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winterarmyy · 2 years ago

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My Person

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: In which Sam's question forces Bucky to reveal his true feelings to his so called "friend", Y/N.

Pairing: tfatws!bucky x female!reader

Words: 3.2k++

Warnings: 18+ content, no minors allowed, nsfw, fluff, wee bit of angst, bucky is so adorable in this I WANT HIM SO BAD, also he is a bit feral. I feel like he can be more feral than this but you know, he doesn't wanna scare her away lol. This is just a result from surge of need so might not be too much of plot but I hope you enjoy your reading, anyway.

Inspiration: This post right here by @black-cat-2

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Sam took notice on every single crooks and corners as he followed Bucky's dragging footsteps from behind. It wasn't that he didn't want to help him but Bucky refused the offer right on the bat, saying that the serum will fix him up sooner or later.

The aftermath of their final battle with the flagsmasher was chaotic to say the least. With the splitting sides of public opinions of the new Captain America and the whispers about how the former winter soldier saved a bunch of civilian tonight had been the talk of the town.

But both Sam and Bucky decided not to think of it too much, especially when both were exhausted from the fight. Not to mention Bucky was injured. Although Sam knew damn well that the soldier can managed himself to a hotel to rest for the night like he always does, but as a worried friend, or rather a babysitter some would say, he insisted to accompany Bucky all the way through.

And Bucky was not in the mood to argue; Sam is as equally stubborn as Steve used to be, so he let the man do whatever he wants.

It was clear Sam was suspicious of where the hell did this terminator brought him to, but mostly he was curious. He thought he would just accompany him to the nearest hotel but nope. After taking an Uber, the next thing he knew, Bucky was leading him into this apartment building, that was obviously not his.

"Last time I checked your apartment was in Brooklyn. When did you get a place here?" Sam asked as Bucky stopped at one of the identical looking doors.

"It's not mine" Bucky replied truthfully as he removed the glove from his fleshed hand and pressed his thumb at the top of the door handle.

Sam eyed him with a look on his face when he sassed at him, "Said the guy who is currently unlocking the doors with his fingerprint."

Bucky simply rolled his eyes before the chiming sound alerts that the door was unlocked. Bucky opened the door to let Sam inside before he himself got in after him. "Seriously, man. If I knew you can afford having two apartments I would've asked you to pay for tonight's dinner. That's the least you can do..." Sam's words died as his eyes scanned the apartment.

Whatever he was expecting the apartment to look like, it was far from it. He surely was not expecting the place to be fully decorated with complete set of furniture in every area of the room. Whether it is the living room area, or the huge kitchen that was also equipped with built-in oven.

Even with the lack of light, Sam could see the color pallette on the walls were definitely not what Bucky would go for. The sentimetal trinkets on the shelves, the sweet fragrant of the scented candles; everything was the very opposite of what Bucky's apartment in Brooklyn looks like, feels like.

This, it felt like home. Warm and inviting. Quiet and serene.

"You know what? I take that back. Whose house have you broke us into?" Sam asked, almost in awe rather than shocked, "I know for a fact that this ain't your house."

Bucky huffed a heavy breath as he remove his tactical gears, "I didn't say it was mine, remember? Or flying with the pigeons in the sky had made you forgot how to undertand human language?" there was an unfiltered sarcasm in his tone that didn't go unnoticed by Sam.

So obviously he got defensive and unknowingly increase his volume as he countered, "Woah woah, that was uncalled for. And for your information pigeons can't fly as fast a my wings, and rest assured that I--"

Bucky swiftly stomped towards him, eyes wide almost in anger, while his metal hand reached to cover Sam's mouth, "Can you shut the fuck up, she's probably asleep and your noisy ass will wake--"

"Bucky?" A tiny yet groggy voice interrupted the conversation causing both of them to turn their attention to the source. The figure peeped itself from the bedroom, her uncertainty made it that only half of her body was revealed through the doorway.

Her squinting eyes indicates how recent she was woken up from her sleep and Bucky flashed a quick glared at Sam for that. Sam simply shrug with his hands the air as a response. He was still confused who is this woman and why were they in her house.

Bucky's tight features softens as he called for her, "Hey, babydoll. What are you doing up?"

Recognizing that voice anywhere her feet made her way to him, "Heard some noises." She answered shortly as her knuckles find her eyes and rubbed it lightly. The closer she gets, the clearer Bucky can see the dark circles under her eyes, signifying how much she was lacking of sleep.

His heart squeeze a little at the sight, "M'sorry, sweetheart." it was as if their bodies were magnets that they naturally found each other. Bucky opened his arms wide for her to find her rightful place in his embrace.

"It's okay" she mumbled against his sturdy chest. "Welcome home." She continued.

You'd be surprise to know how much the former winter soldier absolutely adore the feeling of her lips moving against his skin. Even if it was blocked by the fabric of his shirt. It always felt good and he swore he could not get enough of it.

Bucky leaned down on top of her head, inhaling the strawberry yogurt scent of her shampooed hair, "Yes. I am home, indeed." His hugged got tighter, crushing her just enough to make those pretty little sounds slipped her from lips.

Strings of hushed moan kept purring in her throat when Bucky lightly swayed her from side to side; his fleshed hand drawing invisible circles on the back of her waist, while his metal hand gently squeeze the back of her neck.

If she let him pamper her more than this, they'd probably forget that Sam was in the room. Unabashedly had his mouth agape at the sight in front of him. He was not sure whether he wanted to look away or to continue staring because no amount of explanation will suffice to answer his questions.

Peeking from Bucky's shoulder, she smiled warmly as she finally acknowledge the unexpected guest, "You must be Sam. I've heard a lot about you."

She tried to wiggle an escape from Bucky arms, but it was no avail; he was not planning to let her go any time soon. She ended up dragging the enormous koala bear who was stuck on her back as she offered Sam a handshake, introducing herself.

"Good things I hope." Sam took her hand and lightly shake it as she replied, "Of course." As much as he wanted to keep his eye contact with her, it was extremely hard when the grumpy super soldier that he knew was basically melting in crook of her neck.

"I don't want to be rude but the two of you are..." Sam purposely left his words hanging, hoping that one of them would finish the sentence before he let out his assumption, however both of them remained silent. The woman was blinking at him confused, while Bucky was practically still drooling over the her.

"...Lovers?" Sam ended his sentence with an uncertain tone.

Both of them went rigid to the question but before Bucky could say anything, she answered first, "No!" She almost shouted, taking a deep breath before she rephrase her answer, "No. I mean yes. We're not... like that."

"So, you guys are friends then?" Sam quirked an eyebrow to her answer, and seeing Bucky's silence, he guessed that the super soldier might liked her more than just 'friends'.

"Yup, we are. We first met when Bucky was on the run from Hydra, before you guys found him. It's a long story, really." And by the time she explained the shorten version of their story, Bucky finally drifted his attention to Sam, a deep frown decorated his brows as he was mentally asking, "How much longer are you going to stand there? Get the fuck out."

Sam should be offended by his silent orders but considering he came in the middle of the night, uninvited, he realized that he should leave them be,"Then, let that be a reason for us to meet again. You can tell me all about this meet-cute of yours later. I don't want to keep you away from him any longer. Especially when he is staring daggers at me."

She lightly tapped on Bucky's arms, and quick frown at him followed after as she non-verbally asking him stop glaring at Sam. Needless to say, Sam removed himself from the scene after they, or rather she, bid him goodbye.

As soon as the doors closed, Bucky has her back pressed against the door, wasting no time than to capture her lips. A gasped from her made it easy for him to slip his tongue inside. He kissed her slow yet so hungrily as if he was starved of the taste of her sweet mouth against his.

Bucky broke the kiss momentarily just to whisper, "I missed you so much, babydoll." With his thigh in between her legs, he guided her clothed core to slowly hump against him. "Missed you, too." Her beautiful moans only encourage his cock to swell even more than it already was.

Breaking the kiss, Bucky let her catch a breath as his glazed eyes adored her soft features. He still remembered the day when he first met her. When he escaped from Hydra's control, he was determined to keep his life down low. Don't attract to much attention, follow the schedule and stick to rules.

And his schedule was never interesting, it was always:

- write his journal entry

- find/do odd and non-permenant jobs for money

- grocery shopping and cooking

- watch the news

- and mostly just stay at home

Obviously, Bucky knows how to use the internet and all those modern devices that they have nowadays, but he never understand them; the 'social media' and the 'viral' things were never really appealing to him. So one day he decided to pay a visit to a small local library; hoping to find fimiliar solace in books instead.

What are the odds that both of them reach for the same book at the same time? After the multiple exchange of: 'Oh, I'm sorry, here take it.' 'No, you take.' 'No, please I insist.' They ended up meeting on a common ground; making a decision to sit down and read together. Turns out, spending a few hours with her at the library was the most peace he had since forever.

Bucky had a strict routine and rules. But the moment she asked him if he want to spend more time with her while she was there, he was ready to break all of it. And he did; for 7 days straight.

She was his first sense of freedom. His first choice in life.

Though, back then he was on a run, for presumably a lifetime, while she was on business trip for a week. So, they lost contact after that, especially when Bucky was running around with the Avengers and fighting aliens, but fate seemed to be on their side when they were reunited again in New York.

It's a miracle that she even recognized him. Little did he knew, he wasn't the only one who got hooked on the first few hours of that reading session had.

Though, he was extremely grateful that she reach out the moment she recognized him; no hesitant, no doubt. Just a confident and cheerful shout of his name in middle of the park that he walks through everyday.

The first thing that came out from her mouth after calling out his name was a compliment of his new hair cut and how she can see his beautiful eyes more clearer now. And that alone had made Bucky absolutely red in blush.

Weeks after that, she often joined him with his daily walk, making it their routine instead of just his. And months into this newly founded 'friendship', they found solace in each other's arms, comfort in each other's touch, and this quickly become their new favourite activity to do together.

Though none of them ever actually discuss their status but their body language suggest that they are more than just friends.

Especially with the way Bucky was rubbing the tip of his leaking cock on her clit; so desperate yet so gentle. Just like how he always does when he makes love to her. But, tonight he felt different. Maybe he was just needy or maybe it was the way she admit that they were not lovers when Sam asked about their relationship.

It was true. But, it felt so wrong.

"Am I just a friend to you, doll? Bucky leaned forward, his forehead met hers, his hot breath tickling her skin.

His tongue briefly passed in between his lips as he spreads her legs further, revealing her dripping cunt for his display, "Do your friends touch you like this, hmm?" His husky whisper as he rubbed his hardened length in between her slit, brushing against her clit.

"Do your friends kiss you all over like me?" She moaned breathily, as he bit and kiss the softness of her breasts; easily leaving his marks as if she was his to claim.

And without any warning, his cock slammed straight into her hole, stretching the walls to his size causing her to yelp in painful pleasure. Bucky let out a satisfied groan as the tightness of her around him, "Do your friends fuck this tight little pussy with their cock like me?"

Bucky couldn’t stop himself from pulling and pushing his hips to meet hers, his fingertips was practically digging into the flesh of her hips, moving her in time with his thrusts, "What am I to you, baby?" Honestly, it was hard for her to form complete thoughts, let alone reply to his question when he was fucking her so good.

Gone was the gentleman she knew for the past years, the koala bear that she spent hours on the couch cuddling to a movie marathon with. Now, there was only this feral beast, hungry for pleasure, insatiable to devour her whole body and soul.

Each roll of his hips pushed her further from her sober thoughts, focusing only on the wild look on his face, his huge body hunched over hers, his throbbing cock kissing her cervix. Any answer she was trying to convey was lost at the tip of her tongue; there were just the mewling mess, as she fell apart underneath him, compliant to his every thrust as his cock ramming within her. "Tell me. Come on, now. Use your words."

Bucky was almost losing his mind, from how bad he wanted to cum and how stubborn she was for not answering his questions. He pushed her legs up and wide as his thrust punctuated to his words, "What. Am. I. To. You?"

It took her a couple of long moans at his roughness, before she could utter a single word, the only correct answer to his question, "Mine."

He groaned approvingly, pulling back just enough to slide his metal between their bodies. "I'm yours?" Those hard, cold fingers that she loved so much was quick to find her clit. She was already sensitive from all the friction of his rutting, and now was he relentlessly assaulting the swollen nub, "Then, does that make you mine as well huh, sweetheart?"

"Yes, Bucky. You're mine. And I'm yours. All yours. Pleasee"

Her back arches off the bed, toes curling tight as her nails dug into his skin and across his back; To have some kind of a leverage to hold as the overwhelming pleasure surged through her body.

"Yeah, that's right, babygirl. You're mine and mine alone. Mine to love, mine to fuck. Yes?" Bucky taunted her with both his words and the way he rutted into her wet pussy, as if he himself was not close to the egde.

The sound of skin to skin clashing intertwined with the sounds of her pussy squelching around his cock, his girth kept pounding straight into her sweet spot to the point that only lewd whimpers of plead were spewing out of her lips, "Yes, yes yes. Oh Bucky please,, fuck,, I'm cumming!"

"Cum, sweetheart. Let me feel that tight little pussy of mine cum around my cock" He hummed approvingly as he picked a deeper and harsher pace, causing her mouth to fall wide open and her eyes screwed shut as she felt her whole body shook as she came. "Yeah,, that's it, doll. That's my girl. fuckkk,, feels so good baby, gonna make me cum inside you if you keep choking me like that."

"Please, Bucky?" A breathy moan of his name passed her lips as she her walls spasm with need. Bucky groan to the sensation, he was sure that her pussy was already full of his precum, considering how it has been leaking inside her for so long, "Want my cum in you, pretty girl?"

Batting her eyes through her lashes, she stared up at him, pleading., "Need it, please."

"Oh fuck, you got it, sweetheart." Throwing his head back in pleasure, shutting his eyes solely to focus of the feeling of her wet and tight cunt, Bucky's pace quicken as he chased his high, "Hmmm,, fuckk,, gonna stuff you full. You'll leaking for days, babydoll. Then, I'm gonna keep filling you until you can't live without my cum inside your pussy."

Hearing such dirty confessiom only triggers her to near orgasm, "Yess pleasee i want it. Need it, bucky." Surely enough she came again when he hit that special spot inside her.

"Ahh,, fuck ahhh,, I'm cumming shit pussy so good m'cumming fuckkkk", Bucky couldn’t even stop himself from rutting in and out of her sweet pussy as his cock pulsed, especially when her cunt was sucking him in deeper.

His head fall down to watch his cock disappear inside her before squeezing it shut again when the white spurt of cum shoots against her walls. His jaw was loose as his mouth formed an ‘o’ shape to allow his loud groans contaminated the silenced room.

His thick endless cum warm her insides and the honeyed moans hanging off her lips to its own accord as Bucky hunched over her frame, pressing his face in crook of her neck, breathing heavily as she was. After awhile, a broken sound of his voice stopped the silence, "Do you really mean it?"

He refused to look at her in the eyes, afraid of the rejection that might come his way but she proved him wrong by holding him by his cheeks, leading his eyes to align with hers,

"Bucky. You, my dear, are my bestfriend; you are my heart, you are my person. And there is no one in this world that I'd rather spend my whole life with besides you." Her words was nothing but the truth and Bucky knew that.

His heart swelled with joy yet he didn't know how to express it other than, "I love you, doll..." there was pause as if he was gathering the pieces of his soul to offer it to her, "...So much."

And she accepted it with her whole heart, "I love you too, Bucky."

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: I was gone for awhile but never too long. Hope you enjoy this little drabble 👀

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #tfatws!bucky #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut

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pankowcrumbs · 1 month ago

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All Along X Max Verstappen (Requested)

Request: Max Verstappen x Reader The Reader is a childhood friend and Max finally realizes he loves her.

MasterList

F1 Masterlist

Max's POV-

I’ve known Y/N since I was eight.

We met at a karting circuit in Belgium her dad was mates with my dad, and she was sat on the tyre wall swinging her legs and eating crisps, not caring one bit about the race happening around her. I thought she was strange at first, all quiet confidence and crooked pigtails, but when she looked up and asked if I’d won with a smirk, I instantly wanted to impress her.

We were inseparable after that.

Every race meet, every off-season, every awkward teenage summer I can trace every chapter of my life and find her there, etched somewhere in the margins. She’s the first person I text after qualifying, the only one who can get away with calling me a sore loser, and the one who knows how I take my coffee even when I forget.

But I never thought of her like that.

Or maybe I did. I just didn’t realise it.

Not until much later.

Not until the little things started stacking up.

It started with the way she wore my hoodie.

That old navy Red Bull one I’d left in Monaco last spring. She’d thrown it on after getting caught in the rain, sleeves swallowing her hands, hood half up, smelling like my aftershave. She didn’t even ask just wore it like it was hers.

Something about the way it fit her made something strange twist in my chest.

Then there was that time in Austin when she fell asleep on my shoulder during the post-race dinner. Everyone else was laughing, drinking, eating ribs, and she just dozed off like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I didn’t move for a full hour.

Didn’t want to wake her.

Didn’t want the moment to end.

I told myself it was normal. She was my best friend.

But slowly, quietly, things shifted.

I started noticing the way she laughed, loud and unfiltered, especially when she made me laugh. I started noticing the little things she did like how she always carried bandaids in her bag because I always got blisters from new boots, or how she knew when to leave me alone after a bad session, and when to stay even when I told her not to.

There was a day in Barcelona, early morning, golden sun catching in her hair as she leaned against the pit wall, chatting to the mechanics. She was glowing, like some golden-hour dream, and I caught myself staring.

Hard.

Cheeks warm, heartbeat off-beat.

That was the first time I thought, shit…

But I still didn’t say anything.

Didn’t do anything.

It wasn’t until Silverstone that it hit me full force.

It was the Saturday before the race. We were in the Red Bull motorhome me, her, my mum, and dad. She was laughing about something my dad had said, and the sound filled the room like sunlight.

She was just… there.

Like she’d always been.

Hair pulled into a messy bun, wearing my team shirt again because she “couldn’t be arsed packing properly”, one leg tucked under the other as she sipped her tea and chatted with my parents like she belonged.

And she did.

She always had.

I watched her as she threw her head back laughing at something my mum said, eyes crinkling at the corners, and something inside me just clicked.

It was her.

It had always been her.

Through the podiums, the travel, the pressure, the circuits and trophies. It was always her I wanted to come home to. Her who understood the world behind the headlines. Her who stayed. Who got me.

Not because of who I was, but in spite of it.

And I realised I was in love with my best friend.

I was completely, entirely, stupidly in love with her.

I didn’t say anything that day.

I couldn’t.

What was I meant to say?

“Hey, Y/N, by the way, I think I’m in love with you. Pass the salt”?

So, I kept it to myself.

But once you realise something like that, you can’t un-realise it.

It changes everything.

The way I looked at her.

The way I listened when she talked.

The way my whole body leaned towards her without thinking.

She’d touch my arm while talking and I’d feel it for hours. She’d call me “Maxie” when she was teasing and my stomach would flip like I’d just gone through Eau Rouge blindfolded.

And she had no idea.

Because to her, I was just Max.

The same one who once cried after losing a kart race at 11. The one who helped her sneak out of her house to watch a meteor shower at 2am when we were 15. The one who’d always been there. Her mate.

The thought of ruining that paralysed me.

But the thought of never telling her?

Worse.

It came to a head in Monza.

We’d gone out for dinner just the two of us, like always. Pasta, wine, too much bread, and conversation that flowed like we were the only two people in Italy. She was wearing this green dress, nothing fancy, but she looked… beautiful.

Undeniably.

She laughed, wiping sauce from her lip, and looked up at me with those eyes.

And I thought, I have to tell her.

I have to.

But I chickened out again.

Walked her back to the hotel, hugged her goodnight too long, and said nothing.

I couldn’t sleep that night.

I was a world champion, for god’s sake.

I could overtake at 300kph with a centimetre to spare but I couldn’t tell the girl I loved that I was in love with her.

It wasn’t until a week later, after Japan, that I cracked.

We were in the garage packing up. She was wearing a team jacket three sizes too big and talking to my race engineer about something I couldn’t hear. I was stood nearby, pretending to scroll through my phone, when she turned and caught me looking.

She smiled.

I smiled back.

And in that moment, I knew.

If I didn’t tell her soon, I’d regret it forever.

So I did.

I waited until we were back in Monaco. Until we were sitting on the balcony of my apartment, overlooking the sea, with beers in hand and bare feet on the railing. The moon was out. She looked relaxed. Happy.

“Y/N,” I said quietly.

She looked over. “Yeah?”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

She sat up a little. “Everything okay?”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

My heart thundered in my chest.

She blinked. “You think?”

I gave a breathless laugh. “No. I know. I’m sorry it took me this long. I just every time I look at you, it makes sense. Everything. You make sense.”

She was staring now, eyes wide.

And then she smiled.

Soft. Slow. Like the sun rising.

“Max…” she whispered.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I rushed. “I just needed you to know. If it ruins things, I’ll deal with it. I just couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

She set her beer down.

Then she reached for my hand.

And laced our fingers together.

“I’ve been waiting for you to say it.”

My breath caught. “What?”

“I didn’t want to be the one to ruin it either. But I’ve felt it, too. For a while now.”

Relief. Shock. Something electric bloomed in my chest.

“Really?” I breathed.

She leaned forward and kissed me.

Soft and sure.

And in that moment, everything fell into place.

Like it was always meant to.

Like it had always been her.

All along.

#fanfiction #reader #x reader #one shot #requested #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x female oc #verstappen #max

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slutforvoldy · 3 months ago

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“ INVISIBLE STRING. ” ( lando norris ! )

SUMMARY: the reader reminisces about her deep, enduring love with lando through an old photo album.

word count: 1k

warnings: no use of y/n, a lot of taylor swift references, mentions god (just in case someone is an atheist)

pairing: husband!lando norris x wife!reader

a/n: a little fun fact, this was my school work back in 2023 since my religion teacher told us to create a fanfic, but instead of leaving it in my google docs, i decided to make some little changes and post it for funsies. anyways, enjoy !!!

IT WAS MIDNIGHT. A hint of salt lingered in the air, carried by the cold, gloomy breeze as gray clouds washed over Monaco in the month of August. The city was silent, the neighbors deep in slumber, and the rhythmic chirping of crickets was the only sound accompanying the dim glow of the streetlights. It felt as if the whole world was asleep—except for her.

She could not sleep while her husband, Lando, peacefully snored beside her. She lay and watched her husband as he slowly breathed with his eyes closed. She looked at him in awe as she saw the soft, relaxed look on his face. She slightly brushed the hair on her husband’s face. She smiled faintly. It’s been a long time since she's seen the peaceful look on his face. She knew that Lando had been quite stressed these past few weeks due to his work, which had been greatly affecting her. She was trying really hard to understand her husband. To clear her thoughts, she decided to go downstairs to pass the time, hoping that it would make her sleepy.

She carefully removed the duvet to avoid disturbing her husband’s slumber. She placed her feet on the cold tile floor and shivered at the feeling. She walked toward the closet to wear a jacket that Lando owned. Cold nights were unbearable, but at least they gave her an excuse to wrap herself in something that smelled like him. The familiar scent of Dior Sauvage mixed with his natural musk filled her lungs, bringing a faint smile to her lips. The jacket was enough to keep her warm. She tilted the doorknob, looking back at her husband to get a glimpse of his sleeping frame before walking out of the bedroom and going downstairs.

Rubbing her tired face, she finally made it downstairs. She walked around the house, seeing all the picture frames from years ago with Lando—there was one with a photo that was taken on Lando's first grand prix win in Miami. They looked so in love and carefree, celebrating his triumph with pure, unfiltered joy. Looking away from the photo frames, she then stumbled upon a bookshelf full of photo albums and books. She playfully brushed her hand along the spines of the photo albums, one by one, at the ends of her fingers, and decided to choose one out of several photo albums.

It was a familiar brown leather-bound photo album. It is old and bleached; it looks like it hasn’t been touched in many years. She slowly grazed her hand along the vintage and stained photo album, seeing how it left traces of her marks because of the thick dust that covered the entirety of the book. She then opened the photo album, and she smiled at the sight.

It was her favorite photo album. It was filled with photos of her in her childhood, like growing up with her parents, in the field of her favorite flowers, pictures with the other drivers, and birthday photos. There were also many pictures of her and Lando during their teen years: Lando teaching her how to drive a car, her wearing Lando’s helmets, and more.

As she was flipping through the pages of the photo album, one photo slipped out. She looked down, confused, at the photo that had just fallen; she couldn’t remember the time when she placed a photo between the pages of the photo album, and it had also been a long time since she had opened this photo album. She bent down and flipped the photo. It was a picture of her and Lando’s wedding. She reminisced at the moment.

She couldn't believe how young they looked and how much time had passed. She smiled as she remembered that day like it was yesterday. The sun was shining, and the birds were chirping. She could still feel the warmth of Lando’s hand in hers as they exchanged their vows. She observed how happy they were. Lando was carrying her in princess style. The veil was falling over her head; there was cake frosting on Lando's face. Their eyes are both gleaming with happiness; they are both smiling and laughing candidly, and everything looks positive.

She suddenly remembered the time when they exchanged laughter, how they kissed in town and downtown bars, how they drunkenly danced under the street lights in the middle of the night, and how he lingered around her like a tattoo kiss. Despite Lando's wrongs and mistakes he made in the past, she believed and still saw the best in him. He managed to tend to all of her wounds. Lando drew stars around her scars, kissing every single scar on her body and making her feel loved.

She remembered the man she loved through their wedding photo. The best and happiest day of her life. The day that changed her whole life, wherein they became two souls in one. She remembered how she could feel her heart racing when she looked at him at the end of the aisle; she saw the same soft look and vulnerability he had on his face earlier. She could smell the flowers from the bouquet. The soft piano is playing in the background. She remembered how they vowed everlasting love and to always cherish each other, surviving through thick and thin, for better or worse the situation, they will always have each other no matter what it takes until death does them part. She could feel the love and excitement radiating from both of them as they exchanged their vows.

Tears started building up in her eyes, thinking about how her marriage with Lando transformed them into the better and stronger people they are now. She felt grateful for her life and for the love she shared with Lando. She knew that they had something special. That night, she went to bed with a smile on her face, feeling grateful for the memories and the love that she and Lando shared. She knew that they had come a long way, but she also knew that their love would continue to grow stronger with each passing day.

After twenty years of marriage, she thought about how she was one lucky woman, having been able to bind her soul with her first love. It feels like God purposely let a single thread of gold tie her to him. An invisible string.

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cinnaleaf · 4 months ago

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In Your DMs: Left on Read - Ch 2: Sticky Situation

summary: you left jude on read once—but after one reckless night, he’s making damn sure you never ignore him again 💫 | MDNI 18+ | Full Series |

warnings: angst/tension, push/pull dynamic, jealousy/possessiveness, verbal altercation, sexual tension, language, cultural references wc: ~6.3k (approx. 23 minutes) 💋: let’s pretend u didn’t see me post this yday when the tag was in shambles song inspo: Gemini x THEY.

You were hungover, running on a questionable amount of caffeine, and about three seconds away from throwing your pen at your professor’s head. Documentary Production & Storytelling was already your least favorite class this semester, mostly because the professor was an eccentric Spanish filmmaker who smoked way too many cigars and had a tendency to talk in circles. Today wasn’t any different.

“Filmmaking isn’t about aesthetics! Not about perfect shots or clever editing tricks!” He slapped the whiteboard for emphasis, where he’d already written EXPOSE THE TRUTH in all uppercase letters. “It’s about reality! Raw. Unfiltered. Humanity! If you want to make a documentary worth watching, you have to dig beneath the surface.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and tapped your pen against your notebook instead. Expose the truth. The phrase alone made your head hurt. Bri, who was sitting beside you, leaned over and whispered, “So… are you thinking of exposing how you were crying over a toilet bowl this morning?”

You shoved her off you, whispering, “Shut up.”

Tasha, on your other side, barely contained her laughter. “You know what would be crazy?” she murmured, moving her eyes toward the board. “If you just documented Jude and his desperate ass. Now THAT would be exposing the truth.”

You groaned under your breath, shaking your head, but Bri wasn’t done. “Oh my god, imagine! Surviving Thirst: The Jude Bellingham Story.”

She was joking obviously, but the second she said it, the thought wedged into your brain and refused to budge. Your professor turned away from the board, pacing in front of the class like he was on the verge of an epiphany. The smell of cigars mixed with your lingering hangover made you question every life choice that led to this moment.

“You must capture something real!” He threw a dramatic hand in the air. “Something global but deeply personal! A story that goes beyond what people think they know. Something with weight!” He smacked his hands together which made your head pound even harder. “Something that DEMANDS to be told!”

He surveyed the class, eyes burning with intensity. “Tell me, how do we do that?”

Some overachieving wannabe Steven Spielberg shot their hand up. “By finding a subject that resonates with a wide audience but also reveals something deeper about human nature?”

“YES! Now you’re getting it!” The professor spun toward the board and underlined EXPOSE THE TRUTH so aggressively that the marker nearly flew out of his hand. “This is what great filmmakers do! They take what the world thinks it knows and deconstructs it! They rip apart the facade and show what lies underneath! Think about the subjects people obsess over and glorify.” His voice dropped an octave and he scanned the room. “Athletes. Celebrities. Public figures. They are mythologized and turned into icons, but what do we really know about them? What’s behind the curated image?”

He let the question settle in the air before continuing on his artistic yet slightly psychotic tangent. “Your subject must be compelling. It must have global appeal, but you must also find a way to make it deeply personal. You have one week to choose.” He clapped his hands once, signaling the discussion was over. “Class dismissed.”

You sat frozen in your seat as everyone around you started gathering their things.

Athletes. Celebrities. Public figures. It wasn’t a bad idea.. if you had actually considered it.

The thing was, you’d already been around these people your whole life. You knew exactly how the glossy image the world saw was never the full picture. Your dad was the go to plastic surgeon for the rich and famous. He was the man behind half the “natural” beauty people idolized on social media. You saw celebrities in and out of his clinic since you were a kid, some slipping in through the back entrance, others coming in with full security detail, all of them desperate to maintain whatever illusion the industry demanded of them.

You knew the aftermath too. NDAs, secrecy, negotiations over what work could be admitted to versus what would go to the grave. You knew which athletes got regular “maintenance” to keep their bodies in peak condition, which actors booked consultations but never followed through, and which A-listers claimed their glow ups were the work of a ‘strict diet and hydration’ (ahem, Drake.) Miami was also crawling with athletes and you watched how they moved before you were even old enough to drink. You saw the girls they rotated in and out of their lives, the ones they wifed publicly while keeping a different roster on the side. You had dinner with your dad and overheard conversations you weren’t meant to hear. You went to exclusive parties, walked through yachts and penthouses where cameras weren’t allowed, and sat quietly as men with the world at their feet made it clear that nothing was ever enough for them.

People were obsessed with them, but if they knew even half of what you saw, they’d have a lot less to say. Your professor wanted something that resonated globally but was deeply personal. Something that exposed the truth.

Well.

You could do that.

As the three of you walked out of the classroom and into the sundrenched halls of the film building, Bri slung her tote over her shoulder and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, so… I’m thinking of making my documentary about Madrid’s club scene. Like a deep dive into the DJs, bouncers, promoters, and all the fuckery behind the scenes.”

You nodded, already seeing the vision. Madrid’s nightlife was lawless, and Bri was a historian on the subject. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“I know.” She flipped her hair dramatically. “It’s giving investigative journalism.”

Tasha snorted. “More like it’s giving an excuse to party seven nights a week and call it research.”

Bri shrugged. “And what about it?”

You laughed while Tasha transitioned the conversation to go over her own idea. “I think I’m gonna do something about gentrification. Specifically, how it’s affecting Lavapiés and it’s immigrant population.”

You gave her a look of approval. “That’s actually really fucking good.”

“I know. But I’m about to piss off a ton of white people with this one.”

Bri grinned. “Oh, for sure.”

You were still laughing when you all stepped outside in the warm afternoon breeze of Madrid and made your way toward your usual café down the block. You could feel them watching you, waiting for you to speak, and you knew exactly why. You had been quiet about your own project since leaving class, which meant your brain was turning over something serious.

Tasha sighed. “You’re really gonna make us drag it out of you?”

You rolled your eyes, shoving your phone back into your bag. “Fine. I’m thinking about documenting athletes.”

That got their full attention. “Athletes?” Bri repeated with interest.

You nodded. “Think about it. People put them on this insane pedestal, but no one really gets to see what their lives are like outside of what they post or what the media covers.” You shrugged. “I’ve seen that side my whole life. I know what really goes on behind the scenes. Why not film it?”

They exchanged a look before Bri asked the inevitable. “And who are you documenting?”

Tasha raised her eyebrow. “Because if you say Jude, I swear to God…”

You shot her a look. “I’m not doing a documentary about Jude.”

Bri smirked. “But he’s in it?”

You sighed dramatically. “I might use him. I might use Santi too. He’s not on Jude’s level but basketball is still a thing here.. so I could get both perspectives.”

Bri gasped. “Oh my god. You’re pitting them against each other in the name of entertainment.”

“I’m not pitting them against each other.”

“You’re definitely pitting them against each other.”

You shook your head but the idea was already taking place in your mind. The contrast between a man at the height of European football and a man who was well known but didn’t live under the same spotlight could make for a very interesting project.

Tasha smirked. “So… who are you calling first?”

After visiting the café, you made your way back to your apartment and stared at your phone, contemplating if this was really the move. Out of the two of them, Jude was the most likely to be the bigger headache and piss you off within the first few minutes of conversation, but you also knew he’d answer immediately. You tapped his contact and one ring was all it took before he answered.

“You finally had a change of heart and decided to stop ignoring me?” His voice came through the speaker, smug and warm. A normal hello would have sufficed.

You blew out a breath, already over it. “It’s not whatever you’re thinking, that’s for sure.”

There was a pause but then he let out a chuckle that made you clench your jaw. “You were thinking about me enough to call me.”

Your eyes nearly rolled out of your skull. “Are you busy or not?” Your attitude was immediate, rightfully so.

“Not for you, pretty girl.”

You ignored the way your stomach twisted slightly at that and forced yourself to focus. “Good. Come to mine. I just sent you the address.”

“See.. now you’re just making it too easy” he teased.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Jude shut the fuck up and just–”

“I’ll be there in twenty” he cut in smoothly, enjoying the chase. “Missed you too by the way.” The call ended before you could respond, making you stare at your phone in disbelief.

Clearly, this was a mistake.

Twenty five minutes had passed by before you finally heard a knock on your door, because of course he had to be late. You took one last deep breath and pulled the door open, only to be greeted with the ugliest Peaky Blinders ass hat you’d ever seen in your life.

You made a face of disgust because the sheer ugliness of his hat offended you. “Absolutely not.”

Jude stood in front of the doorframe, grinning with one hand tucked into the pocket of his trousers. “Good to see you too.”

You didn’t acknowledge what he said and instead waved a hand at the monstrosity sitting on top of his head. “What the fuck is this?”

“What?” He asked innocently, reaching up to adjust the hat. “You don’t like it?”

“No, I don’t like it. You look like you started street brawls in 1923.”

Jude laughed and stepped past you, making himself at home. “I look good in this hat.”

You shut the door behind him and shook your head. “No. You look like a fucking 40 year old who snuck on earth in that hat.”

His ego was too big for him to admit to anything other than him looking good in the hat, so Jude wandered further into your apartment, stretching his long legs and taking in his surroundings with ease. “Nice place,” he mused, glancing at the half empty iced coffee cup on the table, an open notebook filled with scribbled ideas, and a stack of filming equipment tucked near the TV. “This where you plot your next move?”

You sighed, already regretting this. “Jude.”

He turned to you with a cocky half smirk on his lips. “Yeah, angel?”

You clenched your jaw. “Come to my room.”

“Damn at least buy me dinner first.”

You refused to give him the satisfaction of a response and instead turned around to walk to your bedroom as he followed behind lazily. Once inside, you shut the door behind you and watched Jude eye the personal confines of your bedroom. It felt strangely intimate having him in your room, especially since it looked like he was taking mental notes on the little details of your life. Your room was a mix of chaos and personality with half packed bags shoved in a corner, polaroid pictures pinned to the wall, books and videography equipment scattered across your desk. Jude walked over and picked up one of your camcorders without asking, testing the weight of it in his hands.

“You always been into this?” he asked, adjusting the focus ring as if he knew what he was doing even though he could barely put on a headset without looking confused.

You crossed your arms. “Why do you care?”

Jude glanced at you, setting the camera back down. “Because I’m nosy.”

Okay. At least he was honest. You inhaled deeply, preparing yourself for the conversation you actually needed to have. “I need you for a project.”

“Is that why you finally decided to hit me up?”

“Jude..” He laughed and stepped closer to you, shifting his body language into something more relaxed. His hands sat in his pockets as he studied your face, waiting. “I have to make a documentary for class. Something with global appeal that’s also personal. So I figured....”

“Ohhh,” Jude drawled, tilting his head. “You figured me.”

You stared at him, trying to explain yourself more in depth, but the words tumbling out of you dug you into a deeper hole. “You’re one of the biggest footballers in the world right now. It makes sense.”

He licked his lips, nodding slightly, but that smug look didn’t leave his face. “So what’s the angle? Exposing me in bed?”

Your nostrils flared as you clenched your fists at your sides. “Jude be serious.”

He grinned and ran his tongue over his teeth, leaning in only slightly. “I’m joking.”

You tried to push past the fact that he was actively and succeeding at getting under your skin. “I want to capture what your life is actually like. The side people don’t see.”

Jude didn’t respond right away and continued to study your face to figure out what part of this project you weren’t admitting to just yet. “And you think I’m just gonna agree to that?”

You shrugged. “I think you’ll do whatever you want to do.”

“What if I don’t want to do it?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then I’ll move on.”

“That easy?”

“That easy,” you echoed, even though you both knew damn well that wasn’t the case for reasons beyond the project.

The silence following after was charged with unsaid thoughts. Jude sat on the edge of your bed with his hands clasped in front of him, still watching you with an unreadable expression, but then he reached out for you and wrapped his fingers around your waist, tugging you just close enough that you had to catch yourself with your free hand on his thigh. Your breath caught, but you didn’t move away.

He looked up at you, voice low. “Why me?”

You swallowed, refusing to acknowledge the feeling of his skin against yours. “Because you’re a global name. And because people don’t actually know you.”

His grip on your wrist tightened, just for a second. “And you think you do?”

You really should’ve pulled away and put distance between you but you stayed there instead, feeling the heat of his body meld with yours from the way his leg caged you into his personal space. He smelled too good. He was too close. He was looking at you like he knew exactly what was running through your head and he liked it.

“Jude…” you said quietly.

“Hm?”

“Let go.”

His smirk deepened, but he let go slowly to test the waters. You took a very small step back and pulled the hem of your shirt down in order to forget the sensation of him touching you. “Think about it. If you don’t want to do it, that’s fine. I’ll find someone else.”

Jude leaned back slightly, propping himself up on his hands. “Like who?”

You tilted your head. “Santi.”

Jude’s whole demeanor changed with the mention of Santiago. He didn’t hate him, but he definitely didn’t like him always being around you, regardless of if you were ‘just friends’.

“Santi?” he repeated with flexed jaw muscles.

“Obviously he’s not on your level but...”

“But?” Jude laughed loudly and shook his head. “Fucking hell. You really know how to push my buttons don’t you?” You smirked, because for once, you were the one getting under his skin.

“Maybe. But only when it’s something I want.” You were taunting Jude with a game of chess, willing him to figure out his next move and decide what was next.

“What if I want something out of this too?”

“Like what?”

“You.”

You knew he wasn’t joking based on the way he blew up your phone after your hook up, thinking he had a right to your attention. Jude had always been persistent, confident, and way too aware that he was the type of man who always got what he wanted. There were women chasing him all over the world and for some reason, you were the one he decided to bother the most. It would’ve been easier if the sex had been forgettable, but it was far from that and every time you saw him, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Now you were finding yourself in a sticky situation where you wanted access to his life without giving him too much access to yours. It made sense in your head originally, but you also knew Jude wasn’t the type to back off once he set his sight on things. When he wanted something, he chased it on or off the pitch, and he usually succeeded every time.

You gave him a poker face, refusing to give in so easily. “That’s cute Jude, but that’s not on the table. I don’t even think you truly know what you’re asking for.”

“Yeah I do.” he said with eyes still piercing into yours. “You just don’t like hearing the truth.”

He always flipped it back on you for control. It pissed you off, but worst of all...it was kinda working. “Are you gonna agree to this or not?”

“I don’t know..” he said, stroking his index finger over his facial hair. “Seems like a pretty big commitment. Are you sure you want me in front of your camera, angel?” You cut your eyes at him, giving him a nasty side eye. The nerve of this man to be standing so close to you, going back and forth in a hat that made him look like he was from the prohibition era was really starting to irk you.

“I want a documentary subject” you corrected, pressing your hand against his chest to create distance.

Jude caught your wrist before you could move away and captured you back into his space to remind you of how he could pull you right back in if he wanted to, especially behind closed doors. “Uh huh..” he murmured. “But what’s in it for me?”

Your breaths were a bit uneven by this point, but you forced yourself to keep composure. “The world gets to see a different side of you.”

Jude wasn’t impressed with your answer in the slightest and chose to push you even more. “Yeah? Or you get to keep me on a leash while you figure out whatever the fuck this is between us?”

“There is no this.” You gestured between you and him for emphasis. Before you even had time to finish the sentence, Jude scoffed a laugh at you, unconvinced with your statement. He loosened his fingers around your wrist and slid lower to graze his thumb against your thigh. You felt it everywhere. Heat rose in your stomach and kept rising both higher and lower the longer he touched you. He was barely doing anything, but it was a deliberate touch. He knew exactly what he was doing and knew you wouldn’t step back this time.

“This is professional” you said quietly with your tone not sounding confident at all.

Jude tilted his head. “Professional,” he repeated, brushing up against your skin again before he finally stopped. “You really think you can keep it that way?”

Your heart may as well have been in your ass but you refused to let him see it. “Yes.”

Jude wanted to push a little further just to see what would happen but instead, he leaned back to give you space. “Alright then. I’ll do it.”

The funny thing about exposing truth and reality is that sometimes it comes when you least expect it. A few sharp knocks on the door echoed through your apartment walls, startling you. You hadn’t ordered anything for delivery and all of your roommates had keys so it couldn’t have been them. Jude raised his eyebrow curiously. “Expecting someone?”

“No.” you muttered, knowing he was about to be an inconvenience no matter who was standing on the other side. You weren’t in the mood for any surprises, especially not with the world’s most annoying man sitting comfortably on your bed, grating your nerves. There was no version of events where he sat back quietly and minded his business because Jude’s entire personality revolved around being a pain in the ass.

You walked toward the door and kept your hand on the knob for a split second, opening it just enough to crack the door open and peek through, only to see Santiago standing tall with a brown bag in one hand and a worn food container that his abuelita passed down to him when he moved to Madrid. Your stomach rumbled slightly from smelling the scent of home. Whatever he had smelled like the kind of food you grew up eating that couldn’t be easily found in Madrid, no matter how many restaurants claimed they knew what they were doing with Caribbean flavors.

Santi flashed his bright teeth, putting last night’s drama from the party at the very back of your head. “I thought you might need this after all the rum.”

You shifted to block the doorway from view. “Thanks. You didn’t have to...”

“Yeah, but I wanted to. Brought some ropa vieja (stewed beef), arroz (white rice), frijoles (beans) and arroz con leche (rice pudding).” Santi glanced at your frame through the tiny crack in the door. “You’re looking better than I thought you would.”

Another voice....a very annoying voice spoke from your side of the door.

“She always looks good.”

You closed your eyes in horror, feeling your entire soul leave your body. After a deep breath, you turned your head back toward your room to see Jude standing a few short steps behind you. Santi shifted his legs, moving around because for some reason, athletes could never stay in place like a normal person…including Jude. “Didn’t realize you had company.”

You turned back toward Santi quickly. “They were just leaving.” You didn’t want to tell him outright who was behind the door, but Jude was going to make sure Santiago knew exactly who was in your apartment. He had no intention of making things easy.

“Leaving??” he asked while standing directly behind you, making it painfully obvious who was behind the door with his accent. “I thought we were still having a chat?” He cracked the door open wider so Santi could see him towering over you in the intimate space. Santi was chill and didn’t react right away because he was already familiar with the way Jude moved.

“Didn’t know you two were hanging out.”

“We aren’t.” You cut your eyes at Jude over your shoulder to give him a warning to not make things any worse than it already was. “He was just here for something.”

Jude wrapped his hand around your waist with a lot of gall and a sly smirk, ignoring how you were trying to block him from Santi’s full view. You weren’t doing a good job at it considering both of them were more vertically blessed than you were. “Yeah... something.” Jude inserted himself back into the conversation boldly.

Santiago laughed and kept his laid back demeanor intact, but his eyes bounced between you and Jude which made you wriggle your way out of Jude’s grip on your waist. “So what’s up?” You attempted to shift the conversation. “You just came to drop this off?”

Santi nodded, lifting the food slightly. “I just wanted to check on you and make sure you were okay after last night.”

Jude stepped even closer, making you feel the body heat radiating from behind you. “She’s good, mate.”

Santi finally looked Jude in the eye, becoming increasingly annoyed with his presence just as much as you were. “She can answer for herself, no?” The tension in the air was so suffocating that you could barely breathe through it. Jude wasn’t backing down and Santi definitely wasn’t one to be pushed into anything..no matter how chill he was.

You cleared your throat to gain some sense of control. “It’s fine Santi.”

“You sure?” he asked, locking his eyes on you and very blatantly ignoring Jude.

“Yes.” You crossed your arms. “Actually… I needed to talk to you about something.” Jude made a noise behind you but you were ignoring his antics now.

Santi nodded. “Yeah? Que lo que? (what’s up)”

Jude didn’t like the fact that he had been cut out of the conversation, his pride was on the line and he wasn’t going to let it slide. He peeped how you were shifting the conversation and being careful with your words to not reveal too much. Jude was smart but he was also petty, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Santi stand in your doorway for some innocent little check-in that could lead to more behind your closed bedroom door.

“You need to talk to him?” he asked mockingly but also very irked. “For what? I already said yes and you’re still asking him to be in the documentary too?”

“Documentary?” Santi asked.

You opened the door fully now and stepped back to grab the food and place it on the counter, then walked back to Santi. “I was going to ask for your help. It’s a project for class..” you admitted.

Jude walked over to the food and lifted the top off, inspecting the ropa vieja with a curious look before he turned his attention back to you and Santi, who had given you a quick hug while Jude was momentarily distracted. “So I’m not enough, huh? You need another athlete in the mix?” He gestured toward Santi lazily. “I guess that makes sense. You can’t just have me, gotta add a little filler content.”

Santi walked over to Jude, unbothered. “Something on your mind hermano?”

Jude smiled but it wasn’t friendly. “Nah. Just wondering what exactly your part in all this is supposed to be.” He opened the arroz con leche and grabbed a spoon, lifting a bite into his mouth to infuriate Santi. It was cold and creamy with just the amount of sweetness as he chewed. “What’s she gonna cover? The story of an NBA reject who never made it past summer league?” Jude then placed the arroz con leche back on the counter and gave Santi a pat on the shoulder. “Not too bad, mate. Maybe you should stick to cooking.”

Santi’s expression barely changed but you knew that pissed him off. There was a barely-there tightening of his jaw and a flash of anger dancing across his pupils. Santi didn’t get riled up easily but Jude’s words weren’t just a throwaway jab...they were designed to sting. His words even had you pissed off and you were seconds away from cussing Jude out yourself. He had no business coming for Santiago like that but you knew exactly why he did it. He needed to have the upper hand and couldn’t just let something sit when his ego was at stake. He peeped the way you kept your voice level with Santi but raised it with him. Jude saw how you tried to block the door and realized you didn’t tell him about your full plans for the documentary from the jump. He didn’t like the picture he was getting.

“Is this what you do?” Santi asked in a raised tone. “You throw a bitch fit every time someone else is around her?”

They were arguing over you again. It was flattering honestly. It wasn’t everyday that two hot men stood in your apartment challenging each other from the sight of you, but two days in a row was pushing it..especially when you still had a raging hangover headache.

Jude licked the last bit of arroz con leche off his spoon, satisfied with himself for getting under Santi’s skin. He didn’t need to say more to make his point. He had already thrown the punch by mentioning Santi’s career, his missed shot, and the fact that he wasn’t on Jude’s level and probably never would be.

“You know what’s funny?” Santi’s voiced in a cool tone. “You talk a lot for a man who can’t even handle his own shit.”

Jude’s smirk fell, but only for a second. “Yeah? Enlighten me.”

“You act like she owes you an explanation of what she does in her own life. She didn’t mention it to you because she didn’t want to.” Santi’s head tilted just slightly, pushing the knife in deeper. “Or are you mad she’s not hanging onto the bullshit you tell every other girl?”

Jude shifted around to stand taller and laughed. “Is that what you think?”

“That’s what I know.” Santi countered. “You’re a mommy’s boy who’s fucking pissed she doesn’t worship the ground you walk on like your hoes do.” Jude gritted his teeth together. He hated when people tried to dissect him, especially when they weren’t wrong. The boy could stomach a lot of things but being read like a book by Santi made his blood boil.

“I’m not the one delivering homemade meals hoping it earns me extra time. She called me to come over here” Jude fired back. “So what’s the plan bro? Feed her and wait around like a good little second choice the same way you waited around for the NBA just to not get drafted?”

You flinched. That was a deep cut and you all knew it. Santi took a step closer to Jude and squared up to him as a warning, daring him to say something else. “You almost got your ass knocked into the pavement last night, carajito (little boy/brat but derogatory). We can run it back right now.”

Jude’s jaw flexed and his muscles tensed around him with balled fists at his side. He was seconds away from doing something reckless and you knew Santi wasn’t just a basketball player, but also someone who did boxing recreationally. He could truly beat Jude’s ass if he was pushed far enough and it was starting to get to that point. Luckily for Jude, you didn’t want anything to do with the online conversation that would be trending if he showed up battered to training, so you stepped in.

“Both of you shut the fuck up,” you snapped while stepping between the two of them. “I’m not doing this again.”

Jude exhaled harshly through his nose with his jaw still locked, but he took a step back. Santi was the first to ease up, but his glare never stopped. You were tired of them throwing shots at each other and tired of being caught in the middle of the circus this was turning into. You ran your hands over your hair, exhaling slowly to keep from losing it.

“I want you both to be in this because you have different experiences and different perspectives. That’s it. There’s nothing more to it.” You looked at Jude first. “And if you have a problem with that, you don’t have to be involved.”

Jude kissed his teeth but he didn’t argue, he just stared at you instead. You turned to Santi. “Are you in?”

You waited, watching both of them with growing impatience. Santi had already cooled off and nodded at you. “Yeah, I’m in.” Jude took his sweet time, playing with the rim of his stupid hat with his jaw still flexing from his bruised ego. He wanted you to say something that would put him above Santi and everyone else.

Too bad for him. You weren’t doing that.

You crossed your arms, waiting. “Well???”

Jude wanted to make sure he would be the ONLY highlight of this documentary, no matter what extras you planned on adding. He lifted his hat off his head to run a hand over his sponge curls, finally agreeing definitively as he put the hat back on. “I’m in.”

You nodded out of satisfaction but you were still annoyed as hell that it took this much just for both of them to agree. It seemed like they were both agreeing to challenge each other rather than actually helping you, but you pushed that thought aside to get down to the nitty gritty. “Good. Now.. let’s be clear about a few things.” Santi attentively listened but Jude was still scoffing like a school boy who couldn’t get his way. “We’ll be filming over the next few weeks so I need access to your routines, training, travel schedules and whatever I can capture without pissing off Real Madrid or the leagues. When I go to your games, I’m going as media. Not as some fan..” you pointed at Jude before he could even try it. “Or someone in a private box at the Bernabeu. And definitely not courtside at Movistar. Got it?”

Jude rolled his eyes like your request was outlandishly ridiculous. “You think they’ll just let you in like that? I can��”

“I’ll apply for the credentials just like any other person in the media” you cut in sharply. “I don’t need to be paraded around Jude.”

You stared both of them down for a few seconds to make it abundantly clear how serious you were. “One more thing..I’ll be going back home to Miami to visit so you’ll have a break from filming while I’m gone.”

Santi nodded in understanding but Jude just had to push your buttons. “I could come with you to Miami.”

“What?”

“You’re filming my life, yeah?” He leaned back against the counter as if he had declared a normal suggestion. “May as well get the full picture and show them what I’m like on holiday.” Your mind drifted to the night he first liked one of your pictures on Instagram. You thought he was cute but the minute you took a deep dive googling his name, you found out exactly what he was like on his holidays. Seeing it online was enough to never want to see it again, especially right in front of you.

“Yeah, no. That’s not happening.” Jude licked over his lips and looked at you, then at Santi. He was weighing whether he wanted to push further just to get under you and Santi’s skin but you clocked the gears turning in his head and refused to give him another opening or opportunity. “We’re done here.” you stated firmly. “I need food, my bed, and zero testosterone in my immediate vicinity. Goodbye. Both of you can leave now.” You ushered both of them to the door, seconds away from peace and quiet when the door swung open and a familiar figure stepped inside.

Mateo took one sniff of the food, clocked Santiago, Jude, and then you.

“I know my eyes aren’t deceiving me on this day... que vaina es esta?! (what’s this nonsense?)” Mateo waved his finger between you three.

Your head fell back with a groan. “Mateo, pleaseeee.”

“No.” He pointed his finger at you. “I need someone to explain why this is happening.” he gestured at the two athletes standing tall in the same space without throwing hands. “Because last time I checked...these two were fighting over you at the party last night.”

Santi smiled brightly at Mateo to disengage from his dramatics. “I just came to drop off some food as an apology. I was just leaving.”

“And you??” Mateo pointed at Jude with a side eye.

Jude shrugged and pointed at you like the tattle tell he was. “She called me and told me to come over.”

Mateo turned to you in disbelief. There was no ‘we listen and we don’t judge’ with Mateo. He was listening and undeniably judging as he put the puzzle pieces together. “YOU called HIM?”

You sighed dramatically. “It’s for a project Mateo.”

“So you’re telling me out of the millions of people in Madrid, the capital of Spain, that these two fools were your only option?”

“They’re my best options” you admitted with exhaustion, still trying to usher Jude and Santi out of the apartment. Both of them were now intently standing near the door, watching Mateo and his dramatics unfold.

Mateo looked Jude and Santi up and down with a deep, exasperated sigh and then refocused on you. “You do realize this is a terrible idea, right?”

Jude scoffed. “Mate, I’m literally standing right here.”

“Oh I know.” Mateo shot back without missing an opening for a quick witted jab. “That’s exactly why I’m saying it.”

Mateo had a point which was easily the most annoying thing about him. But just because he was right about some things didn’t mean he had to be right about this. It wasn’t a terrible idea. Maybe a little messy, sure, but terrible? Noooo. You had a vision and you were going to see it through, no matter how many stress inducing headaches it caused. You were determined to capture the essence of what your eccentric professor explained in class earlier that day. You wanted to reveal the truth of their lives, their stories, and their reality beyond what people thought they knew.

But why did it suddenly feel like the only person being put under a microscope was you?

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #jude bellingham imagine #footballer imagines #jude bellingham fanfic

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lostreverb · 9 months ago

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RANDOM LUKE COOPER HC'S

a/n: writing a fic for him and he's just so cute and i keep getting ideas for him ahh my cinephile bf i need him might fuck around and write some NSFW ones later (SORRY THIS IS REALLY LONG I GOT CARRIED AWAY) bf! headcanons are here!!

he's very quiet if he's not talking about movies

not audibly just like only gives one word or one sentence answers

which means he's a VERY dry texter (it's not personal he's just like that)

though he does post his every unfiltered thought to his twitter (which has SOO many followers like a shitton)

doesn't understand typing in lowercase and thinks it's dumb (but if you type in lowercase he won't call it dumb but he'll express he thinks it's weird)

has the worst handwriting ever but that's because it's almost like a kind of unreadable script (like doctor handwriting)

he listens to all kinds of music really aside from like pop or country

also really likes monty python

he really likes musicals (singing in the rain, phantom of the opera, the sound of music) b/c he was introduced to them when he was very young so they're very nostalgic for him

but he'll never mention it because his friends would make fun of him for it

(would LOVEEEEEEEE la la land)

used to read books a lot more when he was younger

is a superhero comic book fan

he can play piano really well (parents made him play) he just doesn't give a fuck about piano

he's also like crazy smart and would do super well in school if he applied himself he just doesn't care

he really wants to switch his major to film studies but his parents wouldn't approve (but he's thinking about doing it anyway)

became completely desensitized to gore and nudity at a young age because he'd always just watch whatever movies his dad put on

wrote a series of letters to quentin tarantino as a kid and got one letter back and it's his most prized possession

likes maintaining eye contact with people for too long because it makes them uncomfortable

just generally likes messing with people and being a little shit b/c he likes how easy it is to mess with ppls emotions cause they're so predictable (which is kinda a red flag but he's never really taken something too far)

b/c of this no one really takes him seriously which bothers him a bit but he knows it's his fault

which is why when you do actually take interest in what he says he finds himself falling for you

he never got "lost" in the forest with michael he just hates being in nature and michael was annoying him so he walked back to the car

after a bit he looked outside and saw everyone panicking so he got out and went back to the group and everyone was acting like he died

he thinks it was too far for his parents to cut michael off but he also didn't care

thinks michael's annoying at times but the things he does are funny and he uses him as content for his twitter

has been so engrossed in his own world his whole life he doesn't think about girls

though his main crushes are sarah connor (terminator), the bride (kill bill), storm (x-men), and mikaela banes (transformers - but he hates the transformer movies)

but he has very little or no experience at all

he's probably the first in his friend group to have a girlfriend too

his only knowledge about talking to girls is from movies so yk the james bonds, george clooney, harrison ford are his main influences

which means if he has a crush on you he'll just stare at you all the time, bother and tease you relentlessly and try to banter cause that's the only way he knows how to get closer

he'll also try by memorizing your coffee order

if you don't drink coffee he'll try to find out what you do drink (without directly asking you)

he'll never confess, you'll have to first and use the most straightforward language or else he won't take a hint

once you start dating he has no idea how to treat you anymore

he just constantly flips between being the sweetest bf ever and the bane of your existence

if he annoys you too much and you get upset his first response will be "what? i didn't even do anything" or some other cheeky response

you'll have to help him to unlearn that

though he's a very caring boyfriend and would help you carry things around the office and drive you places and get you presents

doesn't give a fuck about most things (other than you and movies)

he just is so obsessed with you and loves being around you all the time

he's not incredibly keen on pda but sometimes he'll hold your hand and kiss your cheek in public

if you kiss him in front of other people he'll get really flustered and be noticeably disoriented for a bit after

feels weird using pet names but he'll use the occasional baby or babe

he'll discover how good it feels to cuddle it'll be his favorite thing to do along with watching movies with you

run your hands through / play with his hair and he'll fold completely

the first time you do it he'll probably involuntarily moan and get so embarrassed about it it'll take a few weeks before he'll let you do it again

during those few weeks he'll think about how your hands felt almost obsessively he's never felt anything like it

he'll create a list of movies to watch with you and once a month he'll let you choose the movie

he's really good at gift giving because he makes sure to pay extra attention to the things you like (especially movie related things bc he has good contacts)

he's definitely one of the first people to ever use letterboxd

he loves being able to drop you off at home from work because more often than not you'll stop someplace to get something to eat or head to his place and watch a movie and he loves doing that with you

he also likes picking you up in the morning because then you get to go on his coffee run with him (you'll make sure everyone's orders are correct and he'll whine and groan about it saying it's not worth the time but he appreciates it)

will definitely get you to do his work for him

his work clothes used to belong to his dad which is why they're just a tad too big for him

outside of work he typically wears zip-up hoodies and jeans with a graphic t-shirt (probably related to a film he likes)

instead of a bookshelf, he has a DVD shelf in his room (that's very well organized and categorized)

and he has a really high end tv and surround sound system that he and his dad paid for

he researched how movie theatres make their popcorn and buys the special ingredients directly from one by his house

used to have the whole script of citizen kane memorized but it's been a second since he last recited it

he's written his own scripts before but he doesn't think they're any good (he's pretty hard on himself about it)

but if he does end up making a project he'll 100% cast you in it

#evan peters fandom #evan peters #luke cooper fanfic #luke cooper #luke cooper x reader #the office #evan peters x reader #evan peters fanfic #luke cooper headcanons #the office fanfic

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 5 months ago

Text

Sex | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

This fucking song and this fucking idea have been floating around in my head for months and I think I just gotta get it out before I go NUTS!!! I hope y'all enjoy.

This is... not very plot driven tbh, just pretty much longing and smut.

Words: ~9,200

Tags: Shameless Smut, Modern AU, Plus/Mid-Size Reader, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Post-Hogwarts, Chonky Seb Supremacy, Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Longing and Pining

The walk to the car is excruciating.

And it’s not because of the crowd, not because of the neon-lit chaos of the parking lot, or because people are weaving between cars, shouting to their friends, the leftover adrenaline from the concert still pulsing through everyone’s veins.

It’s excruciating because of you.

Because you’re tipsy and giggling, clinging to Sebastian’s wrist as you stumble over the uneven pavement in those ridiculous platform heels that you insisted on wearing even though you knew you’d be walking half a mile back to the car.

Because your top is tight—way too tight—clinging in ways that make his pulse skip, the fabric stretching over curves that he’s spent ten fucking years trying not to stare at.

Because your jeans are hugging your thighs like they were painted onto you, and he’s trying so goddamn hard not to think about how good they look, how good you look, how much better you’d look without them.

And then there's your makeup—the dark, sultry eyeshadow, the perfectly lined eyes, the lipstick that started out precise but is now just slightly smudged from sweat, from drinking, from running your tongue over your lips all night.

It’s killing him.

You laugh suddenly, squeezing his arm as you stumble again.

“God, my feet hurt,” you whine dramatically, pressing your forehead against his bicep like the weight of your suffering is too much to bear. “Why the fuck did I wear these?”

Sebastian snorts, steadying you easily. “I asked the same thing when I picked you up, love.”

You lift your head, squinting up at him, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, the heat, the pure, unfiltered joy of the night.

“They make me taller,” you say, lifting one foot and wiggling it mid-air for emphasis before dropping it back down with a clunk.

Sebastian shakes his head, amused but also distracted, too fucking aware of you tonight.

“You’re still short,” he mutters.

Your mouth drops open in mock offence and you shove him, but your balance is shit, so you just end up gripping his arm harder, your nails pressing into his skin.

Sebastian swallows. He feels everything—your warmth, your weight against him, the way your fingers curl slightly against his forearm, the way your perfume is mixing with the sweat on your skin, and fuck—

He clenches his jaw. Keeps walking.

You don’t let go.

“That was such a good show,” you murmur, your breath warm against his shoulder.

Sebastian swallows. Nods. “Yeah.”

Then you tilt your head up at him, narrowing your eyes.

“You’re being so quiet,” you tease, squeezing his arm. “Did you not have fun? You didn’t even get a single drink.”

Sebastian exhales sharply through his nose, smirking just enough to cover the fact that his pulse is pounding.

“Yeah, well. One of us had to drive.”

You laugh, nudging your hip against his.

“Responsible and sexy,” you tease. “God, you really are the whole package, aren't you?”

His throat goes dry.

You always do this when you're tipsy. You get flirty, bolder than usual, pushing boundaries you'll never fully cross. You say things, teasing, reckless things, that curl around his ribs and settle deep into the spaces between them. Things that would mean everything if he thought, even for a second, that you meant them.

But you don't. You never do. By morning, it'll be like it never happened.

You'll wake up, groggy and hungover, your memories softened at the edges, and everything you said, every look and every touch, will be reduce to a joke, and Sebastian will have to pretend it didn't mean anything to him either, just like he always does.

He knows this.

But tonight? Tonight, it’s harder to keep his head on straight.

Because you look like this. Because your boyfriend isn’t here. Because your fingers are wrapped around his arm, and your perfume is still lingering in his lungs, and you keep staring up at him like you’re waiting for him to say something. Like you’re daring him to say something.

Sebastian forces out a low chuckle, looking away.

“Let’s get you in the car, trouble.”

He unlocks it with a quick flick of his keys, grateful for the distraction, for something to do with his hands other than wrap them around your waist and haul you up against him.

He slides into the driver’s seat and barely gets the door shut before you’re groaning dramatically and stretching out.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, reaching down with clumsy fingers to unbuckle your heels. “I swear to Merlin, I think my feet are broken.”

Sebastian smirks, watching as you yank them off one by one, dropping them onto the floor with two loud, echoing clunks.

“Told you,” he mutters, reaching for his seatbelt.

“I don’t need your attitude right now,” you huff, kicking your feet up onto the dashboard before twisting to face him.

Then, before he can even register what’s happening, you shift—leaning over the center console, stretching yourself across his lap like you belong there.

His entire body locks up.

Fuck.

Your hair spills over his legs, soft waves spread over denim, the warmth of you pressed against him. You twist a little, adjusting yourself, completely oblivious to how every tiny shift of your body is undoing him.

Sebastian exhales sharply through his nose, staring straight ahead, gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“You comfortable?” he mutters.

You hum, smiling lazily, your cheek resting on his thigh.

“Mhm.”

His pulse jumps at the sound, but you’re not even thinking about it, are you? You’re not thinking about what it means, or about how he can feel the heat of your body through his jeans, how desperately he’s trying not to not get hard right now, how much he wants—

He exhales sharply, tilts his head back against the headrest, and fights the urge to slam his fist against the dashboard.

This is going to kill me.

Sebastian puts the car in drive.

Your place is only twenty minutes out of town. All Sebastian has to do is survive you laying across his lap and not get pulled over for the blatant seat belt violation happening right now. Simple.

Except it’s not.

Because every time he shifts gears, he feels you. And every time he exhales, he catches the scent of your shampoo, and because your breath is warm through his jeans, your fingers idly tracing along his thigh like this is just something you do, something normal, something casual, something it absolutely isn’t.

Then you start talking, and part one of his mission—survive you being in his lap—becomes infinitely harder.

“You ever think about your exes?”

Your voice is light, teasing, and the question comes out of nowhere.

Sebastian’s grip tightens on the wheel. “Like who?” he mutters.

You hum, fingertips still lazily dragging patterns over his thigh.

“Emilia?” you guess. “Or what about… what was her name? Harper?”

Sebastian scoffs, his pulse pounding. “Not even a little."

You grin like you don’t believe him. “Not even for the—"

“Don’t.”

You huff a dramatic sigh. “Sebastian, it’s okay if you still think about them.”

“I don’t.”

That’s the truth.

Because he doesn’t think about Emilia. Or Harper. Or any of them. Not when every girl he’s ever been with has only been a placeholder for the one person he can’t fucking have.

You hum. "I miss some of mine."

Sebastian exhales sharply, jaw flexing.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

He should not be listening to this, but you keep talking, your voice low, thoughtful, the alcohol making you too loose, too honest.

“I mean, not them, really,” you continue. “Just, like… the sex.”

Sebastian almost veers off the fucking road.

He physically has to adjust his grip on the wheel, blinking hard against the heat that flares in his gut, against the way his brain immediately starts supplying images he shouldn’t be thinking about.

You miss the sex. Not the relationship. Not the romance.

The sex.

“You literally have a boyfriend,” he grinds out, his voice tight.

He hears you exhale, feels you shift slightly in his lap. “So what?”

Sebastian finally glances down at you, just for a second, just to make sure he actually heard you right. Because you can’t be serious.

But you are.

You’re staring at him, lips parted, the distant glow of headlights and streetlamps casting golden light over your face.

Sebastian lets out a short, humorless laugh. “'So what'?” he repeats, shaking his head. “Jesus, you really are drunk.”

You make a small, amused noise, your fingers tapping idly against your thigh.

“I’m not that drunk,” you murmur.

Sebastian exhales sharply through his nose. “Yeah?” he mutters. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I just meant that some of my exes have been better in bed than him, that's all."

Sebastian hums noncommittally, keeping his eyes on the road, but his grip on the wheel is tight. Because what the fuck is he supposed to do with that information?

On one hand—good. He’d never liked your boyfriend anyway. The guy was mediocre at best, the kind of safe, boring choice you made when you were trying to convince yourself you wanted stability instead of passion. On the other—

Sebastian doesn’t exactly want to hear about how great some other guy’s dick was.

But the damage is already done. Because now, he’s thinking about it. Thinking about you with them, thinking about the ones who were better, wondering what made them better.

Was it how they touched you? How they talked to you? Was it the way they knew exactly how to pull you apart, how to ruin you? Was it—

The sensible thing to do is change the subject. Ignore it. Pretend you never said it and focus on not losing his goddamn mind while you’re still draped across him, still warm against his lap, still too close.

But then—because he’s a fucking idiot—the words slip out before he can stop them.

“Who was best?”

You stretch a little, completely oblivious to the way every tiny movement of yours is sending heat pooling in his gut.

“Well,” you muse, eyes glinting with something dangerous, “do you want, like, a ranked list? Or just an all-time favorite?”

Sebastian exhales sharply through his nose. “You know what? Forget I asked.”

“No, no,” you tease, scooting up slightly. “You asked. You wanna know.”

I really fucking don’t.

But he stays silent. Because some stupid, masochistic part of him actually does.

You pretend to think for a moment, eyes flicking to the windshield, lips curving in a way that’s going to fucking kill him.

“Probably Caleb,” you finally say, voice thoughtful, casual, like you’re discussing a meal you once had instead of someone who used to fuck you.

Sebastian hates how his stomach twists.

“Caleb,” he repeats, expression unreadable.

“Yeah.”

Sebastian shifts his grip on the wheel, fighting the urge to roll his shoulders, shake off the tension creeping up his spine.

He remembers Caleb.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Stupid fit. A Muggle who played rugby at Uni. Arsehole.

He also remembers how pissed he was when you first started seeing him, how much he fucking hated the way Caleb used to pull you into his lap at parties like he owned you.

Sebastian clears his throat. “Huh.”

You grin, shifting again, your hand brushing against Sebastian's arm now. “He was good."

"Why?"

The question slips out before he can stop it and you smirk, and Sebastian knows—he knows—he’s about to regret asking.

“He was just…” you hum, tilting your head like you’re choosing your words carefully. “He was… I don’t know. Rough, I guess? He liked taking control. Giving orders. That kind of thing.”

Sebastian grips the wheel so hard it might snap in half.

Because now he’s picturing it. Picturing you, pressed down against a bed, hips pinned, whimpering, gasping, hands gripping sheets, your voice breathy as you—

Stop.

Sebastian's jaw locks, his pulse hammering at his throat. “I didn’t need that image, thanks."

You laugh softly. "Why not? I thought maybe you wanted to take notes."

He laughs, low and dry, shaking his head. “In your dreams.”

Your smirk widens. “Mm. Definitely in my dreams."

Sebastian nearly groans.

Because fuck you for saying that. For laughing softly, for dragging your fingers against his stomach as you shift again, like you can’t stop pressing yourself against him. For smirking when you say it, for the way your voice dips, lower, softer, like you’re confessing something, like you’re actually being honest.

Sebastian holds in a sigh. He is not playing this game.

Because you’re drunk, and you’re not thinking about what you’re saying, and in the morning, you won’t remember how you said it, how your voice curled around the words like you meant them, and because your fucking boyfriend is waiting for you to get home.

So he laughs, low, dry, dismissive.

“Sure,” he mutters. “That’s a nice little fantasy you got there.”

“You’re such a dick,” you say, still amused.

Sebastian hums, flicking the turn signal as he veers onto the quiet stretch of road leading out of town.

Eight more minutes.

Just eight more minutes and he can drop you off. He can shake off the feeling of your fingers grazing his stomach through his t-shirt and of your weight pressing against his lap like it’s the most normal fucking thing in the world.

Eight more minutes and this night will be over.

Then you speak again.

"...Have you ever thought about it?"

“Thought about what?”

You grin, and it’s slow, lazy, dangerous.

“Us,” you say simply.

Sebastian stiffens.

Has he thought about it?

Fuck, he’s spent years trying not to think about it.

Not to think about you pressed beneath him, his hands gripping your waist, his mouth dragging over your skin, your voice breathy in his ear. Not to think about the way you’d sound, the way you’d fall apart, the way you’d look wrecked and flushed and fucking perfect. Not to think about how you’d feel under his hands, under his mouth, how you’d—

Sebastian shoves the thought away violently.

Exhales.

He's not about to tell you that.

“No.”

You laugh softly. Sebastian’s jaw tenses. And then you sit up, just a little, your breath warm against his neck.

“I have,” you say.

Sebastian stops breathing, his pulse slamming against his ribs as he flicks his gaze toward you—just for a second, just long enough to see the way you’re looking at him.

You’re not laughing now. There’s no teasing smirk, no smugness either.

Sebastian swallows hard, forcing his eyes back to the road, trying to think, trying to process, trying to decide if this is real or just another one of your drunken, fleeting moments that won’t mean a damn thing in the morning.

Then your hands move, fingers dragging down his chest, slow, deliberate, your touch featherlight but undeniable.

Sebastian grits his teeth, forcing himself to focus, forcing himself to keep the car steady, forcing himself to—

Your fingertips graze the waistband of his jeans, hooking slightly under the hem, and that’s it.

Sebastian's hand shoots out, gripping your wrist, stopping you.

The car is silent. Just the hum of the engine. Just the sound of both of you breathing hard.

He exhales, slow, controlled. But when he speaks, his voice is wrecked.

“Don’t.”

A pause.

"Why not?"

"Because you don't mean it," he mutters, voice rough, like he’s forcing the words out through sheer willpower.

"...What if I do mean it?"

Sebastian slams on the brakes. The car jerks to a stop, tires skidding slightly on the empty country road, the sudden silence deafening.

He stares at you, his pulse hammering, his breath coming too short, too fast.

"Are you fucking with me?"

"Do I look like I’m fucking with you?"

Sebastian exhales hard through his nose.

Yes. No. Maybe. Fuck if he knows.

Because this is what you do.

You flirt. You tease. You get close, just close enough to ruin him, and then you pull away like it never meant anything at all. And right now, you’re still in his lap with your fingers still hooked in his jeans and your breath hot against his neck, and this... this is dangerous. If you’re joking, if this is just another round of you pushing boundaries you never actually mean to cross, it will break him.

Sebastian tightens his grip on your wrist just for a second—just long enough to make sure you’re listening, really fucking listening.

“This isn’t a joke,” he says, voice rough, uneven. “This isn’t a game, it's not—”

"Sebastian."

Suddenly, you don’t seem drunk at all.

The teasing lilt in your voice disappears, evaporating into the thick silence between you. There’s no lazy amusement, no coy smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, no playful glint in your eyes like there always is when you push him just to see how far he’ll let you go. It’s all gone.

Instead, you are sharp, your gaze cutting through the dim light of the car, slicing right into him.

Sebastian feels the shift like a physical thing, like the weight of something heavy pressing down on his chest. His grip tightens on the wheel out of instinct, like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, but it does nothing to steady him.

Because suddenly, you are steady.

You pull back just slightly, just enough to give him an out, to give him space, but you don’t really go anywhere. You are still there, your body still warm on his, your breathing still uneven, just like his. You simply leave just enough distance between you for him to feel it, the unbearable stretch of space that’s always existed, the one he has spent years pretending doesn’t hurt.

For a moment, you just look at him.

Sebastian sees the hesitation in your expression, the flicker of uncertainty in the way your mouth parts slightly, like you’re on the verge of speaking but don’t quite know how. You look like you’re standing at the edge of something dangerous, like you’re deciding whether to step back or let yourself fall.

Then, you inhale. Slow, measured, determined. And you let it all out.

"I’ve always imagined it was you," you say, voice quiet but unwavering, like you've already made peace with the confession before it even leaves your lips. "Every single time I’ve had sex since I lost my virginity, I’ve imagined it was you."

Sebastian’s stomach plummets, and for a split second, he genuinely wonders if he’s actually dead. If he crashed the fucking car and this is what the afterlife feels like—sitting in the driver’s seat with his best friend sprawled across his lap, admitting the thing he has spent years torturing himself over.

You keep going.

"If hell is real, I’m fucking damned," you huff a laugh, your voice coming out rough, frayed at the edges, "because I’ve touched myself to you more than any reasonable amount."

Sebastian makes a wrecked sound in the back of his throat, one that he barely recognizes as his own. His hands clench into fists at his sides, fingers twitching like they don’t know what to do with themselves. Because what the fuck is he supposed to do with this With you?

You're rewriting everything, burning down every carefully constructed wall he has built to keep himself from wanting you too much.

And then you land the final fucking blow.

"You want the truth? I’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen," you whisper. "And I want nothing more than for you to take me home at least one fucking time."

Sebastian’s body locks up. His vision tilts. Everything inside him goes too tight, too hot, too overwhelming. His fingers are trembling. His pulse is out of control. His mouth is dry.

No, this isn't a game, or some some drunken, fleeting moment. This isn’t a joke.

This is real.

And he doesn’t know how to breathe.

You let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "And I get it if you don’t feel the same," you say, voice softer now, almost like you don’t want to say it, almost like the idea is too painful, "if that’s why you’re acting like this, then I get it."

You laugh again, except this time it’s self-deprecating and bitter. "I mean, for fuck’s sake," you mutter. "I’ve got a boyfriend anyway. This is so fucked up, I know. I just, I don’t know what happened. But something inside me snapped and I can’t hold back any longer."

Sebastian’s jaw tightens. Because yeah, this is so fucking fucked up. And yeah, you do have a boyfriend and he is literally waiting at home for you right now. But Sebastian doesn’t have it in him to care.

Because you love him.

For ten years, he’s wanted this. Ten fucking years of pretending, of ignoring, of pushing it down so deep it nearly killed him. Every drunken flirtation, every lingering touch, every fucking time you smiled at him with that look in your eyes that made him wonder if you wanted it too, and now he knows you did. Knows you do.

And you—

Fuck, you think he doesn’t feel the same?!

"Just forget I said anything," you mumble. "Seriously. I don’t know what I was thinking, I—"

Before you can talk yourself further into this spiral, Sebastian's hand shoots out, gripping your wrist.

You freeze.

He exhales sharply through his nose, his grip tight, his pulse racing, erratic, wild. Then, his voice low, rough, wrecked beyond repair—

"I've been in love with you since we were fifteen, too."

Your lips part, barely breathing, completely still, like you’re trying to process the weight of those words, like you’ve lived in a reality where that wasn’t true for so long that you don’t know how to exist in one where it is.

And then your face crumbles.

"Sebastian," you whisper, voice breaking, shattered.

And that’s it. That’s fucking it.

Sebastian crushes his mouth against yours.

It’s not slow. It’s not careful. It’s ten years of frustration, ten years of jealousy, of biting his tongue, of pretending he didn’t want you, and ten years of believing he could never have you—all of it, all at once, breaking loose, crashing down.

And you kiss him back.

Hard.

Desperate.

Your hands grip his shoulders, his jaw, fisting into his hair as you pull him closer, closer, like you need this just as badly as he does, like you’re starving for him.

Sebastian groans into your mouth, swallowing the sound of you gasping against his lips, swallowing everything he’s ever wanted from you.

His mouth moves to your jaw, trailing down your neck, sucking a dark, bruising mark against your pulse point just to hear you whimper.

"Tell me again," he growls against your skin, voice rough, demanding.

Your nails dig into his arms, your breath uneven, panting.

"Tell me again how you've thought about me," he mutters, dragging his lips up to your ear. "How you imagined it was me," he rasps, fingers slipping under the hem of your top, gripping your bare waist.

You let out a soft, broken whimper, your fingers curling into his hair and pulling. He grips your jaw, tilting your head so you have no choice but to look at him.

Your lips part, eyes glassy, dark, and fucking desperate. "I imagined you every time."

Sebastian throws the car into reverse.

Because he’s not taking you back to your pathetic excuse of a boyfriend. Not when you’ve spent the entire night driving him insane, not when you're touching him, teasing him, whispering in his ear about the exes you never actually wanted because they weren't him.

Not when you just told him you’ve loved him for a decade.

No, he’s taking you home, and the second he gets you there, he’s going to ruin you.

You blink at him, dazed, lips kiss-bitten and swollen, still straddling his lap.

“Where are we going?” you ask breathlessly.

Sebastian’s grip tightens on your waist as he turns the wheel.

“My place."

Your eyes darken, and then your hands are everywhere—fisting into his hair, sliding down his chest, curling under the hem of his t-shirt like you need to feel his skin and touch as much of him as possible.

You trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down his jaw, your breath warm, wrecked, and he groans, tipping his head back slightly as your teeth graze his throat.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely able to focus on the road as your hands wander lower.

You shift in his lap, your thighs spreading over him, and Sebastian hisses, cursing under his breath as you press down against him, rolling your hips just slightly.

And then your hands move lower.

Your fingers trace the waistband of his jeans, toying with the button, flicking it open. His hips jerk up instinctively and your laugh is breathy, lips grazing against his jaw.

“You drive too well for someone getting felt up,” you murmur against his skin, your voice all smug amusement and heat and fucking destruction as you drag a hand over the bulge in his jeans.

Sebastian groans, a deep, wrecked sound in his throat, his hips jerking into your palm despite himself.

“Fuck, don’t—”

“Don’t what?”

Sebastian slams his fist against the steering wheel, jaw clenched, desperate to focus, desperate to not lose his mind completely.

"If you keep doing that," he growls, low, warning, "I'm gonna pull over and fuck you in this car."

Your breath catches. Sebastian watches as your pupils blow wide, lips parting slightly, grip on him tightening.

His cock twitches in his jeans.

Jesus fucking Christ.

The drive to his place is the longest fifteen minutes of his fucking life. By the time he pulls into his driveway, he’s barely holding himself together.

His jeans are too tight, his body is on fire, his pulse is a reckless, unforgiving thing pounding against his skin, and you—you are still in his lap, still pressed against him, still dragging your lips over his jaw, still palming over him, still teasing, still ruining him.

Sebastian barely gets the car into park before he’s gripping your hips, hauling you against him, mouthing at your throat like he’s starved for it.

You gasp, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, rocking your hips over his lap like you’re hellbent on making him suffer.

And he lets you. For ten long fucking seconds, he lets you.

Lets you grind down on him, lets you drag your nails over his scalp, lets you press hot, open-mouthed kisses against his jaw, lets you whisper his name against his lips, against his skin, against his fucking soul.

Then—

“Inside,” he mutters, voice rough, strained beyond repair.

You blink at him, dazed, breath uneven and wanting. And fuck, he’s never wanted anything more than this. More than you.

The second he pulls you out of the car, you laugh, breathless, fingers gripping his shirt, swaying slightly in his grasp.

Sebastian catches you easily, one arm sliding low over your waist, his palm pressing into the soft curve of your hip, and fuck, he loves the way you feel against him, like you were meant to be there.

You tilt your head back, looking at him through half-lidded, dark-lashed eyes, “You gonna fuck me out here?” you murmur, smirking as you lean up, breath warm against his throat.

Sebastian groans, his hands tightening on you. “Don’t tempt me.”

You giggle, bright and shameless, dragging your nails down his chest, lower, lower, until he’s grabbing your wrist and tugging you along.

The second the front door closes, Sebastian is on you.

His hands in your hair, his mouth crashing against yours, his hips pressing you against the door as he kisses you so hard it knocks the breath from your lungs.

And you moan into it, fisting your hands in his shirt, dragging him closer, biting at his lower lip.

Sebastian growls, pressing into you, his knee slipping between your thighs, forcing them apart.

You let out a whimper, grinding down against him, your fingers tugging at the hem of his t-shirt, pushing it up, trying to get it off.

Sebastian laughs, breathless, rough, dragging his lips down your jaw, sucking another mark onto your throat just to hear you gasp.

“You’re impatient, aren’t you?”

You huff, rolling your hips against his thigh, lips curled into something dark, something smug, something absolutely fucking ruinous.

“You’ve made me wait a decade, Sebastian.”

Sebastian’s grip tightens. and then he’s lifting you, hands firm under your thighs, carrying you through the house like he’s done this a hundred times before, like deep down he’s always known exactly where this was going to end.

You laugh again, thrilled, breathless, arms wrapped tight around his neck as he kicks open his bedroom door and drops you onto the bed.

Sebastian stands at the edge of it, looking down at you—panting, flushed, wild-eyed, ruined before he’s even touched you properly.

You smirk.

“You just gonna stand there, Sallow?”

Sebastian smiles, dark and dangerous. Then he’s crawling over you, one knee pressing between your thighs, his hands bracketing your face, his lips ghosting over yours, teasing, testing, torturing.

His voice is low, a promise, a warning.

“Not a fucking chance.”

He takes your mouth again, swallowing your breathy little gasps as he kisses you deep, slow at first, dragging his tongue against yours, learning the taste of you, the heat of you, memorizing this moment in case the world ends tomorrow and this is all he ever gets.

And you fucking moan.

Loud and wrecked and needy, and it does something to him, something devastating, something that makes him tilt his hips down, pressing into you properly, rolling against you in a way that makes you gasp against his lips.

“Fuck, Sebastian—”

His fingers work automatically, popping the button of your jeans, sliding the zipper down, tugging the fabric past your hips—revealing more, more, more.

Sebastian has seen you a thousand times—in every possible way, in every possible light.

Drunk off your ass at parties, laughing with your head thrown back, cheeks flushed, eyeliner smudged from the heat of the room. Half-asleep, curled up in the passenger seat of his car, your fingers twitching as you dream. Post-workout, sweaty and flushed, hair stuck to your forehead, chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. Dressed to the nines for some god-awful date with some guy who wasn’t him, your perfume lingering in his car long after he dropped you off.

And yet, he’s never seen you like this.

Laid out in his bed, your lips swollen, your chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths, your jeans halfway down your legs beneath his hands, the anticipation humming between you so thick it feels like drowning.

You’re reaching for your top, fingers curling around the hem, ready to peel it off—not that it ever hid much anyway.

Sebastian should help you. He should be the one ripping that top off, the one dragging it up and over your head with shaking fingers and an aching hunger that’s been simmering under his skin for years.

But he doesn’t. He just watches as you pull it up slowly, revealing more, more, more.

His mouth goes dry.

Sebastian can’t stop looking.

You are a masterpiece.

Soft and plush, all curves and warmth, the kind of body meant to be touched, gripped, worshiped. The gentle rise and fall of your breath makes your stomach shift beneath the dim bedroom light, and fuck, he wants to put his hands there, feel the way your skin gives under his palms, kiss every inch of it. Your thighs—thick, full, fucking perfect—press against his thigh, and he thinks about spreading them, about feeling them squeeze around his waist, about sinking his teeth into them just to hear the way you’d gasp. Your hips, generous, tempting, made for his hands, make his fingers dig into the sheets, because all he can think about is gripping them, holding you down, guiding you. Your breasts, full and heavy, barely contained by the sheer lace of your bra, stretch against the fabric, making his vision tilt, his pulse hammer, his restraint fucking snap.

And then there’s everything else—the parts of you that make his chest ache, make his stomach tighten, make him wonder how the fuck he’s supposed to survive this. The stretch marks that paint your skin in soft, pale ribbons, evidence of time, of change, of life of a body that has existed beside him for years, growing, shifting, becoming something that was always beautiful but now feels like it was made for him. The softness that wasn’t there when you were younger, but grew with you, grew beside him, shaped by late-night drive-thrus, three too many beers, appetizers you never hesitated to share with him, the comfort of knowing you never had to shrink yourself. The dimples, the dips, the folds where your skin creases when you move, the evidence of a life fully lived, of a body that has only ever been yours—until now. Until him.

And you—you’re wearing a matching set. Black lace. Thin straps. Delicate details that don’t really hide a damn thing.

"Look at you," Sebastian says breathlessly, fingers tracing along the edge of your underwear, teasing. "Dressed up all pretty. You knew, didn’t you?"

You hum, lazily smug, shifting your hips just slightly, just enough to make his brain fucking short-circuit.

"Maybe," you murmur, biting your lip. "Maybe I wanted to be prepared."

Sebastian’s breath stutters, something deep, something dangerous curling in his gut, something possessive and wrecking and unbearable, because fuck—

Prepared? Did you know you were confessing him tonight? Did you get dressed for this moment? Or is he just filling your boyfriend's shoes?

His stomach twists, the thought curdling in his chest, bitter and raw, but then—

Does it matter? Because you're his now.

Sebastian leans in, pressing his mouth to the soft swell of your stomach, dragging his lips along your skin, his fingers curling into your thighs, his breath hot, his hands desperate.

“God, you have no fucking idea how much I love your body, do you?"

You make a wrecked little sound, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling.

Sebastian grins against your skin, dark and dangerous, pressing his lips lower, biting, sucking, making sure he leaves marks, making sure you feel exactly how much he’s wanted this.

You shift beneath him, breathless, giggling as your fingers find the hem of his shirt.

"Only fair," you murmur, tugging at the fabric, your voice teasing, expectant.

Sebastian huffs out a breathless laugh, shaking his head, but he lets you drag it up, lets you peel it off him, lets you look.

Because of course you should get to look.

He just wasn’t expecting to care so fucking much.

Call him arrogant, but he’s always known he’s good-looking. It’s never been a secret.

The wrong women (everyone but you) have always flocked to him like moths to a flame, drawn to the sharpness of his jaw, the cut of his smirk, the way he carries himself with an easy confidence that makes it seem like he never second-guesses a damn thing.

But this? This is different.

Sebastian never had trouble maintaining a trim figure back at Hogwarts, never gave it much thought beyond Quidditch and dueling and running from the consequences of his own goddamn actions. But adulthood claimed him differently, and that Sallow metabolism slowed to a crawl.

Sebastian is not lean.

And normally? That doesn’t bother him. Normally? He doesn’t care.

But right now, under your hands, under your gaze, in his bed—he does.

Because you’ve always been the most stunning fucking person he’s ever known. Because you could have anyone, and you always did.

Rugby players. Duellists. Healers who spend their breaks lifting weights instead of eating lunch. The kind of men who look like they were chiseled out of stone, sculpted into something untouchable, untouchable except for you—because you’ve had them.

Those were your exes.

And now here Sebastian is, broader, heavier in places they weren’t, softer in places they weren’t. Because he’s never been the type to count macros or meal prep or wake up at the ass crack of dawn to run five miles before work.

He’s still strong, sure—Auror training keeps him fit. But he’s also a man who doesn’t think twice about splitting a second plate of chips with you at dinner, who always finishes your leftovers because “wasting food is a crime”, who drinks pints after work without a second thought, who fills out his shirts more than he used to, who carries weight in his chest, his stomach, his thighs.

And now, here he is—bare in front of you. And you’re staring.

Sebastian wants to say something. Wants to make a joke, wants to shift your focus, wants to ignore the way something unsteady coils in his gut when your gaze drags over him—

Then you breathe out, soft, awed, wrecked.

"Fuck."

Sebastian freezes.

Your hands reach out, palms flattening against his chest, sliding over his skin, tracing down his stomach, your fingers pressing into the flesh there—

"You’re so fucking hot, Sebastian," you murmur, breathless, desperate, like you’re telling him the most obvious thing in the world.

He swallows, something rough and wrecked and disbelieving curling in his chest. "Yeah?"

You hum, dragging your hands back up his chest, your fingers tracing the freckles there, the muscle, the places where he’s softer than he used to be, pressing your lips just below his collarbone.

"Always have been," you hum. "But it's been really fucking unbearable the last few years."

Sebastian laughs, breathless, disbelieving, staring down at you like you just told him the sky is green, like you just shattered some fundamental truth about the universe.

Because fuck off—you’re serious? The last few years?

Oh. Oh. you have a thing for him like this—not when he was lean, not when he was a wiry, arrogant little shit back at Hogwarts, but now. Now, when he’s bigger, broader, heavier.

Something dark, something deeply satisfied, something possessive coils in his chest.

“Oh,” he smirks, his voice low, rough with amusement, with understanding, with something sharp and teasing. “So this is what you’re into?”

You blink up at him, your hands still roaming his chest, and fuck, you look ruined.

Sebastian lets out another low, rough chuckle, dragging his fingers down your body, spreading his weight over you, pinning you to the bed. He grabs your wrists, pressing them above your head, trapping them against the pillows.

“You mean to tell me,” he murmurs, lips hovering just above yours, teasing, testing, “that while you were off fucking all those blokes—”

You inhale sharply, your lips parting, your body arching subtly under him.

“—those assholes with their six-pack abs, the dueling champions, professional fucking athletes—”

You whimper softly, and fuck, he feels it. Feels the way your body reacts to him—not to them, not to some long-lost ex, not to your boyfriend, but to him, to his voice, to his weight pressing you into the mattress.

His grin turns wicked.

“You were picturing this?” he teases, his grip tightening just enough to make you shiver. "Me? All soft and heavy and fucking desperate for you?"

Your breath stutters, your thighs twitching against his hips.

Sebastian chuckles, dragging his lips back up to your ear, smirking when he feels the shiver that runs through you.

"And here I was, thinking I let myself go," he mutters.

Your breath hitches, but before you can say anything, he’s pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your throat, sucking a mark there, then another, and another, branding you, making sure you remember this, making sure you feel it.

Your wrists twitch in his grip, but he doesn’t let you move.

Sebastian fucking loves it. Loves the way you squirm, the way your lips part, the way your chest rises and falls in uneven little breaths, the way you’re looking up at him like you don’t even know how to handle what’s happening to you right now.

His smirk deepens. “Tell me, love,” he murmurs, dragging his lips down your jaw, his teeth grazing your throat, “if this is what you wanted all along, why the fuck did you waste all that time with them?"

Your lips part, your expression flickering between dazed, ruined, and incredulous. And then you scoff.

"Because you weren’t fucking me, Sallow."

Sebastian freezes for a beat. Then two.

Then he laughs—low, rough, something almost mean curling at the edges of it. "No," he murmurs, dragging his lips down your throat, grazing his teeth against your pulse. "I wasn’t. But I am now."

You shudder beneath him, your body arching against his in some helpless, desperate little movement that goes straight to his cock.

"Impatient, are we?" he murmurs, smirking against your skin.

You huff a breathless laugh, hips shifting beneath him, fingers flexing in his grip. "You’ve made me wait ten years. Figure it out."

"You're not the only one who waited, you know—"

Sebastian barely gets the words out before you tug your hands free, fingers reaching for his jeans, already undone from your teasing in the car. And he should be savoring this—should be dragging this out, making you beg for it, for him, for all of it—but you're already shoving his jeans past his hips, and he loses the ability to think entirely.

Then your hand slips beneath the waistband of his briefs, and Sebastian’s entire body tenses, his breath catching as your fingers curl around the length of him, teasing, testing.

“Christ,” he exhales, shuddering, his forehead dropping to yours.

Your eyes flick up to his, and the way you look at him—blown pupils, parted lips, your expression equal parts fascinated and utterly fucking desperate—it makes his cock twitch in your grasp.

He can’t fucking handle this.

His fingers tighten on your thighs, his jaw clenching, his entire body burning with the effort it’s taking not to lose himself completely.

Sebastian grabs your wrist, halting your movements, his grip firm but gentle.

Your brows lift slightly, breathless.

“Seb?”

His smirk is wicked, possessive, completely wrecked. He leans down, dragging his nose along the curve of your jaw, his lips brushing your ear.

"If we're going to do anything," Sebastian exhales sharply. "We might as well fuck. Otherwise, this'll be over before it even starts."

“Oh,” you breathe, dragging your nails lightly down his stomach.

"We've waited ten years for this," he murmurs, dragging his tongue along your skin, feeling the way you shudder. His voice drops lower, rougher, teasing. "So let's make it worth our while."

Your breath catches, your nails pressing into his skin as you tip your head back against the pillow, blinking up at him like you’re still trying to process this moment—this night, this reality where you’re here beneath him, breathless and wanting, where he’s finally allowed to touch you like this.

And then you grin, a little dazed, a little breathless, completely wrecked already, and say:

“Holy shit, we’re actually about to fuck.”

You both freeze, eyes locking, and then you both start laughing, some combination of nerves and disbelief and a decade of waiting for this exact moment finally crashing down at once.

“God,” Sebastian mutters, shaking his head as he presses his forehead against yours, still grinning, still feeling that wrecked, desperate thing curling low in his stomach. “That’s what you have to say right now?”

You giggle, your fingers smoothing over his shoulders, down his chest. “I mean—come on, this is so surreal.”

Sebastian scoffs, nipping at your jaw, pressing a rough, open-mouthed kiss to your throat, humming when you shiver beneath him.

“Oh, I’ll make it real, love, don’t worry.”

And then he’s moving again, hands everywhere, fingers slipping beneath the lace of your bra, under the waistband of your thong, tugging the fabric down your shoulders.

His breath hitches as your breasts spill free, full and heavy and perfect, your soft curves shifting beneath him, and he can’t stop staring. He feels greedy, like he needs both hands, both lips, every fucking inch of him touching every fucking inch of you.

His fingers brush over the swell of them, thumbing over one hardened nipple, and you let out a soft, breathy little sound that nearly kills him on the spot.

And then your eyes flick down, your breath catching, because he’s still in his briefs, but they’re pointless at this point, and you can see exactly how fucking gone he is for you already.

Your lips part, eyes widening slightly, voice soft, awed, wrecked—

“Oh, fuck.”

Sebastian snaps his gaze up to you, brows lifting.

“What?”

You swallow, blinking at his broad chest, his stomach, his cock aching against the fabric.

“Just trying to wrap my head around the fact that my best friend is secretly built like a fucking god,” you say, laughing breathlessly, teasing, and yet completely, unabashedly honest.

Sebastian laughs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you. “Oh, I’ll remember that,” he says, voice thick with amusement, with something darker curling at the edges. “Next time you decide to insult me, I’ll remind you that you said that.”

You grin, tilting your head back against the pillow, watching him through half-lidded eyes.

“I mean,” you hum, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, “the evidence is pretty overwhelming.”

Sebastian groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulder for a second. "And here I thought you preferred the blokes built like Roman statues." He hums, dragging his lips lower, pressing open, slow kisses over your collarbone, between the swell of your breasts. “Should’ve known better, huh?” he murmurs, teasing, grinning against your skin. "Turns out my best mate likes them thick."

You huff a laugh, but it breaks into a whimper when he finally closes his lips around one pert, sensitive nipple, sucking, dragging his tongue over it, groaning when your back arches beautifully into him.

"Apparently," You mutter breathlessly, "You do too."

“Fuck yeah, I do,” he mutters, smirking, tracing the soft curve of your hip, gripping, kneading. “I've always known that. You've been ruining my life with it for years."

You meet his eyes, and your mouth curves into something downright sinful. “Yeah? So why the hell didn’t you do something about it sooner?”

Sebastian barely gets a breath in before you’re pushing him back, shifting your weight, twisting your body beneath him until he’s the one sinking against the headboard, his back hitting the pillows.

He exhales sharply, blown, wrecked, barely processing how fast you move—or the fact that you just fucking flipped him like that.

"Bossy little thing," he mutters, grinning, but his voice is hoarse, completely fucking ruined.

You straddle his thighs, pressing your hands into his chest, pinning him down like you’re making sure he doesn’t move.

And fuck. Sebastian just lets you. Lets you crawl over him, lets you drag your lips down his chest, his stomach, kissing and teasing and taking your fucking time.

He groans, his head tipping back, his hands twitching at his sides because he wants to touch you, wants to grip your hips, drag you back over him, but he doesn’t want to stop you, doesn’t want to break whatever the fuck this is.

His breath stutters when you press a slow, deliberate kiss over the curve of his hip, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his briefs, tugging, teasing.

Sebastian curses under his breath, his jaw clenched tight, his entire body drawn so tight with tension he thinks he might actually fucking die.

"Jesus," he mutters, his hands flexing at his sides.

You hum against his skin, dragging your nails over his stomach, over his thighs, soaking in the way his muscles twitch beneath you.

And then you drag his briefs down, past his hips, past his thighs, down enough to free him.

Sebastian groans, eyes slamming shut, jaw clenching as the cool air hits him, as he feels the weight of himself resting heavy against his stomach, already aching, already dripping for you.

And you just fucking stare, mouth parting slightly, eyes dragging down the length of him, slow, heavy-lidded, like you’re trying to process what you’re looking at.

Sebastian cracks one eye open, breath ragged, and he can’t help but smirk. His voice comes out low, rough, teasing—

“What is it?" He grins, tilting his head, watching the way your gaze flicks over him, the way you press your thighs together.

You exhale sharply, blinking like you need a second to find words.

“Oh, fuck.”

Sebastian laughs, full and deep, completely and utterly smug.

"Shit," you mutter, shaking your head slightly, still staring, like you're recalibrating your entire fucking world.

Sebastian grins, dragging a lazy hand down his stomach, wrapping his fingers loosely around himself, stroking once, slow, teasing.

"See something you like, sweetheart?" he murmurs, voice thick with wolfish amusement.

You snap your gaze up to his, glaring. "Fuck off." But your voice is breathless, wanting, wrecked.

Sebastian chuckles, tilting his head back, completely in love with the fact that you are absolutely, completely undone over him.

Then— then you lick your lips, and Sebastian stops fucking breathing.

You lean down, hands gripping his thighs as your tongue flicks over the head of his cock, licking up the sticky precum already there, your lips barely grazing the sensitive tip.

“Fuck,” Sebastian groans, his hands flying to your hair, fingers tightening, but you’re not done yet.

You swirl your tongue over him again, slow, deliberate, your nails dragging over his skin, and then—then you start mouthing off.

Because of course you do.

"You could have had me ten years ago, Sebastian," you murmur, voice low, teasing, sinful, your breath hot against his skin.

Sebastian grits his teeth, jaw clenching. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you hum, pressing one last, teasing kiss to the sensitive tip before dragging your gaze up to his face, smirking. "How the fuck could you be so blind to the fact I've been in love with you this whole time?"

Sebastian groans, fingers tugging at your hair, his body trembling with restraint.

"You’re talking a lot of shit for someone who’s got my cock in their mouth," he growls.

You laugh, fucking laugh, your tongue flicking over him again. "You really can’t take a little criticism, can you?"

Sebastian snaps.

"Alright," he mutters, voice low, rough, wrecked. "That’s enough."

Before you can get another word out, his hands are on you, gripping your hips, flipping you back beneath him.

You gasp, laughing breathlessly, but it’s cut off when he pins you down, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, his hand wrapping around your throat, just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. Then—just to make sure you never forget who you belong to—

He spreads your legs, dragging his fingers down your stomach, between your thighs, feeling the heat of you, the slick, messy proof of how long you’ve needed this.

"Christ," he mutters, running his fingers through the wetness, spreading it over you, teasing you.

Your hips jerk into his touch, desperate, wanting, already completely undone. Sebastian grins, dark and satisfied, watching you unravel beneath him.

"Messy thing," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours as he drags his fingers up to himself, coating his cock in your wetness.

You practically purr beneath him, your thighs trembling against his hips, the heat of you slick and fucking ready for him.

This is it. Finally.

His fingers curl into the sheets beside your head, his cock dragging through the wet mess between your thighs, teasing, aligning, his vision tunneling, his entire existence narrowing down to the feeling of you, of finally having you—

And then your hand comes up. Soft. Trembling. Pressing against his cheek.

His gaze flickers down to yours. Sebastian stalls instantly. His brain short-circuits, muscles locking tight, because he knows that look.

He knows it in his bones.

Knows it in the way your fingers tremble against his cheek, in the way your lips part like you’re about to say something but don’t know how.

Shit. Wait. Are you having second thoughts? Are you saying no?

Sebastian’s stomach drops, panic flaring as he searches your expression, trying to push past the fog of lust, of need, of desperation—

But it’s not hesitation he finds. It’s something soft, something raw and pleading, and he feels it deep in his chest, where everything soft and aching for you lives.

“Sebastian,” you whisper, barely a breath, and fuck, his chest aches.

“What is it?” His voice is rough, hoarse, aching with restraint.

“If... if this is just for tonight,” you whisper, your voice small, fragile, like you’re saying it through the lump in your throat, “If this is just—if we’re just gonna wake up tomorrow and pretend it never happened, then I—” you pause, your voice breaking slightly. "I need you to tell me now."

And that—

That fucking shatters him. How can you not see it? The way he worships you, the way he’s been yours since he was fifteen fucking years old?

He exhales sharply, his grip tightening on your hip. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” he tips your chin up, forcing you to see him, forcing you to understand. “You think I could have you like this and then just go back to how things were?”

Sebastian shakes his head, dragging his thumb over your cheek, over your lips, his brows pulling together.

“I’m not built like that, love.”

Your throat bobs, your breath shaky, uneven, your body still trembling beneath him.

He swallows, something breaking open inside his chest. “I’ve wanted you for nearly half my life,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against your temple, against your jaw, against the curve of your throat. “You really think I’d just let you go after this?”

A breathless, almost helpless noise escapes you, your fingers curling into his hair, gripping, holding on to him like you don’t know what else to do with yourself.

Sebastian groans, pressing more of his weight down into you, anchoring you, grounding you, making sure you fucking feel him.

"You’re mine," he breathes against your lips, possessive, reverent, certain in a way that leaves no room for doubt. "You're fucking mine, and I’m yours, and I don’t care how fucking long it took us to get here—I’m not fucking going anywhere. You understand?"

Your lips part, eyes flickering between his, something desperate and so fucking relieved blooming across your face.

"Thank fuck."

Then you pull him down to you, crashing your mouth against his, kissing him like he just fucking saved you. It's messy, all tongue and teeth and years of wanting, and his hands move without thinking—gripping, claiming, spreading you open for him

You whimper into his mouth when he grinds against you, his cock dragging through the wet mess between your thighs, slick and aching and so fucking ready for him.

You shift beneath him, thighs trembling, reaching down between your bodies, lining him up yourself, guiding him right where you need him.

Sebastian chokes on a breath, his head dropping to your shoulder, his fingers digging into your hips.

"Shit," he groans, voice breaking.

He can feel you, feel the heat of you, the wetness of you, and his brain blanks.

He’s done for.

Because this isn’t just sex.

This is everything.

This is forever.

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goldfades · 5 months ago

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oooo crashout couple idea!!!! luka and reader celebrating libertys first win?????

i think this is my new fav "series", should i make a masterlist cause i have so many fics coming for it<333

The buzzer sounds, echoing through the packed arena, and the moment it does, it’s like the whole world bursts open.

The scoreboard lights up—final score, Liberty on top.

You barely have time to process it before your teammates crash into you, arms wrapping around you, shouts filling your ears. The crowd is roaring, the energy electric, but somehow, through all of it, you only hear one voice.

Luka’s.

You turn instinctively, eyes scanning the courtside seats, and there he is—on his feet, fists clenched, yelling like he just won the damn championship himself.

“LET’S GO, BABY!”

The cameras are already on him—because of course they are. He’s in your jersey, the one he insisted on wearing even though it’s slightly too snug across his broad shoulders, and he looks like he might just sprint onto the court himself.

You swear he nearly does. Security shifts, like they’re anticipating it.

You huff out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. Menace.

But he’s your menace.

And when your eyes meet across the court, Luka doesn’t just give you some polite, sportsmanlike nod.

No, he grins.

Big, wild, unfiltered.

The kind of grin that says, Yeah, I’m in love with you, and what about it?

And just like that, you don’t care about the cameras. You don’t care about the reporters already scribbling down notes about the Crash Out Couple and whatever chaos you’re about to bring to post-game.

All you care about is him.

And the way he’s looking at you like you just hung the damn moon.

Dinner is loud.

Your whole team is buzzing—high off the win, high off the adrenaline, high off the satisfaction of shutting down everyone who thought the Liberty were about to fold under pressure.

The restaurant is one of those dimly lit, upscale-but-still-lively places in the city where athletes and celebrities go to celebrate without completely being left alone. The air is thick with the scent of grilled steak and garlic butter, plates clinking, glasses being refilled before they even have a chance to empty.

And in the middle of it all, sitting next to you with his hand on your thigh like he needs to be touching you at all times, is Luka.

He’s trying—he really is.

He’s leaning in when your teammates talk, nodding at the right moments, even throwing in a couple of mhms and yeah, that’s crazy in an attempt to keep up with the fast-paced conversation.

But he’s outnumbered.

Badly.

At one point, Sabrina and Jonquel get into a heated discussion about defensive rotations, and you watch Luka’s brain short-circuit in real-time. He’s a franchise player, a basketball genius, but for some reason, this—being surrounded by a table full of hyper-competitive, opinionated, no-nonsense WNBA stars—is the thing that has him sweating.

You press your lips together, hiding your grin behind the rim of your wine glass.

It’s adorable.

This is the same man who drops 40-point triple-doubles like they’re nothing, who talks so much trash on the court it should be illegal, who once got into a screaming match with a ref in three different languages.

And yet, right now?

Right now, he’s nervously swirling the ice in his drink, completely unsure how to insert himself into the chaos.

Sabrina side-eyes him. “Luka, what do you think?”

Luka freezes, his hand tightening slightly on your thigh. “Huh?”

The table erupts in laughter.

You feel him exhale, his head dropping slightly, and it kills you how cute it is.

You pat his cheek, barely suppressing your amusement. “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to keep up.”

He groans, tilting his head back dramatically. “Man, I’m trying.”

The teasing doesn’t let up after that.

Your teammates love this—getting to rattle Luka Dončić a little, reminding him that, despite all the MVP chatter and franchise player status, here, he’s just your boyfriend.

And Luka takes it, shaking his head, smirking, playing along even though you can tell he’s still a little overwhelmed.

But one thing about your man?

No matter where he is, no matter who’s around—he’s always going to have his hands on you.

Throughout dinner, his touch never leaves you.

His palm on your thigh, fingers tracing mindless patterns. His hand drifting up to squeeze your waist when you shift in your seat. His thumb brushing over your knuckles when he takes your hand in his. At one point, he rests his elbow on the back of your chair, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair, absentminded but so possessive.

And every time your teammates try to clown him, every time they tease him about being too quiet, about being so in love it’s making him shy, Luka just shrugs.

Like he knows.

Like he doesn’t care.

Like he’s completely fine with all of them seeing the way he needs to be close to you.

Like he’s saying, Yeah, I’m in love with her. And?

And honestly?

You love it.

#luka dončić #luka doncic #luka doncic x reader

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solifloris · 10 months ago

Note

Wow I need to hear more of your thoughts and 69 with Xavier 😭 the image of him drooling from the feeling of his cock being swallowed and sucked so good is so...so... 😫 He may be pussy drunk but jokes on him I'm cock drunk too LMAO

HAJDKSJDHS PLEASE my unfiltered thoughts of xavier are so so many and they're locked in a safe because truly the filth that man makes me think surprises me sometimes too

but let's be so real, he totally would be pussy drunk, and the brainrot is insane with this one actually so you get a whole post 🫶🫶

but he just? feels like the type to be eating you out whenever he can? because it just feels so nice? he just likes staying between your legs? there's comfort in being there, having your legs wrapped around him, rubbing circles into your skin, holding you close like that... it probably doesn't even start out as anything remotely sexual. maybe you're watching a movie, or just cuddling—he's there nuzzling your thighs and maybe poking his nose against your clit every now and then... but the bottomline is that he just likes it there. he could fall asleep like that.

... but he also knows you like it.

so eventually he's going to start actually using his mouth on you, and he'd be very pleasure-focused, absolutely all for you, until you're tugging on his hair and grinding up against his face, just the way that he wants you to be.

but st the same time, he'd be so lost in making you feel good that i'll bet he barely even notices you move around, maybe try and take his cock out? until you do?

and then he just. absolutely loses it.

he'd already be sensitive and leaking, because eating you out just does that to him!! that's how much he likes it!!!

but you lick him, even if just once.... and then it absolutely snaps him awake.

zero control left.

just starts rutting into you just like that, and maybe you don't even have a say anymore—he's just fucking himself on your face and sloppily drinking you up at the same time, moaning into you somewhat helplessly. and the drool? it's dribbling down his chin, a mix of both your arousal and his own saliva, and he's trying his best to multitask and give you pleasure while focusing on the pleasure you give him, but it just completely fucks him over. eyes glazed over, possibly closed, eyebrows all knit together because everything just feels so good...

because he found something else he's addicted to now, too <33 it just so happens he's experiencing both at the same time <3

"mmph... mmf—'ngel—nmmph— s-s-sho good—"

#yeah i um hm. no excuses for this one #but thank you ill think about this all day now 😭😭#love and deepspace smut #xavier smut #xavier x reader #divider by cafekitsune #lnds garden 🌹#rose jar 🌹#solifloris writes 🌹

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wielderofaquill · 6 months ago

Text

Hey hey, Lukola shipmates! This is my first post here on the Tumblr! If you’re on TikTok, you might know me as Kate, or USS Lukola cruise reporter Kate 🫡 😆 My screen name here is the same over there!

Honestly, I have no idea what this blog is gonna be…most likely just my unfiltered thoughts and opinions about the best couple in the universe! I don’t do a whole lot of deep diving…there are bloggers here that are already crushing it in that department 😁 but I am here to have fun, chat with whoever wants to chat, answer some asks if anyone submits anything, whatever!! I’m just gonna go with the flow here and post whatever….we’ll see where it goes!

Also, depending on how this platform goes, I might just switch to posting content exclusively here. TikTok is getting a little tough for me to manage lately, even though I love posting videos and whatnot! I do enjoy writing very much, but again, we’ll see where it goes!

As for where I am on the ship? I’m sat as FUCK, my dudes. I am so confident in Lukola being a thing, and no one can convince me otherwise, so to any trolls out there…save your energy for something more productive 🙂

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy being here! If there’s anything in particular you’d like to see here, let me know!

Much love,

Kate Xx

#lukola #luke newton #nicola coughlan #bridgerton #Spotify

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scribblue · 7 months ago

Text

Like Father, Like Son [A Bitten!Lloyd Fic]

"He was trapped inside himself, forced to bear witness to the loss of his own identity."

Lloyd Garmadon's life, and the fate of Ninjago itself, is altered forever when he is bitten by the Great Devourer.

2,416 Words ☆ Angst, Canon Divergent AU, Lloyd Garmadon needs a hug ☆ Rated T, no major warnings

This is the first of several oneshots I have planned for this AU, detailing important milestones in Lloyd's post-bite life!! Read it below, or on AO3!

𓆩✧𓆪

In a single agonizing instant, Lloyd understood his father.

As the Great Devourer’s fangs pierced through his sleeve and infused its villainous venom into his veins, as he was shaken like a ragdoll and left to bleed on the desert floor, as the first wave of inner turmoil overtook him, he understood it all. Somewhere in his half-awake stupor and blackening heart he found it, a glimmer of empathy at the end of the tunnel. So, this was the reason for his father’s fall from grace. For his poor choices. For his lengthy absence. It was something Lloyd had long been aware of, at least as much as a young child could be, yet nothing could have prepared him for the reality of his experience.

Pure, unfiltered hatred and vile thoughts clouded an already swirling mind. He felt his morals being corroded away as though he'd been injected with acid rather than venom, stripping him of all sense of self. It was a metamorphosis of the soul he was powerless to stop, and his body was the cocoon he couldn’t escape, forcing him to lay still in the sand no matter how hard he willed himself to move. He was trapped inside himself, forced to bear witness to the loss of his own identity.

No. No, he had to fight. He had to. Lloyd couldn’t let the venom win. He was the green ninja. He had the choice to be good. He couldn’t let everyone down. He couldn’t let his father down. He had to do better.

Somewhere in the distance he could hear the cries of his friends, the crack of wood as the Great Devourer went back for seconds. The bounty would surely not survive another attack by the giant snake. Lloyd hoped…he hoped…

It was like grasping for a fleeting memory. He wasn’t sure what he hoped for, if anything; it felt so far away. His body was burning hot and wracked with chills at the same time. His vision blurred and darkened at the edges. Was the wetness on his face sweat or tears?

Someone called out to him. He couldn’t tell who it was over rushing blood in his ears and the violent storm that raged inside him. When he tried to respond, all that came out was a mangled groan. A hand took him by the shoulder and gave him a shake, which he barely registered; in his loss of blood, consciousness, and identity, this body no longer felt like his own. And it put up no fight as his consciousness was finally claimed.

𓆩✧𓆪

You’re a monster now.

“How is he doing?”

Despite a soft tone, the broken silence was enough to startle Wu from his trance. He whipped his head up to face Nya, who had entered the room as quietly as she’d spoken and now met his gaze with a worried expression. Wu wordlessly beckoned her closer and she complied, joining him by Lloyd’s bedside. The young boy was swathed under heavy blankets to sweat out a fever, though an elevated temperature was the least of his problems. He tossed and turned fitfully with eyes squeezed tightly shut, muttering gibberish.

“He is as stable as possible,” Wu said. “I wish we could offer more comfort but…I’m afraid we’ve done all we can do.”

Your friends will never trust you again. Your father will be so disappointed.

“No, no…” Lloyd whined under his breath.

“You can’t wake him up?” Nya said, worrying the hem of her top with anxious fingers. “It’s been a whole day now.”

Wu let out a resigned sigh. “Lloyd is fighting against the venom as my brother did many, many years ago… this is just the beginning of a lifelong battle. If we do not allow him to emerge victorious from today’s struggle, he may never have the strength to fight it at all.” The words were true, despite Wu’s desperate wishes for the contrary. Seeing Lloyd in such a condition brought a wave of traumatic memories to the surface, and threw salt in wounds that never had a chance to properly heal. Wu couldn’t help but blame himself for Lloyd’s condition, as he had for Garmadon’s. If only he had been there.

You cannot fight the darkness in your soul. You must surrender to it. This is who you were always meant to be.

Nya pulled up a stool next to Wu and settled into it, keeping her gaze trained on Lloyd. “There has to be something we can do.”

“I wish it as much as you do. But I— we were too late.” Wu cleared his throat to banish a slight tremble. “The venom cannot be removed now. He must learn to coexist with it.”

The world will pay for letting you down, and you will be the means for their demise. Pave the path for your future with their early graves.

Lloyd yelped and began to toss more violently, tangling the blankets with his thrashing limbs. Wu rose to his feet and stepped forward to gently tug the coverings free of his flailing body, then fetched a washcloth from a dish of cold water at his bedside. He wrung out the excess and placed the cool material across Lloyd’s forehead. The relief was immediately apparent. The boy ceased his thrashing and settled into a state of relative calm, and Wu let out a sigh of his own moderate relief, settling back in his seat.

“What does it mean for the prophecy? Is he still the Green Ninja?” Nya asked with marked hesitancy.

That same question had weighed heavily on Wu’s mind in the past hours, and unfortunately, no amount of meditating brought him closer to an answer. “That will be revealed in time. I’m afraid the fate of Ninjago is uncertain, even to me… that said, one thing is clear: we must focus our efforts on Lloyd’s training tenfold. He will need extra guidance to not only hone his elemental powers, but to hone the darkness inside. We must help him find the light.”

Fighting back merely delays the inevitable. Give in. Give up. Accept your fate.

“No!” Lloyd yelled. He lurched upright with swinging arms, an outburst that elicited a jolt from the pair sitting beside him. He maintained the offensive stance for a moment, panting and surveying his surroundings with wide, fearful eyes.

"Easy, Lloyd," Wu said gently. "You're safe now."

"Yeah, it's alright Lloyd– it's just us," Nya chimed in with a small, somewhat unconvincing smile.

Lloyd looked over at them, expression softening and fists lowering as recognition kicked in. “What…what happened? Where am I?”

Wu rose from his seat and approached Lloyd with a tentative gait. He studied him closely, as though a thorough enough examination would reveal the depths of the venom's effect. “You are in Ninjago City. Tell me, how do you feel? What do you remember?”

“I feel… awful.” He peeled the towel off of his forehead and Nya reached forward to take it from him, dipping it back in the water dish. “I had a horrible nightmare where I was bit by…the…” His eyes widened in a state of sickening realization, which he aimed at his bitten arm; bandaged tightly below the elbow and surely still sore. Faded patches of blood and venom stained the inner layers of cloth. “…I was bit by the Great Devourer.”

So, he was aware. At least that was one less bandaid for Wu to rip off, for lack of a less ironic metaphor. “Yes, I’m afraid your nightmare is reality,” he said. “I’m sorry, Lloyd. The Great Devourer’s venom now courses through your veins as well.”

Nya offered Lloyd the compress, which he stared at blankly before rejecting with a slight shake of his head. She set it aside. “I’m sorry too. We all are. I can’t even imagine how hard it is for you right now. Don't worry though, okay? We’re gonna get through this together. All of us.”

Lloyd averted his gaze to some far off corner of the second-rate apartment building they were holed up in, though his vacant stare was clearly not one of judgment for their living situation. There was anguish behind those eyes, anguish that Wu was most familiar with. That he dreaded the sight of. “Where’s my father?”

Wu and Nya shared a knowing glance, and Nya took it as her queue to exit. “I, uh…think I’ll leave you guys to it,” she said, sparing Lloyd another sympathetic smile and slipping out of the room.

With Nya gone, Lloyd’s full attention snapped to Wu. “Where is my father?” he repeated with increased insistence.

Wu stroked his beard as he gathered the words to explain. His conflicting feelings about his brother's conflicting actions made it a particularly difficult task, especially with Lloyd’s intense scrutiny. Not that delaying the news made it any more bearable. “...When your father heard of the bite, and your compromised condition, he took the golden weapons and used them to defeat the Great Devourer in your name. His act of bravery saved us all. However... once the dust had settled, he was nowhere to be found. Along with the golden weapons.”

Lloyd’s face fell. In the silent room, one could hear his heart shatter from within. "He...left?”

Wu didn’t respond. The answer was already evident and hung heavily in the air between them. Garmadon’s decision was not one Wu agreed with, but he wagered that speaking ill of him would not offer any solace; instead, he reached up under his hat and procured a scrap of paper curled into a roll. “I found this at the scene of the Great Devourer's demise. I think you need to read it.”

Lloyd accepted the paper gingerly and unfurled it with equal caution. His eyes flitted across the messily scrawled ink.

To my brother,

Take care of Lloyd for me. He will need someone to guide him through this, and, despite our quarrels, I can think of no one better suited than you. My own venom has run too deep, and I fear my presence would influence him in the wrong direction. I cannot allow that to happen. Please continue his teachings in my absence.

To my son,

I love you. I hope you will understand my decision one day, and possibly even forgive me, though it is certainly not owed. I am so sorry, Lloyd. I never wanted this for you. I know how terrifying and isolating it all is. No matter what happens, never lose sight of who you are at your core: a strong, adventurous young man with a heart of gold. Do not let the venom take that away from you.

You must maintain balance within yourself, rely on your companion's wisdom when yours fails, and keep moving forward even when the road gets difficult. One way or another, I will be there by the end of it. And I will be so proud of you.

It's not your fault, Lloyd.

Your father always,

Garmadon

Wu had reread the message enough times to nearly memorize it himself, so when Lloyd’s eyes began to well up with tears, it came as no surprise. He was taken aback, however, by the sudden shout of frustration as Lloyd balled the paper in his fist and threw it across the room. “I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!!” he cried, green eyes blazing red like a forest overtaken by flame. “How could he do this to me? How could he leave me again when he knows how much I need him? Doesn't he know how much I need him?!”

Wu stumbled backwards and instinctively reached for his staff, realizing the mistake too late as Lloyd’s furious expression landed on him and twisted in betrayal. The fire behind his eyes extinguished, leaving a wounded child in its embers. “...You think I’m a monster like him.” His once furious tone was now trembling and dejected.

The staff fell to the floor with a hollow clatter. “Lloyd, no, it’s not like that. I was simply startled. Neither of you are monsters, this venom, it— it isn’t you. I would never– er, I know you would never...” Wu heaved a sigh. His tangled tongue was doing him no service. "I'm sorry, nephew."

Lloyd held his gaze for a beat before dropping his attention to his wounded arm, curling and uncurling his fingers wordlessly. He didn’t appear convinced, and Wu didn't blame him. Further placations surely couldn't ease such a troubled mind, so the pair remained in uneasy silence, accompanied only by a ticking clock on the wall and blooming dread inside Wu’s chest. He willed himself to fight it, just as Lloyd was fighting his own darkness. Strength was a skill he must model.

Wu turned to survey the room, eyes landing on the crumpled page. He plucked it from the floor and began carefully smoothing it out to the best of his ability. The words were still legible, if a bit creased and stained with teardrops. For this, Wu was grateful. They were important words, ones Wu hoped would one day soothe Lloyd's heart rather than break it. He rolled it back into a makeshift scroll and set it on Lloyd’s nightstand.

“I’ll still have to fight him…won’t I?”

It was nearly whispered, as though the reality behind the statement was too heavy to bear fully. Wu considered Lloyd thoughtfully, taking note of his puffy, tear-stained face with a frown. “Hm…perhaps,” he admitted. “Although, that is a battle for another day, and one we have ample time to prepare you for. Tonight, allow yourself to rest, Lloyd. Your body and mind are still healing and need time to recover."

Lloyd sniffed and wiped his face into his sleeve. "Okay," he said, and Wu had never heard him sound so defeated. He eased back into bed and closed his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh.

Wu lingered in the doorway for just a moment longer before turning off the light and slipping out to update the others on Lloyd’s condition. He wished he bore more hopeful news. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, to himself or the ninja, their situation had become far more dire. At this time, he could only pray external guidance would be enough to tip the scales of balance back to a steady equilibrium, lest all of Ninjago pay for Wu’s neglect.

Lest the vicious cycle continue.

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