#and even when she's still been a constant presence in my life!!!

[whoslaurapalmer]

god literally anyone in the family besides my mom saying stuff like 'oh lulu is so strong or kind, such a nice person, we're so proud of her' makes me. unbelievably angry. like I feel like my mom says it with genuine appreciation!!!!! I like hearing her say it!!!!!!! but anyone else saying it just feels performative and uncaring and like im still a fucking child to them and they're so surprised I can do things or take care of my mom or even do ANYTHING right

[valaratminaforaldrar]

fucking hello kitty trying to rush when i'm trying to introduce myself to everyone?? can you wait two seconds

[bishovapls]

Our Little One - Brats Don’t Get Soft, Brats Get Used.

Relationships: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff & Reader

Summary: You’ve never been a brat before, but after weeks with Wanda and Natasha and Natasha still holding back, a nudge from your roommate Kate sets something in motion. What starts as a simple need soon turns into a dangerous game, and you’re about to learn what happens when the consequences catch up.

Warnings: 18+, Mommy kink, Daddy kink, age difference, older WandaNat/younger reader, BDSM, Dom/sub dynamics, spanking/lashing with a belt, punishment, smut, overstimulation, fingering, safe word check-ins, aftercare, minor angst.

A/N: Reader and Natasha’s first-time scene kept popping up in requests, so here we are! If I’ve replied to your other asks, those fics will be coming ASAP. If you’ve sent an ask and I haven’t responded yet, I promise I’m working through everything! Thanks so much for all your patience and love. Honestly, your asks, replies, and support for this series make me all warm and fuzzy inside 🩵

P.S. In terms of the timeline, this takes place after 'It Was Fate' and before 'You Make Such Pretty Sounds When You’re Sorry', both can be found in my masterlist.

Word Count: 14,578

NSFW below the cut, you can also read on AO3.

It had been a month since you’d stepped into the world Wanda and Natasha had so carefully, deliberately built around you, and though the shift had been gentle, almost imperceptible at first, you felt it now in everything. The change had crept in like water, soft and steady, reshaping the edges of your life without ever needing to crash through them. You hadn’t thought you needed structure. You certainly hadn’t expected to crave it. But once it was there, once their presence became a constant grounding force, you realised just how badly you’d needed to be held in place.

The rules didn’t arrive all at once. They were introduced slowly, one by one, always with a quiet firmness, never exactly forceful, but never optional either. And what surprised you most was how easily they slipped past the bedroom and settled into the rest of your life. They took root in the mundane, the overlooked, the messiest parts of your routine: your study habits, your sleep, your social outings, your tendency to forget yourself.

At first, you questioned the point of it all. Why they cared whether you skipped a meal or pulled another all-nighter. But it didn’t take long to understand. They were wholly, unflinchingly invested in you. In your well-being. In your peace. And in the simple, sacred truth that you were theirs.

It began with the essentials. Drink more water. Eat proper meals. Step outside and breathe. No more skipping breakfast or living on scraps between lectures. No more letting your body crumble under the weight of your own neglect. 

They didn’t leave it to chance, either. Wanda had set you up with a nutrition tracker, and Natasha synced it to a fitness app. Between the two of them, they monitored everything.

Then came the check-ins. If you weren’t with them, you were to check in twice a day: a brief morning text including how you slept, how you felt, and what was ahead for the day, and a call at night, no exceptions. You were to talk them through your day, tell them what had gone well, what hadn’t, and whether you needed anything, emotionally, physically, or otherwise. 

And college brought its own rules. You were to attend every class unless you were truly ill. And even then, they were to be informed immediately. Natasha had your entire academic schedule memorised, down to your deadlines and office hours, and if anything shifted, she expected an update. 

Your social life, limited though it was since you were far from a social being, had boundaries. You could go out, in fact, you were encouraged to do so, to have fun, to be young, to live, but never at the cost of safety. Drinking to excess was forbidden. Drugs and smoking, entirely off-limits. 

And you were not to be out alone after dark. If you did go out, it had to be with trusted friends. Your fitness tracker was to remain on, fully charged, and GPS active. That rule had been delivered with unflinching clarity. Natasha had stated it plainly, her tone leaving no room for argument. They needed to know where you were. That you weren’t walking alone, vulnerable and unseen. That if something happened, they’d know exactly where to find you.

To an outsider, it might’ve seemed overbearing and excessive. But to you, it was the opposite. It was everything. These rules weren’t restrictions, they were evidence, proof that someone saw you clearly enough to draw lines around your chaos and call it worth saving. 

And you wanted to be good for them. You lived for the quiet praise threaded through your evening calls, the warmth in Wanda’s voice when she told you she was proud, the low, satisfied hum Natasha would let slip when every rule had been followed to the letter. You craved their approval. Their attention. Their pride. Being obedient came naturally in most ways, and you basked in it. 

Except… food and water. That was the rule you just couldn’t seem to get right.

It wasn’t rebellion; not truly. Sometimes you simply didn’t want to cook, or the idea of eating twisted something unpleasant in your stomach. Sometimes coffee was just easier; it kept you upright, kept you moving. Other times, it wasn’t deliberate at all, just a blur of hours and tasks and noise. You got swept up in work, or you ate but forgot to log it, or maybe you downed nearly a litre of coffee before it even occurred to you that you hadn’t touched water. 

Whatever the reason, Wanda always noticed, calling with her voice full of concern. “When was the last time you ate?” she’d ask, and it wasn’t anger, it was disappointment, that would curl tight in your gut as you searched for a defence that never felt good enough.

The punishments for this were never too much, because they knew you were trying. But they were just enough to make you pause the next time your hand hovered over another cup of coffee and nothing else.

And part of you, ashamed as it was, needed that. Needed the accountability. The structure. The safety of knowing someone would catch you before you disappeared too far into yourself.

Still, even with all of it, the structure, the gentleness, the care stitched into every rule and ritual, something felt wrong. Not glaringly, not enough to shatter the sense of safety they’d built around you, but enough to unsettle, to gnaw at the edges of your thoughts when you were alone. It wasn’t the boundaries or the expectations, not the check-ins or the rules that governed your days. It was Natasha.

She was present and reliable in that steady, composed way of hers. She enforced the routine with silent efficiency, asked the questions that mattered, and made sure you kept your promises, to them and to yourself. But when it came to punishment, to intimacy, to that deeper level of connection you craved, she held back. And it wasn’t just that she didn’t discipline you, she hadn’t touched you. Not once.

You’d given yourself to them, inch by inch, until it didn’t feel like surrender anymore, but something closer to breathing. You’d let yourself fall, and Wanda had caught you. It was always Wanda.

It was Wanda who guided you, who punished you when you slipped, who praised you so sweetly your stomach turned to honey when you hadn’t. It was Wanda who took you apart in the dark, who knew how to coax you into obedience with nothing but a look, a sound, or a breath. Natasha either watched from the sidelines or, worse, left the room entirely. 

Last weekend was a perfect example. You knelt before Wanda, her voice calm and steady as she guided you through the mantras she’d been drilling into you. “I deserve to take care of myself… my body deserves fuel… my mind deserves rest…” You’d forgotten to eat again, too caught up in school, and so when you came to them, punishment was needed. But it wasn’t a punishment of pain; it was one of words and care that slowly cracked open your walls, breaking down the bad beliefs you’d carried all your life. 

At first, Natasha was there, quietly watching, even encouraging with small hums and soft smiles, but when your tears began to flow and your body shook, she left without a word. You didn’t know why; she never explained. Wanda shushed your whimpers, but it wasn’t enough, not when Natasha didn’t want you…again.

After the scene, when you dared to ask about it, Wanda’s answer only deepened the ache: “You’re just not ready for Daddy, malyshka (Little One).”

Those words echoed in your mind, not ready. As if Natasha was a threshold you hadn’t yet earned the right to cross. It made the ache of being good, of meeting every expectation, sting sharper. 

—

That’s why this week has been hard, with constant thoughts of Natasha swirling through your mind; each check-in only deepened your frustration. By the time Thursday arrived, your mood had darkened. The usual nightly check-in with the women went ahead, but beneath it all, you felt that familiar tightening in your chest, the heavy weight of the unspoken barrier still lingering between you and Natasha.

As always, you took the call just outside your dorm building, settling on the cold edge of the concrete steps beneath the weak glow of the overhead security light. The buzzing hum of it filled the silence between your own clipped replies and Wanda’s soothing voice, Natasha’s steadier one threading in near the end as she asked the usual questions about your meals, your steps, your classes. You answered them all. Obedient. Polite. But your tone was flatter than usual, each sentence a little shorter, and by the time you hung up, the tight coil of something unspoken was still sitting behind your ribs, refusing to unspool.

You pushed through the heavy dorm door and climbed the stairs two at a time, jaw tight, nails digging half-moons into your palms. When you opened the door to your shared room, Kate glanced up from her bed, where she sat cross-legged in an oversized hoodie, scrolling on her laptop. Her eyes caught your face instantly, her brows drew together, subtle but unmistakable, and the screen was forgotten within a heartbeat.

“Uhh… what’s up?” she asked, her voice cautious but laced with warmth, like she could sense your mood before you'd said a word.

“Nothing,” you muttered, too quickly, flinging your bag to the floor and flopping onto your bed with the kind of exaggerated indifference that only made your frustration more obvious.

Kate didn’t buy it for a second. She shifted to sit upright, her back resting against the wall. “Seriously?” she said with a small, incredulous laugh, but her eyes didn’t leave your face. 

You exhaled hard through your nose and rolled your eyes, reaching for your phone just to have something to fidget with. “You’re too nosy,” you said lightly, trying to deflect.

But Kate didn’t laugh this time. Her expression softened instead, concern overtaking the playfulness. “Maybe,” she said gently, “but I care, you know?”

The words landed heavier than you expected. You nodded once, a little jerk of your chin, your voice quieter when you finally said, “I know.”

“Then just talk to me?” she offered. Her hands were clasped loosely in her lap, but there was tension in her shoulders too, like she was trying not to push too hard, not to say the wrong thing, and watch you shut down.

You stayed silent for a moment, then sat up, legs pulled to your chest. You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve, not quite able to meet her eyes. “It’s… to do with the girlfriends,” you said finally.

Kate’s eyes flickered with interest, not curiosity in a nosy way, but a gentle attentiveness that said she’d been waiting for you to talk about them again. “Are you ever going to tell me who they are?” she asked, smiling just a little, trying to keep it light.

You smiled too, but it didn’t reach your eyes. Of course, you wanted to tell her. You trusted her. But Natasha’s voice echoed in your mind, cool and resolute, no one at college can know. Not even your roommate. She was right, of course. College gossip moved fast, and all it would take was one whisper in the wrong ear for everything to unravel.

“You know the rules,” you said, sharper than you meant to, and your jaw clenched as the anger returned, at the rule, at Natasha, at how far away she still felt even after a month.

Kate let out a quiet chuckle, raising a hand to trace a little X over her heart. “I do. But it could be our little secret. Cross my heart.”

You looked at her grin, and something in you softened, just a little.“Maybe soon,” you said, voice tight. “I don’t think it’ll be going on much longer anyway, so there will be no secret to keep.”

That hit her like a slap. Her eyes widened, her posture straightening instantly. “What? Wait, what do you mean?” she asked, voice sharp with shock, all traces of teasing gone.

You had told Kate about your situation with Wanda and Natasha pretty early on, after all, she’d pestered you half to death after your first night with them, all wide-eyed curiosity and relentless questions. You’d given her the basics: that they were your dommes, that it wasn’t just sex, not to them, not to you either. That they’d made it clear from the start that they wanted something more, something serious, something committed.

Over time, details had trickled out, mostly because they had to. The rules you lived by, the punishments you’d earned, the very explicit reasons you sometimes came home with marks so unmistakable they made Kate drop her fork. 

Kate never judged, never squirmed, or got awkward. It was embarrassing sometimes, yes, but it was also a relief to have someone who understood, who didn’t flinch at the language, at the power dynamics, at the weight of it all.

But you’d been careful, too. You’d kept their names to yourself, never once letting them slip. You hadn’t said where they lived, what they did, not even how old they were. You hadn’t even referred to them by title. It wasn’t mistrust, it was the rule. And more than that, it was something you instinctively honoured. Something Natasha had asked of you, and you hadn’t questioned it. You hadn’t wanted to.

Until now. Now, when everything felt like it was fraying. Now, when you couldn’t tell if you were still wanted, or just tolerated. 

And Kate was still watching you, her expression tight with worry, waiting for you to explain why you’d just said it might all be over.

“Hello? Earth to the emotionally tormented?” she teased softly when your silence stretched.

You blinked, snapping back to the moment, and let out a tired little laugh. “I’m here,” you muttered with a half-hearted shrug.

Kate raised one brow in that subtle, persistent way that said, Don’t even think about dodging this, her body leaning forward just slightly.

You sighed, pressing your fingers into your temples for a moment before finally exhaling the frustration that had been crawling under your skin. “It’s just… Domme Two, she’s got all these expectations,” you started, voice tight, like every word had to be pried out. “I try so hard. And still… she won’t touch me. She won’t see me. I’m so tired of it. I’m so tired of being good and getting nothing back.”

Kate’s expression shifted immediately. You’d mentioned Natasha’s distance once or twice before in passing, but it had never sounded quite like this. Back then, it was a curiosity, an oddity. Now, it was pain. Frustration.

“Still?” she echoed, disbelief softening into sympathy. “It’s been, what, over a month now?”

You nodded mutely, jaw tight. “Yup,” you said, popping the ‘p’ with bitter emphasis. “And I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, Kate. I try so fucking hard. I follow their rules, well, mostly,” you added with a dry, self-deprecating smile. “I give them everything they ask for. But when I ask…it’s always the same line: you’re not ready.” The words came out quieter, more vulnerable now, like they physically hurt to repeat.

Kate’s face twisted with something halfway between a wince and a thoughtful frown. “You know it might not be about you, right?” she said gently. “That maybe you are ready… but she isn’t?”

You scoffed, not unkindly, but with that weary kind of disbelief that comes from hoping for too long. “No, Domme One said, that I am not ready because Domme Two can be intense. That she is holding back so I don't get hurt.” You shook your head with a dry, humourless laugh. “But this hurts, too, Kate. Being held at arm’s length like I’m not worthy yet. And it’s not like I haven’t made it crystal clear that rough doesn’t scare me. Domme One and I have had scenes that I couldn’t even put into words if I tried.”

Kate stayed quiet for a moment, taking it all in. You could see the gears turning, the way she bit the inside of her cheek like she always did when she was trying to offer advice without sounding preachy.

“Well… if it’s eating at you this much, then I think you have to talk to them again,” she said eventually, voice calm but firm, the kind of tone she only used when she really meant it. “Like, properly. Not mid-scene. Not just after punishment. Really talk.”

“I have,” you snapped, your voice pitching higher than you meant it to. “I have talked. I’ve tried. I bring it up, and it’s just brushed aside like I’m being impatient.”

Kate sighed, but it wasn’t a condescending sigh; it was heavy, empathetic. You could see the careful way she was treading. She was always mature when it came to this, always level-headed when you weren’t, always calm when you were spiralling. 

“I get it,” she said softly. “I really do. But if something isn’t working for you, you have to keep pushing for a change. Communication’s everything, you know that.”

You slumped back against the bed, staring at the ceiling like maybe it would answer for you. “I’m just… tired of talking. Tired of giving my all and still being told I haven’t earned hers. I just wish there was something I could do.”

Kate was quiet again, but something in her posture shifted. Her lips twitched, just the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at one corner before she caught herself and quickly looked down, trying to hide it.

You sat up slightly, suspicious. “What? Kate. What is that look?”

She tried and failed to suppress a laugh. “Nothing. I just… shouldn’t say this. I definitely shouldn’t encourage this.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s never stopped you before. Come on. Spit it out.”

Kate hesitated, her smile turning fond now, as if whatever memory she was about to share brought her warmth despite the topic. “It’s just… I know what Yelena would do in your shoes.”

Your stomach flipped, your curiosity piqued. “Yeah? And what would Yelena do?”

Kate let out a slow breath. “Well, okay, so our dynamic isn’t like yours. It’s not built on rules and structure 24/7. But in scene, there are rules. And sometimes, when I’ve been… off, or distracted, or distant, because life, you know? Yelena will break a rule deliberately. Just enough to make me react. It’s her way of saying notice me, see me, feel something.”

Kate looked almost sheepish after saying it, like she wasn’t entirely sure whether she’d just offered you advice… or handed you a loaded weapon. But you heard it clearly.

A quiet rebellion. A strategic crack in obedience.

And the suggestion glittered in your mind like something dangerous and gleaming, like the glint of a match just before it hits the strike pad. It didn’t matter that it was reckless. All that mattered was that something inside you shifted, something coiled and bratty and starved for attention stirred, stretching awake for the first time.

You turned to Kate, an exaggerated gasp of mock offence on your lips. “Kate Bishop, are you suggesting I should be a brat?”

She laughed, the sound light and helpless. “I’m suggesting,” she said with careful precision, “that breaking a rule might actually get you the kind of reaction you’re craving. Especially if it’s one of Domme Two’s.”

Your brain had already taken off at a sprint, running through possibilities, rules, boundaries, hers, not Wanda’s. You grinned slowly, wickedly, a spark of something deliciously mischievous taking root. “You know,” you drawled, already shifting your weight like you were about to get up, “I’ve been thinking… a late-night stroll sounds like just the thing to clear my head.”

Kate blinked at you, her mouth opening slightly in disbelief before flattening into a line. “It’s midnight,” she said, deadpan. Her eyes narrowed a little as she sat straighter, arms folded, like she was already preparing to intervene. “Can you not pick a safer rule to break?”

You tilted your head and gave a lazy shrug, letting faux innocence smooth over your features. “It’s this, or smoking. Or, I don’t know… drugs.” You raised your eyebrows for dramatic effect.

Kate’s eyes widened in horror, her whole body recoiling like you’d just threatened to juggle knives in traffic. “Not. Funny,” she snapped, though the sharpness in her tone couldn’t quite hide the way her lips twitched at the edges.

Your grin only widened. “A little bit funny,” you said, voice dipping with smug satisfaction, because provoking her felt almost as fun as what you were planning.

Kate groaned and flopped back against the headboard, dragging a hand down her face. “Okay, but what about… I don’t know, don’t go to class tomorrow. Don’t message, don’t give an excuse. It’s safe. Passive-aggressive. You get to make a point.”

You wrinkled your nose, unconvinced, and gave a dismissive wave of your hand. “Too slow. I’m supposed to be with them tomorrow night anyway, and I want it sorted before then.”

Kate sat forward again, staring at you like you’d grown a second head. Her brows lifted with genuine disbelief, and she stared hard, like she was still holding out hope this was all a bit. “You are insane.”

You gave her a sly wink as you stood up, grabbing your coat and slipping it on. “No,” you replied, with a gleam in your eye and a dangerous lilt in your voice, “I’m just impatient. And possibly very, very stupid.”

Kate stood too, suddenly tense, hovering like she wasn’t sure if she should block the door or help you open it. “Okay, but please text me. Keep me updated. And when you inevitably get dragged back to wherever they live for the punishment of your entire life, I expect details.”

You paused with your hand on the doorknob, turning back with a wicked little smirk that curled slowly across your face. “I will. And hey, thanks for the advice,” you said, voice syrupy-sweet with mischief. 

Kate shook her head, muttering under her breath before sighing out loud. “God help you.”

And with that, the door clicked softly behind you, the hallway swallowing you up as you let the brat take the wheel, heart racing, nerves buzzing, a storm already forming on the horizon.

—

It took fifteen minutes of walking before your phone buzzed in your pocket. You didn’t even need to check the screen to know it was Natasha. The GPS tracker in your watch had no doubt lit up the moment you stepped beyond the perimeter she’d quietly defined.

You pulled the phone out, thumb hovering for a moment, then smiled, slow, sharp, and wicked, and let it ring out. One call. Then another. Then a third, her name flashing again and again like a warning light.

The next buzz wasn’t a call, it was your shared group chat, the one only used for schedules, check-ins, and rare moments of praise or correction outside sessions. 

D2: I thought you were staying home with Kate tonight?

You didn’t answer. Just opened it and continued walking, heading deeper into the park, where the glow of streetlamps filtered softly through leafless trees. The cold bit at your cheeks, but you welcomed it, anything that grounded you in the daring, dizzy satisfaction of rebellion.

D2: Why are you ignoring me? D1: Little one, are you okay?

That one gave you pause. You felt a flicker of guilt crack through the high of disobedience. This wasn’t about her. None of this was really her fault, yet you were treating her the same way, but you kept walking.

D2: You better be with Kate.

Her tone, even through text, was clipped, and you could practically feel her jaw clenched from miles away. Then another text came from Wanda, softer again.

D1: Please, let us know you are safe, Sweetheart. We’re worried.

That one stung. You hated that you’d made her worry, hated even more that it was necessary to make your point. You sighed and finally typed back, your fingers momentarily trembling from more than just the cold.

Me: I am safe. Going for a walk.

There were only a few seconds of silence before Natasha responded.

D2: Are you with Kate?

You stopped walking and stared at the message. This was it. The line you could still choose not to cross. The point of no return. You could lie. You could say yes and diffuse it all. But you didn’t want to.

You wanted to be seen. You wanted to matter. You wanted Natasha to stop treating you like a thing she could discipline from a distance but never touch.

Me: No.

You hit send before you could change your mind, before reason or fear could pull you back. Your heart was pounding, thudding against your ribs like it was trying to break free. This was what you wanted. This was the moment you’d imagined: the rule-breaking, the reckless defiance, the thrill of finally crossing a line that might force Natasha to stop keeping you at arm’s length.

But now that you were here, standing in it, the storm you’d so desperately wished for felt a lot less like a cleansing force and a lot more like a cliff edge you’d sprinted off without thinking.

Your phone buzzed.

D2: If I don’t see you turn around and walk back toward your dorm in the next five minutes, I will make sure you regret it.

You scoffed aloud, trying to laugh it off, even as a chill crawled up your spine. Just a threat, you told yourself. She wouldn’t actually do anything. 

Still, your fingers trembled as you shoved your phone back into your coat pocket. You found the nearest bench and sat down, hoping she’d see it as a clear fuck you. A message through the GPS tracker. I’m not moving.

You checked the chat again. Nothing.

Five minutes passed. Then six. Then ten.

You swallowed hard. The cold had begun to seep through your coat, and your heart had gone from hammering to something slower, deeper, more sickening. It wasn’t defiance anymore. It was dread.

You kept checking your phone, over and over, willing another message to come through, anything. 

But there was only that single, unanswered warning. Hanging in the chat like a blade. You shifted on the bench, suddenly too aware of the dark, too aware of the silence, and how very, very small you felt.

—

The cold had settled into your bones, your phone still lifeless in your hand as you debated if you should give up and go back. Every shadow looked like someone. Every sound made you flinch.

Then, suddenly, there was movement, footsteps crunching against the gravel path just behind you. You turned your head slightly, just enough to see the figure approaching, cloaked in shadows and the low light of the path. Hood up, head bowed, face largely obscured, their entire frame radiating purpose and rage.

A bolt of instinctive fear shot through your chest, and you shot to your feet, suddenly overcome with the sense that you were very much in danger. You began to move, your eyes flicking around for the clearest path out, but you didn't get far before the figure spoke. 

“Don’t walk away from me.”

You froze. Her voice was unmistakable, that distinct, deep coolness edged with steel, though this time it came layered with something that struck you harder than the anger. It was fear. 

You turned around slowly, your body betraying you with the smallest flinch. She walked straight up to you, steps tight and restrained, and you could see the way she was holding herself back, like she wanted to shake you, to shout, to do something, but instead she just looked. 

Her eyes swept over you with that terrifying, clinical intensity, checking for injuries, for damage, for blood. It was so fast and automatic that for a second you forgot how to breathe, caught somewhere between guilt and the bitter thrill of being seen.

When she was satisfied you were physically fine, she spoke again, her tone a mixture of disbelief and fury. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

The tone of her voice struck something inside you. You were still afraid, very much so, but the sight of her like this, eyes stormy and jaw tight, hit a nerve, and that tiny voice inside you, the brat, the desperate girl who wanted to be noticed, punished, wanted, made itself heard again.

You swallowed, lifted your chin slightly, and gave her a tiny, deliberate shrug.

Her nostrils flared, and she stared at you like she couldn’t believe the gall of you. You could feel the shift in her posture, that subtle straightening of her spine, the way her arms folded over her chest as if to stop herself from reaching for you. 

Then, slowly, her voice came again, firmer now. “I said, what…are you doing out here?”

You felt your heart hammering harder. She wasn’t yelling, but the low cadence of her voice, restrained and disappointed, pierced through your bravado like nothing else could. You knew she was giving you a chance. An opportunity to back down before this turned into something bigger. But some small, desperate part of you didn’t want to take it.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, chest tightening under the weight of her stare. And then, as if to keep yourself from unravelling completely, you shrugged again, a deliberately casual movement, bordering on insolent.

You didn’t look at her when you answered. “I told you, just going for a walk.” The words left your lips softer than you intended, but they carried that unmistakable edge, that deliberately sweetened defiance, like a dare dressed up in innocence. 

Her gaze dropped briefly to the ground, like she was swallowing a surge of something, rage, maybe, and when she lifted it again, her eyes were dark, unreadable, and burning. Then came her voice, thick with warning, the words precise enough to cut. “You know that’s against the rules, Little Girl.”

The title landed like a stone dropped in still water. Little Girl. Not Little One, not the soft name they called you during gentle praise, check-ins, or affectionate aftercare. This one was different, used only in the lead-up to punishment. 

Wanda was usually the one to wield it when you were truly in trouble. Hearing it from Natasha now made your stomach twist. Not with fear, not exactly, but with heat, with something volatile and reckless and stupidly brave.

And still, rather than shrinking under it, something inside you bloomed. The very thing you’d come out here chasing was now rising in front of you, and it made your pulse thunder. 

You lifted your chin, eyes blazing with defiance, and let the words fall, slow and deliberate, each one laced with venom. “You don’t own me.”

Her hand shot out and closed around your upper arm, not harshly, but with enough weight to send your heart racing. She was close now, close enough that you could feel her body heat, the cold in her breath, the rage simmering beneath her skin.

“Move.” The word wasn’t a request. Not a suggestion. It was a command, weighted with disappointment.

She didn’t shove, instead, she stepped closer, hand still curled around your arm before it slid, slowly, deliberately to the back of your neck. Her palm was warm against your skin, firm and unyielding, fingers splaying just enough to ground you, to remind you that you now had nowhere to go.

She turned you around with that grip, directing you out of the park and towards the car like it was the most natural thing in the world, like you were hers to move. 

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice. It barely came out. “Where are we going?” you asked, though the answer had already begun to form in your mind.

Her reply was flat. “Home. I think we need to talk. Don’t you?”

You didn’t answer. The silence pressed thick against your tongue, your mouth dry with the realisation of how far you’d taken it. 

The walk was silent, but inside your head, it was anything but. Regret bloomed, not just for breaking the rule, but for how deliberately you’d done it, for how you’d baited her. But it was too late now. You could feel her eyes on you in short bursts, reading your silence, calculating what to do with you.

But underneath the guilt, the fear, the cold anticipation curling in your gut… was something else. Something reckless and alive. Something that felt horrifyingly like satisfaction. Because for the first time in weeks, Natasha was fully focused on you

She was here. She was angry. And she was going to do something about it.

—

At home, Wanda was waiting for both of you, wrapped tightly in her dressing gown, the fabric clutching her as if it could shield her from the worry etched deep across her face. Guilt hit you like a punch to the chest. She must have been asleep, or at least resting, before you’d disturbed her with your behaviour.

“Malyshka (Little One), are you okay?” Wanda’s voice was gentle, almost trembling with concern, enough to make your defiance falter for a moment. 

But before you could answer, Natasha cut in sharply, her tone rougher than usual. “Don’t be soft with her. She’s fine. She’s just got an attitude.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a sharp huff, the brat inside you rising up despite the knots of fear and guilt tightening in your stomach.

Wanda stared at you, wide-eyed and clearly shocked. In all the time you’d known her, she’d never seen this side of you. 

“See what I mean?” Natasha sneered, gesturing with her hand towards you. 

Wanda simply nodded, the warmth in her eyes dimming, her disappointment unspoken but suffocating.

“Take off your shoes and coat, then go sit down,” Natasha ordered, her voice firm and unyielding.

You obeyed, more out of habit than willingness. The house was warm, too warm for your heavy coat, and it felt like a small relief peeling it off.

You settled onto the couch, feeling the soft cushions give beneath you. Both of them followed. Natasha perched on the coffee table across from you, her eyes sharp and unreadable, while Wanda settled on the far side of the couch. 

The distance stung. Wanda never sat so far away, never kept so much space between you. She was usually the one who reached out, always touching, always close. Tonight, that familiar comfort was gone, replaced by an uncomfortable void.

“You have one chance to explain yourself, Little Girl,” Natasha sneered, her voice low and sharp, each word weighted with warning.

“Why should I?” you shot back, the defiance bubbling up before you could stop it. Wanda’s eyes went wide again, her breath catching at seeing you push back like this. Natasha’s face, however, was unreadable.

Then, unexpectedly, she let out a dark chuckle and leaned in closer, her fingers curling around your jaw with a firm grip. “You know, I don’t think I like this side of you,” she murmured, her voice almost a threat.

You pulled away, pressing yourself back into the cushions, refusing to give her the satisfaction of your discomfort. “Well, you clearly don’t like the other side either,” you shot back, a sharp edge to your words. “So, two for two.”

A flicker of shock crossed Natasha’s face. “What? What the hell do you mean?” she demanded, the cool mask slipping for just a moment.

You shrugged, but this time the gesture was less about defiance and more about uncertainty. You genuinely didn’t know how to explain it, how could you say that she did everything perfectly, except for the one thing that tore at you the most, without sounding like some needy, whiny brat?

Natasha waited, her eyes locked on you. But when you stayed silent, her gaze sharpened, cutting through the heavy stillness like a whip. “Speak to me. Stop acting like a little brat,” she demanded.

You snapped back, frustration bubbling over. “Or what? You’ll just send me off to Wanda for a punishment?” Your tone rose, raw and challenging.

A guttural growl rumbled from Natasha, dark, fierce, edged with raw anger. “Is that what this is? You want punishment? You’re craving it? Is that why you’re acting like this?” Her voice sliced through the silence, thick with heat and frustration, scorching the air between you.

And that’s when it broke, because once again she was missing the point entirely. You shook your head, voice trembling under the weight of it all. “No, that’s not it!” Your breath hitched, tears beginning to spill down your cheeks as your voice cracked open. “I want you to believe I’m enough. I want you to need me the way I need you. I want you to be in this, like I am.” The words came out ragged, raw, breaking free with all the desperation you’d been holding in.

Wanda shifted beside you, her worry carved deep into her face, but your world had shrunk to Natasha’s gaze, searching, pleading, trying to find any flicker of softness beneath the armour she wore like a shield.

And then, something shifted. Natasha’s hard edges softened ever so slightly. Her hand reached out, landing on your knee. You jerked back, instinct screaming to retreat, but she held you firmly, grounding you in place. “You are enough,” she said, voice lower now, rougher with unshed emotion. 

She swallowed hard, steadying herself like she was forcing the words past a barricade. “Have I not shown you? When I drive you to school, and we sing like fools? When we curl up on the couch, just holding each other? When we sit and play your video game together? How is that not enough proof I’m in this?”

Her voice trembled, frustrated, wounded, desperate for you to see it.

“You don’t understand, Natasha,” you sobbed, your voice breaking under the weight of a thousand tangled feelings. “You don’t see what I mean.”

“Then tell me,” she whispered, voice cracked and almost desperate. “Please. Tell me what you want.”

You bit your lip, trying desperately to hold back the flood, but the dam finally broke. “I want more.” Your voice cracked. “I know it sounds selfish, needy, maybe even greedy. I love the tenderness, the quiet moments we share... but I want Daddy.” 

Your hands clenched into fists as the words poured out, raw and urgent, laced with a pleading edge. “I want you to touch me, to punish me, to let me please you. I want you with me in the scenes, not just watching, or walking away like you have been lately.” The confession hung thick and heavy between you. Your voice dropped to a whisper, barely steady. “When you leave... it hurts.”

Natasha’s shoulders sagged, the weight of your words sinking into her with visible force, dragging something raw and unguarded to the surface. Her gaze dropped to her hands, jaw clenched tight. “I just…” she began, the words barely above a whisper, “I’m scared, Little One. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Her fingers twisted in her lap, restless, unsure. “I’m not used to being careful. You’re… you’re so soft. So good. And I look at you and all I can think is… what if I break her?” She paused, breath shaky, as if the confession itself wounded her. 

“And sometimes… sometimes it all gets too heavy, because I want it so badly, but I can’t push past the fear, so I pull away. That’s when I walk. It’s not about you. It’s me... I’m scared.”

You watched her closely, your own heart aching now, but not with shame or anger. Just understanding. “You told me you were done being scared,” you reminded her gently. “And I’m not scared, Nat.”

Her eyes finally met yours, glassy with hesitation.

“I know I’ve struggled to use ‘red’ before,” you admitted softly, your voice thick, “but I’m getting better. Wanda and I have had scenes way more intense than anything I could’ve handled before, and I’ve called red when I needed to. I’ve used yellow, too. I’ve communicated. I’ve grown.” You reached out, fingers brushing the back of her hand. “I need you to trust that. To trust me. The way I trust you.”

Natasha stared at your hand, at the quiet, open gesture you were offering her. For a long moment, the silence stretched between you again, thick, trembling. And then, slowly, she turned her palm up, lacing her fingers through yours with a quiet breath that sounded like surrender.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her thumb tracing a circle over your knuckles. “You’re right. You’ve been growing into exactly what we asked of you. And I’ve been too scared to meet you there.”

You nodded, breath hitching as the last of your tears clung stubbornly to your lashes. “Then meet me now,” you whispered, voice small but steady.

Natasha stilled for a heartbeat. Her eyes found yours, and in them, something shifted, slow but undeniable. The fear didn’t vanish, not entirely, but it softened around the edges, tempered by something far stronger. Resolve. Acceptance. Want.

“Alright,” she said at last, voice low and certain. “No more running.”

She leaned in, her hand rising to your face, cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache. Her touch was warm, grounding, but her eyes were lit with something far darker, deeper, a glint of control that made your pulse stutter.

“If we do this,” she murmured, her voice low and edged with warning, “we do it my way. You say you want the real me? Then that’s what you’ll get. Do you understand?”

You swallowed, nodded, lips parting as the weight of her words settled into your bones. “Yes, Daddy,” you breathed, the title wrapping around you like silk and steel all at once.

A flicker of a smirk ghosted across her lips then, subtle but deadly, the kind of look that promised things you’d only dared to imagine. 

“Good girl,” she said, and the praise sent a shiver through your entire body.

She leaned in just slightly closer, her voice dipping into that tone that curled heat low in your belly. “Go upstairs,” she instructed. “Take off your clothes. Wait on your knees.” She paused, her smile sharpening as her eyes drank in the way your breath caught. “And then we’ll see, won’t we, just how much you want your Daddy.”

—

You nodded with a single, frantic jerk of your head, too overwhelmed to speak, and then your body was moving on instinct, quick, almost clumsy in your desperation to obey. All you could focus on was the wild drum of your heartbeat and the racing thoughts that flooded your head like a storm surge. 

Upstairs, you fired off a quick text to Kate, fingers barely steady, then moved as if pulled by some invisible thread. Each piece of clothing came off with shaking hands, your breath catching as cool air kissed your skin. You folded everything neatly, placing the stack on the chair in the corner like a silent offering; a small, desperate proof that even if you’d slipped today, even if you'd been bad, you still wanted, needed to be good for them.

And then you dropped to your knees. The position was second nature by now, knees pressed into the carpet, thighs spread just enough, spine long and straight, shoulders relaxed but not slouched. Hands rested lightly on your thighs, palms down, fingers splayed slightly. Your head bowed low in submission. 

You didn’t dare fidget, didn’t shift or speak. You simply waited, every nerve on fire, every breath shallow, until finally the door creaked open behind you.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t lift your head.

“She’s very well trained, my love,” Natasha said eventually, her tone cool and measured, discussing you rather than addressing you. “But she still made the choice to disobey.”

Silence followed, thick and weighted until Wanda finally spoke. Her voice was softer, edged with sorrow rather than anger, but the pain in it was unmistakable. “She scared me.”

The words sliced through the room like a knife, lodging somewhere deep in your chest. Yet you didn’t dare speak, didn’t dare interrupt.

“I know,” Natasha murmured, taking a slow step forward. The sound of her boots was almost echoing in the quiet. “She scared me, too.”

Then her hand was in your hair, threading through it from crown to nape in a way that was far from comforting. She gripped you just tightly enough to tilt your head upward, to force your eyes to meet hers. “Look at me.”

You did. You had no choice. Her eyes were fire and stone, and though the fury had dimmed, the disappointment was still there, etched into every line of her face. You felt like you might fall apart just from looking at her.

“We gave you rules,” she said, slowly, carefully, as if daring you to pretend otherwise. “And you broke them.”

Your voice caught in your throat, and all you could do was nod, shame coursing through you like poison.

“And now,” she said, as her presence shifted into something sharper, more commanding, “you’re going to show us exactly how sorry you are.”

Then came the sound, it was unmistakable, the low slide of leather slipping free from its loops. Natasha’s belt.

Your heart stuttered, catching mid-beat. The room was still, that single sound landing like thunder between the three of you. Her footsteps moved again, coming to a stop in front of you. 

“I’m not like Wanda,” Natasha said evenly, her gaze steady. “I don’t often give out spankings or lashings... but after today, I think you need that, don’t you?”

You nodded, throat too tight to speak.

“I’ll be using my belt,” she went on, tone clipped, precise. “You will count each strike. And you will thank me for it.”

Your mouth felt dry as dust; your hands trembled faintly where they rested, but when your voice came, it was steady, quiet, and certain.“Yes, Daddy.”

Natasha stood before you, quiet for a moment, the belt coiled in her hand like a promise. Her eyes searched your face. You could feel her gaze digging through the layers of your submission, past the trembling anticipation and the guilt still curling tight in your chest, looking for anything that might signal hesitation or fear you hadn’t voiced.

Then she knelt, and that alone made your breath hitch. You never expected her to kneel, not when she was in control. But tonight, she needed you to see her. Not as the distant, unreadable force you'd grown so used to. Not as someone just watching from the sidelines. She needed you to understand that she was here, fully and completely.

One hand lifted to cup your jaw, thumb brushing just under your eye where the dried tracks of earlier tears lingered. You leaned into it instinctively.

“Colour,” she asked quietly, voice low and deliberate. Her gaze was sharp but not unkind. “Right now. Speak it.”

You swallowed hard, your voice small but certain. “Green.”

“Good girl,” she said softly, but the weight of it sent a shiver down your spine. “You tell me if that changes. Understood?”

You nodded, then corrected yourself immediately. “Yes, Daddy.”

She rose in one smooth movement, the belt now unfurling in her hand as she stepped back around behind you. “You’ll take ten,” Natasha said, voice firmer again now. “Five for the disobedience. Five for the attitude.”

Your fingers curled slightly against your thighs, nails biting into your skin just enough to focus you.“Yes, Daddy.”

“Up,” Natasha said, and your body obeyed before your mind caught up. As you rose, Natasha glanced over at Wanda, giving the smallest nod. It was permission, an invitation to let her join in.

Wanda stepped forward, her touch gentle as she guided you to the edge of the bed. “Hands on the mattress, knees apart, back straight,” she whispered, her tone soothing yet firm.

You positioned yourself carefully, muscles taut beneath your bare skin, vulnerable and exposed as you bent forward at the hips. Your bottom lifted just enough for Natasha to take aim. The air between you thickened, every breath heavy with a charged expectation that made your pulse race.

Natasha gave a few slow, deliberate practice swings through the air, the belt hissing softly as it cut through the quiet.

Then she stepped closer, her hand gliding over your bare skin with a touch so gentle it nearly undid you, a final stroke of calm before the storm. “You ready?” she murmured, her voice low and controlled.

You nodded, already breathless. “Yes, Daddy.”

She hummed, almost in approval, and then the belt struck.

A sharp, clean crack shattered the stillness, the leather snapping against the curve of your right cheek with devastating accuracy. The pain bloomed instantly: white-hot, searing, a jolt that stole the air from your lungs and replaced it with fire. It rippled through you, lighting your nerves with something that felt just a hair’s breadth from too much.

You gasped, muscles tightening reflexively, heart pounding wildly. “One,” you whispered, breath trembling, cheeks flushed with a warmth deeper than the sting alone. “Thank you, Daddy.”

The belt snapped down again, landing clean against your left cheek with a cruel crack that made your whole body jump. This time, a soft whimper caught in your throat, the sensation sharper, deeper. But an involuntary shiver rippled through your body as pain began to mingle with an unexpected, tantalising pleasure.

“Two. Thank you, Daddy,” you breathed, voice breathy, almost lost beneath the rush of sensations flooding through you.

Three. Four. The belt traced searing lines of fire across your skin, each lash both agony and ecstasy, sending sparks through your muscles and igniting a blaze deep inside you. The heat spread, radiating outward, consuming and thrilling, your senses alive with every crack.

By the fifth strike, tears welled unbidden in your eyes. The pain was intensifying with every lash over the already tender skin; the pleasure was threatened, pushed to the edge. You were just about to call yellow when Natasha paused, pulling back slightly.

“You’re halfway there, Kotenok (kitten),” she said, her voice thick with pride and heat. “You’re doing so well.”

The brief reprieve and her gentle praise dulled the sting, and suddenly the ache softened. You felt steady again, caught between resistance and surrender, pain and delight, a heady cocktail that left you dizzy, breathless, desperate for more.

After a moment, the final lashes came faster, harder, each one a burning punctuation searing deeper into your flesh and soul. Your breath hitched in ragged gasps, low moans slipping free on the ninth and tenth strikes, before you finally whispered, “Ten, thank you, Daddy,” voice cracking as a shudder rippled through your body. Tears streamed freely now, pain fierce and unrelenting, skin flushed hot and humming with fire.

Behind you, Wanda’s hands were gentle and steady, soothing your trembling back with tender caresses that gradually melted the blaze to warmth. “Good girl, you did so well, baby,” she murmured, voice thick with affection.

You remained bent forward, breath shallow and ragged, every nerve alive and buzzing with a fierce, aching bliss. The pain had broken you open, cracked you wide, and beneath it all burned an exhilarating, desperate hunger.

Natasha lifted you carefully, mindful not to touch your sensitive skin, and eased you face down onto the bed, a soft pillow cushioning your head. Her fingers stroked the side of your face, warm and steady, before she pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You look exquisite, Kotenok (kitten). Your ass is such a beautiful shade of purple and red,” she praised softly.

“That was the first time you’ve taken a belt, wasn’t it, sweetheart?” Wanda’s voice was filled with pride, gentle and amazed.

You hummed softly in response.

Natasha’s chuckle was low and indulgent, her eyes glinting with something between adoration and pride. “You knew you wouldn’t get off with just a normal spanking from me,” she murmured, tracing the outline of the belt’s work. “But you took it beautifully, Printessa (princess). You were perfect.”

You let out a breathy, dreamy little giggle, face half-buried in the pillow. Your body felt loose, heavy, but warm all over, floating somewhere between bliss and exhaustion. “Didn’t break,” you whispered, the words lilting with smugness even as your voice slurred just a little. “Told you, Daddy.”

Natasha smiled, slow and fond, brushing her knuckles along your cheek. “No, you didn’t. Tough little thing, aren’t you?” Before her hand drifted back down to gently stroke the heated swell of your ass. The touch still made you flinch, the burn raw and aching, but it was grounding, anchoring, laced with something that made your stomach flutter again.

Wanda returned with some lotion, her steps soft and measured. “Nat, you take the edge off, I’ve got this,” she said, nodding toward the bed. Natasha climbed up beside you, cradling your head in her lap, one hand carding through your hair while the other cupped your jaw.

“Lotion’s coming, baby,” Wanda murmured as she settled behind you, warming it in her hands. “Ready?”

“Mhm, yeah…” You breathed. Your hips twitched when the first touch landed, cool and tender, Wanda’s fingers expertly massaging the sting away. Your thighs parted instinctively, knees shifting wider for no reason at all, just a gesture of pure submission. Wanda said nothing, just smiled behind you, pleased by the automatic surrender.

Meanwhile, Natasha was stroking her fingers through your hair, whispering soft reassurances about how good you were. It made you smile, you felt held, so safe. “You can be soft,” you murmured, nuzzling into Natasha’s thigh with a sleepy grin. “You try to be scary, but you’re soft, Daddy. So soft.”

Natasha chuckled darkly. “You’ve got quite the mouth for someone still trembling and glowing red, Printessa (princess),” she murmured, her voice silky but edged with warning, clearly not thrilled that you were seeing her as soft after she’d just whipped your ass with a belt. “Maybe you need more, huh?”

You let out a soft, drowsy little laugh. “Nooo,” you groaned dramatically, drawing out the syllable with petulant flair. “I’ll be good now. Promise. My butt’s on fire…”

“Oh, you definitely earned that fire, Little One,” Wanda said, though you could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ve never seen you act out like that,” she added, continuing to smooth the lotion over your skin with slow, practiced care. Each gentle stroke sent a fresh, cooling wave over your burning flesh, only to leave behind a new warmth, softer, deeper, impossible to ignore, and your body gave a faint, involuntary shiver.

You turned your head slightly, cheek pressing against Natasha’s thigh, blinking at her through heavy lashes. “I’m sorry, Mommy,” you murmured, your voice syrupy and slow, thick with the weight of submission. “Didn’t mean to…” You trailed off with a pout, though your tone made it clear the apology wasn’t entirely sincere.

Natasha snorted quietly, amused, and her fingers slid through your hair, combing gently. “Don’t give us that act,” she said with that wicked little twist to her voice. “You absolutely meant to. You were poking the bear on purpose.”

You giggled again, dreamy and far too pleased with yourself, nuzzling into her hand like a kitten drunk on affection. “Okay… yeah, I did,” you admitted, cheek pressed to the sheets. “But I got what I wanted, sooo… clearly I should be a brat more often.”

Wanda let out a soft gasp of mock outrage and landed a light, open-palmed swat to your thigh, her skin still slick with lotion. The sensation made you jump, but not from pain. Your breath caught on a whine, your hips giving the smallest, shameless wiggle.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Wanda teased, palm pausing to stroke along the back of your thigh in lazy arcs. “You be our good girl, or you’ll be wearing welts like these every day of the week.”

“Mmm…” You squirmed again, an indulgent little sound escaping you, high and heady. “Maybe I liked it,” you whispered with a hazy smile, too dazed and floaty to even try masking the way your voice trembled at her touch. “Felt…good.”

Natasha leaned down slowly, her body brushing yours just enough to feel the weight of her attention, and you stilled completely, lips parting as her breath ghosted against your ear. “You’re lucky you’re adorable when you’re like this,” she murmured, voice a velvet growl. “Otherwise, I’d start again.”

The words slid down your spine like warm honey, thick and sinful, and before you could stop it, your toes curled tight and a soft, breathless moan escaped your lips, small and accidental, but full of exposed, aching need.

Wanda chuckled behind you, one hand still resting low across your backside, her thumb now stroking gently just under the curve. “Thought you said you didn’t want more, Little One,” she teased lightly, though her voice was already laced with something warmer, deeper.

“I don’t…” You mumbled, your face flushed, trying not to squirm beneath both their eyes. “No more hits anyway…”

Natasha tilted her head, her fingers slipping down to trace over your jaw with a feather-light touch. “Is there something you do want?”

You nodded, once, shy and breathless.

“Words,” Natasha said, her tone still wrapped in that low, velvety timbre, but sharpened with command. “Tell us what’s happening in that pretty little head of yours.”

You swallowed hard, struggling to gather your scattered thoughts as Natasha’s voice curled around you, turning everything inside into a slow, smouldering fire, and Wanda’s fingers traced their deliberate, torturous path across your skin, the soft pads gliding slowly over the raised, welted ridges. 

“Mommy’s hands…” You breathed, barely able to get the words out, your voice catching and cracking as your thighs trembled, your hips shifting restlessly beneath the weight of their attention, “they’re making me… everything’s so sensitive, feels good, Daddy… I wanna be touched…wanna cum…”

The last word left you on a broken whimper, fragile and pleading, not even a full breath of sound, but it was enough. 

“Who do you want, Little One?” Natasha asked, her voice was still on the gentle side, and you could feel her thumb brushing deliberately against your temple, grounding you, holding you, even as the rest of her loomed like a storm waiting to strike. “Me? Wanda? Or both of us?” she asked, and you could hear the smirk in her voice, the way she already knew the answer.

Your lashes fluttered, and your face burned, and you couldn’t stop the grin that pulled at your lips even through the haze, cheeky and unrepentant. “Both,” you mumbled, your voice thick with need, your whole body thrumming with it. “Wanna feel both of you…”

Behind you, Wanda chuckled, the sound low and indulgent as she let her nail trail with sudden, shocking pressure along one of the rawer welts across your ass. “Greedy little thing,” she purred. “Didn’t we just finish punishing you?”

“Mhmm,” Natasha murmured, her voice dark with amusement, and her grin only widened as she let your head slip from her lap and lowered it gently onto the pillow. “And now she’s begging for her reward like the little brat she clearly is.” She rose smoothly, her body uncoiling behind you with slow, predatory grace.

Wanda climbed fully onto the bed, her body close, her thigh pressing warmly against yours as she knelt beside you, a steady presence at your side. 

Natasha moved behind you, lowering herself until she could pry your legs open further. Her breath hitched as her gaze fell between them, and any lingering restraint she had vanished in an instant. 

You were drenched, unmistakably aroused despite the punishment, and the sight of it lit something deep and primal in her. “Look at you,” she said, her voice cold and amused, “So wet from being hurt.”

Her fingers finally made contact, just the barest drag of her fingers between your slick folds, slow and cruelly restrained. Your breath hitched hard, your body pushing backwards into her before her hand slammed down against your thigh with a sharp, stinging crack that echoed through the room and left your skin burning.

“Beg,” she ordered, and you whimpered, already on the edge of falling apart.

“Please…” you whispered, barely more than a breath.

Another slap came down, sharper this time. “Louder,” she demanded, her voice firm and unwavering.

“Please, Daddy,” you gasped, your voice hoarse and broken, tears stinging your eyes already. I want your fingers, need you so bad, please—”

“Better,” Natasha growled, and then she gave you exactly what you’d asked for, two fingers plunging into you with no warning, a raw yelp tearing from your throat as she pushed into you. Wanda’s nails raked down your spine again in long, devastating lines that made your whole body twist and writhe, pleasure and pain tangling so tightly you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“Brats don’t get soft,” Natasha snarled, her breath hot against your skin. There was no gentleness, just her fingers working you over, every thrust designed to split you open. “Brats get used.”

“And you love it, don’t you?” Wanda whispered against your ear, her lips brushing the shell of it as she slipped a hand beneath you, and to your chest, cupping your breast and teasing your nipple with her thumb.

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Natasha’s fingers were hitting deep inside of you and the mattress below you was just slightly stimulating your clit with each thrust, every nerve in your body was screaming, burning, begging for release already.

Clearly, Natasha could tell, too. “Hold still,” she barked, voice sharp and unforgiving. “Don’t move a fucking inch until I say. And don’t even think about cumming.”

Wanda’s hand was soft against your chest, a twisted counterpoint to the violence behind you, her touch gentle and slow, grounding you as your whole body trembled violently beneath them both.

You tried to obey her, to stay still, to keep your hips steady even as your body screamed with the effort, but you were falling apart, unravelling beneath their hands, beneath her voice, beneath the hot, wet drag of your own tears against your cheek where your face pressed into the sheets. 

The moans slipped out, soft and broken, catching in your throat like sobs, and your fingers clawed uselessly at the bedding, trying to anchor yourself to something while Natasha kept fucking you with those unrelenting, merciless strokes that hit so perfectly deep you could hardly remember what breathing felt like.

“Daddy,” you gasped, voice hoarse and shaking, “Please, Daddy. Fuck! Please—” You weren't exactly sure what you wanted, you think it was for her to never stop, to live inside you, but you couldn't be sure, considering your body was begging for release at the same time. 

Her grip on your hip only tightened, holding you exactly where she wanted you, making sure you couldn’t squirm away, couldn’t fuck yourself down harder to chase what she was refusing to give, and her other hand kept moving, curling inside you just right.

Wanda’s hand moved to your jaw, cradling it gently, her thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped free, her voice achingly soft by contrast, a warm thread through the storm. “You’re doing so well,” she whispered, her lips brushing your temple, “Let her hear it. Show her how much you need her.”

Your mouth opened again, but the words caught on a sob this time, raw and full of surrender, your chest heaving beneath the weight of everything you felt, need, shame, longing, adoration, so thick and tangled inside you it made your throat ache to speak.

Wanda watched carefully, ensuring you were both safe in this intense moment. Her fingers tightened around your jaw, holding your head still as she kissed your temple, again and again, whispering encouragement against your skin in a voice like balm, gentle, grounding, loving, everything Natasha was not in that moment, and it made the contrast all the more unbearable.

“That’s it,” Wanda murmured, her lips brushing your ear as Natasha’s rhythm grew more punishing. She knew you physically couldn't last much longer, after all, she had more experience with your body than Natasha did. So she gave you the permission you needed. “Come on, baby. Let go.”

And you did. You released around Natasha’s fingers with a raw, keening cry that spilled from your throat, your body convulsing with the force of it, the orgasm tearing through you like a wave too big to fight. 

Your whole body trembled under the weight of it, hips jerking, legs shaking, tears spilling freely now as Natasha held you steady and fucked you through it, relentless until your sobs turned into whimpers, until your cries dissolved into breathless, broken moans.

Even then, she didn’t stop.

You cried out, high and sharp, your thighs trying to close instinctively, but she forced them open with her legs, her breath hissing between her teeth as she leaned into you like a predator cornering its prey.

“Oh no,” she murmured, almost laughing, her voice husky and low, thick with dark delight. “You don’t get to run from it now. You begged for this, remember?”

And then Natasha leaned forward, her body pressing flush against your back, and the pace of her fingers changed again, faster, harder, brutal in their precision as they fucked into you with relentless, single-minded force, every thrust driving the air from your lungs and making your eyes roll back. “So now you’re gonna take it, shlyukha (slut). You’re gonna take everything I give you until I say you’ve had enough.”

You sobbed, unable to help it, your voice catching in your throat as your whole body jerked with the sensitivity. It burned, every nerve raw and open, as her fingers were working that throbbing spot deep inside you, dragging more pleasure out of you than your body could handle, pushing you toward a second high before the first had even finished crashing over you.

“I c…can’t,” you gasped, words broken by ragged breath, your hands scrabbling uselessly against the sheets as the pressure built again with terrifying speed. “It’s too much, Daddy! Please…please I can’t—”

“You can,” she snarled, cutting you off with a vicious curl of her fingers that made you scream into the mattress, your legs kicking uselessly as she pinned you down. “You will. If I want more, you will take more. Don’t care if you’re crying. Don’t care if you’re shaking. You either safe word, or you take it like the whore you begged to be.”

Her voice was steel, but Wanda’s hands remained soft where they cupped your face, her fingers stroking your cheeks, catching your tears as they kept falling, her thumbs brushing them away with unbearable gentleness. She kissed your brow, your temple, the tip of your nose, her voice a slow, steady rhythm of quiet reassurance in your ear.

“You’re okay,” Wanda murmured, again and again, her lips barely moving against your skin. “You’re safe. You can do this, darling.”

You were trembling violently now, sobbing openly, but you didn’t ask her to stop. You didn’t want her to stop. Not really. Somewhere deep beneath the overwhelm, beneath the overstimulation and the ache spreading through your thighs and belly and chest, was the desperate part of you that needed to be taken apart, to be used and ruined until there was nothing left.

Natasha added another finger, her fingers soaking wet as they filled you again and again, her palm slapping wetly against you with every thrust. 

“Pathetic,” she growled, mouth against your ear, teeth scraping your skin. “Fucking sobbing. Crying like you hate it, but you’re clenching around me like you’d die if I stopped.”

And she was right, you were so close again it hurt, so full of her, so overstimulated and desperate that every thrust felt like fire, like drowning, like you couldn’t tell where the pain ended and the pleasure began anymore. 

You screamed her title, a ragged, half-broken wail into the mattress, but Wanda’s voice answered yours like a balm. “That’s it, sweet girl,” she whispered. “Let it break you. Let her take you all the way down.”

Natasha’s fingers continued moving, curling and thrusting deep inside you, each movement sharper, harder, more demanding than the last, her grip on your hip like iron as she drove you closer to that edge where everything blurred and shattered at once. 

Your breath hitched, short and desperate, your body trembling so violently that your fists clenched the sheets until your nails bit into the fabric, white-knuckled and raw. “Please… please, Daddy…” you gasped, voice fading at the edges, “Please!”

Wanda kissed the crown of your head, her hands drifting over your back, tracing slow, tantalising paths along the scratches she’d left behind earlier.

“Hmm,” Natasha murmured, voice thick with amused cruelty. “You think you deserve a second, brat? After what you did today?”

You tried to steady yourself, to keep control, but your hips jerked involuntarily against her hand. Your voice was strained, trembling with a shameful desperation. “Please…”

Natasha’s voice was low, husky, with that unmistakable edge of command laced in every syllable. “Not good enough,” she said, her tone rough, dark with expectation. “Beg like you mean it. Like you’re begging for your life.”

You swallowed hard, cheeks burning with humiliation and want, eyes closing as the heat swirling through you turned into a frantic ache. Your voice broke, ragged and raw, spilling out all the trembling need you’d been holding inside. “Please, Daddy… Please let me come. I’ll be your good girl. I’ll do whatever you want. Please, I need you. Please…”

Natasha just chuckled, clearly not quite ready to relent just yet. Your body continued to tremble violently, every muscle pulled so tight it felt like you might shatter from the strain, every inch of you writhing under the pressure that had been building, aching, begging for release for what felt like hours. 

Your voice broke free again, hoarse and raw, a sob ripped straight from your chest, laced with helpless surrender. “I’m gonna…I can’t, Daddy, I can’t hold it, I’m sorry, I can’t, please—”

It had stopped being a plea altogether. It was more like a confession, you were going to cum whether you were given permission or not; you just desperately hoped that permission would arrive before you lost control.

The air went still, like the world itself was holding its breath. Then she leaned in again, breath hot and steady against your ear, her voice low and terrifyingly gentle. “Okay. Cum for me, good girl.”

The words struck like lightning. It was immediate, devastating; the second her permission registered in your mind, your body detonated. You shattered with a scream that tore straight through your throat, every muscle seizing in violent spasms as the orgasm ripped through you, too intense, too much, more than you’d ever felt or imagined. You couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. Your vision went white, then grey, then black around the edges as the release overwhelmed you completely.

Your eyes rolled back, your mouth open in a silent cry, and for a terrifying, beautiful moment, you felt yourself slipping under, deep and dark, the world narrowing to a pinprick of light before it vanished altogether.

Your limbs were limp and twitching in the aftermath, your face buried in the sheets as tremors rocked you. You were barely conscious, breath stuttering in shallow, uneven gasps. Your skin was flushed and fever-hot, soaked in sweat and tears, but your mind had gone blissfully quiet.

Natasha didn’t speak for a long moment; she just stayed with you, her fingers gentle now, drawing back from your trembling body with care, her presence still heavy and grounding. When her voice came, it was thick with pride, yet soft enough to make your chest ache.

“That’s it, krasivaya devushka (pretty girl),” she murmured, brushing damp hair from your face with slow, reverent fingers. “You did so fucking well.”

You couldn’t respond. You barely had the strength to breathe, let alone form words. Your body twitched again, the aftershocks still pulsing in deep, involuntary waves, and even those were almost too much. You whimpered softly, tears streaking anew from the corners of your eyes, not from pain, but from relief. From the sheer vulnerability of what had just passed between you.

Wanda’s hand found yours, her touch warm and steady, and you clung to it without even realising, your fingers weakly curling into hers as she whispered something soft in a language you didn’t understand, her lips brushing the crown of your head. 

The room around you was silent, save for your ragged breaths. The tension had faded. The storm had passed. Natasha moved first, slow and deliberate, every gesture measured as if the wrong angle might break you. She eased her hands beneath your slack body and gently coaxed you upright, murmuring soft nothings as she guided you with infinite patience into her lap. 

She avoided the welts with careful skill, her fingers splaying wide to support your back as she shifted you until you were curled against her, your thighs folded over hers, your cheek resting against the firm plane of her chest. 

Wanda was already there beside you, moving in tandem with Natasha, like this was something they’d done a hundred times before. Her hand brushed gently along your jaw, the backs of her fingers featherlight against your cheekbone, and her voice was barely more than a breath. “Little One… you’re so quiet,” she whispered. “Can you look at me, hm? Just a little?”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. Your eyes stayed half-lidded, unfocused, your mouth parted slightly as if words might try to come, but nothing did. You were weightless, full of warmth and pressure, and not a single coherent thought. You didn’t even know whose hands were where anymore, only that you were held, and the world outside their bodies didn’t matter.

Natasha shifted behind you, her arms curling around your middle, and she leaned in close, her voice low, coaxing. “You with me?” she murmured against your temple, her breath warm and even. “Need you to give me something, yeah? Nod. Blink. Anything.”

Silence. You blinked once, but it was slow, lazy, so drawn-out it almost didn’t count. Your body was limp in her arms, small twitches still ghosting down your thighs, but there was no tension, no fear. Just exhaustion. Deep, beautiful, bone-heavy exhaustion, the kind that only came when you’d given everything and there was nothing left but this.

Wanda’s hand paused, just briefly, her eyes flicking up to meet Natasha’s. Her tone stayed soft, but there was the barest note of surprise in it, and something warmer beneath that, something almost admiring. “I’ve never seen her this far gone before,” she said gently, brushing your damp hair back from your face with careful fingers. “Not like this.”

That made Natasha pause. You felt it in her breath, the faint hitch against your neck, the subtle stiffening of her muscles where they cradled your back. Her grip didn’t tighten, but her stillness said enough, that flicker of something sharp and anxious just beneath her skin.

“She’s too quiet,” Natasha murmured, and for the first time her voice held a sliver of unease, something she couldn’t quite mask. “She usually… I mean, even when she’s out of it with you, she—”

Wanda cut her off with a look, her voice calm and even, as grounding as the touch she kept smoothing along your jaw. “You know she’s okay,” she said, not a question, but a gentle reminder. “Look at her. She’s breathing slow, she’s not flinching, her body’s soft. She’s not gone. Just… deep.”

Still, Natasha looked down at you, searching for something, anything behind your eyes. “She didn’t even flinch when I moved her. Not even a wince.”

“She trusts you,” Wanda said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s not a problem. That’s a gift.”

Natasha let out a slow, quiet breath, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, holding you more tightly now, tucking your face into the crook of her neck as if the closeness might coax you back into the light a little faster. “She gave me everything,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I didn’t mean to take too much.”

“You didn’t,” Wanda said gently, but with absolute certainty, her voice calm and grounding. “She’s fine, Nat. I promise. You’ve seen me drop just as deep, you know this space, don’t start second-guessing yourself now. I was watching the whole time, making sure you both stayed tethered. No one went too far. It’s alright. Just breathe and be with her, yeah?”

Natasha exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders softening just a fraction, but not all the way. Her arms tightened around you instinctively, protective and quiet, holding you as if her steadiness alone could pull you back to shore. And then your fingers curled in the fabric of her shirt. A barely-there twitch, not even deliberate, but enough. Natasha’s breath caught, and something melted in her expression as she leaned down, pressing a kiss into your hair like a prayer.

“That’s our girl,” she murmured, voice low and rough, barely more than a breath, but full of fierce, aching relief.

You didn’t answer. But your cheek nudged against her collarbone, just a little, a lazy, dazed nuzzle, and Natasha exhaled fully, like she could finally breathe again. 

Wanda leaned forward, tucking herself in against your other side, her hand now holding one of yours, thumb brushing rhythmically along your knuckles. “Let’s let her drift a bit longer,” she whispered. “She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

And so they stayed like that, holding you between them. You didn’t know how much time had passed. It could’ve been minutes, could’ve been an hour, the soft thrum of Wanda’s thumb on your knuckles and the slow rise and fall of Natasha’s chest beneath your cheek made everything blur, timeless and quiet, like the world had narrowed to the exact point where their bodies cradled yours. 

Then, at last, something shifted. It started in your chest, a quiet ache of emotion that bloomed outward like warmth returning to numb skin. You blinked slowly, the world still soft and blurry at the edges. You made a small noise, mostly a whimper, and Natasha’s arms instinctively tightened around you, the motion firm but soothing.

“Hey,” she whispered, and the relief in her voice wasn’t masked. It wasn’t even tried. “There she is. That’s it, Detka (babe)”

You tried to speak, but your throat was too dry. You swallowed hard and tried again, your voice barely more than a rasp, a breath caught on the edge of tears. “I’m sorry…”

Natasha shushed you immediately, her hand smoothing down the back of your head, her other arm tightening at your waist, still careful not to touch the angry red welts across your backside. “You don’t need to talk yet,” she murmured. “You just rest. You’re safe, I promise.”

Wanda leaned in, brushing a kiss just above your brow, her hand never letting go of yours. Her voice was warm and low, like the first glow of a fire in a quiet room. “You came back really slowly, darling. Gave us both a scare, hm?” There was no edge to it, no reprimand. Only concern, soft and absolute. “I’ve never seen you drift that far before.”

A tiny breath escaped your lips, almost a laugh, though too fragile to shape itself. “Didn’t mean to,” you murmured, your voice brittle and fading.

“It’s okay if you’re a bit out of it,” Natasha said quietly, her lips brushing the crown of your head. “Daddy and Mommy have you, baby. You’re so good for us.”

You whimpered, barely a sound, your breath catching in your throat as the weight of it all pressed down. You’d been bad before, you remembered just how far you’d pushed. The guilt still pulsed inside you, raw and unsteady. You wanted to apologise, to fall to your knees and beg for forgiveness, but somehow… they were already offering it.

Being told you were still good, hit you like a balm, cool and sweet and stinging all at once. Your lip trembled, your voice breaking the silence in a small, uncertain whisper. “Still… Little One?” 

Even to your own ears, the question sounded fragile, wavering with that desperate need for reassurance that only they could offer. It wasn’t the first time you had asked that question, and it surely wouldn’t be the last.

Natasha’s breath caught faintly, and then she kissed your temple with aching gentleness. “Our Little One. Forever.”

Wanda’s voice joined hers, soothing and rich as she stroked her fingers through your hair. “You’re stuck with us now, malyshka. No escaping.”

You nodded faintly, eyes sliding shut again. The fog still clung to you; you hadn’t fully come back yet, but it didn’t feel frightening now. You were floating just beneath the surface, not lost, just… surrendered. And their voices tethered you. Their hands held you. You didn’t have to move. Didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to earn this.

A small silence followed, warm and deep, filled only by the sound of your breathing and the weight of being kept. Then Wanda stirred with a soft kiss to your shoulder. “I’m just going to get something for her,” she murmured gently. “Some water, maybe a snack.”

Natasha gave a small nod, her cheek still pressed to your hair, as if she couldn’t bear to lift her head. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice raw with gratitude. “Thank you.”

Wanda rose slowly, her fingers brushing over yours one last time before she left, a silent promise not to be long. Then the room was quiet again, just you and Natasha in the hush, her touch steady, grounding as she pulled a blanket over you.

When Wanda returned, it was quiet and swift, a bottle of water in one hand, a small biscuit wrapped in a napkin in the other. She knelt beside the bed, watching your face like she was reading something in the way your lashes fluttered.

Natasha adjusted you gently, raising you just enough to coax. “Alright, Detka (babe),” she whispered into your temple. “Time to try. Just a little something, and then you can rest again.”

You blinked slowly, the world still foggy and distant. But you let her guide you, let her bring the straw to your lips. Your lips parted slowly around the straw, the cool water slipping in like a balm against your dry throat. 

You sipped tentatively, eyes fluttering as the water trickled down. Natasha’s fingers never left you, her thumb brushing along your cheekbone with a softness that made your heart ache and your eyelids flutter heavier.

“That’s it,” Natasha murmured, her voice thick with pride and relief. “Such a good girl, taking care of yourself. I’m so proud of you.” Her words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, steady and unshakable, grounding you further into this moment. “You’re doing so well. You don’t have to rush.”

From beside you, Wanda’s hand slipped to your face, fingers tracing gentle circles over your cheek, cradling your jaw like you were the most precious thing she’d ever held. “Look at you, malyshka (Little One),” she breathed softly, voice low and filled with awe. “Such a perfect girl.”

You blinked again, the fuzziness lingering but softening, your chest rising and falling a little more evenly with each soothing stroke of Wanda’s hand. The biscuit was pressed lightly into your palm, warm from her touch, and with gentle encouragement, your fingers curled weakly around it.

“Try a little bite,” Wanda coaxed, her smile tender and patient. “Just a small one.”

Your jaw worked slowly, the crumbly biscuit breaking apart in your mouth, sweetness blooming faintly against your tongue. Natasha’s voice was a steady hum in your ear, praise threading through every word. “That’s it, just like that.”

You swallowed, the taste grounding you more than you expected. Your eyes drifted closed again briefly, your body sinking deeper into Natasha’s embrace, Wanda’s hand never leaving your face, their presence a constant soft anchor in the swirling haze.

Wanda offered the water again, and you took it without hesitation, the coolness soothing the ache in your throat and the exhaustion in your limbs.

“You’re doing so well,” Natasha whispered, voice soft and full of wonder. 

It took a little while to come back down, the world around you slow to settle. But once your limbs stopped trembling and your head stopped spinning, you turned into Natasha’s arms and curled there without hesitation, your voice quiet but full of truth as you murmured, “Thank you.”

She smiled, her fingers trailing lazy patterns across your back. “For what? The belt, or the orgasms that nearly killed you?”

You gave a tired, breathy laugh, hiding your face in her neck. “For listening. For wanting me.” You paused, then added with a grin. “And… maybe a little bit for the orgasms.”

Wanda chuckled behind you, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. Natasha huffed a laugh of her own, sounding more relaxed than she had all night. “Not too much?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her tone, though the question beneath was genuine.

You shook your head, smiling. “It was a lot,” you admitted softly, “but not too much. Just… I think I might need soft, sometimes, though?”

Natasha tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm… soft. I’ll need a manual for that one.”

You grinned. “You’ve got Wanda. She’s an expert.”

Wanda kissed your cheek and hummed, “Lucky for her, I take apprentices.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too, warm and open in a way that made your chest flutter. “Well then,” she murmured, “I guess I’m all in.”

And that, more than anything, made you melt, safe and certain in the arms you’d craved for so long.

Eventually, Natasha and Wanda gently helped you up, guiding you carefully to the bathroom where they cleaned you with tender patience, every touch considerate of the welts on your skin. 

Once you were freshened, they dressed you in a soft, oversized T-shirt that hung loosely, deliberately leaving you without underwear or trousers to avoid anything rubbing or irritating your tender backside. They took extra time to apply more soothing lotion, their fingers slow and careful, lingering on every sensitive spot with quiet affection.

Afterwards, one by one, they each prepared for bed, never once leaving you alone, both silently ensuring you felt safe and held. Before long, the three of you were curled together, you nestled snugly in the middle, wrapped in a warm, protective cocoon of love and care. Your eyes drifted closed, sinking into a peaceful sleep, tired, a little sore, but deeply content and completely fulfilled.

—

Next part

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[entitled-fangirl]

Mind and Body.

Cregan Stark x chronic illness Targaryen!reader

Summary: Cregan visits King's Landing, spotting a princess who'd been hidden away due to her constant illness. He's enamored.

A/n: based on an ask!

Masterlist

...........................................

"Lord Stark," Alicent greeted. "How wonderful for you to journey so far."

There was an agreement for the Warden to visit every five years to ensure his loyalty to the Realm and vice versa. Not that King Viserys was ever worried about Cregan. But the North was far and it was important to each side to check on the development of the other.

"'Tis only my duty to the North," he answered. 

The two walked quietly to the council room. Viserys had quickly grown ill, so most business would be conducted there. When he was well enough to go.

Which meant Alicent and Otto were in charge of their meetings when the king was absent.

…

The initial greeting was pleasant, even if the king was slowly decaying in front of him.

But Cregan had been free to wander around the castle as their guest. The next talk of business would not be until the morning, so he decided to take advantage of that.

The sun was beginning to set, just a hint of the dark creeping onto King's Landing. Cregan stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Even their cold nights here were hotter than the chill of a warm Northern day.

"Princess, surely you should rest!"

His head snapped back towards the open doors behind him. His curiosity was beyond peaked. Princess Helaena was fine. He'd given her a brief nod and a polite acknowledgement hours ago.

And soon enough, a ghostly presence passed by the doorway. Cregan felt his breath catch.

Silver hair. Grey complexion. And a gown and cloak that dragged with every step.

He was struck.

Her guard followed behind, a resigned look in his eyes.

"I feel fine," her voice softly commented. It was weak, like she never used it.

As they journeyed down the corridor, the voices faded and Cregan found himself following them.

"You've still yet to regain your strength from your scare last week. You'll catch a chill," her guard reprimanded. His armor clunked together with each step, a reminder of the life he abided by.

She was like a gust of wind that chilled you from the bottom to top of your spine. And Cregan quite enjoyed the cold.

"I only wish to leave my chambers for a moment." Her movements were slow and lethargic, yet graceful and calculated. 

"You should have waited for me to gather your boots. I have no doubt the stone is freezing over. Please."

Cregan noted just how comfortable this guard was with telling the Princess off. They'd obviously gotten to know one another well.

She released a ragged sigh, pausing in her steps to look over her shoulder. "I-" She froze completely at the sight of Cregan behind them. She hadn't even heard him following, and he didn't make himself known.

Her guard followed her line of sight with ease, immediately moving into a defensive position at the sight of the large stranger.

"Forgive me," Cregan immediately covered, holding his hands out to show he wasn't a threat. He took cautious steps forward more into the light of the nearest window so he could be more seen. "My curiosity got the better of me."

Her guard turned, relying on the princess for her answer to the situation. It was up to her, after all.

Her head tilted to the side and she stepped past him to close in on Cregan.

As she neared, he noticed just how shallow her cheeks were sunken in. The grey in her complexion was an unwelcome one. Her eyes held a dullness to them, despite the intensity of their gaze. 

"Cregan Stark, my princess," he greeted, tipping his head down and holding out a hand. He only hoped she'd accept it.

She stared for a while before remembrance ran through her. "Stark of the North. Right." She took his invitation, a shaky hand falling on his.

He noted how cold they were. But he stashed that fact away and kissed her knuckles gently as any gentleman should.

He also noted the ready look in the guard's eyes. Like he'd pummel him just for stepping a toe out of line.

"I can't say I've had the pleasure of meeting you," Cregan continued, letting her hand fall back to her side. "How the Crown has hidden a pretty girl away, I cannot understand."

For once, her lips quirked up on the ends, a soft breath escaping her nose. She finds his comment humorous. "You mustn't lie."

True, she's a bit worse for wear, but she still holds the Targaryen beauty that's so coveted. 

"I have not yet," he insists. "Nor do I intend to."

She gets antsy, unsure what to say. Her guard catches on and steps up to the pair. "Excuse us, Lord Stark. Princess Y/n much needs her rest."

"Of course. Excuse my ignorance. Please." His last word is directed right at her as if assuring she'd understand that he meant no harm in his actions before.

She still doesn't speak, only staring as her guard gently turns her back to where they were coming from. "Please start moving back to your room. I will catch up with you in a moment."

She doesn't fight, beginning the willowy trek back to her room. Slow steps once again.

Both watched until she turned the corner, and her guard's worried face switched immediately to questioning. "Ser Criston Cole, Commander of the City Guard," he introduced himself. "Might I ask your reason for following the princess?"

"I only saw her pass through the doorway. Curiosity truly got the better of me. I've not seen her around-"

"-and you won't," Criston finished. "Between you and I, it would be better if you forgot her entirely."

The Stark was thrown off by Criston's sudden aggression. And so he got defensive. "The Crown cannot simply hide away a vital member of its lineage!"

Criston grabbed Cregan's collar with both fists. "I'd warn you to walk away from this now." He was older than him, clearly trying to use that as an intimidation tactic.

Too bad nothing intimidated the Wolf of the North.

"And if I do not?"

"The Crown doesn't take it lightly when its weakest member is targeted."

"What is wrong with her?"

Criston, realizing his intimidation is doing nothing, lets go of him. He gives a glare that clearly says 'none of your fucking business' and begins to walk off in the direction of the princess. "Stick to snow and barbarianism, Cregan Stark!" He calls over his shoulder.

If anything, the guard's gall encourages Cregan. He loves a challenge.

…

The next time he spotted her was while sparring. The training courtyard of King's Landing was very different from that of Winterfell, but he took the opportunity to train with gratitude. 

It was quite amusing to see Cregan sweating profusely in a thin tunic while the others wore multiple layers.

Not that he would brag about his adherence to the cold. Out loud, anyway. In his head was different.

And when his eyes wandered up the castle walls, there she was. 

Seated in a comfortable chair on her tiny balcony that was clearly drug in and out every night she sat. She was covered in a thick fur, but there she was. Maybe the outdoor air brought her comfort. Her handmaiden brushed through the woman's overly shiny locks.

It was hard to tell exactly what she was looking at, but it was clearly in his direction, so he did his best to avoid staring.

Easier said than done.

Every few hits, he'd find himself looking up to make sure she was still there. She truly felt like a ghost, potentially disappearing now that he'd spotted her.

But she didn't. She only watched from above.

…

By the fifth day of meeting with Alicent and Otto, he brought it up.

"I also couldn't help but notice the princess you keep hidden from sight. I want to ask about her."

Alicent had been waiting for this. Criston had tattled on the man that first night. 

Otto was more amused. "Ah yes. I believe it's time we spoke of her. For once."

The queen gripped the chair tightly, earning a small 'tsk' from her father. "What is there to say? She's sickly."

Cregan leaned forward in his chair. "Why keep her locked away from the people?"

"She is not-" Alicent calmed herself and began again. "She is not 'locked away.' She is too ill to attend matters. That is all I wish to say of it."

"Humor the boy," Otto reprimanded. "Once you've spotted her, she's hard to forget."

"Forgive me for my bluntness," Cregan continued. "What illness does she carry?"

Alicent forced herself to keep speaking. "The maesters don't know. We've brought in every kind of maester and septon we could find. It just… comes and goes like the tide. You've not seen her at her healthy side, and for that, I am sorry. She can be a joy when she feels alive."

"She looks like death, no doubt," Otto asked Cregan.

"Like she's seen through its eyes," he agreed. "But not completely dead. There's still a small flame."

Otto liked that answer, smiling. "I like that. Now, back to the North…"

Cregan couldn't wait for the next sighting.

…

Had he stayed up late in the library, just hoping to see a glimpse of her during the dark hours? Yes. But he wouldn't admit that to anyone.

But it paid off. 

Like clockwork, she journeyed through the open doorway to the library, pausing when she spotted Cregan.

And she changed her course, moving into the room.

He felt that gust up his spine again, though it eased within moments.

She looked a little better. There was just a tiny increase of color to her cheeks than the last encounter.

Perhaps she was getting better.

"Do you always watch the men train from your balcony?" He braved to ask. He wanted the answer. He needed to hear if it was a special occurrence for him.

"No," her soft answer came.

He felt thrill warm his face. "Then why do it now?"

"I had to… cool myself. I was feverish."

Well, now he feels like a dick for trying to flirt with a woman close to death.

"Forgive me. I meant no offense."

"'S alright." Her attention turned to the vast shelves aligning the walls. 

He looked around too, though not in that direction. "Where's Ser Criston?"

She manages a smile and gazes back at him. "Think I can't outrun my guard dog?"

He exhales with a guilty look. "I truly don't believe you can, Princess."

"Good. You're right." She moves past him. "He was excused for the night. I snuck out during guard change."

"Quick," he remarked, watching her journey one of the large wooden tables there and sit. "I want to know more about you."

"There is not much to know." She rested her head in her hand. "Though, I can entertain your questions enough."

"Alright. Your age."

"Eight and ten."

He nodded. That was only a two years difference. "Have you always been sick?"

"No. I developed a horrid fever when I was four. No one thought that I'd make it. And I never really recovered. I've been stuck in this… state."

"And the kingdom just… forgot?"

She shrugs. "When the King never announced the recovery of his daughter… they make assumptions."

"Do they believe you to be dead?"

"I don't know what they believe. I don't talk to them."

A sadness filled Cregan at her declaration. He was beginning to realize just how much he takes his health for granted. He couldn't imagine a day without greeting his people. It felt like a stake in his heart. "Then I apologize for disrupting that when I spotted you in the hall that night. I should have kept to myself."

"No," she mused. "I'm grateful that you did not."

His head tilts. "Truly?"

She grows a tired smile. "I've never met a Northerner."

"And now that you have?"

Her eyes lazily travel over his body, taking her time to appreciate every part. When her eyes met his again, her smile only grew.

…

Cregan's three week stay was now entering its final week. He had found himself over and over again running into the silver-haired princess.

He tried to keep their meetings stashed away in his mind, but the look Otto gave him over dinner had told him he'd done a poor job of it.

So, there they all sat. Cregan Stark and the Targaryen dynasty- Otto and Alicent, Aegon II, and Aemond. Helaena found herself often staying within her chamber, eating with her young children. Sometimes eating with her ill sister when the two grew lonely.

Cregan was never good at small talk. He was a man that always got straight to the point. And the arrangements between the Crown and the North were at a standstill. It caused a light tension over the food.

They just couldn't agree. With the death of Viserys nearing, Cregan wished for reassurance that the next King or Queen would hold the North's arrangements. Alicent's word wasn't enough to reassure him. He needed more.

But that argument was hours ago, and now they all sat awkwardly over their plates.

Cregan had managed to bond with Aemond briefly over discussions of blacksmiths and longswords. It was something he knew well, and the prince clearly had an interest in it. It was better than sitting in silence.

Aegon had no interest whatsoever. He drank away his worries, no doubt planning his next trip out into the night.

"We all heard the rumor," Aemond mused through his quirked lips.

"Rumor?" Stark asked, sipping from his cup.

At the sudden question, each of the royals heads tipped up. They needed to know the truth.

Aemond smirked and leaned forward. His voice lowered. "That you killed a bear with nothing but a club and your hands."

He looked around the table, seeing everyone's eyes on him. He cleared his throat and set his goblet down with a light thud. 

A nod.

A collective intimidated breath fell across the table.

Aemond was impressed. He tipped his cup to the Northman and took a swig.

"Your Grace," a guard interrupted, bowing his head. "Princess Y/n," he announced.

Cregan didn't catch the others reactions, instead turning as much as he could in the direction of the door.

He'd feasted with them for over two weeks and only now did the ill princess join them.

She had color to her cheeks now, the light pink standing out beautifully. Lively. 

She was finally in a gown fit for a princess, deciding to uphold her appearance. 

She clearly wanted to be there.

It was quiet as each step echoed until she reached the seat next to Aegon. The prince reached out, tugging her chair back to encourage her to sit.

Now seated across from Cregan, her eyes met his.

And she smiled.

"It's good to see you up," Otto announced. "I didn't dare to think you'd recovered this well."

She watched the servants tend to her. "Neither did I, but Criston was nearing the idea of simply locking me in my room to get me to rest."

They all found that relatively amusing. Except for Alicent, who only stared with a guilty look. They all knew the queen was sleeping with the Commander of the Guard. She ordered him around like a dog, having him watch her ill daughter like a hawk.

"It is," Cregan spoke, clearing his throat again, "It is good to see you." His voice was softer, clearly meant for her. His eyes took her in a way the gods would scorn. Like she was something to worship.

When healthy, he thought she was a version of the earth itself. Like the warmest day in Winterfell when the wind was just cool enough to remind you to be awake. Or the beauty of falling snow. It bites when you get too close, but he wouldn't be frightened of death in its embrace. She was not sunshine or light, but she was beautiful in her own way, dragging death alongside her wherever she went.

His eyes only left hers when he heard Aegon clear his throat obnoxiously. 

"Sister, I thought you were dining with Helaena tonight?"

"The twins were… rather tiring today and she wished to rest instead."

He nodded, accepting that answer, but his eyes were trained on Cregan now, squinting as if he could read him. His fingers picked the meat off of a bone on his plate absentmindedly.

Alicent was about the same, recognizing the longing look in the Wolf's eyes.

…

The princess had excused herself early from dinner, still not entirely up to the usual standard of supping like the others.

That gave Cregan no excuse when Alicent dismissed everyone except for him.

So here he is, stuck sitting at the large table and Alicent paces around it like a lion and its prey.

"I don't like the way you look at her," she started. "She is ill. Have you no morals?"

"Like what?" Cregan challenged. "Look at her in what way?"

"Like you want her."

Her bluntness is not something he expected. He's a bit thrown off. But the queen isn't entirely wrong. "Your Grace-"

"-Do not give her false hope," Alicent says in a lower tone. A pleading one. "She cannot take a heartbreak. She cannot take any outside occurrences tormenting her. She'd surely die."

In truthfulness, Cregan had not considered what would happen if she did grow attached, only for him to leave. The thought hurts. "I mean no harm to her. She is magnificent."

Alicent pauses like the words were poison. "Do not lie to me." Her anger grows. "She is ill. She will always be ill. She'll spent her life in her chamber, in her bed. Do not act like that is not the case."

"Meaning what, my queen?"

"That she could never be a wife."

…

The queen's words had haunted Cregan more than he cared to admit. He mostly hated that she might be right.

When he saw the princess again the next day, she was more chipper than he'd ever seen her before. 

"Lord Stark!" She greeted, her steps a bit quicker than before, though still not he'd consider fast.

He gave a brief smile, continuing his walk down the corridor.

Her face fell a bit. "I-Is something wrong?"

"No. I'm only rushing to meet with your mother."

She sighed, trying to keep up with him. "I thought you did not meet again until the morrow."

"You'd be correct in that."

His tone was matter of fact, no room for the gentle pronunciations he'd used before. It was clearly hurting her. It hurt him, too. But he was on a mission.

So she stopped, watching the Northerner walk away with heavy footsteps.

…

He threw the doors open, not waiting for the guards to do it. "I've decided you're wrong."

It was a bold move, causing the Queen to stand and frown. Not many challenged her, especially in this way. To arrange a meeting midday and then enter in this fashion? Suicide.

Otto was amused, not moving from his seat. He gestured to a chair in encouragement.

But Cregan stood, his hands flat on the tabletop. "You've promised the agreement will continue to the next ruler in line, and I said I could not take your word. That I needed more proof of your insistence. Well, I know what I want."

"I appreciate a man who is bold, Lord Stark, but I implore you not to make demands of the Crown," Otto tried to ease.

"No," Cregan began again, his anger turning to Otto. "Though I doubt there will be much fight to this demand. After all, it seems you will not notice its absence."

"And what is that?"

He paused. "The princess. The one hidden away from prying eyes. I will make her my wife. If she'll have me."

Otto was genuinely not expecting that. Alicent grew angry. "That is my daughter! You will not take her away like a bartered cow!"

"That was not my intention. But fine. Let me rephrase." The Wolf rolled his shoulders back, standing tall before the two. " I wish to court your daughter. No alliance involved. No quill to parchment. No deals. This is not part of our agreement."

"How is it not?"

"If you let me court her, it means you have faith in the North. In me. I don't need a parchment to say that."

Otto sighed. "Let me get this clear. You wish to marry a princess of whom will spend her life half dead?"

Cregan shrugged. "Half dead is half alive. And I like the odds. I like her."

"Surely she won't last in the North," Alicent reasoned. "The second the air seeps through your window, she'll die."

"The same way she's dying here?"

That shut Alicent up.

"There are great maesters in the North. They know the effects of the cold on the body. I have no fear of that. I'll tend to the fires in her chamber myself if I must- even collect the wood myself if you're so frightened. I am no idiot. I can keep her alive and happy."

The two considered the man's proposal. It was a strange one. But they recalled the look between him and her at dinner the night before.

"She'll never give you children," Alicent said with remorse.

He nodded. "I'm prepared to deal with that."

Otto look to the Queen, giving a tilt of his head.

She sighed. "If she wants you, she's yours."

…

Three days left in his stay, and he had spent two days without seeing her.

He didn't wish to go to her chamber. She deserved the privacy. That and… he didn't know where it was. 

So instead, he resorted to staying up late, hoping she'd appear. 

She didn't.

…

Criston Cole passed Cregan, a glare in his eyes.

Cregan followed, grabbing the guard from behind and pinning him against the wall. "Where is she?"

Criston hissed through his teeth. "Why do you assume I've hidden her?"

"Tell me."

He spit in the Wolf's face.

Cregan only blinked, the rest of his face unflinching. "Where is she?"

"In her room. Where she always is," he seethed.

Cregan's head tilted menacingly.

Criston continued. "West wing. Up the stairs, the door at the end."

He slammed the guard against the wall one more time for good measure, then stormed off.

…

He knocked on the door, and her handmaiden answered. "Oh. You're not the maester."

He frowned. "The maester?"

A soft voice came from inside the room, catching the handmaiden's attention. She nodded and opened the door for him.

He stepped in.

The princess laid on her bed, looking quite literally like death. It was worse than the first time he'd sighted her.

She was thinner, her cheeks sunken in again, her skin the dull grey he hated. Her hair was greased with sweat. Yet at the sight of him, she tried to give a weak smile.

Nearing her side, he sighed. "I had… I had no idea, Princess."

Her handmaiden moved to the other side of the bed, going back to dabbing the princess's forehead with a wet cloth. 

Y/n hummed at the chill. "'S alright."

"So, these are the ill spells you were speaking of." It was a statement, rather than a question.

"Yes," she sighed. "'S so sudden."

"I see that." He reached out to her hand, brushing his fingers over hers. He didn't want to overstep. But she was the one to intertwine their fingers. 

He spent the rest of the day in there, leaving when the maester entered. He stopped him, leaning in to speak lowly to the doctor. "I want you to feed her meat. Lamb, pig, I do not care. But have it brought to her."

…

The maester did as he commanded. And the next day when Cregan visited, she was chipper.

Was she entirely well? No. But the protein had her sitting up in bed, speaking to her handmaiden as her hair was being braided.

It warmed Cregan.

He grinned when he entered, sitting at her side comfortably now. "You look much better."

"I feel better," she smiled. "The maester said you helped."

"That's ridiculous. What do I know about health?"

But they both knew. They all knew.

"Mother told me something odd."

He froze. "Oh?"

"That you wish to marry me."

He took a deep breath, trying desperately to calm his nerves. Perhaps she's rejecting him.

"Is that true?"

He nodded, his fingers playing with hers. "It is. If you'll have me."

She smiled, gently waving her handmaiden off now that her hair was done. The girl left with a knowing grin.

"I'll have you, Cregan Stark."

He cupped her face, brushing his thumb over the light pink in her cheeks. "Then I am a lucky man."

…

And in the North, she blossomed. 

He kept a steady diet of red meat for her, watching as she no longer spent every day in their chamber, even getting to journey out to the courtyards and sit through petitions. 

The two spent every night cuddled under the furs of their bed. The fire always burned, he made sure of it. 

Her mind loved Cregan, and now her body could too.

................................................

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[dreamygirl19]

James Potter x Reader One-Shot !!

The reader is james’s childhood best friend, but she’s been studying at beauxbatons for most of her school years. In her final two years, her parents decide to transfer her to hogwarts because they miss her so much—and she wants to surprise james with her return.

When she arrives at hogwarts, james is completely shell shocked to see her. What nobody expects is that after her return, james suddenly loses all interest in lily—leaving her (and the rest of hogwarts) absolutely confused. I’d love for lily’s pov to be included as she slowly realizes james’s attention has shifted....and she starts trying to win him back by initiating flirty moments or interactions. But james only has heart eyes for the reader now, and it’s obvious to everyone. Maybe he’s super soft and lovey-dovey toward her, without hiding it at all 😭💫AKKKK

Would be great if you could include sweet reunion moments, a bit of jealousy from lily (but not too villainized or not lol 🫣), and just fluff, slow-burn vibes with a pinch of drama.

Thank you so much!! Love your works xx 💌

Thanks for your request <3

I hope this will fulfill what you expected and that you'll like it !!

A Love Rewritten

✮ Summary : Request above ↑

✮ Pairing : James Potter x childhood best friend!reader (feat : Lily Evans)

✮ Contains : Fluff, little bit of angst, jealousy

✮ Word Count : 3433 words

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual chaos of the start-of-term feast, but for James Potter, it was all background noise. His eyes, as they had been for years, were fixed on the Gryffindor table, specifically on a certain redhead. Lily Evans, laughing at something Remus said, looked as enchanting as ever. He was just about to launch into another elaborate scheme to get her attention when the doors to the Great Hall swung open.

A hush fell over the students as Professor McGonagall entered, a small, elegant figure in a deep blue Beauxbatons uniform trailing slightly behind her. Whispers rippled through the hall – a transfer student? From Beauxbatons? James, distracted from his Lily-watching, squinted, trying to get a better look.

Then she stepped fully into the light, and his world tilted on its axis.

It was Y/N. Her hair, a familiar shade of (your hair color), was pulled back from her face, and her eyes, those same (your eye color) eyes he’d stared into a thousand times during their childhood summers, sparkled with an almost mischievous delight. She scanned the hall, a small, secret smile playing on her lips, and then her gaze landed on him.

James felt the breath leave his lungs. He didn't just see her; he felt her presence, a warmth spreading through him that was more potent than any charm. He shot to his feet, knocking over his goblet with a loud clatter that drew everyone's attention.

"Y/N!" he bellowed, completely oblivious to the hundreds of eyes now on him.

She laughed, a clear, sweet sound that echoed through the stunned silence. She practically sprinted across the hall, weaving through the tables, until she was directly in front of him. Without a word, James swept her into a hug, lifting her clean off her feet and spinning her around. She clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder, and he felt a knot he hadn't even realized was there finally unravel.

"What are you doing here?" he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at her, his hands still firm on her waist. His eyes were wide, a mixture of shock and overwhelming joy.

"Surprise!" she whispered, grinning. "My parents missed me too much. And I missed you, you big oaf."

The entire hall watched the reunion, a mix of curiosity and amusement on their faces. Sirius and Remus exchanged knowing glances, while Peter looked utterly bewildered. But no one was more bewildered than Lily Evans.

Lily had been watching James for years. His infatuation with her was an open secret, a constant, if sometimes annoying, background hum to her Hogwarts life. She'd grown accustomed to his loud declarations, his dramatic attempts to impress her, and the way his eyes always seemed to find her across a crowded room. Tonight, as always, she expected his attention to be solely on her.

So when he stood up, bellowing a girl’s name, her brow furrowed. And when he practically tackled the new Beauxbatons student in a hug that looked far too intimate for casual acquaintances, a prickle of something unfamiliar stirred within her.

Throughout the rest of the feast, James was practically glued to Y/N. He pulled out her chair, heaped her plate with food, and leaned in close as she spoke, his laughter booming at her jokes. Lily had never seen him so... soft. He usually put on such a show, but with Y/N, he was just James, albeit a far gentler, more attentive version than she'd ever witnessed.

Over the next few days, the shift in James was undeniable. He still walked with the Marauders, still played Quidditch with his usual reckless abandon, but his focus had undeniably moved. He no longer sought Lily out with his eyes. He didn't call her "Evans" with that infuriating, yet secretly endearing, smirk. He didn't even tease her. It was as if she had become invisible.

Lily found herself oddly… unsettled. She told herself it was just the novelty of Y/N's arrival. James would surely go back to his old ways soon. But he didn't. He was always by Y/N's side, a possessive hand often resting on her back or a protective arm around her shoulders. He’d bring her sweets from Honeydukes, walk her to her classes, and even sometimes just sit with her in the library, a quiet, adoring presence.

One afternoon, Lily saw them in the courtyard. James was braiding a small section of Y/N's hair, his brow furrowed in concentration, while Y/N read a book, occasionally glancing up at him with a tender smile. His usual boisterousness was gone, replaced by an almost reverent gentleness.

A new, sharper feeling began to gnaw at Lily. It wasn't just curiosity anymore; it was a burgeoning sense of irritation, quickly followed by something that felt suspiciously like… jealousy. She, Lily Evans, who had James Potter wrapped around her finger for years, was being utterly ignored for a newcomer. Lily decided she wouldn't stand for it. She was Lily Evans, after all. She had always been the object of James’s affections, and she would be again.

The next day, Lily made a point of lingering near James during Transfiguration. When he turned to talk to Y/N about a spell, Lily subtly bumped into him, making sure their hands brushed. "Oh, sorry, James," she said, her voice a little too sweet.

He merely gave her a distracted nod, his attention already back on Y/N. "No worries, Evans," he mumbled, not even looking at her.

Lily's jaw tightened.

She started making more overt attempts. During Quidditch practice, she purposely flew closer to James, making dazzling moves, hoping to catch his eye. He cheered, yes, but only when Y/N scored a goal. Lily saw him smiling at Y/N from across the pitch, a wide, genuine smile that made her stomach clench.

One evening in the common room, Lily sat down on the sofa next to James, who was helping Y/N with a particularly tricky Potions essay. She leaned in, her voice low and inviting. "James, remember that time we accidentally turned Professor Slughorn's hair blue in second year?" she asked, a playful glint in her eyes, hoping to evoke shared memories.

James chuckled, a fond sound. "Yeah, that was brilliant," he agreed, but his gaze immediately flickered to Y/N. "Y/N, you should have seen it. Slughorn looked like a giant blueberry." He then explained the entire story to Y/N, animatedly, as if she were the only one in the room. Y/N laughed, her hand resting lightly on his arm, and James’s face softened instantly.

Lily felt a flush creep up her neck. He wasn't even pretending to be interested in her. His devotion to Y/N was so complete, so unreserved, that it was almost embarrassing to witness.

It was becoming clear to everyone. James Potter, the boy who had once practically breathed Lily Evans's name, now only had eyes for his childhood best friend. He wasn't subtle about it; he didn't try to hide his adoration. He was simply, wholeheartedly, besotted. And Lily, for the first time in a long time, felt a pang of something akin to regret. The boy she had so easily dismissed was now completely, utterly, and irrevocably in love with someone else.

James had always thought his world revolved around Quidditch, his mates, and Lily Evans. He'd spent years chasing after the fiery redhead, convinced she was the only one who could ever truly capture his attention. But then Y/N walked back into his life, and suddenly, the vibrant hues of his world intensified, and everything clicked into a new, perfect alignment.

He hadn't realized how much he’d missed her until she was there, laughing beside him, her presence a comforting anchor he hadn't known he needed. Lily’s attempts to flirt, to draw him back into their old dynamic, barely registered. It was like trying to catch smoke. His mind, his eyes, his very being were irrevocably drawn to Y/N.

One blustery afternoon, they were both huddled in the library, ostensibly studying for a Charms exam. Y/N shivered slightly, and without a second thought, James shrugged off his Gryffindor robe and draped it over her shoulders. She looked up, her eyes wide with surprise, and a soft smile touched her lips.

"Thanks, James," Y/N murmured, pulling the warm fabric tighter around her. The scent of him – broomstick polish, old parchment, and something uniquely James – enveloped her.

"Anything for you, Y/N," he said, his voice softer than usual. He watched her, a small, contented smile on his face, forgetting all about his Charms notes. He loved the way her nose crinkled when she was concentrating, the way her hair caught the light, the quiet hum of her presence beside him. It was a comfortable, easy sort of love, one that had been there all along, just waiting for Y/N to return.

Later that week, during a particularly grueling Potions class, Snape had managed to make Y/N spill her entire cauldron of a bubbling, noxious purple liquid. She stood there, mortified, while Snape sneered. Before he could even open his mouth to deduct points, James was there, a quick flick of his wand cleaning up the mess and a fierce glare aimed at Snape.

"Leave her alone, Snivellus," James growled, stepping between Y/N and the Potions Master. He then turned to her, his expression instantly softening. "Are you alright? You didn't get any on you, did you?" He reached out, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, his thumb lingering for a moment on her cheek.

Y/N leaned into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the spilled potion. "I'm fine, James," she whispered, a small smile playing on her lips. His protectiveness, his unwavering loyalty, made her heart flutter.

Coming back to Hogwarts had been a whirlwind. The familiar halls, the excited buzz of students, and most importantly, James. She had missed him fiercely, the constant companion of her childhood summers, her partner in mischief. She’d always thought of him as her best friend, a brother even. But seeing him again, seeing the way he looked at her, the way his eyes lit up, a new, unfamiliar feeling had begun to bloom in her chest.

She noticed the subtle shifts in his behavior, the way he’d always find an excuse to be near her, the casual touches that lingered a little too long. She saw the way he’d listen intently to her stories about Beauxbatons, his head tilted, a soft smile on his face. He was still the boisterous, confident James she remembered, but there was a new tenderness, a quiet devotion that was almost overwhelming.

Y/N also couldn't help but notice Lily Evans. She'd heard about James's long-standing crush, of course. It was legendary. But now, seeing Lily’s increasingly frustrated attempts to regain his attention, Y/N felt a strange mix of sympathy and a tiny, guilty thrill. It was clear James wasn't interested. And the realization that his attention, which had once been so singularly focused on Lily, was now entirely on Y/N, sent a warmth through her veins.

One evening, they were walking back from the library, the last rays of sunset painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. Y/N was talking about her favorite Muggle books, and James was surprisingly attentive, asking questions and offering his own thoughts.

As they reached the Gryffindor common room entrance, he stopped suddenly, turning to face Y/N. The light caught his glasses, making his eyes sparkle. He reached out, gently taking her hand in his. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, sending a jolt through her.

"I'm really glad you're here, Y/N," he said, his voice low and earnest. "Hogwarts feels… more right, with you in it."

Y/N's heart hammered against her ribs. She looked up at him, into those warm, hazel eyes, and for the first time, she saw something more than just friendship there. She saw affection, adoration, and a quiet, undeniable longing that mirrored her own.

"Me too, James," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "Me too."

The air between them crackled with unspoken words, with a burgeoning understanding that this was more than just a reunion of old friends. This was the beginning of something new, something deeper, a slow burn that had been simmering beneath the surface for years, finally ready to ignite.

Lily watched them from a distance, a knot forming in her stomach. She saw the way James looked at Y/N, the way his hand found hers, the way his entire demeanor softened when Y/N was near. It was a look she had always secretly craved from him, a look she had dismissed as mere infatuation. Now, it was directed at someone else, and it was undeniably real.

She tried to rationalize it. It was a childhood bond, a novelty. But the longer Y/N was at Hogwarts, the more evident it became that James’s feelings for her were far from fleeting. He was utterly, completely gone.

One afternoon, Lily saw James and Y/N sharing a chocolate frog in the common room, his head tilted close to hers as they both laughed at the wizard card. Lily walked past, making sure to catch James’s eye. She offered him a bright, practiced smile, a hint of the old flirtation in her gaze.

James glanced up, gave her a polite, almost distant nod, and then his attention immediately snapped back to Y/N.

Lily felt a surge of hot anger. It wasn't just that he wasn't interested; it was that he didn't even notice her anymore. She, Lily Evans, was being treated like a casual acquaintance by the boy who had once dedicated his entire existence to winning her over.

The jealousy, once a mere prickle, was now a dull ache in her chest. She had always taken James’s devotion for granted, had even been annoyed by it at times. Now, seeing it lavished on someone else, she realized what she had lost. And the thought, unwelcome and unsettling, began to form in her mind: perhaps she had made a mistake. Perhaps James Potter, with his unwavering loyalty and boundless affection, was exactly what she had always needed, and now, he was undeniably, irrevocably, Y/N's.

Lily Evans stood at the edge of the Quidditch pitch, watching the Gryffindor team celebrate a particularly spectacular goal. Her eyes, however, weren't on the triumphant players but on James Potter. He was laughing, his arm slung casually around Y/N's shoulders, pulling her into the joyous huddle. His head was thrown back, and for a fleeting moment, Lily caught a glimpse of his face – pure, unadulterated happiness. A happiness she hadn't seen directed at her in years, if ever.

It wasn't just the way he looked at Y/N; it was everything. The way he always seemed to know what she needed before she asked, the comfortable silence that fell between them, the easy intimacy of their shared smiles. It was so evident, so profound, that even a blind man could see it. James wasn't just fond of Y/N, or infatuated, or even just friendly. He was utterly, hopelessly, undeniably in love. And Y/N, Lily realized with a jolt that went through her very core, loved him back. The way Y/N leaned into his touch, the soft glow in her eyes when he spoke, the quiet joy that radiated from them both when they were together – it was a mutual, powerful force.

A bitter taste filled Lily’s mouth, but beneath it, a strange sense of clarity began to emerge. All her attempts, all her subtle and not-so-subtle flirtations, had been pointless. She had been trying to win back something that was never truly hers, something that James had offered freely, and she had consistently, perhaps even cruelly, rejected. Now, he had found his match in Y/N, someone who clearly cherished his every goofy, grand, and gentle gesture.

With a heavy sigh, Lily turned and walked away from the pitch, the sound of James’s joyous laughter echoing behind her. The game was over, and so, she finally understood, was her long-standing dance with James Potter.

The Hogwarts grounds, bathed in moonlight, held a magical stillness. Y/N and James were walking back from the astronomy tower, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the warmth of the day. A comfortable silence had fallen between them, punctuated only by the distant hoot of an owl.

James stopped suddenly, turning to face Y/N. His usually boisterous demeanor was subdued, a nervous energy thrumming beneath the surface. Y/N looked up at him, her heart beginning to beat a little faster.

"Y/N," he began, his voice surprisingly soft, almost hesitant. He ran a hand through his already messy hair. "There's something I… I need to say."

Y/N waited, her gaze fixed on his.

He took a deep breath. "I've always… well, I've always thought I knew what I wanted. I spent years chasing after Lily, convinced she was it for me." He paused, his eyes searching hers. "But then you came back. And it's like… the world suddenly snapped into focus. Everything I thought I wanted, everything I thought I felt, just… faded."

He reached out, gently taking both Y/N's hands in his, his thumbs tracing circles on her skin. "You're not just my best friend, Y/N. You're… you're everything. You make me laugh, you understand me without me having to say a word, you challenge me, you just… make everything better." His grip on her hands tightened slightly. "I love you. I think… I've loved you for a very long time, I just didn't realize it until now. I'm completely gone for you."

Y/N's breath hitched. The words, spoken under the vast, star-dusted sky, resonated deep within her soul. All the subtle touches, the lingering gazes, the unspoken understanding – it all coalesced into this breathtaking moment. A wave of overwhelming emotion washed over her, a mixture of joy, relief, and a profound sense of belonging.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she squeezed his hands back. "Oh, James," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I… I love you too. So much. I didn't know what this feeling was, but it's been growing ever since I came back. You’re my best friend, my home, and so much more."

A wide, dazzling smile spread across James’s face, a smile of pure, unadulterated elation. He let go of one of her hands, reaching up to gently cup her cheek. His thumb brushed away a tear that had escaped.

"Really?" he breathed, his eyes shining.

"Really," Y/N confirmed, her voice firm, her gaze unwavering.

And then, slowly, tentatively at first, he leaned in. Y/N's eyes fluttered closed as his lips met hers. It was a soft kiss, full of years of unspoken affection, of rediscovered love, and of a future that suddenly stretched out, bright and full of promise. It wasn't the dramatic, boisterous declaration James was known for, but something far more profound – a quiet, undeniable truth blooming under the watchful eyes of the stars.

꩜ Masterlist

꩜ One shots requests opened

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° the world ended when it happened to me

( sae itoshi x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — for my childhood best friends to lover series :)

♡ word count — 1.3k

♡ content — sae itoshi x fem! reader, sae itoshi x fem! reader, angst i fear, goes from childhood to the U-20 game, no real explanation for why sae comes back from spain lowkey evil (canon), rin blames reader for sae changing, rin and reader are best friends, best friends brother trope

♡ synopsis — your whole life you've loved sae itoshi, but maybe childhood love wasn't as glamourous as everyone made it seem.

You were always around the Itoshi brothers.

Rin’s best friend, the annoyingly happy girl who somehow made yourself at home in their lives. Sae used to think you were a menace, a constant storm of giggles and relentless chatter that disrupted the quiet balance of his house.

You had been Rin Itoshi’s best friend for as long as you could remember — a whirlwind of energy and relentless optimism, the complete opposite of the quiet, serious boy who barely cracked a smile. But for some reason, he tolerated you. Maybe even liked you, though he'd never admit it.

Sae, on the other hand, made no secret of his disdain.

“Why is she always here?” he muttered one afternoon, rubbing his temples as you sang loudly along to a cartoon theme song.

“She’s my friend,” Rin mumbled through a mouthful of snacks.

“She’s annoying,” Sae shot back, glaring as you dramatically collapsed on the floor like you’d been shot.

“I heard that!” you chirped, grinning up at him.

“Good.”

And yet, the first time you barged into his room, he didn’t yell.

He was sick, curled up in bed, voice scratchy as he warned you from across the room, “Get out. You’ll get sick, idiot.”

But you didn’t listen. You tiptoed in, holding out a crumpled drawing with three stick figures labeled "Rin," "Sae," and "Me," all holding hands beneath a bright yellow sun.

“I made this,” you whispered, as if speaking too loudly would break him. “I wanted you to have it.”

Sae stared at the paper, throat tight. He didn’t thank you, didn’t smile, just turned his head and muttered, “Whatever.”

The week he recovered, his phone rang. He sighed when he saw your name, swiping to answer as he rubbed at his temple.

“You were right,” you croaked, voice completely hoarse. “I got sick.”

Sae rolled his eyes, but there was a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. Yeah. You could stick around.

By the time you started middle school, you were practically part of the Itoshi household. You and Rin stuck together like glue.

You struggled with English — despised it, really — and Rin tried to help, but he wasn’t patient like Sae. So, you turned to the older brother, begging for tutoring sessions.

“No,” he said flatly when you asked.

“Please?” you pleaded, clasping your hands.

“You’re hopeless,” he muttered, but he still helped you.

Sae pretended to hate it, acted like he was being forced to suffer through your presence. But he showed up every day after school, meticulously explaining grammar rules while you doodled on the edges of your notebook.

Somewhere along the way, he started looking forward to those afternoons.

He liked the way you tilted your head when you were confused, how you brightened like the sun when he praised you for getting an answer right. He liked that it was just the two of you — no Rin, no distractions. Just you and him, your elbow knocking against his as you leaned in close to read from his textbook.

And maybe, in your twelve-year-old heart, you started feeling the same.

When Sae was recruited for the Real Madrid Academy at thirteen, the entire town buzzed with excitement. Everyone said it was a miracle, that Sae Itoshi would change Japanese soccer forever.

You were proud of him. But when you lay in bed that night, staring at your ceiling, all you wanted was to beg him to stay.

To keep being your tutor. To keep being around.

The night before he left, Sae texted you to meet him at the park. You assumed Rin would be there, but when you asked, Sae just shrugged.

“He fell asleep,” he said, licking his ice cream.

The truth was, he hadn’t told Rin at all.

You sat on the bench together, you pouting as you flipped the stick in your hand to reveal the kanji for "bad luck," while Sae’s said "good luck."

“Why are you lucky at everything?” you grumbled, tossing your stick aside.

Sae chuckled, the sound low and rare. He started dribbling his soccer ball between his feet, gaze focused as he said, “You can still call me, you know?”

“Huh?”

“For school stuff. Or... whatever.” He didn’t look at you when he said it.

In your childish mind, that was enough. You smiled, bright and unburdened.

“It’s a promise!”

“Yeah,” Sae echoed, teal eyes flicking to yours. “It’s a promise.”

He left a week later.

Rin fell apart without his brother. You stayed by his side, comforting him through the ache of Sae’s absence. And yet, you hid your phone under your pillow at night, quietly texting Sae about homework or your day.

You stayed by Rin’s side, comforting him, hiding the fact that you and Sae texted constantly. He never texted Rin. Only you.

Two years of texts and rare calls passed, and one night, the realization hit you like a freight train: you were in love with Sae.

You’d loved him since he got you sick, since he bought you ice cream, since he promised you could still talk to him.

You’d loved him since he caught the flu,

Since he drew diagrams in your notebook to help you with prepositions,

Since he made that promise to answer your calls.

One late-night call sealed your fate.

As you rambled on the phone about school, Sae mumbled, half-asleep, “I love your voice.”

You stopped talking, heart hammering, but by the time you opened your mouth to respond, he was snoring.

“I love you, Sae,” you whispered into the receiver.

“I love you too,” he muttered, voice thick with sleep, one eye cracking open to catch your stunned expression.

From then on, you and Sae were together. Quietly, distantly, but together.

When Sae came back at seventeen, he didn’t tell you.

Rin did.

rin-rin: Sae’s home

his text said.

rin-rin: I hope you enjoy that you’ve ruined him

You panicked, blowing up Rin’s phone with calls he never answered, some being sent straight to voicemail after the first few tries. And then Sae was at your door, taller, sharper, his face unreadable.

You burst into tears before you even spoke.

“Please talk to Rin,” you begged, clutching at his sleeve. “I don’t know what I did wrong, but I’ll fix it — please, just talk to him—”

But the look in Sae’s eyes was like ice, gorgeous, but dangerous- unsafe- fated to slip away

“You’re a bother,” he said, voice flat.

You froze.

“Huh?”

“You’ve clung to me since you were a kid. You’re nothing but a disease I need to get rid of.”

You laughed, shaky and desperate. “Sae, that’s not funny—”

“I’m not joking. I’m done with you.”

The wind howled as snowflakes caught in his hair. You collapsed to the floor, hugging your knees as Sae turned on his heel, leaving you crumpled on your doorstep, the door swinging in the cold winter wind.

You lost both Itoshis in one night. And you didn’t even know why.

A year and a half later, you sat alone in your living room, watching the Blue Lock vs. Japan U-20 match.

Rin, your old best friend, was on one team. Sae, your first love, was on the other.

And you stayed home, stuck in the same town, the same life, still struggling with English.

The camera zoomed in on Sae’s face, and something inside you snapped.

Without thinking, you hurled the remote at the screen, a crack spiderwebbing across his perfect, indifferent, calm, beautiful, heartbreakingly distant expression

The TV shut off, leaving you in suffocating silence.

Sae Itoshi had everything he wanted — fame, success, the world at his feet.

And you were still here. Stuck. Left behind.

Trying to understand how the world ended for you, while for Sae, it had only just begun.

You curled up on the couch, burying your face in a pillow as the weight of it all crushed you.

You’d lost them. Both of them.

And you didn’t even know why.

GO LISTEN TO WE HUG NOW BY SYDNEY ROSE NOW!!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[sweetismei]

Synopses: She's the most wanted girl on campus. You're the quiet one no one notices. But when the flirting doesn't stop, and your doubts start to grow, so Dani reminds you, in every way, that she's only yours.

Pairing: popular g!p Dani x introvert fem reader.

Warnings: NSFW/Explicit content, g!p Dani, semi-public sex, mirror sex, rough sex/intense penetration, possessiveness, jealousy themes, dirty talk, marking, mild exhibitionism risk, strong language, slight degradation (calling reader “ruined”), unprotected sex and more. MEN & MINORS DNI.

A/N: English is not my first language soo please be gentle w me sweeties. 💕

The air was heavy that late afternoon. The sky half-cloudy, with a lazy breeze that blew now and then through the open corridors of the campus and the tall trees surrounding the buildings. People coming and going between classes, backpacks slung over shoulders, voices blending in the air, loud laughter from the tables near the gym. The sound of a ball bouncing in the distance, the jingle of keys, and that constant buzz that never really went away.

And there she was, your perfect girlfriend, desired by everyone.

Everyone knew Dani. It was impossible not to. The kind of girl who drew attention without even trying. Captain of the women’s basketball team, a guaranteed presence at every university event, always surrounded by people. Always someone wanting to talk, touch, start a conversation — or more, like she was some kind of celebrity.

And well, in that place, she almost was.

You, on the other hand, had always preferred to keep your distance from that chaos. You were good at staying in your lane, walking from one building to another with headphones in, a neutral expression on your face and a book tucked in your backpack. If anyone noticed you, it lasted only seconds. And to you, that was good. That was safe.

You were beautiful — very beautiful, in fact. Your few close friends always made a point of reminding you, saying that if you stopped being so shy and started being more “social,” you could practically have anyone you wanted at your feet. But that wasn’t what you wanted, you just wanted to stay in your own space, in peace.

But then Dani came into your life. And nothing had been quiet since.

You had no idea how it even started. You only knew that, suddenly, she looked at you differently. She got closer than anyone had ever dared. And by the time you realized it, it was too late to run.

Dani was with you.

And everybody knew it.

But still, they didn’t seem to care.

Shameless flirting, poorly disguised compliments, people touching too much, talking with a familiarity that had never existed. As if you were invisible next to her. As if being with the most desired girl in the university was a daily fight to remind yourself it was real.

And that day, you were tired.

Sitting on the concrete bench near the Arts building, you pretended to be focused on your notebook. You tried to write, but your eyes kept searching for her. And when they found her… you regretted it.

She was laughing at something a classmate had said. A girl you had seen before. The type who laughed too loud and leaned in too close, practically throwing herself when she laughed. Dani smiled, that smile that made your stomach flip. And for a second, she didn’t see you. Didn’t look for you.

That’s when you stood up.

You tried to leave before she noticed. Before you saw more than you should. But of course… she noticed.

“Where are you going?” — her voice came from behind you, calm but firm.

You stopped, closing your notebook slowly.

“I’m going outside, I need to sort some things out with Louis.” You lied, trying to escape the situation.

She took another step closer, her hands resting on your waist gently.

“Are you sure?” Dani asked, then leaned down a little to steal a kiss — but in a quick move, you turned your face slightly, making her lips land at the corner of your mouth, almost on your cheek.

Dani frowned at your action but let it slide, since it wasn’t unusual for you to dodge her kisses or turn away when you were in public. She knew how shy you were about all of this.

“Hm, yeah. Actually, I need to go now.” You pulled away. “I’ll meet you later, babe.” You said, already a little distant from her.

Dani stayed there, confused, watching your almost perfect silhouette disappear among some people nearby. She stared at you with slightly furrowed brows, that typical look of someone who’s almost sure something is wrong, but doesn’t know what.

You weren’t the kind of girlfriend to do that — to pull away like that with a silly excuse and refuse her brief kisses.

She completely understood you not wanting her hands sliding down to your ass or the two of you making out in the middle of campus, of course.

But you didn’t refuse her small kisses. Sometimes, you were the one stealing them from her lips.

Your sudden change made her wonder if she had done something wrong.

She kept watching until you disappeared from view, but the uneasy feeling didn’t vanish with your silhouette.

Meanwhile, you were walking too fast. And inside, everything felt wrong.

It wasn’t the first time someone had tried something with Dani. It wasn’t the first time she smiled at someone else. But for some reason, today it hit you differently. Maybe it was the way the girl touched her arm. Maybe it was the way Dani smiled, even though you knew it was just out of politeness. Or maybe it was simply the fact that lately, you’d been feeling… not enough, like Dani was slowly forgetting you.

The insecurity of feeling that at any moment she could find someone else, someone better.

You knew she loved you. Dani made that clear. But it was hard not to think about what other people saw when they looked at the two of you. Her, full of light. You, just being you. At least that’s how you felt when everyone made a point of reminding you how incredible she was, and how much you seemed out of place next to her.

At that moment the only thing you could do was walk as fast as possible while holding back as much as you could not to cry through the almost empty hallways of the campus. Practically all the students were outside organizing for the baseball team practice, so you made sure to go exactly in the opposite direction of where they were, so that you wouldn’t be found by anyone while you cried silently over a problem you had created in your head.

With long steps, you finally reached the empty, quiet locker room, sitting on one of the benches while running your hand through your hair, trying your hardest not to cry, especially because you’d have to leave there anyway and meet Dani, who would probably notice how your mascara was smudged and your makeup slightly ruined by tears.

You held yourself back, held yourself back as much as you could not to let a tear fall, you really tried.

But as most of the time your body didn’t obey your own commands, the tears fell, they rolled down your face like a personal reminder of all the pain and all the insecurity you felt.

It hurt, definitely more than you imagined, like you weren’t the right person for Dani, like you didn’t belong to her.

So you got up from the bench, you got up angry while forcing your body to stop those tears immediately, almost pulling them back inside.

You went toward the sink, standing in front of the mirror, face to face seeing your reflection ruined by yourself, your hair slightly messy from how you had pulled at it trying to hold back your anger, your makeup a little smudged from your crying, you were angry, but the insecurity and the fear were stronger.

Then you heard a loud noise behind you.

And when you turned around, there she was — your beautiful girlfriend, desired by everyone.

In an automatic act you ran both hands over your face wiping the tears that fell, but not as quickly as you hoped because it was just enough time for Dani to notice.

It didn’t make much difference because even if she hadn’t seen, she would notice you had been crying from your red nose and eyes and the smudged makeup.

How did she know you were here? Your girlfriend knew you so, so well that even if you went out of the country, she would still know.

“Baby, what are you—” she stopped as soon as she saw your face “are you crying?” Dani asked.

You didn’t answer, you didn’t say anything.

At first, Dani didn’t know what to do. But soon she went up to you, stopping right in front of you, face to face.

“Hey, what happened?” she said worried, placing both hands on your face, which for some reason your body dodged, making you pull away and stand beside her.

Dani didn’t understand your reaction. The expression on her face now was one of astonishment and doubt, as if she couldn’t believe your sudden attitude.

“Baby, what happened?” she insisted with a slight tone of disbelief, her voice now firmer as she moved closer to you.

“Dani, no.” You cut her off immediately, dry and almost rude— as if that would keep you from hurting more, as if you were building a barrier around yourself not to fall further into the trap you had created in your head.

When you were about to open your mouth again to speak, she cut you off.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

“You’ve been avoiding me for days and when I try to talk to you, you always tell me to back off!” she said with indignation in her voice, already tired of it.

You didn’t answer.

She looked at you, as if waiting for some answer even knowing you wouldn’t say anything, with silence being the only thing speaking at that moment.

Until she finally said it.

“I talked to Olivia, she told me.” Short and dry.

“Bitch,” you thought.

A few days ago while you were in Olivia’s room, without meaning to you ended up saying more than you should about your feelings, letting out everything you thought and how you felt.

And of course Dani would go to her to find out what was going on, after all it’s natural that your best friend knows about your personal problems.

She had caught you.

“You think you’re not enough?” she asked, being completely direct.

You didn’t answer.

“You think for some reason I would leave you?” she asked again.

You still didn’t answer.

Daniela moved closer to you, standing just inches from your body, making you feel the warmth of her chest against yours.

You didn’t say anything.

“Answer me, I’m talking to you.” she said cold and dry, her voice carrying a tone of authority, as if she wanted to prove to you the opposite of what you thought.

You didn’t answer, you just stared at her with your body frozen.

Still with her body practically pressed against yours, Dani who had been looking into your eyes now dropped her gaze, letting out a low, disbelieving laugh, while you stared back at her with an almost indecipherable expression.

She ran a hand over her face in disbelief, while leaning slightly against the sink beside you, still laughing in disbelief at the situation. You hadn’t said a single word.

“Y/n…” she said, still not looking into your eyes.

“Do you have any idea how much it irritates me to hear that?” she said. “It’s almost insulting for you to think I could want anyone else. Like looking at another person would make any sense when I already have you here.” she said seriously, looking directly into your eyes.

She stepped closer, her gaze locked on you like both a threat and a promise at the same time.

“You really think I look at anyone besides you?” The question came out dry. Almost a challenge.

She didn’t wait for an answer. She walked up to you with that way of hers that made the world feel small. The air between you grew heavy.

“I let them talk to me. I let them get close. Because it doesn’t make a difference.”

A short laugh, humorless.

“Because no one has space in here besides you.” She pointed to her own head, then to her chest.

“And it’s almost insulting that you’d think I’d forget that so easily.”

Her breath brushed against your skin as she took another step closer.

“You think I’m with you because it’s easy?” she asked.

“I’m with you because even when you try to run, I still want you.” She paused before continuing. “Because I look at you and I can’t look at anyone else.” she said flatly, staring straight into your eyes.

A heavy silence fell between you.

“And if you still have any doubt about that, I’ll make sure to remind you every time exactly who you belong to.” The woman spoke with a serious look on her face, every word leaving her lips like knives.

Then, in one swift motion, Dani brought one hand up to your face, pulling you close and crashing her lips against yours.

The kiss was fierce, rough, almost like she was angry at you.

Maybe she really was, because now she was practically on top of you, your back pressed against the sink, kissing your mouth like it was her last meal, her tongue exploring every inch of you like her life depended on it.

She kissed you with force, she kissed you with rage.

Rage at the thought that you could ever believe she’d want anyone but you.

Her hands roamed over your entire body, squeezing every part of you with force — your waist, your neck, your nape… as if her touch was speaking directly to you.

Dani kissed you like she wanted to erase any shadow of doubt that had formed in your head. Her taste mixed with yours, and the way her tongue dominated yours made your legs tremble.

She pulled back just enough to speak against your lips, her hot breath hitting your skin:

“You’re mine.” Before you could answer, Dani gripped your waist tight and lifted you onto the sink. The cold shock of the stone against your thighs contrasted with the heat of her body pressing into yours.

Her hands spread over you without hesitation, sliding up your thighs, squeezing hard, as if she wanted to mark her territory there.

“They can look all they want,” she murmured, her mouth trailing down your neck, biting lightly at the sensitive skin. “But only I know your taste. Only I have you like this.” she said.

You felt her hips pressing against yours, and a gasp escaped your throat. Dani smiled against your skin at the sound, satisfied.

Her hand slipped under your shirt, her cold fingers against your warm skin making you gasp. She used the reaction to deepen the kisses, moving down your chest while her other hand gripped the back of your neck tightly, leaving no room to escape.

“Look at me,” she demanded, her voice low and firm. Your eyes found hers, and the intensity in Dani’s gaze made your stomach flip.

Without waiting, she pushed your skirt up, her palm sliding along your thigh until she reached what she wanted. The firm, confident touch tore a moan from your lips that she swallowed in a hungry kiss.

“You like that, baby?” she whispered against your mouth, her fingers already exploring with precision, as if they knew by heart every place that made you lose your breath.

The fact that you two were in a locker room with the door completely unlocked, anyone free to walk in at any moment, only made Dani more turned on.

She smirked against your lips, wicked, pressing her body even closer. Her hips ground against yours, still covered by her tight jeans, and you gasped at the firm, hard pressure against your heat.

Dani let out a low chuckle against your lips.

“Feel that?” the question came low, almost a growl. She pressed again, slower this time, making you gasp. “It’s all for you, baby.”

Your whole body trembled beneath her, and the satisfied look on her face only grew. Dani ground even harder, rubbing her erection against your soaked panties until you moaned too loudly to hide.

“Look at you, falling apart just from feeling my cock, hm?” She gripped your waist tight, holding you in place. “No one else is ever gonna touch you like this. No one.”

Without waiting for a response, Dani unbuttoned her jeans with one hand, her eyes locked on yours like she dared you to look away. She pushed them down just enough to free herself, and the hot breath you let out when you saw her hard cock only made Dani’s grin widen.

She was hard, hard just for you.

She rubbed the base against your still-covered entrance, making you gasp.

“You want it? Hm? You wanna feel my cock all the way inside you?” she asked with her mouth pressed to your neck, her voice vibrating against your skin and pulling a desperate sigh from you.

She tugged your panties aside, exposing you only for her. She dragged the tip through your wetness, spreading your arousal before even pushing in.

“So ready for me… all wet, just waiting for my cock.”

Dani tilted her head, biting your bottom lip hard as she slowly pushed in, just the tip, pulling a desperate moan from you.

She groaned low, her eyes half-closed with pleasure. “Feel how you take me in… so good, just for me.”

Suddenly, Dani stopped moving, making you whine in frustration. Before you could complain, she grabbed your waist firmly and turned you, gently pushing until your chest was pressed against the cold sink, facing the mirror.

The sight made your heart race — your eyes locked on hers in the reflection, and the way Dani looked at you was so intense it felt like she was cutting through your skin.

She leaned over you, her body pressed against yours, her hot breath brushing your ear.

“I want you to look,” she murmured, firm. “I want you to watch what I do to you.”

Her hips moved again, grinding her hard cock, now leaking pre-cum, against your soaked pussy. She teased, rubbing against you like she had all the patience in the world, even though you knew she was just as desperate.

Then, without warning, she slammed into you with a deep thrust that ripped a moan from your throat. In the mirror, you saw Dani’s expression — serious, possessive, completely focused on you.

“Look…” she demanded, holding your chin so you couldn’t escape her gaze. “Look at how you fall apart just for me.”

Each thrust made your body jolt against the sink, and with every moan that left your lips, Dani squeezed your waist harder, as if she wanted to carve into you that you were hers.

Her strokes were slow, deliberate, almost in an agonizing rhythm.

She watched your expression through the mirror, taking in the way you writhed as she pushed in and out of you, so painfully slow.

Dani smiled, satisfied with every reaction of yours, as if she could dominate your body with just that steady, unyielding gaze.

“You belong to me,” she leaned in closer to your ear and whispered, her voice low and dripping with desire. “And I’m gonna make you feel it, more and more.”

Her movements grew heavier, faster.

One hand slid down over your hip, pulling you even harder against her, while the other came up to grip your face, forcing you not to look away from your own reflection — from your own desire staring back at you through her eyes.

“Look at you,” Dani continued, her voice almost a growl. “Look at how wrecked you are, just for me.”

Your body arched, muscles tight, while your breathing grew more ragged with every second. Dani took the chance to intensify her pace, thrusting firmly, making your body respond in waves of pleasure.

You could feel the heat of her body, the strength of her grip, and the way her eyes never left yours. It was as if, through the mirror, you two had become one.

She tilted her head, pressing her mouth against your neck, biting and sucking slowly, while her pace grew quicker and quicker.

“It’s only you,” she murmured, her teeth grazing your skin. “Only you who makes me feel like this.”

The mirror reflected everything: your bodies pressed together, your eyes clouded with lust and pleasure, the loud sound of your bodies colliding, mixed with the wet sounds your pussy made as it swallowed her cock completely.

It was all too much — the way Dani made you feel so good, the way her cock filled you so perfectly, hitting practically against your cervix.

By now, your moans and Dani’s were so loud that anyone passing nearby would know exactly what was happening inside.

It was so filthy, that faint guilt creeping in at the thought of fucking your girlfriend in the university locker room where anyone could walk in at any moment and find you completely given over to her.

But your mind was too busy now, too lost in focusing on the relentless thrusts of Dani’s cock inside you to form a single coherent thought.

Daniela, on the other hand, had her nails digging into the skin of your waist, driving into you with thrusts so hard they made the cold marble sink tremble. You could barely keep your eyes open — she was so deep inside you, you couldn’t believe it was possible.

It was addictive, like a drug, the way she fucked you so well your eyes rolled back, the way she pushed every inch into you.

“D-Dani,” you managed, almost inaudible.

She kept pounding into you from behind, her rhythm unrelenting.

“Hmm?” the woman replied.

“I’m close, baby. I’m almost there,” you said between the loud moans spilling from your mouth.

Dani didn’t answer — not because she didn’t want to, but because she simply couldn’t.

Dani’s pace grew even faster, each thrust deeper, as if she wanted to take everything from you all at once. Her nails dug into your skin, holding you firmly against the sink while the mirror reflected your body completely given over.

“Then come for me,” she managed to murmur between moans, her heavy breath hot against your neck. “I want to see you fall apart just for me.”

Her words were the final spark you needed. Your whole body trembled, the wave of pleasure hitting so hard your legs nearly gave out. Your eyes rolled back, your mouth falling open in a drawn-out moan as Dani kept fucking you mercilessly, dragging out your orgasm until you were begging for air.

Feeling you clench around her, Dani groaned loudly, burying herself deep one more time before letting go too. Her body shook against yours, her low moans echoing through the locker room along with yours.

For a moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing and the wild beating of both your hearts. Dani stayed pressed against you, still inside, her lips placing soft kisses along your neck as if she wanted to seal the moment.

She smiled against your skin, her voice low and hoarse:

“Now… look at you,” she said, nodding toward the mirror. “Wrecked, mine, no room for anyone else.”

And you knew, staring at your breathless, satisfied reflection, that you could never doubt it again.

[bratbby333]

choso kamo — the boy next door

synopsis you were completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. but choso liked it that way. cw nsfw, stalking, somnophilia, voyeurism, overstimulation, dirty talk, cream pie wc 4.1k

author note i received three separate requests for pervy!choso, dom!choso, and boynextdoor!choso so i decided to combine them into one story to celebrate hitting 250 followers! eeek i love y'all so much, i hope this scratches the right itch in y'alls brains ♡ proofread and edited up by my favorite person in the known cosmos: @remlionheart *+:｡.｡ thank you for pushing me to finish this

Choso was a constant fixture in your life. For as long as you could remember, it was always you and him. His house neighbored yours and your families had become close over the past fifteen years. Your childhoods were intertwined, filled with joint pool parties, barbecues, and movie nights. The two of you even shared a babysitter when your parents would go out on double dates. You carpooled to school, played in the cul-de-sac until the streetlamps came on, snuck through each other's windows when your parents thought you were sleeping; inseparable. You guys even ended up at the same university after graduating high school. You were finally home for the summer and you couldn’t wait to spend time with your best friend, uninterrupted by the hecticness of college.

A brisk knock resonated through your home, the door answered by your mother. 

“Hey! It’s so nice to see you again,” Choso grinned, nodding gently as he stepped into your foyer. You perked up at the sound of his voice echoing through your house. It was difficult to see one another as much as you had wanted this semester; you both explored different hobbies and found separate friend groups while in college, but you always made sure to find the time. You hadn’t seen him in a few weeks, though; the stress of final exams kept the two of you apart. It had been far too long.

“How have you been, honey? How was your semester?” your mother chirped as she engulfed him in a quick embrace. The two of them shared genial words as they caught up with one another. They continued to chat before being interrupted by the heavy sounds of your excited feet thumping down the staircase. He turned to greet you, only to be entrapped in a bearhug, the momentum pushed his body into the wall behind him.

“Choso! Missed you so much,” you squealed, voice muffled as you buried your face into his chest. You breathed him in, the familiar scent of his cologne dancing through your nose. His cheek found the top of your head as his warm hands rubbed gentle circles into your back, rocking you side to side. Your mother smiled with adoration at the two of you. He squeezed you tight before he pulled away, peering down at you. You noticed a light dusting of pink that surfaced on his skin as you looked up at him, but chalked it up to the sweltered heat of summertime.

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” he replied before returning his gaze to your mother while still holding on to you. ”Exams were tough but I’m happy that it’s finally over,” he added.

His attention fell back to you as his hands rubbed against your arms, “But, I’m all yours for the summer!”

*ੈ ✩‧₊˚

You sat next to him on the floor, backs pressed against the foot of your bed. The two of you shared a pizza as a silly rom-com played on your TV. You took turns catching up on each other’s lives while the film faded into background noise. You felt renewed in his presence, the youthful glow of his features reminded you of how he was when he was younger. But your chest began to ache as you thought about how the time you spent with one another would become harder and harder to come by. The conversation lulled a bit, and you willed yourself to voice your concerns to Choso.

“Sometimes I wish we could go back to how things were,” you blurted, hands fidgeting with the pizza box. Choso quirked his eyebrow at the statement. You met his gaze, smiling softly, bringing your knees to your chest. You sighed deeply. Being away from him hurt more than you thought it would, and you never recognized how much you needed him until you saw less of him.

“I miss being a kid…I miss the way we were,” you continued, “Not a single care in the world. I feel like the older we get, the less we’ll see each other. I don’t want that, Cho,” you mumbled, reextending your legs. His heart thrummed at your earnest confession as he leaned forward and captured your hand in his.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere…I can promise you that, sweetheart,” he reassured, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand. 

The conversation quieted, his words of consolation seemed to ease your mind enough for you to fixate on the screen. He watched you through his peripherals as you giggled at the corniness of the movie. Choso tried his hardest to follow along, but there you were, sat before him in a thin tank top and skimpy pajama shorts. He sent a silent “thank you” to the heavens; the record-high heatwave that plagued your city gifted him such a magnificent sight.

He side-eyed you, his vision tracing along your body. He took another bite of his pizza as he drank you in; dinner and a show. His vision followed every dip and curve of your almost fully exposed legs. He was thankful that you felt comfortable enough around him to dress how you pleased, but his dark heart wished you were sitting in just a thong, or better yet, fully nude. His eyes meandered north, hovering over the peaks of cleavage that your shirt didn’t cover. He swallowed thickly, nearly choking on his food when another giggle erupted from you, your breasts bouncing as you laughed.

He smiled inwardly, your fear of losing him warmed his heart. He wasn’t going anywhere. How else would he be able to see you like this; all nostalgic for him, the desperate expression on your face sent waves of arousal through his veins. His desire to know how you’d look splayed out underneath him rocketed through his body as he envisioned your fucked out face when he feathered hot, wet kisses along your neck and plunged two thick fingers deep inside you…how pretty you’d look just for him. What sounds would you make when his throbbing cock was fully enveloped in your gushy walls? Would you whimper and whine? Would you cry out for him? Rake your nails down his torso with your eyes blown wide? He so badly craved the answers to his searing questions.

Your laughter panged through his chest, snapping him out of his trance. You were completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. But he liked it that way. You continued to sit so good for him, eyes casted toward the TV. If only you knew the innocent relationship you had manifested in that sweet little mind of yours was one-sided. For him, it was dirty–downright filthy and sinful. But you would never know that.

Blood rushed between his legs as he shifted on the floor. The movie had about twenty minutes left; he was trying to hold out until then. He was desperate for release, anxiously anticipating the thick load he would shoot out at the thought of you, though he would pretend that it was going inside of you, instead. Oh, how he wanted to breed you. How soft you’d look carrying his spawn. He shook his head as he cleared his throat, single handedly fighting off every demon known to man that was telling him to pounce on you. He couldn’t. It would ruin the close friendship that took years to curate. It would kick him off the pedestal you placed him so highly on, tarnish the clean-cut version of him in your parent’s mind. He battled with his own thoughts as he mindlessly stared at the TV. 

The end credits rolled and Choso stood abruptly.

“I’ll catch you tomorrow, okay? Gotta get some sleep,” he said, readjusting his pants. You looked up at him, confusion evident on your pretty face.

“I thought you were spending the night,” you pouted, before pushing yourself off the ground.

“I know…I’m sorry, sweetheart. But knowing us, we’d stay up all night watching TV and talking instead of actually sleeping,” he played off. The ache between his legs intensified at the thought of sharing a bed with you like you usually did when he slept over. But he can’t. Not tonight…not like this. Normally he was good about keeping his composure, but tonight was different. Your puppy dog eyes didn’t help, either. He so badly wanted to see those same eyes gaze up at him while his cock was shoved down your throat. His dick pulsated against the soft fabric of his shorts as he shadowed you toward your bedroom door, taking an internal note of how good your ass looked as your shorts rode up between your plush cheeks. He nearly lost it as you skipped down the stairs, your precious mounds bouncing in all the right places. You opened the front door for him, spreading your arms to hug him goodbye. He opted for a side hug, knowing damn well you would have been able to feel his hard on from the full-frontal contact. 

*ੈ ✩‧₊˚

You closed the door, pressing your back against it as you wondered what had gotten into Choso this evening. He was always up for a sleepover. You shoved your hurt down, embarrassed by your apparent clinginess. A shudder ran down your spine at the thought of your neediness pushing him away. Your warm body glided toward the fridge, throwing it open and basking in the cool air as you grabbed yourself a drink. You shook the shame from your mind as you shuffled back up the stairs. You peered out your window and into Choso's room; it was dark. He must’ve gone straight to bed. You opened the bay windows to your bedroom. The cool air danced through the panes, swirling around the confines of your dwelling. You inhaled deeply before stripping down, settling peacefully atop your sheets; it was far too warm to be under the covers.  

Choso surveyed you from the comforting shadows of his room. He did this frequently before the two of you had moved away, watching you get ready for bed with a firm grip on his shaft. 

“That’s it, pretty…take it all off f’me,” he muttered. His strokes sped up as he watched you undress, the moonlight that seeped into your room illuminated your heavenly body so perfectly. He huffed as he watched you retreat to your bed, his hand stilling around his cock. The thought of you wasn’t enough for him tonight. He needed you.

An hour or so passed before he ascended the tree that stood tall next to your window. His clammy hands gripped the railings that lined your small terrace as he heaved his body over, careful not to make a sound. He had done this many times before, whether his presence was expected or unbeknownst to you. He crept through the open window and entered your room, settling himself in the chair next to your bed. Your nude frame emanated the most ethereal energy, your bare chest rose and fell rhythmically, the soft gasps that fluttered from your parted lips sent blood straight to Choso’s groin. He palmed himself through his pants, leaning back a bit to shove them down his legs. His hand paced up and down his length agonizingly slow, before he stopped dead in his tracks as soft groans emerged from your throat.

“-oso,” was all that was audible. His blood ran cold as he leaned closer to your slumbered body, ears ringing in hopes to hear more. Was that–No…it couldn’t have been. You shifted a bit, another moan breaking through the silence of your room.

“Mmm…Choso,” you whimpered dreamily, one hand moving to rest just under your navel. His heart rate spiked. He watched as your hand traced lower, snaking its way to your precious cunt. You rubbed sleepy circles in your clit as your head lulled to the side, soft, sweet whimpers dancing from your parted lips. It was now or never. He pulled his shorts back up as he situated himself on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hand against your shoulder. 

You stirred a bit after a few gentle shakes of your body, your eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the room. Your body went rigid as your eyes focused on the outline of a person sitting before you, but the familiar smell of Choso met your nose and kept you from jumping out of your skin. You closed your eyes again, the hand that was playing with your wet cunt moved over your body to grab his hand, squeezing gently. Choso nearly broke down at the contact, the stickiness that he so badly needed graced his skin, numbing his brain. 

“Hey, Cho…y’scared me. Thought you weren’t sleeping over,” you murmured. Choso’s conscious worked overtime to keep his composure leveled as he exhaled deeply. 

“Seems like you needed me, though,” he chuckled. You hummed in response, your sleep-ridden mind not registering his comment. You began to doze off once again before panic rumbled through your body as you finally recollected the dream you were just immersed in. Then the realization hit. You shot upright, tearing your hand away from Choso as you grabbed for the covers, attempting to shield your naked body from him. You clicked on your bedside lamp, turning to Choso with your brows furrowed deeply. Your best friend just caught you in the middle of a wet dream. A dream about him. Embarrassment coupled with shame as you held the sheets tight against your body. You were thoroughly confused–what was he even doing here? How much did he hear? You wanted to protest, to plead your case, to interrogate him. A million questions buzzed around your brain, but his hand was quick to cover your mouth. 

“S’okay, sweetheart. It’s just me,” he soothed. He kicked his shoes off and kneeled beside you, hand still firm against your face. Your shoulders were tense, but you relaxed a bit at the baritone voice that fell from his lips.

“Did you have a nice dream?” His question seemed rhetorical. He felt your face flush underneath his palm as you nodded slowly. He removed his hand and you spoke up immediately.

“How’d you know I–”

“Was watching you sleep,” he shrugged. “I’ve wanted you for so long…figured it was a lost cause. But it seems the feelings are mutual, huh, sweetheart?” he cooed, his body loomed over yours as his palm brushed your face, cradling your cheek.

“You were tryin’ so hard to fight it…to pretend those dirty feelings for me didn’t exist…isn’t that right?” He mused. You glanced down at his crotch, the heavy bulge pressed firm against his thin shorts. You audibly gulped, your breath caught in your throat before meeting his eyes. You nodded at him again.

“Bet you dressed like that on purpose…such a tease,” he chastised, thumbing your cheek.

“Gotta make up for lost time, yeah?” He ripped the duvet off of you and moved so he was hovering over you, your body laid out underneath him, his arms placed on either side of your head. 

“Cho…I—we shouldn’t,” your voice wavered, suddenly unsure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. Your hands rested on his broad shoulders. “I don’t wanna lose you…don’t wanna ruin what we have,” you added, worry painted across your face, eyes fluttering back and forth between his. You were splayed out beneath him, fully nude, every dark secret of yours laid out in front of Choso. The hungry look in his eyes caused your arousal to drip onto the sheets beneath you. 

“Wanted this for years, pretty girl. I already told you I’m not goin’ anywhere,'' his head dipped down to lick a thick stripe down your neck. “You gonna let me take care of you now?” he questioned, lips pressed against your flesh, nipping at the sensitive skin. Your back arched immediately at the sensation. You moaned softly in response as you ran your hands up and down his toned back. 

“Tell me, pretty girl,” his fingers danced down your body, teasing the skin around your core. “Tell me you want me as much as I’ve wanted you,” he whispered in your ear. 

“W-want you…Cho. So bad…needed you for s-so long,” you begged, your brain fogged and voice airy while your hands clawed desperately at his back. He smirked at you as he sat back on his heels, tearing his clothes from his body. Your eyes dragged up and down the man you had grown up with. A part of you knew how you felt about him, knew how much you needed him. But you didn’t understand the full depth of that need until he was kneeled before you, perspiration glistening along his toned body as he repositioned, laying himself along the bed, his face settled right above your dripping cunt. The way he looked at you through his luscious, jet-black lashes set your pounding heart ablaze. 

You couldn’t fully comprehend what was happening. All you could feel were the sharp aches in your core as he teasingly ran his fingers through your slit. He smiled against your thigh as he plunged his fingers in immediately. You gasped at the intrusion before succumbing to the pleasure as the pads of his fingers massaged your sweet spot.

There was a sense of urgency behind his movements; the lack of time he gave you to adjust to the stretch, the way he was thrusting so fervently into you and how hungrily he bit at your flesh–it was overwhelming. He pumped into you, tirelessly working to coax an orgasm out of you. The first of many. He tilted his head down to watch his fingers disappear inside of you. He used his other hand to rub your sensitive clit, before quickly replacing it with his tongue. He wanted to drink you in for as long as he could, your juices satiating the hungriest part of him.  

His eyes blew wide, “Fuck–you’re so sweet, pretty girl,” he breathed, lapping at your core. He needed more, needed you to fall apart on all of him–his fingers, his mouth, his cock. You were going to take everything he gave you. You cried out for him, your hips spasming against the bed. He grinned before latching back on to your clit, sucking harshly, working into you like it was his life’s mission to please you. And in his mind, it was. He was set on releasing a decade’s worth of pent-up frustration on your pretty little body.

“F-fuck Cho–ah!–I’m gonna…” your voice trailed off as your pussy clenched down on his fingers. He groaned at the tightness, tongue still swirling around your sensitive bud. A shudder ran down your spine as your orgasm ripped through your body. He continued to pump into you, suckling harshly against your clit before swirling around your entrance to ensure he drank up every drop. 

He knew he should wait and give you time to recover. But the way your body twitched and writhed for him ripped away the sense of gentleness and morality that he usually had. It was all too much. He wanted to ruin you, to punish you for holding out on him for so long. He needed to be balls deep, needed to mold you around his cock–he had waited years for this. He sat up abruptly, wrapping your shaking legs around his waist as he lined himself up with your soaked entrance. Your chest heaved and your eyelids grew heavy while your body worked through the comedown. He pushed into you, fully sheathing himself inside your pulsating walls. Your eyes widened while your hands pushed against his abdomen. 

“Wait, Cho–”

“S’okay, sweet girl. I got you…focus on me,” he soothed, his pelvis flush against you as he took a hold of your wrists, pushing them over your head and pressing them against the headboard. He found an unrelenting tempo in you. You body spasmed and squirmed at his pace, jolting each time his thick cock brushed against your still sensitive g-spot. He was stuffed so deep inside of you, savoring the way your messy pussy sucked him in. He released your hands and leaned back, finding his bearings on your hip bones, pulling you toward him to meet his thrusts. Grunts rumbled from deep in his chest as he felt you clench around him. He looked down to watch himself disappear inside you, the squelching sounds and labored moans that filled the room made him choke.

“Nasty fuckin’ girl…you’re lovin’ this aren’t ya?” he teased. You couldn’t fathom a response. Your body had passed the point of overstimulation as his brutal pace pulled another earth-shattering orgasm from your wrecked body, painting his abdomen with your squirt. He dropped his head back, animalistic sounds flying past his lips as the warm spray splattered onto his skin. He pulled out of you before shoving right back in. You cried out, body trying to squirm out of grasp.

“C-can’t…s’too much,” you sobbed out. You meant it, it was too much. But the pleasure that clawed its way through your trembling frame was unreal; addictive, even. He simultaneously numbed your body and made you feel every sensation in the known universe. 

“Uh uh…almost done, pretty–stay right there,” he growled, “Just give me one more.” He wanted to live in this moment forever. Every stolen glance, dirty thought, and shameful ejaculation to the thought of you was nothing compared to the way your pretty little pussy clenched around him. He had ached over the mere thought of you for years and his body brimmed with arousal at his darkest dreams coming to fruition. And though he wanted to paint your sloppy walls with his thick seed, the wanton desire for you overpowered his need for release.

Your eyes rolled back in your skull as your shaking hands searched for any part of him to hold on to. You were a panting mess, fat tears running down your face. And it was all for him. He was drunk on the way your fucked out face lazily looked up at him as you fell apart on his cock. He made quick work of burning that image on the inside of his eyelids.

“Doin’ so good. Stay with me, sweetheart,” he grunted, his hips slamming into you. It was so sloppy now…so nasty. He fucked into you with feverish passion, and your body shook as the coils in your tummy crept up once again. 

“C’mon…just one more. Know you can do it,” he urged, his aching cock absolutely obliterating you. His fingertips gripped your flesh so tightly, he prayed it would bruise. He hoped his mark would be left on you, an aching reminder that you belonged to him. You always had. He fucked into you, his tip kissing your cervix so perfectly. You cried out, clenching down on him again, your third orgasm crashing through you in a blinding haze. 

“S-shit…so good. God–you’re fuckin’ milking me,” he growled out as he twitched inside, swears and praises cascaded from his parted lips as he chased his own release. It only took a few more thrusts before his hips stuttered against you and he finished deep inside, pumping you full of his cum. He remained sheathed within your walls, his palms running up and down your dazed out frame.

He leaned down, catching your lips in a needy, wet kiss. You were stunned into silence, your body cemented to the bed, convinced that you had lucidly dreamed this entire ordeal. You winced at the ache of Choso finally pulling out, missing the deep stretch of his cock as he leaned over to scour your drawers for a rag to clean you up. He feathered gentle kisses after each pass of the cloth. He laid by your side and you curled into him immediately, his arms snaking around your fragile body. 

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you whispered, breath shaking. He smiled before kissing the top of your head. “But I’m so happy it did,” you added, pressing yourself deeper into his side as his fingers brushed along your skin, soothing you toward a deep, satisfying slumber. Choso reveled in the dream-like trance he found himself in. His heart soared at his achievement that was years in the making, his body crossing the line that divided reality with heaven. He finally got you, and he was never, ever letting you go.

*ੈ ✩‧₊˚

author notes: thank you so so so much for 250 followers...i literally cannot believe it. if i could remove a piece of my heart and send it to y'all i would

my inbox is open and i'm always working thru my requests, feel free to send your suggestions here ☾

every like, comment, and reblog makes me sob uncontrollably...your support means the world to me xx

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[sistertotheknowitall]

Masterpost

“But to the BatFam? That is just Some Guy. A random dude - if you will.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m missing my spleen.”

“Oh cool, yeah, missing organs suck. I’m missing a kidney and part of my liver. Oh! And my gallbladder but that was more of a necessary evil, it was like, poisoning me or something.” Danny was so focused on applying pressure to his wound (and maybe being a bit too light headed) that he didn’t notice how silent his friend had gotten. Like-wise the comms had gone equally quiet as Gotham’s vigilante family realized that they knew very little about this kid.

It was concerning how quickly they all started to see him as a friend considering it was them as vigilantes he interacted with the most. Tim was the only one who saw him frequently when out of the suit because he was a regular at Danny’s day job. (He worked as a barista in the coffee shop Tim favored.) The others saw him occasionally but more often than not it was just in passing. Steph, Duke, and Dick had to stop themselves from approaching him on the street.

It was odd, one day he had just moved to Gotham, seeming to appear out of nowhere, and then the next he was a constant presence in their lives. Usually armed and ready with a concerning or odd quip, it had started with him being another victim of the city’s petty criminals and had snowballed from there.

Now it wasn’t like the bats saw Danny everyday, but it was expected that he would cross paths with at least three of them before the end of the week. They ran into him more often than any other Gothamite, including the criminals and rouges they fought.

At first the constant meetings by “coincidence” was suspicious. If he wasn’t the one being saved from a mugging, kidnapping, or city wide villain assault, then he was near by and trying to help.

(“Trying to help” usually meant drawing attention to himself so the original victim could escape. Once it had meant Danny armed with a baseball bat against four grown men. Bruce and Dick have tried to talk to him about putting himself in harms way but the kid is surprisingly elusive when he wants to be. Yet, even when avoiding Batman and his eldest, Danny could be found on the patrol route of another family member.)

But honestly? The guy seemed just as exhausted as they were of seeing each other. By the twelfth time in a month, Danny had accused them of stalking him.

The background check Bruce and Tim had run came back clean and he never seemed to be involved in the various criminal activities. He was just there, a weirdly unlucky bystander. So as far as Dick and the others could see, Danny was a completely normal dude. He just said strange things and wasn’t intimidated by them, he actually made it a point to be unhelpful sometimes. When trying to learn his name he gave them the run around for two months. (“I know about stranger danger. I don’t care how often you say you’re the ‘good guys.’ I’m not falling for it.”)

On one memorable occasion Danny had disappeared for a week and a half. When they started to assume the worse, he popped back up behind the counter at work. Tim had relaxed significantly when he entered the shop to Danny organizing pastries in the display case. Once he’d placed his order, the young CEO asked Danny if he’d been on vacation. To which Danny had just sighed and told Tim “I wish, but no I was called to court to handle some affairs I couldn’t get out of.” (After a check to see if Danny had gotten charged with something and coming back empty, Tim had concluded that it was an odd way to say he had had jury duty.)

Thinking about it now, outside a stray comment or two, Danny didn’t talk about himself or his life. They knew he didn’t have a good relationship with his parents, “they were much more goal oriented than that joke of a kidnapper, but I think drugs do that to a person.” (It was still unclear if he meant his parents were kidnappers themselves or on drugs.) They knew he had an older sister who would “kill me again if she finds out I was in another bank robbery.” They also knew he was, possibly, depressed after last week’s comment of “is it considered murder if you’re already dead but, like, still alive?” (Damian had saved him from a drug ring but after another “baby ninja” comment the young Robin had threatened to give Danny back to his would-be murderers.)

Dick knew Danny was a weird guy who never wanted to elaborate on the things he said. (Jason was still confused on what he meant by “rotted milk soul.”) That didn’t mean the comments themselves didn’t say a lot about him. And tonight’s comment, accompanied by the prominent and jagged autopsy scars, said more than Danny was probably willing to share.

Part one

[storyweavingspider]

I know I’m incredibly lucky to have even part of my family be decent people bc lol trans, but I really feel like Im blessed by my grandma’s presence in my life. She hasn’t been a constant presence in my life due to distance (I grew up in Montana and she lives in Virginia) but especially since coming out she’s been. Impactful? For me.

When I came out to her and the family, she instantly accepted me and saw/treated me as a woman and has never treated me like I’m lesser for being trans or treated me with anything less than love.

The reason why what *should* be the baseline (but isn’t so often) stands out to me with her is because decades ago, she had an untreated bout of gangrene that thanks to medical racism/sexism (because lol Black woman in Virginia) thinking she “needed a psychiatrist instead”, became a 108°f+ fever before she got treated.

Her body quite literally cooked her brain, and she not only survived but remains one of the sharpest women I know, with the primary effect of the resulting damage being that her brain doesn’t let her learn new things easily - she often talks about how much she wants to learn how to use/work with computers but hasn’t found a way to do so that works with her disability yet.

But even with a *literal disability that makes learning/retaining new things hard for her*, I can’t think of a single time she’s misgendered me or treated me like a “man” since I came out. And I just. I don’t know that just makes me feel loved on such a deep level and I just love her so much. It had been a while since I talked to her and I got off the phone with her maybe 30 minutes ago and I still feel so loved that I want to cry in happiness about it. I just really wanted to share this with y’all ig.

[itsnesss]

Hey babe, I have a little request if you’re open to it !!

Could you maybe write something Kimi Antonelli x fem!reader where she’s still in high school and doesn’t come from money at all? Like she feels super out of place in his world — all the hotels, race weekends, the fancy people, and she kind of feels like she’s not “enough.”

But he’s just… soft. Gentle. The kind of guy who makes her feel safe, like she does belong, even when everything feels overwhelming.

I’d love something comforting, maybe with a tiny bit of angst because… identity crisis hits hard sometimes.I just feel like we don’t get enough of that dynamic. Golden boy driver and the girl who still takes the bus to school. No pressure at all! But if it ever inspires you… I will cry. In the best way.

Thank you so much if you do fill my request and of course I understand if you don’t. Have a lovely day!

𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 | kimi antonelli × fem!reader

summary | feeling out of place in his world is constant, the stares, the luxury, the silent judgment. still, his hand finds yours, his presence steady and soft

warnings | angst (insecurity, identity crisis), emotional vulnerability, a sense of feeling out of place, soft romance

word count | 1.2 k

🖇 more ka12 🖇 f1 masterlist

Sometimes it feels like Kimi’s world shines too brightly.

And not in a romantic way, not like “his smile lights up the room.” No. It’s real shine.

Lights, cameras, watches that cost more than your house, impossible cars, and people who walk like the ground belongs to them.

You don’t come from that.

You come from broken alarms, crowded public transport, running not to be late. From counting coins, from saying “no, thanks” when invited to things you can’t afford. From that kind of life.

And yet… here you are.

In a hospitality lounge full of people who look like they walked out of magazines, with their designer sunglasses and conversations that revolve around sponsorships, race strategies, and private jets. And you, sitting in a corner, staring at your phone like you’ve got something going on.

The screen is black. No signal. No messages. No escape.

You pretend you’re fine.

You say it’s all cool. That you’re used to it. That you’re enjoying the experience. But inside… inside you feel tiny. Invisible. Like you snuck into a party you were never invited to.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is soft. Calm. Like him.

You look up. There he is. Kimi. Standing in front of you with that unshakeable calm. He looks at you like he actually wants to know the truth. Like he really cares.

“Yes,” you reply quietly. “Just… checking if my sister messaged me.”

A lie. You have no data. But you’re not about to tell him you’re on the verge of crying in front of all these people. That you feel so out of place it’s hard to breathe.

Kimi doesn’t say anything. He just sits beside you, without invading, without pressing. He doesn’t try to fill the silence with empty words. He just is.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

Before you can say anything, he slips off his team jacket and puts it over your shoulders. It’s big, soft, with that scent that’s so him it makes you dizzy. You want to tell him it’s okay, that you’re fine… but you’re not.

So you let yourself sink into it.

And for a second, everything else fades. The noise, the stares, the world.

It’s just you, Kimi’s jacket, and the warmth of someone who doesn’t ask you to fit in, just to be there.

He doesn’t talk. You don’t either.

Eventually, the hospitality is quieter. The loud laughs fade, and the expensive suits vanish down the halls. Most people have gone off to team dinners or events you’d never be invited to directly. Kimi offered to go, of course. But you could tell by his tone he wasn’t obligated. And you just wanted silence.

So he stayed. With you.

Now you’re walking through the hotel hallways. He’s beside you, hands in his pockets, like nothing around him could touch him. But you… you’re a knot inside.

You don’t talk much. Neither does he. But somehow, it’s always been enough.

Until it isn’t.

You’re about to step into the elevator when your eyes fill with tears. You don’t even know why now, why here, but something just breaks.

Kimi turns to look at you, but he says nothing. Just watches, attentively. Like he senses the storm even if the first drop hasn’t fallen.

“I feel like I don’t belong here,” you whisper, unable to stop yourself. “Not in this hotel. Not in your races. Not in your life.”

You didn’t plan to say it. It just… came out.

“I still take the bus to school,” you go on, your voice shaking. “I’ve worn the same sneakers for three years. I have no idea how a VIP paddock works or how I’m supposed to act. Everyone here knows how to move, how to talk, how to dress. I’m just trying not to look like an idiot.”

Tears roll hot down your cheeks. You wish you could stop them, but at the same time… why bother?

“And I like being with you, Kimi. A lot. But sometimes I wonder if I’m just ruining something. If I’m just… a burden in the middle of all this.”

He listens in silence. Not a single interruption. No weird faces. No laughter. No trying to downplay what you feel. He just waits.

The elevator hasn’t even been called.

He takes a step toward you. Then another. And hugs you. Tightly. Wordlessly.

And in his arms, you feel something you didn’t realize you needed so badly: safety.

“You’re not a burden,” he says softly, against your hair. “You’re the only one who makes me feel like none of this matters so much.”

You hold on to him, not saying anything. Because you don’t know how to explain what it’s like to be you in this world. Because you don’t understand how someone like him can make all that hurt less.

But he does.

He does.

You don’t know how long you stay there, wrapped in his arms by the elevator. Maybe seconds, maybe a lifetime. But when he finally pulls back just a bit, it’s only to really look at you.

“Do you want to go up?” he asks, in that soft tone that seems to calm everything.

You nod.

You don’t talk much on the way to the room, but he stays close. His hand brushes yours now and then, no rush. Like he knows you need that contact to stay together.

When you arrive, he opens the door with his key and steps aside so you can go in first. It’s one of those massive suites you only see in photos. Everything elegant, minimal, spotless. But what strikes you most is that it smells like *him*.

And that, somehow, makes you feel safe.

“Do you want anything? Water? A hot shower?” he asks, closing the door.

“I just want to… be here a while,” you whisper.

He nods and hands you one of his t-shirts, like he already knows you prefer something comfy. Then he sits at the edge of the bed and waits. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t stare at you like you’re weak. Just gives you space.

When you come out of the bathroom wearing his shirt, you feel lighter. Like the water and the silence gave a piece of yourself back.

Kimi’s already lying down, leaning against the headboard, TV on without sound. He’s not watching anything. He’s just waiting.

You crawl in next to him, and he lifts the blanket without a word. You slip under it, and he wraps his arm around you, pulling you to his chest. Your head fits perfectly under his chin. His breathing is calm. Steady.

“You don’t have to be like them, you know?” he murmurs after a while. “I like who you are. Not because of what you have or don’t have. Because of how you see the world. How you see me.”

You bite your lip, eyes tight shut, as if that could stop more tears.

“But your world… it’s so different.”

“And that’s why I want you to stay you,” he answers right away. “Because my world sometimes needs someone like you to pull it out of the bubble. Someone real.”

You nestle closer. He holds you gently, as if silently promising to protect you from everything that makes you feel small.

“And if I never fit in?” you whisper.

“Then I’ll make room until you do.”

[pomegranatelifethis]

We love you

English is not my native language

The Wayne Manor was a labyrinth of shadows and secrets, its towering walls steeped in history and whispers. To you, it was home—not because of the grandeur, but because of the people who filled its halls. The ones who saw you, who knew you, in a way that made your chest ache with warmth. Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Cass, Steph, Duke—they were your family, your anchors, their affection a constant tide that kept you afloat.

But there was one shadow you could never quite reach. One figure who stood apart, his presence as distant as the stars you could see from the manor’s rooftop.

Bruce Wayne.

Your father.

The thought of him stung, a quiet bruise you carried beneath your skin. You didn’t hate him—how could you? He was Batman, the man who saved Gotham night after night, the man who had taken you in when the world had left you orphaned. But love, you’d learned, wasn’t the same as presence. And Bruce’s love, if it existed, was a ghost you could never catch.

“Dinner’s ready!” Dick’s voice echoed through the manor, bright and warm, pulling you from your thoughts. You closed the book you’d been pretending to read and stood, smoothing your sweater. The library was your sanctuary, but the dining room was where your family came alive.

As you descended the grand staircase, you felt eyes on you before you saw them. Jason leaned against the banister, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Took you long enough, kid. Thought you were gonna make us send a search party.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile crept onto your face. “You’d love the excuse to be dramatic.”

“Guilty,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulders as you reached the bottom step. His touch was grounding, a reminder that you were wanted here, even if one person’s absence loomed large.

The dining room was a riot of noise and warmth. Tim was hunched over his tablet, muttering about some case until Steph swiped it from him with a teasing grin. “No work at the table, nerd. Y/N’s here, and that’s way more important.”

Tim flushed but didn’t protest, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “She’s right. How’s your day been?”

“Fine,” you said, sliding into your seat. The word was a reflex, but the way Cass’s sharp eyes studied you from across the table told you she’d noticed the slight hitch in your voice. She didn’t say anything, but her hand brushed yours as she passed you a plate, a silent promise: I’m here.

Damian was next, setting a glass of water in front of you with a precision that bordered on reverence. “You didn’t eat lunch,” he said, his tone accusatory but his eyes soft. “You will eat now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yes, sir.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile, before he turned to argue with Dick about something trivial. Duke, sitting to your left, leaned in. “They’re ridiculous, but they’re all yours,” he said, his voice low and fond.

Yours. The word settled in your chest, heavy and sweet. They were yours—your siblings, your protectors, your family. Their love was fierce, unrelenting, sometimes suffocating in its intensity. You’d seen the way their eyes darkened when someone outside the family got too close, the way they orchestrated your life with a care that bordered on obsession. But it was a cage you didn’t mind, because it was built from devotion.

The only one missing was Bruce.

His seat at the head of the table was empty, as it often was. Patrol, you told yourself. The mission. Gotham. There was always a reason, always an excuse. You’d stopped expecting him to show up years ago, but the absence still gnawed at you, a quiet ache that never quite faded.

“Where’s B?” you asked, keeping your tone light, as if the answer wouldn’t matter.

Dick’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but he recovered quickly. “Out on a lead. You know how he is.”

You nodded, spearing a piece of chicken with your fork. You did know. Bruce was a storm, always moving, always out of reach. To him, you were a responsibility, a name on a list of duties. He’d saved you, given you a home, but his heart? That was locked away in the Batcave, buried beneath the cowl.

Jason’s hand tightened on your shoulder, a silent warning not to dwell. “He’s an idiot,” he muttered, loud enough for the table to hear. “Doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“Jason,” Dick warned, but there was no real heat in it.

“What? It’s true.” Jason’s eyes met yours, fierce and unyielding. “You’re worth ten of him, and we all know it.

The table erupted in agreement—Steph’s cheerful “Hell yeah!” blending with Tim’s quiet nod and Damian’s sharp “Tt, obviously.” Cass squeezed your hand, and Duke flashed you a grin that promised he’d have your back, always.

You laughed, the sound bubbling up despite the ache. “You guys are ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” Steph shot back, winking.

And they were. You felt it in every glance, every touch, every moment they carved out for you. Dick, who’d cancel patrols just to watch movies with you. Jason, who’d sneak you onto rooftops to stargaze, his gun never far but his arm always around you. Tim, who’d hack into your school’s system to make sure you never got in trouble. Damian, who’d paint your portrait in secret, then blush when you found it. Cass, who’d teach you to fight not because you needed to, but because she wanted you to feel strong. Steph, who’d fill your room with silly notes to make you smile. Duke, who’d tell you stories of Gotham’s light to remind you there was hope.

They were your family, your everything. Their love was a wildfire, consuming and protective, and you were at its heart, safe and cherished.

But still, you couldn’t help glancing at the empty chair.

The next morning, you woke to the soft clink of metal outside your door. Blinking sleep from your eyes, you found a tray waiting—fresh coffee, pancakes, and a single rose, its petals still damp with dew. A note in Damian’s precise handwriting read: You will eat breakfast. – D.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. This was their way, your siblings. They didn’t just care—they insisted. Their love was a demand, a vow, and you were its willing recipient.

Downstairs, the manor was alive. Dick was in the kitchen, flipping more pancakes, while Tim and Steph argued over the best syrup. Cass sat on the counter, watching you with a quiet smile, and Jason was cleaning his guns at the table, a habit Bruce would’ve hated but one you found oddly comforting.

“Morning, superstar,” Dick called, sliding a plate toward you. “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, taking a seat. “Thanks for the food, Damian.”

Damian, perched on a stool with a book, didn’t look up. “It was necessary.”

Jason snorted. “He means he loves you.”

Damian’s head snapped up, a blush creeping across his cheeks. “Todd, silence yourself.”

You laughed, and the sound drew Tim’s attention. He abandoned his argument with Steph to sit beside you, his laptop already open. “Hey, I was thinking—wanna help me with a case later? I could use your brain.”

“Only if I get to pick the music,” you teased.

“Deal,” he said, his smile soft but his eyes intense,like he was memorizing you.

This was your life now: surrounded, adored, needed. They didn’t just love you—they craved you, their affection a living thing that wrapped around you, tight and unyielding. You’d noticed the way they orchestrated your days, keeping you close, keeping you theirs. A classmate who’d gotten too flirty had mysteriously transferred schools. A teacher who’d been too harsh had suddenly retired. You didn’t ask questions, because you knew the answers lived in the shadows of their eyes.

And you didn’t mind. Not really. Because in their love, you were whole.

But Bruce… Bruce was a different story.

You saw him that afternoon, passing through the manor like a specter. He was in his civilian clothes, but the weight of the cowl clung to him, his shoulders tense, his eyes distant. You were in the living room, curled up with a book, when he walked by.

“Bruce,” you said, your voice softer than you meant it to be.

He paused, turning to you. For a moment, you thought you saw something—regret, maybe, or longing. But then his expression hardened, the mask of the Bat slipping into place. “Y/N,” he said, his voice clipped. “You’re… doing alright?”

It wasn’t a question, not really. It was an obligation, a checkmark on his endless list.

“Fine,” you said, echoing your answer from dinner. The word felt hollow.

“Good.” He nodded, already moving toward the study. “I have work to do.”

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

You stared at the empty space where he’d been, your book forgotten in your lap. The ache was back, sharper now, a blade that cut deeper because you’d dared to hope. He was your father, but he didn’t see you. Not the way the others did.

“Y/N?” Cass’s voice was soft, her presence sudden but welcome. She sat beside you, her hand finding yours. “You’re sad.”

You shook your head, but the tears prickling your eyes betrayed you. “It’s stupid.”

“Not stupid,” she said, her voice firm. She squeezed your hand, her gaze fierce. “He’s wrong. Not you.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat heavy. “I just… I want him to care.”

Cass’s expression darkened, a rare flicker of anger crossing her face. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Before you could respond, Jason appeared in the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he took in your expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low, dangerous.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, but Cass’s grip on your hand tightened.

“Bruce,” she said, the word a condemnation.

Jason’s jaw clenched, and he crossed the room in three strides, dropping to his knees in front of you. “Hey,” he said, his voice softer now, meant only for you. “Forget him. You’ve got us. You don’t need him.”You nodded, but the tears spilled over, and suddenly you were surrounded. Dick was there, pulling you into a hug. Tim’s hand rested on your shoulder, steady and sure. Damian stood at your side, his posture rigid with protective fury. Steph and Duke hovered nearby, their presence a quiet promise.

“We love you,” Dick murmured, his arms tight around you. “We’re never leaving you.”

And in that moment, you believed them. Their love was a fortress, unyielding and eternal. Bruce’s absence was a wound, yes, but it was one they’d bandage with their devotion, their obsession, their everything.

You were theirs, and they were yours. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

[xo100]

Unwrapped feelings - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: At their birthday celebration, you feel upset when none of the gifts are for you. Lando reassures her of his love, making her feel cherished despite the oversight.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1494

୨ৎ

Lando Norris was the sun in her life, a constant, warm presence that filled her days with joy. She loved him deeply, and after three years of dating, her heart still fluttered when he looked at her the way he did. They were each other's best friends, sharing everything from their quiet nights at home to the busy life he led as a Formula 1 driver. Lando loved her, too. There was no question about that. He made sure to remind her with every touch, every soft kiss, and every whispered word when they were alone. But no matter how much love existed between them, there was a silent, looming cloud that she tried so hard not to notice. His friends.

They never liked her, and she couldn’t quite understand why. She wasn’t arrogant or boastful. In fact, she was quite the opposite—introverted, sweet, and often quiet, especially around large groups. She wasn't overly outgoing or dramatic, and she certainly wasn’t trying to steal Lando away from his friends. But still, whenever they were together with his friends or the rest of the team, she could feel their subtle distance. The sideways glances when she spoke, the quick change of conversation when she joined a group—it all added up.

It wasn’t as though she had never tried to bridge the gap, either. Early in their relationship, she had gone out of her way to be friendly, to make conversation, and to show interest in their lives. But the more she tried, the more it felt like she was only getting further away from them. Over time, she stopped trying so hard, and she retreated back into the quiet comfort of just being by Lando’s side. After all, he was the one she loved. As long as they were okay, nothing else should matter, right?

But it did. Even if she wouldn’t admit it out loud, it hurt that the people closest to Lando—the ones he spent so much of his life with—didn’t seem to care for her. And that quiet hurt always seemed to linger at the back of her mind.

This weekend, however, was supposed to be special. A day for both of them, a moment to celebrate not only Lando’s birthday but hers as well. The idea to celebrate their birthdays together was something Lando had insisted on. They were only a few days apart, and since Lando had such a busy schedule, he suggested one big party where they could celebrate together. He even offered to host it at the McLaren Technology Centre, a place he called home and wanted to share with her.

“Everyone will be there,” he had said, his excitement bubbling over. “My friends, the team, some of the drivers. It'll be great!”

She had nodded with a smile, her heart hopeful that maybe this would be a chance to connect with everyone on a different level, in a more relaxed and festive atmosphere. Her own friends, though invited, couldn’t make the trip to England, and while she understood, she couldn’t help but feel a little bit lonely knowing she wouldn’t have her usual support system there. Still, this was about Lando too, and she wanted to focus on making sure he had the best time.

The night of the party had been a whirlwind. Lando was glowing, his energy infectious as he mingled with everyone, laughing and sharing stories. She stayed by his side for most of the night, smiling softly at his friends and the team members who came over to greet him, though she noticed the conversations were always directed toward him and never her. It stung, but she pushed the feelings aside. Tonight was supposed to be fun.

After hours of laughter, music, and food, the party wound down, and as the guests began to leave, Lando took her hand, guiding her toward a large table piled high with presents.

“Look at all this,” he grinned, his eyes twinkling as he took in the sight. “I think we’re going to need all day tomorrow to open them.”

She chuckled softly, nodding in agreement. There were a lot of gifts, far more than she had expected. She didn’t think either of them would need much, but it was still heartwarming to see how much effort people had put into celebrating them.

Or so she thought.

The next day, after a lazy morning spent in bed, they finally sat down to open the gifts. Lando was practically buzzing with excitement, while she was content to sit beside him, happy to enjoy the moment with him.

The first few presents were exactly what she had expected—personalized items for Lando. Some McLaren-themed memorabilia, a few playful gag gifts from his friends, and even a sleek, custom helmet from one of the drivers. She watched with a soft smile as he unwrapped each one, his grin widening with every thoughtful present.

But as more and more gifts were opened, a realization slowly started to creep in. Every single present was for Lando.

She tried not to let it bother her at first. After all, Lando was the one who had more friends here, the one with the larger circle. It made sense that most of the gifts would be for him. But as the pile grew smaller and not a single gift was addressed to her, the hurt became harder to ignore.

There wasn’t a single present for her.

Not one.

By the time they reached the last box, she felt her heart sink. She had tried to stay positive, tried to convince herself that maybe someone had forgotten to label a gift, or maybe they’d gotten mixed up in the rush of the party. But no. Every gift had been intentionally for Lando, and her name hadn’t even been a second thought.

“Wow,” Lando breathed as he looked at the collection of gifts surrounding them. “That was… that was a lot.”

She nodded quietly, trying to keep her smile in place. Her hands fiddled with the ribbon from one of the opened boxes, trying to distract herself from the growing ache in her chest.

“Hey,” Lando said softly, noticing her quietness. “You okay?”

She glanced up at him, his blue eyes filled with concern. She could see how much he cared, how much he genuinely wanted to make sure she was happy. It wasn’t his fault that his friends had overlooked her. It wasn’t his fault that she felt so out of place among them.

“Yeah,” she whispered, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. I’m just… happy for you. You got so many cool things.”

He frowned, clearly not convinced by her answer. “But you didn’t get anything.”

Her stomach twisted, and she hated that she was the one bringing down the mood. “It’s okay, Lando. Really. Today was for both of us, but I know how important you are to them. It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine, and he could tell. His brows furrowed as he scooted closer to her, taking her hand in his.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, lifting her chin so she would look at him. “It’s not fine if you’re upset. You’re important too. To me.”

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away. She didn’t want to cry, not over something as silly as gifts. But the hurt wasn’t just about the presents. It was about everything—the way his friends never really accepted her, the way she always felt like an outsider in his world.

“I just…” She swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. “I just feel like they don’t see me. Like I don’t belong here. I know I’m not outgoing or loud or… like them. But I try, and it never seems like it’s enough.”

Lando’s expression softened, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her close.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered against her hair. “I didn’t realize how much this was affecting you. But I promise, you do belong. You belong with me.”

His words were warm and comforting, but they didn’t erase the ache entirely. Still, being in his arms made her feel a little better. She rested her head against his chest, taking in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“You’re the most important person to me,” he continued, his voice gentle but firm. “And if my friends can’t see how amazing you are, then that’s their loss. I love you, and that’s what matters.”

She smiled softly, her heart swelling with love for him. Lando always knew how to make her feel better, even when the world around them felt like it was crumbling.

“I love you too,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other’s warmth. The gifts, the party, the friends—they all faded into the background as Lando held her close, reminding her that she was loved. And in that moment, that was enough.

୨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it. If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

[sailornymph]

Hey! Can you please do a relationship dynamics with Sasuke when they were genin ? Like wether they were on the same team or not and how they act together Infront and off front of people, something like that. You write what you want, because I don't really have a preference for something , I'm just not good at describing what I want 🥹

imperfect for you; sasuke uchiha

synopsis — genin!sasuke x genin!reader general hcs

a/n — a big thank you for 200+ followers in just a month. i am super grateful and excited for what the future brings!! and your description was perfect anon, thank you :)

— you never intended on getting the attention of sasuke uchiha, originally, only trying to prove a point to your parents. you may have been a rainbow baby, but you were far from weak and did not need their constant overbearing protection

— you weren’t the quickest fighter, but you relied heavily on strategy and it carried you thus far, finally taking the genin exams. embarrassingly pushing your mother, as she hugged you, telling you that you didn't have to do this

— passing your exam, you receive the second highest score, only missing a question or two more than sasuke

— you are placed on team 8, alongside kiba, hinata, and shino. while there were talks of you being placed on team 7, many of the sensei disagreed pointing out that while you had the second-highest score, you didn't have any special qualities

— while you are aware of the uchiha’s presence, you aren't initially attracted to him. there are too many girls in the class who already like him, and he is very rude, so why waste your time?

— you have your first encounter, when you cause a scene, arguing with neji. it was no secret that he was mean to hinata, but no one seemed to ever stand up to him

— you knew he was stronger, but you still stood your ground, defending your friend. you couldn’t even remember what happened. your last memory conscious was seeing kakashi and guy sensei standing in front of neji…and sasuke, before blacking out

— waking up in the hospital, with a broken arm and a blackened eye, you are immediately bombarded by your worried parents, scolding you, as they pepper your face with kisses. was this not enough proof that the shinobi life was not meant for you? not exactly. they stick around until you convince them that you are fine and they can go back to working

— as they are leaving, kurenai sensei enters along with your teammates, with gifts and hugs, glad that you are okay. despite having to scold you, for fighting, she is also proud of you, for standing up for what thought was right. spending time with them, hinata shares a bit of insight from the fight

— before neji could deliver the final blow, the uchiha had intervened. no one even knew he was watching, the two of them shared words no one could hear, but from the look of it…sasuke and neji were about to fight next until their sensei’s showed up stopping it

— with a stunned look on your face, you accepted their hug as they left, allowing a few other friends to visit. by the afternoon, you could only imagine your expression, when there was a soft knock before sasuke entered

“you’re okay,” he said, his usual stoic expression in place.

“i am, i heard about what you did, thank you,” you smiled, as he let go of the door, allowing it to shut behind himself.

“tch, why would you think you of all people could fight neji?” he asked you, frowning, catching you off guard.

“the way he treats my friend is unacceptable, because of something she had no control over-

“so you pick a fight with a hyuga, you’re smarter than that, y/n,” he glared.

staring perplexed by his choice of words, you furrowed your eyebrows. sure, you had the second-highest scores, but that could have easily been a matter of luck. however, you were never around sasuke, you weren't even friends with sakura or naruto, so how would he have known if you were smarter than picking a fight?

“i’ve seen you training until the sun is setting, you want to be stronger, you aren't annoying like the girls in our class. all they care about is getting my attention, yet, you never spared me a glance”

“what is your point?”

“you're smart and i find you…interesting,” he found himself struggling to form his thoughts into words, a dark pink hue appearing on his cheeks.

“oh? sasuke, you are interesting to me too, you're very cool and i’m sure you will be an amazing shinobi,” you smiled, making him shift his eyes.

“would you like to have some food? everyone has brought me so much, i don't want it to go to waste,” you offered, hoping to lighten the tension.

“what do you have?”

“chocolates, mochi, onigiri, and soup”

“just a bit, i don't care for sweets,” he mumbled, joining you.

— the cycle continued and you don’t think too much of it. sasuke visited you every evening, sometimes he would talk (it is usually you talking and he had short responses) but he mostly listened, only leaving once you started yawning too much, or the nurse told him he had to go

— finally the day came that you could leave, and struggling to pack your things, your arm in the sling, you were unsurprised by sasuke picking up your bag. following close behind you, you thanked him, leading him to your house

— as you arrive, before you can wish him farewell, your parents open the door. staring at sasuke, they immediately began to thank him, inviting him inside for dinner. he wanted to say no thank you, but your mother was already tugging him into your home, saying he could wait with you until dinner was ready

— apologetically leading him to your room, it was awkward sitting next to each other. your eyes glued to the floor, as he stared at all of the pictures you had on your wall. from trips with your parents, pictures with your teammates, or other friends who weren’t in your class

— your father finally entered the room, letting you both know that dinner was ready. you proceed to endure the most insufferable dinner. your parents continually praising sasuke, how he practically saved you, and how he should talk you out of becoming a shinobi, you should focus on taking over the family business, etc

— after it was over, you quickly walked sasuke out, apologizing once again for your embarrassing parents. he tells you there is no need to apologize, but you can see on his face, he is holding something back

“what is it? i know my parents can be annoying, but you're so red in the face,” you laughed, walking beside him.

“no, they're not that bad, naruto is worse,” he said, making you laugh.

“i guess, he seems cool enough to me, so what is it?”

“would you like to get ramen with me, tomorrow?”

“sure, is that all?”

“yes, good night,” he said, turning to walk away.

“good night,” you waved, going back to your house, stopping as you noticed your parent's eavesdropping.

“can i help you?”

“did sasuke ask you to go somewhere with you?”

“yes, we’re getting ramen tomorrow,” you said, furrowing your eyebrows.

“our baby is going on her first date,” your dad squealed like a schoolgirl.

“date?”

“honey, you didn't see the way he kept looking at you?”

“no, i’m going to bed,” you said, weirded out by them.

— all night you found yourself thinking about your parent's words. sasuke was being nice, even if he wasn't showing it on his face. did he like you? could you even like him back? you would have too much competition

— forcing yourself to go to sleep, you would let it go, until tomorrow and take things one thing at a time. from the time that you woke up, to the time that sasuke knocked on your door, were your parent's words. you had never even thought about dating, but here you were questioning everything

— going to the ramen shop, ordering your meals, you began to make conversation, until your food was placed in front of you

“you still have that distant look on your face”

“i-i like you a lot, y/n,” he admitted, his face turning red, as you didn't respond. were you surprised? disgusted? was the feelings mutual? sasuke felt sick to his stomach at the fact that you weren't responding.

“i like you too,” you finally said, smiling him.

“do you want to be my girlfriend?”

“sure,” you shrugged, picking up your chopsticks.

— he eventually walks you home, this time, his hand brushing against your own. stopping in front of your house. your heart is racing, as you peck his cheek, running inside

— your relationship remains lowkey until it is exposed on accident. he had been sick when a few classmates decided to stop by and check on him. he slept downstairs, letting you have his room, when he heard the knock. opening the door, he was met by multiple voices asking if he was okay. making your way downstairs, you froze making eye contact with your classmates. naruto pointed out loudly that you were wearing sasuke’s pajamas before the uchiha slammed the door in all of their faces.

— only for the two of you to eventually let them in, acting as if nothing happened, admitting that the two of you are together, but you quickly change the subject, while sasuke continues to ignore everyone

— sasuke is very cautious and dating isn't even a priority for him, so for him to be so willing to be in a relationship with you, he feels deeply for you

— genin sasuke has a wall around him that only you have managed to climb over, to get to his true nature. around others, he acts like everyone is insufferable, even you

— however, when you spend the night at his place, or he visits you, while your parents are away on business trips, you get to see the real sasuke

— he’s gentle, clingy, and quite sensitive. from the moment that he let you in, his arms around you, as he mumbled a small apology for ignoring you earlier

— he seeks your approval, without even realizing it, did you see him training today? what did you think? did he seem like he was getting stronger?

— he is easily jealous but tries to act like he's not. you, hinata, and kiba are like three peas in a pod, but he can't stand the boy. hinata is very clearly only into naruto, but the wild boy is always near you, taking your attention. he also can't be too sure, but he saw him staring a little too long at you for his liking

— while he is jealous, he can hide it very well because his ego keeps him in check, he is the last uchiha, which made him better than kiba, right? also, you were his girlfriend and didn't even think of other boys in that way

— going back to his gentle and kind nature, while he usually starts immature arguments, he is also the one to want to make up first. you were trying to include him in some fun with your classmates, but he wanted to seem cool, so said no, mumbling how you were being lame. passing a few words, you scoffed, going to hang with your friends, then going straight home

— later that day, your mom called you from your room, saying that sasuke was here. concealing your frown, you invited him into your room, his arms were around you the moment the door shut. his breath shaking, his heart pounding, as he apologized, scolding himself for how he spoke to you

— doesn’t say much during conversations pertaining to if you were married when you get older, your dream wedding, etc. he just states that he will eventually want to restore his clan, when he’s older, while blushing

— leading up to him leaving, he becomes colder, and distances himself. you’ll sleep over and he won’t say a word to you, simply holding your hand, deep in his thought

— during the night that he left, not even you could stop him, completely changing your entire relationship

running as fast as you could, you came to a stop, seeing sakura knocked out, while sasuke was about to walk away.

“sasuke, don’t do this. you’re going to leave everything behind, kakashi, your friends, me. he just wants to use you-

“i have to become stronger, y/n, to k-

“to kill itachi, i know, but this isn’t the way, please”

“i’m sorry”

“sasuke, you promised we would grow stronger together, we would get married and restore your clan,” you cried, as he turned to face you.

“i cannot restore my clan until i’ve had revenge,” he told you, holding your face, as you cried harder.

“take me with you, if you have to go. i can’t be without you”

“no”

“please, sasuke”

“you have your parents, friends, teachers, many who would be broken at the thought of you gone. you can not go where i will be”

“you said you loved me, if you love me, why are you leaving me like i mean nothing to you?” you shouted angrily, tears pouring down your face.

“meeting and loving you has been my greatest privilege. you’ve brought emotions to me that i haven’t experienced since my clan was still alive. my love for you is the exact reason why i must leave you here,” he said, appearing behind you, knocking you out — leaving you and sakura both on a nearby bench, as he left, going to join orochimaru.

[short-honey-badger]

Miss Twilight

You are a lower member of Baroque Works, but you are damn good at what you do, always bringing your boss even more than what he asks for when he sends you out on missions. You don't know it, but you've caught Crocodile's attention. It's just too bad he got himself arrested before he could express his interest in you. Now, he's on a mission to find you and get you back to his side.

Part 2 -> HERE Part 3 -> HERE Part 4 -> HERE Finale -> HERE

Crocodile doesn’t have many regrets in his life, but not making it known how much he wanted you before his untimely arrest was one of them. You’d been a lower ranking member of Baroque Works, but you’d proved yourself useful time and time again to him. Your ability to remain unassuming and gather information was invaluable, and after some time, Crocodile had begun to notice more about you. The confident way you carry yourself, that amused gleam you got in your eye when you found something humorous. Your presence had become an addiction, and Crocodile had found himself calling you to his office just to have you near.

But he hasn’t seen nor heard about your whereabouts since he broke out of Impel Down and created the Cross Guild. He had hoped that you would make your way back to his side after the news of his escape reached you, but it’s been months now, and still nothing.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Crocodile lifts his gaze from the paper he is reading to see Mihawk leaning in the doorway of his office, a glass of wine in one hand, and the other propped up on his hip. Those golden eyes are staring at him, the hawk’s head cocked to one side.

“Nothing is wrong with me,” He grumbles and tosses the paper on his desk. Mihawk scoffs and saunters further into the office, plopping down in the chair opposite the other man and crossing his feet at the ankles.

“Even the Clown can tell that there is something going on with you,” he drawls and takes a slow sip of his wine, staring at Crocodile over the rim of his glass. The older man has been more snappishly lately, quicker to anger, and the guild has suffered for it. At least three men have been dehydrated to the point of death just this week.

Crocodile sneers and swaps his cigar to the opposite side of his mouth, “An old employee of mine. I thought she would show up by now.”

He doesn’t like admitting to the other man. It felt like showing Mihawk a weakness, but it wasn’t like the swordsman would be turning on him anytime soon. They had struck up a respectful partnership, but Crocodile would kill over before he admitted he thought of Mihawk as a tentative friend.

“An old flame, then?” Mihawk asks, and cocks a brow, “I would have thought you to be above such trivial matters.”

Crocodile huffs and turns to stare out the window, looking out over Buggy Town and the tent city that grew larger every day, “No. I never had the chance to express my interest in her before strawhat ruined all my hard work.”

You’d been lucky that he had sent you out for another mission before the Strawhats had gotten to Alabasta, saving you from being taken to Impel Down with his other operatives after the navy showed up. He’d tried the number to your personal snail transponder, but the line had been dead, leading him to believe that you’d destroyed it after he’d been taken in. You’d been a constant on his mind since, leaving Crocodile wondering when he would be able to see you again.

“Why not put the word out that you’re looking for her?” Mihawk asks. He is curious to know what kind of woman you were to catch his co-leader’s attention. Crocodile had always put business before pleasure, and the older man was all about business.

“And let everyone on the Grand Line know that I’m looking for her? I’m not that desperate,” He grouches and stands from his chair, loping over to the window so that he doesn’t have to look at the other man. He doesn’t want to admit that he has already thought about putting some feelers out to see where you’ve disappeared off to, but he knew that you were the type to stay hidden if you wanted to stay that way. It was why you’d been so good at information gathering.

Maybe you’d joined someone else without him there to pay you, or maybe you were still biding your time before you came back to him. Or you'd finally been caught and were locked up in a cell somewhere. Crocodile didn’t know, and that frustrated him. He didn’t like not knowing where you were, not when you belonged at his side.

“Then stop acting like a teenager and stop killing our men if you’re not going to do anything about it. It brings down moral, you know,” Mihawk quips and watches Crocodile shrug one shoulder. He purses his lips, rolls his eyes, and stands. It wasn’t like he would be getting anywhere else with the other man, not now, at least. Mihawk drains the last of his wine and saunters to the door, “What was her name?”

He can’t help but ask, too curious about the woman who’d gained the older man’s attention.

Crocodile rolls his cigar around his mouth, annoyed with himself over the fact that he didn’t know your name, only the alias that you’d chosen when he’d brought you on.

“She went by Miss Twilight.”

--------

Hundreds of miles away, you sneeze loudly, but no one hears you from where you've been tucked away in the dark cell. You frown down at your hands, cursing yourself for being so careless as to get caught sneaking aboard. You knew you were better than this, but in your excitement to get back to Crocodile after hearing about the Cross Guild, you forgot yourself, and now look where you were. Locked up in the belly of a navy ship. How the hell were you supposed to get out of this one?

[neferaskingdom]

♡ What's Me Without You? | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: She’s his forbidden fruit—the one thing Max can never have but can’t stay away from. She’s his calm in the chaos, his greatest temptation, and the silent ache he’ll carry for the rest of his life.

A/N: This story was requested by @pinkinternetstarlight

MAX VERSTAPPEN MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Max Verstappen wasn’t sure when the ache in his chest had become a constant companion, a dull, hollow reminder of all he wanted but could never have. Maybe it had always been there, buried beneath the layers of fame, pressure, and expectation. Or maybe it had grown over time, with every laugh that escaped Y/n’s lips, with every soft touch of her hand on his arm, with every time she smiled at him like he was her whole world.

He didn’t deserve her. He never had.

Yet, she was always there, unwavering in her support, her loyalty, her love—though she would never admit it. Y/n wasn’t just his best friend. She was his home, the only person who saw every crack in his armor and stayed anyway.

Max leaned back against the couch, his head resting on her lap as her fingers combed gently through his hair. Her touch was soothing, her presence grounding him in a way no one else could. The silence between them wasn’t awkward; it was familiar, comforting. It was the kind of quiet that reminded him he wasn’t alone.

But even now, even with her hand softly stroking his head and her scent surrounding him, guilt gnawed at the edges of his mind.

He’d had a terrible race—another mechanical failure, another DNF that left him simmering with frustration. When he’d finally returned to his hotel room, all he wanted was her. Not Kelly, who was waiting for him back in Monaco with Penelope, but Y/n. It wasn’t right, and he knew it, but Y/n was the only one who could put him back together when he felt like he was falling apart.

“I came as soon as I could,” she whispered, her voice soft and laced with worry.

She always did.

It didn’t matter where in the world he was. It didn’t matter what she had going on. If he needed her, she came. She’d dropped everything to be here tonight, flying across time zones and leaving behind her own life to hold him in her arms.

Max closed his eyes, breathing her in. He could feel the tension in her body as she sat rigid beneath him, her free hand resting lightly on his shoulder. She was worried about him—she always worried about him.

“You didn’t have to come,” he murmured, though they both knew it was a lie. He didn’t know how to survive these nights without her anymore.

“Don’t be stupid,” she replied, her voice soft but firm. “Of course I had to come. You’re—” She paused, swallowing hard. “You’re my best friend.”

Max’s eyes fluttered open as her hand stilled in his hair. He shifted slightly, pressing his face into her neck, seeking the comfort he couldn’t find anywhere else.

Her skin was warm against his cheek, her pulse steady and reassuring. He felt safe here, in her arms, in her presence. But the safety came with a tinge of guilt, a bitter reminder that this wasn’t where he should be.

But Kelly didn’t understand.

Max could see it in the way her lips pressed together whenever Y/n’s name came up, the way her smile tightened whenever Y/n walked into the room. She never said anything outright, but the tension was there, simmering beneath the surface.

It didn’t matter.

Max knew where his loyalty lay. Y/n had been there long before Kelly, long before anyone. She was the reason he kept going some days, the only person who truly understood the toll this life took on him. Kelly might not like it, but even she couldn’t deny it—Max needed Y/n in a way he would never need anyone else.

He tried to make it work with Kelly, for Penelope’s sake if nothing else. He liked Kelly—she was kind and understanding in her own way, and he adored Penelope. But it wasn’t the same. It never could be.

Kelly had confronted him about it once, in the early days of their relationship.

“She loves you,” she had said, her voice calm but cutting.

Max had frozen, unsure how to respond. He didn’t deny it. How could he? Y/n’s love was written in every small thing she did for him, in every sacrifice she made, in every time she dropped everything to be by his side.

“And you love her,” Kelly had continued, her eyes hard but resigned.

He didn’t deny that, either.

But Kelly had never brought it up again. She knew better.

Because as much as she hated it, as much as it hurt her, she knew that if something happened Max would always choose Y/n. 

Max shifted on the couch, his voice breaking the silence. “Do you ever think about what it would be like? If things were different?”

Y/n’s hand stilled in his hair, her fingers hovering for a moment before resuming their gentle strokes.

“Different how?” she asked softly, her voice careful, cautious.

Max hesitated, his heart pounding. He didn’t know why he had said it, why he was opening this door. But the words were out now, and there was no taking them back.

“Us,” he said quietly. “If we were...different.”

Y/n was silent for a long time, and Max felt his chest tighten, the weight of her unspoken words pressing down on him.

“Don’t,” she whispered finally, her voice trembling. “Don’t say things like that, Max.”

He remembered the first time she had cried in front of him. They had been teenagers, sitting in his room after a long day.

“No one likes me,” she had said, her voice thick with tears. “I’m ugly, and I’m boring, and no one wants to be with me.”

Max had been furious—not at her, but at the world for making her feel this way. He had held her as she cried, whispering reassurances into her hair.

“You’re beautiful,” he had told her, his voice firm. “And anyone who doesn’t see that is an idiot.”

She had sniffled, pulling back to look at him with watery eyes. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” he had said, his hands on her shoulders. “You’re amazing, Y/n. And if some guy doesn’t see that, then he’s not worth your time.”

He meant it. He always had.

But Max couldn’t help but feel guilty. After all, it was his fault she was crying in the first place.

He knew he had chased away every boy who had shown an interest in her. He hadn’t meant to, not at first. But the thought of her with someone else, of her giving her heart to someone who wasn’t him, was unbearable.

So he had intervened, subtly at first, then more overtly as time went on. He didn’t regret it, even when she cried on his shoulder, wondering why no one stayed.

He couldn’t tell her the truth, couldn’t admit that he was the reason.

Because Max Verstappen was a selfish man. And he couldn’t let a bit of guilt stop him from protecting her.

Max’s fists clenched as he watched Y/n laugh with the guy at the bar. Her smile was radiant, and for a moment, Max forgot how to breathe.

Then the guy leaned closer, and Max saw red.

“You okay?” Y/n asked when Max stalked over, her brows knitting in concern.

“Fine,” he said tightly, his gaze flicking to the guy. “Who’s this?”

The guy opened his mouth to respond, but Max cut him off. “You should go.”

“Max!” Y/n hissed, her eyes widening.

The guy frowned but quickly walked away, muttering something under his breath.

“What the hell was that?” Y/n demanded, crossing her arms.

“He was bothering you,” Max said, his jaw clenching.

“He wasn’t bothering me,” she snapped. “He was nice. And now he thinks I’m some helpless girl with an overprotective brother.”

Max flinched at the word brother. “I was just looking out for you.”

“I don’t need you to scare off every guy I talk to!” she said, her voice rising.

Max looked away, guilt twisting in his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Y/n sighed, her expression softening. “Just...let me handle it next time, okay?”

“Okay,” he said quietly, though he knew there wouldn’t be a next time.

Because no one would ever be good enough for her.

Max remembered the night he realized he was in love with her.

They had been eighteen, sitting on the hood of his car under a blanket of stars. It was one of the rare nights he wasn’t on the road, and she had insisted on taking him out to the middle of nowhere to remind him what quiet felt like.

“Do you ever think about the future?” she had asked, her voice soft and wistful.

“Sometimes,” he had admitted, though the future was always a blur to him—races, championships, the never-ending grind.

“I think about it all the time,” she had said, her eyes shining as she looked at the sky. “Where we’ll be, what we’ll be doing...if we’ll still be here together.”

“Of course we will,” he had said without hesitation.

She had smiled then, the kind of smile that made his heart ache, and he realized in that moment that he wanted to see that smile every day for the rest of his life.

But he had been too afraid to say anything, too afraid to ruin what they had. And as the years passed, that fear only grew.

Max didn’t deserve her, but that didn’t stop him from wanting her.

He wanted her laugh, her touch, her presence in every corner of his life. He wanted to wake up to her sleepy smile and fall asleep with her head on his chest. He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, how much he loved her, how he would give anything to be the man she deserved.

But he couldn’t.

Because she deserved better.

And so he kept his feelings locked away, hidden beneath layers of unspoken words and longing glances.

There were moments when he thought about what it would be like to be with her, really be with her.

He thought about holding her hand in public, about introducing her as his girlfriend instead of his best friend. He thought about what it would be like to kiss her, to wake up beside her, to call her his.

But then the doubts crept in, the fear that he would ruin her, that his demons would drag her down with him.

She was too good for him, too pure, too kind. Those thoughts were dangerous, and Max knew better than to indulge them.

Max shifted on the couch, pulling back to look at her.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion.

She frowned, tilting her head. “For what?”

“For everything,” he said, his eyes searching hers. “For always being here. For putting up with me. For...everything.”

She smiled, and it was like the sun breaking through the clouds. “You don’t have to thank me, Max. You know I’d do anything for you.”

And that was the problem.

She would do anything for him, and he would let her, even though he knew he didn’t deserve it.

Max didn’t sleep that night.

He never could when the weight of his emotions threatened to suffocate him, and tonight, it felt heavier than ever. He stayed where he was, his shoulder stiff but unwilling to move and disturb her peaceful slumber. Y/n deserved her rest—she had flown halfway across the world just for him. She always did.

The next morning, Y/n was awake before him, bustling quietly around the small hotel room. Max cracked his eyes open, watching her from where he lay. She had always been a morning person, though he didn’t know how she managed it after such long flights and sleepless nights.

“Good morning,” she said softly, noticing his gaze.

Her voice was warm, soothing, and it wrapped around him like a blanket.

“Morning,” he replied, his voice thick with sleep.

Y/n walked over, holding out a cup of coffee. Max took it gratefully, his fingers brushing against hers. The touch was brief but enough to send a spark up his arm, one he tried desperately to ignore.

“Feeling better?” she asked, sitting down beside him.

He nodded, though it was a lie. He felt worse, if anything, but he wouldn’t tell her that. He couldn’t.

“You didn’t have to stay,” he said quietly, staring into his coffee.

“I wanted to,” she replied, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Max turned to look at her, his chest tightening at the sight of her soft smile. She always looked at him like that, like he was the most important person in her world. And maybe he was.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Max had meetings and obligations, and Y/n trailed behind him, her presence quiet but comforting.

It wasn’t until they returned to his hotel room that evening that the tension in his chest began to ease.

Y/n curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she scrolled through her phone. Max sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched. He could feel the warmth radiating from her, and it was enough to make his heart ache.

“I should head back tomorrow,” she said after a while, her voice hesitant.

Max’s stomach twisted at the thought. He didn’t want her to leave—not yet, not ever—but he knew he couldn’t ask her to stay.

“Do you have to?” he asked, his voice quieter than he intended.

Y/n turned to look at him, her eyes soft. “I’ve been gone from work too long already, Max. I can’t keep disappearing every time you need me.”

The words weren’t meant to hurt, but they did.

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ll miss you.”

Her expression softened further, and she reached out, her hand resting gently on his. “I’ll miss you too.”

Max didn’t want to let her go, but the next morning, he found himself standing in the lobby, watching as she prepared to leave.

“Call me if you need anything,” she said, her voice firm. “I mean it, Max.”

“I will,” he promised, though they both knew he hated calling her. He hated being a burden, hated pulling her away from her life.

She hugged him tightly, her arms wrapped around his neck. Max held her just as tightly, his hands resting on her back.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” she whispered.

He nodded, though he wasn’t sure he knew how to without her.

Back in Monaco, Kelly was waiting for him. She greeted him with a kiss, and Penelope ran into his arms, her laughter filling the room.

It should have been enough.

And in a way, it was. Max loved Penelope, and he cared for Kelly. But it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same.

That night, as he lay in bed beside Kelly, his mind wandered to Y/n. He wondered what she was doing, if she was thinking about him the way he was thinking about her.

Kelly shifted beside him, her arm draping over his chest. Max stiffened, guilt washing over him.

He wasn’t a cheater, but sometimes, it felt like he was. Max loved Kelly in his own way, but it wasn’t the kind of love that consumed him. It wasn’t the kind of love that made his chest ache and his heart race.

That kind of love was reserved for Y/n, and he knew it always would be.

As long as she was happy, he would endure the ache.

Because she deserved better than him.

And Max Verstappen would rather break his own heart a thousand times than let anyone break hers.