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formula-ghost · 2 days ago

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The Driver (FC43 x fem!reader)

SUMMARY: After years of being with your boyfriend, Franco Colapinto, you should feel secure and ready for your budding future. When old anxieties creep in, will your relationship withstand the pressure?

WORD COUNT: 9.5k

WARNINGS: Semi-public car sex (reader and Franco are both switches, fingering, p in v). Angst, mentions of cheating. Heavy mentions of marriage, incredibly Champagne Problems coded but I have to stick to the Måneskin theme. Probably incorrect geographical depictions of Spain. Reader has an anxiety disorder/struggles with mental health. Same universe as Supermodel/RYD (in RYD, Franco’s Aston Martin contract is only one year, so we’re just skipping ahead here).

A/N: You all asked for Franco car sex and instead I gave you emotional pain :) I don’t think I’ll ever stop writing for RYD!Franco, I just love him too much. After this I’ll keep writing for Wildflower and then maybe do a few one shots before the next series perhaps? Either way, hope you enjoy!

TAGLIST: [COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO MY FRANCO TAGLIST!] @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @uncreativetm @ncrsbrg @tillyt04 @amz824 @ellelabelle @aliwritex

If you gonna set fire to the night, baby let me be the lighter

If you’re already high and you wanna fly, I’ll be the hit that takes you higher

If you wanna love when you touch the sky, you can be my midnight rider

If there’s nowhere to go when you wanna go wild, I wanna be the driver

After getting his first multi-year Formula 1 contract—complete with a hefty sign-on bonus—there were three things that Franco Colapinto needed to buy.

The first was a house for his parents.

He led his mother around the massive home, showing her every little detail that he had noticed when he chose it, all perfectly arranged according to her taste. At first, she wasn’t sure what her son was doing; he had wanted it to be a surprise, so he didn’t tell her anything.

“Yes, Franquito, the home is beautiful,” she said, craning her neck to look at the high ceilings, the sunlight from the massive windows illuminating her face. “But why would you buy a house here in Argentina? You’re hardly ever home, you can just stay with us in the off season.”

Franco, like his mother, was a pragmatist. He’d never buy himself a mansion in Argentina unless he had retired from F1 and decided to settle down. But his career was just getting started.

She continued, “I mean, you and YN don’t need this much space—”

“It’s not for us, Mami,” he said, finally letting loose the smile that he’d be fighting all day. He was never able to keep secrets, too much of a chatterbox. “It’s for you.”

“Franco—”

“Mami,” he said, already anticipating her hesitation. “It is the least I can do. I can never repay you for all you’ve done for me.”

“That’s my job. You don’t need to repay me.”

“Maybe I don’t need to, but I want to.”

Tears had begun to well up in his mother’s eyes. She knew it was impossible to stop him. It was every athlete’s dream to make enough money to buy their mother a house one day; she wouldn’t take that from him. “I’m so proud of you, mijo,” he said, enveloping her son in her arms. “You have made me proud beyond measure.”

It was Franco’s turn now to tear up, though he blinked them away and smiled. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I figured something was up,” she laughed, “this house is too much my style for you to buy it. I think YN would like it, though. How is she doing?”

“She’s good,” he answered, unsure of how to proceed. His mother let him pause, knowing he was about to say something. “I’m… thinking about asking her to marry me.”

“Oh, wonderful!” she replied, her smile now stretching ear to ear.

“We haven’t talked about it yet, though. So don’t get your hopes up. She might not say yes.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” his mother questioned. “You’ve been together for years, through thick and thin.”

“I don’t know,” he said, scratching the back of his neck in nervousness. “We just…haven’t talked about it. I’m nervous.”

“Well, don’t ask her until you’ve talked about it. But I see no reason why she’d say no.” She reached out to smooth over a piece of his hair that was stuck up at an odd angle. “Take your time,” she continued. “If you all aren’t ready now, there’s no harm in waiting. You have the entire rest of your lives to be together.”

Franco gave her a weak smile, his expression still plastered with nervousness. “But when you do get married,” she continued, as if it was a fact, “I expect grandbabies.”

He laughed, despite knowing that she was dead serious. That would be a bridge to cross later.

For now, he had a second purchase to make: his first real car.

Franco, despite being a Formula 1 driver, had always been down to earth. When he drove for Williams, they had to fight him over taking the bus every day. Even in his early days, his future had been too unstable to spend all his hard-earned money on something like a flashy car, especially since he’d be away so often that he’d hardly be able to use it.

But now, he knew that the time was right, and he’d more than earned it. So, when Franco woke you up at the crack of dawn to go to the luxury dealership in Madrid to pick up his new car the second that they opened, you obliged him despite the hour being far too early.

As the salesman handed him the keys, Franco beamed as if he was holding his newborn child, his eyes wide with love and anticipation.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispered, running his hands up and down along the hood of the flashy luxury car.

You stood back, afraid to even touch this car that was more expensive than your net worth.

“She’s perfect. She’s the most perfect car I’ve ever seen.” He looked up at you, smiling like a giddy child. “Isn’t she perfect?”

You smiled back, amused by Franco’s happiness. “It certainly is a nice car.”

“It’s not just a nice car. She’s a machine.” You chuckled back at him. “Let’s go for a ride.”

You were honestly a little scared of getting in the car. But when Franco crossed over to open your door for you and help you inside, you couldn’t tell him no.

Sitting inside, you had to admit that it was a really nice car. Franco yapped on about the technical abilities of the engine, but it was in one ear and out the other—despite his many years in F1, you couldn’t say you had learned anything about the machines that your longtime boyfriend drove for a living. But you loved to hear him talk, especially when he was this happy, so you nodded as if you were listening intently.

Franco went to back up the car, putting his hand on your headrest and leaning over his shoulder. The move showed off his prominent muscles and instantly melted you. Even after all these years, it was the little things that you never got tired of.

He sped along the highways, giggling to himself as he heard the engine rev and felt the smoothness of the ride. His smile never wavered as he increased his speed and weaved through the slower cars.

He skipped the exit that would lead back to your home, though. “Where are we going?” you asked.

“I want to show you something,” he said, being intentionally vague with his intentions.

You raised an eyebrow. Franco wasn’t one for surprises; he talked too damn much to ever keep them. If he hadn’t told you before now, it must be something serious.

He moved his hand over to hold your thigh, another one of those little things he did that still made you crazy no matter how many times he did it. “Trust me, amor,” he said.

Of course, you trusted him. So when he exited the highway and began driving into the Spanish countryside, you said nothing, instead choosing to enjoy the feeling of his hand rubbing soft circles into your thigh as the trees blurred past you and the engine purred.

After a while he finally slowed his speed, bringing the car up to an empty overlook off the main road. Through the tinted windows, you could see that this place was hidden, nestled off by the trees so that you could only get here if you knew where you were going. The view was gorgeous; miles and miles of lush greenery, and in the far off distance, the city that you had just left.

“Wow..” you whispered. “How’d you find this place?”

“I used to run on these roads out here when I was younger,” he said, admiring you as you admired the view.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I don’t get to come here much anymore,” he said. “I never thought I’d come back here one day as a Formula 1 driver.”

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. His face had the slightest tinge of blush, so subtle that only you could see it.

“Come on, let’s get a good look,” he said, turning off the engine and opening his door.

You got out of the car and softly gasped again when you saw the view with your own two eyes, rather than through the tinted glass. It left you breathless.

You sat cross legged next to Franco on the grass, taking in the sights of the countryside around you. For a while you were quiet, just soaking in the sounds of nature.

Then Franco broke the calmness. “Have you ever thought about getting married?”

His voice was soft, but his words startled you. “Married?”

“I mean, we’ve been together for a while. About time, no?”

Truthfully, you had thought about marriage quite a bit. The mere idea of it scared you. And talking about it scared you even more.

“You sound enthusiastic,” you joked.

“You know what I mean.” He looked down, clearly also nervous for this momentous discussion. Still, he kept his voice light and steady. “I love you. I can’t think of anyone else I’d want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“I’d hope not,” you chuckled. But your attempts at diffusing the tension with humor failed.

He adopted a more serious tone. “YN, I want to marry you,” he said. His eyes looked up to meet yours, and for some reason, you felt your heart drop into your stomach. “I’m not proposing right now, but it’s something we should start thinking and talking about.”

You looked out into the distance and took a shaky breath. Why was this so difficult?

“So, talk to me, amor,” he said.

“You want to marry me?” you asked, your voice small and squeaky.

“Of course I do,” he replied, brushing your hair out of your face. Now there were no barriers between you. “You’re the love of my life.”

You wanted to cry. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know. It’s just so…final. What if something goes wrong?”

“Then we work through it, like we always do.” He was right. Your relationship with Franco had certainly had its rocky patches, but he treated you like a queen. You two overcame every obstacle, including your own mind that often worked against you. You often felt like you didn’t deserve someone so patient and kind.

“Things change when you get married.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m not saying any of this lightly. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

Even after years of loving him, it still surprised you whenever Franco told you that he thought of you. You could never get used to existing in his head when you physically weren’t there.

“What do you think about?” you asked, moving closer to him.

He reached his arm around your waist, resting his hand on your hip. “I think about you, in a white dress. We’d be in the church in Argentina.” You knew the one. He’d gone there growing up, and had shown it to you several times when you went to visit his family. “And we’d have a ridiculous party, into the morning,” he said smiling, leaning his head down closer to you. “And, a while after that, maybe a few months or a year or so, you’d be eating for two.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop your eyes from watering. “That sounds…”

“Perfect?”

No. You were going to say real. That sounds real. And it scared you.

Truthfully, you could imagine the wedding, and the babies, and the many happy years of being Franco’s wife.

But you could also imagine the distance. The exhaustion. The bitterness.

“Growing up, I never thought I’d get married,” you said, shifting the conversation. “I just… I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to marry me,” you laughed.

“I do,” he said. The effect of his words weren’t lost on you; the same words he would say to take the vow. “I want to marry you.”

You had told him a long time ago that your insecurities weren’t something he could fix. He remembered that, and he respected it. But still, it always broke his heart when he realized that even after years of loving you, those old wounds refused to heal.

“Why?” you asked. Your head was beginning to hurt from holding in all the tears.

“Why?” he echoed, incredulous at why you’d even need to ask such a ridiculous question. His voice held no malice, though. “Because I love you.”

“Don’t you get tired of this?”

“Of what?”

“Of…me being difficult for no good reason?”

“You’re not being difficult. Marriage is a huge deal, obviously. I don’t want us to rush into it if you’re not ready.”

“What if I’m never ready?”

He sighed. “Then…well, honestly, that would break my heart. I’d want you to work through whatever is holding you back. But I’d be with you every step of the way.”

You looked away into the distance. Part of you wanted to run and disappear in the thick foliage of the Spanish countryside. The other part of you wanted to bury your head in Franco’s chest, finally letting go of all the reservations that had haunted you for years.

You knew Franco. You loved Franco. You trusted Franco.

So why were you still so afraid?

“Mi amor,” he said, gently guiding your head so you had to look at him. “Do you want to get married?” He tilted his head closer to you.

You knew what he was asking. Not if you were ready right now, not if you were scared; but deep down, in your heart of hearts, did you want to marry Franco Colapinto?

“Yes,” you whispered. Just as he didn’t have to explain, neither did you. He knew what you meant; yes, but I’m scared. Yes, but I’m not ready. Yes, but I’m afraid I’ll never be ready.

He brought his lips to yours, gently kissing you as you let the few tears that had been welling up in your eyes finally go. When he pulled back, he wiped them away.

“We don’t have to make a decision now,” he said. “We’ve got time. I want us both to be ready.”

You kissed him again, this time more forceful. There was nothing sexier than a man with emotional intelligence.

He pulled away again to finish his thought. “Just keep thinking on it, okay? We can talk about it as much as you want.”

“Okay,” you said, smiling as he looked at you.

“What?” he asked, his own playful smile dancing across his face.

“You’re so hot when you respect my boundaries.”

He laughed. “Mi amor, that’s the bare minimum.”

“Keep going,” you joked, “I’m so close.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, leaning down to kiss your neck. “I’ll start misbehaving.”

“Maybe I want you to,” he said, sharply inhaling as he gently bit the skin on your neck, sure to leave a mark.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he nibbled on your earlobe.

“Get me home and show me how horrible I am, then,” you teased, reaching out to touch his waist.

“We don’t even need to get home.” He reached up to hold your neck with one hand as he continued kissing up and down your jaw.

“Here?” you said, darting your eyes around.

“In the car,” he said, his voice already getting breathy.

“No,” you urged. “It’s new.”

“Exactly. We have to break it in, no? Or bless it,” he said. His hands were beginning to roam underneath the hem of your shirt now.

“You’d never forgive me if I messed up the seats.”

“They’re leather, it cleans easy. I can get it detailed.” He stifled your next complaint with a deep kiss. “No one is ever around here. And the windows are tinted,” he whispered into your mouth.

You laughed. “You’re a freak.”

“I’m your freak. And don’t lie, you love it,” he said, snaking his hand down to tease its way under your skirt. “I can tell how much you love it.”

You stopped him before his hand could go any further—after all, you were technically still in public.

“Get in the car, whore,” you joked, before Franco hopped up and nearly sprinted to open the car door and set his seat back as far as it could go.

He sat in the seat and patted his lap. “You joining me?”

You playfully rolled your eyes, getting up to meet your lover at the car and carefully climb onto his lap, occupying his lips with a deep kiss that he moaned into.

“Did you plan this?” you asked.

“Plan what?” he said, a devilish grin across his face.

“Bringing me out to your scenic spot to fuck me in your new sports car?”

“Wasn’t planned at all. I’m a spontaneous man.”

“Mhm. How many other girls did you bring here before we started dating?”

“Less talking, more fucking, yeah?” he said. You probably didn’t want to know the answer. But that was all in the past. Franco was yours—he had been for years now, and he wanted to be yours forever.

There would be time to think about that later. Right now, all you could think about was the beautiful boy sitting beneath you, looking at you as if he needed you as simply as he needed air. You could feel him hardening beneath you.

You shifted your weight to straddle him, grinding down on his length, eliciting a sharp exhale from him.

“You’re so needy today, Franco,” you said as you ran your fingers through his soft curls.

“I’m always needy for you.” He brought his lips back to yours, hungry for the taste of you. His lips trailed down to your jaw and neck. “YN, you don’t know what you do to me…”

“I think I can feel it,” you joked, softly grinding your clothed pussy over the growing bulge in his jeans.

“Don’t tease me,” he begged, roaming his hands up the hem of your blouse.

“But it’s so fun,” you said, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “I love to see you fall apart underneath me.”

“Fuck, YN—”

“Less talking, more fucking, no?” you said, mocking his statement from earlier. You met his mouth in a kiss, and he moved his hands down under your skirt, running up and down the soft skin of your thighs. When he finally teased his fingers over the wet spot that was already growing in your panties, you softly inhaled, showing your desire for him.

“I’m not the only needy one,” he teased, breathing in the smell of your perfume and shampoo, his head buried in your neck.

You softly moaned as he moved your panties to the side and began circling his fingers around your clit.

“Franco, fuck…”

“What happened to all that talk, huh? Or are you too busy trying not to cum on my fingers?”

All you could do was breathe as his fingers found their way inside of you, pumping in and out to prepare you for his cock.

“Don’t try to stop it,” he said, “let go. Cum for me.”

You obeyed, your legs shaking as your walls pulsated on his fingers. You whimpered into his neck, steadying yourself by holding him.

He kissed your cheek, but wasted no time in unzipping his jeans and plunging into you while you rode out the waves of your orgasm. He let out a breathy moan as he felt the sweet warmth of you wrapped around him.

You were overcome with sensation; the burn of his cock stretching you out, the last dregs of pleasure now mixed with the pain, and the burn in your legs from sitting in the same position for too long.

It was all the more motivation to bounce up and down on his cock, finding a steady rhythm as he guided his hands to your hips.

You rested your head next to his, moaning into his ear with every thrust. The small space of the car may be cramped, but you couldn’t help but appreciate the intimacy of the moment. Franco’s eyes were closed in sensual bliss, his breath ragged as you increased your speed.

You wanted to watch him come undone from the sinful pleasure that your pussy brought him.

“YN—” he moaned, his hands digging hard enough into your hips to leave bruises, “Oh, God, YN, you always feel so fucking good. So good for me.”

You whimpered from both the praise and the pleasure. You had to slow down—the fast stamina was too much on your legs, which were now burning from the awkward position you were stuck in.

“I think you were made for me,” Franco whispered. “And I was made for you. See how well we fit together?” He took control, lifting you up as if you were weightless and bouncing you up and down on his own. You yelped at first, then your surprise gave way to bliss as you both chased your release.

But Franco was relentless in his praise. “You’re my fucking soulmate. I wanna fuck you every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Franco, I’m so close—”

“Cum for me, mi amor. Again.” His own voice was strangled with desire, so close to his own peak.

With a high pitched whine, you obeyed, and the heavenly feeling of your walls contracted around him brought your lover to the edge soon after.

And when you did both finish, you held each other, too tired to even move from the uncomfortable position from the car.

Franco was a talker. You always knew that. He loved nothing more than to fill your ears with sweet nothings when you made love. But the context of the conversation that just transpired weighed on you, even with the comfort of Franco’s hands rubbing small circles into your back as you both tried to catch your breath.

“You okay?” he asked, and you murmured in response, unable to form any coherent words in the aftermath of everything. “Let’s get home and we can take a shower, yeah?”

A warm shower sounded heavenly right now. You awkwardly shimmied your way into the passenger seat and took one last look at the view, thankful that the overlook was still deserted. You sighed as you settled in and buckled your seatbelt, relishing the relief of finally being able to stretch your legs.

“Hey,” Franco asked as he readjusted his seat and turned on the car. “Are you okay, really?”

“Yeah,” you said. It was true; you were exhausted, overwhelmed, and hurting, but it was all worth it for him.

He leaned over to kiss your cheek and smiled before putting the car in reverse.

The third item that Franco had to buy was the ring.

Truthfully, the conversation hadn’t gone as smoothly as he would have liked. In his dreams, you'd jumped for joy when he’d broached the subject, and you’d live happily ever after.

But despite his disappointment, he understood your hesitancy. He was just as afraid to ask the question as you were to say yes. He knew that your struggles with self esteem and anxiety were lifelong. He knew all this about you from the very beginning, and he loved you anyway.

Still, it was times like this when it broke his heart that he couldn’t fix it.

It didn’t matter. You’d come around eventually, you always did. And you had been honest when you said you wanted to marry him—there was just a lot of stuff in the way, mentally and emotionally.

So yes, he’d wait a while before he popped the question. But that didn’t mean he had to wait to buy the ring.

He knew the exact one. You had fallen in love with it years ago, when you had worn it in a PR shoot for one of his high profile sponsors. Though time had passed, he still remembered the sadness in your eyes when you had to give it back after the photoshoot. He had vowed to himself that day that he’d earn enough to get you that ring.

And now he finally had.

A few days after your conversation, he found the now faded card that he had stuck in his wallet and called the number. When the same brand rep picked up, he exhaled, letting go of his fear.

“Franco! How nice to hear from you. I was beginning to think we’d scared you away.”

“No,” he laughed. “The opposite, actually.”

“Let me guess. You’re ready for that ring?”

‘How’d you know?”

“I’ve been doing this a long time. When a woman looks at a ring like that, and she’s with a man that truly loves her, it’s just a matter of time.”

He had swiped another ring of yours to get the measurements, and he completed the entire order over the phone on his drive back home from a day of pre-season meetings. He had three months before the beginning of the new season, and he wanted to propose before that so you could start wedding planning once the season started. Would three months be enough time for you to think about it? He didn’t know.

But he couldn’t wait any longer. The giddiness was eating him alive.

You could tell something was amiss, but the idea of a proposal was the last thing on your mind.

Franco was hiding his phone from you. Which meant that Franco was hiding something important from you, and he was doing a horrible job of it.

Your lover was never the type to be quiet or secretive about…anything really. He talked too much. You had to physically restrain him every Christmas from spoiling what he got you weeks in advance. So if there was something that he was truly trying to hide, it was something major.

And it scared you.

The thought that you had been holding back for years finally broke through one night where he put his phone face down at the dinner table after his phone lit up with several notifications.

“Who’s texting you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice innocent despite the rush of dread that was rising in your stomach.

“No one,” he answered, too quickly for your liking. You didn’t respond.

You knew Franco was attractive. Every girl would kill to have him. He was kind, funny, beautiful, and flirtatious. But he was yours. Right?

Franco had never crossed the line before. You trusted him with your life. But something within you just felt deeply, deeply wrong, and it came spilling out later that night when he tried to touch you.

His phone was left on the nightstand, untouched since dinner; his focus was on you, running his hand up and down your side, gently dressing his lips to your shoulder as you faced away from him.

“Not tonight,” you whispered, unable to keep your voice from shaking.

“All you alright, mi amor?” he asked, pulling back your shoulder to make you face him, seeing how you were desperately trying to keep the tears at bay.

“I’m fine,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek.

Even after all your years together, Franco never quite knew when to press on and when to keep quiet when you said those two infamous words. And he didn’t have much time to think, because you rose from the bed and left the room, mumbling about needing a minute to get fresh air.

You stepped onto the back porch and took a deep breath, steadying your heart rate and calming your nerves, if only for a moment. The night air was serene; you felt vile contaminating the peace with your anxiety.

Would this last forever? You couldn’t remember a time when you hadn’t felt this push and pull. You wanted to tell Franco to go, to relieve himself of the burden of your mental illness. You wanted to bottle up every insecurity, every doubt, every negative thought into a vault that you didn’t share with anyone.

But you couldn’t. If Franco left you’d be broken. You couldn’t stop yourself from letting these thoughts and fears control you. In the past, therapy had helped, but you knew this was a weight you’d always have to carry. And that made you miserable.

So yes, maybe it was for the better that Franco move on, find someone better, more stable, and build a life with her.

“Mi amor?”

Franco’s voice broke your hopeless contemplation.

“Talk to me,” he said.

You just shook your head. He must be so tired of reassuring you, endlessly, knowing that it didn’t help one bit.

“YN,” he urged, “you know I don’t like it when you try to shoulder everything alone.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. That was all you could say. “I’m sorry that I’m like this.”

“Like what?”

“Impossible.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. We have the same conversation over and over again. Don’t you get tired of it? Of having to reassure me and it never helping? Of me crying over every little thing? Franco, I’m a mess!”

“YN…” he sighed, “When have I ever said any of that?”

He was right. He had never expressed any frustration regarding your mental struggles. He had always been there when you needed him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Have you just been up in your head, or did something happen?”

You contemplated lying, but you knew better. “You set your phone face down at dinner.”

“I— did you think I was…?”

“It’s not you, Franco. It’s never you. That’s the worst part. You have to deal with all of this and it’s not your fault at all,” you said, not even allowing him to say aloud what you both knew was true.

Franco took a deep breath. “YN,” he said, calmly, “let’s go back inside and go through my phone.”

“No—”

“Yes,” he commanded. “I want you to be 100% confident that I love you and only you.”

“Franco—”

“Let’s go.”

He had a firmness in his voice that only made your anxiety worse, and immediately you felt horrible for even insinuating anything to the opposite. But he was your rock of reason in times like these when your anxiety took over, and so you followed his command, unlocking his phone when he handed it to you.

As expected, there was no incriminating evidence, just far too many unopened emails and messages left on delivered. Even his recently deleted texts showed nothing.

The buzzing that you had been so afraid of turning out to be…emails from a jewelry company?

“I ordered a custom necklace for your birthday,” Franco explained. “They’ve been so difficult, though. They lost the order and then sent me the wrong thing. It’s been hell.”

You handed back the phone with your head hung low, ashamed. “I’m sorry I ruined the surprise.”

“You know I would have ruined it beforehand anyway,” he said. “I’m not upset at you.”

“You should be. You deserve someone who trusts you.”

“You do trust me,” he said, “I know you do. It’s not you that’s saying this.”

Fuck. Franco really did know you too well.

“You know why I stay with you, even with all this?” You looked up at him, curious for the answer. He had never been this direct before. He continued, “Well, first of all, because I love you. But even during times when I’m frustrated, I remember everything we’ve been through, when you forgave me and were there for me when I didn’t deserve it. I was so close to losing you and it terrified me.”

Once again, your eyes were watering. He said, “I promised myself that if you really gave me a chance, I’d never forget it. I’d be there for you and be the best boyfriend I could be. Because…” he paused, searching for the right words, “I know that some of why you feel these things is because of how I acted in the past. I’ve done my best to make it right, but some things never leave you.”

“When did you become so damn wise?” you said, laughing through the tears as he smiled and wiped them away.

“You bring out the best in me.”

The conversation was laid to rest then. Franco held you until you fell asleep, safe in his arms. As he heard your soft breaths even out, he grabbed his phone and frantically searched for a necklace to buy to cover his lie.

He hated lying to you, but in this case, what else was he to do?

The necklace and the ring arrived a few weeks later, right before you all were scheduled to take a flight to Buenos Aires to spend the rest of the break with his family.

But he had a plan. The break in Buenos Aires would be one to remember—for your “birthday” he was also flying out your friends and family for a few days. He had the whole idea plotted out, with help from many others, to plan a surprise karting birthday celebration, with all your loved ones there. Then, he would propose.

It seemed so perfect—surrounded by all your loved ones, doing a fun activity, the perfect balance between public and private. He knew you’d love it. He knew you’d say yes.

He was giddy as he carefully packed the two jewelry boxes in his luggage, surrounded by clothes for safe keeping.

And as the day of the birthday party came closer and closer, he could barely hold in his excitement. Everyone knew but you; he had colluded with every guest, telling them his plan and getting their blessing to finally ask you to spend the rest of your life with him.

Everything was perfect. The day before, you parents and friends arrived, and Franco told you everything but the grand reveal.

He gave you the present, a beautiful necklace that complimented your tastes perfectly. You split a bottle of wine amongst loved ones, and your parents brought out their own gift: a photo album of pictures that they’d never been able to show Franco.

You cringed at the embarrassing baby photos and records of bad middle school haircuts, but you couldn’t help the tipsy smile on your face. You leaned your head on Franco’s shoulder as he flipped through the pages.

Franco’s mother got out her own photo albums, showing picture after picture of him as a baby, his blonde curls and toothy grin smiling from ear to ear.

“You were such a cute baby,” you giggled, and he blushed.

“Were? I’m still a cute baby,” he joked, kissing you on the cheek. You scrunched your nose and smiled.

You were so in love with this man that it hurt.

That night, when you all retired to your room, he rubbed your back, enjoying the simple quiet between you two.

“I love you,” you said to him out of the blue. He smiled; he said those words often, and you always said them back, but it was rarer, more meaningful, for you to say them unprompted.

“But it’s not fair. You were a cute baby and you’re cute now. You can’t have both,” you giggled.

“We’d make cute babies,” he teased, and you blushed.

“You trying to find out?” you responded, the alcohol in your veins giving you more boldness.

“Not when you’re this tipsy,” he said. “Besides, I need to put a ring on your finger first.”

At the mention of marriage, you sobered up quickly. You hadn’t really been thinking about that conversation you’d had back in Spain—in fact, every time you thought about it, it just made you more anxious, so it had the opposite effect of you actively avoiding it.

Of course, you were still scared. You loved Franco more than words could say, and that was the problem—it was so good that eventually, it would have to not be good. It was a backwards logic, yes, you had convinced yourself that at some point, things would only be able to go down.

You didn’t want to lose this beautiful thing you had created. But Franco had said he wasn’t planning to propose any time soon, right? In your mind, you still had plenty of time.

But Franco did not, and the next morning was chaos.

His phone was blowing up with last minute organizing and words of encouragement from your friends and family in the proposal plan group chat. He was sweating bullets, constantly checking his pockets before you all left for the kart track to make sure that yes, he had the ring. He contemplated putting it in his bag instead, but he didn’t want to lose it, so he ultimately settled on his pockets.

He knew that he needed to stop checking them or else you’d notice and ask. You were always observant, in that way.

But every time he sat down, the stupid box kept falling out of his shorts. The pockets were too small. He’d just have to check one last time before he left the house and be careful. Yes, everything was going to go according to plan.

And as you all arrived and he changed into his race suit quickly, all he could think about was the speech he had tried to memorize. You were a woman who appreciated words; he wanted to express how you made him feel, but in his head, he kept stumbling over them.

YN, you make me so happy. No, too simple.

YN, will you make me the happiest man in the world? No, too cliche.

YN, I never knew happiness until I saw your smile. No, too melodramatic.

He’d have to figure out the words as he said them. For now, he’d just focus on enjoying the moment with you.

And that wasn’t hard; you were as giddy as a child as you sped around the track, spinning out and pushing the poor kart to go faster and faster.

Franco had arranged a tournament of sorts; of course, he had spoken with everyone beforehand to rig you as the winner.

On your end, you knew everyone was letting you win. You were awful at karting. But it was your birthday event, after all. You didn’t care, you were having fun.

It came down to the “championship” battle: you versus Franco. Of course, you knew your boyfriend would let you win, as he always did, but you loved the rush of adrenaline as the wind whipped past you anyway. You couldn’t stop smiling as you crossed the finish line and took off your helmet, flipping your hair out.

You heard Franco stop his car behind you and get out, too.

“I can’t believe YN won!” Franco’s mother said, smiling wide.

“Thank you all for so graciously giving me that win,” you joked, looking to all your family and friends circled round, cheering for you. Franco was behind you still. You almost turned to him, but his mother interrupted. “Let me take a picture!”

This was the moment. All he had to do was take the ring out of his pocket and get down on one knee.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out… nothing.

His pockets were empty.

He looked back at his father, the fear of God in his eyes, and patted his empty pockets. No one said a word.

His mother, now done with taking the picture, leaned over to give you a hug. She sent a death glare to Franco over your shoulder, but still gave him the time to sprint back to the locker room to try and find the goddamn thing.

He ran faster than his F1 car could drive, cursing under his breath at how stupid he could be. He could still save this, though.

He found his bag and shook out the contents, frantically searching, until finally, at the bottom of the bag, he saw the box. He must have stuck it there while changing and forgot about it.

He let out a breath with enough power to shake the entire building. He opened the box to get a quick glance just to make sure everything was okay.

Except, everything wasn’t. There was no ring in the box.

He had grabbed the empty necklace box.

Knowing you were far enough away to not hear him, he sweared very, very loudly. Unbeknownst to Franco, his father had followed him back to the locker room.

“Did you find it, mijo?”

“I brought the wrong box,” he said, “This is for the necklace.”

His father sighed. “Franco…”

“I know, I know.”

“We can still fix this. Give her the ring at dinner!”

“I guess I’ll have to,” Franco said. He had never been more disappointed in himself. He had ruined everything.

“Hey,” his father said, “chin up. You’ve still got this. The ring will be the perfect end to the perfect day, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, still not entirely convinced. But you would be wondering where he went soon; he couldn’t stay and mope too long.

His father left him to go relay the information to the rest of the group. Franco took a few deep breaths as he changed, mentally readying himself to see you again. He put on a smile as he saw you waiting for him outside the track with the others.

“So, we’ll all head back and get ready, then meet for dinner tonight?” his mother said.

“Sounds good,” Franco answered, wrapping his arm around you as he walked you back to the car.

Thankfully, when you got back to his parent’s house, you immediately wanted to take a shower and wash your hair, giving him time to search the entire room. Which he did, from top to bottom, and he still couldn’t find the ring.

It was just…gone. He had gone through every compartment of his suitcase, every pocket in his clothes, every hiding space. Still, it was nowhere to be found.

His parents even helped him look, carefully parsing through every possible place until it was too late. You were nearly ready for dinner, and they all had to rush to get ready to make it to the restaurant in time for the reservation.

Franco texted the groupchat the horrible news—he had fucked up. He had lost the ring. There would be no proposal.

Kind words flooded his phone, but they meant nothing to the depressed Argentine. He had planned this out so perfectly; how did it end so badly?

And the worst part? He couldn’t even tell you.

The atmosphere at dinner was more somber than usual. His sister had bought a bottle of nice champagne that would now have to go unopened. He would just have to propose some other time.

That’s what he reminded himself, every time the thought came up and threatened to choke him. Maybe next time he would fly his family out to Spain instead. He wasn’t in any rush. And you’d never have to know how badly he fumbled.

Well, while you didn’t know the details, you could tell something was up. You mentioned it to Franco on the way home.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, and Franco cringed internally. He was always bad about hiding his emotions.

“No, I’m fine,” he answered.

“Well, everyone at dinner just seemed…off.”

“Probably just tired.”

You just hummed to yourself, refusing to allow your thoughts to wander any further. You, too, were tired. When you got back to the house, you both started to get undressed, taking off your fancy heels and jewelry.

You took off your necklace—the beautiful gift that Franco had given you, that you’d now treasure forever—but the box wasn’t on the nightstand where you had left it yesterday.

“Franco, have you seen my necklace box?” you asked from the bedroom. He was in the bathroom washing his face, and only barely heard you over the running of water. The mention of the box just made the whole night worse.

“Yeah, it’s in my bag,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow. How had your necklace box ended up there?

You leaned down to his bag, rustling around until you found the familiar box, though it was heavier than you remembered.

When you opened it, you were nearly blinded by the glint of a beautiful diamond engagement ring.

It was familiar; the same ring you had fallen in love with years ago. And it was in Franco’s bag. He had…bought you an engagement ring.

He was going to propose.

You could feel your heart rate increasing by the second. But you weren’t ready. You had only talked about it a few weeks ago. You were scared.

It was okay, though. It was okay. You would just put the ring back. You’d find a way to hint to him that it wasn’t the right time. You could just fake it. He’d never have to—

“YN?”

You looked up at Franco’s face, widened with shock. You didn’t respond.

“Where did you find that?”

“In your bag.” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“I—” Franco was too stunned to speak. You quickly closed the box and put it back in the bag.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see anything. This never happened,” you said, your voice rapidly talking without even thinking. You got up to leave the room, too anxious to stay seated, talking to yourself even after you were out of earshot of your lover.

Franco sat on the bed and sighed. Now he had majorly fucked up. First of all, how had no one found the ring in his bag, even after 3 people looked in there? And second of all, how did you find it?

But that wasn’t the biggest issue anymore. His plan had already been ruined, but he knew by the look on your face that your surprise was not a good one. He saw that fear that nestled itself into every crevice of your expression.

You weren’t happy to find that ring. Not because it had ruined the surprise element—you just didn’t want him to propose.

He now had two options. He could do what he knew you’d want: act as if nothing ever happened and never broach the subject of marriage for several years to come, allowing you to shove away all those scary feelings until you’d deluded yourself into thinking you were over it.

Or, he could do what he needed to do, and talk to you.

He took a deep breath and followed you outside.

You were sitting on the back porch. Not crying, just quiet, looking out into the backyard. When Franco sat next to you, you didn’t say anything. He reached out to grab your hand, and you let him, softly admiring how he curled his thumb around your palm in soothing circles.

“The plan,” he began, “was to ask you today. At the karting track. But I brought the wrong box.” He softly smiled at the absurdity of it. “When you were getting ready we were all frantically looking for it. I don’t know how we missed it.”

You just hummed in response, unsure of what to say. You needed to be honest. You needed to say the difficult things.

You began, though your voice felt choked. “Franco, if you would have asked me today, I would have said no.” You felt his hand tense up. “I mean, I would have said yes, because everyone was there. But…”

You trailed off, your words fleeing from you now.

“I don’t understand,” Franco confessed. “We’re happy. You’re happy with me, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Then why don’t you want to marry me?” His voice dripped with sadness, and all you wanted to do was hold him. You turned your head to face him, and the deep sorrow in his eyes nearly brought you to tears.

“I do want to. I just…”

“I’ve done everything I can to be good to you. I’ve tried to always be there. I know I’m not perfect, but—”

“It’s not you, Franco. It was never you.”

“Then why? What can I do?” His voice cracked, seeping with hopelessness and frustration. “If it’s not because of me, then what am I supposed to do?”

You got up. “Come here,” you said, and led him to the living room. The home was quiet; his parents were asleep, and the vast emptiness of the home was eerie.

You grabbed the photo album that your parents had given you, and sat down on the couch, motioning for Franco to sit next to you.

You opened it to a picture of you at your 4th birthday party. In the photo, you grimaced though the uncomfortable sensation of a plastic party hat. “Do you see her?” you asked him. He nodded.

“I remember feeling like this when I was that little. This…fear. I desperately wanted friends but was too afraid to talk to anyone.”

You flipped to the next page, pointing to a photo of you sitting alone in a park, a forced smile across your face. “What do you notice about this picture?” you asked him.

Franco leaned in closer to look. “I don’t know,” he said.

“I’m alone. See all the other kids in the background?”

You kept flipping until you found the first photo of you when Franco knew you. You were fifteen, smack in the middle of your awkward teenage years, in the stands at one of his races.

“I remember that,” he said.

“That’s me, spending time with my first real friend,” you said. “I didn’t know it yet, but I had a huge crush on him,” you joked.

“He was going to ask you to marry him today. And you just told him you would have said no.”

“I know,” you said, trying to be gentle with your tone. “But what I’m trying to say is that you’re not just asking me. You’re asking her. And she feels so alone, and she’s scared to trust anyone.”

Franco sat with the thought for a moment, before getting up to grab his own photo book. He opened it to the first page, and pointed to a photo of him as a toddler, wrapped in a scarf, toothy grin spread wide.

“And that’s who asked you.”

You felt a knot of emotion in your stomach break. All you wanted was to cry.

“This goes both ways, YN,” Franco continued. “I understand that you’re scared. But I can’t fix that fear. Only you can.”

The dam broke, your tears flooding forth. He was right. So you told him.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you said, and he wrapped his arm around you, rubbing your back through the tears.

“I’m not perfect either. I shouldn’t have rushed it, I was just excited.”

“Don’t apologize for being excited to propose,” you laughed through your tears. “I should probably go back to therapy.”

“If you think that’ll help,” he said.

“It will,” you sniffled. “I just… I’ve been so afraid that I’ve been ignoring all the signs. I should have seen this coming. You’re never that excited to let me beat you in karting.”

He smiled at your banter. You continued, “But really, you’re right. I’ve just been avoiding this because I’m scared, getting up in my head. I just feel so happy and that scares me, because at some point it has to fall apart, right? You’re never happy forever.”

“You’re not unhappy forever, either. Of course we’d have rough spots. But that’s the beauty of marriage,” he said, “you vow to be there for each other through it all.”

“How did I get so lucky to have you?” you asked, meeting his gaze.

His eyes were full of compassion and love. “I’m the lucky one.” He leaned down to kiss you.

You didn’t really believe him. You still didn’t understand how someone so perfect could love you, someone so…broken. But one day you would. You had to.

The next year was difficult. You began your healing journey again—a journey you were convinced you’d be on your entire life. But you’d do it for him, and for you.

And slowly, bit by bit, the wounds began to heal.

It wasn’t linear. With Franco’s new contract, he had lots of attention and responsibilities. He was away from home more. He was tired, stressed, more short-tempered. There were arguments. Some days it felt like you took one step forward and two steps back.

But you made it through. For every argument there was an honest conversation. For every night away there was a sweet gesture or text message to remind you that he still loved you, and from it grew a solid, blooming trust. For every mistake—on both ends—there was an apology and a commitment to be better. For every night of tears, there was a night of laughter with the man you loved most in the world.

And by the end of the season, you and the relationship were stronger than ever.

Of course, things weren’t perfect. But the fear that had once held you hostage was an adversary you knew you could overcome.

Franco kept the ring in his nightstand. You had found it again one day while cleaning. It wasn’t really hidden, as if to say, we’ll get to this later. It was no secret now. You just put it back in its place and smiled, going on about your day.

But Franco had been giving the proposal much thought. He decided against inviting anyone again, wanting it to be a tender moment of vulnerability between you and him.

No, he wanted this time to be simple. Honest.

He just hoped you were ready.

A few weeks before the beginning of the next season, he took you out to the place where all this had begun; the outlook in the countryside, where he first told you that he wanted to marry you.

This time, he double and triple checked to make sure the ring was there in his pocket.

The sun was setting over the Spanish countryside, painting the sky rich shades of orange and yellow. The air had cooled with the impending coming of night.

He opened your car door and set up a blanket on the ground, where you sat and he laid his head in your lap, letting your fingers run through his hair as a way to calm his nerves.

He took a deep breath as he sat up, and you knew what was coming. Again, he had rehearsed a speech, but almost instantly forgot it the second he opened his mouth.

“YN,” he began, looking you directly in the eyes, “I… I love you. So much. More than words can say.” He was nervous, swallowing before he continued, letting his eyes wander off to the picturesque view. But he had more important things to be looking at.

“I can’t imagine a version of my life without you in it. I grew up with you. I want to grow old with you. You’ve made me into the best version of myself. We’ve gone through so many things and come out on the other side so much stronger. And I want this,” he said, reaching out to wipe away the happy tears that now flowed down your cheeks. “I want to be with you. Even though we’re both imperfect, even though we both have our problems to work through, YN, I want to do this with you, forever. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up next to you. I want to have children and grandchildren with you. I…” he trailed off, not knowing how to finally say what he really wanted to say.

You smiled through the tears. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring, flipping it open and showing it to you.

“Marry me,” he whispered.

Your smile widened. “Yes,” you answered. “Yes.”

He kissed you with a fervent passion. When he pulled away, his smile couldn’t be contained.

“She said yes!” he cried out, though you both were alone. “I did it! She said yes!” You laughed at his antics.

In a few weeks, you’d have the official photo shoot where he got down on one knee. You’d show the world the carefully constructed version that was all they got to see.

But this was real. And maybe it was imperfect; maybe he hadn’t really asked, more instructed, and maybe he hadn’t gotten down on one knee, and maybe, yes, you had found the ring beforehand.

But this was real. In all the ups and downs, the hurt and healing, this love you shared with your now fiance was real. The world didn’t get to see that.

And maybe that fear was still within you. It was smaller now. And when you had seen that shine of the ring, maybe you had felt it rise within you again. But you knew now that it was just a feeling, something you could control. You didn’t have to ignore it or let it reign you. It was just there.

It wasn't real though. And this was. The cold metal of the ring slid onto your finger. The feeling of Franco’s lips on yours. The strain in your face muscles from all the smiling. His hand around your waist, pulling you closer as the sun dipped below the sky, leaving you and your lover alone in the dark—yes, this was real.

And this was yours; he was yours.

For the first time in a long time, you knew you had nothing to fear.

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mattybsgroupie · 4 hours ago

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— tub ★ matt sturniolo

— CONTENTS: established relationship; making out; semi-public sex; p in v; creampie; sub!matt

— NOTES: i literally gasped when i saw that pic and i just had to tell @mattscoquette how much i needed hot tub sex with him. well… here it is! i know i have so many requests but i promise i’m gonna write them all! not proofread as usual, i apologize for any mistakes, hope you enjoy it ♡

“finally” matt mumbled under his breath as he watched chris drink his last sip of soda before wrapping himself in a towel and getting inside the house. you chuckled at his comment, dragging your arms across the warm liquid that embraced you and moving towards matt. “why? i thought you were having fun”.

“i will have fun” he said, reaching for your hands and interlocking your fingers in each other’s palms as he pulled you closer, face to face with him. “now that it’s only us” .

“you’re so lucky water distorts the actual form of things” you teased, placing your forearms around his shoulders and comfortably positioning yourself on his lap, feeling matt’s boner against you. “i could tell you were hard 30 minutes ago” you continued, index flickering around matt’s necklace. you went further, bringing the chain in between your teeth before closing your lips around the cold metal, deeply staring inside his blue orbs.

“it’s not my fault” matt whispered, not being able to keep his eyes off of you. “not when you look this good” he allowed his hands to travel across your body, stopping by your hips and forcing them down. you gasped with the sudden contact, matt’s cock seemed to have gotten even harder if that was possible.

the purple, blueish light that shimmered from the corners of the tub along with the warm bubbles turned the moment intimate, and matt couldn’t help it — he pressed his chapped lips on your neck, licking the tiny droplets of water there.

you let out a heavy sigh, letting go of his chain and tilting your head to the side, allowing matt to go further. his stubble tickled against your skin as the kisses got more heated, his teeth gently nibbling on your exposed neck.

lost in matt’s touch, your hips started moving in a pace of their own, slowly grinding your covered pussy against matt’s hardened cock. the pressure caused by the water intensified the proximity of your parts, causing matt to groan in a low tone, trying his best to stay quiet.

“my good boy doesn’t wanna be loud?” you teased and matt threw his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. “mhm” he nodded, “don’t call me that”.

“why? you don’t want chris to know his big brother is all worked up from a little grinding?” matt nods again. your thumb hovered over his lips, brushing above the lower one before pulling it down in a pout. “use your big boy words” you demand as matt sticks his tongue out, licking your digit.

“need you” matt whined, his grip on your waist growing tighter. “need you so bad, please” he repeated, slightly jerking his pelvis upwards, a silent plead for you to notice his aching cock. you leaned in and sealed your lips together, intensifying the kiss as your hands traced their way down his torso, your nails scratching his chest.

matt’s hands went to your ass, harshly grabbing your flesh and lifting you from his lap. you took the opportunity to quickly pull his shorts — just enough to free his dick from the swimwear he was wearing. you could tell matt’s eyes were wandering around the backyard, as if he was checking if you were actually alone. you cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at you and smiling warmly, letting him know he didn’t have to worry about a thing.

his sneaky fingers reached the straps of your bikini, easily undoing the tie and letting the black fabric hang loose, your bare pussy now only a few inches away from his shaft. matt guided you towards his length, lowering your cunt on his tip. you let out a deep sigh before fully sitting on him, his dick opening you up entirely. “fuck fuck fuck” he whimpered, “s-so tight fuck”.

“be a good boy hm? you want to shut you up?” you said, trying your best to keep your composure. matt’s veins pumped inside you, his tip brushing on your cervix. “nhng— yes… can’t be loud”. you chuckled at his eagerness, pressing your lips against his once more and sliding your tongue in, twirling the wet muscle around his own.

“you’re so big” you said amidst the kiss before pulling away, flickering your gaze from his lips to where your parts met. “look how good you fill me up hm?” matt nodded. it all felt too good. almost too much. he had been staring at you for hours, and his cock was throbbing underneath that bathing suit. the warm water around his body, your hands pressing his biceps, your pussy squeezing him. “you’re right here” you said, gently grabbing his wrist and placing his palm on your tummy.

“please i-i need to—” matt whimpered, his grip on your ass growing tighter as he bucked his hips upwards, mindlessly pounding inside you. you felt your own high approaching, the familiar knot on your lower belly begging to be released. “cum! please!” matt cried out loud. you shushed him, grabbing his jaw and lifting his chin up. moans came from the back of his throat, and you had no other choice but to bring your fingers to his open mouth. matt immediately wrapped his lips around your knuckles, sucking them with all his might.

“good boy” you praised him, receiving a muffled whine from him. “cum for me baby, fill me up” as you gave him permission, matt’s entire body trembled underneath you. his orgasm washed over him and his release threw you over the edge, the warm, thick spurts of cum painting your walls white.

matt panted heavily, tiny droplets of water dripping from his brown strands. none of you wanted to let go or get up, the comfort of being in each other’s embrace being enough to fall asleep right there — and you wouldn’t mind cockwarming him for the rest of the night. unfortunately, you still had to find your bikini panties and he had to make sure his brothers were already asleep. “hey, at least we didn’t make any messes huh?” he joked, giving you one last kiss before getting up and turning the lights from the hot tub off.

— TAGLIST ★ @thepubeburgler @submattenthusiast @pearlzier @mattsfavbitchhh @bugeyedgrl @sturncakez @riowritesitall @mattsturnswife @sturnsmia @sturnthepot @mattscoquette @conspiracy-ash @ilovemattsturn @lizzymacdonald06 @blahbel668 @fratbrochrisgf @sturnobsessedwh0re @cayleeuhithinknott @sturniolo04 @1c3b4th @mattsfavbigtitties @bellassturniolo @sturnsxplr-25 @ivammbb @shadowthesim237 @slutformatthewsturniolo @stefansring @teeheeomg @dystfopia @riasturns @faiyaz555 @sturnslutz @alesturniolos @emely9274 @courta13 @elandrys @sturns-mermaid @mattsplaything @marrykisskilled @bells-sturn @mattsgstring @strnilolover @jetaimevous @aaliyahsturniolo @evie-sturns @ivysturnss

complete masterlist ★ matt masterlist

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undercvrfan444 · 1 day ago

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Shy!reader who wears a different uniform skirt in order to get Bully!Satoru’s attention and it works a little too well. He starts flipping up the back of her skirt when he walks past her to ruffle her feathers a bit. (he might have snuck a picture of two of what you looked like under that fabric.)

Bully!Satoru who continues to write you small notes and slip them in your bag but they’ve become nastier than before. Having things written on them like

“What a shame it would be for those pretty panties to be torn open with my cock stuffing your pussy to the brim.”

“Don’t you know prancing around in short skirts is just an invitation for me to do whatever I want to you?”

Bully!Satoru who continues tripping you when walking in the halls. This time though, it’s because he wants to press his hard erection into the plush feeling of your ass. He’ll lean down innocently so people don’t suspect him, “been thinkin’ of that gooey cunt all day bunny.”

Bully!Satoru who comes over occasionally to “help with homework” and always starts the session off with bruising the back of your throat so you can barely speak the next day.

This way he can purr nasty nothings into your ear and all you’re able to do is listen and take it.

Bully!Satoru who steals your lunch forcing you to come crying to him. “Beg me real nicely bunny, and i’ll give your lunch back.” But when you embarrass yourself by begging him kindly he gives you the box back to find it’s been eaten leaving you hungry and disappointed.

Bully!Satoru who is called out all the time for somehow finding a way to talk about you to his friends. Suguru teases you about it too when he can!

“So you’re the pretty little thing Satoru is hung up on?”

Two dark eyes rake over the little uniform that adorned your body. “He wasn’t lying about you.” And with that Suguru walked off, simply leaving you with a dumbfounded look.

Shy!Reader who stops Satoru in the hallway the next time you see him with an aggravated expression on your face. Your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you pushed a hard finger into the man’s chest. “What did you say about me to Suguru?”

Satoru’s shocked face pulls into a coy smile, eyes narrowing so he can lean into your space. “Why? I didn’t tell him anything that wasn’t true.”

“What did you say Satoru!”

Hearing his name on your lips sends shivers down his spine, loving how upset you were. His voice dropped lower, seeing how many people were turning heads to see where the commotion sourced from.

His lips graze the thin skin of your ear. “I told him how good your pussy feels around my dick. Told him about the way your face would scrunch up when you were about to c-“

A sharp *Slap!* echoed between you. Tears pour from your eyes at the embarrassment, angry at the misogynistic things Satoru said about you. It was hard to think of all the things you’ve done with Satoru knowing he must’ve told Suguru at some point. It felt invasive.

Bully!Satoru who felt like shit after you left. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from your back as you hurried out of school, away from the staring eyes. He knew he fucked up bad when you refused to answer his texts over the next few days, leaving him either on read or delivered.

He couldn’t stand the distance any longer. Saturday finally rolled around after you missed two days of school. The two days that you were gone felt like hell to him, whispers about what might’ve happened to make you slap him caused a certain edge to stick around. Satoru made his way to your house, knocking softly on the front door hoping you would listen to what he had to say. He could hear your feet pad up to the door watching the knob turn softly.

“Satoru?”

“Hi bunny,” his words are sugary sweet. You’ve never seen such an apologetic expression on Satoru’s face and honestly it was shocking to see him so flustered.

Shy!Reader who lets the Satoru into your house, reluctant yet willing to hear what he has to say. Truthfully you miss the handsome boy more than you’d like to admit despite him embarrassing you.

Bully!Satoru who follows you up to your room, pulling you against his chest with an “ompf!” the second he heard your door close. He’d never tell anyone this, but seeing you so angry with him ate him alive. At first he thought it was cute! The little attitude you wore was adorable until it morphed into stomach-churning disappointment aimed towards Satoru.

“I’m so sorry bunny, I had no idea it would bother you so much that I said those things to Suguru about us. The last thing I want is for you to think all I want you for is some stupid shit, let me make it up to you.” Softly his fingers curl into the smooth fabric of your shirt attempting to squish you further into him.

Silence fills the room like a thick blanket. Your heart beat rapidly against Satoru’s own; thoughts running wild while his expensive cologne wafted in your senses.

“It’s okay ‘toru.” slivers off of your lips before you can think.

Bully!Satoru who spends the rest of his day with you. First going to watch whatever movie you want to, buying every snack he could possibly think of even if you didn’t eat it just because he can.

You wanted to walk in the park? done.

Go browse a book store? he bought everything you touched.

Tired of being social? Satoru walked you home as he listened to you talk passionately about the description of your new books.

Bully!Satoru who begs for forgiveness through pulling your panties to the side and pressing sloppy kisses to your pretty cunt. Respectful pecks turn into haughty thrusts of his tongue, pushing your sticky walls apart. His moans tickle your thighs fervently while you squeeze his shoulders attempting to ease the building pressure in your lower belly. Satoru was a man after all, and he knew the cherry on top to his apology would be eating your pussy until slick dripped down his face.

Shy!Reader whose head was so fuzzy from the multiple orgasms, you let Satoru guide you into bed as the sun set. Once he’d finally cleaned up there was no stopping the rain of smooth kisses on your face. “I love you, bunny.”

“I love you to ‘toru.”

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #saturo gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo fluff #school boy gojo #bully gojo #bully gojo satoru

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writeriguess · 2 days ago

Note

Hey hun! Welcome back 😘

So, i have a kind of slow burn idea for a Bakugo x fem!reader fic. They both like each other and when she tries to ask him out or talk to him about it, he's kind of an ass 😅

He thinks she'll be in the way or a distraction to his goal, so he pushes her away. He can't get her out of his head though and their friends tell him he's being an idiot. Eventually, he cracks and tells her (in his very 'katsuki' way) that he does want to be with her.

Angst ending with lots of fluff, confessions, and a kiss please!

author's note: Thank you so much! <3 I just wanted to say that your idea was incredible, and I had such a great time writing it. It turned out to be much longer than I expected, but it was definitely worth it!

Heart of Dynamite

It started with stolen glances. You weren’t sure when you first noticed, but something about the way Bakugo Katsuki acted around you was different. He wasn’t nice, not by any stretch of the imagination, but there was something else buried beneath the rough edges and sharp remarks. A fleeting glance when he thought you weren’t looking. The way he always seemed to hover nearby during group exercises, subtly ensuring you didn’t get caught off guard.

You weren’t blind. You saw the way his crimson eyes would flick to you during lunch, only for him to look away just as quickly if you caught him. You noticed how his explosions during sparring would seem almost… controlled when directed your way—less destructive, more calculated. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you wonder. Enough to make you hope.

The problem was, Bakugo being Bakugo, he’d never admit to something as human as feelings. If he did like you, he was keeping it buried under a mountain of anger, pride, and whatever complicated emotions made up Katsuki Bakugo.

But still, the moments added up. And with each passing day, your crush grew stronger. You hated the way your heart fluttered when he called you by name instead of his usual nicknames for everyone else. You hated how you’d secretly look forward to his biting remarks because, in some twisted way, it was his version of paying attention to you.

And most of all, you hated how much courage it took to even consider confessing to him.

After weeks of agonizing over it, you finally decided you couldn’t live with the "what if." No matter what, you needed to know.

The opportunity came on a rare quiet evening at the dorms. Everyone else had gone out for karaoke, leaving you and Bakugo alone. He was sprawled on the couch in the common area, his arms crossed, staring at some mindless action movie playing on the TV.

You hovered at the doorway, your heart racing. You almost turned back, but then his gruff voice interrupted your thoughts.

"What the hell are you standing there for? You look like a damn idiot."

You flinched, but quickly steeled yourself. "I just… needed to ask you something."

His gaze flicked to you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "Then spit it out already. Don’t waste my time."

Your hands were clammy as you stepped closer, each word feeling heavier than the last. "Do you… want to go out with me? Like, on a date?"

For a moment, Bakugo just stared at you. His usual scowl didn’t shift, but you could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes—so quick you almost missed it. His jaw tensed, his hands clenching into fists on his lap.

Then, he scoffed. Loudly.

"You serious?" he said, leaning back against the couch like your question was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. "Why the hell would I want to go out with you?"

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your throat tightened, and your chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

"I mean, come on," he continued, his tone sharp and cutting. "What makes you think I’d waste my time on something dumb like that?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but not from embarrassment—from the sting of his rejection. You struggled to keep your voice steady. "I just thought… maybe—"

"Well, you thought wrong," he cut you off, his voice cold and unrelenting. "So stop acting like some lovesick idiot and get over it."

The silence that followed was unbearable. You felt like the floor had been ripped out from under you, like you were standing on the edge of a cliff with no way to step back.

"Got it," you said finally, your voice small and strained. You turned on your heel before he could see the tears pooling in your eyes.

Bakugo didn’t move. He stayed on the couch, staring at the TV that he wasn’t really watching. His nails dug into his palms, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

"Idiot," he muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if he was talking about you—or himself.

Hours passed, but Bakugo didn’t leave the couch. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind: the look on your face, the way your voice had cracked when he tore you down.

He hated himself for it. Hated the way he’d lashed out, even though he knew it was because he was terrified. Of what? He didn’t know. Maybe of admitting to himself that he cared. Maybe of the fact that you could make him feel so out of control with just one stupid question.

But now it was too late. He’d pushed you away.

You, on the other hand, locked yourself in your room, curled up on your bed, and let the tears flow. You couldn’t believe you’d been so stupid, so naive. Of course Bakugo didn’t like you. Of course he didn’t care. You’d just been projecting your feelings onto him, imagining things that weren’t really there.

Still, the hurt lingered. You tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter, that you’d move on, but the ache in your chest said otherwise.

Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting downstairs, fists clenched, consumed by his own turmoil. Because for all his bluster, he’d never wanted to hurt you. He just didn’t know how to deal with the truth: that he did like you, more than he was willing to admit.

Bakugo tried to convince himself that what he’d said to you was necessary. He had goals—real, tangible goals—and nothing, no one, was going to distract him. Becoming the Number One Hero wasn’t just a dream for him; it was a mission, an obligation, a destiny he was determined to carve out with his own blood, sweat, and tears. He didn’t need complications. He didn’t need feelings. He didn’t need you. That’s what he told himself over and over as he sat alone in his dorm room, glaring at the wall like it had personally offended him. His fists were clenched tightly in his lap, the tendons in his hands straining from the pressure.

But no matter how hard he tried to justify it, he couldn’t shake the image of your face from his mind. The way your expression had crumbled when he snapped at you, the hurt in your eyes as you turned and walked away—it all replayed in his head on an endless, agonizing loop. He could still hear your voice trembling when you’d asked him out, soft and vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to hearing from you. You weren’t the kind of person who let your guard down easily, and he’d taken that rare moment of courage and crushed it underfoot.

“Tch,” he growled under his breath, running a hand through his hair and gripping the strands in frustration. “Stupid.”

He thought that pushing you away would make things easier, but it didn’t. If anything, it made everything worse. You were everywhere. Every time he walked into a room, his eyes automatically searched for you, even when he told himself they wouldn’t. When you laughed with your friends, the sound sent an irritating warmth through his chest, only to be followed by a sharp pang of regret when he remembered the look on your face that night. During training, he found himself tracking your every move without even meaning to, his instincts on high alert every time you dodged an attack or threw a punch. He hated it. Hated how you’d wormed your way into his head and refused to leave. Hated how much he wanted to be near you, even after he’d made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with you.

It didn’t help that everyone else seemed to notice his turmoil. His friends had started giving him strange looks during meals, their eyes darting between him and you as if they were waiting for something to happen. Kirishima, in particular, had been annoyingly persistent, watching him with that infuriatingly knowing expression he always wore when he thought Bakugo was being an idiot. Bakugo did his best to ignore it, but the tension was impossible to escape.

One evening, when the others were hanging out in the common area, Kirishima finally confronted him. Bakugo had been sitting on the couch, staring at his phone without really looking at it, when Kirishima plopped down beside him with a heavy sigh. Mina and Kaminari weren’t far behind, hovering nearby like vultures waiting for a meal.

“Alright, spill it,” Kirishima said, his voice casual but firm. Bakugo barely spared him a glance.

“Spill what?” he snapped, his tone as sharp as ever.

“Don’t play dumb,” Mina chimed in, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at him. “You’ve been acting weird for days, and we all know why.”

“I’m not in the mood for this crap,” Bakugo growled, standing up to leave, but Kirishima quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Bakugo glared at him, his crimson eyes blazing. “Move.”

“Not until you admit what’s going on,” Kirishima said, his voice steady despite the obvious tension in the air. “You pushed her away, didn’t you?”

Bakugo froze, his scowl deepening. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Kirishima said, his tone unusually serious. “Come on, man. It’s so obvious you like her. Everyone can see it.”

“I don’t—”

“Save it,” Mina interrupted, stepping closer with a look that could cut through steel. “We’ve seen the way you look at her. And don’t even get me started on the way you lose your mind whenever she partners up with someone else during training. You care about her, and instead of doing something about it, you’re being a total dumbass.”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t have time for this crap,” he muttered, shoving past Kirishima and heading for the door. But before he could leave, Kirishima’s voice rang out behind him, stopping him in his tracks.

“You think pushing her away will make you stronger,” Kirishima said, his voice softer now, almost sad. “But all you’re doing is proving how scared you are.”

Bakugo’s shoulders tensed, his hand gripping the doorknob so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out,” Kirishima continued, his tone unwavering. “But running from it won’t make it go away.”

For a moment, Bakugo didn’t move. The room was silent, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Finally, he yanked the door open and walked out, slamming it shut behind him without another word.

That night, Bakugo lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling with an intensity that could have set it on fire. Kirishima’s words echoed in his head, mingling with the memory of your voice and the image of your face. He hated how much it all got to him, how much he couldn’t stop thinking about you no matter how hard he tried. He hated the way his chest ached every time he thought about the hurt in your eyes and the way you’d walked away from him, your shoulders slumped in defeat. But most of all, he hated how much he wanted to see you again, to fix things, to say something—anything—that could make up for what he’d done.

Meanwhile, you were doing your best to move on. You’d been avoiding Bakugo as much as possible, throwing yourself into training and schoolwork to keep your mind occupied. It wasn’t easy, though. Every time you saw him, whether it was in class or during meals, you felt a sharp pang of hurt that refused to go away. You hated how much he still affected you, even after he’d made it painfully clear that he didn’t feel the same way.

But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you’d be fine without him, the ache in your chest lingered. You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been wrong to hope, if you’d been foolish to believe that he might have cared about you even a little.

Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting in his room, wrestling with his own feelings and cursing himself for the way he’d handled things. Because for all his bravado and pride, the truth was unavoidable: he couldn’t stop thinking about you. And the more he tried to push you out of his mind, the more you consumed his every thought.

The days following your rejection from Bakugo had been a haze of hurt and confusion. You tried to keep yourself busy—extra training, study sessions, anything to keep your mind from replaying the harsh way he’d dismissed you. But no matter how much you told yourself to let it go, it lingered. You still felt the sting of his words, the way he’d looked at you like you were an obstacle instead of someone he cared about. That wound didn’t heal easily.

You avoided him as much as you could. You’d shift to a different group during training, sit at the far end of the cafeteria during meals, and leave the common area whenever he showed up. It wasn’t as subtle as you hoped; your friends noticed, and you were pretty sure Bakugo did too. Still, you couldn’t face him—not after everything he’d said.

What you didn’t know was that your absence weighed on him far more than he let on.

Bakugo was not a man who easily admitted to mistakes. Pride had been ingrained in him from an early age, and he carried it like armor. But lately, that armor felt suffocating, like it was pressing in on him from all sides. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, couldn’t stop replaying the hurt in your eyes when he’d lashed out. Every time he saw you purposely turning away from him or laughing with someone else, he felt a sharp pang of regret that he didn’t know how to fix.

Kirishima’s words lingered too. “You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out. But running from it won’t make it go away.” As much as Bakugo wanted to punch him for saying it, he knew it was true. He’d been running from his feelings because they terrified him. You terrified him—not because you were weak, but because of how much power you had over him without even realizing it. And that was what scared him most of all.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. Watching you avoid him, knowing he’d been the one to hurt you—it was eating him alive. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to explode.

That’s what led him here, standing awkwardly a few feet away from where you sat on the bench outside. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too focused on the notebook in your lap. For a moment, he hesitated, his chest tightening with something unfamiliar. Was this… nerves? He growled under his breath, frustrated with himself. He was Bakugo Katsuki, for crying out loud. He didn’t get nervous.

“Oi.” His voice came out rougher than he intended, and you jumped slightly, startled by his sudden presence.

You looked up, your eyes widening for a split second before your expression hardened. “What do you want?”

Bakugo flinched at the coldness in your tone, though he tried to hide it. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” you asked, already sounding exasperated. “If this is about training or some stupid lecture—”

“It’s not about training,” he cut in, stepping closer. His jaw tightened as he tried to find the right words. He wasn’t good at this, but he had to try. “It’s about what I said to you before.”

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into your expression. “Why are you bringing that up now? You already made your feelings perfectly clear, Bakugo. I don’t need to hear it again.”

He winced at the way you said his name—so formal, so distant. You used to call him Katsuki, back when things were simpler. Back when he hadn’t ruined everything.

“Just shut up and listen for a second, will you?” he snapped, though there was no real heat in his voice. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “I… I screwed up, alright? I said some shit I didn’t mean, and I hurt you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your expression softened slightly, but your arms remained crossed, a barrier he knew he’d have to break through. “Then why did you do it? Why push me away if you didn’t mean it?”

“Because I’m a goddamn idiot,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. His gaze dropped to the ground, his fists clenched at his sides. “I thought… I thought if I let myself like you, I’d lose focus. That you’d get in the way of my goals.”

“And now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Now I know that’s total bullshit,” he said, finally looking up to meet your eyes. “You don’t make me weaker. You make me want to be better. And no matter how much I tried to ignore it, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You’re in my head all the damn time, and it’s driving me insane.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, but you still hesitated. “You really hurt me, Katsuki,” you said softly, the pain evident in your voice. “I don’t know if I can just forget that.”

He stepped closer, his gaze intense and unwavering. “I’m not asking you to forget it. I’m asking for a chance to fix it. I was a dumbass, and I don’t deserve it, but… I want to try. With you.”

The vulnerability in his voice was so raw, so uncharacteristic, that it left you speechless. You searched his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was regret and determination.

“Katsuki…” you began, your voice trembling slightly.

“Look, I know I’m not good at this,” he interrupted, his hands twitching at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “I’m not some smooth-talking idiot like Kaminari, and I’m probably gonna screw up a hundred more times. But I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m not gonna hurt you again.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his words sank in. This was Bakugo Katsuki—the same boy who never admitted when he was wrong, who bulldozed his way through life without looking back. And here he was, laying his pride at your feet, just for a chance to make things right.

“You’re really bad at this, you know,” you said finally, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

He huffed, his cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly my strong suit.”

You laughed softly, the sound making his chest tighten in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. For the first time in weeks, you felt the tension between you start to dissolve.

“So, what now?” you asked, taking a tentative step closer.

“Now I do this,” he said, his voice low as he reached out to cup your face in his hands. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he leaned in. His crimson eyes searched yours for a moment, and when you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance and kissed you.

The kiss was tentative at first, almost shy, but it quickly deepened as you responded, your hands reaching up to grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer. He kissed you like he was trying to make up for every moment he’d wasted, pouring all the unspoken feelings he couldn’t put into words into that one act.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads resting together, you were both breathless. He smirked, his usual cocky confidence creeping back in. “Told you I’d make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “You’ve got a long way to go, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed the gruffness of his tone. “Guess I’ll just have to stick around and prove it.”

And for the first time in weeks, everything felt right.

Feel free to request <3

#bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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dollzites · 2 days ago

Text

⏦ﾟ♡︎ “DON’T YOU WANT A FAMILY WITH ME?”

୨ৎ pairing: husband!junho x fem reader

୨ৎ genre: angst. major angst that’s slightly emotional.

୨ৎ summary: 5 months into marriage you thought it was time to bring up kids and how big of a family you both wanted but.. things didn’t seem to work out when you brought it up to him and your world slowly started to crumble.

୨ৎ from myeong: hello!! here we are! my first ever angst fic and I hope you can enjoy it!! I feel as if I’m the best at this (since I’ve practiced writing angst so much in my notes app lol) let’s see how it turns out! x

staring at the ticking clock for what had seemed like hours now eyes burning from how long you went without blinking, a sigh left your glossed over lips holding onto the small pair of shoes you came across after leaving work one night. passing by a cute baby shop that held just about everything from clothing items to toys and strollers, your body filled up with this excitement that couldn’t be explained. it had finally been time to talk about a family with junho and the nerves only worsened as each minute went by. of course he wasn’t home yet junho was late almost every night. work was slowly getting to him turning him into a man that you weren’t too familiar with which only hurt more. he’d come home and rant about needing to find something that he just wouldn’t tell you and you never asked him what it was. were you scared to ask him?

“junho..” his name slipped from your lips the second the door opened and you stood from your seat on the couch. his eyes that you adored so much widened seeing the small pair of shoes that you held onto getting all the wrong ideas. awkwardly laughing and shaking your head, “oh.. these? no not at all. I picked them up at the baby shop nearby after work and.. well, just thought they were the cutest little things I’ve ever seen. I thought that maybe one day our little one could wear them.. what do you think?” all the fears that flooded your mind came back that moment seeing the look on his face it almost made you sick to your stomach. “my love, you already know what my answers going to be, hm? work is just too much for me right now. I think we’ll have to wait just a bit longer.” the large and warm hands that made you feel the safest and most comfortable gently grabbed ahold of your own and pulled you closer to him but you didn’t budge. feet staying in place and eyes staring at the floor beneath you it was hard to form words after hearing such an excuse. forcing him would make you feel like the most piece of shit wife in the universe but the both of you weren’t getting any younger and it had always been a dream of yours to have a child early so you could slowly grow with the child and be close with them but junho was stopping you and it was only making things worse in the marriage. many would say to enjoy marriage and wait for kids but you knew that junho would be the most loving, caring, and supportive father in the world. did you sound selfish for wanting to see it so badly? “how long do we have to wait..?”

it was his turn to sigh especially since he pulled you towards him again and you stayed put in the same place you were in when he walked through the door. “just a few more months, yeah? maybe one more year. give me another year and I can finally give you what you want.” a year..? did this man really just say give him a year? slowly looking up from the floor to look at him, a tear rolled down your cheek. why weren’t you able to understand this? it wasn’t rocket science junho was so involved in his work and you had knew that from the beginning but what you weren’t expecting is it to get in the way of the marriage and the topic of wanting kids with him. “don’t you want a family with me?” what a dumb question to ask but it was still asked as a few more tears rolled down your wet and warm cheeks.

“what? of course I want a family with you. why would you ask such a thing? I married you for a reason didn’t I? I love you. I love you so much and you’re so precious to me that’s why I need you to wait just a bit longer.” junho watched the tears roll down your cheeks in pure agony. not being able to communicate with you about his job killed him every day in ways that he didn’t want. as he met up with gihun and spoke about plans he would find himself zoning out thinking about you and how happy he was now being married to you. how much he wanted a child with you and who would that child look more like? his thoughts were clear from the start that he wanted, needed, and adored you. having a family is at the top of his list and he just doesn’t understand why his life had to turn out this way. hiding so many secrets from his precious wife and not knowing if you were safe or not with him during these months of needing to find his brother and the island.

allowing him to pull you into his broad chest a few sobs left you while his arms wrapped around your waist keeping you close to him even when you your best to pull away from him. “let me go junho.” voice stern even if it was weak from the crying you’d done. junho shook his head his grip around you only tightening feeling like the worst husband in the world watching you suffer. “I can make this better. please trust me? we can have a baby soon, alright? I just need a month—maybe two. I hate seeing you like this. you know how important my work is sweetheart.” work. it never failed for him to bring up work even after seeing you cry and feel so worthless like this. using the last bit of strength you had left and pushing away from him reaching to pick up the small pair of shoes and walk past him into your shared bedroom. “if work is that important then you should’ve never married me junho and I mean it! all you do is talk about work and how much it stresses you out but you won’t quit! I’ve told you countless times before to quit and find something more family oriented but you won’t. you’re home late every single night. I hear the phone calls you pick up during the early hours of the morning when you’re supposed to be sleeping. junho I can’t take any more of this. I love you because you’re my husband but I absolutely despise your work.”

junho was left alone in front of the bedroom door after hearing everything you had to say about how you truly felt about him and his work. he moved towards the wall and slid down it letting his hands run through his styled hair messing it up and rubbing the gel off. he had to make things right somehow and someway with you while still trying to find his brother. how? how was he going to do such a thing because at the end of the day he was keeping the most secrets from you, his innocent and loving wife that he absolutely adored. it felt so wrong but not at all wrong at the same time which had been the weirdest feeling for him. you or his job and brother? what kind of question was that? there was no way he could decide so easily without sounding like a heartless prick but.. it was time for him to decide.

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00valentina-writes00 · 2 days ago

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Heyyy I guess this is angsty but maybe sevika x reader where sevika wakes up from a nightmare and maybe she was sleep talking before and reader is there to comfort her and sevika ends up confiding in reader a bit and has conflicting feelings about it because of previous issues with trust in her life? Yk how it be for our girl 😔😔 anyways i love your writing sm!

✞⛧ What nightmares leave behind✞⛧

Warnings: Mild angst, nightmares, comfort

The first thing that wakes you is the sound.

Low, rough, almost guttural—a strained breath through clenched teeth. Your brain is sluggish with sleep, but something about it sets off alarm bells. You stir, blinking against the darkness, and then you hear it again.

A choked-off sound. Sevika’s voice, barely more than a whisper.

Your heart stutters. You shift, reaching blindly through the sheets, fingers searching. When you find her, she’s rigid beneath your touch, the muscles in her arm coiled tight.

“No…” The word is barely there, rasped like it’s being forced through a throat too dry, too raw.

Your stomach twists.

She’s dreaming.

You sit up slowly, eyes adjusting to the dim light that filters through the curtains. Sevika’s face is twisted, brows drawn tight, jaw clenched so hard you think it might crack. Her breathing is ragged, uneven, her fingers twitching where they grip the sheets.

You don’t know what she’s seeing behind closed eyes, but it isn’t anything good.

“Sevika,” you whisper, brushing your fingers against her arm.

She flinches.

The reaction is so sharp, so visceral, that it almost makes you pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you let your hand settle against her bare shoulder, rubbing slow, grounding circles.

“Baby, wake up.”

Her body jerks, her breath catching on something painful. You keep your touch steady, your voice soft. “You’re dreaming, Sev. Wake up.”

It takes a few more moments, a few more murmured reassurances, but then—her body tenses, her breathing halts, and her eyes snap open.

She moves fast.

Too fast.

Before you can react, her metal arm grips your wrist, her flesh hand curling into the sheets like she’s expecting something to strike. Her chest heaves, her eyes wild, unfocused, caught somewhere between the dream and reality.

“Hey, hey,” you soothe, not pulling away, just letting her feel you there. “It’s just me. You’re safe.”

Her gaze locks onto yours, her breath still coming too fast. You can see it—the moment her brain catches up, the way the tension in her shoulders shifts from survival to something more like shame.

She lets go of your wrist like she’s been burned.

You don’t say anything about it. You just stay close, watching her carefully.

The room is quiet except for the sound of her breathing. Slow, measured, like she’s forcing herself back into her own skin. The sweat on her brow catches the faint moonlight, and you can see the way her jaw clenches, how her throat bobs when she swallows.

“…It was just a dream,” you murmur, because you know she needs to hear it.

Sevika exhales through her nose, running a hand down her face. “Yeah,” she mutters, but it doesn’t sound convincing.

You hesitate, watching the way her shoulders curl inward. It’s not often that you see her like this—exposed, unsettled. Sevika is a wall. She always has been. A fortress built out of grit and steel, hardened by too many years of betrayal and loss.

But now, in the dim light of your shared bedroom, she looks tired. Not just physically, but in the way that sinks deep into the bones.

“You were talking in your sleep,” you say gently, testing the waters.

She stiffens.

Her reaction tells you enough.

You reach for her again, trailing your fingers over her forearm. She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t lean into it either.

After a long moment, her head tilts back against the pillow, eyes staring at the ceiling. “What did I say?”

You hesitate. “I couldn’t really make it out,” you admit. “But it… it sounded bad.”

She exhales slowly, fingers flexing against the sheets. “Yeah. It was.”

You wait.

Sevika isn’t the type to spill her guts. She’s spent too long keeping things locked up, keeping people out. You’ve learned not to push. If she wants to talk, she will. If she doesn’t, you’ll still be here.

After a moment, she shifts, resting her forearm over her eyes like she can hide from the world if she just presses hard enough. “…It was about my old crew.”

Your heart clenches.

She doesn’t talk about them often. The people she used to run with before Silco, before you. The people she trusted, fought for, bled for—until they turned on her.

Until they left her with nothing but scars.

You don’t say anything, just slide closer, resting your palm over her stomach. She exhales sharply but doesn’t move away.

“…It was always the same,” she murmurs, voice quieter now. “Every time I got comfortable, every time I thought I had something real, something solid… it got ripped away.”

You feel the tension beneath your fingertips, the way her muscles coil like she’s bracing for something even now.

“I should be used to it,” she mutters, but there’s something bitter underneath, something raw. “I should’ve learned my lesson a long time ago.”

Your chest aches.

You lift yourself onto one elbow, looking down at her. “Sevika…”

She finally turns her head toward you, eyes dark and unreadable. “I trust you.”

Your breath catches.

The words are quiet, but they land heavy between you.

“But sometimes,” she continues, jaw clenching, “that scares me more than anything.”

You reach out, brushing your fingers against her cheek. She leans into it just barely, like she isn’t sure if she should.

“I get it,” you say, because you do. Sevika has never had the luxury of easy trust. She’s been burned too many times, left too many pieces of herself in the hands of people who didn’t deserve them.

But she gave you something anyway.

And you’ll never take that for granted.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur.

She exhales through her nose, shaking her head slightly. “You can’t promise that.”

You frown, but she continues before you can argue.

“Life doesn’t work that way,” she mutters, voice tight. “People leave. People die. No matter how much you want them to stay.”

Your chest twists.

You know she isn’t just talking about her crew anymore.

You brush a thumb over her cheekbone, soft, steady. “Then I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”

For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. She just watches you, something heavy and unreadable in her gaze. Then, finally, she sighs, closing her eyes.

“…You’re too stubborn for your own good,” she mutters, but there’s no real bite to it.

You smirk, letting your hand trail down to rest over her chest, feeling the slow, steady beat beneath your palm. “Guess you’re stuck with me, then.”

Sevika huffs a quiet breath, and maybe—just maybe—her fingers tighten slightly over yours.

#arcane #arcane x reader #arcane x female reader #arcane x you #arcane sevika #sevika #sevika arcane #sevika headcanon #sevika imagine #sevika x reader

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eddiesghxst · 2 days ago

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hellow, i’m officially done with school for the next year or so which means (if u haven’t already noticed) i’ve started to write 50 wips <3

so anyway, here’s a snippet of something im writing about dom!eddie who’s also a tattoo artist who just so happens to own a tattoo parlor that’s right next to a ballet studio which just so happens to be owned by ballet instructor!reader

18+ — MINORS DNI

It was a series of unfortunate events.

You had spent the last five years of your life building your ballet school from the ground up, but when your old studio was sold out from under you, you were forced to find a new home for your students.

It wasn’t easy. There weren’t many options for you to choose from and most buildings either needed an immense amount of work that your pockets couldn’t afford or were too far away and would inevitably cause you to lose students.

But then you stumbled on a dream. The new studio was perfect— freshly installed tiling, beautiful acoustics, and the fee to install the mirrors wasn’t all that bad— except for one small detail: the tattoo parlor next door.

For the months that you spent preparing the studio for your students, you were tormented with the constant buzz of needles and the faint scent of ink lingers in the air all day, mixing with the sharp fragrance of floor polish and irritation that comes with summer heat. It nearly drove you insane.

But what started as a nuisance soon flourished into something else entirely. The tattoo shop’s owner, a tall, inked-up man named Eddie, was there every morning, the storefront always open to the bustling world outside. Your first conversation had been brief— you introduced yourself, explained how you ended up here and he wished you a good start to your new building.

It wasn’t until a few months down the line that you finally caved and complained about the noise, telling him it was difficult to focus with the loud sounds from his shop and Eddie— surprisingly, since you had somewhat painted him a villain in your mind— apologized and said he’d try to keep the noise down— “I can’t promise the same on the days I don’t work, though. My team tends to never listen to me.”

And so then you and Eddie formed a very nice, casual, and polite relationship. Something like a work relationship. A nice smile and wave in the morning, small and quick conversations about the week— and sometimes, he would get you a coffee and slide it on your desk while you’re busy with your morning class.

But as weeks passed, your casual exchanges became… something more— quick morning greetings turned into full blown conversations and free coffees turned into free lunches— “The deli down the street always gives me an extra sandwich.” And you almost think he’s lying about that, but he never really leaves you room to further pry about it. Lingering looks, shared laughs, and an unspoken connection grew deeper with each passing day.

But it started and ended at work— there on Blackburn Avenue where your ballet studio and his tattoo parlor share a sidewalk— and it never left. And you never expected it to be more— Eddie is more of a work crush anyway. You talk and flirt for the few hours that you share a wall, and when you go home you watch your reality TV shows, eat dinner, and think nothing of it.

But what the hell do you do when you walk into a BDSM club and see your work crush on a stage, knuckle’s deep in a pretty girl, with a bunch of strangers watching— including yourself?

What do you do when the pretty boy that owns the shop next to your studio is on a stage, whispering dirty praises in a girls ear and finger fucking her until her thighs shake? What do you do when you realize— oh fuck, I should probably leave since I actually know this guy and we’re kind of coworkers, but you stay like the idiot you are?

And what do you do when his pretty brown eyes (which look even dreamier when they’re blown out and dark with lust) glance up from the woman below him and just happen to immediately land on you?

What the fuck do you do?

#no seriously #what the FUCK do you do #i kinda like them idk #eddie munson x reader #dom!eddie #tattoo artist!eddie #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut

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harrywavycurly · 2 days ago

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I just read the bumble story and I love how reader talks to Harry and the “we listen and we don’t judge” thing about his hands😂 I can see her saying that to him all the time and maybe he even says it to her a few times as well!

Hiii babes!!! Awe thank you for reading the Bumble Fumble!! I loved writing their dialogue, it was so fun because she just says exactly what’s on her mind and you know Harry was probably thinking “what does that even mean?” when she said that to him the first time!! But this made me think of some random convos they’d have where you use that phrase so I hope you enjoy!!💖

You can find the Almost Bumble Fumble: here✨

*these are just conversations so it’s pure dialogue*

Summary: You teach Harry how to properly use “we listen and we don’t judge” ✨

“I lied to Jeff and told him I had an appointment this morning so I could get off the phone with him because I didn’t want to listen to him tell me about his weekend because I knew it was going to be a bit boring and I wanted to make sure I had your coffee ready by the time you got here and I can’t fake being interested in what he’s saying and making coffee at the same time.” “We listen and we don’t judge. But thank you for putting my coffee so high on your list of priorities.” “Well I just know how you get without it.” “Kinda the same way you get when you can’t journal for ten minutes every evening before bed.” “Exactly.”

“Wait you said what to her?” “Harry you’re supposed to listen and not judge…and that face you’re making is telling me you’re totally judging right now.” “What? No love I’m not judging I’m-I’m listening. Continue please.” “Right well I told her that her dress wasn’t very cute because I just couldn’t let her walk out of the house not looking her best so she got mad and broke my favorite pair of sunglasses so I cut the straps off all her purses.” “Jesus remind me to never upset you.” “I was in high school Harry it was just normal teenage angst that’s all.” “Well uhm we listen and we don’t judge.” “Too late Styles…you already judged but nice try.”

“Niall told me he’s reading fifty shades of gray but told from Christian’s point of view. I didn’t even know that was a thing?” “We listen and we don’t judge. It’s good. I mean as good as fifty shades can be..” It’s good? I didn’t-wait you’ve read it?” “Harry…” “Sorry sorry. We listen and we don’t judge.”

“I cry every time I watch Taken because-” “We listen and we don’t judge. You can cry at any movie you want sweetheart it’s fine.” “Oh my god.” “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” “You really meant it! I didn’t feel any judgement from you at all!” “Crying is cool so of course I’m not going to judge you for it.” “I feel like a proud mom right now this is great.” “Glad I could make you proud but I don’t know…m’not really into the mommy thing.” “We listen and we don’t judge so that’s fine you don’t have to be into the mommy thing.” “Oh that was good…you’re quick.”

#the almost bumble fumble #Harry styles convos #harry styles concept #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles strangers to lovers #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles imagine #my little lanky baby #harry styles

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mangionebabymama · 2 days ago

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“ordinary things” - Luigi Mangione

“No matter what we do, there’s never gonna be an ordinary thing” - “ordinary things” by Ariana Grande

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: None, fluff and, surprisingly, Luigi drinks coffee here and listens and doesn’t judge

A/N: Inspired by this ask. I already considered writing something based off this song, but it gave me the sign of confirmation. Anon, ily for reading my mind and matching my yearning, this is for you 🤎

The soft morning light streamed gently through the sheer curtains, enveloping the snug apartment in a warm, golden hue that danced across the walls. You luxuriated beneath the soft cotton sheets, savoring the still surroundings of the room. Next to you, Luigi lay in peaceful slumber, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, his arm draped protectively over your waist. The warmth emanating from his body against your skin fostered a sense of closeness that rendered the outside world distant and unimportant. A gentle smile spread across your face as you absorbed the serene moment—sunlight sparkling on the small potted plant by the window and the faint, lingering chirps of birds singing outside. In that treasured instant, you recognized this as the truest form of happiness—a quiet, shared morning that felt like a cherished secret between the two of you.

“You’re up early,” Luigi's voice, filled with sleepiness, came out as a soft whisper. He nestled against your neck; his breath warmed your skin.

“Mmm,” you hummed, turning to face him. His brown eyes, though half-lidded, sparkled with a softness that made your heart flutter. “I just couldn’t sleep anymore… too much on my mind.”

He raised an eyebrow, a casual smile playing on his lips. “Like what?”

You paused for a moment, recalling memories of your grandmother as they drifted through your thoughts. “Just… the little things my grandma used to share about love and life. They just came to my memory, out of nowhere, and I haven't stopped thinking about them. She always used to tell me, ‘True love isn’t about the grand gestures. It’s in the ordinary moments, the ones you’ll miss when they’re gone.’”

Luigi’s smile grew even brighter as he propped himself up on one elbow, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face with his free hand. “Sounds like a wise woman.”

“She was,” you articulated, experiencing a bittersweet ache that gripped your heart. “She’d tell me stories about my grandpa, how he used to make her laugh by dancing around the kitchen in his socks. Or how he’d wake up early just to make her coffee before she left for work. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it meant everything to her.”

Luigi’s fingers made gentle circles on your arm, his touch causing a shiver to run down your spine. “So, what are you saying? I need to start dancing in my socks?”

You playfully swatted his chest, sharing a delightful laugh together. “No, dummy. I’m just saying… I love this. Us. The little things. Like how you always leave your shoes by the door or make me tea when I’m stressed. It’s… enough. More than enough.”

His face melted into love as he drew closer, his lips softly grazing against yours in a gentle, lingering kiss that conveyed a world of tenderness.“You’re incredible, you know that?”

You could feel a warm flush spreading to your cheeks as you nestled your face into his chest, seeking comfort from the shyness that made you blush. “Stop.”

Luigi chuckled, the sound resonating through his chest and into you. “I mean it. You’re not like other people. You don’t care about the big, flashy stuff. Not only that, but you see the beauty in the ordinary. And… I love that about you.”

You raised your head to look at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I love you,” you said.

“And I love you,” he said, his voice brimming with sincerity that took your breath away, a true reflection of the depth of his feelings.

You found yourself remaining in that position for quite a while, your bodies beautifully tangled together while your breaths naturally synced in the wake of the morning. It was precisely these types of moments that you treasured the most—the pure simplicity of it all. His hand fit snugly in yours, his laughter filled the surrounding space, and how he admired you made you feel like you were the only person who mattered in the entire world.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s go for a walk. Just the two of us. No phones, no distractions. Just… us.”

You smiled, warmth blossoming within your chest. “I’d like that.”

You hurriedly dressed in your comfy clothes, slipping out the door with a sense of excitement. The morning air was refreshingly cool and crisp, and the streets were peacefully quiet and unbothered, remaining in solitude with the world just starting to wake up. Luigi gently took your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as you walked together.

“So,” He eventually remarked, stealing a glance your way with a playful grin. “What’s your favorite ordinary thing about us?”

You thought for a moment, your heart swelling in feeling. “Hmm… I think it’s the way you always know when I need you. Like, when I’m upset, you don’t even have to ask. You… show up. And it’s like everything’s okay again.”

Luigi’s grin softened as he squeezed your hand. “That’s not ordinary. That’s just me loving you.”

Your cheeks reddened, and you looked fixedly at your clasped hands, your heart racing in your chest. “See? That’s what I mean. You always know just what to say.”

He paused in his steps, turning to look at you. His eyes held a deep intensity, and the seriousness in his expression made your heart skip a beat. “I mean it, you know. I’d do anything for you. And it’s not because I have to. It’s because I want to. Because you’re… everything to me.”

Your heart swelled with emotion as you gently cupped his face in your hands. “You’re everything to me, too, Lu. More than you’ll ever know.”

As he leaned in, his lips brushed against yours in a sweet and passionate kiss. It was the kind of kiss that left you feeling weak in the knees, making you forget everything else around you. When he finally pulled away, you found yourself breathless, your heart buzzing with excitement.

“I think,” you spoke gently, your voice trembling, “that this is my favorite ordinary thing about us.”

Luigi smiled, his eyes sparkling with affection. “Mine too.”

You kept walking, hands still interlocked, feeling your hearts beating in perfect harmony. While meandering through the quiet streets, thoughts of your grandmother filled your mind once more. Her words echoed in your mind, reminding you of the beauty in the ordinary.

It’s in the ordinary moments that you’ll miss when they’re gone.

As you looked at Luigi, the man who brought you so much happiness, it occurred to you that she was right. Love isn’t discovered through grand gestures or lavish displays; instead, it lives in the little moments. The way he held your hand, looked into your eyes, and made you feel like the most significant person in the world.

This, right here, is one of those ordinary moments.

Turning the corner, you spotted a small café, its windows radiating a warm glow that beautifully contrasted with the chilly morning air. The gentle flicker of candlelight within hinted at a cozy ambiance, while the enticing scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods drifted out through the open door, beckoning you to enter and enjoy the atmosphere. Luigi spotted it, too, and flashed you a grin. "How about we grab a coffee together?"

You nodded, feeling a surge of endearment. “I’d love that.”

As you entered the café, the soft chime of the bell above the door welcomed you. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as the barista acknowledged your arrival warmly.

“What’ll it be?” Luigi asked, turning to you.

“A cappuccino,” you said, returning his smile. “And… you.”

His smile grew even bigger as he leaned in closer, his lips gently brushing against yours in a sweet, quick kiss. “Coming right up.”

While waiting for your coffee, you reflected on how fortunate you were and expressed gratitude for this life and this love. Though not perfect, they belonged to you. In those everyday moments, you discovered, for once and for all, what truly meaningful happiness was and what it meant.

As your coffee was freshly brewed, you settled at a cozy table by the window, where the warm morning sunlight poured in, brightening up the space. Luigi gently reached over, his hand resting on yours, creating a feeling of comfort as you both enjoyed your coffee together in silence.

“You know,” he said, his voice soft after a while, “I hope we can have a love like your grandparents did. I want to experience something like that with you.”

You felt your heart swell, brushing your thumb over his cheek, just over where one of his angelic moles rested. “I want a love like that, too.”

You realized this was it as you sat there with your hands intertwined and your hearts beating in sync. This was the kind of love your grandmother had always talked about—the kind of love found in ordinary moments, the ones that would stay with you forever. And, at that exact instant, as you gazed at Luigi, the man who had so completely stolen your heart, you realized that you had discovered your true contentment. In the simple moments, in the quiet mornings, in the warmth of his touch, you had found your forever.

“I love you,” you uttered softly, your voice nearly lost in the air.

Luigi smiled, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. “I love you.”

As sunlight streamed through the window and the world outside stirred to life, you realized you had all you needed. In the mundane, you discovered the remarkable. In the ordinary, you found the extraordinary.

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione x prompt #luigi mangione prompt #luigi mangione fanfic #luigi mangione fic #luigi mangione fluff #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione x yn #mangionebabymama works #luigi my beloved

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orphicmusings · 1 day ago

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i finally finished the new storyline and i needed my men to come pick me up bc i was scared (nothing against caleb girls just not my thing AT ALL) so i thought about how they’d react if you told them what really happened in skyhaven:

i think zayne would of course be really taken aback, immediately pressing you if you had any injuries you hid from him. also insisting you drink twice the water you have been to flush everything out of you. he would insist that you don’t need to protect caleb, that your well being is much more important than a childhood acquaintance of his’s feelings. when you pushed back, telling him that it couldn’t be him, not really— because he wasn’t acting the way he used to. he would be patient with that and understand your grief, but walk through it in a gentle, calm, rational way with you. make you understand that just because it was him doesn’t make it any less traumatic and fuck yes he will be pressing charges, only if you let him. which you wouldn’t, and he understands that. he’s patient with you and soft and kind on the nights when it feels too real, that your childhood friend, the boy you mourned held you captive in his cold home with eyes you didn’t recognize, and holds you until you stop crying and shaking. “you did good.” he would remind you with his favorite kisses, straight to your forehead. “you did everything you were supposed to.”

and sylus, naturally, would see red. it was one thing for you to be held against your will, oh, the colonel’s on his list for that, believe him. it’s another for you to feel as if you need to protect your captor, your tormentor, just because you were so close to him as a child. he asks you where your anger is, and you remind him he technically did the same thing to you when you first met. his face falls, and he shuts his mouth. things are tense for a couple minutes while he finds the right thing to say. ultimately, he knows this is not about him, but you and your feelings— and he’ll be damned if he’s the reason for another frown on your face right now. so, he grabs your wrist before you can leave and brings your hand to his lips, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. “what can i do?” he asked softly. whatever you need right now, he’ll do it. you want him to escort you next time? he’ll happily do it, even though he trusts you to handle yourself. you want him march up there and put a bullet between his eyes? done. gladly. but he knows you don’t want him to do that, you’re too kind, too good, so he softens his vengefulness and is his gentlest with you. he pampers you with everything his princess could desire, everything you would need to relax. he kisses you softly and holds you until you fall asleep, whispering vows that he’ll always be there to protect you when you can’t protect yourself. when he realizes you’re finally asleep, he takes his hand out of your hair from where it was softly resting and reaches over to his phone, shooting off a few texts and gets his men to research everything there is to know about caleb to write up a contigency plan. just in case. it’s not like he’s gonna use it!

#my writing #love and deepspace #lads zayne #lads #lads sylus #lads mc #zayne li #sylus qin #sylus x reader #zayne x reader

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nomie-11 · 14 hours ago

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Showing, not Telling

masterlist!

synopsis: ellie's not one to say 'i love you,' she's one to show you how she does

pairings: ellie williams x reader

Ellie had never been verbal in her affection—a byproduct of never being raised with a loving smile, Ellie didn’t know how to be verbal when expressing her love. While she hadn’t been raised with ‘I love yous’ and ‘I care for yous,’ she had learned through Joel’s gruff, unspoken ways—his careful glances, the food left on her plate when he said he wasn’t hungry, the way he’d always walk just to the front of her, keeping her tucked in where it was the safest.

That was how she learned love. That was how she showed it.

And you—well, you didn’t need the words, not really.

You noticed it in the way she looked at you when she thought you weren’t paying attention, a quiet sort of fondness tucked into the corners of her small smiles. The way she’d meet your eyes across a crowded hall in Jackson, smirking at something only the two of you understood. How she’d flick a piece of bread at you at dinner just to make you roll your eyes, then offer you the last bite of her food just to make sure you ate enough.

Then there were the notes.

Small scraps of paper, usually torn from the edges of something old or her scrappy notebook, always in her messy scrawl. They started appearing before patrols, tucked into the laces of your boots or the pockets of your jacket when you weren’t looking.

Be careful out there, dumbass.

Try not to get yourself killed, I’d be pissed.

Bring me back something cool, or don’t come back at all (kidding. Kinda—i need the 34th volume of savage starlight so if you see it please bring it back)

The first time you found one, it made you laugh. The second time, it made your chest warm. The third time, you started looking forward to them, tucking them into a little wooden trinket box Ellie had made with Joel when he was trying to teach her how to woodwork. The fourth time, you started to wonder what new variation of I love you she’d come up with next.

One particularly cold morning, as you were pulling on your boots, Ellie shoved a note into your hands before you could react.

“Read it later,” she said, running a hand through her shorter, already-messy hair and avoiding your eyes.

So of course, the second you were out of sight, you unfolded the paper.

It’s really fucking freezing, and you know the cold kinda freaks me out a little, so please just be safe and wear your scarf.

You touched the scarf at your neck, smiling to yourself.

Then there was the way she listened.

It wasn’t just hearing—it was listening. Really listening.

You talked a lot. About everything, about nothing, about things that didn’t matter and things that did. And Ellie? She remembered every detail.

You couldn’t tell if she was writing it down, but she had everything locked away in a corner of her mind somewhere. Like the time you offhandedly mentioned that you missed the taste of peaches. A week later, she shoved a dusty old can of them into your hands, looking almost embarrassed.

“I asked Joel and he still had a can from when we were on the road,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Figured you’d want it.”

Or the time you told her about a Fleetwood Mac song your mom used to play when you were little, something you hadn’t heard in years. And one night, weeks later, she dragged you up to her room, sat you down, and pulled out her guitar.

It was choppy, a little off-key, but it was your song.

When you looked at her, something tight in your chest, she just shrugged.

“You mentioned it,” she said, strumming absentmindedly. “Figured I’d learn it.”

That was Ellie.

And then there were the things she did when she thought you wouldn’t notice.

Like taking on extra work without being asked, fixing things in your little garage apartment before they broke fully, making sure the bed you shared had enough blankets before you went to sleep.

One evening, after a long day, you dragged yourself into the stables, exhausted from an awful double shift on the wall watch duty. You were dreading the chore ahead of you—cleaning out your horse’s stall, hauling hay, checking the saddle straps. But when you got there, it was already done.

The stall was clean, the saddle polished, fresh hay stacked neatly in the corner.

You turned, knowing before you even saw her.

Ellie was leaning against the wooden fence, arms crossed, a smug little grin tugging at her lips.

“You’re welcome,” she said, before you could even ask.

You just shook your head, smiling. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugged, kicking at the dirt. “You looked like you were about to keel over earlier. And I owed you for volume 34, so now we’re even.”

You stepped closer, your hand brushing against hers.

“Thanks, El.”

She just nodded, glancing away—but you caught the small, please smile that she tried to hide.

Yeah. She’d never been one for words. But she didn’t need them. Not when she loved you like this.

a break from my usual vi programming for my new wife ellie williams!

anyways sorry for being mia i've been super sick and suffering writers block so yeah, but i'll be coming back slowly!

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

#ellie tlou #tlou ellie x reader #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #tlou2 #the last of us x reader #the last of us x you #the last of us x y/n #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n

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earthchica · 11 hours ago

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my lady, my love

aaron pierre x black, fem! reader {actress}

summary: On your press tour in New York, you eagerly anticipate reuniting with Aaron in London. Despite your friendly connection with your co-star during interviews, your playful banter raises Aaron's jealousy when he sees a recent interview.

warnings: explicit smut 18+, jealousy, makeup sex, unprotected, light daddy kink, breeding kink, long-distance, dirty talking, boyfriend/girlfriend, actor/actress, not real life, original characters, use of Y/N, words: 6k

Note: hiii, back to writing. Part 4 is here, I hope you enjoy it.

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three

As you reached the halfway point of the press tour, you began counting down the days. You and Aaron have kept in touch, texting and FaceTiming whenever possible.

You miss him so much, and this is your first experience with a long-distance relationship. Aaron is still in London while you finish your last few interviews and photo shoots in New York.

However, once you're done in NYC, you're going to London, and you'll finally get to see him. The thought fills you with excitement. You could hear your co-star Noah across the hall as you sat in the little dressing room.

The next few interviews started out chill, with you and Noah sitting side by side, with smiles on your faces. The next interviewer leaned in, clearly trying to stir the pot.

“So, tell me about the chemistry between you two! It’s palpable on screen,” she said, eyes gleaming excitedly. Noah looked at you with that playful grin.

“Oh, it’s undeniable. I mean, we vibe, you know? Just look at her!” Noah gestured to you dramatically, making you giggle.

“She’s like the perfect co-star, and I might even say… the perfect girl,” he added

You shot him a teasing smirk, leaning back in your chair. “Aw, thanks, Noah. But don’t get it twisted now! I’m taken, you know?” You winked.

“What? No way, who’s the lucky guy?” The interviewer replied, feigning shock. You leaned closer, lowering your voice as if it were a deep secret.

“Good girl never tells,” you giggled, delivering the line with sass. The interviewer laughed.

The rest of the interview flew by in a blur of laughter and lighthearted banter. By the time it wrapped, you felt more at ease, the earlier anxiety melting.

You and Noah exchanged a quick hug before parting ways, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for his friendship. He always knew how to make things feel lighter.

After a few solo interviews, back in your hotel room later that evening, you took a deep breath and took a shower. Afterward, you changed into some comfortable clothes and ordered room service.

Once settled down on the bed with your phone, you dialed Aaron's number, a smile spreading. However, it went to voicemail. You knew it must be around 10 PM in London, so he should still be awake.

So you tried again, but unfortunately, it didn't work. You then texted him. "Hey baby, just finished my interviews for the day. I miss you. Call me back when you can. I love you!"

As you waited for a response, you felt a pang of loneliness and began to wonder if Aaron was just too busy. You decided to go to bed and catch a quick flight to London tomorrow morning to surprise him.

Seven hours later and ten minutes later, you made it to his apartment around 2:00 PM; you texted him to see if he was home before knocking on the door.

Aaron opened the door wearing sweats and a hoodie. He was slightly happy and surprised to see you, but he looked like he had a little attitude.

“Hey,” Aaron said, his voice flat, as he stepped aside to let you in. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to read his expression.

“Hi, baby,” you replied softly, stepping inside. The apartment smelled faintly of tea and old books, just like you remembered. You set your suitcases down by the door and turned to face him.

“I missed you,” you added, your voice trembling slightly.

Aaron sighed, running a hand through his face. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he said, but there was a hint of something else in his tone—something that made your stomach twist.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep the mood light. “Are you okay, baby?” you started, hoping to ease into whatever bothered him.

“So, I saw the interview posted today.” Aaron’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Oh, you did! That’s great. Really great, right? um, which one?” You blinked, taken aback by his tone.

“Don't act like you don't know! All that flirting with Noah? Really?” Aaron said with a frown.

Your jaw dropped.

“Wait, hold up. You’re upset about that? Aaron, it was just playful banter! You know how interviews are—it’s all for the cameras. Noah was just playing around, and I clarified that I was taken!” you said, raising your eyebrow.

Aaron raised an eyebrow, his expression unmoved. “Playful banter? No, love, that was more than that. You were giggling, smiling all over his face like you had a whole thing going on. And don’t even get me started on how he looked at you.”

You stepped closer, your hands reaching out to touch his arm, but he didn’t budge.

“Aaron, come on. You know me better than that. Noah’s just a friend; that’s it, nothing more. I love you, and I want you only. I’m sorry I made you feel like that.”

Aaron took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly as he looked down at you. His eyes softened just a fraction, but the tension still hung heavy.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressing your body against him. “Let me make up to you; let me remind you exactly what you are to me," You said softly.

In a searing kiss, you crashed your lips against his, pouring all your frustration and desire into it. Aaron gasped, allowing his tongue to sweep into your mouth.

You felt his anger melted away as heat flooded his body. "I miss you so damn much, you know that," You murmured against his lips as his hands roamed your body hungrily.

A low moan escaped Aaron's lips as you deepened the kiss, caressing the back of his neck.

"I missed you too," Aaron breathed, his voice rough with emotion.

"But please don’t do that, baby. I can't stand seeing you like that with someone else."

"I know," you whispered, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. "You're the only one I want, Aaron. The only one I need."

Aaron nodded, his expression softening even more, and you pushed him towards the couch, your hands firm but gentle. He stumbled back, his eyes widening in surprise, but he didn't resist.

You got on your knees in front of him, your hands sliding up his thighs, massaging the tense muscles there. "Relax, baby," you murmured, your voice low and soothing.

"Let me take care of you."

Aaron leaned back against the couch, his breath hitching as your hands worked their magic. "Love!" he groaned, his voice thick and low with desire.

"You always know how to make me feel better."

You smirked up at him, your fingers teasing the waistband of his sweatpants.

"That's 'cause I know what you love," you purred, sliding your hands under the fabric and taking hold of him. He hissed sharply, his hips jerking involuntarily as you began to stroke him slowly, firmly.

"Aaron," you whispered, your breath hot against his skin as you leaned closer. "I love you so much, baby. You know that, right? You’re my everything."

Aaron moaned softly, his hands gripping the edge of the couch tightly. "I know," he managed to say, his voice trembling.

"I just… I can’t help it sometimes. I see you out there, shining like a damn star, and I get scared. Scared someone’s gonna take you away from me."

You paused momentarily, looking up at him with pure adoration. "Nobody is taking me away from you," you said firmly, your voice steady and full of conviction.

"You got me, Aaron. Always and Forever."

Aaron let out a shaky breath, nodding as he gently cups your face with his massive hands. "You promise?" he whispered, his voice raw with vulnerability.

"I promise," you said, your eyes locked onto his. Then, with a sly smile, you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against the tip of his dick as you spoke.

"But right now, I wanna make it all melt away, baby. Just focus on me and how good I will make you feel," you added.

Aaron groaned, his head falling back against the couch as you pressed a soft kiss to the sensitive head of his dick.

"Shit," he muttered, his fingers tightening in your hair. "You always know how to drive me crazy."

You chuckled lowly, your breath hot against his skin. "That’s the plan," you purred before taking him into your mouth slowly, savoring the way he twitched and throbbed against your tongue.

You swirled your tongue around the tip, teasing him relentlessly, making him squirm beneath you.

"Fuck," Aaron hissed, his hips bucking slightly as you sucked him deeper. "You’re so damn good at this."

You pulled back slightly, letting him slip out of your mouth with a wet pop. "You like that?" you asked, looking up at him with a mischievous glint.

"Like it?" Aaron groaned, his voice rough and desperate. "Baby, I love it. You got me out here losing my mind, and you're not even done yet."

You smirked, fingers tracing the vein along his length, making him shiver. "Oh, I’m far from done," you whispered, your voice dripping with promise.

"You think I’m just gonna stop when I got you lookin’ like this? All hot and bothered, tryin’ to hold it together? Nah, big daddy. I’m about to take you to a whole ‘nother level."

Aaron’s breath hitched as you leaned back in, your tongue flat against his shaft as you licked him from base to tip. He cursed under his breath, his hands gripping the couch so tight his knuckles turned white.

"You play too much," he muttered, but there was no real complaint in his tone—just pure, unadulterated need.

"Oh, I’m dead serious," you shot back, your lips wrapping around him again as you took him deep into your throat. This time, you didn’t hold back, bobbing your head rhythmically, your hand working in tandem with your mouth to drive him wild.

The wet sounds filled the room, mingling with Aaron’s heavy breaths and the occasional curse that slipped past his lips.

You could feel him trembling beneath you, his thighs tensing as he fought to keep himself from losing control too soon. But you weren’t about to let him hold back—not afternoon.

"Tell me how it feels, big daddy," you murmured, pulling back just enough to let him feel the cool air against his slick skin. Your eyes locked onto his, dark and hungry, as you waited for his response.

Aaron’s chest heaved as he struggled to find the words. "Feels… feels like heaven," he finally managed, his voice strained and thick with desire. "Like you’re tryna suck my soul out through my dick, love."

You grinned, your tongue darting out to lick a slow, deliberate stripe along the underside of his shaft.

"Good," you purred. "That’s exactly what I’m aiming for. I want you to forget everything but me and this moment. Just focus on how good I’m making you feel."

He groaned, his head falling back again as you took him back into your mouth, this time deeper than before. Your throat relaxed around him, and you could feel the way his body jerked in response, his hips instinctively thrusting up into the warmth of your mouth.

Your hands moved to grip his thighs, holding him steady as you worked him over with a rhythm that was both relentless and intoxicating.

The sounds he made—those low, guttural moans and breathless curses—were music to your ears, driving you to push him even further.

"You always taste so amazing, Terry," you murmured, your voice muffled but still dripping with that same sultry tone. "Like you were made just for me. You feel it too, don’t you? How we fit together like this like it’s some kinda cosmic shit."

Aaron’s hands were in your hair now, tangling in the curls as he tried to keep himself grounded.

"Damn, yes, I feel it," he growled, his voice low and raw. "You got me out here feelin’ like I’m floatin’; keep goin’, baby. Don’t stop."

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Your mouth worked him over with a fervor that left him gasping, your tongue swirling around the head of his dick before plunging him back into the heat of your throat.

His grip on your hair tightened, sending a shiver down your spine as you felt the tension building in him, his body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

You pulled back again, letting him slide out of your mouth with a wet pop, and then you stood up, your eyes never leaving his. "You want this pussy? because I want your dick," you asked, your voice low and teasing as you slowly began to peel off your clothes.

Aaron’s eyes widened as he watched you, his breath hitching in his throat. "Yes, love," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "You don't gotta tell me twice."

You smirked, taking your time as you took your shirt, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. Your hands moved to the waistband of your pants, and you slid them down your legs with deliberate slowness, stepping out of them one foot at a time.

Aaron’s eyes were glued to your body, his gaze hot and heavy as he took in every inch of you. "Fuck," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You’re fuckin’ perfect. How did I get so lucky?"

You grinned, feeling satisfied at how he looked at you. "Maybe by fate," you purred, climbing onto the couch and straddling him.

His hands immediately went to your hips, gripping you tightly as you shifted forward, your pussy hovering just above his throbbing dick.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his breath hitched as you teased him, letting your folds brush against the tip of his length.

"You feel that?" you whispered, your voice dripping with seduction as you ground down just enough to make him groan. "That’s all for you, baby. This pussy’s been waitin’ to feel you inside me for weeks."

Aaron’s hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like he was trying to keep himself from losing control.

"Quit playing, love," he growled, his voice rough and desperate. "You are gonna drive me crazy sittin’ up there like that. Put that pussy on me already."

You smirked, leaning down so your lips were just inches from his ear.

"What’s the matter? You can’t handle a little tease?" you purred, your breath hot against his skin as you rolled your hips again, letting him feel just how wet you were for him.

"You want this pussy so bad, huh? Tell me how bad you want it."

"Shit," he hissed, his hips bucking up instinctively as he tried to get closer to you.

"You wanna know how bad?" Aaron growled, his voice thick with need.

"I want it so bad I can’t think straight. I want it so bad it’s all I see when I close my eyes—this pussy, this body, riding me like you own me. I want it so bad I’d beg if you don’t give it to me right now. So quit playing and let me feel you, girl. Let me feel that heat, that group wrapped around me. ‘Cause I’m about to lose my damn mind up in here." Aaron moaned.

You bit your lip, holding back a moan as his words sent a rush of heat straight to your pussy.

"That’s what I love to hear," you whispered, finally lowering yourself onto him, inch by torturous inch. You gasped as he filled you completely, the stretch and burn to ignite every nerve in your body.

"Oh goodness," you breathed, your head falling back as you adjusted to him. "So big...you feel so good inside me."

Aaron groaned, his hands gripping your hips even tighter as he guided your movements. "Fuck, baby," he rasped, his voice strained. "I miss this pussy. Always so wet, so tight for me."

You moaned softly, your nails digging into his shoulders as you started to move, riding him with slow, deliberate rolls of your hips.

"You like that, Aaron?" you purred, your voice dripping with sweetness and sin. "You like how this pussy grips you? How it’s all yours, just for you?"

Aaron’s eyes fluttered shut briefly before he locked his gaze back on yours, dark and hungry.

"I love it, baby fuck, I love it," he growled, his voice rough and low. "This pussy is all mine, it's mine, nobody else can handle it like I do. Nobody else gonna make you feel like this."

His hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending a shiver through your body. "You know that, right? This pussy belongs to me. Tell me it's mine."

You arched into his touch, your breath hitching as he teased your sensitive peaks. "Mmm, yes, it is," you whispered, grinding down harder on him, making him groan deep in his chest.

"All yours, baby. Only you can make me feel this good." You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "Only you can make me come so hard I forget my own name."

Aaron’s grip tightened around your waist, his fingers digging into your dark-brown skin as he pulled you closer, his breath hot and ragged against your neck.

“That’s right, baby,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “You gonna scream my name louder than ever before. Ain’t no shame in it, either. Let the whole damn world know who you belong to.”

His other hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp, your body trembling with anticipation.

“Shit, Aaron,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as his teeth grazed your collarbone.

“You're gonna wreck me, huh? Gonna make me forget everything but you?” Your hips moved faster now, riding him with a desperate rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

You could feel him throbbing inside you, his length hitting all the right spots, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Aaron’s lips crashed against yours in a fierce kiss, swallowing your moans as his tongue explored your mouth. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were blazing with intensity.

“Damn right, I am,” he muttered, his voice rough and commanding.

“I’m gonna ruin this pussy for anybody else. You ain’t never gonna want nobody but me forever. You hear me?”

His hands moved to your ass, gripping you tightly as he thrust up into you, his movements hard and relentless.

“Yes, Aaron, yes!” you cried, your voice rising with each powerful stroke.

“Only you, baby, it’s only ever been you!” Your nails raked down his shoulders as you clung to him, your body trembling with the force of your desire.

“Fuck, I’m so close, Aaron. I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna fucking cum!”

“That’s it, love,” he urged, his voice a low, guttural growl. “Cum for me. Let me feel that tight little pussy squeeze the soul outta me.” His thrusts became even more intense, each one driving you closer to the brink.

“No holding back. You give me everything you got, you hear me?” Aaron added.

“I can’t—I can’t hold it,” you sobbed, your body arching as the first wave of your climax crashed over you. “Oh fuck, Aaron, I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”

Your cries echoed through the room, your body convulsing as you shattered around him, your pussy clamping down on his big dick with a vice-like grip.

Aaron’s breath hitched, his own control slipping as he felt you come undone beneath him. “Fuck, baby, that’s it,” he groaned, his voice strained with the effort to hold back.

“You feel so good, so fucking good. You take all of me, huh? You take this dick like you were made for it.”

You could barely form words, your mind a haze of pleasure as you rode out the waves of your orgasm. But Aaron wasn’t done with you yet.

He lifts you and lays you at the corner of the couch, pinning your wrists above your head as he hovers over you and slams back into you; his pace is brutal and unrelenting.

Your back arched off the bed as he pounded into you, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep inside you that had you seeing stars.

“Aaron!” you screamed, your voice raw and desperate. “Please, don’t stop! Don’t ever stop!”

“I'm stopping ‘til I fill this pussy up, baby,” Aaron growled, his voice thick with desire.

“You want that? Do you want me to nut deep inside you? Make you feel every drop?” His hips snapped forward with a force that had you gasping, your body trembling beneath him as he drove into you with a rhythm that was both punishing and intoxicating.

“Tell me how bad you want it.”

“So bad,” you moaned, your voice a desperate plea. “I need it, Aaron. I need you to fill me up and remember who I belong to. Please, baby, I can’t take it anymore—I need you to cum in me!”

Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him deeper as your nails dug into his back, leaving marks that only fueled his intensity.

“That’s my girl,” Aaron muttered, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your dark-brown skin with softness and admiration.

“Taking this dick like a fucking queen. You love this shit, don’t you? Love feeling me stretch that pussy out; make it mine.” His thrusts became erratic, his control slipping as he felt his own climax building.

“You gonna take every last drop of this nut, huh? Gonna let me breed that tight pussy?”

“Yes!” you cried, your body arching against his as the heat between you both reached its peak.

"Breed me, Aaron. Make it so I can’t forget what you did to me." Your voice was a ragged whisper, trembling with need as you felt him swell inside you, his dick throbbing with the promise of release.

"That’s it," he snarled, his hands gripping your hips hard as he pounded into you, each thrust hitting deeper, harder.

"You’re gonna feel me for days, baby. Every time you move, every time you sit down, you’re gonna remember this dick splitting you open."

His voice was a low growl, possessive and raw, sending shivers down your spine.

Your head fell back, a keening moan escaping your lips as he hit that perfect spot inside you again and again. The pressure was building, your body coiling tight like a spring ready to snap.

"Aaron, I’m so close," you gasped, your fingers clawing at his shoulders as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. "Then cum for me," he demanded, his voice rough and commanding.

"Cum with me as I fill you up. Let me feel that pussy milk every drop out of me." His pace quickened, his hips slamming into yours with a force that had you crying out, your body trembling on the edge.

And then it hit you—a wave of pleasure so intense it felt like you were being torn apart and put back together all at once. Your body convulsed, your walls clenching around him as you came hard, your screams muffled against his shoulder.

Aaron groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge, his dick pulsing deep inside you as he emptied himself, his release hot and thick as it filled you to the brim.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice hoarse as he collapsed on top of you, his body still shuddering with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“You feel that, baby?” He asked, pushing his cum in and out as he kissed you then, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that left you breathless, his tongue sliding against yours as he poured every ounce of his desire into that kiss.

You moaned into his mouth, your hand on the back of his neck as you kissed him back with equal fervor, your bodies still connected as you both rode out the last waves of pleasure together.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark with satisfaction, a smug grin tugging at his lips as he looked down at you.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “All mine.”

You lay there, spent and trembling, your body still humming with the intensity of what had just happened between you. The air was thick with the scent of sex, the room silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing.

Aaron shifted slightly, pulling you closer so that you were lying on his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he held you close.

“That was…” you started, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find the words to describe your feelings.

“Perfect,” Aaron finished for you, his voice filled with a quiet satisfaction. He kissed the top of your head, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back as you lay there, basking in the afterglow.

“You’re so perfect.”

You smiled, your eyes closing as you let yourself relax in his arms, the warmth of his body enveloping you. After a few minutes of lying there, tangled in each other and breathing.

Aaron finally shifted, his hands sliding down your back. “C’mon,” he murmured, his voice still rough but softer now, laced with affection.

“Let’s get cleaned up.”

You and Aaron got dressed in some casual clothes, and Aaron got some food delivered. You two were eating and chatted about what’s been going on despite your little argument earlier.

“So,” you said, leaning. “You know that movie premiere tomorrow night?” You paused, biting your lip to hide the sly smile creeping onto your face.

“I was thinkin’… maybe you could come with me. As my date.”

Aaron’s fork froze mid-air, a piece of food dangling precariously as he turned to look at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Really?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, but there was a hint of playfulness there too. “Are you sure you want that? I mean, I’m all for it.”

You smirked, leaning closer to him, your voice dripping with confidence.

“Oh, I’m more than sure. Let ‘em talk. Let ‘em get jealous. Let ‘em know I’m yours, and you’re mine. But…” You paused for effect, your eyes locking with his.

“We’ll still keep it private between us. No need to give ‘em all the details.”

You and Aaron got dressed in some casual clothes, and Aaron got some food delivered. You two were eating and chatted about what’s been going on despite your little argument earlier.

“So,” you said, leaning. “You know that movie premiere tomorrow night?” You paused, biting your lip to hide the sly smile creeping onto your face.

“I was thinkin’… maybe you could come with me. As my date.”

Aaron’s fork froze mid-air, a piece of food dangling precariously as he turned to look at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Really?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, but there was a hint of playfulness there too. “Are you sure you want that? I mean, I’m all for it.”

You smirked, leaning closer to him, your voice dripping with confidence.

“Oh, I’m more than sure. Let ‘em talk. Let ‘em get jealous. Let ‘em know I’m yours, and you’re mine. But…” You paused for effect, your eyes locking with his.

“We’ll still keep it private between us. No need to give ‘em all the details.”

Aaron’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smirked, setting his fork down on the edge of his plate. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression thoughtful.

“Alright, so you’re saying… you want to take me to the premiere. As your date. And we’re keeping it private but still making it clear to everyone else that we’re… together.”

He paused, his gaze never leaving yours. “And you’re okay with that? With everyone knowing, even if we’re not broadcasting the details?”

You nodded, your confidence unwavering. “Why wouldn’t I be? We’re adults, Aaron. And what we have… it’s worth it. Besides, I think it’s time people know that you’re off the market.”

Aaron chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. He pushed his chair back and stood, walking over to you with a slow, predatory grace.

“And who’s going to make sure I stay off the market?” asked, his voice low and teasing as he leaned down, his face inches from yours.

You grinned, your heart pounding in your chest. “Oh, I think I can handle that.” Before you could say another word, Aaron’s lips were on yours, warm and firm, sending a wave of heat through your body.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as the room around you faded. All that mattered was the two of you, lost in the moment, the world outside melting into nothingness.

The following day, Aaron lay sprawled across the bed, his bare chest rising and falling with each slow breath, the sheets tangled around his waist.

You sat on the edge of the bed, watching him sleep, a smile playing on your lips. The memory of the previous conversation hung in the air like a promise, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement for what the day—and the night—had in store.

“Morning,” Aaron mumbled, his voice husky with sleep as he stirred, stretching his arms above his head.

His eyes fluttered open, locking onto yours with a warm, sleepy grin. “What time is it?”

“Almost Noon,” you replied, caressing his forehead. “But we’ve got a full day ahead of us. Thought we could make the most of it before tonight.”

Aaron sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Sounds like a plan. What did you have in mind?”

You stood, walking over to the wardrobe where you’d laid out clothes the night before.

“I was thinking we could spend the day out. Maybe walk along the South Bank and grab some food at Borough Market. Just enjoy the city together before the chaos of the premiere.”

Aaron’s face lit up with interest as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Sounds good!” He said, getting out of bed butt-naked, and you laughed, smacked his ass.

“Sounds good!” He said, getting out of bed butt-naked and you laughed, smacked his ass.

“Cheeky little-,” Aaron muttered, though the grin on his face said he didn’t mind one bit. He grabbed the towel off the bed and wrapped it around his waist, his confidence as naked as his body.

“You better stop playin’ with fire, yeah? Or I’ll have to take you back to bed.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but the heat in your cheeks and the smile on your face told on you. “Please, you’re the one who’s been sleepin’ in till noon. If we don’t get movin’, we’ll miss the whole day.”

Aaron smirked, sauntering over to the bathroom.

“Blame me, innit? Had a right proper distraction last night.” Steam curling up, he flicked on the shower and stepped inside without closing the door.

“You comin’ in or what?”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “You think I’m fallin’ for that? We’ve got plans, remember? You’re not gonna derail ‘em with your… distractions.”

“Suit yourself,” Aaron called back, his voice muffled by the water.

“But you’re missin’ out. Could’ve been a right nice way to start the day.”

You shook your head, chuckling as you turned away. “You’re such a liar. You’d have us late and miss the whole market.”

“True, yeah,” Aaron admitted, his voice carrying over the water. “But it’d be worth it, wouldn’t it?”

You didn’t respond, but the thought lingered as you went to get dressed. By the time Aaron came out of the bathroom, his face dripped, and his skin glowing from the shower.

You were already halfway through your coffee, scrolling through your phone for the day’s itinerary. Aaron padded over to you, water droplets clinging to his chest as he leaned in to kiss your head.

“You know I’m just takin’ the piss, right? I wouldn’t actually make us late.” Aaron said, drying himself off.

“Sure you wouldn’t,” you said dryly, not looking up.

Aaron laughed, grabbing the other cup of coffee you’d poured for him. “Fair enough. You know me too well.”

Once he was dressed—looking effortlessly sharp in a simple black tee, jeans, baseball cap, and sunglasses—you both set out into the crisp air.

The South Bank was alive with energy, the Thames glinting in the sunlight as you walked hand in hand. The smell of street food hit you when you turned the corner near Borough Market, and your stomach growled in anticipation.

“Love, I’m proper starvin’,” Aaron said, squeezing your hand. “What’s the plan? You better not be thinkin’ we’re just window shoppin’.”

“Relax,” you said, smirking.

“I’ve got your back. There’s this one stall I saw last time I was here that I’ve been dying to try once I visit here again—it does the best jerk chicken and proper Caribbean vibes. And don’t even get me started on the halloumi fries.”

Aaron’s eyes lit up. “Halloumi fries? Now you’re talkin’. Let’s go find this place before I waste away.”

You led the way through the crowded market, weaving past stalls selling everything from handmade jewelry to fresh flowers. The air was thick with the smells of spices and grilled meats, and the sounds of vendors calling out to passersby mingled.

“Ah, there it is,” you said, tugging gently on Aaron’s hand as you spotted the stall between a vintage clothing stand and a bustling flower shop.

The sign read “Kiya's Caribbean” and the aroma of allspice and thyme wafted through the air, mingling with the hum of reggae music playing softly from a portable speaker.

Aaron’s eyes widened as you approached the stall, and his stomach growled audibly. “I can smell the magic from here. Let’s get in there before they run out.”

The vendor, a cheerful dark brown-skinned woman with a warm smile, a gold hoop in her nose, and long beautiful locs, greeted you both with a hearty.

“Y’ello, darlin’! What can I get for yuh today?”

“Everything, please,” Aaron said, not missing a beat. “But especially that jerk chicken. And don’t be stingy with it, yeah?”

She laughed, her voice rich and melodic. “Oh, you’re a bold one, ain’t ya? Alright, let’s set you up. For good measure, jerk chicken, rice and peas, plantain, and a side of fries.”

“And halloumi fries,” you added, nudging Aaron. “Don’t forget the halloumi fries.”

“Course not, sweetheart,” she said, winking. “I gotchu.”

As she worked her culinary magic, the grill sizzle and the rhythmic chopping of fresh herbs filled the air. Aaron leaned against the stall, his arm brushing against yours, and you couldn’t help but smile at how at ease he was, chatting with the vendor like they were old mates.

The first bite was divine when she handed you both a loaded tray. The jerk chicken was tender, the spices perfectly balanced, and the halloumi fries—crispy and creamy inside—were absolutely perfect.

You closed your eyes, savoring the flavors, and Aaron laughed, nudging you playfully. “Told you it’d be worth it,” he said, his mouth full. “You’re in your element, innit?”

You opened your eyes, catching the glint of mischief in his. “Shut up and eat your food.”

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of laughter, music, and the electric energy of the market. You wandered through the stalls, picking up a few trinkets.

Earrings shaped like tiny palm trees, a bracelet with a small charm of the Jamaican flag—and even stopped to watch a group of dancers performing to a live drum circle.

At one point, Aaron pulled you into the crowd, spinning you around with him until you were both breathless and laughing. The music was infectious, the rhythm pulsating through you like a heartbeat.

For a moment, it felt like the whole world had narrowed to just the two of you, lost in the moment's joy.

As the sun shone, you found yourselves at a small riverside spot, sharing a bottle of fresh water and watching the boats glide.

Aaron leaned back on his elbows, his eyes half-closed as he soaked in the view.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful, “days like this… they’re the ones that make life feel proper special.”

You smiled, twirling a strand of your curly hair around your finger. “Yeah,” you agreed quietly. “They’re the ones you remember.”

He turned his head, his gaze meeting yours, and for a moment, there wasn’t a single thing to say. The world just… was.

And in that moment, it was enough.

TAGS @writingsbytee @notapradagurl7 @ellemelaninbeauty @cocooned-butterfly

#aaron pierre #aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre x reader #aaron pierre x black!reader #aaron pierre fic #black!fem!reader #aaron pierre x black fem reader #aaron pierre fanfic #x black reader #x black y/n #aaron pierre fluff #terry richmond x black!reader #aaron pierre smut

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whowrotethenote · 1 day ago

Text

𝐁𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐧

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Summary: What starts off as a regular Spring Break attending Wrestlemania for Alana, takes an unexpected turn, landing her in a fantasy come to life. The Tribal Chief is in need of unwinding after his victory and he chose her.

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Black Fem OC

Warnings: NSFW // Smut // Age gap // Profanity // Adultery

Word count: 8.9k (sorry lol)

Inspo: Biggest Fan by Chris Brown

A/N: This took way longer than it should've, but I'm actually proud of myself for finishing. Y'all don't know how many times I've started writing something in the past and never finish. There's drafts of unfinished everything on my laptop.

This is my first time posting my writing on any platform. I hope y'all like it. I tried to proofread as much as I can, but I'm honestly tired of reading it lol. I feel like I'm going to realize its shit and delete it all.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any media posted. Credit to their respective owners.

I do not consent to any portion of my writing to be reproduced or used in any manner without expressed written permission of myself, with the exception for the use of brief quotations.

This story is completely fictional. With the exception of OCs, I do not own any characters in this story. The pictures posted are for the intention of face claims and imaginative purposes. The ideas, stories, scenarios, and characters you are about to read about are a mixture of my imagination, and inspiration from real life whether it be loosely based on people I know or public figures. By no means should you take anything a character thinks, says, or does, as my way of expressing my own interpersonal beliefs and thoughts. The characters are themselves and I am me. Two completely separate entities. I am not trying to promote any lifestyle, ideas, or agendas throughout the book. I am simply telling a story. If you cannot grasp that concept, do not read any further.

“I wonder if the Usos will come out.”

“Yeah, probably,” I respond to my roommate Demi, only half as concerned as she is. The Usos are the last thing on my mind. They’re her choice of poison. I’m here for one man and one man only.

I survey the crowd of strangers surrounding us. All in Bloodline gear waiting for the same thing. The Main Event. They all probably spent a fortune months ago just to be in the very same spot she and I stole tickets for.

It wasn’t on purpose. We originally had nosebleeds. We were lucky to even have those, seeing as we snagged them just days ago. The frail older man outside the doors waving a chunk of tickets in his hand, was an angel in disguise. He waved and waved until two tickets went flying into the thick crowd of people all pushing to just get into the main doors of the building.

Demi and I searched on hands and feet for those tickets that no one else seemed to be looking for. Imagine our disbelief seeing them all dirtied and stepped on by the door and they read floor seats. Not just any floor seats. The ones located directly next to the entrance ramp with a clear shot of the ring. Fucking jackpot.

don’t be acting all fanned out when he walks by either

I smirk reading the text my brother sent. Yeah, right. Maybe three years ago, a young Alana would’ve woke up tomorrow morning with no voice from losing my shit, watching the Roman Reigns walk by me. But it's not five years ago. I’m not a teenager in my room waiting at the TV with my golden glove on, throwing my one’s up and giving an acknowledgment he couldn’t even see.

Who am I fooling? That teenage girl, although buried deep, still lives within me. Otherwise I wouldn’t even be here. I wouldn’t have spent the two thousand my dad gave me to enjoy my spring break on a plane ticket to LA, a hotel and tickets to Wrestle-mania 39. I’d be like the rest of the Juniors at my university. Bar hopping in Mexico or in Miami half naked strutting down Collins Ave.

I go back and forth between scrolling on my phone, daydreaming, and loosely watching the matches that come. Before I know it, the moment I’ve been waiting for all night and damn near all my life rises to the forefront.

The lights dim and the first beats of the drums ring loud throughout the stadium, matching the acceleration of my heartbeat. This is really happening. He’s about to come out and walk right past me. Everyone around me pulls their phones out on the ready, accompanied by a roar of screams just as loud as the orchestra performing his music.

Too concentred on the entry way anticipating his figure, I forget I even have a phone. No, I need to feel this thoroughly. No middle man between me and this unforgettable experience.

We all wait in collaborative angst until his tall figure emerges and my breath gets caught in my throat. The aura and the energy he carries is all consuming, demanding the attention of every person present, even his haters. Solo and Paul flank behind him following his slow and steady pace until he comes to a hard stop.

The cameraman is dangerously close as he kneels to catch him from an angle down below. This is so surreal. On cue his pyro lights fire, upping the excitement from the crowd if even possible. Everyone is already losing their minds. Even Demi’s screams threatened to take out my right eardrum despite her main infatuation resting with the Usos.

His mesmerizing eyes scan the crowd with a slight nod of approval and then they land on…me? Time stills and I can’t hear the noise around me. Was he staring at me?

As much as I want to look around for confirmation that his eyes are indeed locked on me, I’m hypnotized. The slight scrunch of his brows and his dark pupils paralyze me in place. Jesus, Lana. Move. Smile. Wave. Shit, do something.

He’s fucking beautiful. Carved from stone. Kissed by the sun. Hair wet and hanging. Ula Fala draping perfectly around his neck. Full beard with a hint of greying. And his chest. God, his chest. His abs rippled perfectly. I’m scared to even blink, at the risk that I’ll miss something.

A thick pink tongue slithers out over his lips and I heat up from the inside out. My god.

In a flash he looks onward to the ring on the move again and the world returns to its original state.

I turn to face Demi whose eyes are wide like a saucer. “Biiiitch,” she drags out and we break into a fit of laughter.

“Okay, so I’m not bugging?” My brows dent.

“No. No, I saw it too,” she assures me. “That man was definitely eye fucking you.” My face heats replaying the scene back in my head. “That was so surreal. He’s so much bigger in person…” Her voice trails off once I get lost in my thoughts watching him hold his titles up in the center of the ring. He moves like a king. Like everywhere he goes he expects everyone to bow gracefully and fall at his feet. It makes him even more attractive than just what the eyes can reach. Fuck me. This is going to be a long night.

Demi got her wish. The Usos came out but their stunt didn’t last too long due to an appearance from Sami and Kevin. Somehow, Roman still took home the win. Still the champion. Still on top. Still the man.

The whole match, I could only half way focus on him and his god-like figure moving about in the ring. The other half of me was still stuck in the moment we shared during his entrance. Was he really staring at me?

Call me delusional, but I swear he looked at me two more times. Once during the match, when he kicked out at the last second of Cody’s pin. He struggled to his knees and rested back on his heels to scan the crowd. He stumbled to his feet, but not before those eyes bore a hole into mine for a quick second. Then again, when he won. He held up his titles, chest heaving up and down, then he looked my way with a squint.

“I can’t believe he still won,” Demi practically has to yell as we ease our way through the crowd to leave. “I was sure it was game over when Sami gave him the boot.”

Simultaneously we push through the back entrance doors and let them slam behind us. The slightly chilly night air of April hitting. No more screams. No more crowds. But the rush and aura of the night still lingers on us.

“My man doesn’t take L’s,” I tell her matter-of-factly with my chin up.

“I see,” she laughs.

We were smart. We took an Uber and told him to let us out from almost three blocks away. We follow that same pattern now to avoid the rush and traffic of everybody trying to leave at once. Towards the opposite way of the parking lot, away from the crowds, we start our journey to a quiet block to call the Uber.

“Wanna hit it?” Demi extends her hand that holds a lit blunt in between her fingers. I shake my head.

“How the hell did you even get that thing in?”

“Tampon,” she informs before pulling from it. Of course. She’s been sneaking weed into parties that way since we were freshmen.

“Excuse me! Ladies!” An authoritative calls from behind causing us both to stop in our tracks. I know that voice. “Excuse me!”

Demi and I lock eyes and at once we do a complete one-eighty to find him practically chasing us down.

“What the fuck?” I hear Demi murmur before he stops in front of us winded.

“Ladies,” he offers one firm nod. “My name is—’’

“Paul Heyman,” we finish for him in unison.

A smug smile adorns his chubby face. “That’s right.” He holds a hand out and we both just stare at it for a while. After several seconds of an awkward and shocking silence, Demi abruptly shakes his hand and I follow her lead, still trying to make sense of this moment.

“I’ve been sent to relay a message. The Tribal Chief has requested your services for tonight.”

“Services?” The line between Demi’s thoughts and what comes out of her mouth has always been very blurred.

“Yes,” he confirms. In unison we turn just our heads to each other with equal expressions of confusion and disbelief. “You see, The Tribal Chief likes the comfort of company while he’s on the road from time to time.”

“Company, huh?” I catch Demi’s smirk.

“Especially on nights like tonight. You know?” I raise a brow. “All the adrenaline, excitement, and energy from tonight’s match. It's good for him to uh… blow off some steam and unwind.”

I lose count of how many times Demi and I have to exchange looks tonight. Since I’ve met her we’ve always spoke a nonverbal language only we understand. A subtle head nod in the direction of a cute boy in the room, an eye roll when somebody says something problematic, or wide eyes when someone spills tea that we know we’ll have to debrief about later. Tonight, our eyes dance in a mutual agreement that can’t be any clearer. “Hell yeah,” I speak for the first time.

Demi tosses the lit blunt and we both advance to follow him. “Oh no, I’m sorry. Just you.”

“Me?” I ask with a finger to my chest. He grins slyly nodding.

“I— I don't know.”

“You don’t know?” Demi slaps my arm.

“I’ll need an answer now. Gotta get you to his bus before the real crowd emerges. There’s a few things you need to sign.” Sign? Oh god. This is getting serious.

“M—maybe this is a mix up. Are you sure he asked for me—”

“Bitch.” I’m interrupted by a firm push from Demi toward Paul. My eyes meet her wide ones that scream, “go.”

I look between the both of them. “You’ll be fine getting to the hotel?” I’m not all the way certain how tonight will go, but I have a feeling I won’t be seeing her until tomorrow.

“Girl, don’t worry about me. I’ll always get where I’m going. I should be the last thing on your mind.”

“We can wait until her Uber comes?” I eye Paul who eyes his watch briefly.

“Sure.”

So we wait in silence. The whole time, I bounce the idea of just saying never mind and pussying out, back and forth like tennis. Reading my mind, Demi would eye me and mouth “don’t you dare.” So many things can go wrong. I’m not even entirely sure I know what the hell Paul is talking about. Company? Services? It could mean so many things. Does he want to talk? A massage? Am I going to just sit there on his lap while he watches TV? What if he’s one of those foot guys? Is he going to touch himself while I sit there barefoot? Oh god, please don’t have a foot fetish.

With the exception of tonight, I’ve only ever seen him through a screen. Playing a character. I don’t know him. That’s the reality of it. Am I really about to follow a stranger, Paul Heyman, to accompany another strange man?

After checking that she has the right Uber and sensing she will be safe alone with him, I let her hand go. She gives me one final look before I let her shut the car door. “Make him remember you, bitch.”

Like a farmer leading its cattle to slaughter, I follow him as he leads me up the steep steps of the bus. A pit of something stirs in my stomach the deeper we walk. Equal parts angst and doom. Like the end of something and the beginning at the same time. We pass the driver’s seat. The floors are a shiny mahogany wood, matching the cabinets of the kitchen area we end up in. Although small, it feels grand. Definitely doesn’t seem like a space this chic belongs in a bus trailer. I guess only the best for the best.

In the midst of admiring the space, I look over to see Paul shuffling some papers around.

“Alright! So I’ll need you to sign this.” He separates one stack from the main one and slides a pen out for me. “Just something that says we’re not responsible for any items lost, damaged, or anything like that.” Everything in me screams to read the thick stack thoroughly before I dare sign my name on the dotted line. I do it anyway, because who even has time for that? Paul is already moving about like he has somewhere to be.

“And this here,” he pushes the signed paper out the way and slides another stack in its place. This one much thicker than the former. I raise a brow. “Don’t worry. It's just a non-disclosure. Nothing discussed, seen, or heard after you sign can be shared with any other persons.”

I look for the expiration date of the legal document and don’t find one. I search and my eyes land on the word indefinitely.

“Indefinitely, huh?” I think deeply about what I am about to agree to. I would only even want to tell Demi and a few other girls from our bookclub maybe that watch WWE. My eyes land on the seven figure lawsuit terms if the NDA is breached. I weigh my options. Spill tea and get fined or secretly get intimate with the man of my dreams…

The pen is smooth as it glides along the dotted line and I cap it before handing it back over to Paul. “Perfect.” He takes it and reorganizes the papers. I blow out a breath looking around again. There’s a grey curtain blocking off the rest of the bus, which I assume holds a bedroom of some sort and a bathroom.

“Is he already here?” I lean to try and get a peak of whats beyond the curtain.

“Nope. He’s doing a bit of press and wrapping some things up backstage. You’ll wait for him here. The driver is inside the building. Probably won’t be back until late tonight. Roman should be back soon.”

“I’m expected to stay here overnight?”

“Totally up to you. I’m sure you and him will figure it out. It’s not like him to spend the night alone though.”

In that moment it becomes clear what I am here to do. My heart lurches at the thought of just sharing a bed and possibly cuddling with him. His big muscular arms wrapped around me. The heat of his breath on the back of my neck and the hardness of his di—

“This wasn’t on the NDA you just signed, but,” he held his hand out between us. “I’m gonna need that phone before I leave.” Of course. I almost change my mind. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it back as soon as it's all over. Definitely before you leave.”

Fuck it. I retrieve my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and he gladly takes it. I don’t need it anyhow. I can’t imagine being in the presence of him anyway and my phone stealing the show. I would forget I even had one.

It's not long before he’s packing everything up, preparing to leave me. A small part doesn’t want him to go. He served as sort of a comfort. Truth be told, my heart is in my ass.

He pulls the curtain back to reveal a chic bedroom set up. If I didn't know any better, I would think we are in a five star hotel and not a bus trailer.

Everything is a sleek grey with undertones of black. Glossy black wood dresser chest and a matching nightstand. Black wood bed frame and headboard. I run my hand along the dark grey duvet thats just as soft as it looks.

“I’ll be on my way. You’ll probably see me tomorrow or later tonight. If not someone else will give the phone back.” He waves my phone and turns, but not before pulling the curtain back to close.

I’m all alone now. Theres a flat screen mounted opposite the bed, but the noise won’t do anything but make me more anxious. I want to be able to hear everything going on.

I have the weird urge to go through his suitcase I see sitting upright by the wall. I shake the thought away knowing it's an invasion of privacy. I opt to go through the dresser chest instead. Its empty. I guess he didn’t get a chance to unpack.

I turn and rest my butt on it, crossing my arms. Minutes go by, and what seems like an hour passes before I hear movement outside the bus. Deep voices talking and then I hear heavy steps heading my way. I straighten up. No, too formal. I sit on the bed legs crossed. No, what am I? An escort?

I stand again and take my original place leaning on the edge of the dresser, just in time for the curtain to pull back. The sight of his large stature so much closer to me than he was in the arena takes my breath away.

He doesn’t say a word. Just looks at me and walks right by me to his suitcase. Then he’s in the bathroom. The sound of him peeing is loud followed by water running.

Big, tan and burly, he emerges again. He moves with power just oozing off of him, with an authority that just screamed, “I’m in charge.” It's not just a ring persona. Thats just him.

My eyes never leave his tall frame maneuvering around the small space as if I’m not even standing here. He kicks the Jordans off his feet to slip into his slides. His Nike hoodie comes off next and he tosses it on the small loveseat in the corner. His big and cut arms now in full view.

He relieves himself of the contents in his pants pockets. Wallet, keys, some loose change, and a small folded paper all fall on the dresser. He stops for a moment holding out his left hand. He twists the black band off his ring finger and places it in the drawer instead of on top of the dresser with the rest of his things.

Our eyes snag and I immediately shift my attention to my fingers. Twisting and untwisting. Picking at the acrylic on my nails. Anything but looking him in the eye after witnessing that. It's not too late to change my mind. I can stop this. I should, but do I really want to?

The sound of his slides lets me know he’s on the move again. I find him by a minibar area I hadn’t noticed earlier.

“Is it cold in here?” His deep voice cuts through the silence. It's then I notice I was holding and rubbing my arms as if I was cold. So, he is paying me some kind of attention. Truth is, I’m just trying to keep the goosebumps from a slight panic attack at bay.

“No, it's fine.”

“You feeling alright?” He twists slightly with a raised brow. Probably trying to figure out why I haven’t moved an inch since he walked in here. He’s so calm and cool. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the calmer he is, the more anxious I grow.

“Yeah. Y—yeah, no I’m fine.”

“You spoke to Paul already?”

“Yeah—yes,” I correct myself and clear my throat. I don’t know when it became so damn dry.

I was speaking to his back. The muscles still making themselves known even through the fabric of his black tee. Hair sleeked back into his signature bun. My eyes trail down to his ass. For a man, he has a nice one. I image how he’d look with nothing. The intimacy of him walking around with absolutely nothing on. The afterglow of sex on him. Rock hard abs and tribal tattoo as his only decoration. His manhood swinging freely, semi-hard even after just laying serious wood—

“Then I assume you know why you’re here,” his deep voice cuts my nasty daydream short.

I can hear him maneuvering glass, but I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing over his big frame. I was too shell shocked to move too much, afraid I might wake up from this fever dream.

“I do,” I answer him.

If my father knew when he gave his only daughter, his princess, money to enjoy her spring break, that she’d end up alone in the bus of a man who was over ten years her senior, the money would’ve never made it into my hand in the first place. I’m sure this isn’t what he had in mind, but truly this was the best way a young girl could enjoy spring break. An unexpected encounter with an older and wealthier man. My idol. I watched him on TV for years. Gawked at the screen. Liked thousands of edits on Tiktok and Instagram. Dreams of this very moment knowing it couldn’t possibly ever come true. And now here he was. Big in stature and energy right here in front of me. Talking to me.

Hell yeah, I know what I’m here to do. Even if he didn’t utter a single word and just stripped and nodded to the bed, I’d still get the job done with no shame. What girl in her right mind wouldn’t?

I can hear them now. But he’s married. He has a family. He’s old enough to be your father. They just won’t understand. Demi would. Demi would get it. She always gets it and she always gets me. Having lost her father and sister in a car crash just weeks before moving into the dorms for college, taught her that life was indeed too short. Live freely and take risk, because you don’t know when you won’t be able to. Shit, we’re all gonna die anyway. That’s the mantra she lives by. She’s different and that’s why I attached myself to her. She’s not like everybody else who lives like they’ve already walked the steps to heaven.

This was a more than seldom, once in a lifetime opportunity. I’d think about this night when I’m grey and depleting on my deathbed. I won’t let my head play tricks on me with the opinions of anyone who would do the same thing put in my position.

It's silent again. I hear liquid being poured for a second. I wonder if Demi made it back to the hotel okay. She’s probably blowing up my phone with a thousand texts trying to figure out whats going on.

So deep in my thoughts I don’t realize he’s making his way to me until he’s right here already. I have to look up to meet his gaze as he stares down at me over the bridge of his nose. He’s so big. He smells divine. It's a masculine type of musk with a cleanliness to it. My breath gets caught in my throat, realizing exactly how close we are. Our shoes were just shy of an inch from touching. My chest rises and falls in anticipation of his next move.

Without any words, he holds a glass filled with brown liquid out closer to me. I look down at it with just my eyes. I’ve only been twenty-one for two weeks. Didn’t even get the opportunity to sit at a bar so a man could offer me a drink before trying to sleep with me. Who would’ve thought the first offering would come from him. Roman Reigns. Just at that thought, something in me ignited.

I took it, with the intention meaning more than just accepting the drink. I’m accepting the situation. Drawing a line in the sand and disposing of any doubt if there even was any left. I’m doing this. All complications pushed to the back. Tonight he’s not Joe Anoa’i, the married man with five kids. He’s Roman Reigns, undisputed WWE Universal Champion, The Tribal Chief, Main Eventer, Head of the Table…And I’m his biggest fan.

I throw the contents of the glass back, trying my hardest not to make a face from the burning sensation. He gets it down in one big gulp, putting me to shame, as I can’t help watching his Adam’s apple bob up and then down. He’s still just inches from me. I can see every hair on his beard. The slight greying ones are my favorite.

It's so weird seeing him in this state. So lax in his own space. No ring gear. No mean scowl. No Ula Fala around his neck. No championship belt around his waist. Just him. Black tee and sweats to match.

He takes the glass back and places them both behind me on the dresser top. Without warning, he’s on me. His tongue shoves past my lips saying to hell with formalities. No warm up. Straight to business.

“Mm,” I groan from shock. My natural instinct from being so caught off guard is to create some space, but a firm hand gripping the base of my neck keeps me in place.

He immediately asserts dominance, caressing every part of my body his hands can reach like he owns it. My neck, my shoulders, my back, and all the way down to my ass with a firm squeeze that separates my pussy lips. All the while still assaulting my mouth with his warm tongue. The tang of the alcohol still lingering. I fight for some control in the kiss but it's no use. He’s too much for me.

Everywhere his strong hands make contact, it leaves a spark until my whole body feels like it's on fire. Damn, that drink was strong. He pulls away from the kiss completely after one last soft, open mouthed peck. Like a magnet, my eyes find the thick bulge in his black sweats and I grow even more excited.

He drops to his knees in front of me and my breath hitches when his cold fingertips find their way up my shirt. A trail of kisses with a slight tickle from his beard follow up and up until I raise my arms for him to take the shirt off completely.

He’s back on his feet, turning me so my back is facing him. My breathing grows erratic. This is really happening.

“Lights,” his voice rumbles behind me. The bright lights turn off but there's little lamps set up in the small space allowing a cast bright enough to see still.

The black lace bra I wear is unhooked in a matter of seconds. Who knew when I put it on this morning, that Roman Reigns himself would be taking it off come night. With a firm grip on my hips he turns me back to face him.

Being well endowed up top from such a young age, my natural instinct is to cover myself. I always thought they were a bit big for my body. Standing at five foot seven, I was only one hundred and fifty pounds. A lot of my weight being carried up top from these double D’s. When all the girls in middle school were just filling in, I was a full D cup. I noticed how boys would stare. Older men too. It would make me uncomfortable. Always thinking of ways to cover them or make them appear smaller.

Avoiding eye contact is useless. His eyes are like magnets. Like the sun. Just beaming down on me, making them impossible to evade. So I stare back at him. We stay like this for a while. Just watching one another in silence. The air is smoky with lust and pure ecstasy.

His hands cover mine and slowly drag them down to reveal my breast. Round, surprisingly perky, with fully erect chocolate nipples, creating a contrast to my caramel complexion. They steal the show as his eyes shoot to them immediately while he breathes deep from his nose.

I can feel his energy shift from passionate to pure animalistic. When his entire mouth covers one nipple, I lose all my sense. My head rolls back and instinctively I bring a hand to the back of his head. A rough hand cups and caresses my breast while he’s still latched on. I watch in awe as his thick tongue sticks out to flick and play with it before sucking again.

He’s expertly unbuttoning my jeans with his other hand as I feel the snag of him trying to pull them down. I step out of my shoes to help him and reveal the black thong I am not even accustomed to wearing. I’m more of a a boy shorts or Walmart pack panties kind of girl. I just so happen to have forgotten to pack them and had to borrow a pair from Demi.

Bending down must be uncomfortable, since he grips the back of my knees to hike me up like I weigh absolutely nothing. He gives more attention to my chest, sucking until my nipples are sore, before his tongue is in my mouth exploring again. We’re moving now, I assume towards the bed. With every step, his erection rubs against me leaving me clenching and needy.

My back meets the unbelievably soft bed. I practically sink into it, watching him rear back to remove his shirt and show off that god-like body. Mountains and valleys of muscle in his abdomen placed perfectly like someone sculpted him with their bare hands. His bun hangs a little looser now.

His long fingers loop the waistband of my panties and we lock eyes. His stare is intense saying what his lips didn’t. I nod once. I’m doing this.

Almost in slow motion he pulls them down my legs, his eyes not leaving mine until the very last second. His attention is stolen by the sight of me down there.

“You’re soaking.” He uses the butt of his thumb to circle my clit. I jump slightly at the sudden contact. “That’s all for me?” He locks eyes with me again, expecting an answer and all I can do is nod frantically while biting down hard on my bottom lip. I can’t keep still. My body is on fire under his touch and his gaze. Eyes dark with passion, he squints watching me squirm every time he speeds the rhythm of his thumb up or down.

“Fuck,” I move my hips to the rhythm of his hand and grab one of my breast.

His thick tongue snakes out to lick his pink lips like he did earlier in the arena and I almost cum on sight. I look on in shock watching how he licks his thumb clean like he just ate Doritos and he’s discarding the remnants of them. A small groan of pleasure leaves his throat. I must be dreaming.

Climbing off the bed hastily, he tugs his pants and red briefs down at once and his dick pops up on recoil. My pussy clenches around nothing in anticipation for her next guest. Long, thick and tanned just like the rest of him. Mouthwatering. I never had the urge to taste something so bad in my life.

I can tell there’s no time for that though. He’s anxious now. I can feel the heat and need radiating off his body as if his stiff, vein-filled dick didn’t already tell on him.

With a tight grip on my ankle, he flips me over abruptly. Of course. Missionary would’ve been way too intimate for the circumstances.

On instinct I get up on all fours, deepening the arch to an almost painful degree so the view is nice for him. A smack so hard I jerk forward a bit, lets me know he’s satisfied with what he sees.

“All this ass,” he mumbles rubbing my behind in circles and even giving it a little shake.

He runs his long fingers up and down the slickness with ease. A groan leaves my throat as I grow impatient. I know I should want this to last as long as humanly possible, but I can’t fight this storm inside of me. I’ve wondered too long about it, daydreamed about it, and even touched myself in imagination before at the thought of this man I only knew through a TV screen.

I sway back and forth slightly waiting and listening to the sound of a wrapper and a slight pop. I have no time to prepare. The bed dips with the weight of him back on it. His thick head is at my opening, rubbing from my clit to almost my asshole. He only does this three good times before I’m practically ripped apart.

“Ouu!” A mix of a moan and something I’ve never heard from myself fills the room. He roughly takes the hand I thought I would use to push him and pins it behind me.

My throat goes dry. God damn. He’s fucking huge and unforgiving. Even with the slow pace he’s pushing into me combined with my wetness, it still feels like he’s breaking me apart from the inside out.

“Breathe,” he coaches. If possible a gush of wetness rushes out from the sound of his voice, bringing me back to the situation at hand. I have to make it work for him.

I bite down on the expensive grey covers as he pulls completely out and then back in. “Mm!”

He finds his rhythm, as he’s able to glide in and out. I try to match him once the pain subsides. I glance back to catch his full bottom lip caught between his teeth. The muscles in his chest working as a sheen of sweat starts to form.

I work harder now. The sight of him turning me on more than ever, opening me up like a wildflower.

“Let me hear you. I wanna hear you,” he grunts out almost desperately. The vulnerability in his rough voice drawing more heat and wetness from my core. I moan louder than I intended and shock myself. I’m not usually verbal in bed. Maybe a little cry or whimper here and there. This shit feels too good to be demure and delicate about.

I obey his order and release the moan that I didn’t even know I’m suppressing. It's not forced or fabricated. I genuinely feel so good in this moment I can only moan in response.

His strokes are primal. Animalistic like a lion in the wild taking whats his. And he’s so fucking big. In aura and size. The ways his body envelopes mine makes me feel smaller than I really am. His thickness stretching me in a way I didn’t think was possible.

“Oh, fuck!” I yell out. His hand tangles in my hair and stretches my gaze up, giving him full view of my desperate face.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he demands.

“Oh my god,” I pant. “It's so fucking good,” I struggle to get out. Every thrust steals my breath. He aims for the perfect spot every time and doesn’t miss. The smack of our bodies colliding ring loud in the silent space.

“Louder, baby,” he grunts diving deeper.

“I can feel you everywhere. You feel so good! Unh!”

“Atta girl.” The rumble of his voice sends a vibration straight to my core. My pussy clenches down from his words. To add insult to injury, a large and slightly calloused hand finds its way up my stomach to cup my breast. He pinches, twists and rolls my nipple around like he’s playing with a toy. As if my pussy isn’t becoming dangerously wetter already.

He removes the hold in my hair, trailing to my hip. His thumb presses down hard while guiding me back and forth on him. He gives me his all and I return the favor, using the unstable grip I have on the duvet to leverage me as I throw my ass back on him to catch.

The friction of his balls slapping sloppily against my clit built up enough pressure for a pending orgasm. With one strong hand still on my hip, he uses his free one to shove my face down to the bed making me lose any power I had in this fight.

His front collides with my ass, causing a consistent slapping. Anyone walking on the bus could easily tell whats going on now. His grunts, my pants, the consistent slapping. These were sounds of fucking.

“Fuck me! Yesss!” I don’t recognize myself. He’s awakening something in me. A familiar tinging stirs in the pit of my stomach. If he keeps on, it won’t be long until I explode all over his thick dick.

“Yeah?” He whispers.

“Yeah,” I whimper in response.

He goes harder than ever before, his strokes less uniform and more wild. My mouth falls wide open at the intensity and perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

His hips continue to snap against me and if possible I feel him grow harder inside me. His fingertips dig into me so hard I know there’ll be bruises tomorrow.

“Urghh!” A guttural moan erupts from him, urging me to fuck him through his release even as his movements slow. I study his facial expressions and record them in my brain to take home with me as a souvenir. He stretches his neck with eyes shut tightly. That fucking tongue. Whisking out to flatten over his top lip before he bites down on his bottom one. Chest heaving up and down with the muscles in his abdomen flexing with every breath.

“So fucking good,” he says more to himself. He delivers another hard spank to my ass before I feel him ease out of me, hissing slightly at the sudden disconnect and absence of him. The pit of my stomach heavy still with the lingering orgasm that was cut short.

I’ve had sex with guys before and never got to finish. I’d leave unsatisfied and almost regretting the encounter completely. This is different. I’m here for him. I’d fulfill his needs and drain him even if it meant I left with nothing but a wet ass.

The bed creaks a little, letting me know he got up completely. Just when I think the night is over, my mouth falls open at the sensation of his hot mouth covering my entire pussy. His tongue slithers out to graze my distended clit.

“Mm, shit,” I cry out, shaking. I’m so sensitive. Any little sensation sends my body into overdrive. Every lick draws a mini release. When I finally get to the edge I know I’ll fall completely apart. The hair from his beard tickles me, only heightening the sensations. I feel nothing but pure pleasure.

A strong hand comes down on my left ass cheek and I whimper on impact. He squeezes it in a firm gip to move me up and down in a steady rhythm on his flattened tongue.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” I cry. I let my head hang down unable to keep it up any longer. All I can do, feel, and think about in this moments is how good he feels to me. Guys my age always need a crash course on how to eat pussy. Always too much spit, they couldn’t find my clit, or the torturous shaking of the head like a rabid dog.

Roman is eating me like I’m his last meal. Touching spots I didn’t even know a tongue could reach. With the way he’s grabbing me and rocking me on his stiff tongue, he’s damn near fucking me with it. We’re two complete strangers. The power dynamic is completely off. He’s the billionaire WWE superstar and I’m the underpaid and overworked fan in college. Somehow he’s still taking the time to worship my body and give me his all as if he’s the one who has something to prove.

The dick was mind-blowing. Oh, but the head will be the death of me. That same tongue he wags and flicks on live television, exploring me. Tonight is an absolute fairytale. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he could read my mind. He knows exactly what I want and how I want it.

In only a matter of seconds a tornado of heat swirls in my core. I rock back and forth on his mouth before he sucks relentlessly on my sensitive bud nonstop.

“Unnhh!” An uncontrollable shake erupts from me as I see stars. The world goes completely blank for a while as I relish in the ecstasy of my orgasm granted by the Tribal Chief himself. Tonight, I acknowledge him and his mouth.

“Oh my god,” I whisper in between pants coming to my senses. A small laugh leaves my throat at the way I just lost myself in front of him.

I turn to find him in the middle of snatching the cream covered condom off. His big dick bobs up and down from the snatch, fully erect again.

We got one night only.

Like a lioness on the prowl in the jungle, I eye him, crawling to the edge of the king bed where he stands. I stop just in front where my mouth aligns to his thickness, still eyeing him, making sure it's okay. He nods giving me the green light and even holds the base in his strong hand to bring it closer to my lips.

I let a glob of spit form and fall freely on his thick mushroom tip. Before it can drip, I catch it on the underside and lick from tip to base, to the tip again. His hips push forward impatiently.

“Open.” It's not a question so I don’t test him. His face is hard, but his eyes are desperate. As soon as my lips part he shoves himself all the way in like he owns my entire mouth. He draws out and I hallow my cheeks to keep it in as long as possible until I release him with a pop.

“Stick your tongue out for me.” I oblige and he slides his heavy dick across it gathering spit before pushing back down my mouth. A pulse grows in my clit again. A revival from seeing the remains of the mess I made in his thick beard.

“It's so good,” I tell him while slapping it on my tongue for him, earning a groan. The skin of him is soft as he stretches my mouth. I can taste the salty precum and I cant wait for the rest of it. I never trusted a man to release his bodily fluids in me in any way. It kind of grossed me out. Oh, but not tonight. He can release wherever he chooses.

Using one hand to twist in tandem with sucking him, I study every change in his expression, every pattern of his breath to record what feels the best to him.

“Go ‘head,” he urges in a low guttural tone. “Just like that. Take it all the way down. Don’t stop, babygirl.” That’s all I need to hear.

The eye contact is so deep it puts me in a trance. In a constant and fluid motion I take him in and out, making sure he reaches the back of my throat every time. In and out. In and out. In and out. The sounds of spit and his heavy breathing take charge of the room.

His body stiffens a bit and I can feel him get harder on my tongue. Deliberately I take him as far as possible and stay there until I make myself choke. The contracting of my throat around his thick head sends him completely off the rails. He breaks our bubble, throwing his head back to the ceiling.

“Mmm. Aw fuck!” A strong hand grabs a fistful of my hair, making it impossible for me to move. Thick ropes of his warm cum shoot down my throat and all around my mouth. “Ahh,” he groans out with a hiss jerking his hips forward a few good times. “Oh my god,” he blows out a heavy breath and lets his hands rest on his hips.

I’ve made dean’s list, honor roll all throughout high school, medals of all kind from track decorate the walls of my bedroom in my parents’ house. None of those accomplishments compare to the sight I just witnessed. The Roman Reign’s spent and sexually exhausted because of little ole me.

“Let me see,” he whispers while watching me suck the last of it out. I open wide and stick my tongue out so he can see his cum on it. His massive dick jumps at the sight. I feel the warmth of some of it seeping out and running down my chin.

“Don’t move,” he instructs. Like his obedient soldier I stay put, only looking around with one good eye. The other shut tight so none of his cum could invade it.

When he emerges again, he has a wet cloth in hand. Gently but still firm he wipes my face clean of him and my tears that slipped from the intensity of choking. Who knew the Tribal Chief is into aftercare?

A squeal escapes me from being lifted into the air and over his broad shoulder. I’m hanging as he moves us about. There’s no way that any of this is happening.

The shower starts to run. Even upside down I can see the marble walls and waterfall shower head raining down.

“You care about your hair getting wet?”

“No,” I strain to get out with his shoulder digging into my stomach. He chuckles so softly, I would’ve missed it if I couldn’t feel it from being on him.

He fucks me for hours in the shower. My back against the wall. In the air. Face against the tiles. On all fours again. I guess older men carry more stamina. The water cascaded from up top on us both while we locked tongues passionately, breathing in each other’s air.

He was in control the whole time. He flipped me every way he wanted me to go. Told me what to do, never asking. I’m left a wet, quivering mess at the end of it all.

I don’t realize how exhausted I am until he asks if I want to stay the night. I think about getting dressed and leaving, but the bed is impossibly plush and the sight of him naked still is impossibly sexy. Even better than I imagined.

I threw cuddling out the window once I seen his stoic nature and how he moved about earlier like this was just a business deal. He lays in the bed, still naked on his back with muscular arms slightly stretched. I lay on my stomach beside him trying to get comfortable. My heart thumps out my chest knowing he’s still here with me and so accessible. We literally just violated each other in the nastiest way possible and now we lay in bed not even touching.

His heavy breaths and light snore fill the room in no time creating a sort of white noise for me descend to.

Some time in the middle of the night, I don know how, but those light snores ended up right in my ear. His breath hot on top of my head, accompanied by a very heavy arm over my hip.

My heart smiled and my face caught fire. It was so intimate. Undeniably my favorite part of the night. I shifted as quietly as I possibly could, inch by inch, until I was facing him. His bun fell completely apart, leaving his dried and fluffy curls cascading over his shoulders and the plush pillows. I make out what I can in the dark of his sharp features. I never seen him so relaxed. In the ring he’s always tense, always painted with tyranny and stress, but not right now. He almost looked like an angel.

I make a mental image of him. This is exactly how I want to remember him— how I want to remember this unpredictable night. This is the part that even if I could tell it, I don’t think anyone would even believe me. Burying my face into his chest, I breathe deep, trying to imprint his smell into my brain like ink on the skin.

The loud voices of men I don’t recognize, serve as my alarm clock. Eyes still shut, flashes of the night before and the soreness of my body, warp me back to reality. Oh, shit.

I shoot up from the pillow to scan the room, keeping the covers close to my naked chest. His suitcase still stood in the corner, but there’s no trace of him. No water running. His slides are gone. The thick curtain shields me from the rest of the bus.

6:07 AM flashes on the digital clock of the now cleared nightstand.

It's not like I was expecting this grand goodbye. The man didn’t even say hello to begin with. I thought I could at least see him one last good time before I leave LA for good.

I attempt to rise up, but something crinkling under my palm stops me. I grab the sheet of notepad paper and rub my eyes before reading the contents of it.

Thanks for last night. Joe.

Short and simple. In the corner, two cursive R’s as a signature. I neatly fold the paper and drop it into the pocket of my jeans I find folded on the chest dresser. I want that paper with me everywhere I go. A small piece of the whole experience. A subtle reminder of the best night of my life.

Every part of me wants to feel bad. How could I let him just use me for his needs for a night and then discard me like it was nothing? I should feel low. Cheap. But thats not even the kind of girl I am. The glass is always half full to me. Last night was arguably the best night of my young life. I’ve never known such adventure. I never felt more free—more like a woman.

I flop down in my bed still in a daze from the events of last weekend. Demi had a million and one questions. The NDA kept me from spilling. Even if I could’ve given her a play by play of how the night went, I don’t think I would’ve. Demi and I have the kind of bond thats void of any secrets. But that night with him was so special to me, I want to keep it for myself. Something for just me and him. It makes it more magical when only we know what happened. I just want to soak and bathe in it all.

Light as a feather I stare at my ceiling, letting the flashbacks corrupt me. The feel of his soft skin. The smell of him. His grunts and pants. His hands caressing and gripping my ass. The warmth of his tongue filling my mouth. I blow out a breath getting worked up again. I’ve touched myself countless times since that night to the memory of his voice and his energy. He was just so damn good. So much man and dominance, but still gentle and cautious.

After we touched back down in New York, it was back to reality. But that didn’t stop me from walking on a cloud. You can’t tell me shit. I fucked the Roman Reigns. Drained him and swallowed the aftermath. How’s that for a spring break?

It's currently Thursday. Almost a week has passed since the greatest night of my young life. I just got back from the gym with Demi. She’s pressed me every single day since that night, but I won’t budge. The confines of the NDA keeping me stronger than I normally would be.

Tomorrow is Smackdown at the Garden, but it's unclear if Roman will even be in attendance. He takes so many hiatuses it's really a hit or miss with him. Demi asked if we should go, but I declined not wanting to spend the money I didn’t have just for him not to even show.

A sudden dread came over me knowing that he couldn’t possibly be thinking of me even half as much as I’ve thought of him. He’s overridden my mind. I’ve obsessed over every little detail and played it back a thousand times, while he doesn’t even know my name.

Paul said it himself. He likes the comfort of company while he’s on the road. All the times he has to travel for work, cameras in his face nonstop, and body aching from all the physical exhaustion, I’m sure he always has to release the tension somehow. I’m just one of many.

I knew that going into it. I know I’m not special, but I tried my hardest to be. I did what I could to make him remember me. Constant eye contact, carrying out his every command, throwing this ass back as hard as I could and sucking the soul out of him.

A violent buzz of my phone snaps me out of my daze. I feel for it on the covers. My eyebrows dent at the message notification from a number I don’t recognize, causing me to unlock it.

Your Tribal Chief has requested your services again.

Sorry for that long ass disclaimer lol. It’s a shame I even have to include that, but I literally watched a girl argue with an author on here about promoting adultery and cheating simply because a character was cheating. Like, it’s a story?? It’s a fictional character?? Don't read it??

If you read it or even just parts of it, I really am appreciative. Pls like or reblog. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Please remember I am an artist…and I’m sensitive about my shit lol 💋

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writerinlearning · 3 days ago

Text

𝐋𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐏𝗼𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧

plot: during a mission, henry gets hit with a chemically-altered weapon and finds himself under the influence of the love pollen.

pairing: henry hart x fem!reader

show: henry danger

warnings: none that i can think of. brief mention of injuries, maybe?

word count: 8,9k

author’s notes: english is not my first language, apologies for any mistakes. this piece is based off a request i received, and it is the only request i’ll ever do (i have explained why in the guidelines tab you can find in the pinned post on my blog). as i read the request, an idea popped into my head right away, which is why i had to write it. this takes place around season five of henry danger, before henry loses his hypermotility. it’s also sorta inspired by the episode love muffin from season three of henry danger. a little backstory worth mentioning, reader got the job as one of ray’s sidekicks the same day as henry, and she goes by the name Menace. i hope you enjoy reading!

henry hart masterlist | main masterlist

It all just kind of happened. Y/N cannot tell how, when or why; it just happened. It was supposed to be a simple mission: catch a bad guy who escaped from the police’s holding cell, throw his ass back to jail, and celebrate the victory with Inside-Out Burger and the rest of the Danger team. It was anything but.

“Hen, are you okay?” Y/N asks her friend, gently tapping his cheek to wake him up.

She can hear grunts and shouts behind her, and she knows Ray is trying his best to subdue Dr. Lover, a misguided scientist who uses the pollen from various flowers to create all kinds of chemical weapons with his scientific knowledge. But her focus is solely on her best friend, who lay unconscious on the floor after being hit by a blast from one of Dr. Lover’s weapons. Y/N pulls her lower lip between her teeth, one hand gently cradling Henry’s face while she uses her other hand to gently tap his nose and cheek again.

“C’mon Hen, wake up.”

Y/N insists, her voice barely above a whisper as she keeps on trying to wake him up, but his eyes stay closed. The weapon Dr. Lover used on Kid Danger lay scattered somewhere around her, but it is of no use to her as she has no idea what that weapon is, and what it does.

Panic slowly creeps under her skin. Her breathing becomes shallow, shortened. Her eyes flicker around the warehouse, but they always drift back to her best friend, lying unconscious next to her. The sounds of Captain Man’s grunts as he fights Dr. Lover gets muffled by the racing thoughts in her brain, and her vision becomes blurry when the tears fill her eyes. A short whimper leaves her slightly parted lips, and she bites down her bottom lip again, trying to keep herself together.

“Shit!” She blurts out, voice shaking. “Don’t do this to me Henry, come on…”

She moves one of her hands from his face to the side of his neck, looking for his pulse. The adrenaline rushes through every fiber of her body when she cannot find it, and she can feel the tears silently rolling down her cheeks. She chokes back on a sob, the sound muffled by the hand she brings to her mouth to stop herself from breaking entirely. She inhales sharply, breath trembling as she composes herself. She knows CPR, she could try that, but she isn’t certain Henry needs it. She doesn’t know what that weapon did to him, and maybe she just couldn’t find his pulse because she’s wearing her black and navy-blue gloves. With her teeth, she rips one glove from her hand and she brings her now bare fingers to Henry’s neck, looking for his pulse again. It’s there, but it’s faint, slowing down with each second that passes. A small, relieved sigh leaves her, and she closes her eyes for a short instant. Her ears pick up on the fight behind her, and from the clinking of cuffs against metal and the ragged breaths echoing around the corrugated iron walls, she can tell that Captain Man is close to subdue Dr. Lover.

Y/N looks down on Henry again. She contemplates whether or not to slap him hard across his face to wake him up, but she doubts it will do much when her mind reminds her that his pulse is slowing down. She takes a deep breath, remembering about that one time where she went to a first-aid training. She can do this. With one hand, she tilts Henry’s head up, and with the other she gently pinches his nose as she leans down to perform mouth to mouth. She repeats her movements twice, lowering her ear on his chest to listen to the sound of his heartbeat, and she resumes her first-aid action another three times before Henry’s body jerks forward in a sitting position as he gasps for air. Y/N gets knocked out of the way in the process, but she lets out a relieved sigh when she sees her best friend finally awake.

“Kid Danger, are you okay?” She asks, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Henry blinks, running a hand across his face as he looks around, taking in his surroundings. His eyebrows crease a frown on his forehead, and he scratches his temple. He is in an old warehouse, that much he can tell from the dirty walls and the lack of artificial light from the ceiling. He can feel the wind creeping through the holes in the doors and in the walls, and he has to stop himself from retching when the scent of acid reaches his nose. Slowly, the memories of why he is here come back to the forefront of his mind. Dr. Lover had escaped from jail, and it’d been up to Captain Man, Kid Danger, and Menace to get him back there. They’d found him in the old warehouse near the Swellview border, but as soon as they’d stepped inside he got hit by a powerful purple blast that knocked him off his feet. He feels a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, and he turns his head around.

There she is, Y/N. She wears her sidekick uniform, a navy-blue spandex suit with a black leather jacket that matches his own silver and red one. Her mask, the same colours as her uniform, covers her eyes and there’s a dark eyeshadow that covers her skin; the same way silver eyeshadow covers his.

“Hey Kid Danger.” Y/N smiles when she holds his gaze to hers. “How are you feeling? You got hit pretty badly.”

“I– I–” Henry stutters, feeling the heat rise in his body. “I love you.”

His voice is soft, and Y/N chokes back on her saliva, blinking rapidly. This certainly came out of nowhere, she thinks. She holds her breath when she feels a pair of arms wrap around her midsection and a mop of hair brushing against her chin. Her body freezes, and her mind begins to race with a thousand thoughts by the second. What’s happening? She clears her throat, shaking her head as her eyes drift back to her best friend who is now all snuggled up against her, eyes closed and a lovestruck smile hanging on his lips. She chuckles awkwardly, the sound rumbling from her chest as she puts her hands on Henry’s shoulders to gently push him away from her.

“Alright Kids, we’re good to–”

Captain Man begins to say as he approaches his two sidekicks, but he stops himself mid-sentence when his eyes land on the both of them. A smirk cracks his face, watching Kid Danger snuggling up against Menace and how the teenage girl’s eyes are blown wide in surprise. A chuckle rumbles from his chest as he crouches down next to Menace, putting a hand over her shoulder.

“So, Kid Danger’s okay.” Ray smiles, eying Henry through his mask.

“Is he?” Y/N tilts her head, brows furrowed. “Ray, he won’t let me go.” She whispers then.

“Alright.” The man shrugs, standing up and grabbing one of Henry’s arms to pull him up. “Come on Kid, we gotta go.”

Henry whines when he is pulled away from Y/N, lips pouted when he turns to look at Ray. Y/N lets out a heavy sigh, jumping on her two feet. She picks up her glove, sliding it back on her hand, and she brushes away the dust that had gathered on her legs when she’d been sitting on the floor. When she looks back at her boss, Henry’s already back by her side, both his arms wrapped around her shoulders as he rests his chin in the crook of her neck. The heat flares up her cheeks, and Y/N is fairly certain that her face is a bright red colour. Henry’s sudden confession lingers in her mind; it felt weird, and out of the blue. Sure, she’s had the longest crush on her best friend; she can’t even remember when she first caught feelings for him, but she always tried to hide the way she truly feels about him. Had he suddenly figured it out and needed to tell her how he feels too? Or did Dr. Lover’s chemical weapon do something to him? Either way, Y/N cannot shake the feeling of déjà-vu; like something similar had happened before. She lets out a soft smile, running a gloved hand across her face as she feels Henry’s arms tighten their embrace around her shoulders. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, helplessly looking at Ray, with her head slightly tilted to the side.

“I don’t think he’s gonna let you go, Kid.” Ray states, amused by the situation.

“You think?” Y/N snaps back, brows raised. “How are we supposed to get back to the Man Cave if he’s all snuggled up against me?”

Ray shrugs as his eyes drift towards Henry. His eyes are closed as he lays his head above Y/N’s left shoulder, his hands locked together over her clavicles. Y/N lets out a breath, giving Henry’s hands a gentle tap to break free of his hold, and she steps aside next to him when he unravels his arms from around her. There’s a lopsided grin on his lips when he looks at her through half-opened lids, and a small giggle rumbles from his chest when her hand finds his.

“C’mon Kid Danger.” She says, her voice soft. “Let’s get back to the Man Cave.”

—

Going back to the Man Cave proved to be more difficult than what Y/N had expected, with Henry stuck to her the whole way there and Ray making snarky remarks here and there whenever Y/N tried to pull away and Henry protested. Now she’s sitting on the round couch near the supercomputer, out of her Menace uniform and back into her own clothes, with Henry snuggled up against her, him too in his civilian clothes.

Y/N had seen Henry under the influence of a love potion before, but she didn’t have romantic feelings for him then. And, she hadn’t been the object of his love. She vaguely remembered the events from two years earlier, when Ray had had muffin-induced feelings of love for a villain named Gwen. The woman had tried to do the same with Henry, but instead of having muffin-induced feelings of love for her, he ended up having muffin-induced feelings for Jasper. The feelings only disappeared when anger took over them, and she remembers how Henry had been injured after picking up a fight with Ray. When she thinks about it, she should have known that giving mouth to mouth to her best friend after he’d been hit by one of Dr. Lover’s weapons would lead to something like this. Surely the villain didn’t call himself Dr. Lover for nothing.

Y/N closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose when the elevator doors ding open. She tries her best to look over her shoulder to see who it is, but the task turns out to be complicated when you have a six feet teenage boy holding onto you for dear life with his head buried in the crook of your neck. She groans softly, throwing her head back against the edge of the couch, getting a glimpse of Jasper approaching the Man couch.

“I am so glad I am not the object of his love this time!” Jasper snorts when he sits across from Y/N, a smile on his lips.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying my suffering, Jasp.” Y/N rolls her eyes.

“Come on, Y/N.” Jasper smirks, giving her a knowing side-eye. “Is it really suffering?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.”

Y/N’s lips turn into a thin line as she glares at Jasper, who only raises his arms up in defense. So, maybe she’s been more obvious than she thought she’d been about her feelings for her best friend but last she knew, Henry had no idea how she felt about him and she’d prefer it if it stayed that way. She doesn’t want to ruin her friendship with him, and she certainly won’t let the influence of a love potion change that. If it even is a love potion, she thinks.

Henry shifts next to her, and Y/N takes it as an opportunity to move away from him. But Henry’s faster than her, curse his hypermotility, and his slender fingers wrap themselves around her wrist, pulling her back to him. She lets out a small yelp when she lands on his lap, her body stiffening when his arms snake around her waist and he pulls her close. Her back is against his chest, and he rests his chin atop her shoulder, his blond mop of tangled hair brushing against her earlobe. A shiver runs down her spine, and she has to close her eyes to control her breathing. Schwoz needs to figure out what happened to Henry, and he needs to figure it out soon.

“I don’t suppose making him angry will change anything?” Y/N suggests, raising a brow at Jasper.

He seems to think for a moment. “Nope. Schwoz said this wasn’t like the love muffin from two years ago so…” He trails out, looking for his next words. “Whatever Dr. Lover did to Henry, it’s different from Gwen and her love muffins.”

“Okay… but here’s a thought. We never caught Gwen again, after the whole incident. Do we think she might be working with Dr. Lover this time?”

Jasper shrugs, taking a quick glance towards Henry. His eyes are closed as he leans over Y/N’s shoulder, a lovestruck smile hanging on his lips, and his arms are tightly secured around her waist, preventing her from evading him. It reminds Jasper of the time where Henry had been under the influence of the love muffin, and how he wouldn’t stop clinging onto him until Piper had attacked him for stealing her curling iron. Jasper grimaces at the memory, but he can understand Y/N’s discomfort with the whole situation. Contrary to what everyone thinks, Jasper has a tendency to observe people when they’re not watching, and even an idiot would see the way Y/N steals furtive glances towards Henry when he’s not looking, or how her cheeks would flare up whenever someone suggested that they might be dating. Jasper knows about Y/N’s feelings for Henry, but he keeps it to himself because he knows it has to come from her if she ever wants to say anything about it. Besides, he is an excellent secret keeper, he wouldn’t tell on his friends. But when he thinks about it, perhaps Y/N’s right. Perhaps Dr. Lover’s been working with Gwen, and whatever it was that hit Henry earlier today might have something to do with Gwen’s love muffins from two years ago.

The sprocket hisses as it rises to the ceiling, and Jasper turns his head towards it. Ray steps out, eyes stuck to the PearPad he holds in his hands. His brows are furrowed, creasing lines on his forehead that show the weight of a life of crime-fighting. At the same time, the hidden door between the supercomputer panel and the auto-snacker clicks open, and Y/N looks over Jasper’s shoulder to see Schwoz coming out of there, grumbling in a foreign language.

“Did you find anything?” Y/N asks Schwoz, a little hopeful.

But the science man says nothing, dismissing her with a wave of his hand as he walks to another room, somewhere in the hallways behind the tube pads. Y/N sighs, throwing her head back as she closes her eyes. The exhaustion of the day starts to weigh on her, to the point that she doesn’t care if she’s Henry’s hostage anymore. Besides, his shoulder’s comfortable so why wouldn’t she rest her head on it? Henry seems to enjoy it too, because as soon as her head is on his shoulder, his smile grows larger across his face, and he half-open his eyes to glance at her. All he can see is her strained neck though, and all he can think about is how tempting it is to kiss it. Instead, he simply nuzzles his face closer to the crook of where her neck and shoulder meet, the tip of his nose brushing against her skin as her sweet perfume fills his nostrils when he takes a deep, contented breath. He doesn’t realize that his small gesture makes the goosebumps rise on Y/N’s skin, nor does he notice how she holds her breath for a minute.

“Ray?” Y/N calls out eventually, her voice half-asleep. She doesn’t mean to enjoy the close proximity with Henry, but it’s comfortable. Safe.

Ray detaches his gaze from the PearPad in his hands to look up to the round couch where both his sidekicks and Jasper are seated. He raises a brow when he notices the smirk on Jasper’s face, but he can’t help a smirk of his own when he sees just what Jasper is smiling about.

“Ray?” Y/N calls out again, her voice sleepy.

“Yeah?” Ray suppresses a chuckle.

“Do we think Gwen might be working with Dr. Lover?”

“Why?”

“Well…”

Y/N stops herself when she feels Henry’s fingers suddenly trail up and down her right side, sending a shiver down her spine. She holds her breath, pressing her lips together to try to compose herself, and she moves her arms down on Henry’s, clasping her hands above his to make him stop. She swallows the nervous lump in her throat, gathering her thoughts. Henry smiles lazily against her neck, and she can feel the redness in her cheeks. She clears her throat, blinking.

“We know Henry’s been hit with one of Dr. Lover’s weapons,” she begins again, her voice wavering. “And whatever it was, it made him fall in love with me, for some reason. Is it possible that, whatever that weapon was, it had the same kind of chemicals Gwen’s love muffins had when she made you fall in love with her, and Henry with Jasper?”

Her words are slurred together as she voices out her thoughts, and it takes Ray a minute to understand her. Another, deeper frown creases lines on his forehead as he reflects on her words. Much of what happened with Gwen was like a foggy memory in his brain, and the only thing he could remember clearly was how angry he’d been when Henry had tried to pick up a fight with him. Ray looks back at Y/N, a brow raised as she slowly lifts her head, eyelids half-dropped over her eyes. Behind her, Henry whines softly as his head falls off of her shoulder.

“We never caught Gwen either, after the whole muffin fiasco.” Y/N mumbles sleepily. “Could she have been working with Dr. Lover?”

Ray seems to be considering this. “She might have.” He says then, looking back at the PearPad in his hands. “I’ll ask Schwoz to compare the chemicals from the love muffin with the ones from Dr. Lover’s weapon.”

Y/N hums in response. The elevator dings open, and Jasper looks over his friends’ heads to see Charlotte coming out of it, her eyebrows rising up in confusion when she spots Y/N on Henry’s lap. Like Y/N earlier, Charlotte also gets a sense of déjà-vu. She frowns as she makes her way to the couch.

“Is this the love muffin thing all over again?” Charlotte asks, sitting next to Jasper.

Charlotte, Jasper, Y/N, and Schwoz are the only ones who remember in detail what had happened two years ago, with Gwen and her love muffins. And although they did tell Henry and Ray what had happened, their memories of it were always a little foggy. The only thing they can remember from it is being angry when someone attacked the one they loved or said bad things about them.

“Yeah, but I think Y/N’s secretly enjoying it.” Jasper laughs and winks as he answers Charlotte.

Y/N gives him a glare, suddenly wide awake. “I do not.” She feels her cheeks turning bright red. “It’s just– every time I try to leave,” she says, unraveling Henry’s arms from around her waist and shifting to a seat next to him to prove a point. Henry whines in discontent, reaching for her again. Y/N sighs. “This happens.” She clicks her tongue, allowing Henry to wrap his arms around her waist again.

He doesn’t pull her onto his lap this time, and only one of his arms has snuck around behind her back to wrap around her waist, but he rests his head above her shoulder, reaching for one of her hands with his free arm. Y/N lets him, and a shiver runs down her spine as he intertwines his fingers with hers, the warmth of his palm spreading through hers.

Charlotte cannot help the side-smirk that grows in the corner of her lips as she watches her two friends together. She can see the way the flush spreads across Y/N’s face, and the tired lovestruck smile stuck on Henry’s features. She knows Jasper has figured it out, about Y/N’s feelings for Henry; they did talk about it together, but Charlotte is fairly certain Jasper has no idea that Henry actually reciprocates Y/N’s feelings. She isn’t even sure Henry is aware of his own, obvious feelings for Y/N, but if he is, he’s actually doing a better job at hiding it than Y/N is. Charlotte actually figured it out because she noticed the way Henry would steal glances in Y/N’s way, or how his brows would furrow whenever a boy outside of him or Jasper would come up to Y/N and engage in a conversation with her, however platonic it was.

“I got it! I got it! I got it!”

The three teenagers lift their heads up, to see Schwoz storming inside the Man Cave, flailing his arms up in the air as he runs in circles from one end of the room to the other. Even Henry has lifted his head up, if only for a second, a pout on his lips as he observes Schwoz through half-opened lids, his brows furrowed together. Ray puts his PearPad onto the console of the supercomputer, spinning around in the chair he sits in as he crosses his arms over his chest, raising a brow in anticipation as he looks toward the science man.

“What is it, Schwoz?” Charlotte asks, raising a brow.

“I know why Henry is all lovestruck.” Schwoz smirks, pointing at Henry.

“You do?” Y/N speaks up, albeit a little too excitedly.

Her sudden movement makes Henry’s head fall off of her shoulder, jolting him awake. His frown deepens on his forehead at the loss of contact when Y/N pulls her hand away from his as she stands from the couch, stradling past him to be next to Schwoz with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Pff, yeah I do.” Schwoz nods. “Only a stupid person would not get it.”

“Okay…” Y/N trails out, glancing at Ray, Charlotte, and Jasper. “So, what is it?”

“It’s love pollen.”

“Love pollen?” Charlotte asks, standing up too. “What do you mean love pollen? What is that?”

“Yeah! Henry was hit with a blast, why would it be any kind of pollen?” Ray adds, confused.

Schwoz sighs, rolling his eyes. “Ugh, how can I dumb it down so even a stupid child could understand?”

His rhetorical question is met with a lot of protests from Ray, an offended gasp from Charlotte, and a scoff from Y/N, but Schwoz pays them no mind. He begins to stroke his chin as if he had a beard, walking over to the couch and taking Charlotte’s place next to Jasper. He glances towards Henry, eying him cautiously. His head is laying on his arm on the round table in front of the couch, chocolate eyes focused on Y/N, and a silly grin has found its place across his features. He extends his free arm towards Y/N and she sighs, rolling her eyes before she caves in again. Her hand finds his, and he instantly pulls her down next to him, scooting over so she doesn’t fall on her butt on the floor from sitting on the edge of the couch. A contented sigh leaves his lips when she is next to him, and he lays his head back on her shoulder as he sneaks his free arm around her waist. He doesn’t let go of her hand either, keeping it on his thigh as he begins to rub his thumb in small circles across her knuckles.

“Are you going to tell us or not, Schwoz?” Y/N asks, growing frustrated.

“In a minute!” Schwoz retorts, his foreign accent slipping through.

“Does it have anything to do with the love muffins?” Charlotte wonders, tilting her head.

“Well, yes. And no.”

“Well, which is it, Schwoz?” Ray queries, raising a brow.

“Both. See, the love pollen comes from a rare flower that is illegal to harvest in the America. Very hard to find. When someone breathes it, they become in love with the first people they see. Or kiss.”

“But Henry didn’t breathe the love pollen.” Jasper retorts, thinking. “He was hit by one of Dr. Lover’s weapons.”

“Y– yeah, a purple blast.” Y/N adds, remembering. “Knocked him out for a good ten minutes.”

“Henry’s lab tests show traces of love pollen in his system, and other chemicals that are similar to the ones from the love muffins.” Schwoz shrugs.

“Okay, so maybe Dr. Lover found a way to combine them and turn them into a weapon!” Charlotte suggests, snapping her fingers. “He’s a scientist, with all kinds of gadgets– maybe he figured out a way to use the love pollen and the chemicals from the love muffin as a weapon.”

“Which means that Gwen was probably working with him!” Jasper adds.

“So we just have to make Henry angry, and he’ll stop being in love with me. Right?” Y/N asks, turning her gaze to Schwoz.

“Love pollen is stronger than the love muffin chemicals, and because it is in higher quantity in Henry’s system, I don’t think making him angry will work.”

Y/N sighs, throwing her head back. Great, that’s just great, she thinks. So they know what’s causing Henry to be infatuated with her, but they have no idea how to make it stop. And the last thing Y/N wants is for Henry to be infatuated with her without being aware of it in the first place. If she’s honest with herself though, she really doesn’t mind the attention he’s been giving her; she just wishes it were real.

“Well, you better figure something out, Schwoz.” Ray speaks up. “Because we need Kid Danger to fight crime.”

“I’ll help Schwoz figure it out.” Charlotte says.

Y/N lifts her head up then, glancing at her friend and mouthing a small ‘thank you’. Charlotte dips her chin down in understanding as Schwoz rises from the couch, and the two of them soon disappear behind the hidden door near the auto-snacker.

“Okay, Hen…” Y/N sighs, sitting straighter on the couch. Her free hand rests on Henry’s arm around her waist. “It’s getting late and I need to go home. Can you let me go?”

Henry lets out a soft whine in protest, his hold strengthening around her waist and Y/N groans. Jasper snorts in front of her, and she gives him a death stare, smirking proudly as he lowers his head to avoid her stare. Then, she glances up to Ray, who’s watching her with an amused gleam in his eyes. She frowns, tilting her head to the side.

“A little help, Ray?” She asks him, hopeful.

“He’s going to follow you home, you know.” Ray states, raising a brow. “Poor kid’s infatuated with you, he can’t even be a minute without you.”

Y/N sighs. “I can’t go home with him like that. My mom’s gonna figure something out.”

“Then tell her you’re staying at Char’s place.” Jasper suggests. “And you stay here in the Man Cave until she and Schwoz figure out something.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, leaning back into the couch. She reaches for her phone in her front pocket, quickly texting her mother after unlocking her screen. She then sets her phone down on the table in front of her, shifting in her seat to be more comfortable. She watches as Ray stands up, exchanging a few words with Jasper before he disappears through the same door as Charlotte and Schwoz. Jasper stands up then, and Y/N frowns as she follows his movements towards the elevator.

“Are you going to leave me here alone?” She asks her friend, the frown deepening on her forehead.

“You’re not alone.” Jasper smiles. “You have Henry!”

“You know what I mean.”

“Eh, you’ll be fine. He’s mostly harmless. Besides, Ray’s gonna kill me if I’m not back up at the store.”

“It’s a fake store.” Y/N deadpans. “And since when do you pretend to care about the store?”

“I don’t.” Jasper shrugs. “But we gotta keep up with the appearances.”

Y/N rolls her eyes at that, huffing. She hears the elevator doors ding, followed by a loud whirring sound before the Man Cave falls quiet again. She lets out a sigh, her chest heaving up and down as she does so, and then she tilts her head to look at Henry. He looks peaceful, with his head on her shoulder and the soft smile on his lips. It almost looks like he’s sleeping, with his eyes closed, but she knows he isn’t; she can feel his thumb still brushing against her knuckles. Y/N knows none of this is real, save for her own feelings, and she knows that Henry probably won’t remember anything once he comes out of it. But it feels nice; it feels real. Safe. She leans back into the couch, leaning her head over Henry’s, and she closes her eyes, a quiet sigh leaving her lips.

—

Y/N doesn’t remember falling asleep but when she wakes up, the Man Cave is entirely quiet. She blinks several times, adjusting her eyesight to the dimmed lights in the room. The slow beeping from the supercomputer reaches her ears before the soft snores coming from right beside her. Her back is beginning to hurt from leaning over the table, and she barely can feel her arms from the weight of her head on them. How long had she been asleep?

She wants to move; to stand up to get the blood flowing to her arms and legs again, but there’s a weight on her back and a gentle pressure around her midsection that prevent her from moving around. She inhales slowly, the memories creeping back into her mind. Her heart flutters in her chest when her brain processes who’s sleeping beside her, and her body relaxes. She shouldn’t enjoy it, when she knows that Henry’s feelings for her are not real and it’s all because of Dr. Lover’s weapon. Love pollen, as Schwoz called it earlier. And yet, she feels safe in his arms, and she revels in the warmth of his embrace, his soft snores vibrating against her back. She finds herself smiling, slowly moving an arm down to rest it against Henry’s around her waist, and she absentmindedly begins to run her fingers up and down the exposed skin of his forearm, closing her eyes again and living in the moment, however short it might be.

Henry stirs beside her, slowly lifting his head up as a yawn leaves his lips. A shiver runs down his spine when his brain acknowledges the tingling sensation on his arm, and he opens his eyes. They land on Y/N and on the way she gently moves her fingers up and down his forearm. He doesn’t know whether she’s asleep or awake, but he doesn’t move, just in case. There is this yearning look in his eyes as he looks at her, flutters in his stomach as his knees touch hers. His gaze drops to her lips, his pulse racing at the thought of kissing her.

“I can feel you staring…” Y/N mumbles, still-half asleep.

Henry’s eyes widen in surprise as she opens hers, and his face flushes red. He blinks, trying to avert his eyes from hers, but her genuine laugh brings him back to look at her again. She shoves him playfully as she sits on the couch, cracking her back in the process and letting out a relieved sigh. He tilts his head, curiously watching her. She’s so effortlessly beautiful, it makes Henry wonder how he hasn’t noticed it before. The way her smile carves dimples in the corner of her lips, or how she scrunches her nose a little when she laughs. The way her eyes would sparkle with some genuine emotion, as if she were wearing her heart on her sleeve, and how she’d run a hand through her hair whenever she’d shy away from something. It takes Henry’s breath away to just think about every little detail of her his brain seems to pick up on, and by the time his eyes drift to her lips, those perfect lips, he’s already too far gone; completely smitten with her.

Y/N notices it, in the way he looks at her with that lovestruck gleam in his brown eyes, and her heart breaks a little. Her smile falters just in the slightest, because her brain reminds her that what she sees isn’t real. It’s the love pollen, and she mentally curses herself for hoping it would be real. The hissing sound of the hidden door in the wall across from where she sits brings Y/N back to reality. She lets her hand fall to her side, Henry’s disgruntled whine reaching her ears, but she can’t bring herself to look at him. Her touch lingers on Henry’s skin, and he tries to reach for her hand again, but she doesn’t let him, shifting in her seat so that her back is facing him. Henry grunts softly, resolving himself to resting his chin on her right shoulder instead. Y/N focuses her gaze on the hidden door as it cracks open and out comes Charlotte, with a satisfied smile on her lips.

She looks at Y/N. “We did it.” She says as she sits down across from her friends. “We figured it out.”

“Really?” Y/N asks, hopeful. “You really did?”

Charlotte hums in response, placing a muffin on the table. Y/N raises a brow, moving around as she leans back into the couch again, crossing her arms over her chest. Henry, whose chin had slipped off of Y/N’s shoulder, takes it as his opportunity to be closer to her, resting his head on her shoulder again and wrapping an arm around Y/N’s midsection as he lazily waves his free hand in Charlotte’s direction to greet her.

“Is this a joke?” Y/N deadpans, tilting her chin towards the muffin.

“Nope.” Charlotte answers, popping out the ‘p’.

“Indulge me.”

“Well, while you were asleep, Ray went back to the old warehouse to retrieve the weapon Henry’s been hit with. Turns out there were residuals from the blast and Schwoz managed to extract the love pollen from it.” Y/N nods her head, allowing Charlotte to continue. “He used it to create an antidote, but I figured Henry wouldn’t take it willingly.”

“So you baked him a muffin with the antidote in it?” Charlotte hums in response. “Alright, so he just has to eat it, and then he’ll no longer have feelings for me?”

“That’s right.”

Y/N sighs. Finally. Not that she hated the attention he’d been giving her, but it wasn’t real, and she couldn’t do that to her heart; pretend all of this was real. It wasn’t fair to her, and it certainly wasn’t fair to Henry, who probably had no idea of what’s happening. She runs a hand over her face, closing her eyes briefly.

“Are you sure it will work?” Y/N asks then.

“Only one way to find out.” Charlotte smiles. “Are you okay with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Y/N raises a brow.

“Well, you’re not exactly the best at hiding your emotions. And I’m not stupid. I can tell you like him, that you have for a while.”

Y/N sighs, but she nods. “I’m okay with it.” She takes the muffin in her hand. “It’s not fair to him, he probably has no idea what’s happening.”

“But will you be okay, after?”

Y/N nods again. In all honesty, she isn't sure that she will be. Because how can she pretend that nothing happened, when it reawakened feelings within her? She can’t ignore the fluttering in her stomach when Henry is around, not anymore. She can’t ignore the way she felt when he had his arms around her; safe. And there is a part of her, deep down, that hopes what she saw in his eyes, in his affection for her, is real.

She inhales sharply, shaking her head slowly to chase away her intrusive thoughts before she nudges Henry’s side gently with her elbow. He lifts his head up from her shoulder, blinking away the sleep in his eyes, and he smiles when he sees the muffin in her hand.

“It's a banana nut.” Y/N says simply, a small smile on her lips.

Henry smiles back, taking the muffin from her. He doesn’t waste another minute before he takes a bite. It’s still warm in his mouth, freshly out of the oven, and he sighs in delight, closing his eyes.

“How long before we know if it worked?” Y/N asks Charlotte, turning her head towards her.

“I don’t know, Schwoz didn’t s–”

Charlotte stops herself, eyes widening slightly when Henry begins to cough uncontrollably. Y/N sits upright, adrenaline shooting through her system as her fight or flight instincts kick in, and she angles her body towards Henry, firmly placing both her hands on his shoulders to keep him steady. She can see the tears prickling in the corner of his eyes from his coughing fit, and how he presses one hand into his chest to try and relieve the pain. She moves her hands to cup his face and hold his gaze to hers, a gentle smile across her lips. She begins to breathe slowly, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth, tilting her chin in Henry’s direction to ask him to do the same. He blinks, moving his hands up to wrap his fingers around her wrists to ground himself – the muffin long since fallen between their legs onto the couch, and Henry’s lips slightly part as he takes a deep breath through his nose. Y/N tries her best to ignore the feel of his touch against her skin as a shiver runs down her spine.

When he feels he can breathe properly again, Henry blinks, letting his hands fall from Y/N’s wrists. He feels her touch leave his cheeks and he tilts his head slightly, eyes boring into hers.

“Are you okay, Hen?” She asks, and he can hear the worry in her voice.

He frowns, nodding. “Y– yeah. Wh– what happened?”

“You don’t remember?” Charlotte asks then, furtively glancing at Y/N.

“Not really, no. Weren’t we supposed to catch Dr. Lover or something?”

“We did.” Y/N tells him, taking a sudden interest in her lap. “He’s back in jail.”

“Alright! That’s a good day’s work.”

“Yeah…”

Henry’s frowns deepen, hearing the slight disappointment in his friend’s voice. His eyes dart to Charlotte, confusion swirling in his chocolate irises, but Charlotte shrugs, shaking her head. It’s not her place to tell.

“You okay, Y/N?” Henry asks her, trying to reach for her hand.

Y/N nods, standing up. “Y– yeah, just tired. I’m gonna head home.”

“Do you want me to walk you home?”

“No, it’s fine Henry. I’m just– yeah.”

Y/N shakes her head, walking over to the elevator. She picks up her backpack from the floor, her fingers pushing the up button on the panel to her right, and the doors open with a loud creak. She grimaces at the sound, stepping inside the elevator and pressing the ground floor button to Junk’N’Stuff, the fake store a half-mile up the Man Cave, and the doors close behind her. She only allows herself to breathe again when she’s certain neither Charlotte nor Henry can see her, and the tears slowly begin to roll down her cheeks. She knew Henry might not remember anything; she knew he still did not remember the whole muffin fiasco, even after two years. She didn’t want to be selfish, but as the elevator goes up to the fake store, Y/N wishes Henry hadn’t eaten that muffin.

Back in the Man Cave, Henry frowns and shifts in his seat on the couch to face Charlotte. He can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong; that Y/N lied. It’s the way she walked away from him, how she’d averted her eyes from his by lowering her head down. It’s the little hesitation in her voice, and the way her shoulders tensed when she’d gotten up. Something had upset her, and she lied to him about it. He just couldn’t put his finger on what it was. He has to find out.

“Is Y/N okay?” He asks Charlotte. “Did I do something?”

“What do you remember about today?” Charlotte queries instead, tilting her head.

“Wh– what do you mean?”

“What’s the last thing you remember, before choking on a muffin?”

Henry ponders her question for a minute. He runs a hand across his face, trying to focus the racing thoughts in his mind. He knows they’d been looking for Dr. Lover, who’d escaped from prison, and that their best lead had been the old warehouse near the Swellview border. He remembers going there, in his Kid Danger suit, with Menace and Captain Man, and he remembers being the first one to enter the warehouse.

“I remember going to that old warehouse with Ray and Y/N.” Henry says eventually. “To catch Dr. Lover. And then, I was choking on a muffin on this couch.”

“So… you don’t remember anything that happened between then, and now?” Charlotte trails out, studying him.

“Nope. Why? Did something happen?”

Just as Charlotte was about to answer him, the sprocket hisses open and the two friends turn their heads towards it. Ray steps out, shoving his phone in the back pocket of his jeans.

“Did it work?” Ray asks when he looks up to the two teenagers.

“Did what work?” Henry wonders. “What’s going on?”

“Oh yeah, it worked.” Charlotte affirms, nodding.

“Ray. What. Worked?” Henry asks again through gritted teeth.

“He doesn’t remember anything?”

Charlotte nods at Ray. “Doesn’t seem like it. The last thing he remembers is going to that old warehouse with you and Y/N.”

“I’m right here!” Henry protests, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ray sighs, running a hand across his face as he makes his way towards the couch, jumping over the backrest to sit between Charlotte and Henry.

“Where’s Y/N?” He asks, noticing the absence of his other sidekick.

“She left.” Charlotte answers. “Said she was tired and that she was heading home.”

Ray nods. “Well Kid,” He sighs then, putting a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “You got hit by Dr. Lover’s love weapon.”

“Wh– what?” Henry blinks, confused.

“Dr. Lover was already waiting for us in that warehouse, and he blasted you with his weapon when you went inside. You were knocked out for a good ten minutes before you came back to your senses. Y/N even had to give you some mouth to mouth to bring you back.”

“Sh– she had to– what?”

Ray ignores Henry’s panicking tone. “Any-Ray, it turns out that the blast from Dr. Lover’s weapon was filled with love pollen and similar chemicals to Gwen’s love muffins from two years ago. You’ve been infatuated with Y/N since this morning, Kid.”

“Until you ate that muffin, which had an antidote that Schwoz and I came up with to counteract the effects from the weapon’s blasts.” Charlotte concludes, her gaze softening.

Henry’s face pales as he slowly realises what has happened since they went to that old warehouse. Granted, he has no memory of it, but he can still picture what might have happened since this morning. His eyes drift back to the closed elevator doors, a pang of guilt latching onto his heart as he thinks of Y/N. The ghost of her touch still lingers on his cheeks, making his stomach flutters. He remembers the worry hidden in her words after he’d almost choked on the banana nut muffin, and the way her eyes searched for his as she held his face in her hands while he tried to catch his breath. He remembers how she’d pulled her hand away from his as she stood up from the couch, casting her eyes to the ground as she slowly made her way to the elevator. He can still hear the falter in her voice when she’d declined his offer to walk her back home, and he thinks about how it bothered him when she left without saying goodbye. He frowns, lips pressed together in a line across his features, the gears working in his brain.

Oh.

“Oh my god.” Henry breathes out as the realization hits him. “Oh my god!”

“What, what, what?” Ray blurts out, raising his hands up in alarm.

Henry ignores his boss to look at Charlotte. “Y/N has feelings for me, doesn’t she?”

Charlotte hums softly, giving her friend a small smile. She watches as he runs a hand through his hair, eyes blown wide in panic as the truth of what happened dwells on him. She is surprised he has figured it out, considering that he’s been oblivious to Y/N’s longing stares for the past year.

“I– I have to talk to her.” Henry tells himself as he stands up from the couch.

But just as he goes to head for the elevator, the emergency alarm goes off across the Man Cave, and Henry throws his head back as he groans in annoyance. Charlotte is quick on her feet to check on the supercomputer’s screen as Ray reaches for his gumtube in the front pocket of his jeans. Henry does the same, throwing a round gum in his mouth before blowing a bubble after a couple of minutes to change into his Kid Danger uniform. Charlotte spins around the chair she sits in, glancing at the two heroes as they stand under the tubes.

“Where are we headed Charlotte?” Ray asks.

“The old warehouse again.” Charlotte frowns, looking towards Ray over her shoulder. “It might be Gwen.” She then suggests, pointing a finger at her boss.

“Might be. Will you–”

“I’ll call Y/N.” Charlotte interrupts him, smiling. “Tell her to meet you there.”

—

“Can we talk, Y/N?”

Henry asks when they find themselves alone in the Man Cave. Charlotte had gone home after they’d come back from their emergency call, and Jasper was upstairs in Junk’N’Stuff, closing up the store. Ray had disappeared behind the sprocket, going about his business that neither Henry nor Y/N had any interest in knowing, while Schwoz had gone in his lab to tinker on a new weapon he was creating for Captain Man and his sidekicks.

Henry keeps replaying the events from just an hour earlier as he looks at Y/N, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and awaiting her answer. It had been Gwen, in the old warehouse, trying to get her hands on Dr. Lover’s chemically-altered weapons. Henry thought she’d put up a fight to defend herself, and he was surprised when she surrendered herself to Captain Man. At least he thought she did, until she drew out one of Dr. Lover’s smaller weapons from her pocket and aimed it at the three of them alternatively. He’d felt how Y/N tensed next to him when her eyes caught the weapon, planting her feet into the ground and raising her arms slightly in a fighting stance. Before he knew it, the fight was over and Gwen had been handcuffed by Ray, but Henry’s eyes found Y/N then, and the gash in her Menace uniform on her forearm. It had bothered him when she got mad because he’d worried about her; about if she were hurt. His heart had broken a little when she’d stomped out of the room, mumbling insults under her breath that he couldn’t catch on. The whole way back, she hadn’t spoken to him and it bothered him, because they always used to joke around in the Man Van after an emergency, waiting for Captain Man to be done with his statement for the police.

Henry shakes his head, pushing away the memories to the back of his mind as his eyes drift to her. Y/N sits on the round couch, head resting against the backrest as she glances at him behind her through her eyelashes. She hums in answer, nodding her head slightly. Henry takes a deep breath, wiping his moist hands against the fabric of his pants before he takes a seat next to her, their knees touching. He holds his breath, waiting for her to suddenly move away from him, but he is pleasantly surprised when instead she rolls her head a little, resting it on his shoulder. He doesn’t know why she does it, but he can see the exhaustion on her face, and he tells himself that she’s tired and probably only half-conscious of her actions. His eyes land for a brief minute on the white bandage around her forearm, and he fidgets with his hands, shoulders dropping slightly as he racks his brain for the right words to say.

“I– I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable today.” Henry says, eventually. “I had no idea what I was doing.”

“I know.” Y/N whispers, and he feels her nod her head against his shoulder. “That was the love pollen. I may have overreacted.” She yawns, blinking. “What happened today doesn’t change a thing, Hen. You’re still my best friend.”

Her words calm his nerves, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off of his chest. Still, it bothers him. It bothers him that she called him her best friend, because he wants to be more than that. He might not remember all that has happened today, but he can’t say that what he’d been feeling was fake. Even if he were under the influence of the love pollen, his feelings had to come from somewhere and deep down, he knew that he couldn’t deny it.

“I don’t want to be just friends.” Henry blurts out in a whisper.

“Wh– what?” Y/N lifts her head, raising her brows at him.

“I don’t– I don’t want to be just friends.”

“You– don’t?”

Henry shakes his head. “I asked Schwoz about the love pollen when we came back from our emergency call, after he patched you up. I know he told you and everyone that the love pollen makes you fall in love with the first person you see, or kiss.”

“Y– yeah, I know that.”

“What he didn’t tell you guys–” Henry continues, holding her gaze to his. “– is that the love pollen combined with chemicals similar to the love muffins influences feelings that are already there. If I hadn’t been in love with you already, I don’t think Dr. Lover’s weapon would have worked on me.”

Y/N blinks, trying to process Henry’s words through her brain. Did he say he was in love with her?

“You– you’re in love with me?” She asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her irises swirl with something hopeful in them as Henry looks at her. He cracks a smile, carving a dimple in his left cheek, and he brings the palm of his hands to her cheeks, brushing his thumbs against her cheekbones. His eyes drift to her lips as he leans in, his hands moving from her cheeks to hold the sides of her face. His lips find hers as he closes his eyes, his heart skipping a beat. Y/N’s eyes widen in shock, but her brain is surprisingly quick to process what’s happening, and every fiber of her body relaxes as she closes her eyes, her arms finding their way around Henry’s neck. He is the first one to pull away when they both get out of breath, but his hands stay on her face, the warmth of his palms spreading through her skin. Soft pants escape her lips as she looks at him through her eyelashes, moving her arms around so that her hands lay flat on his chest and she can feel the steady beat of his heart under her right palm.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N.” He whispers. “I have been since the day you got stuck in the eighties.”

Y/N chuckles, remembering that day. Then, “I’m in love with you, too, Hen.” She whispers back, her eyes fluttering shut as she leans in to kiss him once more.

#henry danger #henry hart x reader #henry hart imagines #henry hart #writerinlearning

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