#I did this for no reason other than it was funny | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iceman-kazansky · 3 days ago

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I've come back here again. It's midnight, I am up early tomorrow, but I can't stop thinking of this fic. I need to write my thoughts out.

I will not deny that I got into F1 because I thought the drivers were hot. I saw Senna and was infatuated. I was reading fics before I fully understood who he was or even watched any of his races. But, it was that infatuation that led me here– to this. This fic at first was something I never knew would leave such a lasting impression on me as a reader. It actually sparked my full-on interest into Formula 1 upon my second read. I didn't understand everything mentioned, and I wanted to know more. I had a hunger growing in me for knowledge and understanding. This feeling, once I'd acted upon it (I watched the Senna documentary, read the wiki, watched interviews, etc.) was one of the reasons I began to admire Ayrton for who he was, what he did, and everything else besides what I had initially– his looks. And it changed how I viewed other drivers, too. Yes, I still found them attractive, but knowing their stories painted something for me. An internalized artwork of sorts.

"Funny how you can miss someone you never met, right?" That sentence in your authors note. At first, I didn't get it. I didn't quite fathom the depths of it. Yet, now, as I write this, I believe I fully understand it. I wasn't alive to watch Mr. Senna race. I wasn't alive when he died, either. Despite this, I get this ache in my heart, like it's heavy, whenever I think about him. I can remember something, good or bad, and there is this hollow feel to my chest, and it makes me want to cry. And it's not like how I get sad over Michael Schumacher or Niki Lauda or even Brocedes, which are also some of my favourite things in this sport. This weight in my soul feels heavier than the weight of all the oceans combined. It wasn't something I was initially accustomed to, and it shocked me, because how could I miss someone I'd never even gotten the chance to meet?

That last thought made me remember this fic. The authors note. I came back. Admittedly, it's brought me back every time. I've read this fic countless times. I've cried every time. It is so violently sad in a way that it is so bittersweet that it makes me want to read it over and over for all of eternity. I want it engraved into the very forefront of my mind. The way you detailed this, the way it was structured and plotted, the dialogue, the characterization, the perfectly depicted pre-existing characters who you stuck to their genuine personalities and aspects, everything. From the first letter to the last period. This fic is, in my opinion, the definition of perfect. I was given a bite-sized portrayal of how devastated the reader was at the beginning of the fic, and it left me wondering how and why. Through each memory, you made me feel a stronger connection, and each return to the current setting tore a chunk out of my heart and soul. By the end, I was weeping.

I will never regret reading this fic. For taking the time to comprehend every word written here and to come back and do it again. It's definitely one of my, if not my #1, all-time favourite. Not just because it was the first fic to make me cry, but because of the future emotional attatchment I'd grow towards Ayrton. I will forever be grateful to you, the author, for probably introducing me to the greatest thing I could've never even imagined– the world of F1. Thank you.

saudade | as12

funny how you can miss someone you never met, right? my heart was aching today a lot and i cried even more while writing this so yes, it is long and it is sad, so you decide if you wanna read this or not. if you do, please enjoy if its even possible to enjoy bawling your eyes out lol

oh ayrton, you will always be missed

summary: during senna's funeral y/n has flashes of their shared past and what they could have together

warnings: for sure its intense, 5.6k words of pure sadness, thats it basically

pairing: fem!mclaren!driver x ayrton senna

It was a warm, pleasant day. The beginning of may didn't disappoint with the weather at all. A light, warm breeze swayed the flexible branches, on which fresh leaves were green. The sun was pleasantly warm, but it wasn't unbearable heat. Birdsong could be heard, but so could crying. On this day, mourners outnumbered the blossoming buds on the trees.

A crowd of people had gathered in front of the church, but it was nothing compared to the crowds still on their way. Everyone was dressed in black, and the only point of color in the black mass was a yellow dot, which from a bird's eye view resembled a sunflower petal, thrown onto the black, fertile soil. It was a helmet, a yellow racing helmet, which no one gathered there needed to be introduced to. In trembling hands, a young girl held it, never once moving it away from her chest. She held it against herself so tightly, as if she wanted to feel the warmth emanating from it, but it radiated coldness, like the inside of the church she was about to enter, barely able to keep herself on her feet.

Inside the chapel, it hadn't yet become crowded; the military made sure that the family and friends entered the church first. Inside, there was a grave silence, broken only by the occasional blowing of noses into tissues or a stifled sob.

The girl was aware of what was happening, she knew where she was and why she was there. However, her brain stubbornly avoided connecting the dots and completely pushed the facts out of her consciousness. If it had, she would probably have thrown the held helmet deep into the church, and it would have stopped only when it hit the wooden, solid coffin. The girl's gaze never once lifted towards her.

"Y/N, can you hear me?," the girl flinched when Ron's words reached her for the umpteenth time, "You know you don't have to be here, we can be outside."

The girl blinked several times, and at that very moment, her brain stopped pushing away the facts. Ron held her arm, his eyes swollen, his face even redder than usual. She herself pressed the helmet to her chest, so tightly that only when she moved it away from herself a little was she able to fully breathe. She raised her eyes and looked around. She stood in the front row of benches, where at the very top, just in front of the altar steps, stood the coffin. A large, carefully ironed Brazilian flag lay on it, its freely hanging ends touching the fresh flowers lying beneath it.

"Y/N…," the man began again, this time quieter. He saw tears in the girl's eyes, and he was about to continue, but she pressed the helmet tighter to her chest and started walking forward. She only moved the helmet away from herself when she placed it on the coffin. Y/N fell to her knees and began to sob, pressing her forehead against the hard lid. However, the lid of the coffin wasn't the only thing that separated her from her friend. The worst was death.

It was a brisk february morning. Silverstone Circuit had not yet woken up, there was no deafening roar of engines in the background, and the smell of burnt rubber didn't hang in the air.

Although it wasn't a race day and only a handful of people were milling around the facility, unlike the tens of thousands who usually flooded in for the weekend races, this day was expected to be exciting and full of emotions too.

Certainly, it was so for the 23-year-old Theodore Racing driver, who, sitting in the passenger seat on her way to the circuit, nervously picked at her nails. However, she should now be referred to as the "former Theodore Racing driver" because on this day, she had a test day at McLaren, with whom she signed a contract two weeks ago. In the past two months, the girl's life had changed dramatically. A few days after her birthday, she became the European Formula 3 World Champion, winning the title by just one point. One! The fact that she was so young and the only woman to rise so high meant that many people had their eyes on her and followed her every move. However, most people who hadn't seen her driving at over 200 kilometers per hour thought that being a woman automatically disqualified her from the sport. Ron Dennis, the head of McLaren, was familiar with her skills, though, and seeing how well she performed in the lower levels, he decided to take a risk and give her a chance. One of his proteges, however, wasn't so sure about this decision.

"Girl? You want to replace Prost with a girl?"

Senna, upon hearing the candidate to replace Alain, who, after five years of dealing with him, decided to quit and move away from McLaren, only shook his head.

"Yes, that's exactly what I plan to do," Ron lit a cigarette and shifted his gaze from the car to the disgusted face of the Brazilian, "Maybe she'll calm you down a bit. It's a miracle I found anyone to take Prost's place, no one wants to work with you!"

Ayrton snorted and shook his head again, unable to believe that his boss wanted to do something so idiotic. Silence fell in the garage, none of the mechanics intended to interrupt their conversation. Just like everyone else in the team agreed with Ron that it was a miracle to find anyone willing to take Prost's place, the same majority couldn't imagine a woman starting to race in Formula 1. Especially alongside a driver like Senna.

"A few races, and she'll quit on her own," the Brazilian muttered, "You'll see."

"Pray that she likes you and wants to race for us."

When the car stopped in the gravel parking lot, the girl got out and put on her sunglasses. Tom, her manager and a close friend of her father, just glanced at her and rubbed her back. He knew perfectly well how stressed she was. No one would be prepared for so much in such a short time.

"Everything will be fine."

"You don't have to say that."

He sighed and just pointed with his hand towards the entrance to the facility, letting her through the glass doors. He didn't convince himself too much. Shortly after, after receiving the appropriate instructions, they reached the paddock. Here, the sun didn't glare in her eyes, so the girl took off her glasses, looking around. An empty Silverstone was something unheard of.

"Good morning, welcome, good to see you,"

Ron, standing in front of the garage, as soon as he noticed the girl, broke off from the conversation with one of the mechanics and smiled at her, shaking her hand. She showed up for the tests, so he thought she deserved a shot. Maybe this would work.

The girl made an effort to smile and nodded at him. Fortunately, she didn't have to engage in a conversation with him because he was immediately engaged by her manager. She was glad that in moments like this, someone else could spare her from meaningless chatter.

"Good morning."

She greeted, approaching the car where a few men were working on the wheels, wing, and cockpit. Some of them spoke up, while the rest just nodded at her. She immediately felt unwelcome, and barely a minute had passed since she appeared in the garage. However, this was nothing new to her, she would lie if she said she was surprised. But the most important thing for her was that Ron treated her as an equal, or at least didn't make her feel like she didn't belong here. That gave her a sense of comfort. She didn't need a crowd standing behind her; she only needed two people who had her back.

The girl slowly walked around the car. The new, ready-for-the-season MP4/4 looked very good. Next to the car marked with her number stood another, practically identical, differing only in the number painted in red on the front.

However, the owner of the car was nowhere to be seen, at least not in sight. Y/N hadn't had the opportunity to meet Ayrton personally. The drivers' presentation with the car was scheduled for the end of the month, so it was quite likely that until then, she would have time to mentally prepare herself. She knew Ayrton from stories; she could watch his battles both on and off the track on television, the domestic war he waged with Alain Prost which ended with the Frenchman's departure to Ferrari.

Y/N knew she would have to face many things, one of which was Senna.

"Ready?"

Ron's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, he held a helmet and jumpsuit for her in his hand. She nodded and took the items from him, going to change. When she returned, she took her place in the cockpit, and after some time, when everything was ready, she followed the instructions and took her place on the track. She took a deep breath and clenched her hands on the steering wheel, staring at the start lights. When they went out, the girl sped off with squealing tires and the roar of the engine.

Ron and Tom stood next to each other, watching her movements on small monitors. After some time, the mechanics also began to glance at the monitors, seemingly more interested in whether she hadn't crashed yet than in her results. What surprised them was the sight on one of the displays showing her current lap time, which now stood at 1.38.412 seconds. Ron smiled and shook his head in amazement. The young girl was incredible.

The car itself wasn't handling badly. Besides feeling like a huge boat, to which she was definitely too small, it was actually a well-engineered machine. A few more laps, and she should be able to tame it completely. Although this fact was reassuring. When the girl spotted the checkered flag, she obediently pulled into the garage. She turned off the engine and unfastened her seatbelts, but she didn't get out of the car or take off her helmet because Ron was already beside her, hugging her tightly.

"Young lady, you flew in that car!" The man helped her out of the car, and she took off her helmet and balaclava, taking out the earplugs. "I told you, you did amazingly. Unbelievable lap time, great driving."

The girl wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and blew a strand of wet hair from her forehead.

"It's a really good car, sir."

"A good car without a good driver is just a good car, and a good car with a great driver is a masterful car," Ron shook her hand again, "Brilliant job."

The girl returned his smile, and when she glanced at Tom standing a few steps away, he was also smiling, his smile was the kind of "I told you so."

Y/N gave appropriate feedback to the mechanics and strategists, who now seemed to pay attention to her significantly more than when she first appeared in the garage that morning. Their faces still tried to remain impassive, but nevertheless, they noted everything she had to say. When it was all over, the girl went to change. She washed her face with cold water and looked at herself in the mirror, clenching her hands on the cold sink. She did it.

When she managed to cool down and calm herself down a bit, clutching her helmet under her arm and holding her jumpsuit in the other hand, shortly after she left the bathroom. Suddenly, she bumped into someone, and that someone turned out to be someone she sincerely didn't want to meet that day.

"Watch where you're going."

Senna muttered, holding a lit cigarette between his lips. He gave her a quick glance and disappeared through the doorway, his jumpsuit rustling as he walked away.

The girl squeezed her helmet tighter under her arm and returned to the garage, putting things back in place. After receiving the last praise and handshake from Ron, she said goodbye and left the paddock with Tom. Ayrton pretended to be too busy preparing for the start, so he didn't honor her with even a single glance. When he heard Ron praising her driving, he only snorted under his breath and shook his head. When the garage fell silent again, Ayrton took his place in the car, getting ready to drive.

"1.38.412"

Senna looked up when Ron spoke above his head.

"1.38.412," he repeated calmly, "The lap time of a twenty-three-year-old after her first drive in a Formula 1 car."

The Brazilian snorted and lowered his gaze, putting earplugs in his ears.

"I hope you'll be better than the girl."

Ayrton didn't hear his words anymore because he put on his balaclava and helmet. He didn't believe the girl had achieved such a lap time. And even if she did, it only spoke of the car's capabilities, not her skills. Senna hoped he would be faster by at least a few seconds. He had been racing in Formula 1 for almost five years; he was incredibly fast, and above all, he was a man!

When the tests ended, and he returned to the garage, satisfied with himself and his driving, the first thing he did was to look for Ron's reaction, wanting to see his expression when he rubbed his nose in it. However, the Brit looked at him indulgently, and Senna, not knowing what he meant, quickly tried to free himself from the seat belts. The Brit simply turned the monitor towards him and pointed with his finger at something that, according to Ayrton, was a big mistake.

Between him and the girl, there was a difference of a few seconds, indeed. But Ayrton was slower.

When Senna freed himself from the car, hastily took off his helmet and balaclava, and removed the earplugs, he was about to say something when Ron stopped him, pressing a cassette to his chest.

"Here, watch it tonight and see how the twenty-three-year-old beat you."

Ayrton squeezed the cassette in his hand and only watched him leave, unable to utter a word. It was some kind of absurdity!

Absurd or not, Senna spent the evening in front of the TV. He sat on the couch, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He frowned and carefully watched the recording from the camera placed in her cockpit. He saw how she aggressively entered corners, braking as late as possible, and how quickly she stepped on the gas when the centrifugal forces stopped working. He took a drag and blew smoke from his mouth, rewinding the tape from the beginning, just as it ended. The recording lasted twenty minutes, and he watched it for the seventh time, counting each lap on his stopwatch. Every time, the result was the same.

He couldn't wrap his head around what she had done, but he decided to consider it just a stroke of luck. She had a better day; he had a slightly worse one. Moreover, it wasn't the testing session or even the qualifying rounds that determined the winner, but the race itself. Driving on an empty track without rivals wanting to take your position was one thing, but racing in a competition where everyone wanted to beat you was a completely different matter. If someone had told Ayrton then that four years later, that girl would shed tears at his funeral, he would have told them to fuck themselves.

Y/N felt a strong arm around her waist, trying to lift her. Ron's heart broke seeing her in such a state. However, he couldn't help her even if he wanted to.

"Y/N, please…," he began, but she shook her head, overcome with tears. Wet stains of tears were visible on the flag covering the coffin. The girl was trembling all over, it was a miracle she could breathe. Since the accident, it seemed like Y/N was handling the tragedy very well, just being sad and quiet. No one had any idea what was yet to come. Everyone who saw Y/N by the coffin, this sight of a broken girl, felt nothing but sympathy. The bond she had formed with Ayrton seemed stronger and much richer in emotions than any he had with any of his partners. Ayrton wasn't just her teammate, he wasn't just a friend or sometimes her biggest enemy. From the very beginning, Y/N mattered to him, and if he said otherwise, he was simply lying.

The official skills assessment test for the girl was scheduled to take place less than three weeks after her first visit to the McLaren garage. Now, however, an official presentation awaited her at the reception hosted by the team. One evening at the company headquarters, a banquet was held, attended by far more people than initially anticipated. Most of them were journalists who had to announce to the world the phenomenon that was a woman at the top level of motor racing.

"It's more crowded here than I thought," the girl admitted when she entered the team headquarters with Tom by her side.

"Everyone is curious about you. There are even a couple of journalists from Australia, believe it or not," Tom said.

She looked at him in shock. "And they flew here specifically for this presentation?"

He smiled and nodded. "They'll be talking to kangaroos and kiwi birds about you," he joked, trying to lighten the mood. And it worked because she giggled at his words. However, her smile faded when she noticed Ron talking to Ayrton and two other men in suits.

"Everything will be fine. You did well on the tests, so you'll do well here too," he said softly, rubbing her arm when he noticed her expression.

"There weren't any sharks in suits and piranhas with cameras there," Tom was about to add some words of encouragement when Ron spotted them and raised his hand with a glass in it, trying to get their attention. They approached him, and he greeted them, introducing them to the directors. Ayrton, standing aside, was mindful of how many people were now watching him and wondering if his new teammate would share Prost's fate. However, the Brazilian had no intention of making an effort for gestures he didn't intend. Nevertheless, courtesy demanded it, so he extended his hand, which she hesitantly shook.

"Senna," he said, his Brazilian accent strongly evident in his last name. "Welcome to the team."

The girl introduced herself as well, but it was hard for her to maintain eye contact. Not because he was almost half a head taller, but because of the confidence emanating from him. It was his team, his place, and his time, and she was just a guest. There was no room for discussion.

Fortunately, the awkward situation was soon interrupted as the drivers and management were invited onstage. Ayrton gestured for the girl to go ahead, and she began to walk in front of him.

"I hope you don't grip the wheel as weakly as you do hands," he murmured behind her, quietly enough so no one else would hear, but loud enough for her to hear his words.

Y/N lowered her gaze, feeling a wave of heat wash over her. Even if she wanted to respond, she couldn't. He caught her completely off guard.

As they stepped onto the small stage, they stood behind one of the cars prepared for this season. The girl intertwined her fingers behind her back and straightened up, standing next to Ayrton. He might play his stupid games on her, but she had no intention of showing that she would easily give in. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and almost believed that his comment had gone unnoticed, but her cheeks were flushed. Normally, he would probably snort under his breath, but now he kept his composure.

After a few words from Ron and the board members, the floor was given to the drivers. The two of them remained on stage, each with a microphone in hand. Now it was time for the media, for their pressing questions and burning issues.

Ayrton sat relaxed, almost bored. His legs were bent at the knees, slightly apart. One hand was around his waist, resting his elbow on it, holding the microphone in the other hand. He answered questions briefly and to the point, not dwelling more than necessary. His attire alone indicated that today's banquet was just a formality; he wore a suit, but instead of a shirt, he had a white T-shirt, and on his feet were sports shoes.

Despite her best efforts not to stress out, Y/N was far from as calm as Ayrton. She sat up straight, one leg crossed over the other. Although her red dress practically touched the floor, she glanced occasionally to make sure nothing was out of place. She felt like every move, even the smallest one, was being watched and analyzed. She felt she wasn't focusing on the content of the questions but on how she appeared.

The girl blinked several times, trying to find a sensible answer to the question that had been directed at her a few seconds ago.

"Could you repeat that?" she asked, feeling a bit embarrassed about her inattention. Ayrton, however, heard the question well.

"I asked if you think you're good enough to compete with men or if you're just here for publicity? Racing is still a male-dominated sport, and it seems like you're just trying to prove something rather than compete," the man in glasses squeezed the voice recorder in his hand and looked at her expectantly. Seeing her confusion, he sighed, "I see you're not too bright, so let me ask directly - do you really think you belong here? Do you have what it takes to keep up with the boys on the track?"

The girl panicked a little; this question completely threw her off guard. Emotions overwhelmed her, and she couldn't utter a word. But there was someone who could speak and had an exceptionally sharp tongue.

"I see that, Mr. - again, for whom are you writing?" Ayrton spoke up, furrowing his brows.

"John Ruffleck, Guardian."

"Ah, of course, the Guardian," the man clicked his tongue indulgently. "Clearly, you are the one that didn't shine with intelligence, asking last year's Formula 3 world champion if she fits in here." Y/N was shocked to hear that Ayrton stood up for her. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Despite still sitting calmly, the Brazilian was ready for a verbal battle. "If I fit in here, then the 23-year-old who set a better lap time than me during the tests also fits."

Ayrton bluntly silenced the journalist, who merely muttered a quiet "Thank you" and lowered his head.

Several more questions were thrown in by Ayrton, steering the conversation away from sexist undertones. By the end of the conference, there were no more questions about sexist issues. The drivers got up from their seats, and Y/N turned off her microphone, placing it on the sound table as Senna did the same.

"Thank you," she said, looking at him. He also looked at her, but this time his expression didn't express annoyance or boredom, as it did two times before when their eyes met.

"Don't thank me," he said, taking two glasses of champagne from the waitress. "You are allow to drink, right?" he asked before handing her one of them. She nodded and took the glass from him. "Don't thank me, just learn to counter such nonsense. If they're rude, we can be rude too."

Y/N took a big sip of champagne. Her mouth was dry from nerves.

"I don't want to be rude, it's not proper," she said.

"Not proper?" Senna scoffed. "Because you're a girl?"

"Because they'll think poorly of me"

"Do you really care what that bunch of idiots thinks?"

The girl lowered her gaze. Ayrton was right.

Did she really care? She was a driver; she was supposed to deliver good results. She wasn't supposed to please the audience.

She was about to reply when Ron approached them, cursing the Guardian journalist's stupidity. He was so caught up that he didn't even notice Ayrton sending the girl a final glance and then finishing his champagne, taking out cigarettes from his back pocket, and walking away towards the exit. Y/N only watched him go. At that moment, neither of them had any idea how much she would learn from Ayrton, or that he would gladly take on the role of a teacher himself. No one would have even thought of it then.

When Ron managed to lift the shaken girl, she reached for her helmet again and pressed it to her chest. When she looked up, across from her, on the other side of the coffin, she saw a man in a wheelchair. Frank Williams looked at her in silence, but his gaze was apologetic, his face sad, and his eyes looked like he hadn't slept for days.

"Why?" Y/N whispered, but she wasn't sure if anything managed to leave her lips. Williams didn't need to hear her; her eyes said it all. Even if he couldn't hear her question or look into her swollen, tear-filled eyes, he would know perfectly well that she blamed him for his death. "Why, Frank? Why?" Maybe even more than she blamed God.

"If you can hold on to me for longer than five seconds, I'll let you pass," Ayrton said, exhaling smoke. He sat on one of the crates outside McLaren's garage, wearing sunglasses. The weather for the upcoming race looked exceptionally good, but Senna wouldn't mind rain.

"Are you challenging me?" the girl asked, squinting and looking at him against the light. They were sitting outside, where it was quieter, as the mechanics worked inside the garage.

"Why would I?" the man chuckled, taking another drag. Seeing her uncertainty, he offered her a cigarette, trying to reassure her with his gesture.

Y/N took the cigarette and inhaled the smoke, which tickled her throat, making her cough. She wrinkled her nose and after a moment handed him back the cigarette.

"Don't you want to test my braking skills and eliminate me from the race?"

Ayrton laughed and shook his head. "So, I do have a bad reputation after all."

"Definitely not the best," the girl said softly, smiling uncertainly. Ayrton playfully nudged the crate she was sitting on with his foot. He genuinely liked this girl; in fact, he could and wanted to work with her. Now he was even willing to let her win the race if she showed that she could keep up with him. She had demonstrated many times that she could drive at an exceptionally high level, so Senna was willing to show some humanity and let her achieve her first victory, especially on home turf. He stubbed out the cigarette and stood up, taking off his cap and placing it on her head, pulling it down over her eyes.

"Five seconds," he repeated, walking away as she adjusted the cap on her head.

The girl decided to take up the challenge, realizing that such an opportunity might never come again. Ayrton and collaboration? They were complete opposites after all. Y/N, who started the next day from the last place on the podium, managed to fight her way up to second place at the beginning of the race. She spent the next forty laps chasing after Ayrton, wondering if there was any point in chasing him if she couldn't overtake him. Seeing his familiar helmet in the side mirror, Ayrton smiled. He added a bit more throttle and began counting to five, but the girl's car didn't seem to be falling back. When the agreed time was up, much to everyone's disbelief, both on the track and in front of the TVs, Senna slowed down and obediently let her pass. Unable to believe her own eyes, the girl pressed the gas and took the lead, crossing the finish line with him.

She only believed in her victory when Ayrton offered her his hand and helped her onto the podium.

"Five seconds," he said, smiling at her.

"Five seconds," she replied, returning the smile.

How much she would give to see Ayrton again, even for five seconds. To be able to hug him for five seconds, see his smile. Five seconds now would last like an eternity, for which she would pay any price.

The church was filled with people, mostly family and friends, individuals directly connected to Ayrton. The remaining people were outside, surrounding the church, also gathering along the main road. There were talks of crowds, thousands who came to bid farewell to their hero. They too would give much to see Ayrton even for five seconds. Whole, alive, before the Imola accident.

Y/N held the helmet on her knees, looking at it with vacant eyes. She ran her fingers along the edges, tracing the stickers and sponsor names. She squeezed the soft padding inside. She closed her eyelids. Five seconds.

"Necessity is the mother of invention," Ayrton said, loud enough to make the girl jump. She was barefoot, wearing shorts and a bikini top, with his helmet on her head, visor down. She waved a piece of cardboard towards the grill, trying to ignite it better and not wanting the smoke to get in her eyes, deciding to use whatever she had at hand. And hoping Ayrton wouldn't get mad that she used his helmet for this.

The man smiled and shook his head, placing the wood he held in his hands next to the grill. Standing next to the girl, he lifted the visor and looked into her eyes. She looked at him apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"It suits you," Senna interrupted, smiling. "Possibly even more than me."

"Do you think so?"

The man nodded. His hair, damp from swimming in the lake, fell onto his forehead, and his brown eyes sparkled. Ayrton had been looking at Y/N like this for some time, in a way that many would describe as tender. Certainly, the girl wasn't just a teammate to him, as who would invite a teammate to their hometown to meet their closest family. Certainly not Ayrton.

"I love you, Y/N,"

He confessed as he lay on the jetty, gazing at the starry sky, where there was no trace of the hot Brazilian sun anymore.

The girl laughed and took a sip of beer, lying next to him and leaning on his arm. Both were drunk, so she was sure Ayrton was joking. However, when his confession was met with silence and he turned to look at her, his face was deadly serious.

"I mean it, Y/N. I love you,"

"You can't love me, you have a girlfriend," she replied, still laughing. There was no way he was serious.

Ayrton got up and without a word, kissed her, wanting to prove his words. When he pulled away after a moment, there was no smile on the girl's face. He was about to say something again, but she touched his cheek and returned the kiss, and he pulled her closer, holding her tightly in his arms. That night, they would find out how much they meant to each other.

Senna meant a lot to the girl, there was no doubt about it. He also meant unimaginable things to all those who took part in the funeral ceremonies, not only in Brazil itself but worldwide. It might have seemed like the world had lost an incredible man, someone who in life had already become a legend. Who would have thought that this living, almost mystical legend was just a man? A man who is mortal. Surely no one looked at Senna that way. Certainly not Frank Williams, who eventually decided to agree and accept Ayrton into his team, bearing an incredible burden now. Senna was supposed to lift his team to great heights, and his tragic death dealt a blow, not so much personal as it was business-related. However, at that moment, that mattered least.

Y/N and Ayrton sat at the kitchen table, eating a late dinner in silence. They were in their shared home in Europe, but for the past few months, the walls of the house seemed to be becoming more alien with each passing day. The atmosphere was as thick as it is now, when none of the people sitting at the table even bothered to steal a glance.

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted to go to Williams?"

The girl asked, stirring the contents of her plate with her fork. Ayrton tightened his grip on the glass and took a few sips from it.

"Ayrton-", "Why did I have to tell you?" he entered her words and looked at her, "Just to make you try to stop me?

Y/N blinked several times. She was shocked. She had the impression that the man sitting opposite was a complete stranger and someone she had never known before.

"To stop you? I'm your girlfriend, I should be the first to know about your plans, not hear from strangers."

"Did it change anything? Did something happen that you didn't find out from me?"

"Yes!" she shouted, slamming her hand on the table. She was so done with all of this. "I'm fed up with you treating me like an enemy for several weeks!"

"Don't you dare raise your voice at me!" he stood up, leaning over and pointing his finger at her. "You have no idea how much I had to do to get that offer, how much it cost me!"

"I have no idea, because you don't tell me anything!" she also stood up, pushing his hand away, which he was aiming at her face, "Fame has gone to your head, you're acting like a complete idi-" She didn't get to finish because Ayrton slapped her across the face. He didn't realize when his open hand met her cheek. Y/N grabbed her cheek and looked at him in shock. At the moment of the strike, he also seemed to snap out of it, as if he had been hit himself.

"Y/N, I'm sorry," he said calmly, trying to approach her, but she backed away a few steps, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

"But you did," she said with a trembling voice, tears welling up in her eyes, "I don't recognize you anymore, Ayrton".

As the funeral rites began, the last thing on Y/N's mind was their recent arguments, of which there had been plenty lately. Nonetheless, since the incident when he raised his hand to her, Senna understood he had crossed a line. The only upside of the whole situation was that they had started talking again, and Ayrton had come to realize that Y/N was not his enemy. Yes, on the track, the girl might be someone he now had to defeat even more than usual, but she was still his friend, his girlfriend, his partner. Speaking of partners, many women appeared at the funeral, but four of them spent exceptionally long periods by the coffin. They had a lot in common, yet none of them deigned to exchange glances. Each of Ayrton's partners, even today, on such a dramatic day, looked at her as if she were an enemy. Viviane made sure none of them sat on the bench where the family was seated. Y/N belonged to the family. She didn't intrude, Ayrton invited her himself.

"Maybe you should take a break?" Sid Watkins persistently tried to persuade Ayrton and Y/N to withdraw from the upcoming race. "Two weeks, you'll come back to Monaco in better shape, with lighter minds."

Senna sat on one of the crates behind the Williams garage, elbows resting on his knees. Y/N repeatedly wiped her tear-streaked cheeks, trembling hand holding a cigarette. An hour ago, the qualifying session for tomorrow's race was interrupted by Roland Ratzerberger's serious accident. The man was taken to the hospital, but many said he was taken from the track already dead.

"This shouldn't have happened, there shouldn't have been talk of such an accident," the girl repeated, almost hysterical. She was in tremendous shock, having witnessed the accident herself as she was the one who followed Ratzerberger's car.

"They need to cancel the race," Senna said dryly, his gaze fixed on a point in front of him. "We can't race here, not after something like this."

"And if they don't cancel?" Sid looked from Ayrton to Y/N. "Will you race in such a state? You won't sleep over this until tomorrow."

"If they don't cancel, we'll race for him. I'll drive the best I can to honor him with a victory," Ayrton decided, raising his gaze and looking the doctor in the eyes.

"You like fishing, right? Why don't you go back to Brazil, catch some fish, relax. If you want, I'll come with you, I could use it too."

Senna rubbed his face with his hands, intertwining his fingers and pressing them against his lips. Again, he fell silent. He knew they couldn't not race; he certainly couldn't afford to tell Frank after months of effort that he wouldn't start tomorrow. He couldn't do that.

"I don't want to race," Y/N admitted, shaking her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Ayrton, he, Roland-" the man rose without a word and hugged her tightly. He enveloped her in a strong embrace, stroking her hair. Watkins saw that Senna was thinking intensely. And no matter what he said or did to convince him to skip the race, he would do it his own way.

"Think about it, Ayrton. Just think about it," he said one last time. Senna looked him in the eyes and nodded in silence.

Late in the afternoon, Ayrton and Y/N returned to the hotel. They didn't talk much; Y/N occasionally wiped her eyes with a tissue. Ayrton held her hand a lot. When they lay in bed, Senna laid on her stomach, wrapping his arm around her waist. The girl began to run her fingers through his damp hair.

"I don't want to start tomorrow, Y/N," he said softly. He was facing away from her, she couldn't see that he was crying too. "I have a bad feeling."

"You know nobody can force you to do it," she said calmly, her other hand stroking his cheek. "Maybe Watkins is right? Let's fly to your parents, spend time with the kids. It's been two months since you've seen them."

"I can't," he said, wiping his face with his hand. "I can't, nobody needs a driver who doesn't race."

"Ayrton—" "Just hold me," he interrupted, sitting up. The girl obeyed his command, sitting between his legs and hugging him tightly. Both were silent; Y/N tenderly stroked his head and tense back.

"This will be my last season," he said, not moving an inch from her. "I've done enough; I don't need more. I want to focus on something else, on more important things."

"On what, my love?" she asked gently, still stroking his hair.

"I want to be a dad,"

Senna surprised her with this confession. The girl smiled.

"Would you like to have a son or a daughter?"

"A daughter, oh, how I'd love a daughter," he said, pulling away to look at her face. "Would you like to have a child with me? And become my wife?"

Y/N smiled and nodded. "You know I would."

Ayrton returned her smile and cupped her face in his hands, kissing her deeply.

"Te amo, querido,"

"I love you too, Ayrton. And i will always do."

"And i will always do," Y/N said qiuetly, watching as the coffin slowly descends into the ground. Nothing can destroy such love, certainly not death.

323 notes · View notes

splishfish · 1 day ago

Text

Love Sick (NSFW)

Keigo Takami x AFAB Reader

Tags: PiV, a lot of emotions, Unprotected Sex, Reader and Keigo had 2 cups of wine, Intoxicated Confessions, Friends to Lovers, A lot of Fluff, Doggy Style, Missionary

WC: 4.6k

It’s love.

You weren’t sure when you started developing feelings for your best friend. All you knew is that one day, they were just there.

Maybe it was the time he had bought you your favorite food because you were sick and at home. Maybe it was when he had memorized your order at your favorite restaurant. Or…maybe it was when he told you he felt more like himself around you than he’s ever felt in his life.

Yeah. Maybe it was then.

Or not. You really don’t know.

All you know is that you love him. Badly. It’s embarrassing, really. When he’s with you, you forget about the world around you two. You want to know more about him, even if there’s nothing left to share. Everything seems so much more simple when he’s with you, like the world suddenly seems right. It’s freeing. It’s liberating.

It’s love.

So when he calls you right after his patrol ended, you could feel your heart leap out of your chest, hands beginning to tingle as sweat formed on your palms. You picked up with an excited smile, your legs bouncing as you spoke.

“Hey! Finally off work, Kei?”

“Yeah. Hey, I’m gonna drop by that takeout place near the agency, do you want anything?”

Through the phone, you could hear the faint noises of the city. Cars and trains passing through, no doubt filled with civilians who just got off work or school. Horns and advertisements occasionally squeaking through the speaker, only barely muffled by the sound of his voice.

He really did just get off his patrol. Maybe he was leaning against the cold wall of an alleyway, head tilted up to stare at the sky. Or maybe he was sitting on a rooftop, wings stretched behind him as he relaxed from his tiring job.

“You know I don’t turn down an offer for food, Kei. Especially from you~”

Your voice was teasing, a cheeky smile on your face you hoped he could picture in his mind. You wondered if he could see you in his mind just as vividly as you could see him in yours. Just the thought alone made your heart stutter.

“Ha! You’re greedy, y’know that?”

There was a exaggeration of annoyance in his voice, which was quickly broken with a soft chuckle.

“You want the usual right? And do you want water or should I get you that tea you like?”

His question really shouldn’t affect you as much as it does. Had it been any other person who asked, you were sure you’d just nod and continue with your order, not even spare the time to realize what they asked.

But it’s not someone else. It’s Keigo. Your best friend. Your crush. And for some reason, that alone makes your heart flutter with joy. Because it’s Keigo who remembered your favorite order. It was him, the man who made your hands sweat and your leg bounce every time he spoke to you. Not your family, not your other friends or coworkers.

But him.

“I’ll get the tea this time, Thanks.”

“Hey, no problem Princess. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

Princess. When did he start calling you that, you wonder. Maybe it was during that halloween party a few years back, where you dressed as the queen of hearts. Or was it that time when you admitted your parents spoiled you throughout your childhood?

Maybe it was then.

But you can’t remember.

“Yeah yeah, See ya later.”

When you heard the chime of your call disconnect, you could feel your body slump over. You brought a hand up to your heart, pressing down on the surface of your chest to feel its rapid beating slowly calm down.

It was funny. Your heart just felt like it ran a mile, but your body felt like it just got up from a deep sleep. Was this what love is supposed to feel like?

You shook those thoughts out of your head, standing up and heading towards the bathroom. Maybe a cold shower would calm your nerves.

By the time you got out of the shower, hair damp and baggy clothes thrown on lazily, Keigo had already made his way into your house and plated your food.

He turned his head when he heard your footsteps, a small smile on his face as he closed his eyes and spoke.

“Hey princess! You didn’t answer the door so I just came in through the balcony. Hope you don’t mind.”

You thought back to when you two weren’t as close as you were now. Years ago, when you had only just met him. He had done the same thing, entering through the balcony when you were out of the house, and scaring the living shit out of you when you came home and found him scouring your fridge.

It pissed you off back then. You remembered scolding him while he had that shit eating smirk on his face, walking towards you during your lecture and wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he told you to ‘loosen up’.

Now it was…endearing. No. That wasn’t the right word. It felt…right…knowing that he was there waiting for you.

You chuckled, thanking him while pulling out your chair and seating yourself. The smell of the food was as delicious as always, fresh and hot, surely due to the fact that he flew over here. How lucky, not having to deal with traffic.

You both ate at a comfortable pace, chatting away as you spoke about your days. He told you about his patrol, how he had stopped a few petty villains, and how he was swarmed by fans and reporters by the end of his shift. It was a normal occurrence, but it never failed to tire him out regardless.

And then it was your turn. You told him about your day at work, how your shifts had been uneventful as always, except for the few stories you had accumulated from your coworkers. It was funny how different both of your lives were.

It all felt so domestic. Like a couple who had just sat down for dinner, talking about everything and nothing as they ate.

A couple. You liked that idea.

Before you could continue to get lost in your thoughts, you heard him clear his throat before speaking.

”Hey, so I was thinking…”

“Well. That’s never a good sign”

“Rude! At least let me finish!”

A snort escaped your lips, waving him off as you took another bite of your food. A small huff escaped his pouty lips, before he mumbled.

“Well now I don’t wanna…”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes rolled in response, a smile tugging on your lips as you spoke.

“Oh don’t be like that. Cmon, what were you gonna say?”

“No! I’m not telling you now!”

It was cute, the way he turned his head and crossed his arms. His lips curling into a small, teasing pout as his wings fluffed up behind him. He looked away from you, attempting to hide his face, but you could see the corner of his lips slowly twitching into an amused smile.

Your thoughts from earlier began to resurface, and you could feel your heart twist in your chest. When and why did you start to fall for him? Was it because you two shared so many interests and opinions? Was it because no matter how you were feeling, he could always make you laugh and forget all your issues?

Maybe it was because he listened to you when you spoke to him, or maybe it was because he showered you with gifts and affection. Or maybe it was because he called you beautiful, and stared at you like you were the only person that mattered in his world.

Yeah…maybe it was that.

You stared at the wine glass in your hand, the deep red liquid rippling with every minute movement of your body. Your body felt warm, the effects of the wine slowly making its way through your system. There was a movie playing in the background, some random film you had chosen for today's movie night.

Keigo’s arm was slung lazily on your shoulders, pulling you close to him with one arm, while the other was holding his wine glass. It was peaceful. It was quiet.

You wondered if he could hear the way your heart hammered in your chest.

The flashing colors of the movie felt slow and dull in comparison to your wandering mind. His arm felt warm and heavy on your shoulder, and you could feel the way his fingers traced absentminded shapes on your skin. You wondered what was going on through his mind right now. Was he just as distracted as you were? Did he also feel the way your bodies were pressed together, almost as if wishing to meld together?

You almost didn’t feel the way his hand squeezed your shoulder, gently rousing you from your thoughts.

You turned your head to stare up at him, only to see that his golden eyes were already staring down at you. Your heart fluttered softly. How long had he been staring at you?

“Are you okay Princess?”

His voice was so soft, and he stared at you with such adoring eyes it made you wonder if he was really talking to you. His hand gave your shoulder another squeeze, once again drawing you out of your thoughts. You cleared your throat, voice mellow from the wine.

“Ah…yeah, i’m good. What's up?”

He didn’t respond for a moment, his eyes simply raking down your face, as if searching for something. It took him a few seconds to finally speak again, his expression softening to one of affection.

“Nothin’...you just looked a little…lost.”

Lost.

The word made you chuckle, a familiar sense of comfort filling your body. Maybe had he said this a few months ago, when you were first coming to terms with your feelings, you would have agreed. Back then, everything seemed so confusing, so much more difficult to navigate. It felt like you were swimming in a sea of conflicting emotions, with none of them many form of sense.

But now things were different. You weren't lost in that deep array of wild emotions, you weren’t scared to confront your feelings. No. You understood them now. To a small extent at least. You understood enough to know that these feelings weren’t here to hurt you, that they were just here to be known. To be felt.

Lost was the furthest thing you felt.

“Ah, sorry…I was just lost in thought.”

He hummed in response, shifting slightly so he could pull you closer to his chest. He put his wine down on the coffee table, bringing his arm around to embrace you in a comforting hug. You melted under his touch, sighing softly as he took the glass from your hand and placed it down as well.

You laid your head on his chest, the faint beating of his heart echoed in your ear like a soothing lullaby. This wasn’t the first time you two had embraced, no, it was far from it. But something was different.

Maybe it was the alcohol in your system. Or maybe it was the way his hand slowly began to thread through your hair, massaging your scalp in such a tender way you could have sworn only lovers did.

“...You’re beautiful, you know that?”

His voice broke through the silence that enveloped you two once again, his voice carrying through the air. You shifted slightly, lifting your head to rest your chin on his pectorals, raising a brow at his words.

“Where’s this coming from?”

You mumbled softly, your eyes searching his golden ones. He smiled down at you, ruffling your hair as he chuckled.

“What, I can’t call my best friend beautiful?”

“No. I might get the wrong idea y’know.”

He chuckled again, his hand tightening slightly against your hair. He didn’t respond for a moment, but you could feel the way he hesitated to speak, his voice laced with mock confidence as he sent you a teasing smirk.

“What if I want you to get the wrong idea?”

It wasn’t rare for him to flirt with you. No, he was always like this, even before you two became good friends. Whenever he did, he would always give you that stupid smirk of his, his voice laced with a deriding tone. Back then, you were sure he did it just to piss you off, always making a flirtatious comment he knew would make you uncomfortable.

At some point, you learned to ignore it, passing off his remarks with a roll of your eyes and a knowing smile. You don’t know when you got so used to his advancements, but eventually they became a habit. A normal occurrence in your friendship with each other, comments the both of you took as nothing more than a jest.

So why did this feel genuine?

You shook off the feeling, praying he didn’t notice the way your heart rate increased at his words. You scoffed at his words with a small smile, pinching his side playfully..

“Ha ha. Very funny Keigo.”

A sarcastic laugh left your lips, but before you could come up with a snarky comment, he interrupted you.

“I mean it.”

What?

You felt your blood turn cold, your hands prickling with sweat as you shuffled up to stare at him. His expression was something akin to fear, the usual cocky smile that graced his face seemed weak and hesitant.

You swallowed a thick glob of saliva that coated your tongue, attempting to stop your mouth from drying at his words. A strained chuckle escaped your lips, your brows furrowing as you tried to reel in your nerves.

“Oh c’mon…don’t tell me two glasses of wine already have you-”

“It’s not the wine.”

His grasp on you tightened, holding you closer to his body. The weak smile on his face shifted into a small frown, his face morphing into something earnest and soft. He opened his mouth before closing it, squeezing you slightly before he sighed.

“I…You can’t tell me there isn’t…something happening between us…right?”

Before you could even open your mouth, he began to rant.

“I mean- this, this isn’t normal. Do normal friends do…this? Hold each other in their arms late at night, drinking wine while they pretend to watch a movie? Do friends look at each other the way we look at each other?”

His eyes closed, holding you close as desperation seeped into his voice.

“Maybe…Maybe it is the wine that's making me say this…but so what? Maybe I wouldn't say these things if I wasn't intoxicated…maybe I would just let us pine over each other like stupid lovesick teenagers any other day, but I don’t want that…I don’t want that anymore…”

He buried his face into your neck, his wings slowly coming to wrap around your frame. His grasp on you tightened, afraid that you might slip away from him.

“Please…tell me I'm not crazy. Tell me you also can’t stand…whatever this shit is…”

He finally loosened his grip on you, his hands coming up to cup your face, pulling you back enough to stare desperately into your eyes.

For a moment, you wondered if this was a dream. Were his hands really holding you? Was he really acknowledging the painful tension you two had been enduring? You had never seen him with such a desperate look in his eyes, his voice wavering and hoarse with emotion. You had never seen…this.

It took you a moment to respond, an embarrassing croak of your throat escaping you before your words did.

“I…Keigo…” “Please…” He was begging. Keigo Takami, your best friend, was begging.

“I…I can’t stand it either…Keigo, I-” You were quickly silenced, warm lips connecting with yours in a desperate kiss. Your body reacted instinctively, kissing him back as your eyes fluttered closed, hands coming up to cup his cheeks and bring him closer.

You wondered if it was the wine that made your body feel so warm.

The kiss was full of emotion, feelings from the last few months, maybe even the past year or two suddenly becoming a reality. The longing and desire from both ends quickly caused the kiss to heat up, hands wandering without any direction, body’s slowly shifting to accommodate each other.

You both break away from the kiss, breaths mixing together as you attempt to refill your lungs with much needed air. His forehead pressed against your own, noses bumping against each other in a display of affection. He smiled finally, his eyes fluttering open as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, and then your lips again.

“Thank you…damn it…you have no idea how badly i’ve been wanting to do that…” A breathy chuckle escaped your lips, reaching forward once again to peck his lips, the air felt warm, filled with love and unspoken words of affection. Words that didn’t need to be said. Word’s that could be felt. Word’s that could be seen.

Word’s that they could only express through action.

“Me too…me too…” A soft laugh escaped the both of you, your thumbs gently stroking his cheeks as you both leaned back in for another kiss.

This one was different. Although there was still that longing for affection, that desire to be closer was becoming overwhelming. His lips parted slightly, taking your bottom lip and gently nipping it, a small chuckle escaping your lips as you tilted your head, deepening the kiss.

As you both became more comfortable, your tongues began to gently prod at each other, soft giggles and chuckles making their way into your kiss as your emotions mixed into one. The atmosphere was comfortable, the movie in the background forgotten, filling the room with its muffled sounds.

You pulled away from Keigo, shifting in his lap to straddle him, pushing him down to lay on the couch before going back to kissing him. His tongue finally slipped through the seams of your lips, running the tip of it over your teeth and gums before finally prodding yours. It was a weird feeling, his fleshy muscle swirling with yours, saliva mixing in the heat of the kiss.

It wasn’t until you felt something twitch against your thigh, that you pulled away again, raising a brow at him as you smiled.

“Excited?”

A faint blush coated his cheek, and an embarrassed chuckle left his lips as he spoke hoarsely.

“S-Sorry…can’t help it…you’re just…”

He stopped mid sentence, staring up at you with a soft smile and hooded eyes. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his hands trailing down from your cheeks, to your neck, to your shoulders, and then to your arms, squeezing the flesh as he admired your body.

“I’m just…?” You asked with a smile, a quiet chuckle escaping your lips as his hands began to travel lower, holding your waist with gentle hands as he murmured.

“Perfect…you’re just…perfect…”

His words were filled with such earnest truth and affection, it was impossible trying to stop the rising blush on your cheeks. You smiled down at him, your hands slowly trailing down to his chest, rubbing his pectorals as you murmured.

“Flirt…” You snorted out playfully.

“Just for you, princess…”

He muttered, a teasing smile on his face as he gently squeezed your waist. His hands began to slowly trail lower, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt gently rubbing small circles on your plush skin.

You didn’t say anything for a moment, a slow heat beginning to form in your lower stomach, guiding your hips to move in a slow roll. You could feel his breath stutter, his hands gently squeezing your waist once again before gently guiding you to roll again, and again, and again, until the both of you were slowly panting from the growing friction.

His eyes were hooded and glassy as he stared up at you, a love stricken expression in his eyes as he began to gently buck his bulge against your heat. Your combined movements were slow and gentle, a mix of deep affection and desire slowly pouring out in tender motions.

You leaned back down, pressing your lips against his once again, the kiss slow and purposeful, filled with affection and now lust. You continued to roll your hips together, the kiss muffling the growing sounds of whimpers and soft groans.

This time it was Keigo who pulled away, pressing soft kisses along your cheeks, before moving down to your jaw. He gently nipped at your flesh, moving lower until he was gently biting down on the flesh of your neck licking the bite marks he left behind.

“I…We don’t have to do this…right now…”

His voice was rough, filled with restrained desire. His hands rubbed up and down your sides, gently nipping your neck again.

You slowed the roll of your hips until they stopped completely, your hands resting on his chest as you processed his words.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered if he didn’t want this, if he was just waiting for an excuse to pull away and stop this. But you knew this wasn’t true. No, he was worried you would regret this. He was worried that you didn’t want this. But you did. You wanted him.

You wanted Keigo Takami. Your best friend. And hopefully, now, your lover.

“I want this. I want you.”

The soft plapping of skin filled your ears, drowning out the endless creaking of your bed frame. Your hands gripped the white sheets below you, face buried into one of the pillows you kept on your bed. Another pillow was under your tummy, helping you arch your back far enough so that Keigo could comfortably grasp your hips, pulling you back to fuck you on his cock.

His groans were soft and quiet, his abs flexing under each thrust as he tilted is head back, soft words of praise leaving his lips.

“You’re doin’ so good f’me baby…takin’ my cock so well…”

A whimper escaped your lips, your aching cunt squeezing his cock as his words went straight to your clit. You moved in rhythm with his thrusts, your cunny desperately trying to take more of his cock, more of him.

The fluttering of his wings was faint, but became louder as the speed of his thrusts increased. You could barely see from your position, but you could have sworn he was using the force of his wings to fuck you harder.

“Feels good, right baby? Fuck…I’ve been wanting to fuck this pretty pussy for so long…ah...been dreaming about this…”

The weight of his balls slapped against your folds, barely hitting your clit as they swung from the force of his movements. The flesh of your ass jiggled and rippled everytime it slapped against his pelvis, his eyes locked onto the way your hole greedily sucked him in. You couldn’t help the way your legs spread further, arching your back once you felt the warmth of his palm spread against the small of your back.

“K-Kei…Keigo…Hah-Mhn…wanna…wanna see you..”

His breath hitched, a small whimper escaping him as his thrusts slowed down, long shallow thrusts causing you to feel every vein and inch through your spongy walls.

“Wanna see me baby? Yeah…Yeah ok…”

He slowly pulled out, his hand immediately going to the base of his cock, pumping his slick covered penis as he watched you roll onto your back. He bit his bottom lip, shuffling closer as he slung your legs over his waist, lining up the tip of his cock to your empty hole.

“Ok…Ok, I’m-I’m putting it back in, okay?”

The small nod of your head was enough for him, and he slowly pushed back inside. First, the head of his cock slipped inside, your sloppy folds eagerly sucking him back in, desperate for more. Then, the rest of his length, each inch slowly sinking deeper and deeper into your cunny until his balls finally rested against your ass, trimmed blonde pubes mixing with your own.

Your hands slowly trailed up your body, resting on your breasts as you slowly began to tweak and pull your nipples, your body beginning to bounce with the slowly increasing pace of each jolt of his hips. His body leans forwards, resting on his forearms as he reaches that mind numbing pace again.

You could feel the tip of his cock pushing against your g-spot, rubbing it with such tenderness it makes your heart flutter. You tilt your head back, breathless moans caught short when he leans down and kisses you, tender and soft despite how rough he’s being with your cunt.

He pulls away from the kiss, littering your cheeks with small pecks of affection. He pulls you closer, the feeling of his cock so eagerly pounding into causes your pussy to slick up with arousal, the room filling with the lewd noises of your coitus.

“I-I love you…Damn it…”

He stuttered out, his hand coming up to cup your cheek stroking it with his thumb as he speaks from his heart.

“I love you so much…I-I don’t…I don’t know when it happened I…I j-just…” A low moan escaped his throat, his body shifting again, pressing down onto your body in an attempt to keep you as close as possible, craving your skin, craving your heat.

Craving you.

“I just- I just remember…fuck-seeing you, seeing you…and thinking…thinking that i’m so fucking glad that I-I have you…so glad…ah…”

A small sob escaped your lips. You couldn’t tell if you were crying, or maybe if your sweat was beginning to drip down your face, but you felt something wet fall. Broken moans mixed with grunts filled your ears, the coil in your stomach fluttering and tightening with each word that left his mouth.

“B-But there…there was something else too- oh god i’m-i’m close- There-there was that feeling, that stupid fucking feeling…of my heart fluttering…of knowing- knowing that…that I was more than just glad…”

His hips stuttered, and your legs tightened around his waist. Oh. Now you were crying. Now you could feel the way your heart ached at his words, the way you could sympathize and relate to his words.

“I-I…I was…I realized that I was in love with you, damn it…and-and it scared me…be-because I knew…I knew you liked me too…”

You could feel his cock twitch inside you, his groans becoming whimpers and his thrusts becoming shallow and rough. The movement made your cunt ache, the coil in your stomach about to snap. He was close. You were close.

“But I-I didn’t want to hurt you…Didn’t-Didn’t wanna ruin what we have- what we had…but I- fuck! fuck fuck fuck fuck! I couldn’t help it anymore! Because I love you! I love you I love you I-”

A burning hot wave of pleasure coursed through you, a sob mixed with a scream of pleasure spilled from your mouth, your orgasm ripping through you as he fucked you through it. Your legs shook, your cunt ached and pulsed, and your heart leapt out of your mouth as you screamed.

”I love you! I love you, Keigo!”

A pathetic wine of pleasure left him, his hips stuttering one last time before he quickly pulled out, lifting himself off your body to violently fist his cock, releasing his burning hot seed onto your stomach. Strings of white coated your flesh, and you could see his body tremble as he faced his own wave of pleasure.

As the final few dribbles of cum spilled from his red slit, he finally leaned back down and pressed his forehead against your own. His pants mingled with your own, his hand gently rubbing the flesh of your waist in a soothing circular motion.

As the two of you slowly came down from your highs, he pressed another kiss on your lips, smiling softly when he pulled away to murmur.

“So you wanna take a shower together?” “Later…”

“Yeah…okay…”

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Dawg this is my longest fic T-T 4,673 words!! Holy carp! Hope you enjoyed my first, and probably longest Keigo Takami fic!

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uselesseaweedbrain · 2 days ago

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Supercorptober - 15. Scotch

A strong smell of scotch permeates the air, and the usually put together CEO is slumped over her tabletop, head falling on her shoulder from exhaustion, eyes damp, her flawless black mane falling in messy strands of jet around her face.

“Lena?!”

“Hey. What news from the front?” Lena asks in a disinterested tone that Kara has never heard her use with her.

“Nothing yet.”

Lena tips her glass once again, wetting her lips with alcohol before looking up at Kara despondently.

“You know- you’re terrible at hiding things from me.”

Guilt lodges into Kara’s throat, and her confession is so low that Lena doesn’t even pick up on it.

“Heh”, she mutters. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Kara takes in a deep breath, her lungs tight as Lena stays silent.

“I came to let you know that I’m not done. Not by a long shot. Until we know for sure, I will turn over every rock, and-“

Lena lifts a tired hand, her eyes welling with tears again. “Just- Just stop.”

Lena Luthor sounds miserable and defeated. Kara reels.

“You’re one of the strongest women I know, Lena! Why aren’t you fighting?”

“Because I did it! I did it.”

There’s finality in Lena’s tone, and Kara bristles.

Lena is so ready to believe in her own guilt, so ready to take the blame upon herself like a familiar blanket-

“There’s still a chance it wasn’t you.“

Lena is looking at her now, her blue-green dilated pupils fixed on Kara, and Kara can’t look away.

“I know that you believe that everything is good, and kind, and that is one of the things that I love about you- but- that’s not the real world.”

Kara chuckles darkly - it’s funny that Lena thinks she knows her so well, when she couldn’t be further from the truth.

“You’re wrong.”

Lena scoffs.

“No- about- about me. You’re wrong. Believing in good, in kindness- it’s a fight, Lena, and if you think this comes naturally to me, you’re wrong, because-“

Lena’s gaze is still, on her, expectant, but Kara is frozen.

“Because I-“

Words burn like acid in her throat.

“Because I’m the one to blame”, she breathes out.

Lena’s eyes widen even further. “No, Kara, I won’t let you do that. Stop. Just-”

Kara ignores the interruption, barreling on before she loses her nerve, before she goes back to being scared and silent and hiding while her friend bares her soul to her.

"When I pressed that button, and sent Mon El away- I didn't really hesitate. His life against countless others’, the decision was so clear-“

Kara pauses and fleers bitterly.

"Then Kal came, and said, full of awe and admiration" - Kara almost spits the last words out - " Kal said I was stronger than him."

A wet chuckle.

"He said if he'd been in my place, and it had been the woman he loved instead of Mon-El- he wouldn't have been able to do it."

“Kara, you- you didn't press the button. Supergirl did. I saw her."

An exhale. Then:

"Yeah."

Lena's face crumbles, and Kara buries her nails into her palm.

"That moment- that's when I realised how selfish I was. How self-important I could be, deluding myself into thinking I was a hero, while I had never had to wager what really mattered. Because, the truth is- the sole reason I could press that button was that it was only Mon-El. If it had been Alex- or if it had been-"

Kara cuts herself off.

"I wouldn't have been able to do it. And I don't think I deserve any praise for throwing Mon-El's life away, for scaling people's value in my head, or for playing God when I can barely decide my own fate."

"So, if anyone should be held accountable? It's me, Lena. And if we have to deal with the consequences of you saving everyone, again, and getting none of the credit and all of the blame- this time, we will shoulder that burden. Together.”

Tears are running freely over Lena's cheeks, and Kara reaches out hesitantly, Lena instinctively inclining her head towards Kara's extended palm.

Lena shivers when Kara's warm fingertips stroke her cheek, closes her eyes as Kara wipes her tears with her thumb and moves her hand to the mess of raven hair.

Lena's loose mane is smooth, like silk, and Kara's fingers scratch her scalp gently, rhythmically, erasing her frown and the downturn of her lips and a chunk of the guilt on her shoulders.

Kara's other hand joins the first, massaging the crown of Lena's head, and Lena doesn't seem on the verge of breaking anymore.

Lena, who always holds all the power, Lena, who won't bow or beg even Supergirl, Lena, over-independent and self-assured, Lena, has surrendered to Kara's touch.

The veil has lifted, and Lena looks so young and so innocent and oh, has no one ever cared for her that way?

"Let me take you to bed", Kara whispers, gathering Lena in her arms gingerly, as if she's made of glass - solid and sturdy until it is hit too hard, and cracks and falls apart, all at once.

Lena's head lolls against her chest and presses against her clavicle, her loose strands tickling Kara's neck, and Kara breathes in a strange mix of scotch and Lena's perfume, hears the oh so familiar heartbeat, feels the feather-light weight of something precious in her arms, and- after all the destruction that they've wrought- is it unfair that Kara can suddenly breathe?

#kara danvers #kara zor el #supercorp fanfic #supercorptober #supergirl #kara x lena #karlena #lena luthor #supercorp #supercorp fanart #supercorptober2024 #supergirl fanfiction #supercorptober 2024 #supercorp ficlet #ficlet #fic

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darlingshane · 13 hours ago

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Dumb & Poetic

Michael Berzatto x F!Reader

Summary: Michael and you cannot communicate anymore without screaming at each other, but you've managed to keep that out of the workplace. Except for today. Your argument reaches a boiling point, and you have a big blowout in the kitchen in front of everyone. You end up apologizing to each other at the end of the day in the only way you know how to.

CW: +18, explicit, heavy angst, complicated relationships in the workplace, smut, vaginal sex, hate sex, making out, misogynistic comments.

Word Count: 2,2k

— Links: AO3 // Michael Masterlist

The kitchen is on fire, and it's not because everyone is working their asses off. It's only because of the heated argument you're having with Michael.

If your hands weren’t busy with the sandwich you’re making, you would definitely close your fist and sock him in the face. You don’t condone violence, but right now, he's earning himself a good punch. Breaking his nose could be the only thing that would stop him from relentlessly nagging at you while you work. There's fire in your knuckles already, itching to hit something. Anger is really starting to fester in your stomach as he keeps yapping in your ear about nonsense. You give him one more minute before you either swing your fist or quit altogether. It'd be pretty funny to leave him in the lurch with the show full of people anxiously waiting for their food. You're understaffed, overworked, and lacking better management. He knows it, you know it, everyone and their mother in the neighborhood knows it. And yet, Michael refuses to listen to reason. The only thing he loves listening to is himself talking.

If you had other options, you’d certainly drop what you’re doing and walk right out the door. It'd take you to be as much of an asshole as he is to just leave him stranded today. Unfortunately, you can’t afford the luxury of quitting this job.

Turning heads on your way, you yell at each other, going back and forth between everyone working tiredly on the tight kitchen space. It's not unusual for you to fight, but today there's a time bomb ticking that holds something inside more complicated than any of you can understand.

You knew mixing business and pleasure was a mistake. Yet you jumped, eyes closed. It serves you right, you're hitting your head against the bottom of the pool for not following your gut. You knew Michael was trouble, also your boss, and that didn't stop you from getting into bed with him.

Now everything is a mess. You can't communicate without screaming at each other. All the back and forth between being together and apart has burned the last bridge between you and Michael, and there's nothing you can do to fix it when he's not willing to do his part in helping you.

“Orders are piling up. You either move out of the way, or join the party. So help me God, Michael.” You throw your knife with disdain into the sink before you do something you might regret.

“You still haven’t answered my question. Why did you change the menu without telling me?”

“I tried! I called you ten times, and you never picked up. And I didn’t change the menu. I just added a special for the weekend to try it out. See, it’s working.” You use your hand to point at the kitchen window crowded by heads on the other side. “You said you were leaving for two days, and you were gone for over a week. You think that’s normal, to go on a bender and leave us to fend for ourselves? You got orders, bills, vendors to deal with… You're being fucking irresponsible. Has anyone told you that? ”

“Give me a damn break. You have no idea what I have to deal with. You've been working here two days and act like they own the place. Who the fuck you think you are?”

“I've been here two years, Michael! Two fucking years carrying your sorry ass around. You’ll be lost without me, asshole!”

“I'd be lost without you? That's rich.” He scoffs loudly. “I taught you everything you know.”

Now it's your time to snort. “You showed me how to make your stupid sandwiches. It's not like you taught me how to cure cancer. You should be grateful I care enough to do something about it.”

“It wasn’t your place! You added chicken to my menu. Beef. We serve beef.” He points at the logo on the shirt he's wearing. “Can't you read, sweetheart? If we start serving chicken, people are gonna get confused.”

You roll your eyes intently.

“I told you, it's just for the weekend, Mr. Beef.” You have to hold yourself back from throwing the wrapped sandwich in your hands at him.

“Yo, cousin, since when we do chicken specials.” Richie walks in, protesting, from the front of the shop.

“Ask the smartass here. Thinks she knows better than all of us.”

“Well, I don't know about smart, but she certainly has a good ass.” Richie laughs.

“Oh, look at your other half agreeing with you. What a surprise! That's sexual harassment, by the way, Richard. And you're late, as usual.”

“Take it to the police, sweetheart.”

You feel like you're the one who's taking this place more seriously than both of them. Perhaps you shouldn't even try anymore. If Michael doesn't care enough to make this place better, why should you? You're sick of busting your ass for nothing. You should just take a step back and let him drive this hole further into the ground.

Done with arguing with someone who doesn't even listen, you turn around and go start on the next order.

“Hey, I'm not done talking to you.” He, of course, follows behind you.

“Well, I am. Stop wasting my fucking time.”

“Not until you apologize for going over my head and changing things around without consulting me.”

You almost burst into laughter.

“The only one who needs to issue an apology is you, Michael. Not me. I've done nothing but bringing life into this fucking dark hole you've created. You're just too obtuse to see that.”

“You've got some fucking nerve. And who do you think is paying for all the chicken you ordered? Did you get a new vendor?”

“I know a guy. He got me a discount on the first order.”

“Really? Vendors I know don't usually do that. Did you have to suck his dick or something? Cause that's the only—”

He can't finish his sentence because before you know it, the back of your hand is swiftly flying across his face. All that vitriol that was boiling inside, begging to get out, ends plastered on his cheek that quickly turns red. Your knuckles hurt from hitting his jaw, but it was worth it.

Suddenly, you notice almost everyone in the kitchen is looking at the two of you, caught in the middle of the space in a standoff.

It takes him a second to tell everyone to go back to work. You can see him fuming, but he doesn't respond or retaliate to your aggression.

As much as he deserved it, you almost regret it immediately. At least you got him to shut up for the time being. You take a ten-minute break and finish the rest of your shift without more altercations or Michael pestering you, thankfully. You're not sure if you want to come back tomorrow. You're done with his shit. It's not worth it anymore. You'll have figured out something else, cause this is never going to get better, and today was proof of that.

Almost everyone is gone when you decide to have a word with Michael after closing.

“Hey,” you say, standing by the open door to his office as he looks up from the pile of papers on his desk. “I'm going to take a couple of days off from my vacation days.”

“Yeah, I think that'd be best.” He agrees.

“Are you going to fire me?”

“It has crossed my mind.”

“Well, are you?”

“Sit down” He motions at the empty chair while he stands up to close the door behind you.

“I'm not sitting down. I'm tired of arguing with you and I wanna go home. Just tell me, Michael. No hard feelings. We'll go our separate ways, and you'll never have to deal with me again. ”

“I'm not firing you, okay? Please sit. I have something to say.”

Begrudgingly, you sigh and sit in the chair with your arms crossed while he leans on the edge of the desk.

“Look, today got out of hand, and I'm sorry for my part. I shouldn't have said that.”

“It was way out the line. But I shouldn't have slapped you, either.”

“Did it feel good to slap me?” his lips pull up at the corners.

“Maybe a little.”

You both smile for a moment, but you know there's more to say.

“I appreciate you helping here, but you can't make decisions like that when I'm gone. You should have told me first.”

“You never listen, Michael. This isn't something new. I've been telling you for months. This place needs to change, or you're going to lose it. I thought it meant something to you, but hell, what do I know? But don't worry, I'm butting out from now on. It's your business, do what you want with it.”

“I highly doubt you can do that, sweetheart. You and I both know you won’t be able to stay out of it. You just love being a pain in my ass too much.”

No, you're done for sure. If he can't at least meet you halfway, you're done trying. You can't fix this place cause you can't fix him. And that's the main issue here.

“Believe what you want, Michael.” You stand up to leave, but he's surely not even close to being done with you.

“Wait, there's something else I gotta say.”

“What?”

He steps closer in your direction, and you almost flinch when he brings his hand up to touch your face. Sighing, you let him cup your face while he leans in to kiss your mouth. It's so puzzling the effect he has on you. It’s dumb and poetic. He keeps fucking with your head like it’s some kind of fetish, and you keep letting him for no reason other than you can’t help but caring for him. You wish you didn’t, but you do love him more than you’d like to admit.

“Your lips are moving, but I don't hear any talking,” you mumble against his kiss.

“Hm, I wasn't done yet,” he licks his lips and then the tip of his tongue traces the shape of your mouth before sliding past your lips to do his talking. You don't give in so easily to his dirty antics. He's going to have to earn it.

It takes you a moment to respond to the bidding of his tongue that moves slowly against yours, begging you to kiss him back.

You should know better by now that this won't end well. This is a path you've walked many times before, and every time you end up regretting ever stepping onto it. You should duck, run, kick him in the balls, but you’re far too deep into the mind-numbing rhythm of his tongue that casts an impossible spell on you to do anything but argue with your tongue. As the heat rises, the hunger of your lips locking becomes unbearably hot to handle. You can barely breathe when you notice his hands roaming all over your body, claiming it as if it was his.

“God, I hate you so much,” you grunt into the kiss, pulling slightly from his mouth to see the vicious red that has plumbed his lips.

“I hate you more, baby,” he huffs, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth as he presses his crotch between your legs. “That’s how much I despise you.”

“Not as much as I do.” You undo the buttons of your jeans before grabbing his hand and shoving it into your panties to make him feel how soaked you are already.

Dark eyes lock with yours as he viciously massages your whole pussy. Before you know, you’re turning your back on him, and bending over his desk, pulling your pants and underwear down so he can fuck you from behind.

There’s no time wasted, as you brace your elbows to the table, he smoothly buries his cock in your opening, collecting all your juices. He’s hard, and you're soft in all the right places for him to thrust firmly without hurting you. His hands grip your ass while the pace of his hips quickly drive you out of your mind. You feel every stroke and thrust rippling through your body, kindling a fire within your core. You glance over your shoulder to see him darkly staring at you before smacking your ass with his palm.

“How do you like that now, huh?” He snarls, slapping your ass a second time harder, earning a moan out of you. “Yeah, I know that’s how you like it, sweetheart.”

You then hang your head and let him drive you closer to the edge. You can feel his cock twitching inside you as you send one of your hands between your legs to touch your clit.

“What? You got nothing to say now?” He leans forwards to grunt in your ear. “Good. You look prettier with your mouth shut.”

“Fuck you, asshole,” you moan as his hand follow the path of yours to helps you take care of your clit as you both nearly touch that last final line.

With the help of his fingers, and those final firm erratic thrusts, you quickly come undone, letting your walls flutter around him, bringing him down with you. He spills himself inside, holding on to you as you and him are momentarily taken by that jolt of bliss that ripples from his body to yours and vice versa.

— credits: divider by @bernardsbendystraws

#bernthirst tv tribute #michael berzatto #michael berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fanfiction #mikey berzatto x read #jon bernthal #jonbernthal fanfiction #fanfiction #angst #smut #darlingwrites

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mud-castle · 1 day ago

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Was thinking about Maine Coon Firestar last night and just had the image of him playing with the kits when a queen, just trying to be friendly, asks how old he is. It was meant to be a joke, like "you're a little small for an apprentice, how old actually are you?" in a teasing way, but then he - not knowing the rules yet - very honestly and proudly says he's three and a half moons old. There's some confusion before the queen realises he's completely serious and this suddenly explains everything.

He gets asked by another queen and the elders. All of them come to the same horrifying conclusion that this apprentice is a baby oh fuck

So after some discussion, Bluestar suddenly has every queen, some former queens and every elder in front of her, complaining and trying to get her to realise she's training a toddler to kill. The most confusing day of her life honestly how did all these cats fit in her den

Bluestar, talking to Firepaw, realises he's absolutely lying through his panicked teeth when he says he's six and a half moons and definitely not three and a half. Well shit. What is she even supposed to do here? Un-apprentice him? Promote him to the name -kit? Just let him keep training but don't send him to battle?

I thought it would be kind of funny if they had to invent a whole ass new type of apprenticeship specifically for this situation. He's still an apprentice, but he will be 'mentored' by the queens in the nursery (cared for properly) and by the elders. It's his duty to help out around camp and learn what he can from the elders and queens, with Bluestar still being a involved, but less so. The elders give him tips and tricks for hunting and tell him every story they know, the queens mostly take care of him and he might get to go on herb gathering trips if he's lucky.

They just invent an early apprenticeship role for kits that mature a bit quickly or need something to keep themselves occupied specifically for him. I don't know if they'd ever use it again, maybe for four and a half moon old kits, but it's just funny to me they had to scramble to find a way to be reasonable adults in the situation whilst also not breaking his heart about not being old enough for an apprenticeship yet

Kid's gonna be so good at making comfy beds and knowing every piece of clan history possible by the time he's six moons mark his words. Boy got adopted by everyone and they had no say in the matter lmao

That would be really cute. A sort of pre-apprenticeship to keep older kits busy when they're old enough to be feeling agitated by being in the nursery all the time, but too young to be apprenticed.

Lol, the image of Firepaw smiling with a missing tooth and proudly saying that he's three and a half moons old. Same vibe as a little kid going "I'm this many years!" And holding up three fingers.

It would also be really funny if after all this Firepaw still managed to get in the exact same amount of trouble he would've as a normal apprentice. The whole clan is in a panic when he's missing from camp one day and he comes back with a banished medicine cat he found and fed (who taught him how to catch rabbits???)

The other clans probably think Thunderclan is irresponsible but no it's just this one child who has more trouble making ability than all the other apprentices combined.

#warrior cats au #I should probably comes up for an actual name for this #maine coon firestar au #warrior cats #ask

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naomijoestar · 1 day ago

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⋆.ೃ JJBA SCENARIOS ࿔*:･

Main Masterlist

Genre: comedy, fluff, platonic

Characters: bucci gang

Warnings: none!

Notes: ahhh writing block ;( I have been trying to come up with something for my Jolyne story but I got nuthin’. So feast on this because the idea popped outta no where and I love it <3

GN!reader and this is completely platonic

Bucci gang getting woken up by you dying your hair in the middle of the night

It’s one in the morning. The reasonable part of your brain knows you should be asleep, but who listens to that part? The chaotic part of your brain, the part that’s whispering, “Dye your hair bright pink,” is clearly the better choice. And in your sleep-deprived, slightly unhinged state, it feels like an excellent idea.

You rummage through the bathroom drawers and miraculously find a box of hot pink hair dye—where did this even come from? No time for questions; the dyeing begins.

It takes about an hour, but finally, the masterpiece is complete. You stare at your reflection. A vibrant pink explosion is sitting on your head. At first, you’re speechless. Then reality smacks you in the face like a truck.

“WHAT HAVE I DONE?!” you scream, the sound ricocheting through the halls of the gang’s shared hideout.

Bruno is the first to respond because Bruno is always the first to respond. He storms into the bathroom, his pajamas neat and crisp like he somehow anticipated this chaos.

“What’s going on? Are you hurt?” His eyes dart around for threats until they land on your hair. He stops. He blinks.

You turn to him, panicked. “BRUNO, I LOOK LIKE A PEZ DISPENSER.”

Bruno sighs the sigh of a man who has been through too much. “Why… Why didn’t you just wake me if you were having a crisis?”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

Bruno pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’ll fix this in the morning. Go to sleep.”

By the time Bruno is trying to calm you down, Abbacchio is dragging himself out of bed. He leans on the bathroom doorframe like a disgruntled vampire.

“What… the hell is going on?” He glares at you, then at Bruno, then back at you. His eyes narrow at your hair.

“Is that…” He pauses for dramatic effect. “…a cry for help?”

“It’s a mistake!” you wail.

Abbacchio snorts, then turns around. “Not my problem. Deal with it yourselves.” He starts walking back to his room but mutters, “Pink suits you, though.”

Mista is next, and he’s a mess. His sleepwear is mismatched, and he’s holding a pillow like he’s ready to fight someone with it.

“Who’s dying?!” he shouts, eyes wide. Then he sees your hair.

“Oh. It’s worse than dying. What the hell happened to your head?”

You groan. “I had a moment, okay?”

Mista grins. “You look like a flamingo, bro.” He laughs so hard he almost drops his pillow.

“DOES THIS LOOK FUNNY TO YOU?!”

“Yes,” Mista wheezes.

Narancia stumbles in next, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on? Is it breakfast time?”

“MISTA CALLED ME A FLAMINGO!” you shout, pointing accusingly at the laughing Mista.

Narancia blinks at you. “Oh, wow. You look like one of those highlighter pens Fugo uses.”

You groan louder, throwing your head back dramatically. “I’M NEVER GOING TO LIVE THIS DOWN!”

Narancia pats your shoulder. “I think it’s cool. You’re, like, glow-in-the-dark now.”

Fugo is one of the last to arrive because, unlike the others, he actually needs his sleep. He shows up scowling, his hair sticking up in all directions.

“Why is everyone screaming?” His voice is sharp enough to cut glass.

You turn to him, frazzled. “Look at my hair!”

Fugo stares at you for a solid ten seconds. Then he mutters, “I woke up for this?”

“You look like bubblegum,” he deadpans, then walks away. “Don’t wake me up again unless someone’s bleeding.”

Finally, Giorno emerges, looking… annoyingly perfect for someone who just woke up. His hair is still immaculate, like he was born immune to bad hair days.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is calm, soothing. Too soothing.

You gesture wildly to your hair. “THIS. THIS IS WRONG.”

Giorno tilts his head thoughtfully. “I think it’s nice. It’s bold. Confident.”

“IT’S PINK.”

“Yes.” Giorno nods, as though you’ve just made a profound observation. “You’ve made a statement. That takes courage.”

You slump against the wall, defeated. “I hate this.”

By morning, you’re still rocking the Pepto-Bismol look, but you’re slightly calmer. Bruno helps you schedule a salon appointment, Giorno keeps insisting it’s a good look, and Narancia starts calling you “Highlighter” as a new nickname.

Mista, of course, makes bird noises every time you walk past him.

Anyways, I hope this is enough to feed you guys because I know I’ve been keeping yous hungry :p sorry about that. If you enjoyed this make sure to check out my other posts, and if you’d like anything specific written for a jjba character/squad you can request it if my requests are open!

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writingsfromstarfleet · 3 days ago

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[TOS] Spock - Strange Friendships

♫ - Malibu - Miley Cyrus

Admittedly, your exposure to aliens was rather limited. Despite being at Starfleet, your studies mostly wound you up in libraries and hunched over data pads. Very little of your time was spent around other people.

When you were assigned to the Enterprise, you were leading a study in the science labs, reporting to Commander Spock. You weren't scared, per say, but more nervous around him. From what little you knew of Vulcans and what small meeting you had with Spock before, it was quite well known that he was, for the most part, stoic and serious. Not someone you probably could joke with.

"Lieutenant," Spock called, and you jumped a little before spinning round. This was not an uncommon occurrence, as often his presence made you a little unnerved. "I would like to thank you for turning in your research early, it is appreciated and your hard work has not gone unnoticed."

"Oh, I- well," you stammered, looking for the right words to say. "Thank you, sir. I hope my research aids the studies quicker than first thought."

Dare you say you saw amusement in his eyes?

"Indeed, it will. Perhaps, if you are not busy, we could meet at 19:00 and discuss the topic more? I believe you will be off-duty by that time."

Your brain couldn't function. Did Spock just ask you to dinner? No, stop thinking like that, you told yourself. It's a one-off, just a chat about the experiments, nothing more.

"I would like that, I will see you then."

That became a common thing, it was not a one-off. Every couple of days, yourself and Spock dined together, or at least spent some time together, and ended up talking about a little more than just what was happening down in the science department.

Conversation had twisted and turned in many ways, and before long you had both opened up about your lives before being stationed on this ship. You told him of your upbringing and he told you of life on Vulcan. He expressed his interests and hobbies and you responded in kind. Weirdly enough, it felt like you had always been friends.

"Perhaps I could listen to you play one day," you'd said, after Spock had told you about his love of playing the Vulcan harp.

"That would be nice, Lieutenant. I believe I would enjoy that very much," Spock had replied.

There were times where you felt uncertain, or where your mental health had wobbled and you needed support. Spock was there for you, each and every time, to catch your tears and even hold you until things had died down. Doctor McCoy had always marveled at why you called on a Vulcan for emotional help, and couldn't understand when you explained how comfortable you felt with Spock in those moments.

"I just don't get it, there's humans a plenty on this ship," the doctor spoke, bemusedly. "Why not one of us?"

"Because," you began, partially exasperated from having to explain yourself again. "He may be a Vulcan, Leonard, but he cares. I feel heard when I speak to him, and I know that he won't harbour my worries or fears as his own."

With a humph, Bones would walk away, leaving you to laugh to yourself idly.

Doctor McCoy's words always left you pondering, though. You did think it was quite funny how a Vulcan could be your closest emotional companion, especially one of your higher ups. But, the universe worked in incredibly strange ways, and it had thrown the two of you together for whatever reason.

Over tea that night, you both spoke about your friendship.

"I remember when we first met, Spock. I was frightened of you to begin with. I never thought I would be sat here now, sipping tea and reading together."

He raised a brow. "Frightened of me?"

Your eyes had widened, realising how that had sounded. "Oh, no! Not like that. I guess I just hadn't been exposed to Vulcans at all, but after having had many of these meals with you, I can see my original opinions were way out of bounds. Thank you for being around Spock, you're a good friend to me."

For a second, you could have sworn you saw a smile flash across his face.

"I am glad we are friends too, thank you for trusting me."

Spock was the most unlikely of friends found in the most unlikely of places, but to you that wasn't an issue.

A friend is a friend, however random, and that was all that mattered.

#star trek #star trek imagine #imagine #x reader #star trek x reader #tos #spock tos #spock x reader #the original series #star trek tos #spock imagine

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 2 days ago

Text

Zoro's fourth sword

Roronoa Zoro x reader. NSFW!!

Based on this. Oral sex, sub Zoro.

*****

You have been seeing each other -if that is the right word- for little more than a month; neither expected it to happen, it simply did, like it’s often the case with good things. After a night spent drinking saké on the bridge, you ended up making out in the small room behind the kitchen, fierce kisses multiplying as your and Zoro’s hands explored each other’s body. Nothing more happened, but it was intense enough to make your head spin; that time was, and all the ones that followed, almost every day since and sometimes twice before dinner time, whenever the two of you could find a moment away from your crewmates.

You never talked about it; you never felt the need to, at first at least. Until now…

“Here, this is yours.” you announce as you step into the boys’ cabin, a pile of washed and neatly folded clothes in your arms; Zoro, who is sitting on his bed with one of his swords and a rag in his hands, blinks as he lifts his gaze on you, his brow furrowed.

“Is that my stuff?” “Yes, I found it in the basket; I was doing my laundry, I thought I’d wash these as well.”

Zoro grins as he stands, carefully lowering the sword next to the other two on his bed to take his formerly sweat-soaked clothes from your arms. “Thanks, (name), you didn’t have to.”

“I know I didn’t; I just felt like doing you a kindness.” you explain with a shrug; you are not the most romantic of women and talking about feelings usually makes you uncomfortable in the best of cases, but at the same time you see no reason to hide how fond you are and always have been of your friends, including the green-haired swordsman who in the last month has stuck his tongue in your throat more times than you could count, and even had to wear a scarf for a few days -it’s just a cold, no I don’t need help, thanks Chopper- to hide the hickey you had sucked on his neck.

“Well, thank you anyway.”

“No problem. Am I bothering you?”

Zoro shakes his head as he returns to his bed, and his swords, which he is busy cleaning. You sit on the bed in front of his -Sanji’s- and spend the next couple of minutes like this, your knees supporting your elbows, your fingers intertwined under your chin, observing the young man in front of you.

He’s handsome, undoubtedly so, strong and fit and more good-looking than he probably realises, but that is not all; he’s also strong-willed, clever, stubborn, generous, and kind, all characteristics you have always appreciated in a person. You didn’t expect to feel attracted to him, you wouldn’t have imagined it in a million years, but at the same time, now that it has happened you don’t feel surprised at all, much less regretful…

“You are staring at me.” Zoro comments after a while, without looking up; he’s been rubbing the sword’s blade for five minutes.

“Shouldn’t I? You’re very handsome.”

“Damn, (name)...”

“What’s wrong? Zoro, are you blushing?” you ask, amused, and he mumbles something under his breath, once again avoiding your gaze. You can’t help but finding it funny, that a man who has fought the strongest foes without fear and even risked his life to save that of his captain, could feel self-conscious simply because a woman -one he has made out with at least three dozens times, but still- has complimented him, but the last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable, so you decide to change the subject.

“That’s the sword you got in Wano, right?” you ask, observing the katana with its slightly curved blade and golden and lilac-colored hilt; you have never had any interest in swords, but you have to admit it is beautiful.

“Enma, yes.”

“And then there’s the Kisetsu…

“Kitetsu. Sandai Kitetsu.”

“Sorry. And the Wado Ichimonji, which belonged to your friend Kuina.” you conclude, observing the other two blades resting on the bed next to Zoro, already polished to perfection “Are you the only man in the world who uses three swords?”

“That I know of, yes.” Zoro admits with a grin, clearly pleased.

“When I first met you I couldn’t believe you could actually fight with all three together. Then there’s your fourth sword, but that obviously doesn’t count.”

Zoro’s hand finally stops. “... what?”

“Your fourth sword.” you repeat, surprise evident on your face, and you see confusion colour Zoro’s expression as he struggles to understand.

“What are you talking about? I don’t have a fourth sword.”

“Of course you do!”

“No I don’t. (name), is this a joke? I had a couple other swords, the Yubashiri I got in Eines Lobby and the Shusui, but…”

“No, not those.” you patiently explain “Look…”

You stand, covering the brief distance between the two beds in a single step; you gesture to Zoro to stand as well, which he does after placing Enma on the bed once again, and once you are face to face you slowly raise your hand to brush your fingertips against his lips.

Your touch is delicate, feather-like, but Zoro must see something in your gaze, something he appreciates and fears at the same time, because you hear him hold his breath.

“You know…” you continue slowly, and after the chaste caress to his mouth your hand descends to do the same to his chest, a delicate massage to his pecs that makes Zoro’s heartbeat quicken under your palm. Your fingertips not-exactly-accidentally brush against his hard nipples, and he jumps. “Fuck, (name)...”

“I’m talking about…”

Your hand stops at his belt, your gaze searching his for reassurance; this is a line you are yet to cross together, and while you can feel Zoro has already gotten aroused you don’t want to do anything he hasn’t enthusiastically consented to. Your eyes meet; Zoro is clearly struggling to swallow, but he gives you a nod, tiny but determined, wordlessly giving you permission without breaking the illusion you have spun around you both.

You smile, relieved and proud, and let your hand slip even further down, until you reach his pelvis, your palm and fingers gently cupping his already hardened member.

“... this.” you conclude as you caress him, your touch delicate but relentless, and in a moment you can feel Zoro’s flesh responding to your touch “Your most beautiful sword, the most precious, and powerful, and hard - so hard. But this sword is only for me, you understand? No one else can touch it; only me.”

Silence.

“I asked you a question, Zoro. Is this sword for me, and only for me? Answer me or…”

You let go, just an inch, and Zoro hurries to nod. “Yes! Yes, only you.” he mumbles; the great swordsman, one day to become the most powerful in the world, the vanquisher of so many enemies, has disappeared, leaving in his stead a young man desperate for that touch -a woman’s touch- that, he has confessed to you on your third make-out session, he had never experienced before “Only for you, (name). I don’t want anyone else.”

“Good.”

You kiss him, light and gentle. “You wanna close the door?”

It’s the middle of the day, which makes it unlikely that any of the other boys will need to use the room, but one can never be too sure. Zoro almost trips over his own feet as he crosses the room and turns the key of the cabin’s door, effectively locking three of your crewmates, including the captain, out of their room; it is rude, undoubtedly, but at the moment neither of you cares.

There is anticipation, arousal and anxiety at the same time, as Zoro turns and presses his back against the door, waiting for you to join him, which you have done a moment later.

“Do you want to sit on the bed?” you ask, your mouth an inch away from his. There are few things that you enjoy more than kissing Zoro, tasting sakè on his lips as your tongues battle for dominance, but you won’t do it now: at least, not on his lips “You might be more comfortable.”

“Like this is fine.” he mumbles, clearly struggling to meet your gaze; redness has spread on the tan skin of his face, and while he’s not restrained in any way, he’s completely still, arms spread at his sides “Just so you know, I’ve never done this before.” “You told me; but this is not a test, you have nothing to prove.”

“I know, just… In case I don’t last long.”

You smile. “As I said, nothing to prove.” you murmur, and a moment later you have gracefully knelt in front of him, eyeing the now evident tent in his trousers. “Hmm, not that I risk remaining unsatisfied, from the looks of it…”

Zoro gulps as he observes you raising your hand to cup him once more; he’s now completely hard, big enough to barely fit in your palm, and you find yourself licking your lips in anticipation. “Is your fourth sword ready for me, baby?”

“Yes!”

“Good. Now, let’s see…”

You keep your eyes to him as you slowly, very slowly, unbutton his trousers and then lower them down his legs, baring his muscled legs, and a pair of black briefs whose fabric looks a moment away from tearing on the front. You take his cock in your hand once more, tearing a long, guttural moan out of Zoro’s lips as you carefully squeeze it.

“Hmm, what do we have here? Is it a sword or just a tiny dagger?”

“Of course it’s a sword!” Zoro protests, outraged, and a moment later he is biting his lip, well aware he has fallen into your trap “Don’t tease me, (name).”

“I’m sorry, baby. Believe me, I am more than impressed…”

You keep looking at him as you slowly bring your face closer to his body, and then your first kiss is placed on the fabric covering his cock, just above the head; Zoro’s hips spasm, and he “Fuuuck…!” moans.

“You alright?” “Yes… yes… more than alright… Do it again, please…”

You obey, and you spend the next three minutes kissing Zoro’s sword through his briefs, your pecks delicate and gentle but sufficient to make his legs buckle; he has placed a hand on your head, his calloused fingers running through your hair, while you run yours up and down his legs, feeling the taut muscles under his tan skin.

“Feels so good…” he murmurs “Ah… yes, (name), don’t stop…”

You don’t, but then you do, and you hear him whine when you pull back; you share a new look, satisfied on your part and literally pleading on his, as Zoro licks his lips, torn between the desire filling his belly, not to mention another part of his anatomy, and whatever amount of self-respect he can scrape up at the moment.

“I thought you said…”

“I am not leaving you like this, baby.” you reassure him with a smile. You are aroused, very much so, but there’ll be time to take care of your needs; now you’ll see after his, and make sure he never forgets this moment “But I was wondering if you’d like me to take this off you; it might feel better.”

Zoro hurries to take his briefs off, but you stop him, telling him to just relax, and let you take care of him; you take the hem between the tips of your fingers, and then, slowly, agonizingly slowly, you carefully take the briefs off him, letting them fall to the ground.

Zoro’s naked cock is now in front of you in all its glory, large and heavy, soft green hair surrounding the base, its thickness enough to dry your mouth. You swallow, and “Wow…” you murmur, sincerely impressed.

“Is it… good?”

“Are you kidding? Zoro, it’s perfect! It’s really beautiful, just like you are.” you assure him “I’m going to make you feel good, alright? Just tell me if I make you uncomfortable.”

“I will. Just…” “Yes?”

Zoro bites his lip; he looks uncertain all of a sudden, but something in your smile, and your eyes, must reassure him, because he confesses: “Can… can you take your shirt off before you do it?”

“Of course.”

You remove your top, while Zoro does the same with his own shirt without having to be asked, and his gaze immediately falls on your chest; you smile as you cup your breasts in your hands, squeezing and making them bounce slightly. “Do you like them?”

“Fuck…” “That is not an answer, Zoro. Do you like my tits?”

“Yes.” he moans; he licks his lips, eyes burning with desire “They look so soft… so pretty…”

“Glad you approve; I can let you suck on them one day if you want.”

“Fuck, (name)...!”

You smile, and a moment later you are holding Zoro’s cock in your hand; you move it up and down the thick column, a drop of pre-cum already falling from the tip lubricating it, and no matter how much you tell yourself to slow down, because hurrying will ruin both your and Zoro’s pleasure, the mere prospect of having it inside your mouth -not to mention somewhere else, one day- is enough to make you salivate.

Your first kiss touches the tip, while you’re still pumping it, and Zoro jumps. “You were right; it’s way too big to be a dagger.” you murmur “It’s a… what is the largest type of sword?”

“The…” Zoro struggles to speak, and to breathe, as he observes you, eyes wide open, as if he had wandered for a week in the desert and you were a spring of cool, pure water “The… the broadsword, I think… and there are some naginata that are ten feet long…”

“Impressive. But your sword, Zoro, yours is the prettiest of them all… so perfect and strong and long… so beautiful I could kiss it. May I?”

“... yes…”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes!” Zoro cries out, loud enough to be heard outside the cabin; he bites his lip, but he’s still smiling “Yes, of course, you can kiss it as much as you want. It’s yours, after all.”

“Good to know.”

You take your time, savouring the sensation of your lips running up and down the thick column of Zoro’s manhood, each of your delicate pecks tearing a moan out of his lips, but it’s only when he feels the silky touch of your tongue on a deliciously large vein that his hips - no, his whole body spasms, a powerful shiver of pleasure running through his flesh. “God…” “Yes, but you can call me (name)...”

Poor Zoro is almost too breathless to laugh, but he does, avidly staring as you keep kissing his cock with abandon, and something akin to pride shines through his gaze. “You like it?”

“Of course I like it. You have…” You have the best cock I’ve ever seen, this is what you meant to say, before deciding you better not; the young man in front of you was already embarrassed at this being his first time, the last thing you want is for him to have to wonder how many people you’ve already made this very experience with.

They don’t matter; he does. He really does, and you want to give him pleasure, enough that he’ll never forget this, enough he’ll think he could die for it.

“... you have a very beautiful cock; I’m very glad I get to taste it.” you finish, and Zoro smiles, before taking your head in his hands, gently caressing your hair, and you smile back at him before you begin licking the head, gently and inexorably titillating it until he’s whining above you, his grip on your head tensing, even though not to the point of hurting you, as if he were mustering all his self-control to remain still, rather than sticking his cock in your mouth.

“Please…”

“Please what, baby?” you ask sweetly as you take advantage of your latest kiss to gently suck

“FUCK!”

“Keep your voice down, Zoro…”

the head; he moans, the gaze of his single eye expressing both arousal and frustration.

“Do it, please. Please, I… I can’t take it anymore…”

“Do what?”

“Damn, woman… you know it!”

“I…” kiss “... really…” suck “... don’t.” you reply, and then you add your tongue once more, and Zoro is forced to steady himself with his hand on your shoulder, because his legs are about to give way “Why don’t you tell me exactly what you want?”

He glares, frustrated and as menacing as a man in his position can be, but a moment later his proverbial strength of character wanes, and his voice is pleading, almost begging, as he says: “Take it in your mouth, (name); take… take me in your mouth. Please, I’ll do everything you want, I swear, just… I need to feel you…”

You smile. “Then you will.” you reassure him “I promise” and then, finally, slowly, part your lips to take him in. It’s a sweet, delicious torture, Zoro’s sword entering your mouth inch by inch, and you’re able to swallow most, but not all, of it, and while right now talking is out of the question you’re able to make him understand you have reached your limit with gestures, and Zoro smiles, openly flattered.

“God, you’re so w-aah, shit…!”

You’ve gotten to work, using your mouth, your tongue and even -very carefully- your teeth to worship Zoro, and his beautiful sword, like he deserves; he tastes good, unexpectedly sweet yet a little pungent, and you happily suck and lick him as the symphony of Zoro’s pleasure -groans, whines, murmurs of your name and pleas of don’t stop, baby, God you feel so good, so warm, I… oh, fuck, just like that…!- fills the air around you. You feel his fingers running through your hair, their touch gentle despite the tension enveloping his body, while your hands move from his hips, which you had placed them on to stabilise yourself, to his buttocks, avidly grabbing the taut mounds of flesh, and Zoro mewls - a sound you had never heard coming from the throat of a grown man, and that makes liquid fire pool in your belly. You will have to quickly retreat to the girls’ cabin soon, making sure Nami and Robin are otherwise occupied, to take care of yourself and imagine how it would feel to have your positions reversed, but now you need to focus on Zoro, and given the way he’s responding to your ministrations, you are confident you are doing an excellent job.

It is almost exhilarating. A powerful pirate, a fearless combatant who has never backed down from a fight and has risked his life more times than he can count, completely in your power, laid bare both literally and spiritually, made a slave of needs and impulses that, you have come to suspect, he had barely paid any attention to before the two of you started fooling around. You are not even really having sex, and most young men his age have experienced much more than just this, but it doesn’t matter; Zoro is literally beside himself, completely at the mercy of you, of your mouth, and of the arousal you have awoken inside him.

It’s scary, almost humbling, that a person can have so deep and overwhelming an effect on another, potentially without being affected themselves; it feels unfair, somehow, even though the last thing you want is to take advantage of Zoro, let alone to hurt him. In that case, you promise yourself, you’ll do your best to make him happy, and make sure he remembers this moment for the rest of his life, even when, if, you won’t be by his side anymore, and why, you suddenly worry, your gentle but relentless pace faltering for a moment, does that thought -the prospect of you and Zoro no longer being together, of him being touched by another woman- hurt so much…?

Zoro notices something is wrong almost immediately. “You alright?” he murmurs, looking down at you; he’s clearly making a superhuman effort to speak intelligibly, but there is sincere worry in his gaze, worry and tenderness, and you’re not entirely sure of how that makes you feel “If you -hnnn- if you want to stop, it’s fine…”

You shake your head -slightly- as you keep licking his cock as if this were the last day of your life. You give a particularly merciless suction that makes Zoro press a hand to his mouth to stifle a scream, and then pull back, freeing his sword from your sheath.

“What…! No, fuck…”

You start pumping him lightly, just to keep him on his toes. “It’s fine; I’m not done with you yet.” you assure him, and you really aren’t; you’ve never been a fan of oral sex in particular, at least when you are not on the receiving end, but what started as a little distraction to please Zoro has quickly become something more, and you’re enjoying it as much as you would if he were the one kneeling at your feet, and this is a thought you’ll have to reflect more attentively later, when you’ll have locked the door of the girls’ cabin behind you “I just wanted to ask where you want to come.”

“... where?”

“Yes. In my mouth or… somewhere else. You know, on my face, or on my tits. I don’t mind either way, the choice is yours.”

Zoro is painting like at the end of a long run; he struggles to swallow, as if deeply torn among the various options. “You… you really wouldn’t mind… swallowing?”

You start pumping him harder. “Not at all, I like it.”

“Then… in your m-mouth. Please…”

A smile blossoms on your lips. Despite his undeniable goodness and generous spirit, sweet is not a word you would normally associate with Zoro, but the last month has led you to reconsider; this is probably a side of him he has never expressed with anyone else, a side maybe even he wasn’t aware of, and you feel blessed, even honoured, that he decided to share it with you. “Of course. Now, I want you to resist as long as you can; you’re so strong, Zoro, so resilient, I know you can do it. Hold it in until you really can’t do it anymore, you’ll see how good it’s going to feel when you finally come.”

“Do I… tell you when…?”

“If you want. Now, are you ready for me, baby?”

He nods, and sighs when you have taken him in your mouth once again. You suck him hard, hard enough your jaw muscles have started to hurt, your hands moving up and down from his hips to his ass to his thighs, and Zoro seems to have forgotten you are on a ship full of people who could, and shouldn’t, hear him, or maybe he has lost the ability to care.

“You feel so good.” he moans “So warm, I… oh, shit, (name), don’t stop, please, baby, use… use your tongue… yes, like that, fuck…!”

It takes him several minutes to reach the brink, when desperation mixed with the pleasure in his voice makes it clear Zoro’s self-control is at its limit; once again you meet his gaze, and you see doubt, even shyness in his.

“Fuck, I’m gonna… baby, please, I can’t…”

You nod once, Zoro’s hips, his whole body really, have a new, violent spasm, and then

“(naaaa-meeeee)...!!”

he’s coming in your mouth, a long sigh of relief filling the air as you, still clinging to his body as if fearing he could slip away, drink him avidly, filling your senses with the acrid but sweet taste of his semen.

“Are you alright?”

You’re sitting on the bed, your backs pressed against the wall, as you both catch your breath; the hand towel you have retrieved from Zoro’s side of the closet -he couldn’t move, his legs wouldn’t let him- and that he used to clean himself before pulling his trousers up is abandoned on the floor. You’re still aroused, almost painfully so, and you could easily slip a hand under your skirt to rub yourself to relief -Zoro would surely appreciate the show- but that would mean breaking the quiet, intimate peace surrounding you, and you wouldn’t do that for the world.

The bright mid-morning light bathes the cabin, the gentle rocking of the ship lulling you; you’ve been awake for maybe four hours, but the peace and contentment you feel are so intense you could easily fall asleep like this, your cheek resting on the shoulder of the young man next to you, who without even realising is now holding your hand, for the first time.

“Of course I am.” you murmur, lifting your head to meet his gaze “Never been better, actually; but I should be the one asking. Was it… like you imagined it? As good as you hoped?”

Zoro rubs the back of his head, still a bit embarrassed. “To be honest… I had no idea what this could feel like; but it was… God, (name), it was amazing. I think I died for a moment and you brought me back to life.”

“I gave you mouth-to-cock resuscitation.”

“Oh my God…!”

You laugh together, and then a strong, tan arm slips around your shoulders; you happily snuggle against his side, trying your best not to dwell on the fact that this precious moment has ended, and now you both have to go back to whatever life awaits you out of the door. You and Zoro have been fooling around with each other for a month and nothing says you can’t go on like that for many more -... right? He can’t have gotten bored of you already, after this?- but part of you wishes you could remain like this, just holding each other, for the rest of the day…

“It was good, wasn’t it?”

“Zoro, we already spoke of this, it was not a test, you didn’t have anything to…”

“No, I mean…” he starts and then he bites his lips, as if unsure of how to express what he feels… or afraid of your answer “Was it good for you? I mean, I know this sort of thing is mainly one person doing all the work and the other just enjoying it, but I was wondering if… if it felt nice…”

“Oh, Zoro…”

You cup his face in your hands, tenderness filling your heart. Damn, how could you be so lucky? “It was more than good; it was amazing, because it was you and me, and you took care of me just like I did you.” you murmur softly “Believe me, I am… more than satisfied, and it felt amazing. How could it not, when I’m with you?”

You smile. “And in any case, you promised you would return the courtesy soon, didn’t you?”

“You’ll have to teach me what to do, but I promise I’ll do my best.”

He kisses you soundly; he can taste himself on your lips, and it doesn’t seem to bother him.

You remain together for a while more, until you need to leave to attend to your duties on the ship; you kiss Zoro one last time before standing to retrieve your shirt from the floor.

“You were right.” you comment once you have reached the door, turning to smile at him. “It was a sword, not a dagger; and as formidable and of excellent quality as the other three.”

Zoro grins, openly flattered; a moment later you have turned again, and opened the door, and “We’re reaching a new island tomorrow.” he mentions just as you’re about to step out.

“Yeah, I heard.”

“Do you want to… I mean…”

You’re looking at him again. “Yes?”

Zoro, now sitting on the edge of the bed, looks away, but not quickly enough to prevent you from seeing he has blushed. “We could go somewhere; just the two of us. Have a drink, or… there’s an amusement park, it could be fun…”

A moment of -stunned- silence follows. Then, slowly:

“Zoro… are you asking me on a date?”

“You don’t have to say yes; we can simply go on like we’ve done until now…”

“I’d like that. To go out with you, I mean. I would love to.”

“... really?”

“Of course.” you assure him; happiness has filled your heart, the smile so large on your mouth it hurts “I can’t wait.” “Alright then...”

Zoro grins; he’s even happier than he was ten minutes ago, and doesn’t even try hiding it. “I’ll see you later then.”

“You bet you will.” you answer, and smile before letting the door close behind you.

#One Piece #Roronoa Zoro #Roronoa Zoro x reader #Bellona's stuff

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