#every minute and every hour i miss you i miss you i miss you more

[promptedwordsmith]

Please mayhaps could you write something cute of Mc/Reader falling asleep while laying on their chest listening to their heartbeat 😭

inspired by this dialogue from Zayne I just got 🙈

Love your writing btw, I binge read all your stuff earlier…😭

Aww thank you!

Caleb

The night was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city in the distance. The stars stretched endlessly above you, faint against the glow of streetlights filtering through the window. The air was cool, a soft breeze shifting the curtains, but the warmth of Caleb beside you made the world feel impossibly small, like the only thing that mattered was the space between you.

You hadn’t meant to stay this late.

It had started with a casual visit—an excuse, really. Just an evening spent together after days of missing each other between missions and responsibilities. You had barely managed to steal moments alone lately, both of you too caught up in the demands of your work, your Evols, your duties. And now, here you were, hours later, lying on his couch, wrapped up in his presence as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Caleb sat against the cushions, his black and orange jacket tossed somewhere over the armrest, leaving him in just a simple t-shirt. He had one arm resting lazily behind his head, the other draped across your back. Your body was half on top of him, your cheek pressed against his chest, rising and falling with each steady breath he took.

The sound of his heartbeat filled your ears.

Strong. Constant. Safe.

You hadn’t planned on falling asleep like this. But after everything—after the exhaustion, the weeks of pushing forward without rest—this felt… inevitable. Like gravity pulling you down.

Caleb hadn’t moved much since you’d settled there, just enough to shift comfortably, to make sure you had the space to breathe. His fingers ghosted over your back, absentminded, soothing. He wasn’t speaking, but he didn’t need to. The warmth of his body, the solid presence of him beneath you—it was enough.

You felt his chest rumble slightly as he let out a breath, a soft chuckle you almost missed.

"Didn’t think you’d get this comfortable with me so soon."

You made a small noise in protest but didn’t lift your head. It was too much effort, and you were too content.

His fingers brushed against the curve of your shoulder, warm and slow. "Not that I mind," he murmured.

You sighed, shifting just slightly, letting your body mold more against his. “M’not comfortable,” you mumbled sleepily, words muffled against his shirt.

"Oh?" Amusement colored his voice.

"M’just… too tired to move."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Right. That’s it."

You didn’t argue. You barely had the energy to think, much less banter with him. The steady thump-thump of his heart was lulling you under, making it hard to focus on anything but the warmth beneath your fingertips.

A few minutes passed in silence, peaceful and undisturbed. Caleb wasn’t one to stay still for long, not with the kind of life he led, but right now, he hadn’t moved an inch. Maybe he didn’t want to wake you. Maybe he just liked this as much as you did.

And then, in a voice quieter than before, he spoke again.

"Feels nice."

You made a questioning sound, but you didn’t open your eyes.

His fingers traced a slow, lazy path down your back. "Having you here like this."

Your heart skipped.

It wasn’t like Caleb to say things outright. Not when it came to feelings, anyway. He showed his affection in actions—through protection, through thoughtfulness, through every quiet way he looked after you. But every now and then, he let things slip.

And for some reason, this moment felt more intimate than any of the ones before.

You swallowed, suddenly more aware of how close you were. His heartbeat, still steady beneath your ear, was the only thing grounding you.

You exhaled. "I like it too."

His hand stilled for half a second, then continued its slow, absentminded movements.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, saying nothing at all.

Time didn’t matter.

The world outside didn’t matter.

All that mattered was the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the way his heart beat for you, with you.

And eventually, before you even realized it, you drifted into sleep, safe in his arms.

Caleb had lost count of how long he’d been lying there, unmoving, just watching you.

You had fallen asleep so easily against him, so naturally, as if you had always belonged there. Your breaths were soft, steady, barely more than a whisper against his skin. And your weight—light but present—felt right.

He exhaled, staring at the ceiling.

He should’ve moved. He should’ve carried you to bed, tucked you in properly, maybe even left the room to give you space.

But he didn’t.

Because some part of him—some deep, selfish part—couldn’t bring himself to let go.

His arms tightened around you, just slightly. He felt the way you shifted in response, curling closer in your sleep, like even unconscious, you knew you were safe with him.

That did something to him.

He had spent so long protecting you, making sure you were okay, keeping his distance where he thought you needed it. But now, here you were—sleeping soundly on his chest, trusting him without hesitation.

And it undid him.

His fingers traced absent patterns against your back, slow, thoughtful. He didn’t know if you’d even remember this in the morning, if you’d be embarrassed, if you’d pull away and act like it hadn’t happened. But he’d remember.

He’d remember the way your breathing synced with his, the way your body had fit against him like it was meant to be there. He’d remember the warmth of you, the way you had melted into him without fear.

And, more than anything, he’d remember the moment he realized—he never wanted this to end.

He exhaled, tilting his head just enough to press the lightest of kisses against your hair. A whisper of a touch, something you wouldn’t feel, something just for him.

"Sleep well," he murmured against your temple. "I’ll be here when you wake up."

And for once, he truly meant it.

Rafayel

Rafayel always ran a little warmer than most, his body heat like an ember refusing to die out. It was comforting in a way that made it difficult to resist curling up beside him, though you rarely admitted that out loud. He’d be insufferable if you did, teasing you with that lazy grin, calling you clingy despite the fact that he was the one who draped himself over you like a heavy blanket more often than not.

Tonight was no different.

It had been a long day—one of those days where exhaustion settled into your bones like a permanent weight. The kind of day where even lifting a hand to wave away Rafayel’s usual antics felt like too much effort. You had barely managed to shuffle into his home, kicking off your shoes in a haphazard heap by the door before collapsing onto his couch without so much as a greeting.

Rafayel, ever the dramatic one, had let out an exaggerated sigh as he flopped down beside you, slouching against the cushions as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “You look like you’ve fought an entire army and lost.”

You hummed in response, not even bothering to open your eyes.

That wasn’t enough for him, of course. He prodded your arm with a single finger, then two, then your cheek, then your forehead—until you swatted weakly at his hand, cracking one eye open to glare at him.

“If you don’t let me rest, I’ll���”

“What?” He smirked, all sharp teeth and amusement. “Throw me out? I live here.”

You groaned, rolling onto your side to put your back to him, but it was no use. Rafayel was persistent when he wanted to be. His arm slung itself over your waist, not quite pulling you in, but making sure you couldn’t wriggle away either.

“Stay up with me,” he murmured.

“No.”

“Rude.”

You huffed a small laugh, but the exhaustion was winning. You felt the weight of his arm shift slightly, and before you knew it, he was adjusting, coaxing you effortlessly into his embrace as if it was second nature.

You barely resisted.

His chest was warm beneath your cheek, rising and falling in an easy rhythm, his heartbeat a steady thump-thump against your ear. You listened without thinking, without meaning to, letting the sound ground you in a way that nothing else could.

“Comfortable?” Rafayel’s voice was softer now, lacking his usual teasing lilt.

You made a vague sound of agreement, nuzzling just a little closer.

His fingers skimmed lightly over your back, absentmindedly tracing little shapes into your shirt. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

“Mhm.”

“You weren’t supposed to agree.”

You smiled sleepily.

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of the warmth of his body, the scent of sea breeze and something faintly sweet, the quiet lull of his breathing.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

You wondered if he even realized how soothing it was. If he knew how easily he could lull you to sleep just by being there.

His hand stilled against your back, and for a moment, you thought maybe he had fallen asleep too. But then, his voice—softer now, barely above a whisper—broke the silence.

“You do this a lot.”

You hummed, half-asleep already. “Do what?”

“Listen to my heartbeat.”

Your eyes cracked open just enough to peek up at him, but his expression was unreadable in the dim light. His gaze was focused on the ceiling, his lips pressed together in quiet contemplation.

You shrugged, your fingers absentmindedly curling into the fabric of his shirt. “It’s… nice.”

Rafayel let out a small breath of amusement, though there was something thoughtful in the way he tightened his grip around you, as if trying to pull you just a little closer. “I don’t think anyone’s ever told me that before.”

You blinked sleepily. “Really?”

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering it. “Most people don’t get close enough to notice.”

That made sense, you supposed. Rafayel was not an easy person to get close to. He could charm his way into any room, could captivate entire crowds with his talent and confidence—but when it came to true closeness, true intimacy, he chose his moments carefully. He built walls around himself, kept his distance from the world even as he stood in its spotlight.

But with you…

You weren’t entirely sure when it had changed. When the teasing had shifted into something softer, something real. When he had stopped keeping you at arm’s length.

Maybe it had been gradual, like the way the tide reshapes the shore over time.

Or maybe it had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged.

His fingers resumed their absentminded tracing against your back. “Does it make you feel safe?”

You hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Yeah.”

Rafayel exhaled, a breath that sounded far too heavy for such a simple conversation. But he didn’t say anything else.

His heartbeat continued its steady rhythm beneath your ear.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

You sighed, letting your eyes drift shut again. Sleep pulled at you like a tide, warm and steady.

You didn’t know how long you lay there, tangled up in each other, before Rafayel finally spoke again, voice so quiet you almost thought you imagined it.

“…Good.”

And then, as if nothing had happened, his fingers continued their slow, lazy patterns against your back, lulling you further into sleep.

The last thing you felt before drifting off completely was the faintest press of lips against the top of your head.

Rafayel didn’t say anything else.

He didn’t need to.

Sylus

The night was warm, the kind of heat that settled under your skin and refused to let go. The air carried the faint scent of rain from earlier, mixing with the smoky tang of the fire burning low in Sylus’ study. You had been sprawled across the couch for what felt like hours, tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable, but no matter what you did, rest wouldn’t come.

You huffed, rolling onto your stomach, cheek pressing into the cushion. Across the room, Sylus sat at his desk, flipping through a dossier with the kind of effortless focus that made you want to be a distraction. He had been watching you from the corner of his eye for a while now, though he hadn’t said anything—probably waiting for you to admit defeat first.

"You’re brooding," he finally murmured, flipping another page.

You groaned. "I don’t brood."

His lips curled slightly, but he didn’t look up. "You do when you don’t get your way."

Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

He turned a page with an infuriating level of ease. Smug bastard.

"You heard me," he mused. "Something’s bothering you. You don’t want to admit it, but you also want me to figure it out for you. You’re restless, and I don’t like it."

You scoffed, pushing yourself up. "You don’t like it? Oh no, whatever shall I do?"

Sylus sighed, finally looking up at you, his crimson gaze dark and knowing. "Come here."

You sat up fully, arms crossing over your chest. "No."

His expression didn’t change, but you saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes. "No?"

You smirked, lifting your chin. "You want me? You come get me."

For a moment, he just stared at you, as if weighing his options. Then, without warning, he moved.

You barely had time to react before a shadow loomed over you, arms slipping around you with the kind of effortless strength that made resistance seem laughable.

"Sylus!" you yelped, squirming as he lifted you off the couch like you weighed nothing.

"Problem, kitten?" he murmured, the warmth of his breath brushing against your temple as he adjusted you against his chest.

You kicked your feet, half-heartedly shoving at his shoulder, but he didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he sank back into his chair, pulling you down with him, settling you against him.

Your back rested against his chest, his arms lazily draped around your waist, as if holding you there was the most natural thing in the world.

"You’re ridiculous," you grumbled.

"And yet," he mused, resting his chin lightly against the top of your head, "you always end up right where I want you."

You huffed, about to argue, but then—you heard it.

The steady, unshaken rhythm of his heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Slow. Certain. Unyielding.

For a moment, you forgot why you had been restless in the first place. The world outside faded, the tension in your limbs melting into the warmth of his body. His heartbeat filled the silence, a constant, grounding sound that made everything else feel so small.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—his warmth, the slow rise and fall of his chest against your back, the way his fingers had started tracing small, absentminded circles against your ribs.

"You’re listening," he murmured, voice quieter now.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

His heartbeat was so steady, so sure. A deep, resounding thing that made you realize just how erratic your own had been all night. But now… now you were matching him, falling into the rhythm of him.

A breath.

A beat.

A moment.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve, gripping just a little tighter.

"...You’re annoying," you mumbled.

Sylus huffed a quiet laugh, his fingers slipping up to cup your jaw, tilting your face just enough for your eyes to meet his. "And you’re a brat," he murmured.

Your lips parted, but no words came.

Because his gaze wasn’t teasing anymore. It was soft. Intense in a way that made your stomach twist and your pulse stutter, despite the slow, grounding rhythm of his own beneath you.

"...Don’t do that again," he said after a moment.

Your brow furrowed slightly. "Do what?"

"Try to deal with things on your own when you don’t have to." His voice was low, serious. Final.

You swallowed hard.

Sylus was not a man who needed anyone. He was self-sufficient, independent, a lone wolf who had built an empire from the shadows. But with you, he let himself be different.

And this? This was him asking you to do the same.

You let out a slow breath, turning your face back into his chest. His heartbeat was still there, still steady, still constant.

Your fingers loosened against his sleeve, your grip no longer desperate, but something else. Something trusting.

"...Okay," you whispered.

Sylus let out a quiet hum, satisfied with your answer. His arm tightened just slightly around you, and for the first time that night, you weren’t restless anymore.

You listened.

To the crackling fire. To the distant city.

To him.

To his heartbeat.

And slowly, carefully—you matched it.

Xavier

The steady rhythm of Xavier’s heartbeat was the only sound you could focus on. A soft, constant thump-thump, thump-thump beneath your ear, grounding and unwavering. It was late—too late—but exhaustion had long since settled into your bones, making your eyelids heavy.

You hadn’t meant to end up like this, curled against him with your cheek resting over his chest, legs tangled loosely. It had started as a simple evening together, the two of you stretched out on the couch, basking in the rare quiet. The mission earlier had been grueling—physically and mentally draining—and you had been too sore to move much, content just to exist in Xavier’s presence.

He had been the one to pull you close, an arm draped lazily around your waist as if it was second nature. And now, as you lay against him, your body melting into the warmth of his own, you realized how easy this felt.

His fingers traced light, absent-minded patterns against your back, the touch featherlight, almost reverent. You could feel his breath ruffle your hair every now and then, slow and even. The city lights outside cast a faint glow across the room, flickering against the walls, but neither of you made a move to turn on the lamp.

"You're quiet," Xavier murmured. His voice was deep, a little rough, the kind of tone that made something inside you settle. "Tired?"

You hummed in response, nuzzling just slightly into his chest. "Mm. Comfy."

A soft chuckle rumbled beneath you, and you could feel his amusement more than you could hear it. "So, you're just using me as a pillow, then?"

You smirked but didn’t open your eyes. "You make a good one."

Xavier huffed, but his hand on your back didn't stop its slow, lazy movements. "Lucky me."

There was no teasing in his voice, though—just something warm, something fond.

It wasn’t often that you got to be like this with him. Unrushed. No missions, no battle wounds, no chaos pulling you in opposite directions. Just you and him, together.

And God, it felt good.

His heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek, a quiet, comforting rhythm that made the exhaustion settle even deeper in your body.

Xavier didn’t push you to stay awake, didn’t urge you into conversation. He just let you rest.

And maybe that was what made it so easy to finally let yourself relax.

At some point, you started drifting.

It was slow, like sinking into warm water, the world softening around the edges. You could still hear him breathing, still feel the rise and fall of his chest, but everything was beginning to feel lighter.

And then—

A soft voice, close. "You gonna fall asleep on me?"

You made a vague noise of acknowledgment but didn’t move.

Another chuckle. "That’s a yes."

You felt him shift slightly, adjusting his hold on you, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, his grip on your waist tightened just slightly, as if anchoring you to him.

"You’re warm," you muttered, your voice sluggish with exhaustion.

Xavier huffed out a breath. "You're barely awake and that's what you choose to say?"

You smiled against his shirt. "Mhm."

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, softer—quieter—"Good."

You might have imagined it, but his hand moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. A touch so light it almost wasn’t there at all.

You sighed, content, before finally letting yourself fall.

When you woke up, you weren’t sure how long you had been asleep.

The first thing you noticed was that you were still on Xavier’s chest, still curled up against him like you had never moved. The second thing you noticed was that he hadn't moved either.

His arms were still wrapped around you, one hand resting at your lower back, the other still tangled lightly in your hair. His breathing was deep and even, but you weren’t sure if he was actually asleep or just resting.

You shifted slightly, tilting your head to glance up at him, and—

He was awake.

His blue eyes, always sharp and focused, were soft as they met yours. There was no teasing smirk, no witty remark. Just quiet warmth, something unreadable flickering in his expression.

"Morning," he murmured.

You blinked, still groggy. "Is it?"

A small, amused huff. "No. But you’ve been out for a while."

You exhaled, stretching slightly but making no effort to move away. "Why didn’t you wake me?"

Xavier’s fingers ghosted against your back again, tracing idle shapes. "Because you looked peaceful."

You stared at him for a moment, then rested your head back against his chest. "...Still comfy."

This time, he laughed—a soft, real laugh, not one of his usual teasing chuckles.

"You just gonna stay here forever, then?"

You hummed. "Might."

His heartbeat was still steady beneath your ear, his warmth still pulling you under. And God, if it was up to you, you wouldn’t move at all.

You must have fallen asleep again, because when you woke up next, the lights outside had shifted. The city was still glowing, but the colors were different—softer, cooler, as if the night had settled deeper.

You yawned, stretching slightly before blinking up at Xavier again. He was asleep now, his face more relaxed than you had ever seen it.

And something about that made you pause.

Xavier never truly let his guard down. Even when he was exhausted, even when he was resting, there was always something about him that remained sharp. Always aware, always prepared for whatever came next.

But right now?

Right now, he was peaceful. His lips were slightly parted, his expression free of tension, his breathing slow and even.

And you realized, with a quiet pang in your chest, that he had fallen asleep because he trusted you.

Carefully, hesitantly, you lifted a hand to brush a strand of silver hair from his forehead. Your fingers barely grazed his skin, but he didn’t stir.

You swallowed, something unspoken tightening in your throat.

You were safe with him.

And maybe—just maybe—he was safe with you, too.

You smiled, small but genuine, before settling back against him.

"Sleep well, Xavier," you whispered, knowing he wouldn’t hear you.

Then, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat, you let yourself drift off once more.

Zayne

The world outside had slipped into an almost unnatural silence, the kind that only seemed to happen in the late hours of the night when everything around you had finally fallen still. The air was crisp and cool, but inside, the warmth of the apartment wrapped around you like a soft blanket. You had spent the evening together—dinner, quiet conversation, and some small talk that had faded into comfortable silence. Zayne’s usual stoic nature had softened somewhat, allowing you a glimpse of the ease he usually kept hidden behind the layers of his professionalism.

The clock on the wall ticked slowly as you settled beside him on the couch. Zayne sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, his back straight despite the fact that he had obviously spent long hours at work. His three-piece suit was loosened now—the jacket discarded, the top button of his shirt undone, and his glasses resting casually on the coffee table in front of him.

You noticed the tension in his shoulders, how he unconsciously worked his jaw, as if the stress of the day was still weighing heavily on him. Even after everything he had done, the hours he had put in, he still couldn’t seem to let go.

Without a word, you shifted closer, your body naturally gravitating toward his warmth. Zayne didn’t seem to notice at first, absorbed in his own thoughts, but when you rested your head gently against his chest, you felt him pause.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet in the room was broken only by the soft hum of the city in the distance and the low sound of Zayne’s breathing.

Then, you heard it.

Thud-thud.

His heartbeat.

Slow, steady, and constant.

It was like a pulse that reverberated through his body, steadying your own. You hadn’t realized how much you missed it, how much you needed to hear it, until now. There was something about the sound of his heartbeat—something reassuring. Something grounding.

Zayne shifted, his hand slowly moving to your back, his touch light and hesitant at first, as though unsure whether he should be the one to initiate any sort of contact. But when he felt you settle against him, the tension in his fingers eased.

“You’re tired,” he whispered softly, his voice low and warm.

You hummed in response, not sure if you wanted to admit how exhausted you truly were.

“I know,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Zayne’s hand moved slightly, his fingers brushing gently against your back, tracing light patterns across your shirt. There was no hurry in his movements—no urgency, just a simple, soft touch that seemed to say more than words ever could. The rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear grew louder, the thudding echoing in your mind as you closed your eyes, allowing it to lull you further into the moment.

His fingers brushed the nape of your neck, the motion tender, and for a fleeting moment, you felt the warmth of his touch in places you didn’t know you’d been longing for. The affection in his actions, the unspoken connection between you, was enough to make you feel more at ease than you ever had before.

Zayne was never one to show too much emotion, at least not outwardly. His professional demeanor kept him composed, distant even when he cared deeply. But in moments like this, where the world outside faded into a blur, it was as though his true self could breathe, and you could feel the softness beneath the armor he wore so often.

Thud-thud.

It was so constant, so unchanging. A reminder that no matter what the day had thrown at either of you, here, in this moment, things were calm. You were safe.

You pressed your ear a little closer to his chest, your cheek resting on the fabric of his shirt. The steady beat of his heart was becoming something you could depend on, something more constant than the passage of time.

“I’ve got you,” he said after a long pause, and even though it was a simple statement, it was one that carried the weight of his every unspoken promise.

You felt his hand move up, brushing softly through your hair, the action slow and deliberate. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t forceful. It was just him, being present. Being there.

“I know,” you whispered back.

The room was so still, so quiet. Zayne didn’t speak again. He didn’t need to. His presence, his heartbeat, was enough to keep you tethered to the moment, to him.

You allowed yourself to settle even further, your exhaustion beginning to take hold in a deeper way now. But there was something else there too—a feeling of peace, of contentment that you hadn’t realized you were craving. His touch was the anchor that kept you from drifting into sleep completely.

When you let your eyes fall shut, the warmth of his body against yours seemed to blanket you in comfort. You could feel the faint rise and fall of his chest beneath you, the subtle movement of his body, and the weight of his hand against your back. Everything about him—the rhythm of his heart, the quiet of his breathing, the soothing motions of his hand—wrapped you in something that felt like home.

“Stay with me for a little longer,” Zayne murmured, his voice a soft plea in the dim light of the room.

You didn’t answer immediately, simply nuzzling closer, breathing in the familiar scent of him—clean, calm, and grounded.

There was no rush. No need to go anywhere.

It was just you and him.

The thud of his heartbeat was all you needed. It was enough to lull you deeper into sleep, into dreams where his presence remained close.

Thud-thud.

The rhythm of his heart.

And in that moment, you knew there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

[samkerrworshipper]

so win.

alexia putellas x reader

no fuel quite like my procrastination to not do other things i need to do. this is porn without plot, i’m not ashamed of it. it’s also unedited and has been worked on after a day of clinicals so if there are spelling mistakes and grammar mistakes i apologise. i wrote this in like 3 hours lol. i’m also a mess at the moment and actually avoiding my whole life so this is my outlet. anyways i wrote smut! for the first time in forever ;) also for the sake of this let’s ignore timezones bcus i couldn’t rewrite the start of this to make it work lol.

warnings: smut, 18+ viewer discretion advised

You’re not with Alexia when the campaign drops. You’re not even watching the game, you’ve never been quite able to wrap your head around the nfl thing or get into like your girlfriend, the rules of rugby have been so ingrained in your mind from childhood that seeing men run around in massive pads just gives you an ick.

You’re not even the person who sees it first, you’re sitting in a cafe trying to get some studying done because it’s impossible to do at home when your clingy girlfriend insists on sitting, holding, grabbing or clinging onto any part of your body when she’s bored. It’s like trying to keep a five year old entertained, and it always ends up with you sacrificing whatever coursework you have and being endlessly stressed when you fall behind. You simply leave studying for when Alexia is out of the house or when you have time to study elsewhere.

You’re heavily engrossed in rewatching a lecture you’d missed the previous week due to training when your phone lights up. It’s no exaggeration, your phone screen goes from being blank and dark to suddenly notification after notification pouring in. Different groupchats, instagram tags, text messages. There’s another ten minutes left on your study clock before you’re technically allowed to take a break but with every thing that pops up your only become more curious. Curious enough that you look down at your clock with complete disregard and reach for your phone. It’s sitting next to your laptop, it’s supposed to be upside down to minimise distraction but when you were watching the lecture it stopped you from being able to check the time and you liked to watch as the time ticked by.

You click onto you groupchat first, a mixture of Barca girls, mostly the older ones. Most importantly Mapi, who has bombarded the groupchat in a matter of seconds, with image after image of your girlfriend.

You click onto them harmlessly, Alexia has a series of campaigns that you’re aware of that are coming out in the next few months. As you’re waiting for the images to load you try and remember if she’d told you about any coming up, there was something for Cupra at the end of february and a big campaign for more than eleven in march, and a few smaller things amongst it but nothing you could think of that was due to release today, or in the next week.

When the first image loads, you’re eyes almost bug out. Your throat closes, the oxygen leaves your lungs and you feel almost dizzy. You have to blink multiple times to clarify that what you’re looking at is real, it’s not just a hallucination of some wet dream you’ve had, it’s a real photo that exists in front of you. As you flick through them, you only feel more unwell, and a little bit wet… or a lot.

The first one is just Alexia’s face, staring straight down the lense. The way she’s been captured is almost animalistic, pink sports bra, big earrings, her hair in the wet look. It’s her eyes though, pointed straight on, the eye fuck look, like she’s staring into your soul the same way she does before she’s about to rail you, except it’s all magically been captured in one photo. You want to look at it forever, you’re scared you’ve actually lost the ability to use your extremities and all the oxygen has stopped circulating inside your body from the mix of shock and awe.

With as much power you have you flick to the next photo, and if you were already feeling unwell this feeling is close to death.

Alexia, looking over her shoulder, flexing.

All of her tattoos are on show, every single muscle is accentuated and you almost drool on your phone as you study all of the different parts of the picture. Alexia’s skin is literally glowing, effervescently in a way you cannot even begin to describe. You know from thousands of hours of tracing the skin of your girlfriends back just how strong she is, yet with everything emphasised more in the photo you feel like no matter how many hours you’ve spent staring this is adding a whole new perspective. Her arms, her facial expressions, the illusion of her hair sticking to her skin, the pink contrast against her skin.

You have to scroll, because if you don’t you won’t be responsible for the actions you engage in whilst in a very public space.

The following few pictures are of other athletes, basketball players, gymnasts, runners, other football players. For the most part, americans, yet your girlfriend in all her glory is a part of it.

You get through quite a few photos before it comes to the video, you were already gobsmacked, but the video seals it for you.

Alexia looks flawless, absolutely ethereal in every way. It actually feels like you are living in one of your fantasies or dreams but no this is very much real life and you are actually dating the person on your screen.

There’s no chance you’re going to get any work done, you can’t even get a coherent thought that doesn’t involve Alexia. Alexia’s abs, Alexia’s back, Alexia’s eyes, Alexia’s face, Alexia. You pack up your books and laptop with one thought on your mind, seeing your girlfriend.

Mapi’s private messages to you are filthy, message after message of her reminding your of what is now out in the world and about how now even more people are going to be even more obsessed with her.

You drive home over the speed limit and slightly recklessly, it’s not a long drive from your favourite study spot to you and Alexia’s shared house, but it feels like it drags on for forever. Your knuckles are white from your tight grip on the steering wheel and your unoccupied foot is bounding furiously against your floormat. You run a couple of close yellows, which are mostly red and have a complete disregard for giving way to anybody. You have an end goal, and that goal is to get home before you combust from all of the built up energy and tension in your body from the reruns of the pictures you’d seen.

You’re not even sure if you put the car in park when you swing into the driveway, you practically sprint towards the door, leaving Alexia’s prized cupra to fend for itself. Your hand is so sweaty you struggle with the door knob for a few seconds, your brain is frantic and you struggle and jiggle with it until it finally turns and there is nothing between you and finding exactly what you’re looking for.

Alexia isn’t in the front room, not that she normally would be. You pace your way through the hallway, past your bedroom which seems unoccupied and into the living room.

Alexia.

Alexia is sitting, on your couch, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, though it’s hard to appreciate it with the shit eating grin on her face as she tries to make herself look comfortable and like she’s actually lounging on your couch. Her body is tense, it gives away her whole bravado, you don’t really care though.

“You’re home early? You said you wouldn’t be back till lunch time, no?”

There is no acknowledging of her comment, you take your jacket off and lay it on the edge of the couch before unceremoniously pouncing on your girlfriend.

“I cannot believe you.”

Alexia makes it easy enough for you to straddle her lap, opening up her legs and making plenty of room for you.

You stare into her eyes and all you can picture is the photo of her, the look on her face isn’t dissimilar to the one captured, but it’s not quite the same.

“The campaign? Did I not mention it?”

You roll your eyes before leaning down, alexia goes with ease, her mouth opening up for you as soon as your lips meet hers. It’s all teeth and tongue, not quite a fight for dominance, just pure arousal.

“You’re a brat, and really fucking sexy.”

Alexia smirks against your lips, and then she bites back, her tongue fighting against yours.

“So you like it?”

You move your lips to Alexia’s neck, licking a line down her neck and kissing up it before biting down, foregoing any kind of gentle.

“Do I like my girlfriend looking extremely fuckable on the internet? Jury’s still out on that one.”

Alexia chuckles, leaning her head back to give you full access to her neck.

“Mm, muy fuckable.”

The laugh that leaves her mouth is enough fuel for you to nip her again, sucking a mark right above her collar bone, not directly visible but enough to make her sweat about keeping it hidden at training tomorrow.

“I’m going to need a private show in that outfit at some stage.”

You move back up to Alexia’s mouth, this time the make out is less frantic, you’ve gotten out some of your residual jitters.

“That can always be arranged.”

You tug at the hem of Alexia’s sleep shirt that she still hasn’t gotten out of yet.

“Bed first, fashion show after.”

In the swiftest motion possible Alexia is bringing herself up onto her feet, and lifting you with her. You wrap your legs around her torso, never breaking the makeout.

She makes it to your bedroom at a record speed, dumping you onto the mattress before climbing back on top of you, her shirt being thrown haphazardly into the air somewhere as she lowers herself down. There’s no bra to fight with and you reach for her breasts before her lips are back on you, grabbing and rolling at her nipples until she gets the message and has climbed fully onto the mattress on top of you.

Alexia stays on top of you, making out for a while, until she get’s bored with her hands and decides that you need to mirror her level of undressed. She flips you on top with so much ease that it doesn’t even surprise you, the photos on the internet showed Alexia’s muscles, but they didn’t show just how strong your girlfriend truly was.

Alexia didn’t mess around with your tank top and bra, tugging them off with the same kind of urgency that you’d been in to get back to the house earlier. As soon as the clothes are gone you’re flipped back onto the mattress, Alexia retaking her position. Her hands go straight to your tits, pinching and pulling in a way that makes your back nearly arch off the bed. You’re already aroused from your session in the coffee shop, but this is only adding fuel to the fire.

It takes everything in you not to moan immediately, you clench your jaw and bite your lip as Alexia elicits all different kinds of sensations.

‘Sé ruidoso bebita.”

As per usual, not much gets past Alexia, you try to relax just slightly, let yourself feel it all completely.

“How wet are you going to be when I finally touch your pussy, hm? How wet did my photos get you? All hot and bothered in the coffee shop like a little slut.”

There is no point in shaking your head, you just smirk, you’re proud of it, you’re proud that you get to come home to this and everyone else just has to enjoy Alexia from a far.

“Show me, reach into your panties and show me how wet you are and maybe I’ll think about touching you.”

You hesitate for a second, but then Alexia pinches on of your nipples and rolls your other breast in her hand and your hand naturally moves downwards, your hips canting up as you do so.

Your fingertips are glistening and dripping as you bring them out of your shorts, Alexia doesn’t hesitate to pull them straight into her mouth, sucking all of your arousal straight off.

“Alexia, please.”

Alexia licks her lips in a way that makes you so certain that she’s desperate for more, she’s just as turned on about this as you are.

“Pants off.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth your reaching for them hem of your pants and kicking them off, your panties go with them.

Alexia doesn’t wait, she moves her body downwards until her mouth is hovering right above you.

She looks up at you, hesitates for a second, it’s the exact same face as the photo, beautifully feral.

She doesn’t hold back whatsoever, her mouth goes straight to your clit and you’re already aroused, already dripping everywhere but you reach another level. Your moans are breathy and free falling.

“Fuck baby, feels so good.”

You’re a stuttering mess and far too aroused to try and pretend like you aren’t already close.

Alexia keeps a steady pace, licking and sucking at your clit and occasionally living long strips up from your pussy. It feels so good, earth shattering good.

“Ale, close.”

You expect her to pull back a little bit, normally she likes to prolong your pleasure just a little bit, the wait is worth the reward. But it seems like the both of you are too aroused to ignore the urgency of the situation. Alexia doubles down, her arms pushing your thighs further apart and reaching up behind you to grab at your ass whilst she enjoys having more access.

When you realise she isn’t going to let up you unclench your hands from the sheets and push them into Alexia’s hair, grabbing at the root and pushing her exactly where you want, grinding down against her chin.

It doesn’t take long at all, alread close as it was. Then Alexia grazes her teeth over your clit and doubles down and you see stars. Your body goes with you, shaking and tensing before relaxing as your enjoy the aftershocks. Alexia takes the opportunity, pushing two fingers into you and setting a brutal pace.

“Alexia, need a second.”

Alexia doesn’t stop, if anything she only goes harder, her fingers searching for your g-spot and finding it with ease. The overstimulation makes your stomach tight and yoru clit ache, in the best way.

“Una mas.”

You shake your head, even though it’s blatantly clear you’re going to give her another one, there isn’t really a world where you wouldn’t, not when Alexia makes it so easy to feel so good.

“You can give me one more bebita.”

Alexia’s palm grinds against your clit gloriously, it’s a bit too much for a few seconds but it fades as the pleasure overtakes.

Alexia’s favourite activity is amking you fall apart, watching you experience a kind of pleasure that is unmatchable, all at her own hands. Alexia adds a third finger, knowing that it’ll give you what you need.

It’s more than enough for what you need to reach a release. This time the initial orgasm lasts longer, you tense for a few seconds before you go boneless on the mattress. You melt into the sheets, your head lulling against the pillow as you breathe your way through.

Once you’ve stopped clenching against Alexia she pulls her fingers out, licking up every part of your orgasm, not leaving a single drop behind.

She crawls her way up to you, lying down on her side next to you, looking at the blissed out expression on your face.

Your eyes open lazily, a big smile on your face.

“You’re unreal, literally, how did I get this lucky?”

Alexia leans in, it would be rude to not kiss your lips at every possible chance, especially when your smiling at her like that.

“The real question is how I got this lucky.”

It the same kind of phrase that would elicit vomiting noises from your teammates in the locker room, and yet you love it all the same.

The kiss is soft, everything you need in the moment. It gives you enough confidence to reach your hands down inbetween the two of you, pressing down against Alexia’s front with one intention.

Alexia gasps into your mouth, and it’s enough guidance for you.

You walk your fingers up to the waistband of her pyjama shorts that she still hasn’t changed out of at nearly midday. You trail them down on the inside, unsurprised at her lack of underwear.

Alexia’s wet, the cotton of her shorts sticking to the insides of her thighs.

You part her folds, enjoying the way she moans and gasps into your mouth as you map your way through a different part of her body.

When your fingers find her clit, it’s easy to tell just how turned on she is.

You set a pace of fast tight circles, you’re well educated on Alexia’s body and when she’s this worked up this is the best way to get her to an orgasm.

You know she’s getting closer when her kisses get sloppier and desperate, her lips hang onto yours like they’re becoming an extension of her, like she’s scared that if you separate it’ll take part of her with her.

She shakes and grinds into you, searching for that last bit of stimulation she needs. When she infds it she groans into your mouth, her hips jerking one final time before they go weak, her body goes still for a few seconds. You slow down but don’t come to a full stop, pulling every last bit of her orgasm out for her until she’s tugging your hand out of her shorts.

Alexia presses some soft kisses to your lips before pulling you into her with one arm.

“If that’s what I get every time I take some nice pictures, maybe I should do it a bit more. See if I can get a job with Victoria’s secret or a swimsuit company.”

Alexia doesn’t need to see the look on your face to know exactly how all of your features would clenhc up and your eyes would roll.

“If you do that there will be a whole lot less sex for you and a whole lot more sessions with my vibrator for me. You’re cute, but I’d like to keep some of it for me.”

Alexia snorts, before tugging you in tighter.

“The fans would like it so much though, maybe I should just post some of the photos from the beach over the summer in Ibiza, the topless ones were cute.”

You elbow Alexia straight in the gut.

“How about you model the nike outfits for me first, and then we can decide how far you can take your new found modelling career.”

You’re still in slight disbelief that Alexia managed to keep something this big from you. She was obviously always having ongoing things going with nike, but something this big, and this special was hard to keep underwraps.

“I looked that good, huh?”

You roll even further into Alexia, pressing your whole body into hers.

“Muy bueno. New additions to the wank bank right there.”

You snort when you look over your shoulder and see the confusion on Alexia’s face, her english is good, but her english slang lacks in certain departments.

“Wank bank?”

You snort again, the innocence behind her voice makes it so much better.

“Just my folder for when I’m very alone on camp, and need some extra assistance.”

Alexia’s brain clicks, she laughs, and then the meaning must click in because she blushes beet red.

You stand up, already searching for your forgotten articles of clothing.

“Wait a minute, wank bank? What else is in this folder?”

You’re already tugging your pants on and trying to find your tank top which had apparently vanished into thin air.

“Hopefully whatever new photos I can find in the album of spares that was left over from this shoot.”

Before you can hear what else Alexia says you’re racing off in search of her laptop.

“Wait, I need to see this folder. Bebita, I need my own folder. WHAT IS IN THIS FOLDER.”

—————-

anyways have a wonderful day/night! i love you! somebody out there loves you! you are blessed to have this day and every other one to come <3

[fear-is-truth]

CHO SANG-WOO (조상우)

₊‧꒰ warnings ꒱ ‧₊˚ soft dom!sang-woo ۶ৎ age gap ۶ৎ s1 spoilers ۶ৎ nsfw 18+ . . . headcanons ˚₊˙⋆ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊. ˚₊‧꒰ note ꒱ ‧ i was trying to be realistic so…

PRE-GAME

۫ ꣑ৎ he takes you to meet his mother early on—this is huge, considering sang-woo is a private person, and his mother is the only family he has. so if you meet her, it means he sees a future with you. she adores you, treating you like the daughter she never had.

۫ ꣑ৎ your parents simply love him. they can’t believe their child is dating a graduate from seoul national university. it doesn’t even matter that he’s a few years older than you—they brag about him constantly. “he’s a genius,” they tell their friends. “successful, hardworking. polite, too.”

۫ ꣑ৎ if you don’t like him smoking, he promises to cut back. never smokes in your presence, doesn’t lets the scent cling to his clothes when he comes home to you. he’s careful about it, rinsing his mouth before kissing you. if you catch him sneaking a cigarette on a particularly bad day, he sighs and stubs it out before you even have to say anything.

۫ ꣑ৎ sang-woo thrives on intellectual conversations, especially enjoys debating with you, because he finds your mind fascinating.

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s a perfectionist in every aspect of his life, including your relationship. sang-woo holds himself to an impossibly high standard, and sometimes, that extends to you—he doesn’t mean to be critical, but he has expectations, and when they aren’t met, he gets frustrated. he learns, over time, to be gentler with you, to let go of the idea that everything needs to be perfect.

۫ ꣑ৎ chronic insomniac. but if you’re beside him, if your hand is resting on his chest or your leg is tangled with his, he sleeps a little easier. on nights when sleep won’t come, he watches you instead.

۫ ꣑ৎ occasionally gifts you with expensive jewellery, but nothing gaudy. real gold and diamonds—elegant in their simplicity. he prefers to see you in things with longevity that won’t lose their value. doubles as an investment piece, not just accessories.

۫ ꣑ৎ no matter how busy he is, sang-woo never forgets important dates. your birthday, your anniversary, even the day you first met. he never brings it up in advance, but he always has something special planned.

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s disciplined, wakes up at the same time every day, drinks his coffee black, works for hours without rest. but for you, he bends—just a little. if you want to sleep in, he lets you, only sighing fondly when you roll over and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his back. “five more minutes,” you moan, and against his better judgment, he stays.

۫ ꣑ৎ not outwardly possessive, but he is a bit controlling. he won’t tell straight up dictact who you can and can’t see, but he will casually criticise them if he thinks they’re a bad influence. he won’t demand your location either, but will insist that you check in with him, just so he “knows you’re safe.”

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s very reliable (until he isn’t) at first, he’s the perfect lover. calls when he says he will, never forgets your birthday or anniversary, handles things efficiently. but as his debts mounts and pressure builds, there’s a certain tightness in his jaw when money is mentioned. he won’t talk about it. he won’t let you in.

POST-DEBT

۫ ꣑ৎ not emotionally available, prefers to keep things bottled up. when sang-woo is stressed, he withdraws into himself.

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s haunted; the investment failure eats him alive. gradually becomes distant, distracted, and hates when you ask questions about his finances. sang-woo lies—first to you, then to himself—because the truth is unbearable.

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s frustrated at himself, but it manifests in other ways—he snaps over small things, withdraws from conversations, goes through more cigarettes per day.

۫ ꣑ৎ still tries to take care of you. he won’t let you pay for things, even if he can’t afford them. he’ll miss meals before letting you notice that money is tight. his pride is too big to let you see how bad things have gotten.

۫ ꣑ৎ he hates that you don’t leave; he wants to tell you to go. you should be with someone who isn’t drowning in debt and in constant fear of the police. but he can’t bring himself to say it. instead, he avoids you, keeps you at arm’s length.

۫ ꣑ৎ if you ever found out about his debt, the man would break down—nobody is supposed to know. not his mother, especially not you. if you find out and don’t leave? he’ll be both relieved and devastated, because you should leave. and yet you don’t.

۫ ꣑ৎ he debates leaving you “for your own good.” he genuinely thinks you’d be better off without him. if you catch onto his self-destructive tendencies and reassure him that you want to be here, he just stares at you like he doesn’t understand why.

NSFW

۫ ꣑ৎ not the type to outright deny you, but when he’s teasing, it’s in an excruciatingly nonchalant manner. he’s busy, he says, without even looking up from his laptop. too much work, too little time—yadda yadda. he makes you wait, makes you impatient, until he finally shuts his laptop and pins you to the mattress as if he hadn’t been ignoring you for the past hour.

۫ ꣑ৎ doesn’t experiment much, because he knows what works and doesn’t see a reason to change it. but if you want to try something, he won’t shut it down, either. he’ll simply raise an eyebrow, consider it for a second, and say, “if that’s what you want.”

۫ ꣑ৎ doesn’t talk much in bed, but because he doesn’t see the point. he’s focused, too busy paying attention to you to bother with unnecessary words. at most, you’ll get quiet groans, maybe a low, approving hum if you’re particularly responsive.

۫ ꣑ৎ mostly vanilla sex. no elaborate kinks, except for the occasional bondage using ties (but it’s more for effect). he likes routine, and that applies to the bedroom too. sang-woo knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly how to get the reaction he wants out of you.

۫ ꣑ৎ when he’s stressed though, he gets rough; burying his face in your neck as he fucks you like he’s trying to forget everything else.. not intentional, just a byproduct of the pressure he’s under. afterward, when he realises how rough he was, he’s gentle again—hands smoothing over your skin, lips pressing on your temple as an apology.

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s a soft dom!!!! and you’re his pillow princess, whether you intended to be or not. he prefers to the one doing the work.

SQUID GAME

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s shocked to see you there. horrified, even. sang-woo was ready to do what it takes to win, but you weren’t supposed to be here.

۫ ꣑ৎ will not let you slow him down. sounds cruel, but sang-woo is in survival mode. he will help you, but only as long as it doesn’t jeopardise him.

۫ ꣑ৎ if it comes down to a split-second decision—you or him—sang-woo doesn’t want to think about what he’ll choose.

۫ ꣑ৎ tells himself he doesn’t afford to love you under the deadly circumstances. but when he closes his eyes, all he sees is you.

pic creds to AESTHCORE_276 on pinterest

 fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[mickyschumacher]

[I THINK HE KNOWS!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: a fake and curated date in italy on valentine's day is no one's idea of fun except a publicist’s. but all it does it take a walk around monza to know the difference between what's real and what's fake.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, poor humour, fake dating trope, reader is a graduate uni student, lando being a dream boyfriend, kinda suggestive at the end, mentions of horrible fans and privacy invaded, me knowing nothing about italy let alone lombardy at the end as well.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: lando norris x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.3k

𝐀/𝐍: third fic of my series! i really loved writing this one! fake dating is always such a hit or miss to write about but in this case, it was a lot easier. hope you enjoyed it!♡︎ // as usual, poorly proofread

𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Life’s a funny thing really. Full of mistakes leaving you wondering how you ever got there.  

And as you sat on a bench, looking over at the view of Lake Como in Lombardy, Italy, with ‘hidden’ paparazzi down the street, you began wondering the exact same thing.  

“How long do you think they’ll be here?” You queried, turning your body to face Lando.  

Lando tilted his head, resting his cheek in his hand as he leaned on the top of the bench. His blue eyes briefly raked over you and then where the paparazzi hid. He looked over at his watch. “Give or take twenty minutes. They’ll probably be hungry for actual food soon.”  

You withheld your sigh. How did you get here? Time sure had flown as seven months ago you were just a graduating university student with loan after loan on her shoulders. The very student who still decided to have a sweet treat after handing in her assignment and headed to your favourite cafe. The very student who bumped into Lando Norris and had her bracelet snag on the sleeve of his jacket, landing you in a compromising position as you tried to take it out.  

The very student who woke up the next day with her entire privacy invaded as ‘fans’ hunted you online and seemingly decided not only were you Lando’s girlfriend but the ‘perfect match’. 

That was you.  

Mere hours later, you had Lando’s publicist and underlings knocking at your door with a comprehensive contract and a promise to pay your student loans and pay you. You didn’t think it would last this long. Three months tops... surely. 

So, you signed it. A contract declaring that you were fake dating Lando Norris.  

They said it would help Lando’s image. And help it did. Lando had never looked better to his sponsors. Apparently dating a university graduate makes you look more polished and mature, enough to at least secure a dozen contracts. Most fans seemed to love you. Even the driver’s had taken a liking to you.  

But to you, Lando, and a handful of selectively picked people, this was all fake.  

Every decision was carefully made. The matching jewellery, what he said, what you posted, where you met, the hugs, the arms around the waist, the staring, the kisses... 

And six months later, here you were. On a curated date with the Lando Norris at Lake Como on Valentine’s Day – the third day of your trip. You had both compromised, agreeing to each make a list of things so do in Lombardy, two of which had to be a couple’s activity for the sake of it.  

You had completed most of both of your lists. A visit to Teatro Alla Scala, an opera theatre (your idea, obviously). A guided tour Villa Del Balbianello because Lando needed to see some more real-life scenes of Star Wars (mostly ended up taking photos of you the entire time). An agreed night out from the both of you to Navigli to consume ‘local food.’  

Lando, who desperately wanted to have walk around Lake Como, was sorely disappointed when he spotted the paparazzi hiding around the corner. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, watching your fingers trail the cracks in the wooden bench.  

“It’s okay,” you assured. “It’ll be over soon anyways.” 

Lando knew you were talking about the paparazzi. But he couldn’t help but think about your relationship with him.  

That day at the cafe... the only reason people thought you two were in a relationship wasn’t just because you were barely a centimetre apart trying to remove your bracelet but in all the photos people had captured, Lando was staring at you like it was love at first sight.  

And before he knew it, everything had gone down. The fans, his publicist, the media... it was a shitshow. And then you showed up two days later having signed a contract to be his fake girlfriend.  

Lando hated it. Fuck, he hated it so much. He hated that he dragged you into this. He hated that every moment with you was planned. And he especially hated that he couldn’t like you openly. Not with you thinking it was fake.  

Lando looked down back at his watch. He sighed, leg beginning to shake out of impatience. 

You raised a brow. Naturally, you put a hand on his arm. “Lando... is everything okay?” 

Lando flickered his eyes to your hand and back to your face. He moved his arm from your grasp, grabbing your hand instead. “Come on. We’re leaving,” he stated.  

Your eyes widened as he stood up, bringing you up with him. “W-What? Lan–we’re supposed to leave in thirty minutes,” you murmured quietly, leaving only him to hear your voice.  

“I don’t care,” he started, increasing his walking pace. “Whatever you do... just hold on to me, okay?” 

You furrowed your brows. “Lando, what are-” 

Abruptly Lando paused in his steps. He turned to you, blue eyes staring hard back at you. “Do you trust me?” 

“I–” 

“Do you trust me? Yes, or no?” He repeated softly. 

You gulped nervously, unable to look away from him. “Yes.” 

A look of relief washed over his face as he nodded. “Good. Then hold on. And don’t let go.” 

“Lando, I still don’t get what you–MEAN!” You yelped as Lando began running in no particular direction. You tightened your grasp on his hand while your legs struggled to catch up to him. The problems of having an athlete boyfriend.  

The wind felt serene. The sun was oddly warm despite it being the winter season. It was as though spring was trying to come a little early. All the early architecture you had seen on the way here was beginning to blur into one uniform colour. You weren’t sure where you were going or why but all you knew was that you were going way too fast.  

“Lando! I swear to God, if you get us killed–” 

“You said you trusted me,” Lando yelled back, cautiously looking over his shoulder. He could see the paparazzi struggling to follow the both of you.  

You panted, pushing your legs to keep up. “I do! Breaking into a sprint all of a sudden with no idea in mind, however, begs a slightly different answer.” 

Lando couldn’t help but laugh over the air and God, did you love it. You had heard of people saying that a laugh could so like music to one’s ears. You never understood it. It was a laugh. A reaction. How could it be musical? But in that moment, you understood. It wasn’t just the laugh. It required the context, the smile, the thought... and only then did it become an orchestrated musical masterpiece.  

Another yelp left your mouth as Lando pulled you to the side, situating yourselves in an empty shaded alleyway. You rested your back as comfortably as you could against the stone while Lando stood in front of you, hand still wrapped around yours.  

You both waited quietly. Turning your head slightly, you could see a small flock of black clothed paparazzi walk by, all ushering and yelling, mystified to how you both had disappeared.  

“Okay,” you swallowed hard, turning back to Lando. “I think they’re...” You seem to have lost your ability to speak as you found Lando staring at you. It had been a common occurrence within the past few months and it never got any easier. “They’re gone,” you confirmed, chest heaving.  

“You should probably start joining me on my workouts,” he mumbled, eyes flickering over you again, absorbing the sight of the thin sheet of sweat across your skin.  

You narrowed your eyes, moving your hand from his grasp to hit him with the side of your bag. A groan fell from his lips. “Ow!” He yelled, making you clasp a hand over his mouth. Your head darted to the side, checking whether anyone heard him.  

“What was that for?” He queried after you removed your hand from his mouth.  

“For being an asshole. And for making me run. Which reminds me... why did you make us run?” You queried with a more than unhappy tone.  

Lando grinned. “We still have one thing on your list to do.” 

You furrowed your brows. “I didn’t add anything else.” 

Lando’s hand rummaged through the pocket of his shorts, taking out a familiar piece of paper – the very one you had written all your activities on. And right at the bottom was an activity you thought you tore off.  

Your eyes widened, hand darting out to grab the piece of paper but Lando was too quick. “Nuh-uh,” he tutted, holding the paper close to him. “I’m getting this framed.” 

You skin burned at his words. You clearly remembered what you wrote.  

Walk the Monza track with Lando (and preferably some gelato). 

“I was supposed to take that off,” you mumbled.  

Lando frowned. “You don’t want to do it? Or did you not want to do it with me?” 

You blinked blankly at Lando. “Are you stupid? Did you read the same thing I did? Obviously with you. I just... we’ll probably get mobbed so it’s a stupid idea.” 

Lando understood what you meant. Visiting in Italy for two days now had proven to be incredibly difficult with a fan asking for a photo every other minute. He was appreciative that you were so understanding but he felt awful. 

“Yeah... I mean it would be crazy if you had a boyfriend who could rent out the entire track for a couple of hours,” Lando yawned, stretching his arms nonchalantly.  

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see your mouth fall open. “Lando... you didn’t.” 

Lando rolled his eyes, grabbing your hand once again. “I did. Now come on. We’re going to be late!”  

━━━━━━━━━━━ 

You blinked blankly once you arrived to the empty Monza track. You had preoccupied yourself in the car ride here, pointing out all the interesting things you were seeing as Lando drove to the track. You were going to fall asleep if you hadn’t arrived there any earlier. But now that you were... you didn’t think your eyes could get any wider.  

“Is that a...” You turned to Lando with twinkling eyes.  

“Just go pick your flavour,” he narrowed his eyes.  

A squeal fell from your lips and before you knew it, you were hugging Lando tightly. You could feel his arms wrap around your waist, happily accepting your hug. “Thank you,” you murmured next to his ear.  

Lando smiled calmly despite his heart beat pounding in his ears. He was sure he could stay like this forever if he could. “You’re welcome. I... It’s so much less than what you deserve, but it’s all I could think to do given the... circumstances.”  

You stared at the pavement of the track heavily, Lando’s words swirling around your head. Right... the circumstances. You cleared your throat, pulling away from him even though you could’ve sworn you felt him tighten his grasp momentarily.  

“Come on. Pick your flavour or I’m just going to get you all chocolate,” you called out, waking over to the gelato cart he had hired. 

Lando sighed, briefly making a disgusted expression. He followed after you with a small smile. Despite the wind, he could still smell you on him.  

You greeted the cart owner, excitedly eyeing all the gelato flavours. There were so many to choose from... how were you ever going to pick? “Can I get...” 

“She’ll get mango, chocolate, raspberry, and lemon in a cup,” Lando finished, hovering behind you.  

You gaped, snapping your head to Lando. “How did you know?” 

“Better question is,” Lando started, resting his mouth right above your shoulder and near your ear, “why wouldn’t I?” 

You shivered at his words, cheeks burning at the small grin playing on his lips. “I’m not sharing any of mine,” you muttered, moving your eyes to the gelato.  

Lando pouted teasingly. “Please,” he sung, tilting his head so you could see him blink his eyes rapidly. 

You gulped, taking a step away before you succumbed to his wishes. “I think I’m going to throw up.” 

Lando gasped. “So rude!” 

You chuckled taking the cup of gelato while thanking the owner. Lando narrowed his eyes at you, ordering his own combination of pistachio, melon, and orange.  

You made a face at his cup as he walked towards you. “There is something so wrong with you.” 

Lando rolled his eyes, nudging you forwards to the entrance of the track. “Just be quiet and walk.” 

━━━━━━━━━━━ 

You and Lando walked comfortably at your own pace around the track, eating your gelato while he explained parts of the track or its history.  

“I’m not gonna lie,” you started, finishing your spoonful of raspberry, “Curva Parabolica makes me feel sick. Every time it came on the TV, I thought I was going to throw up.” 

Lando raised a brow, resting his spoon in his cup. “I thought you didn’t watch them?” 

It was always Lando’s assumption you didn’t watch the races. Even when you came to them, if there was a camera, you’d flash a smile, otherwise there was no other reason to be there. You were at the podiums because you had to be, not because you wanted to be. 

You snorted, looking at him incredulously. “Of course, I watch them. Why wouldn’t I? You’re freaking racing! I’m always so proud of you, no matter where or how you finish. You don’t see me next your mum and dad, cheering you on at the end of the race?” 

Of course he did. You were the first person he would look for at a race. And if you weren’t there, he’d look at the camera in hopes you were watching. And all this time... you had been.  

Lando’s mouth dried. “I just thought...” 

You looked at his face and you could read his mind. “You thought it was fake.” 

He blinked, regret washing over his face. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it,” he apologised.  

You took a spoonful of your mango gelato and eyeing his mournful expression. “It’s okay. If there’s one thing you should know, my proudness and happiness for you isn’t fake. Even if this whole thing is.” 

And there it was again. The bitter reminder that this entire relationship was fake. That perhaps the only real thing in your relationship was how you met.  

But this was real. 

This – the track, the gelato, the conversation – this was real.  

Lando sucked in a sharp breath, moving his eyes to the rest of the track as he ate large soon of his melon gelato. He exhaled slowly, trying to remember where he was once again. “Okay... pop quiz! Who was Variante Ascari named after?” 

You cleared your throat, pulling on a thoughtful expression. “Um Al.. Alberto Ascari? The Italian driver, right?” 

“Thank God someone’s been paying attention,” he joked as you neared the named turn.  

You rolled your eyes. “I should thank Fewtrell for that one. Remember that stream he made us join?” 

“Yeah,” Lando laughed softly, all the memories hitting him at once. It was really sweet of Max actually. It was a time when some ‘fans’ were being particularly awful to you. Saying you were using Lando for fame because you barely knew anything about the sport.  

Max then created a poorly made quiz about Formula 1 and got you and Lando to join. Max and Lando pretended not to know much so you were all in the same boat. And any time the right answer was mention, Lando would occasionally squeeze your leg to give you a clue. The stream was flooded with some of the kindest comments, telling you to ignore everyone else and just focus on your health and your relationship with Lando.  

It was one of the moments where you realised how good of a friend Max was. Lando was lucky to have someone who cared for him that much.  

Lando looked down at his cup and let out a dramatic sigh. 

You didn’t even need to bat an eye towards. “I told you I'm not sharing,” you reminded, quickening your pace.  

It didn’t take long for him to catch up. “Please, please. I can see you have like two spoons of mango and lemon. Come on. Sharing is caring.” 

“No–Lando! Stop following me!”  

All of a sudden, you and Lando were running again. But this time, you weren’t worried about some paparazzi or the destination. It was just you and Lando.  

“No offense, but you are not outrunning me,” Lando called out from behind you, running with what you were pretty sure was a smug grin. 

You huffed, trying to push your legs further but you could feel him hovering. You came to an abrupt halt. “You’re right. I can’t outrun you,” you smiled, turning to him. “But I can out-eat you.” 

Lando’s grin dropped as you combined the two flavours of gelato and plopped them in your mouth. He stood there, dumbfounded while you happily ate the rest.  

You replicated his smug grin from earlier and poked your tongue out. “All finished. Sorry,” you shrugged with no sound of an apology hidden in your voice.  

Lando swallowed hard, eyes fixated on your mouth. A step closer to you, his body was pressed on yours. His hand travelled up your neck, the other hand resting on your waist to pull you closer.  

You inhaled slowly, hairs on your body standing straight. You tried meeting his eyes but all you could see was him focus on your lips. Instinctively, your hand fell to his arm around your waist, fastening yourself to him.  

“I... I think I can still taste it,” he said, voice hoarse and dry. He wasn’t sure if he could even recognise himself. 

“Lando... I–we're not on the clock,” you whispered, unwilling to untangle yourself from his grasp.  

“I don’t care.” 

In the blink of an eye, Lando’s lips were smashed against yours and fuck, his lips were soft and pillowy as usual. Your stomach churned upon feeling Lando pushing you closer to him, if that were possible. His fingers were cold against your skin, creeping under the hem of your shirt to rub tingling circles onto your skin.  

A breathy gasp fell from your lips while goosebumps littered your skin. Lando took advantage of this, groaning against your lips as he darted his tongue to explore your mouth. He could feel himself press into you, rubbing his hard-on against you.  

You think now would be an appropriate time to self-implode. You had all the signs. Burning skin, dizziness, and the lost ability to breathe. 

Lando almost buckled under your touch as your fingers scoured his taut torso, lingering dangerously close to his v-line. 

“Holy fuck,” he gasped, pulling away to rest his forehead on yours. His hands had found themselves holding yours, preventing you from undoing him any further. His chest heaved, rising up and down while he stared at your swollen lips and moved his eyes to meet yours.  

“I want this to be real,” he pleaded, moving your hand to his face. “Please.” 

“Lando,” you started but he didn’t want to hear it.  

He shook his head. “I think I’m falling in love with you. I think I have been since we first met,” he sighed out, collecting himself. “I don’t want to do this when it’s fake. I want to be with you because what I feel is real. Because you drive me crazy and I can’t imagine a future without you.” 

You blinked, feeling his hand trail over yours as you caressed his face. Your heart raced loudly in your ears. How were you supposed to respond to that? “I...” 

“Please say something. Anything,” he begged, blue eyes heavily staring down at you. 

“As long as you promise to walk with me on every track. Oh, and get me gelato.” 

Lando let out the biggest sigh of relief, almost collapsing against your hand. His head dipped down, pressing his lips against you once again, taking you into a long kiss. He sighed, pulling away.  

His arms fell around your waist as he grinned at you. “I promise.” 

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇��𝐑 

[tiki-was-here]

Ex boyfriend Black Leg Sanji x GN Baker Reader

Word Count: 1.2k Words

Reader and Snoj used to date for a while when he was at the Baratie,i know they move around alot but lets pretend that they stayed at reader’s town for a while cus business was really good.They broke up because although Sanji is a gentleman he was definitely not mature enough for an actual relationship. Also I didn't know how to end this don't shoot me

Valentines Event

Masterlist

The smell of vanilla and sugar filled the small bakery, the air warm and quiet .You were carefully piping an intricate lace pattern onto an elaborate cake .A towering thing, layered with deep red velvet and delicate, sugar-spun roses. Romantic, ridiculously so. It had taken hours, order placed at the last possible second, and the only reason you even agreed was because the person had offered more than enough money to make up for the trouble.

It was the kind of job that would normally require at least two days of work, but here you were, staying up way past closing hours because some snotty royal had placed a last-minute order under the name "Mr. Prince."

You hadn’t recognized the voice over the transponder snail so he must have been from out of town—it had been smooth, charming, and far too smug for your liking. The kind of voice that practically oozed privilege.

You hadn’t cared. Money was money, and business had been slower than usual.

-Still, the request had been absurd.

You yawned, rubbing the back of your flour-dusted hand against your forehead. It was almost midnight, and whoever this "Mr. Prince" was, they were taking their sweet time picking up the damn thing.but hey, if some rich bastard wanted to spend a fortune on a Valentine’s cake, who were you to complain?

Money is money, you reminded yourself.

The soft chime of the bakery’s front bell made you jolt. You hadn’t even heard footsteps outside. Straightening up, you wiped your hands on your apron and stepped out from behind the counter.

"Finally," you called out, irritation seeping into your voice. "I was starting to think you’d—"

You stopped mid-sentence, the words stuck in your throat.

There, standing in the doorway, was Sanji.

Your Sanji.

His blond hair was longer,shoulders broader, but it was his eyes that made something inside you clench tight.

The same piercing blue. The same warmth.

The same regret.

“…Hey, love.” His voice was soft, like he was afraid he’d scare you off. “Did you miss me?”

Oh, you were going to kill him.

"You? Are you serious? You are Mr. Prince?"

Sanji had the audacity to grin. "Guilty."

A flood of emotions surged through you.”You absolute bastard!" you snapped, stomping over to him and shoving a finger against his chest. "You really made me stay up all night for you?! Do you have any idea—"

His hand was suddenly on yours, wrapping around your wrist in a gentle, steady hold. "I know," he murmured, voice softer now. "And I’m sorry, truly. But if I gave you time to think about it, you might’ve said no to seeing me."

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t wrong. After all these years, you’d convinced yourself that if Sanji ever returned, you’d stay strong, keep your distance. You’d made peace with the past.

"You haven’t changed," you muttered, pulling your hand away.

Sanji chuckled, but there was something heavy in his eyes. "In some ways, maybe. But I have in the ways that matter. " There was something steadier in the way he held himself, something deeper in the way he watched you.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. "Well anyways… what are you doing here?"

His expression softened. "I told you I’d come back for you. Didn’t I?"

Your heart lurched.

"That was years ago. You left, and I—" You took a step back, shaking your head. "I moved on. I had to."

"Did you?" he asked, voice low. "Because I never did."

Sanji took a step closer, slow, careful, as if you might bolt. "Every single day since I left, you were on my mind. When I fought, when I cooked, when I thought I was going to die—" He laughed, breathless, like he couldn’t believe it himself. "You have no idea how many times I almost turned back. How many times I imagined us standing here, just like this."

Your throat tightened. "Sanji…"

"—I know I don’t deserve to waltz back into your life expecting anything. But I had to try."

You stared at him, heart caught between anger and something dangerously close to longing.

"Sanji," you said carefully, "I told you before—"

"I remember." His gaze darkened slightly. "You told me you’d give me another chance when I was ready. When I could prove to you that I wasn’t just some flirt who couldn’t take us seriously."

You swallowed hard. You had said that. But after so many years, after seeing him on wanted posters, hearing whispers of his deeds across the Grand Line, you’d thought he’d long forgotten about you.

"And you think you’re ready now?" you asked quietly.

"I know I am," he said firmly. "I won’t lie to you, love. I still want all your attention on me. That much hasn’t changed. But everything else? I’ve grown. I’ve seen the world. And I’ve planned for this—for us."

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick, every unspoken word, every lingering feeling pressing in from all sides.

Finally, you whispered, "I was always scared."

"Scared that I’d love you too much. That you’d leave, and I’d be stuck waiting." Your voice cracked. "And you did."

His fingers brushed against your cheek, featherlight. "I know. And I’m so fucking sorry love."

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch before you could stop yourself. You hated how easily you melted under his warmth, how his presence felt like home after all these years.

"I want to believe you," you admitted. "But I don’t know if I can."

Sanji exhaled slowly, thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. "Then let me prove it to you. One step at a time.I’ll keep you safe. I swear it on my life," he said, voice fierce with conviction. "I won’t lose you again."

The words sent something warm and aching through you. Because the truth was, you had followed his journey. You’d worry every time you’d heard news of a battle, your heart sinking at every bounty increase, wondering if this would be the time he wouldn’t make it.

You had never stopped caring.

And fuck, looking at him now—stronger, older, still painfully beautiful—you knew you had never stopped loving him.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat. "You really had this all planned out, huh?"

He grinned, but there was a flicker of nervousness behind it. "Only for the past few years."

You let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking your head. "Damn."

Then, before you could second-guess it, you tugged him down and kissed him.

Sanji froze for half a second before melting into you with a low, satisfied groan. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and for a moment, it was like no time had passed at all.

The warmth, the taste of him, the way he kissed you like you were the most precious thing in the world—it was all still the same.

You laughed softly, still breathless from the kiss. Maybe, just maybe, everything had worked out exactly as it was meant to.

And then—

"OI, SANJI! WHERE’S MY CAKE?!"

[emsdevs]

a/n: I had a nonnie ask for 25 with Joseph Woll specifically asking for fluff but I used the ask to ask them if they'd be okay with an angsty prompt so if you sent that in, this one is for you!! I can't wait to get through some more of these! 🧡

Prompt 25: “They were there. You weren’t.”

Birthday Celly 2025 Masterlist | masterlist

You never thought you’d run into Joseph Woll again, but here you are, staring at a man who left you high and dry almost ten years ago. You had moved on since then, found a nice guy, settled down, and had a couple of kids. Somehow, though, your past is looking you in the eye right now, and you wish there was some way to escape it. When you opened your front door, the last thing you expected was to be met with a skeleton you thought you’d hidden so deep in your closet it would never see the light of day, and yet, here he is, looking oddly hopeful. 

“What are you doing here, Joseph?” you whisper rather harshly, pulling the door closer to your body, even though your husband was away on business and your kids had been asleep for a couple of hours now. You see hurt flash across his eyes. You hadn’t called him Joseph since you two were kids.

“I needed to see you, to talk with you,” he takes a tentative step forward, but when he sees you flinch, he moves back to his original spot.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” your eyebrows are furrowed, and even without raising your voice, he isn’t sure he’s ever seen you this upset.

“Can I please just come inside for a minute?” he pleads. You glance behind you to be sure your kids haven’t woken up, and once you are sure they are still sound asleep, you open the door wider and step aside.

“Okay, just… make it quick, please.” He steps inside, letting you shut the door before following you to the dining room. You gesture for him to sit down at the table, following suit. The two of you sit in silence for a moment before you have enough of it, “Joseph if you have something to tell me, can you please get on with it? It’s late.”

“To be completely honest,” he takes a deep breath, “I came to ask for a second chance.”

“Jo-”

“Look I know it’s been a long time, but leaving you has always been my biggest regret. I’ve missed you every day since I left. I know it probably means nothing now that so much time has passed, but I had to come try. I couldn’t keep living my life in Toronto knowing what I left behind.”

“You’re right, Joseph. It means nothing now. If you told me this nine years ago, things would be different, but I can’t give you what you want now.”

“What do you mean you can’t? Sweetheart, please-” he gets cut off by tiny footsteps padding down the hall.

“Mommy?” Joseph swings his head in your direction, looking as shocked as you probably did when you opened the door.

“Give me a minute,” you stand, making your way to your daughter’s room before putting her back to bed. A nightmare had woken her up. Soon, you’re back in the seat across from Jo.

“You have a daughter?” his eyes are wide, and you think you can see some tears beginning to form in them.

“Two actually,” that’s when Jo notices you playing with the diamond on your ring finger. That’s funny. You had always told him you wanted an opal engagement ring, never having liked how transparent diamonds could be. 

“You’re married?” he lets his eyes shoot back up to yours, “You moved on?”

“I had to Jo. For me,” you feel slightly guilty for some reason.

“How could it be that easy for you?” he looks hurt, offended at the fact that you were able to leave him in the past.

“He was here. You weren’t,” you let a little bit of spite seep through your words, hoping it would hurt him a fraction of the amount you felt when he left.

“That’s not fair,” he starts.

“No, Joseph. What isn’t fair is you leaving me behind like I was nothing for an NHL paycheck. I moved on.”

“Did you? Because from what I can tell, this guy doesn’t know you at all.”

“Oh, and you do?”

“I do! I know you probably secretly hate that diamond on your finger because you would’ve wanted an opal. I know you’d never paint the walls this shade of beige. You always wanted colors, real colors, that make the room feel brighter. I know you wish there was a bouquet on this table right now because you love fresh flowers. I know one of those girls in there is named Margot, and if I had to guess the other is named Maeve because those were always your top two options for girl names. I know if I went to the master bathroom right now it would probably have a Jack and Jill sink because you think there’s not enough counter space for two people otherwise. Don’t tell me I don’t know you when I know this isn’t what you would’ve wanted. Where even is this guy, huh? How often is he home?” he takes a moment to catch his breath, but all of your emotions hit you at once. Before you know it, you’re crying in the arms of a man you thought you’d never see again.

When you finally calm down, you decide to be honest with Joseph, “Never,” you say it so lowly he almost doesn’t hear.

“Never what, baby?”

“He’s never here. The girls are used to it now. They barely talk to him when he is. I couldn’t even tell you the last time he kissed me Jo, or even took me out to dinner. You’re right. He doesn’t know me. He never has, and I’m miserable. The only thing keeping me going are Margot and Maeve.” Jo feels his heart soar knowing he got the names right, but he doesn’t let it cloud his judgment. 

“Let’s get you out of it then,” he says it like it’s a fact, like he knows you’ll say yes. You suppose he does know you better than anyone because you agree quicker than you’d like to admit.

“Okay,” you risk looking up at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll work on starting the divorce process tomorrow. I can’t live like this. Ellis can keep doing whatever he wants without me and the girls tying him down.” 

For the first time in a long time, you felt hopeful. You were truly happy, and you had a sneaking suspicion Joseph had a lot to do with it. You could only hope he’d stick around this time.

taglist: @heartsforjh @macklin-celbrini-71 @dancerbailey3  @joeyspuckbunny  @beenucks  @wolls-angel  @lukey-pookie-hughes43  @t0xicinvasion @nadicakes143  @wollgirlie

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[bunnib4b3s]

Rafayel- Last Minute Gifts

Synopsis: With Thomas on his ass, he totally forgot to get something for MC to show that his love goes beyond her being 'just' his bodyguard. In a rush to get his gift done, with ribbons and wrapping paper strewn everywhere you stumble upon him.

Genre/ Warnings: 18+, Fluff, Friends-to-Lovers, Coworkers-to-Lovers, Smut, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Porn-with-Plot

MDNI

Word Count 2,000+

Raf did not have a sense of urgency at all. Twenty missed calls from Thomas, his phone on silent, and yet, he still couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he was forgetting something. He had already completed the underpaintings for all his artwork for the upcoming exhibit—so why did he feel like there was something else, something important, slipping through his fingers?

With a frustrated sigh, he flipped open his sketchbook, idly running his fingers over the well-worn pages. His eyes traced the lines of various sketches—each one of you, captured in different poses, different moods. Some were rough, quick gestures; others were detailed studies, the kind he poured hours into, shading every contour with the softest touch.

Then it hit him.

His stomach dropped.

"Shit."

Valentine’s Day.

And not just any Valentine’s Day—this was supposed to be the day. The day he finally told you how he felt. The day he gave you something that said everything he hadn’t yet been able to put into words.

Panic shot through his veins. He had spent so much time agonizing over how to confess, how to make it special, that he had completely forgotten to actually prepare something. The idea of just blurting it out without anything to show for it made his skin crawl. He needed something—something meaningful.

His gaze snapped back to the sketchbook, heart pounding. The answer had been in front of him all along.

He didn’t have time to second-guess himself. Grabbing a blank canvas, he worked quickly, paint and charcoal smudging his fingers as he poured himself into each stroke. The world outside faded away—his only focus was you.

The minutes ticked by in a blur of color and movement. He barely registered the mess he was making—ribbons, wrapping paper, and discarded sketches littered the floor as he scrambled to finish.

Then—

Footsteps.

The door creaked open.

His stomach flipped as he looked up and saw you standing there, taking in the scene: the chaos, the half-finished painting, the way he was very obviously hiding something behind his back.

“…Raf?”

He froze, heart hammering against his ribs. His mind raced for an excuse—any excuse—but all that came out was, “…This isn’t what it looks like.”

Your gaze dropped to the mess of art supplies and ribbons at his feet. Then to his paint-smudged hands. Then to the telltale canvas peeking out from behind him.

You crossed your arms, a teasing glint in your eyes. “So… what does it look like?”

He swallowed hard. He could lie, brush it off as nothing. But looking at you now, standing there with that curious tilt to your head, that knowing smile—he realized he didn’t want to hide it.

With a slow, deep breath, he turned the canvas around, revealing the painting.

It was you. Not just any painting—this was different. More delicate, more deliberate. The way he captured the light in your eyes, the softness in your expression—it was raw, vulnerable, honest.

Your lips parted slightly, eyes flickering over the details. “Raf…”

His pulse roared in his ears. “I—” He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to keep going. “I was going to give this to you. As a—um—a Valentine’s gift.” He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, only succeeding in smudging more charcoal on his skin. “And, you know, maybe… finally tell you that I—”

You stepped closer, gaze locked on his, and suddenly, the words he’d been terrified to say didn’t seem so impossible anymore.

Maybe—just maybe—you already knew.

The room felt smaller, warmer, the air thick with something unspoken. You reached out, fingertips skimming along the edge of the canvas before meeting his hand. The touch was light, hesitant—but the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers curled instinctively around yours, sent something electric pulsing between you.

"You spent all this time drawing me," you murmured, voice softer now, more intimate. "Was it because you were too scared to tell me how you feel?"

Raf swallowed hard. His lips parted, but nothing came out. His pulse hammered against his skin as you took another step forward, closing the space between you.

The scent of paint and charcoal clung to him, but underneath it was him—warm, intoxicating, unmistakably Raf. Your free hand lifted, thumb brushing against a stray smear of charcoal on his cheek, and his breath stuttered.

"I—yeah," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I didn��t know how else to say it."

You tilted your head, fingers still lingering against his skin. "And now?"

His gaze dropped to your lips. His restraint was hanging by a thread.

"Now," he murmured, stepping forward so that your bodies nearly touched, "I think I'm done waiting."

His hand came up, cupping your jaw, and then—

His lips crashed into yours.

It was hungry, desperate, months—years—of pent-up tension unraveling all at once. His grip on you tightened as he pulled you flush against him, his other hand threading into your hair. He tasted like breathless anticipation and something impossibly sweet, and when you sighed into the kiss, he groaned, deep and low.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer. The unfinished painting, the mess of ribbons and paper, the forgotten gift—all of it faded, unimportant compared to the way he was touching you now.

"Raf—" you gasped against his mouth, but he swallowed the sound, pressing you back against the nearest surface, hands roaming, exploring, finally claiming what he'd wanted for so long.

"I should've done this so much sooner," he muttered against your skin, trailing heated kisses along your jaw, down your throat.

You laughed breathlessly, tugging at his shirt. "Then don't stop now."

His answering grin was nothing short of wicked.

"Not a chance."

Raf's hands slid under your shirt, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist as he pressed you harder against the wall. Your head fell back, exposing more of your neck to his hungry kisses. He nipped at your pulse point, drawing a soft moan from your lips.

"God, I've wanted this for so long," he murmured against your skin, his voice husky with desire.

You tugged at his hair, pulling him back up to capture his lips in another searing kiss. Your tongues danced as hands roamed, exploring newly exposed skin with reverent touches.

Rafayel broke away, breathing heavily. His eyes were dark with want as they raked over you. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his thumb caressing your cheek.

In response, you grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head in one fluid motion.

His eyes widened, drinking in the sight of you. His gaze lingered on the curve of your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, the smooth expanse of your stomach. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing.

"You're beautiful," he breathed, voice filled with awe.

His hands skimmed up your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You shivered at his touch, arching into him. His fingers danced along the edge of your bra, teasing.

"Can I...?" he asked, eyes searching yours.

You nodded, pulse quickening as he reached behind you to unclasp your bra. It fell away, and Rafayel's breath hitched. He cupped your breasts reverently, thumbs brushing over your nipples. You gasped at the sensation,

Your gasp turned into a low moan as Rafayel's skilled fingers continued their exploration, teasing and caressing. He lowered his head, replacing one hand with his mouth. His tongue swirled around your nipple before he sucked gently, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

"Raf," you breathed, fingers tangling in his hair.

He hummed against your skin, the vibrations making you shudder. His free hand slid down your stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of your pants. You whimpered in anticipation as he slowly unbuttoned them, sliding the zipper down torturously slow.

Raf's lips trailed back up to your neck, nipping and sucking as his hand slipped inside your underwear. His fingers found your slick folds, and you both groaned at the contact.

"You're so wet, so perfect for me.

His fingers moved with agonizing slowness, teasing and exploring. You whimpered, hips canting forward, desperate for more friction. He chuckled softly against your neck, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

"Patience," he murmured, nipping at your earlobe.

But patience was the last thing on your mind. You tugged at his shirt, needing to feel his skin against yours. Understanding your urgency, Raf stepped back just long enough to pull it over his head before pressing against you once more.

Your hands roamed over the planes of his chest, tracing the lines of muscle. When your fingers brushed over a particularly sensitive spot, Raf's breath hitched. You filed that information away for later.

His lips found yours again as his fingers continued their ministrations, building a delicious tension low in your belly.

Raf's mouth, unable to contain the pleasure building inside you. His hand moved faster, his lips and tongue keeping pace with the movements of his fingers.

You were lost in a sea of sensations, each touch and kiss sending jolts of electricity through your body. You couldn't remember ever feeling this way before, so consumed by desire and need for another person.

As his fingers found their mark and you felt yourself reaching the edge, he pulled away from your lips and looked into your eyes. His own were dark with lust, but also filled with tenderness.

"I want to make love to you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Without hesitation, you nodded. Rafayel helped you out of the rest of your clothes before shedding his own. As he settled on top of you, skin against skin, he kissed every inch of your body with reverence.

The heat between you intensified as Rafayel's lips blazed a trail down your body. His hands caressed your curves, mapping every dip and valley as if committing them to memory. You arched into his touch, desperate for more.

He paused, hovering above you. His eyes locked with yours, filled with a mixture of desire and vulnerability. "Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice husky and warm.

In response, you pulled him down for a searing kiss. "I've never been more sure of anything," you breathed against his lips.

With a groan, he entered you slowly, giving you time to adjust. You gasped at the sensation, feeling deliciously full. He stilled, pressing his forehead against yours, both of you savoring the moment.

Then he began to move, setting a languid pace that had you clutching at his shoulders. Every thrust had you seeing stars, the pleasure building with each movement. Raf's name escaped your lips in a continuous stream as he brought you to the edge and over it again and again.

He held onto you tightly, his own release close. With a final thrust, he buried himself deep inside you and spilled his seed. You both rode out the aftershocks together, clinging to one another as if afraid to let go.

Afterwards, Raf rolled onto his side beside you, pulling you into his chest. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

"That was...amazing," you said, still trying to catch your breath.

"It was," he agreed, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You stayed like that for a while longer, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking. Eventually, reality started creeping back in and with it came a sense of unease.

"What happens now?" you asked softly.

Raf turned onto his side to face you, cupping your cheek in his hand. "What do you want to happen?"

"I don't know," you admitted, feeling uncertain about how this would all work out.

"All I know is that I want to be with you." Firmly pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You couldn't help but smile at his words. "I want that too."

And just like that, all of your worries seemed to disappear. You had no idea what the future held for the two of you but for now, being in each other's arms was enough.

As if reading your mind, Raf pulled you closer and whispered against your hair. "I promise I'll do everything in my power to keep us together."

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Be Mine - Chapter 1

Summary: A long day of work turns out better than you expected it would.

Warnings: Minor Language, Partial Nudity, Sexual Themes

* * * * * * *

The car door shuts with a loud slam, the sleek black sedan slightly shaking from the force of your actions. With a huff and a sigh, you slouch in your seat, reaching a hand up to rub your temples. 

From the front seat, your driver/bodyguard looks through the rearview mirror. Blue eyes take in your stressed and agitated state, a slightly amused smirk pulls at his lips.

“Everything alright there boss?” 

You sigh heavily again,“ do I look like everything is alright Steven?”

The blonde man snorts and laughs, pulling away from the curb and into New York traffic. 

“Belova give you a hard time?” He asks with a chuckle, making his way to your next destination.

“Every damn time.” Is your reply, focus shifting to the stacks of folders beside you. Tossing the one labeled “Belova” aside, you pick up the next one.

By the time you’re done reading through financial reports and new staff profiles, Steve has pulled into the lot of your next stop. 

“Turn her off, I know you have a reason to come in.” You tell him while tucking your files away and getting out. 

With a nod, Steve shuts the car off and follows after you. Together you head up the sidewalk to the club. ‘Red Room’ is displayed in red neon lights above the door. In your opinion, the neon lights are pretty tacky but with the building being so nondescript and easily missed, especially on this street, the sign attracts the attention it needs to.

Steve is checking over his shoulder subconsciously all the way to the door. The bouncer simply nods to the two of you and lets you in.

The club lights are dim, save for the two lights pointed directly at the stage, strobing in time with the music.

It’s good to see the club packed, even better to see the money raining from thrown hands. Drinks are flowing and the scantily clad bartenders are receiving more than decent enough tips.

“Boss.” Steve’s voice cuts through the music and draws your attention to him, where he nods forward.

Standing at the door leading to the office and staff rooms is one of your most trusted advisors and businessmen.

You approach with a stoic expression,“ Barnes.” 

His face matches yours as he nods,“ Y/ln.”

The two of you, followed by Steve, walk into the back. As always the man leads you to his office where he pulls out three beers and passes them out.

Your hard exterior sags a little as you relax in the private setting. Steve is quick to let a smile form on his face as he fully takes in the brunette man you’re with. They share a smile, then a kiss before you all settle around the desk.

“Alright alright, business then pleasure.” You say while setting your bottle on the desk. 

Both men nod, doing the same, then Bucky interlocks his fingers on the desk. His eyes lock with yours, business now written across his features.

“I’ve read over your reports.” Your pause would make most of your other associates sweat but Bucky is confident in his business and you’ve worked together too long for him to not know your tells.“ I’m not disappointed. Everything is in order and over recent months you’ve tripled revenue. On both ends. I really have nothing to add, you run a tight ship and you always have.”

“Oh? A compliment within praise, you in a good mood?”

“I just came from Yelena’s,” you say which elicits a snort and laugh from both men,“ I’m far from in a good mood. But-” a sliver of a smile tugs at your lips,“ you’re my friend and a damn good colleague so there’s no reason to lie or beat around the bush.”

He hums, tipping his head in a nod.“ I appreciate it boss, truly.” A smile plays on his lips as well.

From there, he pulls out a fairly thick folder and for the next hour you both go over the contents of it, comparing his books with yours and ensuring everything is in order. Another thirty or so minutes are spent going over details for the new hires and with that taken care of, the majority of your work is done.

Releasing a deep breath, you grab the new beer bottle off the desk, having finished the first while working, and the shoulders of both men drop as they copy the action of sipping their drinks.“ I’d like to see the new girls,” your gaze raises to meet Bucky’s,“ not that I don’t trust your judgment but your tastes are more versed when it comes to the other team.” You teasingly nod towards the man’s partner sitting beside you.

Steve and Bucky chuckle, then the brunette rises with a check of his watch.“ I believe one of them is about to go on now.” With a hand gestured towards the door, he leads the way back out to the main space.

The lights in the place have shifted to a low intimidating red color, slow instrumental music begins to play, and the spotlights point directly at the golden pole on stage.

You hear the clicking of heels before you see anyone. A silhouette appears from the left stage entrance and you find yourself watching with slight intrigue.

You’re used to acts like this from the, for lack of a better term, veterans who work here. But this is a new girl and she seems to have already become a fan favorite and she’s good enough to have been given a special show.

With an anticipatory pause in the music, the woman steps into the light. Not fully, at first all you get is a view of seeming miles of smooth milky skin as her foot steps forward, the light shining on her leg.

A hand follows, slender fingers trailing from ankle to thigh in a way that makes every man in sight holler.

To you, the noise around fades out as she finally puts herself in the spotlight.

Smooth milky skin continues, it dips and curves in all the right places, almost completely on display thanks to the barely there emerald green bra and panty set. It’s lacey, the intricate patterns highlighting the most intimate parts of her. There’s very little left to the imagination and the desire to uncover the rest rises in you.

It’s almost startling when your gaze lands on her face. Striking green eyes are looking into yours already, perfect cheekbones and a pretty jawline framed by fiery red hair. Her face, you find, is even more gorgeous than her body.

A hand on your shoulder pulls you from your near trance-like state. It’s Steve who meets your eye, brows knitted in worry.

You give a dismissive look, letting him know you’re fine. So he jabs a thumb in the direction behind him, you lean forward to see Bucky back over by the door now accompanied by a familiar dark haired woman.

Glancing back to the stage, you catch sight of the redhead as she arches her back away from the pole, forming a shape reminiscent of Cupid’s bow, and meets your eye. It takes every ounce of willpower to tear your gaze away and head back down the hallway towards Bucky.

“Melina.” You greet, leaning in to kiss both of the woman’s cheeks.

She returns the gesture, hands on your arms gently squeezing.“ It’s good to see you, Y/n.” Her accent drips over her words like honey and it sounds just as smooth.“ I was told you wanted to meet the girls.”

Bucky lets you pass, both he and Steve staying behind as you follow the older woman down the hall to the dressing room, but you don’t miss the way they slip into Bucky’s office a second later.

The moment you step inside you’re met with the sight of naked and half naked women. They all vary in appearance, but each one is beautiful as is expected in this business.

Melina calls the names of a number of women and they all approach. It’s clear they know you’re important, each one smiling seductively and trying to put their best assets on display.

“I trust that they’re all good.” You look away disinterestedly, focusing on Melina instead.“ And that they’ve been taken care of?”

“Of course.” Melina says, reaching out to fix a curl on one of the girls’ heads.

The majority of the women who work here were found by Melina. She started working for you after leaving a place that horribly mistreated her and she was able to find girls in positions like the one she was in and, with your help, give them something better.

After being vetted by Bucky and Melina, the women were taken to the penthouse Melina lives in. There, she takes care of them however they need and as long as they need. As long as they have the skill for it, they’re given a job here where they’re paid enough to start standing on their own two feet. 

“The woman on stage-” you begin in hopes of learning more about the mysterious redhead.

“Natasha.” She tells you.

With a hum, you nod.“ She’s a little older than the girls you usually bring in.”

“Mhm. I’ve known her for years, I couldn’t help her before and I couldn’t find her after I had the means to.” The woman explains, furthering your curiosity.“ A few weeks ago we ran into each other. Seemed okay but she wanted out of the organization she was with.”

Speaking of her seems to make her appear. 

Your eyes follow her as she walks in, taking in every one of her facial features now that you can see them clearer. Her plum shaped cheekbones, perfectly arched brows, the faint wrinkles between her eyebrows, and the small knick just below her hairline.

Her red hair flows down her back in waves and draws your attention to the tattoo on her back: roses and a lamb.

“Natasha.” Melina calls, the woman looks over and smiles.

When she comes closer, she and Melina share a hug and you can sense their relationship is more than the usual one between Melina and the girls. 

“This is Miss Y/ln,” Melina introduces.“ She owns the club.”

Your reply of,“ please call me Y/n,” is accompanied by the outstretching of your hand.

Natasha eyes the action, then looks back at Melina without sparring you a glance.“ I thought Mr. Barnes owned the club.”

“He might as well,” you say before Melina responds, getting the redhead to look at you.“ Bucky does all the heavy lifting so to speak, my name just goes on the paperwork.”

That at least warrants you a change of expression, her stoicism replaced by the slightest frown. You smirk at that, happy for any reaction at all.

“I’ve never met a woman whose-”

“Ass looks like mine? Whose tits stand up so perky?” She attempts to finish for you, clearly very fed up with the kind of compliment she thinks you’ll give.

Melina frowns at the younger woman, a hiss of her name escaping her lips.

You remain amused, a raised eyebrow expressing as much.“ Whose eyes are quite as alluring. I’ve seen some of the rarest gems in the world and their beauty pales in comparison to that of your eyes.”

Her jaw slackens ever so slightly, eyes widening a fraction. She schools her expression just as quickly as it came.“ How often do you use that line?”

“I’ll have you know, that was the first time. Or did you miss the ‘never met’ part?” The playfully sarcastic tone of your voice makes her lips quirk into the smallest of smirks, green eyes trailing over your form immediately after.

Before she can give a response, you turn to the brunette at your side.“ Melina, I look forward to seeing you again, hopefully soon.”

“As do I.” She reaches up on her toes and kisses your cheek before you look at Natasha,“ have a good evening Natasha, it was a pleasure meeting you,” you then turn and leave. 

With a bye to Bucky you’re out of the club, sliding into the back seat of your car and shredding the black blazer from your body.

“To the bar?” Steve asks.

“God please.” You huff, slouching in your seat.

Steve nods and pulls off, taking a familiar route to the bar you frequent.

Today has been insanely busy and you need a drink desperately. Then again, no one said it would be easy running one of the most influential organizations in Manhattan. 

Being in the mob seemed so dangerous and thrilling when you were a kid and would see your father come home after one of his “missions.” While it is both of those things, since inheriting this business from your father, you’ve found that the day to day is more paperwork and meetings than dangerous and thrilling. 

Between calls with international business partners and ensuring that both your legal and illegal operations were running smoothly, the thrilling part of this life is rare. That’s also not to say things haven’t been interesting. 

You’re not the only crime family in New York. The Odinsons run Queens, the Guardians have Brooklyn, the Bronx remains unclaimed, and the headache that is the Rumlow family operates out of Staten Island.

Your relationship with the Odinsons and Guardians is a good one, you’re not allies per se but you’re not enemies either. Your relationship with the Rumlow Family is tumultuous at best, you try not to have dealings with them at all.

Lately though, he’s been making moves on the Bronx. He has some sort of connection that’s allowed him to buy property that is beyond difficult to acquire given who owns it. 

“Looks like you could really use that drink.” Steve chirps up, voice completely cutting your train of thoughts off.

It’s then you realize you’re already at the bar. For what feels like the hundredth time today, you both get out of the car and head into the building, Steve looking over his shoulder like it’s second nature.

Unlike the majority of the places you’ve walked into today, this one brings an instant smile to your face. 

The chipped red oak bar, the scattered wobbly chairs and tables, the flickering light above the bar and stage, all accompanied by the melody coming from the stage feels like home. A familiar face sits on the bench, fingers stroking the keys of the baby grand in a pattern that creates one of the songs you love.

“Well if it isn’t the boss lady.” The bartender says as you slide onto the stool, a glass being sat on a coaster in front of you.“ Whiskey sour?” He confirms to which you nod.

He begins making the drink and you spin on your stool to face the stage, only to find your view partly obstructed by the person sitting three stools down.

Long copper tendrils fall down her back, a green cardigan covering her body. You make out a soft but defined jawline, the ever so subtle swoop of her nose, and perky cheekbones.

When she looks up, head turning to face the bartender as her hand raises in a call for another drink, your jaw damn near drops. For the second time in one night you’re in awe of a woman’s beauty.

You sip your drink, almost spluttering as her eyes land on yours. Green eyes twice in one day.

“I’m sorry, am I in the way?”

Her voice makes you blink, and then realize you were staring at her for far too long. 

Smiling apologetically, you shake your head.“ No, no, of course not. I should be apologizing, I couldn’t help but stare.”

An instant blush rises on her cheeks and she legitimately splutters.“ I- you- wh- what were you staring at?”

“Only one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen many women.” Your words deepen her blush and that makes you smirk. With ease, you shift into the seat beside her.“ I don’t mean to be too forward, I just prefer not to beat around the bush.”

She shakes her head.“ No it’s okay. I- thank you. You’re also very easy on the eyes.”

“Why thank you. . .”

“Wanda. Wanda Jar-” she shakes her head softly,“ Wanda Maximoff.”

You nod, refraining from pointing out her seeming mistake,“ it’s a pleasure Miss Maximoff. I must say, I’m curious how you stumbled across this little hole in the wall. It’s usually just me, Scott, and Phil around here.”

“Plus your shadow over there.” Her gaze shifts over your shoulder and you follow it to find Steve watching you from his usual spot in the corner booth.

Chuckling, you turn back to the redhead.“ That is my friend Steve, he’s protective, rightfully so.”

Her eyebrows furrow, little wrinkles forming between them.“ Are you out here looking for danger or something?”

“Not looking. But it has a way of finding me. Though Steve is always there and I’m far from helpless so it’s nothing to worry about.” You explain to her.

There’s a brief pause before she nods.“ Well, to answer your previous question: this was as far from my old neighborhood that I felt like going and I heard the music from outside.”

“Phil is a rare talent that’s for sure.” You compliment the pianist.“ Far from the neighborhood though, we running from something?” 

She lets out a heavy sigh.“ A failed marriage.”

“Oof. Well, if we’re running from it, I assume talking about it is out?” She nods and you offer a smile.“ So a distraction would be better.”

That causes her eyes to drop to her drink: a margarita.“ This is the distraction.”

You shake your head.“ Nooo. That is a decent stress relief, but a distraction can be provided, if you’re interested.”

Her eyes bore into yours, there’s a decent amount of intrigue but you see the caution as there should be, you’re a stranger though you have no ill intentions.

“I think I’ll pass. I shouldn’t be out too long.” Your eyes flick to the clock above the bar, it’s well past midnight.

So you nod.“ I completely understand. I probably should be getting home soon as well.” You down the last of your second drink and stand.“ It was lovely meeting you, Wanda. And if you ever happen to want a distraction, call me.” Your business card, with the addition of your personal number, is slipped onto the bar top beside her glass.

“It was nice meeting you too.” She mumbles, trying to process that you’re indeed the Y/n Y/ln your business card says you are (no wonder you looked familiar to her).

“Get home safely.” 

With that you wave a hand to Steve who is quick to finish his beer and stand. On your way out you slip an overly large tip to Phil who nods in thanks while still playing, then you disappear from the bar. The whole while, the green eyes of the redhead remain on you.

[unforced3rr0r]

Not your girlfriend - CA

AUTHOR: I wanted to write something depressing….but I might write a happy part two if that’s something people want?

SUMMARY: You want more from Carlos and he can’t provide it.

WARNINGS: Angst, it’s just kinda miserable sorrryyyyy

Your room was shrouded in darkness only momentarily broken by the occasional car light and the glimmer of distant buildings out of the window.

The bed sheets were ruffled, pulled around your legs splayed out across your stomach. You watched your phone light up and then turn off, over and over. It was late. You should be asleep.

Each time your phone lit up the room your eyes watched it, hopefully reading each notification to no avail. He hadn't messaged.

You knew losing another game to Novak was going to be difficult for him, you had been there after the Olympics, wiped his tears and held him trying to help him forget the match.

You vividly remember the softness in his eyes after that game, the way he broke down convinced he'd disappointed his country. This time was different. It had been weeks since the match and you hadn't heard anything from him.

Forgotten was the usual post-match call, and the promise to fly you out or come see you the moment he got a chance. Instead, you were reduced to watching his Instagram stories and staring mindlessly at the read notification under the message.

You weren't his girlfriend, and he didn't owe you anything but when he found his way to your bed after each match and invited you to more and more events were you crazy to think it had gone beyond casual.

Trying to turn away from your phone that taunted you each time someone other than Carlos messaged you tried to fall asleep. The bed felt empty and cold, no matter how many layers you wore it didn't replicate the heat of lying next to him.

It was like you could feel the ghost of his hand against your body, staving off the sleep you desperately craved. Instead, you were being haunted by the memories of long nights spent with his body pressed against yours, his moans echoing through your mind.

Just as your eyes began to feel heavy and the memory of him subsided, your phone blared out behind you. You didn't need to turn towards it to see who it was, the ringtone alone indicated it was the very man who had been plaguing your mind.

For a second you considered ignoring it. Letting him feel what it's like to be waiting by the phone for your response. But every muscle and nerve in your body pulled you towards the phone, dragging you to pick it up.

Pressing the green button his voice flooded your senses, "Amor, ¿estás en casa?" (love, are you home?) The pet name sent shivers down your spine,

"Yeah, I'm at home." You tried to sound uninterested like you hadn't been sat by your phone for hours just waiting for his call.

"Estaré allí en diez minutos." (I'll be there in ten minutes.) You let out a scoff, taken back by the rashness. There have been times when Carlos impulsively visited you but never after not talking to you for nearly a week without reason. But before you could protest his voice came back through the phone, "Te extraño" (I miss you).

Your shoulders relaxed and your chest fluttered. The effect he held over you needed to be studied because you lost any semblance of a backbone when you were around him. "I'll see you soon then".

The next ten minutes were the longest of your entire life. tiding your room and making it look less like a warzone was the top priority but it seemed to take seconds and you found yourself sitting in the kitchen waiting for the knock on the door.

When it came your heart raced, but you moved towards the door. Pulling it open he stood casually, wearing jeans and a hoodie with his hair still buzzed although looking messier and his big brown eyes focused on you.

You moved to the side to let him into your apartment and he faltered slightly, watching you with a scrutinising gaze. Suddenly in your pyjama shorts, you felt exposed and vulnerable.

"How have you been?" You tried to ease the palpable tension between you as the regret for allowing him in began to creep in. But every time you looked at him your resolve crumbled so you needed to keep your distance.

He looked down at his feet, then up, meeting your eyes as he took a deep breath before talking. "AO was shit, you know how frustrating it is to come so close, again, and lose. Novak was injured and I still couldn't beat him, what does that say about my tennis." His shoulders were tense and as you dared to look at his face you could see the bags under his eyes had worsened.

You wanted to be there for him but you couldn't help but be annoyed that this was the first conversation you'd had in weeks.

"you could've called." you watched as his eyes met yours before quickly glancing away.

"I know"

"or texted" He shuffled from one foot to the other, though usually, the sight of him uncomfortable would cause a tightness in your chest, you couldn't help but push for answers. "Or really done anything other than randomly showing up at my apartment at 3 am after not texting me for weeks." you paused and looked at him, "I would've been there for you."

His gaze focused in on you and for a second a softness passed through his gaze before it shifted to frustration, he stood up straighter. "Come on, Y/N, that's not fair AO was-"

"No Carlos, you know what's not fair. You telling me before AO that you cared about me and wanted me to come watch your matches and sit in the coaches box to then not talking to me after one shit result." His eyes widened shocked by the outburst. You'd never opened up about how it felt to be his secret. With countless promises thrown your way to end up unfulfilled.

He stepped forward, the distance had shrunk and you could smell the aftershave that seemed to stain all your belongings after a visit. You knew it would hang around reminding you of this moment too. His large hand reached out to take your hand and in a moment of pure instinct, you stepped back.

"I can't do this anymore Carlos."

"What?" His brows were furrowed, deeply knitted together as he watched you play with the rings on your fingers.

"I don't want this anymore, I don't want to constantly be waiting by my phone for you, or hoping that this match is the match where you'll finally introduce me to anyone as your girlfriend instead of a friend. I'm tired of constantly having to listen to interviews and jokes about you being single, or you being rumoured with whichever woman it is this week. I'm constantly your second chance and sometimes it doesn't even feel like I'm second. I'm so tired of loving you Carlos when I don't even think you like me."

Your eyes began to water as you focused your eyes on the floor, you didn't want to cry in front of him, you were determined not to let him know the effect he held over you. He looked shocked. Sure he knew you cared about him but you truly doubted he ever thought it had gone that far.

"I didn't know"

But how couldn't he? You had spent countless nights laughing and talking until the sun rose. You'd spent afternoons cooking and laughing every time Carlos burnt something as simple as pasta. You'd fallen asleep next to him as he held you in a way that felt more intimate than any sex could and yet he couldn't tell you loved him.

You couldn't help but let the tears fall as you watched the man you loved watching you so cluelessly as if loving you was so distant from his mind that he couldn't even comprehend it.

"You should go." You walked past him back towards the door as his hand reached reach for your arm. He pulled you to face him his hand reaching your cheek and his eyes meeting yours. Tenderly he wiped the tears from your eyes.

"Por favor no hagas esto" (please don't do this) his voice was soft, a quiet plea as he so carefully held your face. You took a shaky breath in, lifting your hand to his, and watching as his brown eyes softened under your gaze.

For a moment you considered giving into him and falling back into the pattern you had gotten so used to but something inside you knew you needed to draw the line. You pulled his hand from your cheek, kissing his palm lightly before putting it down back at his side.

"I need more."

He began walking towards the door, his head down and shoulder slumped. Before he left he hesitated and just for a second your heart began to race thinking he was going to turn around and tell you he wanted more and he wanted it with you.

But he didn’t, instead he took another step forward out of the door and left without a goodbye.

Pushing the door closed your head fell against it as you let the tears rack through you. Suddenly the prospect of being without him felt so much more daunting than when he stood in front of you.

You slid down the door, sitting against it as you cried and waited for him to come back and knock on the door.

But, when the sun began to rise over the buildings and the tears had dried on your cheeks you realised it was truly over and while you would be broken his world would go on turning.

[rowenasdarling]

I hate phone calls. Really, I hate being the first one to reach out. First text, first email, first voice message; hate them. All of them make me nervous, especially if it's someone I don't talk to much, or worse, have never talked to before. But phone calls are the worst of the bunch. There's something so daunting about hearing the line ring, waiting with bated breath for someone to pick up. If I'm willingly calling you, you already know you're exceptional.

"Hello?"

Her voice is certainly a familiar one, although I still get laughably nervous when I hear it. That's less to do with the phone and more to do with the fact it's her on the end of the line, though. Rowena still makes me feel all off-kilter, and she knows it, too. She likes it. She's a little sick, a little cruel, but not too much. Never too much.

"Hi..."

Silence; I can practically hear her smirking on the other end.

"Did you need something, sweetpea?"

You. No, too desperate. Even now, I'm still trying to impress her all the time. I like her. I just want her to like me too.

"... No, I just," - I swallow, then finish quieter, "miss you."

Another moment of silence, though this one has a softness to it.

"Can't sleep?" she asks, though she obviously already knows the answer. Rowena knows me well enough by now. Her voice is going to that gentle place, the kind of dulcet she saves for me and me alone.

Hearing it takes the edge off; she's sweet to me. She still likes me. I'm not bothering her. Tension seeps from my shoulders, sinking into the mattress beneath me. It feels warmer, more comfortable than it did a minute ago. There's only one thing missing.

"You know I don't sleep well without you."

"I know, honey," she coos, "I'd be there if I could. You're not the only one missing it, y'know."

I shift, curled up on my side with the phone under my ear.

"Are you busy?" I ask, even though it's not what I mean. Rowena knows this, too.

"I can stay," she answers.

Relief blankets me; she's become the only sleep aid that works for me.

"Mm," I hum, finally starting to succumb to the exhaustion that drove me to pick up the phone at this ungodly hour, "love you."

She's probably smiling. She always gets this sweet, soft little smile when I tell her I love her. If I close my eyes, I can picture it in perfect clarity.

"I love you too, darlin'," and it's in her voice. She never takes that tone, not to anyone except me. My own little piece of her, hidden away from the rest of the world, witnessed only by me. "Rest. I'm here."

She starts humming softly. An old Gaelic lullaby, something she's carried around in the back of her mind for centuries. I'm not entirely convinced it's not some sort of enchantment in its own right, because every time she does it, it sends me into a peaceful slumber.

I sink further into the pillows with a soft sigh. Sleep creeps up unannounced.

If I just focus on her voice, it's easy to imagine she's right here.

no proship no ship doubles

[4urvalidation]

A CASE OF LIMERENCE | Chapter Eight

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

A/N: Not to be dramatic, but - it's happening. The slow burn is burning. Finally.

++ I know I don't say this often, but comments, likes, reblogs and any kind of feedback in general is greatly welcomed. I love hearing what people think of my work. So if you could spare a second or two to share your thoughts, it would really make me happy. And as always hope you enjoy. ✨

TW: Underage drinking, mentions of getting drugged as well as drugs/alcohol in general, smoking, very strongly implied sexual content, characters once again being horny and doing stuff because of it... (if something's missing lmk)

She feels bad. 

No. 

She feels horrible; evil. Her insides tear apart at the idea of stringing JJ along and yet - that’s exactly what she’s doing. What she has been doing for the past couple of weeks and she should stop, but stopping means fully indulging in the ever growing crush she has somehow developed on Rafe fucking Cameron. 

Ever since their little rendezvous - his smile, his eyes, his hands, his forearms is all Leni could think about. She wears his sweatshirt in bed and in the darkest hours of the night, her mind weaves all kinds of wicked fantasies. With her eyes closed shut, she imagines his lips gently gliding down the length of her neck, chest collar bones. Biting and licking and savouring every inch of her needy body. Giving everything she shamelessly begs for.  

In the morning her wild, unabashed thoughts quickly replace themselves with scalding hot shame. Leni gives her flustered reflection a stern look, but it’s pointless. Once night falls and she finds herself all alone in bed, she will do the same things over and over and over again. 

On Friday, JJ is five minutes early. With a smile on his face, he watches her descend down the stairs of the Summerwinds Hotel and… she likes him. Maybe not as much as she likes Rafe, but at least there’s something to like about JJ. 

In his beat up truck, they make small talk. He’s cleaned up nice - a suit courtesy of Pope and a haircut by Cleo and he’s still the same old JJ that offered her a can of warm beer all those weeks ago, but something’s changed. He has changed. Leni notices it in the way he talks to her now; how his gaze lingers when their eyes meet and how he’s no longer afraid to touch her properly. 

The back of his calloused hand gently brushes against her arm as he explains the way he maneuvered a gigantic wave earlier that morning. When he notices she has no intentions of pulling away, JJ allows himself to linger before finally taking Leni’s hand into his own. His palm is slightly sweaty and rough - the same as she remembers it from the first time they touched.

Leni turns to look at him: his clear ocean blue eyes, his slightly crooked but blinding smile; the chubbiness of his cheeks and the way he always looks tired despite getting more than 10 hours of sleep. She wishes she could kiss him. Right here, right now as he’s speeding down the not so open road. 

And she almost did. 

Last night by the fire while the rest were busying themselves by looking at John B’s dad’s ancient old treasure maps, JJ scooted closer to Leni and put his arm around her bare shoulders. In her ear he confessed how bored all of this made him feel; how having her here makes everything so much better and how she is the real treasure - not the piece of junk his friend was oh-so desperate to find. 

Leni laughed, a big throaty sound muffled by unintelligible shouting. It had been a while since a boy had put his face this close to hers and a part of her was scared she might’ve forgotten how to kiss properly. She felt JJ’s beer soaked breath on her lips and it was gross and so not romantic, but his words dripped honey and she liked him and Kie -

Kie interrupted them. 

Kie in her gorgeous blue bikini and her sun bleached hair and perfect smile towered over the two of them like some sort of anti kissing police. The second JJ noticed her presence he practically catapulted himself back on his feet. Away from Leni, their would-be kiss and the words he whispered in her ear. 

“I’m sure she didn’t do it on purpose.” Was Sarah’s response when Leni recounted what happened and maybe she’s right; after all Sarah knows Kie a lot better than she ever will and yet, a part of Leni can’t help but feel like she might’ve done it on purpose. 

The conversation she and Cleo had that day at The Wreck; the subtle glances JJ  throws in Kie’s way whenever they’re on opposite sides of a room, their subtle touches, secret smiles, inside jokes and unspoken words… 

No. 

Leni will simply not allow herself to stoop this low. 

They’re best friends! 

JJ and Kie are best friends and it’s totally normal for best friends to be overly protective of one another. 

Hell! - she too is guilty of such a thing! But then again, when has she ever drawn circles on Otto’s back or gazed at him dreamily or bitten his shoulder or-

Maybe that’s just how they functioned. 

Or maybe Kie has a big fat secret crush on JJ. 

Just like the one Leni has on Rafe. 

No! 

She said; she promised there will be absolutely no more thinking about Rafe! She’s wasted enough time wearing his sweatshirt and checking her phone for his text! A line must be drawn and Leni decides that today is the day everything stops. 

Tomorrow once she’s awake and very well rested, she will text him to take back his sweatshirt and put an end to this exhausting case of limerence he has opened against her! 

Yes. 

That is a perfectly good idea and totally not an excuse to see him!

“Oh.My.God!” Is the first thing that comes out of Polly’s mouth the moment she spots Leni and JJ, “You absolute hottie, you! Your dress-”

“You like?” Grinning, Leni does a little spin. 

“Like? Do I like? Are you fucking kidding me!? I am ob-sessed! I want like thirty of these! Tess… Tess!” Polly calls out to the crowd and there  Tess is - gorgeous in a sunset colored dress, her enviable curls gently cascading down her shoulders. “Don’t you just want thirty of these?” 

Their gazes meet and the smile on her friend’s face disappears almost immediately. “Pogues or trashy dresses?” Tess’ stare is razor sharp. Her voice icey. 

“Hey, Tess… I thought this was a classy party.” Leni tries to keep things light, airy. She even throws a throaty laugh for the sake of it, but none is being thrown back at her. At least not from the person she desires it the most from. 

“It was, until you dragged your little dog along.” 

“Girls-” Polly whines, “Can we just get along please? I worked really hard to make this night special!”

“I’m not sure Leni is aware of it, though.” 

“What the fuck is your problem?” The words barely make it through Leni’s gritted teeth. JJ’s gentle grip holding her back. 

“I’m sure if you think hard enough, you’ll figure it out.” She wants to wipe Tess’ smile with the back of her hand, but doesn’t. There’s no point; she’ll only be doing herself a disservice, not to mention making things even more awkward than they already are. So instead, she just stands there - her fingers interlaced with JJ’s - as she watches Tess and Polly disappear into the crowd. 

“We can leave.” He says in her ear. His warm breath tickles and she wants to. Oh how badly she wants to storm out of this place like the wildest of hurricanes; take off her shoes and run barefoot in the dirty wet sand while the rest of her friends drink themselves stupid by yet another lazy bonfire. “Okay,” She smiles, but doesn’t move an inch. She’s spent far too much money on the dress and far too long on making sure every part of herself tonight looks absolutely perfect. There is no way in hell Leni’s leaving this party until she gets her comeuppance. Plus, there is no fucking way she’s letting Tess win this one. Especially not after what she said about her date. “But, first - you owe me a  dance.”

Of course.

Of fucking course.

She’s shaking.

Seething.

The prickling in her fingertips grows to the point her hands are practically vibrating but that’s not the worst. The worst comes with the realization that maybe this was a bad idea. Her. JJ. Her and JJ. Her and JJ at Midsummers. Her in this dress. The guy with the awkward grin walking towards her…

“Looks like you need a drink.” He says, passing her one of the two glasses in his hands. “I’m Ford. Borstein.”

“Leni.”

“I know. You’re Polly’s friend. I’ve seen you in a couple of her stories.” 

“Oh, I’m sure.” 

“You like vodka?”

“Not really.”

“You’re gonna like this one. It’s pink.” His pupils are completely blown out. So much so she can see her reflection in them. Ford’s awkward grin widens. “Try it.” 

Leni looks at the drink in her hand. 

It’s pink alright. 

Pink and very unappetizing. 

She turns her gaze to Ford again, but doesn’t look at him. All she can see is the back of a very attractive buzzed head moving through the crowd and far, far away from her. The grip around her glass tightens. So do her chest and thighs. 

“Maybe later.” Leni hears herself say, before pushing past Ford and plunging straight into the hoard of drunken teenagers. Blindly, she walks the steps she not so long ago watched Rafe take and it’s like he’s put some fucking spell on her or something. 

Those dark ocean blue eyes and that infuriatingly cocky smile… ah the things she would give to see them up close again…  

With Ford’s stupid pink drink still tightly gripped between her prickling fingers, Leni mindlessly roams the insides of The Island Club. She can barely hear the music and chatter from up here, but then again she doesn’t really know where up here is exactly. She’s never been this deep or far inside the building and if she were to turn around and rejoin the party, Leni’s not quite sure she’ll be able to find her way back. 

But she does find her way to him. 

Rafe. 

He stands there, all alone in a dark empty lounge room; his handsome face gently illuminated by the soft light of his burning cigarette. The rest of his silhouette bathed in blue moonlight. From behind the crack of the slightly opened door she watches the way his hand moves back and forth from his lips and for the first time in her life Leni finds herself being jealous of a cigarette. 

A cigarette! 

“Hey.” The sudden sound of his voice - quiet, yet rumbling - startles her and as if beckoned, she pushes her way inside; her gaze sheepishly colliding with his in an instant. “How long were you planning on standing there?”

“Depends… How long were you going to pretend not to see me?” 

The corners of his lips perk into that familiar cocky smile that makes her weak in the knees and she watches him watching her slowly glide closer and closer until they are merely feet apart. His eyes don’t stop though. They slide all over Leni’s body - carefully drinking in her curves, the exposed bits of skin - all while taking an enervatingly long drag of his cigarette. 

“I’m seeing you now.” He says, blowing smoke behind his shoulder. His gaze never leaves her. 

“Are you flirting with me?” She smiles. The cigarette finds its way back to his lips again. 

“Do you want me to?” 

“Answer the question Rafe.” 

He smirks, ready to take yet another devastatingly long drag, but Leni steals the cigarette straight out of his mouth. “What if I am?” His stare is now fixed on her lips; specifically on the way they curl around the butt and inhale.  

Smiling, she blows the smoke straight into his face. “That’s not an answer.” 

“You’ve been drinking.” 

“And that is a very lazy way to change the topic.” 

Rafe chuckles, “You’ve been though, haven’t you?” 

“Is it that obvious?” 

“Considering how you’re having one right now… yeah.” He steals back his cigarette. “What is that anyways? It smells foul.” 

“Foul?” 

“Like shit.” 

Leni giggles. “It’s…” She looks at the glass in her hand. “Actually I have no idea. Some guy just gave it to me. Said it was pink vodka or something.” 

“Some guy?” 

Nodding, she takes the cigarette. 

Their fingers brush. 

“Ford Borstein?”

“Maybe.” 

“Yeah, you’re not drinking that.” Without another word, Rafe grabs the glass straight out of her hand and throws it out of the window. “You didn’t drink it did you?” 

“No.” 

“Not even a sip?”

“No! It smelled foul.” 

“Good girl.” 

The cigarette is in his hand again. 

Leni swallows. 

Ignores the pooling want growing between her thighs. 

“He roofies people. Well - girls, mostly. Especially if they’re pretty.”

“Pretty? Like me?” 

The corners of his lips perk up. “Yes, Elena. Like you.” 

Rafe stubs out the cigarette on the window pane. 

She steps closer, “Bum me another smoke?” 

He pulls a pack of Marlboro lights from his back pocket, “Drinkin’, smokin’… some’d say I’m rubbing off on you.” 

“Thought you didn’t drink anymore?”

He fishes out a cigarette. 

She reaches for it. 

Rafe tsks. “I don’t.” His fingers brush her mouth when he places the butt between her lips, making Leni shiver. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want one.” 

She swallows.

Takes a drag. 

“Do you want a smoke?” 

Their eyes meet. 

“Yeah, I could smoke.” 

“Well, go on. Light up. Keep me company.” 

“I would, but… I like it better when I’m sharing it with you.” 

Rafe’s face is practically inches away from her own. So close she can almost feel his warm, sexy breath tickling the tip of her nose. He takes the cigarette right out of her mouth and this time when his fingers brush her cherry coated lips, Leni knows he’s done it on purpose. 

The air between them is charged; heavy. Thick. 

Leni can feel her heartbeat rise with each passing second; the thin material of her thong getting wetter and wetter every time he passes her the cigarette. His pupils are so dilated, they’re making Rafe look like he’s got two black holes instead of eyes and they’re pulling her in; drawing her closer and closer until her body is practically flush with his own. 

Just as he takes one last drag of their shared cigarette, Leni glances over at the small watch around her wrist. 

“It’s midnight.” She says, grinning slightly. 

“And if you don’t leave now your date will turn into a pumpkin?” 

She rolls her eyes, “No! It’s my birthday.” 

Rafe’s face softens. He’s smiling. “Your birthday?” She nods. “I didn’t know.” 

“You know now.”

“Happy birthday then.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Should’ve told me sooner.”

“Why?” 

“I would’ve gotten you something.” 

“Something?”

“A present.”

“Rafe…”

“Oh come on, what’s a birthday without a present?” 

“I dunno - still a birthday?” 

“Not to me.” Blowing one last smoke, Rafe stubs out the cigarette. 

“Okay.” Leni sighs, “What do you have in mind, then?”

“To give you?”

“Yes.” 

He steps closer. His warm breath hovering above her nose, lips, chin… “Something your date never will.” 

Leni swallows. “And what is that?” 

“An orgasm.” 

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

[ioannemos]

a blouse

These important stories, we rehearse them for years in our head but never tell. These stories are ghosts, bringing people back from the dead. Just for a moment. For a visit. Every story is a ghost. Chuck Palahniuk

day four: miss missing you / grief

rating: g

words: 900

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“I’m back,” Lucy sings out, kicking the door shut behind her. She expects Lockwood to appear to take the groceries and is mildly put out when he doesn’t. After a moment George emerges from the kitchen in full apron and gloves and her heart sinks. “Oh no. What happened? I was only gone an hour.”

“Mrs. Bishop came by with the survey,” George says gloomily.

Lucy blinks. “And?”

“And I don’t know!” George follows her into the kitchen. “Lockwood’s voice got all… brittle, though I don’t think she noticed. They talked about nothing, he thanked her, she left, and he just stood there staring at the closed door, totally silent.”

Lucy pauses in putting away the groceries. “What did the survey say?”

“Nothing they hadn’t told us. He left the survey on the side table and went upstairs.” George sheds the washing-up gloves to put away the spices she picked up for him. “I haven’t heard a sound since.”

Lucy bites her lip. “Well, maybe he’ll come down for dinner.”

Lockwood doesn’t appear all evening. George makes dinner and then starts cleaning the library when Lucy insists on doing the dishes. She turns on the radio to drown out the silence with limited success.

Once the dishes are done she puts the kettle on and steps out to stare up the stairs again. She goes to stand in the library doorway. “This isn’t… normal, is it?”

George pushes his glasses back up his nose with a forearm. “No, not really.”

“Should we check on him?” George’s eyes widen. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Lucy says with exasperation.

“Not really, no.”

“What, not even when he’s in there not making a sound, not eating?” George’s lips thin and he shrugs. “Boys,” Lucy mutters, shaking her head. In the kitchen, the kettle whistles. “Well, I’m making tea and I’m going to check on him. You’re welcome to join me,” she says as a parting shot, certain that he won’t.

While the tea brews she toasts bread and pulls one of the cutlets back out of the fridge. George comes in while she’s spreading mayonnaise on the toast. “Suppose he doesn’t want us to come in,” he says. She turns to him in surprise. “Suppose he wants to be left alone,” he adds, a bit pointedly.

“Then he’s welcome to tell us so,” she says, raising her chin. “I forgot the lettuce; hand me a leaf?”

She adds six biscuits along with the mugs and the impromptu sandwich and carries the tray up, George trailing behind her. When she nods for him to knock, he gives her another wide-eyed look and takes the tray instead. She rolls her eyes hard and reaches out to knock. Just before her knuckles make contact, she hesitates. George snorts softly. “Not so easy, is it?” he asks.

“Shut up,” she retorts, and clears her throat. “Lockwood?” No response. Having come this far, Lucy feels the only thing sillier would be to give up now, so instead of knocking she turns the doorknob.

It turns easily and she steps inside before she can second-guess her actions any more. It’s completely dark, which startles her. Every other time she’s had a glance inside, either the curtains were open, a light was on, or sometimes both. “Lockwood?” she says again, anxiously. She’s not sure what she’s afraid of, but… She feels for a lightswitch near the door and flips it on.

Lockwood is laying perpendicular on his bed with his legs off the side, fully clothed and on top of the covers, holding something made of silvery-purple fabric. His face scrunches up and one arm rises to cover his eyes. “Wha…?” he begins, and then yawns.

“Erm,” Lucy says. “You… disappeared.”

“Hmm?” Lockwood sits up by degrees, rubbing his eyes. The fabric slips out off his lap and he lunges for it, crashing to his knees next to the bed and clutching it protectively to his chest. He sits on the edge of the bed, pulls the fabric up to cover his nose and inhales, eyes closed.

None of them move for several seconds. She takes a deep breath and soldiers on. “You ought to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbles into the fabric. It’s shimmery like silk and perhaps the size of a shirt.

“Even so.”

He lowers the fabric back onto his lap and feels it between his fingers. “It doesn’t smell like anything,” he says, almost matter-of-fact. “I don’t think it ever did.”

Lucy can’t think of anything to say to that, so she takes the tray back from George. “George made cutlets for dinner and all I did was put it between some toast, so really you ought to thank him.”

Lockwood still hasn’t looked up from the fabric. “Mum wore the same perfume,” he says. His voice isn’t matter-of-fact, she realizes, it’s detached in the same way as when someone’s been terribly hurt and they don’t feel it yet.

“Oh,” George says, voice dropping.

“I’d forgotten,” Lockwood says, sounding even more distant. He smooths the fabric across his knee.

Lucy’s resolve crumbles. “Do you… I could leave the tray?”

Lockwood looks up, his eyes dull, and there’s an awful moment of silence before he says, “Please stay.”

Lucy doesn’t wait; she climbs onto the far side of the bed and sets down the tray. “George, don’t get crumbs on the bed.”

───────────────────────────

@lco-angst-week

this one. this was a genuinely rough one, bc as soon as i saw grief and thought of lockwood i knew where this was going, like seeing a car crash coming

(in case it wasn't clear, mrs. bishop wore the same perfume as his mother and it bowled lockwood over. i've spent so long picking at this one that i'm not sure it's coherent anymore but i'm also forbidding myself to keep picking at it)

in my case it was a sweater, not a blouse, and i sat on my bed just holding it for a long, long time. i don't even know what emotions i was feeling. they were big, and they were tangled, so i just held her sweater to my chest and let them wash over me for a while. it didn't smell like anything, either. i do have a bottle of her perfume, tho, and i get a glimpse of her dressing up for a party every time i smell it

also i hate the title of this one but writing it wore me out so stupid title or no up it goes ¯\_(┬◡┬)_/¯

[philhoffman]

[doomedclockworkdotmp3]

his therapist woulda had a field day at their next appointment

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

they call me the griever because halfway through a thing I enjoy I’m already sad that it’s closer to being over

[sentientcave]

Pompeii//Good Grief

IT'S WIP WEDNESDAY BAYBEEEEEEEE have a little taste of some sad boy Ghost grieving his best pal (lover) Johnny ):

He pulled blindly at his tags, gripping the little gold cross he’d hung next to them tight. He had never been a praying kind of man, and even now, he wasn’t praying for escape. The explosion ripped through the base, the air turning hot, dust rising up so thickly that Ghost could do nothing but close his eyes against it, burning lack of oxygen tipping him into unconsciousness as the base rumbled and shook around him.

His last thought, before black jaws swallowed him whole, was of blue eyes fringed by dark lashes, a scarred chin, soft lips and scratchy stubble, the ache of absence. At least he’d see him again.