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#for outsiders who don’t know dream it seems like he’s going all in of course
targaryenluvs · 3 months
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— ALL GROWN UP
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pairings: coriolanus snow x fem!reader
summary: you were always tigris's annoying rich friend to coriolanus, but once he returns from 12 you seem to be irresistible, not only to him.
warnings: normal coryo in all honesty, jealousy, flirting, p in v, oral (m), choking, kinda subby coryo - for a bit, time gap he spent a year in 12 (i got lazy this is short and basically just porn with slight plot)
a/n: hehehehe first fic of 2024 kiddos besides the klaus one!
your laughter was the last thing coriolanus wanted to hear, ever. it was still annoying when he was here, and it was still once he returned.
"there's no way!" tigris giggled a loud as you joined in.
"tigris?" he called out to her, waiting. "coryo!" tigris yelled as she ran to him, his arms open for her. "it's so good to see you, you’ve been so busy." you laughed, "your hair, it's worse in person." would you shut up? who were you to interrupt a family-
your night dress was black, short, barely below your crotch. lace details, messy hair, you were nothing short a of a dream, and it was messing with his head. he was so use to hating you, your stupid gorgeous face and here he was, dumbstruck. “y/n?” you nodded with a sweet smile, “how are you coriolanus?”
he sighed, “exhausted, between the university and dr gaul, it seems i’m stretched thin these days.” you nodded along, “it seems you’re well on your way to success.” he inhaled, not use to your kind words, “thank you.”
apparently you were staying with the snow’s for a week or so, much to coriolanus’s elation. surprisingly, in the time he’d been away you’d become, tolerable. it sure as hell had nothing to do with the sway in your walk, your sweet eyes looking up at him and your new found confidence, no he just felt nice.
he was itching to get a taste.
he’d seen you out and about, talking with almost all the people around. a kind smile aimed at quite literally everyone. almost every guy in the restaurant seemed to know you, and he couldn’t help but feel annoyed.
didn’t they know you came for lunch with him?
shouldn’t they know better?
you weren’t his, yet.
it was late at night, you needed something to drink.
grandma’ams tea isn’t exactly the most refreshing. you were in the midst of scouring the kitchen for a teabag of actual flavour when you’d heard him behind you.
“looking for this?” he held the jar in his hands, “actually, yes.” you walked over to grab it and he only held it higher, “coryo, please.” he grinned, “coryo huh?” you placed your hands on your hips, annoyed, “yes, now if you don’t mind.” the jar clattered on the counter and you quickly swiped it away. “would you like some?”
in the reflection of the glass cabinet, you saw him shake his head, “i’m in the mood for something else.” you giggled at his vagueness, “oh? and what might that be mr snow?” his smirk was all you needed to know what he was hinting at. “you’re playing a dangerous game here coryo,” he feigned confusion, “am i now?” you smiled, “yes you are.” he was behind you now, breath heavy and hot on your shoulder, “i might be, question is, are you willing to play?”
his lips were on your neck, light as ever, open mouthed kisses all the way up to your cheek. “cory” he gathered your hair, swinging it over your shoulder, “cory? that’s new.” you smiled, “i know. i’m going to take a shower, wanna join? to conserve water of course.” as if they need to, they had more than enough money now.
“to conserve, of course.”
the hot water rose steam, surrounding you as coryo watched from outside. the fog covered up all the parts he wanted to see, and his night pants seemed smaller. soap running all over you, soft hands trailing down. “i think you’ll get a much better view from in here.”
he ripped his clothes off, practically stumbling around in the soft glow of the guest room lamp. he’d been waiting for so long. ten minutes. his hands massaged your scalp, washing it off remaining shampoo and conditioner. ridding your body of any soap, your shoulders, your stomach, your thighs.
and soon enough he pressed you against the wall, imprints of hands staining the glass. you were both unbearably needy, messy kisses and desperate touches. you revelled in his grasp, you felt as if your skin was on fire. “y/n, please.” he whined. you giggled at his begging, “please what coryo?” you stroked his dick as he groaned out, “suck me off. now.” you laughed at his words, “pretty bossy for someone who was whining like a little bitch two seconds ago.” he was about to protest but your warm mouth on him seemed to shut up all forms of protest.
“oh god.” he leaned his head back on the wall as you dug your nails into the back of his thighs. the water pouring down on the two of you made coryo glisten, his abs looking especially sweet. droplets of water fell down from his hair onto you.
as if you weren’t enough the view of you on your knees, your tuts on display was more than enough for him to explode down your throat. “fuck, when did you learn to do this slut? you been practicing f’me?” his attempt at regaining control had you suppressing your laughter.
but his hand in your hair tugging you to your feet, crazy eyes and a very attractive smirk? “only for you cory.” you wrapped your arms around his neck and gently kissed him, “all for me.”
“please, cory. i need you.” you leaned your head against his as he directed his cock to entrance, teasing you. “you want it?” you nodded your head vehemently, “god just please, fuck me.” he kissed your cheek before pushing in, “anything you say baby.” you moaned out at the feeling of him in you, filling you to the brim. you felt unbearably hot, between the running water and coryo rutting into you it felt like heaven.
you can feel the wetness dripping down your thigh, mixing in with the water, “messy girl, aren’t you?” your hands dug into his shoulders almost painfully, “jump up.” wrapping your legs around of his waist, his hands cupped your ass. his pace is unbelievably brutal, “such a bitch to me, making me look weak.”
you shook your head, “didn’t mean to, didn’t mean to i swear.” you mewl, hot tears streaming down your cheeks, as coryo lets out throaty groans.
“stop crying.”
“i can’t, you feel so good!”
“stop crying or i’m not gonna let you cum.” his hand tightened around your throat, cutting off your airway. the dizziness paired with his thrusts inside of you was absolutely delicious. he let up only to mark you before returning to it.
“not yet," his grip around your throat tightened as coryo continued thrusted into you, obviously chasing his own high. "you'll cum when i do.” please cum. you thought, please please please.
his hips slowed down as he groaned, “fuck, all for me yeah? all grown up, aren’t you baby?” your nails marked up his back as he grunted, the hot water seemed to make the fresh marks hurt all the more. coriolanus loved the stinging, almost as much as he loved your cunt.
“cum, cum for me.” you weren’t sure if your release came before or after, but all you felt was unwavering pleasure and relief. you rested your head in the crook of his neck, you were so exhausted. “you did good, so good y/n.” coryo praised you as he pressed kisses to your forehead.
“let’s get you cleaned up yeah?”
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togenabi · 6 months
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things I won't tell you
vinsmoke sanji (opla) x princess!reader
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♡—the new royal chef doesn't seem to recognize you without your crown. who's going to tell him? . . . certainly not you.
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word count♡— 7.3k (cries)
genre♡— fluff, royal chef x princess au
content notes♡— opla sanji, afab!reader is a princess, reader wears dresses, reader has siblings (oc's), sanji made me google fancy food, mentions of zeff, sanji gets jealous if you squint, no use of y/n, proofread (but only a little)
also on♡— ao3
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author's note♡— this is detached from any canon, its basically just a big chunk of sanji fluff. please enjoy!
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You've never really dreamed for yourself. You had always just let life fall into place around you.
The kingdom is prospering, entering a new age of commerce. Artists, craftsmen, and inventors sail seas just to be part of it.
Your sister Chrysanth is a wise queen, as you always knew she would be. She’s fair and just, always knowing what’s best for her people.
On the other hand, your brother August is Captain of the Royal Guard. He’s an excellent swordsman, who has yet to be beaten ever since he took command.
As for you, the youngest of the three, you have no idea what you’re doing.
The most likely outcome would be for you to be married off to settle some political arrangement. Unpleasant as it sounds, you would have agreed to it for the sake of the kingdom.
But the moment you said so, Chrysanth gave you a look unbecoming of a queen and immediately shut it down.
“Look,” She gestured to the view outside. “Does that seem like a kingdom who needs help to you? I work my butt off precisely so that we won’t have to depend on anyone else.”
“Besides,” She adds, “if anyone wants your hand, they should fight to the death for it.”
And so, for now, you work for your sister. Helping manage general affairs and the kingdom’s business agreements—even though she could easily hire someone else.
“I love that you insist on working,” Your brother told you once. “You could have been a socialite, but you’re here with us, serving the people.”
Of course you are. Because even though you didn’t necessarily plan it, you are proud and committed to your work. You’re happy with your own, mundane accomplishments.
Or at least that’s what you try to remember when you glance at the tall pile of documents on your desk. You’ll relish the satisfaction that will come when it’s gone.
The candle beside you burns low, flame becoming dimmer and dimmer as the hour grows late. You should probably replace that. Pulling open your drawer, your eyes scan its contents for a candle.
You’re fresh out of the tall ones that fit in the candleholder, but you have one sculpted like a cinnamon bun—a gift from August a few birthdays ago. It’s not exactly the best for illuminating your work, but something makes you strike a match and light it still.
It smells like freshly baked cinnamon rolls, you can’t help but inhale the decadent scent deeply.
The aroma triggers an embarrassing grumble from your stomach. You feel your ears burn despite the fact that no one else is around to have heard it. Perhaps a midnight snack is in order.
Unexpectedly, light seeps through the gap beneath the large wooden double doors to the kitchen. In all your years, you’ve never encountered anyone in the kitchen at two in the morning.
Normally, you wouldn’t want to disturb them. Knowing the chefs, they would likely fuss over you and put whatever they were doing on hold.
But you fear that your stomach will disagree with that, so you decide to knock and enter the kitchen anyway.
There’s only one chef inside—a tall, blond man with his back to you. You don’t think you recognize him. He must be one of the new hires.
When he hears your footsteps on the stone tiles, he turns around.
His expression, at first, is curious. But after a beat, his mouth curves into a charming grin that catches you completely off guard.
“Hello there, miss.” He nods in greeting, eyes alight with a look that no one usually dares when it comes to you.
“I’d be happy to fix up something for you if there’s anything you’re… craving.”
When you expected the chef to fuss over you, this isn’t what you meant.
Your first instinct is to look at his surroundings for alcohol. Perhaps he’s intoxicated and not in his right mind?
But the (sober) chef seems to have mistaken your silence for bashfulness, because he presses you further, “Trust me. I may be new around here, but I know my stuff.”
Unsure how to respond to his blatant (or insolent, your sister would say) behavior, you try to gently decline his offer.
“It’s alright,” You say, still uncertain about him. “I was only going to make a sandwich and be on my way.”
“Nonsense!” He insists. “If you’re hungry at this hour, it means you’ve been busy working too hard.”
He approaches the pantry, retrieving one too many things for a mere sandwich. Your concern grows when he grabs garlic, several leafy vegetables, and a lemon.
“You, my dear,” He points at you with, is that a cucumber? “—deserve a proper treat.”
You sigh, it looks like he doesn’t intend to back down. Maybe you should just let him do what he wants and see if he can back up all the talk. Pulling one of the chairs from beneath the kitchen island, you take a seat as you observe the flirtatious chef.
At least he seems to be enjoying himself. His hands work with the kind of precision that only comes from years of experience; and he smiles proudly when he sees you watching.
“I meant what I said, I’m a damn good cook.” He’s begun chopping the vegetables. “My name’s Sanji, by the way.”
The question now is whether or not you properly introduce yourself. It's difficult to deny that you enjoy his attention. The casual and relaxed manner he addresses you with is… a nice kind of different. When else are you going to experience that if you let this go?
Alright. For tonight, you're not a princess. You're someone who stumbled upon a chef—a handsome one, it dawns on you. This is a chance encounter in the palace kitchens. And, you glance over at the dressing and ingredients he prepared, why should you turn down good food?
You decide to only give him your name. It feels strange introducing yourself without your title, but you don't tell him that.
“It makes sense that your name is as captivating as you are.” Sanji's voice is smooth, easygoing as he moves around the kitchen.
Nothing about his demeanor changes. Either he really doesn't know anything about this country's royalty, or he's skillfully controlled his reaction and is hiding that he knows.
There's also a third possibility: that you look so haggard and tired that you simply do not appear royal anymore.
Subconsciously, you look at your typical office clothes… Maybe you should go on that fitting the royal stylist has been pestering you about.
On the topic of style, however, your companion has unusual attire for a chef. He’s wearing a buttoned shirt with a necktie. His black slacks match the suit jacket draped over one of the chairs.
Your attention is diverted when Sanji begins rolling up his sleeves. He juices the lemon he had sliced in half, arms flexing as he twists the fruit.
Clearing your throat, you ask him a question to distract yourself. “What are you making?”
He smiles as if he’s glad you asked. “A dish that suits a beauty like you, of course.”
Several minutes later, he presents you with a sandwich. The slices of bread are whole wheat; the layers of ingredients between them are all in varying shades of green.
“A green goddess sandwich, made with care for the goddess in front of me.” Sanji pushes the plate towards you. 
It's easy to stay composed despite the flattery because your hunger makes you focus on the food. “It really does look excellent.” You compliment earnestly.
He gestures to the plate before placing his hands in his pockets. “Tastes excellent too, try it.” Shaking your head at how confident he’s being, you pick up the sandwich.
It might just be the best sandwich you’ve ever had in your life. The flavors are fresh, and you catch the hints of lemon blending with the dressing. The bread is soft, contrasting with the crunch of the cucumbers and sprouts.
You're completely surprised, and it must be obvious based on how Sanji reacts. He lets out an adorable, pleased laugh that makes you want to hear it again.
“I knew you’d like it, ma chèrie.” Sanji reaches a hand towards your face. Your heart just about stops when he brushes his thumb to wipe at the corner of your mouth. His eyes look so intense, like you'll drown in them if you stare too much. 
It feels as if your face could burst into flames at any second, so you turn away to hide your flush.
As Sanji grabs you a glass of water, you ask him if he’s eaten. “I did, but it’s nice that you’re worried about me.” He answers. You almost choke on your drink.
Once you've finished your meal, you stand then grab your empty plate and glass. But Sanji mirrors you, blocking the way to the sink. Why must a chef have such broad shoulders?
He shakes his head, trying to get the dishes from you. “Can’t let you do that, love.”
“Why not?” You frown, pulling your arms back so he doesn’t reach them.
“It’s late. You shouldn’t be working any more—”
“But you’re allowed to?” You look up at him defiantly.
Sanji stares at you. You stare back. There's a few seconds of silence before you sprint the other way, running around the kitchen island to get to a different sink.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Sanji yells after you.
You’re almost there, but Sanji catches up to you easily. Before you know it, he’s blocking the way again and you curse, remembering his long legs.
“Sanji, let me do the dishes.” You plead, but he’s as stubborn as it gets.
“The knives I used need to be washed anyway, and I’m not about to let your pretty hands do that.” Sanji winks, and you give up. He pries the dishes from your hands.
Seeing your shoulders slump disappointedly, he offers you a compromise. “If you really want, you could throw the rubbish in the bin and wipe down the counters.” Okay, you can do that.
“Are you sure this is the only way I can repay you?” You ask, grabbing a washcloth to begin cleaning up.
“That’s plenty of help, my dear.” Sanji answers.
But after a moment, he seems to have gotten an idea. Your brows raise in curiosity as you question him, “What?”
“...I was just wondering,” He begins, looking at you with that flirtatious glint in his eye. “Since we had such a wonderful time tonight, would you be willing to join me again?”
“That depends,” You press your lips together to suppress the smile blooming on your lips. “Will you cook for me again?”
Sanji laughs, throwing his head back. “Darling, that’s a given.”
He gazes at you while he dries his hands. There’s a grin on his face as he asks, like he already knows your answer. He probably does. He’s probably right.
“Same time tomorrow?”
Even though you got back to your chambers at an ungodly hour in the morning, you woke up feeling the most refreshed you’ve ever been. There’s a spring in your step as you get ready for the day, and you pick clothes that are slightly more dressy than your usual attire. Sanji shouldn’t be able to notice that you dressed up for him, right?
But your sister does. 
Seated at the head of the table, Chrysanth stops eating to analyze your clothes the instant you show up to the dining hall for breakfast.
You could practically hear the gears in her head turning. Avoiding her gaze, you bow to greet her before taking your seat, “Good morning.”
The queen only smiles at you knowingly, eyes still flickering over you with enraptured excitement. Very much unlike a queen, however, she kicks your shin underneath the table.
“Ow!” You yelp.
“So…” She lets the syllable drag on. “Who’s the guy?”
You focus on piling food onto your plate, choosing to ignore her. “What guy?”
“Your guy.” She says, giddy. “Is he your guy yet?”
“Hm?” Is your only response. Breakfast looks lovely. Should you ask for coffee or tea today?
Chrysanth kicks you again.
“Hey!” You rub the skin to dull the pain. “Stop that!”
“Stop avoiding the question!” She persists, waving a hand to gesture at your clothes. “You only wear that skirt when you want to impress someone.”
Mentally cursing her for knowing you too well, you continue to act nonchalant.
“Really, it’s nothing.” You try to clarify. “I just thought that it would be a nice change.”
She doesn't believe it. Not one bit of it. Thankfully though, she drops the topic. Your shoulders relax as the discussion switches to work-related ones. She’s telling you about her plans to approve a restaurant in the museum when your brother joins you for breakfast.
Once he’s seated, August takes one look at you before tilting his head. “Who’s the guy?”
Chrysanth looks far too smug and triumphant than you’d like. You bury your face in your hands. Would Sanji also tease you if he knew?
The rest of the day is uneventful, the only change to your typical work day being that you avoid your siblings like the plague. You have lunch brought to your office and skip on dinner.
Sanji had already started cooking by the time you got to the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind,” He says. Of course you don’t, whatever it is smells amazing. “I thought I’d start early so you wouldn’t have to wait too long.”
“Thank you for going through the trouble.” You say, glancing at the ingredients he had laid out: there are crushed tomatoes on the counter. Pasta simmers in a pot on the stove. You recognize the tubed shapes with ridges surrounding them.
“Rigatoni?” You ask, turning to the chef.
Sanji nods, “With a simple, creamy tomato sauce. Nothing too extravagant, but still specially made for you.” 
He puts the pasta into two bowls, grating parmesan cheese on top. Your mouth waters.
“Here you are, darling.” It pleases you more than you thought it would when Sanji sits across from you to eat as well.
There’s something homey and yet luscious about the taste. He really outdid himself. “It’s delicious, Sanji.”
“I live to please.” Sanji says before standing to retrieve two wine glasses and a bottle of red. “Zweigelt.” He says as he pours for you both. “Juicy and fresh, with just the right amount of acidity.”
You almost swoon at the rasp in his voice. You never realized someone could be so attractive when talking about wine.
As he clinks his glass with yours, you think to yourself that this might be your favorite dish from him. However, true to his word, he surpasses your expectations every time.
After a few weeks, on your sixth (or is it seventh?) time meeting Sanji past midnight, you've reached the point where you're able to open up to each other beyond the pleasantries that come with the food.
He tells you about his dream of traveling the seas in search for the best ingredients the world has to offer. You admit how you sometimes feel like life is just taking you along with the current—that you’ve never had a burning, passionate dream to aspire to.
“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Sanji hums contemplatively. “There aren’t any deadlines when it comes to finding dreams.”
“I do worry that you’re working yourself to the bone, though.” He adds, and for once, his smile looks different somehow. It’s a fond, gentle smile that’s sweeter than the macarons he made for you.
“What do you mean?” You take a sip of water.
“While I'm flattered you enjoy my food so well, do you eat properly? Shouldn't the palace be treating you better?” This time, you actually choke on your drink.
Could it get more embarrassing than this? Your ears burn as you cough, trying to clear your throat and settle your heart.
“Breathe, love." Sanji, ever the gentleman, is next to you in a flash of a second. He pats your back gently and supportively. “I'm sorry if I startled you.”
“It's alright—and, I do eat,” Your voice comes out raspy. “It's just that I don't usually have an appetite for dinner.”
“But that leaves you hungry for a midnight snack?” Sanji asks, a knowing expression on his face as he refills your glass.
“Exactly.” You smile. Thankfully, your throat has calmed down. Picking up a vanilla-flavored macaron, you savor the taste that melts sweetly on your tongue. Returning to his chair across from you, Sanji watches you eat happily. 
“I take pride in my desserts, but that chocolatier in Belltower street… The sweets are just—out of this world, I tell you.” He looks so excited as he talks, eyes aglow and gestures animated. “The chocolates are handmade and everything. I'm sure you've heard of it?”
“Um…” Hesitating, you certainly remember issuing a business permit for a chocolatier; but you can’t say you’ve gone there yourself.
Sanji’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Surely you’re pulling my leg. You haven’t been?”
“...”
He observes you quietly, like he's considering what to do next. There have been instances when Sanji stays quiet, doesn't eat, and only watches you chew. The times where he insists that he's content with seeing you eating well. Those were awkward at first, but you learned that was just part of spending time with him. Your reaction was a reward on its own.
But this isn't like that. Something feels oddly different in the way he seems to be gathering his composure. The silence almost worries you, but thankfully he breaks it first.
“You’ve saved me the trouble of thinking of a place to take you to.” Laughing, Sanji practically glows in elation. “You’ll love it, I promise.”
You had a peculiar sense that you would’ve loved going anywhere, as long as you were with him. 
Feeling bold, you suggest, “I’m free this Saturday if that’s good for you?”
He gives you that soft, enamoured look again. Something makes you hold your breath, your fingers tingle and the entire rest of the world slows down. You’re almost certain you’re giving him the same look.
“Even if I wasn’t, love, I would have gone to you anyway.”
The next day, a Thursday, your brother unexpectedly knocks on your office door.
“Hey,” You smile. “Is something wrong?” 
It’s rare for August to look for you in the middle of the day. If either of you need to speak, it’s usually you who heads into the training grounds to talk to him. The other way around occurring is curious.
“I wanted to invite you to watch the knights train this Saturday.” He says coolly. “It would boost their morale if you spoke a few words.”
The commander goes on to speak, not catching that you’ve short circuited somewhat, trying to rack your brain for a valid excuse to decline him.
“And maybe, you could pick out a personal knight like I’ve been telling you.” August prompts. “You really should—”
When he pauses, squinting his eyes at you suspiciously, you suddenly recall why you stopped trying to hide anything from him. 
“You already have plans.” He says, face carefully blank.
“Yes.” Thank goodness he understood. But wait, his eyes are widening. Why is he making that face? Why is he looking at you like he just figured out—
“You have a date.” Darn it all.
August is bewildered, not knowing what to do with the information he put together. He awkwardly brushes his fingers through his hair.
“...Is he a good guy, at least?” He settles with, asking carefully in that concerned way he does when he looks out for you.
Biting your lip, you nod. “He seems to be, so far.”
“Okay.” August responds. “Does Chrysanth know?”
“It’s nothing serious.” Yet. Yet? Do you want it to be? “You’re the first I’ve told.”
A worrying thought suddenly pops in your mind. Your turn to him, distressed. “Please don’t tell her yet, August.”
“Why?” His frown deepens, like he’s about to ask more questions. Unfortunately for him, you decide you’ve had enough talking about Sanji to your brother for today.
“Aren’t you busy?” You grab his arm, guiding him out of your office. “Don’t you have training to get to?”
“I do, but—why can't Chrysanth know?” You open the door for him and try to push him out, but August plants his feet; still trying to figure you out. He doesn’t budge an inch.
But then he makes that face again. That annoying ‘aha!’ face.
“You really need to go, good luck with training! Tell the knights I said hi—” You manage to shove him out with all your strength, but at the last second before you close the door, August turns around again.
“He’s a commoner, isn’t he?” You slam the door at his face. 
It doesn't matter. Sanji's status will never matter to you. Not when he's holding your hand so sweetly while he guides you through the winding streets of the city. You recognize some shops by name, knowing who owns what and when they established their business. But Sanji knows these streets, and he's more than happy to show you.
“Ah, one moment, my dear.” Sanji pulls you towards a quaint little cart overflowing with flowers. He flicks a coin to the vendor, eyes scanning all the vibrant colors and bursting petals. 
Somehow, without you needing to tell him, he picks one in your favorite color. You're starting to feel like that's just part of being with Sanji—that he knows what you want, and knows what you need before you do.
The flower is soon tucked into your hair, behind your ear. His fingers linger on the side of your face—and normally, you'd break eye contact and shy away. Maybe let out a halfhearted excuse that you should continue on your way. But you don't.
You smile back at him, not bothering to hide the genuine happiness you feel. And when Sanji pulls back, you're already holding out your hand before he reaches for it. There’s something in his eyes. Something that makes you feel like you're walking on air when he tugs you along again.
As planned, Sanji takes you to the chocolatier he told you about. The building is small, tucked between larger shops in the middle of a busy street, but there’s no doubting the quality of their confections.
The elderly chef behind the counter greets Sanji like a grandson she hasn’t seen in forever. She ushers him in, enthusiastically pointing to this and that, saying she moved some furniture around as he suggested.
“It looks perfect, grand-mère.” Sanji smiles, taking in the beautiful glass display. Chocolates of every flavor cover the shelves from end to end.
Grand-mère’s eyes light up when she sees you. She casts an approving look at Sanji, “I like this one. She might even be too good for you.”
“That’s because she is.” Sanji laughs, and you pretend to browse the menu while they talk.
“No need for that, ma chèrie.” The menu is plucked from your hands. Sanji sets it aside, pointing instead to where grand-mère is behind the counter. She's wrapping up a box of chocolates that she hands to you.
“No need to pay, dear.” She smiles, patting your hand. “If he ever gives you trouble, let me know.”
Sanji whisks you away through the streets again. You've never been this far into the city before. Looking back at the path you've taken and not recognizing any of it, you know you’d be absolutely lost without Sanji by your side.
“Almost there.” He tells you, pointing to a cobbled path that inclines upwards. 
What meets you at the top of the path is a small clearing. A stunning tree with blossoms on its branches stands at the center. Flowers and petals flutter away and fall onto the iron bench beneath it.
“Sanji, this is lovely...” You trail off, letting go of his hand to catch a flower into your palms. The flower twirls delicately between your fingers before you turn back to Sanji, tucking the blossom into the pocket of his suit.
Sanji takes your hand before you can pull away, bending down to press a kiss to your knuckles. 
“Not nearly as lovely as you.”
The two of you spent hours under that tree, sharing chocolates and stories—feeling like this is how things are supposed to be. Not necessarily the flowers, or the chocolates, or even the sun setting beautifully in so many warm colors.
Just Sanji. With you, next to you. 
All at once, it sinks in that he could be the dream you've been waiting for. But you don't tell him that.
Being enlightened on your feelings for Sanji becomes a second thought, however, when you’re swamped with work the following week.
“Don’t these people ever get tired?” Chrysanth groans, leaning back on her chair. “Why is planning a festival so hard?”
You approach her desk and place another stack of documents onto it. The numerous piles are getting concerning.
She scowls at the papers, then scowls at you. “Don’t you ever get tired?”
“Of course I do.” You tap a stack of documents to her left. “The guest list for the ball needs to be approved by tonight so we can send invitations out.” She groans again, but picks up the list anyway.
You’re unable to see Sanji as often as you’d like, but you both promised to meet once a week. Even if it’s only for a few short heartbeats together.
You dearly miss him. You think about him as you hand Chrysanth menu plans for the ball. If he saw it, he’d say that he could come up with something better.
She glances at the menu, studying it. Or at least, that’s what you thought she was doing—until her next words proved you wrong.
“So, how are you and that chef doing?”
Your heart isn’t in your chest anymore. It sank down, deep into the depths of the earth. It also must have taken all the air in the room along with it. How did she—
“August?” You blurt out.
Chrysanth shakes her head, “Zeff.” Oh no. Sanji’s boss knows? Does Sanji know that you’re—
“According to Zeff,” She proceeds, cutting off your thoughts. “One of his subordinates has been cooking a lot of personal meals over the last few weeks.”
“I can explain—” But your sister holds up a hand. Your mouth snaps shut.
She calls your name, and then you realize how serious her tone is. “Are you familiar with the kitchen’s rules when it comes to using ingredients and supplies for personal use?”
“...I’m afraid I'm not.” You didn’t know the kitchen had any such rules… but surely Sanji does. Your voice stutters, “I, did—is he in trouble?”
“He isn’t.” She answers, though her expression is still grave. “But I think that you should be aware of how much he’s doing for you.”
Chrysanth opens a drawer to retrieve a list of kitchen rules. Reading it over, everything is standard and straight to the point. You find the answer to your confusion towards the end, a small, nondescript bullet that reads:
All staff must reimburse the cost of all ingredients used for any reason outside of official duties.
“He must know who I am, then.” You say, feeling relieved that he didn’t break some sort of impossible rule. “He wouldn’t have done so much for me if he didn’t.”
Your sister purses her lips, letting the silence linger for a second before responding, “He doesn’t know, love.” She hands you another document. “He’s been paying back every cent out of pocket.”
Tracing over the timestamps and the different ingredients listed, you stare at an outline of your time with Sanji. It’s nice to reminisce, but you can’t help but wince whenever you spot something particularly pricey. What on earth are you to do with this man?
“Zeff recognized your name when he asked Sanji who he was cooking for.” Chrysanth explains. “He didn’t tell him, but he came to me and requested for Sanji to be repaid.”
“Since anything served to me counts as official duties of a royal chef.” You piece together. 
“Exactly.” Chrysanth nods. “However, doing that would expose your title to him. Which is why I wanted to speak to you about this first… You should tell him.”
“I know.” Letting out a deep sigh, you agree. Sanji deserves to know more than anything. Nevertheless, the thought of him changing how he treats you—or worse, leaving—because of your status, frightens you to your core. 
“I’ll talk to him tonight.” You say, but your sister’s expression slowly changes. What did she plan this time?
“Or maybe, you could put the kitchen dates on pause and tell him in a few weeks.” Surprisingly, she hands you an invitation to the ball.
“I can’t bring Sanji as my date.” No matter how much you wish you could.
“Are you sure about that?” Chrysanth is unable to contain her grin. “Open it!”
‘…you are cordially invited to the spring masquerade ball.’
You gasp, “You turned it into a masquerade?”
“Yes, I did. You won’t believe how much convincing it took for the ministers to agree.” She rolls her eyes, but then her smile returns. “Don’t waste my hard work and have fun with your man, littlest sister.”
You laugh, not expecting this outcome after all that. “I love you, even if you made me go through so much emotional turmoil for fun.” She cackles.
“Of course I had to make you sweat after what you put me through.” Chrysanth scoffs, “I can’t believe I had to hear about your love life from Zeff, of all people.”
“Ah,” She says, remembering something. “Speaking of, why’d you guess August first earlier?”
“...”
“...Did you tell him before me?” She gasps. “How could you! Give that invite back!”
“I didn’t think you’d approve.” You admit shyly. “He’s a commoner.”
“If he treats you well—which, he obviously does—I could care less about all that.” Chrysanth reaches for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Only those stuck up ministers will react negatively, I’m sure. We can deal with them easily enough.”
When she lets you go, she abruptly adds, “He better be cute though.”
That sends you laughing again. “Oh, Chrysanth, he’s the cutest!”
He certainly is. Especially when he sees you and grins, opening his arms wide in expectation. You fall into his embrace when you’re near enough.
Sanji takes your hand and places it on his arm, leading you away from the kitchens.
“Some of the others are still in there planning for the ball.” He explains. “It seems preparations are keeping us both busy.”
Sanji takes you to the greenhouse, which you’ve never seen at night before. Various patches of vegetables and shrubs line the space. There are trees and flowers towards the back too. It feels like a secret hideout, being here with Sanji. 
“I miss spending more time with you, love.” He whispers.
“Me too.” Your heart melts thinking about how much he gave for you. You wish you had the courage to tell him the truth now, while he’s looking at you like you put up the stars in the sky, but you can’t. You’re not ready yet.
Reaching your hands up, you caress his face gently, brushing your thumb across his cheek. He places his hands over yours, keeping them there. 
Sanji closes his eyes to savor the moment, and you let him. You two stay like that, your hands becoming enveloped in so much of Sanji you feel like you could recognize him with your eyes closed, with a single touch.
There’s a certain familiarity to him at this point. You would probably have some difficulty adjusting back to life without him in it. He’s so familiar that you could probably draw him. He makes you want to try.
“...I was just wondering,” You say with a knowing glint in your eye. Does he remember those words when he said them to you that first night? “We’ve been working hard for this ball, wouldn’t it be a shame not to enjoy it together?”
You give him the invitation, and he throws his head back laughing. You send him a confused look, but it all becomes clear when he pulls out an identical invitation from his jacket.
“Ah, how brilliant you are, mamour.” Sanji embraces you again, and you bask in how perfect it feels to tuck your head into the curve of his neck.
“It will be easy to find you even with a mask.” You murmur into his skin. He shivers. “You’re so goddamn tall it’s not fair.”
“I’m not too worried about you finding you, either.” Sanji begins to sway slowly with you still in his arms. It makes your heart skip a beat. You can’t wait to dance with him.
“Are you confident you’ll find me first, then?” You ask, adjusting your hold around his middle to snuggle in better.
“I’m not sure about being first,” He ponders. “But I’ll be sure it’s you when I find you.”
The greenhouse became your new meeting place while the palace was buzzing to prepare for the ball. You could only meet for a few minutes, but you treasured the time you shared just the same. 
Once, Sanji tried to feed you one of the expensive fruits growing there, but you declined, making up an excuse that you were allergic. He had looked at you strangely, but didn’t press you further.
You couldn’t find the time to see Sanji the week of the ball at all. Your time was spent welcoming foreign dignitaries, discussing business and trade. You and your sister had a marvelous time shutting down a marriage proposal from some duke from the north.
It amazes you how much you’ve changed since meeting Sanji. Had the duke asked before you met him, you probably would have considered it seriously. Whereas now, your standard is far too high. The man you choose must be able to get to your heart by cooking you the best food in the kingdom and all the seas. 
You’re glowing by the time you finish getting ready for the masquerade. The dress you chose is in your favorite color, with the skirt twirling dreamily when you turn. 
Chrysanth permitted you to enter the ballroom a few minutes late to avoid a royal entrance. You use the time to compose what you want to say to Sanji when you tell him the truth.
‘I’m a princess, and I think I might love you’, is that a lot to say? You sigh, smoothing your hands over your dress.
The clock on the wall chimes. It’s been fifteen minutes since the ball officially started. You put on your mask, tying the ribbon behind your head to secure it.
After one last glance at yourself in the mirror, you head to the ballroom—looking much more collected than you actually feel.
Maybe you shouldn’t have bragged to Sanji that you would find him easily, because you don’t.
You were mistaken when you thought all you’d had to do was look for a tall, blond man with a blue mask. (Sanji’s mask is surely going to be blue. He wouldn’t consider any other color. You bet your foot on it.) It’s unnerving how many people fit that description tonight.
You even find your brother before you find Sanji. August is dressed in surprisingly simple, all black attire. He looks more like a gentleman than a commander, lacking all those sparkly medals he’s usually required to wear at events.
“Where’s your date?” August asks, ducking his head slightly so that you can hear him over the crowd. “Chrysanth bragged about setting you two up.”
“I haven’t found him yet.” You answer dispiritedly. “I thought it would be easy.” 
August looks around, and you know that if he knew what Sanji looked like, he would be able to track him down in a flash. You’re about to ask what you should do when August suddenly bows, extending a hand to you.
“May I have this dance, fair lady?” He asks in a fake pretentious accent that instantly makes you laugh.
It would be nice to say yes, but you desperately want Sanji to be your first dance. August would understand. 
But you aren’t able to decline, someone else beats you to it.
“I’m afraid her first dance is spoken for.” Sanji’s voice reaches your ears and suddenly the room is brighter than it was.
You almost gasp, elated that he found you. Were it not for that frown on his face, you would have voiced out your joy.
August and Sanji stare each other down. Neither of them say anything, but it’s clear that their first impressions of each other aren’t the most pleasant. Not liking the hostility you’re sensing is building, you tug at Sanji’s hand. 
Your brother’s eyes soften at that, and he bows again, this time to say goodbye. “I’ll see you later then.”
You watch August go, and Sanji grumbles something you don’t catch under his breath. You'll have to properly introduce them at some point, but worrying about their relationship can wait. You really must cheer up this grump who thought he was going to miss your first dance.
“Dance with me, stranger?” Intertwining your fingers together, you smile and take in how handsome he looks. His suit is still black, but there are several accents in dark blue—the same color as his mask.
The deep navy color makes his eyes look almost crystalline, and you recognize why you love him so immensely when he smiles.
“I would be honored.”
Sanji is more graceful than you expected. His movements are controlled and precise, never moving too fast and always making sure you’re falling into step beside him.
He’s proven, once again, that he can surpass your every expectation. Sanji spins you around, catching you by your waist and grinning before sweeping you off your feet again.
By the end of it, you’re left breathless due to far too many reasons, and they all involve him.
You had tried bringing Sanji to a romantic spot; maybe a balcony, or somewhere by a fountain in the gardens—but it seems that a lot of other people had the same idea.
Everywhere was crowded, but you suppose where you ended up is romantic in its own way. With the sky being cloudless tonight, you could see every star twinkling away through the greenhouse’s glass roof. 
Let the stars bear witness to you pouring out your heart to this man.
“Sanji…” You start, mentally preparing yourself.
“Yes, ma chèrie?” Sanji tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, you have his complete attention.
“There are things I must tell you.” You swallow the lump in your throat, not brave enough to look him in the eye yet; though you grip his hands tightly in yours.
Sanji waits. He doesn’t complain that you might be holding onto him too tightly, or nag at you for taking too long to put your words together.
When you finally look up to meet his eyes, you find the strength to breathe it out, “...I’m a princess.”
There’s this moment again, when you hold your breath and wait for his reaction; like when you first told him your name. Suddenly, it feels like you’re in the kitchen eating sandwiches with him again.
And, just as it did back then, his reaction surprises you.
His expression barely changes, the only difference being the barely-there furrow of his brows in concern. 
“I know, love.” He says.
“What?!” You drop his hands in shock. “Since when?”
Sanji blinks. “Since the moment we met.”
“But, I—why did you pay everything back? Why didn’t you ever mention it?”
His eyes widen, “Ah, is that why you wouldn’t eat anything from me these past few weeks? I knew you couldn’t be allergic to pineberries.” 
“Sanji, answer the question.” You pout, and he rubs your arms in an attempt to soothe you.
It’s Sanji’s turn to compose himself, you notice. He looks like he wants for your time together to stay lighthearted, when the thoughts in his mind are far from it.
“You didn’t want to talk about your duties, so I never asked.” Sanji shrugs, but you can see him getting nervous. 
“As for reimbursing the ingredients, I suppose I was worried that… you wouldn’t think of our time together dearly if I was just another chef on your staff.” 
Your heart shudders when he lets out a shaky breath. Oh Sanji.
“But that’s the truth isn’t it? I am, and yet I—” He pauses, eyes searching yours desperately. “If I didn’t pay for it, I would be admitting that a chef was all I’d ever be to you.”
You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. “I don’t regret it. I would make the same choice if I had to.” Through the mask, you can see his resolve, but his hands shake as he holds you.
“I didn’t expect to feel this strongly about you.” Sanji continues, “You’re just so lovely, making me feel like I could take on the world for you.”
With your hands quivering the slightest bit, you pull at the ribbon behind your head. Your mask clatters to the floor. Raising your hands towards him, you push his mask up until it’s off, revealing the face of the man who has completely enamoured you; body and soul and all.
You think back to how the colors lit him up beautifully, that one sunset you shared under that blossoming tree. And now, he’s still just as beautiful, in this greenhouse under the moon and the stars. 
You love him all the same as you did then and every moment before. With the weight from keeping secrets gone from your chest, you finally let yourself admit it out loud.
“I love you, Sanji.” You confess. “I’ll go with you, if you’ll take on the world.” You try to say it calmly, but tears build up in your eyes. “You mean so much to me. You’re my dream.”
Sanji inches you closer, wrapping one arm around your waist while his other hand cradles the back of your head. “I love you too. More than you could possibly imagine.”
You quip back at him while wrapping your arms around his neck, “I think I have a pretty good idea.”
Sanji leans in the same moment you do, lips meeting in a passionate kiss that sends sparks running through every inch of your being. He pulls you impossibly tighter against him, strong hands caressing your back and holding firm at your waist. Your fingers rake through his hair, touching him to make sure he’s real. He’s here. He loves you. He knew. He always knew.
That night, you realized that your favorite taste from Sanji is his lips on yours. But, once again, he won’t hear you tell him that.
Sanji first saw you when a ceremony was held to welcome the new palace staff.
Everyone’s attention had been on your sister, the queen. Understandably so, but his eyes always strayed back to you. You looked gorgeous, wearing a stunning dress perfect for a princess as yourself. A cape draped tastefully down your back. And your crown sparkled brightly under the sun; but try as it might, it couldn’t be as dazzling as you.
Sanji was drawn to you instantly, and he thought he would go on with his life never understanding why.
That is, until you walked into the kitchen at two in the morning to make a sandwich.
It would have been impossible for him to not recognize you. Regular office clothes or not, something was different in the way you carried yourself. It was difficult to miss.
Other people would have thought you appeared mundane. And yet, Sanji found you the most beautiful then.
Because you let yourself smile more when you don't wear your crown. 
But he won’t tell you that.
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© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added to my taglist ♡
tags: @songsofadelaide-archive @amitydoodlez @sweetexistentialism @writingmysanity @hotchocolattee @dimplewonie @hearts4zoro @kenkenmaaa @ay0nha @watercolorskyy @holymusicalmothman @appalost
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author's note (yes, again)♡— sooo, what do we think about sworn knight!zoro x princess!reader ? 👀
2K notes · View notes
rvfecamerons · 5 months
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》 ROMANTIC HOMICIDE — rafe cameron x reader
{ main masterlist }
word count — 5k 😮‍💨
warnings — MDNI; EXTREMELY DARK CONTENT; NOT A LIGHT READ; MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH (reader 😔), mentions of murder/suicide, abusive relationship/DV, gun use (almost), swearing, manipulation/coercion, abusive!ex!rafe, dark!rafe, literally too much to name so just pls don’t read if u don’t like dark fics bc this is DARK. like dark dark.
summary — you end things with rafe after things escalate and he gets physical with you one night. if only you knew, there was only one way out of a relationship with rafe cameron…
a/n — so sorry this took FOREVER to the person who requested it. kind of rushed through to finish it so ignore any mistakes or anything. also never wrote a death scene before so bare with me 😫
& THANK YOU FOR 700 FOLLOWERS 😫 i’m so so grateful to have come across this sweet lil community and i loveee writing for you guys. pls read w/ caution but if u do read, i hope u enjoy alsjdididn that sounds so bad but YK WHAT I MEAN LOL LOVE U GUYS
pro tip: listen to romantic homicide by d4vd while u read 😮‍💨
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Rafe’s heart was pounding in his chest, muscles tight as he shifted nervously in the seat of his truck.
His gaze continuously darted from your ring in his hands, up to the light flooding through your bedroom window.
He wished he was parking his truck for anything other than dropping off the last teather he had to you… but here he was clutching your mom’s ring, so tiny in his hand, compared to how bulky it looked on your dainty finger.
By this point, he’d lost track of how much time he’d been loitering outside, waiting to text you… not that it mattered. Time was on his side.
According to social media, your parents were in Ibiza for the weekend, leaving you to watch over the home…
You didn’t want your parents to go. But who were you to deny them a second honeymoon that the pair so greatly deserved? They’d been reluctant to leave you, too, but the trip was already booked before your nasty breakup. Before you met the side of your ex that the entire town tried to warn you about.
The start of your relationship with Rafe could only be compared to that from a dream, or a movie. You were constantly showered with gifts, from a new phone to designer clothes or fancy jewelry. The trips were endless, his family always taking the yacht or the jet somewhere to getaway for a couple of days.
And space was…nonexistant. On the off chance that you weren’t together physically, it seemed like Rafe’s texts, calls and random pop-ups never seemed to let up.
The gifts only did so much, since you came from money, too. But no families’ wealth and assets could even hold a candle to that of the Cameron’s.
And such a grand fortune almost always paired with power, influence, notoriety… and if being the eldest son of the most powerful family on the island was all you knew, you might end up being just like Rafe Cameron, too.
You might also end up way in over your head in a relationship like Rafe Cameron, too.
Rafe had always wanted love. He’d never admit it, of course, that’s not what men do. But he’d always longed for a love that could be his with no conditions.
His own dad only liked him when he could help him, particularly with things only Rafe would risk his freedom to do, just hoping for an ounce of approval in return.
Rose… well, Rose never liked him, and she’d be the first to own up to her hatred for the boy.
Wheezie used to like Rafe, but after his falling out with their sister, a seed of resentment was even planted in the youngest Cameron, too.
And Sarah… didn’t matter. She never liked Rafe. She was always against him, even when they were kids.
But you…you loved him. You had no problem saying it, showing it, letting everyone else know.
You were a beacon of light in what Rafe had previously deemed to be a cruel, dark, cold world. You’d taught him how to show and recieve genuine affection, something he had no real recollections of, as far back as his memory could stretch.
The night you decided to dim the light of the relationship, Rafe felt blindsided. He felt betrayed, hurt, double-crossed. He’d played the final scenes of your relationship in his head everyday since.
He always wanted to do right by you. He wanted to protect you, love you, trust you…but trust was never something Rafe really knew much about.
He never meant to take things as far as he did. He wanted to believe you when you insisted the guy at the club was just a long-time family friend, ‘like a cousin, babe.’
But he saw it. He was there. The guy was too close to you, you were too comfortable letting him invade your space. You obviously knew him, you already admitted it. The family friend bullshit was surely just a ruse.
He’d snapped. He did, and he knew it. He never should’ve thrown things at you, put his hands on you, but the whole altercation lasted all of 2 minutes… surely, you were just being dramatic. Surely, it didn’t warrant a breakup.
You, on the other hand, tried to block that night from your memory completely. But each diversion of your eyes to one of the bruises or cuts littering your skin was a harsh reminder. You had to close your eyes every time, wincing at the pain you’d felt, and cringing at your inability to stand up for yourself.
But how could you be blamed? You were scared.
…Just like now, when the vibration of your phone led your eyes to a text message from a familiar number.
          Maybe: Rafe — I’m here.
Rafe was already chewing on his fingernails before the text even delivered, nerves taking over. His breathing was heavy and arrhythmic. He could hardly sit still. He decided the lines he snorted when he first parked weren’t enough, so Rafe laid out another, much larger one, inhaling it off of the dash. His nose burned as the powder rushed through it, but it didn’t compare to the burn in his chest. In his heart.
How did things get to this point?
Convinced that you were the one who poked the bear, Rafe hadn’t even seen the breakup coming. From the moment he met you, he was no longer able to comprehend or accept a life without you in it. His brain couldn’t even fathom a day where you wouldn’t be his. His whole life, he never had to ask permission, and therefore seldom ever heard any rendition of the word ‘no’.
That’s why he hoped you wouldn’t try to shoo him away after getting your ring back. He’d do anything to make sure you didn’t.
He just wanted to see you. Talk to you. He wanted you to welcome him into your house, accept his apology, and tell him you love him no matter what and you want to be with him forever. Assure him that you overreacted, that you never should’ve left him, and you never would again.
Just 5 minutes, that’s all he needed.
And he hoped you would give him the chance. He needed you to. Because Rafe wasn’t sure what he would do if things went any way but his.
You sent Rafe a thumbs up as you slipped on your house shoes. Normally, you’d never wear them outside, and Rafe knew that, too. You hoped maybe the shoes would be the subtle hint he needed to know you didn’t want to spend long outside…because you didn’t want to spend long with him.
If the ring wasn’t a family heirloom, you would’ve honestly just let Rafe keep it to spare seeing him again.
But you needed it back, and part of you also thought maybe this could be the assurance Rafe needed to know that you were serious, and you wouldn’t be changing your mind.
As soon as you made it to the top of the stairs, you could see a street light illuminating a familiar truck across the street.
Slowly, you placed a hand on the railing and started down the stairs.
You were shaking. Your fingers trembled as they grazed the banister on your descent.
Your legs even felt a bit wobbly, relying on the railing more than you normally would to get up or down the stairs.
Why did you feel so uneasy?
Meanwhile, in the car, a pit was forming in Rafe’s stomach too.
He couldn’t imagine you doing anything besides taking him back…so why did he still feel a shred of doubt?
Maybe the coke was influencing his already chaotic mind.
He loved you. He wanted to be with you. He wanted to make you happy.
He wanted to… grab his gun?
What the fuck?
Rafe didn’t even realize he’d fetched the weapon from the middle console, too lost in a sea of dark thoughts.
He immediately flinched away, dropping it down onto his lap. He was thankful it didn’t go off. He didn’t want to bring a gun just to talk to you…
Did he?
No. Of course he fucking didn’t.
…So why he still slipped the cold metal in the back of his waistband, tucking his shirt over to conceal it just in case, was beyond him.
Rafe climbed out of the truck, ring in hand as he started towards your front porch.
He was standing at the top of the steps, weight shifting from one foot to another when you slowly pulled the door open.
He could’ve sworn your sweet, floral scent hit his nose before you even put your hand on the knob. 
You looked beautiful as ever, even with no makeup. Even with your baggy silk pajama set and your…house shoes.
That can’t be a good sign. You only slipped those on when you knew you were just running out to grab something, like your lip gloss from your car or a package from a delivery driver.
…Or a ring from your ex-boyfriend.
Rafe worked to ignore the tightening of his chest and the beads of sweat forming on his palms that he tried not to ball into fists at the realization that you didn’t seem to plan on doing much talking.
You wanted to get your ring, and you wanted to get rid of him.
The arm that opened the door joined the other in wrapping around your frame as the wood swung open to reveal your ex-boyfriend.
He immediately looked away after only a moment of eye contact. He almost looked just as nervous as you were.
It was hard to deny his charm…Rafe always looked good, never had to try.
If only looks were everything.
Your nerves drove you to break the silence. “Hi, Rafe…”
Blue eyes shot up to yours again. “H-hey, Y/N/N.”
You could see him figeting with your ring in one hand, the other rubbed over the back of his neck and shoulder.
“You look nice.”
You shifted nervously, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and biting down gently. “Thank you… and thanks for bringing my ring by.”
Rafe let his head and gaze fall down, eyes focusing in on the gold ring you mentioned. “Yeah, uh, yeah,” Fuck. He had to ask now. “Listen, um, I was kind of hoping we could… you know, we could like, talk maybe?” He scratched the back of his head. “For a minute? Like-like inside?” His words were riddled with random pauses and ‘uh’s’ and ‘um’s’.
He could tell you were nervous. That wasn’t his goal, but hell, he was nervous too.
“I…I don’t know, Rafe, I-“
“Please, just,” He watched you pull into yourself at his sudden interruption, so he pulled back. “Just… I just wanna talk. I’m not gonna…I’m not going to hurt you.”
Leave it to Rafe to tug at your broken heartstrings, even after he’d been the one to do the damage.
Reluctantly, you stepped back through the threshold, standing off to the side just enough to allow Rafe the space he needed to enter.
But you didn’t close the door.
Instead, you spun around, keeping Rafe in your sight with one hand still resting on the door knob.
“Listen, Y/N, I-I know what I did was…wasn’t right, okay? I…It was-it was fucked up, I know that.”
You nodded, leaning into the door and offering him the silence he needed to continue.
“I don’t, I can’t…I can’t do this, without you, Y/N/N. I feel like I can’t, I can’t even breathe without you. Nobody gets me like-like you do.”
You could feel your heart strings being yanked on again.
Especially when the light from outside glistened perfectly on the tear that slid down Rafe’s cheek. You realized his eyes were glossed over, and his hands were shaking.
“Rafe…”
“I just…I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.” He was swiping his hands over his head and face aggresively.
“It’s okay, Rafe.” You offered, gently. His eyes immediately shot up to yours, a look of surprise on his face. It was mixed with a bit of…relief?
“R-really?” He questioned, so low you almost couldn’t hear him.
“Yeah. I…I accept your apology.”
A mountain was lifted off of the boy’s shoulders. He could feel his muscles slowly untense for the first time he left his house that night. No… for the first time since you walked out on him. 
“Wow…” he mumbled to himself. A small smile even tugged at the corners of his lips.
“…But I still mean what I said, Rafe. I…” you swallowed your nerves. “I don’t think I wanna change my mind…”
You were reluctant to meet Rafe’s gaze again, worried for what expression you might find. You prayed your words wouldn’t make him too mad.
But when you looked up, Rafe looked anything but mad. He looked…hurt. Disappointed. In you or in himself, you couldn’t be too sure.
“I’m sorry.” Your voice broke.
You don’t know what posessed you, but you found yourself reaching for Rafe’s arms, redirecting them from the back of his head, to you instead. You pulled him into you, draping your arms around his torso and tucking your head into his chest.
It took him a second to wrap his arms around you too. The wave of comfort that washed over him was instant. And dangerous. Because Rafe’s dark thoughts pulled his focus far past the intoxicating scent of your hair under his nose, the feel of your soft skin brushing against his. It pulled him to the realization that there was no way in hell you were going to deprive him of this. No way he would be able to let you wrap your arms around someone else the way you were around him now.
The intimate embrace had been comforting for you too, until you shifted slightly, and felt the graze of something hard on your forearm.
“What is…” you mumbled lowly, fingers tracing over the area again, and you didn’t need to see it for the placement and feel to confirm what Rafe was concealing.
You immediately scrambled away from him, pushing off of his chest and clutching the open door again. “W-why would you bring that?”
Your mouth went dry. You tried to steady your body as it started to tremble, desperate to conceal anymore alarm from Rafe. You hoped you hadn’t already shown too much fear. You didn’t want to set him off. 
And for a good reason.
“Hey, no-no it’s not…it’s not like that, okay?” Rafe’s hands up shot up defensively in the air as if to say, ‘I’m no threat to you’. He could tell you still felt threatened, though.
He slowly reached one arm back, fishing under his shirt and grabbing the gun. He kneeled to the floor, placing the weapon down before kicking it away from him.
“I’m not gonna hurt you…I-I promise.”
The absence of saliva in your mouth made it difficult to swallow, as did the lump forming in your throat. You wanted to believe Rafe. You wanted to feel sorry for him. You did feel sorry for him. But why did he come to your house with a gun? Suddenly, you didn’t want to talk anymore.
“I-I’m heading to bed soon, anyway,” you started, nervously. “Maybe you should go…”
“Y/N/N, please,” He took an eager step towards you. You shrunk in on yourself, prompting him to retreat.
“Rafe…you should go.” You tried again. You hoped the way you held your breath as you pressed yourself impossibly further into the door wasn’t noticeable.
He should go?
Rafe’s eyes darted wildly between yours. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. You were supposed to welcome him in, check… forgive him, check… so why couldn’t you take him back? And why was he so inclined to not take no for an answer?
Pure cocaine, mixed with a jealousy that was even more pure, more potent, could do that.
You’d openly admitted that you didn’t want him. In fact, you wanted him to leave.
But Rafe didn’t care to respect your wishes. It was rare that he cared about anyone’s wishes, aside from his own.
He made a mistake. Why did you have to be so unfair to him? And then so unwilling to hear him out, give him a chance to explain his side of things?
Rafe’s brain could only deny the reality. He physically couldn’t see his world spinning without you in the center. He wouldn’t.
Rafe was convinced that you didn’t really want him to leave. You were scared, understandable. But you loved him…right?
Right. You had a dangerous amount of love for your ex.
Both of you knew it. Rafe loved you too, but his love was more than dangerous…
Rafe’s love, was deadly.
You didn’t even see him do it, but suddenly Rafe had cleared the space between you. He towered over your figure, fingers curling around your neck. 
You breath hitched in your throat at his close proximity. You’d asked him to widen the gap between the two of you, forever, not close it.
Even the soft hold had you shifting your feet, trying to hold back the urge to push him away as not to set him off.
When you felt his grip tighten though, your hands rushed to his, scratching and clawing at his skin. 
When your nails didn’t work, you fished behind you, knocking things off the table as you struggled to get your hands on something, anything that could be used to your advantage in the moment.
As soon as you felt your fingers curl successfully around a cold, heavy object, you wasted no time swinging your arm around and knocking it right into the side of Rafe’s head.
The first gasp of air seemed to burn your lungs more than the absence of air had.
You took off immediately, clumsily running through the house towards the back door. You were crying, hardly able to catch your breath.
“Shit!” Rafe yelled, hand met with a wet sensation when his fingers lightly inspected the side of his head you’d struck.
He took only a moment to regain his composure.
And now, he was pissed.
More than pissed. Rafe was infuriated. He couldn’t even recall a time he’d felt so engulfed in a rage this deep. Not even after the worst beating from his dad. Not even after Barry turned him into the police.
He took off after you, not even bothering to run. He could still hear you knocking things over as you stumbled towards the back exit.
His chest was puffed out, heaving, and his broad shoulders made him look even bigger as he stormed towards the backyard.
As soon as he was close enough, Rafe used both hands to shove you violently to the ground, watching as you tripped over your own feet down the rest of the stairs you hadn’t yet descended.
Your head bounced off of the grass, and you cried out in pain.
You managed to roll onto your back just in time for Rafe to throw himself on top of you. A large hand clasped over your mouth, Rafe eager to keep you quiet and avoid any nosey neighbors.
…It was a little too late. A porch light flipped on in the corner of his eye, at the house neighboring your privacy fence.
He turned back to you.
“Shut up,” he seethed, struggling to keep both your limbs and voice contained underneath him. “Just-just shut up.”
He looked like a monster towering over you, a knee on either side of you forcing your legs closed beneath him.
Your sobs were uncontrollable, muffled beneath his hand as you shook your head vigorously.
“Can you, can you please stop, Y/N, please!” His voice was laced with desperation. He wasn’t just begging you to save the relationship anymore. He was begging you to save yourself.
He tried to shush you, masking both your mouth and nose to do so.
When it didn’t work, his hands unconsciously slipped down to your throat.
He wasn’t thinking logically. He didn’t comprehend that going from covering your mouth to choking you meant completely cutting off your air, taking a chance of killing you.
All he knew was he had a problem. He needed to shut you up. His only method of action wasn’t working, so his body moved into fight or flight mode, hands manuvering to your throat all on their own account.
You sputtered and struggled to free your airways from Rafe’s iron grip. He seemed to have a newfound strength out of nowhere. Like all of his efforts were focused on channeling his anger through his hands, and your throat was the outlet.
And that’s because any emotion Rafe had previously felt, had shut down. He wasn’t even sure if what was left could be called anger, without being a huge understatement.
Rafe was… enraged. Inconsolably, inexpicably enraged. He blacked out. 
Literally. His mind was fuzzy, his vision grew just the same. It was almost like darkness took over, and he was no longer able to control himself.
And he looked scary. Veins protruding from his forehead, his neck, his arms as he flexed every muscle he had to drain you of your air.
Rafe didn’t realize he was choking you, didn’t comprehend it was an action that could only be taken so far before it became irreversible.
You struggled hard, forcing Rafe to exert more energy than he’d assumed it would take.
Because Rafe knew, from the moment you walked out on him, things would only go one of two ways.
Either you would forgive him, choose to stay with him, help him get better, grow together.
…Or, you would deny him the chance to redeem himself. And in turn, you’d deny yourself the chance to make it to another day.
The gun was only a prop. He knew he couldn’t bring himself to shoot you. It was too messy, too inhumane.
He didn’t bring it to shoot you, no, but to scare you.
And it worked.
You were scared. Shaking, trembling, writhing around underneath him, you were so scared that your face even started to drain of color, he noticed.
His eyes fell to your lips, which seemed to be a mixture of red and a pale shade of purple almost, now.
At least they weren’t moving, he thought.
He’d hoped things would go much differently when he first got your text, asking for your ring.
He’d planned everything out, scripted it all together.
But he fucked up. He shouldn’t have been so aggresive, so quick to resort to violence with you, the person he loved more than anything that walked the Earth. After all, that’s the reason you left him in the first place. He just couldn’t see things that way.
But Rafe knew there was no way you would forgive him after this. No chance you would want to be with him after he just inflicted so much pain and force on you, the thing that prompted you to leave him in the first place.
He’d been going crazy without you. Not seeing you, hearing from you, proved to affect him worse than a day or two without cocaine did.
You left him alone, trapped by himself with nothing but his thoughts.
And boy, were they dark.
Of course, Rafe thought about your kiss, your lips on his, your beautiful body, your hair that he loved to pull and play with.
But more than that, he thought about what he would do to get back at you for leaving him. All the ways he could hurt you for hurting him.
The thoughts consumed him.
It was a terrible place to be, really, trapped in your mind because the reality you wish you had only existed in your head anymore.
It was almost as scary as walking into a storm that you didn’t even know was coming.
Had you known the things Rafe thought about while you were away, you never would’ve asked for your ring back.
You valued your life more than some stupid family ring.
An overwhelming ringing took over your ears just as clouds started to take over your vision.
Slowly, your grip on his wrists weakened, as did your will to fight back.
A deep, strained breath pulled from the back of your throat. Your last one.
It was so pronounced, the sound shattered the wall of darkness clouding Rafe’s eyes and mind, grounding him back to the current moment.
When he came to, the first thing he registered was the sound of his erratic breathing, blaring through the otherwise silent air.
Next came the strain he felt on his muscles all across the board.
Specifically, his hands.
His eyes dropped to the extremeties, and he noticed his fingers were curled inwards at the knuckles, almost…stuck. Like they’d been wrapped around something for too long.
And they had been.
His eyes blurred his hands in front of him, instead focusing in on the figure underneath them.
You laid at his knees, completely silent, and completely still.
Grimly silent.
Eerily still.
“Y/N-“ his voice came out nothing but a squeak of air when he tried your name the first time.
He paused. His eyes never left you.
He cleared his throat lowly. “Y/N?” 
Hesitantly, he tapped on your arm with one hand. “Y/N/N?”
Rafe ignored the way his hands started to shake.
He ignored the wet beads he felt starting to cascade down his cheeks.
“Y/N, wake up,” Somehow, he managed to grow impatient at the lack of response he was getting from your still body.
“Come on,” he nudged you again through tears, this time a bit harsher.
He’d come to, but his mind was now convincing him that you didn’t want to answer him. Just like you didn’t want to talk to him earlier.
You didn’t want to talk to him. You wanted him to give you your ring, and go.
…And the realization hit them that he didn’t do either of those things.
In fact, when he pulled the ring from his pocket and held it to your finger, he couldn’t help but notice now how the light blue gem sparkling in the middle of the ring wasn’t too far off from the color of your skin.
Instantly, his hand fell weak. He dropped the ring, shuddering as it clattered onto the floor beside you.
“Shit…” he drawled out, hands flying up to run through his hair and rest on the back of his head.
He almost lost his balance trying to lean on only the balls of his feet to hold himself up. “S-shit…”
He dared to bring two fingers to your neck, planting them reluctantly in the crook underneath your jaw.
He could’ve sworn his body went as cold as yours felt when he didn’t feel not the first thump of your pulse.
His eyes fell shut, and he moved his hand to clasp over one of yours.
His head hung low, tears sliding down profusely, beading on your silk pajama top.
“I’m sorry, Y/N/N…”
More than crying now, he was sobbing.
“I’m so, so s-sorry baby.” He placed a kiss to your cold hand, letting the warmth of his lips linger for a moment.
Your tiny hand felt so cold, and in that moment, he only wanted to warm it up.
He wanted to warm both of them up.
He wanted to warm all of you up.
But it was too late.
He’d sealed your fate. He’d never be able to feel your warmth again.
As obvious as it was that you were gone, something about the entire thing still didn’t feel real to Rafe.
He just couldn’t understand how things had deviated so far off of the plan he had set, from the reality he’d planned in his head.
But the crescendo of sirens slowly cutting through his sobs confirmed the reality he was in… the reality that he now existed in a world that you no longer did.
And he didn’t want to exist in that world.
Rafe stole one last look at you, eyes closed, almost like you were sleeping. You looked so… peaceful. The kind of peace you could never find at the hands of Rafe Cameron…while you were alive, anyway.
Rafe placed a final kiss to your hand, then to your forehead, then your lips. He mumbled stutters of apologies and requests for forgiveness. First to you, and then to a higher power.
He slowly stood to his feet, eyes never deviating away from you until he made it through the threshold of the house.
He scanned the room for something, a sharp exhale mixing with the approaching sirens when his eyes landed on it.
Rafe slowly trudged to the corner of the room, bending at the waist to retrieve a cold, metal object from the floor.
He was a sobbing, sniffling mess as he wrapped his fingers around the gun.
The sirens grew closer, as did red and blue lights.
Rafe let out another exhale. His hands were shaking, his head was pounding, his arms burned from your nails clawing at him, his legs felt weak as he struggled to hold himself upright, the weight of the world threatening to buckle his knees.
“I-I’m sorry, Y/N…” his voice was barely above a whisper as he mumbled to himself. He hoped you could hear him, wherever you were. He hoped you would make things easy, just forgive him when he asked this time.
His hand and lip quivered uncontrollably as he raised the heavy object higher. A series of chills erupted down his spine when the barrel met his temple.
He shook his head, moving it instead to rest underneath his chin, pointed upward.
If he was going to do this, he had to make sure he wasn’t one of those idiots that survived somehow.
He couldn’t survive in a world without you. He wouldn’t. So he knew he couldn’t miss.
His eyes fell shut again, both hands wrapped around the trigger, ready to pull.
“Freeze!”
“Wha- ah!” Rafe’s eyes shot open at the booming voice, just before a real boom filled the air. Suddenly, he was left with a burning sensation in his shoulder, and an empty hand, as the gun clattered to the floor.
“Fuck!” Rafe yelled out, voice hoarse from his cries. He sank to his knees, not because of the demands the officers that swarmed the house were now screaming at him, but because the pain he felt, both physically and emotionally, was too much.
He couldn’t fight back anymore.
All he could do was struggle to catch his breath, mumbling incoherent apologies and lines as police swarmed him, picking his his fate out for him, the same way he’d picked out yours.
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1K notes · View notes
unsolvedjarin · 5 months
Note
I was going through a Charles video that mentioned him blacking out in the car at some point. Since I’m a sucker for angst, I was wondering what it would be like for mentor!Seb if it were the reader in that situation instead. Perhaps the season before the one he retires? And maybe we could see more of the reader’s friendship with Charles? Only if you feel inspired by it, of course.
Either way, thank you for sharing your fics with us. They are my favorites and I’m really grateful for having found your blog.
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gif by luchitohamilton
EVERY UNIVERSE.
pairing: (mentor! sebastian vettel x ferrari driver! reader) (charles leclerc x teammate! reader)
summary: qatar is a difficult, hot, and taxing track. that along with you having food poisoning, well…that might not end too well for you. thankfully you can always rely on sebastian and charles to be there for you.
word count: 4k
note: can you guys tell i took inspo from mark webber throwing up in his car and the qatar race this year? it was so sad to watch everyone seem so tired especially lance and logan. anyways, the plot kinda got away from me at the end, i do apologize but the seb feels were too intense 😵‍💫
content warning: car crash, mentions of throwing up, inaccurate depictions of food poisoning
part of this series but can be read without!
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“Ready?”
A familiar voice makes you turn around from your pre-race preparations. “Depends on what your definition of ready is.”
Charles smiles, “I know it’s our first race in Qatar but c’mon, it isn’t that bad.”
“Isn’t that bad? I might melt in the car! Doesn’t help that I almost missed this one because of food poisoning.”
“Ah yes, how could I forget that,” he teases. He couldn’t forget it, because you’d been complaining about it endlessly for the past three days. You had food poisoning because Mark Webber invited you to lunch on Thursday, and accidentally gave you something dodgy. You’ve yet to forgive the man. “Well at least you’re starting from P4. Lets you fight for P1, no?”
“Against Lewis and Charles? Please. In my dreams, maybe. Plus, you’re starting P3, asshole.” You retort, turning back around to put your balaclava on. The second it’s on your head, though, it gets pulled off, and you look behind you for the perpetrator. “Charles give it b– SEBASTIAN!”
The Aston Martin driver gives you a grin before hugging you tightly, lifting you off the ground a bit. You didn’t expect to see him before the race, but the surprise was definitely welcome.
“Oh but if it was me I would have gotten scolded,” Charles mutters, but his complaints were left unheard.
“Just came to wish you luck before the race starts. P4! You’re going to get a podium, I’m sure of it,” Sebastian beams, letting you go from the hug.
“That’s what Charles said too. He was more delusionally optimistic, though. Said I was gonna win.”
“Because I believe in you! Is that so bad?” Charles complains from the side, his comment ignored once again.
“Well maybe Charles is right— you could win. Meanwhile I’m starting in the midfield, again.” Sebastian complains, groaning a little bit.
“Oh cheer up Seb, you survived Ferrari for 6 years, you’ll live.”
He lights up a bit at your joke, moving to say something before an Aston Martin mechanic shows up outside the Ferrari garage. He wasn’t allowed inside, but it was obvious he was looking for Sebastian– who also wasn’t allowed inside, yet mysteriously got in. Nothing to do with him being friends with your mechanics of course, yeah, totally not.
“Ah shoot, well it looks like they’re looking for me,” Sebastian sighs. He starts to walk away before he pauses and moves back towards you, “Hey, stay safe, okay? New track, it’s dangerous. I know we’ve done practice and quali but you can never be too careful. Plus, it’s sweltering hot. Hydrate.”
You roll your eyes fondly, “Yes, dad.”
His face scrunches up a little, “Don’t ever call me that again, I’m not that old.”
“You could barely work my Instagram the other day! All I asked was for you to open Lewis’ stories!”
“Psh, whatever. I have to go, see you after the race, yeah?” He asks, giving your arm a quick squeeze. You nod, murmuring a goodbye to him. He wishes Charles good luck too, before saving his engineer from the Ferrari mechanics blocking him.
“So he can pull your balaclava off– which you hate, by the way, let me remind you– but if I even try adjusting your helmet straps so it’s safer you slap me off?” Charles speaks up, making you break eye contact from the Ferrari garage doors.
You roll your eyes at him with a smile, “You have got to forget that. It was one time. And it was a soft slap to the shoulder!”
“The point still stands,” he retorts, making you give up on the conversation.
“Whatever, Charlie. Just get ready for the race. Stay safe, okay?” you say, putting your balaclava on again. He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving, a sign of good luck between the two of you. It makes you smile a little before you hop into your car.
Okay. Qatar. New track, new conditions, but still the same old you. You could do this.
The lights go off one by one, and you grip the steering wheel with anticipation like you always did. Race starts still made you nervous no matter how long you’d been racing. One light goes off…then the next…then the third…the fourth one follows…and then…
“AND IT’S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO!”
The first few laps were a breeze, maintaining your position in fourth despite Fernando being on your tail the whole time. You noticed the car was slightly hotter than usual, but decided to ignore it and chalk it up to new changes in the engine.
Around lap 25 you started to feel a bit dizzy and sick during the sharp corners, cursing yourself internally for having such bad timing with the food poisoning. “Charles is 0.200 seconds ahead, feel free to overtake,” your engineer buzzes through the radio.
“Copy,” you reply, not really paying attention, still feeling sick. You overtake Charles with ease around the outside, him not putting up much of a fight because it would have taken both of you out. Now you just had to maintain this position for…dear god, 32 laps.
“Lewis 5 seconds ahead, focus on tire degradation instead.” Your engineer’s warning goes unheard, though, as you noticed the cockpit was getting way too fucking hot.
“The car’s burning up,” you say into your radio, getting only a simple “Copy, we are checking,” back.
“Okay, Y/N there are no problems with your engines, I repeat; no problem.”
What? That’s impossible. You felt like you were melting in there. “Are you sure? Can you ask Charles if his car feels like the sun too?”
“Negative, focus on the race.”
Oh you were going to kill them one day– if they don’t kill you first. A few more laps passed in those horrible conditions before turn 5 rolled around and as you swerved your car, you started to see black spots around your vision.
That can’t be good, you think, having to close your eyes for a second before shaking your head and snapping yourself back into the race. Thankfully Charles had pitted earlier and had a 3 second gap to you. “I don’t feel too well.”
“Copy. Is it the car?”
“Well it’s definitely part of the problem.”
The next few turns were torture, your head bobbing around as you faded in and out of consciousness through the fast corners. Charles was catching up now, and you knew if you didn’t do something soon, he would pass you.
You wanted this podium. You needed it. If you got P3 you would grab P4 on driver standings.
There was a slow corner coming up that was a good overtaking spot, and so you had to defend.
As the turn came around– faster than you expected– the extreme heat of the car, your headache, sweat, food poisoning, and dizziness came together and you suddenly felt light, as if you were flying, before a jolt knocked you out of your consciousness completely.
You were out for less than a minute, but that minute counted for everything. You completely turned into Charles, him having to swerve onto the gravel just so you wouldn’t crash into each other. Your car, however, still had more speed in it, and you were headed towards the wall on the very far side of the gravel.
Thankfully, the rough rocks had shook you awake enough that you were able to swerve away from the wall extremely last minute and only take the tail and back wheel of your car out.
The next few seconds were a blur.
You still felt faint, but could hear a muffled voice headed towards you. You knew the back of your car was completely ruined and you were out of the race, and you put your helmet in your hands in disappointment. You were having such a good run before this happened. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The muffled voice running towards you was closer now, and you registered it to be Charles. He was saying something but you could barely hear him with how your ears were ringing and how the seat of the car was still hot.
The man quickly realized you weren’t hearing him, and opted to come closer and lift your visor up. “Smoke. Car. Get out!”
He didn’t need to tell you twice. You pushed yourself up but barely, Charles having to lift you up by your shoulders. Once out of the car you completely collapsed on the floor, only having your teammate catch you.
“I think I’m gonna throw up,” you say drowsily, still fighting the urge to pass out.
“Safety car is coming, stay with me now,” he replies, tapping your helmet so you stay awake. You were grateful your friend was there with you.
On track, however, Sebastian had just been informed of what went down. “What the fuck? What happened?”
“L/N completely turned into Leclerc. Driver error, push on for P9.”
Sebastian hated how his engineer sounded like a robot reporting a technical statistic. He saw the aftermath of the accident for a split second, and it didn’t look like your car was in good shape. He worries about what shape you were in. “Are they okay?”
“Safety car is coming out for L/N and to crane the car, but other than that they seem fine.”
“Injuries?”
“Please focus on the race, Sebastian.”
“INJURIES!” he shouts into his radio, annoyed. He wouldn’t be able to focus on the race until he knew you were alright.
“Uh…L/N seems to be out of it and on the floor, but they’re okay. They’ll be fine, Seb.” His engineer adds the last statement to reassure the man. He knew you meant a lot to him. Seb nods to himself in the car, carrying on with the race. The faster this finished the faster he could get to you.
The safety car came out and they all slowed down, Sebastian finally being able to take a second long look at the accident. Your car was still there, the smoke coming out of it being extinguished by a personnel. Sebastian thinks he ought to have a word with the Ferrari mechanics after the race. He then notices you, on your knees in the gravel, only being kept up by a driver he can only assume to be Charles. Sebastian thinks that should be him there supporting you, but at the same time he’s glad he wasn’t the one who you nearly crashed into. He couldn’t have it on his consciousness that he could have hit you.
“‘m sorry for ruining your race,” you mumble, still being held up by Charles. The man shakes his head, “It was ruined before that, don’t worry. My engine was acting up.”
You knew he was lying to make you feel better, his engine was completely fine. He was headed for the podium earlier, his first in a while. And you completely botched his chance to get it. The thought makes you sob a little, along with the fact that you ruined your own race.
Crying wasn’t the greatest thing to do, though, as it only made you more lightheaded. Charles notices this and takes your helmet off for you, despite your protests pre-race. You were grateful that he did, though, as the second he took your helmet and balaclava off you felt like you had a breath of fresh air for the first time.
“Better?”
You nod, unable to speak. You still felt dizzy and sick. Charles felt annoyed that the safety personnel were taking so long to get to you, waving them over to walk quicker. Squinting your eyes a little, you find them with some health personnels, and you sink a little lower into the gravel.
“God not again,” you groan, remembering the events that unfolded back in Spa. You did not need to go to the medical tent. As you attempt to get up, however, you fall back down as your vision blurred. Looks like medical tent it is again.
The rest of the race went particularly well. Lewis won the race and Fernando got his first podium since 2014– which you reminded yourself to congratulate him for once you were out of the medical tent– and Seb ended up P9, a position higher than where he started. That would usually be a mediocre result but with his shitty car, you were pretty impressed.
“Water?” A familiar voice makes you look away from the TV screen in the room. Charles sat beside your bed, holding a plastic bottle of water. You nod and take it from him, chugging the cool liquid down.
“Sorry again for ruining your race,” you say as you finish drinking. Charles shakes his head, “Stop apologizing. You passed out, that was no fault of yours.”
“You passed out!?” A loud concerned voice makes both of you snap your head towards the door of the room. Sebastian stood there, still in his race suit like the both of you, a shocked look on his face.
“Is that what happened? You passed out mid race?” He asks again, but this time softer. He walks towards your medical bed– which you insisted you didn’t need– before putting his hand on your forehead to check if you had a fever. The action makes you giggle, but Sebastian had a serious look that shut you up quickly.
He shakes his head with a sigh, “You have a bit of a fever.”
“Any other fun observations?”
Sebastian didn’t seem to be in the mood for your wit, though. “You could have been injured. Just a few meters and you could have fully hit the wall. If you were just a few seconds late waking up you would have–”
He shuts his eyes and stops himself. He didn’t want to think about what could have happened anymore. His voice got wobbly during the end of his statement, making you realize that he was stopping himself from crying. You absentmindedly sit up and reach for his hand, squeezing it gently.
“I’m here, Seb. And I’m fine. Look at me.”
The older driver does, slowly opening his eyes. You squeeze his hand a second time, a soft smile on your lips. “I’m here. And look, I’m completely fine. You’re not getting rid of me that quickly old man.”
Seb lets out a chuckle at that, moving to hug you tightly.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he mumbles into your hair. “Why did you even pass out?”
“I was already a little dizzy before getting in the car because of the heat but I tried ignoring it. The car was overheating too and it made me dehydrated, I think. My drink pouch wasn’t a lot of help either when the water was steaming hot. Plus…” you trail off, not really wanting to talk ill of Webber.
“Mark gave her food poisoning when he took her to lunch,” Charles butted in, making you give him a look. You forgot he was in the room.
“Mark? As in Webber?” Sebastian asks, Charles nodding in response. “The bastard.”
“Oh c’mon Seb, he just wanted to treat me to lunch. It’s not like he poisoned my food on purpose.”
Seb sighs deeply before agreeing, “You’re right. Sorry. I’m just– I don’t know.”
“I get it. I mean, this is my second time at the medical tent in three months. Makes you think how accident prone I am,” you joke. Sebastian laughs, and you’re glad you got the worried look in his face away.
“The one in Spa was completely your fault, but we may have to pin this one on Mark,” Seb teases. You shoot him a grin, “Yeah, we can say that.”
Before you could talk more, though, a PR person from both Ferrari and Aston Martin came in to fetch Charles and Sebastian.
“What about me?” you ask, getting up from your bed. It wasn’t like you were injured or anything, you were just a little sick and had a bit of a stomach ache. You’d already thrown up earlier, so you felt pretty normal now.
“Sorry, we have orders to keep you here.”
You scoff, “Please. What can they do if I walk out?”
Before the Ferrari PR agent could reply, though, you were already out the room. She stands there helpless, making Sebastian and Charles chuckle to each other before following you. You were always stubborn when you wanted to be.
The second you’re out of the medical tent, camera flashes overwhelm your eyes. You walk past them as you always do, but the contrast of the light to the night sky makes you a bit lightheaded again, having to hold Sebastian’s arm for support. He moves your hand from his arm to his own hand, interlocking it with yours and pull you through the crowd. There were no words needed to be said, he always knew what you needed. You’re starting to think he can read minds.
Once past the annoying lot of cameras, you make it to the media pen where at least they pestered you in a more civil way. The interviewers were all over you and Charles, looking for some inside scoop on ‘Ferrari drama.’ Turns out, the media thought you tried to purposely take Charles out a la brocedes style. Because of this you had to clarify to every person you talked to that, “No, I did not try to take Charles out on purpose. I passed out. We’re good. Yes, we’re still friends.”
Once that was all over, you headed over to the Channel 4 area to give a certain someone a piece of your mind. “Mark Webber.”
The man turns around to the mention of his full name, smiling when he notices who it is. “Y/N! Glad you’ve come and joined us! We’re on in about five minutes, we can do a segment about the crash but if you wanna talk about something else on screen that’s fine too, we can–”
“You gave me food poisoning!” you butt in. “I cannot believe you.” His coworkers give him a look, as if they were holding in a laugh at him being scolded.
Mark stands there with his mouth agape, unsure what to say. “Wasn’t that three days ago? Are you sure it’s me?”
Rolling your eyes, you reply, “Yes, I’m sure it’s you. It started three days ago, and guess who I was with when I ate something unusual three days ago? Oh right, it’s you!”
He pauses for a moment before bursting into laughter, trying to cover his mouth to no avail. “Sorry, it’s not funny that you almost crashed, I’m glad you’re safe, but– ha!– I cannot believe it was because of the dodgy Indian food!”
You gave him a shove, trying to act mad, but the smile on your face betrayed you. His laughter was contagious. “You are such an asshole.”
“Awh cheer up,” he gives you a side hug, ruffling your hair a little. “Sorry for giving you food poisoning, mate. I’ll make it up to you, whaddya think about lunch on me tomorrow?”
You escape his side hug when you hear him say that, “Absolutely not! I’m never trusting you again with food recommendations.”
The statement makes him laugh again, and you chuckle along with him. Hard to be mad at someone who didn’t do it on purpose. Sebastian walked over to the two of you, having watched the interaction from afar.
“Look who’s coming over,” Mark mumbled, making you notice Seb trying to pretend to just ‘bump’ into the two of you. “Still competitive ‘till now, eh? Don’t worry, I’m not trying to out-mentor you,” Mark says out loud, grabbing the attention of the German.
Seb tilts his head with a faux oblivious look, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He grabs you by the arm and ‘discreetly’ pulls you over to his side. ‘No idea’ my ass.
The Australian scoffs with a grin, “Whatever you say mate. Listen, I gotta get back because our feed is going live in a few minutes, but you two take care, alright? Nice to see you again Seb.”
“You too, Mark.” Sebastian replies, this time genuinely. While the media knew the two drivers were now on good terms, they didn’t know just how close they had gotten. The two went bowling at least once every two months just to catch up with each other, you being there for half their competitions– yes, they still competed. Apparently that sense of wanting to beat your former teammate does not go away. So far this year, Mark’s been winning.
Before Mark completely walked away, he looked back at you for a second, “Oh, and, I am happy you got out injury free from that nasty crash. Genuinely glad you’re okay. Sorry that my dodgy food contributed to your sickness.”
You wave him off, “It’s fine, Mark. It’s not like you could’ve known I would get food poisoning. Although, next time maybe check online reviews.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiled, waving you a goodbye as he ran to his coworkers who were already getting impatient.
You shake your head with a grin, “Well at least that’s over with.”
Sebastian slings his arm around your shoulder, “True. So want to get dinner?”
“Absolutely not. I think I’m done with food for a good while.”
“Well you have to eat something,” he insists, as you both walk through the paddock. “How about we get room service?”
“Eh, it’s late, I don’t really want a repeat of Monaco 2019.”
Monaco 2019 was when you and Seb got room service at 10pm because you didn’t check the time. Safe to say the staff weren’t very happy with that. You both felt so bad while eating that food.
“We can just get McDonalds then,” you suggest.
“McDonalds?” Charles asks, popping out from god knows where.
“Jesus, where the hell were you hiding? The atoms?” You ask.
“I was here the whole time.”
“You were not,” Sebastian comments. Charles simply shrugs, tagging along with the two of you, not caring that he was obviously third wheeling a moment. “So McDonalds?”
You roll your eyes, “Yes, McDonalds. But you’re paying because you’re tagging along.”
“No fair! Sebastian is richer than me!”
You both give Charles a look at the same time. Charles thinks it’s eerie how alike the two of you were.
“Charles,” Sebastian starts, patting the Monegasque’s back with one arm with his other still slung around your shoulders. Your accident made him very clingy, but you weren’t about to tell him that. “Let me phrase this as nicely as I can; you are from Monaco. You are rich.”
Charles lets out a sigh, “Fine. I’ll buy the food.”
You clap, “Fuck yeah! Food on the rich man!”
“We have the same salary in our contracts?”
“Shh, that’s not important,” you say, shushing Charles. “Food on the rich man! Although, we may have to go to the hotel right after and just get take out. I can feel Mark’s Indian food from three days ago still fighting with me.”
Charles is the one to roll his eyes this time, “I’ll get the car so we can get there faster, your highness.”
“Thank you, Lord Perceval.”
“Don’t call me that!” he shouts, already walking away to the parking lot.
That left you and Sebastian alone again, just enjoying the company of one another, walking slowly down the paddocks. There were few people now, most having gone back to their hotels to call it a night.
“You know, I’m glad I found you.”
The words make you look up at the older driver, who you find smiling at you. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean obviously we would find each other, there’s only so many drivers in Formula One. But I mean I’m glad I found you in this life.”
“Do you think we don’t find each other in other lives?”
Sebastian pauses and thinks for a second. He’s thought about the other career paths he could have taken throughout his life– other lives he could have lived. He knows there’s no logical way, but he thinks he still would have found you in those lives. The thought makes him smile to himself.
“No, I think we do.”
“Well then good. Because me too,” you reply, giving him a smile of your own. “Why did you suddenly think about it though?”
Sebastian shrugs, “I don’t know. I just felt suddenly sentimental. Feels like a chapter of my life closed but I’m not sure what or why.”
Little did he know that he would start contemplating retirement a few weeks after that.
“Oh well, it doesn’t matter. Whether we find each other in other lifetimes, I mean.”
Seb raises his eyebrow, him now being the one confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we’re both here now. Enjoying each other’s company. Why bother thinking about versions of ourselves in other universes when we’ve got each other in this one?”
Sebastian gives you the most genuine, softest smile at that. “I love you, I don’t tell you that enough.”
You scrunch your face, “Ew. Sounds like a love confession. Sorry but you’re too old for me.”
“You know what I mean. I love you but not in that way. That’s just gross,” Sebastian says, hitting your shoulder.
“Relax old man, I’m just teasing,” you giggle, trying to avoid his hit. “Love you too. Ew. Sorry, not great with verbal affection. Pretty sure that just made me throw up a bit, and that’s not even with the help of the food poisoning.”
Sebastian just shakes his head, “Okay c’mon now, Charles will be annoyed with how slow we’re walking.”
Later that night, the three of you watched a cheesy romcom while sharing a shit load of fries and chicken nuggets. As you carried on through the night you thought to yourself that despite the hardships of F1, the crashing, the disappointments, the injuries– it brought you a second family you never thought you’d have. And you wouldn’t trade it for any other universe.
Although, maybe a universe where you didn’t get food poisoning.
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wttcsms · 6 months
Text
we play our fantasies out in real life ways ; shouto todoroki.
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pairing shouto todoroki x f!reader  word count 2.7k  synopsis knocking up his sugar baby seems (and feels) like a dream come true for the future ceo and youngest son of japan’s richest conglomerate family. content contains sugar daddy!shouto, yandere themes, car sex, creampie, breeding kink, quirkless au, ceo!shouto, tiny daddy kink author’s notes this is a repost of an old fic but pls tell me we are still horny 4 shouto. also ignore the Tesla promo, i was feeling silly when i wrote this </3
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He can have anything he wants, you know.
And of course you know this. Of course you do. It’s hard to ignore this fact whenever he’s the exact reason your closet is overflowing with more dresses than you know what to do with; why your dresser can barely stay shut due to the amount of lacy lingerie you’ve had to shove in them; why you’re a third year college student driving to campus with a brand new Mercedes that technically isn’t even supposed to be out on the market ‘til next month. 
He can have anything he wants, and because you’re his, by extension, you have the power to make all your material wishes come true, too. All you have to do is ask him.
All you have to do is look up at him and give him those puppy dog eyes of yours and say, “please, daddy, can I cum?” and he’ll let you. You know he will, because stoic Shouto Todoroki, the future CEO and prized son of the Todoroki clan that happens to be one of the most famous conglomerate families in all of Japan, just can’t seem to say no to you. He signs off multi-billion yen deals as easily as one blinks and running multiple companies is just something he’s been born to do. It’s no easy feat to give commands to such a powerful man. 
And yet, one look and a tiny whimper is all it takes to turn him into putty in your hands. 
It’s always an out of body experience when you’re with Shouto. Being with him is like constantly being the main character of a movie. He rents out entire restaurants so the two of you can dine away from prying eyes. He sends you good morning and good night texts every single day. (One time you joked about him forcing his assistant to do it because there’s no way a busy man like him would ever have time to do something so insignificant; he didn’t like that you couldn’t seem to wrap your head around the concept of you being someone very important to him.) Shouto is incredibly good to you, incredibly good for you.
He’s incredibly good with a lot of things. Taking care of you, for one. Taking care of all his businesses, for another. And right now, he’s taking real good care of your cunt when he’s got three of his fingers knuckles deep in you. 
The windows to his sleek, outrageously priced car are tinted so dark, even you struggle to see through the windshield. You always tell him it’s dangerous, but he reminds you that there are always reasons for the things he does. You wonder if getting tinted windows so he could fuck his college student sugar baby with some semblance of privacy is the reason. 
And then all thinking on your end comes to a stop when he nips at the skin of your neck, biting down softly and getting you to let out a tiny whimper. It doesn’t hurt. You don’t think Shouto is even capable of hurting you; not because you’re some unbreakable being, but because you don’t think the calloused hands that have caressed every centimeter of your body is capable of harming you. 
The two of you are currently parked in the lot right outside the building where his main office is located. In about ten minutes, the parking lot will be flooded with employees who have just clocked out and are getting ready to speed home. In about ten minutes, anyone could accidentally (or purposely) become a little voyeur to the activities going down in the future CEO’s luxury car. 
Your back is pressed against his chest. More often than not, you find yourself naked while he’s practically still dressed, and it’s the same thing that��s happening right now. The buttons on his shirt are digging into your back, but you can’t find it in you to complain. Instead, you focus on gripping the wrist of the hand that’s in between your thighs. The sleeves of his button down shirt are rolled up, and if you take your tiny fingers just a bit higher, you can feel the veins running down his arm. 
“Tell me what you want, baby.” The baritone of his voice is smooth, calm, collected — in control. Because you can make any request in the world, and Shouto will fulfill it for you, but that does not mean that you are the one who makes the final decisions. At the end of the day, everything you have, everything that is given to you, is because of him, because of the decisions he makes for you.
His eagerness to gift you the world thinly veils the true depth of your submission to him. A subconscious part of you is well aware of the power imbalance in this relationship, but if all has been well these past two years, then surely it’ll only be smooth sailing from here?
You lean back, leaning into his warmth, breathing deeply to inhale the scent of his spicy cologne that costs more than your textbooks (that he bought for you). 
“D-daddy.” You moan out, trying to coax him deeper in your tight little cunt, as if his fingers aren’t already as deep as they can go, spreading out your hole to prep you for what he knows you truly crave. 
“You’ve got to speak up, love. I can’t give you anything if you don’t tell me what to give you.” His breath is warm against your ear, and it’s so hot in the car. So, so hot. You wonder if it’s just you feeling the heat, though. Shouto seems as collected as ever, not the least bit uncomfortable at all. 
“Mmm — w-want you.” You wriggle a bit in his lap, but his free hand grips your side and squeezes you with a firm, nonverbal command to stop moving. You do, immediately. Because that’s what you always do: follow his command. 
“I know you do.” He coos, finally moving his fingers. It’s agonizingly slow, too slow. The car is silent save for your little pants and the obscene wet sounds that come as a result of his fingers thrusting in your wet cunt. 
“Faster, daddy.” You whine out, looking up at him. The sun is setting, and despite the tint of the windows, the orange glow from the sun still shines against his smooth skin, casting his face into something that’s half sunset/half shadow. It’s a good look; a sharp contrast that matches his hair. Seeing your blatant admiration of him only spurs him to give in and go faster. He had planned on drawing this out for as long as he possibly could. He had originally wanted to coax you into as many orgasms ‘til you were nothing but a fucked out little mess, too worn out to pay attention or even care when he finishes your little session with you plugged up with his cum. 
The lives of children born into the Todoroki family are more cursed than it is blessed, and Shouto had, a very long time ago, made a vow that he would never continue the bloodline. He would have no children, which would be easy because he planned on never having a lover.
And then he met you, started providing for you, realized how much he enjoyed providing, and realized even more that the only way to strengthen this transactional relationship is by forcing your hand. He likes to think that you would stay with him willingly, but there are some chances that he’s just not willing to take; there are some extremes that he’s all too entirely happy to go far to, though. 
Your sweet moans mix in well with the lewd sounds of your pussy getting thoroughly fingerfucked. His fingers are so much longer than yours, can reach spots inside of you that you can’t quite reach yourself. He’s efficient with anything and everything he does, and you’re not surprised when he doesn’t slow his pace. The consistent strokes of his fingers, your lowered inhibitions when around Shouto, and the look on his face (equal parts concentration and adoration) all help in making you cum all over his hand. 
“Good girl.” Shouto whispers, removing his fingers and holding his hand up. The sunlight beaming through makes his digits glisten even more, and you’re enraptured as you watch him bring his fingers to his lips to suck your essence off of them. Piercing heterochromatic eyes never leave yours as he sucks on them, and you have to turn away from embarrassment. How can he keep such a straight face when literally licking your cum off his fingers? 
“Don’t turn away from me.” His hand — still wet — grips your chin and forces you to look at him again. “I don’t like it when you shy away from me.” 
You nod meekly, and Shouto sighs. 
“You shouldn’t be shy around me. I don’t like making you feel uncomfortable, you know that, don’t you?” 
You nod again, a subtle, barely there move. He’s not impressed. 
“Answer me properly.” There’s a hard edge to his tone, and you sit up a little straighter. Shouto would never lay a hand on you with the intent to physically harm you, but he’s not above roughing you up during sex. You’ve heard him get this way before, and the imprint of his fingertips and the purple hickeys littering your poor body took three days to fade properly. 
“I’m sorry, daddy.” You say with a pout, trying to conjure up any sort of leniency he can spare. Judging by his facial expression and the wavering look in his eyes, he’s already softening up. You just have to make it up to him now to have his complete forgiveness.
Maneuvering in the limited space the driver’s seat gives is no easy task, but you manage to shift positions to where you’re straddling his lap, finally facing him properly. He’s leaned back, watching you with a hungry glint in his eyes that makes you feel like the most wanted girl in all of Japan. A surge of heat flows through your body, from the tips of your ears to your cheeks and all the way down to between your thighs. If you were in a different position, you could clench them together, try to rub your thighs in an attempt to ease the need for friction. 
Your fingers make quick work of his belt and his zipper, pulling down on both the waistband of his slacks and his briefs to finally free his cock. He’s already hard, and you admire the way your hand can’t even wrap fully around him. The tip is flushed red, pearly beads of precum already present. 
This is the part where you look up at him, almost as if you’re unsure about what to do. You don’t know what it does to him, to see you sitting on his lap with his cock looking outrageously large in your tiny hands. He can see your pretty pussy practically dripping all over his slacks. Now’s not the time for you to be playing the role of an innocent, unsure little girl, but then it hits him: you’re asking him for permission. He almost lets out a bark of laughter. 
“You’ve already taken it upon yourself to tear into my pants and make a grab for my cock. Surely you don’t expect me to beg to fuck your little hole now, do you?” He has a cold smile on his face as he brings you closer to him. “I thought this was my apology. Don’t tell me you’re going to make me do all the work?”
“O-of course not!” You look startled at the suggestion, eyes going big and round. He looks at you expectantly, as if telling you to do something. 
It always burns when you first take him. It doesn’t matter how many times he makes you cums, doesn’t matter how long he spends stretching you out on his fingers. By now, your pussy should have memorized the feel of his dick, should have been moulded to fit him and only him. And while there’s a tiny flash of pain and discomfort for you (which Shouto hates), it’s hard not to be in love with the feel of just how tight you are. 
The stinging pain is brief, though, and is easily replaced by one of satisfaction from being stuffed by the prettiest, fattest cock you’ve ever taken in your life. 
You moan, rocking your hips back and forth. Maybe this was originally supposed to be an apology to him, but it feels more like you’re using him as your own personal toy, and Shouto really couldn’t care less. After all, if it brings you pleasure, it brings him pleasure. 
“Are you enjoying yourself, baby? What would happen if I never met you, hmm? Are you willing to spread those pretty legs of yours for any man?” He says the last sentence with a tone sharper than usual. You shake your head as you continue to rut against him, chasing after your own high because you might not be a simpleminded slut for anyone, but you are nothing more than a cockslut when it comes to Shouto. 
“Ah — fuck, fuck, fuck!” You moan out, falling against his chest, burying your face into the space between his shoulder and neck. “D-daddy, fuck!”
He holds you close to him as you cum, not even minding the mess you’ve made of his work pants. “Daddy’s got you.” He coos, his hand finding the back of your neck and squeezing you there, gently. “You must be tired now…”
You’re still too fucked out to really comprehend what’s exactly going on ‘til it’s happening, but even with your slow reaction times, you still manage to let out a slutty moan as you feel Shouto thrusting up into you. It must be uncomfortable, you think. This position doesn’t make it exactly easy for him to chase after his own pleasure, but then you remember that Shouto Todoroki doesn’t back down or break down when it comes to challenges.
He perseveres. 
You’re like a rag doll, like a personal little fucktoy, made for him to use (and maybe even break) as he pleases. Every thrust is sharp and intense, and his teeth are clenched as he continues to use you, enjoying the warmth of your tight walls and admiring the ring of white that coats and clings to his dick every time he pulls out. 
It doesn’t take him much longer to finally finish; he grabs you by your hips, raising you slightly before abruptly pushing you down on his cock, making sure that he’s nestled as deeply in you as he can be when he finally cums. He’s breathing a bit harder as he comes down, and then he’s grabbing you by your hair, making you stare at him. 
His cheeks are flushed, there’s some slight sweat building up on his forehead, his shirt is wrinkled. He’s never looked better. You’ve never felt better. 
Or, more accurately, never felt fuller. 
“Shouto, did you c…” You can’t even finish the sentence. Did you cum inside? Not like you have to; you know the answer. Some of it is dripping out of you. 
All he does is give you that small smile, the one that he rarely lets anyone see, and starts up the car. 
If he doesn’t want to talk now, there’s no way you can get him to answer properly. You try to remove yourself from his lap and make your ungraceful, disgusting journey to the passenger seat, but Shouto places a firm hand on your waist, forcing you back down.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Shouto, you can’t possibly drive while I’m sitting here on your lap.”
“I bought a Tesla for a reason.” 
Right. Because everything Shouto does has a reason for it.
You think about this on the drive back to his penthouse, a little bit of fear building up in your lower belly. Shouto does everything for a reason, and what’s the reason for any man cumming inside?
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harrysbabycherry · 1 month
Note
would love to read a blurb where harry was seen in public for the first time at his appearance yesterday after it was announced he became a dad (in the pictures yesterday i just see harry as a dad omg) 🫶🏼
I got this like a week ago, so sorry it’s late but she’s here and it’s cute! I hope this is what you meant! It’s very very cute so you’ll probably like it anyway! I don’t think I’ve written dadrry for you all yet so enjoy ☺️ thank you for the request!!!
wc: 1.7k
warnings: none! dadrry! me doing anything i can not to have to give this baby a name! (the pic has nothing to do with the plot of it, i just think it’s fcking funny) enjoy!!!
three months
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It was Harry’s first time out of the house in months and not exactly his choice either.
Three months had passed since he went out anywhere. Three months since the second love of his life came to join him. And he hadn’t left the house since they arrived back from the hospital.
Well, technically he did. He went to the studio, he went to meetings, only ones that were mandatory of course, and that was pretty much it. If it wasn’t something he had to do, he stayed home. There was nothing else he felt the need to leave for because everything he needed was in one place. That’s the argument he tried to use with (Y/N) but she wasn’t having it and sent him on his way.
Apparently, he needed social interaction outside of the house with people who could actually talk and (Y/N) had surprised him with tickets to a football match. He hadn’t been in a while and it was something he enjoyed but he would still rather stay home.
He was least prepared for the cameras in his face, watching his every move. Everyone seemed to be smiling, overjoyed that he decided to show his face in public after he’d been cooped up in the house. But he just tried to act like he was seconds from sprinting out of the stadium and to his car.
The match had just started and he was still saying his hellos to everyone that he passed as he made his way to his seat. He’d met up with a few of his mates and sat down beside them. He tried to focus on their lives and how they had been since he last saw them, but as soon as they asked how he was, he was pulling his phone out and showing anyone who would pay attention his new baby that now absolutely flooded his camera roll.
When the conversation died down in favor of watching the match directly in front of him, he decided to check on (Y/N).
Harry: How’s it going?
(Y/N): Good. Watch the game.
He couldn’t help smiling. She really wanted him out of the house. Even (Y/N) had a day off. He insisted on it. He sent her to a spa with one of her best friends just to give her some time away and he got to spend all day with the baby and it was just a dream. No matter the crying and the fussing, he loved every second of being a dad, and if he played his cards right, (Y/N) would give him another baby. Because one wouldn’t be enough. Two wouldn’t either but he doesn’t want to push his luck with her.
He sat in his seat, not feeling bothered to converse much with those around him. They were all old time friends and all easy to talk to but he couldn’t think about anything other than what (Y/N) might be up to.
Harry: How’s baby?
He has to ask. He doesn’t want to miss a second and now that (Y/N) has sent him out, he feels like he won’t be there for something important.
(Y/N): Sleeping.
Harry: How’s mummy?
She doesn’t answer for a long moment and he knows he should be paying attention to the field because he’s certain the camera is panning to him every free second of the match and he doesn’t want to look uninterested at all. But he just can’t wait for it to be over.
(Y/N): Stop staring at your phone and watch the game.
He replies seconds later.
Harry: How do you know I’m looking at my phone?
(Y/N): I’m watching you, idiot. Put it away.
Harry: So you get to watch the game from home then? Is that how it is?
(Y/N): Stop whining and stop texting me.
He sighed and put his phone away just like she asked. He tried to get into the game now because if that will satisfy her, he’ll do it. And then maybe he won’t have to leave the house for another three months.
It’s just that he doesn’t want to miss anything. Even if the baby is just sleeping or taking a bottle, he doesn’t want to be anywhere that’s not right next to (Y/N), even if it’s the most boring task in the world.
He tried to chat with those around him to keep his spirits up. Not that he was sad but he just wanted to be at home.
By the time the second half came around, he’d not checked his phone once. So, maybe he did get a little distracted by the game. There were a few close calls that had him up out of his seat but that was the most he did.
Harry: Everything good?
He chuckled to himself when the text bubble popped up, telling him that she was writing something back. He knew he was testing her by sending another message but he hadn’t been out of arm’s reach in so long, he didn’t know how to act without her beside him.
(Y/N): Yes.
Harry: Can I come home now?
The game was coming to a close and he knew he should stay until the end, just to be polite, but he couldn’t sit still knowing that he was here and they were so far away.
(Y/N): You’ve been gone for like two seconds.
Harry: Miss you so much :(
(Y/N): Fine.
Harry wanted to keep it quiet so he just whispered to one of his mates that (Y/N) needed him home for something and that it wasn’t anything serious, she just needed him to do something. Which was a lie but she’s not here to tell anyone it’s not, so he goes with it and makes sure to let everyone know what a wonderful, eventful time he had. And then he was gone, happy to have beat the crowds and the traffic.
As soon as he turned the lock, he was hurrying off to find (Y/N). She was in the kitchen with a spoonful of yogurt to her mouth, almost looking disappointed.
“What’s the point of sending you out if you’re just going to beg to come back home?”
“Told you it was a mistake,” His arms wrapped around her from behind before he kissed her cheek and rested his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t want to be anywhere but here. Okay?”
She sighed, tilting her head to rest against his. “Fine.”
“Now, where’s my boy?”
(Y/N) barely finished telling him that he was upstairs before he took off, taking the steps two at a time to go check on the baby. He was probably sleeping but that was fine. All Harry wanted to do was look at him anyway.
To his surprise, he was awake, quietly stirring in his crib, and blinking up at him. A sleepy smile made its way to his mouth before he was cooing something that Harry couldn’t understand quite yet.
“Hi, sweetheart. I’m home,” Harry quickly shrugged out of his coat and set it aside so he could stand over the crib again. He held one hand down for him to latch onto, which immediately went to his mouth, but Harry didn’t care. “Nice nap?”
Of course, he didn’t get a response except for a hum against his finger that was now being drooled on. But he didn’t care. He couldn’t wait any longer to hold him in his arms, so he carefully lifted him until he was resting against his chest. And then he made his way to the comfortable rocking chair right beside the crib.
He’s fallen asleep here more times than he can count. With the baby resting on his chest and an empty bottle in his hand or alone, with his peacefully asleep in his crib, not wanting to leave his side, in case he wakes up crying again.
Harry thought he was very prepared when the baby came. He’d read books and went to each and every appointment with (Y/N). He asked countless questions to the nurses and doctors and specialists and even some hypothetical questions that had (Y/N) shaking her head at him with a smile.
But the truth is, when he rushed (Y/N) to the hospital that fucking freezing day in November, he had no idea just how unprepared he was. He was a wreck. Watching (Y/N) writhe in pain for hours did nothing to settle him. He tried to keep the mood light but he was so incredibly nervous to meet his son, he couldn’t sit still, even when (Y/N) asked him, more kindly than she should’ve, to stop pacing the room.
And when he was placed in Harry’s arms for the first time, it was love at first sight. He’d do anything for this baby. Anything. For as long as he lived and at the thought of that, he had to have his mum take the baby so he could cry into his hands in the hallway.
It was emotional to say the least. He made sure he was there for (Y/N) who was completely overwhelmed and tired but still had the energy to gawk at their new baby with him. He was perfect. A mix of the two of them done so excellently that he really couldn’t believe his eyes.
He was in shock for about three days. Even more so when they brought the little one home with the promise to take care of him forever.
He still couldn’t believe he was a dad. And sitting here now, after only being away from him for two hours, Harry feels his eyes welling all over again.
“Are you crying?”
“No.” He rushed to say.
(Y/N) is standing in the hallway, with a yogurt cup still in her hand, grinning at him.
“Okay. You never have to leave again.”
“Thank god. Come here, please.”
With his free hand, he patted his knee and he pulled her into his side, hugging her as tightly as he could.
There really was no reason for him to leave, he had everything he needed right here.
tags: @vamprry @1un4zsq @marzhshaim @sunflowersloverr @tenaciousperfectionunknown @caynonmoondreams @elidoho @peterbenjaminparke07 @daydreamingofmatilda @kissitnhekitchen @amberbambridge @danaehldy @straightontilmornin @forgetdelaney @harrysonlylover @idrawshapesonpeople07 @me-undiscovered @llina01 @80s-outsiders @littlenatilda @outofthisworl-d @butdaddyilovehim-hs @cherrys4suckers @harrystylessslut @sceleratuspoeta @hssunflowervol6 @indierockgirrl @honeyharlows @satellitelh @daphnesutton @tfharries @opheliaofficial07 @hermionelove @nathalielovesonedirection @velvetballaspark @watermelonlover @kathb59 @theofficialprongs @myloveforrreadingspost @harryshousewhore @harrysolaf @szoszi2004 @buckyssbestgirl @ellaorchard @trooooye @daylighthazzz @prettytulips @stylesfever @mayamonroem @fake-coolbeans
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stylesmygucci · 11 months
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-They can wait || H.S
Pairing: boyfriend!Harry x reader
Content warnings: SMUT!! (creampie, cowgirl, car sex), family/future talk, morning after pill mention.
Word count: 1368
A/n: I think this will be my last post in a while:’) it’s been a nice ride you guys! Maybe I’ll come back another time. masterlist
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His fingers pushed in and out of me. Attentive to me, and me only.
He held his mouth open, mimicking mine as I refused to let my moans out.
His thumb brushes my clit and I can’t keep my eyes open. I let my rugged breaths show my pleasure.
“Make more noise for me, please. I wanna know I’m making my baby feel good.” He kisses my shoulder.
I groan. I can’t feel his heat atop me. I open my eyes and find him on his knees.
“Har—“
“Shhh.. let me make you feel good.” His hot breath itches closer to my pulsating clit and I grow more and more eager.
“Y/n.”
He says before he teases his tongue through my folds.
“Baby, hey,” everything stops. “I’m sorry to wake you but I planned on leaving soon.”
I open my eyes, the creases in my neck sweaty and my thighs under the blanket sticky.
“Wait, where?” I wake up more, forgetting about the sex dream.
“Told you, Mitch’s… you sure you don’t want a shower before we go? you look a bit spent.” He touches my forehead with the back his hand, then my cheek. “We can stay if you don’t feel too good.”
“No, I’m fine, I’m just-“ I think about his mouth between me and sit up straighter.
“I’ll take a shower, just give me a couple minutes.” I nod.
“Ok.” He kisses my lips and walks away.
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After the shower, I expected my head to clear up and my body to calm down. I couldn’t really rub one out because I doubted Harry would appreciate me taking 20 minutes in the shower after wanting to leave early, or more importantly not just telling him I was craving him.
We were on our way to Sarah’s house for a watch party they apparently do every couple of months when they’re in LA.
Despite only knowing Harry’s friends for a couple months, we got along well. They invited me to their parties, their get-togethers. Most times I never heard of plans from Harry first, but first hand from one of his friends who kept my number. I was more than happy to go… just not today.
Right now, specifically, when my clit is throbbing and my tightly shut legs are doing nothing to relieve it.
“You look uncomfortable.” He states. I catch his brows furrow just as he licks his lips. “Baby, we don’t have to go if you don’t want to hang out with them. It’s okay to say n-“
“Harry-” I ease his rant, right as the traffic light switches red before us. “It’s not that. I’m just having trouble.”
“Trouble?”
I squeezed my thighs tighter when his voice croaked a little. I want to forget about it, I don’t want him to have to worry because I’m horny.
He stared at me for a couple of seconds until he felt the need to drag over my body. He sucks in a deep breath and grips his steering wheel tighter. He shifts in his seat. Now I know he knows.
Of course he knows. He knows me left and right, top to bottom, inch after inch.
The light that once illuminated his face red changed green.
“Harry, the light.” I acknowledged.
He went back to the road.
From all the times we’ve gone to Sarah’s house, this wasn’t the way I recognized. Even if it’s night, we always passed a bank and made a right. But instead he went behind the bank until we were at the back of a Target Superstore.
He takes off his seat belt and turns off the engine. For a moment it seems he’s mad at me, but then his face turns soft and I’m confused again.
“You can just tell me when you’re turned on and I’m more than happy to help you, yknow that?”
I looked at him like he was crazy, I could feel my brows furrow. He still turned me on, though. That smirk he put on; the way he spread his legs. Why was I so desperate?
He made his seat slide further from the steering wheel as much as he could.
“Come on.” He patted his thighs.
I looked back outside to the lit lights and cars driving by a couple of stops down. “Here?”
“Yes.”
“Harry-“
“If you really need this-“
“They’ll be waiting for us, we’re already late-“
“Woman.” He turns and gives me a stern look, it turns soft only seconds after. “They can wait.”
I hesitate.
“If someone catches us-”
“Tinted windows.”
We argue in silence, his eyes burning into me while he soothes his legs, teasing me like a little bastard.
“If we find videos of us on Twitter, I’ll never forgive you.”
He laughs as I mount his lap, making sure not to hit the steering wheel behind me. It’s only inches from my back, if I lean back too much I’ll honk and give us away.
His hands find themselves on my hips and down my waist, lower, and lower, and lower.
My breath gets trapped in my throat. He brushes over my shorts and looks up at me but I keep my sight on his fingers.
“Lift your hips.” He whispered. I did so and helped him remove my shorts.
I wasn’t worried that we were in a Target backlot anymore, all my attention went to the way his fingers felt against my skin and the way his lips hovered right below my ear.
He slid my panties to the side and touched me so satisfyingly I didn’t hold back on my moans. But it wasn’t enough. The aching was within.
“I need you please.”
“I’m right here.”
I groan into his shoulder because he hasn’t stopped.
“You know what I mean.”
His finger stop for a moment. His zipper sounds and I catch a glimpse of his boner through his briefs. He takes out and gives it a couple strokes. I clench around nothing just watching him.
He grips my ass harshly before aligning himself with me. Slowly, he fills me up. My hips sink and more and more of him disappears in me.
I can’t help but close my eyes. Shit.
“Like that?”
I nod and clench around him. He sucks in a breath.
I take one of his hands from my waist and push it back to my clit. Gently, he rubs, relieving more than half of my aching— and shit, I’m already close.
His other arm tightens around my waist, grinding me against him.
I’m gone already. My thighs quiver until I feel my climax come down.
His breath stutters and then he follows behind me, squeezing my love handles tightly as he grunts.
I hide in his neck and take in the smell of the car: sex, Harry’s cologne, and that signature smell his Range Rover has.
“Are you feeling better?”
I nod against his shoulders.
“By a lot.”
He laughs.
“This is a mess.” He mumbled. I looked down at us still together. My panties were soaked and the top of his drawers had small stains of his cum.
“I think we should go inside and buy some things.” I propose.
He looks up at me and surprises me by turning on the light beside my head.
“You mean me right? You look like you’ve been fucked.”
“I have.” I smile giddily.
“That’s not a good appearance in public, babe.” He kisses my lips.
He pats my ass and leans back.
“Come on. I’ve gotta get you a pill too.”
“You don’t want my baby?” I jokingly ask as I let him out of me.
“Oh I want all your babies. I would just like to plan it… you don’t want one right now, do you?” He sounds like he’s stepping around glass.
He won’t look at me just yet.
“I’m pulling at your balls, babe. Not right now, promise.” I kiss his cheek.
We’ve talked about it over a thousand times. Him on tour equals no baby making because he wants to be there for me. He wants all nine months tied to my hip and nothing less. I wouldn’t want anything less.
“That’s good to know.” He whispers and takes my lips once more.
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holylulusworld · 4 months
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Fool me twice
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Summary: You meet the man of your dreams.
Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader
Warnings: angst, language, betrayal?, lies, implied smut, plot twist (kinda), secrets, the reader doesn't know Bucky is with the mafia
A/N: Inspired by a post I saw on social media about a spicy legend.
Maybe there will be more. I don't know yet.
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Five months earlier, …
Who would have thought that you’d meet the man of your dreams at McDonald’s after a drunken escapade with your best friend.
You yelled at one of the employees, demanding food. “I need a spicy legend!” 
“I’m right here, doll!” Someone yelled back, making you squeal. “Try me!”
“I want the same,” your friend slurred and jumped at the employee, peppering kisses all over the poor guy’s face. “Are you spicy too?” She purred and shamelessly wrapped her arms around his neck.
The poor employee tried to handle your friend while the guy strolled toward you. He flashed you an irresistible smile and captured your heart with his soft blue eyes.
“How about I invite you for coffee before you get a taste of my spiciness?” He offered and held out his hand. “You look like you need it.”
“I can’t leave my friend here,” you replied and pointed at your friend. “Oh, shit. Wait…” You gasped as your friend started to strip her shirt off. “Fuck, babe! You can’t do this here!”
Suddenly, sober you stopped your friend from stripping and apologized to the employee. 
“I wanna ride him! He looks ready to get eaten,” she whined and tried to get her hands on the guy, but you dragged her away. “Please.”
“No, [BFFs name], we gotta get you out of here!”
“Can I lend you a hand,” the stranger offered. His smile was charming, and you felt your cheeks heat up. But he was still a stranger. “I won’t bite, promised.”
“She likes it when a guy bites her!” Your best friend exclaimed loudly. “Bite her neck and she’ll come like a … uh… waterfall!” 
“That is enough [BFFs name]. We don’t know him.” You guided your friend out, ignoring that the cocky guy followed you outside.
“Hey, don’t just run off. Give me your number,” he softly said. “I know you just met me, but I’d like to invite you for coffee.”
You sighed deeply. He was a very handsome guy and seemed to be nice. The problem was you fell for nice guys in the past. In the end, they never were nice guys.
“No.”
“Give him your number, babe,” your friend slurred. “Here!” She threw her purse at him. “My code is 6666!” Your friend grinned. “Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. You can call her doll, though. Save her number and call her tomorrow.”
“I like your friend,” he chuckled as you slapped the back of your friend’s head. “Don’t hurt her. She means well.”
“I want her to get laid!” Your friend grinned at the stranger. “I hope you can dick a girl down like there is no tomorrow.”
“Oh, sweets. I will destroy her,” he replied, smirking darkly. “In a good way, of course…”
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Five months later you and the stranger you met are going steady.
He’s charming, irresistible, and yes, he loves to destroy you. Only in the best way possible - of course.
“Bucky, why not,” you whine and tug at his wrist. “I promised my mom we would meet up with her for lunch. You can’t cancel now.”
“Babe, I got an important meeting. I’m sorry, but I can’t cancel the appointment. I wanted to go with you, I swear.”
You sniff, and let Bucky wrap you in his arms. “Next time.”
“Next time.”
He kisses your hair and sighs deeply. It’s one of these days. On these days he’s still a caring boyfriend, but a little more distant. 
“I love you,” you whisper, and he kisses your temple. But he doesn’t say it back. Not today. Maybe tomorrow he’ll return it.
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“Doll, you gotta see this,” Bucky shows you a picture he took of you while you were sleeping. He smirks at you, making your heart flutter. “You looked so pretty, I had to take a picture.”
“I’m drooling.” You punch his arm. “It’s creepy taking pictures of me while sleeping.” 
“I love you and want to memorize every moment with you.”
Today is a better day. He smiles more and tells you he loves you. “I love you too. Maybe next time you can come with me and finally meet my mom. She’s nice, you know. I want her to see how happy you make me too.”
“Wait…you wanted me to meet your mom?” He furrows his brows. “Shit, did I forget a date? I’m sorry.”
“What? Bucky, did you forget that you told me last week you wouldn’t make it? You said something about an important meeting.”
“Oh, yeah!” He scratches the back of his head. “The meeting. Sorry, this week was hell. I forgot about it. Next time, I’ll be there. Promised, doll.”
“Okay,” you snuggle into his chest. “I hope you don’t take more pictures.”
“I can’t promise anything,” he chirps and pats your back. “I’m really sorry that I forgot about the date with your mom.”
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Bucky searches for his phone, and curses under his breath. “Babe, did you see my phone.”
“On the nightstand. I recharged it for you, baby,” you poke your head out from inside the bathroom. “Why don’t you join me in here?” You crook your finger and try to lure him in.
“Sorry, I’m late,” he dips his head to look at you. “I wish I had more time.” Bucky bites his lower lip. “If only I could…”
“You can always take a day off, baby,” you purr, and drop the towel covering your modesty. “If you want me to, I’ll call your boss and tell him you need more time for your girlfriend.”
He runs his hands over his thighs, considering you. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he drops the keys in his hands and cups your face. Bucky kisses you fiercely. He moans into your mouth. “I can’t resist you…”
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“Bucky? Baby? Oh my god,” you gasp watching your boyfriend limp inside the living room. He’s got a black eye, and his nose is bleeding. Blood soaked his white shirt, and his knuckles are split and bloody.
“It’s nothing,” he shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have seen me like this. I got into a fight and …” Bucky runs one hand down his face. “You should see the other guy.”
“How did you get into a fight at the office?” You carefully touch his face. “Bucky, tell me what happened. I don’t think you got into a fight over a stapler or paperwork. This looks like you tried to kill someone.”
You grab his hand and lift it. “I’m so sorry…” He sniffs. “I thought…back then it was…shit…you’ll hate me.” Bucky cups your face with both hands, wincing at the sting of his wounds.
“I don’t understand, Bucky. What is going on?” Your heart thunders in your chest. Something is off with Bucky tonight, and you fear it’s worse than split knuckles and a black eye. “Please. You’re scaring me.”
“He should’ve stayed with you. And protect you while I’m away,” he drops his gaze and sniffs again. “I didn’t want him to fall in love with you too.”
“BUCKY, I don’t understand a single thing. Did you lose your mind?” You look at Bucky with teary eyes. “This morning you were so happy, and we made love. Now you look like you got thrown under the bus. Please tell me what happened.”
“He wanted me to keep an eye on you for him.” You scream as Bucky’s spit image steps inside the room. He’s wearing the same suit he wore this morning. 
“No…no…” you chant and step away from Bucky. “This can’t be. No…I…no…” you shake your head. 
“He shouldn’t have fallen for you, or touched you,” Bucky reaches out for you but, you slap his hand away. “It was for your protection. Every time I couldn’t be here, with you, Nick kept you safe.”
“Kept me safe?” You angrily wipe a stray tear away. “Did keeping me safe include fucking me?”
“It was only this once,” Nick hastily says. “I found an excuse to not touch you…” He licks his lips. “This morning you broke my resolve, and we ended up…” Nick shakes his head. “I’m sorry…so sorry, babe. I never wanted you to find out this way.”
“I hate both of you,” you choke out. “And I never want to see any of you again…”
Double the trouble
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Tags in reblog.
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oceandriveab · 5 months
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always busy
dad!rafe x reader
cw: none really. rafe is an ass but what’s new😍
a/n:i love dad!rafe who’s still canonically a dick but is also a softie for his wife and their babies😭😭😭
oh and sorry if this sucks😭 i’m so sleepy but i was determined to finish it so i’ll proofread it later
anyways, likes, comments & reblogs are always appreciated if ur feeling like it!! and my asks/ rafe requests are open!! 💌💌💌
-
having a newborn was never easy. having a newborn and a 5 year old daughter and being married to rafe cameron? didn’t make it much easier.
of course, mia was able to occupy herself at times, but never for very long, as she was still 5 years old and needed attention.
and of course, rafe was a good, loving husband. he put you in a gorgeous house, bought you your dream car, and gave you two beautiful babies…to look after all the time…because he was always busy. it seemed like he was hardly ever home, and when he was, he was usually in a pissy mood due to being so stressed out. you knew he worked hard and you were grateful for it, but you just wished he’d take the day off every once in a while to spend time with you, with your family.
however, when you suggested this idea to him, you almost wished you hadn’t.
rafe sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “you know i can’t right now, y/n. i don’t have time.” he leaned back against the headboard of your king sized bed and watched as you finished your nighttime routine.
laying your ice roller down, you took a deep breath and stood up, facing him. “i’m sorry, did you just say you don’t have time? as in you don’t have time to not go to work for one fucking day so you can stay home and, oh, i don’t know, spend time with your wife and kids who barely get to fucking see you anymore? is that what you don’t have time for, rafe? because that’s what it sounded like you said, but i just wanted to make sure.”
rafe dragged his hands across his face and groaned. he was already stressed from work on top of being sleep deprived from your newborn, rhett’s, constant crying waking him up, and now he had to deal with you.
“no, i-no, that’s not what i meant, okay?” he sighed, his eyes following you as you walked back to your vanity, shaking your head.
“well, what did you mean, rafe? i asked you if you could take some days off and stay home with us and you literally said ‘i don’t have time’. what else could that possibly fucking mean, huh?” you paused while cleaning up after yourself, looking at him with a dumbfounded expression across your face, waiting for him to explain what else he could’ve possibly meant by “i don’t have time”.
“listen, i just- whatever. maybe i don’t have time to sit here and argue with you. can you please just turn the lights off and shut the fuck up so i can go to sleep?” he rolled his eyes and flopped down on the bed, turning his back towards you.
you let out a small sigh and struggled to hold back your tears as you hurried to clean up your skincare products. once you were done, you carefully crawled into bed, not wanting to wake rafe.
you looked over your shoulder and were once again met with his back. when you turned back around, your silent sobs finally spilled out and your sniffles were all that could be heard in the large bedroom.
when you looked over your shoulder it seemed as though rafe was peacefully sleeping, completely unaware of what was happening right next to him.
what you didn’t know, however, was that he was not. he was actually wide awake. he heard you crying, he felt you shaking. he wanted to reach out and hold you, but his stubbornness wouldn’t allow it.
he stayed up until he heard you get quiet. looking over his shoulder, he saw that your breathing had evened out now, meaning you were asleep.
he carefully shuffled out of bed and reached in his nightstand drawer for the joint he hoped he still had. when he felt it, he smiled to himself and grabbed it, along with his lucky lighter, and made his way to the balcony outside of your bedroom.
he got comfortable, lit the joint, and started thinking. he was thinking about what you had said to him and how he responded. you were right. he was always at work. he was always busy. he hadn’t even realized the divide it was causing in his own family.
he was always on the phone with a client or a partner, too caught up to ever notice the way you had a million things going on at once and could use a bit of help.
he would always snap when you asked him to “please let mia play” in his office for a few minutes so you could put the baby down for a nap, because “can’t you see” he’s “clearly fucking busy right now?” before immediately going back to work, not noticing the disappointment on your face as you walk away.
work was stressing him out and he hated it. he hated realizing that he’d been neglecting his own family. he hated the strain it was taking on your relationship and the strain it had begun taking on his relationship with his children.
he clenched his fist and felt tears welling up in his eyes. after putting the joint down on the table beside him, rafe let out a shaky breath and wiped his palms on his pajama pants.
he was checking the time on his phone when his face froze and those tears that had welled up in his eyes began pouring out. his lockscreen was his favorite picture of the four of you- of his family.
he let himself cry for a while as he thought about you and your family. he hadn’t meant to be a shitty husband or father, he was just always busy.
he hadn’t realized the toll it was taking on you until now. and now he was determined to fix it.
-
PART 2
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kreumiya · 2 months
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★・fever dream part 1
taking care of the leader of Penacony while he's sick
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Well, the leader of Penacony may seem like he doesn’t have any weaknesses, however… getting sick a day before a banquet the two of you were meant to attend was definitely one. 
“Excuse me,” you said, pushing your way through the crowds of servants that had gathered outside of Sunday’s door. Maids, doctors, tourists, everyone of the sort was piling in. After all, not everyday did you hear the news that someone from The Family would get sick, even if it was just with an ordinary fever, they were quite closed off. Why do so many people have to be here? you thought, making it to the backdoor and letting yourself in, knowing that the bodyguards were already all too used to this occurrence. 
“You’re here?” 
Sunday looked up at you, smiling with a cloth half falling down his face. You walked towards his bed, noticing how intricate all the architecture seemed to be in his room. Plush velvet decorated his room in the farthest layer of the hotel. Taking a seat next to his bed, you took the cloth off his head, grabbing the basin and wringing out the water.
“You don’t have to–” he interjected, reaching for your hand. His hand was abnormally warm, especially so for someone like him, who you were so used to having hands cold to the touch.
“Well, I do have to so you can get better for the banquet,” you frowned and took the wet towel, placing it gently on his forehead. “If you don’t get better, who’s going to the banquet and hosting everyone? Surely you won’t let me, your poor assistant who’s only meant to accompany you, do it all by myself?” you let out a sigh, resting your head on his chest, hoping that you being dramatic would somehow cure all of his illnesses. He let out a small laugh and ran a hand through your hair. 
“Of course not, I’m sure I’ll get better in no-time, don’t worry much,” Sunday smiled, his wings moving slightly. “And even if you were to host a banquet by yourself, I’m sure you’d be able to anyway. But I doubt you’d be able to deal with the Nameless, I myself aren’t sure about them either.” 
You two lingered in silence for a few minutes before something crossed your mind. 
“Oh right!” 
You ran to the other bed, which was what took you to the Golden Hour dreamscape. Of course it was exactly as you remembered it, drunks and tourists of the like littered the place. And oddly enough, the bright lights of the city reminded you of how you had met Sunday – although that’s a story for another time…
Taking in the sound of the bustling city for another moment, you ran towards Sunday’s favourite shop, a cake shop that he had visited many times. Letting yourself choose the freshest cake with the great excuse that “Sunday would be eating this.” Soon you returned to the room, shoving the cake in between his hands.
“How’s it taste?” you grinned. It was his favourite food after all. 
“Not bad….”
And soon you tucked him back into bed knowing that tomorrow would be a long day with a sick leader of Penacony and a large banquet that hosted everyone from all around the universe. You just couldn’t wait to be overworked, at least it was with Sunday. 
Fever Dream Part 2
i have so many pulls for this man, probably ooc idk we've barely known him in story
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after-witch · 9 months
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A Linnet on a Bough [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]
Title: A Linnet on a Bough [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]
Synopsis: Isolation takes its toll, and you begin to sleepwalk out of the gilded manor Scaramouche has procured for you. 
Word count: 3300ish
notes: yandere, married reader, sleepwalking, isolation, unhealthy/controlling behavior 
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Being the spouse of a Harbringer is no simple matter, and you are no simple spouse. 
If you had married someone from  your village, your life would be simple. You would do what your parents had done, and their parents had done, and their parents had done. Cooking and mending and minding the children, and living out your days without ever venturing very far, except on rare occasions that would be something you would treasure forever.
You would grow old within the confines of the village and die surrounded by your children, who would bury you near your own parents and go on to live out their lives much as you had done.
But you didn’t marry someone from your village, and your life is not so simple. Instead, you were wed to Scaramouche. Sometimes it doesn’t seem real, even now, and you pinch yourself to make sure you’re not nursing some long standing fever-dream. 
Who would have thought? Certainly not you. Sometimes you wonder if even he expected to ever make such a match. But he told you that he intended to marry you, and let the words hang in the air, to be caught or cut down with your decision.
You said yes. Really, you couldn’t say no… but part of you wanted it. Yes, you can admit that much. It was flattering, and isn’t it nice to be flattered? Especially when you were nobody. Just someone who trudged to the town well to fetch water for your elderly parents, someone who helped a stranger (Scaramouche, it turns out, was not the helpless waif you’d assumed) and got a husband for their troubles. 
So, no, life is not simple. Both in the figurative and literal meaning of the word. 
And now, wife of a Harbringer as you are, you have grown acquainted with--and acquainted is the only term for it, for you could never say you were accustomed to any of it--certain luxuries. Food, to your liking, whenever you would like it. Sometimes it is even brought to you out of season, the greatest luxury of all. Clothing made with rich materials; ribbons, jewels, the softest of slippers to adorn your feet. Servants and pampering the likes of which you had only heard about in your old life. 
But there is one luxury that you are routinely denied, no matter how much you pout your lips, no matter how prettily you ask, no matter how many tears blur your vision and wet your eyelashes: the outside world.
You’re not meant to go outside, Scaramouche had told you, the first time it became clear that you were not going to waltz out of the stately manor he’d brought you to for the wedding in order to take in the scenery. 
And so… you don’t go outside anymore. Not in the traditional sense. You rest in covered litters with the windows tacked shut and he’s not above smacking your hand if you try to lift up the corners to catch a glimpse of whatever (or whoever) waits outside. Of course, when he’s not accompanying you, your pitiful looks sometimes convince one of the guards to let you keep one flap untouched so that you can take a peek.
But seeing flashes of the world you used to live in are not the same as truly being within it. The ghost of a breeze against your half-hidden face is not the same as basking in the sunshine. Hearing the sounds of life from a village as you’re carried through it is not the same as stopping at a market stall to buy a treat, asking someone how their day is going, and absorbing the hustle and bustle of everyone around you.
There is no substitute for living out in the world. 
You just don’t know how to convince Scaramouche of that fact.
--
There is a fine line between gratitude and ingratitude, between obedience and surliness, and Scaramouche finds that you walk it all too well. 
It doesn’t matter how much he takes away; how much he removes the temptation by tacking up screens or keeping you within interior apartments, free from all the noise and sights and smells of the outside. You still want to go outside. Something about it calls to you, pulling on your sleeves, no matter what he does.
No matter how much he tries to occupy your mind with something different. Better. Himself, most often (for you should be grateful for that) but things that no one else could say he gave them. Gifts. Trinkets. Things that suited your interests, which he knew very well, because he hangs onto every word that comes from your mouth.
Even the ones that drive him mad. 
He loves to hear your voice, nightingale that you are, but sometimes he is so gravely tempted to press a finger to your lips and tell you to hush. 
At least until you learn to stop saying things that grate his ears and the space where his heart should be. 
The pleadings that come so softly and sweetly--but if that was all, he could manage. It’s the way that you weave your thoughts into every conversation like a pattern in a tapestry--remarking on the weather conditions in regions that the two of you might be traveling in, asking if the retinue had encountered certain flora or animals during the journey. You want to know about the world; you want to be in the world. 
Little things, little threads, connecting you to a world that isn’t exclusively him… why has nothing successfully cut them from your grasping fingers? 
--
“They only blossom under certain conditions, you know.” Your voice is soft and lilting, carrying on the one-sided conversation over a shared table of delicate foods. You take bites in between your verbal fascination with the local flora, a subject you’re all too keen to share with him. “The flowers are said to be so lovely that people have wept at the sight of them. And the fragrance…” You sigh a little, and pick a piece of fruit to nibble on. “There’s nothing like it. Or so I’m told.” 
A pause. You glance at him, eyelashes practically fluttering, then look back at your dishes. 
“And… I’ve never seen one in person,” you add as you reach for another helping of fruit. “I wonder what they’re like.” 
Do you think he doesn’t know what you’re trying to do? Looking at him so sweetly, asking how he finds the food, interspersing dinner with notions of flowers blooming right outside the borrowed manor the two of you have been living in for this current assignment.
But he won’t give in. He won’t be manipulated, not even by you. 
Still… that doesn’t mean he can’t try to fulfill this hunger of yours. Much like filling a better, a taste should be enough to keep you from grumbling. 
Within the week, he has some unlucky Fatui tasked with the mission of cutting a fresh bouquet of the very flowers that you were waxing on about so prettily. And you wake up one morning to find them on the nightstand next to your bed, set in a clear vase.
He thinks that you’ll smile, and thank him, and if all goes well, he won’t have to hear any more not-so-subtle hints about your desire to go outside.
But you don’t smile and fling yourself at his feet, thanking him for such a thoughtful, fine gift. You don’t tell him that this is all you need--the flowers he gifts you, the clothes he has painstakingly crafted to suit our form and above all, him. 
Instead your hand goes to your mouth, covering the smallest of gasps. 
And, well, he thinks--you’re surprised. That’s all. That’s to be expected., if anything. You did often complain about the monotony of your days, so a little surprise was bound to get a reaction from you. 
But instead of breaking into a grin and thanking him, your hand reaches out to touch the delicate blossoms. Like they’re going to break. More than that--like there’s something wrong. 
“What is it?” And if there is a snap in his voice,  you surely couldn’t blame him.  You are so difficult to please, and hiding the fact that he wants to please you at all is a tiring chore all on its own. You exhaust him as much as you fill him.
“How much prettier they would be in nature…” Your lips curve downward, a soft frown that feels aimed right at him. “I’m sorry that you cut them…”
Sometimes, you make him want to scream.
He’ll take out his pent-up irritation on someone else. Irritation that is not at you, but with you. Yet not with you as well. It’s all a jumbled mess that he doesn’t want to untangle, and he won’t. He’ll shove it down deep into some cavernous hole, perhaps the one that exists inside of him no matter how hard he tries, and move on with his day.
If only you would stop looking at those flowers like they were broken glass.
--
You’re gone. The space that you occupy (the left half of the shared bed, all wrapped in blankets and often clutching a pillow instead of him, a trait he does not find endearing but does not wish to push on) is empty, bereft of anything but cool rumpled sheets.
There’s fear, at first. Fear that something has happened. Someone has taken you. Perhaps it was Her… perhaps She, of all the unholy things, has slithered past his defenses and snatched you up just to snap another piece from his broken patchwork body. 
It doesn’t have to be Her, though. He has many enemies. And enemies will target your weakest point, and you, you, you. You are exactly that to him. 
So there is fear, yes, that you have been snatched away and perhaps you are already dead, and they took you not for blackmail but for some kind of revenge. To see him wither. 
But then he retrieves the lantern from the dresser and lights it, the warm glow illuminating the silent, heavy room. He can feel his breath quickening, his chest tightening, and he doesn’t know why or what to do with any of it.
It only gets worse when he realizes that there is no sign of forced entry. No broken door-locks, no sprinkles of glass on the rugs, no drops of blood on the windowsill to mark where you might have been dragged through.
The fear ebbs away, replaced by a sour, sickly feeling of betrayal. 
You’ve left him. After all he’s given you. All he’s done for you. 
Yes, he’s taken away your freedom, but you didn’t have the capacity to understand why that was not something to begrudge him for. Freedom was not for delicate things that needed to be kept alive, protected, harbored from the rest of the world. 
He clutches the lantern in one hand and storms out of the room, still wearing his night-clothes. The hallways are dim, barely light by small windows that let in a trickle of moonlight. He listens. 
You couldn’t have gone far, and you’d better hope he catches you himself before morning, because if he has to engage a search party on  your behalf, no one (least of all the Fatui stationed with him) will be enjoying it.
He dismisses one of the guards who spots him. He doesn’t want them involved, not yet. He pushes out one of the side doors and begins to walk the perimeter of the grounds. You might have gone off into the forest, or perhaps you went down the paved path, hoping to find a traveler who might help you.
He is about to decide which option to take when he hears something from behind him, near a half-broken brick enclosure that had seen better days. Were you hiding in there? Trying to trick him? He couldn’t put it past you. 
He braces himself, feeling something thrum through him that made him want to turn away and rush forward all at once, and walks through the open gate of the enclosure. 
And… you’re there.
Sitting in the midst of a garden, some untended thing that was left here by the previous tenants, before it was abandoned and absorbed into the network of buildings useful to the Fatui. And to him, for keeping you in one secure location for months on end.
It was wild and overgrown, and some of the rocks creating the garden path were moss-covered. It’s a wonder you didn’t slip on them, he thinks, and there’s a flash of fear mingled with his irritation. How could you do something as stupid as sneak outside at night, in the dark, and walk into some unknown, overgrown eyesore? 
You haven’t heard his footsteps, evidently, because you go on standing. You’re swaying a little, and your hands brush the flowers. He can hear you talking to yourself, something low and sweet. He can’t see your face but it’s easy enough to imagine that you’re smiling. 
“What are you doing?” There was an attempt, in his mind, to keep his voice level. But it quakes anyway, with fury and irritation and that still-sour worry that you betrayed him in the night.
He waits. You don’t turn around. He thought that, when you heard his voice, you were going to jump like a scared little animal and apologize and try to smooth things over with your teary lashes and pouting lips.
But you don’t turn around. And when you answer him, it’s not a word, really. It’s mumbling. Low. Almost a groan.
He’s had enough. He walks forward until he can grip your upper arm, and moves to turn you around. But you don’t pout or jerk away or tell him that you just wanted to go outside. You’re looking straight at him but he can tell right away that you don’t truly see him at all.
You’re… asleep. 
Standing up, eyes blinking rapidly as if in the throes of some waking dream, in the middle of a garden.
But asleep, all the same. 
He presses his lips together. You were a nuisance. Truly. He should leave you here, let you wake up in the morning cold and shivering and covered in slick green moss.
Instead, he lifts you up. You flail a little, arms jerking this way and that, but it’s easy enough to grip you close and carry you bridal-style back down the hallway (the Fatui stationed in the hall is wise enough to say absolutely nothing as he sees him returning) and continues until he can lay you gently down onto your side of the bed.
You gasp, then, perhaps half-waking. But it’s eased enough when your hands instinctively grab your pillow and curl up with it. 
Before heading back into bed, he grabs a fire poker and slides it through the handles of your bedroom doorway. You wouldn’t be getting out, not in your sleep, anyway.
His dreams that night are fitful.
--
The first thing you realize upon awakening is that you’d really rather go back to sleep, because your dream was lovely. You were in a garden, fragrant and lovely. There was cool fresh air on your face and grass under your toes and sounds, real sounds. Birds and insects buzzing and everything that is forever kept on the other side of walls and windows now.
Over breakfast, you smile, and serve your husband his dishes before you tuck into your own. And is it wrong that you want to tell him about your dream? Is it wrong that you hope it will make him finally let you go outside, even just for a little while?
“I had a lovely dream last night,” you say, smiling with what you hope is sweetness and not desperation. “I was in a garden…”
You don’t see the goosebumps that run up his arms at your words.
--
You sleepwalk the next night. And the next. And the next. He doesn’t know how you manage to get the bar off the door every time, how you evade the guards, how you don’t wake him up… but you do. 
Always going to the same place, the damned garden, with its stubborn flowers and broken paths.
Well. If one vase of flowers is not enough to keep you satisfied (and more importantly, inside) perhaps he needs to take it a few steps further. 
He gifts you more flowers. Bundles of them, baskets of them, stuffed into vases and pots and cracked pans his underlings found in the kitchen storage room. 
And while the rooms of the manor are soon a garden, filled with cloying blossoms and greenery that brings its fair share of insects lurking about, it doesn’t make you stop talking about the world that you’re supposedly “missing” out there. 
Not just the flowers, but the animals. The people. The markets. 
The life, teeming with every little thing, good and bad, that makes up this world. 
Most disturbingly of all: The sleepwalking continues.
What more can he give you without giving you the freedom that would break him apart?
--
It’s not that the sound of a bird in the morning is unusual. It’s just that they are normally muffled, as there are no trees near the window of the bedroom.
But the chirping that you hear now is so close that it might as well be in your ear. Groggy, rubbing away the dust of sleep in your eyes, you sit up…
And find that there is a silver bird cage sitting on top of your dresser, next to a wilting vase of flowers from a few days before. 
It’s a pretty thing. Small and  yellow. A pretty thing in a pretty cage. Another gift from your husband, after the mountains of flowers, the wreaths of blooming vines, the meals, the clothes, the comfort…
--
He can never get used to waking up without you beside him. No matter how many times he easily finds you and brings you back, mumbling and bleary, there is always those terrible, agonizing moments of panic when he thinks: you’ve left him.
But you’re not alone in the garden. 
You’re holding the cage, clutching it to your chest. He wonders what will happen if your sleeping muscles dream of something else; will you drop the cage and let it clatter to the ground? Will the delicate bird inside be jostled so terribly that it dies? And what would he do, then, to ensure that this doesn’t make you even less satisfied with your isolated life?
But you don’t drop it. One thing he has learned from watching you sleepwalk is that you are surprisingly nimble about it. 
He watches, lips pressed into a frown, as you slowly lower the cage to one of the formerly ornate pedestal tables in the garden. It must have been pretty once. Now, it’s mossy and gray and damp. 
It doesn’t surprise him, what you do next. Your fingers, shaking but surprisingly deft, undo the latch on the door and swing it open. The bird inside hops around for a few moments, tilting its head to and fro, before it launches itself into the air and flies away.
You mumble something, sweet and slurry. A farewell, perhaps. Who knows what really goes on in your pretty head when you sleep? 
And it’s his cue to take you back inside. You still fight, just a little, when he picks you up. Flail your arms and legs, until he’s held you tight enough that your muscles seem to accept the hold and relax.
He looks down at your bleary, half-awake face. Your eyes tend to close when he carries you. Perhaps your body knows that it’s okay to let them rest, now that someone else is carrying you. Holding you. Protecting you.
A pity that your mind couldn’t understand that fact. 
Sometimes he considers chaining you up at night. It would be the most practical solution. It might even ease his fears every time he wakes to find you gone, and he’s forced to track you down to this nighttime garden that no one else would bother entering.
But there’s something in him, hard and sick, that wonders. If he chains you up, he might just free you in his sleep, like you’ve freed the bird in the cage. 
It’s easier to pretend you aren’t his prisoner when your chains are invisible, after all. 
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kingkonoha · 1 year
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TAKE IT
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➙ pairing: thug!connie x reader x eren
➙ description: after getting rid of your ex for good, connie has a new dream. he wants to fuck you with his best friend.
➙ content: 18+ ONLY, nsfw/smut, fem!reader, threesome, smoking, double penetration, oral, cream pie, etc.
➙ a/n: reading the other parts is recommended but not really necessary.
➙ find part I & part II here.
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Connie’s the sort of guy who doesn’t typically like to share. He’ll make sure his friends have everything they need and whatnot by any means necessary, but he has his limits.
Those limits exist in the form of his money, property, and women. Now, he’ll help any of his friends out. Does Jean need to borrow a couple grand? Sure, no problem. Does Hitch and Annie need to borrow one of his cars for the weekend? Go ahead, he doesn’t give a damn. As long as they ask, and they don’t take.
Suddenly, Connie was in the mood to share, and he wanted to share you with one of his best friends.
Connie noticed the way Eren would stiffen whenever you innocently touched his arm while laughing, or the way he’d quickly flicker those green eyes all over your body whenever you weren’t paying attention.
One day, Connie and Eren were smoking and eating up everything in the fridge, chilling outside on Connie’s patio couch.
Eren looks over at Springer, his wild brown hair messily falling out of the bun, taking a drag of the joint before passing it over to Connie.
“Hey, I’m gonna tell you the truth,” Eren closed his eyes, slouched down deeply in his seat, “I really wanna fuck your girlfriend.”
Connie inhaled the joint in between the black rings decorating his fingers.
“I know, man.” He chuckled. “Think I'm that stupid? It’s obvious as hell.”
Truth be told, Connie had a feeling Eren wanted you since the day Connie asked him to beat up your ex.
Anyone would have done it, of course, since no one would risk saying no to Springer, but Eren seemed almost a bit too eager.
Truth be told, he liked knowing that other people desperately wanted to fuck you. It made him love the fact that you were his, and his alone.
Even so, if any other guy came around and said what Eren dared to utter, he’d probably punch them in the face.
You could blame the joint, probably, but Connie actually liked the idea of you and Eren fucking.
As long as he was fucking you too, of course.
After all, Eren was his boy. He was truly his ride-or-die. Connie didn’t mind sharing with him just this once.
Connie had dropped the question on you that very next day. He snaked his tattooed arm around your waist, pressing himself against your backside as you made coffee for yourself.
He didn’t drink coffee, but when he heard that you did—and that a local coffee shop fucked up your order and ruined your day—he bought you one of those fancy coffee makers that turned his counter into an at-home Starbucks.
“Smells good,” he mumbled against the top of your head, his towering height speaking for itself, “what’d you make?”
“I made a latte. Want one? I’ve been practicing my latte art-”
“Do you wanna have a threesome? Me, you, and Eren?”
You whipped around to face him. An explosion of heat suddenly overwhelmed you, your eyes wide and your mouth agape. You tried to stammer out some sort of response, and you looked so damn cute when you were all bothered and confused, Connie couldn’t help but kiss you.
“C’mon, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “It’ll be fun.”
All it took was for you to simply nod your head, and Eren was at Connie’s place later on that night.
Eren could barely contain his excitement. That much was made clear when he didn’t bother to remove your tank top, only raising it above your boobs and holding it there.
While you leaned back against Connie, who smirked down at you, Eren was swirling his tongue around your nipple, flicking at it before sucking on your bud hungrily.
You whined, and Connie’s large hand reached around to pinch your other nipple.
Reaching between your bodies, Eren rubbed his hand over your clothed cunt. However, he didn’t bother with teasing you too long. He wanted to feel your wet clit for real, and was quick to snatch off your shorts and underwear.
As his long fingers swirled around your sensitive button, he moaned around your nipple.
When sweet little moans started to pour from your own mouth, Connie gripped your jaw. He forced your head back, making you look up at him, and he kissed you. He swallowed down the moans that Eren elicited from you.
Connie swirled his tongue around yours, gripping your jaw as he explored your mouth deliciously.
He pulled away. He watched the string of spit fall, a small groan falling from your boyfriend’s lips.
“Eren,” he called, releasing your jaw. “Lick her pussy.”
Eren instantly detached his mouth from your boobs, which were sore and wet from his licking and sucking.
“Can I make her cum?” Eren looked up at Springer, slowly lowering his head in between your legs. “You know I gotta taste her.”
You looked up at Connie. He absolutely loved it when you gave him those precious pleading eyes.
“Do you wanna cum, baby?” Connie asked you softly, and you nodded so eagerly, it made him smirk.
“Then go ‘head,” Connie said to Eren, “but if you’re gonna make her cum, then make her cum multiple times, alright?”
“Goddamn, alright.”
“Wait,” you looked up at Connie, and back at Eren, who stared hungrily at your pretty pussy. “M-Multiple times? I don’t think I can handle-”
You were interrupted by your own gasp, as Eren shut you up quickly by diving right into your cunt. He licked and sucked at your clit, then teased your hole with his tongue, all while moaning into your pussy because you tasted as good as he had imagined.
He couldn’t wait for you to cum all over his tongue. He reached down to palm his own dick, which hardened over the thought of lapping up your juices.
He shoved two fingers in and out of you, curving them to hit that sweet spot inside of you just right.
Connie noticed that it was starting to become too much for you, that you were already a moaning mess on the brink of your first orgasm as you tried to close your legs. He placed his own legs over yours, holding them wide open so that his best friend could eat you out easily.
Your first orgasm happened so quickly, you closed your eyes in embarrassment, thrashing around helplessly in Connie’s grip.
Eren only gave you a few moments to recover, reaching up to kiss you deeply, all before diving right back in to suck on your clit and finger you roughly again.
By your second orgasm, Eren was burying his face into your pussy, moaning and lapping up every drop so eagerly.
“That’s it,” Connie mumbled, playing with both of your nipples, “cum on his face, baby.”
You were absolutely delicious, and although Eren could’ve eaten you out all night, his dick was becoming so painfully hard with need. He had to do something about it.
And Connie was ready to fuck you as well.
You were sandwiched in between Eren and Connie. Eren was flat on the bed with you laying flat against his chest, his cock buried into your pussy.
Connie held your hips, thrusting into your ass from behind, and you could feel the coldness of his rings against your skin.
When they both thrusted in and out of your holes, they fucked every single thought out of your pretty little head. You couldn’t do anything except moan their names and take their cocks.
“You’re so tight,” Eren said breathlessly, “take it, take it…just like that…fuck.”
He didn’t mean to cum so quickly, but he couldn’t help it. He’s wanted you like this for ages now, and the pleasure that your pussy gave him had overwhelmed his senses. He was weak and sensitive, unable to think probably due to the way you clenched and milked his cock. He was cumming into you with a grunt, shooting ropes of cum deep inside of you.
Connie wasn’t finished with you yet. He slammed into your ass until the bed rocked aggressively, digging his hands into your hips and ass as his wild bucking made you see stars.
“Shit, I’m gonna cum,” Connie warned. “I’m so close, baby.”
Eren, who was still inside of you, started to kiss and suck on your neck.
“Connie,” you whined.
Hearing his name fall from your lips was enough to send him over the edge. He made a mess of your asshole, his seed spilling out of you and dripping down to your pussy, where it mixed with eren’s cum.
They stayed inside of you for a while, catching their breaths.
When they finally pulled out of you, you were about to hop off of them and take a shower, but they both pulled you back down on the bed.
“What are you doing?” You questioned, looking up at Connie, who lifted you up and hovered you over Eren’s face. As Eren gripped your hips, Connie then guided your head down to Eren’s cock.
“Nuh uh, we’re not finished yet, babygirl. Eren’s supposed to make you cum multiple times, remember?”
Before you could say another word, Eren shoved you down right on his face, eating out the pussy that he was madly in love with.
You struggled to fit Eren’s big cock into your mouth, but Connie was more than happy to help by shoving your head down on his friend’s member.
Connie sat back, rolled a blunt, and watched as you came over and over again into Eren’s mouth until he was satisfied.
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kissesfromkiki · 7 months
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Dream
pairing: conrad fisher x fem!reader
word count: 755 (unedited)
a/n: this is actually word for word a dream i had the other night, except for the end since i had to give it a more creative ending than just cutting it off. this is pure fluff.
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“Thank you girls for coming to run errands with me today, I appreciate the company.”
“Of course mom, you know I never turn down some quality time with you, especially when it involves food.”
“Yeah, I’m just here for the free lunch… And I guess the company is nice too.”
Laurel roped Belly and I into running errands all day in preparation for her upcoming book signing. I didn’t mind coming along, it was nice having some girl time. It was also an unspoken rule that when you help with errands, you get lunch, and I was never one to turn down a free meal. So now we were parking outside Whale of a Tale so Laurel can go over some quick last minute details.
“I promise I’ll be in and out and then we can go get lunch.”
“I’m coming in with you mom, there’s a book I wanna see if they have.”
“Oh okay, you coming in to Y/n?”
“No thanks, I’ll stay out here and read my book.”
“Sounds good, we’ll be right back.” Laurel and Belly climb out of the driver and passenger sides and head into the store.
I stretch out on the backseat, getting comfortable, and settling into my book. I’m only a few paragraphs in when the back door opens. I tilt my head back to see who’s bothering me. There stands Conrad Fisher, one hand on the roof, one on the car doorframe, and leaning towards me.
“What do I gotta do to get you to come inside?” There’s a smirk on his lips and his tone is highly suggestive.
“How about you come in here?” I lift my head up and he slides into the seat closing the door behind me. I reposition my head on his lap and go back to reading.
I find myself rereading the same line over and over again because it’s hard to focus with Conrad watching me so intently. His hair is falling into his face and his blue eyes are light today, instead of their normal cloudy shade. He seems happier today, lighter. I can’t take it anymore and lean up to give him a quick peck, and then go back to my book. A smile breaks out on his face.
Conrad pushes my book down onto my chest and leans to kiss me again. I let the book fall from my hands and bring them up around his neck to pull him closer. Our lips move in a familiar sync, something we’ve done many times before.
I pull away and lay my head back down in his lap, “So what are you doing here?”
“Cleveland asked me to drop off some table clothes for Laurel while we were out on the water today, and when I saw her inside and she told me you were out here.”
“Did you have a nice time on the boat this morning?”
“I did, although it was still difficult to leave your bed this morning.”
“Well then I guess you’re just gonna have to get back in it again tonight.”
“I like the sound of that,” His hand reaches out to touch my hair, trails down the side of my face and lands on my neck. He smiles sweetly at me before kissing me again. “Alright I have to go, mom asked me to do a few things around the house today.”
“Okay, see you back at the house?”
“Can’t wait.” Conrad opens the car door and climbs out.
“Do I even wanna know what was happening back there?” Both of our heads turn to find Laurel and Belly walking back towards the car. I feel the blush creeping into my cheeks and bashfully smile.
“Don’t worry Laur, I kept it all very G rated.”
“Yeah, sure you did Connie. See you back at the house.”
“Bye ladies, enjoy lunch.” He leans forwards and presses one last kiss to my lips, he closes the car door, and waves goodbye.
“Ugh, you guys are so sickeningly cute. It disgusts me.” While Belly’s words may be mean, her tone is the opposite.
“Gee thanks Belly.” I laugh.
“It’s nice seeing you two together, you really compliment each other.”
“Thank you Laurel.”
She smiles at me in the rear view mirror, “So how does Clayton’s sound for lunch?”
“Amazing, I might kill somebody for one of those pastries.”
“Damn Belly, remind me not get between you and the last muffin at breakfast time.” Laurel let’s out a loud laugh and we head off for lunch.
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nolita-fairytale · 9 months
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burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter four
summary: you and luca go to the ballet, bringing up a very important question: is this, and could it be, a date?
warnings: fluff, eventual smut, eventual angst not use of y/n, conversations about divorce, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the world of the bear.
word count: 3.3k
a/n: this chapter is all about things left unsaid, the pining TM and yearning TM. shoutout to @arctvrvs who recommended onegin, as the ballet they go to see. thank you again for all the shares, reblogs, comments! let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!
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part three | masterlist | part five
You: I have your book. Devoured it over the weekend. 
Luca: Glad you liked it. 
You did like it?
You: No, I clearly hate-read it one weekend. 
I’m kidding. 
Of course I liked it!
Luca: You’re hilarious 🙄
You: I can return it to you later today. 
If you have a free minute. 
Luca: For you? Always. 
Come by the restaurant?
You: Done. See you later.
Text exchanges like this have become more and more regular between you and Luca and it makes you question why you’d ever been so hesitant to tell him about your ex husband in the first place. You know part of the answer: you’d been afraid – afraid of what he’d say, afraid it’d be too much for him, afraid it’d scare him away – and yet, your admission seems to have only brought you closer. 
Which is a fact that makes you feel incredibly seen and also scares the shit out of you. 
But, with Luca’s copy of A Work In Progress: A Journal tucked underneath your arm, you decide you’ll conquer one mountain at a time as you come in through the doors of the closed restaurant.
“Oi!” one of Luca’s pastry chefs, a burlier man with deep brown eyes and a beard that only facial hair enthusiasts could dream of hollers, in an attempt to grab Luca’s attention when you enter the pastry room. The man follows up his exclamation with something muttered in Danish – something that almost sounds like a cat call directed towards the head pastry chef. 
Hey, loverboy. Come get your girlfriend.
You and Luca lock eyes from across the room, and you watch as his face simultaneously lights up as he sees you, while glowering in his coworkers direction. Luca shouts a ‘shut it, mate’ in return before approaching you, 
“Did he just-?” you ask him, with a small laugh. 
“Call you my girlfriend? Yes,” Luca admits, a blush running across his cheeks as he looks down, embarrassedly. 
Brown-eyed-bearded-burly-chef exchanges glances with another chef, focused on weighing dough on a food scale, before asking you with an intrigued hint in his voice:
“You speak Danish?” 
“Barely,” you answer, an apologetic half smile on your face.
He exchanges a knowing look with the other pastry chef in response, then snickers, because he really is only trying to be a good wingman here. 
“I don’t know what the hold up is… but I see it,” he says in English this time, his Danish accent thick as he wags his finger towards the both of you, earning another glare from Luca. 
“Okay, let’s step outside,” Luca hurries, ushering you out of the kitchen and into the empty dining room with a hand on your upper back. 
Your laugh echoes in the barren dining room, since pastry prep starts so damn early in the morning, and the physical restaurant doesn’t open for service till evening. 
“Again, I’m terribly sorry about him,” Luca apologizes, a little more flustered than you expected him to be.
“No, it’s okay,” you reassure him with a warm smile. “If anything, you at least now know you’ve got a great wingman when you need one.”
You watch a brief flash of, well you’re not sure what, flash across Luca’s face as he wonders if that’s what you’re hoping for. Instead of overthinking it, wondering why you’d want his coworker to act as his wingman in the first place, he pushes it to the back of his mind, moving forward with what he’d planned on bringing up with you anyways. 
“Your book, sir,” you say, handing Luca his copy of the book. 
“I’m glad you liked it,” he grins.
“Yeah, thanks for lending it to me. Took me a few weekends to carve out the time but… once I started, I couldn’t put it down,” you inform him, gushing over the borrowed book.
“I have something for you,” Luca states, as he pulls out a white envelope from one of his apron pockets. “In return.”
“Awww. Don’t tell me you went through all this trouble to get me a bookmark and when I’ve already finished it,” you banter with him, playfully. 
“They’re not bookmarks,” he smirks, as he looks at you with those electrifyingly blue eyes. 
“Ah, tell me more,” you encourage him, curiously. 
“They’re tickets,” he answers, handing you the envelope. 
“Oh.”
Before you can wonder whether Luca went out of his way to purchase you tickets to the ballet, he continues with his explanation. 
“Yeah we’ve got this regular diner. Always entertaining, bringing in investors, board members, the likes... Turns out he’s the Artistic Director of The Royal Danish Ballet. Hooks us up with tickets all the time,” Luca says. 
“Couldn’t make it opening night so but what do you say… to a performance of Onegin Thursday night?” he continues.  “That is if you can – if you want – to take the night off.”
“With you?” you ask, a glimmer of hope in your eyes. 
“Yeah, if you’d like,” Luca answers. “Figured I owed you after you purchased the Jazz Fest tickets.” Taking a more playful approach, almost as if he’s testing you as he adds: “Unless there’s something other bloke you wanna take instead of-.”
“No!” you protest, quick to correct him. “I mean, yes. I want to go. With you. Let me see what I can do scheduling wise.”
Was this a date? You wonder to yourself.
For whatever reason, this proposal feels much more like a date than anything else you’ve done with him so far. Bike rides to bakeries, walks through the park, even asking Luca to join you for Jazz Fest with tickets you purchased almost a year ago, still haven't felt this monumental. 
But a night at the ballet? 
A night of getting dressed up and taking off work to spend time with each other?
This feels much more like a date. 
And you might even be excited about the prospect of having one with him, with Luca specifically, something you haven’t felt for anyone in a long time. 
“Just let me know,” Luca says, coolly, followed by his oh-so-charming-crooked smile. 
By the time you take this… proposition – taking off a night at the restaurant for a maybe-a-date-with-Luca – Mathilde and Jesper are practically pushing you out of the restaurant swearing that if you don’t go, they’ll write you out of the business partnership, and that Mathilde is more than happy to run the kitchen all by herself that night. 
While you appreciate the support, it feels like it add pressure – expectations, really – to Thursday night.
You push the thought from your head, choosing to charge forward despite your nerves, before sending Luca your official yes via text message. 
So… what does one wear to the ballet?
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You settle on a silky white slip dress with thin straps, a sweetheart neckline, and a slit in the skirt that travels up the leg in a way that’s revealing yet still appropriate. You’ve draped a blazer across your shoulders because you can’t be bothered to properly put it on during the warmest month of the year but you know you’ll want it when you’re inside of the Opera House. You slip on a black kitten heel to match your bag, then pull your hair back into a loose ponytail, allowing the stray pieces of hair that fall out of it to frame your face. 
It’s not until Luca shows up at your flat with a text that he’s here, do you make your way outside. Your head is buried in your bag, taking a last minute inventory, ensuring you have what you need for the night: phone, keys, ID, extra lip gloss… 
“Hi,” he says on an exhale, as soon as he sees you. 
There’s something in his voice that sounds different, you note, as you lift your head to look at him. 
Holy. Shit… 
Fuck me, you think to yourself, as soon as you see him. He’s dressed in black slacks with a blazer to match, layered over a white button down worn without a tie, and pristine white trainers that you can’t help but notice. 
It’s classic – classy – with a little bit of swag from the trainers that feels… pleasantly unexpected. You look like one of those hip couples that decided to stick it to tradition and get married at the courthouse with a dope photoshoot instead. 
“Hi,” is all that comes out of your mouth, your eyes wide as the two of you stare each other down. 
Yeah, this really feels like a date now. 
“Hi,” he says in return before exhaling. “You look great.”
He’s grinning from ear to ear now, and the man cannot take his eyes off of you. 
“I-,” you start, as you gather your words, reminding yourself that you do in fact know the English language. As your words come back to you, you take a more playful approach instead, making up for lost wit as you say:
“You don’t look too bad yourself.”
Luca smirks, a twinkle in his eye that tells you he’s pretty damn enchanted by you right now. The two of you share a look – one that feels very not-friendly, emphasizing just how much more date-like this seems to be. 
“Shall we?” he asks you, offering out his arm for you to take. 
“Let’s,” you answer, taking it as he escorts you to the metro.
You and Luca look wildly out of place while waiting for the metro, then on the metro as you make your way to the Royal Danish Opera House in your dressier-than-normal apparel. You share small talk while you wait on the platform, ramblings over your day and then his while finding a place to sit, then nervous giggles and flirtatious stolen glances while seated next to each other on your journey. 
It’s nice to be reminded that you haven’t entirely forgotten how to flirt. 
From its shoreside location to its sparkling interior, the Royal Danish Opera House is awe inspiring. You take it all in as you and Luca settle into your seats and a comfortable quiet intimacy as you look over your programs, just before the show begins. 
Onegin, you come to find as the show begins, is a story of unrequited love, missed changes, and ‘too little, too late.’ Its relevance is not lost on you as you watch as the young country girl falls in love with the worldly Count. She is young, naive, a hopeless romantic, perhaps the character you would’ve related to when you were younger – before your marriage ended. A younger version of you might laugh at the fact that you somehow find yourself relating more to the Count. He’s cold, jaded, a pessimist even, only to be rejected when he realizes he missed his chance at love so many years ago. 
You steal a glance in Luca’s direction, his eyes fixed to the tragedy that plays out on the stage in front of you. 
He really is stunning, you think to yourself, as you carefully examine the near-perfect symmetry of his face, before returning your focus back to the performance. 
To say that you haven’t noticed the way Luca looks at you would be a lie. And you can’t help but notice how eager you’ve been lately to find any excuse to spend extra time with him too. 
But you can’t help wondering about just how ready you are – how and when you might know when you’ll be ready:
Ready to date. Ready to open yourself up to someone. Ready to fall in love again. 
Would you know when it was time? And was this a sign – meeting Luca – that it’s time for a new beginning now? 
But what if it weren’t? What if you weren’t ready now? Then what? 
It’s not like you’d expect for Luca to wait for you or anything, but the idea of a new beginning, of falling in love again, of possibly getting your heart broken again instills the kind of terror in you that shakes you to your very core. 
But what if this was your only chance? 
You can’t imagine Luca would be single for much longer – the fact that he even is now completely perplexes you – and you’re sure that he has an entire roster of women lining up, ready to take your place. Not that you feel like it’s your place now, though you’re not sure where he’d have the time to entertain an entire roster of women with how much time you’ve been spending together lately. 
You push the thoughts from your mind, trying your best to focus on the dancers, even though it’s the thing that’s got you pensive in the first place. 
And it’s almost as if, right on cue, the minute you turn your attention away from Luca, his eyes are on you, admiring the way that you marvel at the story unfolding in front of you. 
Luca smiles to himself, in pure disbelief that the same woman who brought him much needed inspiration could also be the same woman he’s begun to have feelings for. He finds you extraordinary: you’re funny, you’re incredibly talented, and you make his heart skip a beat every single time you walk into a room. He doesn’t know which deities to thank for meeting you, but he’s sure he must’ve done something right in a past life for it to bring you to him in this one. 
He’s glad you told him – about your ex husband, about the divorce – and while it’s filled in some blanks for him, it’s also brought up more questions. Questions like:
Were you even interested in dating? Were you ready to start dating because he couldn’t blame you if you weren’t? And if you were, would you be interested in dating him? 
These last few months of getting to know each other have been wonderful – and he’s thoroughly enjoyed getting to know you as friends – but Luca wants more. He wants to hold your hand while walking along the Nyhavn waterfront. He wants to press a kiss to your lips when you stop by the restaurant as he’s getting off shift, before heading into your own. He wants to wrap you up in his arms, curl his body around yours as you settle in with him on your shared couch after a long night at the restaurant, going on about your new special, or your recently hired line-cook-in-training.
Luca wants to call you his, and he wants nothing more than for you to call him yours. He yearns for the quiet domesticity he thinks he could have with you – one he knows he could have with you. 
He doesn’t want to miss his chance. It’s why he asked you that question when you told him about your ex husband – are you still in love with him? – because Luca can’t bear the thought of falling in love with a woman already in love with another man. 
He replays the answer in his head – no, I’m not in love with him – almost as if he’s reassuring himself.
Luca knows what he needs to do. He just needs to talk to you and tonight feels like as good of a time as any to do so, considering you’re practically on a date. Luca makes up his mind about it – that he’ll bring it up after the performance, maybe even ask you on a proper date. 
As the performance ends, the two of you applaud with the rest of the theatre before exiting the performance space. You and Luca linger outside of the theatre, watching the other patrons walk by, arrange rides for themselves, head out for a night cap. He’s working up the nerve to bring up the conversation, watching your lips carefully as you go on about the performance, a brilliance in your eyes that he notices you get whenever you talk about something you’re passionate about. 
You’re in the middle of dissecting the end of Act Two as he Luca abruptly blurts out:
“You hungry?”
You pause as your mouth hangs agape, noticing that’s something different, that’s something’s shifted between the two of you. 
“Uh… no. Don’t you have to be up early tomorrow?” you ask back, hesitantly. 
“Ehm. Yes, I do. But eh, I don’t know. I’d ehm, I’d be up for a bite. If you are,” Luca manages to explain because he’s not ready for the night to end. 
You can feel it – the tension between the two of you hangs thickly in the air – and you know this isn’t just a ‘let’s go out for a bite’ kind of ask. 
You wondered how you’d feel when this moment came, and instead of being ecstatic, instead of wanting to jump at the chance, the panic sets in, filling your belly with the urge to jump into harbour instead. 
You wish you felt differently – you want to feel differently – but you don’t. 
So instead, you stammer out a:
“I think I’m just ready to head home, but you should go. If you want to. I think I’m just going to walk home or-.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll take you home,” Luca offers. 
You hesitate before agreeing, “Uh… yeah. Okay. As long as you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” Luca says as he places a gentle hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you in the direction of home. “I’d rather know you got home safe.”
You nod, instantly filled with guilt as Luca’s demeanor changes, his facial expression moving from somewhat-confused-and-disappointed to one of concern, kindness, and genuine care. 
What the hell is wrong with you? You think to yourself. 
But you know you can’t push it – you can’t push yourself to be ready,  to open up – regardless of how perfect Luca is. 
As Luca walks you home, there’s a palpable shift in the dynamic between the two of you. He seems cautious, almost as if he’s tiptoeing around you, uncertain about where the two of you stand. And truthfully, he is uncertain. He’s worried that he scared you off, if he came on too strong, if his ask changes something between the two of you. Luca realizes tonight is perhaps not the night, but he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to wait – be able to keep the way he feels about you to himself. 
“Thank you… for walking me home,” you say, as you arrive at the door to your apartment building. 
“‘S no problem. Had to get you back to your flat safely,” Luca reassures you with a smile on his face. 
You stand across from him, mere inches away. You could do it – close the gap between the two of you because you really do feel like an asshole for earlier – but it feels like something’s stopping you. You wait too long, letting your impulse move too thoroughly through your body, until it’s too late and the impulse is gone. 
You’re at an impasse: Luca opens his mouth to say something before pausing and you’re not sure what to say either, the two of you standing across from one another, frozen in a moment in time. 
Instead of speaking, he simply steps forward, wrapping his arms around you in a warm embrace as he inhales. 
It feels too good. 
This feels too good: the way he smells, the way it feels to be pressed up against him, his hands running smooth patterns across your back. 
“Luca,” you begin as you pull away from the hug, your eyes locked with his. 
He waits, but as you open your mouth to say something else, nothing comes out. 
You’re not sure if it’s a look of disappointment, regret, or something else that flashes across his face, before he gives you a half smile. Luca takes a few steps backwards, almost as if he needs to create space between you and him, his voice a low deep rumble as he says:
“Goodnight, love.”
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a/n: and now we're getting somewhere. i PROMISE we are getting somewhere. just wait ;)
626 notes · View notes
glitchquake · 2 months
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BLUE JEANS
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A/N: I often dream of Loki's perfect arse in a good pair of Levi's so here we go!
reblog/comment below to tell me how you liked reading this! stuff like that always gives writers a boost!
Warning: smut and jean sexiness, cat and mouse kink, minors dni!!!!!!
Masterlist
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It had been a long day. 
A long one. 
The TVA had kicked your ass, but you were relieved once you stepped through the holo door and into your home. Through the hallway, you could hear the tv blaring. The familiar dialogue of the show he’s watching makes your heart swell. 
He’s watching Doctor Who. 
You figured because of all this time-related nonsense, that kind of show would of course intrigue him. For the past 2 weeks, you both would have a snuggle on the couch together and binge watch countless episodes. 
Blushing furiously, you remembered how you had teased him one night, stating that you thought David Tennant was quite a handsome man. Out of the corner of your eye, Loki titled his head at that dangerous angle, a dark lustful look in his eye. 
It was for the rest of that night that he would remind over and over again, past what seemed countless orgasms, that a joke like that was always a challenge, or an opportunity at that, to claim how much you belonged to him. 
But you didn’t regret it. You were always up for a challenge. 
Sighing , you hang your jacket in the closet. The brown peacoat that Loki usually wears floats on a hanger perfectly, showcasing the polished buttons and collar. You swear you can smell his cologne that's imprinted into the fabric. A light but rich musk, intoxicatingly sexy. 
Kicking off your heels, you start your destination toward the upstairs bathroom. The thought of a hot bath and a glass of red wine dance in your head, and you remember the last chapter of the novel you had read the night before. 
Another thought to add to the bath, though. Sure, you had a spicy chapter to read next, but what about the man lounging in the room closest to you? 
The perfect plan, with a perfect man. 
In a matter of minutes, your rendezvou would set into motion. You round the corner, and the sight of your husband before you has you almost drop to the floor. 
A dark blue tee stretches around the perfect curves of his torso. Good lord, you thought he looked handsome in simple, boring TVA attire, but casual wear? In jeans? 
It had you almost moaning to the heavens at the sight of him!
You realize the whole time you had been ogling the sex-bomb look of your husband, he had turned around to spot you. 
And, oh shit and behold, he looks hungry. 
“You alright?”, he purrs. “Oh, hey baby, didn’t see you there…” you lie, pretending to focus on the tv screen. 
He knows you’re lying, but he’ll play along. It was one of his favorite games to play, especially when he’d finally corner you and fuck you against the wall. 
“Really? I’m quite in plain view, love.”
Your pussy clenches, and your brain screams. 
Time to move the first sex piece across the board. 
“Sorry, sunshine, I’ve had a long day. I think I’m gonna head upstairs and take a bath, maybe indulge in a glass of wine, okay?”
Here comes that familiar evil glint in his eyes. Your  sexual composure just might crack if you don’t hurry upstairs anytime soon. Loki narrows his eyes, and tilts his head, lips tilting upward in a curve that shows perfect teeth. Right now, they gleam like fangs, something primal. 
The signature move. 
“Okay,” he whispers in a low rasp. He’s poised on that corner of the couch, ready to sprint after you and cage you beneath him. 
You turn, shoulder tense and body excited for what’s to come. You only get a few steps in before you hear a creak as he jumps up, and you ascend the stairs at the speed of what feels like lightning. 
But you don’t hear the footsteps of Loki's pursuit when you reach the top of the stairs. 
The hallway is ominously dark, and the howling wind outside adds to the effect. Turning around, looking at every angle, he’s nowhere. He could be panther silent, which made you excited and horny right at that moment. 
He now had the upper hand, but you were ready to play in the dark. 
You jump when a pair of large hands slide around your waist, caressing your sides. A warm tongue slides up your neck and around your ear. 
“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m the god of lies, sweet girl, you cannot evade me.” Loki nibbles on your earlobe, heavily breathing. You can feel his erection as he grinds against your ass, and you moan softly, becoming putty in his clutches. You swear you hear the material of his jeans creak as his cock strains against the confinements of his undergarments. 
“Mmmh, how many weeks has it been since I’ve properly fucked you, hmm? I’d say about two weeks maximum…”, he growls, moaning to himself as he continues to rub up against you. “You want to fix that problem, baby?” you groan. 
“I’ll take you up on that offer, Kjæreste.”
Sliding his hands up the back of your legs, he grasps your ass. He kisses you, hot tongue sliding into your mouth. Nimble hands unclasp the lacy bra you sport, and the sight of your breasts leave Loki breathless. When you make it past the threshold of your shared bedroom, you’re placed onto the mattress, the cool satin sheets smooth against your naked torso. 
You watch as Loki begins to unbuckle his belt, delicate digits sliding the leather straps out of the loopholes .His cock strains against the tight denim, and the urge to suck the material over it burns with you. 
He stares down at you, pupils blown. “Did I ever tell you how perfect you look when beneath me?,” he questions, hand sliding against your bottom lip. 
“A thousand times, yes.”
“And a thousand times more. Damn you and your perfect body, you’ll be the end of me.” He groans, unbuttoning and unzipping the fly of his jeans. He makes sure to brush his fingers against the bulge, teasing you. 
God’s had worshippers, and you considered yourself to be the number one supporter of the one right in front of you. How could you deny the perfect puzzle piece of your life right in front of you? 
Loki begins to slide the jeans down his hips, but you catch his wrist. “No,” you whisper, “jeans stay on.”
He smirks. “As you wish, vixen.”
Crawling over you,  Loki gently takes your hands in his. It was an interesting take on how he wanted fuck you tonight. 
Gentle, but rough. A mix. 
He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, then begins to help you out of your slacks. You loved to watch him work for it, especially when you wore a lacy number under your attire. His look of surprise always thrilled you, and the primal growl he would emit when he would use his teeth to remove your lacy underwear made your hormones go wild. 
Positioning himself at your entrance, he kisses you as he slides himself inside you, inch by tantalizing inch. His lips tasted faintly of cherry wine, and you make a guess that he had a glass before you got home. 
Loki groans. “G-God…so tight..”
You allow yourself to sink into the pillows, and the feeling of a climax starts to grow. At times, you think if you could turn the sound of Loki being pleasured into an audio track, your world would immediately feel brighter. Both of your bodies move in tandem, and his arms hold you tightly against his chest, your face settling into that cozy crook of his neck. 
As he begins the regular process of thrusting, you take in the sight of the swell of his ass peeking out from the top hem of his jeans. The denim sits ever so loosely on top, and the sight of the front unbuttoned makes your mouth water. The opening of the fly showcases the fine trail of hair leading down from his navel to his pubic region, and the metal buckle of the leather belt he’s wearing jingles with the movements of you two fucking. 
“I could spend all day and night inside you, Kjæreste…unghh…so perfect..”
He starts to thrust faster, both of your impending orgasms on the horizon. You moan into his ear, tugging his hair lightly. Your mind flashes back to the first you ever experimented with tugging his hair during a nightly round of passionate fornication. You had been scared to do so at first, not wanting to cause your lover any pain. Really, the first time you did pull his hair had been an accident. You were trying to stroke his hair while he had been devouring you between your legs, and a certain move of that talented tongue of his had you gripping his curls. 
He had looked up from eating you out with an impressed, but shocked expression. He never expected that to come out of you. 
You’re thrown back into the present by a loud, satisfied groan from your boyfriend, thrusting his hips as his climax ebbs. The continued movement triggers your own release, and you let out a high-pitched moan as you come apart. 
You both lay there, skin glistening with sweat and warm from the friction. He kisses the skin behind your ear, and then rolls to the side, pulling you on top of him. The sound of his heartbeat starts to induce sleep, but You can’t help but get out one last sentence before you succumb to slumber. 
“Loki?”
“Hm?”. The sounds of his curious hum vibrates through your ears. 
“I’m buying ten more pairs of those jeans.”
He laughs. “You have my full support and our bank account’s permission, darling.”
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Lesson? Jeans are sexy. 
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@lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @litaloni @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @loopsisloops @chokeanddagger @celerieth @latent-thoughts @sarahscribbles @muddyorbsblr @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @liminalpebble @mochie85 @gigglingtiggerv2 @holdmytesseract @infinitystoner @meowmeow-motherfucker @queen-paladin @smolvenger @superficialdomina @wheredafandomat @loz-3 @buttercupcookies-blog @mrs-illyrian-baby @coldnique @maple-seed @november-rayne @eleniblue @wavyhairedvixen @anukulee @gruftiela @skymoonandstardust @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @goblingirlsarah @lady-rose-moon @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @lokidokieokie @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @sharris8 @ririsutty @eclecticlokibytomhiddleston @foxherder @joyfullymassivewhispers @aesonmae @acidcasualties @darkficsyouneveraskedfor
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187 notes · View notes
1-800-kami · 4 months
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margaret - lana del rey | nanami kento
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.. just when you thought nanami left behind nothing, you discover a letter on the top of his closet... addressed to you.
content: 0.9k words, anime spoilers, fem!reader, small banana fish allusion at the end because i hate my life
author's note: i'm not okay.
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it’s october 31st, 2019, and you think you’ve finally gained enough courage to clean out kento’s closet.
one year. that’s exactly how long it’s been since his death. ever since you found out that your fiance was a part of the thousands who fell victim to the shibuya incident, the days have blurred into one another. each day seems monotonous and devoid of life without the man who promised to spend the rest of his life with you.
each day, you just dream of the day that you’ll be able to see him again.
still, no one was using the clothes from his closet. you knew your fiance would’ve preferred it if you donated his clothes to someone who could actually use them. you’ve been putting it off, since you knew that the smell of his clothes would just fill your heart with yet another round of painful memories. despite that, you knew you had to do it one day.
you haven’t touched his closet since the day he died. his clothes still smell like his perfume, and everything is neatly folded. you take one of his shirts with a shaky breath and revel in his scent, eyes watering knowing that even though his scent is still there, he isn’t.
and that makes you feel alone. fuck, you feel so awfully alone. 
your eyes scan through the entire closet, wondering where you’re gonna start with the cleaning. then, something sticking out of the top of your closet catches your eye. it seems so deliberately placed- wait, is that an envelope?
standing on your tiptoes and taking the envelope, you gasp–realizing that it's a letter addressed to you. from kento.
as far as you knew, your fiance didn’t leave anything behind for you other than a few broken promises. your engagement ring still rests on your ring finger, and it breaks your heart knowing that your wedding day will never come. he promised to marry you, that your honeymoon would be in kuantan, malaysia; and eventually–you’d buy a small house there just for the two of you, where sorcerers and curses are finally alien words and the rest of your days are spent out on the beach.
of course, none of that would ever happen now. you live knowing that your engagement ring will never be replaced with a wedding ring.
still, you thought that you’d live the rest of your life knowing that nanami never left anything behind for you... but this letter was new. you open it up, finding words scrawled in the handwriting that you knew all too well.
“to y/n—my love,
if you’re reading this, then it means that i’m dead, and i’m sorry.
i’m writing this letter because i know that as a jujutsu sorcerer, coming back home is never guaranteed. and yet, if i ever die, i don’t want you to be left behind with nothing. so one day, you’re going to have to clean out my closet, and you’re eventually going to find this letter.
i’m writing this hoping that you’re never going to have to read this, and i’ll throw this letter away eventually because i lived to come back home to you. 
but we both know that there’s a chance i might not come home.
living to see the next day isn’t guaranteed for any of us. not for me, and not even for people like gojo. so if it ever comes to this, i want you to live for the both of us, love. it’s difficult but i truly don’t want to hold you back from being happy just because i’m gone. fall in love again and live your life. then, when i see you again, you can tell me everything, and i’ll be excited to hear all about it.
i can hear you outside right now humming while making dinner. i want the rest of our life to be domestic like that—but sometimes, life isn’t always fair.
i remember getting photos of us printed out, because whenever i would be out on a mission, i found myself missing you all the time… so i always kept photos of you and me in my phone case. i want you to have these photos because they kept me going whenever i wasn’t able to be with you. i hope you can eventually learn to do the same, love.
just know that i love you. i love you so, so much, dear. you’re my reason to live. you’re the reason why i love coming home every day—you’re the reason i work as hard as i can so you’ll never have to read this letter. and i really do hope that you’ll never, ever read this.
i love you and i’ll repeat it until the entire world knows it. i’m sorry that i never got to marry you. i’m sorry that we never got to go to kuantan together. i’m sorry that i never got to do the things that i promised i would. 
even though i’m sorry for everything, you might’ve noticed that i haven’t said goodbye. that’s because i won’t say goodbye, because eventually, there’ll come a time when the stars align and we’ll meet again, no matter how far apart we are. and i can’t wait to see you again…
…because then, i’ll make everything up to you.
love, 
kento.”
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