you than it had to him. Sometimes, it made things worse even when he did text, because it reminded you of what you were missing. Not just him, but how he used to make you feel.

Now, you felt like you were waiting for something that wasn’t coming.

Five weeks had now passed since Shanghai.

The first week, you watched the Japanese Grand Prix alone, curled up on your couch with a blanket and your go-to snacks.

You’d sent him a simple good luck message, with a picture of your TV screen displaying his handsome face in the pre-show, letting him know you were watching. You had always watched when you could, it was almost a weekend ritual for you at this point.

Lewis finished P7, climbing one place up from his starting position with a clean overtake, while the rest of the grid stayed mostly the same. The commentators called it a race which was difficult to overtake on, and it was mostly a ‘safe’ race, which you knew was their polite way of saying uneventful.

He hadn’t replied, but you understood, as you’d seen him during many race days before and knew he likely wouldn’t get a chance to even check his phone until hours after the race. Still, you sent a follow up with encouraging words.

Great job today. I know it’s not what you wanted, looked like the car was fighting you the whole time. Proud of you though❤️

He replied a few hours later.

Thank you x It was a tough one, still getting used to this car. On to the next.

On to the next. Always forward, never lingering. That was the way of the sport, the way of Lewis. He never let it weigh too heavily after the disappointment washed away for the day.

You stared at the message for a moment before responding in agreement and adding encouraging words to cheer him on for the next race in the triple header.

He reacted to your text with a heart, but didn’t reply after that, following only with a check in on how you’re doing two days later.

The second week, the Bahrain Grand Prix came and went in a haze of heat and shimmering fireworks as the cars darted around the track in a blur. You didn’t manage to catch the race live this time after work had flooded your weekend, but you’d kept an eye on the results throughout the 57 laps.

The sound of his voice on the radio in qualifying still ran through your mind, making your heart ache as he apologised to the team. However, Lewis managed to climb from P9 to P5 in the race, the podium teasing him as he inched closer.

You scrolled through photos on Instagram after midnight, his natural curls loose under his cap, his jaw sharp as always, and his eyes looked tired. Focused as always, yet distant.

You hesitated before sending your message this time, typing a few letters and deleting each time until you settled for a simple message.

You were amazing, looked like a tough race. Proud of you as always x

This time, his reply didn’t come until the next morning.

Yeah we’re slowly getting there. Hope your week has been good.

It was a kind, polite, but distant response. The kind of message you’d send to a colleague, or maybe someone you didn’t know how to talk to anymore.

You started typing.

It’s been a long week. I miss you.

But you deleted it, hesitant at the vulnerability of your words, then typed again.

Just the usual, super busy this week.

He didn’t heart it or reply this time.

Hours passed until the sun had long set, so you stared at the grey ‘Delivered’ status for longer than you should’ve, then shoved your phone under your pillow and went to bed with a tense headache building behind your eyes.

That night, you dreamt of the hands you missed, and the voice you weren’t hearing as often. The version of him that felt just out of reach, slipping away through your fingers and dragging your heart down with disappointment.

Week three came Saudi Arabia. You’d had dinner with Isabella that Sunday, and at some point between bites, she’d dropped the kind of casual bomb that left you distracted for the rest of the meal.

“By the way,” she’d said, chopsticks hovering in the air, “I’ve been meaning to tell you. I saw Lewis at the Rimowa event the other night.”

You looked up from your plate fast. “You did?”

She nodded, chewing. “He looked good. He seemed distracted, but he said hi. We didn’t talk long though, but…”

“But?”

“He asked about you.” She put her chopsticks down and took a sip of her drink.

Your pulse jumped for a moment as you blinked in response. “He did?”

“Yeah. He said-” she cleared her throat, imitating his calm voice and his accent, “‘How’s she doing?’ It was very chill, but it wasn’t nothing. I told him you were okay, and that you’ve been busy.”

“Is that all he said?” You queried, poking at your food in an attempt to calm the small glimmer of hope in your chest.

“Well…” she gave you a knowing look. “He also said he’s been meaning to come see you, but things have been non-stop lately. He said that he’s sorry, and that he’s just…swamped.”

You chewed on your lower lip gently as you took her words in, releasing the breath that you’d been holding.

He still knew how to say the right things. He still sent emojis, still asked about you through your best friend, still claimed he meant to call or visit soon. But at the end of the day, three weeks after you’d last seen him, he hadn’t, not in any way that counted. If he truly meant to see you, to reach out to you, why hadn’t he just said it to you directly?

He was everywhere except where you needed him, all over the world, in conversations with everyone but you. Before, even when you were just friends, he’d always shown up for you. Now he sent simple and polite texts every few days and expected that to be enough. The worst part though, was that sometimes, it almost was.

You didn’t press further, but the words stirred in your mind as the night went on, and Isabella noticed your silence, but wasn’t quite aware of the distance growing between Lewis and yourself.

Later, you curled up with Isabella on her couch, the last of your drink sweating in the glass on the coffee table as the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix played out on her TV. The lights went out in Jeddah, but you barely said a word. Isabella scolded you for biting your nails as you watched Lewis defend against Lando, your heart racing despite the lingering emptiness you’d been feeling from his absence.

Lewis finished P7. It was respectable, but definitely not where he wanted to be. His post-race interviews were tense to say the least as he expressed his discomfort with the car. His cap sat low atop his curls, casting a shadow over his beautiful, yet disappointed eyes. You could see the way he was trying to hold it all together, especially seeing as his teammate, Charles, had finished on the podium.

He kept a polite smile where he could, but his answers remained short and his jaw clenched tight with every word. It made your heart twist with an ache, wishing you could reach through the screen to comfort him.

“Damn,” Isabella remarked as you continued watching the post race press. “He looks so…”

“Defeated. Yeah.” You completed her sentence with a low breath, reaching for your drink.

There was a long pause, the low sound of the TV filling the quiet. Engine noise and crowd roars blurred softly in the background, a replay of race highlights playing out on low volume. You picked at the edge of your sleeve, glaring down at the fabric. The warmth of dinner lingered in your stomach, but your chest felt strangely hollow still.

Isabella glanced over from where she was sprawled into the other corner of the couch, with half her attention on you, the other on the screen. Then, you felt her gaze burn into your side for a prolonged moment.

You sighed, meeting her eyes. “What?”

“You’re doing that thing you do,” she started, her tone soft but knowing. “Where you go really quiet and pretend you’re not spiraling.”

You retorted with a flat look. “I’m not spiraling.”

“You’re thinking about how he hasn’t messaged you in days.” She raised her eyebrows, scooting closer to you on the couch.

“He did text after Bahrain.” You tried to defend yourself weakly.

She tilted her head. “Yeah, once? Just a lame check in and no reply.”

You didn’t answer, dropping your gaze back to where you’d twisted a small thread from your sleeve.

Isabella leaned forward, setting her glass on the table. “Babe, that’s not enough. Not after everything that’s happened between you.”

You shrugged, but the motion felt small. “He’s probably just busy, as always.”

“He’s always busy. He was busy before Shanghai too, but he still made enough time to take you away for a weekend and fuck you.” She pressed gently despite her harsh words.

You pressed your lips together, your eyebrows knitting into a frown. “I just…don’t know what to do.”

Isabella sighed, standing and grabbing her phone from the kitchen counter. “Post that picture.”

You blinked in confusion with a tilt of your head. “What picture?”

“The one I took at dinner.” She clarified as she unlocked her phone. “You looked gorgeous. Like, beyond stunning. You should post it.”

You shook your head, shrinking back into your seat. “I’m not going to bait him.”

“Please. You used to post stories all the time before things got all complicated between you. Plus, this isn’t about him. It’s about reminding yourself of what you already know, that you’re a fucking catch and more.”

You hesitated at the thought. “It just feels a little…”

“He asked about you,” she added, quieter now. “He’s clearly been thinking about you, so maybe he’s not totally out of the picture, but that doesn’t mean you have to sit in the shadows waiting for him to remember you.”

You didn’t say anything, just watched as she tapped her photo gallery, and turned the screen toward you, displaying the photo she was referring to. You were mid-laugh, head tilted with your elbow resting casually on the table and the bracelet Lewis had gifted you around your wrist. The lighting was warm, gold and low, catching the highlights on your skin and the curve of your lips. You looked happy in it. While your smile didn’t completely reach your eyes, it felt like a version of yourself you hadn’t seen in a few weeks while trapped in your funk.

You looked confident and unbothered, even if that wasn’t entirely true. You stared at the photo for a few more seconds.

“You look beautiful,” Isabella murmured, looping her arm with yours. “Even if you’re a little heart sore.”

Her words pushed you over the precipice of your decision, a small rush of anticipation flooding your veins. You reached for your own phone and accepted the photo when she sent it to you. You chose a song that you loved over the top on Instagram, and after another breath of hesitation, you hit ‘Share to Story.’

The photo went up, with many likes from your close friends and family. Several minutes later, your phone buzzed again, three times in a row.

lewishamilton liked your story.

lewishamilton reacted to your story: 🔥🔥

You stared at your screen, your thumb hovering over the notifications, while your breath caught in your throat. Part of you knew he would see it and react, he always did without fail whenever you posted. This time, he hadn’t messaged you in days, but here he was, slipping back into your world like nothing had changed, and reacting to your life as though he was still fully present.

Then, another notification appeared on your screen. A text from Lewis.

You look beautiful

You felt your cheeks flush at his compliment, swallowing the tightness in your throat as you thumbed the side of your phone case.

Then, another.

Hope you’re having a good night

The three dots continued to wiggle as he typed, though it lingered for longer than you’d like. You wondered if he was either typing out a paragraph, or if your phone had just glitched. Until, a third text arrived.

I miss those lips

You froze, noticing Isabella’s eyes glued to your screen as the notifications appeared, reading each message quickly from your side. It was almost embarrassing for her to see the messages.

“Wow,” she breathed, tilting to look at your flushed face. “Okay, Romeo. Very subtle.”

You didn’t respond, your stomach had bottomed out, and your fingers trembled slightly with your phone in your grip as your mouth dried out. Words like that held a heavy weight, and from this far away, you didn’t know if he meant them in a moment of loneliness, longing, or just lust.

You missed him. You missed so much, but you also missed when it felt simple. When you didn’t have to wonder if saying something back would leave you more exposed than you already felt. Still, you typed:

It’s not fair for you to say stuff like that from halfway across the world

And before you could hesitate or take it back, you sent it.

The dots popped up almost instantly.

You’re right I’ll say it closer next time

A part of you lit up while another part dimmed as you read his response. You could hear your heart thudding in your ears, but another part of you almost laughed bitterly. Because what did that even mean? And when would the next time be?

When?

Your thumb hovered over the send button of the word you’d typed out. The question blinked up at you from the screen, small and hopeful, maybe a little desperate. You didn’t like the way it made your stomach twist.

Isabella shifted beside you, just close enough to catch the single word before you could tilt the screen away. She didn’t say anything though, didn’t tease or smirk or prod. Just let the silence sit between you for a moment as you contemplated.

Then you backspaced slowly, letter by letter until it disappeared. You set your phone down, face down on the table, and leaned back into the couch with a sigh you didn’t mean to let out.

Isabella watched, her voice low. “You okay?”

You nodded, but your voice was a little too quiet to be convincing. “Yeah.”

She didn’t press, only nudged her shoulder lightly into yours and reached for the remote, the two of you watching the post-race interviews fade into the low hum of background noise while your mind stayed wrapped around the unanswered question.

Week four came sooner than expected, with the Miami Grand Prix well underway.

The latest Vogue magazine had been sitting on your coffee table for a week. A clean, perfect copy that Isabella had handed off a few days ago with a knowing smile, “Figured you’d want this before the rest of the world gets their hands on it.”

Though you hadn’t asked for it, you also hadn’t been able to stop yourself from opening it. Lewis looked unreal on the black and white cover, in a polished Ferragamo suit tailored perfectly to his fit body. He was as handsome as ever, with his cleanly lined facial hair framing his lush lips and his piercing eyes staring back at you from the shiny cover. The same ones that had looked into your own so affectionately only weeks before.

The photos in the magazine were filled with the kind of effortless sex appeal that made your stomach twist, partly because of how good he looked, and partly because you knew him. The way he spoke softly when he was tired, the way his eyebrows creased a little when he was reading something, the way his lips felt on yours.

He wasn’t just a Formula One legend or a model in a magazine. He was yours once, if only for a weekend. If only in soft whispers, late night touches and sweet kisses.

Now came the day of the Miami Grand Prix, where you were wrapped up cozily on your couch watching with your cup in hand.

You’d watched the sprint the day before with a sort of detached curiosity, telling yourself it didn’t mean anything, it was just background noise while you cleaned the kitchen. Just racing, just another weekend.

Then, Lewis took P3 and then the press conference started.

You shouldn’t have watched it, you should’ve turned it off after the last lap and walked away, gone on with your day. Instead you found yourself leaning against the counter, half a dish in your hand, watching him on screen in just his black Ferrari vest and brown pants, his arms bare and golden against the cream white couch.

The camera lingered while he sipped his drink, his expensive watch catching the light and his muscles flexing as he scratched the side of his jaw, his braids neatly covered by his cap. He was happy with his result as he answered incoming questions, explaining where he’d found strength in the car. However, the way he looked while saying it was completely unfair. The vest shouldn’t have been allowed.

You stared for longer than you meant to, unable to take your eyes off him as the press conference continued.

Sunday’s race was another story.

He’d qualified P12, so the race started tense, and only got worse as the laps built up. Strategy calls were slow, losing Lewis too much time to catch up with the drivers ahead and leading to some strained radio messages playing over the race that made you sit up in your seat.

Lewis sounded agitated, with sarcasm dripping from his voice as he offered to let Carlos through from behind him. You could hear the disappointment in his tone over the messy communication, where they’d provided either too much information while he was in battle, or nothing at all when he needed it most.

Your jaw clenched as you fidgeted with the charm on your bracelet, wishing the ache in your chest away. It was his sixth race with Ferrari, and nothing seemed to be improving for him. The communication with this race engineer only seemed to get worse as the weeks went by.

Eventually, he finished at P8, with Charles at P7 just ahead. He remained polished and professional in the post-race interviews, keeping a smile on his face as he explained that he had enjoyed the race despite the tension in the radios. However, you could see the disappointment in the way his smile never quite reached his eyes and his shoulders tensed.

You didn’t plan on it, but after hearing his voice, your heart ached to make sure that he was alright, so you waited a while before texting him. Things had been somewhat quiet between you over the last few days, but you wanted him to know that you were still in his corner, even if it was from a distance.

Looked like a tough one today. You okay?

He didn’t reply for two hours.

You’d left your phone on the armrest and gone to make something to eat, half-expecting no response at all, but when the screen lit up, your heart jumped anyway.

Yeah it was a mess, but I’m okay I appreciate you

You stared down at the screen and suddenly hated how much you wanted to believe that it wasn’t just politeness or a routine response. You wanted to believe that he still thought of you when the adrenaline wore off, but it felt like you were only slipping further away.

You couldn’t bring yourself to reply at that moment. You couldn’t figure out how to without sounding like you were trying to fix something he didn’t even seem to notice was broken.

The next day however, came with the buzz of the 2025 Met Gala, in which Lewis was a co-chair. It was hours before the event when your phone vibrated with texts from Lewis.

You’d already been half-scrolling through your newsfeed, filled with teaser content from the Met. The carpet hadn’t started yet, but press coverage was building, the energy already pulsing from across the ocean.

You blinked down at the screen, a warmth spreading in your chest despite everything that had happened the last few weeks.

Attached were two photos. The first was a mirror shot, taken just moments ago in his hotel suite, and the second was a professional photo taken by his team. Lewis was dressed in a custom cream coloured suit, tailored perfectly to his body along with a sash embroidered in cowrie shells and a matching beret. He looked absolutely perfect, elegant, with the most beautiful symbolism displayed subtly across his entire look, encapsulating the theme of the night.

What do you think?

You stared at the screen for too long, breath still as you took in how beautiful he was. Lewis always looked amazing, and yet he still managed to blow you away with this look. Your fingers hovered before you responded.

You look incredible, have the best night

Your message was short and safe, but his reply only seconds later made your stomach flutter in a way that left you conflicted.

Wish you were here

It was tender and casual, but it didn’t match the distance you felt in the last few weeks.

The message felt like it belonged to a different version of you, one from a month ago, who still felt close enough to reach. A part of you felt as though you didn’t know if it was meant for you.

You pressed your palm to your chest, and breathed in. It hurt a little, in that way things hurt when you don’t quite trust them anymore.

Later that night, Isabella arrived with pizza and drinks, “Because the Met Gala and carbs go hand in hand.”

You watched the Met livestream together on her couch, pointing out the different outfits and rating them as if you were Anna Wintour herself. When Lewis stepped onto the midnight blue carpet, effortlessly cool and composed, your pulse raced.

He looked breathtaking. The cameras loved him as he made his way through and interviewers gushed over him. He deserved it all.

And yet, all you could feel was the distance, the sting of watching him belong to a world that felt so far from reach. A world that would never know you.

You didn’t hear from him again the following day, assuming that he’d gotten caught up in the rest of the night and most likely the afterparty. At lunchtime, you’d found yourself scrolling through social media again mindlessly, when your finger slipped and the app refreshed. New content surged to the top of the feed, and that’s when the ache you’d been feeling in your heart came to a climax.

The first post was a screenshot of a crisp editorial shot of Nicole Scherzinger from the Met Gala.

She looked stunning in the black and white photo, with that kind of unattainable beauty you only saw on perfume billboards and designer runways. Her gown was covered in pinstripes, her shoulders bare with a large black cape, a confident tilt to her chin as she stared down the camera.

You recognised her instantly, as everyone did. She’d been the WAG, the only one the world ever thought Lewis would settle down with, the only one he ever publicly claimed. Their seven year relationship had been splashed across headlines and red carpets. She’d even traveled with him and was regularly seen in the Paddock.

Beneath the photo, the poster had highlighted that Lewis had liked the photo Nicole had posted.

You told yourself it was nothing, a harmless liked photo.

Then came the second post, a fan edit, already with over 20,000 likes. A soft piano instrumental layered over clips of the two of them; Lewis and Nicole, laughing as they walked hand in hand, interviews together on red carpets, her tears in the Paddock, the famous helmet kiss when he had won. You watched him in the videos, the way he looked at her as though she was the moon and the stars. His soft smile, they looked so in love.

Your stomach turned, your mouth watering with nausea as the tight lump in your throat squeezed. The videos, the photos, and the comments all blended together to cloud your thoughts with all the reasons he should be with her.

You understood it, you really did. They looked like they belonged together. The kind of couple who loved each other deeply and were well on their way to marriage. It wasn’t just the fans that missed it, and you could see why.

However, the caption stung even more:

“She’s still the one. Idc if she’s engaged. They were endgame 💔”

You knew Nicole had been engaged for a while to a rugby player, so you breathed out, slowly in relief, trying to remain rational at the reminder. He wasn’t getting back with her, surely not. That part was over.

Then the third post hit, with a carousel of images. Three other women all dressed to kill, and all photographed on the Met carpet that night. Each one had, at some point in the last two years, been linked to Lewis in tabloids.

Flings, rumors, summer romances. Whatever name they’d given it, the meaning was always the same, it didn’t last.

And the comment section only made it worse.

“Lewis literally invited all his exes as the Met 💀” “He’s so unserious lol” “No way all of them are here by accident. This man is chaos.”

You locked your phone to take a breather, but the urge to continue was irresistible, and so you returned to scrolling where your feed was soon flooded with photos and rumors.

Nowhere in your message thread did Lewis say much beyond the suit and wish you were here. He hadn’t owed you a full itinerary and you knew that.

Yet still, you hadn’t expected to see her. Or the posts, the likes, or the way the edits kept pulling him into the same frame as the women he’d been linked to before, Nicole, Shakira, some model you’d never even heard of.

He’d sent you those messages, the photos, the softness, while being tagged in someone else’s world. It made everything feel hollow, as though maybe you’d just been another notch on his bedpost, another fling that only lasted a weekend.

You knew how this game worked, Lewis had always been beautiful, charismatic, talented. Women liked him, women flocked to him.

And you? You were just…you.

A friend, until you weren’t, a maybe, until he decided otherwise.

You refreshed the feed again to more photos, more headlines, more noise, feeling your breath become shallow. Then, the next wave.

Posts of Lewis photographed with Blackpink’s Rosé. They weren’t touching, but close enough to spark speculation. One photo showed them laughing, but the other was a stack of photobooth photos.

One with both of them smiling, side by side, another of them flashing peace signs. Rosé pulled a dramatic pout in the third photo, while Lewis touched a finger to his lip. Then the final photo, where she wore his sunglasses, and he gave a serious smoulder. It was playful and harmless really.

You knew the narrative was already writing itself before you even looked at the comments, but it didn’t stop your stomach from turning, because all you could think about were your photo booth pictures still tucked in your nightstand drawer.

The ones that captured the joy and excitement of that day. The ones that had snapped a moment in time of him kissing you. Those photos had felt private, like the memory inked into glossy paper.

Your mind replayed those flashes, but all you saw was how easy it was for him to step into the same frame with someone else. How not special it suddenly all seemed.

You hated how quickly the doubt crept in, how easily it whispered that maybe he just does this with everyone. You tried to shake the thoughts, but your eyes burned with tears brimming at your lash line. Lewis hadn’t been cold exactly, and he hadn’t ghosted you or given you anything to hate him for, but this limbo was its own kind of heartbreak.

The room suddenly felt too quiet, too loud, and way too small. You sat back in your seat, blinking at the ceiling like that would somehow help, like that would stop the way your chest ached as you tried to breathe through it.

Your wrist felt cold with the metal of your bracelet, Or maybe it was just your brain, but suddenly the bracelet felt wrong. Heavy where it had once been warm, like it didn’t belong there anymore. You stared down at it, toying with the edges of the flower.

You’d worn it nearly every day since he’d given it to you, but now it just felt cold on your skin.

The thought hit you so hard, it knocked the air from your lungs; What if none of it ever meant as much to him as it did to you?

You tugged it off, your fingers fumbling, shaky as you unclasped it. It fell into your palm with a soft clink, and you just stared at it, like it might give you an answer, but it didn’t.

None of this made sense. One minute, he was sending you photos, saying he missed your lips, that he wished you were there. The next, he was lighting up timelines with women the internet adored, laughing in photo booths, liking his ex’s photos like history hadn’t even blinked.

You felt…stupid. So stupid.

This wasn’t new to you, the girls, the speculation, the edits. You’d known what world he lived in, raced in, breathed in, but you’d let yourself fall anyway.

Now, sitting alone in your quiet apartment with that damn bracelet digging into your palm, all you could think was that maybe the world was right. Maybe you were just another passing face, a detour in his life as he continued to live his dreams.

You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t that deep, that you were reading into things, that there could be another side to this.

You closed your fingers around the bracelet and made your way down the hall with purpose, where there were a few too many reminders of Lewis. His jacket that he’d given to you, the Ferrari merch, and that last hoodie he’d gifted you still sat on the back of your desk chair.

You sat on the edge of your bed, every movement suddenly extra careful, as though if you moved too loud the whole memory of him might collapse. You picked out the photobooth strip from Shanghai from your nightstand and slipped them out gently.

One strip with four frames. Your fingertips grazed the glossy paper, tracing each square like they might give you a clue or a sign that you’d missed. For the first time in weeks, you let yourself ask it out loud:

“What happened?”

It sounded hollow in the room.

You’d thought you were careful, you’d been friends for some time, and you hadn’t let yourself fall for him immediately. Yet, somewhere in all your conversations, in the hours spent getting to know each other, in the way he’d held you that night like you were everything he wanted, you’d let yourself believe that you weren’t just a moment, that it wasn’t just a weekend.

Now he was in photo booths with someone else. Now the world was posting even more edits of him with his ex. Now you were left trying to make sense of the silence.

You pressed your hand to your chest, like it might soothe the pain. All it did was remind you that it was real. Maybe all of this had been a dream you’d woken up from too late.

You barely remembered the rest of the day or falling asleep that night as it all blurred together in a numbness that had taken over your mind, but in the early hours of the morning, the vibrations started.

At first, you turned over with a groan with your face pressed into your pillow, desperate to stay under as you thought it may just be your alarms going off that morning. However, your phone didn’t stop buzzing. It kept lighting up over and over with the screen flashing like it was trying to drag you out of the only bit of peace you’d managed to find.

You squinted at the screen as you reached over, your aching heart already skipping. You had twelve missed calls from Isabella, with a load of texts, and an unfathomable amount of notifications from your social media platforms.

You flicked through the messages from Isabella.

Babe please wake up It’s everywhere WAKE UP NOW Call me asap WAAAAAAAAAAAAAKEEEEE UUUUUPPPPPPP

Your stomach dropped so fast it made you dizzy as you sat up in bed, the covers falling away. Your fingers trembled as you unlocked your phone, the screen nearly blinding you in the dark. You opened the link Isabella had sent, and it hit you like a punch to the chest, your stomach dropping to a pit while heat rushed up your neck.

Photos. Of you, of Lewis.

The first showed you and Lewis at the Shanghai airport, standing beneath the departure board. His arm slung over your chest and shoulders like it belonged there, his lips at the crown of your head from behind. You were leaning into him slightly, eyes up at the screen, the kind of moment no one was supposed to see.

The second was worse.

It was mid-kiss. His hands at your waist, holding you close, while yours touched his jaw and chest. It was intimate. The way your fingers held his face like you knew the feel of him and his lips were on yours, like it was a goodbye that had weight.

It felt like you were seeing yourself from the outside, except this time, the world was seeing it too. The photos weren’t completely clear, they looked like someone had recognised Lewis and snapped them quickly.

The comments were filled with speculation, insults, compliments, and invaded your privacy to levels you had never known possible.

“That’s def Lewis. You can see the tattoos on his hand.” “She’s literally wearing his hoodie” “Wait, is that the girl from Australia? I swear she was in the paddock.” “Yeah, and she was at the China sprint too.” “Isn’t she friends with that girl who does PR for F1? PR vibes tbh.” “She’s literally sucking his face off ew.” “It’s kind of nice that he’s with someone not famous.” “I think I found her on Linkedin.” “They actually look so cute I love this!!” “He literally liked his ex’s Met Gala pic yesterday, lmao. She’s def another fling.”

Each post felt like a stone hurled at you. Some comments were kind, or confused, while others were brutal. They picked apart your looks, your job, your worth, like you were a stranger they’d been handed permission to judge.

Your mouth dried out and your lungs felt tight. You couldn’t tell if your heart was racing or if everything around you had just gone eerily still. Panic settled into your bones and you felt frozen, paralysed by the insanity playing out. Your life had suddenly been blasted into the spotlight. People knew who you were, what you did, who you were friends with, and they saw you with him.

You hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet, the duvet still tangled around your legs. The morning sun slowly poured in, the sting in your eyes burning from fear.

You swiped away from the post, you couldn’t even think. You just needed someone, so you pulled up Isabella’s name and hit call. She picked up instantly.

She picked up before the first ring even finished.

“Thank god,” she breathed. “Are you okay? Are you…did you see it?”

“I-yeah. I just woke up,” you managed to speak out, your voice rough, like it had been dragged out of your throat. “The photos.”

“I know.” Her tone was careful now, steady but edged with worry. “It’s everywhere. I think it started spreading sometime after midnight.”

You rubbed your forehead, pacing your room like it might help you process what was happening. “But why now? I thought Shanghai would be…quieter. Aren’t paps illegal over there?”

“It was probably a fan who got lucky. He had the hoodie and sunglasses on, but it seems like the tattoos gave him away. And people are pulling receipts, paddock photos, Australia, the sprint…”

You stopped pacing. “They know who I am, Iz. My name. Where I work.”

“I know, girl. I’m so sorry. You need to make your accounts private. Like, right now.”

You sank down onto the edge of your bed, numbness flowing through your skin. “They’re calling it PR and saying I’m only there because of you.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Isabella hissed from her end of the call.

“The comments are brutal too, I…” You trailed off, unable to say the words. “My whole life is out there now.”

Isabella’s voice softened. “I saw them. They’re wrong, you know they are. But I get it, it’s a lot. It’s too much. I wish I could take it away.”

You swallowed, throat thick. “It’s just, on top of all this, I didn’t even know what this was yet. We didn’t have a chance to make sense of anything. And now everyone has something to say.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know, babe.”

You sat there in silence for a moment, the kind that sits heavy, unsaid words building between breaths. Then your phone buzzed again, and this time it was a call.

Lewis.

The name blazed across your screen, as if the light had changed temperature, hot and cold all at once.

Your heart stuttered with a spike of panic, dread, confusion, all flooding your chest. You couldn’t move at first, like your body was frozen, suspended in a moment you weren’t ready to deal with.

“He’s calling,” you whispered, barely able to suck in a breath.

“Lewis?” Isabella asked, her tone shifting.

You didn’t respond right away, you just stared at the screen.

His name pulsed across it, as if mocking you with every soft vibration. You could practically hear his voice already. The calm, deep voice that used to make you feel safe and steadied your heart every time. Now it made it race for all the wrong reasons.

Isabella’s voice came through again, firmer this time. “Are you going to answer?”

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen.

“I don’t know.” Your voice cracked. “What if he’s upset? What if he thinks this is my fault? What if-”

“He wouldn’t,” she replied, quick and certain. “And if he does, then you’ll hang up. But I don’t think that’s why he’s calling.”

“What if he doesn’t care?” you asked, even softer. “What if this really was just a weekend to him and now he’s sorry it got out?”

Isabella’s voice was soft and comforting through the speaker as she coaxed you. “Then it’s better you know now. Talk to him.”

The phone vibrated again with Lewis’ name flashing across the screen. You took a shaky breath and answered.

You could barely bring yourself to speak, your voice trapped in your throat, but you managed a meek hello.

“Hey.” He greeted after a breath.

That one word made all the strength you’d been holding together crack. Lewis’ voice, while low and careful, was so normal it made the chaos of the morning feel even more absurd.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

The question knocked the air from your lungs. You weren’t even sure where to begin, you had barely had a moment to process your life being turned upside down. Your tongue felt like sandpaper in your mouth, your throat too tight to speak.

He said your name, this time a little lower, like he was reaching for you through the phone. “Talk to me, please.”

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I don’t really know how to feel. It’s a lot.”

There was a silence, and then a sound that might’ve been a sigh, but it sounded more like guilt clothed in breath.

“I’m so sorry,” he started. “This shouldn’t have happened. I should’ve protected you from it.”

Your eyes filled again, too full this time and spilling over just a little. The sound of his voice cut through everything, the panic, the confusion, the noise online, the comments, the spiraling, all of it.

“I hate that this is happening to you,” he continued, his voice rougher now, like it physically pained him. “I should’ve been more careful. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

A lump swelled in your throat. It was true, you didn’t sign up for any of this. The comments, the speculation, the cruelty. Your name on gossip accounts and your face picked apart by people behind their keyboards.

“You don’t deserve it,” Lewis continued, quieter now. “I should’ve been more careful.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t know what to say. A part of you wanted to forgive him right there, but the other part didn’t know how to.

“Tell me what you need.” His voice was barely above a whisper, gentler this time. “Whatever it is, sweetheart, I’ll handle it.”

His words landed like a punch to the chest. Your fingers curled tighter around the phone, the ache behind your ribs had grown sharp and heavy. Though, underneath it all, your heart beat with something dangerously close to relief. He didn’t sound indifferent or distant..

“I need to see you.” He said suddenly.

You froze, completely lost for words.

“I want to be there with you,” he spoke again. “This isn’t fair to you. Let’s figure it out together. I’ll get on the first flight there, right now, if you’ll have me.”

“You want to come here?” you asked, softly, still stunned.

“Of course, I hate that you’re going through this alone.” His sincerity clung to every syllable.

Just like that, the pain that coursed through your veins eased, just a little, knowing that he was coming for you and that you would work through this together.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see. “Okay.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just hang in there for me, alright sweetheart?”

“Okay,” you replied again. “I will.”

Eventually, the call dropped and you stared at the blank screen, his name now gone. You sat there frozen for a moment, your phone pressed to your chest, and the sound of your heart thudding in your ears.

Lewis was coming.

Taglist: @sltwins @ernegren @sher-ni @skzvibes-blog 🤍🤍

[pedriache]

The story of us — Lamine Yamal.

Pairing: Lamine Yamal x Flick!Reader

Summary: When you and Lamine first met, it was because of a simple mistake. It was sweet and cute, and now you were faced with the task of telling your father about your relationship, or, well, convincing Lamine to agree to it.

Word count: 1.6k+

Disclaimer/s: Outfit read is wearing is in the first pic! Fluff , reader is Hansi Flick’s daughter , teasing , banter , ect.

A/N: Hi! So i’m unfortunately obsessed with the coaches daughter trope. This is ESPECIALLY dedicated to 2/3 @halfwayhearted and 1/3 dedicated to @sakashq . I love you both. Sorry that I gave you towards the end..

When your dad said dress formally… he wasn’t very specific. A dozen dresses and skirts laid out on your bed, each one a different level ranging from casual to fancy. Exhaling a long, annoyed breath, you tap your foot against the wooden floorboard.

Your door clicking open had you groaning. “Dad—“

“This is not.. the bathroom.” A boy’s voice says slowly. Whipping around you are met with a tall, dark, and.. oh lord he was cute.

Your eyebrow lifts teasingly. “Really? What was your first clue?” She recognized him—Lamine. You had known the names of every single Barcelona player, your father made sure of that.

The boy laughs lightly, his head dipping down as a light blush spreads across his cheeks. “Funny.. So—” He trails off, his eyes trailing over the clothes spread across your bed.

“Hold on! I’ll give you directions to the bathroom, but first,“ You step aside, “help me pick? I’m having a bit of trouble choosing.”

Lamine meets your eyes, silently asking for permission to take a closer look. You give him a short nod, your lip curling slightly. He takes a few steps forward, standing at your side and thinks for a moment, taking a few glances at you. “You’re wearing silver jewelry?”

You hum, “yup!”

“Then, the pink top with the white skirt.” He nods to himself. as if to assure himself of the choice.

“Perfect.” You clap your hands together. Grabbing the set, you turn towards him. “Bathroom is literally two doors back, on the left side.”

Lamine laughs, “I overshot?”

“Yes, Lamine, you did.”

His name leaving your lips not only had a weird feeling growing in his stomach, it also had his eyebrows pulling together. “You know my name?”

Your eyes move from side to side, “uh… yeah? My dad is about to be your coach, is he not?”

Lamine stumbles over his words, “well—I—okay. True. He never told us your name, though.” He cocks his head to the side with a grin.

You tell him your name and he tests it out on his tongue, hating the way he loved how it rolled off so easily. “That’s a cool name.” Lamine internally slaps himself. Cool? Seriously?

You clasp a hand over your mouth, hiding the smile that almost accompanied a laugh at the painful look that crossed his face. Removing your hand, you nudge your head to the door. “Bathroom?”

His eyes widen, “uh, yep! Yeah, thank you! Again.”

“You didn’t thank me the first time.”

“Right.”

Lamine gives you two thumbs up, his nervous smile falling instantly. A small giggle bubbles in your throat and he takes that as his cue to leave, fast.

When you finish dressing, you slip on your small heels and exit your bedroom. The dining room was packed full of people when you arrived, taking you a bit by surprise. While you searched the room for your parents, your sisters hadn’t come, too busy with their lives and leaving you all alone—you stumble into the back of someone.

“Oh shit—“ You hiss, “i’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” the mans voice was familiar, as if you heard it only ten minutes ago.

Great.

“Wow! Humiliating ourselves in front of each other twice in ten minutes, good for us.” You pat his shoulder, eyes drifting to the people beside him who were observing the two of you curiously.

Héctor Fort, Alejandro Balde, and Pau Cubarsí. Wow! You just humiliated yourself in front of so many people. Great going.

“Uh, this is Flick’s daughter.” Lamine explains, “long story. Don’t ask.” He adds when he received more questioning looks.

You give them a short wave, introducing yourself. They do the same, although you didn’t need them to. “It was nice to meet you all, but I better go find my dad!”

Scurrying off, you approach your dad. “I just absolutely embarrassed myself in front of so many people. Remind me again just why I had to attend?”

Hansi looks down in your direction, “we already talked about this. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad—where is your mother?”

Huffing, you nod your head in her direction. “Talking to one of the wives.”

“Perfect, now.. go converse.” He waves you in a random direction, “just have fun. Okay?”

“Fun?” You grumble as he places a kiss to the top of your head.

“Fun.” He nods, walking off to find his wife.

When the dinner was finally over and you’d exhausted yourself with bare minimum conversations, you make your way toward the balcony that overlooked your back lawn. The cool night air brushed against your shoulders.

Letting out a long breath, your eyes flutter shut. The moment of peace you’d been wanting all night had finally arrived.

Or not.

“May I join you?”

Opening your eyes, you turn your head to look at Lamine. “Sure, why not.” You say quietly.

Lamine stands beside you, not speaking thankfully—not that you would’ve minded, but it was nice to have some quiet time.

Minutes pass before either of you speak. You initiate it, not looking at him, “so.. thoughts?”

“On what?”

“I dunno, the house, my dad.. anything, I guess.” You shrug, twirling around so your back was leaning against the railing.

Lamine rests his hip against it, giving you an amused smile. “Your house is, well, fancy. And your dad is scary, but funny.” He answers truthfully.

You snicker, finding it funny how everyone who met your dad thought he was scary. Hansi—your father, was quite the opposite. Maybe it was just because you were his daughter, but your dad did have quite the humor when he wanted to.

“My dad is the least scary person in the world. If he was, you wouldn’t be out here alone with me. He would’ve been right behind you.” You nod toward the balcony door. “I promise he’s a chill guy.”

“You’re only saying that because he’s your dad.” Lamine counters. He believed you, but he couldn’t help but doubt it when he saw the mans resting face.

Your name being shouted interrupts your conversation. You glance in the voices direction, seeing your mother’s head pop out of the door. “Your father’s about to make his.. speech.” She looks toward Lamine, eyebrow raising. “You’ll be needed too, Lamine.”

“We’ll be in soon!” You call back, silently begging for her to leave. She does, giving you a knowing look that you scowl at.

“Okay, we should probably go.” You say slowly, taking a few steps away from the railing, “but, hey—“

Lamine pauses mid step, glancing at you. “Yeah?”

“Could I get your number?” Your face grows a bright red, “that was far too direct. I just.. well you seem cool.”

The boy laughs, “yeah, of course. Here.” He reaches for his phone in his back pocket and hands it to you, allowing you to type your number in and save your contact.

“Text me sometime, i’m pretty much always available. New country and all..” You continue walking to the door, Lamine close in tow.

Months had passed, five long months. Lamine had texted you the day after he got your number and you had never stopped talking. You started hanging out regularly, which eventually progressed into his asking you out.

You’d been dating for a few weeks, and in those weeks you’d tried to convince Lamine that it would be okay to tell your dad, that he wouldn’t mind, but he had his doubts.

Sitting on the couch at Lamine’s parent’s house, one of the few places you could be together without the eyes of the public on you. Your head rested on his shoulder with his arm wrapped around you.

“Lamine.” You rub your temples, “he literally adores you! If I’m being honest, he probably likes you more than me. So please, I hate hiding this from him.”

Contemplating for a moment, he finally lets pit a sigh of defeat. “Okay! Okay. Fine, but if he sells me to a different club, it’s your fault.”

Laughing, you tilt your head up. “You’re my dad’s little starboy, he’s not selling you to anyone.” You tease, your lips pulling into a smirk.

Rolling his eyes at you, Lamine tips his head closer, lips inches from yours. “You are so annoying.” He grumbles, pecking your lips sweetly.

“Yeah, well, you love that about me.” You greet his lips in a small kiss, only pulling away to grab your phone. “Diner at parents tonight?”

“Tonight?” Lamine’s eyes widen. “Hell no.”

“Hell, yes! Actually.” You laugh, “dress nicely.”

You forced Lamine through the front door, your hand gripping his tightly. “Get in! You’re acting like you can’t walk.”

“Yeah, well, i’m sort of paralyzed in fear. No thanks to you.” He hisses, scowling when he sees the entertained look on your face.

“Is that you, Engel? [angel]” Your dads voice calls out from the living room.

“Yeah!” You yell back, turning to lamine to whisper, “I may have forgotten to mention you were my boyfriend.”

Lamine has no time to react when your dad walks out of the living room entrance to greet you. A sweat breaks out on the boys forehead when his coaches eyes land on him.

“Lamine? What are you doing here…” He stops speaking slowly, eyes flickering to you with something a little less than surprise, but something near it. “Huh.” He nods. “Well, dinners almost ready. You can go to the dining room.”

Mild reaction, expected reaction.

“Perfect! I’m starving.” You squeeze Lamine’s hand and pull him toward the kitchen, trying not to comment on the absolute fear written across his face.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future lamine posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @sakashq @ar4ujos @hrts4havertz @joaoflms @spidybaby !

[heyitspapayaontop]

Stay close!

Request: None

Pairing: Dad!Pierre Gasly x Toddler Daughter!reader

Warnings: None, just fluff !!

Summary: Baby Gasly gets a bit excited and runs off at Disney World.

On a sunny Thursday in early June, the vibrant colors of Disney World beckoned families from all over the world, each one ready to immerse themselves in the enchanting atmosphere. Sunlight sparkled off the famous Cinderella Castle, and laughter filled the air as children darted past with balloons bobbing above their heads. Among those families was the Y/N Gasly, pulling her mother and her father closer to a teacup ride. The small family was finally enjoying a rare break between the 2025 Miami GP and the Italian GP .

Pierre and Kika shared a smile, soaking in every moment of happiness. Y/N was a sprightly three-year-old, full of energy and wonder. Her big brown eyes sparkled with excitement as she absorbed the magical sights and sounds of Disney—a place where her dreams were finally coming true.

“Look, Papa! Mickey Mouse!” Y/N exclaimed, pointing toward a character dressed in a large mouse costume that was happily waving to the children around him.

“Do you want to go meet him, Y/N?” Kika asked, kneeling down to her daughter's height. The little girl nodded vigorously, her curls bouncing as she became momentarily lost in her excitement.

As they made their way through the throngs of families, Y/N was torn between the allure of meeting Mickey and the enchanting rides that surrounded them. After a leisurely stroll and a few detours for photos with whimsically-costumed characters, they arrived at the iconic meeting spot. Y/N's face lit up when she saw Mickey, and she rushed forward, pulling her smiling parents along.

With a bright grin, she hugged Mickey while Kika snapped a photo—this was one for the family album. Y/N grinned happily at her mother's phone, her small face beaming with delight.

Afterward, Pierre suggested a visit to the nearby Dumbo the Flying Elephant ride. “Let’s go, Y/N! It’s going to be so much fun!”

“Yay! I want to fly!” Y/N squealed, her little feet bouncing with anticipation. They waited in line, and Pierre hoisted her onto his shoulders. “Higher, Papa! Higher!”

Their laughter rang out as they finally climbed onto the ride, with Y/N flapping her arms as if she could truly fly. As the ride spun happily in the air, Kika watched them, her heart swelling with love for both her husband and their little girl.

As the afternoon wore on, Y/N, enthralled by the sights and sounds, didn't notice when her parents stopped to take a photo at another attraction. Peering curiously at the giant castle, she subtly slipped away, eager to explore the magical world around her.

It was only when Pierre and Kika turned back to find their daughter wasn't next to them and panic-gripped them faster than a car when the lights went out. “Y/N?” Pierre called, scanning the vicinity. “Y/N?” He repeated louder than the first time.

Kika grabbed Pierre's forearm, a wave of anxiety crashing over her. “We need to find her, Pierre!”

The couple dashed in different directions, Kika’s heart racing. They desperately checked around every corner, calling her name, but there was no response. As the world seemed to close in, Pierre suddenly shouted, “Over there! That way!”

Meanwhile, Y/N had wandered towards the beautiful flowers, her eyes wide with wonder at the sights of colorful petals and swirling displays. She marveled at everything, completely oblivious to the worry that swelled behind her.

“Y/N, stay close!” A voice rang around her, but it sounded distant. “Papa?” she called, her little voice barely above a whisper as she turned in circles, searching.

Just then, another familiar face turned the corner—Charles, who she often called her her “Monny”,or her “Uncle Charlo.” He had taken a break from his own visit at the park to enjoy some downtime before the next race. Spotting the little girl with big, worried eyes, he quickly approached her.

“Y/N! What are you doing here all alone?” he asked gently, kneeling down and putting his hands on her waist in a gentle, protective manner.

“Uncle Charlo!” she exclaimed, relief flooding her tiny features. “I lost my mama and papa!”

Charles’ heart melted at the sight of the little girl, and he immediately took charge. “Don’t worry, mon amour. I’ll help you find them. Let’s go look together.”

With that, he gently took her hand, leading her through the bustling crowd. “Can you tell me what they have on today, mon chéri?” he asked, guiding her gently along.

Y/N frowned, thinking hard. “Papa has a blue shirt, and Mama has a pink dress!”

Charles smiled. “Alright, let’s look for blue and pink!”

As they passed groups of people, Charles kept an eye out for Pierre’s unmistakable figure, his heart racing as they checked stalls and rides. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spotted Kika and Pierre not far away, still scanning the throng of visiting families.

“Look over there, Y/N!” Charles pointed, excitement bubbling in his voice.

“Papa!” Y/N cried out and began to run towards her parents, pulling Charles along with her.

Both Pierre and Kika turned at the sound of their daughter’s voice and blinked in amazement at the sight before them. Charles, kneeling with Y/N by his side, smiled at them, a comforting gesture that reassured Kika and Pierre amidst their stress.

“Thank you, Charles!” Pierre exclaimed with immense relief as he knelt to scoop Y/N into his arms.

“Mama, I found Uncle Charlo!” Y/N beamed, completely overjoyed.

Kika rushed over to hug them both tightly, her heart still racing with the remnants of worry. “Oh, Y/N! You scared us!”

“Let’s stay together now, okay?” Kika said as she pulled Y/N closer, grateful to have her back.

“Okay!” Y/N nodded, oblivious to the tension that had just passed.

Charles grinned, enjoying the warmth of their family moment. “I think the magic of Disney worked too well today, huh?” he joked, tousling Y/N’s hair.

As the group wandered deeper into the park together, laughter erupted again, filling the air with joy. Y/N continued to chatter excitedly, her words a fantastic blend of French and English. Family, laughter, and love surrounded her; this day was one she would remember fondly, filled with the magic of Disney and the strength of family.

A/N: I LOVED THIS ONE BUT I HAD WAR MAKING THE DIVIDER??? my reqs are always open loves<3