#(blink gone? more like till stop blinking and gone)

[miyaheestar]

hyuna were still bleeding in the final round mv so that means round 6 and final round happened in the same day which explained why till is hella exhausted and was about to pass out and having a nosebleed so this is just so unfair to till who got traumatized over his friend's death few hours ago hell the fact that luka doing the same thing that ivan did to till is sickening yet so clever.

till finally got to rest :(

[cherryrikis]

EVERYTHING BUT NOTHING

PAIRING football captain bf jake x fem reader

WARNINGS swearing, arguments, jake makes a singular joke about killing himself

GENRE angst

SYNOPSIS jake is just the nicest guy, everyone knows that. and he’s even sweeter as a boyfriend rather than an acquaintance. even after an argument, you could never stay mad at him for long. but you question that when you hear him talking about you after school.

read part 2 here ?

“are you gonna talk to jake? i know that argument was pretty intense, but you’ve gone a week with no contact.” yuna asked as she tilted her head, standing by your locker while she waited for you to grab your belongings.

“eventually, yeah. i was thinking today after school. the thing with jake though, he either shuts down, or acts like it never happened whenever i want to talk about an argument.” you sighed.

it’s true. as open as jake may appear to be, it’s all but factual. you could never have a real talk with your boyfriend, because he hated confrontation. avoided it entirely.

typically, you don’t let arguments get in the way of your relationship. especially since living together is hard if you’re having frequent conflicts. it wasn’t too much of a problem now though, since he’s been staying at jay’s. but when you brought up the fact that he’s been spending too much time at practice, and that he always forgets your dates, jake let it all out.

it shouldn’t have been as big of a problem as it was. you just wanted to talk. but he finally argued back.

“i get it. sohee is exactly the same! don’t stress though. i know jake is a good guy, he’ll come around.” she smiled. “now let’s go to class? passing period is almost over, and yizhuo has been saving our seats.”

the lecture seemed to go by faster than usual. you were nervous as you steadily approached jake’s locker, which was directly outside his last class.

but when you heard his oh too familiar voice, you stopped in your tracks. you felt your heart sink to the floor as your stomach dropped.

“god. guys, don’t ever get a girlfriend. i’m bounded to long walks on the beach and dinner dates till i die. y/n’s demanding too much of me. i might just kill myself one day.” jake sighed.

“okay but dude, your girlfriends cool and all yet she’s lowkey uptight.” you heard heeseung say as he slapped jake’s shoulder.

“yeah man, you’ve been missing too much practice for your dates now. coach is getting upset. i saw yours and y/n’s texts the other day, and she micromanages you a lot. blink twice if you need help.” sunghoon joked as the three of them laughed out loud.

“i know, i know. i love y/n, but i cannot with her lately. thank god jay let me crash at his after the argument, because i couldn’t live with her constant nagging. she’s so fucking annoying.” he snickered. but, all their faces fell once they saw you.

you slammed jake’s locker door shut with so much force, your hand turned bright red. him and sunghoon flinched harshly, while heeseung and jay had no reaction.

your face ran hot, you felt it as you tightly closed your eyes, holding back the urge to burst out crying. the glass tears threatened to roll down your cheeks.

but one look at his desperate eyes filled with regret, and you tipped over the edge. your salty tears spilled out, past your lashes.

you sniffled as you continued to cry uncontrollably, staring at their flustered faces. jake reached out to wipe your face, but you pushed his hand away, wiping the tears yourself.

“you fucking asshole.” you whispered. “i came here to apologize. but you can’t leave it be.”

“y/n..” his eyes softened, voice faltering as his words were laced with regret and shame. he reached out for you once more, but you stepped back.

the distance between you two physically and emotionally only continued to grow. “baby, just let me talk. like you wanted.” he pleaded, begging, almost.

“i.. hate you.. how could you ever talk about me like that? i never once would even think about saying something like that about you, like you did me.” you scoffed, looking behind him as you finally realized his friends left the scene.

you watched as his eyes watered, with one last attempt of trying to reach you. but he knew you were untouchable in this moment.

“sweetheart?” he watched as you began to walk backwards, away from him.

but you didn’t let up, still hurt. you shook your head, silently telling him no.

with every step you took backwards, jake moved forward, before finally grabbing your wrists tightly so you can’t leave him.

“it costs nothing to be a sweet guy, like the version everyone sees of you. but it takes everything to be an asshole.” you mumble, before pushing him away, finally and surely leaving out the school’s glass doors.

and jake remained there, his regret suddenly transferred into anger. he kicked his locker, watching the metal rattle.

he hated how his such childish and immature words cost nothing yet everything.

“fuck..” he muttered.

“fuck!” jake said once more, but louder, yelling it out loud.

he watched out the window as you walked towards the parking lot, before getting into your car and leaving without a second thought.

“please don’t leave me.” he whispered as his vision turned blurry.

“please don’t leave me..”

[sagesskies]

been reading a lot of qt bl recently, and this idea struck me:

imagine you've just transmigrated into a world where you're the second male lead's best friend, when him and the fl enter a rough patch in their relationship because seriously, that guy flirts with way too many girls despite being in a committed relationship, and this time the fl has had enough and breaks up with him.

the 2nd male lead just has a downward spiral, because he was super dependent on the fl, and you, doing your job as his best friend, give him words of encouragement, as you were instructed by the system. but when he, unexpectedly, asks you to do more than give him advice, and instead help him in the direct process of fixing their relationship, you can't exactly say no when he's asking you so pitifully with tears in his eyes.

so, you help him, concocting schemes to win the fl over, sabotage the 1st male lead, and the like. this is way more than the original best friend did, where he just said some encouraging words and then proceeded to dip out of the plot till the emotional climax where he gets hit by a car and the female lead and 2nd male lead supposedly "make up" and "date again" at least, till the 1st male lead wins her back over.

you're able to actually get closer to him as well, past the shallow mask that all humans don, and get to know him as more than just 'a playboy with unhealthy attachment issues'

you learn that he likes to play the guitar and sing, that he cries when watching romance movies, that his favorite color is purple, that he dreams of making a career out of his music, and that nobody ever believes he can.

but when you place your arm around his shoulder, and look deep into eyes and tell him that you do, you believe in him, you see the way that his eyes widen in surprise, and how tears start to well up in his eyes, but completely miss the way his cheeks start to redden.

you actually miss a lot of things. how he always remembers your coffee order, how he knows the way you like your eggs made, how he remembers your favorite show and movie, and knows your handwriting by how you write your m's.

you also miss how he wraps his arm around your waist, drapes his jacket over you when you get cold, and likes to loop his arms around your shoulders and cling to you like a koala does to a tree.

what you do notice is how he's stopped talking about the female lead as much, how he only asks you how you're doing, invites you out not to plan something but to instead just hang like friends would, and when you bring up how the female lead has started dating the 1st ml he just blinks, and then says "Okay, good for them," like he wasn't bemoaning how close they were only three months ago.

and what you are forced to see is that the only person he's feeling possessive over is you. he's always texting you, asking where you are, who you're with, and what you're doing. he's glaring at anybody who even breathes in your direction, and one time your friends told you he threatened them to leave you alone.

slowly, you start to distance yourself from him. you decline his offers to hang out, you avoid him on campus, and have even gone so far as to mute his notifications because he's been sending you so many messages.

the system is alerting you of his unnatural behavior, and you tell it that you're very aware, and trying your best to get the story back on track. but by god, is he making this so hard.

it all comes to a head when you hear pounding at your front door, the sound muffled by the heavy downpour of rain, and when you open it you're, sadly, not surprised to see that it's the 2nd male lead, clothes soaked and sobbing, he's telling you he misses you. that he doesn't know why you're avoiding him, but whatever he did he's sorry for it.

"Just don't ignore me, please [Name]," he whines, "If you do, I might die!"

how will you get yourself out of this mess now?

[freedomfireflies]

Yellow*

Summary: An extra for One for the Money*

The one where you have to use your safeword with Mr. Styles and you worry it'll ruin everything.

Word Count: 3.4k

(TW: Panic attack and mentions of panic attacks)

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

“Just like that…shit, just like that, Peach. So fucking good. Can feel you, honey. Fucking feel you—”

Mr. Styles’ hand intertwines with yours before he brings them both to your stomach. Pressing your palm taut to the flesh until you can feel the subtle bulge from his cock. Thrusting into you so deep, your eyes roll all the way back into your head.

He’s been at it for hours. Showing off for the camera, allowing them to see him at his most powerful. And you at your most vulnerable.

You’re used to it by now. More than used to it, and on any given day, you thrive off it. You indulge in his prowess, his intentions. More than willing to be flaunted in front of the large audience of onlookers as he takes you anyway he wants you.

So you’re not sure why today feels different. Why the weight on your chest is heavier than it usually is. Why his hands – while always kind, always comforting – feel like tools in a game of your misery.

You don’t want to stop him. Don’t want to scare him or upset him. You know the moment you utter the words, the dynamic will shift instantaneously. And perhaps that’s what you want, but the repercussions might be more than you’re prepared to handle.

Yet the thought doesn’t leave you as he lowers his fingers toward your clit to pinch and tweak your next orgasm out of you. But you’re already far too sensitive, far too gone in the stimulation and the pain to enjoy it.

Instead, you try to focus on the little red light that blinks from the camera, try to imagine how pleased the audience will be to see this. How all of this will be worth it. It has to be worth it.

“Feels good, honey, doesn’t it?” he groans, now pushing your knee into your chest until you’re whimpering. “My pretty pussy takes me so well, doesn’t she? Let’s me fuck her exactly the way I want. Till she’s fucking crying.”

You nod weakly and the sight of your wet eyes makes his cock twitch as he drives himself in at a quicker pace.

And suddenly, you can’t breathe. Can’t slow the racing of your pulse or ignore the ringing in your ears. It’s everywhere, this pain. Your vision of him has gone blurry and your poor pussy feels swollen and abused.

But you tell yourself it’ll be fine. That you just need to catch your breath. You just need a second, and it’ll be okay. 

Because you don’t want to say it. You’ve never had to say it before, and you don’t exactly want to start now. And you aren’t sure why, you know he’d be more than understanding. But this is silly, you feel silly. Because you’re fine. You just need a second. And it'll pass. 

It will pass.

But it doesn’t pass, and you don’t feel in control of your own body anymore. Which is normally the point, but not today. Today you need to feel grounded, to feel some semblance of power over the anguish. And he’s so good, and so kind, and you can’t say it. You can’t do this to him, can’t do this to yourself, and if you can just catch your breath, it’ll be okay. 

Because he feels good, he really does. And you’re making him feel good, and you don’t want to take that from him. Because then he won’t get to cum, and he’ll be upset, and he’ll never treat you the same. He’ll always remember that you were too weak to take it.

So you’ll take it, you will. You’ll be his good girl, his good little slut, and you’ll make him proud. 

You will.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you repeat this mantra. As you command yourself to like the pain. Because you do. You have to. You can’t say it. You can’t, so you won’t, and you won’t do this, and you won’t ruin it, and it’s fine, and everything is fine—

“Wait,” you whisper, hands tugging on the sweaty curls at your disposal. Hard enough to capture his attention. “Wait, hold on, hold…yellow.”

Just like that…it all stops. He stills, instantly. No more thrusts into your cunt, no more pinching or pulling on your clit, no more kisses to your neck. It all stops in the blink of an eye, and you hear him inhale a quick breath as his body freezes above yours.

Seconds pass. Quiet and filled with a charged, tense energy that’s so eerie, you can almost hear your heart thumping in your chest. 

Then, he murmurs, “Okay. Okay, m’waiting.”

Your lashes flutter shut as a wince stretches across your expression. He doesn’t sound upset, but maybe he is. And you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, can sense how hard he’s trying to hold himself back, how difficult this must be for him to stop like this.

And you realize now that you’ve ruined it, and he’s gonna be pissed, and he’s going to end things, and he’s never gonna fuck you again—

“Peach,” he says softly, face still nuzzled against your shoulder. “Talk to me, what do you need? What would you like me to do?”

You don’t trust your voice. Can feel the influx of tears racing up the back of your throat as you squeeze his hair harder and shake your head.

But this isn’t an answer he accepts, his fingers gently tugging on your waist. “Peach, I need to hear you. I need to know what to do—”

“Nothing,” you exhale, the words getting lost in his cheek as you hold on for dear life. “Nothing, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I just need one second. One second and you can go, okay? I promise, I’m sorry—”

“Peach.” It’s not angry but it’s fervent. Determined. “Don’t…shit. Don’t you dare fucking apologize right now, just tell me…tell me what you want me to do. Do you want me to pull out? Or do you want me to stay still?”

And you want to answer, but you can’t. Because there’s too much happening in your head right now. In your heart. It’s going faster than you think it ever has, and your lungs feel like they’re going to collapse, and you want to cry—God, you want to cry. Can already feel the tears slipping down your face, fast and without mercy.

Because he’s so good, and so wonderful, and so kind, and you don’t deserve him. Especially after making him stop, and why did you make him stop, why did you do this, why can’t you just get over it—

“Hey, hey.” His head lifts, eyes finding yours as his hand comes up to cup your jaw. As delicately as he can without startling you. “Okay, it’s all right. You’re okay, Peach.”

His lips press to the tears on your skin. Gently and with great compassion. Which, in turn, only makes you cry that much harder.

“You’re okay,” he whispers between slow kisses to your cheek. “Deep breath, my love. You’re all right, I’ve got you, yeah? M’right here. Won’t let you go until you want me to.”

You melt into the mattress as he continues holding you to the best of his ability. As he attempts to comfort you without causing you any more pain.

“Honey, I need you to tell me what you need. What your body needs,” he repeats after a moment, nose faintly brushing against yours. “Do you want me to pull out or do you want me to stay still?”

Truthfully, you aren’t sure what you want. It doesn’t sting the way it did before, but you’re worried if he moves, the pain will return tenfold.

And the thought of him taking himself from you makes your chest ache.

“I don’t know,” you whimper, attempting to hide yourself in his neck. “I don’t know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m trying—”

“Hey.” The stern voice returns as his palm tightens against your chin and pulls your focus to him. “What did I just say, hm? I don’t want to hear one more apology out of this pretty mouth. Is that understood?”

Your bottom lip quivers. “…I’m sorry.”

With a gentle but slightly amused sigh, he says, “Peach—”

“I am,” you insist, nails curling into the back of his neck. “I don’t know why I made you stop, I’m fine. I’m fine, really. I think I just got scared or something—”

“Scared?” His demeanor shifts on a dime, brows furrowing, and expression quickly growing distressed. “Scared how? What did I do? What can I do?”

“Nothing,” you repeat, gasping slightly at the implication. “Nothing, no. You didn’t…that’s not what I…fuck.”

“Okay, easy, Peach,” he mumbles, sweeping his thumb along your bottom lip soothingly. Waiting until you calm. And he studies you for quite some time, as though looking for the answer written somewhere on your face. “It was a lot, yeah? I pushed too hard.”

“No,” you try again, but his look of disapproval makes you wilt. “I mean…it was a lot, yes, but you didn’t…normally, it’s perfect. It’s never too hard or too much. You didn’t do this, I think I just…my mind wasn’t here. Maybe.”

He nods once. Contemplates this. “I should have checked in with you more frequently. Especially with the camera on—”

“No,” you huff, resisting the urge to slap his shoulder. “Stop putting this on yourself, it’s making me sad.”

“And your apologies make me sad,” he counters. “But that’s the point of the safeword, isn’t it? The system we have in place? It’s nobody’s fault. It’s about communication. About trust, about safety.”

You swallow thickly and settle into the calming safe of his eyes.

His finger continues to trace the outline of your mouth, almost as if in an attempt to collect himself. “Do you trust me, Peach?”

Your stomach sinks. “Of course.”

“Do you feel safe with me?”

“Yes.” You leave a kiss to his thumb. “Always, Sir. I promise.”

He begins to frown. “No, I don’t want you to call me that right now. I want you to call me Harry.”

And this shift – this instruction is what you were afraid of. Lashes fluttering as you whisper, “It’s…it’s okay. You can still be Sir, I promise—”

“No, I don’t want to be your dominant right now,” he corrects firmly. “I don’t want to be your Sir. Or your boss or your investor. I want to be your partner. Your equal. I want to be you and me. Us.”

And you know he means it. Can sense the truth of it behind his assertion and it feels like the first deep breath you’ve been able to take all day.

 “Okay,” you agree, taking hold of his wrist to keep his hand close to your face. “Okay, we’ll be us.”

He seems relieved, dipping down to kiss the center of your forehead before asking, “Now…tell me what you want. Do you want me to pull out or keep still? What does your body need right now?”

You take a moment to find the right answer. “I don’t…honestly, I don’t know. I’m okay right now. Doesn’t…doesn’t hurt as much. You can…you can keep going if you want.”

“It’s not about what I want,” he reminds you. “It’s about what you want. What you need. If you want me to stay, I will. If you want me to go, I will.”

“I…I don’t want you to go. Really, I didn’t mean to make us stop, I swear—”

“We’re not stopping yet,” he interrupts. “Not until you say red. Right now, we’re just taking a break. Reassessing what you need. Okay?”

You nod weakly. “Okay.”

“Good.” He presses his palm to your cheek. “Do you want to say red? Do you want to stop?”

Again, you deliberate this. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

The frown returns. “I need you to do more than think, Peach. I need you to be sure.”

“I am,” you rush to clarify, shifting a bit beneath him as you squeeze his arm and fight against a pained wince. “I am, I promise. I just…I don’t know what happened. It just…there was a lot happening all of a sudden, and I couldn’t…I couldn’t enjoy it. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe or…or understand why I felt so off.”

A certain sadness finds him again as he nods and presses a couple more kisses to your temple. “I think you had a panic attack, my love.”

It’s an odd thought. One you aren’t quite familiar with, as panic attacks aren’t that common for you. In fact, you don’t believe you’ve ever had one before. At least not that you were aware of.

“Oh…” The words feel empty in your head. Weightless, with no meaning to grasp onto. “I…why?”

The corner of his mouth curls up, and the delicate smile makes your heart soar. “I don’t know. Sometimes we can’t find the cause, it just…happens.”

You blink up at him. “You’ve had a panic attack before?”

“I have,” he says calmly, and it surprises you more than it should. “I get them occasionally. Not as much anymore, though. With you.”

And this admission feels like something you can’t explain. Another piece to the Harry Styles puzzle you get to add to. Letting you see his big picture.

“I didn’t know that,” you whisper, and he shrugs.

“I never told you.” Another kiss to your forehead. “But I know how disorienting they can be, and I think it’s best we take a longer break before we continue.”

You feel your expression fall as he gently begins to move. “No, I…I don’t want to stop, I’m fine. You can…you can go—”

However, when he suddenly shifts his hips, it forces you to suck in a sharp, pained breath. Making it clear that continuing is no longer an option.

And for some reason, it feels like a punch to the gut. Knocking the wind from your lungs until that heaviness returns to your chest.

He really is going to stop. He’s going to take his body from you, and his weight, and his heat, and his cock. And the scene will be over, and maybe you won’t start again. Maybe he won’t be in the mood, or he’ll jerk one out in the shower without you, or he’ll look at you differently.

And you hate that thought more than anything in the world.

“No,” you practically whimper, grabbing onto his hips to keep him still. “No, we don’t have to stop, I’m fine. Really, it was just…it was nothing. Please, Harry.”

His thumb quickly returns to your face, brushing just below your eye to help dry the fresh set of tears on your warm, stained cheeks.

And he looks so very wounded. “Peach…this isn’t a punishment. There’s a reason we use the traffic light system, and it’s for moments like this. To keep things safe—”

“But I am safe,” you argue, the sound of your plea timid and riddled with distress. “And I’m fine now, really. You can go, we can finish. I want you to finish—”

“Peach,” he says again, but it’s a bit more resolute. “This isn’t about me finishing. It will never be about me finishing, all right? We can always resume the scene later if you’d like, but right now…I want to hold you. I want to help you feel steady again.”

And it’s the most perfect thought in the world. From the most perfectly imperfect man, and yet the idea of stopping sends sharp needles down your spine.

“Please,” you whine again, sniffling softly. “I don’t want to stop, I promise. Please don’t make us stop, please don’t…don’t…”

He dips down and nuzzles his nose to yours, forcing you to take a deep breath. “Honey, I’m not doing this to hurt you. Or upset you. I want to help, I want you to let me help. To honor our system and take a break.”

But you tug on him tighter, face disappearing into his chest as you shake your head. “Please don’t. Please just ignore me. I’ll feel worse if we stop, really. I’ll get worried and I’ll overthink, and I’ll panic again, and it’ll just be so much worse. So just…let’s finish, okay? I want to finish.”

You hear – and feel – him sigh. “Baby, I need you to listen to me right now, okay? This is my answer.”

It’s rare he uses this nickname, and even though it might be a little cliché, it makes your stomach wrench in the best possible way.

Yet still, the anguish is evident. “Harry,” you whisper, pleading desperately with everything you have left.

He slips his palm around the back of your neck to pull you from his body and allow him to see your face. It’s scrutinous, his expression. Slightly stern and somewhat doleful. “Do I need to be your dominant again? Is that the only way you’ll listen to me?”

Truth be told, you wonder if it is, and your sad little hiccup seems to be answer enough.

So, while fighting a smile, he says, “Then I want you to be a good girl and let Daddy hold you. I don’t want you to argue with me, or fight me, or act like a brat. I want you to say, ‘Yes, Sir,’ and be done with it. Is that understood?”

With a shaky inhale and a feeble nod, you murmur, “Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” he hums before landing his mouth on yours. Kissing you for the first time in what feels like years. “Much sweeter when you behave for me, my love. Aren’t you?”

But you don’t have the strength to answer.

“I know,” he says for you, chuckling against your lips. “Now…I’m gonna pull out. And I’m gonna go slow, all right? Try to be as gentle as I can. And I want you to tell me if it aches or if it’s too much, yes?”

“Yes, Sir.”

With this vow, he begins to draw his hips back, cock retreating from your pussy until that full feeling begins to diminish.

And at first it’s a bit uncomfortable. Tight, in a sense but eventually, he’s all the way out, and your cunt is provided a moment of much needed reprieve.

The moment that relief finds you, it seems to melt across your expression. And he notices, smiling gratefully but with a twinge of regret. As though he’s punishing himself for causing you the displeasure in the first place.

But before either of you can argue about it again, he’s settling on the mattress beside you and slipping an arm around your stomach. Keeping you pressed against his body to hold you the way he promised.

“There,” he sighs, lips returning to their rightful place on your neck. “Is that better?”

Your eyes fall shut in blissful ecstasy as you lace your hand with his. “Yes, Sir.”

He grins and that familiar dimple reappears. “Attagirl. And you’re gonna let me hold you, yeah?”

“Mhm. Always, Sir.”

He kisses the spot below your ear. “Good.”

The large bedroom falls silent while the little red light from the camera blinks the seconds away. You imagine you’ll have to scrap this video, and you want to feel regret over wasting so much content over this.

But you know, deep down, it’s not about the videos, or your OnlyFans, or the money.

Because all you really need…is here beside you.

“Sir?” you whisper into the delicate air.

His head rolls back. “Yes, Peach?”

“Thank you.”

He squeezes your hip. “Don’t have to thank me, honey. This is my job. This is what we agreed on.”

“I know,” you admit, allowing your other hand to travel to his hair. Fingers absentmindedly sweeping through the curls. “But I don’t think any of my other partners would have been this understanding. And I really appreciate it.”

His eyebrow raises. “Well, that’s why they aren’t your fucking partners anymore. You needed someone that wasn’t a total fucking twat.”

You smirk. “Touché.”

Another quiet lull as you listen to the sound of his soft breaths. Reveling in the feel of them against your heated skin. The way they keep you present in this moment with him instead of losing you to the voices in your head.

Contented, you turn and press your cheek to his forehead, nails scratching down his scalp gently. “Harry?”

“Yes, Peach?”

With a racing heart, your eyes flutter shut.

“…I love you.”

Previous Part:

~ How Many?*

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @kathb59 @iamjustaholeforyousir @buckyssbestgirl @harrystylesfan2686 @cherryluvhobi @caynonmoondreams @daphnesutton @uniquesexything @amateurduck @ilovec0lbybr0ck @winterrays @milfrrynation @definegirlfriendsx @allthelovehes @amiets2 @nega-omega @sucker-4-angst @hsgucci94 @gills-lounge @kennedy-brooke @avasversion @stylesfever @saturnheartz @closureesny

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

pleasant pile of pillows

kinktober, day eighteen

warnings: brother's best friend!james potter x reader, smut, secret relationship, cuddling, corruption kink, pillow humping, dry humping

word count: 714

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

Blinking up at the door as you heard three soft knocks resonate, the visage of James’ face poking in couldn’t help but send butterflies soaring throughout your stomach. 

“Hey, may I come in?”

Hoping that your eyes weren’t too red and puffy, “sure,” you slowly unfurled yourself from the pleasant pile of pillows on your bed. 

Closing the door gingerly behind him, he then sat down next to you, “I come bearing gifts,” and conjured a small, red lollipop from his pocket. 

Exhausted smile blossoming upon your lips, you grasped the sucker, “thank you.” 

“Are you okay?” he asked as you unwrapped the candy and popped it into your mouth. 

“Yeah…” you picked up one of the numerous pillows and clutched it to your chest, “I’m really sorry about crying back there, I just can’t stand it when my brother talks to me like that, like I’m just a child… I’m only two years younger than him, but somehow, he thinks I stopped ageing after the age of ten.”

“Hey, I get it,” he attempted to catch your gaze, “if I had a brother who talked to me the same way, then I’d probably cry too.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” a soft giggle bubbled out of you. 

“I most certainly would! Like a baby!” his chuckle mixed and mingled with yours for but a second before he offered tenderly, “I’ll talk to him-”

“No, please don’t,” you reached out and grazed his forearm, “because then it’ll just seem like you-”

“I what?” he raised his eyebrows challengingly, “like you?” 

Letting out a low exhale as a shiver promptly ran down your spine, “you know he would hate you if he found out you saw me as more than just his little sister, right?”

Reaching out his fingers, he gingerly grasped the stick that stuck out from between your lips, “I don’t care,” eyes locked on your mouth, he slowly retraced the lollipop, only to push it back inside. You were none the wiser to how lewd the motion appeared, simply blinked back at him, solely fixated on the declaration he’d just uttered. Bottom lip lightly encaptured between his teeth, he let go of the sucker and redirected his gaze up to your eyes, “can I stay here while you rest?” his tender touch descended down your arm till his fingers weaved with your own. 

With a light nod of your head, “please,” you wrapped your arms around his neck in a warm hug. 

Sloping back down onto the mattress, James intuitively slotted in behind you, one arm draped over your waist. 

“What if he notices you’re gone?” you asked nervously, wiggling slightly to get more comfortable, the leg you weren’t lying on consequently flinging gently over the firm pillow sprawled out directly in front of it on the bed. 

“He’s knee-deep in some annoying boss battle in the game he’s trying to beat,” James’ hand ghosted over your form, nearly tickling you with soft, soothing circles, “he wouldn’t notice if the house was set on fire. You just rest, don’t worry about him.”

As his hands roamed your curled-up form in a comforting dance, the sensation nearly lulled you to sleep. 

Nearly. 

Because when his fingers began to more frequently skim over your thigh, going far enough to notice the pillow lodged beneath it, he suddenly grabbed a hold of the cushion and wedged it even further up between your legs. 

The stationary plush by itself was enough friction against your clothed clit for you to suck in a sharp breath, but it didn’t stop there, as with a fist tight around the corner, James began to rut it against you. 

Letting out a soft whimper, it felt like you were floating on a cloud, and when his face then nuzzled against your neck, your hips couldn’t help but bashfully rock back against the pillow. 

“James…” you whined wispily, the cherry lollipop nearly falling from your slackened jaw. 

“Hm…” his voice vibrated against the rapid pulse on your neck, pelvis behind you grinded a bit closer, driving his hardness against the softness of your ass. 

“Y-you’re-”

“It’s okay, love,” a fluttering kiss grazed the shell of your ear as he tugged the cushion harder against your throbbing centre, “just let me help you feel better…”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[hephaestiions]

It stands to reason that Harry’s holding groceries when he runs into Draco Malfoy for the first time in twenty years.

Well— doesn’t run into, exactly. No, more like peers through a shop window like a right barmy bastard, bits of overspilling lettuce brushing his arm and passers-by on Diagon shooting him strange looks.

Of course Malfoy has to look up from the till— because, yes, Draco Malfoy is a shopkeeper on Diagon Alley apparently— and see him goggling. So, of course, Harry has to step inside, as though he meant to make a stop at— right, yeah, Narcissus Needlework Studio— all along, holding brown paper packages of vegetables.

Malfoy’s frowning when Harry makes his way over to the till.

“I don’t want any trouble,” he says. “I’ve registered the shop, everything’s perfectly within regulation—“

“Trouble?” Harry blinks. “Oh, no. I’m not an Auror. Anymore.”

“I know that,” Malfoy says unhappily. “The whole Wizarding World all over Europe knows that. Only you’ve never left well enough alone, have you, Potter?”

Harry’s forty next month. He’s lived twenty years seeing hide nor hair of Draco Malfoy, and he’s never gone looking. Well, except for that one time when he was twenty one and went to the Manor as a trainee Auror for a— well, it was a routine check, really. And that other time when he was twenty five and thought he saw a man at a club who looked just like Malfoy from the back and was convinced for four months Malfoy was back in London and must be up to something if no one knew about it. And that time when he was thirty two— and, oh, alright, Harry hasn’t ever left well enough alone, not when it comes to Malfoy, at least.

This time, though, Harry really didn’t go looking. And it’s definitely Malfoy.

“I just wanted some— thread,” Harry says. A needlework studio should have some of that, shouldn’t it?

“Thread,” says Malfoy. He looks down, deliberately, at Harry’s lettuce.

“For Molly,” Harry says. “As a, um, birthday present. New shop on Diagon, thought I’d pop by. Seemed the place, you know. Didn’t know it was yours.”

Molly’s birthday, Malfoy doesn’t need to know, is in December. It’s June.

Malfoy continues to stare at him, until Harry’s unsure whether to get indignant about it all or turn tail and flee.

“Well,” says Malfoy before he can make a choice. “Embroidery yarn for you, then, Potter. Come along.”

-

“I’ll see you again, I assume,” Malfoy says at the end of what transpires to be a surprisingly smooth purchase.

Harry nods.

He only realises after he leaves that there’s no reason for him to come back. He’s seen it for himself— what Draco Malfoy’s up to these days. Nothing nefarious or suspicious, just yarn and needles and tapestries on Diagon.

Except, well, he’s committed now, hasn’t he? And Harry Potter’s a man of his word. He said yes, when Malfoy asked— Malfoy asked!— so he’ll be back.

And really, if he has to invent Hermione’s sudden new and passionate interest in needlework— well. That’s between Harry and his lettuce.

written for @drarrymicrofic’s prompt “sewing”. i just personally think harry james potter could be seventy five and still rapidly become obsessed with draco malfoy at any given moment.

[okkos-ferrum]

The fandom's disregard of Till's emotions

SPOILERS FOR ROUND 7 ALNST

As a Till fan since day 1 (round 2) I feel like some of the fanbase is so willing to ignore till's emotions for the sake of ivantill, especially after this round (and I'm saying this as someone who loves the tragedy of Ivantill and would love to see a world where they could get together)

It almost feels like this strange entitlement where because Ivan sacrificed himself for Till that somehow till must be in love with Ivan now, when his entire guiding light was Mizi. Ofc he doesn't change his mind overnight, and no, Ivan's sacrifice wasn't "wasted". Till was deeply affected by Ivan's death (why else was he fighting to stay alive in r7) and it's clear throughout r7 how much Ivan weighs on him. But his actions when seeing Mizi are totally align with his character, like u can't just drop his deep rooted feelings for Mizi SINCE CHILDHOOD just due for the convinence of the ship "becoming canon"

I see some people despairing that somehow mizitill is confirmed now (do u guys not know WHO VIVINOS AND QMENG are????) and it just shows that lack of nuance in Till's emotions. He isn't this rag doll that is only capable of simple mindedly liking ONE person at a time. He's a character with different layers to himself and complicated relationships with the cast

Fandom seems so overinvolved with shipping discourse that to me it feels like they have stopped viewing till as a seperate character but rather an award for Ivan's sacrifice. But I feel like the whole point of Ivan's sacrifice was his momentary selfishness in kissing Till when really all he had to do was fake an attack on Till to sacrifice himself. It is the culmination and a final acceptance in how his love will never be requieted by till, so if he must die, he will be selfish one last time and that's it. At the end of the day, Ivan was a tragedy of his unrequited love. Till was close to death in round 6 and he was running on borrowed time ("tik tok tik tok blink gone") in round 7, as his own distressed emotional state made in inevitable he couldn't hold himself against the emotional manipulator that is luka when he barely coped with mizi's "death" and even less so with Ivan's

Again no hate to Ivantill fans (eyes mizitill a bit suspiciously but I'm not the fandom fun police lol) and I pretty sure this a vocal minority but putting it out there

Also quick PSA for people feeling underwhelmed for this being a "final round", VIVINOS confirmed on patreon a while back there are like 2(?) more episodes left to wrap up the series dwww

[fraugwinska]

Hello Springflower~

*slams envelope on the table and stare you into your soul whispering*

Alastor x reader where reader is asking him to show off as a fake "couple" because of one sinner who just won't stop annoying reader. Al agreed to help his dear friend and it started of innocent and cute with hand holding, kiss on the cheek- when SUDDENLY he kiss reader (in front of the sinner ofc) INTENSE and when he just stops for a second to kiss her neck she's like: "Al...? He's gone."

And he is like: "how disapointing"~

And just GOES ON

*leaves a heart cupcake next to the envelope and runs away*

For you - anything, sweet summer child. This just flowed out of me, and I was kicking my own feet as I wrote it. So... Here you go ;> I sincerely hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Fake it 'till you Make it

The door slammed into it's frame with a bang so loud the glasses in it rattled. You panted, heart pounding hard in your chest as you tried to calm your erratic breathing. With shaking fingers you gripped the dark, wooden frame, so tight your nails scratched the furnishing off. You peered out of the yellow and red stained glasses, trying to identify the distorted shapes from the outside. Did he follow you? Was he still out there?

„What's...“

You felt a hand on your shoulder and reacted without thinking. You turned around with a shocked scream and whipped your arm out for a forceful slap. The sound reverberated around in the empty room as a slight stinging sensation ran through your palm. It snapped you back to reality and made you pause.

You blinked as your gaze went from your own, trembling hand, which now burned in an angry, red hue to a taupe face, the shadow of your handprint next to a wide, yellow smile. Your breath seemed to freeze as your eyes went up and finally met a pair of wide, burgundy ones.

"...the matter, dear?" Alastor finished, blinking before his face shifted slightly.

You stood speechless and frozen for a hot second, trying to recollect your thoughts before a tidal wave of emotion washed over your head. Embarrassment, followed by shock and, suddenly, by the sensation that started to build in your chest, the threat to bubble over in tears.

„Oh satan, Alastor, I-I'm so sorry. I, shit, I got you bad, I'm so sorry, th-there was.. and I was.."

You choked down another sob, words and feelings clogging up in your mouth. You rubbed at your stinging eyes, blinking away what you were trying desperately not to show. You thought it would have worked at least until Alastor's slender hands came up to wrap around your wrist and pull them away gently.

"Are you a singer, dear?" he chimed, his face unmoved, but his eyes softening a little. "Because that really was quite the hit! Ha ha!"

When you didn't join in his laugh, he immediately snapped out of it.

"But it seems my little joke was out of place, once again. What has you so rattled, little one?"

And this time, he actually made space and dropped the joke-y act, looking a bit worried. Which only added more pressure to the well in your chest. You squeezed your eyes shut to hold back any tears that tried to fight their way through, making yourself feel ridiculous.

"It's... there's this guy."

You swallowed sour spit down, licking your lips quickly before opening your mouth again, voice less shaky than you were feeling. "I saw him two weeks ago when I went grocery shopping with Niffty. He... he asked us for directions, I didn't know where the place he wanted to go was, and that was that. But ever since..."

Alastor's frown deepened. "Ever since then..?" he prompted carefully.

"...he kind of... pops up whenever I leave the hotel... he just shows up out of nowhere and asks me things. Follows me, doesn't listen when I tell him to leave me alone, doesn't know boundaries.." you balled your fists again, brows twitching down at the thought. "And today.. he tried to grab me, and I panicked, and I kicked him and he looked like..."

You looked back to the glasses.

"...it felt as if he was about to do something."

Alastor stared into you with these piercing eyes. It wasn't creepy, you didn't feel scrutinized or looked down on, and this wasn't the first time. Still, you felt that strange sense of unease in his intense gaze, like a cold hand was wrapped around your spine, running shivers down your back. It wasn't uncomfortable, per se, just... different. It had been months since you started your new job in the Hazbin Hotel as a bellhop, helping Charlie and Vaggie out in general. You weren't one to believe in redemption, but the work was easy, the residents nice and life, despite being dead, was good. It wasn't exactly peaceful, since living together with the radio demon sometimes had its challenges, but Alastor proved time after time that even if he could be quite eccentric, he was a good man deep down, funny and smart and interesting. Someone you could consider a friend.

That, however, didn't mean that he didn't spook you from time to time. He straightened his shoulders, brushed out imaginary dust from the sleeves of his suit, and when he spoke, there was an unmoving threat in his voice that he almost always hid behind his grins.

"He attempted to harm you?"

You furrowed your brows and stepped closer, leaving a little bit of space between you.

"I don't know... it felt like that. I didn't give it enough time to find out, I just ran back here."

"Smart girl.", he just commented, leaning over you to also watch the street through bulky glasses. You sighed and glanced out the windows. The sky had dimmed, red tinting the streets as it always did down here in the evenings. A few stray sinners stumbled along, either searching for a victim for the night or going home from their own sins. Still no trace of the demon. You could still feel the hot air of his breath on your neck when he bent forward. You grimaced at the thought of the stench of his sweat on the sleeves of your jacket.

"God... how am I going to go anywhere with him around?", you muttered to yourself, stepping back further and leaning against the table, burying your face into your hands. Alastor perked up at that. He tapped his cane against the floor.

"Oh, well I can't in good conscience allow my dear employee to fear the streets of the pentagram because of a silly pest."

You didn't catch his meaning. At least, not immediately. You shot a glance his way, giving him a skeptical look, furrowing a brow in confusion. "What do you-?"

He waved his cane, cutting you off, and put an arm around your shoulders. "I shall accompany you, then. When you need to go out, let me know and we'll show ourselves together. That sinner will get the gist then, I'm sure."

Your eyes widen. "Alastor, you're a genius!" you say with excitement as the thought slowly took root in your head, "If this creep thinks we're a couple, he might stay away."

"A what now?", Alastor asks, his smile faltering ever so slightly. However, his question was lost in your sudden enthusiasm, your excited rush of thoughts now loud and clear in your voice. "Then we should play the role in every aspect. We have to give off couple vibes, maybe show some PDA, nothing overboard, I know you don't like that kind of stuff, but holding hands might be believable enough. Oh, you're the best, Alastor."

"Yes, yes... so I've been told...", he replied with the usual giddy tone, although his voice sounded a little thick with white static.

You didn't pay much attention to it though, feeling a weight drop from your shoulders at the prospect of keeping the nuisance at bay. The whole idea might seem a bit strange to the others, but if it helped, why not?

***

"Well then, darling, ready to give the performance of your lifetime?", Alastor called the moment you exited the elevator. He was practically hopping over, grinning at you with a mixture of smugness, amusement and... something else. His smile grew, showcasing his pointed, sharp teeth with a flash. He was looking as dapper as always, dress coat neat and perfectly in place, cane ready at his hands - the radio demon as he breathed and lived.

"I hope so..." you muttered distractedly while straightening the hem of your uniform and peeking around the lobby. It was early morning and you had a not-so-short list of errands to run for the hotel. Alastor had been nonchalant about the trip when you asked him to accompany you last night, and you had half-assumed he had some matters of his own to tend to, or just flat-out backing out. But he just waved his hands and told you he'd be there at 8 a.m. sharp, which he was. In ALL the ways.

As it turned out the rumors of your plan must have traveled down the hotel grapevines fast and after a small bang and a hissed “Sssshhh!” from the left you saw the curious faces of Charlie, Niffty and Angel poking out the kitchen door, spying from afar and watching you and Alastor with bated breaths and loud-yet-shushed giggles.

"Don't tell me you're having a second thoughts on me accompanying you, dear.", Alastor stepped closer, wrapping his fingers around your hand in a tight grip, either oblivious to the audience or utterly non-fazed by them. You shook your head no, grimacing a little as your body tensed up in a bit of... concern. Not because of what you were about to do, no, it had everything and nothing to do with him and the... um. Hand. Touching.

"We can hear you, you know.", you hissed in the direction of the whispered squeals at his gesture, face scrunching up when a peal of giggling broke out and Angel audibly snorted through a quickly closed door. "Jus' be careful, tits, if 'ya go further than that with the oldtimer 'ya might need to buy some protection while 'ya out."

***

The plan was quite simple, but you guessed it had the possibility of either working like a charm or the idiot getting so mad, he could lose it and try something stupid.

Nevertheless, with Alastor on your side you didn't feel as paranoid and suffocated about leaving the grounds of the hotel. And his idea had worked out brilliantly so far. Not a single sign of your stalker, you had only met the usual faces on the main market road of the Pentagram City - maybe they stared a little more... okay, a LOT more, seeing you arm in arm with Al - and you ran into Angels' friend, Cherri Bomb, when you had to get some permits renewed. She had been friendly but extremely surprised and curious about since when you and Alastor, THE Radio demon were parading around 'like a pair of fuckin' newlyweds', in her words.

Alastor tried to brush her off with a monotone "What can I say? The good Lady just adores my presence.", squeezing your hand a little tighter, but his answer didn't satisfy her, so Cherri tried to pry into you, raising a brow and shooting you a smirk. "Al is a fun guy and interesting to talk to and spend time with. I like his company.", you shrugged, signing a paper, avoiding looking the cyclops into the eyes while you felt your ears redden.

It took her a good minute of blank stare, but when her grin slowly grew wider, you had no choice but to warn her with a hard stare and a small shake of your head. She rolled her one eye but she made a gesture of sealing the lips, still oogling the connection of your hands with impish delight.

At that moment you felt a squeeze on the hand, still in Alastor's grasp and his heavy stare from your right. His smile seemed fixed, a bit on the strained side, although his gaze remained cheerful.

"Everything wrapped up here, dearest?" he asked, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Almost done, just this document and the hotel can continue to serve alcohol. Husk would give me one hell of a shot if I'd forget that one."

You looked over to see if Alastor would pick up on the joke, but he was staring intently somewhere over your shoulder, so you just filed the form quickly and waved your friend goodbye. He quickened his steps, almost dragging you away as he paced down the street. You almost tripped over you own feet, trying to keep up with him.

"I think your persistent little pursuer has found us, darling. Don't look, just walk."

You sped up, also feeling a presence that had been on your heels a little longer than comfortable, a weighty silence behind your back. Still, as you rounded a corner, you just had to take a tiny peek and you saw, from the corner of your eyes, that the deranged looking coyote was gaining on you, still keeping his distance, his figure only a dark, moving smudge in the distance.

"Um... I guess now's a good time for a Plan B.", you said, halting in front of an antique shop.

Alastor's hand slid a bit lower, only his fingers curled around yours now, his warm touch tingling. "I'm thinking of it. Knowing your weak stomach, darling, bloodshed is out of the question?" he inquired, acting overly interested in a vintage gramophone showcased in the shop window and you snorted.

"You remember that?"

"Dear, it's hard to forget the amount of bile Niffty had to clean out of the dishwasher after you ran into my cooking...experiment."

"Not my proudest moment...", you laughed nervously, feeling cold sweat gather up on your back as you saw the rabid looking demon from the corner of your eye, creeping closer and closer. Alastor gave you a long, thoughtful look, before he spoke again, quietly and serious.

"Then let us both hope you'll stomach Plan B better."

Before you could think much, Alastor turned towards you, untangling his fingers from yours. His now freed hand cupped your cheek, and before you could say anything, he bowed down, tilting his head a bit to the side and gently pressed his ever-smiling lips against yours.

It was not your first kiss in your afterlife, but it might have very well been, seeing as your first response was an electric jolt up your spine. And this reaction wasn't even the weirdest part if the actual kissing part was just some peck. This wasn't a peck. A kiss with lips unmoving wasn't a kiss, it was more of a mouth-touching. This was something way more.

As surprising as the kiss was the tenderness with which he brought his lips to yours. It was gentle and yet so sensual that it sent small currents all over your skin, causing your eyes to close, goosebumps to form along your arms and a nervous flutter to erupt in the pit of your stomach. And maybe, maybe it lasted for just a fraction of the eternity it felt like, but if someone would have asked you later, you would swear he stole more than just a taste with the kiss. The slight push and pull between your mouths left the edges of your skin numb, the press of his smooth and heated mouth stirring up a peculiar feeling inside you that kept growing and rising and..

What was the reason for this again?

Oh yeah, your stalker.

Stalker.

You opened your eyes, seeing Alastor's burning red eyes fixated on something behind you, his expression intense with the hint of arrogance, a possessive smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Something about that, the feel, the look in his eyes, made the back of your neck prickle. You blushed a little bit more but caught onto the reason the moment you realized what he was doing, trying to break the kiss to see where the coyote was.

You could only turn your head far enough to see the quickly shrinking silhouette of the demon vanishing in the distance, before Alastor brought his other hand to your waist, pulling you closer together, his tongue slipping between your lips, coaxing your lips to open again. Your own tongue responded and, together they mingled and twined with one another, sending the nerve-ending of your lips into a pleasant tingling sensation.

"A-Alas...tor...", you tried to get the words out as he nipped your lower lip, your eyes falling into those bright, heavy lidded ones of his, eyes which you couldn't stop looking into.

"He.. he's gone."

"Mh. Pity...", Alastor breathed with a soft hum, his chest rumbling at his words. His response had a mixture of sarcasm and amusement in it, but before you could properly ponder on them, your entire mind short-circuited when you realized he made no move to pull away.

Quite the opposite - with his hand sliding to your neck he pulled you onto his mouth again, deepening the kiss as his tongue slipped past your lips once more, completely shutting your mind down as a quiet, heartbreaking moan escaped your throat.

The fact that you two were in public, still standing in front of some store, all on display for anyone that might come down the road, didn't register in the haze that was slowly, so pleasantly slowly, forming. So lost were you in that fog of heat that the surroundings suddenly got distorted, leaving the alley, the store, the city completely. Your head spun at the sensations, a tremble raked across your nerves as your knees grew weak at the sound of his playful voice, echoing in the void you found yourself in.

"Let's draw it out a little more, darling, hm? Just to make sure."

[monstersholygrail]

Wholesome thoughts, but I've been really stressed lately because of too much shit lol. I'm so burnt out. Having a large monster boyfriend that I could just cling to while cuddling in bed despite me being soooooo short would be amazing. He'd hold me nice and tight and call me a good girl and everything pleeeeease

Awww, hun, I’m so sorry. I hope things get better and that you get the rest you need and deserve. But in the meantime, I hope this can possibly help a bit!

You’re practically glued to your work, your eyes furiously trained on the screen. In fact, your Monster bf isn’t actually quite sure when the last time he saw you away from the screen was. Your body is practically shaking with the over exertion in which you’re forcing on yourself.

It pains your bf to see you like this, to see you so clearly exhausted and yet refusing to take a break. Your eyes drooping every few minutes before you blink rapidly and force your eyes open wide and it happens all over again. When your face accidentally smacks against the computer screen, your bf knows he can’t sit around and watch any longer.

With a heavy sigh he stands up and heads over to you. You don’t even lift up your head to look, you’re so sucked into your work. It’s only as his hands land on your shoulders do you snap out of your thoughts.

“C’mon. Let’s take a break from work for a bit,” your bf urges, sliding his hands down to your waist. He helps lift you up out of the chair before you can say a word.

You frantically look back and crane your head up, wondering what the hell is happening. But you calm down seeing it’s him. Still not really understanding what’s going on, your exhaustion causes you to easily misread his expression and you bend over the table as if he came to have his way with you.

“Oh, baby, I wanna fuck you too. But I can’t stop working right now. So how about you just go at it while I keep doing this?”

You turn your attention back to your computer, your butt popped out and lifted up for his convenience. Your bf looks over you like you’ve officially gone insane. Though your position is enticing, fucking you is the last thing on his mind.

“Love, I’m not gonna fuck you.”

Your body falls back down to your normal very short height in comparison to your bf. But your body continues to fall until you’re sagging against the table, looking even more tired than before.

“Well then what the hell is the point of a monster boyfriend if there’s no free use where he can just take me whenever and wherever he wants?” You exaggerate, your voice croaking with emotion. Your emotions all over the place with everything you have going on and your bf frowns, knowing he’s gotta take care of you asap.

With his height also comes great strength. So your bf picks you up into his arms with ease. Dragging you away from the computer and your work. You weakly fight back to stay at the computer but he easily moves you away, bringing you into his arms as he walks you two to the bedroom.

“Okay, okay. I think your lack of sleep is making you delusional.”

At this point you’re far too sleepy to resist anymore so instead, you curl into his embrace, your face burrowing into his chest.

“Hmm. Well, maybe a few minutes.”

Your bf laughs, seemingly always knowing exactly what it is you need. He’s your safe place, your comfort. The person who cares about you more than anyone else and who you care about the same way. He cuddles you close to his chest as you walk through your home.

“There it is. Good girl. Let’s go rest.”

He slides the both of you in your big bed that can comfortably fit his large form. You snuggle into the soft sheets, your limbs clinging onto your bf in a way that has him chuckling fondly.

His frame curls around you till he nearly encompasses you entirely. You’re barely see as he completely surrounds you in his presence. He nuzzles against you, getting as close to you as possible. Giving you all the comfort and support he can within the silence. But it was enough and before you know it you’re out like a light.

Your bf doesn’t sleep though as he watches over you. His clawed hands smoothing down your hair and keeping you close to him. His heart resting much easier now that his mate is finally letting him take care of her.

[verdantlights]

Thoughts/Analysis Part 2 (but its coherent)

OKay so i slept (finally) after staying up since wednesday morning and only getting roughly 5 hours of sleep in total?? until I finally managed to get decent hours of sleep last night. anyways. i am still not normal in the slightest over round 7 but i have many more thoughts, am a lot more coherent, and have had it swimming in my head for a while.

TW for mentions of drug use. I'm gonna start with Luka. I've stated in the edit I made of the original post as well as in a few reblogs, but Luka is a victim. A lot of people are Luka haters, and that's valid! I am also, to an extent, a Luka hater.... even if I have a thing for blonde twinks with issues. But his character is also incredibly interesting. If you are familiar with Honkai: Star Rail, then you might understand what I'm saying when I think Luka is a combination of both Sunday AND Robin. He has the trapped bird in a cage mentality from Robin with the need for order and control mentality from Sunday. Order and control referring to winning being the only thing keeping his sanity in check.

Luka, as a human pet, is aware that he is playing a losing game. He needs to win, but he knows that winning Season 50 is not the end. He may have won against Till, but now the segyein are going to put him against Hyuna, considering Hyuna and Mizi were referred to as special guests. The way he looked at Hyuna in that last scene was part of him realizing this. It's the face you pull when you realize something horrible, but you need to keep face/keep your composure.

Their ear pieces are similar to their collars in that they show the emotions of the wearer. We can clearly see Till's earpiece glowing red the entire time (up until Mizi appears), and Luka's is constantly glowing green. Luka was seen in hysterics pretty much the entire time like the one frame where he's holding in his laughter.

Luka was drugged on something that makes him euphoric and lose his sense of control, like weed or cocaine. He found fucking with Till to be the funniest thing ever, but it's not normal for Luka to be so outwardly expressive of his elation. We know he enjoyed fucking with Mizi, even if it let to getting his ass beat, but even then, he wasn't as expressive then as he was with Till. That leads me to believe that he has something in his system to heighten his emotional output as well as some sort of adrenaline drug like what Till was most likely given.

What bugs me is that they don't show us what color his earpiece is as he looks at Hyuna. We see Till's earpiece turn green at Mizi, but does Luka's stay green as he looks at Hyuna? I feel it was orange, but that's just me.

Luka now knows what's about to happen, which is also why Hyuna tries to stop Mizi. Hyuna knew the whole time that if they were to save Till, they'd be walking straight into the trap. Mizi's heart is too kind and she's desperate to save Till.

Thankfully, what Hyuna had gone there for originally seems to be completed. Whatever files she was downloading was complete before she went after Mizi, and I think that's where were gonna see Issac and Dewey again. I think she might've been uploading those files to them so that they can take the lead from there. This leads me to my prediction for the next episode. (ill get to till last, hes my little meow meow and im not normal about him)

I don't think Blink Gone is done. I believe there is a part two to the Finals, and that round 7 wasn't even the final round. I've already stated that the most likely thing to happen next is Luka v Hyuna, but then I also talked about Issac and Dewey.

Hyuna could have gotten her hands on high profile data regarding Alien Stage. She sends the data to Dewssac, and they shut down the stage from the inside, allowing the resistance to come in and do a massive sweep, hopefully before either Hyuna, Luka, or Mizi dies.

Now, as for Mizi. We know Mizi is the main character, and there are people who are saying Till's death boosts her hero arc. Now there are two ways I see this happening, either:

Vivinos keeps up their streak of tragedy and kills off everyone, leaving Mizi isolated entirely.

Or someone (dewssac, hyuna, mizi, maybe even luka) pull through and live to save more people.

If it's the first one, Till is dead dead. If the second, Till has a chance at being alive.

There are many reasons why Till is most likely alive, and as a hopeful feeler... I also am clinging onto the more hopeful ending (the second option). Not just because "Haha guys I need Till to be alive, he's my bias" but also because seeing Mizi completely isolated and forced to fake a smile and perform would absolutely fucking destroy me and I don't think I'd ever be the same after that, honestly. Like that genuinely scares me.

There's the narrative of ALNST and vivimeng's beautiful storytelling. That is my number one hopeful reasoning for Till being alive. If Till dies here, it would be utterly nonsensical and it would ruin the narrative. It would completely void all of Ivan's character, for starters. I was just talking about this with @rockwgooglyeyes and Vant (idt they wanna be tagged here), but Ivan's character is static. He is not dynamic or fluid, but he is extraordinarily complex which makes up for it. He never really had an arc of his own unless you count what happened in his past during/before being bought by Unsha. His death is meant to haunt the narrative, meant to haunt Till. So why would he die, only for Till to die a few hours later? It would completely ruin what he was meant for and it would be so unsatisfying and bitter.

However, there's also the thematics of ALNST. Rock called out @pwippy for this already, but I'm gonna call them out too because fuck you plip (/j i love you plipster). Rock put it really well in these two excerpts I took from his post:

"Alien Stage is a universe full of suffering and pain for humans, forced to perform until they literally die on stage, all for the entertainment of the audience. It's not even meant as a way of exerting control or oppressing them, though it serves that purpose, because why would the seygein bother to oppress something that can't even fight back? Why go to the trouble of controlling something that is just a pet, whose cries are the fuel for a new age?"

Once again mentioning the Hunger Games because I genuinely can't help myself I love THG way too much, but that's the key difference between ALNST and THG: the human pets aren't being forced to do this because of a past rebellion and are being punished by the oppressing government... They're being thrown into this for fun. Full credit to @alien-til-i-stage who said this as a joke, but it is really fucking real, but the segyein bringing their human pets to watch ALNST in the audience are like people bringing dogs to a dog fight in real life. And that, I fear, puts into perspective as to just how much of a pet the humans are to the segyein. They are only there for entertainment. The resistance is mostly a thorn in their side as of right now (dewey and issac better change that next episode or istg) and killing these humans is simply just fun for them. They know humans can be hostile, just like dogs, but they tame them and make them docile and obedient, only to make them kill each other in the end, even if it's through a singing competition rather than an all out teeth and claws brawl. (except for round 5, that doesnt count)

"In this world of pain and suffering, perhaps death is a mercy. If Till is truly dead, then he no longer a tool for his oppressors, he is free of their control. For Ivan and Sua both of their deaths were mercies to them- Ivan was able to die for the one he loved, as was Sua, and neither of them were forced to live in a world without their beloved."

(thank you rock i love you pookie snookie)

He also mentions that it's not in character for Till to die, which I completely agree with. Till's persona is that of someone who wants to win, but not in the same way Luka needs to win. Till wants to win to live and survive with those he loves, he wants to win to beat the system, but considering how dystopian of a world this is, as much as he wants to win and save Mizi, he craves death as a freedom.

That out of the way, another thing that @junebluues actually got me to think about was this:

The bomb has Till's eyes and is crying as it knows it's going to die (assuming it's a sentient alien like Freddie). And the comparison here honestly opened my eyes a little bit and got me thinking.

Was Till a catalyst? Because that was a smoke bomb. I ended up thinking about it for a minute and came up with three possibilities where Till is a bomb/smoke bomb:

Mizi is using Till to hide her feelings

Till is the bomb that sets off a chain of events

Till is used to hide/cover up the real plan for either the segyein or for the resistance

I don't think it's the first one, I feel like it'd be closer to the other two, but any three of those could work. Because Mizi's feelings of despair over her situation can be hidden behind the hope as she reached out for Till. But as the smoke clears (Till dies) she remembers that it was, in fact, a bomb.

EDIT: Also, the lyric that plays during the smoke bomb scene is "No, don't look back now" which also kinda leads me to believe that Till is the start of a chain/domino effect. Once you knock the first domino, you can't go back.

I think someone somewhere had also talked about Till being forced to be used as a catalyst/bait again considering how well it worked here. There's a good chance Urak might have supplied the drugs to Till and also paid out or WAS paid out by another person to use Till as bait. Urak wouldn't want his pet that he is grossly possessive over to die that easily without every ounce of use being wrung out of him,,, something something Till being a Trojan Horse of sorts (thanks rock for that one, too).

EDIT: I also remembered that during the sequence in the song where the audience is singing the chorus and we see Ivan on the screens, is when Till looks like he's about to pass out. What gets me here is the fact that it is quite literally a chorus of vultures. The audience singing the chorus with images of Ivan surrounding him and seeing Luka mimic Ivan made Till realize that he was surrounded and that's when he started losing hope. It's why his reaction to Mizi is so prominent, because it's like she was there to save him from the vultures. The audience singing is my favorite and also least favorite part of the video/song because the feeling of being surrounded and cornered with everyone against you and their voices echoing in your head... really does it for me. I really want to animate this sequence from up close in Till's POV.

Anyways the 4th reason i had for the bomb theory was that Till is smoking hot (sorry). okay im done now i think,,,,,, i might actually come back with more because i think i forgot something... but i cant remember..... i forgor.....

other tags: @shakingparadigm @aakaneeee @ivanttakethis @k9punkout @crustyfloor @apriciticreveries @bluemoonscape @tsukacchako @nottoonedin @paperstarry

side note that i genuinely put more effort into my analyses than i have ever put into any school essay ever

edit: FUCK I WAS SUPPOSED TO ANALYZE THE LYRICS AGAIN GOD DAMNIT i dont feel like doing that anymore ill just do it later maybe

[pwippy]

tl;dr till sings the "hope theme" motif and a note progression that represents love (typically of a woman) (disclaimer i dont actually study music theory BUT I DID look at sources)

while i was listening to blink gone i noticed that till sang a minor 7th leap followed by a minor 3rd leap down. (his parts below!!)

respectively, the lyrics he sings translates to "before this piercing radiant moment / fades away" and "and the fiery thrill / blazes out to the sky" both generally are about something star-like. regardless of the way they disappear (fading or exiting with a blaze of glory), the moment itself was thrilling, exciting, and bright.

wow i wonder where we've seen that concept before! wonder if it has anything to do with beta round 6 and how he was trapped in the meteor shower! (also how some of beta round 6's concepts bled into round 7!)

in addition, the celestial qualities of the lyrics could symbolize the faraway stars or points of brightness in his life, like mizi or ivan. in his graduation note, he refers to mizi as an angel ("If angels were real you’d be one wouldn’t you?" <- crossed out) , while luka reminds till of ivan prior to the "and the fiery thrill" line.

NOT TO MENTION the callback to ivans lyrics but thats a whole other thing

but i digress with the lyrics symbolism, let's talk about the note progression! similarly to the lyrics, the musical significance of the minor 7th leap is related to distance, or the concept of something/someone far away. (this is due to the minor 7th leap being almost a full octave!!)

in other media, the leap is used in a similar way, mainly underscoring other themes within the narrative. most notably the leap is used in the joy luck club opening (overarching thematics of the american dream)

sylvia maltby, a professor at the british columbia conservatory of music refers to this leap as the "hope theme." "The upward leap of a minor seventh has positive attributes; hope, joy, happiness and prosperity."

in relation to alnst, at this point in the episode theres a distinct lack of hope. till isn't singing because he believes he'll be saved, he's singing because it's a necessity. because it's guaranteed he'll be shot if he stops. and he's tried that before.

imo, since these leaps happen earlier in the round, they serve more as foreshadowing for his literal leap of faith and hope. haha depressing

"but it's only 3 notes! how important could they be?" well. according to richard wagner, a notable composer (and another source maltby cited), the minor 7th leap not only represents hope but the love of a woman. woww wonder where that shows up

mizi is both a faraway concept and loved. prior to till seeing her, he believed she was dead. she was physically gone, forever, and even before her alleged death, she was a deified and treated like an angel. till himself didn't even know mizi well, but despite this, he wanted to protect her.

as i mentioned before, this leitmotif foreshadows till's actions, chiefly his leap into hope. throughout the round he was broken down and constantly in a state of guilt, stress, and regret. of course the appearance of mizi would blast him with hope, she was supposed to be dead. till believed he would die alone, knowing he's only on stage because another died for him.

but then mizi shows up, a beacon that carries hopes and dreams. of unadulterated love. he reaches out, and-

did i ever mention how the next note is left musically unresolved?

how about the ending lullaby never hitting the last note?

[revasserium]

butterfly lovers opla zoro screaming crying throwing up

butterfly lovers

opla!zoro; 7,106 words; fluff, kind of childhood friends to lovers, slowburn af, nsfw, pron with TOO MUCH plot, opla!canon divergence, ships doctor!reader, fem!reader, riding, "good girl", emotional sex

summary: yours and zoro's story, from two different perspectives.

a/n: @halfvalid this is ur fault. take responsibility pls. also the smut is literally just one part of a larger story, but it does actually get explicit so. do with that info what u will u__u.

false start.

most good stories, scholars and storytellers would both agree, have a beginning, a middle, and an end. though, famously, not necessarily in that order. and this particular story — well, it has several places one might call the beginning. and one of them is here — in shimotsuki village, in a patch of rich green forest that always smelled of cedar and moss and earth.

it would be a lie to say that the story begins here, at a doujou where eight year old boys and nine year old girls swing wooden swords hundreds of thousands of times each day. where you’d seen zoro for the very first time.

the story could have started here, but alas, it did not.

because you see, you’d never been great, or even particularly good at swordsmanship. and zoro — zoro was one of the best. even from the beginning, his raw, unfettered talent was a force to be reckoned with. but the reckoning came in the form of the doujou sensei’s blue-haired daughter, and you were no more part of zoro’s story then than a drop of ink in a midnight ocean — lost to the tumultuous waves of childhood tedium, of sword practice and sparring, of warm up laps and cool down stretches.

but you’d known him then, watched him as he grew, as he got better and better and better. bigger, stronger, quicker, sharper. and beside him was kuina, steady as the shifting tides, relentless in her efficacy, tireless in her craft. he was good, but she was better.

until one day, when very suddenly, she wasn’t.

the story, as it is, does not start here, because you’d made the solemn walk to kuina’s funeral altar with the rest of the students at the doujou in complete silence, had knelt there in equal silence and watched as sensei had bestowed the wadou ichimonji upon zoro, watched as he had gripped the sword with both hands, his knuckles going white as the sword’s moon-washed sheath, and bowed his head in acceptance.

it does not start here because later, instead of following the same, silent procession of kids back to the doujou’s main compound, you’d slipped away, silent as a shadow, and sprinted through the wide, cedar forest to a secret, open patch of grass where the sun bled from a stretch of endless sky blue enough to sting, and tiny little white-petaled flowers had sprung from the still-damp earth, turning their faces towards the coming spring.

you’d run, screaming through the field till you’d run out of breath to scream with, and collapsed among the tiny white flowers, panting and staring up at the endless blue sky, feeling the helplessness pulse through your veins. because even though kuina hadn’t been your friend — you’d exchanged perhaps a handful of words in all the years you’d spent here — she’d been a constant presence in your life. and now, she was gone. and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

you laid there for longer than you can remember, and then, as the sun finally dipped beyond the far horizon and the darkness grew longer than the sea was wide, you got up and trudged towards the clearing’s edge. only to find a small creature huddled against the trunk of a thin sapling tree — it looked like nothing more than a bundle of white-spotted fur, and it took you a long moment to realize that it was a fawn, curled into a pile of gnarled roots, shivering, eye wet and wide and terrified.

you blinked, staring at it for a few seconds before you’d noticed the gash on it’s hind leg, jutting out at an uncomfortable angle. your heart had stuttered inside your chest, and you’d dropped down to your hands and knees, cooing softly as you slowly approached the creature, trying to look as unmenacing as possible.

“hey there… are you hurt?” you’d said, crawling towards it, trying very hard to make your movements as slow and smooth as possible.

the fawn shivered as it stares at you, apparently caught between sheer terror and curiosity. you tried to smile, before digging into your pockets and pulling out a handful of peanuts, offering them to the fawn on an open palm.

“c’mon, i’m not gonna hurt you… i just wanna take a look… at that leg of yours, can i do that?” you’d asked, inching in closer and closer until the fawn’s warm, wet nose dug into your palm, it’s smooth-edged teeth grazing your skin as it crunched through the peanuts. you took the chance to glance down at it’s injured leg — it wasn’t a deep wound, but judging by the angle, it was a bit dislocated and would need to be set back right if the fawn was ever going to walk again.

slowly, you reached out a free hand to gently stroke at the fawns haunches, feeling it’s muscles tense up beneath you, even as it continues to snuffle against your palm, eager for any remnants of the peanut shells. you ran your hand along it’s leg and quick as a flash, you pressed against the odd jutting of bone, even as it snapped back into place with a satisfying crack.

the fawn made a shrill, screeching noise, jerking to its feet, but a moment later, it seemed to realize that it’s leg was no longer hurting. you held up both your hands in what you hoped was a calming gesture before tugging out a few more peanuts holding it out as an offering.

the fawn blinks it’s dark, watery eyes at you a few times before limping forward to dig its nose once more into your palm. you allowed yourself a smile then, and a soft relieved laugh as the fawn limped forward a few more steps, testing the weight of it’s body on its newly repaired leg. it looked more confident now, seemingly realizing that the wound was somewhat fixed, and it gave you one last, lingering look before it bounded off back into the sunset forest, leaving you with nothing more than a handful of peanut shells and a tightness in your chest you can’t quite seem to put your finger on.

you’d snuck back into the doujou that evening, smelling of mud and moss and cedar, and you’d lain in your futon, staring up at the high slatted ceilings, streaked with moonlight, wondering where on earth you truly belonged.

the next morning, everyone woke to neatly a folded futon and a wooden training katana, the hilt carved with your name, laid across your pillow.

so you see, the story could have started here. but it didn’t. and perhaps we should be thankful for that.

the cost of ambition.

the story, as we know it, starts then at the baratie, on the morning after a meal was eaten and not properly paid for, after an ill-fated duel between a boy with a mouthful of ambitions and a man who’d forgotten what it felt like to be truly surprised. well, he was surprised that morning, watching the boy fall back with a gash the size of the world spurting blood across the docks.

“grow strong,” he’d said, “and come find me.”

and it starts, when a pirate in a straw hat comes crashing into the baratie’s kitchen, shouting about a dying friend.

“help! help! zoro… zoro needs a doctor!”

“whoa, whoa, slow down, chore boy — i can’t understand a word you’re saying,” zeff holds up a hand to stem luffy’s panicked rambling.

“my friend is dying…”

“the nearest doctor’s on the conomi islands —”

“wait, no —” sanji frowns, cutting zeff off, “lemme look at the reservations from last night —” he hurries off to the front desk and returns with a thick leather bound volume, flipping it open to scan through the seating chart for the night before.

“i knew it!” he says, pointing at a name written in deep, ocean blue ink, “there — her! i’ve heard of her — she’s the best ship’s doctor in the east blue, and if i’m not much mistaken, her ride’s not due to leave till this afternoon.”

“great! c’mon — we haven’t got time to lose!” luffy says as he rushes out of the kitchens, leaving sanji and zeff to exchange an exasperated look before following after.

they find you on the loading docks, your nose buried in a notebook, your hand flying across the page, ink smudging your unrolling sleeve.

“please! we need a doctor! my friend — zoro — he’s dying!”

you jerk up from your notes, the name ringing in your ears like an alarm bell, rocking through your body like the base boom of a signal flare. zoro? here?

you look around even as luffy makes his way to you, pressing in too close, a hand on top of his head to keep his hat from flying away, the other curling around your upper arm.

“w-wait — what’s going on? did you say someone was dying?”

“yes! my friend! he got into a fight with this warlord guy and now he’s bleeding from everywhere —”

“show me,” you say, lurching to your feet and shouldering your leather knapsack, pursing your lips as your vision threatens to tunnel ahead of you. zoro. it’s been such a long time since you’d heard that name. sure, you’d heard of his exploits in the east blue. how could you not have?

demon, bounty, pirate hunter. hunter, hunter, hunter —

you take a deep breath as luffy leads you onto the deck of the going merry and ducks below, motioning for you to follow.

when you step into the room, you don’t notice the orange-haired girl or the long-nosed boy, instead, your eyes are drawn to the body on the kitchen table as a magnet would a compass rose. his shirt torn into barely more than ribbons, a large red gash oozing blood, bisecting his torso like some unbridgeable canyon in miniature, his skin paler than you’d ever remembered it being, sweat beading his flickering brow —

oh, zoro…

you resist the urge to press your hand to your mouth. so instead, you swallow back your heart and try to assess the damage. massive blood loss, possible head trauma, and who knows what else?

“you said a warlord with a giant sword did this?” you ask, hurrying to the table and frowning down at the gaping wound.

“y-yeah — he — he had a big hat with a white feather on it —” luffy starts.

“mihawk. his name was dracule mihawk,” the orange-haired girl cuts in, her voice sharp and a bit too forced to be steady, “he told zoro to get stronger, and that… it wasn’t his time to die yet.”

you grimace, chewing on your bottom lip as you dump your supplies unceremoniously onto the countertop next to him, digging out the necessities.

“well, he wasn’t lying — the cut’s clean and judging by the size… he could’ve cut much deeper. but he didn’t,” you sigh, absently rolling up your sleeves as you pull out a hooked suture needle and a length of thread.

they watch you work in silence, first cleaning the wound, and then slowly, painstakingly pinching and stitching him back together. by the end of it, you’re nearly dizzy with exhaustion, and the sky outside has already turned a deep, bruising purple.

you sigh, wiping down your hands.

“can someone go and ask the waiter for a fish? any fish’ll do, but the fresher, the better. oh, and a bottle of scotch.”

“got it!” the boy with the long nose bolts up and is gone in a flash.

you slump down into a nearby chair and let your head loll back. a moment later, you feel someone pressing a glass into your hand and open your eyes to find the orange-haired girl holding a glass of water.

“here… you looked like you could use it.”

“thanks,” you say, taking a grateful gulp.

“i’m nami, by the way… thanks for —” she waves at the shape of zoro still on the kitchen table, “and that one over there is luffy. the guy that just left is usopp and —” her breath catches as her eyes fall back onto zoro’s form.

“i know who he is,” you say, your voice quiet as you look down at the glass clutched in your hands.

“you know zoro?” luffy’s voice is loud, but not unpleasantly so.

you glance up and feel the truth pulsing against the back of your throat like a heartbeat. then, you shake your head with a soft smile.

“i mean, he’s got quite the reputation.”

luffy lets out a laugh, “yeah! he sure does — he’s a great fighter! probably one of the best i���ve ever seen!”

you nod, staring at the sloshing liquid in the bottom of your glass.

a few moments later, usopp returns with sanji in tow, holding a bottle of scotch in one hand and a dead fish in the other.

“you’d better have a good reason for this,” he says, his expression grim, “zeff’s not gonna be happy when he finds these gone.”

you force a smile, “well, i can promise that at least one of those things’ll be put to good use — can you just skin the fish for me, please?”

sanji frowns, “and the scotch?”

you glance around before shrugging, “i don’t know about you guys but… i think we could all use a drink.”

the cliche of the morning after.

when zoro wakes up the first time, it’s to a world-muffling quiet. he coughs, uncertain of where he is, his head throbbing, his chest feeling too light and too heavy all at once.

“oh! you’re awake — here… have some water. you’ll need it.”

he hears the voice, both familiar and foreign, and then, he feels the cool press of a glass against his lips.

he gulps down the water greedily before pain rockets through him and he lets out a loud groan.

“i… i had a dream…” he says, his head spinning, the words slurring from him, and for a second, he wonders if he’d just been fed alcohol instead of water, but the pain seizes him again and he can’t stop talking.

“yeah? what did you dream about?” the familiar, foreign voice asks, soothing, as a cold palm presses against his forehead.

“shimotsuki village… i — i made a promise. i told her — i’d be the greatest… swordsman…”

his voice is fading, and the world is fading with it.

“yeah… you did, huh? and i’m sure you’ll fulfill it, one day…”

zoro sighs, sinking gratefully into the warm, welcoming arms of darkness once more.

“but not today,” you say, reaching out to wipe the sweat from zoro’s brow, your voice so soft that you’re sure no one else can hear, “today… you just need to keep on living. and that’s the greatest promise you could ever make to me.”

smooth sailing.

when he wakes up proper, you aren’t there to greet him. but he doesn’t miss the shape of you as they all pile onto the merry to go looking for nami. he doesn’t miss sanji’s too-wide grin or the unpleasant, burning itch that shoots through his healing wound as he watches the cook ask you about your favorite foods.

he keeps quiet for the most part, but you find him still, and you ask him how he’s doing with a ship’s doctor’s professionalism and efficiency.

“how’re you healing?”

“fine.”

“any tenderness?” you ask, your brows knitting as he tugs open his shirt and lets you peel the bandages away.

“not really,” he lies, because the the tenderness is not skin deep. he feels it in the labyrinthine galleys of his soul and he can’t quite figure out why you, of all people, might make him feel this way.

you run a surgical hand along the stretch of puckered skin and he sucks in a long breath, feeling his cheeks flood with inexplicable heat.

you smell of cedar and moss and freshly turned earth and for the life of him, he can’t remember why it makes his entire body go soft with memory. it reminds him of… something.

something, something, something.

“i hear you, y’know,” you say, and he jerks back to the present, with you absently rolling up your shirtsleeves before tugging at a fresh piece of gauze to wrap him back up.

“don’t know what you mean.” he looks away, willing himself to stay still as you daub a pungent cream against his chest before applying the layers of bandage. he lifts his arm to give you more room even as you shoot him a disbelieving look.

“sword practice, in the middle of the night. i told you that you need to rest — you’ll only prolong your own healing if you keep on pushing yourself like this. rest is it’s own brand of practice.”

zoro narrows his eyes. because he’d heard that from someone, somewhere before.

“your bodies need time to repair,” his sensei used to say as they all gathered after dinner at the doujou for evening meditation, “and a disciplined mind leads to a disciplined body. don’t forget that rest is it’s own brand of practice.”

zoro had never been good at it, but over the years, he’d managed to endure.

“there. all done.”

you lean back to admire your handiwork, unaware of zoro’s eyes as they scan over the shape of you, taking in the length of your hair, the bright of your eyes, the limber, spider-quick thinness of your hands and fingers.

“thanks,” he says, slipping off the kitchen table, pausing as he notices how still you’ve gone, your eyes wide as you blink at the planes of his chest, inches from your nose. a second later, you stumble back, clearing your throat, a sweet dawning pink dusts the high of your cheeks as he cocks his head to watch you, fascinated by your reaction.

he almost grins, letting his stomach flex as he takes his time in doing up the buttons of his shirt, before grabbing his swords and slipping from the room, leaving you to clean up your medical supplies, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

zoro wonders, just briefly, how it might feel to catch your lips between his own teeth instead.

ink, skin, and bullets.

it’s you who bandages nami’s self-inflicted wounds, you who spends four meticulous hours tattooing over the sawfish curl with a pinwheel spiral that curves into a tangerine’s plumpness. you, who soothes eucalyptus balm over nami’s arm before wrapping it up in a fresh roll of gauze, waving away her hiccupped thanks.

and it’s you, who gets a shotgun pressed into your palms by a stony-faced nojiko as you all prepare to march on arlong park.

“if i can’t go with you… then at least, i can give you the tools,” nojiko says as she wraps your fingers around the butt of the gun.

zoro narrows his eyes as he watches the way your fingers shake as you weigh the shotgun in your palms.

“i don’t like it,” he says.

“yeah, you shouldn’t come with us — we’ll need you to patch us up after,” sanji agrees with a wink, much to zoro’s displeasure.

but you shake your head, a steely light in your eyes as you clutch the shotgun to your chest, “no, i — i want to come. i mean — like luffy said… it’s our fight, after all.”

arlong park.

the flurry of battle is as it always has been. you use the shotgun more as a blunt instrument than as a projectile carrier, but it seems to work just as well. you’re small, and quick, and your knowledge of anatomy (yes, even fishman anatomy) allows you to maneuver the head of the shotgun into the softest, most venerable places on a fishman’s body as you all fight your way through arlong park.

but zoro is never far off, keeping close to you as he fends off the worst of the snarling fishmen, his sword flashing like fish scales in the midday sun.

there comes a moment when he slices an oncoming fishman right through the jugular that you let out a long breath, wincing as the fishman’s body hits the ground with a dull thud, and zoro sighs, turning towards you. but a second later, he freezes as you grab the hilt of his sword and shove it backwards.

he feels it resting against thick, bullet-proof flesh and he hears the loud panting of something next to his ear as he sees in the reflection of your eyes — a fishman standing behind him, frozen against the tip of his blade, the hilt clutched in your shaking, shivering hands.

“d-don’t — i’ll kill you —” you say, your voice a forceful, fractured thing.

zoro searches your eyes before clasping his hands over yours and slowly tugging the sword from your gasp.

“hey…” he says, deliberately drawing your gaze away from the fishman before he jerks his sword back and feels, with a satisfying shink, the weight of the blade sinking into unforgiving flesh. he feels your fingers trembling beneath his as he pulls the sword away, and the fishman behind him sinks to his knees before falling sideways with the dull thunk of a no longer animate body.

you try to tug away, but zoro holds you steady, running his thumb in soothing circles along the backs of your hands.

“s-sorry — i — i couldn’t —”

zoro shakes his head, pulling you up by your elbow.

“it’s okay — don’t apologize.” he whips his swords around and catches another fishman in the stomach, dropping him with a flicker of silver and a splash of red.

“you never have to apologize…” he says, as he reaches for your hands and curls them in the warmth of his own, callused palms.

finding neverland.

you kiss for the first time after a brutal battle. after the deck has been washed of blood and the railings have been hung with the remnants of the tattered sails.

repairs are much needed, but zoro had saved you yet again. you pull him to you in the darkness of the midnight deck, the crow’s nest empty because, well, he’s supposed to be up there, keeping watch. but you’d caught him instead, curling your fingers into the soft linen of his shirt, your mouth seeking out his in the relative dark.

“mnph —”

he grunts as his hands find purchase against your shoulders, pressing you back and back and back, till you’re pushed flush against the thick totem of the main mast, and your panting breaths are all he can taste against his desperate lips.

“s-sorry…” you let out a helpless laugh as he pushes forward, his teeth clacking against yours.

“quit that,” he says, his voice nothing more than a panting breath on the open sea air.

“hm?” you blink, lashes fluttering in the moonless night, your lips kiss-swollen and delectable even as zoro forces himself to pull back, studying you with an accusatory eye.

“you’re always saying sorry,” he says as he brushes a strand of hair from your cheek. above you, the main sail whoomps, catching an evening wind.

“i’m not… i don’t…” you look away, embarrassed to be caught. zoro reaches down to grab your chin, forcing your head back towards him.

“yeah, you do,” he says, his voice gentle, even as he cups your cheek.

“you don’t ever, ever, have to apologize for just... being you. got it?” and there’s a burning ember in the spark of his voice as he twists your face up towards him, his lips hot and hungry as he brands you with this promise, and you’re powerless to do else but accept it.

you find your fingers in the short hairs at the nape of his neck, his breath cascading over your lips even as you press in close, close, closer. a helpless whine twists its way up the back of your throat as zoro hoists you up, his fingers digging into the plush of your thighs.

“z-zoro… please,” there’s something broken in the tenor of your voice that breaks him more completely than he has the words to describe, so he settles for holding you tighter over his hips and carrying you to his room. it takes a bit of finagling to get you comfortably situated in his hanging bed, but once he does, he can’t help the soft sigh that escapes him as he looks over the length of your body.

from your pink-flushed cheeks to the loose, crumpled material of your button up shirt, all the way down to the hem of your skirt as it brushes up along the skin of your thighs. he leans own to press an indulgent kiss into the dip of your collarbone.

“'please' though… i like a little bit more,” he says, reaching down to pop the top button of your shirt, to revel in the way you hiccup as he teases a line down your chest, his lips following his fingers as he undoes your buttons one by one.

“i — ah —” your fingers curl into the soft moss of his hair and he groans, long and lush into the creamy expanse of skin above the waist of your miniskirt.

“again…” zoro says, whispering the word against you, tugging on the elastic of your skirt, pulling them down the length of your legs.

“z-zoro, please!”

your head tips back as you feel his tongue flick over the hot button of your clit, his fingers digging into your hips, the pads of his forefingers tracing gentle circles around your hip bones as he holds you to his mouth and moans.

there’s a fumbling of fingers and a clashing of teeth as he wrenches himself up from between your legs to mouth at your lips. you taste yourself on his tongue and shiver at the indecency. still, the coals of desire burn in the pit of your stomach as his fingers press into your spit-slicked folds and you feel your whole body arch up in response.

he has always been quiet, but none more so than when he’s working three digits into your fluttering core, his eyes dark and fixed as they watch his own fingers pull out of you and push back in, slick and shiny with the evidence of your arousal.

“fuck…” he whispers the word like a prayer, slipping passed his lips like some holy thing. you can hear the near reverence in his voice as he slowly removes his hand and presses them to his lips for a taste. the lewdness of it makes the hot coil in the pit of your stomach twist all the tighter. and this time, when he drags himself up the length of your body to kiss you, you whine against his mouth, tasting your own tang on the heat of his tongue.

“ngh — fuck —!” you echo, as he flips onto his back and tugs you over his hips in one, fluid moment, his palms helping you grind your sodden folds over the length of his cock, the friction all-consuming and dizzying. a thin string of arousal connecting the tip of his cock to the seam of your cunt and zoro is helpless to do much else but moan thickly at the sight.

“shit.”

you whimper softly as he teases at your entrance, your palms splayed against his chest for support, your thighs shaking on either side of his hips as he eases you down inch by slow, excruciating inch, ontohis thick, throbbing cock. you toss your head back as he pushes into you, the fit of him fiery-tight and stretching you in ways you’d never thought was possible.

you feel him pulsing against your walls, and you wish briefly that you could’ve tasted him as he’d tasted you, before he sheathed himself inside you. how would he taste, you wondered, and you feel your mouth water at the thought of his heavy, salty weight on your tongue.

“n-ngh!” your voice cracks as he rocks his hips experimentally against yours, the drag of him inside you driving you to near incoherence.

“good girl,” he whispers, the words falling from him like second nature. you keen beneath his praise, bracing yourself as he plants his feet on the bed and jack hammers up into you, his stomach tensing in deep breaths of tight, sinewy muscle, his arms flexing as he helps you rock down above him.

“pretty… fucking… girl…” he intersperses his heavy groans of pleasure with soft exclamations, fucking you now to the light, rhythmic rocking of the ship, even though there’s nothing light about the way his cock bullies it’s way into your cunt again and again, forcing you to clamp down around him on each and every thrust.

there’s nothing gentle about the way he digs his nails into the flushed skin of your hips, how he leans up to latch his greedy mouth onto one of your pert nipples, moaning as he savors in the way you arch against him, pushing your chest more fully into his mouth.

“r-right — right there —”

“yeah?” he asks, half-smirking as he looks up at you, his warm gaze betraying the hard, teasing edge behind his voice, “where do you want me?”

you keen, whining as you drag your hands down your own body to press against your stomach, grabbing his hand to push it against you as well, his palm hot and flat as it lays along your tummy.

“r-right here —”

“fuck — that’s right —” he jerks up into you, burying his face in your chest with a clipped moan as he quickens his pace, his one hand pressing against your stomach as you feel him pushing up farther into you than you’d ever imagined possible.

the pleasure is intense, an other-worldly feeling as he finally pushes you over the edge, his hips stuttering as he feels you clench around him, your arms winding around his torso, to act as both tether and tide as he holds you to him, grounding you to this feeling while simultaneously casting you against the rough edges of this most selfless and selfish pleasure.

“h-holy… fuck me…” you breathe out, clutching at zoro’s back, digging ruddy red grooves into his shoulder blades as he rolls over to fucks down into you, relentless in his chase of his own climax, groaning deep and throaty as he finally spills into you.

you hiss as you feel the heat of him pooling inside. and it’s not till a few minutes later that he picks his head up from where his face had been buried in your neck to shoot you a wide, lopsided grin.

“yeah, pretty sure that’s what i just did,” he says, rolling onto his side and letting out a deep, soul-steadying breath.

you roll your eyes before turning to look at him, only to find him watching you with a gentle, anchoring softness. and like this, it’s hard to see him as the battle-hardened warrior. like this, it’s hard to imagine that he’d ever made such a promise as to become the greatest swordsman in the whole, entire world.

like this, he just looks like a lovestruck boy, forced to grow up much too soon, searching for any remnants of pleasure he might have left to hold on to.

an irony of hands.

it’s never easy, the night after enemy raids, the deck pooling with bodies and blood, the sea the color of a scabbing wound, flotsam and jetsam like bloated body parts floating on the dark, inky waves.

you’re helping usopp push some of the dead bodies overboard, but then you find one man with three deep gashes on his torso and blood bubbling on his lips.

“… gonna… gonna report — never… escape…”

you nearly yell as you see the tiny den den mushi in his hands, his fingers quivering as he tries to dial the emergency line. you smack it from his hand and press your tiny, surgeon’s scalpel to his throat. it’s sweet, polished silver gleams wicked beneath the moonless night.

“don’t you fucking dare,” you say, even though your voice shakes, and there are perhaps a million other ways of taking care of him more easily. but you know that if you throw him overboard now, he’d bob, half-drowning and helpless, for a few hours, or maybe even days before he’d finally succumb to the terrible, patient drag of the ocean (and most likely, dehydration).

“no,” a voice says, steady and firm, as a long, rough-fingered hands enter your vision and carefully tug your hands way from the man’s throat.

you look up to find zoro, his hand still clutched around yours, an unspoken sweetness flickering behind his eyes.

“i — if we toss him over — he'll just —” you swallow thickly, tearing your gaze away from zoro’s face as his expression shifts into something of the unreadable and soft. you hate to let him see you like this, so hesitant, so incompetent.

“let me do it,” zoro says, giving your hands a light shove before, with one swift arc of his blade, he severs the man’s carotid, leaving him slumped and bleeding on the blood-stained deck.

“oh… oh god…” you press your shaking fingers to your lips, the silver scalpel falling with a loud clatter.

“c’mere,” zoro says, tugging you up and leading you down to the hallway below decks. he slows as the pair of you enter the darkest part of the hallway, and he turns to hold you at arms length, his fingers tight on your arms as you feel his eyes scanning you over, and over, and over.

“you’re not hurt?” he asks, voice quiet and clipped.

“no,” you shake your head.

“not even a little?”

you shake your head again, pursing your lips this time to keep the sob from pouring through.

still, he sees it, and he pulls you to him, cradling your head in his large, warm palm, the other arm wrapping around your middle.

“stupid girl,” he murmurs, light, into your cheek even as you let out a bitten off sob against his chest.

you hiccup, curling your fingers into the material of his shirt, "i — i couldn’t do it,” you say, squeezing your eyes as he holds you to him and lets you cry.

“i — i couldn’t kill him.”

zoro sighs, pulling back to smooth a hand over your hair, bringing it down to cup your now tear-stained cheek.

“yeah, i know. but that’s not what your hands are made for,” he says, letting his own hands trail down and down and down, till he’s got both of your palms cupped in his like a wishbone.

“don’t you get it?” he asks, staring down at your palms, upturned against his, “these hands were never made for taking lives…” he looks up, his eyes too bright in this borrowed darkness. and then, he smiles.

“they were made for saving lives instead.”

confessions, part i.

you stare at him for a full ten seconds before letting your body fall laxed into a soft, bubbling fit of champagne-colored laughter.

“i love you,” you say, the words tumbling from you, more truth than any story or poem or legend or myth either of you have ever heard.

“i love you, zoro,” you say again, tasting the words on your tongue like fireworks, like pop-rock candies, like the first, stinging breath of autumn after the hazy veil of summer has finally lifted. and slowly, in the clarity and truth of your declaration, you think you can see his lips as they lift up in an open-heart smile, as he too tastes the words you’ve just so recently mustered the courage to say.

confessions, part ii.

zoro stares back, and or a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. then, for too long. and you think you’d made a mistake, telling him how you feel. but then, he smiles — a true smile, a smile that lights up his face and erases all the grooves and lines that should’ve been worn there by the weathers and weights of hardship.

and still, listening to your words, he smiles — a smile that makes him nothing short of incandescent.

he nods, squeezing your hands in his.

“i love you too.”

false start (redux).

every story as a beginning, a middle, and an end. though not necessarily in that order. and, looking back, roronoa zoro knows that if he had to pick, his story probably begins here — at the ripe age of eight, in a doujou nestled next to a forest that always smelled of cedar and moss and freshly turned earth.

it probably starts with an endless parade of sword practice and sparring, of warm up laps and cool down stretches.

its true — it could be said that his story starts with kuina, the doujou sensei’s blue-haired daughter, who was better at swordcraft than zoro thought he ever might be. and to some, this is a good enough kind of beginning to latch on to.

but no, zoro knows, because he knows himself now, and he knows that stories, just like swordsmanship, is an art that requires a certain amount of tempering. a certain degree of trimming and tailoring. a certain kind of articulation.

so he’s certain that it starts here, when he’d seen you for the very first time. and it’s true, you’d seemed like nothing special then, just another quiet little girl who’d been forced into the doujou by some faceless set of rigid, expectant parents, and you’d worked just as hard as you could have, given your natural inclination for anything but sword play.

he’d known that you’d never be great shakes at swordsmanship, but still, he’d found himself drawn by and to you, as a magnet would a compass rose, as one might find their destiny, or their soulmate. he had found his eyes tracking you whenever you weren’t looking, found himself watching as you’d patter around after sparring practice to ask everyone how they were feeling, to dig your tiny fingers (strong and dexterous as they already were) into a knot here, an aching muscle there, a pinched nerve that might’ve been really bad if not found here, and left to fester in that vast, horrible elsewhere.

but he’d been a shy, quiet, kind of boy, absorbed by his sport. and kuina’s skill was more than enough for one growing, teenage boy to contend with without worrying about the strange attraction he had towards perhaps the least “swordsy” person in the entire class. and so, he’d never plucked up the courage to talk to you, never questioned when you’d kept away from his side of the classroom after sparring practice, when all the other girls would flutter around him like a flock of unwelcome pigeons, asking if he wanted to be their stretching partner.

then, the morning came when shimotsuki-sensei had informed him in not so many words that kuina was gone. and the funeral had slipped by in a hazy blur of bodies and incense, and the next thing he knew, he was holding the wadou ichimonji, and sensei was saying something about keeping kuina’s dream alive.

he’d seen you flit from the funeral march of black-clad children, shadow-dark and raven-quick, right off into the thicket of trees. and he’d followed you, because he couldn’t think of a place he’d like to be less than back in that suffocating practice room with all his fellow classmates, half of them casting him curious looks, the other half avoiding his gaze like the literal plague.

he’d followed you to the clearing, and watched as you’d sprinted, screaming around the field of tiny, white-petaled flowers until you slumped down, panting with your face upturned to a sea-breeze sky. he caught himself before he could burst out laughing (or crying, he wasn’t quite sure which he wanted to do more at that moment), and he’d forced himself to sit still behind the trunk of a large tree and watch as you pushed yourself up. the light of the dying sun washed your figure in a great, dream-like ream of orange and gold.

then, just as it seemed like you were going to head back, he spotted you spot the injured fawn, curled into the gnarled roots of a sapling cypress tree. and he’d watched still as you slowly approached the creature with a handful of peanuts before distracting it and crack — he’d heard it clear across the clearing — the sound of a bone being set back into place.

the fawn had screeched and bolted to it’s feet.

but you were just as fearless as you always were, holding out your palm with more peanuts, and zoro had watched, with a mounting fascination coiling in the base of his stomach, as the fawn dug its nose into the palm of your hand.

he’d seen the brilliance behind your eyes, heard the bell-toll sound of your soft, everlasting laughter.

and he vowed, then and there, to become the greatest swordsman he could be, the greatest swordsman in the world, if only to protect you from those who might hurt you. from those who might threaten to take away the light — the life — that thrummed, ever present, in the palms of your very own hands.

a/n: i know, i know, there was an authors note before. but i feel like i can explain this better now that you've read the fic -- to me, the story of "butterfly lovers" is and always has been as story of someone pretending to be someone they're not, right? so in that sense, you/reader was just trying to fit into a mold that wasn't quite made for her before discovering her true calling as a doctor. and the fluff and romance was that, unbeknownst to her, zoro's known that this entire fucking time. u__u anyways. i hope you enjoyed. bless up and simp zoro, fam.

opla!zoro requests are open!

[smooth-perceval]

“Hey mon amour”

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Charles closed himself from the world after loosing his wife, he finally finds the strength in their daughter to publicly speak about her.

Warnings: Angst, grief, mentions of readers death, a lot of tears- Charles thinking his a bad father, Charles talking to himself a lot- swearing, Google translate.

Key: Y/N (Your Name) Juliette (Your daughters name) Jules (Her nickname)

Word count: 2,523

A/N: I watched this video on TikTok and it just made me think of doing something sad… I’m sorry 🫶🏼 it’s rushed and it’s all over the place but I needed to get some ‘emotions’ out I guess 🫶🏼

Was we prepared for a baby? Hell no- Juliette truthfully was an accident- but the best kind. Without her I definitely wouldn’t have stuck around these past 7 months. I’d be up there… painting that sky beautiful with mon amour. (My love)

Laying there in bed I watched her sleep soundly, she had her maman’s nose, lips, hair and cute puffy cheeks. The only thing of mine was her eyes- she definitely got the better parents looks, absolutely perfect in every way. (Mum)

Since the passing of her, as bad as it is, I slept with Juliette by my side, wether it was in her crib and then waking up at stupid hours in the morning and putting her into my bed, or even just falling asleep in her room, with a pillow and blankets on the floor.

She held me together every day, kept me sane- otherwise I talk to myself, or talk to them up there, or better yet curl up in a ball and cry.

Nobody knew of Juliette, I hid her at all cost- in fact nobody knew we had a baby, we kept it very hidden and was going to slowly introduce her to the F1 world, it wasn’t a world for out little girl yet, she had to be protected.

And yet all this time we was protecting her, that I wasn’t there to protect my darling.

The night we lost her even till now feels surreal. Not only 10 minutes before the accident had she called me to tell me she was on her way back home… and the pain I felt when she didn’t show- I knew then, I knew our lives would change… I just didn’t know how drastic.

That night a guy ran a stop light, taking a wife, a mother, a friend, a fan- taking the one person who helped me breathe in a room of no air, helped me swim when I was drowning in a sea of judgement, the woman that gifted me the most precious thing anyone could ever give, our baby girl.

He just took it- in the blink of an eye.

I forgot how to breathe when she was gone, forgot how to tread water, forgot to be a dad. My body didn’t function, my brain shut down.

Maman said I was a ghost yet still alive, she cared for Juliette while I tried to find some sanity in the world, a world I held nothing but anger against. And when I was finally able to figure out how to breathe alone, I kept Juliette with me, day in day out. And with her around I felt lighter, like the world wasn’t pinning me down- like I had a purpose.

I had to show our baby, even though it left a bitter taste on my tongue- that the world was beautiful.

Because what do you do in life, when the one person who understood you more than anything is gone?

Juliette gave me life, and every time I look over at her, the more I remember what I’m doing this ‘life’ for. It’s to see that little tooth that’s slowly coming through, or the dimple on her cheek when her father does something silly, or when we’re lying in bed watching cartoons, and she reaches her hand up to hold my face.

That’s why I continue. All for our little girl.

Leaning over to her I placed a gentle kiss to her temple, before getting out of bed. Ensuring she was safe I bundled pillows and blankets around her in case she decided to roll over.

And while she slept peacefully I started getting a few things ready for tonight.

Tonight was the awards, and it took a lot of thought, but I finally came to the conclusion that I didn’t want to leave Jules at home- wether she was hidden at the side lines or tucked away in my pocket- I needed her there.

I made one special request to the team- which of course they wouldn’t refuse. The tux I was fixing to wear tonight had red somewhere wether it was a tie, or the inside lining. We needed red-

For fans, and Ferrari itself it was a sweet token of my appreciation to them. For me and Juliette is was for our angel.

Red is Y/N colour, always looked gorgeous in anything red- always smiling when she see a red rose, or a red sky- so every morning and evening she decorates the sky, like a reminder that she is there.

It’s my coffee in the morning seeing that sky, and my lullaby at night.

Sighing to myself, I closed off my thoughts heading into the bathroom. I got changed into a simple tracksuit. Seeing as it’s a distance to travel, and I would need comfort over fashion right now-

Humming softly to myself I shuffled back into the bedroom, laying down across the bed- my hand reached out brushing over her head.

“princesse, time to wake up.” (Princess)

And slowly but surely, her eyes slowly opened, as soon as she saw me a smile crept onto her face, that one tooth showing, and the dimple making an appearance.

“You a happy girl?” Smiling back at her, she slowly crept up onto all fours, rocking back and fourth.

She has learned quite quickly for her age, being able to crawl and nearly say dada- I was proud of her, she had a fire in her just like her dad. Wanted to be the best at everything-

“Come my darling, we need breakfast-” sliding back off the bed I reached over picking her up, kicking her legs excitedly she reached out to me and once in range gripped ahold of my nose- a loud happy squeal leaving her small self.

“A very happy girl huh-” laughing a little, bouncing her on my hip- I took us both downstairs and into the kitchen.

We’re still between having milk, jar foods, sometimes Papas food. A mixture of everything. Juliette will eat anything!

I can honestly say one thing with my hand on my heart. We have made the best baby. Always smiling, always happy- when she ‘cries’ it’s more of a murmur, a little quiver of her lip. But never a scream and shout, she is always loving- always kind. The most perfect little girl.

—

The evening soon fell upon us, it was a hustle and bustle getting here but we made it! Jules was content as ever, if anything the most calm out of us all.

Looking over at her in her car seat- she was sound asleep. I took a quick glance down at my watch humming an approval to myself.

Juliette sleeping now works out perfectly for her bed time later- Honestly when I say she is the perfect baby- I mean it, in all the craziness getting ready she was her happy little self, and clearly worn herself out playing in the hotel room- especially to be sleeping so peacefully now on the way to the event.

The event was the FIA awards. With all my anger towards this cruel world I focused it on track, you wouldn’t believe where I got…

World champion of the world.

But as proud as I wanted to be of myself… it just didn’t feel right without her here.

Even now- it just feels like a blur. World champion of the world? Doesn’t seem real to me.

—

I hated being late to anything. But in this case I wanted to arrive late, I wanted Juliette in the room with me. Like I keep saying she is my rock. Motivated me to keep going it only seemed right.

Rocking Juliette back and fourth I slid into the back of the room, cradling her and hiding her face- I wanted to do this but some sense of me wasn’t ready to let the world see my baby. And I wasn’t ready for my baby to see this kind of world…

Creeping over to the Ferrari table, I quickly sat down placing Juliette’s baby bag next to my chair- avoiding eyes, and making sure Jules was okay.

She found entertainment in hitting my un-used spoon onto the table, seeing as I skipped when the served dinner.

Finally finding the courage I looked up, Carlos eyes were on me. A small smile on his face, Carlos obviously knew about Jules, he had to know his my teammate, mostly all the inner track know- but they had never really met her.

The ones who have- Jules absolutely loves them. A good example is Carlos, once she realises his across the table- by any means necessary she will crawl her way across too him.

Can’t blame her- when she finally has him the grip on his hair, she pulls hard and doesn’t let go, understandable I can sometimes pull his hair out in annoyance.

“And now- the moment has finally come. Not just for us to witness. But for him to finally receive.” Most of the presenters words fell onto my deaf ears.

And I just waited for my name to be called.

When it was, I slowly got up from my seat, Jules hugged to my chest. Once again cradling her, hand on the back of her head, still trying to protect her from everyone…

Slowly making my way up the steps, making sure not to trip over. The sounds of aw’s and gasps are heard around the room-

Walking along the ‘path’ Jules looked around at everyone mesmerised by the lights.

“Thank you- er…” looking down at my arms with a smile at Jules I looked back at the trophy.

“We will just place it down here-” the man smiled at me, crouching and placing it on the floor next to the mic.

“Well- thank you.” Shifting Juliette over onto my other hip I bounced her gently- she was still in awe at the room.

“I’d like to start by saying a big thank you to the Ferrari team, this championship wouldn’t have been possible without you, I’d like to say a congratulations to my teammate Carlos for getting second in the championship, and another congratulations to Ferrari for winning the constructors award.” Jules hand came up and covered over my mouth, looking down at her I smiled happily- she really was in her own world and reaching out wherever.

“Now I know a lot don’t want to listen, and I’m sorry- but this is the first time I’ve really spoken in 6 months… to you guys- and also all you fans at home-” pausing I swallowed thickly, lifting Jules back up higher on my hip.

“I’d like to introduce you all to, Juliette Pascal Leclerc. She was born March the 4th, at 7 minutes past 3 in the morning.” A low applauded sounded through the room, Juliette looking around at them all, joining in their clapping. Now making everyone laugh.

“She is the most brightest baby I know- always smiling, always happy. Very much like her maman.” (Mum) Pausing I looked over at Carlos. Who quickly nodded his head over at me. A silent support in the crowd.

“As most know… we lost our Y/N back in May… it’s been tough- some days I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t function. Hell I wasn’t even a good dad for our Jules here.” As I said her nickname, more awes were heard throughout the room.

Opening my mouth- then closing it again quickly I looked down at Jules, who’s head was now resting on my shoulder, staring up at me with her beautiful eyes. My eyes started welling up with tears I look back over around the room, stepping away from the mic I took a second to compose myself before moving back in.

“She would be so proud today, every year she would say ‘This is your year Charlie, I can feel it.’ She was right this year…” breathing out heavily I used my hand to quickly wipe my eyes, then wrapping it back around Jules- if possible even tighter.

“She just isn’t here to witness it happening.”

Jules hand reaches up once again, hand on my cheek- like she was comforting me.

“When she was taken, so was me truthfully. That Charles had went with her… she was kind hearted, had a heart of gold. Days like today when I run out of socialisation, she would always come over, and just say something so simple like ‘Charles, you ready to go?’ Pull me straight out that dark hole.” Smiling a little to myself, I finally let the tears go. Jules started to fidget, getting antsy waiting around, and to my need Carlos stood infront of the stage holding his hands out, Jules as always was ecstatic to go to Carlos.

“Thank you-” smiling down at Jules I stepped back to the mic, finally picking my award up.

“Well you was right baby, this was our year.” Raising the award a little to the roof I pointed up at her also.

Sighing to myself, I wiped my face once again. “I tell you what-” it was a waste of energy wiping my face, cause the tears fell once again.

“I miss her- everyday… I’m sorry- I get emotional…” Chewing the inside of my cheek I looked down at my feet, the tears not stopping now.

“It’s just so hard without her…” sniffling I breathed in, trying to control myself.

“What am I supposed to do now… I done what I said I’ll do.” Looking up slightly at the trophy. I see myself in the reflection.

“This is for you my darling, it was my year after all.” Kissing the top of the trophy. I turned back to everyone.

“Thank you- I’m sorry for being a absolute mess…” smiling apologetically I waved at whoever, making my way back off the stage to a standing ovation. Cheers and applauds around the room.

Once I got near to Carlos, Juliette was practically bouncing off his hip, hands outstretched to me. And without question I put the trophy down on the floor, taking Jules back into my arms, holding her close, swaying back and fourth.

“My darling. You ready to go huh?” Leaning back I placed a kiss to her forehead. Bending down a little I grabbed her bag pulling it over my shoulder again.

“I’ll grab your trophy.” Smiling Carlos patted my shoulder, picking the trophy up and following behind me.

As soon as we was outside photos were being taken, quickly I hid Jules face.

“Guys you can take photos- just please turn the flash off-” smiling at them all, they was quick to play around on their phones and cameras. When confident in them all, I moved my hand away from Jules face.

“Thank you.”

Jules hand came into view pointing up at the sky.

“Mumumum” gasping I leaned back getting a view of her face- I was taking that as her first word, the best choice of first words-

Looking up at the red sky above us I kissed Jules cheek.

“That’s right baby, that’s Maman.” (Mum.)

Masterlist

[aikuse]

ALL ROADS LEAD BACK TO YOU | 2,508 words (~20 minutes reading time). afab!reader, toxic!oliver (but not in the way you think), abandonment, degradation, complicated relationships, mentions of bisexual!oliver, nipple play, cunnilingus (reader!receiving), praising, missionary, penetrative sex (safe sex is implied), multiple orgasms, creampie, claiming if you squint

author's notes: i wrote this in a fever at like 3am and thanks to @aikuwus for the smol inspiration *dances* my poor emotionally stunted boy...how i am enraptured by you~

-> taglist: @qichun @suyacho @fuyuswifey @stunies -> join the taglist!

it’s so late.

you’re blearily blinking open your eyes as you hear your phone going off. you only have it go off for emergency contacts. who the hell is calling you at three o’clock in the morning? who would?

you don’t bother reading the caller ID. instead, you choose to pick up. because whoever it is, it’s clearly an emergency. something’s wrong. something has to be—

“hey, lovely.”

your entire body freezes like ice.

“aiku? what the fuck.”

“miss me? was thinkin’ of you.”

you rub at your eyes with the heels of your hand. “didn’t you just play a game today? what are you doing awake? it’s almost three in the morning, isn’t it?”

there’s a sigh on the other end. “maybe. yeah, okay, it is.”

there’s a tension between you two that you haven’t felt before. something he’s not saying, which is a first. your toes tap dance against the cold floor as you sit up, pushing the covers off of your body.

“are you gonna explain why you woke me up, or are you gonna just breath on the other side of the line instead?”

a choked laugh echoes through the phone. “fuck you. no, i won’t. i’m feeling sentimental. kind of shitty, too, if i’m being honest.”

you know the result from today. it was bad. a complete shitshow. bastard munchen managed to claim the win, and you know oliver is feeling the soreness. he always manages to, after all; he always thinks he runs the world, and therefore causes all the problems that the world runs into. it’s sad, honestly, seeing him so vulnerable even if he’s on the other end of the line—

“i need you.”

“what?”

he pauses, before stating his sentence again, with even more intensity.

you bark out a laugh. “really?” you comment, “you could have anyone you want, and yet you’re here barking up this tree instead. what makes you think i want you?”

you can feel his smirk through the phone. you’re being bratty; you know you are. his voice is so silky as he degrades you, your thighs clenching together.

“because nobody else would pick up the fucking phone, and you did. you need someone to take care of you, yeah? haven’t gotten fucked enough while i’ve been gone, probably. haven’t had someone rail you till your eyes roll into the back of your head, yeah? haven’t—“

“enough.” your tone is ice. he stops immediately.

“what do you want?”

“you. here. now.”

“how? you’re—“

“i’ll call a cab. i don’t care. i need you here.”

something is swelling in your chest; you don’t live far, you could probably walk to the hotel he’s at. you know which one, you shamelessly stalked it on your scrolling earlier seeing the paparazzi snipping photos in his face with the hotel’s logo blazing into the background.

it’s a bad idea. a horrible idea, really.

your shoes are already on your feet before he mentions he’s booked you a taxi. you’re out the door when he says its arrived. there’s no resistance; when oliver calls, you answer. even if you don’t want to, you settle into the plush seats of the taxi as it speeds down the road, lights flashing across the windows. even at three in the morning, there’s people wandering the streets, exiting pubs as they swing hands across shoulders and press kisses to cheeks.

you wish that was you and him. it will never be, but you can always dream.

your fist clenches. this is a bad idea. it’s always a bad idea and you do it anyway.

fuck.

you get to the hotel in record time, and you manage to breeze through the lobby. he’s not there to greet you, can’t risk someone seeing him and you. it’d ruin his playboy demeanor he’s put up so well to the press; he can’t tarnish that now, you know that. you’re used to it.

his door appears suddenly in your vision, the elevator ride completely spaced out of your mind. you don’t even get a chance to knock before you hear the latch flip and large hands grabbing you, pulling you in roughly, the door slamming behind you and your back pressing against the soft wood moments after.

you meet his gaze.

oliver has always had such an intimidating gaze. it’s like everything he sees is prey to him; an apex predator, ready for his next kill, which so happens to be you.

but there’s something else.

it’s not so obvious that you notice it immediately, but rather it shows itself as your eyes linger over his own, scanning his face before returning his stare.

“you’re sad.” it comes out as an observation, not a question. you tilt your head as you say it, feeling yourself falling into those pits of green and purple. like two twin crazed-colored planets, drawing you in under his spell, commanding you to obey and give him what he wants. it feels…good. Nice, even.

he doesn’t even deny it. “yes.”

you cup his cheeks; he hasn’t shaved in a few months, bristle covering his skin, close to his shitty mustache you always make fun of him for. “what do you need?”

“you. everywhere.”

you nod. “okay.”

your clothes come off so quickly that you may as well have not worn any of it, your back slamming into the mattress as he climbs on top of you. he’s dressed in nothing but boxers, fully prepared for you, his cock straining against the fabric as he grinds against you, lips crushed to your own. you can feel it against your leg; and the burn in your stomach seems to match his fervor.

kissing oliver is like a competition; almost everything about sex is, to him, but this was another level of passion. he’s oddly gentle, not as aggressive as he usually is, as if he’s drinking in your taste. his tongue slides into your mouth, licking along your teeth, a moan spilling from your throat as his hands move to wrap around your waist, holding you to the bed. pinning you beneath him.

“god, you taste fucking delicious,” he rasps into your mouth. you can’t help but feel a sense of pride flip in your stomach as you feel his grinding motions become steadily more erratic, needing to be inside of you. like he’s holding himself back. “i brushed my teeth,” you say simply, “thought you wouldn’t call.”

he doesn’t miss a beat. “you should’ve expected this.”

“should i? usually you need someone else—“

“no.”

you pause, then, and he moves a hair away from you so you can look at him again. the expression on his face catches you completely off guard; it’s vulnerable.

“fuck, i—i always think of you, you know?” he begins, and you let him pepper kisses across your neck as he does so, his voice so sweet in your ears. you have a hard time believing him, but for tonight, you let him ramble. you let him say whatever he wants; and tomorrow, you can do damage control. you can pick up the pieces then as you always do. because as much of a fucking ass that oliver is, you do love him.

it’s a fated connection. a tragic one.

“i always think of you instead. whenever i’m with someone else, it’s never them i see. it’s you.” he reaches your nipple, tongue swirling around it, your chest curving to meet his mouth.

“you’re so perfect. i can’t—i can’t get enough. i will never be able to have enough.”

you hum. any addition from you will ruin the moment; will make him think about what he’s saying, will make him backtrack and treat you like he usually does; like a hole he needs to fuck into to feel relief. just for tonight, you add nothing. no quips, no bratty replies, no retorts. you simply let him take what he needs.

he carries on downwards, pulling your underwear off as he follows it with his lips, open mouthed kisses and nips causing your body to curve and twist in his grip. you can’t help the noises you’re making now; they’re filthy. the way he is able to elicit the exact reactions he needs from you is sickening; there’s too much time spent together between you both, too much time with his head spent between your legs and vice versa.

at least it seems like he hasn’t gotten tired of it. yet.

“look at you,” you hear him say, craning your neck to look at him. he’s staring at your pussy, drenched already from the turmoil that is running through your veins like fire, needing him so badly—

and then he’s licking, sucking, flicking his tongue against your clit and massaging your walls with fat fingers. he’s groaning, rutting against the mattress to get some sort of friction on his end as he drinks you in, pressing every button that makes you see white as you give a shout. “yeah, come for me,” you hear him growl, fingers pumping as you watch his tongue flick against you quicker than you can register. your thighs clamp around his head, your own falling to the mattress, wriggling underneath him.

“o-oliver—“

“fuck, keep coming, keep letting me taste you. please, keep letting me, i need it.”

he sounds like he’s referring to something else he needs, but the begging only makes you gush harder around him, your eyes screwed completely shut as you shudder, every wave racing through your system like a natural disaster. it’s truly incredible how he knows exactly where to press to get you to shudder around him; you’ve spent too much time together—

and then he’s pulling his pants down, not turning you onto your stomach like he normally does, his cock slapping his stomach as he pushes inside with a groan. he bends over you, your eyes finally being able to focus for a moment on him and breath stuttering in your chest as you see him looking at you. so deeply that you almost believe that it’s genuine.

his large hands entwine with your own on either side of your head as he rocks inside of you, your walls fluttering around him. his lips brush against your neck, then your collarbone, moving up to nip at your ear and back down to press hot, open-mouthed kisses across your chest. his voice is so soft, so gentle like his thrusts; weaseling their way into your brain and your core without any kind of restraint.

“love how you wrap around me, lovely,” you hear him drawl, somehow being able to keep his composure even as his body betrays him, picking up speed as he speaks, “fuck, you’re so good. you’re so good for me, so good—“

then he releases your hands, moving his own to grip your waist as his composure suddenly snaps. you feel it, just as aggressively as you feel another orgasm slam into you without warning. your eyes go wide, unfocused on everything but his stare as he slams into you. “yeah, fuck, give it to me,” you hear him growl, and there.

there’s the oliver you know. not caring about how hard he’s slamming into you, not caring about your comfort any more. it’s all about him now, and your soaking pussy is happy to milk him dry as it grips him like a vice, cries of his name falling from your lips as you feel him spill into you, joining you in ecstasy. “gonna fill you up so good,” he says, his voice raspy and shaky but laced with lust, “make y’feel so full of me. so full you can’t get me outta ya.”

you’re on the brink of passing out now, the amount of pleasure that’s assaulted your senses all too much to deal with. you know he knows, too; it’s always been that way, you not being able to last through his climax as he comes down, your chest pressing against his own as he heaves in air. the last thing you feel is his hands gripping your own again, a bristled kiss pressed against your sweaty neck. it feels…

it feels like home.

like a home you can never have.

sunlight streams in through the window as your eyes crack open. the pale orange light bastes the room in a pretty glow, pretty enough for you to simply bask in it and ignore the soreness of every muscle in your body. that’s how it was with oliver; he never left you feeling untouched, for better or worse.

you realize as you bury your face into the pillow again, that he’s gone.

there’s a faint warmth next to you, but it’s steadily evaporating as you turn over. the indent from where he was is still there, so he must have left recently, within the half hour at least. your hand reaches out weakly to press against the covers, as if doing so will telepathically remind him of what he left behind.

again, this is how it was with oliver. he didn’t stick around.

you manage to grab your phone that has been placed on the side table. you don’t recall putting it there yourself, and you know it’s his doing. that’s the ways he displays affection, something you believed he wasn’t capable of; you just weren’t looking hard enough. at least, that’s what you tell yourself; it’s easier that way.

there’s a few unread texts that you see appear; one is from sendo asking if you had a good night with a cheeky winking face, some others from friends asking where you are. then there’s a single one from oliver, which you’re afraid to open. what he said to you last night, on the phone and when you were here; your thighs twitch as you recall it. all honeyed words, you know it.

you open the thread anyway.

oli: had to leave early to catch the bus. told hotel staff to not disturb u.

you sit with that for a moment. do you respond? do you bother? why would you, it’s not like anything you say will change anything.

your fingers move before you can put your phone down. before you can make a stupid mistake.

thank you.

the three dots appear almost immediately.

oli: i’m sorry.

tears prick at your eyes. the first time he apologizes, and it’s after abandoning you for the upteenth time. all he does is uses you and leaves; but you know this well. you’re married to it in a sense. you can’t let him go, not when he’s dealing with so much. you need to be there for him even if it tears you apart, even if he pushes you away and discards you like you meant nothing to him.

because you know you mean something to him. he wouldn’t have called you if you didn’t. that could be a delusion, but you cling onto it anyway. it’s the only thing that’ll keep you from falling apart.

you text back, and he leaves you on read.

i know.

divider credit: @/cafekitsune networks: @pixelcafe-network @themovingcastlez

disclaimer: DO NOT copy or repost my works for any reason. translations are acceptable, but please ask for permission first!

© aikuse 2023-2024

[allinestarr]

Relentless (1/?)

Max Verstappen x Fem Driver Reader!

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Summary: Y/n L/n was a force to be reckoned with. She had the championship on palm of her hands if it weren’t for Max Verstappen. You hated him and he hated you. Right?…

Warnings: Crash, Violence

Y/n YLN was the only other driver others feared on the track besides the Dutchman himself. She maintained a 1st to 2nd place spot on the podium every race. Even though she was fairly new to F1 and in her 2nd season, she was a force to be reckoned with. The only problem was she had yet to win a championship. Max always beat her to it. The rivalry started early on when they had there first run in, quite literally, in Spain. It was lap 64 and y/n was ahead of Max leading the race until he got within DRS range and tried pushing past her and in the last second she turned to defend but it was to late. He hit the back of her car and they spun out. Max was able to stop before hitting the barrier but she hit head on.

“ Y/n are you ok???. Please respond”, Liz your race engineer asked.

Seconds passed by and there was no response and as smoke started to come out of the engine the extent of the accident raised a new level of urgency. The safety car came on track as drivers began returning to the pits. Max was already out of the car but instead of checking on you he walked back to his garage.

“ Y/n, say something!!.”

Again, nothing. Every second felt like forever to onlookers and just as they feared the worst, you groaned as you turned the radio on and with a shaky breath rasped out,

“Ok…”

Liz along with the rest of the crew breathed out a sigh of relief as you responded. The more you thought about how you got here, the more your head hurt. Most likely a concussion. The smell of burning rubber and the smoky haze snapped you back to reality as you turned around to see a small fire coming from the engine. It didn’t take you long for you to react as you reached down, unbuckled yourself and climbed out. Your knees buckled when you stood and had no choice but to crawl away from the car as the flames grew. Everything happened so fast that you zoned out. When you finally came back to, you were in the ambulance headed to the hospital.

The total damage was a concussion, a fucked up car and your pride. After being on a winning streak since the begging of the season it was gone in the blink of an eye. They wanted to keep you overnight but you refused and returned to the garage.

As much as you wanted to be anywhere but here, you felt you owed an explanation to Toto. It technically wasn't your fault but that didn't stop you from blaming yourself.

" Toto I really want to apologize. I tried to defend but I didn't think he would hit me. I'm so sorry I disappointed you.."

"Y/n don't. It wasn't your fault. You're an amazing driver and I have full confidence in you. You'll be back on top by the next race so don't beat yourself up. All that matters is that you're ok."

Toto wasn't a super affectionate guy but he had a soft spot for you. He hugged you before being called away by an engineer. Although his words were reassuring they didn't make you feel better. The expectations were high from others, but not as much as your own.

The race was over and the results were in. Checo first, Charles second and Carlos third. The first podium without Mercedes since the beginning of the season. Lewis got 4th so we still gained points. The disappointment you felt in yourself was strong but the anger overshadowed. As much as you wanted to march into the Red Bull garage and go ballistic on Max, the media would eat it up and spin it so you looked like an over emotional woman who didn’t belong there. So for now, you’d wait till you were away from prying eyes to address him. Lewis had just walked into the garage and stopped as soon as he saw you.

“ Y/n, you’re back!. How are you feeling??”

“ I’m ok, just pissed.”

Since joining Mercedes you immediately clicked with Lewis. He was the only person you felt comfortable opening up to and he actually listened and was honest when you needed to hear the truth. He knew how hard you were on yourself when you lost so he already planned to have a sleepover later with your favorite snacks and movie. It was a tradition at this point.

“ I just can’t believe he would do that. It was clearly sabotage. What pisses me off most is that he probably won’t get punished cause he’s Max Verstappen, the golden boy.”

Lewis sighed as he nodded. He knew first hand from losing his 8th championship to Max. After talking a little longer you eventually went your own ways for media duties. Every question was the same and so was every answer you gave, no comment. Looking around you hadn’t seen Max once. Pierre said that after the crash Max walked into his garage like a madman kicking shit around screaming and went straight to his room to change and left. What a pussy, you thought. The guys invited you out but you were just not in the mood. Lando tried his puppy dog eyes which in most cases worked, just not today.

Weirdly enough even after getting in a crash you still had energy to burn so you changed and headed to the gym. You were so deep into your workout you hadn't noticed Max had at some point walked in and made a beeline to you.

“ What the hell!” You screamed as someone yanked off your headphones. Max of course...

“You cost me a podium today!.”

“ Are you fucking delusional?. You tried to pass me, trashed my car and cost me a podium. You knew you wouldn’t be able to make it through and couldn’t bare the thought of losing to me again!.”

“You’re the one who swerved last second and caused the wreck!. You think you’re so good cause you won a few races?. You're pathetic!. Next time, get out of my way!.”

In that moment you had the textbook definition of black out rage cause your hand moved on its own as your fist collided with his nose.

“Crazy bitch!.”

You smirked as you grabbed him by his collar and brought his face closer to yours,

“ You have no idea. Humor me, are you threatened because I’m beating you or because I’m a girl and beating you?. Learn how to lose Verstappen cause you won't be on top forever, ill make sure of that.”

Max was at a loss for words. Who did this woman think she was challenging him?. Before he could respond you walked away.

Already showered and changed you heard a knock revealing a giddy Lewis with a bag of snacks and his signature smile. Settled in bed snuggled up to Lewis you thought about your encounter with Max.

“Everything ok?.”

You contemplated telling him about today but decided not to so you just nodded. He of course knew you were lying but didn’t press you since you weren’t in the mood so he accepted your answer. The movie ended and while Lewis was asleep you were awake thinking of how to win your next race and the race after and... actually why not think bigger. How about winning the rest of the season?. The thought of Max losing put a smile to your face as you closed your eyes and drifted to sleep.

It was a game of tit for tat fluctuating between 1st and 2nd place the rest of the season. Mercedes had never been better managing a podium every race and ending with 2nd in constructers by the end of the season. Red Bull kept there streak with 1st in constructors. Max was first in drivers but you took second much to Red bulls dismay since you took Checos spot. At this point Max was a 4 time champion. Usually everyone was planning vacations for break but all you could think of was the next season and the possibility to win your first championship. The best part wouldn’t just be the championship, it would be the look on Max’s face when you beat him to it. The thought was orgasmic. For now though you had a celebration to attend with the guys which unfortunately included Max. How bad can it be right?…..

Taglist-

@itsjustkhaos

Next-

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Pairing: Ghost X (f)Reader

This starts out kinky but ends up emotional.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He'd always considered himself a patient man.

At least, that's how he was raised to be.

But he was currently struggling to uphold the values of being gentlemanly. Because you seemed to be playing a game called "how far can I push him till he fucking loses his shit?"

You'd started exploring role play early enough into your relationship. You have discovered some kinks from previous relationships, and he was more than eager to discover them with you. He was a quick learner, too, quickly taking on the role of the dom who used you and played with you as he pleased, and you, his bratty girl was there to push his buttons until he ravaged you.

A chuckle of disbelief ripped out of his throat as he set down his bag and closed the door. His reaction was to you currently getting your purse, dressed in what looked like a nighty. From the shoulder straps ruffling across your exposed collarbone, to the silk hugging your breasts and waist and leaving nothing to the imagination, and the bottom of your skirt tickling the tops of your thighs before your legs slid down into doll shoes with platform heels, tied together at the front with a ribbon. "You're not going anywhere dressed like that."

"Nice to see you too." You murrmered, rolling your eyes as you gathered your keys, knowing it would drive him crazy. "Why not?"

"Because I won't be there with you,"

You lifted a chin at him. "Well, you haven't touched me in months -"

He scoffed. Haven't touched her in moths - He was at the base working his ass off since January. He shook his head. You were really going for it.

As far as you knew, he was military. And that included spending his time away from home. He'd told you this when the two of you began seeing each other seriously, a month before he proposed.

You narrowed your eyes at his scoff. "There's nothing wrong with me wanting some attention. If not from my husband, then I might as well get it from-"

"Oh, you want attention from someone else, huh?" He growled, walking towards you, his eyes gazing over your body darkly. When he reached you, his hand landed promptly on your throat as he backed you against the wall. "Take it off. Now."

Back against the wall and in your favorite position, all you could do was blink up at him nervously while slipping off your dress and letting ot fall between your legs.

"Good girl," he said.

You swallowed, patiently waiting his next command.

He tightened his grip on your throat. "What do you say?"

"Thank you," you rushed to tell him.

"Thank you, what?"

"Thank you, sir." You corrected yourself, biting your lip as you gazed up at your man.

But it was different. You often greeted him with a scene when he returned home from the base, but he's been gone three and a half months. It was some dangerous mission spouses could know nothing of... and that meant absolutely no contact. You went crazy not hearing from him for that long, not knowing if he was okay or not. No matter how you tried to distract yourself, nothing took your mind off of your worries.

And here he was. Finally, arriving a day after a phone call asking for a "warm welcome" when he returns home. You were so excited you could barely stop your hands from shaking. But now that he was in your arms, you couldn't hold back. Your hands lifted to cup his beautiful face. His warm eyes looking down at you. Strong jaw covered in stubble, tensed as he was technically "upset" with you at the moment.

He was okay. Safe at home. Safe with you.

You felt your eyes tear up as you leaned in to kiss him. He captured your lips in a rough embrace of his own, pressing you towards him by the back of your head. You couldnt help but moan as you two kissed. Every inch of him against you felt magical.

"I missed you." You wispered against his lips.

He trailed impatient kisses down your throat, nipping and biting the skin down to your collarbone. "God, I fucking missed you so much, darling."

It felt so good to hear, and you let out a sound between a moan and a giggle.

"My y/n. My fucking girl." He snarled against your ear, tickling you there.

You nodded eagerly along with his words. "Yours, please never leave me this long again."

You wanted him to claim you. To hold you and never let go.

"Shh, it's okay." He whispered, his fingers brushing against the top of your panties. "I'm right here baby, right here with you. I'm never letting you go."

You'd pulled his top over his head, kissing every inch of skin you could get your hands on. Scattered cuts, bruises, and marks met your lips, as well as his dog tag, sending a cool feeling against your skin. You ran your hands over the scars covering his chest - some old, some fresh. They were so deep, must have caused him so much pain, your heart clenched, and you tried to swallow your sob.

His gaze met yours. "Hey, are you crying?"

You shook your head, unable to look away from the scars.

He raised your chin to look up at him. "It's all worth it if i get to come back home to you, safe and mine."

You couldn't help the smile that spread across your face. You were so lucky to have found him. "I want you now. Not. Just you."

He nodded, getting your implication. "I want that too."

He lifted you and carried you to your bedroom. Lowering you on the bed, he started to kiss down your chest. He reached the top of your panties, nipping at your thigh. "God, I'm so lucky to have you, I dont deserve you, darling."

You didn't have time to respond before he dipped his tongue into your pussy. You arched up against him, your fingers intertwined in his hair. God, did you miss this feeling. After what felt like hours of him licking, teasing, and edging you, you were shaking.

"Please, Si-" you begged. "Fuck me."

"Baby, youre not prep-"

You insisted desperately. "I dont care. I need you right now."

Not needing to be told three times, he lined himself up against your entrance and slowly pushed in. It only hurt because you haven't felt the sensation in months, but otherwise, you were wet enough for him to practically slide in in a second.

You haven't felt him in so long. Your arms wrapped behind his back to pull him closer. Looking up at him, brow narrowed in an expression of desperation, and mouth dropped open as he exhaled on each thrust. You never wanted to close your eyes again.

"I love you." You spoke softly.

He lowered himself to his elbows and kissed you as he continued to fuck you. As he did, he kept whispering how much he loved you, holding you open for him.