#citrus tree by the window

[littlebittyhollowbugs]

My sister pieced together a traitor lord with some leftover yarn.

He's a cutie !!!

[mothmiso]

West for the Winter 2k15 (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) by Livali Wyle

[twobluejeans]

Vogue Engagement Interview

charles leclerc x fiancé!reader

summary: In which y/n and charles invite vogue into their monaco home

ally’s radio 📻: hello my lovelies, its been a while… this is eventually gonna be apart a series I’m working on but for now its a standalone. if you guys enjoy it, send in request for other blurbs🤍

EXCLUSIVE: Y/n L/n & Charles Leclerc’s Love Story—A Home, A Forever, A Dream. 

A Drive into Luxury

Monaco’s streets glisten in the early afternoon light, the air thick with the scent of sea salt and citrus. The road leading up to Y/N L/N and Charles Leclerc’s home is lined with palm trees, their shadows swaying gently over the sleek pavement. As I pull into their driveway, I take a moment to absorb the scene before me—an array of luxury cars neatly parked in front of the house, each a testament to Charles’ love for speed and precision. A cherry-red Ferrari, unmistakably his, sits beside a blacked-out Mercedes G-Wagon, which I suspect belongs to Y/N. Beside them, a vintage Porsche—cream-colored, classic, and timeless, much like the couple themselves.  

The house before me is nothing short of breathtaking. White stone, modern yet inviting, with floor-to-ceiling windows that reflect the sapphire hues of the Mediterranean behind it. It’s grand, certainly, but not in a way that feels cold or impersonal. Even from the outside, the home exudes warmth—just like the woman who greets me at the door.  

A Warm Welcome

Y/N L/N stands in the doorway, barefoot, wearing a soft cashmere sweater in the perfect shade of off-white and a pair of delicate gold hoop earrings that catch the sunlight. Her hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few strands framing her face. She’s effortlessly beautiful, yet it’s not just her appearance that captivates—it’s the way she carries herself, the way her smile reaches her eyes, the way she radiates an easy, natural warmth.  

"Hi! You must be Ally, it’s so nice to meet you," she says, her voice smooth and welcoming. She extends her hand, and as we shake, I can’t help but notice the sparkling engagement ring on her finger—the ring that has sent the world into a frenzy.  

She gestures for me to step inside, the scent of fresh peonies and something warm—vanilla, perhaps—filling the air. The entryway is spacious but cozy, with soft lighting, neutral tones, and delicate personal touches. A candle flickers on a marble side table, and a framed photo of her and Charles, mid-laughter, sits beside it.  

"Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, wine—it's never too early for wine in Monaco," she jokes, leading me further inside.  

I opt for a coffee, and she nods, already making her way toward the open kitchen, which is a stunning combination of modern design and lived-in comfort. Copper pans hang above the marble island, and a basket of freshly baked croissants sits on the counter. She moves effortlessly, making me feel less like an interviewer and more like an old friend.  

A Glimpse Into Their Home 

Before we settle in, Y/N insists on giving me a small tour. We move through the house at a leisurely pace, and she speaks about their home with genuine affection.  

"Charles and I wanted something that felt like us—elegant but not over-the-top. A place where we could truly unwind. Where we could have friends over, but also where we could just… be."

The living room is a perfect reflection of that sentiment. A grand yet inviting space, with a massive cream-colored sectional adorned with soft blankets and an array of books scattered across the coffee table. The glass doors open onto a terrace overlooking the sea, the gentle sound of waves lapping in the distance.  

The warmth of their home isn’t just in the décor—it’s in the small, intimate details. A racing helmet casually placed on a shelf, a half-finished painting leaning against the wall, a dog bed tucked in the corner.  

And speaking of their dog—Leo, a mini golden dachshund, comes trotting into the room, tail wagging furiously. He greets me as if we’ve known each other forever, before curling up at Y/N’s feet.  

"He’s a menace,"she laughs, scratching behind his ears. "But we adore him."

She leads me back to the living room, where we settle onto the plush sofa. There’s still no sign of Charles, but Y/N doesn’t seem concerned. Instead, she leans back, taking a slow sip of her coffee, and I take the opportunity to shift the conversation toward her latest project.  

Heartache & Healing: The Story Behind the Album

"Your new album has been described as a journey through heartbreak and finding love again," I begin. "Can you tell us what inspired it?"  

Y/N exhales softly, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup.  

"It was… personal," she admits. "My last relationship was—well, it wasn’t healthy. It was a cycle of highs and lows, of leaving and coming back when I knew I shouldn’t. I think a lot of people have been in relationships like that, where you convince yourself things will change. But eventually, I realized I had to leave, and that’s when everything started to shift for me." 

"There’s a track on the album—number 16—simply titled ‘Charles Leclerc.’

She smiles, a different kind of light in her eyes now. "It wasn’t planned," she says. "We were finishing up the album, and I was in the studio one night, just reflecting. I started humming this melody, and the words just… came out. It was a love note, really. Just a simple way of capturing what he means to me."

Before I can ask more, the front door swings open, and in walks Charles Leclerc, his presence filling the space effortlessly. Dressed in a fitted navy sweater and tailored trousers, he carries two grocery bags in one hand and, in the other, a bouquet so large it nearly obscures his face.  

"Mon amour, I got your favorite pastries," he announces, setting the bags down before walking over to Y/N and pressing a lingering kiss to her temple.  

She takes the flowers with a soft laugh. "You didn’t have to do that."

"I always have to do that," he counters, before turning to me with an easy grin. "Welcome to our home. I hope Y/N hasn’t told you too many embarrassing stories about me yet."

The Proposal: A Moment Meant to Last Forever

As Charles settles in beside Y/N, I ask him about the proposal—one of the most talked-about moments of the year.  

"You chose Monaco, a rooftop, and—surprise—Lando Norris as the secret photographer?" I tease.  

Charles chuckles, shaking his head. "I needed someone to capture the moment, and Lando has a good eye for that kind of thing. But really, I wanted it to be perfect. Y/N deserves nothing less."

"What made you choose that moment to propose?"

His gaze softens as he turns toward Y/N.

"A few months ago, we did a perfume campaign together. The concept was this idealized life—a home, a family, this perfect love story. And I remember looking at her during the shoot, holding this little boy’s hand, and I thought… I don’t want this to be pretend. I want it to be real. I want to come home to her, to have Sunday mornings and family dinners and late-night talks about absolutely nothing. I wanted it all—with her. And once I knew that, there was no reason to wait."

Y/N squeezes his hand, her eyes glistening.  

"And now you have it," I say, smiling.  

Charles nods. "Now I have everything."

An Outpouring of Love—And Flowers

As soon as the engagement was announced, Y/N and Charles were flooded with well-wishes, not just from fans, but from some of the most iconic names in Hollywood, music, and sports. Their Monaco home was quickly transformed into something of a botanical wonderland.

Beyoncé sent an extravagant arrangement of white orchids and gardenias, with a handwritten note that read, "Wishing you both a love as timeless as your artistry. Love always, B."

Pedro Pascal had red and yellow tulips delivered with a note that simply said, "Love wins. Cheers to you both."

Chris Evans sent a classic bouquet of red roses, playfully signing off, "Now, don’t let him drive too fast, okay?"

Theo James and Aubrey Plaza, her White Lotus co-stars, gifted wildflowers and eucalyptus, with a note from Aubrey that read, "If he ever pisses you off, just remember… we know where to find him."

Jacob Elordi, her Priscilla co-star, sent Australian natives—banksias and proteas, writing, "A queen deserves flowers fit for a queen."

Zendaya and Tom Holland surprised her with an entire indoor citrus tree, symbolizing growth and prosperity.

Harry Styles had peonies and hydrangeas delivered, with a simple yet heartfelt, "Love to you both."

And, of course, Max Verstappen, Charles’ friend and fellow F1 driver, sent sunflowers with a note that read, "Because Charles is going to need something bright to look at when he gets overtaken."

Fast Laps & Slow Mornings

"Charles, how do you balance racing at such an intense level while also making time for your personal life?"

"It’s not easy," he admits. "F1 is demanding, and there are weeks where I barely see home. But Y/N understands that. She’s been there for me through it all—whether it’s waking up at 4 AM to watch a race or flying across the world just to spend a day together. And when I do get time off, I make sure it’s meaningful. Like today—I picked up her favorite pastries, and we’re going to spend the rest of the afternoon doing absolutely nothing together. Watching Abbot Elementary, her favorite show."

Y/N smiles. "The perfect day."

An Unexpected Delivery

As the conversation flows effortlessly between Y/N and Charles, our interview is briefly interrupted by the sound of the doorbell echoing through their Monaco home. 

Y/N furrows her brows, exchanging a glance with Charles before getting up.

"I wasn’t expecting anything today," she murmurs, padding barefoot toward the door.

A few moments later, she returns, holding an unmistakably elegant black velvet box with gold detailing—and a letter.

She places it on the coffee table, her fingers hovering over the envelope before she lets out a small laugh. "This is… unexpected."

Charles, sipping his espresso, raises an eyebrow. "Who’s it from?"

Y/N flips the envelope over, and for the first time during our interview, she looks genuinely stunned.

"It’s from Zayn."

There’s a pause. A noticeable one. Zayn Malik—her first public boyfriend, her first real love. Not the other relationship she references in her album, but the one that introduced her to the world of high-profile romance. They had dated years ago, young and in love, their breakup amicable, though heavily scrutinized by the media.

"Open it," Charles encourages, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. There’s no jealousy, only curiosity.

She carefully unfolds the letter, her eyes scanning the words before she reads them aloud.

“Y/N,

Love changes, but real love never fades. It evolves, it grows, it finds its way into different forms. You taught me that.

I’m so damn happy for you. Seeing you glow the way you do now—it’s exactly what you deserve. You’ve always deserved a love like this.

No matter where life takes us, I’ll always be rooting for you.

Wishing you and Charles a lifetime of happiness.

-Z”

Silence lingers for a moment before Y/N exhales softly, a small, touched smile on her lips.

"That was really sweet," she says, setting the letter down carefully.

Charles reaches for her hand, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. "You really do have the whole world rooting for you, don’t you?"

Y/N chuckles, shaking her head. "I guess so."

She finally lifts the lid of the black velvet box, revealing a delicate gold charm bracelet—elegant, understated, and timeless. Each charm tells a story: a music note for her career, a tiny Monaco Grand Prix trophy for Charles, a small vintage microphone, and a crescent moon, a nod to the nickname Zayn used to call her in their younger years.

"Wow," she murmurs, gently running her fingers over the charms.

"You going to keep it?" I ask.

Y/N glances at Charles, who simply shrugs. "It’s a memory," he says easily. "And memories deserve their place."

She smiles at him, then fastens the bracelet around her wrist.

"Yeah," she says, her voice soft but certain. "I think I will."

Looking Ahead

As the sun dips lower in the sky, casting golden light through their home, I ask them both the final question.

"What’s next?"

Y/N glances at Charles. "Marriage. Love. Life."

Charles nods. "And maybe a few more interludes."

Y/N laughs, squeezing his hand. "Maybe."

And with that, it’s clear—their love story is only just beginning.

[thoughtfulfiction]

Carpe Diem

Author’s Note: We all miss him. So I wrote the most romantic thing I’ve ever written.

A glass of chilled Savasana California Rosé sat in front of you, its diluted pink hue a stark contrast to the sweet yet crisp taste. With a fork in hand you begin to dig into the chicken parmesan with strozzapreti pasta, the chunky tomato sauce brings a rich and comforting smell that shifts your attention from the constant hum of the plane's engine. Eating dinner on a plane like this—silverware instead of plastic cutlery, wine served in real glass—felt oddly surreal. This whole trip did, like you’d stumbled into someone else’s life.

You hadn’t always pictured yourself in this life—a corner office in Berkeley, managing accounts worth millions and rubbing elbows with executives. The internship you’d applied for during your junior year of college was meant to be a stepping stone, a way to pad your resume and have something cool to look back on the future. You hadn’t expected it to become the foundation of a career at a place ranked 7th among the largest biomedical companies by revenue in the world. And here you were sipping rosé in first class on your way to a solo vacation in Greece. Somehow, it had all come together. Your first year making six figures was surreal enough, but now the freedom to spend it on something like this felt even more unbelievable.

The hotel room you would be calling home for the next few days was stretched out like it came straight out of a travel magazine. Everything about it screamed neutral paradise, highlighting the warmth of the space. Plush pillows stacked neatly atop the Temper-Pedic king sized bed that earned the hotel all five of its stars with just one glance. The open layout gave the impression of a private condo, complete with a sleek mini bar and an espresso machine that practically begged to be used. The view from the top floor was breathtaking, floor-to-ceiling glass windows that made way for the vibrant blue skies that allowed the sun to shine at it's greatest capacity, reflecting off the marble from the streets of southern Athens below. And the colors were so dynamic; olive groves, fields of breathtaking wildflowers and citrus trees brought the city to life. Everything reminded you of a landscape painting, it was all so perfect you almost had to pinch yourself to make sure you were really here.

But before your Athens takeover could really commence, you needed a nap. Or three.

Day one passed in a blissful haze of recovery. After a nap that could have doubled as a small coma, you walked by the hotel’s pool, taking in the sparkling water and the soft chatter of other guests lounging under striped umbrellas. Breakfast that morning was a feast fit for royalty, an omelet folded to perfection, fresh fruit that tasted like sunshine, and Moustokouloura, a pastry so rich and sweet it felt like dessert at dawn. The concierge insisted you try Greek coffee, and when the steaming cup arrived at your door, its strong, earthy aroma greeted you like a wake-up call from the gods. You took it to the patio, sipping as you let the city below slowly introduce itself. This is exactly where you're supposed to be. Athens was filled with color, sound, and possibility. This was freedom, pure and simple.

Feeling refreshed on your second morning after some extensive Tik Tok research about things to do in Athens, you walked around the streets of Plaka, by far the most recommended place on the site. And it didn't take long for you to understand why. The neighborhood was a collection of some of the most beautiful brick buildings, an array of restaurants with uniquely placed outdoor seating. The air carried the mingling scents of fresh pita, grilling souvlaki, and blooming jasmine. Laughter and snippets of conversation floated from café tables spilling onto the sidewalks, where diners lingered over plates of mezes and glasses of ouzo. You walked slowly, admiring every square inch of the place like you were going to commit every detail to memory, stumbling upon a store with random trinkets you figured you could take home to your friends and tell them what they were getting themselves into when you all would be in Greece together eventually. Now that you'd experienced this on your own, you couldn't wait to share this experience with them next time. The first person you spotted when you walked in was a tall man, well over six feet, broad shoulders with his back facing the door. He was sexy from the back which meant...no. You shook yourself out of the daydream about what this man could possibly look like because of course men in Greece looked better. That was some sort of law or something based on every movie you'd ever seen. The book shelf at the front of the store caught your eye first, a Greek guide book with common phrases for tourists to know, things that maybe Duolingo wouldn't think of so you grabbed it, scanning the pages for useful information. You tried to focus on the guidebook in your hands, but your nerves betrayed you. An older man’s gaze prickled at your skin, a quiet warning sounding in your mind. Maybe it was nothing, you told yourself. He could just be a curious local. But by the third lap around the shop and you could still feel his eyes in you, the goosebumps on your arms had turned into a full-blown alarm.

The man was closer now, his steps too deliberate to be a coincidence. By the time he spoke, his voice was low and overly familiar, the kind of tone that made your stomach twist. “Hi. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “I just... couldn’t help noticing you.”

You swallowed thickly, hoping to keep the conversation short, sweet and with as little personal information exchanged as humanly possible. "Yes. Just visiting," you force out a smile.

"Ah I see, those are pretty," he gestures toward the necklaces in your hand, "pretty necklaces for a pretty lady. Does the pretty lady have a name?"

"Um," you wanted to take a step back, you wanted to walk away, but there was literally no way out of this situation because he was standing in between you and the exit. And for some reason you couldn't think of a fake name off the top of your head to give him. "It's—”

“Oh hey, babe. There you are,” a deep voice interrupted. Your head whipped around, and there he was—broad shoulders, a jawline sharp enough to rival a Greek statue. He had the kind of easy confidence that made your heart skip a beat. Mr. Broad Shoulders slid his arm around you, his touch casual but protective, the warmth of his hand anchoring you in place but doubling your pulse rate for a different reason. “Thought you wanted those charm bracelets, but you disappeared on me.”

“I got distracted.” Your gaze flickered upward, caught on the sun-kissed curl falling across his forehead. He smelled faintly of cinnamon, like he’d been leaning over a freshly lit candle moments before swooping in to save you.

The man takes a look at the two of you and apologizes, walking away without a second glance. You let out a sigh of relief, "thanks for the save, I really didn't know what to do and you just-I really appreciate it."

"No worries, I saw him following you around and thought it was weird. Glad I could help."

You look around to make sure the man from before, spotting him circling the back area with the pasties. "It's...very weird. He didn’t seem like he’d back down that easily."

“I’m Joe, by the way. Since I’m your boyfriend now, that seems like something you should know.”

You laughed, the tension in your chest finally easing. “Yeah, probably. Nice to meet you, Joe. I’m Y/N, your very grateful girlfriend.”

Joe leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper meant just for you. “He’s still watching us. Mind if I sell this a little more?” Without waiting for an answer, he adjusted his grip, his arm tightening around your shoulders like he’d been holding you this way forever. It was seamless, effortless, entirely too convincing. And it left you speechless. All you could do was nod, looking up at him, thinking about how this guy might be the most gorgeous person you've ever seen.

The two of you moved around the store aimlessly, the conversation flowing like you’d known each other for longer than half an hour. Joe explained he’d been in Greece for a few days, taking time to decompress after a grueling work season. “Sometimes, I just need to step away,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity that struck a chord.

“I get that,” you replied, sharing your own story of navigating your career and this newfound independence. You admitted, almost sheepishly, that sometimes your job didn’t feel like work because it aligned with your passions so perfectly. Joe nodded, his expression softening. “That’s how I feel,” he said. “I mean, this year it really magnified that for me. But sometimes when things don't go the way you hoped or planned, it makes the sacrifices worth more. Like not having as much free time when I'm working. Now, I have endless free time."

There was something magnetic about him—not just the broad shoulders and effortless charm, but the way he seemed so present. Every touch felt intentional, whether it was his hand on your back as you navigated tight spaces or his offer to buy the travel book you’d been thumbing through. You felt a strange sense of familiarity, like you’d seen him somewhere before but couldn’t quite place it.

After carefully deliberating over the trinkets, you settled on matching necklaces for your friends. On your way to the register, a woman approached, her expression warm and animated.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she began, “but I just had to tell you—you two make the most stunning couple. The way you look at each other, it’s just... beautiful. Are you here on an anniversary trip?”

“One year,” Joe answered without hesitation, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he squeezed your hand.

“That’s incredible! Congratulations!” the woman gushed. “Athens is the perfect place to explore as a couple. Do you have plans yet?”

You chimed in, “Not really. We were just going to see where the day takes us.”

The woman nodded enthusiastically and rattled off recommendations, from must-visit landmarks to hidden culinary gems. You took notes on your phone, her suggestions igniting your excitement for the day ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, Joe watched you with a kind of awe. The way your face lit up when you talked about exploring the city tugged at something deep inside him.

He’d spent the last four days locked away in his room, trying to process a season that had been equal parts triumph and heartbreak. It wasn’t just the physical toll of the game—it was the sting of being so close to the pinnacle and falling short. They had gone from 4-8 to 9-8 in what felt like the blink of an eye. The unmet expectations that he had for the team dulled his personal success a bit and he needed to escape after watching other teams prepare for their playoff runs while he cleaned out his locker. He just wanted to recharge and regroup…alone. And here you were, an unexpected spark in the midst of his self-imposed solitude.

When the woman finally bid you goodbye, you hesitated. Should you ask him to join you? The idea of spending the day with a stranger—no matter how kind and gorgeous—felt bold, maybe too bold. But being alone again felt... unbearable. You decided against asking because the thought of rejection was a step above unbearable, if at all possible.

“Well,” you began, your voice faltering slightly, “I guess this is it. I should probably head to my next stop now that I have a to-do list.” You forced a small laugh, keeping your gaze on the floor.

Joe nodded, his smile tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I hope you check off everything on your list.”

He watched you walk away, his chest tightening with each step. He wanted to stop you, to ask you to stay, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was stand there, frozen, as the door swung open.

You paused just before stepping outside. Something tugged at you—a feeling that walking away now would be a mistake.

Turning back, you smiled shyly. “I just realized... how am I supposed to experience Athens to its full potential without my boyfriend? On our anniversary trip, no less?”

Joe’s laugh was warm, easy. “No idea. Luckily, I think I know someone who can help.”

“You’re always so helpful. I feel like I won the dating lottery.”

“Can’t disagree,” he teased, his grin widening.

“Alright,” you said, nudging him playfully, “let’s get out of here before your head gets so big it doesn’t fit through the door.”

He walked out with you, allowing you to lead the way to your first stop.

Fairytale Athens looked like an intense mix between the Garden of Eden and Alice in Wonderland. "This is...wow," Joe quips, the vast array of flowers on the ceiling, the pink bar area and the flamingos. So many flamingos.

You could tell by his tight expression that this place isn't really his scene. "We're not here for two hours of afternoon tea or anything," you reassure him with a smile, "Dimitra said that we should grab drinks before walking around Acropolis and that..." you glance at the menu in front of you, "...strawberry ginger lemonade? That might be calling my name." He shakes his head and orders a mint and cucumber lemonade for himself, your lemonade and two waters as you walk around the princess castle, taking as many pictures as possible before Joe walked back over with all four drinks in hand before heading to the incredibly famous tourist attraction.

The package you paid for allowed you to skip the line and head through a side entrance, your tour guide walking you through the history of the ancient sights along with details about the architectural styles, construction techniques, and the symbolism of the monuments. The faint echo of the voices highlighted the rich history of the place you were standing in, the warm air a stark contrast to the cool lemonade in your hand. It seemed like Joe was hanging onto every word as he helped you up some steep ancient steps, his eyes lighting up as the guide drove you over to the museum, going into depth about the Gods.

"This exhibit is Gods, Worship and Magic, one of the most popular sites this year. You guys can walk around and read about the different deities featured." Artemis' exhibit, caught your eye first.

Glancing down at the steel plaque, "goddess of the hunt, devoted to nature. Were you ever a Percy Jackson fan growing up?"

"I was more of a SpongeBob guy. And Star Wars. Definitely had a dinosaur phase that lasted a lot longer than I care to share," he looks up, wondering why in the hell he just told you that. "Do—do you have any humiliating stories you'd like to share with the class?"

He nudged you as you walked alongside him, his hand so dangerously close to yours. You had the biggest urge to reach out and touch him. So you did. Reaching out maybe an inch, you interlocked your pinky with his, making his heart take a leap in his chest, swinging your hands happily towards the Eros exhibit. "The god of—”

"Love and desire," he finishes for you. Just because he wasn’t a Percy Jackson fanatic, doesn’t mean he didn’t pay close attention to the Greek mythology unit in school.

"Look at the hands," you said softly, leaning in closer. "It's like they're...perfectly fit for each other, you know?"

Joe's breath hitched almost imperceptibly. He was standing so close now, the faint scent of mint and cucumber from his lemonade mingling with the earthy air of the exhibit. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice warm and low, "I know what you mean."

Your pinkies were still hooked, but now the little space between you felt electrified. You didn't dare turn to meet his eyes, afraid of what you might see—or what he might see in yours.

"I do have an embarrassing thing to share with the class," you turn to face him and admire the excited look on his face, like what you're about to say is the most important thing in the world. "When I was little I was obsessed with Mama Mia." He gives you a puzzled look. "It's a musical that they turned into a movie. Anyway...it's about a girl that's getting married in a small town in Greece and the views just..." you pause, smiling at the memory, "...changed my life. I've always wanted that magical movie moment feeling. The music, the views, the…”

"Romance?" he finishes softly, a knowing look in his eyes.

You exhale, your cheeks warming as you nod. "Yeah...the romance. It was nice too." You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. "Doesn’t really compare to the real thing, though," you add, barely above a whisper.

The weight of the moment lingers between you. His gaze searches yours, his expression softening like he wants to say something but can’t quite find the words. Your heart stumbles, and suddenly you feel too seen. You clear your throat, breaking the spell. "I'm, uh, getting kind of hungry. We should grab lunch and head to the next spot."

Joe blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, like he wasn't ready for the shift. "Yeah, sure," he says, his voice gentler now. He watches you for a second longer than you'd expect, then nods. As you walk back to meet the tour guide, Joe finds himself wondering how you’ve managed to unravel him so quickly, leaving him wondering why he already feels so invested in figuring you out.

When you get into the Uber it's like a weight has been lifted off your chest. The museum, which was supposed to be a calm and educational experience was too stuffy and intimate by the end of the visit. In the car, you could have your own space, sitting as close to the door as you could to gather yourself and your thoughts. The driver was nice enough, he had chargers in the car and gave you water bottles, noting that the heat would steadily increase throughout the day. You noticed him stealing glances at Joe in the rearview mirror, his hands tightening on the wheel like he was holding back words. The silence stretched until finally—“I’m sorry, man. I just gotta say…” he finally utters out, "I've been a Bengals fan since I was 8. And I woke up at ungodly hours to watch you play every week. Huge, huge fan."

You laughed at yourself in your seat, the pieces of the puzzle being put together. All of your focus had been on the day, spending every waking minute together and you didn't even fully process why he looked so familiar because the odds of that just sounded too insane to be real. Joe managed a polite smile, his usual ease replaced with a flicker of discomfort. You glanced at him, watching his jaw tighten just slightly as he signed the hat, the faintest blush creeping up his neck. Did he worry you’d see him differently now?

The car stopped near a bustling square lined with food trucks and small cafes. The aroma of grilled meat and spices wafted through the air as you wandered, your eyes drawn to colorful menus. It didn’t take long for the debate to begin.

"Joseph, the mini burgers are definitely better than the souvlaki cones. Be serious."

"No they aren't!" He argues, "you just need to try another one, here."

The souvlaki cone was tender and smoky, the tzatziki tangy and cool against the heat of the pork. But the burger—crispy bacon, the creamy richness of the mayo—felt indulgent, almost sinful. You savored every bite, laughing at Joe’s mock-offended gasp when you declared it the winner. "I hear you and I respect your wrong opinion. But the burger is just better I'm sorry. Do you want another bite?"

He shakes his head slowly, admiring you while you did such a mundane task, silently cursing himself at the fact that he chartered a plane to leave early the next morning. The two of you needed more time together. One day just wasn't going to be enough and the more time he spent with you the more apparent that fact became.

And then you took him on a boat.

It rocked gently, but Joe’s hands gripped the edge of the seat like the waves were threatening to tip them over. His gaze darted toward the horizon, avoiding the churning water below. “You’re really not a boat guy, huh?” you teased, your voice softening when his fingers tightened further. "I'm so sorry I had no idea. But Joe? We're literally in Greece, it's like, treason not to get on a boat here."

"Exactly, so I'm abiding by the law. Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it."

Your hand found his thigh in a quiet attempt to reassure him, and you felt the tension slowly drain from his muscles. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable, but the way his leg leaned ever so slightly into your touch sent a warmth through you that lingered long after. Aegina’s coastline unfolded before you, the white-washed buildings glowing under the sun, expansive trees swaying in the breeze. Joe stepped out first, offering his hand. His grip was firm, steadying you until your feet found the solid ground. You smiled up at him, the unspoken connection between you stronger than ever.

Just as Dimitra had described to you before, the pottery studio was tucked in a quiet corner of the island. Inside, the walls were lined with vibrant pottery, each bowl and vase a testament to countless hands shaping their stories, their glazes gleaming softly in the sunlight as you and Joe grabbed seats toward the back of the room. The instructor's notes were simple, to mold an item of your choice to keep at the end of the session, giving everyone creative freedom to produce a piece of their heart's desire. The clay felt cool to the touch, it's sticky and wet texture balanced wonderfully with the earthy smell that made your experience all the more relaxing and fun. Joe on the other hand, was creating a bowl with a lopsided shape, "it's supposed to look like this," he said firmly, biting back a laugh as you tried (and failed) to keep a straight face.

"Abstract art is still art. I just thought maybe...a quarterback would be better with his hands," you teased.

"Oh yeah? Let's see your work, Picasso." He took a break from his work station to scoot closer to yours, "shit, that actually looks pretty good."

You clean your hands off and move over to his station when he sets his chair back down. "I worked at my uncle's ceramic shop when I was little. It was his passion project so we all had to pitch in as a family and take turns," you helped guide his hand along the bowl, allowing him to smooth over the ridges efficiently evening out some of the misshapen parts. "I'm not saying I’m an expert by any means but I can get you to a point where your bowl can sit up by itself." Your fingers brushed his as you guided his hand, the soft pressure of your touch steadying his movements. Together, the ridges of the bowl began to smooth, though neither of you seemed in a hurry to let go. By the end of the session both bowls were done to the best of your ability, sort of bowl shaped, sort of not and full of personality.

"You’re good at this," Joe says, watching as continued to shape your bowl.

"Good at pottery?" you ask, laughing.

"Good at making things feel...easier," he replies softly. The pottery, he thought to himself, sort of mirrored your time together-unpolished, imperfect, but full of potential and that was both exciting and daunting. After your hands were clean, he grabbed your phone and snapped a picture of the two of you showing off your bowls.

"I was scared when you mentioned doing this at first, but I actually really enjoyed that. This," he gestures to his masterpiece, "is going up somewhere, maybe next to the trophy case at my parent's house. Funny enough, they also live in Athens. Ohio, not Greece," he clarifies.

"You might've missed your true calling," you tell him with a laugh, "here you are wasting your talents on football when the art community needs you."

"Yeah...sure," he laughs, holding onto the bags with your now fully dry bowls in them. "Unfortunately, I don't think I'm ready to quit my day job. Quite frankly, I don't think the art world is ready for me yet. Although working that clay could have been really good wrist rehab."

There it was, that can of worms you'd been trying to navigate. You didn't want to push him to talk about the season or his job if he didn't want to. And now the door was open for you to ask. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to but...was it scary? You know, putting your entire life, all of your free time, your dedication to this one thing that you're obviously really good at. Putting in all that work and then one day it's all just...taken away from you?"

He stops walking for a bit and your breath hitches in your throat, fearing that you've pushed him too far. At the end of the day you were still a stranger to him and maybe that was too personal?

You could tell the question was kind of eating at him, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—”

"No it's fine. I just…yeah. I was terrified for a little bit. No one had been through this before—not at my position, not at this level. I had no blueprint, no one to turn to for advice. It felt like— walking on a tightrope in the dark, hoping I wouldn’t fall.

“The scariest part wasn’t the pain or the rehab," Joe admits. "It was not knowing if I’d still be...me when it was all over."

You tilt your head, searching his face. "You mean, the quarterback?"

He hesitates, then shakes his head. "No. Just...me. Without football, I really didn’t know who that was, how I was going to navigate fame and my private life and everything in between that comes with being me. Whatever that means. And I had an uncomfortably long amount of time to figure it out. Now that the wrist and my health is not an issue anymore and with everything that happened during the season I just felt drained afterwards. Exhausted honestly. And today's been exactly what I needed.”

"Today's been a breath a fresh air for me too. Obviously I didn't have 500 pounds of man laying on top of me but I get it on a smaller scale. Feeling like work is drowning you and nothing you do is good enough so you need to escape. This trip isn’t just a celebration," you confess. "It’s a reminder that I’m more than my deadlines and titles. My boss once called me at 11 p.m. on a Sunday, and I didn’t even blink before picking up. I guess I forgot what it felt like to just...be. I really needed a—”

"Reset," the two of you say at the same time, a comfortable silence washing over you as you continue to walk. "That’s kind of why I came here," you confess. "Not to figure out who I am, but...to remind myself I’m more than my job. More than what other people expect of me."

"Feels like everyone’s always watching, doesn’t it?" Joe says, his voice quieter. "Waiting for you to fail or...prove them right."

"Yeah. But I think we deserve more than that."

Joe sighs, nodding quietly, "We do," Joe says with a small smile. "And one day, when we get it, we’ll look back on this trip as the start of something different." He didn’t say everything he was thinking—some things needed more time to come to the surface.

"Sounds perfect, lead the way."

After you shared the world's greatest chicken gyro, you walked around Aegina a little more, realizing that you had no time to change before dinner and you'd been wearing the same clothes all day long. You walked into a small store, grabbing things off the shelf to try on. Joe was easy, settling for gray cargo pants and a blue striped knit top. Rummaging through clothes and anything that wasn't instant online shopping had become a bit of a chore and you were on a time crunch which made you feel even more rushed. You grabbed three or four dresses and had Joe sit outside the fitting room while you tried the stuff on, only stepping out to show him your favorite.

"What do you think about this?”

The baby blue square neck A-line dress hugged your body like it was created just for you to wear, it's length accentuating your curves in a way that almost had him physically picking his jaw up off the floor. He didn't think you could look any better before but you'd just shattered his expectations. "You look absolutely amazing," he says sincerely, his mouth feeling dry.

You glance at him, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Compliments weren’t new, but the way he said it—like it was the only thing in the world that mattered—left you speechless. You managed a soft laugh, pretending to study your reflection. "Thanks." After heading back to the fitting room to change, you grabbed all of your items and headed to the front to pay with Joe standing behind you in line. The cashier rung up your items and was getting ready to bag it when Joe added his clothes to the mix.

"Joe what are you doing? You're not paying for my clothes."

He handed over his card without hesitation, ignoring your protests. "I’ve got this," he said, his voice casual but his eyes portraying something deeper, like this was the most natural thing in the world to him. "Boyfriends are supposed to buy things. I think it’s in the constitution.”

"It's definitely not. And seriously, you don't have to do this."

"I got it, don't worry babe." The word slipped out so effortlessly that for a second, you wondered if you’d misheard him. But the way his eyes flicked to yours, briefly widening, told you everything. He realized it too—and yet, he didn’t take it back.You thanked him the entire walk back to the boat, his soft laugh sending warm and fuzzy feelings in your chest.

You were starting to acknowledge the growing warmth between you two, the way Joe’s presence seemed to make every moment feel right. The idea of saying goodbye felt heavier than it should after just one day, but somehow, it seemed inevitable. The next spot was inside a resort, they allowed you to change your clothes and head upstairs to the rooftop bar to watch the sunset. The drinks and the view had nothing on you, he quickly realized, finding himself unable to tear his eyes away. Everything just made sense today, the museum walk, the easy conversation, the boat ride. He didn't want to leave before but now the mere thought of packing his suitcase tonight made him upset.

"What are you thinking about over there?" Your words snap him out of his thoughts.

"Nothing, just how much I'm going to miss it here. The peace, the incredible sunset..."

You. The word hung in the air for a while before he pushed it down and tried to move on.

"We should head over to there and get closer to the view, you can literally see the entire city from glass railing." You stood up first and grabbed his hand, practically dragging him over there. Luckily there wasn't anyone else in the area. "This is the most insane scenery. I don't get how anyone could get tired of seeing this everyday, I'd never be inside. I feel like we’ve been the physical representation of carpe diem."

He looks at you confused, "what does that even mean?"

"Carpe diem? It’s Latin for 'seize the day.' Basically saying not to focus too much on the future and live in the present to the fullest capacity.”

"I like that," he chuckles.

Long after the sun went down and most of your dishes were cleared from the table, the lingering sweetness of caramel on your lips was all you could think about, a fleeting pleasure that only made the impending goodbye sting even more.

"Joe I have to tell you something," he looks at you as you head over to stand in one of the private lounge areas, giving you his undivided attention. "I saw you this morning in the store. Your back was facing me but I don't know, you caught my eye. And I told myself I wouldn't say anything, I wouldn't go up to you and make small talk because I'm here on a solo vacation to be one with myself and-now I'm really glad that I know you."

A smile forms on the corner of his mouth, "I've been telling myself all day that this isn't real. That I could just let my guard down because in Greece, I don't have to be Joe Burrow. I can just be...Joe. You let me be exactly who I am, nothing more, nothing less. And honestly? This might've been the single greatest day of my life. I've had good ones, really good ones. But today is up there for sure." You hadn’t realized how close you’d gotten until you could feel his arm against yours, his breath soft and warm on your cheek. His eyes dropped to your lips again, this time lingering a moment longer, as if the air between you had thickened. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his breath just a whisper away, as his hand hovered near your cheek. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending a spark through you, and for a moment, you thought he might pull you in.

You couldn't allow yourself to go there. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not now, not like this—but the way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, made it hard to think clearly. As much as you wanted this, to feel him close, to taste the sweetness of that kiss, the weight of knowing how fleeting it all was crushed down on you. This wasn’t just a kiss—it was everything you were afraid to want, a piece of yourself that you couldn’t let slip away so easily. If you already felt this strongly about him after a day, how were you going to make it through the rest of the vacation without him knowing how his lips tasted and how his strong hands pulled you in close, holding onto you like he'd rather lose everything than let you go. There was no way in the world you'd recover.

"We can't," you whisper, watching him drop his hand that had just been lightly caressing your cheek. "You're gonna leave tomorrow and I'm gonna be thinking about this kiss for a long time. And I can't," your voice trembles. "I don't want you to go, so I can't kiss you. I'm sorry."

"No don't—don't apologize. I get it." He still hadn't taken a step back, biting his lip to keep his emotions in check. "I can walk you back to your hotel? I haven't packed yet and I need to.”

"Sure, yeah that's fine."

The 15 minute walk felt like three seconds. You didn't want him to go. He no longer wanted to leave. "Y/N I—”

You wrapped him up in a bone crushing hug, silently begging him to stay, just for a few more days. His grip on you was just as strong, his heartbeat thumping rapidly against your body. There weren't enough words in the English, or Greek dictionary to describe how much you were going to miss him. To miss this day. "Bye Joe." That was it. That was all you could manage. The moment you let go of him felt like a piece of your heart stayed in his arms. There was no way to explain the ache in your chest as you watched him turn away, the pull to stay stronger than any rational thought.

Going to sleep that night sounded impossible. The day had started out so innocent and special and the adventure and emotional rollercoaster you'd been on during the day made it feel like you'd experienced a series of days all wrapped into one. You set your bags down on the ground when you got to your room, too tired to change out of your clothes and falling asleep on top of the covers as soon as you laid down.

The next morning you checked the time on your phone, it was 8am. Joe had told you yesterday he was leaving at 10. That meek little goodbye wasn't going to cut it. You didn't even have his number. After your teeth were brushed and your clothes were changed, you rushed out of your hotel and got in an Uber, on your way to Joe's resort. The 46 minute ride allowed you to come up with everything you wanted to say, how this was only meant to be for a day but maybe it could be more? Maybe you could come see him in Cincinnati or he could come to Berkeley or someway somehow you could figure out a way to make it work.

You thanked your driver, opting to speed walk into the lobby. The person at the front desk couldn't give you access to the room without a reason, even when you gave them the name Joe used for his reservation. Pulling out your phone, you showed her the picture of you and Joe that he took at the pottery place and she finally believed you.

"I'm sorry ma'am, he actually left this morning a bit earlier than planned. He checked out at 7am to get on the plane."

Your chest tightened as the words settled in—he was gone. Just like that, in the span of a few hours, everything had shifted. The chance to say what was left unsaid, the connection you had just begun to explore, all slipped away before you could even hold onto it.

It felt like a dark cloud loomed over you throughout the rest of the day. The sun, once so warm on your skin, now felt distant and cold. The flowers that had seemed so alive that morning now appeared dull, their colors muted, as though even nature understood the weight on your heart. While you ate lunch, you tried to people watch, although you quickly discovered that there were only couples surrounding you, sharing meals and laughing at each other's jokes which made you miss him even more. The only real bright spot of the day was your flower garden excursion, taking pictures of the newly bloomed bulbs and taking in their fresh scent. As the hours passed, you allowed yourself to breathe a little deeper, letting the moments of regret slip away as you focused on the simple joys of your surroundings. The beauty of the flowers, the calm of the gardens, it all reminded you that there was still peace to be found in this unexpected chapter of your life.

You were just beginning to let go of the weight on your chest, convincing yourself that maybe, just maybe, this was how things were meant to be. But as you laid your phone down beside you, the familiar ping of a message broke the stillness.

It was an DM request on Instagram. The message had two simple words.

Carpe diem.

For a second, your heart skipped, and you couldn’t help but smile. That phrase, so simple and yet so loaded with meaning, sent a wave of warmth through you. It was him. In a way, he had left his mark on you after all, even if he wasn’t here to say the words aloud. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end. And though you didn’t know what tomorrow would bring or if this connection would ever evolve beyond this brief encounter, in that moment, with his words glowing on your screen, you allowed yourself one final thought: Maybe this was only the beginning.

[readreidsworld]

Pedro Pascal x Reader

Summary: You and Pedro get married and build a life together

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

Pedro had exactly one job don’t peek at your dress before the wedding.

He failed.

Or rather he tried to fail. Hovered outside your dressing area more than once. Got caught twice.

“Pedro,” your stylist laughed, blocking the doorway with a makeup brush, “she’s not ready.”

“Can I just hear her voice? I swear it calms my heart rate.”

You poked your head out with an amused smile. “Baby, go rehearse your vows.”

“I did,” he groaned. “I’ve rehearsed them so many times, I could deliver them in six languages. “Then go hug your sister or drink water. Something bride-adjacent.”

He sighed dramatically but obeyed, muttering, “This is psychological warfare,” as he walked away.

The moment he saw you at the end of the aisle, the world fell away.

You walked slow, heart thudding in your chest, veil trailing behind you, eyes locked on his. He looked like he couldn’t breathe.

Pedro’s lips parted like he was about to say something, but nothing came out.

His hand came up to cover his mouth, and yeah he cried.

Not loud. Not messy. Just quiet, stunned tears at the sight of you.

“Wow,” he whispered as you reached him. “You’re how are you real?”

“You’re gonna make me cry,” you choked, laughing and blinking rapidly.

“Too late,” he murmured, wiping your tear gently with his thumb. “We’re a mess.”

“A very beautiful, expensive mess,” you whispered.

The vows were perfect. Honest. A little funny. Very you. When you both said “I do,” it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Pedro kissed you like he’d waited a lifetime.

You were pretty sure he had.

You escaped to a tiny seaside villa on the Amalfi Coast.

It was warm and golden, quiet and undisturbed. Pedro wore linen shirts and went barefoot everywhere. You lived in oversized sunglasses and sundresses and spent every day with no plans.

You made breakfast together. Napped under palm trees. Read books with your legs tangled on the couch. He kissed your shoulder every time he passed by.

One afternoon, you were lying on a hammock, reading, when he plopped down beside you with a lazy grin.

“Wanna know something?” he said, brushing your hair back.

“What?”

“I’m obsessed with you.”

You smiled. “You told me that yesterday.”

“I need to keep reminding you. In case you forget.”

“You’re literally wearing a shirt that says ‘Husband’ right now.”

He looked down at his chest. “And I’ll be wearing it forever.”

You laughed, leaning into him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That night, you danced barefoot in the kitchen while pasta boiled and the sun set pink and slow through the windows. Pedro held you close, humming something under his breath, one hand splayed over the small of your back like he never wanted to let go.

“Mi esposa,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes.

Mine

The Amalfi air was heavy with heat, thick with salt, and scented with blooming citrus. The sun was just dipping below the cliffs when Pedro found you on the balcony.

You were leaning against the railing in one of his linen shirts bare legs, wild hair, skin kissed golden by the sun.

He stared.

“You know,” he said, voice low and rough, “you’re gonna kill me walking around like that.”

You turned, lazy smile tugging at your lips. “It’s your shirt.”

“Exactly. My shirt. My wife.” His voice dipped as he walked over, slow and unhurried. “Mine.”

He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, then another just beneath your jaw. His hands came to rest on your waist familiar, possessive.

“Pedro,” you murmured, tilting your head back slightly as his lips dragged along your neck. “We haven’t even had dinner.”

“I’ll eat later,” he whispered, grinning against your skin. “Right now I’m busy.”

He scooped you up before you could sass him again laughing as you gasped, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. He kissed you like you were something sacred and sinful all at once, walking you back inside without once breaking contact.

You landed on the bed in a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter.

He hovered over you, dark eyes scanning your face with reverence. “I can’t believe I married you.”

“Believe it,” you whispered. “Now come show me how much you love your wife.”

And oh, he did.

Soft and slow at first fingers tracing every inch like he had all the time in the world. He kissed down your stomach, whispered things in Spanish that made your breath hitch, murmured “so beautiful” like a prayer against your skin.

The room filled with the sound of crashing waves outside and the kind of soft moans that only come from feeling completely adored.

Later, with your body tangled under the sheets and his chest pressed to your back, he wrapped an arm tightly around your waist.

“I’m never going to stop touching you,” he whispered against your shoulder, voice hoarse.

You turned in his arms, pressing a sleepy kiss to his chest. “Good. I’d be offended if you tried.”

He chuckled low and warm, thumb brushing lazy circles into your hip.

“I love you, cariño,” he whispered.

You smiled against his skin. “I know. You prove it every night

It started with saltines.

You were halfway through a bag at 8:00 a.m., wrapped in Pedro’s hoodie, when he walked into the kitchen, paused, and blinked.

“You okay?” he asked, eyeing the crackers and your pale face.

“I think…” You hesitated, then met his eyes. “I might be.”

He blinked. “Might be what?”

You held up a pregnancy test box.

His entire soul left his body.

Pedro, usually calm and charismatic and smooth under pressure, became unhinged in the most adorable way.

“Wait” he said, voice pitching up an octave. “You think you’re pregnant? Like with a baby?”

You nodded slowly.

He sat down. Hard.

“I need water? A pillow? CPR?”

You laughed, tearful and nervous. “I haven’t even taken the test yet. I wanted to wait for you.”

He immediately launched into action. “Okay. Yes. Let’s go. Take it. I’ll be outside the door. I’ll hold your hand if you want. Or not. I don’t want to make it weird. Is this weird? Are we ready? I think I’m going to throw up in a supportive way.” You kissed him, short and sure. “Just breathe. I love you. That part’s constant.”

Five minutes later, you opened the bathroom door and held up the test.

Two lines.

Positive.

Pedro stared at it, then at you. Then his face crumpled.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, stepping forward and gently cradling your face. “We made a little us.”

Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Then yours.

You both sank to the bathroom floor in a heap of laughter, tears, and an unspoken vow to love this tiny future human with every ounce of your souls. Pedro became insufferable in the best way.

He wouldn’t let you lift anything. Not even your coffee mug.

“You’re literally growing bones in your body. You’re on rest duty.”

He bought seven kinds of prenatal vitamins, built the crib at 2 a.m. just because he was “too excited to sleep,” and downloaded a baby tracker app that gave you both weekly fruit comparisons.

“You’re an avocado today,” he told your bump one morning, kissing it softly. “A delicious little avocado.”

You snorted. “Are you flirting with the fetus?”

“Obviously. I flirt with anything that shares your DNA.”

By month five, your belly popped and Pedro melted.

He’d lift your shirt just to talk to it. Constantly. Random conversations. Love letters. Full bedtime stories.

“This is your mamá,” he whispered one night, curled beside you, one hand on your belly. “She’s funny and smart and the most beautiful person in the world. If you take after her, you’re gonna be perfect.”

You teared up. “You’re gonna make me cry again.”

He smiled and kissed your stomach. “Join the club.”

It hit him for real one night in bed.

You were asleep, curled up with a hand resting on your bump. Pedro was watching you, gently stroking your hair, when the baby kicked for the first time.

His eyes widened.

Then he lost it.

He laughed, gasped, cried all at once his hand frozen in place, heart pounding like a drum.

“Hey,” he whispered to your bump, voice shaky with wonder. “Hi, baby. I’m your dad.”

You stirred, half-asleep, and reached for him.

“Kick?” you mumbled.

He nodded, pressing your hand to the spot.

Another thump.

And just like that, Pedro Pascal fell in love all over again.

With the baby. With you.

With the life you’d built together

The first contraction hit at 3:17 a.m.

You groaned in your sleep, hand clenching the sheets, and Pedro sat up instantly eyes wide, curls a mess, completely alert despite having just been snoring.

“What what is it? Are you okay? Is it the baby? Is it gas?”

“Definitely not gas,” you gritted out.

He launched into motion.

“Okay. Bag. I packed the bag. Shoes. Where are your shoes? I’ll carry you. No, I’ll wheel you. We don’t have a wheelchair shit, why don’t we have a wheelchair?!”

You grabbed his wrist and squeezed. “Breathe, husband.”

He looked down at you, wild-eyed. “You’re in labor and you’re telling me to breathe?”

You nodded.

He exhaled shakily, then kissed your forehead. “Let’s go have a baby.”

The hospital room was warm and buzzing with quiet chaos soft beeping monitors, nurses shuffling, the low hum of the world shifting around you.

Pedro never left your side. Not once.

He held your hand through every contraction, pressed kisses to your damp forehead, whispered sweet nonsense in your ear like “you’re doing so good, baby, I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

When the pain got worse, when your eyes blurred with tears, he wiped them away and whispered “I wish I could take this for you” like a prayer.

You didn’t say it then, but you knew if he could he would have. In a heartbeat.

Hours passed. Time bent and blurred.

Then suddenly it was happening real, raw, unstoppable.

“Okay, sweetheart,” the doctor said, “on the next one, you’re gonna push.”

Pedro stood beside you, gripping your hand tight, eyes locked on yours.

“You can do this,” he whispered. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

“I hate you,” you cried.

“I know,” he nodded, already crying. “I still love you so much.”

And then One push. Two.

A cry not yours.

Tiny. Piercing. New.

The room changed.

You collapsed back against the pillows, exhausted and shaking. Pedro stared at the tiny, crying bundle in the doctor’s arms like he’d just seen God.

“Oh my god,” he choked. “Oh my god. That’s that’s ours. That’s our baby.”

Tears streamed down his face, unstoppable.

You watched them place the baby on your chest, watched Pedro reach out with trembling hands to touch the tiniest fingers.

“Hi,” he whispered, voice broken and full of awe. “I’m your dad.”

Later, in the soft quiet of a hospital room bathed in sunrise, Pedro held your baby to his chest shirtless, skin to skin, eyes wet and shining.

You watched from the bed, completely overwhelmed.

He looked at you with pure, stunned devotion.

“You made this,” he said softly. “You made this little miracle.”

“We made them,” you whispered.

He leaned over, kissed your forehead, your cheek, your lips. “You are the love of my life.”

Then he kissed your baby’s head and whispered, “And you? You’re my heart walking outside my body now.”

And just like that in a quiet room, with your new family everything in the world made sense

[theonottsbxtch]

THE OTHER GUY PT.6 | FC43

an: and we've reached the final part of the series! i hope you guys have enjoyed this as much as i have, it was very fun to write and i can't wait to write something soon :) remember my requests are always open!!

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five |

ynpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, landonorris and 30,382 others

spain, i'll miss you 🥲

*tap to load more comments*

userone: spain yn was my fav yn

usertwo: is that franco? 👀

userthree: it's probably oscar or logan

oscarpiastri: i have an idea, i pay you to stay in spain for the rest of your life and you never come to the track again

logansargeant: i need her there, you're not a reliable source of gossip

ynpiastri: if you don't invite me, i have other ways of being there

userfour: franco? 👀

userfive: your honour i love them

lilyznimer: can't wait to see you again

ynpiastri: @/oscarpiastri HA SHE LOVES ME MORE THAN YOU 😹🫵😹🫵

usersix: yn, we're all here for franco confirmation. give it to us.

twitter

francolapinto

liked by alex_albon, williamsracing, ynpiastri and 985,352 others

back to work, i hate this country 🌧️

*tap to load more comments*

alex_albon: next time take me to spain too

francolapinto: yes boss

userone: no yn confirmation ☹️☹️

williamsracing: franco...

francolapinto: no amount of media training will make me lie about this country

usertwo: where's yn?

userthree: we want to see FRANYN!

userfour: she's in his likes. im connecting dots.

userfive: stop being delusional, you ain't connecting shit.

twitter

ynpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, francolapinto and 29,453 others

me when i remember that i actually have a big girl job and living off of oscar's money in his spare room isn't actually what i do with my life.

*tap to load more comments*

userone: wife

usertwo: she has a job?? i thought she just went to gp's with oscar

ynpiastri: SHE has a masters in engineering design and technology 💅

userthree: cleared

oscarpiastri: move out please

ynpiastri: no 😁

userfour: still no franco

userfive: girl they both have full time jobs

usersix: MOTHERRRRR

logansargeant: you're a psycho for bringing your laptop to the beach btw

ynpiastri: i don't think i asked for your opinion, hope that helps lo! 😘

interview with franco colapinto

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ynpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, mclarenracing and 31,439 others

supporting my favourite mclaren driver (not oscar)

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userone: I WANT TO BE HER

usertwo: I WANT HER

oscarpiastri: funny joke

logansargeant: or is it..👀

userthree: imagine living her life

landonorris: i thought your favourite driver didn't race for mclaren [this comment has been deleted]

userfour: she's so pretty

userfive: still no sign of franyn

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francolaptino

liked by williamsracing, alex_albon, ynpiastri and 924,235 others

the only women in my life btw (not that anyone asked)

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userone: oh😀

usertwo: i don't believe it

alex_albon: this guy

userthree: he's so unintentionally funny

williamsracing: how cute

imessage between logan and yn

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ynpiastri

argentina

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, francolapinto and 31,435 others

would rather date traffic cone (holiday dump coming soon x)

*comments have been turned off*

offseason 2024

The golden Argentinan sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, amber glow across the quiet, coastal villa. His family home sat nestled on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the endless blue stretch of sea. The scent of saltwater drifted in on the breeze, mingling with the fragrant citrus trees that lined the garden.

You and Franco sat on a cushioned wicker sofa in the sunroom, the wide-open windows framing the breathtaking view. The room had a rustic charm—whitewashed walls, terracotta tiles, and soft, earth-toned furniture. His arm was draped lazily around your shoulders, pulling you close as you both idly scrolled through your phones, the sounds of crashing waves and distant seagulls filling the peaceful silence.

But neither of you were really focused on the phones. The fan speculations and social media drama had become a background hum—amusing, but distant. For months now, you’d both kept this secret relationship hidden, playing the game of cat-and-mouse with the public, teasing and trolling them into thinking you were still enemies.

“Do they really still think I hate you?” you muttered, your lips curving into an incredulous smile as you glanced at a fan comment. “I’ve done too good a job convincing them.”

He chuckled, his voice low and smooth as he leaned in closer to peek at your screen. “Well, you have been pretty savage online. You didn’t hold back with that last post, hermosa.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, playful. “Says the guy who told the press I’d have to beg for a date. I never forgot that one.”

He grinned down at you, his light brown eyes twinkling with amusement. “I mean, to be fair, you did tweet that you wouldn’t date me if I were the last man on earth.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “Touché.”

His laughter faded, replaced by a softer, more thoughtful expression. His fingers tracing slow, absent-minded circles on your arm, and his gaze shifts from the ocean outside back to you. The silence stretched out between you for a moment, and you could feel the weight of what’s unspoken.

“We can’t keep this up forever, you know,” he finally said, his voice quieter now, more serious.

You paused for a second, his words catching you off guard. You’d grown so used to the secrecy, to sneaking around and playing up the rivalry for the fans. It had become a game, but now, here in the warmth of his family’s sunroom, with the sea breeze gently ruffling your hair, the reality of your relationship felt different. Realer. More solid.

You sat up a little straighter, turning to face him fully. “What are you saying?”

He met your eyes, his lips curling into a small, meaningful smile. “Maybe it’s time we tell everyone. Stop pretending.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The thought of going public, of finally letting the world see what’s been building between you, sent a thrill through you. But it was also terrifying. What would people say? How would the fans react? You’ve been holding onto this secret for so long, the thought of exposing it felt almost... vulnerable.

Still, as you sat there with him, in this secluded little bubble away from the world, the idea didn't seem so scary anymore. It felt exciting. Liberating.

A slow, playful grin spread across your face. “If we’re going to do this, we have to do it in the most ridiculous, out-of-pocket way possible.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Like what?”

You leaned back against the sofa, the sunlight warming your skin as the wheels in your head begin to turn. “Something so cheesy and over-the-top that people won’t even know if we’re serious or still trolling them.”

His lips quirked into a smirk, rubbing his chin as if considering it. “What, like one of those cringey TikTok couple challenges?”

You nodded eagerly. “Exactly. The kind of stuff that makes people cringe, but they can’t look away.”

He let out a low chuckle, clearly warming up to the idea. “You mean the ones where people do those obnoxiously cute couple things, like finishing each other’s sentences?”

You grin. “Exactly. Go so hard that no one can tell if we’re serious.”

He leans forward, grabbing his phone from the coffee table. “I like it. Let’s do it.”

You blink, a little surprised at how quickly he’s jumping on board. “Wait, right now?”

He shrugs, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “Why not? We’ve kept this quiet long enough. Let’s have some fun.”

Your pulse quickened with a mixture of excitement and nerves as you both adjusted your positions on the sofa, sitting up a little straighter, leaning in close to each other. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and you could feel the warmth of his body against yours. The soft hum of the waves and the distant calls of seagulls faded into the background as the moment intensified.

“Alright,” you said, barely keeping a straight face, “let’s do this.”

He raised his phone, the camera pointed at both of you, and the screen lights up, casting a soft glow on your faces. “First question,” you began, doing your best over-the-top rom-com voice. “Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

He smirked, nudging you playfully. “Easy. You did.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “I did not! That was totally you.”

The playful banter flowed easily, the chemistry between you undeniable. The air between you crackled with tension, but the laughter kept things light. Each question grows sillier than the last, your teasing jabs masking the real emotions simmering beneath the surface.

As the game continued, the joking faded. The answers become more meaningful, more intimate. He reached out and takes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, and the teasing spark in his eyes shifted into something softer.

Then, as if the playful mood couldn’t hold any longer, he lowered his phone and set it down on the coffee table, turning to face you fully. His gaze was intense, his eyes locking with yours in the fading sunlight. “Maybe we should stop messing around and just... tell them.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “For real?”

He nodded, his voice a little quieter, a little rougher. “Yeah. I’m tired of hiding. I want people to know.”

You hesitated for a second, the weight of the official decision settling in. But then, a surge of boldness rose within you. “Okay. Let’s do it. But first—” You held up your phone, turning off notifications before tossing it onto the sofa. “I don’t want to deal with the chaos immediately.”

He chuckled, grabbing his phone, posting the video and then,following your lead and shutting off his phone. “Smart. We’ll get spammed for sure.”

Once the phones were off and forgotten, you exchanged a glance, and then both of you dissolved into laughter, the weight of secrecy lifting off your shoulders. The relief, the excitement—it was overwhelming in the best way.

As the laughter died down, the air between you shifted slightly, becoming heavier, charged with something far more intense than before. His eyes darkened as they traced the curve of your lips, and your breath hitches, feeling the pull between you like a magnetic force. Neither of you speak for a long moment, the silence thick with unspoken desire.

Without warning, he leaned in, his hand sliding up to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing tenderly along your cheek. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and your heart pounded in your chest, anticipation crackling in the air around you. He was so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the scent of his cologne mixing with the salty sea air.

Your pulse quickened as his gaze locked with yours, and for a second, time seemed to stop. Then, he closed the gap, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, yet filled with an undeniable hunger. His lips were soft but firm, moving against yours with a heat that left you breathless.

You responded immediately, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer, needing more. His kiss deepened, and the intensity built. The taste of him is intoxicating, like you had both been waiting for this moment for far too long. His other hand snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, and you could feel the strength of his body against yours.

The kiss grew more urgent, your bodies pressed together as if the space between you was unbearable. His fingers threaded through your hair, holding you in place as he kissed you harder, deeper, like he couldn't get enough. You lost yourself in the sensation—the way his lips devoured yours, the heat of his breath mingling with yours, the low, barely audible groan that escaped from deep in his chest.

As you kissed him back with equal fervor, your entire body tingled, your senses overwhelmed by him—the way his hands gripped your waist, the way his lips tease and explore yours.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you were panting, your hearts racing in sync. His eyes, dark and full of desire, met yours, and a slow, satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Guess I can do that more often now,” he murmured, his voice husky and low.

You smiled back, your lips still tingling from the kiss. “With my brother in that same paddock? Not a chance?”

francolapinto and ynpiastri

liked by logansargeant, schecoperez, oscarpiastri and 984,348 others

it wasn't a joke btw

*limited comments only*

williamsracing: franco...

oscarpiastri: that's my sister pal

francolaptino: oops?

logansargeant: this hurt more than my replacement

ynpiastri: shut up?

logansargeant: yes ma'am

the end.

taglist: @iimplicitt @isaadore @iamred-iamyellow @justheretoreadthxxs @obxstiles @how-what-why-huh @raizelchrysanderoctavius @sainzzreputaticn @xxx-betty @dukeofjjune @dejavuontrack @littlegrapejuice @mxdi0 @st4rgirl-ellie @dullypully @cinderellawithashoe

[justagirlswrld]

Dirty movies

a/n: i don’t watch porn fr but i had a idea. feed back welcomed.

summary: sam promised to get dean your autograph but that didn’t mean fuck you first!

warnings: porn w plot, very inaccurate portrayal of porn sets but for the sake of story☝🏽, 69, real porn titles, i didn’t feel like coming up w originals, protected p in v.

“So, let me get this straight-”, Dean stops cleaning his pistol, opting to lay it on the wobbly motel table, the chrome glinting in the morning sun that peaked from between the hotel curtains. Dean turns toward his brother to make sure he can hear him clearly, “You’re going to the Sunset Studios and you want me to sit here lookin’ like a dumbass?” Sam smirks, shrugging on his jacket before grabbing a small iron knife and putting it in the inside pocket, “Yeah, pretty much.”

This earns a dramatic groan from Dean as he gets up from the rickety, motel chair, following behind Sam as he makes his rounds across the room, watching him stuff items he may need wherever they can fit.

“No way, I’m sitting in this crap room while you step foot on the set of where Night of the Giving Head was filmed.” Dean does nothing to hide the whimsy in his voice as disgust takes over Sam’s features, “Dean, the FBI is after you. Unless you want to sit in a cell all day instead of a hotel room, I suggest you don’t leave.” Sam says, grabbing the Impala keys and making his way to the door.

“Sammy” Dean calls from the bed after flopping on it, grin illuminating his face, “If you see Y/N can you get her autograph?”

When Sam arrives at the Sunrise Studios it’s nicer than he expected (not that he expected much), a small, two story building framed by a handful of palm trees. He watches from the Impala as people bustle in and out the front door, noting that they stop and talk to a secretary through the large glass windows.

Sam plasters a smile on his face as he walks through the automatic doors, the breeze from a fan cools his sweltering skin and he’s greeted by the pleasant smell of citrus. His hazel eyes roam the waiting room on his descent to the front desk, it was also much nicer than he expected.

a woman that looks like she walked off a magazine cover is smiling at him when he approaches, she eyes him from behind oval shaped glasses, taking in his youthful appearance and relaxed clothing.

“Good morning, are you an intern?” Sam doesn’t miss a beat, “Yeah, my name’s Richie Sambora, i’m here to meet with Walton Ortega.” And that want necessarily a lie, Sam did need to meet with Ortega to get more details on the death he’d witnessed, it was essential to the case.

Sam takes in the cluttered state of the secretaries desk, eyes flickering from scattered pens and balled up paper to a framed picture of a pretty girl. The victim. He couldn’t help but connect her face back to the one he saw in the newspaper several hours ago.

The secretaries eyes go wide before she’s out of her seat, “Oh! He’s been waiting on you..,” Her pretty face looks apprehensive and Sam notices the change in emotion. “Are you okay?..” Sam knows he’s pushing it but he can’t help but ask, “You knew Zoe? I went to college with her. I’m sorry for your loss.” Her eyes look from Sam’s then to the picture on her desk. “She was my best friend.” She doesn’t offer more before walking from behind the desk.

“he’s on set, I can take you there.” the click of her pointy heels accompanies Sam as they make their way to the elevator, “I’m sorry to pry but did you get to see Zoe before she died?” Sam asks as she presses the button to call the elevator, he notices her back stiffen as he peers down at her. “…I told you she was my best friend”, she looks up at Sam,“Why?”

The silver doors opens on arrival and Sam follows her inside, “Was she acting weird? like having nightmares or seeing things.” She looks at him in the elevators reflection as she pushes the only number available, the elevator moves quickly to the second floor. “….She said someone was following her, but she was just paranoid.”

When they arrive the secretary ushers Sam to a door at the end of the hall with a manicured hand on his back, she comes to a abrupt stop when they step in front of the door, ruffling his hair before placing a hand on the door to push it open. Sam can’t help but to brace himself, hand going to the inside pocket of his jacket. Too many things that have wanted to kill him have popped out from behind closed doors.

But Sam’s happy (and surprised) to find an elaborately decorated movie set instead of a blood thirsty monster. The small room is set up to look like a young woman’s bed room, down to a king sized bed made up with a frilly, pink comforter and white pillows.

Ortega is in the middle of the set, Sam recognizes him from the apartment footage he’d gotten his hands on yesterday. He’s pacing back and forth in a leather jacket despite the heat with his cell phone pressed to his ear. When he see’s Sam enter he throws his hands up dramatically before clacking the phone shut.

“Finally”, he turns towards the camera crew lounging around before snapping his fingers twice, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

The crew moves with urgency as Ortega casually pulls from his cigarette, Sam can’t see his eyes from behind his thick, dark sunglasses but he can feel Ortega’s scrutinizing stare. Sam smiles and goes to introduce himself before Ortega abruptly cuts him off.

“Sorry for the last minute ring but Jason got food poisoning and that is not sexy.” Ortega smiles and clamps a hand on Sam’s broad shoulder, “But you are so this will work.” Sam stutters as his cheeks go rosy, “What? No, I-” Ortega maneuvers a very uncertain Sam to sit on the set’s bed, its surprisingly soft when he sinks onto it.

“I’m just here to talk about the Zoe situation, would we be able to go to your office?” Ortega pushes his shades up then, it causes his short hair to turn into a spiky mess on his head.

“Zoe? My office?” Ortega looks at Sam incredulously, he waves over the brawny security guards lounging in plastic chairs outside the room, “Are you not the intern I ordered?” Ortega fold his arms and Sam sighs internally, looking towards security who was itching for a fight.

“No, I am- its jus-” A voice that reminds Sam of the feeling of velvet against his skin butts in, “O, he’s just nervous. Give him a break.” It was you in all your glory. He hadn’t even noticed you walk in the room.

Sam felt like he was in the presence of a star, which he rightfully was. You had made a name for yourself in the porn industry years ago, now you were something like household name. Not only were you in Dean’s top ten (#2) but you’d also got Sam through some tough times too.

He blushed from his place on the bed, trying to force his mind not to replay the memory of you red faced and moaning while some bald guy held your legs open as he pounded into you, he’d just jerked off to the video yesterday.

He could’nt help but shift his attention away from Ortega to you as you stride into the room like you owned it, a teasing smile on your glossy lips. Sam sucked in a breath as you sat by him on the bed.He couldn’t help but breathe in the smell of your tantalizing perfume, his gaze trailing from your fluffy robe and down to your exposed thighs, before finding their way to your manicured feet. Sam hadn’t realized how much he’d like french tip until he’d seen it on your manicured toes.

“Nervous my ass! You know what you signed up for when you signed the paper work-” Ortega takes a drag of his cigarette, “you’re an intern until we need you and I need you.” You turn your pretty face to look at Sam, you take in his slightly shell shocked expression and his rosie cheeks, “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” Your smile is dazzling as you scoot closer to him, your knee knocking against his.

“You don’t even have to show your face but it’s your decision, you can say no right now.” Oscar yells, spooking everybody in the room, causing them to jump slightly, “Don’t tell him that!” He sounds anguished but you just roll your eyes.

“Don’t listen to him.” You gently move some of Sam’s brown hair from his handsome face, his heart pounds as you take in his features,“…But I hope you say yes, I could have some fun with you.”

Sam’s agreeing before he can stop himself.

He’s able to bargain for 10 minutes in the bathroom (and only showing the neck down if needed) with an ecstatic ‘O’, which he’d requested Sam to call him, “O, as in orgasms,which you need to give Y/N a lot of.” He’s said as Sam speed walked out of the set.

He had 3 minutes left and he’s done nothing but grip the cool, sink and stare at his red face in the mirror. It almost felt like too much, the cameras, you and the fact that anybody could see his performance. He couldn’t fuck this up.

When Sam returned it was only you in the set, expensive camcorder in hand as something Sam. couldn’t place twinkled in your eyes. “You’re back, I was getting lonely.” Sam laughs nervously as he sits returns to his place on the bed, his hands run nervously over his jean covered knees. “Relax.” You say softly as you take his large hand in yours. You look into his hazel eyes, they were framed by lashes that almost looked better than yours. He was too handsome for his own good.

“We’re only gonna do some first person stuff.” You pass the camera to him slowly, he takes it like it’s a ticking bomb. You show him how to work it, making sure he can hold it comfortably. “Please think about the best angles or O will lose it.” Sam eyes you before repeating your sentence back to you with a confused tone. You shrug, “Think about what you’d want to see.”

You walk over to the night stand and take some mouth wash from it, tipping it back and swishing before handing it to Sam who does the same. You spit it into a cup before Sam follows. You smile at him enthusiastically, “Okay, so I say we kiss to get you comfortable. Then I taste you, you taste me-” Sam thinks he might’ve died on a botched hunt and went to heaven, “We fuck, we go home. cool?” Your nonchalant attitude calmed most of Sam’s nerves, his shoulders relax and he’s huffing out a ‘yeah.’

You slip off your robe from your place in front of Sam, for a moment he forgets he’s not at a motel and in front of his computer as he takes in your red and matching bra.

He takes his full bottom lip between his white teeth, you laugh and toy with the waist band of your panties when you notice, “You like it?” Sam nods as you seductively walk over to him. You move between Sam’s open legs and place a hand on his broad chest when you kiss him, his reaction is instantaneous as he grabs your plump ass and moans into your mouth.

You can’t help but smile when Sam’s soft lips find the warming skin of your neck, your hands moving from his chest to feel his hard biceps through his long sleeved shirt. “Let’s get you out of this.” Sam doesn’t protest as you pull the shirt over his head, once it’s off you can’t help but to trace the odd tattoo on his chest, you want to ask about its meaning but Sam’s lips are back in yours before the words can leave.

Your slowly trail your hand from his lean arm to his covered crotch, “Turn the camera on.” The whisper against Sam’s ear tickled but his body is moving without having to be told twice.

The sight of you moving onto the bed with your ass on display almost has Sam moaning. You move gracefully to the farthest side of the bed as he watches you through the camcorder screen, you fold your legs and sit on them as you introduce yourself in a heavy voice. When you change your position to open your legs and rub your clothed cunt with your manicured fingers Sam thinks he might drop the camera.

When Sam’s thick fingers replace yours, you let out a slight moan, watching as the digits rub the dampening gusset of your panties. When he pulls it aside and makes contact with your glistening folds, you take your lip between your teeth. Sam licks his lips as he looks at you through the camcorder screen, he angles it away from your face to get a good shot of him sinking two thick fingers into your heat.

Sam switches between watching your face contort with pleasure and your tight cunt squeezing his fingers as he stretches you open. He scoots back from his place on the bed to record your curled toes, “Feel good?” You moan in response at the sound of Sam’s husky voice, also because he brushed over a spot that had your thighs tensing.

Sam can’t resist adding in a third finger, he moans lightly at the sight of your pussy greedily sucking in his fingers. When his calloused thumb finds your clit you cum around his digits with a moan, holding onto his wrist as continues moving his fingers into your spasming cunt. Sam thinks his dick might burst through his jeans as he watches you fall apart, he moves the camera from your face to his fingers continuing his ministrations as he kisses you like a man possessed.

Sam moves the camera back to your flushed face when pulls his fingers from you. “Take my pants off.” The command is breathless and you quirk an eyebrow as you crawl over to him and free his hard cock, first from his jeans then to his precummed stain boxers.

His thick cock is heavy in your hands as you smile at the camera, “So pretty, baby.” You moan before licking his weeping, pink tip. Sam sucks in a breath before moving his hips away from your moist mouth, he really didn’t want to ruin the moment and cum on your face. “Scoot over.” Sam kicks his shoes off before pulling his bottoms off all the way, he gives you the camera as he lays on the bed, taking it from you once he’s comfortable on his back.

“Sit on my face, I wanna taste you.” Sam says as he thinks about your previous words. You happily oblige, sensually seating yourself above Sam’s mouth, he hands you the camera again so he can palm your ass with both hands. The sight of Sam’s messy, brown hair between your thick thighs has you panting.

You can’t help but turn the camera on him, he’s too occupied with devouring your cunt to notice, his eyes closed in concentration. With your thighs tensing around his head you can’t really see his face, just his tongue working fervently to get you off. “Hold on.” Sam reluctantly lets you go before you’re spinning around, now facing his toned stomach and hard cock.

You turn the camera on yourself, making sure to not get Sam as you lean over to Sam’s large cock. You turn the screen to you and you watch yourself lick Sam as he lowers you to his awaiting tongue.

You both groan, the vibrations from Sam and the way his tongue moves against your puffy folds has you gripping the camera a little too tight. Your mind goes blank and you forget you have a cock in your mouth when he starts sucking on your swollen clit.

When you come back to reality, you audibly gobble his length down your throat, angling the camera so it’s slightly above you and you’re looking up through thick lashes. When Sam’s covered in your spit you take him from your mouth and slap him against your tongue. Sam’s breath hitches when you suck on his balls and you watch as his toes point in every direction.

you sit up and move the camera to show you grinding down on Sam’s tongue with a needy moan. “You’re making me feel sooo good, baby.” You turn the camera before you reach down to grip Sam’s slick cock, your hand looks miniature wrapped around his length. “I don’t know if it’ll fit.” You’re embellishing but it was a big dick.

You lift yourself off Sam, making sure to get a shot of your glistening cunt before returning the camera to Sam. He turns the screen towards himself and watches as you walk to the night stand and grab a light purple, foil packet. “Bare skin.” You both laugh as you crawl on the bed and between Sam’s legs, your heavy eyes looking from the camera to watch your hands roll the condom onto Sam’s rock, hard cock.

“Give me and lay down.” You reach for the camcorder as you instruct Sam to lay on his side. Once he’s comfortable he watches as you take a pillow and prop up the camera, sitting in front of him to block his face. You lay beside Sam, your back pressed against his hard chest and he buries his face in your hair, peeking just enough to watch as he hooks a finger into the waist band of your panties, before pulling the skimpy thing off one leg. You place said leg over Sam’s, looking down to make sure the people had a good view, you shudder at the indecent image you see on the screen.

Sam’s angry tip rubs against your tight opening before Sam’s pushing into you, inch by delicious inch. The stretch has the perfect amount of friction and your toes are curling before he’s bottomed out, Sam’s fingers have found their way to your pert nipples as he waits a moment, adjusting to your gummy walls as you squeeze around him. “Fuck- you’re so tight.” You moan when Sam finally moves his hips, he gives a few tentative strokes before he’s spearing himself in and out of your gushing cunt.

His fingers leave your nipple to hold your lips open as he pushes his cock into you, you call out his name when a free finger finds its way to your clit, Sam’s determined as he draws hard circles on the swollen nub.

“S-shit, you’re gonna make me cum.” Your words are barely eligible but Sam wasn’t listening anyway, too pussy drunk off the feel of you squeezing him accompanied by the squelch of your pussy and sweet moans. He stops rubbing you as he pushes your leg up by the thigh, spreading you wide before pounding into you.

Your mouth drops open to form an O, the feel of Sam’s tongue on your throat and warm fingers on your clit has your cunt spasming. You babble out praises as Sam continues thrusting into you as he chases his own release. Sam’s hip stutter and his hand squeezes the fat of your hip, he’s noisy when he cums, moaning loud in your ear as he fills up the condom deep in your cunt.

He pushes into you once more before pulling out with a groan, rolling onto his back with his eyes closed. He listens to the ruffle of the comforter and hears the beep of the camera as you turn it off. He lets you take the condom off his softening length, he finally opens his eyes when he feels you cleaning him with baby wipes.

“You did so good, Sam” His ears go pink from the praise and he swears he would’ve asked to go another round if he wasn’t so worn out. “Thanks.” Sam says as he stuffs himself back into his underwear and jeans. He watches as you fix your bra and slip on your panties before shrugging on your robe and tying it tight “I’ll let Ortega know we’re finished, he’ll be waiting for you in his office. Thank you so much for filling in.” You kiss Sam on the cheek, “ It’s water in the mini fridge.”

With that you turn to leave but Sam’s sitting up as he remembers his promise to Dean. He calls your name and you turn back to him, he looks sheepish like you didn’t just have his cock down your throat. “Can I have your autograph? It’s for my brother.” He runs a hand through his shaggy hair, “He’s a huge fan.” Sam watches as you pause for a moment before making your way over to the night stand, you slip out of your panties before grabbing a spare sharpie and sign your name on the bit of fabric.

You toss the panties on the smiling boy’s chest before winking at him, you wave good bye before sneaking through the door.

Dean is waiting for Sam at the door when he arrives, “Well, did you get her autograph?” Dean questions expectantly. Sam reaches in his pocket and throws the balled up panties at Dean, he snatches them up in the air, his face goes slack with shock when he realizes what he’s holding.

“Even better.”

[fic-girlie]

Hi, I saw your requests were open and I was wondering if you could write something about an Introverted targ!Reader/Slightly on the timid side but sweet, really close with Elia and loves her mother Rhaella to pieces slowly getting closer to Oberyn every time he visits??? If not that’s totally okay, I love your writing btw!! 💗

Fire and sunlight

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x targ!reader Summary: You arrive in Dorne shy and soft-spoken, but with each visit—and each moment with Oberyn Martell—you begin to bloom. Warnings: slow-burn, fluff, soft Oberyn, sweetness

The Dornish sun is blinding, even in spring, but you’ve always preferred its warmth to the bitter chill of King’s Landing’s shadowed corridors. You arrive under a pale parasol, tucked into the cushions of a litter that sways with the gait of your palfrey, your head slightly turned to watch the rippling horizon. There’s something in the air here—salt and orange blossoms, wind and freedom. You breathe it in like a secret you’ll carry back with you, if you must leave.

The Water Gardens stretch before you like a dream brought to life. Sunlight plays across shallow pools, children laugh somewhere beyond the courtyards, and the breeze carries the music of fountains instead of the whisper of spies. You’re not used to stillness that isn’t laced with caution.

Elia is the first to greet you—of course she is. She smells like myrrh and citrus and wraps you in an embrace that stills every frantic thought in your head.

“Finally,” she breathes against your cheek, pulling back only to cup your face in both hands. “You’re here. You look tired.”

You offer her a soft smile. “The journey was long.”

“You always say that, sweet sister, even when the journey is only through the palace gardens.”

You shrug, unable to argue. Elia is sunlight incarnate, luminous even when she's teasing, but she never says things to hurt. You feel it in the way she tucks her arm through yours as if she's afraid you’ll slip away again. She always walks just a bit ahead, leading you gently but surely into rooms where you’d otherwise hover at the edge.

“I don’t want you to hide this time,” she says, her tone fond but firm. “No more vanishing into corners with your embroidery. You must let them see you.”

Them.

You already know who she means.

But you say nothing. Instead, you let her lead you down a colonnade where columns frame the sea, and you blink against the light reflecting off the waves. Everything here is too open, too exposed, but somehow… safe. You can feel your shoulders beginning to loosen.

You want to tell her that you’ll try. That you’ll try for her. But the words stay lodged in your throat, as they often do.

She seems to understand anyway. Her arm tightens around yours.

You find yourself in the southern garden the next day, seated under a blooming citrus tree whose branches hang heavy with gold and green. The book in your lap is more comfort than distraction, your eyes reading the same line over and over while your thoughts drift. You trace the spine with your fingertip, already feeling the echo of steps on gravel before you see him.

He doesn’t announce himself.

You sense him by presence alone, heat and awareness folding around you like sunlight through a stained-glass window. When you look up, he is standing in front of you, his hands clasped behind his back, head tilted in a way that makes his dark hair fall into his eyes.

“I hope you won’t mind me saying,” Oberyn Martell begins, “but you’re not like any of the Targaryens I’ve met.”

Your heart gives a small, startled leap.

You nod politely, your fingers tightening ever so slightly around the edge of your book.

“Most of them,” he continues, crouching so he’s level with you, “seem to believe that silence is either a weapon or a punishment. But yours… yours is different.”

You’re too surprised to look away. The sunlight frames him from behind, a halo of molten light, but his voice is soft—quieter than you expected. Not demanding, not arrogant, only curious.

“You don’t speak much,” he says, smiling as if it’s not a flaw. “But when you do, I imagine it means something.”

Still, you don’t speak now. You can’t. You hold his gaze just long enough to let your lips twitch in a tiny, bashful smile.

“That’s all right,” he says, rising smoothly. “I don’t mind waiting.”

And with that, he’s gone.

You stare after him long after he disappears from view, your fingers resting still on the page that never turned.

——

You never meant to let him see you paint.

It was supposed to be a private indulgence—a moment of stillness by the fountain, your bare feet tucked beneath you, brush in hand. The parchment is wide across your lap, and you dip the brush gently into pale orange pigment, blending it with gold. The figure you’re painting is Elia—smiling as you last saw her, head thrown back in laughter, a breeze catching the ends of her braid.

You’re so absorbed in your work you don’t hear him approach.

“Is that Elia?”

You stiffen.

When you look up, Oberyn is standing behind you, hands clasped loosely, his expression unreadable. He steps closer but doesn’t touch the painting—only peers at it with a kind of reverence.

“You’ve caught her,” he murmurs. “That expression... she only makes that face when she’s looking at something she loves.”

You look down, flustered.

“She’s always easy to paint,” you say, your voice soft. “She glows.”

He hums thoughtfully. “You see her very clearly.”

You nod, feeling your pulse in your throat.

“Do you paint yourself?” he asks gently.

You shake your head.

“Why not?”

You don’t answer.

He kneels again, as he did that first day. “Because you’re afraid you’d get it wrong?”

You hesitate. Then nod.

“Then let someone else try,” he says, and you look at him sharply. “Let me try.”

You blush, eyes wide.

He chuckles, but it’s not mocking—it’s warm. “Someday.”

And then he walks away, leaving you with wet paint, trembling fingers, and something alive blooming in your chest.

——

You no longer sit in the shadows.

It’s early evening, and the sun hovers low over the dunes, casting golden streaks across the water. You sit near the fountain now—where the sunlight finds you easily—and your silver hair shimmers in its light. You brought two cups of Dornish wine, chilled and honeyed, and you’re no longer surprised when he finds you.

This time, he slows beside you. Watches the way you tilt the second cup toward him without a word.

He smiles. “Does this mean I’m welcome now?”

You meet his eyes.

“Yes.”

He sits beside you, close enough that your shoulders nearly touch.

“You always watch me,” he says after a moment, no judgment in his voice.

You tense slightly, then murmur, “You’re… difficult not to notice.”

His grin is slow. “Ah. But that’s not the same as wanting to.”

You lower your gaze. “You’re like fire,” you say finally, barely louder than a breath. “Beautiful. But bright. Too much for someone like me.”

His voice softens. “Fire doesn’t always want to burn. Sometimes, it just wants to warm. You should let it.”

The words wrap around you, and when he leans back on his elbows to look at the sky, you risk watching him—this time openly. The line of his jaw, the flicker of lashes, the fullness of his mouth.

And for the first time, you do not look away when he catches you.

——

You write her often—your mother.

Your letters to Queen Rhaella are filled with gentle reassurances and sweet, clumsy sketches of the gardens. You always include a pressed flower, careful to seal it between soft pages, and you imagine her smile as she opens each one, her tired hands smoothing the parchment. She is not well, not always, but she is the brightest star in your private sky.

One afternoon, while you're finishing a letter beneath the lemon trees, Oberyn walks by. You try to fold the parchment quickly, but he stops beside you, catching a glimpse of the trailing silver ink across the page.

“Your mother?” he asks.

You nod.

“She must be proud,” he says after a beat. “To have a daughter who still carries her so close.”

You look down. “She’s all I had, for a long time. I think… she held me together.”

“Not all you have now,” he says quietly. “Not anymore.”

You lift your eyes, surprised by the seriousness in his voice.

“She’s important,” he continues, crouching before you again, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze steady. “But don’t forget that you are too. To Elia. To your people. To me.”

Your breath catches, and your lips part slightly, but he doesn’t ask for a reply.

He stands again, offering you a small, solemn nod. “Send her my regards.”

That night, your hand shakes slightly when you add his name to the bottom of the letter.

——

There is music in the courtyard.

Elia’s nameday celebration is not grand, but joyful—laughter spilling out of the halls, dancers moving beneath the dusk-washed sky, silk and gold and red swaying like flame. You stay near the edge at first, fingers wrapped around a goblet, eyes following your sister as she moves in a circle of smiling faces.

Oberyn finds you watching.

“She wants you to join,” he says, offering his hand.

“I don’t dance,” you whisper, embarrassed.

“I do,” he says, with a smile that dares. “And I’m very good at it.”

You hesitate too long. He steps forward, lowering his voice.

“I will not lead you where you don’t want to go. But if you trust me… only a little… I’ll show you that it’s not so frightening.”

You stare at his outstretched hand.

It trembles in the air between you, waiting.

And finally—finally—you take it.

He draws you out gently. One step, then two. His hand is warm around yours, the other settling lightly against your waist. You barely hear the music at first—only your heartbeat, only the breath caught in your throat.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, close to your ear.

You try.

And then, slowly, he moves.

It isn’t a whirlwind. It’s not grand. He steps where you step, shifts when you shift, your movements growing braver with each pass. He doesn’t press or twirl or demand. He lets you stay small, but not invisible. He lets you feel—his strength, his attention, his quiet admiration.

When the song ends, your face is flushed, your heart flying. He bows low.

“My lady,” he says with theatrical charm.

And you can’t help it—you laugh. Soft, high, delighted.

He straightens slowly, as if memorizing the sound.

——

You’re in the gardens again.

The hour is late, the moon silvering the pools, and the others are asleep. You had wandered—unable to sleep, your thoughts too full—and found your way to the edge of the reflecting pond where moonflowers bloom and silence stretches deep and gentle.

He finds you there.

He always does.

But tonight, he doesn’t speak at first.

He only sits beside you, close enough that your shoulders press, and together you watch the wind stir the lilies.

“Do you ever feel,” you say suddenly, surprising yourself, “like… you’re too much for some places, and not enough for others?”

He turns to you slowly, his profile lit in moonlight.

“Yes,” he says, after a long pause. “But not when I’m with you.”

You swallow hard.

“I’ve never had someone see me,” you whisper. “And not want to change me.”

“I wouldn’t change a single breath you’ve ever taken,” he says, his voice lower now, rougher. “You’ve been soft in a world that punishes softness. You’ve stayed kind when cruelty would’ve been easier. I see all of that.”

You look up.

He’s watching you the way he does when he paints—like you’re something sacred.

“Oberyn,” you breathe.

And he leans forward slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.

You don’t.

Your lips meet his in the softest, most reverent brush of heat. Not wild or possessive—just true. You shudder from the weight of it, from the gentleness, from the way his hand cups your cheek like you’re something fragile and precious.

When you part, neither of you speaks for a long time.

There’s no need.

His forehead rests against yours, and the night swells with quiet wonder.

——

You don’t leave when the moons shift again.

You stay.

You stay because Elia smiles more when you're near. Because the sound of your mother’s letters arriving makes your chest ache with joy instead of sorrow. Because you’ve learned how it feels to be seen—not despite your softness, but because of it.

And because when Oberyn touches your hand now, he does not ask for permission.

He already knows it’s his.

One morning, you find a ring nestled inside a bloom he left at your window. It’s shaped like a sun entwined with a silver dragon—bold and bright and impossibly delicate.

You wear it without a word.

He finds you in the garden hours later, and for the first time, you walk to him—not as a shadow, not as a question.

As flame.

[esoteric-chaos]

Spring Equinox Masterpost- Spoonie Witch Friendly

Art Credit: Anastasia Catris

The Spring Equinox, also called the Vernal Equinox or Ostara, is usually celebrated between the 21st of March in the Northern Hemisphere (In the Southern Hemisphere around September 20th or 21st)

In 2024, Ostara and the Spring Equinox land in the Northern Hemisphere on Monday, March 19th.

The Spring Equinox celebrates the arrival of spring. Celebrating balance, growth, and new beginnings as Winter has finally ended.

Spring Equinox Correspondances

Colours

Light Green

Lavender

Sunny Yellow

Light Blue

Pastel Pink

White

Herbal

Lemongrass

Daffodils

Tulips

Violets

Apple Tree

Cherry Blossom

Primrose

Birch tree

Hyacinths

Dandelion

Garlic

Ash tree

Jasmine

Edibles

Honey

Salad greens

Spring veggies

Fresh berries

Mead

Herbs

Eggs

Seeds

Bread

Edible flowers

Quiches

Custards

Maple

Animals

Hares

Baby Chicks

Snakes

Robins

Bees

Butterflies

Phoenix

Ram

Crystals

Fluorite

Moonstone

Silver

Aquamarine

Clear Quartz

Amazonite

Symbols

Bonfires

Flowers

Rabbits

Eggs

Seeds

Baskets

Flowering or Tree Buds

Lambs

Birds

Spiritual meanings

Purification

Cleansing (removal of stagnant energy)

Growth

Transition

Motivation

Balance

Birth

Good fortune

Kindness

Joy

Fertility

Scents

Coconut

Citrus

Floral scents (rose, lilac, jasmine, etc)

Herbal scents (rosemary, basil, mint, etc)

Gods / Goddesses / Spirits

Eostre –  (Anglo-Saxon)

Aphrodite - (Greek)

Gaia - (Celtic)

Gaea - (Greek)

Venus - (Roman)

Athena - (Greek)

Aurora - (Roman)

Eos - (Greek)

Isis – (Egyptian)

Freya - (Norse) 

Persephone - (greek)

Cybele - (Roman)

The Green Man - (Celtic)

Odin – (Norse) 

Osiris – (Egyptian)

Pan – (Greek)

Thoth – (Egyptian)

Adonis – (Greek)

Apollon –  (Greek)

Apollo - (Roman)

Need some suggestions to celebrate? I've got you covered.

High energy celebrations and ritual

Deep cleaning of the hearth and home

Nature hikes

Visiting farmers markets

Making preserves

Create a fae garden

Create a seasonal altar

Abundance/Prosperity ritual

New beginnings ritual

Low energy celebrations 

Wear pastels

Create flower crowns

Light a candle with scent correspondence

No spoon celebrations 

Opening a window

Journaling Prompts

Keeping hydrated

Drink floral tea

Rest

How you celebrate the holiday does not matter. You can choose to do any activity that feels right. These are only suggestions and remember that you're enough no matter what.

Also please note some stuff is UPG. A great book is Year of the Witch by Temperance Alden for honouring the celebrations and if you wanted to work more seasonally. It's not Wiccan-based and has plenty of resources for every witch.

Feel free to post how you celebrate in the comments or reblogs!

Want to see more of my posts? Check out my Wheel of the Year Masterpost or my Main Masterpost.

[apolocheesy]

HII UMM CAN I PLEASE REQS SHED X READER :333 ZHDHHSHS

𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑶 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑺𝑲𝒀

|| 𝙬𝙤𝙖 𝙣𝙤 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙝𝙚𝙝 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙗𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙡𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙮 𝙙𝙖𝙮 (𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡)

𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙝𝙞 𝙝𝙞𝙞𝙞 𝙞 𝘿𝙄𝘿 𝙡𝙞𝙚 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙠 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙞 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙬 𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 (𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙧) 𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝 𝙗𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙢

𝙑𝙖𝙢𝙥𝙞𝙧𝙚 𝙎𝙝𝙚𝙙𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙨𝙠𝙮 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

“Vampire teeth are like roses. Thorns bore for puncturing. Your bleeding hands open to calm those overwhelmed with passion. Delicately pruning until petals finally bloom for you.”

You sit at the dinner table, Shedletsky in front of you. Somehow, you, an orchardist, managed to get rather familiar with the vampire on your journey home to town. A candle flickers to your left, coincidentally growing feeble when caught by his hard gaze. Your laugh fades, absorbed by shadows lurking the corners.

“Ah, it’s afraid of you, Shedletsky.” You reach for a raspberry, biting warily despite his friendliness. Curtains leisurely ascended. The pitiful light wanes, sparking in a strife against nature’s breath drifting from the window.

“Afraid of me?” His fingertips playfully gripped the tablecloth. “What does the candle have to be afraid of? I should be afraid.” He narrowed at the flame, eyes aching. You swiftly seized the candle by its elaborate holder, even as fatigued as you were.

“You still chose to look. Do you not know any better?”

“You’re in my mansion.” Shedletsky scoffed. “And I let you have that light!” He gave a cocky grin, touching the rim of his wine glass. All while feasting on fried chicken—which you recently discovered is his craving.

You softened your disturbed face. His informality never clicked in the time spent. It’s… unnerving to say the least.

“Well I can’t have you going and getting yourself hurt. It would be a shame, really.” The two marks pierced on your neck throbbed. They were still fresh like the memory of his foreign embrace, grazing his teeth teasingly over your jugular vein. An eerie sensation ghosted your spine, skin paler than you came. You’d finish him off if he let your precious blood go to waste.

“You could always make me feel better.” Shedletsky’s eyes smiled, expectant. He swerved his drink around, enamored by the red film coating the cup. It seems he doesn’t have an appetite for the beloved food anymore. He slid your plate closer, picking pomegranates and greens onto it. “This meal is for you, so eat up. I have to make sure you’re healthy too.”

He stood for the door. Looking back at you with a much more mature, reassuring smile. You waved him off and lifted the candle back, flame now placid. The winds had ceased. You envisioned trees slowing their sway, stilling in the night. How you would clutch your basket of apples close at gangly branches; branches that caved until you shined your lantern. Life wounded quiet, dull, just how it was before. It left a bitter taste, regardless of how many citrus fruits you ate.

Rooms upon rooms stretched across the halls. Each ebony doorframe carved, some altered in show of importance. One caught your eye. Its white detailing drew an illumina on the head of the wood.

Beating wings rattled against your ear. A bat. It chirped, flying in circles where cobwebs stuck until your attention was undivided. Whatever came over you, it made you want to follow.

Every lamp on the way was either losing power, or off completely. You lost count of how many rooms you had passed. In an instant, its small body suddenly disappeared, and you found yourself at another door. This time, strangely fixed to your appeals.

In awe, you turned the knob, peeking your head inside. The room is fully furnished, a white bed before you. Above it, a canopy fit for royalty. And just like the rest of the manor, the lighting is sparse, glowing through stained glass windows. On the nightstand stood tall, lit candles, barely melted. In full view, you couldn’t ignore the elegant attire laid upon silky sheets. It simply called your name.

You study yourself in a large vanity. The luxurious apparel, opposite to your ranch uniform. It didn’t cling to your skin, no heavy boots weighing your feet. Instead, expertly weaved silk and cotton sewn to flow with graceful movements set you free.

Palming the final garment, gliding your thumb over its bedazzled rim, you slide it onto your face.

Three gentle knocks rang; clear, each following a rhythm.

“You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” Said Shedletsky from outside.

“Just a moment.” You lingered a while longer, touching your cheek. It was merely skin, branded with labor not even the jeweled mask could conceal.

He straightened when you opened the door. Shedletsky too wore a mask, white-tipped raven feathers winding into the curves. His jabot collar blouse layered under a powder blue vest. Draping his shoulders lied a dark cloak. He clutched whatever was behind him tighter.

“So have you,” You tried to pry, but was met with a face full of rose petals. Shedletsky chuckled, doubling down into a fit of laughter.

“Was that- too rough?” He heaved between breaths. “Go on, take it. I’ve got something even better!”

Shedletsky locked arms with yours, leading you to his garden. Withered buds swept the pathways. Your gaze wandered back to his content self, furrowing your brows.

You approach two doors twice your size. Growing closer, fog that blurred the horizon mysteriously cleared. Alive flowers that weren’t yours blossomed in your sight. They grew in bristly bushes, lined around massive walls. You tilted your head up. Vines overtook, corrupting every inch its roots could possibly reach. A giant void, ragged, same to familiar forest branches. Not even the brightest star could reflect off the palace.

He asked something. In the blink of an eye, you were inside a ballroom so overwhelming you imagined dancers. An orchestra haunted, its echo channeling within your core. Wherever you turned, it was empty. Nothing but glazed floor. The chandelier wasn’t lit either, reminiscent of Shedletsky’s manor.

Shedletsky had already let go. He then bowed, offering his hand.

“May I have this dance?”

How formal. Too formal.

He gestured you to come closer.

“It won’t hurt to give me a chance, y’know.”

[hxxsxxng]

NEED YOU BADLY p.sh

「pairing 」 : boyfriend!sunghoon x fem!reader

「genre 」 : fluff, literal bare minimum smut

「word count」 : 1.1k

「synopsis」 : after dinner and a night out in the town, you and sunghoon drive up to your favorite spot

「warnings」 : established relationship, making out, pet names, clothed clit stimulation, clothed grinding, stuff done in a car

「authors note」 : i have been loving writing for sunghoon and all of my sunghoon stan followers<3 feedback is appreciated SUPPORT BY REBLOGGING

「taglist 」 : @jakeflvrz

The city lights blurred past us as Sunghoon navigated his sleek black BMW through the streets. I couldn't help but steal glances at him, admiring his sharp profile illuminated by the passing streetlights. His hooded eyes were focused on the road, a slight smile playing on his lips. The soft hum of the engine and the gentle vibration of the car created a comfortable environment.

I shifted in my seat, the fabric of my dress rustling softly. The night air coming through the cracked window carried the scent of rain. contrasting to Sunghoon's cologne that filled the car with notes of sandalwood and citrus.

"Did you enjoy dinner, angel?" Sunghoon asked, his deep voice breaking through my reverie and sending a shiver down my spine. His eyes briefly flicked to me before returning to the road, but even that fleeting glance was enough to make my heart race.

I nodded, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. "It was perfect, Sunghoon. Thank you." My voice came out softer than I intended, betraying the depth of my emotions.

He reached over and took my hand, intertwining our fingers. The warmth of his palm against mine sent sparks through my body. "Anything for you, doll," he said, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand.

As we drove further from the heart of the city, the buildings grew sparse and the roads darker. The transition was gradual but noticeable – fewer cars on the road, dimmer streetlights, and an increasing number of trees lining the streets. I knew where we were headed – our special spot on the outskirts of town, secluded and private. My heart raced with anticipation, a mix of excitement and nervousness swirling in my stomach.

Sunghoon pulled off the main road onto a hidden dirt path, the car's headlights cutting through the darkness. The subtle bump as we transitioned from asphalt to dirt sent a jolt through me, heightening my senses. The trees parted, revealing a clearing that overlooked the twinkling city below.

He parked the car, the engine's purr fading to silence. The sudden quiet was deafening, broken only by the sound of our breathing and the distant hum of the city. Sunghoon turned to me, his eyes dark and intense, reflecting the starlight that filtered through the windshield.

"You look beautiful tonight, babygirl," he murmured, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered on my cheek, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

“Thank you” I said, trying to hide my face.

His eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and desire flashing across his face. He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned across the center console, capturing my lips in a kiss. The passion behind it took my breath away, making my head spin and my heart pound.

I melted into him, my hands finding their way to his soft black hair. My fingers tangled in the silky strands, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, our lips moving in perfect synchrony, a dance we had perfected over the years but one that never lost its magic. Every brush of his lips against mine sent shivers down my spine.

Sunghoon pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine. Our breaths mingled in the small space between us. He brought his fingers between my legs, over my clothed center. "Are you sure, angel?" he asked, his voice husky with desire but tinged with concern.

I nodded, unable to form words. The intensity of my desire for him overwhelmed me, leaving me breathless and needy. My fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him back to me, our lips meeting again.

He circled his fingers slowly across my covered bud, cause me to quietly whimper in pleasure.

With a swift movement, Sunghoon reclined his seat and pulled me onto his lap. I straddled him, my dress riding up slightly as I settled against him. My hands rested on his broad shoulders, feeling the strong muscles beneath his shirt. The new position brought us impossibly closer, and I could feel the rapid beating of his heart against my chest, as well as his length pressing against my core.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" Sunghoon murmured, his hands tracing patterns on my waist. His touch, even through the fabric of my dress, sent sparks of electricity coursing through me. "Every day, I fall more in love with you."

"I love you too, Sunghoon. So much."

Our lips met again, this time slower, deeper. Each kiss was a promise, a declaration of love that words couldn't fully express. Sunghoon's hands roamed my back, pulling me closer, as if he couldn't bear even the slightest distance between us. I ran my fingers through his hair, down his neck, across his shoulders, memorizing every plane and curve of his body.

As our kisses grew more heated, I felt myself getting lost in the moment, in the sensations, in Sunghoon. The windows of the car fogged up around us. I subconsciously started to grind my hips against Sunghoon, creating friction for my needy core.

Time seemed to stand still in our bubble. I couldn't tell if minutes or hours had passed. The only measure of time was the steady beat of Sunghoon's heart against mine and the rhythm of our synchronized breaths.

Eventually, we pulled apart, both of us breathing heavily. I rested my forehead against his shoulder, trying to catch my breath. Sunghoon's hands rubbed soothing circles on my back, his touch now comforting rather than igniting.

When I finally looked up, I couldn't help but giggle. Sunghoon's usually perfectly styled hair was now a mess, sticking up in all directions thanks to my wandering hands. His lips were swollen from our kisses, and there was a dazed look in his eyes that I'm sure mirrored my own.

"What's so funny, doll?" he asked, a playful glint replacing the haze in his eyes.

I ran my fingers through his hair, attempting to smooth it down. "Nothing. You just look cute like this." I bit my lip, trying to suppress another giggle.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smirk. "Cute? I was going for handsome."

I laughed, the sound filling the car and lightening the intense atmosphere. "That too," I conceded, planting a quick kiss on his nose.

Sunghoon's expression softened, his hands coming up to cup my face. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he traced the contours of my cheeks with his thumbs. "I love you so much," he said, his voice filled with emotion. The intensity in his eyes took my breath away. "I hope you know that."

[majestyeverlasting]

hi writer! i love your fics :)

would you be down to write a fem!reader x eddie munson fic where eddie and reader go to a concert together for the first time & have their first kiss? i thought that’d be super cute, but write whatever feels right! thank you 💗

𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Summary It’s a summer of firsts—your first road trip, concert, and kiss with Eddie. And you can feel in your bones that it's only the beginning of forever [fluff, 3.8k].

A/N Hi, anon! I loved this request so much. It went through a couple iterations before I settled on what felt right, but now it's finally here. Thank you for your patience. Enjoy!

.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．

The lone call of a mourning dove registers as a distant beckon on the outskirts of your consciousness. It’s an airy, flute-like melody that seems to grow nearer as you’re coaxed further into wakefulness. Hardly any sunlight streams into the room, only a dull glow that rims the black curtains. As your eyes flutter open, you trace the Iron Maiden posters on the opposite wall before diverting your gaze to the base of Eddie’s dresser, where your packed duffle bag rests on the floor. 

Closing your eyes once again, you tuck your face back into the pillow. It smells like Eddie. A subtle fusion of pine, citrus, and the earthy notes of his skin. However, when you extend a blind arm to run alongside you on the mattress, the warm weight of his presence isn’t there. 

As if sensing your wakefulness, he saunters into the bedroom a couple seconds later. Artificial light pours in from the hallway, and a weak, disgruntled sound rises up your throat. 

He hears it. Of course he hears it. He reckons he’d be attuned to you even if he were miles away. But that doesn’t stop him from walking over and turning on the lamp on the nightstand too. You don’t have a chance to tug the covers over your head because he stills you the second your fingers curl around them. 

“Eddie,” you whine as you squint against the light. 

He squats beside the bed so he’s face to face with you. There’s a sleepy softness to his own gaze, but the upturn of his lips suggests he’s managed to tap into a well of energy within himself. Maybe not the deepest one, but sufficient enough to be unbothered by the fact that the red numbers on the alarm clock display a quarter past seven-o-clock. 

He’s already dressed for the day ahead. Blue jeans, black tee, and silver chain around his neck.

“Time to get up,” he coaxes. You can smell the mint toothpaste on his breath. “Nashville’s waiting for us, sweetheart.” 

He brushes a gentle knuckle across your warm cheek as his eyes briefly flit to your pouty lips. His touch is enough to cut through the remainder of slumber’s haze, reminding you of how excited you are to hit the open road with him for the very first time. 

••• 

It’s easy being with Eddie. You knew that way before you set off for Tennessee. It’s in the soft gazes he casts your way, the steady weight of his hand on your thigh, his curls as they wisp in the wind. Few people come around and make it feel as though you've known them a lifetime. 

Aside from the asphalt of the road, there’s so much green all around, like you’re cocooned in it. Sunlight plays through the trees lining either side as they glide past the windows. You’ve never seen Hoosier National Forest this way, fresh and alive in the early morning light.

Thirty-five minutes into the trip, and an appreciative silence has already fallen between you. The radio plays a hits station down low, and every once in awhile you find yourself humming along to a familiar tune as you gaze outside. 

A folded map rests in your lap, but Eddie hasn’t asked for directions since you left his trailer. It wasn’t news to you anymore, but he was scarily good at making his way around Southern Indiana. He could recall highway names and exit numbers with impressive ease. An acquired skill from moving around with his mom in his youth, skimming maps, and being a good listener when he wanted to be. 

Back when you first became friends, you were surprised to learn that he’d memorized the way to your house after one visit. At night, no less. He claimed it was because he had a pretty worthwhile incentive in you. 

As you continue cruising through the forest, Eddie’s fingers tap an absentminded beat on the steering wheel as his rings catch the light. It’s enough to draw your gaze from the window to study his lean, well-worn hands. The hands of a mechanic. There’s a grace to them too, even after years of fights he never started but always finished.

Thankfully, these days were different, as if the fog had lifted and people began to realize he was more than the rambunctiousness and rough edges they’d build around him in their minds. 

You were once part of the crowd that wondered and wondered some more about Eddie. But as surely as the stars shine in the night sky, getting close to him meant finally seeing the true picture of the boy who, day by day, is stealing more of your heart.

He can feel your gaze on him, but his eyes remain on the road as he bites back a smile.  

•••

Forty miles out from the motel, Eddie takes an exit off the highway and pulls into a Marathon station. A few other cars are parked at gas pumps and in front of the convenience store. The sudden stillness, paired with a gentle shake of your shoulder, prompts your eyes to flutter open. 

Eddie flashes a smile over at you as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “Mornin’, sunshine—again.” He reaches over to give your thigh a light squeeze. 

Before he can pull away, you take his hand in yours. “Sorry,” you murmur through a yawn. “I’m supposed to be keeping you company.” 

Eddie shakes his head. “You are,” he assures. “Even when you look like this,” he tips his head against the headrest with his eyes closed and mouth wide open. 

A snort escapes you, and you let go of his hand in favor of punching his shoulder. The blow isn’t nearly hard enough to hurt, but he massages his arm with a wince. 

“I don’t look like that,” you say through a laugh. 

“No,” he sighs in agreement. “You’re way cuter. Can’t even take it.” His lips curl into a grin, but you can see the sincerity in his eyes even then. 

Warmth rises to your cheeks as you bite your lip to keep from smiling wider. 

“Especially when you smile like that,” he says. 

This time, you gently push his shoulder. “Okay, stop, go pump gas,” you whine halfheartedly. 

He laughs as he slips out of the van and you miss him when he shuts the door behind himself. While he’s outside, you push your feet back into your Keds and adjust your shirt on your shoulders. 

Eddie eventually knocks on the driver’s side window and goofily mimes that he’s going to go inside. When he sees you turn to get out, he jogs around the front of the van to open your door for you. 

There’s a gentle breeze outside. The sun shines in an overcast sky. As soon as your feet hit the ground, you stretch your arms above your head, back arching in the process. Eddie’s eyes drift down to where your baby tee has rises to expose a sliver of your skin. 

You catch him, but all he does is meet your gaze with a soft smile. Fondness sparkles in the dark pools of his eyes like tiny stars. 

“All set?” He offers you his hand and you take it. 

You swing his arm as you begin walking. “You gonna buy me Sour Powers?”

“Whatever you want,” he promises, leading you towards the convenience store and whatever comes next. 

•••

Further away on the shoreline of Barren River Lake, children play in colorful swimsuits and bucket hats as they enjoy the still waters. Parents watch them wade and splash from blankets and folding chairs lined on the sand. 

Eddie stands with his back leaning against the side of the van, legs crossed and a bottle of Jolt Cola raised to his lips. There’s something about his lax stance, the intricate inkwork on his arms, the way his rings catch the sun. 

Despite the few other travelers who have pulled off the highway for a breather, his gaze remains on you. Though it’s not overtly clear through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, you have a hunch. It’s in the gradual upturn of his lips as you get closer, shorts riding slightly up your thighs.

By the time you position yourself directly in front of him, you’re able to confirm his pupils are fixed on you. Upon playfully leaning into his face, you’re met with the full brunt of his smile. It’s a little boyish and goofy, but all the more charming. 

“Hey, pretty,” he says before taking another sip. He licks away the excess that settles in the divot of his cupid’s bow. 

“Hi,” you say through a smile of your own. “How much longer do we have left?” 

“We’re about seventy-five miles out,” he thinks aloud. “So probably about an hour and a half, give or take.” 

You hum in acknowledgement, and reach out to fix a stray strand of his hair, then use that as an excuse to brush your fingertips along the stubble of his jaw in a featherlight sweep. The gentle attention makes his eyelashes flutter. 

“Stay right here,” you tell him. 

Eddie purses his lips but obeys, watching as you quickly round to the passenger side. When you come back, his Uncle Wayne’s black Polaroid camera is cradled in your grip like a prized possession. You hadn’t even asked to bring it, just plucked it off the shelf in their living room because it had already become just as much yours. 

You position yourself a couple yards away, and shuffle to the side until you’re aligned with Eddie. Even with the sincerity of your enthusiastic smile, an ember of self-consciousness flickers within him. Or maybe awareness is a better word. The awareness that the way he is in this moment, slightly tired with mussed hair from traveling, will live on forever. It’s a small price to pay for the invaluable notion of a memory. He’d never be this young on a road trip to Nashville with you again. 

“How do you want me, sweetheart?” he asks. 

“Just the way you are,” you say as you lift the viewfinder to your eye. 

His shoulders relax as he smiles. Something small and soft, just for you. 

•••

Melodic. That’s the way your laughter sounds as it arises. Eddie can feel your breath on his ear as your arms remain wrapped around his waist from behind. It does nothing to help with the way he fumbles to get the key in the motel room door. They’d already clinked to the ground once. Because you’re poking at him, and giggling, and making it impossible for him to focus. Warmth swells in his chest nonetheless because he quite likes you this way, giddy from your time on the road. He doesn’t hear his own exasperated laughter because yours drowns it out and swallows it whole. 

When he manages to get the maroon door unlocked, he pushes it open, but misses your touch as you let your arms fall from around him in a playful semblance of defeat. The faint scent of lemongrass welcomes you as you trail him into the modest room. A queen-sized bed is the centerpiece of the space, and you take in the tan, patterned comforter. The low, burgundy carpet. The popcorn ceiling. 

Eddie sets the key on the TV stand and props his hands on his hips as he peers over at you. There’s a pensive expression on your face as you push the curtains open further, letting more light in. For a second, nervousness rises in his gut. This isn’t the top of the line. Maybe if you squinted and dreamed, it could be something more. But not by any honest assessment of reality. It wasn’t supposed to be. One day he’d give you that experience. For now you have this. Cozy, familiar, and intimate. 

You smile teasingly when you meet his eyes again. “I know what we’re doing tonight,” you say, and Eddie waits for you to continue. “Mapping out our own constellations.”

A chuckle escapes him because he already knows you’re referring to the dotted nature of the ceiling. The crinkles by his eyes make you bite back a grin as you step closer to give him a proper hug. His strong arms give you a good, steady squeeze and, before long, you’ve closed your eyes and nuzzled into his shirt. There’s a faint tickle at your lower back as his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt to stroke the bare skin. You could fall asleep just like this, standing in his arms, in the room that would be your home away from home for the next several days. It was perfect. All of it. This motel, the moment, him. 

Even though he insists you don’t have to, you venture back outside with him to bring your bags inside. It’s an excuse to admire the afternoon sky, not a single cloud in sight. A handful of cars are scattered within the parking lot. Across the way, there’s a fenced pool with a lone beach ball floating in the turquoise water. There’s a sleepy aliveness to it all. Each tiny sign of life mindful enough to not demand attention. The sound of car engines carries from the main throughway nearby.

“Hey, sweetheart?” Eddie calls out to you. 

Duffle bag slung over your shoulder, you join him at the back of the van. You wrinkle your nose when you see that he’s holding the camera. 

“Uh oh,” you say playfully. “Is it my turn?” 

When he nods, you do a quick scan for cars before backing up to strike a pose, one hand on your hip and the other extending towards the everlasting sky. The quick flicker of the flash seals the moment in time. 

•••

Later that night, Eddie watches you wash your face at the sink—albeit upside down. He lays stretched out on the bed with his head tipped backwards over the edge. Blood has begun to rush to his face, but he remains unfazed. Warm lamplight fills the room. The TV remains off, both of you having long given up on the lacklaster channel selection. A couple carry out bags from the diner down the road sit on the table. 

When you finish and pad back over to him, you playfully pinch his nostrils together, just long enough for him to make a muffled sound. The second you let go, he sits upright in an air of amusement and surprise. His curls are a fluffy, beautiful mess that he pushes out of his eyes. 

“I’m calling the cops,” he announces. “That was attempted murder.” 

“Premeditated, even,” you supply, unable to keep from smiling. 

Eddie swivels so that his legs hang over the bed, socked feet meeting the floor. “Here I was thinking you liked me.” 

“I’m afraid not.” You carefully step between his legs. “It’s all been an act.” You bring your hands to his head and comb through his curls, gently working through loose tangles that fall out easily. 

Eddie’s eyes flutter closed as he leans into your touch. You note how long his dark eyelashes are, how his lips part just so as his breathing steadies. He almost complains when you stop, but the gentle brush of your thumb across his lower lip silences him. 

Looking back up at you, there’s tenderness in your gaze alongside something a little braver and wanting. But it keeps itself tucked away, and he’s willing to let it remain in hiding if it means it’ll bloom into action when the time comes. 

“Well, I like you,” Eddie says, reaching out to snap the waistband of your satin pajama shorts. There’s an honest sparkle in his eyes, if not tinged with a hint of shyness. 

Then he keeps talking, “There’s this really cool band playing at the Lantern Room down on Lower Broadway tomorrow night. They do covers and some of their own stuff. I think you’d dig their vibe…” 

You hum in interest, so he continues. 

“And I just so happen to have two tickets,” he says, eyes softening even as a smirk pulls at his lips. “But, you know, if you don’t like me…”

“I do like you,” you murmur. “A lot. Probably an embarrassing amount.” 

You wouldn’t be surprised if, years from now, archaeologists find that fact written in stone. 

••• 

All of Lower Broadway buzzes with life. Pedestrians flutter about beneath the glow of neon lights. Music and laughter pour out of each door that opens. Back in Hawkins, places were only ever this alive on TV, in the movies, or somewhere else that seemed far, far away. The two of you let it soak. Let it settle beneath your skin and keep the pleasant flutter of excitement alive in your chests. A line of people file out of a larger venue at the end of the block. The illuminated sign out front catches your attention as it shines. 

River Gold at The Lantern Room, one night only.

Inside the Lantern Room, it’s a whole new world. The same frenetic energy of the night exists, but as a steadier, more sophisticated version of itself. Warm, overhead lights cast their glow, and short staircases on either side of the establishment lead down to the lower portion of the floor.

An older man with a long gray ponytail improvises a relaxed tune on the piano as people continue to get situated. Over at the bar, patrons sip on cocktails and whiskeys. 

Eddie leads you through it all, holding your hand so you don’t get separated in the crowd. As you take in the the dark wood of the high ceiling and the decorated walls, you almost miss him calling your name. 

“Sorry,” you say as you give him your attention. “What were you saying?” It feels like you’re raising your voice over the chatter, but you can’t tell.

Eddie chuckles, but doesn't miss a beat. “You look painfully pretty in that dress.” Warmth blooms in your cheeks, but then he says what he’d actually been trying to ask, “Where do you wanna sit?” 

You pout with a small shrug. “Close to the stage?” you say. “But maybe not too close—I don’t know. What do you think?” 

He guides the two of you down a short set of stairs to the main floor seating, where plush lounge chairs are arranged in pairs, separated by small, round tables. 

It isn’t long before River Gold takes the modest stage. Applause crescendos through the room. Eddie smiles over at you to find that your eyes are aglow as they’re fixed on the stage. 

The group is composed of four members. A tall man with a short, neatly shaped afro and flared jeans steps up to the foremost microphone. A cherry red acoustic guitar hangs over his shoulder, and he strums a low, nonchalant series of notes. 

“Thank y'all very much for the warm welcome,” he says, a smirk curling at his lips as he gazes around the room. The subtle eyeliner on his lower lashline accentuates his dark eyes.

“I’m Leon, and that’s Matty, Rocko, and Erika.” He points to the drummer, bassist, and pianist respectively, each receiving a quick swell of applause. 

“And we’re River Gold.” More claps and whistles arise. “This ain’t Beale Street but we’re gonna show y'all how we do it back in Memphis.” You smile when a particularly loud cluster of cheers arises from a group seated somewhere behind you. 

“We got a good show for y'all tonight,” he says, beginning to strum the opening notes of Stand by Me. “Don’t be shy to sing along.”

Leon lets the guitar hum under his voice before he leans into the mic to croon the opening verse, “When the night has come…” 

A cheer goes up as the rest of the band falls in behind him, smooth like honey. The thrum of the bass, the steady shuffle of the drums, the laxity of the rhythm. It already sounds like heaven. 

And it only gets better.

•••

Prince, The Rolling Stones, Tina Turner, Queen—River Gold sings covers from them all. With a couple of their own songs in the mix. Through it all, the crowd is wrapped under their spell. 

The two of you are closer to the bar now, standing behind a stretch of railing near the staircase. Eddie’s body is steady behind you as his hands rest on your hips, gently swaying to one of their soulful original songs, South of Forever. You close your eyes as the music washes over you. The drums vibrate through your chest. The gentle press of Eddie’s fingertips at your waistline anchors you to the moment. 

It isn’t long before something soft and plush tentatively meets the delicate skin behind your ear, accompanied by a puff of breath and the gentle tickle of hair. A beat later, another kiss grazes the shell of your ear. You fear that moving will make him pull away, but your shiver betrays you. Your eyes flutter open on the off chance you've slipped into a dream. 

When you peek back at Eddie, he's already looking at you. His heart beats faster in his chest. There’s a weight to his gaze, but you can bear it. A strong tug within you prompts you to turn around in his arms. 

Eddie strokes a gentle finger across your cheek before leaning, pressing his lips to yours. Warmth floods your chest at the newness of it all, the calculated softness of his lips as they move against yours. For a fraction of a second, he fears he doesn’t know what he’s doing, that he was too rash. But it’s easy with you. He can feel your fingertips steady themselves on his cheek before slipping around to scratch at the nape of his neck. 

If it’s one thing he’s ever been sure about, it’s you. And maybe that’s why he hadn’t kissed you sooner. Uncertainty had driven him to act fast for so much of his life, but never with you. He never felt the need to rush into anything out of fear it would fall apart. He knew you weren’t going anywhere. That you had time. That he’d know when the moment was right. 

Here, tonight, with you, he could feel it in his bones. That inner voice guiding a pull he couldn’t resist. 

For the few seconds the kiss lasts, it feels like you’re floating somewhere in the clouds. Far above Nashville and the rest of the world. Suspended outside of time and space. 

As Eddie slowly pulls away, Leon’s voice is there to welcome you back down to earth. 

“Just South of Forever…no lights in the rearview…recklessly ‘head with you.” 

(concert setlist visual)

-

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. I promise I see them all!

MORE EDDIE

ALL MASTERLISTS

[rachalixie]

what stray kids' kisses taste like.

bang chan's kisses taste like warm tobacco and vanilla, a hint of sweetness and smoky sultry ash combining to make a swirl of campfire smoke in your mouth. his teeth are as sharp as the flames as they sink into your bottom lip, soothed by his marshmallow tongue. 

lee minho's kisses taste like rum soaked cherries, indulgent and sweet with a hint of bitterness that cuts through like colors on a stained glass window. he stains you completely red, the traces of his mouth against your skin leaving marks that can’t be covered up even if you intended to. 

seo changbin's kisses taste like sweet moscato, sweet with hints of grapefruit and raspberries, bubbly as he drifts along your tongue. he leaves you giggling against him, drunk off of the feeling of his lips on yours, kissing you again and again and again until you’re panting for more sips of him.

hwang hyunjin's kisses taste like roses and strawberries, floral and sweet and almost too much but never overwhelming. his lips feel like dainty petals against yours paired with the sweetest strawberry of his tongue dancing as fluidly as his limbs when he’s performing. 

han jisung's kisses taste like cinnamon and cloves, a bit of cardamom peeking through, as complex as a steaming mug of chai on a cold night. the comfort of your coziest socks as the heat from his mouth transfers to yours, making you melt against him like frost dripping off of evergreen trees. 

lee felix's kisses taste like lemon cupcakes, sweetness accompanied by the sharp bite of citrus that meld together in perfect harmony. creamy delicate swipes of tongue against lemon bites with his teeth that leave your head spinning. 

kim seungmin's kisses taste like crumbly butter biscuits, melting on your tongue, complemented by crystalized pieces of salt that cut through the sweetness with sharp fervor. the spice of freshly cracked black pepper comes through late, a welcome surprise hitting your head and making your eyes flutter shut. 

yang jeongin's kisses taste like salty ocean water, he hits your palette and makes you crave more and more. there’s sunshine dancing against your teeth as they meet, his tongue soothing the ache with the scent of sea breeze and fresh coconuts flowing through the air around you.

[fanaticsnail]

Sooo if we’re doing yandere can we please get some yandere katakuri ?

It's been a little while since I've written for our dear Katakuri, and I wanted to see how this would play out. Thank you for your ask! 🖤🐌

Safety

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,700+

Synopsis: As housekeeper to Charlotte Linlin, Katakuri saw you as part of his family. He is obsessed with ensuring you are safe, being a human so much smaller than he was and around such a large family. He is doing all of this, just to ensure your safety. Sometimes that means following you home and watching you from outside your bed chambers.

Themes: yandere!Katakuri x gn!reader, yandere trope, hinted nudity, showers, obsessive tendencies, obsessive behaviours, almost kissing, confessions of love.

Notes: I have only written a few fics for Katakuri, but I adore the big guy. I hope you don't mind him with a little bit of obsession over his features.

Tag list: @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @feral-artistry @sordidmusings @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @i-am-vita

Amber lights illuminate and press over your skin the moment you enter into your living space within the servants quarters of his mother’s bed chambers. The soft crack of your fire popped and caused you to jump and giggle at the soft interruption. Slowly removing your apron and overcoat, you placed your uniform in your wicker basket for washing on your day off tomorrow.

As housekeeper and confidant to Charlotte Linlin, you were never far from the source of vengeance and wrath from the larger woman. Your body was pushed to the limits when preparing her pastries, fudges and cakes, and was also subject to aiding her in her daily routine: preparing her facial features with paints and powders, and dressing her in her garments for the day.

You were so small in comparison, so frail and meek when compared to the giants who lorded the land. So defenseless and helpless should Linlin express her disdain and wrath physically directed at you. You needed a loyal guard dog, a protector, a warrior to ensure your safety within the grounds and an escort to your suite.

At least, that's what Katakuri told himself you needed. And he was more than willing to provide such a service.

His ruby gaze trailed your body from his position sitting on the ground with his back pressed against the tree outside your window. His lips were partially parted, his eyelids falling to half-mast as his desire for you only grew and grew the longer you served his mother.

You were so small, he could wrap his fist around you in one hand. He wanted to keep you safe, to keep you secure, to ensure you would never go wanting for anything as his mother’s young confidant. He loved his family, and as such: you were an extension of such a title as someone residing in such close quarters.

This had become his nightly ritual: going about his day as earl of flour, writing to officials within his mother's vast nakama, ensuring her title as Yonko remained intact and secure, and following you home to ensure your safety from a distance to not alarm you at the end of your shift with his mother. You were so precious to him, so innocent and pure within Komugi Island.

As you rid yourself of your daily attire and readied yourself for your nightly bath, a warm tint of pink dampened Katakuri’s cheeks with the flood of blood pooling within. He told himself this was private, something you didn't mean to be seen by another individual, and he begged his eyes to pull away from gazing up at you. But the longer he looked, the more he longed.

His sharpened canines began to shake and chatter against one another as he consumed your form, telling himself he was truly ensuring you were safe from any who wished to do you harm. His gaze continued to hold over you as you stepped within the shroud of your bathroom walls. Steam exited the vents from the cement wall beside your quarters, the scents of citrus, flower petals and eucalyptus flooding his nostrils while picturing the lather of bubbled suds over your skin.

Shaking his head, he cast all impure thoughts away from him as he fixed his eyes on the ground in front of him. He was your knight for the night, not some pervert attempting to peek into your bed chambers in hopes of meeting with your bare flesh. He was here to keep you safe from those who lurked in the dark, not to have you fear him more for his actions.

A hum called him away from his thoughts, the familiar tune you would sing to yourself every night ringing out in perfect pitch. Closing his eyes, he allowed the moment to be shared with him as his own deep baritone hummed the counterpart along with you. His soul began to mourn your meeting, crave your contact, and yearn for a simple touch that his obsession with ensuring your safety was not to be misinterpreted as lust.

At the last thought, his eyes snapped open. His pupils narrowed, his brow furrowed, and his sharp teeth grimaced at such horror. He was not in love with you, this was truly about keeping you safe. He did not want to hold you, kiss you, consume you and ravish you with romantic intensity that could rival all others.

Did he?

As you stepped out of your bathing quarters in a fluffed robe and your hands drying your hair with a plush towel, it truly dawned on him. Watching your smile grow as you began to dress yourself in comfortable sleepwear and sat by the fire to heat your hair and dry your scalp with book in hand, he truly was struck in the chest like his trident in the thick of battle.

He did want all of those things with you. He was in love with you. Truly, deeply, and painfully in love with you. His love for you propelled him to do these things, to keep you safe, to shepherd you from harm, to check the future with his haki to ensure no slip ups resulted in your pain. He loved you with every chasm of his chest, and vein that coursed through him.

As his eyes drew up once he had dealt with this internally, you were gone. Panic coursed through him, his heart fluttering and immediately readying himself to prepare to fight whoever stole you from his sights. Standing to his full height of seventeen feet and hardening his stance, he was shocked once again at the opening of your front door and your form glaring at him with an unwavering gaze.

“Are you going to tell me why you are following me, lord Charlotte?” your chastising hum slashed into him with invisible blades, holding him both hostage and accountable for his nightly routine.

Taking several moments of being held beneath your scrutiny, Katakuri took a lengthy inhale before exhaling his woes.

“I swore to myself to keep you safe,” he confessed, lowering his eyes and buckling his knee to kneel before you and fall at eye height, “And safe is where you will be, with me ensuring it.” He continued to hang his head, his nose and lip remaining hidden beneath his furred shroud.

“Safe from what? The shower and my bedroom?” you press him, walking forward with your robe flowing at your knees and parting slightly with each step. “Lord Charlotte, I know you have been following me for several months now. I have never felt safer, but,” you finally reach him, his large head the size of your torso and hidden from you beneath his plum-colored hair, “I am lost for reason as to why you are doing this.”

He froze, feeling your body so much closer than he was accustomed to experiencing, inhaling the scents you had washed yourself with in the shower so close, and consumed with longing for you. He didn't want to lie, but he was growing wary of how you would interpret the truth from him. Biting back his nerves, he scrunched his eyes tightly shut and slowly whispered out his hushed confession.

“Because I am in love with you,” he waited with baited breath, making himself as small as possible by deepening his lunge and hanging his head lower.

Your soft hand cradled his cheek, lifting his eyes to meet with yours and revealing his sharpened teeth to you for the first time. He was overcome with panic as your eyes darted immediately to his lips, but his panic softened into confusion as all he was met with was a gentle smile and a warmness in your eyes.

“Forgive me,” he mouthed, his voice lost to him the longer you cradled his larger cheek, “I do not wish to frighten you. I just-... I just wanted nothing more than to keep you safe from all harm.” He darted his eyes between yours, his gaze somewhere between consumed with humility, and plagued with an underlying argument with himself, “You are so special to me.”

“There is nothing to forgive, lord Charlotte,” you lulled your head to the side, continuing to examine his features and darting over his stooped body, “And I can say I have grown a fondness for you too. I think it's due to the fact I always know where I go, you're only a few feet behind me. It's a comfort, truly.”

Stepping closer to him, you cup the other side of his face within your small hand and smile down at him in his low kneel. You raised his chin, prompting him to angle his face higher up to take in your form without filter or shroud of the fact that he truly loved you.

“All that remains is where we go from here,” you giggled down at him, the hum of your voice ringing like a soft, pleasant bell in his ears and raising a smile over his lips.

“In what way do you mean?” he asked, his ruby eyes half lidded and longing for more from you. Inching down closer to his lips, you hover yours over his and whisper in a smooth and sultry tone.

“Well, lord Charlotte, I am unsure if my living quarters are truly safe,” you smiled down at him, his lips parting as they shuddered forward in anticipation of meeting with yours. “Can you come inside and check them for me?” You pull away from his face and gaze down into his eyes, “That is what you were ensuring, correct? My safety?”

Charlotte Katakuri’s eyelashes fluttered with a soft stuttered blink, never truly widening them once reopening. He was consumed with pride at the notion you wanted to keep him with you, finally receiving permission to continue his nightly task of ensuring your protection from a closer vantage point.

“If that is what you so desire,” he whispered in response, slowly leaning into your touch with his chin before pulling away from your grip entirely, “I would never leave you fearing for your safety. Please, lead me on and show me where you feel the most frightened.”

Slowly raking your eyes over his features, your gaze turned hungry and possessive to mirror his own features.

“I can admit, I am plagued by nightmares of late, my lord,” slowly drawing your fingers down to tease at the chest-lining of your bathrobe. A slow, unintentional and protective growl rose up in Katakuri's chest as his lust now blackened his irises. Rising to his feet, he extended his right hand out to you and purred down from his impressive height.

“Then we shall start in your bedchambers.”

[nohoney]

touya x drug dealer! reader has been an idea that i’ve been wanting to do for a while. i had thoughts of cute flowing dresses, flutes of champagne, strawberries with brown sugar, and a powdery compact mirror with a credit card lined with white at the edge ♡

Touya hates going to the country club. He hates having to get ready to wear the stupid polo shirt and pressed pants his mother picked out for him. He hates having to take out most of his face jewelry, only leaving his eyebrow piercing as a slight rebellion to irritate his father. It’s all so annoying to him but to be fair—

They all hate going to the country club together.

It’s only an obligation for them to attend as a family. To show up so that Enji’s professional business ties can remain intact if the event is important enough. It’s the only time everyone agrees together as a family. Despite the fact that going to the country club is meant to be a luxurious get away, the Todoroki’s see it as anything but.

With the exception of Shouto who is too young to partake in anything, the rest of the family cope in their own ways to survive an agonizing event that none of them want to attend.

Enji smokes in private with the other men, Rei quietly nurses a glass of white wine as she makes polite conversation with the other wives, Fuyumi and Natsuo discreetly pass a weed pen between one another, and Touya…

Well he’s got his special friend that he knows where to find.

All throughout the club, there’s little signs that lead to a certain someone who exchanges little treats for just the right price. It could be money or it could be secrets or something else entirely, but the exchange given has to be deemed equal in value to what is handed out. There’s bouquets that are found throughout the entire club, all seemingly of the same variations except for one flower that’s meant to point you in a certain direction.

Touya walks through the club, noting the one flower that sticks out in the bouquets as a subtle sign of where to find you.

Following the secret path, it leads him this time to a room with only a single piano in the center and the white curtains drawn over the windows.

It’s a beautiful grand piece of shiny, lacquered black and is maintained regularly in its tuning. No music is being played though, all that’s heard is the tinkling laugh from one of the two people that are sitting on the piano bench. Touya walks with his hands in pockets, leisurely in his step when he approaches you. Next to you is the caddy that often accompanies your father on the golf course, amber eyes lifting to him and giving him a friendly nod.

“Touya, so nice to see you again!” you greet with a warm smile. You’re graceful in the way you stand up from the piano bench, sliding your hand along the caddy’s shoulders as you make your way to Touya. He leans down, used to the customary greeting of kissing each cheek from you. The perfume you wear is new, smelling more like citrus and freesia than the usual florals he’s used to.

Turning back to the caddy, you wave him off. “I’ll meet you later Keigo, okay?”

The feathery blonde haired caddy stands from the piano bench, pressing a kiss to your temple first before making his way out.

“So, what can I do for you today Touya? You wanna be perked up? Or you wanna relax?” You ask him immediately, leaning against the grand piano and clacking your manicured nails against the surface.

“You ever think that maybe I’m just here to see you? And nothing more?” Touya playfully nudged his shoe against your ankle, also noting the clean polish of your pedicure. Strappy white heels are your choice of shoe today to compliment your tea dress.

You’re this vision of a good girl, prim and proper, soft and sweet. All the mannerisms you exude are perfected and practiced, taught firmly from the all girls school that you attended. On the surface, you’re just simply the rich daughter to the man who owns the country club. You’re known to love lounging by the pool or reading under the shady trees by the garden. The older adults love to fawn over you, even trying to set you up with suitors but only if they’re screened through your father first.

Rolling your eyes at him, you flash him a smile that sends the message of ‘yeah right’ before you wave him over.

You lift the piano bench where your current stash resides. It’s organized meticulously of all types of different pills and already measured bags of different powders. Nude colored nails hover over the selection that you know him to always get, but you’re polite enough to ask first for confirmation before plucking the packed substances from their spot.

“The usual?”

Touya pulls money out from his pocket, the same exact amount that he’s paid every single time he’s seen you. “The usual.” he confirms.

You hold two baggies for him, one with two blue pills and the other filled halfway of white powder. Touya takes it from you and waits for you to take out the held out cash.

“Mm, this dress doesn’t have pockets. Can’t take it.” you smile as you shut the piano bench, “I’ll take a kiss though.”

Touya smiles back, pocketing his cash alongside the goodies you’ve given him. “Is that how you’re taking payments today? With kisses?”

He knows you want him, you’ve been wanting him ever since he had fucked you at your father’s birthday party just a few months back. He can still recall the champagne he tasted on your lips, the silky material of your party dress as he pushed it over your hips, the smell of peony and honey spritzed onto your skin when he had bit your shoulder. It was an amazing fuck, one that he thought about going back for, but he liked to see you dangle yourself for him. Beg him with those pretty eyes and try to seduce him with low cut dresses or leave lingering touches that you hoped pull him in.

You shrug your shoulders and play coy, stepping into his personal space to smooth your hands along his shoulders as if you were going in to hug him. “Special just for you, I’ll figure it out with the rest.”

His hand slides along the small of your back to pull you in and close the space. “You are so bad.”

“I happen to be a very good girl, my record shows that.”

“Your records were expunged by your dear daddy.”

“So therefore, I have done nothing wrong.” you giggle, “C’mon, stop teasing me like this. You never want to see me outside of this place. I only see you when you and your family come to the club for an event, and you guys always look so miserable.”

“And that’s why I’m here,” Touya’s hand drops lower, grabbing at your ass and relishing your little gasp, “because you help me get through these aggravating events.”

He teases you, has you chasing after him and keeps him entertained whenever he comes to this ridiculously posh club. You play the polite girl when you’re out among the crowd but he’s always felt your eyes on him whenever the two of you are in the same room together. If you could keep your eyes on him the entire time you would, but sadly you have to get pulled aside from so many people. From your inner circle, to polite introductions to your father’s colleagues, to the ones who want a little something to get them through the night. You carry yourself with grace and good posture, more than any girl that he had ever met.

You’re the classiest little drug dealer he knows.

And like every deal, a transaction has to be completed. So he leans down to kiss you, holding you tightly by your waist to bring you closer to him. You’re so eager for him locking your fingers behind his neck, sighing sweetly that makes him reminisce of that night you had together. The plush of your lips takes him back to that night, back when you smelled more floral and warm, when he had found you lounging alone at the pool and bored from your father’s party.

Surprisingly you pull away from the kiss. “I like you Touya, c’mon we had so much fun together at my daddy’s party. Don’t you wanna have fun again?”

“I never said that I didn’t want to do it again.” Touya points out as he takes a seat on the piano bench, “It’s crossed my mind.”

You pout at him, the gloss from earlier kissed off slightly sticky on his lips instead. Carefully you wipe away the remnants of the gloss from his lips, smudging it on the pads of your fingers. “You’re so mean, you know that? Don’t you know to not make your plug mad?”

“Ah, how can I make it up to you, princess? Please oh please,” Touya wryly plays along with you, “what can I do to get back in your good graces?”

You hold out your hand to him, “Take a walk with me.”

Walking out hand in hand with you, he is led out of the piano room and allows you to take him to wherever it is you have in mind. You pass by one person that you give a subtle signal too, Touya observing how they make their way to the piano room with a key in hand. He wonders how much you’ve paid off certain workers inside the country club to help and protect you.

He admires that about you, not being afraid to exercise your power. Maybe it just comes with being a spoiled brat who can get her record wiped clean when she calls her daddy with crocodile tears. All this wealth at your disposal and the only thing that entertains you is being the unofficial country club girl scout for xannies, oxies, and other treats.

Touya is led to different halls throughout the club, some he recognizes more than others, but not as well as you do. These are your grounds after all. The caddy from before is seen talking to a group of gentlemen, the elders clearly enjoying conversation with him if the boisterous laughter and the friendly pats on his back are anything to go by. Hell, Touya’s father is apart of the group and even he looks to be amused from whatever quip the feathery haired young man doled out.

Keigo must sense your presence nearby as he immediately looks up to see you. You blow an air kiss to him and he pretends to catch it in his fist. Touya can swears that when he looked at you, you mouthed ‘love you’ to him as they passed by.

He doesn’t know much about Keigo, only that he was brought on by you and that he happens to be very charming with many people. Looks wise, he can see why you went for him but Touya hasn’t taken any personal interest to get to know the caddy.

People pass by and give you pleasant greetings, all of which you returned kindly but never paused to have a conversation. There’s excitement running through you as Touya follows behind, wondering where exactly you’re taking him. He can tell by how eager your pace is that gives it away. It’s precious, he enjoys it too much.

You want him that badly.

━━━━✧

Touya’s not sure how he’ll explain to his mother how his pants got so wrinkled, but it’s a thought that gets pushed out of his mind as he smothers you in a kiss. He’s trying to recall his last excuse when his mother questioned how he became so unkept. The answer isn’t quite coming to him; all he can recall is just the adrenaline he had afterwards from fucking you so good. Normally he’s very smooth with his words, lying easily to anyone when it pleases him, but he had gotten pussy drunk off of you and his brain just wasn’t operating the same.

You and that cunt of yours.

He’s almost upset that he’s been denying himself this entire time. There were plenty of nights recalled the sloppy kisses from you, the elegant way you crooked your finger to bring him to you, and when you pulled on the roots of his hair when he had eaten you out. Truthfully he had wanted to chase you just as much when the deed had been done. But as he’s got you on your knees for him, Touya remembers why he decided to not give into you so easily.

“Please Touya? Please, pretty please?”

It’s so sweet when you beg.

He remembers after coming down from the high that arrogant look on your face when he had helped zip your dress back up. That because he had shagged with you then he was surely to come at your beck and call. Instead of giving in, Touya decided that he’d like to see you chase after him. To have you be the one sending text messages or letting late night calls go unanswered, declining private invitations from you to keep you frustrated.

He still has all your voicemails of you breathless and needy, begging softly for him to just want you back.

Your voice is small and pitched, whiny almost as you pathetically tug at his belt as you sink to your knees. You’re practically drooling for it, eyeing his bulge and caressing it gently through the fabric. Christ, he really made you that in love with his cock. “Oh princess, don’t tell me you’ve been pining after me.” He coos over you and tilts your head up to look at him, “All this time?”

“Yes, god yes!” You admit and jut your lower lip in a pout, “I would wait around for you, hoping you’d answer me or even come visit! I’ve always been so nice to you Touya, and you just ignore me!”

It is the spoiled brat in you that’s making you act this way. You’re such a good girl, a nice girl, a pleasant and sweet and pretty girl that there shouldn’t be any reason to give you this awful treatment. That’s how you see it. That you’re the one who blessed Touya with the rare gift of giving him personal access to you so therefore, he should be grateful and be falling at your feet.

Touya has his own pride though.

“Is that darling caddy you’re so fond of not enough for you?”

“I adore Keigo, I love him,” you admit, “but I want you too.”

You want him desperately, slowly crumbling your pride as you beg softly for him. This is what Touya wanted from you. To see you throw a bit of dignity away just for him.

“Yeah? You mean that?” he asks you, using a single finger under your chin to lift your gaze up to him.

“Yes.”

He could probably ask anything of you in this moment if it meant that he’d give himself up to you. Something that you would find worth it for him to finally cure your ache. Admittedly one of his fantasies with you is to use one of your fancy lipsticks to draw the filthiest names on your body and take pictures for evidence. He wants to write slut at your tits, whore written in fat letters on your back, maybe even cumdump on your tummy with an arrow pointing down to your cunt. Touya wonders if that would be too much though.

He wants to demean you so bad, knock you off your high horse and make you look pathetic.

Yet there’s also some desire in him to cherish you too. You are the darling of this club, adored and revered and Touya falls into that crowd too. That it wouldn’t be so bad if you were to wear a dainty necklace with his initial, have you in his car for leisurely joy rides down by the coast, and go on those stupid fancy picnics that you posted on your instagram.

“Need you Touya, need you!” you whine, catching his hand and leaning your cheek into his palm. Aw look at you, trying to look sweet for him, giving him doe eyes and batting your lashes.

There’s some laughter outside, just a small group passing by the room you’ve locked yourselves in for privacy. There’s a little sign that you hung on the door handles: the art gallery is closed. Nearby is a sculpture of a nude woman, crafted by one of the local artists here and was in the club’s newsletter not too long ago. Touya glances to it, finding it beautiful and better in person than in the photo they had taken of it. Art is usually better to see in person anyway-

“Touya!”

You’re not on your knees anymore for him, standing to your feet and smoothing down your dress. Ah, you’re upset now—actually upset at him. “If you don’t want me, then just fucking go. You’ve been playing these games with me and I’m tired!” you huff and try to pick up your heels that you discarded onto the floor when you had locked up the room, “Keep the stuff I gave you, I still won’t charge you for today.”

His hand goes to your wrist and he’s pulling you back to him, wrapping you up in a hug as he hushes you, “Don’t be so upset, it’s not a good look for you.”

“Well I wouldn’t be if you would just look at me!” you almost cry, sinking into his body and making a small noise when he hugs you tighter. “Everyone else wants me, why don’t you? Don’t you want me?”

It surprises him how genuine you’re being. You can’t be this upset, can you?

It makes Touya happy that he can make you this way.

“Never said that I didn’t, princess.” he admits finally, “I like you back, is that all you need to hear?”

He’s given a little nod, feeling your hand press at his bulge again. Your hand caresses his cock through his slacks and you sigh a little, slightly tilting your head up and nosing along his jawline. Touya bites down the smug smile that wants to sprout up on his face—this is how he wanted you, on his terms and not on yours. So now that he’s got you right where he wants you…

“Ow!” you cry out when Touya roughly grabs a handful of your hair right at the root, pulling you just enough to make you look up at him. He holds tightly and coos over your shocked expression, your wide eyes looking up at him with a small sense of betrayal. How could he switch up on you so fast like that? “T-Touya..!”

You pout up at him, your lips tempting him to kiss you.

“You’re not the good girl you make yourself out to be. Like you got everyone wrapped around your little finger, huh?” Touya speaks haughtily, his grip flexing slightly and tugging slightly on the roots of your hair, “Good girls don’t sell drugs out of a piano bench and fuck around with the piss poor caddy that’s so popular around here.”

“Maybe not other girls,” you hiss through your teeth, “but I can.”

You can do whatever you want, it’s how you lived your life. If there are any rules you’ve broken, you’ve always been very good to take care of it yourself mostly. Look at how you flout about, walking around with your pretty heels and waving the help over with darling manicured hands, discreetly handing cash and speaking with the sweetest lilt to get people to do what you please.

Touya snorts, but he does admire you all the same. If he had more drive to do anything, he’d probably be working under you too.

But he hates being inside this stupid country club, which is where you typically are when you’re not traveling or with your own gaggle of friends. This is where you like to work after all, and will be yours to run once your dear daddy passes.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful.” Touya sighs out before leaning down to kiss you. He’s unexpectedly soft considering the tight grip he still has on you, slotting his lips against yours too intimately for someone who also wants to ruin you all the same. It’s a long kiss he gives you, that it even gets the butterflies fluttering inside of his chest.

He pulls back and releases the hold he had on your hair, twirling his finger in a circle to indicate for you to turn around. You present your back to him, getting flashbacks to when Touya had first undressed you. His fingers are cold as he fiddles with the zipper at the back and pulls it down slowly. The dress loosens from your body and you shrug off the thin straps. It falls to the floor in a pool surrounding your feet, and you’re left standing in a little cotton panty that’s lined with lace. Your nipples are perked due to the chill of the room but you don’t bother to cover yourself to retain some modesty.

You’ve been wanting to be like this in front of Touya for the longest time.

You’re given another wordless command, blue eyes briefly glancing down to the hardwood floor. Kicking your dress off to the side, you kneel down in front of Touya once more and watch as he unzips his slacks and pulls his cock through the opening. Your mouth practically waters upon seeing his dick again, so thick and with the prettiest color at the tip you had seen. You’re about to go in when he stops you with a simple little tut.

Glancing up at him, you wonder what he could possibly have to say.

“Don’t get too sloppy, can’t walk out of here with fucking drool stains on my crotch.”

Touya hopes to fuck you in his bed one day, have you squirt on his sheets, and then cum all over your face. But while the two of you are here, the two of you have to be able to come out look presentable. He can’t go as wild as he wants on but he fucking swears that he’s gonna make you fucked out by him one of these days.

You nod in understanding before swallowing his cock into your throat. There’s some dreamy sigh from you as you bob up and down on his cock; you really must have been aching for this. There’s enthusiasm as you swallow all his inches, looking up at Touya and going all doe eyed for him. See how much you wanted him?

He admires your small gags, the way your body lurches when you choke deeply on his cock, but he reminds you again to try to keep your drool from getting on him. Touya wants to fuck your face, he wants to make you cry from fucking your mouth too hard, and even slap your cheek. There’s so much he wants to do but this isn’t the time or place to do any of it.

You’d be pissed off too if he even attempted.

You pull off his cock, a line of drool connecting your lips to his cock still but it gets wiped away quickly by the back of your hand.

Touya grabs your wrist to bring you to your feet, pulling you to the nearest wall to fuck you against. Your hands brace the flat surface, grunting when Touya uses one hand to jut your ass back to him and the other presses your head to the wall. With your back arched, he admires your elegant form under the soft lighting of the art gallery. The lovely still life painting of a bouquet does not compare to how fucking beautiful you are in this moment.

He can’t wait until he can ruin you to tears.

He offers his fingers to your lips, your mouth obediently dropping to lick and spit on them. It tickles a little with the way your tongue drags along his fingers but he doesn’t allow it for long. Touya only needs just enough to finger your hole, even spitting on his own fingers before he does a careful but quick prep after pulling down your panties.

“Oh god… oh fuck…” you mutter, your eyes shutting as relishing in his touch, “Fuck me please!”

“Relax.” Touya is firm in his tone, acting cool and masking the equal desperation that is surging throughout his own body. He wonders if you notice how eager his fingers are to be inside you, biting his lip to force down the wolffish smile on his face when he feels how wet you are. All that teasing before that he had done to you was worth it.

It was worth all of it to lead up to this moment.

His fingers withdraw and he sucks on them, savoring the taste of your slick along his tongue. Touya recalls how he ate you out at your father’s birthday party, driving you wild with his tongue on your clit and the sweet noises you made. It would be nice to do it again.

Your body shudders a little as the head of Touya’s cock nudges against your pussy, a sharp little breath sucked in as the first few inches sink into you. “Fuck!” you quietly curse.

Touya would like to savor this, to take his time and work you up into a sloppy, pretty little mess. To finger your clit until you cry out of frustration and then choke you if you give him an attitude. There’s so many things that he wishes he could do in this moment. But you remind him—

“Please hurry, we can’t be in here for long.”

Because you’ve got people waiting for you. People waiting to eagerly meet you, whether at your piano bench or if you’re needed somewhere else to help maintain your father’s appearance. No matter how much Touya has this vision of what he wants, he knows that he truly can not have you in his own way.

But he’s grateful to get you anyway.

He thrusts in, sinking in smoothly but with a sharp clap of his body meeting yours. Your pussy tightens up on him from the brief shock that is also coupled with a small gasp. His hands grasp your hips tightly and he pounds away at you, noticing how you help with the motion by moving back into him as well. It’s quiet inside the art gallery so all Touya can hear is you and the sound of his skin slapping against yours as he fucks hard into you.

“T-Touya!”

It’s just as sweet as the first time, observing how you occasionally look over your shoulder at him and give him sweet doe eyes again. But this time they’re glazed over, your eyelids dropping as you get lost in the pleasure, relishing in everything that you had been waiting for. Touya wonders how many nights you spent fingering yourself to him, he imagines your embarrassment when he would leave your needy voicemails or nudes in his inbox unanswered, and he dreamt more than a few times of you riding that pretty boy caddy in front of him.

I want to fuck you again.

Those words almost slip out as he reaches a hand to finger your clit. Your knees buckle but you maintain yourself, your own little sounds struggling to be kept in. Touya can feel it already, he can feel you just about ready to snap if the way your cunt is clenching around him is any indicator of anything.

“Please cum, please cum!” you desperately whisper, “Please cum in me!”

I need to fuck you again.

Touya fucks harder to get himself to cum, looking down to see that you’ve creamed all over him. He’s grateful that he pushed his pants down enough so that none of it catches onto his clothes. It’d be nice if you could clean up his cock with your mouth after he cums in you, but you’ve got to come out looking as proper as you can be.

So no hair pulling, no spitting in your mouth, no crying to ruin your makeup, and no marks are to be left.

But if you’re going to beg him to cum in you, you should be able to accommodate a reasonable request.

Touya leans over, feeling his control ready to let go as he’s about ready to burst as he mutters in your ear, “Keep my cum in you, keep me inside you.”

His words have your eyes rolling back, answering him with a jittery nod and a sweet yes hissed into the air. “Yes, fuck yes!”

I am going to fuck you again.

Touya jolts into you one last time, pressing himself so deep that you whine his name. He’s emptying himself into you, spilling cum into that delicious cunt of yours. He chances putting a hand at your throat to choke you, his fingers careful at your windpipe and peering down at you as your orgasm wipes your mind blank and has you going limp that he has to catch you.

And then there’s silence.

He’s holding your body against him, carrying your weight as your mind tries to start back up again. Touya drinks in this moment because he knows he won’t get a repeat of this. He may never get the upper hand again now that he’s given you what you’ve been aching for.

He wants to keep coming back not to just buy off you, but to keep seeing you.

“Good, Touya?” you manage to find your voice and lean back against him, patting your hand against his arms that are still holding you tightly.

“The best.” He answers

You chuckle, nodding your head and still remaining in his hold with his cock in you. He wonders why you haven’t bothered to start making yourself proper—

The door to the art gallery unlocks and it has Touya jolting. All the curse words he knows flash in succession in his mind but you pat your hand against him. “It’s okay, it’s Keigo.”

Sure enough, it is.

The pretty caddy with blond hair is approaching the two of you with two small towels in hand. Had he been waiting outside the entire time?

Touya wonders if every move you’ve made has been calculated. Did you know for sure that he would finally fuck you today after keeping you waiting for so long? And to have your favorite toy waiting on hand to clean you up as well?

He takes the offered towel from Keigo but doesn’t offer a thanks. Touya wipes off the remnants of you off his cock, throwing the towel over his shoulder as he pulls his pants back up. His belt buckle clinks as he makes himself presentable.

“Can we stay and talk for a little Keigo?” you ask leisurely as the caddy places the towel over a wooden bench for you to sit on. You’re smoothing down your hair as you sit down, Keigo kneeling down on one knee to massage your calves. Your dress and heels still lay discarded as you appear to take your time getting ready to leave.

“Just for a little, okay? Hana is looking for you—“ Keigo informs you and laughs a little as you groan at the name. It seems he has the sense to not continue the sentence.

Touya is dressed, his pants not as wrinkled as he hoped they would be. Rei will probably take notice like she did last time but this time, he has enough clarity to give an answer that he knows his mother will not believe but does not have any backbone to question.

He supposes that he should go out there.

He’s got what he wanted anyway.

“See ya princess.”

“I’ll see you out there Touya.” You call to him just as he’s out the door.

Stopping by a restroom first, he puts himself in the privacy of a stall after locking the door. He retrieves the dime bag and admires the scaling of the cocaine inside the plastic. He fishes out a key from his wallet, using the tip of it dip into the bag. He inhales a sizable bump into each nostril, wiping his nose clean before flushing the toilet for the sake of seeming as if he had used the facilities.

He joins Natsuo and Fuyumi, the weed pen offered to him as well but he declines. Just a little further down, Shouto is with two boys that he seems to have made friends with. One of them is blond and huffing his chest while the other has hair the color of an evergreen tree and seems to be the mediator of whatever fuss is going on.

Touya leans back into his seat, just a touch more awake as he tastes the drip at the back of his throat.

━━━━✧

It’s a relief when it’s finally time to leave.

Enji and Rei are side by side, she’s holding onto his arm for balance, teetering slightly to the right but is corrected by her husband as he helps her into the car. Shouto is waving his friends goodbye before going along to Fuyumi’s side. She asks him if she had fun and he answers yes. She is no longer high but Natsuo takes a small hit of the pen one last time to tolerate the car ride.

Touya is about ready to take his place inside the car when he hears his name. He looks back to see you walking towards him and he decides to walk to you so that none of his family eavesdrops.

“Thank you for seeing me today, I really enjoyed your company.” you speak with a bubbly lilt and your smile more pleasant than usual. Of course you’re happy—you and Touya finally fucked again.

“Thanks for having me.” Touya responds a little flatter than he intended to, just trying to keep his family off his tail so that they don’t ask questions.

“Text me later.”

It’s not framed as a hopeful question; you’re telling him to text you.

“I will.”

He means it.

No more ignoring or being coy, not anymore since you got what you wanted and Touya knows that he’s given up the power to you. It was nice to briefly wield it but he knows in the end that you are the one to hold all the cards and have things aligned with how you want them.

Touya avoids his father’s gaze as he gets into the car. He leans back into his seat at the very back of the car, crossing his arms over his chest and feeling the buzz of the coke starting to wind down. He chances looking back and you’ve hung around in your same spot, appearing to see him off.

The windows are tinted and he’s sure that you can’t see him through the glass but you wave anyway, as if knowing that he’s looking at you. He resists waving back.

And as the car starts, someone joins you. Wearing all black and with slightly unkempt white hair, Touya recognizes your foster brother. He’s only seen Tomura around a handful of times—unlike you that leaves a trail to be found, he’s a bit elusive.

The car starts to pull away, Touya watches from his seat as your foster brother leans down to you. One would think that he just leaned down to kiss your cheek but he swears that it was a kiss on the lips. It was hard to tell when enough distance had blurred the interaction.

Not that it matters to him anyway.

Later that night, Touya does as promised and he texts you. All the previous messages in his inbox from you were one sided but now he’ll be expected to reach out to you. Maybe you can meet him at a different place occasionally, take you for a ride in his white mustang or share a sorbet with you in the downtown area.

He knows that he will have to meet you more often at the country club though—it is where you work after all.

Touya hates the country club but he’s only ever gone to have a chance to see you.

[solarsturniolo]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Beach Bum!Matt... front desk at a surf shop by morning, bartending at a beach bar by night, Tame Impala, shark tooth necklaces, owns more swim trunks than shorts, sunrises, The Beatles, hammocks, makes his own surfboard wax, worn out sandals, Le Beau Eau de Toilette by Jean Paul Gaultier, fresh fruit, bamboo straws, Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, flip phone, Fleetwood Mac, surfboard collection, sage and citrus Yankee Candle, Cuba Libres, small business supporter, doesn't believe in using streaming services, has a large dvd collection, pottery, The Beach Boys, volunteers at a sea turtle sanctuary occasionally, Raybans, vintage orange Volkswagen van, palm trees, tiki torches, The Spins by Mac Miller, orange creamsicles, doesn’t know he���s a heartthrob, sleeps with the windows open to hear the ocean, vinyl record collector, always wearing flip flops, Doses & Mimosas by Cherub

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