#it’s supposed to be the other way around
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── ୨୧ ! MARRY HER ANYWAY
chris sturniolo x reader
SUMMARY: Where the triplets and Y/N are going to a friend's wedding and with that a TikTok is recorded and sweet promises are made.
WARNING: None.
REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is MY idea and work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.
��✦༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺
I'm gonna marry her anyway
(Marry that girl) marry her anyway
The muffled beat of Rude by MAGIC! floated through Chris’s bedroom, blending with the soft hum of Y/N’s movements as she stood in front of the large bathroom mirror. The light bounced off the golden hoops she was fastening into her ears, her delicate fingers working quickly. Her dress shimmered faintly under the bright bathroom light, its fabric flowing elegantly around her as she shifted her weight from one bare foot to the other.
She hummed softly to the music, a content smile on her lips as she inspected herself one last time.
From the door that separated the bathroom to the bedroom, Chris leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed, watching her with a fondness that made his chest tighten. His black suit fit him perfectly, but he hadn’t bothered to put on his tie yet, letting it hang lazily around his neck.
The sight of Y/N, so effortlessly beautiful and glowing in the warm bathroom light, made him forget about everything else - like the fact that they were running late.
Unable to resist, he pushed off the doorframe and walked toward her, his footsteps covered in white socks barely audible over the music.
Y/N didn’t notice him until she felt the warm press of his chest against her back, his arms sliding around her waist and pulling her close, interrupting her actions. The fabric of her dress brushed against his exposed forearms - caused by his rolled up sleeves, soft and smooth, tickling his skin.
"Chris." She said, a laugh already in her voice as she glanced at him in the mirror. "We’re going to be late."
"I don’t care." He murmured, his voice low and slightly raspy. He rested his chin on her shoulder for a moment, his eyes locked on her reflection. She looked radiant, her features lit with that subtle glow only she had.
She loved weddings.
His nose brushed against the shell of her ear, the freshly fastened earring cool against his skin. She shivered slightly at the sensation, her breath hitching just a bit. Chris smiled, pressing a soft kiss just behind her ear, where her pulse thrummed steadily beneath her skin.
"Is this new?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His lips ghosted over her neck as he peppered light kisses down to her shoulder and back up again. "You smell different. Good."
"Givenchy." Y/N replied, her voice teasing as her lips curled into a grin. "And stop that, you're going to make me all flustered before the wedding."
Chris chuckled, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against her temple.
"Flustered? Y/N, you’ve got me over here, acting like a lovesick fool. You should see yourself in the mirror. How am I supposed to focus on anything else when you look like this?"
She rolled her eyes playfully, shaking her head as she turned her face slightly to catch his reflection.
"You’re so whipped." She teased, a laugh bubbling out of her as she met his gaze in the mirror.
"I'm whipped." He agreed, tightening his hold on her waist. "Completely. Helplessly. Totally. Do you blame me?" He tilted his head to kiss her cheek, the warmth of his lips lingering on her skin.
Y/N laughed, tilting her head back slightly to look at him directly, with no mirror in the way.
"You’re such a sap." She said, her tone light but affectionate.
"And you're breathtaking." He countered easily, his voice genuine. "So who's really the problem here?"
Their laughter filled the small bathroom, blending with the tail end of Selena's song. They stayed like that for a moment, basking in each other’s warmth before a loud voice broke through from upstairs.
"Guys!" Nick’s shout echoed down the stairs. "We’re already late, and Matt's threatening to leave without you two! Come on, we need to film the TikTok!"
Chris groaned, his head dropping to Y/N’s shoulder dramatically.
"I'm about to lock the door and tell them we're staying home." He grumbled.
Y/N swatted his arm lightly, pulling away from his hold but giving him a quick kiss on the jaw first.
"You're ridiculous. Let's go before they actually leave us behind."
With one last longing glance, Chris sighed and grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together before bringing it to his mouth, caressing her soft skin with his warm lips.
"Fine. But only because you’ll be the star of the TikTok."
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
The TikTok begins with Nick standing in front of the camera. He reaches out and clicks the record button, taking a moment to adjust his posture. Trying to keep a serious expression, he bows slightly, hands exaggeratedly gesturing to his light grey suit as if he’s presenting himself on a red carpet. He takes a step back, his shiny brown dress shoes scuffing lightly on the hardwood floor.
The background music - Club Penguin's Pizza Parlor tune - adds an ironic charm to it all, giving it a playful vibe despite the formal one.
Chris, standing to the left in the black suit that fits like it was made for him, follows Nick’s lead and backs away from the camera. His Balenciaga belt peeks out as he adjusts his freshly tied tie - Y/N insisted on doing it. His gaze shifts from his brothers to Y/N, who's standing by the stairs.
She looks stunning, her dress an elegant pastel shade of dusty rose with a slight shimmer. The bodice is fitted, embroidered with lace, while the skirt flows gracefully to just above her ankles, giving the look a modern yet timeless vibe. Thin straps hold the dress in place, showing off her collarbones and the delicate gold necklace matching her earrings. On her feet are nude heels with crisscross straps, simple but chic.
She catches Chris’s smirk and raises an eyebrow at him, amused by his antics at trying to look like a 007 agent.
Little did he know that he just looked like a bodyguard.
Chris shifts his attention to his polished black shoes, pretending to inspect them before turning to Matt, who stands beside him. Matt's also dressed in a sharp black suit, but unlike Chris, he’s opted for black sunglasses. He lifts his wrist dramatically to glance at it, as though checking the time on a non-existent watch, his face the picture of mock seriousness, causing Y/N to roll her eyes before pretending to peak at the "time" from above his shoulder.
Chris, also seeming not to be amused by his brother's act, extends a hand toward him. Matt glances at it, playing along for a beat before clasping it in a firm handshake.
Chris turns to Nick, offering him the same handshake. Nick accepts, pulling Chris in slightly before releasing his grip and looking back to the camera. With that done, Chris straightens his suit, smoothing the fabric as if he’s prepping for a mission. His movements are almost exaggerated.
Finally, Chris turns to Y/N. His hand extends toward her, palm up, and fingers curled slightly in invitation. His eyes glimmer with mischief and undeniable affection as he exaggerates the gesture, making it impossible for her to ignore. Y/N hesitates for a moment, a smile playing on her red tinted lips, before placing her hand in his, her manicured nails shining below the cold light.
Chris gently pulls her toward the center, stepping back to make room for her between him and his brothers. Once she’s positioned, he spins her gently, the soft fabric of her dress flaring out briefly with the movement. His gaze follows her every step, his expression one of complete adoration, like he’s seeing her for the first time all over again.
If his eyes could turn into hearts, they would.
Nick, standing to her right, catches the lovestruck look on Chris’s face and rolls his eyes dramatically. The motion is perfectly timed, and the TikTok ends there, freezing the frame on Nick’s mocking reaction and Y/N laughing happily to Chris as the music fades out.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
The soft murmur of the crowd faded into silence as the couple standing at the altar began their vows. The golden light of the late afternoon bathed the wooden room, pouring in through the grand windows, casting an ethereal glow over the scene.
Y/N sat wrapped in Chris’s arms, her back pressed against his chest as they stood near the back of the room, watching the moment unfold like a scene from a romance movie from the 2000's.
The bride’s voice quivered with emotion as she spoke, her words of love and commitment filling the air. Beside her, the groom’s expression was one of pure adoration, his eyes shining as he hung on every syllable. The child holding the rings - a sweet girl with wide green eyes and soft brown curls - stood between them, clutching the tiny velvet pillow with the gold bands resting neatly on top.
Y/N couldn’t tear her gaze away. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears, her lips curved into a soft, dreamy smile that made her entire face glow. She could feel her heart swelling with every heartfelt word exchanged, and her stomach fluttered as though it had grown wings. The love in the room was almost tangible, surrounding them in its warmth and purity.
Chris tightened his arms around her, his strong, steady frame grounding her between her crazy emotions. His pale cheek rested lightly against her temple, and she felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest behind her. The steady rhythm of his breathing was a comforting anchor.
He noticed how her chest rose and fell more quickly than usual, her breath hitching every so often.
A smile curled on his face as he lowered his head slightly, his lips brushing against the delicate curve of her ear as he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"You’re glowing, you know that?" He murmured, his words melting into her skin.
Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she turned her head slightly, meeting his eyes with a shy smile.
"It’s just so beautiful." She whispered back, her voice trembling with emotion. "This is everything."
Chris’s lips quirked into a soft, knowing smile as he pressed a kiss just above her ear, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her hip.
"One day, it’ll be us up there." He murmured, his voice low and full of promises that he couldn't verbalize right now, but Y/N understood perfectly.
Her breath caught, and she blinked up at him, her wide, shining eyes searching his for any hint of teasing. But there was none, only sincerity and a quiet certainty that took her breath away.
Chris leaned closer, his lips brushing against her temple, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine.
"One day, I’ll be the one standing at the altar, watching you walk down the aisle, looking like the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen." He whispered. "And then we’ll say our vows, exchange our rings... and maybe, if we're lucky, we’ll have a couple of kids holding them for us."
Her heart stuttered, a quiet gasp escaping her lips as she turned fully in his arms, her hands resting against his chest.
"Chris." She whispered, her voice shaky as the tears in her eyes blurred her whole vision.
He cupped her face gently, his thumbs brushing the corner of her eyes.
"I mean it, Y/N." He said softly, his blue eyes steady and unwavering. "You’re it for me. I can’t imagine my life without you. So one day, when we’re ready, we’ll make this dream yours. Ours."
A single tear slipped down her cheek, and Chris caught it with a kiss, his lips warm against her skin.
"You’ll marry me?" She asked, her voice barely audible as her fingers curled into the lapels of his suit.
"One day." He promised, his forehead resting against hers. "And every day after that, I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you the way you deserve. My pretty future bride."
Before she could respond, the sound of applause brought them back to the present moment. The couple at the altar had exchanged rings, their love sealed with a kiss, and the room erupted in celebration.
Y/N turned back toward the altar, leaning back into Chris’s embrace as her heart soared. She rested her head against his chest, his arms tightening around her protectively as they watched the newlyweds bask in the glow of their love.
As the music swelled and laughter filled the air, Y/N knew with absolute certainty that her dream wasn’t just a fantasy anymore, it was her future, and it was standing right there, holding her as if he’d never let go.
(Marry that girl) yeah, no matter what you say
(Marry that girl) and we'll be a family
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
Extra - TikTok comments:
"WHY DO THEY LOOK LIKE THEY'RE AUDITIONING FOR MEN IN BLACK??? 💀"
"nick's "bow" is sending me, he really said 007 but make it goofy"
"mission: look hotter than the groom and the bride, and they're succeeding"
"CAN WE TALK ABOUT Y/N?!?! Like, HELLO??? she's glowing. that dress was MADE for her"
"chris looking at Y/N like she painted the stars in the sky. I'm SCREAMING, I NEED THAT RIGHT NOW!"
"chris's eyes literally turn into hearts when he’s with her, I can't 😭"
"they're not even married yet, but I know their wedding is going to break the internet"
"MATT PRETENDING TO CHECK HIS NONEXISTENT WATCH 💀 sir, we see you!!"
"chris straightening his suit before asking for Y/N’s hand... I’m unwell. he’s so dramatic and in love, it’s disgusting (I’m obsessed)"
"chris pulling Y/N into the middle like she’s the main event because she IS"
"who cares about the wedding they’re going to, chris and Y/N ARE the wedding"
"nick's eye roll at the end was SO on brand. he's like 'we get it, Chris, you’re in love, move on' LMAO"
"chris and Y/N are going to make the prettiest married couple, no one can convince me otherwise"
"Nick: suave
Matt: stoic
Chris: Y/N is the love of my life, and I need the world to know."
#sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#nick sturniolo#chris sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x fem reader#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo x you#chris sturiolo fanfic#chris sturniolo x fem!reader#chris sturniolo x y/n#chris sturniolo x reader fluff#chris sturniolo x reader wedding#chris sturniolo oneshot#chris sturniolo fic#chris sturniolo fanfiction#chris sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo fanfic#christopher owen sturniolo#christopher sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo tiktok#chris sturniolo au#chris sturniolo blurb#chris x reader#fluff#sturniolo#sturniolo triplets x reader#tiktok
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sex pollen troubles - ft. k. bakugou
summary: prohero!Bakugou gets hit with a sex quirk. too bad his roommate hates him—right?
wc: 1.8k
pairing: prohero!Katstuki Bakugou x roommate!reader
content warnings: MDNI, Bakogou has a roommate because his therapist tells him to, fem!reader is an investigative journalist, gratuitous use of Ace (hello gilmore girls fans) idiot Katsuki, pining Katsuki, fingerless gloves make an appearance sorry not sorry, making out, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names like baby, pretty girl, princess, breeding but only if you squint
a/n: word vomited this out in less than 24 hrs
He’s praying you don’t pick up.
“Bakugou?” You sound annoyed, a little suspicious even.
He never calls you.
“Ace.” You hate that nickname, but the thought of saying your actual name in the desperate growl that is his voice right now makes his head spin. “I need - fuck - are you home right now?”
Sex quirks are a dime a dozen these days. He’s been hit with a few before, simple one that are usually pretty easy to shake. (He still hates the premature ejaculate memory, though, coming home with his boxers stiff and an image of you spread out on his bed playing like a film in his head. He hadn't been able to look you in the eyes for weeks.)
He’s never been hit with one as strong as this. The second the mist hit his nostrils he was huffing up the scent of vanilla and citrus and strong black coffee, just the way you like it, before he realized what was happening, the villain ripping down the street in the opposite direction while arousal hit him like a truck.
Bakugou's practically doubled over talking to you now, the ache in his dick throbbing in time with his fucking heartbeat.
“Yeah, I’m home.” Even annoyed you sound like heaven. “What’s going on? You don’t sound like yourself.”
He barks out a laugh, and before he knows it, he's telling you the truth. “Got hit with a sex quirk. A big one.”
Your breath bitches slightly on the other line. He’s pretty sure his cock jumps at the sound.
“And I - " need you right fucking now - “fuck - I can’t call anyone else.”
It has to be you. He’s got women he could call, sure, anyone who might want to get into a pro hero’s pants, but it has to be you for a reason he doesn’t want to look at too closely.
You’re silent for a beat, before you say, “Send me a pin. I’ll come get you.”
He hated you at first. Always talking his ear off about every fucking thing, bringing up articles that remind you of cases you're covering—it was like living with Deku dialed up to 11.
But what he hated even worse was when you stopped talking. When you realized he wasn’t actually gonna come around and be nice to you, when you figured out, oh fuck, he’s actually just an angry prick, and left him alone.
One day he could count on constant chatter when he was back from patrol, the next, nothing at all. You even switched up your schedule so he barely saw you, a fact he didn’t tell his court-ordered therapist because he was supposed to be getting better at being around other people, not worse.
He hates remembering this now with his dick hard as steel and weeping from the tip like he’s fucking 15. The alley is secluded, thank fuck, so no one can see him shaking and groaning, forearms braced on the wall in front of him, head hanging down like a panting dog. He can barely move; every brush of his pants against his erection like a live wire to the brain.
By the time you pull up—five minutes, forty six seconds later, he counted—he’s so frayed and tense that the minute he sees your face, he shouts, “Took you fucking long enough."
Your face shutters closed the way it always does around him, and he wants to fucking die.
“Fuck, Ace, I’m sorry - it’s just, I’m fucking miserable right now - "
“Why did you call me, Katsuki?”
It’s a mistake to look you in the eye. His restraint is a razor’s edge at this point, and seeing your beautiful face is too much. You've always been pretty, but the light shining on your soft hair is convincing him he can write fucking poetry all of a sudden.
“You know why,” he grits out.
You step forward, vanilla and citrus and coffee flooding his nose.
“No, I don’t. You act like you fucking hate me half the time and ignore me the rest.” You scrape a hand across your face in frustration. “And then you call me sounding like that. Why wouldn't I be confused?"
“I want you.” It’s out of his mouth in a flash, and he knows it’s the right thing to say by the way your shoulders relax. “I’m a fucking asshole, I know it. I’m not good at feelings, baby, I'm sorry, but I want you so fucking bad it’s like I could break my teeth over it. It has to be you, Ace, fuck, I’m sorry, it can’t be anyone else - "
You shut him up your mouth, your lips locking into his as both of your noses bump against each other. He doesn’t care; he just needs you as close to him as he can get you. It’s better than anything he imagined, finally touching you, finally giving in to the attraction that’s dogged him ever since you walked into his life.
You taste like coffee and a little bit of that strawberry lip gloss he loves so much. He licks into the seam of your mouth and relishes the shiver that goes through your body.
“Like that, baby?” He breaks away, nosing at your jaw, nipping at the juncture of your throat. That makes you gasp. “You smell so fucking good here.” He jerks his hips, hisses through his teeth as his cock jumps in his pants, pulsing with need.
“Let me,” he hears you say, and you’re tugging his pants open to get your hand around him. The second your fingers wrap around him his eyes roll up in his head. He could cum just from this, he realizes.
“Of course you’d have a pretty dick,” you say with a look of annoyance, and he’s not entirely sure what to say to that besides puff up his chest. You laugh, and it’s almost fond, and goddammit he wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything else -
With a growl, he pulls your hand away and backs you up against the wall, peppering kisses down your neck. The whines he’s pulling from your mouth is making everything in his life worth it. He’d fight a thousand fucking villains if it meant this, fingering the seam of your panties under your little skirt as you cry out for more.
“Wear this for me?”
“Like fucking hell I did,” you retort.
“Sure thing, princess.” He runs the pad of two fingers over the soaking wet seam of your panties. A feral grin passes over his face as your thighs tremble and press together. “This just happened to you all on your own?”
He roughly pulls your panties to the side to gather up the slick at your entrance, pushing your hips apart and settling himself between them.
“You’ve gotta come first, pretty girl.” You like when he calls you pet names; he’s been watching the way your skin breaks down out in goosebumps each time. It’s a like a drug being this close to you, making you feel this good. “The second I’m inside ya I’m gonna blow my fucking load so be good and come for me, yeah?”
The rough material of his fingerless gloves rubs against your clit as he stuffs two fingers in your pussy. Your little hole sucks him in greedily as you whine and buck against him.
“Harder, Kats, please - you won’t fucking break me - "
He adds another finger to stretch you out, keeping his palm rocking against your pubic bone with every grind. You’re fluttering around his fingers, whimpers echoing off the walls in the alley.
“That’s it, baby, there you go. Fuck, yeah, you like me stuffing this pretty pussy full?” You dig your nails into his scalp as you hold onto him for dear life, whimpers ratcheting up to moans and cut-off screams as he starts to feel your cunt clamp down hard on him.
You moan his name against his neck as you cum. “Just needed to think about me stuffing you full?” He can’t help but smirk, which quickly turns into a hissing groan when your hand finds him again and positions him right at your core.
“I could say the same for you,” you smirk, rolling your hips and coating the head of his cock in the slick of your orgasm. He chokes on his spit, bracing one forearm on the wall behind you, his free hand stilling your hips in place.
“Lift me up,” you pout.
“Didn’t know you were bossy.”
“Didn’t think you would like it,” you shoot back, rolling down onto his cock and taking an inch of him inside you. “This position’s better, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is, you devil woman.” He can barely think. “Baby, I don’t - god fucking damn it - I don’t have any - "
“I’m on birth control and I’m clean.”
“Same. Clean, too, I mean.” He’s rambling. He never rambles. “I’ve got my check-up stats in my phone if you’d like to see them.”
You laugh, and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard in his entire life.
“Can I kiss you?”
It takes him aback, but he’s been dying to know what you taste like since he met you, honestly.
“Yeah, pretty girl. You can kiss me.” He nips at your mouth and laughs at your pout when he pulls away. “Let me get all the way inside ya though first, huh?”
He feeds you his dick inch by inch, clenching his teeth at the way you squirm and plead for more. You’re slippery and warm, your cunt making obscene squelching noises with every rock of his hips.
With one final thrust, he’s seated up to the hilt, balls slapping against the meat of your thighs and ass.
“So fucking perfect,” he moans in your ear. “All for me - just for me, isn’t that right, Ace?”
Your head jerks up and down in affirmation.
“Say it, pretty girl. Say you’re fucking mine. Tell me how much you like my dick getting this pussy nice and tight. Bet I can get her to scream again, huh?”
He pinches your clit between two fingers. You jerk in his arms.
“Close, princess? Like it a little mean?”
He rocks his his up so he’s dragging the head of his cock across your g spot, over and over. Your eyes roll back in your head and your breathing gets shallower, shorter.
“Please please don’t fucking stop, ohmygodohmygod feels so fucking good, Kats- "
Your pussy clamps down on him like a vice and all rhythm flies out the window. He grabs the meat of your hips and fucks up into you roughly, shooting thick ropes of cum against your cervix.
The creamy sticky ring at the base of his cock when he pulls out is probably the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life.
He looks up at you, sees the appreciative gleam in your eye. You're turned on by that, too.
“Can we do this again when we’re home?” he asks. “Maybe after I’ve made you dinner?”
The smile you return is like the sun. “We better.”
#bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki#katsuki bakugo mha#bakugou smut#katsuki bakugo x reader#pro hero bakugou#mha smut#bnha x reader#bnha smut#boku no hero academia#bnha#bakugou katsuki x reader#sugarwarachanwrites
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Piece for @saboartcollab!! I redrew this sabo art because i saw it a little bit ago on a pin and i then sent it to my friends and absolutely dug into it because i do in fact think it’s hideous. But when one of the friends i sent the pin to joined the saboartcollab and saw this pic available to redraw, i knew what i had to do. And i joined in with the intent to attempt making it better. And i did that in every way imaginable in my opinion.
Design notes and thoughts:
Tried to make it look like he pulled himself off of an operating table he was strapped to and just didnt bother taking off some of the straps afterwards. I used the colors in the straps nowhere else in the design so it looked alien to him. I also in general tried to spruce him up and make his outfit a lot cooler. I put the ritz on em. I had a lot of fun with him :)
Anyway.
This official art is the absolute worst outfit ive ever seen in my life. The sea cucumber green against that pale soulless purple is gross. And then the normal blue along with it is so confusing. Why is the sleeve big on him while no other part of the jacket is big on him. Why is the bolts in his head and not his neck. What in the world is that bandage on his head doing there and no other part of his head for. Is he supposed to be frankenstein’s monster? Why is he so normal looking. Is this supposed to be a costume hes putting on? Or is he actually supposed to be the monster. Why are his hands limping so delicately. Theyre downright dainty, was he even trying to look spooky? Wtf is this background. Did they get a bunch of clip art bats and copy and pasted them everywhere on half opacity? What is this Cinderella ass barbed wire ass boarder around the image. I want to meet the artist who drew this and i either want to ask them if they were paid pennies and nickels or i want to strangle them within an inch of their life.
Thats about it though. As bad as this image of him is, the version of it that was on the pin is worse.
Thanks for reading 😊😊😊😊😊😊🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶
Also heres my concept art when i was getting a bearing for hs new fit
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Aftermath - Chapter 1
When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make something into nothing for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.
Warnings: Lando is a dick in this. Small mention of not eating/losing weight but it's not discussed at length. angst. all. the. angst. Pairing: Max Verstappen x LeClercSister!Reader Word Count: 4.4k
(Also big giant huge thank you to @nitaekook for beta reading/editing/hyping this up and convincing me it was ready to be posted! ❤️❤️)
Master List
Falling out of love is exhausting. The way the silent negligence slowly chips away at the glossy veneer of gold plated faux happiness was soul crushingly agonizing. It wasn’t ever loud or raw or angry. No. It never spared you any emotion other than cool indifference. You could never quite figure out why the boy who had once warmed your entire life with his sunshine now refused to even glance your way.
It started slowly. So slowly that it took you a while to even realize what was happening. The way you lingered a little longer at the end of the day in the art studio. The way you stopped in front of the window of a real estate office, staring longingly at the listings of the pretty apartments that weren’t yours. The way you slowly slipped out of his life in a way that neither of you saw coming.
Everything changed the day you ran into your brother in a part of town neither of you usually frequent. Neither of you were supposed to be there that day, all the way across town from where you belonged.
After a third day in a row of being left on read and not even getting a phone call from Lando, despite him spending all night on Max Fewtrell’s stream playing Tarkov, you had gotten sick of waiting around the apartment. You were tired of waiting for just the littles crumb of attention from him, which he only seemed to give to you the moment you strayed a bit too far from him. You finally worked up the courage to leave your phone at home and go out without it, knowing that if he called and you didn’t answer you’d probably go another three days without so much as a text, just because he could. At this point though, you weren’t sure you even cared.
You changed into your favorite workout set and took a selfie before posting it to your stories (so he knew what you were doing. Lando loved watching your stories to make sure you were where you told him you were) and walked out the door.
The silence washed over you as you began your run, a sense of freedom coupled with a bit of anxiety settling in your bones as you turned down the street where your apartment was. You ran, leaving all of the stress of your three year relationship behind, without really knowing where you were going or what you would do when you were done. Part of you hoped Lando called you while you were out so he knew that you were flexing your wings a bit without him but you knew that would come with consequences. He’d ignore you, a punishment that he knew you hated but it was almost worth it. The potential punishment from him was almost worth knowing that you’d scare him into action.
Mile after mile, your sneakers hit the pavement at a steady pace, the rhythmic sound soothing your anxiety like a weighted blanket. Around you, the city buzzed with cars and people rushing around during the summer busy season. Expensive cars zipped by and tourists wandered down the sidewalks, sometimes making passing them difficult but you were used to the crowds of Monaco. You had grown up running these streets, first with your brother Charles and twin Arthur, trying to keep up with them as they trained for their respective racing seasons, but as you got older and Charles moved into the higher Formula series, your runs with him became fewer and far between until it was a rare occasion that you got the chance to train with him. Arthur was still regularly around, but you didn’t like training with him as much and he tended to be a little too chatty while working out where you preferred the silence of your thoughts.
You see your brother exit the apartment building ahead of you before he notices you heading towards him. His dark waves that match yours teased by the Mediterranean breeze as he turns around to speak to the man who follows him out of the building. Charles is everything a big brother should be and it kills you how much you have to lie to him about your relationship with Lando.
You slow down to a light jog as you approach, waiting patiently for Charles to notice you. When he does though, his entire face lights up. “Little Dove! What are you doing on this side of town?”
Something deep in your chest twists at the nickname Charles has called you your entire life. There’s something nostalgic about it, the way he calls you his little dove, the LeClerc Princess in a house full of boys, fluttering around like a little bird preening under the attention of the birds of prey.
He reaches for you, pulling you into a tight hug. You’ve been too busy lately, trying desperately to keep the weight of your failing relationship out of the harsh light of the public eye so you haven’t seen your brother as much as you’d like.
Falling out of love is exhausting.
Charles has noticed, of course. You’ve stopped coming to races like you used to when you were freshly with Lando or even when he was new in Formula One. You used to love races. The people, the sounds of the engines roaring around the track, seeing your brother do what he loves at the pinnacle of his sport. You used to drink it all in, obsessed with anything and everything racing. But then the world had tarnished when Lando started choosing racing over you. It was subtle at first, the way he would spend an extra night in Woking to spend time on the sim instead of coming home to your shared apartment. He’d go on trips with Max F, Keegan, and Ed but an invite was never extended to you. Even when he was home, he was always half there. Expecting you to wait around for when he was finally finished streaming. ‘But baby, it’s all work! I’m training for the season. And Max needs my help with the stream! The trips are for Quadrant!’ Excuses were always at the ready with Lando. So much so that you had stopped asking to be a priority.
When he was with you though it was different. When he finally got around to paying attention to you, he was the doting, loving Lando you had fallen for. He’d bring you breakfast in bed, cuddle with you late at night watching movies, surprising you with a last minute trip to somewhere tropical. Although, if you were being honest with yourself, these little surges of attention always came after a fight or an extended period of time that he had spent away from you. Almost like he was trying to sooth the guilt within himself instead of spending time with you.
Charles lets you out of his arms, looking down at you with sadness and hesitation in his gaze.
“I just needed to go for a run.” You say, avoiding the pointed look that Charles fixes on you. You didn’t really want to delve into the real reason for needing to get out of your own head with your brother’s real estate agent standing right next to him. It was only then when you realized just how far you’d come, the tall residential buildings unfamiliar at first glance. You hadn’t been on this side of town in ages but the complex that Charles had just come out of was instantly recognizable.
Your eyes flick over to the man standing beside Charles. You knew him well, a family friend who had helped Charles and Alex find their current apartment as well as the villa they had bought in Italy last year. “I could ask you the same thing. Are you and Alex planning on moving?”
“Not exactly.” Charles grins, momentarily willing to move on from the fact that you looked like you were ten seconds away from crying.
You tilt your head at him, waiting for an explanation.
“Units in this building rarely ever come on the market and Nick is trying to convince me it would be a good investment.”
“We’re lucky we even managed to get a showing.” Nick interjects as he runs a hand through his hair. “This building is beyond exclusive.”
You laugh, light and airy, while rolling your eyes. “Charles? The Prince of Monaco? Lucky to get a showing?” Mock shock colors your voice and for a flicker of a second, you feel normal again. “Nicholas, I’m surprised at you. Cha could bat those eyelashes of his at anyone in town and get whatever he asked for and you know it.”
Charles blushes but both of them know it’s true. Charles could ask for anything in this city and get it handed to him on a silver platter. More so now, after winning Monaco last year, finally breaking his home race curse.
He turns towards his friend. “Let them know I’m interested in making an offer, oui?”
Nick’s eyes light up and you can practically see the dollar signs spinning around in his head, no doubt trying to calculate the amount of commission he’d potentially earn from even the smallest unit in the building. “I’ll head back to the office and get the offer drawn up right now. Want to go in at asking?”
Charles nods, “That’s fine. I want to make sure I don’t miss out on this unit.” He eyes you then, suddenly coming up with an idea that might just solve a problem he’s been dealing with for the last three years. “Have you had lunch yet?”
Glancing at your watch, you’re surprised to see that nearly two hours has passed since you’d left the house. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a small voice wonders just how annoyed Lando is going to be that you left your phone at home.
You ignore it.
“No, I didn’t even realize how late it was. I guess I went a little time blind.” You sigh, not wanting to admit that you had skipped both breakfast and lunch the last few days. Your appetite while Lando was gone was next to nonexistent, the anxiety of being in the apartment without him too much for your body to handle.
“Let’s go get some food then.” Charles slips his arm around your waist, pulling you close. “It’s been too long since we’ve had a sibling lunch date, just the two of us.
Something warm blooms in your chest at his words. It had been a while since you’d seen your brother, since you’d seen any members of your family really. Between your work in the studio and Lando, you didn’t have much spare time on your hands.
“That sounds like a wonderful idea.” You murmur, allowing yourself to get swept away by your big brother.
“So tell me about work.” Charles implores as he leans forward on the white linen table cloth. “Don’t you have a new show coming up?”
You nod, taking a sip of water as your eyes dart over the menu of the small Italian restaurant Charles had chosen. At first you had protested, insisting that the white linen and heavy sterling silver flatware were much too fancy for you and your sweaty workout clothes but Charles had insisted. ‘Please. You are in Monaco, everyone here is rich enough to wear their grungy clothes without a care in the world.’ Had been his plea but you knew he had ulterior motives: the pasta at this little eatery was divine. So of course you had given in.
“I do. I’m still working on getting the theming right though, I haven’t been feeling very inspired lately. But the one in two weeks is nearly finished being installed.” Your thoughts flicker to your studio across town, where half a dozen partly completed paintings sit in various states of disarray almost mocking you whenever you walk in the door.
Like Charles, you were an artist at heart. Except where Charles chose music, you had always been drawn to paint. The thrill of prepping a new canvas, of planning out the idea and initial sketches, to finally, finally getting to put that first bit of color on an otherwise blank canvas. You never felt more at home than when you were seated in front of a canvas, alone in your studio.
Charles sees the opening he’s been waiting for, leaping on the opportunity like a stowaway in a boxcar train. “I’ve noticed you’ve been…” He pauses, knowing he has to choose his words carefully. “Not yourself lately and now it’s effecting your art? Little Dove, I am worried about you.”
Your heart aches at the sound of desperation in your brothers words. You hadn’t realized how out of control you’d allowed yourself to be. How desperate you’d become for just a shred of attention from Lando.
“I’m fine, Cha.” The lie slips off your tongue easier than you’d like.
Charles narrow his eyes because while Arthur may be your twin, Charles? Charles has always been your safe place. You had been the one who had kept him afloat after your father passed. Whenever there were fights over the cost of his’ racing career, you had always been his biggest advocate. If there was one person you trusted more in this world than Arthur, it was Charles.
And because Charles knows you like the back of his hand, he knows that you’re lying.
“He’s not good for you.” He hates saying the words, knowing that Lando is also a coworker and at one time, a friend. He may race for McLaren but Charles still had to spend a significant amount of time with him, especially over the last three years that you two had dated. But lately, something had changed in Lando. He wasn’t the same guy he had raced with in 2019. He was darker somehow, more withdrawn his usual crowd but up until now he had just chalked that up to Lando grown up and maturing.
“Don’t say that, Charles.” You whisper, voice pleading and thick. Your eyes drop to the plate of roasted chicken in front of you while the napkin twists in your fingers.
“If you want that apartment I just bought, it’s yours.” Your brother’s voice is desperate. “You can pay me rent if you want, I don’t care if you do but that place is yours if you want it.” The offer crashes over you like a giant swell of water breaking over your body.
It takes a moment for you to process what Charles just offered you. The apartment he just bought? In one of the most exclusive buildings in the city? He wants you to take it? You’re utterly stunned because while Charles has always been more than generous monetarily with his family, gifting you the multi million dollar apartment was bordering on crazy.
“Charles, I…” You stammer, utterly at a loss for words.
Charles shakes his head, “Don’t give me an answer now. Think about it, it’s going to take a few months to close the deal but, please my dove. Please think about it.”
Two Weeks Later
No matter how many shows your work was featured in, opening night always had you on edge. Your art was deeply personal to you and while you loved sharing it with the world, watching that first group of outsiders that had access to your work see it was always enough to fray the delicate edges of your nerves.
Charles hadn’t brought up his proposition any more after you had left the restaurant that day two weeks ago. He’d hopped on a jet the next day, needing to fly to a race half way across the world. Lando had left that next day too without barely more than a good-bye. He had seen your story on Instagram and had sent you several text messages while you had been with Charles, but beyond that he never even mentioned it. The quiet dismissal was even more painful than any anger he could have directed at you.
You hadn’t been invited to the race by Lando either, not that you would have been able to go. The opening for the gallery where your art was being featured was your priority so you hadn’t even bothered asking Lando if he wanted you there. You had already known the answer anyway.
When you left the apartment that evening, Lando was still playing Tarkov with Max on his stream. He said he still a while until the show started, why would he want to go with you to get there so early just to stand around and stare at a bunch of paintings? He swore up and down that he’d be there in an hour, just after he finished the next raid with Max and then kissed you absentmindedly on the cheek as you said good-bye.
He hadn’t missed a single shot on the screen.
The gallery is tucked away on a quiet street a few blocks from your apartment so instead of calling an Uber or asking Charles to pick you up, you decided to walk the short distance. The warm Monaco breeze teased at your hair as you slowly wandered down the sidewalk towards your destination alone.
The lights of the building spill out of windows in the setting Mediterranean sun, casting a warm light out onto the sidewalks. You’d shown your work in this gallery before and loved the owner, who had been one of your first supporters many years ago when your career was just getting started. The way the gallery was set up was ideal for the way your paintings demanded to be displayed and you knew that no matter what, the designers who were in charge of hanging your work would do it all justice.
In the large picture window out front hangs two of your favorite paintings that you’ve painted in a long time. You took a lot of inspiration from the impressionists: Monet, Degas, Renoir and these two were no exception. Lately though, your work had taken a bit of a dark turn with even the gallery owner making a comment on how moody and different your paintings had been lately. You were proud of them though, the bright slashes of color felt like your feelings laid bare on the stretched white canvas were a cathartic release of the stress and anxiety of your home life.
There are a few people milling about inside, mostly employees but a genuine smile, the first to flit across your face all day, spreads slowly when you spot your brothers walking down the sidewalk. Charles, Arthur, and Lorenzo all saunter towards you but you’re surprised at the fourth figure following your three siblings.
“Little Dove.” Charles calls when he’s within shouting distance and you walk towards the four men, bright smile fixed on your face. He folds you up into his arms, kissing your cheeks, before passing you over first to Arthur who gives you the same greeting before once again passing you over to Lorenzo.
The familiar chatter with your brothers is a soothing balm to the opening night jitters that are fluttering around in your chest but it’s the figure who stands quietly off to the side that intrigues you the most.
“Max, it’s so good to see you.” Stepping out of Lorenzo’s hold you walk straight into the Dutchman’s waiting arms. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”
“And miss the newest works of Monaco’s best artist?” His voice drips with incredulous teasing. “I could never.”
You know he’s teasing but the words carve themselves deep into your skin, the ache sitting in your chest, all bright and painful. Here you were, in another man’s arms while he praised your work while your boyfriend couldn’t have even bothered to leave the house at the same time as you.
Reluctantly, Max lets you step out of his arms and not for the first time that night, he takes your figure in. He swears you're thinner than you were last time, a thick cloud of anxiety and something darker hanging over your usually bright demeanor. It physically aches looking at you, how much you’ve changed in the last three years. Max has known you for as long as he’s known Charles and Arthur. When you were younger, you spent most of your time toddling along after your big brother so when he befriended the two brothers from Monaco, you had kind of been part of the package deal.
He has to resist the urge to rub at the ache in his chest, knowing that you’re with Lando and looking this miserable. You put on a good face though and Max knows that if he hadn’t been so familiar with every dip and plane of your face, he probably wouldn’t have noticed.
“Thank you for coming.” You murmur, allowing your eyes to linger on Max a beat longer than your brothers.
Lorenzo, ever the eldest brother, leads the group into the gallery, Max behind you and Arthur in front of you. You can feel the heat of his body radiating when he reaches around your shoulder to hold the door open for you from behind and turn your face upwards to give him a heart stopping smile. “Thank you.”
You excuse yourself to go find Nessa, the gallery’s owner, leaving your brothers and Max to their own devices while you make sure everything is set for the show.
Max plucks a flute of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray before he turns to Charles. “Want to take bets on if Lando shows?” He grumbles, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
Charles does it for him though, muttering something that sounds a lot like ‘proper idiot’ under his breath.
Max nods and turns his attention to the paintings hanging on the wall. You’re not the only artist being featured tonight but your work is the most striking in the room and Max finds himself drawn to a large piece depicting a meadow tucked into a valley with a set of mountains in the background. The sky was what caught Max’s attention though. It was a riot of grays, blues, and shades of the deepest black. The storm was close to boiling over, gathering strength in the background as the foreground of the painting remained seemingly bathed in a golden sunlight.
The emotion that you had poured into this canvas practically shimmered off the surface and Max found himself with the most overwhelming desire to touch it.
“This is my favorite of all the pieces I did for tonight.” You murmur as you come to stand beside Max, who tries to hide the involuntary shiver that travels over his skin at the sound of your voice.
Max slides his eyes over to you without turning his head, almost as if he’s afraid that he’ll scare you away if he moves too fast. “It’s different from your other work.” He observes and your heart clenches.
Max’s thoughts flicker to the piece he purchased from you four years ago when he moved into his penthouse apartment. It was a piece as big as the one in front of him now, but the color scheme was markedly different. Where the piece in front of him was moody and stormy, the piece that hung in his living room was light and airy. He had seen a similar painting of the French countryside in your studio and had asked you to paint a similar but the Dutch tulip fields of his home country.
Normally, you didn’t take commissions. You were much too attached to your craft and the control you craved to give up such an important piece of your creative process. It was a policy that was a therapist’s dream.
You had broken your own rule for Max though. You had been powerless against those glacial blue eyes of his and without a second thought you had agreed to do as Max asked.
“Do you not like it?” You ask, surprising yourself with how much you care about what Max thinks.
He shakes his head before taking a sip of his champagne. He hadn’t been this close to you for this long in so long, he was almost afraid to move. “No, Dovie. That’s not what I was saying at all. I was just thinking of the one in my house and how different they are.”
You nod, eyes darting back up to your painting as you think of the tulip fields that was secretly your favorite piece of art you’d ever made. “I was a different person when I painted yours.” You say simply.
“And how is the person you are now?” Max’s voice is low as he leans into your bare shoulder just a fraction more than might be appropriate for someone who knows you have a boyfriend.
Chest tightening, the weight of having a boyfriend who is currently running forty five minutes late after promising to be there for you settles on your shoulders so heavily you think you may break. Your cheeks burn as you contemplate how to answer Max’s question. You desperately want to tell him you’re okay. To lie about how broken you feel while the man that you’re in love with misses another milestone in your life.
“I don’t know.” Emotion claws at your throat, threatening to pull you under right here in the middle of an art gallery.
Suddenly you turn away from Max, eyes scanning the room desperately looking for a familiar shock of mahogany colored hair. Max stares after you, eyes narrowed at your sudden departure. Your answer plays in his head as he watches you seemingly spot the person you’d been looking for. You start across the room, hoping your sense of determination lasts until you reach Charles.
“Are you okay?” Your brother looks past the man he’d been speaking to when he sees the desperation in your face.
“I…Charles, I…” You fumble for your words, mind still scrambling to figure out what your body’s plan was.
Charles steps around the man and grabs your elbow. “Take a breath, Little Dove.” He soothes. You follow his instructions and take a few steadying breaths, allowing the feeling of your brother’s hand sitting heavy at your elbow to ground you.
After a few moments you manage to find your voice. “When do you close on the new apartment?”
missleclerc posted:
57,029 likes liked by charlesleclerc, maxverstappen1, nessas_gallery and others missleclerc oh what a night <3 thank you to everyone who took time out of their busy schedules to spend an evening with me celebrating the new show. the pieces will be on display at @/nessas_gallery for the rest of the month!! charlesleclerc another successful opening, little dove! so proud of you >>>arthurleclerc yes, so proud! glad we were able to make it out to support you! >>>user028 the way her brothers are her biggest fans is just...ugh. so cute. >>>user000 and the little dove nickname!! i die. user122 no lando in the likes, comments OR pictures??? where you at bruh??? >>>user0200 did you see that gossip post?! he didn't even show up! >>>user122 ew. seriously???
f1_wag_gossip posted
35,291 likes f1_wag_gossip Lando's girlfriend (also Charles LeClerc's little sister) @/missleclerc’s art was on display at an art gallery opening this Friday night in Monaco but one person was notably missing: Lando Norris himself. Sources snapped photos inside of Miss LeClerc laughing with none other than Max Verstappen before leaving the gallery later in the evening with her brothers and Max in tow. Several people tell me that she looked very upset after the show. Max even had his arm around her as she swiped at tears while waiting for Arthur's car to be brought around. Is there trouble in paradise for the artist and her longtime pilot boyfriend??? user222 he was on Max F's stream for HOURS Friday night. He chose playing Tarkov over going to his girlfriend's art show??? user122 If Max Verstappen, the man that had to have a CURFEW imposed on him by his own team because he stayed up too late playing video games, can put the controller down for one night to attend a FRIENDS art show, surely the poor girls own boyfriend could have done the same??? >>>user222 seriously. tf were you thinking @/Lando??? user988 gross behavior. idk why she's still with him user2237 I wonder how many other events of hers he's ruined?
Tag List: @shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @chlmtfilms , @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @chelseyyouraverageluigi @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @glitteryturtledeer @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx
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1 caramel cheesecake pls! [bottom male reader]
filthy rich spoiled reader who gets himself taught a lesson by alessio in his room while also being scared about getting caught by anyone at the estate. (alessio does NOT give a fuck)
if its too specific you can ignore this ask <3
˖⁺. “ fuck yourself, rich boy ! ” :
﹙ top outlaw male x bttm richboy male ﹚.𖹭 ݁
. . . verse 9819 alessio x male reader !! 🍓 : ﹙ outlaw ˖ serial killer ˖ illusionist character ﹚
you grew up in the comfort parts of society. high class in comparison to the rest. but what happens when you start finding yourself messing with the leader of a rebel group? well, your bratty nature lands you in a bit of a predicament. bent over in your bedroom while the outlaw himself rails you dumb.
﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ risky sex ˖ rough sex ˖ penetrative sex ˖ degradation ˖ handjob ˖ prone bone ˖ marathon sex ˖ brat taming ˖ multiple orgasms ˖ cum-eating | wc : 1.8k
﹙ receipts ﹚: the way I gasped when I saw this request GID I had so much fun writing it !
꒰ other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore ꒱
“Talk to me, tesoro. Thought that’s all you’re good for?”
Your tie mocks the strain of your wrists, wrapped tight in a bound to your arching spine. The painful curve induced by an even tighter hand locked in your hair. Tugging every time you hang your head to let your tears of overwhelm hit the floor.
You’ll be clad in long sleeves and turtlenecks for the rest of the week with the bruises, hickies and plethora of bites all over your skin. None of that compared to the constant, hammering feel of his hips. Snapping into the backs of your thighs. Once, twice, thrice.
What is air? A luxury at this point. None of your riches could compare. Not when his swollen tip slams into that devastating bundle of nerves. Your lower lip falls from your teeth. Much like your erect dick bouncing aimlessly with every jerk of a thrust.
“Oh, but - I suppose I’m wrong, right?” Damn that deep croon to your ear. And the tickle of his dark curls on your cheekbone while you’re at it. But how could any of him crawl to the pits with the heaven that he sends you to?
Bent over in your own room. Feet between his shoes. Held like you weigh a feather as he chases bruises on your soft thighs. The claps of wet skin bounce off the walls. Merged with moans. Whines. Strangled gasps.
“You’re also good at taking cock.”
Punctuated with a harsh spank to your ass. Emerald eyes catch the ripple across your skin. He mimics it further by slamming all the way. Grinding. Humping. Any shallow slam to rub on your weak spot and huff struggled breathe from drooling lips.
But that’s not all from the wave of heated breath. A quivered: “Sh-Shut - shut uuppp -” carries in your pants. Tongue once confidently in spits of insult and disrespect now slobbers saliva all over your pristine floor. “Y-You’re a nuisance. An eyesore - a - f-fuchk-!”
Your dick twitches in the large hand squeezed around the base. His fingers are just as skilled as his hips. Cruel pumps and jerks that squirt your cum to the floor with a strangled noise bobbed from your Adam’s apple. All Alessio can do is flash a grin you catch a glimpse of in the mirror at your side. Before both palms snatch your waist and shove you back on his cock that he tames great pleasure in fucking into you faster. Harder. So that the slapping of skin rings through your ears like a sinful, broken record.
“P-Please - please o-oh god - fuckfuckfuck -”
What more can you do but arch? The lift of your spine shoves your ass into his pelvis. He takes it as an invitation to hold you firm against it since you clearly offered. Slam up into you until his balls greet your supple flesh with taps and smacks.
“P-People. . . ‘re gonna hear. Y-You jer- ah!” Another squeeze round your dick for your big mouth. Have you learnt nothing? Not that this is much of a learning experience if you can barely think.
The only thought running through your mind is the stretch of his big cock. The kiss of his veins on all your sweet spots. Their thrum. Your nerves on clear overdrive when he digs a calloused thumb into your tip and strokes until you’re teary.
You’ll squirt his palm all over again if he continues. No that he cares with the rough bucks that he fucks against your quivering hips. The deep chuckle from his throat would have have itched your palms to smack him. Alas, all you could do was wish to cling at his shoulders. Scrape down his back as he pounded you so full.
The creaking of floorboards constantly snapped your fucked-out mind from the depths of overstimulation. Were servants stepping closer. Or worse - your family?
You’d have no time to care when Alessio would withdraw to the tip then slam forward and hit your sweetspot dead on. Brimming tears to your eyes and a groan from the depths of his throat. Those emerald hues flicker to the ring of cream round his cock and he grins through sweat-drenched tresses. “What, they’ll hear? Hear you gettin’ pounded by an outlaw?”
He snaps his hips forward at that. With a power that jerks your poor body. The gasp fleeing your lips melts into a whimper when his fingers choose cruelty to your hair again. Twisting you to face the mirror as his free hand drops to your hip. A smack. A squeeze. Before he’s fucking you back into him like a ragdoll. Shoes planted firmly to the floor as he effortlessly uses your body like a sleeve.
“See what a whore you are? Cummin’ all over your fuckin’ floor and messing up this ‘expensive fabric’?”
His teeth tear into the collar of your shirt. If it weren’t for your tongue hanging out you’d cuss at him. Alas you are too preoccupied with being his little cumdump as he pumps you full once more.
You’d think he’d slow down after his second time spraying your gummy walls white. If anything it rejuvenates his punishing thrusts and turns your thighs to putty as he hammers at a sinful rhythm. Squeezing cum from the both of you and running it down your wobbly legs.
Alessio’s laugh is almost as callous as his hand that snaps around your jaw. “Look at yourself baby. First time taking cock like this? Yeah? Spoilt lil’ rich boy doesn’t know shit ‘bout the real world.”
Softness encases your front. The first in several minutes of being his tight toy. It fades with his heavy weight crushing you into the mattress after the outlaw shoved you into your sheets. Knees knocking yours apart to make way for the barrage of his mercilessly thrusts.
“A-Ah - ah-ah-ah!” Your eyes cross at the centre. He shoves your head to the linen. Another spank. Another grab at your poor, jiggling ass. He spreads you open for his imagination to picture it. Picture his veiny cock splitting you into two. Your tight rim struggling and crying around every inch. Not to mention his cum fucking out of you with every rabid hump.
“Tha’s it, yeah pretty boy. Yeah take it. Fucking whore.” His grunts drip with mockery that pours to your neck with his rough kisses. Your dick grinds and rubs into the linen. Great. Another mess to worry about later. When you come down from the high. Stuffed full of his cum and unable to stop the tremble of your thighs. “Imagine it. ‘magine them coming in - hah - seeing this - seeing you -”
The only thing to stop Alessio’s malicious laugh is the clench of your walls. He smacks your ass again in reprimand. A grunt soon follows. “Now that your ass ‘s nice ‘n full. . . apologise.” Another slam to your sweetspot.
And still, despite your eyes rolling back. Ass getting pounded for all your worth. Who knows how many concerned servants covering their ears through the halls — you wheeze.
“F-Fuck - angh - f-fuck you - fuck you, a-and - and every - god - ‘m n-not sorry-”
Your dick gets a break from the rough rubs of linen when the warm of his fingers encase it after a hand squeezes past your front flushed to the mattress. His thumb goes back to what it does best. Swirling around your tip. Squeezing the slit.
But this time he samples your sticky slick. Savors the feel of it between his fingers. Before he’s shoving your sweetness into your mouth. The pads of his index and middle press on your tongue, just as he’s pressing into the spot that makes you gurgle a sob.
“You taste that, you fuckin’ brat?” The hiss to your ear follows a thrust of his fingers. He hits the back of your throat with no care for how much you slobber all over his hand. “That’s you. Cumming like a fucking whore for me. Now lest you don’t wanna be dumped off in your foyer all creamed up and shaky. Apologise.”
The harsh ram of his cock at an angle tells you he’s not above humiliating you. After all, what’s it to him if a spoilt rich boy gets humiliated by his servants?
You’re the one constantly seeking him out. You’re the one who engages the flirts and mockeries flung across the bar of the Contraire. You’re the one who sneaks out every other day to suck off a serial killer when your parents aren’t looking.
Once he’s done finger-fucking your mouth, he withdraws with a trail of drool attached to his nail beds. Long digits grip your jaw and force your head up. So that he can hear your pretty, pitiful gasps as he shallowly pounds you sore.
“I-I - ‘m - s-sorry -”
“What was that?”
A squeeze to your throat. You gurgle on your spit and limp your head in his hold. Submit to the endless ramming of his hips into yours. Your tummy twisting and insides flaring as you cum a fourth - fifth - sixth time. “I’m - iii’mm so- s’rry - sorry-! Alessio-!”
He’s creaming you again. Stuffing you full and squirting some out to your rippling thighs and bedsheets. If only to chase after another release with the way he starts ploughing you into the sheets. His chuckle hoarse and rough like his teeth clamping on your ear.
“There we go. Finally acting like a good - mnn - fucking slut. Proud of you baby.”
Get ready to be flipped and pounded into the mattress with strong arms hooking your knees. Folding you in half. Making you his pretty boy toy to take his cock. A rich boy so full of cum from an outlaw. A man you should disgust.
One you can’t stop squeezing round the cock of.
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Automation was supposed to take over BORING JOBS so we had more time for CREATIVITY.
NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND.
As gen-AI becomes more normalized (Chappell Roan encouraging it, grifters on the rise, young artists using it), I wanna express how I will never turn to it because it fundamentally bores me to my core. There is no reason for me to want to use gen-AI because I will never want to give up my autonomy in creating art. I never want to become reliant on an inhuman object for expression, least of all if that object is created and controlled by tech companies. I draw not because I want a drawing but because I love the process of drawing. So even in a future where everyone’s accepted it, I’m never gonna sway on this.
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wedding date!chris
ib: anyone who has written this trope! pls reply w their users so i can tag!
he was desperate to see you after months of no contact. the two of you had been the best of friends. from the age of seven, the two of you were nearly impossible to separate. you did everything together, wherever one went, the other was right beside them. and chris was absolutely enamoured by you from day one, which is why no one in his family could fathom how easily he let you walk away.
when the two of you began experimenting with one another sexually, chris blatantly ignored the warning signs going off on his brain. he just wanted you so incredibly bad, that he’d take you in whatever way you gave yourself to him. he didn’t care that he was putting almost seventeen years of friendship on the line. he was in love with you, but there were so many thoughts, doubts, fears, and insecurities firing off deep inside his mind that prevented him for telling you how he felt.
you weren’t stupid, you saw the way chris looked at you like you were the only person in the room that mattered. you saw the way he treated you, he treated you like you were more important than everyone else, the same way he treats his momma. you were, and still are, everything to chris. you saw the way he felt, he didn’t need words to say it, and the only reason you noticed it, is because it mirrored your own feelings. but you were waiting for chris to say something, to do something that didn’t end with you laying between his sheets.
and you got tired of waiting. the ball was in his court, and you had expected him to make the next move after you used the idea of sleeping together causally as a potential gateway to something more. but he never did anything. and it killed you.
you were a big believer in “if they want to, they will.” and you so badly wanted to believe that chris wanted you in the same way you wanted him. you really thought that he was going to take it to a serious level with you, and when you realized that he was treating less like you were the only thing that mattered, and more like every girl he’s been with before, you took your leave. you knew you deserved more than to be stuck waiting for a guy, even if he was your best friend, to decide if he wanted you.
and when you received a text from chris, your heart dropped. you didn’t know how to respond. because let’s be honest, how the fuck were you supposed to respond to the guy you fell in love with at the age of thirteen asking you to be his date to a family friend’s wedding after six months of no contact whatsoever? how the fuck were you supposed to respond after going from being apart of every milestone, big and small, to watching his life through videos and pictures on the internet, only getting updates through the small snippets he shared with his fans? and that’s what hit you the hardest, you were no longer someone that got a closer look at the inner workings of his life, private and public, but rather, you were living the same life as his fans. and you weren’t a fan, you couldn’t, and would not, let yourself live like that anymore.
not when you knew what songs he preferred when he was sad and driving around to clear his head, not when you knew that he’d make and eat his mom’s homemade soup when he was homesick, or that he always sent pictures of your favourite things to his mom when you were busy, or how he looked and sounded during his most intimate and vulnerable moments.
so, you took the time to carefully craft your response. agreeing to be his date, but only if the two of you could meet up somewhere and actually talk about what went wrong before you showed up to the wedding as his plus one.
and chris’ head was spinning as he read the text, he agreed without even knowing if you were still living in the same slightly run-down apartment complex just a few blocks away, and if you were, he was going to kick his own ass. because how could he let things get so bad between the two of you, how could he let you go, and remained unbothered by him for six months while being a ten minute walk away from him half the time? and when he found out that you were only ten minutes away from him, he was quick to show up at your apartment the next night at a quarter to midnight.
you were in the middle of drying your hair and getting your work uniform ready when a hefty series of knocks rattled against your door, it startled you slightly but your nerves calmed when you figured it was just your neighbour asking you to watch her sick cat while she ran to the corner store again, but as you opened the door, your heart rate spiked as you met the eyes of the very man that haunted your thoughts and dreams every night.
“chris, why are you here?”
STAR’S CORNER i started texting vi abt this idea and i needed to get it out rq, so let me know if u want me to keep building on this lil blurb !! also chapter one of SHUT UP MY MOM’S CALLING is dropping late saturday night <3
© 55STURN 2025 ! REBLOGS OF MY WORK ARE NOT EXPECTED BUT GREATLY APPRECIATED !
#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo smut#christopher sturniolo#christopher sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo smut#wedding date!chris
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Daughter who never stopped kissing her mom goodnight, even though she's in her 20s now. They both know it's a bit weird, but mom doesn't mind. She thinks it's cute, and she could never refuse affection from her sweet daughter after all.
Daughter who starts asking for more kisses throughout the day. Her mom is a bit surprised at first, but it makes her so happy that her daughter wants her affection, so she's more than willing to oblige.
Daughter whose kisses start to linger a bit longer. Only by a tiny bit at first, barely even noticeable. But over time, little by little, they go from brief innocent pecks to spending several seconds in a close embrace with their lips pressed against each other. By the time her mom starts to notice, it's become so normalized that she doesn't think much of it. After all, she thinks, this is still a normal amount of intimacy between mother and daughter, right?
Daughter who cuddles up to her mom while they're watching TV together, and positions herself in her mom's lap so she has easy access to kiss her whenever she wants. Her mom teases her about it at first, but ultimately grows to enjoy the arrangement, and finds it quite comforting to be so close with her daughter.
Daughter who occasionally starts slipping a little tongue into her kisses. Her mom thinks she's imagining it at first. After all, there's no way her own daughter would want to be with her like that... right? Before she knows it, though, she's regularly full on making out with her daughter. She knows this is crossing some sort of line, bordering on incest even, but... it clearly makes her daughter happy. Sure, it's a bit... unconventional... but what's the harm in it really?
Daughter who starts feeling up her mom's body while they kiss. Again, it starts off fairly innocent, letting her hands wander gently along her mom's back and sides. It's not long, though, before she gets more adventurous and starts groping her mom's breasts and ass as well. Her mom is hesitant at first. Mothers and daughters aren't supposed to be doing this, right? But... how can something that makes her and her daughter feel so good possibly be wrong? She gently reciprocates her daughter's touches, eliciting endless adorable desperate whimpers in response.
Daughter whose kisses no longer end at "goodnight". Now she follows her mom back into the bedroom. They undress, and she pushes her mom onto the bed and continues kissing. No longer is there any facade of sweet innocent mother-daughter kisses. Now her kisses are desperate and ravenous.
Daughter who starts kissing down her mom's neck, evoking soft moans as she continues down mom's collarbone to her voluptuous chest. Her soft lips plant countless kisses all over mom's breasts, before finally landing on a nipple. She takes it in her mouth and begins to suck on it as she gently kneads mom's other boob with her hand. Her mom moans deeply and strokes her daughter's hair as she plays with her tits.
Daughter whose lips depart from mom's breast and continue the trail of kisses down her abdomen, pausing just above her clit. Mischievously, she teases her mom, circumnavigating her sex and planting kisses around her inner thighs. Her mom whimpers uncontrollably as the kisses approach her hot wet center. She watches in anticipation as her daughter pauses in midair, her breath across her mother's swollen, sensitive pussy lips causing mom to shudder, before finally, she dives in.
Mom who can't stop herself from crying out in pleasure as her daughter makes out with her needy lower lips. Any last shred of care for what's "proper", what mother and daughter "shouldn't" do, vanishes, powerless to her daughter's ministrations. Her daughter, as she senses that mom is approaching her climax, focuses her lips and tongue on mom's clit and begins fucking her pussy with two fingers. Mom's cries become louder and louder, until her daughter curls her fingers up to hit her g-spot, sending her screaming past the finish line. As she comes down from the high, her daughter pulls away and comes up to kiss her, flooding her mouth with the sweet taste of her own juices. They both make each other cum several more times that night, losing track of exactly how many. Inevitably, though, exhaustion eventually brings their play to an end, and they resign themselves to slumber.
Daughter who nestles into her mom's embrace as she drifts off to sleep in the afterglow. Her mom looks down at her and smiles. She silently chuckles for a moment as a thought crosses her mind. Despite how much her daughter has grown up, despite turning her own mother into such a needy, perverted slut and making her cum so many times, she's now curled up in her mother's arms, just like a little baby. They both know it's a bit weird, but mom doesn't mind. She thinks it's cute, and she could never refuse affection from her sweet daughter after all.
#consang#consanguinamory#yuricest#lesbian#momcon#momcest#mom x daughter#mother x daughter#mother/daughter#💚❤️💙💜
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Obviously, first thing is that it doesn't fricking matter what other people want to be called. Does it hurt you? No? Okay, then use it. It's the mildest of inconveniences to change the way your brain thinks - an inconvenience that will do nothing but help you as you better your ability to reflect on yourself and decide who you want to be. It will help you develop empathy and make you more appealing to the people you actually want to be around. If you are nice and respectful, people will be nice and respectful to you. It's an inconvenience where the only downside is the shame and guilt developed when you learn to do better, but that will be there either way. It's just that you won't take it out on others in one.
Anyway, since we've done that, let's talk about grammar, my favorite subject in the world.
That makes it sound like I go around correcting everyone on anything, but I promise I don't, for reasons we'll get into in a minute.
Since I adore this topic, I'm gonna give you my full grammar rant. Because I'm evil and I want everyone to enjoy this. I'm not perfect with this. I'm just a trans creative writer with a knack for chaos and a love of sociology.
So often, especially in school, it's treated like a list of unchanging rules that you need to follow else your essay be banished to the depths of the ocean and utilized as what to never do.
This isn't how it works. I promise. Grammar is fluid. It isn't inherent or scientific. If you want something scientific involving it, there's sociolinguistics, the wonderful study of how society interacts with language. It's very interesting, and I recommend checking it out, but it only influences how grammar works. Like all branches of sociology, it's based around people. We change, and our communication isn't immune to that. So that is ever developing and grammar is ever changing.
Linguists study how people communicate and turn that into grammar rules and guidelines. It isn't how we "should" communicate, it's how we do. It's made to help us understand each other. It changes by region. It changes by year. It changes by how people talk to you because it literally doesn't matter most of the time. They're guidelines - if something outside of supposed proper grammar makes more sense, you use that instead so people know what you're talking about.
People who say stuff like the above have clearly never read a fictional book because every creative writer ignores some grammar guidelines in order to build emotion or tone or suspense or character. It's just how you write.
Also, singular they/them is grammatically correct. Because grammar doesn't matter but also because it's been used that way since literally 1375.
And if you want to make the argument that something that's commonly used isn't necessarily proper grammar - a valid argument, considering that I've been making that this entire time - it was also named Merriam-Webster's 2019 word of the year. So it's literally that way in the dictionary. It is proper as well.
But let's be real here: these people don't care about these facts, and I will prove it. Skip the next paragraph if you hate grammar police, I know I do, I just want to make a point.
They/them isn't a full sentence and has no period after it. Most grammar states that one and two should be spelled out - there is debate about whether that goes up to ten or 100 (I'm sure you can tell which I use), but I've never seen one that says to use 1 and 2 for such small numbers. Those rules are so, so annoying, and I will hate them to the end of time, but it's fine because I'm proving a point. "That's unmathematical." Is also not a full sentence. It doesn't have a verb. It has a pronoun and an adjective. But no verb. I think the last one is right, though contradictory to their own point, so kudos to them.
Okay, now that I'm out of my villain arc, I want to apologize for the emotional distress I may have caused. I would not have done it if I didn't deem the hypocrisy worth acknowledging.
I also understand that they never specifically stated that this was a grammar issue, but I mean. I think this argument is regurgitated enough for me to utilize this to make a point.
Now, to end my grammar rant. Use grammar if you wish. Don't if you don't. I don't care. Grammar is subjective 90% of the time.
But whatever you do, don't pretend that grammar is some unchanging science that will cause the world to crumble if we ever dared to change the plurality of a word.
That would be a really fragile world. That would be a really dumb world. That's not how any of this works. That's just... incorrect on every possible level.
If you like grammar, use it correctly. Don't use your powers for evil. Use them to create the chaos that we feast upon as we find new ways to break every last guideline in the book, ending with the society that we live in as rules become meaningless.
Also, no one tell these people about Cormac McCarthy. They might explode.
Aren't people just tired of dying on this hill?
It's not about you, it's about them and if someone wants their pronouns to be they/them, get over it.
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annabeth chase is hated on the most because of the fact that she is the most 'human' out of all the characters.
like out of all the books (that she's present for) annabeth chase is the one who cries the most. she also experiences the most human emotions like jealousy, envy, anger, loss and grief (both for luke, before and after he died). the haters don't like that. they don't like a strong female lead who has emotions that makes her "weak." they want a female lead who throws her emotions away and is submissive does whatever the male lead wants her to do with no ability to think for herself.
the one emotion my girl is ALWAYS being shamed for is jealousy/envy of someone else as if we all haven't at one point in our lives been jealousy of someone. put your selves in her shoes before you start talking abt her.
no one has ever stuck around for her. she genuinely tried so hard to keep everyone that's ever come into her life and none of them have stuck around.
and then she meets percy jackson, a guy who she is NOT supposed to get along with because her mom hates him and she would be expected to hate him because she wants to make her mom proud and acknowledge her. and yet they go on a quest and she realizes that he's not that bad and they become best friends.
fast forward a couple of quests and he's proven to her that he will never leave her side and he isn't like the rest and then one day he shows up with some random mortal girl and then they take over her quest and she lets them, because its the only way to save camp, but that doesn't mean she has to be happy about it.
and then she has one more year with him before she loses him to the great prophecy and she doesn't even see him anymore because he spends all of his time away from camp. and she doesn't want them mad at each other but they just can't seem to get along and suddenly, if feels to her as if he's like everyone else, he found someone better than her and he left.
'oh but why didn't she realize that he had feelings for her earlier?' (dumbest question i've ever heard btw)
my girl only saw him 4-5 weeks out of the year (52 weeks), and that's why she genuinely couldn't tell if he liked her or not. and even if he did, did he like her in a 'i want to date you' way or a summer fling kinda way.
so NO annabeth chase slander will be tolerated.
#annabeth chase#percy and annabeth#percy jackon and the olympians#percabeth#pjo tv show#pjo fandom#i love annabeth chase#no annabeth chase slander allowed#heroes of olympus#no annabeth chase slander will be tolerated#annabeth chase is a queen#rachel elizabeth dare
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Something happens and I'm head over heels
summary: James suddenly realised he likes Yn, but will his clumsiness allow him to confess? pairing: james potter x fem!reader word count: 1,073 warnings: none :)
“Padfoot! Moony! Wormtail! Reunion! Emergency reunion!!!” James bellowed as he stormed into the Great Hall, grabbing Peter and Sirius by the backs of their collars and dragging them along.
A few students glanced their way, mildly curious, but most quickly lost interest. It wasn’t exactly unusual for James to burst in yelling, nor was it the first time he’d called an “emergency reunion” in front of everyone. The last time it happened, Remus had teased him mercilessly—with Marlene and Lily enthusiastically joining in—for summoning them to help him choose a decent pair of swim trunks because Yn was joining his family on holiday.
“And what’s so urgent now, James?” asked Remus, his voice calm but tinged with sarcasm.
“I can’t talk here, Moony,” James said in a hushed but intense tone. “Someone might hear, and then they’ll tell her before I do!”
“Could you please let go, James? You’re suffocating me,” Peter wheezed, coughing for dramatic effect. James muttered a quick “Sorry,” releasing both Peter and Sirius, though the latter shot him an exasperated glare.
“You need to get a grip, Prongs,” Sirius said, smoothing out his shirt. “You look like a madman half the time.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let’s just get to the dormitory,” James insisted, his eyes wide and urgent. “I’ve discovered something. Something really, really important. And I need your help.”
The three boys exchanged glances, a silent but mutual question passing between them: What now?
“Okay, spill it, Prongs. What’s all this about?” Sirius asked, folding his arms.
The group exchanged glances. James was running his hands through his hair like a madman, sporting a desperate yet ridiculously happy grin. He glanced around the room conspiratorially before leaning in to whisper.
“I think—no, wait—I know,” he grinned wider. “I love Yn.”
His smile practically split his face.
“Didn’t you skip a few steps there?” Peter asked, amused. “Like, you like her, you start dating, and then you fall in love. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?”
“Apparently not,” Remus cut in, smirking. “James is trying to be the new Romeo. Who knows? Maybe the new Werther—completely desperate and lovesick.”
“Who’s Romeo?” the other three asked in unison.
“And what the hell is a Veader, Moony?” Sirius added, looking both puzzled and offended.
“Forget it,” Remus sighed. “I keep forgetting you lot barely read magical books, let alone Muggle ones. Anyway, carry on, James.”
“I already told you!” James exclaimed.
“What do you need us for?” Sirius asked, raising a brow.
“Yeah, mate,” Peter chimed in. “You’re the one who has to tell her how you feel. We can’t do that for you.”
“I know that,” James said, exasperated. “But I need you guys to handle the girls. Distract them so I can get some alone time with Yn. My mum says women like sentimental men. I want to plan something special…”
Thud, thud, thud.
A knock on the door made them all freeze.
“James, are you in there?”
The boys exchanged wide-eyed looks. Remus clamped a hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh at James’s utterly panicked expression.
“It’s Yn,” James whispered. The boys all nodded, smirking at his antics.
“Yeah, James, it’s me,” Yn called from the other side of the door. “Can you open up? I need to talk to you—you mixed up our Potions assignments today!”
James looked helplessly at his friends, who gestured for him to get on with it.
“Hi, Yn,” James said, his usual confidence wavering. The words I love you, please date me teetered on the edge of his tongue, but he bit down, tasting a faint hint of iron.
“Hi, James,” she replied with a warm smile, stepping into the room. “Hi, boys!”
“Hi, Yn!” they chorused, suddenly very interested in the ceiling, walls, and floor. Yn grinned at their obvious attempt to avoid eye contact.
James frantically gestured for them to leave, but his “subtlety” was anything but. Before they could escape entirely, Yn stopped them.
“Come on, guys, there’s no point. You can stay.” She shot James an amused look, then turned back to the group.
“Your friend here,” she began, her tone teasing, “mixed up our Potions assignments. We’re supposed to analyze and annotate our Amortentia samples by tomorrow.”
Everyone except Yn looked utterly baffled.
“You know what James did?” she continued. “After class, he grabbed my cauldron instead of his. I ended up with his potion.” She walked over to James’s desk, opened his cauldron, and lifted the lid.
“Now, James,” she said, her voice almost playful, “tell me—what do you smell?”
Remus caught on first, his grin spreading as realization hit him.
“I… I…” James stammered, his brain stalling.
“It’s your scent,” Yn said, her voice softening. “Mixed with new books, cinnamon rolls, and lavender.”
The words hit him like a Bludger. The air seemed to stop.
“And your Amortentia?” she continued, her smile growing. “It smells like the beach, mint, apple pie… and my scent.”
She leaned in slightly, her grin now unmistakably smug.
“I like you too, James. A lot.”
For a moment, he was frozen, his brain struggling to catch up. The boys stared, equally stunned. Then, a grin began to spread across James’s face.
“Speak, Prongs!” Sirius shouted.
“Oh my gosh, Yn, I fucking adore you!” James exclaimed, scooping her up and spinning her around. When he set her down, his hands cupped her cheeks.
“Will you be my girlfriend?”
“Of course I will,” she said, laughing.
“I love you!” He kissed her cheek. “I love you, I love you!” He kissed her temple, her nose, peppering her face with kisses.
“Merlin, Yn, why did it take me so long to figure this out?”
“I think we were both afraid of ruining our friendship,” she said nuzzling on his neck and smiling warmly. “And maybe a bit stubborn.”
“Good thing I’ve got a smart girl to guide me. My girlfriend.”
“My boyfriend,” she replied, her grin matching his.
From downstairs, Peter’s voice rang out. “You guys want anything from the kitchen?”
“No!” James shouted back, then leaned in to whisper, “I’m spending the afternoon with my girl. Just us.”
“You’re so cheesy,” Yn giggled.
“You’ll get used to it,” he replied, his smile softening before he kissed her again.
Hi! Here’s a quick story that popped into my head today. Hope you lot have enjoyed.
Bye!!
ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐
#james potter blurb#james potter fluff#james potter x reader#marauders x reader#marauders fluff#marauders fanfiction#marauder era#marauders#james fleamont potter#james potter#james potter imagine#james potter x fem!reader#james potter x y/n#james potter x you
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‘ i see what’s happening here. you’re bored. you want a little attention. ’ + Sevika 🥺🥺 I feel like she’s the softest girl ever in private
Pairing: Wife!Sevika x Reader.
Word Count: Not 500 lmao (645).
A/N: Can't stick to my own rules apparently. Soz if you hate it lmao. Soft, soft, Sevika. Idk wife!Sevika just sounds right in comparison to girlfriend to me lol. Idk if you wanted his to be smut but, you said softest girl ever so, I went with fluff lol
Sunday.
It was your favourite day of the week.
Sundays were for sleeping in. Sundays were for cuddling. Sundays were for slow morning sex. Sundays were for breakfast in bed. Sundays were for watching reruns of your favourite, bad, tv shows and movies on the couch with your wife.
Your wife, who was a busy woman. Second in charge to the most powerful man in Zaun, and Sundays were supposed to be the one day of the week that you had her totally and completely to yourself.
Sundays were not for work. Sundays were not for Sevika’s office. Sundays were not for sitting on the couch in Sevika’s office while she tended to whatever urgent work matter that Silco insisted couldn’t wait till Monday.
You were not happy and growing steadily unhappier with every second that ticked by that she remained on the phone. You sat cross legged on her office couch, chest pressed against the back of the couch so you were facing where she sat at her desk; your gaze burning holes into the telephone perched on her desk in the hopes it would magically combust along with the person interrupting your Sunday.
Despite the low, steady tone of her voice and razor-sharp words that cut through whatever excuse being given by the person on the other end; Sevika watches you, amused, her eyes softening and the corner of her lips turning up at the soft pout that forms on your lips when your gaze meets hers.
With a subtle nod of her head, Sevika beckons you over to her, pushing her chair out from beneath her desk, and you make yourself comfortable in her lap, your head resting on her shoulder.
Not missing a beat in her scolding of whoever was on the other line, Sevika slips a hand under the back of your (her) shirt, fingers lightly dancing up and down your spine, her lips grazing the top of your forehead before she dips her head and nuzzles her nose against yours.
The gesture sends a kaleidoscope of butterflies through your stomach at the sweet gesture. It prompts you to press soft kisses to her neck, lips slowly travelling up her neck and curving upward when you feel the way she tenses beneath you, her hand tightening around your waist. Satisfaction spreads through your chest when she abruptly ends the phone call accompanied by another flutter of wings, knowing you still had the same effect on her that she did on you.
“I see what’s happening here,” she suddenly chuckles and the sound reverberates through your body. “You’re bored. You want a little attention.”
“No,” you deny, lips pressing against her cheek before, ghosting over her lips to press against her other cheek as you work your way down the other side of her neck. It sends a shiver down Sevika’s spine. “Not bored.”
Pressing a final kiss to her collarbone, you sit up so, your eye-level with her. Sevika watches you carefully, expression softening at the far away look in your eyes. Her eyes never leave your face as you reach out and tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.
“I just- it’s Sunday- just want all of your attention, today,” you tell her softly.
Your hand is still near her ear when she captures it in her own, bringing it to her lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles before, her hand is sliding up the length of your arm to cup your chin and forcing you to look at her; stormy grey eyes piercing into yours. She knew you’d never ask but, if you needed her to, she’d leave it all behind for you.
“Hey,” she calls, voice tender and a stark contrast to the fierce determination in her eyes. “You have my attention, always, every day of the week. Not just on Sundays.”
-
All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.
Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.
bookofbonbon 2025. All rights reserved.
#sevika x reader#sevika fanfiction#sevika x you#sevika x y/n#sevika fanfic#sevika fluff#500 word drabble game#arcane fanfiction#requests#inbox 💌#anonymous
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I put the handle on the right. I'm right-handed. I use the latin alphabet.
I did draw the cup first and then add the handle. I'd say that it had more to do with the reasons we righties prefer to write right-to-left, rather than letter shapes; I worked on the side of the cylinder that was closest to my hand, so I didn't have to look around my pencil to see what I was working on. I suppose if the Arabic writers do it the other way, we'll learn something.
I note that I generally hold my cup in my left hand because I use the other for the keyboard, or perhaps to hold the cookie I'm dipping into my milk, or so on. Also, there's a clear space on the left side of my keyboard to set down a cup, while the mousepad on the right makes it pretty awkward to set things down over there.
I need your help with a hypothesis!
For context: My linguistics professor and I got into a discussion after a test she did with us, and I was of the opinion that the reason for the results was different from the one she offered, so she encouraged me to test my theory.
What I need
All you need to do is draw a coffee cup (with a handle, not the disposable stuff) and then answer three questions.
I don't need to see the coffee cup. You can draw it wherever you like; on a piece of paper, digitally, in the sand, on a foggy window. Anything works. It does not have to be good. A doodle is fine.
You have to draw the coffee cup before you see the questions. This is very important. If you decide to help me with this, please doodle the coffee cup before you keep reading.
Assuming you have drawn the coffee cup, I now need you to answer these three questions:
On which side did you draw the handle?
Are you right-handed or left-handed?
Do you primarily write using the Latin alphabet or a different one? (please specify which)
More context
Most people will draw the handle on the right side. My professor says it's because most people are right-handed, so they draw the handle in the direction that would be comfortable for them to pick up.
I said drawing it on the right side just felt more comfortable to my hand and argued it's probably because we write a bunch of letters like that. B, b, D, P, p, R all look like a tiny "handle on the right side" and are all a straight line followed by a round one (so "cup first, handle second," like most people draw cups). The Latin alphabet doesn't have letters like that that face the other way, except maybe d, depending on how you write it, so it makes sense to me that people writing mostly Latin letters would go with the handle on the right side.
Which means that I need to know what Asians, Arabs and Greeks do and if the distribution of left and right sides of handles differs from the Latin alphabet group. Cyrillic seems to favor right, too, though it'd be interesting to see if there are differences.
If there are, my theory is right. Doubly so if there is a sizeable increase in a group whose alphabet has letters that benefit the left side choice.
So feel free to spread this to as many people as you like and put the answers in the comments or the tags of a reblog. The more answers I get, the better I can assess whose theory is better.
Thank you for your help!
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For Angel Brat, could we have some more focus on Bruce and Danny? Maybe Dick and Danny as well?
Bruce looks over to where Danny and Dick are each filling up their frozen yogurt cups. Dick's, is a vanilla and chocolate mix topped with various candies.
It seemed he had taken the open bar toppings as a personal challenge to drop a scoop of everything laid out into his container. Honestly, Bruce sometimes wondered if all of Dick's spontaneous flips were just a means to stay in shape, so he could keep eating the way he did.
Danny, on the other hand, had chocolate topped with only peanuts. His blue eyes- the only difference between him and Damian physically wise- kept wandering over longingly to offered sweeties but he was on a strict diet for his health.
Bruce can't believe that for all they have been searching for ways to keep Danny; they had neglected developing research for his illnesses. It felt a bitter taste in his mouth that they still could not find a cure for his boy.
Bruce Wayne was able to travel through time but make sure his son could run long periods without his heart or his lungs breaking down? Turns out he truly is just a mortal, and that was one of the worst things to realize when his son confidently bragged about being able to do two entire laps of their yard without nearly passing out.
He mentally did some calculations before stepping closer and touching Danny's shoulder. "I think you can have some chocolate chips."
His boy's face brightened in joy before he rushed to the counter, scooping the chocolate goods into his yogurt. It's another thing he noticed about Danny.
Unlike Damian, his youngest didn't bother hiding his emotions. He wore them like a badge of honor, letting them bleed across his face as quickly as he allowed sunlight to rest on them.
Bruce isn't sure if this is due to their different personalities- like the night and day of those two- or if it was because Danny had gotten out of the League when he did. Damian had broken him out to prevent him from being killed for his execution, but Bruce could not figure out where Danny had grown up.
His son's phrases and slight accent indicated midwestern. Bruce had no idea where, and every time he tried searching for him, the only thing that popped up was the already small rumors. Was this an effect of the timeline resetting? But why were there some posts and data on him left behind if it was?
It gave Bruce a headache; even Wally had no idea what was causing it. Wally, having been trapped in the Speed Force for so long, was the expert on it. Bruce shuddered to think of the alternatives if he couldn't figure out what was happening.
Bart had assured everyone that Danny was officially an anchor to their timeline, but if Wally's grim warnings that time was slowly erasing him- thus the lack of proof of childhood- then nothing they could do would save their son.
The worst part was not knowing if he would even be able to properly mourn him. Would Daniel Wayne vanish one day if no one remembered he was supposed to be there?
"Dick, I'm taking a pottery class. I'm going to make you something for your desk." Danny says, snapping Bruce out of his dark thoughts. Then he realizes he was moving on auto-polite, and the cashier was handing back his change.
He takes it with an empty smile turning to his children as Dick beams down at the youngest. "I can't wait to see it, Danny! I bet it will be the best one in class."
"I'll be the only one in the class," Danny tells him sheepishly, but a hint of sadness leaks into his voice. "I'm too sick to go to the center. Dad hired me a private teacher to come to the manor instead."
Bruce's heart squeezes painfully, and one quick glance at Dick's face lets him know his son feels the same way. Of course, nothing sows on his eldest face, but Bruce has known Dick for so long he can tell by the slight tightening around his eyes and the way the pain is tucked in his eyes.
Before he can think better of it, Bruce hears himself say, "I've always been interested in pottery. I'll see if the instructor wouldn't mind a second student."
"Really?" Danny's eyes are practically shining , which prompts Bruce to smile and shrug a shoulder.
"Yes, in fact I'm sure all of your siblings would love to take a class or two. Why don't you send a message in the group chat to see if they like to sign up?" He makes a motion that has Dick pulling out his phone to send in a different group titled "Keep our Angel."
His phone dings just a few seconds before Danny's, which the more petite boy takes as his own message coming through. Bruce never the less checks it anyway, swiping over to Dick's to read what he wrote
Dick: You are all taking a pottery class this Saturday. No excuse. Danny wants us there. I will hurt you if you miss.
His lack of emojis is bone-chilling. Bruce highly doubts any of his children will miss the event. And just as he predicted, Danny's smile grows wider when more dings can be heard coming from his phone.
"Everyone can make it!" He cheers, scrolling through the messages, looking like the world had just been promised to him. "This is going to be so much fun! Do you think the teacher won't mind?"
"I'm sure she will be happy for the raise." And if she wasn't, Bruce would quickly find someone who would. Money, to him, was never an issue.
Danny grins so brightly that Bruce wonders if he should invest in some sunglasses, but his heart does soar. Even if Dick has to reach out to adjust Danny's heart pump wires after they get stuck on the chair.
Effortlessly, Dick moves the attention away from the machine with a simple question. "Besides my gift, what else are you hoping to make Danny?"
"I'm going to make a vase for Bernard. Damian will help me buy him flowers and ask him out." Danny's words are accompanied by a brilliant blush, but he seems almost proud of his newfound courage to ask a boy three years his senior.
Did Bruce just get shot? He feels like he's been shot.
Dick's little spoon crumbles in his hold as his very famous and dangerous rage bleeds into his blue eyes. "Wow. That's so brave of you. By the way, where does Bernard live again?"
Bruce will have to postpone his deep dive into finding out where Danny was raised because if he takes his attention off of Dick for even a second, his eldest will kill that boy.
#dcxdpdabbles#dcxdp crossover#Angel and Demon Brat#Part 4#Danny is just having fun#Bruce is starting to notice holes in thier stories#So Damian ordered him to say something crazy#Yes Tim did have to sit gaurd by Bernard for hours on end to keep him safe from Dick
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EIGHT BALL POOL.
— in your own little bubble.
summary : at a pub, you sit on the side with kory as your boyfriend, his brother and best friend play some pool. the catch? your skirt's a little short.
note : this is so silly but i saw an instagram reel 😭😭😭 of rhis exact moment and i was like this is so jason.... soooo here we are
note 2 : not explicitly said anywhere that the reader is fem or not but they do wear a skirt so.. take that as you will
nursing a drink by your hand on the wood, you sent another glance to the green fabric of the pool table, where jason, dick and roy were rounding through a game. jason and roy were on the same team — but only because dick wanted to prove he'd improved since the last time.
that time, a few months ago now, dick had managed to pot the black eight-ball on his first turn after breaking the triangle, and so roy laughed in his face and made him team with him so it wouldn't happen again.
so far, dick was doing alright for himself, but everyone was waiting for him to slip up. the light sheen of sweat along his hairline suggested perhaps he knew that.
at the same time, jason's gaze peered up from the other side of the game, shadows from the dim pub light dancing along his face. he sent a soft smile before looking back at where dick was practically stretching out along the green to make his shot.
"careful," roy teased as he rounded the table to where dick was positioned, sending a light smack to his backside. "you're gonna raise some unwanted attention."
dick only chuckled, and inched further. he was careful to pull back his arm, and precise when he snapped it forward, sending a satisfying click to echo through the room.
the white ball rolled towards some solids — his team this round — and managed to knock them forward, but not close enough to any nets, and dick scowled, standing back up to his full height.
the end of his cue nicked the ground as he stepped back. "you distracted me."
smug smile coming up on his lips, roy let out a laugh. "more like you distracted me."
as jason eyed the table for the best place to hit from, dick travelled back to where you and kory sat off at a small bench in the corner. he tucked his cue under his arm and lifted his golden drink to his lips.
kory was saying something to dick under her breath, which seemed to cause him to choke on his pint; your own attention was on your boyfriend, curious as to what his next movements will be. when on the pool table, jason's a force to be reckoned with, but tonight dick actually making it difficult.
a bunch of solid-coloured balls were surrounding the white one, and, no matter where he moved around the table, he couldn't seem to get a clear shot of a stripe.
from beside you, kory hummed a deep honey laugh as you imagine dick returned the sweet nothing, and her eyelids flutter shut as he leant forward to press a soft kiss to her skin, glowing in the lamp light.
click!
jason gave a groan and stepped away from the table, laying his cue down on the edge.
"big bird gets two goes," roy piped up again, his own cue perched along his shoulders, hands limp as they rest upon the wood. "hope you're not crumbling under the pressure," he added, turning to jason as dick began to make his rounds for the best angle to shoot.
teeth chewing absently at his bottom lip, jason stood with his hands firm on his hips, dark eyebrows furrowed as he watched dick take his first turn. "no— how was i supposed to even go anywhere?" he all but whined, gesturing at the table, where dick was failing to hide a grin as he levelled up his next shot. "he's eating us up!"
sighing heavily, roy diverted his attention back to where dick's ball knocked into the wall, but not hitting any of the other balls along the way, and his pout lightened. "great! we're back in the game!"
though not anything he'd actually done to earn another two goes, jason's expression illuminated right away, and he sent a strong clap on his brother's back as he moved past him.
"i'm gonna turn my back for one second, roy, and you better get two stripes in by the time i'm back," he spoke, tone much too serious for a game of pool in the back of a bar — but roy had a toothpick jutting from his bottom lip and an arm extended in an attempt for a first go, so didn't respond.
as jason approached you and kory at your own little table, his fingers dipped below the hem of his hoodie, curling beneath the fabric. his voice remained casual, despite the end of his t-shirt beneath riding up (and your inability to look away, poor thing), as he spoke to his brother's girlfriend. "you sure he hasn't been coming here on his days off?"
hair ruffled when he re-emerged from his removed hoodie, jason folded the shirt once and edged closer to where you sat, though kory was none the wiser.
she merely brought her straw to her lips and looked away. "i got ten bucks not to tell."
although not an answer, it was more than enough one for jason, and his lips curled up, that soft boyish laugh of his shining through. and he looked up at you.
goosebumps rippled along your bare legs, from up on the base of your thighs, down your shins — just with a glance.
"you okay? enjoying yourself?"
and you'd thought his voice calm speaking to kory. with you it was just different. caring, concerned, considerate. soft eyes; not just looking on and having small talk, but really questioning, peering past whatever answer you gave him, looking into the soft twitch of the corner of your lip, catching onto the crease in your brow, barely there. but he would still catch it.
with a nod, you instinctively leaned toward him. "yeah, i'm great, just getting a bit tired, is all."
his smile faltered as he ran his eyes over you once more — it wasn't into a frown, but just something soft and neutral, as if acting as though his next action wouldn't cause your heart to swell deep beneath your ribs.
leaning forward quickly, almost with chaste, jason pressed a sweet kiss to the top of your head, running a hand over where he'd planted a seed of adoration. at the same time, he draped his half-folded hoodie over your lap, an action so well-timed you'd almost not noticed.
he pulled away, and you were ready to watch him saunter back to the game, where you could see dick having his turn past jason's broad shoulders. but his pale green irises glanced down, and he edged forward again, calloused fingertips brushing against the sliver of skin left seen.
your eyes moved between the careful action of his fingers tucking the hoodie softly over your thighs, the warmth from the fabric seeping into your flesh, and the softness of his eyelashes fluttering in concentration, his lips thinning and scrunching to the side until he decided his hoodie was just where it should be.
when he looked up again, that smile was back: light at his eyes, something running through those fields of green that you wished to chase — but not here — creases at the corners that weren't quite deep enough to be dimples, but etched into his skin like a pen to paper. without thinking about it, your mouth reciprocated; until the pool game in the back faded away, until kory's presence dissipated, until it was two lovers beaming back at each other, until—
"jace!" the voice of one roy harper rang from the pool table. "stop being ushy gushy and get over here! i got those two shots in you asked for."
roy's disruption didn't perturb jason's expression of contentment, but it did snap you out of your own world.
one last time, jason leaned in and ran another hand over your head. "after this game finishes, 'kay? then we can get going."
with another nod, you watched as jason half-jogged back to the table and take the cue roy was holding out for him, void of your boyfriend's presence, but his body heat still warming your legs.
absently, your fingers drifted to the soft fabric of the hoodie placed over your thighs.
perhaps it would be worth the wait to go home.
#aangelinakii#dc#dc comics#dc imagines#dc reactions#dc headcanons#dc universe#jason todd#jason todd x reader#jason todd reactions#jason todd fluff#jason todd imagines#jason todd headcanons
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You're Home (Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN! Reader)
After John Price came to your home a few months ago and told you Simon was MIA, you thought your entire world was ending. You feel yourself going mad, crazy without your partner. Sometimes you feel yourself hallucinating, imagining he's there. One morning, the hallucination feels more real.
Word Count: 876
Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN! Reader
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Not beta read, reader is a crybaby (but a valid crybaby)
The sight of John Price at your door wasn't unusual. Sometimes Simon would invite him over for drinks, or you would invite him and the other members of TF141 for dinner. But here, on one of the cloudiest days of the year, it created knots in your stomach.
You had felt weird when you woke up this morning. At first you thought you were just being paranoid, a symptom from missing Simon. He had been radio silent for the past couple weeks, said he was supposed to be going on a solo mission and wouldn't be able to contact you until it was over.
But now, with John Price at your door, you knew your feelings were not unfounded. Price stood at your door, a somber look on his face. He wrung his hat in his hands, and though he was stoic and still, you could tell he was just as distraught as you.
"John," you said softly, "I... where's Simon?"
Price reached out a gentle hand towards you, "I'm sorry-"
"John-" you recoiled, shaking your head and covering your mouth, "John, please no-"
"Simon is missing in action," Price said softly, his hand resting on your arm, "The mission in Urzikstan went side-ways and-"
"He's not dead?" you asked, a little too hopeful.
Price's face softened, "I- we don't know for sure. I don't... I don't want you to get your hopes up..."
Your eyebrows furrowed as tears welled in your eyes. Price opened his arms, silently offering you a hug which you took. Sobs wracked your body, fear and grief washing over you like a tidal wave.
"I'm sorry," was all Price could mutter as he rubbed soothing circles on your back. You sobbed until you collapsed, the energy sucked out of your body.
That night with John Price was five months ago. Simon still hadn't come back, and each day that passed made you feel more and more hopeless. It drives you crazy, your brain playing tricks on you.
Sometimes, in the deliriam of another restless sleep, you swore you could hear his footsteps in the hall, or hear him murmuring sweet nothings in your ear.
Sometimes it brought comfort, letting yourself pretend like he had come home to you safe and sound.
But sometimes, it just cut open old wounds and left you sobbing hysterically. You tried everything to bring yourself comfort. You sprayed his pillow with his cologne, hugging it tightly as you tried to fall asleep. When it got cold, you chose his pair of skeleton print gloves over your own. Nothing worked.
One night, the hallucinations felt all too real.
You layed in bed, tossing and turning, drifting in and out of reality. As you lay in the dark, you heard the sound of the front door open, a heavy set of footsteps following the sound.
You've had nights where this has happened before. You hear the shuffling downstairs before heavy, tired footsteps approach the bedroom door. It squeaked open, and in the dark bleary night, you open your eyes just slightly to see the hulking figure standing in the doorway.
"Simon?" You mumbled softly, like you had a few nights before. Sometimes the hallucinations spoke, sometimes they don't.
"It's me, love," the hallucination said, his voice sounding as if he was holding back tears. You hold your hand out to the hallucination, inviting it into bed with you. Through your impaired vision, you could see the hallucination shuck off its shirt before climbing into bed with you. It radiated a familiar warmth, one that was…different than usual. Strong arms wrapped around you, making your eyebrows furrow. You turned in the hallucination’s grasp, staring at it through bleary eyes. You rubbed your eyes, blinking a couple times. Though that usually chased away the visions, this one held firm.
“Si— Simon?” you asked in disbelief. His hand came up to caress your face, his thumb running along your cheek. You reached up to hold his face in your hands, tears welling in your eyes after landing on the solid planes of his face.
“I missed you so much,” Simon whispered, tears welling in his eyes as well, “Every. Single. Day. All I could think of was returning home to you.”
Your bottom lip quivered, one of your hands running through his hair.
“You’re real…” you whispered in disbelief.
He let out a breath of laughter, taking one of your hands in his, a smile gracing his face.
“It’s me love,” he said, “I’m here, and I’m real.”
You let out a sob, your arms wrapping around him as you buried your face into his chest. He smelled like fresh Earth, sweat, and a hint of his cologne. You inhaled, reveling in the familiar smell.
Simon’s arms instinctively pulled you in tighter as he buried his nose in your hair.
“I— I thought— I thought—“ you sobbed, holding him tightly, as if letting go would make him disappear once more.
He shushed you, rubbing your back as he pressed firm kisses to the top of your head. He gently took your face in his hands, tilting your head so he could kiss you properly. His lips were warm and desperate, kissing you over and over again to make up for lost time.
When he pulled away, you looked up at him through tears.
“I’m— I’m so glad— I’m so glad you’re home,” you hiccupped.
He pressed another chaste kiss to your lips before he said, “I’m glad I’m home too, love.”
And with his body pressed firmly against yours, you could feel yourself relaxing. You moved yourself to lay against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, a firm reminder that he was here, in your arms. And for the first time in a long time, you both slept easy.
Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated.
#simon riley x reader#cod#cod mw2#ghost cod#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley x you#established relationship#ghost x reader#hurt/comfort#angst with a happy ending
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