#Visible Reception

[toxictoxicities]

The Bloom n Flower Local Group, finally fixed up their designs and I'm very happy with the outcome~

[cheerfullycatholic]

The wedding went well! I had a headache the whole time and my oldest nephew was on the verge of a meltdown from the beginning but my cousin looked beautiful and happy and the cathedral was stunning and it all worked out

[aakeysmash]

Tattooartist!Sukuna who is so used to being ogled by girls that he’s on the verge of putting his 2 weeks’ notice in. He knows he’s hot, muscular, breathtaking even (like some girl said while sitting on the studio chair and trying to get in his pants), but people piss him off, both men and women. He wishes he could just ink them up and never see them again.

And when he sees you staring at him from across the room he’s sure you’re about to say the same shit every other girl has said in the past three years he worked at the studio. But he’s utterly surprised when, instead, you turn around and close the door behind you.

He waits for you to come back, because you do have a tattoo appointment, but you don’t. That’s why he presses his ear against his door to listen to you trying to reschedule your appointment when there’s another tattoo artist instead.

He gets out and leans on the door, making himself visible, and when the girl at the reception asks you why you want to reschedule you look at him while saying “I just don’t think he’s professional enough to make what I’m looking for.”

And now you’re pissing him off, because he’s good at what he does and he knows it. So he comes closer to you, trying to intimidate you with his height, and slowly challenges you saying how he will get your stencil done for free. If you don’t like it he will personally pay for your tattoo, no matter the price. You accept the challenge, tattoos are super expensive these days, what do you really have to lose?

And that’s how you find yourself in his bedroom getting pounded from the back, your fresh tattoo on your spinal column.

“Thought you said I wasn’t professional enough, mh baby?” He whispers in your ear. “Looks like you enjoyed the tattoo, yeah?”

Between moans you manage to slightly turn around and kiss him on the lips. While you’re still close to his face you smirk.

“Looks like you’re enjoying it more than me.”

You feel his dick jump at your provocative tone, and he picks up his pace while standing back up. He slaps your ass, hard, earning himself a squeal before feeling your pussy cream on his dick.

“Fuck yes I do.”

[fanfictiongirlie]

Marvel: Perfect

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Description:

Reader and Bucky hate one another, but they always get put on missions together. They have to stop at a motel for the night after a mission, oh no, there's only one bed. Enemies to Lovers (Kinda) & Only One Bed Tropes!

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Motel Sex, Enemies to Lovers, Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Eating Out, Pussy Eating, Name Calling, Swearing, Porn With Plot, Some Plot (Let me know if I've missed anything)

Words: 4,698

First Part to Two Parter Story. Click here for second half.

Bucky Barnes never understood why the entire team loved you. He didn't love you. He thought you were annoying, and perfect. Not good perfect, why were you good at everything? It annoyed him, so naturally he had always taken it out on you. And you gladly reciprocated. There was an element of fun when you had your screaming matches, and secretly you liked it. 

The worst part was the missions, you and Bucky were the perfect partners, Steve knew it too, so every blasted mission, you were paired with perfect Barnes, you never understood why the team thought he was perfect. Sure, he was good at everything, it still annoyed you. 

Currently the two of you were sat in a random car Steve had hired for you both, the mission had been a success and you were on the way home. Except there was a huge storm coming in, so there were no flights, Bucky hadn't wanted to wait in an airport - they made him nervous. 

So now, the two of you were in the thick country, driving through deep lanes of tree arched lanes, the rain was hammered down onto the car, you hadn't realised the wipers were able to reach the speed they were on. Bucky had one hand gripped onto the wheel, and his other leaning on his elbow against the bottom of his window so he could rest his head on his hand. You were trying to see out of your window but had no luck, it was dark, there were no street lamps, and the rain was so heavy it wasn't like you could actually see anything. The only time things became visible was when the sky would crack loudly and for a short moment light up the sky with lightning. 

"I think we should..." You start to say before stopping, Bucky didn't pay notice to your words. You reached into your jean pockets and grabbed your phone, googling what you wanted to google, luckily you had one tiny bar, so after waiting a few minutes, the search finally came up. 

"There's a motel, few miles away" You mumble, knowing his super soldier hearing would hear. 

"It's fine" Bucky mutters, his voice gruff. 

"Bucky, we have fifteen hours left..." You say, looking at him, his eyes were narrowed as he looked to the road. "Tell me you're not struggling to see"

Bucky let out a small huff, his hand gripped the wheel a little tighter. He didn't want to admit you were right, but you were. Of course. He grunted, you were always right. "Fine, give me the directions"

You smirk, knowing how much he hated going with your plan. YOu gave him the directions, trusting your phone completely, before he agreed to the motel, you had screenshotted the steps, which had been a good idea since the closer you got to the motel, the less signal you had. 

Bucky drove into the small car park of the motel, it was dingy, and on a guess, you'd say there had to be thirty rooms maybe? Bucky parked into the only space free in the lot. You grabbed your bag and rushed from the car, you ran, though seconds under the rain and you were drenched, you waited for Bucky by the reception hut's doors. 

Bucky walked in first, the hut was tiny, if you stretched your arms either side you could probably touch both walls, not that you'd want to. The walls were a mustard yellow, but somehow you thought maybe they were originally white. The thought made your skin shiver and itch slightly. 

You turn your attention to Bucky, who had been talking to the man behind the desk, a gruff looking man who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else but here. 

"I've got one room, take it or leave it" The man says, his eyes on the newspaper in his hands. Bucky sighs, a small grunt leaves his lips. 

"Yeah, that's fine" He mutters "We'll take it" 

You didn't think much of it, you and Bucky had shared a room hundreds of times. Usually it wasn't the last room free in a dinghy motel. As long as there were two beds. Or at least a couch. 

Bucky takes the key and brushes past you to leave hut, you follow stepping out from the hut too. The rain was still hammering down, the air felt icy as you followed Bucky to your room. 

Bucky opens the door and stops in the doorway. "Fuck"

You had stopped behind him, his taller frame blocking your view into the room. 

"There's only one fucking bed" Bucky grumbles as he steps inside, finally letting you in and out from the rain. You look around the room, seeing he was right. The room was basic, it wasn't as off-puting as the reception. The walls were a deep purple, rather than the musky yellow colour, the floor was a questionable green. But the bed looked nice, it looked clean, which was good, but it dawned on you that you'd have to share with Bucky. There was no couch, or even chair. The room had a bed, and that was it. 

"I'm going to shower" You mutter, your bag was still on your shoulder as you stepped closer to the shower room. Bucky huffs and sits on the edge of the bed. 

"Don't use up all the hot water" Bucky snaps. 

"If there's any to begin with" You snap back, you then walk into the shower room, shutting the door behind you. You take a second to lean back against the door, taking in a deep breath. You were only human, and the thought of sharing a somewhat small bed with a man that looked like that made a heat begin between your legs that you were going to ignore. 

The shower wasn't anything amazing, and unshockingly there was no hot water. You winced and washed as quickly as you could, feeling a little better afterwards. You didn't pack a lot of clothes, your mission wear, which you had been wearing, and some lounge wear: A pair of cosy shorts which were pink, and a Star Wars top, it was oversized and had the poster for A New Hope printed on it. You blushed as you looked into the murky mirror, you had to remind yourself Bucky wouldn't be looking at you or your clothes... right?

Back in the bedroom, Bucky grabbed his own bag, the moment you left the shower room, he stepped inside. Leaving you alone in the bedroom. You sighed and climbed into the bed, you grabbed your phone and texted Steve. 

'Weather's awful, we're at a motel for the night' 

'Noted. Don't kill one another' Steve texts back, you let out a small laugh and put your phone back in your bag. Moments later Bucky stepped out from the shower room, in a black pair of boxers and a black tank top, you had to remind yourself that you hated him, and the only reason your mouth went dry was because it had been a while. No other reason. Definitely not because, goddamn he looked so good. 

"You used all the hot water" He mutters, you watch as he drops his bag down by the bed, before sitting on the edge of his side of the bed. 

"There was none" You answer back with a huff. "Trust you to get pissy over having a cold shower, Winter boy" 

"Shut up, that's a dumb nickname" 

"You're a dumb nickname" You mutter, not your best insult, but you were tired. The bed's duvet was awful, the room had a slight chill, and annoyingly the more Bucky got himself comfortable in the bed, the warmer you felt. Feeling his warmth against your body, the bed wasn't big, and Bucky was a huge, muscular man, he took up most of the bed. 

"Goodnight, maybe a good night's sleep will help you come up with a decent insult" He says with a chuckle, the both of you settle into the bed, there was a small switch on the wall by your side, you flicked it and the room was shrouded in darkness. 

You laid there in the darkness, on your back looking up at the ceiling, the rain was loud outside the window, you hoped it would calm by morning. 

________

You weren't sure how long it had been, but it wasn't morning, the window behind that god awful lime green curtain. You had been asleep, but something had woken you up, and that something was tight around your waist. 

"Fuck" you mutter to yourself, Bucky's flesh arm was draped over your middle, his hand was spread, pressed against your abdomen. His soft snoring just behind your ear suggested he was still asleep. His body wasn't quite pressed against your back, but he was close, you could feel his lower legs against yours. 

You wiggled slightly, regretting it almost immediately as his hand moved slightly lower, you had to bite your lip to stop the pathetic moan leaving your lips. 

Bucky moved slightly, his eyes fluttered open, but the residue of sleep still hazed over his mind, he looked over to you, your back was to him, his arm still over your waist. He had wanted to move, but it felt so good to hold another person. God, it had been so long. He waited for a few moments, you seemed to be asleep, so he moved slightly, pressing his front to your back. You were most certainly awake, and shocked at his movements. Neither of you had even acknowledged the other being awake, so you were frozen, though a small gasp left your lips as you felt his hard cock digging into your lower back, the thin material of his boxers and your shorts leaving nothing to the imagination. 

You decided to move your body into his, it could easily be mistaken for a stretch from someone deep in their sleep, his hand moved, tucking itself under you slightly, bringing you closer to his body than before. 

"Fuck" Bucky mutters. "I know you're awake"

Of course he did. He was a trained super soldier, he could probably tell when someone was awake or asleep. You cursed to yourself, in your head, questioning whether you should admit you were awake. Would he stop? Would he carry on? These questions were floating around your mind, did you want him to stop? This was wrong, so wrong. You were partners, fuck, you hated one another. But he was so good looking. 

"Come on doll, talk to me" He whispers, his words dancing along the back of your neck as he presses his nose into your neck. 

"I'm awake" You mutter, not having thought of anything else to say. What could you say? Without thinking you move your backside again, rubbing against his hard cock perfectly so it lined with your arse crack. Both of you let out a small, whimpering gasp. 

"You have to stop that...unless you..." He says, his words trailing off. You had your eyes squeezed shut, it was dark anyway, you didn't need them open. 

"Unless what?" You question, your voice quieter than usual, you didn't trust yourself to speak above a whisper. Bucky sighs from behind you, he was having the same battle in his mind as you were. He didn't like you, he never had, never liked how snappy you were with him, or how you always knew exactly how to make every mission go perfectly, and fuck he hated how good your body felt against his. 

"Don't make me say it" He grumbles, you weren't sure who started moving first, but your hips and his were moving slowly, you grinded back into him whilst he grinded against you. 

"Aw is the poor Winter Soldier nervous?" You joke, laughing softly. Your giggles soon stopped when his hand moved from your abdomen to your hip, his hand gripped your flesh as he started his hips harder against you. 

"Wanna say that again? Or do you wanna do this?" He asks, his voice gruff as he speaks. 

"Wow, that's a really good way to seduce someone" You answer dryly, you had a small smirk on your lips as he spoke, his grip tightened. "Ask me nicely snow boy"

Bucky rolls his eyes, you always called him dumb nicknames concerning his Winter Soldier days, in fact you were the only one he knew that did make jokes. He'd never admit it aloud, but he kind of loved it. Everyone else ignored it, pretended like it had never happened. But you, no, you would make jokes, it almost made him feel like it was okay that it had happened. 

Bucky presses a short kiss to your neck, it felt like breaking the final barrier between the situation. He takes a few moments, and then whispers your name, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks, driving you insane. 

"Let me fuck you" 

"Say please" You whisper with a playful grin, he couldn't see your face, or anything much in the darkness of the room, Bucky lets out a soft growl, sending shivers straight down to your already wetness between your legs. 

"Anyone ever tell you how annoying you are?" He asks, the hand on his hip moved, slowly down the front of your shorts, on a different day he would of taken the piss, they were soft and maybe a little fluffy, but he wouldn't say anything, not right now. You stayed quiet, your heavy breathing the only sound in the room as he moved to cup your sex. You let out a small yelp at his touch. 

"What was that, doll?" He purrs in your ear. 

"I hate you" You mutter as you open your legs. 

"That's a girl" He says, taking hold of you thigh, he moved your leg to hook over his, lying you slightly on your back. He moves his hand back to your clothed sex, and starts rubbing you through the fabric. "Fuck, you want this, don't you baby?"

You don't answer him, opting to bite your lip as you body warms from his touch. Fuck, he had barely touched you and you were melting against him. 

"Use your words, or I'll stop" He says with a smirk. "I'm going to ask you a question, if you don't use your words, I'll stop, and turn away and go to sleep"

 His fingers press down to your clit, you hadn't looked to him yet, his lips were resting below your ear, his words were making your brain fuzzy. 

"I want to taste you, will you let me?" He asks, at first you nod. But you knew he wanted more than a mere nod. 

"Yes Bucky, please" You whimper. 

"What would you like darling?" He asks. Dickhead. That's what he was. God, you hated him, fuck, you needed him. 

"I want you to taste me" You say through gritted teeth. Bucky chuckles in your ear, his breath tickled the shell of your ear, he moves presses a soft kiss to your jaw, moving to kiss along your jaw as he moves himself. Just before he kisses your lips, he stands up and starts to take his shirt and boxers off. 

"Take your clothes on, doll" He says, you can only just see him in the darkness but you listen, shedding your top and shorts off. 

"Oh" You say quietly as he climbs back onto the bed, the lower half so he could crawl between your legs. 

"What?" He questions. 

"I uhh haven't shaved in a few days" You say, feeling a little bashful as he opens your legs, getting comfortable between them. 

"I don't care about that" He says, and not a second later his lips were on your clit, your hips jolt up into him. Bucky moved his hands under your arse, taking hold on your cheeks, so he had a good grip as he tastes you. He sucks on your clit until it was swollen and puffy in his mouth, and then moved his tongue down, slipping it in between your wet slit. He groaned at the taste. 

Your back was arched, your hands were clenched into fists on the sheets of the bed. Bucky was lying on his front, noisily slurping between your legs, you had wanted to giggle thinking about how his legs must be dangling off the bed. One of his hands move from your arse and takes your hand in his, moving it to the top of his head. 

"Hold me where you want me baby" He growls, your eyes roll back as you grip his head, letting your fingers weave through his hair. You hadn't expected his hair to be that soft, but it was. Visions of running your fingers through his locks whilst watching a movie together flashed through your mind before you shook your head to forget it. He moves his hand back down, and presses two fingers to your eager hole. 

"Bucky, fuck...please!" You whine, your voice loud, your heart hammered in your chest. All thoughts were gone, you needed him and only him. You hated that you knew he was smirking, you could feel the curl of his lips against your lips as two of his metal fingers push into you, he started slowly pump his fingers. 

"Uhh...yess" You whined, feeling the familiar coil in your stomach. It had been so long since someone else had made you feel this good, you hated him for a moment, of course Bucky was good at this. 

"Mmm are you going to come for me?" He asks, his voice low as he laps at you between each word. "Let me taste you" He adds, you were moaning loudly now, your hips were grinding against his face as his fingers pumped into you, his lips were still on your clit. His words were sending shocks through you, how was this the man you argued with on a daily. Last week you had a screaming match so loud, Steve put you in time outs. And now... 

"Fuck!" You squealed loudly as you felt yourself coming hard, your body shook as he used his free hand to hold your hips down as he sucked hard against your core. 

Moments later you were still mind frazzled, your body felt warm and a happy daze fluttered around your body. Bucky chuckled from between your legs, he slowly removed his fingers, before giving your clit a final kiss before moving up your body, crawling, you opened your legs, giving him space to sit comfortably. 

"Was that good, darling?" He asks as his face hovered over yours. "Come on, doll, what do we say?"

"Thank you, dickhead" You mutter, he chuckled again, his nose brushing yours, you froze slightly. Was he going to kiss you? Did you want that? He just made you come, a kiss was nothing, right?

You decided it wasn't a big deal, so you moved up slightly, pressing your lips to his. For a moment, neither of you moved, but then you did, his lips moved with yours, his tongue left his lips to taste you. His tongue tasted like you, you moaned softly against his lips. 

Bucky moved his hips so his hard, and untouched cock pressed against your wetness, he groaned against your lips, the head of his sensitive cock slipped between your folds, causing his body to shudder. You moved your hips, feeling his cock slip down to prod at your hole. 

"Fuck" Bucky mutters against your lips, he moves slightly, his face barely visible as he looks down at you. "Can I...gods, can I fuck you?"

"Yes..." You whisper, all thoughts about how this was probably a bad idea left your mind. Who cares, right now there was a super soldier that wanted to fuck you. And you were going to let him. Bucky lifts slightly, moving his hand down to grip his cock, he groans loudly as he grips himself. 

"Ready for me?" He asks, his lips hovering close to yours. 

"Cocky much, Snowball" You answer back, pressing your lips back to his. Bucky swallowed down his pride and stopped himself making a snappy joke, he pumped his cock a few times before pressing the head to your pussy, he could already tell it would be a tight fit, he had a deep, slightly worrying feeling that he would become addicted to you in just a few moments. 

You both gasp as he pushes into you, your lips no longer kissing, as Bucky slowly thrusts deeper into you. Bucky smirked as your legs shook slightly, his cock was fully in you now, and he was right, addicted. 

"What did you say? Cocky?" He smirks. 

"Fuck, shut up Barnes and fuck me" You growl out. You had never felt so full, he was so big, of course he was, super soldier serum and all. But fuck, he was...perfect, you genuinely think he had ruined you for other men.

Bucky moved his hand down between you and pressed his thumb, if not a little awkwardly against your clit, he moved slightly, electing little noises from your lips. He wanted to remember the noises you made for the next time he was alone. 

"You feel perfect" He whispers. "Of course you'd fucking feel perfect"

"Says you... Oh god, did we just become friends?" You ask, a slight playfulness to your tone. Bucky chuckles, he starts moving his hips, you were so wet, covering the entire length of his thick cock with your juices. 

"Definitely not, we're enemies to the end, don't you worry" He says, his voice strained as he almost pulls completely out of you, before thrusting back into you, hard. You both groan loudly, your hands move to grip his shoulders, you were careful of his metal shoulder scar. 

Bucky moved his hips back and forth, fucking into your tight pussy, he felt like you were sucking him in, it was enough to make him bite his lip and remind himself not to finish in two minutes like some teenager. He pressed down harder against your clit, feeling how you tightened every time he did. 

"I want you to come for me again" He grunts, as he fucks you harder. You whine and lift your knees a little higher, resting your thighs against his muscular thighs. His spare hand was rested on your hip, holding you tightly as lifts his hips up and down. He moves his thumb a little fast, slipping slightly from your wetness. Your legs squeezed his sides slightly as you felt the coil build in your stomach. 

"Close...oh fuck I'm close" You whimper, your breath heavy as he pounds into you, you grip his shoulders a little tighter. "Bucky.."

"That's it, come for me, fuck" Bucky grunts as he pounds faster into you, he felt a sweat collecting on his brow, something that didn't happen often, he moved down, pressing his lips to your neck, he wanted to leave a mark on you. Wanted a reminder in the morning he hadn't dreamt of this. 

You moaned loudly as you felt yourself come hard, your pussy walls clenched around his cock, adding to your pleasure as you chanted his name again and again. 

"That's it, that's my..." Bucky whispers as he sucks hard against the skin of your neck. He stops himself, feeling silly as he nearly called you his girl. You weren't his girl. He hated you, oh fuck he hated you, he thought to himself as his hips slammed into yours, his movements growing sloppy. 

You laid there, feeling a little lightheaded, he had fucked you good, fucked you so well. You giggled lazily as his hips lost their rhythm.  

"You going to come inside of me Barnes?" You ask, he lifts his head to look up at you, you could just about see his eyes. 

"Can I? Oh fuck, I didn't even think...Doll, I'm sorry" He rambles, you stop his words with a short kiss. 

"I would of told you, you can finish in me...or on me, whatever you like" You say, before you press your lips to his again. His hips start moving again, fucking into you, a soft ache had started at the feeling, he was larger than you had ever had before, and boy were you feeling it, and you were sure you'd feel it tomorrow. 

Bucky grunts and sits up, ripping his lips from yours as he sits up on his knees, he pulls his cock out from you, and grips it tight in his flesh hand, he was right handed after all, he starts to pump himself until he was finally coming, coating your body in his thick, hot come. He groans loudly and closes his eyes, feeling his chest heave slightly at feeling the release. 

A few moments of quiet past, you and Bucky were breathing heavily, your sighs haggard, wondering who would make the first move. You were having the same thoughts as him 'Fuck, what if they regret it'

You didn't. 

He didn't. 

You make the first move, moving slightly to switch the light back on, you wince slightly from the bright light and groan, rubbing your eyes. But when you opened them, you looked upon Bucky's fully naked body for the first time, and he did the same to you. You both muttered a 'fuck' 

"You're beautiful" You whisper before you can stop yourself. 

"Beautiful, huh?" Bucky says with a playful grin, it falters when he notices your lips falling into a slight frown. "Oh, you're, fuck, you're breathtaking, darling. You are, god, we've in new waters right now, aren't we?"

"We are" You say quietly as you look down at your nude body, covered in Bucky's seed. "Let's get cleaned up"

He nods and motions for to you stay put before climbing off the bed, he roots through his bag and grabs a random flannel cloth, he wipes you down first, cleaning your body carefully and slowly, as he does he looks up to your neck, smirking when he sees his little mark on your neck. 

"What are our options?" You ask, your mind moving at a million ideas a second.

"Leave it to you to worry about that" He mutters as he cleans himself. When done, he crawls back into the bed and faces you, you move so you can fully face him. 

"We can fuck, it doesn't need to mean anything" Bucky says with a shrug. 

"You're right, because that was good, like I want to do that again, good" You admit, feeling a soft blush creep onto your cheeks. 

"We'll keep doing this then... and maybe try to be friends?" He suggests, his voice laced with how uncomfortable he felt with this conversation, you felt happy knowing he felt exactly as you did. 

"I like that idea, friends who have sex it is" You say as you reach your hand out, to shake his, Bucky takes your hand firmly, before replying. "Friends who have sex"

And despite agreeing to be friends that have sex, you both know it never works that way. And as you both lie in the bed, in that disgusting motel, deep down, you knew exactly what would happen. After all, it's how every movie and book ended. And so you fell asleep with a dream of you and Bucky, lying together in your bed at home, and actually enjoying each other's company. 

"Goodnight darling" Bucky whispers into the dark room, thinking you had fallen asleep, but you were just awake enough to whisper back. "Goodnight Bucky"

Part Two

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

[pedge-page]

joel chanting "take it take it take it" while trying to breed you AAAAAAAA

Joel x F!reader

A Father’s love

Warnings: Age gap (20s reader x 60s Joel), Jackson era, adopt-cest (?). Reader is adult when Joel takes you in. Pregnancy, cum eating. Unprotected sex. Face riding. Daddy kink.

18+ only

- - - -

Joel Miller shot and killed your father. Whether by guilt or attraction, he felt the overbearing responsibility to step into your life. It’s almost a bit of an addiction for him: adopting stray young women into his home.

Of course, unlike the younger ones that settled into his life before you, you were much more receptive to his charm, his kindness. His protection.

And eventually his cock.

Everyone thought it was really sweet oh him to take you in like that. Give you a home with him. Fill the gap he unintentionally created. Provided shelter and guidance. He was already a really good dad; everyone knew that. 

You very quickly saw it too. In every way possible.

“Take it take it take it, fucking take it,” he snarls, smothering your face deeper into the drool-spotted pillow beneath you.

You didn’t have much choice to do anything else at that moment but to take his raging viagra-fueled boner. The man was pushing 60, but that wasn’t going to stop him driving his hips down, crashing into your ass, pinning your body flush against the plush mattress. His worn but veiny hands grip your lower back, arching it so that your butt bounced off his pelvis with each thrust, leaving you trapped under him. He dug in deep, too, making sure his tip kissed your cervix. It left you cross eyed, teeth sunken into the pillowcase, mumbling gibberish as a euphoric tear dripped from your cheeks. 

With another rut, his cock plunged deeper, splashing your juices out.

“F-fuck Daddy!” You cry hoarse. Your voice was rough. He’d been on you since you got home with lunch for him, unbeknownst to you he had taken the blue pill to fuel his desires. You tempted him a little too hard with those skimpy shorts he told you to trade out with something modest. 

You had come home with a new cropped bralette instead. 

“You never listen to Daddy,” he groan, slowing his thrusts into harsh grinding. He let out a pant each sway of his hips against yours. His member now buried deep, your walls struggling to accomodate his girth even after these few months together. “Everyone knows how good I am to ya, n’ you don’t respect me still? Now I gotta show everyone how I trained ya properly.” 

You nod into pillow. It was hard to focus on anything he’d tell you in this state. Just nodding seemed to make him pleased enough to keep fucking you. God, that’s all you wanted. Just Joel Miller fucking you deep and raw, like he was always meant to. 

"You gonna take it, babygirl? Take it like ya been doin' so good all this time--fuck yeah right there--right there baby--gonna make sure everyone knows...everyone sees what I done to ya--"

He doesn’t ask to cum inside anymore. That formality was long gone. Instead, he rasped shakily, steadying your hips against his as he pulsed thickly inside you. Ribbon after ribbon stubbing you full until it was leaking out onto the sheets under you.

“My good girl,” he hummed against your temple with a kiss. He closes his eyes, too blissed in the moment to really pull out or get up or even think. He lays on top of you, kissing you sweetly, all that tension dissolving into his love.

You loved your new life here. The resentment you felt towards him was bitter and surprisingly short, and it didn’t take long before you were suckling up his limp dick into your mouth like warm pacifier to sooth the pain in your mind, the absence he had created, replacing it with—

“S’junior okay?”

You were flipped onto your back. Joel had lapped your up his creamy spent from between your thighs, his lips now trailing up to the small bump now visible in your lower tummy.

His calloused hand was massive, covering it entirely now, but he could still feel that hardened little bump he’d planted there, growing by the minute. Brown puppy eyes gazed up to you expectedly, his dry lips brushing gently across the expanse of your belly.

“Junior is fine,” you reassure him. God, he asked about the baby every day. “But you’re really going to have to be gentler.”

“I know I know, can’t help it.” He presses a kiss at your naval, holding himself there for a pregnant moment before releasing. The peppered, now almost entirely salted, hairs of his chin tickled you. “You’re already such a good momma. Lookin out for my baby already.”

"I told you I'd take care of ya." He kisses your belly button again.

"Yeah, " you muse. He really has. He takes care of everyone to be honest. And maybe you a little more so. It took less than a month in the generosity of his home before he had knocked you up, and here you were only a couple months later. His baby nestled safely in your womb.

You wanted to show him your love over and over again.

"Get on your back," you command softly, already sitting up.

He rolls over, caressing your bare thighs up to your hip. Even now as you straddled over him, he can't take his eyes off the obviously little swell drooping over, the way your tits look a little heavier. Jesus, it was really happening. It had been a long time since he last had a pregnant gal on his lap. In fact. He was probably still your age when it last happened. Long time indeed...

Everyone loved joel. He's such a good man. ard working. Generous. Funny. Everyone loved--

"Fuck daddy, I love you," You gasp as you sink down on him.

He groans when you finally bottom out. "This is how all girls should treat their daddies."

You already are starting a gentle rocking back and forth, your hands flat on his chest. "What, fuck them??" You asked incredulously.

"No. But loving them. Respecting em. Doin what they're told." He swats your ass "N' being greatful about it"

You smile, grinding down deeper. You lower yourself so that his lips align with yours, fingers cradling his head as the two of you lazily fuck.

"You're so good at that," he praises before sucking your tongue into his lips.

He even tasted like old man. You don't know how. But this time it's intoxicating, filling your senses like he's suffocating you inside him.

You cum twice more on his dick before his balls tense, snug to you ass as he releases again inside you. "Ats it. All I got," he pants, still coming down from his high.

You sigh. Your cunt still throbs around him.

"You think of any names yet?" He asks, lifting you off his member. The thick splat of his and your combined juices on his stomach has you itching for another orgasm.

"No, Jesus we only found out when I started showing a week or so ago. Don't even know if it's a he."

"Its a he." Hes so certain of it.

Whatever. If that's what makes him eat his cum out of you right now, then so be it.

"Let me kiss these lips. Let him know daddy is here waitin' for him."

You straddle his face as he lazily makes out with your pussy. Maybe your back hurts a little, but Joels got both hands holding your waist up. You try not to get to lost in bliss. Cupping that little bump in your lower stomach, you think "Joels such a good dad to me. I have no doubt he's gonna be a great daddy for you too, Junior. "

- - - -

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld @urlivingdeadgirl @yourmommycallsmemommy @kellielovesmovies @whoaitspascal87

[toxictoxicities]

Wanted to finalize some designs bc it's been a long time coming DTFYGUH

so we got Unparalleled Innocence, Looks to the Moon and Visible Reception (an oc)

[lecherouslesbian]

I just wrapped up a live painting gig and I could tell the bride and groom were uh...not impressed so I think I'm going to explode myself

[moonlightwritingf1]

Wedding Night | LN4

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/N shared their first night as husband and wife, their love unfolding in soft, unhurried touches.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

𓍯��𓏧♡ word count ━━━━━━━ 4.6k

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, soft sex

Based on this request.

Moonlight spilled through the windows of the centuries-old Italian villa, painting soft silver streaks across the plush cream carpet. The air was still thick with the lingering scent of gardenias and white roses, a delicate reminder of the wedding that had just taken place. Y/N stepped inside first, still wearing her gorgeous wedding gown, though she walked more slowly now than she had all day. The bustle of the reception had ended, the guests had gone to their nearby accommodations, and there, in the quiet hush of night, she and Lando were finally alone.

He closed the door behind them with a soft click, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You realize,” he said in a hushed tone, “that this is the first time we’ve been truly alone all day.”

She laughed gently, leaning back against one of the carved wooden bed posts. “I know. I feel like every time I turned around, someone was trying to talk to us, take a photo, or push another glass of champagne into my hand.”

Lando advanced toward her, and her breath caught in her throat. The day had been long—joyful, intense, and thrilling—but now the air seemed charged with a different kind of anticipation. His dark suit jacket was still on, the fabric slightly rumpled from the evening’s events. 

Lando gently brushed his knuckles along her cheek, an affectionate gesture he had come to do so often in the past three years. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice warm with concern and tenderness.

She opened her eyes, meeting the sea-green gaze of her new husband. A timid, excited smile curved her lips. “I’m perfect,” she whispered, stepping forward so she could rest her forehead against his. “But I’m also exhausted… in a good way. I still can’t believe this is real.”

Lando chuckled under his breath, the teasing spark that always danced in his eyes visible once again. “You better believe it, Mrs. Norris,” he said, letting the last two words hang in the air. He grinned when he noticed the faint flush on her cheeks. Even after everything, she still got shy whenever he said her new name.

She tried to look away, biting down on her bottom lip to stifle a bigger smile. “I’m still not used to hearing that,” she admitted.

“Well, you have a lifetime to get used to it.” His voice was warm, edged with quiet amusement. Instead of kissing her, he tilted his head slightly, letting the moment linger between them. Her gaze drifted downward, landing on his tie, which hung loosely around his neck—a familiar sight, one that carried memories of whispered goodbyes and hurried, stolen moments.

He followed her gaze and gave a small laugh. “Want to do the honors?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Y/N flushed but nodded, motioning for him to step closer. Carefully, she began to loosen the tie from around his neck. Her knuckles brushed his throat, and she felt his pulse thrum under her fingertips.

“You know,” she teased, glancing up into his eyes, “I’ve done this so many times, but never as Mrs. Norris.”

A shiver of delight lit up his gaze. “Has a nice ring to it, huh?”

She swallowed, nodding. “It really does.”

His hands came up to gently rest on her waist, and a faint sigh escaped her lips. Outside, a nightingale trilled somewhere in the villa’s gardens. The music that had swirled throughout the day was gone, replaced by their own quiet breaths and the soft rustle of her gown as she shifted.

“You look breathtaking,” he murmured, stepping back an inch to take her in. The white lace and satin of her wedding dress still hugged her figure perfectly, though the train was slightly wrinkled from hours of dancing and walking around. “I can’t believe I got to see you walking down that aisle.”

She smiled shyly, remembering how his eyes had glistened with emotion during the ceremony. “I was so nervous,” she admitted. “Not because I was unsure of you, but just… the whole day felt so surreal. And now it’s over, and we’re actually here.”

Lando reached up, his fingers slipping into her hair with deliberate slowness, threading through the intricate twists and waves. He didn’t rush, just let his touch linger, savoring the feel of her beneath his hands. “Well, now we have tonight,” he murmured, his voice warm and low, “and every other night after that. But let’s start with tonight, yeah?”

She closed her eyes as his fingers brushed through her hair, reveling in the warmth that swept over her. “Mmm,” she murmured, “I’d like that.” She opened her eyes and gave him a soft smile, filled with love.

Y/N closed her eyes again as his finger tips slid gently into her hair. Pin by pin, he removed each hidden bobby pin and decorated comb. Occasionally, he would pause, carefully pulling out a pearl-tipped hairpin that made her wince slightly when it snagged on a few strands. Lando would whisper a soft apology, pressing a kiss to her temple and carrying on. It was slow, sweet work, and it made her shoulders loosen with every piece he freed.

Eventually, her hair tumbled down in soft waves around her shoulders. He ran his hands gently through it, smiling as he massaged her scalp. “There,” he breathed, admiring the sight of her with her hair out and her wedding dress still glowing in the moonlight. “You look so gorgeous.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, cheeks aflame, unable to handle just how fully and unabashedly he adored her. “You say that like you didn’t see me in my dress all day.”

“Call me greedy, but I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of it,” he teased, leaning in for another slow, tender kiss. “But as much as I love this dress on you…” He paused, letting his fingers trace the intricate lace at her shoulders. “I’m also incredibly eager to get you out of it.”

A bubble of laughter slipped past her lips. “Oh, Mr. Norris,” she teased back, doing her best to summon confidence. Even after all their time together, sometimes it still felt surreal that this charming, successful, impossibly handsome man was hers. “Think you can figure out how to get me out of it?”

Lando glanced at the hidden zipper. He gently turned her around so he could examine the elaborate array of tiny buttons that ran down the back. “Well… it might take a while,” he said, a slow grin spreading over his face. “I’m up for the challenge.”

She laughed, remembering the many times they had navigated zippers and tiny buttons over the years of their relationship. “I trust you haven’t forgotten your technique,” she teased, turning around so he could work on the hidden row of buttons trailing down her spine. “But do be careful—I don’t want you ripping the dress. My poor mother might have a heart attack if she heard.”

He pressed a playful kiss to the back of her neck, setting her skin alight. “Don’t worry, I’m still the same man who’s mastered the art of carefully getting you out of complicated outfits.”

Carefully, Lando’s fingers began working on the delicate row of buttons. It was fiddly and complicated, but his patience never wavered. He trailed tiny, adoring kisses down the back of her neck, across her shoulders, and along her spine whenever he managed to open another inch of the dress. Each time, she shivered. The warmth of his breath, combined with the electric sensation of his lips, shot tingles of anticipation through her body.

It took him a few moments of concentration. Every so often, one stubborn button would make her giggle as he struggled, and he’d lightly bite his lip in mock frustration. But eventually, her dress loosened around her torso. She shrugged her shoulders and let it slip down to her hips.

Lando stepped to her side, letting his hand graze from her bare shoulder down her arm in a comforting stroke. He’d seen her body countless times before; they were anything but strangers to one another in that aspect. Yet, the tenderness in his eyes made it feel like the first time all over again.

He noticed the slight stiffness in her posture. Her arms instinctively crossed over her chest, an old habit she’d never quite shaken. Gently, he placed his hands on top of hers, uncurling her arms. “Hey,” he said softly, sliding his palm against her cheek to angle her face toward him, “look at me.”

She blinked, looking up, her eyes laced with a hint of vulnerability.

He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “I love you,” he said, voice serious despite the smile playing on his lips. “All of you. Every inch of you—always have.”

Y/N’s throat constricted with emotion. She remembered the days she thought she’d end up alone, the times she firmly believed no man—especially one like Lando—would genuinely want her. And yet here he was, the man she once viewed as a charming playboy, revealing his true heart day after day.

She nodded slightly, letting him slip her dress the rest of the way down. He caught it before it hit the floor, placing it carefully across a chair so it wouldn’t crumple. When he turned back around, she stood there in her simple white lingerie, light shining on her warm skin. His gaze was filled with adoration.

“You’re breathtaking,” he said, reaching out to trace a slow circle along her waist. “I can’t believe I get to call you my wife now.” He exhaled softly, his gaze roaming over her. “Every part of you… I’m honestly a little overwhelmed just looking at you.”

“Overwhelmed?” she echoed, a quiet laugh blending with her disbelief.

He smiled back, smoothing his palms over her waist and up along her ribs, stopping just under her breasts. “Yes, overwhelmed,” he repeated, leaning in so his lips brushed against hers. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Her heart squeezed at his confession. Remembering the times she doubted his intentions, or believed that he’d never truly settle down, it all felt distant now. “I love you,” she murmured. She was still shy; the difference was, now that they were married, she felt a deeper sense of belonging and trust.

He pulled her closer, pressing his chest to hers. The contact was a slow burn, warmth radiating from his body into hers, as though they were made to fit perfectly together. Y/N let her hands roam over his well-fitted suit jacket, fiddling with the single button he still had fastened at the waist.

“I think it’s my turn,” she teased, leaning in to brush a kiss on his collarbone, right at the base of his neck. She slid her hands up to push his suit jacket off. He let her do it, an amused glint shining in his eyes. She lingered, removing his cufflinks and sliding them onto the bedside table, then carefully unfastening the first few buttons of his shirt.

Her cheeks grew warm as she revealed inch after inch of his chest. Lando’s breath caught a little when her fingers grazed his skin. His voice, husky with desire, found its way back to her ears. “All these years and you still make me nervous,” he said quietly.

He let out a self-conscious chuckle, remembering the time he’d told her exactly how he felt on a quiet evening in London. How the mere thought of her had made him lightheaded. How he couldn’t get her out of his head, no matter how many races he won or how many practice laps he took. She was always there, the one person who truly saw him for who he was beyond fame. And, ironically, she was the one who had tried to push him away at first.

“Because…” He swallowed, pressing his forehead to hers once again. “I just want to make this night unforgettable. You… you deserve everything. Not just tonight, but for the rest of our lives.”

Y/N smiled against his lips, her fingers finally managing to peel his shirt away. She let her hand glide up his bare torso, feeling the soft planes and gentle ridges of muscle beneath her palm. “You’re here,” she reminded him. “That’s all I need.”

His warm laughter vibrated against her, and he lowered his head to kiss the tender spot at the base of her throat. “I’m so in love with you, it’s ridiculous,” he said, a grin brightening his features. “Now, wife… shall we make it official in every sense of the word?”

A wave of heat passed through her, and she nodded shyly. It was one thing to do this after three years of dating—intimate moments had come before, though they always seemed laced with a sense of wonder. But there was something profoundly different about sharing the first night as husband and wife, a sense of newness glowing between them. It felt both thrilling and comforting, like stepping into a future they had carved for themselves despite every obstacle.

They navigated their way toward the large four-poster bed draped in sheer white curtains. Candles flickered on the nightstand, their golden light giving the entire space a dreamlike aura. Lando helped Y/N onto the mattress as if she were the most precious thing in the world, pressing a kiss to her hand before stretching out beside her.

She let her eyes linger on him—the signature smile, his messy curls, the strong line of his jaw. “Can you believe we’re married?” she whispered, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “Like… actually married.”

He pressed a kiss into her palm. “It’s the best decision I’ve ever made,” he responded, voice thick with emotion. “I can’t wait for tomorrow, and the next day… and the rest of our lives.”

She exhaled a laugh of relief, burying her face into the crook of his neck. “I used to think you’d never want to settle down. I used to think… that you didn’t even like me.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Me? I’ve loved you since the moment you walked into that party and refused to laugh at my jokes,” he teased. “I’ve always teased you, but only because you’re so darn cute when you get riled up.” Then his tone softened. “If only I knew sooner how you felt… how insecure you were about us. I would have spent every second assuring you.”

She blinked back tears. “You’ve done a great job of reassuring me. I just… I guess I never thought you’d want something so permanent.”

He cupped her jaw, guiding her gaze to his. “I want permanent,” he whispered, a little breathless. “I want you.”

She felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes and brushed them away with the back of her hand. It was ridiculous how deeply in love she was with him, but after all the heartbreak and all the doubts, she had never been so certain of someone.

They kissed slowly, at first just a tender press of lips that slowly deepened. His hand ran down her back, tracing small circles. She let her body melt into his, feeling the tension of the day slip away. Her bare skin was flushed and tingling, but there was no panic this time when he ran his palm over the curve of her waist to the arch of her hips. She felt safe, cherished.

Their kisses became more fervent but still measured, each move a deliberate exploration of the warmth and closeness they now got to call theirs forever. She brushed her fingers through his curls, pulling him closer, her heart beating wildly as she let herself sink further into the mattress.

He paused only to hover above her, pressing his forehead to hers once more. “Any second thoughts?” he teased gently, though there was a hint of earnestness in his tone.

“Not one,” she replied, pulling him in for another kiss. She loved the weight of him, the way his breath hitched as she curled her leg around his hip. The soft hum of approval in his throat sent a delicious thrill through her body.

Lando’s lips brushed down her neck, feather-light and deliberate, sending shivers cascading through her body. God, he knew exactly how to make her melt. His breath was warm against her skin, and she felt his teeth graze her pulse point—just enough to make her gasp. His hands slid down her sides, his fingers tracing the curves of her hips as if he were memorizing her all over again. She arched into him, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

Her breath hitched as his lips trailed lower, skimming the delicate expanse of her collarbone before finally reaching her chest. He paused there, his warm breath brushing against her skin, and she could feel the weight of his gaze as he took her in. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. His lips captured one nipple, and she let out a shaky moan, her fingers tangling in his curls.

Y/N couldn’t wait anymore. The tension had been building all day—hell, all year—and now it was too much. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please… fuck me already.”

He chuckled softly—that same playful, teasing laugh that always drove her wild. “So impatient,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her chest as he spoke. “We’ve got all night, Mrs. Norris.” But even as he teased her, he was already moving, his hands sliding up her thighs as he shifted back to kneel between her legs.

He stood up briefly, his eyes never leaving hers as he unbuttoned his trousers and slid them down his legs, followed by his boxers. His cock sprang free, painfully hard, and she couldn’t help but bite her lip as she watched him. He was so beautiful, so perfectly hers, and the thought made her chest ache with emotion.

Lando leaned down again, his hands sliding under the waistband of her thong. “Let’s get these off,” he said softly, his voice thick with need. He slipped the delicate fabric down her legs, tossing it aside before letting his gaze roam over her. His eyes darkened as he took her in, and she felt a flush creep up her chest at the intensity of his stare.

“Why did you stop?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He smiled, reaching out to brush his fingers along her inner thigh. “Just… let me look at you,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “I can’t believe you’re really mine.”

She squirmed under his gaze, her thighs pressing together as she fought the urge to close her legs. “Lando,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. “Please…”

He didn’t make her wait any longer. He hovered over her again, his body pressing into hers as he kissed her deeply. His hands cradled her face, his touch so tender it made her chest tighten. She felt the tip of his cock brush against her entrance, and she let out a soft whimper, her hips arching toward him.

“Is that good, baby?” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough with need.

“Yes,” she breathed, her hands clutching at his shoulders. “Please, Lando…”

He smiled, his eyes softening as he looked down at her. “I need to make love to you tonight,” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. Slowly, he pushed into her, his movements deliberate and unhurried. She gasped, her nails digging into his back as she felt him stretch her, fill her completely.

He started slow, his thrusts deep and steady, each one drawing a shaky moan from her lips. His eyes never left hers, and the intensity of his gaze made her feel like she was the only person in the world. God, he was so gentle with her, so careful, and it made her chest ache with how much she loved him.

“You are so good to me… so good,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He leaned down to kiss her, his lips soft and warm against hers. “And you’re perfect,” he murmured, his breath mingling with hers. His hips moved in a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through her body. She could feel the way he was holding back—how careful he was being—and it only made her love him more.

She was a moaning mess, her nails dragging down his back as she clung to him. His name fell from her lips in a breathless whisper, over and over, and he seemed to savor every sound she made. “Lando,” she gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt the tension building inside her.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, and felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. He was so tender, so loving, and she couldn’t believe that this man—her husband—was finally hers. Forever.

She started to tear up, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the moment. “I can’t believe this is real,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

He kissed her again, slow and deep, his hips never faltering. “It’s real,” he murmured against her lips. “You’re my wife now. And I’m never letting you go.”

She felt the tears spill over, but she didn’t care. She just held onto him, her body moving with his as he made love to her with a tenderness that left her breathless. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I love you.”

He smiled, his eyes soft as he looked down at her. “I love you too,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion. “More than anything.” His thrusts grew a little faster, a little harder, and she gasped, her hips arching toward him. “Is that good, baby?” he whispered, his voice rough with need.

“Yes,” she breathed, her nails digging into his back. “Yes, Lando…”

He kissed her again, his lips soft and warm against hers. “Good,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion. “Because I’m never going to stop loving you.”

Lando returned to slow, measured movements, letting the moment stretch between them like something sacred. He moved inside her with a rhythm that was unhurried, deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of her body all over again. His thrusts were deep, each one slow and steady, pushing her closer to the edge while still holding her there, suspended in the warmth of him. She could feel the way he savored every moment—pressing into her with tender care, pulling back just enough to make her ache for him. His hands slid up her sides, his fingers brushing over her ribs, his touch so soft it made her shiver.

“God, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire, “you feel so... soft. So perfect.” His breath was hot against her neck, his lips grazing her skin as he spoke. He tipped his head back for a moment, his eyes closing as he sucked in a sharp breath. “I can’t believe you’re mine. All of you... like this... mine.”

She whimpered, her nails digging into the muscles of his back as she arched into him. The way he moved inside her was almost unbearable, his pace so slow, so deliberate, like he was trying to stretch every second into an eternity. She could feel every inch of him, every breath, every heartbeat, and it was too much and not enough all at once.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “I can’t...” She trailed off, her words dissolving into a broken moan as he pressed deeper, his hips rolling against hers in a way that made her body sing. “God, you’re... you’re so good to me... so good.”

He chuckled softly, his lips brushing against her collarbone. “And you’re... fucking amazing,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. He leaned back slightly, his eyes locking onto hers, and she could see the way he was holding himself back—how careful, how deliberate he was being. His hands slid down to her hips, his fingers gripping her tightly as he pulled her closer, his thrusts still slow, still deep.

Her breath hitched, her chest tightening with how much she loved him. She could feel the tears building again, her eyes stinging as she looked up at him. “I can’t believe this is real,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I can’t believe we’re... here... like this...”

He smiled, his eyes softening as he looked down at her. “It’s real,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. His thumb brushed along her hip bone, his touch so gentle it made her heart ache. “You’re my wife, Y/N. And I’m... God, I’m so in love with you.”

She choked on a sob, her hands reaching up to cup his face. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Her palms were warm against his skin, and she could feel the way his breath hitched when he leaned into her touch. She pulled him down for a kiss, her lips soft against his, her heart pounding in her chest.

He kissed her back with a tenderness that made her chest ache, his thrusts never faltering. His hands slid up her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. She could feel the way his body trembled against hers, the way his breath came in shaky gasps. But he was still so careful, so slow, as if he was scared of breaking her.

“You feel... incredible,” he whispered, his voice trembling. His hips moved faster, his thrusts deeper, and she could feel the tension building inside her. She was so close, so close, and she could see it in his eyes too—the way he was struggling to hold on.

“Lando,” she gasped, her fingers tangling in his curls as she pulled him closer. “I’m so close... please...”

He moaned low in his throat, his thrusts quickening just enough to send her over the edge. “Come with me,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “Please, Y/N... come with me.”

And she did. Her body shattered as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, her nails digging into his skin, her lips parting in a silent scream. She could feel him tense above her, hear his sharp intake of breath as he climaxed too, his body shuddering against hers. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his lips brushing against her skin as they rode out the waves together.

When it was over, when the world had righted itself again, he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. She could feel the way his heart raced against her chest, hear the way his breath came in shaky gasps. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering for a moment before he finally spoke.

“You’re my wife,” he murmured, his voice filled with wonder. “My wife.” She could hear the smile in his voice, the way the weight of it seemed to settle over him. “I love you so much, Y/N. More than anything.”

She smiled, her eyes fluttering shut as she pressed her face into his chest. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. His arms tightened around her, and she could feel the way his body relaxed against hers. She sighed contentedly, her heart still racing as he pressed another soft kiss to her hair.

His hand brushed over her back, his fingertips grazing her skin as he tangled his legs with hers. “Sleep,” he said softly, his voice warm and filled with tenderness. “We’ve got forever, you and me.” She nodded, her eyes closing as a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. His arms tightened around her, and within moments, everything melted away in the quiet comfort of the night.

[pitlanepeach]

From Eden | Chapter Seven pt.1 (7/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Agoraphobia, severe social anxiety, references to a skin-picking relapse, antidepressants, therapy sessions, bad family situations, panic attacks, sexual content.

Notes — Yes, Ch7 will be split into two halves, because I’m good to you guys like that, and have so much of their story left to tell. No social media posts in this one (hope u don’t mind). Enjoy — Peach x

iMessage — Oscar & Mark 

Mark

How’s things mate? 

Oscar 

Really good. 

Really, really good. 

Mark 

You’re all in for this girl then?

Oscar 

All in. 

Mark 

Let me know when you want her in the paddock. I’ll make it work for her. 

Oscar

Thanks. Means a lot 

Mark

Anytime kid. 

— 

Francesca felt like everything was moving in slow motion. 

The revolving doors of the Harper Collins offices loomed. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. God, why was everything was so clean? And bright. There were too many reflective surfaces. She caught a glimpse of herself in one of the chrome panels — pasty skinned, wide-eyed, white knuckling the strap of her handbag.

“You’re doing great,” Katie said beside her, breezing along in a bright yellow pantsuit, the epitome of an actual boss-babe. “You didn’t even throw up on the tube.” 

“I’m sweating through my bra,” Francesca muttered back, voice tight. “I’m going to get… patches. Sweat patches.”

Katie rolled her eyes. “No, you won’t. This building is definitely air conditioned.” 

They stepped into the marble-floored lobby. Francesca tried not to visibly recoil at the echoing sound of high-heels and the very serious man behind the reception desk. Her heart was thudding. 

Over the past week, she’d done a lot of hard things. More walks to the cafe. More talking about her feelings. Upping the frequency of her therapy sessions to twice a week instead of once. 

She could survive a publisher meeting.

The receptionist, not as intimidating once Katie had introduced them and he’d beamed at them (teeth and all), led them up in a mirrored elevator to the 14th floor. Francesca tried not to think about how long the fall would be if she had to resort to throwing herself out a window. Katie, probably reading the expression on her face, reached over and squeezed her hand. 

When they stepped into the meeting room, everything smelled like coffee and expensive paper.

Two editors, a publicity manager, and a junior marketing exec were seated around the polished table, smiling like this was completely normal and not the most terrifying thing Francesca had ever done in her entire life. 

“Francesca,” said the older of the editors — Laura, the woman they’d had a handful of zoom meetings with over the past few weeks. She stood and offered her hand. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you in person.”

Francesca smiled and hoped that it didn’t look to wobbly around the edges. “You too.”

She sat down. Katie followed without hesitation, plopping beside her like she belonged there; she did. None of this would be happening if it wasn’t for her. She was as big of a part of this deal as Francesca was. 

There were questions about tone and voice and back cover copy. Francesca nodded along, offering thoughts when she had could actually manage to form them into words, Katie chiming in like a practiced publicist even though she technically wasn’t one. 

When Laura mentioned the projected release date — June 2024 — Francesca blinked.

“That’s so soon,��� she said softly. It was already November. 

“That’s exciting,” Katie corrected her, nudging her under the table. “Right?”

Francesca nodded slowly. “Yeah. Exciting.”

She let the word sit there in her mouth, tasting it. 

Laura smiled. “We think your audience will be more than ready. We’re already seeing a lot of positive engagement following your announcement, and that established platform that you have really does give us a great foundation to build on.”

Francesca swallowed. “That’s… amazing. I just— I want it all to go well.”

“It will,” the marketing exec said, with a nod that was full of certainty. “Your draft — what you’ve created — it’s vulnerable and funny and deeply human. People are going to see themselves in it. That’s rare in fiction, even rarer in contemporary romance. It’s impressive.”

She blinked hard. Looked at the table. Pushed through the hitch in her breath.

Katie covered her hand under the desk, her thumb brushing reassuring circles against Francesca’s knuckles. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it anchored her more than she could explain.

The meeting stretched well into the afternoon. Coffee and biscuits appeared partway through. When Francesca shyly asked if they happened to have oat milk, one of the assistants dashed off without hesitation, returning five minutes later with two cartons and an apologetic smile like it had been some kind of emergency.

Francesca didn’t know what to do with that level of accommodation. She sipped slowly, kept her shoulders down, and tried to answer every question directed her way with a level of professionalism that didn’t come naturally. 

By the time they wrapped, her brain felt like soup. There were quick hugs goodbye, promises to follow up by email, someone scribbling a phone number onto a scrap of paper and handing it to Katie with an instruction to “get in touch” with any urgent follow-ups. 

She let herself be ushered into the lift, then out through the revolving doors, and only when the cold November air hit her face did she let out a breath that had been building in her lungs for hours.

“I didn’t cry,” she murmured, almost in disbelief. Her eyes lifted to the slate-grey sky, where the clouds had settled low and heavy. London in November — foggy and damp.

Katie bumped their hips together gently, her tone somewhere between teasing and proud. “They loved you.”

Francesca laughed, shaky and a little stunned. “I guess. Maybe.”

“They did. You’re talented and lovely and weirdly charming when you’re nervous.”

“I’m always nervous.” Francesca deadpanned. 

Katie grinned. “Exactly. It’s kind of your brand.”

Francesca let out a breathy laugh and tipped her head against her friend's shoulder for a moment.

“My brain’s doing that thing where I can’t remember anything I said,” she admitted.

Katie hummed. “You were great. You only said the word ‘vibes’ twice, and one of those times it actually worked in your favour.”

“Generous of them to let me get away with that,” Francesca said, the words half-laugh, half-relief. 

Katie snorted. “They’re publishing your book and expecting it to make them millions, babe. You could’ve walked in there and recited the alphabet backwards and they still probably would’ve given you a round of applause. You had all of the power.”

Francesca glanced sideways, skeptical. “I was, like, shaking half the time. I spilt the oat milk.”

“You were adorable. And powerful.”

Francesca huffed a laugh, but didn’t argue. Instead, she looked up, gaze drifting over the familiar skyline — grey, fog-drenched. 

She exhaled slowly. “I’m glad you were there with me.”

Katie, walking beside her with that usual casual grace, bumped her shoulder gently. “Always.”

The entrance to the tube station came into view at the end of the street, bustling and loud, people pouring in and out like water. 

“You realise you’re in the acknowledgements, right?” Francesca said after a beat.

Katie arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I’d better be. I want at least two full paragraphs.”

Francesca snorted. “Greedy.”

“Supportive,” Katie corrected primly, nose tilted in the air like she expected applause.

Francesca rolled her eyes, biting back a grin.

They reached the steps leading down to the underground platform, and Francesca’s pace faltered. Her hand landed on the rail, knuckles whitening as she gripped it. Her chest fluttered with that too-familiar tremor — the one that liked to remind her it could show up anywhere, anytime.

Katie noticed immediately. Of course she did.

She slowed too, watching her with gentle eyes. “We can get an uber,” she said quickly.

Francesca didn’t answer right away. Instead, she closed her eyes, grounding herself like Dr. Kapoor had taught her.

Three breaths, slow and deliberate. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Again.

Your fears are valid, she reminded herself, but they don’t get to dictate your day. They don’t have the power to actually hurt you.

She squeezed the railing, not out of panic this time, but as an anchor. Then she looked over at Katie and nodded, barely, but firmly. “No, it’s okay. I want to take the tube.”

Katie’s expression softened with something like pride — quiet and unspoken, but unmistakable. “Alright then,” she said. “Let’s go.”

— 

She woke up sweating. Disoriented. Nausea clinging to her. 

The dream was still sticky around the edges, too vivid to shake.

Oscar — in a glittering white tuxedo. An Elvis impersonator officiating. A woman Francesca didn’t recognise, tall and stunning, in a rhinestoned mini-dress and platform heels, blowing kisses to a fake crowd of cardboard cutouts.

There were fog machines. Lando Norris was playing “Viva Las Vegas” on a kazoo. Oscar looked confused. Then resigned. Then he said “I do.”

— 

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar 

Francesca

i had a dream

and by dream i mean horrifying nightmare

and i am blaming my new sertraline dose ok

but i need you to be honest with me

Oscar

You okay baby?

Ask me anything. I’m always honest with you

Francesca

does lando know how to play the kazoo

Oscar

Right. Literally would never have guessed that was where this was going

One sec. I’ll ask.

He does not.

He’s also deeply confused and a little afraid. 

Francesca

okay phew

because in my dream you got VEGAS MARRIED

like i turned on the tv and there was a LIVE BROADCAST

of you wearing a glitter tux and holding hands with a woman named Brandi (with an i?????????)

and lando was your kazoo player slash ring bearer

and there were sparklers

Oscar

…I don’t even know where to start

First of all: never been near a kazoo

Second: you think I’d name someone named Brandi? 

Francesca

idk. you looked so smug though

like “oh sorry babe i had no choice, she had great bone structure and her dad owns a boat dealership”

and THEN the wedding cake was shaped like your helmet.

i feel violent. i’ll kill her. 

Oscar

Lando is finding this very funny. 

Really? A helmet cake?

Francesca

okay but the crocs were the worst part

she was wearing white crocs with rhinestones that spelled out “WIFEY 4 LYFE”

i woke up sweating

Oscar

I would rather eat a kazoo than be legally bound to someone who wears crocs

Francesca

thank you.

i needed to hear that.

Oscar

Are you having any other side effects?

From your medication, not the dream

Francesca

um some nausea and headaches ig 

nothing too bad

can u remind me what time i need to wake up to watch fp1

Oscar

6:30 baby

I’ll text u at 6 before I get my phone taken

Love you

Francesca 

love you. don’t get married pls. 

Oscar 

I promise you that I won’t. 

Get some sleep baby

—

The Zoom window opened with a quiet pop and a small ping. Francesca sat cross-legged on the sofa, laptop balanced on a cushion in her lap, a cup of chamomile tea going cold on the coffee table. The Las Vegas GP coverage was playing on mute on the TV — just FP3. 

Dr. Kapoor smiled at her, framed by warm-toned bookshelves and a tall potted plant. 

“Good morning, Francesca," she said, with that steady, velvet voice that had become an anchor of emotion. "How are you today?"

Francesca gave a half-shrug. “Floating. Not in a bad way, though. Like… a little bit light-headed. Like someone took my brain out, dipped it in disinfectant, and then put it back in. Upside down.”

Dr. Kapoor chuckled. “Ah. You increased your sertraline dose this week.” She recalled. 

“Yup,” Francesca said, popping the ‘p’. “Per your suggestion. I know you warned me about the side effects, but the dreams have been, uh, pretty vivid.”

Dr. Kapoor’s brow lifted, amused. “That’s not unusual. Dosage changes can be a little problematic until they settle. Have you had any other symptoms?”

Francesca hesitated. “Some nausea. I’m drinking a lot more ginger tea than usual, but it’s manageable. Also headaches.”

“All very normal, and if I’m remembering correctly, exactly what you experienced when you started taking your very first dose.” Dr. Kapoor leaned in a little, eyes kind. “Are you doing well otherwise?” 

“I— I think so,” Francesca said, then fiddled with the hem of her sleeve. “But I feel like there’s a limit on how far I can, like, push myself. You know how crazy these past few weeks have been; I feel like it might be too much, too soon.” 

Dr. Kapoor’s expression softened, but her voice turned firm. “Francesca, I want to challenge something you just said.”

Francesca blinked. “Okay?”

“There is no ceiling on what you’re capable of,” Dr. Kapoor said. “You’ve internalised this idea that there’s a glass wall between you and the life you want — and sure, right now, some things might feel hard, maybe even impossible. But that wall? It’s not real. It’s just fear. And fear doesn't have control over you, not unless you want it to.”

Francesca swallowed, feeling off-centre. “I just don’t want to mess it all up. Especially when things feel… good. I don’t trust it.”

“That’s okay. Trust, even in ourselves, has to be earned over time,” Dr. Kapoor said, her voice steady. “But don’t mistake the discomfort of growth for danger. You’ve outgrown certain patterns, Francesca. Your world is expanding very quickly. It’s only natural to feel unsure.” 

Francesca looked away from the screen for a second, blinking fast. “Sometimes I don’t even recognise myself lately,” she admitted.

“A million versions of you can exist all at once, in perfect tandem,” Dr. Kapoor said gently. “The scared version, the brave one, the writer, the woman in love, the one still healing — they’re all you. You don’t have to pick just one. You’re not a contradiction, Francesca. You’re human.”

Francesca let out a shaky breath, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a fraction. “So I’m allowed to be both terrified and… really, really happy?”

Dr. Kapoor smiled. “Absolutely. In fact, that’s usually how we know we’re moving forward — when both can exist at the same time.”

— 

The living room was dim, lit only by the flicker of the race on her TV. It was still dark outside despite it technically being morning. Francesca sat cross-legged on the sofa, a blanket half-pulled around her shoulders, her phone resting nearby, screen dark.

She was trying not to be anxious. Really trying.

She knew Oscar was good — not just talented, but smart. Careful. Strategic in the way he drove. 

Still, like they did during every race, her fingers had curled into the blanket without her noticing. Her knuckles had gone white.

It was an eventful first three laps. Chaos on every corner. Francesca kept her eyes locked on the timing sheets in the corner of the screen, watching Oscar’s number creep forward, her heart lifting every time he overtook someone cleanly.

He was going to get himself into the points if he kept driving that way for the rest of the race. Pulling something brilliant out of a back-of-the-grid start.

And then—

And then the crash happened.

It was sudden — jarring. One moment, the cars were slicing through the neon chaos of the Vegas strip, all controlled precision and searing light. The next, a blur of motion went sideways, smoke billowed, sparks flew. A car snapped against the barrier like a toy, wheels skidding, debris scattering. The camera cut wide. The commentators shot up in pitch, sharp and immediate, overlapping in alarm.

Francesca’s blood turned to ice.

“—McLaren in the wall—heavy impact—”

She couldn’t breathe.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

Oscar.

Oscar.

Her heart thundered against her ribs as she scrambled for the remote, nearly dropping it, fingers numb. She turned the volume up so fast the speakers on the TV crackled. The image on screen was too far away, the impact too quick — she couldn’t tell who it was. Couldn’t see the number, or the helmet.

The camera stayed wide. No confirmation. No replay. No name.

She felt sick. Her pulse roared in her ears.

Please not him. Please not him.

“And that’s the McLaren of Lando Norris—”

The relief hit so fast she almost keeled over. Her whole body folded forward, shoulders shaking, hand covering her mouth like it might hold her together.

It wasn’t Oscar. He was still driving. Still safe.

The rush of it — the overwhelming, selfish relief — made her dizzy. She wasn’t crying, not exactly, but her eyes burned, throat tight, breath coming in shallow gasps.

And then… slowly… it shifted.

The camera zoomed in on the wreckage.

She sat upright again, eyes narrowing as she took in the sight. The smoke was clearing, marshals were running. No movement from the cockpit yet.

Her relief soured into guilt.

It wasn’t Oscar… but it was still Lando.

Lando. 

Her chest ached again, but for a different reason now.

“Come on,” she whispered to the screen. “Come on, get out. Be okay.”

The replays started. She flinched. The way the car had hit. The angle. The bounce.

She imagined Oscar watching it from the cockpit of his car. She imagined the silence in his radio. The breath that must’ve caught in his throat.

The guilt doubled.

It wasn't Oscar — but it could’ve been.

And now Lando was somewhere in that shattered car, and she didn’t know if he was okay.

They deployed the safety car. 

The McLaren — what was left of it — sat limp in the runoff, sparks still flickering beneath it. The halo was intact. The front wing was gone. Smoke rose in gentle, mocking spirals.

Then, finally, movement.

The camera zoomed just slightly, shaky and grainy in the low light of the Vegas circuit — but there he was. Lando. Climbing out. Slowly, stiffly, but moving under his own power.

Francesca let out a sound she hadn’t meant to make — a breathy, gasping laugh that cracked down the middle. She leaned forward, hand gripping the edge of the coffee table like an anchor, eyes locked on the screen.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. She covered her face with both hands, sucked in a lungful of air, and let it go with a shaky exhale. “Thank god.”

The screen showed him walking, slowly, toward the medical car. A marshal steadying him. He was probably bruised to hell. Maybe concussed. But he was alive.

She watched the rest of the race with her heart in her throat. 

— 

Incoming FaceTime from Oscar 

Her phone lit up just as she started pacing the kitchen for the third time since Oscar had passed the chequered flag. 

Francesca answered instantly.

Oscar’s face filled the screen — a little sweaty, a little flushed, hair damp and stuck to his forehead, still in his race suit, half-unzipped to the waist. His fireproofs clung to his body like a second skin. The familiar chaos of a post-race backdrop buzzed behind him.

But his eyes were calm. Warm. Focused entirely on her.

“Hey, baby,” he said softly.

She didn’t return the greeting — not yet. “Is Lando okay?”

Oscar nodded immediately. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s alright. Bit winded. They’ve taken him to the hospital for checks, but he was up, talking, walking. Properly okay.”

Francesca let out a long breath and closed her eyes for a second. “I— I saw it happen. Thought it was you for a second. My heart stopped.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I figured you would’ve. You okay?”

Her hand trembled just slightly as she pushed her hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay now. Just— needed to hear that he was okay from you, not the Sky Sports people, you know?”

He smiled gently, and even with the grainy front camera and the low lighting, it made her feel steadier. “He really is. Pretty sure he’s already on his way back to the paddock.” 

“Good,” she said, her voice softer now. “And— hey. Points finish. P10. You did really well, Osc. I’m so proud of you.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched, like he was trying to bite down a grin and failing. His ears turned red. “Thanks, beautiful.” 

— 

iMessage — Lando & Francesca 

Francesca 

hey its francesca, oscar gave me ur number 

rly glad ur ok, that looked scary

Lando 

haha yeah im all good!

thanks for checking, means a lot 

Francesca

u scared the shit out of me lol

Lando

😭😭😭

yeah sorry about that

wasn’t my best work

Francesca

do me a favour and try not to do that again

Lando

noted

Francesca

anyway, genuinely glad you're okay

Lando

cheers mate :) u ever need anything just lmk 

Francesca 

ty! 

— 

The call connected before Francesca could brace herself.

“Francesca,” her mum said immediately, like she’d been waiting by the phone for hours. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Hi, Mum.” Francesca tucked her legs beneath her, one hand already curled into the sleeve of her jumper. “Just wanted to call and check in. See how you and Dad are doing.”

“We’re managing,” her mother said with a pointed sigh, already shifting the tone. “Your father’s been having more trouble with his back again, of course. And I’ve had no help getting the decorations down from the loft — your sister promised she would, but you know how she is…”

Francesca nodded, even though her mum couldn’t see it. “That’s rough. I’m sorry.”

“Well.” A pause. “That’s why I hope you’ll be here for Christmas. It’s been too long, Francesca. We haven’t seen you in a year. You didn’t come in the summer, even though I practically begged—”

“I know, Mum, but I had work committments—”

“We all have work,” her mother said, voice wobbling. “But you make time for family. Especially now that we’re… not getting any younger.”

That particular line landed like a weight to the chest. Francesca rubbed at her temple. “Mum…”

“I just—” And then came the softest sniff, just audible enough. “I miss you, darling. I know you have your… your own little life. But I thought maybe Christmas, at least —you could make the effort for Christmas.”

Francesca swallowed against the lump in her throat. She thought about how tired she’d been lately, how much she’d wanted to spend Christmas quietly, maybe even with Oscar, maybe even happy. But instead, the image of her mum alone in the kitchen, crying over tinsel, took root in her mind. 

“Okay,” she said, staring blankly at the wall. “Yeah. I’ll come.”

Her mother’s relief was immediate, audible in the way her breath rushed out. “Oh, thank you, sweetheart. Your dad will be so pleased. We’ll do all your favourites —those potatoes you like, and the pudding—”

Francesca closed her eyes, nodding again. She hated potatoes, didn’t like them in any form other than deep-fried, and the only pudding she was interested in were pastries that Oscar brought for her, still warm and fresh from the bakery down the road. “Yeah. That sounds good.” She lied.

“Maybe this time, you can stay longer than just two nights.” She said, slightly snippily. 

“Mmhmm,” Francesca murmured, already feeling the edges of herself shrink back into something smaller.

— 

Her living room was a riot of snacks and empty kebab containers. 

Katie sat cross-legged on the floor, a blanket draped around her shoulders like a cape, holding a bright orange drink garnished with a paper umbrella and a gummy tyre. Francesca was curled sideways in the armchair, an 81 McLaren cap pulled low over her eyes, the brim doing little to hide her hyper-focus on the screen.

“Okay, these are actually good,” Katie said, gesturing to her mocktail. “Did you invent these?”

“I adapted the recipe,” Francesca said, smug. “Google gave me a Red Bull themed one and I nearly threw my phone in the bin.”

Katie cackled. “Aw. You’re so loyal.” 

“Not hard when they’ve got best driver on the grid,” Francesca mumbled, eyes glued to the formation lap. 

“So… You’re really going to your parents for Christmas?” Katie asked, plucking a popcorn kernel from the bowl between them.

Francesca nodded slowly. “Yeah. I still need to book my flights and talk to Osc about it, but… yeah. Mum’s already sent me a list of things that she needs me to do when I get there.” 

Katie winced. “You okay with that?”

“I think so.” Francesca ran her thumb along the side of her cup. “I mean, no. Not really. But I said yes anyway, didn’t argue too much. And I do want to see my dad.”

“What do you think he’ll say about it? Oscar?” She asked, head tilted. 

Francesca shrugged. “I don’t know,” then her expression softened. “But his family are coming to London next week, actually. Staying for a couple nights.”

“Wait, they’re coming to you?” Katie asked, her eyes wide. 

“Mmhmm,” Francesca said, tucking her knees up under her oversized hoodie — Oscar’s hoodie, technically, soft from wear and printed with his number across the back. “I said I felt bad about it, so he just made up some elaborate lie about Hattie wanting to go to the Christmas markets and try the churros in Hyde Park.”

She tugged at the hem of the sleeve, twisting it between her fingers, a small smile pulling at her mouth despite herself.

Katie snorted into her glass. “Well. Nobody can ever accuse him of being a good liar.”

“No, he’s terrible,” Francesca agreed, fondly exasperated. “He tried to look serious while saying it, but I could hear the smirk through the phone.”

“He’s such a simp for you,” Katie grinned. “It’s kind of biblical.”

Francesca didn’t disagree. She tilted her head back against the armchair, eyes flicking back to the screen. The pre-race build-up was rolling on — sweeping drone shots, pit crew scrambling, the overhead buzz of helicopters blending into the hum of nerves in her chest.

“He’s travelling back here in two days,” she said, voice soft. “Straight from Abu Dhabi. No press. No detours. Just… me.”

Katie raised her glass like a toast. “To the final race of the 2023 season.”

“To Oscar officially winning Rookie of the Year,” Francesca corrected, her eyes shining as she clinked their glasses together.

In truth, she was only half watching the screen now — the rest of her mind was already spinning ahead, past the chequered flag, past the interviews and flights and time zones. To the moment the front door would creak open and Oscar would be standing there, backpack slung over one shoulder, exhausted but smiling. Hers.

She imagined his hands on her waist. Nipping at his neck and watching his nose scrunch in response. How his voice would go soft when he finally whispered hi, beautiful.

The lights on the grid went out — five reds blinking out in sequence — and both girls leaned forward like clockwork, all anticipation.

Snacks forgotten. Breath held.

“Lights out and away we go!”

— 

The bathroom was full of steam and lavender, the soft fizz of a half-melted bath bomb curling lazy tendrils through the air. Her candle flickered on the windowsill, casting golden light across the bubbles piled high around her shoulders.

Francesca sank a little deeper into the heat, her phone held above the water in one hand, thumb scrolling absently through her Pinterest board labeled ‘Monaco Apartment’.

There were photos of sun-drenched balconies with striped umbrellas, airy cream interiors, lemon trees in terra cotta pots. Shelves lined with books and trinkets. Kitchens too pretty to ever cook in. One picture had a view that looked suspiciously like it came straight from Oscar’s daydreams — a narrow window framing a sliver of glittering sea. One of the pictures had a framed photo of a Formula One car hanging above a desk — a desk that could be hers. Used to edit on, write on, and film behind. 

Henry, perched regally on the closed toilet seat, gave a soft, chirping meow.

Francesca tilted the phone to show him a pin she’d just saved — a sunny corner nook with a hammock slung just below a wide-open window, a ginger cat lounging in a patch of light.

“Well?” she asked. “Would you want that to be you?”

Henry blinked slowly, then meowed again, louder this time, tail flicking once. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She smiled, heart doing that soft little skip it always did when she let herself imagine it — not just Monaco, but the after. The life that came with it. The one she was slowly starting to believe she might actually get to have.

Somewhere between fantasy and possibility, she saved the pin and let herself drift a little deeper into the bubbles.

— 

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar

Francesca

currently having a crisis

Oscar

You okay??

What kind of crisis are we talking

Francesca

i don’t know what to get your dad for christmas

Oscar

What??

You’re getting my dad a Christmas present?

Francesca

babe i’m getting your entire family presents lol 

anyway do you think he’d like some fancy wine? or is that too boring. socks? books? a bonsai tree?

Oscar

You really don’t have to do that

They will love you, presents or not 

Francesca

everyone else was easy to buy for but your dad has very specific vibes 

he’s difficult. mysterious. i must impress him… 

Oscar

He’s literally just a chill guy who watches cricket and makes too many dad jokes

You’re overthinking

Francesca

okay but hear me out

what if i knit him a scarf

and then he wears it

and i become his favourite

think of the long-term benefits osc

Oscar

If you knit my dad a scarf he will cry. Actually cry.

Do it. I wanna see it

Francesca

say less

pulling out the yarn as we speak

it will be mclaren themed so he can wear it on race weekends

Oscar

You’re crazy

I miss you so much it’s painful

See you in less than 48 hours baby

Francesca

i’m gonna jump you at the door

just so you know

Oscar

I’ll catch you

— 

The flat smelled like cinnamon and pine — Francesca had gone a little overboard with festive candles and a preemptive fake Christmas tree (still undecorated, but proudly up and not at all lopsided). The heating was on full blast, and Henry was perched by the door, waiting. 

She’d made a banner. Like, a very large banner — with gold lettering and orange glitter and those little sticky foam stars you get in craft kits. 

WELCOME HOME, ROOKIE OF THE YEAR

It hung wonkily across the living room wall. She stood underneath it in an oversized McLaren hoodie, leggings, and socks with snowmen on them. She had half a mind to be embarrassed — but she was too excited.

The door, unlocked in preparation for his arrival, swung open. 

And there he was.

Flushed from travel, hair rumpled, that stupid duffle bag slung over one shoulder. His eyes found hers instantly, lighting up like they always did, and for a second, he just stood there — stunned, smile blooming slow and warm across his face.

“Rookie of the year,” she announced, spreading her arms, presenting him with the banner and all her pent-up affection. “I’m so proud of you!” 

He dropped the bag. “You’re insane,” he said, already laughing. “Baby. You made a banner?”

She was across the room and in his arms a second later. He caught her with a soft, surprised breath, holding her tight, lifting her slightly off the ground.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered, burying her face in his neck.

“I thought about you every second,” he said. “Couldn’t wait to come back to you.”

“You’re here now,” she murmured, kissing his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

He grinned — and then she kissed him fully, properly, like she'd been waiting all month. Because she had.

His hands slid up under her hoodie as they stumbled toward the sofa, laughing between kisses, clumsy with how much they wanted — wanted to be close, wanted to feel like themselves again, all skin and heartbeats and soft sighs.

The banner fluttered slightly above them. Henry meowed disapprovingly at being ignored, and promptly turned tail and stomped into the kitchen.

Francesca’s back hit the sofa cushions, a quiet gasp leaving her as Oscar followed her down, his thumbs brushing the warm skin just beneath her ribs.

“I like this hoodie on you,” he said into her neck. “But I need it gone.”

She laughed softly, breath hitching as he kissed a slow line along her collarbone. “I stole it fair and square.”

“I’ll let you have it back,” he said, pulling it up, over her head — his fingers a little clumsy, caught in her hair. “Later.”

He kissed her like he meant it — deep and slow, like he had nowhere else in the world to be, like he’d missed her every single second they’d been apart. His hands found her waist, curved over her hips like muscle memory, tugging her closer until she could feel how much he wanted her.

“You’re warm,” she whispered, letting her legs fall open just enough to pull him between them.

“I ran up the stairs,” he murmured against her lips. “I couldn’t wait for the lift.”

Clothes came off in messy layers, half-laughed, half-torn, with the urgency of two people who’d waited too long and weren’t even trying to be patient anymore.

Francesca traced her fingers down the line of his spine, kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then lower. Oscar groaned softly, eyes fluttering shut, already breathless.

When he finally sank into her, their bodies fitting together like they always had — like they were made for this — Francesca clutched at his shoulders, pulled him in even closer.

“Hi,” she whispered, dazed and dizzy.

Oscar laughed, kissed her with a grin. “Hi, beautiful.”

They moved slow at first — hands roaming, mouths exploring, like they were relearning each other from scratch — then faster, more desperate, tangled up in each other and the couch cushions and the soft creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath them.

Oscar murmured her name, forehead pressed to hers, eyes so full of awe it made her chest ache.

She came first, clinging to him, breath caught on a gasp, heart wide open.

He followed with a low, wrecked moan, collapsing against her with a weight that felt more like surrender than anything else. Safe. Home.

— 

ONE WEEK LATER

Francesca checked the oven clock for the third time in as many minutes.

“They land in half an hour,” Oscar said behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and leaning his chin on her shoulder. “We’ve got ages, babe.”

“I just—what if your mum doesn’t like me?” she asked, turning slightly in his hold, nerves edging her voice. “What if your dad thinks I’m weird? What if your sister thinks I’m… boring?”

Oscar gave her a flat look. “Hattie has your book pre-ordered. A signed copy. She talks about you all the damn time.”

Francesca blinked up at him. “She does not.”

“She does,” he said with a grin, pressing a soft kiss to the shell of her ear. “My mum is trying to fake being cool, but she’s so excited to meet you. And my dad’s probably going to try and convince us both to go back to Australia with them and then never let us leave.”

She breathed in deeply, but her shoulders didn’t fully settle. “Should I have made a roast? Should I have baked something?” she asked, after a beat, wringing her fingers in the hem of her jumper.

Oscar leaned back slightly so he could see her face better, resting his hands lightly on her hips. “Baby. No one’s expecting anything from you. They just want to meet you. That’s it.”

Francesca gave him a sceptical look, but he just smiled, warm and fond and utterly sure. 

“We’re going to order that really good takeaway Thai that you love, and we’ve got Henry on emotional support duty, and you look—” he paused, letting his eyes sweep her slowly, head to toe, “—ridiculously beautiful. I would kiss you right now, except that I’m afraid if I start, I won’t be able to stop.”

She gave him a small, reluctant smile, and he caught her chin gently between his fingers to tip her gaze up.

“You don’t have to perform for them,” he said softly. “Just be you. That’s the person I fell for. That’s the person they’re about to fall for too.”

Francesca blinked, throat suddenly thick. “God, you’re good at this.”

Oscar grinned. “What, being your boyfriend? Yeah. Been practising.”

She sniffed in amusement, leaning into him. “Love you.” 

He lifted her onto the kitchen counter. She automatically wrapped her legs around his waist and draped her arms over his shoulders. 

“Love you more.” He said against her lips. 

—

Three hours later, they were at the door.

Francesca stood just behind Oscar, her palms slightly damp where they pressed to the hem of her t-shirt. 

Oscar glanced back at her with a soft smile, one hand already on the door handle. “You’re gonna be fine. Promise.”

She nodded, even though her stomach was somersaulting.

Then, the door swung open.

“Oscar!”

Nicole barely gave her son a second to breathe before she launched into a hug — arms wound tightly around his shoulders, her face pressed against his cheek. She was radiant, glamorous in that naturally chic way, with a warm Australian accent that rolled off her tongue like sunlight.

“Oh my god, my boy,” she said, pulling back to hold him at arm’s length like she needed to take stock of him in real time. “You look so good. Older!”

Oscar laughed, ducking his head. “Mum, you literally saw me two months ago.”

Nicole turned — and her expression immediately softened into something even warmer. Her eyes found Francesca. “And you must be Francesca.”

Before Francesca could say a word, she was swept into a firm, no-nonsense hug that smelled faintly of sandalwood and rose. Nicole’s grip was all-in — no hesitation, no formality. Just pure unbridled warmth.

“You are so beautiful,” she said, cupping Francesca’s cheek in both hands once she stepped back. “He’s completely obsessed with you, you know.”

Francesca blinked, and then her face flamed red. “Um — likewise.” She whispered, glancing over at Oscar, who winked at her, and then blushed himself when he realised his mum had probably seen him do it. 

Then came Chris, who stepped up behind Nicole with an easy, gentlemanly smile. He was tall and quietly charismatic, with the kind of calming energy that could neutralise a room.

“Lovely to finally meet you,” he said, extending a hand.

When Francesca shook it, he gave a small nod and gently patted her other hand, like she was someone to be trusted with something precious. “Thank you for looking after our boy.”

She smiled, unsure what to say, but touched by how genuine he sounded.

And then—

A thud and a grunt came from behind them, and Oscar rolled his eyes fondly. “And that’s Hattie.”

Hattie stumbled in with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and sunglasses still perched on her head. She was all chaotic charm — jeans with paint on them, an oversized denim jacket, and about six mismatched rings.

“Finally,” she said, dropping the bag like it had personally offended her and striding over to Francesca. “You’re real! And you’re so pretty!” 

Francesca laughed, startled by the sheer energy. “I— Thank you. So are you.”

“I can’t believe I’m actually in your apartment.” Hattie threw her arms around Francesca like they were already best friends, and it filled Francesca with ease. “I’m sorry in advance for how much I’m gonna annoy you this weekend, but I literally feel like I’m meeting my favourite internet celebrity right now.”

Oscar mouthed, told you so from behind her.

Nicole was cooing at Henry, who was perched high on the windowsill, blinking slowly .“And you must be Henry,” she said, voice pitched like she was meeting royalty. “Gosh, he’s even cuter than he is in the pictures.”

“This is his palace,” Oscar added, dropping his bag by the door. “He just lets us stay because we feed him.”

Us. We.

Francesca felt the words settle somewhere soft in her chest, warm and unfamiliar. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to it — the ease with which he spoke like this place belonged to both of them.

Chris chuckled and stepped further in. “Right then — do we get to sit down, or is this a standing-room-only sort of welcome?”

Francesca laughed, finally exhaling a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“Come in,” she said, stepping aside, warmth blooming slowly in her chest. “We ordered enough Thai food to feed a small village.”

Nicole beamed. “Perfect.”

Oscar caught her eye, brushing her hand with his as everyone made to settle into the small space. “See? Told you they’d love you.”

She gave him a look, but couldn’t help smiling. “They’re not so bad,” she murmured, grinning as she watched Hattie try to pick a nervous Henry up. 

Chris grunted as he sank into the couch, only to immediately shift and reach behind him with a puzzled look. He pulled out a small ball of tangled yarn and a pair of knitting needles. “Oh. Do you knit, Francesca?”

Francesca froze, blinking at him like a deer caught in headlights. “Um—”

Oscar, stood beside her, folded over with a wheeze of laughter, practically choking on it.

She glared at him. 

Chris looked confused. 

Nicole just watched them, a serene smile on her face. 

And Hattie… Hattie was still trying to convince Henry to let her hold him. 

— 

The kitchen was warm, golden-lit and quiet. The distant hum of laughter and murmured conversation came from the living room, where Oscar and Hattie were still squabbling over who got the last of the noodles.

Francesca stood in-front the sink, rinsing mugs and lining them up on the counter. She liked the rhythm of it — slow and grounding. She didn’t hear Nicole come in until the older woman leaned gently against the counter beside her.

“Can I help with anything, sweetheart?” Nicole asked softly, already reaching for a tea towel.

Francesca smiled and shook her head. “I’m good, I promise. Nearly done.”

Nicole didn’t move. Instead, she watched her for a moment, and then said, “Thank you again, for having us. I know it’s a lot — letting all of us into your space like this.”

Francesca shrugged, a little shyly. “I— Oscar’s always here, it only makes sense that you guys get to spend some time here too.”

Nicole’s eyes warmed. “Still. It’s a big thing, meeting everyone. You’ve been great.” 

Francesca dried her hands and leaned back against the counter, suddenly a little fidgety under the praise. “I was very nervous,” she admitted. “I still kind of am.”

Nicole’s brow furrowed, gently. “Why?”

Francesca gave a half-laugh, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I don’t know. I guess I just… wanted to impress you.”

Nicole reached over, placing a hand over Francesca’s. “Oh, darling,” she said softly. “From the first time Oscar told me about you, I could hear it in his voice — how much you mean to him. You don’t ever have to be anything other than yourself to impress anyone, but especially us.”

Francesca blinked, throat tightening unexpectedly. “Really?”

“Of course,” Nicole said.

Francesca looked down, her cheeks pink, unsure what to say.

Nicole gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. From what Oscar shared with me in those early weeks, and then seeing you now? You’ve come so far, honey.”

Francesca’s voice was barely more than a breath. “Thank you.”

Nicole smiled, warm and full of something steady. “Just make sure he’s eating enough vegetables and not leaving dirty socks everywhere, alright?”

Francesca let out a soft laugh, the lump in her throat loosening. “I can definitely try. The sock thing’s a losing battle though.”

Nicole nudged her shoulder with a conspiratorial grin. “That’s alright. He’s always been a bit hopeless. But he’s got a good heart. Always has.”

Francesca’s gaze dropped, her cheeks warm. “Yeah. I know.”

Nicole reached for a dish towel and tossed it over her shoulder with practiced ease. “Now come on. If we leave those three alone for too long, they might start to miss us.”

Oscar appeared in the doorway just as Nicole finished speaking, shoulder propped lazily against the frame, his hair a little mussed and his cheeks pink from laughing. He looked so at ease, so completely at home in this little corner of her world, that Francesca felt her heart catch in her chest.

“Too late,” he said, grinning. “I was about to launch a search party.”

Nicole rolled her eyes. “Always so dramatic.”

Francesca stared at him, utterly endeared by the chaos, by his easy warmth — by how he made this space, this life, feel so full. So safe. She didn’t move, even as he crossed the kitchen in a few strides and wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her into his chest like it was instinct. Like she belonged there.

“You good?” he murmured against her hair, his voice low, meant just for her.

She nodded. Pressed into him. Let herself just… exist in his orbit. 

She leaned up a little as Nicole walked back through to the living room, whispering just under her breath, “I’m really glad they’re here.”

Oscar’s lips pressed against the top of her head with a lingering kiss. “Me too, baby.”

— 

Chris didn’t cry when he unwrapped his scarf, embroidered with Oscar’s race number and their surname, but his eyes did get suspiciously shiny, and he hugged her for a solid two minutes afterwards. 

— 

A WEEK LATER

iMessage — Oscar & Francesca 

Oscar 

Okay I may or may not have gone a bit rogue

Francesca 

?? explain pls

Oscar

I got us cinnamon buns the size of our heads

Also two kinds of cake because I couldn’t decide which one I wanted more

And the coffee place had your weird vanilla oat thing so I got two just in case you want one for later too

Francesca 

aw baby ur the best bf ever 

but like every time i roll over and you’re not there i lose a year off my life. i’m down to like. five.

hurry up and come back

Oscar

Back in 5

Don’t move

Or do move if Henry gets hungry 

But otherwise stay cosy

I have carbs and caffeine and I love you. 

Francesca 

i wanna thank you with my mouth. not the talking kind.

Oscar 

Aw. You’re so romantic baby.  

—

They were in bed, a few days later, when she finally gathered enough nerve to bring it up. 

The duvet was pulled up to her chin, her socked feet tucked beneath Oscar’s legs for warmth. The bedside lamp cast a soft, golden glow over the room, and outside the window, the sky was navy. It was quiet — Henry was snoring from his new tee-pee bed in the corner of the room. Oscar had bought it for him as an early Christmas present. 

Francesca had been quiet for a while, absently scrolling on her phone, her fingers lingering too long on the same screen. Oscar had noticed — of course he had — but he didn’t press. Just waited.

Then, eventually, she said, “I told my mum I’d go home for Christmas.”

Oscar turned his head on the pillow, looking at her. “Yeah?”

She nodded, small and hesitant. “Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence, before he asked, in that same soft voice that made her stomach warm, “How do you feel about it?”

She looked down at her hands, thumbs pressing into each other. “I don’t know. Not good.”

He shifted beside her, the duvet rustling. “Talk to me, baby…”

“I’m scared,” she admitted, quietly, ashamed of the words. “The last time I was there, I was the worst version of myself. Hurting, hiding, constantly ashamed of myself.” She sniffled. 

Oscar sat up and then reached beneath the duvet to grab her by the hips. With ease, he pulled her up and out of the sheets and onto his lap, letting her curl into his chest and holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world. 

Her voice wobbled. “I’ve been trying not to think about it. I haven’t even booked flights yet. Every time I try, I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Oscar gave her hand a squeeze. “Then I’ll do it.”

She blinked over at him. “What?”

“I’ll book everything,” he said gently. “I’ll figure it out. We’ll fly out of Gatwick.” 

Her brows furrowed, eyes going wide. “Osc, you don’t have to—”

“I’ll figure it out,” he repeated, more firm that time. “I know I don’t have to,” he said, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. “But why wouldn’t I, if it makes things easier for you? I know you can do it alone. That’s not why I’m offering. I just… want to be there to take care of you. That’s all.”

Francesca’s chest gave a quiet, aching sort of flutter. There was so much love packed into his words, steady and certain. And when she looked at him — really looked — she realised: this wasn’t just kindness. It was commitment. He’d said we’ll, without hesitation. Like it wasn’t even an option to let her go alone.

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

Oscar caught it with the pad of his thumb. “Hey.” He whispered. 

“I’m okay,” she whispered, her voice catching. “I’m just… relieved. And so lucky to have you.” 

“I’m the lucky one,” he said simply, kissing her forehead. “Always.”

Francesca let herself melt into him, burrowing into his chest as his arms came around her.

After a moment, he mumbled into her hair, “Now I just have to figure out which airline we should fly with. Because I’m not squeezing into a stupid EasyJet seat for five hours.”

She laughed into his shirt. “God, I love you.”

He hummed against her temple. “I know.”

—

The morning of the trip started early, still silent and black outside when Oscar’s phone alarm buzzed. Francesca had barely slept, despite Oscar’s arms wrapped around her all night, steady and grounding. Her stomach was tight twisted with anxiety, the familiar anticipation of pure fear already blooming in her chest.

But from the moment she opened her eyes, Oscar was calm. Unhurried. Kind.

He kissed her forehead. “Everything’s sorted, baby. All you have to do is get dressed and get in the car.”

And it was true — he’d done everything. Their bags were packed and ready by the door. Their passports tucked safely in the front pocket of his backpack. The car service was on its way. At the airport, he had everything already checked in. He handed her the boarding pass with her name on it like it was a love letter rather than a potential death sentence.

But it didn’t hit her fully until they were going through security — the long queue, the low hum of fluorescent lights, the crowd pressing too close, her backpack feeling too heavy and her hands too empty at the same time.

She felt the shift — the surge of static under her skin, the way the air suddenly felt too thin.

Oscar noticed immediately.

“Hey.” His voice was low, soft. Just for her. “You’re okay.”

She was shaking her head before he’d even finished the sentence.

Oscar stepped in front of her, shielding her slightly from the crowd. “Alright. Look at me.”

She did — barely.

“Remember what Dr. Kapoor said?” he murmured. “In for four.”

He held up his fingers, counting silently. She matched his breath, though it came shuddering at first.

“That’s it,” he said, nodding. “Hold for four.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. He counted again.

“And out for six.”

It took a few rounds. But eventually the tremble eased. Her hands relaxed where they’d clenched around the strap of her bag.

When she opened her eyes again, his were waiting for hers. Steady. Gentle. Proud.

“I’ve got you,” he said.

He always did. 

When she blinked up at him in surprise as they stopped at the business class gate, he added gently, “There’s also a hotel booked for us near your parents’ place, so you can have space if you need it. I got a room with a giant bathtub.” Then he smirked, trying to cut through the tension winding tight around her shoulders. “Also, I hired a car. It’ll be at the airport when we land. Figured you’d be more comfortable with me driving than, you know, someone else.”

She stared at him, then narrowed her eyes, suspicion creeping in beneath the nerves. “What kind of car?”

“A nice one,” he said, bumping his shoulder gently into hers, like he wasn’t trying to soothe her — but he was. He always was. “Fast. Pretty. Might be orange.”

She chuckled in response and leaned into him fully, her entire weight settling against his side. It was early — painfully early — and despite the bustle of the airport, with the overhead lights too bright and the tannoy voice too loud and clipped, Oscar was like a shield between her and the world.

No one had recognised him yet, which felt almost miraculous. But it was before dawn, and he had his hood up, and Francesca was practically plastered to his side. He’d angled himself between her and everyone else as they queued, one hand low on her back. Steady. 

Every echo bounced around her skull, every sharp noise chipped away at her carefully built calm. Her chest was tight, like her ribs were drawn in with string, and she hadn’t taken a deep breath since they left the flat.

She hated this part — the waiting. The shuffling forward. The lack of exits. Her fingers had long since curled into fists inside the pocket of her coat, nails digging crescents into her palms, and she didn’t even notice until Oscar gently untucked one hand and threaded his fingers through hers.

“Breathe,” he said softly, his thumb brushing hers. “You’re doing so good, ‘Cesca. Just hold on a bit longer.”

Her throat ached with how much she loved him for that — the complete lack of frustration when she was like this. When she was small and quiet and too overwhelmed to mask it in any sort of way.

“I hate this,” she whispered, her voice raw with shame she couldn’t fully hide.

“I know,” he said, like it wasn’t a problem. Like it was just a fact.

She blinked hard, swallowing the lump forming thick in her throat.

“You really got an orange car?” She asked, with a hint of disgust in her wobbly voice. 

Oscar smiled down at her, soft and utterly besotted. “Yep. It’s so flashy. Your mum will absolutely hate it.” 

A breath of laughter slipped out of her, shaky but real. It loosened something in her chest.

And Oscar kissed the top of her head. “That’s my girl.”

— 

iMessage — Katie & Francesca 

Katie 

Your son misses you but he is being spoiled rotten by his godmother 

*insert picture of Henry asleep in Katie’s bathtub*

Francesca 

stop. i miss him so much already

my shaylaaaaaaaa

Katie 

He’s a big fan of my new curtains

They’re very climbable apparently 😃

Franceca 

omg 

if he tears them down i’ll pms 

Katie 

They cost me a lot of money Francesca 

Francesca 

henry has no morals, money doesn’t matter to him

he chewed up oscar’s 5k sunglasses the other day 

it was hilarious

Katie 

Why does your bf own 5k sunglasses?

Francesca 

he doesn’t anymore lmaooooo

—

The engine purred beneath them like it was alive — a low, silky rumble that vibrated through the soles of her shoes. Francesca sat in the passenger seat, her fingers curled around the edge of the leather seat, the window cracked open just enough to let in the Spanish air. It cut through the lingering hum of adrenaline in her chest.

The sports car — bright, loud, and so orange — gleamed obnoxiously in the afternoon light. It had turned every head in the car park.

Oscar glanced at her from the driver’s seat as they idled at a stop light, his hand resting palm-up on the console between them, waiting for hers. “You did so good today,” he said, sincere and soft.

Francesca looked at him. He had his sunglasses on, the ones he’d bought at the airport out of necessity, thanks to Henry. The way his mouth tilted was all affection — proud, reassuring. Safe.

She exhaled, the sound shaky. “Thanks,” she said. Then, after a beat, she added, “I feel like I might need to completely shut down. Like, physically curl into a ball and not speak again until tomorrow.”

Oscar nodded like that made perfect sense. “Then that’s what we do,” he said simply. “Shut down protocol activated. We’ll go straight to the hotel now, yeah? I’ll run you a bath, order room service, give you your big headphones, and we won’t even think about the outside world until tomorrow.”

The words wrapped around her like a warm blanket. She didn’t have to pretend. Didn’t have to force a smile or hold a conversation when all she wanted was to disappear for a bit and let her nervous system recalibrate.

“You sure you don’t mind?” she asked, voice small.

He glanced at her again, reaching over to squeeze her thigh. “Baby. You’ve been holding yourself together since we left the flat. You don’t have to prove anything to me. You’ve already done the hard part — you got on the plane. You landed. You’re here.”

She let out a laugh that was more breath than sound. “I’m not sure how I managed to do it.”

“You just did,” Oscar said.

The light turned green. He eased them forward, smooth and unbothered, like they had all the time in the world. The car glided, fast and controlled — a strange, soothing contrast to the chaos inside her.

Francesca let herself sag back into the seat, exhaustion settling in like fog. Her fingers brushed over Oscar’s where they rested beside the gear shift, warm and steady. “I’ll text my mum,” she murmured. “Tell her I’ll see her tomorrow instead.”

Oscar glanced at her, eyes soft beneath the shadow of his lashes. “She still doesn’t know I’m coming, does she?”

“I told her I was bringing my boyfriend,” she said with a wry smile. “She thought I was joking.” 

He laughed lowly, giving her hand a squeeze. “I’ll be a surprise then.” 

“A big one.” She hummed. 

— 

The hotel room was dim and quiet, lit only by the pinkish glow of the evening light and the television flickering on the wall. Francesca was curled up on the bed in one of Oscar’s shirts, her legs stretched across his lap as he absentmindedly rubbed her calf beneath the blanket.

Her phone buzzed against the duvet.

She ignored it once. Twice. But the third time, she sighed and grabbed it.

—

iMessage — Izzy & Francesca 

Izzy

Seriously? A hotel? You’re literally ten minutes away from the house.

You’re so ridiculous.

Mum thinks so too, btw

—

Francesca’s stomach twisted. She swallowed hard and set the phone face-down, trying to push the sudden weight in her chest back down.

Oscar felt the shift in her immediately. He tapped her leg gently. “Hey. What was that?”

“Nothing,” she said too quickly. “Just Izzy being... Izzy.”

He reached across and plucked the phone from the duvet before she could protest, flipping it over and reading the messages. His jaw tightened slightly.

“She texted you that?” he asked, tone flat.

Francesca didn’t answer — just looked at him, unsure what to say.

Oscar exhaled slowly. “I’m not sure whether I’m going to like her.”

Her lips twitched in a smile. “Yeah, well. She’s not exactly an easy sell.”

He tossed the phone back down and refocused on her. “You don’t have to defend any of this, okay? Wanting space. Setting boundaries. You’re an adult.”

She nodded, but her throat was too tight to speak.

Oscar leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her knee.

Francesca blinked at him, then crawled into his lap fully, curling into the warmth of him like he was the only place on earth she felt safe.

“You’re kind of perfect, you know that?” she whispered into his shoulder.

He smiled against her hair. “Only for you.”

— 

The hotel bathroom was steamy, dimly lit, quiet but for the gentle hum of running water and the soft slosh as Francesca shifted back against Oscar’s chest.

He had his arms around her, legs bracketing hers beneath the bubbles, and she was half-asleep with how warm and safe she felt. Her damp hair clung to the curve of her neck and his lips followed it there, pressing lazy kisses into her skin like he had nowhere else to be — like he’d never want to be anywhere else.

“You good?” he murmured against her shoulder, voice low and sleepy.

She nodded, hand finding his beneath the water. “Mhm. This helps.”

He smiled against her skin, tightening his arm a little. “Good. You did so well today.”

Francesca sighed, the kind that came from somewhere deep in her chest. “I don’t feel like I did.”

Oscar nudged his nose into her hair. “Doesn’t change the fact that you did.”

She turned just slightly, enough to see him, cheeks pink from the heat and eyes heavy-lidded with the same tenderness she felt blooming in her chest.

“You always say that.”

“That’s because I always mean it,” he said simply. “And also because you’re naked and wet and sitting in my lap and it’s extremely… nice.”

A laugh broke out of her before she could stop it — breathless and disbelieving and adoring. “I knew this was a trap.”

“Hey,” he protested softly, grinning now, “I’m being very respectful. For now.”

She shifted again, slow and languid, and tilted her head just enough to kiss him — long and sleepy and close. His hand slid up her arm, water dripping down her shoulder, and when he kissed her back, it was with a kind of quiet worship that said more than words ever could.

She let herself sink against him again, head tucked into the space beneath his jaw, their hearts beating steady and warm beneath the surface of the water.

Slowly, his hand skimmed down her side, slow and deliberate, fingers trailing like he was savouring every inch of her. When he reached the inside of her thigh, he paused, thumb brushing lazy circles on soft skin, peering down at her with hooded, burning eyes.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, his lips ghosting against her collarbone. “Baby.” 

“You,” she breathed. “Always you.”

That made something flicker in him — something reverent. He kissed her then, deeper, more possessive, like he couldn’t help himself. His hand moved again, higher this time, between her legs, gentle but assured.

She gasped into his mouth as his fingers slipped against her — teasing, exploring, learning. Her hips jerked, but he held her steady, murmuring soft praise against her cheek as he worked her open.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he said, coaxing. “Just let go for me.”

And she did.

So beautifully.

— 

The house hadn’t changed.

Same red bricks, same Christmas wreaths hung on the windows, same too-tight smile on her mother’s face when she answered the door. Francesca stood half behind Oscar, already regretting everything, but it was too late now — her sister was storming into the hallway behind their mum, eyes widening when they landed on him.

“Oh my god,” she said, and it wasn’t subtle. “You’re Oscar Piastri.”

Her mum blinked. “I’m sorry, who?”

Oscar smiled, polite and calm. “Hi, I’m Oscar. Francesca’s boyfriend.”

That made her dad glance up from where he was reading something at the dining table, just inside the house. “Boyfriend?”

“I told you I was bringing someone,” Francesca said, her voice smaller than she meant it to be.

Her sister gave a bark of laughter. “You didn’t say you were bringing him. Like, fucking Oscar Piastri. Jesus.”

“Mum thought I was joking,” Francesca said, attempting levity, but it didn’t quite land.

Her mother’s eyes swept over Oscar like she didn’t believe he was real. “Well. You’ve never brought a boyfriend home before.”

Oscar laced his fingers with hers, thumb brushing along the side of her hand.

Her sister rolled her eyes, sharp and narrowed as she looked between Francesca and Oscar. “How did you two even happen?” she asked, the words coated in a thin, scoffing laugh.

Francesca didn’t answer.

She didn’t even flinch.

Instead, she felt herself start to slip — quiet and practiced — into that small, familiar corner of her mind she’d built a long time ago. A place made for moments like this, when it was safer to fold in on herself than push back. When it was easier to go quiet than let the words catch in her throat.

“Bloody hell,” her dad muttered, eyes fixed just over their shoulders. “That’s a lovely car.”

Francesca didn’t need to turn around to know he meant the Ferrari parked at the curb, sleek and ridiculous in its McLaren-orange glory.

Her mum glanced at it and immediately wrinkled her nose. “Gaudy,” she said, as if the word had a bad taste.

—

Later, at lunch, the table was crowded with mismatched dishes and clattering silverware. Francesca picked at a slice of bread, her appetite dulled by the tension sitting heavy in her chest.

“I mean,” her mum said, cutting her food, “it’s lovely to see you like this. Smiling. You must be doing so much better now, with the boyfriend and everything.”

Oscar paused mid-chew. Francesca didn’t move at all.

Her mum went on, cutting into her salad with a little too much force. “It’s almost like magic, really. A famous boyfriend and poof — all that silly anxiety, just gone.”

The words hung heavy in the air, clinking harder than cutlery.

Francesca’s stomach tightened, but she didn’t look up.

Her sister laughed — sharp, high-pitched, and cruel. “Mum, I’ve been trying to tell you for years. It’s all for show. Attention. It’s the only reason people care about her online, too — they think she’s fragile. It’s ridiculous. She’s clearly doing just fine.”

Francesca swallowed hard. Her vision prickled at the edges.

Oscar set his fork down slowly. “‘Cesca,” he said, his voice gentle but direct, “do you want to leave?”

Her hands had curled into her lap. They were sore. She hadn’t even realised that she’d started doing it, pinching and twisting at her own skin. She didn’t look at him, but she nodded.

He pushed his chair back, scraping against the floor. “Okay,” he said, standing. “Let’s go.”

There was stunned silence.

Oscar didn’t let it hang in the air. He turned to her parents, calm but firm, his voice low and unwavering. “You have no idea how hard this is for her.”

“Oh, Oscar, darling—” Francesca’s mum started, her tone already turning frantic.

Her dad stared at his plate, suddenly very interested in his untouched food.

Her mum pressed her lips together, eyes flicking from Francesca to Oscar and back again, something uncertain flickering behind her defensiveness.

Her sister, however, didn’t flinch. She stared at Oscar like she was trying to figure out how best to wound him — something cold and mean curling behind her narrowed eyes.

Francesca blinked quickly, fighting back the sting behind her eyes as Oscar stood, helping her into her coat with practiced care. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t make a scene — he just… said exactly what needed to be said. 

There were no more words spoken. 

Just the soft scrape of the front door opening and then clicking shut.

And then they were gone.

—

The car was silent for a while, save for the low hum of the engine and the distant rush of the road beneath them. Francesca stared out the window, the world blurring past.

“I probably made it worse. By leaving like that,” she whispered eventually.

“You didn’t,” Oscar said, eyes steady on the road.

She let her head fall back against the seat. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere quiet,” he said. “You need to breathe.”

When the coastline came into view, she nearly cried again — salt air and the sound of gulls overhead, a long stretch of sand just beyond the dunes.

Oscar parked, turned to her, and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Let’s just sit for a while,” he said. “Yeah?”

Francesca didn’t say anything. She just nodded, already climbing into his lap the moment the engine turned off, curling into his chest like it was where she belonged. 

The safest place in the world. 

— 

Back at the hotel, the door had barely shut behind them when Francesca pressed her face into Oscar’s chest. She was quiet for a long time, just letting herself feel him — solid, warm, here. His arms came around her without hesitation.

“Your family made me feel more loved in a few days,” she murmured, voice muffled against his hoodie, “than mine ever have. Isn’t that so messed up?”

Oscar exhaled slowly, resting his chin on the top of her head. “It’s just… their loss.”

She tilted her head back to look at him. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you today.”

“You’ll never have to find out.” His voice was soft, but the promise in it was solid.

Her eyes shimmered. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

Oscar’s thumb brushed gently across her cheek. “One day,” he said, tone suddenly light, teasing at the edges, “you’ll be a Piastri, and you won’t just have my family — you’ll be my family.”

She blinked, startled, then laughed, even as her throat caught. “Are you proposing right now?”

“Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “Not while you’re wearing socks with cats on them.”

“They’re Henry socks,” she protested. “You were the one who got them for me.”

“I know. I still think they’re hideous.” His grin tugged at one side, but then softened into something gentler, more sincere. “Just saying… you’ve got me. And my family. For good.”

She leaned in, brushing her lips against his jaw, the affection in her chest rising up like a tide.

Then she nipped at his skin, not hard, but firm enough to make him flinch.

He winced with a half-laugh. “Babe…”

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “Thinking about being your wife made me feel a bit feral.”

— 

iMessage — Oscar & Mark

Oscar 

I’m going to marry her one day 

Mark 

You are both 22 years old

You’re fucking babies 

Oscar 

I said one day, not tomorrow 

Maybe next week 

Mark

Crikey. 

— 

Oscar leans against the counter, phone pressed to his ear. Through the open door, he can still hear Francesca’s soft, steady breathing from the bed — dead to the world after the long, emotionally exhausting day she’d just endured.

His mum picks up on the second ring. “Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?”

Oscar exhales, scrubbing a hand through his curls. “Not really.”

There’s a pause, a shift in her tone. “What’s happened?”

“Francesca’s asleep,” he says quietly. “Finally. But… God, Mum. Her family. It was worse than I thought.”

Nicole is silent for a beat, letting him talk.

“They made all these little comments. Acted like—  like they don’t know her at all.” He paces a little. “They talk over her. Around her. Like she’s not even in the bloody room. And she just— she shuts down. I watched it happen; right in front of me.”

Nicole sighs, low and full of something maternal and knowing. “Our poor girl.”

Oscar leans back against the sink, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She deserves so much better. They make her feel like she’s small. Like she’s in the way. I want to—” He breaks off, jaw clenched. “I want to protect her from all of it. I just don’t know where the line has to be, you know? They’re still her family, whether I like it or not.”

Nicole doesn’t speak immediately. When she does, her voice is gentle, firm. “You’re already doing it, Oscar. Protecting her.”

He swallows hard. “It doesn’t feel like I’m doing enough.”

“Well, she’s not alone now, is she?”

He shakes his head, more to himself than to her. “No. She’s not.”

There’s a soft pause. “Book some flights,” Nicole says simply.

Oscar stills. “What?”

“To come home,” she says. “Both of you. Bring her here. Let her rest. Let her breathe. You said she felt loved when she was with us — so let’s give her some more of that at a time of the year when everyone deserves to be surrounded by it. Show her what home is supposed to feel like.”

His heart aches with warmth for his mum, even as he hesitates, thinking about the logistics, wondering if Francesca would even be ready for that kind of leap. “You don’t mind?”

Nicole scoffs, like the question itself is absurd. “Darling, I bought her a beach cover-up for Christmas. It’s wrapped and under the tree. I was counting on you bringing her here.”

Oscar grins, the weight in his chest easing just slightly. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” she teases. “Now go get some sleep. And tell her we can’t wait to see her again.”

Oscar hangs up a minute later, slipping quietly back into bed. Francesca stirs, curling instinctively into him as he slides under the covers. He kisses the top of her head, breathes in her raspberry scent, and lets himself drift. 

CHAPTER SEVEN PT.2

[duskidolsmut]

Tied Up and Broken in

Tags: Slutty submissive idol, Black fetish lingerie, Ropes and collar, Horny post-show, VIP secret agency, Domination by four guys, Luxury apartment, Adrenaline and submission, Bad girl surrendered, Pussy dripping with lust, Dick in deep throat, Heavy verbal domination, Pussy blinking with lust, Submission on her knees, Crawling for cock, Collar shining, Ropes cutting wrists, Ice on hard nipples, Pussy dripping on the carpet, Cruel domination by four, Pussy blinking madly, Sadistic hair pulling, Half-loose blindfold, Deep throat oral fuck, Drool dripping on breasts, Four cocks in mouth, Tears and lust, Pussy and ass broken, Wild double penetration, Brutal gangbang with four cocks, Wet explosive squirt, Cum on sweaty breasts, Pussy throbbing with cum

On stage, Ryujin was the living embodiment of attitude: ITZY’s bad girl, oozing confidence with her razor-sharp glances and powerful moves. Every step, every defiant smirk, set fans ablaze, cementing her image as the untouchable idol. But when the lights dimmed and the roar of applause faded, she shed that impenetrable mask.

Off-camera, Ryujin harbored a secret no one would suspect: her deepest desire was to surrender completely. Far from the spotlight, she craved the feeling of being dominated—stripped not just of her clothes, but of the control the world assumed she had.

After concerts, when adrenaline still thrummed in her veins, Ryujin didn’t head home or to casual hookups. Instead, she contacted a secret agency, a service reserved only for the most discreet VIP clients—a place where her desires could be fulfilled without fear of judgment.

One night, after a sold-out show, Ryujin slipped into a nondescript penthouse in downtown Seoul.

Her stilettos clicked against marble, her black blazer hugging every curve. The place reeked of elite secrecy—automatic gates, a hushed lobby. A woman in a gray suit at reception didn’t meet her eyes, just gestured to the elevator. Wordless, Ryujin handed over her phone and purse, the ritual as familiar as a choreographed dance. The elevator ascended, its hum syncing with her pounding heart. The air smelled of leather and sweet incense, and her pussy was already dripping just from anticipation.

At the end of the hall, a black door swung open. The apartment was cold luxury: white walls, floor-to-ceiling windows framing Seoul’s glittering skyline, a black leather couch, and a glass table displaying ropes and a studded leather collar that gleamed like a promise. Four men waited—tall, broad-chested, sharp-eyed. Their unbuttoned shirts revealed carved muscles; ropes coiled in their hands. To them, ITZY’s Ryujin, the untouchable idol who made fans scream, was nothing. Here, she was just “our little submissive,” and their gazes promised to break her properly.

Ryujin peeled off her blazer slowly, letting it pool on the floor. The white shirt followed, unbuttoned to reveal black lace—a bra that barely contained her hard nipples, panties so sheer the wetness glistened. Her heels echoed as she swayed to the center of the room, hips rolling like she was still on stage. Her arousal was obscenely visible: nipples straining against lace, skin dewy with sweat, cunt swollen and slick. She knew she wasn’t the star here, but her defiance couldn’t resist.

“Damn, look at you! You’re the biggest man I’ve ever seen,” she purred, pointing at the guy with the neck tattoo, his body carved like a god’s.

The first man, who introduces himself as Michael, steps forward and grabs her hair, yanking hard until her neck arches.

“From now on, you only speak when we say so—and always end with ‘Sir.’ Understood?” he growls, his voice deep, gaze locked.

Ryujin, her pussy already throbbing, smirks.

“Yes… I mean, yes, Sir,” she replies, her voice breathy, a little mocking—but trembling with need.

The other three men laugh, a low sound that fills the apartment. The second, Jack—buzzcut, a scar on his cheek—shakes the leash. “Look at her, already dripping!” he taunts. Ryujin’s face burns, but her soaked panties betray her.

“On your knees,” Michael orders, releasing her hair with a slight shove.

Ryujin drops to the soft rug, her heels still on, black lace glowing under the apartment’s harsh lights. She stares up at the four of them, heart racing, and blurts:

“You’re damn right. My cunt’s pulsing, my heart’s wild. I’m ready to be your whore, Sirs!” The men chuckle, and the third—dreads, eyebrow piercing—steps closer, rope in hand.

“Addicted to cock already, huh? This slut was born for dick and didn’t even know it,” he says. Ryujin bites her lip, the ache between her legs almost painful.

“Yes, Sir,” she murmurs, eyes glittering.

The fourth man, the quietest, a snake tattoo coiled on his arm, picks up the collar and crouches in front of her, leather grazing her throat.

“Open wide, whore,” he commands. Ryujin parts her lips, tongue out, like she already knows what’s coming. He doesn’t buckle the collar yet—just lets her feel the cool leather. “I love a slut who knows her place,” he purrs.

Michael, inked neck, black shirt hanging open, grabs a thick rope and steps forward.

“On your feet, bitch,” he snarls. Ryujin rises, hips swaying slightly, gaze defiant.

“Fine, Sir—I’ll be good,” she breathes, voice thick with lust but still teasing. Michael and Leo (dreads, piercing) work fast, binding her wrists behind her back, the rope biting into skin. Diego (snake tattoo) ties her ankles, leaving just enough slack to shuffle. The ropes are tight but not cutting—they know exactly what they’re doing. Jack, the ringleader (buzzcut, scar), slips a black blindfold over her eyes, the fabric swallowing the world.

Ryujin is blindfolded, wrists and ankles bound, completely at the mercy of the four men. The darkness makes her heart race, her pussy clenching with anticipation. She hears their footsteps circling her, the leather of their jackets creaking, then feels the first touch—Leo’s fingers tracing the curve of her ass, so light it raises goosebumps.

“Look how helpless our little girl is now…” he murmurs, and Ryujin shudders, her body desperate for more.

Diego drags his fingers up her stomach, teasing her nipples through the lace, pinching just hard enough to make her gasp.

“Born to take cock, and you didn’t even know it,” he taunts. Ryujin moans, voice loud and shameless: “Fuck yes, Sir—my cunt’s begging for it!”

Michael the Sadist chuckles low, yanking her black panties aside to expose her dripping pussy, slick glistening down her thighs.

“Look at this slut—already leaking,” he says, swiping a finger over her entrance but not pushing in.

Ryujin writhes, the ropes holding her tight, and whimpers: “God, Sir, just fuck me already—I’m aching!”

The men laugh, the sound echoing through the loft, and Jack the Boss steps forward, the floorboards creaking.

“Crawl to me, whore,” he orders, fisting her hair to drag her onto the rug.

Blindfolded and bound, Ryujin drops to all fours, knees sinking into the soft carpet, her heels still strapped on. She crawls awkwardly, the ropes restricting her movements, Jack’s grip on her hair steering her. Her pussy is so wet it drips, and she feels their four pairs of eyes burning into her skin.

“Coming, Sir—your slut’s on her way!” she rasps, half-laughing, half-pleading, like the good little fucktoy she is. When she reaches Jack’s boots, he yanks her hair harder, forcing her neck to arch.

"Open that mouth wide, slut," he orders, and Ryujin obeys, tongue out, lips trembling.

Jack shoves his thick cock into her mouth, straight down her throat. Ryujin gags, drool dripping down her chin. His dick is huge, stretching her lips, and she tries to breathe, but Jack fucks her face, gripping her hair like reins.

"Love a whore who knows her place," he growls, while the others clap and mock: "Look at the idol turning pro cocksucker!" Ryujin, her throat blocked, moans loudly—the sound muffled—and thinks: Fuck, sir, this dick’s killing me… but I want more. The ropes dig into her wrists, her ankles ache, but her pussy clenches, soaking the rug, as Michael, Leo, and Diego watch, ropes and leash still in hand, ready for the next move.

Jack grabs Ryujin’s short hair, the black strands slipping through his fingers, and yanks hard, arching her head back. The blindfold slips slightly, letting her glimpse the other three men—Michael, Leo, Diego—their hard cocks straining against their pants, eyes ravenous.

"Look at the men who’ll ruin you, bitch. Open those eyes!" Jack snarls, his voice cutting through the air. Ryujin’s pupils dilate under the blindfold, her pussy throbbing wildly.

"God, they’re huge… sir!" she rasps, voice hoarse, halfway delirious—arousal laced with a thread of fear.

The guys laugh, the sound echoing like a filthy promise.

Leo grabs a thicker rope and kneels behind her.

"Stay still, slut," he murmurs, binding her wrists behind her back, the knots so tight they cut off circulation, her skin flushing red. Ryujin moans, body shaking, the ropes biting like teeth.

"Fuck, sir, it hurts!" she whines, but her tone is shameless, like she’s savoring the pain. Leo smirks, landing a light smack on her already marked ass.

"Shut up. This cunt’s dripping—can’t lie," he taunts, and Ryujin bites her lip, her soaked panties betraying her.

As Leo tightens the knots, Michael picks up an ice cube from the table, liquid dripping onto the rug. He crouches in front of Ryujin, gaze icy, and rips off her lace bra—her hard nipples spring free, brown and glistening with sweat.

“Cry, you little slut. I want to see that tough-girl act disappear,” he says, rubbing the ice over one nipple, the cold burning like fire. Ryujin screams, her body convulsing, her wrists tugging against the ropes.

“Fuck, sir, it’s so fucking cold!” she gasps, her voice a mix of pain and arousal. Michael drags the ice to her other nipple, the cube melting, water trickling down her breasts to her stomach, mingling with sweat.

“Look at this whore crying,” he taunts, and Ryujin moans loudly: “I’m crazy for you, sirs, just fuck me already!”

Diego leans against the table, gripping her leash, watching it all with a crooked smile.

Ryujin—her nipples burning from the ice, her wrists numb from the ropes, the blindfold slipping—starts to unravel, her body trembling with anticipation. Her pussy is so wet it drips onto the carpet, her black panties a useless rag.

“My cunt’s throbbing, sirs, I need cock!” she shouts.

Jack yanks her hair again, forcing her to look up, her lips parted. “Good girl. Ready to be ours?” he says, and Ryujin, her heart racing, feels lust swallow the last shreds of shame.

Diego moves in front of her, his black pants open, his thick, heavy cock swaying. He grabs Ryujin’s chin hard, fingers digging into her skin, and drags the head of his cock over her lips, the heat leaving a wet trail. Without warning, he thrusts inside, invading her throat with a cruel stroke. Ryujin gags, her eyes wide beneath the blindfold, tears streaking her cheeks. Diego pinches her nose with two thick fingers, cutting off her air, forcing her to swallow or suffocate.

“Swallowed so many microphones, now you’re swallowing dick, huh?” he growls, grinning cruelly, his cock pulsing down her throat.

Ryujin fights for breath, drool dripping down her chin, onto her exposed tits, but she doesn’t pull away. Her lips tighten around him, her tongue desperate, licking the base, seeking approval even as she chokes.

“Fuck, this cock’s killing me!” she thinks, pleasure exploding through the pain.

Every thrust from Diego is deep, his cock hitting the back of her throat, obscene wet sounds echoing through the apartment. Ryujin’s saliva flows like a river, coating her chin, her breasts, pooling on the carpet. Michael steps closer, laughing.

“Look at this slut drooling! I’m dying to fuck that mouth too—I want more,” he says, yanking off the blindfold and tossing it to the floor.

Ryujin blinks, her eyes wet, and sees Michael with his hard cock already in hand. He grabs her hair as Diego pulls out of her mouth with a wet pop, then shoves his own dick inside—smaller but thicker—stretching her lips.

“Suck, you whore. Show me you know how to swallow,” Michael orders, fucking her face with quick thrusts, spit flying.

Jack stands to the side, gripping the leather leash. He crouches down and pinches Ryujin’s soaked nipples, still sensitive from the ice, making her scream around Michael’s cock.

“You love this, don’t you? That pussy’s dripping on the floor,” he taunts. Ryujin, her mouth full, lets out a muffled moan.

Her attitude shines even as she gags, tears mixing with spit. Leo grabs the rope around her wrists and yanks it back, forcing her chest forward, her tits swaying.

“Open wider, slut. I’m giving you more,” he growls, waiting for Michael to pull out before sliding his long, curved cock down her throat. Ryujin gags again, wet sounds filling the apartment as Leo fucks her mouth slowly, making her feel every inch.

The four men take turns with Ryujin’s mouth, each thrusting into her throat for a few seconds before passing her to the next. Diego returns, squeezing her nose shut again, laughing:

“Learning to be our little cocksucker, aren’t you?”

Michael pinches her tits, leaving red marks. Jack flicks the leather leash against her cheek, teasing:

“Look at this idol becoming a microphone slut!”

Leo tightens the ropes, making her wrists burn, and fucks her mouth hard, his cock hitting her throat. Ryujin, tears streaming, drool pooling on the carpet, is pushed to her limit—but the arousal is stronger.

“Fuck, yes—I love being your whore!” she rasps when Leo pulls out, her voice wrecked, filthy. The guys laugh, and Diego fists her hair again, ready for another round. “Good girl. Now swallow it right,” he demands, his heavy cock dragging over her lips once more.

Ryujin’s mouth is swollen and red, her lips bruised from sucking all four cocks. She gasps for air, her throat raw, spit dripping down her chin onto her tits—but the need outweighs the pain. Jack moves behind her, his black pants open, his thick cock swaying, veins pulsing. He grips her hips, lining up his tip with her dripping, throbbing pussy, her slickness glistening down her thighs. Without mercy, he slams into her in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Ryujin shrieks, the sound barely escaping her battered lips, her cunt stretched to the limit.

“It’s tearing, sir! That huge cock is wrecking me!” she whimpers, her voice trembling.

Jack doesn’t stop, fucking her hard, each thrust making her tits bounce, the wet sound echoing through the apartment.

“Fuck, this pussy’s a greedy little hole,” he growls, yanking her short hair back, his dick slamming deep into her cunt.

Ryujin shudders, her body trying to adjust, but the pain is insane—like his cock is pushing into her stomach.

“Sir, it’s too big—you’re splitting me open!” she screams, delirious, her pussy clenching around him as pleasure wars with the burning stretch.

While Jack pounds her pussy, Michael positions himself beneath her, lying on the mat. He flips her onto her back against him, grips Ryujin’s hips—fingers digging into her flesh—and lines up his hard cock with her tight, resisting asshole, already red from strain. Without warning, he forces her down, his cock stretching her virgin ass inch by inch.

Ryujin screams again, voice breaking: “It’s tearing, sir! That monster cock’s wrecking my ass!” The pain is fire, her anus burning, but Michael shows no mercy, pushing until he’s fully sheathed inside her, her belly bulging. “Cry. This ass is ours now,” he taunts, fucking her with slow, brutal strokes, each one making her convulse.

Ryujin’s at her limit—pussy and ass fucked simultaneously, Jack and Michael’s huge cocks destroying her without remorse. “Sirs, these cocks are too much—they’re ruining me!” she sobs, tears streaming, but her slutty voice doesn’t quit, as if she’s loving being their “doll,” the foursome’s whore.

Leo watches, rope in hand, his hard-on straining against his pants. He crouches in front of Ryujin’s swollen pussy—red from Jack’s relentless pounding—and starts spanking it with sharp, stinging slaps, the cracks echoing in the stifling room.

Diego laughs at the scene. He steps closer, rubbing his heavy cock over her face, her spit and tears slicking his skin.

“Look at this slut—taking two cocks and still begging for more,” he jeers, slapping his shaft against her cheek.

Ryujin, her pussy and ass on fire, moans: “Sir, these cocks are too big—they’re wrecking me… but I want more!” Even as her body trembles with pain and pleasure.

Jack speeds up in her pussy, Michael fucks her ass harder, and Leo lands another slap on her soaked cunt—the wet sounds mixing with her screams.

“I’m getting wrecked, sirs—these cocks are destroying me!”

Ryujin whimpers, her voice hoarse, as Leo laughs, ready to shove his dick down her throat. He fists her short hair, yanking her head back, and drives his thick cock into her drooling mouth, muffling her screams. “Suck it, Paty, you slut,” he growls, fucking her throat in slow, brutal strokes.

Diego kneels between Ryujin’s sweaty tits, his heavy cock wedged between them. He squeezes her breasts, pinching her nipples, and grinds his shaft along her cleavage, their skin glistening with sticky fluids—spit, sweat, pre-cum. “Look at this whore, taking it all and still begging for more,” he taunts, his cock smearing her chest.

Ryujin’s being used like a toy—flipped, bent, stretched on all fours, stripped of autonomy. Her pussy, ass, and mouth are stuffed, huge cocks splitting her open without mercy. “Sirs, these fucking monsters are too big—they’re tearing me apart!” she sobs, her voice garbled around Leo’s dick, tears streaming as her cunt clenches wildly, betraying her hunger.

The men take turns brutally, swapping holes like she’s nothing but a fleshlight. Jack pulls out of her pussy and rams into her mouth, his cock glistening with her juices, stretching her swollen lips. Michael yanks his dick from her ass and slams into her cunt, her slick dripping down her thighs. Leo leaves her mouth to spear her ass, her burning hole stretching as he pounds relentlessly. Diego, after grinding between her tits, forces his cock past her lips, drool pooling on the mattress.

The room drowns in the sounds of skin slapping, wet squelches, and Ryujin’s choked moans. She whines, trembles, her body jerking through endless, forced orgasms. “I’m cumming, sirs—these cocks are wrecking my soul!” she shrieks when Diego pulls out, her voice a ruined, slutty rasp.

Every thrust shatters the idol the world knows—her breath a mess of sobs, ragged moans, and mindless screams. Diego leans down, his lips at her damp neck, and snarls: “Tonight, you’ll learn to be a real whore.” He bites hard, teeth leaving a purple bruise. Ryujin howls, her body seizing: “This fucking cock’s marking me, ruining me… Sir!”

The four men bend her wider—knees and shoulders crushed into the rough mattress, her doggy-style pose leaving her exposed. Michael rears back and slams into her ass, her rim straining, while Jack hammers her soaked, swollen pussy, her juices gushing. Leo wrenches her hair, arching her spine, as Diego fucks her throat until she gags. Ryujin’s muffled cries rise, her body convulsing in another orgasm, her cunt clenching Jack’s cock like a vise.

Leo, with a sadistic grin, delivers a sharp slap to her ass, the crack echoing like thunder. “Go on, slut—squirt for us!” he snarls, and it’s too much. The pressure, the humiliation, the raw pleasure detonate. Ryujin shudders violently, body convulsing, a strangled scream muffled against Diego’s cock. Her pussy clenches uncontrollably—hot jets of cum gushing out, splattering thighs, Jack, the mattress, soaking everything.

“I’m squirting, sirs—these fucking cocks are wrecking me ‘til I come!” she screams, voice breaking, body spasming.

The men laugh, groaning loud as they feel her collapse. Jack grips her waist and thrusts deeper, his cock pulsing while she cums again, her cunt squeezing like a vise. Diego erupts down her throat, hot seed flooding her mouth, his hand fisting her hair to force her to swallow—spunk dripping down her chin as she trembles. Leo pulls out of her ass and cums between her sweat-slicked tits, smearing the come over her marked skin, her chest glistening. Michael explodes inside her ass, yanking her hips against him, his load smearing her ravaged insides, leaking from her burning hole.

Ryujin can’t speak. Can’t move. Her body goes limp—broken, surrendered, satisfied on a level only these men can deliver. She collapses onto the mattress, still bound, sweat-drenched, filthy with cum, drool, and her own slick. A weak smile touches her swollen lips. Her pussy, ass, and mouth throb—every fiber of her pushed to the edge—but she’s free, in a way the ITZY stage never let her be.

The men, panting, slowly untie her, her skin marked with red lines. They lift her carefully, like a trophy, and carry her to the apartment’s bathroom. Under the shower’s hot stream, water washes away sweat, semen, and tears—the four of them tending to her exhausted body with gentle touches, a silent ritual of respect for her total surrender. Ryujin, boneless in their arms, closes her eyes, soothed by the heat and their care, her heart calm for the first time in days.

Back in the bedroom, she slips into her “executive” disguise—the usual black pantsuit—and adjusts her sunglasses, even in the dead of night. Seoul’s skyline glows beyond the window, and in her reflection, Ryujin doesn’t see the untouchable idol. She sees “Slut”—the woman who found paradise in submission. Her heels clack as she leaves, already dreaming of the next time she’ll request “four stallions” from the agency.

[cutielando]

mrs. leclerc | charles leclerc

synopsis: in which you finally get married to the love of your life

a/n: based on this request!

warnings!!: smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex (be safe!!), pet names, soft sex, body worshipping, just some fluffy newlywed sex

pairing: husband!charles leclerc x wife!reader

my masterlist

The soft classical music echoed through the grand wedding hall as the doors opened, the whole room turning around to see you standing there, bouquet in hand, waiting to finally walk down the aisle towards the love of your life.

Your family were all standing in the front row, tissues already dabbing at the tears falling down their cheeks.

On the opposite side, Charles' mother stood alongside his older brother, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Everyone had been waiting for this day ever since you and Charles got together. They all knew you would end up getting married, they could tell that you were made for each other.

The day when you announced your engagement, both of your families cheered and jumped up and down in excitement, happy that both of their children had found love with each other.

And now, here you were, 4 years after the first night he had kissed you and asked you to be his girlfriend, walking down the aisle to finally seal your future together.

You turned your head to look at your father, who was already looking at you with a fond smile on his face.

"Are you ready?" he whispered, his eyes sparkling as he looked at his little girl, all grown up and ready to get married to the love of her life.

You smiled and took a deep breath before you nodded, turning around to face the hall once again.

The two of you slowly started to walk towards the aisle, your eyes finding Charles' and your gaze never faltering. You could see, even from far away, that he was struggling not to cry, seeing you in your wedding dress and knowing that you were going to be his wife in less than half an hour making him more emotional than he thought it would.

The guests gazed in awe at you as you walked past them, your wedding gown flowing effortlessly after you.

When you finally reached Charles and your father gave you away to him, you were barely holding your tears in.

"Hey" Charles whispered as you now stood in front of him, smiling through the tears.

"Hey" you whispered back, turning around slightly to pass your bouquet to your maid of honor, who happened to be your sister-in-law, Charlotte.

Turning back to him, you got lost in his eyes, the whole world around you ceasing to exist.

Neither of you registered what the priest was saying, too lost in each other. So many unspoken words were being exchanged between the two of you, vows that this moment was forever.

"And now, you may kiss the bride"

Those were the words that finally snapped you out of your daydream and brought you back to reality.

Charles gave you a wide smile before he closed the gap between the two of you and pressed his lips against yours, holding your face in one hand and keeping a tight hold on your waist with the other.

The entire church hall cheered and clapped as they rose to their feet, yours and Charles' mothers visibly dabbing their eyes with tissues every now and then.

Every single guest was on their feet, whistling as Charles didn't seem to want to let you go.

"Charles" you said as you giggled against his lips, your cheeks flushed as you knew everyone was staring at the two of you.

Charles, your now husband, smiled and gave you one last peck before he finally pulled away, his eyes twinkling as he looked at you.

Turning back towards the hall, Charles took your hand in his and raised both of them above your heads, smiling widely as your guests cheered even louder and threw flowers up in the air.

You giggled as you looked at Charles before you started walking down the steps and towards the double-oak doors you just stepped through mere minutes ago.

But now, you were walking out a married woman.

♡♡♡♡♡

The wedding reception was everything you had dreamed it would be and so much more.

The venue was decorated exactly as you and Charles had envisioned it, with adorning flower arrangements, twinkling lights hanging from the ceiling, elegant chandeliers adorned with flower vines.

Everything seemed taken out of a fairytale book.

The hours faded away as everyone gathered at the venue. The band was playing soft music in the background, everyone dancing quietly with their partners on the dance floor.

You and Charles were in the middle of the dance floor, swaying slowly to the music, your foreheads resting against each other.

"Can you believe we're married?" you whispered, opening your eyes to gaze up at him.

He smiled at you, his arms tightening around your waist to bring you even closer to him.

"I can't thank my lucky stars enough than I can now officially call you my wife" he said, leaning his head down to trail small kisses up and down the exposed skin of your neck.

You giggled, his his breath tickling your skin.

“Charles, there’s people all around us. Please do try and have some patience until we get to our suite” you whisper in his ear, an undertone of sensuality laced in your voice.

Charles groaned silently in your ear, his hands tightening his hold around your waist.

“Can’t we just go now?” he whispered again, leaving open mouthed kisses along the side of your neck.

You shook your head, giggling as you held the back of his neck.

“Charles, we’re only getting married once. Let me enjoy our wedding before we get to enjoy our wedding night later” you said, accentuating the word later.

Charles pouted for a second, but then nodded and smiled at you.

He knew how much you had been looking forward to getting married, how stressed you had been while you were planning everything with his mother and your sister-in-law for the months leading up to the wedding.

He owed you the wedding of your dreams, he owed it to you to give you the time of your life on this special day for your life together.

And so, as the night wore on, everything was a blur. People were dancing, everyone was mingling with each other, drinks were shared and the famous cake came at midnight.

Everything was perfect.

And when it finally ended and it was time for you and Charles to retreat back to your apartment, that’s when the real fun would begin.

♡♡♡♡♡

"You're so beautiful, and all mine" Charles whispered into the shell of your ear, his sweaty body pressed deliciously against yours.

The two of you had barely made it to your suite once the wedding party had ended, Charles' hands desperately toying with the lace at the back of your wedding gown.

And now, he had you sprawled on the hotel room queen sized bed, your wedding down carefully placed on a chair, his suit thrown somewhere on the ground, and his only focus was you.

“Charles” you moaned, scratching at this back with your nails.

He felt so good, reaching spots inside of you that had you seeing stars and losing yourself in the feeling of him.

Charles was driving his length in and out of you, making sure that you felt every single inch that he had to offer you.

“My wife, my beautiful wife, I’m so lucky to have you all to myself like this” he whispered, slowing down his thrusts to lean down and take one of your nipples in his mouth.

His tongue was swirling your nipple around in his mouth, all the while his hips were thrusting in and out of you with a soft urgency.

Your nails were digging into the skin of his back, soft whimpers leaving your mouth every so often.

The feeling of him was overwhelming, the passion with which he was making love to you making your head go dizzy.

His cock was reaching depths inside of you like never before, the stretch of your walls burning deliciously to accommodate his thick length.

“Charles” you whined out when his cock hit a particularly sensitive part inside of you.

He responded by giving you yet another deep stroke, and another, and another until all you could get out were whines and moans, your hands still clawing at his back.

“Are you close, mon cœur?” Charles whispered in your ear, his lips and his hot breath ghosting against your hot skin.

You bit your lip and nodded, not trusting your voice in the moment.

Charles smirked, groaning as he felt your walls pulsating around his length. He kept peppering open-mouthed kisses along the skin of your exposed neck, his hips giving you deep thrusts.

His hand gravitates towards your heated core, his thumb finding your overstimulated bundle of nerves.

Your back arched as his thumb made contact with your clit, your eyes rolling in the back of your skull. You were so close, you could feel every single nerve in your body tingling and burning as the pit in your stomach drew closer and closer.

“I’m so close” you panted out, your mouth agape.

Charles growled and sped up his thrusts, rubbing even harder and quicker on your clit, chasing his own high as he felt your walls start to pulsate against him.

You moaned out loudly, your mind going fuzzy as you suddenly came around his cock, your body arching and your legs wrapping themselves tightly around Charles’ waist.

Your fingers drew blood against his back, your nails digging into his skin as your body shook with the aftershocks of your intense orgasm.

“Oh, fuck” Charles groaned out as he struggled to thrust between your tight walls, giving you a couple more thrusts before he buried himself to the hilt, spurting rope after rope of cum inside of your tight walls.

The both of you panted in unison, Charles tensing every now and then as you milked him dry of his cum, the warmth inside of your womb delicious.

“That was…” you started, resting your head against the pillow.

Charles chuckled, leaning down to kiss you on the forehead, cradling the side of your face in one of his hands.

"Amazing? Incredible? Unearthly?" he said, his eyes twinkling as he still held himself up over your body, his length still sheathed inside of your gummy walls.

You giggled, biting your lip as you nodded.

"Our first time as husband and wife" you said, your voice dreamy as you stared at the man that you can now call your husband.

Charles smiled, taking in your features illuminated by the moonlight.

"That's right" he whispered, leaning down to seal your new chapter together with a kiss.

Your new life as husband and wife.

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

[ellesreids]

warm reception — s. reid

you finally meet some of spencer's colleagues in an unconventional way. very heavily implied towards earlier seasons reid.

──── ୨୧ ────

It's been an exhaustingly busy day; the team was working a local case, meaning no long-distance traveling was required, but that didn't make the case itself any easier. They weren't very close to a solid profile, and it felt like the unsub's MO changed with every attack.

The most recent has been at a university not far from headquarters, a young woman found dead inside the main quad. It was also the same university you went to, and if that wasn't already enough to unnerve Spencer, you not answering his calls were close to pushing him over the edge.

Spencer feels like he's been on his feet the whole day, and he feels like he hasn't been much help to anyone with his mind wholly preoccupied by his concern for you. He wondered if you were safe, if you were the one that discovered the body, if you were maybe close to the victim.

The team had some of the victim's friends and other witnesses brought in for questioning, and while they were busy with that, Spencer had been quietly working on the geographical profile to try and pinpoint where the unsub might strike next. His attention is drawn from the map in front of him when he hears his name called, only to find you standing next to Morgan, seemingly making your way from one of the interrogation rooms.

He drops everything curtly before making his way to you, quickly giving you a once over, and once he sees no visible damage, he calms down a bit. It doesn't completely eliminate the nerve wrecking anxiety, but it gives him some peace of mind that you atleast hadn't been hurt.

"Hey, are you okay? What are you doing here?" he rushes out, not really giving you time to process his questions. "I'm okay," you breathe, sparing him a small smile you hoped looked somewhat reassuring, "I wasn't at the crime scene, I was only brought in for questioning because I was one of Kathy's long term lab partners. Nothing serious I suppose," you add, sparing Morgan a look, who was still standing next to you and silently observing the scene unfolding infront of him.

"I'm sorry, you two know each other?" he asks, looking at you and then Spencer with a raise of his eyebrows. You nodded once his eyes were on you again, suddenly shy under his questioning gaze. "We're dating," you said with a small smile, watching as the shock took over Morgan's whole face, from his eyebrows shooting up into the sky to his mouth hanging slightly agape at your words.

"Dating, huh?" he asked, watching as you nodded again. "Well, how come you never told us you had a pretty girl waiting for you at home, Reid?" he asked, attention back on the now furiously blushing young man. "It's— it's fairly new," he stuttered, trying his best to look collected, and failing miserably. "I was going to tell you, eventually."

Spencer was right, the two of you had only been dating for a little less than two months, and as selfish as it may sound, he was planning on keeping you to himself for a little longer. Morgan shook his head in understanding and slight disbelief, a gentle hand coming up to pat your back. "Well, it's nice to finally meet pretty boy here's girlfriend, even under the circumstances," he said, and you hummed in agreement, giving him a warm smile.

"Are my ears deceiving me or did I just hear you refer to this young lady as Reid's girlfriend?" a bubbly voice came seemingly out of nowhere as Penelope appeared next to Spencer, curious eyes drifting over to you and Morgan. "You heard right," he smiled, "this is—"

"Penelope Garcia," she interjects, shaking your hand, and you notice how everything about her is so vibrant. From her prettily painted nails, to the colorful frames of her glasses and the many statement pieces that adorned her, like the bows and the chunky jewelry. She was like the embodiment of sunshine.

"Gosh, you're gorgeous! It is so nice to meet you, even if I'm just now finding out about you," she said, side eyeing Spencer, who looked like he was on the verge of passing out. "We should totally go out for drinks some time though, a formal introduction is way overdue," she added very matter-of-factly.

"I agree," you smiled, already taking a liking to her sweet and bubbly personality. "I'd love to hang out and get to know Spencer's colleagues."

"I'm already excited!" she said, bracelets chiming as she clapped her hands together. "Oh! We should have a girls night! You'll love Elle and JJ, we could—"

"Okay, I think we should give these lovebirds some space, babygirl. You can plan your girl's night some other time," Morgan chirped in, already throwing his arm around Garcia and leading her away. "You'll be okay seeing her out, right Reid?" he asked and Spencer nodded, already leading you to the door with a hand to the small of your back.

"They seem nice," you said, once you were out of earshot, hovering around the exit not yet ready to leave yet. "They are nice," Spencer smiled before his face morphed into an unreadable expression. "I hope you don't think I was trying to hide you from them," he spoke softly, "I really was going to tell them about you when the time was right."

"I understand," you smiled, squeezing his upper arm affectionately, "I am glad I finally got to meet them though. Some of them at least." He smiled at that, nodding as if deep in thought. The flurry of movement behind him caught your attention, making you giggle to yourself at the sight. "I think you're needed back at your desk," you said, prompting Spencer to turn around swiftly, scared that it might be Gideon or Hotch waiting for him. It wasn't, but it was a group of very curious agents gathering around his desk in hopes of catching another glimpse of the mystery girl.

You recognized Penelope, who seemed to be in the middle of telling a very interesting story to the blonde and brunette ladies that stood either side of her. The brunette's eyes caught yours, her sparing you a shy smile at being caught before she was swiftly dispersing everyone away from Spencer's desk and back to their respective stations.

"I'll see you tonight," you said, bringing Spencer's attention back to you. When you saw the coast was clear, non of his colleagues in close range anymore, you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, watching the way his ears tinged pink almost immediately, making you smile. He only nodded in reply, giving you a tight lipped smile and seeing you off with a small wave which you returned eagerly.

[kxsagi]

𝟎𝟐. 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬

now texting: sae 😒

the next day

you stood outside the looming black-glass building with your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. the cold chrome letters above the revolving door read MIKAGE RECORDS STUDIOS, and they might as well have said TURN BACK NOW. 

you glanced down at yourself – black cami top clinging just right, low-waisted star jeans sitting loose on your hips with the calvin klein waistband of your underwear peeking out, bracelets jangling at your wrist with every fidget. your adidas sambas scuffed the pavement as you shifted your weight. a groan slipped out as you pulled up your front camera to double-check the damage: curled hair holding up okay, necklace straight, all your piercings intact. 

you looked hot. but also slightly underdressed to walk into the same studio that housed the world’s most chaotic rock band. 

still, after five minutes of overthinking, you pushed through the doors. 

the lobby smelled like money. clean, icy air conditioning. white marble floors so polished you could see your reflection. gold elevator doors. a reception desk manned by a security guard in all black, eyes scanning your figure as you approached. 

you gave him your best don’t-mess-with-me smile. “hi. i’m here to see sae itoshi.” 

his brows arched slightly, and then relaxed. “oh, you’re that friend.” he leaned back in his chair. “he told us someone would be coming. marketing girl, right?” 

“that’s me,” you nodded, even though you hated being reduced to just that. but you were here for a paycheck, not an identity crisis. 

he pressed a button under the desk, unlocking the glass doors behind him. “he said you’d know where to go.” 

you froze for a split second. “right… i totally do.” 

he waved you through anyway, already looking back at his monitor. 

you stepped into the hallway, surrounded by tall walls and unfamiliar silence. you had no clue where the hell you were going. 

the sound of bass rumbled faintly from somewhere deeper in the building. you followed it, your shoes echoing too loudly on the floor. doors lined the hallway, some marked with numbers, others with nothing at all. you passed a room with soundproof glass. through it, you saw a drum kit and someone passed out on a beanbag. 

before you could double back and knock, a door swung open in front of you. you jumped. 

a man blinked at you, visibly confused, before smirking wide. “wow, what a woman.”  

tall, bleached-blond hair with blue streaks at the ends tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed and into a photoshoot. kaiser. you recognized him instantly. leather pants, mesh shirt, cocky smile you’d seen a hundred times in saint ego clips. 

“lost, pretty girl?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe like you were already his. 

you blinked, trying to avoid staring at the slight bruise on his cheekbone. “i’m… i’m looking for sae?” 

“damn. first time i meet you and you’re already breaking my heart.” he pushed off the doorframe. “you must be her. the intern.” 

“PR manager,” you corrected. “temporarily.” 

he grinned. “sure, sure. this way, baby PR.” 

you glared, but followed him anyway. 

he led you down a different hall, talking over his shoulder. “we’ve been waiting for you, you know. sae’s been acting like he’s about to spontaneously combust. and isagi–” 

he stopped himself just as he pushed open a door. 

inside was a lounge that looked like a musician’s version of a frat house. guitars on the wall. wires tangled on the floor. empty boba cups. rin sat on the couch, airpods in, scrolling through his phone. shidou was eating candy on the opposite end. sae stood near the kitchenette with a coffee in hand and dark circles under his eyes. bachira spun in a desk chair until he saw you, and then grinned wide. 

kaiser gestured like he’d just presented a magic trick. 

“gentlemen,” he said. “she’s here.” 

you hovered in the doorway for a moment, eyes scanning the chaos of the lounge. the room felt alive – cluttered, loud, buzzing with a kind of boy-energy that smelled like caffeine, guitar polish, and too many late nights. 

bachira was the first to shoot up from his seat and greet you. he practically skipped across the room, mismatched socks and a smile too wide to be legal. 

“you’re the intern? woah. you’re pretty.” 

“PR manager,” you corrected, again. 

“temporary,” sae added from behind his coffee mug, voice dry. 

“welcome to the jungle,” bachira grinned, twirling a piece of your hair before kaiser gently tugged him back by the collar. 

“don’t harass her on sight,” he muttered. 

“it’s not harassment if i say it with love,” bachira replied, then leaned in and whispered to you, “you’ll get used to the chaos. or you won’t. but either way, it’s entertaining.” 

rin didn’t even glance up from his phone. he just muttered a flat, “hi.” 

“he’s dry,” bachira whispered loudly. 

you were about to reply that you already knew rin when the door behind you creaked again. 

someone stepped in, hoodie pulled over his dark hair, earbuds in, a notebook under his arm. he looked up – slow, sharp, unreadable. 

isagi yoichi. lead singer. band’s main songwriter. center of the storm last week. 

his gaze landed on you like a spotlight. not the loud kind, the quiet kind. intense. observant. he took in your outfit, your expression, your stance. all of it. in a second flat. 

you were prepared for cocky. aloof. maybe even rude. 

you weren’t prepared for the way he blinked once, then nodded politely and said, “hey. i’m isagi.” 

his voice was smooth, but low. not overly friendly. not cold either. just… level. 

you didn’t realize you were staring until kaiser bumped your arm. “don’t mind him. he’s quiet around girls he thinks are cute.” 

you pursed your lips together. you were here for work, not a boyfriend. 

isagi rolled his eyes and walked past you, dropping onto the farthest couch with his notebook and pen. he didn’t look flustered. not exactly. but the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was amused. like he’d already read this whole situation ten steps ahead. 

“i’m not quiet,” he said, flipping open the notebook. “i’m just working.” 

“he’s writing a song,” bachira whispered dramatically. “he’s been brooding for like, four hours.” 

“three,” isagi corrected without looking up. 

sae sighed, rubbing his temples. “can we sit? i brought her here for a reason.” 

you straightened up, shoulders back. “right.”

it was showtime. 

you stepped further into the room, eyes darting around for the cleanest surface to put your laptop bag. there wasn’t one. you settled for the edge of the coffee table, nudging aside a crushed monster can and what looked like a guitar string wrapped around a chopstick. 

“so,” you started, voice clear, “i know things have been... messy. which is why i’m here.” 

rin made a sound like a scoff. kaiser hummed a fake violin. shidou laughed. bachira leaned forward like you were about to tell a ghost story. 

you met their stares one by one, steady. “i’m here to manage your public image. and if i’m doing my job right, no one will remember the livestream fight in a month.” 

“bold of you to assume people will forget the highlight of the year,” rin said from the armchair, lazily flipping a pick between his fingers. 

“i’m not asking them to forget,” you replied. “i’m giving them something better to remember.” 

that earned a few raised brows. 

“a documentary,” you continued. “seven episodes. behind-the-scenes, raw, real. your comeback arc. your redemption tour. a perfectly curated mess.” 

bachira clapped once. “ooooh. like keeping up with saint ego.” 

“more like surviving saint ego,” rin muttered. 

“same thing,” kaiser grinned. 

you didn’t look away. “we control the narrative. not the fans. not the headlines. us.” 

"i was thinking of making isagi and kaiser film an apology video with a black and white filter over it," sae admitted blankly.

"no, the fandom is already divided. an apology video would be picked apart like crazy and nothing would change," you explained, voice steady with confidence.

“and you think people will buy the documentary?” isagi asked. his eyes were still on the notebook, but his pen had stopped moving. 

you turned toward him. “they won’t have to. they’ll just watch.” 

there was a pause. a flicker of something passed behind his eyes. curiosity? respect? maybe even… interest? 

“we start filming in two days,” you said. “you’ll each have individual interviews. group sessions. footage from rehearsals, the studio, the tour. the camera will follow you around.” 

“do we get hair and makeup?” bachira asked, already pulling out his phone. “i wanna wear eyeliner like rodrick heffley.” 

“you can wear whatever you want,” you said. “you’re just gonna pretend the camera isn’t there.” 

“you’ll regret saying that,” sae muttered. 

kaiser leaned back in the armchair, legs sprawled. “and who’s behind the camera?” 

“a guy named hiori. also my uni classmate that majors in film production. he’s perfect for this because he’s discreet. professional. nonjudgmental. which is more than i can say for most of you.” 

shidou smirked. “you’re fun.” 

“i’m serious.” 

“so are we,” isagi said quietly, closing his notebook. 

the room stilled. his tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried weight. suddenly everyone was looking at him. but he looked at you. 

“you think you can fix this?” 

you matched his gaze. “i think you need to let me try.” 

a beat. then: 

“fine,” he said, standing. “but if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. no fake smiles. no scripted bullshit. you want the real story?” 

“that’s the only story worth telling,” you said. 

his lip quirked up. a near-smile. just for a second. 

bachira whooped and flopped onto the couch beside you. “this is gonna be so much fun.” 

“this is gonna be a disaster,” rin corrected. 

“same thing,” kaiser said again, laughing. 

you sat down, heart still racing from adrenaline. but they were listening. and that was half the battle. 

the other half? 

well, that would come later. when the cameras were rolling. when the cracks started to show. when secrets slipped out between songs and smoke breaks. 

but for now, you had their attention. 

and that was enough. 

masterlist | ch. 01 | ch. 03

taglist (closed): @nensi @ro4love @avaxoxo13 @levisgoonerr @jnkosstuff @simpingmyassoff @sunsettsguitar @trinkets-of-time @cinneorolls @silverwings920 @mymeloreo @satorella @gkattdoesstuff @lovingmayday @pixelpancakes @vverie @nicfics @nevvynev @astro-3000 @mihyas-dieehefrau @i-eve-i @ohagiyoo @aadahyax @yumerinns @rie-cecooker @neeeooon @laylaandsstuff @irethepotato @byzantiumhollow @luvsymai @blu3-l0v3r @kiritokunuwu @anaxugoras @yxnnu @academiq @jaeyuuns @x3nafix @sukunaspillow @sasukevrz @anyaslittlepeanut @yunsspace @gurehai @chiieni @6riix @miiyabi @2ukika @ventivente @heartsforfeitan @kai-wavesii-blog @iqxatlantic

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[formulaforza]

— caught in a blue summ. but to love her is to need her everywhere (a gentle kind of love) charles x fem reader, wc 4.1k ish, no warnings, no y/n! fueled by one single praise from @silverstonesainz

You’re three paragraphs into an all-too-lengthy work email when he sits down in the chair next to you silently, one elbow on the sage green tablecloth. He sits in the chair sideways, something you can both see and feel, even without looking away from your phone screen. His presence is accompanied by the gentle thud of two heavy glasses. 

You look over briefly—long enough to suggest to him that his presence is mildly perturbing—and then return your attention to the email. You can hardly concentrate over the jazz band in the corner of the hall, rotating through their collection of love songs sung in different romance languages, and now a strange man has set up camp next to you, only further reminding you why you shouldn’t be responding to emails when you’re out of office. 

“Hi,” he says, after more seconds of silence. 

You finish your email before you give him the time of day. “Hi,” you smile, soft but forced. “Who are you?”

“Charles,” He smiles, holding his hand out to shake yours. You stare at his waiting hand until he takes it away. “Nice to meet you,” he laughs, moving one of the drinks closer to you. “For you. White Negroni. Céline told me it’s your drink.”

You give him a sideways glance before looking past him, scanning the reception hall for your friend. She should stand out in her bridesmaid dress. The wedding invite had specifically requested guests to follow a color code, and nobody was wearing that shade besides the bridesmaids. Your eyes finally land on her, glass of champagne in her hand, long blonde hair falling over her shoulders, leaning over to whisper something to the groom—her brother. No doubt the two of them conspiring, a theory only proved when Mathéo’s eyes land on yours from across the room. You roll your eyes. 

“How do you know Céline?” you ask, as if half the guests here tonight aren’t related to her. 

“I went to school with Mathéo,” he says, and you nod slowly, confusion growing, curiosity peaked. “I suppose technically I went to school with Céline as well.”

“I went to school with Céline,” you say, and Charles furrows his brows. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, and you laugh softly, picking up the drink he’d offered, pulling the garnish off the lip of the glass and dropping it on top of the ice. “I’m serious!” He says, matching your laugh, taking a sip of his drink. “Because I would remember you. And I do not remember you.”

“I’m sure,” you shake your head, bringing the glass to your lips. “Lycée. Première.”

Charles nods. “That is why. I was graduated by then.”

Someone laughs so loud at the next table over that it steals both of your attention. It’s the mother-of-the-bride, and she's visibly drunk in a way that only a divorced French socialite can manage. The sudden attention tones her down, and the room is once again filled with wealthy laughter and crisp clinking crystal glasses. 

You love weddings. You love this wedding; the delicate scent of blooming lavender, the smoked salmon canapés and delicate foie gras pâté that sit half-eaten at most of the tables, the perfectly chilled glasses of champagne waiting to be toasted, and the sun. The golden sun that casts itself across the terraces and into the tall windows, painting the dancing figures in golden hues. 

And then he’s speaking again, and you look back at him, and the sun casts a warm shadow through his brown hair that you're noticing for the first time. “Parles-tu français?” he asks. 

You wince, tilting your head to the side, holding up two fingers pinched together. “Un petit peu. Je suis grec,” you explain, pulling your hair around to drape over one shoulder. 

“Ah,” he says. “How do you say, ‘Would you like to dance?’ in Greek?”

You smile gently, taking another sip of your drink. It’s important to keep yourself paced. Especially when you’re staring at someone who looks like that. “Θα χορέψεις μαζί μου?” You finally say, and he stares at you blankly. The expression forces a laugh from you, which in turn pulls one from him. 

“Again?”

“Θα χορέψεις μαζί μου?”

Charles nods for what feels like a very extended period, before downing the remainder of his drink. “Tha horeps…” he winces at his pronunciation so you don’t have to, “mazi-moo?”

You smile at his hopeful expression, and wonder if he’s more hopeful for a correct pronunciation or an agreement to dance. You shrug, swirling your drink around the glass, looking past him to your friend again. 

She’s watching you this time and wears a grin the size of the wedding. She holds up both her thumbs, and then makes a heart with her hands, pretends to have it beating out of her chest. You shake your head, smiling softly, eyes moving back to Charles. 

“One dance.”

— — — 

Your feet drag across the stone pathway like maybe you’ll slow yourself down and get to spend a half-second longer on the phone with him. You hear it over the voices of drunken uncles pouring from open windows and the radio sat on one of the sills playing a Christiana classic. The air is warm, but dry, and the elastic at the end of your braid tickles the skin on your back while you walk. 

Ahead of your scraping shoes, a cat cleans their paw in the yellow of a porch light. You’re in Paros, and life is so sweet you’re finding porch lights and the smell of your yia-yia’s karidopita to be the most romantic thing in the world. 

“I’m nearly home,” you hum into your phone’s receiver. He laughs on the other end, and you wish all the aunts with the drunken, ballad-performing husbands could hear it so they’d stop asking when you’re going to settle down. It would make sense to them, then, the way you behave about Charles. It would all make sense if they heard him laugh, if they could imagine his dimples. 

“Well, you should probably hang up, then,” he says. You roll your eyes. Your cheeks ache from smiling all evening. Your cousin joked before dinner that your face was going to freeze like that if you weren’t careful. 

“I should,” you agree, but you don’t hang up. You stay on the line, quiet, and stop in front of the resident street cat—he’s small and sweet and purrs against your skin when you run your hand over its sleek black fur, scratch your nails under its chin. You’d bring him home if you knew he didn’t belong to someone, to everyone. “Or you could.”

He laughs again. It’s like honey. You’d swan dive into it if you could, drown all slow and blissfully. “I’m not the one nearly home,” he retorts. I could get far from home again, you think. You could do another lap around the neighborhood. You’d already done it thrice, and then two more times after that. What’s another in the grand scheme of things? “I’ll call you again in the morning,” he says, like it’s routine. You suppose it’s sort of becoming that. 

You take a seat on your porch steps. Voices pour out louder, now. They’ve gotten rowdier with every lap you’ve done. A cousin pulls the old squeaky door open behind you, and you jump in your seat, turning around to see who’s busted you. They hold their hands up defensively, mouth a quick sorry like they’d walked in on you changing, and disappear back into the house. You pull your braid over your shoulder, twirl it around your finger carefully. Nervously, you ask:“Do you think we speak too often?”

“Why do you say that?”

You shrug like he can see it. “We talk too much to be friends.”

“Do we?” You imagine him quirking a brow goofily, based solely on his tone of voice. 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, dropping your braid. “Yeah, I think we do.”

Charles sighs. All you can smell is cinnamon and walnuts. You wonder which one of your cousins ate the heel of the bread while you were out walking. “Well, good thing I would never be just friends with you, then.”

The apples of your cheeks burn like they’d been pinched. You flatten your dress over your legs and a careful giggle tumbles from your lips, teeth biting down on the stupid smile there. “Good thing.”

“Goodnight?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Goodnight.”

— — —

It’s raining in Milan when you pinky promise your best friends that you and Charles aren’t dating. 

The sky has been threatening all afternoon, dull and gray and humidity that was anything but friendly to your hair. It poured through the window like your own personal heatwave every time you walked past the open kitchen window,coated the tiled countertop in an irritable condensation. 

It came wafting through the air with the smell of the impending storm when you opened the door to your friends. Finally, after hours of building up, heavy raindrops patter against the porcelain of your kitchen sink, forcing you to hastily close the window while giggles pour from your friends’ mouths. 

Between your two hands, you can count the number of times the lot of you have been in the same time zone since graduation, let alone the same city. You’d spent the entire humid day wiping condensation off the counters and cutting cheese into perfect cubes and gathering the nicest bundles of grapes you could from the three grocery shops within walking distance. 

The sound of the storm against the glass is drowned out by red-wine laughter and tales of big cities and big dreams, all so vastly different. You sit with your legs crossed underneath you, phone face-up on your thigh, the stem of an empty wine glass pinched between two fingers, twisting the glass around mindlessly.  

Your phone buzzes, for the fourth time in eight minutes. And for the fourth time in eight minutes, you pick it up, abandoning glass on the cluttered coffee table next to the week-old vase of pink anemones. 

Stop texting me, he’s messaged. Enjoy your time with your friends.

You smile softly, your incriminating grin illuminated bright OLED white in contrast to the soft yellow lamp lighting the dim room. You stop texting me, you replied, because you’re a pig-tailed girl on the schoolyard when you talk to him, your normally composed, carefully developed persona melting into a puddle of mush at the mere thought of him. 

Can’t, he responds. I am bored. 

Why? You’re never bored.

“Oh, my God!” your best friend, Roma, teases in broken English, her Italian accent not nearly as light as the cube of ​​Gorgonzola she’d tossed at your head from the other end of the sofa. “Who are you speaking to?” She questions. 

“Just a friend,” you say too quickly, too defensive for anyone in the room to believe. 

Roma quirks her brow at you, curious grin painted on her face. “Yeah? Just a friend?”

“I’m serious,” you insist, turning your phone off. You set it face down on the table, and it vibrates there almost immediately, all of your friends’ eyes watching for your reaction. The corners of your lips tremble, fighting a soft smile, and you shrug, bringing your empty wine glass to your lips, turning your head up to the ceiling, the last few drops of red falling through your lips. And then it vibrates again, the bright colors of your background pouring out in a soft ring of light around your phone. You still don’t flinch, but Roma does, lurching forward and snatching it up before you have time to react. 

“‘Because,” she reads. “‘I’m normally speaking with you at this time,’” she looks over to another friend, grinning,“From Charles. With the emoji that does like this,” she says, mimicking the blushing emoji you have next to his name.“But with the pink on the cheek, yes?” She continues explaining. 

You sink into the sofa, popping that cube of cheese into your mouth before gathering up the baby hairs and bangs that had fallen loose from your ponytail, carefully twisting the hair into a tiny, thin braid coming out from the middle of your hairline. 

“Just your friend?” Roma questions, and you don’t have to look up from your distraction braid to know she’s raising her brows and grinning at you. 

— — — 

You sit next to him in the fourth row of church pews, one leg crossed over the other, desperately wishing the wedding mass program that sat on your lap was a paper fan, not yet having resorted to the lengths some of your fellow guests had gone to and actually using the cardstock to cool down. 

One leg is crossed over the other, the tip of your heel-clad foot threatening to tap the back of the pew in front of you with every awkward, uncomfortable roll of your ankle you attempt. At least your dress is sleeveless, you think. Charles is not as lucky, a formal suit perfectly fitted to his frame, one arm draped behind you over the back of the pew, his fingers mindlessly twirling one of the tiny braids that riddle your ponytail. Neither of you speak nearly enough Spanish or know nearly enough people for this to be any sort of enjoyable. 

“Do you understand them at all?” You whisper, your head falling onto his shoulder. “Because I do not.”

“Absolutely not,” he whispers back, kissing the top of your head, his hand finding yours, interlocking in your lap. “And I am about to die from heatstroke.”

You nod. “You, me, and the rest of the church,” you sigh, pretending not to hear the crying baby or the stressed mother in the back of the church. You figure she has the eyes of enough judgy relatives to drown out any soft sentiments from a stranger.  “Can they just kiss and wrap it up?” You ask, and as is on cue, the newlyweds are locking lips under the cathedral candlelight. 

“Oh shit,” Charles giggles, the two of you hurrying to stand with everyone else in the room who understood what's been happening for the last hour and a half. You hastily adjust the skirt of your dress, feeling quickly to make sure you hadn’t sweat-stained the fabric, or worse, the bench you’d been all but stuck to. “Thank God,” he says, just above a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear. 

The church quickly funnels out of the church behind the couple, filing into the cars that were driving to the reception location. Police officers line the road on either side, cameras and strangers gathered at their barriers. You walk out with your hand interlaced in his, watching every step you take down the steep concrete stairs. 

“Is it like this every time one of you gets married?” You ask, staring at the uniformed officers. They’re a stark contrast to the summer air, to the leaves of the trees drenched in sunlight, and to the flowers buzzing with bees. It feels like you’re at a royal wedding—the ones with professional watchers and ceremonies that get broadcast to millions of people around the world. But it’s not that. It’s just your boyfriend’s teammate. 

“Um,” Charles shrugs. “I’m not sure, to be honest,” he admits. “I don’t think so,” he continues, letting you duck into the black sedan first. “I think it’s just his family.”

“Gosh,” you breathe out, relaxing in the calm of the air-conditioned car. “It’s like a whole production.”

“I know,” he shakes his head, uncapping a water bottle that was waiting in the car door cup holder and passing it to you first. “It’s like they’re Spanish royalty or something,” he laughs. 

You nod animatedly, drinking down the water before passing the now half-full bottle to him. “Exactly like that!” you laugh. 

— — — 

“Three wishes,” you grin, spinning around to face him, antique Arabian oil lamp in your hand. 

The second-hand shop smells like vintage leather and dusty velvet. La Dolce Vita plays from the store radio, and it sounds like it’s on vinyl even though it isn’t. The store is full of gaudy outfits and gaudier decor, and there in the middle of it is you and Charles, the ladder laughing every time the former makes the same joke about twenty different items, each uglier than the one before, being ‘just what I was looking for.’

“I wish for unlimited wishes, obviously,” He says, and you shake your head.

“Absolutely not. That goes against Genie rule number three.”

It’s chilly, the early morning dew still crisp in the air. A gentle breeze pours in from the propped open door, and with it comes the smell of fresh pastries and espresso from the bakery next door. It smells gentle and warm and makes the vintage store feel like your yia-yia’s house on the last morning of your last visit to her house. 

You’re wearing your favorite pair of jeans, a pair of pink sneakers, and a sweater that was your favorite before you shrunk it a size in the dryer the day before. You cover up the fashion faux pas with a tan wool coat and long, hardly managed hair. He’s dressed like you, but elevated. Always more elevated than you, even if the only brand he seems to bring into his closet anymore is his friend’s. 

“Ah,” he nods, pulling you closer by the opening of your coat.  “Of course,” he smiles, speaking softly. “And what are the other rules?”

“Oh, you know,” you shrug, dimples digging into your cheeks at the mere sight of his. “No bringing people back from the dead, no making someone fall in love,” you hum, “and no wishing for more wishes.” 

Charles quirks a brow, dropping his head to the side. “Those are stupid rules,” he protests, pouting. “What if those were all three of my wishes?”

You shrug, holding up the lamp to his eye level. “Got to get educated on Genie’s, man,” you tease, cheeks aching. “I don’t know what to tell you,” you giggle, stepping even closer. “Them’s the rules.”

“Them’s the rules,” he repeats. “How about…” he says, leaning in, still grinning. “Wish one,” he says, pressing a soft kiss into your lips. “Wish two,” he says, repeating the action. “And,” he grins, pulling away momentarily to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. You think you could die on the spot, melt right into a puddle on the shop floor. Your face is so hot. “Wish three?” he says, and as a surprise to nobody, leans in to kiss you again. 

“Nope,” you shake your head, desperate for another breeze to blow through the shop, to cool you down, to keep you standing. “I expected better wishes. Very… μη πρωτότυπο.”

“Mi protótypo?” he repeats, and your grin grows.

“Not original.”

— — —

Charles’ apartment couldn’t be more different than yours, and not even solely on a decoration level. Fundamentally, you two come from two different spaces, and trying to merge those spaces has been nothing short of a treat. 

Not that your decor styles are the same either, because you think his are one-of-kind. So one of a kind, that the two of you had gone through each other’s apartment with yard-sale stickers from the corner store, tagging everything you refused to mesh with in red, and everything you refused to part with in green.  Who else can say they have three dozen racing helmets and trophies in the living room, a blown-up shot of a homeless American man on their dining room wall, and a piano that costs more than your net worth in the foyer? That is some perfectly Charles Leclerc decor, and if you had told yourself once that you would be endeared by all of it, you’d have laughed in your face. 

But you do. You adore it, the way it perfectly encapsulates her personality. And you adore him, and the way he put a green sticker on a total of seven things in his whole apartment because he wanted to make sure it felt like your space too. 

“Why did you not label any of these boxes?” He asks, the two of you stood in his dining room. In your dining room. In the dining room. 

“Um…” you hesitate. “You know, I was going to. I really was,” you nod, staring at at least twenty cardboard boxes, each of them completely indistinguishable from the others, not a single identifying marker on any of them. 

“And then?” He asks, shoving his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels, the herringbone hardwood creaking under his feet with the shifting of his weight. 

“And then I realized I packed my Sharpie,” you nod.

“Mmm,” he hums, scratching his beard, his fingers moving over his face and into his hair, combing through it stressfully. He’s so patient with you. Hopelessly patient with you, and would never admit it. “But you could not find the box it was in?” You shake your head, agreeing with his statement. “Because you forgot to label any of the boxes?”

“Because I didn’t label any of the boxes,” you confirm, an apologetic look painted across your face, eyes soft and sweet, attempting to remind him just how much he loves you. “And suddenly the movers were there. And now I’m here.”

“Oh,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around your chest from behind, kissing the top of your head. “I love you so much,” he says. “I love you so much,” he repeats, voice blank, unconvincing. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I was thinking we start in the dining room,” you joke, smiling softly, pulling a chuckle from his lips. You can always count on him to laugh at your stupid jokes. Even when he’s pretending not to be annoyed with you.“I’m sorry,” you say softly, kissing the forearm crossed over your chest. 

“I know,” he hums. “It’s okay. It won’t be too bad.”

— — — 

A soft summer breeze floats through the air, blows through the linen pinned to clotheslines in the neighborhood. It brings with it salt air and the careful wafts of cinnamon and nutmeg and eggplants and tomatoes. You sip a glass of Retsina, ignoring the bitter and accepting the sweet. 

The olive trees are draped in endless strings of lights, and gentle, traditional music plays from the live band and the wooden stage your uncles had built with your dad. Your Yia-yia moves around from table to table pinching the cheeks of your cousins, reminding the single girls to check their shoes for their prince charmings. 

The sun is setting on the water, golden shadows cutting around the soft cement architecture. The air is light. Charles wears a tan linen suit with an evil-eye boutonniere. You wear a white dress and a cold coin in your left shoe. 

“You told them no to the money, right?” He asks softly, sipping a glass of white. 

“I did,” you nod. “Well. I told my parents,” You shrug. “Whether or not they convey the message to the four hundred other people here, I guess we’ll find out.”

“It’s weird, no? A first dance and a last dance?”

You smile softly, watching a stray cat hurry down an alleyway. “My family keeps coming up to us and pretending to spit,” you giggle, “But the second dance is where you draw the line in the weird sand?”

“None of it’s weird” he shakes his head, reaching to tuck a curly piece of hair behind your ear, adjusting your veil accordingly. “It’s all you,” he says, leaning in to kiss you softly. His lips are soft, and he tastes like apples and melon and citrus, as easy to kiss as ever. “And I love you.”

“Ah,” you nod, a teasingly soft smile parting your lips. “He loves me,” you say, pretending to wipe sweat from your brow. “I was worried.”

“You act very worried,” he grins. “Wedding dress and all.”

“Oh,” you feign surprise as if you've noticed the setting for the first time. “This old thing? The one that costs a quarter of my salary?”

Charles nods, humming. “That’s the one. Keeps taking my damn breath away.”

You look down at yourself, an innocent, girlish smile draped over your lips, the pink shades of the sunset painting themselves warm over your cheeks. A gust of wind blows through the space, the breeze gently blowing through your veil, through the fabric of your dress. 

“Are you ready?” You ask, watching the sun creep closer to the horizon, be swallowed up inch by inch into the sea, using your hand as a shade-visor. “No time like the present, right?” You add, downing what’s left in your glass. “Our second dance as newlyweds.”

“Our second dance,” Charles nods, holding out his hand, waiting for your fingers to interlock with his. “Let’s go.”

[nooodlesartstyle]

what pride means this year.

pride month is not only a celebration of queer joy and community, but also a reminder that we were very marginalised once, and that we will never go back.

i loved giving my followers and mutuals the opportunity to be a part of a virtual parade to show their visibility. some have reached out to me about not being able to be a part of a public event this year and have said this was a great alternative, and seeing all this positive reception and all your submissions melted my heart so much. and if you couldn’t make it and are only there in spirit, thank you so much for reblogging and spreading the word so more people could join - it really meant a lot.

with that said, here are the partaking contributors from furthest left to furthest right (go follow them if you haven’t already):

@rosiebun28

@agallonofmilky

@haarlow

@ottomann

@loborundas

@weirdcoreboy

@pennymations

@maxine302

rat forge

@alice-arty

@tigergirltail

@jstillman98

@celestemysterios

and once again, happy pride <3

[loveemagicpeace]

⭐️Planetary Rulership of the Zodiac Signs: What it means for you⭐️

☀️Sun as your chart ruler-you will always have some self-confidence that will be exposed. When the Sun is your chart ruler, it brings a bright, expressive energy that influences your life’s direction and sense of self. Self-expression is essential to you. Whether it’s through art, communication, leadership, or daily life, you naturally want to share your personality with others. You are driven to live with purpose and find meaning in your life. This often involves following a path that aligns with your authentic self. You’re often drawn to leadership roles or situations where you can take charge. This influence encourages you to cultivate self-belief, even if it doesn’t come automatically. People will often put you in leadership positions, regardless of how you turn out. People will automatically see you as a leader.  You’re likely to feel most “yourself” when you’re healthy and connected to what energizes you. You will often have the need to be visible and for people to notice you. When the Sun is your chart ruler, there may also be lessons around ego and self-worth. This can include overcoming insecurities or working through situations that challenge your self-esteem. You’re here to shine, but balancing self-assurance without arrogance is a key life lesson.

🌙Moon as your chart ruler-emotions and inner intuition will often guide you in life. You will feel things that others may not. Many times you won't talk about it with others. It is typical for these people that they feel a lot and collect energy, but they really don't talk about it. You will need to spend a lot of time with people you know. You love your family and the people you know, and this also brings great joy in life. You will want to create a home, and indeed a home that will be special and warm for you.  You will experience many things through emotions. You may feel things deeply and often have a sensitive, empathic side, making you highly receptive to energy and moods in your environment. You often seek to create a “safe space” for yourself and others and may be drawn to pursuits that allow you to offer emotional support. You likely experience emotional highs and lows, and it’s normal for your needs or interests to shift with time. Awareness of these cycles can help you work with them rather than feeling overwhelmed. You may feel closely tied to memories, traditions, or your personal history. The Moon emphasizes the importance of your roots and the experiences that have shaped you. Processing and reflecting on these aspects can play a big role in your personal growth journey.

☿Mercury as your chart ruler-your life depends on your expression and how much you talk about it with others. Communication is an important part of your life and you will like to express everything through it. You will be inclined to want to solve many problems even if they are not your concern. You will want to learn a lot, but you prefer to gather information that is quick and short. You may have a problem with staying on one thing for a long time. You need a lot of stimulation and change. New ideas and knowledge invigorate you, and you’re often drawn to conversations, books, and experiences that challenge your thinking. Intellectual stimulation is a core need for you. New ideas and knowledge invigorate you, and you’re often drawn to conversations, books, and experiences that challenge your thinking. Intellectual stimulation is a core need for you. Mercury is associated with youth and liveliness, and with Mercury as your chart ruler, you may approach life with a playful, inquisitive energy. Even as you mature, you likely retain a youthful curiosity and love for mental exploration. You may have wide-ranging interests, as Mercury loves variety. Hobbies, fields of study, and career paths may be varied and often shift with time. This diversity keeps life interesting and suits your love for exploring different perspectives and areas of knowledge.

💗Venus as your chart ruler-your life will include a lot of love, romance, money, luxury, gifts. You will look for love in all aspects of life. You will usually want to find the fair side of life and weigh all sides. Your life will be like a dance with strong, intense, loving movements. At every step you will be accompanied by love and the relationships you will build with people. You will strive for quality, long-term, stable and loving relationships. Most of the time, you will be looking for the perfect partner for yourself and want to spend everything with that person.  You’re drawn to meaningful, supportive relationships and tend to invest time and energy in maintaining them. You may be naturally drawn to art, design, fashion, or any form of aesthetic expression. You probably have a strong appreciation for the finer things, enjoying the pleasures of good food, soothing environments, and rich sensory experiences. You might feel drawn to stable, loyal partnerships and friendships. Venus as your chart ruler gives you a patient, committed approach to your closest bonds. You might prioritize establishing a stable foundation in love and friendships, feeling more fulfilled when you know you’re valued and safe with the people you care about. You will always carry a kind of bright side inside you and you will always be ready to help others no matter how many times you are hurt by others. You will always have a lot of love to give to others. 

✨Mars as your chart ruler-you’re likely a go-getter, driven by purpose and goals. Mars’s influence makes you determined, always pushing forward to overcome obstacles. Your chart ruler empowers you to meet challenges with courage and pursue what you want with intensity and focus. You’re likely to value independence and may often choose to handle things on your own rather than rely on others. This makes you someone who gets things done efficiently, and you’re likely to take initiative in relationships, career, or other areas of life. You’re rarely one to sit back and wait; instead, you seize opportunities as they come. You have a competitive spirit inside you that will never stop competing or give up on something you love. Passion will guide you in many things in life. You likely value honesty and appreciate others being straightforward with you, as you tend to be with them. Physical activities can also play an essential role, as Mars loves action and thrives in movement. You may thrive in difficult situations and have an instinct to overcome adversity. This quality often makes you a natural protector of yourself and others, ready to stand up for what’s right or defend those you care about. You’re likely to be intensely loyal, giving your all to those who matter. However, Mars can bring a bit of fire, meaning you might need relationships with a similar level of energy to keep you fully engaged.

🎲Jupiter as your chart ruler-In life, you will always be guided by things that will teach you something and lead you in the right direction. You will always carry with you optimism and a good outlook, regardless of the situation and circumstances around you. You will have the joy of motivating people and showing them the way. People will find in it someone who can lead them on the right path and a person who is wise and smart. You’re naturally curious and driven to explore new ideas, cultures, and philosophies. Formal education may appeal to you, but you’re also likely to pursue knowledge through travel, experiences, and self-study. You’re likely to be always seeking to grow, improve, and expand your worldview. You may be someone who naturally wants to give, whether it’s time, advice, or material support. This generosity makes you an uplifting friend and loved one, and people often find comfort in your presence. You may be inclined to take calculated risks, believing that rewards come from putting yourself out there. Whether in career, travel, or relationships, this openness to new experiences drives personal evolution. You may possess a confident, magnetic energy that others find inspiring. This makes you a natural networker and can open doors for you, as people are often drawn to your warmth and charisma.

🪐Saturn as your chart ruler- you will always carry strength and courage with you, regardless of the challenges you will have to go through, you will always overcome everything. You may feel naturally inclined to take on tasks and roles that require commitment and perseverance, often feeling that it’s up to you to “hold things together.” You’re often willing to put in the hard work and endure challenges to reach your goals. This can make you someone others look up to when they need guidance on resilience and persistence. You have a lot of self-worth and respect and you will never let people treat you badly. You may feel driven to create something lasting, whether in your career, personal projects, or relationships. Saturn brings emotional resilience and a “tough skin,” helping you weather difficulties and learn from challenges. You tend to mature early and may have faced significant responsibilities. You’re unlikely to enter into relationships lightly and tend to seek people who share your values of trust and reliability. You have a serious approach to life and people, you are very loyal to the people you love. You always succeed in life regardless of the challenges. You can endure many hard things and even cruel things. You are a person who is hard to break. You may sometimes struggle with being overly cautious, but once committed, you’re deeply loyal. Your journey may be one where wisdom is gained through challenges, making you a source of valuable insights for others who look to you for advice and mentorship. You always have power with you and you are relentless towards people who hurt you. Saturn helps you and brings people who hurt you on your way, so that you can see their karma.

🌱Uranus as your chart ruler- You may resist conventional roles and labels, wanting to live in a way that feels authentic to you. This often means seeking freedom in your choices, relationships, and career. You might enjoy exploring new ideas, places, and ways of thinking. This makes you open to change and innovation, often seeing new directions as opportunities for growth. You’re drawn to progressive ideas, technology, and anything that challenges the status quo. This can make you a leader or trendsetter, often inspiring others with fresh perspectives and ideas. You’re likely to have a strong internal compass and a desire to do things your way, regardless of what others might expect or think. You’re likely to be curious, seeking experiences that bring excitement and variety into your life. You may experience sudden changes or realizations that shift your perspective or life direction. This visionary energy makes you someone who can quickly adapt and pivot to seize new opportunities. Uranus makes you open to non-traditional forms of relationships, valuing mental connection and mutual respect above all. You may have sudden “aha” moments or flashes of insight, which guide you in unexpected ways. Trusting these moments can help you make inspired decisions.

🧚🏻‍♀️Neptune as your chart ruler-You may easily pick up on the emotions of others, which makes you an empathetic and compassionate person. Your intuition guides many of your decisions, and you may have an innate understanding of things that others cannot see. You might be drawn to meditation, energy work, astrology, or other practices that connect you to something greater than yourself. You may often find solace in connecting with the unseen world, feeling a deep sense of interconnectedness. Neptune is strongly linked to creativity, and with it ruling your chart, you likely have a rich imagination. Whether it’s through art, music, writing, or other forms of self-expression, you may find that creativity is a natural outlet for your emotions and ideas. You might dream of a perfect world, seek out ideal relationships, or believe in a higher purpose. U can also daydream a lot. You may feel a deep desire to help those in need, whether emotionally, physically, or spiritually. You’re likely drawn to work or relationships that involve healing, teaching, or offering guidance, as you have an innate understanding of others’ pain and struggles. Superficial relationships won’t satisfy you, and you may feel the need for spiritual and emotional bonds that transcend the physical. You may have a love for soft colors, flowing fabrics, and art that evokes a sense of magic or fantasy. Your style and surroundings may reflect your inner world—a place of imagination, spiritual exploration, and wonder.

🦋Pluto as your chart ruler-People may feel drawn to you, sensing that there is more beneath the surface. You are likely someone who doesn’t settle for shallow interactions and prefers to dive deep into people, situations, and emotions. You may go through phases of great intensity, where you shed old layers of yourself and emerge renewed, stronger, and more empowered. These transformations can sometimes be triggered by crises or deep emotional experiences. You may be drawn to psychology, investigative work, or anything that allows you to peel back layers and discover what lies beneath the surface. You may have an air of mystery or secrecy about you, and others might sense that there’s more to you than meets the eye. You are often enigmatic, and people may feel that they need to get closer to understand you, although you may not always make it easy for them to do so. You are not afraid to face your emotional wounds, and this resilience allows you to heal and grow from challenges. You may also be attracted to people who exhibit power or authority in some way, but it’s important to ensure these relationships are balanced and healthy. You may feel the need to keep certain aspects of your life hidden, either because you value your independence or because you fear being vulnerable. You are likely to seek out people who challenge you, push you to grow, and are willing to confront the darker aspects of themselves. Shallow, casual connections may not hold your interest for long.

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

-Rebekah🧚🏻‍♀️💗🎸