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sweetromanova · 1 day ago

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More To Lose🖤

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: You thought your life with Steve Rogers was what love looked like. But love isn’t quiet disappointment or fading into the background. It’s soft hands when you’re breaking. It’s someone who sees you, even when you don’t see yourself. And just maybe, it’s Natasha Romanoff, waiting for you to see her too.

Warnings: implied/referenced IVF, emotional neglect, divorce, post-partum depression themes, hurt comfort, angst.

A/N: hiii, it’s been like five years since i’ve posted any kind of writing and i’ve never shared any of my marvel x natasha romanoff stuff (i have so many random fics in my drafts) so please be kind!🤍 hoping to get all of this out over the next few days, there’s around six parts and they’re all a thousand times more interesting than this one hehe!

Chapter One

You had never been invisible.

You knew how to command a room when you needed to. You knew the power of silence, of letting people underestimate you until it was too late. Fluent in five languages, head of communications and diplomatic strategy for the Avengers’ and had personally shut down four international conflicts that would have declared wars before they even reached TMZ.

You made your living turning chaos into strategy.

You weren’t one of the Avengers, not technically anyway but you were the person they listened to when the stakes were too high to guess. While Captain America and Iron Man debated field ethics in the conference room, while Wanda’s eyes glowed red as Clint’s phone floated in the air just out of reach, while Natasha Romanoff sat in silence and watched the rest of the world spin, you was often the one feeding quiet intel into comms, smoothing over diplomatic flare-ups or feeding misinformation to the right parties with a well curated smile.

Tony once described your job like a joke. “S.H.I.E.L.D. without the stick up their ass.”

You’d replied. “Billionaire without the emotional growth.”

He’d snorted his coffee and called you in on nearly every operation after that. Everything that he sat at the table for, there was a seat waiting next to him for you.

You didn’t fly, punch through wars, bend reality or strangle people with your thighs but you were never invisible.

Not until you fell in love with Steve Rogers.

⋆⋆⋆

It started slow. Almost soft.

He met you after a failed mission in Berlin. You were there to run interference with the German Government. He was there to apologise for smashing through a military checkpoint.

You remember how he looked. Too tall, too perfect, his presence so strong but mind completely unaware of how much space he took up in the world. You remember him blinking at you and saying. “You’re the intel liaison?”

And without making eye contact, still scrolling through satellite data, you had replied. “Disappointed?”

His grin had been annoyingly boyish. “Just surprised. Thought you’d be taller.”

“And I thought you’d be punctual.”

Tony had laughed from the corner. Even Hill managed to crack a smile behind her paperwork.

Once you lifted his head and met his amused eyes, Steve smiled too.

⋆⋆⋆

You didn’t expect it to be more than a brief flirtation.

A conversation at an event, a few lingering glances, maybe a drink after. He asked you to dinner and you pretended it wasn’t a date. Told yourself it was just two people sharing a meal outside of the Tower walls.

But he picked a place with candles, cloth napkins and a view of the East River at dusk. He wore a suit that fit too well for someone who claimed to hate dressing up. Over the bread basket, he confessed that he hadn’t been this nervous for a meal since the ’40s.

You talked about history and politics. He let you challenge him. You told him his optimism was old-fashioned and dangerous. He just smiled and said. “It got me this far.”

He told you stories about Brooklyn that made you ache for a time you’d never lived through, for sidewalks that no longer existed and people long since gone. He spoke with a reverence that made you listen harder, as if hearing the names might summon them back.

He mentioned Peggy Carter in passing at first, a flicker in his voice like a skipped heartbeat. And Bucky. God, he talked about Bucky like the man still held his heart in one hand and never gave it back. You could hear the grief of missed years behind the fondness, the loyalty behind the loss. It should have scared you off but it didn’t.

It made you curious. It made you careful.

He kissed you in the rain a month later. It wasn’t a movie moment like you wanted. It was too cold, your shoes were soaked and his umbrella flipped inside out with the wind. But then his hand slid behind your neck, fingers warm and grounding and you leaned in like you’d been waiting years.

Maybe he had been.

It was easy, at first. Quiet. Stable in a way that felt like standing on solid ground after a lifetime of storms. He didn’t ask you to fix anything. He just made room for you. In the space he hadn’t realised was empty until you walked in.

You felt safe. Loved, maybe.

And slowly, you started to understand. Loving Steve Rogers meant walking alongside a man whose heart lived in three different centuries, but who somehow, was still learning how to hold yours in the present.

⋆⋆⋆

He asked you to move into the Tower six months in. Not in so many words but just a toothbrush at his sink, a drawer, a closet then suddenly all of your favourite mugs in the wrong cabinets.

Wanda became your confidante. Sam made you laugh when things got tense. Natasha didn’t say much, but she watched you like she understood more than she let on.

You weren’t part of the team but you weren’t outside it either.

Until the day you walked into the lab and found Steve already talking to Tony, Bruce, and Helen Cho. They were discussing DNA sequencing. You had almost carried on walking, wanting to mind your business about a conversation that had nothing to do with you. Until it did.

Your egg. Steve’s DNA.

You stood frozen in the doorway while they explained how IVF could work for him, for you. How it could be made safe, stable, viable, even with his serum-altered biology.

Steve looked so excited. “I wanted it to be a surprise!” He exclaimed, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

It was a surprise, of course. “You already spoke to them?”

All four pairs of eyes suddenly seemed a lot more interested in anything but you. “Well I- I just wanted to know if it was possible before we got excited.”

“He thought you’d be happy.” Tony added, helping Steve out of the hole he’s dug.

“I did.” Steve said. “I thought I was doing this for us.” Tony winced, Bruce continued to fiddle with his tablet and Dr Cho was re-reading the notes scribbled on her tablet. Everybody was waiting so you finally smiled even though your stomach was sinking.

Because he wasn’t trying to be cruel, not really. He was trying to build a life with you. He just forgot to ask you first.

“I was just surprised.” You croaked. “I’m happy.”

⋆⋆⋆

IVF was brutal.

You never told him how bad it got. You downplayed the nausea, skipped over the dizziness, laughed off the mood swings. You didn’t mention the way you threw up from the hormone shifts or how you passed out in the medbay once because your blood sugar bottomed out and no one found you for twenty minutes.

He was with you for the first few appointments. He sat beside you, stiff with worry, his thumb brushing across your knuckles like he could will the bruises away before they formed. He asked questions. He read every pamphlet. He made you tea.

But then missions started calling. Bucky needed him. The world needed him.

So you gave yourself the last three weeks of injections alone. Most nights, it was in the shared bathroom next to the Avenger’s Common Room. You waited until everybody was in the middle of dinner when it was quiet, when the halls stopped humming with movement and they all socialised with the people they felt most comfortable with. You’d set the tiny syringe on the edge of the sink and steel yourself in the mirror. sleeves pushed up, jaw tight, stomach already blooming with pinprick bruises in yellow and purple.

You did it quickly. No hesitation. You couldn’t afford to hesitate anymore.

However the sting was sharp tonight, sharper than usual and something about it cracked your composure. Maybe it was the silence or the way your body felt like it belonged to science now, not to you.

You let out a breath that was almost a sob. And then another.

You pressed a fist to your mouth, trying to silence it. Eyes squeezed shut. Just a moment. Just a crack in the armour.

You wiped your face before standing. You looked in the mirror and whispered to yourself. You’re fine. You’re fine.

But when you turned, she was there, watching as usual. Natasha.

She stepped into the bathroom, soft as breath, her gaze landing on yours. Then drifting just briefly to the redness around your eyes. The streaks down your cheeks that you hadn’t quite managed to erase.

She didn’t comment. Just offered a quiet “Hey.” Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she hadn’t walked in on you falling apart.

You nodded quickly and stepped aside to let her in. You didn’t look back.

You moved to the sink, hands shaking slightly as you ran them under warm water. You focused on the sound, the water heating up to burn the tender skin of your fingers, the smell of the institutional soap. Anything but the knot in your throat.

Behind you, Natasha made no further mention of what she’d seen. She offered you silence like a kindness.

You wanted to thank her for it. But your voice would’ve cracked.

⋆⋆⋆

When the test came back positive, you told him at breakfast.

You slid the test across the kitchen table next to his coffee like it was nothing. Like your heart wasn’t pounding out of your chest.

He stared at it for a beat too long, eyes scanning then widening. Suddenly, he dropped his fork with a clatter, scooped you into his arms, and spun you around the kitchen while you laughed through tears.

It was the happiest you’d seen him in weeks. Maybe months.

He buried his face in your shoulder for a moment, just a second of stillness before he pulled back, breathless and eyes bright.

“You know…” He said, his voice thick with something he didn’t name. “Peggy used to talk about wanting kids. Back then. It was always a someday thing. I never got that far.”

He paused, smiling at you like you were the future he never thought he’d live to see.

“I think she’d be happy for me. For us.”

You nodded, throat tight.

He kissed you, your forehead first, then your lips, brief but tender. He set you down, a smile playing at his mouth, and reached for his phone to call Bucky. To share the news. To congratulate him on becoming an uncle.

You don’t remember being congratulated.

⋆⋆⋆

Margot was born early, by C-section. Steve almost missed it. He came running into the operating room just as they laid you down. He kissed your forehead, whispered how proud he was, how brave you were.

You were so tired that you couldn’t speak.

When the nurse asked for her name, Steve didn’t hesitate.

“Margaret.” He said, softly.

Your body stiffened. Still open on the table. Still bleeding.

“Huh?”

“I want to name her Margaret.” You wanted to fight it, you’d offered names up to him for months now and he hadn’t liked any. Maybe you should have guessed all along, of course it was going to be about her.

“Margot.” You said, not offered. “With an ‘o’.”

He looked at you, surprised but nodded. “It’s perfect. Different but still her.”

You closed your eyes suddenly wishing the anaesthesia would wear off, you’d prefer to feel the pain of your stomach being laid open on the table than to hear this.

You just needed something that was yours but even your own baby lived in the shadow of what once was.

⋆⋆⋆

Everyone came to see her. Sam. Bruce. Wanda. Bucky. Pepper. Even Tony, with a ridiculous stuffed tiger bigger than the baby. Steve carried Margot like she was made of glass, parading her through the Tower like a medal.

You followed behind him, one arm braced against the wall, stitches pulling with every step.

Your hair was unwashed. Your body shivering in pain. Your vision blurred at the edges.

No one noticed… except Natasha.

She slipped away from the group without a word. She came to your side, delicately took your elbow and eased you down on to the couch before you collapsed.

“You look like hell.” She murmured, quietly. “Like a truck hit you.”

You tried to laugh. “Try a super soldier and his super child.”

“Congratulations Mama.” She didn’t smile but her gaze softened. “Water?”

You nodded, letting your eyes slip closed briefly. “Please.”

She brought it and sat beside you, her hand coming to fall over yours. Her presence reassuring and comforting. She let everyone else fawn over the baby while she focused only on you.

“You’re the first person to say congratulations to me.” You whispered, your fingers twitching under hers.

Nat’s head tilted. “You’re the one who did the hard part.”

That was the first time you wanted to cry in front of someone.

⋆⋆⋆

Steve was a good father. That wasn’t the problem.

He changed diapers, he held her for hours, sang her lullabies from the 1930’s you’d never heard before. However when she slept, he slipped away.

To the gym. To conference rooms. To Bucky.

They trained together late into the night. Planned missions even when they weren’t needed. You heard them laughing through closed doors, soft and low sounds that made you feel like an outsider in your own life.

He talked about Peggy when he thought you were asleep. Or just when he thought you weren’t listening.

“Peggy would’ve known what to do.” He murmured once, holding Margot against his chest. You lay still beside him, breath caught in your throat. “She always knew what to do…”

And slowly, a truth settled over you like fog. You were living with a man whose heart still lived in two places, both unreachable.

⋆⋆⋆

You started disappearing.

You stopped wearing makeup. Stopped combing your hair. You forgot how to flirt, how to tease. You couldn’t remember the last time you laughed without faking it.

Yelena dropped Fanny off before a mission and said. “She’s your dog now.”

You didn’t argue. It had become a tradition. Yelena’s fake lack of care for the pet she loved so much. Your fake lack of awareness that Fanny was the only companion you really had to confide in.

Walking her became the only thing that got you out of the Tower. It was never easy. The stroller was heavy and the path was uneven. You stumbled more than once and cursed under your breath more time than you could count.

One morning when Margot wouldn’t nap, Fanny was pulling on the leash, barking and you just felt your knees give out.

Natasha appeared without a word. She took the leash and took the stroller. Fanny immediately came to a halt, watching the redhead like she was the alpha in the pack. Still not acknowledging her presence, she simply walked beside you like it was routine.

“You don’t have to do this.” You murmured, eyes wet.

“No I don’t.” She glanced over. “But I want too.”

⋆⋆⋆

She started showing up more after that.

Not always with words. Sometimes it was just a meal left outside your door when you hadn’t made it to dinner. Sometimes folded laundry that she’d picked up for you or some of Margot’s clothes that seemingly made it’s way round the compound. A silent nod before a meeting, your favourite coffee order waiting in your usual spot.

One night, you broke down at 2am. Margot wouldn’t stop crying. Dr Cho claimed she was colic, nothing to do but wait it out. You’d been pacing the compound floors for hours, feeding her, rocking her. Your shirt was soaked, your body ached but then she appeared.

Natasha took Margot from your arms, held her like she’d done it a hundred times and whispered something in Russian that calmed her instantly.

You slid down the wall and cried into your hands.

Natasha didn’t say a word. She just sat beside you. Solid and still.

⋆⋆⋆

Steve never once noticed.

Not when you started sleeping on the edge of the bed. Not when you flinched beneath his touch. Not when you said “I’m fine” like it was muscle memory.

He was always chasing something. Bucky? Peace? The past?

But no one ever chased you.

Except her.

Natasha noticed, without making it known. She saw the distance growing between you before you ever admitted it to yourself. She saw it the day the silver locket appeared around Steve’s neck, small, worn and familiar. She didn’t ask about it but she noticed the way your eyes locked onto it like gravity. One side held Peggy, timeless, beautiful, unchanging. The other held Bucky, holding your daughter just hours after she was born, cradling her like she was the most delicate thing in the world.

Not you. Not the woman who carried her. Just the memory and the man he never stopped chasing.

Natasha didn’t say anything. She never did. But she looked at you like she knew, like she saw the fracture lines forming before the break.

And for a moment, you felt real again.

Because for the first time in a long time, you weren’t invisible.

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marinehero · 1 year ago

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Stares off into the distance. Garp believes in Luffy so much. Believe isn't even the right word, he knows. He knew Roger. He knows if there's anyone who's going to do it, it's Luffy. He knew it early on and it terrified him. Just as he knew Roger's sotry, he knows how this story ends. He's terrified. He loves his grandson. He knows who he works for. He knows the powers in charge. But Luffy kept proving the world wrong again and again and again and even he couldn't deny anymore that if there's anyone who can make it and survive, it's Luffy. He's so damn proud, he always has been. Luffy's going to be the one and he knows it to be a fact as given as the sea.

#{ ooc } ✗ 「 wenp reporter 」#[ logs on for the first time in a while #[ immedietly sees lala's reply to the bingo #[ has a real normal one for a moment #[ RAGH. garp going im proud of him @ sengoku garp saying you haven't seen anything yet at the levely #[ garp constantly being shown of being proud and happy for luffy when he's not. around luffy. raaghhhhhhhh #[ he is so messed up #[ i will die on the hill that when shirahoshi referred to him by 'luffy's grandfather' instead of 'vice-admiral garp' 'garp the fist/hero'-#[ -etc. was one of the best days in his life. this man is a living legend and he'll go down in history as luffy's grandfather and he'd be #[ so damn happy ab it #[ gh! fucked up old man learn how to show how much you love your family to your family instead of your coworkers Now!!!#[ gh. okay normal moment is over <- sorray guys im dying a thousand deaths and havent rp'd in so long :(#[ every know in then i will think ab my fucked up old man from the trenches (gh. get me out of here) and i will be so os normal about it #[ Sighs. once again apologizes for absences and hopes everyone taking care

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monster-disaster · 9 months ago

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I would love if you could write something about a dragon having a girl for a mate and praising/ pleasing her with his tongue with in tune gets him off as well

Request 2: Could I request a dragon story? The reader gets forced by her village as an offering to a dragon to keep him at bay. He takes her as an offering and instead of torturing her as she thought he claims her as his life long mate and wishes to please her and praise her? Mainly by eating her out constantly

dragon!Diman x human!Reader Good to know: size difference, smut, dead animals

You should have seen this coming.

You noticed the glances, the whispers behind your back, and the cold silence that followed you among the villagers. The signs were all there. And most importantly, you rejected one of the elders' sons when he asked for your hand in marriage. That sealed your fate.

Even now, bound and frightened, you don't regret it, though. Not one bit.

Being offered to a dragon, whether as a toy or a snack, you can't be sure, still feels like a brighter future than living under that man's thumb for the rest of your life. The thought of enduring him as a husband, dirty and loud, is more terrifying than anything else you might face now. Cooking for him, bearing his children... No. You'd rather face a thousand monsters than live that kind of life.

"Are you still sure of your decision?" He asks, pulling you from your thoughts. His piggy eyes are fixated on you. The pale color of his irises reflects the silvery light of the moon in the dark sky.

"Yes," you reply, your voice almost drowned out by the noise of the villagers gathered at the foot of the hill. You have to force your expression to remain indifferent, hiding your disgust as you look at him. His double chin obscures the line of his jaw. His round face is covered with stubble and small gashes from his clumsy attempts to shave.

"You'll regret it," he huffs. His grip is bruisingly tight around your arm as he uses you to haul himself up the hill. With every step, you sink back a few inches under his weight.

No, you think, but don't say it out loud. I won't.

No matter what happens when the dragon arrives, it's still better than the image in your head of the man panting and moving above you in bed. Even the thought of it makes your stomach turn with disgust and bile. His stubby fingers would fumble over you, grasping all the wrong places, and you’re not even sure if he could manage to put it in with his large stomach in the way. But, of course, his looks are the least of your concerns. If he had a lovable personality, it might have been bearable. But he’s rotten to the core. He could be more like the son of one of the hunters; a big guy too, with a mess of blonde locks on the top of his head and bright blue eyes that always shine with humor and happiness. His chubbiness only makes him look several years younger, adding to his boyish charm. But you aren't that lucky. He’s in love with your neighbor.

And this, all of this, leaves you for the dragon.

When you reach the top of the hill, your legs are sore, and lungs tight from panting. The man behind you shoves you to the ground. The impact hurts, but it's still better than the feel of his sweaty palm on your bare skin.

"Don't even try to run," he warns. The words leave his lips in heavy puffs. "If you do, we have hunters ready to shoot you."

You don't respond, turning your head away from him and only looking back when he finally turns to leave you there. Oh, how you wish he’d trip and roll all the way down into the crowd of villagers below. He’d knock them down like a huge ball. A sweaty, hairy ball. You are sure he would sound like the pigs too, crying and wailing.

Adjusting yourself on your knees, you straighten your back and scan the view in front of you. You don’t attempt to escape. You have no doubt the hunters would stop you if you tried anything. And where would you even go? Your home is the village, with all your possessions left behind in your small hut. And with your hands tied behind your back, you wouldn’t survive the night in the woods. The villagers would hunt you down like an animal. You would become the pig, dying in the dirt. The thought makes your heart ache with betrayal. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You once believed the village and its people were your home, your safe haven. Now, you are nothing more to them than something they can sacrifice.

With a heavy sigh, you gaze over the woods stretching out before you; a tangle of shadows with sharp edges and twisted shapes. Behind them, the tall, looming mountains' jagged silhouettes reach skyward as if trying to pierce the darkness. The familiar view that once gave you a sense of safety now leaves you with a cold, gnawing unease in your stomach as you wait. The villagers, whom you know all too well, are silent now, waiting just like you.

And none of you have to wait for long.

The sight of the dragon in the dark sky takes your breath away. The moon’s silvery light catches its enormous body, revealing the scales in sharp detail. You see its muscles shifting and moving beneath the hard skin. Each powerful stroke of its wide wings sends ripples through the night air. You hear every rhythmic beat growing louder as it gets closer and closer. Its large head, long and sharp, is supported by a thick neck that connects to broad shoulders. Along its spine, sharp ridges jut out prominently, extending all the way to the tip of its swinging tail. It cuts into the darkness with a fluid grace.

Your chest heaves as you try to get air into your burning lungs, but it seems that even the sight of him alone is enough to leave you breathless. His formidable presence commands awe, respect, and fear. Each powerful movement echoes his sheer strength. When he lands not far from you, the ground shakes and trembles beneath his massive weight. The vibrations crawl up through your bones.

"You are my payment," he says. His voice is deep and rumbling.

The word choice makes you flinch, and though it’s not a question, you nod in response anyway. "Yes."

Living so close to a dragon is always a risk, but as far as you know, most places find ways to protect themselves from the wrath of these huge creatures. The villages offer them gold, food, or humans.

For a long, long second, the dragon looks over you with his almond-shaped eyes. The weight of his gaze is heavy on you as well as his next words. "You will do."

For what, you want to ask but decide to stay quiet instead.

"Will you try something silly if I cut your bounds?" He asks with amusement.

You shake your head. "No." What could you do against him? Run? Fight?

"Good," he hums, reaching behind you to slice through the ropes around your wrists with a quick flick of his claw. Your breath catches in your throat at the sudden closeness, and you dare not move, terrified of the damage he could inflict if you were to make a wrong move.

"Do you want to say your goodbye?" He asks, watching you rubbing your wrist where the robes cut into your skin.

You frown. "No." The word escapes your lips as a harsh spat.

He almost laughs. You can feel the deep rumble under your feet. "Good."

A loud, high-pitched squeal escapes your lips as he grabs you with a swift motion. His large hand envelops your entire body, fingers curling around you with ease. He lifts you off the ground effortlessly as his wings start to beat, raising you both into the air. You want to grab onto his fingers automatically, but his hold around you is so tight that you can't move.

"Wait, wait," you gasp hurriedly, and to your surprise, he stops in mid-air.

"For what?" The dragon asks. His golden eyes with black slits in the middle survey you waitingly, but when you open and close your lips several times without saying anything, he turns his attention away from you to continue his journey back to his home.

You want to take one last look at your village, the place that was your home until tonight, but your position in his hand makes it impossible. All you can see is the underside of his thick neck and head, along with the towering mountains in the distance. The late-night wind is cold on your face, yet his large palm around your body keeps you warm and secure in the air. Despite his size, he flies effortlessly, and soon, instead of the familiar hill and clearing, you find the dark wood underneath you.

His lair is nestled in a cove within one of the largest mountains. The air here is colder, and the wind is stronger, too, as he sets you down well away from the rocky edge, and you lose the warmth of his hold around you. After being carried, you feel unsure on your own feet as you look back to see the dark view of the landscape bathed in the moonlight. You can see your village in the distance, small and insignificant.

"Come," he breaks the silence. "It's warmer inside."

Going into a dark cave with a dragon several your size doesn't seem the brightest idea, but looking down the steep mountain beneath, you don't really have any other option.

"Wait," he says, making you stop immediately. "You need some light," he says as if reminding himself. "You humans barely see anything."

Without waiting for your response, he takes a deep breath, and before you can react, the dark hole is suddenly illuminated by the intense flames bursting from his massive jaws. The fire roars to life, casting flickering shadows across the cave's walls. Thick smoke surges into the cold night air, smothering you with its warm, acrid smell that stings your eyes and clings to your skin. When he finally closes his mouth, the flames recede, leaving the cave bathed in the dim, flickering light of burning torches mounted on the rugged walls. With the newfound illumination, you realize the cavern is even bigger than you first thought. Of course, a massive creature like the dragon standing before you requires as much space as he can get to move around freely.

"Come," he says, not even looking at you to check if you follow him.

Both of you know you don't really have any other option.

The dragon's lair is a maze that winds deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain. Steep slopes and jagged inclines alternate with vast, rocky halls that are filled with rusty weapons, tarnished armor, and forgotten trinkets. The air is thick with the scent of the stone walls and smoke. Each breath you take feels heavy and warm. As you follow the dragon, the torches he lits along the way cast flickering shadows on the walls. By the time he finally halts, you're out of breath, coughing from the smoky air.

"Where are we?" You ask him when you find your voice. It's hoarse and tight.

"Does it matter?" He asks. "You can't leave anyway."

You don't know where you get the courage to scowl at him. "Rude."

The dragon scoffs, amused. "We are in the heart of the mountain," he says.

The place resembles a grand hall with towering walls and thick, imposing columns that stretch up into the shadows above. The ground is littered with various objects, shiny ones, and old ones. Piles of gold gleam under the dim light, scattered carelessly among the mess. Books are strewn about haphazardly, their pages yellowed and edges worn, as if they’ve been forgotten in the chaos. At the center of the hall is a massive nest, sprawling and chaotic, made from a jumble of materials and what-not.

The dragon gives you a moment to take in your surroundings, but the silence only heightens your anxiety. Is this really it? Is this where you’ll meet your end? You can't help but imagine your clothes and bones tossed carelessly into the pile of treasure where the dragon sleeps. The thought that nobody will ever find you, that no one will even search, gnaws at you. You’ll be forgotten, just another insignificant meal for the beast.

"Are you going to faint?" The dragon's voice suddenly rumbles through the cavern, making you jump. The sound echoes off the stone walls and ripples down your spine.

"No," you manage to gulp out. "Why?"

"You look like someone who is ready to faint," he says. His tone is so casual that it’s almost infuriating. You are surprised you can feel anything else besides fear.

"Do you see a lot of humans faint before you?"

His grin is slow, almost mechanical, revealing sharp teeth that glint under the dim light. "You could say that."

"So," you begin, licking your lips nervously, "what do you want to do with me?"

His grin widens, and your heart races. "Let's sleep for now, hm?"

Your eyes widen in surprise. Sleep? That wasn’t the answer you expected.

"What?"

The dragon rolls his large, golden eyes, clearly bored with your reaction. With a graceful, feline-like motion, he climbs into his nest, settling down with a heavy thud that makes the ground shake beneath your feet. His massive body curls in on itself, his tail wrapping around him as his head rests on a pile of treasure. Or trash. You can't decide.

That’s it? You think, bewildered. He just wants to sleep?

When you remain frozen in place, your legs trembling beneath you, the dragon lets out a scoff. In one swift motion, he reaches out, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you off the ground. Your startled squeal echoes through the hall, but he ignores it. He just places you close to his head with a gentle but firm grunt.

"Sleep." His warm breath washes over you, providing a stark contrast to the cold, unyielding walls of the mountain.

You’re too stunned to resist, and the strange warmth of his breath is oddly comforting in the darkness.

As you soon find out, the dragon has entirely different plans for you than your village, which was so eager to throw you into the beast's arms. Or mouth.

Two days later, you finally gather the courage to ask. "When do you plan to... kill me?"

The dragon's response is not what you expect. He laughs, a loud, rumbling sound that echoes through the cavern and lingers long enough to make your skin burn with embarrassment.

"Eat you?" He asks, still chuckling. "Why would I do that, little morsel? You're so small... not even enough for a quick snack."

"Well..." you clear your throat, searching for words. "Isn't that what dragons do?"

He hums thoughtfully. "I won't lie," he admits. "The taste of human flesh is not... unfamiliar to me, but no, I don't plan to eat you." His laughter bubbles up again, and you scowl at his obvious amusement.

"Then why are you keeping me?" You press. Confusion and frustration mix in your voice.

He pauses for a moment, considering. "To entertain me."

"Entertain you?" You repeat, incredulous.

"Yes."

"What?" You scoff, disbelief creeping into your tone.

The dragon huffs as he leans closer to you. His massive head is now just inches away. Each exhale ruffles your hair, the warm breath unsettling yet somehow familiar after two days of spending time with him.

"Do you think you're the first human who has been given to me?" He asks, not waiting for your reply. "You’ll stay here with me until I tire of you."

"And after that?" You whisper, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

"I will let you go," he says. He almost sounds bored. "Just as I let the others go when they could no longer amuse me."

"You let them go? Alive?" You ask, hardly daring to believe it. You've never met anyone who was captured by a dragon and got out without a fight.

"Yes," he replies, rolling his eyes at your disbelief.

When you don’t respond, he turns away from you. His tail nearly knocks you off your feet as he heads toward one of the corridors.

"Where are you going?" You call after him, watching his massive form disappear into the shadows.

"I’ll get you some food," he says, laughing again. "Stay there."

"I don't even know your name!" You shout after him. You can hear your voice echo in the distance.

"Diman, little morsel."

Diman.

You're not sure how long he's been away. In the deepest part of the mountain, you can't see the sky, and not knowing whether it's day or night is starting to drive you mad. The dragon is rude and blunt, but you're beginning to think he won't be your biggest problem if you have to stay here with him.

When Diman returns, you feel a pang of disappointment as you see he has come back empty-handed. Your stomach growls with hunger, but before you can voice your frustration, he stops in front of you. With a deep breath, his large mouth opens, and two rabbits tumble onto the ground.

They're covered in his saliva, and they are unmistakably dead.

"You know what to do with them, right?"

"Yeah," you reply, trying to suppress the grimace threatening to spread across your face. "Thanks."

You grab the rabbits by their hind legs, searching the cavern for anything that might help you prepare them.

"You can find knives..." he muses for a moment. "Anywhere, I guess."

You glance at him, surprised by his nonchalant response. He smirks. His eyes gleam with a predatory glint, and the slits of his pupils widen slightly as he takes in your reaction. "You couldn't hurt me even if you wanted to," he adds with obvious amusement.

Without saying a word, you sigh and turn your attention back to the task at hand. You have dragon-saliva-soaked rabbits to prepare.

"Can I clean myself somewhere?" You ask.

After several days in the dragon's lair, you've yet to see the outside world, something you'll need to address with him eventually, but you have more important things in your mind. You've grown increasingly uncomfortable in your own skin. Your clothes reek of smoke and sweat.

Diman surprises you by standing up in his nest. "Good. I was starting to think you preferred being... like this."

You frown at him, feeling a mix of frustration and weariness. If this continues, your irritation with the dragon might become more than just a fleeting emotion. "What do you mean?"

"I thought you liked being stinky," he replies with a shrug. His muscular body, covered in thick, scaly skin, moves fluidly as he stretches.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" You splutter, annoyed and embarrassed at the same time.

"I didn't want to be rude," he says with an air of nonchalance.

You can’t help but scoff at his response, unable to hide your frustration.

"Come on, then."

The dragon leads you through the corridors. His massive strides force you to almost run just to keep up with him, and you have to watch out for his tail, too. It swings left and right in front of you with every step he takes.

For a long while, you wonder if he’s taking you out into the woods to find a river. But when he finally stops, and you step out behind him, you gasp in awe.

Before you is a new cave, even larger than the main hall at the heart of the mountain. Sunlight streams through natural openings in the walls, casting a warm glow on the time-carved columns that support the rough ceiling. The light dances across the surface of several pools of varying sizes scattered throughout the space. The water in them is crystal clear, reflecting the rugged walls with shimmering ripples. The air is thick with warmth and steam, which rises gently from the springs.

"Oh," you gasp, taking in the unexpected sight. "I didn’t know about this."

"Of course, you didn’t," Diman replies, his tone matter-of-fact. You give him a look, but he is not the type to shy away. "Do you want to bathe or not?"

"Yes," you reply, "I do. Do you have a change of clothes for me?"

"I’m sure I’ll find something," he says, and with that, he leaves you alone in the cave.

"Like a maid," he adds under his breath.

With his departure, you waste no time stripping off your clothes and stepping into one of the pools. The water laps gently against your bare skin, and you can feel your muscles and joints relaxing as the warmth envelops you. Leaning against the edge, you face the openings in the wall, allowing the sunlight and fresh air to wash over you.

When your village cast you out, you never imagined you'd end up here. You can’t help but think about how the others must assume you are long dead by now. You had thought so too, that your fate would be sealed and your life cut short. Yet here you are, unexpectedly alive and soaking in comfort. The irony of your situation is not lost on you.

You’re almost asleep when Diman returns, his heavy footsteps echoing softly in the cave. Something soft lands on the ground beside you silently. Opening your eyes, you see what looks like a nightgown spread out on the floor.

"And I brought you towels," he adds, his voice low and gruff.

You sit up, blinking in curiosity. "Why do you have towels?"

He shrugs, the movement causing the thick plates of his muscles to shift. "I have many things I have no idea how I got."

"Yeah. I saw."

Diman catches the subtle change in your tone and tilts his head. "Do you have a problem with it, little morsel?"

"It's... messy," you reply cautiously, watching his reaction. While Diman can be blunt and intimidating, he hasn’t harmed you yet, and you’re careful not to overstep.

"And it should bother me because...?"

"I didn’t say it should bother you," you tell him softly, trying to choose your words carefully. "But it’s not really... homey."

"It’s a cave," he retorts as if that explains everything.

"But it’s still your home," you reason.

Diman considers this, his gaze thoughtful. "Okay then," he agrees with a slow nod. "You’ll be here for a while, you might as well clean up if you want to."

Great, you think sarcastically. Just what you wanted, a never-ending cleaning project.

"Now," you say after a while, breaking the silence with a bit of hesitation, "can you leave?"

Diman frowns. "What?"

"I’m naked!" You exclaim, pointing out the obvious. With nothing else to distract you, you’re acutely aware of the fact that you’re completely bare in front of him, even though the pool and the water offer some privacy.

"So?" His tone is indifferent.

"Out!" You insist, your voice rising a bit in embarrassment.

For a long moment, Diman just stares at you, half-serious, half-amused. When you add a soft, "Please," his expression softens slightly.

He sighs but begins to move anyway. His large frame shifts with a resigned grace. "It is my lair, you know? You can’t just order me around."

It seems you can, but you wisely keep that thought to yourself.

Later, you find yourself nestled in Diman’s nest, a place that was initially intimidating but has become oddly comforting. You didn’t dare say anything about sleeping here at first, but now you don’t mind it. His warmth is a blessing against the cold mountain nights. A cocoon of heat that keeps the chill at bay.

"Read me something," Diman’s voice rumbles, breaking the silence.

"Read you something?" You ask, turning your head to look at him. His massive head rests on a pile of unidentifiable objects, his golden eyes reflecting the flickering firelight.

"Yes," he replies with a hint of impatience in his tone. "There are tons of books all over. Find something."

"Okay," you agree. You are not really sleepy either and glad for something to occupy your mind.

You rise from the nest, your nightgown swishing around your legs as you begin to sift through the scattered piles of belongings.

Diman watches you silently. There’s a quiet contentment in the way he observes you without saying anything. His tail curls slightly around himself some more. The sight of you in the soft, flowing nightgown fills him with a strange sense of peace. It’s almost enough to lull him to sleep, but he’s not quite ready for that yet.

As you pick through the mess, carefully avoiding knocking over anything, you come across a book that catches your eye. The cover is worn, and the title is barely readable, but it feels right in your hands. You bring it back to the nest and settle in beside Diman. Opening the book, you begin to read aloud, and soon, your voice fills the cavern. The dragon listens, his eyes half-lidded, and his breathing is slow and steady.

He spent the last decade mostly asleep, lost in the deep slumber of his kind. But now, with you here, being awake doesn’t feel like a burden anymore.

You and the dragon fall into a routine surprisingly quickly. The strange part isn't how easily you've adjusted to your new life, but how little you miss your old one. Yes, you miss your cottage, its cozy walls, and familiar smells, but you don’t miss the villagers. Why would you? They threw you away like garbage. With a few exceptions, they can rot where they are. You were right, though, choosing to be with a dragon is still a better option than staying with that fool of a man.

"What are you doing?" The sudden voice of Diman makes you jump. You almost drop the bundle of clothes in your hands. His large frame looms in the entrance. Shadows play and stretch on his scales in the dim light.

"Cleaning," you reply, steadying yourself after a second. You notice the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. "You're home early."

"There was a storm last night," he explains. His answer rumbles through the walls like a distant thunder. "It means plenty of fish."

Without further ado, he opens his massive jaws and drops a writhing pile of fish onto the stone floor. They flop and gasp, their silver scales glinting as a thin layer of water and dragon saliva spreads beneath them.

"Oh, god," you groan, stepping back in disgust. "They’re still alive!"

Diman tilts his head, watching you with a curious glint in his eyes. "You don't like it?"

"I do," you say, though your gaze remains fixed on the pile of struggling fish. "I just... I hate killing them."

"What?" He asks, genuinely puzzled.

"They're so wiggly!" You groan again, shuddering at the thought of touching their slimy bodies.

The dragon laughs. The deep, resonant sound echoes off the rugged walls. "I see. I’ll take care of them while you finish cleaning then."

You blink in surprise at his offer, but quickly nod anyway. You won't argue about this. "Thank you."

While he effortlessly handles the fish with his massive talons, you return to organizing the books you’ve been gathering from around the lair. You’ve created a neat pile in a corner. Diman could have a full library, though you’re not sure if dragons can even read.

"You’ve been busy today," he comments, his eyes flickering over to you as he lights a fire for cooking. Doing it in the heart of a mountain might not be the best idea, but for now, it’s your only option.

"Yeah," you sigh, placing your hands on your hips as you survey the hall. The place is still a chaos, but it’s better than before. "What do you do with so much gold?" You ask, nodding towards another glittering pile that catches the warm glow of the torches.

Diman shrugs. "They’re pretty."

"And the books? Or the clothes?" You continue, settling down next to him by the fire. Your stomach growls at the sight of the fish, now neatly arranged and ready to cook. "I understand the weapons and shields, but everything else seems so random."

He shrugs again. "I take what I find interesting or pretty. I mean, you’re here too, no?"

His words catch you off guard, a rush of warmth rising to your cheeks. "Well, yeah," you mumble, flustered.

Diman grins, revealing rows of sharp teeth. "You look better when you’re not trying to faint from fear."

You scoff. The moment between you two passes as quickly as it came. "Shut up."

He chuckles but falls silent, allowing a peaceful quiet to settle over you both as you begin cooking dinner. The fish sizzles over the fire, filling the cavern with a mouth-watering aroma.

"You seem to like it," Diman teases, watching you tear into the white flesh with both hands. Your hunger overwhelms your manners.

"Sorry," you mumble, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "I didn’t get to eat fish often back in the village. The river was far, and when people caught something, they sold it too expensive for me."

Diman’s gaze softens slightly. "Did you have problems there?"

"Not really," you reply between two bites. "I didn’t have much, but it was enough, you know?"

He hums in understanding, lowering his massive head to the ground as you continue eating.

"Do you want some?" You ask, holding out a piece of fish on your plate toward him. "It’s delicious."

The moment the words leave your mouth, time seems to stop. Diman stares at you, shock clear on his face. You have no idea what you’ve just offered him. Offering food among dragons is a gesture of profound significance, far beyond the simple act as it is for humans. It’s a symbol of trust, of bonding, of something deeper that you can’t even begin to comprehend.

For a long moment, Diman hesitates, torn between his instincts and the awareness that you don’t understand the weight of your gesture.

"No," he finally says, though his voice is softer, almost tender. He relaxes back onto the ground, his massive form curling slightly around you. "Eat, little morsel."

You continue eating, unaware of the change between you and the dragon and the silent vow Diman has made to himself. He will make sure you never leave him, even if you don’t fully understand the bond you’re forming yet.

“When will you get bored of me?” You ask the dragon after two months of living with him. The two of you sit at the entrance of his cave, basking in the last golden rays of the summer sun as it slowly dips behind the horizon. His emerald scales shimmer under the warm light. He sprawls on the ground, seemingly at ease.

At your question, his muscles tense, and he lifts his massive head to look at you. “Do you want to leave, little human?” He asks. The question rumbles with a barely suppressed growl of disapproval.

In truth, you have no desire to leave him. The thought of him sending you away gnaws at you daily. Where would you even go? Your old life was left behind, abandoned along with your cottage. Now, this cave, with its towering stone walls and the dragon who lives in it, is the only home you know.

A long, silent moment stretches between you as he watches you intently. Slowly, you gather your courage and shake your head. “No,” you admit, your voice steady. “That’s why I’m asking.”

His gaze softens slightly. “You don’t want to leave me?” He asks again as if needing to hear it twice to believe it.

You shake your head once more.

Living with Diman has been surprisingly comfortable. Despite his size and the sharpness of his claws, he’s become a constant presence around you, a source of safety. He’s often infuriating, teasing you just for the fun of it, but there’s warmth in his companionship that you’ve come to cherish. The thought of leaving him, of leaving this mountain, fills you with anxiety.

“Would you let me go if I wanted to leave?” You ask suddenly, the question escaping before you can stop it.

Diman sighs, his eyes drifting over the darkening landscape. “That would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it?” He muses aloud.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I guess.”

He meets your gaze with a guilty smile. The corners of his large mouth curve up. “I say yes, as long as you promise not to test it.”

Diman has always been quick to let go of the men and women offered to him over the years. A lot of them stayed only a few days before he grew bored and sent them on their way. But with you, it’s different. He has no intention of letting you go. It’s not just about the entertainment you provide, though, you do make him laugh more than he has in years. No, it’s more than that. You make his cave feel like a home, and every time he leaves to hunt, he finds himself eager to return. When he sleeps, he looks forward to waking up, knowing you’ll be there. You’ve brought something into his life he didn’t know he was missing.

To his surprise, you laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Okay,” you say with a smile. “I won’t test it.”

And with that, the conversation ends. You lean back against his thick arm, closing your eyes with a contented sigh.

That night, the two of you drift off to sleep with anticipation and some lightness in your hearts.

"When will you be back?" You ask Diman, standing under the entrance of the cave as the rain pours down in heavy sheets. The dark clouds above rumble and flash with lightning every few minutes, casting brief, eerie illuminations across the landscape. The forest below is still green, but it looks weary and tired as the autumn approaches.

Diman turns to you, a grin spreading across his massive face, revealing his sharp teeth. "Are you worried about me?" He teases, expecting your usual playful retort, but when you don’t respond with your typical energy, his expression softens, and he answers more seriously. "I’ll be fine," he assures you. "This weather is nothing to me."

You nod, but the sigh that escapes you betrays your concern. "Okay."

"I’ll be back soon," he adds, trying to reassure you. "It shouldn’t be more than a week. Maybe two."

You don’t like the uncertainty in his answer, but you nod again anyway. "Okay."

"Take care of yourself while I’m away," he says, his voice gentle, as if trying to ease your worry.

"I will," you reply, though the words feel hollow.

Diman has to leave to hunt and prepare for the approaching winter. With his large appetite, he needs to be mindful of the animal population and cover more land before he accidentally empties the surrounding forest. And while you understand the necessity, you don't like it. You’ve grown used to his presence, his constant warmth. The thought of him being gone, even for a short while, leaves you feeling strangely vulnerable.

But you know it’s something he must do. So, you watch him as he spreads his enormous wings. The muscles in his body flex in preparation for flight, and with a powerful leap, he takes to the sky.

You watch him until his form is swallowed by the stormy clouds.

As you retreat back into the cave, it feels emptier without him. Colder somehow. You wrap yourself in a blanket, trying to shake off the unease settling in your chest. You tell yourself he’ll be back soon, just as he promised, but until then, the cave, and you, feel just a little lonelier.

While Diman is away, you continue to tidy up the cave, but it becomes increasingly difficult as the days drag on. Without his presence, the mountain walls feel heavy and claustrophobic. They close in on you more and more with each passing day. The silence is deafening, and the nights are too cold without the dragon’s warmth beside you. The cave now feels more like a prison, its stone walls offering little comfort against the loneliness that gnaws at you.

As the end of the first week without him approaches, you find yourself spending more and more time at the entrance of the cave, staring out at the still-raging storm and the dark sky and hoping to catch a glimpse of the returning dragon. Nature seems to be shedding its lush greens at an alarming speed. The forest below transforms into shades of orange and brown as autumn takes hold.

One day, you sit at the entrance of the cave, wrapped tightly in a blanket as the storm continues its relentless assault on the world outside. The sky above is dark, and heavy with clouds. The wind howls, and the rain pounds against the rocks, but you barely notice it anymore. Your thoughts are far away, lost in worry and longing for Diman's return.

The rumble of the ground beneath you is subtle at first, a faint vibration that you almost dismiss as part of the storm. But then it intensifies. The mountain itself groans under the pressure of some unseen force. You stand up, alarmed and with a racing heart as the tremors grow stronger. For several seconds, you stand there, frozen in place until the rocks around you begin to shudder. Dust and small pebbles rain down from the ceiling. A deafening roar echoes through the cave, and the ground lurches violently beneath your feet. The entrance, your only connection to the outside world, begins to crumble too. The rocks above shift and crack, and with a thunderous crash, they fall. The cacophony of stone grinding against stone drowns out everything else.

You barely have time to leap out of the way as the massive boulders come crashing down, sealing off the entrance in a cloud of dust and debris. You hurl yourself to the ground, rolling to the side and curling into a tight ball in the midst of the chaos. Your heart pounds as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your muscles are tense as you pull your knees to your chest. One arm wraps protectively around your head, while the other digs into your legs, anchoring you as the world around you crumbles.

When it finally stops, the silence is absolute, broken only by the muffled sound of the storm outside.

Coughing and gasping for breath, you push yourself up with a groan. Darkness surrounds you, thick and impenetrable. The air is heavy with dust, making it hard to breathe. Your hands scrape against the rough stone floor. You reach out, feeling your way through the pitch-black void, but your fingers meet only cold, solid rock and hard edges. Desperately, you search for any sliver of light, any gap that might offer a way out, but there’s nothing. The cave is sealed tight, and you are alone in the stifling blackness. The once-open space is now filled with a thick wall of stone.

You sink back to the ground with a rising panic in your chest while trying to steady your breathing. Your shoulders feel heavy as you force your mind to think. Diman will come back, you tell yourself. He’ll know something’s wrong. He’ll dig you out. You are safe with no injuries besides a few bruises and cuts here and there, and for now, all you can do is wait, alone in the darkness, hoping that Diman will return sooner rather than later to save you.

Hours pass in suffocating darkness. You sit, knees drawn to your chest, straining to hear anything beyond the silence. Every creak and groan of the mountain around you sends a jolt of hope through your heart, but it’s always nothing. Your dragon is probably far away, having no idea of the situation you are in. Your mind races with worry and fear, but as time drags on with no sign of Diman, a cold, grim resolve begins to take hold of you. You can’t just sit here, waiting. You have to do something.

With a deep breath, you push yourself to your feet. Your hands reach out to the rough, familiar walls of the cave, guiding you as you navigate through the pitch-black corridors. Every torch is blown out, making each step you take slow and careful. It feels like an eternity by the time you reach the grand hall. You can’t see it, but you know the space by heart.

First, you need fire. The torch is hard to find. Your hands are shaking when your fingers finally close around one, but lighting it is even more difficult. You are clumsy, trembling with cold and fear, but after several tries, a spark catches, and a small, flickering flame bursts to life.

The light is weak, barely enough to push back the darkness, but it’s something. It gives you the courage to move forward.

You gather as much supply as you can carry, stuffing them into a small sack before making your way to the baths. The walls here are punctuated by holes that let in some natural light, even though it's not much now with the storm outside. It's better than nothing, though.

You set your torch in a holder on the wall, letting the warm, flickering light mix with the cool, natural glow filtering in. The bath hall is a large, cavernous room with several pools fed by underground springs.

Okay, you think. It's much better. You have light, clean air, food and water. You will be fine until Diman comes back.

You lay out the blankets, creating a small nest for sleep. The air here is warmer, the water giving off a gentle steam that eases the chill in your bones. You take a deep breath, the first one since forever that doesn’t feel suffocating. The fear and loneliness are still there, gnawing at the back of your mind, but it’s easier to push them aside now that you are safe and out of the dark.

Diman will come back. He has to.

As the second week draws to a close, the storm that has raged on for weeks finally begins to ease. For the first time in days, you feel a small sense of relief. Being able to see the sky helps soothe the anxiety that has been eating at you. The knowledge that the world beyond the mountain still exists and turns is a comfort you didn't know you needed so much.

It's early Friday morning when a deep rumble shakes the cave, jolting you awake. Your stomach tightens with fear. The memory of the last collapse flashes through your mind as you brace yourself for the worst but this time, the ground doesn’t give way, and as the rumbling continues, you realize it’s not the mountain. It’s Diman’s voice, echoing through the labyrinth of stone.

A gasp escapes your lips as you scramble from your makeshift bed, your heart pounding with a mixture of relief and anticipation. You hesitate at the entrance of the cave that opens to the baths, unsure whether to move or stay put. You have to keep your tensing and twitching muscles from running. The maze of tunnels and chambers could make it harder for him to find you if you wander too far.

You call his name, your voice trembling as it bounces off the rugged walls, merging with his deep, booming calls.

“Y/N!” His voice is closer now, filled with urgency and worry.

Tears well up and spill down your cheeks as you see his massive form emerge at the end of the corridor. His eyes are wide and frantic as he spots you. Relief washes over you like a wave as you rush toward him, your arms stretching out instinctively.

“I’m here,” you cry out. Your voice breaks with emotion just as his large head presses into your embrace. You wrap your arms around him as best as you can, feeling the cool, rough texture of his scales under your fingers. Your feet lift off the ground for a moment as you cling to him. His deep, rumbling hum vibrates through your body as he tries to calm himself.

“I saw the entrance,” he says, his voice choked with fear and lingering panic. “I thought- I saw your blanket between the rocks- and- ”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him, caressing the thick scales beneath his eyes. “I was lucky; it didn’t hurt me.”

“Why were you even there?”

“I was waiting for you,” you reply.

“Little morsel,” he sighs, snuggling even closer. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“I promise." His large, gleaming eyes soften as you continue to stroke his scales. “I’m fine now that you’re here,” you whisper. The warmth of his presence chases away the lingering fear and loneliness that had weighed on you for so long.

Diman hums again, a low, soothing sound that vibrates through the air. It wraps you in a cocoon of safety.

“I’ll never leave you like that again,” he promises, his voice firm and unwavering.

You smile, wiping away the last of your tears as you nod. “It's fine by me.”

For a while, both of you bask in each other's embrace while talking quietly about the last two weeks. Diman needs a long time to calm down and believe that you are really okay.

"I will go and take care of the entrance," he says after a while. "And lit some fire."

"Okay," you nod even though you have to force yourself to let him go.

"Stay there until then," he says. "I will come back and get you."

As Diman busies himself, you slip away to take a bath. The warm water washes away the grime and stress of the past weeks, and as you change into clean clothes, a sense of relief settles over you. The knowledge that Diman is back, safe and sound, lifts the heavy burden that had weighed on your heart. Even as you hear the rumble of debris being cleared and feel the tremors beneath your feet, the fear that once accompanied these sensations is replaced by contentment. The mountain, which had felt like a prison in his absence, now feels secure and comforting again.

By the time you finish, Diman has completed his work. The entrance to the cave is clear once again, and as you step into the great hall, the fire’s orange glow flickers warmly on the walls, bringing a sense of normalcy back to your life.

"We need to change a few things around here," Diman says, his mind clearly racing with ideas. "I want you to have an escape route even when I'm not here. You need more light and—"

"It's okay," you interrupt gently, smoothing your palm over his thick arm. The texture of his scales is rough beneath your hand. "We can figure everything out later. Are you hungry?"

He looks at you, surprised. "I just came back from hunting."

You shrug, settling into your usual spot near his nest. The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and while you miss the open view of the outside world, the warmth and light bring a sense of peace. "You worked a lot today."

His smile is gentle, and there’s a new light in his yellow eyes that you’ve never seen before, something soft and tender. "No," he replies after a pause, his voice low and soothing. "I'm not hungry, but let me feed you."

"Oh," you say, surprised by his offer. "Okay," you add, smiling at him as he moves to prepare your meal.

Despite the obvious difference in size between him and the portion you eat, he works with surprising speed and care, and soon, the cave is filled with the mouthwatering aroma of vegetables and fish. Your stomach growls in response, reminding you how long it’s been since you’ve had a proper meal.

"Where did you get fish?" You ask, watching him with curiosity. You had finished all the meat in the last two weeks before it could spoil.

"On my way back," he replies with a nonchalant shrug. "Now, eat."

You take the plate he offers, the food warm and inviting. As you savor each bite, you glance up at Diman. His eyes are fixed on you, watching with a kind of quiet contentment that makes your heart swell. You’ve never seen him look at you like this before, and it fills you with a warmth that has nothing to do with the fire.

"Thank you," you say softly, and Diman responds with a deep, comforting hum that reverberates through the cave. The sound is rich and soothing, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. "Are you sure you don't want some?" You ask, holding up a piece of fish between your fingers. You could use a fork, but Diman doesn’t care about etiquette, and you quickly grew tired of searching for usable cutlery in the vastness of his home.

As the words leave your lips, the air between you shifts. Something unspoken and electric crackles in the silence as your eyes meet, holding each other's gaze a moment longer than usual.

"Do you know what you're offering me, little morsel?" Diman's voice deepens, resonating with a gravity that makes your heart skip a beat. The black slits of his pupils widen, nearly overtaking the molten gold of his eyes.

You hesitate. The answer is on the tip of your tongue. "No?" You say instead.

"Sharing food in my culture is an offer to share everything," he explains, his gaze never wavering. "It’s a bond between family and mates."

"Oh," you manage. Your throat tightens at the realization. "So..." you croak, still holding up your hand with the small offering. "Do you want some?"

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his lips, revealing the sharp edges of his teeth as he grins down at you. There’s a predatory glint in his eyes as he leans in, his massive head drawing closer. His tongue flicks out, surprisingly gentle, as he licks up the morsel from your hand. It’s likely not even enough for him to taste, but the significance isn’t lost on either of you. You’ve offered something sacred, something profound, and he’s accepted it with a puffed-out chest and a heart swelling with warmth.

As you watch him, a thought strikes you. "Wait," you say, your voice breaking the quiet. "But you..."

Diman watches you with amusement, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Yes, little mate?"

"You prepared my food so many times."

"I have," he agrees, his voice steady and sure.

"Well," you clear your throat, feeling a little foolish but pressing on. Your heart races in your chest at the silent change between you and the dragon. "Do you want some more?"

Diman chuckles. "No," he replies with affection. "Eat now." But even as he speaks, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he stays close, his head rubbing gently against your side and arms, careful not to knock you over with his size and strength.

His gaze never leaves yours as you take a sip of water, trying to calm yourself after your last bite. Your stomach twists into a tight but excited knot. Your hands tremble as you reach out, letting your fingers trace the space between his nostrils, feeling the rough, resilient scales that shield him from nearly everything.

Diman hums softly, a deep, resonant sound that vibrates through the air and ripples down your spine. “Lay down, Y/N,” he murmurs, nudging you gently with his head. “I hunger for something else.”

A quiet “oh” escapes your lips. It's more of a breath than a word, but you obey without trying to say anything else. Your movements are slow and deliberate as you lower yourself to the ground. Your eyes are still locked in his intense gaze. The cold, uneven ground presses against your skin through the thin fabric of your nightgown. It barely offers any protection from the roughness and the cold beneath you. Goosebumps wake on your skin, but you are sure it has more to do with the dragon than anything else. You’re very aware of how exposed you are, both physically and emotionally, as you settle down before him. Diman watches you with a look that’s a mix of hunger and intent. His eyes glow with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His attention is heavy and burning. His massive form shifts closer. His breath is warm against your skin. There’s a powerful, magnetic pull between you two that sparkles under the silence that settled over the hall in the last few minutes. It's primal and impatient. His gaze sweeps over you, taking in every detail and every breath you take, and for a long moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The cave, the firelight, the very air around you, all of them fade into the background. Your nipples harden into tight peaks under the white fabric you wear. Your arms start to move to hide yourself, but you decide against it at the last moment. Instead, you rest your hands on your stomach and open your legs without Diman having to tell you what to do. The mix of the cold mountain air and his warm breath fans over your center, making your pussy clench around nothing. The sudden feeling takes your breath away for several seconds. The dragon didn't even touch you yet, but you are already damp and eager. The muscles of your thighs are hard, and your insides tremble with anticipation. Your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, pushing the soft globes of your breasts against the nightgown. The fabric clings to your skin as Diman's golden eyes trace over your form. His gaze is intense as he takes in the sight of you laid out before him. He hasn’t touched you yet, but the promise of what’s to come hangs thick in the air, a palpable tension that has your heart racing. You can feel his warmth and his presence, so close yet not close enough, and it drives your desire even higher.

"Good, mate," Diman rumbles with satisfaction. "Open up for me even more."

With a shaky breath, you obey, forcing your legs further apart. You can feel the stretch of your tendons, the pull of your muscles as you do exactly as he commands. The hem of your nightgown slips down, gathering around the base of your thighs, leaving you bare and utterly vulnerable before him. Your lips are dry as you wait for his reaction, and your cheeks are hot with need and a hint of embarrassment.

His eyes rove over your exposed form once again. His warm breath fans over your center, over your whole body, making you quiver with anticipation.

"Such a beautiful sight," the dragon murmurs. His voice is a low growl that makes your pussy clench with need. He leans in closer, his large head hovering just above your thighs. The approval in his gaze makes you feel both cherished and possessed.

Your heart races, each beat echoing in your ears as you lay there, completely exposed. The rough texture of the ground beneath you only serves to remind you of the dragon's power above. His large form makes the cave look small as you look up at him with anticipation. Your whole body is tense as you wait for him to do something.

And when he does, you forget how to breathe.

Diman's tongue flicks out. The tip barely brushes against your inner thighs, and yet, it sends a jolt of pleasure through your body. Your back arches instinctively, and a soft moan escapes your lips. Maybe if your mind would be clearer, you would be embarrassed because of your reaction, but the haze is already too thick in your head to care. He moves slowly and exploratory. His tongue traces patterns across your skin but never goes further up than the base of your thighs. Each touch and caress is something new you both try to savor.

"You're perfect, little mate," Diman whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

His presence is overwhelming, his scales cool and firm against your skin, while the heat of his breath washes over you in waves when finally, his enormous head settles down between your legs. You feel the sheer magnitude of his closeness in every fiber of your body.

His tongue, wide and powerful, flicks out to tease you. The rough texture sends jolts of pleasure through your core. He starts slowly, almost lazily, trailing his tongue along your inner thighs, leaving a tingling, wet path of warmth in its wake. The contrast between his cool scales and the heat of your arousal is intoxicating.

When you waited for him at the top of the hill, you never imagined it would lead to this, that you would end up breathless and aroused beneath the beast. A wry smile tugs at your lips, thinking of the people you once knew. They have no idea how much of a favor they’ve done for you.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as his tongue finally makes contact with your pussy and cuts the train of your thoughts. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine. His tongue is wet and rough just enough the make you buck your hips against him while he watches your every reaction with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. His molten gold eyes are filled with a hunger that only stokes the fire within you. The black slits of his pupils are almost orbs as he tries to take you in.

He takes his time, exploring you with slow movements that leave you on the edge of madness. The rough texture of his tongue adds a delicious friction that makes you moan with need. Your hips lift again, seeking more of his touch, but Diman holds you in place with a gentle but unyielding pressure, savoring the control he has over your body.

“Diman,” you breathe, his name escaping your lips in a desperate plea. The tension inside you coils tighter with each teasing stroke. Your body aches for release.

“Patience, little mate,” he rumbles, his deep voice vibrating through you like a physical caress. Your back arches at the feeling. The sound alone sends a pulse of arousal straight to your core, making you clench around nothing. His words only heighten the anticipation building inside of you.

He dips lower, circling your entrance with agonizing slowness, making you gasp and writhe beneath him. The tip of his tongue traces your folds, gathering your wetness and savoring your taste with a low, approving hum that resonates through you. He flicks your clit over and over again until your thighs tighten around his large jaw and nose. He teases you restlessly, slipping down across your folds and going straight to your entrance. He prods you there for an endless moment, making you whine and fidget with impatience bubbling in your chest.

The dragon laughs at that, and the rumble of his chuckle echoes in your body. The feeling punches a moan out of your lips, and you barely have time to come back to your senses when his tongue slides inside you with a slow, deliberate push. He fills you up in a way that’s both overwhelming and strange. The wet muscle penetrates you, making you cry out breathlessly. Your back arches off the ground almost painfully, and your walls clench around the thickness of his tongue, only making it rub over your sensitive spots even more. He moves in and out of you as he fucks you with a measured, unhurried pace. He lets his tongue soak in your arousal while he listens to the sweet sounds you make. You are the prettiest thing he has ever seen with your half-closed eyes and trembling muscles. He can feel every flutter of your pussy around his tongue as he pushes deeper, finding every spot that makes your voice go higher with several octaves.

The pleasure is intense, almost too much to bear. Your body is stretched and filled by the sheer size of his tongue. Each of his movements is precise, calculated to drive you to the brink without ever pushing you over the edge. You can feel every inch of him, every ripple and curve of his tongue as it slides in and out of you. The sensation swirls the world around you once, twice, three times.

“Please,” you whisper. “I need-” The end of your sentence is drowned by the ragged breath that bursts out of your lips as you wheeze and pant.

Diman’s response is a low, satisfied growl that reverberates through your entire body. He increases the pace slightly, his tongue fucking you with a slow, steady rhythm that has you gasping for air. The pressure builds inside you, a hot, insistent ache that demands release, and your body tightens with each thrust. You feel like a drawn bow.

And...

and...

He pulls back just enough to flick his tongue over your clit. His touch is electric, sending shockwaves through your entire body, yet you cry out in frustration. Tears gather in your eyes, and your hips buck up against him as you chase the high that’s just got out of reach. Diman seems to relish in your desperation, his tongue alternating between fucking you deep and teasing your clit with a maddening, feather-light touch.

The tension coils tighter and tighter inside you, every muscle in your body straining as you teeter on the edge of release. The dragon's tongue works you with a relentless, skillful precision, drawing out every ounce of pleasure until you’re a quivering, breathless mess beneath him.

“Let go,” he murmurs. His voice is like a deep, soothing rumble that wraps around you like a warm embrace. “I want to feel you come for me, little mate.”

His words are the final push you need as his tongue finds its way inside you with a quick, bullying motion. Your body surrenders to the overwhelming pleasure that crashes over you like a tidal wave. The orgasm tears through you, leaving you breathless and shaking. Your muscles contract and release in a rhythm that matches the waves of ecstasy flooding your veins. You, your body, and your orgasm are in sync with the rapid thrust of his tongue that pounds in and out of you as you fall over the edge.

Diman doesn’t stop. His tongue continues to fuck you through your orgasm, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you’re left trembling and spent beneath him. Your body is a live wire of sensation, every touch sending aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you. Your climax and his saliva are a mess of mix between your thighs, soaking the floor underneath.

When he pulls back, his eyes glow with a satisfied light as he watches you catch your breath. His chest expands with pride at the sight of you. Your gown clings to your skin, highlighting the hard peaks of your nipples. A thin layer of sweat glistens on your skin under the orange glow of the fire. You are beautiful, and something in him, something primal and demanding, awakens again, but instead of burying himself between your soft thighs again, he just licks his lips to savor your taste while you slowly get back to your senses.

"Diman?" You breathe out his name, searching for him even though your eyes are still closed.

"I'm here, my love," he hums. "I won't go anywhere."

"What about you?" You ask him, and the dragon can't help but chuckle. His own arousal is still hard and leaking between his hind legs, but there is no way you are up to explore the physical possibilities between the two of you.

"I can wait," he says, hauling you up in his hand gently to settle down in his nest with you close to his massive head. "Sleep, my mate."

As the new mate of the dragon living among the clouds and resting in the mountains, your old life becomes a quickly fading memory. And when your love starts to rebuild his cave just to make it more of a home for you, you never look back. Not once.

#monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #sweet asks #monster smut #monster fucker #teratophillia #terat0philliac #exophelia #monsterfucker #terato #monster kink #monster lover #dragon x reader #dragon x human #dragon boyfriend #dragon smut

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requiemforthepoets · 11 days ago

Text

you say good morning, when its midnight ⟢ OP81 (part 3)

main masterlist | fic playlist | series masterlist

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: you and oscar grew up together, and despite being neighbors and best friends with her sister, hattie, you never really talked or had a conversation with him. until one day, where he randomly texted you out of nowhere.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: use of y/n, photos are all taken from pinterest, no consistent face claims, fluff, humor-ish, kind of a slow burn fic, inaccurate information, time and date stamps are not relevant, and minor typographical errors

WORD COUNT: none

AUTHOR'S NOTE: part 3! i'm really happy that you like this socmed au for oscar! 🥺 i hope that i'll be able to deliver updates that are up to standards. I'll try to incorporate everything, since tumblr has a limit of 30 photos only per post. taglist for this series is open. enjoy!

hattiepiastri posted in their story!

liked by oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, yourmom, and others

oscarpiastri take good care of her

hattiepiastri ?????????

hattiepiastri isn't it supposed to be the other way around?????

oscarpiastri we both know that she's too soft for the chaos you bring

hattiepiastri excuse you???? fyi, remind me or not, i'm always gonna be protecting her

oscarpiastri 👍🏻

nicolepiastri oh my goodness, look at her! she's all grown up. i still remember when you two used to dress up and she would braid your hair

hattiepiastri i shed a little tear when i saw her again in person after so many years

nicolepiastri tell her i said hi, that i miss seeing her around and that she looks beautiful

nicolepiastri i'm so happy that you two are together again!

hattiepiastri will do mum. she says hi back.

hattiepiastri we're now in our bestie singapore honeymoon

yourmom oh my heart! she really made that sign? thank you for posting this, hattie. i might be crying in the kitchen now! 🤣

hattiepiastri she was literally bouncing the moment she saw me!

yourmom please tell her to call me when she settles you in

yourmom and while you're there, please make sure that she eats actual food and not just noodles and bubble teas

hattiepiastri promise!

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

hattiepiastri

📍Haji Lane, Singapore

liked by yn.jpg, oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, and 879 others

tagged: yn.jpg

hattiepiastri week into the bestie singapore honeymoon 🤩

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yn.jpg look at us, maximizing our joint slay 😮‍💨💖

hattiepiastri indeed 🤩

nicolepiastri you both look so wonderful! enjoy and take good care of her

oscarpiastri like i said hattiepiastri

hattiepiastri no need to tag me???? bc i can literally see the reply???????

yn.jpg 🔒

liked by oscarpiastri, yourmom, yourbrother, nicolepiastri, hattiepiastri, and 256 others

tagged: hattiepiastri

yn.jpg all the love, from singapore ♡

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yourmom why is it that you never smile? but the photos look very stunning, and you are stunning!

yn.jpg 🥺🥺🥺🥺

hattiepiastri i stand by my photography skills, should've watermarked these 😔💔

yn.jpg exquisite photography skills indeed! been staring at how good it is 🥹🤚🏻

nicolepiastri so gorgeous!

yn.jpg auntie! thank you so much, i miss you!

yourbrother ok, gotta admit that this photo of you looks cool af. but i miss the gremlin that i used to chase around the house with a nerf gun. bring her back 💔

yn.jpg you and your dramatic ass! 😭

oscarpiastri you do look different

oscarpiastri in a good way. (sorry, clicked the enter button accidentally)

oscarpiastri the not-smiling thing suits you more than it should

hattiepiastri mate, u good?????

oscarpiastri what? am i not allowed to say that she looks nice?

yourbrother i will die on this hill

yn.jpg okay wow 😭 was not expecting a full family panel in the replies. love u all, but can u all pls calm down? 😭

nathanleong these were worth the wait 😮‍💨

yn.jpg 😂😂😂😂

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

hattiepiastri posted in their story!

liked by yn.jpg, oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, and 23 others

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

hattiepiastri

liked by yn.jpg, oscarpiastri, yourmom, nicolepiastri, and 457 others

tagged: yn.jpg

hattiepiastri singaporean nightlife. i'm in love 💖

taglist: @uuoozzii , @freyathehuntress , @littlemisskavities , @elieanana , @rexit-mo , @imagine-it-was-us , @satorinnie , @pessismisticpotato , @milkysoop , @random-movie , @supersanelyromantic , @greantii , @chirpchirp69 , @purplephantomwolf , @mimisweetz , @frogiemushr0om , @angxedxtz , @hevzo8 , @pandora108 , @ms-darcy23 , @sluttybitch , @proudshinsoukinnie , @pinklemonade34 , @gemi-boi , @elizamoe133 , @sideboobrry11 , @mrrayjay , @curlylando , @soleilgrec , @nothingjustaninchidentt , @suns3treading , @dramallama9 , @1-queenofpotatoes-1 , @suibianupyourass , @armystay89 , @verstappen-leclerc-inchident , @landossainz , @martygraciesversion381 , @larkkyoris

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norrisidous · 1 month ago

Text

run for the hills

The hotel room was dimly lit, the city below glowing like a secret you weren’t ready to share. Lando’s hoodie hung off your frame as you curled up on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. He had left for media early that morning, promising to be back before dinner. Promising he’d stay low, like always.

“Can’t risk a photo, not yet,” he’d whispered that first night after Monaco. And you’d agreed—too much noise, too many headlines. But hiding had started to feel like suffocating.

The door clicked open quietly, and his voice filled the silence.

“Miss me?”

You looked up, trying to be annoyed, but the stupid smile was already tugging at your lips. He kicked off his shoes, hair still messy from his cap, and crossed the room in three strides, planting a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re late.”

“You love me anyway.”

You tried not to roll your eyes, but it was hard to argue when his hands slipped under the hoodie, cold fingers pressing against your warm skin.

“I saw a tweet about you today,” you said casually, not missing the way he tensed for a split second.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Someone said you were dating a model.”

He snorted. “You are model-level hot. Technically, they’re not wrong.”

“Lando,” you warned.

He sighed, sitting beside you and taking your hand. “I know. I hate this too. The hiding. The sneaking around like we’re doing something wrong.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “We’re not.”

“I know. But you’ve seen what it’s like. The cameras. The DMs. The gossip accounts.” He paused. “You’re not a secret because I’m ashamed. You’re a secret because I’m terrified of what the world will do to you once they know.”

Your throat tightened. You understood, you really did. But that didn’t stop the ache every time you had to walk behind him in a crowd or pretend you were just a “friend of a friend” at race weekends.

“I hate lying to people,” you whispered.

He turned to look at you, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Then maybe we stop lying.”

You blinked, heart thudding louder. “You mean—?”

He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it. I don’t want to keep this part of my life hidden. You’re the best part of it.”

Your eyes stung unexpectedly, and he smiled, pressing his forehead to yours.

“But if you’re not ready, I’ll wait. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

You kissed him softly, fingers curling into his curls. “No more waiting"

The next morning, your fingers trembled slightly as you handed him the phone.

“You’re really doing it?” you asked

Lando nodded, already opening Instagram. “No captions. Just this.” He showed you the photo—it was one from your Polaroid stash. You were wearing his hoodie, perched on his lap, mid-laugh with his nose pressed into your cheek. Pure joy. Unfiltered.

He tapped “Share.”

Your stomach flipped.

The internet, as expected, went wild.

There were screenshots on Twitter within seconds. Edits on TikTok. “Hard launch” memes flooding the replies. And yet, amidst the chaos, there was also love. Fans who said it made sense. People who pointed out how happy he looked. How soft.

You and Lando didn’t say much that day. You stayed curled up in bed, your phones buzzing constantly, but your hands were laced together, calm despite the storm.

“Feels weird,” you admitted.

“Yeah,” he said. “But also kind of freeing.”

He glanced at you then. “You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “I think… I feel like I can finally breathe.”

He smiled, brushing a kiss to your knuckles. “Told you. No more hiding.”

—

The first public paddock appearance together happened in Silverstone, of all places.

You wore a papaya crop top under your denim jacket, and Lando hadn’t let go of your hand once since you stepped out of the car. People stared. Cameras clicked. But he only had eyes for you.

As you stood by the McLaren hospitality entrance, he leaned in and said, “You know, you can still run for the hills if this gets too much.”

You raised a brow. “And leave you to do this solo?”

He grinned. “So you’re saying I’m worth the chaos?”

“You’re worth everything,” you said without hesitation.

The smile that broke across his face could have powered the entire garage.

That night, after the race (a P3 finish and a podium grin that had everything to do with you waiting at the end of parc fermé), you lay in bed beside him, tangled in sheets and sunlight from the setting sky.

“I love you,” he murmured against your shoulder.

You turned, brushing your fingers across his cheek. “I love you too.”

He kissed you like it was the first time. No more secrets. No more hiding. Just soft, golden light and hearts full of something steady.

“I’m glad we stayed,” you whispered later.

“Where else would we go?” he replied. “We didn’t need to run. We just needed to hold on.”

And so you did.

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #lando norris x you

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gloomwitchwrites · 1 month ago

Note

Ok ok

Hear me out

Dying in their arms

ANGST ANGST ANGST

I might be answering this one ask, but there were four other people with this exact prompt idea. FOUR. Y'all asked for angst and pain and I'm delivering. Here you go! Eat it up!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x 141!Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (MDNI): angst, hurt/no comfort, swearing, canon-typical violence, 141!reader, mild blood & injury, reader death

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

John clutches you to his chest, uncaring of the carnage around him. Chains hang from the ceiling. They’re rusty, caked with dried blood and other things.

“I’m sorry,” whispers Price, smoothing your hair out of your eyes.

Your breathing is shallow, and your eyelids are heavy. Death is waiting for you—an invisible interloper. Price would happily hand himself over if it meant you could walk out of here alive and whole.

But that is not to be. There is no coming back from what has happened to you. He can only ease your suffering with soft words.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

You try to smile. There is only a hint of white amongst the red. “It’s okay, John. I forgive you.”

He doesn’t want your forgiveness. He’d rather have you healthy—not near the end.

Your next breath is a shudder. “I’m cold,” you whimper. “And it’s—dark.”

John cradles your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a slow back-and-forth motion. “It’ll pass,” he reassures. “I’m right here.”

“I love you.”

That shatters him. John lowers his forehead to yours, tears falling from his eyes. “I love you, too.”

But you do not hear him.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Where’s the evac!”

The comm is dead quiet. Not even static answers him.

He presses down on the button again. “Where’s the fucking evac!” screams Kyle.

“Kyle,” you gasp, voice wet and bubbly. You cough, and dark red explodes from your mouth, splattering the front of Kyle’s bullet-proof vest.

Blood is everywhere. It stains your clothes and face and hair. There are long stretches of it on Kyle as if he’s been clawed by a large animal. None of it is his, but he wishes it was.

Your eyes are open. Going glassy. Growing distant.

“Stay with me,” he pleads, voice cracking on a sob. “Stay with me. Please. Please. Please.”

The hand that grips him eases, fingers loosening as the life leaves your face.

“Please,” he begs, tearful desperation clinging to his breath. “Look at me. I’m right here.”

But you do not look at him. There is no gasping movement. You are still and cold and silent.

“It’s too late.”

Captain Price.

Kyle’s chest heaves. Everything narrows, becoming a dark pinpoint. “No. No!” He shoves at Price, tears staining his cheeks, fists landing. “Call them! Call them!”

“I’m sorry, Gaz,” murmurs Price, grasping his shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost follows you with his scope, picking off enemies.

“Forty meters and you’re free,” says Ghost into his comm.

There’s a crackle, followed by your laughter. “Thanks for the countdown.”

“Pleasure,” replies Ghost, smirking behind the mask.

He returns his eye to the scope, and—

Ghost blinks, draws back, checks again. “Where the fuck are you?” he mutters.

One moment you were on your feet and in his line of sight. There’s no bloody way you’ve up and disappeared. His heartrate spikes, becomes a pounding thing that thuds in his ears. Ghost slows his sweep—watching the ground.

He inhales sharply and rockets to his feet, charging down the hill, screaming into his comms. Ghost uses your callsign over and over—and when you don’t respond—he uses your name. In his ear Price, Johnny, and Gaz are jabbering away, clear panic in their voices.

You’re in the dirt. Face down.

Ghost drops to his knees, picks you up, drags you to cover. He touches your face, but your gaze is vacant, and there is nothing to the back of your head. Placing his hand on your chest, Ghost sits in silence with you as the useless med evac approaches.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny claps your hand—hard. If he holds on tight enough, maybe you won’t slip away.

“I’m here. Right here,” he reassures, as if his words alone will heal you.

Blood oozes from between your clasped palms. The both of you are covered in dirt and debris but only one of you is unharmed. Johnny will come out of this whole ordeal with a few bruises. You are full of holes. Broken. Bleeding out.

The evac won’t arrive in time. Even if it did, you wouldn’t make it. That’s the hardest part of it, knowing there is no hope. These final moments are all Johnny has with you. There will be no more gentle afternoons, lazy walks, or mornings tangled up in one another.

All of that is done.

Obsolete.

“Johnny,” you whimper.

“Right here,” he soothes, hating how your gaze is unfocused, searching for him even though he’s right here. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Johnny shifts you in his lap, cradling you close. He whispers all his love to you, recounting your short but wonderful life together. He keeps talking. Even when your chest stops moving. Even when you go limp. Talking. Talking even in the dead silence.

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mindless-existence1 · 5 months ago

Text

Live Action Movie Shadow x reader

Summery: You give him head scratches while watching a movie.

Authors note: My first sonic fic, this is suggesting romance where reader and Shadow have crushes on eachother but neither knows.

After the chaos of Eggman’s defeat, life in Green Hills had finally started to settle. Tom and Maddie had been kind enough to take Shadow in, giving him a place to stay alongside Sonic, Tails, Knuckles—and you. The house was lively, to say the least, but today, it was unusually quiet.

Tom had taken Sonic, Knuckles, and Tails out for a hike to “burn off some energy,” leaving you and Shadow alone. Not that Shadow minded the peace. He always seemed to prefer solitude, though you noticed he never complained when you were around.

You glanced over at him as he sat on the couch, his arms crossed and his usual stern expression in place.

“Hey, Shadow,” you said, holding up a DVD. “Wanna watch a movie?”

He turned his crimson gaze to you, his ears twitching slightly. “What kind of movie?”

“Your pick,” you replied with a shrug.

The two of you settled on an action-packed thriller—something you figured would hold his attention. As the movie started, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him. Even in a relaxed setting like this, Shadow carried himself with an air of quiet intensity that you found… oddly endearing.

About halfway through the movie, you noticed how his ears twitched every time the sound effects got loud. You hesitated, then decided to ask something that had been on your mind.“Shadow?”

“Hm?” he replied, not looking away from the screen. “Can I… pet your head?” That got his attention. He turned to you, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. “Why would you want to do that?”

You smiled sheepishly. “I don’t know. Your fur looks really soft. And… you look like you could use some relaxation.” He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Just as you were about to backtrack and say it was a dumb idea, he surprised you by sighing and shifting slightly.

“Do as you wish,” he muttered, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of pink.Your heart skipped a beat as you reached out tentatively, your fingers brushing through the fur on his head.

It was just as soft as you’d imagined, and Shadow let out a barely audible hum of approval. Emboldened, you continued, gently scratching behind his ears.

To your surprise, Shadow leaned into your touch, his usually rigid posture softening. After a moment, he shifted again, lying down and resting his head in your lap.

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked down at him. He had his eyes closed now, his expression peaceful in a way you’d never seen before.

“Is this okay?” you asked softly.He opened one eye to look up at you, his voice low and almost shy. “It’s… nice.”

You smiled, your heart fluttering as you continued to run your fingers through his fur. For a while, neither of you spoke, the only sounds coming from the movie playing in the background.

As you absentmindedly scratched behind his ears, you found yourself wondering if Shadow could hear how fast your heart was beating. You’d had a crush on him for a while now, but moments like this made it harder to keep your feelings to yourself.

Unbeknownst to you, Shadow was having similar thoughts. He hadn’t understood why your presence always seemed to calm him or why he found himself seeking you out more often than not.

But as he lay there, feeling your gentle touch, he started to wonder if this was what peace felt like.“Y/N,” he said quietly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?” you replied, looking down at him.

“...Thank you.”Your cheeks flushed. “For what?”

“For staying,” he said simply, his eyes closing again.You smiled softly, your fingers tracing gentle patterns through his fur. “Always.”

Neither of you said anything after that, but the unspoken feelings between you lingered in the air, a quiet promise that maybe—just maybe—neither of you would have to be alone anymore.

#shadow x reader #shadow the hedgehog #Shadow the hedgehog #Shadow the hedgehog x reader #Sonic 3 #Sonic live action movies #Sonic 3 was peak #sonic universe x reader

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astonmartinii · 6 months ago

Text

day five: santa community service | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem single mum!reader

max swore in a press conference and now he's a mall santa with an itchy beard

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

maxverstappen1

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 893,092 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: don't swear kids.... on a serious note, i had so much fun meeting the amazing kids of amsterdam (and delivering some gifts)

view all comments

user2: ummmmmm who is that woman ????

user3: that's what you've taken away from FOUR TIME WORLD CHAMPION MAX VERSTAPPEN BEING A MALL SANTA IN PUNISHMENT FOR SAYING FUCK

user4: ummmm yeah she's snug as a bug in a rug in the back of max's car that's REAL FUCKING INTERESTING

landonorris: why no picture of you as santa... pussy

maxverstappen1: gotta leave some girls for you haven't i mate?

landonorris: well by the looks of the third slide you've already got a girl so it's free range for me right?

maxverstappen1: third slide?

maxverstappen1: OH FUCK

maxverstappen1: she's never going to speak to me again now

landonorris: well you've just sworn again so maybe you'll get more community service and meet her again

maxverstappen1: i'm not dumb i got her number but like now she's going to see this and think i'm a freak :(

landonorris: you'll have to whip out that max verstappen charm again i guess

maxverstappen1: life is a prison

user5: NO ONE POST THE PICTURES OF MAX WITH THE KIDS IT WILL DO IRREPARABLE DAMAGE TO MY OVARIES

user6: i need dad max more than air at this point

danielricciardo: what is this depression session in the comment section maximus - you're a catch even with the creepy instagram etiquette

maxverstappen1: i had to do so much work to convince i wasn't a dork while in a FULL SANTA COSTUME and now i'm not even at step one i'm at step minus 100000000

danielricciardo: that's not very christmas spirit of you maxie

maxverstappen1: life is unfortunately not a hallmark movie so like she'll be a normal person, see that i've posted a pic of her sleeping to my 13 million followers and run for the hills

danielricciardo: okay humble brag

maxverstappen1: DANIEL HELP

danielricciardo: i think you'll be just fine

maxverstappen1: well thanks for nothing - USELESS

user7: oh so max gets generational headloss in all settings

user8: he's so real for that tho

user9: if this doesn't sort itself out i pray for george russell

georgerussell63: ???

user10: he is going to take it out on you ❤️

georgerussell63: oh fuck

maxverstappen1: @fia get him

yourusername

liked by landonorris, user11 and 2,457 others

yourusername: went for the mall santa and met her hero, how will i ever top this now?

view all comments

user12: FOUND YOU

yourusername: this is very creepy who are you

user12: oh i'm just a humble f1 fan who watched max verstappen crash out over thinking he fumbled you

yourusername: fumbling me? has he seen himself?

user12: oh girl i've just stalked your entire account your face card is insane

yourusername: i do not know what that means

user13: YOU HAVE A KID ????

yourusername: yes?

user13: so we could feasibly get step dad max - DILF MAX?

yourusername: are you people okay?

user13: he's down bad for you queen you gotta get in there

yourusername: excuse me?

user14: WAIT - you don't have a husband right?

yourusername: no...

yourusername: wait why am i replying to you people?

landonorris: how did they find you first i put so much effort into my investigation

oscarpiastri: you annoyed max until he gave you her name?

landonorris: RIGOROUS

yourusername: you people have a lot of followers, what are you doing here?

landonorris: max is your daughter's hero and you don't know me?

yourusername: damn that's an ego

landonorris: excuse me ?

yourusername: idk maybe my daughter loves max because he's plastered everywhere in the netherlands - she watches the races with my friends

landonorris: we drive the orange cars

yourusername: oh she hates yall

yourusername: i might have to block you two

oscarpiastri: I DID NOTHING IT WAS ALL HIM

maxverstappen1: ummm hi!

maxverstappen1: I'M SO SORRY PLEASE DON'T THINK I'M A CREEP

yourusername: why would i think you're a creep?

maxverstappen1: NO REASON

maxverstappen1: so that coffee?

yourusername: okay .....

yourusername: i was going to text you but yk kids and she's addicted to the games and has held my phone hostage

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, danielricciardo and 702,300 others

tagged: maxverstappen1 & yourusername

landonorris: didn't leave monaco fast enough and now i'm stuck third wheeling - AND lola still hates me :(

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user16: CAN WE SLOW DOWN WE'RE GOING SO FUCKING FAST

yourusername: isn't that kinda their job?

user16: oh you gagged me there, congrats queen

user17: okay well now i'm obsessed with them and i need to know why lola hates lando so much

landonorris: she's a hater - just like her mother

maxverstappen1: y/n is allowed to hate you. in fact i'll support her in all of her hating i don't care

landonorris: i literally stayed for an extra day so we could all do something fun for christmas and HERE WE ARE

yourusername: i don't hate you lando, but i have to support my daughter in her dreams

landonorris: SHE SAID HER DREAMS WERE HER EXPLODING MY CAR WITH HER MIND

yourusername: LOL

landonorris: that is not 'LOL' that's attempted murder - i'm going to put your child in jail

maxverstappen1: woah lando that's too far

landonorris: and telepathic murder isn't ?

maxverstappen1: first of all it's telekinesis and second of all - lola can do what she wants

user18: oh boy he got attached quick

yourusername: this is nothing compared to lola

maxverstappen1: what? i love my biggest fan

danielricciardo: well fuck me i guess

maxverstappen1: yes

danielricciardo: max! y/n is right there (text me later)

maxverstappen1: oh wait ewwww

maxverstappen1: i meant get fucked.

yourusername: you can complain about third wheeling all you want but i'll deal with it if you keep taking these cute ass photos

landonorris: it's torture being an artist 💔

maxverstappen1: we also paid for everything lando, you can deal with watching your best friend being in love

landonorris: we're best friends ???

maxverstappen1: i'm your best friend - you're third at most

landonorris: ????

maxverstappen1: 1. lola 2. y/n 3. lando (maybe)

yourusername: awwwwww you're so sweet darling

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 14,859 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: i support the fia's wrongs because they brought you to me

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user19: okay miss girl this is cute but i will NEVER let the fia live

yourusername: oh this is their one pass, next time i'll unleash lola's telekinesis

user19: tell lola that we thank her for her service

user20: but please don't blow up lando please

yourusername: she said orange cars - sorry osc

landonorris: what about a red car?

yourusername: oh she likes charles so no chance

charles_leclerc: taste 💅

maxverstappen1: i guess i'll let them off just this once because i love you

yourusername: you're so generous

georgerussell63: wanna forgive me as well

maxverstappen1: why would i do that?

maxverstappen1: also we're declaring our love for each other do you wanna GET THE FUCK OUT

georgerussell63: lola is talking about blowing up f1 cars with her mind i don't want to be a victim

yourusername: oh she won't blow your car up

georgerussell63: phew

yourusername: she'll bite you in person

georgerussell63: CRIKEY

georgerussell63: well i guess you guys can go back to declaring love now ...

yourusername: thanks i guess?

yourusername: love you maxy, i'm so glad we met you

maxverstappen1: i love you more, i love having both of you in my life

user21: this was very fast but this is also very cute

user22: i think we gotta get lola on sky sports - maybe she'll bite the british bias out of them

yourusername: do NOT threaten her with a good time

yourusername: however, i will say, lola doesn't actually bite she's very well behaved and just has a bit of a feral way about her

maxverstappen1: but it's so adorable :(

hulkhulkenberg: so ... paddock play dates

maxverstappen1: WE'RE THERE

yourusername: that would make the paddock a lot less intimidating for me

hulkhulkenberg: my daughter also prays on the downfall of everyone but me so they'll have that in common

maxverstappen1

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 1,245,038 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: maybe santa is real ... love of my life was top of my list this year

view all comments

user25: idk about you guys but i've never seen him happier

user26: after this season i'm so glad the christmas break has treated him so well

user27: i can't wait for the rest of the grid to think he might let up now and then mad max get released first corner in melbourne

maxverstappen1: whatever i gotta do to get that winners trophy for lola

yourusername: this is the happiest holidays we've ever had, you've made my dreams come true and truly are the best person i'd ever want around lola. i love you <3

maxverstappen1: i wouldn't want to be with anyone else now, you guys are it for me x

maxverstappen1: now come downstairs i'm strategically placed underneath the mistletoe

yourusername: there's mistletoe?

maxverstappen1: .... the christmas fairy must of put it up ?

yourusername: you know you don't need an excuse to kiss me right?

maxverstappen1: hehehehehehehehehehe

user28: wow he's such a loser i love him

yourusername: he's * my loser and * he LOVES ME

yourusername: sorry that was rude

yourusername: but he's so worth showing off

maxverstappen1: i can't wait to show you off to the world on international tv - i gotta mark my territory

yourusername: as if i would ever look anywhere but at you

landonorris: fine! you guys are cute! i'm taking all the credit for connecting you two

maxverstappen1: and just how did you do that?

landonorris: i found y/n's instagram duh!

yourusername: actually @user12 found my instagram

user12: omg shout out

maxverstappen1: i also had y/n's number the whole time...

landonorris: CAN YOU GUYS JUST LET ME HAVE THIS? IT'S CHRISTMAS?

yourusername: you got us socks for christmas ??? (thanks tbf)

landonorris: ALL MY BUDGET WENT TO LOLA'S PRESENT I HAD TO GET ON HER SIDE

maxverstappen1: you mean the mini MCL36 that she's been glaring at since she opened it?

yourusername: i think she's practicing her telekinesis for 2025 ❤️

landonorris: FUCK

yourusername: she just wants maxy to win lando, you can't deny her that

landonorris: i can feel her puppy dog eyes through the phone

maxverstappen1: i'll do anything to win for her - ANYTHING. merry christmas xx

landonorris: that's so threatening

yourusername: that's so romantic

fin.

note: ENJOY

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #f1 social media au #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen

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fushiguro-megloomy · 6 months ago

Text

strawberry wine

[part 2] pairing: modern au!viktor x artist!reader prompt: “if somebody were to kiss me, i’d want that person to be you” tags: you're jayces childhood bff, no use of y/n, alcohol, heavy kissing, drunk kissing, basically just a bunch of buildup towards a smutty fwb part two???, viktor being a menace wc: 4k notes: AU where nobody is sick or dying yay! also i think i managed to keep this pretty gn!reader but any future parts will be afab/fem art is from pinterest, dividers from chachachannah & webc00re

You never meant for things to get this far. You told yourself it was just a little fun, harmless and fleeting—nothing more. You had a career to focus on, friendships in the balance. But now, here you are, pacing the living room carpet thin, your cuticles raw from nervous chewing, and your thoughts spiraling into places you swore they’d never go.

It feels juvenile, almost laughable, like some smitten teenager waiting by the phone and sneaking kisses in shadowed corners. You were supposed to be above this, weren’t you? I mean, as a grown adult you should know how to keep it casual, uncomplicated.

But nothing about this is simple anymore. Not the friendship. Not the secrets. And certainly not the way your heart betrays you every time his name crosses your mind.

It definitely wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Moving back to the city hadn’t been on the bingo card for this year, but here you were. Your life had been tucked away in the quiet of rural landscapes, where your art had room to breathe—endless skies, rolling hills, and the kind of solitude that made inspiration flow without any distractions. But your career had expanded, and with that expansion came the relentless pressure of galleries, art buyers, and a future that demanded more from you than that peaceful escape ever could.

So, the city had called you back. Concrete towers, crowded streets, the city offered more. Shows. Opportunities. Jayce. The only thing about this cold, steel jungle that still felt like home. Jayce—your childhood friend, your constant in a world that had never stopped changing. Thrown together since you were practically in diapers, he was the one piece of your old life that had somehow survived the years and distance between you two. And now, after what felt like an eternity, here he was, sprawled across your tiny couch, looking too comfortable for someone who was just supposed to be a guest. The apartment was a bit small, as city apartments tended to be—packed between towering neighbors—but Jayce’s presence was the only thing about it that felt remotely like home.

"You know," he said, half-lounging. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

You didn’t look up from your canvas, your brush already dipping into the paints like second nature. “Who?”

“Viktor”

You paused, only long enough for your brush to hover midair before you flicked your gaze in his direction. “Ah, yes. The famous business partner.”

Jayce’s grin didn’t falter, but there was something softer behind it now. “Yeah, something like that. But seriously, he’s a good guy. Brilliant, actually. You two would get along.”

You didn’t reply at first. Instead, you let the brush finish its arc, eyes back on your work, moving with the rhythm of a familiar task. “mhm” you murmured, distracted by the way the strokes of paint were bleeding together. “If he’s anything like you, how bad can it be?”

But Jayce, of course, wasn’t done. His voice took on that soft tone he reserved for moments when he really wanted to get his point across. “I’m serious, okay? I want you two to meet. You both mean a lot to me, and I think you’ll really hit it off.”

You didn’t look up, but you felt a weight behind his words, pushing against you with silent pressure. “Yeah? I’m sure it’ll happen, then.”

Jayce’s eyes lit up, a flash of triumph in them, like he’d just won some small but important battle. “You’ll see. I’m telling you—when you meet him, you’ll click. I know it.”

You leaned back in your chair, releasing a slow exhale, the kind that said everything without saying anything at all. A nonchalant nod was all you offered, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of saying more. “Fine. Fine. I’ll meet him. But don’t make a whole thing out of it.”

Jayce chuckled, and there was an odd note of relief in the sound, like he’d just been granted some unspoken permission. “No big deal, I swear. But you’ll see. You two are more alike than you think.”

When you finally did meet Viktor, Jayce was practically vibrating, his energy as unsubtle as ever. It had been after one of your gallery openings, a night you’d half-dragged yourself through on fumes and politeness. Your heels had barely cleared the threshold of his apartment before the faintest twinge of suspicion began to creep in—something about the way he hovered, grinning like a man with a secret.

“You deserve a good meal after tonight,” Jayce had said, ushering you in with the kind of charm that usually preceded one of his schemes. “Thought you’d want to celebrate somewhere that doesn’t reek of overpriced wine and small talk.”

You rolled your eyes but let yourself be corralled, the promise of food outweighing the odd note in his voice. His large apartment, at least, was familiar territory: warm, cluttered with bits of tech and sentimental junk from years past, the faint scent of whatever candles he refused to admit he hoarded lingering in the air.

And then you heard it—the low murmur of another voice, sharp-edged and vaguely amused, drifting from the kitchen.

Jayce froze, his grin faltering for a split second before it reappeared, brighter than ever. “Oh, right,” he said, far too casually. “Viktor’s here.”

You blinked, narrowing your eyes at him. “You conveniently forgot to mention that part.”

“Come on,” he pushed, throwing an arm around your shoulders and steering you toward the source of the voice. “It’s no big deal. Just dinner. You’ll like him, I promise.”

And there he was, perched by the kitchen counter with a faintly perplexed look on his face. He was slimmer than you’d expected, pale and sharp-featured, with hair that looked like it hadn’t met a comb in days. His amber eyes flicked up to meet yours, narrowing slightly as if he were trying to solve a puzzle that had just been placed in front of him.

“Ah,” he said, his accent lilting and crisp, “so this is the infamous artist.”

You shot a glare at Jayce, who was already heading for the stove with the kind of forced cheer that made it painfully clear he’d orchestrated the whole thing. “You owe me for this,” you muttered under your breath, stepping further into the kitchen.

Viktor’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk appearing. “And here I thought I was being ambushed. Seems we’re both victims of his enthusiasm.”

Jayce turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand, his expression utterly unrepentant. “You’ll thank me later.”

The dinner was simple but undeniably good—Jayce’s doing, of course. The man couldn’t let anyone step into his apartment without insisting they be properly fed, and tonight was no exception. Roast chicken, buttery vegetables with rice, warm bread that filled the space with its yeasty aroma—it was the kind of meal that made you feel at home even when you weren’t.

Conversation flowed easily around the table, mostly carried by Jayce, but Viktor wasn’t exactly quiet, either. He had a way of chiming in at just the right moment, his dry humor landing squarely between Jayce’s more exuberant anecdotes and your own occasional contributions.

“You mean to tell me,” Viktor said at one point, leaning back slightly in his chair, “that Jayce still hasn’t learned to cook rice without burning it? After all these years?”

Jayce, halfway through explaining some disastrous culinary attempt from his youth, turned to glare at him. “Excuse me, this rice was cooked perfectly.”

“It was fine,” you agreed, though the memory of a slightly crunchy bite or two made your lips twitch in amusement.

Viktor’s amber eyes sparkled as he gestured broadly. “Oh, fine! A glowing review, truly. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Jayce groaned, but there was no real bite to it. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Viktor said, raising his glass in a mock toast, “here I am. Invited to dinner. Again.”

Jayce just rolled his eyes and went back to his story, leaving you to glance at Viktor with a small smile. He caught it, of course, and gave a little shrug as if to say, what can you do? For all his sharp humor, he was easy to talk to, his wit balanced by an underlying warmth that kept him from coming off as too cutting.

Which was why you were only mildly surprised when the spoon incident happened.

Dinner was winding down, Jayce had disappeared into the kitchen to fuss over coffee, leaving you and Viktor to handle the cleanup.

He moved with a surprising ease, balancing a stack of plates in one hand, his cane steady in the other. It was a casual sort of competence, as though he’d long since adapted to whatever limitations life had handed him. You hadn’t thought much of it, impressed by how naturally he maneuvered, until the soft clatter of a spoon hitting the floor broke the quiet rhythm of tidying.

“Ah,” Viktor said, glancing down at the rogue utensil with a faint frown as he set down the plate stack. “Of course.”

You paused mid-step, glancing between him and the spoon. “Need a hand?”

He tilted his head, his expression a little too innocent. “If it’s not too much trouble. You know, the leg and all...”

“Oh, for—” Jayce’s voice floated from the kitchen, half-annoyed but not quite committed to intervening.

You sighed, setting down the napkins you’d been folding. “Yeah, sure. I’ve got it.”

But just as you crouched down, Viktor shifted. A casual tap of his cane sent the spoon skittering across the floor, its metallic clink faintly echoing as it landed farther away.

You froze, staring at the spoon in disbelief, then turned your gaze to him slowly. “You’re kidding.”

Viktor’s lips twitched, the faintest glimmer of amusement flickering across his face. “What?”

“You just—”

“What?” he repeated, wider-eyed this time, his free hand gesturing vaguely toward his cane. “I’m handicapped.”

Jayce reappeared in the doorway, a coffee pot in hand and a look of pure exasperation on his face. “Viktor.”

“What?” Viktor said again, his voice laced with mock indignation. “I am!”

Jayce muttered something unintelligible as he poured coffee, his focus shifting between you and Viktor like he couldn’t decide which one of you deserved his scolding more. Meanwhile, you straightened, crossing your arms as a grin tugged at the corners of your mouth despite your best efforts.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” you said, stepping across the room to retrieve the spoon—again.

“Very generous,” Viktor agreed, his tone breezy. “Honestly, it’s quite inspiring. Jayce, you should take notes.”

Jayce groaned, setting the coffee pot down with a little too much force. “You’re both ridiculous.”

But you were already laughing, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. As you returned the spoon to the table with a pointed look, Viktor gave you a small, almost triumphant smile. And maybe, you could see what Jayce meant when he’d said you’d get along.

The first time you realized you might feel more than just friendship for Viktor was when you noticed the way your sketches had started to change.

It had been weeks—maybe even a couple of months—since that dinner with Jayce, when you had awkwardly danced around each other, getting to know one another. The initial weirdness had faded into easy companionship, and you found yourself spending more time with Viktor than you expected. You hadn’t quite noticed it happening, but somewhere along the line, you’d become an unintentional trio. Jayce had been bursting with barely-contained glee at how easily the two of you seemed to get along, and it made your chest warm, knowing how much that mattered to him. It felt... right, this newfound ease between the three of you, a quiet sort of harmony that made you smile more than you expected.

But as the days passed, something shifted without you realizing it. You were at home one evening, flipping through your sketchbook, the soft pastel dust smudging the edges of the pages as your fingers moved. The forms you’d drawn were abstract models, capturing shapes and shadows in a fluid, organic way. It wasn’t anything new—nothing that stood out. But then, you stopped.

There, in the shadows of the page, you saw it.

The subtle arch of a jawline. The curve of lips that you knew too well. Even the moles, small and almost unremarkable, but there they were—on the page, right beneath your fingertips. You blinked and flipped to another sketch, only to see it again. A line here, a shadow there. It wasn’t him exactly, but it was.

To the untrained eye, maybe it wouldn’t have been obvious. Hell, maybe even to you on any other day, it might’ve gone unnoticed. But now, in the quiet of your studio, the shapes were almost unmistakable. The soft angle of his nose, the way his eyes looked when he was thinking too hard, the way his smile would pull up on one side when he was being particularly smug.

You frowned, setting the sketchbook down, your hands hovering above it as if it had betrayed you. Was this some kind of coincidence? Or was it something more, something you had been avoiding realizing? You’d never consciously set out to draw him, but there he was, tucked into the lines and curves of your art like an uninvited guest you hadn’t known you were entertaining.

It was ridiculous, you told yourself. Of course it was just... coincidence. But even as you tried to convince yourself, there was a small, unspoken truth sitting in your chest, heavy and undeniable, and the first time you realized Viktor might see you as more than just a friend was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it hit you all the same.

He mentioned a piece you’d shown him, his tone thoughtful. “You’ve been doing something different lately. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s a change. It’s...” His gaze flickered to yours, then dropped back to the floor, but the brief flash in his eyes sent an unexpected flutter through your chest. “...more. More than what you usually show.”

The words themselves were harmless, even complimentary, but it was the way they hung between you that made something inside you stir—something you couldn’t name, not yet. You didn’t think much of it at first, but the way his eyes lingered just a second longer than necessary made your breath catch. The way the corners of his mouth lifted into a half-smile, not teasing, but... fond.

It was a simple thing. A fleeting moment. And yet, it lingered in your mind as you retreated to your apartment, your thoughts whirling with the possibility that Viktor—your friend, the one you had so casually laughed and bantered with for months—might be seeing you differently, too.

The shift was subtle, but it was there. And it unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

Everything came to a boiling point one night at your apartment. You’d ventured into town earlier that day, mostly for a change of scenery, and happened upon a small farmers market. You couldn’t resist grabbing a few bottles of strawberry wine, its sweetness and fruity undertones practically calling your name. Jayce had scoffed at it when you got back, claiming it was too sugary to have any real punch. “There’s no way I’ll even get drunk off this,” he’d muttered with a dismissive wave.

An hour later, he was sprawled out on your pullout, snoring softly with a stupid grin plastered across his face. You and Viktor stood nearby, both trying—and failing—to suppress your amusement at how quickly Jayce had succumbed to the wine’s effects. For all his size, Jayce was a surprising lightweight.

“I swear, every time,” you said, laughing quietly.

Viktor, leaning against the doorway, gave a soft chuckle. “Some people just don’t know when to stop.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing over at the slumbering man. “Guess we let him sleep it off.”

“Let him have his beauty rest,” Viktor teased, his voice light as he nodded toward the bottles. “We can always finish it ourselves.”

So you did, winding up on the roof with the cold night air around you. The worn-out couch up there had seen better days, but it was still enough to settle into and talk, a simple quiet comfort settling over you both. The soft glow of string lights and the silvered moonlight made the world feel like it was wrapped in a quiet hush despite the never ending sounds of the city. You both settled into the couch, the cushions sinking in the middle, which pushed you just a little closer to Viktor than you'd anticipated.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was easy, like you had spent years in it. You noticed how close you were sitting now—your thighs pressed together, and when you passed the bottle of wine, your fingers brushed his. A small spark of awareness ran through you each time, and you tried to ignore it, feeling your face warm despite the cool air.

The wine was sweet, fruity, and a little stronger than you expected, especially when you found yourself reaching for another sip and another, the soft buzz in your head gradually growing stronger.

By the time the bottle was halfway gone, you were both leaning more heavily into the couch, and you couldn’t help but giggle at how little wine was apparently needed to bring Jayce to the brink of passing out. You felt... lighter. Almost giddy, as if the laughter that came so easily was spilling out along with the alcohol. And Viktor, sitting just beside you, didn’t seem to be immune to it either. His face was flushed in the soft light, his lips curling into an easy smile.

“You know,” you said, leaning back and feeling the warmth of the couch soak into your bones, “I don’t do this enough. I’m so... wrapped up in work and life and... I just forget to relax.”

Viktor tilted his head, eyes slightly narrowed as he watched you. “Relaxing can be overrated,” he said with a smirk, the words a little slower than they’d been earlier. He took another drink from the bottle, his thumb brushing against the glass in an unconscious rhythm. When he passed it to you, your fingers brushed once again, and you lingered just a bit longer than necessary.

“Well, maybe for you,” you chuckled. “But, for me, it’s like... it's like a luxury, I guess. You know? I don’t remember the last time I just sat with someone and... and didn’t feel like I had to be somewhere or do something.”

“You eh–... don’t have to worry about that here,” Viktor said quietly, his voice light, with that usual teasing edge. But something was different in his tone, something that made the words feel heavier than they should have been. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but the air seemed to shift, the quiet between you stretching into something almost… charged.

You took another sip, your hand a little unsteady now. The whole situation felt absurd—awkward, even, yet strangely intimate in a way you hadn’t expected. Your gaze drifted toward his lips without thinking. It was brief, but enough to send a flutter through your stomach, and suddenly, your mind couldn’t focus on anything but that soft, confident curve of his mouth. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was something else entirely, but you couldn’t seem to think straight anymore.

Viktor shifted closer again, and the couch beneath you groaned as it sank with the weight of it. The space between you closed, and you could feel the warmth of his body pressing against yours shoulder to shoulder, like the alcohol spreading through you, making your pulse quicken.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. His presence was a solid thing beside you. His eyes were locked on yours, studying, but still so calm. You could feel the punch of his gaze on you, like it was seeping through your skin, sending heat rushing to your cheeks. It wasn’t just the wine now—you could feel it all over, heat blooming beneath your skin, making you fidget slightly.

“Sometimes… you get caught up in what you’re doing, and you forget about everything else,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the way your nerves were tightening your chest. “I’ve been focused on my career and—god, I’ve probably been a little… I don’t know, closed off.” You laughed lightly, but it was nervous, unsure of where this was even coming from. But suddenly all your senses were barraged by him, his smell, his eyes.

“I just—I haven’t thought about it. Relationships, I mean. Not in a long time. I don’t know if I’m even ready for anything like that. Not now, not with everything I’m doing.” You trailed off, self-conscious, suddenly feeling like you were saying too much, rambling without stopping. The words seemed to just slip out of you, tumbling over each other.

You took another shaky breath, your heart thudding in your chest as you tried to make yourself stop, but you couldn’t. It was like you were helpless.

“And, I mean, if anybody were to kiss me…” You faltered, realizing too late just how much you were giving away. Your pulse quickened, your thoughts jumbled as your mouth just kept moving. “I would want that person to be you.”

The air between you thickened, the silence stretching long and heavy. Your heart pounded in your chest, a nervous rhythm that drowned out everything else. You waited for him to say something, to break the tension that was suffocating you. But there was nothing. Just the weight of his gaze on you, steady and searching.

When you finally dared to glance at him Viktor's expression was unreadable. One thick eyebrow was cocked slightly, and his mouth hung open just enough to suggest he was about to say something, but didn't. He was so close but somehow the distance between you felt infinite.

You opened your mouth to say something, to fill the silence, but before you could speak, his hand moved, his fingers brushing against your jaw in the gentlest touch. The sudden warmth of his palm made your breath catch, and before you could even fully process it, he was pulling you in. His lips met yours, soft at first, as though testing the waters, as if the moment itself was delicate. But that softness didn't last, between the buzz of alcohol, the closeness, the heat between you—it all blurred together. The kiss deepened, quickly turning urgent, hungry. His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the bottle slipped from your grasp, its clang against the concrete floor echoing in the quiet of the rooftop

You didn't care. You were too lost in the feeling of him against you, his lips moving against yours with a desperate kind of need. The kiss grew messier– clumsy, teeth scraping, tongues tangling. You could taste the faint sweetness of wine on him, the mix of flavors making everything feel dizzying overwhelming.

You found yourself gripping his shirt, pulling him closer, as if trying to merge your bodies together, desperate for the contact, for whatever it was that had been building between you two for so long.

The next day was a harsh slap of hangover reality. Your head pounded, your mouth was dry, and every time you glanced at Viktor across the room, your stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with the booze.

Jayce, of course, was none the wiser. He chatted away over breakfast like nothing had changed, blissfully unaware of the shift that had unraveled everything you thought you’d had under control. And you? You were wholly committed to keeping it that way. It was a one-time thing, you told yourself. Just a fleeting, drunken thing—something you could both quietly bury and move on from.

At least, that was the plan.

Until it happened again. And then again.

Now it feels like a thread being pulled tighter and tighter, until you’re not sure if you’re going to unravel completely or snap under the weight.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. But here you are. And you don’t know how to stop.

©lilsworks 2024

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane #viktor #arcane #viktor x you #arcane x you #arcane fanfic #viktor fanfic #fwb #friends with benifits #viktor x y/n #arcane viktor #arcane fic #viktor fic #arcane x reader #lils work #mine #strawberry wine

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chibinasuu · 3 months ago

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Unexpectedly | Law x Reader

★ requested by @supernatural-hunter1

Summary: You and Law never expected to fall in love with each other. Tags: sfw, strawhat!reader, takes place from sabaody to end of wano told through drabbles, GN but written with F!reader in mind, no use of y/n

Law never believed in love at first sight.

Hell, he never expected to fall in love with anyone at all, much less a rival pirate he never even talked to.

But the moment he got a glimpse of you outside that Auction House at the Sabaody Archipelago, for the first time in his life, he felt his heart somersaulting in his chest.

That somewhat crazy glint in your eyes as you gracefully fought your way through the throng of Marines… Well, Law nearly took a bullet to the chest, the way he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Law convinced himself that it couldn't have been love.

Attraction, sure, but certainly not love.

And then you disappeared without a trace. For two years.

He tried not to think much about you.

You were nobody to him, after all.

Law focused all of his time on his goal.

He became a Warlord of the Sea, and his grand scheme was finally in motion.

You were completely out of his mind by then, but suddenly, out of nowhere, fate brought you together again.

There you were, standing beside your Captain in your cute stolen winter coat, peering at Law disapprovingly as he extended his alliance proposition.

“I don’t trust you,” were the first words you gave him, a finger pointed accusingly in his direction.

Definitely not love, Law thought as annoyance started to rise within his chest.

“Believe me, I don’t trust you, either.” Law had scoffed in reply.

He would be a fool to immediately put his trust in you, no matter how kind and gentle you appeared to be towards your crewmates. It pissed him off to no end that he was the only one you were being hostile with. You weren't even that unfriendly toward the G-5 Marines!

Law tried to return your hostility with the same fervor, and outwardly, he seemed to have succeeded.

He would never admit that his heart still skipped a beat when you stared him down as if his Warlord title meant nothing, all the while threatening to end his life if he so much as betrayed your Captain.

It wasn’t until the Battle of Dressrosa that you started to see Law in a different light.

His tenacity and determination moved you, and you would be lying if you said that didn’t make you curious to know more about him.

As you sleeplessly laid—packed together with your crew and allies in Kyros’ little house on the hill—you reminded yourself that this alliance was only temporary, and there was always a chance that Law would betray the Straw Hats.

He got what he wanted all along—Doflamingo toppled and in chains. What would prevent him from just turning around on his promise to work together to defeat Kaido?

Soft groans sounded from somewhere on your right.

In the dark night, with everyone deep in slumber, it was hard for you to identify who they belonged to, until someone suddenly jerked upright, clearly woken up from a nightmare.

Law.

His chest heaved as he tried to steady his breath, a hand wiping beads of sweat from his forehead.

Before you could stop yourself, and against better judgment, you whispered, “Are you alright?”

The word “yes” almost flew out of his mouth—the standard response. But somehow, he found himself unable to lie to you.

“No.” He ended up choking out.

The room was silent for a few moments before your voice rang out, firmly, but softly.

“Everything’s going to be okay.”

Law knew your words were mostly customary—the standard response. But his heart felt more at ease anyway.

“Are you alright?”

It was Law’s turn to ask when he found you in the woods on the outskirts of the Guardians’ residential district in Zou.

You immediately wiped your eyes with the back of your hands, a bit embarrassed at getting caught crying.

You smiled humorlessly up at him, “No.”

“Everything’s going to be okay.”

You chuckled at the way Law parroted your words from back at Dressrosa.

“Straw Hat-ya is going to get him back.”

“Oh, I know.” You said, accompanied by a more genuine smile this time, “I don’t doubt him one bit.”

Law raised his eyebrows, silently asking, why are you sobbing alone in the woods then?

“It’s just…” You sighed, “I can’t imagine what Sanji’s going through right now. What burden he must’ve been carrying this whole time.”

Law padded towards you hesitantly, like approaching a wounded animal.

You patted the ground next to you.

He took you up on the offer and sat down, leaving a respectable distance between you.

“He’s going to be okay.”

You didn’t know what came over you, but you leaned your head on his shoulder, finding comfort in this man you barely knew anything about, “I know.”

For a hunk of metal engulfed miles beneath the ocean’s surface, the Polar Tang felt surprisingly warm and homey.

It had only been a few days into your journey to Wano, but you already found yourself attached to the Heart Pirates’ library. Well, it was mostly Law’s library, to be fair.

There was no point in worrying anymore about what was going on at Whole Cake Island. There was nobody you trusted more than Luffy and your crewmates. They would get Sanji back, you were sure of it.

Now, the only thing you could do was focus on your next moves and ensure the plan to defeat Kaido was already set by the time they met up with your side at Wano in a few weeks.

As might be expected, planning for war was not what you would call fun. Everybody was exhausted, tense, and anxious about what was coming.

The library became your refuge in the evenings, a hideout after the days that were filled with meetings, and meetings, and more meetings.

You were perusing one of Law’s medical books when a voice interrupted you, “You’re interested in learning medicine?”

The Captain and Doctor of the Heart Pirates was leaning against the door, arms folded in front of his chest.

You gave him a small smile, “I’m interested in learning. Period.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his feet unsurely stepping forward, then back, before he finally decided to fully come into the room, pink blush adorning his cheeks.

“I can teach you more, if you like.”

“I’d love that.”

It wasn’t long until the library rendezvous became your solace, something to look forward to at the end of every day.

It wasn’t long until the conversations about complicated medical procedures turned into subtle flirting.

It wasn’t long until the “accidental” touches—of your fingers as you passed a book back and forth, of your knees beneath the table—became more purposeful.

It wasn’t long until you started trading whispered stories late into the night, learning things about each other that no other people knew—the dim library a comforting haven for the unlikely pair.

“Don’t forget the fact that you doubted the loyalty of my crew.” Law coldly told Shinobu, “If we can’t trust each other in moments like this… then I can’t expect to entrust my safety to you when the fighting is fierce!”

The room was quiet as Law stormed outside, no doubt immediately heading towards the Flower Capital, where his crewmates had allegedly been detained as prisoners.

You hurried out after him, catching his arm before he could run off even further, “You know it’s a trap, right?”

Desperation dripped from his voice as he replied, “What else can I do? I can’t just leave them to be tortured by Orochi’s men.”

You knew you would've done the same if you were in his position—if it were your crewmates who had been captured. It would've been hypocritical of you to try and stop him.

You slid your hand down to grasp his, “Be careful.”

He nodded.

He squeezed once, then you let him go.

When Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi eventually returned without him, it felt like someone had ripped your heart out and broken it into one thousand pieces.

On the day of the Fire Festival, you couldn't stop the tears of relief that ran down your face when you caught sight of that familiar yellow submarine in the distance, its Captain safe and sound, standing proudly on its hull.

It felt like a boulder had been lifted from your chest, the tightness in your heart replaced by a ferocious pounding.

The knot in your stomach loosened, and in its place, butterflies ran amok.

And there was no denying it anymore.

You had, unexpectedly, completely and unequivocally fallen in love with Trafalgar Law.

Cheers echoed throughout the Skull Dome as Luffy's victory against Kaido was confirmed.

Chopper was bandaging your arm, the skin ripped to shreds by Ulti's claws, but you could hardly feel the pain anymore.

Luffy won. Every single member of your crew was safe.

Yet, you couldn't fully relax. Not yet.

Your eyes darted across the open floor, praying for a glimpse of a fluffy spotted hat, or a blue feathered cape, or a bright yellow shirt. Anything.

You bolted from your seat the second Chopper finished tending to your injuries.

You needed to find him. You needed to see with your own eyes that he was alive.

Moving through the masses of samurai and pirates, your heart clenched tighter each second that you could not see him.

And then, among the crowd of thousands, you heard him.

Your name, shouted out with a joyous lilt that you had never heard from that deep, familiar voice.

The heat of the moment, the thrill you felt when your eyes finally found his, the exceedingly fast rhythm of your heart when you saw the huge smile on his face.

You didn't think twice as you ran over, flung your arms around his neck, and crashed your lips against his.

Law's surprise lasted but a second before he kissed you back fervently, his arms pulling you impossibly close to his body.

The gasps of the onlookers did not reach your ears—it was as if you and he were trapped in your own little bubble, oblivious to whatever was happening outside.

“People will talk, you know.” He managed to let out between kisses.

“Let them. I don't care.” You answered, feeling his smirk as you captured his lips again.

The Heart Pirates had started giggling and whispering among themselves, some even running off to find your crewmates to spread the gossip, but you and Law were too far gone to notice.

Law's steady hands moved to cup your cheeks, and you let him angle your face so he could kiss you deeper, his tongue seeking yours desperately.

Even Bepo's awkward cough wasn't enough to tear you apart, prompting the mink to tap Law's shoulder hesitantly instead to gain his attention.

Without breaking the kiss, the Captain swatted the fluffy hand away in annoyance, but Bepo was insistent.

"Excuse me!" He shouted, the sheer volume of his voice finally bringing some sense back into you.

You instantly jumped away from Law in surprise, face burning in embarrassment.

"Sorry, I really didn't want to interrupt but..." He pointed to your arm, where the fresh bandage was already soaked with red, "I just think you shouldn't… agitate the wound too much. Sorry!"

As Law redressed your wounds, you couldn't help but stare at his face, then shifted your eyes up and down his body, taking inventory of the injuries he sustained after facing off two Emperors.

"You're okay." You finally declared, letting out a relieved breath.

"We're okay." He said as he tightened the knot of your bandage, before taking your hand and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Dawn never looked as beautiful as it did in Wano.

You sat with Law on top of the hill just outside the Flower Capital, watching as the first sparks of sunlight peeked out from the horizon, streaking the purplish sky with tinges of orange and yellow.

The beats of the drums and the bright melodies of the flutes and the strings continued to flow in the distance, in harmony with the cheers and laughter of the freed people of Wano.

The celebration had been going on for seven days and seven nights now, but there were no signs of it stopping just yet.

Come morning, the Straw Hat Pirates, the Heart Pirates, and the Kid Pirates would all go separate ways, each taking a different route from the log pose.

You and Law both knew each other well enough to know that he wouldn't ask you to join his crew and that you wouldn't say yes even if he did.

Yamato had kindly made Vivre Cards for the two of you. A piece of his now belonged to you, and yours to him. That would have to be enough for now.

Although, you did have one more thing you wanted to give him.

You reached into your pocket and pulled something out. Taking Law's hand, you placed the small item on his open palm.

Law stared at the golden coin, one side engraved with a picture of a town, and the other with the name of your birth island.

You had shown it to him, at one of your library sessions, when he admitted to you that he collected coins from the various islands he visited.

Law also remembered you saying that this was the only memento you had left of your hometown.

“I can’t—”

“Take it.” You closed his fist over it, dramatically proclaiming, “To remember me by."

Law scoffed, "It's not as if we're just never going to meet again."

"Yeah, but who knows when that'll be." You bumped your shoulder against his teasingly, "It might even be after Luffy becomes King of the Pirates."

“Don’t be so sure.” He smirked, “I could still become the Pirate King, you know?”

You barked out a laugh, giving him a pat on the cheek, “Keep dreaming, honey.”

Law twirled the coin around between his fingers, his smile dropping into a slight frown.

“I’m going to miss you.”

The words were so softly spoken that you almost missed them.

You hugged his arm that was closest to you, snuggling into his side, “Me too.”

You felt his lips on your forehead before his head moved to rest against yours.

Fingers intertwined, you both watched as the sun crept higher and higher into the sky.

Yes, in a mere few hours, you would go your separate ways. But there was no doubt in your mind, and heart, that you would surely meet again, someday.

You knew it as sure as the ocean was blue and the grass was green.

Your story was nowhere near its end.

a/n: guess who started writing a new law fic before finishing the part 2 of her existing one? 🙋🏻‍♀️ i can't help it, this request was too tempting. i feel like this fic is a little bit different from my usual writing style, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! <3 (i am now going to pretend law didn't get his ass beat not even a week after they parted ways shhhh that didn't happen in this timeline)

↳ masterlist

#law x reader #law x you #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law x you #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece fanfic #op fanfic #chibinasuu fics

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understrangeforbiddenskies · 21 days ago

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can't keep away from the girl

nat scatorccio x fem reader

↣ pre-crash girlfriend!nat x popular!reader headcannons cus i miss the 5 mins we had when the girls weren't insane

*+:｡.｡ warnings / smoking, weed, reader's parents kind of dislike her, kissing

𝄞 fell in love with a girl - the white stripes

author's note: sorry i disappeared for so long, life has been busy and i've not rlly had the motivation to write ☹️ i'm gonna try my best to post a few fics this summer !

+ you two were almost complete opposites. you went to school every day, never missing a class unless you had a life-threatening reason to, always had good grades, and you were liked by many people. to nat, you were just another stuck up, pretty, popular girl who only got on the soccer team because of jackie.

+ the first time you properly had a conversation was at one of the many parties people from school hosted. some guy (ew) started hitting on you so you excused yourself and went outside, only to end up standing right beside none other than nat scatorccio.

+ she noticed how anxious you looked and waved a bag she had just taken out of her pocket in front of your eyes, eyebrows raised as if she was challenging you. weed. to her surprise, you shrugged, said "sure, why not", and since then the two of you were inseparable.

+ nat taught you how to smoke. she would shotgun you, her fingers gently holding your chin as she guides your lips close to hers, the smoke leaving her lips as your eyes locked with hers. you would never admit it but the effect she had on you was definitely not platonic.

+ after school, you and nat often hung out at your house. at first, your parents were apprehensive, but you managed to convince them you were helping her study. you nudged her shoulder as they stared down at her, and, with a huge grin on her face, replied "swear, she's helping me study."

+ you didn't study. hell, you both dropped your bags beside your bedroom door and collapsed on the bed together, almost immediately locking lips. you were both giggling so much it barely counted as a kiss.

+ you spent the evening listening to songs on her cassette as you gossiped about random people that nat never bothered learning the names of. her head laid on your chest as you dramatically told her everything, a small smile resting on her face.

+ speaking of her cassette, she introduced you to way better music. you learnt about bands you'd never heard of until she forced the headphones onto your head one study session. safe to say your music taste became the opposite of what it once was.

+ sometimes, if you were okay with it, nat would do your makeup. she would gently hold your chin, a small smile plastered on her face as she did your eyeliner. your face mirrored hers as you studied her focused features.

+ during practice you were always warming up together and going so far as threatening coach martinez if you weren't on the same team. eventually everyone got used to it and accepted that you two came as a duo.

bonus headcanons:

+ nat scatorccio loves forehead kisses and i am willing to die on that hill.

+ she's not big on physical touch unless she's had a rough day (or if she's tired) which never bothered you.

+ the furthest she would go with pda would be linking pinkies during practice or at parties.

+ she would never say it out loud but when you reassure her that you do actually like her and this isn't some weird prank she's over the moon.

#𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖☁️ understrangeforbiddenskies #natalie scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio fluff #natalie scatorccio headcanons #yellowjackets headcanons #yellowjackets season 3 #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets fluff

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petrichoravis · 11 days ago

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You, everywhere I look. | s.r

summery: Spencer finds himself unable to move through his life without finding pieces of you in everything he does or sees. He can’t say that he minds. (Or, you have been away and Spencer welcomes you home with love and flowers.)

word count: 1,7k

what to expect: spencer reid x fem!reader, no plot just spence being down bad, fluff (like tooth rotting, the couple that you see on the street and feel like barfing kind of fluffy), domesticity, established relationship, mention of spence lifting r up but he doesn’t actually, mention of future children as well as bad experiences with relationships but it’s not a plot point and there are no actual children, food and eating, English is not my first language

a/n: this is kind of my form of shit posting, bc this isn’t particularly good, but I liked it somehow. I think my fics being swallowed up by the algorithm has given me the freedom to just post what I want

──── ✿

Spencer stretched his arms above his head with a sigh. The sun filtered through the curtain, beaming the shadow of the windows on the inside of the fabric like a projection screen.

He dreamed of you—a good dream for once. A child of your own, a life filled with joy, laughter until your stomach hurts, and rolling in the grass together down the hill where your house sits.

Dream analysis has never been something he believed in, given that it is purely based on interpretation, with no underlying logic or factual basis. But you made him forget logic, made him want to believe in all the things ethos and the universe told him.

But dream analysis and believing that a dream could inspire a future were two different things. And he so badly wanted to lead that kind of life with you.

In the bathroom, he found your toothbrush next to his in the run-down cup. You had insisted on painting clay with him for your second date and made a cup with beautiful flowers embellishing it. But you had forgotten to add a handle before painting, so it had its place on Spencer’s sink now.

You were a little sad that he wouldn’t be able to drink his coffee out of it every morning, but he had assured you that they would keep him motivated to brush his teeth every day and save him from cavities.

The toothbrush for you was something that had accidentally happened.

You and Spencer had started off as a hesitant couple, as you’d called it. You did all of the things couples did, kissing, going on dates, sleeping at each other’s apartments, but both of you were hesitant to put a serious label on it.

Spencer was careful because of his job and the dangers that it brought with it—too many of his relationships having fallen victim to his profession—and you because of the hesitancy that was brought on by ex-boyfriends and baggage.

But as the two of you spent more time together and started falling deeper in love, you started sleeping at Spencer’s house more than at your own.

With that came that you always had to bring your own necessities. Often, this led to you leaving things with him that you needed at your house when you left his.

So, Spencer bought you a toothbrush (and a towel (he had towels, but he saw one that he knew you’d like) and a hair brush and shampoo). He tried to disguise it like it was just a spare one he coincidentally found at the bottom of his drawer.

(“What a coincidence that all of those things appeared at the same time, huh?” You had teased, and he was too focused on your smile and the fact that you had your things at his place now, he just replied, “Mhm.”)

Spencer pressed play on the CD player he installed in his bathroom, which you laughed at him for, but found endearing at the same time.

You always played music while brushing your teeth to make the activity more enjoyable and to really brush for three minutes, which Spencer never failed to remind you was important. It was something your family passed down to you, and Spencer was incredibly proud that you trusted him with it, too.

As he pressed play, the intro song to your favorite album started playing. You must’ve forgotten to take the disc out. He hummed along around the toothbrush while brushing.

After he finished cleaning up, showering (your shampoo stood on the little shelf in his shower cabin) and putting on clothes (the cardigan he chose was your favorite, a brown one made from soft wool, with a green button band), he made his way into the kitchen.

He wasn’t much of a breakfast eater before meeting you. Usually, he chose to grab a coffee and a doughnut on his way to work, but you made him want to wake up early to wake you softly, to eat still-warm buns and solve crosswords and sudokus.

It had become a habit for him now, even without you here, waking up earlier to enjoy the morning sun at his table next to the window, watching birds.

Crossword puzzles were something he saved for you and him, though.

On his way to the office, he passed by a flower shop like he did every day, called The Water Lily Pond. Named after the famous painting by Monet.

They always had a beautiful array of flowers, and today they had a big bouquet of your favorite flowers and bicolored leaves, and goat willow twigs as decoration stood right outside. He swore to himself to buy you one on his way back.

Walking just a few steps further, he saw a cat with a little hat looking out of the window and smiled. You would love that, begging for him to lift you up so you could pet her, and he would roll his eyes and pretend that he cared about being on time while already lifting you up.

The work day is one of the rare slow-moving ones, Spencer’s task mainly involving research on offenders that are already in prison, to refine profiling techniques and methods for future consultations with other law enforcement officers.

It’s a tedious process, and he is well aware that he had been chosen for the task because of his practical ability to read as many words a minute as he can. He doesn’t mind, Garcia and JJ visit him from time to time, he plays cards with Emily, and Hotch invites everyone to a lunch break.

He ordered your favorite food at the restaurant, and when the conversation about Emily’s cat Sirgio, subsided, Morgan asked about you.

“How’s the lady, boy genius?” A smirk ready on his lips. Spencer was sure that anything he’d say would end in relentless teasing.

“She’s great,” he smiled sheepishly, ignoring the cough of ‘I’m sure she is’ from Morgan. “She’s been away to visit friends and family last weekend, and work kept her busy until now, but we’re cooking today. Staying in, maybe read something together.”

Penelope squeaked in delight, “That sounds so lovely! Tell her I said hi, please. Oh! And that I totally didn’t forget to send her the cookie recipe, I’m just perfecting it. It has to be perfect.” She went on, asking him to ask you if you wanted to come to her girls night and if you liked strawberry or preferred cherries, and only stopped when Morgan laid a hand on her shoulder, gently.

“I will,” Spencer replied, laughing fondly. He had introduced you to the team just a month after you had made things official, and they adored you from moment one, just like he knew they would.

Penelope had even baked you cookies for your last birthday, and as you stood next to the table, snacking on them, she said that she trusted you to pass the recipe down your family line and promised to send you the recipe.

(Spencer had choked as she said it, scared that it would be too soon to implicate such a thing. But you had handled it with grace, telling her that you would feel honored to bake delights like Penny’s sugar cookies for your future children. Spencer knew he was done for in that moment, if he didn’t already know it, anyway.)

After lunch, they all went back to the office to finish their respective tasks for the day and went home early thanks to Hotch’s insistence that they deserved one day a year to be home before dark.

On his way home, he went by The Water Lily Pond like he promised himself to buy you the flowers and pretty paper for a card, you always said how much you loved handmade gifts.

Speeding back home to keep the flowers fresh, he saw a couple on—undoubtedly—their first date and smiled; he still remembered his nerves as he took you out for your first date. He kissed you under the low light of the lantern over your apartment entrance.

Back home, he found a vase in the crannies of his cupboards and presented the bouquet on his kitchen table, the card he made with press-dried flowers leaned against it.

It wasn’t long before his doorbell rang, and Spencer hurried from his kitchen to the door, cotton socks on his hardwood floor slithering.

“Hi,” he breathed out as he opened the door to see a smiling you.

“Hi,” you echoed. It was funny to think that you’ve known each other for years and still felt nervous around each other, as if you had gotten to know each other for the first time again every time you saw each other.

Spencer let you in and hugged you tightly, his arms wrapped around you securely and his head on your shoulder. “I missed you.”

“Me too.” You were rocking slightly, not letting go for quite some time, and when you did, it was just to kiss each other softly.

When you did separate, you were smiling fools. “I got you a little souvenir,” you said, searching your bag for the present. It was a little key charm, a vintage-looking lock. “I know it’s not much, but I found it in a vintage store and thought you’d like it.”

He took it from your hands, smiling even bigger. “I love it, thank you.” He kissed your cheek. “Are you hungry?”

You nodded, linking your hand with Spencer’s as if you were going somewhere far rather than five steps towards his kitchen.

As you saw the bouquet, you gasped. “It’s so beautiful,” You peeled away from your boyfriend to look at it more closely. “My favorite,” you pouted at him, “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.” He said fondly, stepping closer to you to hug you from behind.

Not much cooking happened that evening, you mostly stayed on the couch, talking and kissing. Well, you did try to cook, but you were so caught up in each other that you accidentally burned the food and ended up on the couch, eating take-out from boxes.

──────── ✿

thank you for reading! please remember that reblogs and comments encourage writers to share more 𝜗𝜚

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casssmalefantasy · 22 days ago

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i never stopped being yours - paige bueckers x reader!

s: you and paige were best friends that turned into something more in high school. but then uconn, fordham, and distance happened. now it’s christmas, and she’s in your house again—looking at you like you’re still hers.

w: angst, emotions, old feelings, cursing, kissing, heartbreak to maybe not so heartbreak

word count: 5.9k

you remember every detail of the first time she kissed you.

you were sixteen. it was a saturday night, summer soft and thick in the air. she was sleeping over like she had a hundred times before. you were in your room, half watching netflix, half scrolling your phone, legs tangled in hers like always.

then, out of nowhere, she said your name.

softly. like she needed to say it just to hear how it felt.

you turned your head, eyes locking with hers. and she kissed you. no warning, no question. just lips on lips and her heart in your mouth.

everything changed after that. but also… nothing did.

you didn’t make some big announcement. there wasn’t a post or a reveal. just quiet touches in hallways. late night drives with music low and fingers laced. soft, secret moments that belonged to you and her.

and that was enough.

because it was real.

even when the rumors started—people whispering about how close you two were, how no one else ever stood a chance, you kept it between you.

even when paige started getting more attention, offers, interviews. she posted you here and there, a silly selfie. a birthday post on her story. a video of you dancing during a family vacation. from an outsider, it wasn’t obvious that more was going on.

“they don’t need to know everything,” she told you once, your head on her chest, her fingers in your hair. “i just want to protect you.”

you weren’t mad. not really. she was trying. and you didn’t want the attention either. your dream wasn’t cameras and crowds. it was press passes and press boxes. you wanted to write about sports, not be part of someone else’s headline.

when you got into fordham, she hugged you before your mom could. picked you up off the floor and whispered, “i’m so proud of you” into your neck like it was a secret only the two of you could know.

and then the world fell apart.

covid hit. her season was cut short. everything went still. except her. except you.

you convinced your parents to let her quarantine with you. “she’s practically family,” you said. and she was.

those months were some of the best of your life. quiet and chaotic at the same time. making tiktoks in your pajamas. late-night baking. falling asleep mid-conversation and waking up with her hand on your back.

but then july came.

and with it, packing. she was leaving for uconn. you were leaving for fordham. things started to change—subtle at first. shorter replies. less eye contact. hugs that didn’t last as long.

then came the text.

paigeyy 💗

can we go for a drive?

you knew what that meant. it’s what you always did when something needed to be said.

you got chick-fil-a and drove to your spot—a hill that overlooked the city, quiet and half-forgotten. you sat there in silence, fries untouched. the air thick with what you didn’t want to say.

“how you feeling about leaving for college?” she asked finally, not looking at you.

you laughed, too light. “shouldn’t i be asking you that?”

she smiled. but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“i’m excited. and scared.”

“you’re gonna kill it,” you said, meaning every word. “uconn’s lucky to have you.”

she went quiet again.

“i’ve been thinking about… us.”

your heart dropped. you turned to her, suddenly cold. “what about us?”

she still wouldn’t look at you.

“i think we should take a break.”

you blinked. “what?”

“not because i don’t love being with you. it’s just, this next chapter is gonna be a lot. and maybe it’s better if we focus on school and our goals. just for now.”

you felt like you’d been slapped. “so that’s it?”

“no,” she rushed. “you didn’t do anything. you’re everything, you are. but this. us. it’s a lot. and i’m scared it’ll get harder.”

“you promised me,” you said, voice shaking. “that if we ever did this, it wouldn’t end badly.”

“we were kids.”

“we still are.”

she looked away. “i just don’t want to hurt you.”

“too late.”

you asked her to take you home. she didn’t argue.

you left her car with a tight “i hope you get everything you want at uconn.” and that was the last time you really talked.

—

you got a text when you moved into fordham.

paige

heard you moved in! hope everything is good. i’m here if you ever need a friend to talk to ❤️

you hearted it. nothing more.

you followed her career from a distance. saw her face on espn. watched her games late at night, volume low. your mom would mention things her mom said, and you pretended not to care.

you heard about the girls she was seen with. you didn’t ask questions.

you tried to move on. went on dates. let people kiss you who didn’t taste like cherry chapstick.

it wasn’t the same.

—

when your mom told you the bueckers were coming for christmas, your stomach flipped. you told yourself you were fine. you’d see her, say hi, act normal.

and then she walked through the door.

she looked different. older. more confident. still paige, but sharper around the edges. she looked you up and down, then smiled, soft and unsure.

“hey.”

then she was upstairs in your room like nothing had changed, laying on your bed like she hadn’t shattered you five months ago.

“fordham treating you good?”

“yeah. busy.”

she nodded. “i saw your tweet about the knicks. still delusional, huh?”

you rolled your eyes. “you’re lucky you’re barely on twitter or i’d ratio you.”

she grinned. “you still watch my games?”

you hesitated. “sometimes.”

she raised an eyebrow. “just sometimes?”

you looked away. “okay. most games. you’re good, i guess.”

she went quiet for a second.

“i missed you.”

your throat tightened. “i missed you too.”

“no. like…i missed you. not just the idea of you. you.”

you stared at her. “you ended things.”

“i know,” she said, voice thick. “and it was the dumbest thing i’ve ever done.”

you didn’t say anything.

she sat up, eyes locked with yours. “i was scared. not of you. of what loving you might cost. of the noise. the pressure, but mostly of how much i cared.”

you swallowed. “you said it was for the best.”

“i lied.”

you blinked.

“i tried to forget,” she whispered. “i tried to let go, but all i could think about was you. and being here now, seeing you again—it’s just made it worse.”

you were quiet for a long time.

“it never stopped for me either.”

she reached out, tentative. “can i kiss you?”

you nodded.

and then she did.

and everything you’d been holding in fell apart and came back together all at once.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #ncaa women’s basketball #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x black!reader

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natalianovnas · 1 month ago

Text

༄ `. 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒 & 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 — 2

summary : raised in the heart of the countryside, you, Y/N Langford, has always known the rhythm of ranch life—early mornings on horseback, sun-drenched vineyards, and a quiet kind of freedom carved into the land passed down through generations. however, your father's recent colleague is interesting enough.

genre : country!au, wlw, countryside life.

warnings : smut, beefy!nat, top!nat, sub!reader, teasing, flirting, age-gap (r is 24 and nat is 32).

words count : 4.3k

an : might seem boring in the begining but I promise, it's worth your while. smut is down below :)

𖦹 part one 𖦹 part two 𖦹 part three 𖦹 part four 𖦹

HORSES & ROMANCE :

— The Begining Of Belonging

📍Langford Ranch House

Clare Valley, Southern Australia

The Langford house glowed like a storybook as the sun dipped behind the hills, warm light spilling from the windows and casting long, golden rays across the wraparound porch. It was a wide, two-story structure with a green tin roof and paint that had peeled in a few places, but that only added to its charm. The scent of rosemary, garlic, and warm bread drifted through the evening air.

Natasha stood at the edge of the gravel path, a little too aware of how quiet her boots sounded on the stones. She’d changed into clean jeans and a dark linen shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal her forearms. Her hair was pulled back—not tightly, but not entirely relaxed either.

The long table on the porch was already set. Dishes lined the middle—roasted vegetables from the garden, baked lasagna steaming in the center, bowls of salad tossed with lemon vinaigrette. There was a pitcher of red wine and glasses already half full.

“Come in, come in. Hope you’re hungry.”

“I am,” Natasha admitted. “It smells incredible.”

Georges was seated at the head, napkin over his knee, already halfway through a story about the time your cousin fell into the irrigation ditch trying to impress a girl. Across from him was your grandmother, Elise, eyes sharp but kind, wearing an apron and sipping ginger beer.

“Ah! Natasha,” She greeted. “There’s a seat right there by Y/N. Don’t be shy.”

And then there was you.

Seated sideways in a wooden chair, wine glass loose in hand. The artificial lights struck your profile, catching your cheekbone and the faint tan line at your collar.

Natasha offered a small, respectful smile and took the seat beside you.

You looked up as she stepped onto the porch, a faint smile on your lips. “Glad you made it,”

“I said I might,” Natasha replied, walking over and taking the seat. “Didn’t say I’d behave.”

You laughed softly. “Good. It’d be boring if you did.”

“Smells incredible,” she said to your grandmother.

“That’s because I cook with actual skill,” Elise declared. “Not like Georges—he burns toast.”

“Only once,” Your father protested.

Plates clinked. Elise set down a tray of garlic-stuffed roast chicken and roasted pumpkin slices, then waved off any offers to help. Georges poured the wine—dark red, earthy, bold—and slid Natasha a glass without question.

“Clare Valley Shiraz. One of ours,” he said proudly.

She took a sip, letting it settle on her tongue. “Smooth. But not soft.”

Georges grinned. “Like the women in this family.”

Dinner rolled on with the kind of ease only old families could master—jokes with no setup, teasing that didn’t sting, and silences that felt comfortable. Elise recounted a neighbor’s cow escaping again.

And Natasha? She watched. She listened. She responded when spoken to, asked just enough questions, and found herself slowly thawing. The porch felt lived-in, like people belonged here.

So did you.

Your laughter was real and heartwarming. You filled Natasha's plate without asking and nudged a breadbasket her way. Once or twice, your knee brushed hers under the table—not accidentally—but you didn’t make a show of it either.

Halfway through the meal, Elise nudged Natasha with a grin. “So. What brings you out here from the big world? Georges says it's work, but a little bird tells me it's a little more.”

Natasha smiled politely. “Needed some air. A little quiet. Time away.”

“Running from someone?” Your dad teased.

“Grams, tell your kid he’s got no filter,” You muttered behind the rim of your glass.

“Running toward something,” Natasha answered, cool and unbothered. She glanced at you. “Maybe.”

There was a brief hush. Then Georges gave a low whistle. “Well, damn. That’s poetic.”

You laughed under your breath. Natasha didn’t look away.

As the stars began to crowd the sky, and the last of the dishes were cleared, Elise brought out a dessert she called "apple slab"—warm pastry crust with cinnamon and vanilla ice cream melting into every corner. Natasha tried it. She closed her eyes briefly.

Georges leaned toward her halfway through. “Told you—better company than you expected, huh?”

She nodded. “You weren’t wrong.”

The conversation shifted to crops and winter prep, and then to you—specifically, the time you tried to tame a wild filly at sixteen.

“She broke her wrist but refused to go to the hospital,” your grandmother told Natasha with a shake of her head. “Said she didn’t need a doctor, just duct tape and whiskey.”

Natasha looked over at you, one brow lifted, not surprised but interested. “Really?”

You shrugged, grinning around a bite of bread. “I was stubborn.”

“Was?” Your dad muttered.

You kicked his boot under the table.

As the stars began to pierce through the fading sky, conversation softened. The wine was nearly gone. Crickets started up in the distance, and the vineyard glowed faintly beneath the last lavender light.

Your grandmother excused herself first, and Georges followed shortly after with a promise to check the fencing in the morning.

You stayed. Natasha did too.

There was quiet between you now, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just the gentle hush of nighttime settling over land that had worked all day.

You glanced sideways at her. “You survived Langford dinner.”

“Barely.” Her voice was dry, but her eyes held warmth. “You all talk like you’ve known each other for centuries.”

“We practically have.” You stretched your legs under the table. “That’s what happens when you grow up where everyone knows your middle name, what age you first rode a bike, and how many times you cried watching The Lion King.”

“Twice?”

You laughed. “Four. Don’t judge me.”

Natasha smirked, then leaned back in her chair, her arms loose over the sides. “It’s nice. The way your family is. The way you are here.”

You studied her then—the way she relaxed just slightly when she wasn’t looking.

“You’re welcome to come by again,” You said casually. “We don’t usually bite.”

She looked at you, serious now. “And if I stay too long?”

You tilted your head. “Then you might start feeling like you belong.”

For a moment, you both just looked at each other. The stars overhead blinked into the dark sky like promises, and somewhere in the distance, Alba let out a quiet, contented whinny.

🍀 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 🍀

6:12AM. A cool mist hugged the vineyards like a ghost clinging to memory, curling low around the vines and bleeding into the open pastures.

Dew clung to every blade of grass, and the air still carried the chill of night, crisp enough to cut through the fabric of Natasha’s hoodie.

She wasn’t usually awake this early—not without cause—but something about the quiet of the ranch had tugged her from sleep before the world stirred.

She hadn’t even meant to go walking. She’d only stepped outside the house for air. And then the horizon broke into a slow bloom of amber light, and she just kept moving, boots crunching softly along a gravel path that curved away from the vineyard and toward the back paddocks.

Then she heard it—

A sharp exhale, followed by the pounding of hooves.

It wasn’t Alba.

The redhead crept closer, careful not to announce herself. She moved through a break in the fence, stepping behind a wooden post and peering through the clearing ahead.

You were in the ring.

Not the manicured one near the barn where children learned to ride—but the rough, wide training corral on the edge of the property. It was worn in by years of sun and sweat. Just dirt, wind, tension and you.

The horse in the ring was beautiful and wild. A deep russet coat and black mane, flaring nostrils and rolling muscles as it snorted and pawed the dirt. Its eyes were wide with resistance, its back arched in refusal.

Natasha didn’t move. She watched.

You held the rope with just enough slack to give it trust. You didn’t force contact, just stepped slowly, deliberately, your boots quiet in the dust.

“There you go,” You whispered— warm, low, and calm. “Not here to hurt you.”

The horse didn’t believe you. Not yet.

It darted to the side, testing you. You turned with it, gentle but firm, keeping distance without surrendering authority.

Nat realized what she was watching wasn’t about breaking. It was about respect.

“You’re not a prisoner,” you murmured. “You’re just scared.”

There was something heavy in the way you said it—like you weren’t just talking to the animal.

The stallion stopped. Just for a second. His head tilted, ears flicking. That was enough for a first.

He took a single step forward. You didn’t move. Came another step before he then exhaled—a long, rattling breath that shook tension from his shoulders.

You dropped your gaze, lowering yourself slightly, shifting into a crouch. Still no pressure. Still no force.

And then, miraculously, impossibly, the horse approached.

Natasha found herself holding her own breath.

When the horse finally bumped his nose against your shoulder, your hand lifted—light, slow—and you rested it against his neck.

“Nice one, big guy,” You smiled. “You’re alright now.”

Only then did Natasha move. A quiet step back. She didn’t want to interrupt, didn’t want to break whatever sacred moment she’d just witnessed.

But you had already known she was there.

You turned your head, still stroking the horse, and caught her eyes through the rising light. There was no surprise in your expression. Just calm.

“You always spy on people before coffee?” You questioned with an expectant raised brow.

The Russian gave a faint smile, stepping forward now that she’d been caught. “Only when the show’s worth it.”

You chuckled, brushing your hair off your face. “That was Bramble. He’s a rescue. Nobody’s been able to get close to him for months.”

“He trusts you.”

“Not trust. Not yet. Just curiosity and a little relief.” You glanced back at the horse, who now stood beside you, tethered by choice instead of fear. “That’s a start.”

Natasha nodded, eyes still on you. “You’re good at this.”

“With horses?”

“At being patient with things that bolt.”

There was a silence between you that hummed with more than early morning wind.

You didn’t break it. You didn’t flirt or tease. You just looked at her—really looked—and gave the barest nod.

“Come by later,” you said, stepping toward the gate. “If you want.”

🍀 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 🍀

Natasha spent hours thinking about earlier's moment with you.

“Come by later,” — Not an invitation, but permission.

She came by around late afternoon. You were exactly where she expected to find you—behind the barn, near the tack shed, rinsing off a saddle with a garden hose. You spent time together — repainted rooster's fences because you had a design idea.

You snorted softly and tossed her a clean towel. “Make yourself useful.”

She caught it one-handed. “You always this bossy?”

“You always this agreeable?”

The redhead tilted her head in consideration. “Only when I’m interested.”

Your gaze flicked toward her then, unreadable for a beat too long. But whatever you were thinking, you didn’t say it.

Later on, you motioned toward the hay bales stacked under the old oak tree you used to play by when you were younger. “Come on. I’ve got ten minutes before I have to check the perimeter fence.”

She followed you there, the sun warming her back as you both sat. From here, the land seemed to stretch forever—golden and open, scattered with horses and silence.

You didn’t fill it with small talk. Neither did she. You both just sat. The peace of it settled slowly, like dust after a storm.

“You really love this place,” Natasha said after a while.

You nodded, still looking at the view. “It’s not just home. It’s... legacy. My father probably told you already but his great-grandfather built the first stable. He and my mom added the vineyard. My sisters ran off, but I stayed. Someone had to.”

“That sounds like weight.”

“It is.” You glanced at her then. “But it’s the kind I can carry.”

She nodded, understanding more than she said.

🍀 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 🍀

The next few days passed in a slow, golden rhythm.

The Russian spent most of it unpacking, fixing the back gate, replacing floorboards in the living room or simply working with your dad.

She worked without a shirt most afternoons —the heat was relentless— and she noticed the way you passed by more often now. Always with an excuse. Returning a borrowed drill she hadn’t lent you. Asking if she needed help setting up a chicken coop she hadn’t even built yet. Always smiling. Always wearing shorts that made Natasha seriously consider whether peaceful living was all it was cracked up to be.

You were beautiful, that wasn't ignored by anyone but it was unnerving, how irresistible you could be. In some ways, she felt she wasn't supposed to look and think about you in the way she did but she just couldn't help herself.

She was only human after all.

From your side, you didn't care. You felt attracted to her and you weren't going to lie to yourself. Your father never had a problem with whoever you dated, as long as you were happy he didn't mind it.

You and Nat were both adults, so if anyone had a serious say in whatever that was starting to bloom between the two of you— it was only Nat and

The sun was beginning to dip when the fair lights flickered to life, warm and golden, strung between trees like fireflies. The annual Cherry Hollow Harvest Fair sprawled across the town’s open field—tents pitched, hay bales arranged like benches, the smell of roasted corn, fried dough, and sweet cider wafting through the cool autumn air.

Kids ran barefoot over the grass, their laughter high and wild. Folk music drifted from a wooden stage where a band played fiddles and banjos. People from all around the county came for this night. It wasn’t just tradition—it was home.

And Natasha Romanoff? She wasn’t sure what she was doing here.

Georges had insisted. “It’s tradition,” he’d said, patting her shoulder like she was family now. “Everyone goes. You’ll like it.”

So she’d come. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a fitted olive-green shirt.

She spotted Georges near the cider stand, chatting with the mayor and three other men who looked like they'd been born wearing cowboy hats. He waved when he saw her, but didn't call her over. She appreciated that—he let her move at her own pace.

Then she saw you.

Across the fairground, in a sage green denim jumpsuit that stopped by your thighs, hugging them perfectly with the top buttons open to tease with your cleavage hair pulled up with a white clip that matched your boots.

You had a paper cup in one hand and your other resting casually on your hip as you spoke to a woman selling apple pies. You laughed at something, head tilted back slightly in that unguarded way Natasha was starting to recognize.

You were a different version of yourself here—looser, brighter.

And she liked it. Maybe too much.

You noticed her after a moment, your smile lingering as your eyes locked. Then you tilted your head subtly, like an invitation: Come over.

Natasha made her way through the crowd slowly, absorbing the details: children with sticky faces, old men playing horseshoes, the way the stars were beginning to bloom in the sky.

When she reached you, your gaze ran down her frame—not in a way that was obvious, but in a way that landed.

“You clean up alright,” You said, sipping from your cup. “Not bad for a city girl.”

“Not bad for someone who just learned what ‘cow patty bingo’ is,” Natasha replied, glancing over at the fenced square in the grass that was... exactly what it sounded like.

You laughed, fully this time, and offered her your drink. “Spiced cider. Try it.”

She hesitated just long enough to make it noticeable. Then took a sip.

You watched her the entire time.

“Sweet,” she said.

“Like the fair.”

“Is that what you are?” Natasha asked, eyes steady. “Sweet?”

You smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Before either of you could push the moment further, a loud clang sounded near the mechanical bull arena and someone called your name. It was the ranch hand, Micah, gesturing toward the prize booth.

“I promised to judge the pie contest,” you said with a sigh. “Small-town royalty obligations.”

Natasha lifted a brow. “You’re a judge and a competitor?”

You gave her a wicked grin. “No one said I had to play fair.”

As you moved away, Natasha’s eyes followed you through the crowd. She wasn’t used to wanting moments to last longer. But with you, they always ended too fast.

She wandered a little after that—tried a caramel apple, watched kids dance barefoot under the fairy lights, even listened to Georges tell an elaborate story about winning the chili cook-off in '98.

But when the music shifted—slower now, softer—Natasha looked for you again.

She found you leaning against the fence near the bonfire, watching the flames. Your blouse glowed orange in the firelight, your face half-shadowed, thoughtful.

She came up beside you quietly.

“You come here every year?” she asked.

You nodded. “Every year since I was five. I’ve worked every booth. Played every game. First kiss was behind that pie stand.”

Natasha smiled faintly. “That sound like a good memory or a bad one?”

“Sticky,” you said. “She had frosting on her lips.”

That surprised a quiet laugh out of her. You turned toward her slightly, and for a beat, neither of you said a word.

Just firelight.

The smell of smoke.

The unspoken want hanging between you.

“You staying long?” you asked, voice lower.

“I might,” she said. “Haven’t decided.”

You nodded. “Well. This place grows on you. Just watch out—it makes it harder to leave.”

“I’m starting to see that.”

Someone called your name again.

You exhaled, almost reluctant. “I should—”

“I know.”

You hesitated. “Wanna walk me home later, maybe?”

Natasha didn’t answer right away. She just looked at you, the corner of her mouth lifting.

“Yeah,” she said. “I do.”

And just like that, something shifted.

Not loud. Not sudden.

But real.

The kind of shift you feel in your chest before your mind can catch up.

🍀 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 🍀

The fair had mostly dimmed by the time the music ended. Booths began to close, vendors packed up pies and preserves, and the chatter faded into the quiet hum of crickets and wind in the trees.

Natasha waited near the edge of the bonfire crowd, hands tucked into the pockets of her denim jacket, eyes scanning for you.

You emerged through the fading glow, brushing hay from your jeans, your cheeks still flushed from laughter and cider. The warmth of the evening was still on your skin, but the night was cooling fast, and you’d slipped into an old cream-colored cardigan that made you look even more like home.

“Ready?” You asked, eyes finding hers in the dark.

Natasha just nodded.

You didn’t speak at first, the two of you walking side by side down the gravel path that led out of town and back toward the ranch. There were no streetlights—just moonlight, stars, and the occasional crunch of gravel under your boots.

“I usually drive to the fair,” You said eventually. “But walking feels better tonight.”

The redhead glanced at you, head tilted and a faint smirk. “You always ask people to walk you home, or am I special?”

You smirked, playing her game from earlier. “Only to the ones I don’t want to leave too quickly.”

She let that sit for a moment. Then, softly: “I can see why you stayed here. This town, your family… it’s not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

Natasha shrugged. “Something quieter. Less alive.”

You smiled at that. “It’s a stubborn kind of place. It grows wild and deep. You can’t just skim the surface.”

Natasha hummed. “No. I guess not.”

You passed the vineyard fence. The moonlight painted rows of vines silver. In the distance, the faint outline of the ranch house stood against the night sky, warm light glowing from the porch.

“You tired?” You asked, voice barely above the breeze.

“Not really.”

You slowed. “Wanna come in?”

Natasha’s pause wasn’t long.

“I do.”

Inside, the house was quiet— Ace, your golden retriever is probably asleep. You kicked off your boots, set your keys in the bowl by the door. Natasha followed you into the kitchen where the smell of cinnamon still lingered from the pies you'd baked earlier to offer at the fair.

"Water?" You offered.

She nodded. You poured two glasses.

She didn't sit. Neither did you. You stood at the kitchen counter, sipping slowly, like the silence had something to say if you just let it stretch long enough.

And then, softly, she set her glass down.

"Why'd you really ask me to walk you home?"

Your answer was quiet, honest. "Because I wanted to be alone with you. Not in the barn. Not with my dad around. Just... here."

Natasha stepped closer. "Why?"

Eyes flicked to hers, holding steady. "Because I've been trying not to want this since the second I saw you."

"That makes two of us."

Her hand reached up slowly-giving you time to stop her-and brushed your cheek. You didn't pull back. You leaned in.

The first kiss wasn't slow. It wasn't hesitant. It was earned. Built on days of glances, tension, heat, and restraint. It came with a soft sound from your throat as her mouth met yours, full and open and hungry.

You stepped back against the counter as her hand slid to your waist, anchoring you.

You kissed her like you'd been holding back a storm. She kissed you like she was finally letting go of one.

When you broke apart, breathless, foreheads pressed together, you whispered, "This isn't a mistake, is it?"

Natasha's eyes searched yours. "Not even close."

You kissed again-this time slower, deeper, less urgent but more intentional. Her hands rested at your hips, yours slid beneath her jacket, fingers grazing warm cotton and skin.

Still kissing, you led her down the hallway with unspoken understanding. The bedroom door opened easily beneath your palm.

Inside - moonlight across the bed. A soft creak of floorboards. Breath and heartbeats. Clothes shed slowly. A laugh when her jacket snagged on your elbow.

Your mouths met again in the low light of your bedroom, this time with but the hush of the night. Your fingers finding the hem of her blouse and slipping underneath, grazing the warm skin of her toned stomach.

She let you lift it, arms rising wordlessly as you peeled the shirt over her head and dropped it aside. Her skin was soft beneath your hands-lean muscle, warm breath, and something tightly coiled beneath the surface. But it was her eyes that held you there-fixed on yours, careful, burning.

"Tell me if you want to stop," Uou whispered, even though every part of you ached to go further, eyes fixated on her body before returning to her eyes.

"I don't," She said, voice husky, fingers brushing down your spine. "Not tonight."

Her hands moved to the buttons of your jumpsuit, undoing them one by one with a kind of quiet focus. You watched her as she worked-how gentle she was, how deliberate. She wasn't trying to rush this. She wanted to feel it. All of it.

When her mouth touched your shoulder, your breath caught. Her lips traced a path from your collarbone down, tasting skin like she was learning you. And you let her, pressing closer, your hands tangling in her hair as she kissed lower.

The sheets are cool against your back as she hovered over you, her weight braced on one elbow, the other hand brushing lightly down your bare side.

She kissed you slowly-mouth warm, lips soft and deep, tongue teasing yours in a rhythm that had your heart pounding.

"You drive me insane, you know that?" She murmured against your lips.

"Good," You breathed, kissing her again. "I intend to keep it that way."

More clothes vanished in between kisses and laughter, until there was nothing but skin and need and the quiet creak of the mattress beneath you.

Natasha trailed her fingers down your stomach, eyes watching your face for every flicker of response. When her touch found you, you gasped-hips arching, breath hitching as she moved with precise, devastating control.

She then kissed your neck, your chest, your ribs-like she wanted to memorize the taste of you.

And you let yourself fall apart under her hands.

But it wasn't just pleasure. It was the way she looked at you while she gave it. Like she wanted every inch of you while you took every inch of her large cock. Like you were worth knowing this way.

Your nails raked gently down her back as you moaned her name-quiet but desperate, breathy against her ear.

Everything you'd imagined. Everything you hadn't let yourself imagine.

The teasing was gone now. What remained was hunger, care, and a kind of reverence that made your breath catch.

You didn't rush. You didn't need to.

You had all night.

And maybe, just maybe-something after that.

When it was over, the two of you lay tangled in the sheets, your head resting against her shoulder, fingers lazily drawing circles on her skin.

But before you drifted off, she kissed your temple and whispered, "I don't know what this is yet. But I want more of it."

And that was enough-for tonight.

➪ next part.

#𓂃 ๋ ࣭ 𔘓 natalianovnas #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha smut #scarlett johansson

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