#IT WAS SO BEAUTIFUL AND NOTHING HAPPENED. but yeah | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

unholybacon355 · 2 days ago

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Toxic Till The End

Park Rosé x Male Reader

Word Count: 4.1 K

Masterlist

AN:To be honest I don't feel like a did a good job here, but things are what they are. So I hope you can enjoy this too because was supposed to be a Valentine´s special and also a way to celebrate Rosé's latest birthday.

It was another day in your opinion, a normal day. Well, maybe not that normal. But with what has been going on in your life, and especially in your relationship with your girlfriend, you aren't sure if you should be celebrating anything. Anyways when you keep repeating to yourself that it is a normal day you still got this stupid heart shaped box of chocolates and a red rose.

“It's just a detail.” You whisper to yourself. And yes, you're right. This detail is the least you can do on this day, a day that is supposed to be happy and cheerful; but instead feels different.

After a long minute of cavitation you put the key on the lock and open the door to your shared apartment with your girlfriend. You're coming back from a long ass night shift and you're sure your girlfriend is still sleeping since there are some hours left till she has to work, so chocolates gonna have to wait. But instead of silence, what you find inside the apartment is the good smell of eggs and bacon being fried. The sizzle sound of food over the pan is what greets you, a sound that you aren’t used to hearing.

Not that your girlfriend is disconsiderate, but she isn’t the type to do these details very often. She cooks, yeah, as long as you do since both of you are grown adults. But the times she has prepared a special meal for you during all these years, can be counted with the fingers of a hand; and maybe those are more fingers than what you actually need to count.

“Babe, you come back early” Your girlfriend says, raising her voice over the sizzling sound. “I can’t let this right now or it will burn.”

“Yeah, they let me come home earlier.” You say approaching the kitchen. “Something big was happening and they wanted the whole day shift there to be an hour early, so I had nothing to do the-.” That last word was cut out of your mouth since you finally saw your girlfriend.

Rosé was holding the pan with a hand and using the other to move what she was cooking with a big wooden spoon; but that was far from making her look any less spectacular than she was looking. To be fair she always looks fantastic, she is very beautiful, with soft features and a button nose that is the envy of all of her friends. But what caught your attention was that she was wearing makeup, done all natural but still make up. Just red lipstick, some mascara on her eyelashes and a bit of blush on her cheeks. What was more spectacular was the fact that she did her hair that morning. Her golden locks were curled into ringlets that fell till barely touched her shoulders, giving her hair a lot of volume.

Also her pajama was different to what she usually wears. This time was a two piece set, all pink and with hearts here and there. The shorts were small, letting you see her long silky legs in all of their glory. The top was also small, revealing her arms as well as a prominent portion of her chest and her tummy.

Rosé was just too beautiful standing there in the kitchen, so out of place making breakfast for you, clearly overdressed for the assignment. Even the fact that you could see her buns shyly appearing under the shorts couldn't make you not focus on how damn beautiful your girlfriend was that morning.

“I wanted to give you a surprise since I have to work today.” Rosé smiles shyly looking at you. “You know, since it’s a special day.” Suddenly your chocolates and rose feel very stupid and almost nothing compared with what she’s doing for you.

“Wow! You're amazing.” You hug her from behind and kiss her cheek. “But you haven´t to. You have to work and you still woke up earlier to do your hair and all this.” Even the smell of her hair was fantastic, and now you could feel she put perfume on too. “I just gave you this.” You present to her what you bought for her, happy that that kid had been selling those things on the street. Because you didn’t have the dignity to walk into a store to buy something from your girlfriend, instead you just brought it for a few bucks from a kid on the street that was selling those packs. You aren’t even sure if the rose is real or made out of plastic.

“Aaaaawww!! But this are fantastic.” Rosé reach back to kiss you in the cheek. “ Thank you Babe.”

After some exchange of kisses and words charged with love, breakfast was ready and you two sat to eat what your girlfriend just cooked. The meal was simple but delicious, something that were really needing to recover all your strength after a busy night. And having breakfast with her made it even better.But the best part came after you finished eating and she told you there was also a especial dessert just for you. You were expecting a cheesecake or something like that, anything far from Rosé sitting in your lap and kissing you.

“I’m your dessert.” She said with her raspy deep voice charged with lust, while she was rubbing her nose with yours. “You can eat all you want.”Although it wasn't what you were thinking, this dessert was much better. So you just grab her tinny waist and glue your lips to hers, this time with much more desire than when you did it earlier in the kitchen.

Soon Rosé’s hands are over you, and yours are exploring under the hem of her shirt. Even on this day there was no time for more romantic things, maybe latter but not now, so your finger crawl under the fabrics till you reach her small tiddies. Her nipples get hard under your touch while you both put more hunger into the kiss.

A moan is muted into your mouth when you pinch one of her sensitive buds and rolled it into your fingers. Rosé have the need to sit properly over you, and in some way she do it without needing to pull her body from yours. Now her legs are falling from each side of the chair, and the tip of her feet are barely touching the ground.

“Don’t leave a mark or they gonna make fun of me at work.” She said while you were kissing and sucking the sweet spot of her neck. Her hands run across your abdomen and your lower back, her touch is a mixture between being gentle and scratching your skin with her long nails. If she leaves marks on you no one is gonna see it.

Since the dessert is being that good you grow hungry and need more, more of her, more of your girlfriend, so you lift her and put her over the tablet. Plates are made a side leaving enough space for her. Your next move is to pull her shirt and leave her torso naked. Rosé small but beautiful breasts make you salivate. Her tiny nipples are so hard right now that you think you could lose an eye if she stabs you with them, but that doesn't stop you from sucking them. Those small hard buds are worth the risk, and the way Rosé moans when your tongue hits one of them is a melody to you.

She palm your erection over your pants while making a mess with your hair, and you do the same with her crotch. Your fingers run up to her silky leg, crossing for her thighs that are open specially for you, and ended reaching the center of her legs. You can feel your girlfriend’s arousal because her pajama is already sticky, which lets you also know that she isn’t wearing any underwear under the garment. But what was the point of wearing panties If she already knew they were gonna end up being a hindrance for what she planned. The only shame is that her cute pajamas will be stained with all of her juices, and of course you're working to make that happen.

While your mouth keeps the attention over her breast your fingers work extra time over Rosé’s clothed folds, making her whimper and moan over the table. She’s already a mess and you think you can make her come just by keeping doing what you´re doing, but she has different plans. Rosé lifts your shirt and you’re forced to take a step back and raise your arms to help her to undress you, but when the garment is gone and rests in the ground with her shirt you’re determined to come back to work between her legs. So you kill the distance between you two, but when your hand is reaching her thigh Rosé stops you. You don’t know what happens and look for a response, but when your eyes meet hers she’s staring at you with ice in her eyes.

“Babe what-” But you never get to ask the question because she pushes you back and gets off the table.

“Who made those?” Rosé points to some scratches in your chest, and you immediately know you're doomed. “I can’t believe it.” Her voice sounded cracked. “ You're cheating on me, again.”

“Babe, this is not what you think.” You try to reach her but she pushes you back. “I made this at work last night.”

“Do I look like a fool to you? There is no way you made those at work, those are nails marks.” Rosé suppressed a sob. “ Oh my god! You cheated on me with Lisa. That bitch always tries to mark what don´t belong to her.”

“Nooo, that’s not.” You try to deny all but honestly you aren’t doing a good job here. “Believe me when I say I made those marks at work.”

“Stop lying. Unless you cheat me with a man, that is impossible.” She takes a step back to put more distance with you. “ Can believe it. You said you would change.” She tries to suppress another sob and suddenly an idea crosses her mind. “If you wanna prove yourself, get your dick out.”

“What? How that gonna help?” You don’t want to but her stare is severe, she’s stabbing you with her eyes. You wish she would be doing it with her nipples instead. “Ok, fine.” You obey and let your parts fall followed by your boxers.

Rosé immediately falls into her knees in front of you and starts smelling your dick. Your shaft isn't hard because of the small fight but that doesn’t stop her from grabbing it with her fingers and putting it in her mouth. After a few bows of her head and lick your meat your girlfriend is in her feet again, and you don’t understand what is happening.

“That’s definitely Lisa’s smell and taste, is all over your filthy dick. You didn’t even took a shower after fucking that bitch.” She makes a disgusting face knowing that she just sucked Lisa’s pussy juices from your cock.. That’s why you came home earlier, because you where fucking her instead of working.”

“Ok, fine. I was with her last night. But you know what?” You were done pretending. “ I had a lot of fun, and not only fucked her pussy.”

“Idiot. I’m not enough for you anymore? After all I did for you?” Rosé is close to you but only to push your chest trying to vent her anger on you. OH my god! I’m so stupid.” She put a hand over her forehead.” Jennie told me this would happen again and I didn’t listen to her.”

“You didn’t let me touch you for weeks. I was horny and she was there for me. What did you expect me to do?”

“Talk to me, you fucking idiot. That is what a normal person would have done. But you had to run to her arms.And.. And…”

“And what?. Don’t act like you're better than me.” You are getting angry too.” Aren’t you forgetting to tell me why you know so well her pussy taste? Don’t you think I don’t know you cheated on me with her too?”

“How…” Suddenly all the anger disappeared from Rosé’s face. “That was just a few times, months ago, after I caught you with your dick inside of her.”

“But you still did it, and didn’t tell me anything.” Now Rosé is more concerned than angry. “ Wanna know how I know? Lisa has some videos of you eating her out. Yes, you're on your knees eating her holes like the bitch you’re.” You look for your phone and hand it to your girlfriend. “Look, you can tell that isn’t you.”

Rosé’s expression now is fully charged with disgust. In your phone is playing a video of her eating Lisa in an undetermined place, all you can hear are Lisa’s moans and praise to your girlfriend. You don’t need to see the video to know that on more than one occasion Rosé’s face is shown.

“Ok, yeah, I did it. But that makes us even, you didn’t need to cheat on me again.” Her anger is coming back.

“Yes, I didn't need it. But I was horny and an occasional blowjob wasn’t helping anymore. I thought you were cheating on me.”

“Oh My god! Don't try to push this on me. This is your fault, you idiot just needed to wait just one more night. “ She clearly sees the confusion on your face because you don’t know what she's talking about. “ Wanna know why I wasn’t fucking you? It was because of this.”

Instead of tell you something you see how Rosé pull her shorts down her legs and kick it away. You don’t what is happening but you see her turn back and, for your surprise, spread her butt. And there you find out what she was trying to show you, because there in middle of her ass crack you could see a gem. This is why I wasn´t fucking you, I was trying training to get your dick in my ass.” Rosé lets go her cheeks and now is looking at you again. “I was jealous because Lisas’s ass is so open that she can take anything. I just wanted to give you the same, so I keep it in secret to not ruin the surprise.”

“But Babe.” You can´t believe you just ruined everything. ”You didn’t need to do it. I was happy fucking your tight butt, even when you just could take a few inches.”

“But I did it. And now I need to find someone else to enjoy my ass.”

You two look so stupid arguing in the middle of your apartment, totally naked, that this would be hilarious if it wasn't because Rosé is implying she’s breaking with you.

“Come on. How I was supposed to know? This is your fault too.”

“Don’t. I was making something for you and you just ruined it, as always.”

“Well you could help me a little too. Our relationship is fucked up because of you too. This breakfast is the first nice thing you did for me in months, and I’m tired too.” You finally get out of your pants to close the distance with Rosé. “Don’t act like this is all my fault.”

Your girlfriend, maybe still she’s your girlfriend, cross her arms and give you her back. “I’m not talking with you anymore. Please take your belongings and leave the apartment.” But far from doing what she said you take your chance and grab one of her sweet little cheeks. “Get your hands out of me!”

“Don’t act like you don't love me anymore.” You notice how even with her protest Rosé doesn't do anything to take your hand off of her ass. “You cheated more times than me, so let's call this a draw and see if your little training gave fruits.” Your hand is still in her butt, so you move it to pass one of your fingers over her ass crack.

“Get off.” Rosé’s arms are still crossed but she moves quickly to put her hands on her mouth when you pull the toy in her butt just a little. Even when she tried, that moan was hard to hide. “Maybe we can make a deal.” You palm her ass and give her a little spank. “No more cheating. I need you to make a promise.”

“Ok, I promise it. No more cheating, I’m not fucking Lisa or anyone; just you. But you have to promise it too.”

She swallows heavily before talking, maybe because your fingers are on the toy again. “Fine. No more cheating, just you and me.” Not even Rosé finished pronouncing those words when you pull the plug half out of her ass, which grants you a loud moan. “Stop playing and just fuck me.” Now the tone of her voice is so different, she’s needy. You’re needy too, more needy for her than ever. Even when you just unloaded your balls inside Lisas’s butt last night, now you need to do the same with your girlfriend.

Not losing time you handed Rosé to the tablet and bent her over. Her sweet little but round ass is shown to you in all of its glory. You can’t not compare Rosé’s small proportion with the fat ass you were smacking last night, obviously Lisa is bigger but there is something so special about the ass you have in front of you. The curves are so perfect, even when it is small you can resist Rosé's butt; it is just so attractive to you.

“Hurry up, I still have to go to work.” Her words take you out of the trance you were admiring her ass. So you take one of her cheeks and spread it while your other hand is in the toy. With one single long but slow movement you take out the plug from Rosé’s butt. Her anus remains agape for a second before regaining its original form. For this position you also can see how her lips are glistening again, how a few pearls of her juices are gathering in her folds. “You want me? Then spread that ass for me.” You guide her hands to her cheeks and she obediently spreads them.

You know that now your girlfriend is more used to taking things up her butt, but you still don´t wanna be that rude so you get on your knees and press your face to her ass. Your tongue landed in her anus and immediately started playing over the wrinkled entrance. You put a lot of saliva there, making her ass slippery and shiny, making it ready to take your meat. With gentle pushes of your tongue Rosé’s anus allows you inside, but just a little, which tells you she was serious with her secret training.

When Rosé’s ass is all shiny and covered in your saliva you tease it with your middle finger and then with a gentle push your tip go inside your girlfriend. Never before has been that easy for you to put a finger in her ass, normally that took you a lot more work and preparation. So if she can take a finger so easily, maybe two is not too much too, and you're right because a second finger goes inside. This time you can feel her anus tensing and being stretched around your fingers, plus you can hear a lot more moans from Rosé’s pretty mouth. “Your ass is so open for me and I haven’t put my dick there yet.”

“So hurry up and put your fat cock inside my butt. I don’t have all day.” Rosé shakes her ass as a protest.

“If you are so desperate.” You take your finger from her entrance and put it in your mouth, tasting the delicious flavor of her insides for a brief time. Then you align your cock tip with her anus and press it against her. The intrusion of your shaft inside her butt is accompanied with a loud moan from Rosé. Almost half of your length goes inside your girlfriend without problems, much more than the usual but still not close from what Lisa can take. “Your ass is so loose now. But you know what? Lisa can take more.”

“Oh my god! Don’t mention that bitch now.” Rosé releases her cheeks and instead grabs the table with both hands. “Start moving, I can take all your stinky dick.” As if she were challenging you, your girlfriend moves her ass back to put a bit more of your cock inside of her. “Just fuck me.”

“Maybe next time we can use Lisa’s pussy juices ass lube for your ass.” With that provocation being said your hands find Rosé’s waist and without warning you take a few inches of your dick out of her ass, just to immediately began fucking her. With each thrust your cock enters a little further into Rosé's tight anus.

Rosé was about to protest but you clearly can see she's struggling with having her ass being fucked, so all she manages to do is moan and breath heavily. You feel how her wrinkled entrance stretches a little more as more of your penis enters her ass, still with all that training her tight anus is fighting to let you in. Rosé is a mess and even when you can't see you know her folds are all wet and shiny with her own slick. “Are you sure you can take me? You're still not stretched enough.” That was just a provocation to see how she reacts.

“Oh my god! I can!” Rosé says between moans. “Just go easy on me.”

“Weren't you telling me to hurry up?” With a long thrust you go the deeper you have ever been inside Rosé’s butt, just letting a few inches out. She’s moaning like crazy, holding the table so tight that her knuckles are turning white. You can see how a shiver runs through her spine but instead of complaining your girlfriend asks for more, and you push your cock further inside her ass.

When your pelvis finally reach her cheeks you can’t help but compare her little butt with the big and round ass you where fucking a fee hours ago. In fact Lisa’s is bigger, rounded, and softer than Rosé’s, but finally being able to fuck your girlfriend ass means something to you. She did this to you and you are paying her with the best anal sex of her life.

You took Rosé’s leg and put it over the table, so now she’s more spread out for you. The new angle allows you to fuck her harder, with your pelvis hitting her butt in every thrust and making a clap sound. You wish she would be telling you hoe good are you fucking her tight ass, but all Rosé can do is moan and whimper while your meat goes as deep as you can inside her anus.

She must be tired of supporting her weight in one leg, but you are not gonna let her go until you’re finished. After all she was the one who asked for you to fuck her ass, and you don’t want to waste all the prep she did. But her ass is still tight, not loose like Lisa, and that’s giving you a lot of pleasure.

Your pace is fast and you fuck Rosé’s little asshole without stop until you feel your balls are arching, demanding to let it go all of your cum, and you can’t hold it anymore. With your dick throbbing inside Rosé’s ass you unload your balls inside of her. The way she’s shaking tells you that probably she’s having her climax too, but you don’t care about that now. All you can think is to shoot until the last drop of your cum in your girlfriend rectum.

When your balls are finally empty you slowly take your dick from Rosé’s butt, and when your tip gets off her she releases a loud moan in some way protesting because of the emptiness that her ass is feeling.

Now you're so tired and your legs can hold you anymore, so you let yourself fall into the same chair you were sitting while eating breakfast, practically panting for all the effort you put into fucking your girlfriend asshole. Rosé for her part is still in the same position, holding the table and with a leg up; also panting. From where you are you can see how her anus is still closing, and how your cum is dripping from her insides coming all the way down through her pussy and legs.

#blackpink smut #rose smut #blackpink x reader #rose x reader #kpop smut #fanfic

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sunrizef1 · 5 hours ago

Text

15 Minutes

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader, Lando Norris x ex!reader

Warnings: Cursing, cheating

Authors Note: Sabrina again! Because I used her songs <3 she’s also the only reason I’ve written anything at all. Without the deluxe I’d still be locked in on glorious thorn 😿

Requested: Yes/No

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youruser

🎵 On Purpose - yn ln

liked by landonorris maxverstappen1 and 238 others

youruser but I guess that we did it on purpose

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user1 stunning as usual

liked by youruser

user2 😍

liked by youruser

yourfriend I’m in love with you

youruser im blushing 🤭

user3 loveeee the car

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maxverstappen1 hey bestie!

youruser hey max 👋

maxverstappen1 omg she repliedddd 🤩

youruser 🤨

yourfriend2 who’s that beautiful woman on slide seven 😻😻😻😻😻

youruser 💕

user4 I see landooo

liked by youruser

user5 this post so cutesy

liked by youruser

yourfriend3 this song is so good diva 🤩

youruser 💋💋💋

yourfriend4 where’s the man 🤨

landonorris ❤️

youruser ❤️

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bellajames replied to your story

See u soon ❤️

landonorris

:) ❤️

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friend1 replied to your story

have fun!!!!!

youruser

I will!!!!

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maxverstappen1 replied to your story

call me please

It’s urgent

youruser

????

📞 Incoming call from Max Verstappen 📞

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TWITTER

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INSTAGRAM

youruser added to their close friends story

landonorris replied to your story

baby please

I didn’t mean it

Fuck

She didn’t mean anything to me

I promise

please call back

Or just reply

Or fuck just read these

Please baby

I swear it wasn’t on purpose

I was so drunk

Max had to bring me back to the hotel

He’ll tell you that

Since I know he told you about what happened

Please baby let me explain

Fuck I didn’t even know her

I just missed you

Think of all the songs

You wrote about me

About us

Please don’t throw this away

I swear it meant nothing baby

youruser

She’s your ex girlfriend you fucking liar

❌ You have blocked this user ❌

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maxverstappen1 replied to your story

I know you asked for cookie dough ice cream but they don’t have any….

Second choice? 😅

youruser

Do they have cookies and cream?

maxverstappen1

They do, yeah

youruser

That one please

maxverstappen1

Of course

Wait!

I found the cookie dough, crisis averted

I’ll be back soon I promise

youruser

Thanks max

I appreciate it

maxverstappen1

It’s no problem

You’re my friend

I care about you

youruser

Love u max <3

maxverstappen1

Love u 2 <3

youruser loved a message

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youruser

🎵 Busy Woman - Yn Ln

liked by maxverstappen1 oscarpiastri and 1,888,075 others

youruser just a quick song for summer

busy woman song + mv out now 💋

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user7 yes!!!!!!!

user8 my queen

user9 so good!!!!!!!!!

user10 screaming

user11 number one in my house

user12 💋💋💋

user13 WOAH????

user14 “if you don’t want me, I’ll just deem you gay” queen please I can’t 😭

oscarpiastri I’m a busy woman

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youruser yeah u r 💋

user15 BUT IF YOU NEEEEEED MY LOVEEEEE

taylorswift 🙌

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user16 Yn ln I have become quite fond of you

user17 I know Lando is fuming that this isn’t a breakup song

user18 the video is so good 😻

maxverstappen1 yk what? hell yeah

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youruser hell yeah

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I look so diva here

youruser

Yeah u do

And also kinda cute or wtvr

maxverstappen1

omgggg do I? 🙀

youruser

shut uppppp 🥴

Ur annoyinggg

maxverstappen1

u love me

youruser

Maybe… idk

maxverstappen1

Wait fr??????

youruser

Bye!!!!

maxverstappen1

No come back!

Wait 😿

Wait I love u 2 or wtvr

youruser loved a message ❤️

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youruser

🎵 15 Minutes - Yn Ln

liked by maxverstapppen1 taylorswift and 6,888,707 others

youruser I can do a lot with 15 minutes…

15 minutes and the rest of the short n sweet deluxe is out now! Happy Valentine’s Day 💋

load comments…

user19 oooh girl I know that man is fuming

user20 I’m in love with you

user21 I can do a lot with fifteen minutes 🤩🤩🤩

user22 couldn’t make it any harder???????? Hello???? I’m hurt????

user23 so bad reviews is about Lando yes? Cuz everyone who knows max loves him….

oscarpiastri u did a lot with fifteen minutes

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youruser yeah I did

user24 I’ve never loved an album so much

user25 max darling I hope u know what you have

user26 Dolly Parton????? Where are we 😭 these divas

maxverstappen1 only need two

youruser shut up 😭

user27 oh my god max 😭

user28 these are MY divas

user29 I know Lando’s head is HOT 😡

maxverstappen1 wait it’s so good girl! Putting those fifteen minutes of fame to work 🤩

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youruser lmfao I love you

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youruser replied to your story

I only make you pay cuz ur the man in this relationship

maxverstappen1

I know, baby

And I’ll keep paying because I love you and I’m endlessly proud of you

youruser

Okay I’m crying

I love you too!

Thank you so much for being here with me

maxverstappen1

Always <3

youruser

——

Tags: @evie-119 @casperlikej

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coolemmasulivan2 · 14 hours ago

Text

A Beautiful Mess | 2

Pairing: Lando Norris

Summary: Two neighbors who can’t stand each other, until an accidental kiss changes everything.

Word count: 3125

You can read part 1 here

Do we need somebody Just to feel like we're alright? Is the only reason You're holding me tonight 'Cause we're scared to be lonely?

It had been a week since you last saw Lando. After his visit to the school, it was like he had vanished. You knew he was home because, as always, he made sure you knew that, but beyond that, there was no sign of him.

The touch of your lips has haunted you ever since. You cursed yourself, telling yourself that you should have pushed yourself away the moment your lips met, you shouldn't have frozen.

"You're not getting it! Our lips touched." You practically yelled at your sister over FaceTime. She burst out laughing. "It's not funny. I hate him."

"If you hate him so much, why are you this worked up?" She teased you.

You frowned. "Are you implying I felt something?"

She shrugged. "Did you?"

"NO!"

At the same time, Lando was telling Max, who was stuffing clothes into his suitcase, since he was going back to Lonon, what had happened.

"It was an accident, dude!" Max said, watching his friend with amusement. "Just forget about it."

"I can't forget it!" Lando groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Our lips touched, Max. I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about it."

Max snorted. "Sounds like you liked it."

Lando spun around. "Are you insane? I meant goosebumps in a bad way. Like… I feel sick."

"Yeah, sure." Max smirked, barely holding back laughter.

You downed the last sip of your coffee, grabbed your bag, and stepped out of your apartment. Today was going to be a good day. You could feel it.

You had woken up early, gone for a run, had breakfast, and still had time to stop by your favorite bakery at the end of the street. Everything felt perfectly in place.

For once, Lando Norris was the last thing on your mind. Or at least, he was supposed to be.

You stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor, as you shifted your bag onto your shoulder, but then, just as the doors were sliding shut, a hand shot between them, forcing them open.

Your stomach dropped.

Lando locked eyes with you, before stepping inside. He didn't said anything and neither did you. The doors closed, sealing you both inside the small space. The building had a few years, so the elevator was not that spaceous.

He looked at his watch and run a hand through his curls. He looked like he was in a hurry.

Just five more floors.

Four.

Three.

Then... A jolt.

The elevator shuddered violently before coming to a stop. The lights flickered once, then settled into an unsettling dim glow.

You both froze. Then Lando sighed, pressing the emergency button. Nothing happened.

"You've got to be kidding me." Lando muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "Great. Just my luck." He let out a long sigh, pacing in the cramped space. If the elevator had felt small before, it felt suffocating now.

You, far too calm for his liking, pressed the emergency button a few times. "Can you stop moving?" You snapped, growing irritated.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I bothering you?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

You shot him a look. "Yes, actually. You've been bothering me for a while now. Thanks for finally noticing."

Lando scoffed. "Excuse me if I'm not as relaxed as you!"

You could see he was nervous. "If you keep panicking like that, you're going to run us out of oxygen."

His head snapped toward you, eyes wide. "What--?! Aren't you supposed to be a teacher? That's not how you tell someone to calm down!"

"You're not a kid, are you?"

Lando let out a fake chuckle. "Fuck. Why did I have to get stuck with you?"

You crossed your arms. "Trust me, I'm wondering the same thing."

He let out an amused breath, shaking his head. "Please! This is probably going to be the highlight of your day."

"You really think you’re that special? You're just an idiot, Norris." You said, crossing your arms over your chest.

Lando smirked, taking a deliberate step closer. "Well, then it seems we're not that different, princess."

"Don't you have anything better to do? Grow up, please. That pretty face of yours isn't going to get you out of everything forever."

"Oh..." He tilted his head, his smirk widening. "So you think I'm handsome?"

You exhaled sharply. "That's the only thing you got from what I said? You're impossible."

Somehow, the space between you had vanished. You weren't sure who had moved first, but suddenly, he was close. Closer than necessary.

Lando's gaze flickered down to your lips, as he licked his own. The air grew thick. The bickering stopped and he elevator fell into silence.

Your breath caught in your throat. Every logical thought screamed at you to move, push him away, to say something, but you didn't. Neither of you did.

Lando's hand twitched at his side like he was debating whether to reach for you. His chest rose and fell in deep, controlled breaths, but you could see it. He was just as caught in this moment as you were.

Then, just as his face leaned closer and your lips were about to touch, the elevator jerked back to life.

You stumbled slightly, as you immediately took a step back away from each other. He run a hand through his hair and you looked away from him. The air was thick, but neither of you acknowledged it.

The doors slid open and without hesitation, you stepped out, ignoring the concerned doorman who asked if you were okay. You didn't spare him, or Lando, a single glance as you strode out of the building.

Lando watched you go, jaw clenched, hands on his hips. He let out a breath and muttered under his breath: "What the fuck just happened?"

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Even surrounded by a classroom full of energetic kids, you couldn't shake the thoughts swirling in your head.

Why hadn't you pushed him away? Why hadn't you moved? Had you actually… wanted to kiss him? The questions run in your mind, each one making you more frustrated than the last.

By the time you got home, you felt exhausted, not physically, but mentally. You barely made it to the couch before grabbing your phone, dialing your friend number without hesitation.

"Let's go out tonight!" You blurted before she could even say hello.

A beat of silence. Then, suspicion. "Go out as in... clubbing?"

It had been a while. You weren't exactly the party animal type, so your sudden enthusiasm was unexpected.

"Yes!" You confirmed, already sitting up. "I need a distraction. Let's get dinner and then let's go out. Call the others."

"Okay, who are you and what have you done with my responsible and sensible friend?"

"Just be ready."

Determined to wipe the morning from your mind, you took a long shower, letting the heat ease the tension from your shoulders. Then, you dug through your closet, finding a dress you barely remembered owning: it was a red dress that hugged your body in all the right places. Paired with black heels that made your legs look like they belonged on a runway and a swipe of bold red lipstick. You felt powerful and it was just what you needed.

Lando leaned against the DJ booth, his drink on his hand as his friend, Martin Garrix, animatedly talked about his upcoming tour dates.

The club was packed, people moving to the heavy bass, neon lights flickering across the dance floor. It was the perfect place to blow off steam, to forget about the week.

Or at least, it was.

But the moment you walked in with your friends, all thoughts of relaxation evaporated.

Lando stiffened, nearly choking on his drink. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

"WHAT?" Martin shouted over the music.

Lando gestured toward the entrance. "Do you see that group that just walked in?"

Martin followed his gaze, spotting a group of friends laughing as they stepped into the club. "What about it?"

"The girl in the red dress. It's my neighbour!"

Martin's eyebrows shot up. "Wait... The neighbor? The one you kissed?"

Lando rolled his eyes. "We didn't kiss."

"Yet!" Martin smirked, clearly enjoying himself seeing Lando's annoyed face. He turned back to glance at you again. "She's beautiful."

Lando made a face, scoffing like the idea was ridiculous. "She's a nightmare, that's what she is." Martin chuckled, seeing right through him. "And she's a kindergarten teacher, bet it's gonna be real awkward for some parents to see their kid's sweet little teacher dressed like that."

Martin laughed, draping an arm over Lando's shoulder. "Dude, you're so jealous already."

"Shut up. What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's obvious!" Martin smirked. "You like her. And you hate that every guy in this club is about to spend their night looking at her. I can practically see smoke coming out of your ears, mate."

"Fuck off."

Your feet ached, but you didn't care. You were having the time of your life. Hours had passed in a blur of music, laughter, and drinks, and you and your friends hadn't left the dance floor for more than a few minutes at a time.

The alcohol had done its job: Lando hadn't crossed your mind all night. (Well, except maybe now. But that doesn't count.)

Leaning against the bar, you waited for your drink when a man approached you. Tall, broad shoulders, very handsome. And exactly your type.

He flashed you a smile. "Do you come here often?"

You blinked at him before bursting into laughter. "Oh my god. That pick-up line does not match your face."

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, that was terrible. I panicked."

You smirked. "I can tell."

"Not much of a flirt, I guess." He admitted, laughing along with you.

"Clearly."

He stuck out his hand. "I'm Eric, by the way."

You shook it, still grinning. "Y/n."

Lando leaned against the railing, beer in hand, eyes fixed on the bar. He told himself he was just people-watching, just casually scanning the room, but his gaze kept landing on you.

And the guy standing way too close to you.

The guy who looked like he'd stepped straight out of a fashion magazine. Tall, charming, and irritatingly good-looking. The kind of guy who knew exactly how to play his cards.

Lando took a sip of his beer, jaw tightening as he watched you laugh at something the guy said. You were drunk and from the way the guy leaned in, so was he. Too close. Way too close.

"You look like a creep." Martin shouted over the music, snapping Lando out of his glare. "Stop looking at her."

"I'm not looking at her."

Martin snorted. "Right. You're just analyzing the guy she's with." He nudged Lando's shoulder. "Worried she might take him home?"

Lando scoffed, tearing his eyes away. "I don't fucking care."

"Sure." Martin smirked, taking a sip of his drink. He didn't press further, letting his friend drown in jealousy.

You stumbled outside, the cool night air hitting your flushed skin like a slap. Eric followed closely behind, his hand steady on your back as he helped you sit down on a nearby bench as you waited for the cab.

"You're really nice, you know that?" You mumbled, tilting your head to look at him as he sat down beside you.

Eric smiled. "Thank God. I was worried I screwed up my chances with that terrible pickup line."

You laughed softly, resting your head against the cool metal of the bench. "You saved yourself."

"I'm glad!" He admitted, his voice warm. "I had a good time tonight."

"Me too." You sighed, your stomach swirling uncomfortably. You cleared your throat, barely above a whisper as the words slipped out. "I wish you were him."

Eric frowned. "Who?"

Before you could answer, a voice interrupted you. His voice.

"Y/n?" You and Eric both turned, and there he was. Lando. Hands in his pockets, his gaze locked onto you.

Eric's eyes widened in recognition. "Wow. Lando Norris?" He sounded excited, most likely a fan.

But you barely registered his reaction. Your stomach twisted again, and before you could stop it, you shot up from the bench, turned away from them both, and emptied your stomach onto the pavement.

Lando instinctively moved toward you, but Eric was faster. He was by your side, gathering your hair in his hands and rubbing slow circles on your back.

Lando clenched his jaw, watching the way Eric took care of you. It shouldn't bother him, but it did. The guy was too perfect. A walking green flag.

"Are you okay?" Eric asked gently. "Think you can stand?"

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, groaning as you nodded. Eric helped you to your feet, keeping you steady against his side. "Where's that damn cab?" Eric muttered under his breath, glancing around.

"I'll take her home," Lando said suddenly.

Eric turned to him, brows raised. "What?"

"We're neighbors. She's most likely going to pass out on the way back."

"Yeah, we drank quite a lot." He looked between you and Lando. "Y/n? You okay with that?"

"Hm?"

"Are you okay with going with Lando? Is he your neighbour?" He asked you, and Lando could almost hear himself rolling his eyes. The guy was seriously too nice.

"Yes!" You confirmed. Lando took a step forward and stretched his hands. You blinked up at him, your head heavy. "You're so annoying. Why are you always everywhere?" Despite your grumble, your hands slowly found his.

Eric's lips twitching into a sad smile. He gently let you go as Lando pulled you closer, steadying you against him.

"Thanks for taking care of her." Lando said.

"It was my pleasure." Eric replied, his gaze soft as he looked at you. "She's something special. And I just met her, so…"

You chuckled. "I like you, Eric."

He smiled. "I know, Y/n." Then his expression flickered, just for a second. "But I'm not him, right?"

Lando frowned, watching as you only groaned in response.

Eric let out a small breath before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your cheek. Lando's grip on you tightened.

"It was nice meeting you." Eric said. "Call me sometime, yeah?" He turned to Lando, extending a hand. "Big fan, man. Nice to meet you."

Lando shook it briefly. "Yeah. You too."

Eric gave you one last glance before walking off.

Lando glanced down at you, your body leaning heavily into his side. "Come on, let's get you home."

You hummed, already half-asleep. "Still annoying."

"Yeah, yeah."

Lando pulled into his parking spot, turning off the engine with a quiet sigh leaving his mouth. When he glanced to his right, he wasn't surprised to see you fast asleep, just like he'd predicted.

Your head rested against the window of his McLaren, your mouth slightly open, breaths slow and steady. One of his Quadrant hoodies was draped over you.

Lando exhaled, leaning back against the seat as he stared at you. He'd never really taken the time to look at you before, not like this. You looked… peaceful. And you were indeed a very beautiful woman.

His fingers moved on their own, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear.

"What the hell am I doing?" Lando muttered to himself, running a hand down his face, he groaned under his breath. "I must be crazy."

Shaking off whatever the hell that was, he reached over and carefully pulled your head away from the window. Then, he stepped out of the car, circling around to your side and pulling the door open.

"Y/n?" He called, his voice quiet but firm as he nudged your arm. "Wake up. We're home."

"Hm?" You groaned, keeping your eyes firmly shut.

"Wake up. Come on."

He turned your face into the seat, snuggling deeper into the warmth. "Let me sleep!"

Lando huffed, crossing his arms as he glanced around the dimly lit garage. "If you don't wake up, I'm leaving you here." Nothing. "I cannot believe her." With a sigh, he leaned down, sliding one arm beneath your legs and the other behind your back. He hesitated for a second before carefully lifting you into his arms.

You instinctively curled into his chest, your face pressing against the crook of his neck, a small sigh leaving your lips. Lando froze for a split second, his heart racing in his chest.

Lando stepped into the elevator, shifting you slightly in his arms to press the button for his floor. You were still dead weight against him, your warm breath fanning against the side of his neck. He clenched his jaw, doing his best to ignore the way you seemed to fit perfectly against him.

When the doors opened, he carried you down the hall, stopping in front of your apartment.

"Alright, time to go home." He muttered, adjusting his grip. "Where's your key?" You mumbled something against his neck, your lips brushing against his skin. Then, before he could even react, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. "Y/n." He tried again, shaking you gently. "Where's your key?"

Another muffled murmur. He sighed, dropping his head back against the door in frustration. Since you refused to answer him, and since he couldn't exactly rummage through your purse while holding you, he had no choice.

"Alright, you're coming with me." He muttered, carrying you across the hall to his own apartment.

He walked straight to his bedroom, gently lowering you onto his bed. As soon as your back hit the mattress, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. But just as he moved, you reached out, your fingers curling into the fabric of his white shirt, right where it gaped open.

"Stay." You murmured, eyes still closed.

Lando froze. "You're drunk!" He reminded you, gently prying your fingers off him. You groaned but refused to let go, gripping his shirt again, this time tighter. His breath hitched as your fingertips brushed against his bare chest. "Y/n!"

"Lando!" You snuggled against the pillow, your grip unrelenting. "Stay." You whispered.

Lando clenched his jaw. He should go. He needed to go. But the way you held onto him, the way you looked so small and vulnerable in his bed… it made something twist inside his chest.

With a heavy sigh, he gave in. "Fine! But just until you fall asleep." He told himself that.

And yet, as he laid down beside you, feeling the warmth of your body so close to his, he had a sinking feeling that this was only going to make things a lot more complicated.

Tags:

@lilorose25 @downsideup1989 @anayaverse @ln4-cl16-world @chlmtfilms @444-leqz @joannaln4 @notarshia

#lando norris #formula 1 #lando norris x y/n #lando imagine #lando x reader #lando x you #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 imagine #ln4 #ln4 x reader

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supernaturalfreakout · 2 days ago

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It's natural, baby / my bloody valentine

Summary: Sam x female reader, post period-sex valentines day imagine. I dunno, I just felt like it. It's my time of the month, so yeah. Happy valentine's day ❤️🩸🌹

Cws: Mentions of blood, thoughts of pregnancy.

Blood has never bothered Sam; he’d happily fuck you on your period. No hesitation, no questions asked.

The first time it happened, after you’d both come, and he’d finally pulled out—his cock shiny and coated with the mixture of your combined pleasure and your menses—and when the self-consciousness that temporarily dissolved during sex returned in full, blowing force, he’d kissed you on the mouth and told you, “It’s natural, baby," and, “If any man has a problem with it, then he’s no man at all … Plus, it helps with the cramps, doesn’t it? How’re they now?”

Then he’d placed his warm hand on your bloated belly, sprawled his long, beautiful fingers over your womb, and you’d tried your hardest to remind yourself to breathe. That you’re a feminist. That you’re more than just this body. That your existence on this planet isn’t purely carnal; even though in that moment you wanted nothing more than to fulfill that primal desire: for him to impregnate you, and for you to carry his child.

“They’re… better,” you’d admitted, and then finally relaxed into his side.

That was the first of many, and ever since then, you’d known you were done for.

#sam winchester x reader #fanfic #x reader #happy valentine's day #sam winchester #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fluff #period sex #aftercare #ao3 fanfic

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svnluns · 12 hours ago

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she never stay ; b.eilish ✧₊⁺

I was, once again, at this club that my best friend Scarlett would take me to. She always wanted to go for drinks during the weekend.

The parties that she attended were always really loud, filled with many drunk people.

She grabbed my hand and leaned me toward the dance floor so we could have some fun.

After what felt like an eternity of pretending that I liked what was happening, I turned toward her, telling her that I was going to grab a drink.

A part of this lie was true, but it was also because I noticed this girl sitting alone. My eyes had been on her since the beginning.

She was standing across the room, her body leaning against the bar, dressed in an oversized T-shirt and matching pants, with some sunglasses on her head. She was definitely not a party girl. She was sipping on what looked like a cocktail, her fake nails tapping against the glass in rhythm with the music. She looked bored, like she had no clue what she was doing here.

I tried to avoid eye contact with her as I made my way toward the bartender.

I was really excited to drink since it was the only thing that would help me survive this party.

As I was scrolling on my phone, the bartender handed me my drink, and I saw a shadow appearing next to me. My breath hitched when I turned my head to meet her beautiful blue eyes. She looked even prettier up close.

“I noticed you staring at me,” she whispered in my ear, taking a seat next to me.

“So did you. Do you really think I didn’t catch you stealing glances at me?” I replied with a playful smirk.

A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she turned her head toward me. “Okay, I have to confess… maybe.”

Without giving me time to respond, she added, “So, are you here alone or with someone else?” She seemed really interested in my answer.

“Uh, I’m with a friend of mine,” I replied, taking a sip of my drink.

“Boringgggg. It would be more fun if you were alone,” she said, rolling her eyes and smiling to herself.

“What do you mean?” I asked, genuinely curious about what she meant.

“Hm, nothing,” was all she said before taking my drink from my hand, placing it on the table, and grabbing my other hand to lead me through the crowd.

“Let’s dance,” she added, looking at me to make sure I wasn’t leaving her—but how could I when her grip on my hand was so tight?

The music pounded around us. Her hands found my waist, pulling me closer, our bodies moving in sync. Every touch made my skin shiver. I could smell her perfume, feel her breath on my neck.

I needed her.

But she seemed a bit like a player.

Her nails dug slightly into my hips, like she possessed me.

The room became blurry as she leaned in, taking me out of my trance, her lips inches from mine.

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

I turned my gaze toward her, thinking about what I could say to Scarlett, but I was sure she would understand.

I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

She smirked, leading the way toward the exit. No words were needed—we both knew exactly what was about to happen.

We ended up in the parking lot, in front of a black Porsche Taycan. She pulled out the keys from her pocket and opened the door for me, letting me take a seat in the passenger seat.

She made her way to the driver’s seat and started the engine, heading toward her place.

After a 30-minute drive, we finally arrived. She opened the door for me, taking my hand in hers as we walked to the entrance. That’s when I realized we were at a hotel. She led me up the stairs, and I followed her until we reached the second floor—room 120.

The second the door closed behind us, she threw her keys on the floor and was back on me. Her fingers gripped at my clothes like she couldn’t get enough.

Her hands dug under my shirt, pulling it off as her nails left marks on my breasts. Her lips traced their way to my neck as she pushed me toward the bed, making me land on it urgently.

She got on top of me, lifting my dress slightly so she could see my black panties that had been peeking out.

My lips kissed her neck urgently as she started grinding against my thighs. Her hands now grabbed my breasts as I whimpered into her mouth, begging for a kiss.

My fingers found their way to her chest, grabbing one of her breasts, causing her to moan over and over.

She pulled my panties to the side, sliding her fingers deep inside me.

“You look so beautiful,” Billie whispered, kissing my neck one more time, making me even wetter than I already was.

I couldn’t stop moaning, throwing my head back and digging my nails into her.

I finally let go, tears streaming down my face as I lay breathless on the bed.

She took care of me, cleaning both of us up before sliding into bed and falling asleep.

When I woke up, the room was still dark. I checked my phone—it read 7 AM.

I reached out instinctively, expecting to feel the warmth of her body beside me.

But surprisingly, the sheets were cold.

My stomach twisted as I realized something was wrong.

I sat up, scanning the room for any sign of her, but the only thing left of her was the faint scent of her perfume on the pillow beside me.

She was gone.

No note. No whispered goodbye. No lingering kiss.

Just gone.

I pulled the sheets around myself, resting my hand on the pillow, staring at the ceiling, waiting for a proper time to leave.

Without leaving someone behind this time.

#billie eilish #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish oneshot #billie eilish x female reader

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maretinelli · 1 day ago

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SPILLED COFFEE

Lewis Hamilton X Journalist!fem!reader

Summary: On her first day covering F1, Y/n meets Lewis Hamilton in an unexpected way—by spilling coffee on him before a press conference. What starts with laughter and meeting at the Paddock soon turns into a friendship that can go beyond feelings.

Words: 5.8K+

Warnings: Nothing(??) just cute and romantic.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story.

MASTERLIST

It was the Spanish Grand Prix. The paddock was buzzing with the typical morning activity of a race weekend. The sky was clear, and the heat was starting to intensify, even at that hour.

Team members hurried past, engineers chatted in groups analyzing data, and journalists strategically positioned themselves to capture the best moments of the day.

Y/n, however, didn't have time to appreciate the scenery.

She walked quickly across the paddock, slinging her bag over her shoulder, which held a microphone, question sheets, and other essential equipment. In her other hand, she held a large cup of iced coffee, still untouched.

She knew exactly why she was late. Talking too much. It was an innate talent—or maybe a flaw, depending on the situation.

The friendly waitress at the coffee shop had been a great listener, and between one conversation and another, Y/n had simply lost track of time. Now, she should be in the press room, getting everything ready and waiting for the pilots who could arrive at any moment.

"Microphone, chips, recorder... It's all here, isn't it? Oh, what the hell, Y/n, why do you do this every time?"

The problem was, she wasn't really looking in front of her. The impact was unexpected.

In her haste and distraction, Y/n felt her shoulder bump against something solid - or rather, someone. The impact caused her iced coffee to fly out of her hand and splash directly onto the person's chest, staining the white fabric. The liquid ran down her impeccable shirt, creating a large brownish stain.

She quickly stepped back, trying to keep her balance so she wouldn't fall to the ground. Her eyes widened as she realized what she had just done.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry! I swear I didn't see you, I was looking at my bag and-"

The words came out in a rush, one excuse after another, as she finally looked up at the victim of her morning disaster.

Lewis Hamilton.

His sweet smile contrasted with the large coffee stain on his white Mercedes shirt. The fact that he had spilled coffee on someone was bad enough. But that someone was Lewis Hamilton, and that made it a thousand times worse.

And, as if that weren't enough, he was one of the drivers who should have been at the press conference, which was probably already starting.

"Oh no... I made you late too! I'm a mess!" She exclaimed, feeling even more guilty. "What do I do? How do I get this stain out? Is there anything in the Mercedes that can help? Or maybe-"

"Hey, hey, calm down!" Lewis laughed, interrupting her barrage of apologies. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down. "It's okay, really. It happens. I also wasn't looking where I was going because... well, I'm late too."

Relief washed over Y/n at hearing this, though the guilt was still there. She let out a small sigh and smiled, more at ease.

"Still, I'm sorry."

Lewis looked down at his shirt and shrugged, still smiling. "Don't worry, I've learned some techniques for removing stains from white shirts from my mom."

Y/n chuckled, shaking her head. "So you're a pilot and a laundry expert? Impressive."

"Something like that." He joked, laughing.

His gaze then slid to her arm, where a large, colorful tattoo stood out. He pointed curiously.

"That's very beautiful. Tribute?"

Surprised by the comment, Y/n stretched out her arm, allowing him to see better. Lewis smiled as he noticed the details of the drawing.

She nodded, a nostalgic glint in her eyes. "Yeah... my dad and I did it together for my birthday. He always said we'd do something special when I turned 18. That was our special thing and..." Lewis smiled, clearly enjoying the story, but before Y/n could say anything else, reality hit. "Oh, forget it...!" She shook her head, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I have to go, I'm really late for a meeting."

Lewis laughed at her sudden change of mood. "And I need to change clothes and go to the interview, so I guess we're even."

She took a few steps back, pointing at his shirt, grimacing guiltily. "Sorry again about that..."

Lewis just laughed, loud and genuine. "Okay, really."

They exchanged one last friendly smile before each of them went their separate ways. When Y/n turned around, she let out a sigh and smiled to herself.

She quickened her pace, now focused on finding the TV crew's photographer. The walk to him was quick, and when she arrived, she stopped in front of him, a little out of breath.

The teammate crossed his arms, his expression unimpressed. “You’re 20 minutes late.”

She smiled guiltyly, still catching her breath. "I know, I know..."

He sighed, pointing to his watch. "The interview should have started by now."

Y/n sighed, still trying to catch her breath, and quickly handed the bag to the photographer. "Sorry, really. But I'm here now, let's go."

Without wasting any more time, she began to help him prepare the camera, quickly adjusting the equipment. Once everything was ready, the two entered the large room where the press conference would take place.

Luckily for Y/n, the interview hadn’t started yet. The pilots were finishing adjusting their microphones, and the journalists were taking their places, reviewing notes and testing their equipment. She let out a long sigh of relief.

Moving quickly between other reporters and excusing herself here and there, Y/n positioned herself in the spot reserved for her team. Her name tag and company name marked her space.

Sitting down, she took her cards out of her bag and began to organize them, checking her questions. She adjusted her microphone and looked around, making sure she was ready.

The interview began with one of the journalists directing the first question to Verstappen.

"Max, you've performed well in free practice so far, but you mentioned that you were struggling a bit with the balance of the car. What have you adjusted for qualifying and how do you expect that to affect your race?"

Max leaned forward a little to answer. "Yeah, we worked really hard on it..." He began, but the buzz in the room suddenly increased.

Lewis had just arrived.

He weaved his way past the other pilots, moving with the natural confidence he always carried. "Sorry I'm late, guys," he said with a smile as he settled into his seat and adjusted his microphone.

Now he was wearing a clean, impeccable black Mercedes blouse.

As Max continued his response, Lewis looked around the room, observing the journalists who filled the first rows. It was then that his eyes found Y/n.

For a brief moment, he looked surprised. His eyes widened a little, but soon a smile formed on his face.

Y/n, who was already watching him, smiled back and discreetly pointed to her own blouse. A subtle gesture, saying: There was time to change, huh?

Lewis held back his laughter and nodded slightly, as if in confirmation.

Satisfied, Y/n looked down at her lap, where her chips were and the microphone was still turned off, waiting for the right moment to use it. She took a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure, but a part of her couldn't help but find the coincidence of that morning meeting with Lewis amusing.

Once Max finished answering his questions, the moderator gave the floor to the next journalist. Y/n picked up her own microphone, turning it on with a soft click.

"Good morning Lewis, my question for you is about the progress of Mercedes this weekend. In free practice we saw you trying out different aerodynamic setups and, despite some balance issues, the race pace looked promising. Based on the data you gathered, what are your expectations for qualifying and the race? Do you feel you can challenge Red Bull and Ferrari here in Spain?"

Lewis listened attentively, tilting his head slightly as he processed the question. Then, he took the microphone and smiled before answering.

"Great question. I think this weekend has been interesting for us indeed. We are constantly trying to understand the car better and make improvements. Here in Spain, a traditionally technical circuit, we have been able to collect good data, especially on tyre wear and performance in long runs. We know that Red Bull and Ferrari still have an advantage, but we believe we can put ourselves in a strong position to fight on Sunday. The key will be a good qualifying, so we need to maximise every detail."

He ended his answer with a warm smile in Y/n's direction. She returned the smile and took the opportunity to ask her second question.

"Thinking about the race, the Spanish circuit has been challenging in recent years in terms of overtaking. Do you believe that the updates that Mercedes has brought can help in this aspect, giving you more confidence to attack if you start behind?"

Lewis nodded, appreciating the question.

"Yes, this has always been a tricky circuit for overtaking, so strategy and tyre management will be crucial. But yes, the updates we've brought in are very much focused on the stability of the car at high speeds and traction out of corners, so I believe that if we need to make up positions we'll have good pace to do so."

Y/n smiled, satisfied with the answers. "Thank you, Lewis." She turned off the microphone and sat in her designated chair, letting the other journalists take over the next questions.

However, without her noticing, Lewis kept his gaze on her for a few more seconds, until another question directed at him caught her attention.

The next journalist, excited, asked bluntly: "Lewis, everyone noticed you were a little late. What happened?"

He chuckled a little, lowering his head before answering. “Ah… well, there was a little mishap in the paddock on my way here.” He smiled and paused dramatically. “Apparently, coffee was spilled on my white blouse. But in the end, I was the one who apologized… because the woman who did it was definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life.”

The answer took everyone by surprise. Laughter echoed around the room, some drivers teased Lewis with humorous comments, and journalists murmured among themselves.

Y/n, in turn, raised her eyebrows slightly, surprised by the statement. But soon her expression was replaced by a surprised smile and then by an amused giggle. She shook her head slightly, trying to disguise the way her face heated up at the unexpected joke.

Lewis, on the other hand, just smirked and cast a discreet glance in her direction, as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

The press conference continued with a dynamic flow of questions and answers. In addition to Max and Lewis, the other two drivers present were Lando Norris and Carlos Sainz.

Y/n did a good job of directing questions to both of them, showing that she had done a thorough research job. For Lando, she asked about the improvements that McLaren had brought for that weekend and how he saw the team's evolution in the midfield battle. For Carlos, she focused on the pressure of racing at home and how that influenced his mental performance during the weekend.

They both responded sympathetically, and she managed to keep the interview going at a good pace, which was essential for someone who was running the job alone that weekend.

When the press conference finally ended, Y/n took a deep breath, feeling the weight of responsibility lift off her shoulders.

"You did really well today," his fellow photographer said as he dismantled his equipment and put his camera back in his bag.

Y/n laughed, thanking me. "Thank you. But if you knew what I did before I found you, you'd definitely be on edge."

He arched an eyebrow, curious. "What did you do?"

She held back a laugh before replying. "I spilled coffee on Lewis Hamilton."

"SO IT WAS YOU?" The photographer paused for a second before letting out a loud laugh. "You're kidding!"

"I wish." Y/n replied, laughing along. "I literally bumped into him in the paddock, spilled my entire coffee on his white shirt, kept apologizing like crazy, and he... well, he was incredibly cool about it."

Her colleague was still laughing at the scene he imagined in his head. "And he even got a compliment on the world wide web, because apparently you're the most beautiful woman he's ever seen in his life."

Y/n shook her head, feeling her face heat up slightly. "It was just a joke, he doesn't even know me."

The photographer crossed his arms, laughing. "Joke or not, you became the highlight of the press conference."

She shrugged, still amused by it all. Then, as if speaking more to herself than to him, she commented, "But he really is very handsome... especially up close."

The colleague laughed and agreed. "Oh, that's true. The guy has an absurd presence."

With that, they finished organizing everything and moved on to other tasks for the day.

The afternoon settled in the paddock, and the characteristic buzz of the environment continued. Y/n was now sitting in the same coffee shop where, earlier, she had bought the coffee that ended up causing all the confusion.

This time, however, her attention was fully focused on her work. Her laptop was open on her desk, and sheets of notes were scattered around her. Her gaze flicked between the papers and the screen, typing quickly as she organized the press conference material and adjusted the main points for the story she needed to submit.

Even while concentrating, every now and then a small smile appeared on her lips as she remembered the scene from that morning. It was definitely not every day that someone spilled coffee on Lewis Hamilton and, on the same day, heard such praise from him.

Y/n was so focused on the computer screen, trying to organize the information and write what she would need for the article, that she didn't notice when someone approached her desk.

She was so startled that she nearly dropped everything when a large glass of iced coffee was placed next to her. She frowned in confusion, because she hadn't ordered anything since she sat down there.

She looked down at the glass, then quickly looked up, and that was when her eyes met Lewis's. He had an easy smile on his face, clearly enjoying the scare she had gotten.

"I think you need some coffee to calm down." He commented, chuckling softly.

Y/n sighed in relief and laughed. "You scared me."

Lewis shrugged, as if it wasn’t his fault. “I’m a pretty good scarer, apparently.” He pointed to the cup. “I brought you a coffee, as an apology. After all, I ended up making you lose your coffee, so I figured you deserved one on me.”

Y/n smiled, a little shyly, before shaking her head. "I'm the one who got into a fight with you. If anyone should apologize, it's me. I was late and ended up making a mess."

Lewis laughed softly, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter who was at fault.” He chuckled and leaned forward a little. “What matters is that I wanted to bring you some coffee and see you one more time.”

Those words, spoken so casually, made Y/n's cheeks flush. She looked away for a moment, trying to compose herself, before looking at him again.

Lewis then looked at the empty chair in front of him and asked with a smile, "Can I sit here?"

She smiled, feeling her heart race a little. "Sure, you can sit down."

Lewis settled into his chair, and Y/n began to gather the papers on the table, organizing them into a folder as he watched closely. He noticed that she was clearly busy with something important, so he hesitated for a moment.

"Sorry, I didn't see you were working. If you want, I can come back later." He said, his tone softer and more respectful.

Y/n shook her head, smiling softly. "It's okay. I needed a break anyway, and now is a perfect time."

Lewis smiled, watching as she closed the laptop, gathered the remaining sheets, and carefully placed them inside the folder before setting it aside.

After that, she placed the coffee cup in the center of the table, as if that was the official sign that she was, in fact, taking a break from work.

"It's brave of you to want to spend time talking to a journalist."

Lewis laughed, shaking his head. "I guess I've been through enough interviews that I don't get scared that easily."

Y/n smiled as she took a sip of her coffee.

A small silence settled between them. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but it carried with it that slight tension of two people who didn't yet know each other very well.

Lewis shifted his gaze to her arm, where the colorful tattoo caught his attention once again. He pointed discreetly with his finger.

"Are you a Senna fan too?"

Y/n automatically followed his gaze to her arm and smiled, almost instinctively. "Yes, very much. My father is Brazilian, so I grew up watching races with him. Senna has always been our idol. On my 18th birthday, I decided to get this tattoo in honor of him. My father was so touched that he wanted to get one too, so we ended up going together. It was one of the most special moments of my life." She smiled. "And well, that was a loooooong time ago."

As she spoke, her eyes shone with genuine affection, and her smile had a hint of nostalgia.

Lewis felt something electrifying in his chest. Talking about Ayrton Senna always brought out something intense in him, but knowing that Y/n also admired him deeply created an instant connection between them.

"He was my childhood hero," Lewis said, his eyes taking on a special light. "I always say he was the reason I started racing. I would watch his races and be fascinated by the way he drove, the passion he put into everything... Senna was different."

Y/n nodded, smiling. "Yes... my father always said that Senna was more than a driver, he was a symbol."

"And he was right." Lewis agreed, relaxing further in his chair.

From then on, the conversation flowed naturally. They began to exchange stories about their memories related to the Brazilian idol, about iconic moments from his races and even about how Ayrton had inspired so many generations on and off the track.

The awkward atmosphere that existed before gradually dissipated, giving way to an unexpected lightness.

As they talked, Y/n raised her coffee cup to her lips from time to time, slowly sipping Lewis's unexpected gift. And for the first time that day, she didn't feel rushed at all.

••••••••••••••••••••••

It was qualifying day, and the tension in the air was palpable. The roar of engines echoed in the background as engineers ran back and forth in the pits, ensuring everything was perfect for the drivers. Fans crowded into the stands, eager to see who would secure pole position for the next day's race.

Y/n was positioned in an area near the track where journalists gathered to interview the drivers right after qualifying. Next to her, her colleague held the camera, while she adjusted the microphone. They were live for the TV crew they worked for, and she had already interviewed two drivers.

She was finishing interviewing the third, a driver who was still slightly out of breath from the effort on the track.

"Thank you for your participation, Piastri!" Y/n smiled, holding the microphone as the pilot nodded.

"Thank you." Oscar replied with a smile before quickly placing a hand on her shoulder in a brief gesture of thanks and leaving the press area.

Y/n then turned to interview the last pilot assigned to her team. As soon as she looked up, she found Lewis standing behind her, with his usual easy smile.

Before she could say anything, he placed both hands on her shoulders and gave her a brief, relaxed massage, as if he were playing to ease the tension.

"Working hard, huh?" He teased, an amused glint in his eye.

Y/n smiled, feeling her shoulders relax for a moment before shaking her head and straightening her posture. Because they were still live. "Someone has to do the hard work."

He replied, laughing before adjusting the microphone and looking at him more seriously. "Congratulations on qualifying today, Lewis. You've put yourself in a great position for the race. How did the car perform on track today?"

"Thanks! The car handled really well, I think we managed to find a good balance over the weekend. There are still a few details to fine-tune, but overall I'm pretty happy with the lap we did today."

Y/n nodded and continued: "Considering the performance of your opponents and the position you will start in tomorrow, what will be the main challenge for the race?"

Lewis smiled, clearly enjoying the interview. "I think the start will be crucial, as always. It's important to hold the position and, if possible, gain some. Tyre management will also be essential, as wear seems high at this circuit. But we are prepared to fight for the best possible result."

Y/n smiled, satisfied with the answer. "It looks like it's going to be an exciting race! Thanks for the interview, Hamilton."

He held her gaze for a moment before smiling warmly. "The pleasure was all mine. Always great to be interviewed by you."

Y/n tried to hide it, but an involuntary smile escaped her lips. Lewis noticed and his own smile widened a little more. Before walking away, he patted her affectionately on the shoulder, as if to say 'Good job.'

She watched him walk away for a moment before turning her attention back to her teammate, who was filming the whole thing with a mischievous grin on his face.

Y/n smiled at the camera, returning to her professional tone. "And that concludes our coverage of today's qualifying! Tomorrow, the drivers will be back on track for what promises to be an exciting race. Stay tuned to follow everything with us. See you then!"

Her teammate gave her a discreet nod, indicating that he had stopped recording. Once the camera was turned off, Y/n sighed in relief and let out a nervous giggle.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to this alone," she confessed, turning off the microphone.

His friend just smiled. "You studied hard for this, Y/n. Now's your chance to enjoy the view from this side." He made a wide gesture with his hand, as if showing the entire paddock in front of them.

She laughed, shaking her head, but she knew he was right. She was here, covering an event by herself, and she was doing well.

Together they began to pack up their equipment and walked around the paddock, chatting casually. That's when Y/n felt a hand land lightly on her shoulder. Turning around, she found Lewis smiling at her.

"Hey," he said, relaxed.

"Hey," she replied with an automatic smile.

His colleague looked from Lewis to Y/n, arching his eyebrows with a mischievous smile before taking a step back.

"Well, I'm going. I need to get back to the hotel and prepare myself emotionally for a date later."

Y/n laughed. "It'll be okay. See you tomorrow morning here at the paddock."

He winked at her and left, leaving Y/n and Lewis alone.

When she turned back to the pilot, she noticed that he looked a little nervous. His smile didn't have the same confidence it usually had.

"Can I play journalist now and ask you a question?"

Y/n laughed at the comment. "Sure."

Lewis hesitated for a second before asking, "Do you... have a boyfriend, fiancé, or husband?"

Y/n frowned for a moment, holding back a laugh at the direct way he asked.

Lewis noticed and laughed a little too, shaking his head. "I mean... do you have someone? Any plans?"

"No, I don't have anyone." She tilted her head, crossing her arms. "Why?"

Lewis smiled, running his hand over the back of his neck, looking a little less confident than usual. "Because I wanted to ask you out to dinner sometime."

She blinked in surprise, and then a smile grew on her face. Her heart raced a little, but in a good way.

"Ah..." She chuckled softly, feeling a wave of heat rise in her chest. "Yes, I would love to."

Lewis smiled broadly and with relief. "Great! Great..."

Y/n laughed when she noticed his slight hesitation. It was funny to see the seven (eight) times world champion like that.

"But I know you're busy right now." He continued, lightly gesturing to the notepad in her hand. "And I also need to get back to the garage to talk to the engineers. We'll talk then!"

"Yeah, I have some stuff to finish." She agreed, still smiling.

They shared one last look before Y/n took a step back, walking away. But before she could get too far, she heard Lewis call her name.

“Y/n!”

She turned, seeing him take a few quick steps towards her.

"Your phone number!"

"You almost forgot the most important part." She laughed.

"Yeah, I almost let it go." He joked, taking his cell phone out of his pocket.

Y/n started to say the numbers while Lewis typed them into his phone, saving the contact with a satisfied smile.

"I'll send you a message. And then we'll arrange a day."

"Ok."

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

They exchanged one last smile before saying goodbye for good. Y/n continued on her way through the paddock, but this time she couldn't keep the smile off her face. They acted like two silly teenagers in love in high school.

The weeks passed in the blink of an eye, and the relationship between Y/n and Lewis became something natural, part of their routine. If they didn't see each other in person, they were exchanging messages, sending funny photos or calling to tell each other the news of the day. Even the silliest things became a reason for long conversations.

Y/n🩷: Lewis, I need a serious opinion.

Lew❤️: Send it.

Y/n🩷: If I buy these pants, do you think I'll look like an 80-year-old lady going to buy bread?

The message Y/n sent was accompanied by a photo of her in the mirror, trying on the item of clothing.

Lew❤️: It depends. Are you going to buy bread?

Y/n🩷: LEWIS!

What about connections? They became frequent. If Lewis was in a different time zone, he would still find a way to at least send an audio message or wait for Y/n to wake up to call.

"What do you think of this cookie? Is it good?" Y/n was at the market, shopping while Lewis was on a break from one of his workouts and on the phone with her.

"I don't like it very much. But my mom and nephews love it!! Take it and try it." He smiles from the other side of the phone screen. Y/n smiles and puts the food package in the shopping cart.

And for weeks, with messages, phone calls and random photos exchanged, they still tried to find a free day so they could both go out to the pilot's promised dinner. Their schedules never managed to synchronize with each other, but for now they were content with the friend zone they were in.

But not for long.

Another race weekend had begun and, before everyone went about their business, Lewis arranged to meet Y/n at a café inside the paddock.

Sitting at a table on the porch, he wore sunglasses and looked at his cell phone, seemingly focused. The atmosphere was pleasant, and he was enjoying the moment of calm before the chaos of the day began.

And then he was caught off guard when a loud crash echoed across the table.

He almost dropped his cell phone in shock, and when he looked at the table he saw a pile of papers spread across the top, accompanied by a glass full of milky tea.

He pushed up his glasses, frowning. "Oh my God!" he exclaimed, blinking at the panting figure in front of him.

Y/n threw herself into the chair, letting out a long sigh before blurting out, "I'm going to be a teacher!"

"What exactly does that mean?" Lewis frowned, puzzled.

Y/n rested both elbows on the table, looking directly at him. "Apparently, a professor from the University of London is going on maternity leave. She teaches journalism..." She began, picking up one of the papers and rolling it between her fingers. "And so, the director of the course asked me to replace her for at least a year."

"Really?" Lewis's eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"Yes. I studied at the same university and, according to him, I have a great resume, both as a student and now as a professional." She laughed a little, shaking her head. "Little does he know that I slept through every sociology class."

"You? Sleeping in class?" Lewis chuckled.

"I would always sit in the back and pretend to write something down." He admitted with a shrug.

"And you accepted the offer?"

"I accept!!" He replied with a small smile. "I like a challenge. I love my job here, especially now as the station's main journalist. But I think it will be fun to teach a bunch of annoying teenagers."

Lewis laughed, shaking his head. "They won't be THAT boring. And honestly, you're going to be an amazing teacher."

Y/n smiled at his words, but soon saw Lewis's curious expression as he looked at the glass next to her.

"Wait a... What's wrong today?" He narrowed his eyes. "You're drinking tea, not coffee."

She laughed, picking up the cup and taking another sip. "I'm nervous about this whole teaching thing. Coffee would just make me more anxious, so I ordered tea." Y/n paused, wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "But it's horrible. Milk tea is the worst thing ever invented."

Lewis rolled his eyes, laughing, before taking the cup of tea from Y/n. "Just because I'm a gentleman, we can trade." He said, handing her the cappuccino that was sitting next to him.

Y/n smiled and accepted the cup, taking a sip before sighing contentedly. "Now that's life. For a moment there, I thought I was going to have to sue this coffee shop for emotional damages."

"You're very dramatic." Lewis laughed, shaking his head.

Silence hung between the two for a moment. Y/n turned her head, looking at the track in the distance, the wind subtly messing up her hair. Lewis, without realizing it, began to admire her, his eyes focused on her serene expression.

Without taking his eyes off her, he rested his face in his hands.

"Well... since you're leaving and we won't see each other around here for a few months... do you want to go out with me today?"

Y/n turned to face him, an amused expression appearing on her face. "Um, I don't know, I have to check my schedule..." She said, pretending to be thoughtful. "But maybe I have a little space for you."

Lewis let out a laugh.

"Look, I'm honored to have been considered," he replied, joining in the fun.

She laughed, shaking her head, before finally saying, "Yeah, I'll go out with you."

Lewis smiled broadly, and then began talking about his plans for the evening. Y/n just listened to him, smiling, watching the excitement with which he described everything.

The previous weeks of texts, phone calls and quick meetings in the paddocks had brought them closer than they could have imagined. It was in the small details that they realized they were in love.

The way Lewis smiled when he saw Y/n's name appear on his phone screen. The way she laughed at his jokes, even the bad ones. The comfort they found in each other, without needing much effort.

And that night, everything seemed to fall into place.

Night fell, and Lewis picked her up from her hotel. He took her to a private restaurant tucked away among the charming streets of the Austrian city. The atmosphere was sophisticated yet welcoming.

They ate, talked, laughed. Every detail seemed perfect, and neither of them wanted the night to end.

Lewis walked her back to the hotel, walking beside her through the hallways. When they stopped in front of Y/n's room door, for a moment, they just looked at each other the connection between the two was palpable, something that already existed before that meeting, but which now seemed even more intense.

The pilot approached slowly, his eyes fixed on hers, waiting for any sign of hesitation. But Y/n just smiled softly, her heart racing.

It was then that he kissed her.

The touch was soft at first, a delicate brush of lips, as if testing something they already knew would be right. But soon the kiss deepened, hot and enveloping, loaded with all the weeks of pent-up feelings. Lewis's hands slid to Y/n's waist, while she grabbed the collar of his coat, pulling him closer. And when they separated, they both smiled, as if they understood that this was just the beginning.

And the days passed, and the meetings between them became frequent.

When Y/n started teaching, her routine became even busier, but she always found time to call Lewis, telling him about every detail of her day.

"My students called me 'Miss Y/n' today. I'm feeling old."

"Welcome to the club."

She laughed out loud, throwing her head back a little. "And how was training?"

Lewis smiled as he heard her voice on the other end of the line, leaning against the headboard of the bed. "Not bad. But now I can only think of your voice calling me 'Mr. Hamilton' to see what it's like."

"It won't happen."

The two laughed, and the conversation went on until late.

Whenever he could, Lewis would go to London to spend a few days with her. They would explore the city together, go out for dinner, stay home and watch movies, and simply enjoy each other's company.

Until, one night, something unexpected happened.

Y/n was in the kitchen, preparing dinner while talking non-stop about some student who had asked a completely absurd question in class. Lewis listened to her with a smile on his face, leaning against the counter.

In the middle of a sentence, she noticed he was unusually quiet.

"You're not even listening, are you?" He teased, turning to face him.

And then she saw it. Lewis was standing there, holding a small velvet box open, and inside it, an engagement ring glinted in the kitchen light. And in that moment, she knew the answer without even having to think. Yes.

#fanfiction #y/n #romance #imagines #one shot #lovers #formula 1 #formula one #fem reader #lewis hamilton x fem!reader #lewis hamilton x y/n #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton

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hisfavegirl · 2 days ago

Text

Jacaerys Velaryon As Your Soulmate.

Thanks to @zaldritzosrose for letting me use your beautiful dividers 🫶🏻

When He Propose To You.

The moment was so perfect it felt unreal. The Santorini sunset painted the sky in hues of gold, pink, and deep orange, casting a glow over the endless blue of the Aegean Sea. The soft breeze carried the scent of salt and summer, and the sound of the waves crashing below only made everything more surreal.

Jace had been acting a little off all day—nervous, fidgety, but still smiling like he always did when he looked at you. And then, as you stood together on the private balcony of your villa, overlooking the breathtaking view, he suddenly dropped to one knee.

Your heart stopped.

For a second, it felt like the entire world went silent.

Jace was staring up at you, his eyes filled with so much love it almost knocked the air out of your lungs.

“I love you. I’ve loved you for so damn long, I don’t even remember what life was like before you. And I don’t want to. I want you forever. Will you marry me?”

Your hands flew to your mouth, eyes already burning with tears. Your heart was pounding, your breath caught in your throat, and the moment felt so overwhelmingly perfect that for a split second, you couldn’t even speak.

Then you nodded frantically, laughing through your tears.

“Yes! Jace, yes!”

The second the words left your lips, he slipped the ring onto your finger—a stunning diamond that sparkled like the damn Santorini sky—before pulling you into his arms, spinning you around as you laughed and cried at the same time.

“You’re stuck with me now,” he murmured against your lips, grinning like a lovesick fool.

“I’ve always been stuck with you,” you whispered back, kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

And just like that, under the Santorini sunset, with the waves and the wind as your witnesses, you said yes to forever.

When You And Jace Posted The Announcement Of Your Engagement.

The internet broke.

The moment you and Jace posted the engagement photo—a breathtaking shot of you two in the crystal-clear waters of Santorini—the reactions were instantaneous.

The image was perfectly intimate: Jace, half-submerged in the water, his toned arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you close, pressing a deep, possessive kiss to your lips. The sunlight reflected off the ocean, making the stunning diamond ring on your finger gleam as you lifted your hand, subtly flexing your fingers in a way that made it impossible to miss.

The caption?

“Forever with him. ☀️💍”

Jace’s post?

“She said yes. My girl, my future, my forever. 💙”

And just like that, chaos erupted.

Jace’s fangirls:

"NOOOOOOOO THIS ISN’T HAPPENING"

"I WAS LITERALLY MANIFESTING MY TURN WTF"

"DOES ANYONE KNOW IF THE SANTORINI OCEAN IS ACCEPTING DROWNED TEARS?"

"HE WAS SUPPOSED TO MARRY ME??"

"DELETE THIS I CAN’T BREATHE"

"'My girl, my future, my forever' YEAH JUST KILL ME THEN"

Your fanboys:

"BRO SHE’S GONE. IT’S OVER FOR US."

"This is pain. Real pain."

"Jace, let’s talk. I just wanna chat. loads shotgun"

"Do y’all think we still have a chance if she loses the ring in the ocean???"

"SHE WAS OUR QUEEN, NOW SHE’S HIS WIFE. WE HAVE NOTHING LEFT."

"Fellas, we lost a soldier today."

Random internet reactions:

"The way she’s flexing that ring while kissing him, she WANTED us to suffer."

"Jace bagged the baddest and made sure we all KNEW it. Respect."

"This is the equivalent of a public execution."

"Santorini tourism just skyrocketed bc everyone’s gonna go cry in the ocean now."

"The way he’s holding her? That man is NEVER letting go."

"This is some movie-level romance, wtf I’m so jealous."

Meanwhile, Jace? Smug as hell. The second the internet started melting down, he was in the comments, liking the most dramatic ones and posting another photo of him holding your hand, the ring on full display, with the caption:

“No refunds, no exchanges. She’s mine now. 💍😎”

And if that wasn’t enough? He posted a story of you two laughing in the Santorini sunset, him kissing your neck before murmuring:

“Sorry, guys. She picked me.”

The internet never recovered.

Jace Family Reaction To Your Engagement Announcement.

The Velaryons and Targaryens had very different reactions, but one thing was clear—they did not see this coming.

Rhaenyra (His Mother):

💬 “My son… engaged? I blinked and he was just a boy. Now he’s posting thirst traps and proposing in Santorini? Time flies…”

—Cue her immediately calling Jace, demanding details, and planning an extravagant wedding before you even had a chance to process everything.

Daemon (His Step-Father):

💬 “Took you long enough, boy. Thought I’d have to lock you two in a room until you figured it out.”

—He acts casual, but he’s secretly proud and already threatening Jace to never mess this up.

Baela & Rhaena (His Step-Sisters):

💬 Baela: “JACE. YOU DIDN’T TELL US YOU WERE PROPOSING?!”

💬 Rhaena: “Omg, she said yes?? Of course she did, but still!!”

—Both of them are spamming your phone demanding pictures of the ring, the moment, and every single detail.

Lucerys (His Younger Brother):

💬 “Wait… does this mean I have to call you my sister now?”

—He’s genuinely confused but happy, liking the post and commenting “Congrats, I guess.”

Aegon (His Uncle & Frenemy):

💬 “Bro, what the actual fuck? You got engaged before me? Oh, this is WAR.”

—Petty. Bitter. Fake mad but lowkey proud. He’ll NEVER admit it, though.

Aemond (His Other Uncle & Rival):

💬 “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

—Says this like he isn’t internally SHOCKED that Jace actually locked it down. He liked the post, but only because Helaena forced him.

Helaena (His Sweet Aunt):

💬 “This is wonderful! You both look so happy! 💙”

—Genuinely happy for you two, immediately asking if she can help plan anything.

Corlys & Rhaenys (His Grandparents):

💬 Corlys: “She’s family now. Make sure you treat her like a Velaryon.”

💬 Rhaenys: “It’s about time. I’ve been waiting for this.”

—They’re quietly pleased, but already discussing wedding venues and guest lists behind your backs.

Meanwhile, Jace?

He’s just grinning at his phone, watching the chaos unfold while pulling you into his lap, whispering:

“Guess there’s no turning back now, huh?” 😏

When You And Jace Posted Your Wedding Video On Internet.

The second the wedding video dropped—Jace walking out of the church, hand in hand with you, his smile so bright it could blind the sun—his fangirls lost their minds.

Jace Velaryon, the golden boy, the sweetheart, the man who had fangirls swooning over his every move, was officially off the market. And not just off the market—completely, hopelessly, obsessively in love with you.

The caption?

“Forever wasn’t long enough, so I married her. 💙”

And with that, Jace’s fanbase entered a collective meltdown.

Instagram Comments Section: A Fangirl Massacre

“This is the worst day of my life.” 😭💔

“WHY DID I EVEN WAKE UP TODAY?!”

“Not Jace grinning like he just won the world. What about US?!?”

“How am I supposed to recover from this betrayal?” 💔

“The way he’s holding her. The way he’s looking at her. The way he KISSES HER. I CAN’T DO THIS.”

Twitter/X Reactions: A Global Crisis

“Jace Velaryon getting married feels like my boyfriend just left me for another woman.”

“His smile. HIS SMILE. HE WAS SUPPOSED TO SMILE LIKE THAT FOR ME.”

“I feel like I’ve been personally victimized by this wedding video.”

“Not only did he marry her, but he looks like he’s thriving while doing it. This is actual pain.”

“Y’all saw the way he lifted her off the ground in that kiss? We lost, girls. We lost.”

TikTok Reaction Videos: Fangirls in Mourning

One girl dramatically closing her laptop: “This is my villain origin story.”

Another girl wrapped in a blanket, chugging wine: “How do you cope when the love of your life marries someone else?”

A group of fangirls watching the video in stunned silence before screaming: “NOOOOOO!”

Someone crying into a Jace Velaryon fan poster: “He was supposed to be OUR husband!”

💔 The Ultimate Heartbreak: Jace’s Wedding Reception Photos

If the wedding video wasn’t enough, the reception photos sent fangirls straight into their graves.

• Jace pulling you into his lap during dinner, his nose nuzzling into your neck.

• Jace kissing your hand with a lovesick expression, completely mesmerized by you.

• Jace dipping you low on the dance floor, his forehead pressed against yours.

• Jace grinning like a fool as you fed him a piece of wedding cake.

• Jace whispering something in your ear that had you laughing, his hand possessively gripping your thigh.

At this point, some fangirls uninstalled social media, some sobbed into their pillows, and some stared at their screens in mute devastation.

The Final Blow: Jace’s Response to the Fangirl Meltdown

Just when the internet was suffocating in despair, Jace himself responded:

@JacaerysVelaryon: “She’s my everything. Hope you all find someone who makes you feel this way someday. 💙”

And just like that, he destroyed whatever hope his fangirls had left.

When You And Jace Posted About Your Pregnancy.

Jace’s fangirls were NOT okay.

The second the post dropped, absolute hysteria erupted across the internet.

The photo? Devastating.

Jace stood behind you, both hands wrapped around your very prominent baby bump, his head tucked against your neck. His smile? Radiant. Proud. Smug. But the next slide? That was the real fatal blow.

An ultrasound.

Three. Embryoss

The caption? Gentle, but absolutely lethal.

“A family of five… and we couldn’t be happier.”

And then—the chaos began.

“THREE??? NOT ONE. NOT TWO. BUT THREE BABIES????”

“I just dropped to my knees in the middle of a grocery store.”

“Oh my god, we lost. Not only is she pregnant, but she’s having THREE of his kids. This is a massacre.”

“I need a support group immediately.”

Some fangirls went into pure denial mode:

“No. This isn’t real. It’s a prank. HAHA, right? Right?”

“I refuse to accept this. The ultrasound is AI-generated. FAKE NEWS.”

“Maybe it’s for a movie? A promotional stunt? PLEASE, SOMEONE, TELL ME THIS IS FAKE.”

Others…? Full breakdowns.

“I JUST KNOW THOSE BABIES ARE GOING TO BE BEAUTIFUL AND IT HURTS.”

“She really secured the bloodline… Three kids… She made sure she was LOCKED IN.”

“I can’t even be mad, she did what needed to be done.”

“This is the equivalent of getting blown off the battlefield. We fought hard, ladies, but we were defeated.”

The fan edits? Exploding. The hashtags? Trending worldwide.

Within minutes, #JaceTripletBombshell was dominating social media. People were analyzing the ultrasound, dissecting Jace’s body language in the photo, and crying over the fact that he had officially left the fangirl market… forever.

Jace Velaryon had just ended his fangirls in one post.

When You And Jace Posted About Your Triplets Arrival.

📸: Jace Velaryon Instagram Post

— A photo of you in a hospital bed, looking absolutely exhausted but glowing, cradling three tiny newborns. Jace is beside you, full-on crying, his face buried in your shoulder while holding one of the babies.

The Caption?

“Our greatest adventure yet. Welcome to the world, my little dragons. ❤️🔥”

And with that, the internet broke.

Jace’s Fangirls:

“I woke up thinking it was going to be a good day… and now I find out HE HAS THREE CHILDREN?!”

“FIRST, THE ENGAGEMENT. THEN, THE WEDDING. AND NOW TRIPLETS? JACE, GIVE US TIME TO HEAL.”

“WHY DOES HE LOOK SO CUTE CRYING??? I SHOULD BE THE ONE CRYING.”

“Do you guys think there’s still a chance? Like maybe in another life?”

“His SPERM WORKS FAST, WTF.”

“My man didn’t just get stolen… HE WAS MULTIPLIED.”

“I just know he sings lullabies to those babies. I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY.”

Your Fanboys:

“BRO I WAS STILL GETTING OVER THE WEDDING, WHAT IS THIS?”

“I’m so happy for her but also so deeply in pain.”

“Not only did she marry Jace, but she gave him THREE CHILDREN?? I AM SHATTERED.”

“Triplets. She really said, ‘Here’s a family in one go.’”

“Jace is crying, I’m crying, we’re all crying.”

“She’s really in her MILF era now… I can’t keep up.”

The General Public Watching the Chaos Unfold:

“This is the biggest internet heartbreak since Zayn left One Direction.”

“We lost him, y’all. Jace Velaryon is officially a father of THREE.”

“WHO LET THIS HAPPEN?!”

“Triple the babies, triple the heartbreak for the fandom.”

Meanwhile, Jace? He’s still sniffling, rocking one of the babies in his arms, looking at his phone and shaking his head at the absolute meltdown in his comment section.

“Damn… they’re really taking this hard, huh?” he murmurs, wiping his tears while kissing your forehead.

You glance at his screen, seeing thousands of devastated comments. Smirking, you whisper:

“Told you they weren’t ready.”

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

#hotd imagine #hotd #hotd one shot #hotd x reader #jace targaryen #modern jacaerys #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x you #jacaerys valaryon x reader #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys x reader #prince jacaerys #jacaerys targaryen #jace x reader #jace velaryon #hotd headcanon #hotd fanfic #hotd modern au

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nanamineedstherapy · 2 days ago

Text

Seven Minutes in Heaven (Chapter Two)

F!Reader x Gojo Satoru

Previous Chapter 1 (Tumblr/Ao3)

Summary: It was supposed to be a normal frat party. Just a stupid game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Just him, king of never taking anything seriously, getting shoved into a closet for a dumb dare. And yet. Now, he can’t sleep. Can’t think. Can’t stop thinking about you. And one by one, his friends are starting to realize—Whatever happened in that closet? It never really ended.

Outside in the garden, Toji mocked. "Man got a straight-up haunted hard-on."

"Wait, wait, wait," Sukuna wheezed. "Tell me why bro just made out with a ghost so hard he got a fucking boner."

"Can we not call it that?" Satoru groaned.

"That’s exactly what it was," Hiromi confirmed, shaking his head. "You got seduced by a fucking spirit."

Shiu, lying on the grass scrolling through his phone, barely looked up as he added, "Even in the afterlife, women aren’t safe from your dick preceding your reputation."

"I'm gonna kill myself," Satoru muttered, running a hand down his face.

"Ghost girl might be into that," Choso said thoughtfully, sipping a beer.

"Yo, shut the fuck up," Satoru snapped.

"You were rock hard for a literal corpse." Shoko was almost rolling in the grass, clutching her bottle.

"FOR THE LAST TIME, I DIDN’T KNOW SHE WAS A GHOST!"

"And yet," Suguru drawled, gesturing vaguely at the still-very-visible problem in his jeans.

Satoru made a strangled noise, willing his soul to leave his body.

“If I see your haunted dick in my nightmares, I’m suing." Yuki yelled.

"I have hater friends. At least she thought I was beautiful." Satoru smirked.

A collective groan echoed through the garden.

Kento dragged a hand down his face. "I hate him. I hate him."

"Fucker just got ghosted in every sense of the word, and he still has the audacity to make it about his looks." Kashimo jeered, leaning on Haibara, who was barely holding himself up.

"Kill yourself," Sukuna muttered.

"Honestly, yeah," Hiromi agreed.

Satoru just grinned. "Jealous much?"

Suguru physically sighed. "Let's go, you delusional horny disaster."

---

Satoru couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Not the way your lips had felt against his, or how you made him laugh, or how you got flustered easily but still kissed him first like a paradox he couldn’t solve—though that haunted him, too.

No, it was the way you had looked at him.

Like you had been starving.

So, Satoru did what any rational person would do.

He spent an unhealthy amount of time at the library.

Gojo Satoru. At the library. Voluntarily. His friends thought he was having a crisis.

At first, there was nothing.

No students matching your description in the recent records.

No tragic accidents or ghost stories written in the university archives.

It was like you had never existed.

But then—

One night, while flipping through the school’s oldest records, something caught his eye.

An envelope stuffed with papers.

He pulled out a diary first.

Diary of Miss L/N

(Archivist - Leather-bound, gold-embossed. Found in the ruins of the university, its final pages splattered with what appears to be dried tears. Handwritten, ink fading in places. Some pages torn. Final entries nearly illegible—written in a shaking hand, desperate and uneven.)

January 3, 1914

There is a new litter of kittens in the old courtyard! I counted five, all squirming and mewling, their mother, a thin little thing who watches me with wary eyes. I left some bread soaked in milk, though I do not think she trusts me yet. Perhaps if I sit quietly tomorrow, she will let me closer.

(If I were a cat, would I be loved more easily?)

The groundskeeper scolded me, said I am too soft-hearted, that I let animals take advantage of me. As if a kitten could be cunning! I told him there is no harm in kindness. He only shook his head.

Satoru sat back, staring at the first entry, his thumb tracing your handwriting. He didn’t know much about you—hell, he didn’t even know you were alive a hundred years ago—but he could picture you, kneeling in the courtyard with kittens, trying to be kind. He imagined the faintest smile tugging at your lips when you saw them squirming in the dirt. The idea of you feeding a stray mother cat made his chest tighten in an odd, unfamiliar way. He ran his fingers along the edge of the paper, almost as if trying to feel your presence through it.

That groundskeeper? He was an idiot. He didn't get it. Satoru couldn't help but feel a spark of frustration. You didn’t need anyone’s permission to be kind. He almost laughed at the idea that someone might scold you for being soft-hearted. If anything, he wished he could go back and tell you not to worry about those around you. He would’ve probably looked at you the same way—the way he did when you kissed him, not knowing why or how, but unable to stop himself from caring just a little too much for someone so—soft.

January 10, 1914

I do not think they like me.

Not in the way they like each other.

They are polite, of course. They smile. They call me ‘Miss L/N’ with syrupy sweetness, but their eyes flicker. I see the way their lips press together when I speak. The way their laughter dies when I enter a room.

But it is alright. Not everyone has to like me.

I just wish they did not hate me, either.

Satoru skimmed the next entry, his eyes narrowing. You were already noticing the tension in the air, weren’t you? The polite smiles, the murmurs. The fake sweetness they showed you—he could practically hear the insincerity in their voices. He frowned, shaking his head. You didn’t deserve that. Nobody should ever make someone feel like they didn’t belong.

For some reason, even though you were long gone, he found himself angry on your behalf. He didn’t understand why they treated you that way. You were probably just too good for them, weren’t you? Too pure, too gentle. He shook the thought off, the sharpness of the moment still biting at him. It made him wonder if maybe he would’ve been one of the few who would’ve actually liked you.

January 25, 1913

Viscount Salvatore looked at me today. He did not merely glance—he looked. I was in the library, carrying too many books, and he leaned back in his chair, all effortless indifference, and drawled, "Planning to read all of those, Miss L/N? Or are you building a fort?"

(He thinks I am ridiculous.)

(He noticed me.)

I almost dropped Wuthering Heights on my foot.

A frown burrowed on Satoru’s face when he read about Viscount Salvatore. You noticed him. He noticed you.

He flipped your yearbook with his other hand to find any Salvtores; there had been two in your class who’d gone to become Army officials in the first World War and then died there. Your description fit the blue-eyed one with a cocky smirk. Like Satoru? Did you have a type?

He felt a slight sting in his chest at the thought of this Viscount—some guy who probably had no idea what to do with someone like you. Still, he couldn’t suppress the bitter taste in his mouth. Jealousy? Was that what this was?

A sigh slipped from his lips. It was stupid—he was more than a hundred years too late. He didn’t even know if you’d ever seen him the way he now imagined you looking at the Viscount. The thought of another guy noticing you—really noticing you—made him want to jump from a boat. But instead, he read on.

February 2, 1914

It was a joke. Just a prank.

"She'll cry and beg to be let out," one of them whispered, giggling behind her lace glove. "Let's see if Miss Perfect is still so polite in the dark."

The door slammed. The lock clicked.

The dark swallowed me whole.

I did not beg.

I bit my tongue until I tasted iron and waited. And when they let me out—smirking, triumphant—I smoothed my skirts, fixed my hair, and walked past them as if I had not spent the last hour choking on the thick, dusty air.

They did not like that.

"A little too perfect, isn’t she?"

(They will do it again.)

Satoru’s eyebrows furrowed as his gaze lingered on the next entry. You were trapped. Locked in a closet by the very people you probably thought were your friends. It was sickening. He almost couldn't finish reading—his stomach lurched with disgust. The way you didn't beg... it said so much about you. You must’ve been used to pain by then, used to being pushed aside and ignored. But still—you walked out of there like nothing had happened, like you didn’t carry the weight of what they had just done to you.

Satoru shook his head, muttering to himself, “Cowards. All of them.” He clenched the paper tighter in his hand. He hated the idea of you facing that kind of cruelty alone, without anyone there to stop it. He could feel it—your loneliness, your frustration, your unwillingness to break. And somehow, it only made him want to be there for you more. He'd never admit it, but there was a strange urge within him to make it right—even if it was a century too late.

February 10, 1914

Today, I found a sparrow with a broken wing. I named him Edgar (after Poe, of course).

I should have left him alone. Mother says I should not dirty my hands with such things. But he was shivering—how could I leave him?

Viscount Salvatore saw me, kneeling in the grass, my gloves stained with dirt. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Then, just as he passed, he murmured, "Don’t name it. You’ll only make it harder."

He has such an awful way of speaking. Always so practical. So cold.

(He was right. Edgar did not make it through the night.)

Satoru didn’t expect to feel as deeply affected by this entry. You found a broken bird and tried to help it. Just like the kittens. Just like everything else. He read about the sparrow, Edgar, and that bitter, practical remark from Viscount Salvatore.

He rolled his eyes. That guy was cold, wasn’t he? It was almost like he couldn't even understand that you just wanted to do something kind. His jaw clenched slightly at the thought of this Viscount, cold and indifferent. Did he not understand the pain of losing something you tried so desperately to save?

“You deserved better than that.” Satoru muttered quietly to himself. He could barely comprehend it, but it stung to think of you, caring for something so fragile, and yet not having anyone there to help you when you needed it most. He could almost hear the sadness in your voice, like you were speaking not just about the bird, but about yourself.

February 13, 1914

Razor blades in my book bag today.

I did not see them in time.

A sharp sting—red seeping into my gloves, blooming against the pale silk like a dying rose.

A girl gasped.

One of them. The one who used to call me her friend.

She reached for me, hesitated. Opened her mouth—closed it.

Did nothing.

(They are all cowards.)

I smiled at her anyway.

(It is getting harder to smile.)

The entry made Satoru stop in his tracks. Razor blades? What the hell...? He had to reread the paragraph twice, the sharpness of the words sinking into him with every line. It was hard to stomach—knowing that someone, one of the people who had once called you their friend, did this to you. Left you bleeding and didn’t even care.

He felt a fire burning in his chest now, a rage that was foreign to him. A strange protectiveness, something darker, almost suffocating. He didn't know how you had kept going through all this. And yet, you had. You smiled through it all, even when everything in the world was trying to break you.

Satoru stood up suddenly, pacing around the room. He was aware of how ridiculous this was—he didn’t even know you. But damn it, you deserved someone who would’ve fought for you. Someone who would’ve taken those blades from your hands and never let you feel alone.

February 14, 1914

Viscount Salvatore pulled out a chair for me today.

The smallest thing. A flick of his wrist. A glance in my direction. A murmured, "Miss L/N."

But I have not been spoken to kindly in so long.

For a moment, my eyes burned. My throat ached.

But I said nothing. I only sat.

And when I looked up—just for a second—he was already watching me.

(What a strange, strange man.)

Satoru’s fingers lightly brushed over the paper. He didn’t know what it was, but something about that entry—Viscount Salvatore pulling out a chair for you—made him pause. He didn't react outwardly, keeping his face carefully blank, but internally? There was a slight stir of discomfort. It was such a small, insignificant thing, yet it meant so much to you. A simple gesture, something that should’ve been normal.

He imagined the quiet moment, your surprise. The thought that such a little thing could make you feel seen, even for a second, gnawed at him. A frustrated sigh left his lips. Why did it have to be like that? If he were there—if only he were there, he would’ve shown you kindness, not just with gestures, but with actions. But that was a thought he quickly pushed aside, frustrated by how much time had slipped through his fingers. He kept reading, though.

February 20, 1914

I have decided. I loathe Viscount Salvatore.

He is insufferable. He speaks in riddles and always looks as if he is laughing at me. I do not know why I bother thinking of him.

(He held the door open for me today. Said nothing. Just waited.)

(I hate him.)

A faint chuckle escaped his lips as he read the next entry. You’d decided to loathe Viscount Salvatore now. "Insufferable," you called him. Satoru almost wanted to agree, though he couldn't completely share your sentiment. He had a feeling there was more to him—more that was left unsaid. Still, it was a funny thought. Viscount Salvatore being that frustrating, mysterious figure. Satoru was intrigued by how you wrote about him with such sharpness, but the words seemed like a cover for something deeper. He wasn’t sure what, but the tension between you two was palpable.

“Is it really that bad?” he muttered, flipping the page, knowing he wasn’t going to get an answer. He felt a flicker of something, but the rest of the entry, especially with the way he “held the door open,” left him feeling... unsure. He wasn't exactly proud of it, but maybe there was some part of him that didn't want you to find comfort in anyone else.

March 2, 1914

I found a dead rat in my desk.

Its body bloated, eyes staring.

Its tiny mouth open, frozen in a silent scream.

There was a note pinned to its belly. Still feeling generous?

I swallowed back the nausea and took it outside myself.

(It is getting harder to breathe here.)

Satoru’s expression hardened as he read about the dead rat in your desk. He closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to focus. The cruel games they played—it disgusted him. He could almost feel the sickening weight of it, as if it were happening right there, in front of him. Who does that? He set the paper down and ran his hand through his hair, trying to keep his composure, though his jaw was tight.

You didn’t even flinch. You simply took it outside. There was an odd kind of resolve in the way you wrote that. No begging. No breaking down. Just... handling it yourself. It made him uneasy—how much you had to endure, and how little anyone had cared. He couldn’t imagine what you went through, not yet, but the pieces were starting to come together. The cruelty. The silence. The isolation.

June 20, 1914

I am tired.

No, not tired. Weary.

I wake up with my body braced, waiting for something—waiting for the next whisper, the next cruel trick, the next unseen hand that will shove me down the stairs when no one is looking.

I have not eaten all day.

(They will not break me.)

The word “weary” hit Satoru like a punch to the gut. He could picture you, slumped in exhaustion, never having the chance to recover. He could almost hear the quiet panic that sat beneath those words. The next cruel trick, the next shove—it was too much. His hand tightened around the paper as he read on.

He didn’t need to know everything to understand that what you were going through wasn’t just physical. It was something deeper. Something that made your bones ache and your heart heavy. And yet, here you were, still breathing, still defiant. He let out a breath, annoyed at the powerlessness he felt just from reading your words.

July 24, 1914

I am going to the party.

They said they want to start over. That it was all just foolish jealousy. That they want to be friends.

I should not believe them.

I know I should not believe them.

But I am so, so tired of being alone.

Just for one night, I want to pretend I belong.

Satoru frowned, eyes narrowing. The truth was already in your words before you even said it. He felt an odd mix of sympathy and frustration as you told yourself you were going to the party—hoping, wishing to belong, even for just one night. He had to read that part again, swallowing a lump in his throat.

He flipped the page; the diary ended. Satoru immediately scrambled to pull out another stack of papers from the binder.

Final Entries – Found Scribbled in the Dark on Stationary available inside the closet

(Archivist - Stray pages, ink smudged. Words scratched over and rewritten as if she could not make her fingers hold steady.)

July 25, 1914

They lied.

Of course they lied.

The music was loud. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and laughter. For the first time in years, I thought—maybe.

Then hands.

Grabbing. Dragging.

"Let’s see how perfect you are now."

They locked me inside.

A closet. Small. Cramped.

The door will not open.

It has been hours.

(Or has it? I can’t tell.)

No one is coming.

The change in tone was abrupt, and Satoru’s pulse quickened as he read about the party. He could feel the shift, the claustrophobia, the betrayal seeping through the paper. The scribbled words—he could almost hear you gasping for air, trapped in that small closet.

“They lied.” That one line stung. It was so raw. He couldn’t make sense of it. He couldn’t make it right. But he had to know—he had to understand why you were forgotten. He had to keep reading, even if it made his heart feel like it was crumbling under the weight.

???, 1914

How many hours has it been?

They will come back.

They must come back.

Please, please, please—

My throat aches.

I screamed until my throat bled.

No one heard.

No one wants to hear.

(They have forgotten me.)

Satoru’s hands clenched around the papers. They had broken you in ways that even time couldn’t erase. And he could do nothing. He gritted his teeth, struggling to stay composed, but it was impossible to ignore the ache that had settled in his chest. You’d screamed until your throat bled, and they had... forgotten you.

Satoru sat with his elbows on the desk, his fingers steepled against his lips as he read the next entries. He was quiet now, the usual restless energy in his body drained away, leaving only a tense stillness. The words on the page felt heavier with each line.

???, 1914

I am thirsty.

I am so thirsty.

If I press my ear against the door, I can hear the music.

(Another party?)

They are still dancing.

They are still laughing.

They are still living.

And I am here.

Satoru’s throat felt tight. He swallowed against it, as if somehow that would make up for the dryness that must have burned through yours. He could picture it too clearly—the way your lips must have cracked, your voice reduced to a rasp.

And yet, they were still dancing.

Satoru exhaled sharply. You were still there, forgotten, while life carried on just outside the door. The thought made him nauseous.

His fingers flexed against the paper. If I had been there... But he hadn’t been. No one had. That was the entire tragedy of it.

???, 1914

It is quiet.

No music. No voices.

Something has happened.

Why won’t anyone come?

Satoru’s breath slowed. You didn’t know. You had no idea that while you were trapped in that suffocating darkness, the world outside had shifted.

They left.

No one had opened the door. No one had checked. It wasn’t even malice at this point—it was worse. It was indifference.

His jaw clenched. You weren’t even aware that the world had moved on without you. You were just waiting. Waiting for a help that would never come.

July 28, 1914

Sirens.

War.

The halls are empty.

They have all gone home.

No one remembers I am here.

No one remembers at all.

Sirens. The first world war. The absence. His hand trembled. The emptiness of the halls. You had been forgotten amidst the chaos, the madness of the world falling apart. He hated the feeling of it. The helplessness. The way everything—everything—slipped away, leaving only that quiet, sickening silence. He muttered a curse under his breath, feeling a heavy weight in his stomach.

You had been alone. And it wasn’t just the physical isolation. It was the fact that no one even cared enough to remember you.

???, 1914

(Archivist - The ink is uneven, pressed too hard into the paper—her hand must have been shaking.)

I dreamed of Viscount Salvatore.

He pulled out a chair for me again.

Only this time, when I sat, he turned to me and said, "I see you."

I woke up crying.

(He will not remember me either.)

Viscount Salvatore was back in your dreams. And now, Satoru was reading about how you woke up crying. He shook his head slowly, his eyes closing briefly. Even in your lonely moments, he was there, haunting you—both a comfort and a torment. He could almost see it in his mind, the way Viscount Salvatore's distant gaze would have held some measure of regret, maybe even longing. But none of that would ever matter now.

“Damn it,” Satoru cursed under his breath. He didn't even know what he was mad at—himself, the Viscount, or fate. The whole damn situation. You didn’t deserve any of it.

???, 1914

There is no light.

I am afraid to sleep. Afraid I will wake up and it will still be dark. Afraid I won’t wake up at all.

I think I can hear something scratching. Or maybe it is just my own heartbeat.

Satoru shut his eyes for a brief second. That sentence—it was worse than the others. It wasn't just physical anymore. It wasn’t just being locked inside. It was the fear creeping in.

Afraid to sleep. Afraid to wake up and still be in the dark. Afraid to never wake up at all.

He felt sick. You weren’t even sure if you existed anymore. If you were real.

He let his head drop forward slightly, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. It was just a diary. Just words. So why did it feel like they were clawing at something inside of him?

???, 1914

I had a Mother?

Satoru’s eyes flicked back to the page, scanning the sentence again.

His stomach twisted.

You were unraveling.

That was what this was. Not just hunger. Not just thirst. Your mind was fraying at the edges, breaking apart piece by piece.

He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable, a strange, suffocating weight settling in his chest. You had been alone for so long that even memories were slipping away.

You were forgetting yourself.

???, 1914

I dreamed of the kittens.

They were hungry. So was I.

I woke up biting my sleeve.

Satoru closed his eyes again. That dream—it wasn’t just a memory. It was your body crying out, pulling at whatever fragments of warmth it could find.

And when you woke up, you were biting your sleeve.

His lips pressed into a tight line. He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to picture you curled up in the dark, trying to trick yourself into feeling full.

He ran a hand through his hair, swallowing hard.

???, 1914

I have started whispering my own name.

I am afraid I will forget it.

Satoru blinked. The words blurred for a second before coming back into focus.

You were losing yourself. The last thing you had—the only thing left. Your own name. And even that was slipping.

His grip on the paper was too tight now. He forced himself to relax his fingers before he crumpled it.

You had been so, so alone.

???, 1914

I do not want to die like this.

I do not want to die in the dark.

Satoru’s shoulders tensed, but he forced himself to read it again.

You knew. By then, you knew.

It was no longer just fear. It was a final, quiet understanding.

Satoru’s hand came up, fingers pressing lightly against his temple. He had read countless things in his life—reports, records, confessions. But this?

This was someone—you—begging the universe for something it had already denied you.

???, 1914

Did he ever think of me?

Did Viscount Salvatore ever notice that I was gone?

(I am so, so cold.)

???, 1914

I can hear it raining.

There is no hunger anymore.

No thirst.

Just cold.

So, so cold.

???, ????

(Archivist - Final entry. Ink smeared, nearly unreadable.)

If someone finds this—Please—Please remember me.

Satoru didn’t move.

He stared at the words, his vision blurring for a moment before sharpening again.

His throat felt tight.

His grip on the page softened, and he slowly, carefully, set it down.

Satoru wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with this—this aching, gnawing thing in his chest. He didn’t have the words for it. But as he reached for the next stack of papers.

Newspaper Articles

(Archivist - Yellowed clippings, brittle at the edges. No one speaks of her anymore.)

DAUGHTER OF L/N FAMILY MISSING – UNIVERSITY REFUSES COMMENT (July 27, 1914)

Miss L/N, the only daughter of the esteemed L/N family, has been reported missing for over a week. The university has declined to comment, insisting that Miss L/N likely departed of her own volition.

Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. L/N, have offered a sizable reward for any information regarding her whereabouts.

SEARCH FOR MISSING HEIRESS ENDS IN TRAGEDY – PARENTS DECLARED DEAD (December 3, 1916)

After two years of relentless searching, Mr. and Mrs. L/N have perished under tragic circumstances. Their estate, heavily in debt from the investigation, is to be auctioned off.

Miss L/N’s disappearance remains unsolved.

RENOVATIONS UNCOVER HIDDEN CLOSET – HUMAN REMAINS FOUND (March 5, 1957)

Construction teams working on university renovations discovered a sealed-off closet in the west wing. Inside, they found skeletal remains, still clad in a deteriorated silk gown. A diary was found nearby, though much of its ink had faded with time. Officials report that the identity of the remains is unknown, as no records exist of any missing student matching the description.

No further investigation is planned.

THE DAILY GAZETTE

Est. 1896

Thursday, March 7, 1957

PRICE: 10 CENTS

MYSTERY OF THE FORGOTTEN GIRL: REMAINS DISCOVERED IN UNIVERSITY WALLS

Renovation Workers Uncover Skeleton, Raising Chilling Questions About the Past

By George L. Whitmore

SHIZUKA CITY—A routine renovation at one of the country’s most prestigious universities took a macabre turn last week when construction workers stumbled upon a hidden closet sealed within the walls of the East Wing. Inside, they found the skeletal remains of a young woman, her body curled as if she had simply lain down and never risen again. The discovery has sent shockwaves through the academic community, raising unsettling questions about how she came to be there—and why no one ever looked for her.

The identity of the deceased remains unknown. No records exist of a missing student from the time period estimated by forensic specialists—likely the early 20th century. But one thing is certain: she was left there. Forgotten.

A Name Erased

The East Wing, once a grand structure funded by old money and aristocratic influence, had been largely abandoned for decades before renovations began last fall. The university, now bearing the Gojo family name, was once under the patronage of another dynasty—one that, curiously, has all but vanished from historical record.

Researchers digging into archived documents found faint traces of a once-powerful benefactor: the L/N family. According to a 1907 university registry, the L/Ns were among the wealthiest patrons of the institution. From Arms dealings, their contributions were responsible for much of its early expansion. And yet, no descendants remain. No estate. No legacy.

A mere decade after their peak, the family seems to have disappeared altogether. Their name erased. Their wealth scattered.

And now, this girl—the girl in the closet.

A Harmless Prank Gone Horribly Wrong?

The discovery has sparked whispered theories among university staff and alumni. Some recall long-forgotten stories, rumors passed down like ghost stories in dormitory halls. Stories of a girl. Beautiful. Intelligent. Kind. Too kind.

“She was perfect, too perfect,” said one retired professor, who wished to remain anonymous. “People resented her for it. The way the faculty admired her. The way she carried herself. There were whispers, of course—ugly, jealous things. But back then, the school was different. There were rules about what could and could not be spoken aloud.”

While no official reports exist of bullying, former students who attended in the early 1900s recall the cruel pranks that were common among the elite circles of the time. Stolen books. Torn dresses. Whispered mockeries disguised as etiquette lessons.

Then there was the incident at a party—a party that took place just before the world changed forever.

“She went missing that night,” said another source, a woman in her seventies who had attended the university in the years following the First World War. “There were rumors, of course. But no one ever spoke of it directly. And then the war came, and everything was forgotten. Just like that.”

What started as a childish prank—locking a girl in a storage closet—became something else entirely when the world was plunged into chaos. Sirens screamed. Students fled. The university shut its doors. And no one, not a single soul, remembered to let her out.

A Legacy Stolen by Time

The timing is chilling. The L/N family vanished not long after. Their once-glorious estate burned to the ground under mysterious circumstances. With their wealth depleted in a desperate search for their missing daughter, they faded into obscurity, lost to history. Meanwhile, the university found a new patron—one with deeper pockets, stronger influence. The Gojo family.

“Nothing stays empty for long,” remarked historian Dr. Henry Carrington. “Power abhors a vacuum. One name disappears; another takes its place. That’s how history works. The question is whether it was simply fate... or something more deliberate.”

What Comes Next?

For now, the remains of the forgotten girl lie in the care of forensic specialists, who will attempt to identify her and, perhaps, grant her the dignity she was denied in life. The university has yet to release an official statement, though sources indicate there are plans to memorialize the discovery.

Still, the air remains heavy with unspoken truths. A legacy buried beneath floorboards. A name erased. A girl left to die in the dark, her existence fading from memory even as the institution she was meant to inherit flourished without her.

And now, decades later, she has returned. Not as a scholar. Not as an heir.

But as a skeleton in the walls of a university that no longer remembers her name.

Satoru understood what had happened.

---

1914

The first time they locked you inside, it was supposed to be a joke. A harmless prank.

“You’ll cry and beg to be let out,” one of them whispered, a cruel giggle curling around her words as she hid her smirk behind a lace-gloved hand. “Let’s see if Miss Perfect is still so polite in the dark.”

You cried.

But you didn’t beg.

Not that night.

Not yet.

It didn’t surprise you. You’d always known people resented you. You were the only child of the L/N family—their legacy was carved in the very stone of the university. Wealth, power, influence, all wrapped in a name that commanded respect. Your family had funded these halls, shaped them. Built them.

And you were meant to carry that weight forward, to live up to expectations that came with being the heir of such a name. You studied hard, spoke softly, helped others without a second thought. You tried to meet the world with grace.

But you had made one mistake.

You were kind. Too kind.

You didn’t wear your last name like armor. You didn’t command respect with a gaze sharp enough to cut or a voice cold enough to freeze. You didn’t move like royalty among commoners. You spoke gently, smiled too much, helped without expecting anything in return.

And that, apparently, was enough to make them hate you.

They called you perfect. A fraud wrapped in silk and sweetness. A girl born to wealth, yet untouched by cruelty. It made them sick to their stomachs. They told themselves your kindness was a mask. That you were pretending. That behind your soft smile, you looked down on them.

The whispers slithered through the hallways, filled every corner of every dormitory, echoed between the benches in lecture halls. “She must think she’s better than us.” The rumors crept, fed by jealousy and disdain, each one sinking deeper, until they made it their mission to tear you down.

It started small. Stolen assignments. Ink spilled all over your uniform. Books knocked from your arms as you passed, their laughter trailing behind you like a shadow.

But then the pranks grew worse. Razor blades slipped into the lining of your bag, waiting to slice your fingers. Your tea, laced with ink, stained your lips and tongue black for hours. Dead rats left in your desk drawers, bloated and stinking, their decaying bodies a cruel reminder of their hatred.

You had friends—or you thought you did. But when you looked to them, their smiles faltered. They said nothing. Did nothing. They looked away.

So, you endured it all alone.

Then came the night of the party.

You hadn’t wanted to go. But one of the girls, the one you still foolishly believed to be a friend, begged you. She said everyone wanted to start over, that they regretted their childish jealousy and were ready to put it behind them.

You wanted to believe it. You wanted so badly to believe that people could change, that cruelty wasn’t the default. You wanted to believe that if you just endured long enough, they would see you for who you really were.

So, you went.

The music was loud, thick with the beat of drums and the pulse of electric guitars. The air was heavy with smoke, alcohol, and the scent of youth gone wild. Laughter rang out, spinning around you as people twirled under lantern light. For the first time in years, you thought maybe—just maybe—you weren’t so alone after all.

But then, hands grabbed you.

They pulled you, dragged you away from the laughter, from the light, down the dim hallway that felt colder with every step. You struggled, but there were too many of them. Nails dug into your skin, and their breath reeked of whiskey and sweat.

They laughed. “Let’s see how perfect you are now.”

The closet was small. Cramped. A tiny, forgotten storage room in the corner of the building, filled with old books and dusty supplies. They shoved you inside.

You stumbled, tripping over the rough wooden floor, your hands scraping against the splintered walls. The door slammed behind you, the sound of the lock clicking echoing in your chest. You barely had time to press yourself against the door before it shut you in complete darkness.

“Let’s see how sweet you are after this,” they jeered, and then they were gone.

At first, you thought it was a joke. Any second now, they would open the door, laughing, saying it was just a prank. The music outside was still loud. The sounds of celebration filled your ears, muffling your screams and your frantic banging against the door.

They would let you out.

Of course, they would.

Wouldn’t they?

You banged harder. Screamed louder.

But no one came.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. Two.

Your fists were raw, your throat burned from the screams, but still, nothing.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep. When you woke up, your mouth was dry, your body stiff and cold. You were still in your party dress, but your shoes were gone. You had lost them somewhere, in the chaos of being dragged.

You banged again. Screamed louder.

Nothing.

More hours passed. Maybe a day. You tried to count the time, but it blurred. The darkness stole all sense of it.

Then, one night—though you couldn’t tell if it was day or night anymore—something changed.

The university went silent.

The once-bustling halls were empty. The voices, the laughter, the music—gone.

In the distance, you heard sirens. A sound that felt like the last thread of the world unraveling.

The world was at war.

Overnight, everything collapsed. Students fled. Professors disappeared. The university shut down.

And no one, not a single soul, remembered that you were still locked in that closet.

The hunger was unbearable at first. You pressed your hands against your stomach as it twisted in agony, but after a while, even hunger faded into the background. The thirst, however, never left. Your lips cracked, your throat burned, your vision swam.

But you were too weak to scream now.

At some point, you stopped feeling anything at all.

No one remembered the girl in the closet.

Days passed. Maybe weeks. Maybe months.

But in the end, it didn’t matter.

There was only silence.

When they finally reopened that part of the university—years, maybe decades later, during renovations—the workers found a hidden closet behind the walls. They found a skeleton, still curled on the floor, clutching the remains of a tattered dress.

No one knew who you were. Your records were gone.

The L/N family was erased from history.

Your parents had searched for you. Desperately. They spent every penny, called in every favor, tore the world apart looking for their only child.

But war doesn’t care for grieving parents.

They died before they could uncover the truth. Your home burned. And with them, the name that had once shaped this university disappeared from the records.

The buildings once funded by your family were renamed. The university you were supposed to inherit now bore another family’s name.

The Gojo family.

And you?

You had simply ceased to exist.

---

Present Day

Satoru stared at the newspaper article in his hands, the words blurring as his chest tightened. It felt like someone had reached into him, squeezing the air from his lungs until he couldn’t breathe. His vision wavered, the paper in his hands turning into nothing more than a smear of ink and empty noise.

He had spent the entire night digging. Searching. Prying through the layers of forgotten history no one had cared to remember. And now—

Now, he wished he hadn’t.

His chest ached. His stomach churned with the weight of it. He hadn’t expected to find this. He hadn’t expected to feel the crushing blow of reality, the terrible, suffocating guilt that twisted through him like a knife.

You had smiled at him.

how your fingers had trembled in his hands, how your wide, nervous eyes had held so much uncertainty, yet a quiet hope. And when you kissed him, your lips soft and warm against his, it had been the kind of kiss that felt like it was long overdue—like you’d been waiting a lifetime for someone to touch you.

And now he knew why.

You had been waiting for a hundred years.

A hundred years of silence. A hundred years of darkness. A hundred years of loneliness so deep it suffocated you, a cruel weight on your chest that no one had ever bothered to lift.

He thought about the closet. The cramped, suffocating space. The darkness. The silence that stretched on for years, unbroken. The pain of realizing no one was coming, no one cared.

The students who had shoved you inside. The laughter as they walked away, their voices fading into the distance while you were left to rot alone in a forgotten corner of the university. The friends who had seen it happen and did nothing. The ones who had turned their backs when you needed them most.

Satoru’s chest tightened further, a sharp pain stabbing through him. His teeth ground together, his jaw clenched so tight it felt like it might crack. His hands shook, trembled violently, as if they could somehow undo what had been done, erase the horror of it all.

He wanted to break something. Throw something. Tear through this cursed world and go back, back to that night, back to when he could’ve stopped it. To rip open that damn door and pull you into his arms, to tell you that you were never alone. That he would have fought for you. That someone—anyone—should have fought for you.

But it was too late.

One hundred years too late.

He sucked in a shaky breath, but it didn’t help. His lungs felt tight, and his throat closed up, like something was blocking the air. His hands shook as he traced the edges of the photograph in front of him. A group of students stood there, stiff and formal, their faces solemn in that black-and-white world of the early 1900s. They were so... distant. Detached. Like they were living in a world completely untouched by joy, by life.

And then there was you.

At the edge of the group, standing out like a ghost, yet so very present. Your soft features. Your gentle eyes. Your delicate, hopeful expression that somehow still managed to look so... lonely.

Beneath the photo, in delicate cursive handwriting, the caption read: "Class of 1914. Including Miss Y/N, the only child of the L/N family—our university’s first founding patrons."

Satoru’s breath caught in his throat.

Your name should have been everywhere. It should have been on every plaque, in every building, carved into the very bones of this place. Your family had built this school, laid its foundations with their blood and wealth. You had been the heir, the future.

And yet—

No one remembered your name.

Satoru’s pulse pounded in his ears, a frantic rhythm that seemed to echo in his chest. His fingers curled into the paper, the fragile edges crinkling beneath his grip. His heart hammered in his chest as he clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to scream.

This school, his school, had been built on the L/N family name. Your family’s legacy was supposed to be immortal, etched into the very structure of the place. And yet, all he saw now were the names of the Gojo family—his family—everywhere. The library. The dormitories. The lecture halls.

Your family had been erased.

A sickening wave of anger washed over him. He wanted to scream, to tear the world apart. He wanted to shove the truth in their faces, shove it into the faces of everyone who’d forgotten you. Everyone who had abandoned you. But more than anything—he wanted to go back.

He wanted to go back to that night.

He wanted to break down that fucking door, drag you into the light, and tell you, "You weren’t alone. You’ll never be alone again."

But he couldn’t.

It was too late.

One hundred years too late.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the image of your face lingered. You, the girl who had been forgotten. The girl whose name had been erased from history. The girl who had waited for someone to remember, to fight for her. The girl who had suffered alone.

No one remembered you now.

But Satoru did.

A/N: Did you get who Viscount Salvatore was?

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muttsupreme · 1 day ago

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drunk as hell but this Valentine’s Day I want Roman

I want Roman not even asking you to be his Valentine because it’s a bargain deal. He gets you as a life partner, his little fugglesnuggle, his freak, his partner in crime, so yeah, it should be obvious you’re his Valentine. But he sees some tweet about how guys should always ask, that it’s just so important, so — while you’re in the shower, he comes in. As he usually does. But with your favorite flowers (it doesn’t matter that they’re out-of-season). Oh, and outside he also has some huge box of assorted Ferrero Rocher chocolates he remembers you talking about? And those designer shoes, you know, the ones you saw in Saks Fifth? Yeah, you should wear them tonight.

It’s not really that, though, that makes you all feel-good. It’s more that he kisses your back and shoulders when you get ready. More, more of that — more of, “You’re soft. Do you drink virgin’s blood? Seriously? The lotion I get you cannot be that good.”

He takes you to your favorite cafe for brunch. It reminds you of Paris, with outdoor seating and a delicious toasted marshmallow latte, but today you get a matcha with strawberry cold foam. He makes fun of you, “You’re drinking grass. Grass drinker. It’s not even, like, uhh — a what, cleanser? Just straight urban hippie grass juice. With a little fruity fluff.”

Afterwards, you both attend a nice museum exhibit, which you both enjoy for the first thirty minutes until you realize you’re both self-assigned critics and need a day off. So, movies — which, with Roman’s background in the film industry, is debatably worse. But Annie Hall is playing in his private theater until the late afternoon. It’s nice, it’s sweet, you’re both entangled like one great, big knot.

For dinner, he takes you to an Italian restaurant. It’s one that was once way out of budget when you first started working with him, one that you were honestly scared of walking into when he first brought you after work. Now it’s a second home. He calls it ‘your place’, meaning the place you had your first official-unofficial date. He still gets whiny when you say you didn’t know it was actually a date. You were just under the impression that your boss was trying to be nice so you don’t tattle on him for every little perversion.

He acts like it’s nothing, “Whatever, fuck you, it’s Valentine’s Day. Was I supposed to let you sit all alone and vibrate yourself numb?” He doesn’t expect a ‘thank you’, doesn’t really expect anything. This is just what you do, right? Standard procedure. You’re supposed to at least get your…romantic person (he holds himself back from saying ‘wife’), some chocolate and candy and flowers, and a nice dinner.

You walk for a while after dinner; he likes walking sometimes, usually when he’s drunk or high or upset. He’ll tell his driver to follow, just sort of not stay too far away, for when they actually wanna get home. You buy him flowers on the way back; some street vendor has Osiria roses. Beautiful flowers with dark reds and soft whites striping through the petals. He was fucking humiliated, because what, you’re buying him flowers? Like he’s some flamboyant metrosexual? You can only laugh at how ironically accurate that is. Truth is, he really doesn’t mind. He actually fucking loves it. Can’t stop ‘subtly’ smelling them when you ‘aren’t looking’.

He leans all over you on you while walking to the car. He just drapes himself over you, clings to you. Opens the door to the car for you with a snarky, “M’lady, the penthouse princess.” He nuzzles your shoulder and neck the whole ride, like a stray you’ve just picked up. For just a moment, he picks up your hand and kisses the part where your thumb meets your pointer finger, and then acts like it didn’t happen at all.

He clumsily grabs his roses and — most importantly — your hand as you both walk inside. Nudges you, an excuse to rub up against you as you both step into the private elevator. He quickly gives in, leaning on you and then making some exaggerated snoring sound as if he’s fallen asleep on your shoulder. A moment passes.

“You full? Like it?” He sounds uncertain. It shows, now, as it always will eventually, that he especially wanted you to like it. Paid attention, thought it out.

“When don’t I?” It’s half a scoff and half a laugh. You really have no room to say you don’t like one of your favorite restaurants in Manhattan, if not the world. Especially when he gets you the same pasta you had on your first date, the same tiramisu, with a hazelnut latte. He scoffs in return, face scrunching up as if it’s physically painful for him to imagine that you’re just lying, going with the flow.

When you both get into the penthouse, it’s actually not very late. You’re both full, and he groans as he stretches like an old man. He’s getting stocky, because he actually eats with you around. You notice when he doesn’t.

“You…like, like me, right?” He’s changing when he asks the awkward question, one he feels like should be left unsaid, it should be kind of obvious; you live with him, you work with him, you’re his Valentine. Every time something goes wrong or you’re upset, you call him. Of course you like him, duh, but maybe you don’t, or maybe you’re just playing the game, getting inside his head.

“Rome, come on. It’s us,” your words are supposed to portray just how dumb it sounds to ask you, of all people, that question. You’ve seen this guy cry, sob, you’ve felt him sneak into your bed after a nightmare, he’s told you stories of his fucked-up childhood and you’ve seen him get hit so hard he’s lost a tooth. He has admitted to you, in the privacy of the dark, quiet penthouse, while in the same bed with him playing a game of ‘Truths’, that he pissed the bed as a teen. And you’re still here. You’re always there.

“Fuck you, I know. I know you like me. But, do you?”

“Yes! Jesus, honey, yes, I like you,” you say quickly. It doesn’t take long for you to grab and hold his cheeks, feeling the scruff on them, rubbing circles with your thumb. He leans into the touch, kisses your thumb. His eyes practically twinkle.

“Yeah. Yeah, you do,” his first ‘yeah’ sounded almost whispered, like it soothed some part of his soul, whereas the second ‘yeah’ immediately turned back into typical Roman. That faux suaveness never fails to make him look silly, all sweet and stupid.

“Bed now?”

“Bed now,” you agree. And it isn’t inherently sexual. You’re both tired, and he wants your skin on his. He lays the roses beside your flowers, assuming the maid will put them in water for him.

The two of you brush your teeth together in the en-suite. You do your skincare routine together (although his takes longer). And at the end of both, he comes over to where you sit on the edge of the sink and puckers his lips for you to kiss, and you hop off and head over to the bedroom to change.

He nearly never sleeps without a shirt. Whether he’s wearing an undershirt, or one of your tees, he’s almost always in some shirt and his briefs. He takes his shirt off tonight, and doesn’t put one back on in its place. He’s soft, shaven, and just a little pudgy. Little freckles and moles are dispersed sparsely around his pale skin that has very recently been seeing just a bit more sun from a recent vacation to Italy.

“You’re such a fuckin’ perv,” he comments awkwardly at your staring. It sounds confident, funny, but you can tell that he’s sucking in his tummy, flexing his biceps as if he’s some big, strong man.

“I appreciate beautiful things. Don’t you?”

“Oh — smooth, smooooth fucking operator, very nice. I mean, an art exhibit is one thing, but full-frontal is kinda different.”

“Mm,” you come up to him, kissing his back now, kissing his shoulders. “Not with you.” It has two meanings, a double-edged sword: he always finds such weird shit so artistic, and not even in a directly perverse way; he loves the movie Brown Bunny, and genuinely believes that the blowjob was crucial to the plot. On the other hand, he’s also just — different. Even if full-frontal, on average, may not be worthy of the Louvre, it’s Roman. He’s Venus as a boy. He’s something entirely different from the rest.

And he can’t handle that. His face scrunches up again, as if in pain, feels his eyes hot, wet. You’re kissing his back and saying he’s art.

With a quick whine, he’s turned around in your arms and facing you, kissing you the way you’d imagine a woman may kiss her husband after he returns home from The War. It’s silly, it’s almost like he thinks you’ll disappear if he stops, it feels like he’s a kid, like he’s a little kid again with a crush on Sally-May-what’s-her-name aka who-gives-a-fuck. Like he’s never kissed in his life, and he’s wearing noise-cancelling headphones and the only thing playing is how the fabric of your dress moves against his hand as he hold onto it like reigns, and the squeaky noises of lips on lips, and your soft little noise is surprise.

But you don’t push him away. You let him take his fill. And he does, and when he’s done, he licks his spit from your lips with such reverence that it’s hard not to laugh.

“W-fuck, what?”

“No! No, Roro, it’s fine, no, you’re just,” you chuckle breathlessly, partly because you’re trying to hold back a laugh at his actions, tongue slowly tickling and tracing your lips, and partly because you hardly have any breath left after that kiss. “Oh, Romeyrabbit. You’re just silly. Silly, silly boy.”

He’s about to retort, but your hands are in his hair and he allows it. He’s okay with being some fucking stupid ‘Romeyrabbit’ and ‘silly boy’ if you take off this dress. So he crumples, nuzzles into your touch, and tries tugging off your dress.

“Okay, okay,” you respond, paying no mind to his puppy dog eyes the moment you pull away to take off your dress. “You, too!” You demand, and he quickly obeys, unbuckling and unzipping, slacks on the floor in seconds, tugging his socks off along with them.

He watches while still standing. He knows he looks stupid, just standing there and gawking at you, but — Venus of Townley is in his bedroom tugging down her dress and slipping off her shoes.

Taking too-big, clumsy steps, he walks with his bare feet in only his navy blue Calvin Klein briefs to go behind you and take off your bra with clammy hands. He tugs it down your shoulders and lets it fall down your arms. It’s not sexual, it isn’t anything at all; it’s him, it’s you, it’s a quiet, cool bedroom on Valentine’s Day.

Panties are next and then it’s all off. He keeps his briefs on, usually does, though he may take them off at some point through the night. But this is enough. He leans into the crook of your neck from behind, his nose nudging at your ear.

“Mmbed,” he mumbles what seems like a childish demand. “Beddy-bye.”

You hold his hand where it’s wrapped around your tummy, draw it up to your lips, and kiss the back of it. He sways with you in his arms — well, less of swaying, more of yanking you side-to-side with a playful growl. You giggle, let out a ridiculous laugh. You can feel his grin on your skin.

In bed, it’s soft, and the sheets feel as expensive as they are. Your noses touch, and he nudges them together when you start to fall asleep during the ceremonial staring contest ritual that has apparently just begun. But soon, you drift off and he doesn’t nudge you, just lets you. You make little “mmn,” noises in your sleep and his lips quirk up at them. He stares. He watches you sleep, if only for a few minutes. It’s a weird thing to do as is. But he likes it, the two of you entangled and him being able to just love you, watch you, observe you as you are. It is Valentine’s Day, after all. It begs the question of what the whole fucking holiday is about if not just this.

Just this. You and him. How nice is that? How nice can life fucking get?

#DRAFT FROM LAST NIGHT SORRY IM LATE WOOOOOHOOO #roman roy #hbo succession #succession #roman #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #romulus roy #roman x reader #succession fanfic #succession imagine #roman roy fanfic #roman roy imagine #roman x you #mutt is supreme

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whisper-ocean · 2 days ago

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Fuck it, Let’s ruin the friendship

Authors note: this is the first fan fiction I have ever written so I apologise if it’s not very good, I’m hoping that the more I write the better I’ll get. Well here goes nothing.

Warnings: smut, over 18s only, minors DNI.

You and David have been friends for years, you both met in college and clicked instantly forming an unbreakable bond, you both connected through mutual interests, you used to go to cons together he would cosplay as the Joker and you as Harley Quinn. There were always rumours going around of you two dating but you both brushed them off never even thinking of each other like that. As the years went by your friendship grew stronger you were both inseparable, his family loved you and you would often go with him back to Alabama during the holidays. You never saw him as more than a friend that was until recently.

It was a typical Saturday night for you guys take out a bottle of wine and whatever board game you both decide to play. David was taking a well earned break from making multiple appearances at various cons where he would do meet and greets and dress up as Art the clown for photo opps.

The conversation flowed effortlessly as you caught each other up with what you guys did that week. After a while you both settled into a comfortable silence which he broke when he asked you “hey do you remember when everyone thought we were dating” “yeah, oh my god that was hilarious” you reply “how come”, “no reason just reminiscing I guess” you sensed there was more to what he was trying to say but he turned away from you, “maybe we should call it a night” he said yawning “yeah good idea but there’s no way I’m letting you drive back considering you’ve got half a bottle of wine in you, you can sleep in the spare room” “thanks Ro” he replies.

You clean up and both head upstairs you start to sense a tension between you that you’ve never noticed before. He stops and looks at you “how come we never talked about being more than friends before”, you swallow not knowing how to answer. There was always a part of you that wondered what if but you were always too scared of ruining the friendship you shared. He continues to look at you, a look you’ve never noticed before. He takes a step towards you closing the gap, the only sound there is of you both breathing looking at each other.

“Dave, if we cross this line there’s no going back” he looks at you “good”.

He pushes you up against the wall your lips crashing together with desperation, all your thoughts turn directly to him, how badly you want him and how long you’ve been longing for this to happen. He pulls away suddenly looking into you eyes his breath heavy, “are you sure about this, is this what you want” he whispers, you look at him and nod “yes, please I need you” he smirks and attaches his lips to your neck, he nips lightly and a small yet involuntary moan escapes from your lips, “please baby I need you” in that moment David picks you up and you wrap your legs around him, you can feel his arousal pressing into you as he carries you over to the bed, David lays you down stands up and looks you over, “Jesus Rose you have no idea how beautiful you are”. You can’t help but blush and turn your head, he crawls on top of you he burries his face into your neck licking, nipping and sucking the sensitive area, he started trailing kisses down in between the valley of your breasts, your breathing starts to get heavier and you can feel your own arousal soaking through your underwear “please stop teasing me, I fucking need you” and with that it’s like a switch flipped and all of a sudden David quickly yanks off your pants taking your panties with them and before you know it his mouth is right there on your most sensitive bud licking and sucking, you start moaning his name over and over, you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to release when all of a sudden he inserts his fingers expertly hitting your g spot and that’s enough you bring you over the edge, you throw your head back and moan his name repeatedly. David removes himself from you and as he undresses himself you can’t help but admire him, your eyes trail down and lock onto his member, you knew he was big but his size still took you by surprise, he notices you looking “you absolutely sure babe, because if you’ve changed your mind” he barely gets to finish his sentence before you jump up and attack his lips and that’s all the confirmation he needed, you switch positions so that you’re on top of him, you reach down and line him up with your entrance and as you move down onto him barely able to take all of him in, you see his eyes roll to the back of his head, you stay like this for a minute before you start moving up and down the pleasure indescribable, he grips your waist and takes a nipple into his mouth, you throw you head back moaning as his name rolls off your tongue “oh my god baby just like that, please don’t fucking stop” “Rose baby I’m so fucking close” he says between breaths you continue your pace your breaths getting heavier, moans getting louder, David starts playing with your clit as he moans into your neck when all of a sudden you feel as the edge of your release threatens to come crashing down, your legs start to shake as he pushes you fully over the edge to your orgasm, your words incoherent as you struggle to put a sentence together then suddenly he ruts upwards spilling into you as his own orgasm washes over him.

You both lay there in bed with your head resting on his chest as he gently runs his fingers up and down your arm, “Rose” he starts you interrupt him with a kiss “no regrets, I’ve wanted this for so long, I can’t hide it anymore, please don’t let this be a one time thing where you disappear after you’ve got what you wanted, I can’t bear the thought of not having you in my life” you can feel the tears pooling in your eyes threatening to spill over. David takes your face in his hands and looks you in the eyes “I’ve loved you for years but I never thought for a second that you would want me, I mean I’m not exactly the type you normally go for am I” he chuckles slightly but you can hear the hurt in his voice that he’s so desperately trying to hide. You look at him as you feel your heart break for him “hey don’t say that, I should have told you sooner but I was scared that you didn’t see me like that” “trust me babe I do, I do see you, you are everything I have ever wanted please give me the chance to show you that”.

You gently press your lips against his, you can feel him smile as you both mumble I love you’s to each other.

@clowncafeb

@daveythorntonslocker

I hope you guys like this

#david howard thornton #terrifier #art the clown #David Howard Thornton x reader #David Howard Thornton x original female character #fanfic

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berryispunk · 10 hours ago

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Insomniacs

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: friends to lovers, insomnia, mental health struggles (ptsd, depression), soft! Frankie, kissing, yearning, swearing, nicknames (hermosa), fluff, idiots in love, no smut, no physical description of reader apart from having hair

summary: What if you can’t sleep and you call for your best friend to come over and suddenly everything changes ?

word count: 3,1 k

It’s nothing new that you can’t sleep. Dealing with various mental health stuff over the years and chronic pain on top, you should know better.

You tried every sleeping aid under the sun; meditation, counting sheep, lavender on your pillow and melatonin. Nothing worked, so you started to build your life around it. Midnights became your afternoons to quote Taylor Swift.

But you were creative, somehow still holding up the hope that it magically gets better or you’ll just get used to it. But it never happened.

So tonight as the red numbers of your digital alarm clock illuminate your face, mocking you once again, you groan in frustration. You stare at the ceiling, watching the various colored lights of the cityscape dancing around and if you weren’t so damn defeated you would be able to find beauty in this, but you can’t. Not today. You reach for your phone charging on your nightstand and scroll mindlessly through social media. Minutes turn into an hour and you finally sit up in your bed, opening your messages app. It’s 2:30 a.m., who could possibly be awake at this hour? Your international friends? Yeah, for sure. But as you go through your various contacts you stop at one name, smiling to yourself as you press the call button.

It takes three rings until a familiar deep voice fills your ears.

“Hello?” the voice murmurs and you immediately feel guilty because you didn’t expect him to have been asleep. His voice sounds exhausted.

“Oh my god. Sorry Frankie, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you apologize and he chuckles softly at the other end.

“‘s alright, wasn’t really sleeping just… dozing off. What’s up, hermosa? It’s….” he pauses shortly. “It's, fuck, 2:32 at night. What is going on? Are you alright?” The worry in his voice is palpable and it’s one of the things you admire about him.

“Yeah, it’s the same old insomnia again and I figured why not call the one person that gets my pain?” you say apologetically and you can practically hear his smirk.

“Us good old insomniacs, huh? Is it your brain or the pain this time?” he asks and you sigh heavily in response.

“Probably a mix of both…” you sink deeper into your cushion.

Frankie might be the only person you ever met who understands the struggles that come with lack of sleep. His military background and the resulting nightmares made him an ally in the cruel game that called itself life. The two of you spent countless nights like this, on the phone or texting, watching nonsense over whatever TV channel was on but you’ve never done one thing: late-night meetings.

You weren’t sure if it was a secret agreement the both of you made that late night meetings were off-limits in all the time you’ve known each other, but tonight something felt different.

“Hey Frankie?”

“Hm?”

“Why have we never met? At night, when we weren’t able to sleep… I mean, you only live on the other side of the city, not the world.”

The other end stays silent and you think you may have overstepped an up-to-now invisible line by asking.

Then he clears his throat. “Would you want me to come over? You never asked and I never did, because no way in hell I let you wander alone through the night…” he clarifies and you can’t help but roll your eyes. Of course, ever the gentleman Frankie Morales did not want to risk your safety.

“Well, what if I’d ask you to come over now?” You hear him swallowing heavily at the other end of line.

You don’t even know why you’re wanting this all of a sudden, maybe you’ve finally lost your mind. It’s not like there isn’t some underlying tension between the two of you anyway. Mindless flirting and playful teasing is all part of your friendship.

Frankie is way too trusting for his own good, getting screwed up by his lack of judgement concerning other people and his soft heart, even if he would never let the boys know. They would give him hell about it. But around you he’s let his guard down and you have deep conversations with him about all things going wrong and the few that haven't. He’s one of the few people who know about your troubled youth and strained relationship with your mother. You in turn are one of the few people that know the severity of his PTSD.

He makes you feel heard like no guy has ever managed to do. He really looks at you when you’re talking and it always makes you feel giddy when he remembers little things you told him a while back.

You like his attentive nature, but somehow you have never found yourself thinking of him as a potential partner, even if he’s awfully attractive with his broad shoulders and unruly dark curls. His million-watt smile that, if it’s honest, creates little wrinkles around his eyes and makes your own smile widen every damn time in return.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice strained and uncertain.

“I am,” you say boldly even if you feel anything but.

Fuckin hell, why does your heart beat so fast?

“Give me 20 minutes,” is the last thing you hear before the line goes dead.

You immediately jump up from your bed and panic takes over. What were you thinking? What do you even expect to happen when he’s here? Or worse, what if he expects something to happen? No, he would never. It’s Frankie after all, he would’ve had plenty of chances to make approaches but he never has, always keeping a respectful distance. And now you wonder if he only kept it because you made it seem like you weren’t interested in more than a friendship?

When you first met him, you actually had a little crush on him but held yourself back because you told yourself he was out of your league and he was in a relationship. Then they broke up, but he was in a new one only a few weeks later. It went on like that for a long time until you were taken. Your ex never liked the boys so you kept your distance and the estrangement grew until you broke up with the guy and picked up your friendships where you left off.

It’s always been so easy to be with Frankie. You could be yourself around him, no need to pretend to be someone you’re not. He saw you in every state: drunk, crying, bed head and pajamas or all dolled-up for another unfulfilling date. He still looked at you the same and it gave you some sort of confidence you’re usually unable to muster. So right now you don’t even think about changing. You stay in your sleep shirt and shorts, no underwear whatsoever, because it doesn’t matter anyway. The only thing you do is brush your teeth and open the messy bun your hair has been in, making it fall loosely over your shoulders.

For a moment you wonder whether he wants anything specific to drink, but as you check your fridge you see that you have plenty of soda and beer - both beverages you know he enjoys. So you sit down on the sofa, only the soft dim light of the standing lamp in the corner illuminating the room and you grow nervous again. Why, you can’t tell. This isn’t different from all the other times you’ve met him, the only difference being it’s late at night. But then you remember the saying ‘nothing good happens after 2 am’ and you get restless all over again until a soft knock on the door announces his arrival.

With a few quick steps you open the door, but only a crack and Frankie looks at you, tired brown eyes mustering you. He’s smiling as per usual and holds up a plastic bag. “I brought the pretzels you like so much.”

You open the door all the way to let him in. He’s wearing grey sweatpants, the standard oil cap which has to be glued to his head at this point, and one of his worn-down band shirts. Sometimes you “borrow” one of them when he doesn’t notice. You’re actually wearing one right now.

“Hi,” you grin as he places the plastic bag on the coffee table.

“Hi yourself,” he grins back and his eyes wander over your figure for a moment as his smirk widens. “Is that my shirt?” he asks, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

“Maybe,” you tease back, mirroring his smirk. “You want it back?”

He shakes his head, lifting his signature cap to run a hand through his curls before he puts it back on. “Nah, looks better on you anyway,” he says and somehow it makes your cheeks turn a bit warmer.

“You want something to drink?” you ask, clearing your throat.

“Yeah, a beer maybe? But please tell me you’ve got more than the muck from the gas station? Because that tastes like piss,” he complains and you laugh as you walk over to your kitchen, opening the fridge.

“Well, good for you I have actual beer, some Corona even if you’re feeling fancy.”

“Oh, I feel very fancy, hermosa,” he laughs and leans over the kitchen countertop as you reach for the beer. You feel his gaze on your backside, but decide to say nothing.

You place the beer on the counter, a soda in your hand, and the noise of it opening echoes loudly through the apartment. He opens his beer with a lighter before he takes the first sip.

It’s quiet for a moment before you ask, “How’s that girl you were talking about last week? Cindy or what’s her name?”

He shrugs, a lopsided smile on his face. “You’re asking me about my dating life?”

You frown, tilting the soda can in your hand before answering “Guess so.”

“Didn’t see her again,” he simply states and something blooms inside of you. Is it relief?

“Ah, okay…” you say, trying not to let your emotions show too much.

“And… you? How’s that guy you told me about? Jack?”

“Jacob,” you correct, not that it would matter. You met him once and it’s clear that he’s still very much in love with his ex-girlfriend.

“Yeah, Jacob, sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “How is he?”

“Guess he’s fine…I wouldn’t know, as I only went on a date with him once.”

“Oh.” “Oh?” you scoff and he chimes in with a chuckle.

“Yeah, what else should I say? He didn’t seem like a good match for you.”

“You know, you never said that about any of the guys I dated.”

“They were all losers.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“Shit, I‘m sorry…” he babbles but your eyebrows are furrowed.

“So tell me who’s a good match for me then?” You glare at him. It’s infuriating that he even thinks he’s allowed to judge you when he clearly isn’t better with all the girls he’s dated in the past.

“Someone who really cares for you and sees you for who you are. Someone who treats you right and would do anything to make you happy, you know…” He’s fiddling with the label on the beer bottle. You just watch him, too stunned to speak as his words strike a chord. You know he’s right and that makes it hurt even more.

“Maybe I’m just not made for a relationship,” you sigh as you take another sip of your soda, mimicking his stance by leaning across from him against the counter.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“So what? You’re gonna tell me that there’s someone for me whom I just haven't met yet? That I didn’t search long or hard enough? I am 28, Frankie. I am tired of being in the dating pool. I just want… “ you exhale defeatedly. “I just want someone to come home to and who’s as happy to see me as I am to see him.”

“I am happy to see you,” he says quietly and it makes your heart miss a beat.

“Yeah, but that’s not the same and you know it.”

“Why not?” he asks back, your eyebrows shooting up as he finally looks up from the bottle in his hand and places it onto the next available surface. “You’re a smart girl, hermosa. Don’t tell me you don’t know?” There’s indignation in his voice.

“Don’t know what?”

With one big step he closes the distance between you, standing so close to you you can clearly smell the last bit of his perfume he’s probably worn during the day and most of all you can smell him. The earthiness, musk and warmth are weirdly comforting as he looks down at you.

“Do I have to spell it out for you or can you feel it as well?” he murmurs when you finally have the courage to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and searching.

“Frankie, I–”

Suddenly he’s so close, so all-consuming it makes it hard to think.

“Tell me you don’t feel it and I stop,” he whispers. You feel his breath on your face and the warm feeling inside your chest spreads further.

Of course you’ve felt that way before, but you didn’t think too much about it, not wanting to risk this friendship that's so important to you.

“I won’t,” you croak out and he smirks in response, the cocky smile he always has when he is certain about something.

“Figured,” he continues before adding, “So tell me, how many of these dickheads do you want to date until you give the one guy a chance that really cares about you?”

“But.. We are…”

“Friends? Yeah, and I want to be so much more than that to you. Do you really think I would drive through the city at this ungodly hour for just anyone?”

You search for his eyes again, slightly blushing and shaking your head.

He starts playing with a lock of hair, curling it around his thick fingers which makes you incredibly nervous.

“I woke you up, didn’t I? And now you stand here at 3 in the morning… I feel horrible.”

“Well, I don’t. I’m glad you invited me over. Who needs sleep if I can be with you instead?”

You smile at that.

“I’m still sorry.”

“No need,” he assures you. “There’s no place I’d rather be right now…”

And his voice drips with honesty as his eyes lock with yours and the intensity of his gaze paired with his words make your breath hitch. Your eyes flick onto his plush lips which look so much more kissable up close and you bite your own lips. He mirrors the movement and suddenly his big hand rests on your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheek bone as he pulls you a tiny bit closer. You reach for his cheek in return, his patchy stubble tickling your hand and you part your lips as he takes the cue, dips his head and his lips are only a hair's breadth away from yours.

“Can I kiss you now?” he whispers hoarsely against your lips and you just nod in agreement.

His lips capture yours in a soft, tentative kiss and your stomach does somersaults. You’ve wondered in the past what kissing him would feel like, but nothing could’ve prepared you for this. He knows exactly what he’s doing, his lips moving with purpose without being overbearing. The softness of his lips is a stark contrast to the slight scratch of his stubble against your skin. You practically melt into the kiss and you’re certain that no one has ever kissed you like this, so soft but purposefully determined it makes your head spin.

You tangle your hands in the soft locks on the ape of his neck as you deepen the kiss. He’s parting his lips voluntarily so you can invade his mouth with your tongue as his hand wanders from your cheek into your hair, cradling the back of your head. He presses you against the counter with his body weight as his other hand wanders to your hip, his fingers digging into the tender flesh under his shirt. As your tongues dance feverishly his breathing gets uneven, panting into the kiss and you can’t help but smile softly that he gets so worked up over a kiss.

“You okay?” you whisper as you part to breathe, your foreheads touching.

“Yeah,” he breathes “It’s just.. Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long so I wanna get this right.”

You take his head between your hands, your thumbs stroking his cheeks now.

“You’re doing everything right, Frankie,” you smile softly and his face lights up.

“Can I maybe take you out on a date first before I ravish you right here in your kitchen?”

You can’t help but laugh at that, an honest laugh not many people are able to elicit from you.

“I’d love that,” you say softly and nuzzle your nose against his while his thumb draws small circles over your hip where your shirt rode up.

Suddenly the tiredness comes back to you as you yawn heavily and he creates some distance to be able to look at you.

“Do I bore you, hermosa?” “No!” you quickly protest. “But I’m tired all of a sudden…”

“No shit, it’s late. Let’s get you into bed, yeah?”

He takes your hand and leads you to your bedroom where you fall headfirst into the pillow with a groan.

“Frankie?” you call for him, lifting your head up slightly, his name suddenly sounding so big in the quietness of the night.

“Yeah?” you hear faint footsteps as if he’s about to leave and the thought makes you sad.

“Would you mind staying?”

It’s deadly quiet for a moment before you hear the rustling of sheets and his weight next to you on the mattress. “Not at all,” he murmurs softly and you scoot closer to him, cuddling into his side as he puts his arm around your shoulders, his chin resting against your head. It feels so natural. It feels like coming home. You yawn and close your eyes again.

“Thank you,” you murmur softly as your hand rests on his chest.

“Anytime,” he says and then adds, “And just for the record, her name was Clara.”

“What?”

“The girl I was on a date with, her name was Clara not Cindy. Not that it’d matter anyway because the only person I go on dates with from now on will be you,” he chuckles softly and you grin widely, even if he can’t see it.

“Good to know,” you say sleepily and for the first time in weeks you drift off into a deep, restful sleep.

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