#only without the intense rivalry

[vivwritesfics]

Steal Your Girl - LN4

Carlos is awful to his girl and Lando wants her. He gets what he wants.

THIS IS NOT A REFLECTION OF CARLOS SAINZ AS A REAL PERSON, ALL THESE ACTIONS ARE VRRY OUT OF HIS CHARACTER

18+ ONLY

Warnings: emotionally abusive relationship! smut! eating out, bj, finishing inside, fucking against the wall

Ex! Carlos sainz x reader, lando norris x reader

5.5k

Yes, I changed this up a lot from the original request, but Bianca and I have spoken a lot about this fic and it was decided that having it a friendship rivalry would make this so sweet so I changed Lewis to Carlos

Carlos Sainz walked into the British grand prix, his hand holding his girlfriends. It was warm for England, and he could swear it was getting warmer and warmer every year. Not hot, not compared to what he was used to.

Although he was now a driver for Scuderia Ferrari, he still had friends in other teams. Like Lando and Max. The year before he wouldn’t have minded being on a team with either of them again, driving alongside Lando in Ferrari or Max in a Red Bull.

But now Carlos was in a truly competitive car and, for the first time since his career began, he was a contender for the championship title.

As he looked at his girlfriend, she gave him a smile. Just a small one, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Carlos kept a tight hold of her as he pulled her through the paddock, heading to where he could see the orange hat on the smaller man’s head.

Lando was always his first stop if he could help it. Carlos loved him like a brother, the two of them becoming the best of friends for the short time they were teammates. Everybody in Formula One had their best friend. He had Lando, Logan had Oscar, Charles had… well Charles was a bit of a slut. He had Max and Pierre at his beck and call.

He let go of his girlfriends hand, reaching forward to smack Lando’s butt. Lando jumped out of his skin, spun quickly on his heel and came face to face with his best friend. His look of shock and horror turned into a grin and he wrapped his arms around Carlos, smacking his back as he did so. He looked to Y/N offering her a tight lipped smile.

Being Carlos’s best friend meant Lando got more of an insight into Y/N and Carlos’s relationship. All of the speculations he saw the F1 and WAG news sights posting, he could reveal how true they were. He wouldn’t; that wasn’t his place. If Y/N or Carlos wanted to come out about their relationship, they could. But he wasn’t going to do it for them.

But he felt sorry for her. He saw the way he treated her, how short and angry he was towards her after the race hadn’t gone his way. Lando had stopped himself from running over and getting between them several times. But, once again, it wasn’t his place. As much as he wanted to run over and grab Carlos, keeping Y/N behind him, he knew he couldn’t.

But he wanted to. Don’t get him wrong, he wanted to.

All Lando could do was watch, try and ask if she was okay without actually saying anything. He was observant when it came to her, noticed the way her smile wasn’t too wide.

I guess I should give some context. The year was 2024, and Lando and Carlos were both in the championship fight. It was intense – one week Carlos would be leading in the points and the next Lando would be. As much as it frustrated the both of them, it never affected their friendship.

The summer break was approaching and the two of them were way too close in the points for comfort. It wasn’t like the previous year where Max was practically a shoo in. You never would have guessed by the way they walked through the paddock together, Oscar joining them on Lando’s left.

He was another contender for the championship. It was only his second year in the championship, and he was fighting with the likes of Max, Lando and Carlos. It was insanely impressive, but not unexpected.

“You two got any plans for over summer?” He asked as they stopped outside of the McLaren hospitality suite.

As much as Carlos was happy to finally be in the competitive car, he still missed McLaren. As much as he loved driving alongside Charles Leclerc, he missed driving alongside Lando. But he loved fighting him on track.

Carlos wrapped his arms around Y/N, pulling her in close. “We are staying in Italy,” he said and kissed the side of her head. The smile Y/N shot in Oscar’s direction wasn’t a happy one. Her shoulders were hunched as she tried to make herself look small, her smile barely there and her eyes not meeting his. Whatever they were doing over the summer, she clearly wasn’t happy about it.

They went their separate ways, Y/N and Carlos heading off to Ferrari while Lando and Oscar headed into the hospitality suite. “Is she okay?” Oscar asked as he walked slightly behind Lando.

It was no secret how Lando felt about Y/N. It was no secret that he liked her. There had been one time where Oscar had physically held Lando back after Carlos had crashed earlier in the day and seemed to be verbally taking it out on Y/N.

Lando couldn’t answer. Because he really didn’t know. He didn’t know if she was okay, and he had a feeling he wouldn’t find out. He steadied himself and led Oscar into the hospitality suite.

***

It wasn’t a good race for Carlos. Y/N watched from the garage as he made contact with the Mercedes of George Russell and spun out into the gravel. “Ah fuck!” He shouted. “Fucking fuck!” He hit the steering wheel and pulled it out of the car, handing it to the steward that came running over. He climbed out of the car, keeping his helmet on as he made his way back to the pitlane.

As soon as Carlos sorted himself out, Y/N threw her arms around him. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered and kissed his cheek. Carlos didn’t respond. He just stared at the track at nineteen cars came speeding past the pitlane.

After the race and the ceremonies, when they were heading back to the plane, Carlos drove them. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel as he sped around cars, at a pace that was, quite frankly, terrifying to his passengers. “Carlos, baby,” she tried to say as she held onto the bottom of her seat.

But Carlos didn’t let her say anything. “Shut the fuck up,” he growled.

Y/N fell silent. If they weren’t driving down the motorway she would have demanded he let her out of the car, but she couldn’t. She just sat there, the familiar feeling of anxiety bubbling up inside of her chest.

If this was how she was going to be feeling for the rest of the championship, Y/N wasn’t sure she wanted to be a part of this world. She loved Carlos and she loved travelling around with him, but it made her feel fucking terrible. He made her feel fucking terrible.

These feelings didn’t stop through the Hungarian Grand Prix or through Spa. They were miserable weekends for the girl sat in the Ferrari garage. In both races Carlos did well, which you may think  would mean he was happy. You’d think he’d be in a good mood and happily showing his girlfriend how much he loved her.

But for both races, a younger, less experienced driver beat him. In cars that seemed to be equal in terms of how competitive they were, Lando Norris beat him.

Although Carlos got a good amount of points from it, Lando had beat him, putting a bit more distance between them in the championship.

It made him vile to be around. The points, the championship, consumed his very being. Not in the way it did for most Formula One drivers, where their goal for every training session, every practice session, every qualifying and every race was to be the best. Carlos was a man obsessed it muttered about it, going back through past races to see if there were any way to take points away from his competitors.

He became snappy and rude to his girlfriend. She couldn’t even say his name without him sending a glare in her direction. Y/N was walking on eggshells around him.

It wasn’t as though she could avoid him. Carlos wanted her at every race weekend; her only respite was the few days she got to spend at her apartment.

During summer break, Carlos gave her a break from himself. He wasn’t crazy obsessive over points as they went to Italy. But that feeling of Anxiety was still in Y/N’s chest. Even as he took her out on the boat, she was still anxious.

When Carlos kissed her, she kept her eyes shut, unable to look at him. His touch was warm, but it still made her shiver. If he knew something was wrong, he didn’t say anything to her.

It was a sign, surely. A sign that she should have left him. But, no matter how anxious she felt around him, there was still a part of her that loved him. She always would love him, at least in some capacity.

Y/N pushed the feelings deep down. She loved him, she really, truly loved him, and she could get through this. They could get through this. As soon as the championship was over, things would go back to normal, she was sure of it.

As if to assure herself, Y/N walked over to Carlos, who had sat himself on the sun lounger in front of the pool, and wrapped her arms around him. She kissed the side of his head and closed her eyes as she pressed her forehead against his shoulder.

After their amazing summer break, Y/N thought maybe things would change between them. Maybe she’d get the old Carlos back, her Carlos back.

Spoiler alert, it didn’t work. Even though Carlos finished ahead of Lando at the Dutch Grand Prix, they still hadn’t quite come level with the points. Lando was still ahead of him and it was all Carlos could think about, all he could talk about.

The drivers went out that night. Well, a few of them did. Max took Lando, Charles, Carlos, George and Daniel out for the night. Everybody was invited to the club, but these were the few that went.

Of course, Y/N went with Carlos. Even with everything going on, she still didn’t want to head home alone. So, she dressed her best and walked into the club on Carlos’s arm.

Lando walked in behind them. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, and that little voice in the back of his head that usually told him that she was his best friend’s girl and he should stay away was suddenly quieter. Maybe it was because of the few drinks he had in his system already, but Lando wasn’t scared about Carlos seeing his lingering eyes.

But Carlos didn’t seem to notice. Maybe he thought Lando was being a good friend and keeping an eye on Y/N, who was definitely stunning enough to turn heads.

For the entire night, Lando stayed close to Y/N. He was behind them when she and Carlos danced together, followed her to the bar and got another round of drinks. And, when Carlos disappeared and Y/N found herself sitting alone in one of the booths in the club, Lando came to sit beside her.

“Hey,” he shouted over the music.

Y/N stared at him, clearly not happy. But she gave him a weak smile, leaning against the table in front of them. “You okay?” He shouted, furrowing his brows. Y/N shouted something back, but Lando couldn’t hear a word of it.

Standing up, he walked over and slid into the seat beside her. “You okay?” He asked and placed his arm over her shoulders. The drink must have been making him brave.

Y/N shook her head. “I want to go outside!” She shouted into his ear.

Standing up, Lando helped her. He shot Carlos a quick text and led Y/N to the smoking shelter outside of the club. Neither of them smoked, but they needed the fresh air, desperately. The smoking area was busy, but not as loud as the club; they could speak without much issue.

"What's up?" Asked Lando as he leaned against the wall.

Y/N looked at him and let out a huff. She folded her arms over her chest and looked up at the stars in the night sky. "I'm hoping you're drunk enough to forget this, but Carlos treats me like shit," she said and turned her attention towards him.

"I know."

Lando hadn't meant to say it, but it was too late to backpeddle now.

"And I fucking hate it," he finished.

Silence hung in the air between them. Y/N didn't quite know what to say. She was speaking to Carlos's best friend and she didn't want to slate him.

And Lando, well he was waiting for Y/N to say something. He didn't want to push and then have to deal with Carlos why she was crying. That wouldn't end well for anyone.

I think you should leave your boyfriend.

But he couldn't say that. It was a decision Y/N had to come to all on her own.

And she did. Just not for a while. Not until the end of the 2024 championship.

It was down to the wire, the deciding race for the drivers championship being the very last race of the season.

As Y/N sat in the ferrari garage she bit her nails, nerves bubbling up inside of her. It wasn't nerves over her boyfriend winning or losing. Well, it was, but more because of what he might've done to her.

Lando was the championship winner. Lando crossed the finish line less than a second ahead of Carlos.

As they climbed out of the cars and congratulated each other, it was clear Carlos was pissed. As he stood on the podium and listened to the British national anthem, he was angry, that much was clear.

Y/N could have left him then and there, but she didn't want to. There was a small part of her that loved Carlos and that didn't want to leave him.

But, after they had headed home that night, after skipping out on Landos offer of celebrating, Carlos was fucking horrible to her.

Never physical, just angry and verbally abusive. He roared at her, spitting in her face as he did so.

Y/N got up and left him then and there. She walked out of the door, not looking back.

There was a lot of speculation online on the couples break up. The news of it only came when Carlos was seen with a new woman, having moved on pretty quickly. Y/N just hoped this girl could handle him better than she could.

When the 2025 season started up, she missed it. But she couldn't even bring herself to watch it on the television.

She missed it, and she was missed.

By Lando, mostly. Although she'd made some friends from her time on the grid, it was Lando who missed her the most. He'd been the one to call her up and make sure she was okay when he found out about the breakup.

Ever since the 2025 season started, Lando had been desperately trying to get her to come to a grand prix. But Y/N shot him down every time. How could she go to a grand prix and face Carlos?

She couldn’t. As much as she would have loved to go to at least one Grand Prix, she couldn’t face Carlos. So, Lando had to find other ways to see her. He was the one who came to her apartment and spent time with her while she was having an emotional breakdown over Carlos. He was the one who brought her snacks and comfort her, watching movies and attempting to make her dinner.

In this time she and Lando became incredibly close. It didn’t feel right, the way she was relying on him for emotional comfort when he was her ex boyfriends best friend. At first, Y/N was scared Lando would just be a rebound, that she was feeling the way she did because she was upset about the breakup.

But, as time went on, she realised it was a lot more than that. She genuinely loved Lando’s company and she wanted to spend time around him. That didn’t mean she’d be going to a grand prix, though.

So, Y/N threw herself into her work. When she’d bought her apartment, she’d been with Carlos, and it was filled with memories of the two of them. She worked oh so hard to make it her own, erasing every memory of him from its walls.

On the few days before the British Grand Prix, Lando was in the UK. He was in Surrey, at McLaren before heading off to London. What was in London? Just the girl he was in love with.

Okay, maybe in love was a strong word. But everybody knew how he felt about her, knew how much he wanted her.

So, he hopped on a train to London (because there was no way he was driving through the city) and made his way to her apartment.

This was the first Grand Prix that he hadn’t been bothering her to attend. It was strange and, in and odd way, it made Y/N want to go all the more. It was too late now, though. She’d never get tickets she could actually afford.

There was a knock at her apartment door. Y/N stood up from her computer and strode over. She pulled open the door, coming face to face with none other than Lando Norris. “Lando,” she somewhat gasped, incredibly surprised to see him. “Aren’t you meant to be at Silverstone?”

“That’s exactly why I’m here,” he said and walked into the apartment. He took a seat at her kitchen table as she got him something to drink. “I want you to come to the grand prix with me,” he said. He’d said it so many times already this year. Maybe the answer would be different now he was here in person.

Y/N let out a huff and Lando knew what was coming. She was going to shoot him down, to say no and send him on his way. But she didn’t. She sat back and stared at him, tapping her nails against the glass of water in front of her. “Okay,” she said and sat up a little straighter. “But I have conditions.”

Lando gestured for her to go on.

“I’ll go if you can guarantee I won’t see Carlos.”

It was an impossible request, but Lando just grinned. He held out his hand for her to shake. “Deal.”

***

It was Lando’s second win at Silverstone, and the home crowd was going wild. Y/N was with the McLaren team. When Lando pulled into Parc fermé, Y/N was waiting at the barrier. She watched as he jumped towards his team, all of them patting him on the back.

And then she caught his eye. Lando pulled off his helmet, placing it on the ground and strode over to her. “Congratulations!” Y/N shouted over the noise with a wide grin.

But Lando didn’t respond. He pulled her close, just the barrier between them, and kissed her.

It was quick, Lando didn’t have long until he was pulled away to do post-race interviews. And then he was on the podium as Y/N waited back in the garage. What had just happened? Lando had won his home Grand Prix but, more importantly, he kissed her. Lando Norris had kissed her.

And she hadn’t minded. Did that make her a bad person? That she didn’t mind kissing her ex boyfriends best friend? Well, more than didn’t mind. She liked it, and she wanted to do it again.

Carlos hadn’t quite believed what he was seeing when he climbed out of his Ferrari, having just missed out on third place. He was in a foul mood anyway from his result, and this certainly didn’t make things better.

There was a feeling of betrayal that settled in his chest. He was ready to tear apart the Ferrari garage and not care about the consequences.

If she couldn’t be with him because of his racing career, what the fuck was she doing here? With him of all people?

He stormed past everybody, his body language aggressive.

But Lando and Y/N didn’t notice. Why should they? Lando was wrapped up in his win and she was wrapped up in him. In Lando.

After the race Lando drove her back to her apartment. She invited him in, cooked him dinner, which they ate with a couple of candles between them. It was romantic, and they were loving every second of it. It wasn’t what Lando had planned for his win; he was supposed to go out to dinner and party. But he’d told those who were set to come with him to go without him, and this was definitely better.

“I want to ask you to be mine, but I don’t want to push you,” Lando had said as they ate.

Y/N immediately shook her head. She reached over, placing her hand on top of Lando’s. “I wouldn’t have invited you in if I didn’t want this,” she said and let go of him.

They didn’t sleep together that night; Lando kept up with the whole not wanting to push her thing. He didn’t want to push her into sleeping with him and then have her regret it later. So, he took things slow, letting her make the first moved.

It didn’t take long for them to get together, Lando as her boyfriend and Y/N as his girlfriend. But it took a long while before she returned to a grand prix with him. Sure, the world had seen them kiss in Silverstone, but Y/N still needed time. She needed to mentally prepare herself for facing Carlos and the rest of the grid again.

It was towards the end of the season that Y/N went to the next grand prix. She joined him in Brazil, proudly walking through the paddock with her hand held in his. When the cameras started flashing, Lando leaned close and kissed the top of her head. That way there would be no doubts as to who they were to each other.

Lando didn’t win in Brazil. But he didn’t care – his girlfriend was there with him and that was all that mattered. She watched him stand third place on the podium, watched him spray champagne on Carlos and his teammate.

When Y/N hadn’t been keeping up with the sport, before she and Lando were together, she hadn’t realised just how close the title fight was this year. She didn’t realise that the Red Bull car was, essentially, a piece of shit, and that the only real contenders for the title was Lando, Charles and Carlos.

She and Lando made their way out of the circuit together, hand in hand. “Well done,” she said and reached up onto her tiptoes to kiss him. Lando kept her walking as she stole his hat and placed it on her own head. “I love watching you race.”

“I love it when you watch me race,” he replied, squeezing her hand.

Ahead of them was Carlos and his girlfriend. Since she hadn’t been keeping up with the world of Formula One, Y/N didn’t know her name. But she was pretty and, if they were happy, then good for them.

Even though he had won the race, Carlos’s body language was tense. Y/N knew him well enough to know that. She didn’t say anything, though, not when he definitely hated her.

It took a few hours for anything to actually come from this. Both couples had decided that they would stay for the night in Brazil, get a good sleep before heading home. They were staying in the same hotel, rooms relatively close to each other.

That was why, when they were away from the prying eyes of fans of the paparazzi cameras, Carlos took a swing at Lando.

It was sudden and terrifying, both girls stood back in shock. Because, really, what could they do? Try and attack two athletes who were definitely stronger than them?

But then a full of fight broke out. They were punching and trying to tackle each other to the floor. Carlos had his arm around Lando’s neck as he punched him, Lando trying his best to get away.

But he was struggling, his face red. That was when Y/N jumped onto Carlos’s back trying to get him away from Lando. When Lando finally got away, Carlos got Y/N off of his back, knocking her to the floor.

Immediately, Lando got Y/N to her feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He spat at his old friend, holding his girlfriend close.

Carlos didn’t answer as he walked off to his own room, his girlfriend following him.

There was a moment where Y/N and Lando didn’t go anywhere. They put some distance between themselves and the Spaniard. Both their hearts were beating erratically, Lando’s breath coming out short.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N mumbled as they started walking again. “I can’t believe he did that.”

Lando held her a little bit tighter. “You don’t have to apologise,” he said as he pulled out their room key. “He’s being an asshole.”

Things only got worse between them as the title fight heated up. Just as it did the year before, it took the right to the end of the season, with tension between Lando and Carlos becoming worse and worse. The media speculated as they watched the two interact, most of the speculations having something to do with Y/N. They were right; the title fight was just a small part of it now.

***

Abu Dhabi, 2025. Carlos was leading for most of the race and looked set for the win. It would have been his first championship win, a dream of any Formula One driver.

But Lando? He was tricky, and he was fuelled by more than a desire to win. Just as Carlos thought himself set for the win, Lando overtook him. Carlos didn’t see it at first, he had already begun waving to the crowds as the orange car crossed the finish line just half a second ahead of him.

Y/N let out a scream in the McLaren garage. The atmosphere was insane, much different to the atmosphere in the Ferrari garage from the year before. Everybody was jumping around and cheering, rushing out to meet Lando.

When he climbed out of his car he jumped at his team, screaming, shouting and crying.

Just as he did in Silverstone, he pulled off his helmet and placed it down by his feet, leaning down to kiss Y/N. This time he didn’t care about the post-race interviews, he kissed her until he was starving for air. It wasn’t sweet of kind, it was definitely too much for the cameras. It was a promise for later, for what was to come.

That night they celebrated, the team out partying. Y/N and Lando left the party before everybody else, alcohol in their systems as they made their way back to their hotel room.

The two were giggling, drunken messes, kissing on the street every few steps. He kept a tight hold of her, hand just a little too low on her back, but not quite obscene.

In the elevator of the hotel, Y/N was pressed against it, with Lando finally holding her ass. He kissed her feverishly, his kiss bruising.

And she loved every second of it.

Lando was impatient to get her into their hotel room. He kicked the door shut behind them and began pulling off her clothes, only breaking their kiss when he pulled her shirt over her head.

"I fucking love you," he said and began kissing down her neck.

She let out a moan, eyes flying shut as she unbuttoned Lando's shirt.

When they pulled apart to undress themselves, Lando looked at the purple bruises he'd left on her neck, grinning as his tongue came between his lips.

He wasted no time in throwing her down onto the bed, her arms wrapping around him as he went back to kissing her.

He began moving down her body, kissing her chest and between her breasts, moving down to where she needed him most. Her breathing became laboured as he kissed her thigh and gently bit it, his manner teasing.

His large hands rested on her hips as he leaned down, licking across her folds. He sank off of the bed, pulling her closer as he began eating her out. Like a man possessed and licked and sucked at her folds, his skills expert.

Y/N moaned and whined, gripped his hair as he held her still. She tried to move her hips against his face, but Lando held her still, keeping her there as he worked. "Holy fuck," she cried, throwing her head back and gripping the sheets.

Lando grinned as he sat up, painfully hard. Y/N grabbed him, pulling him back up to kiss her. "I want you to fuck me against the wall," she whispered as she moved to kiss down his neck.

The chain he wore dangled between them, getting in her way, but Y/N didn't care. It was incredibly hot.

Lando whispered something in her ear and Y/N nodded eagerly. He set his phone up across from the wall he was going to be fucking her against, and pressed record.

Suddenly Lando was up against the wall, Y/N on her knees in front of him. He moaned as she bobbed her head up and down him. His hand rested on the back of her head, not pushing, just holding her as if he wanted to ground himself.

Before too long Lando was pushing her way. If he was going to celebrate his championship win, he was going to do it inside of her.

"Come here, baby," he said as he gave her one last kiss. He picked her up, Y/N wrapping her legs around him, and turned them around, so that her back was against the wall.

Using the wall to keep her held in his arms, Lando reached between them and lined himself up. He pushed forward, sheathing himself inside of her.

"Ready?" He asked, forehead pressed against hers.

Y/N nodded and Lando began thrusting. It was incredible how strong he was as he pushed into her, pulling himself out and pushing back in.

Y/N let out cries and whines and moans as he fucked her. Because it wasn't romantic, the pace Lando was thrusting inside of her was animalistic.

She moved against the wall, eyes shut as she tightened her legs around Lando, coming closer and closer to the edge. Lando was, too, slowing his pace, becoming sloppy.

When Y/N finally went over the edge she fell forward, leaning her entire weight against him. Lando kissed her head and squeezed his eyes shut as he came, painting her insides with his seed.

He pulled out and carried her back to the bed. Picking up the phone he pointed the camera at Y/N, keeping her on full display. "She's my girl now," he said and ended the video, sending it to the man who was once his best friend.

Lando went to the bathroom and ran the bath. He made it warm and filled it with bubbles. As he waited for it, watched the video go through to Carlos, watched as he opened the message.

He turned off the water and walked back out to the bedroom, where his girlfriend was still laying, her breath evening out. She was close to falling asleep, he realised as he walked over and kissed her forehead.

"Come on, baby," he said and gently coaxed her up from the bed.

Rather reluctantly, Y/N followed Lando into the bathroom. She leaned against the door as he climbed into the water, waited until he was submerged, and slotted herself between his legs.

Lando gently washed her, scrubbing the sweat from her skin and the mess between her legs.

***

Carlos wasn't sure when his girlfriend had left. It was just like last time, alone again after missing out on the championship. It was his fault, even if he didn't know it.

When his phone buzzed he picked it up, desperately hoping that maybe he wasn't so alone.

But then he saw the message, then he opened the video.

His face twisted with rage. He threw his phone across the room, the device bouncing of the wall, the screen completely shattered.

He was going to kill Lando Norris.

[undiscovered-horizon]

[Old love never rusts. Shanks has to face that truth when he meets again the husband of the girl he almost had.]

Shanks's version | Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

Shanks knows he has no right to ask this question. Not when he's the one that up and left in the middle of the night, without even a word of warning that could soothe your aching heart. Nevertheless, he can't help but indulge his yearning:

"How is she?"

Mihawk raises his eyebrows barely noticeably. He seems surprised that after Shanks's disappearing act and a decade of dead silence, he's still interested in you, even if motivated by pure courtesy. But before Mihawk answers the question, he notices something strange in the red-haired captain's eyes, a sensation he's rarely seen in them before - sadness.

Interesting, how some things never quite change.

"Well," Mihawk answers laconically. Instead of indulging Shanks's lovesick longing, he wishes the man would finally accept his utter failure and move on. You're married to Dracule and this isn't going to change anytime soon. If ever.

"Wells tend to be cold and musty," Shanks jokes but his tone is far from lighthearted. In fact, his voice sounds strained like he's holding back tears. "I hope she fared better with you."

The Red-Hair pirates laugh at their captain's joke but quickly turn quiet again. Something about the tense confrontation makes their good humour virtually nonexistent. Especially when Mihawk gives them a curt, cold glare. He doesn't find his past rivalry with Shank to be funny in any way.

"She has everything she could ask for," he says with a sense of finality to his words. Mihawk feels himself growing irritated.

"Good, good..." Shanks nods, lost in thought for a moment. He clenches his hand, giving away the unpleasant tension inside his chest. The captain has promised himself to let go of you. Alas, here we are. "Is she happy?" he suddenly asks.

Mihawk furrows his thick eyebrows in an angry frown. It's almost insulting for Shanks to have any doubts regarding your well-being under the Warlord's care. "What sort of question is this?"

"A 'yes or no' sort."

"Then yes," he drones his words.

Shanks forces a wide, playful smile. There's agony hiding in his eyes and as though Mihawk is a blind man, he's trying to play it cool and appear unaffected. The truth is, the red-haired man is holding on by a thread.

"I bet she talks about me all the time," Shanks says in faux amusement. His voice almost doesn't shake. "We both know I've always been her favourite."

"And you'd lose." Mihawk begins to feel an insidious satisfaction from the distress of the other man. "In fact, I doubt she thinks about you at all."

"You keep telling yourself that, hawk-eyes."

"This misguided flattery is much unwarranted," Mihawk warns him. "No one bets on losing dogs."

But she would, Shanks thinks to himself. She always did.

Short fingernails leave bruising marks on the inside of Shanks's palm as he's clenching his fist. Once again he's reminded that when it mattered, he was a coward and fled from the overwhelming, crippling love he feels for you. Only know there's no hope, there's no ifs - you belong to another man.

Afternoon sunlight reflects off of Mihawk's gold ring. Shanks glares at it for a moment too long to pass off his intense stare as circumstantial. He can almost hear the mocking laughter of the universe as the consequence of the amalgamation of his bad choices is merely two meters away from him. There is nothing he wouldn't give up to turn back the time and make sure that things go differently, that he never became afraid of being too deep in love.

But time, like the seas, has no master.

_____

I was so torn about this one, I couldn't decide until the very end, so if you want to read a version where the scenario is flipped and Shanks is the 'lucky guy', just hit me up.

[adascore]

The Missed Swap

pairing: alexia putellas x england!reader

warnings: swearing. reader receives a push. jealous alexia. mentions of alexia doing her acl.

author's note: finally finished this!! love writing about the complexity of their rivalry!

part 1 | masterlist

•••••••

The press conference room was filled with all sorts of journalists; Spaniards, Brits or just avid women's football researchers who were hyped about the upcoming friendly between Spain and England.

Between Y/N and Alexia rested only a few metres, their respective coaches accompanying them. Sarina and her captain sat composed waiting on the start of the conference, while their opposition exuded a calm confidence that would have intimidated any other pair.

Despite the heartwarming interaction at the Champions League final a month prior, there was no evidence of any kind of friendship as the two star players avoided each other's eyes, and any traces of the camaraderie from Turin seemed distant.

In an attempt to break the ice, Alexia discreetly sought a glance from the striker, hoping for a sign of recognition or acknowledgment, but the Spaniard was only met with a polite smile from Sarina.

The midfielder felt almost stupid for having looked forward to this, seeing her again after Turin. She'd hoped it was the start of a change, one where they could talk to one another without the forced formalities and could even become friends.

Yeah, she felt incredibly stupid.

The moderator signaled the start of the pre-match press conference. ''Good morning, everyone. Welcome to the press conference with Spain coach and captain Jorge Vilda and Alexia Putellas, as well as England coach and captain Sarina Wiegman and Y/N Y/L. We are going to start with the questions.''

The first few minutes were standard; asking about the expectations, main thoughts about the opposition, how they were all feeling about the upcoming European Championships, etc. The four of them answered all the questions directly and in a diplomatic manner.

However, it was a certain Spanish journalist that decided to shake things up. ''Hello, everyone. This question is for Alexia,'' the man spoke up in his native language, ''after the Champions League final, we witnessed, what seemed, an emotional interaction between you and Y/N. Would you say your relationship has changed since then? Or was it just a moment for the camera's? Will it have any impact on the game tomorrow?''

Alexia maintained her diplomatic tone, carefully choosing her words. ''Good morning. The final in Turin was an intense and emotional moment for both of our teams. With Y/N, we share respect for football, the game. Now, we are here to represent our countries in preparation for the Euro's.''

The reporter, undeterred by the captain's media-trained answer, pressed with a sly smile. ''But is there a good relationship between you two? There seemed to have been a connection of some sorts.''

''I understand there might be interest in our personal relationship, but I want to focus on our match tomorrow.'' She answered with poise, not entertaining the controversy he was trying to stir.

Y/N couldn't help but smirk at the journalist's persistence. Despite not understand their language, it was clear Alexia hadn't given him the satisfaction of actually answering his question.

The moderator urged for someone else to take the microphone, quickly wanting to move on before it became more of an issue. The word was then given to an English journalist.

''Hi, for the Daily Mail,'' he greeted them, Y/N having to fight the urge to roll her eyes at the mention of for which news outlet he worked for, ''for Y/N, uh, many of the players of the Spanish team play for Barcelona, and we all saw what happened last month. Do you think their defeat had something to do with your presence or maybe that the rivalry between you and Alexia Putellas was a factor in that?''

Y/N raised an eyebrow at the loaded question, but remained composed. ''Every match is different, and Spain is also different from Barcelona. Football is a team sport, and the outcome of a match depends on a lot of different factors. I don't think it is fair to attribute the result of a match to the presence or absence of a single player. I mean- I'm a footballer, not a witch.'' She concluded her answer with a lighthearted joke, relieved it caused some of the tension in the room to disappear.

''A question for both the coaches,'' the conference moved on again, ''how do each of you feel about another meeting between Alexia and Y/N? They're not just the star players of your teams, but also of women's football. Does it add any excitement or pressure to the match?''

Sarina responded first. ''Well, every match is a great opportunity to have good battles, as a group or as individuals. They're both exceptional talents so it will be a treat to watch for all of us, but the main focus is on the team performance and preparing for the European Championship next month.''

Jorge nodded, seemingly agreeing. ''Individual matchups add excitement, but the success of the team remains a priority.''

The press conference concluded not much later, the four of them alleviated they could get up and leave.

As they exited, Y/N and Alexia found themselves walking side by side, albeit a bit awkwardly. The corridor felt like a neutral ground, free from the scrutiny of the media.

“They're always searching for stuff…” Y/N broke the silence, still somewhat frustrated over the questions about their personal relationship.

Alexia nodded in agreement, her expression reflecting a similar feeling. “Yeah, so stupid.”

The quietness returned, both women unsure of what to say.

“Congrats on winning the league again, by the way.” Alexia rambled, the words leaving her mouth like a speed train.

Y/N smiled, appreciating the attempt to continue the conversation. “Thanks, you too.”

“Thank you.” The midfielder hesitated, a subtle struggle visible on her face.

Alexia sighed, searching for the right words. “Look, about Turin…”

Y/N raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “What about it?”

There was a pause as they walked, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

“I wanted to talk more, you know, after the match.” She admitted, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

The England captain slowly nodded. “Ah, yeah, it looked like that, but then your coach whisked you away.” She awkwardly laughed.

“I don't know why he did that, it probably felt as weird to me as it did to you,” Alexia responded, “but I just wanted to thank you for your words, cause… you didn't have to come up to me, but you did.”

Y/N smiled warmly. “You really don't have to thank me. I know what it's like as captain, it's tough. It just felt like the right thing to do.”

“What you said about our growth and stuff, it means more than you think, you know, to the team.” The Spaniard quickly added the last bit, not wanting to get too sentimental.

“I'm glad if it brought a bit of comfort to your team. I meant it, you guys have really made a great transition.” Y/N wasn't by any means a great loser, but she would always give a team credit when it's due.

Alexia nodded appreciatively. “Thanks. I'm, uh, excited about tomorrow.”

The England captain grinned, feeling a subtle shift in their dynamic. "Yeah, it should be a good game.''

“Yes, it should. Hopefully it goes my way this time.''

Y/N loudly laughed at Alexia's words, taking the Barcelona midfielder by surprise. ''I didn't know you were this funny, Putellas.''

Alexia chuckled, a genuine smile breaking through.

“Y/N…”

The striker turned back to where the call of her name came from, and she was met with the hesitant face of Sarina.

She gave her coach a hand motion that said ‘I'm right there, let me wrap this up'. The Dutchwoman seemed to understand as she gave both players a nod.

“Uh, I gotta go- team stuff, but I'll see you tomorrow then.” Y/N bid goodbye.

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

Alexia watched her rival leave, eyes roaming over her athletic figure that was adorned in an England training kit that seemed to highlight every curve of her body.

The Spaniard had to shake herself out of her daze, not knowing what came over her.

As she turned to head in the opposite direction, she refocused herself on the game ahead and realized she had to put aside the emotions and complexities that seemed to find her every time she encountered the England captain.

It had already cost her one match, she wouldn't dare let it happen again.

The score wasn't reflective of how exciting and high-pressing the match actually was. Neither side had scored, but there had been plenty of great chances.

It also included a lot of fouls, specifically on the English captain by the Spanish players.

Y/N found herself on the receiving end of another rough challenge, this time from Carmona.

As the referee's whistle pierced through the stadium, signaling the foul, Y/N couldn't contain her frustration. “Fucking cunt.” She muttered under her breath.

The Real Madrid defender, catching wind of the insult, didn't take it lightly. “What did you say?” She exclaimed, responding with a push.

The striker didn't budge, simply giving her an unimpressed look. “I said you're a fucking cunt.” She repeated her words, not one bit intimidated.

The tension escalated, and the players from both teams rushed to get involved.

More of the Spanish players stepped in to defend the young player, throwing insults at Y/N. While the England players tried to form a protective barrier around their captain, not shy of vulgar words themselves.

Amidst the chaos, Alexia took a step forward, signaling to her Spanish teammates to calm down. “That's enough.” She told Olga, placing herself in-between the Brit and the defender.

“Let it go, it's just a friendly. No need for this.” Her authoritative tone resonated, and she managed to diffuse the situation.

Olga, still visibly upset, reluctantly stepped back, but mumbled some more Spanish swear words that had Patri giving her a light push.

Alexia, with an apologetic look, turned around to address Y/N, but Rachel intervened, pulling her captain away from the aftermath of the chaos.

“We need to take more advantage of the counterattacks, we're just giving everything away.” Rachel immediately focused back on the game, whispering her thoughts.

Y/N caught Alexia's intention, but let it go, redirecting her attention to the unfolding match.

In a retaliatory turn of events, Georgia committed a foul against Alexia.

The England captain didn't want it to escalate the way it had only a few minutes before, so she quickly addressed her teammate.

“G, tone it down!”

The midfielder gave a thumbs up and an apology to Alexia, which the Spaniard accepted.

The final whistle blew, ending the intense encounter with a draw. Both sides were disappointed not to walk away with the win, but the result felt right to the match.

As the players exchanged handshakes and words of sportsmanship, Y/N and Alexia found themselves facing each other once more.

“Good match.” They chorused, shaking hands with a content smile.

“I guess it didn't really go your way this time.” Y/N chuckled, recalling Alexia's words from the day before.

The midfielder laughed, relieved there was no tension between them anymore. “It was tough today. Great defense from your team.”

“Thanks, your attacks warranted it.” The Brit playfully rolled her eyes.

They walked together towards the officials to shake their hands, making small talk about the match.

“Hey… your shirt…” Y/N switched topics, pointing at the red Spain jersey.

“Yeah?” Alexia's eyes widened slightly, almost beaming at the fact that the striker would want to swap shirts.

“My teammate, Katie, she's quite the fan and would you do me a favor and like, ask her to exchange kits? She didn't get to play today and it would really cheer her up.”

A tinge of red colored Alexia's cheeks as she realized her misinterpretation. “Oh, uh, yeah, no problem.”

“You don't have to, if you want to keep the shirt.” Y/N noticed the slight expression change in the opposition's face.

“No, I really want to. I'll ask her, no big deal.” Alexia quickly brushed it off, embarrassed by her own thoughts.

“Thank you so much, it will mean a lot to her. Usually she's a chatterbox, but…” The striker trailed off.

Alexia nodded, finding it a sweet gesture of the rivaling captain.

“Uh, actually, could you do the same? One of the younger girls, Claudia, really looks up to you and would appreciate the shirt.”

The midfielder saw her younger teammate lingering not too far from where they were standing, not subtle in observing the captains' interaction.

“She's the small girl that's standing behind you.” Alexia smiled, laughing as Pina pretended to look at the crowd once she caught her Barcelona teammate watching her.

Y/N followed her eyes and gave Claudia a wave, which the girl shyly returned.

“I‘ll ask as well,” she softly responded, “uh, so I'll see you in the Euro's final then?” Y/N grinned, teasingly.

“Yeah, I'll see you there.”

As they parted ways, each player headed toward the teammate they had promised to exchange shirts with.

“ALEXIA PUTELLAS TEARS ACL BEFORE WOMEN's EUROS”

Y/N read the headline in utter shock, in disbelief that the Spain captain had tore her ACL in training, the day before the start of the tournament.

“You heard about Putellas?” Jill interrupted her thoughts, joining her in the lounge that had been set up for the team.

“Yeah.” She nodded, closing her phone.

“I feel for her.” The Manchester City player sympathized.

Y/N remained quiet, wondering how Alexia was doing- mentally then.

“Are you two friends?” Jill inquired, confused by the captain's silence.

She looked at her older friend, lifting her shoulders. “I don't know. We're not enemies.”

Intrigued by the cryptic response, Jill couldn't resist probing further. “You guys were laughing with each other after the Spain match.”

“Yeah, and?” Y/N chuckled, uncomfortable by her teammate's stare.

The midfielder raised an eyebrow. “What's the story?”

“There is no story, we just had a laugh.” The captain retorted.

“You used to shut down like a toddler whenever someone mentioned her, and now you're acting like buddies together. What happened, Cap?” Jill was properly confused on what the status was with the two football stars.

“I won, that's what happened.” Y/N opened her phone again, hoping her response was enough to satisfy Jill's curiosity.

The older one frowned. “Won what?”

“I won the final. Champions League. She lost.” It was a vague clarification, they both knew that.

“And that makes you friends?”

Y/N sighed, sensing the skepticism in Jill's tone. “You don't get it, Scott- be glad that you don't.”

“So what if you hadn't won?” Jill asked, a subtle gravity behind her question.

Y/N took a moment before responding, contemplating the hypothetical scenario. “There was no way I would have lost that final. Not in a hundred years.”

“So humble you are.” Her teammate sarcastically commented.

The captain dramatically winked at the older woman.

“But seriously… what is that?” Jill made a gesture with her hand, as if she was physically pointing between her and Alexia.

“Don't know, I guess she isn't as pretentious as I thought she was.” Y/N answered, recognizing the wrong perspective she had of the Spaniard.

Jill raised an eyebrow. “She probably thought the same of you.” She laughed.

“I guess so.” The younger player admitted. “Should I send her a message? Like wishing her well or something?” Y/N asked Jill, holding up her phone.

She looked at the striker's phone, considering the suggestion. “Why not? I can't think of one player who wouldn't be happy to get a message from you.”

“Alright…” Y/N mumbled, opening Instagram and pulling up Alexia's account.

Jill glanced at her screen. “You don't even follow her!” She scoffed.

The captain looked from her screen to Jill, and back to her screen. “Yeah, and?”

“Follow her, and send the message.” The midfielder instructed.

“Are you my boss?” Y/N playfully rolled her eyes, but followed up on Jill's instruction.

| Y/N.Y/L: hey, heard about the injury. hope you're doing alright, and know that a lot of people are behind you. take care ❤️

“Good enough for Miss Scott?” Y/N asked her teammate.

Jill nodded, approvingly. “Look at you, extending an olive branch.'' She teased.

''An olive branch? We never had any problems.'' The younger one frowned, as an olive branch usually meant for there to have been a conflict.

The Manchester City player chuckled at her confusion. ''Well, it's a nice gesture. I'm sure she'll appreciate it.''

Y/N shrugged. ''It's a serious injury, she's at least out for like 8-9 months. I can't imagine her not playing with Spain and Barca.''

Jill nodded, a similar sympathetic look on her face. ''Yeah, I just hope she comes out better of it.''

''She will.'' Y/N said, voice full of confidence.

It was still Alexia. La Reina. She would not be taken down easily.

Meanwhile, freshly arrived in her home country, Alexia finally unlocked her phone after a long and hectic day. A certain notification stood out, it couldn't be could it?

She could feel her heartbeat as she saw the message from Y/N. She hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to open it immediately or not. Alexia edged herself, answering everyone else's messages before getting to the Brit's.

After an eternity, she decided to open and read it as her curiosity got the better of her.

Alexia's eyes softened as she read over the words. Y/N's DM was not something that anyone hadn't told her before, but her rivaling captain had taken the time to wish her well and that meant more than Alexia was ready to admit yet.

| alexiaputellas: hey, I am back home now so doing better! thank you for your words and good luck at the tournament! ❤️

The captain stared at her phone, pondering on how their relationship had changed so much- at least to the point where they were sending messages to one another. Yet, here they were, exchanging words beyond the constraints of the game.

She couldn't deny the intrigue she had towards the striker. The phenomenon that was the England captain was unexplored territory for the Spaniard. Everything she had though before about Y/N all seemed to fade as she got more and more glimpses of who her rival actually was.

As Alexia wondered about the new dynamics, her train of thought was interrupted by a new notification.

| Y/N.Y/L: that's great to her! too bad we can't meet in the final now

The Catalan smiled, her fingers swiftly moving over the screen to compose a reply.

| alexiaputellas: yeah, maybe another time!

| alexiaputellas: if you do play against Spain, I don't want you to win, though 😉

| Y/N.Y/L: ooooohhhh, im gonna play extra harder against them now :)

| Y/N.Y/L: are you coming back to England to watch them?

| alexiaputellas: yes, after I've had my surgery!

| Y/N.Y/L: good luck with that, btw

| alexiaputellas: thank you ☺

The messages continued on for a while, mostly staying on the joking side. Alexia appreciated the unexpected distraction Y/N provided for her, her torn knee having become forgotten for just a few moments.

Their next meeting came 2 weeks later as England took on Spain in the quarterfinals. Y/N was wary about meeting their team still quite early on in the tournament, but it would be a great test for them, and not having Alexia on the pitch could only be a benefit to the English- even if it happened due to unfortunate circumstances.

The match was intense, reminiscent of their friendly match the month before. In the 54th minute, England fell behind, conceding a goal. The pressure only intensified as the entire team and stadium looked at their captain, in serious need of a solution.

Y/N screamed more motivation at her teammates, applauding and praising every pass and chance they made. Fortunately, Ella managed to equalize, and Georgia had everyone going crazy as she put one extra in the net during extra time.

The striker jumped into the young midfielder's arms, yelling inaudible things as they celebrated her world of a goal. ''You're a legend, G!''

''Come on, girls! We can do this!'' Millie exclaimed, clapping her hands to hype everyone up to keep their lead.

''Keep pressuring them! It's in our hands now! You're doing amazing!'' Y/N joined in, her infectious energy working on the team as they all nodded and got back to their spots on the pitch.

The whistle blew and the entire squad could feel a huge weight leaving their shoulders, relieved this tribulation was over and they could focus on the semifinals.

In the post-match rituals, Y/N glanced towards the Spanish team. A bittersweet realization struck her- the victory was nice, but a part of the competition was missing without the direct face-off with the Spanish captain. She almost forgot her colleague would not be on the pitch to shake hands with, or to analyze the match with.

She tried finding her in the crowd, but Alexia must have already made an escape to the locker rooms. The Brit didn't blame her, she probably didn't want to stick around to see a rival team celebrating knocking their team out. 

Half an hour later, Alexia watched Irene stroll into their changing rooms- one of the last players to arrive, holding a white England shirt in her hand.

Her curiosity got the better of her and she approached her fellow captain on the other side of the room. ''Irene, who did you swap with?'' She asked.

Irene grinned, unfolding the jersey as Y/N's name and number was displayed in front of Alexia's eyes. ''Our favorite girl,'' Irene sarcastically said, the England player had caused a lot of damage to both of the women, on club and international level, ''she asked me. You just can't say no to that face, can you?'' The defender chuckled.

A subtle flicker of disbelief crossed Alexia's features as Irene continued chatting about the exchange. The realization that Y/N had chosen to swap shirts with the older woman stung a bit, sparking an unfamiliar emotion in her. Perhaps, it was a fleeting sense of envy for the seeming connection that her and Irene had. The Spaniard had played against the Lyon striker numerous times during her stint at PSG.

Despite her attempt to keep a neutral expression, Alexia's reaction was far from enthusiastic. ''Oh, that's great.'' She replied, her tone a bit more dejected than she had wanted.

Irene noticed the shift in her teammate's demeanor. She raised an eyebrow and shot a look at Alexia. ''Something on your mind?'' She questioned, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she sensed there might be more to the midfielder's reaction.

''No, nothing at all. Just… surprised.'' Alexia forced a smile, attempting to downplay the jealousy. However, her eyes betrayed her.

The defender raised an eyebrow, her grin only widening. ''Surprised? Why? We've known each other for a long time, played against her a bunch of times.'' She responded casually, enjoying whatever was happening at the moment.

''Yeah, true. Well, good for you.'' Alexia nodded, trying to mask her unease with a nonchalant tone.

The Barcelona player chuckled, starting to recognize what this might be about. She held up the England shirt, a teasing glint in her own eyes. ''You want it? I still have a Lyon one from a few years ago.'' She playfully extended the jersey towards Alexia.

The midfielder shook her head, again forcing herself to laugh. ''No, no. It's all yours, don't even want it, anyway.'' Alexia waved off the offered shirt with a dismissive gesture.

''Alright, whatever suits you.'' Irene smiled, placing the shirt in her own bag.

She left the blonde alone, walking back to where she had settled before the defender had waltzed into the room.

Alone with her thoughts, Alexia couldn’t shake off the uncomfortable feeling. Watching Irene prance around with Y/N’s shirt left her with a strange mix of emotions that she hadn’t dealt with before, or at least not when it pertained to her teammate and rival.

What puzzled her even more was why Y/N had never asked her for a shirt swap. She wondered if their rivalry and everyone’s comparisons of the two, overshadowed the possibility of something more- whatever that something more was. Did the England captain only see their interactions through the lens of competition?

Alexia grappled with a simple yet difficult question: did she want Y/N to ask for a shirt swap or did it bother her more that she didn’t seem to be considered for one?

[pix3lplays]

@sailorstar9 who hit me with “ex-husband Aventurine trying to woo you back from Ratio” because yes

And @fire-lizard-ro because they put up with me talking about this all the time lol-

Cw! Ex-husband Aventurine, you have kids with him, I’m thinking two, you’re divorced for a reason, Aventurine is petty and wants you back, reader is with Ratio now, also neither of these men are great partners so…toxic family environments and such, sharing a bed

-Ex-husband Aventurine stuff because ugh I’m obsessed-

Does Veritas Ratio treat you much better than Aventurine did? Not really, but he was definitely preferable to your ex.

At least Veritas didn’t have a chronic gambling problem or ignores the kids or spends long nights away from home doing who KNOWS what.

At first Aventurine acts like he doesn’t care at all that you’ve finally had enough and had to divorce him. Your loss in his eyes. He’ll live without you.

But if it doesn’t bother him that much you do wonder why he goes to such lengths to show off his new partners to you. And it always seems to be someone new each month. Unsurprisingly. Makes sense that you were the only person who could put up with him long enough to marry him.

But when he finds out you’ve found a new boyfriend…and it’s VERITAS RATIO?? The jealousy is THERE, and honestly you can see it written all over Aventurine, regardless of how he acts around you.

So now you’re living at Veritas Ratio’s nice place, with your kids from your marriage to Aventurine. You like Veritas. They’re not his kids, but he takes an interest in their education and helping them be the best versions of themselves. He helps them with their homework, without just giving them the answers…yeah he’s not affectionate with your kids, they’re not his, but he doesn’t ignore them like Aventurine used to.

It’s ALWAYS awkward when Aventurine stops by to pick up or see his kids. He always brings presents, always does what he can to make it look like he’s suddenly an amazing and attentive dad, but you know he’s only doing it to try and impress and win you back.

Without shame too-he flirts with you RIGHT in front of Veritas. But Veritas has heard your stories about Aventurine. He’s not worried about you going back to him.

Veritas will just listen to the flirting, maybe step in with a little, “isn’t it about time you leave?” if Aventurine is going too far.

The tension between your ex and your boyfriend is INTENSE.

And by that I mean Aventurine feels very threatened by Veritas, and Veritas doesn’t feel threatened by Aventurine at all. It’s kind of like a one sided rivalry.

Also Aventurine absolutely does that thing where he conveniently leaves his sunglasses at your place so he has an excuse to come back, but you’ve learned to foil him by letting Veritas give him the sunglasses back at the door-just imagine how disappointed Aventurine is when it’s Veritas answering the door instead of you haha…

He calls you in the evening under the guise of “oh don’t you want to say goodnight to the kids?” but he ALWAYS tries to keep you on the phone after that. Just hang up on him. If it was up to Veritas you would just block his number but he understands that’s not practical.

Aventurine would try to use the kids to win you back but to be honest?? They don’t miss him that much. Honestly they prefer Veritas as their new ‘dad’. (Plus they’re gonna wish Veritas was actually their dad when they start getting bullied for being part Sigonian. Just sayin-)

Aventurine is jealous jealous JEALOUS he hates the thought of Veritas even touching you let alone the fact that you share a bed with that man…it drives him CRAZY. He’s not married to you he has No claim over you so he has no business being so jealous but he is anyways…

Eventually he’s not even subtle about how badly he wants you back. Just blatantly inviting you to dinner or over to wherever the heck he’s staying at the moment or to the casino to help you de-stress from all that time spent around Ratio-surely being around Ratio THAT much isn’t good for your health~

Of course you’re not falling for that. You’re not letting Aventurine back into your life more than you have to.

You really don’t want Veritas to feel like he has to get involved, but he has his pride. He can only handle Aventurine blatantly flirting with his partner for so long.

So far you’ve avoided a confrontation but Aventurine needs to start treading lightly if he doesn’t want a Codex to his face haha…

[dreamescapeswriting]

Melodic Rivalry ~ KNJ

WORD COUNT: 3.5K

GENRE: Enemies to lovers, implied sexual interaction, surprise pregnancy, hiding pregnancy trope, angst, soft ending [Didn't include smut as it's an anon and I don't know your age, so it's implied that they have sex xx]

PAIRING: Namjoon x Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - March 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

You stared down at the magazine with a disgusted look on your face, a photo of you and Namjoon on the cover with giant smiles on your faces as you sat together but the shot wasn't real. The two of you could never sit still long enough for a photo to be taken so the magazine had to photoshop the two of you together to fit the story that they had written and published.

All about how you and Namjoon were the perfect team, both of you had undeniable talent and worked well together in the studio. Namjoon was a musician with the knack of composing soul-stringing melodies, his talent knew no bounds and his music had the oer to move even the most stoic of souls. You were a producer with an unparalleled ear for sound, with the ability to transform raw talent into polished masterpieces and despite working well together in the music industry that was where everything stopped.

The two of you were like oil and water - constantly at odds with each other. Your egos clashed, your opinions collided, and your tempers flared at the slightest provocation. Working together was fraught with tension, each session devolving into a battle of wills and creative differences but each time the music came out brilliantly. 

As you got to the studio door you pushed it open and found it dimly lit, the only light coming from a soft glow of a mixing console. Namjoon sat at his piano, his fingers dancing across the keys getting lost in whatever he was composing so you stood at the soundboard, your arms folded across your chest as you stared at him. He was supposed to be working on something more upbeat, not another love ballad he was no doubt writing.

"Oh, how touching. Another one of your generic love ballads, I presume?" You asked sarcastically, ignoring the glare that Namjoon shot your way, his jaw tight as he stared down at the keys.

"If you have something to say, Yn, say it. Otherwise, keep your critiques to yourself." He said through gritted teeth.

"Typical. Can't handle a little criticism, can you?" You rolled your eyes at him.

"Criticism? All you do is tear down everything I create! You have no respect for my talent!"

"Respect? Please. You're the one who waltzes in here with your inflated ego and expects everyone to bow down to you."

The tension in the room was thick with unresolved animosity but you stared at one another, your eyes twitching.

"For someone who claims to hate my music so much, you spend a lot of time listening to it." You stared at him, shaking your head and scoffing a little. Of course, you listened to it, you had to because it was your job.

"That's because it's my job, you arrogant prick!" You cried out, your anger way past your boiling point now but Namjoon just stood up and took a step closer to you, his gaze burning with intensity.

"Is that the only reason?" He asked softly, your breath caught in your throat, your resolve weakening with each passing moment.

"Of course not." You whispered, your voice barely coming out. Your eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between you. And in that moment, the world fell away, leaving only the two of you in the quiet sanctuary of the studio.

Without a word, Namjoon closed the distance between you, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. And then, in a rush of pent-up emotion, your lips met in a searing kiss—a collision of desire and frustration that sent shockwaves through you both.

For a moment, you were lost in each other, your bickering and resentment fading into the background as you surrendered to the undeniable chemistry that had always lingered between you.

But as quickly as it had begun, the moment passed, leaving you breathless and uncertain. You stepped away from him, your fingertips gently touching your lips as you stared at him.

"We shouldn't have done that." Your voice trembled a little as you looked up at Namjoon, his eyes were blazing.

"Why not? We both know there's something between us." He stares down at you.

"This... this is madness. We can't stand each other." You whimpered, shaking your head at him, Namjoon stepped closer to you though, his voice dropping as he stared down at you,

"Maybe that's because we're so alike. Two stubborn souls fighting against the inevitable." You determined to hate him, to push him away from you crumbled, your walls tumbling down in the face of Namjoon's unwavering honesty.

"We can't even stand to look at one another." You mumbled at him, it was true. The two of you could barely go ten minutes without a fight breaking out. The kiss had been a one-off, the passion and sparks you'd felt were nothing more than a static shock or something.

"Stop fighting it, are you scared?" He smirked at you and you hated him for it. You wanted to wipe that smug look off his face,

"No," You scoffed at him, rolling your eyes as you tried to ignore the way your heart was thumping for him, the way your palms were sweating. 

"Everyone knows we should be together, we should just embrace it," Namjoon smirked, your eyes meeting as you bit down on your lip. You had your reservations, the two of you bickered like an old married couple and you weren't sure it was healthy.

"Stop overthinking it," He whined before your lips met once more, the tentative kiss turning quickly into a fiery passion neither of you could deny. Your arms wrapped around the back of his neck as finally that pent-up tension and longer erupted into a raw and unbridled kiss. 

"I've wanted to do that for so long." Namjoon rushed out, his voice husky as you worked on unbuttoning the shirt he was wearing,

"Me too." You breathed out, kissing him deeply as he carefully took you over to the sofa, both of your clothes being strewn around the room as the kiss between you heated up once again.

Ever since that night in the studio with Namjoon, you did everything within your power to avoid him, you started working from home, switching to another group to work with not being able to face him but today had been inevitable, you had to go into work because of a meeting with Hannah, your manager and also one of your best friends.

The two of you had shared one night of unbelievable passion but when you woke up the next morning he was gone, his clothes were gone and there was a note on his desk asking you to lock up when you were dressed. Since there you'd not even received a text asking how you were, or even a call and you hated him more for it.

I've wanted this for so long.

Had been such bullshit, something he was saying just so that he could get laid, anger bubbled inside of you until you snapped the pencil you were holding.

"You okay? You look unwell," Hannah said as she gently rubbed your back, you were feeling a little under the weather but you put it down to the fact that you were going to have to face Namjoon sometime soon.

"Just a little queasy, that's all." You said with a forced smile, trying to brush it off but Hannah narrowed her eyes at you and exchanged a look with John, one of your other work friends.

"You've been feeling off for a while now, maybe take some holiday days." He suggested with a furrowed brow. It wasn't like you to get sick which was a little concerning for all of them.

"Yeah, maybe you're right." You muttered weakly, slowly standing up from the desk as your stomach churned with anxiety and a sinking feeling settling in the pit of your stomach.

"Yn?" Hannah called out but you sat back down in the chair, your bin between your legs as you threw up the contents of your stomach again.

"Here, drink this," John said as he slid you over a glass of water, Hannah was running to her desk and rummaging through it all.

"Hans? What are you looking for?" You mumbled, wiping your mouth with a tissue and staring at her as she walked back over to you.

She was the only person other than you and Namjoon that knew what happened in that studio 6 weeks ago and John frowned at the blue box.

"Take it," She told you plainly, John sent her a puzzled look with confusion written across his face.

"I...I can't...It'll make it all real," You'd had your suspicions that it was true but you figured if you ignored it long enough and denied it then it couldn't be real.

"Take it, we'll be here for you, no matter what," Hannah told you as John nodded, helping you stand up as they all walked you toward the women's toilets.

Those three minutes you were supposed to wait for the test felt like three hours, each second ticking by tortuously slowly as you, John and Hannah stared around the small office waiting for it to tell you the truth.

"Time," John said as his watch began to beep, your hand linked with Hannah's and you stared down at the pink stick, tears brimming inside of your eyes.

"I'm pregnant." Your voice trembled and instantly you were engulfed in a hug from your two favourite people.

"Work from home until we figure something out," Hannah told you, running her hands over your cheeks and wiping away the tears.

It had been almost five months since discovering you were pregnant and you'd done everything you could to hide it from Namjoon. If he had done everything to get you to leave him alone after your night together then you weren't going to tell him about the kid but the weight of hiding it was crushing you. 

You paced around your office, a mix of fear and uncertainty raging inside of you as you waited for John to hurry back with the next stack of assignments you needed to work through. 

"Everything is there, I'm sorry I promise next time I'll bring them to you. I'm just swamped." John said as he gave you a bag, you nodded quickly kissing his cheek and making a dart out of the door. You needed to get out of the building before anyone could spot you and the news got back to Namjoon.

Lost in your thoughts as you walked through the halls, you nearly collided with someone as you rounded a corner. You slowly looked up and whimpered finding Jungkook standing there,

"Hey! Sorry! Are you alright?" He frowned staring at you,

"You look like you've seen a ghost." He laughed nervously but you just shook your head at him,

"I'm fine, just a bit...distracted." You said with a forced smile but Jungkook's browns knotted together as he slowly looked down at you, his eyes lingering on your swollen belly/

"Is everything okay? You look like you're about to pop.." He laughed softly and your heart raced, panic bubbling up inside of you as you struggled to come up with an explanation. Jungkook had seen you those seven months back coming out of Namjoon's studio with a freshly "fucked" look on your face.

"Yeah, everything's good. Just...tired, that's all." You said hesitantly, smiling weakly as he stared down at you.

"It's his...right?" He waited for you to say something but you didn't even want to admit it to yourself, admitting it to Namjoon's bandmember was going to be damn near impossible,

"Jungkook." You pleaded, shaking your head at him as if asking him to stop all of this.

"Yn, is it his?" You stared at him, your stomach churning with anxiety as you tried to think of something to say but your mind was racing at a million words a second. 

"Please, Jungkook, you can't tell Namjoon. He can't know about the baby." Jungkook's eyes widened in surprise as he stared at you. Everyone knew how badly Namjoon wanted to be a father and hiding something like this from him would no doubt kill him.

"Why didn't you tell him? He has a right to know." He didn't mean for it to come out as harsh as it did, he knew you were pregnant and in a delicate place right now but Namjoon deserved to know he was going to have a kid.

"He lost that right when he made it clear that night meant nothing to him like he claimed it did." You grumbled, pulling your coat over to cover your bump to make sure no one else was likely to see you.

"Yn," Jungkook said slowly but you held your hand up,

"Don't make excuses for him Jungkook. He fucking used me." Your voice trembled as tears welled up in your eyes, the weight of everything finally causing you to crack.

"You can't hide this from him forever. He has a right to know."

"Just let me figure things out first." You mumbled, begging him as he stared down at you.

"Fine." He stared at you as you nodded, slowly walking away from him as you felt an impending doom hanging over you, threatening to shatter everything you'd built to protect yourself. 

After you left Jungkook stood outside of Namjoon's studio, his heart heavy with the weight of the truth he was about to reveal. As much as he wanted to keep your secret he didn't want to do that to his friend and he knew there was more to the story than Namjoon ignoring you after a night together. 

"Joonie, we need to talk." He said as he walked into the studio, Namjoon frowned at him but nodded for the youngest member to sit down.

"What's up?" He asked him slowly as Jungkook's throat tightened, his head muddled trying to find the right way to say it.

"It's about Yn." Namjoon's hand on his pen tightened,

"What about her?" He asked, animosity laced in his voice as he thought about you.

"She wanted to come crawling back to us? I don't want her working with us anymore." He grumbled out, Jungkook eyed him up as he stared at him wondering what had gone so terribly wrong between the two of you.

"She's not welcome here anymore."

"Why?" There was going to be no more dancing around the topic and not mentioning your name as if you were Voldemort.

"She knows what she did wrong." He hissed making Jungkook frown. It seemed the two of you believed the other was in the wrong.

"What did she do, Hyung?"

"She slept with me when she had a boyfriend waiting for her at home." Jungkook knew you were single, you'd devoted every single second of your life to music.

"Boyfriend? Noona doesn't have a boyfriend." 

"So who was John? He was texting her all night, asking where she was and when she was going to go back to him because he was waiting for her back home." None of that made sense,

"John is one of her co-workers, he works with TXT," Jungkook told him before realisation began to register with Namjoon who the man had been.

"So...W...What did you want to talk to me about?" Jungkook sighed a little.

"She's pregnant, Namjoon. Seven months along." Namjoon's world came to a crashing halt as he stared at him, his mind reeling in disbelief and confusion.

"How?" He asked shocked, Jungkook hesitated, his gaze filled with sympathy as he watched everything hit Namjoon.

"You know how." He said softly but Namjoon just stared at the floor. The truth hits him like a ton of bricks, everything falls into place. Your sudden avoidance, working from home and refusing to be their producer anymore. It was all making sense now.

"She's carrying my child," He whispered as Jungkook sighed a little.

"She asked me not to tell you but you needed to know," Namjoon nodded at him, barely acknowledging him as he slowly got up and made his way out of the studio.

Before he knew what was happening Namjoon was outside your place and knocking on the door. He knew it was going to be hard to talk to you about all of this since so much time had passed but it was time to face the truth.

"We have to talk." Namjoon said as soon as you opened the door to him, your chest aching with seeing him standing there. You knew Jungkook wouldn't have been able to keep his mouth shut so you'd been preparing for him.

"What about?" You stared at him as he took in a deep breath,

"About the baby," His eyes were filled with something you'd never seen from him before, he looked so vulnerable. 

"What about the baby?" You asked, stepping to the side and letting him into your apartment. 

"I want to be a part of their life, Yn. I want to be there for them, to watch them grow up, to be their father." Your breath caught in your throat at his words,

"Why? You practically kicked me out the night after we had sex so why all of a sudden do you care?"

"I thought you had a boyfriend! Okay? I saw a text from John and I thought-"

"That I was whoring myself out to everyone so you just decided to give me the cold shoulder?" You snapped angrily at him, you couldn't believe he would do something like this.

"You're the one hiding my child from me!" He grumbled at you and you sighed, rubbing the bridge of your nose.

"This is why we can't do it together. We fight all the time, we just scream at each other." You mumbled, sitting down on the sofa and feeling completely defeated. 

"Yn."

"Can you look at me and tell me that when this baby comes it'll work out between us?" You didn't want to keep his kid from him but you also were scared of everything that was coming,

"No."

"So-"

"But I love you, okay? Fuck, I've loved you for so long and I just never show it right." You stared at him in complete shock.

"I love you and I love our baby. I may not have been ready to admit it before, but now...now I can't imagine life without you."

"But-" You barely had a chance to object before Namjoon continued.

"The last seven months without getting to see you have been torture. I miss the jabs you used to say, I miss seeing you...Please."

"We've both made mistakes, Yn. But that doesn't mean we can't try and make things right. For the sake of our child, and for the sake of our love." Tears built inside of your eyes as you struggled to process everything.

"I want to believe you, I do...but...But I'm scared. Scared of getting hurt, scared of losing you again." You finally admit, your tears free falling as you finally let yourself admit you loved him back, that you were hopelessly in love with him.

"I won't let that happen, Yn, I promise you. Just give me a chance to prove it to you and show you how much you mean to me."

"I love you too," You whispered to him, your heart racing as he smiled down at you.

"We can try." You told him as he hugged you close to him,

"Tell me everything I've missed? D-Do you have photos?" You nodded at him, slowly taking him through to your bedroom to get the album you'd already started making of your ultrasounds.

A soft glow filled the cosy living room as you and Namjoon sat together on the couch, your laughter mingling with the sound of your son's joyful giggles. It had been a year since that fateful night when Namjoon had shown up on your doorstep, and in that time, your lives had changed in ways you could have never imagined.

Your son toddled around the room with boundless energy, his chubby cheeks flushed with excitement as he chased after his favourite toy. Namjoon watched him with a smile, his heart swelling with pride at the sight of his little boy.

"Look at him go, babe. He's getting so big." He said with a giant grin on his face, you smiled as you stared at him, your eyes shining with love as she reached out to ruffle his hair.

"He's growing up so fast. I can't believe he's already a year old." You whined, you hated that it was going too quickly. You wanted him to stay young forever. 

"I'm so grateful for you, Yn. For him. For everything." Namjoon said as he kissed your head softly. Your heart swelled with emotion at his words, your eyes shining with unshed tears as you reached out to take his hand in yours.

"And I'm grateful for you, Namjoon. For giving us a second chance, for never giving up on us." Your voice shook a little and he kissed you softly.

In that moment, as you sat together in the warmth of your shared love, you knew that they had found something truly special—a love that had weathered the storms of doubt and uncertainty, emerging stronger and more resilient than ever before.

@chiisaiblog@sw33tnight@kaitieskidmore97@laylasbunbunny@tinyoonsblog@whitefoxgirl@katnisspeetaprim@acciocriativity@choisoorin@heyjiminnie@btsiguess-kpop@halesandy@gothic4under4lord@soulphoenix1618@aerastus@jin-from-the-block@lenfilms@elizaschuyler18@piratequeen-impact @Namgiswifey@delulu18@xyahrinx@katsukis1wife@anthropologymajorkpopmultistan@blairscott@4-chan-inpadella@swga-ficrecs@niktwazny303@armystay89@myyouthdonut@xakx@kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy@kpopmenace143@loveforred@b1nn1e-1s-cut3@elissasimp @royallyjjk @parkjennykim @piercedddriver

[delulujuls]

the mad dutchman and the fearless dutchess | mv33

summary: one dutchman is a lot so now imagine putting two dutch teenagers in one team and tell them to not kill each other

warnings: car crash, some cussing, (they sometimes can't stay each other but at the end of the day its just them against the world)

pairing: fem!redbulldriver x max verstappen

Max and Y/N had known each other since the times when they still had scrapes on their knees and wobbly milk teeth. They met at a go-kart school - he had a helmet that was much too big for him, she wore a patched jumpsuit from her older brother. Both didn't know exactly what they were doing or what goal they were pursuing; the most important thing was to be the best - for the joy of their parents and an endless supply of sweets.

However, go-karts quickly turned into racing cars and minor races transformed into Formula 1.

All the way to the top, Max and Y/N's relationship was very dynamic. From exchanging candy together after winning the podium, through years of rivalry and mutual dislike. Despite countless arguments and mutual hatred, Y/N always sided with Max and defended him with her always smaller body. She might not like him and get angry with him to the point of turning red, but no one could tease him or raise their voice against him. This applied to both other kids in the paddock and adults, too.

Both Max, Y/N and certainly Jos Verstappen himself probably remember how after one of the collisions at the end of 2008, Max's father went into a pure rage. While young Verstappen could argue and quarrel with anyone, he lost that ability when his father intervened. Seeing tears on the flushed face of the boy, Y/N firmly clenched her fists and stood between the father and son. Jos's voice caught in his throat when the almost half his size eleven-year-old girl looked him in the eyes and said that she wouldn't allow him to shout at Max like that.

Y/N Y/L/N was fearless both on and off the track. And although Jos Verstappen never admitted it, he was impressed by both her skills and incredible courage.

After the years of intense relationship of Max and Y/N, the unbreakable friendship was born when they both joined Christian Horner's team at the age of eighteen. Red Bull had been following their actions for many years, looking forward to taking them under their wings after their promotion to Formula 1. There was no doubt here - Horner had to have these Dutch duo in his team.

The first victories began to come the moment both Y/N and Max realized that they no longer had to compete with each other. When it became clear that they were playing for one goal and that now it was two of them against nine other teams. There was no first or second driver at Red Bull. There was Y/N and Max, Max and Y/N. There were two crazy Dutch teens, who were focused only on the best possible results. Christian never showed favoritism to any of them, because he knew that by doing so he would waste all those difficult months trying to win them over.

The team's tactics were also amazing, because the race strategy was revealed only after the starting signal. There were no plans or schedules, no strict rules. Whoever had better speed and performance in a given race became the leader. This was not subject to any protest or discussion.

Y/N and Max had known each other practically their entire lives. They had been on the same team for over 6 years, and despite Christian's breakneck efforts, there were still days when there were tensions between the pair. Obviously, there is no good relationship without an argument from time to time, but when it came to a Dutch-style quarrel, few preferred to participate.

"Do you have to be so damn stubborn?"

The girl asked, taking off her helmet and balaclava.

"If I hadn't been stubborn, the fucking Haas would have overtaken us at turn eight."

He replied, unplugging his headphones. His tone was still calm, but there was a trace of irritation on his face.

"He would have overtaken us because we were giving him the tunnel, which wouldn't have happened if you had let me through."

Y/N growled. She had no intention of arguing, but the weekend had been hard and she was exhausted. Max's temperament was absolutely unhelpful in this situation.

"I didn't get an order to let you through."

Verstappen responded by wiping his face with a towel.

"You see me in the fucking mirror and you have to wait for an order? Stop talking nonsense, Max."

He sighed and tossed the towel aside.

"Or maybe you were worse than me, hm? Didn't it occur to you that maybe you just fucked up today?"

The girl clenched her jaw. She felt anger begin to rise within her.

"Out of the two of us, you're the one who fucked up today because you acted like a complete idiot!"

Max snorted and tilted his head back. The button that started the argument clicked into place.

"Do you have anything else to say?"

Y/N pressed her tongue against her teeth. She wanted to unleash hell, but she didn't have time for an idiotic argument and to waste her energy on him.

"Fuck you, Max."

The girl growled and grabbed her things, heading deeper into the garage. She didn't feel like being around him, at all.

She unzipped her jumpsuit and grabbed some water, sitting on an empty crate. The situation from the last race kept replaying in her mind, as did his words. Analyzing and cluttering her thoughts was not good, especially when another training session awaited them, and staying focused was crucial.

"I heard some Dutch swearing," Christian started, standing next to her, "Is everything okay?"

The girl just nodded.

"Max just needs to feel at home sometimes"

Christian squeezed her shoulder and patted her on the back.

"Another half an hour and you won't have to look at him for the rest of the day."

Y/N sighed and rubbed her face with her hands. Despite the adrenaline pumping through her veins, she was exhausted. The upcoming Grand Prix was making her sweat a lot.

After a while, she received the order that the car was ready and she could go out on the track. She prepared for the drive and took her place in the car. As she left the garage, she noticed Max, who was also getting ready to start. She showed him the middle finger, to which he, of course, did not remain in debt.

Y/N took her place at the starting line, gripping the steering wheel tightly and focusing on the starting lights. When they went out, she raced with screeching tires and sparks flying. The previous session and Max's words kept playing in her mind. What if he was right? What if she really messed up and was worse than him?

The girl cursed under her breath, aggressively tackling the turns. She wasn't worse than him, she wasn't worse than anyone. She had worked hard for her position and everything she had achieved was well-deserved.

"Max started, in a moment the pit lane will be clear of the last Alpha Tauri and we'll have a complete set. Don't rush, focus on management and dynamics,"

"Do you really think they called me the fearless Dutchess for no reason?"

"Just be careful, Y/N. It's just practice; you don't have to prove anything to anyone."

"I don't have to, but die verdomde idioot maakt me gek."

"I have no idea what you just said but please, focus on driving; everything else is not important."

The girl tightened her grip on the steering wheel and accelerated. Everything else was important because she wasn't worse than anyone. And she would prove it, even if she had to—

Darkness.

Y/N only remembered losing consciousness during the accident. She found out about falling off the track, somersaulting through the gravel and still hitting the metal barriers at 120 kilometers per hour only after the fact.

On the track, only one Red Bull car remained, but Max wasn't focused on driving; he was engrossed with the past argument he got with his friend. However, a voice from the radio snapped him back to reality.

"Y/N had an accident on turn eleven. Be careful on the surface in that area."

"What happened?"

"It's hard to say, but it didn't look good."

Max pressed harder on the gas, wanting to pass the accident site as quickly as possible and ensure the situation was under control. When he saw the wrecked car, smoke billowing and no rescue personnel nearby, Max's adrenaline froze his veins.

He parked his car at a distance from the accident, hastily releasing himself from the safety harness. When he got out of the car and saw the fire, he didn't think too much; he ran towards the friend's car, shouting her name, but there was no response.

Max fought against time. Besides him, there was no one to extinguish the fire and he had no idea what temperature the fuel in the tank was. He quickly pulled Y/N out of the wrecked car and, holding her in his arms, ran towards his own car. Hiding behind it, he laid her on the ground and, as gently as he could, removed her helmet and balaclava. He checked her pulse and fortunately, it was there. The impact force must have caused her to lose consciousness.

After some time, the appropriate services arrived at the scene and an ambulance took the girl to the hospital. Max knowing he couldn't finish the race, jumped into the ambulance and squeezed his friend's hand. He was furious with her, but now all the emotions were overshadowed by concern and fear. He hoped that the accident only looked serious and that she was just bruised. Max would never forgive himself if something happened to her, especially because of some idiotic argument that ultimately had no meaning.

Y/N woke up just before the ambulance reached the hospital. She was surprised to see paramedics around her, even more so by Max's worried face, which, as soon as their eyes met, calmed down a bit.

"I never thought I'd be so happy to look into those deceitful eyes of yours." Verstappen said, smiling and squeezing her hand.

"What happened?"

The girl asked with difficulty. Her throat hurt terribly; the hot smoke and vapors had taken their toll.

"You had an accident and you passed out. We'll be at the hospital soon."

"An accident is an understatement," one of the paramedics interjected, removing her drip from the hanger. "You did a Grosjean from Bahrain 2020."

Y/N blinked a few times, and it took her a moment to connect the dots. Judging by the man's comparison, her accident must have indeed been unpleasant.

"What's the condition of the car?"

"Just needs a wipe," Max said, smiling.

The girl rolled her eyes at her friend's words, but started coughing. She quickly put her oxygen mask back on.

"Don't worry about the car," Max said, still keeping her hand between his, "The most important thing is that you came back to us."

"At what cost? At least, being unconscious meant I didn't have to look at you."

Y/N said sarcastically, but she smiled. Everything hurt terribly, but she was grateful that, after this whole situation, she could see a familiar face. Even though it was red and sweaty from the race, it had a genuine smile and tenderness in his eyes.

"I guess she's fine, gentlemen. You can take her back to the track; she'll be able to finish the race for sure," Max said loudly, turning around. Y/N laughed quietly at his words and he returned her smile, squeezing her hand tighter.

The girl didn't realize that the fucking idiot sitting next to her was not just her friend, occasional rival and someone she sometimes wanted to tear apart. Max Verstappen, the mad Dutchman, turned into her guardian angel that evening. And she, the fearless Dutchess, started falling in love with him.

[fragileheartbeats]

Do a male Rhaenyra x sis reader x male version of your oc Selaehra

THE THREE HEAD DRAGON

꒰͡ ⠀ ִ 𝑅ℎ𝑎𝑦𝑛𝑎𝑟 𝑥 𝑆𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑥 𝑆𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑛 ⠀ׂ ⠀ ͡꒱

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 ☆ 𝑹𝒉𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒂𝒓 𝑻𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒆𝒏

Rhaynar is proud and fiery, embodies the spirit of House Targaryen with his unmatched valor and stubbornness. His skills in combat are only matched by his fierce protectiveness over those he loves. Yet, beneath this warrior's exterior lies a heart that yearns for the affection and approval of the only family he has known. His jealousy over his sister's attention towards Selarion is not merely a reflection of sibling rivalry but a fear of losing one of the few constants in his life: her companionship and support.

Rhaynar, with his long, straight silver-gray hair that falls like a curtain of moonlight down his back, stands tall and proud among the crowd. His eyes, a deep and mesmerizing purple, scan the room with an intensity that speaks of power and a fierce protectiveness. Clad in a doublet of dark red that complements his noble stature, he moves with a grace that belies his warrior's strength, each step a testament to his claim to the throne and to the heart of the one he loves.

He wears his heart like a badge of honor, fierce and unguarded. His affection is as intense as his spirit, expressed in grand gestures and bold declarations. His hugs are enveloping, a sanctuary of strength and warmth, often lifting Y/n off her feet in moments of spontaneous joy or comfort. He is not one to shy away from public displays of affection, seeing them as a declaration of his claim and devotion. Rhaynar's kisses are fiery, mirroring his passionate nature, often sought in the heat of the moment, leaving her breathless and wanting. Yet, beneath this stormy exterior lies a sensitivity; he cherishes the softness of kisses on his forehead, seeing them as acts of pure love and acceptance. His jealousy, a fierce flame, can lead to impulsive actions, driven by the fear of losing his love to his brother. However, his anger, though quick to ignite, is equally quick to dissipate, especially in the face of his sister gentle reassurances.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 ☆ 𝑺𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝑻𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒆𝒏

Selarion on the other hand, arrives at the Red Keep carrying the weight of his mother's death and the burden of his unique heritage. His red eyes, a rarity among humans, mark him as an outsider from the beginning. Yet, it is this very difference that captures Y/n's fascination and sympathy. Over time, as he teaches her Valyrian, a language not just of words but of their shared history and blood, Selarion begins to see in his half sister a kindred spirit, someone who looks beyond the surface to the person he is inside.

Selarion, is the embodiment of the sun's last light, his short but lustrous silver-golden hair catching the candlelight and setting him aglow. His shining ruby eyes sparkle with mischief and intelligence, a striking reminder of the dragon's fire that courses through his veins. Dressed in a simple yet elegant tunic of soft gray, edged with silver, he stands slightly apart from the throng, his gaze fixed on his sister, the object of his affections and the catalyst for his rivalry with Rhaynar.

in contrast, is the whisper to Rhaynar's roar, his affections conveyed through subtle glances and the soft brush of fingertips against skin. His hugs are rare but meaningful, a tight embrace that speaks volumes of his deep feelings, often shared in private moments where he allows his guard to drop. Selarion's approach to love is thoughtful, every gesture and word carefully chosen to convey his affection without overwhelming. His kisses are tender, a delicate touch that promises more, often placed on his sister's palms or wrists as a sign of reverence and deep affection. Selarion prefers kisses that linger on his neck, seeing them as an intimate exchange of trust and desire. His jealousy is a silent storm, manifesting in a cool distance and sharp words, yet he never lets it cloud his judgment or actions for long. Selarion treasures every detail about his sister, from her laughter to the way her eyes light up at the sight of the night sky, storing these memories like precious jewels.

Y/n, younger than both and thrust into their world, finds herself drawn to each brother for different reasons. In Rhaynar, she sees the strength and passion of her house, a mirror to her own fiery spirit. In Selarion, she finds a depth and complexity, a shared sense of being different in a world that values conformity. Her heart is torn between the two, each holding a piece of her soul in their hands.

As the years pass, the rivalry between Rhaynar and Selarion intensifies, both in their quest for the Iron Throne and their affection for their sister. Their battles, once confined to the training yards, spill over into the court, a dangerous game of power and persuasion. Rhaynar, ever the warrior, tries to win his sister's heart through acts of valor and demonstrations of his prowess, hoping to show her that he can protect and provide for her in a chaotic world.

Selarion, meanwhile, employs a subtler strategy. His gifts are not swords or shields but whispered words and shared secrets. He listens to her, understands her dreams and fears, and in doing so, offers her a partnership of equals. His charm and intelligence serve him well, presenting a vision of a future where they might rule side by side, not just as king and queen but as true companions.

Their expressions of love, though differing in intensity and manner, are equally profound, each brother seeking to carve a place in the Y/n's heart. Rhaynar's love is a tempest, demanding and all-consuming, while Selarion's affection is a river, deep and enduring. Their first kisses with their sister are emblematic of their approaches to love: Rhaynar's, a spontaneous act of passion, and Selarion's, a gentle confession in the quiet of the night.

The rivalry between them is as much a part of their love as their shared history. It drives them to greater heights of affection and acts of devotion, each brother striving to be the one who holds the Y/n's heart. Yet, it is also this rivalry that sharpens the fear of loss, the dread that one might be chosen over the other.

As the music begins, a soft, haunting melody that fills the air with a sense of longing and possibility, Selarion sees his opportunity. With a confident stride, he approaches his sister, his gaze never wavering from hers. "May I have this dance, my beautiful lady?" he asks, his voice low and inviting, a smile playing on his lips that promises secrets and adventures untold.

Before she can respond, Rhaynar steps forward, his hand extended, his expression a mixture of challenge and desire. "I believe my sister was about to accept my invitation," he says, turning his gaze sharply towards Selarion, the tension between them palpable.

Selarion's smile widens, but his eyes harden, the ruby depths gleaming with an inner fire. "Ah, dear brother, always so quick to assume," he retorts, his tone light but edged with steel. "But it seems you've forgotten that it is her choice to make, not ours."

Y/n, caught between them, feels the weight of their stares, the air charged with the intensity of their rivalry. Yet, in this moment, she finds her voice, her strength. "I choose to dance with both of you," she declares, her voice steady and clear. "One after the other. That is my decision."

Rhaynar's expression softens, a grudging respect in his gaze as he nods, stepping back to allow Selarion the first dance. Selarion, triumphant yet gracious, offers his hand to his sister, leading her onto the dance floor with a flourish.

As they dance, Selarion's movements are smooth and calculated, each step a whisper of his affections, his body close yet respectful. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his breath warm against her ear. "As if the gods created you to be worshipped by mortals."

Her heart flutters at his words, at the feel of him so near. Yet, as the music swells and their time together draws to a close, she knows that this is but the beginning of their dance, a dance that will require all her strength and wisdom to navigate.

When the music ends, and Selarion steps back with a bow, Rhaynar takes his place, his dance a contrast of passion and power, a promise of his undying affection and his determination to win her heart.

As the night unfolds, with each brother vying for her favor, she realizes that her heart is not a prize to be won but a gift to be given. And in the end, it will be her choice, a choice made not in the shadow of rivalry but in the light of love.

𝗕𝗢𝗡𝗨𝗦:

In the heart of a forest as ancient as the realm itself, where the whispers of the old gods still lingered among the rustling leaves, the hunting party moved with a grace that belied their noble birth. Rhaynar and Selarion, scions of House Targaryen, rode side by side, their rivalry momentarily forgotten in the shared thrill of the hunt. The morning mist clung to the earth, weaving a silvery veil that shrouded the woods in mystery and magic.

Rhaynar, with the sun's first rays glinting off his silver hair, seemed as much a creature of the dawn as the woodland around them. His eyes, a striking violet, scanned the forest with an intensity that spoke of a fierce desire to prove himself, not just as a hunter but as a man worthy of respect and, perhaps, love.

Selarion, ever the enigma, rode with an elegance that was almost otherworldly. His ruby-red eyes, so often regarded with suspicion and fear, were alight with a different flame today—a competitive spark that matched his brother's. Their horses, magnificent beasts of pure Targaryen stock, moved with a silent understanding, as if they too sensed the importance of this day.

As the forest awakened, a white stag, majestic and ethereal, appeared before them. It stood in a clearing, bathed in a shaft of sunlight that seemed to crown it in a halo of gold. The sight of it took their breath away, for it was said that to encounter such a creature was a portent of momentous change.

Rhaynar's hand went to his bow, a reflex born of countless hunts, but something stilled his movement. The stag, with eyes as deep and knowing as the oldest tales, held his gaze, and in that moment, Rhaynar felt a connection to the world around him that was as profound as it was inexplicable. With a silent nod, as if acknowledging the stag's sovereignty over this realm, Rhaynar lowered his weapon.

Selarion, watching from a slight distance, observed his brother's action with a complexity of emotions swirling in his eyes. For a heartbeat, he too was caught in the stag's mystical presence. Yet, where Rhaynar saw a connection, Selarion saw opportunity. With a swift, fluid motion, he notched an arrow to his bow, drew, and released.

The arrow flew true, a perfect arc through the misty air, striking the stag with a silent, deadly grace. As the creature fell, the spell of the morning was broken, and the forest seemed to sigh with a sorrow as ancient as time itself. And then Selarion moved and cut it's head to make it's death less painful.

Rhaynar turned to Selarion, his eyes ablaze not just with the fire of anger, but with the hurt of betrayal. "Why did you kill it???" His voice, thick with emotion, echoed through the trees. "I was the first to find it, and I spared it! You had no right to kill it After I, the future king of seven kingdoms let it go!!!"

Selarion, wiping a splatter of blood from his cheek with the back of his hand, met his brother's gaze with a calm that belied the tumult within. "Exactly, dear brother," he said, his voice low and steady, yet carrying a sharpness that cut deeper than any blade. "You had the opportunity, but you didn't use it. The world is like that. Either you get what you want, or someone else gets it instead of you. And you may forget it but you're no king in my eyes, not now and not ever."

As the words hung in the air, heavy with implication, the brothers stood on the brink of an understanding profound and unsettling. The hunting party, silent witnesses to this moment of raw truth, looked on as the future of House Targaryen, and perhaps the realm itself, teetered on the edge of a knife.

In the heart of the forest, amidst the ancient trees and whispered secrets, Rhaynar and Selarion faced not just each other, but the realization that the hunt was for more than game—it was for power, for love, and for the destiny that awaited them beyond the woods.

@ 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒔 . 𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒, 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡, 𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠.

@emily2003alzaga @nash-dara @altaircc @heavenly1927 @omgsuperstarg @asoiafhyperfixation

[ivegotthewholeworldussy]

victory feast (tennis player!arle smut fic)

contains: no plot, arlecchino with a dick, victory sex, size kink, creampie, semi-public handjobs, edging, light exhibitionism, cunnilingus

(nsfw below, mdni)

“40-30. match point, arlecchino,” the umpire announces. it’s the final match of the teyvat grand slam, and to call it intense is an understatement. my girlfriend, arlecchino, is facing off against signora. they’re two of the best female tennis players in teyvat with an ongoing rivalry. the match has been going on for almost five hours now; arlecchino and signora have won two sets each, with this last set determining who will take home the grand slam trophy.

arlecchino prepares to serve the ball, getting in position before tossing it into the air. she strikes the ball with her racket, and signora returns her serve with a forehand. the rally is very long, both refusing to yield or back down. after going for about half an hour, the match is over when arlecchino counters signoras lob with a jump smash.

“game, set, match. arlecchino three sets to five,” the umpire announces. arlecchino and signora meet in the middle of the court, shaking hands for a good game. the officials award arlecchino the teyvat grand slam trophy, and she gives her victory speech.

“…i would also like to thank my wonderful girlfriend, who is my biggest supporter.” she points to me, and the camera moves to the same direction. “without them, i wouldn’t have made it this far.”

i couldn’t help but blush as soon as the camera was on me, and hearing arlecchinos comment only made me even more flustered.

as soon as the stadium clears out, i immediately run to arlecchino, jumping into her arms as i kiss her.

“you did so amazing out there, arle,” i exclaimed. arlecchino chuckles and kisses me back.

“thanks, babe. i wouldn’t have done it without your support,” she responds.

i lean into her ear and whisper, “i have a special victory feast waiting for you tonight, my champion.” i sneak my hand underneath her shirt and run it up and down her abs, letting it travel further down until it reaches her shorts. i pull them down by the waistband, her erection springing out completely.

i wrap my hand around her shaft, and arlecchino lets out a hitched breath. as we make eye contact, arlecchino nods her head, silently giving me permission to continue.

i move my hand down to the tip of her cock, leaking with pre-cum. i swipe my thumb across the tip, and arlecchino lets out a low groan in response. from there, i started stroking her cock up and down, beginning at a slow pace. her hips thrust into my hand as i increase my pace, and the way her dick twitches in my hand indicates shes close to cumming. so i pull my hand away from her, which causes arlecchino to grunt in frustration.

“not yet, handsome. you can have your way with me when we get to our hotel room,” i whisper in a teasing manner. “that was only a sneak peek.”

when we arrived at our hotel room, our clothes are immediately removed, and arlecchino has me pinned down onto the bed. she leaves hickeys all over my neck and chest, and continues to kiss further down my body until her face is close to my soaking entrance.

she kisses the inside of my thighs, teasing me before she finally puts her tongue in my pussy. i let out a loud moan, grabbing arlecchinos face to pull her closer. as she eats me out, she uses her fingers to rub my clit, causing me to grind my hips against her face as she continues her ministrations.

“fuck, arle… i’m so close…” i whimper. my hips move faster as i try to pull her face closer. however, just as im about to cum, arlecchino pulls her face away from my cunt, pulling me in for a kiss. i couldn’t help but let out a groan as i taste myself on her.

“not yet, baby. that was only a sneak peek…” she quips, using my words against me. “after all, you’re the one who said i can have my way with you…”

arlecchino puts me in a mating press, teasing her cock against my entrance. pre-cum leaks from the tip, and she rubs it all over my clit, before pushing herself inside. she pulls me in for a kiss as her dick starts to penetrate me, and i groan into her lips when she bottoms out.

she pulls away from the kiss, looking directly into my eyes. i nod my head, giving her permission to keep going. arlecchino starts to move her hips slowly and asks, “how are you feeling, my love?”

“please, keep going, arle…” i beg desperately. “i need you right now…”

“someone’s being impatient tonight,” arlecchino teases, before continuing to thrust her hips against mine. “you’re so tight around me, baby…”

arlecchino gradually increases her pace, leaving hickeys all over my neck and my chest as she fucks me. she moves her hands up and down my body until they reach my stomach, where the outline of her cock is visible. the feeling of her hand on my stomach has me groaning and clenching around her dick even tighter.

the bed starts to shake as arlecchino and i near our peaks, with sound of our groans gradually increasing in volume. a small part of me feels bad for whoever has the room next to ours, but i couldn’t find it in me to care about it. not when i can feel arlecchinos dick twitching inside my pussy.

“fuck, im gonna cum soon, arle…” i whimper in her ear. arlecchino moves her hips faster in response.

arlecchino uses her fingers to tease my clit, causing me to tighten around her cock as i reach my orgasm. arlecchino cums almost immediately, spilling her seed in my cunt. i clench even tighter around her dick, attempting to milk every last drop from her.

arlecchino holds me in her arms, still keeping her dick inside my entrance. “perhaps i should win more grand slam titles, so i can experience such mind-blowing sex with you more often,” she jests.

i couldn’t help the small chuckle leaving my lips. “we can have all the mind-blowing sex we want, regardless if you win or lose. no matter what, i’ll always be your biggest supporter.”

“i know, my love. you’re the reason i still keep playing,” she whispers in my ear. “i love you so much, baby.”

“i love you too, arle,” i respond, before falling asleep to the sound of my girlfriend’s heartbeat.

[roronoacherries]

𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘢 𝘻𝘰𝘳𝘰

2.258 words

content: fluff, sfw, light angst, fem. reader, established relationship, reader can't look at zoro without a hint of fear in her eyes after he saves her from an enemy.

note: this is a little more straw hat fluff than it is zoro fluff?

you wanted to pretend that it didn’t faze you. 

it shouldn’t have. zoro was gentle and loving and kind-hearted. you knew this well enough. better than anyone, you understood that there was more to the swordsman than his unwavering, tough demeanor. there was no reason for you to feel afraid with him — much less, any reason for you to be afraid of him. 

and yet, lately, you couldn’t quite meet his eyes. you couldn’t help being jumpier around him than you wanted to be. and you found yourself avoiding him without meaning to. 

all he had done was protect you. you would have been dead if he hadn’t stepped in. but rather than thank him, your reaction had been to cower and step into sanji’s arms instead of his. it wasn’t fair to him and you knew it but the image of the swordsman, eyes crimson with rage, was something you couldn’t erase from your mind. the expression on his face had been one that could kill; it was one that made you understand that he would kill. without a second thought, if it meant protecting you. and that had terrified you. 

it shouldn’t have unsettled you like it did. you were pirates for god's sake! you hadn’t exactly expected him to be a saint, nor could you claim to be one. you had no right to be this cold toward him now. he was still the zoro you knew — the one you loved like you didn’t realize you could — you’d simply seen a different side of him; you’d seen a side of him that told you the lengths to which he would go to keep you safe. 

you loved him endlessly… but you needed time before you could meet his eyes without recalling the terror you’d felt then. 

and the swordsman understood. he didn’t blame you for your reaction, but he didn’t know how to mend things either. all he could do was wait for it to pass. all he could do was give you space. that was what he told himself but all he wanted to do was hold you in his arms and make you feel okay. 

the best he could do was keep his distance, though without straying too far. it didn’t matter to him if you saw him as a monster, he’d stay close enough to be there if you needed him, keeping out of your way while still keeping an eye on you. 

and although he conceals it well, it isn’t lost on anyone that zoro’s hurting too. he minds his own, not quite avoiding anyone but not quite present either. not even the cook’s blatant and shameless flirting is enough to provoke a reaction from him; and despite their rivalry, sanji can’t stand to see the swordsman so apathetic. 

none of the crew can, but they know there’s not anything more he can do but be patient with you; as much as they all want to help – to advise zoro and to comfort you – they all know what you need is time.

although it doesn’t keep them from trying. 

chopper takes it upon himself to cure zoro’s ailment the only way he can think to: keeping him company. he bothers the swordsman with a dozen different things, keeping him occupied and trying his best to lighten his mood, but his attempts are fruitless. nothing could quite erase the trace of melancholy in zoro’s expression. 

nami is the only other to try and pull some semblance of genuine emotion from zoro in the way she knows best — picking a fight with him. if there’s anything the navigator is an expert at (besides everything — for a price), it’s chastising the boys. 

“you’re too intense,” she scolded and despite her tone, zoro knew she meant it as comfort. not that knowing made it annoy him any less. she kept talking and zoro let her, not quite listening but not quite ignoring her either. 

“you lose your cool at the drop of a hat sometimes, it’s no wonder y/n is as shaken up as she is. you’ve gotta learn to keep your calm.” nami’s words were nonchalant and her eyes were no longer on the swordsman; she knew well enough that her words would go in one ear and out the other regardless. 

and though zoro knew that he would only be proving her right, that he should bite his tongue and acknowledge that maybe nami was right, he lost his temper anyway, raising his voice at the navigator a little more than he’d intended to. “how the fuck am i meant to stay calm if y/n’s in trouble?”

everyone’s eyes turned to the swordsman but he could care less about what they might think. “i don’t give a shit how she feels,” he spat, knowing as well as everyone else that this was a lie. 

“i’d do the same thing again if i had to, without a second thought.” 

i’d do anything for her. 

“even if it means she never speaks to me again.”

despite chopper’s insistence that he rest, despite the wounds on his body that ached with every move he made, zoro left to work out, though not before warning everyone to leave him alone. and while chopper’s words ring in his head, knowing well that his body needed to rest, he’d rather feel the pain of his injuries than think of you. 

the rest of the crew tried to meddle comfort you however they could. 

luffy tried (and succeeded) to bring a smile to your face with his endless antics, usopp joining in. the two went out of their way to pull a laugh out of you. teasingly, your captain made it a point to remind you of the clueless, disoriented fool roronoa zoro could be through theatrical reenactments of the swordsman’s habits and mannerisms. “how can you be scared of an idiot like that?” luffy giggled. 

he balanced himself on the ship’s railing, crouching as he looked down at you with a contagious grin. you wanted to tell him to be careful, but you knew your words would go ignored. 

“besides. i’d ‘ve done the same thing if i was in his place,” he said, teetering on the railing and it takes everything in you not to shout at him. playfully, he questioned you, “would you really be scared of me too, y/n?”

“i’m scared that you’ll fall. luffy, please get down from there.”

giggling, the captain sways a little more before hopping down and you let out a sigh of relief. and though he doesn’t bother to pull a response out of you, his question still sticks with you. 

sanji had said the same thing as you helped him with the kitchen chores, busying yourself in a helpless attempt to push the swordsman out of your mind. you dried the dishes as sanji washed them, a comfortable silence sitting between the two of you. 

and while sanji knew well that you’d offered to help him because you wanted a distraction, he couldn’t help but question you, his gentle voice breaking the silence. softly, being careful not to make it sound like he thought you were reacting unreasonably, the cook asked, “is there a reason this has you so shaken up, my dear?” 

you dried the last dish without looking up at sanji, who’d turned his back to the sink, a cigarette quick to find its way to his lips. “i don’t know…” you whispered. you were being honest; you’d given that question significant thought already, but you weren’t quite sure why this was bothering you like it was.

“you know…” sanji started, lighting the cigarette between his teeth. “any of us would have done the same thing in his shoes. if that idiot went a little too far, it was because of how much he cares, y/n,” it felt strange to defend the swordsman so forwardly, but it was true. “he’d never forgive himself if something happened to you, especially not if he could do something about it.” 

all you could do was nod, your eyes staring vacantly at the dishes in front of you. sanji held a hand to your shoulder in comfort. “and…pardon my language, sweet y/n, but if that idiot hadn’t done what he did, i’d have kicked his ass.”

“thank you, sanji.” you smiled up at the cook. he returned the smile, whispering one last thing before heading for the door. “if you still can’t keep the mosshead off your mind, at least help yourself to a treat. i made your favorite for dessert tonight if you’d like to sneak a bite…”

no amount of sweets could be enough to make you feel any better (but it was worth the try). it helps, though, that nami and usopp find you wallowing at the kitchen counter and join you. these two admit to understanding perfectly what you felt; they agree that zoro, along with sanji and luffy, could be a monstrous trio when need be. it’s pure insanity and utterly terrifying that they’re as strong as they are, even when you’re not on the receiving end of their fury. 

“but they’re a trio of idiots, too,” nami reasoned. “i know it’s easy to forget when you see them like that, but everything they do is out of loyalty… and love.” 

“she's right,” usopp chimes in. “they’re beastly monsters, but they’re our beastly monsters. it’s like having pet guard dogs. they might bite someone’s hand off but never yours… ‘cept maybe luffy.” 

there’s truth to all of their words; you know this. and it helps. although you don’t forget the fear you felt in that moment, you don’t forget all of the love you feel for that big green-haired idiot either. still, you find yourself skipping dinner to avoid him a little longer — perhaps, more from guilt than any lingering fear. 

you lie in bed instead, your eyes staring at the ceiling as you think over your crewmates’ words and try to make sense of your own ceaseless thinking. you hardly notice the sound of the door until robin’s voice meets your ears.

“the stars are quite beautiful tonight,” she smiles and you know, without her needing to say much else, that this is her way of helping you clear your mind. 

“thank you, robin,” you whisper, as you reach for a thin blanket to take with you on deck. 

and robin is right; the sight of the stars shining above the going merry is enough to take your breath away. their light alone lightens the weight on your shoulders, a reminder that your existence is small and your problems are too. and that doesn’t make them unimportant, but it does make them easier to bear. 

you notice too, though, that robin didn’t send you up here to look at the sky; she wanted you to notice what was under the starlight. his eyes are fixed on the stars above, hands resting behind his head as he laid on the upper deck. 

he notices you without needing to look, catching a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye. you’re frozen where you stand until you see him sit up, turning his back to you, ready to leave and give you your space but the sound of your footsteps stops him. 

he’s not sure why but he shuts his eyes as he hears you approach; a part of him knows it’s to keep himself from getting his hopes up, too afraid to let himself believe that you might let him hold you in his arms again and he might finally be able to get some sleep — not that he’d admit aloud that he can’t quite sleep without you close to him anymore. 

it’s not until he feels your arms wrap around him and your head rest against his back that the swordsmen lets himself exhale. but the sense of relief is short-lived, as he feels something damp his shirt and it pains him to think that you might be crying. 

he struggles to find the right words to say, scared he’ll say the wrong thing and you’ll pull away, but ultimately it’s you who speaks first. “i’m sorry.”

you whisper, your words muffled against his back and he’s certain he must’ve misheard because what could you possibly have to apologize for. 

and it’s then that he knows exactly what to say to you. “shut up.

“what could you possibly have to say sorry for?” his hand searches for yours and as he holds it, he realizes just how deeply he’s missed having you close. “i’m the one who should be apologizing to you.”

all you can think to do is hold him tighter, but the swordsman pulls away. he turns to you and when his eyes meet yours, there’s no longer any trace of fear and zoro couldn’t be more grateful for it. 

he lies back on the deck again, this time with you wrapped in his arms. the weight of his arms around you makes you feel safer than anything and there isn’t anywhere else you’d rather be. after all, roronoa zoro would go to any lengths to protect you. resting your head in the crook of his neck, you can’t help but whisper another apology. 

“shut up.” the swordsman repeats, his voice almost a whisper but you can hear the smile tugging at his lips nonetheless. he holds you tighter, burying his nose in your hair and breathing in the scent he missed so much. “let me sleep.”

─────────────────────────────

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[skipper1331]

Protective Moms // Jessie Fleming

a/n: based off this request. Hope you like it :)

Matchday.

Canada vs the United States.

Girlfriend vs girlfriend.

Jess and you met in London, both playing for the blues.

The two of you hit off straight away, same interests, same sense of humor, you were similar in many ways but also so different that you completed each other perfectly. It came as no surprise when you revealed your relationship to your Chelsea teammates. They loved you together.

Only the Chelsea girls knew about you though. You both thought it was important to tell them yet you couldn't tell your national teammates. You kept your personal life private which is why you decided to tell them in person and not through the phone.

Considering that Tobin Heath played for Arsenal you could've told her as well as Christen Press but to be honest you were afraid. Tobin was one of the first players to approach you after you had your first call-up. She took you under her wig and became a mentor. So did Christen. You respected them so much and despite the fact that you would do anything for Jess, you were still afraid that Tobin and Christen would be disappointed in you. Or worse, if you introduce Jessie and they wouldn't like her.

As the Call-Up for camp came you were excited. You loved the chelsea girls but you also missed your friends at home. What you didn‘t like though was that you would play a friendly against Canada. There was always a certain rivalry in those games, it was physical, intense and nobody goes down without a fight.

As usual, you wore your headphones on the bus ride to the stadium. Next to you sat Rose, your bus buddy, while Press and Heath sat in the row next to you. They'd be lying if they didn't say that they noticed you checking your phone a lot and smiling at it. However, they didn’t do anything about it. If you wanted to tell them something, they would be there but they wouldn't force you to. They've known you long enough to know how you handle things.

Flem🔥

Can I have your shirt later? x

You

Only If I get yours too xx

Flem🔥

deal

Shortly after the game started, the first slide tackles came from both teams.

The game was balanced, sometimes Canada had their chances and sometimes your team, the goalkeepers definitely had something to do.

Jess and you didn‘t interact much, yes, off pitch you’re a couple but rivals on the field. The only interaction was when Canada had a corner kick and you pressed your body against hers. The canadian would bet that you did it on purpose as your breath hit the back of her neck. It made her go crazy, weak in the knees. Well, after all, it was the first time in 2 weeks that she saw you and could feel your proximity. (Spoiler: whether she had seen you or not, she still would have had weak knees and a racing heart. She always had when she’s near you)

It was 0-0 at half time. A solid result, but not satisfying.

Every single player on the field got more eager to score which resulted in more ruthless tackles.

You were in the opponent's half when Chapman took the ball away from you. Immediately you’re after her to get the ball back. You’re close behind her as she played a pass, her elbow slamming with so much strength in your face, right on your nose. "Fuck" you couldn‘t even scream out of pain because it hurt so much. You fell to the ground as you held your nose, your head hitting the ground. The game continued without anyone noticing that you were lying there. The only one who noticed was the person who caused it, she was standing by your side yelling at the referee. The game was only paused after a number of boo‘s from the stands and as soon as your girlfriend saw you curled up on the floor she ran to you as fast as she could. "Get the fuck away from her!" the brunette shoved Chapman as she kneeled down. She wasn't one to swear, but seeing you on the ground? It turned her into someone else, a protector who must protect you, her girl, at all costs. "Can you take your hands out of your face?" the sweet voice of your girl asked, taking a hold on your wrists. Just as she was about to pull your hands down slowly an angry Tobin Heath pushed her body to the ground, "Don‘t touch her" she hissed. Wrong move. Because when Tobin touched the young Canadian, Sinclair stepped in, "You don‘t touch her"

While Heath and Sinclair provoked each other, Christen went completely nuts on the bench. Still no medic team anywhere near you. Jess was by your side again, your hands out of your face as she could see the blood that was spread across your face. Definitely a broken nose and a possible black eye. You hated blood. You'll immediately feel nauseous and dizzy when you see it whether it’s your own or someone else's. "The medics are almost there, love. Keep your eyes open" her voice laced with worry as your eyes kept closing.

Finally, when the medic team arrived, they tried to stop the bleeding. After a minute or two everything seemed to be fine and you were able to stand up again which turned out to be a big mistake because as soon as you got back on your feet you passed out. They didn't know if it was because of the blood you saw or because the knock was so bad. Either way, you got substituted.

"Sub me off! I need to be with her. Please" Jess begged as she saw you getting carried of the field in the stretcher. Sinc had never seen the small Canadian so desperate while talking to their coach.

Unfortunately, Chris, who actually wanted to be by your side, was subbed on for you.

When Jess got subbed off which was 5 played minutes later she ran to the medic room. She had never felt so helpless.

On the pitch, your mentors played sloppy, everyone could see that your injury effected them. Canada as well couldn't play accurately without one of their key players. The game was dominated by bad passes and missed shots.

"How is she?" Jess questioned as she entered the room, "Broken nose and a little concussion."

You were lying on the bed, your nose bandaged with plasters, sleeping. As the last medic team member left the room the canadian sat next to you on a chair. She held your hand while her thumb stroked over your knuckles.

"I would swap shirts but mine is blood stained" you murmured. Your throat was sore but your face hurt less than before, the painkillers slowly working. "Please don‘t joke" the girl whispered, still not able to calm down "I was so worried"

"My girl, i‘m a fighter-"

The door was swung open as a worried Christen Press entered with Tobin Heath behind her, "Are you ok- What are you doing here?" the same woman asked who pushed Jess away from you.

Frightened, the canadian jumped out of her seat, turning to look at your team moms. Chris with a smile on her face, connecting the dots while Tobs had a scowl on hers. "Um.. I.." your girlfriend stuttered as she let go of your hand.

"Jess is my girlfriend"

"What?!"

You groaned as your head ache got worse due the loud noise, your hands massaging your temples. "What did the doc say?" united states number 23 asked, placing her hand on Tobins back, changing the subject. "Broken nose, little concussion. I need to rest" you answered. Tobin was glaring at your lover who was shuffling with her feet. "We‘ll talk about this, madame" the veteran said before she left the room. She was concerned about you but the news that the canadian was your girl was something she had to process first.

Her little boo with a girlfriend.

She‘d witnessed your highlights, watched you grow in the game, supported you, accompanied you at the lowest point in your career. You had been through a lot together, so maybe it was her pride that hurt because you didn't tell her earlier about your love story and that she had to find out about it through an injury, almost going for Chapman's throat because of that, by the way.

"She‘ll come around" Christen said as she saw how your face saddened, "I‘ll talk to her" she went to your side before she pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead to assure you that everything will be fine.

"Maybe we all could get some coffee?" the suggestion coming from Jessie, "If you want to get to know me? Officially, i mean"

-

A few days later you‘re sitting at a little coffee shop waiting for your team moms to show up. Jess was next to you, holding your hand. It was unclear who was trying to calm whom. The brunette was nervous because she was meeting people you cared so much about and wanted to show them she was worthy of your love and you were nervous because you wanted them to like Jessie.

"Hi" you both greeted synchronously, slightly giggling at one another. "Hey" the dark haired women pressed a kiss to your forehead as she hugged you, carefully not to touch your injured nose. Jess stretched out her hand for Tobin to shake as she repeated her greeting. "Hello" the forward replied, accepting her hand. You felt relief as you saw their little interaction. Christen had definitely spoken to the forward about her behavior a few days ago.

The four of you talked for a while, there was no tension or anything negative. Everybody was enjoying the 'parents meet kids girlfriend'-meeting, it even seemed like scary Tobin Heath liked Jessie but there was this one question on the tip of her tongue that she wanted answered. "Jessie, I need to ask you this" she started as Jess looked at you nervously, your hand finding her thigh, "What are your intentions with y/n?"

She rested her elbows on the table, leaning forward to show her authority, Jess gulping under Tobins stare "Well," helplessly, she looked at CP who, however, was also waiting for an answer. Just because she, in terms of her protectiveness, acted calm and collected didn‘t mean she didn't want a straight answer to the question. She also had to know if your girlfriend was enough for you. "I love her. Umm, we‘re young but.. umm.. hopefully she‘ll be my wife one day" the canadian didn‘t really know how to answer that question. Her intensions were only good ones.

She wants to make you happy.

She wants to make you proud.

She wants to support you no matter what.

She wants to sit in the stands and she wants to cheer for you.

She wants to show you that you only deserved the best.

She wants to love you for the rest of her life.

She wants to be by your side as long as you‘ll let her.

She wants you.

Christen smiled like a proud parent as Tobin grinned widely. Jess looked cofused around, not understanding why the moms looked at her like that, you looking at her with the biggest heart eyes, "Oh no" she said as she understood those faces "I said that out loud, didn‘t I?"

"Jup"

Christen and Tobin got up, "My job here is done", ready to go.

"You chose a good one, y/n/n."

This time it was Christen who commented like Tobin would. In her mind, Heath agreed yet she would never admit stuff like that in prensence of Jess.

But Jessie was indeed a good one.

—————————

pt. 2

—————————

[pin-k-ink]

possessory // kuroo tetsurou

tw ⇢ rivals to lovers, sexual tension, possessive kuroo, fingering, begging, finger-fucking, locker room sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, getting caught, marking, some yaku x reader if you squint

wc ⇢ 9.3k

a/n: my love for yaku shining through this fic. i’d to bite my knuckles trying to not write a threesome. luckily i’ve already planned something for my baby

The whistle pierced the heavy air like a gunshot, signaling the end of the heated practice match. You barely registered the shrill sound over the thrumming of blood in your ears as you panted harshly, chest heaving from exertion.

Your narrowed gaze remained locked onto the tall, rangy figure across the net - those sharp, watchful eyes that always seemed to glitter with something more feral than simple competition whenever you squared off. Kuroo's lips curved in that all-too-familiar razor's edge of a smirk as he raked his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead in one long pull.

The casual arrogance of the gesture made you grit your teeth against a low snarl. As if he didn't already know full well how obscenely distracting the subtle ripple of his arm and shoulder muscles could be when--

You viciously derailed that wandering train of thought before it could lead somewhere utterly unacceptable. There'd been enough heated incidents between you already without indulging a treacherous fixation on the physical. Even if Kuroo seemed hellbent on upending your restraint at every turn.

"Nice effort out there," he drawled loudly as the teams began separating to their respective benches. "I can definitely see some improvement from the last time we played."

The words were seemingly innocuous enough. But the low, gravelly delivery dripped with Kuroo's typical infuriating condescension. You felt your hackles rising instinctively at the spark of challenge banked in his goading stare.

"You're really working those compliments for all they're worth today, aren't you Kuroo?" you shot back acidly, pointedly raking your gaze over his sweat-soaked jersey with obvious disdain. "Need me to send you a thesaurus so you can freshen up that material a bit?"

Kuroo's eyes flashed briefly at the barbed retort, but the edges of that smirk only deepened further in a way that made your jaw tighten.

"If it ain't broke..." he trailed off with a one-shouldered shrug that you refused to let your eyes linger on.

Just like that, the thick undercurrent of animosity and unresolved tension reasserted itself between you. The energy sizzling in the air took on a distinctly more charged quality, like the first building pressure of an oncoming storm about to break. You could practically taste the torrid stirrings of heat and restless aggression prickling along your limbs.

This was nothing new in the undeniably volatile dynamic you and Kuroo had cultivated over innumerable practice matches and heated encounters. That endless cycle of provocation and denial destined to build towards...what end, neither of you ever seemed to acknowledge. But the friction generated by your clashing wills could be damn near scorching at times.

On the sidelines, you were vaguely aware of teammates shooting knowing looks back and forth, clearly no strangers to the blazing intensity you brought out in each other. Every subtle interaction between you and Kuroo seemed to bleed with unspoken tension and unsettled cravings that simmered just beneath the surface.

It had long been an open secret that your rivalry extended far beyond just the court itself. Though openly admitting as much remained strictly taboo.

Kuroo suddenly moved as if to step closer, an unreadable glint flickering briefly through those penetrating eyes. For a dizzying heartbeat, you thought he might continue provoking this simmering confrontation between you in a different, more incendiary direction.

Instead, Kuroo simply hooked his thumb at you in a deliberately casual gesture dripping with unearned arrogance, as per usual. "Keep telling yourself those little lies, kitten. I've still got plenty of ways to shut that smart mouth of yours that we haven't explored yet."

The heated innuendo landed like a physical blow, stealing your breath as your pulse kicked up a staggering notch. You refused to let your imagination indulge even a second's consideration of what depraved "methods" Kuroo could possibly have in mind. Some lines could never be uncrossed between your rivalry without irrevocably shattering everything.

So you settled for a derisive snort, turning on your heel and stalking away from that dark, all-too-appealing promise burning in his gaze. You refused to be the one to cave first and give Kuroo the satisfaction.

Just like always, the explosive friction between you would remain unresolved. No matter how urgently it simmered and begged for combustion, you would hold the line of restraint...

For now.

The charged encounter hung thick in the air as you tried and failed to shake off the lingering effects of Kuroo's taunts during the cool-down stretches. No matter how you willed your focus elsewhere, you were persistently, maddeningly aware of his presence across the gym floor.

Of the way he moved with that deliberately careless, arrogant swagger - all long, powerful limbs and sinuous grace as he bent and extended through the stretching forms. Every motion seemed calculated to snag your wandering attention, to goad your eyes into tracing the sculpted contours of muscle shifting fluidly beneath sun-kissed skin that glistened with a fine sheen of exertion.

You grit your teeth and averted your gaze stubbornly each time you caught it straying. But the phantom echoes of Kuroo's sinful murmurs about "shutting that smart mouth of yours" reverberated through your heated thoughts in an endless torrid loop.

Unbidden, your mind provided tantalizingly vivid flashes of just what form that insolent threat might take if he ever dared carry it out. You imagined the hot brand of Kuroo's mouth crashing against yours in a searing, breath-stealing kiss born of too much aggression and too little restraint. His calloused palms mapping out every whisper-soft inch of feverish skin as you both finally surrendered to the smoldering madness of your rivalry entirely.

The mental images proved so viscerally potent that you nearly missed the loud clatter of a water bottle being knocked to the floor a few feet away. You startled, cheeks flushing guiltily as you realized Yaku was eyeing you from the next mat over with clear amusement wrinkling the corners of his eyes.

"You're sure looking pretty spaced out over there," he commented far too innocently. "Everything...okay?"

Willing your features back to a carefully neutral mask, you shot your teammate a pointed look. "I’m fine, Yaku. Just still feeling it from the second set. Not sure where my head's wandering."

The lie felt hollow even to your own ears. But Yaku seemed wise enough not to press any further, simply nodding before continuing his regimen.

On the far side of the gym, you caught the briefest glimpse of Kuroo straightening up from his own stretches, running one long-fingered hand through his disheveled hair in a way that really shouldn't have been so distracting. His eyes found yours unerringly through the gaps and bodies between you. You tensed despite yourself, awaiting Kuroo's next inevitable flare of provocation.

For a long, heated moment he simply held your stare in silence, making an exaggerated show of slowly dragging his appreciative gaze over your flushed features and down the lines of your sweat-sheened torso. When next he met your gaze, his expression glittered with an utterly indecent gleam that made your pulse skyrocket unwillingly.

It was like he'd seen straight through your feeble attempts at restraint and composure. Like he knew with piercing clarity exactly where your wandering thoughts had gotten derailed just now, and was silently goading you to surrender that illicit trail entirely. The challenge issued in his heated stare was clear – keep denying this combustible charge smoldering between us and find out just how far I'm willing to push those boundaries.

You refused to be the one to break eye contact first, even as the air between you grew thick and heady. Even as desire bloomed like wild embers in the pit of your stomach in a way it absolutely should never have. Not for Kuroo, not your sworn rival and human catalyst for antagonism on and off the court.

And yet it burned there nonetheless, unconcerned with the rigid compartmentalization your common sense kept insisting upon. That insidious heat threatened to scorch you from the inside if you persisted in denying it outlet through even the most inconsequential of actions.

Another minute ticked by punctuated only by the harsh rasp of your breathing and Kuroo's cat-like observance. His eyes narrowed infinitesimally as if gauging the level of unraveling restraint behind your impassive front. Waiting to see if you would finally be the one to blink first.

You lifted your chin subtly in silent defiance. Daring Kuroo to escalate this latest confrontation between you to more scorching heights if he dared. You'd weathered far worse maelstroms of his undisguised provocation than this before, no matter how potent.

The hard line of his jaw flexed in mild approval at your steadfastness before at last Kuroo's lips curved in a sharply amused smirk. The one that never failed to slice through your serenity like the sharpest of blades.

"Don't hurt yourself, kitten," he drawled suddenly in that graveled rumble of a whisper that carried easily across the gym's stillness. "I know all about holding my breath for the things I really want."

The barely veiled innuendo in Kuroo's rasped words hit you like a physical gut punch, forcing you to strangle down the instinctive flare of molten heat that twisted low in your abdomen. He knew, that insufferable bastard knew exactly what effect his grating taunts had on you despite your best attempts at impassive defiance.

You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste copper, refusing to grant Kuroo the satisfaction of watching you react overtly. But the way his hooded gaze slowly raked over you made it clear he didn't need histrionics to read your body's traitorous responses loud and clear.

Kuroo's tongue swept out to drag deliberately along his bottom lip as you glared daggers back at him. The unhurried, vaguely obscene motion drew your eyes helplessly for a scorching second before you wrenched them away. You could have sworn you heard the low rumble of an amused chuckle from across the gym at your faltering composure.

The sudden jarring impact of a balled-up towel hitting your shoulder made you jolt violently. You whirled with a snarl already curling your lips, half-expecting Kuroo to have somehow slithered closer undetected just to continue provoking you.

Instead, it was simply Kenma eyeing you with that familiar half-lidded look of sardonic indifference - one earbud already dangling loose as he'd clearly sought to disengage from whatever this latest maelstrom of tension was between you and your so-called rival.

"You two need a cold shower or something?" he remarked flatly, seemingly oblivious or uncaring of the molten quality his observation took on. "Cut the foreplay and just fuck already. Could smell the unresolved sexual tension from across the gym."

You choked on a shocked inhalation at Kenma's blunt assessment, heat flooding your cheeks in a dizzying rush. The dull roar of abruptly resumed activity within the gym filled your ringing ears as others seemed to freeze mid-motion at his crass outburst. A quick glance towards the other side of the court revealed Kuroo staring back with eyes comically wide, lips parted around what was probably intended as a reflexive denial.

The awkward tension expanded with each passing second it went unacknowledged until finally Kenma rolled his eyes tremendously and simply stuffed his earbud back in, unmoved. The courts slowly came alive again bit by bit, the disjointed sounds of squeaking sneakers and voices just on the edge of too-loud once more filling the air.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Kuroo straightening his shoulders beneath the weight of your heated stare, almost like steeling himself for your answering volley. But rather than issue another round of barbed taunts, you simply clenched your jaw, grabbed your jersey and spun sharply on your heel to stalk from the gym before anything else could further test your tenuous grip on restraint.

Once in the empty locker room, you leaned against the blissfully solid surface of your locker and allowed yourself a shaky exhale. Your heartbeat felt like it was rabbiting out of control as you ruthlessly quashed the wanton direction your thoughts insisted on straying.

Kenma's crass remark shouldn't have landed with such searing effect, you told yourself sternly. Shouldn't have made your imagination conjure up such deliriously vivid fantasies about Kuroo pressing you up against the cool steel at your back right now as you finally surrendered to--

"Fuck," you growled harshly, pressing the heels of your palms against your traitorous eyes until spots of color burst across your vision.

You couldn't keep allowing your bitter rivalry with Kuroo to careen so perilously close to the edge of oblivion repeatedly. To let your cataclysmic friction continue escalating to such a razor-sharp precipice every time he proved insufferable enough to provoke every simmering frustration and desire boiling over inside you.

No matter how infuriatingly, inexplicably attractive you found the insufferable prick, you simply couldn't keep indulging these...what? Wild, indecent fantasies about him pressing you up against rough tile as you finally --

You took a deep steadying breath to abort that train of thought before it could derail completely off the rails into utterly forbidden territory. Again. Some lines could never be uncrossed between you and Kuroo without shattering the foundations of whatever this frenzied push-and-pull dynamic existed upon.

No matter how tempting the prospect sometimes felt.

The scalding shower spray did little to rinse away the lingering haze of heated frustration still clouding your thoughts. If anything, the punishing jets of water needling over your taut muscles seemed only to amplify the electric tension still humming beneath your skin in the wake of your latest encounter with Kuroo.

You grit your teeth against a low growl bubbling up your chest as your mind unhelpfully replayed the smug curl of his lips around those parting taunts - challenging you, practically demanding you admit some undeniable undercurrent still burned white-hot between you despite your constant denials.

Beneath the thundering spray, your hands clenched and unclenched in a vain attempt to rein in the roiling mixture of bitter antagonism and darker, more primal cravings that invariably got stirred up whenever Kuroo slipped beneath your defenses. You couldn't seem to prevent flashes of slick skin and molten friction from battering against the shattered remnants of your restraint.

The memories felt so viscerally potent in the aftermath of his provocation that you swore a strange staticky charge was building along your limbs. Like thunderheads rapidly converging toward their inevitable lightning strike. Wild, pent-up energy begging for release in an unbridled eruption you knew better than to give voice or form to.

With a sharp exhale, you braced your forearms against the shower tile and allowed the scalding spray to rinse over your neck and shoulders as you hung your head, trying in vain to steady your ragged breathing and derailed composure. Try as you might, you couldn't seem to shake the persistent imagining of Kuroo's larger, rougher hands replacing yours in mapping the slick trails of water over your overheated skin.

You swallowed hard against the vivid fantasy, against the wanton direction it kept trying to careen down despite your best efforts at restraint. Kuroo's shadowed silhouette would be so infuriatingly at home behind you like this - a predatory prowl straight from your most fevered subconscious yearnings as he pressed himself flush against your back with a low rumbling exhale that resonated to your very core.

The intrusive daydream flickered with dizzying lucidity behind your tightly screwed eyelids. Every slick inch of heated muscle rippling beneath your hands as you pivoted to seal your lips against his in a searing collision of unleashed desire. Kuroo's rough palms branding blazing paths down slippery expanses of soft skin as you arched into his maddening caresses in silent, desperate plea to finally explore those molten hungers to their conclusion...

With a choked groan, you whirled and pressed your forehead against the cool tile in an attempt to forcibly evict your tormentor from weaving his provocation into such a deliriously vivid fantasy. But the afterimage of his taunting silhouette remained burned onto the backs of your eyelids alongside the whispered promise of indecent transgressions, should you ever finally yield to that unchecked inertia carrying you straight towards them.

A dizzying shudder lashed through your overwrought frame as an anxious noise close to a whine escaped your trembling lips. You couldn't do this, couldn't keep allowing Kuroo to effortlessly provoke you to such maddening heights of frustrated longing and combustible lust with only a few heated looks and expertly wielded taunts.

It was like battling the inescapable allure of a riptide, the seductive siren call of its irresistible pull growing stronger and more irresistible every time you slipped beneath its churning rip currents before somehow wrenching yourself back to the surface at the last gasping moment. How long until even the most monumental force of will proved too feeble to keep dragging you back from the brink?

Kenma's crass words about cutting the "sexual tension" echoed unwanted through your whirling thoughts. You tried to swallow back the imagery his crude accusation summoned up, but some details still crept in past your battered restraints.

You. And Kuroo. Tangled up in a fevered, inevitable conflagration of slick heat and molten friction, napalm-bright desires burning until you were utterly consumed in a blast of searing rapture…

With a snarled curse, you reluctantly killed the shower spray - unable to escape your own torturous libido in the steamy confines any longer. Perhaps some fresh air might finally clear your head enough to dull these relentless indecent urges before Kuroo inadvertently provoked you into fulfilling Kenma's crass prediction at last.

The locker room feels oppressively warm and stifling as you emerge from the showers, skin still tinged pink from the scalding spray's futile attempt to rinse away your lingering frustrations. A thin sheen of perspiration almost immediately rekindles across your flushed chest and brow.

You swipe your forearm roughly across your hairline, trying and failing miserably to ignore the way rivulets of water trace tantalizing paths over your collarbones and breasts, down the taut planes of your abdomen. Each shimmering droplet's wake seems to leave pinprick trails of heightened sensitivity in its wake, maddeningly conspicuous against your overheated awareness.

With an annoyed grunt, you pull open your locker and reach for the thin cotton undershirt draped over the top shelf...only to freeze as an unmistakable, heady musk suddenly wafts up to assault your senses.

That rich, earthy, and utterly masculine fragrance feels like a physical blow lancing straight through your already compromised restraint. Instantly, you're assaulted with a barrage of unshakably vivid imagery unlike anything that has plagued you previously beneath the showers.

Kuroo looming over you, eyes hooded and lips parted around harsh exhales of barely leashed hunger. The heat of his solid frame pressing you back against unforgiving chill steel as electric shockwaves of friction build to maddening crescendos between you. His body branded like a searing brand against the sweat-slicked expanses of your bared skin as you arch and writhe beneath the exquisitely rough mapping of his hands, thighs parting reflexively in a wanton entreaty for deeper indulgence—

"Fuck," you snarl, hurling the offending garment across the small space like it has bitten you. Your breath saws harsh and shallow as you recoil from the vivid flashes still bombarding you from all sides.

That obscenely provoking scent...it hadn't been your shirt you'd started to pick up at all, you realize with a delayed sort of horror rapidly turning your belly to soured granite. The realization brings with it a whole separate series of incendiary imagery you are utterly powerless to prevent from sparking behind your tightly screwed eyelids like the world's most sadistic filmreel.

You, burying your face against that thick knit of soft fabric and breathing deeply of the headily masculine notes lingering there. Of salt and skin and vaguely woodsy musk as you try in vain to chase memories of their original source, to resurface those haunting fantasies like some lecherous addict chasing their next molten hit.

Perhaps even allowing one hand to trail slowly down your slick torso, fingertips blazing scorching paths southward as lurid shadow-flashes of Kuroo's sharply angled features fill your mind's eye. Of his heated gaze darkening to feral approval as you unapologetically surrender propriety to slake those smoldering cravings he's systematically and expertly stoked within you past all possible willpower to deny.

With a violence that belies you, you wrench your eyes back open to inspect the contents of your locker more closely. Sure enough, hanging carelessly amongst your own neatly folded pile at the very bottom is one of Kuroo's unmistakable crimson team jerseys. Your fingers spasm against the urge to reach down and tunnel into the temptingly soft knit, to willingly soak in that unholy musk until you're dizzy and molten with the imprint of him in your most forbidden fantasies.

Instead, you squeeze your eyes tightly shut again as a broken gasp rattles from between your clenched teeth. This just keeps getting worse, that tantalizing scent rapidly proving itself your own personal brand of siren's call towards crashing into the deepest pits of sin and self-indulgence—

The sound of an opening door freezes you like a stunned animal in your tracks. Your entire body snaps rigid with tension as your pulse kicks up several panicked notches, utterly dreading whoever might now bear witness to your clear unraveling.

Heart thundering in your ears, you slowly crack one eye back open with trepidation...only to feel the weight lift somewhat as Shizuku, one of your teammates came cautiously around the corner, cheeks slightly flushed in embarrassment.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," she stammers, clearly flustered at having stumbled upon you in this state. "I didn't realize anyone was still in here. I can come back later!"

You wave a dismissive hand before she can retreat, not quite trusting your voice not to come out incriminatingly wrecked just yet. Trying to regain your composure, you attempt to slow your ragged breathing as subtly as possible.

Shizuku nods hesitantly, not seeming entirely convinced as her sharp gaze continues raking over you with growing concern. "Are...are you feeling okay? You look really flushed."

The obvious worry in her tone makes guilt churn unpleasantly in your gut. You can only imagine what sort of indecent, overwrought state she's finding you in right now. A vivid flash of her somehow catching you red-handed while giving in to your wanton urges ricochets through your mind, making you swallow thickly against a rising blaze of heat.

Desperately, you shake your head in an attempt to physically dislodge the utterly unacceptable fantasy before it can take seed. Pushing a tight smile onto your lips, you wave Shizuku forward reassuringly.

"I'm fine, really!" you insist in a voice that thankfully doesn't waver as much as you'd feared. "Just...stepped out of a really hot shower is all. Probably going to head out soon anyway."

Shizuku visibly relaxes at your answer, offering a relieved smile. "Oh good, I'm glad it's nothing serious then!" She steps over to her own locker and begins digging through her gym bag without a second thought.

You let out a shaky breath, using her presence as a convenient excuse to turn your back and refocus on getting dressed and out of here before another intrusive fantasy tries to take root.

You stare at the rumpled crimson jersey with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Of course his scent had to linger cloyingly around the fabric in a way your senses couldn't seem to ignore, even after that shockingly scalding shower.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, you reluctantly snatch up the borrowed top and give it another inspecting look. There's a faint smear of deodorant along the collar line and a few scattered strands of short black hair stubbornly clinging to the soft cotton weave. Unmistakable signs of repeated wear and the masculine essence now permanently embedded into every delicate thread.

Your pulse immediately kicks up as new waves of heated compulsion crest over you at being surrounded by Kuroo's intimate essence like this. But grinding your teeth hard, you resolutely refuse to feed the treacherous undercurrents of want that seem insistent on cresting to the surface at every provocation from him.

No, you're determined to get yourself under control here. To put some distance between the unwelcome distraction he's become and regain a clear head once more. If putting on Kuroo's clothes helps provide any sense of closure regarding these increasingly indecent preoccupations...well, you're desperate enough to try just about anything at this point.

Before your resolve can waver any further, you slide the jersey up and over your head - the soft knit sliding easily over your still-damp skin and clinging to every curve of your torso like a second skin. Almost immediately you're enveloped in the smoky, vaguely citrus-tinged aroma of Kuroo's body wash and deeper musk. The disconcertingly familiar scents seem to drape you in a suffocating veil of molten heat that licks dangerously at the edges of your restraint.

You stagger back a few steps, chest heaving as fresh waves of phantasmic imagery come swarming like sharks to chum. Reveries of Kuroo's heated stare boring into you as he takes in the sight of you in his clothes with dark, burning approval. Images of him advancing with leonine grace, callused hands slipping beneath the loose hem to sear scorching trails over the naked, sweat-slick expanses of your--

With a frustrated growl, you grasp fistfuls of the offending fabric and yank it vigorously away from your sticky skin in a desperate attempt to gain some reprieve. But the damage is already done - the mere suggestion of being swathed in anything bearing Kuroo's personal essence is enough to trigger the instantaneous mental avalanche of indecent cravings and salacious fantasies you struggle so mightily against.

You pant harshly, feeling uncentered and perilously close to coming utterly unraveled like never before. How are you supposed to withstand this constant barrage of molten provocations from your sworn rival? How much longer can you even remain within your own right mind before surrendering to the siren's call towards combustible freefall?

Riding on the crest of that maddening spiral of thought, you make a desperate decision. With horribly shaky fingers, you grab at the button seam of your soaked gym shorts and frantically tear them open. You don't dare look down, don't want to see what sins your hands might inadvertently commit beneath the allure of Kuroo's infused jersey.

Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut tight and exhale a steadying breath as you shimmy out of the last of your clothes. You have to get a grip, have to focus your spiraling thoughts on literally anything else in this instant before you find yourself sleepwalking towards the edge of a point of no return.

It's only once your traitorous, damp gym wear lays discarded on the tile floor that you finally find the courage to crack one lid open hesitantly. When no fresh barrage of illicit visions immediately assault you this time, you gradually allow your death-grip on the jersey's hem to loosen.

There's still no question that wearing this small piece of Kuroo's essence so intimately against your naked skin feels nothing short of debauched. Like you've willingly attired yourself in sin made fabric in an act of lurid indulgence. But whether it's the cortisol dump from your panic, or simply that you've now grown painfully accustomed to the potency of his scent and provocation, you're no longer drowning in the tsunami of wanton cravings from only moments ago.

In fact, the steady drape of the already sweat-dampened jersey now feels refreshingly cool and grounding against your heated flesh. Like the familiar, lived-in scents enveloping you no longer hold the power to summon such incendiary visions - at least not in the sheer vast torrents they previously wrought.

You take a deep, cleansing breath and instantly feel some small fraction of clarity beginning to return. With it comes the growing certainty that letting Kuroo and your relentless rivalry send you careening down such lascivious mental spirals is both self-destructive and foolish.

The hard choice crystallizes with that clear-eyed realization - by putting your own scent and essence directly over his, you can gain back the upper hand in this personal battle toward retaining your restraint. By making Kuroo's jersey unequivocally yours through sheer force of intimate proximity, you neuter its power to continually push you towards mental unravelings of indecency.

You nod decisively at that plan of attack, already feeling some grounded sense of self-possession return.

Your first order of business after dealing with this inappropriately tempting distraction is returning Kuroo's clothes, of course. But damned if you won't savor a small sense of petty victory over regaining sovereignty over your turbulent thoughts and want first.

Then you can return to plotting ways to get deliciously even with your callous tormentor for all the maddening provocations and heat he's incited within you lately...

With your fragile sense of restraint regained for now, you quickly gather up your discarded gym clothes and shove them into your duffel bag, not wanting any more lingering reminders of Kuroo's scent messing with your hard-won clarity.

You move with renewed determination, trying not to dwell too long on the deliciously deviant thrill of simply existing in nothing but your rival's loose jersey while you prepare to leave the locker room. There's no point denying how utterly and deliciously illicit the sensation feels against your bare skin. But rather than unraveling you towards indecency once more, the mere fact that you've asserted control over the intimate situation helps keep those more prurient impulses at bay.

Still...that doesn't prevent the faintest tendril of heated want from curling low in your belly at the unmistakable mental flash of Kuroo's expression should he happen to stumble upon you like this. Of the blazing trail his gaze would no doubt scorch across every inch of visible skin as his eyes hooded with smoldering surprise and primal, undisguised hunger.

You bite down on your bottom lip hard enough to taste copper at that vivid imagining, feeling fresh pinpricks of arousal lancing through you. As always, the merest consideration of Kuroo's intense, provocative presence proves to be like singeing tinder to your subconscious libido - threatening to spark into a conflagration of wanton thoughts and indecent urges if left unchecked.

Shoving down that dangerous trail before it can consume you utterly once more, you quickly shoulder your bag and stride for the exit with as much purpose as you can muster. You're so focused on wrestling back control of your derailed restraint that you nearly crash headlong into Yaku as he rounds the corner, clearly on his way in after practice.

You both freeze mid-stride, eyes going wide as you take in each other's equally stunned expressions. For a longmoment the awkward silence stretches out between you, punctuated only by the sounds of your harsh breathing loud in the tiled stillness.

Then finally, seeming to find his voice first, Yaku lets out a low whistle as his sharp gaze rakes over you in one long, assessing sweep. "Well well...don't you look pretty cozy there, babydoll," he remarks, pitching his tone somewhere between casual observation and wry insinuation.

You feel heat flood your cheeks despite your best efforts, suddenly hyperaware of just how utterly compromising this whole situation must appear to any outside observer. Kuroo's jersey barely grazes the tops of your thighs, leaving the long toned lengths of your legs completely exposed and tantalizingly on display when paired with nothing else.

"Yaku, I - it's not what it looks like, I can explain--" you begin hastily, shame and embarrassment vying for control in your rasping tone.

But he simply shakes his head with a knowing grin, cutting off your flustered protests before they can truly take root. "Don't worry 'bout it, babydoll. Not my business to judge, and it sure ain't my place to cockblock either. Just tell that smug bastard Kuroo I want my fucking jersey back sometime this year if he's gonna be loaning it out like this."

With a wink and a shit-eating grin, Yaku saunters around your frozen form and continues on into the locker room, whistling cheerfully beneath his breath all the while. You can only gape after him, dizzy with equal parts embarrassment, annoyance, and grudging amusement at just how casually he apparently accepts stumbling across what he assumes to be the aftermath of some secret tryst between you and your hated rival.

Yet despite the overall awkwardness of the situation, some profoundly petty part of you also feels an innate thrill at the idea of Kuroo finding out you've been traipsing around in his clothes like some deliciously insolent afterglow.

The thought of watching those sharp features of his cloud over with displeasure and jealous possession lights an undeniable flare of wicked satisfaction in the depths of your psyche. You can't quite smother the devilish smirk that quirks your lips at the mere idea of provoking such spikes of dark territoriality from your arrogant rival over you flagrantly disregarding the "boundaries" between you in such a salacious manner--

Your molten chain of thought is brought up short, however, as another familiar figure comes prowling around the corner with the sort of leonine confidence that immediately sends a frisson of electric awareness zinging down your spine. For a dizzying instant, it's like every scintillating erotic daydream you've been battling lately roars to vivid, lurid life right before your very eyes.

There's Kuroo, strutting in with that same loose-limbed cockiness you've come to expect, likely fresh from pushing his own training regimen to its limits as usual. His practiced ease falters perceptibly as he clocks the fact that you're not only still here, but...well.

You watch with thirsty relish as those piercing amber eyes blow wide in a potent combination of shock and molten male-appreciation - the unmistakable signs of desire and possessive outrage already warring behind them as they blaze over every exposed inch of skin you've left available to his perusal.

"The fuck, kitten?" he finally manages in a slightly strained growl. "You just couldn't resist helping yourself to what's mine, could you?"

You shrug one shoulder lazily, not even trying to feign innocence as you let your gaze blatantly roam over his frame in return. "Don't act so scandalized, Kuroo. It's not like you've never wanted to see me in this state before."

His nostrils flare at your brazen words. You can see the way his throat works as he swallows thickly. "That's a dangerous assumption to be making there, sweetheart," he bites out, clearly trying to regain some veneer of control.

Chuckling lowly, you hook a finger into the jersey's neckline and tug it aside just enough to expose a teasing glimpse of your collarbone and the swell of your breasts. "Is it though? Or are you just getting flustered by how easy it'd be to peel this off me and see what other bad decisions I've made?"

A muscle ticks in Kuroo's clenched jaw at that. He takes a single predatory step closer, movements tight like a compressed spring as his eyes darken perceptibly. "You never did know when to quit provoking things you can't handle, kitten."

You hold his smoldering stare boldly. "Maybe I'm just finally acknowledging things I've wanted to provoke all along."

The loaded suggestion seems to snap the final threads of Kuroo's restraint. A low rumbling growl reverberates from deep in his chest as he surges forward in one sinuous, barely leashed movement. You only have a split-second to react before his broad frame is looming over you, caging you back against the lockers as he braces an arm above your head.

"Careful what you wish for, babydoll," Kuroo breathes in a horribly tempting rasp right against the pulse point of your throat. His free hand skates up beneath the hem of the jersey to sear over the bare skin of your inner thigh. "I'm not feeling too generous with things that belong to me right now."

Any provocation or pithy response dies on your lips as those calloused fingertips drag a scorching trail higher. Instead, all that escapes is a shaky exhalation that Kuroo seems to drink in like a fine vintage as his lips curve in a predatory smirk.

"That's what I thought," he rumbles in that gruff, smoky tone that vibrates through you in delicious waves. "Now why don't you be a good little thief and show me exactly what sins you've been coveting, kitten?"

The low, carnal rumble of Kuroo's challenge hangs thickly between you as that large, calloused hand continues blazing a scorching path up the sensitive inner expanse of your thigh. You can't quite muffle the trembling whimper that stutters up from your chest as those questing fingertips dare to drift ever higher beneath the loose hem of the jersey.

"That's it, kitten..." he purrs in a voice made viscous and ragged by naked want. "No more pretenses now that we've reached the inevitable conclusion of those teasing little games of yours."

Kuroo's free hand suddenly winds into your hair, not quite gentle yet not overtly harsh either as he guides your head back with a subtle tug. The new angle leaves the long vulnerable expanse of your throat deliciously exposed and straining against the first delicate blossoms of bruising kisses he presses there like sin-soaked brands.

"This is what you were begging for all along, isn't it?" he rasps against your feverish skin between each indecent new imprint of his lips and tongue. "All those brazen little taunts and glimpses of temptation you couldn't resist flaunting right in front of me. Like some shameless siren calling out for her reckoning."

His wicked mouth has found that one spot just below your jaw that never fails to rob the strength from your limbs. You tremble violently as Kuroo laves his scorching tongue over that sensitive point in clear exploitation, surrendering a stuttering keen of pure rapture that seems to spur him on like a drug.

"Fuck, kitten...do you have any idea what it took not to lose control and take what's mine with my bare hands whenever you bared your slutty little neck for me?" he growls with heartfelt vehemence even as his free hand continues its molten trek higher and higher beneath the jersey's hem. "How many times I've had to wrestle down the urge to mark every single inch of you in ways you'd never forget just who those sweet little sounds belong to?"

That large, rough palm finally, blissfully finds its inevitable destination between your parted thighs. You shatter utterly at the first undeniable caress of deft fingers slicking through your embarrassingly wet folds. Kuroo growls deep approval at the state of utter ruin you've been reduced to by his carnal words and touches alone.

"Look at you...so fucking needy and desperate for me already," he rumbles with that unholy confidence only a man utterly assured in his dominance can possess. "And to think you tried to lecture me about teasing...you've spent who knows how long just aching to be taken apart like this."

You whine shamelessly, head thrashing against the unyielding steel of the lockers at your back as two thick fingers find your entrance and begin circling in maddeningly light, teasing strokes that scatter every coherent thought to the winds.

"P-Please..." you hear yourself whimper in a broken, debauched rasp that only seems to make Kuroo's eyes blaze darker with fresh coals of sin-steeped possession igniting behind them.

"Please what, kitten?" he demands in that low, ritualistic timbre that somehow reaches straight down into your very core and seizes every hidden erogenous zone in its grip. "Use that messy little mouth and beg properly for what a desperate little slut like you so clearly needs from me."

"Kuroo, fuck- I need you to...I need you inside me, please!" The words tumble from your lips in a heedless slurry of desperation that would have shocked your more restrained self into mortified silence. But here, now, with those large fingers still lazily circling your molten entrance as he raptly drinks in every debased plea, nothing else seems to matter.

In one smooth motion, Kuroo's hand leaves your sweat-dampened hair as he hitches the jersey's hem higher in a wordless command you swiftly obey - until the garment is rucked up to allow his searing gaze full view of the sinful ministrations he's reduced you to. Of just how wrecked and shattered you've become beneath his skilled touches and unrepentant provocations at last.

"That's it, open those gorgeous fucking legs for me and watch just how thoroughly I'm going to relieve you of these indecent little cravings once and for all," he vows in a growl dripping with decadent sin and virile promise.

A single broad fingertip finally, blissfully delves into your soaked folds - breaching the snug walls of your entrance with the sort of languorous, deliberate pace that speaks volumes of the unhurried plans Kuroo has for your ruin. A second blunt digit follows not long after, slowly and carefully working its way deeper into the tight sheath of your pussy, stretching the untouched muscles in the most toe-curling, obscenely exquisite agony imaginable.

"Christ, kitten, you're so fucking tight..." Kuroo growls, a raw note of lust and male-appreciation bleeding into his voice as he takes in the sight of his fingers buried deep in your fluttering, dripping core. "Just look at how eagerly your slutty little cunt is trying to suck me in even deeper...tell me, are you this starved for my cock, or just that desperate for a good hard fucking?"

"Fuck, Tetsurou, don’t talk like that-!"

You break off in a keening gasp as Kuroo's thumb finds your clit and begins working the engorged bundle of nerves with slow, precise movements. His other hand still holds the jersey's hem up and out of the way, giving him a perfect view of his fingers pistoning slowly in and out of your soaked depths.

"What's wrong, kitten?" he purrs with an evil chuckle, leaning in until his breath scalds hotly against your ear. "You don't like the truth being laid out before you like this? Admit it, you're soaking wet just thinking about me filling you up until I'm the only thing you can think about anymore."

"I-It's not like that, please, you're driving me crazy--!"

"That's exactly the fucking point, sweetheart." Kuroo punctuates his assertion with a particularly vicious thrust that makes you mewl and arch into him. "Now stop holding back and tell me exactly what I want to hear, or I'll keep making a mess of your pretty little cunt until you can't remember how to speak anymore."

Your eyes fly wide open at that threat. "Kuroo, I swear to god, if you don't finish what you've started, I'm going to--"

"What, kitten?" Kuroo growls, teeth finding the tender juncture of your throat and jaw in a savage nip that sends a shockwave of electric sensation straight through you. "Gonna try and fuck yourself on my fingers until you come? Is that what you want, to ride my hand and fuck yourself silly while I watch?"

"Kuroo-!"

"Then go ahead," he commands with a feral, carnal sort of relish. "Ride my fingers and prove how much you need this, kitten. Let me see just how depraved a slut you really are, and I'll give you everything you've been begging for."

"Y-you bastard, I swear, I'm going to kill you!" you choke out as your hips begin bucking up against his hand of their own volition.

But rather than taking offense at your weak insult, Kuroo simply flashes that wolfish smirk that's haunted so many of your lurid fantasies. His amber eyes bore into you with a burning intensity that makes something primal and instinctual twist and writhe within you.

"Oh, don't worry, kitten. I fully intend to fuck you into submission, right here and now, just the way you've always wanted. That is, unless you'd rather beg me on your knees like a good little girl to fill your pretty, empty cunt with my cock and fuck you like the greedy little slut you are."

At his filthy promise, an electric charge zings down your spine and pools like liquid fire low in your belly. You feel yourself tightening around his fingers like a vise, hips bucking wildly in search of that final, elusive threshold of release as Kuroo continues working your clit mercilessly.

"Come for me, kitten," he breathes in a guttural rasp that resonates with something far more fundamental and bestial. "Come for me now."

Like a puppet cut from its strings, your entire body seizes up. Your back arches almost painfully as a scream rips itself from the back of your throat - a sound so wild and animalistic, you scarcely recognize the wanton creature it's torn from.

The force of your climax rips through you with the same white-hot intensity of a lightning strike, making you buck and thrash wildly against the unforgiving steel behind you. The pleasure is so acute, so agonizingly blissful, it's as if every nerve ending has been stripped raw and exposed to the elements.

It feels as if your release goes on forever, wave after wave of unadulterated pleasure crashing through your trembling limbs and wringing a steady, high-pitched keen from the very core of your being. It's only Kuroo's free hand coming up to cover your mouth that smothers the wanton sounds of ecstasy tumbling from you without restraint.

The world narrows to the sensation of his strong, calloused hand pinning you down with easy dominance. To the feeling of his fingers pumping slow and steady within the spasming clench of your oversensitive walls, as if wringing every possible drop of pleasure from your spent body.

It's a full minute or so before the world begins to gradually filter back in through the haze of blissful release. As it does, you become gradually aware of the way your entire body is still trembling with small aftershocks. Of the way Kuroo's dark head is pressed into the hollow of your shoulder, his lips moving as if in prayer as he breathes you in like some rare perfume.

When he finally pulls away to meet your gaze, his expression is almost reverent. "There she is," he murmurs with a soft chuckle, eyes warm and fond as they roam across the slack lines of your face. "I've been waiting a long time to see you looking that undone, kitten."

You swallow past a suddenly dry throat, the last vestiges of euphoria still buzzing through your veins as you try to process the magnitude of what's just happened. Of the way the heat and tension between you has reached its inevitable, combustible conclusion at last.

But rather than being sated or even satisfied by the act, a fresh wave of molten want immediately re-ignites like a furnace in the pit of your belly. Suddenly the memory of his calloused fingers buried inside you feels like an itch beneath your skin that can't be satisfied with anything less than the fullness of his cock.

"Tetsurou, please..." you hear yourself rasp, the need thick and urgent in your tone as your gaze drifts meaningfully down his still-clothed form.

Kuroo follows the path of your gaze with a low chuckle. He slowly withdraws his fingers from your sopping entrance, drawing a soft whimper from your throat at the loss. You're too far gone to be embarrassed by the lewd, wet sound the motion creates, however, too consumed by the sudden, aching emptiness now gnawing at you.

"Easy, kitten, we're getting there," Kuroo soothes, reaching down to deftly unfasten the fly of his shorts. You feel a sharp thrill shoot through you as his large, capable hands free the swollen length of his cock at last, leaving it standing flushed and proud before your rapt gaze.

"Look at that, so greedy you can't even wait for me to take these off properly first," Kuroo chuckles, giving his stiff length a slow, leisurely stroke that makes something dark and possessive ignite in the depths of his gaze. "Tell me, are you going to be a good girl and take all of this for me, hm? Or am I going to have to remind you exactly who's in control here?"

"T-tetsurou..." you manage, already feeling that dark, viscous hunger unfurl within you.

The sight of Kuroo's cock, swollen and rigid with lust, is enough to drive any further attempts at coherency from your mind. All that matters is having the thick, pulsing heat of his cock filling the empty, aching void between your thighs at last.

Kuroo's gaze rakes over you ravenously. He looks like a man ready to devour every last inch of you without restraint. And right now, you'd willingly submit to anything and everything he demanded if it meant feeling the full weight of his cock plunging deep into the molten sheath of your pussy.

"Turn around, kitten. Face the lockers and hold yourself open for me," he commands, already guiding you with firm hands until you're braced against the cold steel. "I'm going to fuck you like this. Gonna make you take all of me at once, and leave you a mess of cum and debauchery. Then maybe I'll drag you home and show you exactly what it means to be mine."

The mere thought makes you dizzy. You quickly move to obey, spreading your legs wide and bracing yourself against the unyielding lockers as you bend over and expose the glistening pink folds of your cunt.

"Please, Tetsurou, I need your cock so bad, please," you hear yourself babbling without a care, so consumed by the maddeningly empty ache inside you, nothing else seems to matter. "Please, just fill me up and fuck me already, I'll be a good girl and do whatever you want, just please!"

Kuroo's responding growl of approval is nearly subhuman in its depth. In the next instant, the heavy, searing heat of his cock is finally pressing into the entrance of your drenched pussy. You choke back a sob as his length plunges mercilessly in to the hilt with one fluid thrust.

For a long moment, Kuroo remains perfectly still. It feels as if every muscle in his powerful body has turned to stone as he struggles to maintain some modicum of restraint. But when you begin clenching around him with short, desperate jerks of your hips, it's like a switch is flipped.

His hands find your hips in a bruising grip, fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to leave marks as he pins you in place and begins thrusting into you with ruthless intent. With the first powerful surge of his cock, all higher functions of thought seem to cease. The only thing you can focus on is the way his length fills you with such delicious friction, splitting you open and leaving you breathless and utterly wrecked.

"Fucking hell, kitten, look at the way your slutty cunt is trying to suck me in," Kuroo groans, sounding dangerously close to his own peak. "Feels so fucking good...can't believe I've been waiting this long to make a mess of you, fuck-!"

His movements are becoming more and more frantic, losing the careful rhythm of his previous thrusts as his hips buck into yours with the frenetic intensity of a wild animal. Every harsh, jarring slap of his pelvis against your ass, every inch of his cock stretching you to the limits, is like a drug straight to your system.

The pressure builds and builds until your body is practically singing with the sheer anticipation of release. Your vision is beginning to go blurry around the edges, the air thick and syrupy as it leaves your lungs in a series of helpless, mewling cries.

Kuroo's large, rough palm suddenly snakes its way around your waist, his thumb finding your clit and pinching it hard as he pounds relentlessly into your tight sheath. You scream as the sudden stimulation sends you plummeting off the edge, your entire body seized by a second orgasm that hits you like a tidal wave.

In the next instant, Kuroo's hips jerk violently against yours, his entire body going rigid as a drawn bow as his release finds him. The sound that tears itself from his chest is guttural, bestial, the kind of noise a man can only make when reduced to his basest, most primal instincts.

You can feel his cock pulsing as he shoots load after load of cum deep inside you, filling your womb and flooding your inner walls with the evidence of his pleasure. You're so far gone, your head spinning and your limbs quaking, it's like floating outside yourself, watching the scene play out from afar.

You don't know how much time passes like that. How long the two of you remain tangled together, sweat-damp and sated and panting as if you've both run a marathon. It feels like ages before you begin to surface once more, awareness gradually returning with each measured breath and the slow, deliberate way Kuroo's hand begins smoothing over your trembling flesh in lazy circles.

When he finally slips free, you can't quite stifle the faint sound of loss that escapes you. But before you can mourn the loss too deeply, Kuroo's already spinning you around to face him, capturing your mouth in a hungry kiss as his arms come up to band around your waist.

"Mmm, I could get used to that," he murmurs as he breaks away, resting his forehead against yours. His voice is still ragged and slightly breathless, but there's no mistaking the languid, decadent satisfaction dripping from his tone.

You chuckle weakly, unable to suppress a shiver as his hand begins idly stroking the curve of your ass. "You really are a bastard, Kuroo. What happened to showing a little self-control, hm?"

"I could say the same to you, kitten," he returns, not the least bit remorseful as his mouth twists into a wolfish grin. "But if you'd really rather be calling me a bastard than moaning my name, well. We can go right back to square one and I'll fuck you stupid again until you're screaming the right name."

"Oh god, shut up," you groan, burying your face in his chest.

Kuroo laughs, a dark, sinful sound that makes your pulse flutter even in the midst of your mortification.

"What the fuck?!"

A new voice rings out from the locker room entrance, making both you and Kuroo freeze mid-embrace. Turning slowly, you see Yaku standing stock-still with a stricken expression on his face. He takes in the two of you, the state of undress, and the obvious aftermath of a tryst with a look that can only be described as a mix of shock, disgust, and mild arousal.

"Seriously, Kuroo, in the locker room? You couldn't find a better place to fuck this shameless hussy?" he complains, making no move to hide the fact that he's blatantly checking you out despite the indignant tone.

Kuroo simply shrugs one shoulder, completely unrepentant. "What, jealous, Yakkun? You can always join us, I'm sure she wouldn't mind a second cock."

"Kuroo, for fuck's sake!" Yaku snaps, throwing his hands up. "This isn't a fucking gangbang! Go get a room somewhere, I'm trying to get dressed here!"

"I don't mind a little audience," you remark casually, reveling in the way Yaku's eyes go comically wide as he processes the implications of your words. "But if you don't hurry up and make a decision, I'll be riding Tetsurou's cock again."

"I can't fucking believe you," Kuroo breathes with a dark chuckle. "First the jersey and now this...you're really not going to give me a break, are you?"

"Nope."

[tired-and-ticklish]

Broadcast Interference

Disclaimer: This is a tickle fic, so if that isn’t your thing, then just ignore this. 

Summary: Vox and Alastor’s rivalry is no secret to anyone. What is a secret is the more… interesting ways they deal with each other

TW: Tickling (Intense, seriously), Swearing, Restraints, Drinking, Vox and Alastor are both Bastard Men, Mentions of Cannibalism

Idea inspired by this post by @coolbananas143

Really, everyone should have expected this sooner or later. A rivalry like Vox and Alastor’s doesn’t just stick to insulting each other via radios and television screens. No, at some point, it gets physical, and it’s better for everyone to just stay out of their way. Thankfully, the residents of the Hazbin Hotel had unintentionally done just that.

It was no secret that the Television Overlord spied on basically everyone in Pentagram City, and the Hazbin Hotel was no exception. Sure, at first the monitoring could be chalked up to either “it’s just what Vox does” or “He’s watching the hotel to keep track of Angel for Val.”, but upon learning the Radio Demon had returned from a seven year absence to just throw himself into Charlotte Morningstar’s passion project, well, Vox couldn’t stop monitoring the hotel.

He had waited for the perfect opportunity, one where no one else besides Alastor would be at the hotel. Sure, Vox would have loved a captive audience to his triumph over that old-timey prick, but all in good time. He wanted all of Hell to see just who was in charge, and that would only happen when he found a way to record Alastor without the Radio Demon distorting the video. For now, however, this would do.

Alastor was going to be alone. The Princess had decided on another little ‘bonding excursion’, and as predicted, the Radio Demon had declined to go, most likely finding it beneath him. Ah, how that ego of his would be Alastor’s undoing. After making sure everyone else had left, Vox zapped himself through to the camera closest to the hotel, landing right in front of the doors.

‘You’re in for quite the surprise, you old-timey prick!’ The TV Thought as he entered the hotel.

—

Alastor knew something had been wrong ever since Charlie and the others left. He wasn’t alone in the hotel, much to his annoyance. The Radio Demon had been hoping for one day where he could be uninterrupted, but this was Hell and that was wishful thinking. In hindsight, he should have sent his shadows to see who dared infiltrate the hotel, but he was the Radio Demon, he could take care of any lowlife sinners who tried to deface or destroy the hotel.

What he hadn’t been expecting was Vox, looking like he had been waiting for Alastor. That pompous, sorry excuse for an Overlord had made himself at home, even pouring himself a drink from Husk’s bar. How he ate and drank wasn’t something Alastor wanted to question, what he wanted to know was why Vox had dared to step foot into the hotel.

“Just wanted to see what was keeping you so busy.” Vox responded casually, deliberately reaching over the bar instead of going around it, just making a mess. “There’s so much tacky fucking circus decor in here, is that what little princess Morningstar is running? A circus?”

“I can assure you, they were not my doing.” Alastor growled, his already thin patience for the TV wearing down further. “It’d be best for both of us if you left. With all your limbs still attached.”

“Try me, old man.” Vox dared.

“I would say I’ve been dying to eat you, but I’d rather not expunge my guts today!”

Insults soon turned to assaults, a bottle flying at the Radio Demon. Tendrils spawned from the ground, making a grab at the TV Overlord, but Vox had learned from their last fight. The two scuffled for some time, Alastor only feeling slightly bad for the damages to the hotel, considering that would make more for Niffty to clean.

‘Not to mention how cross Husker will be when he finds the bar raided and destroy-’ That one train of thought was Alastor’s undoing.

The wires from the hotel’s TV ripped out of the wall, ensnaring the Radio Demon. They wrapped around his arms, pulling them taut and upward, before wrapping around his waist and legs, so he couldn’t kick his way out. Try as he might, he couldn’t get free, growling as the TV came closer to his face.

“Look at you, trapped like the helpless animal you are.” Vox grinned, leaning in close, only for Alastor to try to smash his head into the TV Screen.

“I’ll show you helpless when I tear all your limbs off and devour them in front of you!” Alastor snarled, trying to pull himself free as Vox walked around him.

“You need to relax.” Vox hummed, dragging a claw down Alastor’s side slowly.

He had meant for it to hurt, but what he hadn’t expected with the Radio Demon stiffening, and biting his lip. Vox hummed at this discovery, repeating the action, which in turn caused Alastor to try to pull away. The TV couldn’t contain his excitement, he recognized all the signs thanks to working closely with Valentino and Velvette. He recognized them from having helped bring Angel Dust to tears a few times.

“You’re fucking ticklish?!” The amount of pure joy and malice in his voice didn’t escape Alastor. “This is too good!”

“It would be in your best interest if you forget all of this and release me this instance if you value your-” Whatever threat the Radio Demon was about to make was cut off by the feeling of Vox’s claws on his hips, scratching and digging into them.

“You’re not the one in control right now, are you~?” Vox teased. “No, you’re at my mercy, so watch your tongue.”

“Ihihihih’d tehehehell yohohohou to bihihihite meheheh, but yohohohou’d enjohohohoy that!” Alastor was pushing him, he knew that, but he wasn’t about to let the TV Overlord think for one second he wasn’t in control!

“Alright, keep pushing your luck.” Vox mused, moving his hands up Alastor’s sides. “I can do this aaallll day~”

Alastor tried once again to get away from the TV Overlord, his laughter going up an octave as Vox got closer to his ribs. He needed to get out of this situation before the bastard found his worst spots. The Radio Demon was sure his pride wouldn’t survive the taunts and teases that would be sure to follow.

“Let me guess, since you’re a cannibal, this is your favorite spot~?” Vox hummed, digging into Alastor’s ribs and grinning as the deer let out a squeal.

“Iihihihi’ve beehhehehen tihihihickled behehehetter bhihihihiihy thehehehe wihihihihnd!” Alastor was hoping if he got Vox angry enough, he’d drop his guard and that would give him the chance to escape.

“Ohoh, now you’re asking for it you prick!” Vox growled, his eyes scanning over the Radio Demon. There had to be a spot that would have him begging for mercy, and, as Vox noticed Alastor’s ears flicking, he got a wicked idea. “I’m getting bored of this spot anyway.”

His hands were removed from Alastor’s ribs, much to the deer’s relief. That respite was short-lived, however, as he noticed Vox looking at his ears. Before he could even threaten the TV, his ears were being scratched and rubbed, tickling the Radio Demon to no end. He couldn’t hold back anymore, pride be damned!

“FUHUHUHUCK NOHOHOHOHOH!” Alastor squealed. “CEHEHEHEHEASE AHAHAHAHT OHOHOHOHONCE!”

“Oh, that spot got you screaming quickly!” Vox sounded positively ecstatic about this discovery. “Wonder how long it’ll take before you’re a crying mess.”

“NEHEHEHEHEVER!”

“Never?” Vox chuckled, beginning to emit small, harmless shocks from his claws. “Your funeral~”

The shocks were sending a new wave of ticklish Hell upon Alastor’s nerves. A loud screech of radio static came from his throat, Vox recoiling slightly from the noise, but not enough to stop tickling him. The TV wasn’t letting him go anytime soon, and Alastor knew the only thing he could do was pray he either got bored, or pray that the others would return soon.

“I wonder what other spots get you screaming like this?” Vox hummed, despite not expecting the deer to answer. “Not talking? Guess I’ll have to find out on my own~”

Alastor was going to make him pay for this! He’d wipe that shit-eating grin off Vox’s face if it was the last thing he ever did! Another screech of radio interference escaped the Radio Demon, feeling like he was going mad. Vox, meanwhile, was having the time of his afterlife, but he needed more. He needed a spot that would finally be too much for Alastor.

“GEHEHEHEHEHT OHHOOHOHOHOFF MEHEHEHEHE BEHEHEHEHFOHOHOHOHRE IHIHIHIHIHIH BIHIHIHIHITE YOHOHOHOHU!”

A small ‘ding’ sound played from Vox’s speakers, the TV getting an idea. With a smirk, and after a few more electric shocks, he ceased his attack on the sensitive ears. Alastor caught his breath, not yet noticing the wires restraining him brought him up higher off the ground, his abdomen now level with Vox’s face.

“Thanks for giving me a hint~” Vox teased, and before the Radio Demon could respond, the TV had ripped open both the deer’s coat and undershirt, buttons flying off in random directions.

“You’re going to pay for that-” The threat was cut off by Vox slowly stoking a finger up and down Alastor’s stomach, making him freeze.

“All this talk of eating and shit has made me a bit… hungry~” Vox said, before grabbing Alastor’s sides with both hands.

“Vox, I-I’m warning you. If you even think about doing what I think you’re planning, It will be the last thing you ever live to do-” Alastor began, only to be stopped as Vox’s claws dig into his sides.

“You talk too much.” Vox replied, leaning in close.

It happened too fast for the Radio Demon to react, suddenly Vox’s face was in his stomach, before he felt ‘vibrations,’ making him squeal. The ‘vibrations’ were Vox using his TV static to make it feel like he was blowing raspberries right into the deer’s sensitive belly. Cackles of static and laughter came from Alastor, unable to let out a coherent sentence.

“YOHOHOU- STHAHAHA- NOHOHOHOH- IHIHIHIHI’M GOHIHIHING- CEHEHEHASE!”

Vox didn’t stop, in fact, he got worse, squeezing and prodding Alastor’s sides as he continued to torture him. He vaguely wondered if the Radio Demon would pass out from all this, and that would be something to see. Until then, however, Vox was going to keep tormenting him until he had his fill.

Alastor’s nerves felt like they were on fire, desperately trashing as best he could to try and escape. He hated this, he hated all of it so much! Being trapped, feeling helpless, especially at the hands of a bastard television!

“Say, Al.” Vox began, ceasing his raspberry assault in favor of raking his claws over Alastor’s stomach, once again emitting small shocks from them. “Imagine the headlines if all of Hell found out you, the big bad Radio Demon, are stupidly fucking ticklish~”

“YOHOHOHOOHHU WOOHOHOHULDN’T- DOOHOHOHON’T YOHOHOHOHU DAHAH-”

“I can see it now. ‘Breaking news! The Radio Demon and Local Hazbin is ticklish! A few well placed pokes and he’s begging for mercy!’ Wouldn’t that be ‘entertaining?’” Vox grinned. “If only I could get my cameras, and well, you would fucking show up on camera.”

As much as Vox would love to continue breaking Alastor, he was a busy man, and Valentino and Velvette were probably going to be looking for him soon. After one more ‘raspberry’ to Alastor’s belly button, he stopped. The wires holding the Radio Demon up soon unceremoniously dropped him, the deer catching his breath.

“Well, this was informative, and entertaining.” Vox hummed, beginning to head out of the hotel. “We should do this again some-”

Vox’s words were cut off as he was suddenly grabbed by shadowy tendrils, slamming him against the wall. Despite how out of it and tired Alastor felt, there was no way he was letting that TV escape after what he did. Slowly, he composed himself, carefully pushing himself off the floor.

“You seem to forget, old pal.” Alastor began, his eyes turning to radio dials. “Turnabout is fair play, and we still have quite some time before Charlie and the others return.”

“Put me down you asshole!” Vox growled, trying to pull himself free.

“Oh no, you see.” Alastor continued, coming over to the trapped Overlord. “When I get my revenge, I get it tenfold. Best you start praying now~”

Alastor was going to savor every single minute of tormenting Vox. He was going to make sure that pompous television knew never to mess with him again.

[wileys-russo]

you look better in red II m.bright x reader

she's so fit it should be a crime you look better in red II m.bright x reader

dating a literal brick wall had its advantages, nobody could deny that least of all you.

if there was ever someone on a night out who didn't take the hint you were a happily taken woman, all it took was your girlfriend wordlessly stepping in and placing a hand on the small of your back, her towering figure normally enough to send the message.

if not she'd greet you in her thick northern accent which always made your knees buckle and reward you with a feverish kiss, and if the sheer size of her wasn't enough to send the hint to back off once she pulled away, the piercingly unimpressed glare sent a strangers way was and they'd be off without another word.

as much as you adored your girlfriend and would do anything she asked of you without so much as a second thought. there was a few days a year where that was off the table and you'd switch from lovers to fierce competitors.

and today just so happened to be one of those days.

millie was long gone from the moment you woke up, leaving you admittedly quite grumpy to find the bedsheets cold and empty, deprived of your regular morning cuddle with her.

she'd left you a note of course, explaining she was meeting some of her team mates for breakfast. but with the blonde addressing it 'dear future loser' she'd already set the tone for the rest of the day.

despite the seriousness which was to make its way between you on the pitch, she'd challenged you a light hearted bet dependent on the outcome of the game which would commence in a few hours time. and it had your lips curling into a wicked grin at the thought of what was to come after you reigned victorious.

your girlfriend playing in blue for chelsea and you in red for your beloved arsenal, the intense deep seeded rivalry between your clubs rarely ever carried across into your relationship in anything more than light hearted banter or gentle teasing.

you both made it a point to leave everything out on the pitch, much as you were both fiercely competitive your love for one another and the health and well being of your relationship held much more importance.

however that didn't stop either of you from deploying everything you had in your ammunition to try and deter the other from winning, after all when you were on the pitch you were competitors first, so what was wrong with a few harmless little distraction tactics?

so when there was only a few minutes left of what had been an exhaustively grueling match between your two clubs, the score locked 0-0, it didn't surprise you that when you lined up for a corner and with a squeeze two very familiar hands made themselves at home on your hips.

you ignored her little comments and pushed against her to try and throw her off as the much taller girls hands shamelessly roamed up your top, mumbling in your ear all the things she planned to do to you once you returned to your shared bedroom later tonight.

"fuck off millie." you grunted as your cheeks flushed red at her words, throwing your elbow into her and ramming your shoulder against her chest, yanking her hands off as katie and jen slipped in beside you, effectively using their own bodies as a barrier to stop the blonde from touching yours.

steph raising her hand she wound up for the kick and you stumbled forward as millie now backed up by jess and niamh pressed in tighter. stephs boot connecting with the ball with a loud smack you watched as it flew through the air, the huddle of bodies awaiting it to land all exploding in a flurry of movement.

unfortunately niamh got to it first, clearing it quickly as you raced back off after it, sliding in to tackle jessie who'd recieved the pass you quickly regained possesion before she could send it off to sam, flicking it left to caitlin as you sprinted off toward the goal, careful you were still onside.

"foordy!" you yelled as the girl chipped it over jess's head, her aim immaculate as the ball landed right at your feet and you were quick to side step niamh as she cursed and tried to cut in, calling for millie.

"oh you're gonna regret that later." your girlfriend growled as you easily tapped the ball through her legs, nutmegging her. "you're gonna regret it now." you grunted as your laces hit the ball sending it sailing through the air toward goal.

you'd intended it as a cross in for stina to get a head on but having hit it a little more sweetly than you first thought it hurtled through the air and past an unsuspecting zecira, swooshing beautifully as it crashed into the net behind her.

you let out an elated cry of victory as the spectators roared and you sprinted off with your hands in the air, quickly taken off your feet by katie who spun you around, the rest of your team mates huddling together as your hair was ruffled and your back pat, praise raining down as you broke apart from their hugs, the chelsea girls already waiting eagerly to kick off.

the game quickly became aggressive as it ticked over into injury time and you found yourself taken to the ground again and again. as you attempted to intercept a cross, a sea of blue surged at you and your back thudded against the ground.

you hissed in pain as you felt studs stab into your thigh, red and blue shirts collapsing on top of you in an ugly pile up as the final whistle blew and the chelsea players helped one another up.

"sorry." niamh winced as she held out her hand, biting her lip guiltily as she looked to the fresh stud marks in your leg, a few specks of blood drawn and a very ugly bruise already forming.

"that one felt personal niamhy i can't lie." you chuckled with a groan of pain as you pressed at the tender skin, katie slipping her arm around your waist and helping you up as niamh apologised again and you waved her off.

the two of you had known one another since the under 17's, and you knew she meant nothing by it as you assured her it was okay. you caught your girlfriends concerned gaze sent your way, knowing if she hadn't been dragged off for a post match interview it would be her arms around you instead of katies.

you mouthed that you were okay and gave her a nod which she returned, turning back to the interviewer as katie carefully helped you sit down on the bench, the medics looking you over.

it didn't take them long to patch you up and before you knew it you were showered and changed, one of the last ones to leave the change room which was standard practice.

"dear god woman what the hell did you do in there? wash every crevice twice and practice your entire skin care routine?" your girlfriend groaned, having been lingering outside waiting for you for well over a half am hour now.

"no just half my regular routine!" you quipped back with a smile, pecking her on the lips as she was quick to take your bag off you, slinging it effortlessly over your shoulder as the two of you made your way out of the stadium toward your car.

it having been a home game for you meant the chelsea girls were long gone on their own bus, but you having driven meant millie stuck around to get a lift back.

"well well well, isn't this a change of events." you grinned as she climbed into the passenger seat, quite the opposite to your normal routine where she insisted on being the driver.

"my little passenger princess is all grown up." millie wiped away a few fake tears mockingly as you halfheartedly punched her shoulder and started up the ignition. "now you remember your lefts and rights yeah baby?" millie pouted mockingly, holding up her hands in two L's.

"keep those there would you? they suit you, loser." you grinned, revving the engine as the teasing look was wiped from the taller blondes face entirely and she slumped into her seat.

"what was that your note said this morning? dear future winner?" "christ are you going to be this insufferable all night?" "oh no no no, i'm ready to be impressed. don't forget our little bet my love."

~

"baby i am not coming out wearing this!" millie yelled from the bathroom with a loud groan of annoyance. "a bets a bet bright!" you yelled back from where you lay down on your shared bed, scrolling through tiktok as you awaited your girlfriend to pull through on her punishment for losing.

it was the day after the match and given you both had it off and had absolutely no plans, obligations or commitments, it was a perfect time for you to cash in on the bet your girlfriend had proposed, stupidly assuming she would be in your current position.

"it's too small! you're that fucking short. have you not got another one?" millie swore with a huff and you heard her rummaging around for something. "nope. this was your idea babe, should have thought ahead!" you laughed with a shake of your head.

"and i am not that short you're just a tree of a woman."

"i'm getting older by the second here millie!" you yelled out impatiently, shuffling up into a seated position as you made a point to sigh very loudly and very dramatically. "shut up!" your girlfriend roared from behind the door, a loud thud signally she'd thrown something at it.

"the deal was an entire day and you've already wasted half of that mills. hurry up!" you groaned, head thumping back against the headboard as finally a click sounded and the door cracked open slightly. "come on now, all the way out!" you coaxed her like you would a dog or a small child, her tattooed arm poking out and flipping you off.

though when the door did finally open and she stepped out in all her glory your phone fell to the bed and the corners of your mouth began to twitch. "don't you dare." your girlfriend warned as sternly as she could but it was lost on you as you exploded into laughter, dropping back down on the bed and clutching your stomach.

"god you're the worst!" the blonde whined, grabbing one of her trainers off the floor and lobbing it at you as it smacked you in the back. "ow! need i remind that this was your idea." you managed to get out among your relentless laughter.

your girlfriend had issued the bet whoever was the loser yesterday had to spend an entire day in the winners kit, and the winner would be in charge of whatever they did in that kit for the day.

and so stood before you was your girlfriend, kitted out in arsenal red.

with you being just over half the height of your well built girlfriend, your shorts looked like briefs on her and your jersey stopped just above her bellybutton, her strong arms almost busting out of the ill fitted sleeves, the lack of material leaving her well toned thighs and abs out for you to admire.

"right you got your laugh, i'm changin." the defender announced as you bolted upright. "oh no you're not! a bets a bet. i'm in charge and i didn't say you could change." you smiled smugly, the blondes scowl deepening at your words.

"you're so paying for this later." millie mumbled with a small pout, crossing her arms over her chest as your eyes shamelessly and hungrily roamed her body.

"i feel like a broken record but once again might i remind...this was your idea. not my fault you didn't account for uh, losing the bet!"

~

sundays normally the day the two of you caught up on your life admin had meant you'd turned the tall girl into your personal housewife for the day, adoring watching her complete everyday tasks in the barely fitting uniform, your last name displayed proudly across her broad shoulders.

"oh that looks lovely baby, good job!" you grinned, cheekily smacking her on the bum as you walked past where she was wiping down the kitchen counter. "oi!" the blonde yelled after you as you disappeared into the laundry.

unloading the washer and placing yours and millies clothes into the dryer you peered just out of the door frame. your lips curled into a smile seeing her humming and dancing along to the music playing from her speaker as she continued to wipe down the kitchen.

slipping your phone out of your pocket you subtly took a video of her and posted it to your close friends story, full well knowing a handful of her chelsea teammates would see it as well as most of the national team girls.

"you're enjoyin this too much." millie sighed as you pulled yourself to sit up on the counter a few hours later, the blonde busied hurrying around the kitchen making dinner for the two of you, still wearing your incredibly poor fitting kit.

"can you blame me? you look good." you whistled with a cheeky grin as your eyes drunk her in, your foot colliding with her bum as the taller girl turned and quickly smacked your thigh with the wooden spoon.

"millie!" you hissed as she'd collected you right where the stud marks from yesterday were still tender, the defender sending you a guilty smile. "sorry baby, that was harsh." she moved to stand in between your legs, bending down to press a few soft kisses to the bruise in apology.

despite you being sat up on the counter, with your height difference it meant the girl still stood just taller than you. "i think my lips deserve an apology too." you smiled innocently, tapping them expectantly.

"well, if i must." millie sighed before grinning and leaning in, rewarding you with a sweet but passionate kiss before she pulled away, hurrying back over to keep a careful eye on dinner as you hopped down to set the table.

"baby you posted me on your story?!"

~

you sighed in defeat as you looked yourself over in the mirror, smoothing out the blue kit and shuddering in disgust at the oppositions crest which sat above your heart.

given the fact that really your girlfriend had been a good sport all day, and put up with your relentless ribbing with very minimal remarks back, you decided she deserved somewhat of a reward.

especially with just how much shit sam and guro had given her for what you posted on your story, which you were certain you'd continue to hear about over the next few days.

so here you stood in her chelsea jersey, her last name plastered across your back and given the fact it hung over your smaller frame like a dress, nothing bar some lacy underwear on beneath it.

"baby do we have plans next weekend? rach wants to have a lads day on sun-" the blondes words dried up in her mouth as her eyes flickered up from her phone and you stepped out from the bathroom.

"thought you deserved a little reward for being such a good sport today love, but don't get used to it." you sent her a smile, her phone dropping to the bed as she watched on with wide eyes.

"jesus christ i've dreamed of this." millie whistled, sucking her bottom lip in between her teeth as her eyes glazed over with lust, and it was true, she had dreamed of this in many possible situations.

"aih go on and pose for us then darlin. i'd like to commemorate this moment!" your girlfriend grinned wickedly, grabbing her phone and shuffling to the end of the bed, snapping pictures of you as you stared at her bluntly and flipped her off.

"ah yes! give it to me! be sexy, be sultry, you're turning me on honey." millie yelled in a goofy voice as she continued to snap pictures as you rolled your eyes, clearing the distance between you two and smacking her phone out of her hand.

"come here then sexy." the blondes hands found your hips pulling you up and onto the bed, moving to lay down and tugging you to sit on top of her. "hello girls." millie smirked, slipping her hands under the bright blue jersey and abruptly squeezing your boobs.

"oh i hate when you talk to them, please no!" you withheld a moan as her large hands kneaded away at your chest, one moving to cup the back of your neck, forcing your head downwards toward hers and hungrily connecting your lips.

"you had your turn at being in charge, my turn now baby." the blonde mumbled into the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip before she sucked on your tongue earning herself a moan and you shifted on top of her.

you pulled away and moved your lips to her neck instead, peppering feather light kisses down the collumn of her throat as she sighed in pleasure, pushing your head deeper into her neck, hand still firmly on the back of yours meaning she was in control of when you pulled away.

however the moment was rudely interrupted by an alarm on millies phone going off, causing you to jump in shock as she reached out, fumbling blindly in the duvet till she located it, eyes scanning the screen.

you assumed she would just switch it off and toss it away, secretly hoping she'd follow through on some of the dirty things she'd whispered in your ear at the game yesterday, after all she was a woman of her word.

so it was to your shock when her hands instead settled themselves on your thighs and you could tell from the look in her eyes whatever she was about to say you weren't going to like.

"baby. as much as i love doing this with you, especially in my fucking kit. love islands on in five." millie smiled sheepishly as you properly sat up now, hands on hips and staring down at her in disbelief.

"are you seriously saying you'd rather watch tv than have sex with me right now?" "no babe i just... well yeah its the final week! theres only three episodes left."

"oh god fine. you call rach, i'll go get your usual snacks." you gave up with a sigh, flopping off of her and rolling across the bed, standing to your feet. "hey hey hey." the blonde hurried to wrap her tattooed arms around you.

"thats not to say we can't continue this afterwards." she smiled charmingly as you flicked at her forehead and hummed. "if you're lucky." you poked your tongue out, sneaking out of her hold and headed for the door.

"god you look even better from behind in blue." millie smirked, laying down with her hands behind her head as you chuckled.

"yeah? well you look better in red."

[invalidstories]

One Bed

Warnings: Potential emotional distress due to relationships, non-sexual physical intimacy

In the dimly lit room, Hero and Villain found themselves in an unexpected predicament—they were both stranded for the night in a remote cabin, with only one bed.

Hero glanced around the cozy space, taking in the rustic decor and the soft glow of the fire crackling in the hearth. Despite the circumstances that had brought them together, there was a strange sense of tranquility in the air, as if the universe had conspired to grant them a moment of respite amidst the chaos of their rivalry.

Villain stood near the window, their silhouette outlined against the moonlit sky. There was a tension in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken truce that had settled between them for the night.

With a sigh, Hero approached the bed, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling into their bones. "Well, I guess we'll have to make do," they remarked, their voice laced with resignation.

Villain turned to face them, their gaze meeting Hero's with an intensity that sent a shiver down their spine. "Indeed," they replied, their tone unreadable.

As they settled into the bed, their bodies mere inches apart, Hero couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at their insides. They were supposed to be enemies, locked in an eternal struggle for supremacy. And yet, here they were, sharing a bed as if they were old friends.

But soon enough, discomfort crept in as Hero shifted, feeling the weight of Villain's presence too close for comfort. "I can't sleep like this," they muttered, their frustration evident in their tone.

Villain sighed, a hint of annoyance flickering across their features. "Fine," they conceded, "you take the bed. I'll take the floor."

But Hero shook their head, adamant. "No, you shouldn't have to sleep on the floor. We can find another solution."

Villain scoffed, their pride wounded by the suggestion. "I'll change rooms then," they declared, moving towards the door.

But Hero's voice stopped them in their tracks. "You can't," they said quietly. "I checked. They're fully booked."

Villain's shoulders slumped in defeat, the reality of their situation sinking in. "Well, what do you suggest we do, then?"

Hero hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing their features. But then, with a determined glint in their eye, they replied, "We share the bed. But we'll make a pillow wall between us."

Villain raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "A pillow wall?"

Hero nodded, "It's the best compromise we have. We both get to sleep in the bed without invading each other's space."

With a begrudging nod, Villain acquiesced, and together they constructed a makeshift barrier of pillows between them, creating a fragile boundary between them.

As they both drifted off to sleep, the sound of their steady breathing filling the room, Hero couldn't help but wonder what the dawn would bring—a return to their bitter rivalry, or the dawn of a new understanding between them.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

As morning painted the room in soft hues of dawn, Hero stirred from their slumber, blinking groggily as consciousness returned. But as they shifted, they found themselves tangled in a mess of limbs, their body inexplicably intertwined with Villain's.

At first, confusion clouded Hero's mind, their thoughts muddled from sleep. But as awareness slowly seeped in, they couldn't help but feel a strange sense of comfort in the intimate closeness.

With a soft sigh, Hero attempted to extricate themselves from the tangle, their movements gentle so as not to disturb Villain's sleep. But as they tried to pull away, Villain stirred, their grip tightening instinctively around Hero's waist, pulling them closer.

Surprised by the unexpected gesture, Hero stilled, their heart fluttering in their chest as they gazed down at Villain's peaceful expression. In that moment, all traces of loathing melted away, leaving only the warmth of companionship.

Unable to resist the pull of the moment, Hero allowed themselves to relax into Villain's embrace, their lips curling into a soft smile at the unexpected turn of events.

And as they drifted back into a peaceful sleep, entangled in each other's embrace, Hero couldn't help but feel a sense of hope blossoming within them—a hope that perhaps, despite the odds, there was room for understanding and acceptance in even the most unlikely of relationships.

"Love, akin to wildflowers, thrives in the unlikeliest of terrains, sprouting amidst adversity and blooming with unforeseen grace."

Masterlist

[victoryverse]

Hmm...i have this messy scenario where reader and Simon are like enemy/rival to each other—well actually it's only from Simon's side since he has crush on reader without him realizing it and he also doesn't know how to act regarding his feeling so yeah Simon being Simon—he acted like a jerk to his crush. And reader actually has no clue nor idea why Simon hates them, not to mention he always throw that distasteful glance to reader. So one day on a mission, Simon and reader end up as duo and when they are taking a break in a safehouse, there's only one bottle of water left. They kinda fight for it and it's obvious that Simon would win, so he chugs down almost whole bottle. Before he really finishes, Simon pulls reader's collar and kisses them while also pouring the water down to their mouth. It may extends into long short makeout session depends on Simon's true intention at the time :))

~🫧

rivals*

warnings: cursing, hate feeling, smut towards the end, kissing! 🙈

The tension between Simon and you had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks, like a volcano ready to erupt at any moment. From the moment you had been assigned as partners on missions, it was clear that there was an unspoken rivalry brewing between you, fueled by snide remarks and competitive banter.

Today was no different. As you found yourselves holed up in a safehouse during a particularly grueling mission, the atmosphere crackled with an intensity that was hard to ignore. The air was thick with unspoken words, and the only sound was the faint hum of the ventilation system.

You sat across from each other, both exhausted from the day's events, but neither willing to break the silence. The tension between you was suffocating, and you wished desperately for a distraction to break the ice.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, you spoke up, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, this is cozy, isn't it? Two sworn enemies forced to share a safehouse. What could possibly go wrong?"

Simon's lips curled into a sneer as he met your gaze, his eyes cold and calculating. "Oh, I don't know, maybe you could try not getting in my way for once. That would be a nice change of pace."

You rolled your eyes, refusing to let his barbs get under your skin. "Please, Simon, like you're the picture of efficiency. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to sabotage our mission."

Simon's jaw clenched, his expression darkening with anger. "Funny, coming from the one who can't seem to follow orders without screwing up."

The words stung, but you refused to let him see how much they affected you. Instead, you shot back with a cutting remark of your own. "At least I don't let my ego get in the way of doing my job. Unlike some people I know."

Simon's eyes narrowed, his fists clenching at his sides. "Watch it, Y/N, or you might find yourself on the wrong end of my fist."

You scoffed, unimpressed by his empty threats. "Please, Simon, we both know you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if your life depended on it."

The tension between you reached a boiling point, the air practically crackling with animosity. You both knew that this was a battle neither of you could win, but neither of you were willing to back down.

Just then, Simon reached for the last remaining bottle of water, his hand closing around it possessively. Your eyes widened in surprise, realizing that you were both reaching for it simultaneously.

"Hey, that's mine," you protested, trying to snatch it from his grasp.

Simon's lips curled into a smirk as he held the bottle just out of your reach. "Finders keepers, loser weepers," he taunted, his tone dripping with arrogance.

You scowled, feeling a surge of frustration coursing through you. "You can't be serious. We're supposed to be partners, Simon."

But Simon didn't seem to care. Instead, he twisted the cap off the bottle and took a long, exaggerated swig, relishing in your annoyance.

Before you could protest further, he leaned across the table, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck as he pulled you towards him. Your eyes widened in shock, your breath catching in your throat as his lips crashed against yours.

For a moment, you were too stunned to react, your mind struggling to process what was happening. But then, as the shock wore off, you found yourself melting into the kiss, your body responding instinctively to his touch.

Simon's lips were surprisingly soft against yours, his kiss filled with a raw intensity that sent shivers down your spine. You could taste the water on your lips, little drops pouring from his mouth into yours, that made the moment even more hotter.

As the kiss deepened, you felt Simon's other hand sliding down your chest, his touch sending sparks of electricity coursing through your veins. You knew you should pull away, that this was wrong on so many levels, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop. Not when he kissed you like that.

It was as if all the pent-up tension between you had finally reached its breaking point, and now, there was no turning back. You found yourself surrendering to the heat of the moment, allowing yourself to get lost in the sensation of Simon's lips against yours.

But just as quickly as it had begun, the kiss was over, leaving you breathless and bewildered. Simon pulled away, his eyes dark with desire as he looked at you, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, you simply stared at each other, both of you shocked. And then, as if on cue, the reality of the situation came crashing down around you.

"What… what was that?" you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Simon's expression softened, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes. "I… I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely audible over the sound of your racing heartbeats. "I just… I couldn't stand the thought of you being mad at me anymore."

You blinked in surprise, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly falling into place. So that was it – all this time, Simon had been acting like a jerk because he couldn't deal with his own feelings for you.

A wave of sympathy washed over you and you reached out, tentatively placing a hand on his arm.

"I didn't realize," you murmured, your voice soft with compassion. "I had no idea you felt that way."

Simon looked at you, his gaze searching yours for any sign of rejection. But all he found was warmth and acceptance, a silent invitation. The hate and regret was melting into something else, and soon, he pulled his lips back on yours, his ahds gripping your waist harshly and pulling you on him completely.

You straddled his thigh, his rough hands grabbing handfuls of your flesh and moans spilling from your lips as she grabbed an spanked your ass.

"Simon, oh godd--"

Your words remained lodged in your throat, as he flipped you over, making you lay down on the floor and gripping your bulletproof jacket, pulling it off you. He pulled the intercom too, and you gasped as he began undoing your belt.

"But, but si--the mission?" you asked, your voice ragged and breathless.

"Fuck the mission. All I want to concentrate on is you and this tight little pussy of yours"

[lovearthur]

How would Arthur react if fem reader saved his life by using a carcano rifle as a rival gang was about to kill him along with the help of Sadie then gets mad at him for making her worry so much but is happy that he's still alive?

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=5hCK3y4LK5M&pp=ygUWbWFnZ2llIHNob290cyBtb2JzdGVycw%3D%3D

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒌! (𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓡𝓔𝓐𝓓! afab/fem! reader . talkactive reader . mild violence . sadie being sadie . arthur being a comfort . not proofread

╔══♡══════𐚁══════════════════════════╗ hate is one of many responses. pain, treachery and hate sometimes go hand in hand. but why accept feeling of being hurt if u can turn into something more? like revenge...

the o'driscolls. a irish-american gang of vicious outlaw men. who were nobodies that could ride a horse, shoot a gun and harm anyone without a second thought. the ang is ruthless and has no apprehension about murdering innocent folk, including women and children.

they weren't unknown to the van der linde gang. both gang leaders of dutch and colin saw eye to eye before colm started seeing things a lot more differently, which then cause the rivalry feud between them to start and its been going on for who knows how long.

the hate only got stronger once dutch killed colm's brother, and to retaliate.. colm killed dutch's lover, annabelle. and they have been at daggers dawn ever since. not a single soul liked each other ever since they hatred began.

╚══════════════════════════𐚁══════♡══╝

arthur was on his way back to camp after helping another stranger on the side of the road from the indignation of o'driscolls. he hated that gang; they were a dishonourable and loathsome gang of outlaws, even more heinous than the van der linde gang. he always thought, he was always taught. furthermore, he did his usual of shooting the few members of the o'driscoll boys before helping the stranger proper and riding on, but what he didn't know is that they planned to fight back. planned to fight against the most ruthless, threatening, and menacing outlaw in all of new hanover. they decided to get him back. once and for all. arthur wasn't too far now, he maybe thought that he was... an hour or two away from horseshoe overlook? either way, he knew it wasn't much farther to go. he was looking around in his environment, appreciating what nature had to offer, and then a deer gracefullly walked out the grass full of trees. it was the kind of animal he undoubtedly adored. how such a pretty animal can look so... innocent and fragile in spite of knowing that a predator can not be too far away while having the intense gaze on its prey. like the deer had no other meaning in the word than to be devoured by a threatening being...

"stop right there, morgan!" arthur immediately looked infront of him and there they were, he couldn't see their faces for the reason that they hid them with bags of some sort. one look at their rugged appearance and he then knew the 4 men belonged to colm o'driscoll. "now if ya wanna keep yer head, you'll get down from that horse, okay?" another one says as he points his gun at the older outlaw. he was sure to get out of this until he saw more of them appear. 4 men quickly turned into more of them. arthur was quite the confident man when it came to his draw of a gun, but this? this was... he wasn't sure anymore. still, arthur wasn't the one to back down from any conflict, like a coyote wouldn't be afraid to stand up for itself. so he kept his nervy feelings hidden behind his threatening facade.

"i ain't givin' shit." he says through gritted teeth, keeping his intense gaze on each of the vicious men. "last chance 'fore we let the shooter do the work, get down!" as those words were spat out, guns were taken out of holsters and clicked to be ready. arthur reached for his gun as another o'driscoll clicks his gun before bang! the gun was shot out his hand, but how? arthur didn't shoot him. bang!.. bang!... bang!... a few more become disarmed. arthur was grateful but he has never been so confused in his life! "goddamnit, he ain't alone!" one says as he holds in wounded shoulder. "can ya see anyone?" another one says before before anyone could reply- bang! bang! and a few more gunshots and each o'driscoll boy is disarmed and injured, each dropping to the ground like flies. arthur looks at his surroundings as he hitches off his horse, buell and then looks at the bodies, he was sure of himself that he was the only man out in nature like this. he saw no one else nearby or for acres ahead or behind him. "what the-"

"arthur morgan! damn ya fer gettin' her all worried like that!" says a raspy but feminine voice said behind him. seems like he wasnt much alone as he thought he was. but she was quite the woman. he turns around before seeing one of his closest friends in the gang, sadie adler behind a carcano rifle. sadie was one feisty girl, quick-witted too. even scarier during a gun fight.

"i had it under control! 'm fine as any fella. 'm still alive..." he replies in his usual rough tone, dismissing the situation like usual. "yeah, yeah. it sure seemed like it. never seen yer woman so worried fer ya." sadie replies as she backs away from the rifle, making her way to arthur to hit his shoulder in a playful manner. in a way to tell him off for getting u worried sick. "arthur! ye had me worried sick, ya silly man!" u say with ur usual sweet and soft tone. u were so so glad that sadie was okay for helping u find arthur. he was away from camp for so long. u quickly making ur way over to him, hitting his shoulder then going onto ur tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck. didn't take long before u felt his rough hands glide around ur waist tighter than ever. "'m fine, darlin'. aint no harm-" that silly man. "ye've been gone fer so long, i thought-"

- 𝘰𝘩, 𝘶 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭, he thought. god, he felt so lucky to have u he 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 if u were both in the privacy of his tent. 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 ᡣ𐭩

"'m alrigh', sweetheart.. don't ya worry no more." he says softly by ur ear, u felt his hand move to the top of ur head, stroking your locks just as gentle as he was ever with u. "thank ya, mrs adler." he says as he looks over to sadie, who was looting the o'driscolls. she scoffed lightly. "ain't nothin' t'thank me for. they got what they deserved." sadie wasn't wrong, all of u thought the same about the o'driscolls. they were horrible men. "'nd see? i told ya he'd be fine, [name]." she added, looking over to u as arthur continues stroking ur hair, feeling sadie's eyes on u. "i know, but-" arthur rests his hand on ur shoulder, his other hand tilting ur head up to have u look up at him. "but nothin', she righ' 'cause 'm fine." he says, his blue-green eyes fixated on him. u nodded at his words while ur doe eyes remained on his face. "c'mon now, you two. time to get back." sadie says before she whistles for her horse and she hitches herself up.

being the gentleman he was, arthur helps u up on his horse before hitching himself up. u gave him a sweet "thanks" before wrapping ur arms around his waist in case u fall. "'m still mad at ya fer rilin' me up like that. john was makin' it out theat ye were killed before we got t'ya." u hear a small "'course he did.." from arthur as he rolls his eyes. him and john always had that sibling bond, it was sometimes funny to u. "don't u listen t'him now.. he's's still caught up on that wolf attack." he says in his usual rough tone which earned a small chuckle from u. "he appreciates ya really, arthur. y'know that, 'nd so do I." u say before u give him a kiss on the cheek which left a pink stained kiss Mark on his cheek. sadie gave a small "hyah!" to her horse to get going with u and arthur following behind... leaving arthur to happily listen to ur ramblings about ur day.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 he felt such a lucky man to have u by his side.