#I swear it gets better the longer you read | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsgoldrush · 9 months ago

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“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you.

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.”

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend.

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison

Allison:

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss.

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.”

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features.

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules.

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up.

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail.

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients.

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment.

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you.

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him.

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his.

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic.

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on.

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?”

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days.

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble.

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

12K notes · View notes

luster-less · 2 months ago

Text

ੈ✩‧₊˚ not even sex can stop him from being a huge nerd

your laptop sat open on the desk, half-forgotten as your fingers trembled over the keyboard. the assignment deadline loomed, but it was really hard to focus when your boyfriend was buried between your thighs, lapping at you with slow, deliberate strokes.

kuroo had been at it for at least twenty minutes, taking his sweet time, letting the occasional deep groan vibrate against your pussy just to watch you squirm. he was always like this—half a menace, half a worshipper—dragging you right to the edge only to pull back and start over. it was infuriating.

you bit your lip, trying to stay somewhat composed, your hips shifting toward his mouth as he sucked your clit between his lips and rolled his tongue against it in that obscene way that made your toes curl. you barely managed to type another sentence before a sharp whimper escaped your throat, and he chuckled—smug bastard.

“mm, getting close?” his voice was muffled, lips brushing against your slick folds.

“y-yeah, so stop—”

but of course, he didn’t stop. he paused. and that was somehow so much worse.

instead of diving back in like a decent boyfriend, he lifted his head slightly, fingers idly tracing patterns against the inside of your thigh. “you know, i read this study the other day about how the female orgasm actually lasts three times longer than the male’s,” he mused, voice far too casual for someone who had his face drenched in your juices. “it has something to do with the way the pelvic muscles contract—”

“tetsu, i swear to fucking god—”

“no, but listen—” he pressed a quick kiss to your clit, as if that would make up for his absolute nonsense. “the average male orgasm lasts about six seconds, right? but for women, it’s closer to twenty. and some women can even have multiple in succession. isn’t that fascinating?”

your entire body twitched with frustration. “tetsurou.”

“what?” he asked, blinking up at you with faux innocence, lips glistening with proof of just how not innocent he was.

“either put that mouth to better use or—”

you barely had a second to brace yourself before he groaned—that deep, gravelly sound that sent heat curling in your belly—and devoured you like he had something to prove. his tongue flicked against your clit, fast and relentless, two fingers pressing inside you with that perfect curl, stroking the exact spot that made your back arch clean off the chair.

you barely had time to suck in a breath before pleasure slammed into you, your entire body trembling as you came with a broken, desperate moan. and he didn’t stop.

“mmh, see?” he mumbled against you, his words vibrating through your overstimulated nerves. “multiple in succession. science is so fucking cool.”

#haikyuu smut #kuroo smut #kuroo x reader smut #kuroo x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut

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caramelkoo · 4 months ago

Text

no questions asked— jjk

Jeon jungkook wants nothing more than to get settled with his girlfriend, but what if her fear of commitment makes him take a step back? Will he do it, or will he be able to changer her mind for good?

pairing : Jungkook X reader

genre : established relationship, smut, fluff

word count : 6.6k (im begging for forgiveness)

Based on this ask <33

warnings : nsfw, strong language, mature, oc is an anxious girly (same), mentions of emotionally unavailable parents, jungkook is a man of dreams, simp boyfriend jungkook, car sex, unprotected sex (be safe), begging, reference of titanic if you squint, yeah that's pretty much it.

a/n : this took million business days lmao but finally it's here. the sweetest anon requested a drabble but i couldn't do it and as much as i tried to make it shorter, it got stretched to 6k words 😭 so im deeply sorry anon. the rest of you who enjoy longer fics, dig in. I love you guys so much, you might not know this but yall are my besties for resties. kisses. 💌

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Your boyfriend is going to propose to you.

Oh god

Oh. my. God.

Anxiety is not a foreign feeling for you. Although this time, it’s an indescribable sort. Something which is lingering in the deepest pit of your stomach for a lack of better word. Besides, there’s a mayhem inside your head, the voices are loud and intimidating, causing you to bite your lip to a point where they bleed while also staring at nothing.

Jungkook has been nothing but secretive— the poor boy has no idea that you have already seen the navy blue box sitting inside his side of the drawer. You can swear it was totally unintentional.

In your defense, you had been searching for your glasses and that was the only place left to fish around. Nobody could have prepared you for the utter shock when your eyes fell on that box and so for a minute or two you just stood there, horrifyingly still and stunned. However, you recovered quickly, because to be quite honest it was about time one of you mustered up enough courage to ask the question.

It’s supposed to make you thrilled right? So why does something feel… off?

“Penny for your thoughts?”, as soon as Cherry’s voice reaches your ears, you snap out of it and flash her a forced smile.

“Yeah-” you begin, “Yeah uh- I’m just thinking about nothing in particular.”

“_____ you’re an amazing girl but you gotta work on those lying skills.”

A chuckle leaves your mouth. You shouldn’t even have bothered in the first place, the girl can read you like a book.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours huh?”

She picks up the book before scanning it with the barcode scanner all the while you marvel if you should tell her or just let it go, but then you also know how she would become a pain in the ass if you don’t spill the beans to her. Anyway, she can;t make you overthink it any more than you already have.

You bite your lower lip before saying, “I feel like Jungkook is going to propose.”

If looks alone could kill, you would have been buried deep by now with the way the man wearing an olive green cardigan, probably in his 50s, gives you side eye when Cherry drops the book with a loud thud on the counter.

You wince.

“I’m sorry what?”

When you subtly signal her to pick what she’s dropped, she takes a hold of the book, apologizes to the man who— you’re hundred percent sure hates your guts now, and resumes her work.

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Ha! Girl you better start telling me more or none of us are going home today.”

She’s talking to you but her hands keep shuffling between scanning the books and expeditiously typing on the keyboard.

A spark of hesitation finds a way inside your heart. The thing is, you’re not sure. Do you want to marry the love of your life? Absolutely. Do you think you can keep the marriage going and stable? No.

There you said it.

And that kills you because jeopardising your bond and connection with Jungkook is the last thing you want to do.

Maybe, it’s because nobody in your family has been able to keep their inner spark alive after they had gotten married or you might as well blame it on the relationship your own parents have had before your eyes.

For everyone who couldn’t see past the walls of your house, your parents were an ideal couple. A pair who were equally efficient and successful in their respective areas of life. With your father being a renowned businessman and your mother holding the title of a world famous fashion designer, they couldn’t have been a better partner for each other, right?

Wrong. Too bad you had the honor of being an onlooker of their facade slipping away before getting replaced by their real impudent selves.

But that’s all you could do though. You were merely just an audience. Someone who could see everything shatter before her eyes and not do a single thing to put an end to it.

Constant fights, fuming with jealousy over one of them achieving more than the other, sabotaging each other.

All hell broke loose when they began making you take sides.

You think mommy is better don’t you, honey?

You should be proud of your dad, ____. You’re living such a luxurious life thanks to me.

For the love of god you were five. What does a five year old know about luxury or human ego? What could you have possibly known about who is better? In your eyes, they were your mom and dad and not some squish mellows placed side by side from which you had to take your pick. Let’s not even start with the emotional unavailability they provided you with.

A knot lodges in your throat and you struggle to get the words out. “I happen to see the box inside his drawer”

“You’re sure it had a ring inside- Wait, don't answer that”, she shakes her head as if she just asked the most ridiculous question ever.

No shit.

“But that’s a good thing right? I mean you guys have been seeing each other for a while now and marriage is the final stop.” she continues and you can’t help but feel terrible, because she is making sense.

A sigh leaves you, “Yeah no- I mean yeah it is but I didn’t expect him to take the initiative so suddenly. No hints were dropped at all. Marriage is, gosh, I can’t believe I’m saying this but it seems intimidating to me.”

The queue has finally dissipated at this point so she faces you fully showcasing her engrossment in your dilemma. The girl feeds off drama but refuses to get involved in one.

Her expression morphs into something between horrified and sympathetic. “_____, is that because of your parents?”

Your heart skips a beat. This whole time you and only you had authority over this thought that your fear of marriage is deeply rooted in your own parents’ fucked up relationship. A belief that lay sly and unseen.

Only after those words left Cherry’s mouth did you realise how venomous they sound. It makes you aware that the fear was not as concealed as you intended to keep it. What are you supposed to do when you find out that somebody else knows about your deepest terrors? Run? Hide? Or simply not say anything?

Your mouth feels suddenly dry. “What?”

Cherry takes a hold of your palm and rubs it gently, “If it is, I want you to know that it’s not the case for everyone. Marriage is a beautiful concept, a lovely commitment. Are there some pitfalls to it? Yes. But that’s the beauty of it. The way two people come together and resolve them-”

Your phone buzzes inside your pocket causing you to flinch. Releasing your hands from her hold, you take it out and see your grandmother’s number stare up at you.

“I’ll just be back.” you excuse yourself just as a woman places a stack of books on the counter.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

“Hey, beautiful” you greet her, a smile lighting up your entire face.

“My baby, did I catch you at the wrong time?” her voice is like a balm to your heart. So warm and comforting. It reminds you of your movie nights with her where you didn’t have to be anything or pretend. You just had to exist and she made it worth it. Always.

“Now you know even the devil himself can’t stop me from talking to you.”

A loud chortle reaches your ears and you imagine her throwing her head back, laughing.

“I was calling to ask if you and your eye candy of a boyfriend are visiting home this year for thanksgiving, dear?”

Dear lord, you can’t believe you forgot about that.

Your eyes widen, and just when you think you could bubble up some other lie, she speaks up, “You forgot, didn’t you?”

Yeah, bold of you to assume you can do that and get away. You actually need to work on your lying skills. For whatever reason. You want to pluck your eyelashes out one by one because of how gloomy she sounds.

“I’m genuinely sorry, grams.” pinching the bridge of your nose you continue, “I’ve just been busy with work and barely making ends meet. I promise this is the first and last time I let it slip my mind.”

With the job you have, there’s only so much cash you can count and while you would love to make a career out of writing, the thought of publishing your own book sends shivers down your spine.

Every time you open the draft a new mistake pops up, taking a percentage of your self confidence down the drain. You’re only human. A microscopic slip catches your attention and you start questioning your life choices.

“Honey, come home and give yourself some time off, what do you youngsters like to call it? Oh yes, grind. Yeah?”

It’s your turn to laugh. “Wow someone has been too into love island lately.”

Cherry raises her eyebrows from across the room and you mouth her the word ‘grandma’. She nods with a smile on her face, going back to work.

A long stretch of silence hangs in the air before you hear her ask, “_____, what else is wrong?”

The smile which has been adorning your face this whole time instantly drops. You blink.

Once

Twice

Thrice

“I don’t understand.” Liar.

“You know what I mean, baby. I want you to tell me more, because I know something has been bothering you. What is it?”

Humans are so funny sometimes. They can be as close to you as your own soul and not have a hint of your torment. Meanwhile, there is your grandmother, who despite being so far away from you just….. knew. But again, it has always been like this hasn’t it?

Whenever you got tired of your parents throwing stuff around the house, making each other lick the floors, trying to make their own and your life a living hell, she knew.

She was the one who allowed you to cry, and assured you that she would not call you dramatic if she happened to hear your sobs.

You were allowed to cry,

You were allowed to ask for help,

You were allowed to not hold back.

Sucking in a deep breath, you release it, “Everything else is perfect, grams.”

Mr William is always the first person to greet you everyday when you reach the apartment. He’s been working as a guard for years now and you’ve grown quite familiar with him. While being the sweetest man you’ve ever come across, he also brings his wife’s yummiest tarts for you whenever she makes them. Arguably, they deserve more hype than they get.

“She knows how much you love her tarts” he says, making you feel immense gratitude towards his kindness.

This particular night, he seems…. restless. He’s shifting from one foot to another as you shut the cab’s door behind you. Striding over to him, you mentally try your best to figure out his uneasiness.

Clearing your throat, your throat as you ask, “Is everything alright, Mr William?”

Only after he hears your voice, he gains his composure. Or so he tries.

He hands you a piece of paper which feels a bit wet and you wonder what could have been so intense that the man began having clammy palms.

It’s nearly concerning, not to mention it doesn’t help with your own anxiety at all. If not, shoot it up.

“Your boyfriend dropped by around lunch time, miss. He handed me this and asked me to give it to you as soon as you come back from work.”

He couldn’t have given it to you yesterday when he was with you in the first place? Weird.

“I see, but why are you so tense? Has something happened?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “My wife has been sick and I was supposed to leave early but I figured it would be better if I gave it to you safely before going home to her.”

Fuck

“You could have given this to me later. Your wife comes first, sir.” you gulp, “Please, I appreciate your gesture but she needs you more. Thank you so much and please let me know if I can be of help.”

He releases an empty chuckle. “Thank you, Miss”

With one last nod you walk inside the building while also hoping he doesn’t call you for help. Not because you won’t do anything it takes to help him, but because you hope it wouldn’t come to it. The moment you shut the apartment door behind and turn on the light, the piece of paper steals your attention. Without waiting any further, you unfold it, coming across Jungkook’s writing.

The note alone feels like he whispered it into your ear before placing the softest kiss on your skin. Your lips stretch into a serene smile as you stride over to the bedroom, turning the doorknob as your gaze catches a purple bodycon resting on top of your bed. It is accompanied with a bouquet of pink tulips as well as a bar of Dubai chocolate.

Your head that has been nothing short of a commotion is now finally at peace. Not entirely but at peace nonetheless.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Jungkook was 12 when he went on his first roller coaster ride. He was, like every other child, afraid. Afraid that he might fall and hurt himself so bad, he wouldn’t ever be able to get up. The roller coaster had a massive drop followed by a corkscrew which took him upside down. Until the moment Jungkook saw a woman in yellow dress buying a bunch of tulips from the flower shop he very often visited, he had never felt his stomach bottom out as strongly as it did during that drop back then.

There she was, chatting with the florist as if they’re best friends. He could see her behind the glass picking out the pink tulips before sniffing them. Meanwhile, Jungkook stood across the road, soaked and enchanted as he wondered if he should ask for her number or chicken out. Eventually, the latter won.

But here’s the thing, Jungkook is not one for losing. He hates losing, even the term makes him want to peel his own skin off.

He saw her hair first, becoming curly locks reaching down to her waist and just above her hips. Granted that his line of sight only allowed him to see her side profile, he assumed she was gorgeous. It was not unlikely for him to see beautiful women on a daily basis, but something about her just sucked him in. His eyes could not leave her face and he believed even if they tried, he would pluck them out just to punish them. Was it weird that his hands itched to hold a woman he doesn’t even know?

What’s her name?

Where does she live?

What’s her favorite color?

How does she like her coffee?

There’s a japanese phrase called koi no yokan which means that you eventually will fall in love with a person you meet. You’re going to grow so fond of that person that you would want to see no one by your side but them. She was that person for him.

He rubs his hands for the nth time in a futile attempt to warm them up, waiting outside ____’s building. How is this evening going so slow? He has been here for perhaps half an hour now, so why does it feel like it’s been a decade?

And funnily enough, the only person who can put him out of his misery is _____. At this point, the guy fears he wouldn’t be able to so much as look her in the eye, but not doing that will be the end of him too.

He looks down and lets his hands run over his black button down shirt, wondering if she would like it. She loved seeing him in black on the first date. A loud click clack of heels grab his attention, perking his ears up. He looked up and there she was in all her glory.

Jungkook releases a breath and rubs his chest as if his heart hurts. As if it’s telling him how unworthy he is of this woman who is walking up to him, who may be as nervous as him but still chose him as her man.

The woman who could have anyone she wanted wrapped around her pinky finger gave her days, nights and evenings to him. She smiled at him, for him and if he was lucky, because of him.

_____ stops before him while he’s still adjusting to the sight of her. “How do I look?”

Unreal, exquisite and way out of his league.

He shakes his head from side to side, thinking of a single word that would suffice the answer to that. He fails and so instead he runs his fingers down her forearm until he reaches her soft hands and takes it into his own cold ones.

Placing a chaste kiss on her knuckles, he begins. “My imagination of you in this dress has got nothing on this vision.”

Her face morphs into the softest expression of love, “And exactly how many times have you imagined me in this dress, Jeon Jungkook?”

He takes a step forward, his chest almost touching hers. “I can’t answer that. You want to know why?”

“Why?” Her voice is emotionless. His thumb grazes her lower lip as he tries not to smudge her nude lipstick. “Because if I do, we’ll have to go back into your apartment and try not to wake your neighbours up.” She swats his chest and softly pushes him back, dissolving into a giggle.

“You’re looking quite handsome yourself.” she says as her eyes shamelessly check him out. His sleeves are halfway folded stopping just below his elbow, beautifying his tattooed forearms.

He’s also wearing his favorite blue baggy jeans with his usual black chunky boots. The same ones he goes for when he knows _____ might not be able to bear the pain caused by her heels, so he ends up swapping them with the boots.

He would argue carrying her all the way to her apartment instead, but settles elseways.

Jungkook opens the car door for her and only after she’s well seated, he runs to his side and takes off.

The ride to the restaurant is quiet despite the obvious tension that doesn't go unnoticed by either him or her. As much as he would like to spend the rest of the night snuggled into bed with her, he knows there is something more significant than that. So instead he indulges in caressing her thigh.

“After you, angel.” He places a hand on the small of her back.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

The ambience looks straight out of the movies. Like a paradise. Violinists are playing a chorus of Fuck her gently by Tenacious D far across the room.

Jungkook catches an unknown look on her face. “Something’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, flashing him a smile. “I love this song.”

He places a tiny kiss on her temple. “I know, baby. C’mon.”

You know how women have this killer instinct of knowing if and when somebody’s watching them? It’s like they have a separate pair of googly eyes on the back of their head to protect them from creeps.

From the moment you have entered the place, the man in the wine shirt has been making a hole in your face with the way he’s been staring at you.

Is your dress too revealing? Are you showing too much skin?

“Oh I forgot to tell you. Your grandmother called earlier today.” Jungkook disrupts your thoughts.

You gulp down the last piece of steak before answering. “Let me guess she asked you to join her for thanksgiving?” He nods, a bright smile on his face. “I told her I would love to.”

A cheeky smile unfurls slowly on your face. Jungkook loves your grandmother. Maybe a little bit more than you do. Just a tiny bit though. Last year when you and he visited her, he was the first person apart from you to get a hug out of her.

Your grandma is not much of a hugger by the way. Her hugs are totally exclusive.

“I’m sure she loves having my ‘eye candy of a boyfriend’ there.”

Jungkook snorts, placing his fork down. “She called me an eye candy?”

He dissolves into a fit of laughter when you answer his question with a nod.

“See now that’s the biggest achievement I have had in a while. I mean what are the odds your wife’s grandma calls your an eye candy-”

Something sours in your stomach. The steak here tastes awful or maybe it’s just you feeling pathetic that as soon as he says ‘wife’ your expression morphs into something so dreadful that it causes him to stop. What are the odds that you just gave him a reality check and dragged him out of a fool’s paradise?

“Angel, what’s-”

You stand abruptly, cutting him off yet again. His eyes bob all over you, and then a sad frown puckers between his brows.

“I’ll just be back. I need to use the washroom.” You say as you grab your handbag as quickly as you can before leaving him there. Confused and wondering what the fuck just happened?

Few minutes later, just as you’re walking outside the washroom and making a way towards your table someone’s voice causes you to stop midway.

“Excuse me.”

Turning to face the person, you come face to face with the same man from earlier. The one wearing a wine colored shirt along with a nasty expression. You believe he’s trying to look cocky but is failing miserably.

“Can I help you?”

A slow smile spreads over his mouth. “I couldn’t help but notice that the man you’re here with seems to upset you in some way.”

An awkward chuckle leaves you. “The man is my boyfriend and I don’t think it concerns you if he’s upsetting me or not.”

He walks a little closer. Oh no, this is bad.

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, “But clearly he’s not being a good boyfriend, is he?”

The audacity of this man.

You huff out a frustrated breath, “Listen, you need to shut up and stay within your limits. It’s not healthy going around poking your nose into everyone’s business.”

His sly smile grows even more as he steps closer than before.

The hair on your body stands up, and not in a good way, but in a very uncomfortable way. You suddenly regret the idea of leaving Jungkook’s side. Bad, bad decision.

Currently, you have two options. You can either just walk off and act like nothing happened, which by the way, is a safe option or you can kick the man in the balls and then act like nothing happened.

Since you're much more accustomed to the former option, you decide to do just that but when his hands grip your wrist with an iron grip, you settle on the latter.

You knee him between the legs with an intention to hurt him as he grunts in pain, his hands gripping where you just kicked him.

“You fucking bitch.”

Before he can say anything further, you storm off. Your phone buzzes inside your handbag and you automatically assume it to be Jungkook’s call. As soon as you spot him across the room, you feel the clouds parting, there’s a feeling threatening to arise. It’s something between protected and anguished.

Anguished because you let your mind speak so deafeningly that it silenced the oh so loud love Jungkook has for you. And protected because you know for a fact that if he had any idea about what that man just did to you, he would not think twice before dragging him by the hair before bringing him to his knees in front of you to apologize.

He stands once he sees you and you waste no time running towards him. Your arms go around him as you nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. His arms immediately embracing you in return, securing you against his chest.

It feels warm.

Concern laces his voice as he says, “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you. Breathe”

You don’t even realise you’re panting unless he says that. You’re aware that at this point the way you flung yourself at him must have got everyone’s attention. But you genuinely don’t care. It might as well be an auditorium full of people watching you hug your boyfriend like an anchor, you just don’t care.

You realise that’s exactly what Jungkook is. Your anchor. Someone who didn’t even ask as to what happened before he straight away began consoling you.

His hand envelops the back of your head in a protective way while the other soothes your back.

“Do you want to leave? We can leave right now if you want to.”

“Yes, please.”

His body shakes as though he just nodded. “All right, let me pay real quick and we’ll leave yeah?”

Your voice is muffled against his chest. “Yeah.”

You suck in a sharp breath as he lets you go. The small folder on the table grabs your attention. He opens it only to find a note inside of it saying— “It’s on me, gorgeous”.

You can see the wheels in his mind turning, but before he starts asking you any questions which may or may not cause a breakdown of yours, you say, “I’ll explain it to you outside. Can we please go?”

“Let me see wh-”

“Please?” He lets out a defeated sigh and nods. “Yeah- Yeah let’s go.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

At first when Jungkook saw that note, the first emotion that he felt was rage and a very serious one at that. But it was soon replaced by realization. It doesn’t take a scientist to figure out that something nasty went down after _____ left to use the washroom. Something he can’t wait to get to the bottom of. Nevertheless, he didn’t want her to be pressured to answer the more obvious question.

Jungkook’s girl is attractive. She’s kind and empathetic and fucking stunning which makes her worthy of all the attention she gets. Of course men are going to want to be with her.

Initially, it bothered him. A lot.

Now, though? He’s grown rather used to it. However, it has never come to having someone pay for her in a restaurant. Even the thought of someone so much as speaking to her in an inhumanely manner makes him want to punch a hole through a wall.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The silence is too loud inside the car. He can hear ____’s heart beating loudly or is it his own?

She’s leaning back with her head against the headrest. When she doesn’t respond, Jungkook speaks again, “_____ baby, will you please at least look at me?”

Her eyes connect with his and he flashes her the softest of smiles.

Taking her hand, he kisses the inside of her wrist where he can feel her pulse.

Thump thump thump.

“I want you to give me something, angel. Anything.”

He can see her gulp before admitting, “There was um… there was a guy outside the washroom and he kind of tried to force himself on me,” she closes her eyes for a brief moment, “Maybe I’m just being dramatic, but I handled him.”

Jungkook’s stomach drops. He was right. His hands fly out to open the car door before _____ holds him back. “Don’t. I said I handled it.”

He turns back, his voice leaking with anger along with something more barbaric. “And I’m proud that you did, but if I don’t go in and beat that asshole into a new one I won’t be able to call myself a man worthy of you anymore. I need him to know that he can’t fuck with my girl and go about his goddamn day.” “Jungkook, please. I can’t take it anymore. Please stop.”

And he does. For now.

He leans back, running his hands over his face with frustration. For a few minutes he and ____ just stare outside the front glass of the car. The parking lot slowly gets empty as people leave for their homes one by one.

Just when he thinks _____ has dozed off, her voice reaches him. “Can I get one more hug?”

“Come here.”

He takes her into a warm embrace before kissing the top of her head, settling his lips there. His anger has yet not fully dissipated, but having her so close calms his heart. It calms his whole being. Her touch, her breath against his skin, her presence heals something in him.

Therefore, he made up his mind about spending his whole life with her. The little slip of words, which by the way was totally unintentional, soured _____'s expression and that didn’t go unnoticed by him.

She’s scared but he fully intends to let her know that she doesn’t have to.

______ unwraps herself from his arms and pushes back. Just enough for their noses to touch.

She shakes her head, “Don’t give me those eyes.”

Jungkook holds back a smile. “What eyes, angel?”

“The same ones you give me when you want something dirty to happen. Those big brown eyes of yours.”

He lets a chuckle slip out. “I’m down if you are.”

When she offers him her own laugh, gosh it’s as though he comes alive. If he could bottle up the sound, he would. Something passes in _____’s eyes. Lust? Desire? He can’t pinpoint.

He wants to kiss the hell out of her though and he wants to do it desperately. Her eyes drop to his mouth and he takes it as a sign to lean forward and press his mouth against hers.

Her lips part ever so slightly followed by her gripping Jungkook’s collar to bring him even closer. So close as if she wants their souls to intertwine.

The feeling is very much mutual.

She gets up from the passenger’s seat without breaking the kiss and straddles his lap. Her legs on either side of his thigh as their core’s touch. Jungkook is not sure how long he can endure this sweet pain of waiting.

In all sincerity, he’s been holding himself back from the very moment he saw her walking up to him in that dress. Do with that information what you will.

Now, he just wants to say fuck it and get inside her— only that he can’t, because he wants her to take her time and ask for it. Then and then only he will fuck her. If it’s inside this car then so be it.

The kiss is electric and filled with passion, tingling his skin in all the right places as she matches his enthusiasm with her own.

______ pulls back with a deep breath, leaving Jungkook panting heavily.

“Please.” she begs.

A strand of hair falls on her face. He tucks it behind her ear. “Please what baby?”

“Please fuck me, Jungkook. I want you so bad and I want you right now.” she whines.

He grins. “At your service, ma’am.”

He hears _____’s light chuckle as he gets out of the car, carrying her with him while also making sure she doesn’t hit her head on the hood. She detaches herself from him once they’re out and settles in the back seat. Only after ensuring she’s comfortable enough, Jungkook follows her.

His body lays on top of her and he wastes no time as their mouths collide. Her finger grip the hair on his nape and he groans with pleasure, his cock going thick. He rubs it on her lower stomach to show her how much he wants her, gaining a moan out of her.

Jungkook’s head goes fuzzy with every passing second. He almost comes when she lifts her hips up and rubs a slow circle against his cock.

“Fuck.” He groans, pulling back from the kiss. _____’s cheeks are heated and lips are swollen. He did that. Her man did that.

Suddenly, he’s grateful for the tinted glass and his big car.

_____ lifts her head up and kisses his sweaty cheek, swiping his forehead with her palm. “You’re sweating, honey.”

“Yeah, I tend to do that in your presence. Do you know how hard it was for me to stay sane after seeing you look so unbelievably gorgeous?”

She passes him a lazy smile, “You’ve always been so good at controlling yourself, haven’t you?”

“Not anymore.” He sits up, knees on either side of her body and starts unbuckling his belt all the while panting with excitement. His pants slide halfway down letting his cock spring free. Thick, angry and leaking with precum. His shirt goes next.

______’s eyes flash with lust as she bites her lower lip. The straps of her dress have slipped down, leaving her tits bare and open for Jungkook.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, baby.” he leans forward as she runs a hand up his bare spine, hooking her legs over his hip.

“Please.” she whispers.

A loud thunder outside the car grabs Jungkook’s attention. Nice, he’s so horny he didn’t even realise that it’s raining. Another rumble of thunder drowns their panting breath but he still only focuses on the woman beneath him. The goddess of a woman who trusts him with her body. How lucky he is to call her his own.

She brushes his hair out of his face, her thumb dusting over the mole on the bridge of his nose before her hand follows the path of his tattooed arm, his rib, his ass, until she wraps a fist around his dick.

He pushes into her hand. “I need to grab the condoms from the console, angel.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, the car filling with the pants and whimpers before she says, “I want you bare. I’m on the pill.”

Jungkook has never gone without condom nor has he considered going without one, but this woman right here just asked him to get inside her bare and fuck if it doesn’t tempt him.

And so he gives in, but not before asking, “Are you sure?”

“As sure as one can be.”

He nods, bringing his lips back to hers. His hand finds her thong under the dress as he slides it down her legs. Then he strokes a single line up and down her slit, wetting his finger with her cum. When he brings the same finger to his mouth and sucks on it, _____ all but whimpers.

His cock follows next and he does the same with it, rubbing himself up and down her slit as he coats himself in her before he presses his thumb down on the head of his cock, curls his hips forward, and pushes into her.

Tortuously slowly, inch by fucking inch.

She’s so warm and tight for him. He’s not sure how long he can take before he shoots his load inside of her.

“More.” she pleads, her face morphing into the most beautiful expression of pleasure.

Jungkook pulls back and pushes again, watching more of a length disappear inside of her. He’s not even halfway in and she’s already crying out his name.

Leaning in, he bites her neck in an attempt to give her his all. All his love, all his nights and all his life. The question is at the tip of his tongue but considering what happened inside, he quickly holds himself back.

“You’re doing so good for me, my angel. Taking me so well,” He thrusts again. “You’re made for me, aren’t you?”

She cries out.

“What was that?” She throws her head back. “Yes. Oh my god”

Thrust. “Yes, what baby? I’m gonna need you to say it.”

Jungkook takes her nipple in his mouth, sucking on it until she cries out again, “I’m made for you. Fuck.”

He releases the nipple with a loud pop. “That’s right you are.” His pelvic bone is flush with hers, ____’s legs as wide as possible to accommodate him. She dusts her fingertips up and down his spine while he slowly kisses along her jaw.

When she pushes her heels into his ass, urging him to move, he pulls out part way before pushing back in again.

She lets out a moan quickly followed by his own. _____’s hands run over Jungkook’s abs, nipples, and wrap around his shoulders.

He’s fucking her slowly, taking his time, feeling her body and letting her feel his too. Every brush, every graze, every breath is precious to him.

Soft and intimate.

So when the next words leave Jungkook’s mouth, he blames it on the moment. “Marry me.”

_____’s eyes which were closed earlier, savoring the very moment, pop open and his movement halts.

“What?”

“Fuck. Okay, I know this is not a position or place a woman wants to be proposed in, but I have to say this before I go insane. _____, I know you’re scared and I also know the reason behind it. Of course, I won’t ask you why you kept that part a secret from me, because I respect you and want you to take your time. But baby,” he brushes his thumb over her cheekbone, “I need you to know that I will die before I let anything like that go down between us. I love you so much you don’t even realise. Sometimes I even shock myself with how much I cherish you. You’re a gift to me, a gift which brings out the best not just in me but in everyone she meets.”

He places a small kiss on her forehead before continuing, “I can go anywhere, see everything but it still wouldn’t match the level of affection I hold for you in my heart. Still wouldn’t match the beauty of your smile, you amazing woman. You’re all I have ever wanted. So please, make me the happiest motherfucker in the world by saying ye-”

“Yes”

‘What?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you. Now will you please shut up fuck me like you promised, husband?”

He bites her jaw, “Oh, I’ll fuck you so nice you’ll be begging for more, wife.”

Soon enough, _____’s lower lip trembles as her orgasm takes over, and he has the privilege to watch it all. The fluttering of her lashes, the marks of her nail down his arm and the way she calls him her husband again when she’s able to find her words.

He’s so gone.

About half an hour later when he asks her again as to what changed her mind about marriage, she says something so deep yet in such a casual way, he wants to cry.

“When I hugged you inside, you didn’t ask questions. You just let me be and that may seem like a miniscule thing for someone else, but for me it was enough. Enough to stay with you until I turn all wrinkly and grey haired.”

2K notes · View notes

heyimkana · 2 months ago

Text

Come Home to Me (2/2)

Read Part 1 | Read it on AO3

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo X Female Reader

Genre: Marriage AU, fluff, smut, hurt/comfort

Summary: Your husband notices how worried you are about him going on another raid, so he stays for a bit longer to convince you that no matter what happens in the future, he will come home to you.

Word Count: 8K (I wrote too many banters I'm so sorry)

Content Warnings: Semi-public sex, swearing

“Beru, take my daughter inside. I need to be with my wife. Alone.”

The sudden solemnity that befell your husband’s face and the way his voice, low and heavy, resonated in the air around you smeared goosebumps upon your skin. His tone carried a breath of possessiveness, imbuing life to the slumbering butterflies within your stomach.

“Certainly, my liege,” came the shadow soldier’s immediate response. Shortly after he performed a deep bow, Beru walked into the house with your daughter held tight in his arms, closing the front door behind him to offer you the freedom to speak what your heart truly felt—except you couldn’t. You were scared for a thousand different reasons.

The sun had sunk low enough below the horizon for the darkness to gather, a stroke of purple hue tinging the vast orange sky, ready to wrap the stars with its velvety quilt. Jinwoo might appear nearly transcendent under the evening sun, but nothing embraced him better than the night’s cloak, a fitting companion to a man who carried the undead within his steps. Standing before him in this quietude, you felt like you slowly returned to your old self. Abashed, nervous, losing your tongue in front of a man so handsome, he made your heart ache.

Jinwoo turned to you, his face unreadable, guarded, but there was undoubtedly a gleam of concern residing in his deep blue eyes. He took a stride toward you, his movement soundless against the marbled floor of your porch, the same way death approached those who wished to harm the only person he could call home. “What is it?” he began in a voice so soft, it was almost zephyr-like. His lean fingers circled your wrist like a bracelet, cool to the touch. “You’ve never looked this perturbed before. Did something happen?”

“No,” your answer—your lie—came almost instantly, flawless to anyone’s ears. “Nothing happened.” Behind your clamped teeth, your mind endlessly screamed the words your tongue was itching to say, a desperate plea you tried to veil with everything you had.

Don’t go, Jinwoo, please, just this one time. I have a terrible feeling about this, and I know I can’t prove to you why, but it’s eating me alive. I feel it stronger today, this fear of losing you, of losing the other half of me. I know you want me to bid my farewell with a smile the way I always do, and I’m trying my best to do it even now, but there’s only so much I can keep to myself. I don’t want to say goodbye to my husband, not knowing if it will be the last time I can see his face. So, please… Please stay… Don’t leave me. Don’t go. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Although these thoughts remained unspoken, in Jinwoo’s eyes, they manifested vividly on your face. But he wished to hear them directly, to see them flow past your lips, so he could capture each sentence and turn them into words of comfort.

“Sweetheart,” he repeated, his voice tender yet authoritative at the same time. “Don’t make me leave you like this. Don’t make me worry about you more than I already do. Tell me. Tell me so I can help.”

He’s right, you thought. Keeping this from him will only make him worry. He can’t afford to get distracted, not now. But when you still kept your lips pressed tight, trying to collect the words, his two fingers framed your chin, leaving you with no choice but to meet his scrutinizing stare.

He seemed upset. No, more than that, he looked… angry.

The air seemed to shimmer around him as his emotions slowly climbed to the surface, his gaze darkening as his desire to protect you gripped him like a vice. “Did someone hurt you?” Jinwoo questioned you, his voice a deep rumble, crossing through the nearly infinitesimal space between your lips and his like an impending storm.

You fidgeted. “N-no—”

He tilted your face higher, not letting you break free from his gaze. “I would be able to tell in a heartbeat if someone laid a hand on you, but if there was something that I didn’t know, some clues that I missed, someone who made you feel even slightly unsafe.” His eyes began to gleam; the shadows beneath his feet trembled in fear in the presence of his restrained rage. “I want their names. Now.”

You gulped. This side of him never failed to make shivers crawl down your spine. Jinwoo had always been so gentle and loving with you that it was easy to forget just how vicious and merciless he could be when his protectiveness over you took form. Your husband had killed for your sake before, more than you could possibly count, and he’d take another hundred lives within a blink of your eyes should you ask him to.

As you released your shuddering breath, you twined your fingers around his wrist. “No.” You tilted your head to the side just enough for your lips to press a soothing kiss against the blue and red rivers of veins under his pasty skin. “It’s not like that. No threats, nothing. I’m safe.”

Relief washed over him, albeit only faintly. “What is it, then?”

You tarried, trying to mince your phrases as best as you could. “I know you can handle anything,” you only began, yet your voice was already cracking with emotions. “I know that, and I believe in your strength. But I saw you, Jinwoo, just like everybody else. I saw the way your enemy stabbed your heart and tore open your chest. You survived. By some miracle, you did. But the sight of it… It haunts me."

You took a breath before you continued. "I find it impossible to sleep at night when you’re not next to me. My mind keeps drifting back to you no matter what I do, wondering if you were fighting for your life again, trapped in a battle you couldn’t win. Sometimes I look at you and…” You laid your hand above his beating heart, your fingers tracing over it as your eyes grew vacant. “I remember the way the beast’s claws pierced through your chest, right here, all five of them. Your body may have healed, and there are no traces of those wounds left on your skin, not even a scar, but… I can still see them. I’m still scared of them. And I can’t help but think… What if it happens again? What if your luck runs out this time?”

Jinwoo continued to stay mute, listening to you intently as if you were the only voice in the universe. He only reacted once quivers ran through your fingertips, seizing your hand and pressing it harder against his chest, as if to remind you that beneath those translucent scars, his heart still remained the same—still alive, beating, racing, because of you, only for you.

You curled your fingers, still couldn’t wash away the dread. “I know you can’t change who you are,” you continued, your voice laced with tears. “And I know you have no other options but to do your duty, which is why I always try my best not to stop you from leaving. But today, for some reason, I feel anxious. It almost feels the same as how I felt on the day I almost lost you. It’s probably nothing, but… Right now, it’s suffocating me.”

The tension was palpable between you, leaving you to ponder whether you had spoken too much. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser for you not to speak at all. You blinked back your tears, wiping the ones that already crossed the edges with the heel of your palm. You felt mortified for baring your feelings out in the open, for being so theatrical about it.

“I’m sorry. I’m being so dramatic, aren’t I?” You forced out a laugh; the desire to flee the scene was almost too tempting to refuse. It didn’t help that he hadn’t spoken a word, leaving you shrouded by your own perception of his feelings. Have you upset him? Troubled him? Or maybe even hurt him in some way? Just the thought of it brought more fresh tears to emerge in your eyes.

“I—” You cast your face to the side. “I should go check on our baby—”

Your husband caught you by your wrist, stopping you before you could escape, his touch firm but far from painful. His eyes were hidden underneath the curtain of his raven strands, but the way he pressed his lips so tautly together, enough for them to grow white, clearly indicated how much he took your words seriously.

“I’m scared, too.”

His confession, spoken barely above a whisper, left you stunned. Out of all the things you thought he’d say at this moment, that was never one of them.

You pivoted around to face him. “Jin… woo..?”

It took him a moment to compose his words as if he lacked the bravery to come clean, to showcase his vulnerability. It was as if he had spent an eternity trying to keep these words all to himself, fighting back all the intentions to reveal this frail side of him to you, afraid of how you’d react, if he’d sadden you with it.

“I’m terrified, Sweetheart,” he repeated, quiet, almost breathlessly. “Not of death, but leaving you.” The lines of his face were strained, filled with consternation. “I know how it feels to lose those important to me. No matter how strong I get, no matter how hard I try, I still can’t protect everyone. I’ve lost my friends in battles. I’ve lost my father. And I nearly lost my mother and my sister, too. I know exactly how it feels, and it haunts me every day more than you could imagine.”

His face twisted in sadness, almost in agony at the recollection of the precious lives that slipped through his hands, but that amount of pain felt small in comparison to how he felt when he added, “But you…” His fingertips trailed an invisible path down your cheek. “You and our daughter… You’re beyond that. You’re not just my family; you’re fragments of me. The hardest part of my mission is never about dealing with my enemies. It’s this moment right here, right now, bidding you goodbye and watching you smile back at me with your heart breaking in your eyes, thinking that you’d never get to see me again. You’re constantly on my mind, Sweetheart, every second of every day. And I always worry that something will happen to you while I’m gone. That you won’t be here to meet me at the door when I come home. That I’d be too late, and I wouldn’t be able to find you, to save you, even if I searched the whole world for you.”

His throat felt parched, his voice so close to shattering. “With my power, no matter where you are, no matter how far you are from me, I can run back to you the moment I sense danger around you, but it will take me a second, and a second could change everything. You saw what happened with Jinah, didn’t you? I managed to save her right on time, but if I had arrived only a second later, I would’ve lost her. And if I… If you were in the same position… And I was a second too late on my way back to you… If I lost you forever…” He took one last step toward you, and he crumbled, his body sinking forward, his head falling to your shoulder. “I wouldn’t know how to live my life anymore…” A shaky breath escaped him. “Not without you…”

The amount of fear that radiated through his body was almost appalling. It was hard to believe someone so strong could tremble like this at the thought of losing you.

Jinwoo lifted his head, gathering your face in his hands, his eyes carrying the weight of a broken man. “I know it’s hard for you to watch me leave…” He pressed your foreheads together, his eyes closed in the sliver of bliss from being so close to you, but his eyebrows remained furrowed, tense from the pain and the horror of being separated from the other half of his soul. “And I will never make light of your feelings, but you also need to know just how unbearable it is for me to walk away from you…”

You squeezed your teeth together behind your lips, your vision blurred by your tears. You could only offer a shaky nod in response, afraid you’d be sobbing if you let a word slip out of you.

“It tears me apart just to kiss you goodbye, Sweetheart.” He returned the small distance between you, gently brushing your tears away with his thumb. “Every single time I leave, it’s like cutting off a piece of me, and you don’t know how much, just how much I want to stay and be with you right now—to spend every second of my life with you, so I can stop you from looking at me with those eyes. So I can put your heart at ease.” He lifted your face just enough to meet your crystalline eyes. “Don’t ever think I want to choose my duty over you. You are always, always, the most important thing in my life.”

It was the first time you saw him so fragile, so exposed, and you could feel just how much your presence in his life affected him. You were his weakness, his only weakness.

You quickly collected yourself, desperate to assure him. “I know…” Speaking in your softest voice, you reached out to touch him, to cup his cheek, to do anything you could to soothe him even when you, yourself, were so close to breaking. “I know how much you care about me—about us—and I’m happy, Jinwoo. You don’t know how glad I am to have a husband like you. So strong” —you brushed a featherlight kiss on his cheek—“yet, so kind”—on his jawline—“and so, so gentle.” You planted the last one on his lips, as soft and tender as how you whispered his name. “And yes, of course, I understand how hard it is for you. This is why I didn’t want to say anything at first. I didn’t want to make you feel this way. I didn’t want to make you worry more than you already did. And I’m…” You caressed his cheekbone with your thumb. “I’m sorry for speaking my thoughts out loud just now. I shouldn’t have said anything, at least not now when you’re about to leave.”

He let out a sigh under your comforting touch, almost yearning. Covering your hand with his own, he sank his face further into your palm like a child leaning to his mother’s touch. “No, don’t be sorry,” he shook his head, his lids shutting at the feeling of your warmth seeping into his pores. “I’m glad you could be honest with me. Thank you. I can breathe easy now, knowing that you’re safe.”

When he stared down at you, your smile for him was the softest, the sweetest it had ever been. It reminded him almost of his mother’s, the way it carried so much love, affection, adoration, and, most importantly, appreciation. As someone who held nearly limitless power, the constant efforts he made to save the world were never overlooked. Still, more often than not, people chose not to express their gratitude, saying he was merely doing his job as an S-Rank Hunter, taking everything he did for granted. You had seen just how cruel the public voice could be when they spoke ill of him, not long after the Jeju Raid ended.

Hunter Min Byung-Gu’s life could’ve been saved if Sung Jinwoo had appeared sooner! Yeah, where the hell was he anyway? Why didn’t he join the raid from the start? Was he scared? Hey, hey, I heard he refused to join the raid at first. Does he not realize his responsibility as an S-Rank Hunter? Embarrassing, right? S-Rank Hunters are supposed to be selfless heroes! Sung Jinwoo is not one of them!

Your husband never let these derisions get to him, but they got to you. It pained you, angered you to see these words spreading online like wildfire, but you couldn’t do much to change their opinions, and even if you could, it wouldn’t have mattered. Jinwoo never cared about them. He cared about you, about what you think of him, and fortunately for him, you were always there to appreciate every little thing he did. He didn’t have to save the world to impress you. You were already grateful for his presence, even just by seeing him plant a little kiss on your daughter’s head.

“Thank you, Jinwoo,” you softly said, “for making the world a better place for me and our daughter to live in. But more than that, thank you for all the efforts you made as my husband and as the father of our child. For making time for us even when you were losing sleep, drained after all the raids. I’m sure your baby is grateful, too, for all the tea parties you had with her.”

He laughed a little, still carrying a hint of melancholy. “She can be quite demanding sometimes.”

“Yes, she can, but you’re always patient with her, and I adore you for that.” You stroked his cheek. “You’re a hero to us in more ways than one. You’re everything we want you—need you to be, and for that, I’ll always be grateful to you.”

His jaws clasped together like a floodgate, preventing his emotions from bursting beyond control. He nodded once, a bit bashful but visibly delighted by your lines. With a quiet giggle, you kissed the tip of his nose. “What, getting shy now?”

He responded with a chuckle, pretty roses blooming in his cheeks. “No, I’m just happy. You always know what to say to lift the weight off my shoulders. And I wish I could say something to ease your mind, too, but…” He broke away from your touch, returning your gaze. “I don’t know what the future holds for me. I can lie to you and tell you that nothing could harm me, but I know you wouldn’t want that. So, all I can offer you right now is my promise.” He brought your hand closer to his face, his lips engraving the words directly to the bumps of your knuckles. “I promise that I will do anything, everything within my power, to come home to you.”

Your heart still splintered, but it wasn’t nearly as agonizing anymore. Perhaps it was all due to his vow. Or maybe you’ve learned how to withstand the pain, to welcome it as a part of you, knowing it was something you couldn’t chase away, something that would only be repeated in the future. “Jinwoo—”

A pair of soft lips captured your own, your face held, your words stolen. The sudden kiss was chaste, almost innocent, just pure romance beneath the bitterness of a farewell. Jinwoo pulled away but only barely, the tip of his nose still grazing your cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered, his warm breath, sweet and intoxicating, fanning your lips. “I love you so much, Sweetheart, more than I could bear.”

You looked up at him, your heartbeat roaring in your ears. “I love you, too.”

Another kiss, another soft touch from a man you’d sworn to love unconditionally. But the gentleness of your colliding lips, the innocence of it, could never last long, always replaced by something more arduous. A hint of his longing for you, his craving, showed in the way he molded your lips beneath his, and within seconds, his kiss turned deep, controlling, consuming. His arm slithered around your waist, pressing your body close against him, tight enough for you to wonder if you could just melt into him, be a part of him. Perhaps then, you could be wherever he was. A world where you don’t have to bid him goodbye… Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

His breathing turned uneven by the time he ended the kiss, enthralled and far from satisfied. And just like him, you couldn’t do much but stare at the shape of his pretty mouth in your haze.

“You asked me if I’d let the world burn for you.” His voice turned raspy, hoarse with need, his eyes watching the way his thumb glided over your slicked lips. He pressed down on your bottom one, and you parted your mouth in response, an act so natural, it made his gaze heavy with lust. “I’d do it,” he said, stealing your breath with it. “I’d watch the world burn to the ground just to be with you for a second longer. All you need to do is say the words.”

Your eyes turned round, your heart thrashing inside your ribcages. You could see the conviction in his eyes, giving you as much joy as the fear that dawned upon you.

The safety of the world did not lie in Sung Jinwoo’s hands. It was in yours.

Your ardent love, intense and overflowing, rushed to your hands, crumpling the front of his coat as you brought him back to you for another taste of his lips. You pulled your husband down to you, to where he belonged, to where he should stay, your mouth meeting his in a searing kiss. You were the gravity that pulled him in, the spark of fire to reignite the flames within him. And you wanted to kiss him forever, to have his hands on your body, to be close enough for you to—

Jinwoo suddenly stiffened in your arms, breaking off the kiss so abruptly that it left your mind reeling for a second. A frown sketched over the lines in his forehead, irritation glinting in his eyes.

Your heart plummeted, unsure of what you did wrong. “W-what is it?”

“Nothing,” he sighed exasperatedly, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I just heard Igris talking in my ear, reminding me of my schedule. What time is it now?” He lifted his wrist, glancing at the silver watch. “Damn it.” He clicked his tongue; his vexation doubled. “I guess I really have to go.” But his eyes, like always, found their way home to you, and he took you in once more, this breathtaking view of you with your face flushed, your lips all red and bruised and glistening with his spit. “And it’s probably better if I leave now before I get, umm…” He noticeably swallowed, trying to rein in the desire to take you here against the wall. “Carried away.”

With flames kissing your cheeks, you tossed your stare to the floor. “Y-You’re right. Sorry.”

“‘Sorry?’” Jinwoo tittered, the sound soft and wonderful in your ears. Lifting your face by the chin, he tilted his head slightly to the side, adoring you. “It was my pleasure, Sweetheart.”

His smirk, his voice… He seemed so effortlessly sexy when he said it that it turned you sheepish. You removed yourself from him. “S-so, umm… When will you be back again exactly?”

“Six days from now. A week, maybe.”

Your shoulders sagged. He could’ve said six years, and it would probably sound just as torturous. “Okay…”

“Come on, baby,” he smiled softly despite his heart breaking just the same. “Don’t be like this.” He rubbed his knuckles against your cheek before he poked you lightly with his finger, making you giggle from it. “I’ll make it up to you once I get home, okay? Anything you want me to do—anything at all—I’ll do it.”

“Anything?”

His previously impish smile fully morphed into a devilish grin. “Anything.”

“Hopefully, it’s not something sexual,” you narrowed your eyes playfully at him.

“Hopefully, it is.” His chuckles didn't last long, followed shortly by a heavy sigh. “Can I hug my wife one last time?”

You stilled, your breath caught in your throat. “It’s not the last time.”

He blinked before he understood his mistake, sadness coating the soft bow of his lips once he did. “Sorry. Poor choice of words.” He spread his arms wide, waiting for you to return to his warmth with the softest smile on his face. “I mean, can I hug you one more time before I go? And touch you endlessly once I get home?”

Contentment suffused you at once, and you answered him by carving the shape of your smile against his lips, your fingers coiled against the front of his coat. You made sure to keep your kiss light, not wanting to repeat the same mistake of drowning in desire. You weren’t sure you could escape it should it happen again. But even so, when you parted from him, you couldn’t deny the tension between you. Like magnets, you were drawn together. Just the slightest brush of your skin meeting his could turn it into a force beyond your control.

You tried to distract him—or rather, yourself. “H-hey, you said Igris talked to you before. Does that mean he… saw what we were doing?” This was the first time it happened, as Jinwoo had always been careful in the past not to let his shadow soldiers witness your intimate acts. Whenever you two were together, your husband would always command his army to shut down all their senses for a moment, to give you the privacy you needed. You weren’t sure why Igris could see you now, but the thought horrified you. “I’ve always been awkward with him because he doesn’t talk much and seems so… noble. If he saw us kissing like that, I… I don’t think I could face him again. Especially after…” You kept on rambling, driven out of shame, submerged at the thought of seeing the dark knight again after he witnessed everything that happened between you and his master.

Unbeknownst to you, Jinwoo’s eyes darkened, completely lost in the view. Seeing you like this, standing so small and fidgety before him, looking so flustered that you couldn’t handle meeting his eyes when you spoke—

God, I want to ruin her.

I want to make her all mine again.

His nails scraped against his palm as he tried to find restraint, his throat burning with the desire to claim you, to taste you, to drink everything you give him. You were asking him a question, weren’t you? Something about Igris. Fuck, he couldn’t remember it. He couldn’t pay attention to any of the lines you said, watching how your mouth shaped the words but not registering them. Your voice was a whisper in his ear, easily drowned by the filthy thoughts that grew even more vehemently with each second passing by.

“Honey?”

At your call, he averted his gaze. One more second looking at you, and he would’ve succumbed to his needs. “Hmm?”

“I asked you if Igris saw us.”

“Huh? Oh, right. Yes, they saw it.”

“Wait—They?”

“Yeah, the entire army, basically.” Though he wanted to seem apologetic, his grin betrayed him. “I was too absorbed with you that I forgot to tell them to close their eyes.”

You gaped, colors draining fast from your face. “Jinwoo! ”

He laughed quietly at your reaction, catching the little punches you threw to his chest. “Baby, relax. So what if they saw us kissing? You’re my love.”

Your stomach somersaulted at the word he chose. He could’ve just said my wife instead of my love. It would've been easier for your heart. “Well, I don’t want them to see that…” Another pout, another wild urge he had to chase away before he bruised your lips with his own. You exhaled. For some reason, you felt exhausted. “Though it’s… sweet how Igris tried to keep you from running late. That should’ve been my job. Did he just pop up, tell you to go, and then disappear again?” The vision of it looked funny in your head because surely, he must’ve been embarrassed seeing us like that, right?

“Actually, he told me to stay.” Your husband wound his arms around your waist, drawing you closer before he rested them on your curves. “He said that I should just send him there and let him take care of the gate for me. So I can be here with my queen.”

“‘Your queen?”’ You repeated, couldn’t help but feel amused even though you were touched by how caring the dark knight was to your family.

Scarlet tinged his cheek. “His words, not mine.”

“I see. So, I’m not your queen, then?”

The shade deepened as he tossed his face to the side. “Of”—he cleared his throat, his voice reducing to a mumble—“Of course, you are.”

You giggled, and your husband softened into another smile, staring at you affectionately. He seemed glad that you’d rediscovered the strength to throw a jest or two.

“Well, as much as I don’t wish for my king to go,” you dawdled with your words, building expectations as you glided one hand up his chest. You could feel the ridges of his lean, taut muscles underneath his shirt. A wave of desire pooled inside your stomach, threatening to resurface if you weren’t being careful. “The world needs him. Even if I keep you to myself now, you’re bound to leave for another mission sooner or later. I’ve come to realize that…” You paused to gain control of your emotions, your hands fixing his collar in your attempt to seek distraction. “The best way to deal with this is by getting myself used to it. Get used to this feeling that you leave me when you kiss me goodbye. I have to teach myself to be patient, as it will only be a matter of time before my husband returns. I think that’s what I have to do,” you smiled at him, shy amidst the mischievousness that you previously displayed. “As your queen.”

His heart thawed at your lines, cradling you close enough by the shoulders to bury his face in your hair, breathing in your scent, memorizing it so he could recall this sense of peace you gave him when he was miles away from you. Even without words, you could tell just how proud he was of you. “Thank you,” he murmured against your temple. He kept you this way for a moment, his nose nuzzling against your strands until he remembered how time would never be merciful to him. “I really have to go, baby…”

“I know…”

But when he pulled away, he couldn’t find the strength to detach his gaze from you, caught in a conflict between his feelings and his responsibility. “I’ll be…”—he traced your cheek, his gaze falling to your lips—“back soon, okay…?”

You nibbled at the corner of your lip, causing him to nearly groan at the sight. You didn’t mean to entice him; you were just nervous under his hooded gaze, your body brimming with anticipation. You knew he wanted another kiss, another touch, and you wanted thousands of them, but— “Okay…”

Jinwoo moved closer, as close as he could be, his face hovering merely a few inches from yours. Nothing but desire resided in his eyes, his voice low and husky when he spoke, “Don’t miss me too much…”

It was like the air crackled between you, invisible hands drawing you together. Your fingers twined a little tighter around the front of his coat, itching to tug him down and erase the millimeters of space separating your lips. “I’ll try…” You replied with shivers in your breath, and in a moment of weakness, your gaze cascaded to his lips.

And seeing that, he snapped.

All shadows. Leave us. Now.

“Jin—mmph!” You were pushed back against the wall, your body lifted to your toes, and your lips devoured. He couldn’t do it. Whatever battle he was fighting inside, he lost it the moment he realized you wanted him just the same, and he didn’t care. You were still his prize to claim, your taste was his to consume, your warmth was his to take, and he drowned in you almost instantly, his fingers possessively grabbing your face, leaving you with no choice but to accept his kiss, to accept whatever it was he planned to give you.

Without wasting a second, he wedged his knee between your legs, parting them open and having his thigh pressed firmly against your core. You gasped against his mouth, your body clinging onto him, shuddering at the thrilling sensation. “J-Jinwoo—”

“I know,” he replied shortly, almost in a growl, breathless against your mouth. “I need you, too, so just—” He pressed your body tight against him, his lips placed upon yours again with such urgency as if being separated from you for merely a second deprived him of all the oxygen he needed.

The last thread of restraint in your head forced you to place your hands on his chest. Despite your aching need to rub yourself against his thigh, you voiced your thoughts aloud between lustful kisses. “Wait—we shouldn’t—mmph—”

With a grunt, he removed your hands from him, pinning them against the wall as he ceaselessly devoured your mouth. He kept you that way, trapped and caged within his hold. “Y-you have to go,” you managed to whimper out, your body tensing as he trailed open-mouthed kisses down your throat.

Jinwoo finally broke away, his face flushed, painted over with nothing but ardor. “Want me to stop?”

Your heart thrashed wildly inside your chest. The huskiness in his voice, the way his breathing turned heavy at the sight of you—what women would say no?

“Come here.” You pulled him back to you, begged him for another kiss, a wish that he was so eager to comply. Struggling to match his pace, you found yourself clawing at the back of his trench coat, one of your legs hooking around his thigh as he pushed your dress up to your stomach, revealing more soft skin and supple flesh for him to grip and sink his nails into. He grunted against your neck, a string of expletives among sinful praises, and you shut your eyes, head thrown back at the thrill of having him act so needy, so desperate for you.

You couldn’t care about anything, not anymore, but your memory recalled the sour look he made when he checked on his watch a moment ago. How much time do we have until he really needs to go? “Jinwoo—ah—” You felt his teeth grinding not so gently against your skin, marking you as if he wanted to leave something for you to remember him by, to ache for in your wake. “W-what time should you be leaving—”

His fingers circled your throat, holding you dominantly in his grip. “Ten minutes ago. Open your mouth.”

He deepened the kiss as soon as you parted your lips for him, moaning at the burst of your taste on his tongue. You welcomed his taste with a gasp, your hands now crawling up his nape, his hair, making a nest out of his strands the same way he made a mess out of you. His tongue delved inside, begging for a sliver of your sweetness, but you wanted to give him everything, and you did, your tongue sliding against his own, kissing him as if this was your last time to remember just how amazing he felt against you, lips to lips, tongue to tongue, body to body. All the fear you had over his departure, all the love you held for him, they dissolved into one, into this burning ache that permeated your core, the need to have him close.

And God, you wanted more, wanted him so badly, it felt like torture.

“Fuck,” Jinwoo groaned, followed quickly by a low moan of your name. He was really trying to hold back, to only settle down for a kiss or two, but— “Why do you have to be so goddamn irresistible all the time?”

He was suffering just the same, one hand slamming against the door to maintain his distance, to keep him away from crushing you, from becoming one with you. It balled into a fist, evidence of what was left of his self-control; his fingers clenched so tightly that it painted his knuckles white and his palm crimson. His other arm snaked around your waist as his mouth sucked bruises on your collarbone, his nails clawing against the fabric of your dress, eager to tear it apart right then, right there. Rough, sinful noises continued to stream past his lips as you brought your lower half even closer to him, the sound low and deep; it was almost primal.

“Ngh, baby, please—” He pleaded with his eyebrows sewn together, his jaw slackening at the sensation of you pushing your hips back, grinding on him. You could feel just how hard he was beneath his pants, the contour of his cock nudging deliciously against your clothed heat. It excited you, your heart swelling in satisfaction at how fast you could turn the most powerful man in the world into a desperate lover with only a few touches. Only you had this power over him, and he made sure to worship you for it.

His body reacted instinctively, rocking his hips against yours, quickly taking over control. Somewhere in the labyrinth of your mind, a voice reminded you to stop, he’s already late as it is, and you can’t do this here, not outside, not for everyone’s eyes to see, but when Jinwoo caught your earlobe between his teeth, his voice dangerous and guttural when he said, “God, Sweetheart, you don’t know how much I want to be inside you right now,” all you could think was—

Yes, please.

You smashed your lips against his, your fingers tugging hard at the roots of his hair, robbing another shameless moan out of him. He welcomed your burning passion, reciprocating it by doubling the intensity. None of you gave a damn where you were or what time it was; none of it mattered, not anymore. You just needed him, and he needed you. Not just want. Need.

Jinwoo unclasped his belt with one hand while keeping hold of your face with the other; his movements rushed, lacking the usual grace that he normally exuded. You were sure he didn’t mean to tear your lingerie apart, but even if he did, it would’ve only added more fuel to the shimmering flames inside you. Now that your bottom half was bare and exposed, he took himself out of his confinement, holding his length in one hand, his tongue gliding over his bottom lip as he rubbed his tip against your protruding clit.

You shivered, your hips swaying on their own, begging him to just ram it inside. “Jinwoo, please.”

“You’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he growled, lifting your body higher on the wall, making you hold on to nothing but him to fight back gravity. “Arms around my neck,” he commanded, his mouth hot against your jawline. His coat slid off his shoulders as he positioned himself over your entrance, pooling around his elbows.

But then, Jinwoo slowed down amidst the heat of your passion, just for a moment. Even as his desire consumed him from within, your consent remained a top priority. He needed to make sure that he wasn’t hurting you or, worse, doing anything you didn’t want him to. Your husband took a second to look at you, wanting you to give your permission out loud even when all his heightened senses and perceptions had found their answer a while ago. “Can I have you?”

Your reply came in the shape of you carding your fingers through his locks again, your mouth colliding with his as you spread your legs a little wider. “Yes,” you breathed out. “I need you, please—oh!”

You felt him pushing himself inside the second your plea left your mouth, stretching all of your walls at once.

“Ah, fuck,” Jinwoo groaned deep and loud, slamming one hand against the wall, the vein in his neck popping from beneath his pale skin. His reaction was almost as if he’d never experienced such pleasure before, his body trembling at the feeling of your heat tightening around him, so drenched inside that you could take him—his everything—all in one go. “God, you feel so good.” He locked your lips together again, moaning at the feeling of being shrouded by your warmth. He moved his hips tentatively to ensure your comfort, but he surrendered immediately after the first try. “Sorry, Sweetheart, I don’t think I can—ngh—hold back—”

He began to move, his teeth nibbling on the skin of your shoulder to contain his grunts, his hips thrusting fast and rough, sliding himself in and out of you in the desperation of a heated beast seeking a release. Just like him, you were feeling it much more than anything you’d ever done with him. Maybe it was the place, the sensation of doing something so indecent, so out in the open. Maybe it was because you were both trying so desperately to comfort yourselves, to forget your upcoming separation, even only for a moment. Or maybe it was simply because you loved him so ardently, the same way he did about you.

Now that the sun had sunk entirely below the horizon, the night was nearly pitch black. No stars were in sight, as if they grew too shy to witness something so obscene. Detecting the darkness around you, the lights around the house switched on automatically, illuminating the entryway and the lush garden around you with a warm, romantic glow. The magical view of the scenery usually brought a sense of serenity to your heart, but no, not that night. Not when you were stuck in a very compromising position with your husband. The worst one of all was the three pendant lights shining brightly above you, dangling from your high ceilings, exposing the way your bodies rocked together in rapid, rhythmless motions for the whole world to see.

You couldn’t help but be distracted by them, your body tensing. If anyone were passing by, with the way your husband had you pinned against the wall, your heels digging to the small of his back, your fingers tugging on the roots of his hair, they would discover you in a heartbeat.

“J-Jinwoo—wait—the lights—”

With his lips sucking hard bruises on your neck, Jinwoo lifted one hand in the air and clenched his fingers into a fist. All the lightbulbs shattered at once, their sounds piercing the air, stealing a surprised yelp out of you, which he silenced immediately with his mouth. The same invisible force shielded you from the pieces of glass raining down from the ceiling, leaving your heart rattling in your chest but your skin uninjured.

You were embraced by the darkness again, though it was never as thick as you would love it to be. The silver moonlight still bathed your skin, and the golden shine of the bollard lights surrounding your garden remained bright enough for you to discern your husband’s features, but at least, you no longer felt like you were standing under the spotlight. You still couldn’t entirely chase your anxiety away, however, and noticing that, Jinwoo captured your face, his fingers pressed firmly on each side of your jaw.

"Focus on me,” he said, palm plastered against the front of your throat. Although pain was absent from his touch, his hold on you was firm, controlling, his voice commanding. “I don’t want you to think about anything else. Keep your eyes on me. Focus on how I’m making you feel right now.”

And it felt good. He made you feel so damn good that by the time he plunged himself deep into you again, you found yourself crying out against his mouth, clutching onto him like a lifeline. Jinwoo was just as deep in rapture as you were, unintentionally ripping the top buttons of your dress in his desperation to taste more of your skin. He was beyond aggressive, unrestrained, and impatient, and God, you loved it. You couldn’t remember the last time he was like this, and the feelings brought you quickly to ecstasy.

You were close, your pleasure building up faster than it ever did. “Jinwoo, I’m—”

“I know,” he moaned against your shoulder, his teeth just one pressure away from sinking into your flesh. “I’m close too, angel, just a little bit… ngh… more…”

He quickened his pace, taking his cock completely out of you only to drive himself back to the hilt, each thrust hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs. You fell over the edge with your lips parted in a silent moan, your nails scraping against the back of his shirt, your legs shaking, tautening around him as you reached cloud nine.

The sensation of your walls closing in around his cock was almost too much to bear, but he needed that one single push, just one sweet moan from you in the shape of his name, to make him grasp that vigorous wave of euphoria. “Sweetheart, please—”

Knowing exactly what he was begging for, you embraced him closely by the neck, gripped his soft locks beneath your fingers, and whispered the words he’d been dying to hear right against his mouth.

“I love you, Jinwoo.”

He shuddered, his skin breaking into goosebumps, and he finished inside you with a deep, gravelly groan erupting from the back of his throat. His hips stuttered, slowing down but not yet stopping until he finished spilling everything inside. His breaths came out raggedly, hot against your neck. His left hand was still glued to the wall beside your head.

As your tremors began to dissipate, your husband carefully placed you back on your feet, holding you close until you could stand on your own. Your legs felt like jelly beneath your weight, your strength leaving you after experiencing what might be one of the most mind-blowing orgasms you’d ever had.

“That was… intense,” Jinwoo tittered breathlessly, his hair all tousled, his face the prettiest shade of pink. It mesmerized you just how stunning he looked like this, and it satisfied you more than anything to know that you would always be the one—the only one—who could see this side of him, who could bring this side of him into view. Little did you know he was thinking the same thing about you. The way you stood there, gazing up at him with your starry eyes slightly watery from your orgasm, your dress torn and crumpled, your skin marked and claimed. He could easily go for another round—or three—if you let him.

“You okay?” He asked as he swatted the stray strands out of your eyes, helping you with your dress before he fixed his own attire. You nodded a bit drunkenly, and he let out another chuckle before planting a soft kiss on your temple. “I’m sorry for ruining your dress.”

“And my panties,” you added, snatching the torn fabric away from your heel. You stared flatly at it, your tone monotonous when you said, “Unbelievable. This is the third time, Jinwoo. Three times you’ve done this to me."

He was embarrassed by it. So cute. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not sorry,” you teased him with a poke on his cheek. “Buy me another one? The dress, I mean. I don’t trust you with my lingerie after what you bought me last time.”

He laughed softly at the memory. “I’ll buy you the prettiest one. Promise.” Brushing a light kiss on your temple, he spoke his worry once more. “How are you feeling? Did I hurt you?”

The genuine concern in his tone caused your joy to unfold. In all honesty, yes, he did, but every pain was welcomed—no, every pain was desired, and you wished you could have more. More consuming kisses that left your lips swollen. More love bites on your neck that would last until he returned home. More bruises on your hips and thighs from how hard he was holding you. It felt nice to be dominated, to be owned, to be so wanted by your husband that he lost control of himself, of his mind.

“What?” Jinwoo raised a brow, looking at you funny. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Nothing,” you replied with a sheepish smile, stroking his cheek. But with him looking at you with such confusion in his eyes, you felt like you owed him the truth. “I just realized you never fucked me this way before, and it scares me just how much I enjoyed it.”

He blushed at your words, so fervently that you wondered if this was the same man who had just mounted you like a beast in heat a moment ago. But then he laughed, the sound so delicate and pretty in your ears. “I was going to apologize for being carried away, but…” He bent his head down, bringing himself to your eye level as a smirk crept up his lips. “If that’s what you’re into, then I have so much more in store for you.”

You swallowed, your skin tingling with excitement at the thought. “W-we can try that after you get home. Don’t you have a plane to catch?”

“Shit, you’re right.” As unbelievable as it was, he had truly forgotten about it. Jinwoo hastily rummaged through his pocket for his car key, racing against time. “Okay, I’ll be leaving now.” He kissed you quickly, almost making you stumble from how fast he was grabbing your face. “Goodbye, love. I’ll see you soon.”

“Jinwoo, wait,” you giggled, tugging him back by his arm. “You got my lipstick all over you.” You rubbed your thumb over his lips, trying to wipe off the red stain. “And your hair’s mess. Do you have a comb with you?”

“It’s all right, I love it like this.” He tossed you a boyish smile. “It feels like I’m carrying a part of you with me, like some kind of proof that reminds me of what we just did.” He then continued in a whisper, his smirk grazing your earlobe. “The same way you’re carrying a part of me… inside you.”

You grew mortified, all due to his words and the feeling of his essence seeping out of you. You could feel it trickling down your thigh before you squeezed your legs together, face aflame. “Leave. Now.” You whirled his body around, shoving him forward. “And tell your shadow soldiers to help me change the lights. I can’t believe you used your skill for that.”

He tossed you a grin over his shoulder. “Gotta make the best use of what I have, Sweetheart.”

“I don’t think Igris would be happy to know that you’re using Ruler's Hand for sex.”

“Oh, baby, trust me, if I were planning to use Ruler’s Hand for sex, bursting lightbulbs would be at the bottom of the list.” His smirk carried the promise of something lewd, something naughty. “And also, if I’m happy, all my soldiers are happy, Igris included. And I’m definitely happy right now, all thanks to my sweet girl.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you snorted despite heat filling your cheeks. “Now go before Jinho kills you.”

He chortled softly, “Yes, Ma’am.”

You watched him stride away with your hands on your hips, sighing despite the way your lips curved up in amusement. You were going to miss these little banters you have. Some parts of you still refused to let him go, but when Jinwoo rolled down his window, giving you one last smile with one hand on the steering wheel, all you could say was, “Come home to me, darling.”

“I will, baby.”

And as he drove into the night, disappearing from your sight and leaving your heart lamenting in your chest, you knew you had no choice but to put your faith in him. This wouldn’t be the last time you see him. It would never be. Jinwoo would make sure of that.

Because if he had to watch the world burn for it, for you, then so be it.

Heaven or hell, Gods or the Devils, I’ll destroy them all.

As long as I can come home to you, Sweetheart, nothing else matters. ***

#sung jinwoo #sung jin woo #solo leveling #jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #solo leveling x reader #jinwoo smut #jinwoo fluff #jinwoo #solo leveling smut #sung jinwoo smut #sung jin woo x reader #kana.fics #fics.comehometome

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animamii · 3 months ago

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letter from lockedup!Toji that goes along with this drabble ‎♡‧₊˚

...Beautiful, I just want you to know; you're my favorite girl...

— Beautiful~~Snoop dogg + Pharrel

‎

Hey, princess.

Got your letter today. Been reading it over and over, like I always do. I swear, these pages are the only thing keeping me sane in here. When everything else in this place feels like it’s closing in, I got your words, your handwriting, the way I can almost hear your voice saying all this to me. It keeps me steady. Keeps me from losing my head.

And that picture you sent? Fuck. You tryin’ to kill me in here? I swear, if these walls weren’t in the way, I’d be home already. You look good, baby. Too good. Almost makes me mad that other people get to see you like this when I can’t. But I know you’re mine. Always have been. Always will be.

You don’t even gotta try, and you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Sitting there, all sweet, all perfect. Makes me crazy knowing I can’t reach out and touch you, pull you into me, feel your skin, hear you laugh in my ear. It ain’t fair. But I guess nothing ever has been for me. Except you. You’re the one thing in this world that ever felt like it was mine. I don’t say this enough, probably don’t say half the shit you deserve to hear, but I need you to know that. You ain’t just my girl. You’re my peace, my home, the only thing I’ve ever been afraid to lose. And that’s saying something.

I laughed when I read about Megumi and his damn ramen obsession. Stubborn little punk. I wonder where he gets it from. (Yeah, yeah, don’t say shit—I know.) Tell him I said to listen to his stepma, eat a real meal, and quit acting like he doesn’t miss me. I know how he is. Pretends he don’t care, but I bet if I walked through that door tomorrow, he’d be the first one running to me. He won’t say it, but you can see it in his eyes. Just like his old man. Make sure he’s eating real food, alright? He might act like he don’t care, but I know he listens to you. Probably more than he ever listened to me.

And you. You better be taking care of yourself too. Are you sleeping? Eating? Taking care of yourself? I know how you get—running around, worrying about everyone else, not stopping to breathe. You always got so much to worry about, but you forget you’re supposed to take care of you too. I don’t wanna hear that you’re running on empty, staying up too late, stressing yourself out. You always act tough, but I know you, baby. I know when you’re holding too much inside. I know when you need me. And I swear to you, I’m coming back.

You tell me you’ll wait. That you don’t care how long it takes. But, baby, I care. Every second in here is a goddamn eternity. Every night I go to sleep thinking about you, and every morning I wake up counting down the days until I can get back to you. And I will. No matter what I gotta do, no matter how long it takes, I will get home to you.And when I do? You better be ready. Because I’m never letting you out of my sight again. You hear me? You’re stuck with me, forever.

Wait for me just a little longer. I love you. More than I’ll ever be able to put into words.

Toji

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skeltnwrites · 3 months ago

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Break the Bed In— ⋆₊˚⌂

The first morning in your new home is slow and soft, spent tangled up in bed with Steve.

mdni 18+ fem/afab reader, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), switch!steve/reader, the fluffiest sweetest smut you'll ever read | 4k

a/n: this is dedicated to all my single ladies. happy valentine’s day you freaks! coincidentally i also moved houses yesterday so this feels extra fitting

── .✦

You wake well-rested; like every inch of you was unraveled and woven back together while you dreamt. Your wrist hangs off the side of the mattress, fingernails brushing the carpet. Your bed frame is a heap of wooden slats across the room, as is most of the furniture currently in your house.

Steve’s arm is warm under your neck, his breath a steady string behind you. You flip over, your ear landing in the crease of his elbow.

He’s softer in sleep. Cheek squished to his shoulder, lips pressed to a pout. He’s boyish in a lot of ways still, but growing less so the longer you know him. He’s got stubble and sun spots and smile lines. And you love each of those things, swearing he’s getting more and more handsome with them every day. Blame it on the lingering moving high but today the feeling triples.

There’s a unique kind of joy in buying your first home together. It’s perpetual surprise, popping up in the most mundane of moments. It’s picking taupe over eggshell for the living room and it’s paying extra for matching key designs and it’s waking up beside your favorite person on a mattress on the floor.

You stamp your lips into his skin in good morning, and again because it’s a satisfying warmth on your mouth. He smells sweet, like your new body wash since he couldn’t find his last night. You decide you like the scent on his skin better than yours.

The quiet is strange but the farthest thing from unwelcome. No neighbors or roommates or parents to wake to. Just the soft hush of rain against the roof and the swish of your ankles underneath the blankets.

Your fingers chase the hair from Steve’s eye socket, your thumb perching behind his ear. His pupils shift under his eyelids and he sighs the softest little sound you’ve ever heard.

It’s cruel to wake him, certainly. He did most of the heavy lifting yesterday and was up organizing later than you were. But you’re feeling especially selfish this morning, tickling him awake with a swarm of several more arm kisses.

There are worse things to wake up to, you reason with yourself as Steve hums, his fingers curling against the sheet. He’s quiet for a long beat and you decide maybe it's better to let him rest.

But his lips part and he rasps out, “Mornin’.”

“Mornin’,” you parrot. Your grin is immediate, spanning ear to ear with an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

He smushes your face to his bare collar, the heel of his free hand climbing up his cheek.

You turn to watch his eyes unstick themselves of sleep and continue to wonder how you got so lucky. You press another kiss to his chin. Another to the coarse thatch of hair on his chest. Another to his shoulder. You just can’t help yourself today.

“It’s so quiet,” he murmurs, hand crawling under your shirt in a long splay up your spine.

You beam, weaving a leg under his heavy one. “I know.”

“We have a house.”

“I know.” You sound as excited as you can be without yelling.

He hums, the corners of his smile creeping wider, a hand steady on your back.

Your finger twists a curl at his nape idly. “What’re you thinking?”

Steve’s gaze flickers from the ceiling to you, eyes like old pennies under the clouds coloring your room a gloomy shade of gray. “Nothin’,” he whispers, lips skimming the corner crease of your eye. “Just happy.”

You hum, one part agreement, two parts delight. “Can we get a dog now?”

He huffs out a chuckle, vibrating the place where your chests kiss. “I can’t believe it took you this long to ask.”

“‘Cause you always say no.”

“‘Cause it didn’t make sense before.”

“So, we can?”

He has a hard time pretending to hate the look you show him. Your jutted lip and raised brows show no mercy. He wants to say yes, of course he does, but he’s not as impulsive as he used to be. He’s a homeowner. His responsibilities extend beyond just himself now.

“Can we unpack the house first? Then we’ll talk about it.”

You flick his collarbone. “Excuses. Excuses.”

If there’s a fond way to roll your eyes at someone, he’s figured out how to do it. Steve knows you’re all drama. And he knows you’re over the moon with or without the promise of a dog.

You bend out of his embrace and regret sitting the second you’re up. Your back aches twice its weight, muscles sore with yesterday's labor.

But Steve relishes his view. You're in nothing but underwear and one of his shirts, the dip of your lower back exposed where the hem has scrunched up. He might buy you new pajamas if he thought you’d actually wear them or if he didn’t adore just how lovely his clothes look on you.

And he doesn’t give you a chance to ask, his fingers automatically massaging a path up your aching shoulder. You squirm but you love it. You kiss his hand in thank you and carry it around your waist to play with.

“Don’t get up,” he says. Pleads, practically.

You face him. “But we have sooo much to unpack.”

“It can wait,” he argues. He steals your entwined hands for a persuasive set of kisses. One to each knuckle and then a flurry up your arm. And his hands are an equally convincing force, coercing you right back onto his chest.

You’re putty, melting into his hot hands like candle wax. You throw a leg over his waist and settle down in a more comfortable straddle. The possibility of you falling back asleep jumps an alarming percentage.

You bolster your chin on his sternum and meet his eyes. “But I really want that dog.”

“More than me?”

You hum debatably into his puckered lips.

He smiles hard and forgets about kissing you, pinching your side until you yelp. Your giggles spill through twin smiles, overlapping each other in layers. “Might have to put the house back on the market if you keep being so mean to me," he says.

“I’ll be nicer if we go look at the shelter today.”

“Mm. Not letting this go are we?”

You shake your head.

He pecks the corner of your mouth. “We’ll go–”

You see the shift in his expression before he even says anything. Your eyebrows jump in excitement.

“If,” he tacks on quickly, “we finish downstairs today. Hmm?”

“Mhmm. Easy.”

“Easy,” he repeats. But not one lick of him believes you. It wasn’t easy carrying so many of your boxes yesterday and it certainly wasn’t easy getting you to pack everything up in the first place.

But ultimately he’s amused. And he thinks you’re especially pretty when you’re confident. So Steve kisses you like he has something to prove.

He gropes the swell of your ass mid-kiss and while it’s not unusual for him to do so playfully, you can’t perceive it in any way innocent when you’re pressed up against his morning wood.

“Steve,” you scold lightly.

He hums against your mouth, a faux sound of innocence. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

You break apart with a wet smack. “Gotta unpack.”

“Have all day,” he says, words all smushed together so he can sew his lips right back to yours.

“Mm-mmm.” You turn your cheek, but the hands on your waist don’t let you go far. “‘S, like, ten-thirty already.”

He works a slow line past your jaw, spending extra time on the sensitive skin around your throat. Devious.

“Steve.”

“Hmm?”

You push off his chest until you're sitting upright on his thighs.

His heart tick tick ticks under the flat of your palm. His pupils are wide, mouth kiss-bruised a bright shade of red. He’s so, so dreamy, all flushed and starry-eyed like this. He’s got you wrapped around his finger just as much as you’ve strung him with yours.

You sigh. “Why do I let you win?”

He smirks that stupid victorious smirk you love so much. “‘Cause you love me.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“Me?” he laughs.

“Mhmm. And a hypocrite.”

The hand clasping your hip pressures you back down, the other cradling one side of your jaw. “A hypocrite?” he whispers.

“Mhmm.”

He fills the tiny space between you, half-lidded and heavy-handed in a fervent kiss. He’s not rough but he is eager. Open-mouthed and persistent like he’s trying to weld his face to yours.

You meet him with the same intensity. It’s instinctual. The push-pull of your bodies, like you’re more one entity than two. You’ve been dating Steve long enough to know what he likes and what he doesn’t. You’ve made out more times than you can count. And he’s a simple man. You’ve got him hard, properly hard, in a matter of minutes.

His bottom lip is pinned between your teeth, your chests rising and falling in sync. You grind back on his crotch and his breath hitches.

“Ahh,” he pants. “Can I…”

You don’t know what he’s trying to ask but you nod anyway. It’s not hard to piece together, though; not when he’s fisting the fabric of your shirt like it’s causing him physical pain to see you wear it.

You help him hitch it up your back and down your arms to be tossed out of the way. Steve quickly stops you from lying back down. His large palms spread wide against your tummy, thumbs kneading either side of your belly button. He roves up your ribs attentively, studying how your skin pulls and dips beneath his fingers.

You swear you feel him down to the divots in his fingerprints, the slow speed of his hands tantalizing.

His thumbs pause at your breastbone, sweeping up and around your nipples as if he’s never played with them before. They perk up easily, to Steve's obvious enjoyment.

He’s told you a thousand times how pretty you are, naked and not. And he doesn’t have to say it now for you to know he’s thinking it.

He stares at your chest, your tummy, the soft stretch of your thighs, each like they’ve been carved from marble, destined to end up behind a glass at some museum he’s never been to.

You get shy eventually, needling past his hold to hide in the slope of his neck. Your mouth peppers lazy kisses where it can reach. Soft ones, not nearly as greedy as before. You work your way up, suckling long enough to leave a couple of red rings in your wake.

Steve's hips shift under yours as you arrive back at his mouth. He’s getting antsy, the finger fidgeting with the hem of your panties no longer satisfied. So maybe you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are when he holds your hips down and bucks up into your clothed cunt.

Your jaw slackens, a broken moan dampened against his mouth.

“Can be loud ‘s you want now,” he assures. His hands roam, around your ass and back up your sides. Soothing, but so feather-light you shudder.

“Still have neighbors.”

He hums in half agreement. Yes, you have neighbors, but their bedroom wall isn’t attached to yours. He imagines you’d have to scream bloody murder for the neighbors to hear you here.

You slink back up to sit and Steve’s fingers fall to your hips. Your pelvis rolls into his. Again when he shudders.

“Shit,” he sighs.

“Feel good?”

His eyes disappear behind his lashes, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. “Mhmm.”

You continue to work him through his briefs, a slow back and forth forming a hot puddle between your own legs. With one hand propped against his sternum, you force your eyes over to the stacks upon stacks of moving boxes in the room.

“Condoms… condoms.”

Steve almost misses your mumbling– and to his credit, you’re talking more to yourself than him– but he blinks out of his daze and sighs vaguely at the nearest box. “Fuck. Bathroom, maybe.”

Not ideal.

“Think I have one in my purse,” you remember, swaying heavily to the side to scan the floor beside the mattress.

Steve’s hands fly to your waist to balance you as he huffs. “You mean your bottomless pit?”

“Don’t shame me. It comes in handy.” The bottomless pit in question is spotted, half buried under yesterday’s clothes across the room. “One sec’.”

Steve grumbles as you climb off of him. But his heart turns in his chest as you saunter off. His love for you is always there. It’s the shape of you as you crouch, how you tip your purse upside down and fan the contents out across the floor with a hum.

“Aha.” You pop up, waving a glossy, square packet as you skip your way back. “My trusty bottomless pit saves the day.”

You clamber back on top of him clumsily, planting yourself in his lap like he’s no more fragile than the kitchen barstool.

Steve groans under his breath. You’ve got him really wound up and his patience is thinning.

Your hips roll into his again, the curve of his cock a strong silhouette through two sticky layers of fabric. You scoot back on his thighs and palm him with modest pressure.

“Babe,” he shudders, thumbs pawing the sides of your underwear again. “Please.”

“So impatient,” you tease.

You watch him intently. How his nostrils flare the second you break the seal between his hot skin and the band of his underwear. How his eyebrows crinkle together as you push the cotton down his thighs.

His cock bobs free before you take it gently by the base. Steve’s not just a pretty face, and he’s not cocky for no reason. He’s well-endowed, a dusty shade of pink blended tan into the dark curls at his hilt.

“Fuck, baby.”

He shifts his gaze past you because he’s certain if you make eye contact with him this’ll be the shortest sex of his life. And even the half-blurry blob of you in his peripherals is still too fucking enticing. He forces his eyes up at the popcorn ceiling and traces the shapes in his mind.

You spread the pearl of precum down a vein on the side of his cock, using the slip to tug him a handful of times. The slick dissolves, and your hand catches twice before you’re getting ready to spit in it.

But Steve whines, “Need to feel you.”

Your hand stops but the pad of your pinky trails a sneaky line from tip to base. “My hands not enough for you, Stevie?”

“Not gonna– mm– last.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

You mean it rhetorically but he quickly shakes his head no. You forget how much you enjoy being in charge until you have Steve squirming under you.

You stabilize yourself on his chest, hiking one leg up at a time until you’re underwear have been flung to the floor. The slick between your folds is more palpable as you sit back on his thighs, hot skin to hot skin.

His eyelids flutter closed as you roll the condom on. He’s flushed up to his ears, breath nimble off his open mouth.

“Ready?”

He nods like you’ve asked something outrageously silly.

You guide the head of his cock up to your folds, sinking down in one tedious stride. It’s a good kind of ache, scratching the deepest part of your tummy.

His hips jerk involuntarily as you release your full weight onto them, his nails leaving crescents on your skin. “‘M not gonna last,” he warns again.

“I’ll go slow.”

It’s not much consolation. No matter what you do to him, he’s not gonna last. You’re too damn irresistible for your own good.

You rock your hips forward and back in a continuous cycle. The pace is indulgent, just slow enough to make things last. Your eyes unfocus, your head tipping back. Every drag squeezes the coil in your stomach tighter.

Steve’s eyes flick to yours, his voice wavering as he mumbles, “Tease me too much.”

“I do?”

“Mhmm.”

You smile softly at him and his eyes jump away. He’s drawing loopy patterns into the meat of your thigh to distract himself. And it doesn’t help when you cover his hand and sweep your thumb across every digit. He’s so focused on not blowing his load that he can’t even speak.

You pause your rhythm and hum to yourself before continuing. “Know what I just realized.”

“Hmm?”

“Forgot the shower curtain.”

Steve exhales hard, words sticking to his teeth.“We’ll get a new one.”

“I really liked that one.”

He can’t think straight long enough to tell if you’re purposely trying to distract him or not and he doesn’t care all that much either way. He just needs you to be the same level of fucked that he is.

His hand trembles over to your pubic bone, thumb snaking right up to your clit.

You nod as he presses. Right there.

He rubs slow circles, a spark of pleasure each time he closes a loop.

“Fuck,” you drawl simultaneously.

You laugh, blissfully unaware as your muscles clamp around his cock.

But Steve’s fingers pause on your clit, his other hand tense at your hip. “Don’t,” he shudders out.

You close your mouth, a soft little apology grin that sends Steve’s stomach flipping. He’s so fucking in love it’s not even funny.

“Sit on my face.”

You hum, so high on cloud nine you’re sure you’ve misheard him.

“Let me taste you.”

Your breath stutters. He’s serious.

“Come here,” he’s pushing you up and off him before you have much of a chance to process it. “Wanna make you feel good.”

Your cheeks burn a hot shade of embarrassment, your tongue suddenly too heavy in your mouth. You wriggle up his body, guided by the relentless hands on the backs of your thighs. Steve’s eaten you out, but not like this.

“Steve,” you manage.

“What?” He knows you better than he’s known anyone in his life. He feels your shaking and he hears the rampant doubts coursing your mind. “I want to,” he promises, pressing a long, love-packed kiss to the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

You’re unconvinced. You’re certain you’ll break his face the second you sit down. You’ll be so mortified you’ll have to break up with him if he doesn’t first. You’ll have to sell the house before you’ve even unpacked–

“Please?”

He’s not trying to be pushy or even funny as he bats his eyes. He just so genuinely craves to see you unravel in the same way you’ve spun him around. And yeah, he has a sweet set of brown eyes. Sue him. He loves you too much to look at you with any less adoration.

You nod emphatically.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been this nervous about sex with Steve, but you’ve learned just about everything there is to know about him since. You trust him in every capacity, especially in bed.

He nips his way up your thigh, pulling you lower and lower until his breath is hot on your cunt. Steve licks a wide stripe up to your clit, sucking before swirling his tongue around the sensitive hood. And then his mouth starts lapping you like you’re his last meal.

Your fist jerks, fingers knotted through the hair on his scalp, and he moans. You don’t hear it over the wet smacking as much as you feel it, the vibrations sending pleasure through you like a pulse.

His tongue drives you to a mess. He’d push you completely over the edge if you didn’t stop him.

“Okay, okay,” you gasp, pushing up onto your knees. “We’re even.”

He smirks and strokes down the backs of your calves. “Are we competing?”

“You seem to think so.”

He shimmies to a sit with an arm around your waist and bestows you with a fleeting kiss, lips washed with the taste of your juices. “Lay down.”

How the fuck could you say no to such a pretty face?

You scooch down, face up on the sheets. Steve parts you by the ankles and crawls up your body, planting kisses like seeds. His teeth graze the inside of your wrist before he stretches it up and flat against the mattress above your head.

Your fingers thread through his, his other hand steadying his cock at your entrance. He swipes the head up and down your wet folds before sliding in with a groan. There’s less resistance this time, a fluid in and out to his hips.

His thrusts are languid. He indulges more closely in the taste of your mouth and the balmy feel of your waist.

The winding in your tummy resumes, your fingers naturally finding your clit while Steve rocks into you. A heavier thrust and your lips detach, Steve’s rehoming to the skin beneath your jaw. He picks up his pace, puffing and panting into your neck in short bursts.

Your legs wrap around his, the heel of your foot digging into his lower back. “Mm– Steve.”

“Yeah?” he huffs.

“Mhmm.”

If the sounds you’re making are anything to go by, Steve thinks he’s doing a pretty good job. And you know he’s just as close to cumming. You know his little sounds and twisty little expressions like the back of your hand. How his stomach tenses and his breath catches.

You burn the entirety of this to your brain, rubbing yourself faster, more in time with his movements.

“‘M close,” he says, desperate and hopeful that you are too.

You nod, focused on the high climbing higher each second.

His hips stutter when you clench around him. The coil releases and you come undone simultaneously.

“Fuck, ah– fuck,” he whines, sharp but breathy in your ear.

Your fingers slow and his thrusts wane and the pleasure softens. Steve wobbles down onto you as gently as he can, taking your interlaced hand between your bodies. Your hearts kiss with each rise and fall of your chests. Steve mouths over the most accessible bit of skin under your ear, thumb sweeping the gentlest curves around your face.

You exhale into his crown, raking a hand through the dark mop of curls damp at his nape. Your other eases down his back, savoring the contraction of his muscles as he breathes. You travel down the curve of his ass and give him a firm squeeze. “How’s your ass? Still sore?”

He huffs at you, nose crushed to your neck. “I fall down one flight of stairs and I never hear the end of it.”

“I told you to be careful.”

“I was being– whatever.” His thumb continues to caress your jaw, his lips idle on your neck.

This is Steve’s favorite part of sex. To hold and to be held, easing off a high that’s miles better than a good smoke. There’s nothing greater.

“Should I check for bruises?”

“If you kiss ‘em better.”

Your chest aches with the sweet swell of laughter. Steve’s your person. You realize it time and time again.

He peels himself off like you're double-sided tape. His hair’s still crazy despite your finger-combing and his eyes are just as heavy as they were when he woke up. He slides out of you with a hiss, sitting back to knot the condom and toss it toward a pile of bubble wrap.

He looks back at you fondly. “Shower?”

You shake your head. “Just lay with me.”

“Downstairs isn’t gonna unpack itself, you know.”

“Shut up.” You palm his chest until he lays and you throw an arm across his middle. “This was your evil plan all along.”

He chuckles, taking your hand to massage between both of his. “I’m just the worst aren’t I?”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #skeltnwrites

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norrisradio · 11 days ago

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PEACH RING PROMISES

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ “I know a place / It's somewhere I go when I need to remember your face / We get married in our heads / Something to do while we try to recall how we met” - The 1975, About You

ᝰ PAIRING: oscar piastri x f!reader | ᝰ WC: 1.1K ᝰ GENRE: established relationship, oscar is in love, there is a little baby cousin involved ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: this has been gathering dust in my wips for like. a week now but was then locked and loaded for an oscar miami win // not beta-read. we die like men ꨄ requested by @estellaelysian !

Some people go to church; you go to the treehouse.

It sits crooked at the edge of the Piastri property line, half-swallowed by jasmine vines and the hum of summer. The planks are sun-bleached and splintering, nailed together with the blind optimism that only dads and four-year-olds share. But it’s still standing – stubborn, quiet, familiar – like the memory of a face you’ll never forget.

Today, it overlooks a backyard choked with folding chairs and sunburnt uncles, picnic blankets and toddlers sugar-high on too many juice boxes. The barbeque is in full swing – OScar’s mum’s at the grill, his dad’s holding court with a beer in one hand and a story in the other, and someone’s blasting Seven Nation Army from a portable speaker (you swear you see Oscar roll his eyes when some of his family members start changing the lyrics to include his name).

You had just finished your second helping of potato salad when Theo, Oscar’s five-year-old cousin and self-appointed general of the under-five army, came barreling toward the two of you like a missile in Paw Patrol socks.

“Hide and seek!” he declared, panting, cheeks red. “You’re it!”

Oscar looked up from your shared plate, looking deeply betrayed. “Why am I always it?”

“Because you’re tall!” Theo whined, tugging at his hand. “And you never play with me.”

Which was a bold accusation, considering Oscar had spent the morning pushing him around on a plastic trike and pretending to be a race car announcer. Still, Oscar hesitated – eyeing the shady comfort of the patio – until you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Come on,” you murmured, soft and smug. “Don’t make me count.”

So he sighed, knelt down, and covered his eyes with a dramatic groan. “One…. two…. three…”

You slipped away, giggling, weaving past lawn chairs and coolers and sticky-fingered children until you reached the edge of the yard, ducking beneath the canopy of trees.

And now, here you are.

The treehouse looks almost shy, peeking out between branches. The ladder’s still rickety, the walls still wonky, but it holds you like it remembers you. You climb inside and sit cross-legged on the floorboards, brushing dust from the heart you once drew into the wood with a rock. Your initials, backwards and misshapen, look like you carved them yesterday.

You got married here once – four years old, caked in mud, with Hattie (barely out of pull-ups, in a bright orange tutu) acting as both officiant and chief witness. You gave Oscar a peach ring. He cried when you ate it thirty minutes later.

You kissed his cheek with grass-stained lips and told him he was silly. “We don’t need a ring,” you’d said, wiping his nose with the hem of your shirt. “We love each other. That’s the proof.”

You don’t hear the ladder creak, but you know it’s him before he speaks.

“Hiya,” Oscar says, ducking into the doorway like a hippo trying to fit into a china shop. His grin is crooked. Warm. His curls are longer now, haloing his face like he’s been touched by sunlight.

“How’d you find me?”

“Our wedding venue,” he says drily, brushing a leaf from your hair. “Bit of a cop-out though. You didn’t even try.”

You scoff and whip a twig at him. It bounces harmlessly off his shoulder. “You weren’t even counting properly,” you reply. “Hattie taught you better than that.”

He folds himself beside you like an accordion, limbs gangly, knees knocking into yours. “God,” he mutters, glancing around. “We were tiny.”

“You still are,” your chirp. That earns you a pinch to your side. You shriek and nearly kick out a support beam.

When the air settles, you rest your chin on your knee and say, “If we get married-”

“When we get married,” he correct instantly, poking your ribs.

You roll your eyes but the corners of your mouth betray you. “Fine. When we get married, have you thought about the venue?”

He hums thoughtfully, shifting to lie down with his head in your lap. You card your fingers through his curls, watching them spring back into place. They curve around his ears, golden at the tips, soft as they were when he was four and you made him cry.

“What’s wrong with the venue of our first wedding?” he asks, cracking one eye open. “I’ve heard great things about the officiant. Real prodigy.”

You snort. “She also tried to eat a snail halfway through the vows.”

“A creative soul.”

Before you can respond, the hatch slams open.

“You FORGOT about me, Oz!” Theo screeches, hauling himself into the treehouse with all the righteous fury of a betrayed war general.

Oscar barely has time to yelp before Theo flops into your lap like a royal cat, shoving Oscar’s head out of the way with a chubby hand.

“I was winning,” Oscar insists, pressing loud, dramatic kisses to his cousin’s sticky curls and apologizing like it’s the end of the world. You laugh until your sides ache.

Eventually, Oscar untangles himself and groans, cracking every joint like he’s been in a clown car. “There’s only so much cramping a man can take,” he says, grabbing Theo under the arms and turning back to you with an outstretched hand.

You take it.

The descent is careful – Theo held like a football, your hand snug in his. Your feet hit the grass and the smell of charcoal and sunscreen floods your lungs.

“You guys would be a good mommy and daddy,” Theo announces suddenly, chin tilted up, tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather.

Oscar throws a cheeky wink at you over his head. You groan and shake your head, the laugh bubbling up anyways.

“BUT!” Theo says quickly, yanking your hand to pull you closer like he’s about to reveal state secrets. “Maisie told me mommies and daddies have to be married. Are you guys MARRIED?”

“Yes,” Oscar says immediately, just as you snap, “No!”

“Oscar!” you slap his chest, scandalized.

“What?” he shrugs, entirely unbothered, not even trying to hide the smile. “Feels true.”

Theo frowns. “Where are your rings? Married people have rings.”

Oscar reaches for your hand and you swat it away, faking disgust. He smirks. “We don’t need them,” he says easily. “We’re in love.”

His cousin accepts this with a sage nod only toddlers can pull off, then wriggles free and barrels across the yard, lungs at full capacity.

“MUM! MUM! OSCAR IS MARRIED! THEY’RE MARRIED! I SAW! THEY SAID!”

You groan, hiding your face in his shoulder. “He’s going to tell your entire family.”

Oscar just grins, stepping behind you to wrap his arms around your shoulders. “It’s already happened once,” he says, brushing a kiss to your temple. “And it’s going to happen again. Isn’t it?”

You don’t answer – not out loud. But your fingers find his where they rest over your heart, and you hold them there.

#formula 1 #f1 #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri fanfiction #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri x yn #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #oscar piastri writing #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula one imagine #⚡︎ race day #event -> line by line

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pretend-i-don-t-exist · 4 months ago

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sy trying to create a pidw au would be so funny

i feel like he'd actually commit to it to spite airplane. at first, it garnered attention bc it was from the peerless cucumber, notorious critic and biggest pidw hater, so ofc they're all curious how pidw would look like in his eyes. it was surprisingly (well not really, considering the tens of paragraphs peerless cucumber wrote during his rants, all of which have immaculate grammar and spelling— bc ofc he can't let anyone find something to nitpick on his review so they're forced to see the point!) well-written and definitely more plot-focused.

majority of the readers disappeared after the first few chapters, mainly because of the lack of smutty scenes, but those that do remain are very engaged. one of them is airplane's burner account, when he needs to separate himself from his airplane persona. he's really, really curious as to what his hater is doing to his work.

he... he actually likes it. it's not really the novel he envisioned when he was first working on pidw, nor does it contain all the elements of his original draft, but it was good. he likes it a lot better than what pidw turned out to be.

airplane spent so much time contemplating and considering before finally saying fuck it, and dms peerless cucumber to see if he can work as a co-author with him and they can rewrite pidw together. he even sends parts of the original draft (what was left of it, anyway) as incentive!

it takes a long week before even peerless cucumber replies, and by then he has written a novella detailing how much better the original draft was and him screaming very informally at why airplane had to cast it aside.

lol i need money bro im broke af and porn sells, airplane answers.

it takes another week before peerless cucumber finally answers. then live with me, his message reads. no rent. i'll pay for whatever food you want. and whatever bills you have. just write a good fucking novel, i swear to god.

airplane thinks it's a joke, until he receives the address. an actual penthouse. in the richest streets of guangzhou. there is also a request to meet up (seeing as they don't actually know each other, and sy's brothers are very intent on not getting him murdered in his sleep) and airplane, after much, much thinking, accepts.

airplane does not really know what to feel when he finally meets and talks to shen yuan— pampered third son of a very wealthy family, with two protective older brothers and an even more protective little sister— and sy is just. well. he's exactly airplane's type. the beautiful, ice prince who apparently has only shown this much emotion around airplane. sy's meimei had told him cheerfully and then threatened to gut him if he so much as steps a foot out of line. airplane is starting to feel like he's just met a mafia family.

shen yuan's family aside, airplane is actually living his best life. he no longer has to worry about money. he lives in a luxurious (gods he has never seen such a large bedroom before wtf) penthouse without needing to pay rent (!!!) and utilities (!!!) and even food (!!!). he can write as much as he wants. this must be what artists felt like when they're taken care of noble families in exchange for their art.

he does... well. he and peerless cucumber are friends now. they work on the rewrite together. airplane keeps finding out many things, like how shen yuan likes his tea with a lot of honey, dislikes milk chocolate, and prefers drawing over writing. he also runs hot during the night, when he sleeps.

how does airplane know that? well. bros gotta do what bros gotta do. it's a good thing they both like to cuddle.

#svsss #shen yuan #shang qinghua #cumplane #sqh: if i write another novel will you still sponsor me #sy: what's the plot #sqh: hot sassy demonic cultivator who uses a flute to beat up his enemies partners with a hot immaculate ice prince who is devoted to him #sqh: oh and there is a donkey #sy: sold.#sqh: the donkey was the selling point for you???#sy who wants to live with sqh indefinitely bc he horrifyingly actually likes sqh as a 'friend': uh-huh

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astars-things · 7 days ago

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Drive with Y/n and Lando...

lando norris x quadrant athlete reader

Summary- where you and Lando do a quadrant video, where you drive around and he asks you questions that fans sent in, talk about your relationship

------

Landos' camera guy, Ash, mounted the camera onto the dashboard, making sure it was secure and recording before giving us a thumbs up. One of the Quadrant admins put out a post on Twitter asking what quadrant athlete and or general video fans would like to see, and the most requested one was that you and Lando do a 'drive with me' type video, but the twist was that they wanted you to drive, so here you were sitting in the drivers seat of your Nissan G-T r35 (you can change the car if you want) with Lando in the passenger seat.

You had the Quadrant admins post an Instagram story and a Twitter post for people to send in their burning questions. You and Lando both picked out 10 of your favorites and got the team to put them on cards for Lando to read out. "I swear," you mutter, buckling your seatbelt and starting the car, "if you pick anything weird, I’m kicking you out. I mean it, Norris."

"You wouldn’t dare," he grins, stretching out like he’s on a beach somewhere. "I’m your emotional support passenger." You gave him an eye roll. You put the car into drive and made your way out of your street, so nobody could figure out where you lived from the video. "Quit touching things", you muttered as you wacked Landos' hand away from your phone as he kept pressing shuffle on your playlist. He let out a huff before dropping your phone back into the cup holder

Giving Lando a quick glance you mutter "Start the Q&A before you break something." as you flick your turn signal and ease the car into a nearby parking lot so you could do the intro together. The editors were going to have a field day with trying to edit this chaotic mess

You pulled into a car park to film the intro of video

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to the best Quadrant video you’ll see this month. Possibly ever," he announces, dramatically looking over to you before continuing "Today we’re in the car with quadrant athlete and my girlfriend Y/N. She’s driving and I’m fearing for my life." you let out a loud sigh "Ignore my very dramatic boyfriend, I'm stepping aside from flipping dirt bikes to be here with you today" you said eyes flicking to the camera with a practiced smirk. "So you better appreciate the sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?"Lando repeats, feigning offense. "Anyways moving on. We asked you guys to send in questions on Instagram and Twitter, and we’ve picked our favorites. I’m driving because you lot demanded chaos and Lando is reading the questions."

"And making sure we don’t die," he adds. You hit him gently on his bicep when he tightened his seatbelt for dramatic effect "Okay you ready love" Lando cooed grabbing his cards from the floor of you car, you nodded back pulling the car out of the carpark "Okay first question coming from @.PitStopQueen Who takes longer to get ready in the morning?" Lando read out and with no hesitation you called out "Lando"

"Excuse me?" he says, eyes wide. "Don’t lie to the internet," you say calmly, changing lanes with one hand on the wheel. "You spend at least twenty minutes just fixing your hair." "That’s called personal grooming," he argued, waving one hand toward the dashboard camera. "Some of us care about looking presentable."

You raised an eyebrow. Making Lando second guess what he just said Lando just shook his head and held up the next card. "From @.Y/nLandoshipper How do you guys handle long distance?" You let out a soft breath, glancing at him to see if he wanted to answer or for you too, Lando gave you a nod silently saying you can answer

"Its not easy, let me just say, there are somedays where its tougher than most but it makes us value the time we do get to spend together" You said trying not to let tears out as you think of times when you needed Lando and he was on the other side of the world, Lando put his hand on your thigh gently rubbing it to give you comfort

"Lots of FaceTime calls," Lando added. "And spontaneous visits. I flew to your last event even though I had to be back the next day." you let out a little laugh remembering that day "You were only there for like twelve hours." "Best twelve hours of my life," he said with a wink.

You smiled despite yourself. "We’re lucky we understand each other’s schedules. I think that’s the key." Lando let out a hum agreeing to your statement, Lando held up the next card, reading dramatically "From @.CircusFan Lando what is the coolest trick you have seen Y/n preform?"

He let the question hang in the air for a second, glancing over at you with a grin that said he already had an answer locked and loaded. "Oh, that’s easy," he said, looking straight into the dash-mounted camera. "It was that backflip thing you did, off the mega ramp, in Vegas, I think? And then you let go mid-air and somehow landed it like it was nothing."

You smirked, eyes still on the road. "Superman seat grab backflip." "You were just casually flying through the air like gravity was optional. I’ve never screamed so loudly watching a live stream. I called you right after, didn’t I?" Lando exclaimed, still clearly amazed by it.

You nodded, laughing at the memory. "You were more breathless than I was." Lando turned back to the camera with a pointed look. After a couple of more questions it was time to answer the last one, Lando looked over at you, grin already tugging at the corner of his lips as he read the final card. "Okay last question is from @.GridGossip How did you two meet"

You groaned softly, your face already warming. "you picked this one didn't you" Lando gave you his classic not so innocent face "Maybe" Lando said, practically vibrating in the passenger seat with excitement. "You said you not lie to the internet, remember?"

You gave him a look. "yeah but I didn't really want to expose myself to much today" Lando let out a little laugh "c'mon its a cute story" You sighed, knowing there was no way of getting out of this "Fine, we met on raya. Happy now?" You groaned not really ready for the comments you were going to receive from this, you pulled into a car park quite ready to end this video and go home to hide away,

"At the same time," Lando insisted, pointing between the two of you. "Let’s do it properly. On three." You rolled your eyes, but held up three fingers with him. "One, two, three" "Raya," you both said, in perfect sync. Then came the laughter. Easy, familiar, the kind that felt like home.

You both interlocked hands "Okay thank you everyone for watching todays video, I'm going to go get y/n ice cream for making her answer that last question, thank you to everyone who sent in questions." You laugh, leaning in toward the camera. "If you want a part two where Lando drives and I cling to the door handle for dear life, like, comment, subscribe, all the YouTube things."

"bye" you both said waving at the camera

@.User This was pure chaotic gold. Y/N's so calm behind the wheel and Lando's just... there for vibes 😂

@.User2 The thigh grab when she talked about long distance??? They're so in love it physically hurts me

@.User3 they're giving chaotic domestic energy and i'm eating it UP.

@.User4 Thank you for feeding us with (yourship name) content

*Photo is from pinterest- however, I made the YouTube bit

please reblog, like and comment 🫶

#send in requests #lando norris x quadrant athlete!reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando x you #lando norris #lando x reader #quadrant #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 imagine #ln4

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salemlunaa · 8 months ago

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"OH WELL, IM NOT GONNA BE HERE FOR LONG, IM GONNA SHIFT ANYWAY" girl...

let's break down why this mindset, although very common, isn't super healthy...

I saw a post earlier where op talks about how they are un phased about all the bad things happening to them because they "won't be here for much longer”, which is so real and it honestly made me laugh so hard but, i must admit, this way of thinking can also have an unhealthy side.

I, personally, have also been victim to this mindset, and honestly i can tell you nothing good comes from thinking like this. You experience something bad, hurtful, embarrassing, slightly traumatic (which, bear in mind, you wouldn't have experienced if you hadn't procrastinated and tapped in to the void) and you tell yourself "it's okay, i'm not here for long anyway", you abandon responsibilities (that, again, wouldn't be your responsibility if you would ve stayed disciplined and tapped in) and you tell yourself "it's fine, i'm gonna shift anyway" "i'm probably gonna get into the void tonight so it doesn't matter"

NO NO and NO

of course it's good to have the mindset of knowing, knowing that it's your last day here and knowing that the void is the only outcome for you, because that type of thinking is what allows you to shift consciousness and tap in to the void, but a lot of you say that shit without even properly applying your knowledge, a lot of you are gonna remain sounding like broken records, repeating this shit for years, i swear it will be 2028 and yall will still be saying "it's okay i won't be here for long", "im gonna shift anyway"

don't wait for shit to hit the fan for you to get serious about your desires, don't wait for your circumstances to get horrible for you to finally fix up and actually do something. If you really knew you were a god, you wouldn't be here reading this, you would be as pretty as you wanna be, and as rich and happy as you wanna be enjoying your dream life. Don't fall into a comfortable routine with your current reality, (which is really just your old story) because it's not worth it. I even see you guys making and scripting for a "better current reality" (another excuse to remain comfortable with procrastination), when you could have your DREAM life, you guys get swept up in your old story, just because it can be "alright" sometimes. And then when something bad happens, you repeat the same phrase "oh well, i'm gonna shift anyway", and then when things go back to being "alright", you get comfortable again, further procrastinating, when you could have ANYTHING. Who cares about your "alright", "mediocre" reality when you could have the best and more!!

like girl, don't stay comfortable until you're forced to get uncomfortable with a negative change in circumstances. You should be determined to shift consciousness ALL THE TIME, not just when things get tough or responsibilities pile up. Because again, if you had that consistent mindset you wouldn't be here.

get uncomfortable with what you have to achieve what you want, so that all you want becomes all you have

GET UNCOMFORTABLE NOW SO YOU CAN LIVE COMFORTABLY FOR ETERNITY, DONT WAIT FOR SHIT TO HIT THE FAN ᥫ᭡💋

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fallenprophets · 11 days ago

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told you I'll be waiting, hiding from the rainfall

robert "bob" reynolds x reader

can be read as a prequel to I will never let you go and/or a sequel to a house in Nebraska

summary: he left you in Malaysia, volunteering for a study he promised would make him "better". You've almost come to terms with the fact that he's gone, when you see him again. no use of y/n, gender neutral reader as always. listened to cigarettes after sex while writing this.

warnings: swearing, mentions of drug abuse, slight thunderbolts* spoilers, notttt proofread like at all

a/n: alright gang, i actually genuinely don't know if this is good or not. might delete and rewrite in the morning? i just had to get something out because thunderbolts* had me feeling a certain typa way.

I thought I had lost him.

I was so sure. I knew, from the moment I lost sight of him as he stepped into that shady fuckin’ tent in Malaysia. Knew that something was wrong, that he was in some kind of danger. I should’ve tried harder to stop him- not let go of his hand, convinced him that he was already special.

But that hope in his eyes- hope that he’d be made better, that they’d fix whatever was wrong with him- that’s what stopped me. That’s what made me hug him one last time, kiss the spot under his ear, run my fingers through his hair. Turn away once he was gone, walk away.

Of course, he didn’t leave that tent- as I’d expected. I tried the Malaysian authorities, but no one cares when a meth addict tourist goes missing- same when I went back home, talked to the police.

And things were bad, for a little while. I was alone again, and I felt it. Walked that line between life and death, constantly keeping myself high, or drunk. Thought that was it for me.

I don’t know what happened. It was his birthday- he’d been gone for a while, and in a fit of insanity, I checked myself into rehab. Got better, made some friends. Even got a job, with the help of a few people. I’m considering going to college; got enough saved for something like that.

I’ve not moved on, not in the slightest. But my life has continued; didn’t freeze when he disappeared, despite the fact that I felt it did.

And then, New York happened. Or whatever the fuck that was- everyone disappearing into that void, myself included. And I found myself reliving my worst memories- including losing him.

I woke up exactly where I was standing before, hands pressed over my ears. My heart is thudding in my chest, my breathing heavy and staggered. People around me are just as confused, running to grab onto loved ones, falling into each other’s arms.

The tears are quick to come, and not unexpected. Reliving that moment- the last goodbye, watching him walk away- it’s too much, all at once. I curl my arms in, tuck them close to my chest as if protecting myself from something. And I start to walk, trying to ignore the people all around me, hugging, crying out relieved words to each other.

The loneliness- a feeling I haven’t acknowledged for a long time- is almost crushing in its suddenness. It’s as if I lost him yesterday.

I’m consumed by it, leaning heavily on the wall of this alleyway clutching at my stomach like a wounded dog. Gasping, sucking in deep breaths to calm myself down. I don’t notice the press gathering, the podium being set up with all its microphones. I don’t even notice the director of the CIA of all people announcing a new team of heroes.

He catches my eye when I look up, though.

I stop breathing for a moment as my gaze locks on someone; someone so achingly familiar I almost drop to my knees. It’s like someone has knocked the wind out of me; punched me in the throat, kicked me in the ribs. I can’t breathe- doesn’t even feel like my heart is beating- as I take in the man standing a few feet behind the woman at the podium, dressed in a blue sweater and brown trousers and scuffed trainers. His hair is a little longer, his face sharper, but it’s him. I’d recognise him anywhere, by touch alone, in the dark.

I open my mouth to say his name, and nothing comes.

I don’t think he’s seen me yet. He looks bewildered, maybe a bit scared. I push myself out of the alleyway and stumble over, shoving journalists out of the way.

Finally, finally, his eyes meet mine. And everything around me fades to a dull buzzing sound.

His lips move. He must be saying my name, I think dumbly to myself as I stop right at the edge of the stage. Someone- a woman with shorter blond hair, dressed in black gear- seems to notice the way Bob’s eyes have locked onto me, and expertly draws the CIA director’s attention away. He’s able to duck out of the way, slowly stepping towards me.

My heart thunders, louder and louder as he gets closer. I say his name, and he says mine. His expression has shifted to one of pure, almost painful relief, and he half-jumps off the makeshift stage.

I say his name one last time, and he crashes into me.

It’s instinctual, the way his arms wind around my shoulders; the way I find the crook of his neck, bury my face in it and breathe him in for what feels like the first time in centuries. His hand cradles the back of my head, the thumb of the other automatically tracing circles on my shoulder. I press my palms flat to his back, pull him as close as I possibly can.

“Oh my god,” I choke out against his skin. He’s shaking slightly; I can almost feel his heartbeat thumping against mine as he hugs me. Cameras flash and shutters clack, and I know photos are being taken of us.

I pull away, cup his face in my hands. I realise I’m crying, the tears coming hot and heavy and blurring my vision as I try to take him in fully. He says my name again, so soft, and I press an almost frantic kiss to the corner of his mouth. His hands don’t leave my waist, grip tightening sporadically as if he’s checking that I’m really here.

It’s over all too quickly. Some kind of medical team arrives, and he has to let go of me. I don’t leave his side, though; sit close by through every test they run on him. We exchange very few words, but I think he understands; I am never letting him walk away from me again.

Eventually, they let him hold my hand; and he doesn’t let go.

It’s four in the morning when they finally let Bob go; and it takes a lot of persuasion from the people he’s with- the Thunderbolts, as they’re being referred to (against their will, it seems). I forget their names as soon as they’re introduced to me, my primary focus on getting out of here, on being alone with him.

And finally, the others go, promising to see him again tomorrow. And I get to walk tucked against his side, show him up to my apartment.

He’s quiet, and I don’t mind it. I give him my favourite grey sweater and some old pajama trousers to change into, show him the bathroom. He showers while I busy myself making tea- something I got more into after rehab, ‘cause my new neighbour took it upon herself to show me how. I burn my hand on the kettle twice, still shaking slightly from the shock of seeing Bob again. Maybe not well, but alive, and that’s enough for me- more than enough.

He comes out of the bathroom, and I almost drop my cup of tea again. Carefully, slowly, I set it aside on the kitchen counter. Fiddle with the hem of my shirt, clear my throat. We’re staring at each other; almost hungrily, I take him in, standing here in my home, wearing my clothes. My heart hasn’t stopped thundering violently in my chest, and I feel a little lightheaded from just watching him.

“I…” I trail off, words already failing me. I cough, nervously shuffle my feet. Try again. “I missed you.”

My voice breaks, and I put a hand over my mouth. My vision blurs, and I realise the tears are back.

I reach my other hand out, and stumble towards him. He catches my halfway, arms winding around my waist to hold me up- but we both end up on our knees anyway, clinging onto each other for dear life. I allow myself to sob into his shoulder, and I think he cries too, his grip so tight; as if he’s scared of losing me.

Eventually, I pull away, wipe my face with my sleeve. Take his face in my hands again, brush my thumbs over his cheekbones. Confirming that he’s alive, that he’s here with me. He looks destabilised; his eyes are maybe a little glassy, both from crying and whatever it is he’s been through over the time we’ve been apart.

“I missed you,” I repeat softly. “So, so much. Thought you were dead.”

His gaze flits over my face, like he doesn’t quite know where to look. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable, so I stand, pulling him up with me; keep one hand firmly on his wrist, ‘cause I don’t want to let go just yet.

“Do you want to sleep in the bed?” I ask softly.

“Where will you sleep?” He asks, in the same quiet, somewhat shaky tone.

“I can take the couch.” I want nothing more than to sleep right next to him, but if he needs space, I’ll be more than happy to provide.

“Can you… stay?” He’s quieter as he says it, his eyes twitching ever so slightly. I’m quick to nod, squeezing his hand.

“Of course,” I murmur. He nods, and I think I catch a hint of a nervous smile.

We’ve shared a bed before- when neither of us could afford our own place, ‘cause we were spending all our money on drugs. But that was a dingy mattress on the floor, and we were both high out of our minds most of the time- I can hardly remember it.

This is a real bed. One of the first things I bought for this apartment, in hopes that it would help me sleep better, so I didn’t spend nights staring at the ceiling, itching for something to either lull me into unconsciousness or keep me awake and buzzed enough to silence the loneliness crawling under my skin.

I lead him into the bedroom, still clinging onto his hand. Only let go to climb in, instantly huddling against the wall to make as much room as possible. But as soon as he’s under the covers, his hand finds my waist, and he pulls; so I shuffle forwards, ‘till he’s tucked against my chest, my chin resting on his head. He has an arm around my waist, hand resting flat between my shoulder blades. I let my fingers run through his hair, still a little damp from the shower.

He shifts again, lifting his head so our foreheads press together. His nose bumps mine, like a silent question. I answer by nudging closer, until I’m breathing his air and he’s breathing mine. So intimate, as his hand finds my neck, thumb once again brushing my cheekbone.

One of us- I’m not sure who- breaks the small gap. And suddenly, his mouth is on mine, or my mouth is on his. And it’s warm, and soft, and so, so gentle. I think it’s the first time we’ve kissed and my stomach erupts with the thought- the knowledge that somehow, this is a final gap we’ve bridged. One I’ve regretted not bridging sooner ever since he went missing.

He kisses hungrily, but not in a bruising way. It’s almost mournful, the way his mouth moves against mine, the way he breaths me in as his fingers dig ever so slightly into the back of my neck. Not painful, but sad, like he’s scared of losing me- losing me again, I suppose.

He pulls away, and I kiss his forehead as he curls into me.

Our ankles cross, and I watch him shut his eyes, listen to his breathing slow. I don’t sleep, but I think he does.

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paper-starz · 1 month ago

Text

Finally….

I HAVE THEMMM ALLLLLLL AHHAHAHHABABAAHHAAHGA

My designs for each of the heads!!!! AAAAAAA

I did change a bit of their lore and their job positions a bit, you can read below! 👇

Stella Greyber- Stella is Playtime CO’s Head of Playcare! With the help of her team, she’s the one that gets to decide which ride, attraction, and overall park design gets to be built! As she puts it, she wants the park to give every child the most joyous experience possible while they’re here, as children don’t get to live as kids forever, so why not make it a bit more fun for them? Out of all of the Heads that run Playtime Co., she’s just the sweetest, with her employees genuinely enjoying working under her! But, now, you didn’t hear it from me personally, but many of the workers swear that she’s just a bit too eccentric.

Eddie M.N Ritterman- Not much could be said about the Head of Finance. He’s the one responsible for overseeing the company’s financial decisions, whether that would be for marketing the park or a new toy line, building more new attractions for the park, or even collaborations with other companies, he and his subordinates work to ensure that Playtime Co. remains profitable! As for Eddie himself however, he’s a bit of a recluse that only spends time in the park when it’s for a work related reason. Employees wonder if he ever leaves his own office! He most definitely does, but just to yell at his own employees for doing something that they didn’t do, or not working, or not working fast enough, or having breaks that are longer than the designated 10 minutes.

Leith Pierre- Hello, his name is Leith Pierre and he’ s the Head of Innovation! Or rather, Innovation is just a much more whimsical way of saying marketing. Yes indeed, they’re the one that pitch the toys, make them, and ESPECIALLY market them. Leith, being the self-proclaimed “face of the company”, goes on as many talk shows, news programs, commercials and magazines as he possibly could to promote the park! Who could ever say no to that face? But despite his overinflated pride, he’s apparently quite easily frightened! Plenty of employees (and even toys!) hid behind doors just to scare him. This got so bad that Leith had to place a company-wide ban saying that it was hereby “illegal” to stand behind the doors. Yeah, that’s one way to make people respect you.

Dr. Harley Sawyer: Before becoming the Head of Research, Dr. Harley Sawyer was in Playtime CO’s special “Health Care” unit. While he was there, he was there to provide Playtime Co. with some on-site medical services, anyone could get hurt at Playtime Park and while Playtime Co spends countless time on safety precautions, accidents can still happen! While the factory workers were especially grateful for an on-site medical professional, they were a bit surprised at seeing him here, as Dr. Sawyer kind just “showed up” unexpectedly. But now, as the Head of Research, Harley’s job is to test the quality of each of Playtime Co’s toys, such as their: safety, fun factor, durability, and overall quality! He’s not seen as much at Playtime Park as he was before, but perhaps that was for the better. There were some nasty rumors floating around about him.

“I heard that he used to be a surgeon who lost his medical license!!” or the “I heard that he’s conducting mad science experiments for Playtime Co! With trees! Or was it lemons… lemon trees?” Or even the “I heard that he doesn’t even take most insurance and is just trying to steal our money!!” But these are all just baseless rumors so pay no attention to them!!!

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime fanart #poppy playtime au #leith pierre #harley sawyer #dr harley sawyer #the doctor #stella greyber #eddie ritterman #ppt leith pierre #ppt harley sawyer #ppt Stella greyber #ppt Eddie Ritterman #playtime park #starz art #tw scopophobia

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ijustwannabecool · 10 days ago

Text

Media Day Mayhem

Charles Leclerc x Wife!Reader

Summary... What should’ve been a simple twenty-minute press conference turns into full-blown chaos when Charles brings the kids along—and then the kids get their own turn behind the mic.

Warnings: Pure fluff, kid chaos, dad!Charles, teasing, swearing mentioned by children (in French), banter, major secondhand embarrassment

A/N: you guys... the way I had too much fun writing this! I hope you guys enjoy this little story. I would love to actually see a moment like this in the future maybe. That would be iconic. I hope you guys enjoy it. Please let me know what you guys wanna see next!!

If you loved this story and want to support more F1 fics and soft chaos like this, feel free to buy me a matcha 🍵 or reblog/comment to share the love!

As always—happy reading, and have a beautiful day today

Like, comment, reblog, enjoy :)

✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩

The press conference was supposed to last twenty minutes. Just a few pre-weekend questions before FP1, some sponsor shoutouts, and a bit of media fluff. Charles had done this a hundred times. Easy.

What he hadn’t done a hundred times was a press conference with all three of his children clinging to him like magnets to a fridge.

“Mila, baby, don’t twist that,” Charles says quietly into his mic, gently removing his daughter’s hand from the cord running down his chest. She’s seated sideways on his lap, twirling the cable like it’s spaghetti. His twin boys, Luca and Jules, are squished on either side of him on the small bench Ferrari provided — all three with messy chestnut curls identical to their father’s.

“Charles, you’ve had a strong start to the season. What would you attribute that to?” a reporter asks.

Charles smiles, glancing down quickly at Luca, who’s trying to sneakily remove one of his shoes.

“Uh—consistency, for sure. And a lot of work with the team during the off-season,” he answers, his voice smooth despite the circus unfolding around him.

“I want to talk!” Jules blurts out, grabbing at the microphone in front of his dad. “I’m fast too!”

“You are very fast,” Charles replies automatically, pressing a quick kiss to his son’s temple as reporters chuckle.

“I beat Mila in the hallway!” Jules announces proudly.

“You cheated!” Mila screeches.

Charles coughs to cover his laugh. “Okay, okay, let’s not yell, we are live on camera, darlings.”

Another journalist attempts to move things along. “Charles, what’s your mindset going into qualifying tomorrow?”

Before he can answer, Luca pipes up: “Papa said the car was ‘a pain in the—’”

Charles snaps his fingers in front of him. “Luca! What did we say about telling secrets?”

Jules leans toward the mic. “Mummy says we can’t say ‘merde’ either.”

Charles hides his face with his hand for a beat as the media room loses it with laughter.

From the wings, you — Y/N — shake your head, arms crossed but clearly amused. Charles glances over at you like please come rescue me, but you're already motioning for the boys to come to you.

“Alright, boys, go with Maman,” Charles says, ushering them off the bench.

“Can we get snacks now?” Mila asks, hopping down and walking backwards toward you.

“Only if you stop tattletelling,” Charles replies sternly.

Jules makes a face as you crouch and hold their hands on either side of you, whispering something that makes them all go quiet and pouty at the same time.

Charles watches for a second longer than he means to—how you always manage to calm them down like magic—before turning back to the mic.

“Apologies. Where were we?”

“Honestly?” one of the reporters grins. “This is better than Drive to Survive.”

Charles laughs. “Welcome to my real full-time job.”

As he tries to finish the final question, he feels a small tug at his pants. Mila has snuck back on stage with her stuffed bunny.

“I forgot Bun-Bun,” she whispers.

He grabs it quickly and hands it to her with a gentle ruffle to her hair. “Okay, allez, go sit with Maman now.”

She nods seriously, then skips off.

Charles clears his throat. “Anyway—thank you all. I think I’m going to go find a quiet corner to cry in now.”

The media room erupts into chuckles again as Charles walks off, applesauce pouch tucked in one hand, baby wipes in the other, and you waiting with a knowing smirk and two giggling little boys tugging at your sleeves.

Charles barely made it three meters off the stage before Mila tugged on his sleeve and declared, “It’s our turn now.” He blinked, confused, until he spotted the row of miniature chairs being set up at the front of the room—and the Ferrari PR team, looking far too pleased with themselves as they waved the kids forward like VIP guests. Jules had already climbed onto one of the seats, Luca was dragging a juice box across the floor like it was part of his media kit, and Mila marched toward the microphone like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. Charles stared for a beat, caught between horror and awe.

This was not on the schedule, he thought, eyes narrowing. Whose idea was this? Did Y/N sign off on this? Is this revenge for the broken espresso machine?

He looked toward you for backup, but you were already leaning against the wall, arms crossed and smirking like you’d known this was coming all along. When you caught his eye, you shrugged playfully and whispered, “You survived your press conference. Good luck surviving theirs.”

Charles let out a breath, resigned, and folded his arms across his chest. “Mon Dieu,” he muttered under his breath, watching his children take the stage with terrifying confidence.

Ferrari may build the fastest cars in the world, but nothing moves quicker than my own kids when there’s a microphone involved.

The Ferrari media tent is buzzing with cameras, press badges, and a surprising amount of juice boxes.

——

A journalist clears their throat. “Alright… first question for Mila. What’s it like having a Formula One driver as a papa?”

Mila: “Loud.” Jules: “Fast.” Luca: “Sweaty.”

Everyone bursts into laughter. Mila shrugs. “He yells a lot on the radio. I don’t think he knows we can hear it sometimes.”

Charles covers his face with both hands.

Another reporter tries to keep a straight face. “Jules, if you were in charge of Ferrari, what would you change first?”

Jules (serious): “Make the cars green.”

Luca: “And add rocket launchers!”

Charles chokes.

Mila (disapproving): “That’s not safe. I’d make the suits pink and add glitter so they sparkle on TV.”

Reporter: “What do you think Papa says the most on race day?”

Jules: “Merde.”

Mila: “No! He says ‘focus.’ And ‘where’s my drink?’” Luca: “And ‘WHY ARE THE TYRES GONE?!’”

The room is losing it. Charles is whispering something to Y/N, who is fully crying from laughter.

A hand goes up from a British reporter. “Luca, if you won a race, what would be the first thing you'd do?”

Luca (without hesitation): “Call my mumma.”

Everyone collectively awws—until he adds:

Luca: “And then eat a chocolate croissant the size of my head.”

Mila (muttering): “That already happened.”

Reporter: “Jules, do you like watching the races?”

Jules: “Only the start. Then I get bored and play Hot Wheels.”

Mila: “I watch the whole thing. I have a clipboard and give Papa scores.”

Luca: “She gave him a 6 last time and he almost won.”

Mila: “He messed up the overtake.”

Charles looks wounded.

Final question from a German journalist: “Mila, what advice would you give your Papa before his next race?”

Mila leans into the mic like a pro.

Mila: “Be brave. Go fast. And don’t cuss if the tires fall off.”

Everyone in the room breaks into applause as Charles walks forward, scooping Luca into his arms while Mila and Jules are immediately surrounded by press taking photos and asking for high fives.

Y/N slips a hand into Charles’, her smile wide. “They handled that better than you did.”

Charles grins, eyes still on his little trio. “They’re natural born media drivers.”

——

Back at the hotel that evening, Charles was flat on his back on the couch, eyes closed, two juice box wrappers on his chest. You were sitting cross-legged beside him, flicking through the photos already going viral online—Mila adjusting her mic like a pro, Jules midair off the chair, Luca holding up fingers like he was flashing a gang sign.

“Next time,” Charles murmured, eyes still shut, “we tell them I only have one child. Maybe two, max.”

You smiled, brushing curls from his forehead. “Sure, baby. But admit it… they kind of stole the show.”

He cracked an eye open, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’m not even mad.”

✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #charles leclerc fluff #reader x charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles x reader #charles leclerc #dad!charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #Charles Leclerc x reader #Charles Leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x wife!reader

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formulaonecrumbs · 30 days ago

Note

hi!! i’ve just like binge read all of your stuff and it’s so beautifully written

do you think you could do a charles fic with the co-parenting to lovers trope? like their kid helps them get together or like he flys out to see their kid and realizes that life is so much better with them? i have a whole like plot im sorry 😭

stay a little longer 🕯️

Charles Leclerc x ex(?)!reader

summary: co-parenting finally turns into something more when their daughter decides it’s time for a date.

warnings: co-parenting to lovers, kid matchmaker, suggestive content, kissing, car makeout, implied smut, love confessions, second chances

A/N: thank u anon for the requuessttt!!! i feel like i still don’t write charles very well 😭 like yes i believe the guy is romantic but i think i made that his whole personality in this WHOOPS. random but i love when drivers have girlfriends cuz now i got sm material for the mood-boards. i hope u enjoy it and as always love u ❤️

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

you never expected him to show up.

not like this, not without warning, not with that soft look in his eyes and a suitcase in his hand.

it’s been almost six months since you saw charles leclerc in person. six months since he kissed your cheek at the airport and promised he’d try to visit more. six months of facetime calls with your daughter holding your phone too close to her face, grinning with her tiny teeth and telling him she lost another one. six months of you pretending that you were completely fine raising her mostly alone while he chased podiums around the world.

but now he’s standing on your porch like it’s nothing. like he’s not the father of your child and also the person who once broke your heart in the softest, most unintentional way.

“hi,” he says.

you blink. “charles? what—what are you doing here?”

he looks down at his shoes. he’s wearing sneakers that used to live in your hallway. the ones your daughter would trip over every time she tried to run to the door. “i had a week off. i wanted to see her.”

you let him in because you always do. because she misses him even when she doesn’t say it, and because you’ve never been able to fully close the door on him.

your daughter screams ‘daddy!’ the second she hears him. he drops his bag and catches her mid-run, spinning her around in the tiny living room you’ve made your home. you watch from the kitchen, hands still on the mug you were making, heart doing something stupid and warm and dangerous in your chest.

“you’re not leaving tonight, are you?” she asks him, small hands on his cheeks.

he shakes his head. “not tonight. not for a few days, actually.”

and you swear, you see her little face light up with something more than excitement. something like hope.

it’s not supposed to be easy, but it is.

charles fits back into your space like he never left. he sleeps on the couch and does the dishes after dinner. he drives her to school in the mornings and makes up silly songs about brushing her teeth. he folds laundry while you’re at work and lets her paint his nails on the weekends.

and you keep waiting for it to feel like a mistake. to feel like a tease, like you’re slipping back into something that already ended.

but instead, it feels like healing.

like late nights where he sits across from you, whispering stories about races she’s too young to hear. like laughing over wine after she’s gone to bed, both of you tipsy on nostalgia and something heavier. something that tastes like maybe.

he doesn’t flirt. not really. but sometimes, he looks at you like he remembers every moment you ever shared. and sometimes, when he thinks you’re not paying attention, he stares at you like you hung the stars.

it happens on a tuesday.

you’re rushing to get out the door for work. your daughter can’t find her other shoe and you’ve already yelled twice, which always makes you feel like a terrible mother. charles is standing in the kitchen, packing her lunch like he’s done it every morning for the past year instead of the last five days.

and then she says it.

“daddy, are you staying forever now?”

you freeze. so does he.

“because i think you should,” she continues, completely unaware of the tension she’s stirred up. “you make mommy laugh again. and you’re really good at pancakes.”

charles doesn’t look at you. he kneels down and kisses her forehead. “i love you, chérie,” he says quietly.

you don’t talk about it.

not until later, when she’s asleep and you’re both sitting on the back steps with a blanket around your shoulders and the sky full of stars.

“she wants us to be a family,” you whisper.

charles’s voice is soft. “i do too.”

your chest tightens. “charles…”

“i know,” he says. “i know i left. i know i haven’t been here like i should have. and i’m not trying to ask you to just forget it. but i want to be here now. not just for her. for you, too.”

you stare at your hands. your heart. the little cracks that never quite healed after he left.

“why now?” you ask.

he takes a breath. “because every time i see her smile, i see you. and every time i talk to her, i wish you were beside me. and because… i thought i was doing the right thing. giving you space. letting you live your life without the mess of mine. but i’ve never been more wrong.”

you look at him. really look. and he looks scared. vulnerable in a way he never is behind the wheel. and you realize, in this quiet moment under the stars, that maybe you’ve been scared too.

you don’t say anything. you just reach out, take his hand, and let your fingers intertwine like they never stopped knowing how to.

he moves in slowly.

a toothbrush at first. then a drawer. then he’s picking her up from school without you asking, buying groceries like he knows the list by heart. you fall back into love like it’s muscle memory. slow, steady, familiar. this time, without the fear.

your daughter starts calling you her “mommy and daddy house.” she draws pictures of the three of you holding hands, all smiling with the sun in the corner.

one night, she asks if you and daddy are married again.

charles chuckles. “not yet, chérie.”

you shoot him a look. “not funny.”

he leans in, his voice low against your ear. “it could be.”

and you feel it again—that dangerous, stupid hope that maybe this time, it’s real.

because he came back. because he stayed. because your little girl believed in love enough to put it back together. and because this time, you’re ready to believe in it too.

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

she catches you holding his hand in the kitchen.

it’s not a big deal, really. just fingers brushing as you pass him the milk. but charles catches your pinky with his, gives it a gentle squeeze, and you smile in that way you only ever do with him.

your daughter sees it all from her seat at the table, eating cereal like it’s the most important meal of her life.

“are you guys in love again?” she asks, spoon halfway to her mouth.

charles pauses, milk almost spilling over the edge of his glass. “what?”

“you heard me,” she says, chewing dramatically.

you shoot charles a look. he shrugs, trying not to laugh.

“i think you are,” she continues, totally unfazed. “you look at each other like the people in mommy’s movies. and you sleep on the couch together sometimes. and daddy made you pancakes in a heart shape.”

you can’t even deny that one. he really did.

“okay,” she says, pushing her bowl away. “it’s time.”

“time for what?” you ask, even though you already know.

“you’re going on a date.”

charles raises an eyebrow. “we are?”

she nods. “yes. i’ll stay with mamie. and you two can go somewhere fancy. with candles and music. and then you’ll kiss.”

you laugh, shaking your head. “what is it with you and kissing lately?”

she grins. “uncle pierre says it’s how people fall in love.”

charles makes a face. “i’m going to block his number.”

you get ready while she helps charles pick out a shirt. you hear her scolding him for choosing the boring grey one and insisting he wears the one with the tiny flowers because “mommy likes when you look like a soft boy.”

you come out in a dress that hasn’t seen the light of day in years and charles just stands there, looking like he forgot how to breathe.

“wow,” he says softly. “you look…”

you raise a brow. “like a soft girl?”

he laughs. “like the girl i’ve been in love with since before i even knew it.”

you blink.

he smiles, nervous and sweet and very charles. “too much?”

“no,” you say, cheeks warm. “just enough.”

you drive to a little italian restaurant tucked away in the quieter part of town. it’s dimly lit, with fairy lights above the patio and old music playing inside. it’s romantic in a kind of unintentional way. the kind of place that doesn’t try too hard because it doesn’t need to.

charles pulls your chair out for you and keeps glancing across the table like he’s still trying to figure out if this is real.

“this feels weird,” you say, sipping your wine. “in a good way. but weird.”

he nods. “like we’re pretending we’re not already a family.”

you smile. “yeah.”

“but i want this too,” he adds, eyes soft. “the dating part. the butterflies.”

you meet his gaze. “you still get butterflies?”

he reaches across the table, lacing your fingers with his. “every time you look at me like this.”

and god, you feel it too. that flutter. that full-body warmth that only ever comes when you’re really, really falling.

after dinner, he takes your hand and suggests a walk. it’s chilly but not cold, and the stars are out like someone painted them just for tonight.

“this is the part where we kiss under the moonlight,” you joke, bumping your shoulder into his.

charles stops walking.

“what?” you ask, turning.

he steps closer. “i was waiting for the right moment.”

your breath catches. “is this it?”

he nods, eyes flicking to your mouth. “yeah. i think it is.”

and when he kisses you, it’s slow and soft and everything you’ve been missing for years. it’s full of promises and apologies and second chances. it tastes like wine and laughter and home.

you stay like that for a long time, under the stars and the streetlamp, kissing like you’re twenty and just discovering how good it feels to be wanted.

when you get home, the lights are low and the house is quiet. your daughter is asleep, curled up in her bed with her stuffed giraffe and the nightlight glowing faintly beside her.

charles shuts the door gently behind you.

you turn to him, heart racing, still a little breathless from the night.

“so…” you whisper.

he walks toward you, slow, eyes locked on yours. “so.”

“was this the part where we’re supposed to kiss again?”

he nods, grinning. “definitely.”

he backs you into the couch and kisses you until you’re both laughing and gasping and tangled in each other. his hands in your hair, your arms around his neck, the world spinning just slightly off its axis in the best way.

“we probably shouldn’t wake her,” you mumble against his mouth.

“then we’ll be quiet,” he whispers back, kissing down your neck.

you end up in the car—because it’s late and you can’t quite make it upstairs, and also because there’s something wildly thrilling about being wrapped around each other in the dark leather seats, trying not to fog up the windows too much.

his hands on your thighs, your lips tracing every freckle on his collarbone, his voice low and hoarse as he says your name like a prayer.

after, you sit in the front seat, legs curled into his lap, his hand resting gently on your bare knee.

“we should do this again,” you say, grinning against his shoulder.

charles kisses your temple. “i plan on it.”

and you believe him. completely.

because this time, he’s not just here for the night. this time, he’s here to stay.

THE END :>

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