#make sure that you’re on the right side of it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hxnbi · 2 days

Text

⸻ ღ ❝ WHAT IF I... ❞

you pop the question, asking him, “what if i disappeared one day?" his reaction?

ft. hayato suo, yamato endo, choji tomiyama, umemiya hajime, ren kaji, haruka sakura, kyotaro sugishita, jo togame x gn. reader (separate)

ღ HAYATO SUO ─ ❀ °. ⁺ ♡

He tilts his head to the side. "Whatever do you mean by that?" A brief flash of confusion crossed SUO's face before the ever-present smile of his returned.

"I mean, like, what if I just, from out of nowhere, went poof one day? What would you do?" you clarified with a smile.

You couldn't quite figure out what was going through his mind as he let out a pensive hum, his index finger rhythmically tapping against his cheek, appearing to be in a deep moment of thought. Granted, you never did know what Suo is thinking about, something appeared to be different this time.

Suo knew that the question you asked was a mere hypothetical, similar to the ones where you'd find on random scenarios online—meant to be a casual inquiry intended to gauge his reaction, so he didn't give it much concern.

"Well then, if that's the case, as your boyfriend." He leaned down to whisper in your ear, "It's only right for me to find you and make sure you’re safe, isn't it?"

He says it so matter-of-factly with a hefty amount of confidence that undoubtedly makes your heart flutter. There's no hesitation, no doubt in his voice, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. But the outside is indeed never what it appears to be, but also what can be the most deceiving. Suo doesn't worry too much about your question upfront, but there would be times when his mind would wander, drifting back to that single conversation that haunted his thoughts. What implored you to ever ask him that?

And so, over the next few weeks, Suo would watch you with even more attentiveness than he already did, which was already considerable. Being by your side meant everything to him, and he couldn't imagine life without you if that were to ever ring true. After a few days of thinking, Suo's answer has not changed and will never change, but the realm of possibility that you might disappear will forever linger in his mind.

ღ YAMATO ENDO ─ ❀ °. ⁺ ♡

ENDO, with his piercing, sweatdropping gaze, doesn't even take a minute to look at you, and, instead, at himself. Not in the literal sense, but inwardly. He scrutinizes his every action, every word, trying to decipher what could have prompted such a question from you.

"Disappear?" he asks with a tone of sharp curiosity as he finally meets your nervous gaze. "Is that what you really want?"

Cupping his chin, all with the expression that he's about to beat someone half to death, Endo takes a quiet moment to himself and thinks about your question more thoroughly, which only makes you more anxious, in all honesty.

With a sheepish laugh, you attempted to steer the conversation to a different subject, but Endo was having none of it. His intense focus was right then and there for you to answer.

Endo sits back down, covering his face with his calloused hand, letting out a low chuckle, "You must be either naive or plain stupid if you ever think that's going to happen on my watch.”

"H-Huh?"

"Because you're never leaving me." Endo’s voice carries utter conviction, a lifelong promise wrapped in a singular statement.

Endo snickers a bit from your seemingly adorable reaction before fading into an expression of distaste. His eyes bore into yours, filled with an emotion you can't quite place. "I don't know what brought this on, but let me make one thing clear. You're not going anywhere. Not without me."

He reaches out, his hand finding yours, gripping it firmly. You can feel the roughness of his skin, the callousness from all his previous fights, the strength in his hold, and it grounds you. A chuckle escapes him as he leans back, the seriousness melting away as a mischievous grin spreads across his face from ear to ear. "Besides, who else is going to put up with your atrocious cooking?"

ღ CHOJI TOMIYAMA ─ ❀ °. ⁺ ♡

CHOJI takes a moment to think. "Hmmm, well then. I'll just find you again! Simple and easy! Don’t you think?!”

You laugh alongside him, not having the heart to continue the conversation. But unbeknownst to you, Choji's light-hearted response hides a deeper concern. Choji may act childish, but he's not stupid. He knows that he's not perfect, and in fact, he's a very flawed human being who has done far more harm than he'd ever like to admit, and certainly not to his lover…

Thus, throughout the day, you would be subjected to Choji clinging onto you. Whether you like it or not, he becomes your shadow, sticking to you like glue. As for bathroom breaks? Well, sucks to be you, that's not going to happen without him hovering nearby like a mosquito.

You knew what this meant. Choji's playful manner masks the underlying fear of losing you, and he doesn't let you out of his sight. Whether it's following you to the kitchen or tagging along to every errand, Choji's constant presence lingering over your every move is both endearing and slightly overwhelming. He jokes and laughs, trying to keep the mood light, but you can see the worry in his eyes whenever he thinks you're not looking. It's clear that the thought of being without you is something he can't bear. Just thinking about how his life would be if you left was enough of a nightmare that he decides that possibility would never be considered.

Choji's answer remains constant, but don't let that distract you, his words are only the half of it. He'll never let you go, not on his watch.

ღ HAJIME UMEMIYA ─ ❀ °. ⁺ ♡

UMEMIYA is immediately alarmed by your question, pausing right in the midst of caring for his plants to turn to you with a rather distressed frown that deepened with every second. He jumps to grab your arm, perhaps in fear of you leaving right then and there, and asks with a nervous laugh, "Ahah… you're joking, right?” Was this supposed to be some kind of dare from Hiragi or Tsubaki?

And his grip will not loosen until you tell him the details, tenfold. Unlike the usual energetic demeanour he broadcasts to the world, Umemiya doesn't even try to hide the fact that he's worried, scared, with all but the absolute worst scenarios surfacing in his mind. Were you being threatened in some way because of him?

On the surface, he knows that you asked that question in a hypothetical sense, but that doesn't lessen his fear that it could happen, and your bringing it up helped trigger it. His past memories come right back to haunt him again.

And without thinking, Umemiya embraces you in a bone-crushing hug. "I-I don't know what prompted you to say that. Please… Hit me, get mad at me, yell at me, but please, don't ever leave me."

His grip tightens around you, desperation evident in the way he clings to you as if you might vanish at any moment. You can feel the tremor in his hands, the rapid beat of his heart against your ear. It breaks your heart to see him like this, so vulnerable and afraid. You gently stroked his back, whispering soothing words to calm his frayed nerves. Slowly, his breathing steadies, and he relaxes a bit in your arms, but the fear in his eyes still remains. It's clear that the thought of losing you terrifies him more than anything else.

His mind races, no, refuses to accept the thought of you ever disappearing from him. His answer was clear. He was never going to let that happen, not without a reason for closure. And so, Umemiya's efforts to spend more time with you would only be further amplified from there.

Waking up in the morning? Umemiya would be out your door soon enough with a bed-in-breakfast. Getting groceries? Umemiya will once again be there to be your personal bag-handler and bodyguard. You'd have to reassure him plenty in order to convince him that nobody is out to get you and that you aren’t in danger by any means. But even then, that was not going to work either, oh no.

As the leader of Furin, Umemiya would make sure that you were protected at all times, sending only the best and closest friends to watch over you and make sure that you were safe. Sakura would snort and mutter under his breath that "that guy is overdoing it," only to receive a stern look from Nirei and a withering glare from Hiragi and especially, if in the presence of the man himself, Umemiya.

How on earth could you tell him by that point that it was all a joke…?

ღ REN KAJI ─ ❀ °. ⁺ ♡

Admittedly, KAJI does not think much of it as he continues to listen to his music with your head resting comfortably on his lap. What do you mean you're just going to leave? Without him? Impossible.

He hums before going back to indulging his lollipop, which, by all means, was his solace. But later on, Kaji's mind drifts back to the question you asked. His eyebrows fold into two thinly knitted lines as he processes what could ever be your reasoning for asking such a thing. Not even the most relaxing of music could calm his mind as he begins to overthink every little detail of your relationship, replaying every conversation, every moment you've shared, searching for clues or hints he might have missed that made you want to think that.

The thought of you leaving gnaws at him—a rather unsettling and even unfamiliar feeling that he can't shake off no matter how hard he tries. Kaji debates with himself whether to bring it up with you again or let it slide, not wanting to seem insecure but also desperate for reassurance and that what he heard wasn't actually true.

His heart races with each passing thought, and he finds himself pacing back and forth while outside your homeschool, trying to make sense of his swirling emotions. That is, until you ask him with a confused frown what he was doing.

He doesn't wait for a response but instead pulls you straight into his arms. Kaji grabs both your shoulders and apologizes. He stares right into your wide eyes, and he finally confesses, "If you disappeared… then I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

Kaji gulps in the air like someone who's drowned. He hardly even knew what to do with himself, just pondering the answer about a mere possibility. If that ever came to fruition, he'd be utterly lost. Though he guards his heart carefully, he's unrestrained with his body, whether for comfort or for pleasure.

He holds you firmly. Implacably. He will hold you all night if needs must, and throughout the day. His grip shifts to a tight hug as if trying to squeeze out all the sadness with his strong arms. "So please, don't."

With a heartfelt sigh, the tightness in your shoulders relaxed and you caressed his back with a gentle hand, all while comforting with your voice—the same voice Kaji grew to love with all his heart.

ღ HARUKA SAKURA ─ ❀ °. ⁺ ♡

Rolls his eyes. "What do you mean you're just going to disappear?" SAKURA clicks his tongue. "As if that's ever going to happen."

But in reality, despite his outward words, Sakura is far more concerned than he initially lets on. His composure can only stretch so far until he loses it. Quite literally. He may put on a brave face, but the thought of you vanishing haunts him. He starts by subtly interrogating your friends, your family, and anyone who might know something. His questions are cloaked in casual conversation—well, as casual as Sakura thinks—but the urgency in his eyes betrays his true feelings.

He becomes much more protective from then on, always by your side, watching you with a worried gaze that he often tries to mask. But you, in fact, do notice the change, the way Sakura hovers a little closer to you when he's, without exception, extremely volatile to physical touch, his touches lingering a little longer, and his blatant need for confirmation that you're not going to leave.

Until, one day, out of nowhere, Sakura answered the question. "If you leave… then I won't stop until I find you. That's it," he muttered in a voice so low that you could hardly believe it, your eyes widening in surprise.

"Haru, could you say that again?" you asked, voice trembling with emotion.

“Huh?”

“Just now, could you repeat it?”

Sakura grumbled, scrunching his flushed crimson face into a grimace. "Y-You idiot!! I already said it!!!"

"But I want to hear it again…" you pouted, feigning sadness, making Sakura blush even further, his ears a deep crimson.

"Tch… I'm just telling you, if you disappear one day, I'm just going to find you, and I'll keep trying until I do."

ღ KYOTARO SUGISHITA ─ ❀ °. ⁺ ♡

SUGISHITA is eerily silent. Usually, that wouldn't be as much cause for concern, but there was something different in Sugishita's expression that unnerved you. Disappearing? That was a joke, right? No… you probably meant something else. You did mention that you planned to go out to buy groceries later that week. Could it be because of that? Or perhaps…

Sugishita, in his inward panic, grabs your arm with a grip tight enough to completely cut off the blood circulation to the rest of your body. "You're… going to leave? How? …When? W-Why?"

You could see that Sugishita was becoming increasingly anxious, his mind seeming to be practically in another dimension. With a pat on his head, you reassure him that you meant it all as a hypothetical question and that you aren't going to leave by any means. But the damage had been done. Sugishita, being the worrywart, needed far more confirmation than just that.

And just like Choji, for the next few days, Sugishita would be watching your moves like a hawk, standing at your side, towering over you. His eyes follow your every move. His piercing eyes staring into your soul felt almost suffocating, but it was clear that he couldn't bear the thought of losing you, even for a single moment.

Umemiya, with his usual bravado, burst out into laughter as he claps Sugishita's flushed cheeks repeatedly, reassuring him once more that it was nothing but a mere misunderstanding and a curiosity for his answer on his part. Hiragi agreed, nodding his head along.

Nonsense, Sugishita thinks with a wry face. He will be the one to ensure your safety, replaced by a type of intensity that makes you feel, while protected, also slightly on edge with the burning stare that he insists on maintaining to keep watch, even when you shoo him away.

You knew that his actions came from a place of love from when you initially asked him that question, but even so, did you really need him to stand outside your classroom door…?

ღ JO TOGAME ─ ❀ °. ⁺ ♡

Your words would kick his mind into gear almost instantaneously. TOGAME's thoughts raced, his aloof demeanour spinning around in circles like a pertueral carousel as he considered the possibility. Togame eventually came to the harrowing conclusion that he wasn't enough for you, that you felt neglected, or worse, unhappy being with him.

He stared at you, his eyes wide. "What do you mean by 'disappear'?" he asked, his voice trembling a bit despite his efforts to keep it steady.

Just the mere thought of that made his stomach churn and his chest tighten. He couldn't bear the idea of losing you, even if through the lens of a mere hypothetical question. Togame, usually so stoic and composed, felt his facade crumble before your very eyes. Regardless, he was still intent on proving his worth and winning you back, all in the name of rectifying whatever he had failed to do.

You could see the pure, unfiltered, raw emotion in his eyes, the sheer terror of losing you. "Oh no, Jo, I didn't mean it seriously! I was just curious," you said In hopes of smoothing him, but the worry etched on his face didn't fade.

"...it's not something I can just ignore," he said, voice growing firmer. "If you ever feel that way, if you ever think about leaving, please, talk to me first and we can communicate… Let me fix whatever is wrong.l, whatever it is. Because the thought of you not being in my life is unbearable…" He reached out, taking your hands in his shaky ones. “You want to know my answer? I would search for you everywhere, and do anything to bring you back. You mean far too much to me to just let you go…”

His vulnerability was laid bare, even to your own surprise, who didn't expect this from a mere question. Togame would do anything to prove his love to you, to ensure that you never felt the need to ask such a question again. And in that, he certainly succeeded, because you would never doubt his devotion to you again, not that you did to begin with, but knew that it was a slippery slope and a topic to avoid when with him.

But, for good measure, after that conversation fiasco, Togame had taken up a new hobby. And you were more than happy until you realized what that "hobby" of his entailed, as friends or practically anybody who was an unfortunate passerby, would immediately notice a bodyguard-like figure constantly by your side. That is, until they saw the brute clinging onto you like a man desperate for even a whiff of your attention.

©hxnbi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of my works.

523 notes · View notes

hanafubukki · 2 days

Text

You are 500 years old.

500.

In all your centuries of living, you never expected to be summoned for this.

You stared, flabbergasted.

A man- no, fae stood in front of you with two…kids by his side?

Since when did a fae need a demon’s help? You can feel the headache coming as the one before you smiled widely.

“I need you to look after my boys. I need to go to this PTA meeting that’s mandatory and I have no one to look after them!”

…what?

Before you can even open your mouth to ask more questions, he disappeared through the door.

“….is he always like this?”

The two in front of you nodded.

Silver, the youngest of the two, is a human of five years. He’s a sweetheart. Pure and bright, just like his soul.

Usually demons like you would crave for such purity, but you had long ago abandoned that temptation.

Silver was currently practicing his letters under the other’s tutelage.

Malleus, who you realized was also a fae like the one who summoned you, was quiet and protective.

He had an aura that spoke of power even though he tried to hide it.

Currently, you were making them lunch, simple sandwiches and a salad.

“Food is ready.”

You weren’t expecting the two to suddenly appear in front of you.

Were they that hungry? Should you make more?

You ignored the slight magic in the air, probably testing if the food was safe. You understood the need for precaution. You are a demon after all.

“Delicious!”

“You’re right, silver hair. This is good.”

You couldn’t help the swell of pride. Maybe for dinner you can try making something a bit fancier.

By the time the boys were asleep, and the door opened to show the one who summoned you, it was well past 10pm.

What PTA meeting took this long?

You had tea on the table with some leftover dinner on a plate.

Malleus and Silver made sure to drill into you to not let their caretaker, Lilia, cook. The haunting look in their eyes sent a shiver down your spine.

“How were the boys?” Lilia sat down in the seat in front of you, grinning at the food before him.

“They were wonderful.”

“That’s my boys!”

You watch as Lilia dug into his food after warming it up with magic, such easy displays of magic conveying how powerful he truly is.

“What’s your price?”

“No need. The two were amazing. I really didn’t do much but look after and play with them.”

Lilia hummed as he sipped from his cup.

“That puts me in a tough spot. I have a lot of PTA meetings you know. I would like your services again~”

You are a demon.

A demon.

Since when did you have a sign on your head that said you were a babysitter?

…but it’s not like you had anything better occupying your time in recent times, and with the way the kids were excited about your food…

“You can just call me again. I’ll gladly look after them. I don’t have much to do nowadays anyways.”

“How strange.”

You tensed in your chair.

When did he-

Lilia leaned over you, his arms bracing on the arm handles on either side of you, effectively trapping you.

“Like the fae, demons aren’t ones to work for free.”

Fingers trailed up the back of your neck, “No matter, I’m sure we can figure something out.”

The gleam in magenta eyes and a peek of fangs hinted at the trouble you will soon be in.

What did you get yourself into?

This writing prompt has been stuck in my head and, @chibi-celesti, Celesti’s words haves spurred me on; I have come to feed us both 💞💚🫶

#lilia vanrouge #twst x reader #twst x you #twisted wonderland x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x you #malleus draconia #twst silver #twst lilia #twst lilia vanrouge x reader #twst lilia vanrouge

409 notes · View notes

girlokwhatever · 2 days

Note

Emily engstler x passenger princess!reader go on a road trip

can be one shot/headcannon

emily engstler x passenger princess!gf hcs

˚ · .·˚ ༘*ೃ༄ʬ꩜ emily engstler and passenger princess gf on a roadtrip,,

— it’s……. so chaotic

— she’s trying to body slam all of your bags into the trunk while you sit and watch

- you always ask if she wants help but she says no.

— once the two of you finally get on the road she’s a little more relaxed

— her hand is immediately on some part of your body

- hand, shoulder, back of your neck, thighs, anywhere she can reach tbh

— you guys listen to sapphic music together!!

- she’s always giving you the aux 🤗

— if the roadtrip is late at night she gets really sappy for some reason

- always giving some love-drunk confession

- “i can’t wait to marry you.”

- “i always felt like green was your color baby.”

- “i love it when you hum.”

— “can i have a kiss?”

- “but you’re driving?”

- “doesn’t matter.”

— she ALWAYS insists on driving

— she also always tries to pack you snacks for the road and a blanket so you can be cozy

— “oh my god that fast food is making my car stink so bad.”

- “no im pretty sure that’s your attitude stinking it up in here.”

— you need to use the bathroom every hour…..

— windows down on summer days >>>>

— “you look so pretty right now.”

— if you brought a book to read she’ll ask if you can read it out loud

— “i’m so hungry i’m gonna eat you emily.”

- “i wouldn’t mind.”

— “baby don’t put your feet on the dash, that’s dangerous.”

— even though she packs you snacks you always end up getting something at the gas station or some fast food restaurant

— you always get out of the car with her at the gas station because you just want to hold and kiss her

- it’s been awhile and you miss her

— “can i get a chip please?”

- you feed it to her 🤗

— you guys play stupid games together to help the time pass

- “ok.. lemme think. oh! ok ok i got one. she’s a ten buuuuttttt she never brushes her teeth.”

- “ew what?! gross. zero. she’s a zero.”

— you’re always taking scenic photos

— sometimes you like to video the roadtrip just for cute memories

— “babe there’s something in the road..”

- “OH SHIT”

- “OH MY GOD OH MY FUCK! DONT SWERVE LIKE THAT EM.”

— “i forgot my water so im gonna drink some of yours.”

— she tries to keep you awake as long as possible but you falling asleep is just inevitable

- will talk your ear off anyway

— emily likes to take pictures of you when you fall asleep

- when she shows you said pictures you get mad because,

- “why are you on your phone if you’re driving.”

— “you look really cozy over there…”

- “i am. thanks for noticing.”

- gives you the most diabolical side-eye

— lets not talk about that time you teased her though……. iykyk

— she likes holding your hand and kissing your knuckles

- says it helps her focus

— you like holding her hand and playing with her fingers or tracing her tattoos

— “are we almost there?!”

— you always wear fluffy socks 🤗🤗🤗

— you guys always scream song lyrics together LMAO

— “that sign says tennessee but babe.. you’re the only ten i see.”

- “please never speak again.”

— you always lean the seat all the way back

- it pisses emily off LOL

— “babe i think you need to put your shoes back on.. somethings stinks..”

-……….

- “OW! babe i was just joking.”

˚ · .·˚ ༘*ೃ༄ʬ꩜

enjoy!!!

i had to make this twice cause i accidentally swiped out right as i finished it…….. 👹

#emily engstler i love you #rea loves em #emily engstler fic #emily engstler smut #emily engstler imagine #emily engstler x reader #emily engstler blurb #emily engstler #emily engstler headcannons #wlw slay #wlw imagine #wlw post #masc lesbian #lesbian imagine #lesbian #queer #bisexual #lgbtq #lgbtqia

362 notes · View notes

eevees-hobbies · 2 days

Text

An Accidental 'I Love You'

Synopsis: Saying ‘I love you’ is difficult for some of the Wind Breaker boys (some more than others), but sometimes intimacy is all one needs to be inspired to say those sweet three words. Characters are aged up.

Based on prompt #16 from @prompt-heaven. Dividers by saradika. Story banner by me.

CW: Female Reader. Smut & Fluff below. MDNI

Word Count: 1.6K

Authors Note: I genuinely love the Wind Breaker characters, so I’m excited to write for them for the first time. Remember, my requests are open if you'd like something written! As usual, I always appreciate a like, comment, or reblog.

Haruka Sakura has his issues. If you asked his closest enemies—and some friends—to list his flaws, they’d rattle off: impatient, hot-headed, kind of clueless. But you know Sakura, and, sure, he can be some of those things, but the flaw that makes your heart ache the most is what he exhibits in his most vulnerable moments: insurmountable insecurity.

When you start to date Sakura, you know that he needs gentle praise and reassurance to build him up to combat the years of abuse he’s experienced—and it’s a delicate balance of the right amount of praise without sounding insincere.

So when you finally reach the next level of intimacy in your relationship, which admittedly felt like a slow crawl, you start to see another side of Haruka Sakura.

You’re his first everything—-date, hand-hold, kiss, and sexual experience. One thing about Sakura is that he’s eager to make up for lost time, gingerly touching you in places that make your bottom lip quiver, licking you in a way that makes your pupils dilate and your mouth open in a breathless moan. Sakura buries himself in you because while he’s never outwardly expressed it, he feels safe, accepted, and loved when he’s with you.

And maybe you’re a bit surprised when his face is buried in the crook of your neck, his hot breath tickling the hickey-covered expanse of your flesh as he whispers a quiet, “I love you.”

You both pause what you’re doing—your gentle scratching of his toned shoulder blades and his deep rolling of his hips. Suddenly, Sakura pulls back, beet-red and a horrified expression on his face. And you know him and his proclivity to shut down and run away when embarrassed, so you wrap your legs around his waist in an attempt to keep him from leaping out of the room and bolting down the street.

You can see the cogs turning in his head, the internal dialogue you’re almost always attempting to fend off, contributing to a new narrative that you may reject him.

“H-hey! Look at me.” You reach a hand up and stroke his face, the heat of his cheeks permeating against your palm.

“Haruka, I love you, too. I hope that you know that.” You look down between you both, your bodies still connected, which you hope clearly indicates the feelings you share for one another.

He bites his lip, following your eyes, taking in your naked form splayed out underneath him, fleshy thighs wrapped around his waist, the insides of those thighs coated in your slick and him still throbbing inside of you.

You can see him doing something that he doesn’t do often—fighting back the harmful dialogue in his head that says he isn’t enough.

Sakura leans down so he’s back to hovering in your orbit, his strong arms on the sides of your head and caging you in. His voice remains slightly above a whisper, but at least he’s now gazing into your eyes with his luminescent ones. “I got in my head…again.”

You rake the tips of your fingernails across his spine, earning a shiver and a low whimper from him—he doesn’t need much more of an invitation to recapture your lips in his own and continue to roll his hips into yours.

Hayato Suo is as calculated as they come; everything he says is said with reason—whether the other party knows that reason is another story. With that knowledge, I can’t imagine Suo accidentally saying those three special words.

In fact, he’d never say those words if he didn’t mean it. So when Suo informs you that he loves you in a way that feels akin to asking you what you wanted for dinner on a random Tuesday, despite you both laying in bed, fully unclothed after a heated lovemaking session, you’re a loss for words. He doesn’t miss a beat as he places soft kisses against each of your knuckles, but you stare at him to make sure he’s not—excuse the language—fucking with you.

His eyes are closed, but he can feel you staring into his soul. A corner of his lips tilts upward in amusement.

“Say it again.”

And so he does. Every chance he gets, he tells you that he loves you, that he adores you, and that breathing you in sustains his very being. He not only whispers the sentiment during mundane moments like walking down the aisle of your favorite tea shop but also when you’re in the throes of experiencing his passion for you.

Gentle caresses of your stomach as he delivers gentle suckles to your clit, devouring your essence one swallow at a time. And while what he says is muffled because his mouth is full of your sex, it’s clear to you that he’s showering you with praise among the sanctum between your thighs.

“I love you,” “you’re simply everything,” and “my pretty girl” consume the spaces you share, and no one can blame you if you develop a bit of a praise kink because no one has the unshakeable swagger that Suo does.

Jo Togame has a feeling that there’s something about you when harmless flirting in the hangout turns into letting you wear his Shishitoren jacket to send a message that if anyone fucks with you, they’re going to have a massive problem on their hands.

Among the stolen kisses, frenzied quickies in the cover of alleyways, and lazy weekends spent in bed with your legs wrapped around each other, it finally hits Togame as he’s drawing large circles on your skin with the tip of his finger. And it isn’t until one of the aforementioned lazy Sundays that he’s willing to share the revelation.

You’re laying in bed with one another—-he, the big spoon to your little one, his cock buried deep inside of you as he rolls his hips in a manner that only Togame can—-in no particular rush to bring on his orgasm but having a preference to prioritize yours.

You’ve gotten used to the sensual lovemaking, the slow build of your orgasm bubbling deep within you as you tremble from the overstimulation.

Togame presses his lips against your neck, slowly trailing kisses near the edge of your hairline and upward until you can feel his tongue sucking gently at your lobe, and a deep, slow rumble emits from his chest, “God, I love you.”

Togame says it with the conviction of someone who has resolved themselves to one person, his person, you, you, you. There is no room for doubt because once Togame commits to you, he’s simply committing to the destiny of your love story, which was always inevitable.

Hajime Umemiya is also someone who would never proclaim his love for someone unless he meant it, but unlike Suo, his reasoning has little to do with a preference for remaining aloof and more to do with the fact that once he says, ‘I love you,’ he’s marrying that person.

In a perfect world, Umemiya would plan a romantic date somewhere where you’d be surrounded by blooming flowers, the rays of the sun beaming down on you, and creating a golden halo around the crown of your hair. You’d never looked as beautiful as you do now, and he was ready to express to you what you meant to him. Umemiya would be visibly nervous, and because you know him so well, perhaps this would indicate that something was amiss.

Unfortunately, sometimes things don’t always go according to plan because one thing about Umemiya is that he can be caught in the heat of the moment.

Umemiya has your hands pinned above your head, his fingers intertwined with yours because there’s not a world in which he doesn’t crave that connection with you. And as he slides into you—an unashamed moan escaping his lips, he takes in your smell, the way you murmur and sigh his name as he fills you up; he can’t help but sputter out a shakey, “I…i love you.”

Instead of being embarrassed that this wasn’t what he planned, he chuckles because this is as good a moment as any and says it again, and again, and again, while placing tender kisses against your lips, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Ren Kaji has had quite the stressful day—even by Makochi’s standards. After throwing fists with thugs terrorizing the town's shop owners, he seeks you out, his anchor, the one person who can keep him from losing control and beating people within an inch of their lives.

And you’re more than happy to take on that role, not only because you adore the sweet-toothed man but also because it results in some rough romps in the bedroom, which you could never complain about.

Hard smacks to your bare ass, angry, dark hickeys littered across every inch of you, and a soreness radiating between your legs later warrants intensive aftercare, according to Kaji. So after he’s done massaging your scalp, helping you into your cute pajamas, and grabbing you a glass of water, he holds you.

With your ear pressed against his chest, you listen to the soft, rhythmic repetition of his beating heart as he drifts in and out of sleep.

And in between soft snores and a relaxed dream state, Kaji utters a simple “I love you.”

You laugh softly so as not to wake him because, of course, he does, and this isn’t the first time he’s spoken those words in his sleep. But every morning, neither of you mention the confession.

His actions are more than enough proof to show that he loves you, and you aren’t sure that he remembers, anyway. Regardless, you have no doubt that the day in which Kaji speaks those words to you will come.

#windbreaker x reader #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker smut #wind breaker #haruka sakura #togame jo #hajime umemiya #ren kaji #hayato suo

339 notes · View notes

sunny44 · 19 hours

Text

You’re perfect

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Wife!mom!reader

Warnings: English is not my first language so I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Summary: you’re insecure about your body after giving birth to the twins but Max assures you that you’re perfect.

I stood in front of the bedroom mirror, observing my reflection. My eyes were fixed on the changes in my body after giving birth to the twins. Mason and Maxine are some of the best things that have happened in my life, but I couldn't help but notice that the skin on my abdomen, which used to be firm, now had soft stretch marks.

I sighed, running my hands through my hair, trying to convince myself that everything was okay.

I could hear the sound of my husband and the babies laughing in the room at the end of the hallway, and it made me smile for a moment. He was a wonderful and loving father, and the sight of Max with our children always warmed my heart. It seemed like he was made to be a dad.

However, lately, I had been feeling increasingly insecure about my appearance, especially with the transformations that pregnancy had caused.

"Max, can you come here for a minute?" I called, my voice trembling, revealing a bit of the anguish I felt.

"Of course, love! I'm coming!" he replied cheerfully. "I'll just put the babies in the playpen and I'll be right there."

When Max entered the room, I was still standing in front of the mirror. He noticed the worried expression on my face and approached me gently, hugging me from behind.

"What happened, Y/N?" he asked, his voice soft and full of concern.

I hesitated for a moment before speaking, "I... I just can't stop feeling insecure about my body. Everything has changed so much after the twins."

Max frowned, confused.

"Insecure? Love, you look amazing. You gave birth to two healthy and beautiful babies. That's an incredible achievement."

I looked away, tears beginning to form in my eyes.

"I know, but... my body is not the same anymore. The marks, the skin... I don't feel beautiful."

Max gently took my face in his hands, forcing me to look into the same eyes the babies had.

"Y/N, you made me a father. There is nothing sexier and more beautiful than that. Every mark on your body tells the story of our children. And to me, that's the most incredible thing in the world." I smiled shyly, touched by his words.

"Do you really think so?"

"I am absolutely sure of it," he replied with conviction. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and those marks only enhance the beauty you already have."

I let out a soft laugh, wiping away the tears.

"You always know what to say to make me feel better." Max smiled back, caressing my cheek.

"Because it's true. Now, let's go to their room and enjoy some time with Mason and Maxine. They are lucky to have such a wonderful mother like you."

He took my hand, and we went to their room and found the twins happily playing in the playpen. Maxine was holding a stuffed toy, while Mason was trying to grab the toy from his sister's hands. I couldn't help but laugh at the adorable scene and joined them on the floor.

"Are you having fun, huh?" I said, picking Mason up. He let out a giggle and grabbed my hair, pulling it lightly.

Max sat next to me on the floor, picking up Maxine.

"They're growing so fast. I can hardly believe it's been a few months since they were born."

"I know," Y/N agreed, watching Mason with affection. "They bring so much joy into our lives." Maxine started to babble, and Max smiled, gently rocking her.

"And they are the proof of our love. Every day with them is a gift."

I couldn't help but feel a sense of love for him. The insecurities I had would still take time to get used to but had already begun to dissipate as I watched them. Max had always been by my side, offering unconditional support and affection.

Later that night, after the twins had fallen asleep, Max and I snuggled up on the couch, enjoying a moment of tranquility together.

Max wrapped his arm around me, pulling me closer.

"I was thinking," Max began, "we should do something special to celebrate next month. Something just for the two of us." I looked up, curious.

"What do you have in mind?"

"How about a quick trip? We can leave the twins with my mom for a few days and take some time just for us. It would be good to relax and reconnect."

I smiled, excited about the idea.

"That sounds wonderful, Max. I would love to spend some time alone with you." He kissed the top of my head, seemingly pleased with my reaction.

"Then it's settled. I'll make all the arrangements."

The following days passed quickly, with Max and me planning our little escape from reality. When the day of the trip finally arrived, we left the twins with Max's mother, who was more than happy to take care of her grandchildren.

At the airport, moments before boarding the plane, I turned to him with a smile on my face.

"I really appreciate everything you do for us, Max. You make me feel special every day." He held my hands, intertwining our fingers.

"I do it because you are special, Y/N. And I never want you to forget that."

As the plane took off, I looked out the window, feeling an inner peace. Max's words echoed in my mind, reminding me that our love was strong enough to overcome any insecurity. And I knew that with Max by my side, I could face any challenge and that together, we would create a life full of love and happiness.

And so, in the comfort of Max's embrace, I thanked him for being such a special person, whom I could not only call my husband but also the father of our babies.

Bonus scene!

Max Verstappen instagram stories

“They’re just perfect”

323 notes · View notes

inkdrinkerworld · 2 days

Note

Hii could you please do one with sunshine!reader and Spencer first kiss?? Hope you're having a nice day🫶

“Please Spencer?” Your eyes bat in his direction, lip hanging in a pout as you sit on his sofa. Spencer thinks he should be stronger against your tactics. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this affected by a faux sad face and puppy eyes.

He also doesn’t think he could resist another ‘please.’

You’re trying to convince Spencer that it’s too late to drive home. It’s been raining all day and the rain doesn’t plan to be stopping if the blue hue to the hour is any indication.

More than anything you’re worried the slick roads will cause Spencer’s SUV to slide and crash and then he’d be in the hospital. It’s your brain’s special little talent- anxiety induced overthinking that somehow always leads to hospitals.

Spencer doesn’t know all that, but he’s finding it increasingly hard to say no to your puppy dog eyes. He’s always thought Hotch and Morgan were exaggerating the pull of puppy dog eyes but when you do it, your eyes go all wide and innocent and Spencer can’t say no to it. He doesn’t want to either.

He lays right back down on your sofa, sighing to hide his grin when you squeal and cosy up to him.

You’ve both been alternating between reading your books and napping all day, your fluffy duvet over both your laps and your pillows make the sofa even cosier than you’d ever found it.

“You’re like a trickster spirit.” Spencer sighs, your head laid on his shoulder as you pick up your book again.

“I’m not, you just,” you trail off, looking up at Spencer through your lashes. Something about him from this angle has your thoughts trailing off. All you can see are his lips, how his eyes are a little more hazel than brown in this light and how incredibly soft his hair looks.

You reach a hand and card it through his hair, watching Spencer watch you as you do it.

“I just what?” He licks his lips and you groan. Spencer smiles.

“I want a kiss.” You say suddenly, smiling shyly when Spencer’s eyes go wide.

“You do?” You should’ve guessed he’d have teased you like this. Spencer’s hand sneaks under your arms, pulling you into him so you’re straddling his lap. You gasp when his hands knead at your hips.

“Mhm, please?” You tilt your head to the side, blinking at Spencer slowly as you wait.

Your breath hitches when he leans in suddenly, nose bumping along yours as your lips just barely touch.

Your heart is racing and you’re sure Spencer can tell and that’s why he’s intent on teasing you; running his nose along yours, leaning in and then pulling back before your lips connect.

“Spencer,” you huff and he chuckles, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Please.”

You don’t mean to sound bad as desperate as you do- like you’ll run out of air if Spencer doesn’t kiss you right this second but it works.

Instantly, Spencer’s lips are on yours. His hand moves from your chin to your cheek, your lips parting as Spencer’s tongue swipes across your bottom lip.

You make a sound between a gasp and a moan that makes Spencer’s stomach heat. You lean into his kiss, your hands gripping his hair harder as the kiss turns from tender to desperate.

“Slow down, sweetheart.” Spencer rasps as he pulls away, a smile on his face as he catches your eyes shut tight as you catch your breath.

“That was nice.” you breathe, twirling a finger around a curl in Spencer’s hair.

He laughs, body shaking against yours. “Just nice?”

“I need another kiss to make a better determination.” Spencer doesn’t hesitate.

#spencerreid #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x black reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x sunshine!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid x y/n #post prison!spencer #dr spencer reid

396 notes · View notes

mokassong · 2 days

Note

long smutt where paige is needy but you wont touch her until she shows you her touching herself and shes shy at first but gives in

dream- p. bueckers

!! - not short!! Dancer!reader, english isn’t my first language

!! - smut, sub!paige, masturbation, wet dreams, no pre-established relationships, giving enemies with benefits, paige cums quickly, thigh riding

Paige exclaims, sitting up sharply as she looks around her room.

Her roommate stays sleeping through the noise, and Paige only has one thought going through her brain:

You.

After months of convincing herself that she and the dancer were not in any way, shape, or form, friends, the girl is still the first thing Paige thinks of when she awakens from her nightmare.

That’s right, the big bad Paige Bueckers has bad dreams.

Paige gets out of bed, pulling your black oversized jacket over her purple shirt.

Your purple shirt.

Paige shakes her head.

Stop thinking about her.

She slides on her slippers nonetheless, making sure to check her appearance in the mirror.

do my braids look okay? should i take them out? does she even want to see me? do-

Paige takes a second before opening her door and doing anything but running down the hall and to your room.

She doesn’t bother to knock, instead pushing the door open and going to stand in the middle of the dancer’s room.

“P?”

You look up from your book, warily staring at the blonde haired girl, who’s arms are crossed.

“I- I thought you might want me here.” Paige starts. “You know, with your night terrors and all.”

She whispers the last part.

“My night terrors?”

Paige looks down at her feet. “This is the part where you invite me to lay in your bed with you.”

You trie to hide your smirk, closing your book and putting it on your bedside table as you stand up.

Crossing the room, you close your door before walking to Paige. You take her jacket off of the blonde, throwing it to a corner of the room.

You place your hand on Paige’s lower back, leading her over to the bed.

Paige lays down, pressing herself against the wall, giving you as much space as she can.

You lay down as well, and it’s silence for a few minutes.

“Y/N?” Paige finally whispers.

You ley out a quiet sigh, thankful.

“Yeah?”

“Are you awake?”

“Who the fuck do you think just said ‘yeah?’”

Paige turns on her side, facing you, who doesn’t even try to hide your smirk.

“This wasn’t about ‘my’ night terrors, was it?”

Paige doesn’t dare move.

“What happened, P?”

don’t tell her don’t tell her don’t tell her don’t tell her don’t don’t don’t don’t-

“I’m the lamest baller to ever exist.”

Your gaze softens, and you wrap an arm around Paige, who tenses as you pulls her closer.

“Paige,” You whisper, “can I tell you a secret?”

Paige is certain you can hear her heartbeat getting faster.

You smile softly. “you’re my most favorite baller to ever exist.”

Crickets.

Paige has to admit that she’s a bit disappointed.

“Oh. Well, thank you, I guess. goodnight.” She deadpans, turning around so you can’t see her sad expression.

You laugh though, pulling the blonde against your chest, easily spooning her.

Paige’s heart races as you slip her hand under her shirt, your fingers drawing patterns on Paige’s stomach.

You smirk at the sound of Paige’s soft sigh, and the next time you look over to check on the girl, her eyes are closed.

For the first time in a very long time, Pauge Bueckers falls asleep with a smile on her face.

———————————————ʚɞ———————————————

Sleep doesn’t last long.

Paige wakes up from another dream, although this time, not a bad one.

She feels you shift behind her, and freezes.

“P?”

The girl keeps quiet, peeling your hand off of her body before the you can notice the wet patch on her sweatpants.

“Can I use your bathroom?” Paige asks.

“Yeah, of course.”

The blonde girl is quick to get out of the bed, running to the bathroom and quickly shutting the door.

Your head snaps up when you hear Paige’s frustrated groan.

It’s obvious that the basketball player doesn’t actually use the restroom, as there are no telltale… sounds.

Paige exits the small room a number of minutes later, and gets back in the bed quickly.

You wrap her hand around Paige’s waist once again, pulling the girl’s shirt up even higher to continue the doodles on her skin.

Paige’s breath hitches when your hand ventures lower, now playing with the hem of her sweatpants.

“Were you dreaming about me, baby?” The dancer asks, her breath hot against Paige’s neck.

don’t tell her don’t tell her you don’t have to tell her anything lie lie lie lie lie-

“Yes.” Paige uses all of her power to make her voice not waver.

A victorious smirk appears on your face.

If you told Paige Bueckers six months ago that she’d be having wet dreams about Y/N L/N, she would have laughed in your face.

“Yeah? What was the dream about?”

You hold in a laugh as your hand slips under the waistband of Paige’s sweatpants.

You tuck your leg in between Paige’s, your thigh pressing against her crotch.

“Sorry,” you smile innocently, “just getting comfortable.”

Paige sighs. “In my dream, I felt good. And not like the good i feel after making a basket.” She hints embarrassedly.

You smile. “What was making you feel good?”

don’t tell her get out leave leave leave stop being pathetic leave leave lea-

“You.” Paige breathes out.

“Yeah? And why were you getting mad in the bathroom?”

don’t tell her leave leave leave you’re an addams stop being weak leave leave leave-

“I- I couldn’t do it.”

“Do what?” You ask in mock confusion.

“I couldn’t feel good again.” Paige mumbles, “I tried everything.”

You tsk in her ear.

“Oh yeah? What did you try?”

Paige is so deep in thought that she doesn’t notice your hands gripping her hips, slowly rocking her back and forth.

well, there’s no stopping now.

“I- I tried the corner of your sink, an- and I tried using my fingers, like how you did in my dream, but I couldn’t- it didn’t-“

Paige cuts herself off with a broken moan as you flex your thigh.

“Y/N- pl- please keep-“

You smirk, rocking Paige faster against your thigh.

“You like that, honey? Do you feel good?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, good, feels good.”

Paige gasps when you slip your hand under her sweatpants, rubbing her through her boxers.

Paige quickly helps take her sweatpants off, but whines when you pull away, sitting up.

You giggle at her pout. You lean against the headboard, watching Paige sit desperately in front of you. “Show me.”

“I— what?”

“Show me what I was doing to you. Show me, and I’ll touch you.” You cross your arms.

Paige’s legs seem to spread automatically, showing off the wet spot on her boxers. She brings her middle finger lower, pressing on the wet spot softly.

You smirk, watching her hips jerk.

“Yeah, that’s right. Go ahead and get yourself off.”

Paige tugs down her boxers, revealing her sopping cunt in all of its glory. She hasn’t shaved, but you can still see her engorged clit peeking out of her fat lips.

“Fuck.” You breathe, and Paige moans. She presses down on her clit softly, and starts to rub it. Her other hand spreads her folds, and you watch her pussy clench around nothing.

Paige whimpers, slipping a finger inside of herself. “I— I’m gonna—“

“Cum,” you whisper, and she does.

Paige’s head falls back, her hips jerking and her thighs tensing as she moans out, grasping at her tits. She rides it out, lazily thrusting her finger inside of herself and staring at you with half-lidded eyes.

“Lay down.” You say, moving to hover over her. “It’s my turn.”

#paige bueckers #wlw #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x you #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fluff #wlw smut #smut #uconn wbb #wcbb smut #wcbb x reader

312 notes · View notes

lawchwan · 22 hours

Text

you look pretty when you cry (zoro, law, sanji)

summary: how they would react when they see you cry requested: @somethingsaladsomething reader: gn!reader disclaimer: nsfw with sanji, use of safeword, (although the sex is consensual, sanji’s can be a bit triggering so if you don’t want to deal with the whole thing, i suggest you skip it), implied physical harassment with zoro, implied depression with law, rushed work, just one piece characters being sweeties genre: headcanon, fluff, suggestive a/n: my first request !!! i hope i don't disappoint here :) sorry i took forever though

crossposted on ao3

Law

Now I don't want to sit in the chat and say Law’s emotionally unintelligent, because he is not but he definitely has his moments where he needs to read the room before he acts. bare with him, he's just learning with you on how a relationship should work. he’s the type to leave you alone when you’re upset because thats his usual instinct that when one’s upset, they want to be left alone. he kinda has to learn the hard way that that’s not always the case…

You woke up in a funk and just did not feel alright. You were stressed and burned out and all you wanted was the comfort of your big hunk of a boyfriend, a simple cuddle with no exchange of words would've sufficed for your case.

Unfortunately, that's not how life works and it can be pretty unfair. Law’s been too preoccupied with whatever he's doing. With what? you don't know and don't care, what could he be doing that's more important than comforting you on your worst days? Furthermore, it didn't help that when you woke up, he wasn't even next to you in bed before he up and left.

Loneliness consumed you as your intrusive thoughts began to take their toll on you and start inhabiting your psyche. You knew they were irrational, you knew that Law wasn't going to leave you, you knew that he has the terrible habit of Irish Goodbye-ing his way out of a situation, you KNEW that you mean so much to him.

But his lack of communication is a flaw that you never think will challenge you as you thought you already what was coming. Law was a man with little words, so you can’t expect much from him, right?

You began tearing up as you start to grasp onto the pillow that Law once laid in, getting any ounce of remnants of him that can act as a source of comfort. Sure, it contained his manly scent that makes swoon and the pillow was soft, however it didn’t contain his usually cold beating heart that you enjoyed listening while holding him. You needed him badly as you began sobbing into the plush.

Unbeknownst to you, Law walked in, completely unbothered as he placed his kikoku to the side and closed the door. It didn’t register until he heard sniffles and the muffled sobbing that made Law furrow his brows in confusion. You began shaking as you almost screamed into the pillow Law would usually sleep in.

Law looked around the room in an almost panicked manner, almost like he’s trying to find the source on who made you cry before he leaned in to the bed and began shaking you.

“hey, hey, (y/n), what happened?!” Law hastily spoke. He was not the best at emotions but he will surely go kill someone that made you feel this way.

You lifted your face from the pillow, finally looking up at the person who has been in your mind the whole time he was gone. He’s studying your face while your lips quivered before you tackled his body by wrapping your whole body into his, your face on his neck. Law threw one arm behind him for support while the other arm instinctively wrapped around your midriff.

As you two settled, Law held your head as the other began stroking your back. He didn’t know what resulted in you acting this way, so he began speaking.

“(y/n), is there any—“

“Shut up, Law,” you interrupted as you spoke into his skin which made Law taken aback, “I just want you in my arms…”

Law’s tensed body relaxed as you grasped onto him like he was about to fade away from your arms. He is usually very awkward about physical touch and emotional confrontation, but he knew he can’t simply walk away from you and leave you be whenever you you’re not feeling the greatest.

he realizes that that it’s okay to remain, and if you wanted to be left alone, you’ll tell him. For now, however, all you both need is to be in each other’s arms to ease each other up.

“It’s okay, (y/n)… I’m here now”

Zoro

another awkward man who doesn’t know how to deal with emotions. he, like law, will go after someone who tries to harm his loved ones, he’s not here to play around.

You were running for the life of you, panting as you picked up the speed as someone was chasing you down. Everything was happening so fast, one second you were just eyeing at beautiful and intricate jewelry at bazaar near town, in awe of the sheer beauty and how colorful these gems gleamed in center. It was in the pricier side, which is what you expected, but you couldn’t help but gawk at the shiny gemstone that was practically calling your name.

A man stood by you, observing how you were eyeing at the jewel, took the opportunity to introduce himself and insist on buying this beautiful gem. You’ve naturally rejected his offer…

And next thing you knew, he was harassing you and chasing you down, demanding your hand in marriage. You ran away before he caught you—thanks to Zoro’s training in speed—but that’s all you could manage to do. You began finding a spot to hide, bumping into locals as you proceed to run while the man was calling out for you.

Once you find a crevice you can hide in, you kneeled as you began to wrap your arms around your legs as your breath began to shake in fear. Tears started to well up as you silently began calling out your boyfriend, hoping he can save you from this.

“(y/n)?” you hear a familiar voice, making your head jolt up at the man standing in front of you. It was Zoro, your boyfriend whom you prayed will show up. You only shook as you began stuttering and standing up to hold him.

You began sobbing onto his chest, meanwhile he froze in place, clueless on what to do. Your intention of hiding was shown to be futile, as your sobs echoed in the market, drawing unwanted attention while Zoro was looking around to see what happened, what lead to you in this mess.

“(y/n), I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on—” Zoro sternly yet worriedly spoke before he was interrupted by a roar.

“You get your filthy hands out of my future wife!”

Your blood ran cold as you heard that deep voice that struck fear into you. Once Zoro felt the stiffness and looked at the man who stood in front of the two of you, he already connected the puzzle pieces together.

So that’s the bastard that made you cry in fear…

“Your future wife, you say,” Zoro smirked that iconic devilish smirk before he rubbed your back, silently telling you to release him, which you did. That’s who Zoro was, a man with not many words, but you understood his language better than anyone could. You stood back while Zoro crossed his arms with a straight stand as he eyes at the man who’s ready attack him.

“That’s right! I even got her the jewel she wanted!” The harasser yelled as he grabbed hold of the jewel. You once admired that ring he was holding, now that it was in his hands, he absolutely tainted it. But Zoro couldn’t careless, he gathered both of his swords out, making the man jump in fear.

“Oh, I see, you got her that ring, how romantic…” Zoro taunted, enjoying the sight of the cowardly man standing in front of him. You only gulped at the sight, you knew Zoro will kill him, and he could only spare him if the man just ran away. Zoro simply walked up to him only for the man to walk backwards, legs shaking.

“Stand back! O-or I will kil—“

“Would like to see you try.” Zoro harshly spoke, which made the man ran before Zoro intimidatedly raised his sword at him.

“Coward,” he mumbled to himself before he placed his swords back to their case. Before he turned, he looked at the gleaming ring on the ground. He walked up to the source and picked it up to examine it, that was the ring that the man was holding earlier.

He turned to you, hugging yourself in the corner, not wanting your boyfriend to see your crying face. He smiled at you as he showcased the ring in his palm, “is this the ring that you were admiring?”

You only pursed your lips as you nodded. As much as you wanted to hate the ring for what that man did, you still had to admit that that ring was the most beautiful jewel you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

Zoro held your hand gently, and placed the ring in your ring finger. You looked at him in awe, only for him to smirk at you.

“I may not have bought the ring, which is a shame, but you deserve it…” He’s not the most romantic, but he always means well, which made you giggle when he tried to be one. He smiled at you as he held your face, rubbing away the remaining tear on your face.

”i got you, okay? just remember that…”

Sanji

out of the three of them, Sanji’s definitely the more in tune of emotions. He may not be the vulnerable one in the relationship, but he definitely allows himself to be emotional when he wants to with you and this man will do anything that will make that frown upside down.

It was a long night after a stressful day for the two of you. You thought you needed that destress but I guess your body asked for something different.

It was like any other regular session, Sanji gave you the foreplay that you needed before he laid on top of you, thrusting in and out of you letting out the sweetest of moans and whimpers.

He praises you and repeatedly tells you how good you feel, all the thibgs that typically turns you on, yet you feel like you’re in pain.

You don’t know what’s wrong, but you just didn’t feel good while Sanji attempts on pleasuring you. Instead there was this sharp pain in between your legs, the stretch of his cock went from the usual pleasurable sensation to discomfort.

“S-sanji… please…” you moaned out, but it wasn’t of arousal. Unfortunately, it sounded too similar to your pleasured state, thus Sanji thought you were just in pleasure, so he went in a pace much painful than you expected.

“fuck, c’mon, baby, c’mon, you’re doing so good~”

There was no use, you were in so much pain and you felt your tears welling up and started to sob at the sharp that your boyfriend has no idea of. You simply cannot take it anymore.

”BUTTERSQUASH!”

once you yelped out the safeword, Sanji’s blissed closed eyes shot open as he halted his movement. He was looking at the headboard until he heard you sob. His heart sank as he pulled away from you and backed away slightly, far to give you space but close enough to be able to check on you.

“baby, are you okay?” He looked at you with concern in his eyes, his blue eyes glimmer in worry, guilt written all across his face, “I am so sorry, darling, I should’ve guessed that you weren’t comfortable…”

You reached out for his hand and shook your head as you got closer to him, “don’t apologize, I thought I also needed this, but I guess I don’t”

That didn’t reassured his guilty self one bit, so you began stroking his face and placed your forehead on his.

“It’s okay, Sanji, I’m okay.”

Sanji just pulled you in to his embrace and you hugged him back as you relax onto his arms.

“I’ll never hurt you, nor will I allow anyone to hurt you… You’re too precious to be hurt…”

characters are owned by oda. i will not tolerate nor accept translation, reposts on other websites, or plagiarism. divider made by mmadeinheavenn.

189 notes · View notes

ginnsbaker · 2 days

Text

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (15/?)

Part Summary: You and Leigh go on your first date, and nothing goes as planned.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 10.700+ | Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Smut | Author's note: The date chapter is finally here! It's basically Leigh and R getting to know each other. But beware of the tags ;) Thank you for being so patient! Please enjoy :) Only one or two more chapters to go!

Your mouth forms a perfect ‘O’ as you come, Leigh's fingers moving deftly down your jeans. She is entranced by the sight of you falling apart in her hands, torn between kissing you and watching as you ride the final waves of your orgasm.

The moment she opened the front door and saw you, she couldn't resist. You’re dressed in a loose white button-down shirt, open at the chest to reveal the collarbones she recently discovered she’s so fond of. The sleeves are rolled up to your elbows, and your boot-cut jeans fit perfectly, accentuating all the right places, especially at the back. The subtle scent of your perfume, sweet and intoxicating like chocolate, drifted across the room, pulling her closer. Without a second thought, she grabbed you by the collar, kissing you deeply as she pulled you into the kitchen.

“You're so beautiful,” Leigh whispers, her breath hot against your ear. Her eyes are locked onto your face, mesmerized.

You gasp, your body tensing as you reach the peak. “Leigh, please” you breathe out, shifting uncomfortably. The tight confines of your jeans restrict your movement. Sure, they make your figure look fantastic, but at moments like this, you question if it's really worth it.

Leigh's lips hover just above yours, her fingers still working their magic. “I can't decide,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky.

“Decide what?” you ask, your voice quivering.

“Whether I want to kiss you or keep watching you like this,” she replies, her eyes dark with desire.

Your hands find their way to her shoulders, pulling her closer. “Both,” you whisper. “Do both.”

As you both recover, you adjust your clothes, tucking your blouse back into the waistband of your pants. Still catching your breath, you glance at Leigh, who is already rinsing her fingers under the running water of the sink.

“What was that for?” you ask, your voice still a bit breathless.

Leigh grins, glancing over her shoulder at you. “Payback for last week.”

She moves around the espresso machine, then says, “By the way, I'm really sorry,” as if she hadn’t been driving you to an intense climax just minutes ago. “I can’t believe I overslept.”

You lean casually against the counter, your legs still weak from coming so hard, thoroughly entertained by her stream of apologies and quietly thrilled that she cares so much. The bagels you brought—laden with lox and a thick layer of cream cheese—wait patiently between you.

“It’s really okay,” you say, watching her make a fuss. Catching her hand as she goes for another apology, you squeeze it gently. “You… more than made up for it.”

She has the good grace to blush, a soft smile breaking through her earlier fretfulness. “Thanks for waiting,” he says, her voice still a little hoarse and, somehow, even more beguiling. “I’ve been looking forward to today. I guess last night just took more out of me than I thought.”

“You don’t say,” you tease lightly, observing the casual disarray of her hair and the relaxed hang of her clothes—it’s Leigh unplugged, and you’re increasingly fond of this version.

Leigh's eyes shift to the side, landing on the two take-out lattes you had bought earlier, now sitting forlornly on the counter. She grimaces slightly as she realizes they've gone cold—leftovers from your long wait outside her house, where it hasn’t stopped raining.

“Oh, you brought coffee too,” she husks out. “And I made you wait…”

“Yeah, I might have been a bit optimistic about the timing,” you say.

Leigh gives you a long, scrutinizing look, clearly baffled by your patience.

“I don’t get it,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Get what?”

“It’s just—I’m clumsy, you know? I forget things. I’m always late to appointments. I keep expecting you to realize how dysfunctional I am and run off,” she jokes, though her eyes tell a different story. The coffee maker gurgles, signaling that the brew is ready. She moves to pour the coffee, her shoulders tense, hesitating before speaking again. “But you don’t. You just... stay. And I don’t understand why.”

You watch her pour the coffee, the steam rising in soft curls. “I stay because I love you, Leigh,” you say simply. You’ve told her that three—maybe four—times now. Not that you’re counting, but each time it gets a little easier to say. And you hope, for her, it gets a little easier to hear.

She hasn't said it back, and while you’re unsure if she feels the same, you know she cares—maybe not enough to utter those three words yet, but enough to be here now. Her accepting this date, spending this day with you, it’s a concession you wouldn’t trade for the world.

Leigh's gaze flickers, eyes widening a touch, lips parting as though words are on the brink of breaking free. You hold your breath, waiting for whatever she might reveal. But then, she blinks—like she's snapping back from a distant thought—and quietly turns to pour another cup, her glance drifting off as she collects herself.

She hands you a steaming mug, her fingertips brushing yours. You take it from her carefully, feeling the warmth seep through your fingers, spreading a comforting heat up your arms.

“Thanks,” you say, your voice low, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth as you take a slow sip.

Leigh watches you over her own cup, her eyelashes casting long shadows on her cheeks as she takes a tentative sip. Words have the power to bring things into being, and for Leigh, speaking things into existence feels like an indelible commitment—a promise carved into stone.

But maybe some things are beloved even before they ever take shape.

After breakfast, you both head to The Beautiful Beast to drop off Logan. Jules is happy to take care of him, as the house is empty with Amy away on a trip with friends. With Logan settled, you and Leigh head to the art exhibit you had tickets for.

Inside the exhibit, you find yourselves packed tightly among the throngs of people. The crowd presses in, and while the vivid artwork is a distraction, the constricted room makes it tough to fully enjoy the pieces. Far from the tech hubs and arts districts, the local community jumps at anything that breaks the monotony of their usual scene. Moreover, today’s rain has chased everyone indoors, turning this rare cultural event into a magnet for locals starved for something different. With the parks soggy and deserted, people had the choice between shopping malls or here.

As you and Leigh wade through the crowded gallery, people jostle for space, elbows occasionally colliding with your sides as they vie for a better view of the vibrant installations. Suddenly, a passerby brushes against you, nearly pulling you away from Leigh. Instinctively, you snatch her hand, holding fast for dear life. In the confusion, unsuspecting of the sudden tug, Leigh loses her footing. Her thick heel comes down hard on your foot, and you yelp in pain. Tears spring to your eyes, and you try to hold back a cry, but the pain is sharp and persistent.

“Sorry, sorry!” Leigh's cheeks flush with mortification as she quickly steps back. “Are you okay?”

Trying to brush it off with a grimace that's more a wince, you manage a weak smile.

“I'll live,” you say, half-joking, even as you gingerly test your foot. “But I think that was my cue to start wearing steel-toed boots around you.”

Despite herself, Leigh chuckles. “I'm really sorry,” she laments, reaching out to gently squeeze your arm. “Let's find a place to sit, okay?”

You cautiously try a step, hopeful but hesitant. The sharp pain bites, making you flinch, and you end up limping. Immediately, Leigh slips her arm around your waist to stabilize you.

“Let's find someone to help you get to a first-aid station,” she suggests, eyeing your gait with concern.

“But the exhibit?” you protest weakly, looking longingly back at the art you were both eager to see.

Leigh gives you a wry smile. “I'm more worried they might have to amputate your foot,” she jokes, successfully coaxing a laugh out of you. Yet, as you chuckle, you wince again, putting weight on your foot without thinking.

Noticing your discomfort, Leigh guides you gently towards the front of the gallery. Soon, you're at the information booth, where a helpful attendant offers you an ice pack and points you to a bench near the entrance. As you try to get comfortable on the small bench, you struggle to keep the ice pack properly positioned on your foot, repeatedly bending down in an awkward dance of readjustment.

“Here, just put your foot on my lap,” she suggests, patting her lap lightly.

You start to object, not wanting to impose, but before you can finish your sentence, Leigh decisively grabs your leg and guides it onto her lap. She starts massaging the sole of your foot while holding the ice pack firmly against the swollen area. It's a simple, caring gesture, and you can't help but watch Leigh as she focuses on making you feel better.

When she looks up and catches you staring, she smirks. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You shake your head slightly, a small smile playing on your lips. “I just didn't think we'd end up back here, and we haven't even seen a third of the art yet,” you say.

Leigh laughs softly. “It's okay, the exhibits weren't all that impressive anyway,” she says. “Besides, I was starting to feel claustrophobic there.”

A twinge of disappointment pulls at you. You’d been excited about the exhibit, about sharing something you thought would be cool and sophisticated. With your foot throbbing and Leigh’s less-than-enthused review, the day feels like it’s stumbled right out of the gate.

Leigh notices your sudden quiet and nudges you gently. “What's wrong?”

“I just thought you’d be into this. I was almost entirely sure,” you say, avoiding her gaze.

“I am,” Leigh says, still holding your foot. “I love exhibits, but right now, my top priority is spending time with you.”

You blush at that. “We are spending time—”

She cuts you off with a small laugh. “I mean, like, actually talking. It’s hard to have a conversation when we’re constantly moving and trying to look at everything.”

You mull that over, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

A comfortable silence settles between you, the kind that feels more like understanding than emptiness. Then, out of the blue, Leigh asks, “So, how did you end up being an animal doctor?”

You’re startled by her sudden question, but it’s a welcome distraction from your foot and the disappointing exhibit.

“It’s a bit of a long story,” you start.

“I’ve got time,” she says with a smirk.

You take a deep breath and lean back on the bench, feeling more comfortable as your leg rests on Leigh’s lap. Her foot massage is so soothing, it’s almost putting you into a sleepy state.

“Well, I always loved animals. My parents used to joke that I’d bring home every stray if I could. But it wasn’t until I volunteered at a local shelter in high school that I realized it was what I wanted to do with my life.”

Leigh tilts her head and smiles. “That’s sweet. What was it about the shelter that made you decide?”

“It was this one dog,” you say, your voice catching and your eyes getting misty. “A scrappy little terrier mix named Max. He’d been through so much, but he still had so much love to give. Helping him heal and find a forever home—it just clicked. That’s when I knew I wanted to help as many animals as I could.”

Leigh looks at you with a kind of awe, as if something beautiful is unfolding before her eyes. “That’s amazing. I love that you found your calling through something so meaningful.”

You shrug, feeling a bit bashful under her stare. “What about you? When did you know you wanted to be a writer?”

She laughs, a light, airy sound that makes you grin from ear to ear. You could listen to it forever.

“Oh, I’ve always known,” she says. “Actually, I was always writing in my diary as a kid. I'd write about my day, things I enjoyed, pretty much anything that came to mind. I loved reading pocket books, too, and I even tried my hand at writing fiction once or twice.

“But I quickly discovered that fiction wasn't really my thing. I loved writing, though—just the act of putting words on paper, sharing my thoughts and experiences. It felt natural, like breathing.

“And even though I wasn't making up fictional characters and places,” Leigh continues, “I realized I could still tell stories. They were my stories, rooted in the everyday things I observed and experienced. That was my niche, and I just ran with it.”

“Did you have a specific moment, like with Max?” you ask.

“Not really,” she says. “It’s just what I wanted to do, that’s all.”

You nod. “Knowing what you want to do or be saves a lot of time, doesn’t it?”

“I guess?” She smiles at your insight, then adds, “Though maybe in another life, I’d be a serious journalist. If I thought I had the natural knack or talent for it, maybe I would.”

You frown slightly at that, concerned by her self-doubt. “Why do you think you’re not good enough to be a ‘serious’ journalist now?”

Leigh looks surprised by your question, then thoughtful. “I don’t know. I guess I always see those roles as being for people who are more... intense, more investigative. But you’re right. Maybe it’s just a matter of believing I could.”

“You’re an amazing writer, Leigh,” you say earnestly. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“How can you say that?” she asks, leaning in a bit closer. “Have you read any of my work apart from my tiny blurbs in the gossip column?”

You feel a blush warm your cheeks. “Well, I might have done a bit of Googling,” you confess, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. “Your articles popped up, and I... may have read all of them.”

Her eyebrows lift, and she gives your foot a careful pinch. “Is that so?” she teases, her voice dropping lower. The blush spreads down your neck and chest. “And what did you think? Did they pass muster with our impromptu art critic here?”

“Honestly, I was blown away,” you say, looking her straight in the eye. “Your writing is intuitive, engaging. It pulled me right in. You've got this strong, clear voice that really comes through, even in the straightforward pieces.”

Leigh regards you for a moment longer than usual, as if trying to read the pages of a particularly dense novel—searching for the truth in your words. Then, as if finding what she was looking for, her features soften, the guarded lines around her eyes relaxing.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice carrying a tender gravity. “That really means a lot to me.”

You beam up at her, blissfully unaware of the profound impact your praise has had on her appreciation of her own writing.

Before you can pick up the thread of your laid-back conversation again, a man who could easily double as an Instagram model approaches. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a rogue lock of hair artfully obscuring one icy-blue eye. Both you and Leigh pause, taken aback by his sudden, striking presence, and an instinctive wariness settles in between you.

“Hey there. Are you okay?” he asks, hovering slightly, his focus solely on you, as if Leigh is merely a shadow on the wall.

“It's nothing, just a bit of swelling,” you say. You look up at him briefly and force a smile before focusing your attention back on Leigh. She's already staring down the stranger, as if trying to laser through his meticulously sculpted side-profile.

He presses on, “I could drive you to the hospital to get that checked out.”

You exchange a quick look with Leigh, catching the flash of irritation that crosses her face before she masks it with a polite smile.

“That’s very kind of you, but I'll be fine.”

Despite this, he doesn’t give up. “Really, it's no trouble at all. You shouldn't walk on that,” he says, pointing at your foot that’s clearly on someone else’s lap. This time, his gaze lingers a little too long for comfort.

Leigh gently lowers your foot from her lap and stands up, positioning herself between you and the persistent stranger. There's a considerable height difference between them—Leigh is notably shorter—but she doesn't seem intimidated in the slightest. Instead, she squares her shoulders and lifts her chin like she’s ten feet tall.

“Excuse me,” Leigh clears her throat. “We’re on a date here.”

The man blinks, surprised. “A date?” he echoes.

“Yes,” Leigh confirms, her smile now a thin line of resolve. “The kind where I kiss her goodnight after.”

You catch a few curious glances from nearby onlookers and feel a blush creeping up your neck. You duck your head, trying to shield yourself from their stares. More than anything, though, you're struck by Leigh's bold declaration to a near stranger—that she was going to kiss you by the end of this date.

Of course, you’re hoping she would, but hearing her say it out loud sends your stomach into a flutter of somersaults

His face registers the rebuff, and he nods awkwardly, stepping back. “Right, sorry,” he mutters before finally turning and walking away.

Leigh is heaving slightly, visibly tense, her back to you, and you gently take her hand to bring her focus back.

“Hey,” you mumble softly. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Leigh says as she turns back to face you, her eyes now softer. You sense the tension easing from her as your fingers intertwine more firmly. “I’m sorry if—”

“Thank you,” you interrupt gently, wanting her to know her protectiveness was welcome. “I really appreciated that.”

She laughs, a sound of relief. “Okay, good. I didn’t want to come off too strong.”

You want to tell her that she does, that she's always been a force to be reckoned with. But you bite your lip, not wanting it to come across as criticism. You like this quality of hers, and you don’t want her to change anything about herself just because you're a completely different person with a different perspective.

She shuffles her feet, looking a bit unsure, then sits down beside you. “So... where were we?”

You smile at her. “I was saying how amazing you are as a writer.”

Leigh grins, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, right. Please, go on.”

You laugh, and the two of you spend the next hour in the art exhibit, talking about everything and nothing.

At 1pm, you and Leigh head out for a scenic drive to Santa Monica Beach.

A week ago, as soon as she agreed to this date, you booked a table at a beachside lobster joint that’s been trending locally for some time now. It seems like the perfect spot, with great reviews and a beautiful setting by the ocean. The drive is relaxed, the windows rolled down and the salty air filling the car, clearing away any last threads of the tension from earlier at the exhibit.

Leigh is in high spirits, chatting animatedly about books and laughing more freely than she has all day. At one point, you find yourselves discussing The Great Gatsby.

“I just don't get the hype,” you say, shaking your head as you keep your eyes on the road, though you're eager to dive into what promises to be an interesting debate. “I mean, the characters are all so shallow, and the story feels more like a soap opera than a classic.”

Leigh's expression brightens, excited to dispute your claim. “But that’s exactly why it’s a classic,” she counters, turning to face you and resting her head against her arm on the windshield. “Fitzgerald captured the Jazz Age perfectly—the decadence, the disillusionment, the elusive American Dream. It's all critiqued through some really beautiful writing.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “So you think the shallowness is the point?”

“Exactly,” she replies, smirking slightly. “Gatsby's obsession with Daisy, who represents everything he can't have, mirrors the era's obsession with wealth and status. It's tragic and a little ridiculous because it's supposed to be.”

You pretend to mull it over, though you know she has a point. You can feel her gaze on you, and you're starting to relish Leigh's undivided and very welcome attention. You drag out your response, just to see how she reacts. You think you catch her rolling her eyes out of the corner of your eye.

Chuckling, you say, “You’re making it hard to stick to my guns here.”

Her smirk widens into a proud smile. “Good! Maybe it’s time to surrender those guns.”

You flex your arm, showcasing your slim and completely unimpressive biceps. “Speaking of guns, maybe I should keep these instead,” you joke, giving Leigh a playful look.

Leigh makes a face. “Oh, please, keep those guns. They're definitely more persuasive than your take on Fitzgerald!” she teases.

You pout at her sarcastic comment about your physique, but your smile is good-natured. It's been a long time since you've felt this at ease—not just with Leigh, but with anyone else. You haven't enjoyed company like this in a while, not since...

Well, not since Matt.

After a while, you say, “Maybe I need to give it another read. You make it sound like a completely different book.”

Leigh shifts in her seat to face the long, winding road ahead. “We can read it together. Maybe you’ll catch some of the subtleties you missed the first time around,” she suggests.

You sneak a glance at her, catching her eyes just as she looks back at you, your dark brown eyes meeting her green ones. It's a bit ridiculous, but you find yourself wishing this drive would never end. The swelling in your foot stings with every press of the gas pedal, but somehow, it doesn't seem to matter.

“I’d love that.”

When you pull into the quaint parking lot of the restaurant, nestled right against the beach, you're greeted by stunning ocean views that truly live up to the hype. Inside, the nautical decor, complete with nets and life rings adorning the walls, is cliché yet undeniably still charming. The rain has subsided, but the beach remains unusually quiet, lacking the usual crowds that gather when the sun is out.

As you settle into a table with a view of the beach, it feels like the right kind of perfect until you start discussing the menu and Leigh's smile drops a touch.

“I should’ve mentioned—I’m allergic to shellfish.”

“Oh,” you manage, a twinge of embarrassment settling in your stomach. You feel a bit foolish for jumping ahead without checking first. It's not the first time this has happened with Leigh, and suddenly, her earlier hesitations about your intentions and feelings make more sense. You realize you've constructed a version of her that feels familiar, yet moments like these remind you that there's still so much about her you have yet to understand.

“We can go somewhere else,” you suggest, even though you don’t have the first clue where else to go.

“Really, it's okay. We don’t have to leave. I'll find something else. This place is too gorgeous to skip just because of that,” she says.

You hastily scan the menu for alternatives, but the options are slim. The only non-shellfish item is a fish and chips plate that looks unappealing at best. Then, tucked at the bottom of the menu, you spot a plain cheeseburger with fries on the side.

“Leigh, we should really head somewhere else,” you say, remembering how she mentioned she was starving just before stepping inside the restaurant. The last thing you want is for her to settle for a less-than-satisfying meal simply because the setting is picturesque.

Leigh gives you a reassuring smile, but you can sense the underlying frustration as she says, “You don't need to make such a big deal out of it.”

“But you said you were hungry.”

“I know you mean well, and I really appreciate it. But honestly, it's just lunch,” Leigh says.

You go quiet, not wanting to argue further, but inside, you’re still kicking yourself for not having a backup plan. Sensing your inner turmoil, Leigh sighs, dropping the menu on the table.

“Hey,” she begins softly, waiting until you meet her eyes before offering a small, apologetic smile. She knows today hasn't gone as smoothly as you hoped—starting with her oversleeping, then arriving late to a gallery you were excited to see, only to find it overcrowded. And on top of that, the incident where she stepped on your foot. You’ve been brushing it off, insisting you’re fine, but she noticed your grimaces every time you pressed the gas pedal during the drive. Clearly, today hasn’t unfolded as you planned.

Leigh’s not trying to downplay the effort you've put into today, but she also doesn't want you to think that a single mishap could turn her away. She hopes you don't set expectations too high just yet, not when you're both still in the early stages of getting to know each other. Beyond the undeniable physical chemistry between you, she's looking forward to discovering how you both handle the less-than-perfect moments just as much as the perfect ones.

Once she has your attention, she continues, “I was married for seven years and had numerous relationships before that.”

Your curiosity prickles—Numerous? How many?—but Leigh keeps talking, pulling you back to the moment.

“I've seen all the grand gestures. They’re fine—they’re romantic, but right now, I just want to do normal stuff with someone I like.”

“Me, too. I—”

“That means not worrying about every little thing on a menu I can’t eat. I don’t need every outing to be perfect.”

You nod, a realization sinking in. Leigh doesn’t want you to treat her as if she’s delicate, like china that could shatter at any moment. She wants you, with all your flawed plans and your corny jokes.

Maybe, you realize, you and Leigh share more than just an intense attraction. You both harbor insecurities about being wanted for something you're not, rather than for who you truly are. Deep down, there's a fear lurking in you that maybe this—whatever this is—could evaporate. You're scared that Leigh might discover something about you that could change her mind, worried that all this might just be a fleeting curiosity or a complicated connection tied to her past.

So you aimed for perfection today—at the expense of not being yourself, perhaps becoming too cautious and too rigid in the process. Leigh's desire for authenticity over perfection makes you rethink your approach.

“Okay,” you finally say, setting the menu down. You signal a waiter and order their bestseller—broiled lobster in butter garlic herb sauce.

Leigh looks up from her menu. “And I'll have the cheeseburger,” she tells him. Then, leaning across the table, she adds in a mock-threatening tone, “But you should know, it’s actually breakfast and dessert where you really can’t go wrong with me.” She exaggerates her expression, widening her eyes for effect.

Perhaps it’s a good lesson to learn that not everything has to be perfect to be right.

At least, not with Leigh Shaw.

After a hearty meal, with you having indulged in the lobster since Leigh couldn't partake, you both feel pleasantly full. Needing to stretch your legs and help settle the big lunch, you suggest a walk along the shore.

You roll up your jeans to your calves, trying to keep them dry, but the relentless little waves have other plans, occasionally splashing over and wetting the fabric. Meanwhile, Leigh, wearing high-waisted cotton shorts, meanders alongside you, unaffected by the water's reach. As the sun dips lower, it paints the horizon in vibrant shades of orange and pink. Endless stretches of beach host a few leisurely strollers, all basking in scenery that seems almost too striking to be real.

Walking side by side, every now and then your fingers brush against each other—a fleeting touch that sends a subtle thrill through you. Despite the advanced nature of your physical relationship, you and Leigh exchange shy smiles, almost as if you're newly acquainted. It's a curious thing that here, in the open expanse of the beach, there are instances where it feels like you haven't crossed those boundaries at all.

You want to reach out and hold her hand, but Leigh is wrapped up in her own thoughts, her arms crossed as she stares out where the horizon swallows ships whole. Respecting her reverie, you shove your hands into the pockets of your jeans instead.

After a while, Leigh turns to you, her face catching the evening light, transforming her into something almost otherworldly. Her expression is open, inviting, and it makes your heart stumble over itself once more.

“So, Y/N,” she says, her voice low and a little unsteady, as if she had second thoughts a moment ago about whether to even say the words. “Tell me about the girls and boys you've loved before.”

Once again, you’re unsuspecting of Leigh’s directness.

You scramble for a moment, trying to buy some time. “Well, what exactly do you want to know about them?” you ask, watching her closely. Ex-lovers are bound to come up soon, and you haven't really thought about your own answer. Truth be told, your track record feels lackluster, but somehow you think that might be a good thing.

Leigh bites her lip, seemingly pondering her next move. She kicks at the small ripples lapping at her ankles, sending water splashing in little arcs. After a moment, she looks up at you coyly. “I don't know, you decide what to tell me,” she says, unapologetically leaving the ball squarely in your court.

Her response puts you at ease a little, turning the pressure of the question into more of a gentle invitation to share what you feel comfortable with.

You take a deep breath, tasting the salt on the breeze. “I didn't actually have a boyfriend until I was twenty-two,” you say, glancing at Leigh to gauge her reaction.

Her eyebrows lift in surprise, an expression that draws a small laugh from you. “Yeah, I was a late bloomer,” you say, a flippant shrug accompanying your words. “I think I was just curious, you know? Everyone around me was pairing off, and I felt like I was missing out.

“It lasted six months. It was more about exploration than anything else. And then, well, it took another two years before I found myself in something serious.”

“With who?” Leigh asks, slowing down a little. The wind picks up, teasing strands of her hair across her face, not bound today in her usual ponytail. She brushes them aside absently, her focus fixed on you.

“Her name was Alex,” you continue, the name rolling off your tongue thoughtfully as bittersweet memories flood your mind. You haven’t thought about her in a long time—she was your first love and your first heartbreak. “She was incredible—taught me what it really means to be with someone, to really be present. We were together for almost three years.”

Leigh suddenly stops and turns to face you. She grabs your hand, guiding you both to a weathered bench a few steps from the lapping waves.

“How did it end?” she asks quietly.

“We moved in together after a year,” you say, trying to keep your tone light even though you’re about to rehash a painful past. “Things were really good, at least that's what I thought. But then, just a month after our third anniversary, I came home early from work and... I found her in bed with someone else.”

“Oh, Y/N…”

“It was her coworker, someone I'd always just thought of as a colleague of hers,” you conclude, managing a tight-lipped smile. Neither of you speak for a while, allowing the susurration of the sea to fill the gap instead.

“I’m sorry,” Leigh finally says.

You shrug, looking out at the horizon where the sun meets the calm waters. “It's a long time ago. From what I've heard through mutual friends, they're still together. Maybe they were meant for each other, and I was just a stop on her journey to finding that out. I mean, I shouldn't feel so bad for not getting in the way of true love.”

Leigh shakes her head, not buying into your attempt to whitewash what Alex did. “She should've ended it with you properly.”

You’ve pondered that moment countless times, wondering if it would have been easier if she had simply been honest about falling out of love. You picture different scenarios where you come home to Alex waiting to tell you there’s someone else, and each time, you arrive at the same painful conclusion.

“I don't know, it probably would have hurt just the same,” you tell her honestly.

Leigh scoots closer, looping her arm around you and resting her head on your shoulder. In a whisper, she concurs, “I think so too.”

Then, Leigh starts sharing her story with Matt. It begins at a college house party, where they first met—just a couple of undergrads who had no idea what the future held. As she talks, you rest your cheek against her head, absorbing every detail. You chuckle at her lighthearted anecdotes, feeling the happiness they brought her. But as she talks about the tougher times, particularly the months leading up to his death, your smile fades, replaced by a tightness in your chest.

Soon enough the telling morphs into a session of self-reflection where it becomes unclear whether Leigh’s speaking to you or to herself. She suggests that she blames herself for his death, feeling as if she had somehow caused his demise. She confesses that when he died, it seemed like all the good parts of her died with him, parts she now thinks existed only because of him.

When she finally breaks down, sobbing into your neck, you pull her closer, wrapping your arms around her as if you could squeeze away all the guilt and pain she’s carrying. Part of you wants to interrupt, to assure her that she’s wrong, that all her good parts were always there, maybe just brightened by her love for him—because isn’t that what love does? It casts everything in a better light. But you resist the urge to speak, understanding that sometimes the best comfort you can offer isn’t words, but simply presence and the quiet acceptance of her sorrow.

It starts to rain again a few minutes into your drive back to the city. As the droplets splatter against the windshield and the wipers slide back and forth, you notice Leigh holding up her phone, talking animatedly into it.

“Hey there, we're on our way back and look at this rain, it's really coming down! Oh, and I've got someone very special I want you to meet—this is Y/N.” She angles the phone toward you. You feel your cheeks warm as you give a small, awkward wave. “Aren’t those eyes incredible? Like deep, rich coffee... absolutely gorgeous.”

“What are you doing?” you ask, still a bit embarrassed.

“Something for my eyes only,” Leigh replies nonchalantly, lowering her phone but keeping that roguish smile.

“You didn't have to stop,” you tell her, still a bit amused by her whole vlogging act.

Leigh turns to face you fully. “I kind of want to look at you now without a screen between us,” she murmurs, her voice low and inviting.

You swallow, feeling a thrill at her directness. Leigh's approach is always bold, and it sends an excited shiver down your spine. You wish you weren't trapped in the driver's seat, confined by the slow crawl of traffic, so you could fully engage with her flirtation. Yet, there's a part of you that suspects Leigh enjoys knowing you're somewhat at her mercy, divided between the road and her teasing.

Trying to distract her from whatever she’s up to, you throw out a playful challenge. “Want to guess where we're headed next?”

It seems to work as Leigh glances out at the relentless downpour. “In this weather?”

“Yup,” you respond simply, a mysterious smile on your lips as you focus on the rain-slicked road ahead, keeping the surprise of your next stop just between the two of you for a little longer.

Leigh has this endearing habit of pressing the back of her fingers against her mouth, her thumb brushing her lower lip as she thinks. You've come to recognize this gesture as a sign she's deep in thought or uncertain about something.

“Bowling?”

You snort in amusement.

“At least give me a clue!”

“It involves a membership card,” you hint.

Leigh scrunches up her nose, clearly appalled at her next guess. “The gym?”

“The library, of course,” you reply with a grin, recalling an earlier conversation. “Remember I mentioned having a membership card?”

Leigh narrows her eyes, and in a skittish huff, slaps your arm lightly. “You're totally messing with me,” she accuses.

“Hey, I'm driving here!” you protest, trying to keep the car steady. Undeterred, she pokes at your ribs, discovering a ticklish spot. You can't help but burst into laughter. “Seriously, Leigh, we're going to crash if you keep this up,” you say between giggles, half-joking, half-pleading for mercy.

She pulls back, her laughter tapering off into a series of chuckles that fade into the rhythmic splatter of hefty raindrops on the car roof. Once it’s comfortably quiet again, she leans back in her seat, her expression turning curious and a little conspiratorial.

“Speaking of books, there's something I almost forgot to tell you,” she says.

“Yeah?” you respond, somewhat distracted as a car swiftly cuts into your lane.

“Matt's comic is going to be published posthumously,” she reveals slowly. “Danny and I have been working together on it.”

You strive to keep your expression blasé at the mention of Danny's name. There's no room for jealousy when it concerns Matt's legacy. If Leigh needs to do this, whether Danny is involved or not, it's her choice and not your place to question.

“That's amazing, Leigh,” you say, trying to sound cheerful and supportive. “Matt would have been thrilled.”

Leigh gives you a curious look. Your focus remains on the road ahead, so you miss the reservation in her green eyes.

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” you respond, nodding. Without much thought, you add, “He used to show me his work, and I was honestly impressed.”

Leigh's expression shifts subtly at your words, and there's a moment of quiet between you. “Matt never showed me his works,” she says softly, almost to herself.

You feel a flush of embarrassment, realizing it might have sounded like you were bragging about being privy to Matt's work—a privilege Leigh, his wife, hadn't shared. You manage only a soft, “Oh,” which hangs awkwardly in the air.

“I found his sketches one day by accident, and he didn't like it—me seeing his work, I mean. He always wanted to keep that part of his life separate.”

You’re still processing this when Leigh speaks again.

“I used to tell him everything, you know? I’d ask for his take on my work, vent about the chaos at mom’s studio, and talk through the tough times we faced as a family when—well, when Jules was dealing with her addiction,” she says, her voice trailing off a bit at the end.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, not knowing what else to say.

Leigh brushes off your sympathy with a gentle flick of her wrist. “No, it's not that he was trying to be secretive. I think... I think I was too critical of him, even about his depression. I thought I knew everything, knew what was best for him.” She sighs, a shadow of regret crossing her face. “I guess I was kind of overbearing, so he stopped sharing things with me. He chose to keep it all to himself instead of having to constantly argue with me.”

You wince slightly, feeling guilty in some way, but Leigh quickly reassures you. “Hey, I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad that he shared things with you. I’m actually glad he did. His work deserves to be out there.”

You nod, taking in Leigh's reflections quietly. Wanting to steer back to a milder topic, you ask, “So, when is it going to be published?”

Leigh's fingers absently toy with the ends of her hair as she thinks. “It's set to come out early next year,” she finally says, her voice surprisingly devoid of excitement. You can't help but wonder why that is.

“And there's going to be a tour right after—it's promoting the comic along with some other new titles from the publisher. I'm... planning to go.”

“That sounds like an incredible experience,” you say, smiling at her.

Leigh makes a sound of agreement. “It's probably starting in late February,” She takes a deep breath before adding, “It'll take me all over the country. We need to attend conventions and such.”

You fall silent, digesting her words. The realization that this isn't just a short trip starts to sink in. “How long will you be gone?” you ask, trying to catch her gaze but Leigh’s eyes are trained forwards.

“I don't have all the details yet, but it could be anywhere from a few weeks to a couple of months,” she says.

“But you'll come back in between, right?” The hope in your question is palpable.

Leigh shakes her head slowly. “I'm not sure. It might be a good time to travel and go away for a while with this opportunity.”

The conversation drifts between you, muffled like the world outside the fogged-up windows of your car. It's becoming clear, maybe too clear, what this all means.

Leigh's gaze stays fixed on the shimmering road ahead. She's quiet, but you can almost hear her thoughts tumbling over each other. You know she's wrestling with the implications of her future plans, just as you are. She knows the reality of the situation, understands that there are only a few ways this could possibly go.

She can't ask you to wait, and it wouldn't be fair to ask you to drop everything and follow her. That leaves the looming possibility of a farewell that could stretch into something indefinite.

Minutes pass—one, then two—before you both lose count. It feels as though an hourglass has been unwillingly flipped. Watching the city lights blur through the rain, you can't help but feel they reflect the uncertainty of your future with Leigh. You're willing to attempt a long-distance relationship, though you know it might not be ideal. The prospect of being apart just as things are beginning to bloom between you feels akin to a preemptive goodbye.

Then, an idea takes hold—a bold, possibly reckless notion, but it clings to your heart with surprising tenacity. Yes, you have a clinic, a business that needs you, but suddenly, those realities seem negotiable, secondary to what feels more pressing—being with Leigh.

“What if I came with you on the tour?”

Leigh turns to look at you, her eyes wide with surprise and something like worry. She knows your life is deeply rooted here, especially with the veterinary clinic you’ve poured your heart—and savings—into.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” she says.

“Why not?” you ask softly.

Your tone is so earnest, almost childlike in your confusion, that Leigh’s lips part and then close as she grapples with how to articulate her feelings about your rash offer.

“You have your clinic, your responsibilities here. It's too much for me to expect you to just walk away from that,” Leigh argues.

“But what if it’s not about what you’re asking me to give up?” you say, your fingers unconsciously tightening their grip on the steering wheel. “What if it’s about what I’m willing to sacrifice?”

Leigh's frustration shows clearly as she pushes back against your idea. “Sacrifices? It's about being realistic. We can't just make decisions on a whim.”

You turn to look at her, making it a point to focus on her for a second longer than you should while driving. “But I don't see it as a whim. I see it as choosing what matters most to me.”

Leigh sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You're not seeing the whole picture. What about your employees? They depend on you.”

“I can arrange things at the clinic. I can find people to cover for me,” you say confidently. But Leigh is just as relentless with her objections.

“And what if you come back and resent me for taking you away from all that?” Leigh counters, her voice rising a little.

“I won’t,” you reply quickly, even though you know it's a hefty promise to make in such a heated moment.

Leigh scoffs, shaking her head vehemently. “You can’t possibly know that.”

Before you can bolster your promise with more reassurances, your phone rings. It’s Sara, calling from the clinic. Leigh watches as you answer, her expression a mix of resignation and pointedness, as if to emphasize her earlier concerns about your responsibilities.

You excuse yourself, grab your phone, and answer the call. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“It's an emergency,” Sara's voice is tense. “Foreman needs you. Can you make it?”

You're just minutes from the city now, and your heart sinks as you realize the timing couldn't be worse. “Yes, I'll be there soon,” you mutter, feeling torn.

After hanging up, you turn to Leigh, who's been quietly observing. “There’s an emergency at the clinic, and Foreman needs my help,” you explain. “Can we stop there? It won't take long, and we can still make it to our next stop.”

Leigh gives a resigned nod, her earlier arguments about your responsibilities underscored by this untimely call. “Sure, whatever,” she says, her voice flat. You want to erase that look on her face, but for now, you’re needed elsewhere.

You spring from the car the moment it's parked, snagging your white coat from the trunk in one fluid motion. Leigh is right on your heels, her footsteps quick and questioning as you both scurry into the clinic.

You burst through the doors and immediately spot Sara at the reception, giving her a quick nod of acknowledgment. Beside you, Leigh’s steps falter slightly at the sight of Sara, her expression one of mild shock at seeing her there—a detail you realize you've failed to mention.

“What’s happening?” you ask Sara, pulling your hair into a tight bun.

“Room two, now,” she replies, gesturing briskly towards the surgery room.

You nod and break into a jog, with Leigh hesitantly trailing behind. When you reach your destination, you stop short and turn to signal Leigh to wait outside.

“I’m so sorry about this,” you say, your voice full of apology.

“Just go,” she whispers softly. You offer her a grateful smile before your expression shifts to calm determination as you slip into the surgery room.

Left in the waiting area, Leigh stands in a stupor, surrounded by unanswered questions and a sudden solitude, her eyes lingering on the closed doors you've just disappeared through.

Leigh has been noticeably quiet since you emerged from the surgery room an hour and a half ago. Right after you came out, she meekly asked for the car keys and walked straight out of the clinic. You didn’t think much of it at the time, busy giving final instructions to Foreman and Sara before heading out to continue your date with her.

Now, as you drive to the bar you planned on taking her to, you can’t seem to come up with a topic that doesn’t seem like you're evading the earlier argument.

“Where are we headed next?”

You breathe a sigh of relief as Leigh breaks the silence. You notice her glance at the watch on her wrist. The small motion feels like a small betrayal—does it signal impatience, or worse, a desire to escape this disjointed evening?

With everything that’s happened, you drop the pretense of surprise. “I had planned for us to catch a live band at a speakeasy downtown,” you say evenly. “But we're running late, and honestly, I'm not even sure it's worth heading there now.”

You risk a glance at Leigh, almost expecting she’d choose this moment to cut the evening short. But she merely hums noncommittally, and just like that, silence settles in once more.

When you arrive, the heavy rain makes the night feel even more somber. A few cars are still scattered around the parking lot, but the place otherwise looks almost deserted. You grab an umbrella from the backseat and offer it to Leigh as you both make your way to the entrance.

As you approach, the doorman stops you from crossing the threshold. “Sorry, folks,” he says, his voice nearly drowned out by the rain. “The performance was canceled, and we're wrapping up early tonight because of the weather.”

Disappointment settles in, heavier now with the official confirmation. You turn to Leigh, trying to salvage what you can of the evening. “Maybe we can have at least one drink?” you suggest, hoping to extend the time you have together.

Leigh pauses, her expression inscrutable for a moment before she shakes her head. “Actually, I think I’d rather not,” she says, throwing you off with her refusal.

The doorman gives you a sympathetic nod as he pulls the heavy doors shut, sealing off the warm glow of the bar from the cold, wet night. Leigh takes the umbrella from you with a gesture that's both resigned and leading, and starts walking back to the car. Her steps are quick, purposeful, but she slows just enough under the umbrella to ensure you're covered and not getting drenched. But you barely notice the rain; your mind is clouded with thoughts of how the evening has unfolded.

As you walk, you replay the last few hours, how what began as an attempt to reassure Leigh of your willingness to go the distance by offering to join her on the tour quickly spiraled into a demonstration of all the practical reasons why it was a bad idea. And the unexpected revelation about Sara working at your clinic surely hadn't helped.

Leigh slides into the passenger seat, handing you the umbrella which you catch as several raindrops escape onto your arm. You settle into the driver’s seat, carefully folding the umbrella and tossing it behind you.

“I guess I should drop you home?” you suggest, more as a formality than a question.

Leigh hums in response, her voice low and temporizing. It’s starting to irk you, this silent treatment. Throughout the drive to her house, the only sounds are the steady swish of the windshield wipers and the occasional splash of tires against puddles. You steal glances at her, trying to decipher her thoughts. Her face is angled towards the window, so that each time you pass under a street lamp, there’s a fleeting moment where her face is illuminated, revealing a tightness around her eyes and a slight downturn at the corners of her mouth.

Just before you turn onto her street, something inside you rebels. You can’t let the night end on this note—defeated, disconnected. You pull over under a massive tree beside an empty lot and shut off the engine.

Turning to her, you find your voice again. “Leigh, talk to me. Please.”

She sighs but remains silent.

“Are you upset because of Sara?”

That gets a reaction from her—an unpleasant one, but a reaction nonetheless.

“Oh, please.” Leigh lets out a sarcastic chuckle. “Really, it's not my business who you hire, even if it's an ex. But considering you just told me you love me this morning, don't you think that's something you should have mentioned?”

You hadn’t intentionally kept Sara's hiring from Leigh; it had slipped through the cracks of a busy week. You never even considered Sara an ex-anything, so it was an honest mistake. If only you could convince Leigh that Sara is truly that insignificant to you.

“I'm sorry, Leigh,” you say, hoping to smooth things over. But she isn't having it. “It was an oversight, not a choice. Sara really doesn't mean anything in that way. I just didn't think it was important.”

Instead of pacifying her, your words have the opposite effect.

“Not important?” Leigh’s face sets like concrete. “When you say you love someone, everything becomes important, especially things like this. How am I supposed to trust you?”

Your own frustration flares. You didn’t expect such a harsh judgment over what seemed so trivial in your mind. A thought then strikes you, fueling your anger. “And what about you? You’re heading away for months, and you’ve barely spoken about it. When were you going to tell me all the details? Right before you left?”

Leigh reels as if you've slapped her. “That’s different. I was going to tell you—”

“When? Last minute at the airport?” You cut her off, your voice rising to match hers.

“It’s not the same, and you know it!” Leigh snaps back, her eyes alight with anger and something like hurt.

“You're right, it's not the same,” you snap back. “It’s much worse. Because you said you’d give us a chance. And now, when I’m telling you I’m willing to fight for a chance to be with you, you’re shutting me down.”

“I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep,” Leigh says tightly.

“You don’t need to promise me anything,” you reply, your voice softening. “All I’m asking for is a real shot at this. I know you want that too.”

Leigh’s eyes glisten, and for a moment, you think you’re getting through to her. But then her expression hardens again. “Not like this,” she says.

You feel like you're climbing an ever-growing wall between the two of you, but you refuse to give up on this—on her.

“It won’t be easy,” you acquiesce, changing tactics. “But nothing worth having ever is. We can figure it out together, Leigh. We can make it work if we both want it enough.”

Leigh’s jaw clenches, and she looks away, the rain streaking down the windows like tears. She can’t help but compare this moment to the beginning with Matt. He had been so eager, so willing to give himself to her completely. He had always assured her that he was happy just to be with her, to follow her wherever her dreams led. He had said yes to every plan she made, every crazy idea she had, always with that same smile, always saying, “As long as I’m with you.”

But then, one day, he wasn’t there anymore.

And Leigh doesn’t know if she can survive another abandonment.

You have no idea that all of this is racing through her mind as you keep making your case. “...just take a leap of faith. Don’t push me away before we’ve even had a chance to—”

You’re mid-sentence, almost convincing yourself that you're breaking through her defenses, when Leigh interrupts with a shout, “Maybe this was a mistake!”

Taken aback and hurt by her outburst, you risk calling her bluff, exclaiming, “Maybe it was!”

An impasse is reached. For a moment, all you can do is stare at each other, each of you gasping for breath as if the air itself has slipped from the car in those tense seconds.

Is this it, then?

Is this the end?

But before you can retract any of your words, in a move you never see coming, Leigh reaches out. Her hand clasps the back of your neck, pulling you close. She kisses you fiercely, as if trying to settle the argument with just the pressure of her lips.

But she's not trying to win. Leigh doesn't want to come out on top in this argument. Instead, she wants to forget her usual realism and bury herself in the moment. She wants to give in to your optimism, to let you abandon everything you've worked for to be with her in the coming months.

But she knows that’s selfish.

And she finds herself unable to be selfish when it comes to you.

You're just beginning to melt into the kiss, to lose yourself in the forgiveness it promises, when Leigh abruptly pulls away. She hurls herself back against her seat, her back pressed hard against the door, panting.

“Sorry,” she gasps, her voice thick with both regret and need.

You look at her, eyes half-lidded and lips feeling bruised from the fervor of her kiss. All you can focus on is how she's starting to pull away—but you're determined not to let her go. Not this time.

“No, no, come here. Come back here, damn it.”

Leigh doesn't need to be told twice. She meets you halfway, the space between you disappearing as quickly as it had expanded. Her mouth finds yours once again, lips slotting together in a way that feels right, necessary—like solving a puzzle that neither of you knew how to complete until now.

With all inhibitions cast aside, Leigh grabs the collar of your shirt with surprising strength, yanking you towards her so forcefully that half of your body ends up sprawled across the cramped passenger seat. Your hips press painfully against the gear stick, but any discomfort quickly fades as Leigh's tongue teases yours. Instinctively, you open your mouth wider, a low moan escaping as your tongues intertwine. You support your weight with one arm braced against the windshield behind her, careful not to overwhelm her with your weight. Your other hand rises to cradle her neck, feeling the heat of her skin rising by the second under your touch.

Leigh's hands are anything but idle; they're bold and determined as she reaches for the buttons of your jeans. It's the second time today since this morning, and she's all confidence as she pulls down the zipper, slipping her hand inside your soaked underwear. The moment her fingers trace the length of your slit, brushing against your clit with each pass, you nearly lose your balance.

But as much as you're caught up in the temptation of her touch, there’s something else on your mind—something you've been thinking about all week.

“Backseat,” you say breathlessly, the word more of a command than a suggestion. Without waiting for her response, you clamber toward the backseat of the car. Once there, you quickly turn to help Leigh slide in after you.

You gently push at Leigh's shoulders, and she understands immediately, lying back with a soft thud against the door panel. Her upper back curves awkwardly against the hard surface, but she doesn’t mind, consumed by desire and curiosity about what you’re planning to do next. She lies there, expectant and provocatively inviting, as your fingers hover over the waistband of her shorts.

You lower your voice to a whisper, “May I?”

She nods quickly and you make short work of her shorts and panties, tugging them down her thighs efficiently. With a firm tap, you signal for her to lift her legs. She complies, bending at the knees as you strip the fabric past her ankles and casually toss it to the front seat.

Your eyes widen at the sight of her waxed bare. “God, you're beautiful,” you whisper, pulling her closer until she's practically lying across your lap. Your hands roam over her creamy thighs, kneading the soft flesh there. You take your time, exploring every inch, your touch deliberately skirting the places she aches for you most. You’re teasing her, and her body responds ardently—her breath catches, her hips tilt seeking more.

Leigh’s skin is hot under your fingertips. She’s ready, practically quivering, but you keep the pace maddeningly slow. Your fingers dance closer, then retreat, building her frustration to a fever pitch.

“Patience,” you murmur with a teasing smile, savoring the way her body arches and responds to your touch.

“Don't be cruel,” she whines, her eyes the darkest you've seen them.

You lean in, your lips brushing against her ear. “I promise, it'll be worth it,” you whisper, letting your fingers finally drift to the spot she needs you most. Your fingers play with her, teasing her folds, drawing circles around her clit to get her wetter and wetter, each touch designed to increase her desire, her body responding with eager, heated movements. Her breathing becomes heavier, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she pushes against your fingers, craving more.

Seeing her so turned on, you adjust your position. You scoot backward until your back presses against the other side of the car, then gently maneuver Leigh's legs to drape over your shoulders, positioning her in a bridge. The pose might be demanding, so you look up at her, your hands supporting her weight by firmly grasping her buttocks.

“Is this okay?" you ask as you prepare to bring her closer to your eager mouth.

“Just fuck me, please,” Leigh breathes out impatiently.

That's all the permission you need. You lower your head, your lips finding the delicate, sensitive flesh of her pussy. Her taste is intoxicating, driving you to explore further with your tongue. Her hips rise to meet your mouth, the angle allowing you to take her in deeply. Leigh's response is immediate—her moans fill the car, guttural and unrestrained. The scent of sex begins to saturate the air, mingling with the dampness of the rain outside. You’re thankful for the dark tint of your car windows and the fact that the bad weather has cleared the streets at this hour.

You want to prolong this, to draw out every moment of her pleasure, but you can already feel Leigh tightening around your tongue, telling you she’s close. In a bid to intensify her impending release, you decide to gamble on your strength. With one hand you keep her lifted in the perfect position, while your other hand moves with a different intent.

Pulling your tongue back, you replace it with your lips, sucking her clit into your mouth, letting the slight pressure send ripples through her. Simultaneously, you slide your middle and ring finger deep into her, the slick heat of her welcoming you in. Leigh's response is visceral, a raw, “Oh fuck, fuck, that’s it, don’t stop…!” that she screams out as if it's being torn from her.

Fuelled by her cries, you pump your fingers harder, faster, curling them to stroke that perfect spot inside her. She's loud, unabashedly so, her moans filling the car, steaming up the windows even more, turning this space into your own sordid bubble. She's dripping down your wrist, your chin, but you don’t mind, existing in that moment solely for her pleasure.

“Y/N, I—”

She's right on the edge, her body slick with sweat and shaking from the relentless pleasure you're hammering into her. But as the climax washes over her, her voice breaks into something unexpected. Instead of the anticipated screams or the typical rush of expletives, something deeper bursts forth.

“—I love you!”

You almost lose your rhythm at her declaration.

Her body shakes violently, her screams of ecstasy almost a primal release. You keep going, pushing her through it, savoring every tremble and shudder, tasting every bit of her orgasm, all the while thinking, Leigh loves me.

She fucking loves me.

You’re cautious enough not to hang your entire heart on those three words immediately, but the confession still paints a devilish grin across your face. This wasn’t merely a heat-of-the-moment slip; it felt like Leigh was revealing something she'd been holding back for a while.

Carefully, you ease her legs down from your shoulders, noticing her wince as she adjusts from the stretch. Before you even get the chance to ask if she really meant what she said, Leigh answers by pulling you in close, her hands framing your face. She kisses you, so tenderly, and it’s nothing like the ones you’ve shared before. It’s the kind of kiss that slows time, the one you’ve been dreaming about since you were a little kid, the one you hope to keep until you’re old.

Leigh’s eyes lock onto yours, earnest and clear, “I do love you.”

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

265 notes · View notes

bombuni · 1 day

Note

wooyoung with the most sweetest & obedient gf ever !! he’s just can’t help but be a little mean & tease you, especially when you’re whimpering & begging to cum all over his fingers ;(

contains: wooyoung x fem!reader, mirror sex, wooyoung being a lil shit, kind of dacryphilia

minors dni

Wooyoung’s right hand trails down your side, inching slowly over the expanse of your skin. His hand delicately kneads the warmth, his touch sending vibrations through your body that make your eyes shut your eyes in pleasure. His breath tickles your ear when he chuckles as you.

Wooyoung rests his hand on your thigh, “Open your eyes.”

He watches you through the mirror on front of you. You feel at home in Wooyoung’s lap, cunt rubbing against the ridges on his pants. When he feels you start to rut, he stops you to make sure the only pleasure you feel comes from his hands.

Your eyes open as soon as the command leaves his mouth. You meet his eyes in the mirror, hungry and devoted all the same. He knows he has you all to himself; that you’ll grovel at his feet. He likes to have fun with that fact.

Your slick shines in the light. Wooyoung licks his lips at the sight, the pit in his stomach settling insatiably inside him. His hands itch to touch you, to catch the tears that fall from your eyes as you cum. He enjoys watching you wriggle, though. Like a cat toying with his little mouse, the sick smirk grows on his face when your hips jolt at the feeling of his fingers sliding through your folds, spreading your juices all over yourself.

You’re a mess. The anticipation is too much. Your breathing only grows heavier the more his fingers play with you, like he’s figuring out what makes you feel good. Wooyoung watches the tears well up in your eyes the more time he wastes sliding through you.

“Y-youngie…” The silent cry barely makes it through your lips, your throat constricting when his fingers pause on you, right at your clit.

The devious look in his eyes makes you swoon and sweat, “Yeah, baby?”

“Need you,”

He’s breathless, “You have me.”

You shake your head. You know he knows what you mean and it frustrates you all the more. You take it all the same, though.

He knocks his head against yours, bringing your attention back to the mirror in front of you. His eyes shine like he’s admiring a piece of art, a fond look enveloping his features. There’s still a spark, though. A familiar, torturous spark.

His eyes trail yours in the mirror, “Look at you, baby. So fucking pretty. ‘S why I like to take my time with you,”

You whine.

He tuts at you, “What? Is admiring you a crime?”

No, you want to say, you’re just being mean.

You’re shaking, biting back your tongue because you know if you snap once Wooyoung will return it tenfold. You try to behave.

His giggles send a wave of humiliating pleasure through you, “You look like you have something to say,”

“Please let me cum, Youngie.”

Your voice is whiny and pleading. A single tear slips down your cheek and it immediately breaks whatever resolve Wooyoung had stored for the night.

He matches your desperation now, like he’s been holding himself back this entire time, “Fuck, I love when you beg for me, you’re so good,”

Wooyoung squishes you against him, the hand wrapped around your tummy pulling you impossibly into him. The other hand plays with you. He gathers your juices between his fingers just to make it messier, dirtier. Your pussy squelches under him, sucking his fingers in as he rams them in. His breath hitches against your ear at the sight of you broken and teary eyed under him.

His hips rut against you, matching the speed of his fingers. You want to watch him in the mirror, but the pressure of everything you’re feeling is too much for you to even open your eyes. Wooyoung watches enough for the both of you, studying your fidgets like it’s a movie.

His desperate whines increase when he feels you tightening and spasming. Wooyoung likes to think he knows your body better than you do at this point, and he kisses along your jawline to remind you who’s bringing you to your high.

“You wanna cum for Youngie? Know you know how to-you’re so good, come on-“

His incoherent rambles cut off as you moan, shaking in his hands and let your cum cover his hands as proof of how good you are for him. You held out and followed his rules, and knowing that in the back of your mind just makes it all the more euphoric.

bom note: anon u are insane. thank u for this. also i was terrified this got accidentally deleted bc im writing this straight up on here and it glitched (i live on the edge) so i will upload it now ..

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fic #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez smut #jung wooyoung #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x y/n #wooyoung x you #wooyoung smut #jung wooyoung smut

189 notes · View notes

dark-moonlust · 2 days

Text

Getting Pounded by Nagas PART 3: Contractions

Pairing: Two nagas x human reader

Summary: You wake up feeling pains in your belly, getting ready for the egg birth. The doctor checks on you there is an issue… one that can be resolved only with your mates’ touch and seed.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, monster smut, inaccurate pregnancy stuff (this is naga egg preg smut, let me have fun), naga smut, double 🍆🍆, double penetr, lots of come. Don’t like, don’t read please.

This is part of a series. Find all the parts here.

It was early in the morning when the contractions jolted you awake. The bedroom was still and dimly lit only the weak rays of the sun filtering through the curtains. You winced and disentangled yourself from between your mates, clutching your swollen belly and taking shallow breaths. The eggs shifted inside you, the pressure too much. Your groaned and the soft sound stirred your mates from their sleep. They woke with gasps of concern.

“What’s wrong, little one?” Ragnor asked, his fingers cradling your belly. You were 12 months along, so close to birth, your stomach round with the two eggs inside you.

“Contractions,” you breathed as another pain rolled through you.

At your words, both of your mates exchanged a look of worry. You were not supposed to have contractions. A Naga pregnancy didn’t have sudden contractions. It was completely different to a human pregnancy. The birth, too. It was the reason you’d arranged everything with the doctor and planned an induction of labor a week from now. But clearly, that plan would change.

“I can feel the eggs moving,” you muttered. “It’s starting to hurt.”

That’s was all you needed to say before your mates sprang into action.

Ragnor prepared everything you would need, packing you bags and a light meal. Meanwhile Thorne helped you take a shower and put on a soft, comfortable dress. In just twenty minutes, you found yourself lying at the padded chair in the Superhuman Maternity and Birthing Center. The room was bright and serene, the smell of disinfectant in the air. Your mates stood on each side of you, their tails wrapping around the chair.

Dr. Elise, a human woman in her fifties entered the private room, dressed in pristine white robes. She was a very kind and experienced doctor who monitored your superhuman pregnancy. Unlike you and your mates, Dr. Elise was calm upon hearing that you had contractions. She reminded you to keep taking deep breaths and trust in her ability to keep you safe.

“Good, very good,” the doctor said once you had calmed down a little. “Let’s take a look at you and the eggs. ”

The doctor used various advanced technological devises to scan your belly, take some blood samples and check the position of the eggs. You waited patiently as she analyzed your samples, winching only slightly when another contraction hit. Thorne and Ragnor stood at your sides, concealing their concern, each of them holding one of your hands tightly.

When Dr. Elise finally completed her calculations, she looked at you and your mates with a reassuring smile. “Everything appears perfect apart from the contractions. Naga pregnancies don’t cause traditional human contractions. That is because the eggs do not implant in the uterine wall like typical mammalian embryos. Instead, they remain free-floating within a specialized sac that develops to accommodate their growth. What you are experiencing now are false contractions.”

“Are my babies okay?” you asked her, tears pricking at your eyes.

Thorne kissed your sweaty forehead while Ragnor your lips. “We’re right here, love,” each of them murmured to you. “We won’t leave your side, relax for us.”

The doctor placed a strange cylindrical LED device over your vagina and ass, “I see that you’re not filled enough with your mates’ seed. It’s why you’re experiencing contractions and pain. We need to make sure you’re completely suffused in seed, and after that, it’s imminent that they be delivered. When was the last time you’ve had intimate relations with your mates?” The doctor asked you.

“Last night,” you answered in one breath.

“We fucked only once because she was sleepy,” Ragnor said, brows furrowing. “Wasn’t that enough?”

Dr. Elise shook her head. “Not in the least. The eggs consume the seed incredibly fast, especially at their current growth,” she explained. “You’ll need to fill your mate again, thoroughly and immediately.”

“Right now?” You asked, your voice pitching without meaning to.

“Yes,” Dr. Elise said. “I want you to be suffused with seed and after that I’ll induce the birth. We can’t risk waiting and risking both your health.”

“We’ll fill her. In both holes, just to be sure,” Ragnor said, his face completely serious.

Dr. Elise nodded. “Yes, and if you can give her seed through the mouth as well, that would be ideal.”

You flushed furiously as your mates and the doctor discussed the details, their faces dead-serious as if talking about filling your holes with seed was the most casual thing in the world.

Dr. Elise noticed your discomfort and smiled gently. “I want you to trust in me and my abilities to bring your babies to the world. Naga birth requires the assistance of the partners even more so in your case because you’re human.”

“Will it hurt as much as a human birth?” you asked, heart palpitating.

The doctor smiled. “No, it will be pleasurable and just mildly uncomfortable.”

You flushed at the word “pleasurable”. You’d discussed the birth plan a long time ago and you remembered the doctor telling you that your mates would need to make you climax during the birth for each egg to be delivered.

“Let me remind you how this will go,” Dr. Elise began, her voice calm. “Once you’re properly suffused with seed, I will give you a medicine that will induce the eggs to come out. Naga eggs have a tendency to like it in the womb and at some cases, they refuse to come out. The eggs will naturally leave your system, do not doubt that. I have specific instructions for that. Trust me, we will go through with it after you’ve been suffused with enough seed.”

“Thank you, doctor,” you said, your cheeks blushing a little.

“It’s my pleasure. Naga birth is completely different from that of a human so I want you to be as comfortable as possible and talk to me and your mates.”

“I understand,” you said. You trusted Dr. Elise and knew she was right. “Where can I and my mates… uhmm… do what we need to do?”

Dr. Elise stood up. “This room is reserved for your birth so you can stay here. I’ll step out to give you privacy and return roughly in two hours. Call me for whatever you need; I will be on standby.” The doctor headed to the door and glanced at your mates, “Remember, you need to fill her completely otherwise her health and the eggs will be at risk. I’ll come back to check, and if it’s not enough, you’ll have to keep going until the eggs have consumed enough seed.”

Once the doctor was out, you slumped back in the chair. “I can’t believe this. My health is dependent on your seed.”

“Lots of it”, Thorne added, looking smug.

“I’m going to be super cocky about that in the future,” Ragnor said, a smug grin on his face.

Two throaty chuckles made you look at your scaled mates. Horny bastards, they had already dragged off their shirts and their cocks had emerged from their protective slits, thick and massive, the cockheads glistening with arousal. You licked your lips and swallowed thickly. This was real. You were about to be fucked right there, in the examination room.

Ragnor wasted no time and slid up your dress, the only piece of clothing you wore. He left you completely naked on the chair, his hungry amber eyes devouring your form. Thorne was gazing at you just as intensely, both your nagas marveling at your swollen breasts, your round stomach and between your legs. You tried to close them, suddenly a little shy, but their tails wrapped around your ankles, keeping them spread wide for them.

“Will you trust us to fill your pretty little holes, little mate?” Thorne asked, his voice a whisper as he claimed your lips.

“Hnnn… fuck, yes,” you said, arching your back, offering yourself to them. The more they touched you, the more the contractions eased, pleasure taking over.

“Damn, what a pretty sight our mate is.”Ragnor lowered his head to your stomach, rubbed the swell, and spoke, "We’ll meet you soon, little ones. Stay safe and warm in there."

“Daddies will take care of mommy,” Thorne drawled, his mouth finding its way to one of your nipples, drawing it into his mouth. It leaked milk and with a groan he lapped it up.

Ragnor lavished attention on your other breast, his fingers teasing and rolling the tip that was beaded with milk. A whimper came tumbling from your lips then a drawn-out moan as they took turns worshipping your leaking breasts.

"Ahh— hnng... need your seed," you rasped, carding your fingers through their silky long hair.

"We need to prepare you mate,” Thorne said while kissing one lush rosy nipple and wetting the other with his tongue.

"I’m ready... ahh... I need your load."

Ragnor hummed. “Our mate is right. We need to fill her tight little holes. Hm?”

Thorne agreed, a smug grin playing on the lips.

Gently, you were lifted and placed onto Ragnor’s embrace. He carried you to the bed nearby and sat with you against his chest, your sensitive breasts leaking. His massive cock throbbed against your belly, slick with precum as you reached out and wrapped your hands around it. With sensual strokes, you pumped him up and down, the intimacy between you and your mates heightening.

You sensed Thorne presence behind you, his sinuous tail reaching for the bottle of lube in one of the drawers. You heard the slurp of lube then felt him take his place behind you, his cock wet against your back. With your free hand, you reached back to stroke his cock while his lubed fingers deftly parted your asscheeks, spread them wide, fingering your tight entrance and rubbing the swollen nub of your clit.

Thorne thrust a finger into your ass while stroking your clit with the other hand. Your thoughts turned into mush and you buckled your hips, the sensations electric. Another finger slid up your tight hole, the hand at your pussy moving with deliberate movements. You gasped and came with the most ridiculous moans, soaking wet and aching for more.

Sensing your need, your mates lifted you, their cocks poised beneath each quivering hole. Ragnor’s double cocks parted the folds of your pussy, his massive veined dicks thrusting upwards. Thorn’s shafts pressed insistently against the tight bud of your asshole. They guided you down until you were doubly impaled by their dicks.

Breath hitching, you squeezed your eyes shut.

You saw stars.

Pleasure and bliss.

They began their rhythmic thrusts and you whimpered, clutching onto their shoulders for dear life as they bounced you up and down on their naga dicks. Your body hummed with pleasure, the contractions barely catching your attention. Your nipples were hard and leaking, your holes clenching and unchecking around the invasions.

Your mates kissed your lips, your neck, your sensitive nipples. Their fingers roamed protectively over your belly, teasing and claiming you as you rode higher and higher. You rocked against them and rode them wildly, your juices leaking down your thighs and all over the cotton sheets.

Two more thrusts and you came crashing around their cocks, relief surging through you. Your naga mates groaned and followed the very next moment, their frames shaking violently as they spurted their seed inside you. The warmth filled you up, bringing immediate relief as the eggs seemed to settle within you.

“That’s it, such a good mate for us,” Ragnor murmured, kissing you softly. “How are you feeling, mama?”

“Better. Much better,” you said, your eyes and voice pleasure-hazed.

“It'll be okay," Thorne whispered into your ear. "Now we’re going to change positions and fill you up again, alright, love?”

You nodded, whining. You’d do anything to keep your eggs safe and you loved and needed your mates just as much.

“Let us take care of everything, love,” Ragnor said, kissing you softly once more.

A wet squelch echoed as the cocks exited your depths. Your mates held you in a way that kept most of their seed inside you, and quickly plugged you up. This time, Ragnor laid down, thrusting his dicks up your ass, while Thorne slid between your splayed legs, draped them over his green-scaled tail and filled your tight pussy. Their tails coiled around your breasts, squeezing them delightfully and making your nipples leak out milk. Thorne lapped it up greedily, while Ragnor reached down to play with your swollen clit.

“Haah, yessss, ahnnn, feels so good,” you moaned as you were worshiped and claimed in every way possible. “Hng-go…go…nna—”

You cried out at the dizzying explosion of yet another climax. Your toes, high in the air, curled tightly, and your hands clung frantically to Thorne, fingers digging into his bare back. Their movements grew frantic, desperate until they buried themselves to the hilt and exploded within you, pumping rope after rope of cum, groaning harshly in masculine satisfaction.

Their strong hands rubbed your belly possessively, feeling the gentle movements of the eggs inside you. They kissed you deeply, tongues intertwining, then rearranged your positions again. This time, you lay on your side between your mates. Thorne spooned you from behind, his tail wrapping around your knees and opening your legs. Growling, he thrusts his fat cocks into your pussy and ass. You were drenched, naga seed all over your mound and thighs.

“I say we fill her pretty mouth, too,” Thorne said, his voice thick with arousal. “I want to see her swallow your seed Ragnor, let it fill her stomach.”

Ragnor groaned and kneeled at your face, his cocks jutting proudly up to his bellybutton. “Open up, love,” he cooed. “We need to make sure you’re completely filled.

Ragnor guided his cockhead to your lips and you opened up, taking one of his dicks as deep as you could in your throat. You suckled his shaft with fervor, your tongue tracing the veiny ridges and swirling over the flared head. Your hands pumped his second cock and you alternated between the two while Thorne pounded into you, causing your tits to bounce.

“Fuck, you have no idea how beautiful you look, mate,” Ragnor muttered, watching your mouth, now filled with both his cocks, while Thorne’s dicks pistoned inside you.

“Mffgh— love—hffuh you,” you gurgled around the shafts in your mouth, wet slurping sounds filling the room.

“We love you, too, precious mate,” Throne said, hips snapping repeatedly, driving his shafts deep in your depths. “You’re doing great. We’re almost there. Just a little more, love.”

They settled into a sensual rhythm, Ragnor’s cock filling your mouth while Thorne thrust inside your pussy and ass, his hands gripping your hips to keep you steady. They whispered sweet nothings, their voices thick with praise and adoration: ”you’re doing so well”, “our brave, beautiful mate”. They caressed your tummy, pinched your breasts while their tails flicked your poor clit.

Little sparks of fire sizzled through your body and burned you up in a blissful climax. You trembled and writhed, and Ragnor withdrew his cock allowing you to cry out with ease. Thorne’s magnificent serpent body bucked and he came with a bellow, nipping at your shoulder while pumping his seed inside you. Once he was done, Ragnor slid back in your mouth, his fingers grasping your hair. He thrust once, twice and came, cocks pulsing with his release. You swallowed every single drop, and felt his hot load fill your belly.

“Damn, mate, you took all we had to give,” Thorne said affectionately, his cocks still nestled within you, plugging up the seed.

“Our mate is the strongest,” Ragnor said, kissing you passionately, his tongue tasting his seed in your mouth. “How are you feeling? The eggs?”

“I’m feeling… perfect,” you said with a soft smile. “The contractions are almost gone. When will the eggs come?”

Just in time, a knock echoed through the room. The doctor had returned and you would soon give birth to your eggs.

Any kind of support will make me smile so big! Feel free to share your thoughts and reblog! Next part will be the birth.

#naga x you #nagas x reader #nagas x you #naga x reader #naga x human #naga smut #monster x reader #monster x you #monster fucker #monster lover #monster x human #monster smut #monster x female #monster x female reader #monster boyfriend #monster fudger #monster romance #teratophillia #terat0philliac

338 notes · View notes

greenorangevioletgrass · 1 day

Text

the albatross, here to destroy you (a.d.)

Pairing: art donaldson x popstar!reader

Summary: three years, three encounters. First, a chance meeting between two rising stars seeking an escape leaves a handprint on their hearts.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: smoking, language, greek mythology references, hella unresolved sexual tension(!!!), art is highkey a baby and lowkey a brat lol, did i mention unresolved sexual tension?, sooo much pining

Notes: this idea has consumed my waking days for weeks. I contemplated making it a really long fic, but after a long and careful consideration, I have decided to make it a trilogy! Two reasons; a) it’s gonna be really long, and b) I wanted to put Art’s look as a reference in each part lmao. Big up to @ysuftmikey and @tommysparker for being awesome and hearing out my incoherent rambles about this story. But anyway, please comment, reblog, talk to me and tell me what you think about it! Happy reading!

**i do not have a taglist. Follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass andd turn on the notifications to be alerted for new fics and updates!**

Part One: London, July 2011.

It was quite an impressive feat. 23-year-old American rising star Art Donaldson had miraculously beat the defending champion-slash-legend Rafael Nadal at the Wimbledon final.

Or so they said.

You don’t know, nor do you care much, to be quite honest. You were basically ordered to attend by your publicist, outfits picked out, hair and makeup team on full throttle only to have you sit pretty on the side of the Centre Court. And now, after milling around and halfheartedly mingling at the afterparty, you decide to give yourself some respite and slip away to the balcony.

“Oh, shit—” the man quickly turns back and stubs his cigarette on the railing, waving away any trace of smoke.

(You say man in a very broad term. He looks more like a teenage boy with that messy blond mop and skittish way about him.)

You raise your hands, showing no threat. “Sorry. Didn’t realize this balcony was taken.”

“Wait, no. Please.” He stops. He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck. The only thing more embarrassing than getting caught smoking was getting caught smoking by a pretty girl. And pretty is… a fucking gross understatement, based on what he was seeing. “Don’t leave on my account.”

“You sure?”

You flash him that soft, understanding smile and he very nearly asks you not to leave, like ever. But fortunately, he’s got enough game to hold his tongue and smile back at you, “There’s more than enough room for both of us here, right?”

Technically, the balcony is big enough for the two of you to stand on opposite corners without even addressing each other. But his fingers are resting on a pack of Marlboro Green, and you bite the inside of your cheek thoughtfully. “And more than enough cigarettes, I hope?”

He’s not sure what he was hoping for, but he sure is surprised to hear you accept his invitation to stay. Gosh, he must’ve looked like an idiot right now. “Sure, of course.”

He slides a cigarette out of the pack as he offers it to you, readily leaning in with his zippo. For a split second, the two of you share a breath in the space that he encloses with one hand as he lights your cigarette. You would be lying if it didn’t make your heart stutter.

“So…” you inhale, taking the nicotine hit to calm your thoughts, “I thought smoking was bad for athletes.”

“I thought smoking was bad for singers too, but I guess it’s less frowned upon, huh?” He murmurs, trying to balance a fresh cigarette off of the side of his lips, smirking at you over the flicker of flame he started.

“Touché.” You lean your back against the railing. It’s an interesting game of chess you’re playing. Each of your reputations precede you and don’t at the same time. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re out here smoking on your own, instead of in there…” Celebrating is left unsaid, although the implied word hangs in big and bold letters.

“Ah well, maybe this is my way of celebrating. We’re allowed one vice every now and again, right?”

You look at him like it’s a bullshit excuse—and it is.

“This is gonna sound insane, but…” he takes a drag, looking out at the landscape before him, “I don’t feel like I should be celebrating.”

You look at him like that bullshit excuse grew a new head.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I worked hard for it and I’m glad it paid off, but…” he flicks the ash on the end of his cigarette three times. “I could’ve been better. Quicker. Won more points earlier. Beat him faster. And until I can do that, I don’t think I deserve a celebration just yet.”

You hum softly. “Sounds like you’re making a Sisyphus out of yourself. That can’t be fun.”

His mouth tugs into a crooked smile, not expecting to be called out like this. “I mean, at least I’m not rolling a boulder up a hill. I’d take tennis over that any day.”

“Yeah, but it seems like tennis is your boulder up a hill.”

“Touché.” He smiles bashfully as he takes a long drag. And then, he offers his hand. “I’m Art Donaldson, by the way.”

It’s a formality at this point. He knows who you are, heard your songs on the radio and saw your face on billboards more times than he can count. Hell, he saw you on the stands in your little Dior sunglasses earlier—and you saw him looking, just for a moment, sweat dripping down his perfect nose and all. But out of courtesy, you tell him your name and accept his handshake.

You pull your hand away, and he almost groans in protest. But again, he holds his horses. “Alright, I’ll bite. If I’m Sisyphus, what does that make you?”

“Oh, definitely Dionysus. Living on wine and theater and good vibes.” You’ve got that shit locked and loaded. It’s obvious that you’ve thought of this before.

“Is that so?” He chuckles. “Well… as long as you don’t sacrifice me to the maenads, right?”

“Can’t promise you that,” you quip back, tapping the gray off of your remaining cigarette. Pleasantly surprised that he doesn’t make the obnoxious remark that Dionysus is also the god of sex, as boys would do. Even more so that he knows enough to know the difference between the sirens and the maenads.

There’s no fighting the raging flush in his cheeks anymore, but he just hopes you would spare him. “Will you at least promise to make it swift?”

It comes out faster than a trainwreck, but without even blinking, the one thing that comes out of your mouth is, “What if I wanna take my time with you?”

Fuck.

The party carries on inside, although Stevie Wonder’s ‘My Cherie Amour’ sounds a mile away. His cigarette smoke comes out in a stuttered huff, as he looks away, not knowing what to do with himself. Eventually, though, he recovers, taking another drag. “It wouldn’t be a terrible way to go, huh?”

“I suppose not.” You sigh into a smile, exuding a flume of smoke through your nose. Shit, he doesn’t know which one is hotter; that, or the lipstick mark on your filter. Or the pensive look as you watch the party through the window.

Oh, he’s down bad.

“So, Dionysus…” he leans out against the railing, flicking ash off his stub one, two, three. “What brings you out here? You a tennis fan?”

“Me? Oh, no. No, I… don’t even really understand how it worked until today,” you admit bashfully. Somehow the truth doesn’t feel so embarrassing, even though you spent the day lying through your teeth. “Not until I saw you play. Which… congrats, by the way.”

“Wow. Thanks.” He’s not sure whether it’s the earnestness in your congratulations, or the fact that the game finally makes sense because of him, but his heart grows three sizes.

“But, yeah, no, my publicist dragged me here kicking and screaming.”

“So you were forced into a party, huh? That’s not very Dionysian of you…” He muses playfully, and those lines on each side of his lips aching to break out into a full smile. And they do. And it warms your heart that those smile lines only emphasizes the way his face lights up. “Nah, I get what you mean. My agent had to drag me out of the locker room to make an ‘appearance.’”

“Yeah, she said something about… shifting into a classier, more grownup image?”

“By watching a couple of dudes hit a ball with a racket?”

“By sitting there and looking pretty. It’s the only reason I’m all decked out in this ridiculous fucking thing,” you look down at your outfit with a grumble. Of all the days you could’ve run into someone cute, you’re in a fucking pantsuit like some middle-aged politician.

“But you do look pretty,” he replies without even blinking.

“Thanks, it’s Ralph Lauren.” You smile faux sweetly. “I believe I’m contractually obligated to say that.”

“Still pretty,” and he means it, lackadaisical smile and all. The ivory cape-like blazer is an interesting cut that goes down to your knees, and it makes you look regal. The cut of the pants makes your legs go for miles. It certainly doesn’t hurt that your off-white shirt is unbuttoned halfway, showing a generous amount of cleavage.

(And hey, he’s still a guy. Can you blame him?)

He has this way of looking at you. Like he’s studying you. It would’ve been unsettling, if he weren’t so fucking beautiful to look at and you don’t mind an excuse to stare back and admire the angular lines on his face. Like Apollo in the moonlight. “What?”

Art taps his cigarette much more deliberately and inhales, exhales out of the side of his mouth, much more deliberately this time. “I think you’re more Aphrodite than Dionysus.”

You take another drag. “How so?”

“First of all, for a god of parties, you don’t like to party all that much,” he grins knowingly, smugly, like he’s proud to have figured you out. But his smile softens, and there’s intensity behind his eyes. “And because you’re beautiful. And dangerous.”

Your mouth twists, pausing for a long moment. To calm yourself. To gather yourself. “But it’s so cliched, though…”

“Well, who would you rather be? Medusa, maybe?” He turns his body, leaning on his side against the railing so he’s fully facing you, and you can’t help but mirror his position.

You raise a forefinger pointedly, French manicured nails on display. “Hey. I think Medusa gets a bad rep. Neptune fucked her over, but she was the one cursed.”

“And what, you think you’re as cursed as Medusa, too?”

You shrug, maybe.

Despite the weight of your answer, he can’t help the chuckle that escapes him. “There’s no way you’re cursed. A curse wouldn’t be so beautiful.”

“But a curse could be deceiving, no?”

“Or maybe it’s a matter of perspective. Maybe you think you’re cursed, even when you might not necessarily be.”

“Oh, just like you’re so inclined to keep pushing your boulder up a hill?”

Art blinks, and sucks his teeth bashfully. Just when he thought he’s got you figured out… Check and mate. “You know, if I didn’t know you any better, I would’ve thought you were some kind of an oracle. Like Cassandra.”

Your eyebrows raise in interest.

“You have this strange, unnerving ability to see right through me. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve had a few drinks, or you’re just very observant, but…” he trails off thoughtfully and then nods like he’s made up his mind. “Cassandra.”

“Cassandra,” you echo quietly. “I like that.”

“Mm-hm. I’d say it’s a very fitting title for you.”

That fond little glint in his eyes is becoming a staple in the way he looks at you. And you don’t ever wanna see it dim. So you speak up again, leaning in conspiratorially. “You wanna hear something funny?”

“What?”

“My parents almost named me Cassandra.”

His jaw drops, dumbstruck. “Shut the fuck up.” His grandmother would have smacked him on the back of his head, knowing the profanity he uses (to a girl he likes, no less). But out of all the things he tried to figure out about her, he never expected to get this one right.

“I shit you not.” You watch him double down laughing, grinning to yourself. “Freaky coincidence, right?”

“Or the Fates working overtime. I’m sure they’d be laughing at us right now.” He looks up at the deep blue sky with a shake of the head.

You wave at the stars, taking a mock bow to your invisible audience. “Thank you. Glad you’re enjoying the show, guys.” The laughter lingers on your lips, and you wonder if it tastes the same on his. “We really are just the court jesters, huh?”

He nods. “Although I wouldn’t mind playing the fool for you.” Maybe it’s the drinks or the cigarettes or the unlikeliest conversation with the most stunning creature he has ever laid eyes on, but at one point, his inhibitions are starting to leave him.

It’s now or never.

The dubious smile that comes out of you is involuntary. He can’t be serious, right? “You are so full of shit, aren’t you?”

“You don’t believe me?”

You look at him like, obviously.

“What are you gonna do, punish me for lying?” There’s that glint again, the bite against the inside of your cheek, and Art steps in.

Your heart catches. He doesn’t feel much like a boy now, inches away from you with a disarming look, his intentions crystal clear. And your head drops for a moment with a wry smile. “You can’t say that to me...”

“Why not?”

“Because!”

“Because? His grin widens, because for the first time this whole evening, he’s got the upper hand. And he likes it.

“I…” You blink at him, finding yourself cornered. Thankfully, though, your phone comes to the rescue, buzzing in your pocket and popping the tension between you and Art like a balloon. “I’m sorry, do you mind if I—”

“Yeah, sure.” he backs away a step, flashing an understanding smile. He watches you pick up the phone, looking out at the London sky. He would swear up and down that he didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He just loves to watch you gnaw at your lower lip in thought, study your moonbathed profile.

Listen to the sweet, sweet sound of your voice.

“Hi… no, I’m still at the— yeah. I’m not sure… are you still with…? Oh, good. Good, just checking. Say hi to everyone for me... Yeah, I’ll call you when I get back?” You catch Art’s gaze, and your stomach drops as you hear the dreaded words on the line. But again, you’re backed away into a corner. So you look away and say it back, “I love you, too. Bye.”

There it is.

Art really should’ve known this. He should’ve seen it coming. You were way too good to be true, but that doesn’t stop him from getting disappointed. No, his heart breaks on the spot, and he’s pretty sure you can hear it.

(You can’t. But you can see it in his face.)

The silence is awkward. It’s ugly. The steady sounds of cars passing by on the ground feels like it’s right in front of you. For the longest time, the two of you can only look out onto the horizon. Anxiously tracing the outlines of skyscrapers in sight.

He is reeling, like he’s been shaken awake from a dream. “So, I take it you’re taken, huh?”

The look you give him is apologetic, and it kills you as much as it destroys him. “Yeah.”

Art rubs at his jaw like he’s willing himself to say something, anything. “I see you’ve cursed me, then.”

“What?”

It takes him a moment to gather his words. Put together his thoughts in a way that you would understand. He didn’t mean it to sound so damning, but it’s the first thing that comes out. It feels like taking a boulder out of his throat. “By making me like you.”

Oh.

Your face falls. Of course. How cruel of you to play his game, knowing you’re setting him up to lose. “I’m sorry. I never meant to…”

“No, no. I’m not blaming you, I swear,” he quickly interjects. “It’s… not your fault one of us is a fool.” He smiles ruefully at nothing.

“It’s a shame,” you quietly admit.

And even then he can’t be mad at you. Not from the way he looks at you oh so tenderly. “It’s a real shame, love.”

There are no words, no more witty remarks. They’ve all been exhausted out of you. There’s nothing left to exchange but that soft look of resignation. Of defeat.

Of wishful thinking.

The cigarettes have long died out and forgotten, only the filters left between your fingers. Your ashes fall in a big chunk on the railing, while Art’s… have free-dived and dispersed in the muggy night air.

“I should go.” Your voice comes out in a whisper. “Let you go back to your party.”

Art can only nod. He keeps his mouth shut, not trusting himself enough to not beg you to stay.

You reach out, almost pulling back, but you can’t help it. Even if it’s just a nothing hand on his shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Art.”

He covers your hand in his, just for a second. His thumb caressing the back of your hand. His heart is in pieces, but at least he will have this. If nothing else, he will still know how your hand feels in his.

And just as quickly as it happens, it ends. Art doesn’t dare watch you leave. He misses your touch instantly, and the sound of your footsteps, and the door opening and closing follows. As Al Green’s ‘What Am I Gonna Do With Myself’ plays on in the party, Art looks out towards the London sky and lights another cigarette.

#im back on my bullshit loooool #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson fic #mike faist #challengers fic #challengers imagine #art donaldson x popstar!reader #ava writes #mike faist imagine

314 notes · View notes