#(again i feel like i maybe already made this ???)

[pucksandpower]

Don’t Let Go

Charles Leclerc x Bianchi!Reader

Summary: five times, spanning nearly three decades, that you and Charles held hands (a little treat for Valentine’s Day from me to you)

Warnings: mentions of Jules Bianchi’s death and depictions of labor

Based on this request

The Mediterranean sun bathes everything in warmth, and the beach is alive with laughter and the salty scent of the sea. Families dot the sand, umbrellas casting colorful spots of shade, and kids run along the shoreline, kicking up sprays of water that glint in the sunlight. You and Charles stand together, eyes wide with the thrill of the world around you, hands clasped tightly.

“Don’t let go, okay?” He says, giving your hand a little squeeze. His face is solemn, as if this is the most serious promise he’s ever made.

You nod with all the gravity a four-year-old can muster. “I won’t.”

And then his face breaks into a grin, eyes bright with excitement. “Look! Over there!” He points, and you both tilt your heads up to see a man spinning cotton candy onto a cone, a swirl of pastel pink and blue that looks like a cloud.

“Can we get some?” You ask, voice small and hopeful, like the entire day depends on this one piece of fluffy sugar.

Charles looks at you, then at the cotton candy man, then back at you. He lowers his voice, like he’s plotting something daring. “We’ll ask Maman, but … maybe we could sneak away?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No, we’re not allowed.”

“Oh, fine,” he says with an exaggerated sigh, as if being five years old and following rules is already exhausting. “But if we did, you’d have to hold my hand the whole time.”

“I’m already holding your hand,” you remind him, swinging his arm a little.

He laughs, and then your parents call out, reminding you both to stay close, to not let go of each other.

“We’re not letting go!” Charles calls back, his hand still firmly in yours.

Together, you walk with your families through the crowded boardwalk, weaving around beach bags and coolers, dodging groups of older kids with towels slung over their shoulders. But then, in one sudden, disorienting moment, everything changes. A group of teenagers pushes through, their laughter loud and jarring, and somehow, in the confusion, Charles’ hand slips from yours.

He realizes it just a split second too late, his fingers grasping at air. He turns, panicked, eyes wide. “Y/N?” His voice is barely louder than a whisper, and in the noise of the crowd, it’s swallowed up.

You’re gone.

Charles stands there, frozen, heart pounding. He looks around frantically, calling your name again, louder this time. “Y/N!”

He sees nothing, only the sea of legs and sunburned shoulders and wide-brimmed hats. His heart races, and his chest feels tight. He can’t lose you — not like this. He bolts back to where your parents are, his voice high-pitched and breathless.

“Maman! Y/N … she … she’s gone!”

The look on his mother’s face goes from confusion to alarm in an instant. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

“We were holding hands, but … but then-” He’s trying to explain, but the words feel sticky in his mouth, and he can barely get them out. “She’s gone! She’s not here!”

Your mother’s face pales as she clutches Charles’ arm, her eyes darting around. “Where did you last see her?”

“There!” He points back toward the spot by the cotton candy vendor, but it’s as if the place has transformed in the few seconds you’ve been gone. Nothing looks the same. Every face, every family, every child blends together into a blur.

The panic spreads, rippling through the small group of adults as they start scanning the crowd, calling your name with voices that tremble.

Charles stands rooted, clutching at his mother’s hand. It’s all his fault. He let go. He was supposed to keep you safe. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, feeling tears start to sting at his eyes. “I didn’t mean to …”

Your father places a hand on Charles’ shoulder, his voice calm but with an edge of urgency. “Stay with your mother, Charles. We’re going to find her, okay?”

But even as the adults scatter, scanning the faces in the crowd, calling your name with increasing desperation, Charles can’t just stand there. He looks up at his mother, his voice tiny. “I want to help.”

“Charles-”

“I have to help,” he insists, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Please. I promised I wouldn’t let go.”

There’s a pause, then a nod. His mother’s grip tightens on his shoulder, as if grounding him. “Stay close, mon chéri. We’ll find her.”

Together, they start moving through the crowd, calling your name. Charles’ voice cracks each time he says it, and with every passing minute, his chest feels heavier. He keeps glancing around, hoping to see your face, to see you waving back at him with that little smile. But all he sees are strangers.

The minutes stretch, dragging into what feels like hours. He begins to wonder if maybe you’re lost forever, that maybe this is his punishment for letting go, for letting his fingers slip from yours.

And then, in the distance, he catches sight of a cluster of people gathered near a lifeguard stand. His heart skips a beat. He grabs his mother’s hand, tugging her in that direction. “There! I think … I think I see her!”

They make their way through the crowd, weaving between the umbrellas and beach chairs. As they get closer, Charles’ heart beats faster, and he barely dares to breathe. And then, finally, he sees you.

You’re sitting on the edge of a bench, a scrape on your knee, a police officer crouched in front of you with a first-aid kit. Your eyes are red, and you look so small, clutching the edge of the bench like it’s your lifeline.

“Y/N!” Charles shouts, breaking into a run.

You look up, and the relief that washes over your face makes his heart soar. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s running up to you, arms wrapping around you tightly. “I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!”

You sniff, burying your face in his shoulder, and for a moment, the two of you just cling to each other, letting the world fall away.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, though your voice wobbles a little.

Charles pulls back just enough to look at your scraped knee, his face scrunched up in worry. “Does it hurt?”

You nod, biting your lip. “A little.”

“I shouldn’t have let go,” he says, voice choked with guilt. “I promised I wouldn’t.”

You reach for his hand, holding it tightly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

But he shakes his head, and there’s a fierce determination in his eyes. “I’m never letting go again,” he says, as if the promise itself is enough to keep you safe.

The adults gather around, relieved but still shaken, fussing over you and asking if you’re alright. But for Charles, none of that matters. All he cares about is that you’re here, safe, with his hand in yours.

And this time, he’s never letting go.

***

The sky is a steely gray, heavy with clouds that seem to press down on the earth. There’s a chill in the air, one that makes the hairs on your arms stand up as you stand at the back of the chapel, your hand locked in Charles’. His grip is firm, steady, and you cling to it like it’s the only thing tethering you to the ground.

There’s a silence that fills the chapel, a thick, suffocating silence punctuated only by soft sobs and the occasional clearing of a throat. People fill the pews, faces somber, eyes red-rimmed. Friends, family, teammates — people who loved Jules, people who are hurting. But none of it quite feels real. Like you’re stuck in some strange dream that you can’t wake up from.

Charles squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that’s meant to be soothing. He leans in close, voice barely a whisper. “Are you okay?”

You shake your head, eyes fixed on the casket at the front of the room, draped with flowers, a picture of Jules propped up beside it. “No,” you murmur. “I don’t … I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again.”

Charles’ hand tightens around yours. “Me neither.”

The words hang between you, a shared understanding, a grief that you both carry but can’t seem to put into words. You look up at him, at the tightness in his jaw, the way his eyes are fixed forward, like he’s afraid to let his emotions show. And yet his hand never leaves yours.

The service begins, a series of voices taking turns, sharing memories, stories that make people laugh, others that draw out quiet tears. You sit through it all, barely moving, your hand clenched in Charles’ so tightly that your fingers start to go numb. But you don’t let go. You can’t let go. Not now.

When it’s time for your parents to speak, you feel yourself tense, fighting back the tears that have been threatening to spill over all morning. Your mother’s voice cracks as she starts, her words halting, her grief so raw it’s like a wound ripped open. You stare down at your lap, feeling the weight of it all press down on your chest.

Charles leans over, voice low and soothing. “If you want to leave, just say the word, alright?”

You shake your head, blinking back tears. “No … I want to stay. I need to stay.”

He nods, pulling you closer, and you feel his arm around your shoulders, warm and steady. “Okay. I’m right here.”

The room blurs, faces and voices blending together. Your mind drifts, memories of Jules flashing through your mind, moments you thought you’d have forever but now feel so achingly out of reach. His laugh, the way he used to ruffle your hair, the way he’d tease you and then instantly apologize whenever he saw you starting to get annoyed. The last time you saw him, hugging him goodbye before he left for his race, the way he promised to bring you back a souvenir from Japan. And now he’s gone, and it feels impossible to wrap your head around.

You glance at Charles, who’s staring ahead, his expression stoic but his eyes filled with pain. He’s hurting, too. You know how close he was with Jules, how much he looked up to his godfather. And somehow, even in his own grief, he’s here, holding you up.

When the service ends, everyone slowly files out of the chapel, moving in a quiet procession to the gravesite. Charles doesn’t let go of your hand, guiding you through the crowd with a quiet determination, shielding you from the sympathetic looks and soft murmurs of condolences.

As you stand by the gravesite, surrounded by people but feeling more alone than ever, Charles keeps you grounded. You barely hear the words the priest is saying, barely register the people around you. All you can focus on is Charles’ hand in yours, his steady presence, the way he keeps glancing over at you, checking to make sure you’re okay.

And then, the moment comes. Charles takes a deep breath, his hand slipping from yours for the first time since you arrived at the chapel. He gives you a look, one that’s filled with so much understanding and pain and strength that it nearly breaks you all over again.

“I have to go,” he says softly, his voice choked.

You nod, even though you don’t want him to leave. “I know.”

He hesitates, looking at you like he wants to say something more, but the words seem to catch in his throat. Instead, he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers. “I promise.”

And then he’s gone, moving to join the other men, their faces grim as they prepare to carry the casket. You watch as they lift it, your heart twisting with every step they take, each one a reminder of the finality of it all. It’s real now, in a way that it wasn’t before.

Jules is really gone.

You stand there, watching as they carry him to his final resting place, feeling like your heart is breaking into a million pieces. Tears blur your vision, and you quickly wipe them away, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no hiding from the pain.

When they lower the casket into the ground, you feel a fresh wave of grief wash over you. It’s like losing him all over again, like the wound has been ripped open and there’s no way to stop the bleeding. You cover your mouth, a sob escaping despite your best efforts.

And then, suddenly, Charles is there again, slipping his hand back into yours, pulling you close. His own eyes are red, his face streaked with tears he can no longer hold back. He wraps his arm around you, and for a moment, the two of you just stand there, clinging to each other, letting the grief wash over you.

You bury your face in his shoulder, letting yourself cry, letting yourself feel the full weight of it all. Charles holds you tightly, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back, his voice a soft murmur. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

You don’t know how long you stand like that, lost in the pain, but eventually, the crowd starts to disperse, people offering quiet words of sympathy before leaving. You barely register any of it, your focus entirely on Charles, on the way he keeps holding you, grounding you.

When it’s just the two of you left by the gravesite, Charles finally pulls back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He looks at you, his expression soft but filled with an intensity you’ve never seen before.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” he admits, voice hoarse. “I don’t have the right words for this.”

You shake your head, your own voice barely a whisper. “There aren’t any right words.”

He nods, swallowing hard, and then, after a moment, he takes your hand again. “Do you want to sit? Or … walk?”

“Walk, I think,” you say, your voice shaky.

He leads you away from the gravesite, his hand still holding yours, and the two of you walk in silence for a while, the weight of the day pressing down on you like a physical thing. The cemetery is quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves in the wind, and you let the calmness settle over you, soothing some of the ache in your chest.

After a while, Charles speaks, his voice soft. “I miss him too, you know.”

You look up at him, surprised. “I know.”

He hesitates, looking down at his feet. “I looked up to him. He was … I don’t know. He was like a second big brother.”

You nod, understanding completely. “He was the best. He always made everything seem … possible.”

Charles smiles, a bittersweet expression that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. He did.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, letting the silence fill the space between you. And then Charles lets out a shaky breath, his hand tightening around yours. “I’m not going anywhere, you know. I’m here. For whatever you need.”

You feel a fresh wave of tears prick at your eyes, but this time, it’s not just from grief. There’s something else there, something warmer, something that feels like hope.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He nods, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a gentle, comforting way. “We’ll get through this,” he says quietly. “Together.”

And somehow, standing there with Charles, his hand in yours, you believe him.

***

The paddock buzzes with energy — the sound of engines mixing with the hum of reporters and the fast-paced clatter of team members shuffling between garages. The air is thick with the scent of fuel, rubber, and anticipation. But for all the excitement and all the people around, Charles only seems to have eyes for you.

He’s been gripping your hand tightly since you both walked through the gates, his eyes flicking nervously over every inch of the bustling scene as if he’s trying to take it all in at once.

“You okay?” You ask, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah, of course,” he says quickly, but his voice betrays him, a touch higher than usual.

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a knowing look. “Charles …”

“What? I am,” he insists, flashing you a grin that’s a little too bright, a little too quick. “I mean … you’re okay, right?” His tone shifts, softer, more concerned. “I know how you get sometimes with all the noise and people.”

You almost laugh but hold back, letting him keep up the charade. “I’m fine.”

He glances around, still keeping a firm grip on your hand as he leads you down the paddock walk. “I just don’t want you to be … I don’t know, uncomfortable or something. This place is … chaotic.”

You glance at him, taking in the way his jaw is clenched, his brows drawn together. “I think I’ll manage,” you say, your tone soft, teasing. “If anything, I think you might be the one who’s a little uncomfortable.”

His head jerks up, and he looks at you with wide eyes, feigning innocence. “Me? Uncomfortable? No, not at all.”

You smile, brushing a thumb over the back of his hand. “Good to know, because I’d hate for you to be nervous or anything.”

He clears his throat, casting a quick glance around as if looking for a way to escape the conversation. “Well, I’m not,” he says, his voice firm, though he still refuses to let go of your hand. “I’m just … making sure you’re okay.”

“Of course you are,” you say, unable to hold back your grin.

He leads you toward his team’s hospitality suite, and you can see the Alfa Romeo logo emblazoned on the side. He hesitates at the door, glancing at you as if he’s not sure if he should go in or not.

“I’ll be right here,” you reassure him, squeezing his hand again.

He nods, but instead of letting go, he steps closer, looking down at you with that soft, serious expression that makes your heart skip a beat. “Promise you won’t go anywhere?”

You tilt your head, amused. “Where would I even go?”

“I don’t know. Just … promise.”

“Promise.”

That seems to settle him, at least a little. He takes a deep breath, nodding to himself before pushing the door open and leading you inside. The room is a hive of activity — strategists and engineers clustered around screens, mechanics talking in low voices as they discuss parts and plans.

“Charles! You made it!” A tall man with a headset and clipboard hurries over, offering him a firm handshake. “Ready for your first big day?”

Charles nods, but his hand tightens around yours again, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Yeah, ready as I’ll ever be.”

The man’s eyes flicker to you, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Ah, and who do we have here?”

Charles glances at you, then back at the man, standing a little straighter. “This is Y/N,” he says, his voice filled with a quiet pride. “She’s … she’s here with me.”

“Ah, got it,” the man says, giving you a polite nod. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. Quite a day to be here, huh?”

You nod, giving a small smile. “It’s definitely … exciting.”

Charles looks at you, his expression softening. “Yeah, she’s a bit nervous, so … I thought it’d be good if she could stick around.”

You bite back a smile, deciding not to correct him. If he wants to pretend that you’re the one with nerves jangling out of control, you’ll let him. “You’re very thoughtful, Charles.”

He grins, looking relieved, as if your words have eased some hidden weight off his shoulders. “Well, someone’s got to keep you calm, right?”

The team member chuckles, clapping Charles on the shoulder. “You’re in good hands, then.”

As the man walks away, Charles pulls you closer, lowering his voice. “See? I told you I’m just making sure you’re okay.”

You roll your eyes but squeeze his hand, letting him believe his little fiction for now. He needs this, you can tell — needs you here, needs the quiet reassurance of your presence.

He leads you through the paddock, his grip on your hand never faltering. Every so often, he pauses to introduce you to someone, his voice filled with a quiet pride each time he says, “This is Y/N, my girlfriend.”

You smile and nod, feeling the warmth in his words, the way he seems to draw strength from saying them out loud. Each introduction, each little moment, seems to ease some of the tension in his shoulders.

Eventually, you make your way to the garage, where his car is waiting, sleek and gleaming under the bright lights. Charles stops in his tracks, his gaze fixed on the car, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and nerves.

“Wow,” he breathes, his voice barely a whisper.

You look up at him, watching the way his expression shifts, the excitement and fear flickering across his face. “You okay?”

He nods slowly, not taking his eyes off the car. “Yeah … yeah, I am.”

For a moment, he seems lost in thought, his hand loosening in yours as he stares at the car. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, he turns to you, his expression softening. “Can you stay right here? I just … need to check something real quick.”

“Of course,” you say, giving his hand one last squeeze before letting go.

He steps forward, reaching out to touch the car, his fingers brushing over the cool metal. You watch as he takes a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling, and you can almost feel the weight of his emotions — this dream he’s been chasing for so long, finally within reach.

After a few minutes, he turns back to you, his face a little calmer, a little more settled. He walks over, taking your hand again without a word, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“For being here. For … everything.”

You smile, leaning into him. “Always.”

He nods, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I don’t think I could do this without you.”

“You’d be fine, Charles,” you say, nudging him playfully. “But I’m glad you want me here.”

He chuckles, his fingers threading through yours. “I’d probably be a wreck without you.”

You both stand there for a moment, letting the quiet settle around you. And then, suddenly, one of his engineers approaches, clipboard in hand, looking a little flustered.

“Charles, we need you in the strategy meeting. Now.”

Charles tenses, his grip on your hand tightening. “Right … okay.”

The engineer hesitates, his gaze flickering to you. “It’s … it’s a closed meeting. I’m sorry, but your guest can’t come in.”

Charles’ face falls, a slight pout forming as he looks down at you, his expression almost pleading. “But … she’s with me.”

The team member shifts uncomfortably. “I understand, but it’s policy. Only team members and essential personnel.”

Charles’ pout deepens, his eyes fixed on the man. “But she’s … she’s my good luck charm. And besides, she’s nervous.”

You stifle a laugh, watching as Charles’ pout turns into a full-fledged puppy-dog look. It’s so endearing, and clearly, the team member is wavering.

“Please?” Charles says, his voice soft, almost childlike. “Just this once?”

The team member sighs, glancing between you and Charles before finally relenting. “Fine. But she has to sign a confidentiality agreement. A dozen of them, actually.”

Charles’ face lights up, and he turns to you, grinning. “See? You get to come with me.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Well, if I’m signing my life away…”

He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Thank you.”

Together, you follow the team member into the conference room, where a stack of paperwork awaits. Charles never lets go of your hand, even as you pick up the pen, signing each NDA with his fingers intertwined with yours.

As you finish the last signature, Charles looks at you, his eyes filled with a quiet, grateful warmth. “Now we’re ready,” he says softly, his voice steady, sure.

And as you walk into the meeting room together, hand in hand, you know that, no matter what happens out on the track, you’ll be by his side — just as you’ve always been.

***

The lights pulse in dizzying shades of blue and red, the music thrumming deep enough to shake the walls of the crowded club. The place is packed — friends, family, team members, strangers all shoulder to shoulder, all there for one reason: to celebrate Charles’ win at the Monaco Grand Prix. His first home victory. The energy is electric, and the night feels like a dream he’s been waiting his whole life to have.

Charles is beside you, his arm draped heavily around your shoulders, his hand gripping yours like he’ll lose himself if he lets go. His eyes are bright, and his laughter fills the air as he turns to you for the hundredth time tonight.

“Can you believe it?” He shouts over the music, eyes wide, dazed with disbelief and the effects of far too many celebratory drinks. “We did it! I did it!”

“You did, Charles!” You say, grinning up at him, matching his energy. “You won Monaco. Your home race!”

He lets out a roar of joy, pulling you close, swaying unsteadily as he laughs. “Home race!” He echoes, like he’s trying to savor the words, rolling them over his tongue. “Did you see it, though? Did you see it happen?”

“I saw it,” you assure him, laughing. “I think everyone saw it!”

He laughs, a sound so bright it’s almost childlike, and then he leans close, lowering his voice like he’s about to share a secret with you. “I really thought I’d never get it, you know? It’s Monaco. It’s just … Monaco.”

You squeeze his hand. “You deserved this one. More than anyone else.”

He tilts his head, considering your words, his gaze unfocused but sincere. “Do you really think so?”

“Of course I do,” you say, your voice strong enough to cut through the noise, and he nods, satisfied, the smile on his face softer now, less manic.

But then someone calls his name from across the room, and Charles is yanked back into the whirlwind. He lifts his drink — something fizzy and definitely too strong — and waves it around with a cheer. The crowd erupts in applause, chanting his name like he’s royalty.

“Charles! Charles! Charles!”

He takes a deep gulp of his drink, wincing as he swallows, then laughs, shaking his head as if he can’t believe any of this is real. “All these people …” he mutters, glancing at you with a slightly drunken smile. “Do they even know me? Really?”

You chuckle, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “I think they know you well enough to celebrate. Besides,” you tease, “I’m here. That should be enough, right?”

“More than enough,” he says, his gaze fixed on you, intense even in his inebriated state. “You’re … you’re the reason I’m even here.”

You laugh, brushing it off, but he shakes his head, suddenly serious.

“No, really.” His words are slurred but sincere. “You — remember all those times I thought I’d never make it? You were there. And now look at us. Monaco! My Monaco.”

You smile, feeling the warmth of his words, the affection that cuts through the chaos of the club. “I’m so proud of you.”

He grins, his face lighting up like he’s just won all over again. “Say that again.”

“I’m so proud of you, Charles.”

He beams, then tugs you closer, spinning you in a clumsy half-circle that nearly sends both of you toppling over. “You’re coming with me, always. Even if I’m-” He fumbles for words, laughing. “Even if I’m old and can’t drive anymore. You’re coming with me.”

“Wherever you go,” you say softly, humoring him as he wobbles, leaning his full weight against you.

“Wherever I go,” he repeats, nodding as if this is the most important promise he’s ever made. He glances down at your joined hands, lifting them for a moment as if to check they’re still there. Then, just as quickly, he clutches them to his chest. “You’re my good luck charm, you know that?”

“You’ve told me,” you say, laughing. “Probably about fifty times tonight.”

“Then fifty-one,” he declares, raising your hand like he’s holding a trophy. “You’re my good luck charm!”

“Okay, Charles,” you say, glancing around at the curious looks people are starting to give you. “Maybe a little less shouting?”

He scoffs, his face scrunching up in indignation. “Shouting? I’m not shouting!” Then he laughs at himself, realizing he’s practically yelling.

You shake your head, laughing as he leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. “But really,” he murmurs, his voice dropping. “Thank you for everything. I wouldn’t have done any of this without you.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and you feel your throat tighten, emotions welling up. But before you can respond, someone else is clapping him on the back, dragging him back into the raucous celebration. He goes willingly, laughing as he lifts his drink again, but he doesn’t let go of your hand — not for a second.

People congratulate him, hug him, raise their glasses in his honor, and through it all, he keeps glancing over at you, as if he’s checking to make sure you’re still there, that this night, this victory, isn’t a dream he’ll wake up from.

“Charles!” An old friend shouts, clinking his glass against Charles’. “How’s it feel to finally win your home race?”

Charles laughs, tipping his head back. “Feels amazing! Like … like nothing else!”

Another friend chimes in, “And you’ve got the best date to celebrate with, huh?” He winks at you, raising his glass.

Charles nods, his grin widening as he wraps an arm around you, his hand still holding yours. “The very best,” he says proudly, his words a little slurred. “Don’t know what I’d do without her.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, but you just smile, squeezing his hand. “I’m lucky to be here with you.”

He laughs, leaning in so close that his forehead brushes yours. “Not as lucky as me.”

And then, in one swift, impulsive move, he presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. It’s sweet and almost innocent, and despite the noisy club, it feels like a quiet, private moment just between the two of you.

He looks at you, eyes soft, the drunken haze giving his expression a kind of unguarded warmth. “Promise me something?”

You nod. “Anything.”

“Promise you’ll be with me next year, too. For the next Monaco. And the next … and the one after that.”

You laugh, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “I think I can manage that.”

“Good,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting closed as he rests his forehead against yours. “That’s all I need. Just you … and Monaco.”

You chuckle, wrapping an arm around him to keep him steady. “And maybe a bit of sleep.”

He groans, shaking his head. “Sleep? No, no … we have to … keep celebrating! I mean, it’s Monaco!”

But despite his protests, his eyelids are starting to droop, his body leaning more heavily against you.

“Charles,” you say gently, guiding him to a quieter corner of the club. “Maybe we can take a little break?”

He mumbles something incoherent, his head resting on your shoulder, his hand still holding yours in a loose but unbreakable grip. Even in his exhaustion, he refuses to let go, as if the victory, the night, everything will disappear if he loosens his hold.

“Just … five minutes,” he mutters, his voice soft. “Then … more dancing.”

You smile, brushing a gentle hand over his hair. “Five minutes.”

But as he drifts off, his breathing evening out, you know he won’t be getting up for any more dancing tonight. He’s given everything — his heart, his soul, his strength — to this race, and now, finally, he’s at peace.

You sit there with him, holding his hand, listening to the muffled thrum of the music, and you realize that, in his own way, he’s won more than just a race. He’s found a sense of belonging, of fulfillment, a piece of himself he’d been chasing for so long.

And as you sit together, the noise of the club fading into the background, you feel that same sense of peace. You’re here, with him, exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

The hospital room feels impossibly small, filled with sounds of beeping monitors, the hum of the fluorescent lights, and the murmured voices of nurses and doctors. But for you, it’s all a blur — just flashes of movement and noise as you lie there, clutching Charles’ hand like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

His grip is firm, steady. He’s been by your side since the contractions started hours ago, and now, with each excruciating wave of pain, he tightens his hold, murmuring to you softly, his words meant only for you.

“Breathe,” he says quietly, as if he can breathe for you. “You’re doing amazing.”

You grit your teeth, feeling another contraction start to build, a pressure so intense it’s as if your entire body is caught in its grip. “This doesn’t … feel amazing,” you manage to say, your voice strained.

Charles chuckles softly, though you can see the tension in his eyes, the worry that’s been there since you first squeezed his hand, hours ago. “I know,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “But you are. I promise.”

You close your eyes, focusing on his words, on the warmth of his hand in yours. For a moment, it distracts you, gives you something to hold onto in the midst of the pain. But then the contraction peaks, and you’re squeezing his hand so hard you hear him suck in a sharp breath.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, the pain so intense it’s blinding. “I’m so sorry … your hand-”

He just shakes his head, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “I’m fine,” he says, his voice gentle. “Just focus on you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t have to stay,” you say, half-laughing, half-crying as the contraction finally starts to ease. “You can go … take a break or something.”

His expression softens, and he leans in close, his eyes locked on yours. “Are you kidding? You think I’d leave you now?”

You shake your head, managing a breathless laugh. “I don’t know how you’re not terrified.”

“Oh, I am,” he admits with a grin, glancing at the nurse nearby, who raises an amused eyebrow. “But you’re stronger than me. I have to keep up.”

The nurse chuckles softly, patting you on the shoulder. “You’re in the home stretch now, almost there. Just a little longer.”

“A little longer,” you echo, glancing at Charles, trying to find the strength to keep going. “Okay … I can do that.”

He nods, his hand never loosening from yours. “Of course you can. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Another contraction hits, and the pain tears through you like fire. You can feel your grip on his hand tighten again, your nails digging into his skin. “I’m sorry,” you gasp, but it’s all you can manage. The pain is blinding, all-consuming.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away. “Don’t apologize,” he murmurs, his voice calm, steady. “You hold on as tight as you need to.”

“Charles …” Your voice is choked, and you can feel tears prickling at your eyes. “This … this is …”

“I know,” he whispers, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “But you’re doing it. You’re so close.”

The doctor speaks softly to you, offering encouragement, but all you can focus on is the feel of Charles’ hand in yours, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin. He’s been there through everything — every fear, every doubt — and now, here he is again, steady, unwavering.

Another contraction builds, and this time it’s different. The pressure feels like it’s reaching its breaking point, like something’s about to give. You squeeze his hand harder than ever, and he leans in, his forehead resting against yours as he murmurs, “Just a little longer. You’ve got this.”

You close your eyes, focusing on the warmth of his breath, the feel of his hand, and push with everything you have. The room fills with noise — your own cries, the encouraging voices around you — and then, finally, there’s a new sound. A tiny, piercing wail that cuts through everything.

You open your eyes, gasping, and see the doctor holding a small, wriggling bundle. Charles’ hand is still in yours, his face pale, his eyes wide with something like awe as he stares at the baby. “Is that …”

“That’s your son,” the nurse says, beaming as she places the little bundle in your arms.

You’re exhausted, every muscle in your body aching, but as you look down at the tiny face, your heart swells with a love so fierce it’s almost painful. You glance up at Charles, tears shining in your eyes, and he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Look at him,” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. “Just … look.”

You nod, a tear slipping down your cheek as you cradle the baby close, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. You glance down, realizing you’re still clutching his hand in a death grip. “I think … I nearly broke your hand,” you say, laughing softly, tears blurring your vision.

Charles laughs, glancing down at your intertwined fingers, his own knuckles white from the pressure. “I’d let you do it a thousand times over,” he says softly, his voice filled with all the love and pride in the world. “For this moment … I’d happily let you.”

[girlbeatings]

⏦ﾟ♡︎ bff!abby who you hooked up with during your experimental phase in college, giving you for sure the best orgasm of your comphet life, and yet you still fall for a douchbag guy that doesn't treat you as well as you thought he would. poor thing.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ bff!abby that helps you get ready for your wedding with said douchbag, forcing a smile and making sure you looked the part of a future lobotomised, white picket fence house wife. she felt bad for you, you had no idea what you were signing up for by accepting this ring as a sign of your 'love' and 'fidelity'. you'd probably realize way too late in life, maybe late 30s, that this is not what you wanted.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ bff!abby that feels just so sorry for you, that she holds you close and tells you how pretty you look today, the happiest day of your life. "always knew you'd make such a pretty little bride.. i mean, look at you..." her voice trails off as she tilts your chin up to guide your attention to the full length mirror. you did look pretty, the fancy white dress, perfect makeup and hair. perfect.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ bff!abby who stares at you through the reflection and gets an idea. a trip down memory lane, before you walk down the aisle.

"this fucking dress... makes you look so cute," she mumbles, her voice slightly forced as she stares at the lewd scene in the mirror. you pant and tremble, white heels dangling off your toes and the dress bunched up at your hips.

abby groans as she watches your cunt leak around two of her thick fingers, sat between her spread thighs and your back against her chest as you struggle to keep yourself together. "does he fuck you this good, baby? bet his dick isn't as big as mine, huh."

it wasn't, you know that much. abby's fingers with girthy, just two of them made you writhe and squelch, and that fucking strap she whipped out a few years ago had your sexual fantazies in a chokehold. the way you were so soaked that it just slipped in and out of your pussy without any struggle at all, the faux veins rippling against your insides and hitting all the right spots until you couldn't take it— and what did abby do then? she held you down and made you cum over and over.

your fiancé couldn't compare even if he tried, which he didn't. you were lucky if he even looked at your clit, never mind the sort of tricks abby was doing on it now.

"my pretty little girl, all dressed in white..." she murmurs, her fingers tapping firmly on your clit before rubbing in circles, watching your face scrunch up and your hips roll against her hand. "he's such a lucky man."

there's jealousy clear in her tone, because god she wants you. not just your body, she wants your fucking soul. your dna intertwined with her own. but she can't have that, because you don't like girls.

though, your face says different when her fingers stuff you full again. your head's empty at this point, so there's no lame excuse as to why you were happily letting your best friend fuck you minutes before your wedding, your soon to be husband already stood at the altar.

her fingers curl up to find that spot, smiling when your body almost lurches forward off the bed at the singeing pleasure that spikes through you. luckily, abby's arm is locked around your waist, and you stay pressed against her as she finger fucks you just how you remember— maybe even better. she clearly had more experience now. are you jealous?

"gonna fuck every vow out of that empty head." she promises, her thumb starting to abuse your clit in time with her plunging fingers, tears starting to bubble in your eyes as you writhe.

"a-abs, i'm— mmph, abby.."

"i know, wifey... pretty pussy's missed me so much, hasn't she?" she whispers, pressing a kiss to your neck as her hand continues to work perfectly between your spread legs. you know you'd think about this on your honeymoon, you'd think about her when your laid next to your husband, unhappy and yearning for her to come save you. and who knows? maybe after a few glasses of wine with your old college friend, she fucks you until you ruin that marital mattress for good.

happy valentine's day !!

⏦ﾟ♡︎ taglist !

@uhh-lana @pearlcigs @abbyspup @sunrxxyz @graciedollie @starrrcane @lilyyx0 @444fernz @tqlepatia @nvr4getme @2012wannabe @jaywritessometimes @jinxedbambi @tohoko @sapphicloverwlw @shadowmythe @fict1onallyobsessed @pornoangelz @milanyas @powderpinkandsweeet @femmecannibal @aeroti @eatencupcak3 @lils-1979 @sobersonder @dozybunny @fawncritter @nahcala @lesbones @sapphicantichrist @ethereaally @ruelezz @90yearoldbear

[sageshouldknowbetter]

Some may be apprehensive that Severance won’t portray Mark’s interaction with Helena in the tent as the sexual assault it was. But not only will they — they already are.

Mark’s behavior toward Helly has completely changed. He doesn’t sit next to her at Irving’s funeral. He shuts down attempts at conversation with offhand, vague snarky comments and a defiantly blank facial expression. When Helly knocks on the door to the bathroom, his eyes dart around like an animal cornered. Where he once would have slowed down for her in the hallway so they could talk, he walks much faster ahead. He’s trying as hard as possible to avoid her. To ignore her. To run away.

Now contrast this with his treatment of “Helly” when she first walked out of the elevator in season two. He waited for her to arrive! He was so relieved she’d come back! And when they were walking down that hallway and he was explaining the situation with Ms. Casey, he stopped mid-stride, turned to her with a smile on his face, and said “Look, Helly—“

He never got to finish that sentence. But some say he was going to confess that though his outie had a wife, his affections lay with her. And I think they’re right.

So why is he acting so differently now? The answer is obvious: “Because they are smarter than us, okay? They know everything.”

After the assault, Mark likely feels like a complete idiot. He spent so much of season one deconstructing his beliefs and breaking free from Lumon’s propaganda. And the minute he believes he’s immune to their lies and no longer a corporate slave, he is taken advantage of and hoodwinked by the very figurehead of said company, masking as someone he loves.

A symbol of Lumon convinced him he was safe. Tricked him. Invaded him in the most intimate way possible, with him completely oblivious, “like an idiot.” Right when he thought everything might be okay.

So maybe Lumon’s right. Maybe there’s no point in fighting. Because if he was stupid enough to not realize his own friend was being possessed by her billionaire doppelgänger, then maybe Lumon is correct about innies being nothing more than pawns. Maybe they are people, and he really is… not. (That’s how Helena treated him, anyway.)

And if that’s the case, of course he wants to give up looking for Ms. Casey and lose himself in work! For a moment he thought he was a human being, deserving of autonomy over his own body and capable of something more than sitting behind a desk — but his assault sends that all crashing down. He is an extension of his outie, made for work and nothing more. Going beyond that gets dangerous. That’s what got Irving killed… and him in Helena’s tent. And Helly? He cannot trust Helly. As far as he knows, his only confirmed moment with Helly since the OTC was when he was holding her in his arms, his jacket wrapped around her shoulders. Why should it be Helly coming back to the severed floor? If Helena could trick him before, who says she can’t learn from her past mistakes and trick him again over and over? Mark refuses to be humiliated and hurt after last time, so he avoids her (and Dylan!) and puts up a barrier of cool, snarky indifference — just like how he deals with grief.

But we know that indifference is a mask. When Milchick walked out of the elevator after revealing he knew about him and Helena Eagan, Mark had no one to pretend for — and he went completely stiff, blankly wide-eyed in an expression extremely reminiscent of his usual innie self. Whatever the reasons for this, one thing’s for sure: Mark does deeply care about what happened in the tent. And at least for now, he will lose himself in Cold Harbor to cope with it.

Lumon certainly got their productive worker back. But good Lord… at what cost?

[goatgoesmbe]

So about that post of Simons gf that's super kind. what if she's petty with her kindness. one time me and my mom got in fight and that same day she complained about how many house plants she had. so i bought her a miniature rose bush (roses being a hard plant to take care of) as make up gift. I've also made other people their coffee wrong, bought unbalanced pens, gave there cats cat nip, given their children obnoxiously loud toys, etc.

OOOH ANON, I LOVE THISS-

Like- just because reader is sweet, that doesn't mean being a pushover. You have class, and your own way of handling assholes properly.

I imagine Simon would think he needed to be the one who protect you, seeing you're all sunshine and rainbow, always so nice and kind- and he just didn't want anyone to take advantage of you, you know?

But then he realized that you're actually not a damsel in distress.

The first time he saw it, was at a neighbor's baby shower..

"You've been with him for what? 3 years now- and still no ring?" Simon glanced at you who simply smiled in response.

He recognized that voice, Stella was her name or something. She was one of those people who always wanted attention, bragging about every little thing while also dragging people down just so she could feel better about herself.

Simon had to hold back from rolling his eyes when she previously arrived. Wearing matching designer clothes with her five-year-old son, Aiden. Which was a waste of money in his opinion, the little fella will grow out of them in a short time after all.

"I mean.. come on, you're not getting any younger.. better make it official soon before you get expired- he might not be attracted to you anymore then" Before you could respond to the previous jab, Stella continued talking. You could see why she would ask something like that, it was just how she was like after all. You and Simon have reasons, but it was really none of her business. And you couldn't exactly explain to her that your boyfriend is legally dead so you couldn't marry him properly.

Simon wasn't even listening to the other lads around him anymore- not that he did in the first place. Looking at you directly from his spot, he observed the others who interact with you. You were surrounded by the other moms from the neighborhood, yet none of them said anything against Stella.

He saw you giggled and brushed off Stella's words way too casually like it didn't affect you, or maybe you didn't get that she was mocking you- Simon wasn't sure.

"It's time to go, luv" His gruff voice stopped their conversation as he approached you. He could feel their eyes on him, some of them not hiding the fact that they found him attractive from how they looked up at him with a slight flush on their cheeks. He wondered how you were comfortable being around them at all, he never spent more than a few words with them and already felt like committing murder.

Well.. whatever, you won't be meeting them again soon since you two were planning to move away.

You looked up at him with those big innocent eyes and pouted "But-". "It's late" he added, putting his hand on your hip and pulling you close to make a statement at the others who still shamelessly gawked at him.

Seeing that look in his eyes- the one that means he accepted no rejection, you sighed. "Alright, let me say my goodbye" You said before turning back to them.

Simon simply grunted and waited. And when he thought you were ready to go, he raised an eyebrow when you instead walked over to the kids who were busy playing. You told them about you moving out from the neighborhood and the kids didn't seem to like that, you were their favorite after all.

"I have something for you guys to remember me by.." You chirped. Immediately, the kids looked at you with eagerness as you rummaged through your tote bag.

The side of his lips lifted under his mask when he saw you pulling out mini harmonicas. Before you could say anything more, a brat snatched one out of your hands. That was Aiden, Stella's spoiled boy. Which means it would be hard for the mom to get the noisy thing from him.

A cute little giggle escaped your lips as you watched the boy immediately blew on the harmonica messily, spraying spit everywhere.

After you made sure every kids got one, you stood up and hold his hand before skipping away with him in tow. Cacophony of moms frustrated yelling, children's laugh, and loud harmonicas left behind.

So you had planned your revenge all along, huh? Seems like you're not a total angel like he thought you were.

...

The second time is when he visited you at work. While he provided you enough for you to stay home and do nothing, you still insisted on having your own cafe. Saying that it had been your dream since you were little. And how can he say no when you look at him with those puppy eyes?

And while you do have people working for you, you still helped around from time to time. "It's the best part about having a cafe" you said to him that one time.

He was sitting at a table close enough to observe you working in that cute little uniform you designed yourself for the cafe when a guy walked in. His appearance screamed 'douche', the kind of guy who would talk about how many body counts is too many for a woman in a podcast.

Despite that, you greeted him cheerfully like you do with every other costumers. Even when he told you to write 'daddy' on the cup after you asked for a name, a disgusting smirk on his lips.

Meaning you would need to yell out that word to call for him when the order was ready.

And while Simon was fuming inside, you were calm. Humming along with the music playing from the speaker as you prepared the coffee.

But, instead of calling for the guy yourself, you turn to one of your employees. His name was Shane, written on the name tag clipped to his uniform. He was a big guy, not any taller than your boyfriend but still. A simple man who will be pleased spending the night scarfing down pizzas and beers. Now, Shane was known for many things, one of them is being very gay, and he was totally not shy about it.

You smiled before turning away to take the next order, but also secretly paying attention to what was going to happen next.

"Daddy..!" Shane shamelessly sing-sung the word loudly and even when Simon expected it already, he still choked on his tea. He also saw you biting down your lip to prevent yourself from laughing.

Shane went on for a while until the whole cafe fell silent except for the music playing that didn't fit the situation at all, which made it more hilarious.

'Daddy' finally walked over to get his order. Red in the face and looking very pissed. He was not stupid enough to cause a scene however, and simply accepted his cup without so much as a thank you. And of course Shane added the cherry on top by throwing a flirty wink.

And when you noticed the way he glanced at you after taking a sip of his coffee, tasting regular milk instead of almond- knowing full well he told you before that he was lactose intolerant. You simply gave him that sweet smile of yours, a cheerful "Thank you, please come back again..!" Thrown his way like how it always is whenever a costumer was leaving.

Simon chuckled under his breath and shook his head. Feeling proud (and maybe a bit scared) of his pretty bird being cruel in her own ways.

So when he saw you sighing after an argument on the phone with your mom, he didn't question it when you went ahead and buy a make up gift for her.

[littelovelunette]

reader begging sevika to put a baby in them...

Shimmer And Silence G!P

Contains smut, breeding, biting, nipple play, impregnation, mentions of drug and addiction, blowjob

Sevika has always been hard headed and never gave into your desires too quickly but she never understood if it was for the best or not.

Shimmer often made her cranky and violent from time to time and being her wife, you didn't like that she made herself get high on the drug so damn often due to her loyalty and work for Silco.

It hurt, because despite wanting to settle down badly you could barely even imagine bringing the topic up to her because what if she didn't approve of your needs and had a Shimmer crashout.

Sighing to yourself, you made the bed as usual and got to doing the chores. You were used to your housewife routine by now.

You'd work at home and ensure she had a clean and cozy place to come back and rest, by the time she's done fighting for Zaun for the day.

You'd approach the topic again today and try to get her to understand that you wanted to settle down.

It had been 5 years you both were married together after all and in all honesty, whether Zaun got free or not life wouldn't pause so you both could settle and find happiness within the battles.

You finished all your work and took a shower, it was evening by then. Sevika was probably gambling after work, she'd be back soon. Maybe drunk, maybe not.

You put on one of your lacy white panties and the matching bra you bought along with it, slipping on one oversized t-shirt over the underwear, you didn't feel like wearing anything else for now.

The door opened and Sevika walked inside, “I'm home,” she called lazily, she didn't go to Last Drop which was a little strange.

Maybe she was just tired.

“Hi, baby,” you smiled and helped her take her poncho off, she walked to the bedroom after giving you a brief kiss, getting out of her clothes.

She laid down and you went over to her, sitting down beside her, “Baby, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Sevika gave you a little nod to acknowledge your words and gesture that she was listening.

“I think we should start trying for kids.”

The silence sunk in the air around both of you. “Did you just say what I think you just said? Or am I mishearing things already?” Sevika asked, her tone a little condescending.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and responded, “I just feel that if we don't, y'know, I'm not getting any younger… I might not be able to even have children. We don't know what the future holds for us,” you placed one hand over her bigger one, rubbing your thumb over the calloused skin, “The battle won't pause so we can have children, please, this is the one thing I really want.”

Sevika stared at you for a while before sighing, shaking her head. “I don't think this is a good idea.”

Exasperated, you shifted so you were now on her lap, “Baby, please,” you said, cupping her face in both your hands as you sighed a little feeling her bulge against your clothed heat.

“You're a tease, y'know that?” Sevika slapped your ass, grabbing the lump of flesh and squeezing, “Fine, I'll give it some thought.”

“No, you always say that and then your mind changes,” you moved a little so her growing bulge could rub against the soaked spot on your panties.

“Just say it, you get off on the thought of me breeding you,” Sevika whispered in your ear, instantly catching you off guard. She grabbed you by your frame and shoved you down on the bed.

“Look, you even dressed up all pretty tonight,” Sevika smirked, raising the hem of the shirt to check out the underwear you had on.

“I just, I thought maybe there'd be a possibility,” you said, face growing hotter with the second.

Sevika tsked, “Bullshit, I bet you're so wet by the thought of me filling you up, filthy little whore having semen dripping from your holes because you can't even hold all of my load inside.”

Sevika's rough, thick fingers rubbed over your pussy, as if readying it for her massive cock. She pulled her pants down just enough for her cock to slap up against her stomach, precum dripping from the tip of her impressively massive shaft.

“Oh my…” you couldn't help reaching forward and grabbing her shaft carefully in your hands.

Sevika placed a hand over her hip, the mechanical arm holding you in place as you started sucking on the tip of her cock.

“Want me to suck you off?” You asked, looking up at her with those pretty puppy eyes and she nodded, guiding your head as you deepthroated her cock with years of experience.

Sevika gasped, fingers entangling themselves in your hair as you sucked her harder. You had to hold on to each side of her muscular thighs to steady yourself as you bobbed your head, the head of her cock slamming into the back of your throat every now and then making you gag and saliva messily ran down your chin giving you a further lewd expression.

Sevika, on the other hand, was having the time of her life. She used your head roughly to get herself off, shooting ropes of cum in your throat, forcing you to swallow it down.

Sevika smirked down at you as you pulled back, catching your breath from the ordeal and then she gestured to you to get on the bed. As you laid down, she undressed you, taking your shirt off, unhooking your bra and lastly pulling your panties down your legs. Sevika was being extra slow just for the sole reason of riling you up and getting you even more wet.

“Sevika, please, put a baby in me,” you began, “I need you to impregnate me, please, I need it.”

“Mhm? Do you need it?” Sevika mocked cock already aligning against your hole and going in with a single thrust.

Your eyes rolled back as she bottomed out and pulled right back out before slamming it back in, hitting that on sweet spot that back you scratch on her back and bite her shoulder.

Sevika loved it when you bit her shoulder like that, it made you wilder and she loved rough sex. Sevika started slamming her huge shaft into you, grunting from the strain of her muscles every now and then, “Gonna fill you up, gonna fill you up to the brim,” she mumbled under her breath, the headboard of the bed slammed against the wall and you were sure the neighbours would likely come down with a noise complaint.

You buried the thought down, crying as Sevika bit your nipple, pulling it with her teeth, “C-C-cumming!” You stuttered and a gush of liquid went over her length, making her eyes close in bliss but she didn't stop there.

She continued ramming into your pussy, her dick throbbing, “Gonna fill you up, take it, slut.” You gasped as you felt the warm semen fill you up, moaning loudly, legs and hands falling back onto the mattress.

You were gonna be a mother soon.

[ducktoo]

Again

IVE’s Jang Wonyoung x M!Reader

Note: I have resorted to the sacred prompt list by Anon again….this helped me so much frrr. Hope you will post your first ever fic here so I can tagged you!!

This concludes the unofficial (or official ig) IZ*ONE marathon. @hyeyulenjoyer hope this was a fun ride for you. And thank you everyone for enjoying these fics as well! Also appreciate IVE for paying respect to the recent tragedy. All the dumb haters who find ways to hate them again....just touch grass pls.

(this was the perfect picture for this fic lol)

The tickets sit on your desk, undisturbed, their glossy surface catching the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You don’t even need to read the text printed on them anymore. The details are already burned into your brain.

A fan sign.

It was supposed to be special. The kind of thing you looked forward to for weeks, marked on your calendar with a little star. You were supposed to show up, tease her about messing up choreography, make her laugh in the middle of a serious performance, see that look in her eyes that was just for you.

Now, the tickets feel like a joke.

Your phone is face-down beside them, dark screen hiding the messages you haven't opened yet—the well-meaning texts from friends, the casual work notifications. All messages except from her.

Wonyoung.

You close your eyes, but it doesn't help. The memory of your last call with her is still fresh, the words playing over and over like a song stuck on repeat.

"I just don’t have time for this anymore."

"For us, you mean?"

"Mhm."

The way she said it—calm, measured, like it was just another item to tick off on her to-do list—had made something inside you crack. There had been no anger in her voice. No hesitation.

That…hurt more than anything.

You had wanted to say something, anything to make her stop. To remind her of the nights spent whispering over the phone until she fell asleep, of the rare moments when she let herself be vulnerable with you, of the way she would light up the second she saw you waiting for her backstage to take her to eat a whole cow together.

But you couldn't mutter a voice.

You had just sat there, phone pressed to your ear, fingers gripping the fabric of your hoodie so tightly it threatened to tear.

And then, just like that, she was gone.

It was three days ago.

Three days of checking your phone too often. Three days of convincing yourself you were fine. Three days of staring at these damn tickets on the desk and trying to figure out why you hadn’t just thrown them away. You should sell them. Give them to someone who’d actually enjoy them.

But something stops you.

Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s stubbornness. Maybe it’s the stupid, lingering part of you that refuses to admit that she’s really gone. Whatever the reason, you find yourself gripping them tighter instead of throwing them away.

You decided that you will go.

Not for her. Not to see her.

Just so you don’t have to sit in this room, drowning in thoughts of what used to be.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

-

The venue is packed.

Fans shuffle forward in line, their chatter buzzing in the air like static. Excited whispers, rustling light sticks, the occasional squeal when a favourite member’s name is mentioned.

Your fingers tighten around the album in your hands. (Ironically you still hold onto her album)

This is normal for them. For the fans around you, this is just another fan sign. A chance to meet their idols, to share fleeting moments, to walk away with a signature and a memory they’ll cherish for years.

You should feel the same. Instead, you’re just… tired. Who could blame you, you’re about to come face-to-face with your ex-girlfriend.

And she has no idea you’re here.

Your grip on the album tightens as the line inches forward. The first few members greet you with polite smiles, their voices light and bubbly. You do your best to respond normally, but your mind is elsewhere, trapped in the inevitable moment that keeps creeping closer and closer.

You don’t need to look up to know she’s at the end of the table. You can feel her presence.

And then, suddenly, there’s no more time left.

Your album slides across the table. Long, slender fingers stop it in place.

There’s a small pause—so brief that no one else seems to notice—but you do. You feel it in the slight delay before she looks up, in the way her fingers tighten just a fraction around the album’s edge.

And then her eyes meet yours.

She looks the same. Flawless, as always. Every strand of hair perfectly in place, makeup soft and ethereal under the bright overhead lights. And those sparkly eyes that you often got lost in.

But…she’s not yours anymore. Not at all.

There was a flicker of something—recognition, surprise, something deeper—crosses her face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by a carefully neutral expression.

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out at first. Then…

“Hey.”

It’s awkward. Too awkward. You can feel the tension hanging between you, thick and suffocating.

You swallow, trying to ignore the way your chest tightens. “Hey.”

For a split second, she looks like she wants to say something else. Like she wants to break the script, ignore the rehearsed greetings and practiced smiles.

But then—

She doesn’t.

Instead, she picks up her pen, the mask slipping back into place. Her expression evens out, and in a voice so perfectly professional it almost stings, she says,

“Thanks for coming.”

Just like she would to any other fan. That made your stomach twists.

You should’ve known. Of course, she wouldn't acknowledge it. Not here. Not in front of all these people.

Still, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah. Would’ve been a waste of money if I didn’t.”

Something flickers across her face, but it’s gone before you can catch it. She presses her lips together, nodding slightly. “Right. Can’t have that.”

She signs her name, her handwriting as neat and practiced as always. But there’s a hesitance in the way she moves, a slight delay before she lifts the pen from the page.

When she finally pushes the album back toward you, her fingers linger just a second longer than necessary.

Then, in a voice so quiet that only you can hear…

“Take care, okay?”

She’s looking at you now. Really looking at you.

And for a moment, just one fleeting moment, she’s not the Jang Wonyoung, the IT girl, the global superstar.

She’s just…Wonyoung.

The girl who used to call you late at night just to hear your voice.

The girl who used to lace her fingers through yours under the table when no one was looking.

The girl who told you she didn’t have time for you anymore.

You stare at her.

The words stick to your throat. You genuinely don’t trust yourself to say anything.

So you just…don’t.

You just take the album, stand up, and walk away. And even as you disappear into the crowd, you can still feel her eyes on you.

-

You’ve been doing fine.

Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

It’s been a few days since the fan sign, and you’ve buried yourself in anything that keeps your mind occupied—work, games, mindless scrolling through your phone. Anything to keep yourself from replaying the look on Wonyoung’s face at the fansign. From remembering the way she hesitated before handing your album back. From thinking about the way her gaze kept flickering toward you as you walk away, as if she was looking for something.

Or someone.

But that’s not your problem anymore. You told yourself that the moment you left the venue.

Which is why, when your phone starts ringing at an ungodly hour, you almost don’t check the caller ID. Almost.

The second you see her name flashing on the screen, your stomach twists.

Jang Wonyoung.

The ringing continues, each second stretching unbearably. You should let it go. Turn off your phone. Pretend you never saw it.

But you don’t. Because deep down, you know you still want to hear her voice. So you answer.

“...Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment, followed by a soft giggle—breathy and drawn out, the kind that used to slip past her lips whenever she was feeling particularly affectionate.

"Dummmyy!" she hums, stretching your nickname like it’s some sweet, familiar melody.

“Wonyo. Are you drunk?” You sigh, ignoring the way your nickname for her easily rolled out of your tongue.

She giggles again, the sound loose and unguarded. "Mmm… maybe."

"Goddamn it." You rub your temples. "Where are you?"

A rustling noise filters through the receiver, followed by the distant hum of traffic. "Somewhere," she mumbles. "Some bar, I think. The girls took me out."

Figures.

You shift in bed, propping yourself up against the headboard. “It’s late.”

“I know,” she says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “But I wanted to call you.”

You close your eyes, exhaling through your nose. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, there’s a soft exhale, the kind she lets out when she’s gathering her thoughts. Then, quieter…

“Because I miss you.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone.

"Don’t do that," you say quietly.

"Do what?"

"Say things you don’t mean."

Another pause. When she speaks again, her voice is steadier. "But I do mean it. I do miss you."

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. "Well, that’s not my problem anymore, is it?"

She goes quiet.

For a moment, all you hear is the faint sound of music in the background, the distant chatter of people. She’s probably in the back of some high-end bar or a private lounge that someone of her status often went. You can picture it too easily—her long hair falling over her shoulders, her lips painted red, the glow of the city lights reflecting in her eyes.

Your heart beat rapidly at the image.

"You came to the fansign," she says suddenly, cutting into your thoughts.

You rub at your temple. "Mhm."

"Why?"

"You already know why."

"Say it anyway."

You sigh. "Because I had the tickets. It would’ve been a waste."

She lets out a humourless laugh. "Right. Can’t have that."

Something about the way she repeats your words from that day makes your stomach twist.

There’s another long pause. Then, almost hesitantly.

"Did you feel anything?"

Your eyes widened. "Feel what?"

"When you saw me again." Her voice is quieter now. "Did you feel anything?"

Your jaw clenches. You want to lie. Want to say no, not at all. That it didn’t matter. That she doesn’t matter. But you can’t.

Because the truth is, you felt everything.

The way your heart clenched when she looked at you. The way your stomach twisted when her fingers hesitated over your name. The way your mind screamed at you to move on, to stop letting her affect you, to stop caring.

But you don’t tell her any of that.

Instead, you settle for, "Who cares anyway."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re done, Jang Wonyoung."

She sucks in a sharp breath, and for a second, you wonder if she’s about to cry.

"You-" She stops, swallows. When she speaks again, her voice is unsteady. "You didn’t even try to fight for me."

Your grip tightens around the phone, knuckles turning white. "You were the one who ended things. On the phone, may I remind you."

"I know," she whispers. "And I thought it was the right choice. But now I just—" She breaks off, voice cracking slightly. "I don’t know anymore."

You shut your eyes.

It would be so easy to give in. To tell her that you don’t know either, that you still think about her, that you still wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But what’s the point?

She made her choice.

And you’re tired of being the one left picking up the pieces.

"You’re drunk, Jang Wonyoung," you say, voice carefully even. "Go home and go to sleep."

"Wait—"

"Goodnight."

And then, before she can say another word, you hang up.

The silence that follows is deafening.

And yet, for the first time in days, you finally let yourself breathe.

-

Or at least, it should be.

You did the right thing, you tell yourself—cut it off before it could spiral any further. Before you let yourself believe, even for a second, that anything has changed.

But still, the weight in your chest lingers.

The room feels too quiet now, the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, making it impossible to ignore the thoughts creeping into your head. You lie back down, throwing an arm over your eyes, willing yourself to sleep.

You don’t know how much time passes before you hear it.

A knock.

You freeze.

At first, you think you’re imagining it. Sleep-deprived, emotionally drained, and still reeling from that damn phone call, your brain must be conjuring things that aren’t real. But then, the knocking got more insistent. Erratic, yet insistent.

Your brows furrow. You sit up, straining your ears.

"Who the hell…?"

It’s almost 3 AM. No one in their right mind would be visiting you at this hour. Then again, you just got a call from a drunk girl not in their right mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s louder this time, clumsy and uncoordinated, like whoever’s on the other side can barely keep their balance. A sinking feeling settles in your stomach.

You begrudingly throw off your blankets and push yourself up, padding toward the door. Your hand hovers over the handle for a second before you sigh and pull it open.

And there she is.

Wonyoung.

She’s standing there in the dim, flickering hallway light, wrapped in a thin coat that does nothing to protect her from the cold. Her long hair is slightly tousled, the glossy perfection from the concert gone, strands falling loosely over her shoulders. She sways just the slightest, a delicate wobble on unsteady feet. Her lips are slightly parted, eyes glassy—not just from the alcohol but from something else. Something unreadable.

You blink.

She blinks back, like she’s just now processing that you’re standing in front of her.

Then, with absolutely no warning, she wobbles forward, collapsing against your chest.

You barely manage to catch her. “Jesus—Wonyo.” You gently hold her arms, steadying her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

"Surprise," she breathes, half-laughing, half-sniffling.

You let out a sharp breath. “Surprise? You’re seriously—” You stop yourself, jaw clenching. “How did you even get here?”

"I took a taxi," she announces, like that explains anything. Like that justifies her showing up at your door past midnight after breaking up with you.

You stare at her. “Alone?”

“Mmhmm.”

Your stomach twists. “Wonyoung, do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

She just hums, leaning more of her weight onto you. Her forehead presses against your shoulder, and you can feel the slight tremble in her body.

You sigh, tightening your grip. “You’re freezing.”

“I was walking.”

“Walking where?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she tilts her head back to look at you properly. Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something—something serious, something she’s probably been holding in for too long. But then, she hiccups.

You close your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

She smiles lazily, like she didn’t just show up at your door dead drunk in the middle of the night after breaking up with you.

"You hung up on me," she murmurs.

You pull back slightly, just enough to see her properly. “Yeah. I did.”

"That was mean," she says, pouting. "I was talking."

"You were drunk."

"Still talking."

You shake your head, adjusting your grip on her. “Come on. You need water. And sleep.”

She hums, letting you guide her inside. “Only if you let me stay.”

You pause.

For a brief second, something in her voice sounds painfully sober.

But then she giggles again, burying her face in your chest, and you decide that you’ll deal with that in the morning.

For now, you just hold her close.

You sigh, pressing your lips into a thin line as you shift your grip on her. She’s barely standing at this point, practically melting into you like she has no bones in her body.

"Alright, come on," you mutter, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her inside.

She stumbles slightly, her fingers gripping at your shirt as she giggles under her breath. "You smell nice," she mumbles.

You ignore that.

You close the door behind you with your foot, guiding her toward the couch. She flops onto it with zero resistance, her coat slipping off her shoulders. The moment she’s down, she tilts her head back, blinking up at you like she’s expecting something.

She doesn’t hesitate. Stumble inside like she belongs here.

And maybe that’s the problem. She did belong here.

And now? Now you don’t know.

Her eyes lazily drift across the apartment, lingering on the things she still remembers—the half-empty cup of coffee on your desk, the hoodie she used to steal draped over the chair, the faint indent in the couch where she used to curl up next to you.

Then she noticed your desk, the same desk where the fansign ticket sat just days ago. The same one she saw in your hands at the fansign days ago.

"You really came," she murmurs, not looking at you. "I didn’t think you actually would."

You shrug. "Like I said. Would’ve been a waste."

She flinches. Just the tiniest bit. But you catch it.

She exhales slowly, arms wrapping around herself. "It was weird."

"What was?"

"Seeing you there. But not... There, you know?" She fully looks at you now, and there's something raw in her expression. Something you’re not sure you’re ready to face. "You didn’t smile. You didn’t tease me like you usually do. You barely even looked at me."

"What did you expect?" you ask quietly. "You dumped me, Wonyoung. You can’t just expect me to act like nothing happened."

She presses her lips together, fingers gripping the hem of her sleeve. "I know."

You wait. Give her the space to say what she came here to say.

But she doesn’t. Not right away.

She defeatedly sighed, tucking her knees under her chin, looking smaller than she ever has before. She stares at her hands for a long moment before mumbling, "I don’t know why I came here."

You scoff. "Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you drunk-called your ex, then showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night without a plan."

She frowns. "I do have a plan."

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She huffs. "Step one: get inside. Step two..." She falters, looking away. "...I didn’t think that far."

You shake your head. "Unbelievable."

Silence stretches between you, heavy and unspoken.

Then, barely above a whisper, "Do you hate me?"

You freeze.

Your first instinct is to say no. Because of course you don’t hate her. You never could.

But that’s not the right answer, is it?

So instead, you tell the truth.

"I don’t know," you admit. "I want to. But I can't."

She looks up at you then, eyes searching. Hopeful and afraid all at once. "I messed up, didn’t I?"

You let out a hollow laugh. "Yea. Big time."

She swallows. Lowers her gaze again. "I thought breaking up would make things easier. For you…for both of us."

"Did it?"

She shakes her head. "No."

You run a hand through your hair, exhaling. "Then why did you do it?"

"I was scared," she says, and her voice is so small, so unlike the confident idol the world knows, that it almost hurts to hear. "I thought I was being selfish, holding onto you when I barely had time to see you. I thought you deserved more than stolen moments and rushed phone calls."

Your jaw clenches. "You didn’t even ask me what I wanted."

"I know," she whispers. "I thought I was making the right choice."

You sit down across from her, legs spread, elbows on your knees. "And now?"

She meets your gaze, vulnerability laid bare. "Now... I just miss you."

Your heart leaped a mile. This was the Wonyoung you always see. Not the glamorous and model-esque Jang Wonyoung everyone always see on TV. Not the well-spoken and powerful public figure everyone knows. Just…a gentle yet bubbly girl who snuggled up next to you on the couch at the end of the day.

But your brain should tell her to leave. To sleep it off, to sober up and think about this when her mind is clearer.

Then she reaches out—just the slightest, her fingers brushing against yours on the couch. And you don’t pull away.

"You’re drunk," you remind her, though your voice lacks conviction.

She smiles faintly. "Thanks…Mr. Obvious."

Silence. Then, tentatively, "Can I sleep here tonight?"

Another hesitation.

But just like before, you already know your answer.

You sigh. Your hand intertwined with hers.

"Go get a blanket. Wonyo."

She doesn’t move right away. Just watches you, like she’s memorizing you all over again.

Then, with a small, almost relieved nod, she gets up and stumbled into your bedroom as she dragged you along—the same bedroom she used to slip into after long schedules, the same one she used to call hers.

And just like that, the distance you tried so hard to create crumbles.

Again.

[petew21-blog]

Siblings rivalry

Lyle was nervously grasping the wheel, side eyeing the man next to him while driving: „Could you, please, put some shirt on?”

“Why? Is it distracting you? It’s just a body, Lyle, and you’re not a faggot. Shouldn’t bother you. Am I right?” the shirtless man sitting on the passenger’s seat responded with a smirk and subtle disdain in his voice.

“Of course I’m not… It’s because of the sweat. The car is borrowed and I don’t want to clean it.” Lyle quickly responded and tried to change the subject

“The car is an old piece of shit. We’ll be lucky if we even make it to the beach in time.”

The engine started making weird noises and the car slowed down. “See, told you.”

Lyle stormed out of the car and screamed:”Can you shut the fuck up already?! I can’t take this anymore. I want my girlfriend back.”

“I didn’t choose this either. And I still am your girlfriend!”

Maybe I should explain a bit.

My girlfriend Nicole has a twin brother, Nicholas. Their family is one of the most weirdest ones you’ll ever meet in your entire life. And I had the pleasure, or maybe misfortune, to find out the hard way. They got their hands on some magical shrooms or something. Some made you see the future, some gave you a really great time and there were also ones that swapped your body. Trippy right? Yeah… Naturally the parents used it for orgies and other experimenting.

But occasionally they used it as a method of punishment. Nicole told me that she had to be her mum for two weeks last summer, just because she lied about her school results. I didn’t believe the whole swap thing until the parents found out that Nicholas and Nicole didn’t share the same morals about feminism and male value. Nicole was obviously a feminist, but she was belittling her brother. On the other hand, her brother didn’t even stop to consider how different a life is for a woman. The whole family had an argument about this and the parents decided to swap Nicole and Nicholas for the ENTIRE summer before university. Yep, insane.

Nicole responded to her body quite well to be honest. She was in a male body before, but never in her brother’s. Them being twins might have helped a bit. I have to say that Nicholas is an attractive male. He has a great physique, handsome face and generally is a great guy. We often joke together about women, watch football or play videogames together. But having my girlfriend in his body? Way different.

I caught her staring at herself many times. She seemed completely unphased, maybe even excited to be in male body now. Which can’t be said for me. Sex was obviously a no go. I didn’t even want to touch her without feeling like a fag. But I knew something bad was about to happen sooner or later. Maybe this would be a test for our relationship. Maybe it will uncover that I am a superficial asshole and that I love her only for her body.

She keeps staring at me sometimes and tried to even seduce me, but I just can’t like this. Not while she is in Nicholas’s body.

Which brings us back to the present, currently on the coast far from the beach party where we were supposed to be hours ago. Unfortunately I had to borrow my grandparent’s car and it just broke down. Nicole smiled after being right again and seeing me snap.

She had her shirt off and leaned against the hood of the car. “So what now Sherlock?”

Lyle: „I don’t know. We’re in the middle of nowhere. And the cur is busted.”

Nicole: ”Jesus, Lyle. Be a man and call Jake. He can at least come get us.”

Lyle nervously nodded and took out the phone. He went behind the car and waited for someone to answer. Meanwhile Nicole moved from the front and went to the back of the car, adjusting herself for Lyle.

Lyle finished the call and before he looked up he said: „They’re all drunk already, so Daniel is going to wait a bit before he’s sober and will come get us.”

Nicole: „Good. More time for us to have fun” Lyle looked up and saw Nicole in her shorts, slowly lowering them.

Lyle quickly turned around. “Jesus fuck, what are you doing? What if someone sees you?”

Nicole:”Who? You mean the nearest guy miles away from us? Yeah, right. I wanna get Nicholas a good tan for the summer. We agreed to treat each other’s body properly.”

Lyle knew Nicole had different intentions, but he wouldn’t succumb to her. He isn’t gay for fuck’s sake.

Nicole took the folding chair they had in their trunk and positioned herself in front of the car, enjoying the sun.

Nicole: „When was the last time that the two of us had some proper free time to just stop? Did we ever? Feels like the first time. Maybe we should use it properly.”

Lyle: „What are you suggesting?”

Nicole: „I think we should fuck. You haven’t touched me in weeks.”

Lyle: „Because you are a man now!!! And your brother, Jesus fuck.”

Nicole:”Cut the crap, Lyle. Do. You. Love. Me?”

Lyle:”… I… of course I love you.”

Nicole: „Do you love me for me, or my body?”

Lyle: „I… I love YOU.”

Nicole: „So come and prove it.” Her daring voice made Lyle feel uneasy. But he felt as if something was pulling him towards Nicole, towards Nicholas.

Nicole got up, uncovering her hairy manhood. This was the first time that Lyle looked at it. It wasn’t hard, but even now it was still pretty impressive. Nicole headed to the car, going past Lyle and whispering in his ear: „I haven’t sucked your dick in weeks. I need to have your dick as much as you want me.”

Lyle looked as Nicole laid down on the car seats, waiting for Lyle to make his move. Her dick was getting hard and getting bigger. Maybe even bigger than his own. Lyle couldn’t keep his eyes off of that thing.

Nicole spoke up: „Lyle, I need you. I need your dick!”

Lyle’s dick was hard as well. He felt himself throwing his clothes off as if he was just a passenger. He thought about Nicole giving him that great blow job of hers once again. He could see in his memory, his dick disappearing in her mouth.

He got close to Nicole, lowering himself on top of her, HIM. And was ready to push his dick closer to her, but he was so horny, that he didn’t even realize that he was now the one holding HER dick in his hands. Jerking it furiously. Lick it from top to base. Swallowing it fully. He didn’t even realize he didn’t have much trouble swallowing her cum. Even after SHE pushed HER dick in his ass, he didn’t find it that weird.

They laid on top of each other, breathing out loud, enjoying each other’s company, making out. Nicole gave Lyle a sign that she need to go out and piss. Lyle stayed in the car, still struck for what just happened. Nicole’s phone vibrated. Lyle thought that maybe someone was ready to pick them up, but instead it was Nicole’s friend Stacy texting her. The text said: „Hey, Stacy. Thanks again for swapping with me. I really needed to be fucked and not as a man, haha. Hope you’re enjoying it. Luv U”

Lyle:”What. The. Fuck?!”

[sinstear]

I didn’t see a request thing so if you don’t do that please ignore being mean to sub loser vi maybe ignoring her or just cooing at her with fake sympathy

my requests are always open, i just always forget to put it in my pinned <3 BUT YES MEAN READER, MY TIME TO SHINE 🤓🫶🏻 i hope this is what you visioned ...

vi doesn’t know if she wants to scream at you or grumble about the fact you’ve been teasing and edging her for the past 20 minutes. the second she’s close to coming, you stop, withdraw your fingers from her greedy cunt and smirk at her with that insufferable grin she can’t help but adore. “can’t even get off yourself, can you?” you murmured against her sweaty thigh and watched the way her walls fluttered.

“babe, please,” vi cried, fisting the sheets between her hands.

“what? your own fingers can’t reach? can’t make yourself cum so you need me to do it for you? wakin’ me up at stupid hours of the morning because you need to get off?”

her face flushed a bright red at your condescending words, and she knows she should probably be upset or even annoyed at the fact, but instead she just whimpers in desperation and clings to your shoulder with her free hand. “s’not—”

���it’s not? so you didn’t grind your greedy pussy on my thigh this morning, begging me to touch you until you cum?” you scoffed, her clit throbbing under your touch as you brush your thumb over it lightly. “huh, baby? c’mon, made you cum on my cock last night and now you’re too shy to admit you’re a needy slut?” 

vi’s eyes are quick to widen when you abruptly push yourself up on the bed, ready to get off, but before you can, she’s reaching out and grabbing your arm. “no, please, just—” she whines, fidgeting under your gaze and biting her bottom lip. “need you to touch me.”

“touch you?” you raised an eyebrow, and looked down at her hand. “i’ve been touching you, baby but m’not sure you’ve been a good girl—”

“i’ll be good! so good for you, but please don’t leave—”

“yeah? gonna be my good girl?” vi whimpers at you but nods quickly and pathetically once you’re slipping back onto the bed, where you were not even 5 minutes ago and chews her inner cheek harshly. “think you’re lying to me, sweets, you always say that when you want something, but when i give it to you, you’re a brat.”

just as you crawl between her spread legs again, vi reaches down and you quickly snatch her hand away before she can do anything. “ah see, you don’t listen, you woke me up to make you cum, and now you’re wanting to do it yourself? after all this time?” you tutted and shook your head. “now you want to make yourself cum because i won’t give you what you want?” 

“m’sorry, i just need you to touch me,” vi sighs, thighs already shaking as you run your hand up and down slowly with another grin on your fuckin’ face. “i’ll be good, i promise.”

she jolts in her spot, jaw slacking and eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of you sliding your fingers through her folds, slick coating your fingers like warm honey on a sunny morning. “what do you want, baby?” your eyes found hers when they fluttered open again, dipping your fingers down teasingly and laughing at the way her cunt clenched around nothing.

“barely touched you and you can’t even think, let alone tell me what you want me to do,” you mumbled with a soft scoff that had her whimpering. “you always did go a little dumb when m’playing with your pussy, don’t you?”

shamelessly, vi bucks up into your touch, pathetic sounds tumbling from between her swollen lips, and greedily trying to get you to do something, do anything, and help her. “stop being mean,” she breathed out, gripping the sheet tighter.

“mean? m’not being mean baby. if i was being mean, i’d tie you to the bed, shove a vibrator between your legs and not let you cum at all, that’s me being mean, but m’touching you now, aren’t i?” you cocked your head to the side and smiled. “then again, you love when i’m mean, no?”

once again, it should make her angry, upset, but it doesn’t, it makes her feel more pathetic, has her trembling beneath you and screwing her eyes shut. waiting for something, just a simple touch from you. leaning your head down, vi gasps suddenly when you’re sinking your teeth into the skin of her inner thigh, and her hand comes down quickly to cup the back of your head when you’re sinking two of your fingers into her cunt. her silk walls clamping around them tightly. “there you go,” you cooed with a smug grin, licking and biting the small marks on her skin. “just needed my fingers to shut that bratty attitude up, hm?”

“thank you,” vi cried out, throwing her head back with what sounded like a desperate whine at the sudden movements. your free hand is quickly pinning down her thigh, keeping it open and you’re wrapping your lips around her clit, throbbing under your tongue as your fingers rub against her walls. “oh fuck! shit, oh my god.” she chanted and pushed your head more between her legs. “thank you, thank you—” she’s choking on her moans and grinding up against both your mouth and fingers. 

humming around her clit, the vibrations send a shiver down her spine and her back arches while her toes curl in the thick socks that are more than likely yours before sinking her blunt nails into the back of your neck. “no!” vi growls in annoyance when your mouth is gone just as fast as it was there and glared down at you. “stop teasing me!”

“don’t make me tie you to this bed, you fuckin’ brat,” you warned, curling your fingers painfully slow. “maybe i need to put my boxers back in your mouth and then you’ll listen to me.”

[softtdaisy]

oooh or 14 and hotch :3

ultraviolence / aaron hotchner

summary. aaron had a hard time dealing with your relationship, his feelings for you and seeing you put yourself in danger constantly as your boss. until it explodes.

words count. 2 477

prompt. “I’ve had worse.”“And that’s why I’m angry.” from here

what to expect. is it angst? yes again. reader gets hurt so mention of blood and bruises, very brief mention of abuse and torture. aaron is sad and deserves a hug

a/n. thank you again for your request sweetie, I love writing stories from your idea 🥹 I really love this story I could write more about these two so I really hope you will love it too!! 🫶

F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

This case was absolutely awful. 

The team left for Los Angeles on Sunday night after a new victim was discovered. It was the fifth in less than two weeks, and the police finally decided to call the FBI for help. Little did you know how horrifying the situation was.

You got the call at Aaron’s place. 

Nobody knew that you were seeing each other. It might not be appreciated for your boss to find comfort in one of his team member's arms. At least, not by the people above him. 

Because unbeknownst to you and Aaron, the team was making bets about when you two would conclude, to which Emily assured it was already done. And about when you would make it official, to which Derek said it would probably never happen considering Hotch needs to keep his private life…well, private.

His phone ring woke you up from a very nice dream that had just begun. After spending the evening together, you and Aaron started spending the night together too. You’ve been in bed for less than an hour when you heard the ring and felt his arm around your waist moving to grab the phone. There was something reassuring in the way he was keeping you against him, with his other arms around you and one of his legs on top of yours to prevent you from moving. He put one last kiss on your hair before answering. 

“Hotchner,” he said with a raspy voice that was caused by you. And it only made you want to start again to hear your name with this voice. Your hand even got lost on the hair in his chest, unconsciously. 

But the reality struck you back. And sooner than you thought, you were back in the office.

Nobody asked why you arrived with Aaron or why you were wearing the exact same clothes as the day before. While your boss had time to change his shirt and tie.

Nobody asked at that moment, and soon, the questions seemed pointless once you discovered the case.

The atrocity of the torture these poor women went through made you all so angry that nothing in your life seemed more important than giving them justice.

Maybe you shouldn’t have worked with your heart more than with your brain these past days.

Maybe you shouldn’t have offered to be the bait to catch this monster.

Maybe you shouldn’t have insisted when Aaron kept saying he refused to let you go there and put your life in danger.

Maybe you should have paid attention to the worried look on your colleagues' faces and not assimilated it as being reluctant to get between the two of you.

But you still ended up at the monster place to catch him. 

You saw Aaron’s look on you when you left the car. It was a mix of worry for letting you get in the lion’s cage and a little bit of arousal, having an idea of what you might look like on a date with him. A date he hoped he could get after the case.

A hope that slowly died during the night. 

When your mic stopped working, Aaron had to fight every single feeling in his body to not run and get you back with the team. He knew you were on a mission and that if you didn’t get any proof, this would have been worthless. Yet, not knowing if you were still safe was killing him. And Rossi noticed how he threw his headset after you lost contact.

One hour.

Two hours.

Three hours went by.

And then a gunshot resonated in the air.

Everyone on site ran from the van to go inside the unsub’s house. Before they could finish climbing the stairs outside, you opened the door. Some still ran inside to make sure the unsub was under control. 

Emily and Derek stayed outside, close to you.

Aaron stayed at the bottom of the stairs, unable to move.

Your dress was ripped at the bottom, and one of the straps was torn and hanging loosely on your chest. Your hair, perfectly done when you came in, was now tangled. And the bruises.

It was killing Aaron to see them on your beautiful face, with your bleeding lip, and others growing on your arms.

It was killing Aaron that he couldn’t see them all.

“I’m fine,” you sighed to stop Emily and Derek from talking on top of each other. You had a big enough headache already. But you still gave them a small smile to prove that you weren’t mad. Just tired.

You wished you could easily accept their worries, but you couldn’t. You just wanted this to be done. There are some reactions you can’t control like that.

When you finally walked down the stairs and came closer to Aaron, you imagined he would be just as worried and asked you multiple questions. But he didn’t.

He ignored you. Worse, before doing so, he gave you the disappointed boss look. One that made the features on his face harder, meaner. One that reminded everyone who was above everybody in this team. A look that you hated. 

The following hours were just as blurry as the rest. Emily came with you to the hospital to make sure you weren’t alone and weren’t in danger. The medics took good care of you, from what you could memorize. The only thing you remember was the single tear that ran down your face with the sudden realization of what happened.

You almost got abused. You almost died there. And the only arms you needed after that moment were firmly closed against the chest you loved to sleep against. 

After Emily brought you back to your hotel room, you expected to have a lonely and sleepless night.

You just had the time to put on a loose shirt before you heard the knocks on your door. 

Just with that, you knew who it was.

Emily never knocks more than twice.

Spencer’s are gentle, like he feared bothering.

“Aaron,” you sighed, opening the door.

His ones were louder, probably coming from his boss' status. But not brutal. Almost like he was trying to contain his strength and not appear arrogant.

You turned around once he heard his steps behind you. You didn’t need to see him. You didn’t even want him around tonight. And you didn’t want to look at him because you knew a part of your heart wouldn’t resist him.

Because you knew, you knew how he would look.

So you ignored Aaron for at least a minute. Until you couldn’t stand the silence in the room suffocating you. 

Like you imagined, Aaron had taken off his tie and shirt and replaced them with a grey sweater that you absolutely loved on him. An old one that faded a little here and here that made him look younger. His hair was still wet from his shower.

But you didn’t expect him to stay by the door frozen. His eyes were locked on the bruises on your skin, and there were still marks of anger on his face.

“What do you wa…” you started, rolling your eyes from the situation. But Aaron cut you off sharply.

“That was stupid.” 

You hated that tone. This wasn’t Aaron. This was Hotch, your boss. And even in other situations, you didn’t remember hearing him like that.

His arms were crossed on his chest, and his eyes finally went up on your face. If a look could kill… “This was irresponsible and dangerous. Look at you.” 

Aaron was not a man to scream. You’ve never, ever heard him scream. But the way he would make his voice harder and sharper was maybe worse.

“Oh, come on,” you sighed, taking a step closer to him. Maybe it was provocative behavior, but you opened your arms so he could have a better look at your body. The way he closed his eyes for a second proved to you that it worked; Aaron had a disgusting taste in his mouth. “I’ve had worse.”

And that was true. You got shot during your first month at the BAU and spent two days at the hospital while the team was still working the case. You couldn’t count the number of cuts you’ve gotten through the years because you were never scared to go or use inappropriate paths to get what you want. Some of these cuts even got infected. Your doctor kind of hated you, to be honest.

But apparently, this wasn’t a good argument for Aaron because he took another angry step towards you. “And that’s why I’m angry.”

“Oh, you’re angry, SSA Aaron Hotchner?” You noticed his pupil get bigger, making his eyes look darker. 

Sometimes, Aaron hated his full name because it was a reminder of who he was and who he couldn’t be. An ambitious man, for sure, he was doing a great job but also a man who seemed austere and who could never be the husband he wished he was. You knew that, he told you during a sleepless night away for a case. And you were hitting directly in the right place.

“We both know why you’re here, Aaron.” You pursued and pointed a finger at him. “You didn’t blame Derek for hurting the officer by accident because he was too focused to care about people around last month. You didn’t blame Emily for almost breaking her arm running after the unsub when somebody was already after him last week. You didn’t blame Sp…”

“Stop it.” The first one sounded like a threat. “Please, stop it.” This one sounded like a pleading.

And in any other moments, you would have stopped. But you were tired of walking on eggshells with Aaron about your relationship and your job. And the link between both. So you selfishly kept pushing him. “Say it. Admit it.”

“What? That I love you? Fine, I love you!” 

The whole room went silent. All that you both could hear was him being out of breath and your heartbeats. It was like your world exploded, and tension could only fall down now. 

You stayed like that for a whole minute, standing and looking each other straight in the eyes. Waiting for one of you to give up and speak. Until Aaron had enough and sat on your bed. You watched as his hands went from his neck to his face, which he hid for a second or two, and ended on his hair.

“It’s not you I’m the most mad about. It’s me,” he continued, looking down at his feet. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still mad at you for not listening and rushing straight into danger.” 

You let out a small laugh because, of course, he was angry about that. But this laugh gave him a small smile too. One that maybe you needed without knowing it.

“But I know my feelings make my perception of your actions and my reactions more biased. The idea of losing you tonight made me so anxious, and when I saw you coming out, bleeding and bruised… I was so angry at you for putting yourself in danger, at me for putting yourself in danger. The boss and the…whatever I am for you met to create a bigger and angrier version of myself.”

Aaron was so focused on himself that he didn’t hear your footsteps coming closer to him. It wasn’t until your knees touched him that he realized he was there. And when he moved his face up, you realized how vulnerable he looked. 

You never thought Aaron loved you and certainly not that much. It never came to your mind that maybe you were stressing him from something more than the boss and teammate relation by not being scared to go into a dangerous situation. But the way he seemed hurt to look at your bruised face made you realize that with every hit you took that night, Aaron got hit harder.

“Can I?” you asked, pointing at his thighs. He simply nodded, and you softly sat on him. Sure to not lean too hard on your bruises, but also because you wondered if you might break him too. A thought that you noticed in his eyes too from the way he barely looked at you and the way his hands were grabbing the sheet, not you. “Touch me,” you whispered. 

You slowly put a hand on his neck to caress his skin and his short hair. “I’m fine, Aaron. Touch me.” 

“This is my fault,” he sighed, putting his forehead against yours. And if it wasn’t the touch you were asking for or expecting, you took it. Because it was already a step forward. “I can’t have this type of reaction anytime we are on a case. That’s not a boss's posture. That’s not…”

“That’s a boyfriend posture I can understand,” you replied. Your nose softly brushed his, and you loved the shivers you felt in him. “Sure, it’s not easy, but we can work on it. If you want to.”

When you noticed Aaron was closing his eyes, you did it too.

And when you felt his hands slowly going on your hips, not grabbing it like he always does but barely touching it, you smiled.

“Tonight wasn’t easy, not for me obviously. But I get that it wasn’t easy for you either. But that doesn’t mean we can’t work on that.” You spoke quietly.

Again, Aaron didn’t answer, and you could tell the night had exhausted him. From catching the unsub, fearing he would never see you again, to confessing his feelings to the woman he hoped he would never lose.

You stayed like that, cuddling in silence for as long as you needed. Until Aaron offered that you both sleep in your own room, to take the night to think about you. And mostly to rest after everything that happened. And no matter how much you wished you could be in his arms to find peace, you accepted. Because he was probably the one who needed more to be by himself. 

You wanted this to work, and you would go at his own pace.

“And Aaron?” You called, grabbing his hand before he left your room.

He turned around, frowning. He looked so tired you wondered if he wouldn’t fall asleep on you if you didn't let him go. His chest was almost glued to yours, and you enjoyed that touch while it lasted.

“I love you too.” 

You wished you could memorize that smile forever. The way it softened his traits.

Aaron learned to give you two kisses: one on your forehead and one on your lips. 

Something that you knew would become a habit, a secret language. A wordless goodnight and I love you.

A promise to make things better.

[jenosbliss]

pls write a smut where haechan looks extra pretty before performing and his makeup artist can’t help but want to fuck him before he goes on stage

pairing. afab!reader x idol!haechan | genre. smut | wc. 1k | mdni!

warnings. hard!dom haechan, unprotected sex (don’t try in real life), slight hair pulling and spanking, mirror, creampie? calls the reader princess but also a slut

a/n: it took me 3 weeks to write this as i had a lot of uni work. Please please pardon me this time if it’s not well written.

Maybe it was the blush that made his cheeks look impossibly soft and warm, or the tiny stickers under his eyes that added a playful touch to his sharp features. Maybe it was the way his dark hair fell perfectly in front of his eyes, or how his lips—full, red, and devastatingly distracting—seemed to curve into the kind of smirk that could undo you in seconds. Whatever it was, something about Haechan today had you undone.

You told yourself it was just your work. You’d perfected the art of making him look his best, every contour and color carefully applied, every detail deliberate. But today was different. Today, his presence alone made it impossible to stay steady, his every glance and smirk making your hands falter and your professional demeanor unravel. It was the way his eyes locked onto yours like he could see right through the flimsy wall you were trying to build, the way his fingers brushed too casually against your waist when the room was packed, his warmth seeping through the thin barrier of your shirt. It was the way he tilted his head just enough for you to lean in closer, as though daring you to close the space between you.

And you weren’t exactly innocent either. Your fingers lingered too long on his jaw as you blended the last touch of highlighter. Your breath ghosted over his skin when you worked on his eyeliner, your chest brushing against his shoulder in ways you knew weren’t entirely necessary. Then there was the lip tint—your thumb dragging over his bottom lip a fraction slower than you should’ve, your eyes dropping to his mouth, betraying just how much control you were losing.

“Careful,” he murmured when you pulled back, his voice low enough that no one else could hear over the bustle of the staff. His smirk deepened, a flicker of mischief lighting up his gaze. “You keep touching me like that, and I might think you’re trying to make me lose my job.”

Heat flared across your cheeks, but you refused to look at him as you turned away, busying yourself with cleaning up your station. You couldn’t let him get to you, not when the room was still crowded with staff and members. But when you bent down to grab a makeup sponge that had rolled off the counter, his voice came again, soft and teasing.

“Was that for me, or do you just like testing my patience?”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words—and the low rasp in his tone—sending a rush of adrenaline through your veins, as he looked right through your little game. Without thinking, you straightened and turned, locking eyes with him as you reached out, brushing your thumb over the corner of his mouth. “You smudged your lipstick,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

It was a lie. You both knew it.

His gaze lingered on your face for a beat longer than was appropriate, and for the first time, you saw something shift behind his playful exterior. Something darker. Hungrier. Something that made you feel you won in this game.

Moments later when everyone was leaving for the final mic test, he straightened in his chair, stretching his arms with a casualness that didn’t fool you for a second. “Think I need a touch-up,” he said suddenly, loud enough for the rest of the room to hear as the members emptied out the room. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Before you could process what was happening, he was already locking the door behind you, his smirk gone, replaced by something far more dangerous.

If you thought you won the game, you were wrong because in no time Haechan had you bent over the same vanity. Your shorts and underwear were pooled around your ankles and fingers gripping the edges of the wooden table tightly as he pounded into you from behind.

He had one of his hands wrapped around your throat putting just enough pressure on your veins which made you lightheaded while he delivered hard thrusts from behind pushing you more into the table. “Had fun teasing me princess?” He whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he bit down on the sensitive skin of your neck before sucking harshly.

You let out a low whimper, eyes rolling back to your head as he hit that spot again and again. If the pleasure of him moving inside in that brutal way was not enough to send you into an overdrive, the moment his free hand slid down to press against your clit did break you apart. “Fucking princess can’t go a minute without my dick shoved in her little pussy?”

He moved his hand from your throat to grab your cheeks harshly as he lifted your head to make you look in the mirror in front you, your nose almost brushing against it. “Look at yourself…” he groaned, feeling you tighten around him “...why do i always have to remind you not to behave like a slut at work?”

He thrusted deep with each word making your eyes roll back. “Look at yourself” he whispered, tilting your head up. Your eyes roamed over the smudged mascara and disheveled hair as you met Haechan’s dark ones in the mirror. He leaned down to whisper again “What do brats like you deserve?”

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, you knew what he meant and when he stopped his movements you almost cried out “Please… don’t stop.” He chuckled, running his thumb over your lower lip “Don’t worry Princess. I’ll take my time with you after this concert.”

If you weren’t crying before you did now. He moved relentlessly, holding your hips with both hands in a bruising grip as you fell flat on top of the vanity. The wooden frame shaking beneath you due to the intensity as he moved deeper and deeper.

Your orgasm left you trembling even more as he didn’t stop thrusting in you. “Haechan please” you cried and he yanked you up by a tight grip in your hair “Take it like the slut you are.” He groaned and your whimpers turned into the cries of his name pushing him closer to the edge.

And with one final hard push he came inside you, moaning as he pulled out before spanking your cheeks. “Stay like this. With my cum inside you, don’t you dare clean up.” He said pulling up your panties and shorts and zipping up his own pants.

“You know princess this isn’t over, is it?” you managed to mumble a small no as he ran his fingers through your hair. “So be ready when we get back home… I’m going to ruin you so well tonight.”

masterlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv

navigation.

[goldenroutledge]

serendipity

pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

word count: 2.0k

prompt: ❛ i'm telling you all of a sudden, but it isn't new with me. i love you. ❜

summary: fluff. in which daniel doesn’t bother to hide his feelings anymore.

a/n: for the lovely @katsu28! thank you so much for requesting <3

masterlist || be my valentine blurb event 💌

“If you don’t mind me saying, you two make a beautiful couple!” An older woman stops in her tracks to do a double take of you and Daniel dressed to the nines, blending in with the rest of the wedding guests decorated in black tie. Maybe it was the way you brushed a few bread crumbs from his beard or the way he draped his arm around the back of your chair during the meal that made you two appear like any other couple in the room.

“Us?” You question, looking around just to be sure her comment is directed towards you. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time someone made this mistake. “We’re not-”

“Why, thank you!” Daniel interrupts, giddy as ever as he raises his glass. “She is quite the beauty, isn’t she? Makes up for the two of us, I’d say.” Your heart flutters under his gaze, one that’s convincingly lovestruck. He gently squeezes your waist to drive it home, pulling you close.

“Oh, stop it. I don’t think anyone can look bad in Venice, must be something in the water.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, darling.” Daniel muses, turning his attention back to the woman as she smiles fondly. “So humble, this one.”

“You’ll have to excuse him, he’s still suffering from some whiplash and needs his eyes checked.”

“Please, my eyes have never deceived me when it comes to you. You’re stunning.” His tone is sincere, and if you didn’t know he was putting on a charade, you’d believe him. Still, your cheeks are growing undeniably warm, regardless if he actually means it or not. Daniel’s always been a flirt.

“Just trying to keep up with you.”

“Maybe you two will be next.” The woman wonders out loud, a playful glint in her eyes as she winks at Daniel, leaving the two of you to enjoy the reception. He doesn’t miss a beat, feeling no need to acknowledge what just happened.

You, however, can’t brush this one under the rug. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” Daniel questions, playing clueless.

“Either I hit my head earlier or you just told that lady we’re a couple. You do realize you just lied to an old lady right?”

“I prefer the term method acting.” Daniel quips, all the more amused at your very unamused expression. “Come on, two great looking people together at a wedding? My jacket matches your dress? We’re not exactly avoiding the assumptions.”

“And that was purely coincidence, might I remind you.”

Daniel rolls his eyes playfully at your recollection of the morning. The look on your face when you first realized the matching colors was priceless. It won’t be the last stunt he pulls off, for now he’ll let you believe it really was a coincidence. “Oh please, you love it.”

You shrug, indifferent to what he’s insinuating. At least that’s what you hope he receives from it. Internally you wince every time you have to shut down his relentless positivity with another cold shoulder. “Your performance was convincing, I’ll give you that.”

“Just don’t wanna let anyone down. She’s not the first person to say something y’know, we might as well just accept our fate now.”

You avoid his eyes, finding the drink in your glass to be the safer of the two options. Whenever you do lock eyes with him, you can’t be held responsible for what you might say. Confronting the spark between you two has weighed on your mind, and heart, for more sleepless nights than you care to admit. Here and now, at your friend’s wedding, certainly isn’t the time to start.

–

The night stretches on and the mood is much lighter. Tears of joy for the happy couple have already been shed and the celebration was ongoing well into the night. Dinner was everything you expected it to be, each course more perfect than the last.

Daniel had been asked to give a toast in the upcoming weeks of the grand event. Not that he was the smoothest speaker to ever hold a microphone, but his humor was undeniably perfect for every crowd and setting.

He was rarely at a loss for words. For this speech in particular, when he tried to picture the moment and sit with his thoughts, he realized he had none. It may have been the first time he was truly out of his league. Ask him to write a speech about racing and the intensity that comes with it? No problem. Writing about love, in its truest and most passionate form? That poses a greater challenge.

Scribbled on the notecards tucked away in his suit jacket are a few quotes from philosophers or books he’s read, hoping one will inspire some profound words.

When the microphone finds him, Daniel takes one good look at you smiling back at him, and drops the cards on the table. A rush of confidence flows through his veins, telling him that he may not be so hopeless after all. He takes a deep breath and greets the room.

“I’ll be honest, when the bride and groom asked me to give a speech on their big day, my immediate response was ‘Are you sure’?” Light laughter falls over the crowd, putting him at ease.

“I’m no expert, but when I think about why we fall in love, the answer is simple. We fall in love when the idea of spending the rest of our days alone with someone feels more like paradise instead of a punishment; when we wake up and fall asleep to the thought of them, and happily let them run through our mind every hour in between.”

Everyone in the crowd lovingly gazes at their person. Daniel notices that your eyes have remained fixed on him this whole time. He feels himself blushing, and smiling at you before continuing.

“The way I see it, falling in love is this feeling of unwavering commitment, of being unwilling to give up on someone no matter how much they beg you to. It’s knowing that even if your love is never reciprocated, you’d still feel like the luckiest person on planet Earth, knowing they hold a place in your heart no one else ever could. Loving somebody, to me, means accepting that you couldn’t un-love them even if you tried.”

Daniel catches your eyes and they sparkle, whispering everything you wish to say back to him. A pause lingers over the crowd. You wonder if anyone else can hear your heart beating out of your chest. Under Daniel’s gaze, it feels as though you’re the only two left in the room.

He turns towards the bride and groom once again to end his remarks. “It’s for all those reasons that we’re here celebrating today. My deepest congratulations to the happy couple, may your love story never end.” Daniel raises his glass of champagne and everyone else follows suit, cheering loudly.

The bride and groom beam with joy, tears in their eyes as they resonated with every word he spoke. Everyone in the room had someone they thought about, someone they picture standing across from at the altar, hands held while they swear to keep their promises. The more Daniel went on, the more you realized that for you, it’s him. By the way he was looking at you, you have a pretty good idea that he was thinking of you, too.

Daniel shares an embrace with the bride and groom as they thank him for his heartfelt words. If they only knew the speech didn’t come from those notecards left discarded on the table. Daniel’s speech came straight from the heart, purely inspired by the burgeoning love he feels for you. Other guests sing his praises as he walks past their tables as he makes his way back to you. Romantic notes of the piano pick up from where they left off, and the floor opens up for guests to dance their night away. It gives him the perfect segway, unsure of how you’ll. If you react at all, that is.

“Congratulations, Plato. That was a pretty great speech.”

“I felt inspired,” He charms, extending his hand for you to take. “May I have this dance?”

Your lips curl into a smile, letting him lead you to the dance floor. “Do you even have to ask?”

Daniel shakes his head. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Deflecting by speaking in sarcasm and responding with rhetorical questions.” Something that admittedly drives him crazy, for better and for worse. “Why do you do that?”

“Why do you wanna know?” He gives you a pointed look, silently telling him that you’ve just proved his point. “Oh. I don’t know, maybe it’s easier for me that way. To imply how I feel because I can’t say it.”

The music is soft and the way Daniel holds your body to his… it's intimate. Like you could bare your deepest secrets to Daniel and leave it here in the ballroom once the song’s over. Insecurities only seek to discourage, they’re little reminders that this music isn’t for you. This night of romance doesn’t belong to you and Daniel, two friends that have blurred the lines so many times that they now cease to exist.

The last thing Daniel wants to do is rush you or scare you off. It’s a shame that he doesn’t think more before he speaks. “Do you ever get tired of keeping it in? Not saying what’s really on your mind?”

“Not always. I’d say it’s better to keep people guessing, never let them know my next move. I’m sure you know what that’s like.”

“Am I just ‘people’?” He questions. His tone is soft and smooth, not accusatory in the slightest. It’s what makes Daniel so easy to talk to, even when it hurts. You never have to hide from him, he’s always waiting for you with open arms.

“No, you’re not just ‘people’, but I don’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Are we talking about me or you? Because I’m pretty sure this entire party knows that I’m madly in love with you. I think you might be the last one to realize.”

You freeze, and instinctively feel like taking a step away. “We’re at a wedding, Daniel. Love is in the air. You’d kinda have to be a psychopath to not let your heart soften when you’re around all of this.”

“Has yours softened? Is that what I saw in your eyes when I gave my speech?”

“I guess I’m just surprised to hear you talk all romantic like that. If there weren’t about a hundred witnesses here I wouldn’t believe it.” You giggle and he smiles at your joke, knowing that you’re absolutely right. This wasn’t exactly an everyday occurrence for him.

“Well, believe it. I’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new with me. I love you.” Daniel pauses, gauging your reaction. “You don’t have to say it back. I’m still the luckiest man in the world, remember?”

They say actions speak louder than words, and the way you kiss him says more than you can express in this moment. It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, and Daniel is relieved in knowing that it won’t be the last. He kisses you back, and this time it means something. It’s a chance at having more than you ever thought possible. Less of keeping your love locked away and more accepting what’s been here all along.

“It’s not new with me either. I love you too, Daniel.”

“If I knew that was coming, I would’ve said it sooner.”

“Don’t be smug.”

“I’m not, just happy.” Daniel shows off that signature smile, one that won’t be erased anytime soon. The maid of honor interrupts your moment, asking for all of the men to clear the floor. “Now go, it looks like you have a bouquet to catch.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise at his boldness. Then again, the Daniel you love has never been one to back down from being unabashedly himself. “You mean you want me to catch it? You know that means we’re next right, are you sure you can handle that?”

Daniel lets his fingers trail down your arm as he backs away, bowing slightly and planting an affectionate kiss on your hand. He’ll be gone before you can scold him any further for what he’s about to say.

“With any luck, we will be.”

💌: i miss danny so much 🥲 feel free to request more from my blurb event here! comments and reblogs are always appreciated :)

taglist: @marjorieswrld

[soleilapproves]

Boxer!Sukuna often thinks about what his future would’ve looked like if he didn’t pick his career over you. (inspired by Sienna by The Marías) afab!reader

The idea of what could’ve been keeps burning in his mind. It’s been burning for years, ever since that day he left you behind with your eyes filled tears and heart torn in two.

But he had to move forward. He fell in love with the sport before he fell in love with you.

It was all too late to go back and contemplate over the decision again. Uraume had already popped the good champagne and his friends were busy dancing and boisterously laughing inside his penthouse, celebrating the biggest win of his career. All while the champion was standing in the empty balcony, gazing at the glittering streets as the sun set.

His rise to fame was a treacherous yet rewarding journey. He was proud but he was also empty. Maybe if he had just stuck around and suffered a little longer with you then you would’ve been standing next to him today, clinking your flute with his, and laughing at his romantic and flirtatious remarks. He probably could’ve kissed you right after winning the fight and flaunted your ring to the world to announce his retirement after his final win.

Maybe you both would even have a little one being carried around in his brother’s arms for the night. A child too spoilt and adorable for their own good. Maybe they’d have your eyes. Or his—he doesn’t really care. Simply knowing that the child was a product of the love you both shared was enough to fill him with the happiness of multiple lifetimes.

Much to his chagrin, there was no veracity to his dream.

On the other side of the world, you stared at the rising sun as you thought about the past and the upcoming years of your life. How different they were. You came so far. Made so many developments.

Yet your heart still quickens when you remember your first great love—Sukuna Ryomen.

Like most love stories, it was a whirlwind of a romance. A passion felt like no other. It consumed you till you blindly believed that you were a part of his existence. His existence revolved around making you happy. He even said so, often kissing you like you were going to fade away.

But all good things must end.

You thought your life was going to stop when he bid his final goodbye. You slowly learned to get back up on your feet again, picking up the pieces that he broke.

Your heart was bandaged, and a little guarded, but you still welcomed love for you were full of it and had so much to give. A pattern you were willing to repeat.

The diamond on your finger sparkles when the sunlight hits it, bringing your gaze down to where your hand was resting on the window pane.

You often felt guilty when your fiancé talked about children with an enthusiastic hilt in his voice. While he’d revel on about how he’ll spoil the child, you were busy concealing your true thoughts.

Thoughts that made you feel horribly guilty.

What would’ve happened if you had just fought for Sukuna’s love a little harder, latched on to his legs as your scabby knees dragged across the ground when he walked?

Maybe you’d already have a child in your arms. Your heart often swells whenever you ponder over an imaginary child with Sukuna’s temper. Tiny lips forming a pout with the most expressive eyes ever.

Lately that child has been living in your mind more often than not, making you long for them with their haunting laugh and toothless smiles.

But you know you’ll never see them. Or him for that matter. You’ve put that part of reality away in a box and shoved it deep in the back of your mind so you’ll never forget it.

And so you can be fair to your fiancé who loves you more than you know.

The only thing that gives you solace is the possible existence of alternate universes—different microcosms of the life you could’ve shared with Sukuna Ryomen had he not given you up like you were a fickle thought.

—

I know I said I wanted to get out of the boxer!sukuna bubble but I was having major writer’s block with my sentient game character ghost fic and this drabble just pulled me out of it 👍

[regressionschool]

going full toddler part 4

Steve cradled Marie in his arms for a moment longer, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head. The scent of baby powder and fresh linen surrounded her, mixing with the lingering sweetness of the juice Daddy had given her earlier. She felt safe, small, and completely taken care of.

And now, it was time for lunch.

“Alright, princess,” Steve murmured, gently shifting her in his arms. “Let’s get you settled in your highchair. Can’t have my little girl getting all cranky because her tummy’s empty, now can we?”

Marie’s cheeks flushed. The highchair. She had spotted it when they first arrived, standing proudly in the cozy kitchen of their weekend cottage, its sturdy wooden frame painted a soft white, with a cushioned seat made just for her. At the time, she had tried to ignore it, to act like it wasn’t really for her—like she didn’t belong in it. But now, after everything, the thought of being strapped in and spoon-fed made her tummy flip in a completely different way.

Still, part of her hesitated.

“B-But Daddy, I can—”

She never finished the sentence.

Steve’s smirk was knowing as he cut her off with a firm squeeze on her padded bottom. The fresh diaper crinkled audibly, a stark contrast to the wet, squishy one she had been wearing just minutes ago. “What was that, princess?” he teased, shifting her higher in his arms. “You can what? Feed yourself? Sit at the table like a big girl?”

Marie’s face burned as she buried it against his shoulder, whining softly. She couldn’t say it—not when she was still wearing nothing but a diaper and her soft, oversized T-shirt. She was not a big girl right now. And Daddy knew it.

Steve chuckled at her reaction, rubbing slow circles on her back as he carried her through the open-concept space of the cottage. The high ceilings and wide windows let in plenty of warm afternoon light, making everything feel so peaceful, so right.

As they entered the kitchen, Marie peeked up just in time to see the highchair again, waiting for her, looking far too inviting now that she was properly little. The tray was already attached, a bib resting neatly on top, waiting to be fastened around her neck.

She squirmed slightly, but Steve was already settling her down.

With practiced ease, he lowered her into the cushioned seat, pressing her back gently against the support before guiding her legs into place. Marie sucked in a tiny breath at the familiar feeling of the safety strap being pulled up snug between her legs, securing her in place. The thick padding of her diaper squished slightly beneath her, making her whimper softly.

“Shh, baby,” Steve soothed as he clicked the tray into place, locking her in with a quiet click. “There we go. All nice and secure, just how my little girl should be.”

Marie bit her lip, her toes curling as she tested the restraint. She wiggled slightly, but the tray pressed gently against her tummy, and the harness held her snugly. There was no getting out. No pretending she was anything but a helpless little one waiting to be fed by her Daddy.

Steve leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “No escape now, princess,” he teased. “Guess that means you have to be a good girl for Daddy, huh?”

Marie whimpered, squirming slightly in the seat, her cheeks pink. “M-Maybe…” she mumbled, her fingers fidgeting on the tray.

Steve smirked, reaching for her sippy cup first. “You’re probably still thirsty, baby. Drink up for me.”

Marie accepted the cup hesitantly, bringing the soft spout to her lips. She suckled slowly, the cool water refreshing after the sweet, thick juice Daddy had given her earlier. With each sip, she felt herself relaxing even more, the last remnants of her big-girl thoughts slipping away.

Steve watched her with quiet amusement, his sharp eyes taking in every little detail—how she held the cup with both hands, how her lips wrapped around the spout so naturally, how her body seemed to melt into the moment.

When she was finished, he took the cup back and set it aside before reaching for the bib.

Marie’s breath hitched.

She could handle the highchair, the sippy cup… but the bib was always the final step. The moment Daddy fastened it around her neck, there would be no denying what she was.

His little baby.

Her stomach fluttered as Steve lifted the bib, unfolding the soft, waterproof fabric. The pastel pink material had a small embroidered bunny on the front, and Marie barely had time to take in the sight before Steve was slipping it around her neck, fastening it securely.

“There we go,” he murmured, adjusting it slightly so it sat just right. “Now we don’t have to worry about my messy little girl getting food all over herself.”

Marie whimpered softly, instinctively reaching up to touch the edge of the bib. It crinkled slightly under her fingers, a constant, unavoidable reminder of just how small she was.

Steve chuckled at her reaction before turning toward the counter, grabbing the bowl he had prepared earlier.

The moment Marie saw what was inside, she squirmed.

It was mush.

A thick, warm blend of oatmeal and fruit puree, mixed to the perfect consistency for spoon-feeding.

Marie’s tummy flipped. She knew Daddy had been teasing her about being messy, but now she really wasn’t going to have a choice.

Steve smirked as he grabbed a plastic spoon, scooping up a spoonful of the warm, creamy mixture. He held it up in front of her lips, his voice soft but firm.

“Open up, sweetheart.”

Marie hesitated.

She fidgeted slightly, her fingers tapping against the tray, her toes curling. The food smelled good, and she was hungry, but—

“Princess.”

Her breath caught at the tone in his voice. Daddy wasn’t going to let her wiggle her way out of this.

Slowly, hesitantly, she parted her lips.

Steve wasted no time, slipping the spoon between them and pressing the soft food onto her tongue. The taste was sweet, comforting, just the right amount of warmth. Marie let out a tiny whimper as she swallowed.

“There’s my good girl,” Steve praised, already scooping up another bite. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Marie pouted slightly, but she opened her mouth again when he brought the next spoonful to her lips.

And just like that, the rest of the meal passed in a blur of gentle spoonfuls and warm praise.

Steve fed her slowly, deliberately, watching as she sunk deeper into her little space with every bite. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glassy, her hands completely still on the tray—no longer fidgeting, no longer trying to act like a big girl.

By the time the bowl was empty, Marie was a giggly, squirmy mess. Bits of mush clung to her lips, a tiny smear of banana on her chin.

Steve chuckled, reaching up to wipe her mouth with the corner of her bib. “You are a messy little thing,” he teased.

Marie giggled softly, too far gone to care.

Steve finished cleaning her up, then leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Such a good girl for Daddy,” he murmured, rubbing her back. “Now… I think it’s time for some cuddles, don’t you?”

Marie’s eyes lit up instantly.

Steve chuckled at her reaction before reaching for the tray’s latch, unlocking it with a quiet click. He unfastened her harness next, then lifted her effortlessly from the highchair, cradling her against his chest.

Steve carried Marie into the living room, her body molding against his as he rubbed soothing circles on her back. Her tummy was full, her limbs warm and heavy, and her mind was lost in the soft haze of little space. She barely even noticed when he lowered her back into the playpen, only whimpering softly as the thick padding of her fresh diaper crinkled beneath her.

“There we go, baby girl,” Steve cooed, adjusting the hem of her oversized t-shirt before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Daddy’s gonna clean up lunch, and you can play for a little bit. Sound good?”

Marie nodded sleepily, her fingers already reaching for her stuffed bunny. She rubbed its soft ears between her fingers, eyes half-lidded in contentment.

Steve chuckled, ruffling her hair before standing up. “That’s my good girl.”

As he disappeared into the kitchen, Marie settled back into her playpen, surrounded by her favorite toys. The plush blocks from earlier were still scattered about, waiting to be stacked again. She absently picked one up, turning it over in her hands before placing it carefully on top of another.

Stack.

Another block.

Stack.

Marie sucked her bottom lip, her brow furrowing in deep concentration as she carefully added more, her pigtails swaying slightly with each tiny movement. The thick bulk of her diaper crinkled softly beneath her as she shifted, but she barely noticed—too focused on building her wobbly tower higher and higher.

She lost herself in the simple, repetitive motions, the soft thumps of the plush blocks falling and the satisfying feeling of stacking them back up again. Her legs splayed lazily, her tummy still warm from lunch, her mind drifting deeper and deeper into her little world.

Until—

A tiny twinge in her bladder made her pause.

At first, she barely reacted, just shifting slightly in place. The thick padding hugged her snugly, soft and familiar. But then, the sensation came again—a gentle, insistent reminder that she needed to go.

Marie chewed her lip, hesitating.

She could call for Daddy. She could tell him she needed the potty.

But that wasn’t what little girls in playpens did.

Little girls in playpens didn’t ask.

They just… let go.

Marie squirmed, gripping her bunny a little tighter as the pressure built. Her toes curled slightly, her legs shifting again, the familiar crinkle beneath her sending a wave of warmth through her chest.

And then—

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she relaxed, her body melting into the moment as warmth spread through her diaper, soaking into the thick, fluffy padding beneath her.

She shivered slightly, her fingers tightening on her bunny.

It felt nice.

The warmth, the slow, inevitable squish as the wetness spread, the way her body let go so easily—it made her feel impossibly small, impossibly safe. She whimpered softly, rubbing her cheek against her bunny’s fur, letting the sensation sink in.

And just as she started to wiggle again, reveling in her new soggy state—

Ding-dong!

The doorbell rang.

Marie froze.

Her eyes went wide, her entire body going stiff as the realization hit her.

Someone was at the door.

And she was sitting in the middle of the living room, dressed in nothing but a crinkly, wet diaper and her soft t-shirt, surrounded by plush blocks and stuffed animals.

She sucked in a sharp breath, her face flooding with heat.

From the kitchen, Steve’s voice was casual, unbothered.

“Oh? Looks like we have a visitor.”

Marie’s stomach flipped.

A visitor.

While she was sitting here like this.

Before she could even think to move, before she could even begin to process the idea of hiding, Steve’s footsteps were already approaching.

And then—

He smirked down at her, eyes twinkling.

“Looks like someone’s a little soggy,” he teased, crouching down to press a firm hand against the front of her wet diaper. The telltale squish made Marie whimper, her entire body trembling at the touch.

“Daddy—” she squeaked, barely able to form words, but Steve just chuckled.

“Hush, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Be good and stay right here. Daddy’s going to see who it is.”

Marie could only squirm, her breath coming quicker, her soggy diaper very noticeable now as she sat there, helpless and blushing, listening as Steve moved toward the front door.

Her heart pounded.

Who was at the door?

Would they come inside?

Would they see her?

Marie sucked in a breath, clutching her bunny tighter as Steve reached for the handle.

And then—

The door opened.

[pixiexdusts-world]

A taste of temptation

Hwang In-ho x younger!reader

Summary: Hwang In-ho’s shy date shares their first kiss with him, as he draws them into his world of control and temptation.

Word count: 668

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

A Taste of Temptation

The night had ended too soon, or maybe not soon enough. Hwang In-ho, the stoic, ever-controlled figure I had gotten to know over the past few weeks, walked me to my doorstep in silence. My heart hammered against my chest with every step, each one feeling heavier than the last. He was older, commanding, intimidating even, yet there was something about his gaze that made me feel exposed, like he could see right through me.

I didn’t know how to act. The dinner had been pleasant, though I couldn’t help but fumble with my words, my hands, my nervous energy making itself known in every little movement. When he had asked if I’d like to go out again, I could hardly breathe. Was this really happening? Did he actually want to spend more time with me?

We reached my apartment, and I turned to face him, my heart in my throat. He wasn’t much taller than me, but somehow, he seemed to tower over me. His eyes—those dark, unreadable eyes—were focused on me, studying, assessing. He was waiting for me to say something, but my mind had gone blank.

“You’ve been quiet all evening,” he said, his voice low and steady, almost like he was amused by my awkwardness.

I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out. Instead, my fingers nervously twisted the strap of my purse. He stepped closer, so close that I could feel his breath, warm against my face. I swallowed hard, too nervous to move, too scared to break the tension between us.

“You’re nervous,” he noted, the corner of his mouth lifting into a subtle smile. “I can feel it.”

I nodded, barely able to meet his gaze.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice softer now, but still with an edge of something darker. “I don’t bite… unless you ask me to.”

His words sent a chill down my spine, and I instinctively took a step back, only for him to move with me, closing the distance in an instant. I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol from dinner or the overwhelming tension, but something in me urged me to speak.

“I… I’ve never…”

His expression changed, and I noticed a flicker of interest in his eyes. “Never kissed anyone?” he asked, his tone smooth, like he was savoring the words.

I nodded, my face burning with embarrassment.

“Hmm,” he murmured, his voice tinged with something darker now. “You’re very… innocent.” He didn’t sound judgmental, but rather… intrigued. “I think I could teach you a few things.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I froze, suddenly unsure of where this was going. But before I could pull away, his hand reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. The touch was gentle, but there was a possessiveness in it that sent a shiver through me.

“You’re too beautiful to be this shy,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let me show you something different.”

His lips were just inches from mine now, his breath mixing with mine. I could feel the heat from his body, and it made my head spin. I had never been this close to anyone before—especially not someone like him. My hands shook as I tried to step back, but he was already pulling me in, his hand gently cupping my cheek, his thumb brushing along my skin.

“Relax,” he said, his voice soothing but with a hint of something darker beneath it. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to see how you react.”

Before I could protest, his lips pressed softly against mine. It was slow, measured, but as soon as his lips touched mine, everything else disappeared. He was gentle at first, coaxing me to respond, his kiss deepening when he felt me hesitate.

I was frozen, unsure of what to do, how to respond. His lips parted slightly, and his tongue brushed against mine, a silent invitation. He wanted more. He wanted to take control. And for some reason, I found myself letting him.

His kiss became more insistent, his hand now resting at the back of my neck, pulling me closer. I could feel his power in every movement, the way he commanded my body without a single word.

“You’re not as innocent as you think,” he murmured between kisses, his lips moving to my neck. “You just need someone to help you find out.”

His words sent a rush of warmth through me, and I couldn’t stop myself from kissing him back, feeling a part of me start to unravel under his touch. He was right—there was something in me that wanted to give in, to let him guide me, even if I didn’t fully understand what that would mean.

For the first time in my life, I felt a thrill from the way he controlled me, a temptation that I wasn’t sure I was ready for—but a temptation that felt impossible to resist.

[bookworrm1999]

How Far Away? Part 3

Caleb x Mc

Tags: unplanned pregnancy, presumed death, depression, miscommunication

Summary: Mc and Caleb fight right before he goes on a long mission into space. Caleb ends up MIA while Mc finds out she's pregnant. She struggles to deal with the grief while Caleb is fighting for his life to make it back home to her.

AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Stopping in the hallway, he glanced out a small port window to look at the stars rushing by.

Allowing himself a small sigh in the emptiness of the long hallway.

It had been a long few months, sabotages from plants here from the higher ups, the occasional metaflux incident causing wanderers to show, but worst of all was being away from her.

Caleb looks at his right hand, made stronger by improvements after all that damage in the explosion over a year ago now.

He could take it as a reminder of everything that had been done to him.

The experiments, being treated like a weapon, desperately trying to be cold and calculating all to take attention from the one person he wanted to keep safe.

To him though, it was his reminder of you. What he had sacrificed to keep you safe.

Maybe he should’ve just asked her to stay in his house the whole time he was away.

No, he shook his head a bit, that’s what had gotten him into trouble with her in the first place.

Caleb knew that he should just talk to her about everything.

But it helped his sanity to keep it all to himself, so she wouldn’t be burdened by all this knowledge.

He toed a dangerous line by keeping you so close.

Not that refusing to talk about his relationship with her really helped anything.

It kept him from having to be vulnerable to her though.

He was supposed to be your protector, the feeling that she would leave if she saw how weak he really was when it came to her.

It left him frozen inside, the fear and anxiety too much to bear.

Caleb made himself a promise though. He had left things on a terrible note.

The first thing he would do is apologize after seeing you again. Well after a kiss or two, maybe three.

Then finally sit down to talk.

The ship shook violently out of the blue.

Warning lights and alarms started sounding through the halls.

Caleb rushed to the command center.

“Report!”

“Sir, a wanderer has spawned in the engine room. Our anti gravity thrusters on one side have been knocked out. We’re slowly being pulled to a nearby black hole. The other thrusters are still working, which is keeping us from being pulled in completely but the wanderer is on the move.”

“Send the metaflux incident team to the engine room now, Tell them that I will meet them there.”

“Yes sir.”

Turning on his heel, his coat billowing behind him, he speeds his way to the engine room.

Opening the door, he’s met with a chitinous wanderer snarling at the assembled team.

All of them armed with firearms and specially picked for their evol abilities.

The room is trashed already, if he wasn’t fast, it could destroy life support systems and then they’d really be in trouble.

That is if the black hole looming outside didn’t crush them first.

The wanderer lunged at the team of 6 people with its front legs outstretched.

It manages to swipe one of the men’s forearms before it’s pushed back a bit by a slew of bullets.

Caleb had had enough, using his evol, he stops the wanderer in its tracks.

Doing this took more energy but he saunters over and shoots it straight into the core 2 times.

Letting it go, it slumps to the floor, spent.

Some blood splattering on him but he pays no mind as he casually wipes it off with his handkerchief.

“Salvage it.” He orders, not giving the flabbergasted team a chance to respond.

Caleb quickly left and called the engine crew to come and try to repair the thrusters.

But nothing came through.

“Report!”

Nothing.

Sensing something was gravely wrong, he storms into the command center.

A flurry of activity is happening as no one can contact anyone on the ship over coms.

“What’s the situation?”

“Colonel!”

Someone rushes over, breathing hard.

“In the chaos of you being gone, someone has sabotaged our communications relay for long range and ship wide. All of our escape pods have been ejected with the manual override in the shuttle bay and then escaped in the explorer shuttle!”

Damn it.

He brings his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he asks

“What’s our status on getting communications back up?”

“That’s the other thing sir, all of the containers of spare parts have been ejected.”

He smiles slowly to himself.

“So this was planned well in advance. They took advantage of the happenstance of me taking care of the wanderer.”

Usually he left the containment of those incidents to the metaflux team but the severity of it happening in the engine room led him to intervene.

They were truly fucked. These types of incidents needed to be reported, then help could be sent but with the communications relay out.

Unless they could magically find a way to fix the thrusters without new parts, they were going to be slowly pulled into the black hole.

Slowly crushed as all the oxygen left the environment, a slow and painful death.

Unless.

Well, they didn’t account for Caleb being a crazy bastard.

This wouldn’t be like that time at the academy when he just thought it might be ok to die after his test flight malfunctioned and sent him to deepspace.

He had to get home to you.

His evol was gravity based after all.

A black hole is a gravity well and all Caleb needed to do was create his own gravity well opposite of the black hole.

Using the remaining thrusters they had, he could slowly pull them away from the counter gravity’s influence. It would be achingly slow, grueling and exhausting.

Caleb didn’t know if the food stores would hold out or if any other systems would slowly turn off due to the existing damage.

He didn’t even know if he would last long enough to pull them out.

But he would do it to get home to her.

HER:

The camera turns on

You come into view of the camera holding a piece of photo paper.

“Hi baby! Oh I guess you should be saying that not me, haha. Anyways look!”

You hold up the small piece of photo paper, black and white with a small white blob in the middle.

“That’s our baby! Isn’t it cute? Well it looks more like a jellybean then a baby at this point but I still find it cute!”

You hold up your fingers to indicate the size, the size of a lentil.

“It’s really tiny right now, I’m only 6 weeks. I asked for a photo copy of this because I wanted something tangible. Especially for you, so that way you can keep it when you come home.”

Your head drops a bit, absentmindedly rubbing your firm stomach.

“I really miss you, it’s really hard doing this alone. I’m sick a lot right now and I lost a bit of weight before I realized what was going on.

Don’t worry though! Zayne helped me and I’m seeing an OB now. So I’m eating again.”

You point your finger towards the camera

“That does not mean that I need to be in bed rest when you get home. You hear me? This is normal for pregnancy. Well not the weight loss but the being sick.”

Sighing deeply

“I miss you so much, but I know you’ll be home in 3 months and a week. I’ve got this little bean to keep me company in the meantime. I’ll see you later Caleb.”

The camera turns off.

4 weeks pass, writing little messages to Caleb all the while.

The smell of meat cooking is horrible to me now, what am I going to do?! I want your braised chicken and pork when you come home!

My pants are getting a bit tight. I haven’t told my work that I’m pregnant yet. I’m waiting till I’m 12 weeks but my uniform pants just suck right now!

Maybe I could use a hair band?

Well my boobs are a little bigger now, you’d be happy about that. They’re super sore though so don’t even think about manhandling me!

I’m so tired all the time! It’s hard to go out and do work now. And don’t even start on my working! Pregnant women work all the time safely. Granted my work is pretty dangerous sometimes.

I just know if I tell them, they’ll put me on desk work.

I can’t do that right now, being busy keeps me sane while you’re gone.

I went to your house this weekend to grab some of your clothes. They fit so much nicer and they smell like you too.

I can just see your chest puffing out in male pride.

Yeah yeah, yuck it up.

I really wish you were here. I want to talk to you, cuddle up to you in bed and just be together.

I’m sorry we fought right before you left.

I’m sorry.

The camera turns on

“Caleb! The baby looks like a baby now! They did my ten week scan and it’s got little arms and legs now!

Oh don’t worry, I have the picture right here and a recording of the heartbeat. Ugh, sorry, my hormones just make me cry even when I’m happy.”

You wipe your eyes and display the newest ultrasound to the camera like the proud mama bear you were becoming.

A tiny white blob with little arms and legs.

“I think I can play the heartbeat off of my watch, hold on… there!”

The sound of a fast little heartbeat comes out and you start tearing up again.

“Caleb… Caleb, I wish you were here to do all of this with me.”

You sniff and dry your tears furiously, looking at the camera with a glare now.

“You better come home to me.”

The camera turns off.

3 months have passed since he left, your pregnancy is 15 weeks along now. You had been correct when you said that you’d be placed on desk duty as soon as you made your pregnancy known at work.

Xavier had goggled at you in disbelief, but Tara and everyone else were very happy for you. They wanted to ask you about the father, you could tell but they just gave you inquiring looks every now and again.

It was reaching lunch time as you finished reviewing a report someone had submitted recently.

You had been turned into the captain’s assistant somehow.

Stretching up, you noticed some unfamiliar colored uniforms out of the corner of your eyes.

Wait a minute, those are fleet uniforms! What are they doing here?

Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach.

You watched with bated breath as they caught someone, asking a question before your coworker pointed straight at you.

Oh no. Please.

Two officers walked over to your desk and asked for your name, you confirmed and they handed over a small box.

“As Colonel Caleb’s emergency contact and beneficiary, I regret to inform you that he has been reported as missing in action.”

You sit in stunned silence. They continue on.

“We can’t give too many details but a survivor of the disaster made it back a few days ago on board an escape shuttle, reporting the loss of the colonel and the rest of the crew.”

A strangled sob makes it out of your throat, you look down at the small box in your hands.

“These are the documents left behind for you, granting you access to his estate and trust. The house and everything else he owned is yours.”

You didn’t want this, you wanted Caleb.

Caleb was gone.

You slipped out of your chair, it rolling behind you as you lost all strength in your knees. Sobs coming out of you in frantic gasps.

The officers look uncomfortable as they left you with one last bit of information.

“There will be results of an investigation delivered to you at a later time, the colonels lawyers card is in the box. Good day.”

They left you there on the floor.

World shattered and a baby in your womb from a man you’d never see again.

Tags: @moonberry69 @supermyeon22 @tinnyrabbit @gavin3469 @marina27826 @crowleysthings @tabi-callico @midiplier @rosalyne08 @his-ocean-emissary

[krakereir]

Part 2 - My Best Friend's Girl (you're something else) Trafalgar Law x reader

18+ Rating: E - Sexual content. 10k. fem!reader

PART 1 HERE

They find their seats, but as Law pulls up his phone to switch it off, yes, he switches his phone off at the movies, it’s not that weird, he sees that she’s sent him a new message. A new picture. No no no no, not now. Bad idea. Unfortunately, there’s no way he can refrain from looking at it now that he knows it exists. That would be asking his imagination to fire up all his dirty fantasies right before the movie starts. He’ll just have a short peek. Who knows, maybe it isn’t even- Fuck. Law is fucked.

“So Penguin is dating Shachi,” Law says the moment Bepo picks up his call.

“Hey Law!” Bepo answers and though he sounds like his usual cheerful self, there’s a subtle, yet unmistakable nervousness to his tone of voice.

“And you knew,” Law continues.

“Well, I-” Bepo begins.

“So when I called you last week complaining about Penguin’s girlfriend-”

“Law,” Bepo pleads.

“-it didn’t occur to you to mention that he can’t have one?”

Only silence meets him at the other line.

“Why? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It wasn’t my place,” Bepo explains. Law waits for him to continue and after another pause Bepo does so, albeit reluctantly. “If for any reason Penguin lied to you and said that he got a girlfriend, it wouldn’t be right to tell on him, not even to you.”

“You couldn’t even have told me that he by chance also has a sister with the same name? That it all could be a big misunderstanding?”

“Law, you’re being unreasonable. Two people can be named the same thing.”

“I know that! But-” Law sputters. “Well, it’s just- Argh!”

“I know,” Bepo says and Law could have sworn it sounds like he’s holding in laughter.

Oh, so this is funny to him?

“So when are you arriving today?” Bepo asks and Law decides to let it all go for now.

“I got off the train just now, but there’s a lot happening today, opening of the conference, dinner and probably drinks afterwards,” Law says with open disgust. Just the thought of the kind of people he’ll be forced to be congenial with is making him sick to his stomach.

“Are you still free tomorrow evening?”

“As planned I have bought our tickets for the movie at 8.30pm tomorrow.”

“You’ve booked them already?” Bepo says, now openly laughing. “Law, this is a small town, you don’t have to book cinema tickets in advance on a tuesday.”

“I know that,” Law protests, “but now we have good seats. You know I hate sitting up front.”

Bepo laughs again and all the nagging in Law’s brain has been silenced, he smiles too as he wonders how a town as unassuming and unpleasant as this one could feel so much like home.

----

In the days that have passed since Sunday, and the dramatic reveal of Penguin’s true relation to Y/N, Law has been feeling off.

Of course it was a nice surprise. He was happy to learn that she was single and very likely interested and first and foremost, NOT dating one of his best friends. Yes, it made him happy.

It just left him feeling, well, off.

Just the tiniest bit unbalanced. Ever so slightly unwell. High-strung, jumpy and a little sweaty. Totally normal bodily fluctuations that don't necessarily mean anything.

The problem was just that the situation was so… anticlimactic. In the true sense of the word.

They didn’t even kiss.

No wonder he was feeling high-strung. It’s only natural.

He didn’t manage to get even one measly little peck and the most frustrating part is that it was absolutely his fault. She threw herself at him all week and when it was revealed that he could act upon all his indecent desires, that she wanted him to, he didn’t do anything. They formally exchanged numbers and a mutual interest in seeing each other again as if they were at the end of a fucking job interview. But really, what else could he have done with the threat of Penguin constantly looming over them like a hawk?

Still, he can’t shake the feeling of having lost his chance. Why couldn’t he have made a bolder move when he had her right there? She had basically confessed to seducing him.

Law would be lying if he said that it didn’t still drive him crazy just to think about that part.

Especially now when it’s early in the morning and he finds himself hundreds of miles away in a tiny hotel room with the blinds down and his hand down his pyjama pants, lazily jerking himself off, wishing he had her at the other side of the wall again.

Looking back on last week, Y/N’s actions are even more arousing now that she has confirmed that it was all for him. It was all to seduce him.

He’s jerked off to the memory of her sounds so many times that his fantasies have practically overwritten his memories by now. He finds it difficult to differentiate between what really happened and what he later has made up in a daydream, attempting to fill in the blanks. It’s still effective material, but when he knows that the real thing might be within his reach it ends up lacking.

He slows down the pace even further to make himself last longer. He knows the climax will be nice, but again, lacking, and as long as he keeps it at bay, his pent-up mind half-way believes that it’s not his own hand making him come.

In his head, he can see how pretty she would be underneath him. He would take it slow and she would complain. She would be so fucking needy. Maybe she would try pushing his buttons to provoke him. Shove and hit and pull and bite. She would bite him hard and he still wouldn’t budge. Then when the time was right, he would-

Beep beep, be-be-beep beep, beep beep

Fuck.

He forgot to turn the alarm off when he woke.

The annoying melody drags him down from his high, unfortunately skipping the release, and he regrets dragging out the climax, but finds himself depressingly indifferent to whether he reaches it or not.

With a groan he grabs his phone to turn it off, but as he does he sees something that brings back all the excitement and more to spare.

Two new messages. One text and one… picture.

Y/N When are you coming back?

It’s so simple, so casual and really could mean nothing at all, but then the picture beneath loads.

It shows her face and naked shoulders lit up by an early beam of sunlight. She’s lying on a bed with two fingers stuck in her mouth as if she’s licking something off of them. It’s a beautifully filthy picture. So subtle in its suggestiveness that it in turn becomes pornographic, offering everything up to imagination, but with a subtext clear as day.

Law can’t deny the grin spreading on his face at the sight, he wouldn’t want to. He collapses back on the bed, phone in his hand, and finishes what he started, swiftly and passionately.

----

One day earlier

When Y/N wakes up in her own apartment for the first time in a week, it’s a disappointment. It feels like waking up from a very pleasant dream to see that your everyday is bleak and lonely in comparison. What she priorly thought of as a quite pleasant apartment now seems boring. And empty.

She feels defeated. She had the chance of a lifetime, a week living in the same apartment as the boy of her dreams with her neurotic brother way out of the picture. She had 6 whole days and still she couldn’t bag him.

She shakes the disappointment away and gets up, getting in the mindset of a new day. A new, normal day. It’s not so bad.

She works part time in the small, independent camera shop where the pay is as bad as the people are nice. In the beginning she was hired to help them move the bookkeeping to a digital system and keep up the website, but as the years went by business declined horribly and now there’s only a handful of employees who haven't left for where the grass is greener, so the manager needs her help with a lot more. She likes that it’s varied, but it’s not as flexible as it used to be when she mostly did digital work.

Once upon a time her friends and family were shocked when she told them she would become something as mundane as an accountant, but to her it was never a hard decision. At least you can do bookkeeping from Bali. And it’s a pleasure to keep an independent shop afloat, albeit barely.

Today she’s been more restless than usual and the last couple of hours before they close she’s left alone to tend the shop, which means that instead of being cooped up in the dark room, which she is partial to, she has to stand up front at the cashier, which she finds horribly boring.

No one has come by in almost an hour now and she’s starting to consider leaving a note and going out back again when the doorbell tells her that someone’s entered the shop. She looks up to see-

“Shachi! What are you doing here?”

“Pen mentioned that you were working today, so I thought I’d stop by,” he grins. “He recommended that I come see it before it goes out of business and you lose your job.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” she teases back. “I’m closing up in 40 min, do you want to wait and then grab a bite?”

“Nah, I don’t have much time. Just wanted to say hi.”

“Well, it’s not much,” she says, gesturing to the one room shop they’re in, “but it’s a lot more fun than other jobs I’ve had.”

“I didn’t know you were into photography.”

“I guess I have developed an interest as a result of working here,” she explains. “It surprised me, but I actually like the service work too. I mostly do digital bookkeeping, so I have been able to keep the job even when abroad.”

“You are a very fascinating person,” he says.

“Not any more than you,” she counters. “How are things? Has the school-year begun yet?”

“Last week,” he confirms. “I’m setting up a volleyball tournament to get the kids excited. It’s fun to see them flail around.”

“And how’s my brother doing?” she asks with a comical wiggle of her eyebrow.

“He’s fine,” Shachi shrugs, but a slight, pinkish tint appears over his cheeks. “It’s nice to have the apartment to ourselves, with Law gone this week.”

The silence that follows is filled with the awkwardness of indirectly bringing up both her brother’s and her own sex life in the same sentence, and none of them manages to find anything to say. A customer comes into the shop and hands her a film roll, pays and leaves.

“Are any of these yours?” Shachi asks when they’re alone again, gesturing to the photos on the wall behind her.

“No no no,” she protests. “I could never. Besides, the photos I like to take aren’t the kind you hang on the wall.”

“I see,” he says, smirking. “Have you sent any to Law yet?”

She shakes her head. “Do you think I should?”

“Yes,” he says in all seriousness.

She stops abruptly.

“Really? I- uhm, are you sure? I don’t want to presume-”

“If you want to make him lose his mind, you absolutely should.”

“You’re not messing with me, right? I don’t want to scare him away. He seems so… respectable?”

“I see your concern,” Shachi says, “and if you want to take things slow, you should.”

“But?”

“If you want to seduce him, you should send him the most desperately horny pictures, but show minimal nudity. Trust me, he’s depraved, but prudish at the same time. He loves that convoluted shit.”

“Hmm,” she contemplates it. “You gave me great advice last time. If it weren’t for the fact that he did his best to keep away from me, I’m pretty sure it would have worked.”

“It did work! He’s hooked, you just need to reel him in.”

“You’re horrible, you know that? You enjoy this way too much,”

“Maybe,” he snickers. “Well, I have to go now. Have a good one!”

“Thanks for stopping by!”

----

At the end of the second day of the conference, Law is already sick of it. He can’t stand the thought of even one more quarter of an hour in the presence of his colleagues. He even had to forgo his usual, most-needed 3 o’clock coffee, simply to avoid the flock of assholes surrounding the machine and the conversation they most-likely would trap him in.

But now the day is over and he can finally get to the whole reason for this extraneous trip in the first place. The beam of light in the darkness. The only reason Law even said yes to this horrid idea of a 5 day conference: it happens to take place in the same town where Bepo is doing his residency.

Despite only being 3 hours by train, he hasn’t gotten to see him much at all lately and getting one or two nights with his best friend is worth all the stuck up academics he needs to refrain himself from smacking.

They meet downtown after Bepo is done with his shift, have chinese and then a glass of wine before wandering through the small centre of town, waiting for the movie.

“You seem very happy,” Bepo says, his brows furrowed, as if happiness is a rare disease Law has contracted.

“I’m not,” Law argues, “this conference is at my personal 4th circle of hell.” He keeps his voice level, but the corners of his lips lift up on their own and he can’t make himself mad at it.

“I’m so happy for you!” Bepo exclaims and Law wonders if Bepo ever really listens to what he says.

“It’s nothing big, it’s just-” Law begins before he knows how much he actually wants to reveal. “It’s just that I might have met someone.”

Bepo’s eyes get huge with shock and his smile widens even more. "Does this have something to do with Y/N?"

Even though Law already had called Bepo to berate him for not telling him that Penguin has a sister, he had refrained from mentioning anything concerning his indecent desires about said sister, but it seems that Bepo had already put two and two together.

“It might,” Law answers with a sigh.

“I knew you two would hit it off!” Bepo exclaims. “Hadn’t it been for Penguin, I would have insisted you two meet a lot sooner.”

“I’ve been wondering about that. Shachi hadn’t even met her, so when did you meet her?”

“Oh, she moved apartments last year. Shachi was away and Penguin didn’t want to invite you, so he asked if I could help out. She’s so sweet!”

“I didn’t think Penguin would be the type to be overprotective of his sister.”

“He’s not.”

“Oh yes, he is,” Law insists.

“He’s overprotective of you,” Bepo says and Law’s mind screeches to a halt.

“… what?”

“He doesn’t want her to steal you away from him,” he explains. “Apparently, she’s kind of a flirt.”

Law chooses not to comment on that.

They find their seats, but as he pulls up his phone to switch it off, yes, he switches his phone off at the movies, it’s not that weird, he sees that she’s sent him a new message.

A new picture.

No no no no, not now. Bad idea.

Unfortunately, there’s no way he can refrain from looking at it now that he knows it exists. That would be asking his imagination to fire up all his dirty fantasies right before the movie starts. He’ll just have a short peek. Who knows, maybe it isn’t even-

Fuck. Law is fucked.

The picture is arousing alright.

She’s splayed out on a couch, dressed in only a loose robe that has slipped off her leg, showing off skin all the way up to her hip bone and large parts of her outer thigh. The picture’s taken from above her head so her face isn’t in the frame, but her one naked shoulder is. The fabric hanging loosely off it barely covers the left part of her chest and he’s sure he can see the darker skin of her areolae just beyond the hem of the robe and the hand that isn’t holding the phone is casually resting on her thigh, fingers reaching ever so slightly into the robe on their way to do god knows what and Law is turned on like a light switch.

His cheeks flame up with heat and he grips his phone harder as he struggles to turn it off before someone else sees what’s on it. Then there’s the humiliating task of positioning himself so that there’s as little friction as possible between the coarse material of his tight jeans and his very unwelcome erection.

At his side Bepo looks at him worriedly and seems like he’s about to say something, but then the commercials come to an end and the light goes down in the theatre. Law takes deep breaths, forcing himself to push all indecent thoughts away and when the familiar theme music of Sora, warrior of the sea: Encounter of Kings blast out of the speakers, he feels confident that he will succeed.

That’s when Pink Poison takes the screen. Dressed in a sheer nightgown she kills 5 soldiers. With her mouth.

Law is so fucked.

----

Bepo lives on the outskirts of town in student housing and has to get up early the next day. When the movie ends, Law walks him to the station and they say goodbye. Maybe they’ll manage to see each other once more before Law leaves, maybe not. Right now though there’s only one thing on his mind and the moment Bepo’s bus drives off, Law calls up Y/N.

“You ruined Sora,” he accuses her when she picks up, but despite his stern tone, he’s sort of smiling.

“Law?”

“Your actions have consequences you know.”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t understand at all,” Y/N says. “What are you talking about?”

“The pictures,” he explains painstakingly.

“Ohhh.” There's a pause before she continues, “so you did get the pictures.”

He swears that he can hear her smirk.

“Yes, I got the pictures,” he says.

“Well, you didn’t answer, so I wasn’t sure,” she explains. “I thought maybe the first one didn’t go through, so I sent one more.”

It hits him that he didn’t even think about answering her pictures, despite having masturbated to them, twice. That’s not only embarrassing, but blatantly disrespectful. Not to mention frightfully uncool.

“Well… did you like them?” she asks and her amusement is obvious.

“That’s besides the point!” he sputters.

“So what you’re saying is that you’re mad you had to sit through a movie with a boner?”

“I’m mad that I missed 10 minutes of it when I was forced to do something as downgrading as relieving myself in a cinema toilet.”

It just spills out of him and the moment he admits to this out loud he’s struck by regret.

“What?” she exclaims in shock, then a laugh follows, so loud he has to pull the phone away from his ear. “Why didn’t you wait it out?” she asks.

“I couldn’t,” he mutters, cursing himself for continuing on this degrading and embarrassing subject.

“What do you mean you couldn’t?”

“The movie was sexy, okay?” he whispers reluctantly into the microphone.

“‘Sora, warrior of the sea’ was too sexy?” she asks, now cackling even louder.

“It wasn’t a problem the last time I saw it, so obviously it’s-”

“Law, hold on.”

He freezes at the change in her tone.

“You’ve seen it before?”

“Well, yes. Once, but-”

“You’re blaming me for making you miss 10 out of 200 minutes you’ve seen before?”

“... yes.”

“Law, do you want me to stop with the pictures?” she asks and it’s a straightforward question, free from teasing and flirting.

“Of course not,” he says, without even thinking.

“Then I won’t,” she says simply. With a short chuckle she adds, “Sorry about Sora.”

“I forgive you,” he says genuinely before realising that she wasn’t actually that sorry. She laughs loudly again.

“You are really something, Trafalgar Law.”

Law doesn’t know what to say.

“Call me again soon,” she says and with that, she hangs up.

He’s left dumbstruck.

Then his hands move on their own and before he knows it, he’s pulled up the message log with the pictures. Looking at them now, they’re quite tame. Not that they’re bad, the very opposite actually, they’re good pictures. The composition and lighting enhances its subject in a very… flattering way. It’s just that they’re not as risque now at a second glance. It’s embarrassing to think that this was all it took to rile him up so thoroughly.

He still saves them to his phone.

Then he sends off a text.

LAW I’m coming back on the 10th.

After a second of contemplating he sends off another one.

LAW I really like the robe.

Compared to how much he enjoyed the pictures, it’s a weak compliment, but he can’t get himself to be more explicit. Being sexy in person is hard enough, the pressure of being sexy over text is terrifying.

And he does like the robe. He really, really likes the robe.

Y/N Come see me on the 10th? LAW Okay.

He cringes at how indifferent he sounds, but doesn’t dare to write anything more, afraid to make an even bigger fool of himself.

----

Y/N I think the pictures worked! I kept it very subtle, but he even called me to complain about them. That’s a good sign, right? Shachi complain how? Y/N That he got too horny I think? I didn’t really understand, but he was sort of annoyed that he was out in public when he saw it. Shachi amazing!! your on the right track next step is leave him wanting more! if you want to send more pictures, make sure they’re not as desperate as the ones you started with Y/N I can’t say I understand, but I trust you wholeheartedly. Shachi update me l8er Y/N Say hi to Pen for me Shachi he says hi back! Y/N Really? Shachi actually he says “stop texting my bf, homewrecker” Y/N That’s more like it.

----

By the time Friday rolls around, Law has been to 4 boring dinners, 1 slightly fascinating lecture, 3 frightfully bad ones and 1 disgustingly opulent fundraiser. He’s gotten 5 new pictures from Y/N and masturbated a lot more times than he wants to count.

He’s spent.

Really, he can’t remember the last time he was this exhausted and he regularly does 12 hour shifts.

He got sick of the group of academics he’s travelling with already at the first lunch, they’re all terrible conversationalists. He’s used to zoning out the long monologues and self-praising around these guys, but it doesn’t make it any less annoying.

Tonight is the goodbye dinner and he would pay good money to get out of it, but alas, his boss is one of the worst of the bunch and Law can’t afford pissing him off more than he already has. One can say Law has toned down his punk attitude since his manifesto-creating-days and is now what you can call a typical 30-year-old sell out on the cusp of his big break, who very well knows the importance of pampering important men with big egos.

She would laugh at him if she were here.

He hasn’t called her since that day. She did tell him too, but he figured it would be too much. What would he even tell her, how many more times he’s masturbated to the thought of her since last they spoke? No, thank you.

The pictures were a blessing at first, a welcome escape from his personal hell, but lately every new message he receives is like an additional ball and chain around his foot, reminding him of exactly what it is he doesn’t have. They’re still very modest, but paired with the knowledge of how she sounds when she chases her climax, it’s awfully effective even so.

The more she sends him, the more starved he feels.

----

Y/N I think I fucked up Shachi shit what did you do? Y/N Just what you told me to! But he hasn’t called me again and he’s not responding to the pictures, it’s been like 2 days since he replied maybe he’s disappointed by the new ones? They are a lot less horny than the first Ahhh, now I just feel stupid I’ve spent hours taking these photos, Shachi… HOURS Shachi nooo but honestly it sounds like hes only being his regular loser self and doesn’t know how to text but if you really feel like your losing him you could try to amp up the heat a little gtg now but good luck!!!!! update me l8er

Amp up the heat, huh?

----

“Trafalgar! Are you married?”

Just when Law believed he could go through the whole week without answering questions about himself, one of his colleagues had to learn just a smidge of common decency in the nick of time and ask him a question.

“No, I am not,” he answers simply.

“Thought so,” the other man grunts. “None of you youngins are able to keep a job and a girl at the same time. In my time…”

Bla bla bla.

At least Law won’t be forced to answer more questions for a while now that the “When I was young”- monologue has begun.

He subtly glances down at his phone and sees that he’s received 1 new message and 3 new photos from Y/N in only the last 30 minutes. He knows he should wait until he’s back at his room to have a look, but he can’t help himself. Something nice for his inner eye to look at is exactly what he needs to survive this dinner and none of the latest pictures have even come close to being as explicit as the first two, so he figures he’ll be fine.

He opens the app and the first thing he sees is that she’s sent him her address and an invitation to come to her when he gets back. Then he slowly scrolls up to see the new pictures and-

… Law flatlines.

“Trafalgar! Are you alright?”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, boy.”

He locks his phone and looks up to see everyone around the table looking at him in a mix of confusion and curiosity.

“I have gotten some disturbing news,” he says slowly and doesn’t even have to pretend to act shocked. “If you will excuse me.”

On the way out of the restaurant he grabs their waiter, pays his share and gives her a weighty tip, while asking her to communicate to his dinner companions that he was forced to leave in the case of an emergency.

30 minutes later he’s checked out and on his way to the train station. He gets to his platform just in time to see the last train roll into the station and he thanks the lord above, who he doesn’t believe in.

4 hours later he’s at Y/N’s address.

----

“Hi.”

“Law,” she greets him, a slight indication of a smile on her lips, as if she’s considering whether to laugh or not.

“Hi,” he says again, softer.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

“It’s the tenth,” he says and holds up his arm to show her his watch. It shows 00.42.

“So it is,” she chuckles softly in surprise.

“And you asked me to come,” he says, slightly short of breath, “on the tenth.”

“I did do that,” she says, almost in a whisper.

The silence is loaded with everything unspoken. He catches her glancing down at his mouth. She catches him trailing her figure with his eyes.

“So, did you want to come in?” she asks, as if he was just a normal guest ringing her doorbell on a normal day, not the man she’s been thinking about constantly the last two weeks ringing her doorbell in the middle of the night.

“Please,” Law says. He too almost succeeded in sounding completely normal.

When she lets him in, it dawns on her what this means, having him here, now, in her apartment. The embarrassment seeps into her as the overwhelming shock of seeing him again settles.

“I didn’t expect-” she says, with a slight stutter.

She was going to shower, she was going to shave, she was going to take out the trash blocking the doorway and she was going to clean up the multiple bowls of old, soggy cereal on the kitchen counter. He was not supposed to come before-

“Y/N,” he says in a quiet, breathy voice. He speaks so close to her ear that she feels a tingling down her spine. “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, I just-”

He stops himself mid-sentence and she looks up to see why. In the dim light of the corridor, his eyes almost look black. They’re still golden, but now they’re dark, like petroleum, like oil, and she could simply drown in those eyes. What a terrifyingly sweet death. She would let him drag her down into the sticky black goo of delicious tar in a heartbeat.

“Y/N?” he repeats, for the first time tonight with a smile.

“Ye- Yes,” she says, a small chuckle escaping her at how utterly stupid she must look and the fact that she simply does not care. She doesn’t even care about the two bags of trash at their feet. She doesn’t care about her greasy hair, about being sweaty and dirty. This is the best thing that could have possibly happened tonight.

“Am I interrupting?” he asks.

She nods before she can register what he was saying and a prominent line draws down over his brow in worry.

“I am?” he asks. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“Law,” she coos and without even thinking, she lays a reassuring hand on his cheek, her fingertips gracing the soft strands of his hair. “It’s good to see you.”

He eases up under her touch, ever so slightly even leaning into it.

“Likewise,” he murmurs.

“Would you like to stay the night?” she asks, not really sure why, it’s really way too late for him to go anywhere else, but it does feel right to ask. It lets her reveal that she really wants him to.

“I would,” he admits, a shimmer of amusement in his eyes. “And would you like it if I kissed you now?” he asks her in a low murmur.

She gives him his answer by running her hand further into his hair, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him towards her slowly.

Firstly, their noses meet for a second. It’s only a small colliding of noses, but it breaks the ice and makes what comes after seem easier.

Secondly, their foreheads touch. A touch that is not innocent, but rather heavy and solid. A meeting of two minds, aching for connection.

When their lips finally meet it’s slow, but more than that, it’s deep. It’s as if they just skip past the first stages of a first kiss and instead swiftly fall into the hungrily unabashed type of kiss, slowly and meticulously tasting each other. They fit together like they were always meant to be doing this.

The sizzling chemistry between them does not crystallise itself in a fit of passion, but rather as an all-consuming void. A black hole swallowing their whole world and opening up the pathway to something completely new. Something scary, but exciting.

But with him, there’s no need to worry. It feels like she’s been kissing him for years and she knows exactly what to do. Even though it's scary to feel as if she’s being swallowed down into a hole of nothingness, it feels as if they’re going down together. She doesn’t doubt for even an instant that he will follow her.

“Thank you,” Law manages to say in between kisses.

“For what?”

“For- Fuck, the pictures. Thank you for the pictures.”

“You’re very welcome,” she grins into the kiss.

“But also for being so…”

“So?”

“So… Ehm, it’s just, I’m not a brave person, Y/N,” he begins while she places a trail of kisses down his neck and behind his ear. “Ahh- I- Well, I find these things difficult. And it might have been a lot harder if it weren’t for the fact that you’re so…”

“So…?” she repeats, absolutely teasing him for his ramblings.

“So fearless.”

“What-?” she protests, smiling wide from the flattery, but too embarrassed to do anything else than pull away from him and hide her face.

“So easy to want,” he further explains, cupping her face with both his hands and chasing her back to steal just one more kiss before he adds, “So kind.”

Y/N simply looks back at him for the longest couple of seconds before she can’t contain herself anymore. She needs him. She firmly grips a hold of his jacket and starts dragging him up the short flight of stairs.

Law makes an undignified yelp at being hauled away and he momentarily halts them both in an attempt to take off his outerwear. She tries to drag him with her despite it and he almost loses his balance.

“My shoes-?” he asks, in a way of explaining why he can’t just let himself be dragged inside.

“Leave them on, throw them away,” Y/N suggests hastily, letting go of the grip and disappearing into the bedroom. “I don’t care about the shoes! Just come here.”

“Yes,” he adheres blindly and follows her shortly after.

She waits for him by the edge of the bed and has begun slowly pulling off her sweater. He rushes to reach out and wrap his arms around her when her arms are lifted and the skin of her torso is exposed. As her face appears again from under the fabric, he kisses her lips softly, lazily.

“Y/N,” he moans.

“I need you so badly,” she murmurs back into his lips.

“Tell me more, please,” he begs her.

“About how much I need you?” she asks with an insolent grin.

He nods, his eyes are droopy and fluttering closed as he touches her, kisses her.

“So much,” she breathes out. “I need you so much, Law, I can hardly-”

She interrupts herself when she drops down on the bed and unexpectedly lands on something cold and mysterious. From under her ass, she pulls out sheets of paper- Oh fuck. The fucking comics. She doesn’t even know why, but that’s so embarrassing.

“Oh, these,” she says, not having a clue what she’s going to say, “I borrowed these from the library, just-”

“It was so fucking hot,” he groans and follows after her down on the bed. He takes the comics out of her hands and carefully slips them down on the floor. Then he pulls her over in his lap and grinds up against her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “All the pictures were, but- those last ones with the comics and the- Oh, fuck, it was so sexy.”

“Really?” she almost whines, shocked by both his enthusiasm and at the sparks of pleasure shooting up in her at the way he ruts against her.

“I couldn’t help myself, I just had to jump on the first train,” he pants. “Only for you. Because I need you too. So much.”

“Fuck, Law, we need to,” she sighs, “we need to hurry. Off with these. Now.”

“Yeah?” he asks, not speeding up the touches, but actually slowing down and not making any move to remove any of his clothes either. “Are you impatient?”

There’s been a change in him. She couldn’t say when, but at one point he grew confident and now, he’s teasing her.

“Come on,” she orders, “this is not the time.”

He smirks, it’s small and subdued, but so free. It makes her want to smile along and join whatever he’s got planned, but Y/N has an agenda and Law getting fired up with teasing her is not a part of her plan.

“It’s not funny,” she says, trying to sound stern and failing.

“It is actually funny, Y/N,” he argues, “because I knew you’d be like this. All week, while you’ve been teasing me with your pictures, I have spent every waking minute thinking of ways I wanted to tease you back, when I finally got my hands on you.”

“Oh fuck, really?” she asks, getting warm at the thought.

“I knew you’d be so easy to rile up,” he murmurs as he embraces her to unclasp the bra at her back. When he finally gets it to work and pulls the fabric off of her, he lets out a satisfied groan. He starts kissing her chest, gently cupping her breasts with his large, warm hands.

“Oh, these are-” he moans and then his words get muffled as the kisses turn into small, tender nibbles and then an insistent sucking, “mmmh…”

Y/N can’t help the self-consciousness seeping through her pleasure and making her tense.

“They’re not that- I mean, I know that they’re-”

“No, they’re so perfect,” Law interrupts, pulling back to look up at her. “I love them.” He looks so wasted, so far gone. It puts her at ease.

“You think?”

“You are made for me,” he whispers, before once again putting his hot mouth on her nipple, giving it a light tug and releasing it.

“So are you going to give me more?”

“What are you talking about?” he chuckles, cupping her breasts and now even massaging them gently, taking a lot of pleasure in every squeeze. “I’m giving you so much already.”

“You know what I want,” she challenges him, her voice weak and breathless, but he ignores her.

“You smell so good,” he murmurs to himself, burying his face into the crook of her neck again, taking a long whiff of her scent.

Her head falls against his shoulder. She’s giving in to his teasing, revelling in the pleasure she gets, the way his touch feels so feverish and tingling against her skin. She does her best to just enjoy that and to put off all thoughts of what more she wants. She tries her best to just stay in the moment with him, not get impatient and definitely NOT start to beg or anything of the sort. But alas, she can’t help it.

“Please fuck me,” she whimpers before she can stop herself. “I just want you to fuck me hard, Law.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos, but there’s no warmth in his reassurement, only vicious satisfaction at her weak state. “Begging already? You couldn’t wait any longer? I must say I’m almost disappointed. So impatient, but still so docile.”

She groans in frustration and gently tugs at his sweater to get him to take it off.

”Uh-uh,” he says. “You first.”

He undresses the rest of her and when all that’s left is her underwear, he lets her pull the sweater off over his head along with the t-shirt underneath. When Y/N lays her eyes on his naked chest and shoulders, it’s like she’s equipped with new energy. She takes charge and pounces, pushing him down on the mattress and keeping him there with force as she straddles his hips.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about these,” she says, letting a nail scrape against a line of his chest tattoo. Law inhales sharply, clearly affected by her newfound initiative.

She keeps tracing his tattoos with a faint touch and he responds instinctively, arching his back and lifting up to meet her touch, to get her to do more.

“Fuck, I just love your tattoos, Law,” she whispers, currently following the markings on his left arm, then all the way out to his fingers. She continues exploring the tattoos, but now with her mouth. Greedily, she takes three at a time, letting her tongue circle around each finger.

“Y/N,” he warns, sounding utterly weak.

She hums and buckles her hips down against his’, making him curse. At once she lets go of his hand and she leans over to meet him, face to face.

“Miss being in control?” she asks, teasingly. “Is that it?”

“No,” Law scoffs.

“I don’t believe you,” she sing-songs.

“So now you want to tease? I thought you were getting impatient?” he asks, obviously trying to get back in the driver’s seat. She isn’t going to let him.

“I think you’re very uncomfortable with giving away control,” she says, tenderly placing a kiss at the corner of his mouth, “but I also think it makes you even more turned on when someone takes it from you.”

Law manages to laugh, but it’s a hollow laugh, only made to conceal that what she’s saying is right. That the way she’s holding him down and taking the reins, is simply making him go insane.

“I am not going to deprive you of that depraved lust, baby,” she whispers, grinding down on him once more. “I’m going to shower you in it. I’m going to take care of you.”

“Y/N,” he moans.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Just give it to me,” he sighs. “I’ll take it all.”

She laughs. “Oh, how the tables have turned,” she teases, “but now it’s your turn to wait.”

“Please,” he begs, “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying, Law,” she says, fondly caressing his forehead. “You’re living.”

“Ah,” he sighs. “It’s exhausting.”

While she strips him naked, he’s mostly quiet. A soft gasp here and there as her nails scrape against his skin or as she leaves an unexpected kiss along his thighs.

The last item of clothing she removes is the black boxers, keeping his very hard dick encaged in the tight fabric. She’s already noticed that it’s big, that it would be more than satisfying. She’s caught herself biting her lip in suspense just looking at the outline of it, more times than one. He’s probably caught her a few times too.

But when she actually strips the boxers off him and it bounces against his stomach in its natural state, she can’t help but widen her eyes at the sight.

“Shit, you are big,” she murmurs in surprise.

“Yeah, uhm, well,” he begins, shifting uncomfortably up to lean against his elbows, “it can be a bit much.”

She swallows hard, feeling excitement bubbles inside her at the thought and wondering just what “a bit much” would entail.

“Do you have any lube?” he asks. Suddenly he’s back to being uncomfortable and anxious, avoiding her gaze.

“Sure,” she says, moving closer to him and picking up his hand, “but I don’t think we’re going to need any.”

Then she leads his hand to push past the edge of her underwear and into the pooling wetness that lies beyond.

He inhales sharply when the tips of his fingers easily slide deeper into her, lubricated by one simple touch.

“Fuck me,” he gasps, “that’s incredible. You are fucking incredible.”

She recognises that if there’s one time where it’s appropriate for her to take control, it would be now. Even though Law’s eyes are clouded with lust from feeling her wetness with his own fingers, he still looks unsure of how to proceed. She would guess that he’s had multiple bad experiences with feeling guilty from hurting people during sex with his big, fat dick. Y/N would laugh if he didn’t look so distraught.

“Are you clean?” she asks, pulling off his panties.

He nods slowly.

“Me too,” she tells him, “and I’m on contraception.”

“What are you saying?” he asks.

“I guess I’m asking you if you would mind fucking me without a condom?”

Law’s jaw goes slack, then he nods.

“So you would mind?”

“What? No, I mean, no, I wouldn’t mind,” he corrects himself, his cheeks flaring up.

“Ok?” she asks as she takes a hold around his dick

“But shouldn’t we-” he begins.

“Just let me give it to you,” she reassures him, finding her place on top and lining herself with him.

“Are you sure?” he asks through gritted teeth as the head hooks into her entrance and the tip enters her.

“Yes,” she gasps at the delicious stretch, “I’ll take care of it. Just give me a minute before you do anything.”

“Fuck,” he curses, “yeah, ok.” He does his best to control his breathing as she begins sinking down.

He’s warm. And of course big. Girthy. She’s overwhelmed just from taking a little part of him.

“It’s not that bad,” she gasps, “just a little more time and I’ll be opened up and-”

That’s when the stretch becomes almost too much. She shifts her knees in order to lift herself up again ever so slightly, but then her knee lands on something slippery under the covers that makes her thigh glide further away.

In an attempt to keep herself upright, she tries leaning forward with her hands planted on his chest, but at the same time, Law lunges forward too, trying to grab her hips to keep her from falling and-

She slams down on his hips and he bottoms out into her, going deeper than she’s ever felt anything before.

“AHh, fuck.”

He groans at the long-awaited friction while she whimpers at the overwhelming stretch, painful and pleasurable at the same time.

“I’m so, so, sorry,” he begins. He takes a hold of her hips and tries to help her off him, but she won’t budge. She’s frozen, clinging to his torso with all she’s got.

“Y/N, get off,” Law orders, but it’s clear that it takes him a lot of restraint to utter those words, “I’m hurting you.”

“No,” she groans, “no, we have to stay like this for now.”

“Y/N-”

“It’s just so good, I can’t-” she gasps for air. Then she moves her hips in the slightest buckle and lets out a moan.

“Oh fuck,” Law groans, automatically gripping her hips in an attempt to get more movement out of her.

“Don’t move,” Y/N orders.

“Of course not,” Law croaks. “Wouldn’t fucking dream of it.”

“I just need this for a little bit,” she murmurs, once again grinding down very gently and very controlled, drawing out a frustrated whine from Law.

Oh. That’s nice.

She wants to hear it again, so she does it once more. It’s really too much for her, but it gives her just what she wanted. His groans are so deliciously arousing and she begins rocking in a constant movement to keep them coming.

“No, this is no good. You’re hurting,” he says and stops her movement with a firm grip around her waist. “Let me.”

There’s something in his voice that makes her turn compliant again and she lets him lead her off him and down to lie on the mattress. He pulls out another comic from under the sheets, presumably the cause of her little slip up. She whines in disappointment, already aching at the loss of him inside her, but then she feels a touch at her entrance again and quickly after a finger plunges deep into her.

Even though the pressure from one single finger is lacklustre compared to what she just experienced, the swift motion makes sparks fly all the way up to her ears.

“Again,” she begs.

He complies, but he must have added another finger already because the pressure increases, giving her a new type of shock.

“I’m done teasing you now,” he murmurs softly, “this is purely practical. Now that I’ve felt you all the way, I can’t help myself. I need to open you up as quickly as possible, so that I can fuck you hard, just like you asked me to.”

His words send a jolt through her stomach in time with his fingers sliding back in. This time, though, he keeps them there and slowly begins pulling her open from the inside, stretching her good. Then he pulls them out to an indignant groan from her.

“Y/N. Lube,” he orders.

“In the drawer,” she pants, “the nightstand.”

When his fingers return, they’re colder.

“You can take one more, right baby?” he asks softly. “You can take three of my fingers?”

“Yes,” she insists.

She can. Three whole fingers are stuffed into her and when he somewhat curls them, deep inside of her, her hips involuntarily buckle up into the air. She lets out a breathy whine.

“Yes! Do that again,” she pleads.

“Of course,” he grins.

And he does.

“Oh, I- it’s… ah,” she whines incoherently.

“You’re getting so loose,” he praises her. “Can you do one more?”

“I’ll take anything you give me,” she says, so high on the endorphins, feeling like nothing more than a pliant blob in his grip. He adds one more and now the stretch returns, but now it’s only good, no longer painful.

“You’re ready for another go?” he asks. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes!” she moans. “Fuck, I want to.”

His fingers pull out and she waits for him with her eyes fluttering closed. He finds his place and lines himself up, but he doesn’t push in. He rubs his tip against her folds, dipping in and out of the pool of heat.

She loves it so much, she doesn’t even think to complain about the teasing of it. She is even disappointed for a second when he stops, but then he begins sinking into her again and she can’t focus on anything else. She breathes deeply, ordering herself to relax into it, to be good. She wants him to think that she’s good.

He sinks in completely and stays there,

“Breathe,” he orders her. She releases the breath she’s holding. “Good. How does it feel?”

“Good,” is all she can think to say. “So good.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No, not like last time.” It’s hard to put together the words in whole sentences. It does hurt, but it’s not a scary hurt. It’s good. It’s so, so, so, so good. She feels like her brain is submerged in goo, making everything happen slowly.

“Just keep breathing. Until you’re completely relaxed,” he inhales deeply, “I won’t move at all.”

Y/N focuses all she’s got on her breathing. With each inhale she feels him stretch her more and with each outhale she relaxes around him. She’s sure he could have begun moving a long time ago without bringing any real hurt to her, but the slow pace brings a kind of excitement with it.

“60,” Law whispers, “59, 58.”

Slowly, he begins counting down. Without actually knowing what will happen when he reaches 0, Y/N can feel her arousal blossoming up even more. She begins yearning for movement, for friction.

“43, 42, 41.”

His mouth is almost at her ear and each whisper causes tingles down her spine.

“36, 35.”

She moans in response, showing him what he’s doing to her and how eager she is for him to reach the end of his countdown. He chuckles, but he doesn’t lose track of the counting.

“19, 18, 17.”

“Yes, Law,” she whispers. “Please, I want it.”

“11, 10, 9.”

She clenches hard around him, eager for the stimulation and he skips a number in response.

“6, 4,” he gasps. “3, 2, 1.”

Law pulls out halfway before he slowly pushes back in.

“Yes!”

It’s bliss. It’s only pure bliss.

He begins pumping into her, still not fast, but hard. Long, deep strokes. He takes her legs and lifts them up to get even deeper and she gasps at the sensation.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he pants, “is this okay?”

“Yes! Fuck, yes, it’s perfect.”

He replies with a filthy groan, picking up the pace considerably.

She can’t stop making sounds, it’s like he’s fucking them out of her. It’s like he’s unlocked a blockage in her chest and now all her airflow has to be made into sound. She’s chanting his name with each thrust.

“You’re so good for me,” he praises.

“Law.”

“Y/N,” he gasps, sounding close to his climax, “how can you come?”

“On top,” she manages to croak in between breaths.

In the next moment he pulls out of her and she’s being tossed around to land on top of his chest.

“Come on, please, just use me however you want,” he begs. “I’m yours.”

And she does.

It takes a while to build up, but when it arrives, she rides him through her climax with a grip around his shoulders so firm that she probably bruises him.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he chants, “fuck, you’re sexy. So perfect.”

“Law,” she groans, tensing up and collapsing on top of him.

“Let me fuck you, please, let me fuck you til I come,” Law begs.

“Yes. Just use me back,” she complies, feeling so completely relaxed and submissive, as if no real tension exists in her body. “Whatever you need, Law, take it.”

He fucks her fast, up close and intimate, forehead touching forehead, untill he comes deep inside her with a long-drawn groan and a sigh of her name.

----

When she comes back from the bathroom she finds an extremely relaxed Law, spread out across the bed. He lifts his arms, just barely, to show that he wants her to lay down next to him.

“Next time, I’m going to tease you-” he yawns in the middle of the sentence, “-a lot more. So just prepare yourself.”

“Yeah,” she grins, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“You don’t think I could drive you insane?”

“Sure, but you would drive yourself insane first.”

A sheepish grin draws on his lips. It’s the most precious thing she’s ever seen and she pulls herself closer into him.

“Law,” she sighs.

“Yes?”

She hasn’t got anymore to say, but she lets out another satisfied sigh. He chuckles in response.

“I agree,” he murmurs.

“Remind me to thank Shachi,” she mutters to herself.

“Ok. Why?”

“He was the one who told me to send you the pictures,” she explains, almost half-asleep already. “He was the one who gave me all the advice during last week too. Told me to wear those skimpy shorts and to get you to drive me everywhere. To show up in the middle of the night with a bottle of wine.”

Law wakes from his postcoital stupor with a jolt.

“Wait a minute.” His face is drawn down in a frown of confusion. “You’re taking advice on flirting from Shachi?”

Y/N now too recovers to a more conscious state. Regret flashes over her face as she says, “Yeah, I uhm- Is that bad?”

Law falls back on the bed and buries his face in his hands. For a second it looks like he’s crying and Y/N begins to really freak out, but as he moves his hands to reveal his face, she sees that he’s laughing. Like a proper laugh. Big mouth, showing teeth. She even gets a glimpse of his tongue. It’s so different from all the smirking, chuckling and sinister laughter he usually does, it catches her completely off guard.

“I really overestimated you,” he sighs, coming down from his laughter high.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asks.

“Here I thought you were some magical siren creature, created from my deepest desires. Instead, it appears that I have a mole in my midst, leaking private information and you, it turns out,” he smiles, “are just as neurotic as me. Fuck, that is such a relief actually.”

As he says it, he reaches out after her and pulls her into his embrace. She ends up resting against his chest with her head against his shoulder. Suddenly him calling her neurotic is the highest compliment in the world.

“I might be neurotic, yes, though I could never compete with your nerves,” she argues, but all real concern is washed away and she is now in a blissful state of complaisance.

“Are you sure?” he counters. “Seemed like you could very well compete with my need for control. Maybe there’s more we have in common.”

“Let’s find out,” she chuckles.

“I can’t wait,” he responds fondly.

Y/N turns around and lies down on the top of his chest to look at him face to face. After studying him for a few seconds, gathering courage, she asks, “Be my boyfriend, Law.”

His eyes go big and his jaw goes slack. She holds her breath waiting for his response.

“Oh, okay,” he finally says. “Yeah, I would love to.”

“Really?”

“Fuck yeah, I’ll be your boyfriend,” he confirms, “and you’ll be my girlfriend.”

“Yeah,” she says.

“Shit,” he chuckles. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“But good.”

“Good.”

They both sigh deeply, almost in unison, both knocked out by the heat and passion of what they just experienced. And by the fear of finding something this good. Something they would want to keep forever, if they could.

Part 1

On AO3