#it's the suit. it's the closing of the eyes. help

[itsnesss]

𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚 | oscar piastri × fem!reader

summary | you lose yourself in him, off camera, where no one’s watching and everything feels real

warnings | tension, smut, explicit content, oral (reader!receives), p in v, unprotected sex

word count | 3.7 k

🖇 more op81 🖇 f1 masterlist

The camera spins around you, capturing the perfect scene. You're standing next to Oscar, both dressed in F1 driver suits, posing under the bright lights illuminating the set. The production for the new F1 commercial is in full swing, and although everything appears highly professional, there's something in the air—something between you and Oscar—that makes the tension palpable, even while the cameras keep rolling.

Oscar is so close you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body. His eyes, so intense, watch you with a curiosity that, though subtle, you can’t help but notice. Everything else fades away as the camera flashes illuminate your faces. You’re acutely aware of every small movement he makes, of every glance he sends your way as you both play your roles as rival drivers—but something else is beginning to stir in the atmosphere.

The forced smiles only intensify the electricity. You see how his lips curl into that almost-defiant, ever-present, yet mysterious smile. For some reason, you find yourself trapped by it.

The filming progresses quickly, but as the shots continue, you realize that the line between professional and personal is starting to blur. The gestures, once calculated and perfected, now seem to be laced with something deeper—something neither of you can hide.

"Perfect, all good. Let's take a break, guys," says the director, and the sound of "cut" slices through the air, finally breaking the charged atmosphere that had been building between the two of you.

The set begins to calm down as the crew adjusts the equipment. The buzz of conversation and the hurried footsteps of the assistants momentarily pull you out of what you just felt. But for some reason, it’s impossible to shake the sensation that something has changed.

Oscar walks up to you, his gaze more intense than before. Without words, he nods slightly. It’s an invitation—no need for anything more. You follow his lead to a secluded corner, where the noise of the set fades. The air feels heavier, now away from the cameras. He leans casually against a wall, his silhouette lit by the sunlight streaming through the studio windows. Something about his posture makes you wonder if he’s really as calm as he looks. But when you meet his eyes, you know he’s not. Neither are you.

"Want to go out for some fresh air?" he asks, his voice low, but the way he looks at you makes it feel like he’s waiting for a specific answer.

In any other context, you might’ve said no. But something inside pushes you to say yes. You accept the invitation and follow him outside, where the sun is beginning to set. The sky is painted with soft orange hues, and the cool air sends a shiver down your spine.

You both walk in silence, but the space between you is minimal. The quiet isn’t awkward—it’s charged with something far more intense. The wind gently moves your hair, but your thoughts are consumed by him. By how close he is, how easy it would be to lean in.

Oscar exhales softly, as if restraining something inside, before breaking the silence.

"This..." he begins, but seems unsure how to continue. For a moment, he looks vulnerable—something you never expected from him. But that fleeting vulnerability only makes you feel more connected. It’s strange, you know it is, but the spark between you has ignited.

You stop by a wooden bench in the studio courtyard, and he does too. He’s close—close enough that you can feel his breath match yours. The sun dips lower, painting the horizon with golden and reddish hues. The peaceful moment contrasts with the tension that’s been mounting.

Oscar watches you, eyes locked onto yours, and in them, you see something different. What is it? Desire? Uncertainty? Questions flood your mind, but you don’t dare voice them. You don’t have to.

"What’s wrong?" you ask with a slight smile, trying to cut the tension. But the moment you speak, you realize words aren’t enough to ease the fire building between you.

Oscar doesn’t respond immediately. He steps closer, and the proximity makes your breath hitch. A shiver runs through you when his index finger brushes your arm casually—but his touch is anything but. It feels like the beginning of something inevitable, something you can’t undo.

You're caught between the urge to pull away and the irresistible force of attraction. You can’t look away from his eyes, and before you realize it, you're leaning in. The tension snaps in a second.

Without breaking eye contact, Oscar leans in, and his lips meet yours in a kiss that’s soft but intense. At first, everything feels like it's in slow motion. The brush of his lips is tentative, but it feels like time has frozen. Every second, every inch of closeness grows more intense.

You tremble—not from the cool air, but from the heat pulsing in your chest. Oscar doesn’t rush. His hand slides up to your neck, fingers gently tracing your skin as he deepens the kiss, unhurried but full of pent-up need.

When you pull away slightly, the air between you is thicker than ever. You stare at each other in silence, breathing heavily.

"This is crazy," you whisper, trying to catch your breath. Even your voice sounds strange—distant, like everything is still in slow motion.

"Yeah," he replies, his tone low, barely audible. "It’s crazy."

But he doesn’t step back. Instead, his hands move down your sides, touching you through the fabric of your shirt. The feel of his fingers makes your heart race, and without thinking, you lean into him again, chasing that contact that left you breathless.

Sensing your movement, Oscar closes the gap swiftly, pulling you into another kiss. This time, it’s fiercer—like neither of you can hold back any longer, like the line between want and need has completely vanished.

His hands slide down your back, lower this time, until they reach your hips. The touch is firm but gentle, and you can feel the heat of his body through your clothes. Your own hands respond, roaming over his chest, down the fabric of his jacket, hungry to feel his skin. The craving for more takes over, and you find yourself wanting something you hadn’t even considered before.

Oscar pulls away slowly, a playful smirk curving his lips. His breathing is ragged, but there’s something in his eyes that leaves you speechless. He’s changed. He’s no longer the distant, composed guy you knew—he’s here, with you, burning with intensity.

"We can’t do this here," he murmurs, sending a shiver down your spine with just those words. But he doesn’t look away.

"Why not?" you ask, more teasing than anything, knowing that each word only drives him closer to the edge.

Oscar watches you for a moment, his expression softening though the fire in his eyes hasn’t dimmed. Finally, he takes a step back—but not too far. He grabs your hand firmly, and a new silence settles between you. Without speaking, he leads you to the back entrance of a nearby building, away from prying eyes. All that remains is the urgency you both carry, as if time no longer exists.

Once inside, Oscar closes the door behind you, and the click of the lock echoes in the air like a signal that there’s no turning back. You’re alone with him, and you both know exactly what you want. The desire can no longer be hidden.

He stares at you for a moment, as if deciding something, then steps forward. His body inches from yours again, and once more, the distance disappears. His hands cup your face gently, contradicting the burning urgency you both feel—but when his lips find yours again, it’s nothing but fiery and demanding. There are no more doubts, no room for anything but this kiss.

You teeter between the desire to surrender completely and the need to think—but in that moment, all you can do is follow him, matching his pace, because he knows what he’s doing. Every move he makes, every touch of his hand, every sweep of his tongue over yours forces you to release everything you’ve been holding back.

Your hands move to his neck, feeling the tension in his muscles, and you realize just how desperate he is not to stop. His lips trail down your jaw, to your neck, and the brush of his breath on your skin sends a shiver through your body you can’t control.

"Oscar…" you whisper, unable to say much more than his name. He lifts his head to look at you, but there are no words—just the promise in his eyes. You don’t need him to say anything, because you both understand without speaking.

With nearly frantic hands, Oscar begins to undo the buttons on your shirt, his fingers sure but gentle, as if each movement is designed to make your heart race faster. You respond immediately, tugging at the hem of his shirt, craving the feel of his skin. The world outside disappears—there’s nothing left but the need to be closer, to become one in this moment.

The heat between you is unbearable. The cool air outside, the spinning world—it all fades away. All that matters is this contact, the desire to lose yourselves in each other. Every touch becomes more urgent, more demanding, and with every kiss, the need grows stronger.

Soon, the sound of your zipper joins the soft gasps escaping your mouths. The haste is clear, and what started as a camera-ready act has turned into something far more personal, far deeper.

Oscar’s body is now pressed entirely against yours, and the feel of his skin, his warmth, surrounds you completely. You feel him, fully, and even though you know this will change everything—you don’t stop. You don’t want to.

The temperature rises, your breathing quickens, and in that moment, the pressure of everything you’ve held back releases in one unforgettable instant.

Oscar lets out a deep gasp as he holds you close. His lips now hover near your ear, whispering with a mix of desire and urgency that sends shivers down your spine.

"This... this is crazy," he says, voice hoarse, breath ragged. The pressure of his body increases, and you feel the frantic rise and fall of his chest.

You can barely think. Everything around you vanishes. All you feel is his body—hot and firm against yours—and the rush of his breath, wild and overwhelming, wrapping you in a spiral of sensation. Your fingers tremble as you explore him, sliding along his torso, and suddenly you find yourself wanting more—so much more than you thought you could.

Oscar seems to be struggling to maintain control, but the way he touches you, as if claiming every inch of you, shows otherwise. Every move becomes more desperate, more intense.

"I don’t want to stop..." he murmurs, his words filled with longing, followed by another deep gasp like he can’t bear the tension anymore.

It’s not just the closeness—it’s the way his hands grip your back, trailing down to your waist, where they hold you tight. His muscles tense as he pulls you even closer, as if he wants to merge with you. His kisses, once soft and restrained, now burn with desperation, pressing against your lips with a force that takes your breath away.

You gasp, unable to hold back. Every brush of his tongue, every caress of his hands makes you forget everything else. There are no cameras, no spotlight—just the two of you, and the desire consuming you mercilessly.

"I don’t know if I can..." he whispers, his voice breaking under his heavy breathing. He knows what he’s saying—you feel it in his words—but his hands don’t stop moving over you, almost as if he physically can’t. Every touch is a promise, and you know it well.

Oscar pulls back slightly, though there's barely any space between you. His face is flushed, his eyes locked onto yours with a mix of desire and uncertainty that leaves you speechless.

"This is more than I planned..." he pants, but his hands rise to your face, like he’s searching for your answer, your permission. The touch of his fingers sends a jolt through you.

You can’t answer with words. Only sighs escape your lips—a raw, unfiltered need. You have to touch him, and you do. Your hands glide along his back, beneath his shirt, craving the warm skin beneath. You feel him shudder, his breathing picking up with each caress, each stroke.

The chemistry is undeniable—everything that had been held back finally surges to the surface. You can’t stop. Neither of you can.

"I don’t want to regret this..." he whispers, and the vulnerability in his tone surprises you. But there’s no room for regrets now. Not in this moment, not with him so close, so real.

With new urgency, Oscar kisses you again—deeper, hungrier. This time, he doesn’t stop, even as he presses you against the wall with a firm push. The breathless sounds you both make fill the room, and for a moment, it feels like the world has ceased to exist.

In the way his hands grip your waist, in the way he kisses you, there’s a hunger that can’t be ignored. Every touch, every brush of his body against yours, pulls you closer to something neither of you can deny.

Completely consumed by the tension, you draw him in, matching his every move with a heat that burns from within. Desire has taken over, and words are no longer needed.

Oscar, breathless, pauses to look at you, and you see the inner conflict in his eyes. The way he looks at you—with a mix of passion and hesitation—only makes everything more intense.

"Tell me this is okay…" he whispers, his lips just barely grazing yours, yet the heat between you is almost unbearable.

"Alright, I need you," you say, your voice trembling but firm. Your eyes meet his, and in them, there is a confirmation that needs no words. There are no doubts, only certainty. In that moment, everything is okay.

With a moan vibrating in his chest, Oscar throws himself at you, kissing you with an intensity that consumes him completely. His lips are demanding yet generous, as if he wants to devour you, to absorb every part of your being. The heat between you is unbearable, and the kisses grow more passionate, deeper, until it feels like there isn’t enough air for the both of you. The desire is immense, and in this moment, nothing matters more than being closer to Oscar, than feeling his body pressed against yours.

Without breaking the kiss, Oscar lifts you in his arms and pins you against the wall, holding you with strength and determination. Your body responds to his, and you cling to his neck, your thighs wrapping around his waist. The position is intimate and daring, and you can feel every pulse of his heart beating against yours. The world around you disappears; only the two of you remain, suspended in a moment of pure connection.

The kiss continues, more demanding, more urgent. Oscar, not relenting the pressure, bites your lower lip gently, and the pain mixed with pleasure causes a moan to escape your throat. Your body arches, craving more of him, and you can feel his erection growing between you.

"I want to feel you," you whisper against his lips, and your words are the spark that ignites a fire that had already been burning inside Oscar. With a growl he hardly recognizes as his own, he begins descending with his mouth over your body, biting and licking every inch of exposed skin. Every touch of his is a flame feeding the fire consuming him, and soon he's completely overtaken by the desire to take you, to make you his in this moment.

With quick, precise movements, Oscar strips you of your clothes, leaving them in a messy pile on the floor. Your skin is exposed, and the look he gives you is a mix of intense desire and admiration that makes you feel powerful and vulnerable at the same time. There’s no room for shyness now, only for pure, raw desire.

His hands glide over your body, tracing every curve, every plane, as if he’s memorizing your shape. The heat of his touch is intense, and your skin prickles with every caress. Oscar takes his time, exploring every inch of you, as if he wants to know it all. It’s a mixture of reverence and lust that leaves you breathless.

"You’re incredible," he whispers in a low voice, and his words send a wave of heat coursing through you. Oscar leans in, his lips brushing your neck while his hands continue their path of discovery. The pleasure blends with anticipation, and you can feel your heartbeat in every inch of your skin.

With unexpected gentleness, Oscar lays you down on the floor, making sure every movement is soft, almost reverent. The contrast between his strength and the delicacy with which he treats you is overwhelming, and you can’t help but tremble slightly under his intense gaze. There’s something in his eyes that goes beyond physical desire; there’s a connection you can’t explain, but feel deep within your soul.

His lips begin a downward journey across your body, kissing, licking, gently biting every part of your skin. The pleasure is intense, and you feel yourself drowning in a sea of sensations. Every touch from Oscar is a new flame igniting inside you, and soon you’re gasping, breath hitching from the pleasure that floods you.

When his lips reach the junction of your thighs, there’s a moment of pause, as if both of you are on the edge of a cliff, ready to leap. Oscar looks up into your eyes, and in his gaze, there’s a silent question, a search for permission. You don’t need to say anything; your answer lies in the way your fingers tug softly on his hair, guiding him where you need him most.

The first contact of his tongue on your clit is like an explosion of pleasure. A cry of ecstasy escapes your lips, and you arch into him, craving more. Oscar doesn’t stop; his tongue moves with skill and precision, exploring every inch, every fold, as if he wants to know you completely.

The pleasure builds with every movement, with every stroke of his tongue. His fingers join in, one, then two, sliding inside you with a rhythm that matches his mouth perfectly. The combination is too much, and soon you find yourself on the edge of orgasm, your body trembling with anticipation.

"Oscar!" you moan, and his name leaves your lips like a prayer, a plea for more. And he gives you more, increasing the pace, deepening every movement, taking you higher, beyond what you thought possible.

The orgasm hits you hard, and you let go, screaming his name as the pleasure consumes you completely. Your body tightens, then relaxes in waves that seem endless. Oscar stays there, prolonging the pleasure, taking you to new heights with every touch.

When the pleasure finally begins to subside, you realize you’re trembling, completely overwhelmed by the intensity of what you just experienced. Oscar moves up, kissing your body on his way to your lips. When his mouth meets yours, you can taste yourself on him, and that only fuels the desire still burning inside you.

"I need to be inside you," he murmurs against your lips, and his words are filled with a need that goes beyond the physical. It’s as if he needs a deeper connection, a union that transcends the mere act of sex.

There is no resistance in you; only acceptance and an equally deep longing. You nod, and your hands slide along his back, pulling him closer. Oscar positions himself between your legs, and you can feel his erection pressing against you, long, hard, and hot.

Slowly, he begins to enter you, inch by inch, as if each movement is a new discovery. The sensation is overwhelming, and you gasp as he fills you completely. The pleasure is intense from the first moment, and you can see in Oscar’s eyes that he’s also struggling to hold back.

"You’re so deep inside me..." you whisper, and your words seem to push him even further. With a moan, he starts moving, establishing a rhythm that is both gentle and passionate. Each thrust is deep, and you can feel him reaching places you’ve never felt before.

The pleasure grows, and soon you’re both gasping, your breaths mingling. Oscar leans down to kiss you, still moving inside you. The combination of the passionate kiss and the steady rhythm of his hips is too much, and you feel the orgasm approaching again.

"I can’t hold on," Oscar groans, and you can hear the tension in his voice, the fight to stay in control. But you don’t want control; you want release, you want to let the pleasure consume you both.

"Yes," you murmur against his lips, and those words seem to be what he needs to let go of the last shred of control. He increases the pace, thrusting harder, deeper, and every stroke brings you closer to the edge.

The orgasm hits like a tidal wave, sweeping you away completely. You scream his name as your body tightens around him, and that’s what pushes him over the edge as well. One final, deep thrust, and Oscar spills inside you with a groan that’s almost a roar of release.

The two of you lie there, panting, your bodies pressed together and skin damp with effort. The silence that follows is full of meaning, filled with a connection that goes beyond words. Oscar drops beside you but doesn’t pull away; his arm wraps around your waist, keeping you close.

The feeling of belonging is overwhelming, but there’s no fear in it—only a deep, abiding peace.

"That was..." you begin, but the words catch in your throat. There aren’t enough words to describe what you just experienced.

"Yeah," Oscar replies, and his voice is thick with emotion. He doesn’t need to say more; both of you know what has changed between you in this moment. What began as an impulse has evolved into something deeper, something neither of you expected—but now seems inevitable.

[zomb-core]

picture you | oneshot 1.3k

pairing: jinx x fem!reader

synopsis: a few silly high confessions between friends leads to more.

notes: getting high, confessions, making out

“wait, so, you exploded the kitchen?”

being high on a sunday afternoon with jinx wasn’t exactly how you planned to spend your weekend. however, you definitely weren’t complaining. if you found jinx eccentric normally, wait until you saw her high.

“yeah!” she sat crisscrossed on the floor in front of what you considered a couch but was really a bunch of cushions pilled on top of each other. one of her monkey bombs was held in her palm, she claimed to be working on the paint job but in reality she’d only picked up the paint brush a total of one time. “I wasn’t always this good at making bombs.”

currently, she was telling you a story detailing a bomb-gone-wrong in her words. “I don’t understand, why were you even making bombs at that age?” you laughed, finding her childhood activities a bit unhinged.

“oh, you know, hobbies — artistic expression.” she smiled, throwing her head to the side allowing her bangs to move away from her face.

maybe it was your dazed state, but you didn’t remember her being quite this pretty. eh, probably the lighting. “mmm, you sure do like expressing yourself in funny ways.”

“I like keeping things interesting,” that she did, in fact, you were pretty sure she was the most interesting person you knew.

“oh, trust me, you do.”

you stared at each other for a moment, a sudden silence coming over the both of you. it wasn’t awkward, though you wouldn’t consider it comfortable either. it was just silence.

and then, laughter erupted from the two of you. jinx’s laughter was crazed — the way it usually was with you. your laughter shared a similar quality, but it was softer, less like you were suffering from an undiagnosed disorder. you weren’t even sure why you were laughing, but you couldn’t seem to stop.

until, “wanna know somethin’?”

“yeah..?” you drew out suspiciously, jinx wasn’t one for announcing her ‘fun facts of that day’ so it was a bit odd to say the least.

“don’t sound so skeptical,” she whined, throwing herself back onto the floor. her arms sprawled out above her head while she propped her feet up against the ‘couch’. you admired her ability for theatrics.

“my names not actually jinx.” a pause, “well, it is, but for sometime it wasn’t.”

you couldn’t prevent the audible ‘huh’ that left your mouth at the confession. you and jinx had only been friends for a few months, an unconventional meeting during one of her many missions, but in that short time you had learned a lot about her — her favorite food, the fact that she wasn’t allowed to drink despite being of age, how she built her bombs, when she got tattooed, she even told you more about her past then you expected to know so soon.

in short, jinx wasn’t a private person, so how she managed to not mention her birth name, even if just briefly as a punchline for a joke, stunned you.

you guessed that meant it was something really important to her, or rather something really bad that she preferred to avoid talking about.

and she was telling you, “what was it?”

another pause. “powder. wacky, huh?”

you couldn’t help but giggle, powder wasn’t exactly the top baby name of the year, but it weirdly suited her. “a little”

“your turn.”

you froze. your turn? “what?”

she groaned, removing herself from her spot on the ground. within seconds she was seated next to you, her leg pressed against yours. you turned to face her and instinctively flinched — her face was nose length apart, so close her breath caressed your cheek with every exhale.

“tell me somethin’.” she demanded, a gleam in her eyes.

“uh, okay,” you ran your fingers through your hair, struggling to come up with a fact half as interesting as hers, “when I was a kid I stole money from my parents wallet..?”

“lame!” she exclaimed, leaning her shoulder into yours unintentionally. you laughed awkwardly, nodding along, “yeah, yeah — sorry I don’t blow things up and change my identity at the ripe age of fourteen.”

you knew your life was nearly as eventful as hers, you doubted anyone’s was. jinx was chaotic, and that’s what you liked about her, she brought some havoc to your day to day. despite your half-assed confession, she smiled, clearly entertained by your attempt.

now, she leaned over to rest her head on your shoulder, this time you couldn’t deny it was intentional. you felt embarrassed by how quickly you tensed up, it wasn’t like this was new — jinx was touchy, not for any specific reason, she lacked boundaries it was as simple as that. so, when your heart rate picked up and your face got hot, you blamed it on the weed.

“your turn.” you mumbled, shakier than intended.

her hand slid on top of yours, her nails tracing circles on the back of your hand. you shallowed to soothe your sudden case of cottonmouth. “I think.. I want to kiss you right now.”

every letter in the word was elongated, making sure you didn’t mistake what she said.

“wh.. what?” even though you had heard her clearly, it was as if your ears were covered.

without saying anything, she adjusted to face you. her other hand wrapped around your jaw, forcing you to look at her.

jinx didn’t ask for permission, and you didn’t expect her to. so, when she leaned forward to kiss you, you were less shocked then you expected to be.

she definitely didn’t take things slow either, within seconds her tongue was in your mouth. despite this, it wasn’t lustful. it was gentle in a way you didn’t expect. her movements were pensive, her tongue exploring your mouth as if she was mapping it out to remember it for later. her lips were chapped, but soft, and she smiled into the kiss.

she was still smiling when she pulled away.

you couldn’t help but giggle, “woah.”

she rolled her eyes, which you couldn’t blame her for — ‘woah’ was a pretty dorky thing to say. and before you knew it, she was straddling you, her hands placed on both sides of your face.

and when she kissed you again, you thought you were dreaming.

this time, it was more aggressive. she was messy, yet meticulously, making sure she got the most out of every moment. every time you broke for breath, you were lucky to get an inhale before she was pressed against you again, with more force each time.

it became primal, like she was trying to eat you alive. god knew you weren’t complaining.

her lips moved from yours, yet they didn’t lose contact — she trailed a series of kisses starting from your lips to your jaw and they continued to your collarbone.

you weren’t typically vocal, but you wouldn’t deny a few whines escaped you when she began nibbling at the skin. it was definitely easier to deny your blooming feelings for her when she wasn’t marking your neck and pressing against you like her life depended on it.

that’s when it hit you, “when did you notice?”

“what? that you got the hots for me?” she chuckled against you, her breath hot against your skin, “not long ago — started pickin’ up on it when you freaked every time I touched you.”

“that obvious?”

she leaned back, shrugging. “eh.”

you tucked a lose piece of her hair that fell from her braids behind her ear “when did you… y’know?”

“when I met you, blew up a building to get away from enforcers and all you could say was that I needed to watch out for bystanders next time.”

you both laughed about that for a moment, you remembered when it happened — you were coughing from smoke and had said it, she had brushed you off until you were safe from the enforcers. once they had saw you with her, you were both in trouble so you ran.

it was a chaotic meeting, but what wasn’t with jinx?

“got any more questions or can I keep kissing ya’?”

you supposed any more questions you had could be asked later, plus, you enjoyed kissing her more than you enjoyed asking questions. “no, I think I’m good for now.”

a/n: not my best writing, but I wanted to get something out. requests are greatly appreciated!!

not proofread

images by @diana-foggy-master

dividers by @cafekitsune

[wordsofwhimsy]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘎𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘴

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Angst, post-breakup blues, eventual payoff tho

Word Count: 2,299

Synopsis: Three weeks after a breakup he can’t shake, Mark finds himself aimlessly nursing milkshakes and regrets—until William drags him out for a night at the club to help him “move on.” But no amount of drinks, dancing, or pretty strangers can quiet the echo of what Mark lost.

Inspiration: 'All the Pretty Girls' by fun.

a/n: i’ve been sittin’ on this for a hot minute and figured might as well drop it in the chat – hope y’all don’t mind 👀

The Burger Mart smelled like fryer grease and teenage dreams deferred.

Mark sat in the booth by the window—the one you two used to claim like it was yours by birthright—hunched over a milkshake he hadn’t touched in twenty minutes. Chocolate. Your favorite. He wasn’t even thinking about it when he ordered it. His body just… remembered.

He stirred it absentmindedly with the straw, head propped on his fist, eyes unfocused. He hadn’t shaved in a couple days. His sweater was riding up just enough for his suit to peak out and show off a stain, probably from when he crash-landed into a taco truck mid-patrol. He hadn’t cared enough to clean it.

William slid into the booth across from him with a heavy sigh.

"Okay," William said, dropping his phone onto the table with a dramatic clack. "I let you sulk. I let you eat your feelings. I even let you cry while watching that one sad episode of Avatar—which was kind of weird but whatever. But Mark, it’s been three weeks. Get your head out of your ex’s hoodie."

Mark didn’t look up. "It's not hers," he mumbled.

William gave him a pointed look. "You literally only bought that hoodie because she said you looked hot in dark blue."

Mark opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but then closed it again. Fair.

William leaned forward, voice softening just a little. "You miss her. I get it. But sitting here rewatching your relationship in your head like it's a Friends DVD collection isn’t helping. You need to get out. Meet people. Let someone buy you a drink. Or at the very least, force you to smile."

Mark scoffed. "I smile."

"You grimace," William corrected. "Like you're doing emotional taxes."

Mark finally looked up, eyes tired but still warm. “I don’t want to meet someone new.”

“Then don’t. Just… let someone meet you.” William gave him a look that was way too sincere for how casual he was trying to act. “Besides, I’m an excellent wingman. And if I can get you out of this mope-fest, maybe the rest of us can sleep at night again.”

Mark sighed. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to feel like he was moving on. But maybe sitting in the exact place you used to laugh across the table from him wasn’t doing him any favors either.

“…Fine,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “But I’m not dancing.”

William grinned like he’d just won the lottery. “You say that now, but we’ll see.”

Mark shook his head, but he couldn’t stop the ghost of a smile from twitching at the corner of his mouth.

—

The club pulsed with bass so heavy Mark could feel it in his teeth.

Neon lights cut across the dark space like strobes, catching on sequins, jewelry, and sweat. He wasn’t sure if the drink in his hand was his third or fourth—William kept handing them to him, and he hadn’t been keeping count. The burn in his throat helped, though. It made everything a little blurrier. A little easier.

He was standing in a loose circle with William and two girls they’d just met—Talia and Jess, or maybe it was Jenna? It didn’t matter. They were cute, confident, clearly into the whole “tall, sad, broody” vibe Mark had going on tonight.

And Mark was… trying. He really was.

He laughed at their jokes, nodded along to stories he only half-heard. His smile was soft around the edges, his eyes still a little distant. But he looked good. Alive. Normal.

“So what do you do, Mark?" one of the girls asked, leaning closer to hear him over the music.

He scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, college. I go to Upstate U. Technically an English major but don’t ask me why—I guess I like pain?”

William snorted into his drink. “This man hasn’t read a single book for class since week two.”

Mark shrugged, flashing that crooked little smile that made people lean in. “My ex was a lit nerd. I thought if I read her favorite book, I’d understand her better.”

“Did it work?” the girl asked, grinning.

He looked into his drink. “Nope. Still trying.”

He didn’t realize what he’d said until the girls blinked at him.

“Oh,” he added quickly. “Sorry. That was—yeah. Anyway.”

They moved on. Kinda. For a minute.

The conversation drifted toward the topic of favorite music, and Mark’s face lit up just a little.

“She used to play this indie playlist every morning while she got ready,” he said without thinking, swaying a little with the beat of the club's current song. “Had this dumb little dance she’d do while brushing her teeth. It was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.”

Another blink from the girls.

William’s eyes narrowed like he was watching a slow-motion car crash.

“So, uh, any siblings?” one of them asked, clearly trying to steer the conversation somewhere else.

“Nah, just me. But her family kind of adopted me for a while. Her dad grilled me every time I came over. I think he secretly liked me, though—he let me have the last slice of pizza once.”

“Mark,” William hissed under his breath, elbowing him.

“What?” Mark blinked at him, genuinely confused. “I’m just talking.”

“You’re reciting your relationship timeline, dude.”

Mark blinked again. His buzzed haze shifted just enough for the realization to land.

Oh.

“Oh.”

The girl—Talia, he was pretty sure now—laughed, trying to keep things light. “Wow, she must’ve been something.”

Mark looked down at his drink again, swirling the melting ice around with his straw. His voice dropped just a little when he answered.

“She is.”

For a second, the noise of the club felt distant. Like the music was underwater and the lights were just colors bleeding together behind his eyes.

He wasn’t even sure why he’d come tonight. Maybe he thought being surrounded by people would help. Maybe he thought he’d forget how your laugh sounded when you were tired, or how you always ordered fries after saying you weren’t hungry.

But he didn’t forget. Couldn’t.

Because none of these pretty girls could measure up to you.

The night had worn on like a pair of shoes half a size too small—just enough discomfort to remind Mark he didn’t belong here.

The drinks had dulled the edges, but not enough. The music was still too loud, the lights too bright, and the ache behind his ribs just wouldn’t shut up.

William had drifted off somewhere—probably flirting with the bartender again—and Mark found himself leaning against the railing by the upstairs lounge area, drink in hand, trying to look like he wasn’t mentally replaying every dumb inside joke he used to share with you.

“Hey,” a voice came beside him. Soft. A little hesitant.

It was her—the girl from earlier. The one with the easy laugh and kind eyes. Jenna. Or maybe Jess. Definitely a J.

“You looked kinda lonely over here,” she said, smiling in that way people do when they’re trying not to scare off a sad dog. “Thought I’d come rescue you.”

Mark blinked. “Oh. Thanks. Yeah, I guess I… wandered.”

She leaned her hip against the railing next to him. “You wanna dance?”

He hesitated. His gut reaction was no, but then he remembered William’s voice in his head, practically begging him to try. Just give it a chance. Let someone meet him.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “Sure.”

The dance floor was slower now. Not as packed. The music had shifted to something dreamier, bass still thumping but with more space between the beats. Moodier. Intimate.

They found a spot under a flickering pink light, and she stepped in closer, hands grazing his arms.

Mark moved with her. Gentle, unsure. Her fingertips slid up to rest on his shoulders. She was smiling, looking up at him with that cautious sort of hope. Like maybe tonight could mean something.

“You’ve got one of those faces,” she murmured, “like you feel everything really deeply.”

Mark huffed a breath, almost a laugh. “Yeah… that’s kinda my curse.”

Her smile widened. “Well, maybe you just haven’t met someone who feels the same way. Yet.”

Mark’s breath hitched. He didn’t mean to think of you. But there you were.

The way you’d look at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. The quiet comfort of your hand in his. That time you whispered “I think I’m falling in love with you” so softly, like you were afraid of the words, but even more afraid they were true.

She stepped a little closer. Her head rested gently against his shoulder. It should’ve felt nice. It did. Kind of.

But not in the way he wanted.

Because even now—this close, this warm, this quiet—all he could think about was how your head used to fit there better.

She pulled back just enough to look at him. Her smile faltered at whatever expression was on his face.

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?”

Mark didn’t answer right away. He didn’t have to.

“I’m sorry,” he said eventually, voice barely a whisper. “You’re… you’re great. Really. I’m just…”

“Not over it,” she finished for him, nodding softly. “I get it.”

He stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have—this was a mistake.”

She touched his arm lightly. “Hey. Don’t beat yourself up. Sometimes we try to move on before we’re ready. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

Mark gave her a grateful, sad smile. “Thanks.”

As he turned to leave the dance floor, he glanced over his shoulder.

She was still standing there, watching him go, that hopeful expression faded into something quieter. Understanding.

Mark barely heard William over the music, his head still spinning from the failed almost-something on the dance floor.

“Dude! Where are you going?” William called, jogging up and grabbing Mark’s arm before he could disappear into the crowd. “You said you’d try. That was not trying. That was—I don’t even know what that was.”

Mark exhaled sharply. “I did try. I talked, I danced, I smiled. I mentioned my ex so many times I probably traumatized that poor girl. I’m done.”

“No, no,” William said, spinning him back toward the dance floor with all the force of a drama teacher trying to save the spring musical. “We came here to get your groove back, not to spiral in a parking lot. One more song. Just one. Then you can go do your sad-boy brooding in peace.”

Mark sighed deeply, already halfway to saying no. But William was giving him that look—the one he only used when he meant it. The “I care about you too much to let you rot” look.

“…One song,” Mark muttered, defeated.

“Atta boy,” William grinned, grabbing both their drinks from a nearby ledge. “Now pretend you’re not dying inside and maybe I’ll even buy you fries on the way home.”

They were only on the floor for about thirty seconds before Mark knew he couldn’t do it. The bass thudded in his chest, people bumped into him from every side, and all he could feel was wrongness—like he’d wandered into someone else’s life.

He turned to William, eyes apologetic. “I can’t.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Just pivoted, already pushing through the bodies, ready to find a wall to lean against or maybe just the nearest door—

And then it happened.

He crashed right into someone. Hard enough to stumble. He blinked, startled, ready to apologize—until he looked up. And the world just… stopped.

You.

Your eyes locked with his like magnets snapping together. Your mouth opened a little in surprise, but no words came out.

Mark’s breath left him like someone had knocked the wind out of his chest. “Y/N?”

Your eyes were wide. “Mark?”

He looked around for a second, almost like he was checking the sky for signs of divine intervention. “Are you real? Am I—?”

You gave a stunned half-laugh. “Yeah, I’m real. I came with my friends. I didn’t know you were here.”

“I didn’t know you were,” he said, heart beating so loud he could barely hear himself. “Jesus. This is—”

And then, right on cue, the next song started.

Your song.

That one you used to scream-sing in the car. The one that played the first night he kissed you. The one he hadn’t been able to listen to since the day you walked out of his life.

His mouth opened. Yours did too.

Neither of you moved for a second.

But then—like gravity had finally remembered what it was supposed to do—he stepped forward. You did too.

His hands found your waist like they never forgot how. Yours curled into the fabric of his hoodie like it was still yours.

He searched your face, not for permission—he already had it—but for something real. A signal. A yes.

Your lips quirked—barely. Just enough to say, I’m still here.

He kissed you.

And the world, for once, got it right.

The lights blurred, the bass fell away, and the only thing either of you could feel was the truth humming between your mouths: You hadn’t moved on.

Not really.

Because how could you, when nothing else felt like this?

You melted into him, arms looping around his neck, and it wasn’t desperate—it was homecoming. It was the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. It was everything crashing back and still somehow fitting together perfectly.

The song kept playing.

And somewhere behind you, William saw it happen, and just raised his hands to the sky like, Finally—thank god.

[rhiannonsknife]

https://www.tumblr.com/rhiannonsknife/781365481957359616/imagine-fwb-jackie-and-reader-because-jeff-cant

I loved this one so much. The reader being oblivious of the nasty things that Jackie is thinking about her. The reader doing innocent things that unintentionally gets Jackie so turned on. I don’t know I kind of like the idea of Jackie being a little pervert

last thing i wrote during the road trip the other day but forgot to post because i was too tired!! anyway, i was locked in. nsfw content so mdni.

it’s always the stupidest things, which jackie supposes makes it all so much worse. the things you don’t even think about twice, things that mean nothing to you, but jackie can’t stop thinking about. they burrow into her brain and rot there.

take the public pool.

the team had been doing off-season training, and coach thought it’d be “fun” to break things up with a casual pool day. you showed up late, towel slung over your shoulder, sunglasses perched in your hair, wearing a bikini that wasn’t even that revealing. jackie swears to god it was designed to kill her anyway.

you smiled as you walked along the edge of the pool, dripping wet from a rinse under the outdoor shower. water clung to your skin, catching the sunlight as it trickled down the backs of your legs. she caught herself staring at your thighs as you adjusted the waistband, just an innocent tug of the fabric to keep it from riding up that was enough for her to imagine her fingers between your legs.

jackie couldn’t focus for the rest of the day, her suit clung in all the wrong places, and even when she dipped beneath the surface, the heat didn’t leave her.

later, at home, she barely makes it through the front door before locking herself in the bathroom. swimsuit peeled off, jackie braces her hand against the tile and angles herself so the spray hits against her clit. immediately, her head drops forward and the images play without her permission behind her closed eyes.

you, laughing in the sun, droplets on your collarbone. the bounce of your chest when you ran to catch your towel. the perfect, shining stretch of your thighs.

jackie comes fast, biting down on her arm to stay quiet.

and it doesn’t end at the pool.

there’s that time in your kitchen when you lick frosting off your thumb without thinking, mumbling something about taste-testing the cupcakes. jackie has to excuse herself to the bathroom and doesn’t come out for seven minutes.

or the sleepover where you steal her hoodie and tug it on over your tank top and shorts, your bare legs folded beneath you as you laugh at something on the tv screen. jackie spends the whole night pretending she’s not staring, then fakes sleep so she can lie with her eyes open in the dark, picturing her hands sliding up your thighs under the hem of that borrowed sweatshirt.

instead, jackie’s hand moves under the waistband of her own shorts, fingers working as she imagines your body soft under hers. just sitting by your side made her so wet. in her head, you wake up and ask, gently, do you want me to help?

jackie comes with her forehead pressed to her pillow and rides her orgasm out on her fingers, careful not to shift the bed with the frantic movement.

then there’s school. the morning you arrive late, a little out of breath, brushing your hair from your face with an apologetic smile. you drop into the desk beside hers and jackie turns to greet you, only to see the skirt you’re wearing: short, pleated, legs crossed at the knee. her mouth goes too dry to speak and she doesn’t hear a word the teacher says for the rest of the class.

it’s a miracle she doesn’t start drooling or humping the edge of her chair right then and there.

the next day, you wear jeans and jackie feels a mix of relief and deep, perverse disappointment.

and it only gets worse, because it turns out you can’t stop doing things.

you don’t notice her staring. you don’t realize how tense she gets when you lean in to whisper something in her ear. you don’t ask why her voice falters when you call her “babe” as a joke, or why she sometimes won’t hug you back all the way.

jackie knows it’s fucked up, that she’s being a creep. you trust her. you like her, even. yet, every night, she lies awake thinking about how your lip gloss tasted when you let her try it, or how your skirt flipped up when you jumped into her bed after a movie, or the sound of your voice through the phone, late and sleepy and stupid and perfect.

she doesn’t even always touch herself. sometimes she’ll just lie there, fingers clenched in the sheets until her hips are bucking and she’s dripping wetness onto her blankets at the mere thought of you.

[wingedhallows]

could you write loser!reader x nat scatorccio where the reader is on the team but isn’t that close to anyone and nat develops a huge crush on them and tries to get close? also love your work !!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐎𝐁𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒

ᯓ★ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 pre crash! nat scatorccio x loser!reader / 0.7k words ᯓ★ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 none ᯓ★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 OMG THANK U !!! i hope u like it 𖹭

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

Practice runs late.

The sky outside the field is melting into deep purples and bruised gold, the sun dragging its last tired fingers across the horizon. You’re sitting cross-legged in the grass, still half-laced into your cleats, peeling a blade of grass apart between your fingers.

The rest of the team is packing up — some tossing their gear into duffel bags, others lingering to chatter in small, buzzing groups.

You don't really notice the figure that drops down beside you until a booted foot bumps your shin.

You glance up — and there’s Natalie Scatorccio, grinning at you like you just said the funniest thing she’s heard all day.

"You looked like you were solving world peace over there," she says, nodding at the shredded grass littering your lap.

You laugh, a little awkward. "Just... zoning out, I guess."

Natalie hums, drawing one knee up, resting her arms lazily over it. She's so casual about it, but there's a brightness to her eyes, something coiled and restless under her skin. Like sitting next to you sends little electric shocks up her spine.

You don't notice. Not really. Not the way she watches you when you laugh, or the way her gaze dips to your mouth when you mumble something stupid about how you "always ruin the field."

Instead, you just sit there, oblivious, letting the soft hush of twilight settle around you.

"You know," Natalie says after a second, nudging your sneaker with the toe of her boot, "you're kinda cute when you’re in your own world like that."

You blink at her, cheeks warming immediately. "What?"

Natalie smirks, tapping a cigarette against her thigh without lighting it. "Nothing. Just saying. It's, like, criminal how you don't notice half the people drooling over you."

You snort, shaking your head. "Yeah, okay. In what universe?"

"In this one, idiot," Nat says, laughing — but there's a breathless edge to it, like she’s balancing on a wire. "Seriously. It's... painful."

You fidget, pulling at a loose thread in your shorts. Compliments aren't exactly your strong suit. Half the time you don't even recognize them until someone spells it out.

Natalie watches you with this wild, fond look, like you’re the dumbest, sweetest thing she's ever seen. She leans in a little, close enough that you can smell her — that mix of grass, leather, and something sharp like smoke.

"You still don't get it, huh?" she murmurs, voice dipping lower, softer.

You look up, heart thrumming a little faster now. "Get what?"

Nat grins — wide, sharp, something reckless flashing behind her eyes — and before you can overthink it, before your brain can even catch up, she leans in and kisses you.

It’s not rushed, not messy. It's sure. Warm.

Her hand finds your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone as she kisses you slow — like she’s waited forever for this exact second and she’s going to savor every single heartbeat of it.

When she finally pulls back, she stays close enough that her forehead brushes yours, her breath warm against your mouth.

"Obvious enough?" she whispers, smiling crookedly.

You’re pretty sure your brain short-circuits. Words fail you — totally, spectacularly — so you just nod, dazed and stunned and maybe a little bit in love.

Natalie chuckles, the sound rumbling low in her chest, and presses another quick, teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth, like she can't help herself.

"C'mon, loser," she says, standing up and offering you a hand. "Walk me home."

You take it — of course you do — your fingers slotting into hers so naturally it’s like they were always supposed to find each other.

And as you walk off the field together, hand in hand, you can’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — you’re finally starting to get it.

[thrasherella]

Weekend Getaway‧₊˚⊹

MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ synopsis ~ stepdad!Nanami takes you for one of your regular weekend retreats over at his friend Higuruma's house; this time Higuruma's extra needy since you've been busy with work/friends/life and haven't been able to come see him and Nanami has been hogging you all to himself :(

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ featuring ~ nanami x reader, higuruma x reader

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ tags ~ porn with plot, fauxcest, stepdad, mention of 'uncle' but no actual relation, daddy kink, lots of praise, praise kink, cuddles and creampies, non-protected sex, fingering, oral sex, blowjobs, cunnilingus, sloppy make-out sessions, age gap, threesome, sharing, exhibitionism, squirting, spitting, cum play, cum eating, domination, free use, generally other fun sexy things~💋

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ a/n ~ i'm posting this instead of sleeping; the idea of being shared between the two hottest suited zaddies in jujutsu kaisen is making me feral 🫠 i don't normally write in second person pov soooo hope you guys enjoy this as much as i do~! any constructive feedback/thoughts are welcome 🩷

~ Part One ~ Wake Up Slut 😛

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶꒒ ꒩ ꒦ ꒰︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒒ ꒩ ꒦ ꒰︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

stepdad!Nanami who knows the only way to get you up and out of bed at a decent hour on Saturday mornings (make that any morning) is by waking you up with his fat cock.

Even in your mid-twenties, you still spend a majority of your time at his house rather than your apartment; not that Kento minds one bit. It's not like your mother was ever home anymore, either at work or out meeting with friends or one of her many "social groups"; the book club, the garden club, the women's volunteer group for this that and what-have-you. She seemed to have time for everything except her family.

You had taken full advantage of this, having wanted Kento yourself since day one of meeting him; he was a storybook gentleman and ridiculously handsome, how could you not? So, who's to blame a girl for getting her stepdad a little too drunk one night, knowing he was in the middle of an unwanted dry spell, so thirsty he felt like he was dying, and offering him exactly what he needed to satiate his long ignored hunger...?

He insisted that you still sleep in separate beds, but you usually wake up just as his thick tip pushes past your already soaking folds, always lying prone on your front, your pussy practically sucking him in as he sinks into you with a low hum, a high pitched squeal involuntary escaping you as the feeling of him filling you as soon as you awake overtaking you; it's intoxicating.

This morning is no different.

"Good morning sweetheart..." he leans down and whispers hotly against the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps down along the back of your neck as your pussy clenches around him, heat flaring in your lower belly. "Time to rise...and...shine..." he punctuated every word with a hard thrust, the sharp plap! of skin on skin echoing in the previously quiet room.

You moan into your pillow, feeling yourself nearly drooling, still half asleep; back arching, hips pushing back against his, Nanami ruts into you as deeply as he can, one hand pressing down against your upper back between your shoulder blades, pinning you down to the mattress. His strong thighs nudge into the back of yours, and you can't help it as your eyes roll back as little hot, almost electric waves crash through your core at the low grunts and huffs he's making above you with each push.

He pushes you down harder as his pace becomes erratic, those soft grunts becoming rumbling growls, mingling with your higher pitched cries as he hits that spot and you're both sent over the edge. With a heavy, low groan you feel his cock twitch and throb inside you, spilling his hot load into your tight walls as he tries to push even deeper.

Your still a shaking mess as he eases up on the hand pinning you down, again leaning close to hum against your ear, "You're such a good girl, wear something light for today, we're going over to your uncle Hiromi's house...now get up," he swats one of his large hands against the curve of your soft ass and you let out a sharp moan, the spot stinging hotly as your pussy throbs...

stepdad!Nanami who later has you pinned up against the wall of your walk-in closet, black boy-short panties pulled down past your cute little ass just enough so that he can shove himself into you from behind, admiring how beautiful your back was as he helped you clasp the strap of your bra.

"Gunna wear that cute little sun dress we both like? Hah...fhhuck...keep squeezin' me like that darlin', that's it...h-hah..." He pushes you harder up against the wall and you freeze, mewling softly as you press your ass back against him, his hand now at the back of your throat. "He's really excited to see you...ah, hah, f-fhuck, fuck gunna fill you all the way up sweetheart, I wanna be dripping out of you before we get there so your uncle doesn't forget who this pretty little pussy belongs to..."

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶꒒ ꒩ ꒦ ꒰︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒒ ꒩ ꒦ ꒰︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

[pankowcrumbs]

Flirt X Lewis Hamilton

MasterList

F1 Masterlist

Melbourne was a dream. The weather was golden, the city alive and Ferrari’s media content? Exploding.

Specifically whenever I posted anything of Lewis Hamilton.

He was new to the team this year, but you’d never know it. The camera loved him, and he loved it right back flashing those dazzling smiles, throwing cheeky winks, posing like it was second nature. He was a dream to film. Professional. Charming. Always willing to stay an extra few minutes if I needed.

Maybe too charming.

Because lately, there was… something. Something growing between us.

An extra second of eye contact. A softer smile saved just for me.

And I was trying to be professional I was but it was hard when he looked at me like that.

When he spoke to me like that.

“Come on, Y/N,” Lewis drawled, one afternoon after media day. He was lounging against a wall in the paddock, still in his Ferrari race suit, unzipped halfway to his hips with his white undershirt clinging to him.

He flashed me a grin that could have melted steel.

"One date. That’s all I’m asking."

I adjusted the camera in my hands, trying not to show how my fingers trembled slightly.

"I have a rule about not dating drivers," I said, aiming for stern.

He tilted his head, playful.

"But what if the driver’s absolutely smitten? What then?"

I huffed a laugh, heart hammering.

"Then he should focus on winning races instead of flirting."

Lewis just grinned wider.

"I can multitask."

Posting content from Melbourne was ridiculously easy with him around.

I had hours of footage Lewis laughing with the crew, Lewis signing autographs for fans, Lewis pulling faces into the camera, Lewis shirtless doing a fitness session under the sun…

(Purely for professional purposes, of course.)

The fans were absolutely eating it up.

Every time I posted a new Reel or TikTok, the comments were feral:

"Mother is feeding us breakfast lunch dinner and snacks with this content 🙌🔥"

"Lewis Hamilton is the hottest Ferrari driver in HISTORY and I’m not sorry."

"Whoever the new social media manager is... I love you. I would die for you."

"Petition for Y/N to post Lewis content EVERY SINGLE DAY."

It was thrilling. And a little dangerous.

Because the more time I spent with Lewis, the harder it became to remember that I was supposed to be detached.

And he wasn’t helping.

Filming TikToks together? He’d lean a little too close, his arm brushing mine. Behind-the-scenes shots? He’d tug me into frame at the last second, making everyone laugh. Interviews? He’d catch my eye across the paddock and wink, like it was a secret just for us.

He was wearing me down.

And he knew it.

The night before the race, he cornered me again this time outside the hotel after team dinner.

The Melbourne air was warm, scented with eucalyptus and sea salt.

Lewis shoved his hands into his pockets, giving me a look that was half-smile, half-serious.

"One date," he said again, softer now. "No cameras. No pressure. Just you and me."

I stared up at him, my heart a mess of want and fear.

"This can’t affect work," I said quietly.

"It won’t," he promised. "I’ll behave."

He hesitated, stepping closer.

"But I’m not gonna pretend I don’t like you. I do, Y/N. More than I should."

I swallowed hard.

Then God help me I nodded.

"Okay," I whispered. "One date."

The way his whole face lit up was enough to make my knees wobble.

"You won't regret it," he said, taking my hand just for a second just long enough to make me feel it for hours after.

I didn’t know what I expected for our first date. Something low-key, maybe.

Lewis had other ideas.

He hired out a private yacht.

A yacht.

He told me to dress comfortably, but when I arrived at the dock the next afternoon after wrapping all my pre-race duties my jaw nearly hit the floor.

The sun was setting over the water, turning the whole bay gold, and there was Lewis, barefoot in linen trousers and a white shirt, waiting with a bottle of champagne.

"You’re insane," I said, laughing as he helped me aboard.

He shrugged, utterly unrepentant.

"You said one date. I’m making it count."

The yacht drifted out onto the water, soft music playing, the city glittering behind us.

We ate dinner and fruit, talked about everything racing, music, childhood dreams and it was so easy, so good that it scared me a little.

Lewis leaned back against the railing, watching me like he could see straight through to my soul.

"You’re different," he said quietly. "Real."

I flushed, ducking my head.

"You’re not exactly what I expected either."

"Oh?" he teased. "What did you expect?"

I smiled, catching his gaze.

"I thought you’d be cockier. Less... kind."

Lewis’s face softened.

"I can be cocky," he said. "But not with you."

He stepped closer, taking my hand.

"I don’t want to impress you. I just want you."

And then he kissed me slow and sweet, the ocean rocking gently beneath us.

It was perfect.

And terrifying.

Because I knew, right then, that I was doomed.

Utterly, gloriously doomed.

The next day, back at the track, everything had to go back to normal.

Professional. Distant. Untouchable.

Or at least, that was the plan.

Lewis, predictably, made it almost impossible.

During media day, he kept sneaking glances at me. During the driver parade, he spotted me filming and blew a kiss at my camera, making the crowd erupt in screams.

I could already imagine the fan comments:

"Y/N you are SERVING we are FEASTING"

"Lewis is literally in love omg"

"The way he looks at her... I’m SOBBING."

"Y/N post more RIGHT NOW bestie please 🙏"

And it wasn't just them.

Every time Lewis grinned at me every time he winked or leaned into frame or pulled a silly face just to make me laugh I could feel myself falling harder.

And it was getting harder to hide.

That night, after Lewis finished on the podium second place, champagne spraying everywhere I found him behind the garages, grinning like a kid.

"You were amazing," I said, holding up the GoPro to catch the behind-the-scenes celebration.

He grabbed the camera and turned it around on me instead, laughing.

"No, you’re amazing," he said, still breathless. "You’re my good luck charm."

I rolled my eyes, cheeks burning, as he filmed me blushing.

The fans were going to absolutely lose it when I posted this.

But honestly?

I didn’t care anymore.

Let them see. Let the world know.

Because Lewis Hamilton wasn’t just camera-ready.

He was heart-ready.

And somehow impossibly he wanted me.

After the podium celebrations, Melbourne was buzzing. The team was buzzing. The internet was buzzing.

And not just about the race.

No. They were buzzing about me and Lewis.

Because apparently somewhere between the champagne chaos and the media frenzy a live camera had caught him pulling me into a hug behind the garages. Not just a casual hug, either.

One of those arms-wrapped-round-my-waist, forehead-leaning-on-mine, we’re-in-our-own-world kinds of hugs.

There was even a moment a tiny second where it looked like he might kiss me.

We didn’t. (Just barely.) But the footage was enough.

The internet lost its collective mind.

"WAIT DID LEWIS JUST ALMOST KISS THE SOCIAL MEDIA GIRL???"

"Y/N IS THE MAIN CHARACTER. LEWIS HAMILTON IS IN LOVE WITH HER. THIS IS CANON."

"My Roman Empire: Lewis almost kissing Y/N after podium celebrations."

"Y/N posting Lewis content like a queen and then him almost kissing her live on TV... this is poetry."

I buried my face in my hands when I saw the clips.

"Oh my God," I groaned in the media room the next morning.

Carlos Sainz, never one to miss a chance to tease, leaned over my shoulder grinning.

"Sooooo," he said, dragging the word out. "Anything you want to tell us?"

Charles Leclerc appeared beside him, fake-casual.

"Just curious, no reason."

I glared at them both.

"Mind your business."

Carlos winked.

"Impossible. This is my business now. I’m emotionally invested."

Charles folded his arms dramatically.

"We’re emotionally invested."

I shoved my headphones on and ignored them.

I couldn’t stop smiling.

Lewis texted me later that night.

Lewis: Come outside.

Me: It’s 1AM.

Lewis: Live a little, Y/N.

I snuck out of the hotel lobby, heart racing, and found him waiting by a ridiculously fancy black car.

"Seriously?" I said, half-laughing. "Was the yacht not enough?"

Lewis just smiled, eyes dancing.

"You’re worth the effort."

He opened the passenger door for me like a proper gentleman.

"Come on. I’ve got something better this time."

I got in of course I did, because apparently I’d lost all sense where he was concerned and he pulled out into the quiet Melbourne streets.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"You’ll see."

He drove us to a private airstrip.

A bloody airstrip.

My jaw dropped as we pulled up beside a gleaming little helicopter, blades spinning slowly.

Lewis cut the engine and turned to me, grinning.

"Second date," he said. "Sunrise over Melbourne. Best view in the world."

I just stared at him.

"You’re mental."

He laughed, stepping out and rounding the car to open my door.

"Maybe. But you’re here, aren’t you?"

He offered his hand.

I took it without hesitation.

We Flew over Melbourne until dawn and it was… surreal.

The sky bled gold and pink, the whole city sparkling beneath us.

Lewis sat beside me, headset on, his hand resting lightly over mine on the seat between us.

It was quiet just the low hum of the blades and our shared smiles.

I turned to look at him, heart squeezing.

He was beautiful. Not just handsome beautiful.

Soft. Kind. Funny.

Mine?

The thought made my chest ache.

He caught me staring and squeezed my hand gently.

"This alright?" he asked, voice crackling through the headset.

I nodded, smiling so wide my cheeks hurt.

"It’s perfect."

And it was.

So was he.

Afterwards, when we landed and the city was waking up below us, he didn’t let go of my hand.

He pulled me closer, eyes warm and serious.

"I like you, Y/N," he said simply. "I know it’s complicated with work and all that. But I’m not messing around."

I swallowed hard, emotions crashing through me.

"I like you too," I whispered.

His smile broke over his face like sunshine.

And then finally he kissed me properly.

No cameras. No fans. No teasing.

Just Lewis. And me. And the sunrise.

It was everything.

And I knew, without a doubt, that this was only the beginning.

The fans, of course, had no idea about the helicopter or the kiss. (Yet.)

But they did notice that Lewis was practically glowing at the next race weekend. Laughing more. Smiling more. Looking at the camera at me like he was the happiest man alive.

And when I posted a new TikTok a compilation of Lewis dancing around the paddock, making stupid faces, being adorable the comments flooded in again:

"HE’S SO HAPPY IT’S BECAUSE OF Y/N I JUST KNOW IT."

"Mother Y/N keeps FEEDING US. We are obese from this content."

"Can they just soft launch already PLEASE we are STARVING."

"Petition for Y/N and Lewis to become the paddock’s power couple immediately."

We tried. We really tried.

Lewis and I promised each other after Melbourne: no drama. No headlines. Keep it quiet. Keep it professional.

For a little while, it worked.

And then reality hit.

The reality being: we are terrible at being subtle.

It started with the looks.

You know the looks.

Across the paddock, across the garage, across any room we were both in. I’d be holding the camera, pretending to film something serious, and Lewis would catch my eye and grin that lazy, devastating grin of his. The one that made my brain short-circuit.

Or worse he’d wink.

Lewis Hamilton winked at me. Daily.

I lived in a constant state of barely holding it together.

Carlos noticed first, of course.

"Cuidado," he muttered under his breath as I passed him one afternoon, pretending to focus on shooting content. "You're gonna set the paddock on fire with those looks."

I nearly dropped the camera.

Charles wasn’t far behind. He caught Lewis and me standing just a bit too close behind the team trucks one morning, both laughing at some private joke.

He raised an eyebrow so high it practically left his forehead.

"Subtle," he said dryly, as he walked past.

I turned scarlet.

Lewis just laughed and tugged his cap lower, all cheeky innocence.

Then there were the accidents.

Like the time I posted a casual behind-the-scenes story of Lewis laughing during a promo shoot.

Completely harmless.

Except in the background of the video, you could very clearly hear him saying:

"Where’s my girl at?"

I didn’t notice when I posted it.

The internet did.

Within an hour, #Where’sMyGirlAt was trending on Twitter.

Fans were ravenous.

"SIR. WHO IS YOUR GIRL. WHO. IS. SHE."

"i’m just a little guy... i can’t handle this information drop."

"Y/N you’re SO powerful mother."

Charles printed out memes and stuck them to the garage walls.

Carlos even made a custom t-shirt that said "Where’s My Girl At?" and wore it around the paddock.

I hated them. (I loved them.)

And then came the soft launch.

Entirely Lewis' doing.

We were sitting side-by-side in the Ferrari motorhome one evening, both pretending to scroll through our phones.

I was half-asleep against his shoulder, feeling warm and safe and so, so happy.

He took a sneaky photo just our hands, resting together on his lap.

Nothing else. No faces. No big clues.

Just two hands, fingers linked loosely, sunlight pouring over us.

He posted it on his Instagram story with no caption.

I didn’t even realise until Charles came sprinting into the motorhome, waving his phone above his head.

"YOU GUYS," he yelled.

The whole place erupted.

"THE SOFT LAUNCH IS SO SOFT I’M SOBBING."

"Their hands??? the sunlight??? the peace??? I’m unwell."

"Y/N and Lewis are doing TRUE ROMANCE rn."

Even Mercedes' official account commented on random Ferrari posts like, "👀❤️".

I wanted to die.

Lewis, of course, was loving it.

"Relax," he murmured against my ear later, arm slung round my waist as we snuck out the back of the garage. "Let them talk. Let them know."

I turned to face him, heart pounding.

"You're evil," I said.

He grinned, utterly unrepentant.

"You love it."

And annoyingly… I did.

The next race weekend, things got even worse (better?).

Because Lewis was not content with subtle anymore.

He started little things brushing his hand against mine when we passed, tugging gently at my headset to whisper stupid jokes, finding reasons to come sit beside me whenever I was editing.

Every time I posted anything remotely Lewis-related, fans screamed louder:

"Mother is feeding us AGAIN."

"Lewis Hamilton's entire love language is annoying his gf while she’s working."

"I'm not saying they should get married but also... maybe they should get married."

And honestly?

I wasn’t far off agreeing.

Because every time Lewis looked at me really looked at me I felt like the most important person in the world.

Not Ferrari’s media girl. Not a job title.

Just me.

And he was mine.

One evening, after a long day of practice, Lewis pulled me aside behind the motorhome.

The sky was pink and golden, the air buzzing with that magic race weekend energy.

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, looking down at me with those soft, warm eyes.

"I’m planning something," he said casually.

I frowned.

"Another helicopter ride?"

He laughed, low and fond.

"Better."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.

"Define 'better.'"

Lewis just smiled slow, secretive and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"You'll see."

And something in the way he said it quiet, certain made my heart absolutely soar.

I should’ve known something was up.

I mean it was obvious, really. In hindsight. The way everyone around me was terrible at pretending they didn’t know something. Carlos couldn’t look me in the eye without grinning like an idiot. Charles kept patting my shoulder and muttering, "Big weekend, big weekend," under his breath. Even the Ferrari team principal winked at me.

WINKED.

And Lewis...Well.

Lewis was being suspiciously well-behaved.

No cheeky touches. No distracting jokes while I was working. No dramatic entrances into the Instagram stories.

Just calm, focused Lewis. Patient. Sweet.

It was enough to make me wildly suspicious.

We were in Vegas that weekend.

Of all places.

Glittering streets, sparkling sea, the glamour turned up to eleven.

I was busy capturing all the usual content the race prep, the pit walks, the candid shots of Lewis laughing with the team.

And God, he looked good dark suit, sunglasses, that easy swagger that made half the paddock swoon.

But something buzzed beneath it all.

Something... electric.

Lewis kept catching my eye across the garage, across the track.

Little secret looks that made my stomach swoop.

Like he knew something I didn’t.

Like he was waiting.

It happened after qualifying.

Ferrari had a team dinner booked casual, celebratory, nothing fancy.

Or so they said.

I should’ve clocked it when they told me, "Wear something nice. Like... very nice."

Charles practically shoved a dress bag into my hands.

"You’ll thank me later," he said, smirking.

I glared at him.

I was still glaring when I stepped into the mirror in the hotel room and saw the dress. Simple. Elegant. Red, of course Ferrari red fitting me like a second skin.

My heart thumped.

I hadn’t even seen Lewis yet and I was already dizzy.

He was waiting downstairs.

Black suit. No tie. Top button undone, diamond earring catching the light.

And when he saw me?

He actually stumbled a little.

"Jesus," he breathed, crossing the room in two strides to take my hands. "You’re... you’re unreal."

I flushed.

"You clean up alright yourself, Hamilton."

He grinned and kissed my forehead lingering, like he didn’t want to let go.

"Come on," he murmured. "Big night."

I had no idea.

The dinner was in this beautiful tucked-away courtyard fairy lights strung through olive trees, long wooden tables laid out with candles and flowers.

The whole team was there Ferrari drivers, engineers, media, family.

Everyone buzzing with this giddy kind of energy.

I sat between Lewis and Charles, laughing through the courses, feeling warm and golden and full.

Every so often Lewis would nudge my knee under the table, or brush his hand against mine when reaching for the wine.

And every time, my heart stuttered.

Then dessert came.

Or it was supposed to.

Instead, the lights dimmed.

And Lewis stood up.

The chatter faded instantly.

He held a glass, tapping it lightly with a fork the classic attention-getter but he didn’t look cocky or joking.

He looked serious.

Focused.

He turned to face me.

And I knew.

I knew.

Everything inside me flipped upside down.

"Y/N," Lewis said steady, soft voice carrying over the courtyard.

"You walked into my life with a camera in your hand and fire in your eyes."

A soft laugh rippled through the team.

I blinked furiously.

"And you’ve been turning my world upside down ever since," he continued, smiling slightly. "Every race. Every moment. Every day. You make everything better. Brighter. You make me better."

I was already crying.

Charles passed me a napkin, sniffling dramatically himself.

Lewis took a small velvet box from his pocket.

Opened it.

A ring.

Simple, stunning a band that caught the fairy lights like it held a thousand tiny stars.

"I don’t wanna spend another lap, another second, without knowing you're mine," he said, voice roughening slightly.

He stepped closer, reaching out his free hand.

"Will you marry me, Y/N?"

I was sobbing.

I mean full-on ugly-crying.

Behind me, Charles shouted, "SAY YES!"

I could barely speak through the tears, but somehow, somehow, I managed:

"Yes."

Lewis let out a breath like he’d been holding it forever.

He slipped the ring onto my finger hands steady, eyes shining and pulled me into him.

The courtyard erupted.

Cheering. Clapping. Whistling.

Someone popped a bottle of champagne and it sprayed everywhere.

Lewis kissed me.

Properly.

Full, messy, beautiful.

The kind of kiss that says forever.

Later, hours later, I found out the whole thing had been planned for weeks.

The team helping him set up the dinner.

Charles choosing the dress.

Lewis had wanted it perfect.

Private, but surrounded by the people who meant the most to us.

Family.

And the fans?

Oh, they knew.

Because Lewis posted one thing on Instagram the next morning:

A simple picture of my hand wearing the ring resting on his chest.

Captioned: "She said yes." ❤️🏎️

The internet exploded.

"MOTHER AND FATHER ARE GETTING MARRIED I’M SOBBING"

"Not a drill. REPEAT: NOT A DRILL."

"This is bigger than any championship win, sorry I don’t make the rules."

"I KNEW IT FROM THE HELICOPTER RIDE LAST YEAR."

I was dizzy with love, with happiness, with the knowledge that somehow, against all odds, we’d found this.

Us.

A love story born in the paddock, sealed under the stars, raced into forever.

[dyns33]

Devil may care

I needed to write a Dad Matt, because I love Dad Matt stories, this man would be the best and the worst of a father for so many reasons.

Oh and Born Again never happened here. Nope, nope.

Y/N had only had two great loves in her life.

The first, Matt Murdock, during their college years. They weren't really together. Matthew was gallant, but he didn't want to commit to a serious relationship, yet they saw each other regularly.

His best friend often teased him when he saw them together, that it was ridiculous to refuse to name what they were when it was so obvious, which made him groan.

Without going into detail, Matt had told her about his childhood, his mother's abandonment, his father's death, the loss of his vision, his ex. He had a hard time trusting after all that, getting attached to people.

Y/N had tried to understand, to accept. But she was in love, she could feel it, and it wasn't healthy to continue like this if he wouldn't agree to give her more. She'd tried to talk to him about it after graduation, and of course, he'd immediately shut down. That night, it was over.

Three months later, Y/N met the second love of her life. A stunning, surprising entrance, after several weeks of vomiting in the morning and being tired.

"… I can't be pregnant."

"Oh, but you are !" the nurse repeated happily. "The blood test is infallible, you're having a baby ! Congratulations ! The daddy will be delighted !"

Having not been in a relationship since graduating, she didn't have to think twice to figure out who the dad was, and that he wouldn't be delighted.

Y/N could have called Matt. If he hadn't answered, she could also have called Foggy, who had wished her well after the breakup, with a sad smile. They always said they were going to work together, avocados at law.

But he didn't want a serious relationship, much less a child. However, as a good Catholic and a man of honor, Matthew would take responsibility. Unhappy, stuck, he would agree to support her. She loved him too much to inflict that on him.

It was too late to have an abortion, otherwise she might have considered it. There was always adoption too. It wouldn't be easy raising a child alone, with her job and her tiny apartment.

But when that little boy stared at her with his big eyes, Y/N knew she would never leave him. It was love at first sight.

She named him Jack. It came out without thinking, a connection to his father and grandfather, whom he would never meet. He looked a lot like him : the hair, the eyes, the nose. That mischievous little smile, which you couldn't refuse anything.

As expected, it wasn't always easy, despite the help of her family and friends. But she didn't regret it. Every moment with her son was wonderful.

Walks in the park, trips to the pool, birthdays. Even grocery shopping became a game with him, talking to everyone and jumping up and down the aisles, asking to buy everything.

Normally, he stayed close to her, obeying, but that day, the five-year-old boy was probably in an adventurous mood. Y/N had turned her head for a few seconds to grab some cereal and he had disappeared. Panicked, she had checked everywhere, calling his name louder and louder, until she spotted him talking to a stranger.

Except it wasn't a stranger.

If you could say he had changed, it was only to point out that he was even more handsome, with his suit, red glasses, and neatly styled hair.

Head tilted to one side, gripping his cane, Matthew Murdock made a funny face as he concentrated on the long story the little boy was telling him.

He couldn't know. He had no way of knowing, and Y/N slowly approached to hug his son, whispering an apology, hoping he wouldn't recognize her voice.

"Y/N ! No way, what a coincidence ! It's been so long, you… Oh, hello, little man ! Is that your son ?!"

"… Hello Foggy. Yes."

"He's adorable ! Matt, he's adorable ! You should see him ! It's funny, he looks a lot like you, it's like…"

Despite what some might think because of his flashy appearance, Foggy was smart. His sentence cut off abruptly, his smile frozen, and he looked from Jack to Matt, and finally to Y/N, fully understanding what was happening. Forgetting her groceries, Y/N stammered excuses to quickly get out of the store with her son, not giving them time to react.

Perhaps she should have known this would happen when she moved near Hell's Kitchen. Matthew was proud of his neighborhood, born and raised, and never wanted to leave. But it had the cheapest apartments, allowing for a room for Jack.

Maybe he hadn't understood. Maybe he only suspected, but he would choose to forget what had just happened.

But Y/N knew Matt. He was stubborn, he was curious, and above all, he wanted to do good.

So it wasn't really a surprise to find him on her doorstep. She wondered how he'd found her address, but three days of panic attacks seemed about right for him before he presented himself to her.

"… Can I come in ?" he asked nervously.

"Of course. Jack's napping."

"You named him Jack ?"

His lips trembled, betraying his emotion. It touched him that she had chosen his father's name for their son. He admired his father.

Not knowing where to begin, Y/N invited him to sit down, offering him some tea so she could gain more time to find the right words. Beginning with an apology seemed logical.

"I didn't want to force this on you. I won't force it on you. I'm not asking you for anything. If you wanted to see him, I wouldn't object, but I would understand if you…"

"Of course I want to see him." Matt said, his voice full of confidence. "I want to be there for him. For you."

There it was, the famous duty of sacrifice she dreaded so much. Y/N bit the inside of her mouth, unsure how to push him away without hurting or insulting him. Because it was really nice of him to want to be there. But he hadn't asked for all this, it wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault.

"Look, Matt… You don't have to."

"It's my decision."

"I know, and I thank you. I'm sure you'd be wonderful with Jack, that he'd adore you, but… You don't love me. You didn't want anything serious, that's why we broke up, and why I didn't call you when I found out I was pregnant. I didn't want to put you through that. Think carefully, because if I tell him you're his father, then it'll be forever."

Matt listened patiently to her speech, swallowing each word and nodding, before placing his hand on hers.

"I don't need to think."

"Matthew…" she sighed.

"I loved you. I… I want you to know that. I was young, stupid, scared. I'm probably still pretty stupid and scared, Foggy told me that often. He yelled at me a lot when I left you, the biggest mistake of my life. I thought it was for the best. That I didn't deserve you, that I was bound to lose you or hurt you. Y/N… I don't feel obligated at all."

It was too good to be true. He wasn't a liar, she knew that. She'd always been able to trust him, always count on him. But as a mother, Y/N had to be careful.

Swallowing back a sob, she simply squeezed Matt's hand, and he tenderly stroked her fingers.

After a long silence, he resumed his thoughtful pout, indicating that maybe she wasn't entirely wrong to be on her guard.

He mumbled, before saying there was something he needed to tell her before deciding if she wanted him in her life.

Jokingly, she asked if he was married, which made him smile. No, there wasn't anyone else. Good thing, but that didn't mean he wasn't about to tell her something huge.

"So… I… I'm Dar…"

"Mommy ?"

Rubbing his still sleepy eyes, Jack trotted over to the couch to grab Y/N's leg. Frozen on his spot, mouth open, Matt didn't finish his big revelation, flustered.

"Who's that ?" the child asked in a small voice.

"Um… It's, uh…"

"I'm one of your mom's friends. We met at the store, remember ?"

"Oh, yeah."

Jack then flashed a big smile, considering his mom's friends to be his friends, and so he let go of Y/N to cuddle Matt's leg, gripping tightly like a little koala.

This could have panicked Matthew even more, but he couldn't help his beaming smile, patting his son's head before turning his attention back to Y/N, his face lit up with happiness.

They would take their time to catch up, then tell Jack the news, but everything would be fine, she could feel it right now.

Matt would also have to finish telling her his secret, but that couldn't be that important, right ?

[electrosuite]

where no one would see us

warnings: swearing, fingering, oral sex, descriptive sex, rough sex

word count: 2k

masterlist

"What the hell are you doing here?" Peter asked, trying to keep his voice down the best he could. He dragged you back into the alleyway he was hiding in, getting you both out of view.

"I knew you were doing this shit again, Pete. You promised you were done. Stalking escaped convicts, for what? To see if they're putting the city in danger?"

"Yes!" You tilted your head in frustration. "Baby, it's my job."

"No, your job is to take pictures for the newspaper. That's it! You don't even have your camera on you."

"I have my phone."

"Which is in your pocket."

"What do you want me to say? Huh?"

"I want you to admit that you broke your promise and are doing the Spider-Man shit again."

"Hey, baby, don't disrespect the suit." You just stared at him, clenching your jaw. "I know I promised you I was done, but if I can do something to help catch bad guys, you can't expect me not to do it."

"Yes! I can! You promised me. You're this close to getting yourself killed, and I can't just stand by and let you do it. And you're doing this right before our dinner reservations. I put on a nice, sexy dress for you, you're in a suit! If you needed to were you gonna just ditch me at that restaurant?"

"Please calm down and lower your voice. You're gonna get us caught."

"Oh, I'm gonna get us caught? Says the guy stalking a criminal in plain clothes. I might as well just walk up to him and tell you who you are myself."

Within a split second, his hand was clamped tightly over your mouth and he had you pushed up against the wall.

"Peter!" you exclaimed, your voice barely audible past his hand.

"Baby, please just be quiet for one second."

From a distance, you could hear two male voices talking. "I heard his voice from over here."

"You sure it was him?" This voice came from the man Peter was following.

"Oh yeah. I'm sure."

"Shit," Peter said, scooping you up and swinging the two of you through the alley and a few buildings down. You landed in a different alleyway, this one with a brick wall blocking the other men's path to you. "You almost got us killed, Y/N."

"Wouldn't be the first time, would it?" There were a few seconds of silence between you two. "Look, Pete, I'm not upset about you being Spider-Man."

"Oh, could've fooled me."

"I'm upset because you lied to me." He sighed. "I don't want to lose you. And I don't like being lied to. And I really don't like the idea of you not showing up for dinner because you're fighting someone."

He nodded. "I know. I shouldn't have told you I was done, and I shouldn't be doing this before our plans. I just wanted you to feel better about all of it."

"I know. And, I mean, it doesn't matter how hot I think you are in that skin-tight suit." Your voice had changed, your tone sultry and low. He looked up at you, squinting a bit. "Or how good you look webbing up those bad guys."

"Is that so?" He slowly stepped toward you. You walked backwards at the same pace, eventually bumping into the wall.

"Mhm. Or how good your arms and your thighs look in the suit, too." He was only inches away from your face, his eyes darting from yours to your lips. "It's so private here."

"It is, isn't it?" He placed his palms flat against your sides, his mouth latching onto your throat and leaving gentle yet firm kissing to your skin.

"Mhm. You could do anything you want to me and no one would hear. No one would see us."

"What do you want?" he whispered. "Tell me."

"I want you to pin me up against this wall and fuck me so hard I can't walk home."

Within a second, he was on his knees, pushing your dress and underwear out of the way. He immediately attached his tongue to your clit, and you whimpered shakily. You lifted your left leg and propped it in his shoulder, giving him more access to you.

Goddamn, he was good at this. And he knew just how to overstimulate you. Two fingers entered you, and you were already so wet they went in with ease.

The sounds echoing in the alleyway were unholy and disgusting, your moans mixing with them to create the sound that Peter loved so, so much.

Normally the two of you would be as quiet as possible so as to not wake up his aunt May or your parents. It, admittedly, wasn't very sexy. But the times you guys would fuck while home alone, he was sure his neighbors hated your guys' guts.

Your hands pulling his hair and your thighs shaking was how he knew you were getting close. And as you began thrusting your hips to grind on his face, he knew you were teetering over the edge.

Fucks left your mouth like breaths and he had to hold you up to keep you from falling over. But he didn't stop once your high ended. In fact, he kept going until you had another orgasm, and then another.

"Peter, please, just fuck me already," you begged after your third.

He shot to his feet, quickly spinning you around and pressing your chest into the wall.

"I don't have a condom with me," he whispered as his lips attacked your shoulders.

"Good."

He almost growled at this, the thought of fucking you raw making him almost feral. He pulled your dress back up above your ass, moving your underwear back out of the way, and reaching in front of you to begin fingering you.

You were so sensitive at this point that you couldn't stop your hips from bucking backwards into his crotch, feeling how hard he was.

"Goddamn, you are dripping," he whispered. And it was true. It was like a leaky faucet, your thick juices covering your thighs and running down your legs.

You wanted to lean back against his chest but he had you pinned to the wall, keeping you perfectly still and submissive.

"Peter, please, just fuck me."

He clicked his tongue three times. "No rushing, baby. You have to be patient."

By the time your fourth orgasm washed over you, you were screaming, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Such a tease," you breathed.

He was fully holding you up at this point, your legs too weak to support yourself.

You heard him undo his belt and then his pants, the anticipation making you take a shaky breath.

Feeling his dick glide up and down your pussy lips, soaking himself in your wetness and sliding across your unbearably sensitive clit drove you insane.

But the feeling of him effortlessly sliding into you, stretching you out and filling you to the brim and then some, it almost made you collapse.

He didn't start slow this time. He immediately picked up speed, slamming into you at a speed he normally reserved for rougher sex like this. He was like a fucking machine, knowing exactly what spots to hit to make you turn to puddy in his arms.

His right hand reached up to grip your neck and pull your back against his chest, then took you a step forward so your stomach was flush with the wall. He kept your head pinned back against his shoulder so he could kiss your neck and cover your skin with hickeys.

He pulled your arms behind your body, crossing them and gripping your forearms where they overlapped. Every time he slammed into you, your body hit the wall. It took the air out of your lungs, and that combined with his hand firmly around your neck made it so it was difficult to breathe. But it turned you on to unimaginable levels.

This is the type of rough sex you loved. Being completely at his mercy and being completely controlled by him. Not even being able to reach back and touch him, almost as if you were tied up, made you antsy. You needed to be able to grip him in some way, and he knew this. Taking that away from you only established his dominance and gave him control.

The sounds of his skin slapping against yours and echoing around on the concrete walls of the alley was much louder than he meant for them to be, but he was so distracted that he barely heard it.

He moaned and groaned in your ear as he drilled you, your cries of pleasure only pushing him to go faster and harder. You squeezed him so tightly, making it a slight challenge with every thrust. But he was so strong that he barely noticed, only able to focus on fulfilling your request to make it hard for you to walk home.

Peter was the only person you'd ever had sex with that could make you cum during just penetrative sex. At first you thought it was because you were already sensitive from him eating you out, but the first time you guys had sex where he didn't go down on you he still got you there just by fucking you. And typically you only had two or three orgasms during sex.

But you were approaching your fifth one in just a few minutes, and you honestly weren't sure you could handle it.

"P-Peter, fuck, I don't know if I can take another."

"Ooh, but you can, baby. I know you can."

You shook your head. "Too much."

He knew your safe word, and so did you. But you didn't want to say it. You wanted to be fucked out of your mind, to cum so many times you're out of it for hours. You wanted him to push you to your limit and see how much you could take.

"Nothing is too much for you, baby. I know it's not."

The second he pushed you over the edge, the hand on your neck went to your mouth, covering it tightly. You screamed into his hand, seeing stars and feeling him have to keep you on your feet. He didn't slow down to give you a break afterwards, in fact he somehow went even faster.

But this didn't last for long, as he could feel himself getting there too. His thrusts were becoming ever so slightly out of rhythm and his grip was tightening on you. And you noticed.

"Peter, please, cum inside me."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. Fill me up, baby. Please."

He was so focused, so driven by your begging. Your ribs were slamming into the wall but you didn't care. The pain felt good. Him using you as nothing more than a fuck toy felt good. And the idea of him filling you with his warm cum was something you needed.

You squeezed down on him once more and he slammed so hard into you it hurt. With a long 'fuck' he emptied his balls into your pussy, the white substance dripping out of you, onto the ground and onto his pants.

He leaned against you for a moment, not moving either of you. You were both so dizzy and so tired that you just needed to catch your breath.

"Fuck," you whispered.

"Was that what you wanted?"

You nodded. "So good."

When he eventually let go of you, you leaned your back against the wall. You situated yourselves back to look relatively normal, aside from the sweat. He checked his watch and grimaced.

"I think we missed our reservation."

"Ah shit. By how long?"

"Ten minutes." You nodded. "Wanna just go home and shower?"

"Yeah, we need one."

He kissed you deeply and you both smiled at each other.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too."

"Let's get home before the cops show up, yeah? I think we were pretty loud."

"Yeah, please."

And with that, you were wrapped around his back as he swung you two back to his apartment.

[neveragent]

Early Grave

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

Summary: Rooster was quite right about the early grave. But he didn't know.

Warnings: death, depression, self-harm, suicide attempts, guilt of surviving

Words: 1637 words

"Hangman, the only place you lead anyone, is an early grave."

Coyote's face went blank for a short time, Phoenix frowned and Hangman? There was a split of a second where he was near to tears.

Not many people knew what kind of flashbacks this sentence triggered. Rooster also didn't know. If he knew, he wouldn't have said it. But he didn't know. He didn't know about these flashbacks...

Jack woke up in the late morning by some soft kisses. "Hey, honey," he heard her lovely voice. The voice he'd kill for. He opened his eyes and had to blink a few times to see something in the light of the sun. He looked right into a pair of gorgeous brown eyes. That pair of eyes he fell in love with when he met her for the first time.

It was at a deployment. She was his backseater. When he saw her for the first time, he knew that he would marry her one day. It only took a few days until his friends made fun of him for being head over heals for her. And now he was waking up with her.

"Morning, sweetheart," he smiled. She cuddled up against his chest. "I don't wanna leave this place." He closed his eyes again. "Me neither, sweety." They were laying there together until another pilot knocked against their door. "Time to get up, lovebirds. Meeting in half an hour." Jake groaned.

They even went to TopGun together. The Navy knew about their relationship but they were still allowed to fly together since they kept everything surprisingly professional. Maybe she even helped him to focus and to become a team player.

Their first date was in a bar. Usually it wasn't visited by people from the Navy. That was also the reason why he chose it. He wanted to be alone with her and didn't want any rumors about them the next day. "I like this bar. It's different from the place we usually visit," she smiled at him sweetly and started sipping on her cocktail once more. "Yeah," he grinned, while getting lost in her eyes once more. They were chatting a lot that night. They even danced a bit to the music which was playing in the background. Jake warned her that he wasn't a great dancer but she insisted on a dance. He stepped on her feet a few times, but she couldn't care less. It was the first time, he enjoyed dancing with someone. When she went to the bathroom, after some time, she even trusted him with her drink, which made his heart beating faster. It was nearly 2 a.m. when they arrived back at the base. He thought he was going to have a heartattack when she kissed his cheek and gave him an innocent smile before closing her room door.

"Ready for another dogfight?" Jake grinned when they were in their jet once more. "Everytime, Hangman." Jake laughed softly. "You know that I love you, right, sweety?" "Of course. Hard to forget about it," she giggled, referring to the make out session they just had during the changing of their clothes to their suits. Jake laughed again. With her he felt free and loved. For the first time in his life. He just felt alive. "I love you too, honey. To the moon and back." He held his hand behind his seat and she took it, pressing it softly.

It was another dogfight at TopGun. Another routine training. Something they have already done so many times. "I don't see them on the radar," his WSO said. "Then we'll wait," he answered to her. She looked around in the sky, searching for the other team. Again, holding Jake's hand. It was such a calming thing for her. Something, they always did. He loved to feel her smaller hand in his. A feeling of home, even though they were many feets above it. "From the right!" His girlfriend suddenly shouted, which lead to Jake letting go of her hand to start a maneuver. The next minutes, they shouted a lot to communicate about their tactics. Of course, it wasn't necessary to shout, but both of them loved competitions and maybe took them a little too serious.

After many minutes of pure adrenaline, they won this dogfight and were on their way back to the base.

Suddenly, both of them got many warning signals. They had no time to react to them before the engines stopped working and they were falling like a heavy stone.

"Babe, do something!" Jake shouted after he lost control. "I can't. We have to eject." Jake pressed some buttons again, panicking and not understanding that it was a lost cause. "JAKE!" She shouted again. They were still falling and all possibilities were running through his mind. He wanted to safe the jet. The jet that became like a second home to them. His ears were ringing and his body was working like on autopilot. It took some important time until the voice of his girlfriend came to him again. Then he realised that he was risking both of their lives in such an unnecessary way. "EJECT! EJECT!" He shouted, reaching down.

His parachute opened and he saw the ocean underneath him. He looked around, searching for her. He was relieved when he saw her. But then his heartbeat stopped for some seconds. At first, he didn't know why. They both were out of the jet. But something felt off. Of course, they just wrecked a million dollar worth U.S. military jet, but it was something else.

Then he saw it. And what he saw made him feel like throwing up. She got all tangled up and the bands of the parachute which led to it not opening properly. That's why she was falling way too fast to the surface of the ocean.

He called out her name, unable to do anything. He landed some time after her in the cold water. He swam to her. The lifeless body weighted heavy in his arms. Her heavy gear was nearly drowning him. And if he was honest, he wished it would. "C'mon, sweetheart, give me the pretty smile of yours," he whispered. Denying the finality of the things that had happened just minutes ago. "Open your pretty eyes, I beg you." He was crying and begging, unable to even look at her properly since their gear was dragging him down. It was devastating. Just some minutes ago, they were both in their jet, laughing at some stupid jokes of him and now he was all alone in this world. He reached out for her hand, feeling the thin ring, he gave her the evening before.

She was the happiest women he had ever seen. She was so shocked when he proposed and after the ring was on her finger, she danced through the whole room, while singing one of her favorite songs. She already made up her mind about a wedding dress and she wanted at least two kids with Jake, a beautiful house with a porch and a garden, where the kids could play.

All that was gone now. Because he wasn't able to react sooner to eject. Maybe if he had reacted faster, things would've been different.

And now he was with the dead body of the love of his life in his arms in the ocean.

The days after her death, he didn't leave their bed. Most of the time, he slept or cried. After one week, Coyote, his best friend, and Natasha, her best friend, came over to his room, afraid that he might've done something to himself.

But he didn't. He tried. More than once. But when he was standing there with the knife on his throat, he didn't have the guts to do it. He didn't tell his friends.

Her ring had joined his dog tags on the chain.

He didn't think things could be worse. But her funeral was the worst thing he had ever experienced. He didn't want to say good bye to her. It felt wrong. And he also had to face her parents. They blamed him for everything that happened. They had never liked him. Even when she was still alive. They only saw him as an arrogant playboy who was just playing with their daughter's heart, while he always had serious intentions with her. And he couldn't even blame them for blaming him. Because it was his fault in his eyes. The fact that it was confirmed that the manufacturer made mistakes during the production of the engine wasn't important to him.

He killed the woman who had been so full of life.

He stayed at the grave until the coffin was buried under the ground. And even then he stayed for some more hours until Phoenix and Coyote forced him to come with him.

After that day, Coyote and Hangman grew even closer, while Phoenix was slowly distancing herself.

Not because she blamed Hangman but because everything around him remembered her of her best friend. And it became unbearable for her.

It took a long time until Hangman was flying in a jet again. He never flew with a backseater again, afraid he would be the reason for the death of this person. People also noticed very quickly that he wasn't a team player anymore. Whenever he flys, he still imagines that she's still sitting back there, giving him technical information. And he gives everything to protect her form any harm, even though she isn't real. He only thinks about her saftey which leads to him leaving his team quite often.

All these memories and emotions are playing infront of his eyes while he loses the control of his mind for a split of the second after Roosters comment.

[aheathen-conceivably]

There was one moment on the road that Antoine always dreaded. It occasionally landed somewhere between the music and the ever growing serving of whiskey that helped him to sleep at night. Josephine referred to it as “networking.”

From the moment they stepped foot in any saloon, she started the process. Talking easily with patrons or sipping her own whiskey slowly, spending nearly every moment he played eying the crowd looking for anyone worth her time. Most nights, she deemed that none of them were, and so with a tip of her cigarette Antoine knew to pack up his guitar case and make their way out of the bar. But on other nights, the nights she explained would one day be their lucky break, she would nod at him knowingly, signaling that his case was to stay in its place. Then it was time for him to smile for the circus.

Locals with money. Competing bar owners. Small-time politicians. She could spot who would be useful to her while the rest of the patrons laughed and mingled amongst themselves to the constant stream of music he played. This is how you make it, mon frère. This is how you get on a real stage. One day will be the day.

Yet for every fake smile and insincere handshake he exchanged, it was harder to remember what kept him on the road at all. A real stage. Surely that was it, wasn’t it? The reason why he left his family and felt his life draining away from him one mile at a time.

A real stage.

Through the deafening sound of his own music still ringing in his ears, Antoine could hear Jo saying something to him in a lacquered voice. The words didn’t matter. He could tell from her plastic smile what she really meant. Speak. Speak for the circus. “George here was asking about our days in New Orleans. Said it was a waste not to advertise such a past on your billing.”

Antoine nodded on cue, repeating an anecdote about playing with Louis Armstrong that every white man, woman, and child out here seemed to love. Following his own script, the man slapped his knee and laughed in turn. Jo took the moment his eyes were closed to look back at Antoine approvingly. The perfect smile. The perfect smile for the circus.

Only there was something in her demeanor that made Antoine uneasy. Every movement she made was calculated and dangerously observant. In the milliseconds the man’s eyes were closed, she watched him with the focus of a cat. Only the moment before he snapped them open, the perfect smile returned to her face. It reminded Antoine of someone he couldn’t quite name, and yet the man never seemed to notice at all.

“George here was telling me all about his dance halls while you played.” Even though she was turned in the other direction, Antoine could tell that the words were meant for him. “Seems he has thoughts about their superiority to our friend Hosa’s establishments.”

“Well now missy I’m not trying to step on my dear Mr. Grove’s toes.” He had said the words jovially, undercutting what Antoine could only imagine was a longer and more storied relationship than he had the patience for. “I simply think a dance hall would suit you better is all. These saloons, they’re old fashioned. You oughta have a crowd packed into the place just for you, not servin’ as some backing track to an old drunkard's night.”

Antoine could see his sister’s light arched eyebrow and upturned lip on the left side of her face; she was sure not to let it reach the right. “Well I happen to agree with you. Trouble is we’ve got a contract and a tight schedule at that.”

George’s hands went up, following the song and dance of feigned civility that governed the newly gentile businesses of the West. “Well now no part of me is looking to impede on that agreement you have with Mr. Grove. I can tell you’re a smart girl. No chance you’d be talking to me with any sort of non-compete. Besides, I’m just offerin’ you stay here an extra week. Maybe two. Add some shows. Get yourself in front of a real crowd for once.”

Jo smiled at George and nodded her head delicately, and he understood the gesture without a word. He turned back toward the stage with his whiskey in hand, pretending to give them an iota of privacy while he could actually hear every word they exchanged.

Jo looked over her shoulder and smiled again, before turning back to Antoine and lowering her voice to an accented French. The unexpected lilt of a foreign accent in a desert saloon only made the man's fake joviality and thin impatience all the more evident. 

“Une vraie scène." Her voice wavered slightly and Antoine realized that for the first time all night, the look in his sister's eyes was genuine. “C'est notre chance. Nous serions fous de dire non.”

Antoine knew that she was right - that every other offer she'd leveraged or connection they'd made paled next to this one. But part of him still wanted to say no, to just admit that, God, he wanted to go home. To yell that he had done this to safeguard their lives. To remind her that they had done it. They were secure. He was heard. She was successful. What more were they chasing?

But simmering under all of those questions was one that he knew would follow him to his grave - what if this was it? What if he passed it up and never knew what happened next? What if Jo found some other act to represent and she went on the road alone with men like the one who was tapping his finger impatiently on his whiskey glass?

“D'accord. Mais une semaine. Pas deux. Je veux être à la maison pour l'anniversaire de Violette. Pas de négociation.”

Jo turned back to George and he twisted in his chair. She let a pause hang in the air as he looked at her eagerly. Then she smiled at him again, this time benevolently. “Well as I’m sure you can imagine it puts us in a bit of a pinch. This contract alone already keeps us on the road for months on end. And if he’s going to play without a guarantee of continued work and in addition to the schedule we’ve already set, we’ll need double what we're paid now.”

She stopped, purposefully running her finger along the rim of her glass to let him watch her hand move. “And come on. I know you came here for a reason - just to see him play and find out if he was really as good as your scouts told you he was."

The man chuckled, and Jo smiled in the same way that had unnerved Antoine earlier. Only this time, she let the man watching her see it too. “Plus, I know that Hosa has been pulling significant portions of your clients anytime he has Antoine on stage. He's costing you money. You pay us double and you’re only putting that money right back in your pocket. Otherwise Hosa hears you've been trying to poach his talent and writes in a non-compete. Then good luck finding an act all over again.”

George tried to keep her gaze locked in his but she didn't flinch. Meanwhile his eyes flickered back and forth to Antoine over her shoulder. “Fine, missy. You drive a hard bargain, you know that? Sir, anyone ever tell you your girl here drives a hard bargain?”

Jo laughed triumphantly at his acquiescence, sure to keep the sound just girlish enough so that he didn’t feel threatened. Then she picked up the whiskey that she hadn't touched since he had sat at her table.

Smile for the circus, mon frère. Play the game. We've always done what we have to do. As Antoine picked up his own drink her words rattled around his head like a high pitched drone. He swallowed back a mouthful with the knowledge that he wanted to pummel his fist into the man's gold plated smile. But there his sister was laughing with him, pretending like he hadn't just called her missy, or like he wasn't looking at the hem of her dress whenever he thought she wasn't looking. Antoine finished his drink in one quick swallow, his stomach starting to churn just as the burn tore through his throat.

Previous / Next

[clarin0]

JOE GOLDBERG, now playing: Golden Brown- The Stranglers

He did it for love, Joe told himself so. Killing your oddly co-dependent best friend and then trying to let you down gently, it really wasn’t his place. Yet he did, he held you close while you sobbed and screamed at him. Fed you medicines that calmed your racing brain, one’s that made days pass like a soft breeze in the summer. A moment of relief from the scolding heat. He even held you as you laid in the same spot for days, read you Joan Didion.

“Hi, sweet girl.” He whispered, gently coaxing you out of the illusory rest you laid in. “We gotta get you in the bath, okay.?” Joe spoke to you kindly, giving you the illusion of a choice you didn’t have. Your bleary eyes blinked open to meet with his soft features; the brown eyes that stared at you with ardor.

He gently picked you up, leaning your upper body to his chest, a hand under your bottom for extra support as your legs hooked to his hips and arms to his shoulders. “That’s it, good job. Gotta take it easy.” He murmured to you as he carried you to the en suite. The bath was already filled with steaming water, double checked not to burn your skin, which he adored with all his heart. The soapy water smelled like a vanilla laundry detergent, though he had used a soap that would be gentle and wasn’t too scented.

He helped pull off the old pajamas you wore, placing them in the laundry basket, while you padded over the white tile, settling into the porcelain tub. Listening to the drip of the faucet. “I should to get that fixed, m’ so silly, huh?” Joe said, walking over he took out the two plait in your hair and began brushing it as he sat by the tub.

“If I...wasn’t so stupid, i would have seen the signs and done something before..” your voice was low, if a little guttural. “Shh shh, don’t think like that. Don’t be stupid, you know better.” Joe scolded, but, oddly delicately. “You’re a smart girl, baby. Act like it.” It came out in a murmur, like he was just telling you a fact.

You sat and soaked in the bath, he occasionally pet your head. But, he was all the more focused on watching and admiring you. The emptiness in your sweet eyes made him desperately fix something, but he didn’t. Instead he got up and retrieve some pills from the cabinet, he bent down to your side. He held your face in one hand and squeezed your jaw till you opened your mouth. He slid the pill in and watched, waiting for you to swallow.

Just a little bite size snack while I try to get my motivation and energy back, academic burnout is no joke🫠. Hope you guys like it!

[boopiemadz]

wanted to do a quick write about Travis's biceps 💪 (so hot) so here it is. legit got flustered writing the last one 🤭 lmk if u like this.

WARNINGS!

Suggestive themes, Injury

[Four times Travis’s biceps made you lose your train of thought]

---

The hut you and Travis stayed in was originally built for one, you used to share with Mari but ever since your relationship with Travis started to blossom you slowly transitioned into his hut. This wasn't a problem as his hut was already pretty spacious, but there were a few casualties when it came to sharing the hut. 

Last night was… steamy. Let's just say you didn't get much sleep. Travis had gone out to the lake in the morning which left you at the camp. Unfortunately his hut wasn't the most structurally sound, all the… movement last night kinda caused the doorway to come loose. So in the morning after checking on the garden you'd set up you grabbed some sticks and twine to attempt to fix the sagging doorway. 

Standing on your tippy toes holding up the sagging sticks while trying to tie them together with only one hand wasn't working very well, just as you were about to just give up and toss everything to the floor you felt a warm body approach you. 

“Need a little help?” Breathed Travis towering over you. His hair wet as he reached his hand up to hold the askew sticks in place. 

“Oh your back” You smile, “Yeah don't think construction is my strong suit” As you step to the side he gives you a quick peck on the cheek before telling you “Don't worry I got it”

As you stepped back to watch you couldn't take your eyes off him. The way his short sleeve perfectly fell down to display his biceps as he reached up and tied the sticks together. You Can't lie, the way he moved and the way his muscles were perfectly displayed, his wet hair falling into his face and him wiping his hair away from his face oh so perfectly giving you a display of his muscles. 

Little did you know you had been, staring. Staring hard. Once he finished his work you still stood right there, eyes glued to his upper arms almost without blinking. 

“You okay there?” He crosses his arms and giggles 

“Oh yeah..” You snap out of your trace to him approaching you wiping off his dirt covered hands with a cloth. He gives you a smirk and walks up to you tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear and saying “You know, if you ever need me to fix anything again, let me know and I'll give you a seat so you can observe.”

---

The second time you noticed his biceps starting to become a fixation was when he returned from a hunting trip having an injury on his upper arm.

“What happened” You say running up to him and Nat seeing Travis grip his arm like his life depended on it. “He ran into a branch and got a pretty nasty gash on his arm” Nat says, wincing as Travis takes his hand off of the wound. “Oh my gosh Trav, what were you running with your eyes closed?” You say in a serious yet half sarcastic tone.

You sat beside him in the dim light of the hut, your hands working carefully, fingertips grazing over his bicep pressing old cloth onto his wound to stop the bleeding. He barely flinched, just watched you with those dark, unreadable eyes. His arm was warm under your touch, solid and strong even injured, and your hands lingered longer than necessary.

"You're staring," he muttered, voice low and rough."You’re doing that on purpose," Travis said, a half-smirk tugging at his mouth. His voice was low, teasing, but you caught the little edge of breathlessness in it too.

You smiled, pretending innocence. "Doing what?"

You swallowed thickly, finishing the last loop of the bandage. "I'm just making sure it's tight enough," 

"You’re doing that on purpose," Travis said, a half-smirk tugging at his mouth. His voice was low, teasing, but you caught the little edge of breathlessness in it too.

He gave you a look, that classic unimpressed Travis look that only made you want to grin wider.

"If you wanted an excuse to feel me up," he said, voice dropping, "you could've just asked."

You huffed out a laugh, finishing the bandage and patting it, maybe a little too firmly. "Shut up. I’m taking care of you."

"Yeah," he murmured, catching your wrist before you could pull away. His fingers were gentle, his thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist in slow, lazy circles. "You always do."

And just like that, the teasing softened into something deeper. Travis wasn’t always good with words, but he didn’t have to be. You felt everything he meant in the way he looked at you.

You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, then another to his cheek. "Always," you whispered back.

He smiled, a real, soft, unguarded smile, and pulled you into his arms, bad bicep and all.

---

The third moment started as a joke.

The group was bored sitting around the fire, throwing rocks at a tin can someone had found, when someone decided they should have an arm-wrestling tournament.You were half-paying attention, curled up against Travis's side, until you heard your name get thrown into the mix.

"I bet Travis lets her win," Van teased, grinning wide. "He’s whipped."

Travis just smirked, cocky and quiet like he always got when he was about to stir up trouble. 

You knew that look. You knew exactly what he was doing. And you were powerless to resist.

Grinning, you pushed yourself up and planted your elbow on the rough wood of the table, palm open. "You’re on, Martinez."

Everyone hooted and hollered, pounding the table as Travis shifted to face you. He grabbed your hand , warm, calloused , and you barely had time to register how smug he looked before he said, just loud enough for only you to hear:

"Try not to get too distracted, babe."

He flexed, just a little, when you tightened your grip ,and holy hell ,his bicep practically bulged under the firelight, cords of muscle shifting beneath tanned skin, the veins along his forearm popping out in a way that made your stomach flip over itself.

You knew he was doing it on purpose. And you hated (loved) how easily it worked.

"Go!" someone shouted.

You tried , really tried , but the second he leaned in, eyebrows raised like he was barely breaking a sweat, your whole body short-circuited.

He was unfair. Unfairly strong, unfairly hot.

In less than ten seconds, he pinned your hand down, grinning lazily the whole time.

The group roared with laughter, but it barely registered , because Travis didn’t let go right away. He kept your fingers tangled with his, tugging you across the table until you were practically nose-to-nose.

"Good effort," he murmured, voice rough and so smug.

You narrowed your eyes, but the stupid smile tugging at your mouth gave you away. "You’re such a show-off."

"Only for you," he said, brushing his nose against yours, his biceps flexing again as he pulled you fully into his lap, firelight catching the proud glint in his eyes.

---

It had been weeks of Travis shamelessly flexing, teasing you, and generally acting like the most irritating, and the most beautiful, human being on the planet.

You thought you were doing a good job pretending to be unaffected. You thought you were being subtle.

Until the final straw.

It was late, the fire crackled low, most of the others either asleep or pretending not to listen. You and Travis were tucked in your hut, close enough that you could feel the heat from his body.

Travis, of course, took full advantage of the moment. He stretched out, arms above his head, his biceps flexing effortlessly. His stupid, perfect muscles shifted under tanned skin, and you tried to ignore it. You tried to keep your eyes focused on the fire, but you couldn’t help it.

For half a second, just half a second, your eyes drifted to his arm. You didn’t even mean to. It just... happened.

And of course, he caught you.

Travis grinned like a cat who’d just gotten the cream, leaning over to nudge you with his shoulder. "You know," he murmured, voice low and teasing, "it’s okay to admit you’re obsessed with me."

You groaned, trying to brush him off, but he wasn’t having it. He caught your hand midair when you shoved him lightly, holding it firmly in his. His laughter rumbled in his chest, and you couldn’t help but notice how his arm felt under your hand.

"You know," he went on, completely unbothered, "some people like puppies. Some people like sunsets. You? You just happen to be in love with these bad boys." He flexed his bicep, just enough to make it impossible for you to ignore.

Your resolve cracked, and you let out a laugh, not a cute little chuckle, but a full-on, unabashed laugh that had you leaning your head against his shoulder in defeat. You were so caught.

"I hate you," you muttered into his chest, trying to hide your smile.

He laughed even harder, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his arm slipping around you to pull you even closer. "No you don’t," he said, voice thick with affection. "You love me."

You sighed dramatically, snuggling into his side because, well, he was right.

But then, and this was your fault, your hand snuck up, just a little, and rested on his bicep again, absentmindedly squeezing it.

Travis immediately shot you a smirk, his eyes lighting up with mischief. "Oh, now you’re just making it too easy."

Before you could even react, he launched himself at you, his hands going straight for your sides, tickling you mercilessly. You gasped, wriggling in his grip, trying to push him away, but he was relentless, his laughter echoing in the small space.

"Travis, no! Stop!" you squealed between giggles, but it only made him laugh harder.

"You think you can just squeeze my biceps like that and get away with it?" he teased, pinning your wrists to the ground with one hand, his other fingers digging into your sides.

Your body jerked from the tickling, and you barely had a chance to catch your breath before you managed to twist and plant a playful bite on his arm.

He froze. "Did you just bite me?"

You grinned, still out of breath from the laughter. "Maybe."

"That’s it."

With a triumphant laugh, Travis pinned you even harder, his face hovering above yours. His eyes were sparkling with a mix of playful mischief and something a little deeper. "You’re asking for it now."

You both burst into laughter again, too tangled in each other to do anything but laugh and tease and enjoy the moment, and, just maybe, admit, you were already way past the point of no return.

———-

idea/inspo from - @s0u1-su3k3r

hope u enjoy!

[mrsshabana]

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐬𝐬 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

ꔫ‧₊ Summary You find yourself at the company banquet, an annual event where everyone within the company gets together to celebrate the company's success. But to your dismay, you see Gyutaro accompanied by someone no other than his wife. You get a glimpse of the cold and hollow relationship they share. And it makes your heart ache with sympathy for your beloved boss. ꔫ‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, Modern au, Boss & secretary relationship, Gyutaro is married, age gap, angst ꔫ‧₊ Note 2.6k words.

✧:･ﾟ→ Chapter 1 ✧:･ﾟ→ AO3

Things have been going well, almost too well that it made Gyutaro feel out of place. You’ve only been here for a few weeks yet your presence has brought a brightness to his workday that it had previously lacked. 

Gyutaro did his job immaculately before you were around. Others within the office never would have thought that he needed help. But Tengen always saw through the tough exterior Gyutaro put up. He knew that he was struggling. 

And now that you’re here he may seem like the same calculated and intimidating man as before, but behind those cold eyes his head aches less often and if you’re lucky you might catch his lips curling into a smile. 

However, tonight’s setting was quite different than the usual fancy office building. You find yourself in a lavish banquet hall. Far past when your shift would usually have ended, and in clothes much fancier than what you would normally wear to work. 

You’re wearing a long sparkling dress in your favorite color. It hugs your curves nicely, elegant and classy. Along with a pair of matching heels, something that you’ve gotten used to wearing since working at high-end companies such as this. 

You went through the trouble of dressing so nicely because tonight is the annual company banquet. Gyutaro had informed you last week of it, saying that you are welcome to come even though you haven’t been with the company for very long. When he spoke of the event though, you noticed something off in his tone. He sounded colder than usual, like a part of him was afraid of attending this event. Why, you don’t know. 

The grand ballroom is alive with laughter and the soft clink of champagne glasses. All around you are co-workers and people from other branches of the company. Even some big shots within the business world, making small talk amongst each other as they enjoy the lavish food and drink. 

A few friendly faces greet you here and there, but you find yourself only able to think about Gyutaro, your beloved and hardworking boss. Every day he looked sharp in his suit and tie, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t looking forward to seeing him in a tuxedo tonight. 

Constantly scanning the crowd as you sip your champagne. 

And that’s when you saw him. Gyutaro stood by the entrance, his tall frame paired with a perfectly tailored dark green tuxedo, his presence demanding attention. Though not necessarily the kind he wanted, the man looked like he wanted to disappear. 

People stepped aside as he passed, offering courteous nods and polite smiles. Showing respect to the man with the highest position in the room. The kind of respect that was reserved for someone who commanded authority and intimidated with ease. 

And that’s when you saw her. 

The woman glued to his side. Too close to be an acquaintance or co-worker. She was tall, blond, and impeccably dressed in a silver dress that must’ve cost thousands of dollars. And on her finger is a big sparkling ring. The kind of ring that a woman wears only when she’s married to a man who makes the kind of money that Gyutaro does. 

How did you never realize that he was married? 

You feel your throat tighten and your heart sink in your chest. The world seems to go in slow motion as you watch the couple walk through the crowd together. 

“Oh…,” you mutter to yourself. Trying to shake off the initial shock of finding out your boss has a wife. I mean, of course he has a wife. He’s rich, kind, and handsome. Or at least, you think he is. 

Your gaze lingered on them — on the way her smile seemed so forced, and the way Gyutaro’s expression remained unreadable and void of emotion. His gaze distant, never really meeting hers. He stood beside his wife, his hand resting at his side but they never actually touched. The distance between them was palpable and more than physical; there was a coldness that seemed to emanate from their every interaction. 

You swallow hard. Not sure why, but seeing them together — seeing the clear emotional disconnection between them — it made something twist uncomfortably in your chest. 

It wasn’t just Gyutaro’s obvious discomfort. It was the way his wife’s smile never met her eyes, the way she kept looking around distracted, as if the man at her side wasn’t the one who brought her to this event in the first place. Her attention kept flickering to guests, acquaintances, anyone but her husband. Meanwhile, Gyutaro stood rigid, offering polite nods and greetings when necessary. 

There was no spark in their interactions — no warmth or understanding. It was like they were strangers only connected by the formality of the rings on their fingers. 

Little do you know that it wasn’t just their marriage that had lost its spark — it was that it had never truly been there to begin with. 

You look down at the champagne glass, trying to tell yourself that it isn’t any of your business. You shouldn't be so unsettled by the sight of Gyutaro beside his wife. But the loneliness in Gyutaro’s eyes, despite being surrounded by so many people, was impossible for you to ignore. Because over these past weeks, you’ve grown to care about your boss very much. 

But a familiar voice forces you to snap out of it. 

“They don’t look like they’re having a good time, huh?” Tengen chuckles as he nudges your shoulder. 

“Oh um,” you stutter as he surprised you, “I just didn’t know he was married. His wife is so pretty…” 

Tengen shrugs, “Eh, I guess on the outside maybe.”

“What do you mean?”

Tengen scoffs, “I remember she threw a fit when Gyutaro bought her a brand new Porsche because it wasn’t in the exact shade of red that she wanted.”

“Are you serious?!” You gasp as you almost choke when hearing his statement.

“Tsk, yeah. But don’t worry too much. They’ve been like that for years,” he laughs nonchalantly, “Anyway, you look stunning tonight. Don’t waste it just standing around, you should go have fun.”

You nod, watching as Tengen smiles and disappears into the crowd. Leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

And honestly, his words seem to have made you feel even worse. If what he said about Gyutaro’s wife is true, it makes your stomach churn with anger. Gyutaro deserves better than that. 

You tried to distract yourself by conversing with your office friends, and it worked for a while. But eventually, you found yourself looking for Gyutaro again. He wasn’t hard to spot in the crowd, sticking out like a sore thumb. 

His wife had been affixed to his side for most of the night, but you were happy to see that he was finally alone. Standing by himself near the corner of the ballroom, looking as though he wished he could disappear. The loneliness seeping into him. Most people in the room being too intimidated to go up to him and strike a conversation. 

A strange sense of empathy surged through you. Concern, pity, or maybe something else. But whatever it was, all you know is that you can’t stand seeing him like this. Not when he had always been so kind to you. Always believing in your abilities and encouraging you when you worked hard. 

Against your better judgment, you make your way through the crowd towards Gyutaro. You clear your throat as you step closer to him, “Mr. Shabana,” you say softly.

He looks down at you, “Y/N,” his voice low, “Is everything alright?”

“Of course!” you say with a warm smile, “I just wanted to come over and say hello. I thought you might want some company.”

He exhales, his expression softening as his tense shoulders finally relax. 

“I’m fine,” he says, though something in his tone doesn’t quite match his words, “Just… not the biggest fan of these events.”

“I can tell,” you chuckle playfully, “You look nice though. Green really suits you well.”

His lips quirked, the slightest trace of a smile appearing on his face, “Thank you. Your attire is quite lovely as well.” He looks down at your figure, but quickly looks back up. Not wanting his gaze to linger for too long. 

“Thank you,” you say shyly, looking down as you try to hide the blush forming on your cheeks. “If you ever need a break, you can always talk to me… er- if you need a moment to breathe or anything! I know these events can be overwhelming. I-I’ll be right here.” You stutter as you try to offer some companionship to him without making it sound weird. You’re definitely overthinking it, though. 

Gyutaro looks down at you with a flicker of surprise. But the tightness that was in his demeanor seems to loosen, for a moment he almost looked vulnerable — not the powerful and distant figure from the office, but a man who didn't quite belong in the role that was forced upon him. 

“You’re very kind to say that,” he murmured.

“I mean it,” you say shyly, just loud enough for him to hear. 

Just as Gyutaro opened his mouth to say something to you, he spots his wife emerging from the crowd. He straightened, his expression shifting back to something distant and unreadable, “Excuse me,” he mutters, his tone suddenly colder than before, “I should go.”

“O-Of course. I’ll let you get back to your evening.” You nod and take a small step back, allowing him to slip past you.

That familiar twist forming in your chest again as you watch him reunite with his wife. A faint surge of jealousy ignites inside of you. Seeing how he pushed you aside to go to his wife.

But that’s what a married man should do for his wife, right? You feel stupid and guilty for feeling this way. He’s a married man, and on top of that, he’s your boss. The faster you squash these budding feelings for him, the better. 

You know that’s what you should do. It’s logical. But the tears forming in your eyes signal just how hard it will be. It’s obvious Mr.Shabana is off limits. 

So with that thought invading your mind, you leave the banquet early and go home. 

~

The night air was cool as Gyutaro parked his car in the driveway of his home. A massive and elaborate building that seemed more like a grand showpiece than a home. 

Gyutaro shut the engine off and sat there for a moment. A wave of relief washing over him — finally out of that damned banquet. 

He didn’t say anything as he watched his wife get out of the car and walk towards their front door. By the time Gyutaro stepped out of the car she was already inside. Leaving him behind with no word said. But this was the norm for them. 

With a heavy sigh, he walked into the multi-million-dollar home. Placing his keys on the kitchen counter and slipping off his shoes. From the corner of his eye he could see the faint glow of Dahlia’s bedroom, the door barely ajar. 

Normally, a man would want to follow his wife into the room. But not him, no Gyutaro never entered her room, and she never entered his. 

Instead, Gyutaro walks to a closed door connected to the same hallway. But before he can open it, a voice calls out behind him. 

“Are you coming?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Just standing there, the weight of their separation heavy in the air.

“Are you?” she repeats, though her voice still devoid of emotion. 

“No,” he said quietly, “Not tonight.”

“Fine,” she says, almost like she really never cared about his answer to begin with. Her footsteps grow faint as she walks back to her bedroom, closing the door with a soft click. 

Gyutaro stood there alone in the dark hallway, feeling the weight of his own loneliness settle over him. The emptiness of this house, this marriage, it swallowed him whole. 

He never understood why she ever bothered to ask him that question. Maybe to make herself feel better about neglecting her husband for so long. To make it seem like she was trying, to make Gyutaro feel like it was his fault and not hers. But he never made his way to her room. Ever since she told him how she really felt about him. He had given her everything, but it was never enough. 

With an emotionless sigh, Gyutaro opens the door to his personal bedroom. And he’s greeted by a small bundle of fluff with a stubby wagging tail. 

Immediately, his demeanor shifts as he kneels down, allowing the small dog to jump on him and lick his face. A rare genuine smile tugs at his lips as he pets her. 

“You’re the only one in this house that actually loves me,” he whispers sadly to the excited pup. If only she could comprehend the gravity of his words. But that’s ok, her unconditional love is more than enough. 

The dog is a cocker spaniel with wavy fur, having white and light brown spots. “Such a good girl, Luna!” he smiles and kisses her little forehead. Resulting in her whimpering and excitedly licking the tip of his nose. 

This room was different than the rest of the house. A small sanctuary tucked away in the grand mansion, a place where there was a different Gyutaro. A version of himself that he rarely allowed anyone to see. 

The room wasn’t much to look at, no grand furniture or expensive paintings. Just a comfortable, worn bed and shelves lined with comic books, action figures, and things he has collected over the years. Inconsequential things that Dahlia often made fun of, calling them childish, silly, and a waste of money. She never understood Gyutaro, and to her, the things that brought him joy were just distractions. But to Gyutaro they were sparks of life, reminders that he didn’t have to always be consumed by business and obligation. 

Gyutaro wastes no time changing into his pajamas and making himself comfortable on his bed. Luna quickly jumped onto the bed to join him, cuddling up to his side. Craving his attention after being alone all evening. 

A sad smile crosses Gyutaro’s face as he pets her, “Maybe I’m stupid,” he whispers to Luna, “But I don’t think I can keep doing this, not forever.”

Luna responds with a soft bark, as if reassuring him. Gyutaro let out a shaky breath, his heart ached in a way that he was unfortunately used to. It wasn’t just the loneliness, it was the yearning too. A need for something more than money could buy. He longed for intimacy, for warmth, for someone to look at him and see him for who he was, not just a rich businessman with an ugly face. 

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” he mutters more to himself than his dog, “I thought I had it all figured out. But now… I’m just tired. So goddamn tired of being alone.”

Luna pressed her nose against his hand, giving his fingers a soft lick. Maybe to other people it wouldn’t be much, but to Gyutaro it was all he needed. In this moment, he could almost forget that he was trapped in a marriage that was dead before it even started, a marriage that became nothing more than a contract. 

But here with Luna, he allowed himself to feel something real. Something pure and warm. He didn’t feel invisible when he was around his beloved dog. 

It was a rare feeling. But it felt strangely familiar now… because you also made him feel this way. Warm and seen.

[lydilicious]

The things I never said

Nanami x GN reader

Nanami always made it easy to love him.

It wasn’t the expensive suits or the immaculate manners, though those helped.

It was the way he existed in a world that didn’t deserve him, moving through it with quiet integrity, refusing to bow under the weight of all the things he couldn’t fix. It was the way he carried sorrow like a second skin, dignified and unspoken.

It was the way he smiled — rare, fleeting — when he looked at you.

Or at least, you thought he was looking at you.

You told yourself you could survive like this — on scraps, on maybes. You didn’t need grand declarations or promises. It was enough just to be near him, enough to be his steady, constant presence.

His… friend.

Always his friend.

But you were greedy. You wanted more.

You wanted all of him.

And that was your first mistake.

---

You notice the change before anyone else.

Nanami starts checking his phone during missions. A tiny thing. Almost imperceptible — but he never used to do that. His dedication was rigid, absolute. Until now.

You don't ask.

You don't want to know.

(You already know.)

One evening, while patching up a wound on his arm, your hand lingers too long against his skin. His eyes — always so clear, so unreadable — flick to yours.

And there's something there.

Something heavy.

Your heart stutters with hope. You open your mouth, reckless and terrified.

But before the words can escape, his phone buzzes on the table.

He smiles — soft, almost shy — and says, “Sorry. I have to take this.”

You watch him leave the room, his voice low and tender through the closed door.

He never used that tone with you.

You finish bandaging his arm alone.

---

Her name is Mai.

You learn this by accident. Shoko mentions her in passing — Nanami’s new girlfriend, a civilian, the girl at the bakery he'd always buy you pastries from.

Sweet, kind.

Good for him, Shoko says with a smile that feels like a dagger in your ribs.

After everything he's been through, he deserves someone who makes him happy.

You nod. You smile.

You bleed in silence.

That night, you walk home in the rain without an umbrella, letting it soak through your clothes, your skin, your bones.

Maybe if you get cold enough, numb enough, it’ll drown out the hollow ache in your chest.

It doesn’t.

---

You tell yourself you can be happy for him.

You try.

You listen as he talks about her — little things, casual things. How she likes her coffee, the books she recommends, the way she laughs so hard she snorts.

You laugh along, like it's funny.

Like it doesn't tear you apart.

Every time he says her name, it's another small death.

You become an expert at pretending:

Pretending you don't see the softness in his eyes when he talks about her.

Pretending your hands don't shake when he casually mentions taking her to a quiet little café you used to go to together.

Pretending you're not still stupidly, hopelessly in love with him.

You don’t think he notices.

You don’t think he would care if he did.

---

One night, you find yourself at Nanami’s apartment — a half-hearted excuse about a mission report clutched in your hands.

He invites you in without hesitation.

The place smells different.

It’s subtle — a floral note in the air, delicate and sweet. A woman's touch woven into the fabric of his life.

You sit on the couch while he makes tea, your fingers curling into tight fists against your thighs.

There’s a photograph on the bookshelf.

You can’t help it. You look.

It’s him and Mai. She's tucked against his side, grinning up at him like he hung the stars.

And Nanami — serious, reserved Nanami — is smiling back at her.

A real smile.

One you've never seen before.

Something inside you fractures.

When he returns, handing you a steaming cup, he notices the way you're staring.

For a moment, the air feels heavier. Denser.

"She makes me happy," he says quietly.

You nod, swallowing the shards of your heart.

"I'm glad," you lie.

He sits beside you. Close enough to touch.

Close enough to hurt.

"You're important to me," he says after a moment, his voice low. "You know that, don't you?"

You force yourself to meet his gaze. His sincerity is a knife twisting deeper.

"Of course," you whisper.

But you’re not the one he chose.

You’re just the one he leaned on until he didn’t need you anymore.

---

You drift apart after that.

It's not immediate — Nanami isn't cruel — but the distance grows.

Fewer texts.

Shorter conversations.

Excuses.

He's building a life you don't fit into anymore.

And you — you’re left standing outside, watching through the window, unwanted, unseen.

You wonder if he even notices you fading.

Maybe he does.

Maybe he just doesn't care.

---

You find out about the engagement secondhand.

Gojo bursts into the office, waving a bottle of champagne, grinning like an idiot.

"Our Nanamin’s getting hitched!" he crows.

The room explodes into cheers and congratulations.

You sit frozen, the noise fading into a low, dull roar.

You smile.

You clap.

You die a little more.

Later, after the others have gone, you find yourself alone on the training field, the night pressing cold and heavy around you.

You punch the dummy until your knuckles split, blood smearing across the rough canvas.

It’s not enough.

Nothing will ever be enough.

---

Nanami finds you there.

He approaches quietly, a hesitant shadow against the floodlights.

"You missed the celebration," he says softly.

You wipe your bloody hand on your pants, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Wasn't in the mood," you mutter.

A beat of silence.

Then — "I'm sorry."

You bark out a laugh, bitter and broken.

"What are you sorry for, Nanami? Falling in love? Being happy? None of that’s a crime."

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he says.

You finally look at him.

And God, it’s worse.

Because he looks guilty.

Because he knows.

"Don't flatter yourself," you say. Your voice shakes. "Not everything is about you."

He flinches.

Good.

Let him hurt a little. Let him taste the smallest fraction of the agony he left you drowning in.

"You should go," you whisper.

For a long moment, he just stands there, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Then he nods.

"I wish..." he begins, then stops. Shakes his head.

"Forget it."

You watch him walk away, taking the last shattered pieces of you with him.

---

You don't attend the wedding.

You send a gift — impersonal, safe — and a note scribbled with shaky hands: Wishing you happiness.

You mean it.

You hate yourself for meaning it.

Because at the end of everything — the hollow nights, the splintered dreams, the years of unspoken love — you never wanted anything but for him to be happy.

Even if it killed you.

Especially if it killed you.

---

Sometimes, in the dead hours of the night, you wonder:

If you had told him — if you had reached out, been brave — would it have changed anything?

Would he have chosen you?

Or were you always destined to be the almost, the could-have-been, the not-quite-enough?

You’ll never know.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part.

Because some loves aren’t meant to be requited.

Some loves are just meant to break you.

---

[Word count: ~2140]

---

[grapejuice32]

Bad Dream

Rafe x angel!reader

more angel!reader here main masterlist here

warnings: cockwarming

word count: 700+ a/n: angel has a bad dream and just wants to feel close to rafe

You were curled into his side, one of his arms wrapped around you as you slept. His finger trailed aimlessly over the soft skin of your arm while he scrolled on his phone doing something or the other work related. It wasn’t all the late in the night, but you’d been yawning all day, so he told you to just go to bed, and you’d listened. One of your arms was wrapped tightly around a stuffed animal you’d had since you were a child and your other one was thrown over his chest, your hand gripping onto his waist as you slept.

As time ticked on, your breathing became faster and you began to shift in your sleep causing Rafe to become concerned, his phone now turned off and strewn somewhere in the bed with your countless pillows. He pulled you closer to him, hoping it would do something to make you calm again, but to no avail. It wasn’t long before you woke up, tears instantly welling in your eyes and your breathing becoming more erratic. 

He swore to himself as he took in the sight of your distressed state, but spoke up softly, trying not to alarm you. “Angel? ‘s everythin’ okay?” You shook your head, bottom lip trembling. “What happened?” He cooed, trying not to let the state you were in upset him, “Did y’have a bad dream? ‘s that what happened?” You nodded, your breath shuddering as you tried to stop yourself from sobbing. “What d’you need, hm?”

You still didn’t say anything and instead just tugged on his shirt. He understood, quickly pulling it off before following suit and taking your silky pyjamas off of you, gently pulling them off as if he was afraid to break you. You immediately lay yourself on him, the skin-on-skin contact doing wonders for you. He let out a sigh of relief and began to rub his hand up and down your back, his other tangled in your hair as he pressed a kiss to your temple. 

Much to his disdain, your calmed state didn’t last for long as you began to cry again but refused to talk about the nightmare. He ran a hand over his face tiredly, at a loss for how to calm you down, he knew what you needed was to talk about it, but he also knew you and knew you wouldn’t want to talk about it. “What can I do, baby? What can I do t’make y’feel better?” 

You sniffled before speaking for the first time since you’d woken up, your voice coming out as more of a teary whine, “Wanna be closer to you.” He hated that he had to be the barer of bad news and hated that he had to be the one to increase your cries when he told you that this was the closest you could possibly be. You didn’t accept that, “Want you to be closer, don’t want you to leave me.” 

“ ‘m not gonna leave you, baby.” He said softly, “But I can’t possibly get any closer than this I-“ he cut himself off as an idea dawned on him, “Shit okay, c’mere.” He said before trying to take off his boxers, he lifted you off of him, leaving you to sit next to him on your bed, confused. “You wanna be closer?” He asked again, knowing what the answer would be.

You nodded, watching his every movement with wide, teary eyes. You took in the way that he was fully naked, watching as he ran a hand over his length a few times until he was semi-hard, causing you to slowly catch on to what he was doing. He exhaled and beckoned you over with his hand, helping you to pull down your underwear before lifting you into his lap. He carefully sat you on him, his cock warm inside of you, trying not to let the small mewl that left you affect him too much. 

He lay back down, pulling you with him, closing his eyes briefly as you shifted around trying to get comfortable. When you stopped, he reached for your stuffed animal and handed it to you, your face buried in the crook of his neck, your warm breath fanning his skin, damp from your tears. “Better?” he whispered into the air, running his fingers through your hair, just relived you tears had stopped. You sniffled and nodded, mumbling a small ‘thank you’ before letting yourself succumb to sleep again, Rafe following not long after you.

a/n: requests are open