#but now that i know more about him and i read his thoughts and see his interactions with others

[starkeyvhs]

only you my girl, only you babe

PAIRING: rafe cameron x pogue!fem!reader

SUMMARY: four times your “enemy” rafe hinted he cares for you and the one time you actually caught on it. OR you thought rafe doesn’t like you because he hates all pogues. little did you know he has always looked at you differently.

WORD COUNT: 6.7k

WARNINGS: drinking, drugs, swearing, blood and wounds, kinda canon rafe (omg kez????), obx cliches (mainly the whole ‘kooks vs. pogues’ thing from S1), extremely ‘only soft to you and no one else’ vibes, fluff, angry confessions, heavy pining, mentions of y/n

EDITH SPEAKS: oh. my. god. if you were there on my old blog you would know how long it’s been since I first introduced my idea of writing this fic. I got stumped on it way too often and then forgot about it for months, and then decided to abandon it. But I found it again and I got my inspiration back and now I’m so so happy it’s actually finished!! <3

major thank you to @zyafics who helped me last year when i was writing the fic and helped me brainstorm ideas for it :’) kissing your beautiful mind just like always zya xxx

this really is a labor of love and I genuinely couldn’t be happier 🥹I would highly appreciate all kinds of feedback and reblogs, because they really are extremely motivating and fun to get back to! I hope you enjoy reading, and i hope these 6k words are worth all your time and attention :)

masterlist / join my taglist / requests

PROLOGUE

“Stay off Figure 8!” 

The all too familiar deep voice boomed across the beach, a completely dead silence started to surround the atmosphere. A loud groan was heard along with the unsteady thump of a person falling onto the sand, causing people standing around to gasp. 

JJ struggled to get up from the ground, the big punch he received from the one and only caused his nose to bleed non stop, and when he barely opened his eyes, he was met with a pair of icy cold blues staring back at him. 

“You hear me, Maybank? Stay. Off. Figure. 8. You and all your filthy pogue friends.” 

JJ tried getting up and talking back, he really did, but the one and only Rafe Cameron punched him so hard he lost all his balance. Blood kept on flowing in a never ending fashion, and JJ could see dark spots in his vision, his mind feeling light headed. 

“JJ!”

Rafe froze in his position, not looking up from JJ at the sound of JJ’s name being called out. The voice, the perfume, the general aura of the presence; Rafe didn’t have to look up to see who it was.��

“JJ oh my god please tell me you’re okay,” you mumbled, your voice almost trembling with the worry dripping from your words. You got on your knees and gently cradled JJ’s face, pulling it into your lap as you brushed his hair aside to look at the extent of damage on his face. JJ mumbled something incoherently and you let out a sigh, relieved he wasn’t completely knocked out. 

Rafe stood there on the side, his eyes widened as he saw how your fingers ran through his hair and wiped off his blood, he saw how careful you were with him, he saw how you mumbled small words of sweet nothingness to him. 

Rafe didn’t know what to say, he stood there limply as he watched you help JJ up, let him loop an arm across your shoulders so you could help him walk back to The Cut. 

As he saw you both walk back, he felt his blood boil. The rage built in him slowly like a thunderstorm, his breathing started to become erratic and his fists clenched tightly on his sides. 

“FUCK!” 

Rafe’s foot kicked across an empty beer can buried in the sand, causing it to fly and topple a few meters further from him. 

He wouldn’t have done anything to JJ, heck, he wouldn’t have looked at him if he knew you were on the beach too. 

The look on your face when you saw how hurt JJ was, the concern clouding all over your facial features; from the furrow of your brow to the frown on your lips, he knew you now hated him more than ever. He knew you would never want to look at him ever again. He knew you would never acknowledge his presence ever again. 

He knew there was no chance you would look at him the way he looked at you. 

ONE — THE PARTY

It was crazy.

The lights were neon and bright and they pierced your eyes harshly. The people at the party were almost sticking next to each other, their sweat, weed, alcohol, and an ungodly mix of expensive and cheap colognes being the only thing you can smell. 

You almost gagged as you maneuvered your way through the sweaty crowd, but you finally did, finding yourself taking deep breaths as you leaned against the countertop of the makeshift bar in the kitchen, letting the awful smell wash away from your nose palette. 

When you started feeling better, you got yourself a nice cold beer, letting the icy liquid run down your throat, sending chills down your spine but in a way you relished deeply. 

It was a scene like any other party; there were people dancing, some catching a smoke break at the side, some making out on the other side, nothing new. 

And it wasn’t anything new when a fight broke out. 

You didn’t know who the boys were who started to fight; all you saw was them go at each other like wolves, their courage mostly coming from the plethora of drugs in their system, profanities after profanities spilling out their mouth, and you were just watching from the side, completely nonchalant about it. 

But you were not so nonchalant when glass bottles were involved in hurting the other; you being in close proximity to the fighting pair resulted in one of the flying broken piece of glass cutting your hand, making you yell out at the sharp pain. The cut looked deep as the blood didn’t stop gushing out, but no one focused on you. Everyone was too busy watching the fight, trying to stop it, or just enjoying it for the heck of it. 

You hissed in pain, your own beer bottle set aside as you squeezed your eyes shut from the stinging pain spreading from your hand to your forearm. The blood started to trickle down from your palm down to the floor, and you had no idea what to do or who to go to. 

It all became a huge mess very quick, you on the side with your hand bleeding, and the rest of the party too busy to peg the immature boys on. 

You felt a tall shadow stalking over you, the scent of the rich cologne all too familiar. 

“That looks bad,” you heard in your ear. 

You turned to be face to face with Rafe. He was stalking down your wound, the blood flow not really stopping as the drops dripped down on the hardwood floor. His expression wasn’t one of worry. But it wasn’t one of detest either. It was just… emotionless. 

“Yeah no shit,” you muttered, looking down at your wound too. 

“Here,” he said, fishing out his handkerchief from his pocket. “This should help for the moment…” he muttered as he gently took your hand and wrapped the handkerchief around your cut. 

You looked at his hands working around your hand, covering up the cut. The pearly white cloth was quickly stained with a deep red of your blood, slowly spreading throughout the cloth. 

“You should get that checked once, just in case you need stitches,” he said, tying a knot to fix the cloth in its place. Just like his facial expression, his voice is also emotionless, monotone words leaving his lips. 

“Why are you doing this?” You couldn’t help but ask, out of all the people, Rafe was there to help you with your wound. 

“Because you’re bleeding a little too much,” he said, taking a step back from you. His hands then buried in the pockets of his jeans as he shrugged at you. 

You looked up in his icy blue eyes, not a single emotion in them. You weren’t sure what to say, finding yourself to be quite stunned which was never really the case; whenever Rafe talked to you, you were always quick to talk back, never letting him be the one who said the last words. 

“Right… thanks,” you muttered, looking down at the securely tied handkerchief around your hand. 

“Yeah,” he said with a nod of his head, and left you alone. 

TWO — THE FAILED DATE

You clutched on the tablecloth out of utter anxiousness, your eyes darting around the room. You took a look at your watch for the umpteenth time, and saw that the time you were supposed to be meeting someone got farther and farther in the past with each passing second. 

It had now been over an hour, the waiters had politely asked you if you would like to eat something, and all you asked for was a simple glass of water, because what if he shows up?

But now you could very clearly see that he won’t. 

You had a date, which unlike the past dates you had been on, really excited you. You thought he was a nice boy, someone you met while you were buying some beer for you and your friends. You don’t remember how the conversation started, but you both used to talk quite often, numbers exchanged and texts sent under the pale moonlight of 3 am. 

He finally asked you out on a date, and you were thrilled, to say the very least. But now, here you were at a fancy restaurant on Figure 8 which you barely got to go to, absolutely impatient as your knee bounced up and down out of anxiousness and embarrassment. 

You felt tears prick your eyes but you were quick to not let them fall, wiping them away from your waterline. You looked down in your lap, your fingers nervously pulling onto each other as the reality of being ditched settled in you. You took another look at your phone, desperate for any text, but there were no notifications. 

But then, you felt the sunlight falling onto you from the window next to you being blocked by a huge shadow, and when you looked up, you saw Rafe. 

Of course, Rafe, out of all the people. 

He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you; your slightly red eyes and the tears accumulated in them didn’t go unnoticed by him. 

“Why are you here all alone?” He asked you, still standing in front of you. 

You just shook your head as a reply and picked up your belongings from the table. “It’s none of your business Rafe… I’ll just leave…” you muttered, but before you could do anything else, Rafe sat in the seat opposite to you. 

He took a look at your outfit, noticing it’s something different than the attire you’re usually sporting, something more formal. 

It didn’t take him long to connect two and two together to figure out everything. 

“You got ditched huh?” He said silently. His tone came off condescending to you, even though he didn’t mean to sound that way at all. 

You mentally braced yourself to get embarrassed by him, ready to hear a comment or two from him, because that’s what he did: say rude things to people, especially Pogues, because he felt like it. 

But he didn’t say anything. 

Absolutely nothing. 

You looked up at him, small streaks of tears had started making their way down. “I told you it’s none of your business,” you said, sniffling. 

He only sighed as he leaned back in the chair, watched you carefully as your head hung low, silent sobs escaping you as you occasionally wiped away your tears. 

“Listen, it’s not your fault okay?” He mumbled. You looked up from your lap with your eyes filled with tears. “I know you must be feeling really bad right now, and there is nothing wrong about it, but don’t think too much about it,” 

“I… I got ditched Rafe. I am sitting here all alone in this expensive restaurant crying my eyes out. How can I not think too much about it?” You whispered, your eyebrows creased together. 

He leaned a bit closer to you. “I’m trying to make you feel better…” He said softly. 

“Well,” you sniffled, looking away from him, “I didn’t ask for it, okay?” 

These were the last words you said, before you got up from your chair and left the restaurant, whilst Rafe watched you walk away, wanting to hold your hand and to stop you, but he just couldn’t. 

THREE — THE BEACH CLEAN UP

You looked up at the sun, wiping the sweat off your forehead as you took in a deep breath. The summers only seemed to be getting hotter this time around, and the fact that you were at a beach clean up at noon was not helping your situation. 

You liked to pick up work like beach clean ups in between your main job at the island club so you could make a little side money. 

As you got back to picking up the trash from the beach, throwing it in the little basket you’re carrying with yourself, you looked up to hear some chatter besides the otherwise quiet beach and the other people working quite silently. 

It was a group of Kooks – their expensive clothes and accessories shining under the bright rays of the sun completely unmissable. And in the group of them, a pair of electric blue eyes had its gaze fixed on you intensely. 

You didn’t even know why Rafe was there. Or why the other Kooks were there. They didn’t have any need to participate in these kinds of jobs. Everything was just handed down to them, daddy’s money being what they thrive on.

You ignored them and got back to working, focusing on clearing the trash from the specific area of the beach you were at. Just a few minutes later you felt the sunlight being blocked by a huge shadow, and when you looked up, you saw Rafe right by your side, separated from his Kook friends. 

You wanted to say something, but you weren’t sure what, so you peeled your focus away from him and got back to picking up the trash and throwing it into the basket. 

“Here,” he said almost suddenly, causing you to look up at him. “I’ll hold it for you,” he gestured the basket in your hand, and even proceeded to hook two of his fingers into its side, holding onto it.

Before you could have protested, he gently pulled the basket from your hand, causing you to let go of it. You wouldn’t lie, your basket had started to get heavy from the innumerable aluminum cans and other trash sitting in it.

“Thanks,” you murmured under your breath and from the corner of your eye, you saw Rafe acknowledged you with a nod of his head. 

For the next hour or so, you went around picking up the trash and Rafe followed you holding the basket for you as if it weighed nothing, and you kept on dropping the trash in it. It was oddly comfortable, the silence between you two as you weren’t sure what to say – and frankly, you thought that was the best. 

As the clean up came to an end, everyone was sitting in the sand, and light laughter and chatter filled the group. The afternoon had started to turn into evening, the bright rays of the sun turning into something more warm, more comforting instead of burning. You sat in the sand, leaning back on your forearms a little away from the rest, just letting the summer breeze blow past you gently. 

Rafe sat down next to you, and held out something. You saw it was a glass of iced lemonade he got from the little surf shop. 

“You didn’t have to,” you mumbled, eyeing the glass in his hand, the condensation on the surface causing water droplets to slide against the smooth glass. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’ve worked all afternoon. Have it, it’s my treat.” 

You took another second or two before taking the glass from him, sipping on the cool, sour yet sweet liquid and allowing it to run down your throat. He remained seated next to you as you both watched the waves crash on the shore, the seagulls flying over and the sun only delving you into a comforting warmth more and more with each passing second, and slurped on your little lemony drinks. 

FOUR — THE TIP

The day was slowly turning into dusk, the bright afternoon light leaving to welcome darker pink and orange streaks cast by the almost setting sun. This was the time when the island club started filling in more and more, the bar being one of the first parts of the club to get exceptionally occupied.

You were busy serving an older woman, your mind completely occupied to make the martini, when out of the corner of your eye, you caught the all too familiar gist of a head of dirty blonde curtain bangs. 

You turned your head to meet Rafe’s blue eyes looking intently at you. The way he was focused on you, his gaze not wavering for even a fraction of a second, and the strong intensity behind them made you feel like the only girl on this planet. Though, of course, that feeling was short-lived when you were snapped out of your daze by a customer calling out for you. 

You were quick to rush over to the customer, who had just finished the drink you had served him. He left the money for his drink where he was sitting and was already making his way out of the club. 

You  picked up the dollar bills to see he paid completely for the drink, but the tip wasn’t even touching the bare minimum. You didn’t know what the reason was, you had been kind to the customer, made his drink perfectly and served it on time, and even presented it as aesthetically as you could. Even then, your tip wasn’t up to the mark. Sighing, you made your way over to the other end of the bar counter where you kept your tip jar, which coincidentally also happened to be where Rafe was sitting. 

“Everything alright?” He asked, eyeing your woeful expression as you were putting the newly received ‘tip’ (if it can be even called that) in the jar. His eyes raked over the jar, and he couldn’t help but find it a lot more empty than it should be. 

“Yeah everything’s fine,” You mumbled, keeping the jar aside. You wiped your hands once on the towel slung in the loop of your apron before looking up at Rafe. “What can I get you?” You asked. 

“A neat whiskey’s fine,” He said and you nodded. You served him the neat whiskey, setting the glass right in front of him. He gave you an acknowledging nod and wrapped his fingers around the glass and bought it closer to his mouth, drinking from it. 

You decided to work around the bar a bit, just cleaning everything up, preparing everything you may need in advance, practically anything you could get your hands at – because anything was better than having to talk to Rafe, who, by the way, didn’t take his eyes off you for even a second. His gaze was firm and jaw was set as he just saw you work around the bar, silently sipping on his whiskey. 

You kept yourself wonderfully distracted as you served the customers and prepared everything behind the bar, but every so often, your gaze would magnetically be pulled back to Rafe, and you would always catch him looking at you. 

When you noticed Rafe’s almost done with his glass of whiskey, you made your way back to him. 

“Another one?” You asked, and he only silently nodded as his reply. You refilled his glass with the neat whiskey, and leaned back against the counter, just simply glancing around the scene of the bar and the club and catching a small break. 

A silence fell over the two of you, the light chatter and the music playing in the club thrumming against your eardrums. Rafe was just silently sipping the whiskey, not saying or doing anything, just sitting there and having his drink. 

“So uh… you’re alone here tonight?” You asked, your words feeling cautious. “I mean, you’re usually here with Topper, or with someone, atleast,”

He set his almost finished glass at the counter, his fingers still wrapped around the clear glass. His gaze found yours, a warm blue instead of the usual icy one sinking into your eyes. 

“Topper was busy,” He muttered, “so I came alone,”

You just quietly hummed at his words, and from the corner of your eye you saw one of your customers finishing their drink and leaving their money on the counter. You went to get it, and when you did, you saw it’s the same thing repeating itself: the ‘tip’. 

You sighed, slightly aggravated as you made your way back to where the top jar was, and dumped the money in it. 

“Will it kill them to just pay something to their bartender?” You sighed, leaning against the counter and tilting your head back, closing your eyes for a moment. Your shift was close to coming to an end and if that’s the money you had to go home with tonight, well, it’d be kind of fucked. 

You could feel Rafe’s gaze on you, but he didn’t say anything, just finished the last sip of his whiskey in a gulp. You were about to ask him for another refill, but you heard someone calling you out. 

You turned around to see it was one of your coworkers, who told you were being called inside. You turned to look back at Rafe, but he just shook his head, and gestured to you to leave. You followed your coworker and went inside to where he was leading to. 

After being freed from the quite useless meetup with your manager, you finally walked back out to the bar after 15 minutes. When you did, you saw Rafe’s stool was empty, and there was money kept on the counter. 

You approached the counter, and the moment you saw the money, your eyes almost fell out from how wide they got. 

Ten crisp hundred dollar notes sat unfolded on the marbled counter along with the money for the whiskey, and you couldn’t believe your eyes. For a second, it felt unreal. You reached your hand out and your fingertips touched the paper, and you realised the money was real. You picked the notes up, your lips parted in shock as you gaze at them. 

Rafe tipped you $1000. 

1000 fucking dollars. 

Your gaze immediately turned towards the exit of the bar, and of course, you couldn’t spot Rafe – you had completely missed him. 

You carefully kept the notes in your tip jar and sealed the jar shut. Through the glass, you couldn’t remove your gaze from the notes, your mind now completely clouded with Rafe, and his tip. 

ONE — THE BROKEN DOWN CAR

You let out a frustrated groan, kicking the tyre in utter vexation, which helped you release just the tiniest fraction of your rage. You fished out your phone from your pocket just to see it was nothing more than a dead device, serving you no purpose. You almost had the urge to throw the phone, but you stopped yourself at the right second, because you realized, you can’t afford to hear the sound of the glass screen cracking. 

Instead, you just kicked a pebble in your path and slumped against the side door of your beat up car which decided to stop working halfway across your journey from Figure 8 to the Cut. You were at the side of the road, watching other cars and vehicles pass by as you sat there on the roadside, not having a single clue on what to do. 

10… 15… 20 minutes passed and you were still in the same position, not knowing what to do and not making any effort to find out either. The road fell silent a few minutes ago, no vehicles crossing, but the silence was short lived when you heard the revving of an engine from the distance, and it came to a stop right next to you. 

An all too familiar red and black bike stood next to you, the rider’s face covered by the helmet. But the bike, the gold signet ring on the index finger of the left hand, and the taut muscles peeking from under the t-shirt were more than enough to confirm who it was. 

The helmet came off and Rafe’s piercing blue eyes found yours. 

“What happened?” He asked, getting off his bike as he ran a hand through his hair, his curtain bangs pushed back momentarily before they fell down on both the sides of his face in a ragged middle part just like always. 

“My car broke down,” you muttered as you looked up at him. 

“Hm.” 

He rounded around you and lifted the cover of the engine, holding it up with one hand as he inspected the engine carefully. You watched him intently, trying to figure out what the expressions on his face meant, but there weren’t any to begin with. It was a face so cold and plain, suiting well with the cold blue eyes. 

“There’s some issue with the battery. You most probably need to get it replaced.” He declared, letting the cover fall back in its place. 

“Oh great,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your words as you threw your head back against the door of your car. “That’ll probably cost nothing, won’t it?” 

Rafe caught the sarcasm of your words very well but didn’t comment anything, just wiped the dust off his hands as he gazed down at you. 

“Come on,” you heard, and as you looked up, you saw he was holding his hand out for you. “You were probably going back home yeah? I’ll drop you.” 

You opened your mouth to argue but he cut you off the next instant. 

“No ifs, or buts, or ‘Rafe’s, you hear me? You’re letting me drop you off, and are letting me take care of this,” he said, gesturing to your car. “I’ll call a mechanic who’ll get your car towed from here and will work on it. Now come on, none of us have got all day.” 

By the end of his words, you knew whatever you’ll do is equivalent to pointless, so you gave in. You gently held his hand and helped yourself up from the road, brushing a hand over your clothes as he led you to his bike parked aside. 

Rafe put his helmet on top of your head and adjusted the strap, and you heard a faint click as it fixed in place. You wanted to ask ‘what about you?’ when the only helmet was now sitting on your head, but you decided against it. He mounted the bike and gestured to you to do the same, revving the engine twice or thrice before taking off. 

He was definitely faster than what you had expected, and you couldn’t help it when you gripped the sides of his t-shirt, fisting the crisp material in your fingers to provide yourself some stability. For a second, he took one hand off the handlebar and reached for your hand scrunching his t-shirt. He gently took your wrist and you let go of the fabric in the process, allowing him to tug your hand and place it on his waist. Your other hand followed suit, and both of your arms were firmly wrapped around his waist. His hand landed back at the handlebar, and he only sped up more, the wind whipping past you at a phenomenal speed. 

The ride to The Cut came to an end when Rafe reached your home, and you didn’t want to admit to him or to yourself, but you felt it was short. The ride was nothing short of exhilarating, the wind whipping past your skin, and the way your arms found purchase around his waist gave you the comfort you needed. 

You got off the bike, firmly planting your feet on the ground as you did so, and Rafe’s hand instinctively wrapped around your arm to make sure you remained stable. You carefully took off the helmet and handed it back to him. 

“So uh,” You muttered, clearing your throat subtly, “thanks for the ride. Really,”

He shook his head, kicking the stand of the bike in place and allowing it to lean on one side. “Don’t worry,” He said, still sitting on the bike. 

“You, you really didn’t have to,” You said, your fingers intertwined with each other behind your back. 

“And do what? Leave you alone at the side of the road? With a broken down car and a dead phone?” Rafe sighed. “I wasn’t gonna do that y/n, you know that,”

You know that. 

Yeah you do. 

You swallowed the thick lump in your throat as a small silence fell over you two as none of you said anything, and you kept on contemplating how you could possibly return such a massive favor. 

“You…” You began, your voice low, the words on the tip of the tongue feeling experimental, “you wanna come inside for a moment?”

Rafe’s response didn’t come out the very next second, and that small pause felt like years to you. 

“Sure,” He said, getting off his bike. You let out a sigh of relief and nodded, leading him towards your place. 

“It’s nothing big…” You muttered as you climbed up the stairs of the porch and he followed suit, watching you unlock the front door. “But it’s home, I guess.”

Knowing he had grown up in the richest part of the island, surrounded by everything he could possibly need and want, you had a feeling he’d definitely make some snarky comment. Cause isn’t that what he did? Rafe Cameron: the Kook prince, but also the biggest asshole?

But he was completely silent when he followed you inside and only quietly sat down on the couch you led him to, which you definitely were shocked to see, but nevertheless you didn’t really let it show on your expressions. 

“So uh…” you began to speak, wanting to break through the awkward air around you two, “anything you’d like? Water? Or some tea maybe?” 

He shook his head silently, and a moment later, gestured to the empty seat next to him. 

“Come sit,” he said, words simple and direct, no beating around the bush, just like always. 

You took a sweet moment to let his words settle in you, but when you did, you walked up to the couch and sat down next to him, a small distance maintained between the two of you. Your gaze remained fixed on your shoes, your hands perfectly intertwined in your lap, and your habit of pulling onto them – something which only tended to happen you felt really anxious – came back. 

The awkward air was around you two again, settling over you two like a blanket that is way too warm for hot weather, making you feel uneasy and has got you squirming for any sort of cooling. 

“Why do you do that?”

There it was. 

It was out. 

You blabbered out the question as if it meant nothing, when in reality, it carried so much more weight than you could possibly ever imagine. 

When you were met with silence for a moment, you looked up, and saw Rafe sitting with his hands on his knees, his own gaze fixed at something on the floor. What was it exactly – you couldn’t tell. 

When he still didn’t speak anything, you decided to take the chance. 

“You’re always… there for me, in one way or the other. You patched my hand up at that party weeks ago, when you could’ve just ignored the situation. You saw me crying to myself when my date didn’t show up and came up to me when you could’ve just ignored the situation. You helped me at the beach clean up and carried my heavy bin for me when you could’ve ignored the situation. You saw my lack of tips and paid me a massive one when you could’ve ignored the situation. You could’ve always ignored the situation, Rafe. Just like you always do with the other Pogues. With them, you don’t care for even a damn second. But… why are you doing so much for me?” 

The silence kept on greeting you, and you could feel yourself beginning to get impatient. Your gaze flickered over Rafe, and you didn’t miss the way he flexed his fingers over his knee, as if gripping it tightly. 

“I, I don’t know…” He mumbled weakly. You had never heard his voice take such a softer tone. It’s as if you didn’t even know it existed. 

“What– what do you mean you don’t know?” You sighed, turning your body a bit so you could face him. “That’s fucking ridiculous Rafe!”

“It’s not ridiculous I just can’t explain it the way you wish I could–”

“Well you should be able to cause I need explanations–”

“Not everything can be given a logical explanation come on–”

“Yes it can if you try hard enough–”

“I care for you okay!”

His words were loud, much louder than any of his previous words. Their loudness and conviction shut you up right at that moment, your eyes widening, and your lips slightly parted as you stared at him with a look of disbelief in your eyes. 

“I–I Rafe began, running a hand through his messy bangs, and you had to control the urge to run your own fingers through them and gently push them out of his eyes, “I don’t know why, but I just can’t stand the thought of you being hurt, or being sad, or going through any discomfort. I just can’t okay? Each time I see you that way I– I immediately get to solving it cause I can’t bear to see you all troubled. I don’t want to see a single scratch on your skin or– or a single furrow in your brow I just… want to see you happy. Cause you look... so so pretty when you’re smiling, y/n, it’s… it’s unexplainable,”

A silence fell over you two as you let his words sink in you, which was a lot harder than you’d like, but you were doing it. 

“And i just… wish that one day… you’d smile that pretty smile of yours because of me,” He murmured, “because I made you smile,”

You could see Rafe’s own words taking a massive toll on him, just as it was taking on you. You parted your lips to say something but you were just so horribly stumped, you couldn’t utter a single word. 

He ran a ragged hand through his hair once again and stood up, clearing his throat. 

“I should leave now,” He muttered, standing in front of your seated form but not facing you, but instead facing the door. Your own gaze was fixed at the floor, and you could hear your heartbeat thumping loudly in your eyes, his words repeating over and over like a broken record in your mind. 

You didn’t say anything to stop him, so Rafe silently walked out the door, closing it behind himself with a silent click. 

You were left all alone in your living room, Rafe’s weighted words lying heavy on your heart and mind, and the distant noise of his bike’s engine revving a bitter reminder that he wasn’t next to you anymore. 

Just two days later, when you woke up in the morning and looked out your window, you saw your car parked. Not only was the battery replaced, a whole paint job was done, the ripped car seats were replaced with some fancy leather, the tyres were exchanged for upgraded ones, and for a second, you didn’t even recognise your own car. 

You noticed a piece of paper held in place by the windshield wiper, and when you went outside and took the piece of paper and unfolded it, you saw a small phrase scrawled in black against the white of the paper. 

don’t mention it. – R.C.

EPILOGUE  

You let out a deep sigh as you watch him laugh, patting his friend’s arm in the process. A smile of pure contentment crosses your face, watching the rays of the bright, afternoon sun hit his bare skin and making it shine, his muscles seeming more pronounced than ever. 

You watch him turn around and glance at you over his shoulder, his smile wide as he gives you a flying kiss. You can’t help but chuckle at the endearing action, causing you to send one his way too. He lifts up two fingers in the form of a peace sign and gestures to his friend next to him, silently conveying to you that he will be by your side in just two minutes. You give him an understanding nod and watch his head turn back to the front, getting delved into the conversation with his friend again. 

You sip on your drink as you lean your head back, the sound of the boat rushing past the waves of the ocean filling your ear drums deeply. You close your eyes and just listen to the sound of waves, your mind shutting out the chitter chatter of the conversations of the other people on this boat. 

Soon enough you feel the sunlight being blocked and as you open your eyes, you see him standing right in front of you, a smile on his face. The chain around his neck along with the little gold capital letter of your initial hanging from it catches the sunlight and gleams more than it usually does. He sits down next to you and silently wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. You smile as you lean into him, your fingers going immediately to fiddle with the chain, feeling the edges of the cool gold initial under your fingertips. 

You take a glance up at him, running your other hand along the side of his now buzzed head, feeling the short, prickly hair gently tickle your fingers. 

“Are you having a good time so far?” He mutters softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, your head tucking in the crook of his neck. 

“Yeah, yeah I am,” you say quietly, your fingers mindlessly continuing fiddling with the gold initial on his chest. “You?” You ask, slightly lifting your head up from his neck. 

“Oh, the absolute best time,” He says softly, looking down at you with a gentle smile on his face. “We’re on our boat, and I’m with my gorgeous girlfriend, what else could I need?”

You can’t help but softly chuckle at his words, silently shaking your head as you lean your head against his shoulder again and resume fiddling with the chain. You do it often, almost each time you get your hands on him, and he loves it; feeling the occasional brush of your fingers against his skin and the gentle tugs on the chain. 

He allows you to relax against him completely, his arms around you to keep you close to him as you both sit silently, only the sound of the water and the light chatter of your friends accompanying you two. 

“Thank you,” Rafe says softly, his fingertips tracing gentle patterns on your shoulder. 

You furrow your brows at his words, slightly confused, as you look up at him. “What for?” You ask. 

Rafe only keeps on gazing at you, a gentle smile pulling his lips. He quietly shakes his head, and with a gentle pull, he allows you to rest against him again. 

“Nothing.” He stays quiet for a moment. “Everything.” 

Your own lips can’t help but upturn in a small smile too. “Well, in that case…” you murmur, leaning back to look up at him, one hand coming to rest against his cheek as you gently caress the soft skin, and you slowly lean in, pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss. 

“Thank you,” you mumble softly against his lips. Rafe’s hands grip your waist and he pulls you closer, not letting you pull back from the kiss. His fingers splay across your back as he kisses you, his lips moving in an unhurried, tender motion against yours. 

A moment or so later, he pulls back, his eyes opening by just a fraction. You let your arms hook around Rafe’s neck, keeping him close to you. 

“You’re the only one for me, Rafe,” you mumble quietly. “You’re the only one I’ll ever want.” 

He leans his head against you and takes a deep breath, your scent and the smell of the ocean around you filling his nostrils deeply. 

You both let the moment just simply sink in you, the sun rays bathing you in the warmest light, along with the presence of each other, which might be warmer than the sun any time of the day. 

“Only you, my girl,” he mumbles quietly. “Always and forever.” 

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

taglist: @oxpogues4lifexo / @drewstarkeys-world / @inthelibrarybtw / @mileyraes / @chenslucy / @totalswag / @wearemadeofstardust0 / @percysley / @superswaggycooch / @khaisdrz / @weirdowithnobeardo

specific tags for this fic: @writingmeraki / @ghoslyethastaryn / @congratsloserr / @helloloverz / @littlelamy / @eolsens / @wtfdudesblog / @jkrafe / @onlyrealjoy / @husherstan / @lilithblackkk / @sublimepenguinpeach-blog

tagging some moots: @runningfrom2am / @b1mb0slvt / @nemesyaaa / @ilyrafe / @zyafics / @jjsbank444 / @ladyinbl00d

[xxsquiddkiddxx]

Heels ~ Viktor x Reader

Pronouns for reader: She/Her

Relationship type: Platonic, romantic feelings, slight enemies to lovers if you unfocus your eyes a bit

General Idea: Viktor used to hate the sound of those damn boots of hers, but now he's grown to find an odd sense of comfort in the noise. Along with... a series of other feelings.

Content Warnings: Fluff, swearing, Viktor being sassy, s1 Viktor, Takes place between S1E3~E4, Viktor's kinda down bad but in a denial way, Viktor also isn't good at realizing he has feelings for the reader, Jayce needs a 32hr nap

A/N: My Viktor headcanons got a LOT more love than I thought they would... so I decided to write some more Viktor XD

(Nobody's POV, but it's mostly told. through Viktor's thoughts)

~☆~

The lab was pretty much silent. The only sounds heard were the sounds of Viktor tinkering with a Hextech device and the occasional flipping of pages as (Y/N) read some notes that Jayce had written. It was late, definetly past midnight as the two worked.

"(Y/N)," Viktor says, breaking the silence. The girl's head pops up at the sound of her name. "Come here for a second? I need a second pair of hands."

"Be right there." She says, finishing the page she was on. She stands up and walks towards him, the sound of her boots hitting the tile as she walks.

Clack

Click

Clack

Viktor used to hate the sound of her boots. "Those damn boots are so annoying," He had complained to Jayce during the first week of (Y/N) working as a part-time assistant. "Click clack click clack, drives me insane!" He had mocked before sighing.

"Viktor... don't both your boots AND your cane make that noise as well?"Jayce had responded, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smile. This made Viktor at a loss for words.

"Well... It's annoying when she does it!" He had sassed back in response, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

That was 3 years ago. Now, he found a weird sense of comfort in hearing the sound of her boots hit the floor. He couldn't explain why, enjoyment of familiarity maybe?

"What's up?" (Y/N) says, standing behind Viktor. The smell of her perfume was almost overwhelming to him, overloading his senses. Which was weird, seeings as it must've been almost 13 hours since she'd last applied perfume. And that doesn't last long... was he delusional? Or maybe just tired? Whatever. It doesn't matter.

"Yeah, I just need you to hold this in place." Viktor says, not even looking up from what he's doing. He gestures to a little piece of metal he's holding. (Y/N) leans over Viktor and holds the piece in place as requested. The scientist trys his best to ignore the feeling of her closeness and the racing of his heart... holy crap was it warm in here? It must've been. Although it seemed strange to him that it was magically warm in here all of a sudden. This spirals him into a memory, a memory that took place a little less than a week prior to now.

Viktor sat at his desk, for once not to work on Hextech, but to run his hands through his hair and stay deep in thought.

"Viktor?" Jayce asked. "Are you OK? You haven't been as focused as you normally are today. Did something happen?"

"I think... I think there's something genuinely wrong with me." Viktor says. "Like... maybe I'm coming down with something?? I don't know." Viktor stands up, leaning on his cane slightly for support.

"Oh?" Jayce asks, raising an eyebrow. "Could you, uh, possibly elaborate on that?"

"Well, for one everytime Ms.(L/N) comes near me I about have a damn heart attack." Viktor says, his cane clacking softly on the floor as he paces. "Like yesterday, perfect example. She accidently brushed my hand when she was passing me a paper and I actually thought I was dying."

Jayce suppresses a smile, trying not to laugh. Was Viktor really getting THIS worked up... over a little crush? "Oh?" Jayce says, still suppressing a smile. "Is that it?"

"Whenever she's near me, I swear to the gods that I become hyperaware of... like... everything." Viktor says. "Like the room feels warmer, her perfume or her shampoo is ALL I can smell, I'm almost convinced I know every single speckle of color in her eyes... I think I might actually be going crazy." Viktor says, stopping his pacing. "I'm positive. I've actually hit the breaking point and am decending into insanity."

Jayce now can't help but laugh. Maybe it was his lack of sleep from working on Hextech for days on end, maybe it was the seriousness in Viktor's voice about his "decent to madness." Jayce's laughter came out as almost wheezes due to how hard he was laughing.

Viktor throws his hands up in exasperatedness. "Jayce!" Viktor scolds. "This ISN'T funny! There's-"

This just makes Jayce laugh more and more. "Yes it is, Viktor." Jayce manages to say through wheezes. He's holding onto the desk for support as he laughs. It gets to the point where passersby become mildly concerned for the scientist's wellbeing. "I assure you you're not decending to madness."

"Then what the hell is going on????" Viktor exclaims, collapsing into his chair.

"Relax you just have a little crush, it's fine." Jayce says, wiping the tears of laughter away as he tries to steady his breathing.

"Viktor?" The sound of his name snaps him out of the memory. "You good? I think I said your name like five times." (Y/N) says with a chuckle. Viktor shakes his head slightly.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." Viktor says, continuing what he was doing. He tried to ignore the slight shake in his hands, the side of his own hand pressed against Ms. (L/N)'s own hand. When he's done. He about throws the screwdriver down. "Thank you for your assistance." Viktor says, the weight off his shoulders earning a little sigh of relief.

"Was that all you needed?" (Y/N) asks.

"I'm pretty sure, yeah." Viktor says. (Y/N) hums in response, walking over to her desk. Click, clack, click, clack. Her boots echo in the room. She grabs her coat and walks towards Viktor again.

"I'm gonna head out then." She says. Click, clack, click, clack. The sound of her boots ring in Viktor's head, a haunting sound that he didn't actually mind having on replay in his brain. "You should too soon." She says, her voice kind and soft.

Viktor's stomach feels like it's about to leap out of his body. Even though it was scientifically impossible, he couldn't help but worry about it. "I will soon." He says, the softness in his voice actually shocking him. Normally he'd just lie out his teeth and sleep in the lab, or not sleep at all. However, when he said that he would... he truly meant it. His eyes move away from the project and to (Y/N). "I'm just gonna finish this little bit up."

(Y/N) smiles, it's tired and small, but it's still a smile nonetheless. Seeing her smile along made the corners of his lips feel like they were moving on their own. He suppresses a smile the best he can, but it still shows on his face. "Goodnight, Viktor." She says, her voice still soft. She didn't speak full volume, and that for some reason made Viktor's heart rate skyrocket.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)." He says, the same tone and volume as (Y/N). She turns and walks out of the room. Click, clack, click, clack. He listens to the sound of her shoes until they completely fade out.

"Relax you just have a little crush, it's fine."

Viktor didn't have a crush on (Y/N)... did he?

~☆~

For more fics: my masterlist

Feel free to request fics!!!

~Squeed

[shinkei-shinto]

Let's see if I can add MORE confusion in with my previous close reading of every single book in the series so that I could write my own Redwall novel!*

I see that you OP have heard of The Cookbook but for everybeast else: there's a cookbook! Most of the recipes are extremely simplistic but we'll get to why I think that is in a second.

WRT dairy: they make mention of "greensap milk" and I don't think any of their cheese comes without nuts. In ahhhh the one with the badger and his hawk, they talk more deeply about how cheeses are made (after you have the cheese) including wrapping them in nettles. So I Guess So since it apparently acts Just Like Dairy Cheese.

Yes! We are! Society doesn't exist yet! If you look at the books in chronological order, they move from using spears and sharpened stakes to swords and daggers and simple bows, and - in the last couple of books - crossbows. There's only one smithy and it's made in a dormant/dead volcano. They're literally just not that advanced at this point (although who knows where this would have gone if Jacques had been able to continue!) In earlier books, he refers to various tribes of species all living together in groups, such as squirrels in bands of trees, or the molehill of the Longladle family. Actually circling back to this there *is* one society that sort of rises up as a "city" -- in the Rogue Crew. There's a group of peaceable beasts who all live (mixed!) together in an enclosed sort of fort. It's one of the only other mixed-species places that exist, besides the Abbey and technically Salamandastron. (does Martin's temporary home have other species? I can't remember.) So this is also why I think recipes are a little simplistic. While they have so many vegetables (and don't UTILIZE THEM why are potatoes ONLY USED IN DEEPER'N'EVER PIE!? HUH??!) I think we're given to assume those are local and grown in their own ground, and they don't. have. spices/trade/etc yet.

*I* think the only idea of 'currency' is 'the currency of goodbeasts to do slave labor'. I think this one I would lean more heavily into "he was telling these stories to children" as an excuse; kids don't want to hear about money and capitalism they want to hear about pirates and heroes. But I also find this aspect of society confusing so I was mostly glad we didn't have to deal with money.

There's a bread dimension. That's my only excuse. As far as we know, the Abbey is very large - the front gates are tall enough to admit a full sized ship on wheels (a casualty of one mast) which is able to roll fully into the Abbey, hit a tree, and stop, without ever coming within weapons range of the front doors. We know there are lawns on either side of this path, a graveyard, a small-to-medium-sized spring-fed-lake, and a generous orchard. I assume Jacques was modeling this after abbeys in Europe/England, which I don't know jack and shit about, but that they did live there year round. shrug? I will note that there is a scene in a book (no I don't remember which one) where a gardener explains to a peer that 'we don't plant or harvest it all at once because then we'd have a bumper crop of parsley and what use is that? by planting some seedlings now, some later, we will have parsley throughout the season instead' so he was thinking about it, at least, even if it doesn't quite work out to reality terms. but there's just a fucking bread dimension, there just has to be, there's not enough room to grow the plants needed nor mills to grind them nor processing or ever making or even mention of flour. I GUESS we could talk about nutflour and other flour-like-flowers which the mice would have access to but BREAD DIMENSION. This was my one concession in my writing, I gave myself an out here because it drove me NUTS.

I don't think Jacques ever thought about this. We get ONE instance of a mouse adopting a. rat? what the hell is he. I think he wasn't the same species, I don't remember that one well, but there's him and Tagg, and that's "otter adopted by vermin" which isn't quite this either. I think this is probably another "kids story concession" which isn't an answer I like to give but it's the best I've got.

ha! ha! he actually retconned this! if you read Redwall the first book, he makes mention of several species (beaver? horse) which are WIPED FROM EXISTENCE in the rest of the series. There is a cart drawn by a horse which makes it seem like the mice and rats are living in a world with humans & human-sized equipment but that is RETCONNED. I do think the trees vary in size because we have various scenes of "two maidens bound hand-to-hand around a tree to keep them confined for the night" and "tied all [4-6?] of the vermin together with their belts, around a tree" in various locations in Mossflower and its environs. I don't? think? we ever hear of trees large enough to be giants to mice like they would in our reality. an addendum to this: I have never bloody been able to figure out the size of the fish. shrimps are the size of shrimp to us because otters eventually 'Skipper popped one in his mouth' in the kitchens which gives us an idea of how large they are to otters, at least. but fish??? ha. HA! we have the feast-day fish catching where multiple beasts are needed to reel in a huge trout or carp. we have pike, which are enormous man-eaters (mice-eaters?) but can also be beat to shit by a big otter and his rudder (Lord Brocktree iirc) and there is one kept as a tame uh, "pet", by an otter tribe. there is ALSO the wolf question. Gods know I don't remember which one this is but there's a book where a ... big fox? i think he is? is up far north, and he finds a dead wolf? and takes its skull and pelt and puts knives in for the claws? or some such. so we DO have extra-large-predators like wolves and wolverine, but then when we get. to the wildcats. oh the wildcats. they drive me NUTS. by rights they should be as big as badgers? when Martin fights Verdauga it feels like Martin is half the size of the cat? but then in every other way the cats seem to be as big as otters! or hares! uugghhh. BIRDS TOO birds are WILDLY inconsistent in size, I don't know how a mouse helps an osprey re-set his wing nor how a mousebabe rides on a flying eagle's head without disappearing.

do I have any burning questions still. hmm. OH I want to know what they make! their clothing! out of!!! WHAT IS IT. I also want answers about the far west, the scorpion??? and lizards??? as well as what the other side of the continent towards the east looks like, because in Martin's history we get to visit that coast AND we learn of several locations (TM) like Noonvale, which are never referred to again.

which BLOWS MY MIND because he made Brockhall + Castle Kotir literally affect the landscape temporally throughout his books. Brockhall is discovered and rediscovered and lost again and again, and Kotir eventually rises from the dead to menace the Abbey wall because fucking Germaine built a wall over the top of it when it sank into a mire. MA'AM. Even when we get to Doomwyte, the cavern they are in is a cavern mentioned in earlier texts! this is not our first interaction with the deep deep fissure in the earth that emits green gas!!!

oh and The Tapestry. I have so many questions about the tapestry. canonically the image of Martin was sewn by his (mother? wife? someone) and preserved through many things to eventually be set as the 'cornerstone' for the tapestry. And it "depicts vermin fleeing from him in all directions" and his "calm easy face" which seems to smile at Redwallers etc etc. but then. the SWORD. sometimes it it set next to the tapestry which to me makes sense; held vertically along the side it is accessible to many but not to babes. I don't think it is ever placed below the tapestry. but it IS placed ABOVE and there is a part where a goodbeast does acrobatic parkour to SNATCH IT FROM THE NAILS and I want to know HOW??? how big is the tapestry. how did you get that. is it landscape or portrait. what. WHAT. also where did the shield go! where did the sheath go! those were so important aaagaggghhhhhh.

Okay that's it I think I'm done. I hope any of this was useful or amusing, or better yet caused more chaos and questions 👍

^* I did in fact write most of this, 50k/100k words over two NaNos, but I could never get anyone to fucking read it or give me any feedback, despite handing out the first fifteen chapters to like seven people, so I lost steam. So if you're reading this and going "wow! I sure would like to read even more Redwall content and I would LOVE to get into in-depth discussions of shit in a fanbook, this sounds like a great way to build community," HI PICK ME.

hobbies include: close reading the Redwall series to answer my most burning questions. such as:

- can I replicate any of these delicious-sounding foodstuffs and would they in fact be delicious if I was able to

- corollary to the above: are we just supposed to read “oat cream” and “nut cheese” every time we see the words “cream” and “cheese”? I think so. bc if not, what tha hell are their livestock animals

- what is Society like? I don’t think we ever see a Mouse City or even Mouse Town though we do see castles and obviously an abbey. are we supposed to believe that most creatures are either in wandering bands or these societies based around a single structure (castle/abbey?)

- they appear to have an idea of what currency is (the bad guys always want treasure — maybe just to have, not to sell? but less ambiguous is some dialogue I just read, “acorn for your thoughts?” “you can have them for free”) but again, we never see anyone using money or making goods for the market. is this after the fall of Mouse Capitalism? are the bad guys (the idea of rat pirates gives me a headache, vis a vis the political/economic systems needed to power piracy) raiding preindustrial mouse societies for treasure/meat?

- corollary to the above: the abbey creatures have oats and wheat but we don’t see anybody farming or trading for farm goods on a large enough scale. is the abbey “orchard” really a like an indigenous forest farm of mixed foodstuffs? is that possible if you live in the same place the whole year or only if you travel each season? I have to do some googling

- both the lack of mixed-species families and the idea of mixed-species families give me a headache. has a squirrel never fallen for a handsome otter? what is the culture shock like if you marry into a subterranean mole family?

- this is the least “important” question but this read through I’ve been desperately trying to figure out What Size Everything Else Is. i’ve come to the conclusion that everything other than animals are at mouse scale, given that they can make seaworthy vessels their own size (a mouse sized vessel with real-world-sized waves seems impossible) and pick and eat apples and plums. but so far it seems like they’ve avoided mentioning how tall trees are — like a person compared to a tree or a mouse compared to a tree?

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 12: The One Where We Start Laying the Yellow Brick Road to Italy

I realized the other day that, even though I like to bounce around from place to place in the Lukola timeline, I probably needed to start tightening things up on the ship if I ever wanted to get to the end of the story. And, yes, dammit, this story better have a finale at some point because there’s nothing more annoying than an open-ended ending, particularly in the romance genre.

Today we’re going to take a quick jaunt over to Italy because –

NO! Not because Luke is allegedly filming there. If you’re into real-time stalking, you’re in the wrong blog. But, I’m sure there’s a Discord for that.

It’s because I’ve had several people ask for my opinion about the change in behavior between Luke and Nicola during their Day 1 interviews there. Wait – people are interested in my thoughts? Wow, that’s actually kind of nice. Thank you! Okay, back to what I was saying –

Was there a change in behavior when Luke and Nicola reached Italy? Yeah, actually, there kind of was.

By May 9, we had been gifted with a slew of material from Luke, Nicola, and the Bridgerton cast and, I must admit, those early interviews are some of the most entertaining of the tour. In the very beginning, Nicola appeared as the utmost professional – charming, intelligent, and witty at the right moments – and Luke played her likeable counterpart to “Book Colin” perfection – bouncing between being awkwardly boyish and wickedly roguish, all while looking at Nicola like she had just served him homemade peanut butter crumble.

The two of them together, playing off each other, in my opinion, was better than Bridgerton Season 3 (you cannot beat the World Tour being 99% Luke and Nicola, with only a few random side characters taking up screentime). There was some major “Electric Love” radiating from those two throughout the tour, but it seemed very much heightened in the beginning (probably because they hadn’t yet answered the same question 67 times). By the way, if you haven’t heard that song by Børns, go have a listen. It will, at the very least – hopefully – put you in an upbeat mood for the day.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes – was there a change in behavior between Luke and Nicola when they reached Italy?

Absolutely.

Do I know why?

Absolutely not.

Perhaps Luke was bent because someone spilled his coffee, or Nicola was upset because her stylist made her to wear that little silver bow in her hair. In my opinion, the most intriguing part of Day 1 of the Italy press junket was that Luke and Nicola struggled with answering the question, “What is love?” I swear they both babbled on like two kids in debate class who hadn’t bothered to read the material given to them before taking their respective podiums. They finally seemed to settle on Luke’s “Maybe it’s, like, connection.” Well, they seemed to be missing the “connection” that day.

Honestly, no one can explain their “don’t stand so close to me” vibe during those first day interviews except Luke and Nicola. But, we can at least have some fun and speculate about it with a bird’s eye view. At this point, you should know that I love spreading the puzzle pieces out and seeing how they might all connect. Most people – when putting a puzzle together – start with the side pieces, right? You’ll get my joke in a moment (I hope).

In March 2024 – I don’t know the specific date because my timeline is rather murky going back that far (I was unaware Lukola even existed!) – Luke traveled to Los Angeles for a photo spread with InStyle magazine. I’ve heard two versions of this story. The first being that Luke traveled to Los Angeles with Antonia alone; the second being that he traveled to Los Angeles with his friend group, which included Antonia. I couldn’t tell you which is true, and it really doesn’t matter because it doesn’t necessarily add or take away from today’s story.

Before I get started, I wanted to give a “hurrah” to The-One-Whose-Group-Chat-Fills-in-Lots-of-Missing-Bits-for-Me-Including-the-Part-Where-Video-Footage-of-Antonia-in-Los-Angeles-Seemed-to-Indicate-a-Celebrity-Was-Not-the-Videographer-and-There-Were-So-Many-British-Accents-in-the-Background-One-Would-Fancy-a-Guess-She-was-Traveling-with-a-Group.

Moving along…

On April 7, 2024, Antonia posted a series of photographs and clips to her Instagram grid indicating she had been in Los Angeles, including one where she was laying on a blanket in front of the Griffith Observatory and one where she was sitting at a table marked with the number “95.” On April 14, she posted a second set of photographs, tagging her location as Beverly Hills, California and using “End of Beginning” as her audio (yes, I side-eyed this choice of music so don’t feel bad if you did as well). The second photo dump included her lounging on a rooftop.

I’m not going to delve into posts made by Luke and Nicola during that timeframe. I mean, I’m sure Nicola’s comment, “’Friends’…sure Jan,” on Luke’s April 11 reshared post about Bridgerton Season 3 was only meant to be applicable to Polin. And, if Luke wanted to use yellow and black hearts to represent the colors Nicola and he were wearing in his April 12 post, that’s cool, too. And, I am definitely not going to speculate on Nicola’s April 15 post (for Big Mood) that Luke liked, and she captioned, “I will bite off anything that dangles.”

By April 21, Luke and Nicola were in Australia at the World Premiere of Bridgerton. I am only going to provide a quick overview of Australia instead of a full-fledged recital because, at some point, I will almost certainly dedicate an entry to this country. Let’s start with Luke pulling off the hottest walk-up in Netflix human history (I mean, have you watched it in slow motion?). Then, we had the hard launch of the handholding business (because why again?). And, we had Luke tripping over his words, “We’re very, like, giving…I’m not talking about those scenes…” Oh, and Nicola telling an interviewer that, “[y]ou can’t keep a good girl down,” and, in response, Luke’s lips curling into a wicked-ass Cheshire cat's. We had them in the garden, with Nicola bending down to hug Luke after she had scratched/hit/petted his head. Perhaps I should not mention the possibility of a man’s shirt being visible on a bed behind Nicola (I said possibility not that it was). And, Nicola telling Luke, “You’re the funnier one,” when he was concerned that perhaps Benedict was funnier than Colin. Then we had the “Nicola-in-the-green-dress” day where, as they were going down the steps, Luke seemed to instinctively reach for Nicola’s hand, but she played it cool and took his arm instead. Oh, and that entire “green dress” day in general (I mean, there was so much shit going on that day). And, best we do not forget Nicola saying, “the best foundation for love is friendship,” which mirrored the bracelet “someone…in Australia” gave Luke that read, “Do you believe the best foundation for love is friendship?” Because that’s not suspicious at all. Alright, let’s get the fuck out of Australia – but not before I mention Nicola commenting on Luke’s April 27 Instagram post with “Ready for the next?” and Luke replying, “Absolutely.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, their shenanigans in Australia expanded the USS Lukola tenfold.

Oh, also, let me throw this in here because, if you are a “ring truther,” this fact plays a significant role in the Lukola timeline. If you do not know what a “ring truther” is, that’s perfectly fine. You can catch up by reading Entry 6 (The One Where I Explained the Claddagh Ring to My Dad) of my blog. I mentioned in Entry 6 that some Lukola sleuths have stated the metadata they pulled from the sketches of the Claddagh ring uploaded by Chupi indicate they were done as early as April 26. In other words, it means the Claddagh was likely commissioned between Australia and Italy. In fact, if we are to believe Chupi when it said it took four weeks to make the ring, then it had to have been commissioned by May 9, 2024, at the latest. Oh, lookie there, that’s Day 1 of the Italy interviews.

But, before we get to May 9, let’s pause on April 29. That was the day Luke’s InStyle spread was published – yes, the one I mentioned earlier. Luke has pictures from this photoshoot still on his Instagram grid – in fact, Nicola commented, “Yess dude!!” on them – but those aren’t the pictures I want to talk about. No, I want to talk about the pictures InStyle posted on its Instagram grid that day. These photographs came directly from Luke, which was confirmed by the InStyle article when it said, “…the actor delighted the InStyle team by delivering the polaroid photos he’d taken for this story tucked oh-so-carefully in a little brown bag for safekeeping.” The pictures Luke provided, among others, included one where he was laying on a blanket in front of the Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles; one where he was sitting at a table marked with the number “95;” and one where he is sitting in a lounge chair on a rooftop. If you want to see the pictures, InStyle still has them available – you just need to go through hundreds of posts to find them. Luke did not like this InStyle post, which was kind of odd because he was tagged in it, and they were reportedly his pictures.

Why did these InStyle polaroids seem so familiar?

Oh, that’s right, because they were.

Remember that April 7 post of Antonia’s I mentioned a bit ago? Yeah, the one where Antonia posted a bunch of random pictures from Los Angeles and – only after InStyle posted Luke’s polaroids – fans realized Antonia had preemptively posted her version of some of Luke’s polaroids.

I am not going to speculate too much about these pictures or their implications in this blog post, but these pictures may resurface in future posts because I find myself side-eyeing the fact they even exist. And, we should probably accept that Luke was aware of them before his pictures came out on April 29 because he threw a like on Antonia’s April 7 post. Could it have been a “blind” like? Sure, I guess, but the logical side of my brain says he probably looked through them at the time she posted. Let’s not worry too much about it right now, though.

After trying to write out my “general” opinion about the pictures several times, I finally decided that the best way I could articulate my thoughts was through the conversation I had with my father. Yes, Dear Dad returns again for another insightful Q&A.

I started by showing Luke and Antonia’s three “matchy” pictures to my dad and then asked him to compare them. To be clear, the pictures were their respective Griffith Observatory, Table 95, and Rooftop Lounging pictures.

Me: “So what do you think?”

Dad: “About what?”

Me: “Ugh! Why did Antonia take those pictures?”

Dad: “Well, to show she’s part of the ‘in’ crowd. The only reason I can see them being taken is if she was going to put them on the Internet.”

Me: “Uhh, as a matter of fact, she did put them on the Internet! Approximately three weeks before Luke’s were published.”

Dad: “See! I’m not as dumb as you think.”

Me: “Whatever. So, you really believe that? She took them to show people that she was, like, there?”

Dad: “Yeah. Why else would she take them? They’re not the kind of photos you’d take normally. What’s she going to do, put them in an album and show her friends in five years and say, ‘Look, I sat in Luke’s chair?’ Who does that? Nobody. Plus, Luke’s pictures look like they were taken with a polaroid camera and Antonia took hers with, I guess, a phone. Why use two different cameras? Again, it doesn’t make sense. Seems to me like she knew what pictures he was taking, and she was trying to copy them so she could put them on the Internet.”

Thanks, Dad.

You do not have to accept my father’s thoughts on the photographs. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. However, I think we can meet in the middle and opine that, at a minimum, Antonia’s pictures caused the weak Lukolas to jump overboard; at most, they gave some people stalker vibes; and somewhere in between, they introduced Antonia's negative influence over the fandom and what some may consider trolling behavior (even if it wasn’t recognized then).

Now, before we land in Italy on May 9, let’s summarize what has happened during the preceding two months.

First, we had Luke traveling to Los Angeles in March with Antonia, either alone or as part of a friend group. Luke had pictures of himself taken while there.

Second, we had Antonia posting pictures in early April that would be linked directly to Luke’s pictures by the end of the month.

Third, throughout the month of April, we had Luke and Nicola traveling together for the World Tour. We have all seen these interviews, and we have all formed independent opinions about them.

Fourth, based on Chupi’s own words, we know the Claddagh ring must have been commissioned no later than May 9.

Okay, now we’ve reached May 9, Day 1 of the Italy press junket.

Besides the press interviews, what happened on that day?

Well, Antonia reposted Luke singing Coldplay’s “Yellow” to her TikTok account.

Uhh… Huh. Interesting.

I mean, it’s possible that this was just a coincidence and she just liked Luke’s version of it. Or, it’s possible Antonia knew that “Yellow” was the Polin wedding song and she anticipated trolling Nicola and/or the fandom with it. But, if we believe she knew “Yellow” was the Polin wedding song, that means either Luke told her, or someone with that knowledge told her (i.e., someone from Luke’s team or family/friend group). We also know that Luke mentioned this song in the May 16, 2022 Netflix Tudum article when Nicola and he were asked about their song choices for Season 3. Luke stated his frontrunner was “Yellow” by Coldplay “because of Penelope’s dresses.” Regardless of why Antonia posted the song, I find it hard to imagine Netflix, Bridgerton, Shondaland, Nicola, or Luke were too impressed by Antonia resharing it on TikTok. I mean, at this point, Netflix & Co. would surely have been aware that Antonia’s “copycat post” went over with the fandom like a wet blanket in December in Canada. I imagine some questions were being asked and Luke may very well have received a hand slap from Corporate – and maybe even from Nicola.

But, that’s not the only thing that happened on May 9.

Luke posted his Homme magazine spread to his Instagram grid on that day, too. He captioned the post, “Chatting through all things S3 with @hommeplusmag [o]ut next week x.” Nicola commented, “Yessss,” and Luke tagged his post with the location of Hackney, London. That last part – about Luke tagging the location in Hackney – apparently sent the fandom into a deep-dive of…Nicola’s backyard. Why? Because Nicola lives in Hackney (Nicola herself confirmed she lived in Hackney in a March 18, 2024 interview with Derry Now), and rumors started to circulate that Luke’s pictures were taken at her home.

Hmm, I didn’t realize May 9 was such a busy day, did you?

So, which came first – the chicken or the egg? Did Antonia repost “Yellow” to her TikTok before Luke posted his Homme in Hackney images to Instagram, or vice versa? I’m sure someone out there has this information. The answer might help shine some light as to why Luke and Nicola seemed “off” in the early part of their Day 1 Italy interviews. But, then again, does the order really matter? Regardless of who posted first, it would seem to me that “Yellow” was a very possible culprit for the different energy on set that day.

That, or Luke really was peeved over someone spilling his coffee.

[the-darklings]

Oh god please write the timebomb fic!!! (or several lol)

ೀ pairing: ekko/jinx

ೀ wc: 5k

ೀ summary: "Always a dance with you, huh?" Or: two years after the battle versus Noxus, Ekko receives an unexpected visitor.

ೀ author notes: ask and you shall receive!!! I wrote this in one sitting in some weird ass haze and barely edited it, but this is the most fun I had in a long while so I hope you enjoy!!!

ೀ read it on ao3 | listen to the playlist

The first few days after the battle, Ekko doesn’t rest. He barely sleeps or eats, or allows himself time to think. 

He can’t. 

There’s too much to do. The dead are in their dozens. His Firelights took a major hit, and he knows that for the next few months his fingers will be numb from painting their pictures on the mural day in and out. So many who could have lived but didn’t. So many could have had better futures. But if he just runs, if he keeps pushing on, he can outrun these regrets and his grief, too. This way, he doesn’t remember Vi’s heartbroken expression when she pulled him into a bone-crushing hug after the fight, blood and sweat still clinging to her, her words choked when she told him—

Four seconds. 

He could have saved her. He would have hauled her snarky ass out of that tunnel, ripped that bomb from her hands. He would have—

He runs from those thoughts, too. They suffocate him, and Ekko has too much to fix to be suffocated by his grief right now. 

He sure as hell didn’t fight for Piltover. He fought for Zaun, for Firelights. Because he knew Ambessa Medarda would never settle for anything other than complete subjugation. She would have destroyed Ekko’s home. She was already busy murdering and imprisoning their people, and nothing but complete eradication would have followed in her wake. 

Ekko did it for… her. The blue-haired symbol of defiance, of uprising. A loud declaration that they won’t live under Piltover’s oppression forever, that they’ll reach greater things one day and won’t be silenced. They won’t wait for permission to breathe again. It’s what she would have wanted, he convinces himself, even though part of him knows Jinx would have enjoyed the chaos of the fight more. Or maybe not. Not since that little girl. Not since he had to save her from herself over and over again, only to lose her anyway. 

Undercity mourns her. Her visage is everywhere. Jinx the Saviour. She would have hated it, he thinks wryly. She never got to see just how loved she was. 

Maybe he should have grabbed her and ran away. Maybe he should have let the world go to hell and saved her instead. The thought, born of fatigue, lingers only for a few fleeting seconds, a rare moment of selfishness amidst a day spent fixing the world around him. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. If only he had tried harder when they were kids and saved her from Silco. If only he didn’t give up on her. 

She’s always been his biggest maybe. And now they’ll never be more. Not this version of them. Never him and her as they were. 

Aw, are you gonna mope now, boy saviour?

“You’re not here.”

It punches clean through his chest. The realisation of it. The sheer, horrible weight. He’ll never see her again. 

Constants and variables, Benzo told him once. Constants and variables, young Ekko.

A week after the battle versus Noxus, Ekko sinks to his knees inside his room, exhausted and heartbroken, and sobs. 

.

Things begin to settle. Slowly, at first, the city might have been gutted after the battle but not destroyed, the morale low but hopeful. Hexgates are gone, and Ekko is glad when he finds out. He doesn’t want to see or hear anything about the arcane for a while. No magic in the world could fix the pain festering in his chest. 

Sevika, Silco’s old second-in-command and once his sworn enemy, comes to him two weeks after the attack. 

“They’re making me a council member,” she says, grunting when she falls into the tiny wooden chair inside his room. 

She’s always been a threatening figure, power rippling from every shift of her body, but Ekko isn’t sure he wants to fight anyone right now. Nor does she seem interested in strangling him. She lights a cigarette, her scarred features set in a fearsome scowl. 

“And?” he asks for anything better to say. “How is that any of my business?”

Sevika exhales through her nose, reminding him of an angry bull, all smoke and steely resolve. “I’m the only one presenting Zaun or her interests.” 

Ekko almost rolls his eyes. Of course she is. The Council is simply falling over themselves to fix the situation. After months of harassment and oppression, false arrestments and beatings, they asked them to bleed for Piltover and its interests with nothing but the bare minimum courtesy extended towards them afterwards.

“I could use you, kid,” Sevika continues, and Ekko forces his anger away, loosening his fists. “Exactly for that reaction. You’re smart as hell, and been a pain in my ass for years. Pilties will try to walk all over us again in a few months’ time. You and I both know it. We gotta beat them in their own game. Not let them silence us again. I could use someone like you. Be my adviser. You’ll have a direct line to the Council. We’ll make an actual change. It’s better than whatever this is.”

Ekko’s expression sours at her words while Sevika’s gaze flicks around his room in contemplation. He works all day to a point of exhaustion, then passes out. It’s the only way he’s been able to continue, day in and day out. Being in a leadership position means you can’t take time off to grieve. Too many people are relying on him. It’s bad enough that he accidentally abandoned his people for months without meaning to. The guilt he still feels over everything has been nearly suffocating. 

It’s a good gig, hero! You should do it and be a thorn in her side.

Ekko blinks the flash of blue from his vision, rubbing his brow just as Sevika adds: “It’s what she would have wanted, you know.”

A jolt of electricity runs through him. Everyone, even Vi, has been avoiding mentioning Jinx in front of him.  

His jaw clenches. “You don’t know that.”

“Kid, I know what not letting go looks like,” she says, and it almost sounds compassionate, or as close to it as someone like her can get. “We had our differences in the past, I know as much—”

“You killed my people,” Ekko snaps. “Do you know how many lives you destroyed with Shimmer?”

“Sure do,” she replies listlessly, smoke billowing past her lips. “I won’t try to justify my actions to you. But y’know, when you were gone, Jinx united Zaun in a way I haven’t seen since Vander. Beats me how she did it, but people believed in her. Even your Firelights.”

It mirrors everything he’s seen and heard for weeks. Jinx freeing their people, Jinx the Saviour, the beacon for their new future. The one who set and lived by extreme examples, who made Piltover back off and take the Undercity seriously. Because they all finally realised that there can never be peace without a fight. She should be here to fight this battle with him. Ekko should be busy arguing with her that blowing up another building will not make things right. He shouldn’t be walking around with her ghost a step behind him, tormenting him with ideas of what could and should have been. 

“And now she’s dead!”

His ears ring, his chest heaves, and he clutches his thudding heart, willing it back in its cage. He didn’t mean to come undone so easily. 

“Yeah. Yeah, she is,” Sevika says, and there’s a grimness to her when she says it, an unexpected pain buried somewhere deep in her gruff voice that makes Ekko see her differently. “I get it.”

“No,” he whispers, pained. “You don’t.”

.

Seven months pass before Ekko finally picks up a brush for her. 

He sleeps better at night but not without nightmares. Not without remembering Powder from the alternative universe and how they danced. How sweet her kiss felt. Not without that memory smearing to finding Jinx with a grenade in her hand, again, ready to disappear, go somewhere he could never reach her. 

Ekko still hears the detonation in his ears, over and over, on a sickening loop. His mind likes to torture him with ideas he failed to save her. That no matter what he does, or how he mends time, she’s forever out of reach. His blue beacon, his lighthouse he can never find in the depthless ocean of reality. 

Many have drawn her, but he still thinks that no one knows the exact hue of her hair or the wicked shine in her eyes better than him. He’s spent an entire lifetime examining them, looking for them in a sea of thousands. 

Their city is rebuilding. He agreed to Sevika’s request after a few days of contemplation. Caitlyn Kiramman’s expression when he ambled into the Council room was worth the additional burden now on his shoulder. But she’s changed too, matured, and now fills her position as the Council’s leader well. 

Ekko won’t forget how she allowed his friends to be imprisoned, tortured, and, in some cases, killed, but her regret made her side with him and Sevika more often than not during voting, and maybe he could at least one day forgive her. Another maybe. For Vi, if nothing else, who clearly loves the blue-haired woman fiercely. 

The barren wall stares at him. He’s painted Powder before, but this is different. One day, his friend, his dearest friend, was simply gone. Without a goodbye, in a wake of tragedy. The life Ekko once had disintegrated beneath his feet overnight. Benzo killed. Vander dead. Mylo and Claggor too. Vi died as well. Or so he believed for years. Powder was missing until a different knife was delivered to him weeks later, when the word on the street spread about Silco being seen with a little girl with blue hair. 

Ekko sighs, hanging his head. The city is healing, but he isn’t, or at least not as quickly. 

He runs his hand over the white wall, picturing Jinx as he saw her last, those precious hours between talking her down from the abyss and their joint attack on Noxian forces. It felt so good to rely on her again, to stand with her, side by side. As natural as breathing. 

You’re the order to my chaos, hero. 

“Leave me alone,” he says quietly, head hung low. “It’s been months.”

A figment of Jinx chortles, arms crossed over her chest as she leans back against the wall. You would get bored to death without me. Ha! Get it? 

Shooting a glare at her, Ekko picks up a brush, his fingers quivering. Tears burn in his eyes when he dips the brush into the paints he painstakingly mixed. He works, and works, until his eyes are dry and his wrist hurts. Ekko doesn’t stop until he loses light and when he steps back, he is looking at Jinx. Equal parts chaos and something ethereal. 

He wipes angrily across his mouth when he tastes saltiness pooling there and goes home. 

There’s no sleep that night. 

.

Time is a strange thing. It weaves and flows. Without his Z-Drive, he has no control over it. Time simply goes on, and he’s the passenger in a vehicle he doesn’t want to move. 

He’s important these days. He’s one of the few bright minds still left, and he’s endlessly busy with something. City of Progress needs every mind that can be spared. Wounds heal, and time dulls the memory, but not everything is so easily forgotten. Piltover moves quicker, but the Undercity erects a statue for Jinx beside Vander’s. He sees Vi at the ceremony, and they exchange strained smiles. They speak sometimes, but it’s not as often as it used to be. They’re both dealing with their grief the best they can.

At least Vi has Cait. Ekko has nothing but a cold bed and purpose. 

He and Sevika make a good team. It almost makes him wonder what could have been in a universe where they were on the same side from the start. His Zaun, cracked but not broken, is resembling the bright version of the Zaun and Piltover he saw in the alternative verse. There're years of work still left, but there’s something like hope in him, fragile and misplaced as it might be. 

A year passes. Then two. He visits the graves; he lights candles for those lost. Some days Ekko sees her, other days he doesn’t. He hopes for a glimpse, even when he knows he shouldn’t. It should be easier to let go of what you never had, right? 

His mural for Jinx grows. Other faces join her, people who died believing in her, surrounding the one they placed their trust in. And, at the centre of it all, her, her, her. 

Still her. 

Always her. 

. 

He’s not sure what arouses him. He hasn’t slept well in years, perpetual exhaustion clinging to him like a shawl. Some would call it the weight of living, no doubt. 

There’s a shift in the air, a disturbance that’s not enough to make Ekko jolt awake and reach for a weapon, but enough to make his eyes flutter open. He breathes the cool air, pushing his grogginess away. 

There’s a shape at the foot of his bed. Small and round. It takes several seconds for his vision to adjust, for him to realise that a hooded figure sits perched on his bed, knees pulled to their chest.

Ekko hasn’t had to rely on his battle instincts in two years, but there’s enough left in him to attack without hesitation. His fingers tangle in the cloak, shoving the figure down, his knee pressing harshly into their abdominal, hands seeking the intruder’s throat—

“Wow, little man, you sure know how to roll out the welcoming mat,” the all too familiar voice drawls before his fingers tighten instinctively around the slender, warm throat. 

A haggard breath forces from Ekko’s parted mouth. In the wild struggle, the stranger’s hood has slipped down, revealing a familiar face with a startling crop of blue hair. His heart squeezes painfully, forcing him away from Jinx’s apparition. 

“Leave me alone,” he croaks, rubbing his eyes till his vision swims. “Just leave me alone! I don’t want to see you anymore!”

“Huh, fine. I thought after two years, the welcome would be a tad warmer. Brrr.”

Ekko pushes himself to his feet, stumbling away, watching warily as the young woman sits back up, picking at her messy hair. She looks different. A little older than Jinx from his visions or memories. Her hair is longer, though nowhere near the same length she once had braided into two twin braids. She swings her leg back and forth, another pulled up to her chest while she watches him. And… her eyes. Ekko was the last person to see her with blue eyes before their battle on the bridge. The last time he saw Jinx alive, they were a dangerous, burning violet. 

Now, even with the shade of the night, they’re a muddy mix between the blue he once knew, and the piercing violet that made her so deadly. As if that restless edge in her has calmed down and settled. 

Ekko’s chest heaves as he stumbles back a step. 

“Soooo—” she begins.

“You’re alive.”

Jinx shrugs her shoulders. “Yup. Clearly. In the flesh even,” she crows, but it’s more muted when compared to the wildness he once faced off against. 

His hand flies to his stomach, and Ekko distantly wonders if he’s about to throw up in front of a girl he’s spent his entire life loving. 

Mercifully, his stomach settles, but his heart beats so loudly he can hear the blood rushing in his skull. 

“You’re alive,” he repeats, harder this time. “It’s been two years.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t offer more than that, but there’s a shadow over her narrow face. She’s healthier. There’s more weight on her bones, her skin has lost some of the pallidness. As if someone took Powder and Jinx, split them clean down the middle, and fused them into one body. Stronger, more self-reassured, less teetering on the brink. 

“Would have written but mail is crappy where I was,” she jokes, her voice a familiar, drawling litany. “Besides, this is so much more mysterious—”

He closes the distance between them in two steps. His room isn’t big but he would have walked, ran, sprinted if needed to close the distance between them. His arms wrap around her and Ekko squeezes her so tightly he hears a small breath escape Jinx. She’s solid and warm. Smells faintly of sea and something metallic. Ekko buries his face in the soft crook of Jinx’s neck, gasping for breath. 

“Woah, hero, you’re gonna break my ribs,” she whispers, but her arms wind around him, more careful, unsure. “I thought you hated me?”

Even when he releases her, Ekko’s hands linger on her, go to her face, examining her through the crack of light illuminating his room. 

“I saw you,” he breathes, devastated. “I saw you everywhere. I hoped to see you everywhere.”

Something flickers over her face, an unknown thing, secretive and distant as she’s always felt to him. 

“Geez, seeing things? And they call me crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.”

There’s such vehemence in his voice it startles them both. Jinx nibbles on her inner cheek, searching his face cautiously. “I thought you’d be mad.”

Ekko laughs, a low huff of amusement. “Do you think I care for you so little, huh?”

Too late he realises he’s without a shirt, and is, in fact, mostly bare before the girl he’s harboured a crush on for years. Near boyish shyness forces Ekko back, making him clear his throat. His hands tremble when he reaches for a discarded t-shirt, hoping it doesn’t smell bad when he pulls it over his head. When he glances at her over his shoulder, Jinx is still there, still watching him, though there’s a thoughtful air around her. 

When she notices him looking, she offers him a sarcastic grin.

“No need to get shy, stud.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles.

He plops down on his unmade bed, watching her watch him. Her face is half hidden by her arms propped on her bent knee, but the silence between them isn’t awkward. They’re taking each other in, taking in the changes that have touched them both in the last two years.

“Why come back now?” he asks, eventually. 

Jinx blinks, near feline-like, dropping her head back to stare at his ceiling as if it may offer an answer. “I’m a crappy friend, but not that crappy. Happy birthday, wonder boy.”

There’s a creak in his heart, a lightness in his ribcage, a balloon of affection despite their troubled history that inflates just for her. “You remember my birthday?”

She makes a sound at the back of her throat. Glances at him from the corner of her eye. “Well, we picked it together, silly, so sure I do.” Shadows fall over her features when she angles her head away. “I… I never thought I would come back—that it was better this way.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Something close to a smile ghosts over her face at his response. Ekko can’t rip his gaze away from her. He fears that if he does, he’ll wake up and she’ll be gone again, and he’ll have to relive the agony of losing her again. 

“Does Vi—”

“No. No. And it’s better this way.”

“But—”

“Drop it, Ekko. Please.”

He does. Because this is too good to be true, and he doesn’t want this to end. Emotions mix inside him, battling for dominance, so he sits there, letting them all wash over him. 

“You’ve been busy,” she says abruptly, nodding her head in the general direction of the outside world. “Their new wonder boy. I’m not surprised. You’ve always been good at creating things. Good things.”

“And you’ve always been good at fixing them,” he says. 

Ekko thinks back on the countless times she helped him to fix up old rubbish others have discarded and sell them in Benzo’s shop as small treasures. It feels, now, like a lifetime ago. In a sense, it has been. 

She snorts; it’s an ugly, hateful sound. “Not always.”

There’s weight to how she says it. Pain lingers in each syllable, more so a whispered confession. She’s thinking of others, those lost through accidents or her own direct involvement. 

“I’m sorry about Isha,” Ekko says carefully, thumb pressing into the hollow of his bare knee. He itches to take her hand, to smooth his thumb over her knuckles instead, but he doesn’t. She’s never been his to touch. “Vi told me about her.”

Jinx shrinks, turning away and he mentally curses. A sore spot even years later. Understandably so. 

“I… shit. Sorry.”

“What’s with the long face?” she exclaims suddenly, jumping to her feet and twirling. Her hands drop to her hips and she grins at him, all mischief. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here.”

Ekko squints. “Uh, what?”

“It’s your birthday, silly,” she says, like it should be obvious. “We’re going to spend the day together.”

.

Jinx keeps her hood up, her gait steady. Any sign of blue tucked away. She’s changed her attire to draw less attention, and as they walk in the hazy dawn light towards the bridge separating the sister cities, it feels almost normal. Casual. Not at all like the last time they spoke, they were about to fight side by side in a battle for their lives. Not at all like he spent two years thinking she’s dead. That still stings, but knowing how she felt back then, the state she was in before he talked her down from the edge, the pain she’s been through, Ekko can’t bring himself to feel resentful. He only wants to hold her and tell her it’ll be okay because she’s not alone. 

“You’re not saying, are you?” he asks, hands in his pockets. 

“Nope,” she replies, popping the p. “Can’t.”

Words rush to his tongue. Insistence that she can and should stay—that there’s space here for her, not just in his life, but in the new Zaun he’s helping to shape. He almost admits it to her then. That he’s built this for her and the ones they lost along the way. 

Ekko continues walking, staring at the ground, noticing too late she’s fallen behind. He peers over his shoulder and freezes when he notices what’s caught her attention. The mural. Welcoming anyone coming into Zaun. Her face, slightly younger but now immortalised, peers back at them. 

“You drew this.”

He loosens a breath. “Yeah, I did. I, uh, just…”

Jinx reaches for her own face, fingertips ghosting over the painted wall. There’s tension on her face when she turns to look at him, something piercing and hard and thoughtful. Same pinch to her eyebrows he saw earlier in his bedroom. 

“I won’t let them take you,” he says softly. “If they came for you. I would fight for you.”

She doesn’t break their eye contact. “I know. You shouldn’t, but I know you would.”

“Then stay.”

She saunters forward, stopping only when they’re almost chest to chest. “I’m not her, y’know? The other me. The one you love.”

He smiles, huffing a small breath, refocusing on her and her small pout. Ekko reaches forward, tucking a few stray strands back under Jinx’s hood, lingering for a beat. “I wasn’t her Ekko, either. That’s why I came back. I like this version of you just fine. But just so we’re clear, every version of you is a pain in my ass.” He tugs on a small braid, grinning when she shoots him an annoyed glare and slaps his hand away. “But I won’t have it any other way. Wait, no. It sure as hell would be simpler if you didn’t try to kill me anymore, but I guess I’ll deal with that, too.”

Jinx snorts, absently reaching for the spot he touched, her gaze softer than before. “Ha! You hit like a girl, by the way. I never got to tell you.”

“You tried to blow us up.”

“Eh,” she whines. “That was one time. You gotta let that go.”

Ekko exhales a small laugh and realises he hasn’t smiled or laughed this much in years. Joy was leeched from him with her absence, and while he did his duties, there was no security of Jinx’s usual push and pull to keep him balanced and focused. Even when they were enemies, hunted each other down and attacked each other, they existed on opposite sides of a perfectly balanced sphere. 

Her nearness, the relief of having her there, overshadows the darker recollection of that afternoon when she tried to blow them up more than once. Memories so painful Ekko wishes to scrub them from his mind forever, yet they remain seared into his psyche. 

She grabs his elbow, dragging him forward, breaking the surrounding gloom. “Come on then,. Things to do, things to see.”

And Ekko does what he’s done since they were young. He follows her. Because they might not have tomorrow.

.

The day goes by too fast. Almost a blur. A series of snapshots Ekko will lock away in his mind forever. He never expected he’d get to do this again. This is something his younger self could have only dreamt about once. When they dreamt of simpler things; flashy toys and delicious sweets, things only a young boy could fantasise about, aside from a loving home, because at least that much he had. 

They walked and talked and joked around, eating street vendor food all day. Ekko knows they’re pushing their luck, but he can’t help himself. Jinx grew up here. This is her home too, and he wants to show her the progress they’ve made. There’s something comfortable about her snarky commentary and ill-timed jibes at the Council members. She asks about Vi only once, in relation to Cait, and Ekko tells her the truth. 

They’re happy. They’re together. She nods, satisfied, and moves on.

“We should go see Jericho next.” It’s an offhand suggestion while they walk the newly paved river path. Now people from the Undercity can enjoy the same luxury of having a peaceful sidewalk to take their kids down. It’s amazing how it’s the small things that bring people happiness. 

“Can’t,” Jinx replies, glancing towards the setting sun. Her smile twists; it’s still a smile, but it’s sad, in a way. “Sorry, hero.”

He takes several seconds to speak. “So, you’re leaving anyway.”

“Yes. I told you I can’t stay.”

“It’s a pity, then.”

She tilts her head. “Why?”

Damn her for even asking. Damn her and all the shitty circumstances for keeping them apart. Damn her for picking him during that game of hide and seek years ago. Damn her for being there for him and not being there at the same time. Damn her for being his entire world for years. Even when Ekko thought he hated her, he wasn’t free of her. He never could be. His girl with blue hair. 

He’s in love with her, in every possible way, but they both know they can’t work like this. There’s too many ghosts for Jinx here, and despite the changes, Ekko can’t promise her she won’t get dragged off to Stillwater the moment authorities find out she’s alive after all. 

Ekko frowns, clenches his fists, and walks away. 

But she’s like an anchor to him. He stops several paces away, tied to her. “You’re gonna break my heart.”

They’ve been everything from friends to enemies and strangers to reluctant allies again. So much of his life has revolved around her. Continues to revolve around her. Past and present. But if Jinx sends him away now, if she walks away, Ekko will let her go. Because he can finally rest easy, knowing she is alive and well, even if they’re apart.

“In any other universe, I might have loved you,” she breathes. 

He pivots towards her, his nostrils flaring. “Love me in this one,” he insists, reaching for her. Ekko cups her cheeks, tilting her head until her hood slips back down, exposing her blue hair to the setting sun. He’s glad there’s no one in sight because he can’t think straight right now. “Choose me now. Ask me to go away with you. Ask me.”

He presses his forehead to hers. Jinx’s empty gaze appears glazed over, her thoughts far away no matter how hard he tries to grip her and hold her close. 

“I don’t deserve you, boy saviour,” she whispers emptily. “You’re good.”

“No one decides for me, Jinx. Not even you.”

She blinks owlishly, searching his wild stare, a pained expression on her face, her fingers knotting against her chest. “What if you don’t want me after a while? I’m… different and if I get bad again... What if—”

“Ask me, damnit.”

Jinx loosens a shaky breath, jumping through a hundred micro-expressions in a few seconds. A painful mix between hope and dread. 

“C…” Her eyes squeeze shut. “Come with me.”

Ekko sags in relief. “Yes.” He holds her, wraps his arms around her despite the unsure way she folds against him. As if she’s unsure where to put her hands. If she should. “Yes, I’ll come with you. I don’t care if you’re different. I want you as you are, okay? No matter where we are.”

A tremulous breath wheezes past Jinx’s lips. But with that, she melts into him, burying her face against him. Her embrace grows desperate and tight, a tremble shuddering through her body. 

“Always a dance with you, huh?” he says after a moment.

She chuckles, the sound warming his collarbone. “And you still got two left feet, boy wonder.”

Constants and variables, young Ekko, Benzo told him once. Everything bad that can happen in this universe might come to pass, but so might everything good.

----

an: ahh I know this isn't really my usual offering but I really hope you guys enjoyed, it's been a while since i've cared enough about canon/canon ship to do this.

[cevansbrat0007]

I saw this and thought of Ari and his Bird right away 😂 Now how would he react? 😌

Dinner is Served...

Summary: You surprise Ari with his favorite meal: You.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Implied Smut, An Appearance from Bucky Barnes, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Brief Discussions of Body Image, High Heels, Naked Fun in the Kitchen, Manhandling, Clothed Male Nude Female (CMNF), Pussy Eating, Very Mild Chase Kink, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: I think someone actually asked me this a while ago. Maybe. I vaguely remember my answer. However, instead of rehashing that, this is how I think that would go - with a twist! Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

“I sent you the files this morning, Buck.” Ari winces as he shoulders his way into your house from the garage. “It’s not my fault you don’t know how to open ‘em.”

“Just resend them in a different format.” His friend and business partner responds, sounding frustrated. 

“Why don’t you just give-in and ask Pixie to help you already?”

“Because she’s been giving me the silent treatment since Tuesday. Why would I want to risk breaking the streak?” 

Rolling his eyes, he drops his bag by the door – only to be surprised when he spots a pair of your panties laying innocently on the floor. Upon closer inspection, he realizes that it’s actually one of his favorites. It was part of a set he’d bought you just last month. 

“What’d you do, Barnes?”

“Uh…” A heavy sigh can be heard coming from the other side of the phone. “I accidentally broke her fancy little coffee maker.”

“Wow.” He responds, disapproval evident in his tone.  

“Hey! I just said it was an accident. She said she had a bad night and so I tried to make her one of those latte…macchiato…things she likes. And then I broke it.”   

“Make it right, Buck.” After toeing off his boots Ari begins making his way towards the kitchen, following the sound of music in the air. He frowns when he spies your blouse in the middle of the hallway. Closely followed by a pair of black leggings. 

“How?” God, his buddy could be so goddamned obtuse sometimes.

“Fucking apologize. And then buy her another one – a better one.” 

“Ugh!” The former soldier whines. “I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for a replacement. How about I–?”

Wait. WAIT. Was that your bra? Just what the fuck was up with this strange trail of clothes?

“Buck, you’re a grown man. And google is your friend.” Ari snaps as he picks up your fallen undergarment, his confusion growing with each passing second. “Restore peace to the land before that woman feels compelled to drop a nuke.” With that he ends the call, now ready to solve whatever mystery he’s just stumbled upon. 

But what it’s he sees when he rounds the corner that has him stopping dead in his tracks.

“Well, shit.” His mouth goes dry as he watches your hips sway to the music pumping out of the speaker. 

A low whistle of appreciation has you glancing over your shoulder. 

If you were being honest, you’d known he was home the moment you’d heard your garage door open. Which was also why your bathrobe was now hastily balled up in your pantry. 

“Welcome home!” You chirp, not missing the way your man’s eyes darken as they drink you in. “Did you have a good day?”

“What’s all this?” Ari’s already deep voice dips an octave as he holds up your previously abandoned bra, dangling it from his finger. But you know he’s not mad. This question is coming from a man who clearly likes what he sees.

Which just so happens to be you. Happily cooking in your kitchen. Wearing nothing but a little makeup and a pair of red heels. Oh, and oven mitts. Can’t forget those.

You’d come across this scenario while aimlessly scrolling on Instagram. And since you were growing more comfortable with the body you saw in the mirror these days, you figured that it might be worth trying your luck. If only to see your man’s reaction.

“Oops!” You gasp, trying your best to look apologetic. “I just haven’t had a chance to clean up yet. I’m sorry.”

“Baby…” Ari drags a stunned hand over his jaw. “That’s not even – ah fuck. Cleanin’ up is the absolute last thing on my mind right now.” Dropping the undergarment on a nearby table, he begins making his way to you – only to come up short once again when he catches sight of your heels. 

“What? I’m just tryin’ to break ‘em in. That’s all.”

“Fuck meee.” He groans under his breath, his eyes going wide at the sight of your latest surprise. 

“Hold that thought, sugar.” With a wink, you turn back towards the stove before bending over to retrieve tonight’s dessert from the oven. You’re forced to bite the inside of your cheek when you hear your bounty hunter’s sudden intake of breath at the sight of your bare ass. 

“There we go.” You hum, playfully fanning yourself with a checkered mitt. “Hope you like homemade cinnamon rolls with whipped cream cheese frosting." Tendrils of feminine pride unfurls in your belly when you notice Ari’s impressive hard-on tenting his jeans. "They’re the perfect after-dinner treat.”

“That’s–I’m not…” He cuts himself off, surprising you both with his inability to speak. “We–that ain’t the kinda treat I’m hungry for, little Bird.”

“Hm.” You nod as you stretch your arms above your head. Giving into temptation, you rise up on your toes before giving a little shimmy, calling attention to your breasts. “No problem. What’s the point of talkin’ about dessert when we haven’t even discussed the main course?”

“Huh?” Ari clears his throat, his rapt gaze now focused on your pouting nipples. 

“Tonight we’re having roasted potatoes –” 

“I don’t give a good-damn about no roasted potatoes, woman!” The bounty hunter rumbles, cutting you off before you can finish telling him your menu. “You don’t need to cook nothin’ else. I already know what I’m hungry for.” He takes a decisive step in your direction. “It’s just a matter of where I’m eatin’.”

“But you don’t even know what we’re havin’ yet!” Comes your incredulous laugh as you bat away his eager hands. 

“This right here.” He growls, broadly gesturing at your naked body. “All of this. That’s what I want.” Without warning, he grabs the edge of his t-shirt with both hands before yanking it over his head, revealing his muscled chest. “I'm fuckin' starvin'.”

“But I’m not on the menu!” You shriek, throwing a dish towel at him the next time he gets too close. The next thing you know, this man is now chasing you around your own kitchen, his long legs quickly eating up the space between you. 

Fuck it was hard to run in heels! 

“Now I don’t mind where I dine, darlin’.” Your man purrs, his already sexy voice pitched to arouse. “We can take it to the bedroom. The living room…”

“Beast!” You burst into a fit of giggles as you attempt to fend him off with the help of a chair. “Need I remind you that we are in the kitchen?”

Now that makes him pause. But only for a second. 

“It ain’t the first time I’ve had you in here.” The chair you’ve been holding is gently ripped from your grasp. “Pretty sure I’ve devoured that pussy in every room of this house.” You watch in defeat as he sends your last little bit of protection skidding across the floor. “Did you forget how wet you got the last time I splayed you out on this-here table? Because I haven’t.”

One rough, slightly calloused hand grips the back of your neck – drawing you closer. 

“Remember how I made you hold yourself open for me?” His lips ghost over yours – the sharp nip of his teeth causing your heart to beat erratically in your chest. “Remember the way your thighs shook every time you gushed around me?” He moans softly, the erotic sound going straight to your dripping cunt. 

“I–If you don’t want the potatoes, we’re also having…um…” You can’t help but whimper when he abandons your throat in favor of grabbing a hearty handful of your ass. “Herb roasted chicken…”

“I get so hard whenever I think about the way you drenched my fuckin’ beard, baby.” Ari gives you a playful squeeze before lifting you by your hips and depositing you on the table as if you weigh nothing. “My good girl always makes such a mess for me. Don’t you?” 

“Could I perhaps interest you in some honey glazed carrots?” However, your weak attempt at redirection is completely ignored.

A heady thrum of excitement courses through you when you feel your back connect with the cool, wooden surface. And then Ari’s hands come to rest on your knees, gently prying them apart, baring your most intimate flesh. 

“Look at you.” He rasps, tenderly stroking your slick folds. “Fuckin’ soaked already. And here we are just gettin’ started.” He parts you with thick fingers before leaning down to press a kiss to your puffy clit, making your hips buck. 

“Yeah,” he continues. “This is the only honey I give a fuck about tonight.” Gripping your ankle, he drapes your leg over one broad shoulder, opening you up to him even more. And then he reaches for the remote to your speaker, turning up the volume of the music that had since become little better than background noise. 

“Don’t want any interruptions while I enjoy my meal. Especially since you spent so much time preparin’ it.” Ari drags your body towards the edge of the table before taking a seat in a chair and placing a napkin across his lap. “And don’t worry about me needing any silverware, sweet Bird…” He murmurs as his mouth descends upon your vulnerable, quivering pussy.

“I don't mind gettin' my hands dirty.”

END

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[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Steve was lying on the floor of Robin's room, his back against the wall as he let Robin paint his toenails while he flipped through one of her magazines. The radio played softly in the background.

"I am totally new to having a girlfriend, and by girlfriend, I mean platonic girlfriend," Robin said.

"Well, that's one thing we got in common, I don't think I've ever had a girl who's just a friend," Steve said.

"What about Perkins?" Robin asked.

"She doesn't count, I hated her. She's the reason Tommy became such an asshole," Steve said.

"Hm, yeah," Robin said and paused. "So, how close were you and Tommy?"

"Well, we were friends since we were eight. We pretty much bonded over the fact that we both had assholes for fathers. We shared everything and told each other everything. He told me about his first crush, and I told him about my first crush. We practiced kissing, practiced having sex, and when I got first kiss, I told him immediately," Steve said.

"Woah, woah, woah! Back it up!" Robin exclaimed, and she closed the nail polish. "What the fuck do you mean you practiced kissing and having sex with Tommy Hagan?"

"Exactly what it means," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "We hadn't gotten girlfriends yet, and we wanted to get good before we did. It doesn't mean anything. We like women, so it didn't count."

"It still counts!" Robin shrieked. "Did you or did you not put your lips on Tommy's?"

"Yeah, and I also let Tommy put his dick in my ass. I was basically his pillow," Steve said as he continued to casually flip through the magazine. "It doesn't count if you're not gay, Robin."

"It doesn't work like that! Steve Harrington, the first time you had sex was with Tommy Hagan!" Robin exclaimed.

"It was not!" Steve exclaimed, throwing down the magazine.

"Was too!" She yelled.

"Was not!" Steve yelled.

"Okay! So, let's say if I kissed you right now. . .," Robin said.

"Wouldn't count as your first kiss, you're a lesbian and I'm straight," Steve said.

Robin grinned, a manic look in her eye. She pulled her hand back and slapped Steve across the face. He screamed.

"Didn't count! I'm a lesbian and you're straight!" Robin yelled.

"Okay, okay, I see your point. Jesus, did you have to hit me so hard?" Steve asked, rubbing his red cheek.

"Yeah, dingus, I did," Robin said.

"Okay, so my first kiss was with Tommy, and I lost my virginity. We're not gay, though," Steve said.

"No, just desperate and very horny teenagers, apparently," Robin rolled her eyes. "I can't believe you had gay sex before me, and you're not even gay. I bet you pictured some blond with big boobies."

"Well, no, actually," Steve shrugged.

"Hm, what do you mean?" Robin asked.

"I didn't have to picture a woman. I liked it," Steve shrugged.

"You liked it?!" Robin asked.

"Well, I am a man, Robin," Steve said.

"Uh, except not every man likes it when another man rams it up his asshole," Robin said. "Okay, I kind of wish I had been more delicate about this, but I didn't know this was you being in denial kind of situation."

"I'm straight, Robin, I like women," Steve said.

"Yeah, and did you know that you can like men and women?" Robin asked.

"What?" Steve asked.

Robin smiled and got up to pull out a box from underneath her bed. She pulled out a magazine and tossed it at Steve.

"Read it, study it, learn from it," Robin said.

Steve looked at it quizzically for a moment before opening it. He stared at it for the longest time before finally closing it.

"I am an idiot," Steve said.

"No, you're not. You just didn't know," she said softly.

"Bisexual," Steve whispered, and then he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh my god, this whole time, I thought I lost my virginity to Chrissy Cunningham."

"Chrissy Cunningham?" Robin asked.

"Uh, we used to hang out all the time before she started dating Jason Carver," Steve said. "Our parents ran in the same circles."

"Well, you know, I guess you could say you lost your guy virginity to Tommy Hagan and your girl virginity to Chrissy Cunningham," Robin said.

"Yeah, that's true," Steve grinned. "Thanks, Robin, and especially thank you for giving me that slap. I definitely needed it."

"Anytime that you want me to hit you, I'm your woman," Robin replied.

They moved towards Robin's window sill and sat on it, opening a window to get some fresh air.

"You know this means that I'm not straight," Steve said.

"Something else we have in common," she said.

"You ever wonder how many out there who are like me and who just don't know?" he asked as he looked up at the moon. "Here in Hawkins, I mean."

"Probably a lot more than we think," Robin said. "And they're out there, sitting in their closets wondering if they're ever going escape themselves or be rescued."

"Isn't crazy how we found ourselves?" Steve said.

"Maybe queer people just end up finding each other," Robin said.

"Well, maybe they'll find their way out themselves," Steve said and then he looked her, hazel eyes twinkling in the moonlight. "Seriously, Robin, thank you."

"You did that yourself, you know, you just needed a nudge. I mean, you could have told me to go fuck myself and continued to live in denial," Robin said. "You're a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for."

Steve smiled bashfully and glanced back at the moon. He looked at her, with tears in his eyes.

"Is it possible to be platonically in love with someone?" he asked.

"I think anything is possible," she said. "I think it's a definite because I know that I'm absolutely, platonically in love with you."

They dangled their feet out the window and leaned against each other, Steve resting his head on top of Robin's.

"I wish I'd known you sooner," he whispered.

"I wish I'd known you sooner, too," she whispered back.

They were here now, though, and absolutely nothing could get in between them.

Part Two

[sinofwriting]

Present - Pierre Gasly

Words: 681 Summary: Pierre has some thoughts about her buying herself a necklace.

Masterlist | Support Me!

She claps her hands together as she looks at her phone. The device perfectly angled to capture her, the kitchen counter where an unopened box was, and Pierre who was lounging on the couch answering some emails.

“So, in honor of hitting two hundred and fifty thousand followers and my birthday happening in a few weeks, I decided to get myself a present.” Her eyes are alight with excitement and she bounces a bit, fingers itching to open the box. Meanwhile, Pierre’s head jerks up, eyes wide as he stares at his girlfriend.

“I was a little nervous about getting this.” She starts to say as her fingers open the box. “But y’know it’s like a combined gift for myself and I’ve been really good at not touching my savings for the past few months, so I didn’t feel too bad about dipping in.”

Pierre makes a strangled sound.

Lifting her present out of the box, she presents it to the camera before opening the box. “Isn't it gorgeous?” She moves it a bit closer before continuing to talk.

“This from Cartier, it’s the Galanterie de Cartier necklace, which is nearly thirty thousand dollars and this is only my second time seeing it in person and I’m just even more in love with it. I’ve been looking at this necklace for a few years now and while I love my pink Les Berlingots de Cartier necklace.” As she says it, she gestures to the necklace she’s currently wearing. “It was time to give it a nice little sibling in the Cartier family.”

“Mon bébé,” Pierre starts, finally able to speak. “You didn’t actually buy that did you?”

She turns to face him with a confused look. “Yeah, I did.”

“With your money?”

“Yeah, with my money.”

He covers his face for a second. “Baby, I leave my card for you all the time to get things for yourself. You should have used my card, it's what it’s meant for.”

“I didn’t need to, it was a gift for myself.”

“Your gift for yourself, is something I’m supposed to pay for.” He argues, nearly pouting. “I was also going to buy that for you for your birthday. I was planning on going to the store tomorrow.”

Her face softens at his admission. While her buying it had been a present to herself, she also knew it would rile her boyfriend up and she didn’t often share things like this with her fans as they were more there for her talking about books, but she had thought it’d be a fun little thing to film, to let his and her fans see.

“You knew I wanted this?”

“Of course, I do. You’ve shown me pictures before and talked about it. I know you also like the 1895 necklace that Cartier does, but not just any 1895 necklace, only the one from that collection. You want that birthstone bracelet from Tiffany’s and a large collection of collectors edition books when we finally have a house and you can have your own library and reading place. I know everything you want.”

Her heart melts at his words. Pierre was sweeter than most people gave him credit for and he often showed that side of himself to her, but she had no idea how much he paid attention to things she wanted.

“C’mere.” She murmurs, setting her necklace on the counter, arms outstretched.

He easily swings his body over the back of the couch and grabs at her hips as soon as she’s in arms reach before kissing her.

“Is this close enough for you?” He asks when they break away to breathe.

Her teeth find her bottom lip as she shakes her head slowly. “I think you can get closer.”

Pierre smirks at the response, capturing her lips in another kiss as he moves one of his legs between hers. “How about you stop recording for tiktok and we record something else?”

A laugh leaves her at his words, but she’s already reaching for her phone. “Only if I get to be on top.”

“Deal.”

[whosscruffylooking]

Militiae Species Amor Est II

Militiae species amor est - "Love is a kind of war."

Re-read Part I Now!

a/n: if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know in the comments!

warnings: // a small threat of violence is made between Iris and her partner, but no physical contact is made. canon typical violence.

word count: 4.2k

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You step cautiously into the grand halls of the estate, the place you once roamed as a little servant girl, where your bare feet had once echoed softly against the cold marble. The air is thick with the weight of memories, each one pressing heavily against your chest. This was the house where you had grown up, where you had once been invisible, and where your life had irrevocably intertwined with his.

A voice pulls you from your thoughts. It rings out, familiar and poised, yet carrying a tension you haven’t heard before.

“Iris. It has been quite some time.”

You turn sharply, your breath catching as you face Lucilla, the mistress of this house—and the mother of the man you’ve spent a lifetime aching for. She stands before you, as elegant and commanding as you remember, her beauty untouched by the years. For a moment, you falter, caught between the awe she still inspires and the fury simmering just beneath your surface. But there’s no time to linger on reverence. Not now.

“We need to help Lucius escape,” you say, your voice steady despite the fire raging in your chest.

Lucilla’s expression hardens, her posture as composed as ever. “You are in no position to plot something like this. An engaged woman. A woman of low birth who has risen to a place of promise.” She steps closer, her gaze piercing, as if to drive the point deeper. “It isn’t safe for you.”

Her words land like a blow. You bristle, your hands curling into fists at your sides as anger floods through you. “You mean to insult me? When you know—when you must know—that I have loved your son since childhood?” Your voice rises, trembling with the weight of years left unspoken. “Do you truly believe that I could ever forget him? Forget the way we laughed, the way we cried, the way you sent him away as if he were nothing but an inconvenience? I have not had a single night of peaceful rest since that day! Not one!”

Lucilla’s carefully composed mask cracks, but you don’t stop. The words pour out, sharp and unrelenting. “And you? As his mother, do you feel nothing? No anguish, no torment? Or do you simply find it easier to look away, to let him suffer alone? Now he’s here—he’s here, Lucilla—and you expect me to sit back, to watch him fight the same fight that took his father from him? With no attempt to save him, no attempt to shield him from even more pain?”

The silence that follows feels deafening. For a moment, Lucilla looks at you as though she’s been struck. Her lips part, trembling with words that won’t come. Then, to your shock, her face crumples, and tears begin to spill down her cheeks.

She crosses the space between you in an instant, wrapping you in an embrace that is both unexpected and suffocating. Her voice shakes as she speaks. “I subjected one child to a life of pain. I—I couldn’t bear to see you suffer the same. Don’t you see? I’ve only ever wanted you to find peace, Iris. Contentment. That’s why—” She pulls back, her hands gripping your shoulders tightly. “That’s why when Caius’ father approached me, I agreed. I thought he could give you the life you deserved, one free of sorrow. I never meant to make you feel betrayed.”

You push her hands away, stepping back as the weight of her confession settles over you like a leaden cloak. “Peace?” Your voice is bitter, sharp as broken glass. “Do you truly believe I could ever find peace without him? All I ever wanted was your son. Not your pity. Not a life designed to ease your guilt.”

Tears well in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. You straighten your spine, your voice unwavering. “If you truly cared about me, you would have sent me with him. Instead, you left us both to live lives filled with nothing but longing and regret. So save your excuses, Lucilla. If you truly care now, then tell me—” Your voice hardens, each word a command. “Tell me the plan to rescue Lucius.”

And she does. Through trembling breaths and tear-filled eyes, Lucilla tells you the plan—how her husband, Acacius, will orchestrate Lucius’s escape from the prison. She explains the carefully laid steps, each one steeped in risk, each one reliant on precision. But there’s one missing piece.

“Someone needs to warn him,” she says, her voice wavering as she meets your gaze. “He has to know what’s coming, or he’ll resist. He won’t trust it.”

The moment hangs heavy between you, her words an unspoken plea. You don’t hesitate.

“I’ll do it,” you say firmly, the fire in your chest burning brighter now. “I’ll warn him.”

Lucilla’s eyes widen, her lips parting as if to protest, but you shake your head, cutting her off before she can speak.

“No one else knows him like I do,” you continue. “He’ll listen to me. He’ll trust me.”

For a moment, Lucilla studies you, her expression a war between doubt and something that almost looks like hope. Then, finally, she nods, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her choice.

“Be careful,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. But you’re already turning away, your mind focused on one thing: reaching Lucius.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The corridors of the barracks stretch before you like an endless void, every shadow a whisper of your guilt, every creak of the stone beneath your feet a reminder of what you stand to lose. Wrapped in a dark cloak, the cool air bites at your skin, but the ache in your chest burns hotter. You cling to the cover of night as you make your way toward Ravi, a gladiator-turned-medic who once saved soldiers from the edge of death. Tonight, you hope he’ll save you in a different way.

When you reach his room, you knock softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Ravi.”

The door creaks open, his wary eyes scanning the hall before they settle on you. “What are you doing here?” he hisses. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near this place.”

“I won’t tell you the details,” you reply quickly, your voice trembling. “If anyone questions you, I don’t want you to lie on my behalf. All I ask is that you point me toward Hanno—let me speak with him privately.”

Ravi’s expression hardens, torn between caution and compassion. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he nods. “You shouldn’t do this,” he murmurs, but he leads you through the labyrinthine halls. When he stops outside a cell, his voice is heavy with warning. “He’s in here. Be quick.”

Ravi pushes the door open slightly, just enough for the man inside to hear. “Someone is here to see you, Hanno,” he announces.

Lucius turns at the sound of his name, his face hardening the moment he sees you. His jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing before he looks away sharply. “I have nothing to say to her,” he bites out, his voice rough, almost broken.

Your heart twists painfully at his words, but you nod at Ravi, signaling for him to let you in anyway. He hesitates, but when he sees the determination in your eyes, he steps back, locking the door behind you as you slip into the dimly lit cell.

Lucius stands with his back to you, his hands balled into fists at his sides. His silence is deafening, but you don’t let it deter you. You step closer, the ache in your chest swelling with every step. Tears sting your eyes as you finally find the words you’ve been rehearsing in your mind since the moment you decided to come here.

“I cannot begin to express how sorry I am,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “For how I treated you. For what I said.”

He doesn’t move, but you can see the slight tension in his shoulders. You press on, desperate to reach him.

“I never should have assumed you would return to this place—to the pain, to the life you’ve fought so hard to escape—and risk everything for the very place that destroyed your family. It was selfish of me to ask, selfish to think I had that right. I suppose these emotions, these feelings I’ve tried so hard to bury, have clouded my judgment.”

His breathing slows, the air between you thick with words left unsaid. You take another step, your voice breaking now.

“But know this, Lucius: you are far more than just a gladiator. Even before I saw you in those cursed games, you were so much more to me. You always have been. You were the boy who gave me his last piece of bread when I had nothing. The boy who made me laugh when the world felt too heavy. The boy whose soul captured mine long before I knew what love even was.”

His shoulders slump slightly, and though he doesn’t turn, you see his hand tremble. The silence stretches, heavy with everything you’re too afraid to ask. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, raw with pain.

“And yet you stood there, questioning who I was,” he murmurs. “Doubting the choices I made to survive. Do you know what it’s like to have someone you love look at you as though you’re a stranger?”

The words cut deep, sharp as any blade, and tears spill down your cheeks. You move closer, desperate to bridge the distance, to close the chasm that has grown between you.

“I was wrong,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I was so wrong. But I swear to you, Lucius, I have never stopped seeing the boy you were. And I will never stop loving the man you’ve become.”

Lucius stares at you, his eyes swimming with emotions too tangled to name. The air between you crackles, heavy with unspoken words and the years of longing that have built into this single, fraught moment. You search his face for a sign that your words have reached him, that the wall he’s built is beginning to crumble.

Lucius's gaze burns into yours, his expression a tempest of anguish and desire, before he moves. His hands are on you in an instant, rough but careful, as though he's afraid you'll vanish if he doesn't hold tight enough. He presses you against the cold, damp wall of the cell, the chill of the stone seeping through your cloak and biting into your skin. It's grounding, sharp against the heat that erupts between you as his lips claim yours.

The kiss is everything you've imagined and nothing like it all at once-wild, desperate, and unrelenting. His hands frame your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to memorize the feel of you. His lips are firm, demanding, pouring years of suppressed longing into the kiss. You can feel his ragged breaths mingling with yours, and the faint taste of salt from your shared tears lingers between you.

Your hands find his chest, trembling as they trace over the worn fabric of his tunic and the hard planes of his body. His heart is pounding beneath your palms, as wild and erratic as your own. When your fingers curl into the fabric to pull him closer, he growls low in his throat—a sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine.

The cold wall presses unyieldingly against your back as he leans into you, his body a solid, unmovable force. The contrast of cold stone and his scorching heat sets your senses ablaze. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as if he could somehow fuse the two of you together, and the pressure of his touch ignites a fire that consumes you whole.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and you both struggle to catch your breath. His lips hover near yours, as though the distance is too much to bear, and his voice, rough and low, brushes over your skin.

 "Do you understand now?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. "Do you see what you've done to me? You've been the only thing keeping me alive, Iris. Even when I hated the world, I still loved you."

Your tears spill freely as you clutch at his tunic, your voice trembling. "I see it, Lucius. I see it, and I feel it, because l've loved you just as fiercely.”

He tilts your chin up, his dark eyes softening, and his thumb brushes tenderly across your jaw. "Then let there be no more fear," he whispers before capturing your lips again.

This kiss is softer but no less consuming, filled with a desperate hope that perhaps the two of you, against all odds, can still claim the love that's been waiting for so long.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The sun blazes mercilessly as the crowd fills the arena, their cheers deafening and bloodthirsty. Your seat offers a clear view of the sand-covered pit, where the fighters enter with stoic faces and heavy chains. Among them is Lucius. Even in the sea of bodies, your eyes find him instantly.

He walks with his head held high, his shoulders squared. You can see the fire burning in him now—a determination that wasn’t there before, knowing that people are ready to rescue him. The weight of hope, of knowing freedom waits just beyond the reach of this hellish stage, has reignited something in him. Yet, the sight of him under the watchful eyes of guards and the jeering crowd still twists your stomach with dread.

Your fiancé, Caius, sits beside you, oblivious to the storm raging within you. His hand rests possessively on your arm as if to remind everyone—and perhaps himself—of who you belong to.

When the fight begins, Lucius is relentless. His movements are sharper, faster, more focused than ever before. You watch in awe as he disarms one opponent and dodges another’s blade with a grace that feels almost otherworldly. But it’s not enough to calm your nerves. Every strike, every blow he lands only tightens the knot in your chest.

And then it happens. A spear slices across his shoulder, leaving a vivid trail of crimson in its wake. He stumbles, his hand instinctively going to the wound, and for a moment, your world stops.

You stand without thinking, your breath catching in your throat. “Lucius,” you whisper, though the name escapes like a prayer rather than a call.

Caius turns sharply to you, his grip on your arm tightening. “What are you doing?” he hisses, his voice low but sharp. “Sit down, Iris.”

But you can’t. Your heart is pounding too loudly, drowning out his words. All you can see is the blood staining Lucius’s tunic, the grimace of pain that briefly flashes across his face before he forces himself back into the fight.

“Iris!” Caius snaps, his voice rising now. “This is unseemly. People are watching!”

You don’t care. The moment the fight ends and Lucius is escorted out, you wrench free from Caius’s grasp and run. His angry protests fade behind you as your sandals slap against the stone corridors leading to the medic chambers.

When you burst through the door, Ravi looks up in surprise. Lucius sits on a stool, blood dripping from his shoulder as Ravi prepares to clean the wound. His gaze snaps to you, and for a moment, he freezes, the stoic mask slipping to reveal something raw and unguarded.

“What are you doing here?” Ravi asks, his tone filled with warning.

But Lucius speaks first, his voice low and strained. “Iris.” Your name on his lips feels like both a question and an anchor.

You cross the room in a rush, ignoring Ravi’s protests and Lucius’s raised brow. “Let me,” you say softly, reaching for the cloth in Ravi’s hand. Your fingers tremble as you press it against the wound, but you don’t flinch.

Lucius watches you, his gaze piercing. “You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs, but there’s no anger in his voice—only concern.

“And you shouldn’t be out there,” you reply, your voice breaking. “But here we are.”

His hand rises, hesitating for a moment before it brushes against yours, smearing your skin with his blood. “I’ll be fine,” he says, though his eyes betray him.

“No, you won’t,” you whisper, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Not if I lose you.”

Ravi clears his throat awkwardly, stepping back. “I’ll give you two a moment,” he mutters, leaving the room.

Lucius exhales shakily, his gaze never leaving yours. “Iris, you have to be careful. If Caius—”

“Let Caius think what he will,” you interrupt, your voice trembling with conviction. “I won’t sit by and do nothing while you suffer.”

In the space of a breath, his restraint snaps. "Damn Caius," he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse, just before his lips capture yours.

The kiss is wild and desperate, like a clash of wills—a battle neither of you is willing to lose.

His hands tighten around your waist as yours tangle in his hair, the metallic taste of blood faint on his lips, a reminder of the wounds he's endured. He kisses you with the fervor of a man who's fought too long to deny what he feels, each movement urgent and unyielding.

He lifts you onto the nearby table, the rough wood cold beneath your legs as papers and tools clatter to the ground, forgotten. You gasp against his mouth, but he doesn't falter, his body pressing into yours as if to prove something-to you, to himself, to the world that's tried to keep you apart.

Outside, the sound of footsteps halts, followed by a frustrated sigh. Ravi's voice mutters something inaudible, and you know he's standing there, trying to give you privacy while also likely cursing your recklessness.

Lucius pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the narrow space between. "This is madness," he whispers, his voice rough and thick with emotion.

"Then let it be madness," you reply, your voice just as unsteady. Your hands trail down to his face, cupping his jaw as your thumbs brush over his cheekbones. "Because l'd rather have this moment than a lifetime of silence."

His lips crash against yours again, the kiss even fiercer than before, as though he's pouring all the words he can't say into the connection. His hands linger around your thighs, gradually pushing the hem of your dress higher and higher up your leg.

“Lucius, I—” Ravi’s voice cuts through the haze, and you pull back abruptly, your chest heaving.

Lucius turns toward the door, his body instinctively shifting to shield you from Ravi’s view, though it’s already too late. Ravi stands in the doorway, his face a mixture of disbelief and exasperation.

“I left you alone for mere minutes,” Ravi mutters, crossing his arms as his eyes dart between the two of you.

Heat rises to your cheeks, but you hold your ground, refusing to shrink beneath his gaze. “I was helping,” you say, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside you.

“And clearly you’ve been very thorough in your assistance,” Ravi replies, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Lucius steps forward, his voice low but firm. “Enough, Ravi. You’ve said your piece.”

Ravi exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If anyone finds out about this, it’s not just you two who’ll pay the price. Keep that in mind.” He turns on his heel, muttering something under his breath as he leaves.

The door clicks shut, and silence settles over the room once more. Lucius looks at you, his eyes clouded with both regret and longing. “I’ll deal with him,” he says softly, though his hand lingers at your side, as if reluctant to let you go.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The door slams shut behind you as you step into the quiet of your home, the night air still clinging to your skin. Your heart is pounding in your chest, adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the events that transpired just moments ago. You barely have a chance to steady your breath before Caius appears in the hallway, his sharp gaze locking onto you as he takes in the sight of you—disheveled, hair slightly tousled, your dress still crinkled from the tension of the night.

“Where have you been?” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s an edge to it, an undeniable undertone of suspicion that you cannot ignore.

You swallow, forcing yourself to meet his eyes, a familiar lie already forming on your lips. “I was just out for a walk,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant, but there’s a slight quiver in your voice that betrays you.

Caius takes a slow step forward, his eyes narrowing, scanning you with unsettling precision. He glances down at your dress, and for a split second, his gaze lingers on a small stain of blood near the hem. His face hardens.

“That doesn’t look like the mark of a walk,” he says, voice tight with suspicion. “Where did you get this from?”

You freeze. The blood—it wasn’t from you, but from the hurried touch you had shared with Lucius. His words echo in your mind, Damn Caius. You can feel the weight of that kiss, the dangerous closeness, and the desperation in his touch. It lingers in your skin, like a brand that you can’t erase.

“Nothing happened,” you lie again, your heart racing in your chest. You want to scream, to tell him the truth, but fear clamps down on your throat. “I helped Ravi again, like I used to.”

Caius isn’t fooled. His eyes flicker with recognition, and before you can take another breath, he’s stepping toward you, his hand gripping your wrist tightly. “Tell me the truth,” he demands, his voice low and threatening. “You’ve been with him, haven’t you? The Eagle of Rome.”

The mention of Lucius sends a shock of panic through you, freezing you in place. No—you try to deny it, but the truth is already written across your face. “I haven’t—” you start, but the words falter. You try to pull your wrist free, but his grip tightens, pulling you closer.

“Don’t lie to me,” he growls, his voice a razor’s edge, the anger seeping through each word. His fingers are like iron, digging into your skin as he pulls you toward him. “I saw the way you looked at him in the stadium.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your pulse quickening as the weight of his accusation hits. Lucius—the name lingers like a forbidden prayer. “I was helping all of the warriors today. I promise you, I didn’t even touch him,” you snap, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and guilt, but the words feel hollow, like a lie you want to believe but can’t.

“Stop!” Caius interrupts, his voice rising now, each word thick with rising fury. “You think I don’t know what’s going on? That I haven’t seen how you’ve been sneaking around? How you’ve been lying to me?”

His words hit you like a slap. In an instant, his frustration boils over, his anger flaring in his eyes. He moves toward you, forceful and sharp, and you stumble back into the wall, trying to escape his grasp. You gasp, your heart pounding as you try to steady yourself.

But before you can recover, Caius is right there, his face inches from yours, his breath ragged with fury. “You have no idea what kind of reproach you’re bringing against our family,” he spits, his voice dangerously quiet now. “Your actions make us a mockery. The choices you’ve made—make us look like fools.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, your heart aching in your chest. His words cut deeper than you expected, and guilt rises in your throat. He’s right—this has always been the choice, between him and Lucius. Between duty and love. But you couldn’t let go—not when Lucius needed you, not when you were the only one who could do something for him.

“Let me go, Caius,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, as if asking for the smallest mercy. “Please.”

But there’s no mercy in his eyes now. Only betrayal, and the realization that whatever it is that’s come between you, whatever feelings you’ve tried to bury, are on the cusp of release. He stares at you, and for a moment, you think you see something softer in his gaze—but it’s fleeting. He lets out a jagged breath, his grip still tight on your wrist.

“I never wanted this,” he mutters, almost to himself. “But I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

You don’t know what to say to that, because you feel the same way. Every word from his lips is a weight pressing you into the wall, and yet, you can’t escape it.

“Clean yourself up,” Caius says, stepping back. His eyes linger on you, raw and unrelenting. “And can’t stand the sight of you right now.”

Caius turns away, his shoulders tense with unresolved anger, and the silence between you stretches, thick with unspoken truths. As he walks out, leaving you standing alone in the dimly lit room, you feel the weight of the choice you’ve made—and the painful certainty that nothing will ever be the same again.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

tag list: @willowpains

[metalarmsrcool]

bookworm blurb

pairing: bookworm!reader x rafe

synopsis: you’re trying to read your book but a certain someone can’t help but distract you

warnings: fluff, smut, daddy kink, pet names, MDNI

something about books always calmed you down. you were an anxious mess ninety nine percent of the time but reading always helped shut your mind off. it made you stop thinking about all the what ifs and kept you from overthinking. you could get so into a book sometimes hours would pass when in felt like only minutes. you could completely focus in on the words on the page and completely forget everything around you. which is why you didn’t notice him standing there watching you.

rafe thought it was cute how you could talk about books all day. he didn’t have the attention span to read that much but he always admired you for it. the way your face would light up when you discovered a new favorite. sometimes you would even cry when one of your favorite characters died. he hated when you cried of course but he found it so fucking endearing how connected you could be to these characters.

he shook his head and slowly walked towards you. your stomach was against the cushions, you knees bent with you feet in the air. your hair in a messy ponytail on the cusp of falling out. they’d spent the whole day home. the weather outside one of those rare cold, rainy days. you always said you loved listening to the rain as you read. it was the perfect background noise.

“hey sweetheart.”

you jumped, quickly closing your book. a blush already rising on your cheeks. you knew you shouldn’t be embarrassed but you always were. your thighs rubbed together as you turned your head to look up at him.

“you scared me!” you let out a laugh as you made to get up but his hands pushed your back down. “what’re you doin’? don’t you wanna sit with me?”

“ ‘course I wanna. but you look comfy, keep reading I just wanted to see you.”

he lifted your legs and slid under you. his hands immediately going to massage your thighs. he could never keep his hands off you for long. Whether it was holding your hand or playing with your hair.

you went back to your book. quickly getting immersed in the words again. it wasn’t uncommon for rafe to sit with you while you read. his hands mindlessly rubbing up and down. occasionally his fingers would drift a little too far up. fingertips grazing your underwear. you hadn’t bothered getting dressed this morning. simply throwing on a shirt and pair of panties.

you’re not sure how long has passed but you were a little more then halfway done with your book.

“baby?” his fingers stopped just below your underwear. tracing the fabrics edges but never straying to your center.

“hmm?”

he knew what he was doing. you’d manage to block him out for the most part. but he’s been getting touchier the longer you read.

“you’re so pretty.” both his hands came up to squeeze your ass and you let out a little moan.

your face was burning. you’d been together for a while now but you’d never get used to this. his words. his touch.

“my pretty girl. you’re reading one of those scenes aren’t you? think i didn’t notice you clenching your thighs? don’t know why you read ‘em when i’m right here.”

you were dripping. it only took a few words and touches from him to have you soaking through your underwear. you tucked your face into your arms. your book falling onto the floor with a little thump.

“so wet. this for me or your little book?” his fingers were teasing. dragging back and forth over the material separating you from him. the material thin. his fingertips catching on your entrance every so often.

“for y-you. always for you.” god he was barely even touching you and you were a panting mess. “please rafe.”

his fingers stopped. his warmth gone in an instant. your head popped up about to ask why he stopped before you felt a sharp sting on your ass.

“tsk tsk. what did i say about you calling me that? try again sweetheart.”

his hand was massaging you over where he slapped. the skin sure to have a pink mark.

“p-please daddy. teasing too much.” you were shocked when he first asked you to call him that. you didn’t realize you’d liked it until you were a moaning mess beneath him, the word slipping out like you’d said it thousands of times before.

“see? that wasn’t so hard baby was it.”

your thighs clenched with his words. his voice alone could make you wet. he knew how to talk in a way that had you melt against him.

“you want my fingers sweet girl? your body’s tellin me ya do. so wet f’me. i don’t know why you bother wearing these. ‘m just gonna take them off.”

sure enough you felt him pulling the fabric don’t your thighs. you flushed as you felt your wetness trailing down your leg. his fingers coming back up to rub you. trailing up and your your slit. his fingernails catching on your clit making you whine.

“daddy. please.”

you could feel his gaze on you. you’d imagine a smirk lining his lips. you could feel how hard he’d become beneath you. the sweatpants leaving little to the imagination. your hips trying to rub up against him.

“so needy. c’mon baby i wanna hear you say it.”

your face was flushed. you could feel sweat dripping down your neck. his fingers avoiding the one spot you needed him to touch.

“please. p-please fuck me with your fingers.”

his middle and pointer finger immediately dipped into you. you were so wet there wasn’t even any resistance.

“yes. yes. ohmygodplease.”

before you’d met him you’d tried touching yourself. but your fingers were too slim. too short to reach that one spot inside of you. rafe’s the first one to make you cum. his fingers thick and long enough that he barely has to try.

you hear him chuckle. his fingers dragging against your walls. in and out. in and out.

“god baby. you’re dripping down my fingers. feel good yeah? i can feel you gripping me. so fucking tight.”

he lets out a groan as your walls squeeze him. you’re so close. so fucking close. tears brim your eyes and you can’t help but buck against his fingers chasing that feeling. your stomachs tightening and you’re so close you slam your eyes shut. whining and moaning incoherent words. all you can feel is his rough fingers slamming inside you.

“god please i’m about to cum. please i-i need-“

“don’t worry baby. i know what you need.”

his thumb finds your clit. running tight and fast. you throw you head back.

“ohmyfuckinggod”

you feel that spot in your stomach snap. stars dance behind your eyelids as your body slumps on the couch.

you feel him move beneath you. he’s so hard beneath you it makes you whimper at the thought of how he feels inside you.

rafe’s hand, the one he wasn’t using, comes and and grabs your head. tilting your face to look at him.

“eyes on me baby. there she is.”

you’re blinking. your eyelids fighting the heaviness that weighs down your body. yet you feel your body clench as you watch him lick you off his fingers. his eyes never leaving yours.

you feel yourself dripping onto him. no doubt leaving a wet patch on his pants.

“so fucking sweet. here, taste yourself. lick my fingers clean.”

you weakly lean forward and take his fingers in your mouth. gagging slightly as he pushes them in farther.

“there you go. good girl, cleanin’ me up so well.”

um so hi. this is my first attempt at smut and omg what do you think.

[nathaslosthershit]

The Main Event (Multiple Pairings) Part 1

Can be read as a standalone but also (Part 8 in the Blind Items AU A/N: Its my nineteenth birthday 🥳 I wanted to write about adults being happy in different stages of their life because I am so scared of growing up and the thought of not being a teenager next year makes me nauseous. Enjoy! Each pairing has a Blind Items backstory which is linked at the start of their section (You don't have to read the backstory, though) Multiple (separate) Pairings: Logan Sargeant x Leclerc!reader, Oscar Piastri x reader, Charles Leclerc x reader, Lando Norris x reader, Lance Stroll x reader, Lewis Hamilton x reader, Alexander Albon x reader in the next part Summary: A wedding between Logan Sargeant and the youngest Leclerc child means a very interesting guest list, in which all previous victims of the F1 Blind Items account are included.

Oscar Piastri

“Dude, how come you are more nervous about my own wedding than I am?” Logan asked.

Oscar rolled his eyes and scoffed, pretending what the American was saying was ridiculous, as he nervously picked at his nails, trying to hide his trembling hands. Logan just laughed at his friend's failed attempt at nonchalance.

“It’s just- I’m nervous about the media inserting themselves in the events today. I mean I don’t want to have my toddlers in the spotlight any more than they already are.” Oscar explained. After being forced to reveal his kids to the world before he nor his fiancée were ready, and after just a few interviews and racing events the kids attended, Oscar didn’t want to give the media much more for the time being.

“Wow, way to make my wedding about you.” Logan teased, trying to relieve the utter look of anxiety and despair on Oscar’s face. But the Mclaren driver just shot him an unamused glare. “Look, I have told you time and time again if you don’t want them as flower girls- or kids, I’d gladly make my brother frolick down the aisle throwing petals. As much as I love my honorary niece and nephew, nothing would make me happier than making Dalton do that.”

This finally got a laugh out of Oscar. “They have been practicing too much to do that, we would be in for a shit storm if you tried to take away their time to shine.” It had been a big thing in the Piastri household for the past few months. Every second of every day, Frances and Hudson had been asking their parents questions about what weddings were like, how they should walk down the aisle, and if they had to see uncle Logan kiss his wife (they were not amused by the idea of having to see that). Not to mention the hundreds of times they forced their parents to watch how they would walk down the aisle, asking what they thought and ignoring any criticisms given to them (they saw no reason as to why they shouldn’t be allowed to dance and sing while throwing petals). 

“Then calm down. If all goes well there won’t be any media there, I mean I think we have done a pretty good job at making sure no one outside the event knows about it. Plus, no offense but there are plenty of people with far more interesting stories and scandals than your family. The tabloids are bored with y’all now that there isn’t anything new to expose.” Maybe a harsh way of putting it, but it was true, there were plenty of Formula 1 couples who had been exposed by the media for various reasons in attendance today. 

“Right. Got to say, Logan, the guestlist is impressive. I mean could you imagine telling your 13 year old self that the Lewis Hamilton would be attending your wedding?” Oscar asked. Even after a few years racing against the guy, the shock from being around him never wore off. He just had that ‘greatest of all time’ energy.

“I can’t even take the credit for much of it though. It's the bride who brought all the biggest names.” Logan rolled his eyes playfully. It was true though, his wife-to-be had made friends with all the biggest names in the world and they weren’t half assed friendships either. She could make even the tiniest of acquaintances feel like longtime companionships. She could make everyone feel so unbelievably loved and cherished in such a short time.

God he couldn’t wait to marry her. 

Oscar laughed at the lovesick grin on his friend’s face. Usually he’d tease him, but he decided maybe he should just cut the man some slack on his wedding day. 

But the urge was too great he couldn’t let Logan go unteased, before he could do so though-

“Dad! Dad! Dad! Look, me and Fran match!” Oscar’s son, Hudson, ran into the room, his sister following after him.

The two seemed to light up in their soft blue outfits.

“Don’t you two look awesome!” Logan said from behind the twins, making them turn around. “You guys look better than me on my own wedding day.”

The toddlers shouted in excitement as they ran to their favorite honorary uncle (much to Lando’s chagrin. He fought hard for that title).

“You two ready to be the stars of the show? Throwing petals ain’t easy work.” He said as he crouched down to hug the toddlers.

Oscar rolled his eyes. Leave it to Logan to make his own children completely uninterested in him. Fortunately, someone who was actually interested in him entered the room after them. His wonderful fiancée.

“You look gorgeous, honey.” Oscar said awestruck.

“You saw me in this earlier.” She deadpanned. 

“Let a man compliment his fincée, will you?” Holding her close to him, kissing her deeply. It was only when the two weren’t cut off with toddler “ewws” and “stop grossss” that they looked back at their children, currently in a… dance competition with the groom. “Glad to see how much they care for us.” Oscar sighed, feeling childish jealousy. 

“Let him entertain them, he’ll get some more practice for when he has his own kids.”

“He’s too young, honey. He is about to get married, he doesn't need to think about that right now.” Oscar scoffed, feeling offended for his children that Logan would ever dethrone his honorary niece and nephew from being his favorite kids.

“Says the man who had two kids by 18 and has been engaged twice, but not married, by 23.” Honey amused.

He blushed at the reminder that their relationship had been done a bit… backwards.

“They already have an officiant and audience, maybe we can just jump in with the bride and groom, two birds with one stone.”

“Nope! I already have two Piastri’s taking the spotlight today, I don’t need more.” Logan said while both twins climbed all over him.

Charles Leclerc (And the Leclerc Co.)

Normally, hard launching your child was not something a bride would encourage on her wedding day, but as the youngest Leclerc child, Charles’ sister loved the drama. Hence why her nephew was making his debut to the public as the ring bearer. Only a month old, the media hadn’t gotten to meet the cutie as he was born right at the start of winter break. It brought tears to his eyes, how insistent his baby sister was on having her nephew involved in her wedding. It was already an emotional day for Charles, who felt like he was losing his first baby as he walked her down the aisle and sent her off into her future, but he truly couldn’t be happier.

And doing it with his son by his side just made it all the more memorable. 

“Honey?” Charles’ girlfriend called as she popped her head into the room he was getting ready in. In her arms was their newborn who, while still so small, broke everyone’s heart at how big he was getting. “Oh, my love, are you seriously crying again?” she asked as he tried to inconspicuously wipe away his tears.

Being reminded that he had just been crying only made him start to cry more.

“Charlie, you are more emotional than I was while pregnant. What is going on with you today?”

“It is stupid, I’m sorry. It's just- it was yesterday my sister was in my arms, having just been born, and now she is getting married and the American is taking her away.”

If there was one thing the Leclerc brothers loved to do, it was make fun of their soon to be brother-in-law. They truly did love Logan, but it was so easy to pick on him and he was far too polite to try anything with them yet. If you asked them, they would say they are just treating him like the brother he is, but they also just really love how much it pissed their sister off, who will certainly be defending him. 

“Oh, sweetheart, she isn’t going anywhere. They are still going to live in Monaco, and you race with her husband almost every weekend. If anything now that they are married you will see more of her.” 

It was true. Even if the Leclerc brothers had a strict ban on dating drivers, they had to admit that their sister had found a good partner in Logan. A man who was driving alongside Charles, had been on the same team as Arthur in the past, and knew just how important and difficult the sport was on family. 

Giving her boyfriend a quick kiss on the cheek after wiping his tears from his face, Charles’ partner went on to try and fix the mess of hair that her lover was currently fighting. 

The Leclerc’s had terrible bed heads, something that unfortunately had already been seen in the first grandson, even at just a month old his hair was thick and unmanageable. 

Fortunately, Charles had calmed down enough that he was no longer a complete mess when his brothers entered the room. If Charles knew anything about his brother’s (and his sister) it was that such tears would have led to him being teased for the rest of his life about it. 

“Have you seen her?” Charles asked Enzo, hoping for any indication on how their sister was doing, having been too busy setting up for the wedding and taking care of his son to check on the bride thoroughly.

Arthur rolled his eyes, “When we tried to see her, Maman wouldn’t let us in.”

“Why? Is something wrong?” Charles’ girlfriend asked, the same level of concern in her voice displayed accross Charles’ face. 

“No, no, the bride said she wanted to have a little moment with the four of us before the wedding, so she didn’t want us to see anything before.” Enzo explained. He had understood her sentiment, Arthur… not so much.

Letting out a breath at the confirmation that nothing was wrong, Charles sat quietly while he got his hair tamed, his brothers playing with their nephew in the back.

It was a sight that almost brought tears to Pascale’s eyes, but she had already cried so much and she knew she needed to save the rest of her tears for the ceremony. Her three boys, all in different stages of their lives, all dressed up and ready to support their baby sister on her big day. 

There was a sense of love and excitement in the air, reminding her of when her daughter had first been born, her older brothers hardly able to sit still while they waited in anticipation. Though everyone was calm now, having gotten most of their childish impatience out of their system, those feelings hadn’t changed. 

“Someone wants to see you all.” She spoke up, getting the attention of her boys. Charles’ girlfriend pressed a kiss to his cheek and took their son from his uncles, wanting to give the Leclerc siblings a moment alone. 

“My goodness, you look stunning.” She said to the bride as she walked through the doorway before leaving. This made all the brother’s perk up, losing the rest of their patience as they waited to see their baby sister.

The second she stepped into the room and tears welled up in everyone’s eyes, the Leclercs knew it was going to be a long day full of bittersweet melancholy, but also one so full of love.

Lando Norris

“Have I told you how wonderful you looked?” Lando asked, grabbing his girlfriend’s hand as he ran his thumb over her knuckles.

She rolled her eyes, “Only a thousand times since we got in the car. Not to mention when I was getting ready, when I was trying on dresses, or when I was simply speaking to you about what I was thinking of wearing.” She teased.

He knew it was overkill, but he also knew how stressed she was. Not about the wedding, she was excited to attend and celebrate, but of the fact she knew she’d finally be identified as Lando Norris’s “unremarkable” girlfriend the tabloids have talked about for a while. 

The media knew he was dating not a model, or heir to a fortune, or an influencer, but a “simple” teacher, one who had a private instagram account with hardly 100 people on it. They had seen what pictures Lando posted of her, maybe a few posted by friends, but they never showed her face. They didn’t even know her name.

Even though their words were harsh, even though it hurt they thought she was undeserving of him when they didn’t know her, the anonymity at least came with the sentiment that all their judgements came from one simple fact, that she was a teacher. Now, they would have more to criticize, more to know, and she hated the thought.

Despite the public not knowing about her though, she had still been able to become good friends with many of Lando’s. Had been present for many arguments between Logan and Lando as they defended their individual titles of being “the best honorary uncle” to the Piastri twins and had been there to help watch the toddlers so Oscar’s fiancée could get a bit of a break during races. 

She loved so many of the people there, and she knew they all had her back. Because of this, she felt more ready to face the music. She shouldn’t be ashamed of who she was, she loved everything about her life, and she wouldn’t be made to feel bad for loving Lando. 

In the end, it was what the two of them thought and felt about their relationship that mattered. 

Lando smiled as he watched her take a deep breath, ready for what was to come. He’d move heaven and the earth for her, and he for sure wasn’t going to let some idiots online ruin something so good.

Lance Stroll

“You must have the worst heartburn, huh?” A mutual friend of a friend, Marie, asked.

“Oh, well actually-”

“Ugh it was so bad! And the indigestion, that really sucked. Oh! Reminds me of this one awful stretch of time when I was pregnant. I was actually also at a wedding…” Marie started on a tangent about some pregnancy horror story. One the currently pregnant woman she was talking to, didn’t appreciate hearing at the moment.

Lance looked over at his wife, stuck in conversation looking pained. Fearing that something was wrong with her or the baby, he quickly made his way over with an excuse to whisk her away.

“Are you alright?” He asked once out of earshot of Marie. 

His wife opened her mouth to answer, but was unable to when a choked sound made its way out first. The sound attracted the eyes of several wedding guests, who upon seeing that she was pregnant, turned back to their conversations, finding that as the excuse for such an outburst. While she was embarrassed when all eyes turned to her, the lack of interest in her wellbeing after seeing her belly just made her start to sob even more.

Knowing his wife was in distress and clearly the crowded room was adding to the discomfort, Lance led her to an unoccupied hallway. 

“Come on, hun. How can I make this better?” Sweetness, with a bit of helplessness, in his tone.

“You-you can’t!” She cried. God, how was she ever supposed to explain what the hell was happening with her. Especially when each second, she felt differently.

Maybe that was the problem. 

 “I’m- I am so tired of being the pregnant lady.” She managed to get out.

Lance frowned at the confession. “I know, love. I can’t imagine what it's like to be pregnant, and I wish I could help. I know it sucks, but you can get through-”

“Stop! That's the problem. Every single issue I have is written off as something that just happens with pregnancy. Like they are just side effects that can’t be helped! Like I just need to deal with them alone because “I signed up for this”. Maybe it sounds stupid or childish but I don’t give a fuck anymore, Lance. I don’t want to be treated like some pregnant lady, I don't want to be treated as if every single emotion I have is just because of hormones or because all women are just expected to suffer through this! Marie just came up to me and started talking about her own horror stories from when she was pregnant! I don’t want to hear that, not when she isn’t giving actual advice, just trying to laugh about things I, as the currently pregnant person, don’t find funny! I don’t want to talk about how I am so hungry and have people laugh and say ‘oh that's just what happens’. I want to get food! I want to be able to be upset without people losing interest the second they realize it's just the pregnant lady crying. I want the things I'm going through to be taken seriously, Lance.”

A beat of silence as he took in her words. 

As the silence stretched on though, she found herself with an apology forming on the tip of her tongue, feeling bad for yelling at her husband during her tangent when, even if he had contributed to the problem, he didn’t really do anything wrong. 

Just as she opened her mouth though, he got on his phone. 

She started to not feel as bad as she watched her husband seemingly ignore all she said.

“Are you-” She began, just to be cut off by him putting his phone in his pocket, and kissing her deeply.

Most of her anger seemed to disappear at that moment. He hadn’t kissed her like that in what felt like forever. Since she had told him she had been pregnant, he had been unsure of how to go about doing… well, anything. 

After a few passionately blissful seconds, he pulled away, still holding her face between his hands and stroking her cheek with his thumbs. “I ordered a car to take us to a crappy fast food place.”

She stammered, “What do- why?”

“You said you are hungry, the ceremony hasn’t even begun yet, we are going to be here for a while before we can eat and while I’m sure the bride and groom have an amazing set up, there isn’t a point in making you suffer any longer when we can fix it.” he explained.

She didn’t know what to say. She wanted to agree, but she also wanted to support their friends and knew she probably shouldn’t skip out on their wedding day. But she really needed something to eat and her feet were killing her already- 

“No, Lance, we shouldn’t it- it would be rude.” She answered.

Lance laughed at her attempt at trying to convince both herself and him. “As much as I’d love to stay, I’d much rather watch you eat a disgusting amount of fast food in an impressively short amount of time all the while dressed to the nines. Plus, we both know the bride and groom would be understanding.” He said as he grabbed her purse and opened the door for her. “After you, my love.” 

She sighed, realizing he was right. 

“Oh how gentlemanly of you,” she teased in a posh accent. “Is it often you whisk away distressed damsels to fast food restaurants?” 

“Only the gorgeous ones. I did earn my nickname of Sir Lancelot from my wife for a reason.” He teased back.

“It seems you have.” She replied with a kiss on the cheek.

Lewis Hamilton

“Oh, sweet pea. You look stunning!” Lewis said as he facetimed his daughter, currently at home with her mom.

The young girl giggled at the compliment, asking her dad about the wedding. She had been more than curious about weddings lately after hearing that her dad was attending one. 

“-and the bride wears a beautiful white dress”

“Like the one mommy is wearing?” she asked her dad, pointing to the oversized t-shirt her mom was wearing with paint stains on it from when she and her partner had painted the nursery for the 1 year old currently asleep in said room. Lewis laughed at the image.

“While I am sure your mommy could wear that and still be the most beautiful girl in the world. A wedding dress is a little… different.” Lewis answered.

“Mommy! Can I see your wedding dress?” her daughter asked.

Both parents froze at the question, realizing they might have not told their child a pretty important detail about her parents. 

“Oh- honey. Daddy and I never got married.” She answered. Her daughter looked back at the phone, at her dad, confused.

“Dad? Why didn’t you marry mommy? Don’t you love her?” 

Harsh. Lewis didn’t know how to answer such a question, but he eventually found the words. 

“Sweetheart, you know I love your mom very much. You are all my most favorite girls. Some people just don’t get married, they don’t feel the need to.” He answered. It wasn’t that the two of them didn’t want to, they had planned on it. But their first daughter had been unplanned, then their second had been too, and eventually, as they became everything to one another, they didn’t have a wedding so high on their priority list, knowing the proof of their love was evident in the two girls they were raising, in the life they had built together despite many unwanted opinions trying to ruin it. 

“Let me talk to your dad sweetie. Can you grab my water from the living room?” His girlfriend asked as her daughter handed her the phone and jumped off the bed.

After the sound of the young girl’s footsteps softened in the background, she spoke up, “Sorry about that, Lew, she saw a photo of some celebrity wedding today and her interest in the topic was reignited.”

“She is a curious kid, I get it. She is a smart one too, she gets it from her mother.” He watched his girlfriend blush at the compliment. Even while tired having to take care of the two young children alone, she seemed to be glowing. “We never did get around to marriage, did we?” 

She sighed, “I guess we got too busy. I hadn’t even thought about it in a while- not that I don’t want to marry you still!”

He laughed at her realization she may have chosen her words wrong, “No, I haven’t either. Two kids is a lot, and we both know how we feel about each other. But I will always be ready to marry you, the second you say so.”

“Well, I’ll always be ready to marry you, after you properly propose. You already got two kids out of me, I at least deserve a big flashy ring.” She teased.

“And you shall have it my love.” Lewis suddenly heard his daughter coming back. He spoke up when he saw her pop back up on screen, “What do you think, love bug? Should mommy and daddy get married? I think your mom would look beautiful in a big white dress, right?”

The little girl perked up at that, “Yes! But, will it be hard for mommy to wear a dress with the baby in her tummy?” She asked, pointing to her mom’s stomach.

Both adults froze. 

Slowly, Lewis’ girlfriend let out a deep sigh. “Baby, I told you not to talk about that with daddy till we could tell him…”

If his eyes opened any wider, they would have popped out of his head. “She’s serious? We are having another baby?”

“Surprise? I wanted to keep it a secret till you came back and make it all special but she was so sad when you left I told her to cheer her up.”

Lewis’ heart softened at the thought, “Well, I guess a wedding might have to be postponed for the time being” He amused.

They’d get around to it, maybe after this next kid, maybe after the next few.

Part 2 coming soon featuring: Alex Albon x reader, Logan Sargeant x Leclerc!Reader (Its 1 am and I have work in a few hours)

[emchante]

storytime seduction | m. verstappen

request: Mmm thinking about a storytelling stream w Max 🤭 he reads poetry or a smutty excerpt from a novel in that insanely hot Dutch accent, making flirty remarks here n there with those obscene low moans on purpose

softcore porn streamer! max

warnings: 18+/suggestive — minors dni.

request was sent by di!! can’t answer it as it isn’t in my inbox anymore, so the original ask is written above. so glad you guys are loving this au, because i love writing it! don’t forget to drop your thoughts in my inbox<3

you join the stream when you’re finally in bed for the night, and met with the usual display. max has a lazy grin on his face, the one that makes you both excited and terrified of what he has planned. the title had teased ‘story time with max’, which honestly left it quite vague.

you’re not entirely sure what to expect, but as soon as he leans back in his chair, holding a book up with an annoyingly suggestive smirk— your stomach twists.

max adjusts his mic slightly, leaning in as his deep, accented voice comes through like a warm caress. “alright, alright,” he says, opening the book up. he flips to the section he had bookmarked, and his other hand casually grips the hem of his tight tank top, lifting it slightly to scratch at his stomach. it’s a subtle move— but the flash of soft skin, the peak of his light happy trail— but it’s enough to send the chat spiralling.

“oh, this?” he asks, catching on and pulling the tank top higher, revealing his soft stomach with his large hand now splayed entirely across it. he watches the messages come in even faster as he exposes himself more, and he chuckles deeply before pulling it back down. “now, let’s set the mood.”

the lighting in his room is dim, soft and golden, casting just enough shadow to make the atmosphere feel.. intimate. he begins to read an excerpt from whatever erotica is in front of him, and it’s obscene how good he sounds. the words roll off his tongue like they were made to be spoken in that voice— low and rich with just enough gravel to send a rush of heat throughout your body.

“‘her breath hitched,” he reads, tone dipping lower as his lips quirk up into a slight smirk. “his touch—barely a graze— sent heat racing down her spine’,” he pauses, looking to the chat before pulling an innocent expression. “oh, too much? or should i keep going?”

that chat of course explodes, begging max to continue, spamming about how he knows what he’s doing— and the smirk on his face only grows as the chat begins to flood with pleas.

he laughs softly, the sound vibrating throughout your headphones and into your very soul. “okay, okay, you all asked for it.”

and then he’s back to reading the filth that he holds in his hands, drawing out the words like he knows exactly what he’s doing to everyone listening. his voice is velvet, dark and teasing, his dutch accent thickening around certain phrases— especially the more explicit dialogue.

you’re hyper-aware of every pause he takes, every low chuckle that escapes him when he sees chat losing its mind. when the writing starts to get more heated, he leans closer into the mic, and your skin prickles as if he’s speaking directly into your way.

“‘you like that?’” he reads, and then he turns his gaze towards his camera. he licks his lips slowly, tilting his head as he continues to stare for a few moments, before he turns to his chat. “hmm, i think i’ve heard that one before,” he teases, his grin downright sinful.

max shifts in his seat, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of his waistband like he doesn’t realise what he’s doing. “‘her legs trembled as his hands slid lower, his fingers brushing the bare skin where her thighs met—’”

he breaks off again, this time with an obscene, low groan escaping his throat. “this is downright filth, isn’t it?” he asks, his hand moving from his waistband up to the back of his neck to scratch it, muscles flexing with the motion.

“‘her breath came in short gasps as his lips found her ear, whispering promises of what he’d do to her,’” he mimics it, leaning close to the mic and lowering his voice even further, eyes peering into the camera. “i could whisper to you too, you know. tell you exactly what i’d do if you were here.”

your breath hitches, heat flushing through you once more as his words seem to sink directly into your skin.

his hands trails back down his body again, thumb dragging itself across his chest and falling lower before brushing the line of his waistband again. “‘her body arched into him, begging silently for more— hmm, i should make you all beg for more, shouldn’t i? horny fuckers here to listen to me read you an erotic bedtime story,” he interrupts himself to tease the chat, licking his lips at the eager response.

“good girls,” he mutters, a deep heat flourishing from your core as the words do something to you— and evidently everyone else in the chat. “one last line. just for you.”

his voice dips even lower, barely above a growl now. “‘his hands slid under her thighs, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. his mouth hovered over hers, his breath hot and heavy as he finally gave her what she had been waiting for.’”

max shuts the book with a snap, tossing it aside like it’s nothing. “well,” he says, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. “i think that’s enough for tonight. don’t want to ruin you completely, yeah?”

the chat is still spiralling— as are you— but max only winks, stretching in his chair as a sliver of stomach shows again. “sweet dreams, everyone,” he purrs, “try not to think of me too much.”

and then the stream cuts off.

⋆˙⟡ enjoy this? i hope you did! please come chat to me about it in my ask box! publicly or on anon— i’ll answer everything <3

[lovemomhatepolice]

lewis hamilton nswf alphabet (part 1) (minors DNI!)

navigation taglist requests

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Lewis is incredibly attentive during aftercare, making sure you feel safe and loved. He cuddles you close, whispers soft reassurances, and checks in on how you’re feeling. Whether it’s getting water, wrapping you in a blanket, or running a warm bath, he ensures you’re completely cared for.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) What he likes most about himself is his arms - covered in tattoos and strong, which can easily lift you up whenever he wants. He also loves it when you often grab him by the arm or hold him somewhere and lead him!

Lewis loves your neck! He adores that he can kiss it and knows your soft spots, where he always knows you'll react more than others. He also loves how intensely your perfume smells on it, which he loves to inhale.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) He considers it a very intimate part, especially when you do it unprotected. He knows very well how much risk is involved, but with you he is able to overcome it. He loves to fill you with his liquid and watch it merge with yours to form one whole, which in a way is a proof of your love and boundless trust. However, after intercourse, it immediately helps you clean yourself so you don't feel dirty

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) Lewis has a secret thrill for public teasing—brushing his hand over your thigh at a formal event or whispering something filthy in your ear when no one’s looking. The risk of being caught, combined with the fact that only the two of you know what’s happening, drives him wild. He loves the power of building anticipation, making you wait until you’re alone to finally give in to everything he’s been promising.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) Lewis is quite an experienced man - he has had many female partners in his life before you, whether romantic or sexual, so he knows exactly what he is doing. He can perfectly caress a woman's body, focusing on certain areas that you immediately drift away from

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) He loves it when you're on top. That's when he can read every expression on your face and see you dissolve in the delight of orgasm. It also gives him the opportunity to hold you tightly by the hips, moving inside you from below, which intensifies your sensations and gives you a completely different, even closer contact

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) It depends - most often, however, he tries to throw in a joke, especially he did so at the very beginning, when you started making love with each other. Now it depends, he is not adversarial, he loves to laugh with you, however, he also cares about making it as pleasant as possible for you and it just naturally comes out that he is already less goofy, making it more tender

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) Lewis doesn't give a damn - he shaves himself when he wants and doesn't pay much attention to it, just as long as it would be hygienic. And towards you? Hmm, he's not the youngest, which is why he gets excited when you have your bottom trimmed in some patterns. Oh gosh, he loves it when you have one stripe there

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Lewis is terribly thoughtful. He whispers sweet nothings or full of encouragement to you all the time. He doesn't forget to leave the softer ones - on your cheeks or forehead - in addition to hot and passionate kisses. He also hugs you very often and tries to make you feel one hundred percent comfortable. He is also very fond of silence, which, according to him, gives a great deal to intimacy

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Lewis doesn’t do it often, but when he does, it’s usually because he’s missing you. He’s not one to rush through it—he takes his time, letting his imagination run wild with memories of your time together or fantasies about what he wants to do to you. If he’s away from you, he might even text or call, letting you know exactly what he’s thinking about, making it all the more intense. K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Who would have thought that our seven-time world champion likes to feel the thrill of being covered? As soon as he has the opportunity to do so and you are willing, he very much enjoys making love to you in places where someone can cover you. It's not the greatest advantage for him to do all this - but in the end, he still cares about his privacy and yours. However, being in a public place, such as the beach or the jaccuzi on the roof of your apartment excites him. L = Location (favorite places to do the do) He loves places with a view - such as the balcony or high windows you have in your apartment. He also eats when you're on vacation and have an outdoor shower, oh, then he loves to take you there

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) He gets very excited when you know what you want yourself. When you whisper to him how you would like him to love you that night, or when you come yourself and even beg him for it. Or vice versa - when you tease him by pretending to be acutely unavailable. One word and he is already yours

A/N: part two will be here soon! (If anyone wants me to tag them - let me know in the comments). WELL - it's the first time when I'm writing for lewis

I encourage you to give requests in the Christmas marathon! click here :) and in my celebration to the first thousand!

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[natlovesls2]

It Isn't Over

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

*ੈ✩‧₊˚warnings: small amount of angst, minimal swearing, no use of y/n, short and honestly not that good

*ੈ✩‧₊˚word count: 900

*ੈ✩‧₊˚summary: Lando regrets the everything that has happened between you. Part two to this: part one

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Lando had silently hoped your Instagram stories only served to make him jealous. Perhaps you simply wanted to show him what he had lost– of course that had been nothing but wishful thinking, having heard from a mutual friend that you were indeed seeing some guy. He stood at the door of your apartment, hand slightly raised as he debated whether he should knock or not.

“Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to knock?” the sound of your voice shaking him out of his thoughts. 

He hadn’t seen you in months, you looked as radiant as ever, “I miss you,” he blurted out, voice slightly shaky as he reached a hand out towards you,“I made a mistake, a big one, I know I did. I lie awake every night thinking about it.”

He noticed your hesitance, he wasn’t a complete idiot when it came to reading people despite what you thought of him. “Why don’t you come in, have something to drink,” you sighed, digging through your purse, attempting to find your keys. 

“Thank you,” he said softly, watching as you opened the door to your apartment, letting him in and closing the door behind you. He scanned the living room for any sign of your moving on, perhaps a coat left by your new lover or a picture of a sentimental moment hanging on the wall, but he found none. Instead he was greeted by the same living room he had come to know during the duration of your complicated friendship. 

“I guess we have a lot to talk about,” you led him to your kitchen, hand shaking as you poured him a glass of water, “do you want anything else to drink?” he shook his head, taking a sip of water. 

“I don’t know where to start,” he admits, nervously running a hand through his hair. He was nervous, something he had never been around you. Lando had always been a confident person, especially around you, this was new. “Are you seeing anyone?” he asks. 

“What?” you were confused by the sudden question, it hadn’t been what you expected him to say, far from it. There wasn’t anything that could have come out of his mouth that would have been expected but this was certainly one of the least possible things you would expect. In fact, maybe, an apology would have been more appropriate than whatever he intended with that question. 

“I think I’m in love with you, and if you’re seeing someone then it complicates things. I saw that guy on your instagram– but that doesn’t change how I feel,” he rambled out a confession, burying his face in his hands, tugging at his hair. 

“You think?”

“I am, I am so in love with you. And I made the worst mistake of my life, I know that. I just need another chance,” he said, desperately pleading with you, his tone the most serious you had ever heard from him. It hurt you, it hurt to know that it had taken him years to realize this. His eyes never leaving your face, hoping to find any sort of reaction that would reveal that your feelings for him hadn’t changed despite his foul treatment. 

“Lando…” you started. He hated the way you said his name, how soft your voice still sounded despite the evident pain. “You hurt me in many ways. It was as if you saw me as less than human, just something to satisfy whatever needs you had,” you felt tears start to well up in your eyes, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep calm. “And now you show up at my front door claiming to be in love with me? I find it all hard to believe.”

You remember one night that had been particularly hurtful– the night of your birthday. Lando had called you earlier that day, inviting himself over to your apartment. You had wishfully thought that he had remembered your birthday, despite the fact that he had yet to acknowledge it. When he had finally arrived that night you were not greeted with the words “Happy Birthday”. Instead he pushed his way into your home, kissing you and whispering against your skin about how much he needed you. It wasn’t until a week later that he had even noticed that your birthday had passed. So to say that you couldn’t believe Lando had truly changed was an understatement, but even so, you couldn’t bring yourself to forget about your feelings towards him. 

“I’m not asking you to believe me. I'm asking you to give me another chance– an opportunity to prove to you that what I feel for you is real, that I truly do love you,” Lando took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush away a stubborn tear that had made its way past the threshold of your eyes. 

“One chance,” you whispered, letting your forehead rest against his. 

“So you’re not seeing that guy you’ve been posting on your Instagram?”

“He’s my cousin,” you said with a small teary laugh, placing a kiss on his nose. 

And maybe things would be different than they had been before. Maybe this time he wouldn’t ditch you at events for models who made you insecure or forget your birthday. This time he wouldn’t make you hate the way you looked. But only time would tell.

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Note: I had a lot I wanted to do for this but lost motivation and I didn't want to just scrap the whole fic so... yeah, I know its shit but I've had a rough month. Anyway, I just wanted to give the original a happy ending. My Decemeber shorts will be better (I hope), peace out

[short-honey-badger]

Doll 2

Pairings: Shanks x Female Reader

Summary: Shanks can't stop thinking about you and how you'll fit in with the crew

Warnings: late night thoughts and mentions of abuse

Doll Masterlist

Later that night, while Shanks lay in the room he'd rented, the redhead couldn't stop thinking about you. Even while pleasantly buzzed still from earlier, his mind was a whirlwind of thought, and as much as it disgusted him to consider, he did want to know what kind of slave you were. The Celestial Dragons were known to keep all kinds of races, from Fishman to Giants. Labor, entertainment, pleasure.

Shanks hoped that you hadn't been part of the latter. You didn't seem like it, didn't have the innate sultry look that Shanks had seen before, but that didn't mean you couldn't hide it from him. He could go ask you, demand you tell him since he was the one who decided to bring you on board, but the thought of doing that left an awful taste in his mouth. Shanks wanted you to trust him. He wanted to be your friend.

You hadn't told him much about your past, only the little bit that you’d been willing to share with him so far, but Shanks wanted you to feel safe enough that you would want to share everything with him eventually. He wanted to see you smile more, wanted to see you relax and feel at home with him and the rest of his crew. You wanted to know everything, so Shanks would make sure you got what you wanted.

A knock on his door tore the captain from his thoughts, and he jumped from the bed to open the door. You stood on the other side, a contrite expression on your face. His own schools into one of concern and lean against the doorway.

“Everything okay, Doll?” He asks quietly and has a hard time not reaching out to cup her face when you bite your lip and avoid his eyes. He waits patiently for you, not willing to rush you into anything that you might not be read for.

“I just wanted to say thank you. I didn’t earlier, and it’s been bothering me,” you ramble and then fall silent. You don’t want your new captain to rescind his offer to join him, but you’ve been instructed to say please and thank you since you could remember, even if whatever you’d been sent to do ended in punishment.

Shanks softens even more at your admission. He can see the old fear lingering in your eyes, and it makes rage boil in his chest that you’ve been subject to such treatment that a simple thank you made you so nervous. He doesn’t fight the urge this time to reach out to cup your face in his hand, his lips turning up in a sad smile.

“Sweetheart. You don’t have to thank me for something like this. Don’t think you have to treat me and mine like you had to treat those bastards. I don’t own you, Doll. You own yourself.”

He watches in mild panic as tears form in your eyes, and then he has a chest full of sobbing woman. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer to try and provide some form of comfort. Shanks isn’t the best at this, but for you? He’d try his damndest. He dips his head and presses a kiss to the top of your head and listens as your sobs begin to slow down into quiet sniffles.

You grimace as you pull away and look at his shirt from where your face had been pressed, “I’m sorry, I got you all nasty.”

Shanks laughs and shakes his head. You were adorable like this, and he couldn’t get enough of it, “Darling. I promise you that this shirt has had worse than some snot and tears on it.”

The look of disgust that paints your face is all worth the confession, and Shanks only laughs harder when you pull away and wipe your face. You crinkle your nose and eye him with a now skeptical look, “When was the last time you washed that shirt?”

Shanks aims an innocent look, lips pursed as he shrugs a shoulder. You scoff and cross your arms, but your fear from earlier seems to be gone, so the redhead is happy.

“Maybe it is a good thing I’m coming along. A crew full of men probably needs a woman’s touch,” You quip, and Shanks can’t help but silently agree. He won’t lie and say that the laundry doesn’t get piled up on occasion. Or the dishes despite Lucky Roux keeping the kitchen orderly. He’s guilty himself for letting his quarters get a little too messy. But he didn’t bring you along so that you could be their maid.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, _,” Shanks murmurs, tone dropping the playful tilt as he catches her chin in his hand, “I’m not bringing you with us for that.”

His heart thuds in his chest at the smile that you send him. You slowly reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist, squeezing softly before letting your hand fall back to your side. It makes you feel good that Shanks is taking your comfort in mind, but you wouldn’t be a burden on his ship.

“I know that, but I don’t think I could physically just sit around and do nothing. I’ve worked… my whole life, Shanks, and I don’t want to be just another mouth to feed. I want to be helpful,” you say and shrug a little helplessly. The only break you’ve ever had was in the last month of your escape, but even then, you were constantly looking over your shoulder, wondering if this would be the day that someone recognized you and dragged you back to Marie Geois. The guilt of leaving the other slaves behind still ate at you, and you wished that you could have been able to take them with you.

“Then we’ll figure it out as we go, Doll,” Shanks promises and strokes his thumb along your jaw like he had earlier before he drops his hand. He doesn’t want you to think that he wants you for anything other than your company. Not that you’re not beautiful, but Shanks doesn’t want you to think he expected something like that from you. Not unless you wanted it.

You blush at th efeeling of the rough pad of his finger against your skin. You didn’t like it when people touched you, but you found that dislike absent when Shanks did it. It felt natural and kept you grounded in a way you didn’t expect. You flick your eyes up, catching his own and send him a small smile, “Thank you again, Shanks.”

The redhead meets it with a grin of his own. A yawn suddenly catches you off guard, and you cover your mouth with a hand, eyes squinting as you look away from him. Shanks snickers at the way your nose scrunches up and steps back into his room.

“Go catch some sleep, Doll. We’ll stay here a couple more days to resupply, and then we’ll be on our way,” Shanks yawns himself halfway through, his words coming out slow and choppy before they even out. He smirks when his antics make you laugh, and then he is watching you turn on your heel and lope down the hall, “Night, Doll.”

“Night, Shanks,” you call softly back, and then you disappear around the corner. Shanks sighs once you are gone. Mind stuffed even more with thoughts about you as he shuts the door and lays back down. He rubs a hand down his face and rolls to his side, vowing to figure out the details in the morning.

[h0ney-mochi]

I'm thinking of a subby!xiao x dom!Afab!Reader, where it's xiao's first time and he starts crying because of the extreme pleasure he is receiving lmao

(I wanna hear his moans, whimpers, whines, crying, I wanna feel him squirming as he begs me to go faster on his cock lmao)

Anyways thanks! I hope you have a wonderful day :D

sub Xiao x dom afab!reader

SMUT/NSFW CONTENT (sub!xiao, dom!reader, afab!reader, riding, dacryphilia?, praise)

Summary: You've started being more intimate with Xiao a few months ago. Make-outs, some touching, but nothing too far... And then, one night, he tells you his thoughts on wanting to do more.

A/n: YR SO RIGHT... he'd be whimpering and whining for you to speed up, go harder, he wants more!!! <3 Hope you have a good day as well, anon! I haven't written in so fucking long that I'm scared this isn't that good... gosh help

Minor writer, dni if uncomfortable!

It's another night of you and your lovely adeptus boyfriend. He's still not used to the title of that, especially when you run up to him muttering the words with a huge smile on your face. You've asked him if he's uncomfortable, that you can change the nickname up, that he can tell you if he doesn't like it— Before seeing the blush on his cheeks that he's trying very hard to hide. He'll say it's fine, avoiding your teasing gaze, not wanting to admit that he does like the name. Especially when it comes from your lips.

Another one of those nights of you laying in the grass, kicking your feet in the air while reading a book in the pale moonlight. Xiao is beside you, looking over the hill. It was calm and quiet. Occasionally, you could hear some bird making noise in the distance, but other than that, it was peaceful. You flip another page and smirk at a sentence.

Xiao has already moved his attention away from the fields, looking down at you now, watching your eyes move across the words on the page. He slightly furrows his eyebrows, deep in some thoughts. It's fascinating how you have so many sides to you. Just in the early morning of the same day, you had him against the wall, messily making out. And now you're giggling at a book you picked up from the library days prior.

He feels the same weird feeling in his stomach that he felt in the morning when you had your tongue down his throat. What was it? What is it? You two never went far. You guys started getting sort of intimate a few months ago, maybe. He was inexperienced. It all always was too much, making him light-headed. Even a slightly heavier make-out session was enough to make his knees buckle. He doesn't know if you've been with someone else before him... You do it so easily. You always take the lead. Is it because you've learned it with someone else or.. or...

Oh, how he wished he would be the first one.

"Xiao?" Your gentle voice breaks him out of his thoughts, and he meets your eyes. He stares at you for a moment before looking away, answering you with a simple 'What?'.

"You seem pretty deep in thought, something bothering you? Do you need to go already?" You ask him while sliding a bookmark on your page and closing the book. Xiao grunts, shaking his head, "No, I'm fine." You won't let that go. You sit up and scoot closer to him, leaning against his shoulder. He moves his head to the side so you can lay yours comfortably. Your two fingers do a walk on his leg, and you smile. "Xiaooo," you drag out his name, chuckling at the end, "Tell me what's up."

Xiao sighs in annoyance, looking away. You slide your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. He tenses up and slowly turns his head to look down at you. He's met with your eyes already staring at him. "Come onnn, you know I won't judge," you continue your sentence. Xiao stares at you with an annoyed look. Some silence passes, and he blinks a few times before looking away again.

"It's nothing, I've just been thinking... about us. About what we... do." He finally says, absentmindedly moving his thumb against your hand. You hum in a bit of confusion before straightening your back, and he looks at you when you do that, eyes slightly widening in some fear. You take both of his hands in yours and look at him, "That's what's bothering you? Am I going too fast? I'm really sorry. You shouldn't keep these things to yourself, honey." You speak, furrowing your eyebrows, slightly chewing on your lip. Have you really been pushing too hard on him? Well, it would make sense that it would be too much for him... But it's the first time that he's bringing this up. How long has he been thinking like this?

"Oh, what? No, no, I-" Xiao's eyes widen at your words, and he quickly shakes his head, sighing again, "No, you got it wrong. You're not doing anything wrong, [name]. I was just thinking that..." I want you. I need you. I need more.

He feels his cheeks start to burn at his own thoughts. How is he supposed to say it out loud?

You stare at him with a tilted head. You try to think of what he's trying to tell you right now and make sure you won't be getting anything wrong, that you won't be misunderstanding... but his blush is really telling.

A small grin tugs at your lips. "You were thinking?" He swallows, breaking eye contact to look to the side. It's not like him to feel all flustered, but you always manage to mess with his head. Never in a million years would he admit to needing you in a way that is incredibly strange, at least to him. Yet you're willing to listen, you're grinning. You have a hunch on what he could say, and it makes him feel embarrassed.

"...That maybe we could..." He starts, feeling his heartbeat quicken and his mouth go dry. How is this so hard to say out loud?

He breathes in and then slowly exhales. Quickly glancing to you, he sees your grin. He's not sure if he should continue looking at you or look away — what can save him from these feelings right now?

"Maybe we could do... something more?" Xiao finally continues after a moment of silence. The way he worded it made him feel hot, nervousness creeping in. He starts to think again, staring in your eyes, of what you're going to say. Then he feels you squeeze his hands, and he feels his heart slowly slowing down. You let out a quiet chuckle before responding, "Yeah, we can. How far do you want me to go? Will you tell me when we're there?" He sits there, blinking at you. You hear him mutter an 'um...' and he's glancing to the side again.

"It's okay. You'll tell me when you'll need to then," You reassure him and lean in to give him a quick kiss. He feels your lips for a second, but before he can do anything back, you've already pulled away, and he feels some disappointment. You put your head back on his shoulder, speaking up again, "Just tell me when you want to try something more, or you want it to just happen in one of our moments?"

He moves his hand away from yours and coughs into it, not being able to handle your questions. How are they working him up already? Guess he's just letting his mind wander far too easily...

You noticed. Of course you did, so you spoke on it. Moving your head again, you lean into his ear and whisper, "Or do you want to do it right now?"

He lets out a breath before swallowing. It doesn't take long for him to reply, shaking his head up and down to your question. You let out a small laugh and move away, moving into his lap instead. You take your hand away from his and put both of them on the sides of his face, letting one move down to his neck and go further into his soft hair.

He stares at you with wide eyes, breathing through his mouth. He can't hide his nervousness. Or was it excitement? Neither of you knew right now.

He's already leaning closer to you, glancing down to your lips and back up to your eyes, so you only do the same. You lean in and press your lips against his once again, and his hands freeze up for a moment, before he moves them to sit on your hips, gloved hands slightly digging into your clothing.

He kisses you back, letting his eyes close shut in the process. You move your lips against his, and you feel his mouth slightly part, and you take it as a chance to slide your tongue in. You move your thumb against his cheek while running your other hand through his hair. He sighs through his nose, kissing you back, slightly melting from it as you move your tongue. And he can't help, but imagine where else he could feel it..

His hands slightly tighten on your hips, and he pulls you closer to him. He needs you closer, closer... And you let him, shifting slightly in his lap so it's a bit more comfortable for you. And that's when you feel it.

You move your hand away from his hair and slowly run it down his neck to his chest, feeling his heart beat against it. Xiao makes a tiny sound when you move your hand further downwards over his stomach. You've always trailed your hand there, but it felt different this time. Probably because he said that the two of you could do something more, and you're moving towards said wish.

You smile against his mouth and pull away, earning a tiny whine from the man in front of you. His eyes widen as his own reaction, and he glances away. You tap his cheek with your thumb, and he looks back to your face. "Eyes on me," you whisper in a soft tone. The way he looks at you and the nod of his head makes your heart skip a beat. It was cute.

"You want me to go further, yeah?" You ask, and he nods again, not confident in his voice right now. You move your hand over his pants, slowly feeling him through the clothing, and you see his eyes slightly shutting before opening fully again. You're not doing a lot, just rubbing your hand up and down, feeling his dick pulse from your movements. Yet to him, it already feels a lot, but not enough. He tries to stay still, but as a small noise falls from his lips, he bucks his hips forward, trying to get more friction from your hand. You smile, and he stares back at you with pleading eyes.

In a quick movement, you pull your hand away, and he sighs at the loss. But you had other plans anyway. Using both of your hands, you push on his chest, making him fall down onto the grass beneath the two of you. Xiao watches your movements as he props himself up with his elbows, wondering what you've got in mind for him. He's met with your eyes that seem to have a dark glint within them. Your fingers hook onto his pants, and you're slowly pulling down his clothing, making him jump slightly. It wasn't that cold, but if you're showing lots of bare skin, it does send a few chills down your body.

The flush on his cheeks gets darker as he realizes just how excited he's got from you, but he doesn't dare to look away, no — he needs to see what you're going to do.

You don't make him wait, immediately moving your hand over his underwear, wrapping your hand around his hard-on. Slowly moving your hand, same motions as before, just with a slightly tighter grip. You move your head down and leave a small kiss at the top of his clothed dick and he pulses in your hand. Hearing his breathing get shaky already makes you only wonder - how is he going to sound when he actually feels you?

"[name], please..." You hear him quietly speak, letting out a breath right after, "Can you...?" You lid your eyes at him, asking with a smirk, "Can I what?" He balls his hands into fists, knowing very well that you were teasing him.

"Please, you know- you know what I mean.." He mumbles, slightly moving his hips. You let out a small laugh, nodding. You pull his underwear out of the way, further down his legs, and he shivers from the cool air hitting his dick, getting some goosebumps in the process.

Wrapping your fingers around him again, you feel his warmth on your palm. You let some of your spit fall on his dick and you start jerking him off. Xiao lets out a moan, immediately jumping at the sensation. You kiss his tip before leaning away and climbing on top of his body. One hand bent enough so you can still jack him off, you put your other hand on the grass next to him, so you wouldn't fall over. He's the one to kiss you first, already opening his mouth for you.

It doesn't take that long for him to already start moving his hips in the same motion as your hand, hands gripping at the grass and loud moans spilling in your mouth, getting swallowed down by you. From the way he's reacting and getting more desperate, you could tell he was close.

So you slowed down your hand, and oh boy, the disappointed moan he let out in your mouth made butterflies fly in your stomach.

You pulled away from his lips, and he opened his eyes to stare at you, confusement visible in his expression. "Why- why did you stop?" He asked, but then his question was answered once he saw you pulling down your own pants, along with your underwear. His mind doesn't process what's happening right now until you're towering over him again, rubbing his dick against yourself. That sends a spark through his body, and he whines, breathing heavily. And then you look at him.

"Is this okay?" You ask, teasing his tip with your fingers, and he only nods in response. "Can you say it out loud?" You tilt your head at him and watch him stutter. "I mean- Yes, it's fine- okay-" Xiao speaks, eyes darting between your face and his dick, "Please-"

And then you lowered yourself down on him, moving your hands on his chest. Xiao's breath gets caught in his throat, and he goes quiet, mouth agape. It was fairly easy to take him in since his reactions and noises always made you get wet. Still, it felt foreign since this is the first time both of you are going to enjoy each other. Your hands clutch onto his clothes as you let out a soft moan, fully sitting down on his lap. It felt nice.

Xiao, on the other hand, was digging his hands in the grass, plucking a few off the ground from the harsh grip. He lets out a strangled moan, chest rising from a few quick breaths. Oh, you were so warm, he was inside of you, oh dear Archons, he was inside of you. Holy fuck.

You move a hand up to cup his cheek, making him zone back into your eyes. In a gentle voice, you ask, "Are you alright?" He nods slowly, unable to form proper words. And you take that as your cue to start moving. Using the strength you had in your legs, you lift yourself off his lap, leaving the tip of his dick inside you, before moving back down, slightly hitting his stomach. Xiao groans, his eyes almost closing from the feeling.

"You- you're so warm... You feel so-" He chokes out, interrupting himself with a shaky breath, "So good, fuck." You smile and grip onto his clothing, riding him at a quicker pace now. Xiao's back arched, and he let out a gasp. His hands shot up to your waist, holding on for dear life as you moved up and down his dick, moaning in the process.

He can't stop his noises now, that's for sure.

"Fuck, ah, you're- fuck, you're so warm, gaH—!" He whines, digging his hands into your skin, "Please- please go f-faster, [name], please..." You lie down on his chest, pressing your head into the crook of his neck and did as he begged. Crashing your hips up and down, the sound of skin hitting skin, combining that with the pure pleasure... Xiao couldn't hold back. His head falls back against the grass and moans flow freely from his throat as he tries to calm down. He feels tears prick at his eyes and his fingers dig harder in your waist, toes curling against the ground.

It felt so, so fucking good.

And then you moaned in his ear, and his eyes shot open towards the night sky. You moved one hand under his shirt, trailing it up his chest as you continued your movements on his dick. Through your moans, you managed to let out some proper words. "You like that? That feels good, doesn't it?"

He tries to nod, but he can't move from the pleasure, pressing the back of his head down against the ground. "Yes, ah-! Yes, feels good, fuck, feels good, feels so, so fucking good- Please, please-"

He's not sure what he's begging for, but he needs it, and he wants it so bad. He sniffles, feeling tears leave his eyes. There's something building up inside him, and he needs that release, whatever it is — he needs you to free him.

Your lips meet his neck, teeth grazing his skin. Your hips slap against his stomach, the noise from your wetness making it sound so much louder. Both your moans are mixing together, yet Xiao's are so much louder than yours. He's already sensitive, but he does not want to pull away, he can't, he feels something, he doesn't know what it is, but he fucking needs it. And so he begs with tears falling down his cheeks.

"Please, fuck- Please, I need- I need to- Fuck, [name], please, I want to- Haah- [name], please—!" Xiao moans out, his hands digging harder, daring to leave bruises on your skin and you groan in response, biting down on his neck.

"Mhm, you can do it, come on-" You say, detaching from his neck and straightening your back, quickly moving your hips ups and down, feeling your legs starting to sting, "Make me proud, Xiao. You're- fuck, you're doing so, so good."

And that's enough to have him snap. His eyes shut close, pushing more tears out, and his head falls back again. His dick pulses in you and you smile, staring down at his fucked out face. Wet streaks illuminated by the moonlight. His tight grip on your hips slightly loosens as he cums, letting out a sharp gasp. You don't stop yet, still trying to reach your own high and he slightly trembles beneath you, letting out broken moans.

His eyes are blurry and his mouth is dry, his heart is racing and he's sensitive. When you finally lean down to his face, it takes a bit for him to focus in on you. "Xiao?" Your voice sounds slightly distant, followed by a small chuckle, "Did that feel good, baby boy?"

He feels a small smile tug at his lips. You cup his face in your hands and kiss him, thumb brushing away his tears. He kisses back with the energy he still has left, and he meets your eyes when you pull away. He looked so pretty in the moonlight. His face was messy, red eyeliner stains, wet streaks from his tears...

"Yeah," his voice feels sore, "It did."

Thank you for the request! Hope you enjoy the taste <3

© h0ney-mochi 2024 / Please don't copy or repost my work and writings! <3