#walks from an exploding between | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lvl1l1 · 3 months ago

Text

LaDS LI’s when your child tells you to “Shut up”

pairings: Caleb, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus, Xavier x F!Reader(separate)

genre: crack

a/n: dead trend i know 😔 has probably been done but it’s time to push my lads children name agenda!

Caleb

Caleb was sitting on the floor of the living room, playing with your six year old daughter, Elysia.

While you were plotting with your 12 year old son in his room.

Eden wasn’t old enough to be on social media, you however, were and you loved nothing more than to stress your husband out.

When you told your son, that you two would get into a faux argument and he was supposed to tell you to “shut up” at the climax of it, he was hesitant.

“But I don’t want to say that to you, mom…”

he had nervously said.

You ruffled his hair, smiling at your sweet boy,

“Aw, sweetheart don’t worry about it. It’s not like you’re saying it maliciously. It’ll be fine this once, just so we can see what your dad is gonna do, okay?”

Still unsure, your 12 year old slowly nodded.

He truly was a carbon copy of Caleb, especially when he looked up so bashfully at you.

“Alright, Eden, ready?”

Your son hummed, leaning into your touch before storming out the door, ready to start the scene.

“I told you, I’ll do it later, mom!”

He slammed the door shut, with you still in the room, the commotion catching Caleb’s attention.

You pushed open the door and followed the tween,

“And I’m telling you to do it now. Drop the attitude and get on with it.”

The boy groaned loudly and dramatically turned around, you made a mental note to treat him to something sweet later for his level of commitment.

You felt Caleb’s eyes on the two of you and it took you a lot to not start laughing.

“I don’t care, I’ll clean up whenever I feel like it, it’s my room!”

“Doesn’t matter! It looks like a bomb exploded in there-“

Caleb finally spoke up, noticing the rising tension,

“Hey, you two, how about-“

before he could finish what he was gonna say, your son perfectly cut in,

“Just shut up mom! Stop telling me what to do!”

Your eyes widened slightly, even though you told him to say it, it was still weird to hear you usually kind and quiet boy raise his voice like that.

You also noticed how Caleb suddenly went silent again, you looked over at your husband and were taken aback by his serious expression.

He immediately got up and you could tell, he was back in Colonel mode.

Your daughter looked at her brother, snickering.

“What makes you think you could talk to your mother like that?”

His voice was cold, missing the usually warmth it had while talking to his children.

He walked over to you two, you and your son frozen in place.

“I don’t remember raising you to be a brat with an attitude. You’ll speak to your mother with respect. Apologise.”

You decided that was enough and stepped between them, placing a hand on Caleb’s chest.

“It’s okay, honey. I told him to say that.”

Caleb looked back and forth between Eden and you, the boy shooting his father a nervous grin before rushing to sit beside his sister, who immediately went to hit him with her doll.

“You just love stressing me out, don’t you pips?”

He sighed, pulling you closer.

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him.

“Seriously, I was about to teach him a lesson.”

You heard your son nervously chuckle from the living room and you winked at him.

“As if my sweet boy would ever speak to me like that willingly.”

Caleb just shook his head and walked you over to your children.

“Even if she put you up to this, Eden. You should’ve insisted that you wouldn’t do it. As punishment, you and your sister will stay over at your uncle Gideon’s tonight.”

Eden and Elysia blinked up at him, almost looking like twins,

“…how’s that a punishment?”

Caleb smirked, pulling you down to sit next to the two,

“Oh, the punishment isn’t for you. I’ll have a nice, long talk with your mother tonight.”

He ignored the incredulous look you shot him and laughed at the confusion on your children’s faces.

Rafayel

Your 14 year old son was just as eccentric and animated as his father, so once you suggested doing that trend you’d seen on tiktok, he jumped.

You two stood just outside of the kitchen Rafayel was sitting in, sketching away on his block.

Dorian whispered quietly,

“Just remember that I love you, mom. I don’t mean anything I’m about to say!”

While you thought that was sweet, you still wondered what kind of act he was about to put on, needing that kind of disclaimer.

He cleared his throat and winked at you,

“Mom, why can’t you just let me be for once?! Seriously, I can’t do anything around here!”

He pushed open the kitchen door, walking in and opening the fridge with more force than necessary.

Rafayel instantly looked up, frowning.

You took a second to collect yourself and walked in after your son.

“Dorian, you’re way too young to be out that late. I don’t wanna hear it.”

Dorian looked up exasperatedly, giving his father a look as if to say, isn’t she crazy?

“You can’t be serious! Dad, tell her she’s overreacting.”

He crossed his arms, looking at his father expectantly.

Rafayel opened his mouth, getting ready to step in, when you followed up again,

“I’m right here, Dorian. You don’t need to involved your father. If you have something to say, say it to me.”

Rafayel blinked at you, not entirely sure if he should say something now.

His inner conflict quickly came to an end when his son interrupted his train of thought,

“Oh my gosh, shut up, mom! I wasn’t talking to you.”

Before you could say anything else, Rafayel loudly closed his art block, shooting his son the nastiest glance.

“Alright, you do not speak to my wife like that.”

Dorian, much like his father, never knowing when to give up, turned back to his father in shock,

“but dad-“

As soon as he saw his father’s expression he closed his mouth.

“Keep this up and I’ll throw you into the sea. You can play with some sharks and fend for yourself.”

At that, Dorian’s eyes widened, he quickly hid behind you, not wanting to face his father’s wrath.

You just smiled up at your husband, feeling giddy at how he was so quick to defend you.

“Before you turn our son into shark food, I put him up to this.”

Rafayel’s face immediately fell, putting his head into his hands.

“What’s wrong with you.”

You faked offence and put your hand over your heart,

“Whaaat, I wanted to find out if my big, strong husband would defend me from my mean son.”

“First of all, ew, second, hey!”

Your son exclaimed, still hiding behind you.

Rafayel looked at you two, trying to look mad but he couldn’t hide the fondness in his eyes.

“I can’t believe I have to put up with you two.”

You rolled your eyes at that,

“Honestly, we should sign Dorian up for acting. That was some impressive improv!”

Hands on your hips, you turned around, looking at your son.

He beamed up at that, as Rafayel scoffed from where he was seated.

“Oh, please, he’s far more talented at real art.”

“Dad, what’s your beef with actors?”

“They know what they did.”

Your son looked at you in confusion and you just shrugged.

Zayne

You were dying to see what your usually stoic husband was going to do, if you got into a fight with your daughters.

You roped your 17 and 15 year old in by showing them the videos you had seen.

They were just as curious as you and while your younger daughter, Willow, was a bit more uncertain, considering she was much more like your husband, avoiding conflict as much as possible, Dawn, was able to convince her.

You went over what they should say with them and once they were ready, you waited for the perfect opening.

Once Zayne had finished up his work for the day, finally coming out of his office, you called him over for dinner.

You texted your daughters to get ready, as your husband came and sat down at the kitchen table.

You placed the plate full of food infront of him, he murmured a quiet thank you, before you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, mentally apologising for what was about to go down.

You called your daughters once,

“Dawn, Willow, dinner!”

No answer, just as you had told them.

You and Zayne shared a look and it took a lot in you to not start grinning.

You placed the girls plates on the table before trying again,

“Dawn! Willow! Don’t make me repeat myself!”

A beat of silence,

“Wait!”

“Gimme a minute!”

They yelled far louder than appropriate, just as you had instructed them.

Zayne’s brows furrowed and you crossed your arms over your chest in pretend anger.

“Girls, don’t make me come up th-“

and just as you had expected,

“Mom, shut up!

“Shut up!”

Came in unison.

Zayne dropped his arms by his sides, stunned.

You turned around, far too enthusiastic but Zayne was too caught up to notice.

You send him a look, as if to make sure he heard the same thing you just did.

He pushed his chair back and got up, and for the first time in a while you heard him raise his voice,

“You two come down here, right now.”

There was a trace of urgency in his voice but you could tell how mad he was.

His brows were furrowed and his arms crossed.

You could instantly hear the sound of footsteps rushing downstairs.

The girls came running into the kitchen, immediately halting in their movements as soon as they saw the look on their father’s face.

Dawn’s mouth made an ‘O’ shape but no sound came out and Willow looked at you, making a grimace.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, to not show how you were kind of enjoying your husband acting like this.

Before either of the girls could explain, he gave them a disappointed look.

You could feel the temperature in the room dropping, chills settling in.

“I can’t believe you two would ever even think of speaking to the woman who raised you like this.”

Stepping in to safe your girls from the lecture they were about to be served instead of dinner, you put your hands on Zayne’s shoulders, massaging him slightly,

“Zaynie, how mad would you be if I told you, I put them up to this?”

Zayne paused, slowly turning to face you.

You put on your best puppy eyes, trying to win him over. No such luck.

“You will be the death of me.”

He rubbed his temple and glanced back over at his daughters,

“I just hope you two know, that I felt levels of disappointment unreachable for others.”

Dawn let out a nervous chortle and Willow gave her a judging stare,

“Well, good thing we’d never actually speak to our lovely mommy like that!”

Zayne nodded, turning back to you.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook.”

He whispered dangerously to you, you blinked in surprise,

“Now, can I please have a normal family dinner with all of my girls? With no unnecessarily rude language?”

Your daughters giggled and smiled respectively, skipping to the table and sitting down.

Zayne wrapped an arm around your waist and lead you to the table.

You might be in danger.

Sylus

Sylus loved his twin sons, he couldn’t be prouder of them and he was also proud of the two of you for figuring out how to be good parents, even with your upbringings.

When the two boys were born, everyone expected Sylus to raise them strictly, preparing them for a life in the shadows, wanting them to follow in his footsteps, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

He raised them with gentleness and kindness, warmth and love, giving them everything they could ever ask for.

You had to step up and be the strict parent more often than not but you simply couldn’t mind, when you saw how Sylus looked at his sons with all the love in the world.

They’ve grown up to be empathetic and loving teenagers, incredibly emotionally intelligent for a pair of 15 year olds.

So, when you approached one of them with your silly idea, he immediately felt unsure.

“Mom, I don’t want to disrespect you, like, ever!”

Zeno had said with such sincerity, you almost felt bad for dragging him into this.

Keyword, almost.

“Zeno, it’ll be funny! I won’t take it personally, I know you’d never actually mean it.”

You tried to reassure him but he just wouldn’t budge.

You were thinking of ways to bribe him, when you suddenly got an idea,

While both of the twins looked exactly like their father, Zeno was more like Sylus, in the sense that he had the same exact soft spots his father had for you, in other words; Zeno was way more of a mama’s boy than Jaden, so you tried pulling on his heartstrings,

“Come onnnn, baby. Please? For your mom? It’ll be so much fun!”

You could see Zeno’s resolve falter and once he let out a defeated sigh, you knew you got him.

“Great, sweetheart, thank you so much!”

You could tell the idea was stressing him out, not because he was scared of what Sylus would do, but because he would never wanna speak to his mom like that!!! Even if it’s just for a joke!!!!

You cooed at him for being as cute as he was, before dragging him downstairs and giving him another round of encouragement.

“Alright, don’t break character and just say everything we went over, got it?”

Zeno nodded slowly, getting ready.

Zeno walked into the living room with quick steps, avoiding eye contact with Sylus and Jaden, who were sitting on the couch together.

“Come back here! I wasn’t done talking to you, Zeno.”

You called after him, not walking into the room just yet.

“Drop it already, mom! I’m done having this conversation.”

Jaden quirked a brow at his brother, staring at him judgingly, and Sylus silently observed what was unfolding before him.

“Zeno, if you won’t go, don’t ask to go out with your friends either. You can’t just do whatever you want.”

The 15 year old was mentally preparing himself, he turned towards you, ignoring his brother’s and father’s gazes.

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything, mom?!”

He slightly raised his voice and you stopped in your tracks, looking at him in shock, patting yourself on the back in your mind for your awesome acting.

“Dude,”

Jaden started, Sylus still watching with hooded eyes,

“Zeno, I’m not joking around with you. You have to deal with the consequences of your choices.”

You stopped Jaden and expectantly looked at Zeno,

“Can you just shut up. Holy shit.”

He mentally winced and turned around to storm out of the room, before he could take even a step black and red tendrils surrounded him, spinning him back around and keeping him in place.

His brother was looking at him like he had grown a second head and he blinked up at his father, who had gotten up.

Sylus walked towards you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him.

“I have no idea who you’re talking to like this right now but I’m damn sure it can’t be my wife.”

Zeno was scrambling to come up with something to say, as his knees buckled and he fell, luckily he felt his father soften the fall with his evol.

Sylus tsk’d and looked at his son disapprovingly,

“I don’t remember raising you to have no manners, boy.”

before things could escalate further, you wrapped your arms around your husband.

“Let him off the hook, I coaxed him into playing along.”

Zeno felt his father’s evol immediately let off and he quickly got up, pressing his palms together,

“I’m sorry, mom! I shouldn’t have agreed regardless. Forgive me, father.”

You smiled at him and shook your head,

“You’re so cute! You have no idea how much convincing it took me to get him to agree.”

You finished, looking up at Sylus like this was no big deal.

A pillow hit Zeno hard and he looked at his brother, who was staring right back, unimpressed.

Sylus just smirked down at you,

“You’re being a bad influence, sweetie.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, as he placed his hand on your lower back, pushing you out of the room.

As you two left, Sylus turned around, looking at both of his sons,

“I hope this served as a valuable lesson to you both.”

With that, he walked out to follow you.

Jaden went to throw another pillow at his brother,

“You’re an idiot.”

Xavier

Unfortunately for you, all your children are relatively young, getting an 8 year old to tell his mom to shut up, might not be the best idea; but that wasn’t going to stop you!

You just had to see how Xavier, Mr. Expressionless himself, would react.

As you instructed Xavier to put your youngest daughter to bed, you scrambled to explain how this was gonna go down to your oldest child, Elio, one more time,

“And after I say that, you’ll tell me to shut up, okay? Only this once.”

Elio nodded, while his other sister, Cassiopeia, sitting next to him, shook her head,

“Mommy, that’s mean! I don’t want him to say that to you.”

You smiled at your sweet daughter and kissed her on the forehead,

“It’s okay, Cassie. This is an exception! We’re doing this to see how daddy’s gonna react.”

She hummed and glared at her brother, before hugging you tightly,

“Why don’t you go join Celeste? But don’t tell your father about this, okay baby?”

She nodded and jumped off her brother’s bed before skipping out of the room.

You checked in with Elio one last time, the boy looking serious, as he accepted this as a mission.

“I’ll do my best, captain mommy.”

You bit back a laugh, before nodding at him seriously.

He got off his bed and acted like he was sneaking into the kitchen, Xavier leaving his daughter’s room just in time to see him.

Before he could say anything, your voice came through,

“Elio, go brush your teeth and go to bed!”

At first the 8 year old didn’t answer, as you called out his name again, he loudly went,

“SHUT UP.”

You walked out of his room, immediately making eye contact with Xavier, who looked at you in utter surprise.

You saw his eye twitch slightly, his brows being barely drawn together and something, almost looking like a scowl, found its way to his lips.

He walked into the kitchen with heavy steps,

“Where did you learn to talk like that?”

You quickly followed behind, seeing your son stare at his father expressionless, not answering.

Xavier inhaled quietly, you were starting to feel bad for working him up like this, especially so close to bed time. The shock probably getting rid of his sleepiness.

“You don’t speak to the woman who birthed you like this.”

At that, Elio cocked his head to the side,

“huhh?”

And you quickly put an end to this before Xavier started explaining how babies are made out of spite.

“Great job, hunter Elio. Mission accomplished!”

At that, Elio’s eyes lit up and he nodded, happily,

“I’ll go brush teeth…”

With that, he ran off.

Xavier turned around and looked at you in betrayal,

“Why would you tell him to speak to you like that?”

He asked calmly, but the dark look in his eyes gave him away.

You embraced him, hugging his waist and leaning your head into his chest,

“Let’s just say curiosity got the best of me~”

The look Xavier gave you would’ve had anyone else shaking, you just giggled and intertwined your fingers with his,

“We should check up on all the kids!”

Xavier sighed quietly, following you,

“Don’t think I won’t get my revenge, once all the kids are asleep.”

3K notes · View notes

rafesgreasycurtainbangs · 2 months ago

Note

topper and kelce accidentally walking in while rafe fucks reader.

❛ INTERRUPTED WHILE RAFE FUCKS YOU ❜

girlfriend¡reader . . . rafe cameron

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Rafe growled, his voice a low, gravelly snarl, dripping with dominance. His hips snapped forward, driving into you hard enough to make the bedframe groan in protest.

“This pussy’s mine, huh? Takin’ me like you were made for it.” His smirk was all teeth, a cocky edge to it that made your stomach flip even as your mind spun from the intensity.

He had you pinned, one hand gripping your thigh so hard his fingers left red imprints, the other braced beside your head on the mattress.

Your legs were splayed wide, trembling as he fucked you with a relentless, punishing rhythm. His cock—thick, hard, and unforgiving—slammed into you with a force that made your whole body jolt.

The wet, lewd slap of skin on skin echoing through the room. Each thrust stretched you open, the head of him dragging against your slick walls, hitting that spot deep inside that turned your moans into broken, desperate cries.

You couldn’t answer—not coherently. Your hands clawed at his back, nails digging into his tanned skin, leaving jagged red lines that only seemed to egg him on. “Rafe—oh fuck, Rafe,” you gasped, your voice splintering as he shifted his angle, his cock plunging deeper, grinding against your cervix.

Your thighs quaked, slick with sweat and the mess of your arousal, your cunt clenching around him so tight it drew a sharp hiss from his lips.

The pressure was building, a hot, coiling ache in your core that had your eyes fluttering shut and your mouth falling open.

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he rasped, “Look at you, fuckin’ wrecked for me.” His tongue flicked out, tracing the shell of your ear before his teeth grazed your lobe, sending a shiver racing down your spine.

His pace was brutal, hips rolling with a precision that was both calculated and wild, like he was trying to imprint himself on every inch of you.

The headboard banged against the wall in time with his thrusts, a steady thump-thump-thump that matched the obscene squelch of your bodies colliding.

Your breasts bounced with each stroke, nipples brushing his chest, sending sparks of heat through you. One of his hands slid up, rough palm cupping your breast, squeezing hard before his fingers pinched your nipple, twisting just enough to make you yelp.

The sting blended with the pleasure, pushing you closer to the edge. “Rafe—I can’t—” you whimpered, your words cutting off as he thrust even harder, the bed creaking louder under the assault.

“Can’t what? Take it? Too fuckin’ bad,” he taunted, his voice thick with pride. His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, ruthless circles. “You’re gonna cum for me, and I’m gonna feel every damn second of it.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up, the coil snapping as your orgasm hit like a freight train.

Your walls spasmed around him, soaking his cock as you screamed his name, hips bucking wildly beneath him. Your vision blurred, stars exploding behind your eyelids as your nails sank deeper into his shoulders.

Rafe groaned, low and filthy, his thrusts growing sloppy as he chased his own high, still pounding into you through your climax.

“That’s it—fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, his smirk widening as he watched you fall apart. He was mid-thrust, his cock buried deep, when the door suddenly burst open.

Topper and Kelce stumbled in, their laughter dying on their lips as they froze, eyes bugging out at the sight. You were still trembling, mid-orgasm, your legs spread and Rafe’s hips pressed flush against yours.

The wet sounds of sex hung heavy in the air, unmistakable, as the two of them stood there, jaws dropped.

Your face flushed crimson, mortification crashing over you like a tidal wave. “Oh my God—get out!” you shrieked, scrambling to pull the sheet up over yourself, your hands shaking as you tried to cover your exposed body.

Your voice was high-pitched, panicked, your chest heaving as embarrassment burned through the haze of pleasure.

Rafe, though? He didn’t even flinch. He didn’t stop moving—not right away. He gave one more lazy, deliberate thrust, making sure Topper and Kelce got the full fucking picture, before he turned his head toward them, smirking like the smug bastard he was.

“What? You jealous or somethin’?” he drawled, his tone dripping with arrogance.

His grip tightened on your thigh, keeping you pinned beneath him as he finally stilled, his cock still buried inside you. He glanced down at you, then back at them, his smirk widening.

Topper blinked, hands raised in surrender, a mix of shock and amusement flickering across his face. “Dude—shit, man, we didn’t know! Lock the fuckin’ door!”

Kelce was already backing out, choking on a laugh, his hand over his mouth like he couldn’t believe what he’d just seen. “You’re a dick, Cameron,” he managed, shaking his head as he pulled Topper with him.

The door slammed shut, their muffled voices fading down the hall, and you buried your face in your hands, groaning. “I’m never showing my face again,” you muttered, your voice muffled by your palms, your entire body hot with shame.

Rafe just chuckled, low and dark, leaning down to kiss the side of your neck like nothing had happened. “Relax,” he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing your pulse. “They’re just mad they’ll never get a taste.” His hand slid up your side, possessive and unapologetic, his cock twitching inside you as he added, “You’re still mine, though. Let ‘em fuckin’ watch.”

𓂅 notes ―

return home ⸝⸝

©RAFESGREASYCURTAINBANGS ꪆৎ est. 2025

3K notes · View notes

khioneee · 4 months ago

Text

trying to break up with your fuck buddy, rafe

rafe paces. back and forth. hand running through his hair, jaw tight, eyes sharp with something between frustration and disbelief.

‘you want to stop?’ his voice is even, but there’s an edge to it.

you nod, arms crossed over your chest. ‘yeah.’

‘why?’ his head tilts, eyes scanning your face like he’s searching for an answer that actually makes sense to him.

‘i don’t like what this is turning me into,’ you say, voice steady. ‘it’s not who i am. and i don’t want it to be.’

he exhales sharply, turning on his heel and pacing again. ‘where is this coming from?’

‘i’m not blaming you for anything, rafe.’ you sigh, feeling the weight of this conversation sink into your bones. ‘i just realized i don’t want to be another girl in your rotation.’

he stops mid-step, turning to face you. ‘rotation?’

you hold his gaze. ‘you know what i mean.’

his jaw tenses. ‘you knew what this was,’ he says, voice low, careful.

‘i did,’ you agree. ‘and now i know i don’t want it.’

he drags a hand down his face, shaking his head. ‘i thought everything was fine.’

‘it was,’ you admit. ‘but i’m a ‘girlfriend’ kind of girl, rafe. i have boyfriends, not fuck buddies.’

rafe lets out a dry laugh, almost disbelieving. he starts pacing again, steps restless, like he needs to move or he’ll explode.

then, from outside, a familiar voice cuts through the tension.

‘rafe! come on, man, we’re waiting!’ topper, followed by laughter and girls’ voices, high and sweet.

your stomach turns, but you don’t react. instead, you nod toward the door.

‘you should go,’ you say softly.

a pause, a sharp inhale. his jaw clenches. ‘we’re not done.’

‘i said what i needed to say.’ you swallow the lump in your throat. ‘you have girls waiting for you.’

he stops pacing. his expression hardens. ‘you think that’s what this is about?’

‘i think it doesn’t matter,’ you answer. ‘because you’re not my boyfriend, and you don’t owe me anything.’

his hands curl into fists at his sides. ‘you’re doing that thing again.’

‘what thing?’

‘acting like you don’t care.’

you inhale sharply. ‘i do care, rafe. that’s the problem.’

something flickers in his expression. for the first time, he looks uncertain. like this wasn’t supposed to happen. like he never considered the possibility of you walking away.

he starts pacing again, steps quicker now, frustration rolling off him in waves. ‘so what? you’re just done?’

you nod. ‘yeah.’

he stops. looks at you. then, after a beat, he says, ‘fine.’

you hesitate. ‘fine, what?’

‘i’ll be your boyfriend.’

you blink, caught off guard. ‘what?’

‘you want a relationship?’ he shrugs, like it’s the easiest fix in the world. ‘done.’

‘that’s not how this works.’

‘why not?’ his voice is sharper now, defensive. ‘you said you don’t want to be just another girl— fine. be my girlfriend.’

you shake your head, a humorless laugh escaping. ‘jesus, rafe.’

‘what?’

‘you don’t even want to be my boyfriend. you just don’t want to see me with someone else.’

his jaw tightens, and for the first time, he stops pacing. stands still.

‘you can’t just decide to be in a relationship because you don’t like the idea of losing me,’ you say, voice softer now. ‘that’s not love, rafe. that’s possession.’

his lips part slightly, but no words come out.

‘you don’t know how to do this,’ you continue gently. ‘how to be with someone in a way that isn’t just about control.’

he exhales, slow and deep, fingers rubbing at his jaw as he looks away for a moment. when he meets your gaze again, there’s something different there. hesitation, sure. but also something you weren’t expecting.

fear.

‘i don’t want to lose you,’ he admits, voice quiet now.

your breath catches. ‘then be better.’

rafe swallows. ‘tell me how.’

‘you already know how,’ you whisper. ‘you just have to choose it.’

the silence stretches between you again, but this time, it’s different.

it’s not heavy. it’s hopeful.

then, from outside, topper calls out again. ‘rafe! you coming or what?’

rafe doesn’t even look toward the door.

‘nah,’ he calls back, eyes still locked on yours. ‘i’m good.’

your heart was about to try to break out from behind your ribs.

his gaze softens. ‘stay?’

you hesitate. ‘rafe—’

he shakes his head, stepping closer. ‘if i say i can do this, then i can do this.’

you search his face for the lie, the excuse, the escape route he’s bound to take. but there isn’t one.

he raised your hands to his mouth and kissed the tip of each of your fingers in turn. your thumb, your index finger, your middle finger, your ring finger, finally your pinky, and then, your gaze caught the black cross that rested on the centre of his chest.

you wonder if his heart beats steadily.

his lips twitch, just slightly, into the kind of smirk that used to make you roll your eyes. ‘i’ll be the last boyfriend you’ll have,’ he murmurs. ‘you’ll see.’

your chest tightens, but this time, it’s not with dread.

‘okay,’ you whisper.

he grins, triumphant. ‘yeah?’

you exhale, a small smile creeping onto your lips despite yourself.

‘yeah.’

an. inspired by rory and logan.

6K notes · View notes

kenmaspuddinghair · 4 months ago

Text

Honorably discharged disabled Simon pt 2

think I'm going to make this a series, this part ends a little angsty though. part one

You've been living with Simon for two weeks now and things have started changing with him. You make all his meals now, you can't stand to see him eating the terrible, small, prepackaged foods every night, you even tried to teach him how to cook which was an even bigger mess than you thought it could be. You wanted to start with something simple so you tried to get him to make spaghetti, everything was fine at first but you left once and when you came back the pasta was on fire and he put the pasta sauce in the microwave which then exploded making a giant mess, so you gave up any hope for him cooking from then on.

On a happier note though, he’ll eat his food before you now, and he takes his mask fully off at dinner, you've also noticed some mornings he leaves it off for a little longer. He still rarely talks but sometimes you think he asks you things just to hear you talk, you've even noticed him following you around the house, he'll just stand in the doorway staring at you, after a bit he'll either leave or find a place to sit. But imagine your surprise when he decided he was gonna follow you as you run errands, he simply replied “jus’ keepin ya safe” when you tried to object.

So here you are going down your list getting everything you need with a giant hulking shadow following around, you have to admit though you do feel safer knowing no one will even try coming up to you with Simon glaring at them behind you. Last thing on your list is meat, so you both head over to the butcher shop. You're looking around before Simon pulls you back “wha- Simon what is your problem?” “My problem is this store. Everything is overpriced, half the meat is cut with the grain not against it, and the other half is bad, we're not buying meat from ‘ere” he said plain as can be before walking out expecting you to follow, which you did cause you were still in shock you hadn’t heard him talk that much ever.

But right as you got to the door an employee called out to you. “Welcome in, how can i help you” you stopped walking and turned around to answer him, but simon cut you off “don’ need your help, all your meats are bad” you immediately tried smoothing out the situation “n-no what he's trying to say is-” but the man behind the counter cut you off “you have no idea what your talking, these meats are the best in town, you know nothing about meat” he said coming around the counter “half ya meat is literally turning brown, worked at a butcher shop for two years, so ya i do know” simon replied getting in between you and the man “are we going have a problem, Simon?” That was the wrong thing to say, Simon immediately jumped forward slicing through the tension as he grabbed the man's collar lifting him off the ground. You were trying to get Simon to let the man down, but Simon wasn’t responding to you. You watched simon lean forward closer to the man “don’ talk to me like that if ya like breethin”

that was it “simon enough” you pulled him away from the man, who was now flat on the floor, pulling Simon straight to the car. “Simon you can't threaten people, I get you were a lieutenant for years but here you're just a normal person, do you understand?”but when you looked at Simon he didn’t look well. “Simon, are you okay?” “y-yeah, let's go home, ya?” something was off but you just went home knowing he wasn't going to tell you.

Simon was off for the rest of the day, he refused lunch and stayed completely quiet in his room all day, now it’s dinner and he hasn't even picked up his fork “Simon, you need to eat” “price will bring all the meat you need later tonight” “Simon eat” you said plain and firm not letting him distract you, slowly he lifted his shaking hand as he grabbed his fork and tried to eat food but his hand kept shaking worse and worse, immediately you were up and standing by his side “Simon are you okay” you grabbed his hand feeling and examining it, then you felt him gently tug your shirt with his other hand “I can't feel my right side, I-it hurts”

part three

#yes in all my fics he will follow you around #Simon's just a dog!#simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon x reader #medic!reader #butcher!simon #ghost x reader #cod x reader

3K notes · View notes

colouredbyd · 2 months ago

Text

The Boy Is Mine

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

summary: you’re quiet by nature, content in the background—until someone pushes too far. When a girl flirts with Remus, something shifts. With one kiss and a quiet claim, you remind everyone exactly who he ( and Sirius) belong to.

warnings: possessiveness, jealousy, strong language, suggestive content, heated kiss, and public displays of affection.

wc: 3.4k

a/n: i need both Remus and Sirius at the same damn time.

masterlist

You’ve never been the loudest in the room.

You don’t need to be. Not when Sirius is tossing his head back laughing beside you, all glittering chaos and charm, or when Remus leans in close, voice low and deliberate, like every word he says is meant only for you.

They fill the space so effortlessly—Sirius with his magnetic presence, Remus with his quiet gravity—and you find yourself fitting between them like a breath between heartbeats. Steady, constant and soft.

You like watching more than speaking. Not out of shyness exactly, but because you enjoy observing—feeling everything. It’s the way Remus’s thumb circles over your knee under the table without him even realizing. The way Sirius always saves you the last bite, even when he swears he won’t. You don’t need to be loud to be loved here.

They know you. They’ve always known you.

Sirius, who pulls you into the middle of the common room and spins you in dizzy circles until you’re breathless with laughter. Remus, who presses his nose into your hair when the world feels too sharp and mumbles poetry against your skin.

Between the two of them, you’ve never had to shout to be heard. They listen in the silence. They love you in the quiet.

But sometimes, even the quiet hums with something fierce.

And today, it’s starting to burn.

The loud music thumps through the walls, pulsing in your veins, but all you can hear is Remus’s voice rising above the chatter of the party. He’s talking to a girl, one whose name doesn’t matter.

because you’re already irritated.

Sirius is speaking beside you—his voice low and animated, probably bantering with James about something as thrillingly idiotic as who cheated in the last round of Exploding Snap—but the words barely register. They fade into the background like the bass of the music humming through the party, the way laughter spills and drips from every corner of the Gryffindor common room like syrup.

You’re curled up beside him on the leather couch, soft and familiar, half draped across his lap like you belong there, because you do. His palm is warm against your skin, fingers lazy as they trace circles over your thigh, an unconscious kind of touch that says mine without needing the word.

But your attention isn’t on Sirius.

It’s fixed—razor sharp and unblinking—on the girl across the room.

She’s all lip gloss and bright laughter, the kind of girl who doesn’t walk into a room so much as glitter through it. Her blouse is buttoned just low enough to draw the eye, her skirt just short enough to be a statement. She leans in closer to Remus like she’s in a slow-motion daydream, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she giggles at something he said.

Except Remus isn’t laughing.

He’s smiling, but you know that smile. It’s the strained one. The tight-lipped, please-don’t-make-this-weird smile he gives when someone crosses the line and he’s too damn kind to push them away.

And she—well. She’s not backing off.

Your fingers tighten around the stem of your glass. Not enough to shatter it, but enough to feel it, to ground yourself before the rising tide inside you gets too high. The jealousy doesn’t burn. No, it doesn’t scream or sputter like some childish tantrum. It’s quiet. Sharp. Ice in your veins, snow behind your ribs. It’s precise.

You watch her touch his arm, watch her eyes flutter and her voice pitch just so. You watch Remus stand there with all that quiet discomfort in his shoulders and all that unnecessary politeness keeping him rooted in place.

And something inside you shifts.

You’re not the loud one at these parties. You’re not the girl who shouts or struts or demands. You’re the one who stays curled up in the lap of a boy with stardust in his smile, sipping your drink while the chaos unfurls around you. You’re the calm in their storm, the softness they return to.

But not tonight.

Because tonight, someone is trying to touch what’s yours.

And whether Remus knows it yet or not, whether that girl ever figures out just how royally she’s miscalculated, one thing is already certain.

You are about to stop being the quiet one.

“Moony’s got his fan club going tonight, huh?” Sirius says, his tone casual, his fingers playing with a loose thread on the hem of your sleeve. “I swear, every time he talks to a girl, she looks like she’s ready to devour him.”

You hum, an absent sound, not really acknowledging him. Your gaze stays fixed on Remus and that damn girl, the way she’s tossing her hair back and laughing too loudly.

“You okay, dove?” His voice drops a little, his fingers tracing the line of your spine with a slow, deliberate motion.

You want to lie. You want to say it’s fine, that you’re just tired or distracted, but the words get stuck in your throat. Instead, you give a small shake of your head, the fluttering in your chest too strong to ignore.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, a little too quickly. “Just… thinking.”

Sirius’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. He knows you well enough to sense when you need space, but tonight, there’s something different. The energy in the room feels electric, like it’s just waiting for a spark.

Remus laughs again from across the room, and this time, the girl reaches up to touch his arm, her fingers trailing lightly along his sleeve. The sight, the sound, the way her body leans just a little too close to his, sends a pang of something sharp through you. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch her lean in, her lips too close to his ear as she whispers something.

Your fingers grip the edge of the couch, your nails digging into the fabric. You feel like you’re going to snap at any moment, and you’re so sick of it.

Sirius seems to notice the shift in the air. His hand halts on your back, and he turns his head toward Remus and the girl, then back to you. His expression softens, understanding settling in. He leans forward, his voice low as he speaks, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

“Love, I think we’ve reached a new level here,” he says, voice laced with something almost teasing. “You’ve been staring at him for ages now.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep the fluttering in your chest under control. “I’m not staring,” you say, but even you can hear the edge in your voice.

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? ‘Cause I think you’ve definitely been staring. You want me to go over there and break it up?”

“No,” you snap, a little too quickly, and then you freeze, realizing just how harsh you sound. You soften your tone, but the words still feel like they’re cutting you open. “I… I don’t know.”

Sirius doesn’t push you, but he watches you carefully, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile.

You shift uncomfortably, your gaze returning to Remus and the girl. It’s like a magnet pulling you in, the way she laughs again, her hand resting on his shoulder now, fingers tracing the outline of his collarbone.

The thought makes you want to scream.

You watch the girl lean in closer, her breath light against his ear as she says something you can’t hear, but you can see it in the way her lashes flutter and her lips curl. It’s an obvious flirtation, the kind of thing that would make anyone else swoon, but you just feel your stomach twist in knots. Remus gives a tight, polite smile, the one he always does when he’s too kind to be rude, but you know that smile too well. It’s a mask, a shield, and you can see right through it. He’s uncomfortable, but he doesn’t stop her.

The touch lingers. And Remus—sweet, gentle, infuriating Remus—doesn’t stop her.

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t step back. He doesn’t even glance in your direction.

And maybe that’s the worst part.

Maybe he’s just being polite. Maybe he’s too soft-spoken for his own good. Maybe he thinks you don’t mind, that you’re tucked up on the couch beside Sirius, warm and safe and unbothered. Maybe he’s forgotten that while you may be quiet, you’re not blind.

But oh, you care.

You care enough that your drink is forgotten in your hand, the condensation sliding over your fingers like cold sweat. You care enough that your jaw clenches tight, the muscle ticking with a quiet fury that pulses behind your ribs. There’s a pressure building in your chest, a weight that has nothing to do with insecurity and everything to do with possession.

You’ve always known what’s yours.

And Remus?

He is yours.

The room around you begins to blur, voices fading into background noise, like someone’s turned the volume down on the rest of the party. The flickering firelight, the chatter of students, the low buzz of magical music—all of it dulls. All you can see is the way she’s looking at him, lips parted in a practiced little smile, eyes batting as if she’s never had to work hard for attention in her life.

You hear her laugh—sharp and high and entirely insincere—and it cuts through you like a blade. Remus chuckles along with her, and it’s that sound, that soft little sound of his, that makes something in your spine snap straight. His eyes catch the light just right, that familiar glint of mischief and charm you’ve seen a thousand times when he’s teasing you softly beneath the covers, and it stings more than you’d like to admit.

And suddenly, you are no longer the quiet girl curled in the corner.

You are no longer the soft one who waits patiently for your boys to come home to you.

You are standing up, not with a shout or a dramatic flourish, but with a kind of cold certainty, like the sea deciding to rise. Sirius shifts beside you instinctively, his hand brushing your back as he senses the change in the air, his voice dipping with curiosity.

“Love?” he says quietly, brows raising. “Everything alright?”

You don’t answer. Not yet.

Because your eyes are still locked on the girl in the too-tight blouse and the too-pretty smile and the entirely wrong assumption that she has any right to touch your Remus like she belongs there.

She doesn’t.

And she’s about to learn exactly why.

It never felt like you needed to compete for Remus’s attention. He had always been yours in that quiet, unspoken way—his careful gestures, the soft smiles he gave you when no one was looking, the way he always made sure you were okay, even when you didn’t ask. You had a bond, something deeper than words. But now, watching him allow her to invade that space, something inside you snaps.

She’s leaning into him like he’s already hers, one manicured hand lingering on his forearm, like she doesn’t see the slight pullback in his posture. Like she doesn’t notice the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Sirius’s hand slips off your thigh, stunned. “Where’re you going?”

“To get what’s mine.” you say, and your voice is soft, sultry, but it slices through the noise like a blade.

James chokes on his drink. Lily turns, eyebrows lifting as she watches you stalk forward, hips swaying, jumper slouching off one bare shoulder. You hear someone mutter, “Bloody hell.” and you don’t even need to look to know Marlene is probably grinning like a wolf.

The girl is still touching Remus. Still laughing.

You don’t give her the chance to speak. You don’t give him a moment to explain, or to blink, or to pretend he doesn’t feel the air shift as you close the distance between you like a storm cloaked in silk.

Your fingers slip beneath the hem of his jumper, curl tightly into the soft wool, and tug. Hard. Hard enough that he stumbles forward, just one step, just enough to crash into your gravity.

His eyes find yours, startled and wide, and for a heartbeat he forgets where he is. The party, the music, the girl whose perfume is still clinging to the air around him—all of it vanishes the moment your lips catch his.

It is not a kiss built from politeness or affection. It is not the kind of thing meant for privacy or delicacy.

This kiss is war.

It’s bruising and slow and devastating, like a spell whispered in the middle of a battlefield. Your hand tangles in his curls and tugs, just enough to make him gasp into your mouth. Your other hand slides down to his belt, fingers brushing over the buckle, teasing with the lightest hint of promise. You tilt your head to deepen it, your lips parting just slightly, just enough to taste him.

He groans, low and helpless, the sound caught between your mouths, and you smile against him, smug and sinful.

When you finally pull away, his lips are pink and glistening and parted like he’s about to say something but hasn’t figured out what language he speaks anymore. His hands are still hovering at your hips, and his chest is rising with uneven breath, eyes clouded with something that’s definitely not confusion.

You turn to the girl, and she looks like she’s just witnessed something religious and blasphemous at the same time. Her mouth is hanging open. Her expression is frozen in that awkward no-man’s-land between horror and disbelief.

“Oh,” you say sweetly, voice thick with honey and venom, “were you still talking? Only he seems a bit busy now.”

She blinks. Opens her mouth. Closes it. You don’t give her time to think. You trail your fingers down the front of Remus’s chest, slowly, like you’re remembering the way his body feels under your hands and enjoying every second of it. You play with the collar of his shirt, letting your nails drag across the fabric, soft and sure.

Your eyes never leave hers.

“I mean,” you go on, voice quieter now, conversational in a way that is somehow even more intimidating, “I don’t blame you. Honestly. Look at him. He’s got that whole clever boy thing going on, right? The kind of boy who knows all the answers in class and still somehow makes you want to climb into his lap and ruin his concentration. And don’t even get me started on that body—tall and lean and unfair, and the scars…” you let your fingers trail over his chest again, nails teasing the fabric, “Body built like a sin under those clothes, too bad only me and Sirius get to see it though.”

A grin spreads across your face, wide and wicked like a cheshire cat.

Remus lets out a sound that’s definitely not family friendly and buries his face in your neck for a second, either to breathe you in or to hide the fact that he might actually combust.

James lets out a strangled sound from across the room. “What the actual hell is going on?”

Lily is watching with wide, fascinated eyes, looking between you and the girl like she’s witnessing a lioness dismantle a bunny in slow motion. Marlene, from her spot near the fireplace, raises her drink in silent toast and mutters, “Finally.”

You lean in close to Remus, pressing your lips to the shell of his ear. “But here’s the thing,” you whisper, just loud enough for the girl to still hear.

“He’s mine.”

Then you pull back and look her dead in the eye, your gaze soft but lethal.

“And I don’t share.”

The girl blinks once. Twice. Then turns with all the grace of someone trying not to run.

Remus just stares at you for a long moment, breathless, hands still planted on your waist like he’s afraid to let go in case the earth tilts and he floats away.

“What the hell just happened?” he asks, voice low, rough, and wrecked.

Sirius appears beside you like smoke, sliding his arm around your waist as he grins like you’ve hung the bloody stars for him.

The girl’s mouth parts, clearly searching for a clever retort, something sharp or self-righteous or maybe even pathetic to claw her dignity back from the floor where you left it. But the words never come. Her lips tremble like she’s buffering. You don’t give her the chance to reboot.

Instead, with calm that borders on cruelty, you turn back to Remus and brush your lips against the corner of his mouth. Not a full kiss this time, but something quieter, more dangerous. A period at the end of a sentence she was never invited to read.

You feel the way he freezes for just a moment, breath hitching as your fingers slide up to rest at the base of his throat, just enough pressure to remind him—and everyone watching—exactly who he belongs to.

The common room is stunned into silence. Even the portrait hole seems to creak softer, like the whole castle is holding its breath.

And then James, bless his nosy little soul, practically falls off the arm of the couch. He stares at you with something like religious awe, eyes as wide as Galleons, hand clutching his drink like a lifeline.

“That,” he says reverently, voice cracking with disbelief, “was the hottest thing I have ever witnessed. And I saw Sirius in a crop top once.”

Sirius doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s unaffected. He slumps back against the couch, one hand dragging through his hair like he’s trying to keep his brain from melting. His grin is crooked and wild, like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

“Merlin’s tits,” he says, almost reverent. “I think I’m in love. Again.”

Lily, sitting upright with her legs crossed like she’s hosting a panel discussion, blinks slowly. Her jaw is slightly ajar, her drink forgotten on the floor.

“Did she just… flirt and threaten simultaneously?” she asks, clearly reevaluating everything she thought she knew about you.

Marlene doesn’t even bother to hide her grin. She claps once, loud and delighted, and leans forward with sparkling eyes.

“Oh, I love her,” she announces with glee. “Someone give that girl a crown and a throne and maybe a leather corset. She just out-Slytherined the entire House.”

You don’t look away from Remus. He’s still breathless, a little dazed, his lips parted like he’s forgotten how to speak. His hands are at your waist now, gripping softly like he needs to touch you just to make sure you’re real.

You lean in, voice velvet-sweet, and say, “Now Remmy, were you going to let her keep touching you or should I start hexing?”

Sirius, meanwhile, is leaning back like a man thoroughly entertained, one arm draped across Remus’ shoulder with a love-sick gaze in his eyes.

Remus just blinks for a moment, his mouth parted, completely undone. Then a sound escapes him, surprised and delighted, something between a laugh and a groan, like you’ve just knocked the wind out of him in the best way.

“I think I’m in love with you all over again,” he says, a little dazed.

And then Sirius leans over, as if conjured by the heat of the moment, slipping in behind you like gravity itself gave him no choice. His hands slide over your hips, warm and certain, like they’ve always belonged there. He leans in until his mouth brushes your neck, breath hot and voice lower than sin.

“That,” he murmurs, lips grazing your skin, “was art. You’ve officially ruined me. I’ll never recover.”

You shrug, casual as anything, but your pulse is thundering and your eyes are glowing and the adrenaline is still singing in your bones like an aria. “Good,” you say simply, and it lands like a spell.

The common room hasn’t even recovered. Conversations haven’t resumed. Heads are still tilted in your direction like they’re not quite sure what just happened, if they witnessed a declaration or a detonation. And maybe it was both. You were the quiet girl. The sweet one. The one with gentle touches and soft smiles who moved like a secret in a room full of noise.

But tonight? Tonight, they watched you stand like you were carved from something divine, watched you kiss Remus like he was yours and always had been, watched you claim your place not as an afterthought, but as a force of nature wrapped in wool and confidence.

And Remus? He’s still holding your waist like he might never let go. Sirius looks like he’d fight anyone who even breathes in your direction the wrong way.

Together, they look ready to tear the world apart if it means keeping you. And somehow, the quiet girl has become the storm they’d die for

#marauders era #marauders x reader #poly!wolfstar #wolfstar x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x reader fluff #remus lupin x reader angst #sirius black x reader #sirius black x reader fluff #sirius black x reader angst #poly!wolfstar x reader #poly!wolfstar x reader fluff #poly!wolfstar fluff #wolfstar x reader fluff #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders fluff

3K notes · View notes

barnesonly · 1 month ago

Text

Round Two

possessive!bucky barnes x reader

summary: Tension explodes in the training room when Bucky walks in on you sparring a little too close with Walker. He doesn’t say much but when he takes over the session… well. Jealous!Bucky Barnes it is.

word count: 3397

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, dirty talk, degrading kink, dry humping, fingering, oral (f receiving), PiV, unprotected sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, breeding, overstimulation, possessive behavior, jealous af, fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated.

A/N: Sigh. I had this in my head ever since watching Thunderbolts* and recent work of @iamthatonefangirl pushed me into finally writing it down. Do not expect much plot from it… or any plot at all. Writer has no regrets.

The training room was filled with the rhythmic thud of your boots against the mat and the sharp, quick breaths you shared with Walker. His presence was overwhelming — tall, broad-shouldered, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to snap. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, mixing with your own rising warmth.

You circled each other warily, muscles taut, eyes locked like predators. Walker’s grin was cocky, but there was an edge of respect in it. “You’re stubborn,” he said, voice low and teasing.

“Yeah, well,” you shot back, dropping into a defensive stance, “you’re slow.”

His laughter was rough as he lunged forward, grabbing your wrist and twisting, forcing you down toward the mat.

You fought against him, every inch a battle — but he was strong, and before you knew it, your back hit the padded floor.

Walker was on top, chest pressing against yours. You could feel the solid heat of him, the strength beneath his armor. Your arms were pinned, but your eyes stayed locked with his, breaths mingling in the tight space between you.

“You holding back?” he whispered, his breath warm on your face.

You smirked, muscles flexing as you pushed against him, trying to twist free. “Not a chance.”

His hands slid down your arms, skin to skin, the contact electric, and for a moment, the fight faded into something else — a tension thick enough to choke on.

Walker shifted, lowering his mouth to your ear. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding loud in your chest, and the taste of his breath — spicy and close — sent a thrill racing through you.

With a quick movement, you twisted, trying to flip him off you, but Walker caught your wrist and held you fast.

His face hovered inches from yours, the faint scrape of stubble against your cheek making you shiver.

“Almost had me,” he murmured, voice rough.

Your fingers brushed his jaw, accidental but electric, and his eyes darkened, holding you captive in that intense gaze.

Neither of you moved. The room was silent except for your ragged breathing and the thudding of your heartbeats, syncing in the small space where your bodies met.

You felt the heat pooling low in your belly, the line between fighting and wanting blurring with every second.

Walker’s hand slid up your arm, fingertips trailing lightly, sending sparks where they touched.

Your lips parted, breath hitching.

The door slid open, and Bucky Barnes stepped inside. He paused, taking in the scene: you pinned beneath Walker, bodies close, breaths heavy and mingling.

His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

You pushed Walker off with a quick grunt, breathing hard but flashing a grin. “Round two?”

Walker gave a lazy shrug, stretching one arm. “Wish I could, but I gotta run.”

You frowned in disappointment. “Already?”

“Yeah,” he said, smirking. “But maybe Bucky here can take over.”

Walker clapped Bucky on the shoulder before heading out, leaving the two of you alone.

Bucky’s eyes locked onto you, sharp and cold like ice cutting through steel. His jaw clenched so tight you could almost hear the grind.

“I guess I’m stuck with you now,” he growled, voice low and rough - no hint of warmth.

You blinked, caught off guard by how harsh he sounded. “Stuck? It’s just training, Bucky.”

He took a step closer, his gaze burning holes through you. “Yeah, well, sparring with him? That looked less like training and more like… whatever that was.”

You frowned, heat creeping to your cheeks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bucky’s lips curled into a bitter smirk, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, come on. You don’t get that close with Walker — arms locked, skin on skin and expect me to not notice?”

Your heart thudded loud and fast. “We were sparring, Barnes. You’re reading way too much into it.”

Bucky scoffed. “Whatever.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before Bucky lunged forward, his movements sharp and aggressive — like a storm about to break loose.

His fist came at you harder than necessary, forcing you to scramble back and dodge. This wasn’t training. This was punishment.

“You getting cozy with Walker?” His voice was low, clipped, cutting like a knife. “Don’t think I’m just gonna stand here and watch.”

His hand shot out, grabbing your arm with a grip that was rough and unyielding. You winced but didn’t pull away. Not yet.

“Not on my watch.”

Bucky closed the space between you, chest pressing against yours, fingers digging into your arm like a silent command. No words explaining it. No apologies.

Just the cold, hard truth of his possessiveness, raw and undeniable.

He dropped back into stance, voice sharp. “You want to spar? Fine. But don’t expect me to be gentle.”

Every strike was laced with frustration and something harsher — a need to remind you who was in control, without ever saying it.

And the tension between you? Thick enough to choke on.

The second Bucky’s hands locked around your waist, pulling you flush against him, your breath hitched, heart pounding. His metal hand closed over your wrists behind your back, holding you captive with a grip that was equal parts demanding and possessive.

You could feel the hard, unmistakable press of him — his arousal, firm and urgent against your lower back, the weight of it making your breath falter.

“Thought you could get close to Walker and not have to deal with me?” His voice was a low growl, rough with something dark and dangerous.

His breath ghosted over your ear, warm and intoxicating, sending a delicious shiver down your spine. Your body burned where his pressed against you, every nerve screaming with need.

Without warning, Bucky’s metal fingers tightened on your wrists, tilting your hands upward so he could lean in, lips brushing over your neck, trailing a rough kiss down to your shoulder.

You gasped as his body pressed harder, hips grinding just enough to make it impossible to ignore what was between you — the undeniable proof of how much he wanted you.

“Not so fast,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “You don’t get to tease me like that.”

His touch was rough, needy, his control slipping as his hands slid from your wrists to your waist, fingers digging in possessively. You could feel his arousal straining against the fabric of his pants, pressing into you with a hunger that matched your own.

Your skin tingled where his metal hand traced slow, demanding lines along your ribs, igniting a fire that burned hotter by the second.

You let out a soft gasp as his hips pressed into you again, the hard length of him undeniable. Heat flooded your core, your thighs pressing together instinctively. His breath was right against your neck, lips just barely grazing your skin.

You could’ve leaned into it, let him take what he clearly wanted — but instead, you smirked.

Then you twisted.

With a sharp pivot of your hips, you slipped out of his grip, ducking beneath his arm and spinning away. Bucky stumbled half a step, blinking like he hadn’t expected you to escape.

“Thought you were gonna teach me a lesson,” you said, breathless but smug as hell.

He turned slowly, eyes narrowing, jaw flexing hard. “You think this is a joke?”

You shrugged, backing into a loose stance. “I think you’re wound a little tight. What’s the matter, Barnes?” You tilted your head, letting your eyes flick deliberately down his body — right to the straining bulge in his pants. “Need a break?”

The fire in his eyes ignited.

He was on you in a flash.

This time when he moved, it wasn’t just precise — it was brutal, desperate, controlled only by the thinnest thread of restraint. His fists came hard and fast, forcing you to block, deflect, move. He wasn’t holding back anymore.

You ducked, landed a light kick to his thigh, then laughed when he caught your ankle mid-move and yanked, dragging you closer.

“Still think this is a game?” he hissed.

You were breathless, heart pounding, adrenaline and arousal tangling into one intoxicating buzz.

“Depends,” you teased, lips curling. “What do I win if I pin you?”

He growled and shoved you back, body surging forward to slam you to the mat. This time, it was no accident when his hips landed flush against yours.

No pretense. No holding back.

Just his hard cock pressing into your core, and his hand pinning both your wrists above your head.

His breath hit your cheek, ragged and heavy.

“You want to play?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “Then fucking play.”

Your breath caught in your throat as Bucky hovered above you, pinning your wrists down hard against the mat. His chest heaved, muscles tense and trembling with restraint, but it was the weight of him between your legs that really made your head spin.

You shifted — just barely and that was all it took. Bucky’s hips snapped forward, grinding his cock against your clothed core with a force that stole your breath.

“You like teasing?” he growled, the sound rough, ragged. “Keep fucking squirming. See what happens.”

You did. Of course you did.

You tilted your hips up with slow defiance, grinding back against the thick heat of him beneath his tactical pants. The friction was maddening, perfectly filthy — your underwear soaked instantly as you dragged yourself along the length of him.

A dark, broken sound ripped from Bucky’s throat, and then he was moving — grinding into you with a rhythm that had your head rolling back and your thighs trembling.

His metal hand kept your wrists pinned above your head while his flesh hand gripped your hip, hard enough to bruise, dragging you into each thrust like he needed you to feel every inch of him through the layers.

“You don’t get to look at him like that,” Bucky hissed, rutting harder. “Don’t get to give that to anyone else.”

You gasped, back arching as his cock rubbed right where you needed it, again and again, pressure building fast and tight in your gut.

“Bucky—” you started, but he cut you off with another deep, grinding thrust.

“No.” His voice cracked, low and dangerous. “You wanna act like a brat, I’ll fuck it out of you right here.”

Your moan was shameless, head spinning as his cock rubbed against your clit just right, over and over, your core clenching around nothing, desperate and soaked and grinding back without shame.

His lips were at your jaw now, rough stubble scraping, breath hot as he fucked into you with relentless rhythm.

“You feel that?” he growled. “That’s what you do to me.”

And god — you could. Every thick, heavy inch of him dragging over your leggings and your throbbing clit, every possessive grind claiming you without a single word of affection.

Your back arched beneath him, body on fire, every nerve burning where his cock ground against your soaked leggins. The sounds you made — ragged, breathless, needy — only pushed him further.

“Fuck,” he growled, his lips grazing your neck. “You’re dripping. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

You nodded and before you could answer vocally, his grip shifted — your wrists still trapped in his metal hand as his other slid down, slow and rough, until his fingers curled beneath the waistband of your leggings.

And then — rip.

You gasped as the fabric tore in his fist, panties along with it, shredded like paper. Cool air rushed over your soaked pussy, your thighs twitching at the sudden exposure.

“Bucky—” you breathed, but the way he was looking at you — eyes dark, jaw clenched, starving— shut you right up.

“Look at you,” he muttered, fingers gliding through your wet folds, spreading the slick mess you’d made. “Grinding all over me like a desperate little thing.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Two thick fingers slid inside you — deep. The stretch sudden and perfect, dragging a cry from your throat as your walls clamped down.

“Fuck, that’s tight,” he hissed, burying them knuckle-deep, his thumb brushing against your clit with brutal precision.

Your body jolted, legs shaking, and he just smirked.

“This what Walker gets?” he growled, curling his fingers just right. “Or is this all mine?”

You couldn’t answer — you couldn’t think. Every pump of his fingers sent sparks through your spine, your hips lifting, chasing more, chasing everything.

“Say it,” Bucky demanded, voice low and threatening. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

He pushed in harder, rougher, hitting that spot that made your thighs quake.

Your moan broke into a whimper.

“It’s—” you choked. “Fuck—yours, Bucky—it’s yours—”

His thumb circled your clit, slow and punishing. “Damn right it is.”

His lips found your neck again, biting down just hard enough to mark you, all while his fingers fucked you open—relentless, possessive, and dripping with control he was seconds away from losing.

Bucky’s fingers pumped into you hard and deep, curling just right as your hips rolled helplessly beneath him. Your body was slick, trembling, pleasure coiling fast and tight in your belly. You were so close it hurt.

And just when you were about to fall apart—he pulled away.

“No—fuck, Bucky—” you gasped, reaching for him, hips twitching.

He didn’t say a word—just grabbed your thighs, spreading them wide, dragging you down the mat until your soaked pussy was right in front of him. You barely had time to breathe before—

His mouth was on you.

His tongue licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, collecting every drop of wetness before diving in, deep and hungry, like a man starved.

Your back arched, a cry breaking from your throat as he sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue circling with maddening pressure.

“Oh my god—Bucky—”

He groaned against you, the vibration sending a shock through your spine.

Then he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice low, dark, mean.

“Tell me,” he said, breath hot against your dripping pussy. “Could Walker ever make you feel like this?”

Your thighs trembled around his head, body burning with shame and arousal all at once.

“I—no—fuck, Bucky, no—”

He smirked, just barely, before burying his mouth between your legs again, licking and sucking like a man obsessed, like he was trying to drink every sound you made.

His hands held your thighs open, thumbs pressing bruises into your skin as his tongue fucked into you, slow at first, then faster, messier.

You were soaking his face, writhing under him, hips lifting off the mat in desperation.

“You’re fucking mine,” he growled, voice rough against your soaked heat. “No one else gets this.”

Then he sucked your clit hard and you shattered.

Your orgasm ripped through you, a scream tearing from your throat as you came on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head, whole body twitching uncontrollably.

But Bucky didn’t stop.

He kept licking, kept sucking, dragging every last wave from you until you were shaking, a broken mess beneath him.

Finally, he lifted his head — his mouth wet with your slick, eyes dark and burning.

“Next time you think about sparring with Walker,” he said, voice wrecked, “remember what I do to you.”

You were still shaking from the orgasm he pulled out of you with his mouth — slick, breathless, your body twitching as he rose up over you, his face glistening with you.

Bucky’s hands slid under your thighs, lifting them roughly as he shoved his tactical pants down just enough to free his cock—and fuck, he was thick, flushed, leaking at the tip, already hard and twitching.

He didn’t give you a second to breathe.

He dragged the head of his cock through your soaked folds, slow and deliberate, coating himself in your slick before lining up at your entrance.

“Walker wouldn’t know what to do with you,” he growled, dark eyes fixed on your ruined body beneath him. “He couldn’t handle this.”

And then he slammed into you — deep.

You choked on your breath, nails digging into the mat as his cock split you open, stretching you so full you thought you’d lose your mind.

“Bucky—” you gasped, but he just grabbed your waist, pulling you into another brutal thrust.

“Say my name again,” he growled, snapping his hips forward. “Let the whole fucking tower hear who’s making you feel like this.”

“Bucky—oh my god—”

He fucked you like he meant it. Like every thrust was a punishment and a reward all at once. Deep, fast, grinding into you so hard your whole body shifted up the mat.

One hand pinned your hip while the other—the metal one—gripped your throat, not tight enough to hurt, just enough to hold.

“Mine,” he hissed, thrusting deep and slow now, cock dragging over your g-spot. “You understand me?”

You were crying out with every stroke, legs wrapped around him, back arching as the head of his cock hit you just right again and again.

“I said—do you fucking understand me?”

“Yes—yes, Bucky, yours—”

“That’s right,” he grunted, voice wrecked. “This pussy, this body — all fucking mine.”

He pulled out almost completely — just the tip barely inside — then slammed back in with a growl that sounded like it came from deep in his chest.

You shattered again, coming hard around him, clenching so tight he cursed loud, barely holding on.

He dropped his head into the crook of your neck, fucking you through it, grinding his cock into your spasming walls like he needed to burn your name into his skin.

And then he snapped — hips stuttering, breath ragged, and with a broken, desperate grunt.

He came inside you. Deep and hot. Filling you up.

He didn’t pull out. He stayed there, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours, cock still twitching as he spilled every last drop into you.

The mat beneath you was soaked. Your legs were trembling. And Bucky?

Still didn’t move.

Still inside you.

Still possessive as hell.

Your body was limp, fucked-out and buzzing, still quivering around the load Bucky had just spilled deep inside you. You were warm, stretched full, his cock still hard as he stayed buried in you for a few long, heady moments.

Then, finally, he pulled out with a thick, wet sound — your walls clenching around nothing, the sudden emptiness making you gasp.

You felt it almost immediately. The slow, sticky drip of his cum sliding out of you.

But Bucky didn’t move away.

His gaze dropped between your legs, jaw clenched, and you could feel the way he was watching it—the way he watched himself leak out of you.

And then he looked up at you. Eyes darker than sin.

“Not done,” he muttered.

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant — but then his metal hand slid down your stomach and between your legs.

Two fingers — cold, slick, thick — pushed into your still-sensitive cunt.

You cried out, hips jerking, but Bucky held you down, his flesh hand gripping your thigh as he pumped those fingers deep inside you, slow and deliberate.

“Keep it in,” he growled, curling his fingers. “You think I’m gonna let it go to waste?”

Your head dropped back against the mat, spine arching as he fucked you with his fingers, thrusting everything he’d spilled back into you.

“Made you take every drop,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear now. “And now you’re gonna hold it. You hear me?”

Your cunt fluttered around his fingers, overstimulated and soaked again already.

He pushed deeper, scissoring you open, fucking his cum back inside like it belonged there.

“You were made for this,” he murmured, tongue dragging slow and hot against your neck. “To take me. To be filled by me.”

You whimpered, trembling as his thumb found your clit and circled it — lazy, almost cruel.

“God, look at you,” he rasped. “Still so fucking tight. You think Walker could do this to you? Make you this full? This messy?”

You moaned his name, your legs shaking, your body giving in all over again.

“Say it,” he said, voice sharp against your throat. “Say who this pussy belongs to.”

“You, Bucky—fuck—yours—”

“That’s right,” he growled, fingers curling just right.

You came again — a raw, desperate sound tearing from your throat as you clenched around his fingers, body rocking helplessly as he fucked you through it, never letting a single drop escape.

He didn’t stop until you were crying — sobbing his name, broken and full and so far gone you didn’t even know where you ended and he began.

And even then, his fingers stayed buried in you, possessive and proud.

“Next time you even think about sparring with Walker, remember how I filled you first.”

3K notes · View notes

itelya · 3 months ago

Text

It's your first day in Malaysia for your honeymoon with Nanami. He's prepared everything to make you feel comfortable. He would do anything for you, his sweet and pretty little wife.

He takes you to the beach with a folding chair on your back, a bag with your belongings and food in one hand, and a large watermelon in the other.

Your feet walk on the warm sand of the beach, and the embers of the wind caress your face and hair. Your pretty dress accentuates your curves and exposes your skin to the sun.

Nanami looks at you with love and admiration. You are so beautiful. He is lucky to have you as his wife for the rest of his life. His cheeks turn slightly red as he looks at you as if it were the first time.

"I can see why you chose Malaysia for our honeymoon." Your voice is sweet as honey, and your smile makes him melt. You are magnificent.

You look at him and say, "Dear, I told you to let me hold some..." To be honest, you were a little embarrassed to be carrying anything but your little bag, even though you knew Nanami didn't want you to carry anything.

"Absolutely not." He puts the watermelon in his other arm, takes your soft hand in his firm one, and pulls you to a quiet spot. "Come on, darling."

Once you're there and settled in, you sit with Nanami on your large beach towel. You rummage lightly in your bag and pull out an orange. "Do you want an orange?"

"Yes, please." Nanami comes up behind you, places an arm around your chest, and kisses your shampoo-scented hair. Your hand instinctively places itself on his arm, and you smile.

"Peel it for me." A low groan escapes his throat, and he takes the orange and sets it in a corner. You look at him skeptically. Is he excited?

His other hand slides slowly between your legs. His fingers caress your panties, slightly damp with anticipation. You feel your pussy throb at his mere touch, as if your body is responding without you even thinking about it.

"Fuck, darling, I want to make you cum on this beach for our first day of honeymoon. Do you allow me, baby?" His voice is deep and hoarse with desire for you.

"Of course I allow you, idiot," you breathe with a teasing smile. Your voice is low, barely above a whisper, as if the pleasure overwhelming you is already preventing you from speaking normally.

His fingers slowly tickle your clitoris through the fabric, and his free hand slips under your light dress to cup your breast.

You gasp softly, your body tensing under his caresses. He gently pinches your nipple between his fingers, playing with it while his lips rest on your neck, sucking on your skin and kissing it. Then, he pushes your panties to the side.

The fresh afternoon air brushes against your lower lip, sending a shiver up the back of your neck. He looks at you, his eyes burning, as if he wants to etch every expression on your face into his memory.

"You're so beautiful like this..." he murmurs, before sliding a finger inside you, slowly, deeply. You moan softly, unable to hold back the sound, but it could easily be heard even if you were in a very private corner.

He adds a second finger, curving it slightly to find that precise spot that's driving you crazy, and his movements become deeper.

Your back arches, your breathing quickens. You grip the back of his neck, turn your head, and bury your face against his shoulder to stifle the moans rising within you. He continues to stimulate your clitoris with his thumb, at the same time as he penetrates you with his fingers.

It's too good, too good.

Nanami, he doesn't take his eyes off you. He watches your every tremor, your every sigh, he breathes in your pleasure as if it were his own drug. Your pleasure depends on yours.

His fingers move faster now, harder, until you explode with a muffled cry against his neck, your body shaking with spasms, your hand clenched in his hair.

He holds you against him, supports you, kisses your forehead as you catch your breath. You're still panting, your heart beating like a drum in your chest.

"There, Mrs. Nanami... first orgasm as my wife, validated." He laughs softly, proud of himself, and you burst into a breathless laugh, still trembling but happy.

You pull away and turn slightly to look at him, your cheeks flushed, your eyes shining with excitement.

"Your turn, my husband..." you look at him and smile. Your fingers are already sliding down his fly. You're definitely planning on making him cum too.

a/n: It's been a while since I've posted, bruh... so here goes ^^ I'm posting a one-shot this week - about Nanami - so if you want to be tagged, lmk 💗 ⟢﹒ masterlist

Inspiration: https://x.com/yunonoaii/status/1901914370915119341?s=46&t=X-HaPE_HhJcar9ofo0IwiQ

2K notes · View notes

moonlightwritingf1 · 3 months ago

Text

The One He Couldn’t Let Go | LN4

💋 summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N never meant to fall for Lando Norris—the F1 driver with a reputation for flings and flirtations. For nine long months, she kept him at arm’s length, refusing his gifts, dodging his calls, and shielding herself behind sarcasm and silence. But his persistence never wavered. Caught between desire and fear, she struggles to believe a man like him could ever want a woman like her—normal, guarded, imperfect. When jealousy explodes into confrontation and passion gives way to vulnerability, their complicated history threatens to burn everything down… unless she’s brave enough to let herself be loved.

💋 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

💋 word count ━━━━━━━ 13.5k

💋 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, cum on tits

Based on this request.

At an intimidating height, near the top floors, a single unit’s lights glowed brightly against the dark evening. From the outside, one could only imagine the warmth within. Inside that apartment, Y/N stood in her living room, peering down at the cityscape far below.

She could see the flickering reflections of the streetlights dancing on the surface of the river. Her viewpoint was dizzying—a perk of her two-bedroom high-rise apartment. The interior was spacious, the open-plan living room flowing seamlessly into a modern kitchen with sleek countertops and minimalist furniture. The day’s accumulation of tasks was scattered across the dining table: her laptop, paperwork, and a half-finished mug of tea gone cold. An ornate, ribbon-tied bouquet of roses lay beside them.

“Ugh, more flowers,” she whispered under her breath, exhaling sharply. Her gaze traveled over the bouquet’s petals—deep red roses, crisp white lilies, and interspersed baby’s breath that made the arrangement especially lush. A small note card, signed in neat black ink: “Thinking of you. – Lando.”

She bristled. The feeling she experienced in that moment was a heady mix of exasperation, longing, and a strange sense of fear. Nine months of this. Nine months of politely trying to push him away while her heart hammered at every mention of his name. Nine months of hearing that cheerful British accent teasing her, flirting with her, and sending her extravagant gifts without any sign of slowing down. She absently traced the note with her fingertips, fighting the ridiculous urge to crush it in her hand. She couldn’t deny that she adored the gestures. There was no point lying to herself: she loved feeling special. She loved that he singled her out in a world where, by all rights, he should have been so unattainable. And yet…

She let the note slip from her fingers. It fluttered onto the dining table, half-crumpled but still readable. She stared at it, teeth sinking into her lower lip as a swirl of anger and inexplicable yearning circled her mind. She had been fighting this conflict from the moment they met. He was everything she’d sworn to avoid—playboy, stereotypical heartbreaker, and a well-known athlete. The mix of what if and impossible tormented her. She hated how she found him compelling. She hated how his presence filled her with light, yet she simultaneously feared the darkness in his history.

She turned, her hair swishing across her shoulders, and walked into the open-concept kitchen. Flicking on the kettle for fresh tea, she tried to focus on the mundane hum. She pressed a palm against the marbled counter, her mind drifting back, inevitably, to the time they first met.

—

Nine Months Ago

Y/N had just finished her 9-to-5 shift at her first “big girl” job—a role she was both good at and, admittedly, a little bored with. But that day, her friend Pietra had managed to coax her into joining a small get-together in Soho.

“Come on,” Pietra had insisted. “You need to meet my friends; they’re loads of fun. You need a break from that strict schedule of yours.”

“What do you mean by ‘my schedule’? It’s a normal job, Pietra,” Y/N had grumbled, but a hint of a smile tugged at her lips. She was shy and often fiercely protective of her boundaries, but she still went where her close friends urged her to go. After all, she didn’t have that many friends —just a small circle. Reluctantly, she tagged along.

The venue was a warm, tucked-away lounge bar. Fairy lights dangled from the ceiling, music bumped softly, and the chatter of patrons created a pleasant hum. That was when she first saw him—Lando Norris—glancing her way from a group of people near the back. She recognized him instantly: the messy curls of his hair, the bright, mischievous eyes, that athletic build dressed in a stylish black jacket. She was aware of his presence in the sense that one is aware of a flame in a darkened room; he seemed to radiate an effortless energy.

She remembered the moment heat bloomed in her cheeks. She’d heard of Lando Norris—the famed McLaren driver, the rumored playboy. He wasn’t just attractive; he was enthralling, like a magnet pulling the air from her lungs.

When Pietra introduced them, he was polite but also alarmingly direct. He locked eyes with Y/N, grin spreading on his face as though he’d discovered some precious secret that nobody else had.

“So you’re Y/N,” he had said, leaning in close enough that his breath was warm against her cheek. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

She tried to laugh it off, stammering that she was pretty boring—just a regular girl working a 9-5. He didn’t buy that for a second. He teased her. For the entire evening, he barely left her side. His hand lingered at her lower back each time he guided her to the bar to get drinks. Their conversation was laced with playful banter, her attempts to protect herself with sarcasm, and his unwavering interest, as though enthralled by every small detail of her life. He asked about her hobbies, her taste in music. She, in return, found it difficult to breathe under that intense stare. When the evening ended, Y/N left with a phone number in her contacts that she didn’t entirely know what to do with.

That was how it began.

—

Present Day

The kettle beeped, snapping Y/N out of her trance. She hastily poured water into a fresh mug, wincing slightly when a bit of boiling water splashed and burned her skin. She muttered a quick curse under her breath. The small pain was a reminder that she was here, grounded, in her apartment, in her life. Not in that memory of meeting Lando.

He was still the same. From that first moment, he made it exceptionally clear—painfully clear—that he wanted her. She’d tried ignoring him, tried politely brushing off his invites to fancy dinners or events, tried refusing his extravagant gifts of designer shoes and dresses. It only fueled him. She never quite told him no in harsh terms; she wanted to, but she could never muster it. A part of her liked that attention. Another part was terrified.

Leaving her mug on the counter, she wandered back into the living area. She paused at the floor-to-ceiling windows again, half expecting to see some reflection that would reveal the tumult swirling in her mind. Instead, she watched the gleaming lights of the city. She pulled her plush cardigan tighter around herself. Her body was warm but her insides felt cold with confusion, with a nagging, pulsing ache for something she didn’t think she could ever have or deserve.

Even though she was young, she sometimes felt older than her years. She had standards for the kind of man she could actually see herself with—someone who shared her goals. Stability. Honesty. In her mind, Lando was the polar opposite. He was glamorous, chaotic. He was rumored to have slept with countless women. And if even half those rumors were true, that was more than enough for her to keep him at arm’s length. She wasn’t a prude, but she saw that kind of behavior as a lack of self-control. She hated the thought of being just another notch on his bedpost—another fleeting woman he’d meet in a club and forget by morning.

Her phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with a text. She recognized the name, and her pulse pounded.

Lando: “Did you get my flowers?”

She stared at the screen, sipping her tea. Her immediate reaction was to ignore him. But, ignoring him never worked. Not fully.

She typed, paused, deleted. Eventually, she settled on: “Yes, you didn’t have to.”

A bubble popped up almost immediately, showing he was typing.

Lando: “But I wanted to.”

She clenched her jaw. If only desire were enough for her to trust him—to let herself want him the way she truly did. Glancing at her reflection in the window, she tried to see the woman Lando claimed to adore. She wanted to be confident, but she rarely was—at least not around him. The idea of him comparing her to the typical bikini-clad models on his Instagram feed made her break out in anxiety. And yet, he was so persistent. Why couldn’t he be the typical player who moved on easily?

Shaking her head, she texted: “I appreciate them, but I don’t want you wasting your money.”

Lando: “I’ll always do it if it makes you smile. Are you free tomorrow night? I’m in London again.”

Her heart stuttered. It always did. That unwavering determination in him. He came to London so often for business, for sponsor commitments, for friends, for his family. He always tried to see her. She wanted to see him, but fear overshadowed her longing.

She typed back a response she’d practiced often: “I’m not sure. I might be busy.”

Another immediate reply. “You’re always busy. Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll be waiting.”

His words were simple, but they carried weight. “I’ll be waiting.” She couldn’t help but replay that phrase in her head, as though he were whispering it against her ear.

—

The Next Day

Y/N was perched on her living room couch, phone in hand, finishing up a Zoom call for work. Her legs were curled beneath her, and a loose T-shirt paired with leggings—her usual weekend attire—clung lightly to her form. She was comfortable, or at least she should have been, but she felt on edge.

Once she clicked off the call, she exhaled a sigh of relief. It was a Saturday, and though she was often used to the standard “9 to 5, Monday to Friday,” there were occasional weekend tasks that cropped up. She scrolled absentmindedly through her phone, ignoring the swirl of posts about Lando on social media. His fans loved him, especially the female fans. Photos of him with random women at clubs made their rounds more times than she could count. Even though it was rumored that he’d calmed down in recent years, the scars of rumor still trailed him. She’d read the gossip about how he used to message unknown girls, strangers, looking for a quick fling whenever he was traveling for races. The idea of it made her stomach twist with disgust and jealousy.

A ping from her group chat with Pietra and a few other friends lit the screen.

Pietra: “We’re meeting for coffee near Tower Bridge. Lando’s coming too. Wanna join?”

The moment she saw Lando’s name, a spike of adrenaline made her drop her phone. It tumbled to the carpet. She picked it up swiftly, chewing her lip. Her heart hammered. She had two choices: go and endure the swirl of tension, or avoid him again. She typed, paused, frowned, then typed again.

Y/N: “Sure, I could use some air. I’ll be there.”

She braced herself. No matter how much she denied it, she craved his presence like a moth to a flame.

–

It was late morning, and the area around Tower Bridge buzzed with tourists. Y/N arrived at the spot Pietra had texted her earlier.

She spotted Pietra first, already waving in her direction. Y/N forced a small smile and walked over to the group, her stomach tightening with nerves and anticipation. Off to the side, hands tucked into his pockets, stood Lando. He wore a casual black hoodie and jeans, his curls slightly messy, the corners of his mouth lifting the moment his eyes landed on her.

“You came,” he said softly, stepping forward. His voice carried that blend of relief and excitement that sent her heart into overdrive.

“Yeah. I was free,” she answered, trying to keep her tone neutral. She sensed his gaze trailing over her, as if he were filing away the details of her attire, her mood, the subtle flush in her cheeks. An invisible current of tension seemed to crackle between them.

Pietra cleared her throat. “Should we order?”

Lando tore his gaze away from Y/N and nodded, “Sure.” But she felt the way his eyes flicked back to her, how he lingered near her side when they moved to the counter. Despite her best efforts not to, her awareness of him was total.

They settled at a table outdoors, bright umbrellas casting soft shade over the group. The friend group chatted easily, laughter flowing between sips of coffee and bites of pastry. Y/N remained a little tense, contributing here and there, sipping her latte slowly as she listened.

Yet…he seemed utterly entranced. He spoke to everyone, but his attention always gravitated back to her. Whenever he cracked a joke, his eyes sought her reaction first. Whenever he shifted in his seat, his leg brushed against hers. Her pulse jumped each time. She tried to keep her breathing steady, tried to keep any sign of giddiness off her face.

Eventually, Pietra, Max, and the others peeled off to stroll down the riverwalk. Y/N was left sipping the last of her latte beside Lando, who silently took the seat across from her. The noise of the surrounding tourists faded into the background as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the small table.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls again,” he said, not accusing but definitely not thrilled.

She stiffened. “I’ve been busy.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “Too busy to text back?”

“Sometimes,” she replied coldly. Her tone was sharper than she’d intended. A flicker of hurt skimmed across his face, quickly replaced by a careful mask of neutrality.

“I—” he began, then paused, searching for words. “I just… I still want to see you. I was thinking maybe dinner tonight, or we could do something else if you don’t like fancy dinners—”

She cut him off, voice low and tight with barely contained frustration. “Why don’t you give up?”

The faintest flicker of anger ignited in his eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“Because,” she hissed, suddenly aware of her own rising irritation, “it’s pointless. All these months, me pushing you away—none of it has made you stop. And I—God, Lando, I don’t do…casual flings. So if that’s what you’re after, just quit.”

He stared at her as though she’d slapped him. He blinked, expression twisting in something halfway between confusion and raw frustration. “You think that’s all I want?”

She set her cup down with more force than necessary. “That’s all you ever had with all those other girls, wasn’t it?” She intended the words as a challenge, but they came out drenched in resentment and, worse, hurt. It was her deepest fear, the one that tormented her in quiet hours: that he would treat her the same as everyone else.

His jaw clenched. “Stop believing everything you read. I know I’ve… I’ve not been a saint in the past. But I never cheated on anyone. And as for random flings—fine, that was years ago, when I was still trying to figure myself out. I’m not proud of it. But I’m not that person anymore.”

She folded her arms, refusing to meet his eyes. “People don’t just change overnight, Lando.”

He exhaled sharply. “I’m not asking you to trust me blindly. I’m just… I’m just trying to show you that I want you. God, you make me want things I’ve never wanted with anyone else. Does that really mean nothing to you?”

It felt like a lightning bolt of adrenaline speared through her. Her mind screamed that he was telling the truth, that there was sincerity in his voice that melted her guard. But the other half of her mind whirled with all the old rumors, all her insecurities, all the nights she’d lain in bed, scrolling through social media, seeing him partying in clubs with women who pressed themselves against him. Cheating rumors. Her chest constricted.

She stood abruptly, trying to keep her tone cold. “I told you. I don’t do casual. And I don’t think you’d give me anything else.”

His anger flared. He shot to his feet, almost toppling the chair behind him. A few people glanced their way. Leaning in close, he said, voice pitched low, “Stop deciding who I am before you even give me a chance.”

The rawness in his voice nearly undid her. Pain laced through her chest. She wanted to just fold into him, bury her face in his shoulder, pretend those years of rumors didn’t exist. But she couldn’t. “I’m sorry,” she managed, stepping back. “I can’t.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the half-full cup and his stony gaze behind. Her pulse thundered the entire time she headed home, the world blurring around the edges, tears prickling her eyes in a dizzying swirl of guilt and fear.

–

That evening, Y/N was sprawled on her couch, aimlessly flipping channels on the TV while her thoughts spiraled. She replayed that confrontation with Lando by the café at least a dozen times, dissecting every line, every half-hidden tremor of emotion in his voice. The regret was strong. She truly liked him—liked him to a painful degree. She yearned for him so badly she almost found it difficult to breathe. And yet, she was terrified. The idea of trusting him, and having it all fall apart, shook her to her core.

Her phone pinged once more.

Unknown Number: “Hey, it’s Damien. Pietra gave me your number. She mentioned you might be up for a date sometime?”

Y/N jolted upright, reading the text with surprise. She vaguely recalled Pietra mentioning a coworker’s friend who was single and looking to meet new people. She’d brushed it off at the time. But now, the idea of distracting herself from Lando’s incessant presence held a strong appeal. Maybe this was the way to break the cycle of longing.

Y/N: “Hi Damien, yes, Pietra told me about you. I’m free tomorrow if you want to meet?”

She hit send before she could second-guess herself. Letting out a breath, she pulled a blanket around her. This was what she needed, right? A normal guy, with no baggage, no string of humiliating rumors trailing him. She forced herself to ignore the pang of guilt in her stomach, that unshakable sense of betrayal for wanting to see someone else even though she was in no official relationship with Lando. She tried to rationalize it: Lando was the one who was truly unattainable, not her. The heart has to protect itself somehow.

It was the next day—a Sunday, bleak clouds gathering overhead. The wind rattled the windows of her high-rise. Y/N was in the middle of a laundry marathon, folding clothes in her living room, the TV chattering about random gossip in the background. A ring from the door buzzer startled her. She peeked at the digital display to see who it was. Her breath caught when she recognized the curly-haired figure looking resolutely into the camera. Lando.

Her first thought was to ignore him. But a burst of adrenaline had her pressing the intercom. “What do you want?” she asked, voice muffled by the speaker.

He looked up at the camera. She saw from the slight droop in his shoulders that he was determined but…vulnerable. His voice came through, a bit crackly. “I need to see you. Please.”

Her heart hammered. With a heavy exhale, she pressed the button to unlock the main door. She might regret it. But she needed closure, or something. She left the front door of her apartment ajar. Moments later, he stepped in, carrying a bouquet of pink peonies this time—her actual favorite. She’d offhandedly mentioned her love of peonies weeks ago. She swallowed the knot forming in her throat.

“You have to stop with the flowers,” she said by way of greeting.

He set them on a nearby shelf, ignoring her complaint. “I’m not apologizing for sending you flowers. It’s the least I can do for you.”

She stood there, arms crossing over her chest, vaguely aware of how her T-shirt and leggings did nothing to hide the shape of her hips and legs. She felt vulnerable letting him see her like this, so casual and undone. But he didn’t seem to notice anything but her eyes. Stepping closer, he spoke in a quiet, tense voice.

“Look,” he began, “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to snap. I just—seeing how you look at me, like I’m the worst person in the world, it kills me. You never give me the benefit of the doubt.”

Her throat tightened. Anger, guilt, and longing all warred within her. “You haven’t exactly proven me wrong. Every time I check social media, there’s a rumor, or a photo—”

His eyes blazed. “That’s not me anymore. Do you know how old some of those photos are? You think I’m hooking up with random girls at clubs while trying to chase you for nine months? I have no idea how to prove I’m not lying except to say it outright: I’m not sleeping around. I’m not cheating. I don’t want to be with them, I want to be with you.”

The sincerity in his voice was so intense it shook her defenses. “But I can’t just…unhear the rumors. You had that reputation for so long, Lando.”

He drew in a breath, his frustration palpable. “I know. But people change. I’m not going to apologize forever for my past mistakes. I’ll own them. And you can ask me anything. Let me show you who I am now.”

Her eyes darted to the side. She felt the press of her own heartbeat rattling through her ears. When she didn’t answer, he took a bold step forward, bridging the small distance between them. His gaze flicked down, glimpsing the way her full hips curved into her waist. She saw that flicker of admiration in his eyes. She braced herself, expecting a sexual comment, but it never came. Instead, he reached out carefully, like he was half afraid she would flinch.

He gently touched the side of her face, fingertips grazing her cheek. The warmth of his touch sent a sizzling jolt through her. She swallowed, her throat dry, every nerve in her body going taut.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low and rough, “you’ve got to give me a chance.”

Her walls trembled. She wanted to push him away, but the swirl of desire in her belly was strong, overwhelming. She found herself leaning in slightly, like a magnet.

“God, you’re such a jerk sometimes,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, though it lacked conviction. Anger and longing clashed in her tone.

His lips quirked into a small, bittersweet smile. “But you still like me,” he murmured. It wasn’t a question.

A heartbeat passed—then another. Before she knew it, his mouth was on hers, the kiss hard and urgent. She gasped, her body stiffening in shock before melting into him. The laundry in her arms tumbled to the floor. His hand cupped her cheek, drawing her closer, and she tilted her head, letting him deepen the kiss. The taste of his mouth—coffee and mint—erased every rational thought in her head for a thrilling, reckless moment.

Her arms found their way around his shoulders. His hand slipped from her cheek down to the small of her back, pressing her into him. She felt the warmth of his body, the electric tension that had brewed for months now set free. His chest rose and fell rapidly against hers.

But then, like a jolt of lightning, the fear snapped back into her. She broke the kiss, pushing him away with trembling hands. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and he stood there, panting.

“Shit,” she mumbled, stumbling a step back. “I can’t do this.”

“Y/N,” he said, voice husky. “Don’t—”

She shook her head. She couldn’t even form words. She just fled to the door and swung it open, voice trembling, “You should leave.”

He hesitated, heartbreak flickering in his eyes, but he eventually stepped out. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, she felt tears welling, unstoppable. She sank to the floor, burying her face in her hands.

–

In the days that followed, Y/N avoided every text and call from Lando. She even avoided Pietra’s invites, terrified he might show up. She drowned herself in work, volunteering for extra tasks at the office. She took long shifts, poured over spreadsheets, answered emails into the late hours of the night. She hammered her free time with exercise. She tried everything to chase the memory of his kiss away. She was furious at herself for letting it happen, furious at the swirl of contradictory emotions she couldn’t control.

She told herself that was it. She couldn’t let it happen again.

But deep down, she knew she was lying. The way his lips felt on hers haunted her. She replayed the second their mouths connected, how her heart soared with a new kind of adrenaline. The crash afterward was brutal, leaving her feeling hollow.

–

One week later, Y/N found herself in a quiet, upscale restaurant near Covent Garden, fidgeting with her napkin. Damien sat across from her, a kind smile on his face, conversation polite and gentle. He was the epitome of normal—a stable job in finance, an easy sense of humor, no swirling rumors or paparazzi following him. She forced herself to pay attention to him and not think about Lando.

But every time she noticed Damien’s neat, short hair and pressed collared shirt, she missed Lando’s messy curls and casual hoodies. Every time Damien asked a sweet, thoughtful question, she imagined Lando’s witty, borderline-arrogant grin. This was torture in a different sense. She forced herself to laugh at Damien’s jokes, but the laughter sounded hollow to her own ears.

“So,” Damien said, leaning forward. “Tell me more about your job, about you. Pietra said you moved here?”

She nodded. “Yes, over 5 years ago. I, well, my life is pretty routine. Wake up, commute, work, come home. Maybe watch Netflix or read. Nothing exciting.” She tried to laugh it off.

Damien smiled. “Routine isn’t bad. I like reliable people.”

She forced a polite smile back. She was about to respond when she felt a distinct presence behind her. That comforting sense of tension that always accompanied… him. Slowly, she turned her head. Her heart lurched in her chest. Standing near the entrance to the restaurant, accompanied by two of his mates, was Lando. The world seemed to stutter for a second. He was scanning the room—probably looking for a table or maybe meeting someone. And then he saw her.

His entire posture stiffened. Their eyes locked, the swirl of unspoken emotion instantly thickening the air. She felt a spike of panic. She prayed he wouldn’t come over, wouldn’t make a scene. Yet part of her wanted him to. Maybe because she longed to see him again.

He shot her a look that asked a thousand questions. She could almost read the accusation in his gaze. She averted her eyes, turning back to Damien, whose brow furrowed with confusion as he followed the direction of her gaze to see Lando.

“Oh,” Damien said, not quite sure what was happening. “Is that a friend of yours?”

She cleared her throat. “Sort of. We… we move in the same circle,” she lied, or half-lied. “Let’s just ignore him.” She forced a laugh.

But ignoring Lando Norris was impossible. Out of the corner of her vision, she watched him murmur something to his friends and stride purposefully toward her table. Her stomach dropped. Damien noticed her sudden tension.

“Y/N? You okay?”

She tried to smile, but the attempt was pitiful. Before she could speak, Lando stood at the edge of their table, hands in his pockets, face set in a carefully neutral mask. She heard the quickness of his breath, saw the faint flush in his cheeks that told her he was not calm at all.

“Hey,” he said, voice clipped. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Damien, noticing the tension, stood from his seat politely and offered his hand. “Hello, I’m Damien. I’m Y/N’s—”

“Friend,” she interjected too quickly, her cheeks blazing. She avoided Lando’s gaze, focusing on her water glass.

Damien hesitated, confusion scrawled on his features. “Yes, well, friend for now.”

Lando’s jaw ticked, and he slid his eyes to Y/N. She could feel the wave of anger rolling off him. A tight, forced smile appeared on his face as he took Damien’s hand, giving it a quick shake. “Lando. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Damien replied, though he seemed unsure about the whole situation.

Her heart hammered so loud she was surprised they couldn’t hear it. Lando parted his lips, hesitated, then said in a low voice, “Hope you both enjoy your meal.” He turned to her, eyes burning with unspoken frustration. “We’ll catch up another time, yeah?”

She nodded stiffly, feeling her throat constrict. “Sure,” she managed. Then he was gone, joining his friends at a table across the restaurant. The man was too well-known to cause a scene in a public place with prying eyes, but the tension was thick enough to slice through with a knife.

Damien slowly sank back into his seat, giving her a concerned glance. “Is everything okay? You two seemed…tense.”

She forced another laugh that sounded high-pitched and desperate to her own ears. “We have a bit of a… complicated history.” She tried to wave it off, picking up the menu. But her eyes couldn’t seem to stop flicking to the side, drawn to the figure of Lando, who was now sitting with his friends at a table partially in view. She felt him glancing at her. The weight of that gaze pinned her down. Her appetite vanished.

Over the course of dinner, she tried to maintain a steady conversation with Damien. She forced herself to nod politely at whatever he was saying, some anecdote about a recent trip to Ireland. She tried to laugh when appropriate. But her mind was wholly consumed by Lando. The tightness of her chest only worsened each time she felt his eyes on her.

Finally, Damien noticed her distraction. He followed her gaze, turning to see Lando, who was tapping his foot impatiently beneath his table, occasionally whispering to his two friends. One friend seemed to be trying to calm him down. Y/N swallowed, bracing herself as she realized that every fiber of her being was screaming at her. This was too intense, too complicated, too painful. She was trying so hard to maintain composure.

Damien, clearing his throat, leaned forward, voice gentle. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you and…that guy, but if you need to talk about it, I’m here to listen. I like you. I’d like to keep seeing you. But if your heart’s somewhere else—”

She flinched. “It’s not. I… Lando and I aren’t dating. It’s complicated. But I’m here on this date with you,” she said, trying to cling to normalcy.

Damien offered a sad smile. “Yeah. But I’m not blind to the tension.” He gestured softly toward Lando. “If you have unresolved feelings with him, you need to figure that out, Y/N. It’s not fair to either of us otherwise.”

She nodded, feeling tears prickling. She didn’t want to break down in front of a near stranger. “You’re right,” she said, voice cracking. “I’m sorry.”

Damien’s gaze was kind. “No worries. Let’s just finish dinner. We can talk afterwards.”

She offered him a grateful half-smile. As she forced down a few bites of her meal, she avoided looking at Lando. But near the end, she heard a scraping of chairs. He and his friends were leaving. Unable to control herself, she glanced up to catch him staring at her with an expression of stony, confused anger. It shot a pang of guilt straight through her. Then, without a word, he walked out. The door swung behind him, leaving her with an ache deep in her gut.

–

It was later that night, and Y/N was beyond exhausted—physically from the clack of her heels on concrete all evening, and emotionally from the drain of a lukewarm date. She’d said goodbye to Damien just outside her building, gently declining his request for a second date. Although she’d been polite, her thoughts had circled only one person the entire evening. Her heart grew heavier with every step she took toward the large glass doors of her high-rise. The cold night air bit at her cheeks, and she wanted nothing more than to escape into the warmth of her living room.

As she neared the entrance, punching in the code to unlock the main doors, a figure shifted in the shadows beside one of the pillars. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she nearly dropped her keys. She drew in a sharp breath.

From the darkness, Lando stepped out, leaning heavily against the glass. There was a ferocity in his gaze she’d never quite seen before. His arms were folded over his chest, but the tension rippling through his shoulders was almost visible. He looked like he was fighting a battle just to keep himself from exploding.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” she blurted, voice shaky with a mix of adrenaline and nerves. A dozen alarm bells rang in her head—she’d never seen him look this furious, this…possessive.

He didn’t move from his spot. “Sorry,” he muttered, but there was nothing apologetic in his tone. “I knew you’d be home eventually.”

She tried to brush past him into the lobby, pressing the key fob firmly against the reader. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, forcing as much calm as she could muster. The glass doors slid open with a hiss, revealing the polished marble of the foyer.

He followed her inside, shoulders practically quivering with restrained anger. “We need to talk.”

The intensity in his eyes made her throat tighten. She hugged her arms around herself. “About what?” she spat, stepping toward the elevator. She was angry—angry with him for continuing to show up unannounced, angry with herself for the guilt she carried. She jabbed the elevator button, watching the numbers tick down from the top floor. “I have nothing to say to you.”

He slid into the elevator with her right as the doors closed, leaving them trapped in that small space. She felt his presence like static electricity, filling the air. If jealousy were a fire, he’d be an inferno right now—scorching everything in reach.

He turned, chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. “About you going on a date with some other guy, when you damn well know there’s something between us.”

His voice was low, dangerous. She’d never heard such palpable fury from him. It made her heart pound wildly. She scoffed, fixing her gaze on the metallic elevator doors. “You and I have nothing,” she said icily, though her voice quivered at the end. “I’ve told you a thousand times: it wouldn’t work. But you refuse to back off. So yes, Lando, I went on a date.”

His eyes blazed as though her words poured fuel on his rage. His hand twitched at his side—she half-expected him to slam his fist against the elevator wall. “Why?” he growled, struggling to keep his volume low. “Because you think he’ll be more stable? Because you think I can’t be serious about you? That I can’t commit? Or because you wanted to hurt me, rub it in my face that you can walk away any time you want?”

She whipped her head around, eyes blazing with her own anger. “Don’t twist my intentions,” she snapped. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just—I don’t think you can give me what I need. You’re Lando Norris, the guy plastered all over social media with a harem of women. Even if half of it isn’t true, how am I supposed to know which half?”

The elevator dinged, but it felt more like a bomb dropping. When the doors slid open to her floor, she stormed out into the hallway, rummaging through her purse for her keys. He followed closely on her heels, the anger rolling off him like crashing waves.

She finally snagged the key, her entire body trembling with the aftershocks of their argument. “Just go home, Lando,” she muttered, not daring to look at him. She was terrified of what she might see there—hurt, or worse, a brokenness that mirrored her own.

“Not until we settle this,” he hissed. Before she could argue, he stepped in front of her door, effectively blocking it. She stared at his chest for a second, realizing she had to physically push him aside if she wanted to run. The tension in the air was suffocating.

With a furious huff, she shoved the key into the lock and shouldered past him. He slipped inside right behind her. The door slammed shut, and an uneasy silence filled the dimly lit entryway of her apartment. The glow of the city outside cast faint patterns on the wall, but the atmosphere felt like a tinderbox seconds from erupting.

“Fine,” she bit out, tossing her bag onto the kitchen counter with a little too much force. “Talk.”

He ran both hands through his hair, pacing like a caged animal, that wild, jealous energy crackling around him. “You keep spitting out all these reasons you can’t be with me,” he began, voice trembling with a mixture of rage and desperation. “All these rumors—you act like I’m the same reckless kid I was years ago. But I’m not.”

She pressed her arms tighter around herself, trying to combat the swirl of adrenaline. “How am I supposed to believe that?” she demanded, voice cracking. “The cheating rumors. The flings. The endless girls in your DMs. You want to stand there and tell me it’s all lies?”

He let out a harsh bark of laughter, frustration strangling the sound. “Not all lies. But the cheating—yes, those were lies. The hooking up—fine, it happened, but not when I had a girlfriend. I was lonely and stupid, and yeah, I messed around. But not anymore.” His fists clenched at his sides, as though the words themselves hurt coming out. “Ever since you walked into my life, I’ve done nothing but try to show you that I’ve changed. I’ve never cheated on you, never even let myself think of anyone else. But you don’t see that, do you? Because you’d rather believe I’m—”

She cut him off with a bitter laugh, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “Don’t turn this on me. I’ve watched pictures of you partying with girls, read about all the nights you went clubbing while your ex was nowhere to be found. How do I know you won’t do that to me, too?”

His eyes flared with hurt. He drew in a ragged breath, then pounded his fist once, softly yet furiously, against the side of her sofa. “Stop. Stop punishing me for something I didn’t do. You want to know the truth? I hated those rumors. I hated that I didn’t do enough to shut them down. But I was too caught up in my life—racing, traveling, trying to please everyone. I can’t change that now. But I would never treat you like that.”

She sniffed, tears brimming, voice wavering. “Then how do I know—”

“You don’t,” he interrupted, voice cracking on the edges. “You either trust me or you don’t.”

For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other. Her tears clung to her lashes, and the anguish in his expression was brutal. The space between them thrummed with pent-up longing and towering anger, their conflicting emotions practically vibrating in the dimly lit living room.

“That’s the problem,” she whispered finally, wiping at her eyes. “I’m scared. You’re Lando Norris. You could have anyone, and—God, look at me. I’m never going to be those girls. Never. I can’t compete with them.”

He laughed again, but it was devoid of humor, laced with sarcasm and heartbreak. “Compete with them? Compete for what? They mean nothing to me, Y/N. Nothing. Half the pictures you see are just me stuck in a club for a sponsor event or forced to smile next to models at a photoshoot. Do you think I’m sending them designer shoes or spending every spare moment trying to figure out how to get them to give me a chance?”

She closed her eyes, tears leaking down her cheeks. She hated feeling weak in front of him, but the swirl of rage and longing was too strong to contain. “You could just be infatuated. Maybe I’m the new chase, that’s all.”

Something inside him snapped at those words. He let out a sharp expletive, stepping forward, crowding her against the back of the couch. His eyes burned, voice trembling with an anger that threatened to boil over. “You really think so little of me? You think I’d be standing here like a bloody idiot, night after night, sending you flowers and calling you, chasing you across the city—just because I’m bored? How can you not see how furious it makes me, seeing you with someone else, even the idea of someone else, when I’ve done nothing but try to show you that you’re the only one I want?”

She flinched at the raw intensity in his voice. Her heart thundered, torn between fear and a twisted sense of relief that at least he cared this much. “I just—” she started, but her words failed her.

He grabbed her wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough that she couldn’t ignore him. “Do you have any idea how jealous I was tonight?” he practically snarled. “I’ve been pacing around your building, counting the hours, imagining you laughing with him, letting him touch you the way I want to—” His voice broke off, a tremor running through his shoulders. “It drove me insane.”

She swallowed hard, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Why?” she rasped. “Why do you even care?”

“Why?” he echoed. He let out a ragged breath, finally loosening his hold on her. His gaze flicked over her face, taking in every tear, every shaky breath. “Because I—” He closed his eyes, trembling. “Because I’m falling in love with you, Y/N. And it’s driving me out of my mind that you can’t see that.”

It was more of a confession than she’d ever expected, especially with so much anger behind it. She felt her whole world tilt. Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her heart hammered an erratic beat.

He stared at her, eyes a storm of rage and vulnerability. “So go ahead,” he said, voice cracking. “Yell at me. Tell me you don’t believe me. Tell me all the reasons we won’t work. But don’t you dare say I don’t care. Because I do. Too damn much.”

She choked back a sob, clinging to the edge of the couch for support. “Lando—”

He moved closer, so close she felt the heat radiating from him, the raw tension. In the hush of the apartment, their frantic breaths seemed deafening. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners. She didn’t know if it was the weight of his words or the sheer presence of him that shattered her defenses, but something inside her cracked wide open.

He brought a hand up, shaking slightly, and brushed the tears from her cheek. His touch was unexpectedly gentle given the fury in his eyes. “For God’s sake,” he muttered, voice tight, “just let me in. Let me show you.”

Her tears flowed freely now, a twisted mix of heartbreak and an ache for him she could no longer deny. Her lips trembled, trying to form a response, but all that came was a shaky sob. His breath hitched as if her pain sliced right through him. Suddenly, he couldn’t hold back; he looped an arm around her waist and yanked her against his chest, cradling her as if she might shatter. She stiffened at first, the shock of his physical closeness overwhelming. But then her fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, and she buried her face there, letting the dam break.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered fiercely into her hair. His voice still vibrated with anger, but it was undercut by raw desperation. “I’m so fucking jealous I can’t think straight, but I— I don’t want to lose you.”

She cried against him, letting the emotions flood her. Her tears soaked into his clothes. Her body shook as she let out all the doubts, the insecurities, the fear of being betrayed or left behind. He just held her, pressing rough kisses into her hair, letting his own ragged breaths warm the top of her head.

After what felt like an eternity, she pulled back enough to look up at him. His eyes were bloodshot with pent-up emotion. She could still sense the roiling jealousy and frustration coursing through him like a living thing.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked. “I’m sorry for always pushing you away. I’m sorry for—”

He silenced her with a searing kiss, lips crashing onto hers in a fierce, desperate claim. She gasped, momentarily stunned by the sheer force of it. Then a molten wave of longing shot through her, and she melted into him. Her arms came up around his neck, tangling in his messy curls. She sensed all that anger still there, fueling each press of his mouth, each frantic swipe of his tongue. But underneath it was something deeper—love, need, a yearning she recognized in herself.

He broke away only to rasp, “Don’t. Don’t apologize. Just—don’t run. Not anymore.”

She answered by pulling him back in, their kiss turning hot and frantic. Her tears mixed with the taste of his mouth, and she felt his hands roam over her waist, her hips, dragging her impossibly close. She moaned against his lips, the press of their bodies kindling an urgency that had been building for months.

Their breaths grew ragged as he maneuvered her backward until her knees hit the couch. She sank onto it, drawing him with her. He stared down at her, chest heaving, eyes heavy-lidded with desire—and still, that anger flickered at the edges. But now, his fury morphed into a desperate need to claim her, to prove himself in a way words never could.

“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, voice throaty and laced with jealousy so thick it almost hurt. “Tell me you want me, not him, not anyone else. Me.”

She cupped his face between her trembling hands. “God, Lando…I do,” she whispered, tears still wet on her cheeks. “It’s always been you.”

That was all he needed. His mouth crashed onto hers once more, their kisses feverish and unrestrained. She tugged at his hoodie, pulling it up until he helped yank it over his head. Her fingers immediately splayed across the warm skin of his back, feeling the tense muscles there. He groaned at her touch, sliding a hand under her blouse to stroke the small of her back, his calloused fingertips igniting every nerve ending.

Their kiss turned hungrier, the taste of him filling her senses. She arched against him, pressing her hips up into his. His lips trailed fiery kisses along her jaw, dipping to her neck, where he bit down softly, making her gasp. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.

His voice shook against her skin. “I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else,” he confessed, jealousy clinging to every syllable. “It drives me mad.”

Her breath hitched. Somehow, hearing how worked up he was, how all-consuming his feelings were, stoked her own desire. “I’m sorry,” she managed again, though it came out in a ragged whisper. “I’m— God, I’m sorry.”

He answered with another bruising kiss, leaving no space for apologies. His hand slid higher under her blouse, caressing the curve of her waist, tracing the outline of her ribcage. Her body quivered, half from the adrenaline spike, half from the sudden waves of pleasure.

Time blurred as they gave in to months of tension. She’d dreamed of this, yearned for it. But never had she imagined the raw intensity—especially not with him practically shaking from jealousy and fear of losing her. Every whispered plea, every frantic movement, carried that undercurrent of anger and heartbreak that now fed straight into a spiraling passion.

Lando’s lips claimed hers with a ferocity that left her breathless, his hands gripping her hips as if she might vanish if he loosened his hold. The taste of him was intoxicating—spiced with desperation, laced with a jealousy she could feel vibrating through every inch of his body. He pulled back only to trail kisses across her face—her cheeks, her jawline, her neck—each one a searing mark of his obsession. His mouth was everywhere, and she could barely think, let alone resist.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice trembling as his lips brushed the sensitive spot beneath her ear. His breath hitched, and she felt the tension in his shoulders, the restrained fury and longing that had been building for months.

“I’ve waited too long for this,” he growled against her skin, his hands sliding up her sides to grip the hem of her blouse. With a sharp tug, he pulled it over her head, leaving her in nothing but her bra. The cool air hit her skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as he took her in.

His hands slid over her shoulders, down her arms, then back up to cup her face. He kissed her again, softer this time, but no less urgent. His thumbs brushed her cheeks, wiping away the remnants of her tears. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent. “I can’t believe I almost lost you.”

Her breath caught as he moved lower, his lips brushing her collarbone, her shoulders, every inch of her exposed skin. His hands fumbled with the clasp of her bra, and she arched into him, her heart pounding as the fabric fell away. The moment her breasts were bare, his eyes darkened with hunger.

“God, I’ve dreamed about this,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. His hands cupped her, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped her lips. He smiled—a wicked, possessive thing—before lowering his head to take one into his mouth.

The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. His tongue swirled around her nipple, teasing and sucking, and she tangled her fingers in his curls, pulling him closer. He groaned against her skin, the sound vibrating through her chest, and she felt her hips arch involuntarily.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. “Please.”

He pulled back just enough to look up at her, his lips swollen, his eyes blazing. “Tell me you’re mine,” he demanded, his voice rough. “Tell me no one else gets to touch you like this.”

She could barely think, let alone form words, but she managed to nod, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “I’m yours,” she whispered. “Only yours.”

That was all he needed. He dove back in, his mouth claiming her other breast with the same intensity. His hands roamed over her body, exploring every curve, every inch of skin as if he were memorizing her. She writhed beneath him, her moans filling the room, her hands clutching at his back as if he were the only thing keeping her grounded.

He shifted, his lips trailing down her sternum, over her ribs, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hands squeezed her hips, fingers digging into her skin, and she whimpered, the sound desperate and needy.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. He kissed her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel, and she gasped, her back arching off the couch. His hands slid up her sides, tracing the curve of her waist, before finally cupping her breasts again.

He leaned up, his lips claiming hers in a searing kiss, and she could taste herself on his tongue—sweet, addictive. His hands kneaded her breasts, his thumbs brushing her nipples, and she moaned into his mouth, her hips grinding against his.

“I’ve been imagining this for so long,” he confessed, pulling back just enough to speak. His breath was warm against her skin, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire. “Every night, I’ve dreamed about touching you like this. About feeling you beneath me. About making you moan my name.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she tugged him closer, her lips capturing his in a desperate kiss. He groaned, his hands sliding down her body to grip her hips, pulling her flush against him. She could feel the hardness of him through his jeans, and she whimpered, the sound muffled against his lips.

“Lando,” she gasped, breaking the kiss. Her hands slid down his chest, fumbling with the button of his jeans. He watched her, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes filled with need.

“Wait,” he growled, catching her hands in his. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Before she could protest, he pushed her back against the couch, his lips trailing down her body once more. He kissed her breasts, her stomach, her hips, and she squirmed beneath him, her hands tangling in his hair as he reached for the waistband of her jeans. His hands were impatient, fingers fumbling with the button and zipper, and she let out a shaky laugh, half from nerves, half from the sheer intensity of his focus.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice trembling as he tugged the denim down her hips. He kissed her exposed skin, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just above the edge of her panties, and she gasped, her back arching off the couch. Her jeans pooled at her ankles, and he pulled them off in one swift motion, tossing them aside without a second thought.

Her legs were bare now, her body trembling beneath his gaze. He looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered, his eyes filled with a hunger that made her heart race. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “Every inch of you.”

Her hands clenched in his hair, tugging him closer as he kissed his way back up her body. His lips found hers again, the kiss bruising, desperate, and she moaned into his mouth, her hips lifting off the couch in search of friction. He groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as he held her still, his lips moving to her neck, her collarbone, her breasts.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice breaking as his teeth grazed her nipple. He chuckled, the sound low and satisfied, before pulling back to look at her.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he promised, his eyes blazing with intent. She shivered, her body already a trembling mess beneath him, and he smirked, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs. “Not even close.”

“Lando,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “Please.”

He looked up at her, his eyes blazing, and he didn’t say a word. Instead, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties and pulled them down, leaving her completely bare. Her breath hitched as he stared at her, his gaze raking over her body with a hunger that made her heart race.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice low and reverent. “Every inch of you.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing the inside of her thigh, and she tensed, her hands clutching the couch cushions. His breath was warm against her skin, and she whimpered, her hips lifting off the couch in a silent plea.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Please.”

He didn’t make her wait. His mouth claimed her in one swift movement, and she cried out, her back arching off the couch. His tongue swirled around her, teasing and tasting, and she tangled her hands in his hair, pulling him closer.

“Oh, God,” she moaned, her hips grinding against his face. “Lando, please.”

Lando’s mouth was relentless, his tongue tracing every inch of her with a hunger that left her trembling. She could feel the slick heat of him working her, his tongue lapping at her entrance, teasing her with slow, deliberate strokes that made her toes curl. “Oh, God, Lando,” she gasped, her hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer as if she could fuse him to her. His lips wrapped around her clit, sucking gently at first, then harder, and she let out a strangled cry, her hips lifting off the couch. The sensation was electric, like a current running straight to her core, and she could feel herself getting wetter, her body responding to every flick of his tongue.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growled against her skin, his voice rough and raw. “I’ve been dreaming about this—about how sweet you’d feel, how tight you’d be.” His tongue swirled around her clit, teasing her mercilessly, and she moaned, the sound ragged and desperate. He pulled back just enough to look up at her, his eyes blazing with a mix of lust and something deeper, something possessive. “I could spend hours here,” he muttered, his breath hot against her skin. “Just tasting you, learning every inch of you. You’re fucking addictive.”

She whimpered, her body quivering as he dove back in, his tongue working her with a skill that left her mind blank. He added two fingers, sliding them inside her with a groan, and she cried out, her pussy clenching around him. “Jesus, you’re so tight,” he murmured, his fingers curling inside her, hitting that spot that made her see stars. “And so fucking wet—God, you’re perfect.” He pumped his fingers slowly, drawing out every gasp, every moan, and she could feel herself spiraling toward the edge. “That’s it, baby,” he encouraged, his voice low and husky. “Let me hear you. Let me know how good I’m making you feel.”

She couldn’t hold back the sounds escaping her lips—moans, whimpers, his name repeated like a prayer. His tongue flicked over her clit, alternating between gentle licks and firm pressure, and she felt her legs quake, her body tightening like a coiled spring. “Lando, I—” she choked out, her voice breaking as the pleasure built to unbearable levels. “I’m so close—please.”

He didn’t let up, his mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony, driving her higher and higher until she shattered. Her orgasm hit her like a wave, crashing over her with a force that left her gasping for air, her pussy clenching around his fingers as she rode out the intensity. He didn’t stop, his tongue coaxing every last tremor from her body, his lips pressing soft, reverent kisses to her inner thighs as she came down from the high.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration. He leaned up, kissing her stomach, her chest, her lips, and she could taste herself on his tongue—sweet, intoxicating. “I’m never going to get enough of you,” he confessed, his hands roaming her body, memorizing her curves. “Your pussy, your taste, the way you moan my name—it’s all fucking perfect. You’re mine, Y/N. All mine.”

She nodded, too dazed to speak, her body still humming with pleasure. He kissed her again, slow and deep, and she melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair. He pulled back just enough to smirk at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “And I’m just getting started.”

Lando’s hands slid under her back, his strong arms lifting her effortlessly as if she weighed nothing. She gasped, her arms instinctively looping around his neck as he stood, cradling her against his chest. Her body felt weightless, her mind still hazy from the intensity of what he’d just done to her. He carried her through the dimly lit apartment, his steps purposeful and steady, never once breaking his gaze from hers. There was something possessive in his expression, something that made her heart race even faster.

When they reached her bedroom, he gently lowered her onto the bed, her body sinking into the softness of the mattress. She was completely bare now, her skin glowing faintly in the moonlight streaming through the windows. Her pussy was still sensitive, still throbbing from the way he’d made her come, and she could feel the slickness between her thighs as she lay there, her legs slightly parted—an unspoken invitation.

Lando stood at the edge of the bed, his eyes raking over her with a hunger that made her shiver. His fingers gripped the hem of his hoodie, and he yanked it over his head in one swift motion, revealing his toned chest and the faint trail of hair that led down to the waistband of his jeans. She bit her lip, her gaze tracing the lines of his body, the way his muscles flexed as he moved.

He wasted no time, his hands quickly undoing the button of his jeans, the zipper sliding down with a soft hiss. He kicked them off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, the fabric barely containing the hardness straining against it. Her breath hitched as she took him in, the reality of what was about to happen finally sinking in.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as he stepped closer to the bed. His hands slid up her thighs, his touch sending shivers through her. “I’ve been imagining this for so long—having you like this, seeing you laid out for me, completely mine.” He leaned down, his lips brushing her inner thigh, and she whimpered, her body arching toward him.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please…”

He smirked, that wicked, possessive smile she was starting to love—and fear—as he straightened. “Patience, love,” he said, his voice teasing. “I’m not done with you yet.” His hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed, and she felt the warmth of his body as he leaned over her, his breath hot against her skin. “You’re mine now, Y/N. All mine.”

Lando’s fingers traced the curve of her hip, his eyes filled with a possessive hunger that made her shiver. His breath was hot against her skin as he leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. “Tell me how you want me, Y/N,” he growled, his voice low and rough with desire. “Tell me what you need from me.”

Her breath hitched, her body trembling beneath his touch. She could feel the slick heat between her thighs, the ache for him almost unbearable. “You can do whatever you want with me, Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “Just—please. Fuck me. However you want. I just need you inside me.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. “Desperate for me, huh?” he teased, his fingers sliding up her thigh, tracing the sensitive skin there. “You’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you? About me fucking you, making you mine.”

She whimpered, her hips lifting off the bed in a silent plea. “Yes,” she gasped, her hands clutching the sheets. “I need you, Lando. Please.”

He smirked, that wicked, possessive smile she was starting to love—and fear—as he straightened. Slowly, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, his eyes never leaving hers. The fabric slid down his hips, and her breath caught in her throat. He was bigger than she expected, his cock thick and hard, straining toward her. Her mouth watered at the sight, her body growing even wetter as she imagined how he would feel inside her.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I want to suck you. Let me—”

He cut her off with a firm shake of his head, his hand catching her chin and tilting her face up to his. “Not tonight, love,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Tonight’s about you. About worshiping you. About finally having you in the way I’ve been dreaming of for so long.” He leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a searing kiss. “You can suck me off another time. Right now, I need to be inside you. Right now, I need to see my dick sliding in and out of that pretty pussy of yours.”

Her breath hitched, her body trembling with anticipation. His words alone were enough to make her throb, but the way he looked at her—like she was the only thing that mattered—made her heart race even faster. She nodded, her legs falling open wider in an unspoken invitation.

Lando groaned, his hand sliding down to grip his cock, stroking himself once as he positioned himself between her thighs. “You’re mine now, Y/N,” he growled, his voice thick with possession. “All mine.”

Lando’s grip on her hips tightened as he lined himself up, the thick head of his cock brushing against her slick entrance. She gasped, her body instinctively arching toward his, desperate for more. Her pussy felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending alive and screaming for him. The way he stretched her was exquisite—a perfect mix of pleasure and a hint of pain that made her grind her hips against his, silently begging him to go deeper. She could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as he pushed inside her, inch by torturously slow inch, filling her in a way that made her head spin. Her pussy clenched around him, as if it didn’t want to let him go, and she let out a whimper that was half pleasure, half desperation.

For Lando, it was like sliding into heaven. Her pussy was so fucking tight, gripping him like a velvet glove, and the heat of her was enough to make him see stars. He groaned, low and guttural, as he felt her walls flutter around him, her body adjusting to his size. “Fuck, Y/N,” he growled, his voice rough with need. “You’re so goddamn perfect. Your pussy feels like it was made for me.” He leaned down, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss, swallowing her moans as he pushed deeper. He could feel her nails digging into his back, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, and he knew she was just as desperate as he was.

He started to move, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in hard but slow, dragging the movement to prolong the unbearable pleasure. Her moans filled the room, a symphony of bliss that drove him wild. One of his hands held her hip, keeping her steady, while the other rested on the bed, his elbow bent to hold his weight above her. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, her fingers tangling in his curls as she clung to him, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Lando couldn’t get enough of her. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, her collarbone—every inch of skin he could reach. His lips traced a fiery path across her body, leaving marks that claimed her as his. “You’re mine,” he whispered against her skin, his voice thick with possession. “Every part of you. Your pussy, your moans, these fucking perfect tits—all fucking mine.” He pulled back just enough to look down at where their bodies were joined, his cock glistening with her arousal as he slid in and out of her. The sight was obscene, and it made his groin tighten with need. “Fuck, look at you,” he groaned. “Look how fucking wet you are for me. Your pussy’s sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”

She cried out as he thrust deeper, her hips lifting to meet his, eager for more. The friction was almost too much, every drag of his cock inside her sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. She could feel him in places she’d never felt anyone before, his length filling her completely, and the thought alone made her pussy clench around him. “Lando,” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “You feel so good. So fucking good. Don’t stop—please, don’t stop.”

He growled, his thrusts becoming harder, more deliberate, as if he was trying to imprint himself on her very soul. “I’m not stopping,” he promised, his voice rough with lust. “Not until you’re screaming my name, until you’re so fucking full of me you can’t think of anyone else.” His hand slid up from her hip to cup her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple, and she moaned, her back arching off the bed.

Her hips pressed against his, her eagerness driving him wild. He couldn’t believe how responsive she was, how perfectly she matched his rhythm, as if their bodies were made for each other. “You’re so fucking eager for me,” he muttered, his eyes blazing with need. “I love it. I love how much you fucking want me.” His lips crashed onto hers, their breaths mingling, and she could taste herself on his tongue, sweet and addictive.

Their movements grew frantic, desperate—a symphony of skin against skin, breathless moans, and the wet sound of their bodies colliding. She could feel it building, the tight coil in her core winding tighter and tighter until it threatened to snap. Her pussy clenched around him, the sensations overwhelming—every inch of him filling her, stretching her, making her feel impossibly full. The friction was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body, and she could tell from the erratic rhythm of his thrusts that he was close too.

“Please, Lando,” she begged, her voice trembling with desperation. “Come with me. Let me feel you.”

He groaned, his forehead resting against hers as his hips stuttered. “Fuck, baby, come on my cock,” he panted, his voice rough with need. “I want to feel you clench around me. Let go for me.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, her pussy contracting around him in waves of pure ecstasy. It felt like fire and ice all at once—her body trembling, her vision blurring as she cried out his name. Her pussy pulsed around his cock, milking him, and the sensation was so intense she could barely breathe.

For Lando, it was heaven. Her tight, wet walls clenched around him in the most perfect rhythm, fluttering and gripping him like she never wanted to let go. He groaned, low and guttural, as he felt her orgasm ripple through her body, each contraction pulling him closer to the edge. “Fuck, Y/N,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “Your pussy feels too fucking good. I can’t hold back much longer.”

“Where do you want it, baby?” he panted, his thrusts slowing but still deep, still deliberate. “Tell me where you want me to cum.”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with desire, and licked her lips. “On my tits,” she whispered, her voice sultry and low. “Cover them. Make a mess of me.”

His eyes widened, his jaw tightening as he tried to hold back. Her tits—god, her perfect tits—had been his obsession for so long, and the thought of covering them with his cum nearly made him lose it. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna make me lose it,” he panted, staring down at her chest like it was sacred.

She smirked, her confidence growing as she saw the way he looked at her. “You love my tits that much?” she teased, pushing them together with her hands. Her fingers kneaded the soft flesh, her nipples hard and begging for attention. “Come on, then—mark them. Make them yours.”

Lando groaned, his cock twitching inside her at the sight. Her tits were perfection—full, soft, and begging for his cum. He couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled out of her slowly, his cock slick with her arousal, and she whimpered at the loss of him. Her pussy felt empty, aching, but the sight of him stroking himself above her made her throb all over again.

She watched, mesmerized, as he gripped his cock, his hand moving up and down in long, deliberate strokes. Her tits were pushed together now, her hands cupping them, her fingers teasing her nipples. She loved the sight of him—his face flushed, his jaw tight as he fought for control. “Look at me, Lando,” she urged, her voice low and sultry. “You love these tits so much? Then come on them.”

He groaned, his hand moving faster, his eyes locked on her chest. “You’re so fucking perfect like this,” he said through gritted teeth. “Tits pushed up for me… fuck.”

She licked her lips, her eyes full of desire. “I want it all, Lando,” she urged, her voice trembling with need. “Cover me with it—don’t hold back.”

He groaned, his hand moving urgently over his cock as he felt his orgasm building. “You’re all mine,” he growled, his voice thick with possession. “These tits are mine. I’m gonna mark them, Y/N. I’m gonna make sure everyone knows they belong to me.”

She licked her lips, her fingers teasing her nipples as she watched him. “Stroke it for me… faster. Let go. I want every drop. Cover me, Lando. Make me yours.”

Her words were the final push he needed. With a strangled moan, he came, thick ropes of cum spurting onto her tits, coating them in his release. His hand moved furiously over his cock, milking every last drop as he stared down at her, his chest heaving.

For Y/N, the sight was intoxicating. Watching him cum on her tits, seeing the way his face twisted in pleasure, the way his body trembled as he let go—it was almost as good as the orgasm he’d just given her. She felt his cum splattering against her skin, warm and sticky, and she couldn’t help but moan at the sensation. “God, Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re so fucking hot like this.”

For Lando, the moment was unreal. The sight of his cum streaked across her tits, the way she looked up at him with those hungry eyes—it was enough to make his knees weak. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed, his voice rough with awe. “I could watch this all day.”

She smirked, her fingers trailing through the sticky warmth of his cum on her chest. With deliberate slowness, she dipped a single finger into the mess, coating it in his release. Her eyes never left his as she brought her finger to her lips, her tongue darting out to taste him. The salty tang of his cum hit her senses, and she moaned softly, her lips curling into a wicked smile as she sucked the finger clean. His cock still rested in his hand, twitching at the sight of her, and she could see the hunger in his eyes—raw, untamed, and absolutely desperate for her.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, her voice low and dripping with desire.

His breath hitched, his body already responding to her command. He leaned down without hesitation, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. Their mouths collided with a hunger that left her dizzy, and she could feel the sticky remnants of his release still on her fingers as she tangled her hand in his hair, pulling him closer. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she moaned, the taste of herself mixed with him—salty, intoxicating—sending a shiver down her spine.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growled against her lips, his voice rough with need. His hands slid up her sides, fingers digging into her skin as if he couldn’t get enough of her. “You’re mine, Y/N. All mine.”

She whimpered into his mouth, her body still trembling from the intensity of their connection. Her hips shifted slightly beneath him, and she could feel the heat of his arousal radiating off him, igniting her own desire all over again.

When he finally broke the kiss, they were both breathless, their foreheads pressed together as they tried to steady themselves. “Stay here,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with something that made her heart race. He kissed her once more, quick and possessive, before pulling away.

She watched him as he disappeared into the bathroom, her chest still glistening with his release. The sight of his cum streaked across her tits made her cheeks flush, but the warmth in her chest outweighed any lingering embarrassment. He returned moments later with a warm, damp towel in hand, his eyes softening as he knelt beside the bed.

“Let me clean you up,” he said, his voice gentle but no less possessive. She nodded, her breath catching as he pressed the towel to her skin, the warmth soothing the sticky mess he’d left behind. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were savoring every moment of this intimacy. His eyes never left her face, and she felt her heart swell at the tenderness in his gaze.

When he was done, he tossed the towel aside and crawled back into bed, pulling her into his arms. Her body melted against his, the warmth of his skin a comforting contrast to the cool air of the room. She rested her head on his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over his skin as their breathing slowly synced.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer, and she felt a wave of contentment wash over her. “Mine,” he added, his tone possessive but soft, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Yours,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible. She closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat lull her into a sense of peace. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt safe, cherished, and utterly claimed.

They lay there, tangled together, the hum of the city outside a distant reminder of the world beyond their little bubble. For now, it was just the two of them, and she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Neither spoke for a while, the room thick with the mingled scents of sweat and relief. The adrenaline that had fueled their passion was giving way to a wave of emotions—vulnerability, uncertainty, a fragile sense of hope. Finally, Lando spoke, voice hoarse.

“Y/N?”

She peeked up at him, flushed. She wasn’t used to such intense intimacy, but she nestled against his warmth. “Yeah?”

He swallowed. “I… I don’t regret this. But I need you to know: I’m not just here for one night. I want you in every sense of the word. I’m serious.”

Her chest clenched with emotion. She ran a hand along his jawline, stubble prickling her fingers. “I’m scared,” she confessed quietly. “But… I want you, too. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

His gaze softened. “Then let’s try. Let me show you I can be the man you need. I’ll prove it however long it takes.”

She closed her eyes, soaking in the moment, in the warmth of his embrace. The city lights shimmered outside, as if reflecting her tumultuous inner world. In that moment, though, she let herself believe in the possibility, let the anger and hurt recede in the face of the closeness they’d found.

The hours after their passionate collision were a storm of emotions. She felt a ripple of self-consciousness, but he only looked at her with the same unguarded admiration as before, as though he couldn’t believe she was real.

In the faint glow of the bedside lamp, she saw him glancing around her bedroom—how neatly organized it was, how it contrasted with the chaos they’d just unleashed in the living room. He let out a soft chuckle, leaning back against the pillows.

“You have no idea how many nights I’ve dreamed about just being near you,” he said quietly.

She swallowed a lump of emotion, sinking onto the mattress beside him. “Why me?” she whispered, the familiar insecurity creeping back. “You could have anyone.”

He caught her chin gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You keep saying that, but the truth is, not everyone is you. I’ve met countless people. You’re different. It’s in the way you carry yourself, the way you see the world, the way you call me out on my bullshit. And… I can’t even describe it. I just know I want no one else.”

She felt tears threaten again, but they were tears of a tender ache this time, not the angry sting of earlier. “I guess… I need to learn how to trust that.”

He nodded, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Let me earn that trust.”

She scooted closer, letting her head rest on his shoulder. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of him lull her into a sense of security she’d never quite felt before. Deep down, she knew they had miles to go—her fears about his reputation, her wariness about the future, and the question of whether he would eventually tire of her or not. But for now, she let herself savor this fleeting peace, the sense of belonging in his arms.

Because after nine months of running, she was finally letting herself be caught.

2K notes · View notes

monstersholygrail · 1 month ago

Text

Oh my god, guys, I'm distraught. I have completely neglected all of the possibilities you could write with the Touch Pools at aquariums!! Literally there's endless things you can do with it!

Especially within Free Use City, a touch pool is the perfect space to just go wild. Imagine if the hybrid aquarium is feeling a little mischievous and they decide to put a rule that there’s no fucking allowed in the touch pool areas.

Those areas are only for the sensual touching of the hybrids. Soft caresses of your bodies, edging them till they threaten to burst, hand jobs that have them panting and squirming for you.

But that doesn’t stop the hybrids from jumping out of the tank as soon as their shift ends and dragging the human of their choice to the next room where they can fuck to their hearts content.

But the only issue for this Ray Hybrid is that his shift only started an hour ago and you, the most gorgeous drool worthy human he’s ever seen, just walked in.

It’s impossible not to stare at you. He can already feel the others start to eye you down and some of them finish work before him, that won’t do. He has to have you. He longs to be the one caressing you instead of the other way around. Your plump curves too enticing to resist, your softness too alluring to hold back much longer.

You’re shy compared to the other people along the edge of the tank, almost nervous like you might get stun. It’s alright, he won’t let anything hurt you.

Luckily you meet his eye first and not any of those other greedy rays and sharks in the pool. They all may want a taste but he’ll take first. Then maybe he’ll share with the pool because you deserve to be ravished.

The two of you share a silent conversation through suggestive looks and before you know it the Ray Hybrid is pulling you into the pool and gliding through the water into a cave where no one can see you.

The second the Ray Hybrid has you alone he’s shoving your clothes aside and burying his face into your pretty cunt, lapping up your sweet slick, his long tongue reaching spots inside of you that you didn’t even know existed. He can’t seem to slow down for the life of him, the taste of you bursts across his sense and makes him feral with need.

When you’re ready and prepped he rocks his cock into your dripping fuck hole with ease, not giving you a moment to adjust as he starts pounding away at your poor needy cunt.

You writhe against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. You never do things like this, reckless things. And you know you’ll never forget this moment. He won’t let you as he molds your walls to the shape of his cock.

Each roll of his hips sends you closer to release and that’s when you feel it, a heavy weight pressing against your entrance. It throbs against you, silently weeping for access to your warmth.

“I-is that what, nngh—ahh!, I think it is?” You ask breathlessly through broken moans.

The Ray Hybrid flaps his fins as he loses his mind to pleasure of your tight walls wrapped so sweetly around his thick girth. A fucked out smile forms on his face as he gets drunk off your addictive pussy.

“Mhm. S’my knot. You wan’ it, my sweet pearl?” He asks, his speech slurred with desire.

His hand slides between your bodies, pinching and twisting your other pearl, toying with your clit to help loosen your plush frame and throw you into that much needed release.

The way he works your body has you gasping out a yes, begging for his big knot. And the moment his knot slips inside of you, stretching out your cunt just right, your explodes with pleasure as you cum all over his knock. Milking his cock for all it’s worth. He’s coming right after you, his knock locking you in place as he shoots hot jets of cum right into your pulsing womb.

Ray Hybrid sags against you, snuggling closer and making sure he doesn’t hurt you with his tail as you wait for his knot to go down.

But the scent of your release doesn’t go unnoticed by the other hybrids in the tank. Within minutes he can sense them closing in on you, all of them wanting to fill you and breed you just as he has.

It seems like you’ll be getting even more out of this little trip to the aquarium touch pools than you originally thought.

2K notes · View notes

little-miss-dilf-lover · 1 month ago

Note

Ok so i saw a tweet that made me feral, so here i am with a request

It was based on a still from Thunderbolts* with Bucky in the kitchen wearing the tank top, the person said he looked like a dad waiting for the baby bottles to sterilise,,,, so true

I was thinking about #that bucky joining reader in the kitchen after dinner and doing it for the first time after having their baby 😵‍💫

so sorry it’s taken me way longer to get to than planned. thanks for requesting 💌

EIGHT WEEKS. 18+

bucky barnes x fem!reader

wc. 1407 warnings. 18+ only! quickie in the kitchen, pinv (but not much smut, my apologies. ive written so much porn lately i fear my brain may explode) mdni

⎯ ☆ ⎯

For the last near eight weeks, shitty diapers, vomit and fatigue had been all you and Bucky had known. The excessively late nights and nipple pain all being traced back to the sweet, beautiful tyrant of a daughter that you recently welcomed into the world.

And while you were both worse for wear and stretched incredibly thin with the new change of dynamics in the household, you wouldn’t have it any other way — motherhood a great look on you and fatherhood just as good a look on your lover.

Like anything, it all took some getting used to: the stress, running on minimal sleep, intense blinding irritation, but it was all made easier with the great support system you call a husband. All of his attention and time being divided between his two girls. And with time, you began to feel like your old self again.

By now, it was late and it was like you were each too tired to sleep, each of you barely functioning as you work through the household jobs.

Bucky’s at the kitchen counter, his time split between bottle sterilisation and the dishes, while you’re at the sofa’s, organising and piling the excessive amounts of baby grows and other laundry. Each of you doing jobs to lighten the giant load.

You stack the clean laundry in the basket and set it on your hip, using your free hand to drag the laundry hamper with you as you walk. You set it in your shared bedroom and meet Bucky back in the kitchen.

You stand beside him and rest your head on his shoulder, eyes closing as if to soak up the calm quiet. He presses a kiss to your temple and lays the side of his head atop yours, giving you a moment of attention while he focuses on the tasks at hand: carefully attaching bottles with lids so as not to contaminate the sterile vessel.

You wrap your arm around his back, snuggling into his side as you watch him. Whoever would have thought that the hands that were made for death and destruction could now be preparing bottles for your baby in a few rooms over.

“Good news about the doctors today, huh?”

He pauses and lifts his head from yours. So you turn and see his expression confused, brows furrowing.

“What news?” he asks, utterly perplexed.

“I texted you this morning,” you match his befuddled tone and reach into your robe pocket for your phone. “The doctor gave me the all clear. I told you about it as soon as I found out…” you mindlessly reiterate, eyes then beginning to narrow as you look at your screen. “Oh my god,” you whisper, and shake your head. “I never send it.”

“Is it bad news?” he questions, eyes softening slightly as they meet yours.

“God no, well… depends how you look at it,” you smile and turn your phone, showing him the screen.

He stills as he reads your unsent text, brows continuing to furrow. “What is that? Is that an eggplant?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why is it there?”

“It’s supposed to be sexy,” you playfully frown.

“Sexy?”

“Yeah,” you nod, pointing to the emoji beside the eggplant one. “See, the peach.”

“I don’t understand,” his head shakes, eyes flickering between you and your phone.

You inhale and close your eyes. “Okay, alright,” you focus on him. “I saw my doctor today, and she gave me the all clear…” you pause, watching the connections slowly being made in his tired blue eyes.

“So we can have sex?”

“So we can have sex,” you repeat, mirroring his tone and expression.

Part of you questioned whether you should wait until the weekend, wait until you’ve dropped your daughter off with your family. It had been a long time since you’ve been properly fulfilled by your husband, everything but full penetrative sex to suffice during your weeks of healing.

So this was quite the confliction.

You give it a moment's thought and meet his eyes again. “Are you tired?” you ask.

“Are you?” he deflects and returns the question, wanting to hear what you have to say before he answers for himself.

“I mean…” you shrug your shoulders. “Yeah, very. But… a quickie can’t hurt, right?”

“Who doesn’t love a quickie?”

“Exactly,” you smile and turn so your back is against the counter. You lift yourself up onto it, sitting on the edge with your feet dangling down.

He moves to stand between your knees and settles his hands beside yours. “And then this weekend…” he pauses and itches forward, lips ghosting yours briefly. “I can take you up to the lake…” he presses a slow lengthy kiss to your lips.

“Yeah…” you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him again. “What else?”

He pretends to give it some thought but the plan was already extensively created in his head. “I can make us some dinner,” he begins to list and reaches for the bow of your robe, tugging on it gently. “We can go for a walk around the woods, maybe collect some firewood. Sit on the deck and watch the sun go down.”

You drop your hands from around his neck and move to the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, fingers mindlessly slipping into the top. You reach down the front and begin palming over his cock, eyes focused on his as you listen.

“Mhm-hm,” you prompt, eager to hear more.

“Well,” he pauses and reaches into the elastic of your underwear. “We can sit in the cabin, maybe have some wine by the fire…” he starts, voice drawing to a whisper, speech halting when he leans in to kiss you again. But he doesn’t continue on with his plan. Instead he grows quiet, quite like he was wanting to reserve the more intimate moments for a surprise.

And so he slips your underwear down your thighs, the lifting of your ass from the counter aiding the removal. He watches the fabric drag across your skin, the material grazing flesh until it gets caught between your knees. You feel the resistance and lift a knee, letting the underwear fall from one leg and down the length of the other.

The hand you had tucked down the front of his boxers moves back up to the waistband, fingers resuming their prior finnicking into the elastic. You drop your hand from around his neck and join the one at the top of his pyjama bottoms — both of them hastily yanking on the fabric.

Bucky helps, moving his hands from your underwear to his own. He gives both garments a heavy tug, each catching around the swell of his thighs — revealing just enough of himself as required.

He spits into his palm and smears it messily over his dick. You both watch the lewd display between you, eyes transfixed on the slight twitching of him, cock growing hard under his touch.

Guiding himself closer he smacks his head against your cunt. The little slaps an attempt to speeden up his erection.

He holds himself within his left, metal hand and spits once again into the palm of his other, only this time he smears it over your pussy — a makeshift lube saving you both a trip to the bedroom.

Lining up with you, he teases at your entrance briefly, quite like he was refamiliarising you with the contact of his cock and himself with your cunt once again. He sinks into you slowly and both of your faces contort, the feeling of sheer, unadulterated, lustrous bliss growing with each passing inch.

Your arms wrap around him as if you’re in dire need of his touch, your hands squeezing tightly around his bank. And with the close contact, his forehead falls to press against yours, bodies close as you both delve into the bliss of what got you your daughter in the first place.

Although this brief, fatigued session was about to reopen a massive can of worms for your sex life, it was clear that this time it may have to be cut short — the long awaited sensations could not quite be replicated by one to the other meant things tonight were bound to end prematurely.

And so this little session might just have to serve as an appetiser, a taster for the weekend to come when you both finally get around to rekindling things properly in the bedroom.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky smut #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky x female reader

2K notes · View notes

inseobts · 2 months ago

Note

hello i apologize if this is a lot but i'd love to req a fic w/ zoro, law, ace, sanji where reader is normally mature but has cuteness aggression to animals, & when she started dating them, she does it to the boys too- suddenly clinging onto them while aggressively peppering their faces w/ kisses or squeezing their cheeks & just being so overly proud of them & showering them w/ compliments, it can be a common occurrence or it takes the boys by surprise lol you decide ^o^

also, thank u for ur service to the op community on tumblr 🫡 the quality & frequency of ur fics are impressive, i always look forward to ur updates♡

Clingy Combat Cuddles

characters: zoro, sanji, law, ace (x fem!reader) + chopper (platonic but with zoro too)

a/n: they're kinda short because I didn't have many ideas, so I added chopper (ofc it's platonic tho + it has zoro in it!)

words count: around 0.4k - 0.6k each

tags: fluff, humor, cuteness aggression, established relationship (except for chopper ofc)

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Zoro:

The deck of the Sunny is peaceful. The sun is warm. The sea is calm. A perfect day.

And Zoro has just fought a sea king.

You're watching from the side, arms crossed, lips pressed together, trying to stay cool and composed. Like always.

But Zoro walks past you, shirt still off, a little cut on his cheek, sword resting against his shoulder and he scowls at the deck like it personally offended him.

That’s it.

That’s the moment.

Your brain breaks.

You lunge at him without warning “Zoro!”

He turns his head, barely reacting in time before you wrap your arms around his neck, jumping slightly so you can hang off him, nuzzling your face into the side of his jaw.

“YOU WERE SO COOL!! You chopped that thing like shing shing BAM! My big strong grumpy samurai baby!”

He stiffens “Oi! What the—”

You grab his face between both hands, squishing his cheeks together like dough.

“Look at this face! So serious! So brave! So slicey! UGH!!”

You start kissing his cheeks, nose, forehead, even his frown line like you're on a mission.

Zoro is frozen. Arms hanging in the air like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“…Did you hit your head?” he finally mutters.

“No!” you say, still kissing him “I just... I have a thing!”

“A thing?”

“Yes! I get aggressive when things are too cute or too cool or too brave! Like when Chopper does his little dance or when cats squish into boxes—and now you!”

He gives you a blank look “So… you're calling me cute?”

“No,” you say seriously “I’m calling you the cutest deadly thing I’ve ever seen and I want to eat your face in the most loving way possible.”

“...What.”

A few feet away, the rest of the crew is watching like it’s a new show.

Luffy’s grinning, sitting on the railing “He’s gonna explode.”

Usopp is pale “I’ve never seen her like that. That’s terrifying.”

Sanji’s cigarette hangs from his lip, forgotten “He doesn’t deserve that level of affection, but damn if I’m not jealous.”

Robin chuckles “So, this is what she’s like when the mask slips. Fascinating.”

Back to Zoro who now has you hanging off his front, kissing under his chin while mumbling things like “my battle bear” and “look at this terrifying angel”.

He finally puts a hand on your back, awkwardly “…You’re seriously not joking.”

“Nope,” you chirp, grinning like a lunatic “I’m so proud of you I might die. Look at you! Protecting everyone without hesitation. You’re amazing.”

He stares at you. Then down at his swords. Then at the deck.

“I just killed a sea king.”

“And it was HOT.”

Zoro groans and hides his face behind your shoulder.

Later on you’re sitting on the grass, your head in his lap, Zoro finally having managed to drag you somewhere quieter. Sort of.

He’s sharpening his swords, jaw set, pretending he’s not enjoying the way you keep sneaking kisses to his thigh.

“You done acting weird?”

“Nope,” you say, immediately reaching up to pinch his cheek again “You’re mine now. This is the price.”

Zoro sighs, annoyed.

But he doesn’t move your hand.

Instead, he glances down, and there’s a tiny hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“You better not do this in front of enemies.”

“No promises.”

“…Tch.”

You grin and tug him down for another forehead kiss.

And this time, he lets you.

── .✦ Sanji:

You’ve been good today. Calm. Collected. You kept your hands to yourself through breakfast, through a minor skirmish with Marines, and even through Sanji’s dramatic backflip dodge while holding two plates of soup.

But now… Now he’s plating dessert.

He hums a little as he swirls whipped cream into perfect little peaks.

His hair falls over his eye just a bit, and there's flour on his cheek.

You try. You really try.

But no... You’re losing it.

“Sanji—” you say, voice tight.

He turns with a warm smile “Yes, my love?”

You’re already marching toward him.

“Oh no,” he says, eyes wide with anticipation “Is it time?”

“It’s time.”

You slam into him like a heat-seeking missile, arms wrapping tight around his middle as you squish your cheek against his chest.

“TOO PERFECT. TOO BEAUTIFUL. TOO TALENTED” you shout into his shirt.

Sanji laughs and drops the whipped cream just in time to catch you with both arms.

“Mon dieu, you’re doing it again. You’re going to kill me with affection.”

You grab his face “GOOD. DIE WITH LOVE.”

You start smothering him in kisses: forehead, cheeks, chin, nose, ears, rapid-fire smooches with increasing intensity.

Sanji nearly melts.

“Chérie, please, my heart can only take so much—”

“Look at you!” you cry, squeezing his cheeks “Your stupid little smile and your perfect food and your gentleman act! You’re SO ANNOYINGLY AMAZING!”

He practically purrs “Say that again.”

“You’re the most beautiful, talented, wonderful man in the world and I want to chew your stupid perfect face like a mochi bun.”

He gasps softly “Marry me.”

“I might do.”

“Then we have to arrange it all.”

Later that evening, you’re sitting peacefully on a chair, flipping through a book.

Sanji walks past you carrying a tray of tea and pauses.

He glances over his shoulder.

You glance up.

There’s flour on his sleeve.

His shirt is rolled up to the elbow.

He’s humming again.

You’re holding it together, but barely.

He smirks “You okay, mon amour?”

You stare.

He walks closer “You’re looking at me like I’m a chocolate cake with legs.”

You slam the book shut and launch up, but before you can pounce, he spreads his arms wide like an invitation.

“Come here, ma chérie. Ruin me.”

You leap into his embrace and he spins you around, laughing as you kiss his face over and over and over.

“You’re shameless!” you giggle.

“I’m in love,” he says dramatically “If your kisses were a drug, I’d be long dead.”

“I will squish your cheeks into dumplings and feed them to seagulls.”

“Please do.”

“You’re too pretty, it’s unfair.”

“I’ll ugly it up a little. Give me a day.”

“NO! I love your face, I’d wear it like a scarf if I could.”

He fake-swoons “Do it. Take it. I’m yours.”

“Is this… normal now?” Zoro mutters as he watches you pin Sanji against the wall of the kitchen, attacking him with affectionate nibbles and kisses while he happily takes it, hands holding your waist like he’s never been more at peace.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Nami says, sipping her drink “They’re like this almost every day.”

Brook hums “Yohoho! True love is terrifying.”

Robin smiles behind her book “At least it’s harmless. Though, she did try to bite his nose once.”

“She did bite my nose,” Sanji calls out helpfully “It was magnificent.”

Zoro turns away, muttering, “Get a room.”

“We have a room!” Sanji replies “We’re just taking the scenic route!”

Hours later, you’re snuggled on the couch in the kitchen, your head on Sanji’s lap, while he runs his fingers through your hair.

“You good now, love?” he asks gently.

You sigh “I think I emptied the tank.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead “You can refill it tomorrow. I’ll be ready.”

You open one eye “You really don’t mind when I get like that?”

He smiles “Mon amour… I live for it.”

You smile too “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

“I hope I do,” he says “Over and over again.”

── .✦ Law:

Law is reviewing maps. His fingers tap against the table in a steady rhythm, eyes darting from note to note. His crew has just docked at a remote island, nothing dramatic today. Just calm preparation.

You're leaning against the wall, watching him.

He’s focused. Serious. In control.

You normally admire that about him.

But now?

It's making you suffer... a lot.

His eyebrows furrow slightly. He mumbles something about currents and wind speeds. His lips move with precision. His fingers glide over the paper and...

... and that’s it.

You break.

“Law” you say, voice suspiciously innocent.

He hums without looking up “Mm?”

You walk up behind him slowly. Too slowly. His head lifts just slightly, eyes flicking toward you, narrowing.

“…What are you doing?” he asks flatly.

You don’t answer.

You leap onto him from behind.

“AHHH—”

He jolts forward a little as your arms wrap tight around his neck, your face burying in the side of his head.

“YOU’RE SO SMART. SO FOCUSED. I WANNA BITE YOUR BRAIN THROUGH YOUR SKULL��IN A LOVING WAY!”

“WHAT—?! Y/N—what are you—”

You pull back only to grab his face and start kissing it in a fury. Forehead. Nose. Cheek. Jaw. Temple. Eyelid. Repeat.

“SO! SMART! AND! SEXY! AND! SERIOUS!”

“Are you having some kind of episode?” Law says, voice strangled.

“Yes,” you gasp “It’s called cuteness aggression and you’re the disease.”

Minutes later, Law is leaning back in his desk chair, defeated, while you sit on his lap like an overjoyed little goblin, hands on his cheeks, staring at him lovingly.

“You’re not supposed to be like this” he mutters.

“Like what?” you blink innocently.

“You’re usually calm. Rational. Controlled.”

“I lied,” you say sweetly “That was just the bait phase. This is my final form.”

Law sighs and covers his eyes with one hand “I can’t do diagnostics like this.”

“Sure you can,” you whisper, kissing his nose again “You just need to adjust to your new life. With me on your lap. Forever.”

He mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “help”.

“Too late,” you say “I’ve chosen you.”

“You’re insane.”

“And you’re perfect. Look at this little line between your eyebrows. It’s my favorite. Can I kiss it?”

“No.”

You kiss it anyway.

He tries to work. He really does.

You're sitting nearby. Quiet. Reading. Acting like a normal person again.

Then Law says something offhanded, like, “The odds of ambush are low, but possible.”

You immediately drop the book.

You spin in your seat.

“Low but possible? SO. ARE. YOU. That’s you. You’re a low-chance rare-drop man. A mythic legendary boyfriend. I’M GOING TO KISS YOUR EARS.”

“Please do not kiss my ears.”

You pounce again “TOO LATE!”

You squeeze his face gently, tilt it like he’s a confused doll, and begin your assault.

He groans “This is emotional terrorism.”

“You love it.”

“…I don’t hate it.”

Later that night, you’re laying together in his quarters, the world quiet, your head on his chest. He’s stroking your back slowly, finally calm again.

“You’re weird” he murmurs.

“Yup.”

“I liked you better when you were pretending to be emotionally stable.”

You smile into his shirt “Liar.”

“…Yeah,” he mutters “I am.”

You lift your head just enough to look him in the eye “Do you want me to stop?”

He hesitates.

Then, softly “…No.”

You grin “Good. Because I was going to keep doing it anyway.”

He presses a kiss to your hair “Of course you were.”

── .✦ Ace:

Ace drops out of the sky like a meteor, lands on the deck with a dramatic crouch, and tosses a flaming Marine cannon overboard like it’s a beach ball.

Everyone cheers.

You’re already running toward him.

He stands up, beaming, shirt half open, flames still curling off his shoulders.

You throw your arms around him like a tackle.

“BABY!! YOU LIVING INCINERATOR! MY FLAMING HERO!!”

He laughs, wrapping you up tight “I missed you too, firecracker!”

You grab his cheeks.

“I am going to smooch you so hard your freckles become stars.”

“PLEASE DO.”

You slam kiss after kiss to his face, and he laughs through all of it “Wait—no, don’t stop, I’m just surprised! You’re usually the calm one!”

“That version of me is dead,” you say seriously “You dropkicked a cannon midair. I’m going feral.”

“Finally!” he cheers “Join me in chaos!!”

You bite his cheek lightly.

He gasps “I’m in love.”

The rest of the crew watches you both clinging to each other like human Velcro, nuzzling and giggling and attacking each other with affection.

“It’s like watching two puppies roll down a hill” Marco mutters.

Thatch wipes a tear “Beautiful. Gross. But beautiful.”

Ace is now spinning you in a circle while you repeatedly yell, “YOU’RE SO STUPIDLY HOT, IT MAKES ME ANGRY.”

“YEAH?! GOOD! I WANNA BE HOT FOR YOU FOREVER!”

“STOP SMILING LIKE THAT YOU HANDSOME PIECE OF SUNSHINE!”

“I CAN’T, YOU’RE TOO CUTE WHEN YOU YELL.”

Later, Ace plops down beside you, sweaty and soot-streaked after another skirmish. He opens his arms wide.

“Do your thing” he says.

You blink “What thing?”

He grins “You know. That thing. The... 'aggressive cuddles and I-want-to-chew-your-face' thing.”

“Ohhh, you want the full package?”

“Yes please.”

You tackle him to the ground instantly.

“MY BEAUTIFUL DUMB IDIOT. MY FLAMING HOT DORK. MY BRAVE EXPLOSION HUSBAND.”

You kiss his forehead.

Then both cheeks.

Then his jaw.

Then you pause.

“You smell like smoke and sea salt.”

“Romantic, huh?”

“You smell like danger and I love it.”

“I love you.”

You pause again “Ew. That was corny.”

“You just licked my face like a cat two minutes ago.”

“Fair.”

At night, lying in a hammock together, he holds you tight against his chest. The wind is quiet. The sea gentle.

He brushes his fingers through your hair.

“You really don’t get embarrassed?” he whispers.

“Not when it comes to you” you murmur back.

“Even when you call me a ‘beautiful flaming dumbass’ in public?”

“Especially then.”

He grins into your hair.

“I like this side of you” he says.

You look up “You mean the clingy one that kisses your nose in front of your whole crew?”

“No,” he replies softly “The one that doesn’t hold back.”

You smile.

“Then you’re stuck with me.”

Ace kisses your forehead.

“Good. Because I’d set the world on fire before I let you go.”

── .✦ Chopper (+ Zoro):

“Okay, next patient,” Chopper says proudly, flipping his clipboard “Let’s see Y/N, it’s just your check-up!”

You sit on the exam table swinging your legs “Yup! I’m ready, Doctor Tiny Genius.”

“I told you not to call me that” he mutters, hiding his flustered face behind the clipboard.

You lean down and whisper, “But you are a tiny genius.”

“Stop iiiit,” he whines, blushing, “I’m just doing my job!”

You watch him waddle around the room with his little doctor coat and stethoscope.

He’s so smol. So serious. So determined.

You can’t hold it.

“Chopper,” you whisper “Come closer.”

He looks up, confused “Huh? Why?”

“Come. Closer.”

“Are you okay—?”

You snatch him right off the ground and CRADLE him in your arms.

“TOO CUTE. TOO KIND. TOO FLUFFY. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I’M GONNA EXPLODE.”

“W-WHA—?!” Chopper’s face is glowing red “W-WAIT! I—I’m your doctor—!”

You rub your cheek against his fuzzy face “You are my doctor AND my emotional support reindeer. Let me love you.”

“You’re squishing my antlers—!”

“They are precious and I would die for them.”

Chopper flails, but doesn’t really try to escape. He’s used to this. You do this at least once a week.

“I’m gonna tell Zoro!” he threatens, kicking gently.

“Zoro loves it. He thinks you’re cute too.”

Zoro is leaning against the doorframe, watching the scene unfold.

You cradling Chopper like a plush toy while Chopper pretends to be mad but actually leaning into your touch.

Zoro sighs... and smile.

“You’re enabling her” Chopper says accusingly.

Zoro shrugs “You are adorable.”

“Not you too!” Chopper squeaks.

You smirk “See? I told you.”

Zoro walks over and gently ruffles Chopper’s hat “Deal with it, doc. She only does this to her favorite people.”

Chopper freezes. Blinks. Looks between you and Zoro.

“R-Really?”

You nod and boop his nose “Only the elite get aggressively snuggled.”

He goes completely red, squeaks, and buries his face in your shoulder.

“Okay... but just for five more seconds.”

You squeeze him tighter “Ten.”

Later, as you finally let Chopper go, he adjusts his little coat and clears his throat.

“I’m still your doctor” he says sternly.

“Of course, Doctor Cutie.”

“Don’t call me that! …I mean, you can, but—wait, no, don’t make it a thing!”

Zoro pats his head on the way out “Too late.”

You lean over and whisper to Zoro “I’m gonna dress him up as a little surgeon plush next time.”

Zoro smirks “I’ll hold him down.”

2K notes · View notes